A Dixie Carpetbagger

Happy 235th! To all of the Marine Corps brotherhood– those serving, retired Marines, and those who are no longer amongst us– I have to say “Thank You” and Semper Fi.

Genes or environment? Who’s to say. It’s both, it’s neither, it’s something we can only watch in wonder. But whether they are like us, or simply their own person, we see something in them. — Brigid

This weekend, I began the slow process of catching up on yardwork and getting the place ready for winter.  At one point, I sat down to sip some water and looked down to check that my bootlaces were still snug… and I stopped, stunned.

I saw my father.  The perfect crease running down the insides of my work pants (2 o’clock on the left, 10 o’clock on the right), the way I looped the laces over the grommets, even the particular scuff marks on the toes, made when you ride the clutch just so on a machine.

I saw my father… I do all these thing, and have done all of these things… but in an instant, I saw all the little touches and tricks he showed me.  I saw the things I’ve begun to do– some of them without thinking about them– to emulate and honor him.  The way I’ve begun to set tools in a certain order in a toolbox, the way I’ve begun to chuckle more, the way I’ve begun to stand up for myself and others more…

I saw my father.  I realized I’ve begun to do that particular “thousand yard stare” he used to do, when he began thinking of “the old days.”  I’ve begun to have silent times, when I just think, with no music, no noise, no talking around me.  I saw the way he brooded over things, planned and plotted and moved things into position just so… and the way he (almost!) obsessed over some things.  I see the paternal streak in me, that has now fully matured– it advises, it recommends, it suggests… but it doesn’t attempt to control.

I saw my father.  I see now the urge he felt to have a family, to build something that would outlast him.  I see the passion he felt towards his sons, what he wanted for us.  I hear his cautionary warning: “she’s nothing like my mother!”  And I understand what he meant…

In all this, I saw my father.

I’ve talked about RangerUp and their T’s (none of which I own… yet), but I haven’t talked about 7.62 Design yet.  When I was at the airshow back in April, I picked up a shirt from one of their retailers– more specifically, the “Superior Firepower” shirt.  I check back every so often, looking at their new products, and they’ve come up with one I want, badly– “Doomsday Damsel.”  Let’s see– hot babe, zombie/disaster theme, nice selection of firearms… and an axe.  Yes, please…

And remember, black goes with everything… (chuckle)

Dixie – I like the flag. Careful posting it on a Yankee blog though.

Right about the time you read this, I’m going to be finishing up a stint in my university’s library, digging through the stacks while trying to find some source material for a term paper.  You see, I foolishly let my Civil War and Reconstruction professor know I knew about the Republic of West Florida and the Bonnie Blue Flag… and now I’m doing a term paper on that subject.  (Please note: this is the same Doctor who first tied Toussaint L’Ouverture to the Civil War, so me tying the Republic of West Florida in with the War Between the States has him excited.  Beware excited history professors!)

Please note: geek that I am, I got sidetracked and spent an hour doing research between the last line and this one.  But it was productive…

I am finding out, though, that the Bonnie Blue Flag has… negative connotations to some people.  (shrugs)  I use it as a symbol for state’s rights and libertarianism, not for the Confederacy.  You know, maybe if the Yanks hadn’t a’ gone all annexation-happy, we wouldn’t have this problem…

Robb and Miguel are carping about the weather.  I have something to say about that, but give me a second, I need some props.

Dixie drags out a soap box and stands on it, insulated socks poking out from under the bottom of his flannel pants and housecoat.

It was 31 degrees last night.  Without the wind chill.  Humans aren’t well adapted to living where water freezes.  That goes double if you have to wake up in the middle of the night to pee.  (Because you were drinking coffee and hot cocoa all day, natch.)

The worst of it is the fact that this winter, I’ll go out into this weather for fun.  I’ll wake up pre-dawn, climb into a blind, pray Bambi (or one of his relations) shows up, then hope I can feel my fingers to shoot.

Imagine my surprise when one of these appeared out of nowhere while I was driving through a downpour Wednesday and flashed his lights at me.  No, he didn’t stop me, he just wanted me to get out of his way so he could return to warp velocities.

Too bad he didn’t stop at the next rest area, because I’d have loved to get a few pictures with them.  Maybe I could have even talked them into letting me take a picture of me in cuffs, being pushed into the back seat…  Oh, yes, that would have made for the perfect leftist bait…  1. Send picture to university paper staff.  2. Wait for leftists to begin howling about Border Patrol.  3. Release picture of Smiling Dixie and Border Patrol agents.  4. Enjoy the backlash against newspaper staff.

Good riddance to bad rubbish… and here’s to him not being brought back…

All I have to say is…

Six years ago, I voted in my first election and pulled the lever (actually, filled in the little bubble, but, hey, apparently many of my fellow Floridians can’t figure out them there complicated votin’ machines) for Mel Martinez for Senator.  He turned out to be just shy of a disaster, who resigned early (to become a lobbyist!) and was replaced by Pepe LePew George LeMieux, he of the never-ending emails.

So, I pulled the lev… err, filled in the bubble for Marco Rubio with just moderate hopes.  At the very best, I was hoping for a kinda-likable guy who wouldn’t burn the country down until 2016.  Then he goes and does this:

(Blinks)  What?  Actually agreeing that people with (R) behind their names could share in the blame?  Talking about American exceptionalism?  Invoking God’s name?  Maybe this guy won’t be a forgetful ass when he gets to Washington…

Oh, and as far as President Rubio?  Please, please, I beg you, rest of the country… don’t open a vacancy… Charlie Crist might wrangle his way into it…  You can have him in 2016.  Maybe 2022.

(H/T iOwnTheWorld)

The are times in all of our lives when we have to acknowledge that things around us have been set up just so.  The majority of those times, it’s because we have just walked into a divine ambush, and the deer-in-the-headlights look on our face perfectly mirrors our inward surprise.  We all know a situation we’ve been in that fits the bill– you make a snap decision to go to a new restaurant, and you run into an old friend you haven’t seen in years.  Or you decide to take an alternate route and enjoy the scenery, and you come upon a motorist that needs your help.

I’ve been in two of these situations recently.  First one was all related to my getting back into dating– I was having second thoughts.  I’m busy, I don’t want to go through this rigmarole again, and… then every single song relating to dating begins playing.  The old country songs that deal with bad breakups and ex-girlfriends and new relationships, pop and rocks songs… all of them, in strings.  Some of these songs haven’t been on the air in years… and suddenly, they’re on the radio constantly.  Message received– get out there, or you’ll never get back out there.

Then I read where Miguel lost his Feline Overlord and companion of 18 years.  That got me to thinking about how long it’s been since I was oppressed under a little furry paw.  So, just to look, I went to Petfinder and typed in my zip code… and the first two kittens were named Ruger and Sig.  Yep, not exactly subtle, but pretty certain that’s a bit of a sign The Wolf’s Lair is about to have small feline paws scampering about.

Well, at least I’ll have someone to cuddle with, one way or another… (chuckle)

I love to tell the story
of unseen things above,
of Jesus and his glory,
of Jesus and his love.
I love to tell the story,
because I know ’tis true;
it satisfies my longings
as nothing else can do.
Refrain:
I love to tell the story,
’twill be my theme in glory,
to tell the old, old story
of Jesus and his love.