BMW Modifier

The picture is of a 4 pound sledge hammer I’ve had for over thirty years. It has been retired from work but sits on a shelf next to my front door as part of my home defense plan. As an “at risk” senior, I face less possible legal problems bludgeoning an intruder than shooting an intruder.

The time I used it to modify a BMW was in the 1970’s. My employer produced UBC compliant modular homes along with other construction activities and a new dealer was installing their first purchase from us. I was onsite for “tech support”. When we finished, it was late and dark. My route home was different from theirs. In a few miles, I hit dense fog.

For those who know Eastern King County, WA, my route home was on May Valley Road near Renton. At that time, the road was a rural narrow two lane road with no shoulders and a steep drop off. There may be darker places at night than Western Washington when there is an overcast and thick fog. Inside a mine comes to mind.

This vehicle comes up behind me. There were the headlights, driving lights, and auxiliary lights, all full blast. My speed was only 15 MPH, all the visibility would allow, and now the glare from this jerk blinded me. I pulled into the first driveway I came to and let him pass. Pulling in behind him, I kept my lights on park and left on my two yellow fog lights. Now he pulls into a driveway and then back in behind me. I stopped. After putting on my four ways, I walked back to the car, a decked out BMW with a couple in the front. The driver lowered his window a crack. I explained he was blinding me and requested he kill most of his lights. He wasn’t cooperative. He also had a lot to say including telling me what to do. OK. The sledge was in the back of my pickup. Very soon, the BMW had one only operating light. Priceless expression on the yuppies faces! As I drove off, they just at there.

No visits later from the police. Probably, they were too shocked to note my license number.

Recently, my daughter in law posted a comment on this blog.

FDIL said...
Forget the apple falling from the tree! I think they all grew on the same branch! The biggest difference between you, your dad, my hubby and my male children is that you, your dad and my hubby didn't have me running the show and raising you! LOL There is still hope for my young sons! (As long as they don't spend too much time around Grandpa!) :-)

Wonder why she would say something like that?

Quiet Sunday in My Hood

Hostage situation two blocks away. SWAT, flash bangs, loud speakers, HAZMAT team and every off duty LEO in the area present to punch the overtime ticket. Film at eleven?

Unfortunate family trying to unload a truck one block away. Looks like they are moving in. Probably not the Welcome Wagon they were expecting.

Customer Service

Rodeo contestants are unique group who put in unimaginable hours.

The owner of the car dealerships I worked at for many years was a former bull rider. We had many customers who were involved in professional rodeos. We went out of our way to accommodate them. Sometimes, this became interesting.

A repeat customer was a young Wyoming bull rider. As a committed Christian, he took his young wife and three children with him. They traveled in a crew cab pickup with a self contained camper. One night on his way to a rodeo he stopped by and they traded in their ¾ ton Ford for a one ton dually crew cab Ford. As part of the deal, we needed to move their self contained camper from the trade to the new vehicle.

Since he didn’t have camper jacks, we opened the shop and backed in the trade to one of the hoists. We were able to remove the camper by lifting it with the hoist and pull the trade out of the way. The problem now became backing the dually under the camper. Much less clearance and a much larger turning radius made for very tight squeeze. By now it was two hours after closing. The owner, another salesman, the customers, and I were still at the dealership. The other salesman, AKA, was by far the best driver in the group and was finally able to maneuver the dually into place. The camper was lowered and bolted down by the customer. While this was going on, the rest of us were transferring the contents of the trade to the dually. AKA maneuvered the dually out of the bay, the customer drove off, and the rest of us went home. The customers still had a seven hour drive in front of them.

Strange as it may seem, in our world, this was a normal transaction. Whatever the hour, whatever the situation, we dealt with it. The old Jackie Cooper axiom, “Winners do what losers won’t”, was a “core value” with us.

From where I look, the only place you can always find that commitment is in our professional military. Good reason to hire a recently discharged vet. They know how to work.

Latter Day Saints

So Romney is a Latter Day Saint (Mormon) . So what? I’m far more concerned that he is a RINO.

I’m not LDS. I lived in Utah for a few years and have done business in “Mormon” country most of my adult life. Once worked for a company that had two Stake Presidents and one Bishop in management. Once had a customer who is a General Authority. Point is, I know more about LDS belief and history than most folks.

I can recall only two times religion was a factor in business. One time the folks involved didn’t know I wasn’t LDS and thought I was a backslider. When that was cleared up, the problem went away. In the other case, took the two brothers aside and explained to them they were acting like asses. The conversation got quite spirited but we came to an understanding. In fact, the Church’s doctrine forbids a Saint from discriminating against a Gentile. Against amoral pieces of shit, yes, to the extent of protecting oneself.

The most important thing to Latter Day Saints is family. I was a good family man. I didn’t just talk the talk, I walked the walk, all the time. My behavior, my wife’s behavior, and my children’s behaviors were noted. We were accepted and had no problems with our neighbors. Small things, like babysitters when we wanted an evening out, were never a problem.

So, do we disqualify a candidate who’s religion focuses on morals, integrity, self reliance, family and community service?

Doubt my party will even allow a primary challenger.

I hope we get a great candidate to oppose the Lightbringer. If Romney is the candidate, his being LDS won’t influence my decision. His damn flip flopping and past Second Amendment positions will.

Need To Be Able to Laugh at Ourselves

A "Progressive" friend directed me to this Facebook site.

https://www.facebook.com/pages/We-survived-President-Bush-You-will-survive-President-Obama/109809872390221

I find this title hilarious. The author? Needs an enema.

Flattered

According to the stat counter, this blog is drawing more page views every new posting. I see some new followers. Since I can't seem to figure out how to send you a welcoming email, welcome, and thank you.

This blog was started as a new way to run my mouth, to communicate with friends, and allow the members of my clan to have new material to "tsk, tsk" about, without having to expose themselves. Should you find anything of interest here, feel free to comment. I enjoy arguments! Some will think I'm a bubble or two off plumb. Feel free to say so; you will be right.

Again, to all who come back to read this blog, thank you. I am flattered.

Hunting With My Father

From an early childhood, I was involved with hunting. I was part of the group, but it wasn’t until I was a senior in high school my father and I, alone, went hunting together.

For many years, he guided hunters and provided horses and gear. This was a critical component of the family finances. Hunting was, for me, work. Pack in gear and hunters. Pack out game, hunters, and gear. We were always subsistence hunters. Guiding hunters was simply an extension of food hunting. No one worked harder, and put in more hours, than my father. I was expected to keep up. Sometimes, it was just the two of us packing, and we “hunted” as we packed, but the packing took priority.

By my senior year, my father had found a good paying, steady job, at the power plant. My mother had a job with the Forest Service. We had a small ranch but it wasn’t large enough to provide a steady living. With the acquisition of the power plant job, my father quit guiding.

We were hunting elk and were sitting on a rock, on the South face of a scrub oak covered ridge, waiting for the pressure of other hunters to drive something past us. At that time in my life, I had acute hearing. I heard an animal moving quickly from our West and alerted my father. He didn’t believe me at first. I got into position, aiming where my hearing indicated I would get a clear shot, and waited with my Model 94, 30.-.30, open sights. The bull came into view, about 150 yards below us at a trot, with a downward angle of about 45 degrees, and 90 degrees to us, i.e, broadside. Now my pride got in the way. Wanting to impress my father with my skill, and not spoiling any meat, I aimed for a brisket shot. Just as I fired, the bull stopped. I saw hair fly, then he was gone. Had I aimed for a neck or shoulder shot, he would have been meat on the table. We checked for blood and only found a few spots. Nothing to indicate a serious wound.

That day some “Sportsmen” jumped a elk herd a few miles from us and started shooting. They wounded more than they killed. We came across some of the wounded and put them out of their misery.
I came across a gut shot yearling cow who was so exhausted she stood bleating and watched me shoot her from less than twenty feet. Made me feel like a mighty hunter - not.

The game wardens managed to catch and prosecute several of the “Sportsmen”.

Turned out my father and I never hunted together alone after that. We hunted with others, but that was the only time it was just the two of us.

I read about other folk’s hunting experiences and wonder if I missed something. I enjoyed the outdoors experience, enjoyed the successes, the tracking and stalking, but only in the context of putting meat on the table. Always, there was an underling tension of not wanting, not allowing, failure. Hunting just for the enjoyment of the hunt I can understand, at a mental level, but I’ve never felt it.