Excels at Nothing

The (second) time somebody stole my wallet

2012-02-10T17:48:00.000-05:00

Or, “Go pick on someone your own size”.

Once upon a time, back in the late ‘90’s when you could check bags on airlines for free, and carry enough liquid onboard to rinse your contact lenses, I traveled to England. My traveling companion was convinced that the way best was to reset your internal clock was to stay up during the flight and the next day so you went to bed according to the new time zone. I had my doubts as I really need my sleep, but there really weren’t a lot of other options.

We checked into the hotel and in order to keep from falling asleep at 5:00 local time, decided to travel to Picadilly Square. I transferred all my identification and money to my front pants pockets. The pants were, uh, snug. Ain’t no way anybody was getting in there without my noticing. However, I was used to traveling with a purse, and I knew that if I didn’t have it slung over my shoulder, I’d spend the entire evening in my sleep deprived state freaking out because I didn’t have it. So, I emptied it out except for some Chapstick and a wallet nothing but a $5 bill.

Now, I don’t know if I was targeted because I was in code white, or because I (apparently) looked like the quintessential idiot American, but as I was going through the turnstile at Victoria station I felt … that my purse was lighter. I whipped around and there was a gentleman standing there with my wallet in his hands. He had just gone through the turnstile as well, and couldn’t back up.

“You STOLE my wallet!” I declared, and snatched it out of his hands. My traveling companion had continued on*, not realizing what was going on.

“No! You dropped it. I was just returning it to you” he stammered, glancing around nervously.

“No, you STOLE IT!” I repeated, and noticed the line of people backing up behind the turnstile.

And then I had a moment of doubt. My sleep-starved brain said “Don’t be an ugly American. You’re a guest here. Maybe you really did drop it.”

And as the logical part of my brain gagged on that piece of tripe, the gentleman shoved past me and hauled ass to the escalators, scrambling down the railings at warp speed. Okay. Score one point for the logical part of my brain.

I caught up to my traveling companion who asked where I’d been. I said “Someone stole my wallet. But it’s okay! I stole it right back!”

Yes, that could have ended badly, but honestly, I was so tired all I could think of “Hey! That’s mine! Give it back!” Not having time to feel like a victim helped, as did the fact that I had about 8” and 3 stone on him.

Just because I’m not a predator doesn’t mean I have to be prey.

The Ugly American in Trafalger Square, 1998

*See? You can’t count on anyone but yourself, as much as you’d like to think otherwise.

Better than nothing

2012-02-08T21:07:00.000-05:00

When I got my permit to carry concealed, I worried about how little practice I had, and wondered if I should even be carrying a gun.

I don’t have much confidence in my ability to draw quickly, but if I wait until I’m flawless, I’ll never have my gun with me.

I may still be practicing on how sights work, but if I wait until I can consistently drill two rounds through the same hole, I’ll never have my gun with me.

I may not ever be tacti-cool enough to keep moving while reloading and firing but if I wait to carry until I am, I’ll never have my gun with me.

I may not be as aware of my surroundings as I should be, but if I wait until I’m free of other distractions, I’ll never have my gun with me.

I may never have the time to train to reach any of the above goals, much less all of them, but if I wait until I do, I’ll never have my gun with me.

Some say having a gun makes you a target. Some say having a gun serves as a deterrent. If I waited until that debate was settled (including my internal one), I’d never have my gun with me.

And don’t even get me started on the caliber wars.

Some of us come late to the realization that the only ones we can count on to keep us safe are ourselves. So we open our eyes, and we travel that road – all with different starting places, and going at difference paces. But as long as I’m making progress, however slow, I’ll keep plodding along. Because no matter how much I have to learn, or how much I need to improve, I’ll keep carrying my gun. Because something is better than nothing.

Liebster (not Bieber) Award

2012-02-05T22:10:00.004-05:00

A Girl and Her Gun has nominated me for an award!

Here are the rules:

1. Copy and paste the award on our blog.
2. Link back to the blogger who gave us the award.
3. Pick our five favorite blogs with fewer than 200 followers, and leave a comment on their blog to let them know they have received the award.
4. Hope that the five blogs chosen will keep spreading the love and pass it on to five more blogs.

I've got to start with my buddy Michael W. (a.k.a. "Cutler to the Stars") at Doin' the Time Warp. I've known him through our reenacting unit for 10 years, and longer than that through the hobby. He doesn't post very often, but if you ever get a chance to meet him in person, he's very entertaining. And he makes the finest rum punch I've ever had. (And that's saying something.)

Next is the Adaptive Curmudgeon. Smart. Useful. Snarky and funny as hell.

My Muse Shanked Me. Also snarky and funny as hell. Stunning writer. And somebody that I don't ever want angry with me.

Mike W. at Another Gun Blog. He's no poseur. He walks the walk. Everything else I want to say makes me sound ancient. Like I wish I had half as much of a clue as he does when I was his age. Or that he's such a nice young man. Check him out if for some reason you don't already. Oh, and he likes big butts.

And bluesun at Dead Man Dance if for nothing else than the complete randomness of his musical selections. He also carries a Springfield XD so he can't be all bad. *grin*

So, tag. Y'all are it ...

Interpretive Dance

2012-02-05T08:27:00.000-05:00

Unfortunately, the memory card filled before the finale which involved backs to the audience and ruffles being shaken. I hope to have better footage courtesy of another mom later.

Presented without further ado, the can-can as performed by Sweet Daugher's Daisy Troop.

Disclaimer: this was taken with a hand-me-down camera that I don't yet know how to use.

Dress rehearsal

2012-02-02T21:29:00.000-05:00

Tonight I watched twelve 5 to 7-year-olds "practice" the can-can while wearing taffeta and tulle. It was like watching a roomful of cats mainlining catnip. It was loud and disorganized and there was lots and lots of spinning. I'll try to get pictures this weekend.

What in blue blazes

2012-01-25T22:44:00.000-05:00

... was I thinking?

I have 33 yards of 45" wide (that's over 371 square feet) hot pink taffeta sitting there waiting to be made into can-can skirts for a baker's dozen of 5- to 7-year-olds. It didn't seem too terrible when I thought it was only going to be for eight or so. And when I thought I could get the fabric in town. And before I had the great idea to put a 4" x 50' strip of netting gathered into a ruffle on the bottom.

Since I couldn't find 33 yards of coordinating (much less matching) fabric at the Big Name fabric stores (even on-line!), I turned to eBay. The fabric arrived today. I've got the netting already cut and in a corner of the dining room. I made up a prototype tonight and figured out what changes I have to make. Thankfully the design was spot-on, I just need to tweak the execution a bit. And get them all done in a week. Keep your fingers crossed for me!

One project done.

2012-01-24T22:27:00.000-05:00

Two down, one to go. But that one doesn't have to be done until September.

If the two recipients ever wear these at the same time in the same place ... I'll have to start calling them the Glimmer Twins. Or something.

These are en route to their new homes. Pretty close to the one below. Maybe the pom-poms could be a little bigger. Or not.

I don't remember where I found this picture. Sorry.

Derby

2012-01-23T21:25:00.000-05:00

On Saturday, Sweet Daughter and Shorter Half participated in the local Powder Puff Derby (think Pinewood Derby for the Girl Scouts). The Boy Scouts had their Pinewood Derby two weeks earlier, and someone said they had 17 entries. The girls? Close to 80. Yeah. They weren’t prepared for that.

It's hard to focus when your subject is bouncing around like a squirrel on meth.

It was a single elimination tournament, and SD won her first heat, and came in second in her second heat. While she didn't place in the racing, she did win the medal for the “Most Patriotic” design. A flag in the front, and butterflies and flowers in the back – we called it “America the Beautiful”. But her favorite part? She insisted on a little round orange sticker on the back, with “Guns Save Lives” written on it. Yup. Just like those on the family cars.

Projects

2012-01-20T21:19:00.000-05:00

Let's see ... I've been working on these and they're almost done:

And there was this little project for Michael W. (cutler to the stars). Bless his heart ... if it involves a needle and thread, he figures I'm good at it. I haven't done any real embroidery work in ... um, I think I did something with yarn for my sister when I was in first grade. Counted cross-stitch just isn't the same. I won't tell you how many times I ripped those stars out and started over, but I quit counting after 6 or 7 attempts. Well, that and the fact he told me needed it at the end of January which translated into needing it in his hands on by today. The photo is horrid, but it hides a multitude of sins. I haven't decided if this has poisoned me on embroidery/crewel work altogether, or if it's now something I need to do more of to prove to myself that I can.

These are on the back of a Civil War sailor something-or-other.

Then there are the skirts ...

Sweet Daughter is in Daisy Scouts. In two weeks time, all the Girl Scouts in the county are getting together for "World Thinking Day". Each troop is representing a country, and is doing a dance and providing food samples, and stamping passports and the like. Her Troop is representing France. Their dance is the can-can. For some reason, I thought that by volunteering to make the costumes (skirts), I could help control the cost. Somehow, I neglected to see how many I needed to make. Look forward to more info on that as we get closer to the event as I'm having problems finding enough inexpensive fabric. Even Joann Fabrics online doesn't have enough in stock. Wish me luck, and send rum.

Just so you know ...

2012-01-18T06:30:00.000-05:00

Just so you know this is on purpose, not just lack of content.

Image from here, and here, and a bunch of other places.

Go read Peter and Alan to see why.

Tractor Pr0n

2012-01-17T20:47:00.000-05:00

Tractor Pr0n for the Adaptive Curmudgeon.

I learned to drive a clutch on a 1930's Massey-Ferguson. But these have been sitting on the edge of my mechanic's lot for months and I think of The AC every time I drive past them.

Review Haiku

2012-01-14T09:05:00.001-05:00

Uncle Oinker's Savory Bacon Mints

Image from here.

Dusty white gems taste

like Bac~Os® dipp'd in Colgate

Short answer: Just don’t.

Friday the 13th

2012-01-13T08:50:00.001-05:00

Car won't start, and won't take a jump.

School bus had a substitute driver and went right past us this morning. Luckily, she saw me chasing her down the road and stopped so I could get Sweet Daughter on board. Apparently our house isn't on the pick-up sheet.

Called my mechanic and they're sending a tow truck out for me, and only about an hour after the original call. Things are looking up. Unless, of course, this is supposed to lull me into a false sense of security before the next round hits.

UPDATE:
Good news: The car was en route to the garage an hour after I called for a tow.
Bad news: It was the battery.
Good news: It was still under warranty.
Bad news: It needed new brakes in front.
Good news: We caught it before it got down to the rotors.
Bad news: The dome light still didn't stay fixed.
Good news: The substitute bus driver remembered to bring Sweet Daughter home.

All in all, this was just an (expensive) inconvenience. I wasn't trying to get out of town early for the long weekend. I wasn't stranded with Sweet Daughter 30 miles away in town. All in all it could have been much worse.

Linked by a car blog!

2012-01-11T20:14:00.000-05:00

A very nice gentleman named John from My First Car e-mailed me and asked if he could use my story about Mr. Valiant.

Linked by a car blog. What I know about cars can be writen on the inside of a matchbook with a grease pencil. The next thing you know, JayG will be asking me about Harleys, Tam will ask my opinion about pistols, Brigid will want pointers on poetry, and Alan Gura will be asking me for legal advice.

Anyhow, go check him out, and if you like, offer to share your first car story with him.

Most of you have already see this, but

2012-01-11T17:37:00.001-05:00

To the half-dozen of you that stop by here and don’t follow the gun blogs, go check out A Girl and Her Gun, and her post about the gun community. That pretty sums things up for me, too.

Also, if you’re one of the 3 women in the above group, you may (or may not) be interested in her give-away. Many more items have been donated as well - check out her side bar.

I'm 2 today!

2012-01-09T07:11:00.000-05:00

Sweet Daughter reminded me that today was my 2^nd blogiversay. I’d thought it was somewhere during the second half of the month. Oh well. To say I attract (and least once before they run screaming) an eclectic bunch of readers would be an understatement. I’ve been extremely fortunate to have been linked by the likes of JayG, Breda, Tam, SayUncle, and all the rest I’m inadvertently insulting by not mentioning them. I got included on the first Gun Blog Black List. I got to meet Alan Gura. I’ve been linked by Jane Austen’s World. S.W.A.T. magazine via Facebook. Tank.net. Some forum in Russia (no, not THAT kind, it was gun-related). I’ve been red-shirted (well not really, I didn’t die) by New York Times Best-Selling Author, Larry Corriea. I got linked to a very well respected 18^th century knitting page. I got invited to the Second Amendment Foundation Dinner at the NRA convention in Pittsburgh and wore 5” werewolf shoes. I got a hit from someone searching for “milf dogs”. I got to be one of the instigators of “Open Carry Day” last June. I got to review a product for Brownell’s. The first time I OC’d, a Fud accused me of “bristling with ammunition”. It’s all been pretty awesome.

Thanks to all of you for stopping by. I really appreciate it, even if you’re only stopping out of idle curiosity. Here’s hoping 2012 is just as entertaining. But not in the Chinese “may you live in interesting times” kind of way.

Stop the violence

2012-01-08T16:45:00.000-05:00

Go over to Weer'd's place for the backstory.

Light a candle to stop violence? If I light five, will that stop more violence? How about I carry the means to keep myself and my loved ones safe, instead? You know what will stop more violence? Two extra magazines.

That's my Springfield XD. 16 +1 in the tube. There's 32 more rounds that go with it. I won't start a fight. I will do my best to walk away from, or talk my way out of a fight. I'm blessed I've never had to use it. But I'm also blessed that I have the right to carry it.

New nomenclature

2012-01-07T21:14:00.000-05:00

Sweet Daughter acquired several new games during Christmas. I've had the pleasure of playing them with her, and she's quite ... proficient. She regularly creams both Shorter Half and me at cribbage, for instance. She started owning us at Uno. I'm still holding my own at Mancala, but I'm running out of adjectives for getting soundly beaten at Concentration and the like. There's getting "spanked", "getting beat like a rented mule", being told "You're going down!" and the ever popular "I'm going to beat the pants off you!"

Which, of course, evolved into "I am SO going to Robb Allen you!"

Why I love the internet

2012-01-06T21:44:00.000-05:00

I've had ~~this book~~ “Tea drinking in 18th-century America: Its Etiquette and Equipage”on my Amazon wish list of years. It's out of print. There is one copy available on AbeBooks for $144. This afternoon, I applied my best Google-fu and I managed to find a course syllabus from 2005 that had this listed as one of the readings. Lo and behold, the email for the professor was included as well. I figured what did I have to lose? So I shot a brief note asking if she knew how I could acquire a copy and she got right back to me with the name of an anthology that includes it. It's now on the way for under $15, shipped.

Why now, all of a sudden? Well, Military Through the Ages is less than 2 1/2 months away, and it's time to build up to "full panic" mode. Our cook has some rather ambitious ideas for a menu, and we're trying to find some warm bodies to play wounded soldiers.

Another knit cap

2012-01-04T15:51:00.000-05:00

The knitting deities have not been kind to me this past year.Regardless, upon flipping through my print-outs from The Rijksmuseum inAmsterdam, the Netherlands, I found this cap: [original]

The description is courtesy of Google Translate. It's not really an ikat, but it gets the point across.

and decided I wanted to try to reproduce it. Why? I have no idea. Maybebecause it’s so completely unlike anything I’ve seen. Maybe it’s because I’m aglutton for punishment. But on Christmas Day, I got started. Technically, Ishould have dyed some blue wool and then taken that and some white wool andspun them into a variegated yarn. Not happening, so I went with Plan B.

So first, I took a skein of blue wool yarn that very closely matchedthe original picture, and I tried to see if I could bleach the blue out of it.Nope. Using a few strands to experiment, I increased the ratio of bleach towater and found it started to dissolve the wool but it didn’t lighten thecolor. On to Plan C. Next I took a skein of natural merino wool, and wrapped itaround and around the back of a dining room chair until I had a giant donut ofyarn. Then I loosely tied it in a few places and pre-wet it. Then I folded itin half, and in half again, and put two of the resulting bends into a smallcrock-pot, with the other two bends sticking up.

Yes, that's Sweet Daughter's Hello Kitty toaster in the background.

I went down to my Rubbermaid tub marked “dyeing” and dug around hopingI had some acid dye in blue left over from a project over 15 years ago. Score!It was a rather bright blue, but it was all I had. I trotted back upstairs,read the directions for using it in a washing machine, and then extrapolatedwhat I would need for the crock-pot. This highly scientific method meant I tookan old rum bottle (it was all I had handy, really! *hic!*), and put some waterin it. Then I added approximately ½ teaspoon of dye and shook it up until itwas well dissolved.

This used to hold Cruzan Blackstrap Rum. You recycle your way, I'll recycle mine.

Then I carefully poured it into the center of the crock-pot, trying tokeep it near the bottom. Then I added more water until the crock-pot was almostfull. I turned it on (no “high” or “low” on this one) and went and played withSweet Daughter for an hour or so.

I removed the yarn from the crock-pot and dumped it in a colander andlet it cool a bit before rinsing it so it wouldn’t felt into a giant wad.(Agitation and/or rapid temperature change will felt wool.) I squeezed out asmuch water as I could by wrapping it in a towel and then hung it to dry.

One side.

The other side.

Then I rolled it into a ball.

I got out some size 8 needles and started knitting a swatch. Got mygauge. Started knitting the actual hat, and one of my big fears came to pass.See that original hat? See how the colors just sort of magically seemed toalternate with a minimum puddling of colors? Well, I got the blocks of color. Sort of like this, but bigger.

Icouldn’t have gotten the colors to line up like that if I tried. So I quitwhile I was ahead, and swore quietly under my breath and then it came to me …change the size of the needles, and that should shift everything one way or theother. I found a size 5 circular needle, knit a swatch, calculated my stitches,and started again.

Victory!

I knit for an inch and a half or so, did a row of purl stitches (so itwould turn nicely) and then another inch and a half. I then picked up thebottom edge in the next round, knitting them together, and then just knit in acircle for a while. The next challenge was figuring out how tall to make it, sowhen I felted it it would come out looking right. One thing I’ve found overthe past year is that when you double the bottom edge, it doesn’t shrink (much) when you try to felt.The diameter of the rest will shrink some, but proportionately the lengthshrinks much more. No, I didn’t remember how much more, so this time I decidedto get all scientific and measure. But first I had to figure out the decreaseat the top. I decreased 4 stitches every row until I had eight stitches leftwhich I looped onto the end of the yarn, pulled to the inside and secured.

Then I put it in a lingerie bag and threw it in the wash with someother laundry, not noticing that the cycle was set on “delicate”. It came outof the wash the same size it went in. So back in it went, by itself, set on “regular”.I stood there and pulled it out every few minutes to measure the progress.After the length had shrunk 2”, I spun the water out and blocked (shaped) itover two mixing bowls to get the curve at the top and the slight flare at thebottom. The color also mellowed out a bit but is still well within the realm ofpossibility for indigo dye.

Sorry - picture's a little crooked.

Not a perfect match, but recognizable. And I'm not trying to recreate a couple-of-hundred-years-old cap. I'm trying to make it look like it did when it was new. I’ll call it a win.

Peppermint Bark

2012-01-03T18:35:00.000-05:00

I tried making peppermint bark this Christmas. I researched recipes, found one that looked good and scaled it down a bit. I dutifully spread the chocolate into a brownie pan. I followed up with the peppermint/white layer and spread carefully crushed candy canes on top. It was too thick, and the crushed peppermint didn’t stick to the top layer.

So I tried again, tweaking a few details, and I still wasn’t happy with it. I boxed it up and gave it to my sister to take with her on her travels. I figured somebody would eat it and maybe by then my name would have been left out of the loop. Well, Sister A gave some to Sister B.

Sister B emailed me today with the following tacked on to the end of her message.

This missive gives me an opportunity to tell you how banging excellent that peppermint bark was! Yes, was. I was hoarding it. I like peppermint bark, but this was the absolute best I've ever had. Now, we had some friend's down from Rhode Island this weekend, and they found it. It was gone in two hours. Damn. So now I need to ask you for the recipe. It wasn't just chocolate under that peppermint, it was fudge, wasn't it?

So do an older sister a favor, and share the recipe, so I can share with [more friends] (who also put a hefty dent in my supply).

And my response …

Are you sure that was *my* peppermint bark?? It looked like something the cat horked up in my opinion, not that there is anything wrong with that. I just read a bunch of recipes and then made up my own which is as follows.

Bottom layer: one regular bag Hershey dark chocolate chips. Nuke in the microwave, stir, repeat until melty. Then pour onto a waxed paper covered cookie sheet (I used a jelly roll pan). Put in the fridge to harden. While you’re nuking and chilling;

Take a box of candy canes. Unwrap and snap into pieces. If you have the patience, put them in a ziplock bag and abuse them with a rolling pin until they are of a nicely broke-up size. This will cause tiny little holes to appear in the bag, and peppermint dust to waft about your kitchen which is similar to cotton candy goo – it sticks to everything – but your bark will look nicer. Otherwise, toss it into a food processor and try to get it a somewhat uniform size so you don’t end up with a range of sizes from “chunks” to “sub-atomic particles”. The dust will still stick to everything, but it will be more localized.

White layer: one regular bag Hershey (we don’t get a lot of high-end choices here in [rural location]) white chocolate chips. Melt and stir as above. Then stir in 1 teaspoon peppermint extract and wonder why the mixture suddenly seizes up like a Mopar slant-six with no oil. Ponder what to do to salvage it and decide to stir in a little butter and a little vegetable oil. Heat it up a bit. Realize that it’s helping some, but you don’t have a lovely glossy, homogeneous mass, and the best thing to do is just dump in the crushed peppermint and punt. This is accomplished by dropping/spreading it onto the chilled chocolate and hoping it doesn’t melt the dark chocolate too badly. Put it back in the fridge to harden.

When cold, take it out and peel off the waxed paper and break/cut it into bite-sized pieces. Enjoy. You just may not want to look at too closely.

Happy New Year!

2012-01-01T11:37:00.000-05:00

We're in Williamsburg, having rung in the New Year with Michael W. and his lovely (and as Mike adds both long-suffering and sainted) wife and a couple of locals. I want to wish everyone who stops by a happy and healthy 2012. I'm not sure why most of you stop by, but I do appreciate it.

Sweet Daughter and Nancy R. waiting for midnight on New Year's Eve.

The Battle of Trenton

2011-12-31T11:45:00.000-05:00

Today they are reenacting the Battle of Trenton.

Here's a good summary from my buddy, Chris.

Ten years ago I participated in the 225^thanniversary of the Battle of Trenton, and it was only few months after theterrorist attacks on September 11^th. There was something like 900 hundred participants. They did a pre-dawncrossing of the river (and another later in the day for the benefit of thepublic) and then marched 9 miles into Trenton. A handful of women wanted tomake the march, and so we followed the army in. We’d missed breakfast, be unlikeWashington’s army I wasn’t starving. My feet were cold in my straight-lastedshoes, but at least I had shoes. I had fresh water in my canteen. I wasreasonably well rested, having slept on a cot with adequate blankets.

We stepped off in the pre-dawn walking as close as we couldto the original route. The hush was broken only by the sound of hobnails on theroad, and I didn’t see a single car at that hour. I watched the sky brighten, andas we started passing through more residential areas, I noticed the occasionalfamily standing on their front porch – some waving, some just watching. Andsome came out and started marching with us. But the part that I’ll never forgetwas the WWII Veteran standing out in front of his modest home in the bitingcold, back-lit by his porch light. He had a 3’ x 5’ American flag on a shortpole in one hand, the bottom of it braced against his thigh as he saluted, notus, but what we represented.

And I burst into very quiet tears.

Here's a longer description, including footage from that day 10 years ago. (No, it's not embedding.)

http://youtu.be/4vzBz4Nc_lY

An old job

2011-12-28T22:24:00.001-05:00

The Adaptive Curmudgeon has a post up about, um, some interesting past home repairs.

Which reminds me of a previous life when I used to manage some properties. There were about a dozen, and some were historic and residential, some were historic and commercial, and some were just old farmhouses. I’m convinced that when The AC’s hicks moved on, they must have worked on some of these properties. I mean, who installs a heating oil tank directly over the sewer line leading to the drain field?

Or the plasterer that had a rather fluid understanding of schedules and deadlines. We found that a cold 12-pack of his favorite brew depositing on the scaffolding (I don’t remember if they were 12 or 14 foot ceilings) early in the afternoon offered an excellent incentive to show up and yielded outstanding results. (I can feel the OSHA reps out there cringing.)

Then there was the water heater that had split open, top to bottom, with water pouring into the cellar under the house. It was a tiny little farmhouse, and the cellar was dug out enough so I could stand upright under about 2/3 of the foundation. The other 1/3 wasn’t dug down as far, and the top of the water heater was sitting on that ledge, and the top of the water heater was about level with the top of my head. I don’t remember who turned the water off, but I do remember standing down in the cellar wearing rubber boots with the water well over halfway up my shins and thinking “You can’t have a water heater turned on with no water in it – that’s dangerous!” So I went over to flip the switch to the water heater and saw that it didn’t have a switch. Instead, it was simply hooked up to the Romex with a couple of wire nuts.

Okay. So I realize that the wiring in this house was put in B.C. (Before Code. Or “In Spite of Code”. Or, “What’s the hell is ‘Code’?”). And I realize that heaven only knows what interesting shortcuts have been taken. And that there is a bare bulb swinging from the ceiling and that I’ve got water halfway to my knees. So I beat it out of the cellar into the house and find the main electrical panel and ... nothing’s labeled. I throw the main and shut down power to the whole house, and pray that the water heater was included.

I then went back down into the pitch black cellar with a flashlight. This was 20 years ago, and it was your basic big old dim flashlight. I waded over to the water heater and realized that if I stood on my tip toes, I could reach the wire nuts. And since I wasn’t 100% sure that the wiring wasn’t still hot, I needed two hands to make sure nothing touched anything it shouldn’t. So I held the flashlight between my teeth and I carefully reached over my head and unscrewed one of the wire nuts, pulled the wires apart and put the wire nut back on the end of the Romex. Repeat on the other side. And sloshed back to the door, went upstairs and turned the power back on.

And then I believe I went home and had a drink.

Music Meme

2011-12-27T19:44:00.002-05:00

Tam started it, and now all the cool kids are doing it, so I'm jumping on the bandwagon.

Top 25 songs on your playlist. (I will say that about a third of these are of Sweet Daughter's choosing, and no, she doesn't listen to Nine Inch Nails. )

Rolling in the Deep; Adele

Hey Soul Sister; Train

Say Hey (I Love You); Michael Franti & Spearhead

Twilight Zone; Golden Earring

Perfect; Pink

Rhythm of Love; Plain White T's

Fall at Your Feet, Crowded House

Firework; Katy Perry

Take Me Home Tonight; Eddie Money

Pain Lies on the Riverside; Live

Amazing Grace; Dropkick Murphys

Fields of Gold, Sting

I Still Believe; The Call

Everlong; Foo Fighters

Let there be Love; Ice House & Iva Davies

The Impression that I get; The Mighty Mighty Bosstones

Favourite Shirts; Haircut 100

Cuts You Up; Peter Murphy

Good Enough; Evanescence

Walk the Last Mile; Love and Money

Our Day Will Come; Seven Nations

Take Me on the Floor; The Veronicas

No One Like You; Scorpions

Private Idaho; B-52's

Head Like a Hole; Nine Inch Nails

Deleted my blog roll

2011-12-27T06:17:00.000-05:00

So, I was attempting to do a little blog maintenance yesterday and all I managed to do was delete my "I haven't met you yet" blog roll. So if you link to me, or you're one of my favorite blogs, please let me know in the comments. I managed to reconstruct/update some of it, but that was a bit of a cluster in and of itself and I know I'm still missing a bunch.

Let's hope this is the last of 2011messing with me, and not a harbinger of 2012.

Guest blog from Gramps

2011-12-26T08:51:00.000-05:00

He would have been 77 when he wrote the following. (Updated to show the Dutch Roll links ...)

Thursday, December 26th. 1974. This evening, when I went out for my walk, I passed Hawthorne School, where I attended the grades sixty-five years ago. Part of the playground has been flooded by the city to make a skating rink. The field of ice is 90 ft. by 200 ft., perfectly smooth and level. The temperature is 28 degrees, a three-quarter moon, light south breeze, a perfect night for outdoor skating. But not one person was using the ice. I wondered where the children and young adults were and what they were doing.

When I was a boy, there would have been at least fifty people using this ideal facility. Perhaps they are inside watching television, or attending a movie. Our ice skating was done on Bear Creek, or on Kirkham’s pond, just west of third Avenue and Sixth Streets southeast. Or on the pond, just above Uncle Joe Alexander’s dam. Sometimes we would skate all the way down Bear Creek to the Zumbro River and on down to the Hill Pond in Northeast Rochester, a little southeast of where the Kruse Lumber Company is located.

Quite often there would be at least thirty of our own cousins and relatives in the group. We would form a long line, hands on shoulders, as we did the “Dutch Roll”* down the ice. As we got close to the Mill Pond, we would hear someone shout, “Here come the Alexanders”. Then the leader, usually Big Walt, would “Crack the whip” and the last one in line, usually Evelyn, and two or three others would go sprawling on the ice.

As I take my daily walks, I notice that there are no people on the streets, walking. I travel a mile or a mile and half without meeting a single person. Occasionally I will meet another older person walking home from Erdmans Super Market with a sack of groceries. But it is a rare occasion when I meet someone. They are all in their cars. If they are out at all, and certainly they have forgotten how to walk.

* More interesting information here at the Virtual Ice Skates Museum, including the history of ice skates.

An apology to my doppelganger*.

2011-12-24T22:00:00.000-05:00

Christmas with Shorter Half’s family took place today. Theadult siblings draw names for a gift exchange, SH’s mother buys for everyone, thecousins get to squirrel around, we graze on food that is generally verboten therest of the year, and those of legal age drink Mimosas. Everyone is encouragedto keep their Amazon gift list up-to- date to simply things, and the sequence ofevents is fairly predictable.

This year the first round of gifts was handed out, and I hadfrom my mother-in-law what clearly looked like a CD. I was intrigued as therewere no CDs on my list, but it turned out to be the new one from Coldplay. Sheasked what I thought. I said I’d probably really enjoy it. We both lookedpuzzled.

The second round of gifts was making the circuit, and SH’slittle sister was bouncing up and down on the sofa telling me how much sheloved the gift I was about to open. It was a set of measuring cups shaped like aset of nested matryoshka dolls. My mother-in-law said something about thembeing from my Amazon list. I said I’d never seen either the CD or the measuringcups before in my life.

Yes. My Christmas presents came off the list of anotherNancy R., which we all found hilarious. And then it occurred to me that thisother Nancy R. might actually be monitoring her list and wondering why nobodyever gave her the CD or the measuring cups or the Harry Potter movie that hadbeen purchased. And so I offer my humbleapologies to the other Nancy R. I’m sorry if you’re feeling shortchanged. But I’malso really, really glad that my MIL didn’t find the Nancy R. that wanted the 3lbs. of diatomaceous earth and the bedbug-proof pillowcases.

* It was pointed out to me that it was much more likely thatI was the doppelganger.

2011-12-23T21:31:00.002-05:00

Survived

2011-12-22T20:50:00.005-05:00

Skating today was a success. Sweet Daughter and I made the first circuit of the rink at a snail's pace, both frantically clutching the boards. The second pass got easier. She fell a lot, but she was prepared for that. By the end of 90 minutes she was skating without help in the middle of the rink. I improved to the point that I made several loops without SD, at a reasonable speed, and didn't care that I was yelling "WhoaAAAH!" with my arms wind-milling in front of the high school kids. I even remembered how to go backwards, which was helpful in keeping ahead of, and an eye on SD at the same time. When one of the moms (17 years my junior) jokingly accused me of being a slacker while standing around, I challenged her to a race around the rink. Ha. She backed down.

One very cute couple asked me to take their picture. "Say 'Brian Boitano'!" I chirped. They looked confused. "Say 'Dorothy Hammill!" No better luck. I'm hoping I at least got eccentricity points.

I only made one "controlled descent" (NOT on my bum, thank-you-very-much!), and overextended into a near split once while trying not to run over SD when she fell down in front of me. (Remember how I don't remember how to stop?) Which reminded me of the last time I went skating -- it was my senior year of college and it was outside. No boards. I seem to recall more than once that night when I ran out of ice before I ran out of speed and ended up launching myself into a snowdrift. I quit when I hit the one that was like concrete. No, I don't believe there was any beer involved, at least not until I was done skating.

All-in-all it was a success. I held my own on the ice, I didn't wipe out in a spectacular manner (although that would have made a better story), and SD had a good time. Now I'm ready for some more Vitamin I, and a good stiff drink. We'll see how well I'm moving tomorrow ...

Update: I'm moving better this morning than I was earlier inthe week. The only possible explanation I can come up with is that I'm still experiencingsome sort of post-exercise endorphin rush and when it wears off, I’ll be unableto so much as blink my eyes.

Progress

2011-12-21T22:27:00.000-05:00

I literally only have a half page left to re-type of the family history out of 267 pages. The OCR program worked pretty well. I'd be cruising right along, just dealing with the fact that it couldn't tell the difference between commas and periods, and the letter "i" and "l" , or "K" and "X", or "a" and "e" and "c", then it would go all Ron Paul on me, and I'd get a page of this.

I scanned the original document in case anyone needs to reference possible transcription errors (unpossible!), or formatting. The updated version is in Word so it's searchable. And much easier to read. And up-dateable. (Don't get me started on the biography of John Hart that's currently in there. A little hyperbole is good for history, right??) It's by no means perfect, but at now it's readable. And the next update will include an index just to help with the clarity. I swear, each generation had at least one John, Joseph, George and William and it gets difficult to figure out who's who when three generations are alive and living in the same town at any given time.

A test for you. According to my family history, am I descended from (it's multiple choice - it's easy!):

A. Anne Boleyn.

B. A man (Richard Stought) who saved the life of the Duke of York.
C. An illegitimate son of one of the the Kings of Norway.
D. A signer of the Magna Carta.
E. A signer of the Declaration of Independence.
F. All of the above.

Tomorrow I am going ice skating with Sweet Daughter's Daisy Scout troop. I haven't been skating in well over 20 years. Once upon a time, I could do very basic cross-over turns and I could skate backwards. But I never learned how to stop unless it involved running into the boards or the violent application of gravity. This could get interesting.

(And the answer to the test was "F" of course! I cringed through several parts of this whole thing yelling "Primary resources! I want to see primary resources!!")

Hitch-hiking to college, Part 2.

2011-12-20T19:35:00.000-05:00

Here Gramps talks about heading back west, and a few memories (including another chicken story) from the following year.

Aug. 25th. Started back west. Took subway-surface car out to U. of P. Electric train to Bryn Mawr. To East Downington; walked 3 miles thru the town. To Coatsville, Gap, and then walked to Paradize. Took trolley to Lancaster. For the day, 66 miles, 3 walking.

Aug. 26^th. From Lancaster, across Susquehanna River, thru York, Abbotstown, Gettysburg, Chambersburg and St Thomas. Tourists were scarce so we decided to stay in Sts Thomas for the night. The town had no street lights and very few stores. We found a park and settled down for the night. At five the next morning Ernie was up at five, saying he hadn’t been able to sleep, I asked him why and he said there were some squirrels in the trees overhead, they kept talking to each other all night and kept him awake. For the day we had covered 94 miles, 6 1/2 by hiking.

Aug. 27^th. Walked 2 miles out of St. Thomas. Got 2 mile ride. Walked two more miles. Then got a ride with a man and his wife in a Willys-Knight. At Bedford they stopped at the famous Hoffman Inn and invited us to have dinner with them. A beautiful place serving southern fried chicken and waffles, served by colored mammys in authentic southern outfits. Neither Ernie or I had ever been in such an eating place, or had such a meal and were duly impressed with the charge of $2.25 each. In those days most restaurants made a charge of about 50¢ for a full meal. Next we went to Jamestown, Youngstown and Homestead. During the day Ernie investigated the contents of a barrel along the highway and got both hands covered with tar. Saw a Marmon car in trouble holding up traffic of 28 cars. A negro looking at the damage remarked, “That’s what these cheap guys get for not hiring a chauffeur.” Stayed at Homestead for the night. Made 139 miles for the day, 8 by hiking.

Aug. 29th. We had remained in Homestead for a day. Caught a ride to Pittsburgh. Then on to Darlington, and Canton, Ohio. Detoured thru Gallilee. At Alliance invited to dinner at the Gilbert House with a young man and his mother. Visited McKinleys home. Spent night at Canton, Ohio at “Y”. On this day we covered a total of 107 miles, 3 by walking.

Aug. 30th. Because it would be difficult to catch a ride from Canton to Massilon, we paid a 15¢ fare and rode the trolley. From Massilon we walked one mile, then got a ride to Wooster. Caught another ride to Lima, Ohio, and stayed the night at the “Y” for which we were charged 75¢. Had made 160 miles, 2 walking.

Aug. 31^st. From Lima to Monroeville, Cherubusco and Ligonier. While riding in an ancient Ford, the car lost a rear wheel and we had a walk of 3 miles into town. Stayed at Ligonier that night having covered a total of 115 miles, only three of them hiking.

Sept. 1^st. From Ligonier to Goshen and Elkhart, Indiana. We rode for a while in the rear seat of an old Ford, with a gallon jug of corn whiskey between us. We ran into a severe windstorm which blew down some big trees. At Valparaiso, Indiana, we stopped, having covered 105 miles, 2 by hiking.

We had arrived there early in the day and decided to visit the University campus. Valparaiso University was one of the oldest colleges in the state and had a beautiful campus, but all the buildings were old and run down. At the time it was called the Poor Man’s College. We stopped at the business office and before we knew what had happened, a lady named Corboy had relieved us of tuition and Ernie was enrolled in the Business College and I was in Engineering.

The year before I had written for a catalog, in which was outlined a course in Architecture. I found that the course had been discontinued. In talking with the Dean of the School of Engineering and explaining my training and years of experience in architects offices and with the Army Engineers he told me that if I would stay there two years, marking time, they could offer me something in the junior and senior years that I hadn’t already learned. The two of us got jobs in the Altruria Hall dining room to pay for our board and found a rooming house.

Two things I remember about the dining room. One when Ernie came hurrying out of the kitchen with a tray full of food to serve at one of the tables. He slipped on something, sat down flat on the floor with the tray of food balanced neatly on one hand over his head. The other remembered occasion, was meeting Jeannette, from Clinton, Iowa who was also working in the dining room. Ernie and I, Jeannette and another girl double dated and on Dec. 29th, 1922, Jeannette and I returned to Valparaiso where we were married.

Another event was the “Feast of the Fifteen,” put on by the K.I.P. Fraternity. Three of us were appointed to go out at night and borrow 15 chickens from a farmer. We made a successful raid on a chicken house. After our meal the next day we decided that there really wasn’t much sense in returning the remains of the “borrowed chickens” to the farmer.

As neither Ernie or I had the funds to continue our education at Valparaiso, the end of the school year found us both back home in Rochester, Minn.

Hitch-hiking to college. Part 1.

2011-12-19T21:54:00.001-05:00

Another guest blog by my deceased Grandfather (what bluesun has dubbed "zombie blogging"). My grandfather was born on October 29, 1897. He graduated from high school in 1917, and enlisted U.S. Army Engineers July 5, 1918 and was discharged September 2, 1919. So, with that little bit of context, we'll let Gramps take over, okay?

During the summer of 1921 Ernest Schlitgus and I had the idea that we would like to hitchhike east and enter some college in the fall. We didn’t have any set place in mind but Ernie had heard of the Wharton School of Finance in Philadelphia and we set that as an objective. We started out on August 8th., each carrying a knapsack and signs reading, “Hiking to College.”We had both been members of the Episcopal Church choir; Rev. Wurtelle started us on our journey by driving us to Owatonna. Going straight west from Rochester, Minn., on the way to Philadelphia seems strange, but in those days there were no numbered highways, only marked trails, and from Owatonna south we wanted to get on the Red Ball Trail to Marshalltown, Iowa, where we could get on the Lincoln Highway. From Owatonna we went thru Albert Lea and Mason City to Iowa Falls, Iowa, where we spent the night sleeping under the protecting roof of a rifle range shed. We had covered a total of 163 miles, only two by hiking.

On the second day we covered 60 miles. One of our rides was in a two wheeled horse breaking cart for a few miles. We hiked a distance of 16 miles during the day, which turned out to be the most hiking we would do in one day on the entire trip. Stayed at “Y”.

Aug. 10th. We walked 1½ miles south of Marshalltown and were on the Lincoln Highway, a dirt road in those days. At Le Grand we found 11 cars piled up at the bottom of a hill due to the slippery roads. Helped to get one Ford out of a ditch. At Tama saw the Indian Reservation. It had been a rainy day and when we arrived at Cedar Rapids we decided to stay there for the night. We had covered 78 miles, 8 by hiking, mostly in the mud.

Aug. 11^th. From Cedar Rapids to Mt. Vernon. At Wheatland, Iowa, we talked with a man and woman who were rollerskating from coast to coast. Sounded impossible to us in that Iowa mud. At DeWitt we had to detour 20 miles to Clinton. Lincoln Highway being improved. On the detour we passed thru Low Moor and Camanche. At Camanche we stopped for a rest and talked to some men sitting outside a garage. They gave us some apple cider to drink, but later we realized it must have been hard cider or apple jack. Little did I think at the time, that, a few years later I would be married and living in Camanche, and doing business at that same garage. We crossed the Mississippi River, over the high bridge at Clinton, to Fulton, Illinois. At Dekalb, Ill. we stopped for the night having covered 173 miles, 6 by hiking.

Aug, 12th. From DeKalb, Ill. to Crown Point, Ind. One ride was in a coal truck which ran out of gas. At Crown Point, Ind. we found out we were off the Lincoln Highway to the south. Total for the day 109 miles, 8 of which were hiking.

Aug. 13th. Back to Lincoln Highway at Valparaiso, Ind. At South Bend picked up first mail from home. On to Fort Wayne, Ind., where we stopped for the night. Total mileage today, 159, 4 by walking.

Aug. l4th. Being Sunday we decided to take it easy. Near Convoy were many vineyards with ripe Concord grapes hanging over the fence. We decided the highway was too hard for walking so hiked along near the fence where the grapes were easier to reach. At VanWert, Ohio we stopped for the night, having covered only 35 miles, 12 by hiking.

Aug. 15th. To Delphos, Cairo, Beaver Dam. Six rides, 3 turns at hiking. To Upper Sandusky where Ernie stopped and refused to walk any farther. Finally got a ride to Bucyrus. Stayed at the “Y”. The Y.M.C.A. at Bucyrus refused to charge us anything for our room. During the day we had detoured off the Lincoln Highway, thru Nevada, Ohio. For the day we covered 87 miles, 8 by walking.

It was in Ohio where we picked up a ride with an insurance adjustor who was driving a Ford coupe. The driver asked if either of us could drive as he wanted to take a nap. I had driven a Ford so told him I would drive for a while. After a half hour, Ernie decided he would like to drive. Evidently he had very little experience, as he failed to slow up when coming to a corner and the car tipped over on its side. The three of us were able to get it back on its wheels and we continued on east with the owner doing the driving.

Aug, l6th. A bad day for hitchhiking. Walked out of Bucyrus 1 mile, Rode in car ½ mile, rode in another car 1 mile. Stopped in a cemetery, or “rest camp” as Ernie called it. Walked 3 miles, stopped at another cemetery, walked another 1½ miles. Got a ride in an oil truck to Crestline. Changed to eastern time. Walked 1 mile out of Crestline and rested near a schoolhouse. Very hot weather. Walked by a farm and waved at two girls sitting on lawn. They came and walked a ways with us. Said they were driving to Akron the next morning and would give us a ride there. However we wanted to stay on the Lincoln Highway. Got a ride to Mansfield, and then walked 1½ miles farther. Decided to camp for the night. Rides had been few and short. 24 miles, 8 hiking.

Aug. 17^th. To Ashland. Walked 2 miles out of city and got caught in rainstorm. Got ride to Ashland and then on east to Wooster in same car. Walked 1 mile out of Wooster and the weather looked so bad we decided to wait for ride to Massilon or remain in Wooster for the night. We climbed up on top of a high steel bridge. Ernie saw a car coming, waved it to a stop and we got a ride to Massilon. Total mileage for day, 57, 3 1/2 by walking.

Aug. 18^th. Couldn’t pick up a ride out of Massilon so we rode the interurban trolley 8 miles to Canton. Caught ride to Minerva, Near Lynchburg got ride with 3 girls. After 4 miles car ran out of gas. Walked back to Lynchburg and returned with two gallons of gas. Then on to Hanoverton. Rested in farmyard. Visited with two girls and a boy, named Pelly. Spent the evening at their house. They had a ukulele which I could play and as Ernie and I had had a lot of experience singing in the church choir, we entertained them with all the familiar songs of the day. They wouldn’t let us leave until their folks came home from an Eastern Star meeting, and then we had to perform all over again. Slept out in the open by a creek. We had had a miserable day covering only 42 miles, 6 by walking. Next morning Ernie got us up and going at 5:30; he said he was freezing to death.

Aug. 19th. It had been a cold night so we walked a half mile to an old bridge, built a fire and waited till eight o’clock with out seeing a car. Decided to walk back to Hanoverton and take a train to East Liverpool which was not too far ahead. It had been almost impossible to pick up rides in Ohio. Walked out of East Liverpool and sat down on a corner where cars would have to slow up. Ernie was reading a copy of DeMaupasant and I was reading out of the khaki covered little bible I had carried thru France and Germany. A car stopped, asking for directions, and Ernie talked the driver into giving us a ride to Pittsburgh, in a car which was already overloaded. Total for today, 65 miles, 1 walking.

Aug. 20 and 21. On the previous day we had taken a streetcar to Bellevue, Pa. a suburb of Pittsburgh. I visited my old wartime buddy, William Raisbeck. Saw Schenley Park Botanical gardens. Also Carnegie Tech buildings, Highwood Park Zoo and Carnegie Museum.

Aug. 22nd. Took streetcar from Bellevue to Williamsburg. On to Greensburg, Stoyestown, Got ride over the Allegheny Mountains to Bedford. Spent night there. Days total 99 miles, 5 walking.

Aug. 23rd. From Bedford to Gettysburg. Saw all the battlefield sights. Crossed the mountain ridge at Tuscarora Summit, Elev. 2,240’.On to Wrightsville. Toll bridge over Susquehanna River to Columbia. Walked 2 miles; then caught ride to Lancaster. 132 miles, 3 hiking.

Aug. 24th. Walk 1½ miles out of, Lancaster. Wait for ride. No luck. Took trolley to Coatsville, 42¢. Got ride to Downington. Walked 2 miles to East Downington, then got ride to Bryn Mawr and then another to Philadelphia. Stay at Minerva. Go to hear Philadelphia band. Had reached destination. Mileage today 66, 5 hiking. Total mileage, Rochester to Philadelphia, 1,349, 95 miles by walking. We had been seventeen days on the trip. At the Wharton School we were told that all classes for the year had been filled.

In lieu of content ...

2011-12-14T19:41:00.000-05:00

Becaue I'm spending every spare minute on the family history, trying to get it done in time for Christmas, I present this for your entertainment.

H/T to Loyal Lurker.

A horizonal water wheel

2011-12-09T06:15:00.000-05:00

My mother and her father (yes, the family that had odd ideas on raising chickens) put together a family genealogy 41 years ago. My Xerox copy is getting harder and harder to read, and so I've scanned it. I've done the OCR thing, and now I'm in the process of going through and translating the resulting hieroglyphics into English.

My grandfather’s grandfather seems to be the main focus of this history, and was one of the first settlers in Rochester, MN. According to the family history, my grandfather writes*:

The Alexanders were the proprietors of two mills on Bear Creek within the city limits of Rochester. The "upper mill" situated at 624 - 626 South Beaver St., (now 9th Ave. S.E.) and the “lower mill” situated at 524 East College St. (now 4th St. S.E.). The upper mill was started as a woolen mill, a grist mill was added later to the south of the woolen mill. Originally, the woolen mill was powered by a water turbine, and was later converted to steam power. The dam for the upper mill was 2 ½ to 3 ft. high. I don’t remember splash boards, but they were probably used. These were two inch planks, set between iron pins placed in the top of the dam. The water above the dam could be raised 8, 10, or 12 inches, depending on the width of the planks used. Only a low head of water was required for turbine power, compared to a water wheel.

THE TURBINE

The iron turbine or enclosed reaction wheel was brought into common use about 1850 and became quite common because of their efficacy. They required little attention and were not affected by ice.

The turbine was made up of an outer case about 4 ft. in diameter and 11/2 f. high. Top and bottom plates were of cast iron, joined by a side band of iron. The vertical shaft of the runner ran thru a hole between two cast iron plates bolted to the top. The runner, shaped like a paddle wheel, could be taken out thru the opening at the top. The paddle wheel, including the vanes was made of inch thick cast iron.

The larger open end of the outer casing was connected to the penstock. Back of the opening was the gate, operated by a slide valve which was worked by a rack and pinion gear, for turning the water on or off. When open, water from the penstock rushed into the twist of the casing, and against the vanes of the runner. A wooden thrust pin below held the runner in position. In order for the water to escape thru a hole in the bottom plate of the casing the runner or paddle wheel would have to turn. Thrust pins wore usually made of oak and because they were under water, needed no lubrication.

The above drawing was copied from a drawing made by Walter Alexander (Big Walt). His drawing was probably made from a photograph as he was an excellent amateur photographer, starting back in the days when coated glass plates were used in place of film.

* Or, "Guest blogging from beyond the grave". I'm thinking how he would have loved the internet for research and correspondence.

I really do wish I could sing.

2011-12-05T21:32:00.000-05:00

This is the only way I'd be able to participate in singing the "Hallelujah Chorus".

(Sorry ... I can't get it to embed.)

Uncle Joe, eggs, and wet chickens

2011-12-01T21:27:00.000-05:00

Reading Adaptive Curmudgeon’s stories about his chickens reminded me of the story my mom told me when I was growing up.

My mom and her brother, Joe, grew up during the depression. They did not live on a farm, but the family had chickens, and it was my Uncle Joe’s job to collect eggs in the morning. Uncle Joe really wanted to grow up to be a juggler. (Do you see where this is going?) He practiced with the eggs he gathered every morning.

He buried the mistakes.

My mother swore the chickens would line up as he juggled the eggs and walked towards the house, clutching the chicken wire fence and pleading “Don’t drop any! Don’t drop any!”

You see, my Grandpa figured each hen should lay one egg each day. He would count the eggs, and if he came up short, he would decide which hens weren’t laying. He’d then put the underperformer(s) in a crate, tie a rope to it, throw the end of the rope over a tree branch, pull the rope to run the crate up the tree, and squirt the chicken(s) with a hose.

I have no idea if this ever produced more eggs, but it probably does explain why Grandpa was an architect (and a cartographer during WWI) instead of a farmer.

My Uncle Joe did become a fantastic juggler, not that he made a living at it. I remember him juggling a basketball, a softball and a football, all at the same time. I also remember him juggling bowling pins. The kind you hit with bowling balls, not the balanced theatrical kind. Speaking of theatrical, he appeared in a play at the Rochester Civic Center as a juggler for a run of 20 performances. My Aunt also mentioned in passing that he got in trouble for juggling eggs at a New Year’s party at a friend’s house. Somehow I’m imagining there was alcohol involved. And that someone must of egged him on.

Uncle Joe in 1949. A bit before my time.

Why I get in trouble

2011-12-01T10:57:00.000-05:00

H/T to (shamelessly stolen from) Loyal Lurker and her brother.

Plug Bayonet

2011-11-15T21:24:00.000-05:00

My buddy, Michael W., recently presented me with a belated birthday present. It was well worth the wait.

Doesn’t every girl want her very own plug bayonet? What? You say you can count the number of women you know who own matchlocks on one hand? Pity.

You may remember this knife that he made forJayG. Isn't that beautiful? He also made my bandolier (and the bottles, and the horn).

21" of pointy goodness!

Pictures do not do this scabbard and bayonet justice. The scabbard was dyed is what is becoming my "trademark" dark chocolate brown. The blade has been browned as well. If I had included pictures of the matchlock as well (must remedy that), you'd see that the gun is nothing fancy. It's a pipe on at stick. It's ugly. It's beat up. This bayonet, while not flashy, shows an elegance of form and function.

It is truly like casting pearls before swine.

It's a noun, not a verb

2011-11-09T21:09:00.000-05:00

I’m sure this is considered blasphemy by many BBQ purists, but I had some boneless, skinless chicken I needed to use up, so I threw it in a crockpot and covered it with chicken broth and let it do its thing. When it was done, I removed the chicken and pulled it into shreds. I added a Memphis-style barbeque sauce, put it on a bun, and topped it with a slaw made with cabbage, shredded apple, raisins and some mayo.

Yeah. I think I’ll be making that again.

Second shot

2011-11-07T16:24:00.000-05:00

This is Sweet Daughter's second shot with her new rifle. She cranked off the first one with nary a flinch before I could press the "go" button on the camera.

Shooting with Sweet Daughter

2011-11-06T21:27:00.004-05:00

Sweet Daughter finally got a chance to fire her birthday present today. She hasn't done any shooting in months, but it was time to try out her new .22.

Her first target selection was the Big Bad Wolf. Shorter Half instructed her on the basics and she was good to go.

[Video to come if it will EVER load ... UPDATED - Video on following post.]

The bi-pod made all the difference for this new shooter. SD was able to hit what she was aiming at. The wolf target took a beating.

Then we set her loose on some reactive targets. See the orange spinning target? She hit the diamond on her first try. Here is an action shot of the the target in mid spin. Really.

By this point, she's loading and cocking the rifle herself.

She's ready for something different.

She loves the targets that change color. So while Shorter Half did some pistol work, she selected anew target and we girls did some bonding with the help of an EPR*. I didn't worry about her technique, I just made sure she stayed safe, followed the four rules, and had fun.

I think we were successful. This reaction was a result of this target.

Seven shots from the prone position. Six on paper. Rifle not yet zeroed. I'd take that any day of the week.

*Evil Pink Rifle

Knitting update

2011-11-03T20:49:00.000-04:00

After years of being able to knit a swatch, and then proceedwith a successful project, the ability to knit something to scale continues toelude me this year. So I decided to make some mittens for Sweet Daughter forour Rev War events figuring that if there were too big she’d grow into them.Eventually. Since her gown sleeves only come down to just below her elbows, sheneeded something to keep her lower arms warm. We can document elbow lengthknitted mitts (sans fingers) and so I combined the two. I am usually loathe to“make stuff up” based on conjecture, but I’ll make an exception for somethings. If elbow length mittens keep SD comfortable so she enjoys livinghistory events, so be it. I figure it sort of makes up for the early morninghike through the dew-soaked grass to get to the porta-potties.

Half done

I won't tell you how many times I restarted the second one. Maybe it's just the color green I'm having problems with ...

Oh … does anybody want to guess what this is going to be?

"My Faivit Cat" - Sappy Cat Blogging*

2011-11-01T19:08:00.000-04:00

Sweet Daughter asked if she could guest blog tonight and so she wrote a story about one of her toy cats, Maggie. She asked that I please correct her spelling since she didn't want to take the time to ask how to spell all the words she didn't know. So without further ado, I present "My Favit Cat".

My Favorite Cat

My favorite cat is Maggie. She can write , color, and paint. She is black and white**. She likes to be with me. She is a sweet cat. Her favorite is vanilla. She loves ice cream. She is a Webkinz. Meow!

* In memory of William whom I had the pleasure of meeting last spring in Pittsburgh.

** Amended after the fact to read "She is black and white with green eyes."

Happy All Hallows Eve

2011-10-31T21:55:00.000-04:00

I survived the parade and party at school with Sweet Daughter today. Swim class was attended, and then trick or treating ensued with her BFF. While watching her go down a driveway and up the steps of a house, an older gentleman urged me to keep a close eye on her. I assured him that I was. Well, "someone" was stealing kids the next county over. Without ever taking my eyes off of her, I stated quite emphatically that "I'd like to see somebody try."

He quit trying to talk to me after that. Maybe it's because I thought to myself, "Self? What better way to 'steal' a kid than to act like you're the good, helpful guy?" and I kept aware of his whereabouts the whole time. Maybe he didn't smell "victim" and went elsewhere, or most likely, he was just trying to be nice and strike up a random conversation and I wasn't cooperating. He was there with two grandchildren, and chances are he was just fine, though a little odd in choice of ice-breaking conversation. Either way, it didn't matter. My job was to make sure SD stayed safe and had a good time. Mission accomplished.

Sweet Daughter Blogs about Goldie

2011-10-28T19:40:00.000-04:00

As I mentioned earlier in the week, the goldfish got moved to a bigger tank this past weekend. Last week, Sweet Daughter had the opportunity to do some creative writing in school. She wrote about her fish needing a new home and asked if she could guest blog tonight, so here is her contribution -- fresh from first grade complete with creative spelling.
"I have a pet goldfish. Her name is Goldie. It will be four days intell we give her a bigger tank. She use to live in a pond. Now she lives with us. She is very crazy. She bumps into the tank alot. I hope we get her a bigger tank. She is bigger then you wood expect. She is way big. Bigger then a regouler goldfish."

At first, I was horrified by the spelling, but then I realized it was a creative writing exercise she did for fun, and it was all about the story. What better way to stifle creativity than by criticising something they haven't learned to do yet? Better that she enjoy the process, and the spelling will come in time.

I’m not the village you’re looking for.

2011-10-26T21:42:00.000-04:00

Last week, I was outside readying a larger fish tank for our resident goldfish, “Goldie”. I’d been given a hand-me-down 20 gallon tank that needed to have some hard water deposits scraped, and a rustic dark pine stand made out of 2x4’s that needed to be painted. I went outside where I soaked the tank with vinegar and then scraped it best I could with a razor. I was priming the stand when I heard Sweet Daughter talking to someone. There was a little girl in our yard, about 2 or 3 years old. Out by the bench we use while waiting for the school bus, were a teenage female and a woman (probably around 40) talking to each other, nineteen to the dozen. I told the visiting girl to be careful, and to stay away from the razor blade (yes, I was keeping an eye on it) and the wet paint. SD continued to carry on a very on-sided conversation while the other two were absolutely oblivious as to the whereabouts of the youngest. After awhile, Shorter Half came outside and I said “Tag. You’re it. I’ve got to get dinner started.”

About 15 minutes later, SD ran in to say that the little girl needed to use the bathroom. SH was right behind her, and I said “Oh, no. She lives two houses away. She can go home and use the bathroom. That camel and its nose aren’t getting anywhere near this tent!” Shortly thereafter, I saw SH at the end of the driveway talking to the other two, who were now firmly ensconced on the bench. He’d gone out to ask if they were okay, seeing as how they were sitting in someone else’s yard on their bench (for over an hour), without so much as a greeting, or introduction. Oh, they were just fine! And he mentioned that the little one had to use the bathroom. Oh, she could go on into the house, no problem!

Not. When he told all this to me, I said it was a good thing I wasn’t out there, or they would have gotten an earful.

Fast forward to yesterday. SD was outside playing, and I was inside putting some stuff away when she ran in the house to tell me the little girl was back, and her mom had gone walking down the hill without her. I went outside, saw the girl, but the mom was out of sight. Michael W. was visiting and offered to keep an eye on things while I went in search of the mom, who was apparently out walking the dogs.

I caught up with her and asked, “Is that your little girl in our yard?”

She nodded.

I said, “You can’t just walk away leaving your child in some stranger’s yard. Do you understand?”

“Okay.”

“We’re trying to teach our daughter that it isn’t safe to talk to strangers, or go in a strange yard without a grown-up she knows, and it’s certainly not okay to go in a stranger’s house. You walking away, leaving your child in our yard is not helping. And a six-year-old should not be responsible for a younger child. Do you understand why this is a bad idea?”

“Okay.”

At this point the mom (who is the teenager, BTW) is continuing to give me the blank “if I just agree with her maybe she’ll shut up and leave me alone” stare, when I decided to make it short and sweet. With great conviction, I said, “You MAY NOT leave your child in our yard. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”

“Yes.”

Buy then, we were almost back to the house. I walked up and told SD that she had done exactly the right thing in coming to get me to tell me what was going on, and that I was proud of her. During this exchange, the little girl left with her mom. I felt a little bad – the little girl can’t help that her mom is clueless. In her culture, maybe it takes a village to raise a child, but I’m not it.

My First Car

2011-10-17T22:14:00.000-04:00

Because all the other cool kids are doing it ...

UPDATED to add photo: Mr. Valiant was a 4-door sedan, not this uber-sporty version.

My first car was a 1968 Plymouth Valiant. My parents bought in the fall of 1967 when I was 4 years old. It was white with a dark blue interior, seated six fairly comfortably, and had seatbelts but no A/C. It did have a fantastic vent system, though, including one under the steering column that literally made your skirt fly up. It had a slant six under the hood, “posi-traction” in the back, and was considered a compact car. Compared to the 1971 Plymouth Fury III wagon we had, it was.

Before I was allowed to get my driver’s license, I had to prove to my dad that I could change a tire unaided. It was then that I learned the lug nuts were threaded differently, depending on which side of the car you were on -- the whole “lefty loosey, righty-tighty” thing varied. I believe the logic being that they were threaded so that the rotating wheels would be tightening the nuts instead of loosening then as you rolled down the highway. I also had to do some body work on it, which meant the white paint also had patches of Bondo, and both bare and rusty metal primer. It was an appaloosa of sorts.

At some point in the (very) late ‘70’s, my dad installed an FM converter (I now had 2 AM and 2 FM stations to pick from!), and later on a cassette tape deck under the front seat. It was sometime during 1981 I figured out that if you recorded Journey’s “Escape” on one side of a 45 minute tape, and Foreigner’s “4” on the other, you could listen to “Don’t Stop Believin’”, flip the tape over and listen to “Juke Box Hero”, and back again ad infinitum. (It was a 3 hour trip from college to my parent’s house, and parts were a radio waste-land. Don’t judge.)

Good times in it? Eh. Can’t remember any of particular note. But I can tell you how it ended.

It was the summer of 1983, and The Police were playing (Synchronicity Tour) about 70 miles away. Tickets were not cheap for someone making $1.35/hour plus tips (which, on a good night, was about $2.00). This was a Big Deal. My roommate, a coworker, and I bought tickets (back when you had to stand in line) and planned for our big night out. We bought vintage dresses. We did our hair and makeup. We climbed into “Mr. Valiant” and headed south. We got out of town, and we were heading down the ramp onto the highway and … nothing. I coasted to a stop on the shoulder, popped the hood and had no idea what had gone wrong.

It didn’t take long for a nice gentleman in an 18-wheeler to stop and come to our aid. At least that’s what I thought at first, but since he had even less of a clue than I did as to what was wrong, it was clear that he just wanted to get three 20-year-old women in black dresses and big hair into his rig. Not so much.

Okay. We were in what was considered a fairly rural part of Minnesota. As we sat there on the side of the road, we considered our choices, of which there weren’t many. Finding a phone, and calling a tow truck seemed to be the only option. Luckily, the nearest farm (with actual buildings not just crops) seemed to be on our side of the highway, so I set off down the road to where I could see a corn crib. I climbed down across a ditch, and up through a barb-wire fence. The wire was loose enough I could go through the strands. I plowed through another ditch and came to a second barb-wire fence. This one was too tight to go through, but too loose to go over, so I followed it down to the corn crib. I climbed up one side, over the fence, across the end, and down the other side. At which point I saw the cows. And the cows saw me.

Did I mention the dress? And the pantyhose? And the heels? So far they were all unbesmirched. Not even so much as a snag in the hose.

Okay. Back to the cows. We came to an understanding that we were not going to bother each other and I headed off down the cow path hoping to find something. And I did – I found a small farmhouse. In the middle of nowhere. I seriously don’t even remember a driveway , but I knocked on the door anyway, and I heard “Ja??” and the door opened. There was a fairly old gentleman looking at me like I had two heads. From the back of the house I heard another, younger, male voice say “WHO IS IT??” This was the bachelor son who came charging out to see who dared disturb their solitude.

I mentioned the dress and the big hair, right? Did I mention that my big hair was four different colors? Now granted, they were all natural colors* (black, my natural brown, red and the ends bleached white) but this was rural Minnesota in 1983, and I’m sure a space alien would have been etter received.
Anyhow, I managed to explain that I was having car problems, and I just needed the use of a phone book and their phone to call a tow truck, and I would be on my way. And that I would gladly pay for the long-distance call. The son translated for his father, and they eventually let me use the phone just so I’d get the hell out, I think.

So, I headed back down the cow path, waved at the cows, climbed up, over and down the corn crib, through ditch one, through the second fence, and across ditch two, and back to the car to wait for the tow truck. I have to say that the three of us garnered a lot of attention while we waited. The tow arrived and the next problem was that even though I specified I needed to pay with a credit card when I called, the driver didn’t have the imprint machine with him. Then there was the problem of fitting 3 females into the front of the tow truck. It was, uh, snug. So we headed back to our college town, the other two girls were dropped off at my house while the tow truck took me to a cash machine. I paid the guy, we dropped the car off at a service station (closed, or course) within walking distance to my house and I hiked back. My coworker was prevailed upon to drive us to the concert in her ’68 Camaro, even though the linkage was iffy. We walked into the venue and dropped into our seats just as the concert started. It was awesome.

Then things got interesting again. We got lost in the wrong part of Minneapolis on the way home. We stopped at a Burger King to ask the nice policeman for directions, and he thought we were hookers. Luckily we convinced him otherwise, and he pointed us in the right direction.

When we finally got home, roomie made popcorn, we sat in the kitchen, and I made the mistake of asking what else could go wrong. She screamed as we got dive-bombed by a bat. Did you know that when you are cowering behind your bedroom door trying to talk to your roomie about how remove said bat, that the sneaky bat bastard will crawl under your door and over your foot? Yeah. The boys in the frat house next door thought that the two of us, still dressed for the concert, had come up with the best come-on line ever. No, thank-you-very-much, we really did just need you to come over and provide bat eradication services. That was it. Sorry to disappoint you.

I ended up sleeping in extra bed in roomie’s room with a tennis racquet next to my bed. My pantyhose made it through the evening intact. The bat made another appearance the next night while I was at work and the landlord came and took care of it. And the autopsy showed that Mr. Valiant died of complications from a failed oil pump. May he rest in peace.

*Regarding the hair … what was supposed to be some subtle red highlights and black lowlights turned out quite a bit more dramatic than anticipated. I was going through a rebellious phase while I was watching my mom die of cancer and so I thought “What the hell?” and bleached the ends white while I was at it. Mom was not happy with me.

BINGO

2011-10-15T22:06:00.000-04:00

Getting tired of reading the same old articles on gun control? Try a game of Gunnie BINGO! Check off the phrases below as you go and see how long it takes to get five in a row. Or, go for volume and see how many total boxes you can check off in just one article.

Out of the mouths of babes ...

2011-10-11T18:23:00.000-04:00

Sweet Daughter has a place mat with a map of the United States on it. Tonight she ironically pointed out that both Maryland and Massachusetts are shaped vaguely like handguns.

A Pumpkin-colored Bedgown

2011-10-05T22:09:00.000-04:00

Sweet Daughter was ready for a new warm-weather garment for reenacting. So I went down to the sewing room and dug out the two Rubbermaid tubs labeled “Wool, 18^th century” and started going through them, looking for something she’d actually wear. I found a piece of pumpkin-colored wool that wasn’t long enough for a petticoat, and that she actually liked. I then dug out my copy of “Women's Dress during the American Revolution; An Interpretive Guide” and looked at the bedgown pattern. There were written directions for making your own custom fit garment … but they were scaled for an adult female, not a six-year-old. So, I made a few educated guesses regarding proportions, then I made a fitting muslin, and then I laid out the wool.

Did you know that you can get a perfectly straight line by tearing most woven fabrics? Snip, rip and you’re good to go.

With my fitting muslin tweaked, I folded my rectangle of wool over at the shoulders, and again down the center line and drew chalk lines where I needed to rip. Since this garment is all 90 degree angles, ripping instead of cutting made sure that my lines were straight and the finished garment would hang evenly.

The center of the garment is on the right, the sleeve is sticking out on the top left, and the part that sticks on on the bottom left will become a pleat over the hip. The small squares are the underarm gussets, the rectangle is the collar, and the reproduction print is to line the cuffs.

After cutting out the basic shape, I opened it back up and cut up the center line to the shoulder, and across the top fold, making a neck opening.

I inserted the underarm gussets, and sewed the sleeve and side seams. I sewed the pleat down the back, and tacked it down. I sewed the box pleats over each hip, and tacked down the top edges.

Gusset from the inside -- those are water marks from when I pressed it, not mold.

And from the outside. Not perfect, but I'm not obsessing about this one.

I attached the collar by sewing the rectangle across the back cut edge, and the attaching the shorter cut edges to the sides of the rectangle. When you’re done, you fold the rectangle in half, and the front edges of the bedgown fold in as well, making a facing.

Collar sewn to the back neck edge.

Collar with on side sewn.

Since SD does NOT like the feel of wool on her skin, I decided to line the cuffs and neck. I went down and dug through my scraps, and found just enough of a reproduction cotton print for the job. And the best part was that it had just a bit of that pumpkin color in it. I cheated, and attached the cuff lining with the sewing machine.

I went ahead and prick-stitched the edge of the cuffs, and blind-hemmed the lining. I hemmed the bottom and I added a lining to the collar and top part of the front edges.

The pleat to the left is the center back, the pleat on the right is on the side, over one hip.

Cuff

Preparations

2011-10-04T20:36:00.000-04:00

His Majesty's Detached Hospital are turning their collective coats and are portraying Americans at Colonial Williamsburg's "Prelude to Victory" this weekend. I'm a bit behind the curve in preparations, but it will all come together at the last minute. I hope. Besides the Mittens From Hell, I made a wool bedgown for Sweet Daughter so she'd have something to use as a warm jacket. And this evening I made two dozen scones, finished a bed tick, and mended a pair of breeches that had worn through in the seat. I still have to finalize a menu, make another two dozen scones, do the grocery shopping and figure out what else I'm going to prepare ahead of time.

The weather is supposed to be beautiful.

"And I gladly stand up ..."

2011-09-30T19:40:00.000-04:00

When Sweet Daughter takes a bath, I often sit in the bathroom and play music on computer. Tonight she requested Lee Greenwood's "God Bless the USA". It was Grandparent's Day at school, and she noted that one the grandparents was a "Camouflage Guy" and they played that song. So, it's been on repeat for over half an hour, and I'm listening to some interesting interpretations of the lyrics, to include "Across the pies of Texas ...".

And the chorus -- instead of:

"And I gladly stand up,
next to you and defend her still today.
‘Cause there ain't no doubt I love this land,
God bless the USA."

I heard:

"And I’ll stand up,
Next to you and still eat today ..."

"And I'll stand up,
Next to you and defeat her still today .."

(I corrected that one right quick.)

And, my favorite:

"And I gladly stand up
Next to you because my feet still hurt today ..."

But after listening to it for close to 45 minutes, I was hearing "Paul is dead", so who am I to critisize?

Mittens from Hell

2011-09-28T20:46:00.000-04:00

I've made 18th century mittens before. Somewhere between 6 and 12 pair, and they aren't exactly complicated. But this latest pair were possessed, I swear. I started them last December. I ripped them out and started again in January. I've started them over at least four times. Then, when knitting the mate, I realized about 3/4 of the way through that it was a little wider than the other. WTH? Then I realized that I was running out of yarn, but that's happened to me before. Worst case scenario, I simply unravel from the bottom until I'm done, and then I pick up the stitches and knit back down in a contrasting color. I squeaked by with may an extra 15 feet of yarn, and oh, did I mention that I'm having issues with my gauge lately? (Lately being the past 11 months ...) These turned out waaaay too big. But that's okay! I figured I can full them (shrink them on purpose) up a bit. Can't make them bigger, but I can make them smaller! And guess what happened? No, they did NOT end up too small (and I have no idea how I lucked out there), but the discrepancy in width is now really obvious. And I think they're still too big. I'm sorry, Chris, but these are going to have to tide you over for now. I'll try again later. Maybe in 2012.

Cool things to do with your mouth

2011-09-26T21:20:00.000-04:00

This even makes "Firework" palatable.

H/T to Staghounds from whom this was shamelessly stolen.

Knife Question

2011-09-25T20:07:00.000-04:00

As a result of the rampant knife meme, it has been brought to my attention that I am woefully underbladed. It’s not like it’s a surprise … I don’t carry one on a daily basis because I usually have no pockets. Five days a week I’m in a skirt of some sort and heels. I have a small Leatherman multi-tool that lives in my purse, and the micro-SOG that is on my lanyard next to my badges. The pockets on some of my jeans are too shallow to carry anything worthwhile but then I thought … my key ring! I have plenty of room, and it’s usually in reach. So, if you were to recommend a knife to put on my key ring, what would it be? I don’t want a Swiss Army knife with all the tweezers and the toothpicks and whatzits. I just want a single, useful blade.

Thanks in advance …

OC again

2011-09-21T21:11:00.000-04:00

I guess the whole point of doing something outside our comfort zone is to try to get to the point where you are comfortable doing it. That, or you just love misery. The whole OC thing has pretty much become a non-issue for me. Either the sight of a six foot tall, middle-aged mom openly wearing a pistol and teasing her daughter by threatening to rip off her am and beat her with the wet end if she doesn’t shape up doesn’t cause any raised eyebrows in my neck of the woods, or I’m just totally oblivious to it. (So much for SA, eh?)

No problems at the mall, the big box home improvement store, the fabric store, or the cheeseburger place or the donut shop. My local hardware store doesn’t bat an eye, but maybe that’s because I took my matchlock musket in to show them one day. My favorite local pizza place seems to greet me even more enthusiastically than they used to. One thing I have noticed, though, is that I’m much more cognizant of my behavior when I wearing my pistol. I can’t pretend that I’m invisible and that nobody is paying attention to me, like in high school . I realize that everything I do and say is being judged (consciously or not) in context of the gun. So, while I’d much rather glare at salespeople, ignore attempts at pointless conversation while standing in line, or start ranting when I’m asked if I’ve found everything I need, I find myself being polite. Engaging, even. Sometimes actually downright helpful.

Proof in my mind that being armed in society is making me more polite, at least. And that's a start.

How to clear this drain?

2011-09-20T19:42:00.000-04:00

Our driveway slopes down towards the front of the garage, and at the lowest point, their is a drain. This is a good thing. Unless the water is coming down faster that it goes away at which point it likes to visit the interior of the garage. Well, after 20-plus years of stuff washing down the drain, it's full. What's the best way to get this thing cleaned out? I have no idea where the drain goes, or what the water does when it gets there.

The drain is in the circle on the upper right. The drain cover (lower left) has been removed for the picture.

My knife.

2011-09-19T21:32:00.000-04:00

Because all the cool kids are doing it, and because I only have one knife (I'm not counting bayonets, or other stabby pokey things), here's my knife. I wear dresses and heels to work, and seldom have pockets. This fits on my lanyard along with my badges, and doesn't cause any raised eyebrows. (And North? I'm showing a little blade just so you don't pick on me like you did JayG.)

Let’s start with cake.

2011-09-19T20:37:00.000-04:00

In case you’re new, or don’t remember everything you read on every blog, Sweet Daughter is rather fond of cats. She requested a “Hello Kitty” cake for her sixth birthday. So we poked around the interwebz and came up with our version of the Hello Kitty Cake. I am no artiste when it comes to cake decorating. I've always preferred a cake taste good over looking good, so a professional-looking cake has never been a priority. Here's what we did ...

Start with a two-layer cake mix/recipe. Bake one 9” circle and one 9” square. Attempt to have the cakes come out of the oven at approximately the same height. If you are actually successful, go out and buy yourself a lottery ticket because your luck is just that good.

If you’re really “detail oriented”, cut a circle and square out of paper the same size as your cakes in order to make a pattern so you don’t mess up when it comes time to cut the actual the cake. Go ahead and cut your cake pieces and realize that they bear only a faint resemblance to the paper pieces.

Go ahead and dry fit the pieces together and notice that the parts from the center of the cake are MUCH higher than the parts from the edge. Take a serrated knife, and carefully saw off some of the high spots while shrugging your shoulders and assuring yourself that the frosting will hide a multitude of sins.

Slap some icing on the pieces of cake like mortar on bricks and stick them together. Recall something about a “crumb coat” from reading all those fancy cake-decorating sites, and carefully ice the sides of the cake, then the top. Calculate how much icing you have left and start filling in the low spots. Congratulate yourself when you realize you’re made just the right amount to frost the whole cake and have it look somewhat level even if it does look more like a mummy than a kitty.

Try to make a bow out of “Fruit by the Foot” and silently curse whoever thought it would be a good idea to run serpentine lines down the length of the thing, causing it to fall to pieces. End up shoving a couple of rows together to make a wider piece on top of a piece of waxed paper. Cut out a bow shape. Realize you can’t peel the waxed paper off because everything is too sticky and floppy. Stick the whole thing in the freezer and see if that helps. (It does.) Quickly peel the waxed paper off the rapidly thawing bow and slap it on the cake, thanking the stars above that your daughter thinks you just worked magic instead of fussing about a sub-par bow.

Add jelly-beans for the eyes and nose, black gel icing for the whiskers, and do not obsess about things you'd do differently. Instead, bask in the glow when the birthday girl tells you that you “rock” and gives you a hug of epic proportion, and vow to remember this in 10 years when you can do nothing right.

Long time ...

2011-09-19T16:44:00.000-04:00

… no blog.

Let’s see …

Earthquake, hurricane, major changes at work (I’m still employed for now at least, yay!), Sweet Daughter’s 6^th birthday, the first day of school and the added responsibilities of 1^st grade and the additional homework, a tropical storm and rain of “biblical proportions” (we’re fine, we’re on the “up” side of a hill), trying to explain to SD what happened on September 11^th ten years ago (at one point I was fighting back tears and all but yelling “I really, REALLY HATE BAD GUYS!”), and helping my sister with a massive yard sale.

Time to start catching up.

2011-09-01T21:33:00.000-04:00

Last Monday, Sweet Daughter and I went to the Regional Amusement Park. The good news is that I found some great discount tickets online, and the weather was perfect like only the back side of a hurricane can be. Mid 80’s, sunny, breezy, and no humidity. Not only that, there weren’t any lines. Nada. None. Zilch. Zippo. The longest we had to wait was for any given attraction to finish its current run and then it was our turn.

The bad news is that they don’t let you go armed. They don’t even let you carry a pocket knife -- although they did let me check it at the front gate so I didn’t have to go back to the car. (Well that, and the fact that none of the roller coasters that SD could ride had enough room for my knees.)

SD wanted to wear matching shirts, and while I’ve always secretly laughed at families that do that, I will admit that there are some distinct advantages. The people running the rides can tell which kid you belong to. If, heaven forbid, you were to get separated, you can point to yourself and say “she was wearing a shirt like this!” But best of all, if you choose wisely, you can influence how you are perceived. Because nothing says “I’m not a victim, nor am I a threat -- unless you mess with me first” like matching Kalishnikitty shirts.

Oxymoron

2011-08-26T19:51:00.000-04:00

In lieu of actual content while we wait for Irene to show up, I present one of the more interesting searches that have shown up in my tiny little corner of the internet:

I mean wouldn't a "milf dog" be a contradiction in terms?

Black listed

2011-08-20T17:33:00.000-04:00

SayUncle linked to me last Thursday and the hits started rolling in. And then I saw this, which I found hysterical. S.W.A.T. Magazine's Facebook page? Linked to me? That's like a gourmet magazine linking to my scones recipe or something. It tickled me to no end.

But getting black listed? That was best of all. Thanks!

Magazine Maintenance

2011-08-13T20:42:00.000-04:00

I won't go into the care a feeding of magazines here, because what do I know about it, anyway other than you need to keep the lint and dirt out of them, and clean them thoroughly from time to time? What I do know is this ... you're supposed to label them. This is so you can tells yours apart from all the rest when shooting with friends. This is so you can narrow it down in case there is one magazine that is causing problems with your firearm.

I hadn't gotten around to it because, well, I don't have that many magazines, and I knew I'd spend way too much time obsessing about some sort of obscure code that would indicate if that mag was for my defensive ammo or my plinking ammo, the date I purchased the it, etc. I'd research the best labeling method, and select the best font for readability. Basically, I was over-thinking the whole thing. Sweet Daughter solved the problem for me today. What do you think?

Two of them sit on the right side of my shoulder rig to balance the weight of the pistol on the other side. Yup. They sit there right along my ribcage, bottoms facing out. So much for staying "low key".

Another OC update

2011-08-11T21:10:00.000-04:00

I’ve got a dark brown t-shirt that sort of blends in with the leather on my shoulder rig. It’s got a floral/leafy design on the front so it looks kind of feminine, and I wear it when I’m trying to stay low-key. I wore it to dinner out last week, and I ran into a co-worker who didn’t even notice the gun. A few days later, the nice young man behind the counter at Chick-Fil-A certainly did, saying that he wished he could carry like that. (WIN!)

The shirt didn’t seem to help much with the low-key part when Sweet Daughter, Shorter Half and I went to the Large Sporting Goods Store last weekend and the staff commented on the shoulder rig. And all the extra ammo. Can someone please tell me what it is about shoulder rigs? I know I’m a n00b, and don’t yet get all the nuances and inside jokes, but I feel like someone stuck a sign on my back that says “HEY, LOOK! I think I’m a bad-ass! And don’t forget, I’m bristling with ammo, too!”

So much for staying low key.

Life's a beach

2011-08-08T19:34:00.000-04:00

Sweet Daughter and I had the opportunity to join my sisters in Chincoteague and the end of July for a few days. The weather was beautiful. SD learned how to ride a boogie board. She watched a guy reel in not one, but three "baby' bullhead sharks (bull sharks?). That is if a two and a half foot long shark is still considered a "baby". She thought they were really cool, especially since we were swimming right by the fishing lines. The next day, she watched one of these get reeled in.

She wanted to help. I discouraged that notion. Then I noticed these beautiful little clams smaller than my little fingernail in shades of lavender and peach and pink. And I showed SD how they dug themselves back into the sand when uncovered by the tide.

And she FREAKED OUT. The shark made her laugh. The ray had her wanting to get up close and personal, but the clams had her spending the next half hour yowling about how there were some without shells and they were hurting her feet.

Adolescence is going to be fun, I can already tell.

Product Review – UpLULA™

2011-07-25T21:23:00.000-04:00

I had the pleasure of meeting Larry Weeks from Brownells at the NRA Convention in Pittsburgh last spring. I was standing around, listening While Grownups Were Talking (and trying to learn something) when he looked at me and asked me how I loaded my magazines. My first thought was “Is this a trick question? Is this some sort of secret gunnie inside joke? Should the answer be ‘one round at a time’? ACK! What do I say??”

I believe my answer instead was “Um, slowly”.

I guess that was the right answer, because he said he had something to help with that, and to expect a package in a few weeks. Well, a few weeks passed, and what showed up from the Brown Truck of Happiness but a cardboard box with my name on it from Brownells. (And seriously – if the job they did packing that box is indicative of the care their shipping department takes, I’m seriously impressed. The packing tape was even folded with hospital corners. Serious attention to detail, here.)

I opened the box to find something called an UpLULA™ . The small print said “Universal pistol mag. loader & unloader”. There was one sized for 9mm to .45ACP and the other was a BabyUpLULA for .22LR to .380ACP. Tonight the R. family put them to the test -- a middle-aged n00b mom, a dad with a broken hand, and a five-year-old girl. Hint: Dad had the hardest time as you really need two hands for these, but he managed handily (hardy-har-har) even with one hand in a splint.

You position the UpLULA™ over the feed lips of the magazine with the magazine resting on a table, or something, squeeze the two sides the UpLULA™ together, push down, slide in the round, and release the sides of the UpLULA™ so that the follower pushes it back up. Lather, rinse, repeat. Sweet Daughter loaded my XD mag (9mm double-stack) with 8 of the 16 rounds before she needed help, but those springs are still pretty tight. She then loaded 10 rounds of 8mm PA stage prop ammo into its magazine (it’s the only small caliber gun in the house), needing help only with directions: Squeeze, push down, load round, release. Shorter Half had no problems other than manipulating the rounds with his gimpy hand.

And the unloading feature? None of the three of us had any problem other than keeping track of where the rounds ended up, because it unloads FAST.

They seem to run somewhere around $25 - $30, and I sure wish I’d had one when I first got my pistol. Just the thought of loading those new magazines and pinching my thumb was enough to keep me from the range. With an UpLULA™ it wouldn’t have been an issue.

The three of us would recommend these if any of the following apply:

New magazines with tight springs (far superior to the loader than came with my pistol)
You have weak, damaged, arthritic, and/or digit-deficient hands.
You like gadgets.
You must have everything that is tacti-cool. Hey, it’s black, plastic and steel.
You really like your manicure.
You have to load lots of magazines in a hurry because the Zombies are headed your way.
You’re 5 years old and really want to help defeat the Zombies but you’re not old enough to shoot unsupervised yet.
You don’t want a callous on your loading/unloading thumb.
You’re a n00b and need graphics to tell you which way the round goes in.

If thought of loading another party pack of ammo into magazine makes you twitch, you may want to spend that money on one of these instead.

*Obligatory FTC Disclaimer. Yes. Brownells sent these to me for free so I’d review them. There’s precious little I’m qualified to review as far and gun stuff goes, and these are one of those items. I like them. If I thought they sucked out loud, I’d say so. But they don’t. Go tell the BATFEIEIO to go buy a bunch.

Holster Review - Dragon Leatherworks

2011-07-22T21:56:00.000-04:00

I had been watching other bloggers brag about their holsters from Dragon Leatherworks last year and I was insanely jealous. Then Dennis contacted me to talk about making one for me. I didn’t take him up on it because I couldn’t think of anything other than the shoulder rig that I was currently using that would work with my rather odd proportions and my Springfield XD-9. I’m six feet tall, but am extremely short-waisted. My limbs are ridiculously long. My inseam is half my height. My elbows rest on my hip bones. I only have one carry pistol, so it’s not like I can choose to carry something smaller if I want to carry on a waistband.

Here. Look at this picture of me and Weer’d. Granted, I’m in high heels, but look where his waistline is. Now look at mine.

I had the opportunity to meet Dennis at the NRA convention in Pittsburgh this past spring, and he had an idea. He’d make a holster for another short-waisted woman and thought it would work for me. A few weeks later, this showed up in my mailbox.

He custom-dyed it to match my belt and shoulder rig. At my request, he kept it very low key. The workmanship was beautiful. The retention was perfect. I could hold the holster upside down without my pistol falling out, yet the draw was smooth.

And I couldn’t find a single place on my belt where I could wear it. 9:00 position? Not a chance in hell. It rubbed on my less-than-subtle hipbone. The 10:30 position was the most comfortable, but the top of the holster leaned out, and the top of it came up past the bottom of my bra.

Dennis had refused payment until I had received it and was happy with the way it worked. I reluctantly sent it back this week. He is now on a mission to find something that will work and is already ~~plotting~~ planning his next design.

I can unreservedly recommend Dragon Leatherworks for both the high quality of workmanship Dennis produces and his oustanding customer service. As he told me "... my job as a holster maker is to deliver what the customer wants."

(Hey, FTC? Did you read where I SENT IT BACK? I received nothing in exchange for my comments. Really. I can show you the receipt from the post office when I returned it.)

Well, I wasn’t expecting that.

2011-07-15T20:41:00.000-04:00

Sweet Daughter was the C.O.W. at Y-camp today. (That’s Camper of the Week. I was confused at first when I picked her up today and she started exclaiming “I’m the COW! I’m the COW!”) So, to celebrate, we decided to pick up a pizza and go to the park for a pizza picnic and some play time. I decided to OC.

There were some kids running around (with no close adult supervision that I could see) while we ate. When we were done, the other kids seemed to evaporate, and I pushed SD on the swings for a bit. When we migrated over to the slides and climbing stuff, the other kids materialized again. SD was sliding down the fireman’s pole, and I was standing under her slowing her descent when a little urchin of about 4 ½ quite earnestly told me he wasn’t supposed to talk to strangers. I told him that was a good idea, and did he realize I was a stranger? He then told me if he was caught talking to a stranger, he’d be beat with a belt. He then asked if I’d help him down the pole. I politely declined, explaining that I was a stranger, and maybe his momma wouldn’t approve.

Then … the question I wasn’t prepared for. Because while I am not comfortable talking to strange adults, I sure as heck don’t like talking to Other People’s Kids. Especially ones traveling in packs and reenacting The Lord of the Flies. Even if they’re only about 4 ½ years old.

“Is that a gun?”

“Yes.”

“A REAL gun?”

“Yes.”

“Are you a cop?”

“No.”

“I can tell you’re not a cop, because you’re not wearing a cop suit.”

“That’s right.”

“So why do you have a gun?”

“To keep her, and the rest of you safe from bad guys.”

I could tell he was thinking that over. And then the 8-year-girl saw the magazines.

“What are those?”

“Magazines.”

“Magazines?” (I could tell she was only familiar with the kind you buy in the checkout line.)

“OMG! IS THAT A GUN?”

“Yes.”

“Are you a cop?”

(Sigh.) “No.”

“A Marine?”

“No.” (But that was kind of cool. When I was her age, women couldn’t be Marines. At least not with guns.)

“Can I see it?”

“Absolutely not. It doesn’t come out of the holster unless I need to use it.”

“Why do you have it?”

And SW piped up with a grin: “To keep me safe!!”

Amazingly, nobody ran screaming back to an adult. Even me.

Lost in the translation

2011-07-14T22:22:00.000-04:00

Apparently my OC post got linked to. A lot. (Thanks, everybody!) Including a LiveJournal in Russia that at last count has 71 comments or links, or something. I’m not sure how the translation went from my blog to that one, but I ran the Russian post through Google Translate and got the following, which cracked me up. (I can only wonder what they think of the living history, knitting and shoe posts ...)

Sketches from life ...
July 14th, 16:51

A woman with two children, 4 and 6 years. Bear arms openly (I would not say that it is reasonable, but it is her choice). And then, somehow taking the child from the children's camp she hopped into the store. And there is seller-consultant squinted squinted at her and finally asked:
- You do not cop an hour?
- No.
- FBI?
- No.
- Neshto CIA?
smile:
- No.
- Yes, I asked what is there just something you have ... - Tyknuv finger at the two stores on the side.
- They came bundled with it. - Turned the other side.
- E. .. and why are you wearing?
Thrusting his finger in the child of:
- That she was safe. The second dealer, hmyknuv:
- I'd probably steal your car poosteregsya ...
- Well, it's also part of the purpose of ...
There are already number 1 seller of thought, and gave:
- Probably should go on courses ...

And the comments? Here’s a smattering. It even appears to my untrained eye that Markley's Law might have made an appearance at the end.

dead_sergeant
2011-07-14 01:02 pm
Hoplofoby, come, fall in piles around with heart attacks - the children and guns, just a dream.

kontiky
2011-07-14 02:45 pm
I'm more surprised by the reaction of the seller - even in the U.S. is not all obvious utility of weapons.

hyperprapor
2011-07-14 02:55 pm

Duc girl? When they are generally interested in the weapons??
And since learned - was filled with ... Common sense, then there.

glockoholic
2011-07-14 05:42 pm

Baba fool! Not because of silly, but because a woman!
Weapons, as well as to wear covert dick and show only when absolutely necessary.

More thoughts on OC

2011-07-13T19:41:00.000-04:00

The irony when being an OC "ambassador" is that I don't like talking to strangers. I was talking to SH about the perfect OC ambassador being someone who doesn't look like a cop, or look military, or look like your typical high-speed, low drag, uber tactical mall ninja, and I realized I had to shut up or start OCing myself. I won't wear a branded t-shirt when I carry. And I won't wear a ball cap or even wear my hair in a pony-tail as it gives off a cop-vibe, for some reason. The only tactical black thing I wear is mascara and, if I'm working, high heels. OCing puts me way out of my comfort zone, but not because of the gun for some reason. It’s because when I OC I have to be open and friendly to strangers and that really makes this introvert feel rather awkward.

OC Update

2011-07-11T20:42:00.001-04:00

I’ve been OCing a bit more lately. Mostly, if I’m out with my pistol, I’m open carrying unless the venue is so air conditioned I want a jacket. And then I don’t worry about concealment.

I’ve OC’d at CVS a half dozen times, now. That seemed was odd at first, but it’s not a problem now. I’ve OC’d in Kohl’s and Target a handful of times, and I added Old Navy to the list this weekend. I REALLY wish we had a Trader Joe’s or Whole ~~Paycheck~~ Foods less than an hour away so I could have that experience.

I had left work early one day a week or so ago and was grubbing around at home before picking Sweet Daughter up from camp at the YMCA. I had thrown on my shoulder rig and was heading out the door before I remembered the whole OC Ambassador mindset. I went back and changed out of the oversized shirt with stuff all over the front into a plain red fitted t-shirt. When I got to the pick-up spot, one of the counselors looked at me and said, “Are you a cop?”

“No.”

“FBI?”

“No.”

“CIA?”

Smiling, “No.”

“I was wondering because I saw those.” (Pointing to the two magazines on my right side.)

“They go with this”, I said, turning and showing her the holstered pistol. She looked a little surprised.

“So what do you do?”

II gave her a general idea.

“So why do you carry that?”

(Pointing at SD) “To keep her safe.”

Counselor #2 chimes in with “Yeah. I wouldn’t want to carjack your car.”

I said “That’s pretty much the point.”

I saw the light bulb go off over the head of Counselor #1. And she said she’d like to learn how to shoot. I told her I’d be happy to help point her in the right direction and the next time Michael W. came to visit we could maybe set something up.

That’s a conversation that never would have happened if I’d been carrying concealed. We’re winning -- one at a time.

Not like other moms

2011-07-06T07:09:00.001-04:00

Sweet Daughter asked me the other day which Disney Princess was my favorite. I’m not thrilled with the idea of “princess” as something to be when one grows up, but I picked Belle, because at least she reads. SD’s favorite? Cinderella.

I said “Cinderella is a perfect example of why you need to finish school and go to college.”

SD: Puzzled look

Me: “If she had a good education she could have a decent paying job, or at least one where she didn’t have to live in the attic and get up before everyone else and be ordered around all day.”

SD: Looking at me like I’ve lost my mind.

Me, continuing: “She’s a grown-up. Why doesn’t she just leave? See? This is why we have guns. So if a bad guy tells us to do something we don’t want to do, we have choices.

SD: Sighs. “Mamma. I think she chose to stay.”

And this is why other moms probably won’t let her come to our house to play.

18th century Pistols

2011-06-28T22:00:00.000-04:00

One of the neat things about the Detached Hospital is how much really cool material culture stuff our members have. Chuck brought these along to Under the Redcoat in Williamsburg last weekend.

Top: 1759 British light horse Cavalry Pistol. It was found in Maine. The hammer has been replaced, and most of the marks have been filed off.

Middle: French Model 1777 Cavalry Pistol from the St. Etienne Armory. These two cavalry pistols are about .60 caliber.

Bottom: Sharpe box lock, or muff, pistol. You unscrew the barrel to load it. This is about .32 caliber. It's small, but I wouldn't want to get shot with it.

He also had a marvelous sword cane that I neglected to photograph. Maybe if I see him in October...

Mormon Tabernacle Choir Flash Mob - Colonial Williamsburg

2011-06-21T20:14:00.000-04:00

No, this couldn't have happened this coming weekend when we'll be there for Under the Redcoat -the British Occupation of Williamsburg. But then, I'd probably have been in camp anyway.

H/T to my old Royal Artillery buddy, Al.

A cunning hat

2011-06-15T17:00:00.001-04:00

When JayG received the gift of a cunning hat I was overcome with the desire to knit one. I found a web site (that I can’t find now, but if you’re interested, let me know and I’ll check my notes) whose author had Firefly on disc and a HD large screen TV. She counted stitches. She extrapolated data based on average head measurements. This was my kind of knitter! So I found a willing ~~victim~~ recipient, bought the yarn and the needles and sat on it all for about 3 1/2 months. (Hey. I was busy.) I started knitting on the way to Pittsburgh and finished it on the way home and hated the way it looked.

It's supposed to look like this:

So I ripped it out and started over. And this is the final product.

You can tell Sweet Daughter's not afraid of anything, walking down the street in a hat like that.

The non-event?

2011-06-06T07:05:00.000-04:00

I did not go armed to church, but carried the rest of the day. This included lunch at a family restaurant in a rather more urban area than I am used to. One woman and two men OC'd with 4 children under 6 years of age with them ... and nothing happened, other than they tipped well.

I went through my usual day and the only funny look I got was at the dump, but I think that was because I was wearing a dress, not because I was wearing a gun.

OC Lunch tomorrow

2011-06-04T21:43:00.001-04:00

UPDATE: Time changed to 1:00.

The instigator behind lunch tomorrow has been OBE, so I guess I'm the default cruise director.

The Globe & Laurel, and Dougherty's are both closed on Sundays, and so the next on the list was Jimmy The Greek Family Restaurant. Unless you've got a better idea, let's meet at ~~noon~~ 1:00. E-mail me by ~~10:30~~ 11:30 or so tomorrow morning at dethosp at Gee mail dot com if you think you can make it (bring the whole family! Sweet Daughter will be there with me) so I know how big a table to get.

Hope to see some of you there!

Busy

2011-06-04T21:23:00.000-04:00

One of our neighbors took pity on me this morning. He saw me mowing the front yard on Thursday with a (gasp!) push mower, and inquired as to the status of our riding mowers. Neither one was working. So he came over this morning and did some troubleshooting and gave me a first rate lesson in mower maintenance. First he charged up the battery. The mower started, and died. We commented on the age of the gasoline and poked around a bit. The air filter look okay, but I cleaned it anyway. Then the neighbor noticed a stray piece of fuzz, or something else suspicious, and popped the cover off. We found this:

The critter nest covering the air-cooled engine might have had something to do with it not running. We put in fresh gas and changed the oil, and low and behold, it seems to be working great. I'll find out for sure tomorrow afternoon.

This afternoon was spent doing errands in town, and I OC'd. Kohl's, Target, the mall (from one end to the other (including JCPenney and Chick-fil-A) and Lowes. The only comment I got was from the cashier at Target.

Her: "Nice gun."
Me: "Thanks!"
Her: "Are you a cop?"
Me: "No. SD, what's the best defense against a bad guy with a gun?"
SD: "A GOOD guy with a gun!"
Me : "Cops can't be everywhere all the time, and it's my job to keep her safe."
Her: "You can do that?"
Me: "Yes. Open carry is legal here without a permit. I also have a permit so I can carry concealed."

So, yay. A positive experience and maybe someone new is considering options she didn't know she had.

UPDATE: Lunch on Sunday?

2011-06-02T18:55:00.001-04:00

The Unofficial "Hey, Look! Nobody is Running Away Screaming When I Open Carry Day" is this Sunday. A couple of us located in the DC/Fredericksburg area are planning on getting together for lunch in the Stafford/Quantico area. Anybody want to join us?

Any input on time and place? I know nothing about the area, but found these:

Dougherty's Tavern

Globe & Laurel Restaurant

Jimmy The Greek Family Restaurant

County Fare

I know nothing about any of these places ... I just did a search on "Stafford VA dining" and these came up. Let me know if you have any preferences, otherwise I'll draw a name from a hat.

Forty-eight

2011-06-01T17:41:00.000-04:00

When I turned 35, my father informed me that I was officially middle-aged. I begged to differ. Since he was 72 at that point, I told him I wasn't there yet -- and he almost made it to 95. Both of my mother's parents (born in the 19th century) lived into their 90's.

But today I completed my 48th trip around the sun. There's no denying I'm middle-aged -- whatever that means. Most of my contemporaries have kids in college, not kindergarten. I'll be 60 when Sweet Daughter graduates from high school. Hopefully, I'll be able to pass on some of what I've learned to smooth her path just a little, and encourage her to find her own way, wherever that takes her. And if nothing else, maybe I can pass along a little wisdom from the Duke.

"Tomorrow is the most important thing in life. Comes into us at midnight very clean. It's perfect when it arrives and it puts itself in our hands. It hopes we've learnt something from yesterday." ~John Wayne

You make the diagnosis

2011-05-31T06:23:00.000-04:00

Sweet Daughter and I did our annual strawberry picking trip yesterday, and it was HOT. We got home in the early afternoon and Shorter Half was getting ready to go troubleshoot why the riding mower wasn’t working. After cooling off a bit, SD asked if she could go play in the wading pool, so I went outside to fill it up. I noticed the lawnmower battery plugged in to the battery charger just outside the door, but didn’t see SH. I walked around behind the house and saw him flat on his back. This, I believe, is what they call a “clue” that something might be amiss as was the fact that he was in the grass, in the sun, was sweating profusely, and had his left forearm in the air with the hand curled up like a claw and didn’t answer the first couple of times I called his name. Near as we can tell, he was sitting down in the shade, stood up too quickly, started walking, got dizzy and passed out, and fell on his hand.

SH was convinced it was just soft tissue damage, but I called our Friend-the-Paramedic who advised us to head into town to the urgent care center. In under 5 minutes, Sweet Daughter threw together a “go bag” that consisted of a paper box lid, 5 stuffed animals, two packages of cheese crackers, a bottle of water, and two other small toys. She did a great job -- those toys (and snacks) kept her busy for the first two hours of our wait. The last hour was spent with us girls outside and SD using the box lid like a sled to slide down a small hill.

During those 3 hours SH got x-rayed, splinted, and other assorted tests run. Now he has to go make an appointment with a specialist to get it set properly. The question is, is his hand broken in 2 or 3 places?

Click for a better view.

In memoriam: Joseph G. Kriss

2011-05-30T00:01:00.001-04:00

Joseph G. Kriss: June 1, 1916 – May 16, 2011

Joseph Gibb Kriss, 94, of Byron, MN, died Monday, May 16, 2011, in Rochester, MN.

Joseph Kriss was born June 1, 1916, in Pittsburgh, PA, where he was raised and educated. After attending Carnegie Tech, Joe worked as an engineer at KQV radio station in Pittsburgh.

In 1942, after Pearl Harbor, Joe joined the Army Air Force and was stationed in Big Springs and Midland, Texas, where he trained bombardiers. In April 1944, he went overseas with the 8th Air Force at Deopham Green, England. As a B-17 bombardier, he flew 30 missions over Germany; 15 missions as lead bombardier. He was awarded the Air Medal, Distinguished Flying Cross, for exceptional bombing ability over Berlin, Germany. In the spring of 1945, Captain Kriss returned to Eglin Field, FL, where he was later discharged.

He was a member of the Mighty 8th Air Force Historical Society, the Distinguished Flying Cross Society and the 8th Air Force 452nd Bomb Group.

After WWII he returned to his job at KQV. In July 1946, he went to work in Washington, DC, for WRC television. In those early days of television, he worked several different jobs from cameraman to video engineer. He also spent time at the White House and met Presidents Truman through Carter.

In 1947, he married Barbara Alexander, and they raised their four children. After 33 years with NBC, they retired to Rochester, MN, where Barbara passed away in 1984.

In 1985 he married Elaine Wangen. They traveled from coast to coast visiting their children and attending his 8th Air Force Bomb Group reunions. They moved to Byron, where they celebrated their 25th wedding anniversary last year.

He is survived by his wife; son, three daughters, his three “bonus children”, 10 grandchildren, three great-grandchildren, and his dear cousin.

Prayer to St. Peter

2011-05-28T18:02:00.001-04:00

A drink in need of a name

2011-05-26T21:57:00.001-04:00

Lemon Balm on the left,
Bergamot on the right.

Being a rum drinker, but never having had a Mojito, I decided that needed to be remedied. So, I went out looking for recipes. I found that Mojitos require light rum. Michael W. has introduced me to Black Strap Rum, and I now find light rum to be an abomination in the eyes of the Lord. And I didn't think that dark rum and mint would go together too well. So, what do do about that Mojito? Why, substitute ingredients, of course!

For a Mojito, one generally muddles together mint leaves, sugar or simple syrup and lime juice. Then you add light rum, club soda and ice.

I substituted lemon balm or bergamot (yes, like in Earl Grey tea) leaves for the mint, used a simple syrup made with raw sugar and kept the lime juice. Then I added dark rum, tonic and ice.

It's looks like something that came out of the bottom of a cypress swamp, but oooh, it's lovely. The lime juice and quinine in the tonic keep it refreshing, and the bergamot or lemon balm add another nice citrusy layer. Now I just need a name for it. "Swamp Water" misses the mark entirely. Michael W. suggested "Cypress Cooler" or "Noise Suppressor". "Noise Suppressor?", you ask. Two of these and the noise of every day life just sort of fades into the background.

What should I name it?

UPDATED to add: A naming contest!

Open Carry Day

2011-05-24T16:40:00.000-04:00

I was congratulating Breda last weekend on her open carry experience and said “Hey! We should have an open carry day and see how many people we can get to do it!” And so we touched base with Mike W., who has been OCing for a while, now. And I know there are a lot of others out there that just do it and don’t blog about it, because it’s just not a big deal once you get over that feeling that everyone is staring at you like they did in high school when you had that giant Cyclops zit on your forehead that popped up after your Algebra class and nobody told you about it. (Don’t tell me I was the only one. We didn’t have Pro-Active back in the old days.)

ANYHOW. June 5th (the first Sunday in June) has hereby been declared the first annual Open Carry Day for those that can do it. That's it. Just wear a gun, and go about your normal daily routine. The sight of regular people wearing a gun shouldn't be a big deal, and who better to normalize it than reasonably normal people? Report back with what happens. I’m hoping there will be a lot observations that “Person goes about their normal day with a gun and nothing happened!” It will turn into a non-event, which is exactly what open carrying should be.

R. Lee Ermey is a darn nice guy

2011-05-23T19:19:00.001-04:00

While at the 2011 NRA Convention in Pittsburgh, Sweet Daughter wanted nothing more than to stand in line to see “Gunny” again. We stood in line for 2 hours last year, and he clearly made quite an impression on her. That, and Glock has the most cushioned floor I’ve ever stood on, so I was okay with that part of the program. Saturday morning the line looked fairly short, and so like some Cold War-era Soviets, we hopped in line without even knowing the details. It turns out the line was short because it wasn’t moving. And it wasn’t moving because R. Lee wasn’t shaking hands at that point. No matter. We talked to some nice people for about a half hour and then had to step out of line to go watch the anti-gun demonstrators. They didn’t show, so we got back in line to see R. Lee. And one of those very nice, well-meaning retired law-enforcement types who was behind us in line proceeded to tell me everything he thought I should know about handguns and shooting.

Him: “You know what the best carry gun for a woman is?”

Me: “The one I’m most comfortable with and will carry.” (And you thought I was going to say a .38 snubbie, didn’t you?)

Him: “The one you’ll carry. The .22 on your hip is better than the .45 in your bedroom.”

Him: “You know, you hafta practice with your holster. You gotta practice drawing and firing from your holster. You gotta train like you fight.”

And on. And on. Ad infinitum, ad nauseum. I swear I was familiar with every cliché he uttered to the point I was finishing his sentences. He meant well, and he was a Viet Nam Veteran, so I was as polite as possible. But when I got the call that the antis showed up, SD and I lost no time in beating feet back outside for the demonstration.

Afterwards we got back in line for the third time and waited our turn. It was worth it. R. Lee says he remembered SD from last year. Now, I don’t imagine there are that many 6’ tall middle-aged moms with little girls that wait in line to see him so it was probably true, but SD was impressed. And he autographed a picture for her and her stuffed animal. AND gave her a challenge coin. Then he signed another picture for me because I told him my boss’s boss was a retired Marine, and it gave me a little street cred to have his autograph on my wall when he stopped by. And so R. Lee insisted on sending another autographed picture for the Big Boss.

“What’s his name?” R. Lee asked.

“Um, Mr. Lastname”, I said. “I don’t think he has a first name. I’ve never heard anyone use it.”

And R. Lee Ermy autographed one for “Mr. Lastname”. And when I gave it to the Big Boss, he smiled, and said he’d have it framed and put it on his office wall. I’d never seen him smile before, or say that many words to me in a row. R. Lee is magic.

Say what?

2011-05-21T15:59:00.000-04:00

Sweet Daughter and I attended a picnic at the local park last night put on by the local grass-roots, non-politically affiliated organization. I'd heard that being pro-2A, several members had their CHPs, so, I decided to O/C. I was the only there who was armed.

Now, I was out on the playground with SD helping her with the monkey bars, the swings, and the fireman's pole, and nobody so much as blinked, at least so as I noticed. I'd also taken special care to dress a little more "girly" with a tee-shirt with flowers and dragonflies instead of the usual polo shirt with embroidered emblem. No "molon labe" shirt, sunglasses, shooting hat, or ponytail. I was trying blend in (funny, I know).

It was halfway through the evening before anyone approached me regarding my firearm. A couple had moved here from the other coast, and wanted to know what you needed to do to O/C in Virginia. Now, I will give this group that I was talking with credit for being pro-2A, but when the conversation turned to defending oneself, and one commented "Make sure that if you shoot an intruder in your home, you don't shoot to wound. You shoot to kill. You don't want them telling a different story" I managed to not roll my eyes.

I replied, "Why would you ever shoot to 'wound'? You are in fear for your life, or you are not. You react accordingly."

I don't know if the resulting 30 seconds of silence resulted from them pondering the wisdom of my words, or questioning my sanity. I DO know that the next time one of us runs into this group there will be a stack of 2A Foundation brochures left behind.

Kalashnikitty shirts

2011-05-17T23:00:00.002-04:00

See below for sizing comments.

I’m a proud owner (as is Sweet Daughter) of a Kalashnikitty shirt. Eric is doing another run of them, and is kind enough to let me use the fact as blogfodder.

If you are interested in your own Kalashnikitty shirt, contact Eric directly at erickelly1@verizon.net. I’m not involved in the process at all, other than to pass on information on how to get your very own K2 shirt.

Eric will be taking orders until Monday, May 23, and the order will go in on Wednesday, May 25. He should have the shirts back in his hands for shipping out by the end of the second week of June at the latest, and they will ship out immediately by Priority Mail.

Go check out The Smallest Minority for more pictures.

Color and size availability

Price chart

Eric says:

Here's the procedure for getting the shirts (this makes it a LOT easier for me to track and ship these things ASAP).

Email me (erickelly1@verizon.net) with the following:

1. Number, color, style (short-sleeve, tank top (Male or Female), baby-doll, long-sleeve, hoodie, or sweatshirt) and sizes you want.

2. Your full name and mailing address, and I will email you back with the total. I will ship international, though the shipping is a bit higher.

3. How you would like to pay for them – check, money order or Paypal. (If using Paypal, add 4% to the total payment, including the shipping, to cover fees.)

Shipping will be via USPS Priority Mail with Delivery Confirmation. Cost is $6.00 for the first shirt, and an extra $2.50 for each additional shirt. Please include an extra $1 per each Hoodie, due to the extra weight.

Thanks again for this opportunity to provide these for you.

* For sizing purposes, I'm wearing a woman's tank top in size "large" and I've got a 40" bust. I'd say this would fit a 42" EASILY, and probably a 44" without being obscene, depending on your waist and hiip measurements. It has nice wide shoulder straps, and come up high enough under the arms to cover your bra, no problem. This one is actually so roomy on me, that I'm going to get another in a medium.

Identify Friend or Foe

2011-05-17T17:26:00.000-04:00

For anyone out there whose initial reaction to seeing someone with a gun is "ZOMG! That person has a HANDGUN!!!1eleventy!, here's a handy guide to help you tell the good guys from the bad guys.

Is the weapon properly holstered or not?

If the answer is yes, he or she is most likely a good guy. It really is that simple.

I'm not saying an unholstered gun is unsafe, I'm saying that will cause me to reevaluate the situation. Unsafe gun handling is guaranteed to get my attention and I will react accordingly.

Sweet Daughter has even been taught that, in an emergency, a grown-up using a gun responsibly is a pretty good bet to keep her safe and get her help.

So, if you see me out and about with my tactical Tupperware and all those extra magazines to keep the darn rig somewhat balanced, I'm doing it to keep my family safe. I'm not doing it to draw attention to myself, or to get in your face. I just want to get my errands done and go home. And remember that if you're a good guy, I'm on your side.

I am delighted to have been nominated

2011-05-13T20:24:00.000-04:00

… for a Gunnie Award in the following category:

Best Gun Blog – Female

Luckgunner.com sponsors these awards and I’m absolutely tickled to death to have been included. I met Brian in Pittsburgh two weeks ago at the NRA convention, and he very graciously included me and Shorter Half when he took the real gun bloggers to lunch on Sunday. I say “real” gun bloggers, because I’m sure that the visitors I get from Mara Riley’s knitting page, and those that come here for the Banyan posts via the Jane Austin site may be a bit confused about this award. And, yeah. Tam and Breda are on that list as well, along with LOTS of other movers and shakers. Regardless, I’m honored to have been included and hope that I can drive even a few people over to check out LuckyGunner. Voting closes on Friday, May 27th, so go, check them out and vote. And I’m not even asking that it be for me.

Now, if they only had lead ball for my muskets and new pistol …

Woman with a gun in plain sight and a child in tow …

2011-05-13T19:59:00.000-04:00

… enter a grocery store and pick up some milk. And had a very nice conversation with a gentleman with a “Waste Management” t-shirt whose accent indicated that he originated way north of the “Sweet Tea Line”* about the different types of flavored coffee creamer that are available. Sweet Daughter selected some discounted Easter stickers to buy with her allowance and only fussed when she realized that I carry her on the same side as my pistol (uncomfortable for her), and so insisted on riding in a cart. The rather flamboyant cashier with the multi-colored star tattoos on his neck and the multiple facial piercings didn’t even bat an eye. But then, I don’t think I was his type.

I just wonder how long it will be until I have the guts to do this while shopping for shoes or clothes in the city.

*The Mason-Dixon line has nothing to do with where the South begins. When you go to your localnon-chain eatery and ask for sweetea (all one word) and they don’t bring regular iced tea and sugar packets, but have a separate pitcher of tea-flavored simple-syrup, you know you’re in the south. I was in a restaurant near Annapolis and asked for sweet tea. I was informed that they didn’t have any, but they had regular tea and sugar. “That’s not a solution” I said. “That’s a precipitate.”

I’m such a geek.

Disgruntled woman enters grocery store with a gun ...

2011-05-10T21:59:00.000-04:00

… in plain sight and 49 rounds of ammunition and nothing happened. Well, except that she walked out in a better mood than when she walked in.

On some level, I felt obligated. I have often said I feel like such a poseur in the gun community – my knowledge consists little more than The Four Rules, knowing which end of the gun is the most dangerous, and that a .45 is bigger than a .38. I know to roll my eyes when my coworker tells me that if the caliber doesn’t start with a “.4”, it’s not worth carrying. (Especially when I ask what he carries and he tells me he doesn’t have a pistol.) And I know that January 23rd should be a national holiday.

While in Pittsburgh, I open carried for the first time. It was cool, but when you’re surrounded by 69,999 like-minded people, it’s not such a big deal. When we got back home, JayG posted his thoughts.

And Mike W., who open carries regularly chimed in.

And then Breda goes and knocks one out of the park, summed up with “You can create the future while securing your own.”

Then Alan piles on with a plea to contact Texas representatives to get an open carry bill pushed along. Here in VA, open carry is legal, and I’m not taking advantage of it.

Those who expect to reap the blessings of freedom, must, like men, undergo the fatigue of supporting it. ~Thomas Paine

And I realized I have a responsibility as a role model for Sweet Daughter to push the envelope of my comfort zone in order to support those freedoms, because

I believe there are more instances of the abridgment of the freedom of the people by gradual and silent encroachments of those in power than by violent and sudden usurpations. ~James Madison, speech, Virginia Convention, 1788

Last weekend, Michael W. took my Miami Vice II shoulder rig from Galco orange to a beautiful dark brown. And tonight, I wore it to the grocery store, unconcealed, and nobody cared. One gentleman did look at me a little funny, but that’s not unusual even when I’m not wearing a gun. And the cashier was especially friendly, reminding me that if I bought my wine in quantity, I’d get 10% off AND a free wine bag.

I’m not an evangelist of any sort. I don’t particularly like talking to strangers, but I do feel like this is a way in which I can make some small contribution back to the gunnie community. I can help desensitize John Q. Public to the sight of a regular person with a gun. And Sweet Daughter will be right there helping. When someone asks me why I’m carrying, I’ll ask SD “What’s the best defense against a bad guy with a gun?” And she’ll answer “A good guy with a gun!”

You can create the future while securing your own.

Thank you for pointing that out, Breda. Because, really – how many people have that opportunity?

New shiny!

2011-05-09T16:47:00.000-04:00

1848 Colt Baby Dragoon pocket revolver, and it’s my first percussion gun. Because one can never have too many obscure calibers.

.31 caliber. And, no. I can't get the picture stay in landscape orientation.

(Thanks, Michael W.!)

Pictures from Saturday night

2011-05-04T19:37:00.000-04:00

Photos are courtesy of my Blogfather, JayG, and his new camera.

With my blogfather, JayG at the "after party".

With Weer'd Beard at the 2A Blog Bash.

With the cool-beyond-belief Breda at the 2A Blog Bash

Werewolf Shoes

2011-05-03T17:36:00.001-04:00

Mid-life crisis shoes -- cheaper than a convertable.

It's not easy taking pictures of your own feet from this angle. This is the best I've got for now -- I'll update if I get any better ones to add. (That's a hint. If you've got anything from Saturday, please send them to me. If I don't have pictures, it didn't happen, right?)

UPDATED to add:

Thanks Blogfather!

Anti-gun Protest

2011-05-03T13:08:00.000-04:00

Sweet Daughter got to see the her first demonstration on Saturday. We went out with the other bloggers to watch the antis* march in and …

Crickets.

We hung around, got a bite to eat, visited a bit, and Sweet Daughter asked for a pen and paper. All I had was a napkin, but she sat down and proceeded to draw this.

That’s a demonstrator trying to take her guns away. She’s the one saying “No No No”. That object with the circle in the middle off to the left is a target.

When she was done with that, she begged a piece of paper from JayG and walked around copying names off of NRA attendee badges for her “People I Like” list. It wasn’t technically a “Bloggers I’ve Met” list as she pointed out that she doesn’t have her own blog, and it included friends from her kindergarten class.

After waiting for around an hour with nobody showing up, we went back inside to stand in line to meet “Gunny” when the call came through that the demonstrators had finally shown up. We went back out, and I listened to their spokesperson being interviewed by the local news station. Near as I could tell, they wanted to make it very, very difficult for people to get guns legally as that would solve the problem of drugs in their neighborhood. Or something. I explained to SD that while I did not agree with what they were saying, they had a right to say it. Just like we could tell them how we felt.

And then I saw the woman across the street with the sign that said “Give your children hugs, not guns!” and something flipped the little switch in my brain from “rational discourse” to “THAT PERSON IS A THREAT TO SD’S SAFETY!”

Yeah. It wasn’t pretty. I yelled, and I was not logical, rational, or coherant. I learned that counter-demonstrating is not my strong point, and next time I’ll follow SD's exampole, and just point and laugh.

* On another note, it was determined that a group of hippies, like a murder of crows or a parliament of owls, should be referred to as a "Patchouli of Hippies".

Photo bleg

2011-05-03T11:38:00.000-04:00

I didn't get any pictures of the shoes last Saturday. Can anybody help me out?

Thanks ...

Nancy

Just got the good news!

2011-05-02T07:02:00.000-04:00

Shanksville, PA, May 1, 2011

They got Osama. How very fitting that we stopped at the Shanksville Memorial on the way home from the NRA Convention yesterday. As Shorter Half pointed out to Sweet Daughter – it was not a graveyard, it was a battlefield. She understands that there are bad guys out there that want to do us harm simply because they are bad guys, but it was still difficult explaining the magnitude of what happened on September 11th, 2001. Her alarm clock just went off, and I got to tell her that the bad guy who decided those planes should crash into building was dead.

We’ve already run up our special occasion Colors. This flag flew in the skies of Afghanistan aboard the RQ-1B Predator, tail #96-3053, on November 7th, 2002 in support of Operation ENDURING FREEDOM to aid in the capture of Al Queda and Taliban terrorists.