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So luckily I was not robbed. I have a 900 foot long gravel driveway through the woods to my house. There is a circular turnaround at my house plenty big enough for any box truck to use. The driver evidently did not want to come up to the house so he faked the signature and left the box next to my driveway down at the road. fedex does this all the time. UPS, Amazon and the postal service have no problem coming to the house but fedex thinks it’s ok to leave packages on or near the driveway near the road. we have had dog food from Chewy left by the road overnight as we did not know it was delivered and critters chewed into the box and bag and ate some of the dog food. I had a case of shotgun shells, unfortunately in a box marked Remington Ammunition disappear after it was supposedly delivered and left by the road. The fedex driver consistently leaves our packages down by the road. Only FedEx does this. luckily the rifle was still down at the end of the driveway when I went down there. The rifle is one of the new Ruger made Marlin 1894’s. It was really nice when I got it. The action work done by Longhunter is amazing. Smooth as silk. I would happily recommend his shop to anyone.

He received the rifle.

Yep, 'ol Wyatt is now old Wyatt. April 15, three tragedies and one positive on this date. 1. Lincoln dies 2. Titanic sinks 3. Income tax Day 1. I'm born

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THE MAN IN THE MIRROR "Sir?" "Yes, Jacob?" "Thank you." The Sheriff inclined his head. "You're welcome," he said with a solemn gravity. Silence for several long moments. Linn could tell there was something on his son's mind, and he knew the best way to bring it out was to say a whole lot of nothing, and he was right. "Sir, I don't ... I never knew my sire." Linn nodded again, once, his face carefully solemn. "You've conducted yourself as a gentleman, sir." Linn worked hard to cultivate a poker face. It almost worked this time. "Thank you," he said at length. Jacob frowned, looked away, uncertain, then looked back. "Sir ... you've never hit me." Linn raised an eyebrow, brought his chair down on all four legs, leaned forward, clearly ... well, either interested, or surprised. He nodded again, slowly, his palms sandpapering themselves together with an equal deliberation. "Jacob," he finally said, "my Pa would hit me." "Yes, sir?" "Time and again, he was not justified, or he was way too ... harsh." "Yes, sir?" "It took me a lot of years to realize it, Jacob, but I finally figured I could either keep holdin' all those ag'in him, or I could make some use of 'em." It was Jacob's turn to be surprised. "Sir?" "Jacob" -- Linn's jaw thrust out, he frowned, looked off to the side, rubbed his hands together again -- "Jacob, I can either whip my own back with those memories, or I can learn from 'em." "Learn from them, sir?" Linn looked at his son, one eyebrow tented up. "Jacob, you recall when your Mama's lamp got broke?" Jacob looked uncomfortable, shifted in his seat. "Yes, sir." "Do you recall how you felt when it happened?" "I do, sir." "Do you recall how it happened?" "I do, sir." "You'll recall the maid opened a window, and when you opened the hallway door, a gust hit the house and blew the lamp right off the table." Jacob nodded carefully. "I did, sir, and it did." "Now." Linn raised a finger. "You had no intent to break the lamp." "No, sir." "You did nothing intentionally to break it." "No, sir." "All you did was open the door." "Yes, sir." "Do you recall I wasn't happy the lamp was broke?" "I recall, sir." "Do you recall what I said?" "You didn't say a thing, sir, and that terrified me." "I know it did. I saw the look on your face." Linn looked closely at his son's face, chose his words carefully. "Do you recall what I did?" "You asked me what happened, sir." "Do you recall your answer." "I do, sir. I said I opened the door to the parlor and the lamp blew off the table." "Now Jacob, if I'd belted you -- would that have been right?" "No, sir." "Exactly right." Linn winked on eye shut, dropped a bent forefinger at his son. "Jacob, I'm not the brightest candle in the chandelier, but I'm not entirely stupid" -- he grinned, that there-and-gone grin that meant he was poking fun at himself -- "but I learned what not to do, from havin' it done to me." "Yes, sir." "Jacob, when someone does us wrong, we can cherish that hurt and pack it around with us for the rest of our life, or we can learn from it and toss the hurt aside." Linn frowned, then smiled a little. "I had a schoolteacher -- a real witch, damn her! -- she laid me across the shoulder blades with a little wooden paddle she favored. She died a year later of the apoplexy. She'd been a genuine sweetheart the year before, but for whatever reason, she just turned into a waspish old harridan. "I hated that woman, Jacob. I hated her with a deep purple passion, and I don't reckon there were more than two mourners at her funeral, other'n the parson and the gravedigger. Do you know how I laid that memory to rest?" Jacob shook his head, slowly, his eyes never leaving his father's. "Promise not to tell anyone," Linn said in a quiet and confidential voice, "but I donated her a beer." "Sir?" Linn winked, nodded. "Sir, you poured a beer over her grave?" Linn smiled quietly. "Almost," he admitted. "I run it through my kidneys first. Haven't give her a minute's thought since." Linn could see the smile at the corners of Jacob's eyes. "Everyone I talked to that was in school that year remembers her for the witch she'd become. Doc allowed as maybe she had the apoplexy for some time, for she wasn't that mean the year before, she just ... turned ... of a sudden, and he said he'd known folks with a light case t' change, and never for the better." "I see, sir." "I had my Pa so high on a pedestal it's a wonder he didn't get nosebleed. He made mistakes, yes, and he hurt me, yes, and there were times when it was not justified, but I looked in the mirror and realized my feet were made of the same clay as his, and that was a terrible day." Linn was quiet for a long moment, looking off to Jacob's left, looking at memories only he could see. "A son builds his universe on the ashlar that is his father," Linn said quietly, "and I did, and the day I realized my feet are made of the same clay as the Grand Old Man's, why, that was the day the very universe trembled." "Yes, sir." "The mirror was my friend, Jacob. I looked at it and saw a man that was just as prone to err as my Pa, and I've never forgotten that." "Yes, sir." Jacob was quiet for a long moment: he looked down the hallway that run between the cells, looked back. "You really run a beer through your kidneys for her?" Linn nodded slowly, then smiled quietly. "Don't get any ideas."

This made my day laugh A little boy goes to his father and asks, “Daddy, how was I born?” The father answers, “Well, son, I guess one day you will need to find out anyway! Your mom and I first got together in a chat room on Yahoo. Then I set up a date via e-mail with your mom and we met at a cyber-cafe. We sneaked into a secluded room, and googled each other. There your mother agreed to a download from my hard drive. As soon as I was ready to upload, we discovered that neither one of us had used a firewall, and since it was too late to hit the delete button, nine months later a little Pop-Up appeared that said: 'You've got male!'”

Just came back from my mail box. Had a letter for someone in Lansing, Michigan from somebody in Farmington, New Mexico. I live in Prescott Valley, Arizona.

Since so many awards are given at annual matches, I'm sure a lot of us have stacks of plaques (mostly the old days) and buckles (mostly these days). Many will wear one or two of their favorites on their holster/shotgun belts. But what about the rest, gathering dust? I did just order a buckle board from Ruby Red Rider that will display a dozen of them in a vertical strip. But then at the Comancheria Days banquet last night, I discovered a new way to display one, and you don't even need a belt. Inspired by rappers with all their bling, I present - - the watch chain fob buckle!

Thanks for sharing this! That is a really great shooters book, I can tell time and effort was put into it.

I was curious so I looked that plane up. It's a 1979 Cessna 182Q Skylane that was owned by a guy in New Jersey. Until 2005. When he sold it to a man in Holland. He owned it until 2012, when he sold it to a man in Finland. Who painted it white and took the boots off. That's where it's currently at. OH is the country code for Finland.

That presumes accurate reporting by the MSM. Without reading the trial transcript or hearing from someone actually present at the trial, it appears the prosecutor(s) were successful in convincing the jury that she was at least partially responsible. Her alleged behavior prior to the trial was not helpful. As for Baldwin, even that despicable POS deserves a fair trial. Based on the MSM's reporting it sounds like he was guilty of involuntary manslaughter. If found guilty let's hope the judge holds him to the same standards as Reed.

2023_Illinois_State_Championsip_ Event_ Program.pdf Here is a pdf of Illowa Irregulars' 2023 Illinois State Championship Event Program. As I recall, these thirty-two page, 8.5 x 11 inch, four color, saddle stitched booklets cost just under $4 each. Here are my thoughts on this subject. Event Programs are one of the first touch points shooters experience upon arrival. We want them to have a very positive tactile and visual experience when they pull it out of their registration packet. It helps set the stage for what's to come. We're doing something similar in 2024. www.illowairregulars.com

The rest of the quote: ”You alone turned a safe weapon into a lethal weapon. But for you, Ms. Hutchins would be alive, a husband would have his partner and a little boy would have his mother.”

Thats how I do it. My left thumb and right index finger work simultaneously. AND... my right thumb and left index finger work simultaneously. My other 6 fingers on each hand grip the pistol while my 3rd hand grabs shotgun shells, etc....... ..........Widder

I double cock. If it’s split pistols I shoot it double duelist.

I think they failed Geography in school. TM

It’s always been my understanding she wasn’t allowed on the set and wasn’t present when Alec was handed the gun. How is she solely responsible?

Not likely. He's a Hollywierd star with lots of money to pay for all the justice he can afford.

more likely she is the sacrifice , to save his butt CB

at least everyone involved was in the same country

Last couple on matches have been windy. My new hat should be easier to keep from blowing off.

THE SOUND OF A PISTOL SHOT Sheriff Willamina Keller was no stranger to Man Splaining. She was also no stranger to stress, nor to working with eager young men who'd just been through something that was not only unexpected, but somewhat more than startling. Sheriff Willamina Keller was a mother, she was a wife, she was a Marine: when she took a troubled-looking young man by the arm and steered him across the street, those who witnessed the moment had no way of knowing whether this meant well for the young man, or whether it boded some more serious outcome. As she intercepted him in front of Digger's funeral parlor -- it wasn't called that nowadays, of course, it had been run by a man profanely nicknamed Digger back when the town was very young, thus the colloquial term of the day -- but as she'd sized him up, as she'd apparently taken custody of him, and she was steering his course, it was evident that the Sheriff was in charge, the Sheriff had something definite in mind. One of the morning regulars saw them coming up the steps to the Silver Jewel: he gripped the polished brass door handle, hauled the heavy, ornate-frosted-glass-paneled door open for them. Willamina looked very directly at him and murmured a polite, "Thank you," and she smiled, the way a woman will when she is treated in a gentlemanly fashion. The Sheriff, and a young man in a shirt and tie, sat down at a table in the far corner of the room: Willamina smoothed her skirt under her, sat with all the feminine grace of the Queen upon her throne, smiled as the hash slinger came back to inquire after their order. "Coffee, please," Willamina smiled, "and a plate of garbage, I'm hungry!" The waitress looked at the young man, who was staring a hole in the salt shaker, his expression that of a man who'd seen things he wished he never had. "Bacon and eggs, over easy," he mumbled, "and rye toast." Willamina waited until they had coffee. "Francis, you look like you just survived your first firefight." Francis looked up at the Sheriff with the eyes of a genuinely troubled young man. Willamina sipped her coffee, nodded her approval. "Now that's a good brew," she said quietly, then tilted her head like an interested mother. "Out with it, now. What happened?" "I quit," Francis said, his voice flat. Willamina nodded. "I've walked off the job myself. What happened?" Frances stared at the Sheriff with troubled eyes. He wasn't seeing a good looking woman in a tailored blue suit dress. He was looking at a nightmare. He'd been sent to a nursing home to pick up a deceased for the local funeral parlor. The call came in at oh too early in the morning, and it was a good distance away: he took the company credit card, he took the out-of-town coach, and as usual, he wore a shirt and tie, pressed slacks and shined shoes. "I got there," he said quietly, "and we got the deceased over on my cot. I sheeted him and belted him down, I covered him with the funeral home blanket and got him loaded and secured." Willamina forked up another tumbling payload of garbage -- it was a heaping plate full of everthing edible: hashed and well browned taters, fried onions, peppers, sausage, cubed and fried chicken, it was different every day, it was always good, and it looked like garbage. "The deceased," Francis said quietly as bacon and eggs lowered into place in front of him, "slept sitting up for the past twenty years." "Chronic lunger," Willamina murmured, and the young man nodded. "Eat your eggs before they get cold." Francis blinked, realized he had a plate in front of him: he picked up his fork, cut some egg free, stabbed it, chewed. "It was out in the flat country, about two in the morning. Thunder storm. When I'm driving at night I make a circle with my eyes -- instruments, speedometer, rearview and back to the windshield -- I'd just looked up in the rearview when lightning hit the median a quarter mile ahead of me." His fork lowered to the table, forgotten, as he looked at the mirror in the memory. "There was the sound of a pistol shot, Sheriff. The body sat up and broke the chest strap and it groaned, and I'm glad there was nobody next to me in the passing lane!" Willamina nodded. "If he slept sitting up for twenty years, his abdominals would have shortened. Lactic acid builds up when the blood stops flowing, the belly tightens --" She looked very frankly at her breakfast companion, she reached across the table, laid her hand over his: "Francis, did you have any trouble staying awake for the rest of the trip?" Her words were gently spoken, and they were not at all what he expected to hear: he blinked, he laughed a little, he reached for the pepper shaker and sprinkled some black flakes over his eggs. "No, ma'am," he chuckled. "I did not have any trouble whatsoever staying awake!"

Progressive/Liberal Thought: When it started.

A few years go there was a pole taken of the top shooters and IIRC none of them slip hammered. In videos it appeared they were slip hammering but when asked all said they pulled the trigger every time. As a side note: more time can be shaved by first not missing and second by practicing better transitions.

Years ago I asked one of our top shooters for advice on improving my times. He watched a few of my videos and noted that I was slip hammering, which I wasn't. The reason he concluded that was because he couldn't see any appreciable trigger movement and the reason he couldn't was because I was (and still am) using pistols set up by Jimmy Spurs with his extra set back triggers. Not only are they light, they have very little movement when firing and also very little reset. Because of that I don't think slip hammering would save me any time. I almost hate to say this because I might jinx myself, but I can't recall the last time I had to do the Ruger go round. I'm guessing 5 or 6 years ago at least.

I’m guessing that these guys shot their scenes at the Mescal Movie set, since that’s who posted this picture.

Went back and updated title on original post Thanks again to all Gateway Kid

I'm curious if many other clubs do this. The Texican Rangers have yearly competition based on monthly match scores. If you shoot in any category at least 5 times during the year, you are entered into the competition for that category. Your best five scores are added up. They shoot Saturday and Sunday so there is plenty of opportunity to get the needed number. Their end of the year picnic is called Shindig which is a free match for members, and they give out the awards to all the category winners. It can be a plaque, a wooden laser cut item, an insulated mug with club logo, etc. To do this fairly the average stage times each month need to be pretty close, so the stage writers don't go crazy with 8-shotgun stages or anything that is more time consuming, and every match is always 5 stages. Obviously, just like annual matches, some categories will be more contested than others and many will win by default. But it's still fun. The Alamo Area Moderators used to do this until they folded, and the Tin Star Texans did as well. Those clubs and the Texicans are all in the same general area and it was the same shooters, so obviously those folks like to do this. It is a fun diversion. Any others?

cute little lizard , ya got there CB

Is it bad that I recognized the Schwarzlose pistol? On edit: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mars_Automatic_Pistol The 45 Mars long was a 220 grain bullet at 1220 FPS

A .012” thick brass shim would fill the gap. Needs to be long enough to fully encircle the scope. Cut the mating edges at a good angle with plenty of overlap.

In the category of shoe modifications, FWIW, I follow a pair of brothers who are cobblers and do amazing things re-crafting shoes, boots, etc. The reason I bring this up is they are in Columbia, not too awfully far away. Maybe they can refit something for you. Maybe not. They go by Trenton and Heath on Farcebook. I don't know if they can or will take you on. It could be a licensing thing, maybe. Good luck. Glad to hear things are moving in the right direction.

I do not understand why some clubs are too cheap or too lazy to provide them. Fortunately most annual matches I attend provide them.

Intercepting the Solar Eclipse in T-38s with the USAF

We have spent so much time and effort making the world safer for the idiots and as a result what we’ve really accomplished is that we’ve created bigger, more efficient idiots!! LAWN? HELL!! GET OFF THE BLOCK!!

I hear that if that delivery guy goes to church and prays real hard God will forgive him. Something much much better than pineapple on pizza is hot dog on pizza. Use the pizza slice as a wrap for your hotdog. MUCH better than garbage pizza any day. Oh, I didn’t mean put a hotdog on pineapple pizza. That would go back to the pizza place or the trash, depending on my patience level.

I use an Excel spreadsheet easy to delete/add lines as info changes

Yes there was about 20 of us curlee,fat,no,cute,big,little,skinny,dumb,and many more