Eclipsapocalypse

 

This town has gone full eclipse,  right at the time we're going to London for a Club shoot out. Stay tuned. Airport tomorrow.

LSP

Just Strolling In The Rain

Most Anglican priests in North America typically stay in their parish or mission for about five years before moving on to moar cash greater and higher things. At least that's what the stats said a few years ago, and I reflected on that as I strolled through the sylvan boulevards of Olde Texas in the gentle rain. How can you possibly, as a clergyman, get to know the people and place of your cure in just five years?

Well you can't, not to any great extent, and there's a virtue in staying in one place for a length of time. Of course it helps if the place in question is congenial and involves riding, shooting, fishing and, today, gentle, soothing rain. Enjoy it while you can, fellow citizens of this bucolic rural haven in North Central Texas.

Weather reverie over, I strolled past a sign for the impending eclipse and into the food bank, which does a brisk business because no one can afford to buy food at the supermarkets, and talked to their leaderene who has to be pushing 90 but doesn't look a day younger or older than she did 15 years ago.

What a good woman and tough as nails, I used to shoot pistols with her husband, RIP, back in the day using pictures of Episcopal Church bishop figures as targets. Fun. Then it was a short saunter over to the Square, complete with its Confederate war memorial. No, no-one's even thought of taking that down, and from there to a shop I've never been in.

To be fair, it's changed hands a few times since I've been here and now advertises "alterations." Interesting, and I went inside to investigate. Sure enough, it's definitely an alterations shop and I visited with the owner who was inundated with work. Yes, she could create a suit, but didn't have the time. You see, what happens is that people, typically women, buy stuff online which doesn't fit them and then take it to be fixed. So she has a roaring trade and fair play to her, I'll go there in the future instead of driving to Dallas.

Speaking of which, Janey Tailor on the corner of Greenville and Mockingbird did a stand-up job fixing not one but four old but nice suits, DB, 3B, 2B. "You are wizards!" I exclaimed to the excellent Korean sewing crew at Janey Tailor, and they are, but now I want to shop local. I like the vibe of this shop. Next stop?

Gold Nugget Pawn. I bought my first Lee Enfield there back in the far-off mists of time and used to bring great containers of Holy Water for the staff. They said they needed it, which they doubtless did. Then the owner Miss Dale died, I buried her, and Cindy took over the operation only to sell the shop off. Now it's under new management who are staunch #2A, so we get on well. I'll offer to bless the place, maybe an exorcism'd be in order.

On the way back to the Compound, I passed by the Pick 'n Steal, still going strong after all these years, though I miss the Nepalese who used to run it, and swung 'round the corner past what used to be the Meth Shack. That's no more and's being fixed up by Jose who, is, I think, from El Salvador. A good man and maybe he'll go to Mission #1's new Spanish Mass.

Regardless, back at the front porch of the Compound I looked out on the rain of a Texan morning and thanked God for bringing me here. So much better than, say, Baltimore, Philly or the suburban ghetto Maryland suburbs of DC. 

You see, gentle readers, I've pretty much been a slum priest for much of my time, so this is most congenial, in a semi-abandoned railway town kinda way. You'll note, in passing, that priests tend to stay two years in this position before moving on, and I've stayed over fifteen, this is a record. No inclination to move either, and there you have it, and Devil take the hindmost.

In other news, my eldest texted me yesterday as I was collecting clothes from the Dallas Koreans, "Dad, they've promoted me to Sergeant." And so they had, right there in the field. I texted back, "WELL DONE. GOOD WORK." We must take our victories as we find 'em.

Stand Strong,

LSP

SCOTUS Sides With Texas

 

The Supreme Court's sided with Texas by a slim 4-3 majority, lib justices dissenting, allowing the state to arrest and deport illegals. About time too. Here's a helpful infovideo:

WATCH: The Democrat Open Borders Plan to Entrench Single-Party Rule | Explained in Under Two Minutes pic.twitter.com/uWJxBiKive

— Western Lensman (@WesternLensman) March 19, 2024

 

The Biden admin's let in what, 10 million illegals? What a gang of criminal traitors. On topic, I always enjoy the blank, slack-jawed look leftists give when you ask them, "What will all this immigration do to workers' wages, will it make wages rise or fall?" They recover after a bit and ramble rainbow incoherently about the Statue of Liberty.

Go Texas,

LSP

Open Borders Begin At Home

 

Here at the Compound we believe in practicing what we preach.

That's why we call on Democrats to open their doors to show their personal commitment to an open border.

Anything else would be hypocritical Nazi Fascism, right?

Keen-eyed readers of this mind-blog will note Chicago and other, ahem, sanctuary cities aren't too keen on bus loads of illegals arriving in their progressive utopias, they can't afford it without massive taxpayer cash. But here's where you, the person who voted for this, can make a difference. Open. Your. Door.

OK, just an excuse to repost some awesome infographics. But seriously, what kind of hypocrisy, skulduggery and malfeasance are we facing here. Substantial, to say the least, and it can be parsed thus: Import millions of people into the country, give 'em amnesty and a vote and hey presto, one party Blue State per saecula saeculorum, por los siglos de los siglos, et nunc et semper. Amen. And guess what?

All the libs and their fellow travelers choke for this, gag for it and get all rainbow solemn about the Statue of Liberty. Unh hunh, open your doors and pay for it, you utter hypocrites. Speaking of which, you'll be pleased to know that Mission #1's sorted out accommodation for our new Mexican curate.

He's a good guy, a "tent maker" who likes El Senor Trump and the Latin Mass, as do I, you'll be totally surprised to know.

How pleasant it is when brethren dwell together in unity.

God Bless,

LSP

It's All Going On In The Country I Tell You

 

One of the things that happens here is I let some of the neighbors park their rigs and vehicles in the grassy pasture that is the Compound's parking lot. They mow the grass and all of that in return. But this beneficent arrangement seemed to come to a crashing end today.

There I was on the back deck, scanning Zerohedge, when up come two men in polo shirts with Glocks on their hips, "Sir, can we have a word?" Of course they could and were welcomed into the rural fastness with a sunny hello, "What's up, guys?"

A Typical Kitchen Glock

Turns out they were from Code Enforcement, yes, we have such a thing, and someone had the literal brazen temerity to make a formal complaint about the vehicles parked up on the grass. It broke the code and couldn't be tolerated because, you see, the area's zoned residential and enormous lifted trucks and everything else have to be parked on "improved ground," such as gravel.

Huh. I assured the officer that it'd be sorted out before tickets had to be issued or any other equivalent nonsense. So that was good, but what about guns. "How are you finding that Glock?" I asked, glancing down at the fella's two-tone 9mm variant.

Behold, Legally Parked on Gravel. FFS

"I like it a lot and shoot pretty good with it and you know, it was weird, when I went to the Police Academy, they asked 'how many of you have shot pistols?' and I was the only one in the class who didn't raise his hand because we never had pistols where I was, just shotguns for quail, pheasant and dove. You know what, I ended the course shooting a lot better than some of those country boys because I was taught right, from the start."

Good call. So we talked Glocks and pistols and became friends and off they went into the pastoral hinterland. Flash forward several hours to me getting back from Walmart and there's D, remonstrating in the car park, not a happy man. Code Enforcement had not been kind to him and he was ticked, having put out for local LE & Co a lot over the years. Someone had made a complaint.

Note, why is his finger on the trigger? Maybe because he's an actor

We speculated on the identity of this malefactor and he asked me if it was OK to spread some gravel and "improve" the parking zone. "Remember I asked you if I could black-top and you said 'no, I don't want that (well said, LSP, Ed.), get gravel, but I need to get the church's permission.' Do I still need to get that?"

I looked at D, who wasn't very happy, and he looked at me, "You have the church's permission, knock yourself out on that gravel. I'll help you spread it, even." But that wasn't needed, "I've got a tractor at the shop and I'll bring it in tomorrow morning with the gravel. Thanks, man." Thanks indeed, "'preciate you, brother. Come to church, it's about time." He agreed and off we went, friends.

I call this installation Casa Blanca, keen-eyed readers will understand

So there you have it. Problem, solution, right here in sunny Texas' North Central Exclusion Zone.

Texit,

LSP

Stardust

 

I've always loved Mr. Nelson's Stardust, how could you not? For me, it brings back memories of grown-ups slow dancing in Denton in the '70's. Beautiful and I guess the album was new then, a far and magical cry from foggy, wet, Oxford. Behold:

Of course Willie's a local man and this little slice of rural paradise has produced a mural, don't call it a "muriel," that'd be rude. BTW, the older women of the church remember Willie and thought he didn't smell too good, "Needed a shower," was the consensus. Dam hippie.

Nice Muriel

Stardust,

LSP

Epiphany

 

What a beautiful Epiphany morning, crisp and clear with the sun rising over the common behind the Compound. I say "common" but I don't think any of us have grazing rights on this bit of vacant land owned by the Civic Power. Regardless, I wasn't there to recce out a site for a new parade square or even admire the scenery, no, I was there to work.

Don't laugh, I was, and spent the morning hanging drywall for a new Habitat For Humanity house.  What a good cause and led, in this instance, by a neat guy who got me into the swing of things. He's retired now and spends his time putting up these houses for the good of the community, but had been a soldier for 20 years.

A Mexican immigrant, he joined up in 1969 and fought in Vietnam where he was wounded, "What's that, 49 inches? Sometimes my memory's not so good, I stepped on a mine." Mines aside, D stayed in and retired in 1989 as, I think, a  Command Sergeant Major with III Corps. "Phantom Warriors," I offered, resisting the urge to ask how an armored corps could somehow classify as "phantom." He grinned, impact wrench in hand, "That's right, III Corps."

What a good guy and he liked the fact that my eldest, the erstwhile and maybe future cadet, was stationed at Fort Hood, "It'll always be Fort Hood, man. Have you been down Tank Destroyer Boulevard?" I replied that I had. "There's a lot of power there," he said in a quiet tone and I agreed that there was.

Ahem, Civic Power, Roads

Then we were finished for the day and I tell you, I really enjoyed the work, the company and the chance to put faith into practice. All you biblical scholars out there will recall Christ was rather insistent on people helping out those less fortunate than ourselves. That in mind, I'll be back on the project, big fun to boot.

An Epiphany? Yes indeed, on several levels. Not least, tear yourself away from the appalling news cycle and do something good and constructive. Exercise your faith, put "tract into act" and all of that, and who knows who you'll meet along the way. But I won't preach.

Cheers,

LSP

Almost Christmas

 

The great Feast of the Nativity is almost upon us and lights went on at the Compound after a traditional trip to Walmart for last minute Christmas essentials. 

Now look here, punters, some traditions are good and we love them, they add depth, meaning and continuity to our fleeting lives. But other traditions are bad, like going to Walmart right before Christmas.

I tell you, and I'm no snob, don't laugh, it's true, that it was rough in there tonight and this is a country Walmart. Parse that as you will, while recalling that the rule of law is comparatively new here.

Speaking of which, could someone please make a law banning people from wearing pajamas in public, at the supermarket? But I won't neck-tattoo-bang-on, you get the picture. That in mind, let's recall the opening words of the governing Prayer (Collect) for what's left of this season.

Cast away the works of darkness and put upon us the armour of light. Needed, eh?

Stand Fast Against Leviathan,

LSP

Back in Dallas

 

It's that time of year when you barrel down I35 to Dallas on a mission to set up Christmas at Ma LSP's place in North Oak Cliff, and it feels good to be back with all the houses lit up for the holiday, all very festive. Nice, but then you drive a few blocks over to the 7-11 to pick up a phone charger and everything changes.

The 7-11

There's a homeless guy slumped over by the doorway, a couple of fat little tackheads in dirty pajama bottoms getting loud over pizza slices, one's wearing a mask, why? and the whole place stinks of pot. Neck tattoo store clerk takes your cash with a snarl and you get the feeling this inconvenience store could go off-hook  at any moment, which it could. 

Typical Oak Cliff Street Scene

Like no kidding. Back in June a store worker was shot and killed in this 7-11 by some random POC who was after cash, I don't know if he was caught. So I was glad to get back to Christmasland HQ and tomorrow we'll venture forth in search of a tree. 

Stay tuned for more of this urban Texan story as it unfolds.

Texit,

LSP

Monkey Business

 

There we were, in the dead heat of a dead hot summer and we prayed, when will this heat ever end? Maybe never, so there you are at your desk, sweat dripping down onto the Dell even though your AC's running full blast like a racehorse which just can't keep up.

No kidding, the very ground is cracking under the heat and there you are, idly chopping sweating mahogany with a razor sharp kukri, chop, chop, chop, in time with failing ChiCom ceiling fan dystopia.

A knock on the door. Rap, rap, rap. You look up through the heat haze, clearing a Glock .45, "Come in!" All very Master and Commander and enter the office, and he does, a complete 5.7' of hooded aggressor. Wow, 13% produces 50% of the crime. "Where's your money at?" demands our malfeasant POC friend, waving a blunt machete and a worse than useless garbage Hi-Point.

You look hoodrat in the eye and ask, "You want money? Yeah, we all want money, so take it, it's yours, it's up the monkey, just help yourself. Hey man, have at it, feel free, it's all yours."

100% eye contact. There you are in 110* waiting on the monkey rush, call it a stand-off. So what's it gonna be? Life and death. Rush the monkey to get the cash or... not. Your call, buddy, as a dystopian fan whirs overhead, and the heat does not lessen. No, it builds.

Hoodie looks at the munificent monkey, standing tall in your corner, full off cash, a veritable simian of a floor safe, and you can see the pull of greed versus personal safety playing out in Hoodie's mind. What's it to be, rush the monkey and get the cash and die rich, or retreat out of this hot, hot room, alive.

You watch, tapping your kukri impatiently against a scarred desk, "Maybe it's time for you to go, my friend. Or maybe you want to get all up in  the Rittenhouse. Your call, go ask the monkey. It's totally up to you."

Which way would you play this utterly unlikely scenario, punters?

Cheers,

LSP

APOCALYSPSE

 

There we were, on the back porch of the Compound about to say Evening Prayer when I looked up and lo and behold, hundreds of buzzards were flying overhead. Wow, there they were, gliding overhead into the West.

"Is this the Apocalypse," I texted a pal who's doing some kind of concert series in Europe, all very 41 musicians on stage with accompanying noise and smoke, Kyrie Eleison. Then I looked up and there was another wave of big birds, filling the air, like some kind of bomber wing.

"Is this," I thought in wonder, "the Eschaton?" No fooling, I've never seen such a thing here, and yet there they were. Harbingers of apocalyptic doom. Perhaps. That in mind, it's all going on everywhere and you can Gaza read about it on the Information Superhighway.

Typical Haruspex scene

Has this, dear readers, all eight of you, made us more or less informed. As we reflect on this, consider the omen witnessed in the expansive blue skies of the North Central Texan Free State this evening. Terrifying, eh? 

In totally different yet related news, can any of you recommend a luxury, old skool, sleeper train ride.

Seriously, a luxury, old skool train and sleeper to boot, preferably with an outdoor observation deck and windows must open, which I think counts out our appalling Amtrak. Totally open to suggestions.

Haruspex,

LSP

Gone Fishing

 

So, what'd you do today, so-called LSP, if that's your real name, which we doubt. Well, nothing complicated, a morning visit to the Pick 'n Steal and then off to the lake and its dam to try my luck against the piscine adversary. Would they bite?

No, they did not. Don't get me wrong, I tried, I really did, but the fish weren't having it. There they were, predatory gar lying in ambush downstream of the spillway pool, you could see them loud and clear through cleverly polarized glasses.

But no, they weren't having it, frozen shad didn't cut it today, so I tried my luck at Soldiers Bluff on the other side of the dam. There were fish there, yes, you could see them, but would they bite? No, they would not.

In fact, it was like fishing into a wind tunnel and who can blame the fish for keeping their heads down beneath the surging waves. So I packed up light Ugly Stick rods and headed for home, thankful for a morning under the big clear sky and clean air of Texas.

Don't worry, fish, your day will come. Draw the moral as you care to take it and that, dear readers, is the story of that.

Never Surrender,

LSP

Thunder Eshaton

 

Yeah, go right ahead and post on Thunderbirds and see where it mythically gets you. Good call, LSP, now you're right in the middle of a ferocious, apocalyptic thunder storm. No kidding, the heavens are crashing down with eschatalogical fury.

At first I thought it was shrapnel bouncing off the justified and ancient timbers of the house but no, it was hail. I know this because I went outside to look at the lightshow and an icy boulder clocked me in the eye. Dam painful, I can tell you.

Would the rig be alright along with the planet itself? Good questions, so go outside with a flashlight to find out. All OK, thank God, and the storm passed over with its massive and predatory birds. We live to fight again another day.

All Hail Texas,

LSP

Something Good

 

Don't you have anything good to say, so-called LSP? you ask, grimly. Well yes, yes I do. After Mass on Thursdays I stop off at a small country supermarket to pick up provisions, David's in Whitney. What a friendly crowd and after a while you get to know the mostly elderly cashiers.

One of them, a wiry tough old lady, asked me at the checkout, "Feeling alright?" and I replied, "Still standing, by the grace of God." She smiled and said, "So am I! I've just met a man and he has money in his account and I won't have to do this job. My last husband was a demon. He was on nuke subs and we were married thirty years and he was a demon, he'd beat me. Now I've found a man who loves me, praise God."

Praise God, she meant it too, and her eyes sparkled there at that checkout at David's in Whitney. I smiled and praised God with her, what a faithful and good old lady, "Bless you." But would newfound love and recompense stick?

A month later, yesterday, I was at our rural haven's shopping mall, Walmart, and there she was, happy as could be, and she introduced me to the man who wasn't a demon. "This is..." and we shook hands, "You'll excuse me for looking like an unemployed fisherman but I am, in fact, a priest." He grinned in a lined face, brown with the weather and still strong, a countryman, out here in Texas, and off we went. Both of them light with happiness and that light lifted me up too.

Cheers,

LSP

Clean It Up

 

Here's the thing. It's great having a Compound, it really is, but they have this tendency to turn into Jungle Warfare Training Schools. Trees fall down, Trumpet Vine takes over, hedges go wild and before you know it the whole thing's a right mess. And that's a bad witness, so what to do?

Thank God a couple of good men from Mission #2 turn up with truck, trailer and industrial grade tools, not least a chainsaw. Slice that fallen pecan wood up, boys, and they did. So on we worked, clearing up the grounds.

One of the men founded Dallas SWAT and subsequently worked in local LE. His method? "Issue as few warrants as possible," ie, sort it out locally. What a good man and a great cop.

Thanks guys, the Compound's clean now,

LSP

A Sign

 

Every Thursday evening I climb in the rig and drive to Lake Whitney and Mission #2 to say Mass. It's a good drive, taking you over the dam with the mighty Brazos on your left and the lake, sparkling in the sun, to your right. Overhead, the sun beams down from a vast, blue Texan sky.

everywhere a sign note fresh weld

Hot as Hades you mutter, pulling into the church car park, and there it is, a sign saying Priest. Huh, this is new, some kind church person has made this to remind me of who I am and to warn everyone of the same, don't take the priest's place, don't even think it. 

I tell you, they're good people at this church and good job sign maker. You'll note the Cross of St. George inspiring us all.

Slay the Dragon,

LSP

IT RAINED

 

We certainly live in an age of miracle and wonder, it rained yesterday evening. One minute a blazing hot sun in a clear blue sky and the next, dark clouds rolling in from the West. There they were, overhead, above the Compound, but would it actually rain or was this some kind of cruel joke.

No, it was not a joke. Slow, fat, drops began to fall from the sky as the temperature went right down and then more, faster. Not with the full fury of a Texan storm but not bad either, so I went out onto the front porch to behold the sheer bliss of the thing. Rain. Beautiful.

typical Texas street scene

Then, all too soon, the rain stopped, but I'm not complaining, everything cooled right down. Let's see more of this climate change.

Happily,

LSP

You Miserable Offender

 

Here's how it went down. 0600 and the phone rings, "What?" slightly terse perhaps. "Hey dad, I'm at the 7-11 next to Walmart and the car won't shift out of park." Huh, I thought grimly, "So you need a ride to Fort Hood?" Sure enough, that's exactly what was needed and off I drove.

It was a good drive as the sun rose over the expanse of Texas, though I35 was crazy as usual. Then there we were at Hood or Fort Carvasio, or whatever it's called now. Seriously, how many People of Color (POC) benefited in any way, at all, from the name change?  Like wow, just look how the indigent POCs in Killeen have prospered since.

That's the thing with virtue signalling mountebanks, they come on fast with good if fatuous slogans, like Black Lives Matter. Nice, of course they do, but who actually profits? Why, the virtue signalers themselves. You'll note BLM's founders are living in mansions now, poor POCs? Not so much, they haven't received a penny. The Biblical term for this is hypocrite.

Regardless, it was good to be back at Fort Hood and the soldiery seemed well presented if preposterously young. And the malfeasant vehicle's been towed to the Compound where it sits, awaiting the attention of a mobile mechanic or, more likely, a tow to a shop on Monday. Its issue? A broken linkage cable.

Easy fix, apparently, but I'm not about to try. In the meanwhile, what can we say?

Vivat,

LSP

Hot

 

So what's going on, LSP, apart from vaguely unhinged ranting on our evil transnational elite and Europe's schizophrenic war lust. You know, bay for war, clamor for combat, but don't produce any ammo or tanks or planes or ships or guns. Of course that's hard if you've offshored your industry to China and rely on cheap Russian gas. That aside, what's going on?

I'll tell you, heat, extreme heat. It's like a preheating oven out there and it's getting to the point where the very air itself might ignite, thermobaric style. Imagine driving under a scorching Texan sun, the fields around you bleached by its light and someone carelessly flicks a spent cigarette out of the rig's window. Boom, ignition as mesquite dust, pollen and chaff explode. Terrifying.

typical Texas hat

In the old days, I'd think nothing of getting out in the field in the midst of it all and ride, shoot, fish in the heat of the day. Now? Not so much, it doesn't seem so attractive to slowly boil under a 107* Heat Dome. That in mind, we have to wonder at the sheer toughness of the people who pioneered this place. Remember, they had Commanche as well as the heat to deal with, and most definitely no AC.

Speaking of which, the Compound had a wrap 'round sleeping porch up until the '80s when it was sadly destroyed to make way for an extension. Error. Maybe we need to fix that mistake, the upstairs AC's barely cutting it. But such is the War on Weather, no one ever said it'd be easy.

Don't melt,

LSP