Later

See you tomorrow morning....

Me, tired.

Stephen

Pinto Beans and Sausage

This cold weather is perfect for a huge mess of pinto beans and sausage. Cornbread with same is a given, I mean, duh.

I'm sure we all have our own recipe for this simple dish, but you haven't try,

This one.

And for goodness sake, try and find a good sausage.

Enjoy.

Stephen

Just for Little Bit

It is with considerable difficulty I write this piece. Yet, it's time. Bare with me.

Allow me please to step back in time. Years ago I decided to carry a piece of silver in my pocket. Silver, in whatever form, has been my luck, always.

A few months back, early of a morning, as I went about the routine of pants rotation, as is a man's way, I removed all the bits and pieces from my trouser pockets. Off came the belt, out came the Benchmade, the Surefire, all the loose change, wallet, and well you get the picture. Among these items was my 1880 Morgan silver dollar. (Remember I recently mentioned it.)

For some odd reason I placed it on my bedside table where it was forgotten. I had set aside my luck. Sadly, too, my luck forgot about me. Perhaps my subconscious substituted my silly dependance upon luck to the vintage silver bracelet and Navajo ring I wear daily. Anyway my luck didn't hold. Shortly afterwards my heart was taken from our lives.

Late last year, a few days prior to Christmas, I was piddling in the bedroom in search for something or the other when I brushed aside a loose piece of paper and found my Morgan. I gave it a flip and absently returned the old coin to my pocket. My luck came home.

To those long time followers of this blog you well know my dear wife hasn't seen, nor heard, and certainly hasn't held our grandchildren in almost two years. I'll not repeat the details of how they were ripped from our lives. If you have half a heart you truly understand the sorrow and pain.

She's prayed. Hard. I'm certain her pattela has formed a deep hard callus.

I'll always give credit where due. Certainly our dear Lord heard her prayers but I'd like to believe my old shiny and worn coin, the token of my superstitious luck, played a small part of what I'm about to relate to you.

My lovely wife spent hours in the selection of Christmas gifts for grandchildren she was certain she'd never again visit or allowed her love's expression. Even denied the pleasure of personal delivery of these Christmas gifts she spent hours at our kitchen table and wrapped the boxes with love and care. Out of her sight I'd stand silent and watch as she carefully dressed each gift. Sadly her labor fueled my quiet anger.

As deeply as she felt personal hurt and pain I was the same but with anger.Time developed within me a cold heart of stone. Prayer seldom if ever escaped my lips. I was yin to my wife's yang. I wished to hurt. They, had taken my love, my Little Bit. They, had refused to allow us to know and love our grandson. Many an hour I had sat and caressed my chosen tool of punishment. Wisdom held. Patience is a virtue.

(I guess by now you understand why this is difficult for me, this glance into my soul.)

Then came the eve of Christmas.

She asked if I'd attend the candle light service at her church. Her request came tender with big sad eyes. She knows me well. I am not of her faith but I do respect and believe in Him.

Allow me please another step back. Without the grandchildren in our lives we had settled into a comfortable routine, our daily lives became fairly normal in their absence. As husband and wife our love and respect for each the other grew. When the calendar flipped to December we agreed, silently, to place a hold on Christmas festivities. For the first time since I'd left the service of my country I did not purchase nor decorate a Christmas tree. Outside lights were banned. It was business as normal. After all, other than the birth of our Lord, we had nothing to celebrate. They were absent.

The holidays were, for us, dark and filled with depression. Any hope of a surprise visit from grandchildren was completely out of the question. With this in mind and with my knowledge of her depression I agreed to attend the candle light service. The peace of it was welcomed, and I do tend towards periods of moodiness and to see her smile and laugh would surely dispel my dulled anger.

Along towards sunset on Christmas Eve we loaded the children's gifts. As I drove towards church she said we should wait until after the service to deliver the presents. I absently reached into my pocket and touched the old silver coin, and said, "Let's do it before the service." She agreed. Just like that....

Luck and prayer took hold.

If we'd arrived a minute later we'd have missed them. My son had just, seconds prior to our arrival, returned home from work. He stood in the middle of his driveway and his wife was bent at the back door of her car securing our grandson into his car seat. Our son put on a face not unfamiliar to a deer caught in the hunter's headlight. Sweet Wife asked, "Now what?"  

"Be still and wait," I said.

I stepped from our car and opened the rear and took a armload of gifts and turned towards him and said, "Merry Christmas." He stood gap-mouthed. Then, I glanced over and there sat my Little Bit. She was in the back seat of her step-mother's car. She'd twisted around with only her big brown eyes visible and waved frantically. I waved back.

Sweet Wife appeared at my side and to our surprise and shock our daughter-in-law (She, the one person responsible for all this turmoil.) approached and threw a hug on Sweet Wife. Tears streamed down her face. Then Sweet Wife's dam of sorrow broke and there stood two women in a hard hug and then I felt my heart wrap her arms around my waist. So long, it had been so very long.

Little Bit released me and went to her Nana and gave her grandmother the first hug and kiss either had had in almost two years. My son still had not said a word. He had not moved. Our daughter-in-law then gave permission for us to visit our grand-son, Sport Model. She reached and took us both in her arms, an embrace that so shocked me I didn't know how to react. Then she said, "It isn't right for a family to go so long without speaking to each other."

As Little Bit held my hand we walked to their car and bent to visit our grandson. The little fella looked at me and pointed towards my face. Sweet Wife gave him a kiss and hug and then he pointed at his shoes, turned to her, and spoke the very first word ever uttered in her presence....he said, "Spiderman."

Every second or two I'd bend and give Little Bit kisses. I whispered over and over how much we loved and missed her. She's grown tall and thin. She seemed to me a frail and tiny bundle yet her pretty brown eyes flickered with joy. My last words to her, "You are the light of my life," I pray she remembers.  

Then it was over. They too were to attend a candle light service at their church. Then came another shock. Just before we departed my son shook my hand, hugged me and said, "I'm sorry about all this, Dad."  I replied, "Me too."

I extended a welcome for a visit. Told him we'd be home all of Christmas day. They were invited anytime even if for just a few minutes. He smiled and said, "Maybe."

On our drive to the candle light service Sweet Wife repeated, over and over, "Thank you, Jesus, oh thank you." Her face was a study in tears and joy.

Later, the lights dimmed and hundreds of candles flickered, held high, and I smiled. It was beautiful.

They say God works in mysterious ways. I'm but a mere mortal man so my thoughts on the subject of His actions are not important and still a mystery to me. Perhaps it was my new found coin of luck, or the Good Lord himself, or a combination of both, either way a crack has appeared in the dam, and my wish is for this flaw to deepen and grow and allow our family once again unity, and love.

Until that day we wait. Since the eve of Christmas we haven't a word.

(I post this piece without the effort of edit. Please forgive me any mistakes.)

Stephen










 
 

Thanks, and Welcome Aboard

Two new followers have joined the cast and crew of my humble blog. Here's a big thanks and welcome to Angela Lee and The Daily Smug. I'm sure many of you read The Daily Smug if not its linked on my sidebar.

Angela I promise to reply to all comments...to the best of my ability.

Again, thank you and welcome. Pull out a chair and let's have a cup. You are now among friends.

Stephen

Tommy

Tommy walks. He strolls from one end of this city to the other and back again, and this city is large. He's tireless. Tommy is short, stocky, and was put on this earth about sixty years ago. Today his dress is of vintage Levi jeans, with well worn jacket and a wool watch cap. From the moment he walks thru the shop door he talks a mile a minute.

"Stephen what 'ya got for sale I want a twenty-two rifle and a pistol and ammo too if 'ya got it where's your list of stuff for sale 'cause I want a gun and I really want a rifle for hog hunting and I need that pistol the last one you sold me my son took it home and didn't even ask me for permission....." Like that.

Tommy has lung power.

This morning, "Stephen I really need a twenty-two." I reach into the cabinet and grab a Marlin model 60 dressed with a cheap Tasco and hand it to him. It barely touches his hand when he said, "I'll take it."

Me, "Want to know the price?"

"How much?" I smiled at him. He's a figure in fidgety. Dances from one foot to the other. Reaches for a coffee cup and pours six sacks of sweetener into the brew, bounces towards the head and closes the door but continues his conversation over the sound of his tinkle, "I don't care the price but you know me I've always felt you're fair and I like you and you know me too. So how much is it?"

"For you, Tommy, one hundred dollars." It's a pretty little rifle, darn near new.

He shakes, washes his hands and steps back into my office. His brown line etched face a study in thought. Tommy scratches his butt and leans forward and taps me on the shoulder with, "Stephen I just gotta have another pistol, I mean I really need me a good pistol and a holster too if'en you gots one. You gots one, Stephen, a pistol?"

What he means is - have I one in stock cheap enough. Tommy doesn't work. He rides the government handicap system. Don't ask.

"Sure, Tommy," I reach for the pistol. "How's about this one." The handgun is a revolver, vintage, probably built back in the thirties. She's a .32-20. Nice old firearm. I give it over and Tommy snatches the pistol like a long lost lover and immediately tucks it into his jeans. Then, "Yes sir're this'n is fine and it feels good tucked under my sweater. I'll take it."

He sips a bit of coffee. I wait. He waits.

The phone rings. While I'm tied to it Tommy plays with the pistol. He twirls it, slips into a back pocket, swings out the cylinder and glances inside, snaps it back into place and aims out the back window. I replace the phone and said, "Want to know the price?"

"Sure. But, it don't matter 'cause I wants it." Really, this is Tommy speech.

I gave him a price. Even at Tommy's deep discount I'd normally stand to make a fine profit. I'm always careful with my 'Tommy prices.' He's special and if I give him any price above a hundred dollars he reacts as if bitten by a snake. Then, "You serious. That all. Hell yeah, I'll take it. Sold." He dances a bit and fist pumps. His little display of joy made my morning.

"Tommy, what are your plans for the handgun?"

"Hogs. I'm gonna shot me a hog. My friend Elmer and me is gonna have a hog roast up there in Callahan and we're gonna eat like pigs." I laughed and told him a story of a fella I knew that stood guard over a fire and pig for most of a long night. The next day when it came time to carve the pig the center was raw. Tommy near peed himself with laughter. "Well, when we roast a hog that sucker stays roasted. I bet that feller was a city boy."

He was.

I set a box of ammunition for the handgun on my desk and we agreed on its price too. You don't just run to the local Wal-Mart for .32-20. He again dances for joy. Then, "Hey, Stephen, listen here. Can you hold these for me until the third of next month when my government check goes into my bank? Ugh, can you? You know me, Stephen. I'm good for it. I really am. You know me, now don't 'ya.?"

Yes. I know Tommy. We've had this song and dance hundreds of times. I'll take the time to write out a slip for him with a total and the date of purchase and promise to hold the firearms just for him. Then, I'll shake his hand and place the items back into the cabinet and walk him towards the door. He'll hand me his empty coffee cup and then Tommy will always reach and give me a big hug. He's a sweet man that way.

The third of next month will come and depart and Tommy and his money will never arrive. Which is fine.

Tommy will be happy as he strolls the streets of this city with visions and dreams of his new firearms. His thoughts will be filled with a far away hog hunt with his imaginary friend. I sincerely hope he walks with a smile.

Stephen

Nah, Tell Me It Isn't So

The Great Recession is over, or so they tell us.

Don't believe the happy talk coming out of the White House, Federal Reserve and Treasury Department when it comes to the real unemployment rate and the true “Misery Index.” Because, according to an influential Wall Street advisor, the figures are a fraud.

Fact.

Save your pennies, folks. The road ahead isn't smoothly paved with gold.

Stephen

Cold Morning Coffee

Sorry I didn't write yesterday. Between yard work and my business and this and that my life is, at the moment, hectic. As it stands today seems like a repeat. I feel like an old dog in the endless chase of its tail.

Our weather has turned cold. My old floppy and worn thermometer reads thirty degrees. Wind chill is down there a ways....

Please forgive me if I've failed to leave a comment at your blogs. Trust me, I read. I just haven't the time, of yet, to finish my rounds. So many good blogs and me with only twenty four hours in a day.

Today I poured my first morning cup of coffee just after I unlocked the shops door. Placed it on my desk and when I returned the cup and liquid inside were slap-assed cold. Tried again. Distraction took place. Customers like to talk. Went in search of my second cup. Cold. I sat and drank the third. I'm mean without caffeine.

*****

Had a silver expert come into the shop yesterday. I know he was a silver expert because he told me. Said he was now to be considered the guru of all things shiny and silver and the 'go to' guy for advice on investments in the slick and wonderful metal. I asked how he gained such a formidable education as I knew him as a real estate salesman.

He puffed his chest and said he'd taken a three week crash course on silver and silver investments and did I have any questions as he was standing by to give his wondrous advice. I replied, "No, I've piddled with silver for over thirty years, kinda hit and miss, but thanks."

"Well," He said, "I'm an expert."

I reached into my pocket, easy and casual like, and took out a coin, placed it in his hand, and asked, "Think this is worth collecting?"

With barely a second glance he said, "Nah, these old silver rounds aren't worth much."  I smiled, took back my 1880 Morgan dollar and told him to have a great day.

It wasn't worth it....

Stephen