How I love thee, my pie ala mode
Your crust is golden, as if baked by the sun
I'll eat so much of you I just might explode
Your filling is sweet, with cinnamon and apples
Still warm from the oven, made by mother's hands
I should give thanks, where the chapel?
Ice cream on top, Golden Vanilla Ice
Melting into rivers that cascades into the plate.
The first bite is delectable, full of everything nice
What a wonderful fate to put on this weight.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
The Redneck and the Yankee
Oh, the pleasure of working in a cubical farm. I can see how Dilbert can write so many comics about the office life, he just has to sit in a cube for a few minutes and someone will start an interesting conversation that is good fodder for thought. Once again, a story presented itself just feet from where I sit at my computer. Starring the Redneck that sits to the other side of my cube, and with a Yankee that is transplanted here from Boston. Yankee wants to experience the Oklahoma life, hunting, fishing, water skiing, and talks Redneck into taking him out into the wild to teach him the finer points of the activities. First let me relate what happened during deer season.
Hunting Lesson.
"Da first thing ya gotta learn is to shoot a gun, have ya ever shot a gun that wasn't a driveby?" Redneck asked the Yankee.
Yankee replied, "I never shoat a gen."
"Then we'll go out to da lake and I'll teech ya. Dars a target rainge thar." Then Redneck proceeded to make plans to teach Yankee how to shoot. Something Redneck soon regretted.
Later at the lake, Redneck sat targets up at the thirty yard mark to make it easier on the Yankee. If he proved to be a good shot, the target would be moved back until the target would be at the one hundred yard mark. Redneck parked his pickup parallel with the target to give Yankee something to rest the rifle on.
"Put this here beanbag on da bed rail and rest da gun on it. Squeeze da trigger slow and put da cross hairs on the bull's eye. Thar be a kick so hold da gun stock tight to yer shoulder", instructed Redneck.
Yankee centered his shot and squeezed the trigger. Boom! Bull's eye first shot. Redneck raised his hand and Yankee reached up to high five him, except he forgot to take his finger off the trigger of this semi-automatic rifle. Boom! SSSSSSSSSSS! The sudden shot scared Redneck and Yankee and they almost ran each other over trying to take cover, they just knew someone was shooting at them. After a few minutes Redneck peeked over the pickup bed and noticed the bullet hole in his wheel well.
"I'm gonna kick yer Yankee arse. You sorry sunsabeech, you shot my truck!" It seems that as Yankee gave the high five he lowered the barrel of the gun and then accidentally squeezed the trigger, firing a round into the wheel well and tire.
I'd love to have read that insurance report.
Catfish fishin'
I was lucky enough to hear this conversation this morning. After everyone in hearing distance quit laughing and I wiped the tears out of my eyes, I wrote some notes down.
"I ougher kill youse Redneck butt. That Katfish is the whurst fish I'd ehver ate." Yankee yelled at poor Redneck.
"Hold on there pardner, howsya cukt it.
"I fired up the grill and kooked it just like I kooked trout. It was the toughest, most foul tasting thing I every ate!" Yankee was rather bent out of shape at wasting his meal on this fish.
"You cuked it like a trout, You cuked it like a trout?" Redneck repeated it between laughing seizures on the floor. "You didn't clean it before you cooked it?"
"What do you mean clean it? I kookhd it like a trout?"
By this time I had tears in my eyes, not so much by the conversation but by the full force belly laugh that Redneck was bellowing, and the room was filled with people falling out of their chairs laughing, for no other reason but hearing Redneck's rolling laughter. Redneck finally got enough breath between laughs to tell Yankee that you skin a catfish, fillet the meat off the bones, roll it in cornmeal and cook it, not like a trout which you gut and cook, head and all.
Yankee must be still having culture shock and as he stormed off he was muttering something about "Nuthing but @#&@#@# (censored for the non-sailors out there) Rednecks around here. I moved across the country to work with @#&#@# Rednecks"
Hunting Lesson.
"Da first thing ya gotta learn is to shoot a gun, have ya ever shot a gun that wasn't a driveby?" Redneck asked the Yankee.
Yankee replied, "I never shoat a gen."
"Then we'll go out to da lake and I'll teech ya. Dars a target rainge thar." Then Redneck proceeded to make plans to teach Yankee how to shoot. Something Redneck soon regretted.
Later at the lake, Redneck sat targets up at the thirty yard mark to make it easier on the Yankee. If he proved to be a good shot, the target would be moved back until the target would be at the one hundred yard mark. Redneck parked his pickup parallel with the target to give Yankee something to rest the rifle on.
"Put this here beanbag on da bed rail and rest da gun on it. Squeeze da trigger slow and put da cross hairs on the bull's eye. Thar be a kick so hold da gun stock tight to yer shoulder", instructed Redneck.
Yankee centered his shot and squeezed the trigger. Boom! Bull's eye first shot. Redneck raised his hand and Yankee reached up to high five him, except he forgot to take his finger off the trigger of this semi-automatic rifle. Boom! SSSSSSSSSSS! The sudden shot scared Redneck and Yankee and they almost ran each other over trying to take cover, they just knew someone was shooting at them. After a few minutes Redneck peeked over the pickup bed and noticed the bullet hole in his wheel well.
"I'm gonna kick yer Yankee arse. You sorry sunsabeech, you shot my truck!" It seems that as Yankee gave the high five he lowered the barrel of the gun and then accidentally squeezed the trigger, firing a round into the wheel well and tire.
I'd love to have read that insurance report.
Catfish fishin'
I was lucky enough to hear this conversation this morning. After everyone in hearing distance quit laughing and I wiped the tears out of my eyes, I wrote some notes down.
"I ougher kill youse Redneck butt. That Katfish is the whurst fish I'd ehver ate." Yankee yelled at poor Redneck.
"Hold on there pardner, howsya cukt it.
"I fired up the grill and kooked it just like I kooked trout. It was the toughest, most foul tasting thing I every ate!" Yankee was rather bent out of shape at wasting his meal on this fish.
"You cuked it like a trout, You cuked it like a trout?" Redneck repeated it between laughing seizures on the floor. "You didn't clean it before you cooked it?"
"What do you mean clean it? I kookhd it like a trout?"
By this time I had tears in my eyes, not so much by the conversation but by the full force belly laugh that Redneck was bellowing, and the room was filled with people falling out of their chairs laughing, for no other reason but hearing Redneck's rolling laughter. Redneck finally got enough breath between laughs to tell Yankee that you skin a catfish, fillet the meat off the bones, roll it in cornmeal and cook it, not like a trout which you gut and cook, head and all.
Yankee must be still having culture shock and as he stormed off he was muttering something about "Nuthing but @#&@#@# (censored for the non-sailors out there) Rednecks around here. I moved across the country to work with @#&#@# Rednecks"
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
We Can't Forget
I've always loved this view. From here you can see forever. At night you can see the glow of Broadway's lights and the moon shining off of the Upper Bay and Ellis Island. Central Park, the natural refuge in this concrete jungle looks like a stamp on the horizon.
How I love this city and the excitement that comes from every corner of it. It has become a place of refuge for every race and color, a beacon with her hand proudly thrust in the air. My family loves to picnic at Liberty Park, the thought of eating in the shadow of the symbol of freedom still gives me chills. Freedom. A word that is loved by some and despised by others.
I guess this is the day of the despised. They have acted on their hate and now I look at this view for the last time through smoke billowing up through my window. I look at the ashes of the other tower as it lays in a leap below me. With the quiver of my tower I know that soon we will soon join it. My floor grows hot. The carpet has started to smolder, in just a matter of time it will be blazing.
As I look upon the Upper Bay once more, I think of my wife and two kids. I think of what pain they will be put through in the next few months and years. Pain they wouldn’t feel if it weren’t for someone’s hate. But I can’t think of that now. No, in my last moments I can only think of the love they gave me. I will go in peace, peace that I know I’ll see my family again because of our faith. I go in peace knowing that the hate of others will not take the peace that my faith gives, the peace that comes from Jesus.
My feet are blistering and the pain is getting severe. I look out this open window and know that my time has come. As I step through my favorite window, I'll take that final step, and fly with the eagles.
How I love this city and the excitement that comes from every corner of it. It has become a place of refuge for every race and color, a beacon with her hand proudly thrust in the air. My family loves to picnic at Liberty Park, the thought of eating in the shadow of the symbol of freedom still gives me chills. Freedom. A word that is loved by some and despised by others.
I guess this is the day of the despised. They have acted on their hate and now I look at this view for the last time through smoke billowing up through my window. I look at the ashes of the other tower as it lays in a leap below me. With the quiver of my tower I know that soon we will soon join it. My floor grows hot. The carpet has started to smolder, in just a matter of time it will be blazing.
As I look upon the Upper Bay once more, I think of my wife and two kids. I think of what pain they will be put through in the next few months and years. Pain they wouldn’t feel if it weren’t for someone’s hate. But I can’t think of that now. No, in my last moments I can only think of the love they gave me. I will go in peace, peace that I know I’ll see my family again because of our faith. I go in peace knowing that the hate of others will not take the peace that my faith gives, the peace that comes from Jesus.
My feet are blistering and the pain is getting severe. I look out this open window and know that my time has come. As I step through my favorite window, I'll take that final step, and fly with the eagles.
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Alaska, The Last Frontier
(I've been corrected, I broke the cardinal rule and didn't check my facts, Alaska is the largest state in the Union by area, but ranked 48th by population, that's 1.1 person per square mile. Correction has been made. Thanks for straightening me out Gully. Apologies to all offended Alaskans.)
What is there about Alaska? A couple of ladies have gotten me thinking about Alaska and the people it produces. I know you've already thought of one I'm talking about when you read Alaska. After all she is Governor of our largest state. A state bigger than a majority of countries in the rest of the world. Of course I'm speaking of Sarah Palin. I'm not going to get into politics as I'm not into screaming and ranting about what politics has turned into. No, I'm going to talk about her personal life, to a point and not over.
Mrs. Palin has a diverse background. She was a beauty queen, she ran several successful small businesses, she was a sports caster (like Reagan), she was a mayor and now governor. Her favorite meal is Moose Stew, she hunts (member of the NRA), a self proclaimed outdoor person. She's articulate and she stands for what she believes in, without giving into party or political correctness.
The second lady some of you know, some don't but should. She is a writer, one of my favorites, whose prose varies as much as the seasons. She has been a reporter, Alzheimer's advocate, world traveler, naturalist (I'm not going to use the birthday suit joke), dog sled musher (this Outsider doesn't know the fancy word), and most importantly, friend to multitudes. Some of you know I'm talking about Jeanne or Gully or Gullible, or whatever tag she's going by that day. Her blog is in the list at the left called "Gullible's Travels". Great stories and pictures. She is the one who taught me that an "Outsider" was someone that lived outside of Alaska.
It seems Alaska breeds individualism. Whether you're born Alaskan or privileged to have come from the Outside and stayed, Alaska brings out the best in each person. I know there are the exceptions to that rule, but from what this Outsider has observed, the exceptions are few.
Just think about it, how many people from Alaska can you name that have moved into your town? I have never been introduced from anyone that has left Alaska by choice. Why is that? Could it be lack of population compared to say California, which is where every other new person in town has come from. Could it be that parse population compared to square miles is what people up there like? What about that Alaska is the modern day West, the last frontier to be explored.
I think that's where the individualism of Alaskan's come from. They fend for themselves, because they are the babe of the nation and often overlooked as that state way up there with nothing but oil to contribute.
Well, in the last couple of years of knowing Gully, and now the little I've learned about Mrs. Palin, I must say, Thank you Alaska for raising people that remind us that sometimes its not cool to tag along with the crowd, that reminds us to stand up for what we believe despite what people will say. I can say from this knot head's observation, these two ladies have rose above the rest by doing just that.
What is there about Alaska? A couple of ladies have gotten me thinking about Alaska and the people it produces. I know you've already thought of one I'm talking about when you read Alaska. After all she is Governor of our largest state. A state bigger than a majority of countries in the rest of the world. Of course I'm speaking of Sarah Palin. I'm not going to get into politics as I'm not into screaming and ranting about what politics has turned into. No, I'm going to talk about her personal life, to a point and not over.
Mrs. Palin has a diverse background. She was a beauty queen, she ran several successful small businesses, she was a sports caster (like Reagan), she was a mayor and now governor. Her favorite meal is Moose Stew, she hunts (member of the NRA), a self proclaimed outdoor person. She's articulate and she stands for what she believes in, without giving into party or political correctness.
The second lady some of you know, some don't but should. She is a writer, one of my favorites, whose prose varies as much as the seasons. She has been a reporter, Alzheimer's advocate, world traveler, naturalist (I'm not going to use the birthday suit joke), dog sled musher (this Outsider doesn't know the fancy word), and most importantly, friend to multitudes. Some of you know I'm talking about Jeanne or Gully or Gullible, or whatever tag she's going by that day. Her blog is in the list at the left called "Gullible's Travels". Great stories and pictures. She is the one who taught me that an "Outsider" was someone that lived outside of Alaska.
It seems Alaska breeds individualism. Whether you're born Alaskan or privileged to have come from the Outside and stayed, Alaska brings out the best in each person. I know there are the exceptions to that rule, but from what this Outsider has observed, the exceptions are few.
Just think about it, how many people from Alaska can you name that have moved into your town? I have never been introduced from anyone that has left Alaska by choice. Why is that? Could it be lack of population compared to say California, which is where every other new person in town has come from. Could it be that parse population compared to square miles is what people up there like? What about that Alaska is the modern day West, the last frontier to be explored.
I think that's where the individualism of Alaskan's come from. They fend for themselves, because they are the babe of the nation and often overlooked as that state way up there with nothing but oil to contribute.
Well, in the last couple of years of knowing Gully, and now the little I've learned about Mrs. Palin, I must say, Thank you Alaska for raising people that remind us that sometimes its not cool to tag along with the crowd, that reminds us to stand up for what we believe despite what people will say. I can say from this knot head's observation, these two ladies have rose above the rest by doing just that.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Festus, My Ole Hound Dog
(Apologies to those who had the unfortunate opportunity to read this before.)
Festus was my favorite ole hound dog. I could tell ole Festus' bray over all them other mutt's whenever they got after one of them coons. He was an old blue tick hound that my granpap left me when he went and died on us last year. Granpap knew I loved to hunt with ole Festus so he left me his prize possession.
Shoot, I remember the time a year or two thereabouts when Granpap and I took ole Festus up to Riley's Corner. There was a subborned ole coon that kept gittin in the corn crib at the Perry General Store and they couldn't ketch it. When us got Festus there he got the scent right off and away we went. We raced up the hill and down into the holler and around the bend to the old Simmons place. I thought old Festus had lost his ever lovin mind to take us there, but sure enough, that ole coon was roosting in old man Simmons barn. We shot the critter and old Mr. Perry was so happy he gave Granpap a gallon of shine and me a bag of rock candy. I shared with ole Festus as he done mosta work.
Well, a lot of water has gone under that bridge and Granpap is gone and Festus is gone too now. You see ole Festus went to chasing cars about half a year ago. One day he chased one of them fast sport cars and when he quick a runnin' a truck datgum run-ed over him. Ole Festus, being the tough critter that he is, lived through that but lost all four of his legs. He was left with just the nubbins. It broke my heart to see ole Festus just layin there. Thats when it all started to come to an end.
Ole Festus was layin on the porch by the stairs when a cottin tail wabbit wandered inta the yard. Ole Festus start a brayin and just raisin cane over that lil ole wabbit. I run-ed out to see what was the matter when I saw that wabbit look up at Festus with a grin. I swear I herd him laugh. That's when I grabbed Festus and put him in the wheel barrow. He danged near ran me to death chasin that stinkin wabbit. We chased him for on a half hour before I gived out. I decided I had to do somethin fer pur ole Festus.
The next day I wandered out into the woods and found four tree limbs that was just right. I done some wittlin on them and made ole Festus some legs. I tied them to his nubbs and off he went, happier than Aunt Sally with a chocolate cake. Old Festus walked around on them until the other day when the field ketched fire and poor ole Festus burnt to the ground.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
I Feel Safer Already
This news just in: 8/26/08 @ 1:40 PM...
All of the Wal-Marts across Alabama sold out of ammunition as of yesterday. A reliable source said that one of the purchasers commented that while Russia may have invaded Georgia, they sure as h_ll ain't doin' it to Alabama.
All of the Wal-Marts across Alabama sold out of ammunition as of yesterday. A reliable source said that one of the purchasers commented that while Russia may have invaded Georgia, they sure as h_ll ain't doin' it to Alabama.
Varmit Hunting
I was walking the other night out to my shop building. After a hot day the sidewalk was still warm but the air had cooled and ther evening seemed to turn out pleasant. I noticed that a couple of pears had fallen and were half eaten by some varmit that usually wanders the property.
I open the shop, the air stale from the building being shut up for days. The first thing that greets me is my old Dodge convertible. I look at it and wonder if I'll ever get it running again. The way things are as of now, it doesn't seem likely. But my task isn't the car, it is looking for some indestript tool that I know I won't find. What I find is that something has thrown everything all over the place. The tools on the workbench has been scattered over the floor. Plans I had drawn for a shelving unit had been ripped up and chewed on.
I froze. There's a varmit in the building.
I open the shop, the air stale from the building being shut up for days. The first thing that greets me is my old Dodge convertible. I look at it and wonder if I'll ever get it running again. The way things are as of now, it doesn't seem likely. But my task isn't the car, it is looking for some indestript tool that I know I won't find. What I find is that something has thrown everything all over the place. The tools on the workbench has been scattered over the floor. Plans I had drawn for a shelving unit had been ripped up and chewed on.
I froze. There's a varmit in the building.
I slowly turn and grab a garden hoe that thankfully wasn't put in its correct place, in the garden shed. Now that I can defend myself, I go into the hunting mode. I slowly walk over to the wood bin. I shake it making all kinds of noise, but no varmit. I tiptoe over to the Christmas boxes stacked full of stuff varmits love to chew on. I search one after the other but no varmit.
Then panick hit me. The car. The varmit has took up residence in the car. I could see the seats shedded, the carpet soiled with, well, you know what, I could see that it would be a nightmare. I walked up to the car and peeked inside, everything looked as I left it. The dust on the seat and dashboard showed me that nothing had disturbed it.
Then it dawned on me. The eves of the roof. The varmit is roosting in the eves of the roof. Being a shop and not being finished on the inside as a house would, the eves of the roof are closed to the outside but open on the inside. I start checking those eves, one after the other until I came to the last one, of course it had to be the last one, and there was a mound of fur in the corner. I could see this gray fur and one paw which had long claws and I knew that a possum had invaded my shop.
I found an old broom stick that I had stuck a nail into for picking up trash. I took it and jabbed it but it didn't move. Was it dead of just playing possum? I wasn't going to grab it to find out. I jabbed it harder and harder, hard enough I thought it would draw blood, but it didn't move. I grabbed the hoe and hooked the leg. It came to life then and turned to face the hoe. A long hiss came out of it, it sounded like something from a horror movie. Great, what do I do now? I'm not a gun owner, not yet anyway, so I couldn't shoot it and drag it out and bury it. But I do have a air nozzle on my air compressor. So I fire up the compressor and see if that would work. I was amazed at the reaction the varmit had to a stream of compressed air.
It went bonkers. You'd thought it was from Yonkers. I came out of the eve and down the wall. One thing I failed to mention is that I had opened the overhead door that is on the wall beside where he was resting. As he descended down the wall my hopes were that he would just run outside the door. But no, he turns and comes directly for me. Another thing I forgot to mention is that I'm standing on a stool designed to be sat on to work on a vehicle. It folds up for storage and has wheels on the bottom. I think you get the picture already. I make the unfortunate move of flinching when he turned toward me. The wheels start rolling and my butt heads for the floor.
They say that in dramatic periods of your life that time slows down. I watched in slow motion as the floor came closer and closer. At least I'd be landing on the most padded part of my body. I watched the stool shoot out from under my feet and slam into the possum. The air nozzle never leaving my hand, and never stopped shooting the air towards the possum. I guess it was more than he wanted to put up with, the last time I saw him he was headed towards the neighbors house, laughing all the way.
I decided then and there, too much city in this old boy. Hunting varmits isn't a hobby I'll ever embrace. I'm sure the varmits feel much safer tonight.
Then panick hit me. The car. The varmit has took up residence in the car. I could see the seats shedded, the carpet soiled with, well, you know what, I could see that it would be a nightmare. I walked up to the car and peeked inside, everything looked as I left it. The dust on the seat and dashboard showed me that nothing had disturbed it.
Then it dawned on me. The eves of the roof. The varmit is roosting in the eves of the roof. Being a shop and not being finished on the inside as a house would, the eves of the roof are closed to the outside but open on the inside. I start checking those eves, one after the other until I came to the last one, of course it had to be the last one, and there was a mound of fur in the corner. I could see this gray fur and one paw which had long claws and I knew that a possum had invaded my shop.
I found an old broom stick that I had stuck a nail into for picking up trash. I took it and jabbed it but it didn't move. Was it dead of just playing possum? I wasn't going to grab it to find out. I jabbed it harder and harder, hard enough I thought it would draw blood, but it didn't move. I grabbed the hoe and hooked the leg. It came to life then and turned to face the hoe. A long hiss came out of it, it sounded like something from a horror movie. Great, what do I do now? I'm not a gun owner, not yet anyway, so I couldn't shoot it and drag it out and bury it. But I do have a air nozzle on my air compressor. So I fire up the compressor and see if that would work. I was amazed at the reaction the varmit had to a stream of compressed air.
It went bonkers. You'd thought it was from Yonkers. I came out of the eve and down the wall. One thing I failed to mention is that I had opened the overhead door that is on the wall beside where he was resting. As he descended down the wall my hopes were that he would just run outside the door. But no, he turns and comes directly for me. Another thing I forgot to mention is that I'm standing on a stool designed to be sat on to work on a vehicle. It folds up for storage and has wheels on the bottom. I think you get the picture already. I make the unfortunate move of flinching when he turned toward me. The wheels start rolling and my butt heads for the floor.
They say that in dramatic periods of your life that time slows down. I watched in slow motion as the floor came closer and closer. At least I'd be landing on the most padded part of my body. I watched the stool shoot out from under my feet and slam into the possum. The air nozzle never leaving my hand, and never stopped shooting the air towards the possum. I guess it was more than he wanted to put up with, the last time I saw him he was headed towards the neighbors house, laughing all the way.
I decided then and there, too much city in this old boy. Hunting varmits isn't a hobby I'll ever embrace. I'm sure the varmits feel much safer tonight.
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