Chicken Fried Rice

I think this will be tomorrows dinner.

 

Recipe, here. Wouldn't mind adding that Le Creuset pan to my collection too.

Stephen

Monday, and a Tale of a Critter

I hate Monday....I mean truly hate it. Today, Monday, is my day off yet here I am at work. Even the weather sucks. Its sunny and hot, close to fifty-seven degrees.

I've had one customer, so I'm bored. My current read can't hold my interest, so I've taken out my carry piece and have it field stripped for a good clean and scrub. This morning I switched my carry from the Para .45 to a Glock 27 in .40 with its small of the back Galco. I'm weird this way...but I believe it a good practice to switch out your carry pieces now and again if for nothing else to familiarize yourself with all your safe-queens.

My hands smell of Break Free. Keyboard is sticky. Rambling, aren't I.

Just finished a long conversation with an old friend of mine. He's a retired Birmingham homicide detective. Nice fella, older at seventy-six with a head of pure white hair. Not in bad shape for a senior citizen and makes for a fine back-up in sticky situations. I've proof of his grit.

Last September he was here in the shop along with another friend of mine, Pirate Jim, when a critter (democrat) stuck his head in my door demanding cash. Long story short, within seconds the critter had three handguns pointed at his nose, and I, in a very loud voice, suggested he (the critter) should leave my property if he wanted to live. (I make light of the situation now, but trust me, at the time it was kinda intense.) Now, here's the funny part. After we drew our weapons, all in condition one, and had clear fire on said critter, the critter looked me straight in the face and said, "Well, ya'll be gots guns, huh. Well, mothafuck*rs, so do I."

The critter then proceeds to lift his shirt tail and takes a black semi-auto democritter brand piece from his pants. The handgun had been wrapped with black electrical tape. Extended magazine stuck out of the grip. I, as calm as possible, suggested if he lifted or moved the firearm, I'd kill him dead right there....I meant it.

Then, and I swear to our Lord, the idiot said, "Hey, motherfuck*r, mine be loaded."

Really, he said that....

The critter's eyes were jittery, so I suppose he was as high as a kite. Anyway, here this dumbass was with three handguns pointed at him; my old friend the retired cop with a fine vintage .38 wheel gun, and Pirate Jim with his little carry piece and me with a Beretta 92FS, and he still insisted I give him cash.

I had locked my vision on his hands and had my trigger finger firmly snug. In as loud of a voice as I could possibly generate told him in no uncertain terms if he moved his hands I'd shoot. The old cop gently waggled his piece, Pirate Jim the same....we were seconds from gunfire when I yelled, "Look around you, dumbass. (Paraphrasing here.) If you move you are dead."

The critter did take a moment to look around. He cut his eyes right and left then ever so slowly returned his gang piece back into his pants and stepped back. He reached to open the door. Just as his hand closed on the doorknob he decided he had to 'get back his respect,' and said, "Hey, motherfuck*r, you gots to be closed sometime tonight." I don't really remember what I replied but the old cop said I told him I'd be right here if he wanted to return. Whew....

Now I'm gonna be honest with you, my friends. I did not want to shoot the critter. As a matter of fact, like I've mentioned, I must have thanked the good Lord Jesus a hundred times on the drive home. I'm aware many of you would have fired. I understand. I had every legal right to put this man down but held fire. (I was later told by two U. S. marshals, friends and longtime customers of mine, I should have done them a favor and shot the sucker, but they understood why I held back. They also said if I'd of called the local police it would have been a waste of my time. I agreed on that point.)  They asked me for a description of the critter and I gave it over. Asked why and they said they'd find the sucker if it took 'em a year. I believe them. Dwayne and Mike are my kinda people.

Sorry...off track. Anyway.

Try if possible to imagine the rest of my evening if I had indeed put the critter on the ground. My group was due any moment for our monthly meeting - can you picture a load of cops as they stroll into my business and find several armed men and a dead body taking space on my shop floor...yeah, neither can I.

If I'd indeed killed the critter, the police would have found a dead body covered in blood on my nice carpet, which instantly requires them confiscate my carry piece. Then we'd have television coverage (Oh, that would have been wonderful for business.) then, me, taken into custody for a question and answer session with a night in a holding cell. Yeah, right. Think Zimmerman.

 
I'd like to believe it was my age, compassion, and maturity (chuckle) that saved this young man's life. He was lucky. If he had moved his hand I would have fired. This morning my old cop friend said he was surprised I didn't drop the man. Then, he said, "But Stephen, you did the right thing."

So please remember the unintended consequences the next time you find yourself about to pull the trigger on your firearm. Sure, I would have walked, after all we have Stand Your Ground here in Florida, but my actions would have haunted me for the rest of my life. Do protect yourself. Do take the shot if you feel your life is in danger....but take a moment (Trust me, a zillion thoughts will cross your mind as you pull your weapon.) and think about what happens one second after.

By the grace of God I've escaped three such encounters over the last few years. I'd like to think an angel rides my shoulder.

Take care.

Stephen
 

Ramblings on Food

Our old cat is sound asleep in the wife's chair. She's old, I'd guess her age, since we really don't know for sure, at about twelve. Her name is Patches, named thus by the wife for the white spots on her front legs.

We both love our old cat. She has made a fine lap warmer over the years, but here's the thing - the wife believes I accepted this bundle of fur into our home as a pet - nope. An explanation, and confession is required.

As a survivalist I look upon her as a potential meal, if a tough chew, when and if necessary. Otherwise why keep critters about the house. They're expensive. Our old cat only eats certain canned food and the stuff isn't cheap. I'm sure my good friend, Harry understands. He has all those ferrets, cats and dogs underfoot for a reason don't 'ya know. He may balk and give long explanations about companionship and protection, but I know he has long range plans for his oven and griddle when desperate times arrive.

Dog makes for a fine meal. Bit greasy, but tasty none the less. Just an FYI.

Like I said, our cat is old. I've tried to keep her weight stabilized at around ten or so pounds which should yield a dressed out parcel of six or so pounds of fresh meat when the poop hits the fan and my grill is hot and oiled for the feline bar-b-que. So, here's my quandary...should I expedite the field dressing, grill, then search for a fresher cut of cat. You decide.

Kittens are cheaper by the dozen...

*****

Pray tell what do you folks do with beet tops, greens? Yesterday I did a wee bit of shopping and came home with a two bundles of beets. My friend Duke's mother was nice enough to share her beet recipe with me and I'd like to give it a try today. Thing is those beet tops look awful tasty. Never in my life have I utilized beet greens. Oh, and a lamb roast....give those over too.

So, help me out here and I'll reciprocate with my house cat recipe.

*****

My mind is locked firmly on food this morning...perhaps I should shut this computer down and eat breakfast. I just spotted the neighbors poodle, and poodle, I understand, makes for a fine quiche.

Although I recommend a good twenty-four hour salt water soak prior to preparation.

Trust me on this.

Stephen

Later

See you tomorrow morning....

Me, tired.

Stephen

Pinto Beans and Sausage

This cold weather is perfect for a huge mess of pinto beans and sausage. Cornbread with same is a given, I mean, duh.

I'm sure we all have our own recipe for this simple dish, but you haven't try,

This one.

And for goodness sake, try and find a good sausage.

Enjoy.

Stephen

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










 
 

Thanks, and Welcome Aboard

Two new followers have joined the cast and crew of my humble blog. Here's a big thanks and welcome to Angela Lee and The Daily Smug. I'm sure many of you read The Daily Smug if not its linked on my sidebar.

Angela I promise to reply to all comments...to the best of my ability.

Again, thank you and welcome. Pull out a chair and let's have a cup. You are now among friends.

Stephen