Bacon, Bakin' and Odd

Bacon, Bakin' And Odd


We're taking it easy today, except for getting ready for a 4th of July parade of visitors.  The preparation that consists mainly of a trip to the grocery store for "some snacks."  We delegated cooking the main course (and some of the sides, come to think of it) to Bullies' BarBQ--a merchant we have had the privilege of living about five minutes away from for the past couple of years.  

It really is too beastly hot for anyone to ask me to actually cook for all of them, trust me.  As I moved about the store and picked up  what I thought were "snacks," namely pretzels, potato chips, taco chips, I heard my dear wife say, "Oh, we'll be needing some bacon, too."  This reignited a condition I had only lately begun to recover from in just the past fifteen hours or so--Baconitis.  Yesterday it manifested itself when somebody observed that we were "bakin' like bacon."  

It was just an impulsive observation about how beastly hot it has been for the past few weeks.  Don't get me wrong, I don't really mind heat for the 4th of July.  All my life temperature in the 80' and 90's were typical on the 4th.  The problem was that someone had brought up bacon again.  It's all around me.  I've decided this is an "-itis" because bacon has become so ubiquitous that I am worried it is becoming some sort of obsession, or maybe it's possession--I'm being possessed by some sort of bacon spirit.  

Technically, "-itis" means inflammation.  Inflammation is, for me and most everyone I know, irritating.  So is Baconitis!  But the real problem is that you can never quite forget about it,    when you begin to realize you are surrounded by bacon, and people will bring it up or display it almost everywhere.  Here is just a brief recounting of where bacon has been popping up around me the past few days.  There was a report about the effect of the introduction of "baconator fries" on the price of Wendy's stock (it closed higher).  Baconator fries are intended to complement guess what? The Baconator burger, Wendy's most successful burger, of course.  Three nights ago, we ate out at the local Bonefish restaurant.  The special on the evening's menu was salmon topped with cheese and, what else?  Bacon.  My wife expressed her opinion that bacon and salmon don't go together.  Seriously, no one else has found any food with which bacon does not go.  There's bacon added to grits, bacon added to salads, even to a sauce you pour on waffles.  

Arby's has introduced brown sugar bacon sandwich, it consists of Arby's traditional sliced beef with brown sugar bacon sauce.  Paula Deen has a recipe for brown sugar bacon.  The web site EndlessSimmer.com has over one hundred uses for bacon.  I couldn't bring myself to read them all, but one included recipe was bacon apple pie--apple pie with a bacon lattice on top in lieu of the more traditional pie crust lattice.    

Want to stay current on all things bacon?  Subscribe to Bacon Today, "daily news on the world of sweet, sweet bacon"  Did you say you need a book to read to your children?  Another void has lately been filled--you will find there is now a children's book you can read to your child entitled, I Want To Be Bacon When I Grow Up.  

 Are you more of an Internet sort of person?  Go to BaconFreak.com.  I had been putting off the completion of this little essay until the bacon wave subsided in my world, but I concluded it never will, when my wife pointed out the bacon-flavored chocolate at the local chocolatier.  We're doomed.  Chocolate and bacon have formed an alliance.    

P.S., I recently attended a prayer service where the minister recited the following invocation:  Dear Lord, once we had Johnny Cash, Bob Hope and Steve Jpbs.  Now, we have no Cash, no Hope and no Jobs.  Please, please, please, we beg foe you-- watch over Kevin Bacon!

WebMaD (as renamed herein) and The Return To 2nd Grade

WebMD (as renamed herein) and The Return to 2nd Grade

Once you reach a certain age, your email is often filled up with regular appearances by providers of unnecessary information you never asked for, and find generally useless.  They arrive in the form of newsletters from people like WebMD, AARP, and more.  They often have messages aimed at "enlightening" you in some form by answering questions you never asked.  Just such a message arrived in my email recently, and its title made me set it aside for exploration when I had nothing else to do.  It was a WebMD newsletter with a title that editorial policy in my little column here forbids directly relating directly here.  Suffice to say that its subtitle, "The Truth About Body Noises," gives you a hint, but it could be misunderstood.  For example you might say to yourself, "Oh, it's probably about snoring and creaking, cracking joints," or. if you are someone who suffers from--or lives with someone who suffers from--seasonal allergies, you might even say "it's probably about coughing and sneezing, etc."  Nope.

It's really about something associated with digestion, and--more specifically--its leading headline deals with certain malodorous events that are associated with the intestinal tract.  Yes, it's flatulence, but, just to make sure the headline has the maximum impact, they scorn the use of the medical term and actually use the word.  It begins with "F" and rhymes with "That smarts," which is usually what you might have said after Sister Mary Borgia has smacked the back of your hand with a ruler for using the word in her classroom or even in the schoolyard during recess.  Our editorial board here is populated by people who were taught not to use certain expressions by the Sister Mary Borgias of this world--probably during the previous century to this one.  WebMD's editorial board, on the other hand, is probably populated with 2nd graders or those whose vocabulary remains thrilled with the same expressions they enjoyed in the 2nd grade.  This is much like what one imagines the editorial board of Mad Magazine to be, hence the suggested renaming of "WebMD" as "WebMad" cited  above.     

At any rate, the title drew me in and I set aside their newsletter--engagingly entitled "Gurgles, F-----, and More Body Noises."   When I got around to opening it, the page linked to it contained a number of exciting tools and "facts."  The most unsurprising of these "facts" was the following observation; "Working out will help you f--- less."  Yes the people who constantly nag you about the benefits of regular exercise "push up" the notion that "Exercise reduces unnecessary air anywhere in your body."  Hah! " They have never been to yoga class" is all I am going to say about that one.

Oh, and get this, "Air travel increases the amount of f---ing you do."  I am not making this up, they loftily point out that "the change in air pressure can affect more than your ears."  I am pretty sure that was true for the people that flew with me and I believe them, although I don't recall any unfortunate incidents I was responsible for.  There is another "benefit" of travel I don't miss.

Their engaging way of conveying these "facts about f----" was to offer an online quiz.  I took it and scored a 40%.  Now I have heard some talk about the lowering educational standards these days, and when I went to school 40% was an "F," (no, the "F" is just a coincidence, really--it stands for failure).  WebMaD gave me a "pass on the gas!"  How can you trust these people?

Oh, by the way, the next quiz offered after completing the one I took was entitled "The Scoop On Poop."  I did not even go there.

At A Losss For Words: A Doggie Reference Letter

At A Loss For Words: A Doggie Referece Letter

Recently a good friend of ours was talking about one of her favorite subjects, her dog.  Tucker, an English Black Labrador, is a nice, quiet, lovable mass of black hair and muscle, weighing in at eighty-five pounds or so.  Her favorite greeting is to approach you and run the entire length of her body against your legs.  My guess is Tucker is offering with this subtle "nudge,"an opportunity to give her a lengthy pat and scratch anywhere at all, as long as you wish, and  she will appreciate it just the same; whether it is at her head or above her tail, or anywhere in between.  But you had better act fast, as she plans to make this offer to anyone else who has arrived with you, so you will have to get in line if you miss your first opportunity.

Anyway, a friend of our friend (not the dog, our other friend), is looking for a dog, and, surprise-surprise, she is looking for a Black Labrador as well.  My guess is Tucker has charmed her too with a few of those aforementioned end-to-end extended nudges that Tucker will give to just about anybody.  Now, you may not have realized this, but Labrador pups are in great demand, and not just anyone can get their arms around one--and that's not because of their size, they aren't eighty to one hundred pound bundles of joy as puppies.  It takes a couple of years or so to eat enough of the food you haul before one of these friends/adopted family members before the grow into that eighty to one hundred pound territory.

The dog-seeking friend was describing the trials of finding a breeder willing to even return your calls, let alone grant her the opportunity to see one of the available pups.  The prices are too astounding to mention (ok, ok, I'll give you a hint--they run into the thousands of dollars--and I'm not talking about the cost of the food they will eat, the furniture they will befriend--giving the legs of your couch an occasional chew apparently is a gesture of friendship--or even the shoes of any and all household members to whom your new pup takes a "shine."  Oh, not the shoes, they will likely never shine again as you, like me, probably aren't willing to spend time and energy polishing shoes that have been chewed to pieces.

As this prospective adoptive parent was describing her plight, she mentioned the name of one breeder who had not even returned her calls, and it turned out to be our friend's source for Tucker--yes the dog breeder who had blessed my friends with Tucker still raises Labrador pups, apparently needing to add a few hundred thousand dollars or so to his own retirement nest egg.  On hearing this, the Labrador Puppy Parent Wannabe pleaded with our friend, asking that Tucker's "Mommy" provide a "letter of reference" for her to help her get the breeder to sell them a puppy (in case it is not obvious, she was asking Tucker's adoptive "Mommy," and not her real mother, who is apparently a tramp, making her living by giving birth to dozens of puppies; besides which she cannot hold a pen in her paws or tap keys on a keyboard worth a hoot--if she is the kind of dog who hoots--I should look that up).  My friend agreed, which was why she was telling us the story.  She was asking for our help.  As I am sure if you have ever been asked to write a letter of reference for someone attempting to undertake a career, for example, you might have struggled for the right things to say, composing this letter of reference had indeed left her at a loss for words.

Driftwood and Me

Driftwood And Me

When I woke up this morning, driftwood was on my mind.  I can't say why, maybe I was feeling windburned from the beach yesterday, struggling to keep beach umbrellas upright in a stiff breeze.  

I went to google to learn some things about it, and found myself tossed upon the waves in much the same way the very subject itself is.  (When I write my first allegory, driftwood will play an important part.)  But back to my journey of discovery on driftwood.  I was bounced from page to page as I started looking.  I was sent to Wikipedia, of course.  There I learned that driftwood is "wood that has been washed onto a shore or beach of a sea, lake, or river by the action of winds, tides or waves. It is a form of marine debris or tide wrack."

Sounds simple enough, but I also learned it isn't just created for our amusement--as in art, or aquariums, or as a nuisance where it sometimes completely covers a beach.
  

It also forms an important part of the food chain for sea creatures.  It seems that gribblesi, shipworms and other bacteria climb aboard and consume the insides, decomposing it and turning them into nutrients for the smallest of fish, who in turn are gobbled up by bigger fish, and so on, ad nauseam.  Or maybe not "ad nauseam," I've enjoyed some pretty tasty seafood around here, and it doesn't taste like bark to me--not to be confused with the cuisine of certain Asian countries who have been known to eat certain kinds of animals we treat as pets, but that's another story.  

Back to driftwood,   While the majority of driftwood is said to have formed as trees, roots and storm-damaged limbs are washed from our shores into the sea, a fairly large proportion is formed from flotsam and jetsam, from man-made wooden objects.  Jetsam and flotsam are two distinctly different things--jetsam sounds like the country cousin-- the result of deliberately discarded wood used as dunnage, while flotsam is the more dignified-sounding one.  Flotsam is the result of shipwrecked or storm damaged wooden boats and ships.  I can imagine large groups of driftwood floating on the seas.  If they are anything like humans, they are labeling each other and "making statements" about themselves by studying their heritage.  Imagine the "Daughters of the Sunken Ships of the American Revolution" or the "Sons of the Shipwrecked Colonials."  Then, think of all those who would consider themselves superior because they were organically-grown and formed, then washed into the sea as opposed to being sawed, hammered and planed into a man-made object.  If they are anything like humans, I now know why driftwood looks so haggard and torn when it land on the shore--all that time sniping at each other about whose heritage is better than whose.  Don't even get me started on the competition about the sort of passengers they allow on board--"Don't you know those Gribbles smell so much better than those old Shipworms, or, mercy-me, those stinky bacteria!" 

Anyway, it was a long trip just wading through Wikipedia on driftwood.  I soon found myself tossed among a sea of other entries--take this one for example:  Norse mythology has it that the first humans were formed by the gods not from clay or the rib of the opposite gender, noooo...They were formed out of driftwood and called "Ask" and "Embria" (note the "A" and "E" like "Adam" and "Eve."  Hmm, some connection there--but get this, they were formed out of the best kind of trees for driftwood--Ash and Elms, yes, "A" and "E" again; I am not making this up.      

It turns out there's a new novel (2014) entitled Driftwood, and a folk music group of the same name.  Look them up on YouTube, they are really pretty good.  In the process of exploring that link, I found the Driftwood band performing a song also covered by the Chieftains.  From there I arrived at a collection of recordings made by the Chieftains (a traditional Irish Band) and some of the better-known ladies of country and folk music (Martina McBride, Emmylou Harris, Alison Krause, et al.).  

Shortly after that I floated my way to a site that offered a guide to making my own driftwood--it's a lot of work, and can take months.  Finally I surfaced in familiar territory.  I washed up on Amazon which offered to sell me a piece for just $16.09--with free "shipping," no less.  I bought one.  It arrives in two days (how they know it will wash up that soon I don't know.  I can't wait.

Vitality, The Real Kind, Can Be Hard To Find

Vitality, The Real Kind, Can be Hard to Find

After a certain age, you begin (at least occasionally) to wonder if you are still full of vitality, or if you are getting to the point where your best days are behind you and you might just be sliding downhill... There are some people you will run across who show no signs of lost vitality.  They are vibrant, alive and their eyes sparkle.  Usually, it appears to me that they are excited about everything they do.  Also true, from what I have seen--usually, it is because they have been allowed to pursue their own dream.  Some hobby or some leisure activity has now moved into the center of their lives.

My sense is that a pastime like golf, tennis, fishing, hunting, etc. loses its charm after a while, so they reach the same point of questioning their own purpose, just a bit later.  I still find a slice of that group facing their second half of life wanting something else.

It doesn't have to be service to others, although it often is.  I have seen people throw themselves into activities that are not outward-focused, and seen a spark of vitality for a time.  But that too comes to an end.  It's not that they run out of enthusiasm, but at some point, they begin to focus on the day-to-day trivialities that everyone else struggles with, and they become participants in the favorite conversational subject of many of my contemporaries--the health issues they face.  it actually sneaks up on you--believe me, I've been there--and before you know it you have spent a lunch you had hoped would produce some spirited conversation talking about the latest medical matter the participants are becoming acquainted with--either through direct experience of their own, or that of someone close to them.

But, now and again, there is someone who finds and sticks with a meaningful new direction.  Sometimes you only hear about it from others, because the actual person doing it it too busy to just talk about it.  The interesting thing I am starting to see is that this new direction is not always the first thing they have tried, but often something they were introduced to later.  In other words, they had to keep trying.  I was glad to notice this, as I recently gave up my third such activity.  Just this week, I have been thinking about it and am encouraged to keep tackling new things.  In the words of a surprising source, to me at least, here is something to look for:

"Vitality shows in not only the ability to persist, but the ability to start over."--F. Scott Fitzgerald

So, stick with it, there may just be something out there that will give you just what you need, if you keep trying.  

Not Much Use To Anyone

Not Much Use To Anyone

Trying to write is a struggle at times, and for no good reason.  It cannot be because we aren't thinking of anything, I don't know about you, but i have spent hours in meditation trying not to be trying to think of nothing.  Not to think of the past, or worry about the future, just trying to live the now.  Instead of trying to change the past or predict the future and spending all our time back there or out there, we try to live the now that we are partaking in at the moment.  Emily Dickinson said that "eternity s composed of nows.  Oh, but I got off the subject.  It was finding something to write about. My mind and probably yours is always racing around from thought to thought, so it's not a blank, ever.  So that's not the problem.

with that said, often what's filling the mind at this very moment is trivial, and we believe what we write should be meaningful enough to be communicated.  How my stomach felt this morning as i walked to my car is not exactly meaningful.  I'll go even further to say it is uninteresting to anyone other than the me I was when I walked to my car.  Even to me right now, it is meaningless--and, yes, it's true--boring.  So, just writing about anything that is on your mind is not a satisfactory answer to the writers question.

Is silence useful?  Ask any mother whose child is just getting to sleep, or whose school-age children are chattering away.  "Just let me have a  little peace!"  But I am writing, so, I am ready to ditch silence.  Why ditch silence?  There are some things we do silently that have value.  Often for many, it is prayer, to others it is thought, still others see it as meditation.  But what about the thoughts we have about the people we love and care about, our wishes that they are happy and safe.  And our gratitude for all the things we have in our lives.  Being thankful for those things, like my sister says, "grateful to still be here for another day."  Keeping friends who are going through difficult times--be it health challenges, loneliness, grief over the loss of a friend or family member--in our thoughts is also something we think of as important.

But a thought suddenly came to me, so I'm going to stop writing.  The thought is from a quote from Gertrude Stein, who said, "Silent gratitude isn't very much use to anyone."  I guess the same applies to thinking of others, holding them in your thoughts, etc.  Just think for a minute how much more valuable gratitude, sympathy, keeping others in our thoughts might be if we did something about it.  Call, write, touch, do something instead of just thinking about it.  To do anything else, is "not much use to anyone."  Bye, I need to do some talking instead of thinking.   d

A Convenience Wine

A friend (and neighbor) of mine asked me to pick him up  on my way home one evening recently, explaining he had to drop off his car overnight and needed a lift home.  Along the way he asked  if I could stop at the store s9 he could pick up a bttle of "convenience wine."  Not knowing  the term, I assumed he wanted me to stop off at a 7-Eleven, or some other gas station/convenience store along the way.  ~When I started to turn in and asked if this one would be OK, he said "no, oh no, you don't know what I meant.  Head for a grocery store, I think."

"So, what's a 'convenience wine'?" I asked.  "A convenience wine bas three (sometimes 4) characteristics," he explained.  "It is usually a screw-top, a white--more often than a red, it is reasonably priced and it is sold cold."  "Tell me why I can't just turn around and go to the convenience store," I said in reply.

"What makes you say that?" he asked.  "It's the screw top, isn't it?  Screw-tops have been used for fine wines bottled in Australia and New Zealand for years.  There is nothing inferior about them.  It's just more convenient to be able to unscrew the bottle than hunt for an opener and even use the opener."

"If you're worried about the quality, don't.  A screw cap seals the bottle and does not allow any oxygen into the bottle, thus keeping it crisp and well-preserved.  Lots of reds require a little oxygen to age well in the bottle, most whites do not.  Corks allow a bit of oxygen into the bottle."

"OK," I tell him, "but why must it be sold cold?"  "That is a a convenience issue, most whites are consumed chilled, so who wants to waste the time waiting for the wine to chill?"

"And 'reasonably-priced' is just common sense.  If they won't let me open it and I have to leave it behind, I don't want to break the bank (or my heart), because I dropped a bunch of money on it."

So there you have it--'convenience wine.'