The range is Hot...

A friend, Tim, let me know he was going to the range Friday afternoon. Did I want to go?  Oh Heck Yes!  Bring plenty of ammo, he said.

I made an emergency trip to see the guys and get more ammo from the gunny place.  Something tells me I might be spending too much time/money at the gunny shop. The owner calls me by my first name, and his guard dog comes up and smooches my hand.

 It was hotter than a two dollar pistol Friday afternoon, which is not unusual for here.  The range was vacant when we got there. Too hot out for others, I guess.

 

Put a little over 150 rounds thru the little Sig and then shot Tim's AR-15.  The little Sig was great, her owner not so much.  I'm working on a group of drills that should help.

The AR was a dream to shoot.   I like that ping, ping sound a bunch.

As much pruning and sawing that I do in the yard I never thought my hands would not be up to an afternoon of shooting.  It appears I was wrong, as my ol scarred up hands are sore...

on the way home from the range

Dad's Mission...

  A small plea for prayers.

Dad is on a mission...

He is either trying to do me in or find me a boyfriend.  He is being aided by mother, or possibly it was a plan started by her, I don't know which. I do know they are working it. 

Every evening as I'm feeding mother dinner she asks me, "Have you got a boyfriend yet?" As I'm changing her she says, "Your still here, I thought you would have a boyfriend by now!" Whereupon she looks at Dad and gives him a cackling laugh.

As for Dad...

First, he insisted that I take him golfing, where he bragged up my nonexistent playing abilities to everyone male.  When that produced no action he claimed he wasn't going to golf anymore due to weakness in his legs.

Next, he arranged for us to go trap shooting with the guys. The guys were kind (or desperate) enough to include us. I can shoot shotguns, so that didn't end well.

Next, he bought the fishing boat, and after teaching me how to pack the wheel bearings on the trailer (a seemingly necessary skill) he put me driving the boat up and down the river. He has done a lot of trolling for fish & other things, but no bites.

Now, he has wrangled his way into the good graces of a friend of a friend with a small plane. Some of the first words out of his mouth to the pilot were, "I want to teach Sis to fly, can I borrow your plane."  

"Sure, no problem, just pass the flight physical and pay for the fuel."

This was news to me, I love flying but don't think I'm pilot material. Anyway, I would have chosen helos over fixed wing. 

I didn't want to hurt Dad's feelings, so I figured I'd let the flight physical take this off the table.  I took him up North for his flight physical this morning.  Even with his 4point cane he was stepp'n pretty good coming out of the doc's office.  

"Sis, Doc was great, he graduated flight school the same year I did!" (say what, that makes Doc 90 years old, too!)  "Said I passed, just need a dispensation for my heart surgery in 2000."  

Oh My God! 

I think it's time to suggest they might have better luck with cooking school.

Cowgirl gardening...

Garden is in, and there are fresh veggies on the way.  I wasn't putting one in this year and then I was...

Just a few necessary staples: bell peppers, patty pan, zucchini, crookneck, icebox watermelon, Armenian cucs, lemon cucs, three types of tomatoes, and a whole host of basil, flat parsley, oregano, and thyme.  

Holes were dug (with blasting caps), soil was amended (well aged cow pies), fertilizer added (dead frog), drip line installed (garden hose left at eighth of a turn), deer fencing installed (wormwood spread hither and yon). 
Ah... now to set back in a lovely old bent willow chair, dressed in a weathered linen pinny, sip some sweet tea, rest the well worn cowgirl boots up on a rock, 

and plink away at those damn feral cats from next door...