What A Good Day!

 

Every day is a good day in the great Republic of Texas, but today was especially good. Mass #1 went well in an early morning kind of way, and the Senior Warden surprised me afterwards, asking, "What're we going to do for the Feast of Mary in August, because we're St. Mary's." I looked at GH and he looked at me, a man of few words.

GH's Dad, Rest in Peace

"The Feast of the Assumption?" I asked, "That's right, August fifteenth, I reckon we should get together for a cookout the day before. Hamburgers."  Easy decision, "Good idea, let's do it."

And so we  have a plan. Just so you know, GH raises Polled Hereford's on the side and is a good man. I've spent many a happy hour shooting pistols with his father (RIP), against hay bale berms and shooting dove in season on their land. Big fun. Setup in a treeline behind some Mojo decoys and wait for the avian acrobats to brave the flak barrage of #8 shot.

Typical Texas Country Pistol Scene

Mass #2 went well too, with lots of kids, a mercifully brief LSP homily on the remarkable, moving, powerful miracle of Jairus' daughter being raised from the dead, maiden, arise, and then an outstanding potluck after the service. Slow cooked ribs, turkey, pulled pork and more sides than you could count. All delicious. Just a really enjoyable country church lunch after a spirited Eucharist.

Then, as everyone was enjoying themselves, the heavens opened and rain shot down with frontier intensity on the parked rigs of the faithful and the baked Texan land. Seriously, it was pretty much zero viz for an hour or two. 

A Random Firearm

It's raining now, though less furiously, and I like that, cools things right off and smells good to boot. You see, sometimes our old adversary The Weather is our friend. But Climate War aside, what a good day.

God Bless,

LSP

ICE

Was it celestial outrage over the British Army's new ad campaign, heavenly anger at the MillSoc antics of Moby and Sean Penn or just our old enemy, the weather, getting back at Texas for failing to pay a tribute tax? Who knows but for whatever reason, ice began to fall from the sky last night.

Apocalypse

It started off as freezing rain, driven by icy blasts of bonesplitting wind that swept the porch as though it were the open bridge of a ship in a winter gale. Then the rain turned to ice, followed by tiny shards of snow. 

Sure, if this was Calgary everyone would be heaving a sigh of relief at the warmth of it all but this is Texas and -9+ is something to be conjured with, to say nothing of Sky Ice.

Eschaton

The day dawned to a scene of frozen stasis. Nothing moved except a man and a blue dog on their way to the Pick 'n Steal, which was miraculously open. Then it hit me, an epiphany or eureka moment. Go to Walmart and buy a butt roast and slow cook that porcine beast until it's fall off the bone tender. And that's what I did.

The End of The World

Walmart was empty, you could fire off a canon and not hit anyone, but the pork was there. It's rubbed and ready for the Compound's oven, while we clean weapons, load magazines and dare the Weather to do its worst.

Invictus,

LSP

In The City

So Where's this so-called "Ghetto"? Oh yeah, here it is.

Some say, unless they're determinists, that life is made up of a series of freewill choices. That's true for human beings and perhaps it's true for cities also. For example, Dallas had a choice, once. "Am I going to be a city, or a road?" It opted for road.

I was reminded of this today, as I drove across Dallas to visit a friend on the M Streets. I RV'd at his place and we set upon some low and slow pulled pork like there was no tomorrow. I tell you, that pork was as tasty as you like and better. 11 hours in the cooking and worth every minute.

On The Road

After the delicious pig it was time for some firearms show and tell. Some neat wealthy elite shotguns, a nice Winchester 70 30-06 and a Desert Eagle all featured. I'd never handled a Desert Eagle before, what a canon. Are they made out of re-purposed car parts? I don't know, but I like the myth.

A Book

Then books. "Do any of you read Latin and Greek?" asked my friend. "I'm an expert," stated GWB and I replied that I was "a bit rusty." Too bad, because M Streets was giving away a stack of the stuff, but you had to be able to read them. As it is, I settled for some translations. Thanks, Penguin Classics.

So that was that. Thanks for the hospitality, M Streets. A return match at the Compound is definitely in order.

And now for the debate.

LSP 

Sunday Hunt

I'd no sooner recovered from the pleasurable ministry of gun blessing, than a friend turned up from Dallas to go hunting. Nothing fancy, just an evening attempt to call coyotes.

So what happened? That's simple; we loaded up my truck, headed out to the fields, got into cover downwind and started to call. But the coyotes weren't buying, unlike the frogs, which were. Too bad we weren't on a frog hunt.

That's not to say the wiley beasts weren't there and we did hear a distant pack, yapping and howling into the night. Then, as we were loading back up to go, a lone howl cut through the starlit night, not too far away, though distances can be deceptive. Should we stay or should we go?

We left, and got a bite to eat at Dickey's BBQ Pit. This is a chain that started in Dallas and it serves "Q", which is fine by me. They were playing Waylon & Willie, which is also fine by me, as was the pulled pork sandwich, mac & cheese, and fried okra that I decided to buy.

"What's your special?" my friend asked Dickey's.

"Everything," Dickey's replied, impertinently.

You see, Dickey's does not have a Sunday "special" though your kids can eat there free, one per adult, if they're under 12. 

Ponder that.

LSP