Christmas 2013 - The Second Time Around

Yesterday morning, we gathered at Michelle's house to have our second celebration of Christmas.  Michelle's stepdaughter Ella was not available to this part of the family until yesterday.  She will now be with Robert and Michelle for the rest of the holiday.  That kid has more frequently flyer miles than many traveling executives. There were lots of presents and lots of smiles.  As would be expected, Little Ben appeared to enjoy playing with the boxes and wrapping just about as much as the presents.

We gathered again at 2:00 PM for a belated Christmas dinner with family and friends.  Since we had already done turkey, Michelle decided to cook Italian.  Michelle provided lasagna and Sheila brought chicken picatta. The chicken piccata was particularly good.  The night before when Sheila decided to make it, I asked her if we had white wine for the sauce.  She said that we did.  No problem.  But yesterday when she was cooking, I examined the bottle she was going to use.  It was the last half bottle of my home-brewed sweet white that I was saving for sipping purposes.  Oh well, it went for a good cause.  Michelle made tiramisu from scratch.  It was airy, fluffy and decadent.  I only had a tablespoon but that was enough for me to declare it delicious.  It was a good meal in pleasant company.

As we were sitting at the table, I was again reminded of the fact that I may not be around long enough to get my know my grandson Ben or for him to get to know me.  Last year, I left a Christmas letter that hopefully he will read someday.  I think I will do that again this year:

Dear Ben:

This year, aside from the usual toys and paraphernalia, I gave you two silver coins to commemorate your second Christmas with us.  They are not normal circulated coins.  Rather they are .999 pure silver. Next year, I hope to give you two on your second birthday and three on your third Christmas and so on in the years following.  If I continue doing this, after a while, there should be enough money for you to do something nice for yourself when you are old enough to appreciate it.

There are lessons in my gift that I hope to pass on.  Two ounces of pure silver cost a little over fifty dollars at spot market prices last week. I am betting that, no matter what happens to the U.S. currency in the future, those coins will at least hold most of their residual value if not increase in value considerably. The two cute plastic toys we bought for you cost about the same. Granted, you will have a wonderful time pushing a ball popping lawnmower around the living room and chasing the electronic sensor equipped talking cat around the house.  But, the minute you opened the packaging, their value dropped to a couple of bucks at a garage sale. If you have extra money, there is nothing wrong with exchanging part of it for a little fun. But, that must always be tempered with the necessity of acquiring things of lasting value. A lot of so-called wealth today is nothing more than marks on a piece of paper or bits of information in a computer.  This kind of "wealth" can be declared by fiat and just as easily disappear by fiat.  

As we sat around the dining room table, we were discussing the fact that you have a mild case of anemia.  I shared the fact that I did too when I was a child but mine was due to insufficient protein in my diet. We were that poor for a while when I was a baby.  Things like that are hard to imagine but they happened.  My father, your great grandfather Kumpe, had badly disfigured legs due to rickets, another childhood disease due to malnutrition.  That kind of poverty leaves a lasting mark on the people who experience it.

Later, I watched my mom and dad, your great-grandmother and grandfather Kumpe, do without the normal pleasures of life to buy land, another investment that always has residual value.  They were badly taken advantage of in many of those transactions but that was the way of things in their time and they didn't have the means to fight back.  But, they were able to endure it because they had suffered far worse.  If there was food on the table, a roof over their heads, a fire to keep them warm and clothes enough to go out, they figured they were ahead of the game from where they had been.

It is mistake to assume that the heirs of a family farm are simply given an asset.  Every generation has to pay its dues to the land to deserve its stewardship.  As a child and young adult, I worked the farm hauling hay, feeding cattle, doing vaccinations and castrations and the  million and one other things that are necessary to make it work.  When other kids were staying after school for activities, I came home, threw a few bales of hay and cooked supper for mom and dad.  There was nobody else to do it.  In order to pay for the land, mom and dad both had to work in the factories in Ft. Smith.  So, I came up as rural latch key kid. My childhood was not  unpleasant, just lonely.  I grew up more in the company of books, television and radio than other children.

I paid my dues for the land again after dad died.  I was the sales manager for a large computer company in St. Louis when dad passed and the company was already talking to me about my next move up. St. Louis had been a tough assignment.  However, I had acquired powerful friends in management and proven that I could make it in the big city.  But, after dad's passing, mom could not be left completely alone.  I had to be nearby. She wanted to live alone and think that she was independent but she also needed somebody close by to pick up the pieces and keep her on as even a keel as could be managed. That kind of family duty can't be phoned in.  So, I took a lower position with another computer company that would let me stay in Eastern Oklahoma.  My career in the computer industry never came back.

You may someday inherit a little bit of that land.  That remains to be seen. I will not do to you what my Mom did to me.  She lived in poverty to pass the land on to me when I would have much preferred for her to sell part or all of it so that she could lived in some degree of comfort in her old age.  Dad would have wanted it that way.  But, she just couldn't part with it.  But, whether you inherit a bit of it or not,  I hope that your great grandmother and grandfather Kumpe's example of  sacrifice to invest things of permanent value will not be lost on you.

Perhaps, the  underlying lesson here is that every man of substance has three sets of duties.  The first is to his God. The second is to his family. The third is to his country.  You have to do your duty (pay your dues) to each for your life to be in balance.  Men who shirk these duties have no honor.  There is no guarantee that you will be successful by the world's definition even if you do your best in each of these duties.  But, I can tell you from personal experience that if you do, you will be able to sleep peacefully at night and not be ashamed of the man you see in the mirror the next morning.

Merry Christmas Little Ben.  God Bless.

Grandpa Bill

Christmas 2013 - Quiet and Cozy

This year, we are having the kind of blended family Christmas that more and more families celebrate. Since our son-in-law Robert's daughter, Ella, could not be with us on Christmas day, we postponed opening gifts for the children and for some of the adults until later this week.  So, Sheila and I were alone this morning when opened our gifts to each other.

Among other things, Sheila gave me the KaBar cane that I have already talked about and a video backup monitor system for my car.  She very carefully researched the latter and bought the best rated system that could be found.  Unfortunately, she didn't notice that most of the people rating it drove RV's and big pickups.  It's a wonderful system but there is just no place to mount a seven inch video monitor on the dashboard or anyplace else in my car.  Santa had already brought me a new tablet computer which I began using as soon as it arrived from the Dell elves workshop and a new patch elbow corduroy sport jacket which was hanging over my office door with a bow on the garment bag.  Michelle gave me a package of Jamaican Blue coffee obtained there on their recent trip the Caribbean that was almost worth its weight in gold.  I broke out the french press and made two cups after dinner.  I can see why it is so expensive.  Coffee may never be the same for me again.  It was that good.

Sheila had been complaining that she couldn't see her watches so I bought her two. One is a fancy number by some designer or other with shiny bits here and there.  The other, which she immediately called "the ugly watch," can be read across the room.  I didn't think it was ugly at all. It's just a good sized, plain faced watch.  I hope it grows on her.  At least she can read it without her glasses. I also bought her, as a gag of sorts, a belly dance outfit and an instruction DVD with some simple moves appropriate for a person of our time in life. She saw right through me (and the outfit) and immediately declared that I had bought that gift for myself.  Santa was in a boot mood this year when he thought of her so she received a couple of pairs that she normally wouldn't have bought for herself.  Santa also brought Sheila a large, solid wood, wall hung jewelry cabinet for her substantial and ever growing collection of costume jewelry.  I suspect we will wind up redecorating the bedroom when I install it this weekend.

We headed to Gwenda's house around 9:30. Gwenda is Sheila's older sister who lives in Broken Arrow. Sheila had spent much of the evening Christmas Eve cooking dressing, sweet potatoes and the rest of the fixings.  When we arrived, we cooked a small ten pound turkey that was just about right to feed our small crew.  Around 11:00, Michelle, Robert and Little Ben arrived.  By that time, the house smelled of roasting bird, baking pies and other good things.

It was a quiet little meal but a good one.  The food was wonderful.  Little Ben was shuffled around the table from one person to another while everyone got a chance to eat.  We took a little break to open a few presents from the kids and Gwenda and then began working on dessert.  Gwenda had baked a German Chocolate Pie and a Pecan Pie.  She is the queen of dessert in our family and she lived up to her title again this year.  While I only at a sliver of each they were sinfully delicious.  Michelle baked a vintage recipe chocolate cream pie.  It was almost a culinary history lesson.  Everything made from scratch with the real, old fashioned ingredients.  It was very good as well. By the time we finished our dessert, it was mid-afternoon.  Little Ben had missed his nap and the adults were all half asleep due to the effects of the turkey.

Our second Christmas celebration still awaits us in a few days.  But, this one was special.  It was a lot like the Christmases when I grew up.  Just close family, a good meal, a few presents and space to relax, bond and appreciate each other. A good time was had by all.         

Bill Does Dallas (or maybe Dallas does Bill)

I just got back from a short business trip to the DFW area. I have some suggestions for the DFW Chamber of Commerce, city officials, etc.  (1) Just blow US 75 up and start from scratch.  When you've got it so screwed up and confused that GPS won't work, it is FUBAR. (2) Make it a requirement that every innkeeper, no matter where in the third world they came from, know enough about their neighborhood to give directions to their establishment. (3) Make it a requirement that all inkeepers have some idea of what constitutes a reasonable hotel room in someplace other than the third world.

I started down mid-afternoon Monday and had a pleasant, uneventful drive all the way to McKinney.  I had reservations at the Ramada in McKinney.  I followed the Mapquest directions to the letter, until they started making no sense despite the fact that my GPS showed me exactly where I was supposed to be.   So for the next hour, I made circle after circle on the horrible service roads adjoining 75, consulting my GPS and actually talking to the Middle Eastern hotel clerk at the Ramada.  At one point after I described where I was, this gentlemen said, "I have no idea where you are, but I don't know much about the neighborhood."  My GPS showed me to be within half a mile of his establishment but no signs were visible and obviously, the road directions being given to my GPS did not match whatever had happened to 75 since the data was uploaded. I finally gave up, begged the guy to cancel my confirmation and decided to stay at one of the hotels I could see.

By the time I checked into the Super 8 in McKinney, I was not a particularly happy camper.  I was greeted

by a stylish, very European teenaged girl who checked me in.  So far so good.  When I got the room, I settled down and tried to turn on the TV. Remote didn't work.  So, back to the desk for that. I settled in to relax, drink a soda from the lobby machine and regroup.  By bedtime, the room was getting chilly.  I turned on the heating unit and the room was soon stifling.  When I tried to adjust the temperature, there was no knob.  I adjusted it with a Leatherman tool on the stub.  The walls were thin.  I slept fitfully.

The next morning, I began my morning routine only to find that there was no mirror over the bathroom sink. Someone had obviously stolen it and that fact had gone unnoticed.  I shaved in front of the dresser.  About halfway through my shower, the requested hand shower (which is standard equipment in handicap accessible rooms) sprouted a leak and was semi useless.

On my way out, I decided to take advantage of the "continental breakfast."  I wonder what continent they were talking about.  I would up having a packaged Honeybun and half a cup of regular coffee.  Of course, at eight o'clock in the morning, they had not yet filled the decaf container.   When I got to my car, there was a layer of dust so thick on the windshield that it took seven or eight spritzes from windshield washers to get it to the point that I could see to drive.

The moment I left McKinney, things started looking up.  By now, I knew several miles of the service roads on 75 by heart.  75 itself was a parking lot. So, I took the El Dorado Parkway across to Frisco and after a very pleasant little morning drive through the suburbs arrived at my meeting on time.

The Tavern at StoneBridge Country Club

The meeting turned out to be very pleasant.  After a morning's work, we had a very, very nice lunch at the StoneBridge Country Club.  After lunch, I spent a nice hour or so at their training facility, doing firearms drills on a laser simulator and shooting professional quality airsoft trainers.  The military and many police departments are now using these types of simulators to teach marksmanship and critical decision making skills.  I flunked the shootout test.  The bad buy in a traffic stop gone sour got off two shots before I fired.  Both of my shots were kill shots but unless the bad guy had missed entirely, it would have been too late. The whole thing might have take ten seconds. My host also has long gun training capability and I got a kick out of shooting the full auto airsoft AR-15 that is just about as close to the real thing as you are going to get.

As good a time as I was having, I had to get back to Tulsa in time for a good night's sleep to be ready for today.  So, I retraced my steps out of Dallas and was home in time for dinner.  The house smelled of good cooking when I arrived.  Sheila was just finishing cooking one of my favorite meals, chicken picatta with oven browned small potatoes and vegetables.  It was a great meal.  So, over all, despite the trials of US 75 and a third world motel, a good time was had by all. 

A Conversation With Little Ben Bob

Sheila and I are babysitting our grandson Little Ben Bob this week.  It has been interesting.  Tonight, Sheila forgot her phone at work and had to go back to get it.  She set Ben up in his high chair, warmed his food for him and left me in charge until she got back.  So far, so good.

After a few bites and a few minutes, BB decided to play one of his favorite games, feed the doggie.  The house chihuahua, Jerry Garcia, has learned that if he hangs around the highchair, Ben will feed him.  That wouldn't be too bad if Ben didn't insist on letting the dog take the food from his hand ... the same hand he is feeding himself with.  And worse, he sometimes offers a tidbit to the dog, changes his mind and then eats it himself .... after the dog has licked it.

The first time he fed the dog this evening, I said gently but firmly, "Ben don't do that."  He looked shocked, whimpered a bit and went on eating.  A moment later, he did it again.  This time I said very firmly, "No Ben.  Don't do that."  He immediately burst into tears and kept crying for about five minutes.  He would look at the dog, look at his food, look at me and then begin crying again. He went through several rounds of this.  If I ignored him and looked away, he quit crying.  If I tried to talk to him he would look at the dog, look at his food and then cry at me. He seemed to be saying, "I WANT TO FEED THE DOG."

After the first three or four rounds of this, I became a little concerned.  But, he was breathing OK, was the right temp to the touch, smelled OK and didn't seem to be in any kind of discomfort other than emotional. It seemed to me that he was just unhappy that I had interrupted his favorite supper time game.

So, I said aloud, "Fine Bud.  I've got more patience than you've got energy to cry."  I then proceeded to let him go.  He would whimper, look at the dog, look at the food, look at me and then do it all over again.  He would stop for a while but as soon as I looked at him, it would start all over.  He did that on and off for about half an hour.

About that time, his Mom called.  After she chewed me out for a while for letting him cry, I put her on speaker phone to talk to Ben.  He immediately smiled his biggest smile, watched the phone in rapt fascination and became a very happy baby.  She spoke for just a few moments but that was all it took.  His mood was over.  He then finished his supper and proceeded to be his normal, happy baby, self.

I guess I am old school.  We believed that baby's were little people.  If they did something dangerous or harmful you stopped them and warned them not to do it again.  If the baby decided to cry about it, you made sure there was nothing else wrong and then let them cry until they got tired of crying.  I guess there are more modern methods these days.

A Strange But Sweet Little Thanksgiving

As you grow older, your expectations for the holidays change.  For some, crowds are just annoying.  A hundred screaming kids and a bunch of people, many of whom  you barely know, are just not your cup of tea.  Others can't see why they should be breaking bread with people they would never choose to be around socially just because of some accident of familial relation.  To these folks, holidays are about close family and dear friends. And finally, there are folks who just don't have a place to go. Their family and friends have passed on or moved away or are in some way estranged. These are the folks who eat Thanksgiving dinner in restaurants.  I have been told by some who have experienced it that Thanksgiving dinner in a restaurant is just about the loneliest event you will ever experience.  Until this year, Sheila and I had never eaten Thanksgiving dinner at a restaurant.  But, for reasons more complicated that I need go into here, we wound up eating out this year and it was an absolutely delightful experience.

We met Sheila's sister Daphene and her husband Tommy at Jincy's in Qualls, Cherokee Nation, USA shortly before 1:00 pm Thanksgiving Day. Reservations are required and there are three sittings, 11:00 o'clock, 1:00 o'clock and 3:00 o'clock.  Our reservations were for the 1:00 o'clock sitting.  As we arrived, we met Principal Chief of the Cherokee Nation, Bill John Baker, leaving from the earlier sitting.

Seating is family style and so is the service.  We were seated and waited while the 1:00 o'clock buffet line was set up.  We recognized a few faces from our last trip over and spoke to them briefly.  As a matter of fact, the whole crowd was friendly. When the meal was ready, the proprietor Debbie Rucker came out and announced "We say grace here over our meal." She said it in a sweet but firm Okie voice that gently proclaimed, "You're in my place in the Oklahoma hills and this is our heritage. If you don't like it, get over it."  God bless her.  I'm sure her ancestor Jincy would have been proud of her. Grace was offered by a local businessman who sounded exactly my Baptist ancestors.  I've heard that prayer or its equivalent a thousand times and offered it many times myself.  But, it was still sweet and comforting to hear it again.  It gave me the feeling that even though I was in the midst strangers for the most part, I was still at home in the unique culture I love so dearly.  I have nothing but pity and disgust for those self hating Okies who turn their back on or worse make fun of their rich cultural heritage.  

I really don't know how to describe the food.  It was real home cooking done right by good cooks.  The turkey, ham, mashed potatoes and gravy, dressing, sweet potatoes, green beans, corn and pinto beans were all perfect.  The best way I can describe it is to say that it tasted like my mom and grandma's cooking when they got it right.  For dessert, I had just a sliver of pecan pie, chocolate pie and huckleberry cobbler.  The pecan pie is the best I have ever tasted. Sorry Mom.  Sorry Gwenda.  This is the best. Same with the chocolate pie. Best ever.

After the meal, we sat and talked a while.  Daphene's breast cancer surgery scheduled for this week was the 900 pound elephant in the room.  My wife Sheila is a breast cancer survivor. She and Daphene eventually talked about it.  Daphene shared her feelings about the utter insensitivity and outright boorishness displayed by some people when they find out you have cancer.   Sheila shared some of her experiences. particularly what it is like to live with one breast and a mass of scar tissue.  It was not a conversation for sissies but neither was it morbid.  It was the right talk at the right time in the right place between the right people.

After a while, the crowd began paying their (not insubstantial, thirty bucks a person)

checks and thinning out.  We left after a while, visited a bit more in the parking lot and then called it a day.  My only regret is that I could not arrange for Daphene to get her photo taken with one of the Model A Fords in the parking lot that some of the folks had driven up in.  She wanted to borrow my pistol, hike her leg up on the running board and pose like Bonnie of Bonnie and Clyde. Unfortunately, the folks driving the Model A's got away before we could ask them for permission.  I will make that happen for her yet. Other than that, I wouldn't change a thing.

Little Ben's First Birthday

Michelle, Robert and the doggies all got in on the present
opening.

Sunday was Little Ben Bob's first birthday.  There was a party of course.  There were lots of friends and family present, all adults except for one little boy about BB's age.  There was cake and ice cream and beverages.  I learned that I really like cold "hard cider."  Ben got a lot of presents and was generally cute as can be.  What more can you say? Pics follow:

Little Ben didn't really know what to think about the
cake.  He played with the decorations first. But soon, he
got his very first taste of chocolate and figured out
that this cake thing might be a good deal.

Bill and Sheila's Long Day .... With A Nice Ending

Friday was a sad day.  I had some business at the Sequoyah County Courthouse, straightening out the final details of Mom's estate.  I guess I had been unconsciously putting it off because these were the final details in her passing.  Now, the process is over.  We drove from the courthouse to the humble little house that she loved so dearly.  I spent a quiet hour sitting there in a good recliner in the place that my Dad's chair had always occupied.

My cousin and friend Jim Brannon died last week.  The Funeral was Friday afternoon at the Gans Assembly of God Church.  Remarkably, even in passing Jim gave something to us all.  Instead of preaching the usual funeral sermon, the young preacher paid his respects to Jim and the family and then preached.  He preached quietly but powerfully about the hope
that we can have in Jesus Christ.  I am a Calvinist so I seldom say things like this but I felt the presence of the Holy Spirit.  And then after the sermon, a lovely little Pentecostal lady stood up and sang.  She gave a performance that would have been at home in any recording studio.  Her voice was sweet and powerful.  And again, full of hope.  I suspect that the musicians in heaven will be mostly Pentecostals. 

After the funeral, we drove back to Sallisaw to see Sheila's sister who was recently diagnosed with breast cancer.  She will soon be facing surgery and radiation treatments.  As we were leaving, Daphene admitted that she had been feeling "a little blue" and that we always seemed to just show up at the right time.  It was a nice compliment.

As I headed out of town, I decided to stop at a pawn shop or two and inquire about the guns that were recently stolen from our farm.  One remarkably candid pawnbroker told me that some of the local pawnbrokers do not record all of their purchases with law enforcement.  While I was grateful for that piece of information, I was also coldly furious that local law enforcement was not all over those folks.  Sequoyah County is not so big that local LEO's can't make life unbearably tough for a pawnbroker or junk shop dealer that plays fast and loose with stolen merchandise.  That meant I could not rely on the  pawn shop intake reports the local LEO's receive and I would have to begin paying a visit to every pawnbroker and junk shop in the region.  The guns that were taken were only worth a couple of hundred dollars but they have great sentimental value to me since they were gifts from my father.  I want them back and intend to find them or the identity of the person who took them.

After all of that, I was in kind of a black mood but Sheila was ready for an adventure.  She had heard about this fabulous little restaurant out in the middle of nowhere on the west side of Lake Tenkiller near Tahlequah.  But, she couldn't remember the name.  We wasted several minutes trying to find data coverage for our phones in Sallisaw before giving up on finding it online.  Sheila then called her childhood friend Jackie (Tullos) McKenzie to get directions.  Jackie is a semi pro lady bass fisherman who knows Lake Tenkiller like her own backyard.  She quickly put us on the right track.

However, getting from I-40 west to Qualls, Oklahoma is another matter entirely.  First, we drove one exit too far and got off at Webber Falls, on the wrong side of the river.  We then had to backtrack and cross the river again on 40 east to get back to Gore, where Oklahoma Highway 100 North takes you up the west side of the Lake until you reach "Indian Road" which you follow until you reach Burnt Cabin Marina where you turn off the blacktop onto a gravel road that climbs up through the Cherokee Nation Game Management Area.  After seven or eight miles of that you know that you have arrived at Jincy's Kitchen because there is once again blacktop on the roads.

I seldom say this about a restaurant but .... Jincy's Kitchen is an Oklahoma treasure.  A lot of places try to cash in on the country kitsch, home cookin' concept.  Most of them wind up being nothing more than glorified fast food served in a room full of faux antiques nailed to the walls by people who wouldn't know real southern home cooking if you force fed it to them.  I have a high standard for these things and I have to say, Jincy's is the real deal.

The building is the original Jincy's Mercantile that was built by the current owner Debbie Rucker's great grandmother in 1935. The interior of Jincy's looks just like what it was, an old fashioned Mercantile store.  The shelves are still there and the walls are lined with things Garrett's Snuff glasses and little red Prince Albert cans.  It smells like your mother's kitchen. There are no fake antiques and corny kitsch in this place.  I remember these old country stores and this one is the real deal right down the the wood stove and flooring worn silky smooth by decades of wear.  The building was used as the set for the general store in the movie "Where the Red Fern Grows." 

You don't come to Jincy's if you are in a hurry.  Everything is cooked to order and they will warn you that the fried chicken, which is cooked in a black iron skillet, takes at least half an hour.  It is worth the wait.  Sheila had the chicken fried steak.  I need to mention that they cut their own beef and that it is never frozen.  That chicken fry started out as a piece of good beef not as an over-sized frozen minute steak.  It was the best chicken fried steak I have tasted in decades.  It is even better than the legendary Nelson's Buffeteria chicken fry here in Tulsa.

I had the fried chicken.  It was perfect, old fashioned, southern fried chicken.  It was lightly coated so that you actually tasted the chicken and not the breading.  It was moist, tender and perfectly

seasoned.  From the taste of it, the chicken was fresh as well and had never been frozen.  The mashed potatoes were real, cooked with real butter and evaporated milk.  The gravy was heavy, rich and a perfect compliment.  I also had the pinto beans.  Pinto beans are the mark of a real southern cook.  Few people get them right anymore.  Jincy's beans are perfectly cooked and lightly seasoned so that you taste the beans instead of the broth.  And, they were freshly cooked.  I don't know how Debbie Rucker stole my grandmother's yeast roll recipe but by golly she had it.  The roll was freshly cooked, light, airy and tasted exactly like our family recipe. The portions are generous and you may not have room for dessert.  But, don't let that stop you from ordering it to go.  Debbie's chocolate pie with real meringue on top is also authentic and sinfully delicious.


What kind of people eat at Jincy's?  Last night, there were two hunters who had spent the day in the nearby game preserve.  There was also a small group of senior citizens from Owasso.  And, a couple from Tahlequah and their bank officer son from Tulsa drove down in a 1935 Model A Ford.  And of course, there we were, a limping old Tulsa lawyer and his ever adventuresome biz school grad wife.   

We chatted with Debbie for a moment before we left.  When I told her the food tasted just like Mom's cooking, she beamed.  Debbie is justifiably proud of her place and its heritage.  Jincy's Kitchen is as much an icon of Oklahoma culture as the nearby mansion at Park Hill.  The building alone is an ad hoc museum of depression era life.  The food and the generous attitude it is served with are living re-creations of a vital part of the best of Okie culture.  The experience is well worth the drive.

Here is a link to Jincy's Facebook page:  Jincy's Kitchen.

Another Pink Ribbon

We got some bad news yesterday.  Sheila's sister Daphene was diagnosed with breast cancer.

Breast cancer is no stranger in Sheila's family.  Her older sister Gwenda is a long term survivor after mastectomies decades ago.  Her niece Pamela is now a twelve year survivor after an incredible ordeal.  Sheila is coming up on a five years cancer free after her bout with the disease.

When we got the news, Sheila, Pam and I drove down to spend an hour with Daphene. Serious illness is a time for family and friends.  The girls only spent an hour with Daphene but it was a good hour.  There were tears and there was laughter.   Daphene was scheduled for a colonoscopy today so we all had to watch Jeff Foxworthy's classic (and hilarious) account of his.  A good laugh was needed and good old Jeff provided it.   As we were leaving, Pam took the Breast Cancer survivor's bracelet off her own arm and put it on Daphene's.

There are dark days coming for Daphene. The good news is that it was detected early and it is a common and very manageable form of cancer.  The bad news is that managing breast cancer, even with the best of care in the best of facilities, is an ordeal.  While Sheila had world class care in state of the art facilities supervised by some of the best cancer specialists in the world, it was still a dark, dark time.  The good news however was and is that Gwenda, Pam and Sheila are alive today living reasonably normal lives. While Daphene's life will never be the same afterward, in a likelihood there will be a life afterward and it can be a good life.  Gwenda, Pam and Sheila are living proof.

Another Night on the Town ....

Sheila and I celebrated our 44th wedding anniversary tonight.  Our daughter and son-in-law bought us dinner at Maxwell's, the in-house restaurant located in the Campbell Hotel on 11th Street.  The Campbell is part of the mid-town Route 66 renaissance project. It is an old car dealership which has been turned into boutique hotel serving the midtown Route 66/University of Tulsa area.

Maxwell's is moderately upscale.  I was surprised that they had a very
nice crowd on a weeknight.  I recognized a couple of people including an ex-pat Brit musician/producer/lawyer I met through a professional organization.  Both in house bars were doing a good business as well.  It would appear that this is becoming a fashionable watering hole for the over 40 set in mid town.


Sheila started the evening with a Route Beer Float, a sneaky concoction of coca-cola, Galliano, light cream, whipped cream and vanilla vodka. By the time the drink arrived, so had Michelle and Robert. We split appetizers of roast red pepper hummus and pitas and wasabi deviled eggs. Michelle also had a glass of the very good house red.

Sheila had the prime rib. It was very good, cooked just right. The ample portion of mashed potatoes was quite good as well. Michelle had the pork chop. It was overcooked and dry. I had the fish and chips. I've had better fish at Arthur Treacher's. It was served without any type of sauce on the side. When I asked for malt vinegar, I was given a bottle of Heinz straight off the grocery store shelf. The coleslaw was very good. However, the chips/fries were soggy and uninviting. Robert had the bacon, egg, lettuce and tomato sandwich. It was huge and good. We finished the meal by sharing an order of bread pudding and a piece of their home made apple pie. The serving of the bread pudding is huge, large enough to serve the table by itself. It was well done with an appropriate sauce. The apple pie was good as well but Michelle declared that hers was better and I would tend to believe her.

We passed Little Ben around the table throughout the meal. He actually behaved quite well. However, he did try to eat from his Mommy's plate a time or two with a look on his face that said "Why am I getting boiled veggies while you guys are eating all of the good stuff?" At one point, we noticed him waving away at the Brit lawyer / musician /producer who was having a great time making faces and waving back at him. He makes friends wherever he goes.

When the check came and I reached for it, I saw that there was already a card there and it had been paid. Michelle and Robert had picked up the check. Sheila and I both felt bad that point because we had been ordering like we were spending our own money. It was a really nice and totally unnecessary thing to do. At any rate, we had a great time. Thanks Kids.

Bill and Sheila Puttin on the Ritz .....

Everybody has a special friend or two I guess.  And, I guess families are the same way.  Dr. Francis Manning of the University of Tulsa has always been a family friend to us.  For the many years that Sheila and I were associated with TU in one way or another, we often felt the gentle presence of Frank in the background when a little help was needed.  A true friendship developed.

Last night was a special night for Frank.  A major force in the oil patch endowed a multi-million dollar chair at TU and insisted that Frank be named the first holder of that chair.  It was a tremendous honor for Frank and a well deserved recognition of the decades of hard work he has devoted to turning out some of the best chemical engineers in the oil industry.  Sheila and I were greatly honored and a little shocked when we were invited (engraved invitation no less) to share this moment with Frank and his family.

The soiree was held at the Skelly Mansion.  The Skelly Mansion was built by Bill Skelly the founding president of Skelly Oil.  Over the decades, world leaders such as Winston Churchill, multiple presidents and more political figures and captains of industry than you can count have stayed there.  The Skelly Mansion is now the official residence of the President of the University of Tulsa.

Uniformed parking attendants were waiting for us as we drove up to the main entrance.  TU President Stedham Upton and his wife Peggy were stationed at the front door, greeting each guest as they arrived. The room was filled with the usual TU academic affair mixture of Tulsa society, oil patch money and academics. Sheila and I know most of the faculty and their spouses and a few folks from the oil patch from Sheila's years working as the outreach coordinator for IPEC.  We had a good time catching up with old friends.  I even ran across an acquaintance or two from law school.  As we visited, uniformed wait staff oh so politely and professionally circulated taking bar orders and passing hors d'oeuvres.  As cocktail parties go, it was a darned good one.

After about an hour, speeches were made.  Not the interminable, long winded, self serving windstorms that often occur at these things but rather a simple, straightforward and heart felt expression of the sentiment of the evening.  It warmed my heart to see Frank finally get the recognition he deserves after all of these years of academic toil and struggle.  Frank is one of the good guys and he deserved his moment in the spotlight.  When the speeches were over we waited a few moments, gave Frank a big hug and worked our way out the door.  Within moments, our car was whisked to the end of the long entryway and we drove off into the Tulsa evening.

Politely nibbled canape's and daintily sipped cocktails, no matter how good they are, do not a dinner make.  Sheila and I were hungry and dressed to the nines.  (Well at least to the fives.  I don't know that we are capable of nines anymore.)  But, we couldn't really go out on the town since Sheila had to be up and out of the house early Saturday morning to administer the Professional Engineering certification exam at TU.  We decided to stop at Te Kai's and have something light.  Sheila's boss owns Te Kai's and we know the executive chef. It was too late for a full dinner so we ordered three substantial appetizers, Korean tacos, Satay chicken skewers and potstickers.  It was the perfect end to an evening we will remember for the rest of our lives.  

Friday Night Dinner - Big Anthony's BBQ

Our daughter Michelle asked us to come over and babysit Little Ben Friday evening while she and her hubby went out.  Sheila went looking for a place for us to have dinner in that neighborhood and stumbled across a Groupon for Big Anthony's BBQ just east of 21st and Memorial.

The decor is crisp but comfortable, almost homey.  Very informal.  The term "Big Anthony" is quite descriptive.  We were greeted by none other than former TU basketball star Big Anthony Fobbs, all six foot ten of him.  As soon as he seated us, he brought out some corn muffins for us to munch on while we studied the menu.  I was hooked after the first bite.  It was GOOD cornbread.

I had the smoked chicken with garlic mashed potatoes and baked beans.  The chicken was perfectly done with a pronounced smoky flavor that still allowed the delicate flavor of the meat to come through.  It is served with your choice of three sauces, a hot sauce, a medium house sauce and honey/Jack Daniels combination that is also delicious when poured over the corn muffins.  While the Jack Daniels sauce was good, intriguing actually, I still preferred the house sauce.  It is hard to describe.  I wanted to call it a Memphis sauce but it is not.  It is their own concoction and is a fine addition to the flavor of the meat without overpowering it.

Sheila had rib ends with macaroni and cheese and bacon fried cabbage.  The rib ends were smoky and tender.  The mac and cheese could have been made by your mother.  It was creamy and rich and the perfect foil for the smoky ribs.  The bacon fried cabbage took me back to my childhood.  My mom used to fix almost the same dish, chopped cabbage fried with side meat.  It used to be a poor man's supper on black and white dinner tables in the south.  Now it is a delicacy.

We Okies tend to classify our barbecue joints into categories like Memphis, or KC or even the dreaded Carolina.  Big Anthony's is none of these.  They are apparently doing their own sauces and rubs and they are unique.  There is an almost Oriental influence to the spice mixture.  It is a little unusual but good, very good actually.  Barbecue and barbecue places have personalities.  If they don't, they aren't authentic.  Big Anthony and Kim are expressing another personality in the barbecue family here and it is a pleasant one.

Anthony and Kim are gracious hosts.  They also seem to be very nice people.  We will be back and we will bring friends.    

Friday Night - Dinner and a Movie

Friday night dinner and movie is something of an institution for many couples.  Or at least it used to be. Sheila and I did it regularly for years.  But, times change.  For one thing, Hollywood hasn't produced much that I want to see for years and the good things they do produce now are often released in limited runs in big cities with "art house" venues.  Here in the heartland we get the big budget bovine excrement aimed at room temp IQ's while the big cities get the smaller, better, more intelligent movies.

Last Friday night, Sheila was tired.  A lot of her spare time is being spent at TU working on her consulting job there.  And, I was still stove up from last weekends adventure at the gun range.  So, we stayed in. Sheila stopped by the Reasors at 15th and Lewis and picked up catfish and fixins from their deli.  BTW, their catfish is the best and the cheapest in town.  When she got home, we settled in for an evening in front of the tube.

Lately, I have been browsing through the movie collection on Hulu Plus.  It is actually a pretty good selection of movies that you probably haven't seen anywhere else.  Foreign flicks, art movies, small distribution projects, etc.  It even includes the Janus collection of art films.  While we munched our catfish, I stumbled across this little gem:

Imagine this scene.  Your husband calls and says he has to work late.  You stop by his favorite restaurant to get him a piece of his favorite pie to eat when he gets home and you see him eating a piece of the pie there with a sexy younger woman.  A nasty scene follows.  The younger woman is devastated.  You follow the young woman.  She stops at a bodega and buys a fifth of scotch and a length of clothesline.  You then follow her home and keep her from drinking the scotch and hanging herself.  I know it doesn't sound funny but it is. It is not laugh out loud funny but instead very witty and thought provoking.  So far as I know, this little movie never made it into distribution here in the heartland.  Maybe they though we wouldn't understand the Shakespeare.  And yes, there is Shakespeare all through it.

So, if you were ever curious about what an aging lawyer and his b-school grad wife do on a Friday night in Tulsa, Oklahoma now you know.  We eat carry out catfish and watch movies online.

Sand Springs Espresso - A Little Gem In Prattville

Our good friends Bill and Mary Jo Rowe have opened a new business in Prattville called Sand Springs Espresso.  They opened their doors to the public today.  I dropped in after lunch.  I was pleasantly surprised.

The decor is clean, fresh and tasteful.  Mary Jo has worked hard to make it warm and inviting and she has succeeded. There is an area with cafe tables and chairs where you can watch Fox News. There is an area with overstuffed leather sofas and recliners where you can settle in with a book or your Kindle.  And, there is a raised area with booths where sippers can get a little privacy.  Overall, the layout is darn near perfect.

Bill and Mary Jo managed to hire an experienced barrista for their startup.  I ordered a decaf latte with Irish Cream.  It was perfect.  The quality of the coffee itself was excellent, rich and aromatic with good undertones.  And, the drink was prepared perfectly, with just right foam that didn't overpower the coffee but instead added a creamy richness.

Right now, aside from coffee and frozen drinks, Mary Jo only serves pastries and bagels.  When things settle in, she plans to offer a light lunch like soup and sandwiches daily. 

You don't expect to find a big city style coffee shop in places like Prattville, USA. But, Bill and Mary Jo have created one with a unique twist.  SSE has the drinks, the books, the seating, the decor and the atmosphere that any big city coffee shop lover would look for.  But, it does not have the big city rush, coldness and snarkieness that many of these places wind up acquiring.  In short, they are offering big city products with small town service.  That's a pretty good deal for the folks in Prattville if you ask me.  

Sand Springs Espresso is located at 1 West 41st Street in Prattville one block west of Highway 97 on 41st Street West.  If you are anywhere near, stop in for a really good cup of coffee.   

I Passed By The Skin Of My Teeth -- A Postmortem

Today after lunch, I took out my airsoft pistol, went to the deck and started to trying to figure out why I could shoot pretty well with it and do so lousy on a real world law enforcement range. I think I have found some answers that may be useful to other people who are using airsoft practice to save money on ammo. This is the pattern I shot today. (And I promise I won't post any more Mr./Ms CLEET target pics for a long time.) It is obvious that Mr. CLEET had a bad day.

These are the shots/maneuvers I practiced and they were all done rapid fire.  This is my normal short range practice routine.  At the one yard line, using the non-gun hand to either deflect the weapon or strike the attacker with the heel of your palm at the bridge of the nose, do an an un-aimed one hand grip double tap to the chest/heart kill zone.  At the three to five yard line, do a two hand grip double tap to the chest/heart kill zone.  At the five to seven yard line, do a two hand grip double tap to the chest/heart kill zone or a single shot to the head.  In the past, I had aimed this shot at the center of the forehead.  After this weekend's instruction I am now aiming at the nose because that disconnects the brain from the brain stem and kills without the possibility of the attacker getting a shot off in his death throes.

So, what was I doing wrong when I played with the big boys.  First, the airsoft does not require nearly as

The upper is Airsoft Glock copy.  The bottom is a real Glock.
The feel is pretty close to the same.  If you saw the orange
barrel tip off of the Airsoft, it will draw pretty well like a Glock.
After that, the similarities cease.

much safety management.  I was very self conscious about being range safe with my weapon this weekend and playing by the range rules.  I did not have the smooth confidence with my weapon that I should have. That may have slowed me down some but it was time well spent because it will make me a better, safer shooter.

Second, the airsoft does not have recoil or slide movement.  Once on target, it stays on target unless you move it.  The recoil of a .40 caliber, while not intense, does induce movement of the hand.  Also, with an airsoft you can get bad grip habits.  In the close in shots with an airsoft, you don't have to worry about the slide hitting you in the belly.  With the two hand shots on an airsoft, you don't have to worry about hitting your thumb with the slide.

So, what is an airsoft good for? Learning basic marksmanship kills and gun handling.  What is it not good for?  Putting the fine touches on shooting in the real world.  The airsoft does not require  you to deal with recoil, trigger staging or slide movement.  It also does not require you to deal with muzzle blast and the big boom.  Bottom line, in my opinion, airsoft practice is worth the time but at some point you have to put in the time with the real deal.

So, what did I do wrong? I should have practiced more with a real weapon.  And, I should have practiced more at the fifteen and twenty five yard lines at the range.  I should have handled that particular weapon more around an instructor until I was comfortable with it.  And, I should have hired an instructor early on to break me of my bad shooting habits.

I Passed By the Skin of My Teeth

I have just completed the final phase of CLEET Phase IV Firearms Training for Private Investigators.  So far I had aced everything in the program.  But, not this time.  Phase IV humbled me.  I am accustomed to being near the top of my classes.  I struggled for the middle of the class and the middle was barely passing.

Our instructor was Major Mike Reed, Chief of Detectives for the Sapulpa Police Department.  Mike is a veteran police officer and a gifted firearms instructor.  He is a certified Glock and Colt armorer. The ease with which he can pull his Glock and punch the center out of the kill zone is simply amazing .... and again humbling. He also has great patience with those less skilled.

In this course, the name of the game above all is to handle your weapon safely. A few folks had a problem with that and were almost ordered to leave the range which is an automatic fail for the whole course.  It has to be that way.  You can't have a person mishandling a loaded firearm. People could get killed.

The next goal of the course is to master the mechanics of smoothly and quickly drawing and re-holstering your weapon, quickly reloading it under combat conditions and even quickly clearing jams under combat conditions.  We practiced all of these operations again and again.

The final goal is to quickly draw your weapon, using all of the other skills above and put two or three rounds into the kill zone of your target within a few seconds.  The times range from three seconds to six seconds. For example, a the three yard line, you have three seconds to draw and put three rounds into the kill zone, two the heart and one to the center of the face.  It's not nearly as easy as it sounds and it all gets much harder as you back out to twenty five yards.  The video below shows why shooting fast from all of those positions is necessary:

We drilled and then fired again and again.  As the practice continued, the enormity of what we were practicing finally sunk in. This was not about plinking tin cans for sport.  It was not even about  killing a squirrel or a buck for dinner.  The kind, gentle man who was our instructor was teaching us how to quickly and reliably kill another person who had become a threat. That skill is truly awesome burden to bear that should require much sober thought before taking it on.

There is a final written test to be taken next week and after that some administrative paperwork.  When that is done, barring any complications, I will be a licensed, armed private investigator.  So, how do I feel now that it is over?  First, I'm glad that it is over. The two days of shooting was physically challenging for me and I was in pain much of the time.  I'm glad the pain is over. Aside from just hurting, the pain was also maddeningly distracting.  But, my shooting days are not over.  If this class taught me anything, it taught me that carrying a weapon is a terrible responsibility that requires constant training and improvement. I was humbled by the course and the skills of our instructor and that in turn showed me what I need to do.  I guess that is a good place to start.

Teaching An Old Dog New Tricks .....

Next week, I start firearms training for my Private Investigators license. I have been putting this off. It is expensive, time consuming and for me at least, it will be physically painful. I don't even need a PI license to do investigations for my legal clients in Oklahoma.  And, it is really kind of ironic. The investigations that I have been conducting and will continue to conduct are done mostly online and by telephone.  It is really kind of boring, high tech snooping.  Nothing like what you see on TV.  I am not and do not want to be a junior James Rockford.  But, you do occasionally come across a really bad character and they can get really ticked off when someone reveals their presence in an organization.  But, since the Oklahoma legislature in all of its wisdom does not allow unarmed private investigators the same rights to self defense under the concealed carry act as other citizens, it is necessary for me to either go the full PI route or refuse investigations for clients who are not also clients of my law practice.

CLEET (the Oklahoma Council on Law Enforcement Education and Training) is picky about firearms. I found that I did not own a handgun that they would allow me to train with. Most of my experience has been with 1911 frame or Browning type weapons. CLEET prefers the Glock styles. So, I arranged to use a Glock for my training.

This week, I have been trying to get familiar with the beast. It has not been an easy task. The Glock is a well engineered weapon. But, for reasons known only to God, it is a world apart from a 1911 in use. Maybe it's just my old
dog habits, but the 1911 frame points naturally for me. The Glock does not. I have to concentrate on the sight picture instead of just pointing the front sight. And, the balance doesn't feel right. The heft of the 1911 seems to settle my aim. The Glock is light, even when fully loaded.

Make no mistake, it would not be a good idea for an attacker to stand in front of me firing a Glock. At simulated combat ranges, I hit the attacker ninety percent of the time. So, with 15 rounds in the magazine, that means thirteen rounds are going into the attacker.  But, the hits were not the steady, center mass pattern I was accustomed to with my older weapons. I was all over the target. There didn't seem to be a pattern. Next week will tell the tale. It remains to be seen if I can even physically get through the firing routine which requires drawing and firing after advancing, firing while kneeling, looking around barriers, etc. much less hit the target consistently enough to pass. But, I won't know until I try.

Phil and SI Do A Sitcom ....

Several months ago, Sheila and I ditched our satellite and cable connections in favor of internet streaming.  Aside from costing way less, streaming gives us the chance to literally program for ourselves, choose what we want to watch when we want to watch it and choose over a much wider range of programming.  Aside from a few things on PBS, we haven't watched pure network programming in years.  Almost everything you see on the networks, both broadcast and cable, is released for streaming the day after it's original air date and will be available then for several days or even indefinitely. So, why pay $50.00 per month to watch your favorite show on A&E when you can stream it for less than $10.00 per month the next day?

I was surfing Hulu Plus ($8.00 per month for literally hundreds of foreign and domestic movies and more TV content than you could ever watch) when I saw a promo for a new season of an ABC sitcom called "Last Man Standing" that included Phil and Si from "Duck Dynasty."  I figured I would watch a minute or two to see what it was like.  I was shocked.

I never thought that I would be saying the words ABC (normally the Anything But Christian), Tim Allen (the poster child for the stupid father image that is destroying American families) and sitcom (usually thirty minutes of mind numbing pop culture propaganda) in the same sentence as "well written," "smart," "funny," and "provocative."  Well, "Last Man Standing" is just that, well written, smart, funny and provocative (in a good way, that is provoking thought on issues that matter.)  Here is an example, a comedic discussion of fracking, environmentalism and decisions made on pop culture values: FRACKING EPISODE   (Sorry YouTube won't allow to embed, follow the link).   But, here is the kicker.  Bet you thought you couldn't even mention Christ on TV much less teach a mini Bible lesson.  Guess again, executive producer Tim Allen pulled it off with the help of Phil and Si from Duck Dynasty:




And here is Tim talking to the Phil and Si, admitting he comes from "a church family."  The show is worth watching.  Watch it on the internet.




Postscript:  During every show, Tim does a little monologue that manages to be funny and thought provoking. Listen for the political/social commentary:

A Weekend At Home In the City

I know that some of my blog readers live in the country.  You may wonder what a city dwellers weekend is like.  I will take a shot at answering your question.

Friday evening, when Sheila got off work, we had dinner at our favorite little Vietnamese joint at 21st and Memorial.  The waitress (and part owner) knows us well enough to not even bother to bring a menu much of the time.  We had our usual, an order of cold spring rolls followed by a bowl of Bun Ga Nuong.  The spring rolls are filled with salad, pork, shrimp and herbs and are served with a delicious
peanut butter sauce on the side.  Bun Ga Nuong is a combination of salad, vermicelli noodles, sprouts, herbs and chicken served with Nuoc Mam (fish sauce) on the side.  It is a light but very tasty and satisfying meal.

After dinner, we bought groceries at the WalMart SuperCenter on South Memorial near Woodland Hills Mall. As we shopped, I saw a shirt that I wanted but was not available in my size.  (Yes, I do wear WalMart clothes around the house, at the farm, etc.)  More about that shirt later.  We finished shopping and got home around 8:30.  We then had a bowl of fat free ice cream and a cup of decaf coffee while watching an old British movie on Hulu Plus.

When Sheila resigned from the University of Tulsa to take her current job, they asked her to stay on part time under a consulting contract.  A couple of times per year, she has to put in several long days at the University.  Among other things, she proctors the Registered Professional Engineer Exam and maintains the website and online publications for a four university research consortium based out of TU.  This was her weekend to work on the website.  She left early and was gone all day.  I was still getting over a round of flu/summer cold so, after a couple hours at the desk, I spent most of the day with a good book.

Around lunch time, I called Sheila and said I would take her out to lunch.  We went to a little Greek place north of campus a few blocks on the edge of the bad part of the hood.  Sheila had a Gyro sandwich (lamb sausage and salad wrapped in a pita and served with cucumber dressing).  They had no chicken and I try not to eat much red meat.  So, I went vegetarian with rice stuffed grape leaves.  We split a large of pita bread and humus.  It wasn't a bad little lunch.  By dinner time, Sheila was dead tired.  So, she brought home carryout chicken and we ate in front of the TV.

Sheila likes to cook breakfast on Sunday morning.  This Sunday, she fixed a nice omelet that we ate on the deck.  It was delightfully cool.  I actually had to go back in and get a tee shirt.  After breakfast, she cleaned house for an hour but I stopped her.  The house wasn't that dirty and I really didn't want her working around the house after working all day Saturday.  So, I talked her into going shopping for the camo shirt that I saw in WalMart Friday night.  There are several big WalMarts around Tulsa, so I figured we would be gone a while and riding around in the car and bumming around is a lot more restful than cleaning house.  But, she outsmarted me.  At the second WalMart, she took a smaller size of the shirt and had a clerk look it up on the computer.  Sure enough, it doesn't come in my size since "young men's" sizes only go up to 2X.  So, we went home and took a nap.

Dinner was special even if it was easy.  Sheila decided to visit our common German roots by fixing oven roast potatoes, grilled bratwurst and sauerkraut.  It was good.  And, one of our favorites from PBS was on later in the evening, Foyle's War.  So, we ate a nice little dinner and settled in to a good British mystery on TV.  Not a bad evening.  Not a bad weekend.