JINKSTO

Sort of a guest blogger for this one. I promise to get away from the tear jerker’s soon.  I’m not doing it on purpose.  I write about things that affect me as they affect me.  Sometimes it might take me a month or more to get things down “on paper” but most of what I write is “fresh”.  I can’t say that I’ve been tearing up every day for the last few months, just that I’ve seen some really cool material (or had a chance to write it). 

Some of you may remember my post “Bottled Memories”. That post was written about a man named Bob Hines.  If you haven’t read it yet, please do.   Here, in a post lifted from FaceBook, one of his sons talks about him a little more:

I was thinking about my Dad today and how much I miss him. He passed away about 7 years ago. I think that our dads could possibly be the greatest source of wisdom that many of us will ever have. I am finding myself more and more like my father everyday; in the things I say and the things I do.I was getting on to my 6 year old the other day and i looked up and saw myself making one of those faces that my dad used to make at me when i had pushed him to his limits; I had to laugh.

Quite often when I find myself seeking advice all I have to do is ask myself what dad would have done in this situation or what advice would he have given me. It makes the answers pretty easy, because I know what his answer would have been…do what’s right son. It’s pretty easy to say, but I watched that man live it…day after day after day, so I know it can be done.

If I had to list the three greatest things my father left me when he died they would not be the physical things of this world, they would be the lessons learned through his curiosity, patience and diligence. Dad was always curious about how everything work, sometimes out of necessity, but mostly just for the pure pleasure of solving the problem or figuring out how to fix what ever he was working on. Dad was a teacher by day and a tin smith by night, and on Saturdays he was working on what ever he could get his hands on to fix…Sundays were the only days that dad would not pick up a tool and he was pretty adamant about us not working on Sunday either. I don’t believe there was anything my father could not fix. If he could imagine it he could do it. That was because of his diligence. He never gave up on anything he was working on until it was fixed. No breaks, no rest, only constant focus and dedication to the job at hand. It’s hard not to just give up sometimes, and he was human. I saw him beyond aggravated on several occasions but it was typically at the beginning of the project, and then his patience kicked in and refreshed his focus and brought him back to the problem over and over and over again until it was solved. He didn’t stress so much over the things he could not control, and he didn’t argue with folks, even when he certainly could have won the argument. He had more patience than anyone else I have ever met. Dad taught me that a man can do anything with just patience and diligence, but looking back it was his curiosity that turned his work into something that he didn’t view as work at all.

If you are reading this and your dad is still living, call him more, go visit him more, do what you can to spend all of the time with him as you can. He is not getting any younger, but he is certainly getting wiser. I wish I had not been so hardheaded when I was younger and that I had realized sooner that everything he was doing was to teach me and help me and guide me and prepare me for what life was going to hit me with.

I miss you dad,

I will see you again one day.

When you see good people, truly good people, dismissed by their offspring you can’t help but wonder what went wrong.  It’s refreshing to see children who remember a good parent properly. 

I know that over the years Bob’s sons had an occasional issue with “the old man” because I’ve heard the stories from the sources.  That’s growing up I guess.  Now, years later, all of the stories are about how “the old man” was so very right.  I’m with Scott on this one.  If your Dad is still alive, find a minute or two to give him a call.  It might be one of the last chances that you have to get one more bit of life changing wisdom from a fading resource.

Ritual

I come half awake a mere 5 hours after collapsing into the bed.  It’s 0600. My body hurts from sleeping too hard and not enough.  It aches for caffeine.   I roll over and look upon my wife sleeping peacefully.  Sometimes there are quiet little snores or a barely perceptible twitch of her face as some dream puppy tickles her nose with kisses.   I lay there for a moment thinking how truly beautiful she is and then… I poke her with a finger.  She grumbles and rolls over.  Using the tiniest bit of pressure, I slowly start pushing her towards the edge of the bed.  A pause.  Another nudge, this time with a little more pressure.  Another pause.  Another nudge. Eventually she overcomes the inertia of sleep and quietly slips from the bed.  I pretend to be asleep. She pretends to try not to wake me.  Ten minutes later she’s back with a cup of coffee for me.  Softly calling my name until I wake up (again) and then handing me my coffee.  It’s sweet with too much sugar and an extra bit of milk. Exactly the way that I want it.  Perfect.  Every time.  I’m an ass.  I get that, no need to point it out.

I mumble a thank you.  Every time.  Sometimes I add that I love her simply because I do.  And hey, at least I’m a grateful ass.

Circumstance

She has to be careful in stores.  If she looks at something too longingly, I buy it whether she really wants it or not.  If she actually tells me that she wants something, I buy it.  It might take a while to get the money lined up but I’ll figure out a way.

A $30,000 car?  No problem, I’ve got debt to spare baby.  A $1000 pistol?  You betcha Sarah Palin, it’s all yours.  Just give me a week or two.  An $0.83 cent pack of twizzler… hers!  She told me once that she likes stuffed animals.  15 years later she’s had to box many of them up for storage.  She gets one every Easter.  Sometimes for her birthday, or Christmas, or just because I love her.

It doesn’t matter.  I’ll spend every cent that I make and more.  I’ll overlook things that interest me so that she can have what she wants.  She says that’s unfair. I don’t think so but I sometimes feel like I’ve stolen  something from her; that right that all of us have to want something that we will never have. The passing fancy, briefly shared with another and then forgotten. Maybe she has those things and I don’t know about them.  If I ever find out, I’ll buy them whatever they are.

I buy her what she wants because she’s the only reason that I bother to wake up every morning and go to work.  Left to myself, I’d be a complete and utter bum… or a prisoner.  I know, I remember what it was like before I met her.  She saved me.  I have what I do because of her so she has a right to the things that she wants.  My saving Angel.  I love her.

Felicity

I don’t have to pretend to be happy when I’m near her.  I just am.  We’re often found in a restaurant sitting across from one another happily engaged with our iPhones while we wait for food. Sometimes we’re even interacting on FaceBook trading jokes or chatter for all the world to see (or, at least, registered friends).  We don’t have to talk every minute.  Just being near her is enough for me. 

I do make an effort to talk with her sometimes because she’s feeling lonely though.  I understand this.  It can be tough for her with me locked away in the next room working all day.  Physically near but mentally in another world all together.

She plays with the  pets and tries to silence the cockatiel (usually  unsuccessfully) while I’m on conference calls.  She feeds and medicates the ferrets twice a day.  Feeds the neighborhood birds in her many feeders come rain, shine or snowfall.  She enjoys these things.  I enjoy that she does. I love watching her moving around the yard through the living room window.  Absorbed in her world of birdseed and raccoon pilfered suet feeders while I talk about computers with some guy in India on my headset.  It brings me back to the  things that are important.  Grounds me.

Sometimes during the middle of the day she takes a nap while I’m working.  I’ll wander through the house for something to eat and find her snuggled on the couch with a puppy or cuddled with a cat in our bed.  A pillow laid over her head to block the sunlight.  I stand quietly watching her.  Love swells up inside of me and I embrace it for all that I’m worth.  I tell her sometimes that I love her so much that it hurts.  It does.  I wonder if others get this feeling.  You would think that poets would have expressed it by now if so.  But maybe it’s such a strong feeling that even the poets can’t get it down on paper.   Then again, maybe it’s a tiny bit of psychopathy that I shouldn’t mention on the Internet.  I knew I should have studied harder in those damned psych classes.

So, that’s my valentine.  How about yours?

In the comments on New Family Member I hinted that:

As for more adoptions… certainly. In fact we’ll probably be picking up another very soon. While I was at the store today I signed Mrs. Jinksto and I up for a CCW course later this month. When she passes that I’m sure it won’t be long before I find her a suitable companion.

That was a bit of subterfuge on my part.  I had no doubt that Mrs. Jinksto would pass the CCW class as she learns faster than I do (read “she’s smarter than the redneck”) and, honestly, she shoots handguns better than I do.   In reality I was simply waiting for my yearly taxpayer funded financial industry mega bonus to hit the bank.  Last night at 12:01 A.M. it landed and today after lunch I hit the gunshop with the second of my five permission slips in hand.

This evening my valentine received her first high powered handgun. It’s a P229R in .40 S&W.  Just like mine with better night sights, an accessory rail and in a more accessible caliber.

Here’s the welcome home pictures:

The dang thing came with FOUR clips.  Those are standard 12 round clips with an “extender” on them to make them hold 14 rounds.  Loading them all takes 56 rounds… that’s more than a box.  God help the idiot that kicks in a door when I’m not here.

After the Ooooing and Aaaahing was over we sat down to learn how to clean it (God I love the smell of cozmalene).  Once cleaned and oiled we loaded her clips and went out into the latest round of snow for a quick few shots.   It’s snowing like crazy so we only fired about 12 rounds at an old coffee can just for fun.  The sights might need a bit of adjustment but we’ll get paper targets out in the next few days and find out for sure.   Until then…

Be Mine?

Free speech.  It’s guaranteed under the constitution.  So much so that these losers are pushing for the supreme courts intervention (thanks CJ) claiming that they have the right to lie and defame our American hero’s…

But, I don’t want to talk about those guys.  You know how I feel about them, or should.  If you don’t, send me an email and I’ll explain it.   No, what I want to talk about is something far scarier.  It’s this:

Yeah, that’s Sarah Palin’s well manicured hand.  Notes included.  She apparently scribbled down a few notes before a speech at the big TeaParty rally recently.   The left, in a frenzy of anti-Palinsm, had a field day.  I don’t mean, a few blog posts here and there.  I mean a full scale attack.  Everything from Main Stream Media coverage to Jon Stewart skits.  It was so over the top that I was lost looking for something that I had missed.  Was there a comment that she made that justified this attention?  Was something written there that called her out?  Racist comments?  A list of ammo to pick up while down south for a few days?  No, in the end it was just a list of talking points.  Nothing more than any speaker would use when preparing for a big speech.  Apparently her “save the trees” approach of writing them on her hand labels her as an unsophisticated rube.

In response, Ms. Palin provided the following bit of humor.

That should have been the end of it.  But we know that the left is unable to let something go.  The next day White House Press Secretary Robert Gibbs did this:

So…  while most of the nation is either calling Gibbs an idiot or applauding his very witty fifth hand reply.  I’m seeing a different and very scary side of this. 

Because, you see, I realize something.

Sarah Palin isn’t in Government.  She doesn’t hold a public office and she’s not running for a public office.  She’s very much just a citizen of these United States of America.  Just some chick from Alaska.  Admittedly, she has a background in politics but she’s not currently IN politics.  She has right wing views… that are more liberal than my own.  She speaks at national conventions for other people that think the way she does.  She was paid for it.   One might even say it’s her job.  There are arguments about whether she should have been paid for speaking at that teaparty engagement but they’re irrelevant.  In the end, she was.  So? 

So… you have a private citizen of the United States mocked by the White House Press Secretary for exercising her right to free speech because she scribbled a few notes on her hand before a major speaking engagement.  Seven words. He mocks her for doing her job.  He mocks her for doing something that she was paid to do.  Anyone that speaks before a large crowd keeps notes.  I’ve done it for speaking engagements MUCH smaller than the crowd she spoke to.  I wrote them on my hand too.  Does the Press Secretary consider me a moron as well? An illiterate rube? Should every American expect to be mocked by Mr. Gibbs if he doesn’t agree with the way that you do your job? It appears so.

Another note?  Mr. Gibbs’ notes are obviously an attempt at mocking Ms. Palin; it is imaginary.  But, who else does he mock in the process?

Notice that two of the items on his imaginary  list are the two items that this presidency was based on.  “Hope” and “Change” are fictions.  Mr. Gibbs proves it here as he mocks not only Mrs Palin but every American Citizen.

This ran across my FaceBook today…

All I can say is…

UPDATE: Turns out that this is a real billboard.

Thanks CJ

In watching the super bowl last night I, along with others, was charmed by most of the commercials.  I was quite surprised that CBS didn’t duck on playing the Tebow commercial even after the leftist attack squads attempted to destroy his mothers reputation.  Publicly calling her a liar and a whore although they had no proof of this because… well… because, that’s what they do, I guess.   That “anything for the cause” mentality is why this commercial scares the hell out of me:

I get the joke.  Really I do.  Satirical over reaction to the green movement.  Show that your product complies even with these impossibly high standards. Buy our cars, save the environment.  Look we even have a cute mascot in Andy the Anteater.  The scary part is that in looking around I see people who are “ok” with this.  Not people that thought that reaction to the commercial is overblown.  Not people who saw the commercial as just a cute knockoff of other police parodies.  People who can’t wait for the day that these kinds of rules are enforced in just this way.  Seriously.  I get that there are people on the right who are crazily obsessed with avoiding this.   Unfortunately, I think that some of them aren’t so far off base.  As long as those extreme leftist views are out there.  As long as they are fighting to pull the rest of us down to their level.  As long as they don’t care who they hurt in accomplishing the goals set before them I can’t find these things funny at all.

Of course, the more egregious error lies in the title of this post.  The Ordnungspolizei or OrPo were the regular German police during Nazi Germany.  They were absorbed into the Nazi Police forces and were called the Grüne Polizei or “Green Police” due to the color of their uniforms. They reported to the SS. They committed atrocities against both Jews and Cahtolics and were responsible for several million civilian deaths.  Audi, who sponsors the ads should know this but doesn’t seem to care.  Chanting the lyrics “green police” is the same as chanting “nazi”, “nazi”, “nazi”. It’s a catchy tune, it’s a cutesy commercial, it’s inherently wrong.  Seriously people, get a fucking grip.  I can see some blind and poorly schooled left coast production company coming up with a catchy slogan like this but Audi?  A German Car company?   OF COURSE they recognize the connection. Of course they don’t care.  Of course they’re feeding on  the mass hysteria.  Of course they believe that any furor over a super bowl ad is good press. Wrong.

When the ad played last night, we watched it.  In the first scene we all kind of smiled because we were in the mood to watch over the top Super Bowl ads.  By the third scene no one was smiling and people in the room stopped chatting to watch.  When the ad finished playing there was complete silence for about 10 seconds before some one said, “ugh”.  It sounded like he had been gut punched. I didn’t see where he was that far off.

To be honest, Audi hasn’t lost me as a customer.  They never had me to begin with.  It’s a crap car and I wouldn’t ever buy one. I spent one whole summer working on a friends Audi every weekend.  Not tweaking it… just keeping it running.   That said, I can’t help but associate people who DO drive them with this insensitive and horrifying celebration of one of the most murderous groups in history.  Got one?  Sell it.  Haven’t bought one yet?  Don’t.

UPDATE: Someone pointed out that I scooped Michele Malkin on this but even she didn’t make the same connection that I did. Scary.

Public Domain Images from Wikipedia.  In order of appearance:

1) Flag of the Nazi Ordnungpolizei (Orpo) "Order Police", the name for the uniformed regular German police force in existence during the period of Nazi Germany 1936–1945.

2) Ordnungspolizei conducting a raid in Cracow’s Jewish Ghetto, January 1941.

I read this article on a Make Magazine blog post.  I don’t know the author and haven’t read her stuff before but it’s an impressive bit of work.  Have a read:

When I interviewed STS-130 Mission Specialist, Bob Behnken last week in Houston at Johnson Space Center, I asked his advice for what to expect at my first shuttle launch. He gave me three tips: First, he said, "Bring bug spray." Fortunately, we didn’t have to worry about that with this morning’s cold, windy weather. Second, he told me to hope for clear skies. Night launches are all spectacular, he noted, but when skies are clear, you can keep eyes on the shuttle for up to eight minutes. When skies are cloudy, that visual can be as little as eight seconds. Finally, he repeated something I’ve heard from shuttle viewing veterans: put the camera down and just watch.

With mostly clear skies and a flawless countdown, my more-than-20-year-old dream was realized as the shuttle Endeavour lifted off before dawn this morning. The bright white light from the massive rocket boosters turned night to day in a matter of seconds. My brain could hardly process what my eyes were seeing, and when the sound finally hit my ears (there are a few strangely quiet seconds before sound reaches you) my entire body felt the force of this amazing vehicle. It was bigger, better and more exhilarating than I ever could have imagined.

I cried like a baby.

The tears started to come when Endeavour was given the final "go" for launch. They were slow as my heart rate started to pick up speed, and by the time the shuttle cleared the tower, I was completely breathless. Once Endeavour pierced the thin clouds and the entire sky glowed bright white, the sobbing came on hard. As I listened to the loud outdoor speakers blast the communication between Mission Control and Commander Zamka, and watched Endeavour sail through the sky as a bright star for a good seven minutes, I sat on the ground and cried uncontrollably. I cried for the spectacular images my mind was still reeling to process. I cried for the awe and wonder of such an incredible display of human ability and teamwork. I cried for the realization of such a long-held dream that I wasn’t sure would ever happen. And I cried to think that this icon of my childhood, the vehicle of exploration that lit my imagination on fire so many years ago only has four more launches ahead of her.

As I finally settled back in to the press room and finally overcame my weeping spell, I found myself overcome with a smile that would not stop. I smiled for the amazing opportunity I just experienced. I smiled in gratitude of all the folks who helped make this dream a reality. And I smiled at the thought of this great crew unstrapping from their seats and floating as they start their time on orbit. I can’t wait to watch them as they work through this important and complicated mission. And more importantly, I can’t wait to share it all with you.

Posted by Rachel Hobson | Feb 8, 2010 05:30 AM

Along with everything else, we’re giving our lead in space away.  If asked I’m sure Mr. Obama will blame President Bush for our losses on the space front while spending hundreds of billions of dollars on “green” energy to solve the global warming problem.  Thanks for that.

My cousin who has served more time than he should “over there” forwarded this along.  It’s old, I think but I hadn’t seen it before and I wanted to make sure that you had…   Make it full screen.  Turn it up.  Cry a bit.  Say a prayer for our troops.

If one more person…

I went by a local gun shop yesterday to pick up more ammo for the new gun.  The owner spent most of the time that I was there trying to convince me that buying a .357 sig was stupid and that I should let him “rebarrel it”  to .40 S&W for me.  Two things:

One

When I ignored him he told me to be sure to save my brass and learn to reload because, “the .357sig isn’t going to be around much longer”.

Uh huh.  People have been saying that since BEFORE the round was introduced.  Don’t get me wrong, I think reloaders are cool.  One of my aunts reloads.  I’m just not that into it. It’s easier for me to spend $30 for a box of 50 than it is for me to pull that handle 50 times.  As has been noted several times in this blog, I am inherently and unrepentantly  lazy.

“It’ll never last. In a few years they won’t even be making the ammo for it anymore” he said. 

“No other necked down round has ever made it on the commercial market,” he explained. 

Twenty (ish) years after it’s introduction it’s still one of the most popular law enforcement rounds on the market.  However, I learned that this is only because “enforcement personnel use tax-payer money to buy stuff so they don’t care what it costs”.  Right. ok.  End game: Supply and Demand.  If they can’t keep it on the shelves then the ammo makers are going to keep making it.

When I wanted to talk ballistics he admitted that it has good ballistics but that, “WE don’t really need those ballistics… those are good for law enforcement but not something that we’ll ever use. “ 

Really? 

“A cop might need to shoot through safety glass, or heck, even a car door, you won’t ever need to do that.”  he explained.

One hopes not.  But, if “WE” do I’ll be just a touch more prepared than he is won’t I?

“It’ll shoot through walls” was another good reason not to buy a .357 sig. 

“That just means that I don’t have to go into the same room with the bad guy doesn’t it?”, I asked.

Yes, apparently, it does but, “what about your neighbors?” 

My neighbors have an acre of wooded hillside to hide behind.  That particular acre belongs to me.  IF they happen to be trespassing at the same time that I’m having to encourage a “Bad Guy”(tm) to leave my home and accidentally get shot, then yeah, sorry about that.  If I lived in an apartment building that might be a good argument.  Here on the tree farm, not so much.  Seriously though, I’m not one to randomly shoot through walls.  Everything from Daddy smacking me in the head for being stupid to military training has taught me to identify targets first.  Can’t do that if you can’t see them.

Two

“Rebarreling” a Sig P229 to a .40 S&W means taking the old barrel out and putting a new one in.  It takes about 38 seconds for me to field strip this gun to the point that the barrel falls out. I do that every time I clean it which is, essentially, every time I fire it.  I’m not paying a gunsmith to do that for me.  It’s like paying a plumber to change your toilet paper roll.  That said, some aftermarket barrels do require a gunsmith to “fit” them but  Sig Saur barrels are “drop in” and I wouldn’t buy anything else.  Still, it was a very high end “boutique” gun shop in a neighboring town.  I can see where the people that shop there would want to have a drop-in barrel replaced by a gunsmith if only for the ability to make small talk at the range.

Really, I appreciate folks that want to “correct” someone that doesn’t have a clue.  I’m not a gun collector but I do know a few things.  I did the research and decided what weapon I wanted to buy then went and found one that I could afford.  I’m even cool with verbal jousting about which round is better and encourage it.  But don’t trot out your opinion if you’re going to ignore the ballistic proof.   I’ll bury you in sarcasm. 

In the end, we played with his display guns and bought his last two boxes of .357 sig ammo while making it clear that I would have bought more if he carried it.  I would have too… I’m out of practice ammo… again…. and Walmart has had .357 sig for months.  They had stacks of Winchester .40 S&W though… shoulda bought that I guess.

Yup, that’s right.  As free and legal citizens of the United States of America Mrs. Jinksto and I adopted a new family member today. 

We got exactly what we I wanted!  After a few snapshots at the nursery and a TON of paperwork ensuring that I am not a Felon, a nutcase, a wife beater or an illegal alien we were able to load up in the car and come home.

I took these pictures at the nursery. They’re not that great but you know how the lighting can be in those places:

After a 20 mile ride home, the first thing to do was give her a good bath and get down to the first feeding. 

After that we went out in the yard to play. It was 35 degrees F and raining so we only stayed until she got hungry again.  I didn’t have a target so used a 4inch skeet and hit it 5 out of 8 times (there’s not much left of a clay pigeon after you shoot it 5 times with a .357 anyway) at 7 yards.  Here’s a picture after the bath and first feeding.

It’s a SigArms P229 in .357sig. 

Anybody know what color cigars you buy for one of these?