The rifle was somewhat off and it took several rounds to finally see that we need to shoot high. Neither of us was exactly sure how to raise the sight, so he has some research to do. He did finally get it hitting the center of the target by aiming at the top of the black instead of the middle 10-ring.
So, back at mom's, no one knowing the difference, he's on his hands and knees riding his granddaughters around mom's living room. Don't ask...don't tell!
Jeff had stayed up late grading school papers and goofing around with his camera, so when the phone rang at about 9,
I checked in and met Jeff in the canteen area, where we shared a quick breakfast. He told me how his buddy’s had invited him to come to the big Civil War gun show. Three of the original 5 made the trip, driving all the way to
However, it was well worth the short trip from Harriman to see Jeff.
We’ve become fast friends over the past couple of years and it was good to get to share time, a beer, and a cigar with him, without having to wait a whole year.
After eating, we headed for 
tables in 4 buildings, and thousands of buffs, reenactors, and others like us that were just curious!
As you can see from these photos, there were plenty of lookers, and again, let me emphasize…the place was huge!
Jeff just had to touch a few of the long rifles he lusted over for years, and even took a few chances on a “give-away” drawing.
The buffs and reenactors take this kind of show and their other annual meetings and war games, seriously. Most dress the part, in full North or South uniform, with their wife or girl friend wearing period Victorian dresses, full 
petticoats, and bonnets! Jeff and I would love to have dressed the part too, but we decided there weren’t too many fat soldiers…in any war for that matter! And, if there were, they probably didn’t last too long on the battlefield!
At one table Jeff finally found a “shootin’ iron” his size!
We took a lot of shots, but with the flash off, so as not to draw attention to ourselves! Some folks get a little paranoid when you whip out a camera at a gun
show. Some get even more upset or antsy when you pick up their $4,000 rifle and pose with it! Jeff said, “I got is standing on my shoe.” However, the vendor didn’t feel a bit more comfortable!
I thoroughly enjoyed the show. I saw things I’ve read about or have seen in magazines, so it was good to get to touch and smell some of the history. Some of the things were a little out of place, like this 1930’s KKK hood and robe, but, still it was 
good to see real American history first hand! They only wanted $950 for it!
One little old lady behind one of the tables eyed Jeff’s t-shirt and remarked, “What does that shirt say?”
“It says ‘Thin the herd’ ma'ma,” Jeff explained.
“I don’t know if I would want to sell you anything or not!”
“Aw, he wouldn’t harm fly,” I said!
Well, we walked until we got the dreaded “gun show legs and back” and decided to head downtown
We both got the chick fingers smothered in a Jim Beam, maple syrup, and pecan sauce. The sweet tasting chicken sat atop a pile of coleslaw and green apple sticks! It was yummy, but we did eat a lot of chips to cut the sweet 
about half way through the meal.
Across the street, Jeff spied the famous Ernest Tubb Record Shop and wanted to go in to look for some Black Keys! As he raffled through the CDs, I broke the news to him…”You ain’t gonna find no Black Keys in here…it’s all country!” But again, it was fun looking around at all the memorabilia and other country music related objecto-de-artoes!
When we got back to the fairgrounds, the line for tickets at the “regular” modern gun show was short. At one time it had stretched for nearly a hundred yards, someone said, so we got tickets and went inside. Luckily this show was housed in only one building, so we made the rounds in about an hour and left.
Back at the motel, we lounged in Jeff’s room for a little while, snapping photos of each other, and watching the SEC Championship game. We stayed there for a couple of hours, still full from our sweet lunch, but around 6:30 we decided to go out and hunt a sports bar and finish the game there with beer and cigars.
We drove east down 
airport, some five miles or so, and then started back toward the motel. Finally, we spotted a big sign that said “Out of Bounds”, and under it “Sports Bar & Grille”, exactly what we had in mind!
We were greeted at the front door by a nice little black gal, who seated us on the bar level overlooking the large restaurant, and right next to a table of 3 young well dressed black men. A waitress, an even nicer looking black girl, came and took our order, and then handed it off to the black girl tending bar.
It wasn’t until the old black wino, with very large bucked teeth, staggered over to our table that we figured out we had happened upon a neighborhood “sports bar” frequented by mostly black folks.
The fact that we were in a predominately black bar did not bother either of us. As a matter of fact, no one was staring at us, or seemed upset that we were there, and anyone who looked in our direction smiled and nodded at us. What was bothering us was this poor old guy standing before us talking in some secret “wino language” that neither of us understood. Had we been able to follow his conversation (make that one-sided conversation), we would have been very comfortable in swapping jokes, and answering his questions with some lies – but we couldn’t follow him…no one in the club could have I’m sure!
He was saying something about football, and gesturing something about how tall Jeff was, but I wasn’t sure. I thought, at one point, he asked me to buy him a beer, and I promptly said “NO.”
To which he replied, “Otay…I’ll buy huh un,” and proceeded to pull out his wallet. The billfold was packed with money, so he wasn’t a real bum, but he seriously needed to spend some of that money on some diction lessons!
He pulled out a 10-spot and said, “Raise yo han!” I figured out that was the accepted method of summing the barmaid, but I refused to hold up my hand!
Thankfully, the young manager came over and began persuading the man to move on and leave us along, but not before mistaking the man’s 10-dollars for ours! We explained that it was his, so the manager moved on to getting him away from us. After a little coaxing, he finally did move on, and a couple of the guys sitting near us said, “He’s harmless…don’t worry ‘bout it!” Obviously he was a regular to the bar and folks took care of him, and he had even been cut-off by the bartender!
We informed the manager that we were fine and that we intended to continue our business with him, at least for a couple of drinks.
I have always enjoyed how black folks party, and interact, and I was not intimidated in the least by the loud animated fun loving crowd. We watched as
At one point, over Jeff’s shoulder, I saw the old man take a tumble from the steps leading down from the bar to the restaurant level. He rolled up into a tight ball and tumbled over to the entrance. I think I was the only one who saw him, and I didn’t want to make a scene by shouting, “Lookie over there…there he goes!”
So it was mine and the old man’s secret. He pulled himself up as quickly as he could (Mr. Bo Jangles played in my head), and shook himself all around, and made a gesture with one arm that made you know he was saying “Damn, I missed it!”
Back at the motel, Jeff and I shared a couple Chavis Regal drinks, watched TV and talked. It’s something that Jeff and I share; a comfort that allows us to share our inner thoughts, fears, and hopes like brothers. Jeff is good people and I lov’im…like a brother.
Sunday morning came, cold and with a bright blue sky. Denise had called, being just 20 minutes away, and so Jeff called and woke me. I showered and met them out front, and, after punching in “nearest Cracker Barrel” on my truck’s GPS, we were off.
I ordered the new sausage “Fireside Country SkilletsTM”, and enjoyed a couple cups of coffee with Denise and Jeff. I could tell they were both tired from Friday’s drive down, so I worried about their drive home. However, they seem to take long drives and sleep deprivation in stride…still young, you know!
Thanks brother for the great weekend in
At home, I found
The last I heard from Jeff was from an outlet mall somewhere near
There seemed to be a pervasive fear among most of the attendees that the President Elect, Barack Hussein Obama, would soon come looking for their guns! One vendor was even warning people to now buy all the ammo, clips, and weapons they wanted/needed and hide them! Is it really going to be that bad?
No, not that kind of “beer bat,” just a separate encounter with each last night.
It has been very cold here of late, but no snow, just temperatures in the teens, and wind chills in the single digits, and a long icicle hanging above Baylee’s water bowl. Burrrr…looks cold, don’t it!?
I pulled a soft round package of pork tenderloin from the refrigerator last night and prepared to cook it to go along with our still baking sweet potato. However, when I zipped my knife down the side and rolled the meat out on the cutting board, I noticed that there were some bones! Bones? There ain’t no bones in a port tenderloin!
That was the first time I read the package…PORK RIBLETS! Heck fire…it looked like a roll of tenderloin when I tossed it into the buggy!
What the heck…I cut it in to 6 inch long pieces and cooked it just the way I would have the tenderloin. I couldn’t take it back now, so I might as well cook it, and if we don’t like it, Baylee will!
I poured a cold Yuengling into the Molson glass I walked out the Fallsview Casino & Resort in 
soft bones and we were all happy and good to go for the evening.
I then settled in to visit some blogs and leave intelligent comments, when Judy came flying in the computer room, “There’s a bat in there!”
“What?”
“It’s another bat, and don’t tell Katie,” who was by then taking a shower.
This was the second time we have had a bat in the house. They live, by day, along the bottom of the vinyl siding, and somehow they work their way up into the fireplace…best I can figure, and fly out into the living room looking for a place to get out.
The first time, it was spooky…something fell in the living room after lights out! There I was walking through the living room to the kitchen in the dark, Bersa .380 stuffed full of Hydra-Shoks! I kept feeling something blow on my hair! I turned on a light, and there was the bat fluttering around, just missing my head with each circle.
I grabbed a broom and made a few “swings and misses” and then thought to open the French doors that lead to the deck. After bumping him/her a time or two, I succeeded in directing it out the opening.
Last night’s encounter took a little longer, but nothing was knocked off and broken like the last time. Judy ran and closed all the bedroom doors and I succeeded in hemming it in the living room and dinning room area. I swung and missed twice (sorry no photos), then remembered the deck door. After opening it, I took up a batter’s stance and swung one last time; tipping the bat into the side of the couch. The bat
tumbled to the floor and with one hockey like swing; I scored a goal through the French door!
The bat lay there exhausted and I closed the door and turned off the porch light, and took several deep breaths myself.
After stuffing some small towels in between the fieldrock wall and the fire-screen, I took another look outside. The bat was gone, but did it fly away or did one of my owl buddies get him?
So, I decided to have that third Yuengling!
I answered a couple of emails from Lin and Jeff and went to bed. I figured I would dream about bats all night, like I do when I watch things about snakes, but I slept peacefully all night. Must have been the beer!
mail, it hit me – I did not even “carry” these last five years! What a fool am I!I once came into the house, gasping for air after having mowed our lawn with a push mower. I must have turned a magic age or something, but I went the next day and bought a riding mower. I made myself a promise – I will never be found dead lying behind a push mower. If it’s behind a mower, it will be a riding mower that I’ve suffered a heart attack on and fell off backwards!
The same should apply to this “canceled carry permit” in my billfold. I promise never to be found dead from a crazy’s gun shot, with my Concealed Carry Permit in my wallet and my weapon in the truck or at home!
I intend to get my money’s worth the next five years!
I third this emotion:
I'll add that I'm pretty sure that nobody in the
Watch out crazies…I have no qualms about popping a cap or two (double tap) in your stupid ass!
CLICK HERE
to check out the
"Vietnam Security Police Association, Inc. (USAF)"
We take care of our own! |
Also check out Footnote.com!
