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“Stand your ground. Don’t fire unless fired upon but if they want war, let it begin here.” Captain John Parker

I just pulled a batch out of wet tumbler. I had 45 colt / 45 acp and 30 cases of 44-40. I did not think a problem because the case tolerances are so tight it would be extremely unlikely that cases would interfere with each other. (Deep Breath here) Well………...28 of the 44-40 cases ended up in a mixed marriage. Will jot down another reason 44-40 is bad for mental health. LOL

Howdy Fallon, If you're going to mix brass like that you have to expect these illicit pairings. I suggest that you throw a couple of shot shells in with the brass. That way you can be sure that they get to the alter. Rev. Chase Not approved to perform weddings in Connecticut

The floating crane YD-171, better known as "Herman the German", at the Long Beach Navy Yard in 1957. At the start of the Second World War, Germany built four heavy lift floating cranes. Herman the German was originally known as Schwimmkran nr. 1 and was completed in 1941. She was used to repair German warships and submarines in the Baltic. She was based out of Kiel at the end of the war and captured there by the British along with a sistership. Given to the United States, the crane was dismantled and shipped all the way to the Long Beach Navy Yard. The crane was reassembled at Long Beach in 1946, entering service as YD-171. The crane operated at the Long Beach Navy Yard from 1946 until 1994. Following the closure of the shipyard, the crane was sold to the Panama Canal Commission. She was used to replace two older cranes that were used to perform repairs to the canal locks. Arriving in Panama, the crane was renamed Titan. Titan is still working on the Panama Canal today. She is capable of lifting 340 long tons. While the platform she rests upon has been rebuilt and modernized with new propulsion units, the mechanical components of the crane are largely original. Titan has operated for over eighty years and shows no sign of slowing anytime soon.

those were the days of machinists doing great things ,

That’s the bonus you get for choosing Chicago.

The Highways to Hell.

FROM BREAKFAST TO DEBRIEF I saw that little girl’s eyebrows raise a little. When Shelly jumped into my arms, why, I hugged her like I always do, and I hoisted her a little like I always do, and I give a little shake like I always do, and her spine gave kind of a rippling pop like it does when I haven’t stretched out her back for a while. Shelly slacked her grip and leaned back enough to look at me. “You idiot,” she smiled, “you damned fool, you stupid hard headed contrary –” I picked her up again and put my mouth on hers. I had no idea who-all might be watching. I genuinely did not care. Breakfast was good. We ate with a good appetite, and as I finished my coffee, Angela gestured for a podium to be set on the table at the front of the room. “The debrief will begin,” she said: “Sheriff, could you come up and give us your recollection of events, please.” I winked at Shelly: she looked at me and said “Please, Linn, don’t be so long winded!” “Does yas knows me or what?” I asked in a nasal drawl. I placed my Stetson beside the wooden tabletop podium. “Sheriff Linn Keller, Firelands County,” I said, lifting my chin: “My wife, Paramedic Shelly Keller, Firelands Fire Department.” Heads turned; Shelly colored delicately and she shot me a complex look that I think meant she loved being introduced but she was ready to clobber me for making all those people look at her like she was something special. “Nurse Angela instructed that I should tell you what I remember.” I looked at my daughter. Angela folded her arms and lowered her head a little, looking at me through her lashes, just like her Mama was prone to do in such moments. “I remember, just now, eating a loaf of bread toasted up and buttered, a dozen eggs fried up, a pound of bacon fried crispy, a big plate of fried taters and two pots of coffee for breakfast.” I looked at Angela with my very best Innocent Expression and added, “It isn’t wise to eat too much on an empty stomach.” Angela began patting her foot like a schoolmarm and I looked at the rest of the assemblage: the men were grinning, or hiding their smiles behind casually-raised hands. I looked back. My voice and my face were now serious. “We responded to a reported tractor trailer wreck. Upon arrival we observed it was on fire, unknown cargo. The fire department responded, with the paramedic squad. “I observed a particular color and texture of smoke that told me a nitrate based fertilizer was not only burning, it was close to detonating. “The Fire Chief realized we were in too dangerous a situation, we were too close, he ordered all hands to drop their hoses and pull back, fast.” I swallowed as I looked at the memory of my wife atop that laid-over truck’s cab. “My wife was making entry to evacuate the driver. My concern was to get her away from there. To that end I jumped on my horse and we rode for the front of the cab. “My wife was coming through the windshield with the driver. “Another rider was there and grabbed the driver, I grabbed my wife and we proceeded to get some distance, at least until a giant kicked us all in the backside and I ended up flat on my back with every bit of wind knocked out of me, every locust in three states singing in my ears, and I wondered why in two hells I was just a-layin’ there on the damp ground. “Rescue arrived and took charge of my wife. I got in the saddle and headed for the ridgeline a quarter mile distant, where I’d seen the driver and the other rider’s horse. By the time I got there, the other horse was gone. The driver and I walked back.” I chuckled, just a little. “I will admit the driver was walking considerably better than I was. If I didn’t have an arm over my Outlaw-horse’s neck, I’d have been eating dirt, for all the way back the deck assumed a distinct series of maneuvers – roll, pitch and yaw, all three.” A dignified older man raised a hand: “Sheriff,” asked he, “how would you rate your hearing?” I considered for a moment. “Sir” – I looked very directly at him – “Doctor?” “Doctor will do.” “Thank you, Doctor. I seem to have no more locusts singing in my ears. I would say my hearing acuity is better than I remember.” Another hand. “Yes, sir.” “Sheriff, how would you rate your sense of balance?” I could not help but laugh, just a little. “Doctor, is it?” – a nod – “thank you, sir.” I squared my shoulders, laughed. “I am most pleased to report the deck underfoot neither rolls, pitches, nor yaws, and that is quite honestly a great comfort!” “Sheriff, have you questions for us?” “I have.” I looked at my darlin’ daughter, sitting back beside my wife, doing her best to look professional, competent and innocent, not necessarily in that order. “First, please forgive my bluntness, but where exactly am I; how did I get here; what has been done to me; but first and most importantly, is my wife entirely well?” Shelly lowered her head, her face positively aflame. I raised an eyebrow to my daughter, looked at men and women alike, assembled and paying very close attention to me. “Sheriff, perhaps you’d like to sit down, this may take a while.” I picked up my Stetson, walked back to Shelly: Angela rose and followed discreetly, sat beside Shelly. I looked over as Angela leaned forward a little. “You might know this as an M&M,” she almost whispered. “Mortality and Morbidity. It’s where cases are discussed, frankly and without accusation.” I raised an eyebrow, nodded, then turned my attention to the dignified older man behind the podium. More coffee appeared: Shelly passed, as did Angela, but like Fitz told me once, “The Navy runs on coffee, and so do I!” I sipped hot, fragrant coffee, smiled a little – Angela must’ve told them I like vanilla and honey in mine, I thought, and made a mental note to thank both the cook and my daughter for that kindness. “Sheriff, you are in the Millersburg Hospital. I feel safe in saying we are the premier treatment facility for this quadrant of the galaxy. You were transported here courtesy your daughter” – the Doctor nodded to Angela, who inclined her head a little in acknowledgement – “I understand she arranged for your and your wife’s transfer from your local Firelands facility, back on Earth.” I nodded, my eyes never leaving his: I wanted it evident I was listening carefully to the man’s words. The doctor then described matters which were quite honestly well above my understanding. On the one hand, Mama was a nurse, my daughter is a nurse, my wife is a paramedic, and I am not entirely unintelligent. On the other hand, when a clinical discussion of repair of inner ear cilia goes into far greater and technical depths than I’d ever known existed, all I could do was sit and listen and hope that eventually he’d say something that would make sense to my admittedly limited education in the Materia Medica. That wasn’t bad enough. I’d heard Shelly and Angela professionally discuss something called “shock lung” in context of IEDs or other overpressure events. Apparently mine were and it damn near killed the both of us, they admitted they honestly had no idea why or how I was able to mount up, ride a quarter of a mile, walk a quarter of a mile back with the driver and not just up and die, let alone live long enough to get to our local hospital and then get transferred out. The Doctor yielded the floor to another specialist, who discussed retinal damage due to concussion and acceleration-deceleration injuries, and how these injuries were treated: damn near every word of that work, done to both Shelly and myself, went sailin’ over my head, and I am not the least bit ashamed to admit to it. Once another couple of fellows spoke, and by then I was feeling completely outclassed and absolutely at sea, Angela rose and adjusted a little near-transparent boom mic I hadn’t noticed, apparently some kind of an earpiece apparatus. “The Sheriff and his wife are alive,” she said bluntly, “because he was wearing a belt plate. Unfortunately it did malfunction, it did result in their being hit by the pressure wave and injured, but it worked well enough to keep them alive until we could treat them. The original belt unit is being examined to see why it was not working as it should have; if there is a flaw, we wish to disseminate this information, system-wide.” She looked over at me, her expression solemn. “You should each be wearing one, not just the Sheriff,” she said quietly. “To that end, you are each wearing a new, tested unit, and should you be in another explosion, it will muffle both sound, and will cushion the overpressure and acceleration waves. If you are touching another person, if you are touching another living creature, the protective field will safeguard them as well, and that brings us to Outlaw.” Angela lifted her chin; the front of the room, where I’d stood and where other speakers had just vacated, became a grassy pasture. Red barns with white trim appeared in the background, white-painted fences ... it looked like a scene I'd seen in Kentucky, many years ago. Outlaw was surrounded by at least a dozen children, all about Michael and Victoria’s age, and Outlaw was quite obviously enjoying a currying. He always was an attention hound, he always did love being fooled with, and between being fed little dainties off flat palms – the only thing I recognized was an apple, halved and offered up – and multiple carefully-applied curry-combs, why, I reckon he must have felt like equine royalty. “The veterinary corps is not here to deliver their report,” Angela continued, “but bottom line, Outlaw was seriously injured but is now healthy, and he should have no memory of the event – which I’m sure you’ll forgive the lengthy veterinary presentation that memory block alone would generate.” I nodded but said nothing. “Sheriff, if you’d like to bring your coffee, you and your wife will be given a final examination, and a written back-to-work authorization.” I frowned at my coffee mug, looked up at Angela. “How long have I been here?” I asked. “One week,” she said crisply. “You were between your wife and the blast. You took the worst of it.” Shelly’s hand found mine, under the table. “Are there any further questions or comments?” Shelly and I come down from Outlaw-horse’s back and I tossed his reins over the hitch rail. The firehouse door near to exploded out and the entire Irish Brigade came charging out at the top of their lungs: we were seized, glad-handed, back-pounded, bear hugged, and somewhere in all that confusion, I managed to ask Fitz if anyone else had been hurt when she went boom, and he said no and it’s about time I got back to work, and I was a good-for-nothing layabout and seven kinds of a scoundrel for scaring them like that and he’d even gone to the expense of having his good suit cleaned for he was sure he’d be pallbearer at my funeral, and I allowed as it does a man good to smell like Moth Balls in church, and I am not the least bit ashamed to admit that we seized one another and crushed one another in a long, tight bear hug.

Here ya go Widder, I fixed it fer ya .......Kajun In my best Charlie Farquharson voice (of Hee Haw's KORN news fame)....Beepadeedeedeedeepadeep....this news just in from WNN (Widder News Network..... "TW has decided to give 1/2 price deals on Chicken toenail clippers and Possum Dentures, for those whose pet Possum has lost its teeth. TW has his own brand of Chicken Nail Clippers (CNC). His vending hours will vary, depending on when he's not hugging babies, kissing women or fiddling with chickens."

WTS 40-65 Browning 1885 BPCR High Wall single shot rifle along with all the accessories to get you loading for it. Asking $3,000 for the whole package plus shipping, no trades. includes: Rifle with original Browning rear vernier tang and front globe insert sights, with soft case Brass: 520 total pieces of properly head-stamped 40-65 brass (very hard to find these days) 250 new starline 200 once fired starline 36 once fired Peterson 34 new Bertram Dies and bullets: Lyman 40-65 dies and compression plug Redding pro 40-65 seating die 200 spitzer 400gr lead bullets sized .409 Assortment of .40 cal fiber and poly wads Also have a .410 lube sizer die For those who are interested in shooting long range matches or especially if you’ve ever wanted to compete in BPCR silhouettes, this rifle was engineered to weigh in just under the NRA weight requirement for BPCR competition. It’s a 30” half round half octagon badger barrel on a Miroku made 1885 high wall action with a coil spring. Bore is pristine. This rifle was able to dial in the 1123yd buffalo at The Whittington center range in Raton, NM and repeatedly score hits. The 40-65 cartridge is favored for its lighter recoil and somewhat similar ballistics as a 45-70. The package can be delivered FTF if in the South/Central TX area (will be at TX State championship match at Plum Creek), otherwise buyer will pay to have rifle shipped from my FFL to yours at cost. Rifle will ship to FFL and accessories can be shipped directly to you if you choose.

Thought you that reload might like to see this Lyman 12 Ga. loader from many years ago......A guy in Ga. has it and an Eleven Pound metal Can of Red Dot powder listed on the Outdoors Trader.......Says it's from the sixties.....

Late 1800S

Prohibitions: In Islam, everything considered harmful either to the body, mind, soul or society is prohibited (haram), while whatever is beneficial is permissible (halal). Islam prohibits Muslims from consuming pork, alcohol or mind-altering drugs Know thy enemy

This reminded me of a true story. Guy I used to work with went out to dinner with our secretary. He ordered boiled shrimp. When they arrived she was telling him that she had tried them once before, on someone's recommendation, but did not like them. They were too crunchy. And then as he begins peeling the shrimp she says, "What are you doing?"

I cock both, then alternate cock. Usually start with my right, so it can be headed to holster while I'm shooting my last shot from my left pistol. It is much better to cock right while shooting left, than to wait until right before you shoot that gun to cock it. Gives the gun time to settle back in your hand. Also, after shooting one gun, ideally it will be heading for the next target while you're shooting the other. As far as split pistols, (as unpopular as it is) I don't mind one here and there as it changes things up a little. I DON'T, however, want 7 split pistols in a 10-stage match! Possum

YOU DAMNED TIN PLATED KNIGHT IN SHINING ARMOR I came through my own front door like I always did. I hung my Stetson on its peg the way I always did, hooked my boots off and left them in the boot tray and came sock foot into the kitchen, like I always did. Shelly turned, looked at me, waited: I came silently over to her, gathered her gently, almost carefully into my arms – she joked in moments of confidence that “My husband holds me like I’m a delicate porcelain teacup!” – Shelly brought her arms up, shoved my embracing arms away. Her fingers ran down my shirt front, freeing the buttons: her expression was serious, she gripped the tabs on my vest, ripped them away, looked up at me as I murmured, “Now, dear? What will the children think?” “I need to check something,” she snapped. “Strip to the waist!” I did. I pulled my shirt tail loose, hung my uniform shirt over the back of a chair, then the body armor; I brought off my T-shirt and Shelly gripped my shoulders, turned me a little to get the most light on my chest. She took my elbow, lifted my arm, turned me, studying my ribs: she was clearly looking for something, though I had absolutely no idea what: she turned me a little, then did the same for my left side: she finally turned me clear around, examined my back, turned me again, snatched up my T-shirt, shoved it into my hands. “Get dressed,” she snapped. “You’re buying tonight!” I long ago came to the conclusion, or perhaps the realization, that women are contradictory, confounding and confusing creatures, and no man – especially not I! – would ever figure them out, and so, when faced with the unexpected (like tonight), I took what I’d found to be the wisest course, and did as I was told. Shelly folded her arms, turned away from me: she went to the sink, viciously scrubbed at a platter, rinsed it and carefully placed the heavy, older-than-she-was oval ceramic in the drain rack, pulled the stopper, emptied the sink and rinsed it, her moves deliberate, controlled, almost … angry. I dressed, wordlessly; I came up behind my wife, gripped her shoulders, lightly, gently, looked at her barely-visible reflection in the window over the sink. “Darlin’,” I said in as gentle a voice I could, “is there –” Shelly whirled, thrust herself against me, her jaw thrust aggressively forward, her arms suddenly stiff against her side: she honestly glared at me, then twisted away and stomped off toward the front door. I raised an eyebrow. I had absolutely no idea a’tall what I could possibly have done to upset the woman. Reckon I’ll find out eventually. Not a word passed between us as we drove to the Silver Jewel, as we went inside; not a syllable escaped Shelly’s clenched teeth until she told the evening waitress that she’d reserved the back room. I brought my hand up, unobtrusively turned on my body cam. Whatever was about to happen, was apparently serious, and if something unexpected was about to happen, I’d want to be able to document everything that was said. Shelly ordered the special, and coffee, for us both, waited until we were alone in the back room. She gave me a long and penetrating look, her expression almost unreadable. “Darlin’,” I said gently, knowing my choice of a first word would be like tossing a pebble in a still pond, “what’s going on?” Shelly’s jaw was set: she looked away, she looked back, she opened her mouth to say something when the door opened and the hash slinger in the pink-and-white checker-print dress came in with coffee and salads. I watched the door shut behind the waitress, looked at my wife again. “Shelly?” Shelly leaned forward, the inside of her wrists against the edge of the cloth-covered tabletop. “I talked with Angela,” she said. “And?” Shelly’s eyes ranged upward, then to the side, and she blinked rapidly as she did: she looked back, bit her bottom lip. “Linn, you nearly died.” I raised an eyebrow. “They re-grew and replaced your left lung entirely.” She swallowed, looked to the side, looked back. “The right lung… they replaced half. “You had surgery to both your retinas and while they were in there, they took out the cataracts that run in your family.” “I see,” I murmured. Shelly ignored my remark. “They worked on your brain to take care of concussion damage.” My wife honestly glared at me. “I don’t see how anything could damage that thick skull of yours.” She stopped, took a breath, closed her eyes and pressed her lips together, then continued. “They rebuilt your entire right inner ear, including new enervation, replacement cilia, they had to completely regrow and replace the semicircular canals that let you keep your balance. You have two new eardrums. Angela said they enlarged the arterioles in both inner ears so you would not suffer that lifelong tinnitus anymore.” Shelly closed her eyes, clenched her jaw in frustration as she heard the door open again: that cute little hash slinger (is it my imagination, or do waitresses, doctors and State Troopers get younger every year?) brought our supper. I automatically salted my mashed potatoes – taters always need salt! – and threw some pepper on taters and gravy just for general principles. I picked up my fork, looked at Shelly. She was staring at me, staring with an intensity I hadn’t seen for some long time. I set my fork down. One tear came a-rollin’ down her cheek. “Mr. Keller,” she hissed, “you glorious, heroic, self-sacrificing, tin-plated idiot, do you realize you nearly died?” I looked my wife right square in the eye and said flatly, “Mrs. Keller, I was not going to let you die. I figured to bust the corner of the windshield and rip it free and get you out of there, peacefully or otherwise.” “Or die trying?” she squeaked, her bottom lip quivering like a little girl. I come out of my chair and reached for her: I took her under the arms and honestly picked her up out of her seat just as the water works started, and I held her, and held her tight, the way I used to hold our children if they were hurt, or scared, or terribly upset, and needed to feel safe while they rained out their sorrows on my shirt front. Once her rainstorm passed, I laid my cheek against hers and whispered, “Why did you strip me in the kitchen?” “There are no scars,” she whispered. “They did all that surgery and there are no scars!” I kissed her forehead: the door opened, the waitress stopped, took a look, pulled back, closed the door, and I made a mental note to thank her for that discreet withdrawal. “Darlin’,” I murmured, “do you recall I told you Michael saw there was no give-up in you?” She sniffed, nodded. “You jumped in that dumped-over crackerbox for the same reason I come after you. You weren’t going to let someone die on your watch.” She nodded again. I tightened my arms around her and whispered fiercely, “Mrs. Keller, you are the reason I draw breath in the morning and the reason I come home at night. You are why I don’t cash my paycheck at the beer joint. You are the reason I don’t open a house of ill repute and make a million dollars” – She pulled her face back, looked up at me, and I looked down at her. “Darlin’,” I said, “I knew what I was ridin’ into when I come after you, and I knew I would likely get killed, but if I’d done nothing and you had been killed, I couldn’t live with that.” “Michael and Victoria don’t need a folded flag and a picture. They need their father.” “I could say the same about their needing a mother.” “You damned tin-plated knight in shining armor!” “Flattery,” I said solemnly, “will get you everywhere.” Shelly started to cry again, and then she hauled off and kicked me in the shins. Hard.

We should ask Forty if he remembers those. (Runs and ducks for cover)

......... but, Lord knows, it desperately wants to ......

Spring in Canada and the car washes are booming, with drivers trying to get the salt off, only to meet all the Robins and other migrants, just here to breed!!

Have any of you heard the rumor that TW is gonna have a 'vendor spot' this year at the TN State. Apparently his new business is gonna have a vendor trailer set up representing his new business "Pet Traders, Inc." Although not a special 'Cowboy Match Special', he'll have his normal deals of trading a Banty Rooster for a few young chicks. He claims his 'Banty's can crow better than any Banty out of Alabama or Georgia. I'll have to see it to believe it. BUT, to get approval to set up a vendor spot, he was required to have a couple special deals. Sooooo, TW has decided to give 1/2 price deals on Chicken toenail clippers and Possum Dentures, for those whose pet Possum has lost its teeth. TW has his own brand of Chicken Nail Clippers (CNC). His vending hours will vary, depending on when he's not hugging babies and kissing women. I have not been compensated for this advertisement but rather do it as a free public service. Your Welcome! EDIT: and don't buy his 'Ivory Toothpicks', regardless of price. ..........Widder

Once in a while, I get an unforeseen 9 mm stuck in a 45 caliber when I’m dry tumbling. I turn my Tumbler on and then hold the 45 case up of against the center stud. In about 10 to 15 seconds, I can pull the 9 mm out easily. Uriah

Kinda scarce these days, ain't they...?

One of Wartrace favorite sons and World Champion Duelist, TN Williams, got injured this morning. You won't believe it, but he was injured while drinking milk. The cow stepped on him. Another true story. Just ask Krazy Kajun..... ya just can't make this stuff up! ..........Widder