Possessions

Of course it isn't even in the same universe as losing a person, but losing a useful thing also leaves scars, albeit tiny ones which surface rarely -- such as when a guy is reorganizing his Duluth Pack thwart bag.

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The locale is the bottom of the Kawishiwishi River just downstream from a rapids you must portage around, in the lower pool which is marginally canoeable and a place where the walleyes bite.

There lies a heavy ditty bag with a Buck Yachtsman (folder, sheepfoot blade plus spike, now discontinued); a near new Leatherman basic, gift from my son; other lovingly selected do-dads for pleasure and survival in the far north Boundary Waters, along with an outstanding spin-casting rig. Several years later I have still not been able to assemble a kit that satisfies me so much.

On the other hand, said son and his son survived nicely, and the lad, Ryan, gave me a favored memory. The three of us safely ashore and the Kevlar emptied out, he stopped shivering long enough to gather his c. 7-year-old thoughts, stared me sternly in the eye and reported: "Grandpa! We tipped over!"

Deadly Little Pricks

Two inches of doom to Her Majesty's subjects.

So far it's mostly a private and free-lance element of the Great British Paranoia Faire, but where the luxury hotels lead, dare Parliament and No. 10 Downing fail to follow?

(Thanks to my buddy John in the GMA who is an expert.)

Quote of the day

Big auction. Tools, guns, everything, even boxes of parachutes.

It seems like tons of the stuff sell for new price plus a little. Couple-three of us make the usual noises about half the world being dumbbutts who don't have the slightest idea of what they're doing.

Ken shakes his head. "This explains how Obama got in."

Birthday

You might want to swing over to Tam's place and wish her a happy birthday. If you're close enough you might even try to catch up with her and offer hot chocolate or a mask and snorkel set.

Happy birthday, Tam.