Stormfront

It was just another day in Texas until the clouds rolled in, the air turned green, and thunder broke out like the guns of Kursk.

Rare Paved Road, Still Holding

Deluge followed, overwhelming this town's barely functional drainage system, turning potholed, half-paved streets into torrents of churning, muddy water. 

Typical Pre-Storm House.

Homes have been washed away, leaving their occupants to wander, dazed, through the trash-strewn wake of the flood, as looters pick their way through ripped Walmart bags and broken children's toys. 

Emergency Vehicle Park

The church still stands, a testament to the power of brick. So does the Compound.

We will survive this storm, as always, by the grace of God.

LSP

Horse!

For a horseman you sure don't seem to go riding very much, I thought grimly to myself, as I watched the sun rise over the Compound and the dawn chorus of crazed peacocks, roosters, bleating goats and growling pit bulls.

To set that right I headed off to J&P's ranch, not far from Slap Out. Slap Out's called "Slap Out" because the store there was always "slap out" of stuff to buy. I'd say that was still pretty much true, but J&P weren't out of horses.

Hobo

They had a barn full of Foundation Quarter Horses, including a mare sired by Dash For Cash, though I forget the various bloodlines, and a gelding, Lone Star Hobo. Good looking animals and I was hoping to ride Hobo, but his feet had been trimmed and couldn't be ridden.

One Clanking Spear And A Shotgun

I'll go back in a couple of weeks to try out Hobo and here's the thing. J feels he has to give his horses away, but they're a part of his life; that means he has to keep some. Solution? I get to ride the "some" left over, including Hobo.

Walk, trot, canter, gallop, RUN!

LSP

Gene Robinson Divorces, We Say Farewell

You whined, you cried, you cajoled, all the way, OMG, to the White House itself, until you had turned the church into a sexual pretzel. #Privilege

Some said you were like Gef, Great Britain's most famous talking mongoose, who claimed to be clever, the ghost of a weasel, a spirit, the eighth Wonder of the World; who could split the atom and produced a flow of swearing and strange boastful, ludicrous and blasphemous talk, and on one occasion claimed to be the Holy Ghost himself.

But it is over, now. Gene Robinson, the most famous gay bishop the world has ever seen, and perhaps will ever see, has decided to divorce his husband. 

The sun has set, Bishop Robinson, on your blockbuster movie, Love Free or Die. 

We say farewell, Gene, but you get ten out of ten coveted Alien Head Awards.

LSP

10X

Another Good Sunday

A crazed peacock was sounding off in the neighbor's backyard, roosters were crowing, goats were making the noise they do and it wasn't easy to collect my thoughts over the racket. But it was a good racket. "This place is turning into some kind of petting zoo," I thought, reflecting on the day's Gospel in which the risen Christ reveals Himself along the road to Emmaus and its terminus. He did so in Word and Sacrament; He does so today and therein lies the solution to Peter's cry, "Save yourselves from this crooked generation."

What a Disaster

Speaking of crooked, Gene Robinson, the most famous gay bishop in the world, ever, has divorced his not-so-life-partner, Mark. Hunh.

More seriously, LL is writing a series of "shorts", mostly fictional. But this one isn't; he calls it Hungry, I call it Let Them Eat Snake (sorry LL) and it starts like this:

It's impossible to communicate the nature of physical exhaustion to those who have not experienced it. There were three of us...

Do yourself a favor and read the whole thing here (it's short) and stay tuned for Solstice in Austin.

I Want This Building

That aside, the Missions were on good form, marked by fervency and reverence, not just for guns and horses, but also for Christ in the revealed Word and the Sacrament of the Altar. I always leave the Mass uplifted, here in the Missions; I tell you, I did so especially today.

God bless,

LSP

Nashotah Nasty

Trad Anglicans will be aware that Bishop Ed Salmon invited the Episcopal Church's (TEC) leaderene, Jefferts Schori, to preach at Nashotah House seminary. Nashotah House has stood for traditional, orthodox, Anglo-Catholic Christianity. Jefferts Schori stands aggressively for its opposite, to the extent of using some $40 million of church funds to sue conservative minded Anglicans for daring to break away from the gender diversity cult that has become TEC.

Criminal

So you can imagine the turmoil that Salmon's invitation caused among the seminary's conservative Trustees; Bishop Iker and Bishop Wantland, for example, resigned. Undaunted, Salmon persisted in the invite and sure enough, Jefferts Schori arrived at Nashotah this week and preached at Evensong.

Some call this a triumph of something called the "Pax Nashotah", which seems to consist of everyone just agreeing to get along, even though the one side is actively attacking the other, at law, to say nothing of faith and morals.

Deluded

Nashotah's Dean of Academic Affairs, Rev. Steven Peay, had this to say about Jefferts Schori's visit: "The idea that no matter where you come from, we are all one in Christ, and that's all that matters."

Nashotah House

Right on, Peay, have a good long pull on the corporatist Kool-Aid, but the problem is we're not "all one in Christ."  That's why Jefferts Schori is suing us; how can there be some kind of "Pax" with that? There can't and to attempt to live with it amounts, in the end, to capitulation to it. The two sides cannot co-exist. One is Christian, the other isn't.

It seems that Ed Salmon and what was once an orthodox seminary have opted for the side that isn't.

Bad Call.

LSP

Rural Ministry, Wooden Top Subpoenaed

Spot the Peacock

As I said Morning Prayer (1928 BCP thank you very much) I noticed a weird antiphonal noise coming from my neighbor's back yard. It sounded like a loud kazoo followed by a raucous "caw" and this went on for many minutes. Having a mind like a steel trap, I wondered if someone was taunting a rooster, with a kazoo. Hey, stranger things have happened. But no, there wasn't a kazoo and it wasn't a rooster, it was a peacock. 

VCC's Place

Curiosity satisfied, I drove off to visit a churchman, VCC. Years ago he chased off a crew of motorcycle hippies who were swimming in his stock tank. A shotgun was involved, which goes to show the wisdom of LL's advice, "Hanging around freaks when you're unarmed is ill advised." The hippies fled, probably back to their base in Austin.

Itasca

VCC's a good man and used to serve as a Crew Chief in an experimental Australian/U.S. helicopter unit in Vietnam, the "EMUs". After visiting, I went to Karen's in Itasca for breakfast burritos. Tasty as you like, is my verdict.

Karen's Authentic Mexican Food

In other news, you may have noticed that our errant android, Wooden Top, has been subpoenaed. Wooden Top is the U.S. Secretary of State, remarkably, and will now have to testify before a Congressional panel concerning the Government's role in the scandal that just won't go away -- Benghazi. Wooden Top has been told by Issa that the subpoena is "not a game." Let's hope so.

It's Not A Game, Wooden Top

More on the antics of America's rogue replicant later.

LSP

May Day Beltane

I celebrated May Day by driving to Fort Worth for a diocesan clergy day; we celebrated the Feast of St. Philip and St. James, Apostles, with a Solemn High Mass. I like that.

The Usual Hippy Goof-Off

Hippies wouldn't though. They're not down with the Mass on May Day, much less Apostles. They like Beltane instead, and when they're not too busy hustling for spare change and thieving, they sometimes band together and take over town centers.

Horned God

When they get there they usually just goof-off, maybe beat on some drums, dance around a bit, rip-off tourists, the usual. More together crews have a May Queen, a Greene Man and a Horned God, chances are they'll wig out to a fire rave too.

Wicker Man

Perhaps that seems innocent to you. I'll direct your attention to the Wicker Man, and while you're at it, if you have the energy, google Beltane Episcopal Church (TEC). Several stories if you care to write them.

Blessed May Day and Feast of Ss. Philip & James,

LSP

Lee Enfield Rising

So, LSP, what's up with the Lee Enfields? I hear you ask in that bated breath kind of way. I'll tell you, not much, that is until today. Here's the backstory.

After more sanding than I care to mention, I'd refinished and restocked a 1917 Mk. III. Being a cheapskate, I put an ATI rail over the action to mount an optic. Being a double cheapskate, I bought a second-hand Burris Fullfield for fifty bucks and put it on the rail. After 60 rounds or so the scope wouldn't adjust for windage and I thought it was broken, like the Church of England but less expensive. The scope lived on my mantlepiece for a year, looking outwardly sleek and deadly, but inwardly I knew it was dead. Until the other day that is, when I decided to drag it off its perch and give it a second chance in life.

I looked at the windage dial, which was absurdly adjusted full right. I winded it back to a place that intuitively felt right, maybe 150 clicks left, not that I was counting, and as I did, I noticed the reticle moving left. Windage worked, obviously. I boresighted, using a King James Bible as a rest, and sure enough, my instinct was right, the scope was pretty much on. Result. 

Turkey

Took the rifle to the range this morning and it shot well enough, achieving 1- 3" groups at 100 yards from the bench, using 180 grain Privy Partizan, which had an easy time of slicing through steel turkey. Not bad for a firearm that's almost 100 years old and certainly good enough for minute of hog. 

Shoot on,

LSP

Good Call, Wooden Top

Well, well, what's this? One of America's war droids, Senator John "Wooden Top" Kerry, has run amok. Accusing the state of Israel of being "apartheid" and racist.

On Holocaust Memorial Day. Way to go, Wooden Top.

Team LSP apologizes to Israel for the behavior of America's rogue android replicant, Wooden Top.

LSP

Monday Shoot

Empowered by a box of rare-as-you-like .22LR I drove to the range for some iron sights, off-hand plinking. First things first, shoot the miniature Dr. Pepper cans off the butts. It's fun when they explode, obviously, and I had their measure at around 50-70 yards. Then the Old Adversary, a steel plate turkey, which got a right telling off at 100 yards. Take that, turkey, and I like being able to hear the round connect. Plink. 

The Range

Then it was time for some AR fun and I practiced three round groups at 30, 50, 75 and 100 yards. Shot well at 30, unsurprisingly, and not badly at 50 -- pretty much 9/10 ring with a couple of Xs. Things spread out a bit at 75 and more so at 100 yards, obviously have to work at that. But what's the point, apart from getting out in the country, enjoying firearms and improving marksmanship skills?

Spurious Random Weber Shot

Imagine you're scouting along a trail, maybe through brush or mesquite, perhaps along a creek or a treeline, and there, all of a sudden, is your target. Maybe it's a coyote, or a hog, or a rabbit, and you have to take the shot. There's no time to rest on a truck, or on some kind of bench, or get prone, or whatever, so you have to shoot, standing up, fast and accurate (enough).

What?

A lot of people can't do that, especially with with iron sights (what if your scope breaks, eh?) and I think that's a mistake; surely it's part of basic skill-at-arms, and let's not forget, very satisfying to see the quarry go down. Not that I'm a particularly great shot or hunter, but still.

Shoot on,

LSP

A Good Sunday

Dick Harries Possessed by a Margarine Demon?

I've served in several dioceses where Anglicanism was pretty much new normal, i.e. tenuously Christian. In Oxford, for example, we were led by Bishop "Dick" Harries (how'd he get to be a "Baron" anyway?), who despite being a Green Jacket was possessed by a margarine demon. Then there was Jane Dixon (pro tem) and, and I won't go on. All fine, of course, if you're into praying to the Goddess, or walking labyrinths, or whatever neo-Unitarian, quasi-gnostic  nonsense you feel like inventing at any given moment. It's all OK if you're a Pelosianite Episcopalien, not so good if you're a Christian.

Bishop Iker, Good Man

So you can imagine my relief at having a bishop like Jack Iker; when he visits the Missions to Confirm and Baptize it's all good. The Word preached, the Sacraments administered and it's the Faith of the Church and I tell you, that's at a right premium.

Rare

Today's Confirmations went well, so did the Baptism. A parishioner gave me a "brick" of .22LR by way of thanks. Shooters will understand that that's not shabby.

God bless,

LSP

Country Life Dystopia I

Respect

This so-called "blog" is supposed to be about country life, instead of not-so-sly digs against the Axis of Gayness and its willing dupe ally, the Episcopal Church. So here's some pictures of country life, albeit when the cash runs out. See if you can guess/know where it is.

My Great Grandfather used to enjoy this resort, especially for its catfish. We owned a ranch near here; it was sold in the '70s. For Pennies in the Pound, my friends.

Rostrum

I remember collecting arrowheads, when I was a child. They were probably put there, to be discovered. 

Catfish

For some reason the resort lost traction and shut down, my Great Granddaddy's catfish restaurant with it. But it's still there, including the pool, which looks sinister and dangerous. It probably is. My Great Grandfather looked right Cherokee (location hint); he blamed most disasters on the godless Sov-Cubans.

Moral of the story; it's all fun and games till the cash runs out. After that? Look out.

We have three confirmations tomorrow. Pleased by that.

God bless,

LSP