Rain

Gene Hill once wrote that rain may be the oldest sound to reach the porches of man's ear.

As I write this, a glass of tea sits at my elbow. My head and shirt are wet and it's raining outside. What the weatherman calls a local thunderstorm. It's a gentle rain, pattering on the concrete outside, cooling the afternoon and settling the dust.

I like rainstorms like this, whether I am in the woods or in town. The world seems to take a breath and get under cover while the rain rearranges the day. The lightning crashes and the rain falls in sheets only for a little while, then settles into a gentle dousing, wetting everything thoroughly. Were I a paleo-hunter-gatherer, I would adjust my schedule, looking for game in the sheltered areas that exist in every woods. I'd move slowly, letting the rain hide the sounds of my movement and stopping frequently, scanning the gloom under the conifers for my prey. On the morn, I'd track for half a day, knowing that all the tracks are as fresh as the rain.

As it is, I am a modern suburb dweller, so I stand under my carport and drink my tea, watching a honeybee take refuge under the bumper of the truck. I'm intrigued because I haven't seen any evidence of beekeeping here, yet standing on the concrete drying her wings, sits the undeniable evidence.

The wind is out of the west and the rain is moving slowly east. It'll be over soon.

Budget under the knife

I see that Governor Blanco has cut $65 million from the state's $30 billion budget. She targeted such things as:

The governor late Thursday issued vetoes to House Bill 1 that actually don't affect many projects or programs. The largest cuts, $46 million and $18 million for barrier island work, could be restored if the state sells the remaining portion of a tobacco settlement instead of waiting for tobacco companies to pay it over the next 20 years.

I see she also veto'd $40,000 for the SugArena and $75,000 for scholarships for the Southern University Marching Band.

Before we start thinking that the Governor is getting all conservative on us, we've got to remember that $65 million dollars is not even a quarter of a percent of a $30 billion budget. $65 million sounds like a lot of money, and I'm sure I could live on it without too much trouble, but $65 million for a state government ain't much money.

It's a start, but it ain't much.

School Daze

The Town Talk reminds me today that we have one month left before school starts in Rapides Parish.

Classes for students begin on August 13th

Well, hell.

Don't call the Thunder

There is an old saying, "Don't call the Thunder, unless you're willing to ride the lightning." It's always seemed to me to be very analogous to "Men in glass houses shouldn't throw rocks."

Poor old David. He got himself caught involved in prostitution. He apologized. The blogosphere went frothy. It seems David campaigned as a conservative, family values sort of guy. Then not one, but two madams have named him as a client. This morning, it sucks to be David Vitter.

If his wife has forgiven him, then I'm apt to forgive him. Sexual dalliances being what they are, I understand the nature of forgiveness and reconciliation.

There are others though, that ask other questions.

Did he commit a crime? Short answer, yeah, solicitation of prostitution is a crime, although a misdemeanor in most jurisdictions and not prosecutable after one year.

Did he lie to us when first confronted about it? Yeah, he did. Much like Clinton lied about his blowjob.

Did he sire a child out of wedlock. I don't know? Is he paying child support to anyone?

There are some that maintain that David's whore-chasing was all prior to his legislative career, and that's where the problem comes for me. David Vitter called the thunder when he began his legislative career, following Bob Livingston's revelation of sexual misconduct. As we're reminded by Michelle Malkin:

Sen. David Vitter (R-LA) first got his start in Congress after replacing former Rep. Bob Livingston (R-LA), who “abruptly resigned after disclosures of numerous affairs” in 1998. At the time, Vitter argued that an extramarital affair was grounds for resignation.

Well, if an extramarital affair is grounds for resignation, then soliciting prostitutes is more fertile ground for resignation. Then, David called for Clinton to resign after the infamous Lewinsky scandal, saying:

“I think Livingston’s stepping down makes a very powerful argument that Clinton should resign as well and move beyond this mess,” he said. [Atlanta Journal and Constitution, 12/20/98]

Dammit, David. If sexual escapades were grounds for resignation in 1998, they are grounds for resignation in 2007.

I am disappointed in my Senator. Severely disappointed. I don't think that a person's sexual inclinations should be political fodder. I don't think that what goes on in any given bedroom is fair game for the political rodeo.

However, when David began his career, he called the thunder. I hope he's ready to ride the lightning.

Training

It seems that my brethren are going through training. I got recertified in June.

Long-time readers of this blog know that I am an SRO at a school in Alexandria. I don't normally talk about law enforcement in this blog, except in a broad-brush manner. While I'm happy to talk about the career and I'm happy to tell stories from my past, I don't talk much about the job at hand for the same reasons I don't talk about the day to day activities of a marriage. I'm too close to it to be objective.

However, the Town Talk covers it, and these guys do one of the most thankless jobs in law enforcement. You won't find an SRO being named LEO of the year. You won't find an SRO getting a promotion for doing the job. It ain't blue lights and high speed chases. Most of the time, the job is fairly low-key.

It's like being a sheep dog. Watching a herd. Knowing that you can sit on that hill all year, overlooking the herd and have nothing happen, but that without warning you might be in the fight of your life because someone is trying to hurt your sheep. No one is going to hurt my sheep. Not on my watch.

The training is important, not so much for the skills that are imparted but for the mental activity that accompanies it. Some call it wargaming, some call it brainstorming, I call it "What If?". What if someone gets out of their car waving a gun? How will I respond? What if someone tries to take the principal hostage? What a goblin is just around the corner with a baseball bat? I spend a good portion of my day playing "what if" as I walk the halls. It's a good mental exercise and the training helps me understand the appropriate response.

I'm glad that the guys and gals are going through the training. It's a blessing for them and a blessing for the kids they'll be watching in another six weeks.

Vitter and the Madam

I see in the Town Talk that David Vitter's telephone number was found in old records of the D.C. Madam. David may have been patronizing prostitutes. The Senator says:

"This was a very serious sin in my past for which I am, of course, completely responsible," Vitter said in the statement. "Several years ago, I asked for and received forgiveness from God and my wife in confession and marriage counseling. Out of respect for my family, I will keep my discussion of the matter there -- with God and them. But I certainly offer my deep and sincere apologies to all I have disappointed and let down in any way."

For myself, I know that there is no activity more corrosive to the trust that bases a marriage than adultery. If David's wife can forgive him then the matter is properly between them. I don't have a dog in that hunt.

Monday!

It was Monday all day today. We started off by fulfilling a promise to the congregation that I would go somewhere and buy eight new tables for the church hall. So, by 10:30 we had the tables delivered to the church and Momma and I were drinking soft drinks at her table. I went home for nap time.

After the nap I mowed for an hour on the empty lot beside the house. Then Milady decided that the red-brown pavers were soaking up too much heat and were tough on the grandkids feet. (This from a woman who used to walk barefoot across the black asphalt streets in LaSalle Parish). These pavers lead from the pool to the pool house. Milady wants light colored pavers there. So, PawPaw took up the red-brown pavers and moved them to a sandy area adjacent to the pool. Tomorrow at daylight I'm going to get up and go buy some light-colored pavers to put down so that the kids can walk from the pool to the crapper without harming their delicate little feet. That should take most of the morning.

PawPaw got his exercise today, moving pavers out of the way so I could put down more pavers. It's an exciting life.

Preparation

My buddy Junior reminds me that we have 104 days before the start of the muzzleloading deer season in Louisiana. Archery season begins before that.

In the heat of July, it's hard to think about deer season, but you're likely to have a better season if you begin preparation now. This is nothing hard, or onerous, just common-sense ideas to make your opening day a truly memorable affair.

Decide on your deer load. If you reload, it's time to pore over the load charts and targets you've been shooting and decide on one load per caliber for each game animal you're likely to chase. If you don't reload, still settle on one brand and loading.

Sight in your rifle using that load. Then, get away from the bench. Practice from field positions you're likely to use. For Louisiana's pine woods, I'm going to practice snap shots at 50 yards, and I'm going to practice deliberate shots at 100 yards. If I were hunting Idaho, or Missouri, or Kentucky, I'd practice the shots I'd likely use in those locations.

Practice with your hunting loads. If you can only afford one box of ammo, practice with 15 of them and save the other five for hunting. Those five shots will be plenty if you are ready for the hunt.

If you can't get to the range and practice as much as you'd like, (and who can?), then practice at home with a safe rifle. Make the rifle safe and practice sighting on something that won't cause the neighbors to get squirrely. I stand in my carport and sight on a stop sign at the end of the street. I crank the magnification all the way up and practice holding the crosshairs on that sign. At nine power, it is amazing how much muzzle wobble is apparent in the sights. Practice your positions and try to use your sling. Practice getting the sling into a hasty firing position and getting the crosshairs on the target. I've been doing this for two weeks and it's amazing how much better I was than when I started.

Start gathering gear. Find that hunting knife and make sure it's sharp. Get out your compass and walk around the yard with it. Find your hunting hat. If you want or need new boots, now's the time to start breaking them in. If you need new maps, now's the time to order them.

Hunting season is coming. A little preparation now will make all the difference when that big mossy-horned buck steps out into the light. Get ready.

Live Earth Hypocrisy

It looks like the Live Earth concerts were not a total bust at focusing attention on how humans generate carbon. It turns out that the attractions are generating it at a monumental rate.

The Live Earth event is, in the words of one commentator: "a massive, hypocritical fraud". For while the organisers' commitment to save the planet is genuine, the very process of putting on such a vast event, with more than 150 performers jetting around the world to appear in concerts from Tokyo to Hamburg, is surely an exercise in hypocrisy on a grand scale.

Yeah, I thought so, but some of the numbers are revealing.

The total carbon footprint of the event, taking into account the artists' and spectators' travel to the concert, and the energy consumption on the day, is likely to be at least 31,500 tonnes of carbon emissions, according to John Buckley of Carbonfootprint.com, who specialises in such calculations. Throw in the television audience and it comes to a staggering 74,500 tonnes. In comparison, the average Briton produces ten tonnes in a year.

In comparison, my household of three produces approximately 29 tons per year. (Yeah, yeah, we're talking British tonnes versus American tons, but you get the drift. COnverted to metric tonnes, I get a household figure of 26 tonnes per year, which is still under the average.)

When the folks who say it is a crisis start living and acting like it is truly a crisis, then I'll start worrying. As long as they're jet-setting around, trying to get me to reduce my carbon footprint then their whole career looks to me like one huge narcissistic hypocrisy.

Guns found in Library

It seems the maintenance man was working at the University of New Orleans library and found a set of guns. The article gives us no clue as to what kind of guns they were.

When a maintenance man was changing light bulbs Wednesday in the University of New Orleans' library, he found two items on a shelf that were obviously out of place: a pair of single-shot revolvers.

I've been playing with guns a long time and I've never heard of single shot revolvers. Revolvers, by their very nature, have more that one shot. The most common revolver is the standard 6-shooter.

The Times-Picayune gets it wrong, not once, but twice when they tell us that:

"If I were going to a gunfight, I wouldn't be going with a single-shot revolver," Harrington said.

I wouldn't either.

This is a simple case of a reporter, having no clue, not bothering to check the facts.

The Library Chronicles wonders if they can be had on Interlibrary Loan?

Wet, Wet, Wet

It's raining outside and has been raining all day long. While it's not as strong as they've been getting in north Texas, it keeps the ponds full and the kids inside. When you've got four grandkids hammering their way through a toy box inside that isn't a sound that PawPaws love. Grandmas love it, but PawPaws just sit near the computer and grumble.



It's rained every day this month. June was one of the wettest on record. North Louisiana is getting its share of rain. I took advantage of a three hour sunshine period yesterday and mowed the grass in the front yard. It was either that, or hire a hay-baler next week.

And, at noon, I'm still in my pajamas, which for me, is decadence overwrought. Nothing to do today but watch the steady, unrelenting drizzle. I do have some .30-06 brass that needs depriming and sizing. I might put on bluejeans and go into the garage. Or, I might just keep my pajamas and watch a movie.

Grandma took the kids to see a movie. They'll be back about noon, when the mommas are scheduled to pick up kids. Grandma works tonight, so PawPaw will be without adult supervision.

Savage Model 10 FLP

I got the Savage out of layaway on Tuesday and gave it to Joey on Wednesday.

His rifle, a Savage Model 10 FLP in .308 Winchester. This is the law enforcement rifle, a heavy barreled, short action, left hand turnbolt. He intends to punch holes in paper with it and maybe do a little hunting, but it's going to be mainly a target rifle. A 500 yard target rifle. It should be uniquely suited to that purpose. The rifle was designed as a police marksman rifle and has good reviews from every source I've found that reviews such rifles. I told Joey that I'd buy the rifle, but that he is on the hook for a scope and mounts. This rifle deserves a good scope.

This is the fourth Savage I've bought. I have two, the standard 111 FHNS in .30-06 and a standard Model 11 FNXP3 in .243 Winchester. Both of mine are capable of good hunting accuracy, in the range of 1", although with my old eyes, 2" off the bench and 3" using hunting positions are more like the accuracy I expect.

My second-son Matt has the 111 FV, basically a heavy barrel long action in 7mm Remington Magnum. Savage cataloged it for one year, several years ago and I was able to find one. Matt's rifle, off the bipod, is capable of 1/2 accuracy with good handloads. We've settled on a load of 64.2 grs of IMR4831 under a 140 grain Nosler Ballistic Tip. Remington brass, CCI magnum primers. This load is the standard for this rifle and the groups keep getting smaller. With less that 200 shots through the rifle, I suspect that the barrel is just now getting broke in and half-inch groups are probably as good as this rifle will do. Still, this is a full-house 7mm Magnum, throwing a 140 grain bullet at 3025 fps. That rifle ain't no slouch, either in the power or the accuracy department.

Joey's got a couple of boxes of ammo for his rifle and instructions on how to break it in. I've got a feeling that this is going to be a very accurate rifle.

One Fly

Our house, our home has a semi-open floorplan. Not as open as we would have liked, but in all things of life we make compromises and in the floorplan of this house, we made a compromise. The way the house is laid out is that the carport door is literally fifteen feet from the back door. The carport door is, like in most American homes, the most used door in the house.

We joke to one another that when the front doorbell rings, there is a stanger outside. Everyone who is not a stranger comes in through the carport. As we've made changes to the yard, we've managed to make our backyard an oasis of sorts. There is a lot of family traffic through the back yard. We entertain there when the weather allows.

Louisiana is host to a variety of insect life, of both the crawling and the flying varieties. There are houseflys in Louisiana and it seems that no matter what we do there is always one fly in this kitchen. As I blog this post there is one fly buzzing about, pestering the crap out of me. I intend to kill the little bastard and yes, I own a fly-swatter. It is on the table next to me as I type.

As I reflect on my life, it seems that the fly has become a metaphor for my personal outlook. Instead of focusing on the fact that I live in a nice house in a Great State in the best country in the world, I sometimes focus on the flys.

Something is always going to pester me, whether actually or metaphorically. I can't ignore the fly, simply because it aggravates me, but I shouldn't let it dictate to my psyche.

There's a moral here somewhere and I'll let someone else figure it out.

Haircuts.

I get mine free. I sit on a stool in the carport and my wife or daughter cuts my hair. Sometime the grandkids are around and we get them on the stool too. Three cuts for the price of one.

John Edwards, on the other hand, pays for his haircuts.

For four decades, Joseph Torrenueva has cut the hair of Hollywood celebrities, from Marlon Brando to Bob Barker, so when a friend told him in 2003 that a presidential candidate needed grooming advice, he agreed to help. The Beverly Hills hairstylist, a Democrat, said he hit it off with then-Sen. John Edwards of North Carolina at a meeting in Los Angeles that brought several fashion experts together to advise the candidate on his appearance. Since then, Torrenueva has cut Edwards's hair at least 16 times.

Torrennueva has cut Edwards hair at least 16 times. Well, okay. The guy wants a good style. He's got to look good in front of television cameras. I guess he can get a pass on having a professional cut his hair.

At first, the haircuts were free. But because Torrenueva often had to fly somewhere on the campaign trail to meet his client, he began charging $300 to $500 for each cut, plus the cost of airfare and hotels when he had to travel outside California.

Wait a minute. John Edwards, the senator from North Carolina, the hero of the downtrodden, the protector of New Orleans, the guy who says on his website that he wants to eliminate poverty. Well, he certainly is doing his part by paying for haircuts.

Torrenueva said one haircut during the 2004 presidential race cost $1,250 because he traveled to Atlanta and lost two days of work.

$1250.00 for one haircut? Whoa. That would feed a family of four for at least two months. He's eliminating poverty all right! Question is: Do we want to put this guy in charge of the Federal Budget?

$1250 for a haircut is extravagant. Flying a barber from California to Atlanta is decadent. John Edwards is so concerned about his appearance that he flies a barber from Californa to Atlanta. That is vanity run amok.

John Edwards. Vain, decadent, extravagant. That's just his haircuts. Champion of the poor. Can anyone here say hypocrite?

Semi-Annual Trek

I made my semi-annual trek to Alexandria today to buy liquor.

I bought a bottle of Kentucky Bourbon, a bottle of Canadian whiskey, a bottle of rum, and one bottle of pina colada mix. We will use some of these spirits tomorrow when we host a barbeque.

That amount of liquor will be sufficient for my needs until Christmas, when I'll make another trek for booze, probably in conjuntion with Christmas shopping.

It would be really nice to have the option of buying whiskey in Pineville. As you can tell from my purchases, I am not a drunk. I enjoy a bit of whiskey when I entertain. The nannies here in Pineville aren't going to stop me from having an occasional toddy, but they will make me drive across the river.

Of course, they lose the tax money that goes with liquor sales. If I want beer I can buy it here, and I do because I would rather that my tax dollar stays as close to home as possible, but the nannies in charge would rather I drive across the river. I bet that there are thousands of people who feel the same way I do about liquor in Pineville.

The folks who say that they don't want liquor in Pineville don't represent me. Trying to legislate morality never works. Trying to enact prohibition is a fool's mission. We proved that during Prohibition.

I'll continue to travel across the river and take my tax dollars there until the folks in Pineville, Tioga, and Ball wake up and understand that their little communities have changed since 1980. It's time for a local referendum.

Boating on the Red

I wouldn't put a recreational boat on the Red River right now, not for love nor money.

The Town Talk has an article on the problem this morning. For non-local readers, the Red River drains most of north Texas and southern Oklahoma, then it continues southeast and comes through Shreveport and on to Alexandria, where it meets the Mississippi at a place we call Three Rivers.

There have been massive rains in Texas and Oklahoma. Our rainfall here is above-average and the Red River is swollen. It's not at flood stage, but all the locks are open and the river is flowing nicely.

Twenty or twenty five years ago I was helping a friend run a string of trot lines on the Red River in Natchitoches Parish. The river had not yet been locked and dammed and we were working trot lines along the sandbars in the river catching catfish. I happened to look over toward the main channel and watched a gigantic tree with it's root ball float past, headed downsteam. I asked my buddy about it and he said that the river would undercut big trees that stood along the bank. Occasionally one of those trees would lose to the river, topple in, and float downstream. If two or mote trees fell in together, they would move downstream together with the mass and momentum of a locomotive engine.

In short, getting run over by a root ball would be like getting run over by a train.

That is in addition to the increased current, other debris in the water, and the generalized danger of the Red River at full flow. It's not at flood stage yet, but it's handling all the water that it can handle. Boating on the Red is dangerous right now.

Besides, we in Central Louisiana are blessed with lakes. Here around Alexandria/Pineville, I count... a bunch of lakes. There is Buhlow, Valentine, Stuart, Iatt, Saline, Cleco, Cotile, Kincaid, and Indian Creek, just to name a few. There is plenty of lake water around Alexandria for every one to enjoy time on the water.

Let's be safe this Fourth and remember our friends and family overseas. FOr myself, I am cooking for family and friends and will be busy standing over the barbeque pit and drinking whiskey. Happy Fourth, everyone.

Mary Landrieu and Immigration

A recent article in The Advocate asks if Senator Landrieu's recent vote wasn't a political vote.

The Landrieu vote is perceived by one expert to be the first sign of a delicate balancing act that she will have to maintain during the next year as she prepares to defend her Democratic seat in a state that Bush carried with 58 percent of the vote in 2004.

Sure it was. Mary is a political creature. All her votes are political.

But that's not necessarily a bad thing. Mary Landrieu seems to be a moderate. She is political enough to understand who put her in office and she makes sure her vote reflects the needs and opinions of her constituents. I could do a whole lot worse with another person in her seat.

I've had my differences with the Landrieu family in the past and with Mary in the past, but I have to admit she does a pretty good job as one of my Senators. She's not as quick to respond to email as Senator Vitter, or Representative Alexander, but I get updates from her occasionally.

Yeah, Mary's got her faults, but the senior Senator from Louisiana listens to me. That counts for a lot.

Folks who would criticize her should cut Mary some slack. If the Repubs don't field a whiz-bang candidate, she's going to be tough to beat. The way she's been voting lately, she suits me just fine.

LDWF Deer Tag Harvest Card

I was digging though my wallet today and found my deer tag harvest card. Issued by the Louisiana Dept of Wildlife and Fisheries, it purports to keep track of deer harvested and requires that we report this information to the Department at the end of the year.

I need to mail mine in. The instructions on the bottom of the card say that we can report it online, but they fail to give us a web address where we can report the deer killed. I've been searching the site for the past half hour, without success.

It's my considered opinion that a reporting site online for the program simply doesn't exist. I have a long love/hate relationship with LDWF, mainly because they print things on the cards, like "Must be returned after deer hunting season for validation, or submitted at LDWF internet site.", then they never bother to set up the internet site. That is basic incompetence. It is my opinion that most of the people who work at LDWF are basically incompetent. It really is that simple.

But, just because the state is incompetent doesn't mean we shouldn't report the deer we killed. Hopefully, some good biologist can use the data we voluntarily report. Of course, if you were trying to skew the data, you'd just make something up and send in bad data, but I'm not going to recommend that. My card is accurate as to sex, type, date, and parish killed. All the blocks are filled in. I didn't kill a deer last year and my card reflects NONE KILLED.

Be sure to mail in your Deer Tag Harvest Card.

Crappy Phones

We sure have sunk to new lows in this country, the things we'll put up with from our phone company(s).

Remember when telephones were indestructible? You could rip it from the wall, bounce it off the floor, use it to hammer a nail, then plug it back in and get dial tone?

Try that with your cell phone. Cell phones are disposable telephones. You can't soak them in water, or coke, or M&M's, from my certain knowledge and expect that they'll continue to function. They have multiple functions. Some have cameras. I've learned that when you combine functions, like camera phone, you get a crappy phone and a crappy camera.

Today, the Iphone comes out. The ultimate function phone. It's supposed to combine file-management, with motion picture, with Internet, with telephone. I bet it sucks at everything. And people will pay for it anyway. Which really surprises me, because up till recently, I wouldn't pay for a phone. Recently, I paid 29.95 for a cool flip phone that isn't as good as the free Nokia I soaked in coca-cola.

I'd pay for a phone that was rugged. A phone I could drop in the pool. A phone I could drop in my pocket and wade through the swamp. A phone that would survive in a pocket with keys and a pocketknife. A phone that could ride on the motorcycle and slide down the road like a pebble. That's a phone I'd pay for. If I want a camera, I'll bring a camera. If I want a computer, I'll bring a computer. I don't need all that in a telephone. I do need a rugged telephone that will survive all that I and four grandkids can put it through.

Sunday Nite

We're back. The ocean is still there, although I saw it through the eyes of children this weekend.

When children first see the ocean they try to put it into perspective, into the perspective of something they know. Their first sighting of the water is excited, overwhelmed, and just a little afraid. Something that big must be powerful. Something that big must be dangerous.

Then, the fear recedes and is replaced with questioning and wonderment and if those questions are answered sufficiently, the adventure with the salt begins.


In this picture, little brother is geared up and headed for the water.



In this one, big brother and Dad whip a floating tricycle to their will.

It's good to be home. We have less than 120 days till deer season.

Southbound

We're southbound again this noontime, as Milady and I are taking the other two grandkids to Gulfport to introduce them to the beach.

Regular readers will recall we made this trek two weeks ago with one set of grandkids. Now, it's the other sets turn. Then, I will have had enough of the beach for the summer. I love the ocean. I can sit and watch it for hours. I can get out on the ocean and have a good time. What I cannot do is sit in the sand for more than six or seven hours.

Our family took a vacation to Kitty Hawk several years ago, and rented a condo on the beach. I would sit for hours and watch the ocean. It's very calming. Getting out on the beach is more problematic. Here's a picture from that vacation, from the deck of the condo.



I haven't decided yet if I'm taking the computer this weekend, so blogging might be light to non-existent. Y'all have a nice weekend.

The Immigration Bill

I understand that in a couple of hours, the Senate will recommence consideration of a bill reforming immigration. That same bill that was killed on the floor of the Senate last week and has been labeled as amnesty. I understand that a decided majority of the American people are against this bill, yet the Senate has turned off their phones, decided to NOT listen to the people, and will vote this morning for cloture.

The US Senate is supposedly the most deliberative body in the world. In the history of all mankind. Their work on this bill has been a mockery of the deliberative process. I place the blame on that at the feet of Harry Reid. From all indications, he's an asshole.

I have written and called my Senators, and to their credit, they've voted to kill this monster whenever given an opportunity. My Democratic Senator, Mary Landrieu and her junior Republican, David Vitter are both congratulated for doing the bidding of the people. Senators represent states. Originally, they weren't elected by direct election, but were appointed by the legislature. Historically, they listen to the people only as it affects their individual state.

If the Senate kills it this morning, good. If they don't, it really doesn't matter.

From my recollection of high school civics, there is another deliberative body that must approve this nightmare before it becomes law, and that is the US House of Representatives. The House is a free-wheeling body whose members all serve two year terms. They're all up for reelection in 2008. Representatives represent the people. Historically, they listen to the people and vote based on the wishes of their individual districts.

As I type this post, at 7:40 on a Thursday morning, I read that pundits are counting votes and peering into crystal balls, trying to cypher the vote this morning. It'll be a close call, but will serve to identify Senators who listen to their people. If they vote for this thing, they've turned off the phones and their common sense.

However, it is all for naught. This dog will never pass in the House. It is dead, dead, dead.

Ground Hornets

Ground hornets are little burrowing insects that nest underground. They vary in size, but the most common in these latitudes is about half the size of the tip joint of a man's thumb.

I was bush-hogging at Momma's today, trying to knock back some of the 56 inches of forage that Louisiana grows in an average year. A little meadow that fronts the road had overgrown pretty badly during the past two years. For reasons only known to my Dad, he refused to let me mow it, and I learned today he refused to let other people mow it.

Today, Momma directed me to get on the tractor and get that little meadow under control. I always do what my Momma tells me to do. About halfway through the mowing I noticed a bunch of flying insects swarming along the ground in the track I had just mowed. Ground hornets. I gave them a wide berth as I finished mowing.

This evening at dark, I went back to that meadow with a gallon of gasoline, a quart of kerosene and a torch I made from a piece of mimosa branch and an old tee-shirt. I've been lucky dealing with ground hornets over the past two decades and I've learned that the best way to deal with them is to watch them until you can see where they are going into the ground, then liberally soak that area with gasoline.

Carefully get away from the gas, soak the torch in kerosene, light it and pitch it into the gasoline soaked area. WHOOSH! The hornets go away.

Yeah, yeah, I can hear the environmentalists now. Gasoline in the earth! Using fire to control insects! Lemme tell you, it works. I stayed in the meadow till the fire went out. While I was there, I used that torch to make the bag-worms in the pecan trees feel decidedly unwelcome. Burning out bag-worms with a torch is a time honored tradition among the pecan growing set.

I'm going back out in the morning to do some more bush-hogging behind the house and to clean the track around the property boundaries. When I start, I'll tractor out to the front meadow and mow that little patch of weeds that housed the ground hornets. What'ya want to bet that they won't give me any problems?

Dispatcher

There are some calls a dispatcher just doesn't want to hear.

Sometime in the early 1980s, a trooper called out on a routine traffic stop on the side of an interstate highway. The trooper obtains the drivers license and the vehicle registration, and somehow, gets himself in front of the vehicle. In the Chevy sedan is one white male and one white female, both in their late 20s.

The driver, knowing that he has multiple felony warrants outstanding, decides to run down the trooper. He guns the engine and starts forward. The trooper, in a remarkable display of dexterity, throws himself across the hood and grasps the windshield wiper with his left hand. With his right hand, the draws his pistol and puts two rounds through the windshield into the chest of the driver. The driver, in his death throes, stiffens his foot, propelling the vehicle forward, across the median, across the oncoming lane and into the opposite ditch, where the vehicle strikes a culvert, ejecting the trooper, who was later found to have a slight concussion and multiple bruises and contusions.

The dispatcher hears this come across his radio.

"Uuuh. Is this thing working?"

The dispatcher answers "Unidentified caller, you are on a police frequency. State your business.

"Uuuh. It looks like the trooper is knocked out and the driver is dead. I've got the radio and the troopers gun. Maybe you better send an ambulance out here."

The dispatcher goes directly into crisis mode, trying to figure out where this citizen is, which trooper is injured, and trying to get resources directed to the location. Then, the dispatcher hears this message.

Uuuh, it looks like the passenger is trying to get out of the car. Can I just go ahead and shoot her now?"

That dispatcher earned all her money that evening.

Contempt of Court.

There's something strange going on in Jena, LA. The Town Talk covers it in an article this morning.

Some background: There were some racial tensions at Jena high school earlier this year. Some white students hung nooses in the tree in front of the school and the black community took it as a threat.

Hanging nooses in trees in front of a school is a dumb idea. It is easily construed as racist and I, personally, have no problem agreeing with the black community that someone should be punished for that behavior. It was divisive, it was uncalled for, it was in bad taste. High school kids tend to run their mouths, calling names and acting like asses. High school administrators squelch that behavior whenever possible, through a number of tactics. These might include having sit-down meetings with entire classes of students, punishing the guilty parties, and reminding everyone of the requirements for civilized behavior.

Sometime later, on December 4th, the mouth-running turned into a fight at the school. The reported facts are pretty sparse but the fight culminated in one student, Justin Barker, going to the hospital for multiple head-thumps. Justin, thankfully, was not permanently injured. Six black students are charged with battering Justin. The first of those six begins trial this morning.

With an all-white jury. The Town Talk reports that of a venire of 150, only 50 people reported for jury duty. Those 50 were Caucasian. The other members of the venire failed to show, and no black person reported for duty. With no black citizens on the jury, the deck is stacked against the black defendant. That isn't to say that an all white jury won't give him a fair trial, it is to say that the presumption of color-blind justice is impossible to maintain. In this case, the jury was stacked by those who failed to report.

Jury duty is the highest responsibility of a citizen to insure that the criminal justice system works like it is supposed to work. To have a fair trial, the jury venire must reflect the racial make-up of the parish. I have known judges to go to great lengths to insure that the jury venire was fairly and diligently drawn from the pool of eligible citizens. I have also known judges who dealt harshly with those who decided for one reason or another to neglect the call for jury service.

Were I the judge, I don't know how I would have handled the fact that 2/3 of my venire failed to show. I suspect that I would have postponed the trial for a week and ordered the Sheriff to round up those hundred citizens who failed to report. I would order a hearing on Wednesday for those citizens to explain to the Court why their failure should not be construed as Contempt of Court. The hearings would be short, sweet, and fairly pointed. Jail time would result for those who failed to convince me that they were not trying to undermine a basic keystone of American jurisprudence. The vast majority of those citizens would be ordered to serve 30 days in jail.

Then, when the news got out that failing to report for jury duty would result in jail time, we would call a new venire and commence trial.

My take on the "Jena Six"? I don't know. I haven't seen the facts. That is what trial is for. Those folks demonstrating in front of the Courthouse haven't seen the facts either.

Camp Boxes

Any of you who have ever done any tent camping probably have an assortment of boxes to haul your gear out into the wild. Some campers try to take all the comforts of home into the woods. Others delight in taking as little as possible into the woods. I've done all types of camping, from riding in a motor home, to starting out on a trek with nothing more than what I could carry on my back. Each type camping is satisfying. I'm not here to disparage any type of camping or outdoor activity.

My grandaddy was a fellow who loved to tinker. When possible, especially when camping, he would tinker together some little item that made a camp more convenient, more comfortable. He liked being in the woods, and he liked roughing it. I knew him in his later years and the type camping he liked to do was the type I call truck camping. He had a little pop-up camper, nothing more than two beds off the ground. His cooking was done outside under a fly that hooked to the little camper. He made two boxes that carried his cooking gear.

Through the weird conjunction of place, time, interest and inheritance, I am currently in possession of those two camping boxes. One, the smaller, is designed to fit around a Coleman stove. In that box, you have just enough room for the stove and a griddle. A small drawer in that box carried cooking implements; an egg turner, some tablespoons, matches, and dishrags. The stove box is the little one on the left.




The other box was for pots, pans, and two washing basins so we could clean up after the meal. There was generally room for some paper plates and bowls. Let's not forget the coffee pot, which you can see peeking out of the larger box on the right. These two boxes both fold out to make tables. The legs fit inside. As much as I've tried to improve on them, these two boxes seem to be the best compromise of durability and portability. Like everything else my grandfather made, they were built to last forever. Each year, I think I am going to have to begin a total rebuild, and each year I am mistaken.



Here they are, folded and ready to load into the pickup truck. The old man wanted these boxes to be one-man portable. They're cleaned up and ready for another the next trip. I do need to hit some garage sales and find a couple of pots and pans to replace the ones that were lost over the years.

That big skillet? It's a whole nuther story. I can cook one pound of bacon and a dozen eggs, all at the same time. It needs a little rehab work right now, but by the time hunting season rolls around, it'll be ready to sit atop a fire.

Reporters

Just when you think the reporting about the war can't get any worse, we have reports from two American generals who talk about the nature of reporters and the war effort.

"I hate newspapermen. They come into camp and pick up their camp rumors and print them as facts. I regard them as spies, which, in truth, they are. If I killed them all there would be news from Hell before breakfast." -- Gen. William Tecumseh Sherman

and

"It appears we have appointed our worst generals to command forces, and our most gifted and brilliant to edit newspapers! In fact, I discovered by reading newspapers that these editor/geniuses plainly saw all my strategic defects from the start, yet failed to inform me until it was too late. Accordingly, I'm readily willing to yield my command to these obviously superior intellects, and I'll, in turn, do my best for the cause by writing editorials - after the fact." -- Robert E. Lee, 1863

We learn, from the most beloved Generals the nature of combat reportings and it seems as if the nature of combat reporting hasn't changed since Sherman and Lee faced each other across the lines.

Most, if not all, of the mainstream media are invested in making the war in Iraq look like a quagmire, a morass, a losing proposition. If you're reading the newspaper or listening to the network news, you are probably convinced that we're losing. The facts as I read them couldn't be further from the truth. While we have to convince the Iraqi people, and more particularly the Iraqi government to stand up and take responsibility for themselves, we still have to defeat Al-Queda and other terrorist clans. It's a hard slog, but we're winning. For a closer look at the battlefield, go see guys like Michael Yon.

At any rate, remember what Sherman and Lee said about battlefield reporting.

Hat tip to the Danes.

Fishing

I went fishing today, for probably the first time in two years. The sadness of it all is that one reason we bought this house is that it sits on a private lake. I have a small bateau boat that used to belong to my grandfather. His initials are still in the bow, and the nature of aluminum boats is to last forever as long as they are reasonably maintained. This boat was made in the mid '60s in Lebanon, Missouri, by the now defunct Appleby Manufacturing.

At any rate, I got out on the water today, and fished topwater plugs for bass. I caught three and played catch-and-release with them. If I don't keep them, I don't have to clean them. It was nice to be on the water.

The list

From Rivrdog, I got a list in the mail, 32 Things Cops wish People Knew. One of them made me chuckle.

29. If you think you can fan all the pot smoke out of the car before we smell it, good luck.

HA!

You know what dope smells like, right? It's an odor that is highly distinctive. Much like cigarette smoke is highly distinctive, the odor of burning marijuana, once learned, is never forgotten. The surprising thing is that I think marijuana smoke smells good, like a fresh-mown yard smells good. It's a nice, clean, natural odor to my nose. I like the smell of burning marijuana. If you've ever burned hemp rope, then you know the odor. It smells a lot like burning rope.

The legal problem is that because marijuana is illegal, and we can't use illegal activity in Court, sometimes we're asked in Court if we know, to a certainty, what burning marijuana smells like. Marijuana doesn't come with a seal of approval, or with a USDA label, so knowing what you have in your hand is really marijuana can be hard to articulate in a Court of Law. Except for the wisdom of the United States Army.

In April of 1975 I was a young, fresh, newly-minted lieutenant, undergoing training in Armored warfare at Fort Knox, KY. The Army had a drug problem and was trying to eradicate that problem. Young lieutenants were often the first-line against illicit drug use and were called to testify in Courts Martial. The Army decided to teach all its young officers the smell of burning marijuana. The Army obtained a quantity of good marijuana, tested it for purity and assigned medical officers to instruct other officers in a closed setting. We all filed into a class room, where armed MPs locked the doors. The medical officer then hand-rolled a number of pharmaceutical grade marijuana cigarettes and passed them around, lit, for us to sample, smell, touch, and taste. After an hour, those same MPs loaded us in buses and vans and took us home. High as kites.

I can testify to a certainty that I was taught to identify the odor of burning marijuana by the US Army at Fort Knox, KY, in April, 1975. I have so testified on numerous occasions.

Lunch

Yesterday, the tomato, the butter beans and the corn were on the plant. The potatoes were in the ground.

Today, they were on my plate. Fresh butter beans, sweet corn cut from the cob, new potatoes boiled and set in a cream sauce. Icy cold sliced tomato. Along with a cornbread and a glass of sweet iced tea, it doesn't get much better than that.

June seems to be the time for fresh vegetables. Here in the United States, they are available almost year-round, but June is the time when the garden's bounty comes in full and rich and tasty.

No, I don't garden. I did for many years, and just haven't the interest these days. There is, however, a wonderful produce stand just up the road.

Now to while away the afternoon. I have to get back on the mower, but that will be in the cooler hours before dark.

New Rifle

Every so often, I realize that I haven't had to spend money on one or the other of my children. I have trained my children to be self-sufficient, independent adults, but from time to time they need a little help, and like every parent I help my children.

When I realize I haven't had to spend money on a kid in a while, I make it worth their while. With my kids, I offer to buy them a rifle, within reason. We set the value of the rifle and I let them pick it out, then I order it.

My son Joey is a Junior in college. He's done it all himself, except that Dad gets calls occasionally to help out with books or supplies. Last month I realized that he hasn't asked for anything in the past year or so, so I called him and asked what king of rifle he might like, as a reward for being self-sufficient.

He called me back in a week or so. His request was certainly reasonable. The Savage, in .308, encased in the marvelous Model 10 action, and more specifically, the LEO version. Because Joey is a dedicated southpaw, he wanted his in the incomparable Model 10 FLP. It's a heavy barreled .308, weighing 8.5 lbs empty and dry. The action is pillar bedded, the heavy barrel is floated all the way back to the barrel nut. It sports the incomparable Accu-Trigger. The synthetic stock has an extra swivel stud in case he wants to mount a bipod.



I took some money to my favority counterman and ordered one. It came in today. The counterman called me and told me that it has arrived and has created quite a stir in the store. It seems that some other southpaws were there when it was unveiled and offered to buy it immediately. He told me it is on layaway in my name and I only need to show up with the balance to claim it. I told him I'd pick it up in the middle of July, in time for my son's birthday.

Joey's older brother, Matt, has one of these in 7mm mag. It seems that for one year, Savage offered a heavy barreled varmint model in 7mm Remington Mag, and that was the year that Matt had earned a rifle. It shot like gangbusters from the start and groups have shrunk as the rifle broke-in and Matt got used to shooting it. That rifle routinely turns in 0.5 MOA work and yes, I've got the targets to prove it.

It'll be interesting to see how Joey's rifle shoots.

Congressman Alexander on Immigration

Congressman Alexander responded to my Immigration letter, this morning sometime after I accused him of lacking basic courtesy to constituents. He replies:

More importantly, passage of S. 1348 would pose a danger to America. Many illegal immigrants that would be granted amnesty from this bill are terrorists. This bill weakens national security by ignoring the threat posed by amnesty. Some illegal immigrants want to come to America for the jobs and benefits, some want to harm America.

Rest assured, I will use my position on the House Immigration Reform Caucus to ensure that if and when a counterpart to this bill is introduced in the House of Representatives, it does not pass. America deserves nothing less that the defeat of this, or any other bill that provides amnesty to illegal immigrants.

Very Good.

Many pundits have noted that many in Congress want to pass the Immigration Bill, Senate 1348, but the voters are overwhelmingly opposed to it. The voters are demanding accoutability on the issue and continued pressure on our Congressmen will insure that this bill is strongly defeated.

We've heard from Senator Vitter and Congressman Alexander on the issue. Where is Senator Landrieu?

Basic Courtesy

My Momma taught me basic courtesy. Here in the Deep South, there are certain basic courtesies that have been taught over the years. The list is too long to articulate here, but that doesn't change the requirements. There are certain societal courtesies that show if a person is skilled in the social graces.

One of those rules is very simple. If a person writes you a letter, you are bound by convention to respond to that letter. I'm not certain how email falls on the scale, because much of what I receive in my inbox is spam, unsolicited mail that is not of a personal nature. I routinely delete spam. Some of my email is unsolicited communications from readers, commenting on posts here or articles I've written for my other website. I make a dedicated effort to reply to those emails.

Under the rules as I was taught, to fail to respond to a letter is rude. A corollary to that rule is that a gentleman is never rude accidentally.

In the last post, I noted that I had written my Congresscritters a letter and that Senator Vitter had responded. Congresscritter Alexander and Congresscritter Landrieu have not yet responded. In comments, Oyster reflects that Congressman Jindal has not responded to a missive filed in April.

At my parents knees I was taught that nobility is defined by a person's actions, that great privilege demands great responsibility. The closest thing we have to a ruling class is our elected officials, who, by their very nature, are our ruling class. However, the Founding Fathers required that they work for us; that we could send them packing through the ballot box. Their oath is to the Constitution, but their fealty is to the people who put them in office, the voters.

When a Congresscritter fails to respond to one of my letters, I can only surmise one of two things: 1) they think my letter is spam, an unsolicited communication of no value. If they believe this, they are wrong. Their job is to gauge the feelings of their constituents and reflect those constituents to Congress. They may disagree with the voters on particulars of issues, but they should at least have the courtesy to respond to the constituents. They are not a ruling class, they are representatives of a section of this nation. They are servants of the greater whole. Or, 2) they have no basic courtesy, no understanding of the social conventions. If they are accidentally rude, they have no business representing me. If they believe they are too good to respond to my (or Oysters) letters, they have no nobility.

And they wonder why we hold them, generally, in such contempt.

Senator Vitter on Immigration

Two weeks ago I wrote my Congress Critters a strongly worded letter on immigration. Senator Vitter responded to me via email, the first of my critters to respond to me. He writes:

You may be pleased to know that I offered an amendment to remove the amnesty provisions from the Kennedy immigration bill . My amendment would have eliminated the Z Visa amnesty provisions in the legislation that would give illegal aliens legal status . Z Visas are amnesty - pure and simple . Unfortunately, my amendment was defeated , but I assure you I will continue to fight to curtail illegal immigration .

I strongly believe that we need to dramatically improve our border security by having more agents patrolling our borders and making major investments in infrastructure improvements, such as strategic fencing and increased detention space. Congress and the p resident should focus on securing our borders and strengthening our interior enforcement , not rewarding law breakers with amnesty .

Have you written your Congress Critters lately?

Score!

Momma just stopped by on her way to tai chi class. For a number of years, she wanted to take those classes and now she has time for that kind of thing. Along with the gardening and taking care of an eight acre farm. She keeps busy.

In her hand she had a 5 quart ice cream bucket filled with fresh blueberries.

They are now mine.

All mine. Those blueberries are headed directly for the freezer. Blueberries freeze exceptionally well.

Thanks, momma.

Wet Willie

When we installed the pool, the contractor included a Polaris pool cleaner. It runs on a dedicated pump, pressuring clean water through a venturi to create suction. Mine is the Polaris 280. I'm sitting at the dining room window watching it work while I type this post. Self-propelled, it randomly goes about the business of vacuuming the bottom and sides of the pool.

Sometimes it beaches itself on the top step and goes into a throe of agony trying to extricate itself. I usually see it sraying water over the edge of the pool and I'll go outside and poke it with a stick until it is free.

Milady has dubbed it Wet Willie. It's a great little device that I never knew existed until I owned one. It doesnt' take the place of a proper pool vacuum, but it does okay between serious cleanings.

Glowball Warming

Lets say that I'm a sceptic about global warming. A huge sceptic.

I had enough statistics classes in college, and enought scientific methodology to know when I'm being bullshitted, and my bullshit detector is finely tuned after 25 years in law enforcement.

Also, while I was taking those methodology classes I helped put up a climate thermometer for the local bank, you know, the kind that you could call and it would give you the current time and temperature? Our themometer was housed in a wooden box and we had to make sure it was mounted at least ten feet off the ground and that it was at least 20 feet from any concrete, or existing structure. We did the best we could, but we put it on the end of a long pole, 20 feet up in the air on the side of a microwave tower. We figured that it was close enough for government work, and every time I drive past it nowadays, I smile. It serves just fine, I guess.

Methodology taught me that if you are gathering data with 100,000 instruments and one of those instruments is giving you faulty data, then all of your data is faulty until you fix/replace/ignore the faulty instrument.

And weather data is gathered from thermometers just like the ones I described above.

Here's the problem. Your readings are based on instruments. If you have bad instrument siting, you have bad weather data.

There is a guy who is collecting data on instrument siting, and it doesn't look good. The guys at surfacestations.org are collecting photos and siting information on thermometers used to collect daily temperature information.

Thermometers on roofs, thermometers on parking lots, thermometers near A/C units, thermometers near burn barrels. Hell, even the one at the Royal Observatory in Scotland is housed in a bad location. It's sitting in a grassy area completely surrounded by buildings. THere is now way possible that thermometer is giving good temperature data. It just ain't happening.



What's a degree here, or a degree there? Close enough for government work? The problem is that the temperature variations that folks are talking about are a tenth degree here, a tenth degree there. When you have a problem collecting the raw data, it's tough to believe any of the conclusions that result from that data.

Biloxi

We're back, after two days of fun in the sun. The first half of the grandkids has been introduced to salt water, sand, and sun.



The three guys in the foreground are mine. We played hard. PawPaw rented a beach umbrella and set up in the shade, but still managed to get sunburned. Of course, just about the time PawPaw got settled in the shade, what do you think happened to block his picture-perfect view of the ocean?



You guessed it! A cutie in a bikini showed up with her blanket to spoil the view. PawPaw was plenty disturbed about that, you betcha.

I'm glad I'm home. It was fun, but things are piling up around here.

Grant Police Jury sees the Light.

I see where the Grant parish Police Jury has seen the light regarding the Jena Choctaw tribe and their proposed casino.

As I understand the brouhaha at this point, the Dept of Interior has recognized the tribe's land in Grant Parish as a reservation, which cleared the way for the tribe to build a Class II casino. The tribe would like to build a Class III casino on that land, to compete with the Tunicas in Marksville and the Coushattas in Kinder.

A class III casino requires the Governor's approval.

The Grant Police Jury voted to support the Choctaw in their quest for a Class III casino and the compact helps the Police Jury with needed "impact payments" for infrastructure.

"With or without the governor, we are going to move forward with the building of this casino. We want the people of Grant Parish to benefit as well. By entering into a compact with us, the state, and especially the parish, would get the impact payments needed to build up this area's infrastructure."

Local pastors are opposed to the plan.

The pastors don't see the whole picture, and I expect most pastors to be opposed to gaming. Just like I expect them to be opposed to drinking, and horse racing, and prostitution and anything else that might be an impediment to the soul of Man.

However, the casino is coming, in either Class II or Class III guise. The Grant Police Jury recognized the inevitability of that casino and did what was best for their constituents. The question was fairly simple: Given that a casino will be built in Grant Parish, should the citizens of Grant Parish benefit from that casino?

The Police Jury answered, appropriately, yes.

Another First

I did something today I've never done before.

I put $13.00 worth of gasoline in a motorcycle.

Dammit.

In other news, we're taking a trip this afternoon. Milady and I are taking one set of grandkids to Gulfport, MS. Earlier this year we realized that some of the grandchildren have never seen the ocean. Some portion of a grandchild's education is best reserved to the grandparents and this is ours. We're going to take one set this weekend, and the other set two weeks hence. In each case, one parent is coming and yes, Grandma and I have a room separate from the children.

They've been playing hard outside and doing a lot of swimming in our pool, so they're brown as pecans. I don't think that we have to worry much about sunburn, but Grandma has purchased bulk quantities of sunscreen.

I'll take the camera and try to do a little blogging on the road, but don't count on it.

Y'all have a wonderful weekend.

Mortality

I watched my father die earlier this year after a long bout with cancer. He died at home, with dignity and peace. I miss him.

There was another grandfather in my childrens lives, their mother's father. I called him Boonie, a diminuitive of his middle name. When I was divorced in 1998, Boonie waited a respectful time then came to see me. He started the conversation, "We've been friends too long to let something like this come between us." The fact that he reached out to me while in a divorce with his daughter meant the world to me. We remained friends, to the point that he attended my second wedding in 2003.

He remained a good friend and a good grandfather and reveled in his great-grandchildren. Last Sunday, after church, my son took his children to see Boonie, and from all indications, it was a good visit. The next day Boonie fell and struck his head. The following day it became apparent that there was some internal bleeding and the condition was inoperable. Boonie passed away Wednesday morning.

I've lost a friend. Boonie and I hunted together for several years, basically the decade of the '80s and part of the '90s. He loved hunting rabbits over beagles and together with his son, Gary, we put together one of the finest rabbit hunting packs in north Louisiana. At one time we had 26 dogs, all tri-color, blanketback beagles. During that decade, we ate a lot of rabbit meat. I still yearn for rabbit, from time to time. If I ever decide to start another kennel, the lessons I learned from him about breeding, training, and hunting over beagles will all come back as I begin.

Boonie thought that a 20 gauge shotgun was all that anyone needed for upland game, and his constant cheerleading for that gauge explains why I have three in my gun rack and each of my sons lean toward that gauge for shotgunning.

Boonie was a sailor as a young man, one of the US Navy's destroyer sailors. He served during the Korean conflict and when the beer was flowing and the fire had died down, would tell stories. His 'can supported the Marines during one amphibious operation in particular and he'd tell about bringing the ship in close to the shore, so close that they could hear the gravel bottom scraping the ship, and laying the big guns down almost to the wavetops to blast at enemy guns that were killing our boys. When he'd talk of the Navy, I could smell the salt and feel the steel deck underneath me.

He loved to fish as only a Cajun can. Bream and bass were his favorite quarry and if I had to guess, I'd say that he liked bream fishing most of all. He knew spots where we could put in a bateau boat and spend the afternoon under the cypress trees with cane poles and crickets. In a matter of hours, we'd have filled the ice chest with hand-sized bream, then take them home and clean them before dark.

He always had fish in his freezer and loved to throw a fishfry, whether it was for family or a hundred of his closest friends. One Saturday he came out to my house in Natchitoches to help me throw a crawfish boil. We got the men organized and started cooking. Before the day was over, we had cooked 400 lbs of crawfish, and fried 20 pounds of catfish fillets, along with 85 of his good bream, with enough boiled corn and fried potatoes to feed anyone who showed up. At one point, a Cajun band set up in the front yard, just because. When we were throught eating and dancing and drinking, there wasn't enough fish left to make a Courtbullion.

He loved his family, oh my, how he loved his family. He raised eight children, he and Rita, working two jobs for many years to keep them in food and clothes. He loved to drink and he loved to laugh and he loved with all his heart.

I'm going to miss Boonie, too. Godspeed, old man.

Bright Lights

We've all done it. You see a cop working a stretch of road, and you flicker your bright lights to signal to other motorists that they are approaching a cop.

Police officers are not idiots. We normally work in zones, which is to say that I might be working Highway 28 east of the airport and my buddy might be working the same stretch of road, west of the airport. There is plenty to do, usually, in both zones, and occasionally one of us will set up on the side of the road to be seen by traffic while we do paperwork. The radio traffic keeps us pretty much informed about where the other is working.

Lets say I an working close to my zone boundary and I see a car approaching, lights flashing. The motorist is trying to tell me that I am approaching a cop. I know that. Yet, it irks me, so I turn around and make a traffic stop. The conversation might go like this.

Me: "Ma'am, I pulled you over because your headlights were flashing and I'm concerned that there might be some problem with your lighting equipment. Do you have any idea why your bright lights were flashing like that? I need to see your license, registration, and proof of insurance."

She: "Why no, Officer. I really can't explain that." As she digs in the glove box for the registration.

Me: "Part of my job, ma'am, is to help you stay safe on the road. Lets conduct a little inspection, please. Turn on your bright lights, please. Thank you. Now, your dims? Lets look at your blinkers. Thanks. Now, step on your brake pedal. Very good."

She" "Officer, I really don't have any idea what the problem might have been."

Me: "Me either, Ma'am. Everthing seems to be working properly now. You might want to have your mechanic look at it, first chance you get."

She: "I'll do that, officer, first thing tomorrow."

Me: "You drive carefully, and have a nice evening."

I will probably have to explain myself to Saint Peter, one of these days.

Gunlocks, Eh?

I was over at Say Uncle and followed a link to a piece that talks about gunlocks. Evidently, this guy is concerned that the gun locks on the market are pieces of crap that don't do anything but comply with the law.

Here's the deal: My counterman at the local evil gun store tells me that he is required by law to give me a gun lock every time he sells a gun. Notice how I said that: He is required by law to give me a gun lock every time he sells a gun.

In other words, the lawmakers have decided that all guns sold in open commerce should have a lock, so they mandate that the retailer give locks away. We all know there is no such thing as a free lock, and that the cost is passed on to the consumer, but the gun store is trying to minimize that impact on the customer, so to comply with the law, they buy a bunch of cheap gun locks and include one with every purchase.

I appreciate them doing that. I have a couple of those locks around here someplace. The grandkids are intrigued with them for maybe ten minutes, until they figure out how to defeat them, then the locks lay on the bench until I throw them away.

A free lock is just that. You get what you pay for. The lawmakers just had to include a feel-good provision in the law, and the retailers complied with it in full and in spirit. They complied with the least cost to themselves and the consumer. It's a win-win provision.

Better that we gun owners keep our guns out of reach of the grandkids and as soon as they are old enough, we teach them how about guns. How to load and unload and how to shoot. We teach them respect for firearms and we teach them that some things are deadly and we teach them that there is no safety but the one that God provided between our ears and that there are Four Rules to gun safety that can never, ever be violated without severe repercussions.

No gun lock currently made will make a gun safe from a motivated 10 year old. That same motivated ten-year-old will listen to instruction when Daddy or Grandaddy takes the time to show how the gun works, how to disassemble it, and how to fire it.

There are always firearms available for use in my house. There is always a minimum of two that are loaded, ready for immediate use. Neither my children, nor my grandchildren have ever had any problem with knowing about loaded guns.

I'll say this one more time, another way. If you have children, it is your responsibility to teach them that some things will hurt them. Things like rattlesnakes and garbage trucks. Things like sex offenders and child predators. You also have a responsibility to keep them safe. Teaching good gun-handling manners is the best way to keep them safe. Do not depend on any device to lessen your responsibility for proper training.

If you don't train your children, in all things, then who do you expect to train them?

Wednesday Update

I had business in Natchitoches this morning, so I rode the bike. 100 mile round trip, more or less, and the motorcycle did just fine.

Got home to find that my first father-in-law passed away. He fell in his carport last week and was having some problems, so they took him to the hospital. He was bleeding in his head, and they got to it too late. He passed this morning and my children are devastated. Two grandfathers gone in 4 months. It's gonna take them some time to get used to the idea. RIP, Boonie. We should know the arrangements later today.

Milady works tonite and I'll be without adult supervision.

I paid my deer lease fees today. Do you realize that in 4 months we start deer hunting again? Times a'wastin' boys! We gotta get ready to put venison in the freezer. I'm looking forward to doing more hunting than I did last year. I didn't even get to see Junior last year, which isn't like me at all.

Hydraulic Lock

In an internal combustion engine, the cylinder/piston is a closed space. The piston rises in the cylinder, compressing a gas/air mixture until the sparkplug fires, expanding the gas, pushing the piston.

Hydraulic lock occurs when one cylinder is filled with a liquid. The piston, trying to rise in the cylinder, contacts the liquid and cannot move. The engine feels like it is locked up. That's what happened to my Goldwing engine. Somehow, probably the carburetor stuck open, and raw gasoline drained into the downhill pistons while the bike set up overnight. When I tried to start it the next morning, the piston hit liquid, couldn't move, and stopped trying. I thought the engine was mechanically locked, but it was only a liquid lock. A hydraulic lock. It's fixed, now.

I asked my mechanic if hydraulic lock is a common problem in the GL1500. He says he's never heard of it. We both agreed that it was a common problem of the GL1100 series. I drove one of those for two years and it was a common phenomenon to get on the bike and find it locked up. If you didn't turn off the petcock, gas was likely to drain into one of the downhill pistons.

That takes a load off my mind. And, with gas running at $3.00/gallon, it makes more sense to be on the bike than in the pickup. If I need the pickup I have it, if not, then the bike will do just fine.

Small engine maintenance

I got a call from Momma this morning. Her lawnmower wouldn't start. I poured a go-cup of coffee and headed that way. She had recently bought and installed a new battery. Turns out, the battery wasn't charged. I put a charger on it. She is going to mow this afternoon.

Then I came home and put the Goldwing in a place where I can work on it. Sometime in April, I got on it to go to work. When I engaged the starter, it made a half-tun and stopped with a decided Clunk! The Goldwing engine is legendary for reliability, especially the 1500 version that I drive. There are a couple of million out there being driven every day. It was built from 1988 to 1999 and it set records for durability. Mine has well over 100,000 miles on it. I changed the timing belts at 60,000 miles. That ominous Clunk! sounded like a timing belt had snapped, locking the engine.

I took off the front lower fairing and disassembled the bike enough to get to the timing cover. When I took the cover off, I noticed that the timing belts looked good, so I engaged the driveshaft with a socket wrench and turned the engine through several revolutions. It turns just fine and the engine is still in time. I am considerably relieved. I still don't know what the problem was back in April, but I know what it's not and that's half the answer. If the timing belt had broken while the engine was turning, valves would have met pistons with disastrous results.

While I have it torn down this far, I'll go ahead and put new timing belts on it. Later today or tomorrow morning I'll drive over to the best Goldwing mechanic in the area and ask his opinion. I'm thinking the starter has died on me, but Wayne will be able to give me some pointers.

Selling Land

I own ten acres in Natchitoches Parish that I no longer have justification for owning. I've made the move to my new digs and I offered the land to my adult children, but they've all moved on in their lives and don't want the home place. It's time to sell.

It's not much, it's ten acres with an old farmhouse. And a barn, and a pond, under fence. It is very, very rural. The house is liveable, I recently had adult children living there, but the house really needs a craftsman, someone who wants a major remodel project. The house has raised three families that I know about. I've remodeled it twice, but the last was in 1992 and everything inside is dated. It could really use someone who wanted to make sweat equity really quick.

The charm isn't the house, but the land. It rises from front to back and has meadow, pasture, and woods. When the land is clean, it is beautiful and inspirational. All a fellow needs is a 20 horse tractor, a shredder, and the usual hand tools. I could go out there right now, spend two days on the land and have it looking good. Another couple of afternoons would have it looking great.

Over the years, four people told me that if I ever decided to sell, they wanted it. I called the first fellow last week, and because of changing family circumstances he isn't able to buy it. I called the second fellow an hour ago. He remembered telling me he wanted it. His grandaddy once owned it. He's going to look at it this afternoon. I told him to let me know something in a day or two, because I had some other folks interested.

I hope it moves quickly.

Sunday Church

I went to church this morning, as is my habit. 22 brave souls assisted me in butchering the hymns.

That's a fairly good turnout for a June sunday morning. Folks on vacation, folks traveling, makes for a small worship service. I know that my mother is traveling this morning or she would have been there. I'll be traveling next weekend and won't be at services.

This is Milady's weekend to work. She works nights and sleeps days, so the house is quiet. I really need to mow the lawn, but that'll just have to wait until she wakens.

Accuweather is showing a high today of 97 F with a heat index of 109. Summer has arrived with a vengeance.

Personal Responsibility

It's been a while since I've written about personal responsibility. It seems, as a nation, we've pretty much forgotten about personal responsibility as a viable way of conducting our personal affairs. It seems that if we screw up our lives enough, we can find an apologist for our behavior, not matter how despicable we become.

Rivrdog has a great rant up about alcoholism and the inability of the alchoholic to control his behavior.

Then we come to the Paris Hilton debacle. She has managed to totally screw up her life, yet can't come to grips with the fact that it is her own fault. She has money, prestige, and privelige yet can't believe that society's rules apply to her as well. In short, she has no personal responsibility.

The government has taken away our personal responsibility. We let it happen like a frog put into a cool pot of water will allow the heat to slowly build under the pot until the water boils. One law against another, one government project dovetailed into the next and we forget that we are responsible. We deny responsibility. We duck it and dodge it and society lets us get away with it. This was not always the case.

When I was in high school, we always had one girl get pregnant during the school year and she was always expelled. Girls are the keepers of the sexual energy of our species. Girls were expected to say NO! and if they failed, then they were labeled. It was unjust, it was unfair, but it was their personal responsibility. If a high school girl was having sex, she made damn sure it was safe sex because she didn't want the labels that came from an unwanted pregnancy. Today we are more fair, more just, and girls routinely get pregnant in high school knowing that a host of government services awaits them. It's repulsive to me, personally.

When I was a young adult, the alcohol laws were not as nannyish as they are now. Over the years, somehow, we've taken away the personal responsibility of the driver. When I was starting out, laboring mightily during the day, it was taken as a badge of honor to stop at a convenience store and get one beer for the road. One beer to drink as I drove home. I wasn't going to a bar, I wasn't shunning my family, I was drinking one beer as I drove home. Drinking and driving weren't against the law. Drunk driving was, and we were expected to know the difference. Or, as a young married, on the rare occasion we found a babysitter, we'd have a couple of drinks before we went out to a nightspot, to lessen our bar tab there. Money was tight and my wife wanted a loosen-up drink before she got to the dance floor. Either way, we weren't in any danger of the local constabulary unless we were found drunk. Society didn't much care what we did as long as we didn't cross that tripwire of unacceptable behaviour.

The tripwire is much, much lower now. It's easier to get tripped up because the law has taken the place of the approbation of society. Back in the day, there was public shame associated with violating the rules of polite society. Today there is no shame.

Sometimes, I think we should repeal all the laws written since 1964, both on the federal, local, and state level. Repeal all of them and see how we progress as a society. It'd be an interesting experiment.

Tased

I got tased today, a new qualification. That was one of the damndest experiences of my LEO career. The gun they used on us was the Advanced Taser M26.

Imagine that all your muscles lock up. All of them. You can't move, you can't scream, and you're in extreme pain. You can feel the muscles lock and you can feel the electric shock rippling along the muscle mass that's been affected. My buddies had me under the arm and lowered me to the mat, but if I were alone I would have fallen immediately, stiff as a board, into the waiting mat.

Then suddenly it's over. Like someone flipped a switch, which I suppose is a true enough analogy, the ride is over. And I'm fine. Better than fine; I'm happy it is over. I've ridden the pulsed wave and come out the other side and I'm fine. Only I know what it's like and I never, never, never want that experience again.

This is probably the finest law enforcement tool to come along in the last fifty years. There is no telling how many lives could be saved if more of these were on the streets. While not an end-all, or a do-all, it is certainly another tool in the continuum of options we have available to us. It certainly doesn't take the place of a functioning brain, and good judgement is always the best law enforcement tool, this little device makes it totally feasable that a 100 lb female officer could subdue a 350 lb drunk all by herself. Or, that a 54 year old fat cop like myself could take down a 225 pound athlete without danger of injury to either of us.

While this isn't a Phaser, which would be the ultimate law enforcement weapon, it's certainly useful. Personally, I want one of these.

Home for Lunch

Home for lunch after force-on-force training. The training itself was good, but I've dont a lot of that over the years and it was starting to get old when the instructors shut it down.

I have time to grab a sandwich and say hi to the grandkids, who are over harassing Grandma. Then it's back to the training center. I'm told we're getting a class on internet predators, which should be interesting because there is absolutely nothing we can do at school to stop them. I say that because all the sites we might use are blocked from viewing within the school system. The school system has some dedicated folks blocking sites in the hopes that we keep the kids out of them. Rightfully, there are things we don't want the kid to see online, but that same blocking program blocks the administration from looking at sites we might use to protect the kids.

We call it the Green Violation Screen, which pops up whenever you've tried to access a site that has been blocked. Often unintentionally. For example; a teacher asks me to get her some information on gangs, or drugs, or the latest data on teen sex. Googling any of those search strings brings you to the Green Violation Screen, because we want to shield the students from gangs and drugs and teen sex. Sometimes, though it's useful to look at Xanga or MySpace or some of the other sites to see what the kids are doing online. Those sites are blocked too, to keep the kids from accessing their MySpace page during class time.

The Green Violation Screen is an unintended consequence, and totally a pain in the butt.

Tomorrow we go through baton and handcuff requalification.

Issue Weapons.

Someone asked if my weapons are personally owned, or if they are issued. The Sheriff doesn't issue weapons. From time to time there is a rumor that he is going to buy a bunch of Glocks and make everyone carry the same weapon, but so far that hasn't happened.

All my guns are mine.

Range Day

I spent the day on the Sheriff's range for the POST requalification.

First, the duty pistol. The 1911 ran like a dream and I qualified easily with it. No, I didn't bring any targets home. Keeping targets from a qualification smacks of being a rookie or an amateur. I'm neither, and while I post targets here for the audience edification, I don't bring targets back from qualification. Best possible score is 120, with 96 needed to qualify. Your pundit scored 115.

Next, the shotgun. The Remington 870 ran like a dream. The course of fire is two rounds of slugs and ten buckshot. We use 00 buck, nine to a shell, for a total possible of 92 points. When the Captain score my target, he got a 93, then looked again at the target and disqualified one of the holes. It seems I shot a wad through the target.

Next came the backup and the Model 60 did the job it is supposed to do. I noticed that I was getting some lead shaving. It's been 20 years since that revolver has had any professional gunsmithing. It's probably time to send it to Clark's and get it timed. Revolvers, especially old revolvers can use a tune-up from time to time and this one is long overdue. For a five-shot revolver, best score is 100, with 80 needed to qualify. I scored an 82. Not the best score, but good enough. I think timing will really help this revolver.

Then we shot the rifle course. I was shooting the Remington 760 and it became a nightmare. I was plagued by equipment problems, most prominently magazine problems. The guys on the line thought it was a hoot watching me try to shoot the rifle. I pulled one 10-round magazine out and bumped it and all ten rounds shot upward into the air. I had magazines fail to seat, magazines fail to feed and magazines try to double feed. The guys on the bench were hooting and laughing and thought the scene was hilarious. Even I was laughing before it was over. The rounds that chambered and fired did good, all landing in the scoring ring. Best possible score on this event is 80 points with 64 to qualify. I scored 40 points on this exercise.

Tomorrow, scenario shooting.

'Bout damned Time

I see where the Feds have indicted William Jefferson (D-LA) on Federal corruption charges. He is charged with racketeering, soliciting bribes, and money laundering. The indictment runs 96 pages. It ought to be a good one.

I see no mention of it on his home page. I'm sure it's just an oversight.

Annual Requalification

Today was day one of the annual requalification that we all have to go through to maintain our POST certification.

I am now recertified on CPR and AED, and it seems there's been a change from last year. Last year we were taught that the respiration cycle for CPR was 15 compressions and two breaths. This year we're taught that the cycle is 30 compressions and 2 breaths. Evidently, compressions are more important than breaths. The instructor was extremely careful to make sure we were doing compressions correctly. We'll be breaking ribs, that's almost certain. I'm reminded that the doctors can treat a broken rib. There is no treatment for death.

Tomorrow, firearms qualifications. I'll be shooting the 1911, the Model 60, the Remington 870 and the Remington 760. I always look forward to the shooting portion of requals.

Wednesday and Thursday are scenario-based training. Friday we're getting certified on the Tazer and then doing recert on the baton, along with unarmed self-defense. Friday is fighting day. I don't like fighting day. I know how. I can do it. I don't like it. I'd rather work smart than work hard, and when you've got to wrestle someone it's hard work.

Road Trip

We're headed for Natchez and Vicksburg in an hour or so. Milady's brother Bill is up from Florida for his annual pilgrimage to Louisiana and his lady wants to explore the delta, Mississippi side. We don't have much itenerary, but we're going to stop first at Old South Winery to get a case of wine for Milady's wine rack.

Thence, along the Natchez Trace for a few miles, then we'll get off of the Trace and head north, for Vicksburg. We'll spend the night in Vicksburg. Milady says she knows a few good restaurants there.

We'll be back tomorrow.