Archive for January, 2010

  last night’s noticable absence of Wichita shriner , Ricky Gilbert , served to remind me of his recent cause for concern… the startling diagnosis…subsequent chemo therapy treatment…prolonged anxiety associated with times of uncertainty… and cause for his friends and masonic brothers to rally around the throne of our omnipitent God to seek favor on his behalf…

  Let us all pray for sudden and complete recovery for Rick , and the peace for his family that comes from knowing the God who created us is capable and anxious to answer the prayers of righteous men.. by His stripes we are healed… see ya soon Rick !


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 a crowd of seventy-five Shriners , support staff , musicians , cooks , masons , press writers , amateur photographers , public relations specialists and two sensuous bar-maids converged on the rustic environment affectionately refered to as Daddy Sam’s Bar last night for possibly the second annual Moose Brother’s Ball …

  the noise level was comparable to a Saint’s play-off pep rally when i arrived shortly before seven… so much for the quiet part of the evening , the party atmosphere escalated from there…

  the deafening mix of laughter and tall-tales of reflection rendered me horse within the first hour after paying the cat-in-the-hat my mandatory thirty-five dollars for entry …. ( their choice of masonic money-changer left me questioning the governing Shriner’s state of sobriety and possible their ignorance of Ed’s economic rap-sheet )…

  The meal was sumptuous…. Ricky Lewis  ribs… need i say more ?… i dined in the seasoned hospitality of Big “D” and Sonny, plus the delicate demeanor of their well-kept women… these two moss-back masons are living proof that you can ( take a good-man and make him better ) , though i credit age with most of their markedly improved behavior….

  then the collective musical talent’s of Dick Beverage and his five piece Band , complete with fiddle and steel … their hot-licks whipped those liquored-up masons into a frenzy… Faded Love and Silver-Wings had them crying in the aisles…racing towards the dance floor … packed beyond the fire-marshals worst night-mare…most never returned to their seats except for short breathers and long drinks…..

  the night rocked-on through the prime-time hours til most seniors had departed for home ….though the cloud of masonic stogie-smokers gathered to indulge on the back pavilion….and the squadron of bull-shit distributors converged at the wild-west bar… the party had divided into perspective perversions…dancers…smokers…drinkers…and historians…all focused full-throttle on their particular sinful agenda…

  the remaining patrons , including Herkie Biffle in his piano-player’s long-tail coat ,were accelerating to high-way speed…. each drink stronger than the one before.. each dance more sporadic than the previous , til a coincidental glance revealed the actual time…. it was a quarter past eleven….

   my mind flashed back to the over-due closing of last year’s ( Daddy Sam Steak Feed )… when the impatient temperament and low alcohol tolerance of  Daddy Sam’s proprietor , little Danny ,  ended the pleasurable evening with his (STATE OF THE UNION ADDRESS ).. his politically divisive moocher’s speech cleared the place in ten minutes time…. more efficient than a fire-drill… more effective than a power-outage… mass exodus midst a tsunami of profane political  adjectives….Danny’s rant…..

 i sure didn’t savor revisiting that side of the red-head’s personality for the second year in a row …..  i said my farewells and regretfully headed for the crisp quiet of the brick-covered street , another great night in the company of great folks at the indescribably wonderful place called Daddy Sam’s….down-town Nocona Texas ! ….Life is short but good !

 Thanks for the butterfly dance , madam Judge….it made my day ! ….. Good to see my old fiddle playing friend from adolescent day’s , Gene Brown , and my old neighbor and bass-guitar picker , Rodney Garrison…good seeing you too Tucker , where was your guitar ?

  making methodical masonic memories in Montague County….. shortfellow.

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 their will be a full report on Daddy-Sam’s Moose-Ball forth-coming later today , after the fog lifts…. i was up til 11:30 last night … a full four hours past my usual bed-time , watching the antics of inebriated moose-brothers….the cat in the hat… Sonny …Bill… at least two Terry’s.. …big chicken stockton and his hyper-active wife…. (A.D.D.)…. the stories are all still lost in the blurr…. waiting for clarity … some of my recollections need to be authenticated by the sober judgement of Ed Notee before publication… i’ll be back after more coffee ….

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  there’s a particular masonic blog reader from wichita falls , who despite reading the blog for an extended period of time , is totally unfamiliar with the comment concept… he knew no particular meaning for the number posted at the bottom of each blog…. where it says.  6 COMMENTS.. or leave a comment etc…

 so this is an attempt to bring the unidentified shriner into 2010…. Click on it Rick… where it says COMMENTS…. move the mouse to correspond with the word comments and click.. You’ve consistently missed the most creative part of the blog… Chippers smart-ass rebuttals ….or enlightened remarks by your fellow brothers… you can actually post a comment there yourself, don’t be frightened… click on comments and give it a shot !   This ain’t rocket-science.

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 the main attraction today at Ed’ saturday breakfast had nothing to do with the menu or the professional level moochers that returned after a short-night’s rest, for the second verse of a familiar sadistic song .. ” What ya got to eat , Ed ? ”

 today’s most astonishing sight was the revelation of direct light , cast by the morning sun on the devastated landscape of Ed’s professionally manicured lawn… seems yesterday’s limited appropriate parking facilities forced the influxed throng of sight-see’ers and free sausage seekers to procure emergency parking at will.. mungst the pear trees and sprinkler heads of Ed’s once-level and once-lavish lawn …

  his snow drenched lawn proved inadequately stable to withstand the red-neck dually assault of inebriated drivers and unmarked parking arrangements … first come first served in the lawn , adjoining pasture , and marginally small spaces between his drive-way lined pear-trees…

  foot deep tire-treads narrowly missing his electrical R.V. hook-ups gave testament to the level of desperation experienced by parting pick-up navigators …they were leaving come hell-or high-water … needing to exit with post-haste … slinging sod… plowing their way to more stable footing ….one chance for freedom , give’er hell !

 I’d love to witness this vehicle inflicted devastation from an aerial view-point , a kaleidoscope of random trenches and gunions cut through Ed’s lawn , it would certainly be an inspirational observation …. all that is missing from this war-zone destruction is a noticable sign giving proper tribute to the purveyors of such totally random disregard …. a sign as permanent as the ruts scarring his domestic terra-firma … a sign proudly stating….” Landscaped by Losers ” !

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 Today was a perfect traditional day for killing hogs in Montague county , temperatures  hovering around freezing with light snow flurries , light northerly winds and a plethora of ethnically diverse volunteers…Germans.. italians… irish,  french… and two Bohemian homosexuals ….

    i never actually took an actual attempted head-count , but conservative estimates exceed seventy-five folks , each with preconceived ideas for the proper sequence of events required to make the traditional Montague Italian sausage from the cherished Fenoglio recipe..pandemonium !… but that Felderhoff trick of dipping water inside the casing  DID leave those gut-stuffin wop’s pretty much speechless…..

  the morning was spent cuttin up 720 lbs. of pig for suitable grinding lengths , deliberately proportioned spices were mixed with chunk-meat prior to the mechanical grinding… then all seven hundred pounds were ground the second time for desired texture….

 lunch break consisted of Danny’s fried pork ribs and sliced tenderloin , Two-Shirts patented crock-pot potatoes, red beans ,  salads , home-made bread , mexican rice , home-made tamales ,  italian corn-bread dressing and several luscious pies , ginger-snap cookies , and Glenna’s stolen recipe apricot fried pies to die for….

    special guests included East German Republican Moochers.. Kenny Felderhoff , Doyle Heiss , Herkie Biffle , plus the other direction West German neighbors of Danny’s Windthorst dairy-farmer girl-friend , Roy Conrady and his beautiful square-headed italian wife.. Diane…

   any body remotely kin to the Montague Fenotee’s made a cameo appearance for free-sample beer and subtle opportunities to commit grand larceny… stealing sausage , tenderloin , ribs by paying with hot checks or rain-checks or checks on closed accounts…or simply walking out with pockets stuffed…..

  tubs of prepared sausage are constantly on the move during the entire process, for cutting…grinding…seasoning… or stuffing…. affording insurmountable opportunities to smuggle contra-ban sausage to a parking lot literally filled with white chevy pick-ups…who could tell what truck , or what tub of sausage belongs to whom ?

  sometimes even the professionally trained watchful skills of Eagle-eye-Eddie fail to detect the precision sleight of hand demonstrated by more agile and more youthful under-studies…(Brady O’neal) or the undetected exit by the italian copper-head.. (Danny O’neal )

  Ed’s got the sausage process mastered…his seniority and practical experience has taught him to appear authoritative while committing no actual labor himself … his fearless confidence allows the delegation of the most menial tasks…his willingness to shame volunteers is unprecedented…what he has Not yet completely figured out is sausage security… the sausage-shop-lifters… the family tree…. five-finger discounts are killin his bottom line… how can seven-hundred pounds of ground hog-meat render only three hundred pounds of cased sausage ?…it’s an Italian conundrum…  shrinkage…. collateral losses…whole-hog evaporation…. the links have legs !

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wasted Brasso…..

 if i got a purple heart for every time i stuck my finger while threading a salmon-egg on a fly-fishing  trout-hook , i’d have more junk-iron on my dress-green’s than the airborne Sargent chipper….

  if they gave medals for screaming like a girl while descending the slopes of Mt. Ranier , dodging trees at seventy miles per hour , i’d have my chest covered with ribbons and brass…

  if they awarded sad-sack soldiers for a five-pound salmon landed in the snow-melt mountain streams , i’d receive a battle-field commission , be buried in Arlington Cemetery , right next to Audie Murphy…..and Sargent Chipper …

  and like my good friend chipper , i’m planning a return trip to Tacoma…my permanent duty station , to re-visit those sleazy military bars and tatoo parlors , lined up like the General’s Review along a five mile-stretch of south tacoma way  …where the swabbies of Bremerton Naval Yard and fly-boys of Mc Cord A.F.B. pummeled the ground-pounders of Ft. Lewis in hand-to-hand combat … it was undeclared war !

  i learned early to hit the floor like one of those fainting goats   !

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