Soap Pods

In the last several months, Milady and I have been using those soap pods that you see everywhere.  Tide makes them, Purex makes them. No measuring, no powder, no liquid, just drop the bag into the washing machine, add water and a load of clothes, and let 'er rip.  Very convenient.

My question:  Where does the little plastic pack go?  If the companies can make a plastic pack dissolve in cold water, why do we have a landfill problem?

Million Muslim March

Surfing around the Intertubes, I started seeing reference to a Million Muslim March scheduled for September 11, 2013.  So, I went to those same intertubes and started looking for information.  I thought that this was some bad joke.  But sure enough, over at US News I found an article.  Sure enough.

The American Muslim Political Action Committee is hosting what it hopes will be a gathering of one million people in Washington, D.C., on the 12th anniversary of 9/11 to urge the government to reveal "the truth" about the attacks.

They want the truth?  The truth behind the 9/11 attacks are well documented.  What happened was that a bunch of Muslims violated US laws, hijacked aircraft and flew them into buildings, most notably the World Trade Center and the Pentagon.  In doing so, they killed thousands of US citizens and woke us up to the problem of Muslim terror.  That's the Truth.

 Protesters will also denounce "FBI traps," "illegal tapping and surveilling of Muslim Americans" and "media propaganda making the word terrorist synonymous with Muslim," he said.

As far as making the word terror synonymous with the word Muslim, let me remind you that you've done that yourself.  Muslims are responsible for bringing cutting edge technology to cowardly terror attacks.  When you llook at the denomination of the 9/11 hijackers, the Boston bombers, the cowardly Muslim Major at Fort Hood, the underwear bomber, the shoe bomber, and untold thousands of nearly anonymous bombings in Iraq, Afghanistan, Indonesia, Pakistan, Palestine, India, Yemen, Kuwait, and countless other places, what word pops up?  Muslim.  If you want to make any other point, then maybe strapping your sons with bombs might be a good idea.

The simple fact is that Islam is a religion that worships a pedophile prophet.  That should tell anyone all they need to know about the religion.  It's a backward religion that promotes violence.  It treats women like chattel, it demeans children.  That's the truth.  Here's another simple truth.  In most Muslim nations, they have trouble keeping the electricity flowing, most folks live in a state of fear, and civil war and sectarian violence is common-place.

It's well and good that the promoters want a million Muslims to march on Washington.  I'm sure our President will feel right at home.  If he's not on vacation.  But let's not pretend that Muslims weren't responsible for the attack on September 11, 2001.  That's well documented history.

Sunday Morning Dawg

Yesterday started off busy, then got quiet really quickly.  After sharing a hot dog with Milady, the dawg finds a quiet spot for an afternoon's nap.

That looks like a fittinng spot to take a nap.

Runnin' and Gunnin'

Two video clips from this morning's shoot at the Cenla Sport Shooters.

First, youngest son Joey on the final stage of the shoot.  PawPaw forgot that this new phone is also a video camera.



Next clip is one challenging stage where a window closes during shooting.  Here, second son Matthew clears the course before the window slams shut.



We had a ball this morning, and we wish that more of you could join us.  This type shooting is a lot of fun.

TGIF

I'm off for the weekend, and getting ready for a shoot.  My boys and I are going to shoot with the Cenla Sports Shooters tomorrow.  I'm puttering around, making sure that I have ammo, guns, magazines, hearing protection, all the thing we need to go to a range.

Because today I carried my pistol on duty, I had to take the duty ammo out and put it back in the box.  The Sheriff gives us one box of duty ammo per qualification, and we're supposed to shoot it at the next qual.  That way, we keep fresh ammo in the pistol.  I definitely don't want to shoot that duty ammo this weekend, so I had to unload it and segregate it.  It'll get loaded back in the magazines tomorrow afternoon, late. Here's a picture of one of the stages.

That's going to be an interesting stage for sure.

Smartphone Case

Cell phones are an indispensable part of police work these days.  Rather than clog up the radio net with traffic, we're likely to use the cell phone more often than the police radio.  Yeah, cell phones are susceptible to the radio-frequency scanners, but they're less likely to be monitored than the police radio frequencies, and we're not broadcasting over the open net.  It might be your buddy, or it might be the boss, but with cell phones have changed the way that we do business.

But, you've got to carry the damned thing, and there seems to be a dearth of smartphone cases that will fit on a standard duty belt.  Before now, I've carried my cell phone in the same pocket as my little spiral ring notebook (which no self-respecting cop is ever without). But, when we bought new phones last week, and put the Otterbox cases on them, I'm having a hell of a time fitting it into that shirt pocket.  Oh, I like the new phone well enough, but it's big, especially when it's in that case.

So, I 've been surfing around looking for a case that will fit on my duty belt, and they're scarce as hen's teeth.  I finally found one at Gall's, a case made by Boston Leather, which the review tells me will fit my Samsung Galaxy with the protective case.  I ordered it, and it should be in the mailbox in a week or so.

Hey, Safariland.  Y'all need to make a series of smartphone cases for commonly used phones.  I bet you'd sell thousands of them.

Shop Rags

There are very few things as valuable as a shop rag.  It's used for a variety of purposes, but the whole idea is that when it's done, you throw it away without a second thought.  Sure, shop rags can be washed, but eventually they're done.  Throw it away .

I make mine from old tee shirts.  I can get 10 shop rags from a single shirt.  When a tee-shirt has reached the end of it's service life, it goes under the scissors.  First I cut off the sleeves, which make two small rags.  Then I cut the shirt across the top and sides, which gives me two big pieces of cloth.  Cut each of those into quarters, and that's a total of 10.  Four quarters, plus the sleeves.  One of those rags has a pocket, because I use pocket tee-shirts.

I make heavy-duty shop rags from the legs of old blue-jeans.  Sometimes, a piece of good, blue denim is just the ticket for a particular project.  Gun-cleaning, refinishing furniture, light mechanic work, there's nothing like a good shop rag, and while blue denim is durable, there's some times when you just want a piece of nice tee-shirt.  Just a few minutes ago, I looked down at an old tee-shirt I was wearing and decided that it should never again be seen in polite company.  I took out my scissors and converted it into shop rage.  Now it's got a new life and a new reason for existence.

You're welcome.

A Scale

I've been writing about guns for many years, and I've been blogging about guns for many years.  One of the things we talk about is weight of a particular rifle, scope, sling combination and while I had the ability to weigh a gun, I didn't have the ability to post a visual image of that weight.  Until recently.

I told my mother that I was looking for an old-style scale and she went into her closet, pulled out a scale and handed it to me.  How cool.

Now, if I want to talk about a rifle that weighs 8 lbs, 4 oz with sling, mounts and scope, I have a way to show that rifle on the scale.  Old-time gun writers used this method and I think that it's simply the best way to show the weight of a particular rifle.  Like this.

That's the rifle I call the ugly rifle.  It's a Savage 11, bone stock in .308 with a Weaver Buck Commander scope, good steel Leupold mounts, and it weighs 8 lbs, 4 oz with sling.  Ammo would add a little more weight, but we never count the weight of the cartridges anyway.  Of course, you can click the picture to make it larger.

Thanks, Momma!

Back to Work

One of the benefits of being a school-house cop is that we get K-time.  All that extra time we work gets put in an account, and we take off during the summer.  During the school year we accumulate a bunch of extra hours and we take those off when school is out.  Today that comes to an end.  The teachers report today for inservice training, to get their classrooms ready, and to make preparation for the kids to show up on Friday.  So do the Resource Officers.  In another hour or so, I'm going to pull on my boots, strap on my duty belt, and go to a meeting with all the other school officer.  Summer's over, at least from a holiday perspective, and it's time to get back in harness.  It's been fun, but I'm ready to hit it hard, get it done.

I wonder what changes they made this year?  I guess I'll find out in another couple of  hours.

Technology

I'm still learning this new phone, and I'll probably be learning it for a while.  There's lots of bells and whistles on this thing, and honestly, these things have become more personal assistant than telephone.  Really, talking on it is a fairly minor part of the whole experience.  It's a telephone, for sure, but they've crammed a lot of other technology in that little box.  I doubt that I'll ever use half the capability of the device, but what I'm seeing is impressive.  And, this isn't even this year's technology.  This is last year's tech.   It's a phone, a camera, a GPS, a compass, an email device, a video-watcher, an internet browser, the list just goes on and on.

Dad was a telephone man, worked all his life for the local Ma Bell affiliate, and back in the '70s he told me that one day we'd all carry a phone in our pocket.  I thought that the old man was bonkers, but his predictions have paid out.  He got to see some of the results of the technology before he died, but I'd love to let him play with a smart phone.  He was an early-adopter of technology, and I believe that he'd have the latest and best smartphone in his pocket.  He enjoyed gadgetry, and when he worked for Mother Bell, he'd go off to schools at Bell Labs, and come back and tell us the wonders of micro switches and computers.

Anyway, I've been playing with this device, and evidently, it's got two cameras.  You can take something called a Selfie.  They're not very flattering, and as we're talking about un-flattering photographs, PawPaw is trying to expand the knowlege base.  Milady's been gone this weekend and when she returned last night, she brought me a hat, given as a joke gift by one of her cousins.  I think it's quite stylish, but I'm not sure where I'll wear it.

Editing these things is a problem.  The subject matter is lousy and the camera wants to flip the picture on it's side.  For the time being I think I'll stick with my digital SLR.  I understand that camera, and it orients the pictures the way I want them oriented.

The Bob Job

Years ago I obtained a Smith and Wesson Model 60 revolver.  I carried it for many years, used it in a plainclothes role as a police officer, and carried it on duty after my retirement.  You can read the first chapter of its life with me at the Snubnose Files, where they asked me to write an article on my little pistol.

Everyone has seen these little pistols, the first stainless steel revolver made by Smith and Wesson.

Until today, that's what it looked like.  Classic, spur hammer revolver.

Last year, my daughter-in-law was looking for a pistol suitable for concealed carry.  She had shot her husband's model 638, and she had shot my steel Model 60.  She preferred the Model 60 for the extra few ounces of the steel frame.  She said that those few ounces moderated the recoil of self-defense ammo, and I have to agree with her.  Good, clean Model 60s are rare as hen's teeth around here, and I had recently acquired a Model 38, so I passed the Model 60 to her.  She carried it for her CCW training, and she's carried it since, but that hammer spur caused her problems while she was working.  That little spur kept working itself into her, and as she does a lot of bending and stooping at her job, she decided that she wanted the hammer bobbed.

Today, after church, the sons and I got out Kuhnhausen's manual, and did a quick read-up on the project.  My elder son is a wizard with metal, and we enlisted his help in this delicate project.  In about twenty minutes we had the hammer out of the frame, then we let him chuck the hammer in a lead-lined vise and let him work his wizardry.  For about an hour, sparks flew, and motors whined, and in short order he had removed that offending spur.

I think he did a great job.  The offending spur is gone and what's left is nicely rounded, de-horned and blends niceley wit the curves of the hammer.  Here's a closer view.

I don't  think we could have paid for better work.  It's altogether a worthy project for a Sunday afternoon, and certainly worth the meal I fed him after the job was done.    I'm very pleased.

Aw, heck, one more picture, from the very back of the pistol.

 Is that good work, or what?  My children are the greatest blessing of my life.

Sunday Morning

About time to head to church.  As it turns out, mine is a little brick church in the woods.



After church, some of the kids and grandkids are coming over.  PawPaw is going to fire up the pit and cook hot dogs and sausage.  Cut up an onion.  Heat up some chili.   Big ole bag of chips.

Y'all enjoy Sunday.

Sunday Morning Dawg

The dog has been morose this weekend.  He's beside himself that he can't find Milady, the being that gives meaning to his world.  She went to a family reunion in Alabama this weekend with her brother, Bill.  I've told the dog a dozen times that she'll be home this afternoon, but he is still looking for her.  Beside himself with worry.

When we're outside he looks in all the places she might be.

Wandering from one spot to the other, looking to see if she sneaked in when he wasn't looking.

I know, pup, it's too quiet in this house when she's not here.  She'll be home late this afternoon.

Saturday Sleep-In

I slept this morning to the glorious hour of 7:00, which might as well be noon, on my schedule.  I'm one of those guys who is usually up at 5:00, coffee and morning routine by 6:00 and ready to start the day.  Today I feel positively lazy and have nothing on my dance card.  Yesterday I was busier than a cat in a sandbox, watching a grandkid and taking care of household chores.  It's amazing how much energy a 5-year-old can put in the house.  After his dad showed up to take him home, I went to the auction, hung out with the guys that run it, and we went to eat afterwards, breakfast style, at a local dive.  I got back to the house about midnight, scratched the dog and went to bed.  Today, I'm going to revel in my sloth, do some light housework, and piddle in my shop.  I'm 'bachin' it' this weekend as Milady is gone to a family reunion.

In Thursday's post, the one with the video, Joe Mamma asks the question:

The low shooting was pretty interesting. My guess is that the video was not garden variety annual requalification....Do cops talk about or practice those kinds of things?

I don't know about all cops, but I practice it, and I thought it was interesting that the guys in the vid were getting as close to the ground as they could.  That's a good idea.  If you pick a standard sedan, get down and look under the vehicle.  You've got about eight inches of ground clearance, maybe less.  So, you've got to get low, much lower than a standard prone position.  The simplest way is to roll onto your shoulder and shoot the carbine sideways.  This causes some problems because your sights are normally atop the rifle and in this position they're on the side of the rifle, and the ejection port is pointed directly at the ground.

For lack of a better term, I call it "cruiser prone", and while it opens up opportunities, it also presents problems.  Still, low is good, and if you can get down and start taking out ankles, the gunfight will probably be over sooner, rather than later.  Use available cover, return effective fire, and make the bad guys worry about you rather than inflict damage on innocents.  Using a carbine is one thing, but for the true effect, shoot your shotgun like that.  It's a whole 'nuther experience and one that has to be felt to be believed.

great Video

I was surfing around, looking for something this morning, and I stumbled upon this video.  Great feel-good video, with guns, guns, and guns.



More later.  I think I'm going to the range.

Hot

Warm today, but this is August.  A screen capture from the Weather Underground.  The official recording station is just a mile up the road, north of my little acre.

That's an official 99F, with a heat index of 106.  I finished my outdoor work today before noon and headed inside where I started digging around in the fridge for a noon-day snack.  I found some left-over chicken salad, with some left-over diced tomatoes, then looked some more and found some left-over taco shells and a small packet of guacamole in the cheese drawer.  Game on!  Chicken salad tacos for lunch.

It's hotter than a whatchacallit out there, and I don't intend to spend much time sitting on the veranda this afternoon.  Just not interested.  It is August, after all, and my Momma didn't raise any fools.

Alexander Retiring

My US Representative, Rodney Alexander (R) is retiring this year.  Thank God.  Rodney was originally a Democrat, but changed his party affiliation in 2004 in a blatant political maneuver.  He's always been a Democrat at heart, but is very good at getting re-elected.    He'll say whatever you want him to say, as long as you vote for him.  I often looked for the string in his back, and wondered who was pulling it.

“Rather than producing tangible solutions to better this nation, partisan posturing has created a legislative standstill,” he said. “Unfortunately, I do not foresee this environment to change anytime soon. I have decided not to seek reelection, so that another may put forth ideas on how to break through the gridlock and bring about positive change for our country.”

Rodney is the guy, when taken to task about his pork-ish ways at a local Tea Party rally, defended his actions, saying that he spelled it 'PORC' for Projects of Regional Concern.  He was booed lustily from the stage and that's the last time that we heard of PORC.  His district (LA-5) is hugely conservative, which meant that Rodney had to suppress his basic instincts.  He's an old-style populist southern Democrat who found it convenient to don the Republican mantle. 

It'll be interesting to see who announces to fill his seat.  Let the games begin.

New Phones

Like many Americans, Milady and I have a Verizon plan, and we went into Best Buy yesterday to see what's up.  For the past two years, I had been using a Blackberry phone and wasn't really impressed with it.  Aggravated by it, but not impressed.  Milady had been using a Samsung slider, but didn't like the speed of the device.  She's an RN and wanted the ability to access data a whole lot faster than she could with her old phone.

We walked out an hour later with two new Samsung Galaxy S3 smartphones.  I've been tinkering with mine a little bit, and the learning curve is steep.  I'll get the hang of it, but this thing has a lot of bells and whistles.  I doubt I'll ever use 10% of it.  We wanted to get cases for the phone, but the very helpful lady at the store told us "sshhh.  Amazon.", so I'm about to order some Otterbox cases, as soon as Milady decides on a color.

Here we go again.  Zoom, zoom.

Procedure Clear

I just got back from the hospital from my colonoscopy.  Everything is fine, no problem with me medically.

I knew that, but bowed to pressure to get it done.  As it turns out, it was totally unnecessary.  A waste of time, money and effort.  They found norhing.  NOTHING, which I could have told them last week, but evidently no one believes me, they've got to put me on a table, anesthetize me, and see for themselves.  Which as it turned out, is just exactly what I told them. 

We got to the hospital at 6:00 and they did they had me sign some releases, took some blood, then put me in a Day Surgery room.  Told me to put on the gown and they'd be back in a few minutes.  Sure enough, they came back in a few minutes to start the IV and to have me tell them my date of birth and the last four of my social security number.  Then they left, told me that I'd be going to the scope room shortly.  That was a damned lie.  Four hours later I was still in that room, starting to get a case of the screaming red-ass.

When I have a procedure done, I want to know what's going to happen.  Down to the nitty-gritty.  No one told me that I'd be spending four friggin hours in a small room waiting for them to get their act together.  Some one else's problem is not my problem, and while I feel sorry for them, that doesn't mean that I want to be pushed to the back of the line.  Even if they die, to me they're just another obit in tomorrow's paper.

I got to the hospital at 6:00 and was pushed out the door at 12:20, after the entire nursing staff told me that I'd be home at noon.  Evidently, lying to patients isn't a problem for nurses.  I'm tempted to write the nursing board and put the whole Day Surgery staff on report.

They roll me to the scope room at 10:45 local and push me into a room.  I a few minutes they tell me they're going to have to move me.  My scope room is ready.  Turns out they've put me in a storage room, a broom closet.  They have a multi-million dollar facility and the best they can do is to put a pissed-off patient in a broom closet.  They wheel me to the scope room, and there's a really nice lttle lady in there that wants to make small-talk.  I tell her that she's got a truly angry patient, and all I want from her is cold, efficient professionalism.  I'm not interested in her grandkids, or her anecdotes, just do your damned job and let's get this show on the road.  She tell me that it isn't her fault, and I tell her that I'm not assigning fault, I'm simply making sure that the job gets done.  Anything that gets between the job and completion is totally unacceptable.

The Doctor comes in shortly, and tells me that he had a bad surgery this morning.  Again, not my problem.  His problem.  "Let's get this done, doc."  He gives me some anesthesia, and I'm out like a light.  Wake up in Day Surgery.  They want me to fart.  No problem.  I can fart on command, so I rip off a couple of good ones, ask the nurse if that's sufficient, and tell her to give me my pants.  I'm outta here.  I walked out of the hospital at 12:10, fully ten minutes later than the day surgery nurses told me I'd be home.  Another lie, and they lie to patients without even a pause.  Some might say that it's an honest mistake, but if you don't know to a certainty, keep your damned mouth shut.

They push me to the curb.  I get in the car, come home and make myself a couple of fired egg sandwiches.

Now, to a medical certainty, there is nothing wrong with my colon.  I knew that last week, but again, no one listens to the patient.  However, it is now a medical certainty, and I'm still pissed off at the inconvenience, the incompetence, the lack of patient care, and the purely disinterested way that modern medicine looks at a patient.

Sunday Morning Dawg

We hosted a birthday party yesterday, and Milady made a big ol' bodacious cookie cake at the request of the birthday boy.  The dog, of course was hoping that something hit the floor.

As the Shih Tzu is descended from the Kitchen Midden Dog, he's fulfilling his destiny, waiting patiently on the kitchen floor. 

Saturday Sitting-Around

Two cups of coffee, and the morning paper.  I hear grandkids puttering around in the back of the house, and I know I'm going to have to get busy in a few minutes.  I've conned a teenaged grandkid into mowing the back yard in exchange for a ten-spot when he's finished.  I hear the push mower running now, and there's very little grass in that yard.  Birthday party later today, and we're expecting about 20 folks for the celebration.  PawPaw's cooking hamburgers at the request of the birthday boy, who is turning eleven.  PawPaw makes very good hamburgers. 

The weather-weenies tell me that the temps will be 97F this afternoon, and with the humidity stuck at 85%, it will feel like a balmy 110F.  Luckily, the barbeque area will be in shade by the time I fire off the pit, at about 5:00 p.m. local.  We'll eat about 6:00, with birthday cake to follow. 

PawPaw is expecting a small package today from the UPS guy.  The tracking site tells me that it's out-for-delivery.  Rifle bullets for this hunting season, along with spare turrets for the handgun press.  I want to set up the spare turrets for .45 ACP, .38 Special, and .44 Magnum.  No sense unscrewing dies when spare turrets are so cheap.

My biggest concern today is what I'm going to eat for lunch.

Charlie Rangel, Idiot

Charlie Rangel is back in the news.  You remember Charlie, right?  The Democrat Rep from Harlem, who doesn't know American history, but was recently censured by the House for violating numerous ethics rules, not to mention the laws of New York.

Well, Charlie says that the Tea Party is the same bunch that fought for segregation during the Civil Rights movement.  And he used the term 'white cracker' improperly.  We all know that the 'crackers' are the group that settled Florida, as oppposed to the snowbirds who come down in the winter, or to retire. One of my daughters-in-law is a 'cracker', a sobriquet she proudly claims.

Charlie's mouth is open, because he can't believe that the truth of the matter, is that by a huge majority, the Democratic party was the party that fought for segregation in the South.  It's an inconvenient truth, but the truth nevertheless.  I feel sorry for guys like Rangel, because they've so bought into the revisionist history of segregation in the US that they don't know that the Democratic party was the party of Jim Crow and fire hoses.  He'd do well to learn the history of the party that he swear fealty to.

Frosting

Elias was helping Milady frost a birthday cake, and managed to get a little on himself.

I wonder if it was any good?  We'll find out tomorrow.

More Errands

I started mowing grass this morning, and one of my spindles broke.  The little star that keeps the blade aligned turned loose and the blade would freewheel on the shaft.  That's no good.  I took the shaft off and headed to town to see my parts guy.

On the way to town, I remembered a camping store that's been in business for years.  They were in business in the late '60s and still bravely hang on.  I thought they might have a Convert-a-ball in 1 7/8th so I pulled the truck into their lot.

The Convert-A-Ball is a hitch system that uses a shaft with a hole.  The ball fits over the shaft and a pin secures the ball to the shaft.  You can get balls in all the popular sizes, and they all fit the shaft.  Reese has a similar system that is found in most box stores.  It's not the same, and Reese sells Convert-A-Ball hitches as well.  Online the best price I could find was $9.75 and shipping would drive that to over $20.00.

So, I swung the truck into the camping store and went inside with my 2" ball in my hand.  The lady said that they quit carrying the Convert-A-Ball system ten years ago, then she stopped herself.  "Hang on, let me look in the back."  She came back in a few minutes with a 1 7/8 inch ball for my system.  She charged me $6.95 and I whistled myself out of the store.

Stopped by the lawn mower parts store and let him abuse me for $50.00 for a new spindle.

Then I stopped by the pharmacy to fill a prescription.  I need something called Golytely, which I understand is a misnomer.  I'm turning 60 in December, and Milady has decided that I'm overdue for a colonoscopy.  I'm scheduled for the procedure on Monday, so I do the prep on Sunday.  The less said about  that whole process, the better.

Running Errands

Twenty five years ago, I bought a hitch system called Convert-A-Ball.  One shank and three hitch balls.  The balls were pinned to the shaft and to change balls, all you needed was a small punch.  A small screwdriver, even a key would work.  I had three balls that fit that shaft, a 1 7/8, a 2", and a 2 5/16.  I kept the spare balls in the same bag that I keep my jack and jumper cables in the truck.  Yesterday I needed to move a trailer, and I seem to have misplaced my 1 7/8 ball.  Just Damn!  I've had that system for 25 years and suddenly one of the hitch balls goes missing.  Aggravating.

I spent the morning running around looking for a ball.  No joy, no cigar.  I guess I'll order it online.  However, I was at Academy Sports and they had .22 LR ammo in stock.  That's the first time I've seen .22LR on the shelves in about eight months.  Limit was two boxes, and I got both of mine.  Maybe the shortage is starting to diminish.  I can only hope so.

Tumbling Brass

Couple of months ago, I acquired a bag of range pickup brass.  I knew that overwhelming majority of it was .45 ACP.  Today I dropped that bag of brass into the tumbler to clean it before sorting it.  Bad idea.  It seems that when you're tumbling brass, a piece of .40SW will wedge itself into a piece of .45 ACP during the tumbling process to the point where it takes pliers to extract it.  9mm brass is bad enough, but .40 SW brass seems to like to try to hide in .45 ACP, like it's ashamed to be seen in company with the larger brass.

Aggravating is what it is.  That'll teach me to take a shortcut sorting brass. 

Bill & Hill

It seems that Bill and Hill are angry at comparisons between themselves and mayoral hopeful mayoral hopeful Anthony Weiner and wife Huma.

Bill and Hillary Clinton are angry with efforts by mayoral hopeful Anthony Weiner and his campaign to compare his Internet sexcapades — and his wife Huma Abedin’s incredible forgiveness — to the Clintons’ notorious White House saga, The Post has learned.
“The Clintons are upset with the comparisons that the Weiners seem to be encouraging — that Huma is ‘standing by her man’ the way Hillary did with Bill, which is not what she in fact did,’’ said a top state Democrat.

Why would they be angry?  Bill Clinton set the most recent standard for sexual sleaze for a President, and Hillary lost her feminists creds when she decided to stay.  It's easier to stay with Bill, ride his coattails (or his fly) and move in political circles so that she could become a senator, a presidential candidate, and what was arguably the most horrific Secretary of State in modern history (can you say Benghazi).

If Hill had any self-respect at all, she would have left immediately after  Monica wiped her chin.  She didn't and now she and her philandering husband have set the standard for sleaze.  All the Weiner's are doing is following that example, and calling attention to it.  Why should the Dems shun the Weiner's when they continue to bow at the altar of Bill and Hill?  It's a valid question, and a valid comparison.

From what little I know about Huma, she was Hill's aide for many, many years, learning at the feet of the master.  Anthony and Huma are following the Clinton model.  Bill and Hill should be proud.  Emulation is the best compliment.

Casting Bench

I spent the morning at the casting bench, turning scrap lead into useful bullets.  I cast for several hours and when I had finished, and everything had cooled, I sorted bullets.  From this morning's labor I have 370 good, useable cast bullets that I didn't own at daylight.

That's Lee's TL452-230-2R.  It's a standard 230 grain round-nose bullet for the .45 ACP,  very good plinking and target bullet.  With about 4.5 grains of Bullseye, it mimics the standard hardball load so beloved by .45 auto shooters.  This afternoon I'll tumble them in liquid alox and spread them on waxed paper to dry.  Then, later this week, start cranking the handle on the turret press.  I'll need ammo for the shoot on August 17th and those bullets play a prominent place in my plans for that Saturday.

Magazines, Again

I awoke this Sunday morning to blissful sloth, too late to go to church.  My apologies to the congregation, but I'm sure that they carried on bravely without me.

Sitting the quiet house, surfing the internet, I began thinking about 1911 magazines.  Two months ago I was running my 1911 on the USPSA course and had some magazine related issues.  One mag in particular would not hold the top cartridge in the magazine.  During a hectic stage, I slammed the mag home and was surprised to see the top cartridge pop out of the magazine, arc through the ejection port and fall to the ground.  No one saw that but me and the timer, and that mag got lost among the other mags in the bag.

So, I dragged out my 1911 and all the magazines for it, and started playing with the slide lock.  Out of my sack of magazines, I identified two that would not engage the slide lock. I figured that weak springs were the problem, so I took those out to my bench.

A year or so ago I had obtained some Wilson Combat magazine springs with follower.  I took apart the two offending magazines and installed the new springs and follower, then tried them in the Colt.  They both held the slide lock nicely.  Then I loaded the magazines.  One loaded fine.  The other wouldn't hold any more than three rounds without pushing the top rounds through the feed lips.  A quick inspection of the feed lips revealed that they were hopelessly worn.  I disassembled that magazine, looking for a maker's mark.  When I took off the bumper pad, I saw holes I had drilled in the base plate to install that pad and the remnants of a Federal Stock Number.  I remembered that magazine as one I had picked up 15 years ago in an Ebay lot, of standard GI magazines.  I myself drilled the holes in the base plate to install the bumper pad.  I put that magazine body in the vise, crushed it, and dropped it in the trash.

Changing springs in a magazine is a good idea, and that Wilson Combat kit I linked above is a good one to have.  An additional benefit is because of the way the follower is made, it allows a standard 7-round magazine to hold 8 rounds.  New springs are cheap, compared to new magazines, and anyone with a basic understanding of simple tools can change a spring.  Now, all my remaining magazines work properly, hold the rounds securely and will engage the slide lock properly. 

If you start having problems with your semi-auto pistol, look first to the magazine.  That's probably where the problem lies.

Friday Afternoon Snowcone

Every Friday afternoon, about 3:00, grandson and I head to the snowcone stand for a cool, tasty treat.  We decided on cherry today.

Milady happed to be taking a break from prepping, and I asked her if she wanted one.  She opted for watermelon.  Of course, the dog was curious to know what we were eating, so she got out a bowl and offered him a taste.

He likes watermelon snowcone just fine.

Magazines

I've been playing silly pistol games with the Cenla Sport Shooters.  These guys sit around at night dreaming fevered dreams of stages that require multiple magazines-full of ammo.  Most gunfights are over in three seconds and require less than three rounds, but if these fellows want multiple engagements they're free to design and build those stages.

Nice guys, one and all.  I'm not complaining, but I realize that what they're doing is not a serious representation of self-defense skills.  So, realizing that my standard load of a hot pistol and two reloads was insufficient to play their silly games, I hollered up Brownell's and made an order.

The one on top is for my M&P45 if I decide to shoot that, the three on the bottom are standard, 7-rounnd 1911 mags if I decide to carry the single stack.  Those 1911 mags are carrying the Brownell's name.  They're less expensive than McCormick's or Wilson's and from my initial inspection they seem to be very sturdy magazines.  Adding those magazines to my current stash should give me enough spares to engage the zombie horde that the Sport Shooters seem to prefer.  At least now I won't run out of ammo during a stage.

It's fun shooting with those folks, it really is.

Friday Prepping

This morning we cleared the patio of furniture, added cleaner, scrubbed it with a big push broom and hosed it down.  Let it dry and put the furniture back on the patio.  As the day gets warmer, we'll move inside for final straightening and give the kitchen a final mopping before I start the meat later tonite.

Rivrdog wonders if my mother in law is a teetotaler?  Not likely.  She has one cocktail, maybe two, each and every day.  Purely to assist the digestion.  Her comestibles of choice are 1) Canadian whiskey, and if Canadian isn't available, (believe it or not) 2) straight gin, with three cubes and a splash of water.  She believes that if you're going to build a fire, it makes no sense to put it out.

Yeah, Rivrdog, there will be various potables.  Which reminds me, I need to put the soft drinks in the outdoor fridge.  And scrub down a couple of ice chests..

Prepping

Saturday, we celebrate the birthday of Milady's mother.  The matriarch turned 92 this week and we're all gathering at our house this year for the celebration.  A joyous event, but because we're hosting, the house must be spotless, immaculate, well ordered.  God Forbid that our kinfolks come over and find a spot of dust.

We've been cleaning.  Deep cleaning.  Taking-the-curtains-down cleaning.  And re-arranging.  And the phone has been ringing what-can-we-bring.  Tuesday was yardwork, Wednesday was cabinet cleaning, getting down everything and dusting.  Cleaning windows, and taking all the blinds down, taking them outside and hosing them off.  This morning I rented a Rug Doctor, moved furniture and deep cleaned carpets.  Friday will be final prepping, setting up awnings, and making sure that the patio and decks are arranged.  Late tomorrow night, I'll put the meat on to cook.  Saturday we celebrate.

So, what's on the menu?  I'm going to cook some Italian Beef, and I"m going to make a Pulled Pork, at the specific request of the birthday girl.  Milady is (as I type this) preparing Meat Pies to freeze. She'll have about four dozen done by the time I begin heating the oil.  Meat pies freeze very well and they fry nicely in the frozen state. I'll fry those on Saturday morning just before noon.  Others are bringing beans, and dirty rice, salads and slaws.  And bread. 

I expect about forty people, and I'm sure that there will be plenty for everyone to sample.  Which reminds me, we need to order the birthday cake this afternoon.

Self Defense

In the aftermath of the Zimmerman trial, we're hearing a lot about Stand Your Ground laws.  The common understanding is that under Stand Your Ground, a person has no duty to retreat in the face of violence.  That person can meet force with force.  The law didn't apply to Zimmerman, who was on his back being beaten when he fired the shot.  He had no where to retreat.  His back was literally to the ground.

Still, the left wants something done, and Stand Your Ground seems to them to be a place to start.  Under their scenario as I understand it, if I'm in a place where I have a legal right to be and I am faced with violence, I should first try to retreat from that violence before resorting to force.  That's all well and good, but I shouldn't be forced to retreat as a matter of law.  Retreat should be one trick in my bag of options, but not one that the law prescribes.  If retreat is prescribed then the question becomes; how far should I retreat to meet the legal standard?  One step?  Two steps?  What is the requirement?  Or, why should I, a law-abiding citizen, be forced to retreat at all?  It opens another can of worms that should never have been opened.

Self defense is a natural right, one that applies to the animals in the wild as surely as it applies to humans in whatever predicament we might find ourselves.  I have the same right to protect myself as the animals on the veld.  No legislator can legislate it away, it is a natural right.

You'd sooner tell the zebra that he can't stomp the lion.  Did the zebra retreat?  I don't know and I don't care.  What I care about is that the zebra chose to defend himself.  That's all that's necessary in natural law.

Hat tip to DougM at SondraK.com

Disturbing Cartoon

This is the Most Disturbing Newspaper Cartoon You'll See All Day.  That's the headline over at the Policymic.  Okay, just for the sake of argument, let's look at the cartoon.

That is disturbing.  A stout tree, marked Sharpton with four corpses lynched.  It is a disturbing image, and Policymic opines.

The two newspapers can comment all they want about Al Sharpton's actions but to utilize the horrific image of lynching as their metaphor is simply wrong. When such ghastly acts have marred our history, it is senseless to display an image that has represented the epitome of racism in America.

I also think that the image is horrific, and it becomes a metaphor for Al Sharpton, who has shown a propensity to ignore the facts and inflame racial tension.  In each of the four incidents depicted above, the Rev Sharpton got involved, to the detriment of the situation while simultaneously enriching himself.   I saw the very same operation during the Jena Six incident.  Sharpton involved himself in that incident as well, to the detriment of everyone involved.

I agree that the image is disturbing, but is illustrative of Al Sharpton, who in my opinion is the current epitome of racism in America.  Al is not worried about the truth.  All Al is worried about is Al Sharpton.  The fact that he imflames racial tensions for his own notoriety makes him a racist of the most despicable sort.

Pampas Grass

I'm no fan of Pampas Grass, but I understand that it has a purpose.  Generally, to attract snakes and wasps, but also to hide unsightly areas that you can't improve.  If you can't improve it, hide it, and pampas grass is just the ticket in these climes.  Still, I'm not a fan.

I have this little patch in the front yard.  I'm not crazy about it, but it hides a sewerage lift station, a very important piece of infrastructure in a suburban environment.  We want to get rid of the sewerage, but we don't necessarily want a lift station in our front yard.  If we have a lift station, we want to hide it.

When we moved into the house in 2003, the previous owners had it all over the boundary.  I've eradicated it everywhere but around the lift station, because it hides the machinery.  However, it sits on a corner, and as it grew, it got bigger. Family and neighbors were complaining that they were having trouble seeing around the pampas grass to look for oncoming traffic.  I understood their concerns, and this morning I resolved to address those concerns.

I began with hedge clippers.  The grass laughed at my hedge clippers, so I stepped up to a machete, a nice, two-handed blade that I use for clearing brush on the deer lease.  The grass shrugged at the machete.  I could see that I was fighting a losing battle, and I don't intend to lose a battle to an invasive species, so I put away the machete and resorted to the tool that rednecks keep in reserve.  The chainsaw.

It ain't pretty, but any motorist can see around that corner now.  I didn't go all the way to the dirt, but I'll assure you that the pampas grass knows I've been there.  The next time I put RoundUp in the spayer, I'll have to remember to walk out there and add insult to injury.

I had to hook the Mule to a trailer to haul off the debris.  There was a lot of vegetable matter on the ground and it filled the trailer to overflowing.

But, now the yard is mowed and the pampas grass is trimmed.  If you'll excuse me, I believe I need a shower.

Zimmerman Emerges

It seems that as a private citizen, George Zimmerman has been keeping a low profile since his acquittal in the trumped-up murder trial.  That's his right and his privilege and I don't much blame him for getting on with his life.  However, he did make the paper recently, for helping a family get out of  an overturned vehicle.

George Zimmerman, who has been in hiding since he was acquitted of murder in the death of Trayvon Martin, emerged to help rescue a family who was trapped in an overturned vehicle, police said today.
Zimmerman was one of two men who came to the aid of a family of four -- two parents and two children -- trapped inside a blue Ford Explorer SUV that had rolled over after traveling off the highway in Sanford, Fla. at approximately 5:45 p.m. Thursday, the Seminole County Sheriff's Office said in a statement.

Good for him, and good for ABC for covering it.  The news story doesn't tell us the race of the family in distress, but it really doesn't matter, does it?

Good Dog

I'm always telling Beau that he'll do till a good dog comes along, and I finally have a picture of a good dog.  Sent to me by my friend Jenny.

Acting as a spotter for his shooter.  That's a good dog.

Sunday Morning Dawg

Our kids have a dog, Daisy, that I've highlighted here.  Daisy comes over regularly to play with Beau, and while Beau is normally a gracious host, Daisy still has a lot of puppy in her, and she aggravates Beau.  Beau is normally ready to play with a visiting dog, but when Daisy is around, Beau is the one being stalked.  Daisy tries to get his attention by nipping Beau on the tail.  Like this:

And like this:

I tell Beau, that's what playing with girls will get you; constant aggravation.

Saturday Shooting

This morning I shot with the Cenla Sports Shooters, a USPSA club in the local area.  Thirty of us gathered for a club match.  I'm no competitive shooter, but when I get the opportunity to hang out with like-minded people, burn a little powder, and test my skills, it's a good thing.

I have no delusions that I'll ever be a top pistol shot.  My nearly 60 year old body simply won't allow it.  But, it's great fun to watch the other pistoleros, to help the club, to give them a little cash for their coffers, and to help when it's time to break down the targets at the end of the day.  There were a couple of young'uns shooting with us today.  On my squad, a young man, 10-ish years old was shooting a Kimber 1911 in .45 ACP.  I watched him on the courses and remarked to another squaddie that if he keeps his interest and progresses with his proficiency, he'll be one heck of a shooter when he reaches young adulthood.  After the match I shook his hand and told him it was a pleasure to shoot with him.  Young folks are the hope of the shooting sports and we need to do everything we can do to help them along.

For myself, if I'm shooting I'm having fun.  And I had great fun this morning.  I don't know my scores, and frankly, I don't care. I didn't show up this morning for scores.  I don't believe that any human skill erodes as quickly as proficiency with  a handgun and this morning I got to stretch my abilities.  I surprised myself with some very good shots, and I surprised myself with some very poor shots. 

I'll be back next month.  After I load a bunch of .45 ammo.

Sectioning Bullets

I was piddling on my bench today and decided to section a bullet.  A common .30 caliber 150 grain Hornady SST, #30302.  This bullet is marked as an Interlock bullet and I wanted to see if I could find the Interlock.  Just about the time I finished sectioning the bullet, my son came into the shop and we looked at the bullet with a jeweler's loup.  He tells me that he can see the interlock, but my tired old eyes can't make it out, even at 10 power.

So, I decided to take out the camera and see if I could get a picture.

My camera skills ain't great.  I can plainly see where the cannelure ring locks the jacket to the core, but I can't make out that Interlock ring.

Maybe when I get some quiet time next week, I'll polish that surface and see if I can't get a real good picture.  These are great, excellent bullets and they fly nicely, but I'm darned if I can make out that ring.

Rainy Thursday

It's been a rainy Thursday, and since I couldn't get out to do any work, I didn't.  I dragged the pit under the drip line and I lit the fire.  I've got a whole chicken in there, and potatoes on the stove for 'tater salad.  In another few minutes I'll put some sausage on to whet the appetite.  As I type this, the thunder is still rolling, with pop up showers all around us.

I simply rub the chicken with a good rub, then light a medium fire with lots of smoke.  You can't see the smoke, but it's wafting out of the seams in the pit.  That chicken will be done in another hour.

Sometime during the middle of the afternoon, the UPS guy stopped by with a package.  The holster for Milady's revolver has arrived.  I ordered it from El Paso Saddlery, and it's a beautiful piece of leather.  I figured that a holster maker who's been crafting leather since 1889 should have a pattern for a holster to fit a Colt Pocket Positive and I was right.  That's some good looking leather, with a nice fit.  Just what you'd expect from a custom holster, and I'm sure that it will serve her well.

Isn't that a beauty?  Milady likes it, it fits the little revolver, and now if Milady chooses to go strapped, she's got a snazzy piece of leather to show off.  She'll probably never go heeled, but she might decide to wear it to a barbeque.  That would cause a twitter amongst the ladies, wouldn't it?

If y'all will forgive me, I've got to put on some sausage.

Wednesday Rifle

I was poking around on the bench today and found a box on a shelf that I had forgotten about.  IN 2011 I had purchased a box of Hornady's wonderful .30 caliber, 168 grain A-Max bullets.  I played with them for a while, then forgot about them.  Sure enough that box still had about 20 bullets left, so I started poking in some other bench drawers, and found 20 Winchester cases, prepped and ready, in .308.  I got down the scale and in under an hour I had loaded those A-Max bullets into those .308 cases with 43.0 grains of Reloder 15 and a Winchester primer to give it some push.

Those of you who follow my scribblings might recall that when I started playing with the Ugly Rifle in 2011, it showed a preference for that load.  Since then I've been playing with 150 grainn bullets and while that rifle shoots them okay, it never really shined with 150 grain bullets, being a 1.5-2.0 inch rifle with the lighter bullet.

There's nothing wrong with a 2 MOA rifle in a hunter's hands.  If you can keep your shots within that 2-minute arc, you'll bring home all the venison you can use.  A good 2 minute rifle is eminently usable out past the range where most of us should be shooting at game animals, anyway.  However, many of us like to take that variable out of the equation, and shoot for something under one inch at a hundred yards.  I get it, I really do.The more variables we can pull out of the equation, the more accurate we're going to be.

Knowing that the rifle has professed a liking for that load, I took my handful of ammo to the range to see if what happened then can happen again.  I also took a few of some other loads to try.

I got to the range, signed in, and went out to the firing line.  I got settled in behind the bench and started shooting, slowly and methodically.  A variety of 150 grain loads, all hovering around the 2 inch mark.  I'd shoot a group, then go talk with the range master while the barrel cooled.  The temp out there was above the 90F mark and while I was waiting, I could see little clouds popping up in the evaporation over the Red River.  Some of those little pop up clouds may make thunderstorms later this afternoon.  I sampled a few of the 168 A-Max loads and they were tantalizing.  Sometimes two shots would touch and the third one would fly off a half-inch or so.  Still, it had promise.

Toward the end of the second hour, I posted a new target, and decided to take my time and shoot with all the patience I could muster.  That thin sporter barrel had gotten fairly warm, so I got a bottle of water and went to the rangemaster's shack to cool off.  After ten minutes of telling lies to my old friend, I walked out to the rifle laying on the bench, settled in, chambered a round, and let fly.  Checked my watch, waited three minutes, and let fly.  Continued in this vein until five shots had fallen on the target.  Looked through my spotting scope and decided to walk down range for a closer look.

That's a one-inch target dot, and all five had fallen into 0.810.  Not bad for an old man with a pawn-shop rifle.  I think two clicks up, two clicks right, and I'll be through sighting this rifle for the season.  Now, it's time to see if I can find some more of those bullets and get away from the bench.  It's almost time to tune up for deer season.  This year, the Ugly Rifle is going with me to the deer woods.  I know that Hornady makes this bullet in a hunting version.  Come next payday I'll have to see if I can get several hundred of their 168 SST bullets.

Tuesday Shooting

I was at the LEO qualification range early this morning.  I took that J-frame I had trouble with last week and got by myself on an unused range.  I took some time to look at targets, do a little tune-up on my technique, and practice a little bit withe the little pistol.

It's a Model 38 Airweight, an iconic revolver.  Mine is nickeled and I've only had this particular revolver for 18 months, but it's one I looked for, for years.

I could here my brethren on the firing line, going through their annual quals.  In just a few cylinders, I figured that  I had learned what I needed to learn about this little revolver and that I was ready to take it down-range.  I walked over to the qualification line and got a target ready.  Talked to my Captain a few minutes, and before too many minutes, they were calling for the next order.  They had room on that order, so I went out and posted a target and fell into the well-known routine.

Ten cylinders later, I was done.  The Louisiana POST course is 60 rounds, based on the revolvers that we all carried in the '80s and early '90s.  It's ten cyinders.  If you're qualifying with a five-shot, it's still ten cylinders, for 50 rounds.  Max possible score with a five-shot is 100 points, with 80 points or better to qualify.  We shoot it on the standard Louisiana P1 target.  The cousse doesn't give you any freebies on distance.  You still have to start at the 25 yard line and work closer, to the 2 yard line.

When the shooting was over, we began policing brass while the instructors scored the targets.  One young'un asked me what I was shooting.  When I told him he looked askance at the little revolver, then back at me, wide-eyes.  "Really?"

"Yeah, really.".  About that time, the trainer got to my target to score it.  He turned and holler at me.  "You shooting a five-shot?"   "Yep", I replied.  When he had marked the target, he wrote a big 90 on the face of the target.  When I looked at the target, I had to agree, I had dropped a few outside the scoring ring, probably from the 25 yard line.  Still, the rest of them were in the scoring ring.  I'm qualified with the Airweight, and that's done for another year.

Make a cheek riser

Many of us buy a rifle and mount a scope on it, only to find that the comb of the rifle is too low to properly look through the scope.  We need a cheek riser.  Proper cheek weld is important to your marksmanship and there's nothing quite as aggravating as having to move your head around to see through the scope.  There are several ways of curing this problem, and you can find stocks that have adjustable combs, you can buy add-on cheek risers, or you can make your own.

Being the frugal sort of guy that I am, I looked around at locally available items that might suffice.  The first thing I found was an elastic buttstock ammo holder.  These things normally hold nine rounds of rifle ammo and can be found in any of the big box stores, normally for under $5.00.  All by themselves, they're a worthy addition to any hunting rifle, and I normally pick up a couple a year.  Someone is always needing one, and I try to keep several extras on hand.  That's half of the answer to a cheek riser.

Because the ammo holder is elastic, you can put something under it to raise the comb of the rifle.  I like to use common pipe insulation, although even a child's swim noodle would suffice.  In the photo below, I've cut up a piece of old swim noodle to demonstrate.

That baby-blue thing is a piece of a kid's swim noodle.  I prefer pipe insulation that I get at the hardware store because it seems to be more durable, and one piece of insulation could be used to make a dozen cheek risers.  Simply insert it between the stock and the elastic ammo holder.  It may take several tries to get the right height, but this is the best way I've found to inexpensively raise the comb of a rifle. 

You're welcome.

**UPDATE**   I posted my handyman fix on a forum, and a commenter led me to the Beartooth Comb Raising Kit.  At $22.95, this looks like a good, inexpensive fix.  It's remarkably similar to my cobbled-together cheek riser.  I may have to buy one to try.

Pork Chops and Rice

Momma's coming over for lunch, and Milady decided to cook pork chops and rice.

With, of course, purple hull peas, cornbread, and iced tea.  Sunday dinner at PawPaw's House.

I can smell it all cooking in the kitchen, and my salivary glands are working just fine. 

Sunday Morning Dawg

The dog finally got a trim this week, and with the heat index over 100F, I think that he's considerably more comfortable.  Here's the picture from last week.

And, here's the one from late yesterday afternoon.

Yeah, I'd say that's a little better.  He still likes the shade and I don't blame him.  If he starts getting into my whiskey, I'm going to raise hell.

Say What?

So, I 'm reading Insty, and I get waylaid by some feminist talking about antipasta.  Now, I've taken English at graduate levels.  I know that anti means against, and pasta mean flour based boiled bread.  Like spaghetti, macaroni, fettucini.  That sort of thing.  You've eaten a lot of pasta.  We all have.

So, whathehell is antipasta?  It ought to be something that is anti-pasta (although for the life of me, I can't imagine anyone who is against pasta).  Turns out, it's toast, with pepperoni.  Maybe some garlic, and olive oil.  I've got nothing against olive oil, but it's over-rated.  Give me a good peanut oil every time.  Or simple canola.  They sell it by the gallon down at the Safeway.  I can't imagine frying catfish in olive oil, but any good vegetable oil should suffice. 

Hang on, I've got to make another drink.  I've been drinking red whiskey for an hour.

What were we talking about?  Antipasta, which isn't pasta at all.  It's toast.  With pepperoni.  She's going to put that out for her boyfriend's parents.  Good move if you never want them to visit again.  Put out some meat pies, with brown gravy, and mashed potatoes.  Maybe a little Maque Choux, that'll impress the in-laws.  If any of my daughters-in-law serve me pepperoni on toast, I'll be pleasant, but when I leave I'll stop at Taco Bell and get something to eat.

Antipasta.  It's Yankee for "I don't know how to cook."

Six Bits a Sop

Mostly Cajun, in comments reminds me of a old-time saying, sopping.  This was an activity where you'd take a piece of bread, or biscuit, or cornbread, and put it into a liquid, normally gravy or syrup, to get all the goodness off the plate before it was taken to the kitchen for washing.  The Cajun reminds me,

we'd do a good amount of syrup, mash in some butter, and dip cold left-over biscuits in it for an afternoon snack.

That was sopping.  Using bread to get food to your mouth.  You could sop anything, the leftover egg yellow, spaghetti sauce, anything that would absorb or stick to bread.

Back in those days, a dollar was mentally divided into many different denominations.  One of  those was a bit, which was an eighth of a dollar.  A quarter was two bits.  Sitting around the country store, you might be talking about a rich man, and someone would say "He don't care if syrup goes to six bits a sop."  That was a rich man who'd pay seventy-five cents to sop a biscuit.  Back in those days a quart of syrup probably didn't cost more than a dollar.  Any fellow that could pay six bits for a sop didn't worry about the cost of syrup.

At the Auction

Milady and I went to the auction last night.  She was pressed into service as the clerk, as the normal clerk is on vacation.  We did well.

They were selling .22LR ammo and the bidding quickly went way beyond what I thought was reasonable, even in these shortage times, so I let them walk.  Next up was a couple of boxes of centerfire pistol ammo and I threw my paddle in the air.  Got them both at pre-shortage prices.  Not a bad deal for good, clean, reloadable factory ammo.

A few items later, and the block held a trombone.  We have a grandson that plays trombone seriously.  He'll probably go to college on a music scholarship.  He's already been offered a couple of scholarships and he's not yet in his senior year.  So, when Milady saw the instrument, she decided to bid on it.  If nothing else, it will make a good "extra" trombone in the event he needs another. 

I admit, I know nothing about trombones, and we didn't have time to research this particular model, but Milady won it at an extremely attractive price.  Really, extremely attractive price.  I figured that the case was worth more than she paid for the whole lot.  When we got home, I researched it.  It's a Holston TR602, a student trombone, but evidently one of the better student trombones.  Granted, it's used, but it isn't rough.  And for the price Milady paid, she got one heck of a screaming deal.

Brother-in-law wanted a squirrel feeder, and sure enough, we found a squirrel feeder to bid on.  And won it.

So, last night we bought handgun ammo, a squirrel feeder, and a trombone.  There's no telling what you're going to find at a good auction.

Tiger Butter

I recently introduced grandson #6 to a recipe that I've been making for a hundred years. (Well, not quite a hundred years, but you get the idea.)

Tiger Butter.  That's peanut butter with just enough cane syrup mixed in to jack the sweetness up to diabetic coma levels.  It's a great grandkid pleaser.  Ultra sweet peanut butter on fresh white bread.  It's a great late-afternoon snack.

I'll take him to his dad in another half-hour. 

Dianne, if you're reading this, get Trey's kids jacked up on Tiger Butter, then take them home.  Their parents will thank you later.

Friday Fooling About

Friday is a laid-back day at PawPaw's House.  After coffee I mowed the back yard, a chore that takes about a half-hour to accomplish.  Not much of a task, but that was on my work list today.

Milady is making meat pies, assisted ably by a grandson who insists on helping.  These pies will be frozen for frying later.  We've got a big gathering planned for July 27th.  Milady's clan will be here that day to celebrate their mother's birthday.  Meat pies are on the menu and Milady will have several batches by then, all frozen, and I'll fry them that morning.  Easy Peasy.

The dog is at the groomer's.  Quiet around here without him under foot.  He'll be properly trimmed for the Sunday Dawg.

We'll be at the auction later this afternoon.  Milady is clerking tonight, so I'll be there until the closing gavel.  The doors open at 5:00 and bidding starts at 6:30.  Not a bad way to spend a Friday evening.

Zen and the Art of Lawnmower Maintenance

PawPaw's got an old Sears riding mower with a 42" deck.  I've had this mower since the spring of 2004, and it's a good lawnmower.  Change the oil once a year, put belts on when necessary, use non-ethanol gasoline, and it starts every time.  I think it has the original spark plug.  I don't recall changing it.  It's on its third battery.  This has been a great lawnmower for my little acre.  Normally, it takes me about two hours to cut the grass.

Not today.  I crawled on the lawnmower at 7:00 and just got off.  We had mechanical problems.  I had just begun cutting the front yard when I smelled rubber and the blades quit turning.  Well, hell, but that belt is three years old.  So, I went up the road to the small-engine place and got a  belt.  Came home, put it on, no problem. Started mowing again.  Smelled rubber.  Before I could shut it down, the belt broke.  Just Dammit.

Rode the mower into the garage, started removing the deck.  Of course, those little pins were rusted in place, hard to get out.  Finally got all the pins loose and the blade engagement spring removed.  Slid out the deck.  Started looking, found that something called the brake arm spring braket had rusted through, turned loose, then the spring ran int to the new belt.  Cussed like shipwrecked sailor.  Threw the parts in the truck and headed back toward the small engine shop.  Bought another belt, talked to the tech guru on lawnmower decks. Listened carefully. 

Went home, greased everything while it was out, commenced installing the deck.  Got it all installed, double-checked everything.  Checked it again, just for giggles.  Got on lawnmower, commenced mowing.  Looked back, only one blade cutting grass.  What The Hell?  Went back into garage, jacked up lawnmower.  Blades loose. Little bolt, not even finger tight.  What the Hell?  Cussed some more.  Took off blades, cleaned all mounts.  Re-installed blades. 

Started mowing grass.  Looked back at cut.  What the Hell?  Scalping grass down to dirt.  Mower set too low, all the way down.  Must have bumped the deck height adjustment.  Re-adjusted deck.  Finally finished mowing grass. 

This mower is on it's 10th season.  It might be time to start thinking about a new lawn mower.  Or spend some bucks reconditioning the deck on this one.  It's been a good lawnmower, but I can't do this every week.

Index Page

I'm still playing with my Archive page.  I decided to add a category for recipes, and I put up two favorites.  I also put up an old article I did in 2008, talking about the .30-06 and my experiences with it.

The Archive page is here.

Retrainer - Day 3

Today we showed up at the training classroom for a day of fun, frolic, and classroom activities.  We talked about upcoming training requirements, what to expect next year.  It seems that the POST council is getting a larger online presence and much of the training, as in all other fields, will be online.  Even instructor-driven courses will have an online presence and by 2015 each law enforcement officer in Louisiana will have to maintain an online account with POST.  That ought to be interesting.

We also talked about defensive driving, as most of the traffic accidents logged by police officers occur during normal driving activities.  It's not pursuit driving, but normal patrol activities that destroy automobiles.  We talked about trends in law enforcement, particularly threats that are evolving, and we talked about how to spot those threats.  Then lunch.

During the lunch hour, I walked down to the rifle range and put a few shots through the Ugly Rifle.  Just a few, to verify zero.  After being in air conditioning all day, it was nice to get out in the sun.  However, before that hour was over, it had gotten darn hot, so I went into the range shack and bullshitted with the guy that runs the rifle line.

After lunch was Taser re-certification.  About an hour-and-a-half, and we were done.  PawPaw is now duly recertified for another year of active law enforcement.

Retrainer - Day 2

We got to the range this morning, and promptly began our annual qualifications, using the Louisiana POST course.  PawPaw qualified easily with his service pistol, then after the targets were scored and recorded, the range master asked if anyone wanted to shoot with other handguns.  I qualified in the second order with my Kimber 1911, several points higher than I qualified with the service pistol.  In the third firing order I was out on the line with my J-frame, and I dropped enough points with the snub nose that I didn't qualify.  After that order, we cleaned the range and broke for lunch.  The firearms instructor asked if anyone wanted to qualify with patrol rifles, and of course I posted a target and headed to the line.  I qualified easily with the AR, and early in the afternoon we were released for the day.

I need to figure out what I'm doing wrong with the J-frame.    A little practice and the qualification should come easily, but I haven't shot the Airweight as much as I have the other pistols.  For those interested, the Louisiana POST handgun course is online here. 

For the record, it was hot out there today.  I'm soaked in sweat to my skivvies, and shortly I intend to remedy that situation.