We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
My son Nicholas is now in his early teens. He can swing a pretty mean axe, piling up the wood with steady progress. I remember well when multiple strikes of his little axe were as so many raindrops on a window. As years passed by we kept setting up a chopping station for him at a safe distance from mine. Little talk, much swinging, even if not much splitting. Then the tell-tale sound—a sort of hollow echo—of a strike that has hit home. This followed by the ripping sound of a strike that has broken through. I will never forget his looking over to see if I had heard that magical sound. Of course I had. I would not take that away from him. I would not take it away from us.
9:28 Now about eight days after these sayings Jesus took with him Peter and John and James, and went up on the mountain to pray.
9:29 And while he was praying, the appearance of his face changed, and his clothes became dazzling white.
9:30 Suddenly they saw two men, Moses and Elijah, talking to him.
9:31 They appeared in glory and were speaking of his departure, which he was about to accomplish at Jerusalem.
9:32 Now Peter and his companions were weighed down with sleep; but since they had stayed awake, they saw his glory and the two men who stood with him.
9:33 Just as they were leaving him, Peter said to Jesus, "Master, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah" -- not knowing what he said.
9:34 While he was saying this, a cloud came and overshadowed them; and they were terrified as they entered the cloud.
9:35 Then from the cloud came a voice that said, "This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!"
9:36 When the voice had spoken, Jesus was found alone. And they kept silent and in those days told no one any of the things they had seen.
9:37 On the next day, when they had come down from the mountain, a great crowd met him.
9:38 Just then a man from the crowd shouted, "Teacher, I beg you to look at my son; he is my only child.
9:39 Suddenly a spirit seizes him, and all at once he shrieks. It convulses him until he foams at the mouth; it mauls him and will scarcely leave him.
9:40 I begged your disciples to cast it out, but they could not."
9:41 Jesus answered, "You faithless and perverse generation, how much longer must I be with you and bear with you? Bring your son here."
9:42 While he was coming, the demon dashed him to the ground in convulsions. But Jesus rebuked the unclean spirit, healed the boy, and gave him back to his father.
9:43a And all were astounded at the greatness of God.
Gals seem to have a thing about diamonds. Must be in their blood. Large rocks are tacky. I think emeralds and rubies look great, and gold seems to have been a good investment, but diamonds are certainly flattering and are known to increase the odds of getting lucky.
Fellows, sneak out of work this morning and get her one of these outfits to show that you care:
We held my Mom's funeral today in her starkly-simple 1723 Congregational Church in Yankeeland. You'll be relieved to know that I did a pretty good job with my send-off talk to a full house - she was a popular gal who added a lot to other people's lives in many ways - barely hesitated a couple of times, and got plenty of laughs. The spontaneity of my eulogy was enhanced by the error of having lent my glasses to Mrs. BD for the hymn, and forgot to bring them to the pulpit to be able to read my notes. Perfect. A grumpy baby added a lot to the bittersweet spirit of the event. A church service without a grouchy baby is sterile - and funerals and babies just go naturally together.
I am pretty good with gentle funeral humor. I have had too much practice with such things, and I have a relaxed, casual, cheerful, and friendly attitude, once I get on a pulpit, that people seem to enjoy. I don't know where it comes from. From God, maybe. Not from me.
Happily, all of my kids were there.
The flowers were just daisies on the altar, done by Mrs. BD. Just right for my Mom who detested anything fancy, showy, or pretentious. All 5 of us kids participated, and the Pastor was truly inspiring - and brief. He intertwined Lent with death, rebirth, and planting. The howling back of my brain found some rest after the funeral, and I had a couple of glasses of wine with the luncheon, sitting with my somewhat-benumbed Dad who wined and dined with vigor, and caught up with old family friends and cousins I had not seen in years. Some old friends from youth showed up too, that I had not reconnected with for many years - and needed to.
A summer sunset at the beautiful Berkshire farm she loved so much, in her family since before the Revolution. Her ashes will join those of her ancestors there. We have a ramshackle family cemetery on the farm with a fence to keep cows or horses out of it so they don't poop on the graves:
My Mom was a gardener par excellence. One of the hymns my sisters selected was an old-timey favorite of mine, and of my Dad's. It's a love song. I call it In The Garden:
Nature seems (the more we look into it) made up of antipathies: without something to hate, we should lose the very spring of thought and action. Life would turn to a stagnant pool, were it not ruffled by the jarring interests, the unruly passions, of men. The white streak in our own fortunes is brightened (or just rendered visible) by making all around it as dark as possible; so the rainbow paints its form upon the cloud. Is it pride? Is it envy? Is it the force of contrast? Is it weakness or malice? But so it is, that there is a secret affinity, a hankering after, evil in the human mind, and that it takes a perverse, but a fortunate delight in mischief, since it is a never-failing source of satisfaction. Pure good soon grows insipid, wants variety and spirit. Pain is a bittersweet, wants variety and spirit. Love turns, with a little indulgence, to indifference or disgust: hatred alone is immortal. Do we not see this principle at work everywhere? Animals torment and worry one another without mercy: children kill flies for sport: every one reads the accidents and offences in a newspaper as the cream of the jest: a whole town runs to be present at a fire, and the spectator by no means exults to see it extinguished..
The 45-year-old former lawyer added: ‘We are going to take England — the
Muslims are coming. Brussels is 30 per cent, 40 per cent Muslim in
Amsterdam. Bradford is 17 per cent Muslim. These people are like a
tsunami going across Europe.”
Related, "Ancient Military Drum Airs" are (in order): "Closing
the Long Roll", "Three Camps" (American Revolution), "The Downfall of
Paris" (War of 1812), and "Hell On the Wabash" (American Civil War).
Almost anybody except a confirmed metrosexual would willingly march into gunfire with good drumming. It can make a fellow feel like "It's a good day to die!" (It seems to be controversial about who said that first, but it's probably been spoken since the dawn of humanity.)
The desire to write for publication is one which inheres strongly in every human breast. From the proficient college graduate, storming the gates of the high-grade literary magazines, to the raw schoolboy, vainly endeavoring to place his first crude compositions in the local newspapers, the whole intelligent public are today seeking expression through the printed page, and yearning to behold their thoughts and ideals permanently crystallized in the magic medium of type...
"Kollege was a necessary step towards the professional license, so I made sure it was a fun step. football on Autumn afternoons (marching to the Coliseum with the band to trash Notre Dame or UCLA, etc.), all the Animal House diversions, had a girl, car, pocket money from minor felonies, it was an idyllic life. I'd recommend it for anyone."
4:1 Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, returned from the Jordan and was led by the Spirit in the wilderness,
4:2 where for forty days he was tempted by the devil. He ate nothing at all during those days, and when they were over, he was famished.
4:3 The devil said to him, "If you are the Son of God, command this stone to become a loaf of bread."
4:4 Jesus answered him, "It is written, 'One does not live by bread alone.'"
4:5 Then the devil led him up and showed him in an instant all the kingdoms of the world.
4:6 And the devil said to him, "To you I will give their glory and all this authority; for it has been given over to me, and I give it to anyone I please.
4:7 If you, then, will worship me, it will all be yours."
4:8 Jesus answered him, "It is written, 'Worship the Lord your God, and serve only him.'"
4:9 Then the devil took him to Jerusalem, and placed him on the pinnacle of the temple, saying to him, "If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down from here,
4:10 for it is written, 'He will command his angels concerning you, to protect you,'
4:11 and 'On their hands they will bear you up, so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.'"
4:12 Jesus answered him, "It is said, 'Do not put the Lord your God to the test.'"
4:13 When the devil had finished every test, he departed from him until an opportune time.
This is an annual re-post. We'll post more game recipes over the next few weeks to help our hunters with their bursting freezers -
With hunting season winding, it's time to get cooking what we have in the freezer. It all begins with the sauce:
Uncle Bill's Jus de Gibier (mixed game) sauce, aka Brown Game Stock, aka Clean out the Freezer Sauce
Technically, it's a jus, not a sauce. Add a little roux and it will become a sauce.
This will be the tastiest sauce base you have ever had in your life, for chicken, game birds, turkey, venison, pork, veal, pasta, ravioli, etc. It's an ideal base for pheasant, chicken, venison or goose bourguignon. It has an earthy richness to it which is remarkable. We like to make a woodcock ravioli with black truffle, and this sauce is essential for that.
Gibier refers to mixed game, but we do it with mixed meat too, but not beef, which would overpower the subtler flavors. It is the best use of freezer-burned game and other stuff in the freezer. It's fun to make (but it takes a while), and you can clean out the freezer and the fridge at the same time. I freeze the used carcasses of Thanksgiving turkey, ducks, goose, random deer bones, etc. to use when I make this, once or twice a year, along with freezer-burned chicken, pheasant, etc. You could do this with entirely store-bought stuff if you lack a hunter in the family. The more stuff, the better.
You need a 10-12 (or larger) quart pot to make this, if you have a lot of stuff to use, but it freezes fine when made. It's good for a few months, at least.
Bake in oven until browned (not necessarily cooked-though) your saved carcasses and freezer-burned game meat and meat, especially pork and pork bones are good, and veal bones, (even if they have already been cooked). Yes, you bake the bones too. Do not burn them in the oven. I tend to use freezer-burned venison, pork chops, all my game bird carcasses, venison bones (cracked with a mallet), a bunch of veal bones and veal scraps if I can get them nowadays (it doesn't hurt to hit up the butcher for some stuff for this), turkey carcass, woodcock carcasses, and a pile of chicken wings. Chop this stuff roughly with a cleaver into 3-6" chunks and toss in the pot. Try to crack the bones.
Angel of gaiety, have you tasted grief? Shame and remorse and sobs and weary spite, and the vague terrors of the fearful night That crush the heart up like a crumpled leaf? Angel of gaiety, have you tasted grief?
Angel of kindness, have you tasted hate?
With hands clenched in the shade and tears of gall,
Good news: 
The Chariot (1863)
Dunkin' Donuts 
Interactive 
Pheasant populations 
All about 
From
Uncle Bill's Jus de Gibier (mixed game) sauce, aka Brown Game Stock, aka Clean out the Freezer Sauce
You know you've been waiting for it: 
Reversibility