Friday, December 02, 2005
120105
Been a while even if a sheaf of writin' is sitting on the 'puter. Thanksgiving morn started nice and nippish and I awoke with a smile. Too many of the holiday seasons I've been just plain-old grim; can't bring all those wonderful times and good folk back. Kinda gave that up a few years ago, just takes a while to sink in properly. Lost another friend a short while ago, his old body had been kinda crumbling for a bunch of years. Osteoporosis is not just limited to women. He was quite a character, amongst other things, he was boots on the ground within a couple of days after the "rising sun" was not the one on the flag in Hiroshima, later, he was one of the "atomic soldiers" during the troop nuke tests in Nevada back in the 50's. After that, he raised chickens, circumvented the law, and had a passle of kids in New Hampshire! He and his crew moved to Florida back in '71 due to his wife having a hard time making it through the NH winters. R.I. P. old thief! Lots of good stories over the years, right now I'm just remembering his quizzical eyebrow pinch and his "ahya" when a kid asked him a rhetorical question! You've been saved from a rather nice, too long story about a postcard (written, filed, 2,000 + words).
Anyway, the morning started with a smile and was to be devoted to the act of becoming a boar tit. Been trying pretty hard to make up the lost time spent with my persistant friend, Borrelia as the financial situation has been getting kinda grim. No workee, no monee. No monee, things can get ifee! Made a fine pot of whole bean coffee (well, just 8 O'Clock, still pretty good ;o), scratched ass, wandered through my favorite bloggers (no nooz sites, verboten), then had an attack of the guilties. Damn Puritan work ethic! Got shed of it by washing the sheets that had been sticking to me with some socks that were standing at attention and hanging them out on the line with lots of "help" from the girls. In my best Barbara Woodhouse accent, I said "walkies!". Cookie understood. Day hike. Rima was just interested in eating the contents of the laundry basket. Rima is a mature houndess, should have had a couple of litters already except for the BBC (Bauer Birth Control, wrote about it already. Works if you don't mind the 6 monthy rabies outbreak!). Cookie has been kewl about Rima's permanent state of tanglefoot kittenishness, me, I just step on the parts the foot will reach!
All of the projects were dropped off the slate, no radio, nothing but the beautiful day and since I had already rinsed, rock-inspected the beans (thankyouverymuch the remaining tooth said) and soaked them, had already boiled the smoked hocks and put the broth in the fridge to de-lard, supper was gonna be easy. Just a day to remember good folk, good times. It had been a while since I had hiked up to the hillside above the creek where Granny and I had gone back in early May of 1978. She had come down to tend her first great-grandbaby and her grand-daughter-in-law. She'd been waiting "almost forever!" as I was 28 (first grandkid) and she'd just about given up! Got a few photos that survived the '98 El Nino flooding but I'll spare you. Granny and I would hike up there after the two little ones were settled in and just sit, watch the lightning bugs' marvelous light show, and just plain-old love creation! Our evening routine for a couple of weeks..
It is a special spot. Many years and many people from many places have been there since then. Kinda magic all of the time. Awful good this time as well. The gals and I had a trio of wild turkeys leading us down the trail and since they are just yard birds, they are rarely worth "woofs" and sprinting. I kinda like it when a flock are messing around in the yard and the dawgs decide exercize is needful. Those big birds really raise a lot of wind going from ground level to tall tree limbs! Yeah, I used to eat one every now and then. Tasty if you don't mind kinda tough. Don't much care for plucking and singeing, won't even consider eating one that has been taken with a shotgun. The few I've shot have been headshot with a .22 back when I had eyes that worked decently. Just don't like shrapnal in my food! Dad occasionally used to go shoot groceries in lean times with the Long Tom. Don't like lumps of lead in lunch! There's a fun and funny story about that old 12 gauge, it'll keep just like the rest.
That was a wonderful hike. Zeroed thoughts, well, best that was possible. Preset thoughts for the "good parts". The gals had a fine ol' time as the sittin' spot is about 150 yards from a really ancient palmetto patch. Just always full of rabbits. Got noisy, Cookie wore out and came back to flop next to me. Rima came back twice (deadbeats!), then settled. I got overfilled with allsortsoflovingkindnessandunderstanding and hoisted the corpus into the upright and hiking down the hill position, and up to the "put it on paper before it got lost" mode. Worked. Well, kinda. Opened a Word page, took my 1973 specs off, closed my eyes and 10-fingered those thoughts. Stopped at five and one half pages. Good people, wonderful people actually. I am dearly blessed for having known such and doubly blessed by having in them the image of right and wrong. If you are young (<25), there actually is no such thing as moral relativism. It might take a few doses of the old fogy or a decade or so, if you are not a LBJ suckjob, you'll know. There will never be any thing right with any thing political. Never will be! There will never be anything wrong with a country that has folk willing to volunteer everything to keep the wonderful experiment running and no chance when asshole pols root for the enemies of freedom.
* * * * * *
I wrote the above this evening just after putting a lot of the last week's writing on the NOV 2005 CD. Burn off thoughts, various good stuff, organized by merely month. Some stuff has too many tracking points and that has been a problem. Too many years when under the "can't say anything" of the odd clearance. Damn, should have supported Clinton! At least he (or the DNC) paid good money fo "stuff" to send de Chinee! ;o)
Lots and lots of months. I do have a few that contain thoughts and records of monthly "stuff" that go back to when yo mama was in diapers. There was a good spot I wrote last Monday that I deleted. Melted me. All kinds of remembered everything right, everything gone wrong, almost fixed, then went pitiful, then wound up with a death due to someone that should care accidentally killing a very gentle person. Ask me about Evelyn some day. It was 40 years this last September when she was killed.
* * * * * *
Disjointed, eh? Actually it has been a halfway decent week trying to put the square pegs in the square holes and the round ones in my ears. Evening walks with the pooches when the wonderful rain let up. They like wet, me, I'm OK if it is of one flavor. Ask me some day. The Inuits have how many names for snow? I've a bag for rain! Bogdaddy syllabus for rain with pronounciation guide..
Disjointed has a reason kinda. This last week when I put the harness back on was reasonably productive. My exercize routine to get back where I was before the serial infection is not exercize, just walking and playing with the pooches, stretching like a old cat when the eyes open. Usual stuff, been doing the same since I was 4 years old when ""those"" records were kept!
* * * * * *
Disjointed has a nother reason. Cookie died this morning. I've spent most of the day digging a big hole. I buried her beside her daughter that got a triple-tap from some shithead between a pair of last year's hurricanes. Poor Rima. She was a half-year weaned, wonderful pup, being raised by Cookie, Ebie, enjoyed Abby (I had to turn in the wolf-hybrid, ask why if you wish), witnessed trailer trash triple-tap her mother. Fucked her up. Her granny dropping dead this morning is somewhat bothersome.
For your information, burying a German Shepard that has saved your life by dragging your worthless ass out of a building full of a lethal smoke level (Cookie hauled me out of bed when the chimney spark arrestor got completely clogged; house was one foot visibility) is a tad bothersome. I was very asleep. Asphyxiated. She drug me off the cot down into low air. Took a while before the oh shit worked. One year or thereabouts later, her mom (Dina) and Tep (not up to photolinks) plus Cookie Monster intercepted a trio of the usual wetback Mexicans. Noise woke me ~2:30 AM. Major league GSD fuss. Jacked a shell into the 12 gauge, walked (yeah, right!) up the hill. Wasn't the first time. The two gals and the one guy did a perfect surround. The wetbacks were very aggressive, my "long rural lane" had been marked (cased?) weeks before. The idiot mesicans probably had a inventory list provided by the local illegal wetback employer. Just for fun, there are no jobs available in this neck of the woods these daze unless you are Guatemalan, Honduran, or Mexican. De white boys and de black boys, well, I've watched 200+ jobs transfer in a community of 800 in the last 2 years. No green cards needed. INS made a tiny fuss a couple of years ago, nabbed 11, the employer pleaded "he didn't know, then back to biz as usual. No fine, no problemo. {deletion} Way before that I also made 5 cents for each Grit newspaper I sold on my 14 mile bicycle circuit every Saturday. The white trash employeers are in full violation of the law. One got "busted" with a mere 200 wetbacks. No slap and back at full til in a week. Mess not wit da owned gummit, weafare, mess not with the occupancy of ... aw fuggitaboutit. There is really nothing wrong with bringing the tin and cardboard shack, mor(t)dida culture of Mexico, Peru, and Columbia to the US of A. Hell, we've done a fine job with our "Great Society" and multiple outcome "education" programs. **sigh** To teach, or not to teach - - "the n channel provides.. yes Mzz Thingus? " Seriously. Sleep sets in...
* * * * * *
THAT needed quitting. Rima is a pretty decent critter. All fucked-up due to being Ebie's daughter, long-since weaned, and companion. Ebie got shot, triple-tap, small caliber, between a pair of the 2004 'canes. Ebie was a 100 yard homebody. Who did it? Ask Rima. She was there. Rima is really fucked up. Today when I was doing what had to be done burying her granny, odd stuff and very sad stuff from the tough gal. Now I know you don't know Rima. Tough blow when some sorry asshole triple-taps your mother when you are right there. Yeah, that monster has 2 legs. Yeah, under a year old, enjoyed the first hurricane, didn't care much for the second, the pause before the third, a 2-leg used Rima's link to the world for target practice.
Today has registered a 10 on my Scale of Suck. The Cookie of 10 PM last night making night music with Rima was a stiffening critter in one of her happy places this morning. I only checked her for induced mechanical damage, no knives. No autopsy. Just closed her eyes and put her tongue back in her mouth, shoveled the inevitable relaxation leakage under. She was much too heavy for me to carry as I've been limited due to the fucking coke-powered wetbacks for 19 years. I just love illegals. All those cute li'l senoritas (same as de blak hos, no babydaddys), so round, so anchorbaby... ..so welfare intensive..
Not to fret my sanity if you were so inclined. That isn't a problem. Worrysome is poor Rima.
Allah this was written 0 hours ago except for my desire for eggsovereasy in Asheville, Norh Carolina back in 1979.
******
120205
Nice, frosty morning. Re-read the above. Left it as it was as it didn't have any accidental spelling mistakes for a change. If it isn't understandable, don't fret. Some parts I don't understand either. Forced Rima into being a housedawg last night. She tumbled the trash can that had all the goodies from my cleaning out the deep fryer! Right now she is keeping my morning feet warm. She is shaking like a leaf. Now I'm the only non-eatable thing left in her universe.
Just for fun, I'm posting a couple of photos taken on 24 November, 2001. The quality is poor as I had saved them highly compressed on a diskette back then having no writeable CDs. The gals are on the edge of the roof 11' up, I had walked out of the house and was being checked probably for my wholesomeness! The first one is Dina being Yoda. Cookie is on the left in both.
Cookie got distracted by something toward the southwest. Lasted about a half-second after this shutter-click. Yoda-max!
Got good "stuff" for later. The frost is still on the punkin, gonna go day hike in the opposite direction of Cookie's grave with the l'il shaky gal.
Anyway, the morning started with a smile and was to be devoted to the act of becoming a boar tit. Been trying pretty hard to make up the lost time spent with my persistant friend, Borrelia as the financial situation has been getting kinda grim. No workee, no monee. No monee, things can get ifee! Made a fine pot of whole bean coffee (well, just 8 O'Clock, still pretty good ;o), scratched ass, wandered through my favorite bloggers (no nooz sites, verboten), then had an attack of the guilties. Damn Puritan work ethic! Got shed of it by washing the sheets that had been sticking to me with some socks that were standing at attention and hanging them out on the line with lots of "help" from the girls. In my best Barbara Woodhouse accent, I said "walkies!". Cookie understood. Day hike. Rima was just interested in eating the contents of the laundry basket. Rima is a mature houndess, should have had a couple of litters already except for the BBC (Bauer Birth Control, wrote about it already. Works if you don't mind the 6 monthy rabies outbreak!). Cookie has been kewl about Rima's permanent state of tanglefoot kittenishness, me, I just step on the parts the foot will reach!
All of the projects were dropped off the slate, no radio, nothing but the beautiful day and since I had already rinsed, rock-inspected the beans (thankyouverymuch the remaining tooth said) and soaked them, had already boiled the smoked hocks and put the broth in the fridge to de-lard, supper was gonna be easy. Just a day to remember good folk, good times. It had been a while since I had hiked up to the hillside above the creek where Granny and I had gone back in early May of 1978. She had come down to tend her first great-grandbaby and her grand-daughter-in-law. She'd been waiting "almost forever!" as I was 28 (first grandkid) and she'd just about given up! Got a few photos that survived the '98 El Nino flooding but I'll spare you. Granny and I would hike up there after the two little ones were settled in and just sit, watch the lightning bugs' marvelous light show, and just plain-old love creation! Our evening routine for a couple of weeks..
It is a special spot. Many years and many people from many places have been there since then. Kinda magic all of the time. Awful good this time as well. The gals and I had a trio of wild turkeys leading us down the trail and since they are just yard birds, they are rarely worth "woofs" and sprinting. I kinda like it when a flock are messing around in the yard and the dawgs decide exercize is needful. Those big birds really raise a lot of wind going from ground level to tall tree limbs! Yeah, I used to eat one every now and then. Tasty if you don't mind kinda tough. Don't much care for plucking and singeing, won't even consider eating one that has been taken with a shotgun. The few I've shot have been headshot with a .22 back when I had eyes that worked decently. Just don't like shrapnal in my food! Dad occasionally used to go shoot groceries in lean times with the Long Tom. Don't like lumps of lead in lunch! There's a fun and funny story about that old 12 gauge, it'll keep just like the rest.
That was a wonderful hike. Zeroed thoughts, well, best that was possible. Preset thoughts for the "good parts". The gals had a fine ol' time as the sittin' spot is about 150 yards from a really ancient palmetto patch. Just always full of rabbits. Got noisy, Cookie wore out and came back to flop next to me. Rima came back twice (deadbeats!), then settled. I got overfilled with allsortsoflovingkindnessandunderstanding and hoisted the corpus into the upright and hiking down the hill position, and up to the "put it on paper before it got lost" mode. Worked. Well, kinda. Opened a Word page, took my 1973 specs off, closed my eyes and 10-fingered those thoughts. Stopped at five and one half pages. Good people, wonderful people actually. I am dearly blessed for having known such and doubly blessed by having in them the image of right and wrong. If you are young (<25), there actually is no such thing as moral relativism. It might take a few doses of the old fogy or a decade or so, if you are not a LBJ suckjob, you'll know. There will never be any thing right with any thing political. Never will be! There will never be anything wrong with a country that has folk willing to volunteer everything to keep the wonderful experiment running and no chance when asshole pols root for the enemies of freedom.
* * * * * *
I wrote the above this evening just after putting a lot of the last week's writing on the NOV 2005 CD. Burn off thoughts, various good stuff, organized by merely month. Some stuff has too many tracking points and that has been a problem. Too many years when under the "can't say anything" of the odd clearance. Damn, should have supported Clinton! At least he (or the DNC) paid good money fo "stuff" to send de Chinee! ;o)
Lots and lots of months. I do have a few that contain thoughts and records of monthly "stuff" that go back to when yo mama was in diapers. There was a good spot I wrote last Monday that I deleted. Melted me. All kinds of remembered everything right, everything gone wrong, almost fixed, then went pitiful, then wound up with a death due to someone that should care accidentally killing a very gentle person. Ask me about Evelyn some day. It was 40 years this last September when she was killed.
* * * * * *
Disjointed, eh? Actually it has been a halfway decent week trying to put the square pegs in the square holes and the round ones in my ears. Evening walks with the pooches when the wonderful rain let up. They like wet, me, I'm OK if it is of one flavor. Ask me some day. The Inuits have how many names for snow? I've a bag for rain! Bogdaddy syllabus for rain with pronounciation guide..
Disjointed has a reason kinda. This last week when I put the harness back on was reasonably productive. My exercize routine to get back where I was before the serial infection is not exercize, just walking and playing with the pooches, stretching like a old cat when the eyes open. Usual stuff, been doing the same since I was 4 years old when ""those"" records were kept!
* * * * * *
Disjointed has a nother reason. Cookie died this morning. I've spent most of the day digging a big hole. I buried her beside her daughter that got a triple-tap from some shithead between a pair of last year's hurricanes. Poor Rima. She was a half-year weaned, wonderful pup, being raised by Cookie, Ebie, enjoyed Abby (I had to turn in the wolf-hybrid, ask why if you wish), witnessed trailer trash triple-tap her mother. Fucked her up. Her granny dropping dead this morning is somewhat bothersome.
For your information, burying a German Shepard that has saved your life by dragging your worthless ass out of a building full of a lethal smoke level (Cookie hauled me out of bed when the chimney spark arrestor got completely clogged; house was one foot visibility) is a tad bothersome. I was very asleep. Asphyxiated. She drug me off the cot down into low air. Took a while before the oh shit worked. One year or thereabouts later, her mom (Dina) and Tep (not up to photolinks) plus Cookie Monster intercepted a trio of the usual wetback Mexicans. Noise woke me ~2:30 AM. Major league GSD fuss. Jacked a shell into the 12 gauge, walked (yeah, right!) up the hill. Wasn't the first time. The two gals and the one guy did a perfect surround. The wetbacks were very aggressive, my "long rural lane" had been marked (cased?) weeks before. The idiot mesicans probably had a inventory list provided by the local illegal wetback employer. Just for fun, there are no jobs available in this neck of the woods these daze unless you are Guatemalan, Honduran, or Mexican. De white boys and de black boys, well, I've watched 200+ jobs transfer in a community of 800 in the last 2 years. No green cards needed. INS made a tiny fuss a couple of years ago, nabbed 11, the employer pleaded "he didn't know, then back to biz as usual. No fine, no problemo. {deletion} Way before that I also made 5 cents for each Grit newspaper I sold on my 14 mile bicycle circuit every Saturday. The white trash employeers are in full violation of the law. One got "busted" with a mere 200 wetbacks. No slap and back at full til in a week. Mess not wit da owned gummit, weafare, mess not with the occupancy of ... aw fuggitaboutit. There is really nothing wrong with bringing the tin and cardboard shack, mor(t)dida culture of Mexico, Peru, and Columbia to the US of A. Hell, we've done a fine job with our "Great Society" and multiple outcome "education" programs. **sigh** To teach, or not to teach - - "the n channel provides.. yes Mzz Thingus? " Seriously. Sleep sets in...
* * * * * *
THAT needed quitting. Rima is a pretty decent critter. All fucked-up due to being Ebie's daughter, long-since weaned, and companion. Ebie got shot, triple-tap, small caliber, between a pair of the 2004 'canes. Ebie was a 100 yard homebody. Who did it? Ask Rima. She was there. Rima is really fucked up. Today when I was doing what had to be done burying her granny, odd stuff and very sad stuff from the tough gal. Now I know you don't know Rima. Tough blow when some sorry asshole triple-taps your mother when you are right there. Yeah, that monster has 2 legs. Yeah, under a year old, enjoyed the first hurricane, didn't care much for the second, the pause before the third, a 2-leg used Rima's link to the world for target practice.
Today has registered a 10 on my Scale of Suck. The Cookie of 10 PM last night making night music with Rima was a stiffening critter in one of her happy places this morning. I only checked her for induced mechanical damage, no knives. No autopsy. Just closed her eyes and put her tongue back in her mouth, shoveled the inevitable relaxation leakage under. She was much too heavy for me to carry as I've been limited due to the fucking coke-powered wetbacks for 19 years. I just love illegals. All those cute li'l senoritas (same as de blak hos, no babydaddys), so round, so anchorbaby... ..so welfare intensive..
Not to fret my sanity if you were so inclined. That isn't a problem. Worrysome is poor Rima.
Allah this was written 0 hours ago except for my desire for eggsovereasy in Asheville, Norh Carolina back in 1979.
******
120205
Nice, frosty morning. Re-read the above. Left it as it was as it didn't have any accidental spelling mistakes for a change. If it isn't understandable, don't fret. Some parts I don't understand either. Forced Rima into being a housedawg last night. She tumbled the trash can that had all the goodies from my cleaning out the deep fryer! Right now she is keeping my morning feet warm. She is shaking like a leaf. Now I'm the only non-eatable thing left in her universe.
Just for fun, I'm posting a couple of photos taken on 24 November, 2001. The quality is poor as I had saved them highly compressed on a diskette back then having no writeable CDs. The gals are on the edge of the roof 11' up, I had walked out of the house and was being checked probably for my wholesomeness! The first one is Dina being Yoda. Cookie is on the left in both.
Cookie got distracted by something toward the southwest. Lasted about a half-second after this shutter-click. Yoda-max!
Got good "stuff" for later. The frost is still on the punkin, gonna go day hike in the opposite direction of Cookie's grave with the l'il shaky gal.
