Wednesday, November 22, 2006
LET'S TALK TURKEY
Here's what my family will be eating on Thanksgiving Day. I've cooked my turkey this way for so long I can't quite remember where or when I got the recipe. In any case, it has never failed me. Enjoy, with blessings and wishes for a peaceful and safe Day of Thanksgiving...
Ingredients:
1 whole turkey, deceased and defeathered
2-3 whole apples, peeled and quartered
1-2 onions, cut into 8ths
Whole garlic, peeled and notched
Olive oil
Misc. seasonings to taste - suggested are basil, parsley, sage, season salt, etc.
Whole stems of rosemary
Poultry clamps or toothpics
Roasting pan with lid or aluminum foil
Medium Sherry, any brand
Prep turkey for roasting (remove neck & gizzards, rinse in warm water, pat dry)
Mix together misc. seasonings and olive oil
Coat inside of turkey with olive oil mixture
Stuff inside of turkey with mixture of apples, onions, whole garlic, and pieces of Rosemary until full, clamp ends with poultry clamps or toothpics.
Separate skin from flesh around breast, thigh, leg areas, coat with olive oil seasonings, and insert rosemary sprigs under skin
Coat the entire outside skin area with the remaining olive oil seasoning mixture
Pour sherry into bottom of roast pan, just enough to cover the bottom of the pan but not enough to reach the roaster rack (if there is one)
Place turkey in roast pan, breast side up (legs pointing up)
Cover completely with lid or foil, so no moisture escapes, allowing enough room for air to circulate without the foil touching the turkey if possible
Cook in oven at 350 degrees for 20-30 minutes per pound
It's important to make sure your turkey is covered as tightly as possible in the oven, as the sherry will evaporate inside and help keep the turkey moist while giving it a wonderful flavor. Do NOT remove the foil/lid for any reason, as you will lose all that moisture. There is no need to ever baste the turkey.
Approximately 1 - 1 1/2 hours prior to removing from oven, remove the foil/lid so the turkey will brown. At this time you can also drain the juices from the bottom of the pan if you want to make gravy with it.
After turkey is brown and completely cooked, remove from oven and set out to cool but DO NOT TOUCH FOR AT LEAST 30 MINUTES. Letting the turkey sit out and cool allows the juices to be reabsorbed and will keep the turkey moist.
Carve, serve, and enjoy!
P.S. We don't eat the stuffing from the turkey - we do our dressing separately. The apples and onions etc. are used only to season and cook the bird, but they're not eaten.
Ingredients:
1 whole turkey, deceased and defeathered
2-3 whole apples, peeled and quartered
1-2 onions, cut into 8ths
Whole garlic, peeled and notched
Olive oil
Misc. seasonings to taste - suggested are basil, parsley, sage, season salt, etc.
Whole stems of rosemary
Poultry clamps or toothpics
Roasting pan with lid or aluminum foil
Medium Sherry, any brand
Prep turkey for roasting (remove neck & gizzards, rinse in warm water, pat dry)
Mix together misc. seasonings and olive oil
Coat inside of turkey with olive oil mixture
Stuff inside of turkey with mixture of apples, onions, whole garlic, and pieces of Rosemary until full, clamp ends with poultry clamps or toothpics.
Separate skin from flesh around breast, thigh, leg areas, coat with olive oil seasonings, and insert rosemary sprigs under skin
Coat the entire outside skin area with the remaining olive oil seasoning mixture
Pour sherry into bottom of roast pan, just enough to cover the bottom of the pan but not enough to reach the roaster rack (if there is one)
Place turkey in roast pan, breast side up (legs pointing up)
Cover completely with lid or foil, so no moisture escapes, allowing enough room for air to circulate without the foil touching the turkey if possible
Cook in oven at 350 degrees for 20-30 minutes per pound
It's important to make sure your turkey is covered as tightly as possible in the oven, as the sherry will evaporate inside and help keep the turkey moist while giving it a wonderful flavor. Do NOT remove the foil/lid for any reason, as you will lose all that moisture. There is no need to ever baste the turkey.
Approximately 1 - 1 1/2 hours prior to removing from oven, remove the foil/lid so the turkey will brown. At this time you can also drain the juices from the bottom of the pan if you want to make gravy with it.
After turkey is brown and completely cooked, remove from oven and set out to cool but DO NOT TOUCH FOR AT LEAST 30 MINUTES. Letting the turkey sit out and cool allows the juices to be reabsorbed and will keep the turkey moist.
Carve, serve, and enjoy!
P.S. We don't eat the stuffing from the turkey - we do our dressing separately. The apples and onions etc. are used only to season and cook the bird, but they're not eaten.
Saturday, November 11, 2006
ARMISTICE DAY
ON THE 11TH DAY OF THE 11TH MONTH AT THE 11TH HOUR IN THE YEAR 1918, AN ARMISTICE WAS SIGNED THAT ENDED THE WAR TO END ALL WARS...
The very first Armistice Day was November 11, 1919 - a year after the end of WWI, known back then as "The Great War" or "The War To End All Wars." After WWII ended in 1945, communities began remembering all military veterans on Armistice Day. In 1954, President Dwight Eisenhower officially changed Armistice Day to be known as Veterans Day.
A story broadcast this week on NPR led me to The World War I Living History Project, and from there, to my own front room.
Hanging on my wall are four framed documents, yellowed and creased with time and saved for generations. Years ago, as my beloved paternal grandmother slowly succumbed to Alzheimer's, I found these documents folded in a drawer of her desk. The largest is a page from the November 17, 1918 edition of the New York Tribune showing photographs taken at the Victory Parade on Fifth Avenue in New York City. The other three frames hold the typewritten pages of a letter from a Doughboy at the American Expeditionary Front to his brother, dated November 8th, 1918 - three days before the end of the Great War. Both the author, Harold Weeks, and the recipient, Ben Weeks, were brothers to my grandmother's uncle Charles Roe Weeks.
I will soon post digital images of the actual letter. In the meantime, here is the content of the letter verbatim:
_________________________________________________
My dear Ben:-
I was more than glad to get your letter and the pictures you sent. God knows, I have looked long enough and often enough for some word direct from you. However, I suppose that is one thing we must expect. Always waiting for something we want and hoping that the next mail or car will bring it in. Thank God, you are not over here so far as you are concerned but I sympathize with you and appreciate all that this long year must have meant to you, knowing that the rest of us have come over when you were first into a uniform and into a line. It may not be so bad, their sending you back to the Artillery Corps, because that is, without exception, unless it be the Aviation, THE branch of the Service.
Don't remind me of Delta and Phi and Epsilon and Theta, and wind and windage, and barometer and thermometer and Delta Phi over Delta with big "X" over little "x". They give me the horrors. I think I can see before me now the range of a twelve-inch shell with a powder charge of 270, a barometer of 28 1/2 or 29, a thermometer of 60, with a right angle wind at 20 miles velocity and an elevation of 11 degrees. I also can tell you the pseudo-velocity of the projectile, not to mention its point of impact, its angle of flight, its penetration and I believe we had something else - how many inches of Harveyized steel it would penetrate. After all these years, I think I could take my ballistic table and sextant and fire a big gun with some degree of accuracy. Furthermore, I think I could wheel a battery into line, set my angle points, take my readings and fire my trial shot, and do a little havoc with a battery. Don't be discouraged. This is only the elementary part of artillery. As I sit here writing you I am hearing the actual and practical parts of artillery. Somebody not far from me is doing the mathematics. His results are obvious.
This night would be awful quiet if it were not for your Corps right now. We might hear Jerry like a night owl flopping overhead. We might, incidentally, feel Jerry's pill balls or the results therefrom if your artillery were not taking up so much space in, on and thru the atmosphere and earth. When everything is said and doneI believe I would rather hear the big guns than see the boys marching thru No Man's Land, the horses plodding, weary and tired, loaded heavily with their share of munitions, and fight across No Man's Land or watch the cavalryman in his daily travel. Yes, the big gun takes a rained mine but it offers the advantage of not having to come in contact immediately with the results of your efforts. Out of the air comes the answer and you exist to continue or you are gathered together maybe with a shovel. But the infantry boy or the cavalry boy goes up and over and if he gets across he sees his blade or his gun or his revolver deal its deadly stroke. He fences and parries to protect himself from such a stroke. Maybe he returns intact. More often he is blind or armless or legless or a broken, physical wreck. More often he is two or more of these. The Minnie ball leaves a victim for years to come. The artillery shell mercifully ends all such possibility or at the best minimizes the chances of a mans living to be a burden to himself and his friends.
The aviator has once chance of fatal accident - his machine goes wrong. Other than that he is safe, far safe than either of his brothers-in-arms, on the solid earth or in the water. When he does lose, he never knows it. He goes into a hero'd grave and his friends know where he is, nearly always.
So don't bewail your lot. If you get over and see one week on the borders of No Man's Land, you will have a picture on memory's walls that you would ever wish to turn toward the wall, so horrible would the picture be. There is nothing between you and the front line that is any different from what you are doing there. There is everything between the Front Line and your enemy, that you cannot leave to come in its due course without wishing for that hour to get to you sooner. We have been wishing our lives away doing our bit where we were sent and after one excursion into the battle front believed ourselves bomb-proof but now our men are numbered among those listed as not returning and while the number is few to date, the number will increase each day and as the nunber increases our wish for such a moment ceases to exist. It is not that I would wish you to accept without without any desire to see the front and be in it with your fellow officers because of your danger there, but that I want you to feel and understand that when your turn comes you will be there and if you are among the chosen few who have not had to undergo, without all of the worry and horror, you are among the chosen few lucky men. Whatever way you look at it, there is nothing that will ever recompense the man who has been in France for what he has lost. There is something that has taken away his youth that will never give it back again. Whether he has lost an arm or leg or his sight or whether he has lost the two years out of his life, he has but one one satisfaction and that is the greatest a soldier can feel - that he came over before or when asked, that he did his bit over here where he was put and that he was always ready to do it. Some one had to stay back there and assist in the training and formation of the bodies to come over here. From what I gather from officers who have been with you, your services have been much more valuable there than others who have been sent away. So don't be downhearted. Don't be discouraged but buck up and attack each day's duties with a smile and maybe you will come over later. The war is not over yet and it will be some long months before the troops leave France. War, so far as maiming one another is concerned, may cease to exist any hour now but the work so far as reconstruction and regeneration and refurnishing of France and the Allied countries is concerned, will not be over for some long, long months yet.
Charley is in the Aviation. Somebody said he was on his way over. I understand Harold is over here. Allan is within a few miles of me. And so it goes. They might be all just as far away as yourself so far as my being ale to see any of them or any of them see me because of conditions as they are. I get long a very sweet letters from Bill and Bess. I hear from Mother but none of the rest. I am well, fat and ill-tempered and just as I always was. Got a horse out here I will give you if you will come over here. Will be going away shortly on a different duty and don't know what do do with it. That is all that I can say of myself personally.
I saw Burdon, who is in the south of France, some time ago. He didn't seem like the Harold Burdon who used to live with us. I can't describe the change but I believe he was feeling more natural and trying to readjust himself than he had been for some long time. He drew an unfortunate position and that is an officer in a replacement division. Thank God, you didn't draw that. I don't know of any misery that Uncle Sam can inflict on officers and men quite as keen as placing them in a replacement division. Some of the other officers who were friends of yours at Custer and who spoke very kindly of you and your escapades as a bronco buster, I met in my wanderings. Seems as though you established quite a reputation for yourself as a buster of broncos and handler of men, not to mention considerable of a knight-errant with the ladies. I knew as much long ago. Cut out the ladies. They are nice, awfully nice, but they will make you more discontented and unhappy over your lot than any other mixture of sweets that I know of. Take a page out of my diary and read it over and you will find that I have written several times on the thought, "Cut out the ladies". I have tried to do it always but never succeeded. I have a hope that you will continue in the service after this war is over. But you won't if you mix politics and sweet formulae as done up in petticoat packages.
Give my love to any of the folks you see and write when you get a chance. Don't wait so long next time.
The very first Armistice Day was November 11, 1919 - a year after the end of WWI, known back then as "The Great War" or "The War To End All Wars." After WWII ended in 1945, communities began remembering all military veterans on Armistice Day. In 1954, President Dwight Eisenhower officially changed Armistice Day to be known as Veterans Day.
A story broadcast this week on NPR led me to The World War I Living History Project, and from there, to my own front room.
Hanging on my wall are four framed documents, yellowed and creased with time and saved for generations. Years ago, as my beloved paternal grandmother slowly succumbed to Alzheimer's, I found these documents folded in a drawer of her desk. The largest is a page from the November 17, 1918 edition of the New York Tribune showing photographs taken at the Victory Parade on Fifth Avenue in New York City. The other three frames hold the typewritten pages of a letter from a Doughboy at the American Expeditionary Front to his brother, dated November 8th, 1918 - three days before the end of the Great War. Both the author, Harold Weeks, and the recipient, Ben Weeks, were brothers to my grandmother's uncle Charles Roe Weeks.
I will soon post digital images of the actual letter. In the meantime, here is the content of the letter verbatim:
_________________________________________________
American E. F.
November 8,1918.
My dear Ben:-
I was more than glad to get your letter and the pictures you sent. God knows, I have looked long enough and often enough for some word direct from you. However, I suppose that is one thing we must expect. Always waiting for something we want and hoping that the next mail or car will bring it in. Thank God, you are not over here so far as you are concerned but I sympathize with you and appreciate all that this long year must have meant to you, knowing that the rest of us have come over when you were first into a uniform and into a line. It may not be so bad, their sending you back to the Artillery Corps, because that is, without exception, unless it be the Aviation, THE branch of the Service.
Don't remind me of Delta and Phi and Epsilon and Theta, and wind and windage, and barometer and thermometer and Delta Phi over Delta with big "X" over little "x". They give me the horrors. I think I can see before me now the range of a twelve-inch shell with a powder charge of 270, a barometer of 28 1/2 or 29, a thermometer of 60, with a right angle wind at 20 miles velocity and an elevation of 11 degrees. I also can tell you the pseudo-velocity of the projectile, not to mention its point of impact, its angle of flight, its penetration and I believe we had something else - how many inches of Harveyized steel it would penetrate. After all these years, I think I could take my ballistic table and sextant and fire a big gun with some degree of accuracy. Furthermore, I think I could wheel a battery into line, set my angle points, take my readings and fire my trial shot, and do a little havoc with a battery. Don't be discouraged. This is only the elementary part of artillery. As I sit here writing you I am hearing the actual and practical parts of artillery. Somebody not far from me is doing the mathematics. His results are obvious.
This night would be awful quiet if it were not for your Corps right now. We might hear Jerry like a night owl flopping overhead. We might, incidentally, feel Jerry's pill balls or the results therefrom if your artillery were not taking up so much space in, on and thru the atmosphere and earth. When everything is said and doneI believe I would rather hear the big guns than see the boys marching thru No Man's Land, the horses plodding, weary and tired, loaded heavily with their share of munitions, and fight across No Man's Land or watch the cavalryman in his daily travel. Yes, the big gun takes a rained mine but it offers the advantage of not having to come in contact immediately with the results of your efforts. Out of the air comes the answer and you exist to continue or you are gathered together maybe with a shovel. But the infantry boy or the cavalry boy goes up and over and if he gets across he sees his blade or his gun or his revolver deal its deadly stroke. He fences and parries to protect himself from such a stroke. Maybe he returns intact. More often he is blind or armless or legless or a broken, physical wreck. More often he is two or more of these. The Minnie ball leaves a victim for years to come. The artillery shell mercifully ends all such possibility or at the best minimizes the chances of a mans living to be a burden to himself and his friends.
The aviator has once chance of fatal accident - his machine goes wrong. Other than that he is safe, far safe than either of his brothers-in-arms, on the solid earth or in the water. When he does lose, he never knows it. He goes into a hero'd grave and his friends know where he is, nearly always.
So don't bewail your lot. If you get over and see one week on the borders of No Man's Land, you will have a picture on memory's walls that you would ever wish to turn toward the wall, so horrible would the picture be. There is nothing between you and the front line that is any different from what you are doing there. There is everything between the Front Line and your enemy, that you cannot leave to come in its due course without wishing for that hour to get to you sooner. We have been wishing our lives away doing our bit where we were sent and after one excursion into the battle front believed ourselves bomb-proof but now our men are numbered among those listed as not returning and while the number is few to date, the number will increase each day and as the nunber increases our wish for such a moment ceases to exist. It is not that I would wish you to accept without without any desire to see the front and be in it with your fellow officers because of your danger there, but that I want you to feel and understand that when your turn comes you will be there and if you are among the chosen few who have not had to undergo, without all of the worry and horror, you are among the chosen few lucky men. Whatever way you look at it, there is nothing that will ever recompense the man who has been in France for what he has lost. There is something that has taken away his youth that will never give it back again. Whether he has lost an arm or leg or his sight or whether he has lost the two years out of his life, he has but one one satisfaction and that is the greatest a soldier can feel - that he came over before or when asked, that he did his bit over here where he was put and that he was always ready to do it. Some one had to stay back there and assist in the training and formation of the bodies to come over here. From what I gather from officers who have been with you, your services have been much more valuable there than others who have been sent away. So don't be downhearted. Don't be discouraged but buck up and attack each day's duties with a smile and maybe you will come over later. The war is not over yet and it will be some long months before the troops leave France. War, so far as maiming one another is concerned, may cease to exist any hour now but the work so far as reconstruction and regeneration and refurnishing of France and the Allied countries is concerned, will not be over for some long, long months yet.
Charley is in the Aviation. Somebody said he was on his way over. I understand Harold is over here. Allan is within a few miles of me. And so it goes. They might be all just as far away as yourself so far as my being ale to see any of them or any of them see me because of conditions as they are. I get long a very sweet letters from Bill and Bess. I hear from Mother but none of the rest. I am well, fat and ill-tempered and just as I always was. Got a horse out here I will give you if you will come over here. Will be going away shortly on a different duty and don't know what do do with it. That is all that I can say of myself personally.
I saw Burdon, who is in the south of France, some time ago. He didn't seem like the Harold Burdon who used to live with us. I can't describe the change but I believe he was feeling more natural and trying to readjust himself than he had been for some long time. He drew an unfortunate position and that is an officer in a replacement division. Thank God, you didn't draw that. I don't know of any misery that Uncle Sam can inflict on officers and men quite as keen as placing them in a replacement division. Some of the other officers who were friends of yours at Custer and who spoke very kindly of you and your escapades as a bronco buster, I met in my wanderings. Seems as though you established quite a reputation for yourself as a buster of broncos and handler of men, not to mention considerable of a knight-errant with the ladies. I knew as much long ago. Cut out the ladies. They are nice, awfully nice, but they will make you more discontented and unhappy over your lot than any other mixture of sweets that I know of. Take a page out of my diary and read it over and you will find that I have written several times on the thought, "Cut out the ladies". I have tried to do it always but never succeeded. I have a hope that you will continue in the service after this war is over. But you won't if you mix politics and sweet formulae as done up in petticoat packages.
Give my love to any of the folks you see and write when you get a chance. Don't wait so long next time.
Always your loving brother,
HRW
_________________________________________________
Friday, November 10, 2006
THE MOST POWERFUL MAN IN AMERICA
SENATOR JOSEPH LIEBERMAN (I-CT)
This man could name his price. Anything he wants, it's his. "Which chairmanship would you like, Senator? How MANY chairmanships do you want, Senator? Does Connecticut need any federal dollars for pet projects and improvements, Senator?"
GOP to Lieberman: Your party dumped you, they don't love you anymore, come over to us, and we will once again control the kingdom that is the U.S. Senate and you will be our Crown Prince.
Dems to Lieberman: We really do love you, man! It was those leftie nuts in your home state who dumped you, and, well, Hillary and everyone else are all about the Party so they HAD to endorse Lamont in the General Election, you know how it is, PLEASE don't leave us!
The balance of power in the U.S. Senate rests on the shoulders of Senator Lieberman. You know THIS man's phone is buzzing...
LEFT AND RIGHT, WE ALL AGREE ON ONE THING - C-SPAN ROCKS!
I DON'T KNOW THAT I'VE EVER AGREED WITH THE EDITORIAL BOARD OF THE WASHINGTON TIMES - UNTIL NOW. ON THIS SUBJECT, I COULDN'T HAVE SAID IT BETTER.
Kudos to the Washington Times for their thoughtful and appreciative editorial on all that is C-SPAN. In my opinion - and obviously I'm not the only one - C-SPAN has literally made our federal government relevant and accessible to everyone. And we are a better country for it. You can read the full text of the WashTimes editorial here.
Kudos to the Washington Times for their thoughtful and appreciative editorial on all that is C-SPAN. In my opinion - and obviously I'm not the only one - C-SPAN has literally made our federal government relevant and accessible to everyone. And we are a better country for it. You can read the full text of the WashTimes editorial here.
Thursday, November 09, 2006
I'M BACK, AND I'M NOT THE ONLY ONE...
No particular reason why I've been gone, I just got out of the habit of posting. I will try to rectify that.
First thing is the most important thing. Yesterday's election, and the results. The Democrats are back. We won not just the House, but the Senate too.
Unlike most of my Democratic counterparts, I don't feel elation. I never viewed this election - or any other election - as a competition, a popularity contest. I take it much too seriously for that. For me, these elections have always been the answer to the question "who do we trust to make decisions that will profoundly affect us and future generations in countless aspects of our lives?"
Today, as a Democrat, one of the things that I feel is a tremendous sense of responsibility. We Democrats have been entrusted with the future of our entire country. It is now up to us to lead. It is both an honor and a challenge that we cannot take lightly.
But mostly what I feel today is a sense of relief.
Thursday, March 31, 2005
A DEATH IN THE FAMILY
Don't panic, everyone in my family is fine. But I still feel as I've lost a dear friend - and I almost did. You see, my friend's VW Bus blew up. And her husband narrowly escaped going with it.
Michelle is one of my closest friends in the world. She is the type of friend everyone hopes to have - a sweet and generous disposition, slow to anger, quick to forgive and even quicker to laugh.
Michelle has worked for our company for a good while longer than I have. She started in Los Angeles, and then when that office closed she migrated to Houston. Throughout those years she kept up an on-again off-again dating relationship with Darren, who lived in their hometown in Washington State. When Darren finally had enough of the on-again off-again situation, he packed up his beloved 1970s-era VW Bus and drove it all the way down to Houston. I'm not sure The Bus ever left Texas again.
The Bus - and it was never called anything else - was the ugliest monstrosity you could ever imagine in your driveway. I think the roof was white, or what used to pass for white. The primary color was, well, primer. I've never envisioned The Bus with a wax job. The interior was threadbare tweed and warped plywood cabinetry, as best I remember. Heck, I didn't even know it was running when it passed away.
The Bus was as much a member of Michelle and Darren's family as their daughter Molly and their dog Tanner. The entire time I've known Michelle, The Bus has been a fixture in her driveway. Michelle and Darren could never willingly part with it, although they tossed the idea around once or twice. It just had too many memories for them. The Bus had, literally and figuratively, driven Michelle and Darren from childhood through young love and into adulthood and their family life together.
Michelle's neighbor summed up the details in an email update to his family:
As we talked to Bill, I saw a green car pull into the Greenwoods' driveway. I had not seen it before, so I kept watch. Eventually, Michelle and Molly appeared, and Michelle was carrying a child's car seat. M&M walked toward us and Michelle, carrying the car seat and other things, looked like a refugee in the Balkans.
She had a story to tell, too.
"I have not had any sleep since 3 a.m. this morning," she said. What she said calmly was horrific.
Last night when Darren was driving home from the Hobbit restaurant in the van he was on Bingle near West Little York when he discovered the van was on fire. He pulled onto the shoulder and rushed outside and within seconds the van exploded with such fury parts of it flew into the gate at Cameron Industries and melted the lock on the gate.
Darren began running toward home and stopped twice at grocery stores, including Randall's, to use the telephones but the telephones did not work (his cell phone was in the van). He ran all the way home -- I think it is more than two miles -- to wake up Michelle, and they went back in the Ford Explorer.
Not much was left except scorched pavement and melted metal.
To say the least, it was tearful for Darren. It wasn't so much that he barely escaped death, it was the realization that the fire started in the back of the van where the motor is and probably started on the freeway, but winds kept it unnoticed until he left the freeway - in the back is where Molly sits in her car seat. Had she been there....
Also he has kept the van running for 15 years, making most repairs himself, and he dearly loved it. (I remember riding in a van like that when I lived in New York in the late 1960's.)
Besides the cell phone, there were other items in the van which Darren and Michelle are now remembering.
Molly says "The van is gone," but I doubt she knows what that means. She tired of our conversation and kept saying she wanted some chocolate, so we eventually went across the street and got her some chocolate.
Some day she will be told what happened March 28, 2005, and will understand why her father had tears that day.
I'll be hugging my dear friends a little closer tomorrow...
- - -
Michelle is one of my closest friends in the world. She is the type of friend everyone hopes to have - a sweet and generous disposition, slow to anger, quick to forgive and even quicker to laugh.
Michelle has worked for our company for a good while longer than I have. She started in Los Angeles, and then when that office closed she migrated to Houston. Throughout those years she kept up an on-again off-again dating relationship with Darren, who lived in their hometown in Washington State. When Darren finally had enough of the on-again off-again situation, he packed up his beloved 1970s-era VW Bus and drove it all the way down to Houston. I'm not sure The Bus ever left Texas again.
The Bus - and it was never called anything else - was the ugliest monstrosity you could ever imagine in your driveway. I think the roof was white, or what used to pass for white. The primary color was, well, primer. I've never envisioned The Bus with a wax job. The interior was threadbare tweed and warped plywood cabinetry, as best I remember. Heck, I didn't even know it was running when it passed away.
The Bus was as much a member of Michelle and Darren's family as their daughter Molly and their dog Tanner. The entire time I've known Michelle, The Bus has been a fixture in her driveway. Michelle and Darren could never willingly part with it, although they tossed the idea around once or twice. It just had too many memories for them. The Bus had, literally and figuratively, driven Michelle and Darren from childhood through young love and into adulthood and their family life together.
Michelle's neighbor summed up the details in an email update to his family:
As we talked to Bill, I saw a green car pull into the Greenwoods' driveway. I had not seen it before, so I kept watch. Eventually, Michelle and Molly appeared, and Michelle was carrying a child's car seat. M&M walked toward us and Michelle, carrying the car seat and other things, looked like a refugee in the Balkans.
She had a story to tell, too.
"I have not had any sleep since 3 a.m. this morning," she said. What she said calmly was horrific.
Last night when Darren was driving home from the Hobbit restaurant in the van he was on Bingle near West Little York when he discovered the van was on fire. He pulled onto the shoulder and rushed outside and within seconds the van exploded with such fury parts of it flew into the gate at Cameron Industries and melted the lock on the gate.
Darren began running toward home and stopped twice at grocery stores, including Randall's, to use the telephones but the telephones did not work (his cell phone was in the van). He ran all the way home -- I think it is more than two miles -- to wake up Michelle, and they went back in the Ford Explorer.
Not much was left except scorched pavement and melted metal.
To say the least, it was tearful for Darren. It wasn't so much that he barely escaped death, it was the realization that the fire started in the back of the van where the motor is and probably started on the freeway, but winds kept it unnoticed until he left the freeway - in the back is where Molly sits in her car seat. Had she been there....
Also he has kept the van running for 15 years, making most repairs himself, and he dearly loved it. (I remember riding in a van like that when I lived in New York in the late 1960's.)
Besides the cell phone, there were other items in the van which Darren and Michelle are now remembering.
Molly says "The van is gone," but I doubt she knows what that means. She tired of our conversation and kept saying she wanted some chocolate, so we eventually went across the street and got her some chocolate.
Some day she will be told what happened March 28, 2005, and will understand why her father had tears that day.
I'll be hugging my dear friends a little closer tomorrow...
- - -
Friday, March 11, 2005
DID I MENTION I LOVE TO TRAVEL?
One of my Christmas gifts was a simple spiral notebook from my Mom. Over the holidays, I took it with me as I traveled to Europe. My goal is to take it with me and write something in it on each international trip. Here was my first trip with my little notebook, to Brussels...
28DEC04 6pm
Au brassiere Cafe
Brussels, Belgium
I am in love with Brussels.
My internet access is limited to the cafe around the corner, which costs 1.25 Euros per 30 minutes. So, this little spiral journal will have to suffice until I get home. I've already popped in once to glance through email and IM Mom via Yahoo. It took me most of the 30 minutes just to master the keyboard and find the @ so I could sign into email. So, until I get home this notebook will do.
Mom was so proud of this notebook. "Look Cathy, it's got cats all over it," she pointed out as we were exchanging gifts on Christmas Eve.
"Um, no, actually they're dogs," I replied. "They even have a fire hydrant in the corner."
Little did I know how much I would come to appreciate my little spiral notebook. It's really cute, and now it will be put to use. I don't always have access to the internet, but I always have pen and paper. So, this will become my travel journal. I want to know where Mom bought this. I will want more of these notebooks.
Enough of the logistics. I've stopped into an inviting little pub near the Grand Place for Vin Chaud - hot spiced wine. I'm traveling alone, something I've started doing this year and grown to enjoy. I find that my senses are heightened. My ear picks up all of the different languages - French, Dutch, German and English are the dominant tongues du jour. I see more, smell more, hear more, feel more when I am traveling alone.
My table mates just left to catch their train home to London. They were visiting Antwerp for a few days, but became bored and stopped in Brussels for a day before heading home. As is usually the case when encountering an American, the conversation drifts to politics. I made it clear that I did not support our pResident. One of my British table mates works for a U.S. based law firm, and he said the day after our election the mood was somber at his law office. I told them how much I enjoy reading the British press online, especially the Guardian. "How can 59 Million Americans be so stupid?" screamed the headline the day after the election. God bless the Brits.
A young couple just walked in. A mixed race couple - white female and black male. I mention this because it's a common sight here. No one seems to think twice about it. This afternoon I sat in a restaurant enjoying a leisurely lunch and watched all of Brussels pass by my window - businessmen, elderly women in their fur coats, old men with their fedoras and canes, and families of all races. The most interesting was a couple in their 40s or 50s towing three small children. The couple was white, the children were all black.
I use the term "white" and "black" here to note skin color. I have no way of knowing what nationality anyone is here. Brussels is home to both NATO and the European Union, so a large number of the residents here are foreign nationals.
My deux vin chauds (that's two hot wines) have disappeared and my hand is starting to cramp. I haven't written this much by hand in a long time. My waitress has just informed me that she's off duty and it's time to pay. My bill is 5.20 Euros. It's time to move on.
________________________________________________________
28DEC04
Nuits Saint-Georges
Brussels, Belgium
I wandered back through the Grand Place - pronounced "Grond Plos" - and a grand place it truly is.
For centuries it's been the heart of Brussels, and tonight it's spectacularly lit. Music is playing throughout, the ancient buildings are lit up, and everyone is strolling around absorbing it all.
I've stopped for a bite of dineur - across the narrow cobblestone street from where I ate lunch, it turns out. This is a small casual restaurant with a menu boasting at least six different ways of cooking moules. That's what brought me in - the Plat du Jour is Moules y Frites. I was served a pot of mussels cooked in a white wine and garlic broth loaded with onions and some kind of greens. I ate the whole pot, and enjoyed it so much I requested bread to eat with the broth when the moules were gone.
I almost left when I realized there was a large family inside - three adults and FIVE little girls who appeared to range in age from about six to nine years. FIVE! And they were OBNOXIOUS! Thankfully they finished their dinner in short order and didn't linger after dinner, which is the European custom. I was horrified to hear them speaking English, until I realized I was hearing a British accent. All I could think was "thank goodness they're not American."
My food is cleared from the table and I've ordered my dessert - a "decaf cafe creme." No more sweets for me tonight, but I'll linger over a cup of coffee and enjoy the conversation with the couple at the next table. They're yet another mixed race couple - black male and Asian female. Both are young, and they're obviously in love. She is a native of Hong Kong, he is a native of the French West Indies. He's been studying in Paris. He asked how much of France I've seen, and seemed impressed that I've been to the Riviera. I went about eight years ago - my very first time overseas. What a culture shock THAT was. Stupid me, I wore bright red and looked the part of the Obnoxious American. Thankfully I was visiting friends whe were working in Nice, so I didn't have to get around on my own the whole time.
The cafe is average - for Europe, that is. It's still tons better than anything I'd get at home. I learned how to order cafe on my first overseas trip - the one to the Riviera. I was traveling with my friend Michelle.
"You always get the right coffee!" she exclaimed after the third day of our short four-day trip.
"Cafe creme," I told her. It's always been my favorite. Thick, rich coffee with cream. Maybe a spoon of sugar, but nothing more. It's perfect.
Speaking of perfect, my waiter has discovered I'm American and has brought me another cafe creme - "On the house" he informs me in impeccable English. I've asked for the check but it still has not arrived. The restaurant is deserted now, except for me and an older gentleman who is slowly working on his second carafe of wine. It's after 9pm and I'll close my book and slowly wander back to the hotel.
The bill has arrived - 14.50 Euros. I sign it for 16 Euros - it is customary to round up and add a Euro or two if the service warrants. Wait staff in Europe are paid decent wages, and tips are "extra" - not how they make their living wage. The more time I spend in Europe, the more I appreciate it and find fault with my beloved home country. I said in a previous post that I would be using my passport a lot more after this last election. I will be spending as much time and money as I can in countries where I and my beliefs are welcome. For a few days my home is Brussels.
_______________________________________________________
29DEC04
Brussels, Belgium
I really must learn more French.
I've learned how to dress like the Europeans - lots of black, very little color, absolutely no white sneakers or anything that would physically identify me as American. But as soon as I enter a restaurant and reply "bon soir" to the waiter, I am handed a menu in English.
I look the part enough, that's for sure. It never fails. Each time I'm in a European city - Paris, Amsterdam, now Brussels - I am stopped on the street and asked for directions as if I'm a native. Yesterday it was three French teenagers asking for directions to the Metro. I asked if they spoke English, and one did. I could get them to the nearest bus stop, but I had no idea where the Metro - the tram service - was. I've been on foot since I arrived.
I have enjoyed eating out alone. This will come as quite a shock to some of my friends at home. When I worked shift work at my old job, I usually worked second shift. My work day began at 2:30pm, and I would walk in every day hungry because I didn't enjoy eating by myself. To me, mealtime is a special occasion that should be spend with family or friends. But in Europe, it's easy to eat a meal alone. The tables are usually so close together that you are invariably drawn into the conversations and the habits of the tables next to you.
(At this point my table mates decided to add to my book...)
How are you doing?
= Comment allez vous?
Very good
= tres bien
Can I have the bill please?
= Puis-je avoir l'addition s'il vous plait?
A lot of greetings from An, Thierry and Karel.
Hope to see you back! Always welcome back in Europe!
And there my journal ends for this trip. But there will be others. There will be lots of others.
28DEC04 6pm
Au brassiere Cafe
Brussels, Belgium
I am in love with Brussels.
My internet access is limited to the cafe around the corner, which costs 1.25 Euros per 30 minutes. So, this little spiral journal will have to suffice until I get home. I've already popped in once to glance through email and IM Mom via Yahoo. It took me most of the 30 minutes just to master the keyboard and find the @ so I could sign into email. So, until I get home this notebook will do.
Mom was so proud of this notebook. "Look Cathy, it's got cats all over it," she pointed out as we were exchanging gifts on Christmas Eve.
"Um, no, actually they're dogs," I replied. "They even have a fire hydrant in the corner."
Little did I know how much I would come to appreciate my little spiral notebook. It's really cute, and now it will be put to use. I don't always have access to the internet, but I always have pen and paper. So, this will become my travel journal. I want to know where Mom bought this. I will want more of these notebooks.
Enough of the logistics. I've stopped into an inviting little pub near the Grand Place for Vin Chaud - hot spiced wine. I'm traveling alone, something I've started doing this year and grown to enjoy. I find that my senses are heightened. My ear picks up all of the different languages - French, Dutch, German and English are the dominant tongues du jour. I see more, smell more, hear more, feel more when I am traveling alone.
My table mates just left to catch their train home to London. They were visiting Antwerp for a few days, but became bored and stopped in Brussels for a day before heading home. As is usually the case when encountering an American, the conversation drifts to politics. I made it clear that I did not support our pResident. One of my British table mates works for a U.S. based law firm, and he said the day after our election the mood was somber at his law office. I told them how much I enjoy reading the British press online, especially the Guardian. "How can 59 Million Americans be so stupid?" screamed the headline the day after the election. God bless the Brits.
A young couple just walked in. A mixed race couple - white female and black male. I mention this because it's a common sight here. No one seems to think twice about it. This afternoon I sat in a restaurant enjoying a leisurely lunch and watched all of Brussels pass by my window - businessmen, elderly women in their fur coats, old men with their fedoras and canes, and families of all races. The most interesting was a couple in their 40s or 50s towing three small children. The couple was white, the children were all black.
I use the term "white" and "black" here to note skin color. I have no way of knowing what nationality anyone is here. Brussels is home to both NATO and the European Union, so a large number of the residents here are foreign nationals.
My deux vin chauds (that's two hot wines) have disappeared and my hand is starting to cramp. I haven't written this much by hand in a long time. My waitress has just informed me that she's off duty and it's time to pay. My bill is 5.20 Euros. It's time to move on.
________________________________________________________
28DEC04
Nuits Saint-Georges
Brussels, Belgium
I wandered back through the Grand Place - pronounced "Grond Plos" - and a grand place it truly is.
For centuries it's been the heart of Brussels, and tonight it's spectacularly lit. Music is playing throughout, the ancient buildings are lit up, and everyone is strolling around absorbing it all.
I've stopped for a bite of dineur - across the narrow cobblestone street from where I ate lunch, it turns out. This is a small casual restaurant with a menu boasting at least six different ways of cooking moules. That's what brought me in - the Plat du Jour is Moules y Frites. I was served a pot of mussels cooked in a white wine and garlic broth loaded with onions and some kind of greens. I ate the whole pot, and enjoyed it so much I requested bread to eat with the broth when the moules were gone.
I almost left when I realized there was a large family inside - three adults and FIVE little girls who appeared to range in age from about six to nine years. FIVE! And they were OBNOXIOUS! Thankfully they finished their dinner in short order and didn't linger after dinner, which is the European custom. I was horrified to hear them speaking English, until I realized I was hearing a British accent. All I could think was "thank goodness they're not American."
My food is cleared from the table and I've ordered my dessert - a "decaf cafe creme." No more sweets for me tonight, but I'll linger over a cup of coffee and enjoy the conversation with the couple at the next table. They're yet another mixed race couple - black male and Asian female. Both are young, and they're obviously in love. She is a native of Hong Kong, he is a native of the French West Indies. He's been studying in Paris. He asked how much of France I've seen, and seemed impressed that I've been to the Riviera. I went about eight years ago - my very first time overseas. What a culture shock THAT was. Stupid me, I wore bright red and looked the part of the Obnoxious American. Thankfully I was visiting friends whe were working in Nice, so I didn't have to get around on my own the whole time.
The cafe is average - for Europe, that is. It's still tons better than anything I'd get at home. I learned how to order cafe on my first overseas trip - the one to the Riviera. I was traveling with my friend Michelle.
"You always get the right coffee!" she exclaimed after the third day of our short four-day trip.
"Cafe creme," I told her. It's always been my favorite. Thick, rich coffee with cream. Maybe a spoon of sugar, but nothing more. It's perfect.
Speaking of perfect, my waiter has discovered I'm American and has brought me another cafe creme - "On the house" he informs me in impeccable English. I've asked for the check but it still has not arrived. The restaurant is deserted now, except for me and an older gentleman who is slowly working on his second carafe of wine. It's after 9pm and I'll close my book and slowly wander back to the hotel.
The bill has arrived - 14.50 Euros. I sign it for 16 Euros - it is customary to round up and add a Euro or two if the service warrants. Wait staff in Europe are paid decent wages, and tips are "extra" - not how they make their living wage. The more time I spend in Europe, the more I appreciate it and find fault with my beloved home country. I said in a previous post that I would be using my passport a lot more after this last election. I will be spending as much time and money as I can in countries where I and my beliefs are welcome. For a few days my home is Brussels.
_______________________________________________________
29DEC04
Brussels, Belgium
I really must learn more French.
I've learned how to dress like the Europeans - lots of black, very little color, absolutely no white sneakers or anything that would physically identify me as American. But as soon as I enter a restaurant and reply "bon soir" to the waiter, I am handed a menu in English.
I look the part enough, that's for sure. It never fails. Each time I'm in a European city - Paris, Amsterdam, now Brussels - I am stopped on the street and asked for directions as if I'm a native. Yesterday it was three French teenagers asking for directions to the Metro. I asked if they spoke English, and one did. I could get them to the nearest bus stop, but I had no idea where the Metro - the tram service - was. I've been on foot since I arrived.
I have enjoyed eating out alone. This will come as quite a shock to some of my friends at home. When I worked shift work at my old job, I usually worked second shift. My work day began at 2:30pm, and I would walk in every day hungry because I didn't enjoy eating by myself. To me, mealtime is a special occasion that should be spend with family or friends. But in Europe, it's easy to eat a meal alone. The tables are usually so close together that you are invariably drawn into the conversations and the habits of the tables next to you.
(At this point my table mates decided to add to my book...)
How are you doing?
= Comment allez vous?
Very good
= tres bien
Can I have the bill please?
= Puis-je avoir l'addition s'il vous plait?
A lot of greetings from An, Thierry and Karel.
Hope to see you back! Always welcome back in Europe!
And there my journal ends for this trip. But there will be others. There will be lots of others.
HCDP's NEW BLOG IS ROLLING
And they have a link to me. I guess this means I should be a little more prolific in my posts.
You can catch the new Harris County Democratic Party's blog here.
I'm off to pack for an overnight to Oslo...
You can catch the new Harris County Democratic Party's blog here.
I'm off to pack for an overnight to Oslo...
Thursday, March 03, 2005
DEAR GOD...
Sometimes we forget how profound children can be. This post came from an email that a friend sent today. I've longed to ask some of these questions myself...
1. Dear God, please put another holiday between Christmas and Easter. There is nothing good in there now. - Amanda
2. Dear God, Thank you for the baby brother but what I asked for was a puppy. I never asked for anything before. You can look it up. - Joyce
3. Dear Mr. God, I wish you would not make it so easy for people to come apart. I had to have 3 stitches and a shot.
4. God, I read the Bible. What does beget mean? Nobody will tell me. Love, Fred
5. Dear God, how did you know you were God? Who told you? - Charlene
6. Dear God, is it true my father won't get in Heaven if he uses his golf words in the house? -Anita
7. Dear God, I bet it's very hard for you to love all of everybody in the whole world. There are only 4 people in our family and I can never do it. - Nancy
8. Dear God, I like the story about Noah the best of all of them. You really made up some good ones. I like walking on water, too. - Glenn
9. Dear God, my Grandpa says you were around when he was a little boy. How far back do you go? Love, Dennis
10. Dear God, do you draw the lines around the countries? If you don't, who does? - Nathan
11. Dear God, did you mean for giraffes to look like that or was it an accident? - Norma
12. Dear God, in Bible times, did they really talk that fancy? Jennifer
13. Dear God, how come you did all those miracles in the old days and don't do any now? - Billy
14. Dear God, please send Dennis Clark to a different summer camp this year. - Peter
15. Dear God, maybe Cain and Abel would not kill each other so much if they each had their own rooms. It works out OK with me and my brother. - Larry
16. Dear God, I keep waiting for spring, but it never did come yet. What's up? Don't forget. - Mark
17. Dear God, my brother told me about how you are born but it just doesn't sound right. What do you say? - Marsha
18. Dear God, if you watch in Church on Sunday I will show you my new shoes. - Barbara
19. Dear God, is Reverend Coe a friend of yours, or do you just know him through the business? - Donny
20. Dear God, I do not think anybody could be a better God than you. Well, I just want you to know that. I am not just saying that because you are already God. - Charles
21. Dear God, it is great the way you always get the stars in the right place. Why can't you do that with the moon?
22. Dear God, I am doing the best I can. Really. - Frank
And, saving the best for last:
23. Dear God, I didn't think orange went with purple until I saw the sunset you made on Tuesday night. That was really cool. - Thomas
1. Dear God, please put another holiday between Christmas and Easter. There is nothing good in there now. - Amanda
2. Dear God, Thank you for the baby brother but what I asked for was a puppy. I never asked for anything before. You can look it up. - Joyce
3. Dear Mr. God, I wish you would not make it so easy for people to come apart. I had to have 3 stitches and a shot.
4. God, I read the Bible. What does beget mean? Nobody will tell me. Love, Fred
5. Dear God, how did you know you were God? Who told you? - Charlene
6. Dear God, is it true my father won't get in Heaven if he uses his golf words in the house? -Anita
7. Dear God, I bet it's very hard for you to love all of everybody in the whole world. There are only 4 people in our family and I can never do it. - Nancy
8. Dear God, I like the story about Noah the best of all of them. You really made up some good ones. I like walking on water, too. - Glenn
9. Dear God, my Grandpa says you were around when he was a little boy. How far back do you go? Love, Dennis
10. Dear God, do you draw the lines around the countries? If you don't, who does? - Nathan
11. Dear God, did you mean for giraffes to look like that or was it an accident? - Norma
12. Dear God, in Bible times, did they really talk that fancy? Jennifer
13. Dear God, how come you did all those miracles in the old days and don't do any now? - Billy
14. Dear God, please send Dennis Clark to a different summer camp this year. - Peter
15. Dear God, maybe Cain and Abel would not kill each other so much if they each had their own rooms. It works out OK with me and my brother. - Larry
16. Dear God, I keep waiting for spring, but it never did come yet. What's up? Don't forget. - Mark
17. Dear God, my brother told me about how you are born but it just doesn't sound right. What do you say? - Marsha
18. Dear God, if you watch in Church on Sunday I will show you my new shoes. - Barbara
19. Dear God, is Reverend Coe a friend of yours, or do you just know him through the business? - Donny
20. Dear God, I do not think anybody could be a better God than you. Well, I just want you to know that. I am not just saying that because you are already God. - Charles
21. Dear God, it is great the way you always get the stars in the right place. Why can't you do that with the moon?
22. Dear God, I am doing the best I can. Really. - Frank
And, saving the best for last:
23. Dear God, I didn't think orange went with purple until I saw the sunset you made on Tuesday night. That was really cool. - Thomas
Saturday, February 26, 2005
KEEPING UP WITH THE CIRCUS IN AUSTIN
Ah, such fun keeping up with the circus under the Big Top - aka the Legislature meeting under the Capitol Dome.
A friend recently turned me on to In The Pink Texas, which is lots of fun. And then there's a similar site, PinkDome, which also provides some fantastic gossip and insight into the goings-on in the Lege. Dunno what's the fascination with the color pink, but both sites are well worth reading.
A friend recently turned me on to In The Pink Texas, which is lots of fun. And then there's a similar site, PinkDome, which also provides some fantastic gossip and insight into the goings-on in the Lege. Dunno what's the fascination with the color pink, but both sites are well worth reading.
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