***********************************************************

“How about we start from the beginning?” I asked her.  “For starters, what’s your name?”

“Rachel.  Rachel Cartwright,” She answered.  “My husband’s name is Jonathan Cartwright.”

Rachel.  That was a good name for the lady sitting across the table from me.  She was beautiful and she deserved a beautiful name.  I wondered if her character was equally beautiful.  I had my doubts.  After all, she had asked me to kill her husband.  What happened to ‘for better or worse’, ‘sickness and health’, and all that jazz?  Bad guy or not, a woman ought to stand by her man.

“Okay.  Now why do you think your husband’s a murderer?  You said there was no evidence, and you don’t even have any idea of who he’s supposed to have knocked off.”

She looked down and just sat there quietly for a few moments.  I watched her and was beginning to get impatient when she looked back up at me and began speaking.

“I’m sure you will think that my story is a strange one.  You might even think I’m crazy, but please, hear me out before you dismiss me.”

“Okay,” I told her.  “Go ahead.”

She took a breath and laid her hands on the table and began her tale.  As she spoke, I realized if she was a liar, she was the most convincing damned one I’d ever met.  She spoke clearly, without any hesitation, and looked me in the eyes the whole time.  I found myself being drawn to her, and for a moment or two, idly imagined having a dame like that in my life.  That fantasy only lasted for a couple seconds.  A woman like that wouldn’t have anything to do with a guy like me.  If Rachel Cartwright knew what I was capable of, or had any idea of the things I’ve done or the life I’d led, no way in hell would she be sitting at a table with me.

“It was about six months ago,” Rachel began.  “It may have been going on longer that that, but that’s when I became aware that something was wrong.  At first, all I knew was that on some nights, I would wake up and Jonathan would be gone.  Sometime around dawn, he would come back home.  I wasn’t always awake when he arrived.  Sometimes I would wake up and go downstairs and find him in the kitchen or the den.  Most times, though, I woke up when he came in the house.  I would ask him about where he had been, and he always gave me some answer like a client called him, or he had work he needed to take care of, or some such.  At first I didn’t think much of it, but when it continued, I suspected that maybe he was having an affair.  I was afraid to confront him about that, though.  My husband has an awful temper, and he’s unleased some of it at me on occasion.  He’s never beat me, or hurt me in any way like that, but over the years I’ve become more and more sure that it wouldn’t take much for him to cross that line.  So I just let things be.

Until about two months ago.  I woke up, and heard some noise coming from the front walk.   I heard a voice and some pounding and stomping, and then someone was fiddling with the door.  I got out of bed and quietly walked downstairs.  I was halfway down the stairs when the door flew open and my husband came crashing in.  It startled me badly, and thank God I didn’t scream.  Jonathan apparently didn’t notice me on the stairs, for he just went running through the front room towards the back of the house.  He seemed to be in an absolute rage, but that’s not what scared me the most.  He was covered in blood.  His face, his clothing, his arms, everything.  After he was out of the room, I went back upstairs and got back in bed.  I didn’t know what to do.  I thought of calling the police, but I was too afraid of what he might do in retaliation.  Later in the morning, after the sun was up, I went downstairs and found him reading in the den.  He was pleasant enough, and asked me if I would make him pancakes for breakfast.  I said yes and went to the kitchen and made our breakfast.  We ate together and had a pleasant enough time, but I remained dreadfully afraid.  He never mentioned anything about the night before and I was not brave enough to broach the subject.  After breakfast, he went to work as if there was nothing at all the matter.

Then there was last month.  One night I woke up as he was leaving.  I heard the door open and shut, and then the sound of the key in the lock.  At that, I quietly walked downstairs and looked out of the front window.  My husband was leaving on foot.  He was running from our driveway and soon was out of sight.  I spent the rest of the night scared to death, wondering what he was doing.  Around four in the morning, he returned.  This time, he came in quieter, but as I was awake, I heard him coming in.  He went through the house and then out of the back door into the garden.  I got up and went over to the window in our bedroom that looks out over the garden, and I watched him dig a hole, take off his clothing, and bury it.  He then started back to the house, and I quickly got back into bed.  Jonathan, like before, stayed downstairs, and when I got up for the day around sunrise, again he was in the den.  Like the previous month, we had breakfast together and then he went to work, just as if it were a normal day and nothing at all had happened.  After he was gone, I thought about going out back and digging up his clothing to see if there was blood again, but I was too afraid.  I was sure he would know that I had done that, and what he might do in retaliation I was too scared to even contemplate.  So I let it be.”

The lady paused and sat silently, looking down.  After maybe half a minute, I cleared my throat and began to speak, but she looked back up at me and held up her hand.

“Please, just give me a minute.  I want to finish the story, but this is not easy for me.  Please bear with me.”

I nodded and waited.  After a bit, she started again.

“You must understand, I did not know what to do, at all.  I realized that my husband was a complete stranger to me.  I knew I couldn’t just ignore what was happening, I would die inside if I did that.  But what could I do?  I was terrified of what my husband would do if I called the police.  And without any idea of what my husband had actually done, I’m not sure the police would be able to hold him.  Of course, then he would come home and I would have to face the consequences of betraying him.  Even if I left, I’m sure he would come after me.  No, the police offered little hope.  But that’s not the worst part of my situation.  After the last time, I started examining everything I knew about the matter, and I realized something disturbing that I hadn’t considered, or been aware of before.”

Here she leaned forward slightly and spoke in a quieter voice.

“Sir, when you hear what I’m about to tell you, you might think I’m crazy or delusional, or perhaps so scared that I can’t think rationally.  But please hear me out.  Last month, I realized that night was the night of the full moon.  I looked at the calendar and realized that the month before, the incident had also happened on a full moon.  The pattern seemed to fit for the previous months when I noticed him leaving at night.  All nights of the full moon.”

She took a breath and then continued.

“I told you earlier that my husband is a monster.  And so he is.  I believe my husband is a werewolf.”

TO BE CONTINUED

***********************************************

It was raining the morning when I first met Rachel Cartwright, and by rain, I mean one of those bloody awful downpours that will soak ya to the bone just looking at it. Now I don’t use umbrellas, and I don’t trust a man who does, but even if I did, carrying one that morning would have been a useless gesture. A hard bitch of a wind blew, ripping the umbrellas out of the hands of many of the people struggling to get to work or whatnot without getting drenched. Their efforts were in vain. Not only did the wind blow their umbrellas every which way, it also sent a lot of the rain skittering sideways and all around, so no matter how they held their protection, they were getting hit. It was almost funny enough to laugh at, but then I’m not much of a comical guy, so I just walked on my way.

It took me about ten minutes to make the walk from my place down to my favorite diner. If you’ve heard of me at all, you know the name of the place. If you don’t know my name, trust me, you’re better off. The people that come to see me are not having a good time, not at all. They come to me because I’m their last resort. Well, maybe not the last resort. They can always go downtown and jump off any number of buildings to fix things for good. Short of that, though, they try to hire me. I’m not a nice guy, and the things I do generally don’t come up as the topic of conversation at dinner.  But when the chips are down and everything’s gone straight to hell, well, I’m the guy you want.

Anyway, I walked into the diner and sat at my usual spot, a table back in the corner.  I always sit with my back to the wall and my eyes on the entrance.  I hate surprises.  If someone’s coming for me, I want to know about it before they reach my table.  A couple minutes after I sat down, the waitress came over to take my order.  Florence is a cute gal.  Well, at least she was years ago, and she hasn’t really lost much, but she’s getting old and it shows.  But who am I to talk?  I’m no longer young myself, and five’ll get ya ten there’s not many women who are turned on by my looks.

Anyway, Flo took my order and ambled away, and just about the time she got to the window to hand the order back to the cook, the door opened and in came a vision from heaven.  She was that beautiful.  And not in a bubbly cutesy way like a lot of the so-called beauties you see in the movies nowadays.  This woman was classy. 

She stood there in the entrance looking around the place, and then her eyes found me and she walked slowly in my direction.  Soon she was standing before my table.  I looked up at her.  The lady clearly didn’t seem to know what to do.  Her mouth was quivering and she seemed to be about to cry.  That got me from the start.  I can say no to just about anyone, but a sad woman about to cry?  I’ll do almost anything to get her to calm back down.

“Have a seat,” I told the lady, motioning to the chair in front of her.

She sat quickly but gracefully, and then reached into her purse and pulled out a photo which she laid on the table.  She slid the picture over to me and I turned it around to study it.  It was of a man, probably in his thirties, well-dressed and groomed, but with a savage look about him that belied his general appearance.

“Who’s this,” I asked her.

“That’s my husband,” she answered.  “I want you to kill him.”

I slid the photo back over to her.

“Maybe you should try putting an ad in the paper,” I said.  She was beautiful, and I’m a sucker for a classy dame, but I’m also no fool.  Her mouth opened, and her eyes widened, and she seemed about to say something when Flo came over and interrupted her.

“Coffee, two biscuits, side of sausage, and a bowl of oatmeal,” Flo stated, setting the food and drink down in front of me.  “Can I get you anything else?”

“This’ll do it,” I answered.  “Thanks, Flo.”  The waitress smiled at me, looked suspiciously at the woman seated across from me, and then ambled off to help other customers.

The lady reached into her purse, and when she withdrew her hand, she placed a fifty-cent piece with JFK’s image mostly scratched out on the table and pushed it over to me.

“A man gave this to me and told me to give it to you and you would help me.”

I picked it up and put it in my pocket.  “Kinda chubby guy with a slight hairlip?” I asked her.  She nodded.  “Alright, I’ll listen to what you have to say, and then I’ll make my decision.  Tell me why you want your husband dead.”

“He’s a monster,” she said.

“Yeah, he does look rough.  What’s he done to you?”

“Nothing,” she answered.  “Nothing to me.  But he’s killed people, I don’t know how many, and he’s going to kill again if he’s not stopped.”

“Why not go to the police?”

“The police can’t help.  I have no real proof, and I don’t know who he’s killed.  Even if I did, all the system could do is lock him up, but that wouldn’t stop him.  I don’t think they would lock him up, though.  Once I told my story, they’d dismiss me as crazy.  I need someone like you.  Will you help me?”

Damn, I thought to myself.  Her words did sound crazy, but she seemed to be totally on the level.  She did not act like a nut, and I’ve dealt with enough of that kind over the years to be able to spot a crazy.  I decided to take the bait.

***************TO BE CONTINUED**********************

Before and after Orlando, we’ll be visiting several Civil War historic sites.  In Orlando, we’ll be taking our son to Legoland and Disney World.  There’ll be a ton of stuff in and around New Orleans we’ll be doing, including showing my son the area in which I was born and grew up.  And we’ll be eating lots and lots of good seafood.  First thing I’m doing when we hit the Big Easy is get me a nice hot footlong fried oyster po’boy, dressed.  I plan on eating one of those every day I’m there.  Then there’s Gumbo, Jambalaya, Crawfish Etoufee, Crawfish Pie, real Southern style cornbread (and maybe some cracklin’ bread if I can find a place that makes it), softshell crab, boiled crawfish, and some alligator for my son (he loves the stuff).  I’m also going to have to get at least one batch of hot tamales from Manuel’s, assuming the place is still around.

Yeah, it’s gonna be a good trip.

The chicken jerky is flavored with lemon pepper and the turkey  jerky is flavored with a BBQ rub I bought at my favorite BBQ joint in Kansas City, Arthur Bryant’s.  Both batches are drying as I type this, and there’s about two and a half hours till the stuff’s ready.

Most of it I’m storing for use as a travel snack when we start our vacation next week.  We’re planning on leaving next Thursday morning, and by that time I’ll probably have about 20 to 30 pounds of jerky to take along.

I’ll update this post later with a description of how the two jerkys turn out.

*************************************************************

UPDATE

Okay, so I finished making the chicken and the turkey jerky and they both came out damned good.  I was very pleasantly surprised with the lemon pepper chicken jerky.  The stuff’s tasty, the texture’s good, an all-around great dried meat snack.  Definitely gonna have to make more of it.

The turkey jerky is good also, though perhaps not quite as flavorful as the chicken jerky.  Still, it was all I could do to hold my son back from gobbling down half the batch before I could get it stored away to use as a snack on our upcoming family trip.  (more on the trip in another post)

Tomorrow I’m going to make some cajun jerky and then some black pepper and garlic jerky.  Sunday, I think I’ll make some mesquite jerky and then maybe a spicy jerky.  We’ll see.  So far I’m loving making all this dried meat.

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2ND UPDATE

Okay, I’m making my third batch of jerky today.  This time, I’m back to beef, and for flavoring I’m using a rub put out by the Rufus Teague company, another local business that makes BBQ sauces and rubs.  Teague makes my second favorite BBQ sauce.  You can check out the company at www.rufusteague.com  .

I recommend the blazin’ hot.  Absolutely great stuff.  If you’re not into spicy-hot, then give the honey sweet or touch o’heat a try.  They’re all excellent sauces, great for basting or just pouring over your burger.

Y’all have a great evening, see ya in the morning!

I told my wife and son that I’m going to buy a copy of the song “Chattanooga Choo Choo” so we can listen to it as we’re heading into that town.  They both promptly started up a coalition to keep me away from the stereo.  I

I’m really looking forward to this trip.  Many of the towns we’re stopping in are places I’ve not been to yet.  New Orleans, as it’s my original hometown, will be the highlight of the trip.  I’m looking forward to showing my son around the area, all the places I used to go and the things I did growing up, like fishing out on Lake Pontchartrain, going boating out in the bayous and swamps, and of course eating lots of delicious food.  First thing I’m gonna get when we arrive in town is a footlong fried oyster po-boy, dressed.  That’ll be followed by a bowl of gumbo and a mess of boiled crawfish.  Then we’ll hit the Cafe Du Monde for a bunch of beignets.  Be Heaven, it will.

Okay.  That’s it for tonight.  I’m tired and my posterior is really sore, so I’m going to bed.

Pleasant dreams and good night to all!

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Rap is not music.  I don’t know what exactly I would call it, but music it ain’t.  Well, I do know what I would call it, but for the sake of children and those with tender sensibilities, I will refrain from using those words on this blog.

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Based on recommendations given to me from some other bloggers, I have started reading the Well of Souls books by Jack Chalker.  And…the first one thus far is damned good.  I think it should be made into a movie.

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Speaking of books I’d like to see made into movies or series:

Callahan’s Crosstime Saloon.  Definitely should be a sci-fi series.

The Stainless Steel Rat.  And Ed Norton should play the part of the ‘rat’.

Since they’ve made a live action Lord Of The Rings, and The Hobbit is on the way to the theater next Christmas, someone should talk Peter Jackson into making a five or six season (at least) series titled “Tales Of Middle-Earth”, based largely off The Silmarillion and including original new tales set within the Middle-Earth mythos.

Foucault’s Pendulum, by Umberto Eco.

The Prince Roger series by John Ringo and David Weber.

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An acquaintance asked me the other day what I thought as to the chances of Romney becoming the Republican candidate as well as winning the election in the fall.  I realized I didn’t care.  To quote Roddy Piper from They Live, “I don’t like this one bit.  Not one bit.”  Don’t get me wrong, I’m gonna vote.  But I’ve gotten to the point where I don’t think it matters much who gets elected president.  The whole federal government is bloated, wasteful, inefficient, and inept, and it truly doesn’t matter much who’s in office.  What we need is a federal government reduced to about one-third of its current size.  I don’t see that happening any time soon, though.

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If you take applesauce, mix in some cinnamon, shape the mixture into 1/4″ thick sheets, then dry it in a dehydrator, you get a tasty fruit leather (another name for a fruit roll-up, basically).  Made a few batches of those already.  Great stuff.

However, doing the same thing, only with boiled carrots that have been pureed and had some nutmeg mixed in, gives you a vegetable leather that sticks horribly to your teeth and delivers a flavor that my wife instantly described as ‘lipstick’.  One small batch of that made and delivered to the trash can.  FAIL

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Going outside with your telescope and spending a couple hours out there with your son, trying to get a nice view of the different planets visible in the night sky, is a great way to spend the evening.  Even when it’s really cold.

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One of my favorite quotes by Mark Twain:

“A man who grabs a cat by its tail learns something that can be learned no other way.”

A truer statement was never spoken.

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That’s it for today.  Y’all have a great evening.

1.  Smacking on gum.  I have detested this for as long as I can remember.  There were times in junior high and high school where we were taking a test, and the @%##% behind me was loudly chewing and smacking on gum, and it was all I could do to finish the test, let alone pass it.  I wanted to turn around, grab the idiot by the throat, get the gum out of his mouth, and shove it up his nose.  Or something equally demonstrative of the thoughts I possessed in regards to his behavior.

2.  Unabashed ignorance.  Now, everyone is ignorant in some degree.  There’s plenty of things or subjects that each of us knows little to nothing about.  That’s not what I’m referring to.  I can best describe it by something my grandfather was fond of saying:  “Ignorance means you don’t know something.  Stupidity is being proud of your ignorance.”  I guess I’m saying I really can’t stand truly stupid people.

3.  Okra.  I don’t care if it’s boiled, fried, or what.  That stuff’s nasty.

4.  Ditto for eggs.  The smell of an egg cooking makes me feel nauseated.  Yuck.

5.  The endless chains of menus one occasionally has to go through when calling a business or government office or whatever.  The worst ones are those that require you to state your choice out loud. 

“In a few words, tell us what you need.”

“I’d like to discuss my bill.”

“I’m sorry, I did not understand your request.  In a few words, tell us what you need.”

“My bill.”

“I’m sorry, I still do not understand your request.  Please state slowly and clearly what you need.”

“I……WANT……..TO…….DISCUSS……MY…….BILL.”

“I’m sorry, I did not understand that.  Stand by while I connect you to an operator.”

“Operator, how can I help you?”

“I’d like to discuss my bill with someone.  Can you help me?”

“Okay, I’ll connect you to billing.”

“Press or state 1 if you would like to hear your current balance.  Press or state 2 if you’d like to make a payment.  Press or state 3 if you’d like to hear about payment options.  Press or state 4 if you’d like to speak with a representative about your account.  Press or state 5 to repeat this message.”

“4″

“Thank you.  Please state the nature of your request.”

“I’d like to discuss my bill.”

“I’m sorry, I did not understand that.  Please state the nature of your request.”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUGGGGHHH!!!!!”

Click

6.  Woody Allen movies.  Any of them.

7.  Rap.  I won’t even dignify it by adding ‘music’ to it.  It’s just Rap.  And I hates it.

8.  People who drive under the speed limit.

9.  Tailgaters.  I’ve been know to decrease my speed by five miles at a time to get the idiot behind me to back off.  Sometimes, I’ll tap the brakes if they’re real close.  Stay off my tail.

10.  Sushi.  Or any other raw meat.  Give me mine well done.

Dried apple rings

Dried bananas

Dried blueberries

Dried grapes (homemade raisins)

Dried pineapple

Strawberry-banana leather (basically a fruit roll-up)

Apple cinnamon leather

Carrot leather

And of course, beef jerky.  Although, I do need some work on flavoring the jerky.  The first batch, which I made yesterday, is good enough, but I could have done better on the spices I flavored it with.  I chose to stay somewhat simple this time, since I wasn’t sure how the jerky itself would turn out, so I sprinkled it with hickory smoked salt.  It came out okay, though I think I might have dried it a bit too much.  When it’s bent, it tends to snap off instead of being more elastic, but otherwise it’s fine.  I think maybe two hours less and the texture would have been better.  The flavoring, though, is not the best.  It’s not bad, but does tend to be really salty, especially in places where more of the spice collected.  I think for the next batch I make, Cajun seasoning will be what I use.

That’s it for now.  Off to go take some painkiller and go lay down for a while.  I’m recovering nicely, but it’s still hard to sit for longer than five or ten minutes, and some mornings, like today (and I won’t go into any detail), the pain is more intense and all I can really do is take some Percocet and go lie down for a few.

Happy New Year to everyone!

Legos aren’t just for kids anymore.  I like the architecture sets they put out.  Sue me.

Fun ideas for me and the son to do.

Time to make some homemade jerky.  And in case I need ideas for things to do with my new ‘toy’:

Yeah, it’s been a great Christmas.  What did y’all get from Santa this year?

Anyway, the phone rang, I picked it up, and the caller announced herself.  I don’t remember now what company she was from, or what deal or product she was offering me, but she announced to me the words from the title of this post in a very capable businesslike tone.

The instant she was done, before she could get to describing anything else or offering me anything, I interjected with

“I object.”

“I’m sorry, you said….”

“I said, I object.  To you and the mystery person somewhere else in your building who just hit the record button.  I OBJECT.  STOP THE RECORDING NOW!”

“Uh, sir, we….”

“No, don’t give me any excuses.  When the government is interviewing you, whether it’s by an investigator or a personnel manager or what, they have to inform you of their wish to record the proceedings and they have to get your permission.  They can’t record you without your permission.  Why didn’t you offer me that choice first?”

“Sir, this is standard procedure, I have to tell you…”

“No, to hell with standard procedure.  You and all the other good little Nazi troopers can do whatever you want, and blame it on the fact you’re just following orders, but I don’t give a damn.  Since you and your overlords can’t be bothered to show me a simple courtesy by asking my permission before you begin recording me, I’m not going to give you another second of my time.  Next time you call me, you make sure that I’m not going to be recorded, for whatever the hell reason, unless I give my consent first.  Till then, you and yours can go to hell.

“Sir, please, just….”

“Oh, and uh, Merry Christmas.”

“Sir…”

CLICK

Alright, a bit juvenile on my part, I admit, but I was in pain and not so good of a mood when the phone rang.  I felt better after I hung up, though.