Act Your Age?

There are many relatively funny jokes and puns dealing with maturity, aging, and the process known as getting older, but the subject seems to be rarely discussed by those suffering the consequences. An example, “No matter how old the man, show him a mud puddle and he becomes a ten-year-old.” Notice, will you, it is not said in first person. I’m double sevens, live on a small hobby farm with ample opportunity to stomp through mud puddles following every storm, and my wife will attest, “Johnny’s like a ten-year-old in the rain or the snow.”

What exactly is meant by becoming an adult, becoming mature? Damned if I know. When Patty and I walk down the street, she will make a move to put us in step with each other, and I’ll skip us out of it immediately. If we’re walking hand in hand, which we do a lot, I’ll walk on the wrong side of the power pole, then say, Bread and Butter.

I take great delight in breaking out the Christmas stuff and getting it hung, dancing around the house like Santa’s chief elf. Is that childish? So what! I’m registered to vote and I do vote, I maintain a driver license, and most of the time, pay most of my bills. So, if I want to stand in the corral and sing Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer to our horses, I will. And pretend I’m Barney Oldfield on the tractor.

It’s a little after five in the morning, right now, and the dog and I just came in from feeding the horses in a wonderful rainstorm coupled with some high wind. It was fun watching the dog romp through the wet grass, trying to find just the right place to add more wetness. One of the horses waits until I’m almost up to the feed bin with his flakes of alfalfa, then comes running hard, putting on the brakes just before crashing through the fence. Even in a rainstorm. Life should be fun.

That old dog is nine human years and the horse is eighteen human years, and the guy enjoying their act and energy is supposed to act like an adult, for heaven’s sake. Well, have to put this aside now and get busy on another letter to Santa before I check out how much rain we’re getting.

Until next time, read good books and stay regular.

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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.

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Harvest Festival Means Party Time

We are about half way through the time of year called Fall, Autumn, with Old Man Winter and his best friend, Jack Frost, waiting to pounce on our weary bones. From the time we became ‘civilized’, or more to the point, agricultural, it is the time of harvest, thus festival time, a time to celebrate the fact that we will have bread through winter and spring.

Most of what we celebrate in the good ole USofA has its roots in Europe and dates back to well before Rome became Christian, that is, the time of the Celts. Samhain had two sides to it, a festival celebrating harvest and a festival honoring the dead, or protecting oneself from the dead. That celebration was held on what today would be November 1, the Celts start of the new year.

Never one to pass up a good party, the Church of Rome incorporated Samhain into a festival to honor their saints, and by now, called All Saints Day. Hallowed saints. Thus Hallowed Saints Day Eve, the day before, simply called Halloween, a day not accepted by most retail giants since it tends to interfere with Christmas, still seven weeks or so down the line.

All Saints Day has a second day involved called All Soul’s Day. That way it gets all of us involved. Particularly those many millions in Mexico where they celebrate Dia de Muertos, The Day of the Dead, with boisterous activities including the wearing of masks and costumes, and picnicking at grave-sites.

All of this started because of a good harvest, and celebrations of harvest and honoring the dead take place virtually in every country in some way. Because of seasonal differences, these celebrations are not necessarily on or near October 31 and November 1. In the southern hemisphere, harvest time is closer to the end of April.

So why do kids dress funny, beg candy, and tip over outhouses? Well, there really aren’t very many outhouses tipped these days, but the rest of that goes right back to fun loving Celtic Druids, who wore costumes, burned the harvested fields, and partied hearty. Trick or Treat just came about over these long centuries.

One of the best things about harvest festivities is in the eating of the fresh harvest. Canada’s Thanksgiving celebration takes place in the third week of October, and in the U.S., the celebration is in the fourth week of November. Those living closest to the border take advantage of that.

At our house, there will be children, all grown up now, visiting from the first weekend of November through the last weekend in December, which will give us plenty of opportunity to keep the hearth warm and inviting and cook stove overflowing. Here’s a recipe I found, they call it Grandma’s Corn Pudding, and if you don’t like this, well, gee, too bad ‘cause that’s what we’re serving.

Ingredients

            5 eggs

            1/3 cup butter, melted

            ¼ cup white sugar

            ½ cup milk

            4 tblsp cornstarch

            1 can whole kernel corn (15.25 oz can)

            2 cans cream-style corn (14.75 oz can)

Preparation

            Preheat oven to 400

            Grease a 2 qt. casserole dish

            In a large bowl, lightly beat eggs. Add melted butter, sugar, and milk. Whisk in cornstarch. Stir in corn and creamed corn, and blend well. Pour mixture into prepared casserole dish.

            Bake this little puppy for about an hour, and prepare to defend well if you wish to serve with supper.

Just a little friendly reminder. Once again I’ll be doing the announcing for the World Championship Single Jack Contest during the Nevada Day festivities in Carson City on October 31. I’ve been lucky enough to be associated with this program since the late 1970s, and have announced some amazing contests over the years.

One man, a set of chisel bit steel, and a four pound single jack hammer, and how far can he drill into Sierra Nevada granite in ten minutes? The world record, set in Carson City almost ten years ago, is almost fifteen inches. There are at least four men who have the ability to beat that record that have already signed up for this year’s championships.

Come on down and make noise. Until next time, read good books and stay regular.

Will you join me on facebook from time to time?

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