I like most music;
but Bluegrass is in my soul.
If you haven’t
listened to Bluegrass, besides the stringed instrumentation, the vocal accompaniment
is always treble - above the melody; where in most music the vocal accompaniment
is usually bass – below the central melody – a strong bass component.
the Ol’Buzzard
The world is
mad. But in my memory, the world has
always been mad.
There is
anarchy in the country – there has always been anarchy in the country.
There are
violent people in the world – there have always been violent people in the
world
There is
social unrest – there has always been social unrest.
Political
groups don’t cooperate, so nothing gets done, except the rich get richer – it has
always been that way.
There is war
on the horizon – there has always been war on the horizon when we are in the
interlude between wars.
This is the
normal chaotic human condition.
The human race
is the despicable alpha predator of this earth era. As individuals we are amiable enough, but as
a species we are deadly. Our only saving grace is that somewhere in
that 3% DNA that we differ with our first cousins, chimpanzees, we have been
able to create music, art and literature.
Listen to
the Ol’Buzzard: There is not a fucking thing, as individuals, we can do about the
chaotic condition of the world we live in.
We can try to ignore the crazy; or get caught up in the crazy, obsess
about the crazy, and go crazy.
Today is yesterday’s
tomorrow. We are all allotted three
score and ten on this earth, and as we get toward the end, we realize how much
of our time has been squandered. What a
wonderful thing life is, but it is finite. The
beautiful things we ignore, as we are caught up in the chaos of our species, we
can’t go back and retrieve.
So what is
the answer? There is no answer. You put your right foot in, you put your
right foot our, you put your right foot in and you shake it all about. You do
the hokey-pokey and you turn yourself around.
That’s what it’s all about!
Our thoughts should go out to our brother blogger The Blog Fodder in the Ukraine who is caught up in the insanity of human instigated chaos.
Did I run and Am I tired?
the Ol’Buzzard
I am in my
eighth decade and getting more absent minded.
Yesterday I put together a bread; and when the bell rang on the bread-maker
I took out the dough and realized I had not mixed in the yeast.
Last night I
made a fish chowder: sautéed onions, carrots, celery and garlic, put in two
bottles of clam juice, added diced potatoes, a hand-full of thyme, and cooked
until tender. Finally, poured in a pint
of Half and Half cream and a quarter-stick of butter. Then realized
the fish was still in the refrigerator. I had to add the salmon and halibut
late to the recipe. A fish chowder
without fish?
Ok, twice in
the same day: fuck me silly with a handy-billy. But I am not overly concerned.
Our brains are
computers and have a finite storage capacity in the hard drives. Some young people are just starting to fill
their hard-drives; some people will never fill them, and most of us are
overloaded at my age.
Before covid,
my wife and I would often go into the college cafeteria for a coffee and a
sandwich after our walk around town.
The young twenty-somethings would look at us dismissively. We were obviously below their level of competence, knowledge and
experience: old people.
Fifteen
years prior, these same young people were just learning not to crap their pants
and piss their beds. The spent the next seven
years learning to read, write, and retain some basic math and science facts. Their
last five years in school were consumed with the idea of sex, and trying to
figure how to put what in where. Now
they are in college and know everything - and old people are just in their way. But in reality, their hard drives are practically
empty.
I have done
everything these young people have done-plus.
I have lived in eight states; spent 13 years in the arctic and sub-arctic;
I have spent seven years deployed between Italy, Spain, Portugal, Azores, Bermuda, Cuba, Porto
Rico, Iceland, Vietnam, and Newfoundland; I have been to Turkey, Greece, Libya,
Scotland and England; I have almost a thousand military flight hours and have
been in two crash landings; I have been a winter-bush survival instructor,
Maine State Guide, a school teacher and a principal. I have canoed the Allagash
River and the Okefenokee swamps. I have
met thousands of people, and had thousands of experiences – many forgotten.
I don’t use
a cell phone, have a Face Book page, Tweet, play War Craft and video games; because I don’t care to. I don’t take make-believe parachute jumps with
virtual reality glasses – I have already done that in real life. And I definitely
get annoyed when Microsoft wants to download and update on my ten-year old
computer.
Young
people are not at fault. In reality this
is their world, and my time is past. But in their egocentricity they don’t realize my hard drive is
full and theirs are virtually empty.
Does it
bother me that I can’t always come up with the word I want to say, or forget to
put the yeast in the bread or the fish in the chowder? A little.
But that is the cost of a world of experiences I have lived.
All those
experiences are downloaded on my hard drive, and unfortunately there is not an optimize
button to sort and order all the data: so occasionally I am going to grope for
a word or forget to put the damn yeast in the bread. My hard drive is full. It
comes with the age . But this is still the best time of my life.
Did I run and
Am I tired?
the Ol’Buzzard
All history books are historical fiction. Books are written by people and therefore
reflect that person. Every history has
a point of view reflective of the author’s nationality, social leanings,
religion, prejudices and imagination.
We seem to think what we would think
And know what we would know
Our thoughts are always prejudiced
To the way we want to go.
One of the
greatest historical fictions is the Bible: A book written by superstitious,
racist, sexist people who considered a wheelbarrow as cutting-age technology
and believed everything they didn’t understand was magic.
To me, the
greatest character in all historical fiction is Eve:
DON’T EAT
THE APPLE
Why?
DON’T EAT
THE APPLE
Why?
BECAUSE I
SAID DON’T EAT THE APPLE AND IF YOU DO YOU WILL BE SORRY!
Fuck you.
We should
hold up Eve as an example to our children: a young woman who opted for knowledge
over ignorance, even at the threat of death.
the Ol’Buzzard
If I could be in charge of hospitals, I would place a security guard at the entrance of the emergency room. As sick people came up to the door he would ask;
'Are you vaccinated and have you had your booster?'
'No?'
'Fuck off.'
the Ol'Buzzard
It is
nineteen below zero outside, thankfully no wind. My furnace is running constantly using fuel,
but our house is warm. Central Maine Power just doubled their rate for power consumption and my light bill jumped
from $100 to $140 for the same amount of energy consumption last month. The cats are in bed with my wife. They always dive in as soon as I get up to
feed them. They are big cats so they
take up my side of the bed.
I have been
nursing a cup of tea and thinking how comforting it would be to light up my
pipe, which has a prominent place on my bookcase. We
quit smoking in 1986, but I have always missed my pipe. A pipe is more than smoking, it is a
familiar friend. Only someone from my
generation could understand that.
Our
Cuisinart pressure cooker is twenty-nine years old. The gasket has become brittle and needs
replacement. The pressure cooker is stainless
steal and otherwise fine, but Cuisinart no longer produces this model or
supports it. I did an extensive
internet search and the only pressure cooker gasket that would fit our unit is
available in England and cost 28 pounds plus shipping to the U.S. Therefore, I have retired a perfectly good
pressure cooker and replaced it with an electronic model that is computer
controlled and does everything automatically – except it will, in no way, last three
decades. There will probably be a new-improved
model out within the next five years.
I am on the
extinction list. I have come from a
different time and don’t actually fit this era. My values are different. I don’t do text messaging and only carry a
cell phone when I am traveling – and then don’t turn it on. My favorite handknitted wool sweater is
forty-six years old. My L.L. Bean coat
and Moose River hat are over twenty years old.
When I was growing up men carried pocket knives – I do. I don’t
like impermanence; I don’t like things that are designed to be replaceable. I still use an analog wrist watch, and have,
and sometimes use, the pocket watch of my grandfather.
People of my
generation are mostly gone, but some how I hang on.
Don’t get me
wrong. Life is worth living: sex is
great, good food is great, Scotch whiskey is great, fresh tomatoes are great,
cats are great companions…
Did I run and am I tired?
the Ol’Buzzard
If I am
making toast out of store-bought bread, I like it burnt, otherwise, to me, it
is tasteless.
I knew an
old man in Newfoundland who lived around the bay. His wife made homemade bread almost every
day. He called the store-bought bread
Bakers Fog.
My wife and
I started making homemade bread in a bread machine in 1985 while we were
teaching in a Native village 150 miles north of Fairbanks. It was a six-hour drive on a single lane road
across the tundra, if the weather was good.
It was a potentially dangerous trip at the best of times.
Our first
machine was made by DAK and looked like the R-2 D-2 robot in the early Star
Wars movies.
After that
the Breadman was our choice of bread machine; but their quality went to
crap along with a collapsible paddle that would pop lose during the breadmaking
process. We have even tried the
expensive Swedish, two paddle machine which turned out inconsistent quality. We now have a Cuisinart and I am extremely
pleased with it. (I like most Cuisinart
products, but their toaster sux).
Bread making
is so easy and the quality of bread is so good, I don’t know why most people
don’t own a bread machine.
I think
people that have tried bread machines, but found them inadequate, probably
tried artisan and sourdough breads before mastering the basic white bread. They ended up with doughy or grainy or just
bad tasting results. It is like signing
up for karate classes and then jumping into a cage with a mixed martial arts
fighter.
The basic
white bread recipe is easy:
1 1/8 cup of
water
2 tbsp olive
oil
3 cups all-purpose
flour
1 tbsp of sugar
1 tsp salt
1 tsp yeast
In that order. Exact measurements of flour, olive oil and
water are critical. Many recipes call
for more than one teaspoon of yeast – but I have never found it necessary.
The next
step is optional: The Cuisinart beeps
after the final kneed. At that time, I
pause the machine, remove the bread pan, dump the dough onto a floured surface,
remove the paddle, reshape the dough and return it to the pan and the bread machine. Otherwise, the paddle gets baked into the
base of the bread and you end up with a hole in the bread when you removing the
paddle.
I let my bread
sit for about four hours before sealing it in a plastic storage bag. I let the bread sit on the counter overnight
before slicing.
The hardest part of the whole process is slicing. I have ended up with a bamboo bread slicing gismo that I like; but it has taken me many loafs of bread before becoming proficient.
Just like karate, you need to practice.
You can not
beat the taste of toast made with homemade white bread.
Did I run and
And am I
tired?
the Ol’Buzzard
http://westbygoddesstexas.blogspot.com/2022/01/its-wednesday-i-got-nuttin.html
Thanks to her goddess she is back
the Ol'Buzzard
The seasons in northern Maine are winter, mud season, bug season and fall. Fall and winter are our favorites.
The high temperature today in the north-western mountains of Maine will be 16 degrees; but tonight the temps drop to a -6 Fahrenheit (-21 Celsius). Tomorrow's high will be 3 degrees and tomorrow night -8. These temperatures are concerning as people's water pipes often freeze, cars don't start and black ice can be on the roads.
All temperatures, however, are relative. When we lived in a Native Alaskan village north of Fairbanks we had an Alaskan thermometer that went down to -55. There were a number of times that the mercury dropped into the bowl so we knew we were colder than -55. At those temperatures we wore insulated clothing and only our face was uncovered in our hoods. We didn't feel the bite of the cold as much as the sinuses in our foreheads and faces ached when outside. The natives (Athabascans) in the village wore much lighter clothing and the cold didn't seem to bother them as much; though I would meet the elementary children at the door of the school and check them for frost bite as they entered. When the temps came up to -20 we dressed down and it felt comparatively warm.
This is not a complaint. My wife and I are winter people. We live north because we prefer the cold to the heat. We love the snow and the crisp temperatures; but by March I am ready for them to go - by July I am looking forward to them again.
the Ol'Buzzard
I know my
blog is most often negative. I tend to
post about the things that bother me, mainly the shortcomings of the human
race. I also sometimes post about my No
Bullshit Buddhism – the philosophy of living that I try to adhere to, but not
well.
Buddhism and
a negative outlook may seem incompatible; but in my perspective of No Bullshit Buddhism,
it is reasonable.
All the supposed sayings attributed to the
Buddha are just as much bullshit as the red print in the Christian Bible – supposedly
said by Jesus.
Organized
Buddhism, like all organized religions, has lost the concept of the Buddha. All its
bells and whistles, its tomes and volumes of creeds, its ceremonies robes and
trappings have moved away from the basic concept the Buddha supposedly discovered
as he meditated near death under the bodhi tree, and was brought a bowl of
rice and a cup of cool water by a beautiful young girl.
In basic Buddhism
under the bodhi tree, the Buddha never promised happiness; he never promised a utopia, he never promised freedom from death or a life after. The Buddha just proclaimed that life is full
of strife; but life is also a gift and we should live it and appreciate it the
best we can in each moment.
Right now, our
country is in chaos. Violence and
anarchy are the herald of the news. A
virus pandemic threatens our lives and the lives of the people we love. Every
moment discontent is fermented by the people around us; and in reality, there
is nothing we can do in the moment to mediate the mayhem.
I am living in my
eighth decade and my future is finite. I am past my sell-by date, so I don’t
have time to rage and rant against the insanity of the human race. It has always been here and will always be
here until it extinguishes itself.
This morning
it is snowing. Beautiful, large soft
white flakes are drifting down from a grey sky.
My wife, who I love dearly, is sitting in the room with me, and soon we
will be contemplating breakfast.
the Ol’Buzzard
On December
25 the wife and I ordered a pizza and watched football on TV.
The James Webb Telescope was launched. It will be able
to look back in time 300 million years after the Big Bang when the first stars
were forming, and make remarkable discoveries in our own solar system.
On the 28 of
December, we had some snow and I had to break out the snowblower and clear my
parking place.
The James
Webb Telescope deployed its sun shield.
On New Year’s
Eve my wife and I had Hopping John for supper and today, New Years, we plan to
kick back and relax – have a Cat Day reading, sleeping and eating.
At 8:40 EST,
The James Webb Telescope is 470,807 miles from earth traveling at 1,485 miles
per hour.
My wife and
I will try to stay isolated for the foreseeable future, only going out to shop
when necessary, in an attempt to avoid the corona virus.
The James Webb Telescope will eventually reach a point in space where the gravity of earth will cancel out the gravity of the sun. At this zero-gravity point it will enter a sun/earth orbit, and remain there stationary for eons to come.
Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps
in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllables of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death.
Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage.
And then is heard no more.
It is a tale
Told by and idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
Shakespeare - Macbeth
 |
| Fuck it. Wine makes everything better |
the Ol'Buzzard
