Burgled Again!!!!!!

We got back from the farm about two hours ago.  The farm house had been burgled again.

The last time we were there, Sheila was stung several times by red wasps who had made a nest inside the wall by the back door.  They were extremely aggressive and actually chased her out into the yard as she was stepping out the door.  I am allergic to wasp stings.  So, when I saw that she was safe in the car with the windows rolled up, the blasted things still buzzing around trying to get to her, I closed that door from the inside and left by the other door.  But, in that process I could not lock all of the deadbolts as I normally do.  The burglar apparently gained entry by slipping the doorknob lock on the front door since there were no visible signs of forced entry.


This visit started with me advancing on the door with a can of wasp spray.  I quickly filled the hole where the wasps had taken over the wall but then noticed that there was another nest at the top of the door between the storm door and the inner door.  It was nearly a third as the wide as the door,  I dispatched them as well.

When we finally got into the house, we noticed a dining chair sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor.  We never leave furniture sitting out of place since we never know when we may have to come in in the dark. Rural electric service is not as reliable as we would like for it to be. Then I noticed that the globe of the ceiling fan light was sitting on the kitchen table and that half of the paddles from the fan were missing.

Insult turned to injury when Sheila discovered that one whole electrical circuit in the house had apparently burned out.  We still had power to the receptacles but all of the overhead lighting and fans were dead.  The "person" who had apparently been staying there had obviously damaged the ceiling fan and then left it running unbalanced until it shook itself to pieces and burned out the wiring in the ceiling in the process.  Lord knows what it will cost to have it repaired and it's a miracle the place didn't burn down.

After sorting that out for a moment, we began the regular routine of sweeping and dusting.  It's amazing how much dust an empty, sealed up house can accumulate.  But, it's always been like that when you live on a dirt road. It gets into everything even through closed windows and doors. We always clean house as soon as we get there.  But this time, we also found that our rodent friends had been back and apparently had a party.  There was a huge pile of dried rat dung in the corner near one of the easy chairs.  By that time, I was so angry that I just locked the place up and we came back to Tulsa.

As I was leaving, the challenges of keep the old house semi open came back to me in spades.  A few summers back, Rural Electric cut our power off over a fifteen buck billing dispute without telling us, ruining hundreds of dollars worth of frozen food.  We arrived ready to spend the 4th of July in the country only to find that not only did we have no power and it would cost a lot of money to get it turned back on but we also had a refrigerator and freezer full of rotten meat that had to be cleaned up.

Then I remembered that the water district recently doubled our rates so that they could fund service to new homes in a nearby township.

It then came to mind that a little over a year ago, the house was burgled and several irreplaceable firearms that had belonged to my parents were stolen.

And now this.

Sheila and I decided against retiring to Sequoyah County for several reasons.  I intend to keep on working part time in retirement but the only time people down there call their lawyers is to get a divorce or when they get arrested, two areas of the law I avoid like the plague. The health care, even in nearby Ft. Smith, is a generation behind Tulsa and Oklahoma City and is no better than many third world countries in the small towns.  One of my cousins died of heart attack in the waiting room of one of their major hospitals while they argued about his insurance coverage.  Another family member was mis-prescribed a drug which destroyed his immune system nearly killing him immediately and almost certainly contributing to his premature death.

Local government down there can be simply  astonishing at times.  For a while, the village justice of the peace was working through his own DUI charges.  A nearby township made national news when it was learned that most of the city's income came from traffic tickets and that they were stopping passerby's on the portion of I-40 that passed through their city limits.  And, can you imagine a public utility in an urban area getting away with doubling their rates on their existing users to fund new construction for new homes in new neighborhoods that weren't even built at the time of the tax increase? In the real world, real estate developers have to pony up for the infrastructure costs for their developments not the rate payers.

And the crime.  This is not Tulsa style crime.  Too often, it is petty, bone assed poor, not a pot to pee in, meth everywhere, stealing from your neighbors or destroying things just for the hell of it crime.

My uncle gave up preserving his old house down the road a generation ago because of this petty BS. I guess nothing much has changed since.

A Country Funeral

Early yesterday morning, we once again made the sad journey back to Sequoyah County to attend a funeral.  A close family member and dear friend's husband had passed suddenly while on vacation.

It was a simple graveside service marked by great dignity and compassion. Around two hundred people gathered and stood under the trees in the gentle Oklahoma morning to mark the passing of a good man. Family members, friends and local business people all gathered to pay their final respects.

He was laid to rest in the perfectly manicured family plot of one of that small village's most prominent families.  The plot is surrounded by giant, native oak trees and sits in the shadow of venerable old Pine Mountain.

The sermon, while handled with great tact, was powerful. At the request of the family, the Gospel was presented and an invitation offered.  As the invitation was offered, the quiet of the otherwise still morning was suddenly broken by a gentle, steady wind in the treetops. a sign of the movement of the Holy Spirit to the faithful.  After the sermon, two people quietly announced to the pastor that they had made spiritual decisions.

After the service, we were invited to lunch at a nearby church.  When we arrived, a banquet room had been been set up for us with real china, silver, stemware and cloth napkins.  The meal was as good as any caterer could have provided.  After we ate, an incredibly talented eleven year old family member sang for us.   I was so impressed with her performance that I gave her the ukulele that I carry around in the car to play at odd moments. She was extremely grateful and several sweet, little girl hugs were offered.  Her smile alone was worth the trip.

As I looked around the room, I couldn't help but marvel at the group.  The majority of the crowd consisted of four generations of the same family.  There were successful business people, respected athletes, long time educators and three generations of girls who sang like angels from the cradle  ... a host of good, solid, small town folks, all the progeny of one man and one woman.

I remember that man and woman fondly.  In quiet moments, I can still see them in my mind, him sitting in his chair reading his Bible and smoking his pipe after work, her in the kitchen turning out meal after fabulous meal for her hungry brood and whoever else was around at mealtime.  It was a humble home but a solid one.  It was a pious home but a fair one.  He was not afraid to apply the principles of the Bible to the backside of his sometimes rambunctious offspring and she was not afraid to the apply the same biblical principles to soothe ruffled spirits and mend broken hearts.

As I drove up the turnpike on the way back to Tulsa, a deep, deep anger built within me. How dare the United States Supreme Court equate the filthy things that two homosexuals do to each other with the blessed, holy, marital union that those two godly people shared.  Adam and Steve will never produce four generations of the most solid people in a community. Ellen and Elaine will never bless multiple generations by being Godly people.  Nature itself will not allow it. That is why that until just a few years ago, the things that homosexuals do to each other were truthfully called "crimes against nature."

Make no mistake.  If America does not rise up and crush the cultural jihad against marriage being waged by the homosexual rights movement, our nation, our culture and even our families are doomed and gatherings like we attended yesterday will die with our generation.

Bill and Sheila Face the "New Normal"

Yesterday was "Tulsa Pride Day."  I have never understood why parading your sexual preference around the streets is a cause for pride especially when the behavior is shameful.  I had no reason to know that it was Tulsa's "Pride" day until I left the house. But then it hit us like a ton of bricks.

We stopped in a neighborhood eatery to split a sandwich for lunch.  In the corner was a slightly built, sixty-ish black man wearing perfectly ironed jeans and a rainbow hued tee shirt.  He was eating alone. The polished delicacy of his hand movements as he oh so diffidently pushed away the remainder of his meal spoke volumes about his opinion of the establishment, their food and the people around him.  He was quiet and dignified and the exquisite disdain he showed for the food and his humble surroundings harked back to a different era of more genteel, less in your face "gayness."

The next table up from him was another matter. A very well dressed and dignified little blue haired lady was apparently having lunch with her son.  The meeting was obviously strained.  The man was in his forties.  His shorts were a little too short and his manner was nervous.  He had brought a touch screen laptop with him to use as a crutch in the long silences over their food.

At a table near the front door there was a tallish young man with beautifully groomed auburn hair arranged in a perfect chignon on the upper rear of his head.  He completed the look with two large, different colored, ring shaped, plastic ear inserts that distended his ear lobes and multiple nose, lip and face piercings.

The grocery store was a circus.  In the dairy section, a twentyish young man lounged on the shoulder of his taller and heavier built twentyish "partner."  The smaller man was dressed in perfectly rolled up cut offs and a pair of high top basketball shoes.  The tilt of his hips was worthy of a  high school cheerleader.

Several "butched up"couples roamed the aisles but those have become so common in midtown Tulsa that they are part of the landscape.  But, the queen of aisles had to be the gal (or at least it looked like a gal) in the sarong.  She was a big gal but the weight was well distributed and the ample curves were all in the right places.  She wore a bright, red, orange, yellow and green colored, tropical print sarong crossed in the front and tied behind her neck halter fashion and a pair of matching sandals.  From what I could tell, that was all she wore.

Even QuikTrip proved interesting.  As Sheila went in to get our afternoon coke, a fascinating couple entered behind her.  Though they were both good sized people, he was shorter than her.  He wore jeans, a sun hat and comfortable shoes, the usual uniform of a middle aged festival goer.  He had a subdued manner about him.  He followed a step or so behind her.  She stood a head taller than him and wore a pair of overalls and flat, lace up sneakers. Her face would have been perfectly at home on a Marine Corps DI and her carefully gelled silver crew cut would have passed a military inspection anywhere. I stopped myself before letting my mind wonder about the sexual dynamics of that duo.

As we drove home, I thought about how much society is trying to tell us that this is the "new normal." As I pondered it all, I came to a conclusion.  The "new normal" isn't and there is nothing there to be proud of.

Bill and Sheila Eat Out ... A Lot

  

Thursday afternoon, Sheila e-mailed me and said, "I need to go to the airport and I want you to take me."  Not knowing whether she was running away to Rio or meeting an incoming VIP, I shot back, "Sure."  Turns out she just needed to get a ticket for her boss and American Airlines, ever being American Airlines, would not let him redeem his frequent flyer vouchers on an e-ticket purchase and demanded instead that somebody come out in person and buy the ticket from the ticket counter.  So, I dropped her off at departures and waited in the cell phone lot while she satisfied American's demands for bureaucracy and a trip to the airport so their paper could be seen by one of their denizens.  

As we left the airport, I suggested we eat out, thinking we might stop at the Freeway Diner or maybe grab some carryout Chinese.  Sheila responded quickly, "I want to eat at the White River Fish Market."  The White River Fish Market is a Tulsa legend.  It is located on North Sheridan Road near the airport and is famous for serving nothing but the freshest seafood possible, literally either fresh caught locally or fresh off the airplane from the coasts.  Nothing is ever frozen. But, it is expensive.

Sheila ordered frog legs and I had the catfish, two of the lower priced entrees.  Our check was still in the mid thirties.  I can't speak for the frog legs since I don't/won't eat them. But, my catfish was very good.  Very fresh, lightly battered and cooked in a very clean oil that left no taste to detract from the delicate flavor of the catfish.  The sides were just OK but the hush puppies are the best in town.  So, was the meal good?  Yes, very good.  Was it worth thirty five bucks?  Probably not.  There are a dozen places in town that do very good catfish for less money.

One gentleman about my age was entertaining a party of about ten, obviously family members  As he walked by our table, he looked at his credit card, then looked at me and said, "I might as well throw this one away.  That maxed it out."  Given that he was wearing a windbreaker from a very nice country club and designer jeans, I doubt that the cost of the evening was going to cause him to lose any meals.  But, given that his folks looked like they would probably order from the upper end of the menu, I can understand his frustration.

Friday afternoon, our friends Pam Edwards and Wayne Elliot called and asked if we wanted to go out to dinner later.  Since it was (1) our turn to pick up the check, (2) Pam likes sushi and (3) I had no intention of paying twenty bucks a saucer for raw fish rolled up in rice, I suggested that we drive up to Claremore to Asiana which has a very good sushi bar as part of its dinner buffet. Asiana is a very busy place and in some ways it is, as Wayne observed, the upscale Asian equivalent of a Golden Corral.  But, I also noticed that everyone at our table seemed to be enjoying the food given the quantities that were consumed.

We had a good visit on the way up and back.  Wayne usually drives Cadillacs and Lincolns and had never ridden in a Hyundai.  He seemed genuinely surprised that it was fast, quiet and comfortable.  On the way back we made tentative plans to do a murder mystery weekend together over in Guthrie in a few weeks.

Saturday, though we only needed a few groceries, Sheila wanted to go to a Wal Mart SuperCenter since the really big ones stock her favorite brand of undies at a very good price.  We headed out for the one at the eastern edge of  Broken Arrow near the Creek Expressway.  On the way, we stopped  for lunch at JK's Thai Buffet near Lynn Lane.  JK's is a small place with a tiny buffet line. But, every dish is freshly prepared and the food is very, very good.  They concentrate on the basics, rice, pad thai, satay chicken and pork with peanut butter sauce, steamed vegetables, cooked and uncooked spring rolls, creamy chicken and potato curry and that wonderful Thai beef.   It was a very good lunch and I didn't want much dinner.

As we were driving home Friday night, Wayne observed, "Bill, you certainly know where all of the good places to eat are in this town."  Well, I may not know them all, but I know a bunch and Sheila and I tend to frequent them I guess.

Zen and An Hour At the Range

I hadn't been to the range in quite a while, at least not to do any serious shooting. Between my knees, back, colds, allergies, work, etc. I just hadn't had the time or the inclination. But sometimes, it is good to step back for a while. Apparently, my forced hiatus has helped my shooting. This is a very solid mid 80's round and it was done against the slightly skinnier B-21 target.

However, the thing that I was most pleased with was not the respectable pattern but how I shot it. About two thirds of the way through the round, I realized that I wasn't really acquiring a full sight picture. I was just instinctively point shooting at ranges closer than fifteen yards.


Point shooting involves having the bullet hit where you are looking without thinking much about it. Is not pretty but it is deadly and blinding fast when done right. While point shooting has probably been around as long as men have been shooting pistols, it was first developed as a formal training technique by William Fairbairn, a British officer serving with the Shanghai Police during the early 20th century. During WWII his methods were taught to British Commandos and American OSS agents by another legend, Major Rex Applegate of the OSS.

Most people don't shoot enough to develop instinctual point shooting. You have to burn through some ammo and that can get expensive. Point shooting is not about target shooting. In point shooting, it is good enough to keep all of your rounds on an 8 1/2 by 11 sheet of paper at combat ranges so long as you can do it faster than the person shooting back at you and do it every time. The great advantage of point shooting is that it works without a fine sight picture. That means that the point shooter will still be deadly in low light conditions where it is impossible to see the sights. It also means that older shooters (especially those who wear bifocals and trifocals like me) can still maintain a tactical edge even though they can't fire 6 inch groups at twenty five yards any more.

I have been playing at the edges of this breakthrough for a while but I would seem that I am finally internalizing it. I would get there and slip back. But, it now appears that the Zen of the technique has settled in. It's been a long haul since nearly failing my PI shooting qualification but it would appear I am past that now and becoming professionally competent with my weapon.

Bill's Birthday 2015

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I passed another Birthday this week. I won't say how old I am or what day so that the identity thieves can't use the information. But, I will say that I am past the age where I can draw Social Security.

Thursday night, Sheila's niece Pam and her partner Wayne took us out to dinner at In The Raw in Brookside. In the Raw is a very fashionable (and expensive) sushi place.

My friends are about equally divided about sushi. Some call it bait and some call it a gourmet delicacy.  Raw seafood is perfectly safe to eat if it has been handled properly and the taste is quite delicate.  When paired with seasoned rice, crisp raw vegetables and fiery wasabi mustard, it is delicious.

In the Raw takes your order by bringing out a checklist where you tick off the menu items you want. I was stunned when Pam ticked off several items "for the table." When it arrived, there was enough sushi to fill the table and kill most family's entertainment budget for the month, especially if you included the saki. 

The place was dark, noisy and full of the "beautiful people" that haunt Brookside establishments. We were by far the oldest couples in the place but Wayne and Pam looked like they belonged there. The food was great and we were in good company.   It was a wonderful meal and we had a great visit.

Saturday night, we met at Michelle's house for dinner and birthday cake.  We brought dinner, chicken and steak fajitas carried out from El Burrito.  As usual, Oscar cooked us far more food than we could eat.  But, it was a wonderful meal.  Michelle cooked me a fancy, three layer, "Neopolitan" birthday cake composed of a layer of dark chocolate cake and icing followed by a layer strawberry cake and icing and topped with a layer of white cake and icing. It was incredibly good but so rich that I had to limit myself to a small slice.

Gwenda insisted that everybody sing "Happy Birthday" as we cut the cake.  After dinner, I settled in on the couch and watched Sheila play with Ben for an hour. It was quiet, enjoyable little evening.

Remembering My Great Grandfather .... Gasp ... A Confederate Soldier!

You can find some amazing things on the internet.  I just googled my great grandfather's name and found, among other things, his paybook from a short stint he apparently served with "Captain Marshall's Battery, Arkansas Light Artillery."  There is no readable date there but I know the service must have been short because he served almost the entire war in the 6th Arkansas Infantry and units that succeeded it as casualties took their toll.

The second record I found was even more interesting.  It is a summary of his prisoner of war record.  Edward was apparently captured a few days after the Confederate disaster at Nashville.  The records show he was captured on New Year's Eve, 1864, five months before the end of the war.  The fact that he had lived through the hell of places like Shiloh is a miracle.  Here is a list of the battles his unit (and by inference he himself) fought in:

Battle of Rowlett's Station, Kentucky, December 17, 1861

Battle of Shiloh, Tennessee, April 6–7, 1862.[28]
Siege of Corinth, Mississippi, April–June 1862.
Kentucky Campaign, Kentucky, August–October, 1862
Battle of Perryville, Kentucky, October 8, 1862.
Battle of Murfreesboro, Tennessee, December 31, 1862 – January 3, 1863.[29]
Tullahoma Campaign, June 24 – July 3, 1863.
Battle of Liberty Gap, Tennessee, June 24–26, 1863.
Chickamauga Campaign, Georgia, August–September, 1863.
Battle of Chickamauga, Georgia, September 19–20, 1863.[30]
Chattanooga Campaign, September to November 1863.
Battle of Missionary Ridge, Tennessee, November 25, 1863.
Battle of Ringgold Gap, Georgia, November 27, 1863.[31]
Atlanta Campaign, May to September 1864.
Battle of Rocky Face Ridge, Georgia, May 5–11, 1864.
Battle of Resaca, Georgia, May 14–15, 1864.
Battle of New Hope Church, Georgia, May 25 – June 4, 1864.
Battle of Pickett's Mill, Georgina, May 27, 1864.[3]
Battle of Kennesaw Mountain, Georgia, June 27, 1864.
Battle of Peachtree Creek, Georgia, July 20, 1864.
Siege of Atlanta, Georgia, July 22, 1864.
Battle of Jonesboro, Georgia, August 31 – September 1, 1864.
Franklin–Nashville Campaign, Alabama, Georgia, and Tennessee, September 18 – December 27, 1864

Battle of Spring Hill, Tennessee, November 29, 1864.
Battle of Franklin, Tennessee, November 30, 1864.
Battle of Nashville, Tennessee, December 15–16, 1864.

Political correctness be damned, I refuse to be ashamed of this man.  He fought with a unit known for its courage under fire.  He fought for a cause he believed in alongside his brothers, friends and neighbors.  He fought under legendary leaders like Hood and Cleburne.  He served well.  And, when the war was over, he came to Oklahoma and made a life for himself and his family on the frontier of one of the toughest places on earth at the time.  There is nothing to be ashamed of in that story.