Bits & Pieces

Stepped outside this morning to crisp cool weather with just a hint of brambly oak smoke in the air. I love it. The river was flat and gray as I climbed into my truck, very strange as there is normally a bit of wind to stir the water. Either way, I'll take it as we only get two days of winter here.

Florida, given its preferences, sucks; all this sunshine has a tendency to depress the heck out of me.

Yesterday halitosis man came into the shop to chat. I'm sure each of you have a halitosis person in your life. Well, my man is a senior citizen, a gunny that loves to restore old world war two equipment, including machine guns and rifles. He's the only man I know that drives a Willy's Jeep with a mounted Ma Deuce. Kinda cool, and it sure scares the heck out of the local democritters.

When they see the Jeep round the curve they practically run out of their felony fliers.  I like the 'ole boy, don't get me wrong. It's fun to have him hang around the shop and chat. He was jerked up in a little town over on the west coast of Florida, Cedar Key, it's a tiny fishing village of which I've written about in the past. Anyhow, he loves to give heart warming stories of his youth spent out on the waters shooting dolphins (I'll use the local term) you know, Flipper, from television fame....

He swears they are great on the BBQ. He's probably on to something, who knows. Problem is he likes to climb into your face when he speaks, and since his mouth is perpetually open, as in his mouth has a six inch constant gap, and he sports a set of dentures made in Hong Kong, and said dentures seldom if ever are cleaned, his breath can knock over a south bound skunk riding a poop wagon. Talking stink here folks....bad stuff. My nose hairs curl.

He speaks to me, "Hey, Stephen, heeeyyyyy," Whoosh, green fumes....

Stephen, passed out, toes curled.

Like that.

My friends can remember the old fella that used to attend our gun shows. Ask Duke about Stinky. Stinky would clear the floor from body odor. Stinky doesn't hold a candle to halitosis man.

Sorry, it's time to jerk another cup of joe and open the shop.  

Until later.

Stephen

A Gift of Fruit & Herbs

He walked in early this morning bearing a gift, a potted plant held close to his chest. Short little fella, perhaps seventy, wore a fedora.

Without preamble, "You'a help'a my'a grandson, Sir.." Accent is thick. My Italian is none existent. It takes me a moment to understand what in the heck he means. Then, oh yeah, the kid with the rusty pistol, an old Brazilian Panther. A copy of a Smith, made for their fighter pilots chambered in .38. Nothing special. It took three days of soaking to open the cylinder

I refocus on the old man as he continues, "For this'a help I gives you this'a peach tree and 'da basil I plant'a in the soil, 'cause you'a good man."

Shucks.

He explained the peach tree alone wasn't worthy so he'd seeded basil at its base. His son, he explained, had told him I loved to cook using fresh vegetables (true, cans are for emergencies) and herbs.

We talked, with a bit of difficulty due to his thick accent, for about an hour. We spoke of capers, what makes an excellent tomato for sauces, the best of olive oils, pasta and the use of pasta water as a thickening agent for pan dishes. He explained how his wife used a blender to mix fresh basil and olive oil and froze the mixture in ice trays to later thaw for a fresh infusion in her preparations.

We spoke of spring gardens, slugs and bugs. He gave instructions on the planting of the peach tree; not before spring. My peach tree, I understand, will produce small but plentiful extremely sweet peaches in three years.

In the above blurry picture I'm pointing out the basil...he told me to transplant it when it sprouted three 'leaf'as.'

I have a new friend.