MY COMPANION....THE LONESOME DOVE

MY COMPANION...THE LONESOME DOVE

"IT'S A BIRD...A PLANE...A BIG GRAY CHICKEN...?"
*******************************

In these cold, austere, sort of unfriendly-

     feeling days of waning winter...

         with early spring, yet to come

I am not alone...

     there is a friend---

         a "big" one

here outside my writing place, on the 

     bird grain, five feet to 

my left---he comes (every morning) 

     a seemingly big gray 

chicken...at first glance---

Wait!! I think it is a white-winged

          dove!    Yes! it is!

I'll just be sitting here musing...

     or writing...and then

oft a slight thump against the

      pane will announce:

"Your friend has arrived...again."

He must've got his seasons mixed

    and left Patagonia early 

for he is here by himself, tho' he 

    seems to have had some good

stops along the way...for eating

     He sure is FAT!

But as all of God creatures are prone---

     He is cold, oh so cold, (for it

is snowing right now), and lonely

    and wanting warmth, physical

and mental

He sits on the grain, and spies me 

       thru the glass...he is having a 

few bites...all the while his nervous

neck is moving and checking me

out---

he sees me, I think, as

     another fellow creature

with a peaceful heart, tuned in to 

     the small things of life...

and

stretches, spread his feathers out

    as if airing himself...then

draws his neck into his body,

    as if trying to become a 

little-dove-ball...

and

trusting me to have his back, he

   dozes for along time,

still as can be...absorbing warmth

   from somewhere---the window,

the grain, the stucco...

He has found a haven, and comfort,

     and peace...and a feeling of 

safety...just like all God's creatures

    crave, 

as the Creator hovers over 

it all, everywhere at once, Whence

    we all have our being...and 

"It is good."

Later, and the dove and I have both

   dozed (I think)---then

my winter friend,  takes a peck or two

    for the road,

stretches a bit...peeks at me a coupla

    times,  and signals me

     with those beautiful white-trimmed 

          wings...saying ...

"Have a good day, see ya tomorrow."

    ....and he's gone.

*************

MIL

21 FEBRUARY 2018

SPARE ME...THE SPICES

 SPARE ME...THE SPICES       

"SPICES, SPICES, I DON'T NEED NO 
     STINKIN' SPICES..." 

.....Alfonso, from "The Treasure..." 

********************

For folks with sensitive palates, born and raised

down in the cotton country of West Texas, most 

spices have  one basic use---they  make good 

names for girls, especially when they run out

of suitable states and state capitols....for names.

O how oft in this world when cooks have  a 

good soup working, and they happen to glance

up in the cabinet where the spices (some five 

years old) rest, and say: "Wonder what that 

one does? I reckon I'll break new ground  and 

just try it out."

Well, please don't try it out on me. O skip the

bay leaf and the curry! Please!

Some people just don't get it. Every dish in the

mundo does NOT need a spice, generally

speaking.

Warning: Don't hum " parsley, sage, rosemary ,

and thyme," when you cook. Maybe hum "Big

Bad John," with a 32 ounce steak on the grill!

I mean I have tasted soup that was so over-spiced

I couldn't handle it.  And spices I read about, I

don't ever know how they taste, (by their names).

Now then, I asked BE about spices and I even

googled 'em.  Goodness knows, there may be

several hundred spices out there---i.e. saffron,

cominos, oregano, sage, fenugreek, cardamom,

cayenne, fennel, cilantro, tarragon, cori-

ander, bay leaf, cicely,  curry, myrtle,

verbena, mace, and mint--to name a few.

And I thought a tarragon was a little turtle

crossing the road---avoid running over him.

As for girls' names, we already have our

Myrtles, Cicelys, Rosemarys, Sages, Maces,

and (Nut) Megs. 

I'd need to check with BE to see if she would 

like these names, which I am kinda partial to---

if we should have a daughter: Verbena, Corian-

der, Marjoram, Ginger, or Saffron.  Cardamom

might not be a bad plan but she would wind up

being called "Cardi."

Anyway, I have been accused at times of writing

like Andy Rooney (a compliment) and so I will

tell you that this piece is 90% true---but maybe  

a bit tongue-in-cheek for humor's sake...

The French saying is that "The English have a 

thousand religions but only one sauce."

Mil confesses: he has ONE favored sauce,

which will improve almost any and every dish in

the world. Of course, snob cooks will frown---

This sauce is LIPTON'S Onion Soup Mix. As

stated —it will make any recipe better, almost, 

except maybe lemon pie.

Also Mil, a Chez in his own right

in his younger days, does like

garlic, red and green chile 

powder, cominos, oregano in 

pinches, dill, ginger (bread), sage

in limited quantities, and guess 

what? Black pepper showing on

top of fried eggs at breakfast, and

of course showing on mashed 

potatoes and cream gravy, and

stuff like that.

In closing---back to old West 

Texas and my roots---folks

weren't much on spices, but

they loved their butter. And it

appeared on and in everything

in copious amounts...in almost

all recipes. We're talking real,

fresh, home churned  butter!

Ah, but there was a villain in

those parts, in those days.

Yes, it was my granddad POP.

He loved sage more than 

anyone, and particularly loved

it in the family's beloved corn 

bread dressing at Thanksgiving 

and Christmas.

When the women were mixing

this recipe with corn bread, 

crumbled biscuits, onions,

celery and rich turkey broth,

he would lurk in the shadows 

of the kitchen, ostensibly just

enjoying the repartee, but

waiting to dart in, and dump

a cup of sage into the recipe...

....when no one was looking.

----------------

MIL

February 18, 2018

THE DESIGNATED "BEAN SORTER"

I was designated as

     "The official bean sorter,"

and my mind went back over

      the decades

A thousand times on cold 

      winter nights I have watched 

my dear mother sort 

       pintos---

(farm folks  called them 

        "red beans...") and

nine hundred times I have asked

       her: "Why do you discard

half beans?"

She said: "My mama always did."

I told Bobby Joe 'bout this, and

      he said: "Exact same thing

happened to me at my house...

     when I was a little kid!"

Now then, the years have passed

      and we little kids 

are all "growed..." and

      I myself have been given 

the honor of being---for 

      our household: "The

Designated Bean Sorter!"

      on cold winter nights...

But...

It is a new day

      and times are hard

so I keep the half beans---

      no disrespect intended

and

      I have hardly ever 

found a rock, but

There have been a few 

    "Ouch, Ouch...."

-------------

MIL

2/08/18

IT ALL BEGAN....WITH "MR. BO JANGLES"

That fateful hot summer day circa 

1977 when my youngest son Brian

was fourteen, he became a bit bored.

Over at the end of our couch in the

LR leaned BE's inexpensive Yamaha

guitar which she used as an APS 

children's music teacher.

Bri spied it and thought "what the heck!"

Finding a chord book somewhere he

learned a few chords and, being a pretty

good singer already from graded choir

days at church, the next thing you know

he was playing and singing "Mr. Bo 

Jangles."

New tunes followed and the next thing 

you know, he was taking private guitar 

lessons.

A few years of lessons and to UNM where

he received a BM, a scholarship, and 

a Masters in Classical Guitar; he then did

graduate study at Tulane in teaching guitar

to children.

In the early days he played dinner music

at several restaurants, including Los Cuates

and El Pinto, 8 miles north of Albuquerque.

Also hundreds of weddings, receptions, 

parties, dinners and even once for a

Dick Cheney political event....

He can play in any key, much by ear, and

has performed in a number of ensembles.

He began teaching children's guitar at

UNM’s special program for kids, circa

1991, six classes of them on Saturdays.

Additionally he has his private studio.

Pictured are two classes of UNM Prep School

children's guitar students in the Keller

Auditorium at UNM as they appeared 

recently in concert.

Several of his hundreds of students

(over the years) have become virtuosos 

and have gone on to become performers 

and teachers.

There is an annual State Music 

Conference, held each January at UNM---

Students from around the state audition

and, if accepted, are able to perform with

The All-State Choir, Band, and Orchestral

Groups. There is also a guitar orchestra,

which this year included over 100 students.

Brian's student of ten years ---Chris,  

a Korean boy of about sixteen years 

was selected for the prestigious position

of Concert Master for this group.

Brian states that  Chris's younger

brother may eventually prove to be

one of his best students..ever.

The boys, from a professional family,

gifted Brian for Christmas one of their 

extra "seven-eighth" size "guitars for 

kids" which the boys have now just

about outgrown.

-----------

For our annual family gift-opening

evening this year, which includes

reading the Christmas story...and much

singing of carols---and "the answer is

blowin’ in the wind," "if you miss the

train I’m on," "in the village the lion

sleeps  tonight--- ah weemaway," and

a dozen others, he brought and played

his gift, the seven-eighths guitar.

 But alas...we forgot "Mr, Bo Jangles."

----------

Mil

9 FEBRUARY 2018

"BUT AS FOR MAN....HIS DAYS ARE AS THE GRASS....."

    The old sun has gone around 

        (so to speak)...the earth

and Pop's Place many times,

      since

it was built that long ago spring

     of 1938...and I, a small 

   boy of four, standing in 

an unfinished kitchen, with a sink

     still full of sawdust...

         asked for a drink of water...

O it was a grand home in those

    times... the boys hadn't 

marched off to war yet...and

    one was even at Texas and M.

And it was a marvelous country,

             then, with Americans

all acting like Americans...and

    there was work galore 

and long hours, and babies 

     to birth and raise, and

heal when they were sick...

There were fields to plow

     walking behind mules which

had ruined the shins of the

    plowers...with kicks...

Cotton to plant and hoe...

     and then pick...and hope

the weather or the weevils didn't

            mean:  "no income"

that year...

There were hogs to kill, for hams,

     pork chops, and sausage---

There were gardens to grow

     and veggies to can...

and cows to milk and butter to 

         be churned...

There were happy times like

     plucking sweet purple grapes

from the arbor or making a

     hand-cranked freezer of 

ice cream at big family dinners...

There were amazing breakfasts 

    of ham, sausage, grits, biscuits

and gravy, pancakes, Ribbon Cane

     syrup and homemade jellies...

preserves from the fruit trees...

Suppers after a long day might

     be simple like black-eye peas

and corn bread and "sweet milk"

    or "crumble in..." corn bread

in buttermilk, with onions..

For the long cold winter nights

    in houses with no fancy 

heating---the women got 

     together and quilted...and...

traded recipes...and news..

Saturday afternoons meant 

    heading for town where the

farm ladies sold their chicken

    eggs and "got groceries,"

            and the men

got haircuts, shaves, shines

     and then gathered on 

the "west side" of the town

     square, in the shade,

packing the sidewalks...

With their extremely hard

    and sometimes dreary and

demanding lives, I never

     heard of farm women ever

going to D.C. to march 

               and protest.

   Christmases there in Dawson Co.

      were never to be forgotten

  under the darkest sky and 

      brightest stars...with fireworks

   out in front of the house...and 

 eggnog and opening presents in 

         "the front room..."

  After being hit by lightning when

      a young man, and losing sight in

  one eye...and living in a half-dozen

      uninsulated gray-wood houses---

  my granddaddy Pop finally 

      saved up enough to have...

....a fine two bedroom, one bath, 

 kitchen, dining room, living room

       home with a big three-car

 garage which he called:

           "The Car House."

 (It had a boys' room on the back

     plus a separator room for milk)

 Someone failed to keep the Car 

    House properly roofed, and today

 it is no more. Alas.

 Pop's Place was surrounded on

     four sides  by a rare thing for that

day---a ROCK FENCE varying in 

       height  from three to five feet...

There was a poetic windmill on a

    wooden tower...where now there

stands only a pump house,

       with a motor...

He had a cow barn, with a hay loft

     and stalls for milking two 

or three cows, at five a.m. each

    morning

There was a chicken house, a pig

     sty, a brooder house for baby 

chicks---a tractor shed with a meat

     room on the right end, where

he made the sausage and hung the 

   meat to cure...

There was a smoke shack, a grape

    arbor,  a garden, a windbreak of

trees to the west---

      and elm trees everywhere

around...

The years, now about eighty of them

    have sped by since The Old 

            Family Farmhouse was brand

new and you could smell the varnish

    and plaster...it was white outside

with tight wooden clapboard siding,

    and had a black wood shingle 

        roof...as did the car house...

The nature of that marvelous land 

     of sand was---constant and forever

sandstorms blasting everything...

     with sand drifting to fence tops,

           almost... it was

perhaps symbolic of the vicissitudes

    of life and the determination of

those farm folks to "be" and to live,

    all the while, developing from

blanks into beings with spunk and

    grit and character, and wanting 

to become

         Children of the Heavenly

Father, fit beings to dwell with Him.

Time has taken its toll,  at Pop's 

            as the years

     are wont to do...the barn 

needs a coat of red paint, the chicken

    house is no longer pristine white---

Two-thirds of the elms have died, 

     and the rest are not trimmed

or shaped...

I haven't been there since '71 but

   photos show--it seems---

Every year a tree or an outbuilding

             disappears.

But it is the people who are missing,

    my grandparents, the uncles, aunts,

bothers, sisters, cousins---just about

                   ALL

are gone to their rewards...but

    the old "Home Place"

stands there on the slight hill like

     "some banquet hall, deserted,"

but a trove of great memories..

   of past times, good and bad...

a tribute to those who lived to 

     the fullest---the best

 they knew how.

------------

BY MIL

3 FEBRUARY 2018

Photo Billy Gilbreath

"THE MEDITATOR"

The Meditation Lady with the PHD said:
    in her class...  (loud and clear)...
"Meditate...it will clear your mind."

I tried it...tried it lots...I mean
    meditating hard as I could,
'til I was about "meditated out.."
     tried it...but

The more I tried---the more stuff
   I thought of...
You know---lots of stuff...
   Good stuff     Bad stuff
Happy stuff   Sad stuff
   Relaxing stuff   Worrisome stuff

Shady trees, with iced tea
   and books...and
The frig ice-maker that's always
   broke...

The whys and why-nots of things
   and the wheres and wherefores
or
  What'll my next story or poem be?

Coupla dozen times over the years
   I just plain old dozed off
and kept on meditating
   in dreams...

(Maybe that was good.
    I'll ask the PHD.)

Oh I tried (watching BE doing yoga,
    and  Foo Swii, Fung Shway,
along with Confucius...

I tried holding my forefingers
  together with with my thumbs
like I had seen in photos...
  but it didn't help
and even did a few "ohmm's"
   like Dreyfus did in that
Marsha Mason movie...
   "The Goodbye Girl" but
no luck...

My mind wandered...and I
kept thinking of more stuff...

Now the MoTab Choir helped
   relaxation some..as did
crossword puzzles...and poetry,
  but the sad fact I'm here to
tell you...sit down for this---

I believe some meditators
   are faking it....Oh I know
they talk a big game alright...
    and also
I'll never amount to anything
   in  the meditation world...
it'll just never happen...
  BUT

The Meditation Lady deserves
   much credit, for you see---

All these things always cropping up
   and creeping in and ruining
my "quiet time" have made me,
   so my faithful readers say:

"One heck of a MUSER."
------------
MIL
"THE MUSER"
7 FEBRUARY 2018