3 hours ago
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Food
I realized recently that I haven't had any posts about food lately. I LOVE food. I need to remedy this. Expect a post about burgers tonight and a post about meat pies on thursday.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
C.B. Morrison
The first time I saw C.B., I showed up at his restaurant looking for an employment application. I was dressed nice, as I was looking for a job, wearing a heavy black button-down shirt during a Louisiana October. I believe the temperature was around 88 degrees. Inside his kitchen, it was closer to 105. I politely asked for an application, and he eyed me up and down, weighing me in his mind. He removed the Marlboro light from his lips, and said in his raspy southern voice,
"find an apron and start washing them dishes. I'm short handed, and that no-account Tom didn't show today. If you can get them dishes done without lollygagging, I'll hire ya."
For the first week, I hated that man. He rode my ass, called me lazy, and chastised me without cause, but I needed the paycheck. After about a week, though, he stopped riding my case. He was gruff, and he would still call me out if I messed up, but he stopped riding me constantly.
Eventually, I was able to see beyond his bluff exterior and realize what a great man he was. In true southern style, he was a man of honor, who did business on a handshake, and would occasionally spout poetry or philosophy in his booming drawl. He was an educated man, but was as salt-of-the-earth as one could get. I began to respect him and his opinions on things great and small, and I wished to make him proud.
Somewhere along the way, the Morrisons adopted me, and they became as family. C.B. made me manager of his restaurant. Months later, he called in a few favors, and unknown to me, re-enrolled me in college.
"Joe, come here!", he yelled from his office. he rolled three one hundred dollar bills from his wallet and pushed them to me.
"That's for books. I called the dean at the business college, and got you re-enrolled. you have an appointment with him tomorrow to set up what classes you'll take."
I was too stunned to speak. I'd told him before that I wanted to go back to school, but I didn't see it happening for another year or so.
he leaned in to me and exhaled a cloud of smoke.
"You're too sharp to be uneducated. I'm putting my faith in you. Don't fuck this up, boy."
I can't even recall all the ways that man helped me during the few years that I knew him.
His daughter employed me as a handyman for a few years after he died. She also bought a house for me and my wife to live in when our landlord sold the property we were living on three weeks before Christmas. She hired me for a secretarial position at a non-profit she ran, and she's been a wonderful friend to me. She asked me to dig the hole where we placed C.B.'s ashes after he passed. It was fitting that both the first and last time I worked for C.B. I was doing menial labor in dress clothes.
C.B.'s sister is a wonderful woman and a great friend. I've done a lot of odd jobs for her over the years.
C.B.'s first name was Carlisle. After all the things the Morrison clan did for me, I thought it appropriate to name my son after such a great man. My son's middle name is Carlisle, and today, the Morrison's generosity to my family continues.
A few months ago, I cleaned up a gun for C.B.'s daughter. It belonged to C.B.'s mom, who shot competition skeet in her youth. It's a beautiful Winchester Model 12 produced in 1913. It is a 20 ga. with matched Full and Modified barrels, and C.B.'s daughter gave it to me today.
One day, when he's old enough to understand and respect the weapon, as well as it's legacy, it will go to my son.
It's his namesake, after all.
"find an apron and start washing them dishes. I'm short handed, and that no-account Tom didn't show today. If you can get them dishes done without lollygagging, I'll hire ya."
For the first week, I hated that man. He rode my ass, called me lazy, and chastised me without cause, but I needed the paycheck. After about a week, though, he stopped riding my case. He was gruff, and he would still call me out if I messed up, but he stopped riding me constantly.
Eventually, I was able to see beyond his bluff exterior and realize what a great man he was. In true southern style, he was a man of honor, who did business on a handshake, and would occasionally spout poetry or philosophy in his booming drawl. He was an educated man, but was as salt-of-the-earth as one could get. I began to respect him and his opinions on things great and small, and I wished to make him proud.
Somewhere along the way, the Morrisons adopted me, and they became as family. C.B. made me manager of his restaurant. Months later, he called in a few favors, and unknown to me, re-enrolled me in college.
"Joe, come here!", he yelled from his office. he rolled three one hundred dollar bills from his wallet and pushed them to me.
"That's for books. I called the dean at the business college, and got you re-enrolled. you have an appointment with him tomorrow to set up what classes you'll take."
I was too stunned to speak. I'd told him before that I wanted to go back to school, but I didn't see it happening for another year or so.
he leaned in to me and exhaled a cloud of smoke.
"You're too sharp to be uneducated. I'm putting my faith in you. Don't fuck this up, boy."
I can't even recall all the ways that man helped me during the few years that I knew him.
His daughter employed me as a handyman for a few years after he died. She also bought a house for me and my wife to live in when our landlord sold the property we were living on three weeks before Christmas. She hired me for a secretarial position at a non-profit she ran, and she's been a wonderful friend to me. She asked me to dig the hole where we placed C.B.'s ashes after he passed. It was fitting that both the first and last time I worked for C.B. I was doing menial labor in dress clothes.
C.B.'s sister is a wonderful woman and a great friend. I've done a lot of odd jobs for her over the years.
C.B.'s first name was Carlisle. After all the things the Morrison clan did for me, I thought it appropriate to name my son after such a great man. My son's middle name is Carlisle, and today, the Morrison's generosity to my family continues.
A few months ago, I cleaned up a gun for C.B.'s daughter. It belonged to C.B.'s mom, who shot competition skeet in her youth. It's a beautiful Winchester Model 12 produced in 1913. It is a 20 ga. with matched Full and Modified barrels, and C.B.'s daughter gave it to me today.
One day, when he's old enough to understand and respect the weapon, as well as it's legacy, it will go to my son.
It's his namesake, after all.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Fire Trucks and Sno-cones
Elyas had a red sno-cone, because when asked which color he wanted, he said 'fire truck'.
If three circuts around the truck, and sitting in it are any indication, he enjoyed himself.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
My Little Gunnie
My son showed an interest in guns for the first time last week. We've started working on the question 'What do you do if you find a gun?' He doesn't quite grasp what an 'adult' is, so for now, the answer is 'go find mommy or daddy.'
I'll be starting on the four rules soon, but he's not allowed to touch guns, even with supervision yet (two still seems a bit young).
However, his enthusiasm is catching. He found me yesterday disassembling my 1911 and proudly proclaimed 'I love guns!', so I decided I'd let him watch and explain what each piece was.
Then he started naming them.
The video is of the second time he's seen a 1911 disassembled.
What have I created?
I'll be starting on the four rules soon, but he's not allowed to touch guns, even with supervision yet (two still seems a bit young).
However, his enthusiasm is catching. He found me yesterday disassembling my 1911 and proudly proclaimed 'I love guns!', so I decided I'd let him watch and explain what each piece was.
Then he started naming them.
The video is of the second time he's seen a 1911 disassembled.
What have I created?
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Guy's Day Out
We saw an airplane museum, the Smoky Mountain Knife Works store, where I bought a few ammo cans at a steal of a price, a Muscle Car Museum, and the Highlight of the trip for my son, the Helicopter ride.
My brother flew with Elyas and 2 other nephews, and as soon as Elyas touched down, he looked at me and said
'wanna fly the helicopter some more!'
We just finished up a great meal of burgers and hotdogs, and now it's time for a Sam Adams.
Prosit!
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Family dinner out
Quite the bunch, huh?
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Birthday stuff
The bullets are:
About 20 rounds of my .308's favorite load, and 5 rounds of a new load he's developing.
About 400 rounds of .38 special, both target and defense.
About 250 rounds of .45 for my new handgun, both target and defense.
A midway catalog.
And my new handgun, a springfield GI .45. I took it to the range today, and the first magazine, it all went in the 10 ring, without me really having to try. I love it. It's a beautiful, classic shooter, and it's my first 1911.
Pure awesome.
Range Time
I gave one brother the Titan .25, and the other brother brought his 9mm Ruger.
There was also a mystery gun that I got as a birthday present, but it'll have it's own post later.
At any rate, we had a ball.
Lots 'O' Fish
Fun stuff!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)