Tag: Bruce Gibson

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Happy New Year…

It’s like a shiny new penny, or snow that hasn’t been peed on, or walked in.

We had a good year around here, for which we are thankful. We’re also thankful it’s over, and we survived it. I’ll probably always think of 2020 as a skidmark on the underpants of American history.

Not much to say beyond that. We’re working on websites, and doing a winter-shop cleaning and overhaul.

All the best to you and yours in the upcoming year. I’m sure 2021 will be full of surprises. I’m praying they’ll be of the good variety.

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On the bench.

Gibson natural 1911 left hand carry OWB basket

This one’s sold, but it’s an example of what a natural basket stamped holster looks like right after a massage of 100% pure Neatsfoot oil. They don’t always look all that great, but after a few hours, or overnight, things tend to even-out and give us a head-start on patina, and the ultimate honey-gold finish. This holster was for a 4″ or 4.25″ Commander-length 1911 for a fellow left-hander.

Natural Hermann Oak, premium American-tanned leather and heavy white machine stitching. The Blue Gun in the holster is primarily for shaping, and the actual hand-detailing that is done on the back panel for retention.

Typically, a plain (un-stamped) holster will be placed in a press with a Blue Gun and squished with around 6-tons of pressure. After the “squeeze,” the detailing is done to both the face and back panels. With a stamped or carved holster, you can’t use the press because it will destroy the stamping or carving.

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Birthdays.

Today is mine. 59-years ago, in a land far away, I hit the ground butt-naked and screaming. I was born in California, so that could explain both, the naked and the screaming. But, it was different back then. California was a little goofy, but not completely off the rails insane like it is today. The weather’s still good, so they do have that.

I’m in Florida now, where I’ve been for over 30-years. We left California when I was around 8, and moved to Louisiana. In hindsight, I don’t think anyone knew what a communist hell-hole California would become back then. I count myself fortunate that I didn’t have to grow up there.

Birthdays, to me, are kind of like getting new tires. Brand-new when you’re born, and then over the years (the miles), the tread gradually unwinds. A roll of toilet paper is kind of the same thing, but for the sake of keeping this sanitary, we’ll stick with tires. At some point, down the road, after many, many miles (we hope), there’s a blowout, and you’re outta here. Having a choice, I’d like to go in my sleep. I came in naked and screaming. I’d like to go out with a little less drama.

Statistically, I should have another 20-years. Give or take. I choose to take.

I’ve been crazy blessed, and I’m ridiculously thankful.