The ranch hand and his beautiful child bride are bona fide junkin' addicts.
Searching for that sweet nirvana provided by the roadside carnies of retail has long been a quest for that "best junk just down the road".
Ok, to be fair...most of our treasure emporiums have signs advertising "antiques", but they be junk purveyors to the ranch clan?
Palaces of the nature we seek are most often of the late 1800 to early 1900 variety with saggin porches, dirty windows....with a few old folks sittin' out front considered a plus (throw in a hound dawg and hmmmmmm!)
Today's adventure included a sojourn up US 183 to Lampasas where the local Kuntry Kitchen served yard eggs, home made grits, and smoky sausage patties that would make a hawg hug a hound.
Mopped up that feast with buttery biscuits and sashayed on North to Goldthwaite to walk roun' the county courthouse square while eyeballin' the dusty interiors of the empty buildings with cornerstones denoting dates around the turn of the century.
Turned East to Evant and grinned while inspecting all three business establishments in that booming metropolis. All of the antique/junk stores had their doors wide open (no A/C) and one of them even had a person in the store to "wait" on folks (One has to reckon that crime ain't much of an issue in Evant...and the "honor system" is alive and well?)
Continued East to Gatesville where the local hat dealer had a huge selection of manly head gear (western only) to the tune of maybe four styles in a couple of sizes. Felt like a junkin' pro to find and purchase a prize that fit the ole fat boy!!
Motored to Waco and turned North to Elm Mott to visit the Homestead Heritage to shop "stuff" made by local artisans with hand tools the "Amish" way. Glommed onto the ultimate "find" there with the acquisition of a blacksmith hand forged triangle and striker for the ranch chuck wagon.
Finally headed the ranch pony South toward the bunkhouse, but stopped just short in Florence when we noticed the 100 year old hardward store had become a western wear shop. Hoo-ee-doggie....roped up a red bandana near two foot on a side for the eye-poppin' price of one U.S. dollar (icing on the cake).
Now back at the ranch suckin' on a col' adult beverage while basking in the self assured glory of a great day on the road "junkin" and the blessing of our "finds"
Damn, retired life is good!
Saturday, July 28, 2012
Thursday, July 26, 2012
Saint Mathew
"But when ye pray, use not vain repetitions, as the heathen do: for they think that they shall be heard for their much speaking." (Mathew 6:7)
The ranch hand's near 80 year old mom-law has repeatedly stated without equivocation that when the ole fat boy "prays" aloud to his Lord in a public manner... he be MUCH too l-o-n-g winded.
The would-be messenger of his Savior, begs to "differ" as his highly biased opinion is leanin' towards the praise side on all occasions of devotional benediction?
Today was an epiphany of "praise" as the bride's Mom said, "When you pray, I start to feel GANGRENE settin' in from the "wait"?"
Surely God is sending a message...Just not sure if it is, "Good one, keep raggin' her butt", or "Well done, good and faithful servant" (Mathew 25:21)
The ranch hand's near 80 year old mom-law has repeatedly stated without equivocation that when the ole fat boy "prays" aloud to his Lord in a public manner... he be MUCH too l-o-n-g winded.
The would-be messenger of his Savior, begs to "differ" as his highly biased opinion is leanin' towards the praise side on all occasions of devotional benediction?
Today was an epiphany of "praise" as the bride's Mom said, "When you pray, I start to feel GANGRENE settin' in from the "wait"?"
Surely God is sending a message...Just not sure if it is, "Good one, keep raggin' her butt", or "Well done, good and faithful servant" (Mathew 25:21)
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
REVELATION
The ole ranch hand recently acquired the loan of a valued piece of history in the form of a buddy's ancient Marlin .22 single shot rifle.
The Book of Revelation (Rev 12:9; 20:2) makes use of a serpeant to identify Satan. Bein' plagued with "satans" down at the pond, your humble scribe sauntered that way with the bride and the little Marlin in tow.
Three shots later, they be three less fish eating reptiles slitherin' therein.
The triumphant mighty hunter then proceded his victory march back to the bunkhouse with the jubilant admiring bride in tow.
Said bride then entered the garage and promptly began furiously running in place and SCREAMING obscenities while pointing to a corner of the garage.
Being of normal curiousity, the accomplished woodsman "investigated" and observed a harmless four foot long rat snake. Relying upon a vast knowledge of the world of scaled sliders, the revered husband announced (FIRST MISTAKE) that it was a beneficial creature and should "live".
Bad move...the frantic foot stomper very efficiently redirected her rant toward her embecile mate and cut a blue streak toward the back pasture and assumed safety from the now six foot "killer".
Being never "rattled", the brave fat man picked up a nearby boat paddle and commenced to "shoo" the elongated one from the premises.....SECOND BAD MISTAKE....that eight foot instrument of Lucifer CHARGED at its tormentor with its jaws-a-snappin' like popcorn on a fiery griddle.
ALL machismo evaporated, yours truly started "running in place", and the ever larger predator repeatedly ATTACKED causing visions of fewer social security checks to loom equally as large???
Finally after a battle to the death of epic proportions, brother (ten foot?) snake cooperated and moved to an adjacent flower bed where his obvious appetite for "lead" was satisfied by Mr. Marlin.
Now if I can just get the kid's Mom to climb down out of that dang tree in the pasture?
The Book of Revelation (Rev 12:9; 20:2) makes use of a serpeant to identify Satan. Bein' plagued with "satans" down at the pond, your humble scribe sauntered that way with the bride and the little Marlin in tow.
Three shots later, they be three less fish eating reptiles slitherin' therein.
The triumphant mighty hunter then proceded his victory march back to the bunkhouse with the jubilant admiring bride in tow.
Said bride then entered the garage and promptly began furiously running in place and SCREAMING obscenities while pointing to a corner of the garage.
Being of normal curiousity, the accomplished woodsman "investigated" and observed a harmless four foot long rat snake. Relying upon a vast knowledge of the world of scaled sliders, the revered husband announced (FIRST MISTAKE) that it was a beneficial creature and should "live".
Bad move...the frantic foot stomper very efficiently redirected her rant toward her embecile mate and cut a blue streak toward the back pasture and assumed safety from the now six foot "killer".
Being never "rattled", the brave fat man picked up a nearby boat paddle and commenced to "shoo" the elongated one from the premises.....SECOND BAD MISTAKE....that eight foot instrument of Lucifer CHARGED at its tormentor with its jaws-a-snappin' like popcorn on a fiery griddle.
ALL machismo evaporated, yours truly started "running in place", and the ever larger predator repeatedly ATTACKED causing visions of fewer social security checks to loom equally as large???
Finally after a battle to the death of epic proportions, brother (ten foot?) snake cooperated and moved to an adjacent flower bed where his obvious appetite for "lead" was satisfied by Mr. Marlin.
Now if I can just get the kid's Mom to climb down out of that dang tree in the pasture?
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Barbers And Other Butchers
The ranch hand started out in the booming East Texas metropolis of Wright City. WC was "ironically" named because it was far from a city. More like a wide place in the road in between real towns.
Course, WC folks did have some amenities. There was Uncle Reggie's Sinclair gasoline station, an oil field pipe yard, a "cafe" with coffee, a miniscule menu, and a pinball machine.....and a barber shop.
Daddy Gene...bein' Gene...often decided to take his yonker to Grandaddy's, sit his skinny butt on the wooden stool on the back porch, and use Granvil's hand operated shears on his progeny's youthful locks.....ALWAYS ending in a "burr" cut to "fix" the damage????
The WC barber shop would have been more aptly named the "butcher shop". The proprietor had a tiny one room tin structure that housed the oldest barber chair on earth and a four drawer metal filing cabinet. On top of the cabinet resided a few semi-clean, tarnished barberin' tools. In the top drawer, the most important "ingredient" in the shop lurked in liquid anticipation (seems brother WC barber had a bit of an alcohol dependency?)
How-some-ever, his "cut" was a mere 50 cents and so Daddy Gene would on occasion give his onliest son a silver "big nickel" and send him down the road to his ultimate humiliation to "have his ears lowered"???
That coiffure cowlick entrepreneur would then light in to 'a half cuttin'...half pullin' your humble scribes follicles in a manner befitting of Hitler's henchmen. The only savin' grace (momentary break) was that a few times during the "sacrifice ritual", that feller's hands would start shakin' so bad that he would pull open that top drawer and take a long pull on his precious Old Crow whiskey bottle....for his "nerves"????
And the "walk of shame" back to the house would start... with the WC fur-ball head hopin' no one would notice the "hack job"???
Well sports fans....things always seem to come full circle. This morn the ole fat boy rolled into G-town for his "ear lowering" ritual. Despite being gray-headed and "thinning", your retiree stated perkily to the barber/serial murderer, "A close trim please, Sir".
Dammit....that drunk bastard in WC done a better job?????
(Now hopin' no deputies come thru the country lookin' for escaped convicts cause this "hairdo/don't" IS feloniously criminal!!!!!!!!!)
Course, WC folks did have some amenities. There was Uncle Reggie's Sinclair gasoline station, an oil field pipe yard, a "cafe" with coffee, a miniscule menu, and a pinball machine.....and a barber shop.
Daddy Gene...bein' Gene...often decided to take his yonker to Grandaddy's, sit his skinny butt on the wooden stool on the back porch, and use Granvil's hand operated shears on his progeny's youthful locks.....ALWAYS ending in a "burr" cut to "fix" the damage????
The WC barber shop would have been more aptly named the "butcher shop". The proprietor had a tiny one room tin structure that housed the oldest barber chair on earth and a four drawer metal filing cabinet. On top of the cabinet resided a few semi-clean, tarnished barberin' tools. In the top drawer, the most important "ingredient" in the shop lurked in liquid anticipation (seems brother WC barber had a bit of an alcohol dependency?)
How-some-ever, his "cut" was a mere 50 cents and so Daddy Gene would on occasion give his onliest son a silver "big nickel" and send him down the road to his ultimate humiliation to "have his ears lowered"???
That coiffure cowlick entrepreneur would then light in to 'a half cuttin'...half pullin' your humble scribes follicles in a manner befitting of Hitler's henchmen. The only savin' grace (momentary break) was that a few times during the "sacrifice ritual", that feller's hands would start shakin' so bad that he would pull open that top drawer and take a long pull on his precious Old Crow whiskey bottle....for his "nerves"????
And the "walk of shame" back to the house would start... with the WC fur-ball head hopin' no one would notice the "hack job"???
Well sports fans....things always seem to come full circle. This morn the ole fat boy rolled into G-town for his "ear lowering" ritual. Despite being gray-headed and "thinning", your retiree stated perkily to the barber/serial murderer, "A close trim please, Sir".
Dammit....that drunk bastard in WC done a better job?????
(Now hopin' no deputies come thru the country lookin' for escaped convicts cause this "hairdo/don't" IS feloniously criminal!!!!!!!!!)
Monday, July 9, 2012
All Yall Pray
"And he prayed again, and the heaven gave rain, and the earth brought forth her fruit"
(James 5:18)
Sports fans....Its been so dang dry on the ranch of late that the birds have been building nests out of "bob" wire and the Tin Star catfish are totin' canteens???
The good Lord has a plan...and it is a good 'un for sure....but this ole fat boy is sure hopin' it includes some precipitation in the near future so said catfish can live to dunk another cork one day?
Between us friends, the ranch hand is startin' to worry bout them piscatorial puppies gitten ticks????
(James 5:18)
Sports fans....Its been so dang dry on the ranch of late that the birds have been building nests out of "bob" wire and the Tin Star catfish are totin' canteens???
The good Lord has a plan...and it is a good 'un for sure....but this ole fat boy is sure hopin' it includes some precipitation in the near future so said catfish can live to dunk another cork one day?
Between us friends, the ranch hand is startin' to worry bout them piscatorial puppies gitten ticks????
Saturday, July 7, 2012
BE HAPPY
"Ya can't roller skate in a buffalo herd.
Ya can't take a shower in a parakeet cage.
Ya can't go a-swimmin' in a baseball pool.
Ya can't change film with a kid on your back.
Ya can't drive around with a tiger in your car.
But you can be happy if you've a mind to."
(Roger Miller, 1966)
Beggin' the bard's pardon, but ole Roger shoulda added a verse to the above along the lines of, "Ya damn sure shouldn't wear spandex while cross-country bike riding if ya look like a 200 pound sausage in a 100 pound casing."
The ranch hand was toodlin' up to the front gate this early morn to snatch the newspaper when he heard a cheerful, "Hi". Glancing up, your innocent scribe near popped his eyeballs out on stems at the sight of a middle age female perched on one them skinny tire bicycles. That bodacious puppy was wearing spandex that looked like it started bout the size of a handkerchief afore she s-t-r-e-c-h-e-d over her hide. There was bunched up rolls of rolls on top of rolls in a manner that defies description.
This ole fat boy near had to clamp his hand over his mouth to not exclaim, "Damn lady, it's a wonder the fashion police don't charge you with a felony???"
But....she can be happy if she's a mind to.......
Rest in peace Roger.
Ya can't take a shower in a parakeet cage.
Ya can't go a-swimmin' in a baseball pool.
Ya can't change film with a kid on your back.
Ya can't drive around with a tiger in your car.
But you can be happy if you've a mind to."
(Roger Miller, 1966)
Beggin' the bard's pardon, but ole Roger shoulda added a verse to the above along the lines of, "Ya damn sure shouldn't wear spandex while cross-country bike riding if ya look like a 200 pound sausage in a 100 pound casing."
The ranch hand was toodlin' up to the front gate this early morn to snatch the newspaper when he heard a cheerful, "Hi". Glancing up, your innocent scribe near popped his eyeballs out on stems at the sight of a middle age female perched on one them skinny tire bicycles. That bodacious puppy was wearing spandex that looked like it started bout the size of a handkerchief afore she s-t-r-e-c-h-e-d over her hide. There was bunched up rolls of rolls on top of rolls in a manner that defies description.
This ole fat boy near had to clamp his hand over his mouth to not exclaim, "Damn lady, it's a wonder the fashion police don't charge you with a felony???"
But....she can be happy if she's a mind to.......
Rest in peace Roger.
Friday, July 6, 2012
Vegas Weird
Any other town you go to there's this little devil and a little angel on your shoulder. A little good advice, a little bad advice. You go to Las Vegas, there's like a devil and a devil and they're just battling it out the whole time. It's like, "Stuff more dough in that machine" and "Brang me another drank"???? And then the ole fat boy says, "YEA! Yea, this is a good town (at least til the hangover and bank deficiency reality sets in).
This July Fourth celebratory last the ranch hand and his gorgeous bride ambled northwest to the land of sin and frivolity "just because"?
Ya gotta know that LV is a land of alien strangeness with no comparison. Ya see folks and thangs that exist no where else on Mother Earth.
Independence Day celebration found your humble scribe perched on a casino bar stool suckin' down libation while "mindin' his own" at a video poker money pit. Up walks a rather sophisticated patron of the female persuasion looking expertly coiffed, spectacularly bejeweled....and definitely on the sunset side of 60???
"A white wine bartender"....."Yes Ma'am, will our house wine be OK"...."It will NOT" (with an aristocratic sniff of contempt)....Mr. Bartender proceeded to pour his "best" into a plastic cup and presented same on the bar.....Ms. Royalty stared briefly at the plastic chalice and offered a look that would melt titanium as she coldly uttered, "Do I look trashy to you?"....Ole humble pie sheepishly said, "No Ma'am"......Whereupon the apparently wealthy dowager promptly pulled down her blouse to expose her right breast and the large butterfly tattoo thereon stating with a mischievious grin, "Well, I am trashy"
Yeah, it's a weird place with weird people, but if ya think about it, it's just like retirement. Ya want to enjoy it to its fullest, ya just don't wanta run outa money?
This July Fourth celebratory last the ranch hand and his gorgeous bride ambled northwest to the land of sin and frivolity "just because"?
Ya gotta know that LV is a land of alien strangeness with no comparison. Ya see folks and thangs that exist no where else on Mother Earth.
Independence Day celebration found your humble scribe perched on a casino bar stool suckin' down libation while "mindin' his own" at a video poker money pit. Up walks a rather sophisticated patron of the female persuasion looking expertly coiffed, spectacularly bejeweled....and definitely on the sunset side of 60???
"A white wine bartender"....."Yes Ma'am, will our house wine be OK"...."It will NOT" (with an aristocratic sniff of contempt)....Mr. Bartender proceeded to pour his "best" into a plastic cup and presented same on the bar.....Ms. Royalty stared briefly at the plastic chalice and offered a look that would melt titanium as she coldly uttered, "Do I look trashy to you?"....Ole humble pie sheepishly said, "No Ma'am"......Whereupon the apparently wealthy dowager promptly pulled down her blouse to expose her right breast and the large butterfly tattoo thereon stating with a mischievious grin, "Well, I am trashy"
Yeah, it's a weird place with weird people, but if ya think about it, it's just like retirement. Ya want to enjoy it to its fullest, ya just don't wanta run outa money?
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