Buying Candy

By Rob Watson

 Today I was in Lowes waiting to pay $1,500 for a lawn mower. (and feeling fortunate to find one so inexpensive) When I looked over to the candy rack. There for all the world to see was a box of Butterfinger bars, the large ones, marked $2.99 each. The guy in front of me appeared to be about my age, so I said " did you ever think you would see a dime candy bar selling for three bucks" He looked at me for a couple of seconds without speaking, so I added " you look to be about my age, you have to remember dime candy bars." He smiled then and said "Yeah, and I remember searching ditches for coke botttles to sell for a penny a piece just to get enought money to buy a candy bar" I told him I remembered that very activity. Then he added " then they raised the deposit to two cents and we doubled our take." Yep," I said, "I do Remember.""If we got lucky we might find enough to buy a coke and a bag of potato chips" he added.

A while later I was in the hardware store and the clerk seemed to be my age, So I related the above experiance to him. He smiled and said he remembered those very things. On the way home, I was museing on three guys, raised a hundred miles apart, sharing the same experiances... searching ditches for coke bottles to get enough money to buy a candy bar. Then I began to wonder, how many school shooters ever had to search a ditch to get a candy bar.

A Suggestion

Subject: A Suggestion...

Dear Bill,
I have taken the liberty of addressing you as such as there are no letters after your name. My name is Robert Edward Watson, Springhill High School graduate, Class of 1964. Proud son of Robert H. Watson and Cecilia P. Watson, Owners of Watson's Feed Store in Springhill.(I wouldn't want someone else to get credit for my suggestion.) I also worked for Webster Parish Schools as a math teacher, under the very fine Harold Newsome, at Sarepta High School.

Firstly, I should congratulate you for completely destroying your high school's main rival, The Springhill Lumberjacks. You have completely eliminated a long history of humiliating defeats in many sports and academics. Cleverly done! The move may generate a tad of animosity.

You should consider, as a continuing cost saving measure, consolidating all the small schools near Minden into one. You could call it the South Webster Parish Gravel Pits, or "The Pits" for short.

As Always, Respectfully, Rob Watson

One Quarter of a Master Point

By Rob Watson

Do you have some skill that, at a low level of involvement, you enjoy? Then when the involvement becomes concentrated and intense, you are first, very good and second, quite unhappy? I had such an experience some years ago.

The group with whom I worked, at the time, gathered at lunch each day and played bridge. As a way of expanding our joint experience we would occasionally attend amateur night at the local bridge club. That happened to be Thursdays.

The set up was this: tables for four were set up to accommodate all comers. The house supplied partners for the odd entry. Each table had four bridge hands dealt out. The pares would play each hand and keep score. The scores were compiled after every pair had played all the hands. (there is a name for this but it was long enough ago that I have forgotten it.)

Usually, my partner and I finished last, not just a little behind next-to-last, but a long way behind. I enjoyed myself immensely. My various partners seemed to as well.

One Monday I decided to go it alone. Not usually being the observant type, it escaped my notice that Monday was the night for the hard core, high end bridge players. (Daniel into the lion's den) My supplied partner was a local bridge champion. He appeared to be somewhat unhappy with his partner, but he was courteous and gracious all the same.

We began by discussing several bidding conventions and agreeing on how to play them. Then the game began. I was in a high state of concentration for the whole time, for every word spoken and every card played. (It felt like my blood pressure went up 100 points) When the score was tallied we were first... not just a few points above second but way ahead of second. My partner acted as if it was just another Monday night with the gang. For my part I was awarded one quarter of a master point.

So, if you want a happy-go-lucky, let the cards fall as they may, partner, I am your man. You want a winner, you'll have to look elsewhere. My reward for that kind of stress may be beyond your pay scale

Miss Regina

By Rob Watson

I have reported, in a previous post, First Dates, my ineptitude with women. This is a followup relating pleasant times and more ineptitude... and my second kiss. These event took place 48 years ago, yet parts are remembered as if they were today, especially the perfume.

Miss Regina was a rather attractive, (I have a strong attraction to attractive women) young woman that I met through my Best Friend. She was his classmate and a friend and carpool member with his future wife. She was the daughter of a chicken farmer. She was truly and deathly afraid of chickens.
I got to know her by spending idle hours between classes at college, in the carpool discussing religion. Along with being pretty, Miss Regina was very intelligent and always wore the same perfume, Emeraud.

Emboldened by close association, I requested she join me at the social event of the year, The State Fair. It was the style of the time that those taking dates to the fair would wear their best suit and bring a flower corsage for his date. Dressed in her best, Miss Regina was a beauty. I picked her up at her home and promised her father to deliver her back safely.

My parents were in the farm supply business and I liked to see the animal exhibits as well as the other sights. When we entered the chicken exhibit, Miss Regina froze. After some encouragement she agreed to walk across the narrow part of the building, never getting closer than 15 feet to a cage of chickens. We also engaged in the various other activities, including some of the game booths along the midway. One of these was a shooting gallery. By the greatest of coincidences all three of my shots hit the target (you do know those games are rigged, right?) thereby winning myself a choice of medium sized stuffed teddy bears. I insisted Miss Regina choose. Her look of pleasure and excitement was such that I still remember it today, as if it had just happened.

After an excellent day and the big football game, we drove the 70 or so miles back to her home. The front porch light was on. I walked her to the door, thanked her for a very pleasant day, then hesitated, wondering what to do next. Miss Regina solved that problem for me. She took my hand, pulled me into the darkened room and planted a heartfelt kiss on my lips... another seemingly recent memory.

One might think that would be an auspicious beginning. Unfortunately it was a rather dramatic ending. My habit of courting too slow cost me the very nice Miss Regina.

If you are a female, you should know, your perfume is as much a part of you as the sound of your voice. Speaking for myself and most men as well, if I smell your perfume in a crowded room, though it be someone else, I will think of you. And, if it is Emeraud, Miss Regina.

Firearms in Self Defence

by Rob Watson

This post contains graphic descriptions of people killing people with firearms. If you are upset by such information you should not continue reading this.

I have moderate experience with firearms. Early in my life I was allowed to have air rifles, a CO2 pistol, and a small shotgun. The pistol and the shotgun were both relatively expensive to shoot so I did very little with them. The air rifles were a nickle for 100 shots, so one or the other of them were almost constant companions. Eventually I learned to point and shoot them, without aiming, with moderate accuracy. This skill translated to long guns and persists today. In competition, where accuracy counts, I still shoot without using sights, unless the targets are small and at a distance, and I am using a long gun. I can "shoot from the hip" at center of mass size targets, at 40 to 50 yards(meters) and still score a high percentage of hits.

Handguns are a different matter. I almost always use the sights of a handgun. When not hurried, shooting at 6 inch diameter (20cm) targets at 50 yards (meters) I still get a high percentage of hits. When hurried, not using sights, frequent misses are the result. This is true even when the targets are large (center of mass size) and close at hand, 12 to 15 feet away. But then, I have never faced a loaded firearm or been shot at with anything more powerful than an air rifle.

There are a number of problems with using deadly force for self defence. The main one being hitting the target. Most people, under pressure, frightened, hurrying, do not hit their target, even at very close ranges. One video, I saw, showed two men on opposite sides of a normal retail counter. Each had a semi-auto pistol with high capacity magazine. One would pop up fire a shot or two then duck down. Then, the other would pop up, fire a round or two then duck down. At no time were these two more than 5 feet apart. They both fired all their ammunition. Neither was harmed.

At a timed shooting match, the regular champion was to shoot a series of targets. The fastest time, hitting all the targets in the series, wins. The first target was a 6 inch steel disk at about 20 yards. In his rush to hit and move, this guy fired 3 magazines full of ammunition, about 50 rounds, before taking down his target... much to the amusement of all of us whom he regularly bested.

If you recall your firearm training, it was mostly talking. Then you went to a range, fired a number of rounds from a fixed position, at a fixed target, and came away, perhaps thinking yourself trained. How will this help you when, as recently occurred in Missouri, a person twice your size reaches in your car window and proceeds to beat you about the head and face... then when you pull out your pistol trys to take it away from you.

The idea and practice that you will, when faced with possible assault by a deadly weapon, calmly retrieve your firearm from its hiding place, prepare it to fire, take careful aim, then slowly squeeze the trigger, is so far from reality as to be dangerous, even fatal to you. What you train to do is what you will do.

In the past I was friends with the firearms instructor for the Colorado Parks and Wildlife officers. He relates the following encounter by a team of his officers. ( a 'double tap' is two quickly spaced shots on a target ) Two officers pursued a poacher to a cabin in the mountains. One officer was cautiously walking along the length of the cabin's front porch. The poacher walked out the front door, rifle in hand. The officer did exactly as he had trained many times. He drew his pistol, flicked off the safety, cocked it, double tapped the subject, decocked the weapon, and holstered it. Fortunately, the badly, but not fatally injured, subject turned and walked back into the cabin instead of shooting the, now unarmed, officer. My friend has altered his training practices to include the step of determining if the target is down before disabling and holstering his weapon.

My point is one should practice frequently with one's weapon such that drawing and preparing to fire is quick and automatic. If one participates in various timed handgun competitions often enough , one will develop this skill.

Uncomfortable With War, A Letter to a Friend

By Rob Watson

Dear Friend,
Your comments about war caused me to evaluate my own feelings on the subject. As it happens, I recall sitting in Physics lab at College doing exactly that… quit school, join the army… (For some reason, at the time, I did not consider the Navy or Air Force as I did when the real decision was made.)

I had been in the Boy Scouts and gone camping in primitive conditions many times. I do/did not like cold, hot, bugs, hard ground, cooking out, and being dirty with no way to wash. I am somewhat uncomfortable with the unknown, but I can deal with it. I am very concerned about being shot at and facing bombs and shells. And, I knew I would become an officer, would be a strict disciplinarian and would die at the hands of one of my men, who did not like me messing with his drugs… so, I gave up the idea and went back to working on my assigned experiment.

When faced with reality later in the military, when they were lining me up to go to Southeast Asia, I actively sought out the opportunity to avoid that. With the help of God, I am sure, an unlikely series of events sent me to Little Rock, Ark. instead. While I am uncomfortable with avoiding that danger, I am exceedingly happy to have done so. (Over the years, I have met a few men who, like me, were able to avoid the danger of their time. Some are simply, again like me, uncomfortable with their action. One WWII vet who stayed in the US in the USO was positively ashamed of himself… enough that he would not stand and be recognized at a Memorial Day event, where all veterans were asked to stand and be recognized.)

I assume you have seen the painting of Pickitt’s Charge at Gettysburg. From time to time, I try to transport myself back to that time and place myself in one of those long, majestic, lines of infantry… the only emotion that comes to mind is the all consuming fear that I experienced when asking for a date the first time. (recounted in my blog “Fear”)

So, it is easy to see the difference between reality and experiencing power, glory, courage, etc. vicariously through films and reenacting.

My friend, Charles, was in training to go to WWII when it ended. He was trained to be a 40mm antiaircraft gunner on one of the big warships. He fully expected to be killed at his post by a Kamikazi attack. If I started to tell a “war story” he would stop me, saying he thought war was a senseless pursuit. (Charles thinks the atomic bomb saved his life and says so whenever it is brought up in the news) So, you should see that I am experienced with good and favored people who are uncomfortable with things associated with war… and these good and favored people retain my utmost respect for their views.

Looking foreword to seeing you Monday evening… Wife wishes me to remind you we have accepted your invitation to stay over for the 21st and leave on the 22nd.

Your friend,
Rob Watson

Making Hot Tamales

Making Hot Tamales
by rob Watson

{ I have updated this report with information from my second try at making Tamales. A careful cook will notice some inconsistencies with normal Home Ec practices. These, I expect, will cause me to be banned from the Latino Homemakers Society}

For many years, possibly from childhood, I have thought of making my own hot tamales. This, as much because I really like them as because they are a rare commodity, even in Mexican restaurants. (depending on how you feel about the ones in cans) The event that tipped me over the edge was paying a dollar apiece for tamales only slightly larger than half a hot dog weeny.

I began by researching tamale recipes. There is some variation in ingredients and in directions for the task. I chose a cook book in our collection that purported to describe how Texans make tamales. I added an ingredient or two where the book seemed deficient; writing  it all down. Contrary to the suggestion by the Resident here with knowledge and experience, and book directions that I shred the pork, I chose to run it through our meat grinder. This, mostly because directions contain arbitrary instructions like "season to taste" and "mix until it looks... "; then has me throwing it all together and steaming for an hour. All such seemed difficult in light of my inexperience in this task measured against my extensive experience in cooking other things, which says taste first, middle, and last. The above decisions made before I did anything.

{My choice for ingredient amounts is about 1/2 those recommended in the Texas Cookbook:
   1 tbs salt, 1/2tsp course ground black pepper, 1tsp red pepper, 2tbs chili powder, 2tbs Paprica,
   1tsp oregano, 1tsp onion powder, 1/2 tsp garlic powder}

On Day One, I collected all the ingredients and equipment for preparing the meat: washing all the equipment and lining them up on the kitchen counter. I ground and mixed and tasted until I was satisfied. Then I consulted the Resident here with knowledge and experience. I was given  a tentative OK. With this accomplished, I instituted my own procedural invention: I ran the meat through the sausage maker and formed the meat into long strings, about the diameter of a hotdog. Then I froze them, thinking this would make putting the meat in the tamale less of a challenge.

Day Two: Despite our having parchment paper and crisco, we sought out a store selling real corn shucks and real lard... best to start out being authentic, right? Having found the requirements we brought them home and placed them in the pantry.

Day Three: Not being able to sleep, I made a plan to construct a "trial" batch of tamales. I arose and put this plan into action, while the Resident here with knowledge and experience continued her beauty rest. I chose to do one fourth of the whole. Step one was to clear the needed work space then collect and wash all the equipment. Next, I took out all the ingredients and arranged them on the work area. Reading my instructions for the last time, I began to make the tamalina paste. Step one there was to cut in the lard into the tamalina. Full disclosure, I have "cut in" flour and shortening for pie crusts and biscuits, so I began that here. After a half hour, we're talking one cup tamalina and one third cup lard, I still had a lumpy mess. "To hell with this!", says me to myself, I got out the electric mixer and continued the cutting in process. The end results jived with my former experience so I moved forward. Step two was adding salt and chili powder "to taste" so I chose one teaspoon of each... here a wild guess is as good as any other kind... and fired up the mixer again. Tasting for this step being hours away. Then the direction suggested adding chicken broth to the tamalina "until it looks right... but not runny" I arbitrarily chose one cup of broth for the same reason as the salt and chili powder... a wild guess is as good as any other kind here.

{Ingredients and directions for Tamalina mix: 6 cups Tamalina, 6 cups Chicken broth, 1lb lard, 1 1/2 tbs salt, 1tbs chili powder. I heated the water until almost too hot to touch then placed the lard in it. I added salt and chili powder and mixed with an electric mixer until melted. Then I added the tamalina one cup at a time, mixing thoroughly after each addition. When all was well mixed I tasted it. It was OK. I let it sit for an hour to thicken up.}

Here the directions said to spread the paste onto the corn husks 1/8 inch thick, and in a square, allowing 1 1/2 inch above and below the square for tying. My discovery was that the paste was much more inclined to stick to the spoon than to the corn shuck. Working on ingenuity alone, I devised a technique of wiping the paste off the spoon and onto the shuck right at the edge of the shuck, which also favored an easier rolling things together. I then developed the technique of placing the frozen stick of meat at this edge and rolling toward the center. I adjusted the distribution of paste with a finger to cover the meat. I am thinking I will use less broth next time as the paste seemed quite mobile during and after the rolling was done. The book now suggest, to be authentic, I should tear one shuck into thin stripes to use as strings to tie the ends of the tamales prior to the final steaming.
I did this to the seven tamales of the test batch, which lead to another "to hell with this" moment.

{Also, shucks were seldom long enough to tie as described so I placed the food materials at the wide end of the shuck and folded the top down. No tieing}

Now, done with the test batch I cleaned up my mess, washing all the things and putting everything away. All was waiting for inspection by the Resident here with knowledge and experience. When she arose I showed her what I had done and asked her to critique my results. As she looked things over, I am pretty sure she had one eye entirely closed and the other only partly open... probably fearing what she would see. After a few seconds she pronounced everything "very good", with only a slight hesitation in her voice.

With this acknowledgement, I proceeded to include all I had learned into processing all the remaining ingredients to finish the job. After steaming the product of my efforts, I lifted the lid of the steamer... it smelled like tamales. I pulled one out and unrolled it... it sort of looked like a tamale. I tasted this product, and much to my surprise, it tasted like a tamale. Then I presented it to the Resident here with knowledge and experience, who proceeded to declare "These taste pretty good. "

The really big surprise: It really did look like a real genuine hot tamale. These are going to be great under a layer of chili.

{these tamales come out a little dry and eat better with a more liquid chili or perhaps a red sauce}