Rescued dogs, dragons, birds, cats, snakes, and three cute wee kids.
Sometimes I feel as if I’m much more busy now that I’m disabled. I suppose it is only because there are so many more things to impede my progress now. It takes much longer to do any one thing. Add to that the required “rest periods” to allow the muscle spasms to settle and before you know it the day is gone. Especially now that I’m trying to educate our three preschoolers.
Who knew that teaching kids simple things like phone numbers and how to tell time would be so hard? These kids are smart, too. I can only imagine how difficult it was to teach my dumb ass anything at all. I need to find all of my surviving instructors from elementary school right through US Navy boot camp and send them all “Thank You”/sympathy cards! Poor bastards…
Speaking of the US Navy, Lady Beth’s ex-hubby is now in some advanced quasi-hush-hush training before he heads of to the Sandbox for a 1+ year tour dealing with terrorist thugs and general hoodlums. I’ll not post any details that I happen to know of his unit’s movements. Tony and his fellows need to remain as safe as they can for as long as they can. There is a mascot of sorts that is following his unit. It is a little plastic turtle named “Franklin”. It started as a joke for the kids. You know, sending pictures home of Franklin in the barracks and such. Just something to make the kids laugh and to help him feel “connected”. Well, the bloody thing has caught on and now the entire unit is involved in the “Travels of Franklin“! I’ve been given permission to post the pics here on the blog and will begin to do so soon. Delayed, of course. Tony is wearing one-half of a split charm. My step-daughter, Sarah, is wearing the other half. (Tony, if you’re reading this, she has never once taken it off for ANY reason.) I hope he realizes just how much he is missed by his kids and how proud they – hell, all of us – are of him and his unit. The twins, Jack & ‘Bug’, have Navy Dress Blues to wear for Samhain (Halloween) costumes. I’d bet there isn’t an hour of wakeful time that goes by that he isn’t mentioned in this household by those three wee ones. I only hope my three kids feel that strongly about me…
My kids.
Geez, they are nearly all grown. Clancy is living with us now, but her 19th birthday is coming up soon and in too short a time she’ll be out on her own. Kelli isn’t far behind. In fact, her boyfriend, Trevor (another of America’s Heroes), called me tonight to tell me of his desire to wed my baby girl. Kelli? Married?? My Gods! Am I that old? I suppose so. I hope my son, Jake, stays young for a while longer. (Hang on tight to that skateboard, son! There will be time enough for the travails of adulthood later!)
I wonder what kind of World, what kind of Country, we will leave to those children…
Is it possible that I’m the only man alive that failed to put aside ‘The Dream‘?
You know, the Dream of One Nation – regardless of race or religion. The Dream of a Nation of Freedom for ALL. The Dream of a Nation that honors its word as its bond, honors its Constitution, its children, its elderly, and remembers its veterans. The Dream of a Nation that can do ANYTHING that it sets its mind to – like reaching the Moon in less than a decade because one man asked it of us. Hell, we are the Nation that pretty much single-handedly kept the majority of the planet from falling into darkness behind an Iron Curtain!
Of late, I see that we seem not to have a National identity anymore. We are becoming a Nation of Reactionaries and money-grubbing micro-despots without the backbone to stick to much of anything. Tall on lip-service, short on real action. We speak of the money we spend on education while falling steadily behind other nations. We speak – with pride(?) – of the funding for our veterans. Yet everyday services are being cut, veterans clinics are being closed, and more and more veterans are being told they don’t qualify for benefits anymore. And all the while young men are being sent home maimed and scarred from battlefields overseas. We are so busy drawing lines between Right and Left, Liberal and Conservative, Rich & Poor, and most sickening – Black & White, that we fail to look for the solutions to the problems. Worst of all, our most precious freedoms are being whittled down to nothingness by those that would mould America into some personal vision of Utopia. The ‘Bill of Rights‘? Bah! More like the ‘Bill of No Rights‘ if some have their way. Problem is that both the Right and the Left are equally as guilty. Neither the Democrat nor the Republican can really be trusted anymore.
The Bill of Rights.
I hope that someone remembers that the First of those rights depends on the Second to protect it – and the rest. I recently saw a quote attributed to Thomas Jefferson on the subject of the Second Amendment. I really need to see if I can authenticate it. It went something like “The beauty of the Second Amendment is that it shall never be needed until someone tries to take it away.” Too true.
That turns my mind to my new/old hobby: reloading.
I used to reload all of my own ammo both for the .300 Savage and 7mm-08 Remington cartridges. My 7mm rifle never had a single factory round put through it. I miss that gun, but it went to a good home with my nephew, Robin. He has put much game in the freezer through the years with that old model 788 Remington.
Of course, I got into shooting blackpowder rifles, then building them, and then historical re-creation. Then came the Great Disappointment. I became disabled and in continual pain. Lost my first wife and kids in a divorce I was too depressed and suicidal to even “lawyer-up” for, and ended up with nothing much left of my outdoor gear save for a blade or two, my father’s two rifles (a Savage “99″ in .300 Savage (now with my nephew, Taylor) and a Marlin “39A” .22), and my first revolver: a Ruger “Super Single Six” .22 convertable.
Now I’m getting back into shooting and reloading as a means of getting out of the house, keeping my mind sharp, fingers nimble, and as an anchor to the earlier bits of my life. With the current state of my spine I can’t handle recoil like I used to. Heck, I didn’t even find the awesome .460 Weatherby to be uncontrollable in my youth. Today I’m shooting .22 rimfires and the old .45 Colt rounds. The .45 Colt is great not only in its long history, but in the fact I can load it with blackpowder if I wish and get a good dose of the smell of white smoke just like with my ol’ flintlocks! Reloading gives me a chance to use my hands and my mind, as well as giving a great sense of achivement when one of my loads proves to be much more accurate than anything loaded at a factory. You non-reloaders outh there would truly be amazed at the skills needing to be mastered for pinpoint accuracy. Oh yeah, for those that want to know, my .45 caliber guns are a Ruger “New Model Vaquero” and a Winchester “Trapper” carbine. The .22s are the afore mentioned Marlin rifle and Ruger revolver.
That’s right. No semi-autos. No Soviet-styled weapons or cartridges. I tend to be kind of “Old Fashioned” when it comes to my guns. A personal preference only. I would like to get another rifle for shooting at extreme ranges. Nothing, to me, is as American as one man with a rifle making a hit on a target at what seems to be an impossible distance. As much as I’d like to do that with a gun chambered of an old cartridge like the .45-70, the fact is I could not withstand the recoil without hospitalization. So I’m considering something along the lines of the 6.5×55 Swede, or perhaps my old friend the 7mm-08 Remington. This time, however, in a single-shot rifle. Specifically, the Thompson/Center “Encore”. I never have seen the use in fast shooting, high capacity guns. Especially when shooting paper targets! Unless I’m seriously mistaken, my hunting days are now – sadly – behind me.
On a side note, like this post isn’t entirely made of them…), when I said “suicidal” a couple of paragraphs above, I meant it. I just finished re-bluing that .22 revolver because before my condition was diagnosed and treated I was in such pain that I oft slept with the muzzle of that loaded gun in my mouth. The suffering was intense. I’m in less pain now thanks to the good surgeons of Emory University and a decent pain management plan. The depression is gone as well thanks to Lady Beth’s love and devotion, good friends like Liz and Nancy Gail and many others, and a new – if somewhat slowed – desire for Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness.
“Pursuit of Happiness…”
That seems to bring me right back to where all of this started. With rescued dogs, dragons, birds, cats, snakes, and our kids. Those things and more – shooting, reloading, my Country, my friends, and the love of my dear wife, Lady Beth – do indeed make me happy. While being crippled has indeed ‘cramped my style’ in many ways, it has shown me where true happiness is to be found. It is to be found within.
This has been one seriously rambling post, so I’ll spare you any further anguish. Perhaps I’m not as strong, or well-built, or even as mentally sharp as I was before all these health issues cropped up. In the final analysis, though, perhaps I gained more than I lost. I am disabled, but I’m a better man.
