Walkabout

 

Thanks to Hurricane Beryl crashing into our eastern shore it's unseasonably, blissfully cool here, only in the 80s. This is rare, remember, it's July, in Texas. Had someone bothered to do their duty to fragile planet earth and paid their carbon tax, had they obeyed the Pope himself? Perhaps, and I took advantage of this welcome lull in the War on Weather to stroll over to the square and from there to the supermarket.

Yes, we still have one, Brookshires, right in the center of this erstwhile cotton town which once numbered some 20,000 souls. It's now less than half that because we sent our cotton industry overseas to make moar money. But hold on. Not very far from me, on the way to the Pick 'n Steal Shamrock filling station, there's a house for sale.

It's been "done up" and looks pretty good, about the same age as mine but without the upper story. So there I was, strolling along the bucolic boulevard that is Franklin on my way to get coffee at the PNS, all the while admiring the refurb of this house. 

"Nice job on the house," I say to the woman hosing down a newly laid concrete walkway to the front porch. She's wearing a faded Billy Joel tour T shirt, which I recognize, dating us both, and she recognizes me, after all, I walk this path daily. So it's all very sunny hello. "So what's the price on the house?" I ask, genuinely curious, "They're asking 329k" she replies.

Like, wow. 329k for a pre-WWI bungalow with a single room attic upper story. Maybe, dear readers, I've misjudged the prosperity of our little town. And go figure, the same set up would be twice that in in Dallas, which is only an hour away in slow traffic. That in mind, why are there still so many vacant and semi-abandoned properties in the center of town?

Surely it'd make sense to convert these into places to live and restore civic life to the center of this place. Maybe you can picture it, a town square with shops and restaurants, with life as opposed to asset-stripped dereliction, and all watched over by our Confederate War Memorial, a stern and stoic soldier cast in stone. 

Compound

To be fair, some people are working towards this not inconsiderable goal, and good for them. Of course they're hoping to make a lot of money off the project, and I hope they do, but it's a bit of gamble. Will Dallas cash move south down I35 to LSPland? It is so far, in a small way. That in mind, where will the people who can't afford nearly half a million bucks to live in a bungalow actually live? Serious question.

Reverie over, I arrived back at the Compound from this latest recce patrol and all was well, the place still standing. We must thank God for his blessings.

Salve,

LSP

What A Mess

 

What, you say, the state of this great nation, which is apparently hellbent on going to Hell by the nearest available off ramp? No, that's a different post, I'm talking about the Compound. You see, what happened is this. I went off to visit my pal's Battle Farm in Paris Texas, all well and good, and then stayed the night in Dallas by way of filial piety. Nice, but guess what happened? It rained, and it rained mightily.

Then the rain stopped, like the Flood itself, and back we went to this bucolic slice of rural paradise in North Central Texas. Except it wasn't paradise, far from it. While I was away the church basement had flooded, wrecking the AC units cunningly stationed in its flood plain, and so had the basement in the house. In both locations our sump pumps had pathetically broken and there were the basements, awash with around three feet of water.

Worse than this, the sewer line from the Compound was partially blocked with debris, which would explain partial backups onto the kitchen floor when you run the clothes washer. Huh. Better call an electrician and a plumber, which we did.

Long story short. We pumped out the water, Electrics is looking to fix the AC and a crew of plumbers has been working pretty much around the clock to fix the sewer line. No kidding, they were here till almost midnight yesterday, digging up the line. I asked them, "I hope you're getting overtime," and they replied, "No, it's for a good cause, the Church."

Right on, and by the grace of God and sheer dint of hard work those boys cleared the line today out to the mains, some 100 feet away, and set the thing up for a dual clean out. Good work, kids, over and above the call of duty. And let's thank God for this too, the pipe in question is PVC, not clay or iron.

So that's what's been going on here in the country since Wednesday, electricians, plumbers and our ongoing war against the Weather. We shall prevail in this particular skirmish, and emerge stronger. In related news, our Beloved Rulers seem all in favor of the draft, as in "draft all the young people to fight a war."

"Why," asked my eldest, "should I fight a war for Rainbow Corporate GloboHomo and it's transnational rulers?" You see, he was thinking of getting out into a lucrative IT job, let the reader understand. I replied, quick as a flash, "You won't, you'll be part of the training cadre. Stay in and get the most out of it." He seemed to get the sense of that.

Regardless, we're approaching full water here unlike, say, Idaho. Speaking of our Rulers killing some 500,000 square acres of farmland in the Potato State, do you think they really hate us or just don't care, which is the same thing.

Cheers,

LSP

Branded Burger

Do you go out for dinner? I don't, hardly ever, but tonight a kind churchman invited, "We'll be in town this evening where we can do our business. Why not join us for dinner afterwards?" What, dinner in the NCTEZ (North Central Texas Exclusion Zone)? Terrifying prospect, but it can be done, at Branded Burger.

Branded Burger is a family owned Midlothian restaurant which has expanded into a few neighboring towns and their slogan is, "Where The Locals Eat." Their signature is a burger in a bun which has been branded with their... brand and stabbed through with a black plastic knife.

As in, take that, burger, I forgot my Benchmade or Opinel, so here's this plastic knife statement. Marketing aside, the Branded Burger is pretty dam good, coming in seared and quick at around 7 bucks. The patty? Close to an inch thick and properly medium rare. Yes, this is a good burger and I devoured mine like a hungry wolf.

Verdict: If you're lucky enough to travel through our storied lands, stop at Branded Burger, they're alright.

Boodles Forever,

LSP

UFO Or Gravel?!?

 

What is this, some kind of UFO or "UAP" come to rest in the greensward of the Compound's vehicle park? No, it was not, just a load of aggregate arriving to "improve the ground" and make it "code compliant." Whatever that means in today's movable feast of  civic virtue.

Aggregate and a Rig

Far-sighted readers will remember the Code Cops paid us a visit a few days ago because someone had made a formal complaint about vehicles parked on our attractively grassy lot and demanded they go unless the "ground was improved."  After a congenial conversation about Glocks, I assured the Code Constables that there'd be a solution.

Sure enough there was, with D turning up with serious amounts of aggregate and gravel. He told me he'd do it and he did, I respect that, well done. Next step? March across the way to the church which generously hosts your rigs on its erstwhile grass. He tells me he will, after all, it's his local.

Gravel

Hey, I can't complain, all that "ground improvement," ahem, doesn't come cheap. Thanks, D, 'preciate you, what a good neighbor.

In Rure,

LSP

Well Done Team

 

Here's the thing, an old wooden house needs looking after or it falls apart and doesn't work, not unlike a gun. That in mind, the front porch of the Compound needed fixing and that's exactly what happened, Salvatore turned up, pencil behind ear and made it happen.

First off, get rid of the old wood and reinforce the beams that undergird the Compound. Next up? Shore up a pillar and replace the old deck with tongue and groove. Then paint the thing, and so they did.

Well done, boys, looks good. Quite unlike the hideous New World order envisaged by our Elite Billionaire Overlords.

Cheers,

LSP

A Curious Thing

 

A curious thing happened today. All the people from Mission #2 who like to go the increasingly popular Shooky's of a Thursday evening turned up at Mass first, without any prompting. That's right, with not a word from me, not even an annoyingly jocular clerical bribe, "Hey, there's a 10% discount if you go to Mass first," ha, ha, sorta thing. No, they just turned up.

Well done, team, and it makes sense. Our communion with one another flows from communion with God in the Mystical Body of Christ, nourished, vivified and deepened at the Altar. Get that right and the other follows naturally.

You know, I recall a priest in DC who told me, "We're at the point where the people here don't even think of doing a parish event without going to Mass first." Right on, worship, giving ourselves in love to God, comes first, always. 

It's what we're created for, and we saw a little bit of that North Central Texas this evening.

Stella Maris,

LSP

Out And About

 

One of the things people like to do after Mass at Mission #2 is go out for lunch and I joined in today. We went to Shooky's, which is a congenial little setup overlooking Lake Whitney at Parson's Marina. I hadn't there been before, strangely, and liked it a lot.

The food was good, I can recommend their pepperoni pizza, the view over the lake tranquil and I liked the fishing lodge, marina ambiance of the place. Just a really pleasant way to spend an hour or so after church and with great company to boot.

What good people! Representing several walks of life, law enforcement, banking, engineering, ranching, and all united in the Faith. Were there any libs at the table? No, there were not. Was anyone armed? Woe betide the fool who attempted to rob Shooky's on a Sunday afternoon.

Seriously, I feel blessed by such a good hearted congregation and am amazed at its range. It's easily the most intellectual church I've served but at the same time totally down to earth. From people who write books like I'd like to shoot dove to rodeo stars and all else in between, and right there in Bosque County, Texas.

Who'd have thought it, yet there it is. Go to Shooky's if you get the chance, I think you'll have fun.

God bless,

LSP

Something Good

 

Don't you have anything good to say, so-called LSP? you ask, grimly. Well yes, yes I do. After Mass on Thursdays I stop off at a small country supermarket to pick up provisions, David's in Whitney. What a friendly crowd and after a while you get to know the mostly elderly cashiers.

One of them, a wiry tough old lady, asked me at the checkout, "Feeling alright?" and I replied, "Still standing, by the grace of God." She smiled and said, "So am I! I've just met a man and he has money in his account and I won't have to do this job. My last husband was a demon. He was on nuke subs and we were married thirty years and he was a demon, he'd beat me. Now I've found a man who loves me, praise God."

Praise God, she meant it too, and her eyes sparkled there at that checkout at David's in Whitney. I smiled and praised God with her, what a faithful and good old lady, "Bless you." But would newfound love and recompense stick?

A month later, yesterday, I was at our rural haven's shopping mall, Walmart, and there she was, happy as could be, and she introduced me to the man who wasn't a demon. "This is..." and we shook hands, "You'll excuse me for looking like an unemployed fisherman but I am, in fact, a priest." He grinned in a lined face, brown with the weather and still strong, a countryman, out here in Texas, and off we went. Both of them light with happiness and that light lifted me up too.

Cheers,

LSP

SKYWATER

 

Here in Texas we call it skywater, water that literally falls from the sky, and we haven't had any since May - until this afternoon. It began slowly, tentative drops patterning the sidewalk, please don't stop, then picked up pace.

Astounded, I stood on the porch, looking out in wonder. Wow, actual rain, you could see it, and with the skywater came thunder, lightning and a sudden drop in temperature. Beautiful.

Then it stopped, but for how long. Even now, dark clouds are rolling in from the West; will they break and unleash a cataclysmic storm upon this small heat stricken country town? 

Here at the Compound we watch and wait, expectant.

Eschaton,

LSP

Work Day

 

One of the things that happens here is we have a Men's Breakfast which meets once a month. The men of Mission #2 meet up for breakfast burritos, tasty, and enjoy each other's company, good Christian fellowship.

Today everyone converged on Mission #1 for the usual tasty burritos and then some work on the grounds. Pressure washing, hedge trimming, my task, and all of that. They worked hard, what good guys.

Then it was over, around Noon, and we celebrated with a cold beer on a tailgate. And all was well with the world, at least this little part of it. Great result, so there you have it.

God bless,

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

Sol Invictus

 

The sun rises over Texas, incandescent, unrelenting, invictus, unconquered. Do we back down and hide, skulking like so many knaves in our air conditioned dens? No, we stride out to meet the challenge, all the way to the nearest Pick 'n Steal.

Sure enough, there's modern age debris strewn across the way. A rubberized glove, some ear defenders, but no weaves, dime bags (right price, Ed?), needles, losing lottery tickets and beat up VIP passes to Taylor Swift gigs. Such is life in this blighted second decade of the Great Reset.

No matter Green New Deal, whoever said life'd be easy? Here's our 81 million vote beloved ruler, Old Joe, whom everyone loves:

Your Very Best Pal,

LSP

Mad Dogs And Englishmen

 

Mad dogs and Englishmen, what do they do? They go out in the noonday sun, or so it's claimed. To test this theory I loaded up the rig with a couple of rods and headed for the lake in the pyramid peak intensity of the Texan sun.

Were there any mad dogs at Soldiers Bluff? Yes there were, doing mad dog stuff on the opposite bank. Was there anyone else? No, there was not, only me, and it was starting to look like the old adage was true. Even the fish, our piscine adversary were lying low.

To test the theory further, I headed over to the other side of the dam, you know, follow the science. And guess what? It was deserted, no one was there, not even a mad dog, they were on the other side of the dam, crazily frolicking in the hot water.

No, there was just one Englishman with a US passport, some frozen shad, a few rods and the ovenlike heat of Texas in the midst of a regular day in June. Hot, so hot your eyelids are sweating while the fish, heatshocked, hang deep in cooler water.

It's a challenge and a good one. You've proved the old noonday axiom, LSP, I thought to myself, grimly tying on a #6 hook, will you get a fish? Serious question, and a seriously bad time to try your luck against our finned friends. You see, they just don't want to know, too busy sensibly sleeping out the heat.

Undeterred, I cast off with shad and worm. But where? Into the shade of the spillway's fishing pier, get the science? And lo and behold, reeled in Black Drum and Perch variants. What does this mean.

That no, fish as well as mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the noonday sun, at least in Texas. Science has shown us this. Also, it may be hot as a preheating oven but get out there in the country and fish. Good for mind, body and soul.

Tight Lines,

LSP

War On

 

A war rages at the Compound. The protagonists?

An exotic duck.

And a ferocious dog, seeking whom he may devour.

You see, what happens here is that the duck flies over the perimeter in search of food and Blue Terminator doesn't take that lying down. No, he advances to contact, slowly, because he's blind. Meanwhile the duck continues, oblivious, until the last moment and then flies away.

Make of this problem farm parable what you will.

Rus in Urbe,

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