Went to a gun show in Dallas last Sunday.

I arrived at my buddy Dave's place up in Gatesville around 8AM and was greeted at the car by his pooch, Red. She's an awesome mutt. You've seen her in some of the pictures from our shoots. 

As we drove off towards Dallas she trotted along Dave's gravel drive, only stopping to head over towards his mothers place in the end.

Once we got up towards big "D" we stopped in Duncanville so Dave could show one of his old guns to a friend of mine. Jim Donovan recently published a book about the Texas Revolution and the Alamo, and he'd asked if Dave could show him a real "Brown Bess" musket.  

This one was an "India Pattern" from around 1805. The Mexican forces in Texas used their own version of the Brown Bess  that was very similar to this one. I've told Jim that he needs to come down to Gatesville some time, join us in one of our shooting outings and check out Dave's full collection. It'll blow his mind.

When we got to the show I left Dave off to head into the show, parked under the parking garage and went off to give blood. The Carter blood folks always have a bus out in front of the hall and I usually try to donate when I can.

 Apparently my blood, which is O+ , lacks a contaminant that many people carry, making my blood very good for prematurely hatched squealers and HIV patients. So, I donate a lot. makes me feel good, like when I vote. My civic duty, I suppose. Anyway, I got into the gun show free (they charge $10 to get into this one nowadays!) with a new T-shirt and a bandage on my arm.

It was a good show. I saw a few people I knew, including Randy Kline, the gunsmith who built several of my coolest Kalashnikovs. I also ran into a real hero. 

 

Last time I came to this show I bought an autobiography from an old gentleman named R.V. Burgin. His book, Islands of the Damned, is the story of Mr. Burgin's youth in the United States Marines and his experiences in the Pacific War, particularly the savage fighting on the island of Peleliu. His story was used and he was portrayed in the recent HBO series The Pacific. 

I shook Mr. Burgin's hand again and told him that I'd enjoyed his book tremendously and was honored to see him again. Considering his age, it was a surprise and a great pleasure to see him still up and around, still going strong. God bless him.

One chore I wanted to accomplish at this show was getting a few pocket knives sharpened. There's a guy there with the right equipment who'll put such an edge on my little peanut, I could use to do surgery. 

Yea, I know. I should sharpen my own gear. I can, and do on occasion. But it's just too handy to have this guy give a few of my blades a professional edge for a few bucks.

After the time spent at the sharpener, I decided to go have another look at something I'd seen earlier on the other side of the hall. A couple of well dressed old gentlemen were sitting at a table with several interesting implements, including a nice replica of a Viking sword. 

The sword was cool enough, but the item sitting on the top of the pile grabbed my imagination like nothing has in a while. I recognized it right off - a replica of a Frankish throwing axe from about 2000 years ago.

 It's an elegant beast, with an easily recognizable head. I couldn't resist, and immediately decided to take it to the sharpenin' dude and see what he could do. You should have seen his eyes light up when I showed it to him. The picture above was taken as he went to work. He had to change the belts and shift things around a bit, and it helped him when I took the handle out of the head. Purdy, ain't it. No, I haven't tried to trow it yet. I'll tell you how it goes when I do.

Oh, and those knives above are the ones I had the dude sharpen.  That little peanut is the blade I carry every day. The other is one that I carry on occasion, just for jollies. It's design was inspired by the Type 3 bayonets they use with modern Kalashnikovs. Here you go.

After the show, Jim Donovan joined Dave and I for a late lunch at Sal's Pizzaria, on Wycliff, just up from the gun show. The Strombolis at Sal's are to die for. Huge friggin' things, filled with sausage, pepperoni, mushrooms and meat sauce. Jim brought a box of books he had sitting aside for me, and Dave and I both bought copies of his Alamo book, and he signed them for us. It was a great time.

After that, it was a long drive back to Gatesville to drop Dave off, and then the drive back to Killeen. I got home in time to watch the Packers fiddle around and get hozed by the Seahawmks, refs, whatever. My little padna, in her green Clay Matthews jersey and yellow foam rubber cheese hat, was cussin' a blue streak. I think I learned most of the good cuss words I know growing up, listening to my mother cuss at the TV while we watched the Cowboys. "Get that son-of-a-bitch!" Denise has picked up that baton and run with it. Big time.

Anyway, it was a good, full day. Hope you enjoyed the report. Feels like old times. I'll have to try to do this more regularly. Cheers.

My buddy Mushy just sent me some shots from my last visit to Mayberry...

Er, Harriman, Tennessee. He's just gotten his computer up and running again and is busy Photoshopping a thousand or so pictures. Anyway, one in this batch stood out to me, because I remembered how much I loved my version of the shot. Here's his picture,

... showing me taking a shot of his lovely wife Judy as she takes her Brochette shrimp off the skewer. I'd cooked dinner for them that night, and I wanted to make sure I recorded their reactions. I know, you're thinkin' "Jesus, put down the camera and EAT!" Aaaaaa, but you don't know us if you're thinkin' that. Well, Judy might have been thinkin' that, but she's used to it. Anyway, if I hadn't been bein' such a goofball, I never would have gotten this shot.

Whis was one of my very best pictures from the trip. Just look at the mischief in those eyes.

I'll eventually post some more shots. Until then, here's a taste...

My buddy Bruno in Missouri...

My Brochette Shrimp...

The view from the tree house tower...

Mushy in love (and me too)...

The Aviation Museum...

And the spread outside Harriman. What an awesome place. Awesome weather, and of course, awesome people. I think it was maybe the best trip yet. They always show me a wonderful time. Cheers.

Critter post.

Dude, it's been a long time since I last posted here. The whole process has changed. I'll have to do it more often, to get used to it again. Anyway...

The little wiggler you see here scurried out from under a set of shelves in a classroom where I was helping out the other day. The women in the room started to panic as I leaned down to pick the little dude up. How can anyone be afraid of a little gecko? For Christ's sake.

I walked the little scudder out the back door and left him on the stuccoed outer wall of the school. I assume he lives there still, searching out little bugs to eat. Beautiful, fascinating, and so gentle to hold. And a nice shot from my phone. Nice detail (click to enlarge).

Anyway, I'm off. Have a nice Labor Day holiday, and think of old Neil when you look up at that beautiful full moon this weekend. Cheers.

The more things change, the more they stay the same.

Back in the 1960s, when Yuri Andropov was still the head of the KGB, before he succeeded Leonid Brezhnev in 1982 at the top of the pile in the old Soviet Union, he orchestrated a campaign to use mental hospitals to "treat" political dissidents.

People who protested the arrest of a writer or poet, or who wanted to try to get the Soviet government to live up to the tenets of the Helsinki Accords on Human Rights were rounded up, diagnosed with "sluggish schizophrenia" and shipped off to a mental hospital without trial.

I read a great book when I was in school, written by a guy named Vladimir Bukovsky, who'd been subjected to that treatment for about a decade in the 1960s and early '70s. After he was deported from the USSR in the late 1970s he wrote To Build a Castle about his experiences in the psychiatric gulag. It's an amazing story.

Anyway, you're probably wondering what the hell brought this up. Well, I just went through the news on my computer and read a few stories that shook this little memory out of the fog and dropped it back in my lap.

Seems that some silly asshat scientist has decided that all of those folks who doubt the connection between Global Warming, climate change and humans are suffering from a "sociological disorder".

Professor Kari Norgaard, who is currently appearing at the ‘Planet Under Pressure’ conference in London, has presented a paper in which she argues that “cultural resistance” to accepting the premise that humans are responsible for climate change “must be recognized and treated” as an aberrant sociological behavior.

Then I read another unrelated story claiming that "a research team led by University of Arkansas psychologist Scott Eidelman argues that conservatism — which the researchers identify as “an emphasis on personal responsibility, acceptance of hierarchy, and a preference for the status quo” (really?) — may be our default ideology. If we don’t have the time or energy to give a matter sufficient thought, we tend to accept the conservative argument."

So, we conservatives just don't think things out quite as well, and jump on the conservative crutch? I would have bet good money that the opposite was true. Read the article here. It's rich.

So, does that mean that lots of hard working families, maybe holding down two or three jobs, who manage to raise their kids correctly and save their money are socially or politically conservative because they just are too tired to think things through enough to be able to see the wisdom in high taxes and the unrelenting expansion of the Nanny/Welfare State?

Aaaah, OK. Yea, that makes perfect sense. I mean, I'll be the first to admit that there's some really bat-shit crazy right wingers out there. I mean, I know a few. Not naming names.

Our political discourse is pretty sour nowadays. Folks are so committed to their beliefs that they just don't want to have to listen to one another, and that's not good. But I'm amazed when I see people on the Left attempting to attribute skeptical, "inconsistent" or conservative views as some sort of aberrant behavior, as if the only really sane, sensible thought process is a liberal one. What balls they have! And they get government grants and research funding to try to substantiate that twisted shit? Yea, that's why I love to pay my taxes. How about you?

Spring Has Sprung.

With the drouth and heat we endured last summer, I wasn't expecting to see too many Bluebonnets this year. But we had a fairly mild, wet winter, and after this last blast of rain, something like 6 inches in 12 hours, the flowers have begun to pop up in the fields and along the roads.

Lupinus texensis, or the Texas Bluebonnet, is our national flower (Yes, we are a nation unto our self. Ask anyone, they'll tell ya). We all love the spring, sadly short it may well be, because we have all these wonderful colors to look forward to. And, as well all know, those of us who live in Texas, the spring doesn't just bring out the Bluebonnets. You also see fields of red poppies, Indian Paintbrush, and pink or yellow buttercups.

And yes, inevitably, unavoidably...

Big, fat-assed women, draggin' their kids into the fields to tromp all over the flowers and get that special picture to send to all their fat-assed, mouth breather relatives. Ahhhhh, springtime!

"Damn it, smile! I needs to go to KFC." I hope she don't fall on the kid. I'm just sayin'... Cheers.

Denise and I took my Momma out to eat Friday night, as usual.

Last week, Denise was in Kentucky visiting her kids. Mom and I went to the Olive Garden and had a wonderful meal. We always take turns with the check. Whoever has to pay gets to pick the venue. This last week it was Denise's turn, and she picked the Cotton Patch in Temple Mall.

We started out with some bread rolls, and a half order of their fried mushrooms... "Our famous deep-fried mushrooms served with honey mustard dressing just for dipping." I could kill a full order of those juicy babies all by my lonesome, but I always feel better, less bloated in the end if I don't indulge. I also save the honey mustard sauce that comes with the shrooms. EVERYTHING tastes better with honey mustard sauce.

For her dinner, Momma picked the "Shiner" Fish and Chips Basket... "Flaky, tender white fish filets hand-dipped in our secret Shiner Bock beer-batter recipe."

I got to sample some of the fish (she never can finish one of these meals), and it was pretty good.

 

I chose the Fried Shrimp Basket... "8 traditional-style shrimp deep-fried. Served with (two) hushpuppies." You can see that I'd already killed off three shrimp and one hushpuppy by the time I thought about taking any pictures. I guess I'm out of practice.

Denise chose the Patty Melt... "Hamburger patty, Swiss cheese, grilled onions on rye bread." I've had that several times myself, and know it's a great tasting treat.

Thing is, I don't need to order one, any more than I need to order the fish and chips. I know from past experience that I'll get to finish at least half of Mothers meal, and sometimes as much of Denise's. Oh, they take stuff home from time to time, but not this last Friday night. I got to kill off at least half of Mom's fish, and the last bite of Denise's.

Yep, I'm an eating machine.

After the meal we drove mom back to her house for a long visit and a little after-dinner tipple. On the way, we stopped to check out the Bluebonnets that have been popping up along the roads of our fair state since the last big rain. 

The flowers are looking wonderful this year (more about that later). After spending a few hours at mom's place watching TV, Denise drove us home, where we relaxed, beginning the weekends routine. Oh, there'll be laundry and yard work to do, but I'll avoid it all as long as I can.

I finished my second University of Phoenix class last Thursday night, and got the grades posted this morning. Here's hoping that my "trial period" ends and I start getting assigned more classes on a more regular schedule. Here's hopin'. 

Anyway, that's enough for now. I'll try to post stuff here more often than I have (like, more than once a year). Hope everything is going well where you are. Cheers. 

All by my lonesome...

and tryin' to get over a cold. Denise flew up to Kentucky at the butt crack of dawn Thursday morning, leavin' me to my own devices. My cold really hit me Friday afternoon while I was at work, so I went to the store and got some high power pills (the kind they keep behind the pharmacy counter and make you sign for... friggin meth-head assholes makin' life harder for everyone). I called off my normal Friday night dinner with mom, went home and hit the sack.

I was supposed to go up to Gatesville and shoot guns with the fellas Sunday, but some heavy rains blew through over the last few days and put and end to that. Too muddy to enjoy the woods, so maybe we'll do it next weekend.

I'm basically stain' in. I've been watching TV, old movies and stuff, between naps on the couch and long intervals at the computer, surfin' YouTube for cool movies and documentaries that I can save and watch later. You like Tom and Jerry? Well check this out.

You like classic old sword and sandal epics? Dig this. I've always loved that one. You can find just about anything on there, but it's not always in English. I'd love to find an English language version of this, but subtitles would do. No luck though, but it's too cool to pass up. Translates as Brest Fortress.

It's a recent Russian movie about a battle that raged in the summer of 1941. pretty cool, with some amazing special effects. Fast forward to 1:44.00 and start watching at the point where the Soviet defenders are about to be forced to surrender after a week or more of fighting. The stuff that happens from then on needs no translation.

You like old Samurai flicks? I've recently become a HUGE fan of a series of movies and TV shows from the 1960s and '70s about a blind samurai named Zatoichi. Check him out.

I think I've eaten just about everything that was loose in the house over the last few days. You know, "feed a cold, starve a fever." Denise had a box of Nilla Wafers on the shelf for months. Was plannin' to make banana pudding or somethin'. Well, I guess I'll have to get her another box.

Tonight, I'm feelin' much better, so I decided to put some pork ribs in the oven. They've been in the fridge for a while, so they needed cookin'.

I put them on a pan and sprinkled some seasoning on them, and then squirted some honey on them and spread it around. Then I turned them over and spread some Gen. Tso's sauce over the other side.

I bundled it all up in foil and shoved it in the oven at 300 degrees for about two and a half hours. Then I went back to surfin'. When the buzzer went off I put a pot on the stove and started heating up my corn. I've found this new brand of cream corn that I really love.

Usually cream corn is made from the busted up scraps, and I'm not fond of it. But these folks make it from whole kernel corn, and it's really good. Of course, it's even better once I toss in some butter, pepper and honey.

When the time came to take the ribs out of the oven, I grabbed the camera and put it on movie mode, It's frustrating as hell to try to open a super hot foil wrapper with one hand while you try to get good video with the other. Feel me?



Here's some before and after teasing. BEFORE...



And after.



Yep, it was mighty good. And the corn was good too.

So now I'm fellin' better, watching Star Trek on the telly and thinkin' about getting out of the house. Maybe a surgical strike to the grocery store? You know, to replenish the stores.

Tomorrow I plan to drive over to Temple and take mom out to eat and to go shopping, so maybe I'll just wait till then. Two birds with one stone, as it were.

So now that you're sufficiently hungry and slobbery, I'll be off. Denise is having a wonderful time in Kentucky, goin' to wedding shops with her daughter and picking out dresses (she and her fella are gonna tie the knot in October). She'll be flying home to me about this time tomorrow night. It's empty around here without her bein' around.

So, I'm off. Try not to hurt yourselves lookin' at those pictures. Cheers.

Veterans Day.

Thanks guys, and gals. Those who served in uniform and those who loved and supported them. We love you all.

The Wilson Family is reunited again.

My big sister drove down from her home in Oklahoma today for a weekend visit.

She called me at work this afternoon tellin' me she'd gotten to Waco, so as soon as I got home from school I turned around and headed to Momma's house.

The plan was for the three of us to go to BJ's Brewhouse for a big celebratory dinner (Denise is slapped up in a nice condo near Orlando, Fla. with her brother and his wife, sittin' inside, bummed out because of the rain, and the Rangers). Today is my big Sis's birthday, so it was an extra special day.

We got there just in time to avoid the rush, got a nice booth near the front (mom doesn't get around too well any more, so we always want to get a close table) and ordered drinks and appetizers.

Mom went for the usual; a Top Shelf Margarita on the rocks with salt. Sis went for a spicy Bloody Mary, and I had a beer. Just a beer. Nothin' to write home about.

The appetizer was our usual; the Santa Fe Spring Rolls. "Crispy spring rolls filled with tender chicken, black beans, fire-roasted red peppers,
cilantro, sweet corn, jalapeños and Monterey jack cheese. Served with our Santa Fe
dressing and avocado cream sauce, then garnished with green onions, fresh red
peppers and red cabbage." Wonderful stuff. I always get a dish of honey mustard to dip them in. Everything's better with honey mustard.

For dinner, mom decided to go for the New Orleans Jambalaya, which is a wonderful, spicy dish that's sure to clean out your sinuses if you dare to go there. "Our distinctive jambalaya combines blackened chicken, shrimp and chicken-andouille sausage, sautéed with bell peppers, onions and tomatoes in a spicy sauce. Served over a rice pilaf and topped with green onions." Yea, momma dared. When the waiter asked her "You know that's a little spicy?", she responded with "Oh yea, I know." She ended up takin' about half of it home to finish in a few days, but she always does that, so it wasn't due to her high voltage selection.

Sis went for the Fish-n-Chips. "Fillets of Pacific cod in our special light batter made with Brewhouse Blonde® beer. Served with your choice of crispy-thin or wedge-cut seasoned fries and tartar sauce." I think she loved it, even though she tried to get mom to eat about a third of it. She always does that, gettin' everyone else to try her food. I think she was concerned that mom's dish was too spicy for her. She started chokin' at one point, and we figured it was the spices getting to her, but she claimed it wasn't. She took a sip of my beer while we got her some water, and she was good to go.

I went for the boring old (HARDLY!!) Spaghetti with Meat Sauce and Meatballs. "Hearty meat sauce with Angus ground beef, Italian sausage, tomatoes, garlic, herbs and spices."

I've been on a Spaghetti kick lately. Good thing about that is that I've found out where the really good stuff is. For instance, the stuff at BJ's is WAY better than the same dish at the Olive Garden. Go figure. After dinner, we decided to take a drive down 190 and have a look at the little town mom grew up in.

Thing is, I haven't driven down that way in AGES, and it turned out they've finished a new highway bypass in the last few years. By the time I realized something was up we were in friggin' Rogers, which is the next town down the road. Sheeeit! So I backtracked through the country, finally getting to Heidenheimer as the sun went down. Sis noted the little building down town that once served as the town post office.

My grandfather ran that operation back in the 1950s and 60s. That's him there in the picture, taken in the front yard in the 1940s (my mom is the girl in the middle). My cousin Bob (his mom is on the far left) still talks about going to work with Papa back then, back when he was still just a little nipper, and watching him bag all the mail, hang the bag on a hook and swing the arm out so that the passing trains could snatch it. He says Papa used to have him watch closely so he could see it disappear.

Most of that fun was over by the time I was growing up. I was the last grand kid born to the family, and Papa was older by the time I grew up enough to remember anything. That's what mom and sis tell me anyway. I always figured the reason why he never wanted to do anything with me was just that he didn't give a shit. But I guess it was mostly that we were just never around. Bob got to live there for a while when his dad went to Taiwan. He started school there in Temple, so he got to spend a lot of time with the old man.

Mostly, I remember Papa sitting in a chair in front of their big black & white TV and chewing tobacco, spitting it into an old coffee can at his feet. The smell of that tobacco is still wafting through my mind now. After he died I found a little brick of the stuff on his gun rack and saved it. I eventually got his pocket knife too. It was a cheap dime store blade, heavily used and sharpened down to a nib.

As we turned North off the main drag I drove us up the road passed very familiar old houses, some still looking good and others not. We crossed over the rough, uneven railroad tracks that I used to walk over to go visit the little general store in town, and all the old memories began to hit me. But I knew what we'd see.

The house my grandparents owned back in the day is gone now. It was finally bulldozed a few years ago by the guy that bought it after my grandmother went into a nursing home. He runs the mill there that ships produce on the Santa Fe railroad. He rented it out to migrant workers for years, but it steadily fell apart until someone made the decision to flatten it and let some farmer plant corn in the field instead.

I turned and parked on what's left of the gravel drive that used to pass down one side of the house to the back. We sat there for a little while, the engine running and the headlights of my car illuminating the plowed field. My sister was sitting in the back seat, and we were passing a little cigar between one another and blowing smoke out the sunroof. The sun was setting, and a thousand memories were flashing through my head. I couldn't help but get emotional, but I did my best to hide it from the others. They didn't need to have me turning into a blathering fool and ruining the party.

That little house in the pictures (this one is from 1970, when we came home from England) was all I ever had for a real home during my early years. That's my grandfather there, and my mom at his side, and me with the buzz cut and bare feet. Bare feet were a tricky thing back then. That front yard was always loaded with hard, dry grass and burrs, but you could go barefoot in the house with almost no worries (almost... there were occasional scorpions).

As my family moved from place to place, taking all our stuff with us like gypsies, that little farm house in Heidenheimer was the only constant in our lives. It was our family home, filled with all the love and melodrama of a real home, with memories built up from over two generations of my mother's family living there. By contrast, as exotic and interesting as they may have sounded to others, the places we lived in were just temporary stops where I had to endure being the new kid in school again. By the time those places began to feel like home we'd be packing up, saying good-bye to our friends and moving off to start all over again somewhere else.

So, sitting there, looking out at that empty field, it hit me pretty hard. I remembered again how much I miss the place, and how much I miss the people who are no longer around who used to be so very important in my life. It's as if there's a parallel universe somewhere with all of those familiar times and people, still somehow moving about their lives, but we've been shut off from them forever. It's all still there in my head, clear as day, but looking out on the field through the headlights, there's nothing to tell any passer by that any of it ever existed. That blows me away.

We drove off again after a short time, and then stopped for treats at Dairy Queen before going back to Mom's place. The plan is to sleep late tomorrow and then drive down to Austin for another big celebratory meal at Pappasito's. So, if the food pics in this post didn't do it for ya, just stay tuned.

Cheers.

Update: No new food pics. The trip to Pappasito's was nixed. The girls didn't want to make the drive to Austin. So we hit the Olive Garden in stead. It was really good. I take back what I said about their Spaghetti and meatballs. It was good, as was the salad and bread sticks. Tomorrow, we're gonna go to visit my one remaining aunt in her nursing home, and then Sis will maybe decide to drive home. I think she wants to get home, check on her cats and sleep a few nights in her own bed before she has to go back to work. I can understand that. It's been a great visit.

Same old, same old.

Denise and I took mom to BJ's last Friday. It was her turn to pick a spot, and she'd let me to believe we were going to the Olive Garden. But in the end, she changed her mind (I wish I had a dollar for every time the women in my life have done that). I think she prefers their Top Shelf Margaritas, and I know she loves their pasta. She got no arguments from ether of us. We love it too, so we headed to BJ's.



You can still see a hint of the black eye mother got a week or so ago when she fell out of her chair trying to get up. When we came over to eat her fried chicken last weekend, the shiner was still fresh. She looked like I'd had to beat her to get her to cook that wonderful chicken. We did a lot of joking about it all, but it worries me to death. The last thing she needs is to fall and break a hip.

I'd love to see her get her hip joint replaced, solving the issue of her having pain when she walks and tried to get up from a chair, but she's decided not to do it. She fears the pain and trouble of healing, and fears that the operation would never really heal. She was all ready to have it done six months or so ago but changed her mind. So there you go.

Anyway, the trip to BJ's was fun. I left mom and Denise out front and went on to find a nice shady parking spot. When i got into the place, I was expecting them to be over at the bar, ordering drinks and waiting for a table. But the hostes was already leading them to our table. The waiter arrived shortly thereafter and I ordered the drinks, appetizers and entrees. We knew what we wanted.

For mom, it was a top shelf margarita on the rocks with salt. For Denise, a Brewhouse Blond and Sprite, and an empty glass to mix them in (the waiter was amazed), and for me, the special. An Oktoberfest off the tap. "This traditional seasonal lager has a malty, toasty character with a mild hop bitterness in the finish. Amber in color, medium-bodied and very smooth from a long lagering process." Good stuff

As for the appetizers, we went for the traditional stuff we usually order. Mom and I love the Santa Fe Spring Rolls. "Crispy spring rolls filled with tender chicken, black beans, fire-roasted red peppers, cilantro, sweet corn, jalapeños and Monterey jack cheese. Served with our Santa Fe dressing and avocado cream sauce, then garnished with green onions, fresh red peppers and red cabbage." I have the waiter bring me a little cup of honey mustard, because everything goes better with honey mustard.

Denise loves the Potato Skins, but was only willing to order them if I promised to help her eat them. So I fell on my sword there, and we got to enjoy some wonderful little spuds.

"Shredded jack and cheddar cheeses melted over lightly fried potato skins, topped with Applewood smoked bacon bits and green onions. Served with sour cream dip and ranch dressing." It's like they start out with a twice baked potato, scoop out the inside of the tater, and then decorate them with all the cheese and goodness, and then toss them back in the burner to melt the cheese.

For the entrees, Mom went for her favorite thing; the Angel Hair Toscana with Cajun Shrimp. "Our delicate angel hair pasta," a HUGE pile of the stuff, "tossed with olive oil, garlic, sun-dried tomatoes, fire-roasted red peppers, fresh basil, feta cheese, pine nuts, Roma tomatoes topped with fresh Parmesan cheese and parsley." One reason why mom loves it is because they give her enough, with a take-home box, she can have it two days in a row. I've tried it myself, and while I do love it, I like more sauce with my pasta. The dish just seems to me poor when it comes to sauce. I feel like I'm just eating, filling up on pasta. Having said that, it's a wonderful dish. Just order extra sauce if you decide to go there.

Denise ordered one of her favorites, the Parmesan Encrusted Chicken. "Our marinated chicken breasts coated with Parmesan cheese and crunchy Panko bread crumbs, lightly pounded and pan fried to a golden brown. Served with white cheddar mashed potatoes and steamed broccoli, and topped with a lemon Chardonnay butter sauce, sun-dried tomatoes, fresh basil and Parmesan cheese." It's wonderful, and ordering it gave me a chance to check out their version, as compared to mine. I tried to make it a week or so ago, and did a great job. But looking at their version, I saw that they'd cut or pounded their chicken thinner. I'm sure that helps cook the chicken faster.

For my pleasure, I chose the Spaghetti with Marinara and meatballs; Basil tomato sauce, slowly simmered with garlic, onions and herbs," with chunky meatballs tossed in. I LOVES me some spaghetti, and I'd been jonesin' for the store bought version for a few weeks. I made myself some, and liked it well enough, but there's something about the way they put it all together in a good restaurant. Hmmm, maybe it's the fact that I don't have to clean up the kitchen after. Yea, that might be it.

One of my fondest memories of my childhood is a two week long bus trip through Italy, when I was about eight or nine years old. It was an eighteen day trip from Munich to Naples and back. dad had to work, so it was just mom and sis and I, and a bus load of other yanks. We flew from England to Germany, got on the bus and headed out.

I've already told you how I LOVES the pasta. Well, when we got into Italy, the waiters started bringin' me spaghetti for lunch and dinner EVERY DAY. I was in heaven. Not only was I walkin' around all these cool Roman ruins (I was and am a HUGE junkie when it comes to the Romans).

That's mom and I, standing on the platform of the Temple of Apollo at Pompeii. Zoom in and you can see the plaid pants she's got me wearin'. Those were the days. Funny thing, it was summer, and I don't remember it being rainy that day.

I went back there in 1990, when I was teaching on the USS Thorn, and realized what was up with the past thing. Whenever you're on the bus tours, they take you to some local restaurant and they give you the choice of ether pasta or veal. Not that I don't object to the way they make veal, but I just don't enjoy the taste of it. So I pick the pasta, every time.

Anyway, dinner Friday night was wonderful, and it was great to spend some time with mom. Denise and I hit Dairy Queen on the way home, for her a strawberry Sunday and for me, a dip cone. And that was it.

Now, we're getting ready to go see The Debt at the local multiplex, and then we'll see about eating out somewhere. Ya'll be good. W'ell do this again some time. Cheers.

You been wondering why all the rioting is going on in Britain?

This guy sets it straight. Gotta love it.

Got some sad news yesterday.

Been gettin' reacquainted with my old buddy Jim lately. He's a senior project manager for a company that installs communications equipment and radio towers around the country. He's and old, treasured friend, who's usually off, livin' in another part of the country for years at a time while his wife, a Nurse, keeps the home fires burnin' there in Ft. Worth. But he's between assignments these days, workin' on projects around the house and lookin' for things to do.

About a month or so ago he called me, proposing that I drive my old Toyota up to Ft. Worth so that he could replace the timing belt and a few other things. He's really smart when it comes to stuff like that. He'd already worked on his own Solara and Tundra, so I said OK. Even though I didn't really have the money for the parts, the work needed to be done, and he was gonna save me hundreds of dollars in labor costs. Plus, the idea of going up there and spending time with my old friend was a shot in the arm that I was really needing.

I met Jim when, after getting out of graduate school, I went back to my old canoeing coach and talked my way into going on a few floats. Jim was taking the class at that time, and when I showed up at the college to join the group, I ended up riding up to the river in his truck. We became friends at that time, and have been close ever since.

I got my job teaching on Navy ships soon after that. Whenever I was between gigs, we'd try to go camping, backpacking or canoeing. Over the years, as we both got busier in our professional or personal lives, the number and frequency of those trips declined. We both had the money to do whatever we wanted. But there was no time.

Now and then, we'd find the time to make an run to Enchanted Rock. But our biggest and best trips were in 2003 and 2005. In '03, he and his wife Terry talked me into joining them on a rafting and hiking trip in the Grand Canyon. It was a huge blast. We ran half the river in '03, and then went back and finished the canyon in '05.

Over the last twelve years or so, whenever we'd go camping, Jim would usually bring his dog, Sydney. I remember when he got her. I may be wrong, but I think she was a pound puppy. He trained her right, getting up at the crack of dawn and taking her out in the back yard every morning.

Before long she was following his commands, staying in the yard and and guarding our camp sites now and then from inquisitive racoons. When he was home, he'd get up every morning and work on her training, taking her for a run to a local city park. She wanted to go wherever he went, jumping into his car and curling up in the passenger side floorboard.

I'll never forget one time at Enchanted Rock. We were walking back down to the camp site after climbing the rock. All of a sudden, Sydney bolted up and over some scrub and into the bush after a rabbit. She gave chase for a while, but soon ran back when Jim called.

She was a natural hunter. Jim used to giggle his ass off, tellin' me stories about her terrorizing the squirrels (Jim calls 'em "tree rats") in their back yard. He'd always laugh when he took her to the little park near their home for a run and she'd tree all the squirrels in the park.

When I went up to Ft. Worth the other week to let Jim work on my car, I was surprised to see how old Sydney had gotten. I guess it'd just been a while since I'd been up there. Jim and Terry both told me she was gettin' close to the end. She was mostly deaf, but still wanted to follow Jim everywhere.

While he worked on my car, Sydney would sit in the grass, or find some shady spot in a bush, or in the garage, always keeping him close by. When the time came for me to leave, she even jumped up and took a seat in the front passenger seat floorboard of my car, just like old times. She didn't want to miss anything.

A few weeks later, I went back up to Ft. Worth to join Jim on a three day road trip to Arkansas. We were gonna pick up an item he'd purchased on eBay, and just get away for a while. Sydney wanted to go on that trip too. It would have been good to have her. The first night, camped out at Devil's Den State Park, the Racoons were up to their old tricks.

After dinner, as I sat at the picknick table under a gas lantern, reading and trying to cool off, I heard a faint noise on the other side of the table. Looking up, I saw a big bandit-eyed face staring back up at me. It had lifted itself up on it's hind legs to see if there was anything worth dragging off the table. Sydney would have been goin' nuts, chasin' that poor critter into the dark.

It's been a week or so since we got back from that trip. I've been busy, tryin' to get ready for the online classes that are gonna start soon, and tryin' to figure out what the University of Phoenix means by "facilitation". I was surfin' through Facebook yesterday when I read a post that had been put up by Terry's son Kevin, who lives and works in New Hampshire these days.

"Well my mom just called and told me that my dog died today, it really sucks. I will miss u Sydney we had some great times together."

I was shocked to read those words, but not really surprised. I picked up the phone and gave Jim a call. They were driving back from their property out on the west side of town, where they'd just buried old Sydney. Jim was shocked to hear that I knew, and then we both laughed about Facebook, and the times we're livin' in.

He said Sydney's decline had accelerated over this last weekend when she'd apparently had a stroke. She'd lost the use of one leg, and had stopped eating. She was still game though. Still wanted to follow him everywhere, but the writing was on the wall.

So Jim and Terry found themselves in the sad position that all loving pet owners eventually have to face. They took her to the vet and put a humane end to her suffering. And you know, I bet she jumped into the floorboard for that trip too.

So, rest in peace Sydney. You were an awesome companion. We'll all miss you, and treasure the memories you left with us.

God bless!