Linn Keller, SASS 27332, BOLD 103

254. AND SHE PUNCHED HIM IN THE NOSE Linn's eyes were very pale, and very hard, and those who knew him, those who knew his mother or his uncle, knew this was a very, very bad sign. Especially when his voice was quiet. And his coat was open, just a little, and his hand was flat on his belly, like his guts might be troubling him. He and Shelly had gone to the Silver Jewel for supper. Linn was still moving slow, and Shelly knew her husband's moves and his moods, and she knew he was hiding his discomfort: she also knew he was a hard headed and contrary man, and she

253. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN, WE'RE DONE HERE?" A pale eyed lawman shivered in his bed. Sweat beaded out on his forehead, his nightshirt was damp, he quivered like a hound on a hot scent. His wife knew he was very likely fighting that damned War again, reliving hell and horror that he survived on the battlefield, terrors and torments that came at night to plague a good man of good conscience. Esther Keller rolled toward him, her belly great with child; her gravid middle weighed down his right hand, her slender, milk-white hand slipping up, laying gently on his breastbone,

252. IN TIMES PAST, THEY TOLD THE TALES Linn nodded as he contemplated a secret hidden in the good dark pan gravy downing his mashed potatoes. The potatoes were just a little lumpy -- he'd whipped them himself, and try as he might, he could never, EVER get his mashed potatoes creamy and smooth. His mother could -- his wife could -- hell, even his Uncle Will could -- but no matter how he thrashed the stuff with a hand mixer, even if he attacked it with his wife's dough cutter (which he thought would make a nasty weapon in a barfight), he still couldn't get the lumps out.

251. "WE'VE GOT TO STOP MEETING LIKE THIS!" Shelly Crane lay in a puddle of something cold, wet, probably red, or maybe green, she did not know and she really did not care. She lay flat on her back on a tile floor with her forearm thrown over her eyes, crying: she rolled over, stopped as she found something sharp -- broken glass, she thought, and froze. She heard hooves a-clatter outside, on the pavement: she heard a voice, loud, commanding, "OPEN THAT DAMNED DOOR!" and then the sound of a walking horse, and a man's pained groan, the sound of boots approaching. She

A truly good machine will develop its own legends. I've been told a Warthog kept pace with its carrier, flying alongside, staying aloft through sheer brute thrust of those magnificent engines, that it's like the bumblebee: aerodynamically, it's not possible for it to fly, but because it is too hard headed and contrary to listen to the science boys, they both fly anyhow. A pilot once described it to me as "a Vulcan cannon that only incidentally has wings and two engines bolted onto it." One fellow told me it was a titanium bathtub, and then he looked away, and would speak no more

A correspondent wrote me to let him know I'd hit him when he lived, with a recent entry. It seems he too has been burned -- we are fellow survivors of badge packing, and of traumatic heat injury -- and his accounts genuinely ran that dipper of cold water right down my back bone to read it! Back in 19 and 80, I started shift with my local police department and finished the day in hospital in critical condition. I myself lay in Intensive Care, staring at the fish eye mirror bolted to the wall beside the doorway, watching the reflected image of a uniformed deputy US Marshal waiting

I might add a teaspoon of vanilla to a batch of corn muffins, but cawn bread is its own entity! I'll agree with Deacon KC, and the nanner splits!

Have an RCBS hammer type intertia puller of slightly greater vintage. Just this year the aluminum collet is worn enough she's-a no work-a no more. Looked at the Great Google-fu (actually the DuckDuck-fu) and clicked on a video for the product. Froze the image, looked hard at it, looked at my puller. For all these years, I've been using it with the collet upside down. Invert the silly thing and it works fine now. Behind me, the Soviet Men's Chorus is tuning up in grand harmony ... "Duuuummmmbbbbbb, Duuuuummmmmbbbbbbb ......"

250. NIGHTTIME Sarah Lynne McKenna's pale eyes snapped open and she stared at her bedroom ceiling, listening. It was night; the house was silent; her family and the hired girl were all abed, and she knew if she made any noise, the maid would be obliged to rise as well, and attend anything she might need: no, Sarah held very still, breathing silently, eyes tracking sightlessly across the overhead. No sound. She looked to the window, looked to the starry-decked firmament, the glorious wash of milky stars spread across the cosmos, remembering how her pale eyed Papa on

249. "I WILL TURN HIM OVER MY KNEE AND SPANK HIM!" Sheriff Willamina Keller sat, feminine and pretty, in the McKenna gown she'd sewn herself: her Aunt Mary taught her the magic that hides in material, and Willamina had a particular gift for sewing, especially when she used the treadle Singer her Aunt Mary preferred: she found it relaxing, to use the foot powered device, especially when she tried to teach her pale eyed son to use an electric sewing machine. He'd been honestly afraid of the device until Willamina likened it to a power tool, which she admitted later was a mistak

248. RULE NUMBER ONE With great authority comes great responsibility. With great strength, must come great restraint. Linn Keller, son of Willamina Keller and her husband Richard, learned early the need for restraint, for control. He learned in childhood the weight and the delight of responsibility: his Uncle Pete was one of the generation raised to know hard work, and his mother Willamina worked at her Uncle's side, and he worked at his Uncle's side, though Pete was an old man now, and slow, and he stood at his Mama's side when his Uncle's long box was lowered into the hol

247. IMAGINATION Linn Keller was the eldest son of Harold Keller, back in Perry County, back in the Ohio country: it wasn't that long after the war that tore the Colonies apart, that set the French and Indians after the Colonists, against the British, against any pioneers, against anyone but the French themselves. Peace had finally come to the Ohio territory. The National Road ran north of them by a day's ride and a little more. Clay deposits and coal near to the surface meant a village sprouted: bricks were made, bricks were shipped, bricks that were in demand: in

246. CONSPIRACY, WITH A CADILLAC John Burnett inclined his head a little, the very image of what Sherlock Holmes called "peering benevolence" -- he was the Firelands hospital's chaplain, and had been for years. He'd just done a wedding for a couple who had so little, they paid him with a batch of homemade chocolate chip cookies. Now, having brushed crumbs from his suit coat and straightened his tie, he knocked at the open door, leaned in a little. "May I come in?" he asked, and the distressed looking girl with the elevated leg attached to rope, weights and pulleys n

... oh my left handed goodness ... ... there is an art to bringing a device such as this, to incredible life ... and to make her dance like a fine lady at a ball ... I am minded of Richard Bach's observation: "You can do anything in an airplane -- anything at all! -- as long as you stay away from that depressingly solid other world known as the earth."

My uncle didn't talk much about his time in d'Nam. On one of the EXTREMELY rare occasions when he did, he said his first insertion in-country was off a Huey, making a hot insertion: he and his buddies bailed out of the bird, ran to the ditch line and took their firing positions. He said he was between the radioman and the medic. They were the first two killed. Next was the forty gunner. He shouldered his brand new sixteen, sighted, fired, pulled the trigger again, and ... nothing. Failed to cycle, fired round was pretty much welded in the chamber, he grabbed the c

Car won't start. Water in the carburetor.

You're right, folding biplane wings DO look strange! I keep wondering the kind of latch they used that would stand the strain ... not to mention the rigors of every roll, pitch and yaw! Workmanship, materials and design of the very best kind!

245. SECURITY, CODE BLACK Sheriff Willamina Keller was no stranger to teleconferencing. She did not particularly like it. She much preferred to interact personally: she felt she could pick up on nuance and inflection, on the subtle cues and clues not conveyed with the spoken word, and these were too often missing when using the glowing screen. But ... she took a long breath, slid her bottom jaw stubbornly out, pressed a key -- sometimes it was the best she could do. She was waiting for the video transfer to the nurse's station; with luck, she could be carried i

Now by golly this one is useful! Many thanks!

244. TRANSPORT Linn lay on his back, stared at the ceiling of the Firelands squad. They were on the road, moving fast. Linn willed himself to stillness, knowing his body was fighting a battle on several fronts. The medic stared at the IV's drip chamber, frowning, then looked down at Linn: he was half again older than the pale eyed deputy, and Linn said "I'd rather have an older man taking care of me." The medic grinned. "We almost had a fist fight to see who would take you." "I'm not worth it." Narcotic-wide eyes drifted away from the man, wandered acro

243. THE TRIAL Linn gripped the wheelbarrow's wooden handles, dollied the last load of second hand horse feed out to the manure pile. Stall scrapings fermented in the pile, steaming a little in the winter air: he scraped the excess out of the wheelbarrow, picked it up, dropped its nose a couple times on frozen ground -- try that with one of those cheap modern things! he thought, his smile never getting further than the corners of his eyes -- and he set the heavy steel Irish buggy back down on its legs, straightened, twisted a little. He paused, looking out over the snow

242. THE VERY BEST COMPANY One of her names was Connie. It was the one she'd been called most of her life, but the proudest name she wore was Mrs. Linn Keller. She knew she'd be known as that, forever, or as long as carved stone lasted, and she was content: hadn't God Almighty made this earth out of rock? -- and look how long it's lasted! Connie was a woman of deep faith. She'd learned to read, a little, and though she struggled with the few newspapers she was able to find, she turned again and yet again to her Scripture, to the familiar passages she and her husband r

My brother in law is in North Carolina, he works for Duke Energy and said that they called for volunteers to staff their call centers. Weather predicted a tenth of an inch of ice over the broad area, part of that Texas storm swinging toward the Atlantic coast, then they upped the estimate to a quarter inch. Never saw weather like this. I wonder if Old Nick is trying on figure skates. (Better than a foot in ARKANSAS???)

Pat Riot, thank you for that link to the crank/solar radio/charger, and YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY RIGHT!!! in your stating a radio should be on hand. Reports out of Texas are that the good old AM/FM radio has become the go-to for getting information. I've had a couple cheap transistor AM/FMs around all my life, still do in spite of my other radio gear, but have been wanting the very one you link-posted!

... ummm ... (ears turn red) I'm trying to think of something to say that, um, won't ... (shoves hands in pockets) I, ah, that is ... (clears throat) I trust your judgement, darlin'! (wipes forehead) (big sigh of relief) (sits back and sags a little ... I actually replied without the Wellington boot thrusting between the pearly whites!)