Sometimes animals have names that fit them perfectly. Barky Barkerson might be a good one for my little friend. Stormy? Perhaps the most unlikely name you could pick for this little dog.
Thursday night we had thunderstorms in the Twin Cities. I can safely say that they started around 2:40 that morning. That’s because the breathing started about then. Breathing. As in “Wake from a sound sleep with a sheep dog standing two feet away breathing heavily and loudly.” I thought for a minute that the ghost of our Old English was back: he specialized in breathing loudly when he wanted your attention. It’s not possible that a 35 pound dog could make the same level of noise that a 90 pound dog could, is it?
Why, yes, it is! When the exhalation festival didn’t get sufficient attention she moved to plan “B” – paws on the bed, her face six inches from mine.
Stormy doesn’t like to be held or comforted like other dogs I’ve known. Instead of hopping on the bed and being safe, she prefers pacing. So pace she did. Me? I rolled back on my side and went back to sleep. For 11 minutes.
The breathing was back. Given my bad hearing and the ambient noise in the room with the fans, that’s pretty amazing. But I rubbed her face, said soothing words, and turned to face the wall.
This time it was more like 8 minutes. This went on from 2:40 until about 5:40 when I threw in the towel and got up to make breakfast. We hit the back door just in time to catch the last of the rain.
She, being very tired from her activity, took a nap while I made something to eat. I left a little early for work and stopped for two enormous caffeinated sodas, a 24 ounce coffee, and a package of caffeine stimulant pills at my favorite gas station.
For the next 10 hours I consumed all the buzz drink and pills I could stomach, finally hitting a decent level of alertness around hour 7. She, on the other hand, was at home barking and snoozing.
I can’t be mad. She’s terrified of the noise from thunderstorms. But can’t she show this anxiety by passing out? I need the sleep.
********* ********** *********** ***********
I have a favor to ask of my readers: would you kindly share this blog with your friends, family, and colleagues? We hit a million views in 2014, and while the readership continues a nice growth trend, it could be a lot better. Just hit the Facebook like button, share it on your timeline, tweet the blog with a link, and tell that person at the next desk that there’s this lunatic who writes about all sorts of stuff that they might like.
I appreciate your help. When we hit 2,000,000 readers I will give away something cool to a drawing from the subscribers (that’s the box on the right toward the top) who have helped promote this mess. No used sheets, probably not honey, more likely gift cards. Be a part of it. I’ll update from time to time where we’re at in the count. Thanks.
I’m a history buff. Love to read about historical monsters and evil regimes in particular. The “they almost won” moments make me glad that good triumphed over evil. Because evil is very powerful and seductive, it’s often been a very close thing.
Planned Parenthood is on the evil side of things. No link for butchers. Well, that’s a little strong. Maybe. But what else do you call people who sell meat from creatures they kill and profit by it?
I’m not going to spend a lot of time documenting Planned Parenthood’s history since Margaret Sanger rolled on to the scene. I’ll just quote her and move on: “We should hire three or four colored ministers, preferably with social-service backgrounds, and with engaging personalities. The most successful educational approach to the Negro is through a religious appeal. We don’t want the word to go out that we want to exterminate the Negro population, and the minister is the man who can straighten out that idea if it ever occurs to any of their more rebellious members.”
It’s not pretty, is it? Eugenics, killing babies – I’d continue listing horrors, but that’s quite enough.
Now, for those of you who were duped/deluded/self-hypnotized into thinking that it was all counseling and prenatal checks at those clinics, I hope you have a little different view. It’s a factory for producing dead babies. Sometimes for money. Don’t we all want Lamborghini’s?
Don’t donate money to them. Don’t donate money to anyone who funds them. Don’t allow the government to continue funding them. They are the same as the Nazi’s and their death camp experiments with children. If you can convince yourself otherwise, Lord have mercy on your soul.
On to something else. Just wanted to remind you that abortion is murdering a child. Yes, I know I’ll lose a few Facebook likes and a few readers over this blog. I always do when this topic comes up. I can live with it.
********* ********** *********** ***********
I have a favor to ask of my readers: would you kindly share this blog with your friends, family, and colleagues? We hit a million views in 2014, and while the readership continues a nice growth trend, it could be a lot better. Just hit the Facebook like button, share it on your timeline, tweet the blog with a link, and tell that person at the next desk that there’s this lunatic who writes about all sorts of stuff that they might like.
I appreciate your help. When we hit 2,000,000 readers I will give away something cool to a drawing from the subscribers (that’s the box on the right toward the top) who have helped promote this mess. No used sheets, probably not honey, more likely gift cards. Be a part of it. I’ll update from time to time where we’re at in the count. Thanks.
For those of you who missed all the news coverage last week, another Islamic Jihadist took it upon himself to conduct a personal attack on the United States of America. This scumbag (his name isn’t worthy of my blog) wasn’t quite up to the task and wound up getting killed after murdering five of my brothers in the Navy and Marine Corps. It was a terrorist act, done by a Muslim, against the armed forces of the United States. Like most really successful terrorist attacks it was conducted against victims who had no weapons.
It’s okay, though: his family said he was depressed and confused. That makes it perfectly fine. His reading skills were evidently impaired as well by his overwhelming sadness. He missed the warning notice posted on the door, and a widely known federal law, that prohibits you from carrying a weapon on federal property. Naughty boy. The response, of course, is to say that we need to tighten down on the abundance of weapons available to pathetic losers like this one. I, on the other hand, have a different outlook to present.
Once again, I am calling for weapons to be available to members of the military at all times. Before your liberal head explodes, or you start screaming “Posse Comitatus” at the top of your lungs, get yourself educumateded or something. Seriously, who’s better equipped to carry a weapon than a trained military member? Posse Comitatus doesn’t prohibit military members from being armed, it just means they can’t do law enforcement duties. (Exceptions are made for National Guard and Coast Guard.)
That’s right: all the time. They know how to use them, and I’m not talking about arresting terrorists. I’m talking about killing them when they attack. Simple, no? Pull a weapon, scream Allahu Akbar, Seig Heil, Che Lives, or any other drivel of the sort and die on the spot. No pesky trial or nothin. Brutal? Any more so than shooting up guys in a recruiting office or out on the grounds of an installation? How about when some psychiatrist with a jihadi bent goes deep end? Bang. We get to shoot back.
We are at war. With Islam. I know that doesn’t sit well with some of you. Tough. Reality is reality. Wars only end when one side is defeated. Today is not the day we surrender. Islam, on the other hand, can end the war today by just stopping the attacks against us and we’ll all be cool again. This war has periodically flared since what’s-his-name (the guy you can’t draw cartoons of) cropped up in the desert and started converting people at the end of a sword. Only when pushed back into their box do they go quiet. Always to come back to the battlefield when they feel strong enough, but the death’s at least slow down for a time.
Mr. President: arm our military. Let them defend themselves. It’s overdue.
Just in case you think I’m bashing the current occupant of the White House, I thought it was a dumb idea to make us stand guard duty with no weapon when I served. Strangely, I never had to stand that post because I was out at sea with real weapons. But the powers that be decided that we should go from armed Marines guarding our complex to unarmed sailors with a bomb mirror. I vaguely remember being counselled for having a negative opinion when I pointed out what a stupid idea that was.
If you expect us to protect you, at least let us protect ourselves. Now. Not tomorrow. Now.
********* ********** *********** ***********
I have a favor to ask of my readers: would you kindly share this blog with your friends, family, and colleagues? We hit a million views in 2014, and while the readership continues a nice growth trend, it could be a lot better. Just hit the Facebook like button, share it on your timeline, tweet the blog with a link, and tell that person at the next desk that there’s this lunatic who writes about all sorts of stuff that they might like.
I appreciate your help. When we hit 2,000,000 readers I will give away something cool to a drawing from the subscribers (that’s the box on the right toward the top) who have helped promote this mess. No used sheets, probably not honey, more likely gift cards. Be a part of it. I’ll update from time to time where we’re at in the count. Thanks.
Two years ago we started making jam. It was fun. We already had the basic tools in each of our kitchens, just had to buy some supplies and we put up about thirty jars. If you’ve already seen the blood orange recipe, you have read the next part already. So just skip down to the recipe itself, and go for it.
(One caution: this turned out to be less thickened than we anticipated and it’s quite tart. Tart was the goal, but that may not be to your taste. As always, the results of recipes like this vary quite a bit with the moisture content and flavor of the fruit you use. Assume, for a minute, that you have the same fruit as we did for that magic day. Then you need to add way more sugar if you like it sweet, and way more pectin if you like it to not run a bit as you turn the jar. You have been warned!)
This year, we’re up to 149 jars and it’s not even canning season. The madness that is jam making has taken hold in my heart. I would like to share it with you and MWHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA watch you drift into that dead zone I live in every day. Shelves full of sweetened fruit preserves, specialized spoons, canning tools, and other implements of financial destruction.
Or, I’d like to share my love of a new hobby. It’s one of the above.
Let’s start with the needed stuff to do it right. By right, I mean without struggling with all the mess and horror of using non-specialized implements. The basic premise is that you will do batches of 50-80 jars of your product.
A really long wooden stirring spoon/paddle. It should reach at least 6 inches above the rim of your biggest pot. You don’t want your fingers near that mix when it’s boiling. The one I use is handmade and was a gift. But you’ll find them on the web. Mine has a large paddle surface and it allows me to keep scraping the bottom of the pan so nothing sticks.
A large ladle. One that will hold at least 1/4 of a pint. Again, make sure the handle is at least 6 inches longer than the depth of your pot.
2 “Canning” pots. You can buy these at Walmart, Fleet Farm, and pretty much any place that sells canning supplies. The prices vary widely, but you can usually score them under $20 later in the season. I use two, because I hate waiting for stuff to cook.
A canning funnel and a jar holder. The funnel is designed for wide-mouth jars. It fits over the rim of the jar and gives you a guide to pouring in the mix for a good seal. It is so much easier than trying to ladle into the jar and then having to clean the rim to get a seal. The stainless ones look cool, but they transfer heat and you will be pouring 200+ degree jam through it 80 times. Plastic doesn’t transfer heat as well. I like plastic.
Gripper on the left, funnel on the right
The can gripper is the only way to go when placing and extracting jars in boiling water. It is designed to grab wide-mouth jars, keep your little fingers out of the boiling water, and give a good grip on the jars.
The two items are each under $15, and can be used over and over. Money well spent.
Jars. I like the wide mouth jars. Easier to use in my opinion. Pick the brand you want, all are pretty similar. Just beware when you buy them on sites like Snaigs list that the price is often no deal and the rims may be chipped. Buy new, they’re about $9.00 for a dozen jars. That’s the 1/2 pint and pint sized jars. Just sterilize them before using them. I wash them all by hand the morning of the cook while the “brew” is coming up to temperature. I do not reuse the lids, but I do reuse the rings. Shop the web for lids and rings, the prices vary widely and there are great specials all the time. I will never have to buy a lid again, I’ve got about a five year supply laid in. Ask my wife.
Preliminaries are over, now for the recipe:
Blackberry Rhubarb Jam
20 pounds finely-chopped rhubarb
8 pounds blackberries
6 pounds black mangrove honey
juice 8 lemons (small)
16 cups white sugar
35 ounces pectin (powdered)
Oh, yeah – and about 80 1/2 pint jars or the equivalent.
1/2 and full pint jars with lids and rings. Cheesy tiger beach blanket is optional.
Wash and cut rhubarb into 1/4 inch long pieces
Wash raspberries
MOST IMPORTANT POINT: Stir the mixture constantly. Never let it rest for more than two or three minutes or you risk burning the liquid on the bottom of the pot. I use a heat diffuser (Different than this one, but quite similar) on the burner to even the heat. But you must be ready to stir this mixture for up to four hours. Teamwork!
The stalk sizes and colors vary. The ideal size to put in the pot is about the size of a standard sugar cube. But, I’m lazy, so they are more like chunks on occasion.
Place rhubarb, and lemon juice into stock pot and begin with a low heat until the rhubarb softens. Once the rhubarb starts to soften, add the blackberries.
Rhubarb is softened enough here to add the blackberries
Keep increasing the heat until the blackberries begin to break down a bit and add their color to the mix. Then it’s time to crank the heat all the way up and go for it!
Ready to boil
Bring to a rolling boil and add honey while stirring constantly. Leave the heat on high. (I used Walker Farms Black Mangrove honey because the smoky flavor went well with the blackberries. Use whatever flavors you like!)
Boiling with frothy head – getting close.
Once this new mix with the honey has boiled, test for sweetness and start adding sugar until it’s tasting right. I included sixteen cups of sugar in the recipe: our fruits were very bitter and required all sixteen cups. Most people would probably add more, but I like the stuff tart! I know it’s a lot of sugar, but you’re making 79 1/2 pint jars of jam.
Bring it back to a boil and begin adding pectin until the consistency is correct. Generally it’s best to add a few ounces at a time and mix it in completely. Once the dribbles off the stirring spoon are globules versus a drizzle you’ve hit the magic spot. We followed this method and had what we thought was the right consistency. We did not. The final product turned out to be closer to a sauce than a jam. It still holds to toast and English muffins, but you can pour it even after it’s refrigerated. I think you’re probably looking at about 20-50% more pectin to make it set up firmly. Again, it’s all a gamble based on moisture content. It’s tough to judge, but thicker is better for my money. I’m still eating it, but it’s not contest quality.
Once the mix is ready, turn the heat to low, or off. Using the ladle, constantly stir the mix so it stays consistent throughout the pot. Ladle the mix into the jars, using the funnel pictured above. Here’s how we set it up, and how the mix should fill the jar:
The amazing funnel and the correct level in the jar on the far right.
Gently place the lids on the jar and secure with the rings. Don’t tighten the ring all the way, leave a bit of play. When you put the jar in the boiling water bath you need to have it loose enough for air to escape from the jar.
Place the completed jar in the boiling water bath using the tongs. I set the water so that I can get three layers of cans in each pot. The trick is to gauge the depth: with each jar you add, the level comes up a bit toward the rim. If you get it just right, the top layer of jars will be 1-2 inches below the surface. The water must be at a fast boil when you add the jars. The jars will be hot, as you just put cooked jam in them. But they will be a bit cooler than the boiling water and so you have to keep the heat on the boiling pot the whole time.
Leave the jars in the boiling water for 15 minutes. This allows all the air to cook out, and when you remove the jar from the water the lid will be sealed in the ensuing vacuum. Set the jars on a table where they will be able to seal. Go back a few hours later and make sure all the jars are sealed. Tighten the rings down to hold the seal.
How do you know they were sealed in the process? Modern jar lids have an indentation on them that will pull down as the vacuum is applied. There is a satisfying “tink” noise as the lid is pulled down. You can also see it visually represented: if the dot is up, no seal. If the lid is flat it sealed.
Your jam should be good for up to a year. Some say marmalade is only good for 6 months. I probably won’t find out- it’s too good to last that long.
The recipe above made 79 1/2 pint jars of jam.
I hope you get as hooked as I am on this hobby. It’s not cheap, you can buy Smucker’s for less. But it won’t be yours and it won’t be nearly as good.
Final output.
********* ********** *********** ***********
I have a favor to ask of my readers: would you kindly share this blog with your friends, family, and colleagues? We hit a million views in 2014, and while the readership continues a nice growth trend, it could be a lot better. Just hit the Facebook like button, share it on your timeline, tweet the blog with a link, and tell that person at the next desk that there’s this lunatic who writes about all sorts of stuff that they might like.
I appreciate your help. When we hit 2,000,000 readers I will give away something cool to a drawing from the subscribers (that’s the box on the right toward the top) who have helped promote this mess. No used sheets, probably not honey, more likely gift cards. Be a part of it. I’ll update from time to time where we’re at in the count. Thanks.
Just an everyday prayer that slipped from my lips while I sat at the patio table writing this week. I was off in the land where the book takes place and Stormy was barking at jet aircraft 20,000 feet overhead and more.
Somewhere along the way I got in the habit of praying for the little things. The silly dog that barks at airplanes, the delicious ribs for dinner, the beautiful book that another author lavished their efforts and love upon. All of these things are worthy of praise.
It’s pretty easy to take this stuff for granted. Most people just assume that’s how the universe should be. I have known enough pain and witnessed enough misery to make it very clear to me that none of it is a given. God has his hand in all the good things. The simple and the complex, they all come from Him.
That’s a perspective that didn’t flow naturally from my life experiences. Someone, or several someones, had to open my eyes to the gifts that our Creator lavishes upon us every day. Once you know to look for them, and acknowledge them, it becomes an embarrassment of riches.
One example is work. I don’t like going to work and being confined there every workday. But I do like those paychecks. I do like my desk – it’s comfortable and cluttered with fragments of my life. I like most of my coworkers. The work itself? That goes from hate to rapture in minutes on occasion.
When I’m honest about the work itself, I see what an amazing gift that can be. I am blessed with skills and a brain that uniquely suit me for that job. I can be frustrated and angry when it doesn’t go well, but for the most part it gives me an opportunity to shine in the reflected glow of the One who created me. I get into a rhythm that allows the day to flow around me and rush me toward the exit ten hours later. Hours fly by and time evaporates in a comfortable office with heat and air conditioning.
I’m well aware that I could be an unemployed man living under a bridge. It’s not too far away for so many of my brothers and sisters from the past. Mental health issues, addiction, bad choices – all of them can contribute to that desk and chair becoming a shopping cart and a bonfire. I get it: I’m blessed.
Do you take the time to thank Him for the things that come your way? Even the bad things that make you cringe and cry? I’ve probably got more pleasure from surviving those moments than from relishing the good ones. I just have to remember when to tilt my eyes toward Heaven and acknowledge the gift. I hope you find that time in your day as well.
I have to go now, somebody is barking at a bulldozer and needs to go inside. But even that’s for the good: it put a smile on my face.
