Poor Mr. Abby

I cleaned the bathroom the other day. They sell that shower spray, but you know, just spraying that around after each shower does not mean you never have to clean beyond that. Who'd'a thunk it?

Anyway, inspired by my shower scrubbing, vanity beautifying frenzy the other day, Mister Abby decided to take his day off (yesterday) and do the floors. We have tile throughout, so it's not that hard, but, like the shower, it actually must be done periodically.

So he swept, and he ran the vacuum, and then he mopped. Mopped a couple of times. It looked nice. Smelled kinda funny, but that was really the result of an unfortunate choice in cleaning products during a recent shopping trip (Pine Sol lemon smells like wet cat pee, it seems).

So we had a nice, clean expanse of floor.

Then we woke up to rain and a wild pack of dogs who were playing in the yard, then racing back in through the dog door. Leaving smeared muddy prints everywhere.

I secured the dog door, but I think the damage has been done. Poor Mr. Abby.

I shall now take him to the exchange and buy him some boot socks or something to take his mind off the floor.

Black Friday?

Not so much, at my little salt mine. Rumor has it Big Retail did well, though, but I don't pay much attention.

The guy who sits next to me at work took calls throughout the day from his mother, who had started shopping at midnight. It turned into a passtime for all of us - where is coworker's Mom?

She started out here in the DFW area, was in Waco by the afternoon, and I think she may be in Mexico City by now. Rio by morning.

I love Christmas, but I cannot stand this shopping madness.

Something different

I'm off to work. I haven't worked even remotely near retail since high school, and so I'm interested to see how the legendary heights of consumerism will impact our small, phone-and-mail/e-commerce business.

We shall see.

Turkey Day Part V (after the nap)

[yawn]

Hey, that goose was pretty good. I'm happy with that.

You know how they say there's no white meat on a goose? By God, they're right. Since white meat is normally a dry and foul thing, I think that's pretty cool.

Anybody else in Northeast Texas get snowed on today? Also a pretty cool occurance. Nothing stuck, of course, but it was still neat.

Turkey Day part IV

Well, we know how that all turned out with the Lions.

Mom commented in on the first post today, but she's out serving chow to the hungry with World's Coolest Grandma today.

When I was a kid, Thanksgiving was, honestly, another day of Deer Season. As a family, we'd maybe go to a movie, or get Chinese food. The big family turkey thing was for either the Sunday before or after. Shiftwork is what it is, and we worked around it.

Then Thanksgiving got crazy.

I went downrange, and we went out on Thanksgiving, and things went bad.



Then there was last year, when I went home to be there while Mom could fight Breast Cancer. (She won, too. She beat the living shit out of Breast Cancer - I am beyond proud).

The Mister hurt himself, and Mom had surgery, and I ate turkey and was thankful that I was there to do so.

This year...no drama. No so much on the craziness.

Looking toward next year, it's hard to tell.

I am not a religious person. But...

Thank you for this year. Thank you for the improvement over last year. Thank you for watching over me two years ago. I am thankful for those who are not where they wish they were this Thanksgiving. I am thankful for all of those folks for whom is is just another day of service.

Turkey Day Part III - Denial

The Detroit-Green Bay is on, but...umm...watching it is proving painful. So we're going to pretend that's not happening.

I went out for a smoke. The Dog Guests, who have been a having a bit of confusion about the dog door, decided to come out with me. A good thing, right? Well, apparently that door is trickier than I thought.



Jack pointed out to the Mister that our guests seemed confused. He passed the camera out to me.

Fortunately, outside waited the helpful input of Casey. She's old, she's cranky, she cannot understand how the dog door could be confusing.



We finally resolved the issue with a combination of shoving and dragging. Now everybody is sacked out on the floor, with at least one eye on the progress of the goose.

Turkey Day Part II

So. The goose is in progress. We googled "goose," and apparently the tricky thing is de-greasing the goose sufficiently. I put it on a rack, poked a few holes hither and yon to expedite draining, and cooked it uncovered 22.5 minutes on a side at 375.

This yielded grease. Lots of grease.



This is an 11-pound goose, folks, and that's two cups of fat.

Now it's wrapped up with herbs and onions and goodness, so we'll see in a few hours.

The dogs are waiting like vultures, hoping the goose goes very badly indeed. The herding dogs and Sparky are waiting patiently, but the shiny black labs...well...not so much on the patience.

Turkey Day

We've got a goose ('cause sometimes you just have to try something different), five dogs (in case the goose goes badly), and the Domino's Pizza phone number (in case the goose goes really badly).

Life is good, and for that we're thankful.

Oh. My. Goodness.

We're watching a friend's dogs while she's out of town for the Thanksgiving Turkey Ritual.

I have five dogs running around. Mine, a female black lab a few months younger than Jack, and an Australian shepherd a little more than a year old.

I'd post pictures, but I'm writing this while huddled in a closet, whimpering.

The most bummed puppy on earth

is the one who does NOT get to go running with me. I have to run for time next month, so I figured I should plot a course and get an idea of where I was. This pretty much ruled out taking Puptard.

So this morning I got dressed and put on my running shoes, and he started doing backflips, and then I slammed the door in his face.

I think we can safely assume he's going to eat all my stuff while I'm gone. Retaliation is a mother around here.

Off to ensure the gunsafe is locked and all shoes are in our room.

Totally

gratuituous lab pic!



That is all, you may all continue on with your daily routines.

Range trip!

Finally got the Garand out to the local range. The place was packed, but it was a nice day for it.

I was shooting at Alpine and, like most ranges right around here, they're anti-FMJ ammo, so I had to pick up another box of 150 grain softpoint.

The older gentleman behind the counter was helpful, after we got on the samge page.

"Need targets?" he asked.

"Yes, please. And if you have a large target, that would be nice. I have a new gun."

"You boresight it yet?" This, folks, is the part where doubt crept in.

Boresighting is a process wherein you line up the crosshairs on a newly mounted scope with the barrel (or "bore") of your rifle. You can do it Old Skool and simply remove the bolt from a bolt-action rifle and line up the crosshairs with what you see peering down the barrel, or you can get all high-tech and use a laser device stuck in either your chamber or in the barrel of your rifle. You can save a lot of time, energy and ammo that way.

I've never heard of anyone boresighting with iron sights, but you know, logically, it could be done.

This whole thought process resulted in me standing in front of the gentleman at the counter like an idiot for several seconds before saying, "no."

He pointed out that they could do that for me for $5, but I declined and pointed out that I was not using a scope.

"I've got a new Garand," I explained. "Well, an old Garand, but new to me."

Only at this point did the gentleman behind the counter decide I was not a maniac, and that, in fact, I should hear all about his Garand-related experiences. He was a nice guy, so that was fine, but I did finally have to break away while there was still daylight outside.

Ladies and gentlemen, to paraphrase Larry the Cable Guy, this looks like a good time no matter who you are.



And it is a good time, oh yes. The poor gentleman several benches down from me with his deer rifle was a good sport until after shot number eight, when the ping and clatter of the clip hitting the concrete made him look over with great concern.

"Is everything okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," I giggled. "That's a good sign."



I started out low, and slowly adjusted. After getting pretty close, it became clear to me that I don't think I've got the rear sight tensioned correctly. This will either require much reading, or a pathetic call to Charley.

But in good news, it shoots realiably and straight, and works wonderfully as a conversation starter. And since it works, I'm now all about getting a good sling (leaning on Santa about that issue - tan and numbered, if you're reading, Santa), figuring out the rear sight, and then finding somewhere where I can back off the target a little more.