Not Special

Nothing ventured. It's only by leaving yourself hanging by a thread that you advance the cause, the rest of the time, you're just filling a parking space; which is fine, most of the time, you don't want to dangle, as a matter of course. Sometimes though, you just waggle your ass, to see what stirs. Nothing gained. Pork loins are on sale and I get one to cure with salt and sugar, the various peppers, as a breakfast meat. These cure beautifully into something very close to expensive Italian deli meats that I can never afford. I use a curing mixture that's one part kosher salt to two parts brown sugar, and add four or five different ground chilies. Coat the loin completely, put it on a rack in a disposable roasting pan and put it in the fridge. You'll need to coat it again in just a couple of days, then as needed for two weeks. I cut the finished product (some times I lightly smoke it) into six inch pieces and freeze them. One will last me a couple of months, mostly for eating a large breakfast at dinner, which is my favorite time to eat a large breakfast. I rarely eat meat in the morning. A good start on the winter larder. The instant mashed potatoes I like (can't believe I'm saying that) were recently 10 packages for $10, so I bought 10. Ordered grits and rice to be sent to the museum. Getting an extremely floral Pecan Rice from Louisiana that is incredible, and stone-ground grits from Georgia. Ordered 10 pounds of pintos and 10 pounds of black beans from Dove Creek, Colorado Put a few pounds of cured hog jowls in the freezer, for cooking the beans, I can always carry in an onion and bread. I do need to address the liquid problem, lay in some juices. Water isn't a problem, I put out a 4x8 sheet of plywood on sawhorses, water freezes the surface, then snow falls and I can harvest it with a dust-pan, melt it into my pickle buckets and be good to go. It's basic life, but it works for me. I'm afraid the Jeep won't like the winter driveway, but I don't either. I can walk, do me good. I am getting an infra-red electric heater, to keep the house warm enough that I don't have to heat it from 40 degrees when I get home. High in the art of suffering. A Van Morrison line, actually, that I've always loved. Known so many people that were. I avoid depression by walking in the woods, over to the graveyard today, for the annual count, I got sixteen again, which is I think the number I got last year, my records are chaotic; because the hollows, where leaves collect, are depressions, where pine coffins have failed, " For worms, dear Percy...", and wet dirt, which can be very heavy, so you end up with these depressions, where leaves collect and rot, and you end up with a identifier, something that marks the spot, and a line of talk. Depressions in the ground and black rotting leaves, I can tell a grave now, I never used to pay any attention. Everything looks different, or is that just me?