Rainy Drive

I had errands this morning as Sarge slept…more pork from our favorite rancher, and more supplies from the folks at the storehouse…I reached in the console for something to play and this was at hand. It was quite the echo from the past…and suitable to the rainy weather and drifting lane paint.

Home, it was more puttering, cookery, cleaning – the usual. But I kept smelling autumn in the air. We’ve no leaves falling here, no tremendous shades of fire for the eye. Still, there was something stirring.

A need to have things in order weighs on my mind. I’ve been dotting i’s and crossing t’s all around me as if that order might bring a similar order to the world. I cannot give it my attention, not what it might deserve. It turns, it falls, it fails. And it does not need my approval or notice. Rather, I work hard to Acquire…to Plan…to Learn.

Now, if only it also brought Sleep…

 

He Is From Moldoooova

This guy is a good pal of nearly every LEO in the area Sarge works at. His 7-11 is in the heart of the drunk college student district as well as the homeless hangout area. But he takes no crap from any of them. You can imagine the night shift brings out the very best in his clientele…

Go see his channel – he gets a check when you watch – so let’s see if we can get him one for 2 digits this month.

It was a deadly dose of detergent

What an accent…

Flights of Fancy and Their Trajectories

Sarge is back at work and I’ve laundry in a pile for folding so I cranked up this offering (skip to 1hr:10m) as I started all the drudgery.

I used to have a copy of that Rimsky-Korsakov piece when I was about 26 years old. I played it over and over, having not much else to entertain me at the time. I had books, a Walkman, and a pretty sad record player. But they sufficed. More than…

I had almost forgotten the piece – all of its many fragments – but it all came back in a rush of recognition. Yes, yes – that sweet, melancholy violin at the end…”once upon a time when we all lived in the forest”…tales and tales.

The dishwasher makes its energetic racket, started only after the end of that piece, a kind of false busy-ness because it works like a union member. Which is just enough to not be tossed to the street. The washing machine, bless its pricey courtesan-like ass, works like a champ. Unfortunately, it just means there is more folding coming my way when its friend releases the warm result of the efforts of my evening. This is what I do…this is the life, today. And the echoes of 20 years gone astounds me.

If you’d asked me, this would have been the last place I’d have thought I’d be. The first? An early grave. After all, I used to dance around it all tra la la…which seems fun until Death comes and looks at you. A more sedate mien seemed…reasonable…at the time. And so it has been to this day.

But I get touchy with all the pressure. Yes, yes – something else to clean. Yes, yes – another person who make 6 figures and cannot comprehend an Outlook meeting request. (Seriously, people – WTF?) This is my life. But I think it is time to edit it a bit. The compound bow needs to go to the shop to set that pull down to something closer to reasonable. And the video here ought to help tighten up a knowledge base that is lacking in detail. Too, I may be under the “first 200 orders” count and get the offered 10% discount off their Precision Rifle course. It may not seem like much against that grand total but their training is highly respected. I would not mind taking it one day.

Such things are all I have time to consider these days. Too much to do and not enough hours in the day…and not enough patience to see it all through, anyway. I knew things would be more difficult back when the music played in that small apartment. I knew the future wouldn’t bring only easy days. But I did not expect all this…at least I’ve no children to squire through the days. What a terror that would be…how to combat the constant flood of whoredom and lying liars? Sad, yes, to have no one after to bear my eyes or his high cheekbones. But perhaps it was a gentler gift, that denial.

Remind me of that now and then, eh? Those gifts of wishes denied?

Tight Socks, Sore Toes But Good Bacon

I don’t know what I was thinking this morning as I put the hiking boots on over the woolen socks. I was a little distracted, admittedly, and yanked on me socks with a firm tug and then applied said boots.

After about 7 hours of standing, walking, lifting, pulling and otherwise moving a ton of hooey for a good friend. my feet were screaming at me. The fiberglass I had all over was also talking but I was able to shut it up with a nice wipe down now and then. Home, the shoes and socks came off and it was an insanely painful relief. I KNOW better. I should have stopped and fixed them early in the day. Alas, when I get my labor mojo on, I am all about the job. What can I say? I LOVE manual labor. I really do. There is nothing like actually FEELING as though you did something.

At any rate, I treated the irritated feet to a nice soaking as Sarge showered. Just so happens my ponytail was a terrible matted mess, too. Again, I knew better – I knew I’d be all up in the business of rat poop, dirt, dust, metal filings, and etc. I should have braided it all up. Lazy…

I blame all of that on a terrific breakfast at our favorite local TexMex. It’s not special, it isn’t “authentic”, it just tastes good. Simple and good. And then back to the local farmer’s market for one guy’s divine bacon and steaks – and bones for the dogs. And some good eggs from another guy who seemed rather put off at our asking. Grumpy, indeed. Well, life sucks for most people these days…maybe he’d hoped to hold onto those last two dozen for himself…

Sarge was laughing as he looked at the clock, rationalizing being ready for bed at 9:30p. He has been running on about 4-5 hrs a night lately. Between his part time work, and the constant pinging of the work cell in the day, he hardly rests at all. Today was supposed to be a 2-gun shoot day but he just couldn’t do it on 3 hours sleep so he opted to stay abed for a whole 5. If I can, I hope to get him a good 10 or 12 tonight. Which is why I am typing while waiting on the washer to finish getting the nasty crap off my clothes. Exhausted…but hard work helping good friends is always a good feeling, afterward. And I think more of the same is on deck for tomorrow…

I’d rather be with the guys in WV at the blogshoot. Maybe I can still get some shooting in tomorrow, though! If he gets enough sleep he might be all over that idea!

Solar Sale – Goal Zero

We have a few of the Goal Zero items and I have to admit they work pretty darn well. Sure, you might have to angle the panels a bit for optimal sun and plan ahead to allow them time to recharge but they are tough, sharply designed, and they do the job.

The company is also very responsive to your geeky electrical questions so don’t be afraid to ask. (And they have been selling out rather often of late…)

Right now they have a few “kits” on a 20% off sale – sure, they are still a bit expensive but these days I am putting my falling dollars into tangible and useful items. So there.

Check it out if so inclined…

Not so relatedly, these boxes are sweet as can be and at a decent pricepoint. No, they don’t have the inner drawers but you can probably use it to hold a lot of bandages and Neosporin. Or taters! If he still has some in a few weeks I may just have to snatch a few up.

(I also have an eye on these – just need to measure them out and ensure they fit handy items…)

Somnolence and Silence

The weekend started with rain and has continued with same since…a blessing, true – but a damp one that makes it harder to remain at work, chores to do, dogs to walk, and food of some kind to prepare. I remained abed until and unheard of 9am! The quiet symphony of soft rain a lullaby…

I wish for one of those long porches, set deep under the roofline, with a bed to nap on. I do love to sleep with the wind blowing over me. But the small porch is a tight confine and not suitable to that sort of dreaming.

Ranger came along on a brief drive today, his nose to the wind, his eyes blinking against the rain. The poor cotton field, half harvested, lay in a drenched mess and I wonder at the loss – will it recover in the sun, poof up even more? Or are those acres a loss? I felt a kind of sympathy – as any gardener might – at the thought of so much work and cost going to waste.

It put me in mind, too, of the local farmers market and the gentleman who sold me the steaks and rashers – pork belly it said. Not really a smoked bacon at all but more like tender strips of deliciously fatted loin…the cattle here are all heading to market to make whatever money can be had. Is he hardened now at the repetition of it? The flux of a market that is so much at the whim of weather and soil? Does he wonder at how he wound up at a small town farmers market with a half dozen other booths, hoping to make something like enough till next year? A part of me wanted to converse – see what good we might be able to do for each other in the hard days to come. But I let it go at spending my budget with him. More and more do I help the locals, buy near home rather than away.

The news…what to make of it? How to find the value in lives lost to a people that refuse enlightenment? That CHOOSE dark ages and the mores thereof? Oh, they’ll embrace plumbing readily enough but the concept of freedom? You might as well argue with the dog.

I was furious over the constant updates, each new fire adding fuel to my own. So on 9/11 we don’t harden every single middle east facility against just such a thing? We send too few defenders there and ensure their execution? It was never about some obscure video whose timing was so fucking wag the dog as to be laughable. And they release the maker with a tra la la and we don’t know where he is. Yes, yes…I am sure you did. Some plastic surgery, a new name, and it is all done. The fires are set, the pressure to strike locally is enhanced, the lackluster response the signal needed and awaited…

Guess what your October surprise might be and stay away from any large gatherings – that my advice to you. I guess it’s time to get that collapsible .223 for the vehicle. Any more magazines for my .45 and I won’t be able to carry my purse. But I need to revisit the emergency kit – proper pants and belt, check the boots and socks…

I’d always said you’ll be lucky to get to vote this time…I believe that more than ever. And a part of me no longer cares. They’ll set something off somewhere and the cord of communion will be cut. Your life won’t be worth a dime.

Here – a little preview. Just imagine, instead, that they all need to get out of town and are very hungry. Not drunk, not partying and happy and utterly not giving a shit about your private property – not just riled up. But truly a mob looking for any solution and you stumble upon it.

Well, it IS change, anyway. Hopeless, sure. But change…

NIAFPHFPPW Achieved

That would be “NATIONAL IRRITATE A FOOD PIC HATER FOOD PIC POSTING WEEK”, friends, courtesy of the amazing Yabu and the hilarious Laura of The Flying Monkeys (like a saint, you know?)

Cracks me up that there is ever a controversy about these bloody damned blogs. It’s a diary that you’re putting out there for everyone. Someone is gonna be hating on your crush on David Cassidy and someone else is gonna piss you off with their assertion that STNG will totally last longer than the original.

No matter. It’s all good. Like this here chicken and dumplings. We had the first cool weather last night so even if  it did get up to the 90’s again I had the need for doughy goodness. It’s blonde food – all palid and insipid. But it’s damned good. Homemade? You bet your ass. Top to bottom. Let me tell you – get thee to these people for a smoked turkey. Get a honkin’ big one. You’re gonna use every inch of it. (I try to order one a month, cut it up, seal it up, and toss it in the freezer – strangely, the damned things never last long around here…) I held back the carcass for another soup and the picked over legs for this one. Mmmm! Smokey goodness…

There you have it – mommer’s chicken and dumplings – smokin’. (And those people who make giant noodles and dunk `em and call `em dumplings? Evil. Evil deceivers.)

The Big Picture
…and My Favorite Girl