Know the enemy

I taught a class today for a Concealed Carry Handgun Certification, the student was an Imam. A series of unfortunate events culminated in a one on one class. He is an American convert to Islam. I have previously taught one of his Mosque. Both of these men, to all appearances, agree that the current method of war carried out by the radicals is seriously wrong, on every level. They are my friends, we have much common ground.

One of the precepts of Sun Tzu is to know your enemy as you know yourself. I am working on it.

These are reasonable men, they profess their faith, they study the Quran, they show no leaning toward mayhem. Each has mentioned the mindset being different here than in the Middle East. I’m not surprised. I mentioned the mental model carried over from the seventh century, and they agree.

An educational day for us all.

Serious Sack

These boys are carrying some serious clankers, brass ringing like a bell. Sweet mothers love, carrying on your daily routine in a normal manner while murderous bastards are tracking you to cut off your head.

Son of a whatever!

Check it out

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/pages/live/articles/news/news.html?in_article_id=433208&in_page_id=1770&ito=1490

Seen at Black Five

Moonshine

I come from a long line of distinguished entrapaneures, that means either there were no jobs, or they would do anything to avoid them. Coal mining in the thirties and forties would be a career choice to avoid. My daddy had gaggle of fairly rowdy brothers, who were prone to take up anything that would turn a dollar. The neighborhood being remote and the economy being shot in the foot, they turned to making moonshine. Folks will always have money for liquor, even if they don’t have money for anything else.

Daddy and the boys had to taste the brew so they determined to make good clean ‘shine, no radiators, or dead things in the beer box. Just grain feed, preferably sweet feed, sugar and yeast. For your daily lesson in alcohol production please make a note to purchase yeast for brewing purposes, bread yeast will work, or leaving the top off will work, but the end product will taste like spoiled bread. Yecch!

I have had moonshine from an old home made copper still with a wooden bottom. I have no idea why anyone would put a wooden bottom in a still. It was made with grocery store variety yeast, the liquor smelled horrible and tasted worse. It would, however, burn with a clear blue flame all the way to the bottom of a spoon. The burn in your throat and belly was another situation all together. That stuff was clear as water and would take the hair off your tongue like paint stripper. Whiskey gets its color and some flavor from aging in an oak barrel. In Ireland it must spend three years in wood, by law.

The talented distiller can cook off enough water with the alcohol to give you a buzz without pickling the surrounding organs in the process. My predecessors, I am proud to say, were very talented. The first taste of adult beverage to pass my lips came from the household supply of one of my uncles. We were going fox hunting. I and two of my cousins were along for the ride, and when we stopped to see if another dog owner would be along, the cousins dived over the seat, snagged the brown paper bag from the front, and we had a swig. I was twelve or so, and it was pretty tasty. I suspect my uncle knew we had a nip, and I also suspect he knew it was inevitable.

Daddy and the boys were, as previously noted, not to be trifled with. Trifling would result in bruises, or worse, no more ‘shine. Sobriety was a fate not to be contemplated, possibly worse than employment. The boys would visit the regulars and chat about every thing except drinking, and by the time they moved on, the customer would know where to leave the money, and pick up the product.

One of Daddy’s favorite stories told of heading out on a errand to deliver a couple of jars of refreshment. As he walked out of the holler, for you city folks that’s a small valley, a stranger cane down off the mountain and started a conversation with daddy. It turned out that the stranger was a revenue officer looking for some moonshiners in the area. Guess who. They walked along for a while as daddy allowed as he didn’t know much of anything. Eventually the officer pealed off and daddy went his way. He had two fifths wrapped up in a shoe box under his arm the whole time.

When I was growing up, all of us spent days at a time looking for their still, never found it, and if you ever tried to hide anything from kids you know how hard that is. It must be deep under ground, its not too far to carry sugar and grain, and has to be near water.
My oldest uncle was a bootlegger until the day he died. I expect the old still has collapsed by now, sugar prices ran the moonshiners out of business when the feds couldn’t. I still know of a few hardy souls who would rather make their own, they are few and far between. It can be bought but the price is high. I have the craft but haven’t learned the art. If I ever need to barter to survive, as I said people will always want their liquor.

I’ll bet you didn’t know the reason your milk jug has a snap on top, is to keep moonshiners from putting liquor in them.

Delivering Babies

Over the course of my life I have come as close to ushering someone off to their reward as I care to. Damn close a couple of times, just a couple of pounds more on the trigger and the world would have been a little cleaner. The perps in question saw the light, that would be the one right behind my eyes, and developed an acute case of good sense.

Problem solved.

With the possibility of taking someone out of this life, comes the desire to bring some one in. I have always wanted to deliver a baby. The poor sprout would probably be scarred for life if they looked up to see me as their first sight, good thing they squeeze their little eyes shut against the light. I guess it's a good thing after all that it’s never worked out. As the man said, close but no cigar.

I was on duty with the "X" and another girl from the squad, having dinner at Jose's diner, when the radio tones out our station. Boopsie (not her real name) tells us "twenty four year old female, very pregnant, contractions, in labor for five hours." They waited for five hours to call for transport? Why? We'll never know. At any rate the three of us hot foot it back to the station, pile in the unit, drive back around the block to the house across the street from our restaurant, and stroll inside.

Yep, we ran further than we drove.

When I get in the door I hear the call "in here". I peep in and see the mother to be, on the sofa, mid-contraction, nothing touching the sofa but head and heels. She looked like a fat rainbow. I grinned at her and said "Good one huh?" She looked up grinned back and said "Damn right" Loved her on the spot. I sat down and gave her two fingers to hold to and asked the questions, how close and how long? She said three minuets and lasting one minuet. So I asked, your first, nope she says, fourth.

Uh! Oh!

You about to have this child? Nope my water hasn't broken; when it does it will be quick.

Where is the stretcher? This is one of those hundred year old hysterical houses, built before any code, renovated a dozen times, but the hall is still too narrow to turn the cot. Bummer! I tell daddy to be, here hold her hand, he gives her four fingers, and commences to flop like a carp on the bank as she clamps down when a contraction starts.

I break the stretcher down, fold it up, and push it into the room, the girls aren't very mechanical. We load her up and whiz over to Stump Water General. The problem is good ole Stump Water don't deliver unless it's an emergency. Supper is gonna be cold.

After an examination by the ER Doc and the senior nurse we get permission to transport. While we are putting her on the stretcher, I look her in the eye and tell her, "If your water breaks on the way, they're gonna have me deliver the sprout, I'll have to look up your skirt you know." She looks right back and says”Honey, you might as well, every one in the county has looked up there tonight.” Now that’s a good sport.

We are up to warp speed quickly; with three girls in the back having a giggle fit over God only knows what. I am running lights and music and occasionally demonstrating the “Moses effect” with the air horn. The first time I hit the horn, MTB jumped so hard I thought she was going to get out and race me. We get to the Regional Hospital and Valet Parking Facility, and hustle her up to the maternity floor. We wave ‘by and head home.

Several months later I see her at the grocery store and get the rest of the story. The delivery Doc checks her again, just after her water breaks. She tells him it will be very soon. He being wise in the ways of babies disagrees. You haven’t dilated enough.

Jack**s, you were warned!

He started to leave and as an after thought, pulled up the tail board on the delivery table. When brainy boy was about two steps out of sight, daddy holds one knee while her mother holds the other, two contractions back to back, and baby is lying on the tailboard. I can just see what would have happened if the absent physician hadn't pulled the board. Yo-Yo on the umbilicus. Luck smiled and all was well.

Now occasionally I get screamed at from across a parking lot,”Hey, come look at your baby!”

I can only imagine what the church ladies are thinking.

An Event At Casa DW

My Darling Grand Daughter has a perpetually dirty face. It gives her more character than Winston -bloody - Churchill.

She is four, going on twenty, and desperate to do all those things that are TOTALLY needful to four year olds.

She was told to wash her face, or a fate worse than, I don't know what, would be fall her! She went to the restroom and cast about for water, being diminutive in the extreme, unable to reach the sink, she went for the only water available.

The toilet, God save us all, we can only hope it was clean

Queen Pelosi, Flying in a privte Jet.

The office of House Speaker Nancy Pelosi is pressing the Bush administration for routine access to military aircraft for domestic flights, such as trips back to her San Francisco district, according to sources familiar with the discussions. The sources, who include those in Congress and in the administration, said the Democrat is seeking regular military flights not only for herself and her staff, but also for relatives and for other members of the California delegation. A knowledgeable source called the request "carte blanche for an aircraft any time."

http://www.washingtontimes.com/national/20070201-122225-1157r.htm

Check this out.

Children, remember you heard it here first, our elected officials are fast becoming the New Royalty. Incumbents are almost impossible to unseat, some even pick their successors. What else would you call it? Their sense of entitlement is staggering!

The ego of these people is astounding. She has such a big head by now she can't get it in the door of a commercial flight anyway.

From the Drudge Report

What was that splash?

I mentioned earlier that the love of my life is a little, how should I say this, more determined than most. She will do "it" her way in spite of everything. In some cases she would open the gates of Hell and march right in, grab what she went after, turn up her nose at all and sundry, and slam the gates on the way out. Other times you get that look that says "You can't make me, and I dare you to try!"

Not me people, I like my head where it is.

I have made a wholesale lot of painful mistakes in my life, and learned from everyone of them. I have been trained why you shouldn't do a lot of other things. The end result is sometimes I will stop for a second before I do something stupid. I may do it anyway, but at least I have my excuses in place before picking up scars, rather than making them up after. I have been an operator for about twenty four years and know, there are always options.

The other day we were at the boat ramp. I made sure the plug was in, removed the tie down strap, released the winch, and got ready to float the boat off the trailer. The ramps in this area are fairly steep, the tidal changes of four feet, and some pretty large craft, require considerable depth at the end of the dock. The way the crew is supposed to assist, is just hold the bow line. I will take care of the rest. The love of my life was supposed to guide the boat to the dock. The boat weighs in at about two thousand pounds so it isn't going to stop unless its tied off or you apply a steady pull and slow it down. The fly in this soup is the piling about half the way down the floating dock. Bless her little heart and short little arms. The bride dropped the rope as she was working it around the piling, the boat is now free. She can't reach the rope, it's starting to sink, so she plops down on the dock and reaches with her foot. Short legs don't reach either. I have just, sort of, stopped. I tell her to stay out of the water.

Oh! That'll work,,,,,,,, not.

As I stated earlier the love of my life is very particular about her appearance, she would rather not be a spectacle. The morning we were heading out was fairly cool, but promised to warm up nicely later. She was wearing a sweat shirt and shorts over her bathing suit. The leather running shoes are already wet. I watched this unfold as if in slow motion, I am heading to the floating dock when, you guessed it, in she goes. Think wet cat.

She might read this so I wont say what went through my mind. I have been certified in water rescue for a long time, and I know the thing that kills is panic more than anything else. I'm making a plan as I run down the dock. So far this isn't a big deal, she can swim, or might if she were in a pool, but she has too many clothes on and she didn't hit bottom.Probably eight to ten feet of water at the end of the dock. She isn't panicking yet but it wont be long.She is doing a lot of disorganised things with her appendages, nothing to cause movement, just keep her nose out of the water. The first thing we were taught in water rescue is, don't get in the water with them. I sit on the dock and stick a foot her way, she grabbed it and pulled herself to the float, which is covered with barnacles. Razor lipped little mollusks, blood flows. She still has that, "I'm not thinking", look on her face. She was trying to climb straight onto the dock, not going to work, no claws. I told her to catch her breath, hold my hand, and relax, I've got you. I pulled her to the ramp so she could walk out. You could see the IQ points return when her feet touched bottom. She started to apologize for losing the boat, I told her it's alright, someone will be along, and they were.

Now when you are standing on the dock, dripping in a puddle, makeup running, it's not a mystery what has happened. The fact that the water was starting to boil away from her clothes would give pause to most folks. While we are waiting for someone to give a hand with the boat, another couple backs their boat in, the gentleman, elderly and wise, without a look in her direction, asks "fell in?"

Her reply, "Nope, jumped, actually."