FEED YOUR FACE: Zucchini-Tortellini Harvest Soup

Kathi here. I had eaten an Italian soup recipe from a meal-prep company -- you know: the places where you go and assemble meals that you will store in your freezer to cook later?

It was good, but I thought it could be even better, so I invented this version. It makes a crockpot full of soup, and helps use up some of that end-of-the-season zucchini that those of us who grow it have around.

We slice and freeze zucchini, and then we can eat this even in the middle of winter (which we did today!).

It's a very forgiving recipe, so you can add or subtract a bunch of ingredients and it's going to be good, no matter which way you make it.

Oh! And I entered this recipe at Gooseberry Patch. It was selected it to appear in the Gooseberry Patch Fresh from the Farmstand cookbook, so they sent me a free copy of the book.




Zucchini-Tortellini Harvest Soup

• 1 lb. Italian pork sausage links, browned and thinly sliced (I usually place these in a skillet with water and boil them until they are done, which helps cut down on the grease; then I cool them, slice them, and brown them along with the onion in the skillet)
• 1 medium onion, chopped
• 1 or 2 carrots, peeled and chopped
• 2 cups of tomatoes, diced (you can use a can of tomatoes if you don't have fresh)
• 2- 14 oz. cans of vegetable broth (or you can use beef or chicken broth)
• 14 oz. can/jar of pizza sauce
• 2 cups of water
• 1 bay leaf
• 1 or 2 small zucchini, sliced or shredded (I like chunkier, so we slice)
• 9-oz. package of refrigerated cheese tortellini (left uncooked)
• Parmesan cheese, fresh or sprinkle, for flavor and garnish

Add everything to the crockpot except for the zucchini, tortellini, and cheese. Cover and cook on low for 5 to 7 hours. About an hour before you want to eat dinner, add the zucchini and tortellini, then let it cook one more hour. (Discard the bay leaf)

Ladle into soup bowls, and garnish/flavor with parmesan cheese.

So, load up your crockpot, get out your napkins, and get ready to FEED YOUR FACE!

Quote of the Week: 1/30/2012

“Vegetables are a must on a diet. I suggest carrot cake, zucchini bread, and pumpkin pie.”

--Jim Davis, 'Garfield'

Quote of the Week: 1/23/12

"Develop interest in life as you see it; in people, things, literature, music-- the world is so rich, simply throbbing, with rich treasures, beautiful souls and interesting people. Forget yourself."

Henry Miller
American writer

REMEMBER WHEN

This story was posted sometime last year. I am posting it now because of a request from a few of my blog followers. For those of you who have already read this, I hope that you don't mind reading it again (if you want). So, enjoy.

How long has it been since you flew a kite? Remember when kites were homemade? Store bought ones flew just as good as homemade ones and on windy spring days, kites just seemed to appear in the sky.

You would bug your parents for a kite or to help you build one. I remember my Dad making me a kite out of The Denver Post. I helped by handing him scissors, paste, and string. The wood for the kite came from our garage, and the tail was supplied by my grandmother. It only took my Dad about half an hour and we had a kite to fly.

Once outside, he would unwind the string and walk backwards up our street. I would stand there and hold the kite gently. When my Dad gave the word, I would toss the kite above my head, and duck. The first couple of times, we couldn't get it off the ground. Some of the other kids would tell him he had to run faster. 'Course, this always made him a bit ticked off, but it did seem that he would run a bit faster each time.

After what seemed like weeks, my Dad would finally get the kite up in the air. He would tug the string a bit, let out more string, and tug it again. Now, there I was, standing by, waiting to fly MY kite. He would always say "just a minute." Well, the minutes would go by and we both would watch MY kite float along on the wind.

Pretty soon, he would be almost out of string, and the kite was way, way, way, up there. It seemed like it was higher and further than any of the other kites. He would holler at me to go in the house and get another roll of string.

Well, we had taken one spool of string from grandmother when we first made the kite, so we just used it for the flying of it. But now Dad wanted more string. So I went in to get more string. Pappy was sitting on the front porch as I ran into the house. As I came out with a big spool of string, Pappy stopped me in my tracks. I had taken grandmother's twine for wrapping packages. Pappy told me that I shouldn't use it. I told him it was all I could find, and I ran off towards my Dad.

Pappy never said another word, just sat there with his pipe in his mouth, puffing away. As I got to my Dad, he had about a foot of string in his hand. I handed him the spool of twine. And I finally got to fly MY kite, for all of maybe one minute. He tied the twine to the remainder of the string, and took back control of the kite. Now we had kids watching as he started to let out the twine. Nobody had ever done this on our street before. One spool of string to a kite was the norm. 'Course, they didn't know my Dad -- over-achiever, I guess, and he let out just about that whole spool of twine.

MY kite was almost out of sight! I mean, you could barley even see it in the sky! The only way we knew where it was was by the tail of our kite. Grandmother had shredded Pappy's union suit into rags, and MY kite was adorned with a red tail, about 4 feet long. Needless to say, it stuck out pretty well. (For those of you who do not know what a union suit is, it is long handled underwear for men, you know, the kind with the flap in the back.)

Well, the kite was real high in the sky, and just a little dot, except for its tail. The other kids were just opened-mouthed about how far it went and how much string has been let out.

Then all of a sudden the wind changed, and the kite started to drop. We knew, because the tail was now at the top. My Dad started to pull on the string, and tug, and run up the street a ways. He started to reel in the string. He reeled and reeled, and tugged and pulled on the string. And reeled some more. He reeled it in so fast that he started to miss the spool and had a big wad of string around his hand. He kept on reeling, and soon was getting red in the face.

Pappy was standing up, and looking off towards the kite. It was getting lower in the sky, and my Dad reeled in the string like a man on a mission. By then you couldn't see the spool in his hand because string covered his hand. It almost looked like one of the oblong bee's nests you see every now and then. Then Pappy was on the stairs of the porch, and his hands were moving like he was reeling in the string! The kids were telling my Dad to reel faster!

I was just standing there, watching my Dad and Pappy. Then Pappy was off the porch and hollering at my Dad to reel faster, and the kids were hollering to reel faster, and My Dad had this funny look on his face like he was mad, but just can't seem to keep a straight face, and he started to laugh.

We lost MY homemade kite that day. The kids talked about it until about the middle of summer. We never did get all the string and twine back. It was tangled and I spent I don't know how long trying to untangle it. My Dad had a hard time getting it off of his hand. I never got a piece any longer than about 2 feet.

Pappy went back to setting on the porch. Grandmother chewed us out for using her good twine. And my Dad felt so bad about the whole thing that he went out and bought me AND my sister store bought kites. He helped us put them together, but never offered to come out and help us fly them.

We did find our kite though. It ended up on the utility wires on Colfax, across the street from the Casa Bonita Mexican restaurant. I had just happened to look up and there it was, tangled up, hanging upside down, the red tail was fluttering in the wind. I pointed it out to Pappy. He chomped down on his pipe, his face turned red, and he said that that damn union suit got more miles on it now then when he wore them. Then he smiled.

You know, I just may buy me a kite and wait for the wind to be j-u-s-t right.

NEW FOLLOWERS

Whoa. I see that I have some new followers here at my blog. Thank you all for stopping by and for "following" my blog.

Come by, set, and have a cup of coffee. Or you can feed your face, and just kind of follow along. Make comments or just kind of poke around the blog. Check out some of my older posts. Or maybe go back and find a recipe that you might like.

I don't have the blog split up into categories just yet. Sorry. You will just have to be a lookie-lou and find it.

I try to get to other blogs and leave a comment when I can. If I miss you, give me a shout or a boot to the butt. And for those who come by and don't have a blog? Leave a comment now and then!

If you have something that you want to know about, just ask. If I don't know the answer, I might make one up or pass you on to someone who does know.

Also, here is my e-mail address, if you want to drop me a private note.
flier389_at_yahoo.com

So stop a spell, prop up your feet, browse around the blog, and let me entertain, amuse, inform, or show you something new or old. And again, thank you all for reading my little blog.

What Bears Do in the Woods

I think that just about everybody has seen a bear in his or her lifetime, whether it was on television, at the zoo, or maybe in the wild. And for those who have seen them in the wild, my hat is off to you.

Bears are really cool to watch. . . from a distance. Sometimes it is up close and personal.

And when it gets personal, who knows how it is going to go or how it will end!

We all have heard or read about bear contacts with people. And so, now it is my turn. No bears were hurt in this story...

The summer of 1977 found me up in the mountains here in Colorado. I had decided to forego my job and take a little vacation. So I packed up my camping gear and fishing pole. I loaded up my Chevelle, said goodbye to Grandmother and Pappy [I was living with them at the time] and headed up the highway towards Kremmling (Colorado).

After driving to Kremmling, I stopped and talked to my Uncle Fay, who was then running a store. I asked Uncle Fay how things were going, and he said that things were kind of tight right now and that he needed to get away for a day or two. So I invited him to go camping and fishing with me. He said that was a good idea, but that he would have to meet me up at my camp.

I told him I was going up on the Gore, by the cabin that was called the Mac. He said, "Great, I'll see you up there."

So I got up to where I wanted, pitched camp in the perfect spot -- lots of aspen trees -- and made myself at home. It was time to do some fishing. So, down the trail I went.

It was maybe a quarter of a mile or less to the beaver ponds that I liked to fish. I still bring friends there to fish and camp all these years later.

The fishing was great! I'd caught three or four brook trout, enough for a meal, when I heard what sounded like several people screaming and fighting. So I started to follow the sound. The farther I walked back up the trail, the louder the screaming got, and it was starting to really get to me. Of course, by then my imagination was starting to take over. (We can talk about my wild imagination more some other time.)

So I was starting to think that someone was fighting for their life, or that someone was being attacked by wild animals.

I was running up the trail, wishing that I had my pistol with me, but I'd left back in my tent. As I got closer, I found that all of that racket was coming from my camp!!!

So by then I was running like my butt was on fire.

As I came busting into my camp, my tent was no longer where I had put it up, but was now moving through the trees, bashing into some of them as it went.

All of my stuff was still in the tent, including my car keys. The tent was making good time, and I noticed that each time it hit a tree, I could hear a growling sound.

Now, it takes quite a bit to get me rattled and a lot to scare me. But this was the damnedest thing I had ever seen.

I was looking for a big stick to whack the hell out of whatever it is. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something BIG and hairy, and it was headed right for me! I turned my head and saw that coming right at me from about 15 yards was this black bear. Now, I know that the bears here do not seem that big, but when they are headed your way, they look to be the size of a bus.

I didn't know what this bear wanted, but it really looked mad, and I seemed to be in its way!

I tried to think quickly: Do I fall down and play dead? Should I try to spook it? Would I crap my pants, or what?! I decided that maybe I should just get the hell out of the way.

I did the fastest thing I could: crawl under my car. That's right -- under a 1970 Chevelle.

Do any of you know how low a 1970 Chevelle is to the ground? LOW! Really low. Those of you who know me right now know how I have put on a few pounds. Well I just seemed to be custom fitted to the bottom of that car. No way I could do it now, unless you jacked up the car first.

As I got under the car, who should show up but my uncle. So there I was under the car, waving at Uncle Fay. He was laughing and pointing, and my tent was still moving through the trees and getting further away. We both watched as a bear ran to my tent and jumped on it. The tent was now screaming in protest and making little jerky movements.

Fay hollered for me to stay put. We watched this bear take and rip my tent completely in half, like paper, and out came two little bear cubs. I realized what all the racket was about: I had left my tent open and there was a sandwich in the tent. Dumb, dumb, dumb. . . I know.

We watched as the three of them decided that it was the tent's fault, as well as the fault of the sleeping bag and all my clothes.

Everything was ripped, torn, chewed, and I think some of it might have been eaten.

And those fish I caught? Well, I dropped them in camp and those damn bears ate them also.

After getting out from the car and getting Fay to stop laughing, we went ahead and did some more fishing. The fishing was still good and we caught our fair share.

Later, after cleaning up the bear mess, we built a fire and cooked our fish. Uncle Fay offered to put me up for the night in town, but I turned him down. Fay left a little after sundown. I built up the fire, grabbed a blanket that I had in the trunk of the car, wrapped up, and looked at the stars for awhile. I had some more coffee and listened to the wind.

The next morning, I headed back for home. As I drove, I wondered what the bears thought about this. I'm sure they laughed about me trying to get out of the way. I know that Grandmother and Pappy did!

Quote of the Week: 1/16/12

"Insist upon yourself. Be original."

Ralph Waldo Emerson
American transcendentalist, poet, philosopher, essayist

THANK ALL OF YOU

I want to thank all of you. Your thoughts and prayers mean so much to me and my family.

Sometimes a person does not really know how blessed they are. I feel that I'm very blessed by knowing all of you out there who read my little blog.

Things are getting better. Dad's funeral service was good. Just as they were playing taps, a flock of geese flew over, honking. Dad loved the sound of geese. Maybe that was his way of saying, "I'm home, and don't worry, I love you all."

Again, I thank you all for all the comments and prayers.

GETTING BETTER - A DAY AT A TIME

Overwhelming. It is all so overwhelming. I've lost friends, relatives, and people that I have worked with, but the loss of my Dad has hit me the hardest of them all.

As most of you know, my Dad passed on December the 23rd. He had had medical problems for quite a few years. It seems that I always feel that it will get better, even though I knew deep down that it wouldn't. You hope, you pray. Things seem to get a bit better for awhile. Then, it's back to the hospital. And again, you hope, and you pray.

His heart just gave out. He was tired and in pain all the time. He didn't say it. But you could see it in his face now and then. It was his time to go. He told Mom that he loved her. And he waved at her. Then he was gone.

Mom is really having a time of it. We kids have rallied around to help, to do what we can. It is much harder on her. How do you cope with the loss of some ne that you have spent the last 40 some years with? I can't imagine it myself.

Plus, there is the 40-some years of stuff that my Dad thought was important enough to keep. Silly stuff, if you think about it. He had five address books, the little pocket kind. With numbers! Not phone numbers, just numbers. Or little notes that he would write to himself. Or a list of things for prepping. Or a recipe for hard tack.

He had some news clippings from the paper, about little towns that no longer exist that we were going to go and metal detect once he felt better. He had written down directions to several lakes and ponds that he wanted to get to to fish. And, like a lot of men, there was that new firearm that he wanted to buy.

As we go and go through his belongings, we get to see a part of him that we may not have known about. Or a part of him that we have not thought about for years. Or we find something that we made for him when we were kids that he has kept all these years, hidden away, in a box or envelope, in the bottom of a drawer. Pictures of hunting trips or vacations from long ago.

It helps to talk and write about him. It gets hard to see the computer screen at times. I need to slow down and not be in such a hurry to help. That's probably why I ended up getting sick: pushing too hard.

Dad was cremated, as his request. He will be interred at Fort Logan National Cemetery on Friday, the 6th.

As it stands, I have his ashes. We have talked. Or I should say that I've talked to him. And that has helped some. Kathi has been a rock and of the greatest help. And, Nugget, our dog, seems to know whats going on. He was sitting in front of the table that Dad's ashes are on, and he just sat and stared for a bit.

Dad was quite a man. I wish you all could have known him. He touched an awful lot of people. He will be forever missed. He is now with family and friends who have passed before him. He is in great company.

I can just hear him now, starting a story with a smile on his face and a glint in his eyes.

He is home.

What are you wearing?

Jim is still grieving (and now he has a colossal cold), so you get me today (Kathi), since he didn't want the last post of the year to be on a sad note.

I thought I would tell you a story that involves Jim's dad. But it's a story in two parts.

My friend John (a gay man) and I had a joke that started when I was married to Mr. Poopie (in the "olden" days). Mr. Poopie thought that John and I were having an affair. The truth is that we, of course, just really liked each other. Oh -- and add the fact that John is gay. (Hello, Mr. Poopie?)

Before our divorce, I was carpooling downtown with Mr. Poopie because his car was broken, so I told him it was okay for him to ride with me. I was also going to pick up John, who lived downtown, because he and I were traveling for work together, and John didn't have a car of his own (since he lived downtown).

The deal was: I would call John when I reached a certain street. That would give him time to get himself and his suitcase downstairs and out front, so I would just swoop in and pick him up. When the time came to call John, I handed Mr. Poopie my cellphone and asked him to call John instead, and to tell him it was time to go downstairs.

I heard him make the call and saw a weird look cross Mr. Poopie's face, and when I stopped at John's I could tell he was about to burst with laughter he was holding in. But he didn't say anything.

When we dropped Mr. Poopie off, as soon as we pulled away, John did laugh long and hard, and I was waiting for my explanation!

John had answered the phone, since he knew it was me, in his sexiest voice asking, "What are you wearing?" Well, that really threw Mr. Poopie for a loop and further added to his suspicions. From that point on, John and I always answered the phone when the other one called by asking, in a sexy voice, "What are you wearing?"

Well, my father-in-law heard the story, so I started any future phone call with him with, "What are you wearing?" and his standard answer was, "Just my old geezer stuff." His old geezer stuff was a shirt, jeans, and lace-up boots, though I'm pretty sure he'd say the same thing even if he were wearing pajamas.

Now for the next part!

Before Jim and I bought the house we are living in, we looked around Mead, Milliken, Johnstown, etc. 'cause we had been told that it was possible to get one for less dollars than in the Denver area. Those cities are near Loveland, where Jim's parents live.

When we knew we were going to be in the area, I called them by cellphone in the morning to tell them that we'd be done looking in early afternoon, and that we'd call them then and maybe we'd all go to lunch. It was a plan.

We drove around and looked, and early on we saw one house with a promising sign in the window, so I called to get more information, but there was no answer. I wrote the number down and thought we might call again later.

Finally, we were tired of looking and hungry for lunch. I hit the redial button on my phone, 'cause I remembered that I had called my in-laws first thing that morning to tell them we were going to be in the area. The phone rang, and when my father-in-law answered, I said, "What are you wearing?" But instead of hearing, "Just my old geezer stuff," I got a response that was, "Well, my t-shirt, jeans, and my lace-up boots." I said that wasn't the answer I was expecting! My father-in-law said, "Well, that's what I'm wearing!" And I said I knew that's what we was wearing, but I didn't know why he didn't just say, "Just my old geezer stuff!" I was told that he might be old fashioned, but that he was no old geezer!

Okay. . . something wasn't right.

Oops. I just remembered that the last number dialed wasn't my in-laws', but that of the house with the sign in the window.

I was embarrassed, and gave the gentleman who answered the short version of the story, and he laughed, gave me some info on the house, than we hung up.

Of course, then I had to call my father-in-law and tell him about that. He thought it was the funniest thing! He chuckled about it all day.

This picture is of Jim, his son Bryan, and Jim's dad (also a Jim).

You will notice he is wearing his old geezer stuff.

FRIDAY BLUES

First and foremost, I want to thank all of you. Friends, family, and all of you out there who follow this little blog. I want to wish each and every one of you a VERY MERRY CHRISTMAS!

This holiday season, hold your loved one's close to you, and give them an extra hug and a kiss. Let them all know how much they mean to you this Christmas.

My Dad passed this morning. I'm going to be away from blogging for a bit. I wish that a lot of you could have known my Dad. I know that he would of fit right in with us bloggers.

He enjoyed a good story and to laugh, even at himself. He had a love of the outdoors like no one I have ever seen. He could catch fish, and hunt, camp. He loved to set in front of a nice campfire. He got his first deer when he was 16, and his first elk when he was 18. He also got his first and only bear when he was 17. I got my first elk when I was 16, and my first deer when I was 17. I never have been bear hunting.

My Dad served 13 years in the Air Force, then he got out because he had two kids to take care of. After my sister and I were in high school, he joined the Air Guard. Then after I was out of high school, he and Mom bought a place in Arkansas. They didn't have a Air National Guard there, but they did have a National Army Guard. So, he transferred to them. He worked in supply and took biochemical and nuclear warfare classes. He almost went in Desert Storm. He did his time in the guard and ended up doing 23 years total. He enjoyed every minute. The stories he had to tell!

Things won't be the same now that he is gone. He will be missed by so many, remembered by so many. And life will continue. The sun will rise and set. The seasons will keep going by. And he will be remembered.

He loved to dance. He loved animals. He was strong in his faith. He was someone you could talk to. And he was always ready to lend a hand to anyone. He loved to talk of firearms, and could answer just about anything you could think to ask about them. He was a jack of all trades, and a master of none. He could fix just about anything. He could be hard on you when you needed it. And Stern. But could cry for a little kitten that didn't make it, or a bird with a busted wing. Or to kiss away the boo boo of a child.

The outdoors will be just a bit more peaceful for me from now on. I won't be able to look at a deer, elk, mountain, or stream, or beaver pond and not think of him. He is now free to do his wandering in the hills of the hereafter.

He was a husband, a grandfather, a great grandfather, an uncle, a brother, a gardener, a hunter, a fisherman.

He was my Dad.

GOT A LIGHT?

What do you do if your power goes out and you can't find a candle or a lighter to light it with?

What if your kids have removed the batteries from all the flashlights for their games or other goodies?

What if your generator won't generate?

Do you have any solar lights that you put out on by the patio or that line your driveway or walkway? If you do, you could bring them into your house and have just about all the light you need. Just recharge them the next day.

Just something to think about. You never know when you might need some extra light around the house.

FEED YOUR FACE: A Favorite Fruitcake

This recipe came from Kathi's Grandma Lovey. Grandma thought this was very funny and got it out every year around Christmas-time. When Grandma Lovey passed away, Kathi got her recipe box. This was in it.
-----------------------------------------------------------
This is my favorite recipe for fruitcake.

You'll need the following:

• a cup of water
• a cup of sugar
• a cup of brown sugar
• 4 large eggs
• 2 cups of dried fruit
• a teaspoon of baking soda
• a teaspoon of salt
• lemon juice
• nuts
• a bottle of whiskey

Sample the whiskey to check for quality.

Take a large bowl. Check the whiskey again to be sure it is of the highest quality. Pour one level cup and drink. Repeat.

Turn on the electric mixer. Beat one cup of butter in a large fluffy bowl. Add one teaspoon of sugar and beat again.

Make sure the whiskey is still okay. Cry another cup.

Turn off the mixerer. Break two leggs and add the bowl and chuck in the cup of dried fruit.

Mix on the turner. If the fried druit gets stuck in the beaterers, pry it loose with a drewscriver.

Sample the whiskey to check for consistency.

Next, sift two cups of salt. Or something. Who cares?! Check the whiskey.

Now sift the lemon juice and strain your nuts. Add one table spoon of sugar or something -- whatever you can find.

Grease the oven. Turn the cake tin to 350 degrees.

Don't forget to beat off the turner, throw the bowl out the window, check the whiskey again, then go to bed.

Quote of the Week: 12/19/2011

Christmas is not a time nor a season, but a state of mind. To cherish peace and goodwill, to be plenteous in mercy, is to have the real spirit of Christmas.
--Calvin Coolidge

WHAT TO DO?

Yesterday, we had a Blue Grass music gathering at our church. It was set up for the seniors. I was invited. I didn't even know that I had reached senior status. The music was really good, and the food was even better. Soooooooooo many things like gran-ma used to make: cakes, cookies, brownies, jello salad, sandwiches, sugar cookies all decked out with Christmas frosting. OH, YEAH! And homemade rum cake. I had fourths on that. (oink, oink!) I ate way too much.

On the way home, I was trying to think of something to blog for Wednesday. Let's see. . . I could do a blog about dutch oven beans, surprise cupcakes, blueberry pancakes, or maybe tell another story. But what kind of story? Or, I could fill everyone in on my 23-year old son, who is a special needs kid, and the new treatment he is having to, as he says, "fix my brain." Or, about my son getting the chance to lay a Christmas wreath at my nephew's grave site with the military. Maybe a Christmas story. Or maybe just a bunch of FEED YOUR FACE posts.

Maybe, I could just set on my duff and surf all of the blogs I follow. That would take up just about the whole day. And I wouldn't even have to get dressed! 'Course, then Kathi would come home and find me like she left me last night -- at the computer. Maybe I should put up more pictures. Or do some Granddad's Corner videos. That would be a hoot.

But, I guess, first I should put up our Christmas tree. It is getting pretty close to that time. Shhhh. . . it's a surprise!

Dehydrated and Frozen Eggs

Modern Day Redneck has written a couple very interesting posts about storing eggs, both dehydrated and frozen.

Ya gotta see it (and maybe even try it!):
http://moderndayredneck.blogspot.com/

Tell him I sent you!

Quote of the Week: 12/12/2011

"To love what you do and feel that it matters -- how could anything be more fun?"

Katharine Graham
American publisher

CHRISTMAS LIST

What's on your Christmas list? Do you have one? Have you even made it out yet? As a kid, I had it figured out. Instead of writing a letter to Santa, I just cut out the pages of the catalogs and marked what I wanted on the pages. Sometimes the envelopes were pretty fat. Sometimes there were only one or two pages, 'cause there was something I wanted really bad.

Once, I sent only one page. It had a mini bike that I really, really wanted in the worse way. I even had it figured out where I was going to ride it, and where it would be kept. (In my room of course!)

I even had figured out how to get gas for it. I was going to collect pop bottles. (That shows how old I am.) I didn't want any new socks or underwear, shirts nor sweaters. Not even new pajamas. All of those were things I got the year before. And, yeah, maybe there were some holes in my socks and underwear and a few of the shirts were a bit small.

BUT, MAN! We were talking about a REAL mini bike. It was red in color, had a banana seat, and a sissy bar, and chrome fenders. I mean, this was a BIG step up from my pedal car of years gone by. And it was way better than the bicycle from the year before. I mean, I could see myself on this thing in my mind's eye. It was meant for me. It was mine. I just knew it.

I told my parents how I would take care of it. I wouldn't ever tear it up or break it. And most important? I would never ask for anything else for Christmas, ever.

My Dad asked if I would share it with my sister. WHAT???!!!! Share it with HER?! The she- devil, my tormentor, the sweet big sister who beat the crap out of me on a regular basis? The one who would set on my chest and let spit run out of her mouth, let it get about a inch from my face, then suck it back up? The sister who hung me on Grandmother and Pappy'ss chain link fence, just that summer, And left me there while she went off with MY allowance of a quarter and got ice cream from the popsicle man?

I thought about it for a long time, before I gave in and said that, yes, I would share it with her.

I was already thinking of things I could do to keep her from riding it: blow up her Barbies, burn the hair off of her troll dolls, or maybe try to get her in trouble with the parents. Maybe grounded for the summer. Or maybe I would get lucky and someone would adopt her out of the family. Maybe she would just run away!

If I got the mini bike, I'm sure that I could come up with something by Spring. Plus, I needed to figure out how to make Santa want to leave a mini bike for me. AH HA! Everyone always leaves Santa milk and cookies. He has got to be tired of that year after year. So I had a plan.

We would leave him some cookies and the glass of milk, but I would wait until everyone was asleep, then I would get up, sneak into the living room, and drink the milk. Then I would go to the fridge and get out a can of beer. I'm sure that Santa would want a beer instead of always having milk! And I could arrange the cans so my Dad wouldn't notice. It was a good plan. I knew it would work.

I had this planed for several weeks. I didn't even tell any of my friends at school. And then it was Christmas eve. Things went pretty good. We ate dinner, cleaned up the kitchen, watched a little TV, and about 10 p.m. we were told to go to bed.

Well, no argument from me! I got ready for bed. We set out Santa's cookies and milk, and off to bed we all went.

At about 3 a.m., I snuck out of bed, made my way to the living room, drank the milk, and went and got a can of beer from the fridge. I put the can right next to the cookies. I then made my way back to my room and tried to go to sleep.

I couldn't.

I tossed and turned. I just knew that Santa was going to leave me that mini bike. At some point, I fell asleep. The next thing I know, my sister was poking me with the twirling baton that she got for her last birthday. It was 6 a.m. Time to see my new mini bike!

My sister and I sneaked into the living room. The tree was lit and I was looking for my mini bike. It was not in front of the tree or on either side, nor behind it. I was thinking, okay, maybe it is out in the garage. We wouldn't want it in the house; it would leak oil on the carpet! So, I decided to be patient and wait, sure that my Dad would surprise me with it later that morning. Then, my sister noticed that the cookies were gone. And I saw that the beer was gone.

Boy, I just about jumped out of my pj's, I was so excited! Santa drank the beer! And I just knew that my mini bike was in the garage. Now we just had to wait for everyone else to get up. 'Course my sister and I helped a little. We made a little noise. Okay. . we made quite a bit of noise. Finally, the parents were up! I was just trying to be cool about the whole thing. We opened gifts, and we made all the ooohs and aaahhhs that go along with opening gifts.

After a few minutes, I couldn't stand it any longer. I was about to open my mouth, and ask the whereabouts of my mini bike, when my Dad smiled real big, and handed me and my sister each a gift. He told us he looked all over town for our gifts.

"What the. . .where is the mini bike," I was thinking! He then told us to open the gifts. Before we started to rip the paper off of these gifts, I finally couldn't take it any more. I shouted out, "WHERE IS THE MINI BIKE ??!!"

Both parents looked at me like I was nuts.

My Dad gave me a funny look and asked, "What mini bike?" I about messed my pants. I'd only been talking about it for, like, EVER!

I was told that I was not old enough for a mini bike. I got upset, the tears started, the runny nose, the whole bit. I must have cried for hours, it seemed. My sister, on the other hand, was as happy as a fox in the hen house. I was still kind of snotin' and blowin,' and she punched me in the arm and laughed.

Well, I got socks, underwear, a sweater, a few pairs of pants, a Man From U.N.C.L.E. toy pistol, and a toy rifle from THRUSH, the bad guys who were always after the guys from U.N.C.L.E. I also got a skate board -- a Roller Derby skate board.

So, it was a pretty good Christmas after all, even though I didn't get what I really wanted.

That's okay. Next year, I didn't want some stupid ol' mini bike. I had just seen a show called "Fire Ball X L Five,"and they had these neat space bikes that fly through the air! Now, I ask ya: what can be cooler than having your own space bike?!!! Just think of all the places you could go! That's what I was going to ask for that next year.

Oh, yeah. . . I found a empty beer can in the trash that morning. My Dad, still to this day, says he didn't drink it.... HHHMMM?

PEARL HARBOR DAY

Yesterday was December 7th. A lot of people had posts on their blogs about Pearl Harbor. The posts that I read all had great meaning to me and, I'm sure, to others. A few brought tears, and others gave me moments of reflection and thought.

As the years go by, we lose more and more of the greatest generation. We seem to lose a bit of ourselves also. I took myself to lunch yesterday. On the way to Denny's I only saw two houses that had flags out. It is a shame. Our kids are the ones who will suffer the most. We cannot forget, should never forget, and neither should future generations.

A nation is no stronger than its people. This nation of ours needs to take back what is right, and stand as we have in the past. It is our right and our duty to bring this country back to its rightful place on this planet.

As I was setting at Denny's waiting for my lunch, two older gentleman came in. One was using a cane, and he held the door for his friend, who was using a walker. They both were wearing nice suits and wore hats. Veteran's hats. One was from a VFW hall, the other wore a hat that had "Pearl Harbor Survivor" stitched on the side. I was lucky enough that they were seated at a table next to the booth I was in.

They sat and ordered some coffee. They had both been to some ceremony here in town for Pearl Harbor Day. They saw me looking at them and they both smiled, and kind of nodded their heads at me, like guys just seem to do.

My lunch arrived. . . a burger, fries, and a Coke. As I was eating, I caught some of their conversation. They were talking about the morning's events that they had been to. One made a comment about how there were not a lot of people that showed. The other said that he was in agreement.

I couldn't be quiet. I got their attention and asked them how they were doing today. They both seemed sort of surprised, and they smiled and said that they were doing pretty good. The one with the VFW hat asked me my name. That seemed to kind of open up a door. We talked of every day things and they ate their lunch. I ordered another Coke.

The gentleman in the Pear Harbor hat said that he could remember the first Coke he had ever had. And I asked him when that was.

He said that his very first Coke was when he was about 12 or so. He laughed and said he was hooked on Coke ever since. But since Pearl Harbor, he wouldn't drink Coke or pop of any kind. I asked him why. He got a teary-eyed look and said that he and a buddy had gone to get some Coke when, while picking up a case or two, the attack began.

They never made it back to their ship, The Arizona. So to this day, he would not drink any kind of pop. But he smiled and said that he could still remember how they tasted.

The other gentleman kind of smiled, and patted his friend's shoulder. He looked at me and said that he couldn't drink pop also, but for medical reasons. As we kept talking, I found out that the gentleman in the VFW hat had been in the Marines.

Course, you know -- once a Marine, always a Marine. He had been at the canal and was in the second wave to hit the beach. I didn't ask for details, and he didn't offer. You could see in their eyes that they were thinking of that part of their lives all over again.

After that, with all of us kind of tearing up, I told them of the death of my nephew a couple years ago. (For those of you who are new here, he was killed by sniper fire in Afghanistan.)

We sat there and talked of other things, they drank their coffee and me with ice tea by that time. It was like setting with your granddads and with real life heroes at the same time. They seemed to light up and come alive as our talks went on. The more they talked, the more I wanted to listen and learn about them, their families, their loves and losses. I took notice that others were also following our talk.

As some people got up to pay their bills and leave, they stopped long enough to thank them for their service. Both of them turned red in the face and, with bowed heads, said thank you. There are some out there who remember to thank our soldiers, past and present. It would have been nice if all of them could have thanked these two gentleman.

As we finished up, they each shook my hand. I couldn't help myself: with tears in my eyes I gave them each a hug and thanked them for their service, told them that they were in my prayers. They both stood as straight as they could and thanked me for my nephew's service, and for taking the time to spend with them.

As we made our way to pay our bills, I told the cashier that I was paying for these gentleman also. They started to fuss some. I told them that it was the least I could do, for they had done so much.

You know? I never did ask them what their names were! Names didn't seem important at the time. It felt like we kind of knew each other or had a bond.

It is men and women like this whom we need to remember and cherish.

Let us not forget those who have gone before us. It is because of them that we have what we have. What we have is still well worth fighting and dying for, if necessary.

FEED YOUR FACE: Spice Tea made with Tang

Kathi here. I love a nice mug of hot, spicy tea on a cold day. It warms my innards (and my hands if I hold the cup just right) and makes my tongue happy.

I learned a recipe for hot spiced tea when I was in Girl Scouts. It was made out of Tang. (Yes, hide your shock: Tang had been invented by then!) Of course, we wanted to drink something that the astronauts did.

Every Fall or Winter I get in the mood to have some of this tea. It's an old church-lady favorite now!

This tea is also a welcome gift and is easy to make. The recipe is forgiving. You can package it in some fun and creative ways or you can just stick it in a plastic sandwich bag. Either way -- it tastes good.

You can put a sandwich bag of it in a festive mug and add a bow. Or put it in a canning jar that you have decorated with glass paint – or just a plain jar. You could put it in a plastic sandwich bag, cut a large circle out of fabric, gather it up, and tie it with a bow.

Or, you could forget about packaging it up and keep it all for yourself.

The basic recipe is this:
1 cup instant iced tea (you can use plain, lemon, sweetened, unsweetened)
2 cups Tang instant breakfast drink
1 tablespoon of allspice or pumpkin pie spice

You can mix that up and use it as is, or you can add some Jello (lemon, orange, lime, or ?) or instant lemonade mix, or instant apple cider mix.

Add one heaping tablespoon of the mix to a mug of boiling water. Stir to dissolve, then drink it when it's cool enough to stand it.

One sip whooshes me back to those Girl Scout days when this recipe helped me earn a cooking badge. Come to think of it, it's not really cooking. Oh, well. . . somehow it counted.

And it still makes my tongue happy.

PEDDLE YOUR A** OFF

This is more fun than riding a bicycle. When I was just a little kid, when we lived in Arkansas, I got a pedal car for Christmas. And, not just any pedal car -- it looked like a '57 Chevy. It was silver and blue. So, I forgot about my rocking horse and Wagon Train on the TV, and started being a race car driver who wore a six-gun and a cowboy hat.

No place in the house was safe! I parked that car right at the foot of my bed. It was parked only one night at the head of the bed, 'cause my dad came in one night to tell us good night and ran into my car, stubbing his toes and scraping his shin. So after that it was parked at the foot of the bed.

I would wake in the morning, jump to the foot of the bed, and then jump right into the driver's seat. And away I'd go. First stop? Potty. I would back into the bathroom, right next to the toilet, and stand on the seat of the pedal car, pee and -- when done -- away we went.

Next, a turn or two around the coffee table and then into the dinning room.

I was always stopped before I could drive into the kitchen. I was made to park my car out of the way while we ate breakfast. So, I parked it under the dining table. Now, I never let my sister drive my car 'cause she would break it.

Besides, she always wanted to put one of her dumb dolls in it. And that Christmas, she got the MOTHER of all dolls. This thing was as tall as she was. There was no way that the two of them would fit in my car. 'Course, there was the mom saying, "Share with your sister!"

Why?!! I didn't want her to share with me. All she had were them dumb dolls. Why would a race car/cowboy driver want to play with dolls!

One day I was out racing around the block and my sister had that mother of all dolls outside. She had roller skates on the doll, and she had her roller skates on and was trying to get this doll to skate down the sidewalk. On about lap 40, I came around the corner, took my legs and feet up off the pedals and was coasting down the sidewalk.

My sister and her doll were about half a block in front of me. Now, this is when that little devil that we all have in us as kids saw the doll in the middle of the sidewalk, and saw my sister in the grass walking and making this doll skate down the walk. Everytime I came up behind them, I had to slow down.

Well, not this time. I was coasting along like at 100 miles an hour. I hunkered down a bit in the seat and put the little painted hood ornament dead center on that doll. I hit that doll so hard that the hand and arm that my sister had a hold of was ALL she had. That doll flew! I mean, that thing must have been 50 feet in the air and was doing flips.

Me, on the other hand, got smacked by the doll's head as she started her first flip. One of the doll's legs was stuck under the front of my car and it was just big enough that it lifted the front end of my pedal car enough that the front wheels were off the ground.

The doll was 50 feet in the air, doing flips, I got smacked in the head by the doll's head, and I was teary eyed. There was a doll's leg stuck under the front end of my pedal car, so now I can't steer. And my sister is screaming her head off and chasing me down the sidewalk, swinging a doll arm.

Then I was off the sidewalk and headed towards a neighbor's driveway where his new Buick was parked. And then..... BANG! I hit the passenger side of the Buick. My pedal car stopped, the wedged doll leg slid under the Buick, my sister was still screaming, and she was starting to beat me with a doll arm. The doll had hit the ground and bounced into a rose bush.

I couldn't get out of the pedal car. I was trapped, not because of mangled metal, but because my sister had me by the shirt collar and was beating me to death. Mom heard the screaming of my sister, who was screaming like I ran over her instead of that doll. The neighbor lady who owned the Buick heard the screaming and came out to see what was going on. When she saw her new Buick, she started screaming also.

So everyone was screaming except for me. Mom got me out of my pedal car, and swatted my butt, and my sister was still swinging that doll arm from around mom. The neighbor lady wanted to swat my butt, too.

I was looking at my pedal car.

The front was crumpled some, the front tires looked a little out of whack, and there was this nice scratch of blue paint on the side of the white Buick. No ding, no dent -- just blue paint from my pedal car.

Mom grabbed me and my car, and dragged us to the house, saying the words that all kids dread: "WAIT TILL YOUR FATHER GETS HOME!"

Well he came home, asked me what happened, and I told him: I tried to run over my sister's doll because she would always make me slow down as I came down the hill and it wasn't fun going slow down a hill! My sister must have cried for something like a week, it seemed. It was maybe just a day. I was grounded for a week. You know. . . no TV and all that.

My dad fixed that stupid doll. One leg was scratched real bad. He managed to get the arm put back in and it had all of these little scratches from the rose bush. It's eyes didn't seem to work quite right after that. When you'd lay the doll down, and the eyes would close? Well, they kinda closed, but one eye kinda looked off to one side. And I never thought that I would see my pedal car ever again.

My dad somehow managed to fix it up. Or maybe one of the guys at the air base helped him fix it. It still worked, but the paint wasn't the same. It had a dent or three that couldn't be pounded out. The first time I took it around the block after it was fixed and coasted down that sidewalk, it seemed that it was going just a might faster than when it was new.

As I went by the neighbor lady, she gave me a crusty look, so I stuck my tongue out at her, and went right on by.

As I came up by my house, there was my dad with a smile on his face.

I don't know who, or how, but the Buick was fixed and repainted. It was the same color of blue as my pedal car. And the same blue as was still on the back of the legs on that stupid doll.

Quote of the Week: 12/5/11

"The world is a book, and those who do not travel, read only a page."

--St. Augustine, Philosopher and Theologian

Quote of the Week: 11/28/2011

Laughter is the valve on the pressure cooker of life. Either you laugh and suffer, or you got your beans or brains on the ceiling.
--
Wavy Gravy, American entertainer and peace activist

This photo is of our dog, Nugget, a couple Thanksgivings ago. We hope this makes you laugh (so your beans or brains don't end up on the ceiling).

THANKSGIVING IN THE ROCKIES : Part II

As I got up from my log, I tossed a few chunks of wood on my fire and started towards the road. As I made my way along I could for sure hear voices, and the creak of leather on the cold wind.

Around the bend in the road came two men on horseback. One was leading a pack horse with empty packs, the other was looking behind to see how things were going. Both men seemed in good spirits. As they came around the bend fully they saw me standing by the road. I raised a hand and said hi. They both pulled up to a stop in front of me. The horses were breathing a little hard and you could see the steam rise from their damp fur. The men said hello and then they saw my camp.

One of them laughed. He said that they thought that they were the only ones up here. I told them that I had hiked in just this morning. I asked them where they were headed. The one leading the pack horse smiled and said that they had a few out of town hunters down the road, and that they were with an outfitter from Granby. He introduced himself and his friend.

The one leading the pack horse was named Bob, and the other one was named John. I invited them to my camp and told them that I could put on a pot of coffee. They thanked me, but said that they had to be at the top of the county road to pick up some supplies for their camp, which they said was about 3 miles further down the road. They told me that they had several hunters from Texas and had several tents set up. Said that they were the "Chief cook and bottle washers for the outfit." They would leave camp every 3 days to get more supplies. They would ride out to the main road, and would wait until their boss showed up with more supplies. Bob said that they had been up there for about three weeks now, and only one of their Texas hunters had filled his tag, and that had been filled yesterday.

John added that they should get a move on so that they were up by the main road by 4 p.m. They had just a few miles to get there and wanted to be there before the "boss" showed up. They thanked me for the offer of coffee, and said that they would stop for a few minutes on the way back to their camp. Well the little break they had taken, by stopping and talking to me, had let the animals catch their breath and cool down some. They took off up the road and I walked all of maybe 50 feet when I looked up and saw I had three deer in my camp. The deer saw me at the same time and, in about 3 leaps each, they were in the trees and gone.

As it was getting to be later in the day, I thought that I would start to get things together for my dinner. I thought that maybe I would fix up the chicken that I had brought with me, along with some canned corn and maybe do up some more biscuits. So I stoked up my fire, got my chicken out of the plastic bag I had him in, made a spit out of a choke cherry limb, and put him over the fire. Opened up a can of corn and dumped it in a pan, and took two more biscuits from my pringles can, greased up my old skillet, and set them by the fire. I decided to have some coffee, so got that to making also.

Things were shaping up real nice and I could start to smell the bird cooking. As I set out my plate and silverware I heard a gun shot, then another followed about 20 seconds after the first. I figured that one of the Texans must have filled his tag. So as I was setting there feeding my face, I heard voices again and a horse blow. It surprising how far sound carries in the mountains.

Down the road came Bob and John, leading the pack horse, and this time all the packs were full. As they got near my camp I got out two more cups, poured some coffee in each, and walked down to the road. They pulled up and I handed them each a cup. They didn't say a word, but went right to sipping that coffee. You could tell that they were a bit on the cold side. Both had red checks and their noses looked like they would fall off if you touched them. Man! they were redder than fire trucks.

Bob said that they had to wait a little longer than normal: the boss had a flat on the way up and had to change it. They also told me that my car had been buried in snow when the snow plow came by.

I told John that I heard a shot a while ago and figured that one of their Texans got something. Bob chugged the rest of his coffee, and said thanks, and that he was going to head on down the road back to camp. John said he would be right behind him. As Bob went on down the road, John thanked me for the coffee and behind this great big smile asked me if I would like to join them all for Thanksgiving dinner in their camp tomorrow afternoon, as it would be Thanksgiving day. I wasn't really quite sure what to say. Here I was up in the mountains the day before Thanksgiving and just planning to spend time by myself, camp out from Wednesday to Sunday, head home, and start the work week, never expecting anything like this.

But I said, yes, that would be great. John thanked me again for the coffee, and I asked as he was riding off if I needed to bring anything with me tomorrow. He said, over his shoulder, not to worry, that they had it covered.

As John rode out of sight, I caught a whiff of my cooked chicken and my biscuits. I poured myself another cup of coffee, stirred the corn, and checked the biscuits. Everything was done and I couldn't wait to eat. The meal was great! I ate just about the whole chicken, but managed to save one drumstick for breakfast in the morning.

As evening was approaching, it started to snow lightly. I cleaned up my campsite, carried water up from the stream to heat for washing dishes and for washing myself up. Nothing like standing out in the wilds with no shirt on and trying to wash up.

As the night progressed and it got darker, I threw more wood on the fire, settled back on my log with my feet towards the fire and just lounged. It was a beautiful night, snow was still coming down lightly, and the stars were shinning brightly. Later the moon would be out. All seemed right with the world. It must of been close to midnight or so before I banked my fire, crawled into to my tent, and snuggled down in my sleeping bag.

I awoke to a gorgeous morning. The sun was out and everything was so bright. It was one of those mornings, you know, the kind when you were a kid, and it is Christmas and the morning just flies by before you know it? Well, it felt like one of those mornings. I could hear the stream behind my camp and there was a squirrel chattering in the pines. And I could swear that I could smell coffee and what almost smelled like pumpkin pie. But it couldn't be. It had to be my mind playing tricks on me.

I checked my campfire and found a few hot coals, and got my fire going again. Put on some water for coffee and made up some eggs, fried up the rest of my trout, and had a fine breakfast. After breakfast, I went and picked up more firewood, stacked it under a big tree, and covered the wood with the tarp I had brought with. I cleaned up camp and finished up the coffee.

I had some time before I had to head down the road for my Thanksgiving meal and I didn't want to go empty handed. So I grabbed my fishing pole and off to the stream I went. The fishing was not as good as it was the day before, but I managed to catch four nice brook trout. I like to catch these brookies, they all are about 8 to 11 inches or so, and they fit just right in my old skillet. There are smaller brookies, but I try to let them go. But every now and then one of them little buggers swallows the hook, and well, you just end up with a small one now and then. But they all taste great. So now I had something to bring to the Thanksgiving meal.

I grabbed my snowshoes and my back pack, stuffed the fish in a bag, and put them in the pack. I grabbed my .22 -- you never know, I might get a rabbit or two along the way. So off down the road I went. The going was not too bad after having some fresh snow from the night before. I was making good time, and I could hear some voices in the distance. Sounded like they are having a good time.

As I was snowshoeing along the road, I was coming across a lot of tracks -- deer, elk, porcupine, squirrel, martin, and rabbit. As I came over a little rise, standing in the road were two grouse. Well, grouse is better than rabbit any day, so I took aim and got one of the grouse. The other flew into a tree not 20 feet from me. I took aim and got the second grouse. I took the time to dress them out, put them in a bag, and placed them in my pack.

I could see the camp of Bob, John, and their Texans. They had a real good spot for the camp: plenty of wood all around, a small corral for the horses, the same stream behind the tents as I had, and they had two huge tents set up across from one another.

Then the wind shifted and I got a whiff of something cooking. I could swear that I smelled turkey. Bob saw me first and hollered at me to come on in. As I made my way into the camp, I thought I could smell apple pie! John came from around the corner with a arm full of firewood. He dropped the wood and pointed out the rest of the guys that were setting around the fire. There was a guy named Mark, real skinny and tall. And then there was Josh and Ray, two of the biggest guys I had ever seen. I thought for sure that they played pro football. I felt kind of sorry for the horses that had to carry these two.

I took off my pack and unloaded the birds and fish. Bob took them and went into one of the tents. As the flap opened I thought I smelled sweet 'taters, or could it have been pumpkin pie. When Bob came out of the tent, he had donned a apron. He said it would be about another hour before we ate. I was handed a beer and given a fold-up chair to set in. We set around the fire talking about this and that. The guy named Mark was in real estate sales in Houston. Josh and Ray were from Dallas, and they were partners in a log cabin business. Tey would get together every deer and elk season and come hunt Colorado.

They all seemed really nice. It was a little difficult to understand them every now an then. But I liked them well enough. Before I knew it Bob was hollering and banging on a pan to "COME AND GET IT !!" I thought that I was going to get trampled getting into the tent. I could not believe my eyes when I got inside.

This tent was their mess tent; they took all their meals in it. They had a folding table off to one side. On it was drinks -- pop, beer, water, coffee, wine, and who knows what else. The other table was set just like a fancy restaurant -- napkins, silverware, cups, glasses, a centerpiece decoration, and the food. It looked like there was enough to feed us and the whole town of Golden. There was turkey, which they had brought with them from Texas. There was my grouse and brook trout. And we had stuffing, potatos -- sweet and mashed, gravy, cranberry sauce, biscuits, corn, green beans, and at least three different kinds of pie. It was just like being at home with family and friends. I have never seen that much food for one meal on a hunting trip of any kind in my life.

We ate and ate, laughed, talked, and ate some more. I have never eaten that much in my life! And the pies! They were so good. I seem to remember eating at least 4 slices with whipped cream. By the time we were done, we had pretty well eaten all there was. I don't think I could have looked at a pie or another piece of turkey for at least another year. I mean, we ALL, had our pants undone and could hardly move. I do not know what it is about eating while in the mountains, but it always seems to taste better, and you can eat so much more.

We sat around and talked until it was dark. The food was fantastic and the company was great. They loaded me up with leftovers, and I managed to be able to bend over just long enough to get my snowshoes on. And I headed back up the road to my camp, the walk was slow. . . really slow. I thought I was going to burst.

I made it back to camp, got my fire going, dragged out my sleeping bag to wrap up in, and just sat in front of the fire. The next thing I knew, it was morning.

The next few days were spent fishing, drawing, collecting firewood, and seeing the guys down the road every now and then.

Sunday came too fast, and I was packing up to head back to my car when they all came out and up the road, scruffy, dirty, and smiling to beat the band. They stopped long enough to let the horses blow and check the load on the pack horses. The guys from Texas had bagged two elk. I don't know who got what. They all seemed ready to head for home. I shook hands with all of them, and they left, leaving me feel that I was a part of the group.

I finished packing and hiked out to my car. To my surprise, those guys had dug my car out for me!

That was one of the best Thanksgivings that I have had in my life. I still think about it every year at Thanks giving.

I saw Bob and John several times over the years on some of my hunting trips, and I ran into Josh and Ray one year while hunting right where they had hunting camp set up so many years ago.

After all these years, and so many hunting trips have passed, I still think of these guys every year, and thank them from my heart that they shared a Thanksgiving so many years ago with me. It has brought me closer to my family and friends.

I wish that all of you could share in something like I did. I wish that all of your Thanksgivings, no matter where you are, are the best and that they bring memories that you will all cherish forever.

That was my Thanksgiving in the Rockies.

Have a great Thanksgiving!

THANKSGIVING IN THE ROCKIES

At Thanksgiving time we think of family and friends. We think about all the food that will be served. You have your turkey and dressing, mashed 'taters with gravy, cranberries, green beans, and rolls, and all kinds of other fixins. It is great to see family and friends that maybe you do not get to see on a regular basis. We set, give thanks, and then we eat.

We all set around, talk, laugh, maybe show a few photos. Watch the game on TV. Then as the day gets to be just about over maybe we pack up a few containers of leftovers, say our goodbyes, and head for home.

One year, I got to have my Thanksgiving in the Colorado rockies. I had packed my camping gear and my fishing pole. It was deer and elk season and I thought that since my family was not going to have Thanksgiving together that I would just hit the high country for a few days. I wasn't worried, as I had done this lots of times by myself. So I hit the road.

The trip up was very nice, snow covered everything, and the roads had been plowed. I had left word with family about where I was going to be so that if I did not make it back by Sunday they would know where to look. So I made my way up to the top of Gore pass. It was breathtaking. The snow hung on the pine trees and the snow on either side of the road showed no footprints of man or animal. The sun was catching the snow and gave it a glitter of rainbow colors. Just like you would see in a Christmas card.

I made it to my turn off, and managed to go about 40 feet or so before I had to stop. The gate was closed on the county road I was to take. No problem. I parked and unloaded my gear, put on my snow shoes and away I went. Walking down the road was really easy in the snow shoes. No downed trees to step over. And the way was clear as far as I could see. As I walked, all I could hear was the crunching of the snow shoes in the snow and my own breathing. It was so quiet and just a bit of a breeze. I thought that I caught a wiff of a camp fire, but it was gone on the breeze so quickly, that I wasn't sure if I had smelled it at all. I could smell the pines.

As I walked, I planned out what all I needed to do. Set up my tent, collect firewood, get my camp all in order, and make it as snug as I could. I would also check the beaver ponds and the stream that feeds them, 'cause I had a hankering for some fresh brook trout for lunch.

I hiked in about 3 miles from the main road and I was only about 25 or 30 feet off of the county road. It seemed that I had the whole place to myself.

I got camp set up and every thing had it's place. I had a huge supply of fire wood and had a real good fire going. The tent was up, my sleeping bag all was stretched out inside the tent. My extra gear was stored out of the way. I had my old coffee pot near the fire, melting the snow that I had put in it for some hot water for a cup of tea later on.

I took a little strowl behind my camp and could hear the water running in the stream. It had not iced over yet, so I could at least try to get a fish or two for my lunch. As I turned to head back to camp, I spooked up two elk -- a cow and her calf. I never heard them. They were about 60 feet or so from me. They must have known that I was not hunting them. We looked at each other for almost a full minute, when the Mama gave a little snort and they both moved off through the trees at an easy pace.

I headed back to camp, had a cup of tea, put more snow in the old pot, threw some more wood on the fire and grabbed my fishing pole. I followed my tracks back to the stream and started to fish. The fish were eager to get out of the cold water, as I caught five nice brookies.

As I made my way back to camp, I grabbed a few chunks of wood along the way. You can never have too much fire wood when camping in the winter time. When I got back to camp, I dragged out my skillet and the fixings for fried trout. I had pre-cut biscuit dough in a Pringles chip can. There was enough to last me for at least three days, as long as I rationed them and didn't decide to pig out on the food I had brought along.

Course, that's one nice thing about backpacking: your stuff weighs a ton when you hike in, but it is so much lighter when you pack back out.

So I had three of the fish, did up two biscuits and a can of pork and beans. Man, was I stuffed. I cleaned up everything, and put things away. Added some wood to the fire and just kicked back, leaned up against a log, and had another cup of tea. I would save my coffee for mornings.

I must have dozed off, and I woke with a start. What was it that had made me wake up? I strained to hear. I heard horses, then people talking.

(Part II tomorrow)

FEED YOUR FACE: Apple Chips

This was posted last year, but it's timely and someone new to the blog requested some dehydrating recipes. This is one of Kathi's favorites, and last year's batch (about 25 pounds of apples) lasted her only until July -- and she just used them for snacking, not cooking. Make more!
------------------------------------------

Our forefathers and mothers used to be self sufficient. They did just about everything, from fixing the windmill to delivering babies. And they could cook just about anything that was brought to them. If they had too much food they knew how to preserve it, from smoking to drying.

So, we are doing apple chips, but we are going to cheat and use newer technology for old ideas.

First off: at our house we have a food dehydrator. I got tried of using a small one so we got us a BIG one. Now, if you like dried fruit, meat, or veggies then you might want to ask Santa or one of his many helpers for a dehydrator. They are not all that costly, unless you get a BIG one.

OK, so we bought a bunch of honey crisp apples, about 25 pounds or so. The hard part was keeping Kathi (my wife) out of them, 'cause they are her favorite -- which is why we bought honeycrisps in the first place.

You need to mix up some cinnamon sugar and put it in a shaker. Next you will need a big bowl or container to let the apple slices lay in. Also you need lemon juice, or you can use a lemon-lime cola, like Sierra Mist. Also you will need a bunch of paper towels and a large working area. So let's get started.

Wash your apples, and take off them little labels. Next, pour about 1/4 cup of lemon juice into your bow, then add about 5 cups of water. Or use the pop and just pour in several cans. The lemon juice will keep the apple slices from turning brown. Same, if you use the pop.

Now, we have a little machine that you crank by hand. It cores, peels, and slices the apples all at the same time and the slices are uniform, which is good for dehydrating. It also looks good. As the apple is sliced, in one long curl, you break the slice in half. Of course, you can do this by hand if you don't have the fancy little machine.

Place the slices in the bowl for several minutes, then remove them, and lay them out on several sheets of paper towel. Then, pat the apple slices dry. Now, shake some of your sugar cinnamon on all the slices.

Then take those slices off the paper towels and put them on the drying racks. Leave some space between the slices for air to circulate around them. Continue until you have filled up all the racks on your dehydrator or run out of apples or both.


Once you have the racks in place put the lid on or close the door on your dehydrator. Turn it on. You want to set a low temp so that you don't cook them, but suck the moisture out of them. Let them dry for 12 hours or so. If you want them dryer, run them longer. We like our dried, but still pliable.

When they are dry enough, let them set for awhile and cool off some. Then place them in Ziplock bags. Put them in a nice cool place for storage. (I had some dried apples that were about 3 years old and were just as good as the day I made them.)
Now, these are great for a snack or to use in cooking. Make an apple pie with dried apples. Or use them in your dressing or stuffing this Thanksgiving.

You will find all kinds of things to run through your dehydrator. Make up some dry veggies for homemade soups, or dry flowers for potpourri.

It's fun and you can get the whole family involved. You will also save money on meals for your family. So have at it, dry some fruit, and veggies, save a few bucks, and FEED YOUR FACE !

Quote of the Week: 11/21/11

"Just living is not enough. ...One must have sunshine, freedom, and a little flower."

Hans Christian Anderson
Danish author and poet

Dehydrating and Preserving Food

I was going to do a post on dehydrating/preserving food, but fellow blogger SciFiChick has done a great job, so today I'm going to refer you to her.

Take a look: http://baconandeggs-scifichick.blogspot.com/p/dehydrating_06.html

Poke around her site and see all the other great posts she has as well. There's a lot of great information.

(Overachiever. . . )

A ROOTIN' TOOTIN' TIME

The story I'm about to relate is true. I hope that I don't offend anyone who follows my blog. So, put down anything that you are drinking, and any sharp objects that are near you.

Now, growing up in my family, we did a lot of outdoor stuff: hunting, fishing, camping. We did a lot of this before we kids were old enough to hunt. And, of course, there are a few traditions that go along with it.

This tradition has to do with food. This food is Dinty Moore Stew, with pork and beans. Now, anytime we were in the hills, we had this for at least one meal. It is quite tasty! I still like it to this day.

My brother in law, Robert, on the other hand has had to eat this on lots of our trips to the hills. He has had it so much that on one deer hunting trip as we were doing the shopping for supplies, my friend Ed and I were told, "NO DINTY MOORE STEW AND PORK AND BEANS!!"

We said OK.

Well, we got a big can of Dinty Moore Stew, and instead of pork and beans we got a can of ranch -style beans and a can of chili. So, now he couldn't say no to the stew, right?

We all know that when you eat beans, you can get gas. But, we had had this for years! All the guys know what it is like in hunt camp. And maybe some of you ladies know also. We cuss, spit, tell dirty jokes, fart, scratch, some may do some drinkin', and we just get silly and have a good time.

Well, we had been hunting for three days and the weather was great -- nice and warm during the day and cool at night.

The next morning we had snow. . .about four or five inches of the white stuff. And it was COLD!

So, we ate a quiet breakfast and headed out to hunt. We all packed up, and took some MRE's for lunch. We figured that we would hunt all day, and come back to camp a little past sundown. The hunting was great. We could walk through the forest and not make a sound, because of the snow. Well, Robert dropped a fat three-point buck, and I got a nice doe. Ed, on the other hand, didn't even get a shot.

When we all got back to camp, it had started to snow and it was getting colder. We got our animals hung and dressed out, then decided that a warm dinner was in order. Ed and I said that we would fix dinner. So, we set up the Coleman stove, got out a large pot, and opened up the stew, ranch style beans, and the chili, and we put it all in one pot.

Now, some of you might be going YUCK. (But it's good!) As it warmed up on the stove, it started to smell pretty good. As it got hotter, it started to smell great! 'Course, Robert had to come over to check out what we had cooking. When he saw the stew can, we thought he was going to pack his gear and go home. But as he took a closer look in the pot and sniffed at it a couple of times, he smiled and said that it smelled better than it looked.

While we were cooking, Robert made us a nice campfire and we had three logs to set on. When the stew was ready, we dished it out in big bowls. We cut up a loaf of sheep herders bread.
Boy howdy, we were like total pigs. We ate, and ate, and we didn't even talk while eating. I mean, this stuff was GOOD! We all had seconds, then thirds.

Well Ed and I quit after the third bowl. Robert, on the other hand, went over to the pot and proceeded to finish up what was left, even taking what was left of the bread to sop up what he couldn't get with a spoon.

So, after a great dinner, Ed and I figured we had come up with a new traditional meal for hunting. Robert cleaned up the mess from dinner, and Ed and I just sat, had a beer, and a smoke. When Robert had finished, he joined us at the fire. We sat, talked, laughed, told stories, drank more beer, and smoked, and just had a good time. After about two hours of this, Robert or Ed let one loose. And of course, we laughed.

Pretty soon, more farts, more laughing. And we moved a little further apart around the campfire. I swear, I saw the flames get bigger and higher a few times. And still, we sat and talked, and laughed. And of course, more farts.

Well it got to the point, that we couldn't finish a sentence without passing gas at least six times. Now that I look back on this, I think it was one of the most quiet outside of camp that I had ever heard. I mean, we were on some open range, and there had been some cows around the outside of our camp, and there had been some birds around also. And the pesky chipmonk and squirrels that are always in camp were nowhere to be seen or found.

After several hours of passing gas and talking we decided it was time to hit the sack. We have always slept in a tent when hunting. Even in the dead of winter. And this time, we had one of them little dome tents. You know the kind -- you get down on your knees and crawl in. The tent was plenty big enough for the three of us. Ed on one side, me on the other, and Robert in the middle.

We found out why they call sleeping bags "fart sacks" that night. It's a good thing that the tent was staked down. With all that gas, we could have floated off, never to be heard from again!

Well, poor ol' Robert, being in the middle, caught the biggest part of the gas that was going around. Ed and I had set our bags up so that the zippered part of our bags were towards Robert. And when one of us would let one loose, we would fan our bags toward him.

None of us got up that night to make a call to Mother Nature. We went to sleep, fartin' and laughing. Robert, on the other hand, was not laughing. He gagged, coughed, spit, and sputtered, and made all kinds of comments about not being able to breathe. Me? I have this sinus thing 24/7. I've had it since I was a little kid. So, I only got a whiff every once in a while. Ed, I think, had put a bandana over his nose and mouth.

When I awoke the next morning, I could smell! My sinuses had cleared right up. And, boy! did it ever stink in that tent. I looked over and Ed was snoring, Robert, at some point in the night, had unzipped the tent flap and stuck his head out of the tent. I woke Ed up, and he looked over at Robert, sleeping with his head outside the tent. Robert hadn't moved.

At some point it had quit snowing during the night. As we moved the tent flap just a bit, to take a peek at Robert, he let out a scream. As we had moved the tent flap, some snow fell and hit Robert right in the face. Have you ever seen some one try to jump up in a little tent?

Well, we got up, made some coffee, and dragged our bags out of the tent. We hung the bags up every morning for the next three days, and they still smelled of chili, ranch style beans, and Dinty Moore Stew. Hell, we even threw some pine branches on the camp fire, and tried to smoke our sleeping bags so they would smell of pine.

Didn't work. They then smelled of pine and ranch style beans, and chili, and -- yep -- Dinty Moore Stew.

The rest of our hunting trip was pretty dull. Every night we tried to stay up, so we wouldn't have to get in them sleeping bags. The last night, we all slept in Robert's van.

When we got back home, I washed my bag like three times and ended up having to have it cleaned at the laundromat. Ed had to do the same thing. I never used that bag again. I bought a new one for the next hunting trip.

Somehow, my sister managed to get Robert's bag to smell pretty good. It was a bit shorter, but it smelled nice.

The tent: Robert set it up in his yard to "air out." The sad part is, the tent belonged to his sons. It sat in the yard for something like a week. They never had to waterproof that sucker ever again. I'm sorry to say that my nephews had to use that tent for a winter boy scout outing. They had the whole tent to themselves. No one offered to sleep in the tent with them. And it seems that the color of the tent was not as bright as it was when we used it for hunting. Go figure. The boys said it wasn't too bad, as long as you had something to cover your nose with!

The following summer, the tent was used maybe twice. It was just too unbearable. It was completely permeated. The good thing? They didn't have any bugs or flies in the tent, as they pretty much keeled over at the doorway.

All hunting and outdoor excursions from then on required that uncles and friends had to sleep in a tent of their own.

Robert and I haven't had our traditional meal on any mountain trips for years. And if the subject comes up, Robert's eyes just seem to start leaking and he turns a funny color.

So, if you want to pull a good one on some of your huntin' and fishin' buddies, just buy a big can of Dinty Moore Stew, a can of ranch style beans, and a can of chili. Dump it all in a big pot, and heat it up. Serve it in a big bowl with some bread. They may think that it is gross until they get a whiff of it after it is heated. It really does smell -- and taste-- good.

For yourself, I would suggest that maybe you eat a sandwich or something, and don't set near a open flame. Also, you might want to sleep by your self that night also. And maybe at some distance from the rest of them. Also, after all the fun that night, it might be a nice gesture to hand out some extra T.P. the next morning.

And maybe you should not serve this if you're in bear country. You know how they like the smell of dead things. If you serve it while duck hunting, maybe serve it for lunch. You can then hunt without that pesky duck call hanging around your neck that always gets in the way. But, please. . . do NOT do this if you are hunting from a heated duck blind. Big explosions scare off the game. If you use a tree stand -- well, you'er on your own. Maybe this should be under FEED YOUR FACE! Oh, another thought, maybe serve this to your pesky in laws. They won't come back for years.

Kathi and I have Dinty Moore stew with a little can of pork and beans every now and then. When we do, we try to do it on a weekend. But I wouldn't do it on a Sunday. Come Monday, people you work with would not be pleased. 'Course, you could maybe blame it on someone else. If you're female, I wouldn't wear pantyhose. You might blow a shoe off and hurt someone.

Quote of the Week: 11/14/11

"Once we believe in ourselves, we can risk curiosity, wonder, spontaneous delight, or any experience that reveals the human spirit."

E.E. Cummings
American poet

DON'T KNOW WHY

This year, Veteran's day was harder than it has been for the last couple of years. I'm not sure why. I stayed pretty much at home. And Kathi was at work. I managed to get a little work done in the garage. But it was hard to not cry.

My nephew has been gone for a couple years now. My sister and brother in-law are still having a hard time of it. I know that it takes time, lots of time, to get over the loss of a loved one. And some never get over the loss.

And then there is their grandchild (he's a cute little bugger) and the widow of 21-years-old that he left behind. He joined the Army, and he was very proud. One of the reasons he joined was that he had lost a couple of friends in Afghanistan and he wanted to do his part. His Dad, a Vietnam- era vet, did his time in the Army. He was, and still is, proud of his lost son.

Me? I never served. I wish that I had. But back then I was a little too wild -- or as some said, " radical." When Vietnam was going on I wasn't against the war, I just did not understand it. My Dad told me that if I was "called to serve" he would have rather sent me to Canada. He had served in the Air Force during Korea.

Now, please don't jump in and say that my Dad is unpatriotic. His view was that the politicians were running the war, instead of the military, but that the military should have been running it instead of Johnson and the other politicians of that time.

I grew up saying the Pledge of Allegiance every morning in grade school. We hid under our desks for air raid drills. There were the civil defense guys in your neighborhood. All these years later, do they even say the Pledge of Allegiance in the schools anymore?

But, I digress.

I watched my nephew grow from a child to a man. We shared hunting trips, fishing, and camping. I enjoyed just being his uncle, joking, poking fun, pulling pranks. I enjoyed the holidays spent with that side of the family. We had some real good times.

We laughed at Grandpa with the cactus spines in his behind. At calling my nephew "bear bait" 'cause of all the candy wrappers he had in his tent, and we had a bear come into camp. (That scared the you know what out of him!)

When he turned 17, I took him out to get his ear pierced, 'cause that is what he wanted, though his dad didn't really want him to. His dad gave in, as long as that was ALL he had pierced. So, being the dutiful uncle, I took him for the piercing.

After he had his ear done, we saw some of those fake pierce rings, like for your belly button or your nose. Well, I popped for some extra ones. I got him two for his nipples, one for his belly button, and one for his nose.

Well, when I got him home, he couldn't keep a straight face. I gave him a hard time, and told him he had to keep it real for his parents. We walked in the door, and my sister about had a fit. The first thing she saw was the nose ring. His dad heard her holler and he about fainted. Then my nephew said, "Well, you might as well see the rest of them," and he lifted his shirt. I thought that we both kept it together pretty well. I told his parents that they had a special going on and it seemed like a good deal at the time.

His dad turned a darker shade of red. My nephew and I started to laugh. He than pulled the ring off his belly, plucked the two nipple rings off, and tossed them all to his dad. I thought that I was going to be asked to leave and never come back.

That's how Grant, my nephew, was: a fun-loving kid. And I can't get over how I miss him. And his little boy, my great nephew, is a lot like his Dad. You can see it in his eyes. And I really feel for my sister and brother in-law, and for the rest of my family.

It still hurts.

My son (Grant's cousin) goes to see his cousin at the cemetary. He always makes his mom bring flowers, and he still asks about his cousin Grant.

I don't know why this Veterans Day was so rough. But I'm proud, and glad that I have had the chance to meet the young men from his outfit. I have heard some of the stories about my nephew from those guys, and of the things he said and did. How he always had time to help "his" guys. How they loved him. And to hear the stories he told them of me (his uncle), and the fun and crazy things that we had done, as well as some of the times he spent with his parents and the rest of our family.

So, yes, this Veterans Day was tough, and I'm sure that there will be more. It makes me think of all the others who have gone before and after him. Of the ones who have served, and the ones who are serving now.

Bless every one of you. And thank you, from the bottom of my heart.