Coffee

I like my coffee strong.  Black.  Sticky.....well, maybe not sticky, but my grandfather called the coffee I like "steamboat coffee."  Because on the boat you could set your coffee mug down in a heavy sea and not worry about it sloshing out of the cup.  The spoon (if you used one for foo foo shit like sugar and cream) should be able to stand up. 

I make my coffee in the same pot that my grandmother used since the 30's or 40's.  I grind my own coffee.  It is one of my guilty pleasures.  Usually a French Roast or Italian Roast.  I make a thermos full and drink it every day.  I have a serious caffeine addiction.  When I am traveling, I bring my own ground coffee with me along with a couple coffee filters so I do not have to be subjected to Starbucks brown piss water.

I am sure some of the coffee house "barista's" or whatever foolishness the servers are calling themselves would scoff at my coffee, but I like it.

All this is leading up to my wife (who does not drink coffee) telling me that we need to buy one of these new K-cup machines.  "For what?" I ask. "I already have a coffee maker that works fine." To which she replied, "No you don't, you have a coffee pot that you put the grounds in and pour boiling water through that is older than you are."  "So what?  It works.  It makes good coffee.  And I like it!"  "But you never wash it...you only rinse it out and wipe it out, and it takes up space on the stove and whatever you make but don't drink gets poured down the drain."

Ok, she is right about the undrunk coffee being poured down the drain.  My grandmother likely would faint dead away if she knew I did this.  She would put the left over in a jar and either re heat it or pour it over ice....not me.  I also knew her to spread out the used grounds on a cookie sheet when she was running short of coffee and set the sheet on the woodstove to dry out so she could use them again the next day mixed with the little fresh she might have left.  Not me.  My used coffee grounds go into the compost heap....and most of you thought I was not "green."

Back to the gadgetry.  Against my wishes she went out a bought one.  Along with an assortment of coffee including some French and Italian roast samples.  She also bought some tea, hot chocolate and hot cider cups (I am realizing this was the real reason she wanted it).  I came home from work last Friday to find it on the table.  A sleek looking plastic concoction with water on the side and buttons and a touch screen like my POS IPad.  My grandmother's coffee pot and the tea kettle I boiled the water in were no longer on the stove but put away in the cupboard under the counter.  In addition to the coffee samplers she bought a refillable container so that I could use my own fresh ground beans.  Sounds great right?  Very thoughtful right?  Ha!  The fucking thing would only work on cups made by the manufacturer...most of what she bought would not brew.  After checking out the internet, there are several cheats that I discovered, so all was not lost for my wife...until.....I tried one of the coffees she bought.....paint thinner with a hint of burnt motor oil (and I happen to be an aficionado when it comes to burnt motor oil).  I tried the refillable cup with my own coffee...I could not pack enough in it to make the coffee as strong as I like it...to top it off, what a mess and pain in the ass.

Sunday morning, I got grandma's coffee pot out of the cupboard and drank my tar while my wife sat sipping on a hot chocolate...which was her purpose in buying the damned machine in the first place.

Traveling Meat

Time to thin the herd a bit.  My old bull has served his purpose and the young one that I was going to replace him with has not turned out to be as I wished.  One of my cows, who has provided us with 8 very respectable calves over the years seems to be slipping.  She lost her calf this year and so, with winter coming on, it appears that it is her time as well.

Yesterday I backed the trailer up to the gate and made my first attempt at loading the three up for a drive.  The younger of the two bulls, Ballsy, followed me (actually he followed the bucket of corn I was carrying) right into the trailer.  The old guy, Turdfox, was not far behind.  The old cow, Dolly, was more wary, and in spite of the corn I dumped on the floor of the trailer, would only put her two front feet in and would follow me back out.  We went through this several times and finally it was dark, so I decided to wait until this morning to load them.

This morning came and, following the same routine, I came up with the same result.  I had a deadline (bad pun.....I know) so I decided, "to hell with it!"  and closed the door on the two bulls and gave Dolly a brief reprieve.  If my wife would have been able to help, we might have gotten all three on the trailer, but she gets weepy knowing what is coming and I gave her a reprieve as well this morning.

After about a 2 hour drive, a brief inspection with security (really!), a USDA overseer and a packing house employee watched as I backed the trailer into the dock - my little stock trailer with two bulls between two huge semi's with probably 40 head in each.  I opened the gate and called the two bulls out, who were understandably and justifiably nervous.  The employee offered me a "rattle prod" which is a non electric noise maker that will help the animals moving along.  I declined.  I got behind them and said, "lets go boys!" and clapped my hands and off we went down the aisle, around several corners and finally into a holding pen lined with fresh sawdust.  I only occasionally patted them both on the hind quarter to keep them moving.  After latching the gate, I turned around and headed back down the aisle.  The USDA inspector was standing watching and as I approached, he shook his head and said, "amazing!"  "What do you mean?" I asked.  "No struggle at all.  They did exactly what you wanted them to do with no drama!"  "So?"  I replied, "why is that amazing?"  "Most small operators have to chase their animals around to get them in the pens."  "I wish they would have loaded as easily" I replied.  He just shook his head.

I signed my ticket and will get a check in the mail by the middle of next week.  I got in my truck and came home.  I will find a new bull in the spring.  I have Black Angus cattle, but I have been thinking about trying to find a bull with some Wagyu in it.  We will see.  I have all winter to think about it.  I will probably make the trip again next week with Dolly.

As a side note, to clarify, sound older animals that are taken to the locker because they are no longer productive are graded and depending on meat quality, will become hamburger or better cuts that are marketed to contract buyers.  Most likely my young bull will end up as hamburger for the restaurant market.  My older bull will likely supply some nice choice cuts in addition to hamburger.  Dolly, will be hamburger.

When it is my turn, I expect to be dog food.

A bit of a footnote here.  Reading this back it seems a bit cold and to a certain extent it is because that is how it must be.  All our animals have names and all are treated quite well.  If I was honest with myself (and unfortunately, I usually am) I guess I almost prefer the productive animals to the "pets" (don't tell Beulah!).  I have watched horses as they got into their upper 20's and in the "failure to thrive" stage where no matter how much they eat, they get skinnier and skinnier and finally you are left with no resort except to put them down.  I have had to put down neighbor's animals because they could not bring themselves to do it.  I have had to put down dogs...and the latest one, Rascal, who I wrote about on that other site, was the hardest thing I have to do and I have another that is coming up sooner than I want to think about.  These animals live their lives for us.  They are happy to see me when I come to the gate.  Or at least I would like to think they are happy to see me and not just the bucket of grain I am carrying...Reality sometimes is hard and I have to tell you, as I drove away from the locker, I could not help but think about Turdfox shoving his head at me when I stopped scratching (which is a very dangerous thing) much like the dog puts his nose underneath it and shoves when you stop scratching.  They lead a good life right to the end and even in the end they serve us and deserve respect.

For a time, we raised English Bulldogs....I have spoke and written about that as well.  We sold puppies all over the Midwest and one went to Canada.  We always screened the prospective owners because we wanted to at least have a feeling that they went to a nice home.  We turned more than one down.  Without fail, every puppy left our home with my wife crying.

I was only half joking about being made into dog food when I go.  I have gotten so much enjoyment, so much comfort and so much unconditional companionship from the dogs I have had that the least I could do is provide for them in the end....nah....scratch that...burn me up...I would be too tough to chew and they might break a tooth.

Religion and Church

It has been a while since I wrote anything.  Fall coming into winter is a busy time.  Like the proverbial squirrel storing up for winter, I run around proving that I am "nuts."  Ok, bad pun.  Kit posted a blog (she is an influential gal even if she doesn't realize it!) and it brought to mind an old posting from that other site that used to be so nice.  Ok...so maybe cutting and pasting is cheating...but I still wrote it, and I think it still holds true, even if I wrote it several years ago....

Here it is...a blast from the past.

I was brought up Lutheran.  I went to Sunday School.  I went to church almost every Sunday.  I was confirmed.  I believe in God.  I also believe in Christ.  I am not offended by those that don't, or believe otherwise...unless it is thrown in my face or unless their so-called faith is used as an excuse or justification for douchery....then fuck off.  I am not the one to judge you (although likely I will - tough shit).  You are not the one to judge me (although likely you will - get over it, I don't care).

Why do I write this?

Because for the last 20 years I have only attended church sporadically.  Most of the time for funerals or weddings, although I have skipped my fair share of those as well.  I did not even attend Easter services.

Because last night I was asked why I no longer went to church and (imagine this) I was honest.  I told the person that I couldn't sit in the back of the church and look at the back of all the hypocrites heads.  She said, well, you could sit in the front row with us.  I replied, well, I would still have to look at at least one hypocrite.  And sitting in the front row just proves that you are more interested in people seeing you sit in the front row, not the word that is being preached by the chief hypocrite.

She seemed to be highly offended.  Tough shit.  The truth hurts.  Fuck off.

I would rather sit with a new calf in my lap on a Sunday morning.  I would rather be in the glory of God's creation splitting a couple face cords of wood.  I would rather throw the boat in the water and troll for bass.  I would rather hitch my team and rake hay.  All of this I am able to do because God created it.  Sitting in a building with a bunch of self righteous douchebags will not get me to heaven.  Heaven is here if we appreciate it.  I don't believe faith requires weekly attendance in some building.

Ok...I could go on about this for a long long while, but what is the point?  If you think going to church on Sunday in your gotomeetin clothes for an hour or two will get you to heaven, well.....good for you.  The rest of the week matters much more in my eyes.

Rant over.

Update:

Since I received a PM from a friend who was slightly offended because they are a regular church goer, I feel that I must clarify that while I may have been generalizing, I am sure that there are some people who really feel that going to church is enough...wait...that came out snarky.....Tough shit......lmao  No, what I mean to say is,  Sorry "friend"  If I offended your churchiness, pray for me when you are there.  I will think of you during the rest of the week.

Early To Bed

Early to rise.
Makes me positive that Ben Franklin spent the better part of his adult life drunk.

Healthy?  OK, he has me there.  Thank God for that.

Wealthy?  All I can say there is, Ha!  Unless he was speaking metaphorically about the richness if life or some other foolishness.  It's entirely possible, considering he was drunk.

Wise?  Give me a fucking break!

I am up before the sun most days.  Morning chores to do before I go to work, force me to rise, if not shine, early.  In the heart of summer, it is not so bad because the days are longer and the dusky dawn comes earlier.  Now, unless there is a moon, it is full on dark when I get up.

My internal clock means that weekends are no different.  Up most days between 4:00 and 4:30AM, some mornings even the dog looks at me like I am nuts.

Once I am up and I am about my business, the day tends to go quickly.  Then I am generally in bed between 9:30 and 10:00PM or I am asleep in my chair.  I guess I am becoming sort of an old fuddy duddy.  Wait, who am I kidding?  I became one of those years ago!

Yesterday was no exception to the routine.  Up early to do chores and then service my windrower so I can try and get one last cutting of hay after the dew is off the grass.  My shop is about 5 miles from the farm and the windrower is very slow, so it takes over an hour to make the trip after greasing, oiling and adjusting.  It is a late 1960s John Deere 800 that has seen many hours.  I always cross my fingers that one of the 4 million intertwined and timed parts doesn't come flying off or apart.  Oil, grease and regular maintenance are key but it is old and there is one hell of a lot going on.  The sickle is moving back and forth.  The rake reel is spinning.  The draper belts are feeding the cut hay into the steel crimp rolls, the clutches are controlling the drive wheels, the belts are spinning shafts that drive what seems to be about 2 miles of chains.  The old Chrysler slant six that powers the whole contraption purrs like a cat.  The rest is noisy, greasy and, as in the case of yesterday afternoon, frustrating as hell.

I made it through about 10 acres of my planned 20, before a chain broke.  #60 chain no less.  In one of the many virtually unaccessible nooks and crannies that the men who engineered this torture device to frustrate those of us who are foolish enough to continue operating them.

So, today I will drive the pecker back to my shop (I will fix it another day) and then rake the hay that I have down and if the dew is not too heavy, I will round bale it tomorrow after work.

Hey!  Guess what?  Daylight savings time means I will be going home in the dark soon too!

Thanks Ben!  Fuck you!

On the bright side, I think I got sympathy sex last night!  Although that meant staying "up" past my bed time!

Joseph

Not good enough my friend.  Not good enough by a long shot.  You know who we are.  We aren't the kind of people you just dump and run.  Period.

We are all adult enough in this little circle of friends (that is what we are you know) to handle real explanations and certainly deserve a bit of warning.

I know that you will read this eventually and you should know that I am pissed.  Just as a friend would be.

Robert

A Young Man's Fantasy

My sister sent me some pictures from a concert she and a bunch of her friends attended last weekend.  Obviously, neither she or I are of college age anymore...long past actually, but coincidentally, I had shared a college memory with a couple of friends here just a few weeks ago.  The coincidence of her attending this particular concert, and getting pictures taken arm and arm with the headliner.....uncanny.

When I asked my sister if she had remembered my story AND if she had asked the headliner if she remembered, unfortunately she had not.....damned old age!  (and she is younger than I am)

Confused yet?  Here is the story.

I worked my way through college.  I had no loans, no financial aid, no scholarships and no help from home.  A full credit load and several jobs.   I was a janitor on weekends in a residence hall.  I tended bar.  I worked for a couple local farmers.  But, my favorite job was for the University as a manager of Technical Services - Tech Crew for short.  We were behind the scenes for the vast majority of University events.  We set up tables and chairs for banquets.  We worked in the Center for the Arts hanging lights, doing stage set up and the like. If there was an event or show we were there setting it up and tearing it down.  We worked for a wide variety of venues. Small one and two man shows, The Milwaukee Symphony, The Warsaw Ballet, Juice Newton, Meatloaf, Dan Seals, Richard Marx and the most memorable, Joan Jett and the Blackhearts.

For all these performers we were essentially stationary road crew.  We would unload the trucks and help their crew set up.  Depending on the size of the group, we might set up sound and lights owned by the university and run the sound and lights for the group.  The bigger groups obviously brought their own crew, but they always were happy to have our help and it was an opportunity to learn technique that we could apply to the smaller groups.  I was the only clean cut guy on the crew.  They were all hippies and a good group of guys...I was the boss.

We were short handed for Joan Jett.  After helping them unload and set up, we divvied up the jobs that were not quite as fun as sound and lights.  I drew the short straw for front stage security.  We didn't see Joan until the end of the sound check and she came out on the stage....a very hard body all in black leather.  Standing next to me, she came up to about my chest.  She was a short gal.  Today, she shows her age (35 years later so do I) but then, she was definitely boner material.

On to the show.  I am standing with my back to the stage watching the crowd.  From where I stand, the sound is not great, but Joan works the crowd with all the favorites.  The few times I am able to look back, she is working hard, as is the band...sweating and rocking.  The night is uneventful until the last number before intermission.  Two gals are almost directly in front of me and they get into an argument.  Pushing, shoving, pulling hair and scratching.  A genuine cat fight.  I wade in and get between them and break up the fight, getting a nice fingernail scratch on my neck in the process.  I hold them apart long enough for two of my fellow techies to get there and to separately take them to exits and remove them from the concert.  I backed up to the stage and stood there until intermission.  Just before Joan left the stage, she tapped me on the head with her foot, which startled me and I turned around.  She kneeled down in all her tight black leather glory and told me "nice job there!"  I was floored.  All I could say was "thanks!" and look stupid.

Most nights, after work the bars were usually closed, so we would all walk down the street to a house where several on the crew lived that we called "the house of breakfast."  We had Grain Belt beer on tap and usually ended up leaving around breakfast time...hence the name.

Back to the concert.  Intermission ends and Joan and the band return to the stage and rock just as hard through the second set as they did for the first.  The second set was uneventful for me and at at the end, we followed the usual routine of helping to take down trusses and load trucks with lights, sound equipment, instruments and the like.  Usually the band gets on the bus and they are off to the next gig and the trucks have to race to catch up with them.  As we are loading out, there is Joan Jett smoking a cigarette and watching us with a couple crew members and some of the band.  I don't really remember who else was there because I was looking at Joan (as was the rest of our crew I am sure).  She had changed out of the tight leather and was wearing jeans and a sleeveless t-shirt and was very obviously braless.   It is lucky that we didn't damage anything we were loading.  Being ballsy and thinking about her telling me I had done a good job breaking up the cat fight, on a return trip from the trucks, I swerved over to her and asked her to come have a few beers with us at the house of breakfast.  She said, "Sounds like fun.  Where is the house of breakfast?"  I explained it to her and we finished loading out.  The whole time I am thinking, "Wow, I talked to Joan Jett and her rock hard titties!"  Now, I was pretty realistic and realized that she was just being nice, but it was still a fun fantasy to think that she would come drink beer with me!  And who knows!  Maybe my prowess breaking up two girls scratching at each other had her interested in more than just my beer!  A fun fantasy, but I knew better.

Anyhow, at some point during the load out, Joan disappeared and we finished up the job.  We all walked to the house of breakfast for a few beers.  A couple of the guys were giving me some shit and could not believe that I had the balls to ask her for a beer.  They were laughing, but I know the admired me asking.

So, we are sitting at the bar in the house, drinking ice cold Grain Belt beer and laughing and joking as we always do when in walks Joan Jett and I think her road manager.  You could have heard a pin drop!  I jumped off my stool and got behind the bar and gave them each a cold beer (in the cleanest glasses I could find).  We made some small talk.  They drank some beer.  I had a boner.

After a couple beers, a couple of joints got passed around (believe it or not, I always passed on the pot....no interest...it did nothing for me).  Everyone was laughing and then Joan brought out some coke...that was the end for me.  The fantasy ended at that point.  She hung around for another half hour or so (by that time it was approaching 5AM) and she said her good byes and left.  Before she left however, she did come over  to me, gave me a hug and a peck on the cheek and said, "thanks for inviting me kid, it has been fun!"  Off she went.  There I stood, again with a boner.  She called me kid....I was (and am) only about 4 years younger than her.  It didn't matter, I was still drooling.

An Era Ends Happily

One of my earlier blogs on here dealt with change and the pending sale of my Great Uncle's house.  The closing on the sale was Friday (yesterday).

On Wednesday, we were hit with a pretty major wind storm.  We had waves on the beach higher than in the last 30 years.  My fire ring was washed away and the font stoop on my house was about 3 ft from where the waves ended their  violent travels up the beach.  The windows got a good washing from spray and my wife's comfy swinging chair blew away (to be recovered this morning from up in the woods behind the house.).

I saw none of this because I was out in a bucket truck attempting to put up lines and clear downed trees.  I have not heard what the winds gusted to or even what the sustained speed was, but there was lots of damage.  I came in at around 3AM, to my own house without power and slept for approximately 2 hours before going out again on Thursday for another 17 hours of repair.

At one point, I drove by my Uncle's house and quickly turned around in the driveway to make sure there was no tree on it or other damage that was immediately visible.  I honestly don't remember if it was Wednesday night or Thursday Night.  After about 6 or 7 hours of sleep, myself and my crew were back at repairs on Friday morning early.  Every occupied home and business had been restored on Thursday evening and no one had been without power for more than 20 hours - most significantly less and Friday we had 5 unoccupied homes to make repairs in order to get power to.  I honestly did not even think about the closing that day.  I had already signed the necessary paperwork and did not need to attend the closing.  Around 3 PM yesterday afternoon, I came in the office for a quick bite to eat and as I was sitting there the gal in the office said to me, "so!  you are officially down one home today!"  I was a little puzzled and then realized, "Wow!  That was today!  I completely forgot!"  We had a couple more hours of work ahead of us but, I called the young fellow who was buying the home and told him that I would meet him there when I was done and give him my keys, the garage door opener and just give him a couple tips on the house and property.  He sounded excited.

I remember my first house. I bought it before my wife and I got married.  It was in a small town in Southwest Wisconsin and my mortgage after down payment was $14,000.  We were living about 4 hours away from the home and I was scheduled to start a new job about 30 days after the closing.  As a side story, I left a job on a Friday, got married on a Saturday, left the state alone on a Sunday and started a new job on Monday.....I won't kid you and say it was not stressfull!  In any case, I traveled for the closing and I remember vividly how excited I was to actually own my own home!  I slept in a sleeping bag on the floor of an empty house.....an empty house that I owned!!!!! the night of the closing. It was an old house that needed some work, but it was a great house!  Big! Built in 1890 something.  Huge kitchen, dining room, living room, parlor and 4 bedrooms!  I don't remember exactly, but I think my monthly mortgage payment on a 15 year note was something like $170.  With extra payments, I actually had the house paid off in 3 years....just in time to get another job and another house!

In any case, I could relate to this young man's excitement.  He and his soon to be wife have a 3 year old son.  As I said in that earlier blog, this town needs young couples and kids.   I showed him where the septic cover was, where the clean out was (all buried under the dirt and hard to find when a pump out is necessary).  I showed him which breakers turned on the water and the water heater and I shook his hand and congratulated him on owning his first house.  I think I already mentioned that he was excited.

As I drove out, I thought about my Great Uncle and Aunt and thought what a change the old house was about to go through.  Good changes.  The most important changes?  A change in who mows the lawn, who checks on the house after a storm, who makes the minor repairs that every home, occupied or not needs from time to time.  A change for the best.

Now all that is left is to pay off the final debts of my Uncle and Aunt and close the estate.  The bills will be paid next week and the estate will be closed as soon as I receive satisfaction paperwork.  By my calculation, I will end up with $78.78 in my pocket when it is all done.  I am almost as happy as the new owners.