Bangsticks on the prairie

Another small show today, east of here in a burg called Armstrong. It's the evolution of an Estherville show which somehow lost its venue at the Emmet County fairgrounds. I always managed to spend money at the old show, mostly on gun parts and accouterments. We'll see how this one goes.

Choo-chunicorn

Is it just me, or do I accurately recall that every decade or so some loopy American politician gets his butt jammed up and tries to dog paddle out of the cesspool by announcing high-speed rail?

Ah so Toyoda-san?

Many of us believed that making a pedal go back and forth was a challenge met and mastered quite some time ago.

Are we and our Japanese brothers detouring our best automotive design and engineering talent to vanity mirror lights which automatically adjust to to the driver's skin tone and foundation depth?

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!"