Saturday, September 19, 2009

Whiskey for My Horses


He vuelto.


I don't know that I got what I needed out in the desert, but I may have done. I am all trained up on my off-hand side now and can shoot near as good with it as I can with my strong side.

If I get shot in my good hand I can yet slay thee.


I can now reliably draw from concealment and put a head shot in a three by five inch box at seven yards in just under a second and a half. With my off hand.

You never know when that might come in handy.


What that desert time does also is gives me all the macho bullshit male bonding I can stand. I am a sucker for it, like I am for most things. A bunch of men with hard hearts and cold eyes who eat up life with both hands. Men who work hard and play hard. Men who have taken up the tools of killing to defend the weak and bring bad men to justice.

Men who know what it takes to get the job done in a hard world. Who saddle up and take on all comers.

Who will take your measure and push in all their chips to call.


It is too simple a thing to call them good.


Being home is a sweet balm to my knottedup soul. My reward on this earth is the good woman who opens the door and welcomes me inside with a kiss and an embrace. For which I would give my all.

She knows enough to let me go play guns, go fight and scrap. She lets me brood and pace. I know she loves the strength in me and the weakness as well. She knows I am her man.

Despite my many faults, she loves me without reservation.


I wish I knew how to proceed with my kid. I guess all the important mistakes have already been made, but it's hard to grasp that it isn't anything left I can do for her.

She's on her own path. Like she always has been, I suppose.

Fly off or smash on the rocks below, one.


I have got a hard knot of grief and damnation trapped in my chest. I cleaned the house from stem to stern, which soothes me, and I got a pork loin brining in garlic and apricot nectar which I aim to cook up for dinner, which will both soothe and feed me, and impress the wife as well.

The rewards of which are worth seeking.


This life will break us all.



Blogger Radish King said...

The weird thing is I'm ready to die at any moment. The only thing that bothers me is how much it would hurt my son who loves me. He will never get old enough to not feel that hurt.

Other things bother me though. Milk. Cruelty to children and animals. I fear those way more than I fear death.

I don't know why I wanted to tell you that. It seemed important.


4:11 PM  
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5:33 PM  
Blogger james said...

scott, i thought of you immediately when i first saw this recipe, and bookmarked it to send to you for a trial sometime. and here today, you are cooking up a pork loin, so i know you won't be doing the other one soon, but lemme hear how it turns out.

i pray things are okay with your daughter, at least for now, which is all any of us can ever hope for.

coragio ... always. jim

6:39 PM  
Blogger tearful dishwasher said...


I am sorry that milk bothers you. The rest of it, too.

I guess there isn't one of us that will be old enough not to be hurt by your death. I hope I'm about a hundred and thirty-nine when I hear that you were killed climbing Kilimanjaro or while scuba diving to recover Amelia's crashed airplane.

This world needs your craziness.

I sure do.


Can't wait to try that pork recipe, it sounds fantastic. I'll tell you all about it.

Thanks for your friendship. I rely upon it.



8:34 AM  
Blogger melissashook said...

that off-hand is something or nothing to sneeze about. I hope you don't have to use it... where would I read about that precise time of drawing from concealment to the 5x7 box at 7 paces, or is it yards...except from the dishwasher.

5:01 PM  
Blogger melissashook said...

I am actually not ready to die. I ache and now walk up the stairs one at a time and never feel quite right in the body, but I am not ready to die...

5:02 PM  

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