Wednesday, December 29, 2010

EUREKA! Home Canned Bacon Now Possible

Whomever this is needs to be given a medal, a parade, and a tiara. A golden bacon sprigged tiara.

Tuesday, December 28, 2010

Capping It Off

I've had a hectic holiday month and found it nigh unto impossible to do this thing while taking care of everything else...and rather a lot has gone on...

But the thing I know most will be curious about - just how does that damned Five-SeveN shoot? Well, I will spare you the obligatory shooter stance picture - my call sign will have to be Short Round. Instead, we can take a look at the first shots. From, I think, 75 ft...

It was a tad high so we dialed it down a bit. I had a few issues with that expectation thing - breathing, aiming, squeezing so that it is a surprise...I had to settle into it. That is why I like the weight of the 1911 - it keeps things neat and tidy, reaction-wise. This thing is light as a bird and wants to flit around.

Its grip is wide. I'd say it was almost too wide for my hobbity hands but so nicely checkered that I can manage.

I was shooting some very fine rounds - they are jewel-like in their box. Special, I only tossed a dozen or so at the target and a few evil bowling pins. I'll have to get some lesser quality ammo for future practice.

Let's see the pins, shall we? The front...yes, those tiny little vampiric pricks...

And the back...these were some rather gnarly free range pins, all soggy and nasty, so I am not certain the real impact is reflected here. We hope for a feral hog to show itself and we might then get a better idea.

Now, I know some may be concerned for the level of lethality of this thing - so goes the general chatter online. But they forget that the bad guys are all donning the vests, now. Every southern - er - family army(of which an especially evil version resides very nearby) is better trained and geared up than most police forces. If they choose to make me a target, I intend to be at least as well-provided for as they are. Hopefully, better.

Let me see if I can express the way the thing is very like shooting a plinking .22, yes. But with a real *crack*. It is a cinch to get back on target shot after shot as there is little muzzle rise. And what I really liked was that it is easier to perform ye olde trigger reset than I've ever known. Almost instinctually set for it, if that makes sense. All my other weapons I have to give it thought - I do not shoot often enough for it to be muscle memory. This one

I have to say - I am very pleased, indeed, even if Trooper used all the egg money to get the damned thing. How can you stay mad at a man who gives you such a lovely gift? Now, I just have to get Kirkpatrick on the line for a new holster - I love their Texas Strong Side version and got two for the 1911. A lady has to color coordinate, after all!

Now, I just need to think of a good nickname for the thing...

Friday, December 24, 2010

Spinning the Wheel

"Once upon a time when we all lived in the woods..."

So starts a book that I read infrequently but the words remain imprinted. Faery tales, legends, truths and lies from the moment man looked from sun to moon and wondered how and why...those things were once my diet, whole. The same story, over and over, with local embellishments for flavor. And every one of them thinks they have the only answer.

"I see the first ones lately much more clearly
Spilling blood along the turning ground..."

Caroline Lavelle

There is so much window dressing on the myths that it is impossible to see the original. It became so confused when man decided to use it - to become the intercessionary. I was a precocious child. I needed my own answers and one tome led to another so that I could peg a thing - a symbol - from its innocent beginning to its warped tenet. It was important to me that I know. No mysteries permitted. And I sought all manner of knowledge.

In time, I came to see that it isn't what you name a thing but what you do with it. No need to call it God if you prefer to see it in the love of your dog. No reason to dress on Sunday if you hear the hymn of the forest. It is a quest to name the ineffable, a desire for a preview of what we will never know. And with all that busy preoccupation we leave ourselves vulnerable.

"...Gabriel before me...Raphael behind me..."

The earth will spin, we will come and go, and what matters is what we do and who we are. So as we round the curve into the new year and the trials to come Remember Grace.

Addendum: I wrote the above before finding the excellent post from the lovely Joan. Damn, but she's so much better at this...

Thursday, December 23, 2010

Intriguingly Merry!

Having had a very long day of errands and cookery, I am exhausted...but this cheered me up! As found at The Ghost With The Most...

Wednesday, December 22, 2010

I Must Have Been Good This Year

Because Santa delivered this to me early. Sure, just an unassuming little black case, slender...not too heavy...
And then you open it and angels sing...
You know she's a darling in her dark earth costume. A little bit of a biter with that aggressive checkering, perhaps. But it suits her, no? And, yes, it comes with a lot of neato keen extras. Like lots of bullet containment devices. LOL

Maybe this is her better side?

I cannot WAIT to try it out! Trigger pull seems nice and easy. Now, admittedly, this one is light because it is polymer. But nothing about it is cheap or flimsy.

And the cool thing is we won a free holster at the GT Glocktoberfest so I can get one just for the wee thing. But first she needs a name.

I must have been very good, indeed.

P.S. If you want one, my pal can get it - there was some sort of mil/LEO discount program until December 31st so move fast! Leave a note in the comments if you want details.


Realize that what is going on there is coming here. All this chatter of ours, the language and videos, will go away. Enjoy it while you can and be sure you have an alternative in mind. Print anything you might need to reference later. Because unless people in government get a damned spine all that we know now is over.

Listen to the man who is trying to hoist his losing country to freedom and of how his own freedoms have been the price.

Go here and get a shirt - they'll customize it to U.S. division. Heck, I bet you can even get a Texas Division. Do what you can to support the poor bastards. God help him and his family.

Tuesday, December 21, 2010

Seasonal Disorder

Ah, night shift - but a more permanent version...Trooper has escaped the web and found himself a finer spot in the world. A rifle in the hand at every moment, it is a closer thing to what he is, deep down, than that road warrior he has played for decades, now. His intense happiness sharply contrasts with my grim perseverence.

I am mortally tired. Mentally exhausted, I worried for my commute home today. "Lines, watch that lane, are they slowing?" It was as if I had a personal blue screen of death creeping up on me and I wondered, distantly, if it was a taste of what those who have panic attacks suffer.

Too much work, too much technical bullshit and change going on, and the dogs - God, the dogs...I haven't got it in me tonight to deal with them. A quick walk then home, they've managed to entertain themselves since. But I cannot help but consider that this is how it will be for weeks. Maybe longer. And I must not complain. It is, truly, a very good shift.

I am not a fan of the season, really. Never have been. Perhaps it was too many holiday evenings alone that turned me away from them. It feels like I'm being a whiny bitch. I watch something like this and wonder.

A friend who can fly anything with wings or blade had spoken of the very thing recently - the gentle feathering, the need to balance the craft on a wheel as the load of man and burden forces the craft off the ledge and that must not happen. No - it must be a lift and then departure, even if the lift is just enough to clear the wheels because just that little snag is enough to halt everything, permanently.

I think back to the weekend, the evening at the ranch as we waited for hogs to at peace in that moonlit land...a single coyote howled. Perhaps the one we startled as we returned from our survey hike. The answer came immediately and with vigor. A pack nearby and then another further down the range and another yet, further still - all of them in a kind of chain so that we were surrounded by them and their ancient cries of - what was it? Solidarity? A comforting retort so that all knew that none were entirely alone? It was a stunning experience.

Yes, Christmas it is but merry it is not. Just a drive for the familial duty as he works the holidays away and perhaps then I can rest. Just a little time...a little peace...and maybe that is the sentiment I need to take away from this whole mad season - peace. Quiet. Silent night.

Friday, December 10, 2010

Saveur Takes On The Hunt

An interesting email from Saveur Magazine noted their collaboration with Outdoor life for some venison recipes. I am entirely unfamiliar with the cuts and preparations other than having had some amazing meals in an Atlanta restaurant that featured wild game options.

This might offer some new recipes or tips to others like me. Brigid, Ed - you guys can read and mock what with your years of experience in your apron pockets.

Here is the link...

Thursday, December 09, 2010

Her Low Spark

Well, someone has finally put into words my suspicion.

Why are liberals obsessed with Sarah Palin?
Because she is their dominatrix.

Yep. Just so.


Usual Suspects

I read this with some sadness...

Vandals have destroyed one of the most celebrated Christian pilgrimage sites in Britain and chopped down a tree said to have sprouted from the staff of Joseph of Arimathea 2,000 years ago.

The Holy Thorn Tree of Glastonbury, Somerset, is visited by thousands every year to pay homage and leave tokens of worship. Those visiting today were moved to tears on finding the tree cut to a stump.Read more:

Amazing...anyone who is familiar with that iconic rendition of Arthurian mythos by Marion Zimmer Bradley will be more than familiar with this...relic. Its loss is profound even if only considered as an object of age like the Carmel cypress trees.

England has lost. England has been lost, now, I fear. Sure, it might be some college stunt to express their disdain of history and paying for their own education. But a part of me leans eastward in that blame.

I am sorry for the loss and hope that the poor wreck can be coaxed into new life in the spring. Assuming anything is left of the place by then...

Tuesday, December 07, 2010

Ode to the Baby Poop Gold Volvo

O, moron of the road
in your car of baby poop gold
You had to pass on the right -
racing the other moron - mid-flight

I saw you coming, my mirrors in use
That right lane ended, and you nearly in my caboose
The gentle sway of my wheels `cross that lane
Did nothing to get your attention, just disdain

I looked ahead, I had a plan
The pit maneuver, oh man!
I watched the hill rise, saw the silvery glint of the rail
If I accidentally kill you, how long am I in jail?

What they say of Volvo drivers is true:
Non-driving motherfuckers, all of you.
I know you cared naught for me on that road
Racing along, just a flash of baby poop gold.

Novel Gift Ideas and The Peterman Sale

I tend to shop online and from catalogues because I cannot bear to enter a mall. I've always got a lot of interesting options and thought I'd pitch these today.

This place is a haven of girly stuff. Yes, it's mostly frou-frou. But some of it is quite darling and not found elsewhere. And their wrapping? It is overdone - gorgeous. They have a calligrapher on staff to write your tender greeting. If you need to have a gift sent, this place will do it and very well, indeed. Some ideas? Do you know someone who does beadwork? This contains them nicely! A fine chef? Get the perfect apron. Kids? How about these blackboard placemats? They can draw while you dine in relative peace.

J. Peterman - who hasn't loved the mockery on Seinfeld? The clothes are actually quite nice. And, today only, there is a terrific sale on outerwear. Yes, including the original item that made him famous - that long ranch coat - the Duster. When I was a lass, there was a young man in a western bar who strode in wearing that thing. I dropped a note by his glass on my way out indicating my appreciation. Most females would love a frock coat - romantic, yes but practical in a nice cotton corduroy.

Perhaps these will help knock a few gifts off your list!

Monday, December 06, 2010

Just Darling

Courtesy of the Hee Haint, an emporium full of feetsweaters. These are just too cute and perfect for the favorite librarian...

Sunday, December 05, 2010

Youth In Holiday

This...oh, this is a looking far back into the days of Garfield Goose...seeing this cartoon meant soon it would be Christmas...

And I bet Ed will remember this one, too...

A Chicago youth...

Saturday, December 04, 2010


I've known my fair share of holidays with tepid cheer, and spent several alone with only the quick phone calls of family (when long distance actually mattered on the bill) to interrupt the evening.

So every season I listen again to the music that stirred me so and kept me moving through what were dark waters.

I miss, sometimes, those simpler days when I had very little, indeed, around me. A cat, a tiny apartment, and spartan treasures held to year after year. That music rang when a knock came to the door and a tree stood there, because it was necessary to have one for the gift boxes to be placed under it. Two matching boxes in gold foil paper.

The candles flickered as lights were strung in a companionable silence. Not the first tree he'd bought, no. But I liked to think it meant near as much to him as it did me. I told myself similar things for years about him. "Open it - open one, at least..." he taunted. They were all I had under it, that lovely tree. I hesitated but then gave in, my childish desire overwhelming my adult sense of frugality. He sat and watched.

Crystal - a goblet of Irish extraction - to hold the wine of life. A set, he noted, his chin lifted to the other golden box.

I asked him to have the band play that song on one of the last times we knew each other. Unfamiliar with it, the clouds rolled across his eyes as my mouth twisted, knowing it was all over, all over, but holding to it tightly to wring every moment from it.

It played again, years later, loss upon loss so that I walked in a baffled stupor. The crystal fell from drunk hands and shattered on the floor, a kind of requiem and a final goodbye to all that.

Its mate remains in the cabinet yet, unfilled for years, now, a relic...when I was quite mad I thought of it that way - of burying it somewhere with the whole tale wrapped around it like a shroud. So that perhaps one day someone would know.

But I think, now, that sometimes we are given these stories to keep us alive. To make us stronger. So that we can, later, say, "And then I know I can bear anything."

Our own Troubles are coming. A part of me is glad that I need not worry about him, that perhaps he can offer - from his vantage - graces when needed.

Wednesday, December 01, 2010


Sometimes a really nice, heavy case comes filled with a delight unknown...


Update: Go here to see the details - center fire, law enforcement, 10 precision carbine (click on the little ? icon for the Accustock for even more info that you don't need). Has the bipod and a scope whose details I am unfamiliar with - told him to see if another Leatherwood will fit...those things rock.

Tam Toof Non-Bweg

The mere thought of a wickedly cracked tooth gives me chivers. You all already know her, of course, and she isn't "blegging" but if you've a bit extra you can spare in this season, you might consider tossing it her way...