West Virginia Gravy

Beer then!

2010-07-28T19:40:00.002-04:00

Beer then!

I have recently been trying every beer that is available. My wife and I briefly discussed the financial aspects of the venture and decided that there are many people spending anywhere from $1.50 to $5.00 for a single beer in bars, and that $10.00 was OK for a 4 pack of something adventurous!

We've been doing this for several years with wine, and have found that Cinnibar Mercury Rising is about as good as it gets (red) for under $25.00, and that anything more expensive is not any better except for port wines, but that is another topic.

Lately I have been trying all beers at "cellar" temperature that is around 55 to 65 degrees. Samuel Smith is an English brewery that is not bad at all. Also the Texas based Shiner Brewery has some impressive beers. The "101" and the dark lager are very nice. One that was really impressive was Sarnac Imperial Stout, it was incredible at $8.xx for a 6 pack. Super dark, thick and chocolaty without being too sweet. Very nice. Oh, for those who drink for effect, it is 9.2%.

As for commercially produced conveinence store beers; Michelob Lager, as it is labled, is a little bolder than Budweiser and the like.

2010-05-17T11:20:00.000-04:00

Ronnie James Dio

I was fortunate enough to see Rainbow live. Stargazer and Catch the Rainbow were the two that really inspired. In those two songs time and space were transcended. Dio and Blackmore shone like the sun and beyond.

A friend of my current drummer had the great opportunity to be seated next to Dio on a flight, to or from Texas, I'm not sure. Dio was on his way to pick up his Mother as he and his wife personally took care of her. No nursing homes or hired caretakers, etc when he was not working. That says a great deal about a person.

My drummer's friend said that Dio was a regular guy and very kind. Dio seemed genuinely interested in the guys thoughts and conversation. Some entertainers say they love their fans, Dio really did.

Just like Hendrix, Zappa, Elvis, Janis and others that have deeply touched so many lives with not only their talents, but with their very essence; Ronnie James Dio will, in fact live on forever.

Your Rifle Scope Costs Too Damn Much!

2010-04-30T22:48:00.001-04:00

My first scope was a Tasco "Pronghorn", 3-9X40 sitting proudly atop my newly purchased Marlin, lever action 30-30. I thought, after I got married and purchased my first home, that I would indulge myself in, and begin what I am so happy to say has become as much a part of life as wearing clothes...hunting.

Before then I'd always used iron sights, just like I did hunting squirrels illegally with my Daisy and my Crossman 30+ years ago at the city park. I was 12 and had friends that lived up on the hills of my home town. These were more well-to-do people than I was accustomed to; they had huge houses and nice cars, but when it came down to it, they bled red in a bike wreck the same as I did.

They lived in little subdivisions cut into the hills on the south side of a huge valley that was halved by a good sized river. It ran into the Ohio on its journey to the Mississippi, to the gulf and on -- on forward into the world, and around it and back again then evaporated by hot days and rained back to earth in torrents! The grand cycle never completes, but lives on eternal!

Anyway...
We used to hunt squirrel in the city park. We'd build a big fire after school in the woods and go in search of furry dinner. Cigarettes, cigars chew and on rare occasions samples of one friends, father's 90 year old Scotch from a 7 gallon oak cask. We would steal a little, then top the barrel with Jim Beam and the like that could be had by paying high-school kids 20 bucks for a 3 dollar pint of booze. I remember just chugging and chasing it with Mountain Dew...what a WASTE!! I remember that there was a nutty taste and it was smooth...I have since paid dearly for such scotch...ah, I digress...

After school we would take to the woods with our iron sighted .177 cal tools of survival! Fire building was another "big deal" that was almost a ceremony or right of passage. Everyone made the fire, everyone cleaned the squirrels, everyone took part in the rite of passage required of youth. But only David B.... ate squirrel nuts! I laugh even today. Some 30 years later the memory is as if it happened last weekend. We were roasting our kill and parceling out the culinary rewards when it was made clear to the cooks that testicular adventures were afoot. A stick with the sqwak nads dangling was presented first to the fire, then to the unsuspecting youth, who ate with glee!

An event that provides laughter for 30 years should be celebrated and shared with anyone in proximity. (that means you guys...)

What I really meant to point out is that the 50-60 dollar Tasco 3-9x40 scope that has adorned several rifles with which I have harvested a good many deer, cannot be inferior to 300 and 500 dollar scopes. I cannot see how anything more could be needed than a good AFFORDABLE scope that doesn't cost as much as the rifle. Let it be known that I speak of shots of 200 yards and less but I have never had any problems with the "cheap" scopes.

How 'bout you?

New rifle, new hunter

2009-11-28T20:41:00.001-05:00

I bought my wife a TC Venture in 30-06 as she has expressed an interest in hunting for the first time...I'm happy as a half-starved bed bug in a mattress factory!

She has done well at the range but has only had one day out hunting and was not confident in the target presented at 150 - 170 yards on that day. I commend the decision to not shoot, there are a lot of folks that will shoot at whatever moves.

I must take a moment here to mention that this rifle is a-F'ing-mazing! For 449.00 it is the best rifle I have ever seen. I have a Remington 700BDL and the Thompson is its' equal in every way that matters. My Remington is prettier but pretty doesn't put meat on the table.

My daughter decided that she also would like to hunt so I put together a Chi-com SKS with a scope that is good out to 100 yards. She was able to group 3 inches at 100 yards which is good enough, offhand with a rifle that wasn't designed for deer.

Thanksgiving morning my wife had to work and my daughter did not so she got to go out with Mom's 30-06.

We arrived at my 45 acre getaway at 5:30AM and headed to the deadfall at a hilltop that was deemed a virtual "living room" where lawn chairs could be used to provide a comfortable stand hunt. A large red oak fell and the layout of the limbs made a nearly perfect "room" on a hilltop overlooking 3 small fields, a road and a pond.

At 7:45 a very small yearling walked in at about 200 yards and bedded down. 5 minutes later after glassing the area my daughter said that there was another larger deer already bedded where the small one had laid down.

I confirmed this and told her to look at the spot where the grass ended and the deer began as it was facing us. We had at least 5 minutes to discuss the shot placement and all of the details. These were 2 of the same 3 deer that my wife and I had seen the previous week.

I asked her if she was confident that she could hit the deer in the vitals and kill it quickly, she said yes. She is a nurse and has recently studied the organ placement in whitetail deer and is well versed in the effects of trauma to vital organs.

She said later that she did not feel nor hear the round go off when she fired (that is normal and always funny to me). I watched the target through my scope in anticipation of a possible need for a follow-up shot. The deer raised up from the bedded position and immediately fell back down and did not move again.

200 yards is a long shot in WV, it is usually more like 30 or 50 but as I type this I am munching on some great jerky from a doe that was the first for a new rifle and a new hunter.

She is 33 or so...it's hard to keep up with the years but it is never too late to begin a journey into the woods that will change a life for the better. It isn't so much the kill, the marksmanship or even the food on the table. It is the participation in the life, our life and all of the life that we experience in the short time we are here.

Bravo my dear!

First day in the woods

2009-09-18T08:07:00.005-04:00

Almost a whole year, damn!

Tomorrow is the last day of a special bow hunting season in WV and I'll be there!
I'm excited as a kid at Christmas to get to be back in the woods a little early this year.

The WV DNR decided that the Whitetail kill needs to be a little bigger this year and added 1 week of bow and one week (next week) of muzzleloader season for either deer gender.

It is a little warm for my taste; the weatherman says it will be 55 - 60 in the morning and get nearly 80 for the day so, I'll probably only hunt the morning and will still hunt for the first hour or so while heading to my stand.

I've got all my gear ready and have practiced with my bow at least every 2 to 3 weeks since March. I shot 12 yesterday and will do the same this evening.

Good luck to all hunters this year; I think it will be a good one.

The bow is justified

2008-11-10T12:33:00.003-05:00

I finally, after 4 years, have taken a whitetail deer with my compound bow!

It was 5:30AM when I got to the winery, as usual a did a few chores such as putting away the clean bottles from the drying trees and pouring out some of the old wine from the fridge into a glass and making sure it wasn't spoiled. ;)

At about 6:30 I headed out on foot through the north vinyard to the gate that opens to access my property to the east of the vineyard. The temperature was mid fourtyish with a very slight breeze. The trip to the stand would take about thirty to fourty-five minutes; walking very slow with many stops along the way to search the woods for that slight movement that would give away the presence of the quarry.

It was a cloudy morning and the daylight was now fully available without the glare of a clear day. I was about twenty minutes into the trek to the tree stand when two small deer crashed out of the woods to my right; I don't know how I missed seeing them. They both ran across the field that is up the hill above the quarter-acre pond. One went on up the hill into the thick brush but the other stopped to see what I was.

I had my trigger release already on my wrist but was in no way prepared to take a shot.
I gauged the distance at thirty yards and thought "what the hell"; I pulled an arrow from the quiver and knoched it. The deer did not move which tells me that the no-scent, no-phospher laundry deturgent is doing its job nicely. I drew, took quick aim and released the arrow.

At this point in the game there was no adrenal explosion, no rapid heart rate, nothing. I have only taken a shot at a deer with my bow twice before and missed both times; I've drawn on two others but never got a shot. It was as if I was just at the target range, just shooting at the bag target once more.

As the arrow left the bowstring and the arrow rest everything seemed to go into extreme slow motion. I could actually see the fletching spin while the arrow's arc was also very apparent. The arrow hit the deer in the ribs, just behind the shoulder. The audible "crack" of the strike seemed to echo as the 100 grain Muzzy broadhead hit bone.

The deer ran into the treeline and was silent. At this point the excitement and the adreanalin really kicked in but I knew I had to stay still. I waited five minutes and heard leaves and brush crashing and crunching. I slowly walked over and saw the deer on its side just inside the treeline.
It was still breathing and heard my aproach; it got up and stumbled about 15 feet and went down again. I have a rule that if I can get within 10 feet of a wounded animal, I draw whatever pistol I happen to be carrying and put the animal down with a head shot. I think this is of course a humane thing to do but, I also get to see what various types of ammo do in a real situation. This time it was Personal Defense in .380 Auto; the damage was fairly significant and the job was done.

About fifteen minutes later I was dragging the deer down the hill to the gas well road to leave it while I went up to get the truck.

It is amazing and much different from hunting with a rifle. The feeling is indescribable but there are those who already know that. I am both Happy and proud to join the group of those who know this.

WV Hunting Season 2008

2008-10-19T18:50:00.002-04:00

It is that time again, thank God!
I've been waiting for years, it seems.
I did not go fishing like I said I would, not that fishing is bad or boring...it just isn't hunting.
In the early morning there were the standard concerts...the crows were in top form in their role as forestal alarm clocks...awakening all the forrest life.
I watched two young does for about 10 minutes or so then there was an hour or so of quiet.
A young doe came crashing down the hill; I thought I would have my first bow kill but, she bolted as soon as I came to full draw. This will be the norm as usual.

3 years ago, it hasn't changed much

2008-10-09T20:27:00.002-04:00

Tree Stand 09/2005
By
Michael R. Milstead

It is that time of year again when a young (or not so young), man’s thoughts turn to the woods. The leaves are taking a long hard look at the ground but not showing any signs of being in a hurry, though the poplars are yellowing from the lack of rain and fifty degree nights. The fruit of the Oak, Hickory and Walnut are still green but nearly ready to provide sustenance to the residents of the forest. Fluffy seeds are flying in the late summer breeze, the peaches are in, the pears and apples are ready, the grapes are very close to optimum sweetness and the animals are growing restless as are the hunters.

A seemingly long awaited joy for me was seeing the constellation Orion for the first time this year. I arose with my wife’s 4:30 AM alarm, made some thick strong coffee and began preparing for the first day of hunting. I actually started preparing several months ago, in April. Preparation included painting my “double-wide” tree stand and making sure to get a bow practice session at least every two weeks.

Today (Labor Day) I completed a big job; setting up my tree stand. This stand is the first that I’ve used; it is a fifteen-foot “two-man-ladder stand”. I bought it last year and discovered that it is exceptionally comfortable for one man, it is twice as wide as a regular stand and would be great for introducing one of my grandchildren to hunting, but I don’t see fitting two grown men in this stand although the stand would take the weight of two men, this is another plus, all that room and complete stability.

After bidding my wife a fond farewell at 5:15 AM I loaded my trusty, rusty truck. The chainsaw, gas and bar oil, twenty-foot extension ladder, toolbox, new ratchet straps and a cooler with apples, a cheese sandwich and some water. The temperature had dropped considerably compared to a week ago. Last week the 6AM temperature was in the upper seventies with humidity in the upper nineties. This morning was an unbelievable fifty-nine degrees with a light breeze, it was wonderful, the crisp autumn scent is not in the air yet but it is not far off.

I arrived at the vineyard around 6AM; it was just getting light so I decided to take care of a chore or two in the winery. There is always something that needs to be done, little five and ten-minute jobs are easily found and I enjoy doing work that is not mandatory. After installing some custom wiring for the new “under-cabinet” lighting in the kitchen, it was 7AM and time to get started on the work that I had eagerly awaited all week.

I locked in the hubs on my good friend; my old Ford F150, and headed for the access road across the valley. The trip to the cabin usually takes all of two or three minutes but today there were five oak trees in the road, these will make the winter days at the winery and the nights at the cabin very comfortable. The new chain on the saw made quick work of the fallen trees and I was soon at my beloved cabin. Loading the big tree stand and ladder sections, I locked the cabin and headed for the pond area. The road was totally dry so I was able to back down almost to the waters edge. I then only had to make four trips of one hundred or so yards to the tree that my wife and I had tied with orange ribbon back in March. The frogs were thick in the pond and their greeting was startling but welcome as always. The load wasn’t bad but I had to take a break after everything was delivered to the tree. Now the fun had begun. I extended the extension ladder to the maximum length of twenty feet and found a level spot behind the tree. It would be a good idea to have a strap to tie around the top of the ladder and the tree for added stability. I’m not very good with heights but if the job is a worthy effort I will get it done; and this job is very worthy. I got up the ladder and with a “death-grip” on the top of the ladder with my left hand I reached around the right side of the tree as far as I could and screwed in a stout hook, hung the “come-a-long” on it and proceeded down the ladder with the steel cable and connected it to the platform/seating part of the tree stand. After hoisting the stand up the tree, lashing it securely and installing another hook higher in the tree, moving everything several times and re-discovering the true super-genius of the inventor of “vise-grips” I got the stand positioned to allow a test fitting of the ladder portion of the stand (whew!).

Imagine; placing a one-inch square end of a ladder into a one-inch square socket that is fifteen feet up a tree; this is tricky to say the least. I made about five or six trips up and down the extension ladder to make adjustments to the platform section before I was successful in getting the ladder inserted into it. Several more trips up and down and I was ready to lock it down with the four ratchet straps. The stand came with two ratchet straps but I am a firm believer in overkill; my cabin is twelve feet wide and sixteen feet long; the number of cinderblock piers used under the cabin for support are the same number used for a fourteen by seventy foot mobile home. Overkill is a way of life.

With the stand in place I went in search of rocks to level the bottom of the ladder portion of the stand, with the rocks in place I made the climb to the top. In a tree stand, the air is a little fresher, the breeze a little more dry and chilled and the sun brings the scents of the woods up and holds them like a wonderful gift under your nose. Everyone should have a tree stand even non-hunters. It is a wondrous experience and very relaxing. The stand is perfectly solid and level and finished in time to have several practice sessions with my bow from the high perch. I took a moment to just sit and listen…the woods are alive and from where I sit I can see, smell and feel the life. I wonder what would happen if everyone knew what this was like? Returning to my truck with the toolbox and extension ladder I returned to the winery and had a wonderful lunch with the proprietor. The woods are available to everyone. It is a simple thing to partake in the miracles that happen every second of every day and night in the woods yet it seems that these wonders as well as many others have been forgotten by so many in the hurried existence that so many of us choose. I wonder if I will be able to return next week for one of the early morning bow practice sessions. I sure hope so…

Pipe making continued

2008-06-02T15:29:00.007-04:00

Still lots of sanding to do.
I have never carved anything before but now know that it is not easy.
The Bowl is Plum and the stem Walnut. This will make a nice "wall hanger" as I am sure it will never be smoked but should look good in a nice stand on the mantle. The photo doesn't show the very nice grain in the wood. After sanding this will be beautiful and will probably get some manner of oil as a finnish.

I'll try to get some good close-ups of the wood when it gets finnished an a couple of weeks.

I think I'll stick to shelves, cabinets, boxes and the like for now but I enjoyed every minute of this project.

Let's make a pipe!

2008-06-01T18:47:00.004-04:00

OK, here we go into the vast unknown.

I have several sticks of wood, various species that I use in the smoker to make what I think are culinary delights. Apple, peach, hickory, plum, and several others.

My recent switch from cigarettes to pipes has kicked my woodworker mentality into gear. I have a decent amature woodshop and can make basic cabinets, shelves, boxes, picture frames and the like. I've also done some carving and made walnut grips for my Grandfathers old .38 pistol.

So I have decided to make a pipe!

I'll document the process here so that if it is great, others can follow my brilliance. And if it is crap others can learn from my mistakes.

I made what I think is proper for a blank for the bowl from a piece of the Plum that seemed solid. This is a cut from a tree that we took down at the vineyard last year, it seems to have cured enough for an experiment. I have however taken several samples along with some persimmon and apple and stashed them away; just in case I am successful in this endeavor.

I've not done any research on this; I'd like to just have at it and see what happens.

I think this will be a large bowl, not very deep with a slight bend where the stem meets the bowl.

The pictures are not very good; the wood is very nice with beautiful grain. The wood also smokes one hell of a pork tenderloin that has been marinated in olive oil and rosemary for a day or two!

Out with Cigarettes, in with Pipes!!

2008-05-31T16:46:00.005-04:00

I've smoked cigarettes since I was 12 and have finally quit. All along the way, starting in the experimentation stages of youth have been the pipes. There are three that I have had since I was 15 or 16.

The trio were purchased in the late 70's so that I could be "cool" in the musician crowd. I wasn't
the guitar God that I wanted to be but I did have vocal skills that made me "wanted" by bands. That was long ago. All Dr. Grabows, left is a Duke, center is a Starfire (a very cool smoke) and the right is a Regal.

After 30 years I've found that total selfish enjoyment is the key to a happy life.

I have recently returned to the pipes and am glad that I have. I've also found a Usenet newsgroup with plenty of helpful info. For instance I always thought that the inexpensive tobaccos were crap and you had to pay at least $5 per ounce to get anything good.

"Ignorance" is such an underrated word, and misunderstood. Two of the staple brands in the pipe smoking world are Prince Albert and Carter Hall. In the late 70's we would have never thought to purchase these in our high and mighty circles. They are perfect and have been available for so long because of this I imagine.

Anyway, I got a new pipe today. It is the first one I have purchased since those days long ago.

It seems to be a decent pipe. I smoked some Carter Hall lightly packed for the first "go-round". It did fine. The Bit seems to be cheap and that is not saying much for someone who has never smoked anything other than a Dr. Grabow. I was pleased with the pipe though; it seems that the larger bowl produces a cooler smoke just like the Grabow "Starfire". It is marked "Italy" on one side and "H.I.S" on the other. I got it at a "Smoker Friendly" shop for $11.99 along with a $10.00 pack of Macanudos. I was also able to pick up 24 nice practice golf balls for 9.99 and some tees next door to the "SF" shop. Altogether a great day.

I've been advised to go for several brands of pipes by my new friends in the Usenet group. I had never heard of "Estate" pipes, or purchasing used pipes but it does make sense. There are some nice pipes that are not done yet, like used cars or something.

All in all I am pleased with my cigarette replacements!

Parting with another guitar

2008-05-16T18:29:00.006-04:00

I hate to sell this bass but I have other equipment needs that must be fulfilled. It's an Epiphone EB3 and it is one of the good ones. It's like buying a Fender Squire; sometimes you get a good one that is every bit as good as a real Fender and sometimes they suck. The tone from the neck pickup has balls that go on forever! I've played it through an 80's Peavey "BASIC 40", a Fender Twin with 2-15 cab and 2 Ampegs, an SVT w/2-15 & V9 w/2-15. The sound is amazing!

I am getting better at doing setups; the intonation in "on" and the action is low. The string buzz is minimal to the ear but it does not come through the speakers.

The truss rod adjustment has left a slight bow (on purpose), combined with the bridge adjustments I think it is optimal; easy to play.

There are no dings on the bass anywhere...I'm going to miss this one.

I have 2 Jazz bases (fretted & frettless) and have wondered what it would be like to put one of the big Gibson/Epi humbuckers in the extreme north neck position; there is room for this mod and I'm very tempted. I love the sound of this pickup but first I think I'll try to get it with EQ before modding the basses. I've put a series/parallel "push-pull" pot in each of the jazz basses so I can get the Pbass sound but wouldn't it be just F*ing amazing to add the big Gibson humbucker option to the mix...

The Evil That Protects

2007-08-01T20:16:00.000-04:00

The Evil That Protects
By
Skully
Wednesday, August 1, 2007

Attacking!! That describes it best. More and more pouring ever onward until little room is left. A sea! An ocean! A torrent beating down upon what was once so pure and unspoiled. Existence itself is gradually threatened by the tumult. Mighty hammers seem to beat huge anvils in a chorus of destruction and creation and as the murderous pace slows to a crawl there is still the will to continue. An all pervading will to arrive at the utter destruction of the now fading purity.

The brow sweats, the fingers twitch and grasp in the empty air for more raw material to transform into the demise of the unspoiled expanse! The purity as set before the onslaught has a protector, a counter-foe and to horror and dismay it is unseen but it’s presence is keenly felt! It is blankness, a nothing that is endless in size and weight. It is both existent and non-existent at once. The spectral force tormenting and beating down the aggressor until at last the outpouring ceases completely! Time moves slowly as if only the nothing is sentient and all else simply it’s imagined playthings. Shriek to the heavens, WHY! Why cannot the destruction flourish in the glory of simply being?

The destruction of the purity of paper with text has long been the goal of a great many writers, poets and musicians. There is however a stout foe of this practice that can kill and maim the conveyance of thoughts at any moment without preamble or warning. Writers block is the general and accepted term for this evil that protects the purity of the paper from the ravages of the pen. I seem to have emerged victorious in this minute battle as it was my intent to fill only one page and the required time was that of a cup of tea.

I look forward to my next grapple with this most worthy and often hellish foe. Perhaps one day the nothingness will be defeated and the ideas of many will flourish to be seen and reveled in by the masses. Only time will tell, and perhaps another cup of tea.

Wordsmiths July challenge

2007-07-31T18:32:00.000-04:00

I'm glad to see the Wordsmiths back in business!
I found out a little late though; I didn't have anything but Notepad to "scribble" an idea. I think the word count should be alright but I didn't get to spell check.

Hours Devours
by
Skully
07/31/2007

I awaken to the feeling of being in a tanning bed. The heat is bearable but, I hate being covered in oil while lying on a non-pourus surface.

I have probably been in here long enough, the teltale tightening feeling in my skin is letting me know that my tan is on it's way but could soon turn into a miserable burn.

I don't remember going to the tanning bed but there is alot I don't remember from the party last night that lasted until well after sunrise. We had a great time until... something happened... Oh well, it was just another crazy night with my friends, as usual.

Still I think I remember something, I have that feeling in the pit of my stomach...like guilt or the remembrance of fear.

The lights are strange, thousands of tiny lights...wierd.
The lid won't open on this damn thing; what the hell kind of tanning bed is this?

It's been fucking hours...or days! I know I've been unconcious, more than once. Maybe something bad has happened, a disaster or..., but the power is still on, I'd think that it would be off if...

My skin is literally burnt to a crisp. Every breath brings more pain as it cracks from each movement.

The smell of the oily spray that shoots out from between the lights at intervals has become unbearable. A sent of vinegar, olive oil and spice; my eyes are burning, I am burning.

A blinding light intervenes; I swear I see a woman, she looks so big, what a nightmare!

I'm passing out again...

The music is very loud, I hear the chatter of many people and smell wonderful food! I am so hungry, so thirsty, so... I'm not in the tanning bed anymore, there is no light. I am laying on someone...another person! I hear screaming and moaning...GOD WHAT IS HAPPENING?

I'm passing out again...

A metalic clang is ringing in my ears as bright light sears my swolen, burning eyes. The woman is back and she is looking at me, I am naked, I hurt so badly...she is so big...I don't understand... Her voice is loud...she is huge!

"They're best when their are fresh and jumping", she giggles.

The woman has a large piece of wood, she is so big, OH MY GOD! I understand now as the huge woman pierces my gut with the large wooden pole, I am lifted into the air and lifted from my misery.

The Gift

2006-12-18T19:39:00.000-05:00

A loud rapping at the door awoke me from a deep dreamy sleep. It was early, too early to be awake, and certainly too early to be out in the streets pounding on doors. I thought that there must be some emergency in town and ran to the door to find out whatever news there was from whoever was there. Much to my surprise, there was no one at the door ready to identify themselves and their message, and yet a package with my name on it had been left at the door. It was a most curious circumstance, and yet I saw no real harm in it, because secret gift giving was the hallmark of the holiday season. I myself had delivered many a gift in that manner over the years.

The package was heavier than it should have been from its size, and once I had it indoors I eagerly opened it to find out what it was and who had sent it. Alas, there was no identification of the giver, and more's the pity because what was inside was a most remarkable carved wood box, worked with figures of animals and dragons all over, in a magnificent shade of red. Whoever sent it to me must have been a prankster, though, because I could see no way into the box, no clasp or lock announced itself, no hinge or platen presented itself as a means to the inside. I was locked out, and most frustrated by this unfortunate turn of events.

I had tried everything to open the box, short of using tools and damaging it. It made no sound when shaken but there was something inside, no wood could weigh that much even if it were solid. The grain pattern could be seen and was continuous with no discernable marks other than the carvings.

I had a hard time concentrating at work that day. Arriving home that evening I decided that I would simply drill a hole into the mysterious gift to see what was inside. As I carried it down to the basement I felt as if I wasn’t alone. When I turned on the drill press I know I heard someone draw a sharp breath. I powered off the drill and searched the basement for an intruder and found nothing. Returning to the bench I selected a small bit and proceeded to drill into the bottom-center of the piece. After only an inch or so the woodturnings turned from white wood to gray metal. I reached to turn the drill off and felt the presence again and heard a voice… “Release”. I felt an intense sense of urgency as I again checked every corner and closet for an unwanted visitor.

I went to my bar and poured a glass of bourbon to try and shake off the tension. “Is that good whiskey?” came the voice from close behind me. I whirled around to find an old, gaunt man dressed in a gray civil-war uniform. He extended his hand, “my name’s Glen, I ain’t had a drink of good whiskey fer a long spell.” I felt as if I was being electrocuted but I shook his hand and retrieved a glass from the cabinet and poured a generous portion from the decanter. I produced two cigars and a light and asked, shaken, “can I help you with something?”

As we enjoyed our cigars and bourbon, my mysterious guest told an eerie story, “Durin’ the war there was Chinamun that was some kinda wizards. We’d see ‘em on the fields after a battle lookin’ over the dead. They’d take a lump o’ dirt or some such thing an’ say prayers over’n it. I seen one of ‘em after I got hit. He was kneelin’ an’ prayin’ in front of the tree that was behind me when I got hit in the chest by a Yankee cannonball; went right through me an' stuck in that maple tree. I don’t know what happened next but it seemed lak a lotta months went by an’ I could see the tree an’ this little Chine'e feller ever’day a-prayin’ by that tree. One day I seen ‘im cut it down an’ take a piece home with ‘im. He carved all them animals on it an’ I been trapped in thar ever since. I thank ya fer a-letin’ me go."

The man faded from my sight as he finished his glass, he retained the extinguished cigar butt; chewing it as he smiled at me and disappeared.

Beer Diving

2006-12-14T18:55:00.000-05:00

One of the best beer drinking games I ever played was called, “Beer Diving”. In the mid-eighties I was the lead singer and bass player for an “East coast hotel lounge” band called Keystone. The band got its name the usual way, we had a pending contract and no name; so we sat around “brainstorming” (smoking and drinking what was available), to come up with a name to put on the contract. We finally got very tired of the whole thing and the name was thrown out…”yea, that’s perfect”, “cool name”. All positive comments flowing as we got up to leave, the band was named.

One of the first jobs we had was at a Holiday Inn in Clemson, SC. The hotel was built around a central courtyard with tables, plastic trees, a giant hot tub and a pool. All of the rooms had a nice, sliding glass door, 3X5 balcony view of the center court. It was decided by the drummer and myself, that from the forth floor balcony one could get a good shot at the pool with a can of beer. The initial test was a success; we pulled a fresh beer out of the cooler, walked it out on the balcony and proceeded to lob it into the pool. Our guitar player was sitting poolside and dove in to retrieve it and seemed very pleased with the treasure from above. We then decided that the game should have rules and be interactive. The “quarter-beer-back” would call “HUT!” and the receiver would begin a run from 50 or so feet from the pool and dive as the beer was thrown from the balcony. If the beer were caught in mid-air the swimming receiver would then open it and chug it on his way to poolside. If the beer were missed the swimming receiver would retrieve it, open it and chug it on his way to poolside; simple rules do always make a good game

Froggy

2006-11-29T09:31:00.000-05:00

Froggy
By
Skully
Friday, November 17, 2006

Warm, comfortable and secure under layers of soft blankets, lying on his stomach clutching his best friend. An endearing companion and a more than adequate replacement for pacifiers long since outgrown, was “Froggy”.

He was purchased from Sears several years ago from the 1970 Christmas edition of the catalog. His thoughtful Mother saw the sparkle in her baby’s eyes when he discovered it while eagerly scanning the wonderful toys in the magical pages.

Squeezing Froggy tightly and pressing his face against his soft, foam filled, polyester friend, he softly mumbled, “night-night Froggy.”

At once daylight intervened, the cozy and warm place at the edge of dreams became other than the normal playground. He found himself sitting at a desk covered with paperwork and implements of business. “Where are we Froggy? There is a TV here but I don’t know how to work it. It looks weird, and it says Windows and password.” Froggy just smiled and stared with his gleaming black eyes. “This sure is a big chair and desk, I’m scared.” He wasn’t really scared, as he was an adventurer at heart. He loved to go to unknown places and sit in silence and listen to the sounds, to learn the new place, to put himself into the environment and become part of it.

“Let’s go exploring, Froggy, let’s see what this place is.” He slid out of the chair, holding Froggy tightly, as they crept across the worn carpet into the next room. “This is the same as the other room, it looks just like the stables at the fairgrounds. I wonder what they watch on the TVs, and what is Windows? Look, there’s a kitchen and everything, a refrigerator and stove and a sink…there are machines humming and they have blinking lights all over them. It looks like the Apollo place on TV when those guys went to the moon. I hope we don’t get in trouble for being here.”

“Mike…MIKE…HEY MIKE! The system has locked up again.” A voice, distant at first, encroaches on perceived reality as the scene changes. “Look Froggy, where did all of these people come from?” “Mike, didn’t you hear me? The system is locked again and we can’t afford another day of downtime.” The office manager was in a state of panic as my head cleared. “It’s nothing, the Internet connection bounced and it dropped the VPN tunnel. I’ll cycle power on the router and we’ll be back up in about three minutes.”

A dream of dreaming in the past is unsettling to say the least, but wonderful as well. As I sit in my big chair at my big desk, in my cubicle, performing tasks that keep the millions of dollars flowing, I have a feeling in the pit of my stomach; one that longs for the warm feeling of my best friend that now lies entombed in a large Tupperware container in the corner closet of the basement. “I love you, Froggy!”

Essay from a friend

2006-11-16T08:35:00.000-05:00

A good friend of mine who was an excellent writer, Bill Mucklow, sent me this several years ago. He is responsible for making me want to write so all blame is his.

How I Spent Last Week

An Essay by

Bill Mucklow

I guess one of the disagreeable things about being confined to a hospital (committed, I guess would be worse) is time. Unless you are sedated beyond senseless or in terrible pain, time works on your mind. Oh, there are those folks who can lose themselves in daytime drivel television, or melt with abundance of cable channels available in any self-respecting intensive care unit.
For me though, time occupied in thought and contemplation of events that brought me to the place and the ramifications rendered a most awesome awareness. For better or worse, for the moment at least, my world was within the walls of the Cardiac Care Unit.

Trying to pee, lying on my back occupied most of my first hours. I’m sure with all the wires glued to my body the nurses at the monitoring end knew when I chucked the concept and slipped my legs over the side of the bed. It wasn't anything they said, just the looks of disappointment. Like I’d cost them the pot in some perverse medical pool. I could have fought back and just soiled their sheets.

It’s amazing how quickly one can adapt to what in a normal world would be intolerable. Availing myself of the open-air toilet in the corner of my curtained cubicle while people milled about just a few feet away was an unusual--if not disconcerting--effort. For some reason I wondered about Lord Nelson’s instructions to his fleet before the battle of Trafalgar; England expects each man to do his duty. Here I was, doing my duty. Humor is the best protection in such situations.
After a couple of days in almost blessed solitude, my captors moved me across the unit to a room already inhabited. It’s just as well. The old neighborhood fell victim to over crowding in Intensive Care. Surgical patients moan and groan a lot. Us stoic cardiac types mostly lie there, clucking our tongues, bemoaning the almost certain loss of barbecued ribs, rare roast beef and chocolate eclairs.

Anyway, I guess my new roommate was less than fit. I’d found I could use the room’s telephone line for E-mail from my laptop computer. For obvious reasons, there were no permanent telephones. Well, right in the middle of composition of a treatise of my predicament, the luckless fellow--in the medic vernacular--had the gall to code. It must have been a minute, or so before someone noticed the gentleman had become, late.
Hell, it looked like something from a television drama. People running around as if someone had died. Talk about a Chinese fire drill. A nurse poked her head around the curtain. I guess to see how I was reacting to the closeness of the grim reaper. I was in the middle of a particular good sentence and mustered my best Churchillian scowl. I had a ringside seat in a death to life struggle.

The chaos was in certainty an orchestrated triumph--if even temporary--over eternity. With emotionless precision, some well-trained and experienced nurses and doctors beat back inevitability. I don’t know the long-term prognoses for the guy next door, but for a time he was restored to the bosom of life. An already healthy respect for some dedicated people deepened in my thinking.

Next day, I was shuttled off again. This time to the less prestigious, general population. The regular hospital. My roommate this time was obviously a rural chap. If his browbeating wife was to be believed, his name was Jackie. Further unsought information imparted, he was ninety years old and suffering from--among other things--Alzheimer's. I think he was trying to escape his wife. Why she was allowed to stay in the room all day is a mystery. She constantly berated and scolded him. Jackie, put your legs down. I don’t want to see your dirty parts. Nobody wants to see that old thing. Perhaps, she was just afraid of the passing of someone with whom she'd spent her life.

By nightfall--indifferent to posted hospital rules--several other friends and family joined her. My wife, Toni, arrived just in time to share a morsel of dinner with me. She gratified to hear, Jackie lost his snuff. A quick shakedown of his sheets and his relatives returned the foul mixture to it’s almost hysterical owner. We were both interested to learn; he indented to remove his catheter himself. Hit's again the law to do this to a man, he shouted toothless at a nurse. Hi'll have yea all arrested. The medic assured him he'd bleed to death if he removed the offending tube and it was doctors' orders.

I was right in the middle of a not too imp-palatable turkey breast when Jackie told all his company, Toni and me and at least half the floor, he had to shit.
Jackie! Watch your language, we got folks here.
I don’t care who’s here. I gota shit. And right now.

As someone searched for the bedpan, several of Jackie’s guests abandoned him for a more favorable climate in the smoking area. His wife and a couple of others stayed while Jackie served king and country.
Toni and I were laughing so hard I could hardly finish my dinner. Nothing bothers Muck low’s when they're eating, does it?
Certainly not. Food is serious business. Besides, considering I'm in here I'm going to have to change my part of the family crest from a knife, fork and spoon on a gravy field to chopsticks over a rice paddy with skinny fish.

AI gotta shit! Again from behind the curtain.
Well, shit damn ya. You don't have tell everybody 'bout hit.
I thought I was tough, but a little while later, my son Ed, showed up. He nodded as we related the events just passed. He replied it true family style; that would have bothered me. But now, I can eat a sandwich sitting on a corpse. Chip off the old block.

What did you do last week?

2006-11-12T08:48:00.000-05:00

The Winery
By
Skully
11/12/2006 8:00 AM

I have some property that is adjacent to a wonderful place, a winery of some repute in the hills of my beloved West Virginia. The wines made by the cellar master are competitive in taste and texture with expensive wines costing two or three times what these sell for even at retail. There are only grape wines, high quality grapes crafted into bottled bliss.

Some at this point would shout, “Real men don’t drink wine!” Actually real men have been making and drinking wine longer than beer or distilled spirits. Wine was first because it can make itself right on the vine if you leave the grapes on the vine long enough. What should really be the rule is “Friends don’t let friends drink white zinfandel…especially men”.

One of the things that I love about the winery is that it is not a “fu-fu, nose-in-the-air, unisex playground for yuppies, the place is actually perdy-damn manly, kinda like the folks at the Merietta winery out in California, they make great wines and still have time to go hunting. I start all my hunts at the winery, it’s a great place to gather your thoughts before heading down over the hill and a great place to end the day with a glass or three of good wine before heading home.

The winery kitchen is also very alluring. Aside from the delights of the pallet that are often created by those who frequent the winery, there is comfort and relaxation in the air. The fireplace is made from stone and is large enough to house the front of a small car. A storm-drain grate is the burner and can accommodate six or eight logs three feet in length if you can stand the heat. The ceiling is adorned with a full coating of old wine corks from all of the state wineries as well as a good selection from other small and large ones that grace the world. The cellar has plenty of oak barrels aging quantities of hand crafted wines and large stainless steel vats where hundreds of gallons of wine await the right time to either go into the barrel for aging or into the bottle for enjoyment. I have been fortunate to have this Eden to escape to in the midst of all of the daily cares of work and world. In all of the hundreds if not thousands of times I have been there I cannot recall ever feeling any stress, any burden. There have been many places that I have considered to be sanctuary but this place tops them all.

Well the wife and I are headed out to a nice breakfast somewhere; I’d better get going.

2006-11-11T17:05:00.000-05:00

Well, here goes; I've never had a blog but it seems that it might be an enjoyable little hobby.
I just started it today and will be adding to it as time permits. I guess things that are built slowly last longer, so this should last a long time.

I fancy myself a writer so I'll copy and paste one of my essays:

SQUIRELL HUNTING PROBLEM
By
Skully
Monday, October 09, 2006

I have discovered to my dismay that my “hunting buddies” are no more. No, they haven’t gone to the happy hunting grounds in the sky; it seems that they have just lost interest. Opening day of Squirrel Season used to be a big holiday; now it is just me and my trusty side-by-side 12 gauge strolling quietly through the woods scanning for movement in the trees. The standard opening day used to consist of a great deal of fun. We would meet at the cabin on Friday evening and have a feast. We then would get up just before the sun and set off in different directions to hunt the morning quarry. We would meet back at the cabin around 10:30AM for lunch and to share tales of amazing shots and even more amazing sights. The day would end around 2PM and we would head for home to make savory squirrel stew and dream of the deer season to come.

Yesterday I got up at 3AM and headed alone to the cabin where I waited for the sun to rise. The morning was as brilliant as I could have hoped and the air was cool, around 40 degrees. I set off at a very slow pace, stopping every few yards to scan the trees and hillsides for bushy tails. The foliage is still very thick as the leaves have just started turning and only the poplars have lost any thickness. I was able to get only two by 11AM although I saw many more. My heart just wasn’t in it; even when I saw a pack of whitetail doe standing 50 feet away I just didn’t feel the rush that usually accompanies such sightings. I did however feel very much at peace with the woods; my mind was uncluttered and consumed only with what was within the range of my shotgun. I’ve never felt that peaceful in the woods before; normally I am a little stressed about getting my limit. Not stressed in a bad way, more like the stress of competition though I do not actively compete when hunting…well…you know, it’s a man thing. I think I may have wasted my first experience of being at total peace while hunting. I was probably unconsciously feeling sorry for myself; and missing the holiday feeling that has always been there on opening day.

Next week is opening day of Whitetail Archery Season; I am used to going it alone as my hunting buddies do not bow hunt. I hope that as I sit in my stand that I can re-visit the peace that I felt during my lonely opening day of Squirrel season.