Sunday, March 27, 2022


 4 1/2 MINUTES


PEANUT BRITTLE "it does exist."

A gift from west neighbor. Said he has been baking and needs to get rid of the sweets before he eats it all. I thanked him before telling him my story of not being able to eat peanut brittle. I had loved this as much as the first cup of coffee every morning, but quit because i could not  survive the glass-hardness of the brittle. 

But, I broke off a peanut just to tease myself. A smidgen of brittle on the peanut chewed softly. Hmmmmm! Could it be?

A larger portion as a small test. All chewed softly with all of that wonderful mixture of peanuts and what ever the brittle is. Melted in my mouth and coated the top layers of all of my teeth. Not good, yet so damn good. Another piece and I knew I was in trouble.

That the photo above made it to day two on the kitchen counter is an anomaly. Her put it out of sight and, therefore, out of sight out of mind. And it worked. 

And at 76 years now, I have learned peanut brittle does not have to be as hard as a granite counter top. It can be soft, chewy with added nut crunches. Better late than never. I am not going to ask for the recipe. 

I am not aware of what prices are today in your world or to the degree you are affected.
A hundred dollars for a carton of cigarettes. Ninety dollars and the gas tank not filled. Portland, Oregon area. West coast large city costs. 

Twenty miles roundtrip to town here mid-week. Made multiple shopping stops. I was curious for my own comparison with the above story. 

Cigarettes are $80 to $100 a carton here also.
87 grade gas $3.89
89 grade gas $4.49
93 grade gas $4.69
Diesel nearing $5/gallon

What I did choke on this day was $54.00 for 3 large bags of potting mix.  Garden needs what the garden needs.


Sitting the morning away, her mending and chatting. Old shirts are special items. I have gone through a few myself, wearing them outside for work. What folks who stop by to visit must think. 

Her said that she will be spending much more time out in the flower beds than she will be at a fashion show downtown. Squinting at the label she notes 100% cotton, made overseas, and this was an expensive shirt from Macey's in Manchester before they tore it down. A few Valentine days have passed since this gifting. Twenty-two according to her. 

Says she cannot find good denim shirts anymore. Well, she can but refuses to pay the outrageous prices. Old shirts with personal mileage on them are priceless. She side glances at me and tells me to send this one with her when she goes. I understand!

While her sewed, I made a pot of goulash. Basically fried/drained hamburger in mixtures of tomato products and personal seasonings. I used frozen green peppers from last season;s garden and findings in the fridge vegetable bin.

I did not have a grand plan making this. I tossed items into the pot  as I found them in the cupboards and fridge/freezer. Simmered the mixture for a half hour and then tossed in al dente elbow noodles.  

Satisfied my craving for old school full meal deals of the 1950's and quick hot lunches mid-week. 


Born in the 1940's, I have been privy to experiences of my parents/grandparents coming to this country from Russia and Norway and living through the depression and WWII rationing.

Lessons taught to me were products of the daily living of coming out of those days. What my elders learned were practiced for the remainder of their lives. Lessons were taught through conversations of those times and daily habits of thrift, saving/reusing everything and how so much can be made from so little. 

My wife still talks of the first time she met my mother. Arriving at her home, she noticed that my mother had empty plastic bags closed pinned to the clothes line, drying. Mom had washed out the plastic bags for re-use. That was 23 years ago and well past the depression era. Habits of thrift and playing life close to the vest had been set deep within my mother. She never forgot having to do with "nothing."  

Of all the doom and gloom promised to be ahead of us now, it might be best to take to heart of what is being said on world stages. 

My wife has started re-using some zip lock bags. Yes, washing (if she chooses) and set to dry. Not the nasty ones (yet) but getting into a habit of reusing instead of tossing away. We have all but stopped using paper plates in favor of generic plasticwear.  


I never gave any thought to planting for younger crops to come in behind harvested crops last year. Through conversations with other locals and basic research I decided to give it a try this season. 

Six large heads of beautiful cabbage came on last year all at once. Much more than two people could consume or save. Gifted half away which was the right thing to do. No waste when gardens produce. There is always someone who will use and appreciate. Sharing builds relationships. 

I plan to start using young cabbage as it comes on. There will be fresh coleslaw in the fridge for a few months and both her and I enjoy without tiring of that in lunches and dinners. I am a fan of fried cabbage, onions and peppers. Her not so much. 

Regardless, should have 12 consecutive weeks of fresh cabbage off the hoof this summer. 

Robo Burger. Is this "the first apple computer for sale" kind of moment. Historically speaking. Will/would I buy and try? YEP!

If the picture of the hamburger is what it appears to be AND if it is messy to eat AND if it has juicy flavor AND there is not afterbite a half hour later, then I am in. The only stumbling block for me will be the method of payment. That is where the chain of purchasing events breaks down. 

If I can put in cash and get the hamburger, then sign me up. Put one in the building where I work. 

I set my notebook down on the arm of the chair after reading this article. Sipped coffee as my mind pondered the meaning of all of this. "I have lived long enough to again see history being made." 

Will I soon be able to go to an Old Spaghetti Factory machine and order half Mizithra and clam sauce with half spaghetti and meat sauce accompanied by a glass of cheap Chianti as my drink? 



"It is time for us to do what we have been doing and that time is every day." Kamala Harris

Feeling fuzzy, warm and hopeful as the world churns. 

Two dozen pepper plants to get in the dirt this morning.

Thank you for your visit this week. 


Sunday, March 20, 2022




Ford Dependable 

Heading West

Daily Driver

The Oxbow tavern once made the biggest and best hamburgers in the Pacific Northwest. Located on one of the most traveled roads of log trucks and tourists. 

Runs as strong as the day it was new.

New family home.

A perfect day.

AIRSPEED crossing from Miami to The Bahamas this past week. 

STILL GOOD AS THE DAY CANNED. Became beef stew last week.

COWS COME TO VISIT. Actually, they thought that they were going to get fed. Instead a neighbor and I were throwing lures for early spring Crappie (pronounced cropE) in nearby pools. No bites but my casting was excellent and I was content with that. 

I was told that the water needs to warm up a bit more. Apparently. the fish are quite large from these pools we fished last week. 


"From sock_rat_eez:
What are your thoughts on the whole search - engine thing ?

Do you have a preference ? Which one do you use ?
I use DuckDuckGo, and it's mostly okay. Learning how to use the custom search extensions helps (enter ! and one or more letters at the end of your search query and it will use a different search index - and there are thousands supported)."

I learned something new this morning and it works great. Try it!! Really opens up this search engine.


JOHN ADAMS, mini-series on HBO 2008.

Her and I first watched this series living in a George Bush (43) world. Her is a big fan of history, well-read and knowledge of these times past. I drug my feet then to watch, but much enjoyed the series. Historical prospective, good acting, and true to history. 

Now, 76 and living in a completely different world and America, watching this series again this past week causes me to suggest this to you.

If you have not seen this mini-series or it has been years since you watched it like us, I recommend you and the family sit down for a heart warming/heartbreaking experience. More importantly, a reminder from where and how this great nation started. Some of the dialogue is directly from historical writings of John Hancock and others of those days. 

These times should be a permanent cornerstone in the hearts of all Americans.


East Texas weather has blown through everything but snow this past week. T-shirt/shorts to triple-layer clothing and chilled to the bone. A few wonderful afternoons sitting on the patio talking of life and living with my wife and best friend. A glass of red wine.

Speaking of wine. We brought home some wonderful wine in 2007 from South Africa. Since then we have been saving it. Saving it  for what?

Best get to enjoying it now.  

Thank you for the visit and have a blessed week.

Sunday, March 13, 2022


I use one bottle of off-the-shelf drinking water, less a few splashes. The water is placed into a clear measuring cup and microwaved to 105 degrees F, give or take a degree. I add one packet of yeast, stirring it in with a clean butter knife for 10/15 seconds, then let it set for 15 minutes times.

I place 3 cups of bread flour and 1 cup of wheat flour (measured) into a large, warm, glass bowl. I add 1 ½ tsp of salt and mix thoroughly.

I use one room-temperature egg yolk, stirred with a fork.

I use a Kitchen Aid mixer with a dough hook attachment. Yep!

I pour the liquid and egg yolk into the mixer and add two cups of flour. I start mixing always on low, stopping to scrape the sides, then start again. Then a little more flour, repeating til all the flour is added.

All of this mixing takes not more than 5 minutes maximum. In a perfect world, this mixture will yield a tacky dough. Not sticky, but tacky. Adding a small spoon of flour or a drop or two of water will be all it will take to make the dough mixture perfect.

I scrape the dough on to a lightly floured Pastry Cloth (my mother's hand me down - 50 years old at least). Lifting the edge of the pastry cloth will cause the dough ball to roll onto itself. Then, by hand, I roll the sides of the dough ball under while turning. No more than a minute to get that perfect ball.

Set dough ball into large greased glass bowl that I had coated bottom and sides a little butter. Cover with saran wrap. I poke one small hole in the saran wrap with a sharp knife. Cover with a lightweight dish towel and place in oven - with the oven light on - for 90 minutes.

I place the risen dough back onto the pastry cloth. Push down folding and turning a couple times. Cut dough in half, form each half and then place each into a Pyrex glass loaf pan greased with a piece of butter bottom and sides (do a good job of lightly greasing). Cover and let rise one hour.

Place into a 425 F heated oven, mid-level, and bake for 20/23 minutes. 

I let it set 15 minutes before slicing. After several hours of setting, I freeze one loaf if it will not be eaten within a few days. Thawed loaves of bread are as good as the day baked.

Skill set improving. 


One thousand dollars to fill up an 18-wheeler 3/12/22.

A package of chicken wings at wallyworld: $32   3/12/22.

We are starting to measure the cost of going to the grocery store in gallons of gas and doing the math. Her will begin traveling with neighbor lady friend to split costs when going to local towns shopping.

$5.28 delivered 3/12/22. I included this so I can go back and compare as this year continues to unfold. 


Biscuits for one, recipe doubled. 

I use a dough cutter to cut butter into the dough. I make 2% milk using coffee morning half and half and tap water. Equal parts. 

Gifted breakfast deer sausage, package gravy and homemade biscuits. Enough for breakfast again tomorrow morning. 

Baking of any sorts in the weeks, months, years ahead may become impossible if a few bags of flour, yeast and salt are not on the shelves.

I still remember bare flour and yeast shelves from C19 panic buying.  

We are already using homemade loaves of bread for friendly barter. Have been raised to share. A dozen gifted eggs weekly now are met with a fresh loaf of thankyou homemade bread. No, it is not expected. But sharing is a heart thing both ways.

Someone in your circle of living will be cooking. Family and friends will never say no to a seat at the table. Adding good food/bulk/flavor to any meal will save many a day and take a large load of daily stress off of your shoulders. 

How do I know? Because I have lived this and seen it over and over with my own eyes. It is a part of my life playbook. 

If you are the cook and encounter (live-in family) complainers. You may not agree with this but keep it in your play book. You will only have to use it once. Say nothing. Pick up the complainer's dish and toss all into the garbage can. OR, ask the complainer to stand and take his/her seat at the table. Hand the apron to him/her and officially transfer the cooking duties off. Stand your ground!! 

I sat at a table when this happened and it was of the greatest human interactions I ever witnessed. I was much younger but knew this to be a very serious moment that the adults were playing. It never happened again nor did anyone ever complain at the table. Taught me about complaining. 

The cook for folks in down-times rules and deserves the highest respect,  someone to whom offering help to is more than appreciated.



Two orange-honey and one pear-honey mead on the cook.

The quiet in the world news is deafening. Snippets here, snippets there and millions of words. At the end of the day, Quiet!!!

No doubt in the minds and daily experiences of many now, around the world, that it is "Game On!"

God Bless and appreciate the visit. 

Tuesday, March 8, 2022


The kittens have grown into big cats. They are litter sisters, taken directly from their mother and placed into my wife's hands. They did not know how to drink water from a bowl. I saw them learn that instinctively as they dipped their face deeply into the water bowl, then licked their face. They refined that learned behavior to licking the top of the water. Took a few tries. 

I purposely built their long-term home with height and room to climb, jump and chase. Places from which to play hide and seek. Jumping on each other like jumping on prey. Hissing and paw fighting. Exchanging positions from being on their back in submission to being on top making the kill.  

After they were fixed, we let them out for the first time. Fearing they would run far and wide, they stuck close to the car port. Expanding their cat behaviors and activities daily into a larger world. 

Bad cat was yelping from high in a tree several months back. Apparently got in over her head after using her newfound climbing skills to new heights. I could hear her crying from high above, but could never see her in a tree.

I called "kitty kitty" a few times as I circled around the area. Told her that there was no way in hell I was going to come and rescue her. "You climbed up there and I know you can climb down. Get a grip!"

An hour later she came running, hell-bent for leather out of the west thicket of brush. "Whew!" is all she had to say for herself. Nap time!

Monday night, bad cat did not come home at the appointed time. Getting dark. Had not eaten all day. My wife was uneasy, worried and noticeably upset. I too was worried but, in the back of my mind, I trusted bad cat.

She has exhibited a propensity to test bad behavior right up to push coming to shove. This just might be the night she is going all the way. No notice or permissions requested, no phone call and most likely out running with a bad sort. 

At dead-dark bed time, no bad cat coming at a run from the shadows. 

Bad cat is a good example of kids misbehaving. All is some sort of growing up game they play. Testing their waters and we parents hope we have given as many lessons and skill sets to get them over this life hump. 

At daybreak we both head out as normal to let the cats out of their large, safe cage. There on the patio slab was bad cat. Waiting. A small meow. Looking no worse for wear. 

Wife was happy then angry. Felt the need to lecture bad cat. Don't do this again and where in the hell have you been. You know I was worried. You know better then to stay in the brush and woods all night.  What in the hell were you thinking. Add head-shaking and just one finger pointing that I do not think my wife wanted me to see. 

So the kids are testing the waters in a dangerous neighborhood. East Texas has its share of other bad players lurking over head, under warm leaves and in thickets. But as I watch the sisters move together in this neighborhood, they are formidable. A bad pair to draw to. They cannot be seen when standing still in underbrush. 

They are kids growing up in an adult world. So far so good. They do not appreciate being lectured to, I know that. 

They are bringing home kills now, small creatures, snakes and we do not know what is next. Are they getting too bold in this world or are they smart enough to be working their learning curve within their limits? 

I am not sure, but on this day, bad cat is grounded and does not have a clue. 


Sunday, March 6, 2022



I was the kid in the 8th grade who was sent to the principal's office to get the board stretcher. Apparently. the principal had borrowed it from the woodshop and that tool was needed.

I was there at the demonstration table in the classroom that day and saw that the board the instructor was using/explaining was too short to complete the demonstration. Obviously, a board stretcher was the answer.

As part of that teaching moment, my name was called and I was asked to go get the the board stretcher back from the school's principal in the main office. He had borrowed it and not returned it to the shop. Seemed reasonable.

The woodshop was a world I got to attend for an hour a day. Everything in that hour and world made sense. The teacher was wonderful, the best, and everyday I learned little nuances in working with a chunks of wood to make a project with my hands. All of the students did.

I have always loved a good joke and have been on both ends quite often.

Heading down the halls, my mind was intent on seeing just how this tool would stretch a board. Gonna be a great lesson. And there is where my mind lived. In the wonderment of learning something about something I never knew existed.

Add to this that the teacher had singled me out of the entire class to trust in accomplishing this mission.

My first hint came when I came into the school main office asking to talk to the principal. “Why?”

Explained that I was from the woodshop and needed to get the board stretcher that the principal had borrowed. Looking back on the moment, I apparently was not the first youngster to be sent for the board stretcher. There were looks among the staff. I picked up on that, but without understanding.

The secretary went into the principal's office to bring him out, and out he did come. Serious as a heart attack. I explained that I was from Mr. Woodshop teacher's class and he needed the board stretcher. All eyes were on me and the principal. He explained that he had lent it to another teacher and that I should go there to retrieve it.

And so it went. Yep. I was the kid walking around the whole campus, going from room to room asking for the board stretcher. News like this travels at the speed of light.

And after a few classrooms, I realized that I was being taken for a ride. “Light Bulb!”

In the days that followed, many a person asked if I had found the board stretcher.

I may have learned to answer “not yet.” I rolled with it and was smart enough to know that was the best I could do. And it was funny.

I never ever took this lesson as anything more than a lesson and have always, then and now, been able to laugh at myself along with others. I also realized that my 8th grade woodshop teacher had a sense of humor and had chosen me to share it with personally.

The upside of this adventure was to sharpen my senses. To read people. To listen, pay attention and, more than anything, to question and think for myself. There were a hundred clues that day before I fully figured it out.

I leaned instinct. To pay closer attention to absurdity. To have that thinking light on bright enough to ask a question or two. There are truths to be had from the looks on people's faces, body language and how quickly what I am being told can fall apart in the real world. And there is a lot of funny in a good joke, not a mean joke, a good joke. 

Developing a sense of humor in life is paramount.


After Vietnam, I went back to college and became a woodshop teacher. Thirty years. Times when kids were fun loving, safe and with senses of humor. They also came to class to learn, quite often semester after semester repeats to the next class offering.

Some of the students were class clowns in the making or in full blown ownership of a little mischievous behavior from time to time.

On one such day, I was in full teaching mode, moving and working one on one with as many as I could get to in an hour. Normal. Always seemed that I could get a hundred questions answered in the course of one class session.

I noticed a large group of kids in a corner. Most of class milling around like they would in a cafeteria. Odd! Out of place! Not a class hour norm!

One student was walking toward me from the bandsaw/chop saw location. Right arm dropped/dripping in blood red onto MY shop floor. Had it not been for the entire class quietly nestled in the opposite shop corner, this “joke” on me would have been a heart-stopper. That instant the kid walking towards me, obviously "seriously" hurt.

The young man had poured a half a quart of oil-based red paint on his arm, starting at the elbow. He was a gift to the whole school in his ability to make any and everyone laugh, damn near daily. The half-assed grin was the second welcoming clue I had in that instant.

The second the class saw me look at the approaching student and realize this was a joke, they all lost it in a laughing gasp. Words can never explain the welcoming relief I had realizing the joke being played on me.

He had brought my entire class in on this. Planning behind my back as I was teaching. Quite an accomplishment.

I can do “dead pan” very well. Maybe years of experience with high school kids. The approaching student broke into laughter. Just that. Dripping red paint all over MY shop floor.

The majority of the class came forward to help him clean up. Cleaning the shop floor and following my directions of removing most of the red paint with rags from his arm, gently cleaning his entire arm with paint thinner then a group effort at washing his entire arm with soap and cool water to finish it up.

Bring him to me when you are done.”

We all lost some teaching time that day, but built a lifetime story told by this young man's teacher that was told over and over amongst his peers who also took Mr. Woodshop's classes that year.

I owned the teachers' lunch room that day with this story. Not one teacher did not know the name of the student who pulled this stunt. He was again famous that day. Rightfully so.


I so enjoyed watching the new 9th graders coming into my shop on their first day of high school beginning woodworking course. Bright eyes, looking around, and often acting a little snarkey. I loved them.

I had a staircase from the main shop floor running up to an upstairs work space. Leftover, unfinished projects often summered there. I would choose one half-finished project for this demonstration. 

I got their attention as stood half way up the stair case looking down upon them.  I gave a quick welcome to high school and the wood shop. Lots to learn. Gonna be a great experience. My expectations of their work, behavior and learning. An upbeat message for sure. 

I then explained that all projects they built would have to pass the drop test before the final grade on the project. 

I walked up the staircase, retrieved a small half-built shelf or cabinet, hung it over the edge of the upstairs railing and would purposefully drop it so it landed on a corner. That project would explode into nothing but pieces. God how I loved this moment. 

Not many teachers could own a class of 9th graders' full attention. But those drop tests never ever failed in that moment. I could actually read their faces thinking they would soon be in the counselor's office dropping this course.

I would that moment hang as long as I could. Me looking at them and them looking at me. Time stood still. Not one snarkey from anyone. I still get goose bumps. 

And yes it was a joke. Like this old 8th grader, they had to figure this one out for themselves. 

It was called a high school education.


I suppose I could have been that new, first year teacher, above my shop class, whose class of ninth graders' pad-locked in the classroom tool closet for three hours after the lunch bell rang. 

Good story. Office staff came looking for him as he had missed a full other class session across campus. Nobody had seen him. Yes, he had been pounding on the door for nearly 3 hours. Would have been a better story if he had used the tools in the tool room to remove the door.

(Share this with others who have taken high school woodshop classes.)


Probably the hardest I ever laughed.

I was working graveyard shift in a plywood mill while attending my first year of junior college. So were a few fellows I ran with from time to time.

We would get off near midnight and sometimes would head down to the A&W for root beer and snack. A fifteen minutes drive down the main drag between two joining small towns right out of American Graffiti.

About a mile from our destination that night, three cars in trail, I saw a body lying on the road side curb next to a major all night grocery store. A woman, blonde hair, wearing a flowered blue dress. Motionless.

I drove by pulled over and looked in my rear view mirror. The two other cars following slowed down, stopped and the door swung open on the last car. I saw a friend get out of the car, grab the body and throw it in his back seat. I smiled. A manikin.

Off we went to the A&W. I started grinning because this night was long from over.

The next hour played out like clockwork. We tidied up the manikin and piled into two cars. I was in the back seat, manikin across my lap.

We spent the next hour doing exactly what you would expect. Setting the manikin in different positions around parked cars on main street then driving and parking to watch with lights off on a side road.

We had time as there was very little traffic that night. Manikin in position, we could see a car coming from a few blocks away.

The tension and excitement inside my friends car was exhilarating. None of us were breathing. Quiet in anticipation.

Brakes would screech, doors fly open and then a realization that that particular driver had been pranked. Off they would drive, looking around knowing that someone was watching.

We would drive to the manikin, freshen her up, place her in a different position then drive away to hide and watch. We got away with this several times. All of us absolutely lost in a world of funny and laughing.

The last go around had me laughing so hard from so deep inside of that I had zero control. These are the very best laughs in my world. Tears running down my face accompanied my uncontrollable laughter. Laughter so hard that I am exhausted when I finally come out.

The lights of the car coming had our attention. Sure enough the manikin draped over the hood of a parked car, stopped that oncoming car in an instant. A young gal jumped out of the passenger side and grabbed for the girl over the hood. The manikins head fell off and the blond wig fell to the ground. Other body parts failed.

She screamed, hands pulled back in the air. And that is where I lost it. Everything. Complete and utter melt down.

The driver jumped out looking for “us.” 

The manikin had served its purpose that night and off we went leaving her parts and pieces between two parked cars. 

I was so lost in a the world of laughing at what just happened, I could not function. Minutes and minutes went by.

And just like that, I was back in my car, heading home as were my other friends. All of us chuckling out loud all the way home. A full work shift behind us and so exhausted from laughing that I fell asleep when my head hit the pillow.



There are several specs/types. I have not done my homework. 

We planted 10 on the east side of our yard to help define it. Pampas grass will overgrow to a point of taking over. The very large ones we see around the local areas have to be cut back year after year and they still dominate. They add their own natural beauty to a property

East Texas has yet to deliver on promised rain and thunderstorms. All we need a good one hour thunderstorm to support our plants and weeds. 

Pampas grass, once established, survives the harshest weather w/o water. One of the reasons we chose it. Plug and play w/o maintenance. 

The young plants though have faltered so we decided to give them all a good soaking. Cannot hurt. And herein lies my reason for sharing.

I started watering the large ones, her starting on the other end. I was pouring directly in the middle of the plant. I noticed that mother nature has a plan for Pampas grass, too. Some of the long green draping leaves collected some of that water in droplets and ran that drop all the way out to the edge of the root system and then drop it. During a good rain, pampas grass delivers moisture all the way around the plant. A plan. Self-sufficient.

I am constantly amazed and impressed by the natural world we live in. 



"When dangerous situations arise for plants, the choice between flight or fight is a simple one. They abide by the stand your ground law and always fight. Such a lifestyle choice means that plants employ a variety of weapons to stave off extinction. Thorns are one of the more obvious botanical defenses. Their appearance is a clear warning not to trample and no herbivore would like a mouthful of sharp spines."

The bride was cutting back her rose bushes and got "hung up" in the process. One of the thorns stuck deeply, then broke off.  This was a few weeks ago. 

Her will never ever let me help her with a cut and, in this case, a thorn sliver. I do not take it personally and have learned that some things just have to run their course. 

I can dig around and get the thorn out. I really can. But it will hurt a little and in that light, there is no option even to look at the "injury." This behavior of hers is consistent, 100%, across the board. No exceptions. Don't even ask or approach the vicinity. Ok.

Yet, when I cut myself or open up the thin skin on my arms, she demands to be the nurse. Washing, disinfecting, patting dry, "don't move, hold your hand like this, stop it......!!" accompanied by the look.  Truth be told, she helps, but she tries my patience. 

A few days ago, she decided again to start digging in her hand to get out the thorn. Had the necessary tools. Dig, dig, dig and I thought she got it. Never asked, never said a word. I told her that she would have to endure a little self-inflicted hurt, but could get it out.

Yesterday morning, a nurse granddaughter of a friend, arrived to remove the thorn. A nice favor and folks here do this as normal as a "good morning, thank you sir and God Bless."

I had to sit and watch. Quietly. The nurse removed the thorn and her never ever made a peep. The nurse said, "if you had just pushed at the base here, the minor infection would have pushed the thorn out." 

I told her yesterday, "if you just push at the bottom of the thorn, it will probably just push the thorn out."  

Point of the story. Sometimes just best to roll with it. It has taken me a lifetime to learn this. 



if you shut the news, tv, radio news and print papers off, you will be ahead of the constant rubble from talking heads. An opinion. 

There are truths being told and one does not have to search too far. But it is out there. 

I see a plethora of folks talking of the food shortage coming to the point of not being able to feed oneself or one's family. Depending where, when and how. Folks not prepared to be fully self-sufficient for at least a year will suffer most. And I keep repeating, you will be called upon to help others. 

Time is short now.

God bless, have a wonderful week and appreciate the visit this week.