Autumn

Autumn
Showing posts with label time. Show all posts
Showing posts with label time. Show all posts

Friday, July 31, 2015

Please Stand By

Soon as I get a chance I'll tell 'ya about my trash treasure....at the moment time doesn't allow.


Mailman is here...and now he's gone. We do not share friendly smiles. His fault.

I'm grumpy this morning. Need to jerk another cup of coffee.

Later,

Stephen



Monday, July 27, 2015

Whupped

More tomorrow. I'm whupped. It has been a very long day.


It's time to relax...

Oh, she passed. Missed three questions. Told her she was slacking off and not to allow it again...

She popped me upside the head.

Stephen

Friday, February 7, 2014

Perhaps a Good Book

Just outside my office the tinny rasp of rainfall pounds the old metal canopy above the window. The clock over my head pounds the seconds insistently against my wishes. Business is slow during the early hours. It's cool and wet and why slip the blanket when the bed is warm and you've company with which to snuggle.

So, here I sit. I cannot rouse my muse. She is slow to wake which makes my morning, here in the half-light of this office, all the more quiet as the seconds tick my storage of life's calendar.

I need a book. Preferably one which I haven't as yet read. There is the Kindle but I want paper bound in clothe with perhaps the perfume of age. I have such but its located miles to the north and out of my reach. Tick, tick, tick.

The steady beat of time, sucks.

Stephen


    

Wednesday, February 27, 2013

The In Between

If you've ever served the public you are aware business arrives in waves, surges. As much as I love monetary infusions it's those brief lulls I like the best - the in between of silence. Like now.

If I sit still and cease this tapping of the keyboard my mind is filled with ticks. I have three clocks in the shop. Two in my office and a third on the main floor. One is located directly behind my head upon a low shelf. Its an old Westclock of cream with a gold band around its face, a Big Ben model of unknown vintage. I give her a twist twice a day, gently. She's load.

Between me and the main floor, just above and in front of my desk hangs another large faced clock, a gift from a now deceased friend. I don't like it, yet there it hangs with its moment by moment indications of time. Its face has birds instead of numerals. A House Wren is forever preached at 1600. I'm locked between the Audubon monstrosity and the grace of the classic Westclock.

So here I sit between the tick, tick, tick. If I listen carefully the lone timepiece from the shop's floor intrudes too. Its white dial is fed daily by signals far away. It keeps perfect time. She keeps a steady beat, the drummer to a band of three, as each marks the moment to the end of my life.  






Stephen

Tuesday, August 14, 2012

Bits & Pieces

Just glanced at the calender and realized it's about two weeks until September. Where has the time gone. The old adage is true, you know the one, time and age. Trust me.

Speaking of age, my best friend, Duke, has posted an excellent article on age and tools. Sally forth and read.

*****

I'm not sure why but every now and then I have an urge to clean firearms. This weekend I walked out to the garage to do just that, clean guns. One thing lead to another and I found myself cleaning debris from my reloading bench. Three hours later I finally had two rifles cleaned and a few hundred extra rounds of ammunition I found under the clutter. Don't you just hate it when you find five extra boxes of ammo you weren't aware you'd purchased and had forgotten.

Guess it's time to sort ammunition.

*****

Billy just left the shop. He's a funny fella. He'll walk in and say something like, "Hey, Stephen, you got any guns for sale?"

I'll say, "Sure."

Him, "I'll take it. How much?"

"Don't you want to look it over?"

He'll throw a smug smile on his face as always, I mean, always, and say, "No, just give it to me."

He left with a Hi-Point C9. Just stuck it into his back pocket and paid with cash, just like that...

As he walked towards the door he yelled, "Hey, next time I want a pump shotgun."

"What price range?"

"I don't care."

For real....what's not to love.

*****

Late Sunday night Sweet Wife's back went out. She's always had a problem with her lower back. Pain like you wouldn't believe. 0400 found me driving her to the emergency room. I practically had to carry her from the house to the car and when we arrived at the hospital, to emergency.

Nice young nurse escorted us to one of their rooms. We waited. Two and a half hours later a doctor, nice older lady, came inside and examined her. Said, "Oh, my goodness, you must be in some awful pain."

Doctors, they're bright you know.

Hung an IV. Pain didn't diminish. We waited another three  hours. (side note here...never forget your Kindle) Doctor returned. She took one look at Sweet Wife's face and said, again, "Oh, my goodness, you must be in awful pain." Six years at University and several of residency makes for a very bright doctor.

Get the picture.

They gave her a shot of morphine. Wrote scrip for muscle relaxers and pain medication. The doctor left and we waited. Remember, we'd arrived at 0400. Five and a half hours later and we were on our way out the door. 

As I helped Sweet Wife to our car she turned to me and said, "Thank you for not losing your cool in there....I'm proud of you."

"Well," I said, "It isn't cool to shoot doctors in confined spaces, there's no place for them to hide."


They told her to take the day off....


*****

Hey, time for work. Take care out there.

Stephen


Thursday, May 17, 2012

Gray Day

I hear thunder. Our weather is overcast, gray. I like thunderstorms; it's odd how they gentle my mind.

I've just built another pot of coffee and am giving due consideration to a granola bar I've stashed for just this occasion.

Business is slow which doesn't help my awful depression.  I can't allow my thoughts to turn inwards. I need to stay busy. Black thoughts would lead to trouble and will not help with the situation. I know this, yet, it takes all my willpower and self-control to just wait, and wait, and wait.

At one point, this morning, my keys were in hand. At the last second I called Sweet Wife. She said, no. I obeyed.


I read a few chapters in my current book, rise and throw it down and pace. Its words hold little value for me. I turn to the window and stare.

This thunderstorm should help. Then again, its nothing more than a bandaid.


Stephen