The Trooper's Gal

Fugue of History

2012-01-25T18:03:00.008-06:00

I was reminded this evening of the past. I'd tried to catch the Glenn Beck episode tonight on the many ways one is monitored with technology. Work and life intervened but there was a guest on that was a bit difficult to find sans the evil G. (I never use it as my search agent. Even this blog's use of the evil G product is...loathsome.) Barrett Moore was the man's name and it was strangely familiar.

It resolved, finally, to a private security group - one that Trooper had considered when we first met as he was working to find something useful to do. But his ex had saddled him with fiscal issues that were not welcomed at most - the best - such groups. So he fixed them and turned to Texas, instead.

As I looked at the company's information my eyes rested on the town...Fairfax. Ah, yes...it was a lovely place and I had been there for a short time when I was, I suppose, 14 or so. Mother had remarried - a man we knew nothing about and whom I hardly recall. But he had money and enough of it to move what family remained to that town. It was a long drive, I recall, in a large and new car that had a chemical scent mingling with the leather...we stopped for gas at one point and he must have spilled it on himself or somehow gotten it in the car - within moments it was too much to even breathe and I said as much.

I remember dimly a frenetic search for a carwash, of some sort of scent added to the car so that the combination was only more nauseating. It was then I knew he was Not Right. But I'd known so much of that before - I figured that it might be a tolerable kind of eccentricity. When we finally arrived in that town he drove us to a furniture store where we were to each select what we wanted for our bedrooms...separate bedrooms was a dream. But new furniture - our own? We'd never had anything new...

The home was, I suppose, a standard for people who lived at that level. Not a brownstone with the diverse scents of cookery in every peeling wall. No - it was multilevel but it was all ours and very new. I try now to picture the interior but I can hardly manage it. I remember only the bedroom and his office. His office had filing cabinets - 3-drawer versions and there must have been 2 or 3 in a row. I couldn't imagine why anyone would need them - and not at home. But as we roamed the new place, I saw the keys to the cabinets on top, taped there by movers I supposed, and duplicates. Something rose up in me and I peeled off the duplicate keys, tucking them into my pocket.

I'd realized, too, that the man was a drinker. Case after case was stacked. Trouble er' long, I figured. And it wasn't.

I was enrolled in the school, taking a bus that was not a city bus but a proper school bus full of kids who had no idea of the snake in their midst. Or a city rat, perhaps...I just knew that I was not of them, not like them. The school had carpets on the floors and new desks and chairs. I walked through the halls, laughing and shaking my head. No more the industrial concrete walls with the two toned puke green paint. Carpet...

It was winter - but not like Chicago, no. It was a kinder, gentler snow that fell. It was hardly an inch on the ground when the bell rang and we were told that the snow required they close school early and get us all home safely. I looked out the window where the ground was still clear in patches and laughed again. Sure, okay - whatever you say...

I cannot really say how long I lived there. I only recall a night when the deep midnight blue sky was echoing with shouts and banging, a racket that was unlike anything I had heard before - and I'd heard a familial battle or two. I'd had a phone in my room - another one of those very strange and wondrous gifts that I did not comprehend. But I'd erred in some way recently and had lost the priviledge as well as that of my phonograph.

Perhaps it was that encounter that fueled the next. I cannot tell you now if it was that same day, or a week later. I do know that I didn't have a phone - and when I hunted the others in the house, discovered that they were all missing. The racket escalated and I can still remember my calm movements though a hurricane moved inside me. I could almost see myself from the outside - deliberate and sure while shaking with what must be done.

I took those purloined keys - I knew he had little imagination and had hid the phones in the cabinet. I do not know how I knew it - but I didn't bother looking elsewhere. I remember thinking he might hear me - that I had to do it quick, quiet...and so I did. In my room, I hesitated to dial the number, to press that 0 for the operator. It was a small town, a very nice neighborhood, but...it was my mother down that hall, down that staircase. No matter if she would have told me no, no - it'll be okay. Look at all this I've managed to get for us! - for, that would have been her argument...no matter.

The police department was very fast - hardly minutes before the door was banged upon and I let them in. Later, a nice man asked me how I managed to get the phone if they were locked away and I explained how I'd taken the keys...even now I can see the raised brow, impressed.

He was tucked into a car in his boxers and tshirt. The neighbors were all out and I felt, for a moment, like a moth pinned to a board. But the gutter rat straightened my spine - fuck you. Fuck all of you in this fleecy prison. A few days later I made the call and arranged to go to Houston. My father was there and he was perhaps just as drunk but more fun. It was, I suppose, the start of the end...

I never knew what happened after I left that place, the pretty furniture in the room...I walked away from it all. And all that returned to me with that glance at the name - just a pretty town full of sneaky people...and a part of wonders still what I might have been if I'd stayed - if I'd remained in that proper school, if I'd considered an alphabet agency...if I could have ignored the mad man down the hall for those few years necessary.

Instead, life led me down a different path...my choice set into motion a kind of gear set that churned me up and out, over and over, the same errors and bad decisions mounting one atop the other so that I had to leave, again and again. And, finally, with the 9mm placed decisively down on the desk and the phone picked up instead.

I always look at that night was a kind of cleat in the well wall. The first step from a place quite remote and hazardous until I finally could feel the clean wind and smell the sunlight on the stone...I left so much of Me back there and there was so much of Forgetting done in one way and another that there are large empty spots in my memory. Only rarely does something tick that gear into place and I am able to piece together what was lost and foggy.

I'd forgotten that slice of time...that place...how amusing it was - to be the dark thing that knew Everything surrounded by the eloi. But I still have those What If thoughts. I might have been quite remarkable, I think. But the cynic in me wryly adds, "Or dead." - and I have to admit she's probably right. No - here, now, and knowing more than most...it isn't a bad place to be, I think.

Not yet.

Update on the Hardigg - Innards

2012-01-13T20:10:00.009-06:00

I bonked on the last post and didn't remember to link to the case at Sportsmans...
Thought maybe I should add photos of the inside with something for scale. Forgive the dim nature - lighting not optimal and flash was almost too bright...

The top drawers are about the height of a Dillo...the lower ones taller and the bottom one locks.

There is also a pull out tray (about 8x4) that you can place on top, sterilize and use for any manner of prep.

And below you can see the slick pressure regulating button thing - I presume for when it is flown. If I had cash for another I'd be damned tempted to get one. I imagine one could stock it with reloading gear easily enough, too.

Acquisition Win

2012-01-12T19:14:00.003-06:00

It was this guy's fault. The last time they were available we didn't get it in time. This time, while I had it - sorta - I spent it. Trooper was alittle ho-hum about it but I knew...

In truth, it isn't the same unit the gentleman had - this is an 8-drawer unit (with drawers having the customizable dividers in them). New? Here - and $2400.

Heavy? Uh yup. I figure 40 lbs empty. However, it will endure anything, I think.

You can judge the size from the XL dog bed it lies on. Bloody damned big.

If you're in the market for something like it, the price - though it seems high - is very, very reasonable.

What Is It...

2012-01-09T17:44:00.013-06:00

...with these days? I have tried over and over to get motivated to do anything but between sickness and the news I simply cannot find the energy to deal with anything. The things that are moving between my ears of late?

The pleasing slickery snick of those knitting needles through the yarn (yes, those very ones up there ^) to produce another set of oak leaf mitts for family...

I could load Audible with all the books I've been missing out on but still not have time to listen to them...

Making pizza with this for sauce and veggies on top is pure genius (yes, my own genius)...

Smoked pistachios are of the devil...

I can't wait to see what this is about. "Hillsdale College is offering a free 10-week program [on the Constitution] beginning February 20, 2012" (this is the intro class)...

The Spartans really were hardcore. None of us would likely survive our childhood with them.

Part the 2nd, Part the 3rd...(courtesy of the Ghost)

What is it with this stuff? Even fussy Ranger Boy will eat if the food is dressed with this somewhat disgusting mess. And any digestive issues will be resolved by eating this stuff. Weird.

WHEN will the drawings be held for the contest?! I need a new belt so desperately...the 1911 is bloody heavy.

Which reminds me to start the search for a smaller carry option. I want a .45 caliber with the non-plastic bits n' parts but smaller...I may just take Trooper's Kahr. (One of the first small frames they made...) He gets to carry a rifle on shift, now, so he doesn't need the small backup. It's hard to find enough jackets, shirts, etc. to cover up the Springfield when out and about. Not that I fret about it - I don't wish to flaunt the law but I also refuse to be responsible for putting a mote in someones eye, if you get my meaning.

I suppose that's the extent of it, really. I don't mean to be dismissive of all the political wrangling these days but, in truth, there is no difference in any of them to me. They are all playing the game the old way instead of standing up and denying the media their "selection" process. It is all a ruin and nothing for it but to be ready for the crashing of the rest of the monuments. Sad, sad...but at least I am realistic. Far too many are relying on that November day to solve everything when it is moving deck chairs.

I'll be knitting a lovely afghan for mine. It might get a little chilly....

Sick, No Really, It's Not Just Iowa!

2012-01-03T21:39:00.005-06:00

The long day started well enough, but I should have known my unusual lethargy of the night before was telling me something...soon, I knew the secret. Fever, chills, nausea...but there was work to be done. I sat at my desk, using alcohol cleanser like mad and rarely leaving the area. I detest the Sick Worker bullshit so a dollop of self-loathing was just the thing to sharpen the edge of my misery.

But then some folks tell me that all those singular conference calls sent before the holiday would have to be edited to a new time to permit the west coast party to join at a reasonable hour...well...tell that to the UK Big Cheese who Does Not want to take a late call.

I tried, really I did, to be polite in the face of the passive aggressively issued news - complete with smiley. But I had to just close the window abruptly and accept that the task - and the remaining calls to be issued - would have to wait for another day.

Of course, even in my flailing misery I know I have nothing on Brigid who is hobbling about and doing the fun tour known as Physical Therapy. Still, this is my pity party, bitches. You're just the crashers who are realizing "this is not the party you are looking for". [Insert dismissive hand gesture - you know you want to.]

And you know those damn dogs did not offer a smidgen of sympathy. I even put on my snowflake pajamas - see? No walk! Yay! No walk! Right? Er...no, no. NO WALK. GAH! I pulled Trooper's sweats on over my clothes and stomped the entire way, allowing no gratuitous sniffing.
Drag my sick ass outta the house? No marking for you!

And this...this waste of bandwidth and pixels? Hell, I don't know. Got tired of listening to my book and cannot abide the whole Iowa Cock-up. The show they make of it, now! My goodness, I feel my IQ dropping just glancing at the pre-staged stages! Anyone over 60 years old cannot comprehend how different it all is - that Long Con - from their youth. But they will still watch it, still play along, thinking the game isn't rigged.

If there is an upside...my sinus crisis prevents my complete surrender to the dogs' fart assault. Bastards.

What She Said

2011-12-25T22:18:00.001-06:00

I would have waxed poetic but...
She has it right.

Last Minute Shopping @ Ranger Up

2011-12-19T08:14:00.002-06:00

If you've someone to shop for and haven't the heart to hit the stores, I can heartily direct you to RangerUp. Let me tell you what they've done - seems they had a supplier who wasn't going to make his shipment date. Well, that would mean orders already received would go unshipped. And you know what that would be?

UNACCEPTABLE!

So Tommy and his fair maiden Kelly have been on a roadtrip - they went to the very door of the supplier, found they hadn't finished a run of shirts, helped get the run done, loaded in the truck and are now steaming for home and promise that they will be there in time to make all their shipping obligations.

There is a reason I do a lot of my birthday and holiday shopping with them. Sure, it's just a shirt. But it is a shirt backed by the promise of men and women who will do what it takes to get it right and get it to you.

Better still, they have a sale - use the code BUYNOW25 and get 25% off all items until the end of Wednesday. And everything on the site will be available for the Christmas delivery deadline.

You'll find just what you need and you'll support some terrific folks who know how to Ranger Up.

You NEED A Dog, Right?

2011-12-18T14:08:00.002-06:00

Look, now - this darling black lab pup came to the house last week. If I hadn't two hellions already, I'd never have given it over to the shelter. About 3 months, I suppose, maybe a bit older...learned the kennel in an hour, had a natural Heel instinct, and played instantly well with my two very rough playing dogs.

He learned to sit, wait, in, out, and even fetched toys to his kennel by himself, selecting a chew toy on his own rather than something naughty.

If you need a VERY smart lab that will be rather large (pontoon paws), please please let me know. We called him Thor...and he'll be an amazing dog for anyone who saves his black hind end.

From Him - Security Note

2011-12-14T15:43:00.003-06:00

The Trooper sent this along to me - it is both very slick and a wannahave and also "damn it, yet another threat assessment to deal with..." when considering good guy and bad guy.

Ares Armor RAD Pack

Personally, bless `em for coming up with such an amazing hack of a pack. But just be aware of the option when approaching a suspect.

(I think I gotta have one, though...I just can't stop grinning at the idea...)

About That Droning On...

2011-12-13T15:13:00.006-06:00

Mind you, the drone landing nice and neat Over There had me scratching my head.
As the notes here state, it ought to have done a RTB routine. Or, me thinks, a "this isn't Kansas...kaboom!" routine. But as I scratched, something akin to the following came to me. One wants to go all negative on the tale but...I have to hope the Alphabet Soup types have better sense than the guy at the top of the stationery.

"...Another conspiracy theory to chew on: this drone was “allowed” to be either crashed in Iran or pirated… not because the Administration is the freakin’ Manchurian candidate, but because the CIA and NRO are devious bastards, and this airframe is loaded to the gills with the *worst* technology possible. Computers filled with nasty but invisible trojans, fuel and hydrocarbon polymers that emit chemicals that are hard to detect but which will give people who examine the thing too closely some really nasty cancers, radar absorbent materials that light up IR sensors like the Statue of Liberty and IR treatments than emit radio waves louder than Howard Stern."

Remember that the system was hacked recently (well, within the year if I recall...) and that a certain hacker went all room temp in the same timeframe as that Siemens snafu...maybe it was just a bit of this finally acquired...I far prefer to believe we've IR tagged everything in reach but I suppose it is possible we are Had.

Hell, I'm frankly more surprised that the Toner Wars haven't started.

Running Silent, Running Deep

2011-12-12T13:55:00.006-06:00

There are...Puzzle Palace doings just now that force my hands to be...circumspect these days. So I've opted for quiet in place of the vague mundane.

Everyone has been prolific, of course, and my bleating hardly missed. Go to Ed, Brigid, Six, Momma, Joannie, K-man, or anyone else over there on the right and you'll have a damned fine buffet of literary genius. Instead, i've sated myself with a new addiction (Audible) and trying to find gifts suitable and yet reasonable. It shall be the Season Of Handwork And Belly Filling.

And then...I came across this and went all thoughtful again, the tune reminding me of decades gone when the song meant something else, entirely.

We've certainly gone through a lot in a few years. There is, surely, more to come. Particularly as pieces on the table are moved into position and cautiously played. It could all bend `round and twist everything apart. It is possible. We will have to be, as we always have been, a team. Back to back and taking on whatever comes. It is a dark humor that strikes at me, though. A kind of universal jest that makes me wonder which side the punchline will land on.

So there - the cryptic nonsense I've been trying to avoid. Let me cleanse your palate with this small amusement. After all, I think He likes a joke better than droning supplications. Or so I believe.

Savoring The Flavors of Youth

2011-11-25T13:17:00.008-06:00

The holiday melancholy swings on its annual arc, bringing that nostalgia and
hints of winter's chill. It was a whirlwind ride of 250 miles yesterday to visit family and friends. The usual suspects decked the tables with their warming scents and familiar satisfaction.

The wheel turns and carries us with it, bringing valentines and Easter eggs, fireworks, turkey legs, and stockings full of welcome mysteries. But the way that wheel speeds up as we get older...that is a thing I did not expect. Age brings that introspection and patience as the challenges of the season assault us in the grocery store and on the street. Best to step aside and let that frantic soul pass - that, the lesson age brings.

As Trooper works another long shift and the dogs sleep from their day of snacks and running around, I've time to remember the holidays before...of mom's hands - not so gnarled - expertly managing every dish, the timing and logistics managed with the grace of long-experience. Each year we have the annual scorching of the crescent roll in her honor. A humorous gesture I am sure she'd laugh at, it was still a solemn moment of acquiesence. No more that bend of her head into the stuffing to sniff at the herbs and call it sufficient. She wouldn't call again for someone to hold the heavy oven rack as she spooned more butter over the turkey's glistening crisp skin. All these things we have taken away and made our own, trying to do as she did with as much quiet certainty.

I remember the first time I prepared the feast, taking the burden from her shoulders for a year. A rite of passage, a passing on of the rites - fold this, scald that...it was close but not the same even when it was my nose buried in the bread sack to breathe in the sacrament of sage and pepper.

And no more the walks on snowy streets after, the digestif of the pedestrian. I can recall dimly an ice skating rink of frozen corraled water over the dead grass at a park with "cheater" blades that helped not at all. And a sister, blonde and perfect, whose pom-pom'd leather boots skimmed with delicate hissing across that mysterious transparency.

Older, I remember a quick knock at a back door of a basement apartment and a mother's confused face as she carried in a basket full of a holiday's feast-making. She was not one for charity, the queen of Making Do. But I still remember her glistening eyes and furrowed brow - waves of anger, shame, and relief rolling one after another across it. I was too old to be concerned with such old fashioned familial concerns. I had alley assignations to attend to, and blue-crusted snow to break in a dangerous night stroll. I never really understood until much later the importance of that moment...the salvation of her duty provided by the kindness of a stranger.

So it is that a suggestion or request the other morning in a sleepy down comforter haze came with surprise, shame, and confusion...I'd given up that role and surrendered it all. Did I want to do it, in nearly the same late age as she did, so that the hands that wipe tears and pull warm rolls from an oven bear the same lines and thin skin?

Thoughts whirl, years blur, and I think on immortality. On giving more meaning to the season. And it scares me half to death.

I'm A Princess, Damn It! Day

2011-11-16T20:33:00.002-06:00

Yeah, so...it was "I am a special snowflake" day for me and I was nicely spoiled. My stepdaughter took me for a lovely day of Sephora sampling (got the needed Mercier blush, of course) and lunch after.

And then Trooper hauled home after his class to fetch us to dinner. But before he left I was given my gifts - just what I asked for! Every girl needs new Wilson mags, right?! And I coveted this bag so he got it for me, too. (Handy, I thought, for when you just want to be hands-free and holstered up on one side...) All the guys at GT's were cracking up when he said he was shopping for his wife's birthday. Hey - what can I say? I'm easy to please...

And now? Homemade cake, courtesy of my stepdaughter (mocha with orange buttercream frosting). And maybe a couple of these on my pillow. Trooper knows how I adore the little balls.

Heh...

From Camo To Heels

2011-11-14T13:38:00.004-06:00

Sometimes a girl just wants to be a girl...and after a weekend of masculine delights, this was a delightful dessert.

"Hard to dance with a devil on your back..."
Damn straight.
Shake it Out.

A Good Day's Work

2011-11-13T12:17:00.016-06:00

One has to wonder at their choice of banana-yellow caps and shirts for the ROs but we sure did stand out. Just not a color one tends to wear, generally. Of course, they were rather filthy by the end of the 10 hour day...

We arrived at a very windy range with a bit of a chill in the air. I was pleased to have my wool cover shirt in the truck as it was the perfect layer over my silk longjohn shirt (hey, it's thin, light, and very warm) and this lovely RO shirt. I wondered how the 1000 yd range shots would work with that gusting wind but, as it turns out, I would never know.

We arrived, waited at the briefing, and were assigned by our good pal to be ROs at the Top Shot range. Two teams (red and blue, of course) of two people each would shoot and try to be the fastest to hit two stationary and one stubby falling target at 100 yds. I wish I could speak about the rest of the ranges, vendors, BBQ, etc. but from the moment we arrived at our spot we were hauling ass. Trooper and the other ROs took the OBRs, mounted scopes, and got them squared away.

Before you could say ".308 " there was a line of at least 25 people on each team. And it never slowed until the cease fires. Trooper and his mate would greet the two shooters on their team, introduce them to the weapon, and then get them squared away to ensure they got the best shots for their 5 rounds. Meanwhile, I loaded mags with 5 rounds over and over and over again for 10 hours. Yes, my nails are ruined and, yes, I have a terrible case of mag thumb. I was so proud of my husband - he gave each person the same briefing over and over again but never made it sound rote. And each shooter was given very individual attention to ensure an optimal experience.

I have to say most of the people were VERY good about the lines, and there was very little grumbling. I think we managed to keep our line to about 30 minutes wait at the worst because we worked like a machine. One of the very first shooters (with a respectable 6.38 seconds, I think) was Dustin Ellermann. Trooper is a great fan of his, having such respect for how he represented himself on the program. They had a few moments to speak and shake hands. Many people recognized him in the few minutes he had in the area.

However, the most impressive shooter at our side of the range was Daniel Harubin. We'd been told that the fastest shooter would win a "big gift" so when the injured vet stagger-stepped his way to the platform we wondered how fast he could shoot - after all, shooters could only put a foot on the platform and then take their preferred position and shoot. This guy had a foot and leg in a brace, still recovering from having it very nearly shot off in Afghanistan.

Well, hell - we didn't need to concern ourselves as he shot the hell out of it. Sure, he took time getting up again but he just went back into the line. All day long he'd appear, take his shots and see if he could improve on his time. Eventually, the line understood - he would sit on the crate at the front and if there were any single shooters, he'd offer to take the other gun.

Meanwhile, 5 rounds were loaded in each mag, over and over and over again until I just knew only that - a glance up now and then, a judging of the line, ensuring there was a party of two or finding a match for those rare single shooters...and let me add here that the weapon shot perfectly regardless of the filth blowing into it, and the constant firing. We personally saw over 2000 rounds go off our table into the two guns so just assume 1000 rounds over 1o hours with only the briefest of swabbing with a dirty shemagh and a swipe of oil twice that day. (BTW, the LaRue mags were far easier to load than the PMAGs...not to denegrate the latter as they are AMAZING but for girly hands, they were nail breakers.)

During the first cease fire, DPS Air came in, SWAT in the doorway of the helicopter, performing a bit of aerial shooting. In the winds that day, it was impressive flying. I suspect Trooper's academy mate was one of the guys in the doorway but we were too busy to do any meet and greet. Instead, there was just enough time to break down the OBR, swipe out the worst of the dust, and get it back up again.

The hours sped by, rare glittering cylinders of brisket made their way to our AO, and I only managed to get a single one. I was glad we'd packed a cooler with snacks to keep our energy up. As the sun started to set, the line dwindled and Danny had lost his top shot standing ever so briefly to Wes (4.4 seconds). He came back and kicked it - knelt so fast that you would never have known he was injured a few weeks ago. Three hellaciously fast shots, three hits, and the timer sang out - "4.35!" and he stood with rather some effort. Wes just shook his head with a smile then shook Danny's hand.

Just this morning, he noted on his Facebook page, "...as much as I would love to be selfish and keep it, I'm going to donate the "Top Shot" LaRue Tactical OBR that I won yesterday to the Wounded Warrior Project. These people do alot of great things for wounded Soldiers and their families, and I couldnt think of anyone more deserving. Hopefully, when they auction it off, they can get alot of money to help out more wounded guys!!!" I am telling you - the guy is an impressive individual. Now, if only he'd quite smoking. *snicker*

With that, the day ended - as we packed up the gear we could hear the announcer call his name, and give him the OBR. Filthy, but smiling, we packed it in and headed to the Monument Grill for dinner. We felt a little bad going in there as rough as we were but it was on the way home and good eats.

I can hardly think of any criticism, really. It is an incredible kindness to the shooting community and fellow Texans. I might ensure there were better comms to each range and a Director to disseminate information. It might be better to host a two-day event as it seems to have become quite popular. And I might try to have more ROs to relieve others to permit down time and a few hours to scope out the vendors. If it wasn't within 100 yards, we didn't see it. That, and a separate supply of brisket for us. HA! Yeah, that's a must for next year.

Just add it to your calendars, friends. It's one hell of an experience courtesy of one hell of a man.

Big Damn Weekend

2011-11-11T11:22:00.003-06:00

The thing with being married to the law is that you take your off days seriously, plannning as best you can to make the most of it - even if that's planning a few extra hours sleeping. So it is that we'll be at the LaRue Day...Trooper will RO and I will help where help is needed. We've several friends with booths who can use a hand so I'll be their Girl Saturday and do whatever is needed.

Of course, being a woman I am trying to decide on the best attire for the day. Obviously, sturdy boots and a long sleeved shirt but...the Statement T-shirt is the decision at hand. Perhaps the Happy Face! Or...Kalashnikitty...

Or maybe I should just go with the standard Crye Combat Shirt which does the job without saying a damned thing.

The really nice thing, though, is that I get to hang with some really amazing guys (and gals). That they admit me into their world is a great compliment and I never forget the somewhat rarified air I breathe among them...unless they have the beans with their BBQ. In that case I battle for air.

Hope your own day brings big bangs and smiles...

Making Men Happy - It's Easy

2011-10-29T16:39:00.003-05:00

From the first day I met him, I knew Trooper was a man who had once held the very best weaponry in his hands and had skills to use each one professionally. Sadly, you do not get to keep them. And so...I have hoped to replace those missing pieces over the years and on Friday a large component was finally scratched off the list.

The LaRue OBR is one of the most respected rifles made. And I can tell you now how I know that's a fact. Mark LaRue is an amazing gentleman. He is also one of the most frenetic men I've ever met.

We were accompanied by a good pal who is an old friend so we were given a bit more personal a welcome than most might get. And a tour of the facility that reinforced the fact that the man not only uses the best materials and machinery but that he hires the "superbowl" level machinists who love what they do and never forget those they do it for. It was an experience that few receive and one that I will always feel honored to have had.

This morning we were able to give it a thorough breaking in and I was given the distinct prvilege of being the first to shoot it. Of course, it is tested before leaving the shop so I knew it was right on target. It was just the scope that needed adjusting and the Leatherwood was quickly spot-on.

We all had a blast and I cannot wait until we are at the long range...bang a gong...

Look For The Signs

2011-10-24T10:54:00.003-05:00

So, things in the south have been getting really ugly and there are activities taking place that do not make the news. There are tactics being deployed that cannot be discussed. And some of the reason behind that is this.

You need to start to learn the signs, the tattoos, so that you can gauge for yourself who may not be desired in your "tribe".

Some word has been getting out of fairly sophisticated actions and techniques being used in the southren battles. It is no coincidence. Add in the dissemination to that 1.4M number and you will find the math unpleasant.

I'll see if I can acquire some useful data on the signs...meanwhile, watch for those clues in your area. Target acquisition, early.

Stop It

2011-10-23T17:34:00.002-05:00

I saw this at Tam's and it just generates exhausted sighs, now.

I have serious sympathy for anyone that has to fly for work. We haven't taken wing in a long time and I doubt we ever will again unless it is a private aircraft. And I think that may be the only solution - stop using the service. The airlines have chosen to ride along on this trip to hell - I choose to not reward them for it.

Now, the TSA road show? They know several people are driving more so I am not surprised at the TN insult. But I AM surprised that those folks stood for it. The state police ought to be no-shows if they had an ounce of Goddamned ethics and a shred of honor left.

But it does set that populace to thinking - is this a state I can continue to live in? There is a reason behind my selection of TX. Not that it is immune to such affrontery. Just that most Texans will only tolerate so much bullshit in their lives.

One thing I think we ought to do...aircraft. It stays in my mind and I cannot let it go...especially after the flight recently in a craft that will hold rather a lot of gear and family.

But I do wonder...is it time to start getting to know each other? Should we understand where we each are and our strengths and ETAs if things go all pear-shaped? Friends...ports in storms...it has been on my mind a lot lately.

Pre-bay: Bianchi 77 Piranha Holster

2011-10-21T13:35:00.002-05:00

Through a rather silly set of steps, we've wound up with a holster that we do not need instead of the one we do. If it suits you, the $58 unit can be yours for $45 + USPS Priority Box shipping.

Says it fits 9mm/.40 Automatic Glock 17, 22 - check the link below for your gun...
Bianchi Model 77 Part No. 24100

Never out of its box, never used. Plain, Tan, Right Hand just like shown here.

Let me know!

Quick Draw

2011-10-19T15:18:00.002-05:00

So Trooper has started working at and participating in the three gun thing lately. He's pretty damn good and we've much of the proper gear for it. But I don't know that he'll get this fast...But it sure is fun practicing!!

Ann Hits A Solid

2011-10-19T09:58:00.002-05:00

She doesn't have single links to items so allow me to paste the entire thing in here. I have detested BofA for YEARS. I only bank with our local small bank that took no part in any bailout. Find your local banker and get with them.

Um, I think we should all stop paying taxes now.
Posted by Ann Barnhardt - October 18, AD 2011 7:10 PM MST

I think I'm going to withdraw my consent to be taxed by the Federal Government after this. Bank of America, as we have previously discussed, is exposed on Over-The-Counter forward contracts to the tune of $75 TRILLION, which is more than FIVE TIMES the total economic output of the United States in one year.
CLICK HERE FOR THE BLOOMBERG STORY.

They are now moving contracts from a segregated trading division within the Bank Holding Company which operates under the venerable name "Merrill Lynch" to their retail banking division alongside their customer deposits in order to get these contracts under the umbrella of the FDIC.

It is known that Merrill Lynch had OTC exposure of $22 Trillion. So, in shifting these contracts from Merrill to Bank of America, they are making YOU, THE AMERICAN TAXPAYER the de facto guarantor of these contracts. YOU ARE NOW THE "EXCHANGE". If the counterparties on these OTC contracts default, Bank of America will have recourse to turn to the FDIC to "bail them out". Where does the FDIC get its money? From the United States Treasury.

Bank of America just illegally dumped tens of TRILLIONS of dollars of OTC contracts on YOU.
But that isn't the greatest crime here. The crime is that your evil, corrupt and/or imbecilic and unqualified U.S. government regulators are not only letting this happen, but seem to be encouraging it.

A few years back my brokerage was audited by the regulatory bureaucrats, which is a standard bi-annual occurrence. These people just about had KITTENS over a six dollar interest credit which I had booked, but it was placed in a current account, and the regulators wanted it in a non-current account. Just to repeat, it was SIX DOLLARS. As in a fiver and a single. As in a modest lunch at a drive-thru fast food chain. SIX DOLLARS. This six dollars drug my audit out for WEEKS and cost me I-don't-know-how-much in CPA billing hours. And these people acted like I was some sort of criminal.

You just got illegally prison raped for $22 TRILLION dollars, America, and the fed regulators are the ones watching the door to the gang showers and videoing the whole thing on their cellphone.

There needs to be a tax strike. And I'm not joking. This has to end.

“The concern is that there is always an enormous temptation to dump the losers on the insured institution,” said William Black, professor of economics and law at the University of Missouri-Kansas City and a former bank regulator. “We should have fairly tight restrictions on that.”
YA THINK, EINSTEIN????

WTF, Indeed!

2011-10-17T22:00:00.001-05:00

As stolen from here (God Speed, Sir...)...

A Kind of Prayer

2011-10-17T12:11:00.006-05:00

Courtesy of a very good friend and excellent pilot, I was able to spend a brief time in one of these. It is an amazing aircraft - a lot of room, quite stable in flight and just fun as can be. I took the wheel for about 45 seconds as he worked back to the airport but someone in the queue behind us was getting frantic so I gave it back and we worked our way to the ground.

It is a very strange thing to be in the air like that with only the most brief of statements to a tower. No searches, no fears, no bother...but I know it's like riding in someone else's boat - you only get the pleasure, not the misery of ownership.

I keep bugging the man in jest about how long it'd take to get us all to Alaska. Or "can it go to Hawaii??" Trooper and he laugh - yes, with pontoons and a lot of rowing. What a delight...what a lovely kindness to give those few moments of utter joy. Like a kid in a candy store, all I could do was giggle and watch his sure hands adjust the machine like some wizard performing magical alchemy. Oh, for the brain of a younger person...

Just for fun, we went around a local good guys' range. A friend of sorts, we felt fairly secure from incoming.

"That's Only Part of It..."

2011-10-14T20:14:00.002-05:00

I always wondered why this movie was so touching to me. And then I read, "Portions of John Williams' music are derived from Ralph Vaughan Williams' "Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis."" - and my mind smoothes with comfortable recognition.

Audrey Hepburn's last role, she plays it with such delicacy and lightness that you can hardly stand to watch her. But then there are the planes...all the planes...and the man-filled environment with the one feminine influence. It makes me remember the one job where I was really happy - the one woman among a bunch of guys, carrying my own load. No makeup, no fancy clothes - just manual labor all day and a satisfied exhaustion as your head hits the pillow.

But I know, too, that dulled life of mourning where the only thing that works is the breathing in and out. And then that hesitant, angry yearning when the next chance at love stands in front of you.

But that's life - well, as Audrey says about death - that's only a part of it.

In these dim days when little hope shines there is sometimes only that - the knowledge that this is only a part of it. It is what I like to believe, anyway...

Add it to your movie queue, friends. Especially my wing'd ones...

Must See - Save The Date: Feb 17

2011-10-13T10:22:00.000-05:00

Looks amazing...

Finance Geek?

2011-10-10T14:35:00.001-05:00

So I know my 401k is gonna be worth crap before long but...I was really needing someone who knows what they hell they're looking at to give it a peek. Essentially, I want OUT of the market. But it all is "in" and they won't let us move to gold so...

Anyone good at that sort of thing?

Got Your Six Right Here

2011-10-08T00:15:00.003-05:00

Well, you leave it to some people to get it right and they just don't quite get it...

I think this is a proper answer. Good man, great warrior. And some decent eye candy, no?

Happy Friday!

2011-09-30T13:07:00.001-05:00

For all the guys...(and the gals!)...

"Save A Pretzel For The Gas Jets!"

2011-09-28T11:46:00.002-05:00

I told Trooper - the security team simply must get tshirts made with that exclamation on them for a photo-op. That, and The Man should add this video to his own Youtube site. It's that damned funny. And not in the crude or cruel way we've all braced ourselves for of late - but a genuinely hilarious send-up.

Well done. Very well done.

Playing Dress-up

2011-09-27T10:28:00.002-05:00

What can I tell you? Every outfit is a costume to me. It's true - every workday outfit is selected with a kind of set design in mind - who will I be working with today and what impression is needed?

But I really enjoy the coming holiday when one can just let loose with that desire to be Other. If you've the same need, I can recommend these folks without reservation.

Armstreet

I acquired this number for our Ren Fest trips. It is flat out amazing. The flax fabric is sturdy but also light enough for summer wear.

Better still, they've a sale and I can assure you that you will not be unhappy with either the quality or the fit - everything is made to measure so you can expect it to take about a month, overall, to get your item. However, it is absolutely worth it. This is particularly useful for the wench that would prefer her assets remained restrained to meet the local norms. So many costumes are made cheaply and "one size fits no one, really". You will not find that to be the case with these folks.

Be sure to order early if you've a New Years event. Not sure they can get it to you for Halloween but...maybe!

They also offer all manner of fun stuff for guys...

BTW, guys - no woman would be upset at receiving a delicate flaxen gown...after all, we all have a secret princess inside. Even if she does sometimes smell like CLP.

Sunday Schooled

2011-09-25T12:29:00.009-05:00

It was an amusing morning. At one point Trooper was antagonizing Kota, giving a kind of mock attack - bending over and across the sofa to get in her face...she gave him a left to the jaw so fast and hard that her paw was a blur while his surprised face remained clearly etched in space as he fell backward in slow motion. I worried for a moment that her amazingly large and sharp claws had gouged out his cheek or, ack, his eye. Then I laughed so hard I couldn't breath.

That'll learn him.

Later, I saw this on the site of the person I'd most like to hear sing.

Amazing artistry...and the costume! Oh, you know those do not come cheap. Lovely...

Last night, Trooper told me he was having a hankering for his Appalachian home. Seems this was remembered and rediscovered - the way he spent his youthful Sunday mornings before church. Look at that hair! And the clothes...goodness.

I suppose it all started from this. I love that music and we watched it the other evening...but then he found this lovely voice and we spent some time enjoying her this morning before he had to get ready to go. (He keeps laughing at the little boys' comment at the start...)

All of it a reminder of home, of being gone so long, of a yearning for a green and fresh world after a year so bereft of any such thing. There is an avenue - just past Highland - where the trees bend over and drop their autumn gold on the road. I ache to see them falling like rain...

What's Her Name

2011-09-22T12:26:00.001-05:00

Led to this via a bit of reminiscing - dark times, dark people.

Deeper Look

2011-09-21T14:28:00.003-05:00

I had tried to find this video a few times and gave up, forgetting after awhile...and I don't know why this isn't shown instead of...the rest.

Minute 35-37 has the most awful, terrible price in audible evidence.

This is what we are supposed to believe is caused by our actions abroad, by the blood left there, the schools built as a buttress against a future horror but to no avail...that delicate, soothing feminine component will never be allowed to step forward. The girls are broken, early, to ensure the men have nothing to care about.

You must remember that sound when someone tries to tell you we asked for it. You must remember that awful sound when you have doubt...when mercy tugs at your sleeve.

"So What You're Saying Is I'm Old And Fat"

2011-09-16T14:57:00.003-05:00

That is all I could hear in my mind as the doctor made her pronouncement. Just as I knew would happen, she decided that blood pressure meds were necessary. And it infuriated me.

The sheer anger that descended was an amalgamation of several things. It was a declaration of age, for one - that no matter how old I feel inside, the flesh is failing. It was a kind of Use By date stamped in my file. I have an expiration, of sorts, that I hadn't really sensed before.

It was a pointed comment on working out - or not, as the case has been - this last month. I wanted to draw out my schedule, illustrate my life and how there IS NO TIME LEFT to me. She just blinked and said that we have to make time for ourselves. Really? How liberal of you. I've people to care for, dogs, a house, and a full time job so...yeah. All that Me time is gonna get carved out of that.

And it was a reminder - "Is that all there is?" - that what I have and know now is...not too damn much. But everytime I think that small thought, I can imagine charred foundations a few miles away. Which makes me feel old, fat, and fucking selfish.

I'm exhausted, folks. It has been a heinous month, this one isn't getting better, and I could sleep for days...may as well start now.

(That whole hot chick video is making sense now, huh? Lure `em in with sex then crush them with pain. It's a lot like marriage, this blogging thing.)

Because I Am Too Damned Busy and I Love You

2011-09-14T16:57:00.004-05:00

I offer up this salacious bit of mindlessness. (If you detest fine hip shakin' hind ends, do look away.)

*I do hope someone cleaned that countertop later...

Aid and Comfort

2011-09-11T13:29:00.003-05:00

This scene was all I could think of as Trooper watched the scenes fading in and out on the screen before his duty day. It is easy to forget as we move through our days one year to the next until the annual debriding of old wounds. And we remember the pain, fresh.

A commenter noted here, "IF we had a President worthy of that title, when the Resolution comes up in the U.N. for the U.N. to recognize the existence of a Palestinian State, our Ambassador to the U.N. would have the lights turned down low and show this video and when it was over, turn up the lights and say “The United States of America will NOT vote to give the Palestinians a state; if they should get one it should be ONLY in face to face negotiations with Israel. And henceforth, the United States of America will cease all aid to the Palestinians AND TO ANY OTHER NATION WHICH VOTES FOR THIS RESOLUTION.”
Then walk out of the General Assembly."

And it will never happen.

It is why I promise my good man - and know I have his assurance in return - that there will be no surrender, no waiting, no hesitation. I will do whatever I must. To paraphrase, we must "smile when the wolf gnaws."

One Thing I Really Hate...

2011-09-08T22:15:00.003-05:00

...is when the door makes a sound like a key in the lock and the dogs go apeshit except no one is due home.

Springfield, momma loves you.

Puppies, have a biscuit you cuties! Rrrrarrfff!

(Yeah, cursory check made at door - not gonna do full perimeter since Trooper has likely already called the locals to make a run through and he'll be home presently.)

Times are rough out there and people who might have never tried a door before may damned well consider it worth the risk, now.

Carry: every day, every where, with enough bullets to make a difference. Period.

Distant Flames

2011-09-06T22:04:00.005-05:00

The view yesterday was not one I had expected so close to home. It was only the grace of a southbound wind that kept us from scavenging through ashes today. We saw one cattle hauler after another - even horse trailers with cows shoved in. And truck beds buried in hay following after...

It was difficult to sleep, wondering if the alarms would sound with little notice. We woke to a quieter sky. Trooper noted the aircraft were many and low as the winds had died down, permitting them greater freedom to haul the water.

So many stories of troubles and tragedies. But as Texans I know they will recover and likely with the help of their fellow Texans. It is sad, though, to know the pines will be lost for a long while. Bastrop's State Park had acres of ancient pines that we walked through each winter. Once I heard that it was involved I knew there would be no way to stop it - too much fuel and rich fuel at that.

I can only hope the winter will bring healing rains with refreshed pastures of luscious grass. That is the only good thing I can think of to come from this. That and a renewed sense of community as we all help each other.

Meanwhile, we keep the safe open, go bags and animals ready, and vehicles fueled. However, I remembered all the food stored and give warning to everyone who also prepares for hard times - insure it. Insure it for replacement value in today's prices. Inventory again if you haven't for awhile. An addendum will be necessary in the morning...and a new video of all the belongings to confirm any future loss.

And perhaps a trip south to lend whatever comfort we can...

History Revisited

2011-09-01T22:30:00.002-05:00

A very intriguing link courtesy of the Ghost...

The thought experiment started here..."Could I destroy the entire Roman Empire during the reign of Augustus if I traveled back in time with a modern U.S. Marine infantry battalion or MEU?"

And then a fine person took up the task. It blossomed, as such things can, into an amazing collaboration and tale. I predict it on the screen in 2 years or less. The whole thing is here. With a movie poster that made me crack up.

It harkens back to a favorite series of mine, Heroes In Hell. But I suspect most of the contributors are unfamiliar with the stories...nothing new under the sun, perhaps...still, a very interesting little find!

Those Damn Kids

2011-08-31T12:19:00.004-05:00

I can recall back in the day when rendering simple hair movement took Sun SPARC's and a couple of days. Add in that the young are processing the speed in these things in a way that makes me feel like a toddling crone. Just damn.

SOP Will Now Be SBD?!

2011-08-29T14:29:00.007-05:00

Fair warning: angry language below.

So one looks at a photo like this of older days when men knew war was hell and it was practiced as it always has been.

I am pleased that Trooper need not deal with the nonsense that goes on now. I cannot fathom having to find words to soothe his irritation at an order to withhold his wind.

"...audible farting has been banned for some Marines downrange because it offends the Afghans."

Seriously - what the fuck are we still doing bleeding into their Godforsaken sands? And fuck that We shit, anyway. I'm not suffering a bit. I am no isolationist but...fight it like men (and women - you better fight like men, too) or come the hell home.

All this pussification of war has me fed up. It is supposed to offend the opponent! It is supposed to be so damned offensive that he gives up and walks away!

One can only reflect on the difference in the sentiment above and the lack of sentiment in this.
(Though, I thought I saw a Tactical Noogie at 1:38m.) Real men, real wounds, real blood. You know, all those things the boys of today are being deprived of...

What in the hell is this world coming to?

Get `Em

2011-08-29T08:03:00.002-05:00

Guess what's on sale cheap today only?
The Perfect Pushup things. They really do aid in making each pushup count. If you are stocking a gym with decent gear, consider these a worthy investment of less than $10.

Over There...No, Over Here

2011-08-28T13:43:00.009-05:00

My father sends me this over the transom and it pleases in a strange, twingey way...
"At first, in dim light, I thought is was a Navy unit band, like the one I played in. These kids are pretty good.

Okay, the solo work was mostly stilted, and I'd have turned the drummer loose for more rim shots, but the section work was very good. Give them to me for a month and they'll match the original!! This stuff was like mother's milk to me, but not to these kids. They have done a fantastic job on it. I loved the trumpet gal's mouse!!

Trivia: Glen Miller made the soloists play the exact same solo each engagement. Oh well. Matched the recordings....."

(The link is from a Japanese movie, Swing Girls.)

I suspect I inherited a bit of my father's musical appreciation - I have a deep love of that time in history and the music thereof. Any Miller gets me "in the mood". I love the uniforms, the dresses, the planes and the movies. And I have always harbored that feeling...I knew this, then, intimately.

I'd been watching Normandy: The Great Crusade much of the morning, thrust into those hellish days and helplessly linking them to our lives today. Such privation, risk, and sense of duty and a willingness to give a name to the enemy - even derogatory names - and a media that was honest enough to present it...

We will never see its like again, I think.

I worry a great deal about what might be. Easy to do so when the house is empty and quiet as it is today. I have no answers, no predictions, nothing I can point to and say, "There. There is your proof. Now, go and get ready." But it is a feeling - as if Chamberlain is again muttering, "I've got it!" and we are all blindly cheering with a sense of safety and comfort. Meanwhile, somewhere else the Declaration of Independence is being trundled off to storage with, "...the Führer replied, 'Oh, don't take it so seriously. That piece of paper is of no further significance whatever.' "

Meanwhile, a stage is being designed and set upon which to host a final play. And we shall all be made actors, willingly or no, based simply upon our Facebook preferences and friends. After all, they can shut down an entire factory for wont of a slip of paper. You think it isn't that simple to compile evidence enough to place you behind bars?

The Holocaust was ignored by thousands within eyesight and earshot. You (and I) would slip beneath those waves with hardly a ripple. And perhaps that is my awful, selfish confession. I do not wish to go gentle into that good night.

Friday Funny

2011-08-26T10:11:00.004-05:00

These guys have a new release out that looks interesting...and from there I found their series of outtakes. If you have ever wondered what kind of goofy crap those high speed/low drag types enjoy, it's here in spades.

Reminds me of Trooper and his buddy. Being the only girl around them can be rough. Amusing - but rough.

Support Structure

2011-08-24T13:01:00.002-05:00

I am usually driven to navel-gazing, introspective posts during the night shift. But those are no more with the new schedule. Rather, it's an hour or so in the morning to talk, and perhaps 30 minutes at night, each of which are already booked with work or kitchen closing. That is our new normal.

And even that will be edited soon...Trooper is taking the last of the training the state demands to get him on the road with the - what is it they call the person? - dignitary? I don't recall the euphimism. At any rate, once that paperwork is stamped and filed, it is up in the air. Literally and figuratively. Some are gone for two weeks, catching perhaps 6 hours of sleep/day. Odds are he will become a preferred traveler - he is very good at what he does and he has done this sort of elevated work before. So I try to remember how it was when he was in the academy and I was a thousand miles away, writing, calling and just waiting. It was when I started this place as a kind of silent associate that would agree with me and offer mute comfort.

I look at all the housework that needs done, I try to soothe Kota as her eye irritation (vet appt pending) drives her mad, I deal with other familial issues, and consider that after work, I have to also find time to get upstairs and workout. The I have to get the dogs exercised in a heat that makes those options very, very few. In short, I feel rather put upon lately.

I know that it isn't true and even voicing it makes me seem and feel small. So many are going through so much worse. But I suppose it is the unending "sacrifice" that is getting to me - this constant keeping of the home fires burning thing. I can recall the same feeling when he was away and the wondering at when it would be my turn to be supported and uplifted as I sought my dream. But there is no dream...

What would I do if I could wave a hand and have it? No dogs to care for? Well, then go the companions that are all I shall have for a time. No house to keep? Foolishness. So then what? What is to be done that I cannot do if I would just do it already? Not a damned thing. But there is no one to help me do it. And that - that - is the problem. So what? I try to wrestle the frustration to a halt with that refutation that I hear in my mother's voice - so what? From the age of 16 to this day, decades on, I have always taken care of everything. And I do not know why I think it will suddenly change.

I was made strong so that I could carry those heavy loads. I was made smart so that I could see what needs done and how best to do it. I was mated with a warrior so that he could be away and not worry that all he loved would be at risk of loss or leaving. These are the things that I try to tell myself as I put one foot in front of the other. It isn't easy - all I want to do is pout and spout Why Me's and shovel in some chocolate. I want some damned sympathy and someone to do the ironing. And it isn't going to happen.

Time to put on those big girl panties - when they are out of the dryer - and suck it up. The support structure is ME. I am the pillars, my feet on the threshold and my hands holding up our small world. With some thought and care, it won't come crashing down. But I don't think that ironing is gonna get done.

The List `O Books Meme

2011-08-21T22:28:00.001-05:00

Courtesy of Leeann and nothing better to do...I read most of these when I was very young so I bold them knowing that I can hardly recall a thing from many. I went through every Asimov book - fiction and non-, every Heinlein, Bradbury and Clarke, also. Rather sad to not see C.J. Cherryh! But then I definitely feel there is a generational thing going on - my generation had read the "current" field as well as the originators of the theme. By now, there is a rich and deep variety to choose from...

Bold is read...

1. The Lord Of The Rings Trilogy, by J.R.R. Tolkien
2. The Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Galaxy, by Douglas Adams
3. Ender’s Game, by Orson Scott Card
4. The Dune Chronicles, by Frank Herbert
5. A Song Of Ice And Fire Series, by George R. R. Martin
6. 1984, by George Orwell
7. Fahrenheit 451, by Ray Bradbury
8. The Foundation Trilogy, by Isaac Asimov
9. Brave New World, by Aldous Huxley
10. American Gods, by Neil Gaiman
11. The Princess Bride, by William Goldman
12. The Wheel Of Time Series, by Robert Jordan
13. Animal Farm, by George Orwell
14. Neuromancer, by William Gibson
15. Watchmen, by Alan Moore
16. I, Robot, by Isaac Asimov
17. Stranger In A Strange Land, by Robert Heinlein
18. The Kingkiller Chronicles, by Patrick Rothfuss
19. Slaughterhouse-Five, by Kurt Vonnegut
20. Frankenstein, by Mary Shelley
21. Do Androids Dream Of Electric Sheep?, by Philip K. Dick
22. The Handmaid’s Tale, by Margaret Atwood
23. The Dark Tower Series, by Stephen King
24. 2001: A Space Odyssey, by Arthur C. Clarke
25. The Stand, by Stephen King
26. Snow Crash, by Neal Stephenson
27. The Martian Chronicles, by Ray Bradbury
28. Cat’s Cradle, by Kurt Vonnegut
29. The Sandman Series, by Neil Gaiman
30. A Clockwork Orange, by Anthony Burgess
31. Starship Troopers, by Robert Heinlein
32. Watership Down, by Richard Adams
33. Dragonflight, by Anne McCaffrey
34. The Moon Is A Harsh Mistress, by Robert Heinlein
35. A Canticle For Leibowitz, by Walter M. Miller
36. The Time Machine, by H.G. Wells
37. 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea, by Jules Verne
38. Flowers For Algernon, by Daniel Keys
39. The War Of The Worlds, by H.G. Wells
40. The Chronicles Of Amber, by Roger Zelazny
41. The Belgariad, by David Eddings
42. The Mists Of Avalon, by Marion Zimmer Bradley (One of my treasured possessions is a letter from her in reply to my inquiry of a movie being made one day - she was doubtful it would be possible or well-done. She was half right.)
43. The Mistborn Series, by Brandon Sanderson
44. Ringworld, by Larry Niven
45. The Left Hand Of Darkness, by Ursula K. LeGuin
46. The Silmarillion, by J.R.R. Tolkien
47. The Once And Future King, by T.H. White
48. Neverwhere, by Neil Gaiman
49. Childhood’s End, by Arthur C. Clarke
50. Contact, by Carl Sagan
51. The Hyperion Cantos, by Dan Simmons
52. Stardust, by Neil Gaiman
53. Cryptonomicon, by Neal Stephenson
54. World War Z, by Max Brooks
55. The Last Unicorn, by Peter S. Beagle
56. The Forever War, by Joe Haldeman
57. Small Gods, by Terry Pratchett
58. The Chronicles Of Thomas Covenant, The Unbeliever, by Stephen R. Donaldson
59. The Vorkosigan Saga, by Lois McMaster Bujold
60. Going Postal, by Terry Pratchett
61. The Mote In God’s Eye, by Larry Niven & Jerry Pournelle
62. The Sword Of Truth, by Terry Goodkind
63. The Road, by Cormac McCarthy
64. Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell, by Susanna Clarke
65. I Am Legend, by Richard Matheson
66. The Riftwar Saga, by Raymond E. Feist
67. The Shannara Trilogy, by Terry Brooks
68. The Conan The Barbarian Series, by R.E. Howard
69. The Farseer Trilogy, by Robin Hobb
70. The Time Traveler’s Wife, by Audrey Niffenegger
71. The Way Of Kings, by Brandon Sanderson
72. A Journey To The Center Of The Earth, by Jules Verne
73. The Legend Of Drizzt Series, by R.A. Salvatore
74. Old Man’s War, by John Scalzi
75. The Diamond Age, by Neil Stephenson
76. Rendezvous With Rama, by Arthur C. Clarke
77. The Kushiel’s Legacy Series, by Jacqueline Carey
78. The Dispossessed, by Ursula K. LeGuin
79. Something Wicked This Way Comes, by Ray Bradbury (One of the very best books ever for dropping you into a mind - you feel as one with the character...)
80. Wicked, by Gregory Maguire (Mr. Maguire makes my top 4.)
81. The Malazan Book Of The Fallen Series, by Steven Erikson
82. The Eyre Affair, by Jasper Fforde
83. The Culture Series, by Iain M. Banks
84. The Crystal Cave, by Mary Stewart
85. Anathem, by Neal Stephenson
86. The Codex Alera Series, by Jim Butcher
87. The Book Of The New Sun, by Gene Wolfe
88. The Thrawn Trilogy, by Timothy Zahn
89. The Outlander Series, by Diana Gabaldan
90. The Elric Saga, by Michael Moorcock
91. The Illustrated Man, by Ray Bradbury
92. Sunshine, by Robin McKinley
93. A Fire Upon The Deep, by Vernor Vinge
94. The Caves Of Steel, by Isaac Asimov
95. The Mars Trilogy, by Kim Stanley Robinson
96. Lucifer’s Hammer, by Larry Niven & Jerry Pournelle (If you never have, read it NOW. It's important.)
97. Doomsday Book, by Connie Willis
98. Perdido Street Station, by China Mieville
99. The Xanth Series, by Piers Anthony
100. The Space Trilogy, by C.S. Lewis

Autumn, Any Time Now...

2011-08-21T09:52:00.003-05:00

I've been suffering in this infernal weather for so long that it feels as though we've been stuck in time. Until recently, there weren't even clouds in the sky to break that steady blue monotony. But a breeze has come in the morning that gives just the smallest hint of under-100 degrees and it makes me ache for the season to change.

This, too, had me yearning...Halloween...

Of course, it might be just the thing for you any day of the week and we here do not judge. But I think I'll have Trooper making a few for me.

If only the chill would come...

Inspiration

2011-08-19T19:53:00.003-05:00

See, now...I know, in my reptilian brain, that this is not possible. I come from some kind of Russian stock and will always be better built to pull a cart than to fence with an epee. Indeed, I've never been a sprinter but can walk a rather long time if necessary.

So this little bit of - mmm, what shall we call her? - salted caramel is not going to be possible for me. However, I still consider her a kind of aspiration of perspiration.

We've all been working out - Trooper putting on the ceramic again this morning for his run in the only 100 degree weather that the early hour brought. I am sane and chose the treadmill - perhaps 25 minutes of off and on running. Not bad considering I haven't done a damned thing in a long time.

But I am starting to remember how it once was before I met Trooper - just before - when I'd hit the elliptical for a hard 45 minutes at the gym after doing the circuit. I am remembering the egg white omelets and yogurt smoothies. I can remember, too, how I was able to get so much done in a day.

Complacency set in and set in hard. At first, we'd work out at the same gym, but the his schedule made it harder for him and we moved which interrupted the progress and it was just so easy to forget...

But I think the real setback was the surgery. I may have - if I really consider it - not quite dealt with the consequences of it well. I was alone during the recovery and months after. I believe I just tucked it away with a shrug while my subconscious was shoveling food at the emptiness of body and spirit.

Years, now...I have to admit that I simply languished in this tide pool. Fresh waters came now and then but...I didn't try to improve my lot. And I lost so much in that stasis. The thing is, though, that I can see the muscles lying underneath the flesh. And I suspect they'll come back much faster than I imagine.

I was recalling back in the day when I'd get on the elliptical and suddenly there'd be a half dozen guys behind me on the circuit machines. I had no idea at the time, of course. I was focused and still had in my mind the image of myself as a waddler. I can see, now, that I had a fine ass in tight workout shorts and it was working for all of them as I strode my way on the pedals...I wish I could have appreciated it more at the time.

I was damned hot and didn't even know it. How much does that suck? Well, no time to worry about that, now. Dogs to walk and some push-ups to kick out (just because). But I have to go heeled as usual - new neighbors and word is that one set is unsat. Very unsat.

Mmmmm...

2011-08-18T23:25:00.004-05:00

I've had a rough day and spent much of it with Diana in my ears. She's like a cashmere blanket swaddling the harried nerves. With a large tumbler of scotch.

Mmm, darlin'...

Calling Brigid...

2011-08-18T13:27:00.003-05:00

You need this. I need this. As do all those gunny ladies we adore...

C'mon, guys! It's almost Christmas!

Just Right

2011-08-17T16:37:00.012-05:00

It was a very slow day at the office which I filled with some knitting, some snail mail and some baking. Here's a rather poor phone pic of the amazing edition of Fenimore Cooper books I acquired for Trooper as an anniversary gift. Now, in these parts, such a thing would be impossible to find. Or it'd be costly. But then I thought to send a message to my dear friend in the north. Billy made a call to his book dealer and it was mere days before his photo came to me.

A few emails later and the set was on its way. Deliciously weighty, wonderfully adorned, and with etchings to help keep the value, it was a terrific kindness - frankly, I'd have been tempted to keep them for myself and find something else. But therein you see the difference in our characters, no? Trooper demanded a central slice of shelf and they deserve it. The first book remains at bedside and I suspect he has been reading late while I sleep. Wonderful bloggy pals I have...

Meanwhile, since we're all trying to be very good, I thought it would be nice to have some healthy (okay, healthier) bread than store-bought. So I knocked out a few loaves today, one in a boule since Trooper requested it a few weeks ago. It's wheat which means you have to add brown sugar or molasses (just the way of it, I dunno why). I tell myself that the utter lack of anything else in there makes up for that sin. No preservatives, no colors, just good nutty wheat flour. I like that my pan is smaller - you can put 1/3rd of a recipe and get a more petite loaf which also means less calories per slice.

Now, if I could only get Kota to stop scratching at her face and rubbing the fur off...sigh...allergies, maybe. So it's been sleepy treats and benadryl to see if it passes. But I think we'll have to make a vet visit. Poor thing.

It's On

2011-08-15T16:58:00.005-05:00

Well, that goofy title could apply to rather a lot these days around the HQ. (And by HQ I mean my desk.) With the announcement on Saturday several wheels that were chocked are now released and things are in motion. We watched the speech (I wasn't as impressed as I'd like to have been with its delivery...) as Trooper noted that his boss was just behind that blue curtain.

I have been giving thought to the "cleaning up" of this place - though we all know the internet is forever - in order to avoid putting my darling man in any bad light. But I don't know that it's possible. What I have said under any guise is easily found. But it might require that I tone down a bit my own "policies" and present more dog & gun material which can hardly bother anyone.

Trooper is in a fitness mode - has been since taking on the new AO - which I aid via the daily cooler of healthy food. But he has upped things with a contest between he and my stepdaughter - most weight loss in 30 days wins. There were protests about how he could lose faster, etc. He just waved them off as he doffed the ceramic vest he'd been running in - outside. (Sweaty freak.) She surprised us both by trying on the vest and then turning out (after her own cardio workout) 8 very nice man-style push-ups with it on. I was proud, I'll admit, of them both. I'd performed (badly) an ab workout the day before and found that what I'd had has been severely compromised. I assumed it was merely missing. No, that shit up and left, people. So that's on my list of to-do's to-day.

He has his eye on some projects and plans. And he'll be on the road a lot, too, with the rest of the team for the next year or so. Which means I'll bitch a lot about having to do all the dog duty. I won't mind as much in the winter - I cannot wait for anything under 95 degrees - and perhaps by then I will be in great shape, too.

I have a goal, too. I intend to not be in the same shape at the LaRue day as I was last month. It is surprising what one sees in the mirror everyday vs. what a camera shows. I knew I was drifting a bit to "stout" but lied to myself that underneath the inches the muscles remained. Hmph. No, it's P90X for awhile along with whatever else I can manage. At least I can cook! I don't know how people do it without knowing how to make a good meal...

So...it's on. The pressure, the athletics, the dogs, and the culinary wizardry. It will be an interesting year. If I can make it...

Salute

2011-08-13T13:59:00.003-05:00

I've had shanties in my mind all morning, errand running, and turned to GBS to satisfy that need. And there was this...it was the best salute I could give to those who perished so far from the waves they crested. Fair winds forever...pick your pitch and sing, dear friends.

Giving Back

2011-08-07T00:06:00.000-05:00

It has been a hectic couple of weeks. We prepared for the visit of our godson, a young man of considerable intellect, sharp wit, an innate actor, and - with all that - a bit of timidity. We'd set up a fairly flexible schedule of events over 10 days.

I'd coached his mother on what he ought to bring and what to expect - particularly the two large dogs. His dad had recently purchased him a slick little Mossberg .22 (he already had a neat ISSC) in order to let him get the "feel" of a rifle with the inexpensive .22 ammunition. They essentially sent him on the plane with only a backpack of necessities and issued a very large box with everything else he might need under separate cover. It was a superb solution, allowing him to have a generous amount of gear, clothes, and fun stuff without the issues of baggage at the airport.

We started off with an expert archery lesson (which gave him his first wound of the trip - a nice string slap bruise that he would display proudly), a trip to the main office of DPS, fully kitting him out in western attire (Wrangler's, pearl snap shirt, boots, Hereford Low Crown hat) and attending a special full-auto shooting event which, sadly, would not let minors shoot full auto. Sigh...

He was, however, able to visit the LaRue tent. I cannot say enough for the patience, kindness and good spirit in which his trepidation was received. He was very worried about recoil, you see. The gentleman shot one round without it shouldered, the PredatAR barely moving. We'd been challenging the young man the entire time to stretch his limits and not worry - that we would not ask something he could not do. He looked to me - "take a deep breath and give it one try...there are only a handful of kids your age who have had this experience..."

He sat with a sigh - I knew his eyes were moist with his fear but he sat at the bench and shouldered it. Five rounds per gun per person, the sales rep asked him to shoot just one. After, he sat back, looked over his shoulder and called out, "Five rounds, please!" And, yes, he contacted with at least one of his last. DING! went the metal silhouette and I know that bell rang inside his soul, expanding his confidence in ripples. Of course, I took my turn - the OBR was calling my name. It's an amazing weapon and nigh unto impossible to miss with it. Again, those people were the very kindest, most professional folks I've met. Smiles all around...

Of course, he had to meet and ride along with a Special Ranger from the Texas Cattle Raiser group. This was perhaps the most impactful portion of the trip as it was just the guys - real men just doing manly things. He seemed to come home from it with a bit more steel in his spine. And then a Krav Maga class with a wonderful instructor that allowed him to get a taste of it - we think he'll want to continue it at home.

We took him shooting at a private range, allowing us to do what we liked. He handled his ISSC with confidence, and we added a scope to the new Mossberg, getting it sighted in. We had a bowling pin duel which Trooper won, of course, shooting his beloved first .22 rifle. He's had it since he was 8 or so and can shoot anything with ease. Toward the end of the evening, the young man asked if he could do rapid fire shooting as that isn't allowed at their range. I laughed and told him that he could do whatever he liked. He loaded up his mags and set to. At the end of the first mag was a perma-grin. At the end of the second was an evil cackle.

The date I had feared arrived: SeaWorld. I'd acquired appropriate footwear a week prior to break them in only to find they needed no such help! They performed superbly and I cannot recommend them highly enough. The same goes for the amazing Neutrogena Sunblock Stick. It was over 8 hours in the intense sun and heat...perhaps 4 different applications throughout the day prevented any sunburn! I fully expected a light glow but it did a terrific job - it was particularly well-met by the boys who always hate to have lotion-y hands after application. (It also fit in my pocket and was easy to have in hand anytime for reapplication.) I will be putting sticks in every vehicle, go bag, and range bag.

The park was surprisingly neat, clean, and well-managed. We opted for both the premier parking - no long hikes at the end of the day - and the all-day meal passes. The latter paid for itself with one meal and we didn't have to cart in a lot of supplies. The godson and I had a couple firsts - first coaster and first water slide. We both declined the Steel Eel (which Trooper said chewed his tailbone up and did not ride again) and the Great White (which the others rode at least twice). But the wussified Atlantis flume was just right for the us and he was proud to have accomplished the goal.

Trooper was enthralled with the main show, watching the orcas cavort. It really was a very nice production. By the end of the day, we'd strolled all over the place and eaten far too much junk - precisely what one is supposed to do there. At the start of the day I'd given the young man one of our Ranger Up rubber bracelets. I told him to ignore the naughty word on it (RTFU in short) but to use it as a reminder when he got scared during the day. I knew the companion (we'd recruited another boy to join us often during his stay) was afraid of nothing and it might produce a bit of tension. He smiled at the bracelet and would finger it often during the day, noting that he might have to put a death grip on it once or twice.

At the end of the long day, his heels burning from wet shoes rubbing raw spots, he held to the black ring, stating that he was "Rangering Up!" Not a complaint, just a slowing gait as we made our way back to the car. He asked me if he'd earned the right to keep it and I had to smile and admit that he had. (What his parents will say I do not know.)

We took him to the airport the next morning, and he donned the full regalia in order to better surprise his father. He loved the hat and boots - word is he was hardly recognizable to his father. And that when his father tried on the hat daggers flew from his eyes. Yes, he has taken on that Texan trait already.

I guess all this is just to relate how wonderful it was to take a young man who never experiences these sorts of challenges and to push his comfort zone out a bit. I know it made Trooper melancholy for a son. But we both know they don't come that way naturally - the boy is a very good one because his parents work very hard at it. Still, I know it bothers him, deep down. And I feel something of a failure in not being able to give him one.

When we were home and packing all the small clothes away to ship back I wiped away tears at the miniature boxers, the tiny rolls of socks...all his treasures stuck inside with a secret gift included - a Maxpedition bag for him to carry all his manly things in...

I suppose there is a kind of satisfaction that if everything goes to hell he will at least know how weapons work and have a rudimentary concept of coping with stress. We wish we could do more. We wish they'd move here! Until then we'll just have to make do with annual summer camps. They were already making plans for 2012 as we drove to the airport, me sitting in the back, knitting, and grinning.

This is how I like to remember the trip...one of my favorite photos...he has his mother's hands and his father's wild hair. And, now, memories that we hope will stay with him a long time.

OBR Lust

2011-08-05T17:19:00.003-05:00

Go on - just go ahead and put on your poutiest pout. Because this old, fat chick got to shoot not only the PredatAR but - yes - hands were laid on the OBR. Trooper has been instructed to take any OT offered because I want - er, no - we NEED - one each.

Thanks, you mad fools, for making a weapon that let me his 5 out of 5 without even TRYING. I'll be seeing you in November at the official Lust Day.

(Yes, there is video evidence, and no - you cannot see it because I look horrid and refuse to bring reality to this little fantasy land. Just know that it includes Trooper cackling as each shot brought out that divine PING! of success.)

Addendum: Go here for a recent article. I see I misspelled the product name. Fixed that for ya.

Renewed Tales

2011-07-26T08:45:00.003-05:00

As a spelunker of all manner of folk tales, this intrigues me with its possibilities...

"Producers debuted the first photos of Stewart, as an armoured, sword-wielding Snow White, and Theron, as the Evil Queen, at the Comic-Con fan convention in San Diego, California.

Read more: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/article-2018418/Snow-White-Huntsman-starring-Kristen-Stewart-Charlize-Theron.html#ixzz1TDdBEUta"

Of course, if they make the huntsman into some sort of browbeaten fool, it will ruin everything. We shall see...

Get it? Got it? Good.

2011-07-19T13:24:00.003-05:00

Get it?

Got it?

Good.

Glory Days

2011-07-15T23:30:00.005-05:00

Trooper sits, jittery, as the final moments of his favorite show roll by. Football dreams floating on a Hail Mary pass...I cannot know what those memories hold for him, how many he surrendered when he signed a dotted line and stepped onto Fort Hood instead of collegiate turf.

I keep the headphones on, listening to things like this, distracted but watching...I keep a weather eye for those lines crossed, as it was in that moment of the movie when men slipped down a rope in Somalia, knowing...knowing...did he hear old radio chatter in his head, still? Or remember a day on the range with the brave man who leapt to a certain death?

You cannot remove the memories or make them less urgent. And one ought not, anyway. But they should be measured...relived in pieces and parts for an appetite that is sated quickly with that bitter fruit. I haven't such terrors - or perhaps they were dulled, as so many of those years were, in diaphanous delirium. I feel quite impotent in the face of his mourning, years gone.

Years have passed so quickly that I can hardly remember most of those insults to the psyche. I have always been forgiving, too, understanding flawed souls intimately. I look back and see a great waste of time, decades spent on useless pursuits. But perhaps the path was intended to be barren, broken, and circular. It brought me here, now.

A witness. It was the one thing that stuck with me from the earliest days when I read Heinlein and his character of the "professional witness". I have tried to avoid making assumptions and believing very little that I had not, myself, experienced. It makes for a more lonely journey. But sure-footed, now.

Glory days...they sustain us, torment us, give us pause and urge us forward.

Quitting Endeavors

2011-07-10T15:58:00.003-05:00

As my wedding anniversary creeps close I am, annually, reminded of the secondary importance of the date. Perhaps subconsciously selected and only seemingly random, it was rather surprising when I was reminded of its stature in history.

I try to remember it all, those first grainy images as a 6 year old as we watched it on the television. Then there were later days in Florida when I built a cardboard mockup of a control panel to try and emulate those on Apollo 13 when I could manage any privacy. There was a kind of immediacy and magic involved - if I could manage to think it hard enough, they would come home.

As an adult I consoled myself with all the movies I could find. This series was a feast, though a melancholy one. I go here now and then to watch the footage and experience it all again, some of the shadowy frames bringing back hints of scents and sensations so long forgotten.

It was, no matter how ruined I was in my early adult years, the only dream I kept - not alive, per se. Merely...a touchstone. If not for all this, I would tell myself, I would be there. So much pain to dull and so little time, though. Years wasted rather than used to cram and try...no, too old, too late, and too damned stupid even then. All so that I could sit here, gently greying with silent tears slipping over a fate long ago decided.

Today, as in those last days of Apollo, no one cares who landed where, who risked what on giant engines of fire. They'll perform a dangerous ballet of connections, visit a hulk that was never given its chance, and surrender all in a final return to a planet, a nation, that has stopped dreaming.

The craft, this last monolith, Atlantis, is already an antique. Contracted in 1979, if you can imagine, it first left earth in 1985. Someday not long from now it will be tethered at KSC and your kids can put their grubby hands on its fuselage - never knowing that it likely was the end of their chance to make that trip.

NASA has not been, in years, what it once was. Some examples of why your tax dollars have been wasted live here and here and here. Look at this chart to see how it all moved from pure science and exploration to...bureaucracy. No matter how much I wish it were otherwise, I know that the private exploration initiatives are now the only way to continue reaching out and away from this nursery of ours.

I cannot help but wonder what we might have done with the better budget - the percentage people thought it was using - rather than the pittance it received. Instead of an EPA slush fund (check out that STAG number and try to figure out how much special favor bullshit will go on with it) we could have a generous amount of serious work done on alternative engines.

It is all academic, though, Graduates aren't even capable of proper grammar. They cannot be expected to understand the concept of extinction level events in history and that, this time, human beings will be the ones going bye-bye. Nice experiment, y'all - been swell...

No, they're too busy with Twitter, murdering mothers, mad mullahs who "just want peace", and the people who Think They Can Dance.

But there is a kind of resignation to it - that "I remember when" nostalgia to ease a person into their decline. Tales to be told to children, "It once was so...". Young men once risked all. Some young men will once again do the same but maybe with feet on ground, hoping to just hold that piece of it against what comes on the horizon. No time, now, for those horizons to stretch to the stars.

No time for dreams.

Farewell, Abandon In Place, and rust in peace.

What I Wish I'd Said

2011-07-05T15:18:00.003-05:00

It came to me at midnight, failing to find sleep though so very bone-weary tired...it was the anniversary of the death of my mother. All day long the malaise settled around me and I considered everything without ever running my mind over that speedbump of history.

If I'd had any sense, I'd have noted this.

On the Fourth, we celebrate open rebellion, high treason, and disobedience.

We celebrate men who killed their countrymen for their principles.

Men who risked being demonized and executed by their government, for their principles.

Don’t you ever, ever forget that.

Ever.

It’s not about apple pie, baseball, fireworks, and the Declaration of Independence.

The Fourth is about men holding to their principles strongly enough to lead to killing, rebellion, and treason.

Such actions led them to freedom.

Expensive, horrible, priceless freedom.

– Arctic Patriot

Yes, that is what I meant...do read the comments for further explication and why I do enjoy this guy...

Stand To

2011-07-04T16:38:00.003-05:00

So many have written eloquent words about the day. I cannot bring myself to try harder...nothing left in me, no energy or will to color within the patriotic lines this day.

Trooper walks his post today, hydrating and opening the cooler to see what I've packed for him. My days start early, always, with dogs needing attention and Trooper needing breakfast and then, on most days, the preparation of the dinner meal at mid-morning for him to take along. Exhausting, all that labor to ensure he eats well on the job that does not allow any departure once there.

Exhausting, too, my own work...people with behaviors I do not approve of and yet must support. I have to remind myself of the comfort I enjoy because of that role. Hundreds of people would line up to have it. Hundreds...

Because the economy is set to teeter then totter and force us all to make decisions that we've never been forced to make. Our grandparents knew those awful options - and could make it work because they were up to the challenge. But what of our accounts, all electronic and so easily snatched to zero if it was declared necessary? Hence, my borrowing against it to fund our vehicle, our other imperative purchases...if it will be worthless, best I make use of it now. If I'd been thinking, I would have tacked on a bit more to just get away for a time.

All this...this dark view is tiresome, too. I try to remember the good things. But my patience is thin and I have little to offer to others...distant friends act like fools and it takes all I have to stay quiet in the face of it. I am weary of this mask of gentility. The cold heart of my youth struggles against my facade of respectability. When do I get to rant and yell? Where is my vacation you goddamned usurper?

Blame this unending heat and vanished rain. Blame the ironing stacked away. Blame the dogs, pressing for fun that doesn't include going outside. Everything seems prickly and wrong no matter which way I try to turn it. No amount of spin can turn this ennui around. I am no good friend to man nor beast these days.

Time, I think, for sleep. Rest - and later to try again to stand against it all and smile. Smile as the wolf gnaws. Hold what you've got. Stand to.

Just...tomorrow, okay?

Duluth Trading Firehose Pants Sale - For the thin or stubby types

2011-06-29T13:22:00.004-05:00

Just a quick note for any stubby men or women - Duluth Trading has their famous Firehose pants on sale - they say they're defective but my pair are fine. They've only got 30/30, 32 & 34 and 36/28's so you'll have to be thin and tall or standard and short.

Search for part # 92204SEC and get a pair of pants that will last FOREVER for less than half the normal price. I'll be getting a few more if the stock holds out!

Da

2011-06-21T14:37:00.003-05:00

Like so many, I traveled on Sunday to make a visit that is not made often enough. My father isn't that far away, now - just a couple hours' drive - but I will admit we do not travel that road with the frequency I'd imagined when he moved to Texas. I think I'll be adding it to my calendar as a Must Do.

Someone brought all the old photos along which was very wise - the usual familial sqaubbling was avoided as we laughed at and talked about the old homes, antique clothes, and of how "gee, mom, you were PRETTY". Yeah. I smiled at that as my sister gasped in mock indignation.

My father watched us all, keeping up the conversation as is his skill - a raconteur of sorts and a natural showman. One could almost feel the cruel twist of time in his heart...how many more of these will he be allowed to see? How much longer can he continue with the small defribrillator maintaining his tick tocking? Its presence is always subtle but announced with every hug of his slender frame, that small, hard box just under his skin and always right where a daughter will place her hand to reach for a kiss. My flinch is unavoidable as I snatch my hand away, terrified the smallest pressure will be his undoing.

The photos of him in his youth were what captivated me. He was strong, a gymnast, and had that gruff Germanic nature that declared one must THINK, damn it. But it has always been muffled with that innate jester - the musician, the actor - that would prefer to play. No need to grow up, not just yet...and even with that tiny metronome in his chest ticking out his hours, he will still cling to those ways...

I looked at images like this one and wished I'd been born earlier in the pack, to have had more of him than I had before his Peter Pan needs supplanted that of fatherhood. He must have been quite the sight to my mother, small town creature that she was. How he must have stood like a tall wave pushing her to new shores...

No matter - I always knew. He gave me my words. He gave me my strength. He made me what I am even when he wasn't there. I owe him a great deal for that.

A long drive now and then seems a pittance against it.

Silver Whip

2011-06-17T12:25:00.005-05:00

I have been pouting lately over the sad demise of my Explorer - it saw me through many a long road and is just a sentimental darling but...with something awry in the transmission it was time to let go.

And did I evah!

It's used and came from an engineer type with a meticulous little book of his maintenance. It made me feel immediately better about the purchase. He also added in a number of neat options (Hella lights, MP3 connection, iPhone dongle...)

I can finally cart both dogs around! For awhile, now, they've been homebound as only one could fit in the backseat of the truck. I'll have to find some good local water holes to let them swim in - the heat is a bit much for these spoiled inside types.

Cool pic, eh? Pretty sunset of pinks and purples gave the silver a mythic kind of glow - appropriate because it came with a name - one that made me grin and cheer, being a fan of the Scandihoovian archetypes - Thor.

I think its call sign will be The Hammer.

Crap - there I go grinning again.

Under The Influence

2011-06-11T22:24:00.000-05:00

Just missing our friend. Brings out the melancholy.

There but for the grace of someone or something...

God Bless the Flyer

2011-06-11T12:41:00.002-05:00

These days I have more time to myself, Trooper off on his new role standing guard as dark falls each night. I pack two meals, coolers full of chilly snacks to ease the heat of the duty. Alone, my thoughts turn eastward to the quiet of a ranch and just the songs in my head for company. But there's no going alone - rules and wise ones, true. So it's home and hiding in the shade.

Except that today my mind turns to the sky. No rain, none pending, and the ground cracking underfoot. Anything for a prominence and a breeze. Wings or no...

Peaceful Labor

2011-06-05T18:31:00.006-05:00

It was a rare night out for my stepdaughter, a Saturday in-town rather than at work. I think she is still becoming accustomed to the distances - that one cannot just take a quick drive to entertainments. It was a Greek meal out - a divine lamb chop, a savory beeftekee, and then off to stroll the promenade. But first...dessert.

Really very good...one could taste the good vanilla in the cake and the frosting wasn't a shortening short-cut but full of butter. I slipped out the wee Kershaw Leek and cut it in half to the surprise of several in line. It was a snack I'd been wanting to try out for some time. But what the hell is the whole "fat free whip" addition about? I mean, you're shoving a cupcake in your face - what does full fat whipped cream do to make that worse?

We'd found some lovely apricots at the store and, since their season is brief, I decided I'd try to can them. It was a quiet afternoon's task - the blanching, slipping off the blushed skins - waterlogged fingers struggling with the slippery fruit. I enjoyed the solo work, ignoring everything but the process.

I think the hardest aspect is that the final product is so small for the labor involved. Just 4 pints of goodness for almost 2 hours of work. And who knows if they will pop their little tops and be safe come winter? A gamble...but I think it worthwhile. At worst we have a delicious topping for the yogurt or ice cream snacks to come. It is only my third attempt at canning but the're so pretty...so delicate. I cannot wait to taste them, summer on my tongue...

On Target

2011-06-04T10:02:00.000-05:00

Damned proud of this - not the video skills of the beloved - but of hitting the 500 yard target twice, my first attempts at it. He's a great teacher...and it's a sweet shooting gun...

Female Shooters Getting A Pair

2011-06-03T16:24:00.004-05:00

I am watching the debate-ish work going on here and here about the "good ol boy" nature of ranges and gun shops generated somewhat by some gunbunny bearers sighted at an event. Note: I adore each of them and their words. I think they are some of the smartest women out there.

I just happen to think they've strayed from the "sheesh, can't we just have some intelligent gun fun without the ubiquitous boobs?" sentiment toward the murky waters of "you menfolk change your ways so the more timid among us can be comfy, damn you!".

My comments on the former site were along the lines of, "if a woman is going to be put off by T&A, she isn't going to handle well a situation in which she will HAVE to shoot someone". And that is the serious bottom line, isn't it? Not just to make the whole gun shopping, purchasing and practicing more comfy - but to get women to just stop being so damned scared of everything!

The anarcho-capitalist in me just wants to wave a hand dismissively - start your own range/tea house if it pleases you or get your own FFL and cater to the breed. I think their intent is to make it more comfy for women to acquire and use guns, not demand that all masculine aspects related to same be removed. But if the coming Hard Times aren't enough to drive a woman into ANY range/shop and deal with it, then they will find themselves a going commodity when they cannot defend themselves.

I didn't have a shooter husband, I didn't have a gun, and I didn't know anyone who did, but I still managed to get my Mossberg 500. I cared about surviving. And you cannot load that into someone like a program - they either want to or not.

Hell, I cannot stand the attitudes exhibited in a local gun establishment. Yeah, not a lot of posters or moronic wanna-bes. But they are also chilly as hell if you don't look like a big sale. Frankly, I'll take a pudgy but interested host over that treatment any day. I am fortunate to have a more personal sales person to deal with these days and his FFL has nothing but love for me.

And perhaps this is what is missing from all the above - the personal touch. Perhaps they could offer themselves as consultants - $25/hr to find the best local shop, help them narrow down choices, and serve as a sounding board. Hell, get an FFL and offer that service, direct-like! Wouldn't that be a nice change? "B&T Guns and Holsters." Because there is a whole other industry to attack in that latter offering...

Clapping With Glee Like An Idiot

2011-06-01T11:27:00.002-05:00

This is so well-written and with perfect clarity and brevity.

I adore her manner and think we'd do well chatting under Alaskan skies. Her posts make you feel as though you are doing just that. Well done. (And eternal thanks for doing all that reading for me...)

Another Wise Man

2011-06-01T09:49:00.003-05:00

Breda posted a link (re: open carry) to the gentleman and there were a number of good things there. This was tasty. I am guilty of forgetting # 2/8 and need to get in the habit of putting a knife and fire in my pocket every morning.

It is always satisfying to find another good "read" that you haven't come across before. I'll be visiting there often, I think.

Understand The Border

2011-05-27T14:13:00.002-05:00

You see, the arguments aren't about why and how and if. It is about not watching someone peel the face off your loved one.

Understand this: it is going on, every day, over and over and mere miles from our nation.
They are in our small town. They are in your town. They are patient and trained (because we were fools enough to give them military training).

It is why I go armed, every hour of every day and fuck those who are frightened when the Texas wind blows the hated cover shirt about.

It is like nothing you can imagine and an entire country and generation has been steeped in it. It is coming. Please do not mistake it for mere "searching for work and a good life".

He's Running

2011-05-27T10:15:00.003-05:00

There is some debate on if he'll go for it or not. I think that he will - I hear toes are being put into water to gauge the temperature.

This won't hurt.

(Caveat for the persnickety: I am not a big fan of the NRA, I am a fan of the wonderful folks at LaRue...)

The Strength of the Good Woman

2011-05-25T17:40:00.000-05:00

"The painting (by John Everett Millais) depicts the wife of a rebel Scottish soldier, who has been imprisoned after the Jacobite rising of 1745, arriving with an order securing his release. She holds her child, showing the order to a guard, while her husband embraces her."

It echoes the sentiment that Ann held when she loaded this video. Men will fight - they will fight for the friend beside them and/or the land they left and hope to walk on again. But often times it is the person waiting on them, doing all they can to just keep hearth and home safe, that bouys the soul in hazard. After that recent post, I wanted to ensure I balanced it with this strong support for those who do love and respect their men (and women - I do not judge).

Home - it is a small word. Too small to hold all the meaning it conveys. It can be the worst one room apartment, holding safety if one can just get to its door. It can be that bricked hold in an enclave, gated. In our hearts it is a place we conjure up a pretense of security and love. For some, the pretense is entire, the true home having all the comfort of hell.

But there are those who hold it all together without much help. I've one friend who has done just that - always supportive of a man who cannot bear the daily whip of a master and has struggled to do without that and still provide. She gladly served up sausage and beans for months to permit him that soul-salving time. So many bear up under burdens we cannot imagine - the mil-spouse in crappy housing with little money, awaiting word from far lands that sometimes cannot come for weeks...

This song played on the rotation the other day and it reminded me again of those women who forget what they have, the man who would Stand.

Don't think those lone women don't stand their own vigil. Crueler, some. They have over eons decided that they can do it - they can "smile as the wolf gnaws", too. Those who think they will bow to some archaic laws and shroud themselves in sheets to mimic the emotional prison forced on them will be surprised at the fury. Not here, no. We've no ingrained sense of fear and intimidation, fed from the womb to the tomb by bitter brides.

No, those good women will rise. And wolves will die, surprise squatting on their brows.

Time, I think, to revisit this one. A favorite here in these gentle confines. A song to gird the loins. Hoc, hoc!

Storm Lessons

2011-05-23T17:11:00.002-05:00

The video here gives a really personal view of what strangers endured when forced together in tragic circumstances.

A couple things noted -
Flashlights appeared to be unavailable even though they were in a store. Commandeer same if in a similar position. A shop keeper may not like it at the moment but having them in-hand in the aftermath is important. Better still is to always have one with you in one form or another (LED lights on keychains, in pockets, as zipper pulls...) This is particularly comforting to children - if they have their own light they may be able to self-rescue if anything happens to you.

One person appeared to have taken some command and was the voice of reason. Such situations generally do find someone taking the lead.

Your go-bag may be all you have. If you're at home, snatch that thing out of the vehicle and keep it with you. If you are away and have the chance, grab that thing or at least the med kit inside.

I wish I knew if we could be of more help - if Ranger could help find victims...but it feels as though one would be intruding on the process there. Its a strange thing, these large storms. It was a weak couple of seasons, though, and we were due. However, the pessimist in me wonders if its just the earth editing itself just as every planet does over time. What if this level of weather becomes a norm?

Regardless, there are a lot of people in need. We'll have to see what we can do to help. If we do, we'll be certain to follow the advice here.

Throwing It All Away

2011-05-22T17:30:00.003-05:00

This is going to get a little rough so if you've no mind for it, click away and come back another day because I just have to let this out.

Ready?
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I have had it with this silly little cunt. She has a job I would kill for. She has God Damned clearance levels that are given to few. She is married to a man who is decent, good, and kind. And she is tossing it all on a heap in order to stir her loins to some utterly deadend motherfucking tease.

I told my husband at the start - she's fucked around and doesn't know how to wend her way back. Her husband knows it. He has waited for her, hoping she'd just stand there and say - New Day. Do over. And he would take her hand, never mentioning it again.

Instead, she's dyeing her hair - fucking ugly ass pink shards, at that - and slavering over the latest "I hate my life and you suck" bands, tossing on some lame ass S&M bullshit to just really shine the turd that she is letting her life become.

It's the saddest waste I have ever seen of a long marriage and a superb job. She is a genius brought low - probably because some moron figured out what really punched her buttons. And instead of mentioning it in her marriage bed she's just hanging it out there - and that is where she will wind up. Out there and alone.

Pissing her life away and for what? Crazy stupid bitch. You know where all those "friends" are gonna be when you can no longer support your fun - and theirs? When you've lost your clearance and your job because you've gone all unreliable? Gone.

All of it - gone.

And she has no fucking clue what she is playing at.

I just needed to say it, people. I just needed it Out. And I'm sorry it's here. For now.

Calling Joan

2011-05-20T10:49:00.001-05:00

Will this work?

Waiting for your muse to kick in, girl.

Courtesy of Duirwaigh

Don't You Do It

2011-05-12T11:46:00.000-05:00

Dance, I mean. Don't snap your fingers. Don't chair dance at the office.

Robert Palmer Respect Yourself by ronaldmacdonald33

Yeah, didn't work for me either.

It's Spreading

2011-05-09T18:39:00.003-05:00

When Trooper has to take someone to jail, he usually has an interesting experience to relate.

This reminded me of the last few and I figured it was proper to annotate them because - well, it could be a symptom of a growing - er - malaise.

There was a man in an isolation tank, beating on the glass for all he was worth - the only thing he could say was (at the top of his voice), "I"m the black Jessie James, muthafucka!" Over and over, for hours on end.

On a different visit a "couple" seemed to having a spat of some kind - one would say, "Chili-cheese, muthafucka!" and the other would caution him that his bail was low and he'd be getting out soon so look out. The only reply was a loudly reiterated, "Chili-cheese, muthafucka!" - given from a relaxed, prone position, arm over eyes to keep the bright light out. "Stop it, man - stop sayin' that!" was the cautionary remark. Once again came the only response (seemingly) possible. "Chili-cheese, muthafucka!"

When looked at with a rational mind, it makes zero sense, these blurted offerings. Who knows what reference they hold in the minds so moistly deranged by their drug of choice. Suffice to say that most citizens have not a single clue...those are what will be looking for what you've got when the squeeze finally trickles down to them and their monthly stipend.

Admit it, though - it makes one hell of a war-cry...
"Chili-cheese, muthafucka!"

The Waiting

2011-05-08T12:39:00.007-05:00

All the animals are sleeping, and the laundry's in off the line. The coffee pot's been emptied and I've nothing but time...Trooper had a short turnaround today, waking after 4a and tired even at lunch with a few hours left. We flipped a coin - should I leave for errands or stay home, still in pajamas, and do what pleases me? The tails won, my ass still in the chair with Ralph Vaughan Williams' serenading the muse.

It reminds me of a time and a place, rather long ago...
A third floor apartment, my first, alone...with hardly a stick of furniture other than my bed and a cheap record player. And my books. Long bus trips to the library for the records and pages that filled my long hours. It is when I found that music...

I paid a pittance to cover the windows, the pink mini-blinds on clearance, but the coverage necessary to avoid the hotel of ill repute across PDL with direct views. I could not know how, at a certain time of year, the setting sun would suffuse that room with the warmest, most comforting shade of pink and gold - what heaven's light must be like. Incongruous with the hell that was wrought in those walls.

It was an interesting place to live - quite near a nightlife that I could not afford and close enough to walk to shopping. There was the random gunshot, of course, but that height offered a safety from all but the worst of assailants' aim. A lot of my youth was spent there, those years when I ought to have been learning more than the lessons taught me.

It is, in my mind, always spring or autumn there. Spring when the flowers were everywhere, prolific, and one picked as I walked, the nectar licked from the end of the blossom. A face waited for me, leaning on that car, arms crossed, a vehicle to announce his status to those who cared to notice. That wry smile showed as I ran with my youth trailing behind me to him. Neither of us could know the path ahead. Death and sorrow, as every fairy tale tells. The tithe of old for happiness, stolen.

In the autumn, the leaves would cover everything. It was a wooded world at the city's edge and one could still find pockets of ancient south under the scattered mosaic of fire reds and pumpkin oranges. Stones in empty lots that once led booted feet to pillared entries. In my mind the wind still skurls the leaves about my feet, those ghosts trying to halt my progress - We Were, they seemed to cry out. We were. Anything to be remembered, it seemed.

I spent a great deal of my youth waiting on those unexpected visitations, a scant handful of days. But they still burn brightly in my memory, in my mouth, that nectar so long gone and remembered yet, to be remembered decades from now. We Were.

We were.

An Overtly Prodding Post For Preparing

2011-05-01T09:40:00.004-05:00

This is going to be the most disjointed and poorly presented post - I apologize in advance. But life is damned busy and I've a few things to note and little time for this outpost.

First, I have to point to this (tho I am late to it here) - Brigid, as usual, has taken the smallest mote of an idea and turned it to artistry. I am fortunate to have found my hero, comfortable in the knowledge that the two of us can and will fight for each other. It is a gift that I hope my stepdaughter can be given someday. Hell, I hope I can help it along since she's moving here in a few weeks.

Yes, someone mature, manly, strong in character and deed - and one capable of enjoying a woman who knows her mind and speaks it. She's strong - goodness, she is remarkable. But she is also at that stage in her life where it feels like she is on the verge of utter failure if she doesn't have something Big and Important to do. I remember it - along with so much pain and anger. Those were hard years, indeed. I do not like that she is in the midst of that angst but I also will not save her from it. She must struggle through it on her own and find the other side.

Admittedly, her "struggle" will be a bit easier since we're opening our home to her for awhile. But I will tell you this - I am thrilled to have her nearby in the coming days. No need for dangerous treks northward. Now, if we can just get her shooting to improve...och, she wasn't bad - just very new to it. And, of course, she liked my .45 better than Trooper's. Easier in the hand and less heavy on the front end. But I think we'll introduce her to the FN and the low-impact ammo I bought for practice/varmint work. (Those "special" rounds are damned pricey!) But first we have to get her EMT license edited for Texas and brush up on her skills - we've friends who are ready to get her on board when she's ready.

Life has been, obviously, hectic. And the world is absolutely galloping to its demise. We just continue to purchase useful things and make whatever progress we can against the bad times. The Food Storage location had no line today and a generous amount of product so I topped off our supplies. Do not forget - sugar and flour will both store in those orange buckets if you will buy the Gamma lids. Easy to stack, easy to fill, easy to use. (We like that online option for the lids - good people and you always find a good buy - worth the $ for the "membership", too.) Frankly, you can store nearly anything in the buckets and stash them wherever you think it safest.

But if you want that long-term storage (10-30 yrs), just go to an LDS cannery, buy the #10 cans and seal them up on-site. Again, you don't have to be Mormon or even give a darn about them - use their good prices on bulk, appreciate their kindness in loaning the equipment, and understand that they do not care who you are - they are happy to have people preparing to take care of themselves. Period.

As are we. Hell, I'll host a canning event for you if you aren't sure what to do. You buy your bulk items and can supplies, bring whatever else you'd like to stash in a can (wink, nod), and we can get it done. Because I firmly believe you will see the price for flour and sugar sky rocket. Do not get me going on the gas prices...suffice to say, PRI-G/D is the go-to stabilizer for your fuel products. Store it often, store a lot of it - that's my advice.

Och! Dog food! I forgot to can the dog food - well, Trooper will have to do that himself next week. Do not forget your animals when it comes to preparation. Storing large bags of food is good but not safe from varmints. Our canned dog food was still in good shape 1 year later - I wouldn't personally want to take it much farther out than that.

Don't forget can openers! You may be able to find the P-51's locally. If not, these guys have them cheaply. Toss one in every box full of cans - you never know if you'll have one handy when you need it.

I know I've bothered you folks with all this before - a number of times. But I don't want you to find yourselves on the bad side of things...and think of the kindness you might be able to extend to others in need - save yourself, help others if you can. It may be the only way out of the coming storm.

It Isn't Dead - Yet

2011-04-15T09:51:00.003-05:00

Just give this generation a few more years of wussification and you'll be mourning the attribute. Mind you, Texas still has a generous sprinkling of it in the characters of its men. (I've had a large copy of this print for many years - it speaks to me...the addendum in this version should be taught to all young men.) Courtesy of Ann...she's brave, I'll give her that.

Remembering Fabrizio - Once More Around

2011-04-13T21:21:00.002-05:00

Every year I take a moment on this day to think of this good man and the echo he left in my world. Heaven keep such a fate from each of us. I hope he is a sword bearer in that forever war.

Misanthropic Hostess

2011-04-08T15:59:00.005-05:00

These new smartphones are awfully damned touchy. My pudgy fingers managed to send a picture to about 15 people instead of just 1. But at least it wasn't a photo I would have been mortified to send to anyone. Imagine the confusion I've wrought since about half of them haven't heard from me in a few years. Hi-larious. Could be worse...Still, I think I'll see when the Trooper's cell goes into renewal and trade for something else. I wasn't built for this crap. In other news, my darling SUV has been undergoing some surgery - she's been down for for months, waiting. And it turns out the new valve body wasn't the problem though I had done rather a lot of research on the symptoms and that was a main cause. I can sell the old one for a bit of change. But now I'll get nothing but grief from my husband about it. He believes she's destined for the junk pile. I don't agree - but am beginning to see a crisis of faith coming. I just cannot bear the thought of a car payment, having been without one myself for a decade. Meanwhile, this is Trooper's next bit of reading, courtesy of his best pal. Back in the day, your G.I. Bill was a spend it or lose it thing and no one had any kind of handle on the program's specifics. So he lost all that in between stints. That's what he would have spent it on...instead, we'll be tossing his soon-to-end car payment at the dream so he can get those wings on his own. His best pal is a genius at the controls of nearly anything that has wings or rotors - and prefers the latter. I suspect Trooper will lean the same direction eventually, having an innate fondness for the thump thump of a rotor. Is there a drop of jealousy in me over it? Yes. But I know I cannot do it. I haven't the brain for it anymore. And it isn't a thing which one does half assed. Not one moment. Better that I find a different dream, I think... Now, this little bugger... She was a hellion. It was cut down about 100 ft to the east of its current location and faced the opposite direction. With some rolling logs, a lot of sweat, and my favorite tractor yanking it they managed to get it placed for future work - namely, milling it into planks after debating its usefulness in another format. Dreams, they have, of hand hewing it into something grand. A smart woman stands back and lets those testosterone fueled dreams run free. And now my beloved is wrestling with a shop vac in an attempt to remove the standing water from the AC unit/heat pump which has been leaking out. I peaked in the little porthole the unit provides and saw a block of ice. Interesting, I thought. Scary but...interesting. I know enough that it probably shouldn't be there. Earlier, I was on the exterior where the overflow tube is supposed to release its pent up fluids. Last season I labored long and hard putting in this terrific drain bucket thing to capture and allow to evaporate all that water. Because it is A LOT of water. But he had some engineering alterations to my design which didn't work. And then went with his idea (Homer Bucket) which didn't work. And now we're back here with the same problem. So...I think its time for me to just do what I wanted to in the beginning. That and ensure the wrappings about the exterior heat pump lines are redone to prevent humidity infiltration - because that, my friends, is where I think the REAL problem lies - and hope it does the trick. It's a crazy damned week. I refuse to even consider what might be next. I did, at least, have a lovely dream of visiting the Alps while wearing some really pretty handknit socks. I can't get to the Alps so maybe I'll just knit the socks.

Military Family Homes Need Help?

2011-03-31T17:21:00.001-05:00

From Soldiers' Angels Facebook post:

Extreme Makeover asked our friends over at Ranger Up for help find military families that need home help. Families must own their own home (which can’t be in foreclosure or have a lien). They must have children. Email extremerangerup@gmail.com with ......the family name, pictures, story, and contact info.

(Yeah, we FB - just not under our names. If you wanna know, ask.)

Uplink Initiated

2011-03-28T16:35:00.006-05:00

What in the hell is going on?! If there is one crisis there's twenty. Data overload is the goal and I am saturated. Life has been one cat herding trailride after another lately so I shall have to present things to you in bits and pieces. First, I have been trying to keep up with all my good friends and their words but time is hard to find to keep up with it all. However, this piece was quite a good bit of work. (Thanks, Joan, for the link.) As I've noted here before - people think they can vote their way out of this - you are a fool to think you'll be permitted that pleasure. Once that power is acquired, they will not let it go. Some think Progressives are the same animal as Liberal - as in the olde tyme Liberal. Progressives will make houseboys of those liberals and laugh at their begging for crusts. And, of course, Tam smacks it outta the park. (The comments are amusing as hell, too. DIRTCRASHR - damned beverage warning was needed for that.) Not as relatedly, there is an author who wrote the best snark back in the day. His books are Gutenberg'd. Read. Enjoy. Damned amusing and we need the laughs these days. I am confident the things download into whatever magic device you youngin's are carrying these days. Billy will recall the one bit - "If my blood counts, there are at least three corners in the County that are forever England.” I spent some of the weekend driving this thing. I love it. I simply love it. There is nothing like a machine that goes and does where and what you tell it to...I cannot wait to start digging up dirt and planting with it. Just imagine the chaotic rows I'll manage on my first try. From the air it'll be all Nazcan. (It's a word. I say so.) I finished knitting my very first bit of clothing - a sweater - which is not bad at all. (No, not a codpiece though I was tempted! Yes, there is a pattern. Adjustable. Ahem.) Texas has kindly chosen to give us a bit of a chill so I can actually wear it tonight. Then, into the drawer until winter. It only took me a year, off and on. Damned cables.

Trooper has been lumberjacking lately - gets him all het up, it does. I may have to get him a nice Husqvarna for our anniversary. He has managed to impress a podiatrist with the size of his Haglund's Deformity. Not even in his clinical work had he seen any as...well, mighty. On both feet. But its the horn of a bone spur on the bottom of his heel, carving a lovely notch into the muscle on the bottom of his foot, that is making life oh-so-hellish for the man. Steroids for now. But likely a surgery in his future with a six week rehab of single footedness. I could put him in a wheelchair and hook the dogs to it. Walkies!

Seriously, it's a difficult time for him - he has to use the foot, daily, and he cannot do the job in kinder, gentler shoes. He's been soldiering on for months, now. When the man winces, you can bet your ass I'd be shouting in agony.

We had company recently and gave new shooter smiles to mom, dad, and young man. I can only imagine what his "what I did for my spring break" story said. "Then he let me shoot the SOCOM! But I liked the AR best." In truth, the boy listened carefully and took on every single weapon we brought. Guess which he liked best - yes, the FN Five-SeveN. Good taste. We were able to get his father to understand that at his experience level a shotgun was more useful for defense. Plenty of time to move to the M4. He bought one before he even left the state. The .22 convertor for the 1911 worked like a charm - lets newbies handle the heft of a semiauto without the "ooh skeery" recoil. In fact, the young man took to Texas so well that he is looking forward to spending a week here. Trooper is already lining out his education - tracking, archery, more shooting...

(Just between us...it makes me hate that POS uterus I had. Trooper would have been a great dad.)

As you can tell, that is just the skinny layer of jam on top of the global crap sandwich. I really don't know what more there is to be done. It is obvious, the whole carnival of delights they planned and are executing. What say you we all go Wisconsin on their asses at the local IRS offices on the 15th? "You can't get blood from a turnip, you low life sonsabitches!" Wait - that doesn't rhyme. Slogans, people. Slogans and chants. That and an extension form.

We here in our corner of the world hope your corner is pleasant and full of good condiments and stored foodstuffs.

An Observer

2011-03-18T21:46:00.005-05:00

Tomorrow I accompany a young man to his first Warrior Dash. He is in terrific shape and I think he'll do pretty well if he will feed himself properly. I wonder if he carb loaded.

I figure it will be a good way to see how horrid it is before I commit to it, myself. If you asked me just now, I'd have to say No Way. But then I've been feeling rather poorly for some time, now. (Yeah, yeah - I've got the doc appt.) You know how it is - life just demands that you keep on keeping on. But it isn't breaking, that general malaise. Always an underlying feeling of bleh...

That is why I have been more of an observer of late - no energy for more. Hardly enough to put words here that have any kind of usefulness or resonance.

Perhaps it will be an inspiring day. Yeah, I'll go with that.

Distractions

2011-03-17T13:02:00.002-05:00

I've been delving into other things as the news continues in the background. Cast on some new knitting for a shawl to match a new dress, the pattern bought from someone who is donating the cost to appropriate charities...

I have also been mulling over which of my favorite books I'd send to Michael Behenna. I have dealt with a similar situation in the past, taking those calls with the unending recordings and the rushed goodbyes before the cut off. It was a kindness I allowed though it wasn't perhaps understood by others. Books, too, made their way and were perhaps the best thing. I am still baffled that the man remains in prison when there is evidence that would release him. I keep thinking that the man who died must have been someone of value to someone of power. No other reason for the prosecution to deliberately avoid and deny the exculpatory evidence.

Another stop on the road of distraction has been here. Someone is making an IMAX movie from the ignored and glorious images of Saturn from the Cassini-Huygens mission. It's amazing and worthy of your review.

Billy has noted this as the best source for news in Japan. I cannot help but think of that small army of dead men walking who are trying to tamp down the thing. Brave and surrendering all they are to save the rest, if they can. I wish we had their names...I assume one day we will, their graves sacred. Their gift is not only for Japan but for the rest of us hoping to not bend our head under a dangerous sky. Bless them all.

Tangents

2011-03-15T21:21:00.002-05:00

I have, for many years, had an affinity for all things Japanese. I can recall a box that my father gave my mother, acquired when his Navy ship stopped there. I coveted the lacquered black etched with mother-of-pearl and have never really gotten over the fact that she gave it to my sister.

I read Sei Shonagon's book over and over, the aesthetics therein stirring something deep inside. I was mortified at a very traditional tea ceremony to have come clomping in with my shoes, stopping at just the verge of the sacred space with a gasp of sudden comprehension, and feeling that horror throughout the event.

I have found myself disturbed in a way hard to describe. I suspect it is a bit like what people were feeling during 9/11, taking on a tragedy in which they had hardly a peripheral impact. I wondered at them, so enrapt in the news, so saddened, when it was a thousand miles away and no one they knew had died. Tragic, yes, but not personal...

And I think I know, now, that depth of disturbance. My soul catches on the hook of it - of all those people lost, and the gentle manners of those living, trying to be thoughtful of others when we wouldn't fault them for turning into grasping, thieving survivors.

"There are lots of people dead and it's too much to ask to bring the dogs," said Mr. Kikuchi. "It would be inconsiderate to other people's sadness." In that simple sentence you have the idea of it.

My mind keeps returning to the movie, Akira Kurosawa’s Dreams. It, too, impacted me deeply when I first saw it in the early `90's. So lovely and horrid...full of myths and lessons...so completely Japanese in sentiment and visual. If you've never seen it, I highly recommend it.

As for the sturm und drang of the radioactive status there - I think this just the right thing. No one is safe from this sort of shrugging of the earth. It is a highly volatile and changeable system that we will never control and never be safe from. Our time here is always a crap shoot and this lovely world will one day cease to be. We all like to think it will be in a million years. But it could be tomorrow. The fact that we've absolutely no options to get off the damned thing seems the worst kind of waste.

Ah, dear...my mind cannot help but turn to those suffering and yet, coping. So many lessons we can learn from this. Try to let go the media madness and, instead, use it to educate yourself on what you would do in such dire straits. It is the least you can do for them. All those lovely souls lost...

Almost Good Enough

2011-03-04T18:33:00.003-06:00

When a certain someone has a birthday, I do try to make it particularly special. Homemade cake is one way I manage to do so. Chocolate/chocolate via the Ghirardelli cocoa recipe. With extras tossed on. Ignore the Cthulhu-like decor. My good tips have gone missing and had to use the funky British ones that do not work.

Still, a nice treat to come.

Sometimes It Shows

2011-03-04T11:56:00.003-06:00

Given the right music and a proper state of mind, Trooper will thrust himself to his feet for a bit of this.

Lord love him.

Skeletons and Their Closets

2011-02-28T14:45:00.002-06:00

As found on Beck's Facebook, a link to this article.

"The second step, the KGB head informed Andropov, was a Kennedy strategy to help the Soviets "influence Americans." Chebrikov explained: "Kennedy believes that in order to influence Americans it would be important to organize in August-September of this year [1983], televised interviews with Y. V. Andropov in the USA." The media savvy Massachusetts senator recommended to the Soviet dictator that he seek a "direct appeal" to the American people. And, on that, "Kennedy and his friends," explained Chebrikov, were willing to help, listing Walter Cronkite and Barbara Walters (both listed by name in the memo) as good candidates for sit-down interviews with the dictator."

Such things happen all the time. Truly not strange bedfellows. Remember this when you start dismissing people who bring you information you think entirely ludicrous. A Senator was ready to help Soviets in any way possible. Several still are - they just call it something else and the young just go back to whatever viral video has caught their synapses.

The rot is deep and wide and this is only part of the reason why you may not be able to vote your way out of it.

Stocked Up

2011-02-27T23:08:00.003-06:00

We decided to take advantage of the current fuel prices and snagged three large cans full. But better still...

The local grocery had chicken at $1/lb. Bone-in thighs and legs, it was a pretty decent deal. It put me in mind of this fellow's find though it didn't even occur to me to ask about a better price on quantity. Trooper will do that tomorrow if any is left.

Managed to get about 20 lbs for friends and 20 for our freezer. Now we've a generous plenty in the freezer against higher prices and scarcity. And, yes, we've a generator to keep it safe if need be.

Be sure to keep your own eyes peeled for those kinds of deals and take every advantage of them when you can. As for the vacuum sealer (really necessary for these sorts of situations) - we used coupons from Kohl's to get ours at 25% off and use their other coupons as they come in to restock the bag material. If you've one in your area, it's a worthy investment.

Tanking Up

2011-02-27T12:35:00.003-06:00

If you know anyone who owns a mom and pop type of gas station, you might want to alert them to securing that fuel. A similar shop in a nearby small town had 800 gallons of diesel stolen in the middle of the night. Yes, obviously someone came with their own tanker and yes, they knew how to do it because the pump numbers weren't showing what they ought.

It is only going to get worse. Damned glad our associate snagged that 500 gallon tank I found on Craigslist. Looks like a good time to get it filled.

Undaunted By Truth

2011-02-27T10:42:00.004-06:00

I've added a link to a very interesting site, Undaunted. The author is unapologetic about rendering facts relating to the war offshore and how it can be brought here with very little effort, indeed.

Too, there is a lot of good information about self-defense, seeing threats before they become threatening, and some hard-core facts, photos, and tips. Just be warned that there are disturbing items there.

A Tidy Solution

2011-02-20T23:43:00.002-06:00

I like the way he thinks...

"Governor Walker needs to sign an executive order declaring a State of Emergency and ordering the Senate to come to order. If the Democrats refuse he should then declare their seats abdicated and hold special elections."

After all, if they have chosen to play the game, then play by the rules, yes - play on.

You Don't Believe It

2011-02-20T16:42:00.003-06:00

This is a wonderful, terrible letter.

When one decides to enter into this life, it isn't without the thought that you might one day find yourself trembling as bagpipes play. In fact, if Trooper wasn't as highly trained as he is, I'd have been more reticent. But there is a lot of comfort in the knowledge that "this ain't [his] first rodeo".

Still, so many troopers perish without anything more going wrong than they didn't look back often enough at the oncoming traffic as they tried to also watch a car full of people. The mundane death is perhaps only slightly less horrific than that of violent action and reaction.

We had that fleeting touch a few years ago...his call, only a few minutes after he'd left me with a kiss that evening, held too much of that flat tone and simple syllables. Most important to me was that he was okay - bent, bruised, even ventilated was "okay" in my mind then. Breathing, present and staying that way was what I needed to know. A wreck, he had a hard time telling me that it was a fatality. I knew, in a moment, that it had been and felt my mind take that and tuck it aside for the moment. It was a surreal moment in which my brain worked like a computer - if this, then that. Simple toggles being flipped until the course of action necessary was calculated. Pure, cold logic.

Don't come, he said. As if that was an option. Discarded, my brain demanded more. Where? When? He begged me to be careful driving, his voice cracking. The EMTs took him over and the conversation ended with the wail of sirens. I took time to look at a map, to understand where to go, I grabbed bottles of water and a coat - I didn't know what to bring. And without another thought I left. I recall now that my usual poor night vision was sharp, that every turn was remembered. I drank a bottle of water, knowing that the adrenalin was going to make me feel like shit before long.

I had to pass the scene on the way - I took the shortest glance to just assess my access point - I had to get around it and didn't want to announce to all there who I was in order to get by.

At the hospital - you know the kind: go there if you are dying then get the hell out as soon as you can - I pulled into the driveway for emergency vehicles, directed there by his friend with the EMT service. I wanted to park out of the way, even then trying to be considerate. I asked snipped questions. Is he okay? Was it a fatal? Can I see him now? I was all business and I think it might have stunned them. On the way in, the sea of uniforms surprised me. Curt nods to them as I passed, a kind of recognition and thanks. And the briefest smile and handshake with the woman who offered her card - for when he was ready to talk about it or if he needed help later.

It was a small room off to the side near the entrance and it was full of people. My eyes did a survey - small specs of blood as though cuts from shaving on his face - broken glass, of course, though I wasn't sure at the time. He was doing okay - there was a bit of a deer in the headlights look to his face but he was processing. His good friend was there and spoke to me quietly as the medical personnel finished up with him. His wife was in the lobby so I took the time to go see her, knowing it was late and she deserved to know why they'd had to hustle into town.

She was very kind. I spoke quietly to her, my own quaking starting as my nerves began to feel again. I did not have time to cry, having shed only a few tears at the sight of him, and she made me feel too sensitive with her feminine kindness. Dear friends...

I marched back through the "No Access" doors to his room in time to see a rather uncomfortable encounter which I shall not detail here because there were lawsuits, of course, and that bit of business was so tasteless and crass that I will be too unkind in the retelling. I wanted him out of there - but there was a bit more to be done. A final touch of disgrace as they had someone come take blood to ensure he hadn't been impaired. We knew it was just a formality but it was a bit too much of an echo of his duties...that crossing of the line. It was then I met a high ranking member of DPS who was there to give us comfort. He was so...solid. He exuded quiet competence and I was equally steadied and suspicious. It must be bad, I thought, if he is here. I think it was only then that my mind permitted that thought to enter - yes, it was bad. It would be bad for awhile.

The drive home was also strange - he wanted to drive out of habit and I barked out a laugh. I reminded him he had calls to make. I was hoping he'd reach his brother - who never answered his phone. I passed him the bottle of water which he gulped down. Smart, he said. Most people don't think about that. Home, I think I had him shower before we spoke. And we talked a long time. But it was months before he told me everything...and years before it was all settled and he could safely see the lady whose card I was passed. Only then was he able to start letting it go. Only then was it safe to talk about it, and find a way to live without it in his mind every day.

It was a very close thing, you see. His vehicle took the blow in the front post passenger side. Just 2 inches - just 2 damn inches - and I'd have been telling a different story. So I have the barest sliver of idea of what this man is feeling as he tries to do his duty. To make words fit around a thing still too brittle and sharp.

This video ought to be played in every single leadership class and every recruiting drive. Never has a man given so much of himself so publicly...so much severe honesty...please, ride it through. I know it's 20 minutes of your day. Get a cup of coffee, some Kleenex, and give it - give yourself - those minutes. You will learn lessons no matter what you do or who you are.

No, we never believe it will happen to us. You can't and still do the job. But I try to never let him go without a kiss. Or in a bad mood. One more kiss might have prevented all the above, after all.

It is the one thought that I never let go - just one more kiss and it wouldn't have happened. My own penance...

PFLS

2011-02-17T21:37:00.002-06:00

I just cannot help it. Whenever I read about the morons Over There I have to smile as I recall their counterpart in the Thieves World books, PFLS.

Just Another Day...With You

2011-02-14T12:03:00.005-06:00

It was a kind of early celebration of the day. Trooper had a few different loads to test in the new rifle so off to the range we went. The weather was a lovely 65 degrees and up as the day progressed but with a fairly constant wind (as the target attests).

Still, as we all agreed, one is not always given perfect weather to perform in - just as well to work under some challenging weather. Besides, the sun was out. It felt amazing.

There were three loads to trial and each did fairly well, really. But one was a definite winner. You can see my three shots in the upper left pie wedge. I'd aimed for the point of that pie so, adding in the wind, I don' t think I did badly at all for my first 100 yd attempt!

The rifle has a terrific trigger - I told him that the only way I could describe it was like the best champagne's thrilling zing of the tiniest bubbles on your tongue. It truly sent a kind of electric ziiitttzzz through me just before the very slight recoil distracted.

This little tool (a present I gave him for Christmas) was helpful though we really didn't have the drop #'s for the rounds so we couldn't calculate the 500 yd shot. No, in time...in time...

As for today, I woke a bit early today to slice the homemade cinnamon swirl bread and soak it in eggs for the delicious Surrender Toast to come. He was, as is his preference, given his warmed maple syrup on the side. Some good coffee made it complete. That and, of course, the bacon. The dogs eyed it as though waiting for it to do a jig and fall off the plate to their patient tongues. And yes, some always does.

But I was trying to find something for him because we aren't really adherents to the MUST BUY CARD AND PRESENT rules of the day. I think Mary Fahl manages it nicely here in a song she wrote for her own intended. If you are in the northern climes and have a chance, she is worth the trip to see.

To my own good man who would turn a river if only I asked. Love you, always.