The wife works with an older woman, who, at 65 years of age, finds it necessary to sign up w/the Social Security program for her eventual transition into retirement. She had last week off as vacation time, & took the opportunity to begin the process.
Upon arrival at the SS office, she found that all personnel on duty used English only as a second language. She couldn’t make out what the clerks were telling her due to heavy accents, nor could the clerks understand what our lady wanted.
She had to MAKE AN APPOINTMENT TO TALK WITH SOMEONE WHO COULD SPEAK ENGLISH in a United States Government office.
So now she has to go back for her appointment this week, inconvenienced by a government agency in place to serve the citizens, just because she had the misfortune of speaking the (present) language of this land.
Are there that many retiring Spanish speaking folks? Probably not.
Could it be that the SS office mainly serves folks who are on "disability"? Probably so.
Crap like this make me want to twist someone's head off...
The wife finished up her holster project & delivered it to the Colonel (the customer is an Army officer of said grade). He was pleased with the results, & now she gets to do it again, on another piece.
I’ll get it here tomorrow, but a hint: this gentleman seems to have an affinity for the .410" hole size.
Rachel Lucas is suffering over the loss of her long time friend, Digger. (Go give her some support)
We’ve suffered the same pain, in our loss of Bear, at our homestead.
I’ve lost my Mother, a close cousin or three, & others, human. The wife has lost her Dad.
These are painful life changing events, as they should be, when viewed in the grand scheme.
But, for the life of me, I don’t understand the feeling of loss for things mechanical.
I had a 1958 Ford tractor, my first, that gave me years of service as a snow mover, skidder, paddock scraper, & general helper. I replaced her with a shiny-new diesel 4WD unit that outworks the Ford in every respect.
When the new owner came to pick her up, I felt a twinge of the loss & sadness that one would feel with the loss of family or pet (family & pet are both the same, actually).
Same deal with my tree-growing, brass-scrounging, yellow-jacket-home of a plow truck. A bud of mine & I brought her to her new owner Saturday, where she’ll be used this winter as is, then parted out for inclusion into another truck.
All this is not to deride the pain of loss of sentient beings, simply an observation of the human condition.
I never considered myself the "sensitive" type- is it a "guy" thing?
This time I outfitted the ’03 (Rock Island) Springfield sporter with Remington Core-Lokt 180 grainers & Winchester 150 grain Power Points. After the rebates mentioned in the last post, the cost came to $8.76/box of 20. That’s almost mil-surp prices (if you can still find any).
THE CAUSE (1918) By Paul Scott Mowrer Poet laureate of New Hampshire
Let but the cause seem beautiful, dear God, If we must die. Make us believe, in truth, For all mankind we thus forswear our youth, To stay till end of time the oppressor's rod; That but for us, harsh power would ride rough-shod Through freedom's delicate gardens, and the tooth Of hatred rend our people without ruth; So might we sleep contented, under the sod.
For else, who knows what gladness here on earth Was destined us, what nobly high employ? Oh, hard it is that youth should cease to be! For now came love, with a great glad rebirth To company our way, and now came joy! Not death we fear, but death's futility.
Thank you to all veterans, past & present, who have sacrificed their time and lives to maintain our freedom.
I was gonna regale y’all with the short story of how I acquired my very nice 1950 vintage Winchester ’94, but life got in the way today.
We’re in the material acquisition stage of rebuilding the horse stalls in the barn, planned for this weekend, & running around getting wood (for building, not burning, THIS time) & the associated materials has plumb run me out of daylight. I need daylight to take a half-decent picture of anything (probably just because I’m a lousy photographer & don’t know how to use artificial light correctly).
Sure, I could tell the story, but what good would that be without a pic?
No, not the political kind, although I am one of those as well.
This is the "conservator of stuff" kind, or, save what you’ve got ‘till you REALLY need it.
So- In April (no bugs, no leaves) of each year, I begin my logging operation, with the prospect of felling, bucking, & splitting all the firewood we will need for the following year. I say following year because I keep two years’ usage on hand; i.e., this year I cut for winter of 2008/9. Logging is fairly dangerous sport, & I figger if I bust an arm or something while doing it, we won’t be screwed for the coming year.
So here we are when "the Whales of November Turn Gloomy", & the temps take a dive. When the c-o-o-l begins, I’ll start a fire in the living room stove just to keep off the chill. The cellar stove will lay dormant a while longer. Here’s where it gets nutty.
I love being out in the woods, so on a nice day like today, I’ll take a modified backpack frame I garagineered to hold wood, a strong bowsaw, & walk out in the woods TO GATHER FIREWOOD!
I’ll find a good place, cut standing dead hardwood to stove length, then pack 40 or so pounds of it back home for the fire.
Eight cord standing stacked & me packing in 40# of deadwood to keep warm.
I was talking to a self-employed carpenter today, & he was lamenting the fact that he will soon be fined by the PR of MA for not having health insurance. The fine will equal his normal tax exemption for health care, IF HE HAD IT!
He was a bit irritated as he went into his take on the root cause for the whole issue: a bunch of non-citizens freeloading on the system, requiring the citizen TAXPAYERS to shoulder the bill. I think he’s spot on with that assumption.
I felt bad for the guy- he was probably early 60’s, can’t get on his wife’s med insurance, so he’s paying his own (medical) way as needed.
Then the farging gummint comes along & robs a few more dollars from him.
Remember R. Reagan’s quote of the nine most feared words in the language? "I’m from the government & I’m here to help".