My Dear Mr. Claus;

Dear Santa;

Hi. Yeah, it’s me again, and just like always, I gotta tell you, I have really tried to be a good boy. Things don’t always work out the way we want them, eh? Not sure what I want to ask you to bring this year, other than that new tractor, or course. I won’t bother you with all that nonsense about peace on earth. That isn’t up to you, that’s up to us. To hell with that can of worms.

Not much you can do about the drought, but whoever’s in charge there, they seem to be working on that little problem.  A new shotgun would help the corn crop, though. Oh, don’t get me wrong, there, Santa, I can grow corn, but those damn cottontail bunnies like it before it’s corn. Shotgun would save the corn and put the bunnies in the frying pan. That’ll work.

Global Warming? Don’t know which side of the fence you tend toward, but it isn’t your concern anyway. It’s up to us, again. Seems like whatever is up to us becomes politicized to the point that no one can remember the question.

If you could distribute a bunch of dolls to all the little girls that don’t have one, that would be nice. And some big old growly trucks and heavy equipment toys to the little boys around the world. I’d like that, very much.

I could use a new saddle, but a good used one will suffice, if you’re of a mind. On the other hand, that beat up hunk of leather and tree I ride with is mighty comfortable. Never mind the saddle, maybe some canned veggies for a homeless shelter would be better.

That’s about it for this year, old friend. Tap ‘er light, remember your vectors, go VFR on your flight, and have a Merry Christmas. Your friend always,

Johnny

Until next time, read good books and stay regular.

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First the ribs, then the pie. That's Thanksgiving!

I was going to write a wonderful dissertation on Thanksgiving and all its treasures, legends, and folklore. Bah. Patty and I will enjoy BBQd spareribs on the Weber with a rub that I have made for years, and some BBQ sauce that will rip your knickers. While the ribs are cooking, we’ll be eating a dozen or so oysters on the half shell. That’s tradition.

The rub is equal parts black pepper, white pepper, and cayenne pepper. It will have considerable granulated garlic and smoked hot paprika mixed in. Colorful and tasty when generously rubbed into the pork. Don’t mess with those baby back ribs. Get the full slab of meat and bone, the ones that lap over the edges of the Weber grill.

I like to use hickory or apple wood chunks, well soaked, for the smoke. Put the charcoal to the sides, not directly under where the meat will be. When the charcoal has a covering of white ash, put the chunks in and let them catch on fire really good. Then, with the top vent closed, put the lid on to put out the flames. Only takes a few seconds. Open the lid, open the vent, put the ribs in and get that cover back on before the flames return. If that doesn’t drive your neighbors nuts, nothing will.

When the smoke dies off, open the lid and mop on the BBQ sauce. Whooooeeee, pardner, this is Thanksgiving. My sauce is pretty simple. Pint of home-canned stewed tomatoes, half a yellow onion, cut up bell pepper, any color, three Jalapeños, seeds in, quarter cup of molasses, three cloves garlic, chopped, Tblspn hot smoked paprika, and a  pint of Kentucky bourbon. Put one quarter cup of bourbon in sauce, drink the rest as the day progresses.

Put all the ingredients in a sauce pan, bring to a boil, cover and simmer on low for about forty five minutes. Let it cool, and put in blender to puree. Better make two batches.

It will take about three hours for the ribs to cook, maybe four if it’s a real honker of a slab, and you will want to mop that sauce on several times. The meat should simply fall off the bones. Some people want veggies or taters or things with supper. Why?

After we have collected a platter full of bare bones, I’ll smile at Patty, she’ll smile back, and we’ll probably fall fast asleep in our rockers. When we awaken, there will be large wedges of sweet potato pie served, possibly with great dollops of home whipped cream.

Happy Thanksgiving to you from us.

Until next time, read good books and stay regular.

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Vets Day?

At the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month, World War I came to an end. The War to End All Wars, and when the veterans came home, our government screwed them over to the point of rebellion. At the behest of the president of the United States, McArthur attacked our own veterans. After all these years, things haven’t changed much.

When the boys came marching home from WWII, it was different, but that euphoria only lasted until Korea. World War II vets were bathed in glory, Korean vets were ignored. And then came Viet Nam. Enough said.

You can go into any down trodden area of any town, village, or city and find a Viet Nam vet. He’ll be the one in rags, “got a buck, mister?” on his lips.

War hasn’t changed, and there are many vets will look you in the eye and tell you that the lucky ones were the ones that didn’t come home. November 11^th is set aside to remember those who have served, those who have sacrificed, and the general population does that, earnestly, and with love. It’s the government that doesn’t.

The VA is still a quagmire and it’s the vets that suffer. Not all vets got shot at, not all vets have come home with massive emotional problems, but all vets are being dishonored by the VA.

Books have been written, politicians have stood, solemnly, with hands over hearts, parades have been marched, and our upstanding congress and president have allowed those that served, giving those the chance to be congressmen or president, to shun their duty.

Get off your lazy butts and correct this problem. Maybe it’s time for a couple hundred thousand shelter halves be erected in Washington.

Bless you, vet, and welcome home, soldier.

Until next time, read good books and stay regular.

Will you join me on facebook from time to time?

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