Happy Birthday, Sissipoohkins!!

I had a busy day today. I got up and baked a birthday cake first thing, then went out for coffee with a former colleague who wanted to buy two of the dialysis cookbooks I worked on last year. After that, I had to buy some groceries and make a trip to the liquor store, then take my nephew for a haircut. I then came home, vacuumed the house, iced the cake, made enough macaroni and cheese to feed a schooner’s crew, washed a ton of dishes while another ton was in the dishwasher, set the table, and wrapped the birthday gifts. I was heading to the living room to sit for a minute before the festivities began, but everybody arrived before I could do that.

It was my sister’s birthday. It was a nice party with all her young’uns together. That doesn’t happen much. She’s already had a bunch of birthdays and claimed she didn’t want a fuss, but still! You have to mark the occasion, and it’s gotta be nice, but this year, there was only one little gift that she didn’t know about, and I hate that! I don’t mind that she knew some of the gifts, after all we’re not six years old anymore, but it’s nice to have a surprise or two, all the same.

The one little surprise was a Chris de Burgh CD, “Moonfleet and other stories”.

“Moonfleet” is a book by J. Meade Falkner, written in 1898, and set in 1757, about a young boy, John Trenchard, who grew up in the village of Moonfleet, on the south coast of England. It's a village of rum-runners with whom he accidentally gets involved, and the adventures and perils in which he finds himself. It is a wonderful, wonderful story.

My sister, who is a couple of years older than me, studied “Moonfleet” in school. The Captain on the last ship I was on did it in school as well. It wasn’t done when I was in school, but I did come across Alice’s copy, decades ago, and have read it several times since. The most recent time was just a month or so ago. I had bought it through the Sony Bookstore and downloaded it onto my eReader, and enjoyed it immensely once again. (…that is, if you can call a book that makes you cry your heart out at the end “enjoyable”, then I enjoyed it!! I can't remember the last time I cried while reading a book, but this one did it, for sure.)

The Captain who I mentioned before was looking at my eReader one day and saw it there, that’s how we got talking about it. After he left, I looked on amazon.com to see if the book was still available for purchase. (It is.) While I was looking for it, that’s when I came across Chris de Burgh’s “Moonfleet and other stories” CD. He has written songs about the story which are interspersed with his own narration of the book. I was thrilled to find this, knowing Chris de Burgh to be the wonderful storyteller he is from his own songs and ballads over the years.

So, I got one for Alice, and needless to say I got one for me, too. Now, all I need is a stormy night, with a fire in my (so far non-existent) fireplace, a glass of bootlegged rum, and my CD playing on the stereo, so I can relive the tale of John Trenchard, the church, Blackbeard’s coffin, and the Why Not? Inn, with the cribbage table which bears the inscription, “As in life, so in a game of hazard, skill will make something of the worst of throws”.

If I were ever to be marooned on a desert island, and could only have one book with me, “Moonfleet” by J. Meade Falkner would be that book. I hope the Chris de Burgh CD does this beautiful story justice.

Happy Birthday, Alice!! I hope your little surprise turns out to be a good one!!

Mixmaster Monday

Welcome back to Mixmaster Monday!!

This week, I am featuring Meringue Mushrooms. This is a recipe I found on a website and have been making for a few years now. They never fail to impress, because they look so much like the real thing!

They take a bit of time to make, but are not difficult or finicky.

I have a number of photos to post with the recipe, to make their assembly as clear as I can, so without further ado, here is the recipe.

MERINGUE MUSHROOMS

1/2 cup egg whites (no yolk whatsoever, not even a little smidgeon)
1/4 tsp cream of tartar
1/4 tsp salt
1 tsp vanilla
1 cup white sugar
1 tbsp unsweetened cocoa powder
5 or 6 Hershey Kisses

Preheat oven to 225°F. Line 2 cookie sheets with parchment paper.

In a large glass or metal bowl, use an electric mixer to whip egg whites until foamy.

Add cream of tartar, salt, vanilla. Continue whipping until the whites hold soft peaks.

Slowly and gradually, sprinkle in the sugar, so that it does not sink to the bottom. I usually add the sugar a spoonful at a time, sprinkling it over the mixture in the bowl. Continue whipping until the mixture holds stiff, shiny peaks. Do not hurry this step.

If you don't have a pastry bag, a baggie with a hole cut in the corner will work well for piping the meringue.

Start piping the meringue as follows:

Mushroom caps - Squeeze out round mounds of meringue to the desired size. Pull the bag off to the side to avoid making peaks on the tops.

Mushroom stems - Press out a tiny bit of meringue onto the other sheet, then pull the bag straight up. They should resemble Hershey Kisses. 
 

The pieces don't need to look exactly the same, as they will look more natural if the sizes and shapes are varied.

Bake for 1 hour or until the caps are dry enough to easily remove from the cookie sheets. Set aside to cool completely.

The pieces do not brown while in the oven. In order to make them look more natural, dust them very lightly with the cocoa powder, prior to assembly.

Melt the Hershey Kisses in a small microwaveable bowl, stirring until smooth. 

Poke a small hole in the bottom of each cap.

Spread a little bit of chocolate over and into the hole, then insert the pointed end of the stem into the hole.

When the chocolate sets, the pieces will hold together.

Repeat until all are done!

They look really good if you serve them in a little container that real mushrooms come in at the supermarket.

You can make over 50 mushrooms per batch. I usually find that I have more meringue than cookie sheet space. Just make sure to make enough stems for the caps. A few extra stems are handy in case one or two break.

Have fun impressing your guests!!

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Missing friends...

I haven’t had the opportunity to write a post before when I was chillin’ out (read “drunk”) after a dinner party at my house. The company was great, the wine was wonderful, and all is right with the world! God knows what I’m about to write, because I have no idea!!

I don’t know if it’s the wine speakin’, or if it’s the fact that I’m still adjusting to being 50, but once everyone was gone, I did get a bit melancholy thinking about absent friends.

Living in the era I have, and having taken advantage of the opportunities that I did, I have come to meet and know people from many different parts of the world: the UK, Poland, most all of the Canadian provinces, as well as many throughout the United States.

We, unlike people of earlier generations, are able to keep in touch with our worldwide friends in ways our parents and grandparents could not have imagined. We have email, Facebook, Twitter, blogs, Skype, smartphones and other technological advances that still boggle my mind. And as much of a wonderful thing as all of these are, it STILL is not quite the same as sitting across a coffee table from someone, and spending an evening with people you know and like and love.

I had a really great time tonight with the people who were so kind to come and spend an evening here with me and our mutual friends. It was so good that I couldn’t help thinking about the others who I wish could have been here, too.

Sooooo, to all of you, and I hope you know who you are, I just want to let you know that you were missed tonight.

As soon as Facebook or Skype or some futuristic website can organize worldwide dinner parties, I’ll be in line to sign up for one and invite you, you can be sure!

In the meantime, I’ll keep hoping that I’ll live long enough to see you all again, and relive a few of the memories I have of each of you.

{{{{{{{{{{group hug}}}}}}}}}}

Charlie Sheen's downward spiral

I usually have pretty firm opinions about stuff, good, bad or indifferent. In the case of Charlie Sheen, though, I just can’t make up my mind.

His drug and booze-fuelled lifestyle over the past few years has been legendary. He hangs out with hookers, beats them up, and has a revolving door attitude to rehab and jail.

Until yesterday, he didn’t cross my mind from one month to another. I’ve never been a fan of his. I’ve seen a couple of movies he’s been in, but he’s never been an actor of any great consequence, in my opinion, anyway. But I have been aware of his off-screen goings-on for years, starting with his $50,000 cheques paid to Heidi Fleiss, the Hollywood Madam from whom he solicited high-priced prostitutes.

His most recent antics have now resulted in the cancellation of “Two and a Half Men”. CBS decided to pull the plug on the last episodes of the season, following his foul-mouthed, racist rant against the show’s creator, Chuck Lorre. Those in the know are saying that it probably means the end of the series, not just the season.

I’ve never seen the show, so I won’t miss it, and from what I understand, I haven’t been missing much, anyway. Charlie Sheen was reportedly earning in the neighborhood of $1.2 million per episode. Not so for the crews who produce his TV show, who now suddenly find themselves out of work because of this guy.

Like the rest of us, he probably lives paycheque to paycheque. I buy a new HDTV… he rents $50,000 prostitutes and does enough drugs to keep Afghan and Colombian drug lords in business.

So, here you have someone who’s been an ongoing train-wreck for years, with more money than God, on a self-destruct mission of an intensity rarely seen, even in the Hollywood press.

Even someone like me, light years away from knowing the inner workings of Hollywood, can imagine that a guy with that kind of fame – or notoriety, call it what you will – is surrounded by legions of yes-men, people who are more interested in being in his orbit, than they are in keeping him alive.

They must be some very talented yes-men. I believe no one can arrive at that state of human decay without being helped along the way. No one wants to say no to this guy. Well, his father Martin Sheen tried a few years back, having him arrested and got him into rehab. Didn’t do much good, though, sadly, which is why I flip-flop between pity and blame for this guy. On one hand, he has a family who have been trying to deal with this the best they can for years, and on the other hand, he’s a guy who, because of his fame and fortune, probably hasn’t had a genuine friend or heard an honest opinion in his whole life, or hasn’t heard the word ‘no’ in years, either. 

Yesterday, he called in to a radio talk show in Los Angeles, and railed against the creators of the show, Alcoholics Anonymous, and spoke of himself in the most arrogant terms imaginable. The recording of this radio show was played over and over Friday on Fox News Channel. At first, I thought he was just another the-world-revolves-around-me celebrity. The more often I heard his barrage of insults, arrogance and nonsense, the more it occurred to me that this is a man in serious trouble, psychologically. That should have been evident back when he aligned himself with the faction that believes 9/11 was an 'inside job', but who takes those crackpots seriously? 

Just because he is a supposedly talented actor doesn’t mean he has any strength of character, which you have to have when the rest of the world, who doesn’t know you at all, is telling you how wonderful you are. It’s a wonder that any celebrity comes out of that racket alive, when you think about it.

Ya gotta wonder when was the last time he was truly sober? He said during his rants yesterday that he's "100% cured". Listening to his meltdown, that's a scary thought, if true. I can't ever remember seeing a photo of him, or seeing him on TV or in a movie, where he didn't have this kind of crazed look in his eyes. He always looks like he is about to come unglued. Well, I think it's finally happened.

I guess, then, he’s about to learn that there are consequences to his actions, but how much impact will these consequences have to someone with his kind of wealth and fame?  

I don’t know.

All I know is that in my humble opinion, he is equally as much to be pitied as blamed. It seems pretty certain that he will die a very ugly, public death unless someone makes some kind of impression on him. Soon.

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Cracking gum gives me visions of cracking heads

My sister and I went with my father to an appointment on Thursday at the Health Sciences Ambulatory Care unit.

Much to my delight, I can report that as far as the services rendered there went, there was not one horrible thing that happened to him or us, unlike recent past experiences at the Day Surgery unit.

But…there’s always something, isn’t there?

There we were, my sister and I, in the small waiting room, waiting. Not 10 feet away, another lady was waiting for someone else. She had been sat there about as long as we had been, talking to someone, and I hadn’t really paid any attention to her. That other someone was eventually called to be seen in the clinic, leaving this other lady out in the waiting room with us.

We would not have known she was even there had she not started cracking her gum for all she was worth.

While her friend was with her, she was talking, and therefore her mouth was otherwise engaged. But once the friend went in to her appointment, Gum Crack Ho started in chomping and cracking, cracking and chomping.

For the information of gum-chewers worldwide, no one, not even Sophia Loren or Angelina Jolie, looks good chewing gum. My sainted mother always compared gum-chewers to cows chewing their cud. My mother was never wrong. The beauty of people who merely chew gum, though, is that I have the option to not look at them if I don’t want to. And besides, if people don’t mind looking like cows chewing their cud, I don’t mind. It’s nothing to me.

It’s not quite the same with cracking gum, unfortunately. When you have to sit in a waiting room with someone who insists on inflicting their body noises on everyone else, you cannot escape it, short of sticking your fingers in your ears and saying “nyah-nyah-nyah” over and over to yourself to counteract the noise. You just have to sit there and have your nerves jangled by someone making that annoying, irritating, unnecessary, startling racket that serves no purpose whatsoever other than to disrupt my peace of mind, or to further aggravate an unsettled mind, particularly when sat in a hospital waiting room, a place no one wants to be. As I said to my sister, “I’d rather she was over there farting. At least you could rationalize that she couldn’t help herself.” My sister was quick to point out that this particular woman’s gum cracking melody already sounded like a string of farts.

What is it about people that makes them think that everyone within earshot wants to hear their body noises? It’s not only the gum crackers. It’s also the whistlers. People walk along a hospital corridor or in a shopping mall, or sit behind you on a plane, whistling like they think they’re Pavarotti and everyone wants to hear them. NO WE DON’T. Shut up, for God’s sake and keep your off-tune muzak to yourself!!!  

I mean, think about it!!! If somebody strolling down the main concourse of the Avalon Mall suddenly burst into song, "Que Sera, Sera", for example, people would be looking at this person like they were out of their mind, and someone would probably be calling the Mental. Why is there such a dichotomy between singers and whistlers? Why can't I be allowed the call the Mental on whistlers, or gum crackers?

Gum crackers are one of the reasons why I haven’t been to a movie in years. They sit behind me like they know I'm the person who is far and away the most likely to be driven crazy by the racket. And there I sit, unable to concentrate on the movie, all the while thinking how much I'd like to swing around and stuff their pursed lips full of my fist. BUT… next week, my sister and I are planning on venturing into Studio 12 to see “The King’s Speech”. GOD HELP THE SON-OF-A-BITCH WHO COMES WITHIN 50 FEET OF US, CRACKING GUM IN THAT THEATER. I will lose my frigging mind, right there. That’s a promise. And a warning. Someone will be ending up at the Mental, guaranteed.

 .

Introducing Florence Monkeygale

OK. I read the following story last night, and it got me thinking. It's about a guy who sustained a spinal cord injury about 5 years ago, and was left a quadriplegic. He now depends on a 'helper' monkey to assist him.

How nice!

Whoa, wait a minute...

Like so many things, at first blush, it sounds like a great idea. The monkey can retrieve things, turn on lights and music and, according to this story, can even play games.

The story says, "She (the monkey) sleeps in his room. She has become his partner and friend. Ned says, “More than just companionship, I always felt like she’s a wingman. She’s like a copilot.” Ellen (his mother) says, “She fills a huge void in his life.”

Now, is it just me, or are there others who are scratching their heads about this, too?

First of all, the guy, Ned, should be relying on human companionship to fill "a huge void in his life", be it in the form of family, friends, or a caregiver / companion. If he's relying on a primate to fill a void in his life, then there are a few homo sapiens who have a lot to answer for.

I 'get' the concept of people loving their pets, and even depending upon and being grateful for service animals, guide dogs for the blind, for instance. But to say "she has become his partner and friend", and that the monkey sleeps in his room, etc., well, I just have to wonder. I do.

For starters... who takes care of the monkey?

If the comments at the end of this story are to be believed, these monkeys are diaper-wearers for their 40-year life span, and are prone to relieving themselves wherever, whenever, when startled. Clearly, this monkey relies on human intervention to keep it clean, to feed it, etc. Which leads me to the salient point of this whole matter...

Why isn't Ned being looked after by a human, too?? Remove the middle-monkey from the equation. Whoever it is that's looking after the monkey - knock that off, and look after ol' Ned instead!!! WHY does the monkey rate human care, but Ned does not?

I'm amazed, quite frankly, that none of the article's commenters picked up on that. Or maybe I am just more of an 'outside the box' kind of thinker than those who have commented so far. It just strikes me as very odd.

Maybe it's because I see so many instances these days of nurses being removed from traditional and appropriate nursing roles in favor of less-educated individuals. Canadian Blood Services is no longer hiring RNs to screen potential blood donors. This is being done by people off the street, with no nursing background, who are being relied upon to make decisions as to whether or not individuals are appropriate blood donors.

Then there are dialysis units throughout the United States who employ on-the-job-trained technicians, not RNs, to staff dialysis units. It's all well and good when everything is going well. But, you're dealing with individuals who have chronic health problems to begin with. The benefit of having health care professionals continually monitoring - and more importantly intervening - is being outweighed by the cost-saving measure of hiring uneducated non-professionals in that role.

And now, it's looking like the trend is not even moving towards technicians or untrained personnel. Now, the trend is to hire a baboon. It's not giving me a whole lot of professional pride, gotta say.

And, forget the whole 'professional pride' argument. The guy probably doesn't need RN-level care. A home care worker, even a community volunteer, would adequately meet his needs, and have the added benefit of not slinging sh*t every time the phone rings.

It's a wild animal. No matter how tamed or trained it is, it is a wild animal. They have no capacity to "love", they have the capacity to not eat you as long as their needs are met. As much as animal lovers will argue the point - yawn - animals do not possess human emotions, do not have personalities (as they are not persons), and have millenia's worth of inbred instincts that will outweigh the best scratch behind the ears you can give them.

I'm not an animal hater. I'm an animal realist.

This is not a symbiotic relationship. It's all very much one-sided. Take your typical puppy. The puppy will roll over and beg, the owner will give it a treat. Give and take. Not so with this helper monkey. It's doing all the work. Monopoly and Scrabble don't come easy to monkeys. It's poor brain must be so confused - swing from the chandelier? Or buy Park Place?

And another thing. It's one thing to consider this in the context of a total stranger. For just one moment, consider leaving one of your own loved ones in the care of an orangutan. I couldn't do it. I could not go off to work in the morning and think about a loved one of mine sitting home, playing Yahtzee with Bubbles.

Here's a photo of Bubbles with Michael Jackson, back when Mike was black. Talk about a confused monkey...

It's all too ridiculous. I used to fear ending up paralyzed and dependent on someone. Now, I have to amend that fear and hope I don't end up paralyzed and dependent on a chimpanzee. Ridiculous!

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When I'm too tired to think, I think of Jake Doyle

Yesterday, Tuesday, was my first day back to work at the dialysis unit where I work, when I'm not gone off on a ship somewhere. Today I'm back at it again, getting re-oriented after having been away from it all for six months.

To say this has been an exhausting 2 days just does not convey the breadth and depth of my current exhaustion. I was on my feet for the better part of the 8-hour shift, but it was the mental work-out that really wore me into the ground. It's amazing how much you can forget in  6 months. At least, it's amazing how much I can forget in 6 months!!

Much to my chagrin, it is also impacting my ranting and roaring ability. If I'm too tired to get my knickers in a knot over something, then I'm pretty freakin' tired... too tired to write about it, and too tired to care much about anything at all.

Soooo, I was faced with two options:

1) Don't post anything today.
2) Post something, and hope to be back in fighting form tomorrow.

I chose option #2.

Just a couple of days ago, my sister was kind enough to send to me a link to an interview with Allan Hawco, "Jake Doyle" from the CBC television series "Republic of Doyle". I had been keeping it tucked away for just such a time as this. My love for anything 'RoD'-related is not only based on the fact that Allan / Jake is the most delightfully witty, articulate and charming bit of eye-candy going, but it is also because he, and the whole deal surrounding the show, have done so much for Newfoundland. Anything and anyone that promotes Newfoundland in such a positive light gets my full attention and admiration. So... there is not enough good I can say about him, the show, and all the people whose passion made it happen.

So, without further ado, here is an approximately 11 minute interview with Allan Hawco. Enjoy!!



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Memo to Dawn Marie Power - Don't run out of gas on your way to jail, b*tch.

So, Dawn Marie Power has been sentenced to 7 years in jail. Gotta say, this is the swiftest passage of justice and the most 'teeth' I've seen in a sentence in quite some time. Here's a not-quite-Sears-quality portrait of this particular charmer. Her family must be so proud. (...though I suppose there's something to be said for her not being in her jammies...)

So who is this latest ne'er-do-well, you ask? In early January of this year, Power first held up a Subway outlet, then a few hours later she held up a drug store where she doused the two young clerks (17 & 19) with gasoline. Can you imagine? It's all bad enough to be looking at the business end of a knife or a hockey stick, or even occasionally a gun. The vast majority of these Oxycontin-fueled hold-ups do not end violently, scary as they are.

But... to have gasoline poured over you? One spark and the BEST outcome is that you'll be horribly maimed for life. The WORST outcome, well, I don't have to spell that out, do I?

It'll be a long, long time before these two young girls get over that. No doubt about it. 

Take a look at this photo on the day she was sentenced:

Is this the face of remorse? Not quite.

Seven years is not nearly long enough for what this woman did. I have to say, though, that when one considers sentences given for other violent crimes in recent years, it's odd to hear of anything greater than 3 years. So, in comparison, 7 years is pretty good. She'd still have probably gotten more if she was hunting moose out of season (this is the gold standard by which I measure everything judicial), but it's better than the six months Robert Parsons got for killing Matthew Churchill in a drunken driving stupor.

Sadly, she'll be out long before 7 years are up. There's the whole 'good behavior' BS, and time served, although she was only arrested in January. Not too much time served under her belt, fortunately. I hope she's housed with some disgusting, disease-ridden, sociopathic ho and finds out what it's like to be on the receiving end of bone-chilling fear. She certainly was able to teach that concept to those two young girls. I hope she gets ample opportunities to learn it, as well.

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Mixmaster Monday

Welcome to this week's edition of Mixmaster Monday!

About 18 or so years ago, I happened to find myself driving through Montana, Wyoming, and North and South Dakota. It was a week-long holiday, just a flying visit.

Aside from knowing about Yellowstone Park and Mount Rushmore, I really didn't know too much else about those states. I did get to enjoy these sites, and their natural beauties, which were many.

One thing I didn't know about North Dakota was that it is steeped in German history, as it was settled by mainly German pioneers, back in the day. As can be expected, many German customs and traditional foods have continued to be part of the fabric of North Dakota, to this day.

At one point while driving through North Dakota, I stopped at a small roadside restaurant, the sort of place that could easily be featured on the Food Network's "Diners, Drive-ins & Dives". I ordered a bowl of soup which, eighteen years later, I have still not forgotten.

The soup I ordered was called Knoephla Soup (pronounced 'nip-fla'). Knoephla, as I learned, were tiny dumplings, found in this potato and dumpling soup, and it was absolutely delicious! A magnificent, classic comfort food. I was so taken with it that I asked the waitress to write the name of it down for me, so I could try to find a recipe.

She did write down the name for me, and I kept that little piece of paper for years and years and years. If I could find the wallet I had at that time, I'm sure that note is still in there. I can't imagine that I would have thrown it away.

Sadly, this was before the Internet as we know it today, so researching something like this proved to be very difficult, and eventually, I forgot about it.

Last year, though, when I started working on a fundraising cookbook for the dialysis unit where I work, I recalled my bowl of Knoephla Soup, and starting searching the Internet, trying to find it. Well, there are as many recipes for it as their are variations on making macaroni & cheese. Some had bacon and some didn't. Some had stuffed dumplings and some had plain dumplings. Some were creamy and some were brothy. None sounded like what I remembered, not totally, so I just kept looking, and waiting. After all, I had waited 18 years, what was a little more time?

Finally, just within the past couple of weeks, I came upon a recipe that, by the sounds of it, most closely resembles what I had enjoyed all those years ago. I have not yet had a chance to test-drive it, but I have every intention of doing so, very soon. The recipe I'm posting below is the one that, I am hoping, will bring back fond memories of driving through North Dakota, and stopping for a bowl of very memorable Knoephla Soup. I'll be back in the near future to report on my success with it!

Please note that the comments in brackets after ingredients or directions are those of the person who posted the recipe. They are not my comments. I have included them for clarity, and to provide options. I don't think, though, that the diner I ate at was too concerned at the time with healthy options. Rest assured... I will be using the heavy cream when I finally get down to making this!

 

Knoephla Soup

Ingredients:
1/4 cup milk
2 cups flour
3 eggs
1/4 cup oil
1/2 tsp salt
1 medium or large onion (depends on how much you like onions)
4-5 medium to large potatoes (I recommend red ones)
1 pint of heavy whipping cream or Half and Half (optional - I don't use either)
Milk - Put in as much milk as it takes to get the quantity of soup you need. (I only use milk not the creams - sometimes I add a little water, but be careful not to add too much, you'll dilute the flavor.)

Dough:
1/4 cup milk
2 cups flour
3 eggs
1/4 cup oil
1/2 tsp salt

Stir ingredients together just to form a soft dough (add milk if needed).
Cut off small pieces and drop into a pan of boiling water.
Cook until soft.

Potatoes:
Peel and cut into small pieces, as many potatoes as you would like in your soup. (Recommend 4-5 medium to large for a hearty soup)

Onion:
1 onion (boil in small fry pan with a little water for a Healthier version OR with a little butter or oil)

Soup:

1.  When dumplings (knoephla), potatoes and onion are ready, drain each and combine into one large kettle.
2. Add cream / half and half (optional).
3. Add enough milk to make as much soup as needed.
4. Heat and serve*.

 *Add 1/2 tsp margarine or butter and salt and pepper to each serving, if desired

Newfoundland History - The Pollux - Truxtun Disaster

Looking back, it has always bothered me how very little I was taught, during my school years, about the history of Newfoundland.

(Forgive me for my very politically incorrect reference to my province as "Newfoundland", versus "Newfoundland & Labrador". If "Newfoundland" sufficed for over 500 years, and included that portion known as Labrador for all those years, then I guess it just goes to show that I don't feel the same need to kow-tow to the 452 Indians and Eskimoes up there as the politicians seem to want to do. So, until I gasp my last rattly breath, it will ALWAYS be "Newfoundland" to me. But, I digress...)

Newfoundland history. Yes...

Some guy named Joey Smallwood, whose portrait, I am told, is buried with countless little old ladies in graveyards all over Newfoundland (because he, personally, bestowed on them the Baby Bonus, out of his own pocket if you listened to the little old ladies), got ahead of me in the line to write a history of Newfoundland. I don't know exactly what his gig was, the first premier I believe, ("The only living Father of Confederation" is what he liked to call himsef) but it seems he must have had a lot more time on his hands than I do to undertake such an endeavor.

I do remember being taught about the Beothuk Indians in Grade 4. I was so inspired by the tales of teepees and long houses, that I went out into my own back garden one afternoon with a knife, and carved bark off a tree, in order to fashion a canoe. My father, who never raised his voice to any of us in his entire life, was himself a little miffed by this assault on the vegetation. I guess if my name had been Shanawdithit - the last surviving Beothuk in Nfld. - he would have been more understanding. But, aside from learning that they would occasionally chew out a pair of mukluks or mocassins from time to time, I learned nothing whatsoever about the vast history of our province. Nothing at all about the Vikings, Lanse aux Meadows, the English and French, Responsible Government, the Referendum, Confederation, the American influence - nothing.

So, what I plan to do, in order to promote the history of the land that I love, is to find a tidbit of Newfoundland history from time to time, not only to share it with those who may choose to read this blog, but mainly for my own education, as the opportunities to learn of its history in school were essentially non-existent.

So, here we go - Chapter 1 - The USS Pollux & USS Truxtun

The Pollux, a supply ship & the Truxtun, a destroyer, were American ships that sunk off the south coast of Newfoundland on February 18, 1942. The 69th anniversary of this disaster was two days ago. 

Three ships, these two plus the USS Wilkes, were en route to the US Naval Base at Argentia, Newfoundland. In a terrible snow storm, the Wilkes ran aground, but was able to free herself. The other two vessels were not as fortunate. They crashed ashore approximately a half-mile apart.

Four water-soaked, oil-covered sailors from the Truxtun made it ashore, scaled the cliffs, and sought help for their shipmates.

When word of the impending disaster spread, the workers at the Iron Springs Co. mine suspended operations, and the citizens of Lawn and St. Lawrence did whatever they could to rescue as many souls as possible.

From the Newfoundland Grand Banks website comes the following...

"Rescuers attempted getting a rope across the cove to make connections with the wreck, but strength of wind defeated them. In hopes of saving three men clinging to the wreckage, two men volunteered to be lowered down over the cliffs in a dory. They reached the wreck, saved two men, were swamped coming back, and one local man was washed overboard. As he was seized in the nick of time by his companions and hauled to safety. And so the hazardous task of rescue continued all through the day, till the last living men had been landed."

And people think I'm stupid and overreacting when I get offended by 'N__f__ jokes'... (Oh yes, another time, another rant, indeed...) THIS is who Newfoundlanders are. These brave, selfless souls from St. Lawrence typify who we are, and have been for generations. THESE are the people who the world should know about, and who Newfoundlanders should want to tell stories about. Not those others. Too many Newfoundlanders have lived and died in the service of others for us to allow ourselves to be insulted, and worse - defined - by those jokes.

Lanier Phillips was one of the survivors of the wreck of the USS Truxtux, and was also the only black man among the crew. His story is legendary in Newfoundland.

From Wikipedia.com:

"Initially afraid to leave his doomed ship because he thought he was off the coast of Iceland where he had been told blacks were forbidden to go ashore, Mr. Phillips boarded a lifeboat which capsized as it reached shore. Exhausted and covered in oil that had leaked from the sinking ships, Mr. Phillips collapsed on the shore. Gently prodded to his feet by a local resident who told him he’d freeze to death if he didn't get up, Mr. Phillips was confronted by a experience that was totally new to him: "I had never heard a kind word from a white man in my life.”

Mr. Phillips was taken to a place where the local women were washing oil from the survivors, and when they realized they could not scrub his skin white, he was afraid their kind treatment would end. Instead a local woman, Violet Pike, insisted that he come home to her house where she nursed him with soup and put him to bed with blankets and rocks she'd warmed in her stove.”

Profoundly touched and forever changed by the kindness of the residents of St. Lawrence, Newfoundland, Mr. Phillips vowed to do everything in his power to repay the kindness he had experienced, eventually donating enough money to St. Lawrence for them to build a children's playground."

Again from the Newfoundland Grand Banks website: 

"Quoting A.L. Bristol Rear Admiral U.S. Navy at that time in his letter of gratitude to the people of St. Lawrence, "Memories of such acts can never die, and the total of almost two hundred men and officers saved on this occasion will stand as a monument to the people of St,. Lawrence and all Newfoundland, in the hearts and minds of all who know the story." In generous recognition of the services rendered, the United States Government has erected at St. Lawrence a modern, three story hospital. the all-concrete structure, completed in 1954, is known as the United States Memorial Hospital. This hospital has been taking care of the medical needs of St. Lawrence, Lawn and nearby towns most adequately. Many the time this quotation has been made by a grateful townfolk - "THEY DID NOT DIE IN VAIN"."

Survivors - 186. Souls lost - 203. God bless them, and God bless the people of Lawn and St. Lawrence, for their heroism and bravery, second to none. 

Picture of 'Echoes of Valour' memorial, dedicated to (1) the mining industry in St. Lawrence, Newfoundland, (2) the sailors who died in the USS Truxtun & USS Pollux disaster on February 18, 1942 at Chambers Cove and Lawn Point, and (3) those who lost their lives in the world wars.

If you want to learn more about this disaster, and about Lanier Phillips, I recommend the following website from Memorial University of Newfoundland - Dead Reckoning: The Pollux - Truxtun Disaster. It tells the whole story in chapter form, and has sections about the rescue, Lanier Phillips, and other fascinating bits of information. I am so glad I found this. 

Also, the late Cassie Brown, renowned Newfoundland author, wrote a book, "Standing into Danger" about this event. Well worth reading.

I knew I'd never be able to do justice to this story myself, but it is gratifying to at least be able to point interested people in the direction of those who could. I hope you're one of them.

Snopes.com - Performing a public service, so please let them do what they do best!!

You may or may not be familiar with the website www.snopes.com. If you're not, it's a cryin' shame.

Snopes is a website dedicated to getting to the bottom of countless urban legends and scare-lore emails that have flooded all of our inboxes since the dawn of inboxes. As stated on the homepage of their website, Snopes is "the definitive Internet reference source for urban legends, folklore, myths, rumors, and misinformation".

Someone has sent you an email warning of the toxic effects of Mr. Clean Magic Erasers? Snopes will give you the answer! They are not full of formaldehyde and capable of rubbing out your children and pets.

Have you been warned via email about the 809 area code, and how you can be saddled with phenominal long distance charges? Snopes can ease your fears with the answer to that one, too. It even advises when there is partially true and false information, so they're not in the business of trying to hide anything.

Have you been told that Microsoft's Bill Gates is giving away his money and if you forward an email, you'll cash in? Have you been told that forwarding an email will save the life of a child? There are as many variations to these two urban myths as there are company names and children's names.

What about the warning not to sniff perfume samples at the mall door? Have you given up buying Glade Plug-ins because of the fire hazard? Do you no longer microwave food in plastic containers because some unknown entity has said it releases cancer-causing agents?

What I'd like to know is this - why are people so apt to believe these scare stories they read in emails, and forward them as if they're legitimate and authentic?

Friends I love very dearly send them to me, knowing that I am going to research them and reply back! I'm as predictable as a gerbil on a wheel when it comes to this. I know what they're up to, though, and it just makes me smile.

But others, with whom I've had this conversation before, adamantly believe whatever comes in their inbox, particularly the one about the Magic Erasers, and will not buy them anymore, regardless of the questionable source of their information. That's ridiculous.

Intelligent, well-read, educated people will receive these emails, swallow whatever it says as if it's the Gospel truth, and forward it on to me.

Don't you think that the scare-mongering media would be all over a story about a kid dying or being poisoned from a Magic Eraser, or if there was a pattern of people being carjacked in shopping malls because of notes left on rear windows? Why do people read these and automatically believe them?

And, it's not even as if these look like legitimate warnings. They're usually in big, bold, hyper, panicky-looking text, and often start off saying "Verified by Snopes.com". More often than not, the ones that state "verified by Snopes", aren't!!! If you actually take the time to go to Snopes.com, which I always do, Snopes will usually tell you exactly the opposite of what the email claims.

Then, too, there is the disclaimer at the end of some, that states, "Not sure if this is true or not, but I'm not taking any chances, so I'm sending this to everyone in my address book." This gets my goat, bigtime, seeing as how this is simply laziness on someone's part. A couple of clicks will disprove the email's claim, a lot fewer clicks than is required to forward something misleading to everyone you know. My inbox is there for MY convenience. I don't want it filled with scare-mongering falsehoods or requests to send  business cards to a dying child so the Shriners will provide him / her with medical care. This particular one started in 1989. This dying 9-year-old is now 31. Not only that, how sick and twisted would the Shriners really be if they withheld medical treatment from a child because he / she did not provide the requisite number of business cards? Dumb-dumb-dumb. Every way you look at it.

So, the next time you receive one of these ridiculous emails, like the one warning of identity theft from hotel room keycards, please give it a moment's thought first of all, and then, if it seems like it might have a modicum of truth, consult snopes.com. Don't you owe it to yourself to exercise a little critical thinking, and arm yourself with facts, instead of mindlessly spreading scare-lore from illegitimate sources?

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If Facebook existed years ago...

(Thank you, Andrew!)

















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A little too early to the Grammy parties, perhaps?

So, the Grammys were on the other night. I didn't watch, because Colin Firth wasn't going to be there, and he is the one and only reason I would ever watch an award show.

Apparently, some dame who originated in Kilbride, but is now living in Ontario, was there doing something for Ellen Degeneres. I'm not even going to dignify that whole ridiculous situation with a remark, so if you are thinking that's where I'm going with this, you're wrong. There are things that are just too stupid for even me to rant about, and this is one of them.

I was sniffing around some of my usual Internet haunts yesterday, when I came upon this story about a news broadcaster who apparently suffered from some kind of meltdown while on-camera for CBS2 in Los Angeles, reporting on the Grammys.

Being the curious soul I am, I felt compelled to see if I could find a clip of whatever it is that went on. YouTube was very accommodating, but unfortunately CBS has pulled the video clip. The UK website The Telegraph.co.uk still has it, though. If you look, you will see that she looked fine and was smiling, but when she started speaking, she sounded exactly like the Swedish Chef. Her expression hardly changed. She didn't even look like she realized it.

(UPDATE - The video clip I originally had here showing Ms. Branson's oral malfunction kept playing automatically, and driving me up the wall, so I am now replacing it with this link that you can click to the Telegraph.co.uk's website, where the same video clip is available. )

I'll bet my bong that this was no "health-related problem", unless being stoned out of your gourd is now considered "health-related".

IF this had been a genuine medical issue, she would have been taken, lights and sirens, to the nearest hospital for treatment of the stroke / TIA she was seemingly having. The comment that she was driven home by a co-worker clearly indicates that this was no health concern, or else she has the dumbest, most ill-advised co-workers on earth. I have to believe that paramedics in LA know a stroke / TIA when they see one. No doubt she confessed her sins to them off-camera. I can't imagine any other reason why she would have been released to go home. They all figured out that all she needed to do was to sleep it off.

As much as some might think she has the right to refuse treatment, I feel pretty certain that CBS, who has now been embarrassed by her live broadcast, would have a very strong and compelling case in insisting she receive medical treatment, IF she needed it.

I would love to know if her employment continues. I'll have to keep checking back to CBS2's website from time to time to find out. They'll probably drop her like a hot roach once the coke dust has settled.

UPDATE - From the New York Daily News, Feb. 18th -

"Serene Branson's bout of babbling was caused by a complex migraine, her physician, Dr. Neil Martin, told The Los Angeles Times.

A complex migraine has similar symptoms to a stroke, including impaired speech and severe headaches, and can often be mistaken for one, said Martin, chief of neurosurgery at the Ronald Reagan UCLA Medical Center."

GMAFB. Did this woman look like she was suffering from a "severe headache"? TV lights pounding down on her, and she's smiling cheerfully.

As one of the commenters to this article said, "I think they mean 'complex margarita'." Exactly!!

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So who IS Jesus, anyway? :-)

(Thank you, Dianne!!)

There were 3 good arguments that Jesus was black:

1. He called everyone brother.

2. He liked Gospel.

3. He didn't get a fair trial.

But then there were 3 equally good arguments that Jesus was Jewish:

1. He went into His Father's business.

2. He lived at home until He was 33.

3. He was sure His Mother was a virgin and His Mother was sure He was God.

But then there were 3 equally good arguments that Jesus was Italian:

1. He talked with His hands.

2. He had wine with His meals.

3. He used olive oil.

But then there were 3 equally good arguments that Jesus was a Californian:

1. He never cut His hair.

2. He walked around barefoot all the time.

3. He started a new religion.

But then there were 3 equally good arguments that Jesus was an American Indian:

1. He was at peace with nature.

2. He ate a lot of fish.

3. He talked about the Great Spirit.

But then there were 3 equally good arguments that Jesus was Irish:

1. He never got married.

2. He was always telling stories.

3. He loved green pastures.

But the most compelling evidence of all - 3 proofs that Jesus was a woman:

1. He fed a crowd at a moment's notice when there was virtually no food.

2. He kept trying to get a message across to a bunch of men who just didn't get it.

3. And even when He was dead, He had to get up because there was still work to do.

Can I get an AMEN??

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A late Valentine's treat!!

I came across the most recent "The Man Your Man Could Smell Like" commercial on TV yesterday. It is, like all the others, deeply sigh-inspiring...




Did you notice how he reaches over to the chocolate fountain, right at the end? Oh my...!!

I then went looking for the original ad on YouTube, and I found that, too...



And then, out of the blue,  I found this, reminding me of a long-lost love...



It was a good night...
:-)

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The Mounties didn't get their man, but it still cost us $444,000.00

Remember Leo Crockwell? Who in Newfoundland could forget? Not this soon, anyway.

For those who don't know who he is, ol' Leo is a gentleman who barricaded himself inside a house in Bay Bulls, NL in December. The standoff with the RCMP went on for just over a week. It all started when his family called the cops because he had assaulted a family member, his sister I believe.

He holed up inside his mother's house in Bay Bulls with a constant RCMP presence trying to extricate him. The situation just spiralled out of control, day after day after day.

He wouldn't respond to the police phone calls, nor would he use the phone sent in to him via a bomb squad robot. The layout of the house was such that the use of tear gas cannisters was not practical. They were 4 or 5 days in before the RCMP finally cut the power. Don't these guys watch Law & Order? That should have happened on Day One. I'm surprised they didn't send in pizza and beer for him.

Everyone and their dog had opinions on ol' Leo's antics. Some thought he was a hard-done-by local hero. Others thought he was an attention-seeking nutjob. Still others thought he was either crazy like a fox, a common criminal who deserved everything he was gonna get, or the stupidest arse going. Take your pick.

The opinions on the RCMP's response to this whole thing were just as varied, for sure. Some thought the only consideration was that the whole thing ended with no one being hurt, regardless of the time or money it was costing. Others thought it was a massive overreaction and that he should have just been ignored, and picked up off the street at another time. For God's sake, they brought in SWAT team members from Nova Scotia, New Brunswick and Prince Edward Island!!!!!!! The way the whole thing ended was such a  colossal SNAFU that the RCMP, despite their best spin-doctoring, ended up looking like enormously incompetent fools.

The RCMP are calling this a - quote - "minor mistake". They tried to flush the man out of the house... I mean... their PURPOSE AND INTENT was to literally flush the man out of the house with fire hoses. THEY WANTED HIM TO COME OUT OF THE HOUSE!!!!! Yet, they didn't bother to have anyone stationed AROUND THE HOUSE!! Their tactic worked, he did leave the house. AND WALKED AWAY!!!! This is what the RCMP calls "a minor mistake".

Even Kevin Tobin, the cartoonist for The Telegram, got in on the act with his brilliantly funny sketch of an RCMP officer with a bullhorn yelling, "Come on out, Leo, we've got the front of your house surrounded!!" I wish I could find a link to it, but I can't.

But seriously, let's look at it for a moment - did no one really get hurt? I think Leo's mother might argue the fact. Her house, which was where he was holed up, was subjected to 15 hours of continual assault by fire hoses trying to get him to come out, long after he had already escaped. The house is still uninhabitable. I think she was hurt by that, very much. I've heard rumors that the house is going to be repaired. Repaired? It's been purt near floating for over 2 months now. I think it needs to be condemned.

The RCMP barricaded off the commercial area of Bay Bulls, requiring a supermarket, a gas station and other stores and businesses to be shut for a whole week. People had to go to the next community to pick up their mail. I think the business owners of Bay Bulls were definitely hurt, not to mention the inconvenience to the residents of the community.

But, the bleeding heart liberals reassure us that the main thing is, nobody got hurt. Hmmm. Interesting. I guess that in their eyes, 'hurt' is only allowed to mean 'shot dead'. In that light, yes, nobody got hurt.

CBC.ca is reporting that Leo's antics and the RCMP's Keystone Kops response are now costing taxpayers $444,000.00 PLUS any costs associated with the repair / replacement of the house. OUCH!!! As a taxpayer, I think I just got hurt.

And the ironically, hysterically, ridiculously, knee-slappingly funny part is that the man escaped as soon as the fire hoses were turned on, managed to get about 25km away where someone saw him, reported him to the Royal Newfoundland Constabulary (RNC), who sent one constable in a cruiser out to Petty Harbour to arrest him, 15 hours after his escape.

I'd love to know how much this response cost the RNC - about a quarter tank of gas, I'm estimating.

This was not Dudley Do-Right's finest hour.

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