Happy New Year!

 

Well done, we made it to 2024, no small feat, and local friendlies celebrated the fact with whoops and fireworks which bombed across the firmament like the guns of Kursk. There was traditional gunfire too, off on the edge of town by the sound of it, maybe a pistol or two. All very exciting, and I joined in the fun by setting off a few strips of firecrackers, drawing a big round of Mexican applause.

Fun. Then it was time to head to bed and another installment of Iain Pears' excellent Arcadia, check it out. Today? A brisk walk with an excited dog to the Pick 'n Steal via the Olde Meth Shacke, which is being refurbed by Pedro and his crew. 

Wymmxn Priestesses

Gone are the days of ne'er do wells lolling shirtless and witless in their ragged pajama bottoms, behold instead the new advent of hard at work artisans from south of the border doing their thing. Good for them, though I miss the spectacle of meth shackery, being a creature of tradition. 

A Typical Fighting Monkey

Now, safely back at the Compound, we reflect on the coming year, what will it bring? Good question, and I'm not a betting man but I'll wager my fighting monkey against any ten of your wymmxn priestesses, yes, ten, that 2024 will be even crazier than bad old '23.

Cheers,

LSP

Changes

 

typical Texas street scene

Changes, I won't link to the Bowie song, but that's what this small aspect of rural North Central Texas is all about. Yep, changes. For example, the hideous yellow Queen Anne house is no longer yellow, its siding's been ripped off and new and remarkably ugly plastic windows face the public from its historic visage. 

why is this even called "Queen Anne"?

Hey, maybe this is better than the crack house it's been for the last 15 years, likewise our old favorite, the Meth Shack. Alas, the Meth Shack's no longer home to tack-heads in their underwear, wife beaters and pajama bottoms lolling around onna porch with lotto tickets and heads fulla meth.

Meth Shack

No, it's been bought by Jose, who's fixing the place up, well done. But who will buy the Disciples of Christ? Good question, ask the realtor; I liked that little congregation and it's sad to see it go down. But what can we say, so many little conventicles within a several block radius, all of them in competition.

for sale, alas

I tell you, if this town had been set up by Christians its central monument and focus would have been a collegiate church, surrounded by cafes, restaurants, fountains, gun shops, bakers, Confederate monuments and everything civilized. But no, we put up a courthouse.  There, in the very center of town lies a monument to secularism. Reflect, drill down on such wickedness.

pick 'n steal

Too harsh? Perhaps, but even so, it speaks to the hierarchy of Law and Faith in our country. The former clearly pulls rank on the latter. Westphalia aside, look at the result, Faith is trampled on by secular Law.

the Compound

But not at the Compound, and some things don't change. The Pick 'n Steal stands steady in the ferocious crosswinds of our present culture war and so does the Manse. Yes, accidents may very well change but substance remains the same.

It's raining now, a storm's blown in, we thank God for that.

Your Friend,

LSP

Taking Care Of Business

 

Ye Olde Meth Shack

Life at the Compound follows a rhythm, a pattern, and it all starts with a measured stroll to the Pick 'n Steal (PNS) via the Meth Shack. The shack's fallen on hard times, sadly, as you can see from the photo. Gone are the halcyon days of shirtless tweakers in filthy pajama bottoms decorating the porch. They're gone, along with much of the porch itself. Who knows, maybe the crew of Mexicans who've been, ahem, fixing the place up will achieve their goal.

We can but hope. In the meanwhile, a lone picker shuffled in the Shack's pecan grove, searching for nature's bounty. Good luck to him, may your harvest be plentiful. Ag exemption in mind I moved on to the Steal where, lo and behold, gas is only 3.59 a gallon. Get it while you can, kids.

Picka

One PNS coffee refill later and a pack of Marlboro Lights I was back at the patrol base and saying Morning Prayer. 1928 BCP version, thank you very much and you can get it online here. Then, no sooner was the Divine Office finished than a barrage of emails from lawyers and realtors came flooding in.

Upshot? Go to a notary, affidavit in hand. But the notary's shut because... who knows, it just is. Drive over to Land & Title, "How you doing!" what a cheery receptionist, "Good! How about you?" "I'm good, what can we do for ya?" Well, they couldn't notarize a document but they sure wanted to and were helpful as they could be. I thanked God for putting me in a Texan country town and headed over to Don Tutor's Bail Bonds.

Good People

"Hi, I recognize you from Bible Study at El Con! (an unreconstructed TexMex restaurant) What can we do for you?" So helpful, just notarize this document, please, and she did, free of charge. "What part of England you from?" I replied "London" and learned she wanted to go to Manchester, where she has an email friend. "Watch out," I admonished, "They call it Gunchester," and then felt bad, "Don't worry, you'll be alright." Good for her, so excited to visit England.

UK readers of this important mind blog, if there are any, take note: Many, many Americans hold the Sceptered Isle in very high regard, they really do. So don't scorn your brothers and sisters across the Atlantic, it's an unpleasant, snobbish and beastly trait. Just saying.

Bonds aside, go back to the Compound to regroup, eat a slice of bread because fasting and get blitzed by lawyers and realtors over the information superhighway. Think Russian Shock Army moving on the Karkov Front. We withstood the offensive, nice work team, and then Canada called, "Can you send some... :("  I resisted the urge to ignore this threat in the hope it'd somehow go away and instead replied, "Hold fire, I'm trying to sell a ranch. Offers coming in, good offers."

Walmart

And so they were, result. Realtor O Group over, head to Walmart and this town's send money to the world desk (please, Canada, work this out online). The young woman who handled the transaction was friendly as you like but aghast at gas prices, "Just seen 4 bucks a gallon, 81 million people voted for that, what's gonna happen when it's $5 a gallon or 8?" I thought about that and looked her in the eye, which was hard because of all the piercings, "Maybe smart people have ammo, right?" She gave a dyed blonde grin and agreed, yet another friendly country person.

Then back to the Compound for Vespers. Question, is it just me or is the tenor of daily life becoming increasingly off-hook?

Stand Steady,

LSP

ICE ESCHATON

 

Ice blew like shrapnel against the ancient timbers of the Compound, whipped up and blown in by a fierce Northern wind. Hurtful metaphors of the War aside, this wasn't a dream, no, it was a winter storm, an Ice Age Eschaton right here in North Central Texas.

No kidding. The new day dawned and off I went into the icy void, and it was a void. You could stand in the street, fire a canon and hit no one. They were all "sheltering in place" like Justine Trudeau. Not me. No, I went out for a short walk in the ice particle storm.

The Meth shack was was empty and frozen, the Pick 'n Steal? Closed. Go figure, but Alanon was open, right there in the center of town. "What's that, a refill and a pack of Marlboro Lights?" Right on, then back into the bracing wind.

Your Old Pal

I texted a pal in the Old Country, "Look, ESCHATON." He replied, "PALE HORSE."

Stay warm and safe,

LSP

Taking Care Of Business

 

A busy morning. Get up, feed the Blue, make hot tea, enjoy that tea on the back porch while scanning the news, say Morning Prayer, you might say "Mattins," walk to the Pick 'n Steal, observe a new iteration of the Meth Shack, get back to the Compound, answer emails and then... drive over to Tom's Tire to get your rig inspected.

You have to do it every year, the State demands it, and we must obey. But it's no big deal, just 7 bucks and an excuse to go to Montes for a delicious brisket burrito. Tasty and then some. Next stop? 

A dinosaur museum, conveniently next to the diner. It used to be a filling station and then something else, followed by something else, and something else again, amounting to yet another vacant, asset stripped country lot. But now it's a dinosaur museum. 

I ambled over, pleasantly aglow with brisket and homemade tortilla's, only to be ambushed by a fit young fella with a dinosaur T and a Ho Chi Minh, obviously a paleontologist. "What's up, man!" he asked. I looked him straight in his expensively rimless glasses and asked, right on the nail, "Is this museum open?" To be fair, it rarely is, and he said yes, step straight on in, which I did.

What a great little museum! Big fossils of the ferocious beasts that used to roam North Central Texas, and small fossils too, to say nothing of aboriginal artifacts. These, if you know where to look, which I mostly don't, can be found by the boxfull here in Hill and Bosque counties. How old are they? Good question.

Museum over, collect the rig, get it registered, go to the 1st Inconvenience Bank and then to the lake. I won't lie, it was quite chilly, only about 100*. Is it too hot to fish when your eyelids start dropping sweat on the inside of your cunningly polarized glasses? Hardly, all the more incentive to carry on regardless.

4 Blue Gill later it was time to head home, in yet another episode of being glad to be in Texas.

Your Old Pal,

LSP

Just Strolling About in The Plague Year

Blue picked up a Shadow Wolf on the way to the Pick 'n Steal this morning. A ferocious beast and I'm glad he's an ally.

And I wasn't complaining about the trees either, takes the edge right off the heat.

Not that it matters at First Methodist because they're shut, for fear the Bat Bug will kill them all. Which it hasn't, fortunately.

Blue enjoys his spot at the PNS, where he sits tethered to the always empty Star Telegram box. Why is it empty? Because no one wanted to buy the rubbish newspaper so the order wasn't kept up, but the box remains, a dusty, dystopic warning to the "press."

Behold the misbegotten debris of the modern age!

And needless to say, First Baptist decided to make war on their ancient enemy, the trees. And now a once leafy boulevard sits baking under a harsh Texan sun. Good work, guys. Get rid of all the shade.

We detoured around the Meth Shack to visit Genius Patrol. GP are two dogs who live in someone's back yard and bark insanely at anything which goes by. Sometimes I talk to them, they bark back.

Then it was back to the Compound, mission accomplished. And that, fellow boulevardiers, is the story of that.

God bless,

LSP

Walkabout

You know what it's like. There you are in the midst of a pandemic threatening to shut down Western Civ, what's left of it anyway, so whaddya do? 

Go for an armed stroll 'round town at 11 pm to see what's up. Load up and off you go, born to have adventure, sort of thing.

But what was up? Not very much. Flags were flying but the streets were empty. Had a neutron bomb gone off? Would you hit anyone if you fired a canon down the middle of the street? No.

So I strolled about and went to the downtown filling station for Marlboro Lights, then stood in the middle of the road and took photos. There wasn't any traffic, it's all shut down because of China, you see. Not that it's especially very busy ever.

Heading home, First Methodee was all lit up but no one was home and the Meth Shack was getting it on with a "domestic." I sensibly ignored the furor and strolled by, round in the chamber. And that was that, mission accomplished.

Message? If you're going walkabout, take a gun.

Best,

LSP

Walking The Eschaton

It was like a midsummer day in Borth on the Welsh Riviera. Overcast, a drizzling rain, not too cold, not too hot but no, this was North Central Texas and time to take Blue Eschaton for a walk.

The streets were empty, because of the Chinese Virus or because they always are? A mystery, and so was our old friend the Meth Shack. The Shack's under new management, who've been busy gutting the place with a view, presumably, to newer and better renters. Good luck with that worthy project.

Mourning the passing of an age, we advanced to the Pick 'n Steal. It still stands, essential business in the midst of lockdown. I tethered the Eschaton to an empty newspaper vending machine and went inside for a coffee "refill" in an invincible Yeti mug. 

The store's Owl Idol looked down with unflinching eyes on its supplicants, the usual crew of pajama wearin', slipper shufflin', lottery playin', blunt buyin' punters. There they were and there it was. Reassured that some things never change, I walked the furry apocalypse back to the Compound, mission accomplished. And then a curious thing happened.

Within a space of minutes, clouds rolled in from the north and with them a fierce wind. The temperature dropped like a stone in seconds, taking us from Borth in August to Borth in April. Fearing a Polar Vortex, I showed the Eschaton inside to warmth and safety.

Poor dog. You can imagine, centuries later, explorers discovering an elderly Heeler encased in ice, the remains of a fried cherry pie in his mouth, frozen where he stood on the awful day the Climate Changed.

That aside, I hope you've all managed to recover your firearms from the lakes and rivers and sensibly saved on SCUBA by use of powerful magnets and sturdy ropes.

God bless,

LSP

Strolling The Deluge

Darkness, thunder, rain. No, this wasn't downtown Aberystwyth in July, it was Texas in February. Climate change experts tell us that if you collect the rainfall here you'll have enough water to last the year, and I believe it. Undaunted by the deluge I left the Compound for a morning stroll.

Stairway To Heaven

Only to see that the Meth Shackers have cleverly built a stairway to heaven; there it is, a ladder to paradise. What happens when you get to the top of the ladder, I asked myself as I gazed at the floral tributes in front of the shack. Who knows, perhaps you ascend, higher.

Meth Shack, Note Beautiful Floral Tributes (stop using "filters." Ed.)

The Pick 'n Steal was open for business but eerily empty apart from an elderly POC playing a slot machine. He's a Nam vet and plays that machine every day; I like him, though we've never really talked. Need to change that.

Pick 'n Steal

One large coffee later I was back on the flooded streets of the bucolic Texan farming community I've called home for the last decade or more, and you know what, I'm not complaining. For me, it beats living in the 'sprawl that is the DFW megacity connurb. You may think differently and that's fine, there's no "rule."

Storm Debris

Back at the Compound, Blue Dog-Faced Pony Soldier curled up on a Moslem rug while I said the Office. He's not buying the "religion of peace" thing. 

"It's obviously not a religion of peace," he tells me, "It was started by a warlord in search of loot, rape and plunder." I accuse him of racism but he just snores. Typical. Next thing you know he'll be banging on about "replacement strategy," asymmetrical warfare, the Kalergi Plan and trying to make me read Mark Steyn. But what does he know? He's just a dog. 

Dog-Faced Pony Soldier On A Moslem Rug

In other news, Juicy Smollet's been indicted, 4 prosecutors have fled the Stone case, 45 held a massive rally in New Hampshire, and Biden's campaigning in Iowa again, or something like that. And Britain's deported a load of Jamaicans for being thugs, much to the disgust of the self-loathing white left and their POC friends.

All About The Hat

So there it is. Rain continues to fall and the clay ground of the Compound is pretty much flooded. Blue Deluge is sleeping, God is in his heaven and the Democrats flounder like beached fish after a storm. Is 45 anointed, by God?

Stand firm against evil,

LSP