Lost and Found Goggy

Yesterday while sorting through my new lathe and gun parts box, this big dog walked up to my oldest son. I was a bit startled at first, but it was not aggressive and was panting heavily. I called to him, but he gave no indication that he heard me. Even when I clapped loudly and whistled, the thirsty thing didn't move. I walked over, knelt down and let him sniff me. I then petted him and took a look at his tags. Luckily, Dakota had tags on and I called his family.

We gave him water and a few minutes later, his human neighbors came to get him. I was surprised at how strong, yet docile this thing was. I mean, it was not huge, but I drastically underestimated Dakota's strength. I have not had the best luck with dogs at this house, so this is a good experience.

A Lathe... Here Goes Nothing

It’s been a while since I’ve posted (I’m a busy dude), but this is a good one. I asked the old gunsmith who did work for me years ago to keep an ear out for any machinery or tools that are selling locally. Well, old Larry came through in a big way and I got hooked up with a customer of his.

 

The lathe is made back in the 50s or possibly before; it needs some TLC, but I am hopeful. The lady who has it is very nice and made me a fair deal. I have to borrow money to get it, but it will only take me a little bit to pay it back. Anyway, I will post pics when I get it home and set up. It is a Logan 922 and it is HEAVY!!

 

This is the very first step to my next phase of my gunsmithing dream. With this, I will be able to re-chamber barrels, add threading, fluting and a variety of other things that involve spinning metal. I still have to learn all the ins and outs so I will be taking a class whenever I can. So yeah.  Awesome.

Every Single Year....

Each year, we do this really cool thing in America we call "celebrating Memorial Day" and do so in various ways. Now I'm not going to haul off and bitch about people water-skiing when they should be remembering dead soldiers; I don't care what you do. If you want to remember someone, great... there are 364 other days a year for that too.....

Every year on Memorial Day, I find myself watching war documentaries, scanning through the Faces of the Fallen and old pictures. Do I miss the Army or being gone in a foreign land? Hell no.  Do I get a wash of emotions when I see young men firing rifles into buildings and hear the zipping of rounds?   Sure.  The AK-47 and the RPK are two things you will never forget the sound of; they are so unique a sound due to their construction and design.

I often wonder if I've got any of the old gunslinger left in me, but it doesn't matter now. Still, it's just an errant thought that goes as quickly as it came.  My answer to myself is always yes.

Not more than a few hours ago, I was pondering something really deep and meaningful to write and I dismissed it in lieu of this. I used to get emails, phone calls and text messages (I did get a few today) thanking me for my service, but I have to tell them "This isn't meant for me. I'm not dead".  I can say, however, with resounding sadness that no person I know who has died in combat has done so for anything other than the men to their left and right at that time.

This has turned out disastrously... well.. here are links to the couple vids of interest I saw today.

Panic, Fear and Frustration

*Re-posted today... formatting fixed...   

Yesterday morning I woke up feeling like I hadn't slept at all. My entire body hurt and I was exhausted. I realized that I had been tossing and turning all night due to a fucked up dream.  

    I found myself among an Army unit very similar to my old one, but with nobody I recognized. I was clearly a replacement and was sent to the front lines of the conflict. I had no gear, no clothes beyond what I wore and my rifle had been lost somewhere in shipping. I was frantic as the enemy assaults hit like waves and I continued to duck into bunkers and craters. 

   I continued to charge into fighting positions, flip over my dead comrades and check their weapons. Each time, the weapon was either broken, missing or otherwise unsuitable. The grim mess of congealed blood and organ tissue was mixing with the mud and ash of the area all over my clothes. I didn't have the sense to strip the dead of their armor, as it hadn't done them any good. 

  I never saw the enemy, but I heard and felt the tremors caused by their bombardments and their small arms fire. Everywhere in the din of battle I could hear the screams of the dying and the commands of the Sergeants leading our men over the bulkheads. It was so strange of me to not be in the fight. 

  I met with one soldier who was clearly not in the fight; I tried to get him to give me his rifle. He denied my request, which is smart for him. This entire time, I never lined anyone up in my sights, I never held an operating weapon and I never saw anyone I knew. It was pretty nuts.

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Anyway, yeah... there it is... I woke up feeling like 217 pounds of smashed ass...   I slept much better last night. 

First Bit of Profit

With this little teeny bit of profit from my business, I am now only upside down about 235 bucks in licensing costs and a grand in tools. Could be way worse. Today, I set up my first 1911 trigger job and I am stoked. I am really thankful that people in the community believe in me enough to give me the chance. Well, this is a short post because it's not that important of a subject. We shall see what happens over the next few months. Hopefully it will be filled with blog posts about how I have work coming at me left and right and I have tons of spare cash. *fingers crossed*

To the Iraqi People..

Many things have come to light for me in the last several years that were not so apparent as a young man. I love my country and what it is supposed to stand for. I, and many others like me, was lied to, trained and used as a tool to oppress others. Many of these things were not my fault, but I was there to witness. So, like the man I want to be:

To the people of Iraq,

     I’m sorry for helping do to you, what I would never let happen to me or my loved ones. I am sorry for having hate in my heart; bringing my horrible skills to bear upon your brave men is a saddening thing for me in retrospect. I feel guilt for terrifying the people who I was supposedly protecting. I’m sorry for having had the drive to be better at tracking people in my scope, when I should have been opposing the occupation. I’m sorry that I was skilled and able to deal death at extreme ranges; what was once impressive is now repulsive.

     Although I will never deserve or receive your forgiveness, know that I am sorry for helping give my people a bad name. We often helped, but more often hurt people. I have joked about the death of others, but cried over those we suffered; no humans should have lost lives on either side. I am sorry for allowing spite, revenge or rage to fill me up and flow over. I’m sorry for being another invader into your sovereign land and removing your civil liberties at gunpoint. I’m sorry for using superior technology and deception to take away your family members. I’m sorry that we removed innocent men from their homes, without cause, in the name of security.

     I’m sorry I took away your guns. I’m sorry that your land has been ravaged by war and that men like me and my brothers were your enemy. If we had been born on the same block, we would probably been friends. I’m sorry that my friends glorified me for my successes in battle and boasted about their own. I’m sorry also that the common condition in wartime troops is to dehumanize their opponents to make them easier to mistreat; I am just as guilty of this. I’m sorry for being a part of something our Forefathers fought against.

     I’m sorry that I, at one time, thought that the ability to take a life was power. I’m sorry that my country is plagued by young men and women who suffer with guilt over things they did. I’m sorry that we had to kill to ensure the safety of others. I’m sorry that war is ironic at times. I’m sorry that the man in Tal Afar who guarded the bank, who treated us with such kindness, is not able to live in peace. I’m sorry that the Christian family in Mosul, who showed us love, has to live in hiding from sectarian violence.

     To the children, I am sorry that you had to witness young American men as monsters. I’m sorry that your childhood was filled with explosions, gunfire and large, armored men kicking in doors. I’m sorry that your soccer fields became a danger zone. I’m sorry that your kindness and wonder was not able to be spent in peace time. There was an old man and a young boy in the car that was hijacked by another man and all three had their hands up. I shot the hijacker when he pulled out a pistol; I am sorry that boy and old man had to fear for their lives.

     I’m sorry that it took nearly a decade to leave your land. I am sorry that thousands of peaceful people per year were killed by ordinance, stray bullets or carelessness. We accidentally killed a woman and went to pay reparations to her family; I’m sorry to that husband and those children that his wife and their mother died. I’m sorry that there were so many dinner tables with families waiting for their loved ones to come home, who never did.

     I’m sorry that it was “us versus them” and that you paid that price by proximity. I can say that I never targeted an unarmed person with lethal force, but some of my peers may have. I’m sorry that communications get confused, descriptions are vague, maps are not marked clearly and that our judgment is not always sound. I’m sorry that I thought my squad leader was a coward for leading us away from the fighting when he could.

       All these things and more are ones I and tens of thousands of military vets get to live with. We all have the chance to make good lives and we have an obligation to work hard accordingly. I saw the error of my ways and now try to teach my friends that respecting others is the only way we will ever evolve as a species. My son asked me “what’s a war?” and it broke my heart. I am glad though, that he has no clue about the horror so many children experience daily.

Wrong number... awesome!!!

So I had a friend, who grew up with me, was in my wedding and we even both joined the military after high school. He was a Marine Infantryman and I, an Army Infantryman. After two tours in Iraq, he got out and joined the masses of weak, mostly-helpless folks that make up our society. I did one tour in Iraq, doing the same stuff as him and got our a few months after he did. At my 24^th birthday party, he showed up and brought me 200 rounds of .45 ammo; that was a great gift.

Well, at said party, I got drunk as I tend to do at gatherings and began to rant about all the junk I do. The war was a hot topic for me at that time, since I had only been out of the Army for about 5 months at that point. I stressed the fact that is was unjust and that the men we fought in the streets were the same type of people as us. I made the point that we would do the same things to repel invaders in America. We love our country and they love theirs; it is pretty simple.

Well, my buddy didn’t much like my views (probably in part because I lose all sense of tact or kindness when taking vodka shots) and we didn’t speak again. I kept in touch with his dad, but never got details on my friend. We had been close since I was 12.

Well, last night on the way home, I was using my headset on my awesome new phone and thought I’d call his dad to let him know about my business. He has always been a hunter and firearms enthusiast so it is right up his alley. I heard an unfamiliar voice answer and ask me to hold on. Then my friend’s voice came on the line and I was momentarily speechless.

It was suddenly all okay. Four years had gone by and we hadn’t spoken; now he was totally different and speaking just like I had years prior. He apologized, but I told him not to; we all have to take whatever time is needed to heal. It’s just really awesome to, once again, have one of my best friends back. I should see him in the next month or so when he is back in town so that will be great.

It took me arriving home, with him still on the line to realize that I had mistakenly dialed him instead of his dad. Another factor is: I had been transferring contacts all day to the new phone and actually considered not transferring his. I am glad I did.