Iron fist, velvet glove


Right now diplomacy is needed. I would rather kill something and feel the blood on my mouth and the bones cracking between my jaws. But is time for the iron fist in the velvet glove.

I have given notice that my old retired horse will be moved. The landowner has counter-offered in an attempt to get me to stay. I have reciprocated with another counter offer. Now it is time to wait.

My sister has sent me an email – a fishing expedition to worm her way in to get gossip to repeat to my mother. Two months ago, my mom used my brother R. Since my brother D and I are dancing the family tango of not speaking – she has been shunt of any way to get information about me and my kids.

Oh puhlease, you don’t think I know what you are doing? I am the only self-aware member of this family. And if you think because I am generally easy going that I will roll over and play? Hell no.

Just because I don’t raise my voice, throw things against the wall – like people – or kick the computer in a rage, doesn’t mean I can’t handle any of you. The reality is you are far more curious about what I’m up too than I am about you.

Diplomatic letter sent reminding her that decades of non involvement with my children who are now almost 18 and another 21, won’t happen. Too late.  I did remove the part about not attending anyone’s funerals – that seemed a bit too much for an email.

See, I can be a good lion, when I put my mind too it.


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