Christmas 2012

Throughout Christendom, tonight’s sacred commemoration is well underway. Christmas really doesn’t need any introduction nor does it need any defenders. It is a pure miracle and proof that we are unconditionally loved by God.

Of course, long is the list of criticisms of our society’s holiday observance: commercialization, too secular, divisive to multiculturalists, etc. There is also an oft-posited, but untrue, statistic that suicide occurrence is highest during this period. Actually, according to the Center for Disease Control, December sees the lowest occurrence of individuals taking their lives.1

This is not to say that there is any lack of yuletide emotion as family rituals evoke warm feelings and mourning the loss of loved ones seems more acute this time of year. Tears flow from joy, reunions, kindness, sadness, tiredness, sugar crashes, and the meltdowns from poorly chosen gifts for volatile tots.

I think about those who reschedule their holiday plans due to work, travel challenges, or other reasons. To the nurses, EMTs, police, firefighters, pharmacists, doctors, soldiers, sailors, airmen, Marines, Coast Guard – to everyone looking after us – I raise a glass of thanks and offer whatever I can to help you have a fulfilling holiday.

There are those whose holiday is interrupted by commerce. Help desk workers, gas station attendants, over-the-road truckers, cinema staff, members of the media, power station workers, train-bus-airline personnel, and a broad variety of other tradesmen and professionals are away from kith and kin for our convenience and comfort. A second toast, to be sure.

There are accidental interruptions of holiday plans and there are those who haven’t options – and in all cases where people don’t find themselves happily planted, we send our encouragement and good wishes.

Of course, the least important part of Christmas is the calendar. I quote our thirtieth president, Calvin Coolidge:

Christmas is not a time nor a season, but a state of mind. To cherish peace and goodwill, to be plenteous in mercy, is to have the real spirit of Christmas.2

I know I tread close to the familiar (perhaps banal) recriminations that some chest thumpers routinely and annually offer about the “true” meaning of Christmas vis-à-vis societal practice. Not my intent. I just want us all to cherish the miracle as well as appreciate the women and men whose holiday routine differs from the norm for so many reasons.

Have a great holiday . . . I offer two links to earlier Noel minded posts. God bless.

Luke 2: 1-20

A different sort of Christmas Story








1 - http://www.cdc.gov/ViolencePrevention/suicide/holiday.html
2 - http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/topics/topic_christmas.html#4jtC9dr5XDgG87Xj.99
Christmas lights image reported to be in the public domain and available here:  Lights

Unfathomable is the new black

Details will unfold through the coming days and weeks related to today's tragedy at Sandy Hook Elementary School. The victims will go from a collective of 27 to individuals with names, families and unrealized futures. While five victims short of the Virginia Tech massacre, this has its own special horror as 20 of these victims are reported to be between five and ten; apparently, they were killed with mechanical nonchalance one after another in two classrooms.

There is a new extreme in my mind’s spectrum of terror as I envision these frightened and confused little boys and little girls watching their friends’ murders before suffering their own.

We want to know why this happened and we want to know now. Many have already decided. Take your pick from the usual suspects: a perceived out-of-control prevalence of firearms; suspect video games that desensitize players who spray bullets at digital foes; perhaps the effect of early life bullying on the shooter; how about lax parenting or the allure of fame through 24/7 media coverage; it might be substance abuse; it's any of a cornucopia of emotional disorders, etc.

It sure would be nice if we could pick the reason, fix it, and forever be done with the problem.

I expect that since 1927, this sentiment has been a recurring hope in our society. I pick that year because in mid-May, 1927, Andrew Kehoe, a member of the Bath Township, Michigan school board ignited three bombs that killed 38 elementary school students, two teachers, and four others. This ranked as the number one deadliest non-military massacre in U.S. history until overtaken by Oklahoma City and 9/11. Let’s see, 9/11, Oklahoma City, Bath Township, Virginia Tech, now Sandy Hook Elementary in fifth place. The Aurora, CO Theater shooting and Columbine had twelve deaths each.

Most won't (and certainly I don't) remember Bath Township, but every other incident on this macabre list has happened during my conscious lifetime and I’m certain that most of my readers share this experience.

Does your stomach hurt tonight? Do you need to wave tears from your eyes? Praying? Hugging your children? I hope so – I hope we all are having an awful evening and that we are not getting desensitized nor are we leaping to (or trying to profit from) preferred or emotionally-convenient causation theories.

Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon them. May their souls and the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace.

Bath Township details from here:  Bath Township

Image reported in the public domain and available here: Image 

Potato Leek Soup Recipe

Ingredients:

8 medium Russet potatoes
6 medium leeks
Half stick of butter
2 medium onions
8 cups chicken stock
2 cups half and half
1 cup milk (skim or otherwise fine)
Pound of bacon
Salt / Pepper
Sour Cream

Get a big ol' soup pot. . .melt butter in the bottom. . .

Add minced leeks and onions (I use a food processor) and saute for 10-15 minutes - until the aroma starts to make you crazy (or, onions are transparent);

Add shredded potatoes (again, I use food processor). . .or, slice/chunk them up. . . don't bother paring - but, it is a good idea to wash them;  Toss with onions/leeks/butter.
Add chicken stock. . .bring to simmer for 30-40 minutes.

This next part can be tricky.

After the potatoes are softened, you can use an immersion blender to puree right in the pot.  If you don't have said appliance, you can ladle into your regular blender and puree.  If you use your regular blender, you'll need to puree in batches - do NOT fill more than a third of the blender. . . otherwise, you'll have hot soup spraying around your kitchen.  Yes, I did.  No matter how you do it, get the potatoes mostly all pureed - some chunks are OK.

Cook for a while. . .stir, have a glass of wine.

Take off heat, let cool overnight.  Have more wine.

The next morning, make coffee, check your email, and put the pot on the stove over low heat.

Add the cream and milk - stir thoroughly.  Have more coffee.

Cut bacon into half inch chunks and cook over medium heat in your favorite cast iron skillet.  If you don't have a favorite, learn to commit. Do not burn!

Drain bacon - add drippings to soup. . .it does seem naughty, but it is well, well worth it.  Stir.

Reserve cooked bacon to garnish soup.

Cook for a while - stirring as you remember (low heat, don't burn). .. taste often and see if you need salt or pepper - most likely, you do.

Serve warm with bacon and sour cream garnish. . .  enjoy.







All images reported to be in the public domain and found at the following websites:  

http://publicphoto.org/vegetables/leek/

http://inspireandindulge.wordpress.com/2012/10/03/jons-homemade-bacon-basil-pesto/

http://www.publicdomainpictures.net/view-image.php?image=8795&picture=potatoes

Mayans and Mud Shoes

In a little less than a month, the Mayan calendar will run out of dates and some are anticipating significant consequences for the Earth as a result. Among the entertaining memes making their rounds on the Internet are several pointing to recent events as portents to the end of civilization (even ascribing the potential demise of the Twinkie to the Mayans). There are fellow citizens proudly calling themselves “preppers” who are stashing supplies, building shelters, and arming themselves with everything from guns and ammunition to windmill driven power plants.

As an aside, during my undergraduate days at Hillsdale College, we knew “preppers” as those bedecked in certain shades of pink and green, who popped the collars on their Izod shirts, and whose standard uniform likely included kilts, monogrammed sweaters, madras, and/or L.L. Bean style mud shoes. But, I digress.

So, let’s do a collective step back and take a deep breath – there may be some opportunities here.

I’m pretty darn certain that the sun will come up on December 22, 2012 and that we’ll continue our lives with the same interruptions and challenges we face today.

But, what if – work with me a second – what if the world really was going to end in a month and we knew it? How do we spend our last days?

Visit Prague? Revel with absolute abandon? Eat good chocolate or drink that vintage you are saving for a special occasion? Buy a Maserati on a 6-year payment plan? Finally let your dog on the bed? Use the good silverware?

Rev. Kerry Shook tackles this question in his short book One Month to Live: Thirty Days to a No-Regrets Life (Waterbrook Press, 2008). From the introduction:

Your time on earth is limited.

No matter how much this idea makes you squirm, it’s a fact. No matter who you are, how young or old, what measure of success you’ve attained, or where you live, mortality remains the great equalizer. With each tick of the clock, a moment of your life is behind you. Even as you read this paragraph, seconds passed that you can never regain. Your days are numbered, and each one that passes is gone forever.

If you’re like me, you may be tempted to view this reality as harsh and unwelcome, to let it overwhelm and even paralyze you. But that’s not my purpose in writing this book—just the opposite. I’m convinced that rather than inhibiting us to play it safe, embracing our time on earth as a limited resource has incredible power to liberate us. Most of us, if we knew we only had one month to live, would live differently. We would be more authentic about whom we are and more deliberate about how we spent our time. But such a contrast begs the question: what keeps us from living this way now? (pp.1-2)

What does keep us from getting our houses in order as it relates to our relationships (temporal and spiritual)? Can we assure those people in our lives that they are loved and communicate what they mean to us? Maybe we ask forgiveness, grant pardon, and ease others pain. Maybe we hug more. Not having a “tomorrow” to enable our procrastination changes the game a bit, doesn’t it?

So, really, what’s stopping us? Do we really need a doomsday scenario to spur personal growth and community charity? Do the Mayans have to remind us be kind and to reach out to others? Why not just plain live everyday like it could be our last and savor, grow, and share the joy life offers.

And, yes, that does include getting the good chocolate.

Reverend Shook's book available here: Book

Mayan Calendar image reported to be in the public domain and available here:  Here

Zen and the Art of Tractor Maintenance

The tractor awaiting rescue

The firearm deer hunting season has been fruitful at the Bog with six deer taken and similar reports from the neighbor farms. The ensuing packaged venison manifests as tenderloin, roasts, breakfast sausage, and cubed or ground meat for chili and other comfort foods. The farmers in the area encourage the hunters to buy and fill additional doe tags to help mitigate substantial crop damage from these ruminants.

This morning, my pals Craig and Jack came knocking at 6 am – Jack bearing his wife Diane’s homemade apple bread and a frozen tenderloin from the deer he took here on opening day. Craig brought breakfast sandwiches. I made the coffee.

We went afield, each to separate blinds/stands, and enjoyed a rosy sunrise punctuated by pheasant cackles, Mallard quacks, and complaining crows. This being the sixth day of the season, not many shots were heard from adjacent acres and our crew was silent. None of us saw deer one, but no complaints as the morning offered that crisp fall experience in the woods that keeps us coming back.

Craig’s obligations had him leave a bit early . . . Jack and I sat on stand until about noon. We unloaded our guns and stowed packs into the six-wheeler and headed back to the house. Along the way, I mentioned that I needed some help attaching the brush hog to the Bog’s newest addition: a 1957 John Deere Model 620. I’m a foster parent to this classic as it was a friend’s deceased father’s tractor – she is moving out of state and wanted this family treasure on a farm and in use. Jack is a sucker for an old tractor.

Jack triaging the old beauty

It took about 20 minutes to attach the brush hog and I fired up the old beauty and set off to mow some lanes around the blinds.

There is an indescribable feeling one gets piloting a tractor older than himself around his farm on a crisp, sunny November day. I know I had my best silly smile beaming.

About 40 minutes into the caper, the old Deere sputtered and I quickly shut her down. I figured it was running out of gas and didn’t want to risk the 50+ year old dregs of the tank polluting the engine. Jack had followed me down to the south end of the property in the six-wheeler and we zipped back to the barn and collected some gasoline. The tractor was quickly refueled. Problem solved? Nope.

She would crank, fire up, but not remain running. We noticed that the glass bell (part of the fuel system on the old girl) was only partly filled – a clear sign that gas wasn’t getting to the engine. After fiddling about with the bell, we saw that the gasket was shot and needed replacing. Fortunately, a small family-owned tractor vendor is about 5 miles away. The gasket cost $0.78. I think I spent $1.85 in gas on the round trip.

The bell

Gasket replaced, all connections tightened. Still, no luck . . . engine fires, doesn’t stay running.

Draining the carburetor, we see some really “varnishy” gas expel initially, but with ongoing attempts, clean gasoline comes through the drain.

We’re stumped and we tow the tractor back up to the barnyard. Tomorrow, I shall replace spark plugs and potentially rebuild the carburetor.

The vacation days I’m using to hunt and do some other life maintenance activities coupled with weekends and the holiday, have me out of the office for 12 straight days – a rare occurrence. I will say that being a guest of history while trying to get this old tractor running is as enjoyable as any fancy trip I could have booked.

Happy Thanksgiving to all!

Thank you!

For bringing this humble exercise to 10,000 hits.

Happy Thanksgiving to all!

Pete

T'was the night before voting. . .

T’was the eve before polling and all through the night,

Not a pundit was quiet; not from the left nor the right.

The ballots were readied with precision and care,

In hopes that voters soon would be there.



The children of states painted all in reds,

Had visions of a new president locked in their heads.

Those sleeping in states traditionally blue,

Were confident the current guy would happily do.



When out of the media came such a clatter,

I was startled from sleep to discover the matter.

Changing the station to ComCen in a flash,

There is Jon Stewart spouting some trash:



“Romney’s a business guy; he’s mean and uncaring,”

Stewart went on with oaths and too much swearing.

“Obama’s a fake; he wasn’t born here,”

Roared The Donald for all 'round to hear.



“Hold up!” Cried all the reasoning voters,

“We’re tired of spin and sick of promoters!

“We’ve had it with attacks and slinging the mud,

“No country can survive with all this bad blood.”



A discussion of issues was the voters’ real aim

And then they silenced the hacks, calling them out by name:

“Hush Matthews, hush Sean, hush Maddow and Cameron,

Hush Dowd, hush Moyers, hush Limbaugh and Krugman”



Voting is a privilege and also a right

Taken often for granted and treated too light.

Don’t be persuaded by celebrity or guile,

Pre-read your ballot 'cause your vote is worthwhile.



Tomorrow, we decide who will be president,

Who then will be the next White House resident?

While passions are high, and tho you and I may disagree,

I urge you to vote - in person or absentee.



God Bless America – long may she shine

We are in this together, that’s our bottom line.

Whoever wins, there will be another day,

But vote, dear friends, don’t dare lose your say!

Ballot box image reported to be in the public domain and available here:  Ballot Box

Sinners in the hand of a political hurricane

Winds were pretty brutal throughout the last 24 hours at the Bog – some sleet providing a staccato background to less than restful sleep. The power flickered a few times last night; no real power loss happened. I sure wish that the rest of the country could have had my good luck.

I’m hoping the millions of people reeling from the storm can quickly get relief and their lives back in balance.

Some would argue that even this storm pales in comparison to the dark clouds and lightning coming from both camps in our current political campaign. Thunder claps, hail, fire and brimstone – just listen to a bunch of the preaching coming from the national candidates and their surrogates. I don’t think Cotton Mather or Jonathan Edwards’ sermons were as full of the vitriol we see in today’s political landscape. I will, however, applaud a certain "poetic-noir" found in Edwards’ Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God:

"The God that holds you over the pit of hell, much as one holds a spider or some loathsome insect over the fire, abhors you, and is dreadfully provoked. His wrath towards you burns like fire; he looks upon you as worthy of nothing else but to be cast into the fire. He is of purer eyes than to bear you in his sight; you are ten thousand times as abominable in his eyes as the most hateful, venomous serpent is in ours."

From Jonathan Edwards, The Works of President Edwards, vol. 6 (1817; New York: Burt Franklin, 1968), pp. 458, 461–62.

A recent article in the New York Times assessed the efficacy of some of the presidential advertisements. The conclusions were that the attack ads are far less effective than the spots where the candidates lay out their plans and stance. Advertisements where candidates can candidly discuss the success of their record while in office also carry significant weight.

So why is most political discourse about what is wrong with the other guy? And, with the multitudes of forums that now beleaguer our senses (blogs, Craigslist “rants and raves”, comments following online articles, Facebook timeline posts) it seems that gotcha becomes the new sport. Studies show that 18-24 year olds get their political information from comics.

Oh, none of this is new – they were beating each other with canes over a hundred years ago in Congress. I’m grateful to hurricane Sandy for pressing a pause button (albeit short lived) to the campaigning.

Of my favorite of Shakespeare's passages is from Act III, Scene 2 of King Lear where the monarch rants against a brutal storm:

"Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow!
You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout
Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the cocks!
You sulphurous and thought-executing fires,
Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts,
Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder,
Smite flat the thick rotundity o' the world!
Crack nature's moulds, an germens spill at once,
That make ingrateful man!"

After 20 or so robo-calls in an evening and television spots that belie credibility, I can empathize with Lear’s rage.

If you can, send the Red Cross a couple of bucks to help those displaced by Sandy – and be sure to vote.



Edwards' image reported in the public domain and available here:   Edwards
Lear's image reported to be in the public domain and available here:  Lear

Coming of the fall

Summer wanes into autumn and, here in the northern tier of states, we dig out our favorite sweaters and jackets. For some, jackets ring out for football favorites but others’ jackets help conceal. Hunting begins in earnest early September with seasons aimed at resident goose populations and introducing youths to the outdoor sports. October brings archery opportunities and the broad launch of waterfowl hunting.

Each year, hundreds of millions of critters migrate through the U.S to warmer climes in southern states, Mexico, and South America. These include Canada and Snow Geese, a variety of duck species, doves, songbirds, hummingbirds and even Monarch butterflies! Generally, they travel via four principal flyways as the cold pushes them. For some excellent information about the migration, see Ducks Unlimited's Migration Map.

In 1995, there was what is known as a “Grand Passage” – weather conditions spurred a massive and sudden movement of waterfowl that was so dense it shut down some airports along the flyways.

Here on Blackdog Bog there are about five acres of ponds that serve as migration stops and as resident puddles for the local ducks and geese. The drought this year cut that number to less than two acres – the “big pond” on the western border of the property dried entirely. Similarly, a number of ponds in the immediate area are dry.

Friends joining me afield this week

Normal rainfall (finally!) over the last couple of weeks has flooded about a quarter of the big pond and the local ducks and geese have been coming in droves. During the hot summer, various plants got a foothold and grew where there is usually water. This means a bounty of seeds and other nutrients available to the birds and they’ve been enjoying the meal.

Speaking of meals, tonight I shared freshly harvested goose breast with a couple of my bandit friends. After removing the breast from the goose, the meat is cleaned of all remnant feathers and inspected for pellets of shot. The breast meat is cut into medallions, marinated (a secret recipe) and seared on a grill preheated to over 500 degrees and finished to a medium rare temperature.

A dipping sauce – Dijon mustard blended with fresh jalapeno peppers – completes the service. There were no leftovers!

Today was my second waterfowl outing this week. I haven’t duck hunted in over two years – since the passing of the original Black Dog. I had a smile today thinking about him and about the good fellowship that comes from hunting. Yes, we’ve told those jokes and stories over and over while waiting for the birds. And, yes, the laughter never stales.

Happy autumn!



Duck image reported as public domain and available here: Image