Give them guns & It was this big....

let's just end this stuff

     I've been listening.  I'm a good listener. As a reporter I'm a professional listener. 

     So, you listen long enough and some place in your cranium rationality gets strangled, choked by exhaust fumes we call politics. Used to be one could take it in and, like the energizer bunny, keep on clicking. That went south sometime in the last year. We are talking survival now.

     Give them guns. Give all of them guns. The candidates, the handlers, the pollsters, the traveling media, the anchor set media, the studio audience, the protesters, the t-shirt billboard wearing partisans-who may already have guns, the House of Representatives, the Senate, except Mitch McConnell, K. street firms, every PAC, the Koch brothers, George Soros, Ken Bone and find old Joe the Plumber and give him a plunger and mop.

       Give the rest of us a bunker. And then give us an all clear when the last round has been fired. Then fire up the band with some John Phillips Sousa. Then cue up Moby's latest -Moby and Void Pacific Choir's These Systems are Failing. Then we'll just listen to the quiet and concentrate on our breathing and then try something entirely new-thinking.
      (Will this qualify me for the NRA Golden Gun award?)

it was this big

     My friend Ray fishes in the Sierras. He's partial to float tubing on alpine lakes on the eastern slope.  Three times this year the weather has conspired against his gentle floats under blue skies. Wind, chop, rain and snow have conspired against him, but Ray is a fisherman and he persists. Thank you Ray.

      This baby was 18 inches and some four pounds as he encountered Ray's lure as a gale was bout to beach him, again. Instead it "got landed" before Ray. Rays says he'd left the net behind and so this guy was in the tube and out of the tube and back in the tube where it stayed, before it was iced.
    A day later it was in my fridge and the next day it had been celebrated as such. Lemon infused olive oil, dill, lemon wedges and thyme bathed and pampered it in a "spa moment." It then got to the sauna, 400 degrees.  Normally it would have been saluted on a grill, but the muse said, "bake this big boy." 

    Soon it was further decorated, celebrated and added to another ring in the circle of life.

     Thanks Ray.  God bless the high Sierras and those who dwell there in, in all of their incarnations.

      See you down the trail.