Family is important.
I remember seeing a movie with Richard Farnsworth playing an old guy who can't drive because his vision is messed up by some medical issue, so he rides a John Deer lawn tractor across the state to see his ailing brother. I think it was "The Strait Story." Along the way he meets up with a runaway girl, and they are sitting by his campfire roasting wieners. He's telling her about family, and how important it is. He tells her to pick up a stick and break it. She does. Then he tells her to pick up several sticks, and break them all the same time in a bundle. She tried and can't. He tells her 'that's family.' Strength through unity.
My cousin Dave was visiting again, and staying over. He retired down to South Carolina, and has his CCW, and being the devils advocate he is, he's been doing a pretty good job on converting me from some of my old time ways. Like switching to a Glock 9mm from a .38 revolver that I've had half a lifetime. But he's done a pretty fair job of letting me shoot it enough that I could see the advantages, not to mention that at this stage of my life I could see those nice big white accented sights so well even in dim light. Not being the shot I was in my younger day, having more rounds is nice too.
But it hasn't been all one way. Dave was one of those guys a long while back that didn't carry a knife. If he needed to cut something, he'd saw away with his house key, or ask if anyone had a knife. Then one Christmas I made it a point to put Victorinox classics in all the family members stockings. Including Dave's. He must have got used to carrying a small sharp knife, because of late, I've seen him with different pen knives. Last time he was here, he was carrying a little Boker wood handle pen knife not much longer than a Vic classic. Two blades at opposite ends, very slim. He used it to open a plastic package at the shooting range. Very nice little knife.
Last night after dinner, Dave and I retreat down to the basement utility room for a after dinner smoke and a whisky, and guy talk while his better half and mine have the girl talk. Since Karen doesn't like smoking in the house, I've rigged up a nice little setup downstairs by closing the door to the utility room, taking off the outside clothes drier vent hose, and running a fan. Works pretty good, takes the smoke right outside. And being guys, we don't care about the amenities that much. A couple folding chairs, a small table between them to put our drinks on, and we're good.
I load up my pipe,and Dave takes out a cigar and pats down his pockets. Ends up he forgot his cigar cutter. He reaches in his pocket for his pen knife, and I see a bit of black handle. He takes out the blade of the knife and pierces the end of the cigar in a couple close together holes, and lights up. Since I saw him before with a rosewood Boker, I immediately ask about the knife. After all, that's what a knife knut is supposed to do, right?
A little sheepishly, Dave hands me a Buck 309 companion.
"What are doing with this? Loose the Boker" I ask him.
"No, I didn't loose the Boker, I just felt the need for something a little different." Dave said.
Now this is strange, as Dave was one of those who once voiced concern that anyone who liked knives as much as me had to be little off. Now he's got more than one that I see. Ends up, way more than one. I press him on it, and he reaches into his other pocket and pulls out a little Boker like his rosewood scaled penknife, but with some pretty passable stag. I'm laughing at this point.
"You turned into a knife knut too!" I tell him. You're collecting."
He shifts in his chair a little like he's being confronted with an inconvenient truth, and takes another pull on his cigar, blowing the smoke toward the drier vent hole where it drifts slowly out.
"You don't know the half of it." he tells me.
With that he gets up and goes out to the family room, where he and his better half are staying as it's set up like a guest room. I hear him rummaging around in his duffle bad and he comes back in to the makeshift smoking lounge, shuts the door so evil smoke won't get out, and hands me a rolled up bandana with a rubber band around it. I can feel some small objects inside. Dave sits back down, picks his cigar up from the ashtray, and I unwrap his bundle. It's penknives. Several penknives. His collection.
There's the rosewood Boker, another Buck 309 with yellow scales, yet another small Boker with brilliant red bone, and a nice little Case Eisenhower with deep blue jigged bone scales. Looking a bit spartan among them is a Victorinox secretary. All single back spring two bladed pen knives. I start laughing again.
"You've turned into a knife nut! You've come over to the dark side now and there's no going back!" I tell him.
"Well, it's your fault." he says.
"Hows it my fault?"
"You started it by giving me that little Swiss Army knife for my keyring. I really never realized how handy it was to have a sharp little knife on me. Now I've gotten so used to it, I drive up here instead of fly because I don't want to go without my knife. Or three. I never knew how much a little knife could make life easier. Especially opening plastic packaging that everything comes in now."
We smoke a bit in companionable silence while I look over his small but budding accumulation of pen knives. A very nice little accumulation it is. The Boker is very very well put together, as is the blue Case Eisenhower.
"Why pen knives?" I ask him.
Dave shrugs, takes a sip of the bourbon, and another puff on the cigar.
"I don't know really. I still keep the little Swiss Army knife on my keys and use it. But sometimes I don't have my keys on me, and I just wanted something in my pocket that I could cut stuff with. There's a gun shop down by me that has a big knife selection, and I tried all kinds of them in my hand. I wanted something really small like an old time penknife. It felt good, and I like the two blades. It just sort of called me. I bought the little Buck, carried it for a while, then it was all downhill from there. Everytime I went into the gun shop for some ammo or a holster, anything, I ended up at knife case looking them over. I bought the Boker because it was a pretty little thing. Then I bought the other Boker. "
"What's Janet say?" I ask him.
"She's okay with it. I told her another gun was 600 dollars, but another knife was 30. She likes that."
We smoke and take a swig of the Evan Williams now and then.
"Did you ever hear of GEC?" I ask him.
"No, what's that?" he asked.
I smile to myself and I know I've got him back now for getting me into Glocks!
I remember seeing a movie with Richard Farnsworth playing an old guy who can't drive because his vision is messed up by some medical issue, so he rides a John Deer lawn tractor across the state to see his ailing brother. I think it was "The Strait Story." Along the way he meets up with a runaway girl, and they are sitting by his campfire roasting wieners. He's telling her about family, and how important it is. He tells her to pick up a stick and break it. She does. Then he tells her to pick up several sticks, and break them all the same time in a bundle. She tried and can't. He tells her 'that's family.' Strength through unity.
My cousin Dave was visiting again, and staying over. He retired down to South Carolina, and has his CCW, and being the devils advocate he is, he's been doing a pretty good job on converting me from some of my old time ways. Like switching to a Glock 9mm from a .38 revolver that I've had half a lifetime. But he's done a pretty fair job of letting me shoot it enough that I could see the advantages, not to mention that at this stage of my life I could see those nice big white accented sights so well even in dim light. Not being the shot I was in my younger day, having more rounds is nice too.
But it hasn't been all one way. Dave was one of those guys a long while back that didn't carry a knife. If he needed to cut something, he'd saw away with his house key, or ask if anyone had a knife. Then one Christmas I made it a point to put Victorinox classics in all the family members stockings. Including Dave's. He must have got used to carrying a small sharp knife, because of late, I've seen him with different pen knives. Last time he was here, he was carrying a little Boker wood handle pen knife not much longer than a Vic classic. Two blades at opposite ends, very slim. He used it to open a plastic package at the shooting range. Very nice little knife.
Last night after dinner, Dave and I retreat down to the basement utility room for a after dinner smoke and a whisky, and guy talk while his better half and mine have the girl talk. Since Karen doesn't like smoking in the house, I've rigged up a nice little setup downstairs by closing the door to the utility room, taking off the outside clothes drier vent hose, and running a fan. Works pretty good, takes the smoke right outside. And being guys, we don't care about the amenities that much. A couple folding chairs, a small table between them to put our drinks on, and we're good.
I load up my pipe,and Dave takes out a cigar and pats down his pockets. Ends up he forgot his cigar cutter. He reaches in his pocket for his pen knife, and I see a bit of black handle. He takes out the blade of the knife and pierces the end of the cigar in a couple close together holes, and lights up. Since I saw him before with a rosewood Boker, I immediately ask about the knife. After all, that's what a knife knut is supposed to do, right?
A little sheepishly, Dave hands me a Buck 309 companion.
"What are doing with this? Loose the Boker" I ask him.
"No, I didn't loose the Boker, I just felt the need for something a little different." Dave said.
Now this is strange, as Dave was one of those who once voiced concern that anyone who liked knives as much as me had to be little off. Now he's got more than one that I see. Ends up, way more than one. I press him on it, and he reaches into his other pocket and pulls out a little Boker like his rosewood scaled penknife, but with some pretty passable stag. I'm laughing at this point.
"You turned into a knife knut too!" I tell him. You're collecting."
He shifts in his chair a little like he's being confronted with an inconvenient truth, and takes another pull on his cigar, blowing the smoke toward the drier vent hole where it drifts slowly out.
"You don't know the half of it." he tells me.
With that he gets up and goes out to the family room, where he and his better half are staying as it's set up like a guest room. I hear him rummaging around in his duffle bad and he comes back in to the makeshift smoking lounge, shuts the door so evil smoke won't get out, and hands me a rolled up bandana with a rubber band around it. I can feel some small objects inside. Dave sits back down, picks his cigar up from the ashtray, and I unwrap his bundle. It's penknives. Several penknives. His collection.
There's the rosewood Boker, another Buck 309 with yellow scales, yet another small Boker with brilliant red bone, and a nice little Case Eisenhower with deep blue jigged bone scales. Looking a bit spartan among them is a Victorinox secretary. All single back spring two bladed pen knives. I start laughing again.
"You've turned into a knife nut! You've come over to the dark side now and there's no going back!" I tell him.
"Well, it's your fault." he says.
"Hows it my fault?"
"You started it by giving me that little Swiss Army knife for my keyring. I really never realized how handy it was to have a sharp little knife on me. Now I've gotten so used to it, I drive up here instead of fly because I don't want to go without my knife. Or three. I never knew how much a little knife could make life easier. Especially opening plastic packaging that everything comes in now."
We smoke a bit in companionable silence while I look over his small but budding accumulation of pen knives. A very nice little accumulation it is. The Boker is very very well put together, as is the blue Case Eisenhower.
"Why pen knives?" I ask him.
Dave shrugs, takes a sip of the bourbon, and another puff on the cigar.
"I don't know really. I still keep the little Swiss Army knife on my keys and use it. But sometimes I don't have my keys on me, and I just wanted something in my pocket that I could cut stuff with. There's a gun shop down by me that has a big knife selection, and I tried all kinds of them in my hand. I wanted something really small like an old time penknife. It felt good, and I like the two blades. It just sort of called me. I bought the little Buck, carried it for a while, then it was all downhill from there. Everytime I went into the gun shop for some ammo or a holster, anything, I ended up at knife case looking them over. I bought the Boker because it was a pretty little thing. Then I bought the other Boker. "
"What's Janet say?" I ask him.
"She's okay with it. I told her another gun was 600 dollars, but another knife was 30. She likes that."
We smoke and take a swig of the Evan Williams now and then.
"Did you ever hear of GEC?" I ask him.
"No, what's that?" he asked.
I smile to myself and I know I've got him back now for getting me into Glocks!
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