Lobster Hunting

It is my birthday.
What shall I do for my birthday?  Let's get out the B-52's album and think about it.  Yes!! That's it. Let's go rock lobster hunting for my birthday!

Cover yourself in drawn butter for camo! 
Pack a loaded credit card and off we go on our hunt for rock lobster. 

We found happy hunting grounds at Central Market.  I crept up on a pod (as a group of lobster is so called; also referred to as a "deck" or "shield") of lovely arthropods gathered in small salt water enclosure.  I signaled the fishmongeress that I was prepared to meet my dinner.  She crab-grabbed a short-handle plastic rake an teased the crustaceans, prodding them looking for a couple of fine 1-2 pounders to bag.  I extended my right lobster-selecting index finger, put it to the wall of the glass tank an told her, "I want that one and the other one over there."  She seized them by the carapace and said to me, I'll see you back here in 30 minutes.  Then we all did the rock lobster dance.

While waiting for the boiling waters to work their wonders behind the fish counter, we hopped and danced over to pick up some asparagus to go into the risotto, a round loaf of crusty bread and a bottle of bubbly.  It'll be a feast.


The Happy Lobster Hunter
Returning victoriously to the kitchen

In the family traditional
I get the "Red Plate"
because it is my birthday

 

A well-soused Rum Cake
Made by request and now I can't wait
for the next Rum Cake
It was most rummy and delicious

It was a feast.  Rock Lobster - eeeeeeeee!

A Cold, Raw Day in Dallas: JFK 50th Memorial





The JFK Memorial in Dallas. November 22, 2013.
It is about a block east of Dealy Plaza, the site of the assassination.
The monument is little noted and has been described as an "ambiguous design - fitting for a city at a lost
as to how to honor the memory of Kennedy without drawing recrimination for the nation at large

  Dallas weather in 2013 provider perhaps an apt metaphor 50 years after President Kennedy was assassinated as his motorcade paraded through downtown Dallas streets on November 22, 1963.

On this, the 50th anniversary of the assassination, the preceding day was partly sunny and in the 70's, but an ill wind blew in overnight accompanied by thunder and followed by a deep, bone-numbing cold as the morning of November 22nd dawned.  So too, the nation turned from a partly sunny disposition, largely energized my JFK's vision and of a generation asking "what they could do for their country" and a challenge to reach for the moon, "not because it is easy - but because it is hard."  A challenge embraced by the nation.  That optimistic look to the future and the embrace of a challenging, but sunny future to be seized upon and sure to be conquered by our country, turned as a thunderous shot rangout in Dealy Plaza, plunging the nation into a deep, bone-numbing chill with the violent death of the President.

I did purpose late on the night of the 21st to go down toward Dealy Plaza and place myself in the place where our American Century pivoted on November 22, 1963.  In memory of our slain president, and perhaps our slain dreams, aspirations and confidence.  It was a cold, raw day in Dallas.  But, for the first time, the City of Dallas was going to officially mark this anniversary with a moment of silence, followed by the tolling of church bells and a few brief words from the Mayor and historian, David McCullogh.

The official memorial ceremony at Dealy Plaza was cordoned off by security, and only those invited and those with a yellow wrist-band won through an on-line lottery were allowed to pass beyond the barrier; a total limited to 5,000.  The rest of us were held a half block away, and we gathered before a large mobile video screen that broadcast the event.  Though the audio would cut in and our - I expected better from a city that takes some pride in digital prowess and is home to world-beating Texas-sized video panels where the Dallas Cowboys play and an even larger video screen coming soon to the Texas Motor Speedway here in North Texas.  A skirling of bagpipes led the proceedings, followed by the Star Spangled Banner and then about 45 minutes of speaking all told.  My estimation of the crowd held behind the barrier, of which I was a part, consisted of many who harbored a deep an abiding interest in this event, readers of numerous books and largely believers in a conspiracy theory or theories.  I did hear someone speaking French on his cell phone and I suspect there were also many who came as deep admirer of The Kennedy's - as a royal cult.  Then there were just a few like myself, who came out of a sense of respect for our history and in memory of our fallen president, with no agenda, just a sense of shared solemnity for what might have been and what was lost.

While just strolling behind the infamous Texas Schoolbook Repository (now the Sixth Floor Museum - where Lee Harvey Oswald had a sniper's perch), I spotted a gentleman, that I thought to myself, "That is an Irishman".  Just after our gazes crossed, he stepped up to me and introduced himself as "a reporter for an Irish newspaper" and requested an interview.  I consented, and he held out his phone in recording mode and asked several questions about whether Dallas still felt a sense of

Simon Caswell
Times of Dublin
Reporter

shame and/or responsibility for the events here 50 years ago today?  I said yes, Dallas in decades past had been at a loss as to how to respond to the JFK assassination, and had tried to ignore and erase the association of his death with this city.  But the memorial today was an effort to grow beyond that and to embrace the future - not the past, a tribute to the very spirit of President Kennedy.  After the interview I inquired as to what particular paper in Ireland he represented?  He replied it is The Times of Dublin.  He arrived in Dallas on Thursday night, he'd leave that afternoon, he did not apply to in time for press credentials to actually get into the ceremony at Dealy Plaza, but he stated he was glad, "since it was so bloody cold out here."  I fancy that after my interview he headed to a good, warm, Texas saloon for some whiskey before flying back.

I, like most of the crowd, had gathered on Elm Street in front of the video and audio relay of the ceremony.  Curious about who it was who surrounded me, I struck up a conversation with 45-year old man standing next to me.  He is a military prosecutor stationed at Ft. Leonard Wood, MO.  I asked what brought him to Dallas?  He said he was attending the COPA Conference (I did not know what that was), and then a couple from San Antonio asked me a few questions



The security cordon set at a 1 block
perimeter surrounding Dealy Plaza.
One of the COPA attendees
commented to me,
"at least security looks better today
than it did 50 years ago."

and I mentioned that Oswald was captured at the Texas Theater in the Oak Cliff part of Dallas.  They asked if I knew the address?  I said I did not; but the military attorney pulled out his phone and had a JFK Assassination app, and quickly provided them with the address and a digit location map.

I later struck up a conversation with a fellow wearing a Gettysburg 150th anniversary cap who is a high school history teacher in Pennsylvania.  He was in town for the COPA conference; this time I had to ask: COPA, the Conference on Political Assassinations - (now I know), rehashing all the conspiracy theories.  I asked if he had attended the 150th anniversary of Lincoln's Gettysburg Address 3 day's previous?  No, but he was there for the July anniversary of the battle.  As we were talking a fellow with a large camera asked if we would agree to give our opinions on the events from 50 years ago for a documentary he was filming and producing.  I looked into the lens and gave my opinion that Lee Harvey Oswald was the lone gunman who shot JFK from his place of coincidental employment in the book depository, then fled and was stopped by Dallas Police officer J.D. Tippett, whom Oswald then shot multiple times and attempted to hide in the Texas Theater, where he was captured with a hand gun in his wasteband.  My well versed companion, respectfully diagreed with my recitation of the "facts" and began to cite evidence and testimony that JFK was shot from the front (not behind) and that "some people in the government" were behind a plot to kill the President.

I asked, who are these "people in the government?"  But he acknowledged that was yet unknown.  However, there was a small group standing nearby with signs saying "LBJ Killed JFK".  We two continued to debate (though I was not nearly as

well versed and immersed in all the conspiracies and conspirators) as the documentary producer continued to film our conversation.  I concluded that if your are buying what the COPA people are selling, the history would read: President Kennedy was killed by a gathering of about a half-dozen assassins firing a withering hail of gunfire nearly simultaneously, striking the President and Governor Connally from multiple angles.  Shot were fired from behind by a marksman on the 6th floor of the school book depository, from the side by a man (but nobody saw a gun) on the grassy knoll, from a sniper secreted in a storm drain and by a group of sharp shooters stationed on the triple overpass.  Who were these mass assassins all firing into to the motorcade?  Well (if one is buying conspiracy), on that day there converged on Dealy Plaza gunslingers hired by Vice President Johnson, a gang of mafia hitmen, Cubans dispatched by Castro, sharp shot ladies from the Junior League of Dallas (hired by Jackie, tired of her husband's philandering ways) CIA assassins and coincidentally, a Marxist by the name of Oswald on the 6th floor who wanted to make a name for himself.  This confluence and collusion of killers is just to confusing and fanciful for my mind.  I think Oswald acted alone and fired three shots, killing Kennedy.       

One can argue the "facts" and run with a multitude of shadowy theories.  But I know this: It was a cold, raw day in Dallas.  It was in 1963 and it was 50 years hence.

JFK banner hoisted as a backdrop for
Dealy Plaza Ceremony honoring the
Memory of JFK

A Desolate "Floating Box"
The roundly architecturally criticized monument to
President Kennedy
Erected by Mr. Marcus (of high-end Nieman-Marcus Department Store fame)

Chicken Soup and Just So

It is a perverse world, when we think we are fortunate when we get sick on the weekend so we will not miss work. 

Wheeze, wheeze, gees Louise!
Susan Louise has gotta sneeze.

Thursday night her airways were sounding submerged and listening to her breathe sounded like I was eves dropping on some grindylows.  She muddled through Friday at home, her normal day off, but by Saturday I could tell she needed big medicine.

This is what works; I cooked and served her breakfast in bed with a large helping of bacon.  Recent studies from the Journal of Wishful Thinking prove bacon has curative effect for those suffering with clogged sinuses. Another study from the Danish Journal of Downer Diagnostics purports to show that 9.71 seconds are removed from one's life span for every strip of bacon that is consumed.  This hypothesis can be patently proved as false by calculations from my own life which would indicate that I would have died in March of 1792 if it were actually true.

For good measure and more big medicine, I cooked a pot of Thai lemon mint chicken soup for consumption during the rest of the day.  And when it was time to sleep, she tucked in under the covers and I read to her selected Just So Stories by Rudyard Kipling.  She selected the The Sing-Song of Old Man Kangaroo, the tale of how the yellow dingo dog helped give Mr. Kangaroo his large hind hopping legs.  She was asleep by end of the tale.

When she awoke the next day, Oh best beloved, all was better.

Oh, chicken soup and bed-time tales are the best medicine. And they make the world a little less perverse. It is just so, best beloved.

This Time I was Paying Attention

It happens to me every year.

I think "Wow!".

Then I think, "Whoa! When did this happen?"

Once again I am caught by surprise, I think, "I must not have be paying very close attention."

The sunlight comes later in the day and I inevitably back out my garage on a November morning, or maybe some years it was October - but like I said, maybe I wasn't paying very close attention; anyway, I begin to drive down the neighborhood streets and I can't help but notice that the trees I see are adorned brighter than Solomon in all of his glory.  Against the blue sky are bright golds, reds, rusts, plum, yellows, purple, and some interspersed greens.  I always think, "Now when this this change happen?"  I could swear by the hair on my chinny chin-chin that they were all green the last time I looked.  Dang! This botanical changed sneaked up on me again.

Years ago I caught the Tooth Fairy bringing in a dime as she collected my tooth, and about the same time I realized that those were not reindeer hoofs on the roof, but actually the noise was just the furnace coming on.  But Jack Frost has been elusive. Ah, but this year, Old Mark was going to sleep with one eye open and I would document the very night that Ol' Jack Frost, the Fairy Foliage King, went to work with his autumnal palette.  Indeed, it all changed suddenly on November 5th.

This year as the light came late to the day, I backed out of my garage at the start of a rather humid day to discover than what was green is now red, what was flower was now seed and what was Summer was now Fall, what was Monday November 4 was now Tuesday, November 5.  And everything was different (except those thing that weren't).

So Sunday, November 10, I say lets go take a late afternoon stroll through the Spring Creek woodlands and see what the colors look like.  It was a good stroll along the limestone banks of Spring Creek, under oaks, pecans and other rooted residents of the blackland prairie.  I thought you might like to come along with us.  Follow me.

Sue leads into the Holy of Hollies
(and oak, pecan, ash and elm)

As I approached the Burning Bush - The Voice said:

"Remove your shoes for you are on holy ground".

But I said, Mr. Bush, "If I go barefoot, I might step on a sticker".

And The Voice said unto me. "OK. If you want to be a weenie,
go ahead and keep your shoes on".

I said, "Thanks Mr. Bush".

The Voice said, "Enjoy the journey!"

And I lifted my eyes to the heavens,

And behold, it was if the rim of the sky had ignited

The Juniper berries are abundant this year.

We pick a few and crush them between our fingers and

then hold our fingers under one another's nose

and pretend we have been stirring martinis

With the scent of gin on our fingertips
from the Juniper berry,
this Bond Girl explains,
she prefers her martini "shaken, not stirred".

The world has gone to pod and seed

The land has gone to seed and pod

We cross paths with a coyote fording the creek

With a hemi-moon rising in the east
and the shadows growing deep
we take the path back to our home

Meet Me at the Plaza Theater

Abbott and Costello meet Frankenstein.

Abbott and Costello also meet Dracula, the Wolfman and the Invisible Man.

Also

Boy meets Girl

at the Plaza Theater

The night following Halloween, my wife suggests that I take her on a date to the refurbished downtown Garland Plaza Theater for a free showing of the monster movie, Abbott and Costello meet Frankenstein.  

"Free" you say?  

Well then, put your party T-shirt on and lets go!  

The screening was sponsored by a local service organization and they sold popcorn and refreshments in the lobby.  We bought a couple bags of popcorn and some drinks, something I never do after paying $10.50 for a movie ticket at the multiplex movie palaces.  This was a good cause.

The crowd gathered early and filled about two-thirds of the 375-seat theater. Mostly folks aged 50-plus in attendance, but a few younger folks as well.  Before the house lights dimmed, we conversed with a couple seated in front of us about the "old days" in Garland, as a festive atmosphere had settled in at this old 'moving picture show house'.

Once the curtain went up (yes, there actually was a curtain in front of the screen), there were plenty of guffaws and hoots from the crowd as Count Dracula (Bella Lugosi) arose from his coffin and schemed to get Lou Costello's brain transplanted into the Frankenstein Monster with plenty of slapstick chase scenes throughout the plot.  In the end, with the monsters dispatched and our heroes (mostly) safe, the credits rolled and the audience busted out in appreciative applause.

After the show we strolled a block to Dos Banderos and had a late tamale dinner as we asked ourselves, "Whose on first?"  

"Yes! That's what I said." 

But we decided we'll save that Abbott and Costello routine until baseball season.  

This movie date wrapped up our Halloween season as tight as The Mummy.  

The Other World Beckons

The Celts believed the shortening days following the harvest season heralded the shortening of the ethereal chasm that separated the World of the Living from the 'Other World'.  With the diminished separation between the two worlds, it was prudent for those among the living to prepare their homes for the eventuality of night visitors who could cross into our world and possibly snatch you and your children out of this sphere of light and warmth and drag your soul kicking and screaming into the the World Beyond.

The adaptive early Christian church tried not to discourage this belief of the proximity of the World of the Quick and the World of the Dead; but rather declared October 31st to be "All Hallows Eve" - or, Halloween; a day to recognized all the saints that have gone before and have now passed from this world of flesh.  In my mind the theology fits, if not outright subverts the old Celtic belief.  But some how, I enjoy the twinge of paganism and believe it good to be mindful of the other world.

Rain had moved through the area the day before, but the weather cleared for trick-or-treating and brought with it a gusty cool front that was strong enough to blow over (twice) my coffin lid that I had propped against the porch pillar with a frighteningly shuddering thud. The rustling of the tree branches overhead would add to the affect of the Other World approaching this All Hallows Eve.



A Messenger from the Other World Beckons
the young and frivolous costumed kids
into my foyer to consider their fate -
or if they make it, get some candy

I left work after lunch to finish preparing my home for any visitors
this evening.  The Jack-o-lanterns were placed at the door to
ward off any troublesome visitors.

The large spider web with red-eyed spider hung over the porch light and the entry hall was draped with white sheets and a small table with a candelabra, a skull candles stand, a bloody hatchet and a pan containing a victim's brain sat on a low table in the center.  The mood was set with a CD playing horror sound effects out the window.

Tammy from next door pulled up to the curb in her minivan in the afternoon as I was suspending the 'floating head of death' above the door, and gave me the thumbs-up.  I stepped to the curb to chat and saw that her oldest, Ryan (middles school age) was with her.  They were returning from Target, where Ryan picked up his skeleton costume.  Ryan wondered aloud to me from the passenger's seat, "What have I been doing all my life? Just picking up candy when I could have stayed home and terrified people!"  They moved in next door last year, and it was then that Ryan witnessed the power and pleasure of pure pagan pageantry provided my myself.  He was enthralled and vowed that "next year I want ot help you scare people!"  This year, he was eager to tap on my door and alert me that there was another larger group coming, and then come out of the shadows of my lawn and spook the trick-or-treaters.

I had told him earlier that my M.O. was not to jump and scare people, but to stand silent and still and let them un-nerve themselves.  But I did not correct my young apostle's amateur antics this time, but rather let him enjoy what ever reactions he could elicit from the crowd of kids gathered on my porch.

My guess is I had about 30 kids make it to my door, though as usual some trick-or-treaters took a look and opted to move on down the block.  My philosophy is that if you are too scared to get close enough for a piece of candy, that little bon-bon becomes mine - I earned that one.  Most of the kids were of course polite and watched nervously as I pointed to the noose over the door and told them "You know what they say - 'No noose is good noose'" and then asked them if "they'd like to hang around tonight?"  I then would ask them if they believed in ghosts? (usually no response) and then I requested that they 'keep and open mind'; but I then would ask a follow up question; "Do you know what could happen if you keep and open mind?" (usually no response).  "Well you brains could fall out!"  I would them show them my jello mold of a brain on a platter.  They would touch it, recoil and then get impatient and wonder if this ghoul would ever deliver any candy.  As I lifted the brain platter for their inspection, a bowl of candy was revealed underneath it - to the relief of the small throng. They would then select a piece and say "Thank you" and then run off to the next lit door.  

Part of my neighborhood legacy is Jayden from across the alley.  Two years ago he came to my door dressed as an army man.  Last year he and his mother came by to ring by door bell and Jayden's mom told me that "after last year, Jayden insisted his next costume had to 'really scary' like Mr. Suneson's".  This year he had a nearly identical mask to the one I wore this year and last.  He talked brave this Halloween and insisted to his cohort of trick-or-treaters gathered on my porch that "this is not a very scary house".  

As the evening deepens, the older candy grabbers come on by.  I had one middle school kid with no costume look into my candy bowl and tell me, "Is dat all you got? I ain't be taking any of that kind!" and left.  However, his friend asked for two pieces of candy, I growled, "With no costume, you get but 1 piece."  He insisted he was dressed as a "swag master" - which I translated as a "too old to trick-or-treat-candy-grabber."  

While making late afternoon trips in and out of my garage to get my decorations set up, my olfactory lobe told me that our 'crack house neighbors' had already dipped into their stashed treat bag and rolled a couple of joints to sample before the sun set [we reefer to it as the 'crack house' - but as far as I know it is just frequent consumption of the wildwood weed].   It was then no surprised to see a 23-year old 'crack house resident' slope on over to my stoop with a pillow case and hold it out to seek some remedy for what must have been a solid case of the munchies.  Those ancient Celtics may not have anticipated super hero costumes going door to door and  collecting free candies as way of marking a night of close contact with the Other World.  But I do now believe it was this Halloween that I have seen someone on my doorstep that came out of the haze from the 'Other World' who reminds be to "be cool".  Totally like wow dude, you know what I mean, like trick-or-peace man.