Just for Little Bit

It is with considerable difficulty I write this piece. Yet, it's time. Bare with me.

Allow me please to step back in time. Years ago I decided to carry a piece of silver in my pocket. Silver, in whatever form, has been my luck, always.

A few months back, early of a morning, as I went about the routine of pants rotation, as is a man's way, I removed all the bits and pieces from my trouser pockets. Off came the belt, out came the Benchmade, the Surefire, all the loose change, wallet, and well you get the picture. Among these items was my 1880 Morgan silver dollar. (Remember I recently mentioned it.)

For some odd reason I placed it on my bedside table where it was forgotten. I had set aside my luck. Sadly, too, my luck forgot about me. Perhaps my subconscious substituted my silly dependance upon luck to the vintage silver bracelet and Navajo ring I wear daily. Anyway my luck didn't hold. Shortly afterwards my heart was taken from our lives.

Late last year, a few days prior to Christmas, I was piddling in the bedroom in search for something or the other when I brushed aside a loose piece of paper and found my Morgan. I gave it a flip and absently returned the old coin to my pocket. My luck came home.

To those long time followers of this blog you well know my dear wife hasn't seen, nor heard, and certainly hasn't held our grandchildren in almost two years. I'll not repeat the details of how they were ripped from our lives. If you have half a heart you truly understand the sorrow and pain.

She's prayed. Hard. I'm certain her pattela has formed a deep hard callus.

I'll always give credit where due. Certainly our dear Lord heard her prayers but I'd like to believe my old shiny and worn coin, the token of my superstitious luck, played a small part of what I'm about to relate to you.

My lovely wife spent hours in the selection of Christmas gifts for grandchildren she was certain she'd never again visit or allowed her love's expression. Even denied the pleasure of personal delivery of these Christmas gifts she spent hours at our kitchen table and wrapped the boxes with love and care. Out of her sight I'd stand silent and watch as she carefully dressed each gift. Sadly her labor fueled my quiet anger.

As deeply as she felt personal hurt and pain I was the same but with anger.Time developed within me a cold heart of stone. Prayer seldom if ever escaped my lips. I was yin to my wife's yang. I wished to hurt. They, had taken my love, my Little Bit. They, had refused to allow us to know and love our grandson. Many an hour I had sat and caressed my chosen tool of punishment. Wisdom held. Patience is a virtue.

(I guess by now you understand why this is difficult for me, this glance into my soul.)

Then came the eve of Christmas.

She asked if I'd attend the candle light service at her church. Her request came tender with big sad eyes. She knows me well. I am not of her faith but I do respect and believe in Him.

Allow me please another step back. Without the grandchildren in our lives we had settled into a comfortable routine, our daily lives became fairly normal in their absence. As husband and wife our love and respect for each the other grew. When the calendar flipped to December we agreed, silently, to place a hold on Christmas festivities. For the first time since I'd left the service of my country I did not purchase nor decorate a Christmas tree. Outside lights were banned. It was business as normal. After all, other than the birth of our Lord, we had nothing to celebrate. They were absent.

The holidays were, for us, dark and filled with depression. Any hope of a surprise visit from grandchildren was completely out of the question. With this in mind and with my knowledge of her depression I agreed to attend the candle light service. The peace of it was welcomed, and I do tend towards periods of moodiness and to see her smile and laugh would surely dispel my dulled anger.

Along towards sunset on Christmas Eve we loaded the children's gifts. As I drove towards church she said we should wait until after the service to deliver the presents. I absently reached into my pocket and touched the old silver coin, and said, "Let's do it before the service." She agreed. Just like that....

Luck and prayer took hold.

If we'd arrived a minute later we'd have missed them. My son had just, seconds prior to our arrival, returned home from work. He stood in the middle of his driveway and his wife was bent at the back door of her car securing our grandson into his car seat. Our son put on a face not unfamiliar to a deer caught in the hunter's headlight. Sweet Wife asked, "Now what?"  

"Be still and wait," I said.

I stepped from our car and opened the rear and took a armload of gifts and turned towards him and said, "Merry Christmas." He stood gap-mouthed. Then, I glanced over and there sat my Little Bit. She was in the back seat of her step-mother's car. She'd twisted around with only her big brown eyes visible and waved frantically. I waved back.

Sweet Wife appeared at my side and to our surprise and shock our daughter-in-law (She, the one person responsible for all this turmoil.) approached and threw a hug on Sweet Wife. Tears streamed down her face. Then Sweet Wife's dam of sorrow broke and there stood two women in a hard hug and then I felt my heart wrap her arms around my waist. So long, it had been so very long.

Little Bit released me and went to her Nana and gave her grandmother the first hug and kiss either had had in almost two years. My son still had not said a word. He had not moved. Our daughter-in-law then gave permission for us to visit our grand-son, Sport Model. She reached and took us both in her arms, an embrace that so shocked me I didn't know how to react. Then she said, "It isn't right for a family to go so long without speaking to each other."

As Little Bit held my hand we walked to their car and bent to visit our grandson. The little fella looked at me and pointed towards my face. Sweet Wife gave him a kiss and hug and then he pointed at his shoes, turned to her, and spoke the very first word ever uttered in her presence....he said, "Spiderman."

Every second or two I'd bend and give Little Bit kisses. I whispered over and over how much we loved and missed her. She's grown tall and thin. She seemed to me a frail and tiny bundle yet her pretty brown eyes flickered with joy. My last words to her, "You are the light of my life," I pray she remembers.  

Then it was over. They too were to attend a candle light service at their church. Then came another shock. Just before we departed my son shook my hand, hugged me and said, "I'm sorry about all this, Dad."  I replied, "Me too."

I extended a welcome for a visit. Told him we'd be home all of Christmas day. They were invited anytime even if for just a few minutes. He smiled and said, "Maybe."

On our drive to the candle light service Sweet Wife repeated, over and over, "Thank you, Jesus, oh thank you." Her face was a study in tears and joy.

Later, the lights dimmed and hundreds of candles flickered, held high, and I smiled. It was beautiful.

They say God works in mysterious ways. I'm but a mere mortal man so my thoughts on the subject of His actions are not important and still a mystery to me. Perhaps it was my new found coin of luck, or the Good Lord himself, or a combination of both, either way a crack has appeared in the dam, and my wish is for this flaw to deepen and grow and allow our family once again unity, and love.

Until that day we wait. Since the eve of Christmas we haven't a word.

(I post this piece without the effort of edit. Please forgive me any mistakes.)

Stephen










 
 

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

It Worked

Your prayers have worked. Thank you very much. This is a quick one (I'm busy, first day back and all) but wanted to let all my good friends know my brother is better. Still hospitalized, but better. I spoke to him this morning via phone and he seems cheerful. He's far from well, but with the grace of our Lord he'll continue his fight.

Again, thank you all very much, I'm blessed by your presence.

Stephen

Update

As of 11:00 p.m. eastern, my brother is still in the emergency room. He is not allowed visitors. His immune system has been compromised by a raging infection in his kidneys, bladder, and prostate. Doctors found a golf ball sized tumor on his prostate. A specialist in infectious diseases has been called and is on the case.

Thank for your kind words and prayers.

It will be a long night.

Stephen

Bits and Pieces

We're back to steamy hot weather. It's oppressive and makes life outdoors difficult. I've wanted to do a bit of clean-up work on my travel trailer for weeks now and since the weather is so nice....chose this morning.

My home is covered and shaded by oaks, hickories, and two large Longleaf pines. Leaves I have in abundance. During the Spring of the year catkins flower and die and then rain down covering all surfaces with not only their spent yellow pollen but also brown dead catkin debris. My travel trailer and house suffer for it.

I gathered items needed for work, opened the trailer and set the a/c to 75. I checked the toilet and, sure as shooting, it was dry. Not a good thing. The rubber seal needs a bowl of standing water or it dries and cracks and then it's time for money, like that.

Back outside I pulled out the awning, set my step ladder and went to work. With a high pressure water nozzle I jetted out the rain gutters and cleaned the awning. Fun work in the heat, really.

It's amazing how much leaf matter collects between the awning and gutters.

Ready to clean.

I cant the awning to help the water drain.

And here is another shot, boring stuff, huh. I let it drain and dry for most of the day. Today we have sunny and partly cloudy weather. With my luck a thunderstorm will build within the hour.

After I closed shop yesterday I took Sweet Wife and Little Bit to the fish market. I needed a few pounds of fresh shrimp for today's Shrimp Creole. I'll be using my friend Kitchen Witch's granddaddy's recipe.
While we were there Sweet Wife asked if I'd prepare a fish dinner for last night's meal. I chose Vermillion Snapper, fresh from the Atlantic. We're lucky to have one of the best fish markets in the city. They get six to seven daily deliveries.
I like this little (so to speak) fish market. But, they have one heck of a nice scam. When I purchase any seafood item I always ask for the whole fish, or if shrimp, head on in the shell. I utilize the back bones and heads. and those shells, for stock. Stock is expensive when purchased. With just a little effort on my part I can have gallons in my freezer; it's prefect and adds flavor lacking in water to creoles, chowders, bouillabaisse, pilaf and other rice dishes.

Now, my friends at the fish market, with full knowledge most people only want fileted fish and heads off shrimp, keep those backbones and heads and place them on ice on the market floor with a marked price of $1.50 per pound. Think about it. You've just paid $6.99 for a pound of fish and walked out with only filets.
Fine, it's their business and if people are foolish enough to leave them another profit market, good for them. Nearly every chef in our city walks in and buys these wonderful stock ingredients at a, comparatively speaking, cheap price and present high priced meals to the same public.

 
My Little Bit at the fish market. She wanted to know if 'it' would bite.

The above was, 'it.'

Fresh shrimp from our local waters. This is for Arsenius...

Sweet Wife at the market...she doesn't know I took this photograph, hence the reason it's here...

Stock prep.

I never add herbs or seasoning to any seafood stock as it has a way of over-powering the final results. I simply bring to a boil, lower the heat and simmer (most of the time) over night. Strain and freeze. With tonight's Creole I will use shrimp stock from my freezer.

But first I have several pounds of shrimp to peel and clean...see you guys later.

Stephen

Welcome and Thanks

Over the last few days many nice people have clicked the 'follow' button. I've gone from six, I think, to twenty five in just a few days. Thank you all very much and welcome. I will do my best to make your visits a pleasant experience.

May I introduce my Sweet Wife and grandchildren.

My grandson, Sport Model in his grandmother's arms. He's not quite nine months old. This photo was taken at my son's home. Perhaps one day he'll stand still and I will post a picture of him and his sweet wife.

Little Bit and her Nana.

Again, thank you so much for your friendship and support.

Stephen