Friday, April 29, 2016

Bringing Home the Bacon

As my long time readers know, I  tend to be in an environment on and off work where it's pretty much all male.  I'm used to that.  In my last professional position, the guy I replaced was a General (gee, no expectations there). My current  "Secretary" is a guy, ex Army.  One of my long time best friends, outside of Partner, is a guy, Army CID.  It's taught me a lot about honor, sweat, blood and hard work and pulling together as a team.

But it does give me a different perspective on how very different, and how very alike, we all can be.

Names have been changed to protect the guilty.  Remember a couple of years ago and a talk of a looming bacon shortage?

Me:  OMG Aporkalypse! 

A: (pulling out the news article and passing it around)  I sent messages last night to the guys on Facebook warning them about a possible bacon shortage!

B.  How did they react?

A. (with a look of concern) "Dude, they unfriended me!
I understand, because even though I eat a lot of fruit and veggies and bean and grain based proteins, I LOVE my bacon. Especially THIS Bacon - brought to us from Indiana.
Everyday friends like you on Facebook 

Once in a lifetime friends bring you Amish bacon from BeefMart when they come over.

It's Friday night - WHAT to do with the bacon? How about cheeseburgers with bacon caramelized with honey, molasses, bourbon and chili? (yes, some wine was harmed in the shooting of this food post).
Four pieces of bacon were brushed with a mixture of about a Tablespoon of honey, 1 teaspoon molasses, 2 teaspoons Bourbon and a couple of dashes of ancho and regular chili powder, as they came out of the pan, almost done, then popped under the broiler just long enough to caramelize the sugars and finish cooking
That topped a pound of burger mixed with a teaspoon of McCormick Molasses Bacon Grillmates seasoning, a pinch of crushed red pepper and half of a small onion caramelized in the bacon drippings, the patties then grilled on the barbecue.
Top with some smoked cheddar and fresh from the oven hamburger rolls (telework days allow for rising yeast) and insert theme from Jaws here as Abby pops up from the depth of the rug.
I LIKE Fridays.

Thursday, April 28, 2016

Monday, April 25, 2016

A Barkley Memory - Sage Advice

Let go of the life that was planned.
 Only then can you see the life that was waiting.
 -  The Book of Barkley

Saturday, April 23, 2016

Lessons From Our Parents


There is no greater enhancement to beauty, than confidence.
- Brigid

I found it there in the closet of my big brother's room, a little Savage, that had been my Dad's. It still had no child safety lock and didn't when I first picked it up when I was 12.

My parents believed in providing us challenges. I was on the back of a big horse before I was even tall enough to climb on without assistance. At first I sat with an intrepid awkwardness, even with some lessons and the adventuresome spirit that seems to have been inherited by all the women in our family. The mare had been ridden by all the kids in the family and she seemed to sense my timidity and moved slowly and patiently as I took measure of her and myself as my parents watching carefully. I broke into a grin as she began to pick up speed with my encouragement. Leaning forward I let out a yell as we broke into a gallop, as if by doing so I could outpace the mare. We ran out free of the fence lines, free of ourselves, racing with a quality of movement in our motion totally separate from the pound of hooves or the whoop of joy as I discovered flight in its oldest form. So it was with all discoveries my parents exposed us to in that wild country, the next of which was in the form of that Savage .22.


For my parents a firearm wasn't some purpose of evil, but something that would help us learn and grow, with learning to use it as important as the possession. I held it, wood smooth under my hand, the sun at the quarry where we would shoot it shining off of the barrel. When I touched it, I felt an excitement of responsibility and promise whose reason I could not put into words at that age, being too young to articulate that. I felt responsible. Yes. Responsible. For something that cost most than many months allowance would ever replace. Responsible for the trust my parents put in me in handing over the legacy of guns in our house. Responsible for myself, my brothers. To use it properly.

So we watched, we learned. We started with soda cans in that old quarry, or out in the woods, using the center of the can as a little target area. We were well aware that for an adult it was a right, but a child it was a privilege, and one we worked hard at our schoolwork and chores, to maintain. Responsibility had to be earned. Trust had a price.

We paid attention, we listened. It didn't mean we didn't make mistakes, but they weren't potentially deadly ones. We weren't taught just how to clear a misfire, or clean our weapon or to hit a nice grouping. We were given the talents to be safe and ethical shooters, guardians of an outdoor heritage of survival, stewards of the essential liberties which we now pass on to our children.

When we showed we could handle the smaller rifles and shotguns, a family member let us try out an 8 mm Mauser. It was heavy, it seemed to be as long as I was tall, and when I fired it, the recoil about knocked me down. There was a flash of powder and light as Thor's hammer struck in a slow, solid repercussion of sound and force that I felt all the way down my legs, in muscles and places I'd forgotten I had. Then the air cleared, a vacuum, an interval of recognition and amazing clarity and I knew something; in the tremble of flesh and the warmth of my hands. I wanted this. I wanted this again. I don't care if it will probably hurt me some in the process.

So many days where we would go out. We shot until we were out of ammo and our arms ached, and even then, worn out from the day, handed the guns back carefully with deep and somnolent reluctance. Even today I feel that, ammo can echoing, trigger finger aching from the pull of the .38, and I hate to leave - one more, one more shot. Please. The last bullet is carefully loaded, and its discharge explodes into sound; a report out of proportion to the small piece of air it pushed aside, as if by firing it obtained some sort of ravening possibility, not to be inhibited by anything, not by threat, or by cold or by wind. It fired in a burst of sound that put one last neat clean hole through the dead center of the target. Then the echo of silence.

I gather my range gear in an old green military tote bag in which are a just a few pistol pouches and supplies. The bag is old and worn, not much different than that I used as a child. The smell of gunpowder kissing my hair, the ache in my arm and my hand making me feel so very alive, no different than those days so long ago. In the quiet of a range gone cold, I hear my Dad's voice in my head. Well done kiddo, well done. I'd been here two hours, I could tell that from the sun, and the sound of the many birds in the trees. They were everywhere, constant and ceaseless, happy, chattering along with the various conversations as the shooters took a break. Shooters sharing information, knowledge and history, just as my parents shared with us.


I was a bit stiff, the knee aching as it does when there is a pressure change in the atmosphere.  But the walk to the truck parked away from the range line would cure that, the urgent beating of my heart timed with the slap of the gun bag against my hip as I covered the distance across the now empty parking lot. My weapon, so much different than my first, yet still a paladin of equity, a fighter for justice.

I walk with that steady gait that is both aim and purpose, being free with that singular carrying of arms that abrogates both timidity and hesitation. It's a stride borne of training and practice so as to relegate fear to a place far away. I may be alone, but I am safe. I am safe because someone loved me enough to give me the tools to be confiden

Thursday, April 21, 2016

RIP Prince - Gently Weeping


Prince's music and his genius were the reason he was one of the few musicians that pulled me away from a budding career and schooling, a schedule too busy for the usual interests of young people. But I listened, so much and more than once, standing in line in West Coast rain to see the movie Purple Rain, and buying the music, even though money was beyond tight. That music got me through make ups, break ups, bad landings, and bad decisions, as I finally came into my own.

Look at the video. 2004 George Harrison Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Induction with Tom Petty, Steve Winwood, Jeff: Lynne and George's Son, Dhani Harrison. There  about 34 seconds in, when he picks the high E rapidly, while alternatively fretting the note and leaving it open. I’ve never seen anyone do this since. . . ever. Whether you are a fan or not, this is guitar legend. The look on George Harrison's son behind him says it all.

Monday, April 18, 2016

Happy Birthday Mr. B.

Yes, I know they are your panties. I'm blaming Stockholm Syndrome and I did it for the Cat.

Happy Birthday

. - for many years of friendship and memories, especially those with our four legged friends.

Brigid

Sunday, April 17, 2016

Quote for the Week

Confidence is silent.  Insecurities are loud.

Friday, April 15, 2016

When Dogs Dream

We've all seen our dogs when they dream. The back legs may twitch, sometimes they give out a soft little woof.  Barkley on more than occasion gave out a long  mournful howl, like the Hound of the Baskervilles.

But I wonder - what does Abby Normal dream she is doing?  Is she having an adventure?  Is she famous? Is she stealing stuffed animals with squeakers?













I guess I'll never know.

Wednesday, April 13, 2016

Abby Normal the Labrador here, blogging for my Mom tonight.

Comcast quit working for over six hours today, for the whole Village.  Mom was trying to work from home, and ended up having to use leave since she couldn't work, and there wasn't enough time to actually make the trip into the city to go to the workplace there since she had her acupuncturist appointment on her lunch break in the early afternoon. Plus she missed a dead lion she was supposed to handle and she has a new secretary, a  young man just out of the Army, and she wasn't online to help HIM get help with some things.
Let's just say she's a little bit CRANKY tonight.  She's banging around the kitchen with a wooden spoon muttering HBO phrases that involve "Comcast."  Plus she said this Friday on Casual Day she's going to go in  to work wearing a bathrobe and a tiara and have her box of wine under her arm.

I think I will stay out of her way for a bit.  Dad has been warned and will arrive home bearing alcohol and a box of Dots.  Thank goodness there's homemade fried chicken left from last night or dinner might have been just something on the rocks.

Abby  - reporting from the safety of the living room.

Sunday, April 10, 2016

Good Advice

"My advice is keep your lips away from the spinning things."
 -Adam Savage - Mythbusters

Thursday, April 7, 2016

Strutting for the Seniors - a Dog Fundraiser

The Book of Barkley is a monthly contributor to Lab Rescue LRCP of Maryland, one of the first lab rescue groups we met after the book was written. It's a wonderful group of people who donate so many hours of their time as volunteers. One of those special ladies is Carol Lagunda, who has become a good  friend. She is a multiple "foster failure" taking in the Senior dogs that stand poor chances of being adopted and keeping them, now including Gomer, Gemna and Queenie
Queenie is extra special.  She came with a large inoperable cancerous tumor on her leg and was quite advanced in years.  Her previous owners did not have it treated (and it was likely treatable when it was small) and when her days grew shorter they just left her scared and hurting at a shelter and walked away.  Carol was NOT going to let her go to yet another home when she got comfortable with her family as a foster, bonding especially with Gemma, another elderly female lab that's a permanent member of the family. She's a well loved and happy member of the household now. There's nothing the doctors can do, for any amount of money, but with good Veterinary care, a warm bed and excellent food she's comfortable and enjoying her days filled with love.

I know how glad I am we adopted Senior Lab Abbie from a rescue group in Indiana.

So this year, with Lab Rescue doing their annual fundraiser, think about sponsoring Carol (and Queenie) in their


walk to raise money for the shelter.  Lab Rescue LRCP places over A THOUSAND Labs into loving homes each year and the Vet bills, getting them healthy and fostered, can be in the six figures.  Even a $5 pledge helps the dogs. The Book of Barkley fund got her going and a number of folks have added to the amount (thanks everyone!)

Thanks to all of you that foster, transport, walk or love a senior rescue. And thank you especially for everyone that supports animal rescue.
Walkies!  Walkies!

Wednesday, April 6, 2016

Getting Old is Not for Wimps


You know that scene in Rocky when he is running up and down the stairs? Don't do that when you're missing most of your meniscus.  And don't do four flights of stairs multiple times.

My right knee is swollen up like a politician's ego, and hurts like a ($#@ because on top of that, Abby Lab gave a good yank on the leash trying to light out after a rabbit and tweaked what little is left in my knee pretty good.

I just called my trainer to tell her the weight session might be put off tomorrow for a hot time with an ice pack.

I'll be back tomorrow.

Monday, April 4, 2016

Coming in From the Cold -

Saturday we snow/sleet and 60 mph gusts, yesterday it got close to 70 and everyone was running around in their shirtsleevse.  Today it's back in the low 30's and spitting snow again.

No spies here, but someone is going to come in from the cold, with temperatures in the 60's one day, the 30's the next.  With variable weather and lots of outdoor chores to do around the place during days off (don't ask when I  had a day off involving martini's, evening wear and a cabana boy, that would be never), it makes for some cold and hungry folks, spies or otherwise.

Here's something you can throw together easily with an inexpensive cut of roast for some of the tastiest, tenderest, juiciest roasts around.
Saute 1/2 chopped  large sweet onion and 1-2 cloves garlic in olive oil until tender.  Set aside. Dust a 3-4 pound Angus pot roast generously with cracked pepper and Summer Savory (or substitute a mix of thyme and sage).  Sear in olive oil on high in an Enamel French oven (or dutch oven) a couple minutes per side.  Remove to a plate and reduce heat to medium.  Pour 1/4 cup Balsamic Vinegar ( I used Artesano's 25 year Bourbon Barrel aged) and simmer, scraping up browned bits until reduced to half (about 2 Tbsp).  Reduce heat to low, add onion/garlic and top with roast. 

Pour a bottle of good dark beer over the top (if you use Bud Light Lime I will personally send a team of trained assassins to take away your Man Card), add two bay leaves and cook  in the covered French Oven on the stove top on low for about 3 1/2 to 4 hours (you could also crock pot it on low 7-8 hours after searing the meat).

I served with some baked potatoes the size of raccoons (we ended up splitting them), peas (sorry Old NFO) and homemade whole wheat sourdough bread to sop up the juices.


Everyone was happy, and I'm more than happy to share the not so classified recipe.

Sunday, April 3, 2016

Cold Blue Case Files

Sometimes all you need is that one little piece of evidence. Sometimes you just need that one little ingredient. But, quoting the Stones, "You can't always get what you want".

But sometimes you get what you need. I learned that early on. My grandmother learned to cook in the depression era and could make about anything without some ingredient, be it flour, or eggs or sugar, finding substitutes in her cupboard or in the wild. From her, widowed in her 30's when my Norweigian grandfather was killed in a logging accicdent, my Mom, and the next generation learned to fix their weapons and tools with what was on hand, build a fire from scratch and just generally survive. But they did more than survive, they learned to make and tend to wondrous things, everything from scratch to save money. I've learned to do the same.
"Making do" got me thinking about another thing that needed to be tended to a while back; a couple small scuffs on my standard big city carry. Just a tiny little ding or two. Something a cold blue technique would work for. With the high cost of a professional reblue, many of us may have to admit we've attempted to blue an entire gun with cold blue, as some of the cold blue manufacturers promoted doing so. NOT a good idea. Frankly my gun turned out to be the cosmetic equivalent of Snooki on Jersey Shore. No matter what brand you use, it's difficult to avoid streaks or patchy spots. Yes, the dreaded "gun leprosy" on a large area made more noticeable as the color is just not quite right, like that paint you loved on the sample at Lowe's that just looks different on your wall. Unless you are part wizard, part gunsmith, the home done all-over cold blue just doesn't impart that beautiful blue black tone you expect from a professional job.

But bluing does get worn, rusted or or gouged with use, and we find yourself soon singing the blues again. But I might advise, for the average person, to use a cold blue just for those small little touch ups. Cold blues only work on normal carbon steels. Some guns, or parts thereon--such as the barrels on my Remington 700 Magnums--are made of stainless steel. They are not blued but darkened with a plating that gives the illusion of bluing. If the metal shows absolutely no sign of darkening, it's probably stainless or some other alloy, which may require a custom touch-up job.

Bluing only works on steel or stainless steel parts for protecting against corrosion. Because it changes the Fe into Fe3O4, it does not work on non-ferrous material. Aluminum and polymer parts are largely unaffected by bluing; no protection against corrosion is provided by bluing processes on them, although uneven staining of the aluminum and polymer parts can be caused by attempts at bluing.

By cold blue, for the new to firearms, I mean the "touch up" bluing that is simply swabbed on. If you're doing it to add color, well, it's better than painting :-) but it offers no rust protection. All blued parts still need to be properly oiled to prevent rust. What it is good for is simply touching up those small areas, those little dings or worn spots that aren't bad enough for a quality reblue but need a bit of color and cover to perk things up. Sort of like my little "Spackle box" of makeup, it provides that little bit of "something" to draw the eye to the finer features.

Like Coca Cola, the quality cold blue manufacturers have highly guarded formulas, each solution with different quality. What you need to concern yourself with is durability, and yes, color. For areas that take a licking, safety buttons, the top levers, bolt handles, you're thinking more for durability. For the rest, a good color match has it's selling points. Some of the newer brands, frankly aren't all that durable and don't pass the steel wool muster.

My favorite - Brownell's Oxpho-Blue. This stuff is tough. You can scrub on it with fine steel wool until the chickens come in to roost and it will not harm the finish one bit. It is also not as picky on grease, oil, and fingerprints when bluing and is much tougher than others. I've used it on an old Mauser that had been used as a can opener I think, to great success.

You can order it from Brownells - World's Largest Supplier of Firearm Accessories, Gun Parts and Gunsmithing Tools or Cabelas carries it as well. Cabela's Official Website - Quality Hunting, Fishing, Camping and Outdoor Gear at competitive prices. It does, however have an appearance that's almost charcoal, more darkest grey than blue/black, and it's a bit more shiny than matte. You may want to try other brands for a color you like better, this is simply my favorite. Some folks online say they've had good luck mixing two or more different brands, alternating between coats. I'd caution anyone from mixing different solutions of different properties. Randomly mixing chemicals can quickly earmark you for the Darwin Awards.

Another reason I like the Brownells. With many blues the littlest bit of oil can mar the end results, but Brownells handles it a bit better than other brands if the gun's not a pristine clean. In fact, the tried and true way I've used it for "touch-ups", is with steel wool, which has a fair amount of oil present in it (to keep the fibers from rusting).

It's easier than you think for a little cosmetic work. Remove the microscopic rust and oil residue by buffing with 000 steel wool. If you don't go wild on it, it won't hard the adjacent bluing. If you've used some of the high-tech lubricants and rust preventatives on the market, especially those containing silicone, you may find it hard to remove from the metal and it may resist the bluing.

Cleaning the metal? A little evaporating solvent such as lacquer thinner or alcohol. Then apply the bluing mixture as per the instructions. Size the application swab to the area being worked on, so you don't get the equivalent of a 38C bra, trying to fit a pair of 32AAs. For tiny little dings, use a toothpick. Q-tips, which you should have on hand for general gun cleaning, are great for the slightly larger little scuffs, and for the large areas, try some cotton balls clamped in a clothespin, or a bit of old clean t-shirt.

Try and do just one pass with the solution, and as evenly as you can, keeping the applicator as saturated with fluid as possible without dripping. The steel getting a good steady bath of it produces the best results. Watch that you don't get the solution on the areas you don't want to blue, that can leave a little "ring" around the area you are working on as areas you didn't want to darken just may. If you see a spot where the solution sort of beads up from a a bit too much oil (like sharp corners), try lightly rubbing these spots with a very sodden Q-tip. Use a new swab for each application, as the residue that can build up degrades the effect you're going for. With the Oxpho blue, what works even better for a deep, streak free finish is, after swabbing it on, use some steel wool, 0000 or finer. Use it like a cloth, no heavy rubbing pressure, it's being blued as well, as it is distributing the bluing solution.

Another suggestion is the Brownells "Oxpho-Blue" Creme Formula which might be a little easier to work with than the liquid. You still need to degrease thoroughly, then try heating the part with a heat gun to just "very warm" applying the bluing with that same type steel wool, and work it in like polishing it and do this several times.

The amount of coats can very, small receptive little parts may just take two or three. In other areas you may need a half dozen or more. If after several coats of cold blue there are spots that just refuse to darken, start over by sanding the area with fine sandpaper. How fine depends on the polish of the adjacent metal; not more than 320- or 400-grit though.

If the process seems to be stalling out, it's time to quit, put everything in a safe place, wash your hands and have a beer. With some blues you'll get to the point where it starts to make it look worse, not better. Remember, you'll not get that same dark richness as you can with a factory blue or a hot blue. It's intended for a little "refreshing" not a complete refinish.


And finally, in my opinion, there are just some guns you don't care if there are a few little tiny dings. Sure you want to prevent rust on those, and you will, with fine care. But covering up every little defect on an older gun is something I would not do for certain weapons. Are not the worn spots from Grandfathers hands, from Dads rifle rack, badges of honor and markers of history? Battle scars honestly won, the marks of hard hands on harder steel, those are history and should not be lightly erased. The worn edges of an officers pistol, carried for twenty years in service and passed on to the family, shows pride in service, not something I would wish to alter.

Around my own eyes are just the faintest beginnings of lines, from laughter mostly. I have my own small dings as well. That little one across my hairline where I decided to see if I could do Mach .82 on my bicycle, the tiny scar above my eye where I wrestled with a tree blind and lost, the few small freckles from hours spent chasing after pheasants in the heart of our nation. These little scuffs, these little marks, are as much a part of me as my breath. And no matter how many years I still have, though I'll wear my sunscreen diligently, I'm not going to resort to any surgical or chemical processes to rid myself of them. When time ages me, I'll wear it with honor.

Some things are just left alone, remaining as they are, with every little thing that makes them particularly unique, each life experience that makes them special - small marks on our memory.

But if you want a little touch up for your sidearm, the cold blue process is worth trying.

Friday, April 1, 2016

Game Night

I was seriously behind in cribbage, to the point of being close to being skunked if the next couple of hands played out like the last.

Partner in Grime:  "Well, I could get NO points on the play and you could get 29 points in your hand." (The highest hand possible in cribbage, never seen in our household).

Me:  "Sure - and I can put on those size four pants from high school and go on tour with the Rolling Stones tomorrow."

I  closed the gap with a good hand and didn't get skunked but the end was still not pretty.

Pizza helped.
It's been a VERY busy week - I'm taking tomorrow off and will see you all Sunday.