Christmas 2012

We spent Christmas at our daughter Michelle's house here in Tulsa. There was lots of family, lots of gifts and lots of food. We were truly blessed.  But, we were especially blessed by the presence of our first grandchild, Benjamin Robert Schatz.  Little Ben fussed a bit over the commotion, had Christmas dinner on his Mommies chest and then slept through most of the afternoon.

What do you give a grandchild for his first Christmas?  After considerable thought, I gave him a silver coin minted in the year of his birth.  And, I made a collection of my YouTube music recordings so that, if I should pass before he will remember me, he will at least know what his grandfather's voice sounded like.  I never knew my grandfather Kumpe, he died before I was born.  I met my grandfather Burchfield on his deathbed.  I always envied kids who had grandparents.  But, as I held little Ben on Christmas day, I thought of one more thing I could give him, perhaps the best gift I have.  I decided to tell him who he is.

Ben:

Many Americans start their life without knowing anything about their ancestors that came before them.  I know that your Schatz grandparents will do a good job of telling you about your father's family. This is something about your mother's.

You are descended from Otto Kumpe.  He immigrated from Germany during a time when the local kings were selling their young men to the highest bidder as mercenaries in everybody else in Europe's wars.  Some of these men where the Hessian mercenaries the British hired to suppress the American Revolution.  Otto was not one of them.  He immigrated later.  If you have daughters someday, they can join the Daughters of American Revolution.  Your ancestor on my mother's side, Tennessee Barnes, was the daughter of a Revolutionary war soldier.  

If you choose, you can join the Sons of Confederate Veterans.  Otto's sons served his newly adopted country.  Your great-great-great grandfather Edward Kumpe served honorably with Company A of the 6th Arkansas Infantry during the Civil War.  He was captured near the end of the war and paroled.  He then immigrated to Indian Territory where he became a full citizen of the Cherokee Nation. He ran the first stage coach station on the Military Road between Ft. Smith, Arkansas and Ft. Gibson, Oklahoma. The station was located at the foot of a mountain that old maps still call "Krumpe" mountain, after him.  If you choose to become involved in the SCV, I would caution you to choose your company carefully.  Many of these folks are honorable men, serious historians and re-enactors, who are simply trying to preserve their rightful heritage. This is a noble effort.  But, some are not honorable men and they should be avoided.  These men attempt to justify modern prejudices by misuse of their southern heritage and get away with it because the causes and effects of the Civil War were far more complex than modern historians will record.

If you choose, you can also apply for membership in the Military Order of The Stars and Bars (descendants of Confederate Officers) by virtue of your relationship to your collateral ancestor Capt. G.C. Kumpe who served in Leighton's Rangers (Light Cavalry) of the Alabama Volunteer Militia. 

By virtue of Edward Kumpe's Cherokee citizenship, you are a federally recognized member of the Cherokee Nation. The Cherokee Nation that your ancestors immigrated to was not a "tribe" but rather a carefully planned constitutional republic.  Many of the political class of that republic were men of education and wisdom.  They were not savages.  Many were Christian gentlemen who were substantial citizens in their home southern states before the U.S. government forced them to immigrate.  On matters of citizenship, they were not concerned about blood nearly as much as character and ability to serve their country.  You owe no apologies for your light skin and tribal membership. Your ancestors were part of that enlightened class who built a sovereign nation in the wilderness under horrible conditions and were in truth far more civilized than the interlopers that later stole what they had built.  

Your great-great-grandfather, John Kumpe, was an honorable man who suffered much tragedy in his life.  He grew up at the Kumpe stage station on the Oklahoma frontier during the violent and tumultuous times prior to Oklahoma statehood.  Older maps record the location of that stage station at the foot of Kumpe Mountain in Sequoyah County near Gans.  He was born a frontiersman, a cowboy of sorts in his youth. Someday, I hope to show you a picture of him with his horse.  Never let anyone disparage your ancestors for being "cowboys" in the fashion of the Europeans and some pseudo intellectual Americans.  Three generations of your ancestors worked cattle.  It teaches you patience, self-reliance and courage.  It is a hard job that lesser men cannot perform.  Later in life, John was the draymaster for the railroad in Sallisaw, Oklahoma. He was well known and well respected in the community.  He was  born a Cherokee citizen in the independently sovereign Cherokee Republic and died a U.S. citizen in the State of Oklahoma.  

Your great-grandfather William Kumpe, was also an honorable man.  He was a genuine Okie.  His mother, Mae Webb Kumpe, became too ill to care for him when he as an infant and he was raised by his half-Cherokee great aunt Ada and her full blood Cherokee husband, John Miller.  When they lost everything in the Great Depression, they packed what they had left into a Model T pickup truck and drove to California. They made a living of sorts raising livestock in the desert until Uncle John became too sick to work.  William was thirteen at the time.  He drove that Model T pickup from San Diego, California back to Sallisaw, Oklahoma to bring his sick parents home.  The roads were dangerous and he often told me about having to back up the highest mountain passes since the Model T's gravity feed fuel system would not work on steep inclines. Later, while working on the Oklahoma crew of the movie "Grapes of Wrath," 20th Century Fox offered him a permanent (and well paid) job if he would stay with crew as they shot all the back to California.  In his gentle way, Dad told them no thanks, he had already been to California and did not like it.

William Kumpe served with distinction with the 160th Field Artillery of the 45th Infantry Division (Oklahoma National Guard) during World War Two.  General George Patton called it the finest infantry division in the history of the U.S. Army.  William was awarded the Bronze Star for bravery.  I believe it was awarded for something that happened at Anzio. He would never talk about it.  He walked with a limp from a service connected injury and suffered from post traumatic stress disorder but it never stopped him from working hard and doing everything he could to take care of his family.

I am a veteran, a lawyer, a writer and a musician.  I have told you about my father's people.  My mother's people came to Oklahoma late.  They were sharecroppers who managed through sheer determination and great sacrifice to buy their own piece of Oklahoma.  I grew up on a hardscrabble farm/ranch a couple of miles from the old stage station that my great grandfather Edward Kumpe built.  It was a hard life but not necessarily a bad one.  I learned to love the land my ancestors worked so hard for and to respect the dignity of my family and friends who never left it. Do not be ashamed of these country people and their beliefs.  They are far better people than those who disparage them.  

I am a veteran because it was my duty to serve during the Viet Nam War in the same way that all of the Kumpes who came before me served in their generation's war. There was never a question whether I would serve, only when and how.  I served in the Navy and later in the Naval Reserve.  Like my father, I walk with a limp from a service connected injury.  

I am a lawyer because, even though I discovered it late in life, the Kumpes are genetically inclined toward the legal profession.  If you ever do a genealogical search, you will find a high percentage of the Kumpes are attorneys and judges.  I did a lot of things in life before I discovered that my particular personality and intellectual skills found their best fit in the legal profession.  Lately, I have also become licensed as an armed private investigator.  

I am a writer because I choose to be.  I enjoy it.  I inherited that from my mother, Rubye Burchfield Kumpe.  I am  published but no longer submit for publication since the fees are not worth the trouble.

I am a musician because it came naturally to me.  My mother's people were hill folk. Music was as natural to them as breathing.  I learned to play guitar by ear when I was five.  That summer, my uncle Eugene Burchfield, a poetically tragic yet infinitely lovable man, restrung his priceless Gibson mandolin so that it could be chorded something like a guitar and then taught me to "three chord" simple country songs by ear.  I have played, mostly for my own enjoyment, ever since.

There is one more thing you should know.  I am a devout, born again Christian.  For many years, I was an ordained teaching elder.  This too is part of the family heritage. Your Cherokee great aunt many times removed, Ada Miller was a devout Baptist.  She raised your great grandfather William Kumpe in the faith and he remained faithful to it. For most of his life, he was a deacon in the Baptist church and often served as the church's music director.  When I was young, I departed from the faith but when I matured I returned to it.  Though I too did my time in church offices like my father, in later years, my Christian service has consisted mostly of advising the church on matters of law and public policy and defending the faith and the faithful when necessary.

I hope I get to tell you these things when you are old enough to understand them and process them in light of our current culture.  But, if I don't, this blog post should be a start in figuring out  who you are. If I could give you one piece of advice it would be this:  strive to be an honorable man.  Money, position and power mean nothing if you have surrendered your honor to achieve them.  Do not associate with dishonorable men. Legality has nothing to do with morality and honor.  Guard your conscience carefully. Your ancestors have given you a good name.  Strive to preserve it in your generation. 

God bless you Ben.

Your grandfather, 

Bill Kumpe

Here is a postcript from a family member that was posted online about my Great Grandfather Edward Kumpe:

Edward E. Kumpe b. 6-18-1843 Tuscumbia, Ala. d. 2-17-1914 Sallisaw, Okla. buried Duncan cemetery was married 3 times.
Eliza Campbell, 11 July 1867 in the Cherokee Nation - ArGaz, pg 2 col 3, 1867 July 23 issue. March 1876 Eliza Kumpe buried Oakland cemetery, LR, Ar. where many of Edward's Kumpe siblings buried. Wife #2 Liza Childers abt. 1878. Liza b.1859,Indian Territory. Their son Charlie Augustus b. 2-5-1879. Wife #3 Julia Dooley abt. 1888. 1900 Census, they had 4 living children of six. 1930 Census, Julia Kumpe is living with niece, Eliza Nobles.
1930 Census John E. Kumpe(56)b. Ar. Sallisaw with two sons, John H.(19)and Charlie(17). Is John Edward's and Eliza's son? John has a daughter, Eliza, b. 1900.
Is Rafe A. Kumpe Julia's and Edward's son Ralph b. abt.1900? 1930 Census Rafe(30) Anaheim, Calif with May O.
Is Eliza Geo. C. Kumpe's mother? He was born abt. 1871.
Edward was a private in Capital Guards during Civil War. He was Gen. Thomas Hindman's wagoner. Edward was in the battle at Shiloh. He was captured Dec. 31, 1864, Franklin Co., Ala. and paroled Feb. 25, 1865. His name is on the military statue erected in 1911 in front of the Military Museum at MacArthur Park, E. 9th St.,LR, Ar.
1893 Aug. 10, E. E. and Julia Kumpe were Charter Members of Ironton Baptist church, Pul.Co., Ar.
Edward's mother, Lucinda Kumpe died 11-22-1897. Her obit said Edward was living in the Indian Country.
My 12 year old grandfather, John Henry "Jack" Kumpe (my grandfather) and his uncle, Martin Luther Kumpe, were robbed and shot at by a black man at Martin's Ironton store in 1894. Martin died as a result. Gun jammed when fired at Jack. During trial, it came out that black man was revenging his brother who was shot by Edward for stealing corn from his Edward's crib. The black brother recovered.
________________________________________________________

This is a picture of what I believe to be Edward Kumpe's shotgun, perhaps the one used in the incident described above.  It was handed down to my father by his father.

Saturday at the Farm

We went to the farm today.  Sheila and I have a routine that I find very enjoyable.  We get up early and then stop at QuikTrip to top off the tank and get a cup of their excellent coffee.  Then, we swing by the Subway on Admiral for one of their flatbread breakfast sandwiches to eat on the road.

We took the pickup.  This is the first time we had driven it for any distance since getting it back from the shop.  For reasons known only to God I guess, it was quieter, smoother and got better fuel economy.  Body work shouldn't have affected any of that.  It can't be all in my head, I calculated the fuel economy when we got back to Tulsa and filled up again and we got almost 23 mpg, about 4 mpg better than the last trip.

We got to the farm around mid-morning and spent until lunch time straightening out the closet in the front bedroom.  I got inertia while we ate lunch and had to finish a particularly sweet episode of Gunsmoke on ME TV Arkansas before I could get going again.  In the afternoon, I installed a new medicine chest in the bathroom and made and installed a new door for the crawlspace.

About 3:00, we took a drive around the pasture.  I have never seen the grass eaten down that low before.  My tenants cows had even eaten the sage-grass down.  They have to be hungry to eat that stuff.  When my dad was raising cattle, we used to joke about spraying sorghum water on sage-grass to makecows eat it.  Usually, with the weather as warm as this, there is a lot better green grass growing down below the sage that they munch on.  We saw spots of green here and there but it was all nibbled close

The ponds are several feet below their normal level.  I checked my grandmothers old dug well.  I saw the bottom of it bone dry for the first time in my life.  I had seen it muddy a few times but never bone dry.  In normal times, the bottom of that well is usually four of five feet below the water table.  In short, we are in the middle of a drought.  A bad one.  A multi-year, soil's gonna blow away if it don't rain soon drought.

By dinner time, we were passing through Sallisaw and as usual had dinner at Charlie's Chicken.  I don't know exactly how to explain to outsiders that the best meal in town can be found at a place that looks like fast food joint but is actually a first class southern/soul food buffet that serves better than average fried chicken, really good smoked meats and a great selection of sides.  This time they had smoked ribs on the buffet.  While I only sampled one since I don't eat red meat, Sheila enjoyed them thoroughly .... with a lot of sauce.

After dinner, I decided to drive up US 64 for a while instead of just getting on I-40.  As we passed Sallisaw Dam, a mysterious force took hold of the wheel and we wound up parked looking at the old dam and remembering other Saturday evenings.  In honor of those other Saturday nights, I swore I would not move the car until I got a kiss and I mean a real kiss, not just a peck on the cheek.

When we left, I stayed on US-64 until Webbers Falls.  It was very pleasant to just drive through the country, looking at the lights in the farmhouses and taking the drive a little slower.  All in all, it was a good day.

Bill & Sheila Become Grandpa Bill and Grandma Sheila

Our first grandchild, Benjamin Robert Schatz, was born at 5:38 this afternoon at St. John's Hospital in Tulsa.  We were up at 5:00, had breakfast at the Diner at 6:00 and were walking into St. John by 7:00 AM.  It was a long but good day with lots of time to talk, think and simply be around each other.  My good friend Bruce DeLay came by and spent much of the afternoon with Sheila and I.  Funny how guys with "Rev." before their name somehow know how to show up at exactly the right time.  Around 4:30 things started picking up and a little after 5:30 Little Benjamin was here.

Back to the Farm

Not my picture but almost identical to what we saw.

Sheila and I spent a nice long day at the farm Saturday not doing much of anything.  The fall color seemed to be about at its peak and the last couple of miles of tree lined dirt road were a real treat.

We spent a couple of hours puttering around the house, doing light cleaning, etc. In the afternoon, I put in a nice hour in the backyard with my new Remington 597 HB, shooting at pieces of 1/2 inch lath stuck in the ground in the dirt embankment lining the storm cellar wall. 

By dark, we were ready to go and had our hearts set on dinner at Charlie's Chicken in Sallisaw.  Unfortunately, Charlie's was closed  and the only thing open worth consideration was THE Chinese place.  For the past couple of years, the Chinese place on Highway 59 South north of the I-40 junction (the only Chinese place in town) had gone down hill and we had been avoiding it.  However, we were pleasantly surprised to find new owners and a great selection on the buffet.  It was really a very good meal and quite inexpensive.  We were home by bedtime and a good time was had by all.  

Bill and Sheila and the BBC

It would seem that Sheila and I don't care much for American TV anymore.  We just don't watch it for the most part.  It is mindless at best and at worst insulting to our values.  I can't remember the last time we watched anything from the major networks.  Now that technology has given us multiple choices, we watch a lot and I do mean a lot of UK produced programming.  Here are some clips from a few of our favorites:

Dowton Abbey.  Previous seasons available on Netflix Streaming.  Season 3 will air early 2013 on PBS Masterpiece Theater.  Another period drama which began before the First World War and is now continuing into the post war years.  Too many plot twists to explain in a paragraph.  Just very entertaining.

Foyle's War.  Available on Netflix Streaming.  The adventures of an aging British Police Inspector in WWII Britian.  Probably the best of the host of very good Brit mysteries.

Doc Martin.  Available on NetFlix Streaming.  Only a Brit could think this one up.  What happens if a snooty big city surgeon suddenly begins fainting at the sight of blood and gets a last chance to continue practicing as a GP in a small fishing village?  We have already watched the whole series but for those who haven't it is now showing on OETA.

Lost Empires.  Available on Net Flix Streaming.  A Granada Televsion mini series based on J.B. Priestly's novel of the same name:


A very young Colin Firth is the orphaned nephew of a mysterious and highly cynical (but usually correct) star performer on the U.K.'s music hall circuit.  In this clip, he and his love Nancy are having what appears the perfect afternoon together which is interrupted by the sound of distant gunfire from an army rifle range, symbolizing the onset of the World War One in a few months.  Firth's character does not notice but his uncle has already set the premise up in an earlier scene when he predicts the horror of the coming war and observes that Great Britian is sliding into a morass it will never completely recover from and nobody was doing anything to stop it.

Midsomer Murders.  Again, NetFlix Streaming.  This is one of Sheila and I's favorites but for entirely different reasons.  She likes the light, breezy "Murder She Wrote" tone which I have to admit is pleasant enough.  I like the fact that the program is better than sleeping pills and can usually render me unconscious in less than half an hour.

Three World Class Musicians You Can Hear in Tulsa for the Price of a Drink or a Meal

Tommy Crook, the guitar player the late, great Chet Aktins called the best guitar player he had ever heard.  Mr. Crook plays at Lana Thai on South Memorial on Friday and Saturday nights.

 
Rocky Frisco of the legendary JJ Cale Tulsa circle of friends.  Rocky plays several nights per week at various local drinking establishments. His personal "About Me" page at TulsaWorld.com says he hangs around at: Utopia, Cimarron, Roadside, Scotty's and Blind Lemon's.




Little Joe McClerran is a very young man who has already won several awards in blues competitions.  He has also toured the Middle East and South America through a program sponsored by the U.S. State Department in cooperation with the Jazz At The Lincoln Center program.  Little Joe and company often play at Bodean's on the weekends.

Bill and Sheila's 43rd Anniversary Party

Catching Up .....

I got an e-mail from a blog subscriber this morning asking if Sheila and I were OK.  It was the lady who sometimes rents us her cabin down by Octavia.  I hadn't posted to this blog in about a month and she was concerned for us.  That was very thoughtful of her but I should have expected as much.  Hill country Okies are good people.

Well gee, what's going on in our life?  The contractor has been here for two weekends replacing a rotted out bathroom floor and then re-tiling it.  As usual, he did a great job.  But, he was always a good kid even when I was his Sunday school teacher way back when.  Sure, he's kind of a charming rascal, but he's good at what he does and keeps his word.

My beloved Sonata is back in the body shop.  We reluctantly decided to change insurance companies.  Traveler's has been wonderful to us and I can't say enough kind things about their support staff.  But, their rates for Oklahoma took a big jump after last years storms and the recent brush fires.  I had some hail damage that I didn't even notice when it occurred.  But, several months later, when I let the car get dirty one day, I noticed I had numerous tiny hail dimples.  So, I thought it would be wise to get the claim in while I was still insured by the company that was insuring me when the damage occurred.

This week, I am driving a vanilla, 2012 Impala.  I used to like Impalas.  In the late fifties and early sixties they were fast and sexy.  Later, they turned into boats.  This one is a barge.  Don't get me wrong, everything works and works pretty well I guess. But, the car feels like it was designed by a committee and built by one. Everything about it from control locations to styling just screams "government motors."  It has all of the  style and personality of a bureaucrat.

How in the world U.S. automakers let the Koreans of all people steal so much of the market I will never know but they darn well did.  My two year old Sonata is still sexier, faster, more stylish and ever so much more comfortable than this Government Motors monstrosity that is supposed to compete with it.  Dang, if Hyundai doesn't try to make a fortune on me, I may keep my current lease car and if they do I may lease another.  I have to say, the Sonata is without a doubt the best car I have ever owned.

My pickup is still in the body shop and while that normally would not be much of a problem, without it I have not been able to go the farm and set up my turkey blind and feeder.  The season starts Nov. 3 and I should been throwing corn for the past month or so.

Well, that is a little part of what is going on in our world.  More when something happens.

She Has No Idea ....

I had an interesting exchange with my forty-ish daughter on the way back from a very good lunch at the Cheesecake Factory yesterday.  Sheila mentioned that her fiance' Robert might like to go squirrel hunting with me sometime.  Robert is a Wyoming boy and has probably seen his share of how meat is actually produced but then again, things like squirrel hunting are very much an individual preference.

Noticing Robert's discomfort at the idea, I tried to get him off the hook by saying as much, basically that dressing up in camo, sitting dead still in the woods for hours, and then shooting, skinning, gutting  and cooking a small, furry, woodland creature might not be everybody's idea of fun.  My daughter shot back, "Well, you've never done anything like that in your life either."  She then mentioned a couple of our woodsier relatives as folks who would but laughed at the notion that her suit wearing, technology addicted father even could.

In a flash, it occurred to me that she had no earthly idea what life was like growing up on a farm in the 1950's.  Fried chicken for dinner was not a matter of pulling something out of the freezer.  When the decision was made, dinner was walking around someplace in the yard, pecking at rocks, worms and insects.  The decision was followed by an order, "Billy, go kill a chicken."  Soon after, the carcass would be plucked, cleaned and finally seared to remove pin feathers before it was cut up and put in the pan.

Fish for dinner did not mean pulling out the frozen fish sticks either.  You caught the fish, cleaned the fish and cooked the fish.  Same for squirrel.  You shot the squirrel, cleaned the squirrel, cooked the squirrel.  Same for rabbit.  These were not deep, dark pieces of woodsman's lore.  They were household tasks if you wanted meat for dinner.  I was probably ten or twelve the first time I ate store bought chicken at home.  The only fish we ever had was caught by someone in the family.

When I was growing up, little boys fished in the summer.  Period.  It was what you did.  Some did a lot more than others and some took a lot more joy from it than others but everybody did.  In the fall and winter you hunted squirrels and rabbits.  You ate what you killed.  It was a major sin and a sign of a lack of character to take life needlessly.   So, if you killed it or caught it, unless is was pest or nuisance species, SOMEBODY was going to eat it. 

Obviously not me, pic from the net.

Some of the best days of my childhood were spent roaming the fields and woods with my trusty .22 single shot.  That gun is sitting in the corner of my office right now, wearing a vintage Weaver scope probably worth twice as much as the gun.  It is still a tack driver and has the smoothest trigger of any weapon I have ever fired.  It is probably the most accurate weapon I own and it is certainly the simplest.  That gun cost my father nearly a week's wages.  He bought on lay away at Buster Brown's Jot Em Down Store on Factory Row in Ft. Smith, Arkansas.  It has provided hundreds of hours of fun, a degree of protection and even occasional meat for the table now for over sixty years.

I love the outdoors but have never been much of a hunter or fisherman.  Simple reason, it is much easier to buy food than kill it.  Twice in my life, I worked for companies that manufactured fishing equipment and so I had to be technically competent with the equipment.  But now, in my latter years, these things I did as a kid when there was nothing else to do are becoming more and more attractive to me.  I will go squirrel hunting again soon and in the process scout the place for my turkey blind.  I am going to try to take one of the big birds this year.  For five years, I worked on a commercial turkey farm where hurting one the senseless creatures was a firing offense even though that evil, terminally stupid but very tasty beast was beating you to death with its powerful wings and crapping all over  you in process.  I have cherished the thought of killing one for my entire life.  This may be the year.  Watch out TOM, I'm coming for you!
 

We Spent About A Week In A Caboose Last Night ...

.....or at least it seemed like a week before the night was over.

Sheila and I enjoy getting away together. We try to do it fairly often. Of late, we have taken to renting small, remote cabins in Southern and Southeastern Oklahoma for our getaways. I guess we have gotten spoiled by "The Little Cabin In The Woods" in Octavia, Oklahoma which I am quickly discovering to be the gold standard for this type of establishment. The Caboose was not in the same league or even close. The picture above shows where we stayed. You will notice that our luggage is placed by the steps. This picture was NOT taken as we were arriving. It WAS taken this morning as we were leaving after Sheila and I both decided we would rather leave, even if we had to forfeit the rental for the second night that we had booked and paid for in advance, than spend another night there.

Where to begin ... well, there was no bed, just a futon. If you are eighteen, futons may be OK. But, two people of our age do not tolerate a thin futon pad very well. And, the placement of the futon made it such that if the inside person had be get up in the middle of the night, there was no way to do it without waking the other. And of course, two people who are accustomed to sleeping in a king size bed are likely to pull the cover and uncover each in the night as well, which would have been OK if there was heat, but there wasn't. And, supposing that one person gave up on the torture rack called a futon and simply decided to let the other sleep and nap in a chair that couldn't be done because the futon was also the sofa and the ONLY place to sit in the whole place. Before dawn, I wound up going to the car, reclining a seat which made a much more comfortable bed than the cursed futon, and napping there for a while. Something about paying a hundred and a half a night to sleep in my car just did not sit right.

Come breakfast time, we noticed that there was no oven in the unit, just a two burner cook-top. There was a toaster oven stuffed under the cook-top with the pots and pans but be darned if I could figure out where to place it. I wound up cooking our biscuits on the stove-top. I didn't bring any regular bread, just a tiny can of biscuits. Ditto for the coffee maker. I am certainly glad I brought our French Press and could make coffee from water boiled on the stove top because again, there was just not enough room to prepare food and place the coffee maker on the miniscule counter space available.

By nine AM, I was analyzing my thoughts. Why was I so tired? Why was I so peeved? And most of all why was I ready to leave even if I did lose money on the deal? After a few moments, it came to me. There wasn't a single comfortable place to sit and relax in the whole unit. The futon as a couch was a torture device for a person with back or knee problems and the futon as a bed was even worse. There was a yard swing on the deck, but it was hung too high and required careful adjustment of bottom, knees and body to perch upon without falling flat on your *ss. And then, in the back of my mind other things came up as well. Little Cabin The Woods was always spotlessly clean. The Caboose wasn't exactly dirty but the weeping rust spots on the sides and condition of the deck, especially the grease spots near the barbecue, didn't exactly make a good impression. To other people, weeping rust and a dirty deck might not make as much of an impression but to an ex-sailor they are signs of a badly kept ship. That made me look closer at other areas and I wasn't impressed.

When we phoned the proprietress and told her we were leaving, I had hoped that she would volunteer a refund for the second night. We didn't ask for a refund. I am fully aware of the terms of the contract we signed. Most cabin rentals require a deposit in advance and a guaranteed rental of at least two nights. And, they do this for good reason. But, the good owners also know when to bend their own rules ... and those are the people that I continue to do business with. I have a list of two or three of these classy owners that I will always call first. No refund was offered at the Caboose.

These cabin rentals are not cheap. For what they charge, you can rent a nice room or even a small suite at the Doubletree or the Sheraton. Granted, you are paying for privacy and access to nature but the bare minimum should be a comfortable stay and adequate cooking facilities. This place had neither. Do I need to say that the Caboose is off my list of future destinations?

Sheila Races (Walks) For The Cure

Sheila was up at 5:30 this morning getting ready to make the Race for the Cure. This is the second time she has done the race and the first since her breast cancer surgery. Thank God for His providence and for the skill and wisdom of people like Dr. Lynette Smith, Sheila's breast surgeon, and Dr. Charles W. Taylor her oncologist.

It is hard to explain what being the family member of a cancer survivor is like. The experience is one that you sincerely hope that no one else ever has to endure. The agonizing waits on test results, the fear, the bargaining with God and the disease, the hope and the terror.

It has been three years now since Sheila's radical mastectomy. There have been two serious scares both of which turned out to be non-malignant. Sheila is healthy and strong now and I praise God for that every day of my life.

The Senior Prom

Bill & Sheila Visit Their Grandson .... Due In Early December

Sheila and I had a very touching experience this afternoon. For half an hour we got to watch our grandson, Benjamin Robert Schatz, move around inside his mommies tummy.

There is a business here in Tulsa called Stork Vision that will, for a fee, allow family and friends to come in and watch a realtime with full movement three dimensional sonogram of their unborn child, grandchild, etc.

It was incredibly exciting, tender and sobering all at the same time. There he was, a little boy. We saw his little boy parts. We watched him pull his hands over his eyes trying to go back to sleep. We watched him stretch his feet almost to his face and curl up in a ball. And eventually, we saw his little face, puffy cheeks, Kumpe nose and all. I don't really know how to explain my feelings at this moment.

It hasn't been so long ago that we didn't even know what the sex of a child would be until it was born. And we certainly didn't know anything about them as a person. But, for half an hour this afternoon, we watched him move, respond to stimulus and even show emotion.

God shares his sovereignty with us in allowing us to create new life. It is a wonder both physically and spiritually. I am still in awe of what I saw this afternoon.

Maddy and Roger and Sheila and Bill Watch a Sobering Movie

We met Roger and Maddy at the neighborhood IHOP early for the BOGO supper and then went to see "2016" at the Promenade. It is a thoughtful, sobering even frightening movie. Following up on President Obama's own recorded statements and the history of his family, the movie develops a picture of a man who has no experience with American culture as we know it, no loyalty to American values as we know them and a burning generationally bred desire to take America and Americans down a few notches the world community.

It is undisputed that his father was a high ranking and respected advisor to the leftist Kenyan independence movement which among other things bred the bloody Mau Mau uprisings there.

It is undisputed that during the 1960's his mother was a hard core leftist with a penchant for third world revolutionaries for husbands when she wasn't posing for porn.

It is undisputed that his closest mentor was a card carrying communist so dangerous that the FBI kept him on the list of Soviet Agents until the day he died.

It is undisputed that one of his close Chicago political friends was a member of the 1960's radical group the Weathermen who bombed US govt. offices, including the Pentagon, and killed policemen.

It is undisputed that his pastor of many years is the high priest of the anti-American, anti-colonial liberation theology movement.

In short, this movie thoughtfully shows that the man in the Oval Office right now admits that he has an agenda forged by his association with these people and their cause, the destruction of America as we know it. If you want to get a historical view of this man's political influences start with the bloody and infamous Mau Mau movement in Kenya. Then take a look at the US "Weather Underground" movement of the 1960's.

The information presented in this movie is not just campaign propaganda. It is factual. The problem is that the people who should see this movie will not and even if they did they have become so addicted to the politics of partisanship, lies, accusations, labels and branding that they no longer have the intellectual capacity to weigh the evidence before them.

Bill Buys A Tablet

(NOTE, this post was originally in error.  I DID NOT WEAR OUT A BLACKBERRY.  As I was getting ready to put my BB Titanium away for the last time, I decided to try the last ditch efforts and did a SYSTEM RESET which wiped it completely and reset it to original factory settings.  It then rebooted and worked perfectly and has worked perfectly ever since.  I just had to reinstall my apps. )

While shopping for a new smart phone, I installed my Sim Card in the last generation Blackberry and discovered something remarkable. It was a remarkably good business telephone and PDA. No bells and whistles but it worked perfectly. It is built like a tank and does everything you would want a business phone to do. And, since it doesn't have a camera or an extended capacity voice recorder, you don't have to surrender it to the door Gestapo in federal facilities. (Make a note of this conspiracy buffs. You surrender your right to privacy to anything you surrender to their custody and it takes about ten seconds to dump your entire life onto another computer for later analysis.)

This set me to thinking about just keeping the old reliable BB. I then stumbled across this remarkable little Android tablet at Big Lots for $65.00. The little guy is absolutely amazing for the investment. With a wifi connection you can check email and Facebook, read the news, etc. Without the wifi you can still use it as an e-reader for your ebook account, watch movies, play games, listen to music, etc. While it is only a 512mhz processor, it handles video fine. I have watched a couple of movies now and it does a great job with them. Same with YouTube when you have a connection.

I don't think this little guy has been out of my reach since I bought it. I have read Kindle books at the coffee shop, watched a movie while waiting for my pharmacist to straighten out a prescription with my insurance company, checked email too many times, did multiple FB postings, etc. It took it all in stride. It even does voice activated internet searches so you don't have to key in your search terms! The only glaring fault I can find is that it has a front facing camera only which is great for video messaging, skype, etc. but makes it nearly impossible to take a picture of anyone else.

Bottom line, it is not a powerhouse but does a great job as a digital companion.

Bill Cooks A Quick and Elegant Little Dinner

Things just didn't work out today. Sheila had to work on her consulting job for a couple of hours, and then there was an emergency at her full time office that required immediate attention. I was stove up from yesterday's doin's and spent most of the afternoon asleep. Bottom line, when things finally came together it was around five and we needed a quick little dinner. I think it came out pretty well. You might call it a "Wal Mart Gourmet" meal since everything came from there.

The salad is WM's house brand Ceaser straight out of the bag. It's not bad at all. The tea is Lipton's "Brisk" Raspberry. I'm quickly becoming addicted to it.

The little bird couldn't have been simpler. I had bought two Cornish game hens for later in the week. I used them tonight instead. I split the skin from the meat near the breast and worked my finger under there until the skin was completely separated but still attached. I then stuffed in a couple of generous sprigs of rosemary and poured in a couple of tablespoons of olive oil. After patting them dry with a paper towel again, I massaged the outside with a little more olive oil and then salt and peppered them generously. A peeled shallot in the body cavity finished the prep. It took no more than five minutes.

Cooking the little bird was just as easy. I lit off one side the gas grill (no time for a charcoal or wood fire) and positioned the birds off the heat but near enough to it where they would roast and brown but not burn. I moved them around a couple of times to make sure they cooked evenly. They were a golden brown in a little over half an hour.

It was a very tasty little meal that took less than an hour from beginning to end. And, judging from Sheila's picking every morsel of meat from her bird and what I had left on my plate, I would say a good time was had by all.

Bill and Sheila Go To The Farm

It had been two months since we visited the farm and we were definitely overdue for a work day and a visit. On our last visit we pretty well cleaned house except for the large living area in the rear and of course that final room that doesn't count that is full of mom's stuff that we still have to sort through.
The room in question had succumbed to a summers worth of dead wasps, lizard tracks from the critters eating the dead bugs, etc. It is really a nice room with a large picture window looking out to the south. We attacked it around ten and by noon, the only bugs left were those flying around that we couldn't catch with the vacuum. When we finished, we hung a couple of decorator items, spread plastic drop cloths over the furniture and moved on to other pursuits.


We decided to spend a little time fishing. It was the wrong time of the day and my cousin John's cows followed us to the pond and got in the water scaring any fish that might have been hanging around away. But, I got the chance to show Sheila a little bit about how to use her brand new "Lady Shakespeare" pink for breast cancer cure rod and reel. I must say she got into the thing because her sneakers matched her fishing equipment perfectly. The only thing we came close to catching were turtles. And I have to say, while my ponds may no longer have the number of fish they had when I was younger, they do have some spectacular snapping turtles. The old fishing lore said that turtles will eat up all of the fish in your pond. If I find that that is true, I suspect I may have to do some .22 caliber turtle fishing before the weather cools off.
When we tired of fishing, we drove the little red pickup around the fence lines while I checked out likely hunting spots for the fall season. I do need to get the property posted for whatever good that will do. I would really be angry to be down there on the first day of turkey season and find somebody besides my cousin John or his grandson Johnny hunting the place. We did spot a doe and two nearly grown fawns early on in our drive around. They weren't the least afraid of us or our truck and I had to wonder what in world is happening when you loudly stumble on a deer and two fawns and they don't disappear like lightning. In the olden days, unless your were very quiet and still on your stand, the only thing you might see was a fleeting glimpse of a white tail. Mama just stood there and looked at me for several moments, presenting an almost perfect shot picture. (The deer photo is not mine but this is close to what it looked like.)

When we got back to the house, we had a great luxury, a shower. Not a sponge bath and not a mini shower with a handheld rubber appliance meant for washing hair over a sink. A real, long, luxurious shower. Several months back, Sheila ordered a claw foot tub shower conversion kit and we had a local man install it for us. Wow, what a luxury.

It was dinner time by this time and when we got to the intersection of OK 141 and US 64. Sheila was torn between heading toward Sallisaw for Charlie's Chicken Buffet which is always good and always open or taking a chance on the very good but not always open Wagon Wheel Express Barbecue in Muldrow. I let her choose and she opted for Muldrow. It was open, the food was fabulous and we ate too much.

While my catfish and Sheila's pulled pork could not have been improved upon it was the sides that made the meal for me. Two of my sides were pan fried potatoes and pinto beans. I guess some things never change. They tasted exactly like those that we ate at the farmhouse table many, many evenings so long ago. I guess it is a southern thing and probably even a local thing but to an Okie pinto beans with fried potatoes is the ultimate comfort food. We finished the meal off by splitting a serving of their absolutely perfect bread pudding. Not too sweet, not too bready, not too mushy, perfectly cooked and served with tart lemon sauce that just sends it over the top. You will notice that our huge serving is already half eaten. We both took several bites before we remembered to take a picture of it. It was a meal worth talking about.

It seemed like most of Muldrow had been there for dinner or was coming in soon. They had a good, steady crowd. And I might add, the owners and employees are nice folks. Just plain old nice folks. It is absolutely amazing that Muldrow, the little bump on the map off I-40 has two very good restaurants. Broadway Joe's up on US 64 is about as good a diner as you are going to find anyplace in the US.

We had one final chore to do before leaving town. Sheila had picked up some fall flowers for Mom and Dad's graves. When we got there, we noticed that someone had apparently stolen the flowers from Mom's vase but Dad's still looked fine. So, we gave Mom all of the fall flowers and headed back up 1-40. It was a busy day but a good day. Nothing extraordinary but a lot of pleasant little adventures. A good time was had by all.

Bill and Sheila and Bob and Phyllis Eat Barbecue

We had a couple of dear old friends over for supper tonight, Bob and Phyllis Keathley. We have known Bob and Phyllis forever, since our kids were all small actually. Bobby and I were deacons together at one time. I taught Sunday School to their boys. I should add that Bob and Phyllis's oldest son Brett was the contracting wizard that built our deck.

Bob and Phyllis are semi-retired now. They work one hard, long day a week at their north-side store near our home. Today was that day. I decided to cook dinner for them so that they could have a hot meal on the way home.

I smoked a pork loin and several turkey bratwursts. Last night, Sheila made a big bowl of sinfully rich potato salad from my mom's recipe and I set a cake pan of beans seasoned up with sausage and jalapenos on to slow cook and smoke on the cold side of the grill in the middle of the afternoon. I also cooked a dump cake on the cold side of the gas grill. We had raspberry iced tea to drink and vanilla carb watch ice cream on the dump cake. The pork was little dry to my taste but overall it was a good meal. (Note, these are not my food pics. But, my food looked about the same and every bit as good. I was just too busy cooking and visiting to take pictures.)

It was a pleasant evening on the deck. The weather was perfect. After dinner, we sipped tea and talked. Sheila and Phyllis did their thing and Bobby and I told tall tales. Good friends, good food, good weather. A good time was had by all.

Bill Gets Addicted ..... To Hot Sauce

The other day as I was paying my check at my favorite Mexican hole in the wall up on Admiral, the owner/chef noticed me checking out a bottle of hot sauce he had for sale by the register. A short conversation in rapid Spanish with his wife/waitress/maitre d' followed which I could not follow. Bottom line, Oscar the chef wanted to give me a bottle of the hot sauce. I accepted it gratefully.

I am a great fan of hot sauce. I was introduced the stuff in the military by a black Marine from the Deep South I was sharing a firing position with one night over forty years ago. A runner came around with the usual C-Rat supper and canteen refills. As we were opening the the various boxes, cans and envelopes, this guy pulled out a bottle of the famous (in the Corps at least) Mcillheney's Louisiana Hot Sauce. He told me that a few drops of this fiery, pungent liquid could make anything on the C-Rat menu but "Ham and Mothe*%&*'s" edible. He passed his bottle over to me and like a person receiving their first hit of crack cocaine I was hooked. Just a few drops of that magic liquid turned the cold, gelatinous mess in a can before me into something both lively on my palate and warming to my whole body. Since that memorable evening somewhere in the tropics, I have eaten hot sauce on everything from greens to fried chicken to scrambled eggs to even ice cream and brownies. So far, I haven't found anything that hot sauce properly applied cannot improve.

But, this stuff that my favorite chef Oscar gave to me raises the bar on my hot sauce addiction. This stuff is the champagne of hot sauces. It makes most American hot sauces taste like ketchup. Made with the fiery Chile's de Arbol native to Oscar's home state of Jalisco, it is deep, complex, pungent and fiery beyond description. It is a pleasure to be enjoyed in small doses. But, the stuff is amazing. There is an ingredient in there that produces an aroma and flavor that reminds me of, of all things, bacon grease. And, being a good southerner whose Mom religiously saved the bacon grease and then cooked everything in it and served it over just about everything from the garden, this exotic product somehow produces an amazingly homey experience.

Oscar knew what he was doing. I'm addicted to the stuff now and will have to buy it from him by the case I guess every time he takes a trip home to see his family.

Bill Grills Sunday Dinner

Because of the burn ban, I hadn't been able to light off my newly acquired grill for several weekends. In light of the recent rains, I decided to go ahead today. I was amazed at how well the old guy cooked.

I started by putting a small layer of charcoal along about one third of the left grill. I then soaked it down in starter fluid. Then I added a short hickory log on top of the charcoal and applied starter fluid again. Within fifteen minutes, I had a perfect drawing, slow burning , very smokey, hickory log fire.

I then placed my dry rubbed drumsticks and a length of Lovera's Italian Sausage on the cool side of the grill and let it smoke for a little over two hours. The fire drew perfectly the entire time and required absolutely no attention. When the chicken began separating from the bone, I pulled it all off the fire.

We ate it with a big salad out of bag and a pitcher of iced tea. It was a very nice little Sunday dinner. Next time around, I will reduce the amount of fuel to slow the cooking time a bit but overall, I am very happy with my first time effort on this grill. I told Sheila when we bought it, that it could be used as a wood stove and by golly I was right. Stand by Rat Pack, I will be inviting you all over soon.

As a footnote, I need to thank my old friend Bobby Keathley. The other day, he brought me a small load of perfectly aged hickory fire wood for my new grill. It worked great and I hope I can convince him to bring some more when this runs out.

Bill and Sheila Eat Mediterranean

Dinner time yesterday evening found us in South Tulsa. Actually, Sheila and I avoid South Tulsa because the traffic is such a pain. But sometimes it cannot be avoided. We decided to have dinner down there before venturing back north.

I like familiar places. I have my list of places that I know are good and tend to return to them until I have a reason not to. Sheila is just the opposite. She will try anything new and always wants to go to someplace different. Last night was no exception. I was headed for a Vietnamese place that I know near 68th and Memorial when she spotted the sign for Becks and said that "fresh Mediterranean" (whatever that is) sounded good. So, that is where we went.

Don't be fooled by the unprepossessing store front appearance of this place. It is an upscale bistro style eatery catering to an upscale crowd. You have to be upscale to pay over seven bucks for a GLASS of their house wine. That's what about what I pay for a BOTTLE of the vin ordinaire at Casa De Kumpe.

The atmosphere at Becks is not Tulsa. More than anything else, it reminded me of the small upscale places you find in the big cities back east. Once the door closes behind you, you could be in New York or Boston but certainly not Tulsa. The crowd was not Tulsa and the atmosphere was not Tulsa. As a matter of fact, about half of the small crowd appeared to be of Mediterranean descent. Everything about the place from the real jazz (not elevator music soft jazz) playing in the background to the perfectly arranged but tiny bar screamed BIG CITY.

The menu was pricey. We ordered from the bottom end. I had a chicken skewer dinner and Sheila had the lamb skewer dinner. Both entrees came with a superb salad that was a mix between a Ceasar and something Greek, remarkably good humus, a skewer of grilled vegetables, rice pilaf and a cucumber dipping sauce.

The food was perfect, perfectly cooked, perfectly seasoned and perfectly presented. The chef used quite a bit of rosemary which was a refreshing change from the usual Greek/Mediterranean fare around town. The only sour note on the table was the sweet, heavy, dark, multi-grain bread served with the salad. It was incongruous with the rest of the menu and was not a good match with the tart salad.

The servings were generous but not too large and the service could not have been improved upon. The whole experience was technically perfect. We both agreed it was a darn good meal. But, the one thing the place lacked to make it one of my "regulars" (aside from price) was, for lack of a better word, homeyness. Some places make you feel welcome the moment you hit the door. Becks does not. The big city atmosphere at Becks carries over into place's culture. Great chef, great food, great service but not the kind of place where I would drop in after a bad day at work. But, if you are a snowbird and are homesick for Noo Yaahhk, this is your place.

Bill and Sheila Eat Thai

Since Sheila had a fairly invasive test early yesterday morning that required moderate sedation and deep body puncture, the docs recommended she not drive for a few hours. So, I took her to work after the test and came and got her that evening. We decided to have Thai food on the way home.

The "Bangkok Thai Super Buffet" on Harvard near 32nd is something of a legend in Tulsa. It is located on the edge of one of Tulsa's wealthiest, old money neighborhoods. Any lunchtime you are liable to find the place packed with Tulsa's business and social elite rubbingelbows with workers on lunch hour and ladies of leisure who lunch.

The food is always superb and the place is inevitably spotless. They close down on Sundays and scrub it down from top to bottom every week. The owners didn't tell me this. The Thai lady who used to cut my hair told me about it. It seems she knows all about every Thai person within a hundred miles of Tulsa. The folks who run the Bangkok are remarkably warm and friendly. They and their employees make every visit much more enjoyable just by their presence.

They cook the food in small portions for the buffet so it is always fresh and if that weren't enough, Thai food is by nature low in fat and sodium and does not contain MSG. The tables are arranged in orders of heat. The first table from the East is mild and the second is only mildly hot. The third table however, approaches the levels of fiery goodness that an actual Thai might eat (and consider mild in all likelihood.) I have found that even if I eat the hottest dishes, it doesn't usually bite back since it is so low in fat.

This is a picture of my plate. The meat on a stick is Satay Chicken, bits of chicken cooked in a peanut butter sauce that adds a unique, nutty flavor to the meat. The noodle dish is Pad Thai. Rice noodles stir fried with eggs and vegetables, including chili peppers. It can range from mild to spicy and the Bangkok serves two versions. I prefer the spicy. The chicken dish with green peppers is a pungent little number. And, I would add that those long pepper strips are not bell peppers. They are jalapenos, a local substitute for whatever they would have used in Thailand. The dish with chopped squash is Thai Green Curry. It is spicy and pungent and tastes wonderful over rice. The coleslaw appearing dish under my spring roll is Thai Fried Cabbage. It is lightly stir fried with what tastes like sesame oil and soy sauce. It is good. The little meat patties are a mild chicken sausage.

The tiny dish of sauce on my plate is the Thai equivalent of the Vietnamese favorite nuoc man. It is made by placing thousands of small fish between plates of sheet metal, weighting them down, setting them in the sun and collecting the juice that drips out. The juice is then processed and turned into a thin clear sauce that tastes very much like best quality light soy sauce. Natives mix it with fiery red chili paste and used it as a dipping sauce for a lot of things. I restrict my use of it to spring rolls.

Sheila was being kind to me last night. I know that there are places she would rather have eaten. But, we were close and she knows that I love Thai food. And, we had a good time eating and recounting the day's events. It was really our normal Friday night I suppose, but it was a good one.

Bill Plays Harmonica Again .....

I try to play someplace every Monday night. A couple of Monday nights per month, a couple of us get together and "jam." Our uke player is trying hard to learn how to play the blues by ear. She is a formally trained musician who has spent years studying music but somehow never picked up the ability to just listen and play or get in a groove and let it flow with the other players. I realized that part of the problem was that she was watching for my lead on guitar or uke and not listening to her own internal ear. So, for a while, I quit playing guitar and picked up my harps.

I hadn't played harp in a long time. It was fun to do it again. A nice change. And, it was also effective apparently. Every musician has a moment when they "get their groove" and start playing from inside themselves rather than from what is written on a piece of paper. Our struggling uke player had that moment Monday night while I was playing harp. She is on her way now to becoming a musician who can express herself through her music and not just a technician repeating someone else's expression.

The video above is an old cut of one of the songs that we played Monday night. I did it solo against a backing track with my very cheapo portable harp rig. But, I still like it so I thought I would record it for posterity here.

Bill and Sheila's Busy Weekend

We had a good weekend even if it was a little busier than we are accustomed to. Friday night, the pack met at Shilo's. We enjoyed a good old fashioned home style meal while catching up on everybody's happenings. My friend Robert Smith was playing there with his band so we got not only good food and good company but good music as well. Roger had a huge chicken fried steak. I couldn't believe that a single person could eat a piece of meat that size but he did ... and blast it he is still the skinniest guy in the pack. Sheila had a beautiful (and delicious) entree salad with strawberries all over the top of it. My catfish was not as good as in the past but .... After dinner, we all headed over to Mike and Jodi's for a little time in the pool. I brought a bottle of a very good ghetto vintage descendant of Ripple that we all shared. Only Jodi and Sheila wound up in the pool for some reason. The rest of us just visited.

Thursday, the owner of the Little Cabin in the Woods had called and said her place was vacant for the weekend. While she normally won't accept one night reservations, she did in our case. So, Saturday morning, we were up early and headed south for the mountains. By noon we were at the cabin, and I was out on the deck, sipping a cold O'Doul's and grilling bratwurst for our lunch.

Right after lunch we both decided to get a little sun out on the deck. We sprayed each down with sun screen and proceeded to enjoy the quiet and the sun ... at least until Sheila got up. Her entire back was covered with "grill marks" from the iron patio furniture. Apparently, it had been recently painted and our still damp sun screen had dissolved the paint onto our skin. I asked Sheila to take a look at me. Sure enough, I was "grilled" on my back and the backs of my thighs too. So. we headed for the shower and scrubbed each other until most of the paint was gone. I say most because some stayed with Sheila all weekend.

After that, we spent a big chunk of the afternoon in the hot tub and then took a nap. By sixish, I was back at the grill fixing supper. We had a grilled cracked pepper crusted chicken breast with a salad from a one bag kit and crescent rolls from a pop open can. I was amazed that the delicate little rolls cooked so well on a piece of aluminum foil on the cold side of the grill but they did. A bottle of cheap sweet Merlot finished the menu, so cheap in fact it would drive our foody/wine connoisseur daughter nuts. But, we like it. And yes, we were drinking a red with chicken, a white meat. But, the meat flavor was actually fairly heavy because of the cracked pepper and who cares anyway if we break the food police rules?

As we were sitting at the dinner table on the deck, I turned on my little Grundig shortwave radio and tried to tune in some music. The Little Cabin in the Woods is located in the shadow of a huge mountain, in a valley surrounded by mountains. The only radio signals that get in are flame-thrower FM stations that don't broadcast our type of music. I never travel without this little radio and Saturday evening proved why. In a couple of moments, we were listening to a nice selection of Strauss melodies from Radio Japan. At the end of the hour, NHK changed format a little and we were treated to half an hour or so of vocal jazz by the likes of Bobby Darrin and Mel Torme. But eventually, as the sun moved the signal faded and I began looking around for something else. This time, I picked up a pretty good signal of what sounded like Portugese/Brazilian music. Whatever it was, it was pretty and we listened to it for a while.

By this time, we had cleared the table and were back in the hot tub. The sun was getting pretty low and I figured I might be able to coax a strong, clear channel American AM station in. I tried 650 khz. WSM out of Nashville. I am glad that I did. I got it tuned in just in time to hear Ray Price on the Grand Ole Opry. I am not a lover of contemporary country. But, Ray Price's music defies description. It is smooth. It is sophisticated. It can hold its own in any genre. We had a wonderful time lying there in the tub, listening to his aging but still golden voice sing favorites like, "Night Life" and "You're the Best Thing That Ever Happened to Me.

By eleven-ish we were in bed and what follows will explain why I call this blog "The Adventures of Bill and Sheila." We had an adventure. Shortly before midnight, the power failed. We knew that the power failed because the fan stopped and so did the CPAP machines that we use to breathe while sleeping. In a moment, when the power did not come back on, I grabbed my cellphone to use as a flashlight and we both stepped outside to see if we could see any lights at the adjoining farms or at some of the other cabins up on the mountain across the valley. In a while, a call to our hostess confirmed what we had feared, power was out all over the valley.

Our second surprise came when we tried to go back in the cabin. We had scrupulously locked the doors before going to bed and had not remembered to unlock them before we stepped out onto the deck. We were now locked out of the cabin in an embarrassing state of dress with no way to get back in. We also didn't have our glasses, so seeing the numbers on the electronic key code lock was a problem. So was light. The cell phone wasn't bright enough for either of us to see the numbers properly. While we could easily remember the key code to the front door, neither of us could see well enough to manage the somewhat convoluted keypad lock. We tried the electronic key code lock several times and managed to get it to really lock up for failed attempts. We couldn't even get in our car because the car keys were inside on the nightstand. Our plight became truly urgent when we heard critters moving around in the grass and leaves around the cabin.

Eventually, we woke up enough to remember that we had stashed one of our room keys outside in case of an emergency and were able to unlock the front door. By this time, we had pulled a couple of solar stair lights off their mounts and were using them as improvised flashlights. We both tried to get back to sleep but it took a while. About the time we did, the power came back on. I never sleep past seven am. I got out of bed around nine this morning.

I didn't bother to fire up the grill for breakfast. When I was shopping for the trip, I decided to give Sheila a treat and bought a small package of precooked bacon. She grows tired of my low cholesterol turkey breakfast meats. I sliced a baguette and pan toasted it in a little oil. Scrambled eggs with salsa, juice and pot of coffee from our little four cup french press coffee maker completed the meal. The food was good but nothing to write home about. But, the crisp mountain air and view over the high mountain valley made it a special time.

While I am not a wine snob at all, I am something of a coffee snob. I want my coffee right. Our french press coffee maker is another item that we travel with as a habit. Hotel room coffee makers are a mixed lot at best and you never know whether or not the last occupants of the room used the carafe' to help brew a batch of meth. The rest of world uses these things. If you have hot water, you can make coffee, good coffee, good, strong, aromatic coffee. They just make sense.

By late afternoon, after another fabulous lunch at Roseanna's in Krebs, we were back home. In a while, I will start putting our suitcase and other traveling gear away. And, I will find out what happened to the tactical flashlight and the penlight I normally carry in our traveling gear and if necessary replace them.

Sheila and I always enjoy getting away and spending time with each other. This time, despite our "adventures," we both managed to relax more than usual. When I was packing to come home, I realized that I had not been online for over twenty four hours and I had not talked to or even thought about a client for for over twenty four hours. Shoot, I hadn't even worn a watch or used my cane in twenty four hours. The time in the hot tub had temporarily relieved some of the chronic pain in my legs, knees and back. We cooked and ate a couple of good meals, drank a little cheap sweet wine and spent hours together in the hot tub, sometimes talking and sometimes not. We listened to some good music and had an adventure. It was a good time indeed.