Bits and Pieces

I've really lost track of time. Read the local rag this morning and it was filled with articles about the Super Bowl. It's played Sunday? Really? And here I am without the ingredients for my world famous Irish kick-ass salsa, and incapable of shopping for same. I suppose I'll need to make a list and have Sweet Wife sally forth. By the way, it's the only football game I ever watch. Now, if firearms were part of the game...I'd be all over it.

I'll need fresh tomatoes, bell peppers, onions, fresh (or pickled) jalapenos, cilantro and other spices. I'll make a base (or rather give instructions to Sweet Wife) of canned tomatoes, to which you should add small amounts of the above and blend into a smooth tasty mess. The vegetables will be chopped and folded into the base along with your basic salt, pepper, coriander seeds, and Tabasco sauce...enough to make a grown man cry. It should be spicy enough to kill the weak, elderly, and all liberals, lip-stick women and metrosexuals.

I make two batches. Place in the refrigerator over night. It should be thick; you should be able to place a chip (I prefer Doritos, the cheese favor really works well with the salsa) into the salsa and it should stay erect. The salsa will gel. The chip is nothing more than a spoon for the salsa.

I've made this salsa for at least thirty-five years. It's so good I once watched my sister eat it with tears streaming down her face...she'd bite, cry, fan her face, dip and bite...I said, "Sis, if it hurts, quit." She took another bite. 

The file picture above is not my salsa...it appears to 'dry.' The base should be liquid, but dense.

In other news...Sweet Wife has been on a cleaning kick this morning. Our home, for the most part, smells of bleach. Not a dust particle in sight. Even in normal times she's a cleaning demon, but now...God help the person that drops a hair on her tile or carpet. She hovers over me like a hen herding its chicks. Bless her heart. She's so tired and won't admit it.

And, I'm clean shaven. Still have my chin beard and mustache, but the rest of my face is clean. It feels so good. My bread is closely cropped...as I like it. I can't help but rub my face. I'm leaner too. I'm a fairly muscled man, so at least I don't appear as if I've dropped too much weight, but trust me, I have. Feels weird.

I'll have daily nurse visits here at home for the foreseeable future. They call ahead and give me a window of their arrival which should give me a bit of free time. Today they will install a wound vacuum system, portable. A unit which I'm told will allow me to attach it to my belt. Even thought I cannot yet stand and walk a great deal, at least I'm able to move for brief periods. Not sure how I'll sleep with the darn thing. I must wear it twenty-two out of twenty-four hours of the day. It's parasitic.

I'm currently reading 'Deep Winter.' Give it a shot. I haven't forgotten my promise to list the books I read while in the hospital, give me time. Also same for my 'thanks and welcome' post. It will be done. Please be patient with me. (No pun intended)

I wish I could hug all you guys...for the men, a man bump. The ladies...God bless you, you've been so sweet. If it were possible I'd take all of you out to dinner.

I mark the hours until the arrival of my Little Bit. Tick, tick, tick. Wish I had a gift for her. I can't wait until I'm able to begin our morning ride to breakfast and school. I love it when I arrive at my son's house - how she runs out the front door and jumps into my arms. That first sweet squeeze of complete love. The way she cuddles her face into my shoulder. Then the way she feels me in on her nights events. Sometimes she'll have a picture she's drawn for me and how she'll watch for my reaction as I look it over. Of course I always tell her it's a masterpiece.

Just glanced over and found Sweet Wife passed out. She was up and at it at 0500 this morning. Makes me feel so awful she's been forced into the roll of caregiver. I'll never be able to repay her, but I'll do my very best.

 
I'd sure enjoy a day on the range...my trigger finger itches.

At least I'm home.

Stephen