SNUBBY IN 3-D—

I’ve enjoyed the shooting sports since childhood. These days my interest is in self-defense proficiency and marksmanship. While I legally carry Glocks, the little snub-nosed revolver is an ageless alternative.

This digital image of a Taurus model in .38 caliber is a pleasurable combination of two of my hobbies--shooting and photography.

BOOK REPORT—

Thunder on the Mountain, by David Poyer

A gritty tale of labor organizing in the oil fields of Western PA in the 1930s. Poyer’s characters vibrate with authenticity. The mountains of his setting come alive with period realism. I’ve read several of his other works. I intend to read them all. --tw

CORRUPTIONS OF THE LANGUAGE—

When the language is abused I feel like someone ran their fingernails down a slate blackboard.

Here’s a prime example; the trendy advertising phrase “We’ve got it!” That translates to “We have got it.” Egad.

How about this; “Our Zit Zapper is the most unique..." blah, blah, blah! Uniqueness does not come in degrees. It is either unique or it is not.

Here’s one from a Milwaukee educator recently, “Folks have to rise themselves up....” Tell me, how do you rise down?

How about this dandy redundancy; “Consensus of opinion”? The word “consensus” does not need the prepositional repetition.

And, this one I just heard on a TV weathercast; “It is snowing at this point in time....” The first three words are sufficient, thank you. What else would “It is snowing” mean; it is snowing yesterday?

Of course, my opening symbolism regarding “...a slate blackboard” is doomed to failure. With over half our population now below the age of 25 the majority of folks will not even know what a slate blackboard is.

I guess I’ll just smile and trundle on. It’s less painful that way.

FROST ON THE WINDOW PANE--

Last night tumbling snow painted the air gray and it was quiet as butterfly breath while darkness consumed us.

The temperature plummeted as if the thermometer had fallen off the wall and Max came in, gently complaining of peeing stalactites.

Then, it was black and the fuzzy quarter moon stencilled a soft silhouette of the woods on the quartz-studded snow.

Jack Frost, meanwhile slowly embroidered his crystallized designs on the windows...

...and, my little slice of nirvana was at frigid peace with itself. --tw

Publisher's Note: Loyal reader Lynn Rush brought to my attention the posting dates on this blog are out of synchronization with the calendar. The post immediately preceding this, for example, was done at 5:55 a.m. (EST) Monday January 29th. It is listed as being posted at 1:19 p.m., Sunday, January 28th.

I have no explanation for this as the date/time settings I can control all are correct. I apologize for any inconvenience this may have caused and promptly acknowledge--my kids will find me being out of sync with the calendar a perfectly normal occurrence. --tw

SURVIVOR--

I was feeding the birds this morning and flushed a disabled junco from under dormant cover in the rock garden. It half scramble-flopped its way to safety under a nearby woodpile. Then, I remembered—

Yesterday I heard a horrible thunk against the deck door glass and saw a junco sprawled in a layer of new, powdered snow; flat on its back, wings spread, motionless. I checked later and, later again. Comatose. Sad.

Then, later again; it was moving its head. Still later, it had righted itself, and, finally I found nothing but it’s depression in the white fluff; much like a child’s miniature snow angel.

Such an injury violates a compassionate human’s sense of civility. But, unless licensed as an animal care giver it is recommended we simply let nature take its course in such instances; except, maybe, shooing away a neighbor’s marauding cat while there is still hope.

After seeing the courageous survivor this morning, I found myself going back to the shed for more seed and sprinkled an additional ration for my injured little friend.

BOOK REPORT--

Al Quaeda in Europe by Lorenzo Vidino.

This book is so intensely documented it reads like a dictionary. The story is clear however; the global scourge of radical Islamic terrorism is about as welcome on Earth as a more virulent strain of Ebola. --tw