The “important”-Wall!?
While
“serious”-business on important
issues
like
“the wall”-on-the-southern-border occupies
Washington’s
elite politicos with consternation
and
evil-dread seeing the “future” required votes
in
the “defeat”-crosshairs, in the real-world
of
mere
mortal humans and beasts---Love!...To
wit:
Soft
as a mother’s kiss, a tender whisper-wind
Caresses
myriad green pin-oak leaves like
a
surreptitious embrace of summer’s gift.
On
the emerald turf of beloved Devinwood Stables
pasture
razes yonder black Zorro beside his trusty
side-kick
“enforcer, Skippy”; each aware of the
tangential
stirring in the near-by nature-trees.
The
human “elements” inhabiting this “paradise”
sway
in cadenced-tune to Mother’s symphony.
These
equestrian experts care for the steerds
under
their expert knowledgeable direction;
mutual
Love!-emotion resonates respect.
Our
“girls” exude quality Individual-Independence!
“Young
ladies” lead exemplar lives of selfless acts,
Each
rides any “wild-wind” equine like an expert!
When
news came that two of these “American-girls”
Trekked
south-of-the-border for “fun & frolic”,
the
following rhyme-verse sprang from the keys.
Enjoy!
Ladies! You add much delight to our lives!
Thank
you all! God bless!
Amen!
Plus:
Wall on the US.A.-Mexico border…?
Whether one
favors a solar-paneled border obstruction
Our ambassadors
ought negotiate positive-construction
Everybody’s
worried about the cost of the “wall”
I solved the
problem with one permission phone
call
Sent the
“dynamic-duo” Miss Ashley & Christina, south
What happens in
ole Mex not espoused by of their mouth
As these wild-gals “tamed” South-of-the-border
vaqueros
Garnered a cadre
of handsome Latino 10-gallon sombreros
Baja-sands
tornado-swept in a horrendous-swirl
Like a “hot”-sirocco:
You go! American-girl!
Think Miss Michele
was upset with another new horse?
Lucky Missy
didn’t bring home a caballero! Of course!
Restless-“peasants”
are assaulting the impenetrable palace-elite
With kids:
What’s theirs is theirs; what’s Mom’s is theirs! Sweet!
So? About the
“wall”? Now the U.S.-chicks don’t want it
Mexico says
they’ll build it---So no more “hotties” flaunt it!
Our gals haunt
Devinwood; ride like any wild-wind
Sweet-Redemption
exists for any who Mexico-sinned
Whatever the
official charges might be down yonder in ole Mexico
I still say: No wall! Ashley/Christina---Please! Next
time can I…go?!
American woman! Yeah! Baby!
Plus:
Day 233
Beth helping Dad
reload ammunition---
Shotgun shells
were the best
I’ve
been a gun-enthusiast from little on; my childhood heroes are The Lone ranger
& Superman! I have enjoyed more cowboy movies than the number of stars in
the heavens. My dad taught me gun safety and how to shoot when I was barely six
years old; it became habit and stuck. Over the years. I garned an attractive
gun collection consisting of rifles, shotguns and handguns. Eventually, I took
up reloading for centerfire ammo and for shot shell obtaining in a press with
tungsten-carbide dies for the centerfire project and a single-station 12-ga
reloader.
In
our basement, I set up a loading bench I had constricted specifically for my
reloading hobby. Today, shooting sports is a very expensive hobby; back in the
day, I offset some of the, then, modest
costs with my equipment investment and self-loading operations. Frugil!
Gee!
I didn’t even realize it: I had free
(slave) labor! Hmm!? A bonus I overlooked!
Beth
still remembers how when set the expended hull on the reloader, ejected the
spent primer, moved the shell to the next station, slid home a measured-powder
charge, progressed to another slot, installed a plastic wad, then, forward to
charge the shell with lead B-B’s and finally, a crimp! Voila! Another shot shell
ready for the clay pigeon tap we had or just “fun” shooting.
My
girls never took up hunting; I was not disappointed; eventually, I even gave it
up, too.
.22’s
were, and, still are, the family favorite to shoot; Lady Candice is an
excellent “Annie Oakley”-dead eye, that’s mainly why I mind my p’s and q’s
stringently. I reckon so!
Each
of our clan are good shots and know gun safety; they can take care of
themselves.
We
spent nearly all of our free time as
a family; Beth just had to help with
my reloading venture. I would let her pull down the activator handle on the
centerfire reloading press; she claims that I would not let her “seat” the
primers or bullets; I honestly do not remember that.
My
shot shell reloader for 12-ga was a single-station operator called the VersaMec 700. I sure enough reloaded
quite some bushel baskets of spent hulls with that little jewel. It was Beth’s
favorite. When we moved to Oregon, I gave away some 1600 12-ga loads.
This
“hobby” advanced the pleasure of shooting and taught me discipline in working
up loads for accuracy; certainly another “bright-spot” within the sport.
Reloading saved a wad of money.
When
our Z. Tyler came along in my 40th year, I sold my guns, reloading
equipment, golf clubs and anything material save a few shirts and a couple of
pair of pants. I quit my “job”!
We
spent some-16 years creating adventure and enjoying life. I taught Z. to shoot.
He also learned to play golf (much better than I ever did) and at 12, drove my
Ranger pick-up truck.
Oh!
I reckon I taught him a few other
things as well; the Z.- man sure enough taught me, too.
I
reckon there aren’t many girls, or, boys, whose old man taught them to reload
shells. Hmm!?
Never
seemed to matter “what” we did as long as---we did it…together! Thank you! All!
Amen!
Ah! Cookie Jar Sweet “Reloading”-Memories!
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