Saturday, March 31, 2018

Icelandic Waffle Morning

Have any of you been to Iceland?  Its a common stop for pilots delivering or flying low range corporate airplanes over the pond.  That's a job I did for a year when I had separated out of my previous employment and the airlines weren't hiring.  Unfortunately, back then I wasn't into photography so though there are some fun memories, there are no photos.

The pictures above and below were on the way there from a flight to the Middle East back in the 2000's when a former customer contracted a couple of us to deliver an airplane we were type rated and current in it and my employer gave the OK if I used vacation time for that if I wanted to go along.

 It was an old Gas Guzzler of a steam-gauged jet from the 60's, so multiple stops including the standard stop in Reykjavik.  It's a country where beer was banned until 1989 and alcohol is only sold at Keflavík International Airport and in Víbuðin, the state-run alcohol store, often given the Orwellian nickname 'Ríkið', or 'the government'. So it's not surprising that the only traffic jam you will find in Iceland nowadays is in front of Ríkið on late Friday afternoons and it makes Reykjavik a popular airport to travel into.
Iceland was one place I wish we could have stayed for more than a meal or jet fuel over the years and it's one of the countries I 'd actually love to visit outside of work.  I like the people, the geography of the place, the lack of blistering desert heat, and the food (OK, the roasted sheep head not so much).

What little food I had was excellent, from the awesome English style fish and chips from a little Fish and Chip Vagninn at the harbor in Reykjavik 
to their waffles, light as a cloud, thin and crispy and topped with fresh whipped cream and jam. So I decided to make some this morning.
I have a Swedish Waffle Iron (Chef's Choice 840 from Amazon) that has a low profile to make very thin waffles, crispy on the outside and soft in the middle so I bet I could use the Icelandic Waffle recipe I found in that. This iron has two settings, one for a more uniform crispness and one for crisp on the outside soft on the inside.  That's the setting I always use and these baked up in just 90 seconds.

They turned out incredibly good, and Partner in Grime told me to keep the recipe.  They were actually easier to make than Mom's Swedish ones.  I didn't have to whip the egg white separately and fold in and they were just as soft and fluffy inside.
Icelandic Waffles  (makes 5-6)

1 cup White Lily flour (made of soft winter wheat, makes excellent baked things)
2 teaspoons baking powder
2 and 1/2 teaspoons sugar
3 pinches of salt
2 pinches of Cardamom

Mix  dry ingredients in a large bowl

Melt 3 Tablespoons of butter in a cup in the microwave
Measure out 3/4 cup milk.

Stir about a third of the milk into the dry ingredients.
Stir in melted butter
Stir in remaining milk
add 5 drops of apple cider vinegar or lemon juice
add 1 large egg (room temperature)

Mix until combined but it will still have some lumps.

Cook per your waffle iron instructions (note, this was NOT tried in a thicker standard or Danish waffle iron so your results could vary).  Serve with whipped cream and jam or syrup. I didn't have enough whipped cream after making lefse earlier in the week so I used a simple syrup my Scandinavian Mom used to make.  The recipe is as follows
Country Syrup

1 and 1/2 cups brown sugar
1/2 cup Spring water

In a small heavy saucepan, boil the sugar and water over MEDIUM heat (don't be tempted to raise the temperature, it will scorch).

For a light syrup remove from heat when you get it to a boil.  For a thicker syrup, boil it longer until it starts to spin a threat on the spoon. (that's spin a THREAD, but it made for a brief funny mental image)

Thursday, March 29, 2018

The Father Effect

A quick note before I start work. I don't know if any of you here have seen the film "The Father Effect" It premiered on the Global Catholic Television Network back in December of 2016 and went viral. By Director John Finch, who lost his Dad to suicide at age 11, it chronicles the effects fathers have on our lives. Not just for men, it also shows the perspective of women who missed their father's influence & love in their lives. The film is here at http://thefathereffect.com/. But why I'm writing - Mr.Finch reached out to me through my publisher when the film came out and asked me to write something original (as opposed to an excerpt from one of my books) for their outreach program "Encouraging Dads" webpage. "Encouraging Dad's" is an outreach from the film with its own website. My story, of my Dad and a special bond we had when my Mom was battling terminal cancer, was published last year, and for those of you who weren't on Facebook to see the link, you can click on it below.

Brigid

Wednesday, March 28, 2018

Buckles

No, not THIS kind of buckle.

THIS Kind:
Blueberry Buckle.

Since many of you have not had access to my recipes, I thought I'd add a couple of extra ones this month.  This was pretty quick to put together and not requiring more than some measuring implements, a spoon and a couple of bowls. Plus it was a huge hit with my husband. It's a "not too sweet" cake, loaded with juicy fruit topped with a crackly, spiced sugar and butter topping.
Abby Lab with her squeaky squirrel looked less than excited until she could start smelling it - it made the whole house smell wonderful.

In a large bowl mix with wooden spoon until blended and creamy:

3/4 cup sugar
1/4 cup lard or vegetable shortening
1 large egg
1/4 tsp vanilla
1/2 cup plus 1 teaspoon milk


Stir in:
2 cups sifted flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons baking powder

Fold in:
1 cup dry blueberries

Topping:

In a small bowl mix and set aside:

1/2 cup sugar
1/3 cup sifted flour
2 pinches cardamom
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 cup butter cut into pieces, nuked until about half melted and soft

Grease an 8 x 8-inch glass pan

Pour blueberry batter in pan.

With clean fingers, sprinkle on the streusel topping

Bake in 350 F. oven 45 minutes.

You’ll get some melty sugar on a knife or toothpick when tested for doneness but there should be no wet batter when done.  Run a knife around the edge when slightly cooled, as the topping does tend to stick to the pan - that makes it much easier to serve.

Tuesday, March 27, 2018

Retriever Adventures - The Saga Continues

Face Palm Skeleton - on my shelf of Geek.

I worked from home today to complete a legally convoluted compilation of dead electrons that involved big words, a new computer database that hates me, and the dance of the seven interrogatories after a spider came down on a thread from the ceiling.  Abby Normal the Lab mix rescue enjoys these days. She still gets a dog walker around lunchtime, as I only get 30 minutes for lunch which means that's usually "sandwich and a load of laundry or dinner in the crockpot time".

Abby is much more demure than Barkley ever was, but she's developed quite the personality over time, and like other females in the house, she'll let you know when she's unhappy :-)
Did I ever tell you the undercoat of her fur is most definitely red?

We keep a large water bowl in the living room by the front door, on a mat next to her food bowl. She likes it there where she can get to it easily from all her favorite nap places. On days I work from home, I fill it in the morning, then top it off at lunch as she likes to drink a bunch before the dog walker shows up (more for pee-mail!).  Then when they get back she'll drink a little bit more. I normally then don't have to refill until supper as by then she's had her fill. When I'm gone to the office the dog walker checks on her water supply.

Today, after her walk, I noticed she was looking at her water bowl which was empty but for a sheen of water on the bottom. She must have drunk a TON of water before and after her walk as I'd just filled it completely up before she went out. She'd been little miss Sulky Pants today as Partner in Grime was off to work very early for a meeting so her morning food was 30 minutes late as I don't get up when he normally does on the days I telework.  Plus she didn't get a long walk in early. It's Chicago - we live in the city, not the suburbs, so even in this fairly quiet area I do not walk the streets in the dark in case the prisons open their doors and let out all the convicted former governors. But she got some time in the fenced and lit yard while I watch from the back porch while coffee brews.
"Yes, Abby, I know it's empty."  I also knew she was unlikely thirsty, having drunk pretty much a whole large bowl within the last hour and a half and it not being a warm day out on her walk.  So I went to the basement to get her new bag of dog food opened and in her food container and then I would refill the water.

When I went out to get the water bowl less than 10 minutes later - she left me a sign of her irritation that I hadn't promptly refilled it immediately.

Get this. . .

She POOPED in her empty water dish.  Not sure how, but her aim was spot on.

Some disinfectant and scrubbing later she had some water, which she barely lapped at after giving me the look that said 

"I'm gonna tell Dad!"

Monday, March 26, 2018

Saturday Eats - Philly Cheese steak

With steak cooked in bacon fat, jalepno's and homemade beer cheese, what's not to like?

Range "Philly" (serves two)

3/4 lb. top round steak
2-3 slices bacon
1/2 sweet onion
2-3  small jalapeno peppers chopped- chopped and seeds removed
1/2 cup of sliced bell peppers, assorted colors
2 Tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
3/4  top round steak
salt, pepper, garlic powder (optional)
2 soft  hoagie rolls


Tightly roll the eye round steak into a torpedo or log shape. Wrap tightly in plastic. Place log in freezer for 45 minutes to firm the beef into a tight but not frozen texture.

Make the beer cheese (recipe below) and keep warm.

Remove plastic, and working quickly cut the beef into the thinnest slices possible, then flatten the slices using a meat tenderizer. Refrigerate slices until ready to cook.

Peel onion into paper-thin half moon pieces. Halve the peppers, remove and discard seeds, and then slice into bite sized pieces.

Cook bacon and remove and set aside on a paper towel, leaving bacon fat and adding an additional teaspoon of olive oil if needed to coat pan. Add onions and cook 8 to 10 minutes, until caramelized and softened, stirring frequently. Do not allow them to brown. Transfer onions to bowl; add peppers to same skillet, still over low heat. Cook peppers 10 to 15 minutes, until soft and tender, flipping often.

Transfer to bowl with onions. Season onion-pepper mixture to taste. Cover the bowl with a clean dish towel to keep the mixture warm.

In a clean skillet, warm the remaining 2 tablespoons oil over medium heat. Cook the beef in 2 batches, until lightly browned and cooked through, stirring often. Add additional olive oil to keep meat from sticking if necessary.

Season meat to taste with salt, pepper, and/or garlic powder

Serve meat, peppers, and onions on hoagie rolls, top with Beef cheese, smoked paprika and green onion (optional toppings)

Beer Cheese (serves 4, cut in half if making just two sandwiches, or save remainder for warm chip dip)

12 ounces white cheddar cheese, shredded
1 1/2 tablespoons cornstarch
1 (12 ounce) bottle beer, preferably brown ale
5 ounces evaporated milk
1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
1 teaspoon hot sauce (I use Scoville Brothers Singing Smoke)


Toss cheese with cornstarch in a medium bowl; set aside.

Whisk together beer, milk, mustard, and Worcestershire sauce in a medium saucepan. Heat over medium heat until gently steaming, whisking frequently to prevent scorching.

When beer mixture is warm, add cheese, stirring until completely melted, bubbling slightly, and thickened. Stir in hot sauce and season with salt to taste (with the amount of cheese I didn't add salt)

Warning - Graphic Humor

I  found this online site (Zazzle) where I could create my own author business cards from scratch. I have limited photo editing skills but it was fairly easy to use, and later I made different ones for Small Town Roads and Calexit - The Anthology as they were different genres.
I had to do the Kirkus Review blurb.  I was told NOT to submit my book to them as "They HATE Indie authors and will savage it" from more than one source, including the publisher.  They loved it, featuring it in their dead tree magazine (only a small number of their web reviews make it to the printed magazine) and making me a front-page featured Indie author on their webpage.  Score.

I thought the cards turned out fairly nice and they were quite inexpensive so I used the same website again to try to create a unique card for my hubby who had a birthday this last week. I try and make sure he has a nice birthday though there are some rumors around the house that I'm a cheapskate with the wrapping material.
But at least there was red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting and dark chocolate mini chips.
So I think he had a good day.

The big Three Six - I told him if he made any comments about being old, dinner was going to be gruel.  But back to the DIY birthday card from Zazzle.
Partner in Grime is a mechanical engineer so the front was fun to see, but let's just say I didn't read all the instructions. The result was a lot funnier than anything I could have added.

Sunday, March 25, 2018

Fajitas! and a HOTR Recipe Index Update

Partner In Grime had been in Texas all week for his job but when I mentioned fajitas for dinner he said "sure!'  I figured he'd be tired of Tex-Mex, but after another two weeks in the UK  earlier this month where his only choice of dining was this horrific pub we quietly refer to as "The Grease and Weasel", he was game.

I didn't have the ingredients for an online recipe for the marinade (lime and cilantro) so I made my own up.  It was really good.

I have the recipe below but for those of you who haven't visited in a while I've updated the recipes on the upper right sidebar to add:

Bacon and Corn Spoonbread (time-taking to make and SO worth it)
Bacon Basil Pesto Muffins (makes great little breakfast sandwiches)
Beef Dip Sweet and Spicy (a house favorite)
Breakfast Casserole (Dad loves this)
Carne Asada Tacos
Cheesy Burrito Casserole
Chipotle Chili Stew (it has beans so I can't call it "chili" or risk pitchforks and flaming torches from my dear friends down in Texas, most of whom were at our wedding)
Cornmeal Pancakes
Crock Pot Green Chili Verde Pork Roast (ugly, but incredibly delicious)
Dad's Favorite Sausage Omelette
Eggs Benedict Southwest
French Toast Panini with Ham (or bacon, as in the picture)
Grilled Chicken with White Barbecue Sauce (a must try)
Ham and Cheese Biscuit (when your biscuit picture goes viral you're on to something)
Hangar Steak Goulash
Herdsman Chili (my recreation of the Broadripple BrewPub dish)
Honey Roasted Home Fries (Dad loves these with his eggs in the morning)
Hot Bacon Potato Salad
Italian Beef Sandwiches with Au Jus (a tweak involving beer and Italian seasoning on a recipe author Dorothy Grant gave me  - outstanding)
Maple Bacon Popcorn
Peppered Pork Tenderloin Pork and Beans (I'm sensing a repeating theme of pork here. . .)
Pizza with Alfredo Sauce (several of my reader's favorite pizza from the blog)
Smothered Enchiladas (super easy for weeknights)
Sriracha Hot Chicken Enchiladas (I made a date cry, which Partner in Grime, then just a reader, took note of).
Stroganoff Burgers on Sourdough Bread (Miss Congeniality for looks but super tasty).
Sweet and Spicy Bourbon Glazed Meatballs (addicting, I converted a Vegan with these).

They have all been posted before, they just never had a direct link. They are marked with a NEW! on the sidebar index to make them easy to find and click on and I've moved the Recipes up a bit so they are directly below the book information. And no, as someone invariably asks, I'd rather have 3 root canals than format, edit, and market a cookbook.  You just have to go to Half Priced Books to see how intensely oversaturated the cookbook market is. (Stepping down from soapbox).  Plus you have copyright issues if your recipe is just a slight adaption of someone else's which many of mine are.  Feel free to print and use any recipe on here for your personal use.
Crown Roast of SPAM  - A Home on the Range Specialty
(yes, those are "Slim Jims")

For now - the fajitas.  Cut up 1 to 1 and 1/2 pounds thin flank steak. If you can't find thin- cut, get regular steak and play "whack a mole" with it with a meat tenderizer between two pieces of waxed paper.  Put it in a gallon ziplock bag.

Add:

1/3 cup vegetable oil
1 Tablespoons plus 2 teaspoons chili powder
1 teaspoon ground cumin
2 Tablespoons Worcestershire sauce
2 Tablespoons Soy Sauce
2 teaspoons honey
1 teaspoon hot sauce (I used my favorite brand -
 - the Cowboy Crooner one which is pretty mild - they are a couple of musicians from Indiana that my best friend Midwest Chick knows. They make the BEST hot sauces, available at their store or online and if you like Ghost Peppers their Heavy Metal heat is awesome!
1 heaping teaspoon chopped minced garlic (the jarred kind)
1/4 teaspoon crushed red pepper (more or less depending on how hot you like things)
Shake or squeeze the bag to mix up and thoroughly coat the meat. Place in fridge 4-10 hours (no more than that or the meat texture will degrade.

Prior to preparing thinly slice:

1 large sweet onion
1/2 of a large or one whole small yellow pepper - seeds and white bits removed
1/2 large or one small orange pepper - ditto
1/2 large or one small green pepper - ditto
To cook and assemble:

Put some rice on the stove or in a steamer (I love making it in a steamer).

Heat a couple of teaspoons of oil in a cast iron skillet on high.
Stir-fry the veggies until tender crisp - (about 15-18 minutes on high).
Remove with slotted spoon.

Drain off about 3 Tablespoons of the marinade from the ziplock bag, and place remaining sauce and steak in the skillet.  Cook on medium-high to high until the meat is cooked through (for me about 7 minutes on high).  Add veggies to mixture and heat through.

Serve with rice/beans, tortillas, salsa and sour cream or if you're watching carbs or wheat products serve over cauliflower "rice" (hot cooked cauliflower put in a food processor and pulsed with the metal blade until rice sized).

Friday, March 23, 2018

Prison Walls are Never Built to Scale - An Abby Normal the Lab Post

Reporting LIVE from JAIL - Yes, that's right, it's me, Abby Normal the Lab and I'm in jail.  I think someone should call the Law Offices of Von Schnitzel, Ketchum and Dedum about this egregious mistake.

It all started a few hours ago. Life had been good. It's been 4 years since Mom adopted me as from the Lab Rescue place after my previous family dumped me really sick at a high kill shelter. I loved my new home even if it was in Chiberia and I have a really comfy bed and lots to eat.  Mom's friends that loved Barkley love me know too (Mrs. Og, who comes over to our house to visit, calls me Princess Wondercoat). I work hard at keeping the Evil Squirrel Cartel away from Mom's flowerbeds and the Navy Veteran who lives next door give me treats.

Mom and Dad had a romantic dinner planned tonight as Dad has been gone a LOT on a big project for work. There was yummy smelling food that Mom cooks, candles and wine. Mom made silly giggling noises and Dad was smiling a lot.  But first it was time for "take the dog out".  Our house is in the city but the original owners bought TWO lots so it is in a deep, wooded area that has all sorts of critters living in it and sometimes coming into the smaller fenced part on their way to the large park and river nearby.  There in the back corner, I did my favorite roll in the grass, but it was even better as it was "roll in the smell" as something was deader back there in the dark.  I'm not sure WHAT it was, there was just a big, smelly stain in the grass and I rolled in it good.
I don't know about you two, but something smells in here.

When Dad brought me into the house, boy was I STINKY. Dad said "maybe it's just poop" and Mom smelled me and said, "no, I know that smell too well - that's deader". Mom was NOT happy with me but she got all kinds of warm, wet towels and wiped me down gently as best she could. But then they put me in jail. It was a small room cell blocked with a baby gate so I couldn't get out. I have my older washable travel bed and my favorite stuffy, but they put stuff on the futon so I couldn't smellasize it.
If that is dog shampoo I may have to kill you.

Dinner was put on hold and Dad then went to Wall-GREENS and got doggie shampoo and gave me a bath and then put me back in jail until I'm a hundred years old "dry". I don't think Mom was too happy with me as I'm pretty sure I saw her slug a drink directly out of the Laphroaig bottle before she went to take a long shower.
I think evenings like this is why we have this extra safe.

But little known to Mom, I barked to one of my doggie neighbor friends and they're going to send me something to spring me.  Not just a file in a cake, a super hero with a utility belt or even better.  A TANK.
And not just ANY Tank, but the "Donk".  Don't' laugh - go to Amazon and you can get your own. Now, I know what you're thinking.  Many of you have fallen trap to the "purchased the first tank you saw", just wanting to get your better half something for that special date and get out of the store as quickly as possible only to have her roll her eyes and tell you the insurgents are going to take that thing out with a homemade Mortar in 5 minutes and her friend  Mary's husband spent three months salary and got her a bigger tank than this one.
It pays to shop carefully - especially when springing a friend from jail.
Hurry - The Matron is blow drying her hair - she'll never catch us!

Thursday, March 22, 2018

On History

Folks - it's been a year and a half since I was trolled and threatened after someone shared my blog with a group that did not share my views, forcing me to go private the same week my third book was published (there's been a fourth book that will be a post for another day).  That was tough, and shutting it down when I had a book just out that people told me not to write was even tougher because even though many of you wouldn't read the genre, not having a blog as a platform was pretty much-guaranteed FAIL. Fortunately, despite my former publisher saying "do NOT publish a conservative Christian novel"  I did, and it won a major literary award last year, becoming a best-seller and is being looked at for a movie (likely not to happen as there's not enough action in it, and I'm not going to add that it just to sell it,  but just the option was kind of cool).
Then the Piano Guys pianist, Jon Schmidt, and his wife loved it and wrote me a letter. (If you've not listened to their music you are missing out).
and the next thing you know, I got to help produce one of their videos with a few of their other supporters. 
So life was good, I just didn't have the entire HOTR community to share it with.

I really didn't understand the trolling.  I  never once posted anything about the election, only history and freedoms and family (and bacon!) and I hope they will leave me alone as I've sorely missed all your company.  I realize I have probably lost 95% of my readership built over 10 years but I am thankful for those of you that still visit, read, stop and say hi in other social media, and even buy my books.  I am indeed grateful.

I won't be able to post daily like I used to.  For most of first 8 years of the blog, I was living on my own and had a lot more time to write.  Now I have the company of my husband, a 100-year-old house under restoration, and Dad is requiring more of my time and commitment, gladly given, so it leaves less time for writing. But thanks for being my blog family.
-------------------------------------
The pictures of Dad and the house here were taken on a visit the year before my brother died, making the photo 5 years old. Colonel Harry Allen D. He still lives on his own, house and yard tidy, still spry, though he turns 98 in a couple of months.  His companion, the great and powerful Oz, was almost 12 when this picture was taken.  Dad can no longer drive but he still works out 6 days a week. He can't do 18 holes on the golf course anymore, he goes for a walk every day the weather permits.  His secrets to health? Exercise, hard work, integrity, commitment, good scotch, and adopting two kids when your friends are becoming grandparents. Yes, we have a home nursing aide 12 hours a day, to help with medications and meals and companionship since he refuses to leave his home to live with us, but he is still mentally sharp and wishes to keep as much of his independence as he can.

He never planned on getting Oz.  She was the family member of a family member who had been childless despite years of trying.  Suddenly, there was a baby, one which the Dalmatian didn't kindly share the house with.  Despite the movie of their namesake, it's not a breed good with children, and action needed to be taken.  Surprisingly, Dad was the first of the extended family to offer her a home.

Being a senior, she didn't need a lot of exercise though they enjoyed that long walk each day.  The evenings were spent with her dozing on the dog bed that Dad spent more on than what was granted for our college educations.  Dad was of the mindset that he put himself through school, we should do the same. In looking back, I'm glad as it gave me a work ethic lost on many, as well as making me more self-reliant and wiser about the perils of the world to a solitary soul.
I think of Dad in those last days with his four-legged companion. As the sun descended in the West,  he would sip of amber liquid as he talked to his furry companion -  stories of years past, those stories of opportunities, of hope and longing, tales perhaps best left for youth and temptation, as they traveled through the years until what remains is only tenderness and regret.

They were stories, such as the rest of us are building, but his have in their background the shadows of two women and two children he has outlived, looking down on him wistfully, with sealed lips, and heaven's healing. He visits them on a  round trip drive of several hours to the military cemetery with his nurse, a stop at several graves, a garland of leaves and flowers woven around the simple stones, fresh as is their memory.

He's doing well despite a mild stroke about 10 years ago. I took much of the summer off from work and stayed with him through the initial recovery and he was up and moving about surprisingly fast. He was out of the wheelchair in three weeks. The doctor recommended a cane when he started getting up and around walking. He didn't want to use one as "those are for old people". So I got him a hand carved "hiking stick" with a big bear on the crest of it. That's so not a cane. He used it on his walks until that day he had to acquiesce to a walker (with flames on it no less).  But he still walks and for that I am grateful.
It is hard to come to grips with aging. I see it in myself, after blowing out a knee and having much its support structure surgically removed, the damage beyond repair.  I remember the Orthopedic surgeon saying "I usually see these injuries in professional football players  - what did you DO?" to which I replied, "busted a move, walking the dog". I went from rappeling into a dark place surrounded by crime scene tape to having to use a scooter at Wal Mart. That was not a fun time.

But getting past that, the surgery, physical therapy, and a year with a German physical trainer that wore a shirt that said "I'm the trainer, you are the victim", otherwise a vibrant pretty young woman, I made it. I may not be as fast as I once was, but like Dad was as he reached middle age, I'm stronger than I was at 30, wiser, no longer snared or fixed in the frail web of hopes and fears that is our youth, but fixed and established on that rock which is our well-aged reasoning, with which we cope by some means, or perish.

98 years.  I realize, having lived more than half of that, how much Dad has seen.   From growing up in Montana, with woods rich with game and streams full of fish, dark soil drenched under Spring thunderstorms, rich and waiting for seed.  From desolate hard winters, in a time of our country where bellies were empty and they looked out on barren land where hope should have been, wondering if they would survive until spring.

Then war, chosen by destiny out of a paradox of background of squalor and strife, he became an officer in that great war, as if God himself put a warrant on his hand to protect his men, and bring them home. Those were long years indeed, separated from my Mom, where words were shared without speaking and they would weep without tears. Life ahead then was just a dream that both of them were too quietly frightened to have.  But he survived and came home - to my Mom, who waited years for his return, only to marry him and bury the first child they bore together.
Then the ensuing happy and hard years, where he watched his only son and two beloved wives leave him to go to their reward.  He never blamed fate, that arbitrary revenge against the souls on earth that seek to rise above the trials of earthly caution. He looked at life as one lit by all glory of all possible risks and renunciations, trusting his heavenly Father to bring him home, only when it was his time.

No matter what he lost, family, or health, he never complained, he never cried and when I watch him napping I see those hand, those old Colonel's veined and sun- marked hands, holding strongly to his Bible that he reads from each and every morning.

I realized it as I watched him. The future is what we make of it, every single day, a gift. We don't see if it if we are too much in a hurry, something Dad taught my beloved brother and I. The clouds may sometimes darken the sky but the joys are still there, showing themselves in a profound, attentive glance, like a hatchling peering from a next deeply recessed nest in the boughs of an ancient tree.

Dad still shares those pearls of wisdom and though at times his voice on the phone on the more difficult days is little more than an anxiously happy whisper, I listen.  The conversations aren't deep, usually, he just wants to hear about my work day, what we had for dinner, what the weather is.  Yet every conversation is permeated with our history.

We talk every day, but we communicate beyond that as well.  Dad doesn't have a computer, a cell phone or tablet. So for my Dad, between many phone calls, I write letters and he writes them back. Letters.  Faded with time, a bit frayed around the edges, the words upon them written with clear, flowing script. The stamp carefully placed, the envelope addressed with precision.
It started with letters from my father to me when I first moved away from home, carrying with them that sense of watchfulness that no parent ever loses, no matter how old you get. I never took his questions as to my life and who I was keeping company with as being intrusive, rather they were a vigilant affection, even as he put to flight the recollection of the world's abiding danger and trusted me to make my own way.

No one really had computers back then for personal use other than at school, the phone was the most common source of connection for the family. But as computers became second nature, my father continued to write me letters, refusing to learn to use a computer. Harriet (my stepmom) would read him my blog, the words in there as meaningful for him as if I had written them on paper, read aloud by the woman he loved. (Yes, Harry and Harriet). But he will not take up a keyboard, and will not before he is gone, so others print out some of the posts for him to read now that she is gone these many years. He's probably raised an eyebrow to more than one, but he knows how he raised me, where I come from, and where my heart is.

Simple letters, simple words.

The letters themselves are not full of particularly sage wisdom, or things that might be considered of great depth. They are simply the doings of his day and the memories of his heart. What was planted in the garden, where he went out for lunch after church. A bird he saw on a long drive, a story of that steelhead trout he finally caught under the covered bridge at Grey's River. He wrote to me after he buried someone he loved more than life, words flattened out on paper, like rain, but not lost like rain, streaming out to a valueless torrent of dissolution. His words, though heart-rending, uplifted me, a love not lost through life's unravelings. When I held on to him at that grave, while taps played in the distance, his words were engraved on my heart.

They were words that didn't teach, or lecture or portend, but words, that on their reading, mattered. For they filled me with elation that in their capturing, those moments would never be lost, that even when my Dad was gone, there would be stories, of meals, of moments, of caring. They are words gathered in a bundle wrapped in ribbon in a drawer, words worn like a garment that will keep me warm as November descends.

Is that a testament to the power of the word or simply the power of the habit of writing? That which, however mundane, comes to our mind each day. Small, succinct phrases of thought that capture the dots of our lives, connecting us, transcending time or moment. What was in the past is here in my hand now, as if it transcends time and for just a moment we are free of the confines of past tense.

He is here with me now, with his story of that fine day, that could have been a week ago, or 50 years. His words caught and released, a brilliant day, a fighting salmon. A trip to the store, or a small prayer over his breakfast, shared with me here, as if the paper had caught it in time. Our lives are in these moments, gone too quickly, rushing water over our days.

Each of us lives in the present, yet we contain our past, and we can not put our future into words until it too, becomes our past. Time is an illusion and death is a transient bend in a long journey that will take its own time. Past, present, future, I'll retain my Dad's stories, his laughter splayed across a small white page as if part of the paper. As I fold it up and place it carefully in my desk drawer, to perhaps be opened up one day again, a thought comes unbidden. I realize that what is here, be it thought, emotion or the trivial events of our day that we share, for someone, somewhere, will be the most precious of memory.

As I write these words Dad will still be asleep, Oz contained in a small wooden box on which rests a pawprint that was her last act.  Dad slumbers in memory surrounded by those things familiar for decades, left in the warm comfort of the annealing ash that is his history.

I take out an envelope and small piece of paper, and on it scribe some other words. Not a blog post, but simply words. You have loved me when others did not, I am grateful to be your family.  There is no place I am going to mail it to right now but I feel better for writing it. I put it in the envelope and seal it with a small kiss from my lips, the paper resting for a moment like a wafer on my tongue, confession, redemption.