I'm tired. Very tired. But it's a good tired.
What a wonderful weekend. The company of a very select few, fine men. Shooters, marksmen and patriots, every one.
The fact that I scraped by and managed not to embarass myself, inspite of a four year* gap in practice sessions, was a huge elixer to my well-being.
* On Christmas holiday, I fired appx 50-ish rds, mixed .32 acp, 9mm para and .38 spl, with my Dad and Stepmom, in Orlando, FL.
I'd hoped to at least be able to hit the broadside of the barn. From the inside, if necessary. Alas, they never let me near that damned building, confining me instead to the benchrest and firing line.
Once upon a time, I used to be a good shooter. Twenty some-odd years and a weaker set of eyes later, I'm not as I was. Not by a wide margin.
Still, I'm still confident that I could post a "Goblin Beware" sign at the dock's bulkhead, and make it count when it matters.
But why give a goblin an even break?