Luckily, I don't write professionally, I don't seem to even write to be read...

Just have to get that off my mind and on to the monitor.

The nation is at the crossroads and there isn't a clear direction to go. If I want to dwell on metaphors we are stuck in the mud, and it is still raining. We wanted it all, bought it on credit, loaded it up on the wagon with the fine horses and went off down the road towards Easy Street. But the pot holes weren't fixed, the foundation has been corrupted and swept away, the highwaymen took all the valuables and cash. Leaving us, anything but high and dry, more like low and going lower. Wallowing in the mud and mire, since high and dry is for ships and I was working on station wagons or Conestoga's. (I drive a Caravan, see where I get stuck?).

Sent off the Plan of Instruction for this weekend's Appleseed, I have my shoot box, plus all the stuff I am carrying just in case. Lovely Coupeville, Washington. I catch the ferry at six, drive to the range and unload, set up and have a great two days of marksmanship and heritage. All the slots are filled, I need more instructors, but the pay is in satisfied smiles and that warms my soul, doesn't put potatoes on the plate. Still, it will work out, Lord willing and the creek don't rise.