Just hauling 2X12s down from the staging area to the trenches. Didn’t get anywhere near all of them down before running out of steam, but everything I need for the footer (except concrete, and that’s a bridge I’m going to have to figure out how to cross) is now at least on site. Spent some time afterward, just enjoying the spot, smoking my pipe under a juniper with Magnus and Fritz; Butch had gone home and Ghost was off somewhere. After a few minutes Ghost came back, saw what we were doing, and decided that what was needed before he could join the pastoral scene was a nice comfy hollow under the bush. So he proceeded to shower me with dirt and old needles, which did sort of take the bloom off the occasion. Ah, well…


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They say that Louis XIV had the inscription Ultima Ratio Regum cast into all the cannon of the French Army. It means “The Ultimate Argument of Kings,” and that always struck me as one of the most honest and up-front things any ruler or would-be ruler ever said. “We can dress it up prettier than this, but when it comes down to the unvarnished truth this is what it’s about: You’ll do as I say or I’ll send my goons to kill you.”
I thought about that for a long time. If there’s an ultimate argument, it seems only logical that there must be an ultimate answer. For years I thought the ultimate answer must be the bullets in my rifle, but it never seemed quite right. I’ve got bullets – he’s got frigging Cannon Balls. I mean, if there were three hundred million rifles throwing bullets at him, then maybe. But we all know that’s not going to happen. So if there’s an ultimate answer to his ultimate argument, it sure as hell ain’t bullets.
It finally came to me – and that’s when I abandoned the city and most of my stuff, and gave all that was behind me a good stiff Randian Shrug.
The ultimate answer to kings is not a bullet, but a belly laugh.
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