Second Thoughts

A text arrived today from a man with a request to purchase one of my restored Coleman camp stoves. One of three or four I finished last summer. My favorite, the big two burner model 413G - she was manufactured in 1971. A year which found my sore feet and rear bumping down a trail in Africa where Coleman camp stoves were an everyday essential.  

This is tough.

(Standard stock photo off  Bing, not my stove.)

I'm befuddled as to why I have second thoughts. It needs a new home. The price listed is ridiculous when I consider the hours involved, all the tedious busted knuckle days of labor put into her rebirth. But still, this doesn't explain my reluctance. Heck, I've two other of her kind on standby, and have plans to begin their restorations very soon. (The humidity must be perfect and my garage door open. Not yet.)

If the gentleman keeps his appointment I will wave her out the door. It'll be sad though.

Or not.

Stephen 

(Update - she's gone. Sniff.)

Too Early, blah

It's just too early. Turn over and sleep...

The world will wait.

Stephen

Our Little Friend

Thirty minutes ago came a soft knock on our front door. I flipped on the entry light to find this little beanpole of sweetness, Valentine gifts in hand.

Please, may I introduce, Arianan. She holds a strong love and attraction to Sweet Wife. She and her grandmother attend the same church. Arianan is eight, and a bundle of fun. Her visit tonight took us by surprise and she caught both of us in our pajamas...

She also knows the whereabouts of all Little Bit's toys, dolls, and stuffed animals. Whenever she visits she makes a direct beeline to Little Bit's bedroom. I'm sure Little Bit would understand.

Above she sits and plays alongside her 'Aunty's' chair.

It's nice to have a child about the house. I think we'll keep her.

Stephen

For All the Girls in My Life

May you each receive diamonds, chocolate, roses of red, and a fine dinner. Most of all, I wish you an evening of peace and love, a warm fireside fur rug, and the joy of blissful sleep in the arms of the man of your dreams.

(Private moment here.)

Sweet Wife, my dear, I'll see you this evening. I love you.

Stephen

Welsh Rabbit

My monthly copy of Shooting Times arrived today. I slipped it from the mailbox, and as I walked the drive back to the house, I absently flipped to the last page to Bart Skelton's column. Bart, for those of you not a fully paid member of the gun culture, is the son of Skeeter.

Anyway, the theme of Bart's article is his recipe for Welsh rabbit. I haven't eaten Welsh rabbit since Moses was a child. I made notes.

The authors recipe is different in that he uses green chiles and wild mushrooms. I'd substitute any mushroom within reach because I'm not sure about you but wild mushrooms are kinda hard to find in my neck of the woods.

Take a walk in the fresh snow tomorrow and find those rabbit tracks and knock a few in the head with your favorite small game rifle and bring 'em home and whip out a fine dinner. This recipe should work well with quail, too. I'll hunt the wild aisles of the Publix supermarket.

For the adventurous here's Mr. Skelton's Welsh Rabbit.

1-2 Cottontails, I'd recommend you first skin them.
Or, 4-6 Quail, breasts and legs.

2 cups of flour.
Oil.
Green chiles, peeled and chopped.
1onion.
Various wild (or domestic) mushrooms.
Red wine.
Water.
Salt, pepper.

Dredge the cottontails and/or quail in flour and drop in hot oil. Brown them on both sides but do not cook all the way through. Place the rabbit/quail and the drippings in a covered casserole dish, preferably stone. Add chiles, mushrooms, onion, wine, and water. Season to taste. Place in oven at 275 degrees and let simmer until the meat falls apart, about an hour and a half to two hours. Serve with with fresh bread.

Enjoy.

Stephen

Wind Chill

The thing about Florida's humid climate is when the weather turns towards cold and the wind whips out a steady thirty with the occasional burst capable of cracking tree bark the result is a soul searing deep bone hurt.

Let me put it into simple words; it's friggin cold.

And, I like it.

Stephen

Just Because

Two minutes of nice.

Stephen