A very happy 233rd birthday to the United States Marine Corps!

To my husband, brother-in-law, and many friends and family who are called Devil Dog - thank you for your service, and for upholding - with the highest honor - your oath to support and defend the Constitution of the United States from all enemies, foreign and domestic.

I am proud to know you all.

I was just checking out a forum that is populated primarily by crunchy parents, mostly women. Depending on which sub-forum you’re in, they range from raving Obama liberals to preparedness homesteaders. Anyway, I was perusing the financial forum (which seems to lean toward the conservative prepared types), and came across a thread about buying gold. The author was asking whether it’s better to save money by buying in 1-ounce increments, or spend extra to get 1/10 ounce coins that would be more spendable in times of need.

Someone replied:

“In an economic depression, you are better off having goods to trade (food, clothing, gas/oil, etc), and weapons to protect your cache of goods. If people are starving, it won’t matter how much gold you have on hand - people can’t eat gold.”

Then the original author replied, and here’s part of what she said:

“thanks for the heads-up guys!! good point about stockpiling other goods! we’re not allowed to bear arms in australia… “

As the title says: Count your blessings… and keep your powder dry.

Last year, I posted the following - one of my favorite quotes from the American Revolution - on the 4th. This year, I figure I’ll post it on the 2nd, in celebration of the day our Declaration was actually signed:

The Second Day of July 1776, will be the most memorable Epocha, in the History of America.

I am apt to believe that it will be celebrated, by succeeding Generations, as the great anniversary Festival. It ought to be commemorated, as the Day of Deliverance by solemn Acts of Devotion to God Almighty. It ought to be solemnized with Pomp and Parade, with Shews, Games, Sports, Guns, Bells, Bonfires and Illuminations from one End of this Continent to the other from this Time forward forever more. 

You will think me transported with Enthusiasm but I am not. — I am well aware of the Toil and Blood and Treasure, that it will cost Us to maintain this Declaration, and support and defend these States. — Yet through all the Gloom I can see the Rays of ravishing Light and Glory. I can see that the End is more than worth all the Means. And that Posterity will tryumph in that Days Transaction, even altho We should rue it, which I trust in God We shall not. — John Adams, writing to Abigail Adams on July 3, 1776

I know I’m all hormonal and stuff, but that makes me get teary-eyed.

I’m stoked for Independence Day. There shall indeed be Pomp and Parade, with Shews, Games, Sports, Guns, Bells, Bonfires and Illuminations in my corner of the continent, anyway! There will also be a reading-aloud of the Declaration, which I encourage you to read through at least once between now and the 4th, and to share with your family and friends. 

On a related note: If you guys haven’t yet watched John Adams, get with it. It’s excellent. 

1. I realized (a bit late) that not everybody knows that Patriots’ Day is celebrated on the anniversary of April 19, 1775 - the day the shot heard ’round the world was fired at Concord bridge. If you’re unfamiliar with the significance of Lexington and Concord, educate yourself here. (My dear Inconvenience would argue that the war began long before April 19, perhaps with the Boston massacre or HMS Gaspée affair - but we celebrate Patriots’ Day all the same!)

April 19 also marks the anniversary of the siege at Waco (1993) and the Oklahoma City bombing (1995), neither of which I find occasion to commemorate. I believe both of those events were clashes between two sides generally lacking in sympathetic characters.

Anyway, we observe Patriots’ Day with shooting and festivities to honor the American traditions of independence and marksmanship. Last year, the Inconvenience proposed (on a bridge!) and we followed it up with shooting. This year, we happened to have access to Tannerite, so we had a bit of fun with the effigy of a Redcoat. I of course have no intention of blowing up any actual subjects of the Queen. :)

2. I really hope you’re all watching John Adams, or making arrangements to procure the DVDs. It is simply incredible. I dare you to watch this - just the intro - and try to avoid coming away inspired:

The casting is brilliant, the script is excellent… it’s truly history come alive. It’s also caused me to have a bit of a crush on Thomas Jefferson (as if I didn’t already), played perfectly by Stephen Dillane. The Inconvenience has been pleading Hamilton’s case for months, but it’s falling on deaf ears… And the miniseries isn’t helping. I hate that sleazy little self-serving parasite. I’m totally on Team Burr.3. In addition to spending copious amounts of time fangirling over the founding fathers, I’ve also:

• Continued on in my position at the ice rink, with new and improved summer duties.
• Helped found the Palouse Sons of Liberty.
• Organized a team for and participated in the Relay for Life - for which, by the way, I also owe late donation thank-yous to JJ and Brody. :)
• Kept an eye on Heller, the elections, and other news and current events with the potential to affect our lives profoundly. Idaho Republicans will finally get around to holding the primary on May 27th (when it totally matters, hurrr…) - but there’s still an ongoing pissing match about the closed primary rule, so who knows - maybe I won’t even get to vote.
• Gotten rather involved in a potential lawsuit and am developing a cursory involvement in another… Don’t worry, I’m not in any trouble, nor is the Inconvenience. I’m just a fan of putting my time and money where my mouth is, and as much as I’d like to elaborate at this time, I can’t. Trust me… they’ll be intriguing stories sooner or later.
• Started talking about an entrepreneurial opportunity with a friend. This, too, is in the works, with more details to come once I have a clue what they are!
• Been running here, there and everywhere with this friend’s party and that friend’s shower and on and on… May is only going to be worse. Out of nine weekend days in May, I currently have plans for eight. *thud*

So anyway, those are my lame excuses for severely neglecting the politics, guns, and politics-as-pertaining-to-guns portions of this blog lately. Forgive me?

4. Don’t forget, those of you who have occasion to be on a college campus this week - the Students for Concealed Carry on Campus Spring 2008 “Empty Holster Protest” is currently in full swing. You can find details here, along with guidelines for safe, effective participation.

5. On a personal note, I’d like to congratulate Mike - my dear Inconvenience - on his new job, which he started today. He’s also preparing to graduate on May 10th with his B.A. in History, with a Political Science minor… and a 3.5 GPA! ‘Bout damn time one of us graduated. ;)

Patriots’ Day pictures are after the jump. I don’t know if any of the rest of the PSOL crew care to appear on PGB, so I’ve cropped these accordingly.

Warning - 56k death! :)

Read the rest of this entry »

I hope you all got a chance to go out shooting in celebration of 233 years of American asskickery and fine marksmanship. Incidentally, it’s also the first anniversary of the day I was asked (and agreed) to become Mrs. Inconvenience. :)

Our day thus far involved the Palouse Sons of Liberty and Tannerite. It’s about to involve steak and beer.

A good day, friends. Pictures and video to come!

I have long maintained that FDR was one of the worst things to ever happen to this country. Amity Shlaes at OpinionJournal tackled this topic on Sunday. Give it a read - it’s both enlightening and frightening.

Here’s a highlight:

Roosevelt personally experimented with the currency–one day, in bed, he raised the gold price by 21 cents. When Henry Morgenthau, who would shortly become Treasury Secretary, asked him why, Roosevelt said that “it’s a lucky number, because it’s three times seven.” Morgenthau wrote later: “If anybody ever knew how we set the gold price through a combination of lucky numbers, etc., I think they would be frightened.”

How very 1984.

And, on the topic of why Americans as a whole are often so reluctant to criticize FDR’s administration and New Deal policies:

My own sense is that there is a final reason we have all paused at the New Deal–a generational one. To insult the New Deal is to insult the Social Security that we, our parents, or grandparents receive. The Baby Boomers have a reputation as being selfish. But their reverence in regard to Social Security, not to mention Medicare Part D, is overly unselfish, and comes out of misplaced filial piety. Younger Baby Boomers and the generations after them will doubtless pay higher taxes because of our current unwillingness to criticize entitlements. Americans owe them as much as we owe senior citizens.

Read that, and read it again and again. I have heard so many times that we owe it to the old folks to make good on our promises - which we do, sure… But we also owe it to younger generations (not just mine - all that come after me, too) to reexamine our policies and make sure they are fair and sustainable. Right now - they’re not, and reverence for “the greatest generation” is shooting us all in the foot.

In commemoration of the 232nd anniversary of the Battle of Lexington and Concord, Mike and I set out to spend a day shooting and lighting fireworks and otherwise enjoying a day of historical, revolutionary significance.

On the way to the range, he turned off at the road to a lake we have frequented since back before we were even an item, and said he had something to show me. I imagined this was part of the fireworks-shooting plan, and lo and behold he got a few firecrackers out of the truck when we got there, so I figured I was right.

We walked part of the way around the lake, back to the inlet where a freshwater stream feeds into the main body of the reservoir, and he pointed out a bridge that spans the water. He said something to the effect of, “Look… a bridge!” meaning, of course, just like at Lexington and Concord. I thought “Oookay… you’re a bit silly” - but of course I went with it, because I wouldn’t love him any other way.

Then he launched into this whole talk about historical stuff, and I thought it was a little strange, as he seemed rather more emotional about the whole thing than I thought he would… But he is, after all, a history nerd on par with myself, so I assumed he was just serious about the significance and lost in the moment.

He certainly was, but he also eventually turned the conversation to us, and while I remember a good portion of what he proceeded to say, I frankly want it for myself won’t share it here or elsewhere. It all made sense then, the historical stuff was meaningful to him, but also a bit of skillful stalling while he was looking for the words he was now saying…

And ultimately, he told me he wanted me for his wife, got down on one knee, and asked me to marry him.

Of course, I said yes.

But you don’t get to find out why until a little later today.

Seriously - I think it was only trumped by the first one, 232 years ago. :)

Two hundred and thirty-two years ago, Paul Revere had embarked on his midnight ride. The rest, as they say, is history.

Does that give anyone else chills, or am I just that big of a history nerd? If it doesn’t… maybe it should.

Listen my children and you shall hear
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,
On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five;
Hardly a man is now alive
Who remembers that famous day and year.

He said to his friend, “If the British march
By land or sea from the town to-night,
Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch
Of the North Church tower as a signal light,–
One if by land, and two if by sea;
And I on the opposite shore will be,
Ready to ride and spread the alarm
Through every Middlesex village and farm,
For the country folk to be up and to arm.”

Then he said “Good-night!” and with muffled oar
Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore,
Just as the moon rose over the bay,
Where swinging wide at her moorings lay
The Somerset, British man-of-war;
A phantom ship, with each mast and spar
Across the moon like a prison bar,
And a huge black hulk, that was magnified
By its own reflection in the tide.

Meanwhile, his friend through alley and street
Wanders and watches, with eager ears,
Till in the silence around him he hears
The muster of men at the barrack door,
The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet,
And the measured tread of the grenadiers,
Marching down to their boats on the shore.

Then he climbed the tower of the Old North Church,
By the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread,
To the belfry chamber overhead,
And startled the pigeons from their perch
On the sombre rafters, that round him made
Masses and moving shapes of shade,–
By the trembling ladder, steep and tall,
To the highest window in the wall,
Where he paused to listen and look down
A moment on the roofs of the town
And the moonlight flowing over all.

Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead,
In their night encampment on the hill,
Wrapped in silence so deep and still
That he could hear, like a sentinel’s tread,
The watchful night-wind, as it went
Creeping along from tent to tent,
And seeming to whisper, “All is well!”
A moment only he feels the spell
Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread
Of the lonely belfry and the dead;
For suddenly all his thoughts are bent
On a shadowy something far away,
Where the river widens to meet the bay,–
A line of black that bends and floats
On the rising tide like a bridge of boats.

Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride,
Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride
On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere.
Now he patted his horse’s side,
Now he gazed at the landscape far and near,
Then, impetuous, stamped the earth,
And turned and tightened his saddle girth;
But mostly he watched with eager search
The belfry tower of the Old North Church,
As it rose above the graves on the hill,
Lonely and spectral and sombre and still.
And lo! as he looks, on the belfry’s height
A glimmer, and then a gleam of light!
He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns,
But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight
A second lamp in the belfry burns.

A hurry of hoofs in a village street,
A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark,
And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark
Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet;
That was all! And yet, through the gloom and the light,
The fate of a nation was riding that night;
And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight,
Kindled the land into flame with its heat.
He has left the village and mounted the steep,
And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep,
Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides;
And under the alders that skirt its edge,
Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge,
Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides.

It was twelve by the village clock
When he crossed the bridge into Medford town.
He heard the crowing of the cock,
And the barking of the farmer’s dog,
And felt the damp of the river fog,
That rises after the sun goes down.

It was one by the village clock,
When he galloped into Lexington.
He saw the gilded weathercock
Swim in the moonlight as he passed,
And the meeting-house windows, black and bare,
Gaze at him with a spectral glare,
As if they already stood aghast
At the bloody work they would look upon.

It was two by the village clock,
When he came to the bridge in Concord town.
He heard the bleating of the flock,
And the twitter of birds among the trees,
And felt the breath of the morning breeze
Blowing over the meadow brown.
And one was safe and asleep in his bed
Who at the bridge would be first to fall,
Who that day would be lying dead,
Pierced by a British musket ball.

You know the rest. In the books you have read
How the British Regulars fired and fled,—
How the farmers gave them ball for ball,
From behind each fence and farmyard wall,
Chasing the redcoats down the lane,
Then crossing the fields to emerge again
Under the trees at the turn of the road,
And only pausing to fire and load.

So through the night rode Paul Revere;
And so through the night went his cry of alarm
To every Middlesex village and farm,—
A cry of defiance, and not of fear,
A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door,
And a word that shall echo for evermore!
For, borne on the night-wind of the Past,
Through all our history, to the last,
In the hour of darkness and peril and need,
The people will waken and listen to hear
The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed,
And the midnight message of Paul Revere.

– Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
April 19, 1860