Get Together with the Guys
By admin | February 3, 2011
There are two important things you must do if you’re a retired person. One is stay busy and the other is enjoying friends. It’s really cool if you can do both at one time.
I’ll say a short word about each of these things. Staying busy is important, at least to me, because it keeps me from getting depressed. If I’m doing things, especially if I’m doing useful, important things, it cuts way into the time I need to work myself up to a good depression. Staying busy is also important because of the exercise factor. Don’t get me wrong, I love being a couch potato. Still, keeping busy generally means you’re not sitting or lying, but instead are standing and moving parts of your body. For example, when I sweep the floor, I have to lift the vacuum cleaner, bend down to put on the brush attachment and then drag the canister vac all over the house while I push my arm back and forth to cover the floor. It may not be much exercise, but it’s more than sitting in my favorite chair. (A side effect of this is that I end up with a clean floor, which I like)
Enjoying friends is another way of saying “having community”. Jesus said “wherever two or three of you <do something> on earth, it is bound in heaven.” In addition, he didn’t go about the countryside alone, he called other guys to come with him. In addition, it was when he was alone in the desert that the devil was able to get to him. While I’m a believer, I’m not deeply religious, but I think that these are among the most important things in the Bible. Modern science says that people who have a social network live longer, happier lives. The only way to maintain a social network is to meet face to face with the members of the network. Facebook and other social networking sites help, but there’s really no substitute for face-to-face.
How do you do both at once? Find a hobby that includes other people whom you like. A lot of people play golf or tennis. I like to hike partly because Phoenix has a marvelous desert mountain park system. There’s one trail, in the middle of phoenix, where you can walk 14 miles between one end and the other. Two days ago, I hiked with two of my buddies. One is a guy who always needs “elevation change” in order to motivate him. I translate that to mean he likes to go uphill (and once up there, he has to come down). The other guy is very laid back and is willing to either go more slowly up the hills with me or to try to keep up with the elevation-change guy. At any rate, we all meet at the top of hills to breathe and talk. Day-before-yesterday we also had lunch after the hike.
Wife likes to work out at the gym. She figures that if something happens, the EMT’S know how to get there. Also, the YMCA is climate controlled. I go to the gym with her, when I’m not hiking. It keeps me in better shape for hiking and it creates community with my wife. I also have been going to the same gym long enough that there are several other guys with whom I have a nodding acquaintance.
Today I’m going to lunch with an old…er, ah….long-time buddy. It’s not exercise, but it gets me off the couch and keeps me in touch with a friend. We’ll talk old-guy stuff (illness, surgery, etc) and then move on to stuff anyone might talk about. Meanwhile, I can ignore my diet and have a good burger. Next week, I’m going with some acquaintances from church to pick citrus which gets donated to the local food bank. It is exercise, and it gets me in touch with other people who care about the same things I do.
None of this is rocket science. In fact, much of what I’ve mentioned could go without saying. It didn’t, because of two factors. First, if I didn’t mention anything obvious, I wouldn’t have anything to write about in this blog. Second, lots of people seem to miss the obvious.
Topics: musing, relationships | No Comments »
LABELING
By admin | December 2, 2010
“Rule the floc pops”
That was what Wife said to me. “Rule the floc pops”
As is her wont, she was in the bathroom with her face turned toward the tub and I was a room or two away from her. It had to be that…it simply couldn’t be that I have any hearing loss.
So, ‘rule the floc pops”. Hmmm. I was looking for masking tape when she made that pronouncement. Maybe it had something to do with that? I started walking around the house looking for masking tape, yes, but also looking for floc pops that I could rule. If I could find some, I might feel a sense of power.
Nothing. I gave up and asked her to step out where I could talk to her face to face. “Floc pops?” I said to her, hopefully.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“I distinctly heard you say ‘rule the floc pops’” I pleaded. “I was looking for masking tape to label the leftover beans with.”
“Oh.” She smiled “I said that there is a roll of masking tape on the deck next to the flower pots.”
On the deck, sure enough, there was a roll of blue masking tape next to some empty flower pots. I’d been using it while I was painting the railing.
“But what about the floc pops?”
She gave me the look and went off to do something useful.
There are two lessons for men who do the housekeeping . First, it’s always good to listen, really listen to your partner. He/she might have something useful to say…who knows?
Second, masking tape is a valuable tool for labeling anything that you’re going to put into a container and thence into the ‘fridge or freezer. The blue tape is the best because it doesn’t hold on as tightly as the tan or, God-forbid, the orange. If you happen to be storing in Styrofoam for example, it won’t take any of the surface off when you peel it away. Still, it sticks well enough to do the job.
Why should things be labeled? Because when they’re frozen and covered with a rime of frost, spaghetti sauce and salsa look pretty much the same. If you store stuff in old margarine containers, you don’t have to open the lid to make a guess about what’s inside. If something is wrapped in foil, you’ll know if it’s a meat loaf or a lump of cookie dough.
For marking the tape I like to use a bold Sharpie, Marks-a-lot or other felt-tipped marking pen. The ink is permanent, it’s easily visible and it will show well even through that rime of frost from the freezer. Ball point pens or pencils don’t write very well on masking tape and they’re not very visible either.
Finally, you should always write a date on the masking tape prior to storing food. Most things aren’t supposed to stay frozen for more than about six months before being used. In the ‘fridge, the cold slows down the metabolism of mold, it doesn’t totally stop it. If you don’t put a date on something and then you ignore it, it could get fuzzy and green…even if it started out smooth and red. I once heard about a slime mold that rose up and killed a guy. The detectives speculated it was because the light in the ‘fridge wouldn’t go out and the slime mold was pissed about it. I’ll admit that’s an extreme case, but still, dates will help you.
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I LOOK JUST LIKE MY PHOTOS
By admin | August 7, 2010
When I was in High School there was a girl who sat in front of me in Algebra and with whom I went to church. (Before you ask, I didn’t ride a dinosaur to school…only the rich kids could afford dinosaurs) In repose, this girl’s face was slightly more attractive than an adobe fence. Her laugh brought to mind crows calling in the distance.
Since this girl had a name that sounded French, we’ll call her Marie. Although she sat in front of me in class and was very friendly and pleasant, I would have never asked her out because she was among the more popular people in our large high school. How is this possible, boys being the superficial creatures they are? (Men, having taught boys, are also superficial, but right now we’re talking about boys.) Even girls liked her.
Marie was popular because she was beautiful when she moved and spoke and showed emotion on that mud-fence face of hers. She was charming. She was dating a senior when she was a sophomore. All these years later, I remember her.
So why, you may ask, is she coming up here? Couldn’t I just leave her in my memory? The fact is, I share a problem with Marie…I look just like my photos. Sadly, that’s the end of the similarity. I have no indication that I become charming and handsome when I open my mouth or move my somewhat bulky body. I remember putting on a caring, inquisitive face while listening to a friend. She said “Is something wrong? You look angry.”
When I scrape the whiskers off my face in the morning what I see in the mirror is what I get and give on to the world. Others look at photos, especially drivers license or passport photos and say “Isn’t that a terrible picture of me?” I say “Wow. Looks just like me.”
There was a time when I tried to do something about this. Perhaps if I wore my hair a different way…perhaps I would grow a full beard…perhaps the right clothing would help. It may have even worked since I was able to attract a lovely woman who has stayed married to me for more than thirty years.
Now, however, the dearth of hair on top makes it useless to try changing it on the sides…what am I going to do, a comb-over? I’d grow a full beard, but it gets in the way of a medical appliance I have to use. The finest clothing I can afford…well lets just say it looks nice on the rack.
Reading back over this I see that I sound petulant. Not at all. I don’t feel badly about my looks. As I say, I attracted the only woman I’m interested in. I’m as healthy as a man of my age can expect to be. It’s just amusing to me to think about how differently I respond to appearance than I once did.
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MAKIN’ THE BED
By admin | July 2, 2010
Snug sheets, blanket smooth, pillows atop the bottom sheet with the top sheet folded down. That’s how my bed looks when it’s made.
Can’t you just pull the sheets/blanket over you when you go to bed at night? The pillow is somewhere on the bed, right? What’s the big deal?
Ok, here’s the deal. Every time you walk into your bedroom you can see either A) a jumbled mess of blankets and sheets or 2) a neat, clean-looking composition that will make your whole room look better. Additionally, at bedtime, you can either X) pull and shrug and pound and pull or you can Y) fold back the sheet and slip into bed. If you live with someone, the issue above becomes even more difficult. I don’t know about you, but by bedtime I’m tired and I want to sleep.
OK, I’m back. I took a short break from writing to make my bed.
Making the bed starts with clean sheets. I wash my sheets weekly which means I put clean sheets on the bed weekly. That seems to be enough for Wife and me. The sheets don’t smell bad and they don’t get so stretched out that they’re uncomfortable to sleep on.
I use fitted sheets for the bottom. They’re the ones with elastic tape around the corners that fit over the mattress. Once you figure out how they fit on the mattress (label at the bottom left as you face the foot of the bed) they’re easy. Sometimes sheets are patterned and that may help you figure it out. If you use flat sheets for the bottom you’re going to have to Google “hospital corners” to see how to keep the flat sheet hooked to the bed. They’re easy, but I just don’t have time for it.
With the bottom sheet on, I spread out the top sheet. It has a wide, folded-over border at the top so; again, it’s easy to see how it goes. Bring the border up to the very top edge of the mattress and smooth it out evenly over the bed, making sure both sides get some sheet-hang-over. Wife likes her top sheet tucked at the bottom. I do not. You’ll have to decide that for yourself.
Blanket goes over the top sheet, pulled up to the top edge of the bed and smoothed out all around the mattress. Be sure to equalize blanket-hang-over on both sides as this tends to forestall cover hogging. There will probably be lots of blanket left at the bottom to hang down. Now fold the top sheet and the blanket down at the top of the bed, making a nice border to put the pillows on.
It’s nicer looking if your pillowcases (pillow slips? pillow covers? whatever you call them) match your sheets. Not essential, but nice. They should be clean, however, because your head sweats and you might slobber when you’re asleep. My pillows are tight in the pillow cases, so I have to fold the pillows in the middle and push them down into the cases. Once they’re about halfway down, you can pick up the whole deal and shake the pillow the rest of the way down into the pillowcase. Place the pillow on or above the border you’ve created by folding your sheet and blanket down. YOU ARE DONE with the CAVEHUSBAND method of bed making.
But wait, you say. What about the bedspread and the duvet and the bed skirt and the decorative pillows? Allow me to reiterate: if you choose to do the housework, you get to decide how it’s to be done. What I do is practical and tidy. In the winter when it is cooler, I might use a quilt or duvet that we can sleep under. All the other stuff is unnecessary and wasteful. Fortunately, Wife has come to agree with me. If the person you’re sleeping with wants all that stuff on the bed, let them put it on and let them figure out what to do with it at night because you clearly can’t sleep under it. I suppose the issue of how badly you want to sleep with that person comes up, but that’s one you need to decide for yourself. Alternatively, how badly do they want to sleep with you?
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General Crook Trail
By admin | June 17, 2010
The supply wagon rocked back and forth as it labored up the trail blazed by General Crook. The army was experimenting with steam tractors to pull supplies in other parts of the country but here, in Arizona Territory, four mules pulled this supply wagon. Sometimes it was only two mules if the trail was going to be somewhat level. The supply wagon itself looked something like the Conestoga wagons that had been used to cross the US earlier in the century. It had tall, arched ribs holding up a canvas cover over a cargo box below. The Army wagon, though, was much smaller and was, supposedly, even more rugged. It had a capacity similar to a modern, full-sized pick-up truck including grain for the mules.
As I drove FR 300 in my tiny Toyota, pulled along by the equivalent of somewhat less than 100 mules, I couldn’t help but think of the soldiers and mule skinners who carried supplies along the Crook trail from Camp Verde in the central part of the state to Fort Apache in southeastern Arizona . The trail is more than 200 miles long, much of it along the Mogollon rim which crosses Arizona approximately diagonally. This 2000 foot escarpment is the last step in the “Grand Staircase” of the Colorado Plateau.
I’m staying in Payson, AZ for the summer since it’s cooler than Phoenix by about 15 degrees F. Today I decided to go for a hike in the woods. After all, it doesn’t make much sense to be so near the woods but continue to do the same stuff I do in Phoenix.
I used my internet and selected some trails from www.arizonahikingtrails.com. When I got to the turnoff, though, the dirt track wasn’t marked, it went through a cattle fence, and I wasn’t at all sure it was where I was supposed to be. Since I was alone and had spotty cell service, I decided not to try it. Coming back, though, I saw a turn-off for FR 300, which I knew meandered for many miles along The Rim. I had always wanted to travel this road, having used it from the US 260 end several times in the past. I turned off SR 87 and headed southeast on the road which approximately parallels General Crook’s trail.
The forest along this road often has a cathedral quality about it. Especially when you’re in the bottom of a tree-lined draw with bright green ferns as ground cover and soaring ponderosa pines overhead; your eye is drawn from the ferns to the treetops just as it might be drawn from the altar to the soaring rafters of a large cathedral. Of course the forest or others like it were here long before anyone thought to build a cathedral so I have to assume that the architects were aping God’s work rather than the other way around.
I don’t know if General George Crook or his men noticed this religious quality of the forest through which they were blazing a trail. General Crook, after all, was involved in a war, at least the second of his career. He’d fought in the civil war and was named “brevet General”, just as George Armstrong Custer had been. (I think “Brevet” is a title indicating that the promotion is temporary based on circumstances.) Like Custer, Crook was subsequently dropped back to his former rank. Unlike Col. Custer, though, Crook survived his wars well enough that he was actually promoted to permanent Brigadier General.
Crook is, in my mind, a controversial figure. He commanded the US Army in Arizona Territory in the 1870’s while a war with the Apaches and Yavapai was happening. Supplying Ft. Apache was part of that effort, since Ft. Apache is in the south east of the state where Geronimo was a warrior of the Chiricahua band of Apaches. So, on the one hand, Crook was an “Indian fighter” involved in taking lands and valuables from the native people. On the other hand, Crook, himself, was a warrior, respected by his enemies and showing respect for them. He utilized indigenous people as scouts and guides thus helping to support them and their families. Although a warrior, Crook was more than willing to negotiate rather than battle with his foes. When the more heinous things happened to Geronimo and his people, Crook had moved on. I suppose I’m ambivalent about General Crook.
I’m not ambivalent about the General Crook Trail, though. It was a magnificent effort at the time and it is a beautiful route now across that part of the country. I drove the road southeast for about 6 miles before being turned back by a mound of dirt in the middle of the track that I presume was left by a road grader. I had no desire to meet a road grader coming the other way along this narrow unpaved road, so I turned back. I’ll try it again, though, if the weather is good. The road is good, but I wouldn’t trust it without four wheel drive during the monsoon season.
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PANCAKES
By admin | May 13, 2010
Two eggs, one cup milk and two cups pancake mix. Mmmmm. This morning I woke up dreaming of pancakes. Yeh, that’s right, dreaming of pancakes. I took that as a signal to make ‘em for breakfast.
It probably took me ten minutes total to make pancakes for myself and Wife. That’s quicker than you can be served at your local diner or restaurant and lots cheaper. If you want some breakfast meat, (like bacon) add another 5 minutes.
As I said, I use a commercial pancake mix for my cakes. The baking powder, salt, oil, etc are already in there. I use Bisquick, but Krusteaz and Jiffy also make good mixes. If you’d prefer to make them from scratch; more power to you. In addition to the pancake recipe, the box also has waffle directions and even biscuit instructions. I’ve done the waffles, but I’m just not a fan of baking powder biscuits.
At one time we had an electric griddle that would hold 6 pancakes and had a setting on the dial just for pancakes. Actually it said “fish pancakes” but that was a horrifying thought in the morning and I just ignored the “fish” part. That griddle has moved on to wherever things go in our house. It’s no longer available to me. Go figure. Instead, I used a large, round, griddle-type pan on a stove burner.
I knew the griddle was ready for the batter when I tossed a single drop of water from the tip of my finger onto the surface. The droplet skittered or danced around the griddle as the outside turned to steam so quickly the water had no time to flatten out.
My griddle will make about five cakes a little bigger than my palm, the size I like. Whether you make them silver dollar size or plate size, they all cook alike, since the batter…well, it pancakes out. Walk away, make your coffee or turn your bacon slices over or get the news up on the TV. When you look back, the cakes will look lumpy or as though they’ve bubbled. In addition, sometimes the edges will look somewhat dry. At that point you flip the cakes over. The flipped pancake will be golden brown and you cook the other side about half as long as the first. If you’re making a lot, you can keep them hot in your oven at 175 degrees F until you have enough done to serve.
Flipping is a problem for me, especially since my griddle is non-stick (Teflon). Here’s what I do and it often works. I put the spatula flat on the griddle and then quickly slide it under the pancake. Once I’ve got the pancake centered on my spatula, I pick it up completely off the surface and quickly turn it over in place, dropping it back down where it started. For me, this has taken a little practice since I’ve had a tendency to drop them on the stove-top, on other pancakes, and on the edge of the griddle. I’ve said it before and I’ll probably say it again, “It’s all in the wrist.”
Fortunately pancakes are pretty forgiving as well as inexpensive. The one on the stovetop is usually one I throw away. The ones which land on the edge of the griddle or partly on top of another pancake can be just teased away from there using your spatula and scooted over to where you want them. Be careful not to touch the griddle ‘cause that boy is hot!
Finally, let’s talk about thickness. The box directions make a medium thick batter that results in a pancake about a third of an inch thick. Good ‘ol normal country pancake is fine for butter and syrup. Some people like a thinner pancake, possibly half the thickness mentioned above. A little water or milk will thin the batter up to make this possible. The key here is “a little”. My wife always says “You always can add more water, but you can’t take any out.” Put in a little milk, stir it up then decide whether the batter is as thin as you want. You may even want to cook a pancake to see. Then, if need be, try a little more water until you get it right. Thin pancakes roll nicely if you want to do sour cream or peanut butter or jelly or some combo of those.
Any thinner than this and you’re talking crepes. Crepes are above my pay grade.
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THE VA
By admin | April 22, 2010
The building is huge, taking up two city blocks in each direction…more if you count outbuildings and clinics. I knew that from driving past, though, so I’d thought to ask which entrance to use. The parking lot was full, but I found a place not more than a block or so from the entrance I was seeking. I’m in good health, so I strode briskly toward the entrance. I passed a fellow in a wheel chair coming the other way. One of his legs was on the foot rest; the other, I imagined, had been left in Viet Nam. (He was my age).
I stopped at the front desk and told the person there I was looking for eligibility. She pointed “turn left at the end of this counter and walk toward the north entrance. The sign will say ‘Admin/eligibility’ and that’s where you’re going.” In the same foyer I saw men and women who were heavy (50-60 pounds heavier than I) rough looking and bearded (the men). They wheeled, shuffled, used canes or pushed walkers to get where they were going. I was beginning to feel guilty about my brisk stride.
Most of the other veterans in the halls seemed to know where they were going, but, I was still looking. Glancing up, I saw a sign saying ‘Administration/eligibility’. “I’m here.” I thought. Another sign, though, said “Please do not stand behind eligibility patients as this is in violation of privacy rules.” Then “Take a seat and you will be processed in turn”
Sure enough, just down the way were comfortable-looking seats in which to wait. I headed that way, and then stopped “How are they going to know who’s next? There are a dozen people waiting down there.” I turned back to ask one of the eligibility workers, but saw a red number container just like you would see in a deli. I took a number and sat down.
I sat on a three- person settee with chromed arms on either end. It had thick seat cushions as well as thick back cushions and was, as institutional furniture goes, quite comfortable. When the person on the other end got up to leave, I noticed that the cushion on his end was squashed down and indented in the center. I could tell that my own cushion was the same. The middle cushion, however, was clean, puffy and very nearly pristine. This told me two things. First, people had been coming to this location to wait long enough to begin wearing down the springs and upholstery. Second, like me, people didn’t want to sit next to someone they didn’t know. I was on my end; someone else was on the other end and the cushion kept us private. Even when some people came who knew each other they took facing seats rather than fill the cushion next to me.
“Do you think we have time to get something to eat? “ “I feel like I haven’t eaten in 24 hours!” “How long have you been waiting?” The men looked at me.
“I’ve been here long enough to read this newspaper and to work half of the crossword puzzle.” I held up each item as I discussed the timing. “I still expect another thirty minutes or so, though. I’m number 01 and they’re only up to 87.” I was hoping the numbers went 1-99 and not 1-999.
I never found out what numbers the two guys had but they did leave to get something to eat. They returned too, and I was still waiting. I’d used up an hour or more of my own time and now I was determined to get signed up to get my meds from the VA. It would save me a lot of money.
When my number came up literally; my number came up figuratively, so to speak. Kimberly, who took my information was very efficient, knew her business and filled in my form on her computer. I had all the necessary forms and some of the necessary data. The rest, she said, I could “ballpark”. Once it was entered, though, it turned out that I didn’t qualify. My service was in the right era but I was not a combat veteran. Although my ship went in country, I didn’t go with it. I have no service-connected disability. Nothing happened to me while I was in the Navy that keeps me from living well today. Though not wealthy, Wife and I have managed our savings and pensions so that we’re financially comfortable. I don’t qualify as being needy. I was unlucky at the VA because I was lucky in life.
Kimberly encouraged me to file for service-connected disability. Surely something I’d done while in the service qualified me. Maybe working in the radio shack near loudly clacking teletypes had left me partially deaf? Nope, I hear fine. Perhaps I tripped or stumbled and hit my head? Nope, never happened. Perhaps Agent Orange affected my life? Nope, I was never in country and my ship didn’t transport the chemical. I thanked her for giving me crisp, efficient service (once the waiting was over) and I strode briskly back to my car. I’d done my time in the service and now I’d done my time at the VA
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By admin | April 4, 2010
It’s Easter Sunday, 2010. It’s the holiest day in the Christian calendar. Christ has risen! He has been born again! The tomb is empty! It’s a mystery and a miracle and it tells at least half of the story of Christianity.
I woke up this morning very early trying to figure out how I was going to explain this to my grandchildren. They are 9, 6 and 5 this year and are all boys. I’m not sure I understand it all, so how can I tell it to them. I want to do the whole story in the length of a blog entry. So…
Every year the different days of celebration and litany remind us to think about the story of Jesus Christ. Remember about four months ago we had Christmas? Every year on December 25, we are reminded think about how Jesus Christ was born. It’s a happy holiday because Jesus…whom many Christians think is a part of God…was born. Part of God became a person and lived with people here on Earth. We think of that day in December as his birthday and we give each other gifts to celebrate it.
Easter is an end and another beginning but let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Boys, when you break your parents’ rules or when you’re mean to each other and your parents find out, you get some punishment. You might have to go to your rooms to think about what you’ve done wrong or you might even get a smack on the butt or something like that. Other people, even adult people, break rules too. When people are mean to each other, they might steal from each other, fight with each other or even kill each other. People start wars and do all sorts of bad stuff. God became a person and got to see a lot of that bad stuff close up.
As far as I know, all Christians believe that Jesus’ experience as a human being included dying. He died in a dramatic way; a terrible way; he was killed by other people. Most Christians believe that when Jesus died he was somehow taking the punishment for all the rest of us human beings. After he died his body was taken off the cross (which was the terrible way people killed him) and he was placed in a tomb, which is a sort of grave, just like other people were. Some women came to the tomb a couple of days later. They were going to wash the body and wrap it in clean cloth with spices and other good smelling stuff because that was what those people did after someone died. The story goes that when they got there the tomb was empty, Jesus wasn’t there anymore. After being dead, he was alive again! That’s what Easter is about. We sing songs that say “He is Risen!”
I think that what Jesus wants us to understand is that he lived with people and he died like a person. God understands us, but God was born as Jesus so that we’d know that God understands us. Jesus saw that people could be much happier if we’d take care of each other and be kind to each other. Easter reminds us that Jesus (God) gets it so that we can listen to the stuff that he says and live like he wants us to live. Many, if not most Christians also believe that Easter reminds us that we will all be reborn like Jesus was and be with him again.
The bottom line on Easter, though, is that we, Christians, have been telling the sad part of the story for the past month and a half (40 days) but on Easter we get to tell the happy part of the story again. Lots of new, living things have gotten mixed in with the story over the years. We think about bunnies, which are newborn rabbits. We think about eggs, which sometimes hatch into newborn chickens. At this time of year, new leaves come out on trees, even here in the desert. Out in the open desert, flowers are blooming. This is the time we choose to celebrate Easter because this is the time of year when lots of things are getting born and starting to live again.
So, how’d I do? Pretty poorly, I think. The thing to remember is that we’ve been telling each other the story of Jesus Christ for two thousand years or more. All of the holidays of the church are part of the story. Christmas is the beginning of Jesus’ story and Easter is the end and another beginning, but the rest of the story is about how Jesus wants us to treat each other. Every year, you’ll understand a little more of the story and I hope that every year you’ll understand more about why it is important to treat each other kindly. That’s the real story.
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VIRGIN SOUP
By admin | April 1, 2010
This post is the result of a conversation I had with a friend while picking citrus which our church donates to a food bank. Enjoy the reading, at least.
Max,
This is an old recipe that I ran across while researching Andorran Cuisine for our recent Gourmet Club dinner.
The soup is very traditional and is not made much now, partly because of the lack of virgins to pick the thorns. Yes, in order for this to be authentic, the lemon thorns have to be picked by virgins.
Typically, barefoot virgins climb in the lemon trees and throw the fruit and thorns down to receptors on the ground, who are traditionally young men. Lemon foliage being what it is, receptors have been known to deflower the virgins right in the grove rather than have them continue to tear up their fingers and toes on the thorns. The erstwhile virgins are usually avid participants in this activity.
The amounts may seem large, however since the soup is so much difficulty to prepare, it is best to make a lot once you get started.
SOPA de PURO de THORNO CITRON
4 kilos lemon thorns
5 liters of the Blood of virgin Andorran Goats
½ kilo salt
1/8 kilo saffron
2 whole chickens, plucked and dressed
Onions, celery, carrots and spinach to taste
In a large stock pot, cover the lemon thorns in the blood. Let stand for 2 weeks. As liquid clots, it will reduce in volume so use remaining blood to replenish.
Cut up chickens and brown in a separate pan. Cover with vegetables, cover and allow to steam for 10 hours. Use some of the salt to sweat the vegetables.
Wash the blood off the thorns. Place thorns, chicken and vegetables, salt and saffron in a large clean stockpot. Cover with water and boil for two days, replenishing the water as necessary to keep the mixture covered.
Serve with fried citrus rind.
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PACKIN’
By admin | March 28, 2010
As I walk or drive the streets of the city, I am armed about 2/3 of the time. Which 2/3? That is a good question and one to which I’m not willing to share an answer. If people don’t know, they’ll assume that I’m armed.
Robert Heinlein, the legendary Science Fiction writer who died in the late ‘80s is quoted as saying “An armed society is a polite society…” He goes on to say something to the effect that you’re much more likely to be careful about words you choose to utter if you might have to back them up with deadly action. I agree with Mr. Heinlein. I’m even more polite when I’m armed than when I’m not. I’m even more careful about where I go, what I say, and who I say it to than I am when I’m not armed.
The question arises as to whether I’ve ever needed my gun. I’ll tell you about two times in the past when it would have been good for me to have been armed. Unfortunately, I wasn’t.
q Once, while walking my dog in the old neighborhood, a pit bull ran out from an alley and attacked Herbie. Herbie was ½ German shepherd and ½ Aussie so he was a big, beefy, hairy guy. The pit bull was rather smallish for a pit bull, but still he lunged at Herbie and very quickly grabbed Herbie’s muscular neck in his jaw. We jockeyed around a bit until I could push at the pit bull with my foot. He didn’t respond. I kicked him lightly…he didn’t respond. Herbie, fortunately, had a great mane of hair around his neck so he was able to fight back by moving his head and body in such as way as to fling the little pit bull like a rag puppy…still he didn’t detach. I gave him a solid kick, and another, and another until he finally let go and retreated.
q On another occasion, with Wife, young son and two other dogs, I was camping in Utah and taking the dogs from our campground to an open area where they could be unleashed to run a bit. A man approached us from behind and the dogs, possibly in defense of little Son or possibly responding to some non-human sense of instability turned and growled. Since they were leashed at the time, they weren’t allowed to approach the man closer than about five feet. Even so, he chose to display a bared knife and to threaten…us? Son? The dogs? He mumbled something about “People who live with dogs…” and stood his ground. Being unarmed, we could do nothing other than back away until the man turned and went back from whence he came. It was frightening.
In one of these cases, I would definitely have used a weapon, if I’d had it. In one, I might have displayed it in defense of my family and used it if it had become necessary. Both of these occasions occurred before it was possible to obtain a permit to carry concealed in Arizona. As soon as that became possible, I got one and have carried since.
Open-carry or carrying a gun exposed for all to see is legal in Arizona. It has become controversial recently here when some people appeared outside a political rally carrying openly. Those men…I think they were all men…were making a statement. The statement was probably something like “This is legal. I am allowed to do this and I’m availing myself of the right.” Politicians might have also inferred a message something like “Just less than 50% of Americans have weapons in their homes. The Second Amendment of the US Constitution is the one which backs up all the others.”
I have carried openly on a few occasions, though not recently. You get really good personal distance when you do that. Still, I think it makes other people uncomfortable and that isn’t my intent in being armed. I simply want to be able to defend myself should the need arise. How often does the need arise? Not often, but I’m one who believes “It’s better to have a gun and not need it than to need a gun and not have it.” I’ve also been known to joke that the first rule of gun fighting is “Have a gun.” Seriously, though, I don’t want to gunfight. Police, soldiers and marines get into firefights. I have deep respect for these men and women. They run toward gunfire, while I run away, if I can. Only in the extreme will I draw my weapon and fire and even then I will do it carefully and with respect to others in the area.
Topics: musing, relationships | No Comments »
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