Helluva good day yesterday. Helluva day. And most of it I didn’t tell you about.
For every ten words you read in this space, there are a hundred you’ll never see. Some of it’s repetitive or just plain boring. (I dumped tanks, no issues. And I saw a wild turkey.) Some of it’s trivial. (It looks like I was left my entire back-stock of toilet paper.) And some of it, believe me or not, is too personal.
I mean, I may be standing in the light, but I’m not standing in the light bare-ass nekkid.
For example, I’ve written a lengthy, raw, and in many ways self-critical post mortem on my second marriage. I wrote as if it’d be published eventually, but I can’t imagine doing that.
Or the private message I received yesterday from a man who’s walking the same road I’m walking, at the very same time. He reads this blog and finds what I say “comforting, encouraging, and empowering.” I could publish a whole blog post based on that one message, but I won’t — both for his sake and for mine.
Remember: You are not alone.
Those, along with other intensely personal material, sit in my drafts folder. I’ll probably mine it some and delete the rest one of these days. Not yet.
“If you would not be forgotten as soon as you are dead and rotten, either write things worth reading, or do things worth the writing.”
Benjamin Franklin
I suspect that many of you know well the therapeutic benefits of writing daily — capturing thoughts in a paper journal or on some electronic device. My way just happens to be (mostly) public.
And if you haven’t tried to “write it down,” I urge you to give it a shot. Set aside the time. Stick with it. No excuses.
There’s a good chance you’ll learn what many of us already know — that expressing your thoughts in a concrete way, regardless of form or forum, is good for your mental health.
It is. Try it.
From my front door yesterday at 5pm CDT.
The smoothie thing has become a daily ritual for me now. I look forward to it, in fact, whenever I fit it into my day.
It takes a minute to whip up, but it’s worth the time and a lot better than the bottled nonsense I held my breath and chugged every morning the last few years.
The blender is a basic 600-watt Nutribullet with a 24-ounce tumbler. And my “recipe” is:
- 2 fistfuls of frozen fruit (berries, cherries)
- 1 ripe banana (on occasion, better when peeled and frozen beforehand)
- 1/4 cup roasted cashews, unsalted
- 1/4 cup raw, unfiltered honey (local, when I can get it)
- 1 scoop protein powder, vanilla (cheapest I can find)
- 8 ounces almond milk, vanilla
Blend about a minute and enjoy.
(Those measurements are guesses, by the way.)
I’m really likin’ the Nutribullet. It’s fast, stout as I need it to be, and cleans up easily. It didn’t break the bank, either.
My smoothie habit will become that much more important when I have to cut back on vitamins and supplements. (Austerity program again.) I’m plowing through what I have on-hand until it runs out.
At that point, I’ll probably choose a good multivitamin and add aspirin, maybe B-complex. Possibly C and D3 in the winter.
What I’d been taking is kind of a modified WuFlu protocol — B-complex, C, D3, zinc, magnesium, quercetin. Four-plus years later, my life and lifestyle don’t warrant extraordinary measures or expense. I’ll make the change and see how it goes.
“The too exquisitely cultured I avoid as I do the theatre. Their life lacks reality. They offer me wine instead of water. They are surrounded by things that can be bought.“
Thoreau, from a journal entry on June 26th, 1852
Technically, the current moon phase is “waxing Gibbous.” We won’t see spring’s first full moon ’til tomorrow.
This morning, though, it sure looked like a full moon.
I saw it as it began to sink below the western horizon, shortly before 6am. First light struck at just the right angle, turning it reddish-pink. It gave the appearance of a soft sunset.
That magnificent, almost other-worldly sight is preserved in memory. I took no photos.
I’ll also remember the soundtrack — tuneful wrens and chirping chickadees, impatient for the sun to warm them.
I’ll remember the chill air, 38°F on the 12th of April, and the way that first cup of coffee swept the chill away.
I’m here, I thought, as my eyes took in the sights and sounds and smells of morning on The Mountain. I’m alive. I’m awake to the day.
Present. Alive. Awake. These things are within control. The rest of my day would be shaped by the choices I’d make.
Briefly here, I want to return to something I said the other day:
“Pick your battles. Stand the high ground. Hold your tongue. Don’t engage. If your adversaries insist on thrashing, let ’em thrash. A social-media shitstorm isn’t worth your time. Don’t rise to the bait.”
I love a good debate. Maybe you do, too. But a debate not only takes two, it requires that the parties be intelligent and intellectually honest.
The Internet, along with a generation that doesn’t know a world without the Internet, makes that combination hard to find.
What we do find are loud, morally bankrupt, pseudo-intellectual cranks. They’re not worth the oxygen they consume, nor are they worth your time.
If attacked, don’t defend. Don’t even “correct the record.” Step away. Wall them off.
Live the life they’ll never have.
These cranks will find another audience, one that’s just as morally and intellectually crippled. Let ’em.
I’ve written almost nothing about current events over the last couple of months. Just not in the mood, I suppose.
Today, I’m in the mood.
When I motorhomed through The American West several years ago, my itinerary didn’t include Colorado. Beautiful as it is, and as much as I might’ve liked to take in its wonders, politically the state was careening toward deep-blue totalitarianism. I spent my time and money elsewhere.
This week, it got worse, when the leftist governor signed into law a sweeping measure that bans the manufacture and sale of many semi-automatic firearms in common use. The unconstitutional restrictions will take effect on August 1st, 2026.
Coloradans who possess firearms banned under the new law won’t be affected now — but make no mistake, that’s not because the legislature and governor didn’t want to confiscate them all. A full frontal assault on the natural right to keep and bear arms is coming in Colorado.
My Liberty-loving friends in the state, most of them well outside urban shitholes, obviously aren’t happy about any of this. They realize they’re outnumbered, but none of them is inclined to comply.
Going back to my de facto boycott of Colorado in 2021, I’m not saying that you should follow my example and punish the state over its wretched gun laws. Not at all.
I’m saying that any time you can choose to do business where your natural and constitutional rights are upheld and protected — instead of where your Liberty is violated — then that’s what you should do.
Four years ago, I visited Wyoming, Oklahoma, Texas, and even teetering Nebraska. I reveled in the hospitality and natural beauty of South Dakota and Montana.
I could die without seeing the Commie Mountain State ever again. So can you.
I fussed around the place all morning, catching up. Holes in the cabin’s floor and walls needed to be sealed where electric and plumbing passes through, for example. I used aerosol self-expanding foam for that. I hate the stuff.
In the camper, I dealt with something postponed far too long. The upholstered furniture in the living space — sofa and recliners — was fine when the fifth-wheel came to The Mountain, but I knew it wasn’t well made. Shortly after moving in, it began to disintegrate before my eyes. It just fell apart.
Smudge finished the job on the sofa — cheap plus neglect plus Heeler equals a freakin’ disaster.
This morning, I used my newly refurbished Benchmade to cut the back cushions completely off of it. Those went into the trash. For now, I’m using a bedsheet and a couple of fleece dog blankets to give Miss Smudge a place to be ’til I can come up with something better.
Like moving into the cabin.
Speaking of which, this week it’s been smelling out there like the air-admittance valve atop the plumbing vent may be defective. It’s letting air in alright, but it seems to be letting gas out.
I sniffed the drains, and they don’t appear to be the problem. Right now, the windows are open and the fan’s on. I’ll call my plumber-neighbor this week and we’ll figure it out.
Just another day in Paradise.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable