I’m in a place…not a bad place, not a good place. Just a place. I have a lot of thoughts that I need to get out of my head.
For starters, I had a dream last night, where I had to talk a dear old friend about suicide. This friend was someone I never would expect to be struggling with the thought to end it all. The good news, we (myself and others in my dream) were successful. This was a dream, but it led me to think about Veterans Day, and that trigger that makes me think of friends lost to war, with the possible trigger in others, and the state of affairs today. The current apathy, the privilege, the entitlement created by the previous years of our Nation’s leadership. The lunacy of the current Republican party. This is not what we veterans defended.
Back to the dream…my veteran friends, you know who you are. Don’t listen to those little negative voices. You are valued, you are loved, your contributions to our Nation, regardless of the time, have made a difference. Your leadership and your presence have a lasting impression on the generations who follow you, regardless of the overall National mission. I know your frustration of “what did we achieve,” “why were we there?” Your presence and participation were and will always be important. I know the civilian world makes no sense…it is filled with selfishness, disloyalty, lies, and contempt. Stay true to your moral compass.
I know this is a weird blog post that will probably not make much sense to most…but for you who I am reaching out to, feel free to reciprocate. My door is always open. Let’s talk.
June 2nd, 2022; my heart is broken, but my resolve is not. Tonight I watched Gov. Ron DeSantis sign Florida’s $109B annual budget. I also watched as he proudly (almost giddily) proclaimed that he line-item vetoed $3.1B of “frivolous spending.” Spending for Parks, Museums, Sports Complexes, Nature Preserves, Community Improvement projects, were all struck down across the state. In the same breath he exclaimed that the Florida rolls were flush with cash, never better. 2.8% of the budget dedicated to community improvement and land preservation…stricken by his hand.
One such effort, assured to be protected by our local lawmakers, was part of that massive veto. And now the West Klosterman Preserve, something that I attached myself to, is destined to be sold, stripped bare, and developed into high-density housing. Thousands of indigenous species will be indiscriminately decimated for the almighty dollar.
This little 14-acre ecosystem, all the species of life that reside there and migrate through there, have survived thousands (if not millions) of years, from hurricanes, lightning strikes, fires and floods. Death and rebirth. This ecosystem will not survive “man.”
Unless we can save it without the government’s help. $3M in 30 days. Stay tuned and weigh in. https://wkpreserve.com/
*Photo contributed from the WKP web site. Gopher Tortoise, a state protected species and symbiotic contributor to several other species that use its vacated burrows as shelter.
Matthew 7:15 – Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly they are ravenous wolves.
The evil that men do…entitled, wicked wolves.
I’m just gonna leave this right here for your downloading/dissemination (widest, please) – it is a long read, but needs to be out there. This “organization” needs to be held accountable for it’s willful, blatant denial.
Updated: added list of predators below!
Report of the Independent Investigation: The Southern Baptist Convention Executive Committee’s Response to Sexual Abuse Allegations and an Audit of the Procedures and Actions of the Credentials Committee
I’m not from the South – I was born and raised in the Northeast, and had absolutely no idea what a boiled peanut was until some years earlier, many miles from the South, while stationed in Europe with NATO. I’m told that boiled peanuts have a magical quality – you either love them or hate them, but they can transport you back to earlier times, when life was simpler, more joyful, more memorable. I found this to be true, when I made my own boiled peanuts. This is that story…
While stationed with NATO, from 2002-2005, my good friend Ron Parks was transferred there after me, with a few strings pulled and hidden handshakes. Ron and I were stationed together in Japan, and became good friends. I was a Northern white boy and Ron was black, from the deep South. Typically our paths would never have crossed, but we were both in the Air Force, both in the same career field (job), both of similar rank and both very good at what we did. We became to know that we could depend on each other to do what needed to be done. Do what was right. That made us blood brothers over time. We had each others’ backs, always.
Ron would come to the Netherlands after I was already established – he had full use of one of my cars until he acquired his own. He was put up in a private “Air B-N-B” (before there was such a thing) with a friend I had who did very short term rentals, specifically for moving military members. We did things differently. At a typical American military location overseas, we have a thing called an MWR office. Morale, Welfare and Recreation. As a small American military unit working for NATO, we didn’t have one of those offices. Ron and I decided to do that function ourselves. I can’t remember how many events we did, but there were several. Ron discovered a local bus charter company, and we started chartering tours. We’d hire the bus for a festival date somewhere relatively close by (a couple hours’ drive) then we’d sell tickets for a ride to the festival and back – all sales simply went to cover the cost of the bus/driver. Usually these trips went to the Rhine region of Germany – we’d schedule a morning/noon stop at a winery in the Rhine for a tasting (tipsy by noon) and then proceed on to a town festival where we’d roam, drink, eat, and then pour ourselves back on to the bus at the end of the day for a comatose trip back to the NATO base in the Netherlands. This was not a “for profit” operation – we always managed to break even, maybe falling a little short on seat sales – but it wasn’t about the money – it was about getting people out in the community and enjoying the incredible European culture. There’s always a festival somewhere.
So how does this amazing venture feature boiled peanuts? On one such outing, we were all sharing snacks on the bus…chips, cheeses, crackers, etc., when Ron pulls out a CAN of boiled peanuts.
I had never seen or heard of such a thing. Ron offered me one. “Careful,” he said “you’ll either love ’em or hate ’em.” I loved ’em. These canned things really didn’t taste much like peanuts…they did a little bit. But they were creamy and salty…and I was hooked on this different interpretation of a peanut that wasn’t roasted or in a smooth jar. Rolling down a European motorway on the way to another drunk-fest, I encountered something new but as old as the South itself. This thing was permanently etched in my memory, and boiled peanuts always bring me back to that time in Europe, surrounded by friends on a bus, travelling to a winery and then a town festival for more food, drink, fireworks and friendship.
I transferred to Tampa, Florida in 2005, retired from the Air Force in 2010, and have remained a transplanted “Florida boy” ever since. I know Ron left Europe and went to the Pacific. Last I heard he was somewhere back in Japan. We’ve fallen out of touch, but he will always remain my brother. We have one of those relationships that time does not matter. He will appear again, or not…it doesn’t matter. We’re always brothers.
In Florida, I found boiled peanuts to be everywhere. Roadside stands, all around town, nearly every gas station has a boiled peanut kiosk, a hot plate with a vat of peanuts – God only knows how long they’ve been there…simmering in their salty, spicy brine. And I’m a sucker for them. On my way to work I’d swing by my chosen gas station and scoop up a Styrofoam cup to snack on for breakfast, never asking “how fresh” these batches were. Snacking on them always brought me back to those fond days in Europe…that magic spell of boiled peanuts. Others on the ‘net I’ve read about hearken back to hot Southern back porches, cold beers and humid summer nights, but my memories are of fun bus rides and festivals. That’s what boiled peanuts mean to me.
So today, out of curiosity and a yearning for boiled peanuts, I decided to make my own. Being August in Florida the green peanuts are in season and carried in most local markets. I headed to the Internet first, and found that I could make boiled peanuts in our Instant Pot in less than two hours – something that traditionalists were claiming a 24+ hour operation. I used this recipe as a reference. What did I have to lose? I scored 2 lbs. of green peanuts at my local Publix, grabbed my Instant Pot from the cupboard and did this:
Dumped the peanuts in the sink, filled sink with water and rinsed them.
Transferred peanuts to the Instant Pot
Added:
1/3 cup of Creole seasoning (Zatarains)
1/4 cup of sea salt
1/4 cup of apple cider vinegar
1 tbs mustard seed
A couple of bay leaves
Covered the peanuts in water (don’t overfill your Instant Pot)
Inverted plate on peanuts to keep them submerged
Instant Pot pressure cook on High setting for 60 minutes.
Let pot depressurize for ~30 minutes.
Done, eat.
So I also let the peanuts sit in the Instant Pot in the brine for a couple hours after they were done, had a bowl while watching a baseball game and was very happy with the result. Definitely a higher class than the gas stations and roadside stands – good flavor, not overpowering salt, and I’m sure will just get better over the next few days. And they still immediately transport me back to my first time trying boiled peanuts with Ron Parks. Dude, wherever you are, I love you, brother.
