Can You Feel It?

Can you feel it? Oh, that wonderful time of the year when sleigh bells ring, icicles gleam, and visions of sugarplums fill the eyes of all us children. There’s fresh snow on the ground and more is promised, most of the harvest has been canned, frozen, or smoked and hanging, and we can hear a Christmas song or two on the radio. Once again, I’m ten-years-old, quivering in anticipation, and knowing that I’ll get my traditional package of underpants from Aunt Barbara.

Hot chocolate is good, laced with schnapps is better, and the fireplace stays lit all day long. Mama sneaks off to the bedroom when no one is looking and wraps things labeled, “Do Not Open Till Christmas”, which gives Papa a chance for another well-laced hot chocolate.

The neighbor adds a garland of bells to the breast collar on his favorite gelding and pranced down the lane singing at the top of his lungs, “Sleigh Bells Ring, are you listenin’?” and we are, and we join in. There’s not a scrooge one in this old neighborhood. One more hot chocolate and I’ll put a garland of bells around my neck and go prancing down the lane myself.

Get the lights out, strung all over the living room floor, and sure, you bet, there’s one bulb out. Where did I put those extras? Mama! She brings me a green one and I wind up the lot and take them onto the porch for stringing. What would I do without that charming lady?

Those Holly Jolly Blues

For Mama

Here he comes,

Dancin’ and shakin’ and laughin’ and givin’,

Awash in the holly jolly mood, covered in

Wools and fur, reds and whites.

‘An here I am,

Cryin’ and poutin’ and cussin’ and sad,

Feelin’ sorry for me, not carin’ ‘bout nothin’.

Ripped denim, dirty socks, not white.

In you walk,

Dancin’ and shakin’ that bootie, givin’ me life

Prancin’ about in heels and net, covered in

Silks and gauze, reds, and sheer.

No blues tonight,

Not with a princess in hand, Santa Claus smile,

Santa Claus laugh, a holly jolly mood, us covered

In reds and whites and satin sheets.

It all starts with Halloe’en, with children playing as ghosts and goblins, gathering baskets full of candy and goodies, while Mom and Pop dress up as childhood heroes, acting as silly as the children. Then, of course comes Thanksgiving, with families coming together to cheer their favorite football team, argue their favorite politician, and eat tons of everything that Grandma can cook. More pie, darlin;?

The stores light up, strobe strength, with sales on top of sales, insisting that you can do no better for your friends and loved ones than by shopping with them. Raise the price thirty percent on Wednesday, and have a twenty percent off sale on Friday. It’s Green Christmas all over again (Thank you Stan Freeburg). But, with just one more little cup of laced hot chocolate, everything will be fine.

These wonderful times finally come to a close on New Year’s Day, and we discover that the world is still there, those same politicians are still making vague promises, and those twenty percent off sales happen with regularity. No more parties until February second, Ground Hog Day.

Mama, can I please have just one more hot chocolate, with just a wee drop of schnapps?

Until next time, read good books and stay regular

Johnny Gunn

www.amazon.com/author/gunnjohnny

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I'm Thankful

Thanksgiving. Traditionally celebrated at harvest time, and for the first one hundred and fifty years or so of our union, harvest was the proper time, to say thanks. Thanks for a great harvest. But times, as is so often the case, they are a-changing. What’s foremost in my mind is to be thankful for the fact that I was born an American.

We just went through an excruciatingly hideous election cycle and we came out the other end of that cycle as the Untied States of America. We didn’t come out in wild rebellion, we didn’t come out with someone declaring to be a dictator, We didn't come out under martial law. No, we came out the same as when we went into the cycle: Free and living in a democracy which elected a president by way of the law of the land.

And we learned a few things. We know there are several million Americans who are not aware of what our constitution and its amendments actually say. We know there are several million Americans who are not aware of what the word tolerance means or how a lack of tolerance affects many fellow Americans. We know we cannot depend on the Internet, the major media outlets, or truth in advertising rules to offer us the truth.

I’m thankful that I have the right to vote. More than seven billion people inhabit this old blue marble and there are more than three hundred million of us Americans who have that right. We are in the minority world-wide. I’m thankful I have the right to publish this blog. People are jailed or executed in many other places in the world for doing what I’m doing. I’m thankful that I have the right to, or not to, worship within a religion.

I’m also thankful to know that I have the right to fight to the death to defend those rights.

Now, smile, say something brilliant, and eat your turkey.

Until next time, read good books and stay regular

Johnny Gunn

Member, Western Fictioneers

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more holiday fun

As I said in the previous entry of this continuing tome, this is an exciting time of the year from so many different angles. Parties of course, banquets, and from my point of view, even my work. This is when publishing companies invite those that are contracted with them to produce work for holiday themed anthologies, and I for one love the idea.

Short stories are difficult to write because they have to be short for them to really pop. The most difficult part of the story is how to bring it to a justified but definite end. An end that is satisfying to me as the writer, and satisfying to you the reader.

Solstice Publishing has just released their annual horror anthologies, that’s right, two of them this year. Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep, Volumes three and four. I have a short story in volume four called Over There. All of the stories in both volumes are scary as hell, which makes it fun reading this time of year.

Solstice then releases the individual stories as stand alone short story e-books, which is really nice. I’ve been lucky to have stories in Now I Lay Me Down volume one and now volume 4. I also have stories in the valentines anthology, Adventures in Love, and coming up on Black Friday, the newest Christmas or Holiday anthology, which I’ll be touting your way soon.

There’s more to it, of course. The publishing company has an opportunity to offer, in one publication, the work of many of their writers, thus possibly introducing those writers to a new audience. It’s a win=win for the publishers and the authors. If you should buy volume four, for example, you will be introduced to several authors you may not have read before, which could lead to more book sales for the publisher and for that author.

When I made the transition from writing as a news reporter to writing fiction, I broke in by way of short stories. I was very lucky and had many short stories published over the years before I attempted to write novels. I still love writing short stories and jump at the opportunity to indulge.

Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep, Vol. 4 is available now, in e-book or print,

http://bookgoodies.com/a/B01M7URA5Z

and the new holiday anthology will go on presale in a week or so and be available on Black Friday, amazon. I’ll put up the information on FaceBook and Twitter.

Patty made a batch of sugar cookies yesterday, and it’s my job to taste test, so I must run. I’m sure you understand.

Until next time, read good books and stay regular

Johnny Gunn

Member, Western Fictioneers

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Member, International Thriller Writers

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A Precious Season

I’m a warm weather person, so it will seem a bit strange after hearing that, to hear too, that this period of the year is precious to me. I was born in Santa Cruz, California, along the northern coast of fabled Monterey Bay, spent my high school years on the Island of Guam, and the U.S. Army felt a need for my services in San Juan, Puerto Rico. Simply stated, I love warm weather.

Now, about that precious statement. Growly and grumpy old men turn into slobbering puppy dogs or mewing kittens when seeing visions of roast venison or slow smoked duck at Thanksgiving. Battling, mean-tempered old witches become sainted on thinking of a finely decorated tree, and enjoying the aroma of a roasted goose, or even a traditional turkey.

And I’m right alongside them all. Patty and I protect these holidays; they are ours. We can have family in but we don’t go out unless it’s family. It’s a roast goose for Thanksgiving this year, done on the Weber, with some bourbon soaked oak chips providing the smoke. The oak is staves from whiskey barrels, and the aroma from that smoke will tempt the neighbors into an invasion.

I’m planning acorn squash soup for starters and sweet potato pie covered in whipped cream, the real stuff, to wrap it up. More than likely we’ll take a short walk to get things settled and then sink into easy chairs and spend a couple of hours with a movie.

It’s the plottin’ and plannin’ that makes it so much fun. I learned, nay, that ain’t the truth, Ruth. I’m still learning the art of slow roasting on the Weber, allowing the heat to come down before putting the meat in, stacking the coals to the sides and allowing for convection to work its magic, and adding coals at the proper time. Pork shoulder is my favorite to roast, and a large slab of beef would be next. Ribs? Always!

Chicken, duck, and goose take a little more finesse to roast, as does rabbit. Goat and lamb are as much fun as pork and beef, and the one that Patty likes the most is when I slow roast a large trout. She hovers near the hot kettle, picking up the smoke swirling from the top vent.

Tradition, as Tevia said, is more than just tradition, it’s that feeling one gets, way down inside, the thought that might bring a tear or a quick intake of air. On Guam, pigs were wrapped in banana leaves and put in the ground on top of hot rocks. In Cold Springs, I wrap the pig in seed bags and soak them in a tub full of white wine and put them in the ground on top of hot rocks. I like it both ways.

Fish too were often steamed while wrapped in banana leaves, and breadfruit would be sliced and fried or roasted as potatoes might be. And so, we slow roast the trout in the kettle and serve it with French fries.

It’s the food of every season that makes them special for me. Open pit grilling and barbecuing with roasted corn on the cob and ice-cold salads for the hot months, and steamy rich soups and roasts of large animals and fowl in the cold months make life worth living. The traditions of having family in, the giving and receiving of gifts, and the pleasure of the lights and music add to the winter season, but it’s the food that I take most pleasure from.

A pork roast in a Dutch oven, simmering in a Mexican sauce and served with great crusts of French bread can make the coldest day warm. Or a sirloin of beef on the Weber splashed with a Texas mop sauce will brighten spirits quickly. And, then, a large cast iron pot filled with venison, beef, pork, and goat, half a ton of Jalapeñoes, onions, garlic, and tomatoes, simmered for an afternoon is simply heaven on the coldest day of the year.

Yup, mi compadre, the winter season is precious. Until next time, read good books and stay regular.

Johnny Gunn

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Festive Fall

As we move through the thirteen weeks of Fall, we can be mesmerized by the beauty of a changing natural world, or we can become overwhelmed by the ugly politics of the secular world. I vote for the natural world where we can visit at first hand with plants and animals preparing themselves for the harshness of winter. Trees and bushes and others in the world of vegetation withdraw, some deeply, and let the flush of spring and summer fall away in splendor.

Hibernating animals are the gourmands of the natural world, eating and eating, preparing for that long sleep. They mate, too, as do so many in the animal world. Even with humans, there seems to be more mating in coldest months. Ever notice how many of your friends were born in August and September.

The smart ones, along with making other preparations for winter, head south. Ducks, geese, sno-birds, and hummingbirds get away for the winter. Hundreds of thousands of animals are found huddled in their RVs in the great American Deserts every winter, and the dove season is anticipated along the border states.

Fall is hunting season and many the larder is filled with venison, water fowl, and upland game. Fishing in the fall months can be very good as well, with migratory fishes coming back to the streams where they began their lives. You might be challenged by some big old bears, but, stand your ground. On second thought, let the bear go first.

I remember a deer hunt with a friend many years ago, when I almost lost the gentleman as a friend. We were scheduled to be in the mountains of eastern Nevada for five days, and the fool shot his deer the first day. Oh, the names I used to describe his foolishness, and used them every mile on the way home.

On any kind of hunt, it isn’t always the filling of the game bag that’s most important. Long days getting shorter, magnificent country to spend hours traversing, delightfully warm campfires to broil steaks on and sip good bourbon near, and the aroma of the great outdoors are part and parcel.

Along with the visual delights of the season, the hunts and camping trips, and fine fishing opportunities, there are a couple of holidays thrown in as well. Halloween is more a fun time than a real holiday, but with a little creativity can be gastronomically extravagant. When the neighbor slips a note under your door labeled Party!! it’s time to grab your favorite mask, bake or cook something wicked, or whitchly, and answer that RSVP.

I’m the farthest thing from a traditionalist when it comes to Thanksgiving. The dinner, yes. The family, yes. Tradition ends right there. Over the years, Patty and I have fixed goose, duck, chicken, rabbit, goat, even standing rib roast of beef for the family table, almost always with acorn squash soup, and ending with sweet potato pie. If it’s to be stuffed, we prefer an oyster stuffing, and forget the marshmallow jello.

There aren’t a tremendous number of fall traditions. Most are centered around family activities. Football, particularly high school and college rivalries bring families to stadiums, often before a family gathering and feast. Hiking in the splendor of autumn is in many to-do lists during the period, and traditional meals with specialty baking and roasting are some.

Most families have a favorite meal or item for a meal, most can remember playing for or rooting for a high school or college alma mater, and relish the opportunity to help their team to another victorious season.

Patty is baking a couple of carrot cakes from carrots I harvested the other day, so I have to draw this little tome to a close. The aroma is getting dense and I’m salivating on the keyboard. Until next time, read good books and stay regular

Johnny Gunn

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Labor-less Festivals Await

It’s hard to imagine not liking a holiday, not wanting it to happen, but there is one American holiday that, traditionally, thousands hated and thousands more looked forward to. Yup, Labor Day. It used to be known as the traditional end of summer, traditions also dictated that school started immediately afterward, and summer frocks were put away.

"Please, Mama, I don't wanna go," was the cry of thousands of kids. "But I look good in white," was the plea of thousands of tanned young ladies. "Oh what a relief," was the moan of many mamas, and "It's back to dark woolies for you, little miss," was the cry of fashion mavens.

The federal government recognizes six big holidays and Labor Day is close to being or is the oldest. People started celebrating a labor day in 1878 and it became Labor Day, a federal holiday in 1894. The holiday has evolved from giant labor union parades and grand speechifying to festivals promising the best blue grass, the best ribs, the best of Luckenbach.

That’s not a typo el friendo. The tiny Texas town of Luckenbach, the one that Willie sang about, hosts an annual Labor Day Celebration, Texas-Style.

But, here’s one that makes my mouth water, since Patty and I raise goats for their milk, think cheese and ice cream, and their meat, think BBQ. Well, in the little town of Brady, Texas, up in the hill country, they have a World Championship BBQ Goat Cook-off. There are more goat ranchers worldwide than there are cattle ranchers, and goat meat is eaten as a protein staple in more countries than is beef. Don’t knock it until you try it, cuz it is good.

Texas believes in festivals, and Labor Day in Houston is Hot Sauce Festival time, and you’ll find aficionados of every temperature vying for honors. There will be samples of hot sauce, salsa, BBQ sauce, and they tell me, Bloody Mary mix too.

Not to be outdone by Bayou City, Nacogdoches is home to the Do Dat Barbecue Cook-off, which could very well take the top of your head right off.

The left coast is home to many Labor Day festivals, including a three day-er in Hermosa Beach, at the pier. They call it an Art Festival but there will be 270 vendors lined up to tickle your wallet. Looking for all that California Gold. Another big art festival takes place in Sausalito, near San Francisco, and this year will mark the sixty-second annual time it’s been presented. That’s impressive.

There are two major festivals that I would like to attend, and since I live next door to one of them, that will be where you’ll find me, at the Nugget World Championship Rib Festival in Sparks, Nevada. Usually about a hundred rib cookers from around the world participating, and you can smell smoked ribs as far away as Carson City. Patty and I like to go early on Sunday, just as the various contestants are opening their smokers to the public, and before the massive invasion of pork denied visitors descend on Sparks.

You know what they say about Reno? Yup, Reno is so close to hell you can see Sparks.

The big festival we’ll miss is the Choctaw Nation Labor Day Festival in Tuskahoma, Oklahoma. Stickball, Choctaw Princess Pageant, buffalo tours, fancy dancing, drums, concerts, and more dancing.

If none of the above winds your clock, just head out into your great back yard, fire up the BBQ, sing your own songs, dance your own dance, and enjoy this long Labor Day Weekend.

Until next time, read good books and stay regular

Johnny Gunn

Member, Western Fictioneers

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Member, International Thriller Writers

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An Ode to the Saloon

Ran into a feller the other day that I hadn’t seen in a few years, much to my delight, I might add. Delight, that is, that I hadn’t seen him in a few years. ‘A bit of an ass’ is the best description I’ve heard of him, and he fulfilled his obligation by asking if I still spent time in, as he called it, a tavern. There aren’t many in my crowd that tend to use the word tavern when discussing the pleasures of the partaking of John Barleycorn.

The encounter led me straight to one of my many favorite saloons, and believe me, this old town called Reno has more that a few. It also led me to wonder just how many names we use from time to time when discussing our favorite watering hole. Well, see, there’s one name, and then, we also have cantina, gin mill, and grogshop to consider. Alehouse is rarely used today as is cabaret, but joint? Yes, indeed, and sports bar, nightclub, and pub.

Being a jolly fellow by this time, I found a cocktail napkin that wasn’t yet drenched, and wrote a bit of a poem for the occasion. To wit:

Rhymes With Tune

By Johnny Gunn

These are meeting places, mating places,

Sometimes fighting places.

We go not to glory in the drinking of alcohol

But to glory in ourselves.

We burst forth in song or poetry

Create or destroy politicians

We meet our friends, lovers, enemies

Slap backs and offer sage advice

Ah, the saloon, the name rolls off your tongue

Like the lyrics of a tune

And the local behind the plank

Offers kind words, “What’ll you have, Pard?”

So, my friend Mick stands up and strolls across the grogshop floor and plunks himself down at the piano and serenades us few noontime regulars with Danny Boy, followed by a rousing medley of Irish music, during which most of us either join in the merriment or pretend to. As Toora Lura, Lura, or however that song is actually spelled, comes to an end, in walks Jose Francisco Lopez Garcia.

“I see the cantina is open,” he says, opening his guitar case, and offering Coo Coo Roo Cuckoo, or however that song is spelled. Joe Jingles waltzes into our little speakeasy and wants to act the tough guy, and we let him spout off for a minute or two, and then  tell him to leave the dive, that this was our roadhouse, and don’t forget it.

Amazing isn’t it, that such a simple thing as saying hello to someone you haven’t seen for a long time can bring such wonderful memories to the front. I see an ad in the paper for a new bistro opening, so, must run.

Until next time, read good books and stay regular

Johnny Gunn

Member, Western Fictioneers

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Member, International Thriller Writers

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