Fish On

 

We have choices in life, contrary to Marxist determinism, and such is the beauty of free will. For example, you can sit staring at a screen in slack-jawed trad consternation or you can go fishing. I chose the latter option and pointed the rig at Lake Whitney.

This was once a reef in a vast inland sea

There it was, shining and hazy under a hot Texan sun, but would there be fish and would they bite? I cast off with worms to find out and... nothing, apart from a lazy little Gar who swooped down on my worm, held it in its beak, swam away at leisure for about 60 yards, ate half the worm and dropped the rest. He didn't even run, and who can blame him, it was hot.

Behold Leviathan and the mighty Brazos

Soldiers Bluff being a bust I headed across the dam to try my luck from the pier. Slow going at first but then I spotted them, two stationary Bass on a ledge next to the dam's wall. Off goes the worm, cast a little ahead of the fish, followed by a slow retrieve onto their position. Boom! Strike!

Nice little Drum

A couple of minutes of diving, thrashing, rod double action later up comes a very decent fish. Good fight and back you go, great result. So, send another worm into the depths, untargeted this time, a blind shot and another slow retrieve. And what's this, a tug, and another, hookset! It felt like a Black Drum and sure enough it was, not as cool as a Bass but still, plenty of piscine action.

That complete, it was time to head back to the Compound, mission accomplished. I file this exciting story under "Country Life in Texas."

Tight Lines,

LSP

Fog of War

You can imagine, Sunday Mass at Mission #1 said and there you are, relaxing on the back porch with a cup of coffee and reading war reports out of Bakhmut. All well and good until a beating and pounding against your fence breaks the stillness.

What?!? Lo and behold, a loose dog was going hard against one of Eduardo's exotic ducks. Now, I'm not a betting man but odds on the dog and devil take the hindmost, eh? Not so fast, punters. Three minutes into the contest and the duck had not only driven off the dog but flown back into the safety of its compound.

Typical Duck/Dog Fight

There it was, wings splayed in fight-mode, strutting amongst its fellow ducks while the dog sat in the front yard of Elrond's Elf Lodge, aka The Florist's, ignominious defeat seemingly forgotten. I couldn't help but think Blue would've made a better show, but he's old now and didn't notice, being deaf and blind.

Excitement over, it was time to drive through mystical fog to the lake for Mass #2, and there you have it. Draw the moral as you will, not least, don't put all your money on the dogs.

Your Friend,

LSP

Some Good News

 

Good news? That's preposterous, so-called LSP, if that's your real name, which we doubt. But not so fast, punters, there is good news and here it is. The sun shines, the sky is blue, devoid of chemtrails, and the sacrifice of the Mass was offered this morning, not once but twice.

And there were the faithful, and they are, coming together to worship God, hear his Word and receive the Sacrament of the Altar, his Body and Blood, in which we find union with Our Lord's paschal sacrifice on Calvary and with it the forgiveness of sin and a share, even now, in the glorious risen life of the empty tomb.

Therein lies sanctification, freedom, hope and glory, right here in North Central Texas and I say that unreservedly. On topic, if you'd said in the '90s that I'd be  Priest in Charge of two small rural missions in Texas I'd have laughed. Hardly grand enough, where's that stone Altar and polychrome reredos. 

But the joke would've been on me. I'll leave you to do the spiritual math. In the meanwhile, have a beautiful Sunday and as always, God bless you all.

Shoot straight,

LSP

Horsing Around

 

I know, you've forgotten more about riding than I'll ever know, and I remember telling two rodeo stars about the Thoroughbred Grey I was training, with help.

me and the youngest

They looked at me blankly, in a nonplussed wtf are you kind of way and I replied, "Hey, just having fun with a horse." They lightened at that, "What it's all about, man." 

Three screws in the hip and a cautionary tale later I'm more cautious and haven't ridden since; maybe that needs to change? But here's the thing, I'm not inclined to get on a half-broke horse anymore, much less a mad Arab. Is that wrong?

Ride on,

LSP

You Miserable Offender

 

I could see the miserable offender from the Compound's upstairs windows. There it was, a mutinous AC exhaust spewing water onto the roof, doing its level best to destroy this humble Texan home.

You see, the genius patrol who got rid of the sleeping porch in the 1980s and turned it into a meeting room didn't grade the roof correctly, the pitch is too shallow. This means water collects on the structure's oddly impermanent asphalt shingles, degrading the rubbish decking beneath and before you know it the whole thing's a soggy, rotten mess. Then it collapses. Disaster. 

To play my part in fixing this threat to hearth and home I clambered up on the roof like a mountaineer and, after enjoying the view, advanced to contact. "Look at you, traitor," I thought, looking down at offending PVC article, and then fixed it with a snake, this being a untwisted coat hanger. Take that. And so it did. Now water doesn't flow from miscreant to roof, mission accomplished.

On the way back down to earth I opened up a window which had been painted shut. This will make climbing easier.

Overwatch,

LSP

War On

 

A war rages at the Compound. The protagonists?

An exotic duck.

And a ferocious dog, seeking whom he may devour.

You see, what happens here is that the duck flies over the perimeter in search of food and Blue Terminator doesn't take that lying down. No, he advances to contact, slowly, because he's blind. Meanwhile the duck continues, oblivious, until the last moment and then flies away.

Make of this problem farm parable what you will.

Rus in Urbe,

LSP

On The Road

 

On The Road. Did you know that infamous Beat author Jack Kerouac was a Catholic Christian? So was Andy Warhol too, but that's a different story. Studio 54 aside, I climbed in the rig, got on the road and headed West to say Mass.

The church was quiet and beautiful in the evening light while Christ came down to earth to lift us up to heaven, O Salutaris, and time stood strangely still as it always does when we worship God, not least in the Sacrament of the Altar. Then all too soon, "The Mass has ended, go in peace to love and serve the Lord." Ite Missa Est. 

Back in the car park the sun was setting over Texas, no small thing, and I sent the record of it to an old friend who finds himself in LA doing something with pop music. "Look!" I whatsapped, "Sunset. Hope your musicians are behaving themselves." 

Apparently they were, "Big empty production stage. Phase 1 rehearsals. Secret location. All chilled here. Easy. STAY FROSTY." Always. Then back on the road to the Compound with the sun filling the rear-view with its golden radiance. I never tire of the vision and thank God for it, seriously, and therein lies a word to the wise.

Try and make a habit, a discipline of thanking God for the beyond reckoning good that he's given us. Perhaps it's easier to see in the countryside, where creation's comparatively less marred by wickedness than in, say, the DFW metrosprawl. But wherever you are the rule applies, and when followed covers a multitude of sins.

Here Endeth The Lesson,

LSP

It's Freezing - Sick Communion

Typical Texas Street Scene

Our Old Enemy the Weather knows no shame. One moment it's  warm and balmy, like Spring, the next? An icy wind cuts across flash frozen Texan tundra, it's like the Day After Tomorrow but this isn't New York, no, it's the Lone Star State.

Regardless, the ferocity of the elements didn't stop me driving out into the windswept steppe to bring the Sacrament to a sick churchman. I rolled up to his ranch and there he was, resting up. "Father," he asked, "can you get the dogs in, please?" 

Take This Man The Sacrament

"Sure," I replied, and called them in, bounding joyfully into the house, big sticks in their happy canine mouths. But they weren't sticks, they were deer bones, I should've looked closer before I noticed the smell. "Padre," exclaimed the rodeo star invalid, "Tucker's got a big ass bone in his mouth." So he did, and so did Lucy.

"Get those dam things and throw 'em out back. And wash your hands," which is exactly what I did, before administering Holy Communion. "Get better, man, we need you back at the Altar."

I file this exciting tale under Country Life in Texas and Climate Change.

God Bless,

LSP

You Miserable Offender

It started off well, no doubt about it. Morning Prayer on the porch, a stroll to the Pick 'n Steal for coffee, get back on the porch, scan the news, answer emails and then? Stride purposefully to the rig with a view to taking care of business. Turn that key in the ignition and... disaster. The wretched beast wouldn't turn over. Useless.

I knew why, a badly eroded battery terminal connector which I'd been too lazy distracted to replace. So up goes the hood, jig that thing around, turn the key and hope for the best. Fail. Next step. Stare malevolently at the offender, maybe I could scare it into function.

Just then a neighbor pulled up in his daughter's Chevy 1500 Z71, "Need a jump?" No, "Here's the problem." He looked at the malefactor, "You need a new one, I'll drive to Autozone, get the part and hook you up." Which he did, for free, because "you let me park here, least I can do, man."

Good call. He gets to park his monster lifted rigs in the church lot, which is fine by me but offensive to D, another neighbor, who shouts at me from his car, "That dude's panhandln! God will strike him down! Come Lord Jesus and hurry up."

Rural Eschaton aside, I'd say there's a virtue in neighborliness, peace on earth good will towards men, sort of thing. And you never know, they might turn up and fix your truck. Would that happen in the Metrosprawl? 

Not so much,

LSP

Operation Barn Sale #2

The last punter left, well satisfied, and we wrapped up the barn sale. What a great result, and pretty much limited to neighboring farmers/ranchers who got some good bargains which they'll put to good use.

EJS was a huge help, a selling machine, who speaks the language of cows, metal and the country, "Brother, 50 bucks all day long. Matter of fact, fixing to take this home today. You help me out, don't need no more in my shop." A pause, "Give you 40." And, "Done. Yours, my friend."

So much for small stuff. Metal -- tin, steel, copper and on went for pre-Biden prices and everyone was happy. And what a good group of country people who've become friends. I like that, a lot.

Cheers,

LSP

The AfterMass

 

In England you usually go to the pub after Mass or have a delicious Sunday roast, maybe both. Here in North Central Texas people typically go for lunch at some local eatery. And that's fine except that they're mostly not so good. 

Then there's Olaf's in Clifton, which is good. So when the MC said "climb in the rig, we're going to Olaf's," I said yes, and off we went.

Olaf's

Clifton's a well put together little town with a small movie theater, hospital, excellent feed store, antique shops, a good little western store, and restaurants. It's also the Norwegian capital of Texas, which I didn't know until today.

Typical Clifton Street Art

Olaf's is part of this and you get to it by walking through an antiques operation. Strange, I know, but worth it because the food's great, the atmosphere's relaxed and everything's good. I had Eggs Benedict, which was delicious, and a Bloody Mary, also delicious.

Tie Those Horses Up

What a lot of fun. Thanks, MC, for the exeat, and if you get the chance, check out Clifton. Well worth the visit.

God bless,

LSP

Bless The Ranch

 

"Can you bless the ranch?" What a good question, and I was glad to. It was good to be around horses again and some of them got blessed too. But not all, because the 50 strong herd was "out and about."

So were the chickens, living it up in the barn. Mission accomplished, I headed back to the Compound via semi-flooded dirt and gravel roads, glad of a truck but mindful of an upgrade to 4x4.

All in good time, but first things first, grill up some burgers because the climate had changed, again. And that's the story of that. I file this exciting tale under "Country Life in Texas."

God bless,

LSP

Help Out Fella!

 

The day dawned brightly, with a slight mist and the sun picking up frost on the grass and fallen leaves. Yes, the climate had changed, but so uplifting. Better, to my mind, than living in the DFW metrosprawl where things seem less open and clean. That's the country for you, and more power to it.

Then, as I contemplated the pastoral idyll that is the Compound's backyard, the phone buzzed, "LSP, we need your help!" Huh, better get moving, and in a few minutes I was at the food bank, ready and waiting to do my bit to help suffering humanity.

It was chaos, of course, because a truck had come in with a massive amount of food and everyone was scrambling to store it away. In case you're interested, I ended up stacking pallets of canned corn onto an overflow trailer, which is a fine thing to do in the endeavor to fulfil the Gospel admonition, "I was hungry and you fed me." 

Speaking of which, the local foodbank's curiously undersubscribed. Shouldn't people be starving and desperate for their next meal in this horrendous plague year? You know, not able to get food because of the death that stalketh in the noon day? And lining up around the block for relief? Apparently not. Make of that what you will. Regardless, it was good to help out.

A trip to Walmart and a magazine gone to press later, it was time to drive to the lake and say Mass. Always a privilege, and a new family turned up with their five children, such a blessing. 

We celebrated afterwards with wine and cheese in the church hall, as the kids played in the nursery/playroom. Great result. And that, punters, is the story of that. 

I file this exciting story under God, Church and Country Life in Texas. And guns, obvs.

God bless,

LSP

Fishing & Antedeluvia

It was an overcast Spring morning in rural Texas and Soldiers Bluff looked beckoning, "Come on down and fish," it seemed to say. Which is what I did, but the fish weren't having any of it, they were lying low and didn't want the juicy, tempting, delicious worms I was throwing in. 

Still, there were a few fossils, rocky remains of ancient crustaceans embedded in the limestone and clay bluff above the lake. To be honest, there's fossils everywhere here, a tangled  mix of roots, branches, shells, and who knows what else, the set in stone remains of ancient cataclysm. I always hope I'll spot something useful, like a T Rex tooth, but not today, just a couple of shells.

Now, some who read this lighthearted mind blog believe fossils like these are at most 6000 years old. If that's the case, what about structures like Gobekli Tepe, which date back to at least 9000 BC? Remarkably ancient and advanced to boot, all at a time when humans were supposed to be grubbing about for nuts, berries and the occasional bit of unfortunate wildlife. 

Two things don't add up here. Firstly, the Word of God in Scripture isn't supposed to be read with a kind of boneheaded, blank-faced literalism. Read it for its truth, for sure, but know this involves poetry, symbol and metaphor as well as literal reckoning. Note, to think this doesn't make you a useless, pathetic, scornworthy, lib heretic. 

Secondly, mankind is very old, with Homo Sapiens appearing earlier and earlier in the fossil record as new discoveries are found. All this in our own century, to say nothing of ignored and anomalous finds in the last two hundred years or so, and the witness of ancient records.

It would be odd, don't you think, if people as intelligent as us remained at the hunter gather stage for several hundreds of thousands of years. Which is exactly what orthodox archeo-anthropology teaches; finds like Gobekli, water erosion on the Sphinx, and on, challenge the narrative. 

That in mind, I decided to challenge the piscine narrative of "no catching" by moving over to the other side of the dam. At first nothing, so I changed rigs in hope of having some sport with the Gar, who were gliding about the pool like deadly, prehistoric submarines.

Good call, LSP, but no Gar. Instead, a fierce  Crappie followed by a ferocious Bass, and a large Bluegill. Result. Then it began to rain and it was time to head for home, mission accomplished.

Fish on,

LSP

A Country Stroll

One of the many benefits of living in LSPland is you get to go for gentle country walks through the sylvan boulevards of bucolic Texas. I do that every morning with Blue Pastoralia and it's become something of a ritual. Sometimes we walk by the Meth Shack on our way to the Pick 'n Steal (PnS).

Meth Shack Patriots

The Meth Shackers aren't usually up in the morning but sometimes you'll see them passed out and shirtless in the drive after a particularly hard and toothless night on the meth. Still, chances are they'll be stacking collectibles around the shack later in the day.

Stack 'er Up!

They find things on foraging expeditions, you see, and stack 'em up. Child's plastic car? Stack it on the roof and keep that yard in order. Speaking of yards, the Shack was hidden from view on one side by a vacant lot which had returned to nature, like ancient Rome in the 7th century. Then disaster struck.

Chop 'er Down!

Woodsmen turned up earlier this week and chopped down the meth jungle to make way for a new house. The Shackers aren't happy about this, not for a second, and look on in dismay as back hoes and chainsaws clear away assorted junk trees and trash. Who knows, maybe it'll be the shack's turn next.

Random skulduggery

And with that, we leave the Meth Shack and head to the Shamrock PnS for a strong cup of coffee. It's still run by Nepalese, despite being Irish, and Texan.

I file this exciting story under "country life."

Cheers,

LSP