Big Damn Heroes

If life is a battle, then my inner scars are medals for valor, for swiftness, for courage, for passion. Evil is the dark-haired brother of Good; they walk hand in hand–always.
Calanthe - Wraeththu

What is Chivalry? A knight was expected to have not only the strength and skills to face combat in the violent Middle Ages but was also expected to temper this aggressive side of a fighter with a chivalrous side to his nature. There was not an authentic Knights Code of Chivalry as a prescribed document - it was a moral system which went beyond rules of combat and introduced the concept of Chivalrous conduct - qualities such as bravery, courtesy, honor, and gallantry toward women. Documented in 'The Song of Roland' in the Middle Ages Knights period of William the Conqueror who ruled England from 1066, it consisted of these tenents -

To fear God and maintain His Church
To serve the liege lord in valour and faith
To protect the weak and defenceless
To give succour to widows and orphans
To refrain from the wanton giving of offence
To live by honour and for glory
To despise pecuniary reward
To fight for the welfare of all
To obey those placed in authority
To guard the honour of fellow knights
To eschew unfairness, meanness and deceit
To keep faith
At all times to speak the truth
To persevere to the end in any enterprise begun
To respect the honour of women
Never to refuse a challenge from an equal
Never to turn the back upon a foe


The "code" is written in slightly different form in different pieces of literature, but it all has these things in common - courage, loyalty, respect, honor, finishing everything you start and never refusing a necessary battle regardless of the odds.

Widows and orphans were cared for. In days of old, the helpless were looked after, but you worked or you did not eat. There were three orders in society: oratores (those who pray), bellatores (those who fight), and laborares (those who work). Those that prayed, lived beyond simply, not riding around in limos in $1500 suits while telling their followers on national TV to "send more money". The welfare class, that's rapidly becoming a huge chunk of our "modern" society, didn't exist. If you were physically capable, you pulled your weight. Or you died. The knight did not fight for the lazy, but for those who by station, age, or gender were not able to fight for themselves.

There was faith in a higher power, but not so heavenly driven, that a man was useless on earth.


A sword was a tool, to defend and protect. Lesser weapons were considered dishonorable. The dagger was considered a weapon of a sneaky assassin and an arbalest (fired from a distance) was a brutal weapon used by the untrained. A knight's code of chivalry demanded that he face his enemy openly, honestly and with skill - it was a "let the best man win" situation. Battle was more than the desire to pursue and kill, but endurance, the conviction and longing to endure beyond all imaginable limits of the flesh to protect and preserve.

There was a difference between aggression and self defense, a difference between being devoted to justice and being a school yard bully. It is a self-awareness and self-restraint and differs as night and day from apathy, the concept of which Christians might refer to as meekness, a trait often associated with Christ, and clearly as misunderstood.

There was the ability to think before one speaks, to consider the gravity of words and actions; and even to know when inaction or silence is the best avenue. Such things, many, including myself, have failed at. Such things we can still strive for. There was bravely standing up for friends, not just ourselves.



The dictates of chivalry are not some formal guide to etiquette. I hope I die before I see a "Chivalry for Dummies" book. It's not a checklist, it's an understanding of things for which a man needs no checklist. It's not bowing before your nation's enemy, it's never turning your backs on them. It's not holding the door open for a women because she's weak and lesser than you, but as a sign of courtesy. It's a way of thinking, not an era or a specific rule.

I've written on this blog more than once about the wimpification of the modern male. But being a strong man does not mean you are completely closed off to emotion, treating sex like an oil change, and a woman as a somewhat lesser accessory. The strongest man I know can convey in one look, one touch, what I mean to him. But one can understand where the mixed signals come from. The view from the media is one of abject consumerism, relationships that manipulate, sex as control and the worst "if there's a man involved, it's his fault". Our nation has more material comforts than the knights could ever imagine, but for many people, it's prosperity without purpose, it's passion without principles.


People espouse the Middle Ages as being little more than Pestilence, Black Death and no YouTube with the concepts of that day being outdated, or worse, by their own basis, misogynistic. What do we have now to replace it? Materialism without ethics or effort, and baby daddy's, greedy trophy wives, teen moms, and uncouth, plastic infused bimbos who get their own reality TV shows without any bit of skill or talent. This is our alternative to "the Dark Ages", a generation of people who fail to understand the difference between "can" and "should"?

Epictetus said it best "for it is better to die of hunger, exempt from fear and guilt, than to live in affluence with perturbation."

But the spirit of chivalry has not been entirely eradicated from the human heart, even in our pacifist, feminist, age. A chivalrous man today is a warrior with something to live for - and is willing to sacrifice his life either to protect or further it. Being a warrior does not not necessarily make him a man of war, but a man prepared to do battle for that which he loves. The battle can be one of ideology, not weapons, his life simply marked by preparation for something worthwhile, and thus is lived pursuing those ideals and interests which for him hold true value.

If this man is willing to die for something he loves, it is because he loves deeply and with great passion. Romantic love may well make the short list, but it's not the sole occupant of his soul, there are other causes and objects of a man's passion, that make him truly rounded.

Chivalry is not dead, it is simply dormant in many, for all things that are excellence can be as difficult as they are rare. In my writing I've referred to the knight as he, for it was a manly profession. Yet the ideas that define chivalry know no gender; it's a way of thinking expressed in form by both men and women who hold true these concepts of defense and accountability.

Some will call me hopefully old fashioned. Feminist and those more liberal minded will decry it as a way of life that is simply bloodshed, war and women seen as a possession. It's not. A chivalrous man, has no desire to control and direct a woman's thoughts, but to allow her to live without constraint, loved unconditionally, free from pesky dragons and telemarketers. He will not only arm himself with the tools he as to protect her, he will smile when she takes up her own. He will fight for her. He will fight with her.

Chivalry is NOT dead. Look at our military personnel, look at those people who responded after the terror attacks. Firemen, EMT's, the police. Nurses, doctors. A post-September 11 nation's no place for milquetoasts. We are living in a fallen world with entire societies that wish us harm, religions of "peace" that dictate to embrace them or die. This is not a time to sit home watching reality television, when the dragons aren't just bigger, they're almost nuclear ready.

It's a time for heroes. Big Damn Heroes.

In the Battle of Maldon, a few Englishmen have been attacked by a fierce army of Viking invaders. Although the Vikings are between two branches of the river and thus separated from launching their full strength at the Anglo-Saxon army, Beortnoth nobly allows them free passage to do battle on equal terms. Vastly outnumbered, Beortnoth and his brave men are slain until only a small, unflinching band of warriors remain:

“Byorthwold spoke; he grasped his shield; he was an old companion; he shook his ash spear; full boldly he exhorted the warriors: 'Thought shall be the harder, heart the keener, courage the greater, as our might lessens. Here lies our leader all hewn down, the valiant man in the dust; may he lament for ever who thinks now to turn from this war-play. I am old in age; I will not hence, but I purpose to lie by the side of my lord. . ."

In these few words, a better description of heroism, of unwavering dedication and loyalty I've not read in a while. The lines “Thought shall be the harder, heart the keener, courage the greater, as our might lessens" are a thousand years old, a pre Christian heroic spirit which author J.R. Tolkien, a crafter of worlds where chivalry roared, himself called "Northernness".

Chivalry exists, and heroism stands. Look at the people who serve in hard times, hard areas, death a shadow on the wall, so the masses can be safe. But you don't have to be a member of the military or a protector of the weak to embrace these concepts. Chivalry gives us something to strive for, something to hold up as an ideal and an understanding that throughout history there are those who have risen above the standards of the day to truly be called brave.

The year could be 1066, it could be 2001, it could be today. A hand on a rough shovel, flinging the dirt with an effortless fury, the mound of soil rising of its own volition, not crafted by man but as if flung forth by the earth itself, until the grave is readied. A warrior has fallen, medals scribed on ore or heart, small things insignificant to the view, but mute with profound meaning. The earth waits but a moment. Shadows fall with the moon's curve, no sound but the labored breath of form of one who engaged without arms, this single combat. Laying a warrior to rest.

There is now but a shield to be picked up and carried on. So, man or woman, we never forget.

Dear _________

I have three days off. I am actually caught up on sleep, it finally quit raining and after discovering Skype, my cell bill from talking to someone far away was not $1300 for the last couple months. So for this morning smiles all around.

Best short letters ever. Old NFO started it this morning with Dear Dr. Phil and it just went from there. Feel free to add your own.

Dear TSA,
"Hi, Jack" isn't the same as "hijack."
Sincerely, was only greeting a friend.

Dear Lady GaGa,
At what point did you think wearing meat was a good idea?
Sincerely, hungry kids in Africa.

Dear Noah,
We could have sworn you said the ark wasn't leaving till 5.
Sincerely, Unicorns

Dear mailman,
How does your dog react when you get home?
Sincerely, curious.

Dear Oxford,
If you misspell a word, will we ever know?
Sincerely, genuinely concerned.

Dear 72-hour deodorant,
Sincerely, why?

Dear Students,
I know when you're texting.
Sincerely, No one just looks down at their crotch and smiles

Dear America,
You produced Miley Cyrus. Justin Bieber is the payback.
Sincerely, Canada

Dear Windshield Wipers,
Can't touch this.
Sincerely, That Little Triangle

Dear Twilight fans,
Please realize that because vampires are dead and have no blood pumping through them, they can never get an erection. Enjoy fantasizing about that.
Sincerely, Logic

Dear Iceberg,
Sorry to hear about the global warming. Karma's a bitch.
Sincerely, The Titanic

Dear Titanic,
OM NOM NOM.
Sincerely, Iceberg

Dear Yahoo,
I've never heard anyone say, "I don't know, let's Yahoo! it..." just saying...
Sincerely, Google

Dear Fox News,
So far, no news about foxes.
Sincerely, Unimpressed

Dear jf;ldsfa/kvsmmklnn,
Please lknvfdmv.xvn.
Sincerely, Stevie Wonder

Dear Scissors,
I feel your pain.....no one wants to run with me either.
Sincerely, Sarah Palin

Dear Batman,
What was your power again?
Sincerely, Captain Marvel

Dear idiots,
Please pull your pants up so we can't see your underwear and get a job
Sincerely, a taxpayer tired of supporting you and your 5 illegitimate children.

Dear Fork,
I understand that we haven't spoken since I ran away with dish, but I thought you should know that you have a son. His name is spork. He has your hair.
Sincerely, Spoon

Dear Customers,
Yes, we ARE making fun of you in Vietnamese.
Sincerely, Nail Salon Ladies

Dear Global Warming,
You're the best imaginary friend ever!
Sincerely, Al Gore

Dear World,
Please stop freaking out about 2012. Our calendars ends there because some Spanish d-bags invaded our country and we got a little busy ok?
Sincerely, The Mayans

Dear Kids,
There is no Santa. Those presents are from your parents.
Sincerely, Wikileaks

Dear iPhone,
Please stop spellchecking all of my rude words into nice words. You piece of shut.
Sincerely, Every iPhone User

Dear Osama Bin Laden,
Marco . . .
Sincerely, United States

As Storms Brew

For those who have lost all in the great storms this past week, our prayers, our tears, and our thoughts - Brigid

4/27/11 As I arrived home I could see the clouds coming in from the West and Southwest, portents of a major storm that would brush us, tracking East, picking up strength into what may well be a storm of historic nature. As the clouds passed over the trackless land, billowing up and around the few small stands of trees like waves around monoliths, I felt a rumble of thunder pass down my spine. Driving rain needled laterally into my skin, precipitating not so much as raindrops but as tiny needles, trying to get involuntary movement from my muscles, driving me towards shelter.

I am glad I am only minutes away from such place, for I've seen enough on the radar to knew too well that this storm would cause deaths, people caught by the fury of such weather as is formed in these lands. The wind itself is a reminder, a light but sharp blow to the face that is not viscous, simply heavy handed, a admonitory slap from mother nature herself.

My grandparents are from this place, though they eventually moved further West across the plains, eventually settling in Montana, where my own parents were born. Reading their journals, their letters, I know that sometime they questioned their decision to come out West. There were days they wondered why their own parents had left the comforts of the East to settle in such a place, where the wind is a banshee across land as rich and raw as obsidian, and death is the only wrapping you may find if caught unawares. Then they would awake, on those crystalline, pure mornings to see the sun on fertile fields of rich, dark soil, land stretching awake towards a heavenly horizon, an eagle up above. At such times, those signs seemed to those wondering homesteaders as to confirmation as to the reasoning of their ancestors.

I love this area as well, but I'm well aware of how dangerous it can be if caught up in it unprepared. It was something I instilled in the few people I taught to fly over the years. We'd sit in the classroom off of a hangar, pouring over charts and terminology, hands waving in the air to outline a point, driven by the wind that was increasing its tempo outside. Of the many classes I have taken myself as a beginning pilot, one of my favorites was meteorology. Even as a child I was fascinated by weather, by the unpredictable forces of the unknown, of the fire in the sky, the way the clouds gathered in clustered groups of virulent gossip, then disbanded.The first time I remember seeing a severe storm, I had to venture out to take a look. Houston - we have rotation. I ran out in the back yard on the chubby legs of childhood, out of my Mom's arms, chasing it like a groupie, the viscous rain tickling like a stream through my red hair, the moisture seeping into me, making me feel completely fearless. Looking for something, the first marks of rotation, the sky twisting into itself in cotton like coils.

There's such strength when air masses collide and even as a child I wished to capture that, for there was only wonder in me then, no fear. On that day as a child where I glimpsed the great power of the sky and comprehended, I was told that it was God bowling up above, and I looked with glee upwards trying to get a glimpse of a tumbling pin in the celestial abyss, to participate in the autumn games of the gods.

Yet I was a child, not knowing yet of what real power was there, happily in jeopardy without knowing the danger, even as I raised my hands up to where the fierce clouds of Spring swam. Now tonight, the sky releasing its rain, gathering strength, clouds forming into a thick ragged blanket in which updrafts and downdrafts attempt to mate, I do the same thing, putting my hands up to the sky to absorb the collective power of this advancing front. But now I know from experience what I'm dealing with, the fascination undimmed. There's just something about it, feeling the change in the temperature and the pressure, the cordite smell in the air. I'm fascinated by power of the sky and want to continually learn about the weather; over my nation, my state; the convergence of force and water and wind; the atmosphere that brings both rain and sun to our lives, tears and joy.

I'm as enthralled by it now as I was then, those evenings as a youngster when I would lay on a blanket in the yard, or just on the grass, my eyes fixed beyond a point I could comprehend, watching heavenward. Searching for something that hadn't happened yet. A twist of a tornado, so far only seen in a book, a crackle of thunder, the soft, draping comfort of virga, rain that does not reach the ground. Waiting for the rumble of something within me.

When the thunderstorms over the mountains would arrive, it was as if the clouds had gathered for some boisterous party to which I was invited, lightning popping in celebration, the lights flashing like a thousand flashbulbs from ancient cameras, every clap of thunder shaking me with laughter. I was frankly smitten with the sky, happy to be invited and like a lingering house guest late at night, reluctant to leave.

Only when the rain started in earnest would my mother would yell at me to get in the house, with the stern sound of worry only a parent can have. I would have to go on in the house, reluctantly, like a child chastised by a nun in school, head down, movements slower than conditions warranted, then faster, running as if the rain had washed away my chastisement, cleansing me of my sins.

Even when I was grown, a young pilot, I'd sit by the window looking out at the mountains, searching for that first sign of disturbance in the sky and the sea. As the storm built, so did my interest, each gust of wind against the eves like a knock at the door. Sometimes, if the storm was benign, I'd put on my rain gear and go walk out across the land, delighting in the feel of rain on my skin as my lungs drew in fresh air, cleansed of cigarette smell and smoke and man. Liquid crystal drops kissed my face. I laughed into the wind and was not cold.

Learning to fly in the weather out West was a challenge, many days were spent sitting in the hangar, waiting for the rain to abate, clustered like Maytag repairman around a ready airplane. Winter storms that came off of the Pacific coast were the most lingering and strong, coming on shore with the speed of a tanker truck, pushing everything out ahead of their path, pushing all the way into Montana and the Dakotas before they were spent. On days like that it was best just to go home and dream about flying. For weather in an airplane is a whole other matter.When flying a plane, wind is the essence of your day. You want enough headwind to give you some good lift on takeoff, and not so much crosswind to cartwheel you when you come back. It seems that only those that love the sky, sea or outdoors, those truly in sync with nature seem to pick up on the inertial energy in the wind.

So many things get blown away in a stiff breeze, so many things swept out of your mind with the wind in your face in an open cockpit. Repressed longings, fruitless desire, ghosts of sad reflection, a hundred thoughts never formed and a thousand words never uttered. Wind in your face, sweeping your head of any emotion other than the moment, until all is blown past you to tumble to the earth below.

So on these storm tossed days, when it was too rough to go out, in any airplane, we simply sat in the hangar with a cup of coffee and our flying books, watching the clouds build and the thunder roll. Watching the atmosphere of the heavens, contemplating the atmosphere of our lives, as the surface of the earth, the surface of our skin heats, particles of warm air rising with breath. Watching the storm build, rich offering calling for some bolder hearts than ours.

Now, looking at what's developing, even as I pray for those in its path, I think I know why I am eternally fascinated by stormy weather, even as I respect its might. Because the summation of the skies is a visible affidavit of all that's powerful and mighty in the atmosphere, in our selves. It's a cold blowing truth that there's something within all of us that can be gathered up, strengthened. Something commanding that can change the form of a life. The weather brings components of force, some deep innate working in our selves. Lightning cleaving the sky as a machete, the smell of cordite in the air lingering like gunpowder. Thunder echoing as a a brace of artillery booming under a gunmetal sky, the power of the sky a transcendent weapon that can form or scar, however we view it, the landscape of our world.

I've learned the hard way that in just a moment things can change, what was once invincible, reduced to ragged form, and splintered dreams. What was once strong, laying broken, shadowy and dim beneath a disinterested sky. I've also learned that somewhere within me is the courage to pick up that which remains.

This storm is not going to go down quietly, the tornado sirens screamed twice now, though my little town was south of the activity that spawned it. I put the truck away, where it might have some protection from hail, alone in the gathering wind, under a sky worn and gray, ripe with deep recognition.

For just a moment, my grown up self was whisked away in a storm of time and space, and all that was left was a child cold and tired, wishing there was someone there with her to call her in, but that person is long gone. I feel the raindrops on my face, the rivulets falling from my eyes, salty and clear, leaving crystal trails down my cheeks. I close the door on my truck, walking out towards the house as light flashes around me, raising the hairs on my arms and illuminating my path. I walk on , toward the empty house where the liquid sterling of the rain calls to me from a distance, the staccato beating of water against my world, the might of a Spring storm moving through.

The storm is a powerful and strong, as am I. I look upwards, I do not look back.

On Learning - Quotes for the Day

“No great thing is created suddenly.”
Epictetus

Caution: Cape does not enable user to fly.
-- Batman Costume warning - Unknown

Barkley Tangles with a Cougar!

With the fading evening light and blur of motion, it was hard to get a good picture of the scuffle. But Barkley is unharmed and the cougar escaped to her lair with a glass of Merlot.

A Revisit to Reloading

This is my third year reloading. I was lucky in that two of my friends reloaded, and were there to answer questions and provide tips. If you don't have friends to guide, there are some good manuals out there to get you started. If you buy a starter kit through Lee, there's a manual called "Modern Reloading" by Mr. Lee himself available for just a few dollars extra. Other bullet manufacturers and reloading companies put out manuals. Hornady does a very good manual, as does Lyman and Speer. I am using the Lyman one as my reference.

I can't stress enough, that reloading isn't just something you sit down and do with a few purchased supplies and no instruction or training. Handloading should be approached with the same degree of caution as that science experiment you did in college. Although the manuals are helpful, I'd really recommend you learn from an experienced handloader or a NRA Certified Reloading Instructor.

If you don't know someone who actively reloads, or have an instructor in the area, ask at your local gun club, store or fish and game range to see if there are people who would be willing to mentor you in the process.

Just like in shooting the ammo, reloading the ammo requires the handler to assume the responsibility of safe handling with good judgment. Just as I will say that this post is simply a guide for a beginner and not to be used as a sole source of information; learn as much as you can before you start. Learn from someone with a keen eye on safety and if there is any question between you, use as a reference, a reputable reloading manual. For an excellent overview of reloading safety tips and information, before you get started, check out http://www.three-peaks.net/reload.htm . One of the best all around reference sites I've found as a beginner. The picture above was my "basic starter kit". If you are ahem "mechanically" challenged, don't let reloading intimidate you. At its most basic, it's simply putting a new primer, bullet and powder into an existing brass case. You could probably even teach a Congressman to do that (though they'd probably try to stick some pork in the case). You don't have to be an engineer, you simply need some supplies, and a personality that has some patience and attention to detail.

Most people started off reloading to save money. When your favorite pistols are .45 auto,like myself, the cost of ammo adds up. So you think 'I'll reload to save money!". Well, that is a myth, but don't tell your non-shooting spouse (shhhh). For you will shoot MUCH more for the same money, getting twice the bang for your buck, as they say, which is what makes reloading so valuable, not even factoring in the availability aspect of ammo. You can stop thinking "well that's a Quarter" every time you hear a bang (ah the good old days) and concentrate on practicing. And practicing some more.

I can't give you a precise idea of starting costs. Though I could venture to say if you shoot less than a box a month, it might not pay to reload unless you are having a hard time finding a particular ammo. If you shoot that little, I'm not sure you'd want to reload, but in any event, save your brass, as I guarantee you have friends that would love to have it.

You can easily spend $500 and up for precision and high-speed reloading for both rifle and pistol, especially if you get into the progressive presses. With an investment of this type you can produce some fine ammo at several hundred rounds an hour. If you're mechanically oriented, and have the finances to add to your store of tools, you might well enjoy that. But you don't have to. Buy the basics, save the really expensive high quality extra equipment until you've decided it's really what you want to do long term. You can buy the reasonable starter kits or obtain or purchase used and well maintained pieces, ask friends if they have any old equipment they want to get rid of, and you can get all set up for less than the cost of a fancy steak dinner out with you and the family.

If your budget is a little more than "bare bones" and you don't have a want or a current need for a progressive press, Lyman, Hornady, RCBS, and other companies make fine quality reloading equipment that uses more steel than aluminum and plastic. They each have kits (like the easy on the budget LEE kit) that will provide you all that you need to get started and will last you as long as you wish to use them. These kits can be found from $150 to around $300 and do provide some savings over buying pieces individually. I've been told that these kits will work for rifle or pistol (caliber-specific dies are required, and add a little cost $20 - $40 each, I think.) With this basic reloading equipment, the process is simple.

Resize and decap the case (remove spent primer) in a sizing die

Expand case mouth slightly so the bullet can be seated, (expander die)

Prime the case with a new primer

Charge the case with powder, in my case using a simple LEE graduated scoop

Seat the bullet in a seating die.

Since it’s a 9x19 cartridge that headspaces on the case mouth, crimp the bullet in place using a ‘taper crimp die’ rather than a roll crimp as the bullet seating die will do (if so adjusted).

Let's start with the equipment - A set of LEE reloading dies. LEE does not have the fancy or high priced "premium" tools, but the quality is more than enough to get the job done right. Sure, I like RCBS. RCBS reloading equipment is the Toyota Land Rover of tools. Extremely rugged and dependable, vastly over-engineered, and as good as you can get. LEE reloading tools are the Toyota Corolla of reloading tools. Relatively cheap, rugged enough for your needs, not too pretty, but you still get the job done and at a much cheaper price. For a beginning reloader the LEE starter sets are handy, as they come complete with shell holder and powder scoop sized to that cartridge.

For reloading straight wall pistol cartridges, the set needs a resizing/decapping die, a case mouth expanding die, and a bullet seating die. The starter equipment is not ideal for long term use in that regard, but it is a great, budget-minded way to get started. You can add those other items to it later. This will allow rifle or pistol reloading at roughly 50 rounds an hour (maybe 75 with plenty of practice). The sizing die installed on a hand press. To fully resize the case, the die body must be screwed in until it touches the face of the shell holder installed on the press ram. The mandrel rod in the die must have it's decapping pin clear the base of the cartridge to fully eject the spent primer from the primer pocket. I can make a perfect blue cheese souffle. How hard can this be? Here we have a shell casing mounted in the shell holder and ready to be pressed into the properly adjusted sizing die. Watch your fingers! Another view. A shell casing ready to be inserted into the case mouth expanding die. This die should be adjusted in small increments till it 'bells' the mouth of the case just enough to allow starting a bullet by hand. This will let the bullet be pressed into the case without crushing the walls of the case, and without shaving lead from the bullet (when loading lead bullets). Over-expanding the case mouth leads to cracked cases and short case life. A sized and decapped case ready to have a primer installed. The biggest problem I had in finding supplies was in finding primers. Here is the LEE 'Autoprime' hand priming tool already set up to install primers in this size case. This is an area of reloading where you have to be as careful with safety precautions as you are on the range.. Wear safety glasses, follow directions, pay attention, etc. The primer is the only thing in the whole process that is actually explosive. One is not a big deal, but the tool can comfortably hold 50. Pressing the primers in by hand allows the reloader to 'feel' it being seated, and a case with a stretched pocket can be caught and discarded. Voila'. A case with the new primer correctly seated. (and no, I am not going to tell you how many many times it took to get it right. :-) If you can, buy your powders and primers locally to avoid Hazardous Material shipping charges which can quickly add up on a mail order. Gun shows often are a good source of powder and primers. The powder companies produce written guides (free!) that will tell you how much powder to use with particular bullets in each caliber. If you can study the powder manuals ahead of time, you can minimize the different powders you need for different purposes and keep your costs in check. In the picture of my supplies, the powder is what was recommended in the kit. A case with a LEE powder scoop. There are several ways to measure the proper powder charge. The best way is a mechanical powder measure checked by a good quality scale. That said, the oldest method in the world is a simple measuring scoop no different than a chef might use. Make sure you use the powders listed in the directions, if you're not a professional, this is not a process to say "hey let's try this!" Practice using a steady and repeatable scooping method.

I like to pour the powder into a small dish and drag the scoop through it. Is a scoop high tech? No. . . but it serves well as part of a beginner's cheap and portable kit. Later, when the reloader either obtains or cleans off their "dedicated bench", then a mechanical measure can be acquired and bolted to the bench. Till then, remember, most spouses would be cranky about having holes drilled in the dining room table to mount the measure. Speaking of workbenches. You will need a place to work. It will need enough weight to stay put while you're applying pressure to the handloading press and should be stable. The height should be right about your belt line. Can't find your belt line? Stand about a foot and a half from the wall with your arm at your side. Bend your arm at the elbow, keeping your elbow tucked into your side, and pivoting the arm 90 degrees to point at the wall. The spot where your fingertips touch the wall should be an ideal benchtop height for you. My start up benches were different heights as they were originally old doors made into tables which were beefed up with spare lumber and repainted. Total cost. $4.00. Give yourself enough space to lay out your tools and components. Add some shelves and storage area (secure from young children or grandchildren if you have them in your house) and make sure you have good lighting. An overhead lamp can really augment your garage or basement lighting. Ventilation is nice. I've got a big screened door into the backyard from here for a nice cross breeze. Remember though, if you are CASTING bullets, not reloading, ventilation is a basic necessity, not a nice option.I've got an old sink with hot and cold water next to the bench which makes cleaning of casings and general hand clean up easier. Here we have a case, bullet, and a bullet seating die. In a pistol round this die has two functions. It will press the bullet into the case, and it will apply a 'roll' crimp to hold the bullet snugly in the case. The person that taught me the basics stressed that crimps can only be (and should be) used on lead bullets or jacketed bullets with a cannelure. Jacketed bullets without a cannelure should have a taper crimp applied. Autoloaders generally work best with taper crimped cartridges, but soft lead bullets do not work well with taper crimps usually. The primed shell casing with powder charged, ready to have the bullet seated. Follow the die set up directions to properly set the seating die. If you want some more detailed instruction beyond reading about it, the LEE website has Video instructions on setting up the dies.You'll find them in the "single stage press' section. A loaded cartridge, displayed with a taper crimp die. This die squeezes the side walls of the case into the bullet, holding it in place without rolling the end of the case over. This is important in an autoloader, as most will headspace the cartridge on the mouth of the case rather than the rim. Now for clean up. You don't want to be reloading with cases that have grit or fouling on them. That can wear out your nice dies VERY quickly (including scratching them internally). Many folks have a small vibrating tumbler to clean the cases, equipment similar to what we rock hounders have, the cases vibrating with ground up walnut shells or corn cobs. One of my favorites group of folks, Midway (http://www.midwayusa.com/) has tumbler kits at a good price. But you don't have to have one to clean up. You can simply put the cases in hot water, and then rinse, and rinse again. To dry them out, put the cases on a clean pan in a warm oven for an hour or two to dry them out. Be careful that you use the lowest possible heat setting, less than 175 degrees. Any more than that is a really BAD idea. If you have a teenager in the house let them know, as they've been known to eat about anything found coming out of an oven. In the end you'll find more advantages to reloading than simply saving money on the cost of each bullet (you know, so you can shoot twice as much). You'll be able to tailor your ammo to a particular firearm and you can have ammo for obsolete guns. With practice and experimentation within the prescribed limits of the manufacturers, you can improve your accuracy by developing loads that work best in a specific gun. You can reload ammo that by either market conditions or manufacturing rate isn't readily available. You can also match your ammunition to the type of game you are hunting or the type of sport shooting you are doing.

It's GREEN. (everyone's favorite buzz word). By picking up all those brass casings on the ground and re-using them you are stopping global warming (OK, NOT, but Al Gore would try and use that line). But it IS fun if you are technical/mechanical minded. But mostly, it's a way to work with your hands, using new tools to enhance another sport you already enjoy, there quietly in your own garage, shop or basement. I can't think of a more relaxing way to spend an afternoon while gaining something truly useful with only a little time, effort and patience.

Monday Night Menu - Easy Fixins for "one of those days"

Monday after a week on the road is never easy. The muse is tired and hungry, even after a couple of days off and I'm not feeling particularly creative. The best time for an "easy to cook" food post. What to make with what's on hand? It doesn't get any easier than this.

You start by dipping some extra large chicken breasts into a mixture of whisked egg with a dash of salt and little basil in it. Then coat the chicken pieces with Italian seasoned Japanese Planko bread crumbs. (They have more of a "bite" to them than Italian ones).

Pepper each piece lightly and place on a baking pan sprayed with non stick spray and bake at 400F for 25 minutes to crisp up the crumbs.

Then pour enough Poppyseed dressing over the top of each piece to cover, quickly return to oven and bake another 25 minutes. The coating ends up as a blend of soft and crunch with a delicate, almost sweet and sour undertone to it. The chicken underneath stays unbelievably juicy. I sliced it after baking and served on top of Amish noodles with a salad and dinner was on the table in just a little over an hour.
It WILL be assimilated.

What do you do if you have a Blog Meet and the Restaurant Doesn't Show Up

3:00. Broad Ripple Brew Pub, a light crowd was expected as it was Easter, but I was first on the scene, waiting for the cruise director and the rest of the gang to show. Hmmm. I'm the only car in the parking lot. This is not a good sign. Sure enough, the Pub was closed.

Oh boy, Barkley is not going to be happy with me if I leave him and don't even come home with a doggy bag.

But you're gonna see Aunt Tam, why can't I go?

The Jack , Joanna, Tam, Old Grouch, Roberta X, also known as Retrotechnologist, Nathan,and first time attendee Dave soon arrived. Old Grouch led a scouting expedition while everyone showed up and he came back with a short list of what was open.

We passed on the Wild Beaver Saloon.

And decided on the Canal Bistro, which had all the prerequisites for a IND blog meet, outside of that open sign, a great view of the bridge over the Monon and the wonderful smells wafting out of the front door. . .

(1) Within walking distance of the trail and everyone's cars.

(2) great food

(3) alcohol

(4) falling hippies.

For yes, soon after we arrived we were treated to the the sight of a drunken hippie falling off the Monon bridge after sitting on the edge with his friends and leaning back just a little bit too far ("hey man is that a turtle?") Someone summoned the IFD (I Fell Down?) who arrived with ambulance and fire trucks and a few locals out in the rain watching the action there in the shadow of a statute of long arms holding a turtle into the air??

I couldn't help myself but all I could think of was, at first, was that song "it's raining men". Everyone but the X Team was soon assembled to bring him up to land, probably the little worse for wear as there are concrete pilings under there, not just water. But I'm sure his last coherent thought as it watched the giant turtle up in the sky like some demented sun with legs, was "Wow, I sure am glad I have Obamacare!"

Soon, the excitement was over and everyone was back to catching up and someone suggesting I could be in the group picture if I had one of those fake nose and glasses and Tam doing the budget version of a disguise.

Soon, those conversation came to a slow, turtle crawl as the food continued to arrive.

It starts with the appetizers. I'm not sure what this was called but involved dousing a delicious wedge of cheese with what appeared to be some fragrant oil or liquid, which was then set on fire (WHOOOSH!!!) and then doused with lemon juice to put out the rather impressive flames. It was served with fresh hot pita bread to smear it on. It smelled wonderful and after checking to make sure my hair was not on fire, I ensured it tasted wonderful as well.

Pardon me, I think that calamari has my name on it.

The Gyro's were incredible. Actually everything on the table was excellent, as was the service and I'd recommend the restaurant to anyone. It's casual enough for just stopping in but with decor beautiful enough for the most romantic of evenings.

I had one of the many Kabobs offered, which were brought to the table by our attentive waiter, skewered on a giant sword, which he deftly removed. (What, I don't get to keep the sword as a souvenir?)

Soon, as the light faded, it was time to say goodbye. We took a moment to stop and salute the spot to our fallen, crunchy warrior and head on home. There was no tie dye body outline so we assume he survived the fall.

Dave, it was great to meet you and we really hope you will join us again. To some other regulars who weren't here, we missed you. To everyone else, have a safe drive home!