What did you do today

[MickinOz]

Excavator sold in 3 days. A couple with a landscaping business came along, took one look at it on the trailer and said, "We'll take it."

[featherliteCT1]

Because it was so shiny!

[twisted lines]

Doesn't everybody want one

[flboy]

Put up a Super Discone antenna for my SDRPlay software defined radio. Alot of plug-ins for the software. Got the ADSB plug-in working today so I can see and track all aircraft in the area via thier transponders on a Google Map virtual radar overlay. Cool stuff.



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[twisted lines]

Continuing my next Drawing program search!
Other one Updated
I whined enough I could install the other 360deg drawing program on her computer.
Can't install it on my Win7ssss and 1 more

[twisted lines]

It's Cold and I need a hot wire cutter today! Finally Have an excuse
Been searching; Found another sample, for an attempt.

Todays Adds

[flboy]

Here we go again. Shutters likely to go up late tomorrow.




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[Tom&Shelly]

Here we go again. Shutters likely to go up late tomorrow.




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Geez! Thanks for the map! We're just starting to plan our trip through the South. Guess maybe we'll try snaking between the storm and the (cold) mountains.

Hope you, family, friends, and property all stay safe!

Tom

[flboy]

Thanks Tom! Safe travels.

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[Tom&Shelly]

Today I converted a metric roll of tin foil to an American roll. Sort of...

Ya see, a few years ago I'd made a holder in our galley for Great Value tin foil, found in any Walmart. Wouldn't ya know, when we realized we were running low, we were somewhere in Canada, and happened to be in a Canada Tire. The box looked similar, but turned out to be about a quarter inch--err, a half a centimeter--too long. Further investigation, however, revealed the tin foil inside the box was the same width, but rolled around a long paper tube.

So I got out my Dad's old scroll saw and began the intricate conversion process



Fits like a size 9--err EU 8--glove!



Tom

[tony.latham]

however, revealed the tin foil inside the box was the same width, but rolled around a long paper tube...

That's damn funny.

Me? I'm working on a new book. A true bloody tale from a century ago.

Prologue

Judge John Roberts tightened his wool overcoat, reached down, and took a handful of dirt from the mound that lay on a ragged tarp. The snow around the mound was trampled down with footprints. Two well-worn shovels rested beside the dirt as a precursor of what was to come. It was a cold, acidic winter day, and a blanket of gray clouds hung over the Tennessee countryside.
Despite the frozen cold, the smell of fresh soil, pine wood, and death were wrapped together like a frayed rope and the odors wafted up from the hole that Judge Roberts stood over.

Roberts looked down at the pale wooden casket at the bottom of the grave. The boards were fresh cut and the joinery looked solid. The casket was well made. Six ropes lay on the coffin that the pallbearers had used to lower it into the five-foot deep hole.
Fifty yards behind the judge, a horse whinnied and pawed the frozen ground. A bit closer, Roberts could hear a child crying. The baby was one-year-old Thompson, the son of the man that lay in the grave. Thompson’s mother, Laura held him tightly. The fresh widow was dressed in black. She was thirty years old and now looked twice that age. The body in the coffin belonged to Deputy Wesley Dunn. Roberts knew him well. Dunn had testified in his courtroom many times and he considered him an honest lawman.

Three days ago, Dunn had been part of a six-man posse attempting to arrest Ease Swafford for petit crimes, all involved alcohol, and non-lethal gunplay. Ease’s brother, Charley was serving a life sentence for killing a peddler, and the sheriff considered Ease to be just as dangerous. Thus, the size of the posse. Two hours after dark, the deputies arrived on horseback at the Swafford farmhouse. The house was dimly lit with kerosene lamps. They dismounted and quietly tied their mounts to a rail fence. A dog barked from inside. As they approached with guns drawn, the side door slammed open and they saw two men sprint off into the darkness. The lead deputy yelled out, “stop or we’ll shoot!”

They gave chase but during the pursuit, they became separated. After about ten minutes, a shot rang out from the blackness. The officers froze and listened, each from their isolated spot in the blackness. No follow-up shots. No sound of footsteps running off in the crunchy snow. Nothing but the dark and their own pounding hearts. Who had fired? What had just happened?

Twenty minutes later, they found the body of thirty-four-year-old Wesley Dunn lying on the red-stained snow with a bullet hole in his forehead.
Judge Roberts squeezed the dirt into a clod and held it out in front of him. His hand moved slowly up and down as if he were tapping his gavel. He didn’t want to let this man go. He had a theory about Dunn’s killing. His county had been racked by two families feuding for fifty years. The Swaffords and the Tolletts. Some people said it started during the Civil War. A queer Southerner vs. Northerner thing that hung like an anchor over Bledsoe County. But after all these decades, nobody was sure what the truth was. Dozens of people had been killed in both families. There had been few successful prosecutions because the witnesses were almost always family and they wanted their own revenge. Roberts’ theory on Wesley Dunn’s murder was that Ease Swafford had shot the wrong man. The sheriff had sent Deputy Luther Tollett to lead the arrest. He was the deputy that yelled out the warning. And in the darkness, Swafford thought Dunn was a Tollett and pulled the trigger.

After a moment, Roberts exhaled and tossed the soil in the grave. It hit the casket and clattered like a broken snare drum. Dust to dust.
Behind him, he heard footprints approaching in the snow. He assumed it was Sheriff Crawford Dyer, coming to pay his last respects over his dead deputy. Roberts turned and froze. Who he saw, didn’t make sense. It was Ben Hamilton, the twenty-three-year-old estranged husband of his daughter. Roberts’ brain was still stuck in his Swafford-Tollet theory. He knew Hamilton’s mother was a Swafford. Roberts shook his head and glanced towards Laura Dunn still clutching her infant. She too was a Swafford. But what was Hamilton doing here? And walking towards him? It didn’t make sense. He looked back at Hamilton. Ben’s eyes were as gray as the sky and he wore a shit-eating grin.

Hamilton pushed a nickel-plated revolver toward the judge. The first slug felt like a sledgehammer and caught Roberts on the right side of his chest. He started to go down but managed to turn away. The second bullet missed him and slammed into the mound of dirt. The third shot caught Roberts in the shoulder and he went down with one leg hanging over the edge of the open grave. He tried to get up but Ben Hamilton stepped forward, and pressed the muzzle on the back of the judge’s skull, forcing his face into the snow. Hamilton cocked the hammer and pulled the trigger.

It was January 27th, 1915.


I've got a lot more researching and a lot more writing to go... But winter is upon us.



Tony

[Tom&Shelly]

however, revealed the tin foil inside the box was the same width, but rolled around a long paper tube...

That's damn funny.

Me? I'm working on a new book. A true bloody tale from a century ago.

...

I've got a lot more researching and a lot more writing to go... But winter is upon us.



Tony

Cool!

I should be writing a text book on laser communications, but instead I'll probably make doll house furniture.

Tom

[tony.latham]

I should be writing a text book on laser communications

C'mon Tom! Git'ur done!

Tony

[flboy]

Storm Prep day. Shutters on, antennas down!



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[MickinOz]

Joined the SSAASA. (Sporting Shooters Association of Australia, South Australian branch.)
I think this is the slightly less militant Australian version of the NRA.
Unfortunately, only a quarter of Aussie gun owners are members. I'd like to see more, it would give us more say with the Gummint.
To celebrate my newly established membership, there is a thunderstorm going, so loud the mutt is hiding in his kennel, so my very first organised shoot at the local range is probably cancelled.