Whomever this is needs to be given a medal, a parade, and a tiara. A golden bacon sprigged tiara.
I’ve had a hectic holiday month and found it nigh unto impossible to do this thing while taking care of everything else…and rather a lot has gone on…
But the thing I know most will be curious about – just how does that damned Five-SeveN shoot? Well, I will spare you the obligatory shooter stance picture – my call sign will have to be Short Round. Instead, we can take a look at the first shots. From, I think, 75 ft…
It was a tad high so we dialed it down a bit. I had a few issues with that expectation thing – breathing, aiming, squeezing so that it is a surprise…I had to settle into it. That is why I like the weight of the 1911 – it keeps things neat and tidy, reaction-wise. This thing is light as a bird and wants to flit around.
Its grip is wide. I’d say it was almost too wide for my hobbity hands but so nicely checkered that I can manage.
I was shooting some very fine rounds – they are jewel-like in their box. Special, I only tossed a dozen or so at the target and a few evil bowling pins. I’ll have to get some lesser quality ammo for future practice.
Let’s see the pins, shall we? The front…yes, those tiny little vampiric pricks…
And the back…these were some rather gnarly free range pins, all soggy and nasty, so I am not certain the real impact is reflected here. We hope for a feral hog to show itself and we might then get a better idea.
Now, I know some may be concerned for the level of lethality of this thing – so goes the general chatter online. But they forget that the bad guys are all donning the vests, now. Every southern – er – family army(of which an especially evil version resides very nearby) is better trained and geared up than most police forces. If they choose to make me a target, I intend to be at least as well-provided for as they are. Hopefully, better.
Let me see if I can express the way the thing shoots…it is very like shooting a plinking .22, yes. But with a real *crack*. It is a cinch to get back on target shot after shot as there is little muzzle rise. And what I really liked was that it is easier to perform ye olde trigger reset than I’ve ever known. Almost instinctually set for it, if that makes sense. All my other weapons I have to give it thought – I do not shoot often enough for it to be muscle memory. This one just…works…
I have to say – I am very pleased, indeed, even if Trooper used all the egg money to get the damned thing. How can you stay mad at a man who gives you such a lovely gift? Now, I just have to get Kirkpatrick on the line for a new holster – I love their Texas Strong Side version and got two for the 1911. A lady has to color coordinate, after all!
Now, I just need to think of a good nickname for the thing…
“Once upon a time when we all lived in the woods…”
So starts a book that I read infrequently but the words remain imprinted. Faery tales, legends, truths and lies from the moment man looked from sun to moon and wondered how and why…those things were once my diet, whole. The same story, over and over, with local embellishments for flavor. And every one of them thinks they have the only answer.
“I see the first ones lately much more clearly
Spilling blood along the turning ground…”
There is so much window dressing on the myths that it is impossible to see the original. It became so confused when man decided to use it – to become the intercessionary. I was a precocious child. I needed my own answers and one tome led to another so that I could peg a thing – a symbol – from its innocent beginning to its warped tenet. It was important to me that I know. No mysteries permitted. And I sought all manner of knowledge.
In time, I came to see that it isn’t what you name a thing but what you do with it. No need to call it God if you prefer to see it in the love of your dog. No reason to dress on Sunday if you hear the hymn of the forest. It is a quest to name the ineffable, a desire for a preview of what we will never know. And with all that busy preoccupation we leave ourselves vulnerable.
“…Gabriel before me…Raphael behind me…”
The earth will spin, we will come and go, and what matters is what we do and who we are. So as we round the curve into the new year and the trials to come Remember Grace.
Addendum: I wrote the above before finding the excellent post from the lovely Joan. Damn, but she’s so much better at this…
Having had a very long day of errands and cookery, I am exhausted…but this cheered me up! As found at The Ghost With The Most…
Because Santa delivered this to me early. Sure, just an unassuming little black case, slender…not too heavy…
Maybe this is her better side?
I cannot WAIT to try it out! Trigger pull seems nice and easy. Now, admittedly, this one is light because it is polymer. But nothing about it is cheap or flimsy.
And the cool thing is we won a free holster at the GT Glocktoberfest so I can get one just for the wee thing. But first she needs a name.
I must have been very good, indeed.
P.S. If you want one, my pal can get it – there was some sort of mil/LEO discount program until December 31st so move fast! Leave a note in the comments if you want details.
Realize that what is going on there is coming here. All this chatter of ours, the language and videos, will go away. Enjoy it while you can and be sure you have an alternative in mind. Print anything you might need to reference later. Because unless people in government get a damned spine all that we know now is over.
Listen to the man who is trying to hoist his losing country to freedom and of how his own freedoms have been the price.
Go here and get a shirt – they’ll customize it to U.S. division. Heck, I bet you can even get a Texas Division. Do what you can to support the poor bastards. God help him and his family.
Ah, night shift – but a more permanent version…Trooper has escaped the web and found himself a finer spot in the world. A rifle in the hand at every moment, it is a closer thing to what he is, deep down, than that road warrior he has played for decades, now. His intense happiness sharply contrasts with my grim perseverence.
I am mortally tired. Mentally exhausted, I worried for my commute home today. “Lines, watch that lane, are they slowing?” It was as if I had a personal blue screen of death creeping up on me and I wondered, distantly, if it was a taste of what those who have panic attacks suffer.
Too much work, too much technical bullshit and change going on, and the dogs – God, the dogs…I haven’t got it in me tonight to deal with them. A quick walk then home, they’ve managed to entertain themselves since. But I cannot help but consider that this is how it will be for weeks. Maybe longer. And I must not complain. It is, truly, a very good shift.
I am not a fan of the season, really. Never have been. Perhaps it was too many holiday evenings alone that turned me away from them. It feels like I’m being a whiny bitch. I watch something like this and wonder.
A friend who can fly anything with wings or blade had spoken of the very thing recently – the gentle feathering, the need to balance the craft on a wheel as the load of man and burden forces the craft off the ledge and that must not happen. No – it must be a lift and then departure, even if the lift is just enough to clear the wheels because just that little snag is enough to halt everything, permanently.
I think back to the weekend, the evening at the ranch as we waited for hogs to come…so at peace in that moonlit land…a single coyote howled. Perhaps the one we startled as we returned from our survey hike. The answer came immediately and with vigor. A pack nearby and then another further down the range and another yet, further still – all of them in a kind of chain so that we were surrounded by them and their ancient cries of – what was it? Solidarity? A comforting retort so that all knew that none were entirely alone? It was a stunning experience.
Yes, Christmas it is but merry it is not. Just a drive for the familial duty as he works the holidays away and perhaps then I can rest. Just a little time…a little peace…and maybe that is the sentiment I need to take away from this whole mad season – peace. Quiet. Silent night.