What's for Supper? (06-29-06)

I bought two new toys for the patio this week, and I used one of them tonight. It's a Weber 751001 22 1/2-Inch One-Touch Gold
charcoal grill. The picture to the right (click-able for a larger picture) is after I completed putting it together, which I made a tad challenging because I stepped on one of the legs and bent the end out of round -- and round being somewhat necessary to slip into the round short tube welded to the bowl of the grill. But a bit of careful adjustable-pliers-work and all was well. It is very simple to assemble, assuming you avoid stepping on the leg.

And, having just got it assembled, we had to (of course) cook up something. SWMBO, in anticipation of the event, had put some nice, boneless chops in to marinate at lunch. The marinade consisted of water, orange juice, honey, onion salt, garlic salt, and fresh ground black pepper (a quick concoction I dictated via telephone). They were in the marinade for about four hours. First seared (though it wasn't hot enough - more coals next time) and then cooked on indirect heat with Jack Daniels No. 7 wood chips for smoke, plus a foil pouch of potatoes, green beans, and a few cherry tomatoes (the tomatoes being from our garden).
Fantastic! The picture at the left contains neither smell-a-vision nor taste-a-vision, so you can't appreciate what you are seeing but trust me, it was great! For an even better, more mouth-watering view, click the image for a larger version. Note the black "dusting" on the plate is paprika; an artistic touch I should have left out. I haven't had meat this tasty since I started using a gas grill several years ago; wish I'd switched back earlier.

Channel Surfing

I was channel surfing last night--or actually, around one or two this morning--when I stumbled across the Kathy Griffin television show (whatever it's called). I’ve seen Griffin do stand-up and found her pretty funny but wasn’t particularly interested in watching her show. But I did pause for a moment because of what was going on. Apparently, Griffin’s show was about her appearance on Tyra Bank’s television show. I have no idea who Tyra Banks is or why she has a show, but did find it interesting that TV has fallen to the point that one show is about appearing on another show and stroking each other’s ego. Perhaps these various inane shows will soon limit themselves to appearing on each other’s shows, swap the tapes directly, and clear the channels for something with a bit more intelligence.

"I'm Just Fine, Brother Bob, Just Absolutely Fine!"

A couple of days ago I was in Wal-mart picking up milk, bread, sugar, and a DVD player. The fact I can pick up such disparate items in the same store sometimes amazes me, but that's another story. For today, what caught my interest was a voice I heard while on the baking needs isle. From a couple of isles over I heard a loud voice proclaim "Hallelujah, HALLELUJAH, HALLELUJAH" in a voice that rose in volume from the first hallelujah to the last. I immediately assumed there was a sale on asparagus, rib-eye steaks, or some other overpriced food--but the voice continued to assail God's ear, and it turned out the entreaty was for healing.

Being somewhat curious as to how a revival meeting broke out in Wal-mart, I quickly selected which sugar package combined the best price-per-ounce and ability to easily carry (ruled out the fifty pound'er), and carted away to find the source. At the end of one of the food isles, taking up a portion of the main isle, was a gentleman who appeared to be about thirty-five, along with a lady I'd peg as north of sixty. With one hand on the shoulder of the lady and the other hand raised to God, the gentleman continued, in a voice familiar to anyone such as myself who was raised in a charismatic church, to pray for and praise for healing.

No, I didn't stop and stare, though I took a good look as I pushed my pulls-to-the-left shopping cart on past to the milk department. The gentleman was obviously lost in the spirit and oblivious (or, at least, unconcerned) as to his surroundings, but the lady had this look on her face . . . sort of like she might make a run for it at any second. I continued on to the milk cooler, picked up 2% white, 2% chocolate, and some French-Vanilla creamer, taking my time on the creamer and checking out a couple of brands. The prayer meeting continued while I was making my dairy selections, and as this was my last stop I headed back toward the front to check out. You could pretty much hear the prayer over that entire side of the Super Center, but nobody assumed terrorism and ran for the doors. The only comment I heard was one mom, hearing but not seeing the source, answer her son with "I guess he was struck by the spirit."

As to how this little healing service broke out, I pictured Brother Bob (as I named him) running into Sister Myrtle (as I named her) at "the Wal-mart" and saying "Well, hello Sister Myrtle, how are you today?" And Sister Myrtle responds with "Oh, Brother Bob, not so good, not so good. My rheumatis' is actin' up, got some arthritis so bad you wouldn't wish it on a mean dog, and I think I may have a touch of the bird flu." And Brother Bob responds, as any charismatic preacher would, by offering to pray for her. At this point, Sister Myrtle is in a tight spot. On the one hand, she may not want to be prayed for in Wal-mart, but she has to be thinking "Well, if I say no 'cause I'm embarrassed, God might let me get worser--so I gotta say yes."

Now, what I think of what was happening isn't really why I wrote this post, but I've got no problem with what was going on. I'd have suggested Brother Bob use an inside Wal-mart voice as opposed to his inside a tent revival healing service voice, but other than that, why not? The God of the tent revival is the same as the God of the Wal-mart impromptu prayer meeting. But, as I said, that isn't why I wrote this post. What struck me as I walked by the pair -- and saw the look on Sister Myrtle's face -- was that the next time she bumps into Brother Bob at the Wal-mart, and he asks how she's doing, she'll reply with "I'm just fine, Brother Bob, just absolutely fine!"

Random Childhood Memory: Demon Dog

My earliest memories were born in the country, and include the snake race, the fishing hole, me and Joey, corn treasure, the afore-mentioned "Mamaw and the fan" story, and lots more. While living out in the country we didn't have many houses near-by. My grandparents lived about ¼ mile up the dirt road, an Aunt and Uncle another ¼ mile farther, and that was it for neighbors within a couple of miles. As to playmates, there were none but my older brother. Brother Number One is a bit more than three years my senior, so started school when I was three -- leaving me at home with no playmates for most of the day (which brings us to Joey, who I'll detail another time). But a few weeks into my first grade year, we moved "to town," in a subdivision where you could walk down the road and every thirty paces you'd pass a different house. Lots of folks living around.

There were a lot of changes to get used to after moving into town, with house after house within twenty feet of each other, and various and sundry other differences from country living. One difference I discovered the day of moving in, and that was the difference between the country dogs I was used to and strange new city dogs now in my neighborhood. If you lived out in the country, especially if you grew up there, you knew all the local dogs--some three or four, tops. They also knew you. While they would bark at anyone or anything they didn't know, they knew me and we were friends. Strange dogs you had to take care around was a concept that hadn't as yet been born in my six year old brain, as every dog I saw was one I knew and was as friendly as you could want. However, upon unloading a few things at the new house, I jumped on my bike for the first bicycle ride in the new neighborhood. I'd been looking forward to this, as pavement was also something that was new in my experience, and it certainly appeared it would make for much easier biking than the grass and gravel I was used to.

About ninety or so steps down from my house -- or three houses -- an oversized ball of fur came tearing out from behind the house and headed toward me barking up a storm. No problem, the country dogs would sometimes run along beside the bike while I rode, so having this nice new dog to run along beside me wasn't an issue. But the closer the dog came, the barking was seen to be less than friendly; in fact, a few snarls, slobber, snapping teeth, and (if memory serves) demonic glowing red eyes became apparent. It was obvious and without a doubt that this dog was planning to chew off my right leg.

In thinking back, I still cannot clearly determine what decisional process led me to my response, but I jumped off the bike and ran for the house. Knowing I can ride faster than I can run, I still jumped off and ran for it. My best guess is that I must have decided changing from a heading of due north to a heading of due south would require much less time if I abandoned the bike than if I stayed on the bike. Apparently, at six, I had grasped acceleration calculation factors but hadn't yet mastered time/speed/distance equations. Regardless of the reason, that's what I did, and it worked.

Jumping off the bike totally confused the demonic monster that had come after me; obviously he had never witnessed such a response. You could see the confusion in his wrinkled demon-dog forehead as he worked through the problem: "Am I chasing the kid? Am I chasing the bike? Kid? Bike?" It had always been a package deal before, and now Fido-From-Hell didn't have a clue what to do. So while FFH was torn between eating me or eating the bicycle, I made my escape.

Interestingly enough, I've no other memories of being bothered by that dog though I do remember continuing to ride my bike in the neighborhood. I can only assume FFH would see me go by and decide he didn't want to again go through those moments of doubt he had experienced. Doggy physiologists were still a thing of the future, so he had nowhere to turn to help sort through his emotional upheaval. Better just to let that strange, puzzling fellow go about his business.

While my encounter with the demon-dog left me shaken, it's probably where I first began to give credence to the at-the-time unknown-to-me adage that if you can't dazzle 'em with brilliance, then baffle 'em with . . . well, let's just say if you confuse 'em enough everything might work out okay.