Storm Grill Army

Keen-eyed readers of this deep thinking mind blog will know that my eldest son, popularly known as "the Cadet", made the smart decision to join the US Army instead of a Scandinavian death metal band, in Canada. 

Don't get me wrong, both are good, but the Army probably makes more sense. So what's the score?

Typical Climate Change

Longish story short. The Cadet bravely ventured forth to a Dallas recruiter, got his packet made up, took a language aptitude test (D-Lab) at the Military Entrance Processing Station (MEPS) downtown and... the Army discovered he had to complete some extra paperwork before he could do his physical. 

Annoying but not a huge deal, so we fell back to the Compound and enjoyed the countryside and its storms. Yes, hail storms and the kind of climate change that says tornado, take cover. We took the opportunity to stand on the porch and watch it come down. Exciting, in an Ahab brave the elements kind of way.

Metrosprawl Compound Grill Scene. Note Mary Shrine

Then, papers complete, headed to the Metrosprawl to grill, celebrate a nineteenth birthday, and launch the kid at MEPS again. I dropped him off at the recruiters' this afternoon and they drove him to his date with destiny, but not before we spent all of yesterday getting his ears cleaned. 

What?!? You say in that shocked tone of voice. Yes, ears cleaned, that's because the quacks at MEPS turn people away if they have too much wax in their ears. 

Have to see all of the ear drum, you see, and if they don't the unfortunately waxy child has to leave MEPS, see an an Army sanctioned ear shaman for a 5 minute ear scrape that could've been done at MEPS, and then return to MEPS, mission complete.

Does that reek to you of low-level, bit part skulduggery? It does to me, and imagine how much money someone's raking in from all those ear wax referrals. It'd soon mount up to a nifty shamanic faux mansion somewhere in Plano.

Regardless, the boy's now in the caring hands of Uncle Sam and, all things equal, should pass his physical tomorrow. If so, in a couple of weeks off to Basic, and I respect that. 

Good call, kid, and his plan's simple if not easy. Go Signals, get a degree, get a commission, get a sword, and then set up on some compound, grill, and play Scandinavian death metal.

Good luck with all of that, Cadet, and with MEPS tomorrow. Stay tuned. 

Oh what a carry on!

LSP

The Waters Rage and Foam

I went down to the Lake Aquila spillway to get some angling action in, and sure enough, the waters raged and foamed. But where was that Leviathan?

I went downstream to find him and set up on the bank; it was neat to cast into the swift current, though I didn't get any bites. Fish were jumping, though, in mid-stream and that was tantalizing. Maybe with the right surface bait I'd have caught something; or not, the water was moving fast.

Then, like a lazy submarine, a Gar moved into the bank and I gently lowered a hook-full of worm into the water. Perhaps this was the Leviathan, and sure enough, the Gar took the bait.

But Gar are curious creatures, they like to test the bait before they bite and that's what this one did. I played along and gave the fish plenty of line, and I thought I had him.

The strangely prehistoric creature surfaced and snapped angrily at the worm. Yes! He's on! I thought, and made to set the hook. Too soon. The fish sensed something wasn't right and dropped the bait, and that was that. A smaller hook would've done the trick, I think, but as with everything else, hindsight's 20/20.

A Gar

Still, I'm not complaining. It was good to get out and I enjoyed talking with the fishermen. One of them had brought a bow, to shoot the Gar. Maybe I should get one. 

Fish on,

LSP

Thunder Sleet

I thought Thunder Sleet was just a Scandinavian death metal band, but now I know better. It's a vicious weather front, and it moved into this small country town sometime last night. 

Blue Shredder

No one is outside and the only sound that breaks the eerie silence our once thriving farming community is the sound of crazed peacocks, far-off sirens and sleet, washing down on abandoned Dodge pickups.

Good idea, LSP, shoot the sleet.

Here at the Compound we're cleaning guns, loading magazines and roasting joints of meat. I'll drive to the trading post later, for news, barter and supplies.

Ammunition is our currency.

LSP