They Make it LookEasy on TV

The kitchen renovation continues - fortunately it was warm enough to open up the windows as even with some prep work -  there was still plaster dust.

I'll be back to more regular posting soon.

Dad's Favorite Casserole

This hardly falls into the "gourmet" category but is my Dad's favorite casseroles so when I visit him I make one and freeze the leftovers in individual containers (it makes 10-12 servings) with a vegetable or salad.  Smokey, rich, and buttery with a nice crunchy topping it's always a hit.

 It's a rift on one of my Stepmom's church cookbook offerings, however uses potatoes instead of  her version with rice, and Ritz cracker crumbs instead of corn flake crumbs. Oh yeah, and I threw in the jalapeno, red pepper, and smoked paprika to give it a little kick.

It makes a large 13 x 9 pan and at church potlucks is always scraped clean when other dishes remain.

2 pounds of shredded hash browns, thawed.
1 can of cream of chicken soup (I used the Healthy Request version for less sodium)
1 cup low-far sour cream
2 cups sharp cheddar (or cheddar/jack mix)
1/2 cup butter (DIVIDED)
1/4 teaspoon pepper

2 cups chopped pre-cooked ham or bacon
2 small or one large jalapenos, de-seeded and chopped
1 small or half a large  red (or green or yellow) bell pepper chopped
3/4 sleeve Ritz Crackers (crushed into crumbs)
1/2 teaspoon smoked Paprika

Place the potatoes in a very large bowl. In a medium sized bowl mix soup, sour cream, cheddar,  1/2 of the butter (melted) and black pepper Add to the potatoes and combine.  Stir in veggies and place in 13 x 9 pan sprayed with non stick spray. Melt remaining  butter and stir into crushed crackers and stir, adding in paprika (smoked, NOT sweet). Sprinkle over top of casserole.  Bake in preheated 350 F. oven for 40-50 until the crumbs are brown and the center is hot.

Dear Hormel

You have made my Dad happy at breakfast for 60 years, but there's a new hash in town.

Tequila/Pineapple marinated pork tenderloin with potatoes and caramelized onion in red sauce, topped with Mexican cheese, two poached eggs and pineapple mango salsa and cilantro.

It's Monday - you can't eat out of a can on Monday.

On Governing

"The major problem - one of the major problems, for there are several - one of the many major problems with governing people is that of whom you get to do it; or rather of who manages to get people to let them do it to them.

To summarize:  it is a well-known fact that those people who must want to rule people are, ipso facto, those least suited to do it.  To summarize the summary:  anyone who is capable of getting themselves made President should on no account be allowed to do the job.  To summarize the summary of the summary:  people are a problem."

 - Douglas Adams The Restaurant at the End of the Universe (Chapter 28, Paragraph 1 & 2)

Little Black Guns

There was a time where there existed little black guns before big black guns were cool. The Colt Pocket Pistol.

The pocket hammerless is another design by firearms legend John Moses Browning.  Manufactured by Colts's Manufacturing Company from 1908 to 1948,  it was originally said to have been presented to Colt Management before the turn of the century but they passed on it, allegedly in efforts to produce a larger caliber pistol that would help them secure a military contract.  Their loss was Grabrique Nationale de Herstal's gain as GN welcomed the design, producing Brownings self loading pocket pistol and the FN Model 100 both chambered for the Browning introduced .25 ACP (Automatic Colt pistol) cartridge.

The European market fell in love with it, a loss which was felt by Colt as their European sales took a hit. Colt wasted no further time in brokering a deal with Browning and FN to produce the handgun for US sales, marketing it as a small concealable firearm which could be easily tucked into a gentleman's vest pocket for discrete carry.

On June 19, 1903 Colt began shipping out their new Model 1903 Pocket Hammerless in .32 ACP releasing the Model 1908 in .380 ACP five years later as well as a smaller version in .25 ACP which is the Range weapon.  Many felt that the model 1908 was the first serious challenge to the reign of the 41 rimfire Remington Double Derringer as the preferred discreet gun for the ordinary and the infamous of  society.  

In military use, more than one was privately purchased during WWI and slipped in to the trench coat of the American Expeditionary Forces as a little extra protection as one slipped  into the enemy's Trench.  By the time WWII rolled around they were standard issue to General Officers of the US Army. General Dwight Eisenhower carried one, as did Patton and General Omar Bradley.

Although wildly popular in the United States, Colt ceased production after WWII, the machinery that made hundreds and hundreds of thousands of these firearms was wearing out, staff  was retiring.  A firearm that required a fair amount of hand fitting, Colt made the decision to let it slip from their catalog, the cost of reinvestment in equipment and personnel making the firearm too expensive for the average consumer.

But if Colt was no longer in love with the little Pocket Pistol, Hollywood still was.

If you've watched the Maltese Falcon you've likely noticed at least one version of the little Colt Pocket Hammerless.  It was a classic of old movies, and many modern ones.

A popular weapon of movie redheads, at least the kind that are "I'm not bad, I'm just drawn that way", Jessica Rabbit in "who Framed Roger Rabbit", had a Hammerless Pocket Pistol (though she filed the front sights off of hers). Another gold plated one showed up in the same film, carried by another character.   George C. Scott carried one in "Patton" and there are dozens of other films, many I've seen, and some I haven't ,where the firearm made its presence known, even today.

It's early on popularity in motion pictures was due to a number of factors.  In using blank rounds, the prop masters liked it because the .32 ACP blanks had a much lower decibel report when fired than the less reliable .45 ACP blanks so the technicians didn't have to fiddle so much  with the settings for sound levels between shot and speaking sequences.  Humphrey Bogart was said to prefer one as he had small hands and it made his hands look bigger, but rumor or truth, the forced perspective of the Colt's size would make the actors who carried them appear more threatening.   Additionally, the recoil of the .32 was mild, and easily managed with one handed shooting, the style of hold that was popular in earlier films.

Some of its history is more than movie myth, as Bonnie Parker taped one to her thigh and smuggled it to Clyde Barrow to help him escape from jail.

John Dillinger was said to have owned several and had one in the pocket of his pants the night he was shot in the alleyway next to the Biograph Theater in Chicago. Actor Johnny Depp carried one in his portrayal of Dilinger in the movie "Public Enemy".

Al Capone was known to have kept one on his night stand.

A lot of long retired cops  will remember carrying one of these for undercover work or as a backup gun. Others will remember confiscating more than one of these from criminals back in the day.

I like the looks of it, history notwithstanding.  Almost Art Deco in appearance, they are light and sleek  and easy to tuck into a pocket.   That made them quite successful for Colt when Americans were embracing larger calibers like .44's or .45's.  Those firearms were fine for the outdoors, but pretty hard to tuck discreetly away in polite society (the term of which is a misnomer, as if society was polite, you'd not need a firearm for self defense).

Accuracy:   The sight picture is small (think almost non existent).  The sights consist of a dimple on the rear of the slide leading to a trench down the length of the aforementioned slide.  A VERY teensy front site sits right at the front in the middle of the trench.  This isn't a pistol for winning pistol matches, but at 21-35 feet the accuracy is pretty good.though for self defense though it's a weak caliber.

Six rounds of .25? Well, that will annoy them., you say?  A few months after the Colt 1903 was out, American Rifleman gun review J.V.K. Wagar wrote that the Colt wasn't powerful enough for "defensive purposes against great bears or armed men of great virility".  Ouch.  Sure,  some would say it's better than a poke with a Phillips screwdriver but a couple well placed rounds of .25 WILL kill you.  I'm not saying it will be my carry piece, as more bad guys are fueled by meth, than by manliness. But .25, like .22 (below),  in the vitals can do some harm.  This was meant for an up in your face, NOW threat, not a distant one.

Recoil:  Surprisingly low for such a small pistol.  You can count on the still smarting fingers of your hand the number of small concealed carry pieces that don't snap at you for even attempting to fondle them.  The Colt 1908 has a bit of spice to it, but still it's manageable and the 1903 can be quite smooth so you can get those six rounds off really, really fast.

Capacity  - Six round box magazine, held in place with a heel based-clip

Length 4.5 inches (barrel is 2 inches)

Weight .81 pound.

Magazine Release - on the heel of the grip which took me a little getting used to.

Safety: Early marketing proclaimed the "advanced" safety features of the Model 1908, including a standard slide-locking safety catch and grip safety.  In 1916 Colt engineer George Tanley invented a third safety feature for the pistol, the magazine safety disconnector, which prevent accidental firing with the magazine removed.

The Home on the Range Colt is one manufactured after this additional safety  was added, based on its serial number and the change in inscription to:

COLT’S PT. F.A. MFG. CO. HARTFORD. CT. U.S.A.PAT’D AUG.25.1896.APR.20.1897.DEC.1903.JAN.25.1910.JULY 31.1917.

Unlike the grip safety of a 1911 pattern pistol, the grip safety on the Vest Pocket takes a deliberate forward flex of the web of the hand; which a few hands will find hard to get used to. The grip safety takes some definite pressure which is a good thing, as with the small size of the piece it's possible to get a finger in the trigger guard when trying to pick it up.

If you have big hands, you're going to have to make a concentrated effort to hold low on the grip or wear gloves, because the slide will come right on over the top of your hand and those little edges will bite.

As I said previously, the mag catch, heel style on the bottom rear of the gun, takes a little finesse (you know, as in starting a round engine takes a "little finesse"). With hands my size, I pretty much have to do the squeeze of death with the "how's my driving" finger around the grip and that's usually enough pressure to disengage the grip safety.

Loads:  Remember most modern ammo runs hotter than loads prepared back in the early 1900's with considerable advances in metallurgy and heat treatment during later years as well. If you are purchasing one of these that's had a regular and steady diet of hot ammo you may want to check the frame or slide for cracks. Corrosive primers back in the day could have also taken a toll and some degree of pitting of the barrel may be expected, which can range from lightly pitted to sewer pipe. Unless you're an expert, I'd recommend a gunsmith take a look at anything you are thinking of purchasing, even through these aren't terribly expensive firearms.

SA:  If you've been trained on double action or certain larger striker fired pistols, the  little Colt single action may take a little getting used to as you wait for the longer, heavier pull that's not going to happen (bang before you expect it, is never fun for either of you).

This is not a fixed barrel as you might expect. The barrel has a series of locking lugs under the chamber section of the barrel that hold it in place.  The slide lock on the Colt locks the breech open for cleaning, but not for field stripping. The later FN pistols have a second detent that allows the manual safety to hold the slide open at the correct location for field stripping.

Cleaning:  To field strip the pistol for cleaning, after removing the magazine and checking to make sure the firearm was completely unloaded, including the chamber, and it is not cocked for the dis-assembly.  Holding the gun in the left hand, push the slide back about 3/5 of an inch and hold it open with the left thumb. You should be able to see the barrel lugs line up with the slots inside the slide at the ejection port).  With the barrel lugs lined up with the slots in the slide, twist the barrel a quarter turn  (clockwise as if you face the front of the gun) and ease the slide and barrel off of the front of the frame.

But you're not going to be running this through any IDPA circuits, and it will be a fair bit of time before you get a lot of rounds through it, so a basic clean (remove the grips, pull the slide back and blast it out with some gun scrubber, let dry and generously re-oil and replace the grips), should work after firing a few rounds.

Finish - The "vest pocket" was primarily produced with the familiar, high polished lustrous colt royal blue finish, which had cover-casehardening of the safety catch, grip safety and trigger.  Another popular option was nickel place and a number of various specialty and customer special order finishes are out there, including gold and silver plating as well as very detailed engraving. There are three major variants of grip for the gun. The earliest grips were hard rubber, checkered, had the word COLT in a banner at the top of the grip, and the rampant colt over an elongated, stylized letter C below that. The second grip was identical except it eliminated the letter C behind the colt. In the 1920’s checkered wood grips were introduced that had the Colt medallion inset near the top. You will also see some collections that include special order grips that were available in pearl and ivory, either carved or plain.

Ergonomics:  You know those old Irish Spring commercials where somebody says "Clean as a Whistle". It's like that.

Customization:  Do NOT Pimp this gun. This is a classic best left alone, in my opinion. Commission yourself the world's tiniest but coolest holster instead.

Would I get get one if given the choice again?  As a carry piece it would not be my choice, but as a little bit of history that's fun to shoot or as a collectible, it's a nice little firearm for the price. The Colt 1903 and 1908 series were what is so hard to find today, a pocket gun that was made with the same quality of machine forged components, hand fitted and beautifully finished as their larger counterparts. I'm not saying that gun makers now no longer have pride in their craft, as they certainly do, but to keep a small gun priced accordingly, sometimes a bit of that attention to detail and quality of components can be sacrificed.

If you see one, have a gunsmith check it out first, for the issues we talked about or other items, that someone more knowledgeable than I would know to look for. But consider it. Just because this firearm is never going to be your Battle Mistress, doesn't mean it can't be a nice piece of history to hold on to.

This may not end up as one of those small concealed pieces you shoot a few rounds through at the end of your range session just so you can stay proficient with the stubby little son of a gun. You may find that you truly enjoy it; for it's challenge, and challenge builds confidence which carries itself to any situation you may find yourself in, even those higher caliber ones.

But seriously,  despite what Bonnie did with her pistol to free Clyde, don't tape it to your thigh.  It's not a look I'd recommend and fast draw hurts like a bitch.
 - Brigid

Grim Driving Conditions

I'm sort of getting used to driving in a big city, realizing that  most days its a jungle out there. Everyone drives over the speed limit, changes lanes without signaling and without adequate room and you get honked at if you don't adhere to the practice of six cars must run the "yellow now red" light when turning left, before opposite traffic can go on the green.

Conservative drivers are few and far between. If you go too slow you're almost more of a menace. However I have managed to avoid any speeding tickets, though the commute home tonight took two hours.

How I  normally drive.

How I drive when I see a police officer.

The other night I'm coming out of work, going through an area that has a decent speed limit and little traffic at 3 pm. so I figured I could make up some time before hitting the gridlock as everyone lines up to get on the freeway a few miles away. I was tucked in behind a spotlessly clean black car with shiny new Illinois plates,  expensive rims and SEVERAL grim reaper type stickers on the back window and what looks like a little skull hanging from the rear-view mirror. Guy in a black hoodie in the drivers seat. In the back seat, something is sticking up.  Long snow removal squeegee - or scythe?.

He's stopped with his right turn signal on.  There's no signage prohibiting turns on red lights so traffic usually moves pretty briskly.

He doesn't turn.  He scoots out about six inches, then sees a  single car coming from the left, about 2 city blocks away. And scoots back.

Seriously - I could have turned a Beluga Whale in the space he had and it's multiple lanes for all.

He inches forward again, there's another car - about a block away, slowing down to check out a big sign for a concert -  all kinds of room.  Again, the Grim Reapermobile inches forward and  then creeps back again behind the stop line.

Wait, now there's traffic the opposite direction now turning in front of us.  OK, that's a wait.  One Two Three cars.  That's it -  the road is completely clear of all traffic from all directions.  Woot!

The Reapermobile does not move, only inches forward as if expecting another car to somehow materialize in front of him, then retreats.

Several grey hairs later, our light turns green and he turns right.

Apparently Death has moved to Chicago.

He's just afraid to change lanes.

Missing. . .

On Priorities

After Abby Normal the black lab chewed up my Castle CD when she got bored one day when I was late getting home I figured she needed a new toy so off I went to the pet store.  While there, I saw some dog toys on clearance. Most  had squeakers, but those can be pretty annoying.  Not as annoying as the one Barkley had that was a soccer ball that when squeezed played a recording of the Spanish guy who yells 

'"GOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLL !!"

at the soccer games. Barkley would bring that into the bedroom of the townhouse  I used to stay at during the work week at 2 a.m. and set that thing off a couple of times, which probably made the neighbors who shared the wall in the other half of the unit seriously wonder about my love life.

No soccer balls Saturday, the sale items were various Island of Dr. Moreau toys.  This one had not just one but TEN really loud high pitched squeakers in it. It wasn't just painfully annoying it was painfully annoying times ten.

That's not going to be fun for anyone with two legs. But for Abby the rescue dog, it is worth it.

Because someone seems to love it.

DIY - Food and Friends

Sunday we were up early as that was the day we were pulling the old sink and counter top (one piece stamped steel) out of the kitchen, dismantling the plumbing to it and adding the antique farmhouse sink with a temporary drain until we can get the wall apart to plumb it back behind the wall in prep for the new cabinets.

It's not that big but that sucker is going to be heavy.  Once all the small appliances were moved to the basement, we rearranged so the farmhouse sink could get wheeled in. The fridge is still wheeled from when the tile went in as it will get moved one last time for plaster work and painting.

 Ding Dong - the back up troops have arrived to help.

 Midwest Chick and Mr. B. are Here!  Scritches for everyone!

OHHHH! Midwest Chick brought a goodie bag.  Hammond's candy bars, some Italian dressing in a wine bottle from St. Julian winery and. .

incredible truffles from the Chocolate Garden in Michigan - the Citrus Ginger ones were the bomb.

But back to work.

After the counter top was carried off to the garage, it was time to "exterminate" the plumbing as they say on Dr. Who.

 Midwest Chick and I fled to the safety of the jeep with some new cookbooks to peruse.

One section of cabinets was removed so we had space to put the temporary drain from the farmhouse sink until it can get plumbed back behind the wall as the cabinets go in.  Then a temporary wood counter top went in so I had a clean space to work the next few weeks. I am so going to love having a solid space of counter from wall to wall.  With the appliances and the sink in the middle, weekly bread baking was challenging.

Time to eat. While the menfolk worked away Midwest Chick and I caught up discussing important things like raw honey face cream, wine, and if there is a physiological correlation between too much botox, the frontal lobe and voting liberal. It was good to laugh and be silly  - the last year with aging parents was tough on us both and we had little time to do this.

Then, while the menfolks were at a stopping point, we  hit a local family owned Mexican place. Sometimes the tiny little "hole in the wall "places are the best.

No tomatoes for this redhead but I do love my Americanized (on request) carne asada tacos with the homemade hot sauce and lime. (the tortillas are made every morning from scratch).  Their hot sauce is so good I ask for extras for my eggs later in the week.

It seems like the other day when this wall (home to a long, ugly window) looked like this. (I do NOT miss the red peeling linoleum floor).

The walls will be painted a light creamy yellow which will really make the sink and the window"pop".

It's in - and we have water.  A few more weeks for the cabinets to be completed and then we can touch up plaster and paint the walls and ceiling after the soffit is removed and on to the next project.

Reinforcing the front porch which has all the fortitude of a campaign promise, new front steps and fresh paint trim around some of the windows.

It never ends when you have a 100 year old house and it's SO worth it. Especially when you have wonderful friends to help relax and unwind after the adventures.

Ciabatta Sundays

Today the old sink is unplugged and the antique farmhouse sink is set up with the drain system to be put in. The countertop to the left which is solid, is coming out with a little help from two friends, and a piece of hardwood is going on top as a temporary counter as the custom cabinets are being finished up (about five more weeks). We're going to wait and finish the paint and plaster work after the cupboards, backsplash and inlaid light is done as the whole soffit is coming out and we'll have to repaint anyway.

This wall originally had a long, ugly window that Partner replaced with the smaller stained glass. Then he plumbed it to free up the single countertop to the left for a long counter, without a sink in the middle.  The kitchen is quite tiny, so space is carefully planned.

So - before the water was turned off, breakfast. I usually make French toast with leftover white bread but today I had some crusty Ciabatta that was getting old and I have to say it made the best French toast ever. Because there is so many large holes, there was lots of opportunity for the rich batter to seep into every nook and cranny. You will need to let it soak in the egg an extra minute and swish it around gently to get the holes filled in but it makes a GREAT breakfast.

It's about as easy as breakfast gets.  Slice four slices per person and set aside.  Using one egg for each person whisk in bowl and add a splash of milk (about 1/4 cup for two people), a few drops of vanilla and a small spoonful of honey.  Soak the bread for about a minute each side then cook on a hot griddle. The center is all soft and pillowy, almost like brad pudding and the crust has a nice bite to it without being "crisp".

I don't think I'm going to make my old French toast again. Pair this and a plate of bacon and some orange juice and coffee and everyone will be happy.

Happy Birthday Big Bro

Today would have been my Big Brother's 60th Birthday.  I think about what I would have done today if he was still here - probably onlibe looking for a horrifically tacky and politically incorrect floral bouquet to send him (teleflower, you are MUCH too tasteful, all you have  are beautiful flowers in lovely arrangements, I couldn't find anything involving cactus, spent brass and a fart cushion.).  If I'd been able to visit him where I would have made his favorite cake.  He baked one for me one time when he was a teen - it was burned on the outside and raw in the middle  - apparently in "doing the math" he thought if 45 minutes at 300 F was good, 20 minutes at 500 was even better.  Dinner that went with it was egg rolls and Tater Tots. But I loved him for the effort. By the time e got into his 20's though he was a good of a cook as I, though he went to his grave with his recipe for Bullie Beans (with tequila, I'm sure of it) refusing to give it to me until I gave him his Rat Fink ring back, a much beloved joke between us).

He always did something special when I came home, balloons for my bedroom, a gallon of my favorite Tillamock Marionberry ice cream in the freezer, a card.  Always.

I know if I could turn back time and see him again,  I'd hold him close in a hug, even though he towered above me and was twice my size, telling him I loved him and he'd tell me back, for he never had a hard time with those words.

So for tonight - I'll raise a toast and share a chapter from Saving Grace - A Story of Adoption which is as much about he and I as my having a child and giving her up.  This months proceeds from both books are going to the Ontario SPCA .

That's Ontario Canada, not California, an organization some friends are part of.
--------------------------------------------

Chapter 49 - Lifespan

I tried to visit Dad as often as I could in those first weeks after we lost my brother. He wished to remain living in his home, so a home health nurse was hired to provide full time in-home care and drive him where he needed to go. I had mentioned his getting another dog---but he was having difficulty standing up, so a dog that had to be let out would probably not be a good idea.

But Dad has had a number of rescues over the years, the last being a Dalmatian named Ashlee. When he got her he was 90 and the dog was almost 12. There was no telling who would outlive whom; but he was so happy to have that four-legged friend to share his big old house with.

But with good quality food and regular veterinary care, Ashley the Dalmatian lived two very comfortable years with her; and Dad at 94 now is doing better than average.

Think about it. As a society we now live decades longer than our ancestors. I remember reading the book Alaska by James Michener; in the opening chapter, there in the dawn of time they speak of "the Ancient One," a woman who was a great healer and spiritual leader. She was in her thirties. Oh great, I thought as I read it, first the big three-oh, now I'm ancient.

These days most of us can expect to live well into our seventies and eighties, some even into their hundreds. Yet some creatures live only months or even days.

Late one fall a cricket moved into my garage of the house. Night after night he chirped away on the other side of my bedroom wall. Leaving the garage door open a bit didn't encourage him to leave, only to have a party with some of his bigger friends. I was able to shoo them out, but he hopped into a little crack to hide so he could continue to serenade me. After a few nights of that I was wondering as to ways to dispatch him. (Would using a silencer on a cricket be illegal or apropos?)

I did a little checking online---apparently the life span of the average field cricket is just a couple of months. Already an adult, he likely had only a few weeks to live, if that.

The poor little guy wouldn’t even make it to Halloween; but each night he sang as if he would live forever. I didn't have the heart to capture him and move him outside. He could stay safe in my garage as my pet cricket. I named him "Mort."

Consider the hummingbird: such a small creature with such a high metabolism, yet it has a life span much greater than you'd think, with some living more than a decade. I watch them from the feeders in summer, warring for the liquid nectar found within, fending off others that wish to take it; watching, guarding, always wanting more of life's sweetness. No different than what we want.

I think of lives cut short that achieved so much for their brief time here, like my favorite poet John Keats, who threw over medicine to write some of the most sublime odes in the English language and died at 25 from tuberculosis; Percy Shelly; M.F. Xavier Bichat, French army surgeon turned pathologist; Évariste Galois, mathematician and inventor of group theory who died at 20; Robert Fergusson, Scottish Poet; Saint Albertus Magnus. Their words, their teachings still follow me where I go, whispering to me in unexplored depths or darkest of nights---such great thoughts tinged with wonder and mystery, those whispers of slain genius.

Fortunately our human life span is much longer than most creatures’---if we are blessed and take care of ourselves. But even the greatest expanses of time seem so short in recollection. Walking through the little village where I live, the sidewalk glinted with little bits of mica. Not the prophet Micah who told us our human task is to do justly, but the geological kind. As a kid, the sidewalk would glitter like broken glass upon the tide flats from the small glints of mica within it. My brother said it was made of broken starships, and I believed him. For though there are limits to what we may accept as children, there is no limit to what we can believe, nourished as we are by the embrace of the incredible that is found right beneath our feet.

Into the warm days of fall that is childhood's longest hour, in those weeks of summer vacation we believed we'd live forever. We weren't content just to ride our bikes on these glittering trails of star-stuff; we'd get big pieces of chalk and drew on them, hopscotch, tic-tac-toe, our names. We'd play well into the dark, coming in only when we were hungry, the front doors unlocked to our comings and goings---time for us was something we could pick up and put in our pocket.

When I go home and my brother’s laughter is silent, there is no weather of distance between that time and now. It seems like yesterday. But I have realized that the saying is true: man does carry his life in his hand. My dad's siblings, though blessed with a hardy disposition, also possessed an intrepidity of spirit and courage that might have been called reckless in others; but in them it was a natural trait when tempered with a soundness of choice. They honored their bodies as vessels of God and didn't abuse them with drugs or an excess of alcohol or even food. In the pictures I have of them together I see only lean, honed strength and purpose of duty.

I look at a collection of bones on a table, beautiful to me in their pristine immobility. I look at a glass box my aunt left me that sits on my desk. In it is Urania ripheus, more commonly known as the sunset moth, hovering on lifeless wings that glow in the light as if lit aflame. The sunset moth is found on the shaded areas of river banks in Madagascar. The essence of life floats elusive, half submerged in the waters of science, buoyed by God. I've spent the last fifteen years studying the many tragic ways life ends; and still I draw great comfort for the way it fights to remain.

Somewhere a thousand miles away, meal time drawn to a close, Dad will be in his recliner reading that old family Bible, the book for all the days remaining. Dad never knew his destiny would be to live to great age, to love deeply, outliving children and two wives. A love that entranced him and made him its own to the most secret of thoughts, to the disquiet of blood, to his last exhalation. He did not know his destiny but he followed it with unfaltering footsteps. The Bible is gently laid in his lap as he nods his head for a nap. The winter window fades, then glows---a living spark there among the shadowed embers as at his feet lies an empty dog bed.