The · Miller's · Dance

I picked up a 3.5 ounce bar of Cosmic Chocolate's Cinnamon-and-Roses milk chocolate the other day and it's unique enough I decided to post a review.

It's VERY different. I like rose-flavored foods, but this has an entirely different spin on it....as in, I can't find the usual rose flavor at all, and even the cinnamon is notably absent.

It's very good, don't get me wrong, but not what you might expect from the wrapper. What it DOES taste like....well, any of youse guys know what Nag Champa incense smells like? This chocolate tastes like Nag Champa smells, so I suppose it all depends on how you feel about nag champa.

The texture is somewhat grainy, but I like a bit of tooth in my chocolate so this isn't negative either.

The wind has been pretty vigorous here tonight, rattling the windows and whistling around the cabin.

At one point (right after a particularly loud gust subsided), I met the Captain coming up the passage as I was going down and asked him, "Did you hear the wind in the wires making that tattletale sound?"

He gave me a LOOK before he shook his head and said, "The Gypsy ain't a bone to be chewed."

From discipuladc we have an interesting link.

I would summarize it as "how to live in fear and make every possessor of a Y chromosome acutely uncomfortable", but maybe I'm biased.

Let's start with this paragraph from early on, addressed to men (all men):

Is preventing violent assault or murder part of your daily routine, rather than merely something you do when you venture into war zones? Because, for women, it is. When I go on a date, I always leave the man’s full name and contact information written next to my computer monitor. This is so the cops can find my body if I go missing. My best friend will call or e-mail me the next morning, and I must answer that call or e-mail before noon-ish, or she begins to worry. If she doesn’t hear from me by three or so, she’ll call the police. My activities after dark are curtailed. Unless I am in a densely-occupied, well-lit space, I won’t go out alone. Even then, I prefer to have a friend or two, or my dogs, with me. Do you follow rules like these?

Well, actually, no, I don't.

I've gone on dates with men whom I didn't even know their last name. I let someone know where I'm going and when I expect to be back, true--and I generally arrange to call someone partway through said date.

But I'll walk out alone at night, without even a flashlight. I'll park at the far end of the lot or bicycle alone or leave my door unlocked....maybe this is because I don't live in that well-known hotbed of violent crime, NYC.

The article's author is firstly guilty of overgeneralizing. And she goes on:

Fortunately, you’re a good guy. We’ve already established that. Now that you’re aware that there’s a problem, you are going to go out of your way to fix it, and to make the women with whom you interact feel as safe as possible.

Well, no, probably not. In my own dating periods, men who had a PROBLEM with some ordinary habits or behaviors didn't get a second date. I certainly didn't "go out of my way" to assauge any unreasoning prejudices they might have against long hair (to pick something which can be a political statement as well as a style choice).

The second important point: you must be aware of what signals you are sending by your appearance and the environment. We are going to be paying close attention to your appearance and behavior and matching those signs to our idea of a threat.

This means that some men should never approach strange women in public.

Something in the back of my mind is telling me that I've read similar phrasing lecturing men about how it doesn't matter what signals she is sending via her appearance and/or environment, onlookers should NEVER assume ANYTHING about her motives. Isn't sauce for the goose....?

Then again, I have that distressing habit of being logical.

You want to say Hi to the cute girl on the subway. How will she react? Fortunately, I can tell you with some certainty, because she’s already sending messages to you. Looking out the window, reading a book, working on a computer, arms folded across chest, body away from you = do not disturb. So, y’know, don’t disturb her. Really. Even to say that you like her hair, shoes, or book. A compliment is not always a reason for women to smile and say thank you. You are a threat, remember? You are Schrödinger’s Rapist. Don’t assume that whatever you have to say will win her over with charm or flattery. Believe what she’s signaling, and back off.

Well, no again. Sometimes reading a book, using the laptop, etc., is purely to idle away the time withOUT staring out the window until you're as glazed as it is. Newsflash: women don't sit around posing like beauty contestants (with a bright empty welcoming smile pasted on) if they want or would agree to company. They go on with their daily lives, including reading on the bus/subway.

Her other points are as valid as anything else I've read on the subject, barring the whole culture-of-fear issue I've got with the whole paradigm.

And before anyone critiques this on the "It's different when it's YOURS" basis (which I have received previously for my views on marriage and childrearing)--yes, I have been raped. No shame/no silence.

Okay, I have before me a copy of the Nov. 12 newspaper, and in the classifieds we find the following ad:

Ordinance No. 850-B

Criminalizing certain conduct and providing for the penalties therefore pertaining to certain gross misdemeanor and misdemeanor crimes and amending Title 7.04 of the Chehalis Municipal Code codifying the same.

A copy of the complete text of the above ordinance will be provided without charge to anyone making a request therefore at the office of the city clerk.

Judith A. Schave
City Clerk
L#1121 November 12, 2009

And that's all.

I looked up Title 7.04, and it's the entire Chehalis Criminal Code.

I tried to look up Ordinance Number 850-B, but it seems that this website is only current up until OCTOBER twelfth. Which is, as you might notice, thirty days ago.

So something has now been criminalized. Some kind of "conduct". But you can't know exactly WHAT (turkey-throwing? public vomiting? loitering with intent?) unless you go to the clerk and ask for a copy of the ordinance. During office hours. And I'll wager my best silver pin against a blueberry that the city clerk is a "take a number and wait" office.

I generally get up a while before the Captain does as a simple result of the fact that I need less sleep. There's very little point in getting up at the moment anyway, since there's a deluge going on outside. (The weather guy last night said the Seattle Metro area might receive up to three or four inches of rain in a four-hour period today.)

Anyway, for posterity, I made Amazing Gravy the other night and I wanted to be able to replicate it. I was just casually throwing things in but damn, it turned out good.

I started with some bacon grease and fried my hamburger patties in it. These were then removed to the oven to keep warm.

To the hamburger-flavored bacon grease, I then added half a large onion, finely chopped, and one large stick of celery, ditto. These were sauteed until the onion was cooked and starting to brown around the edges.

I shook in enough oat flour to make a fine roux and let IT brown a little in turn, then poured in a quantity of half milk, half beef stock/broth. (This was boughten, but homemade would probably improve things even more.) I stirred vigorously while it came to a simmer, then added a dollop of Lea & Perrins (the cheap brands have soy in them), a shake of seasoning salt and some black pepper.

It was absolutely delicious. (The Captain requested Salisbury Steak for supper with mashed 'tatos and peas. The gravy was so good I put it on my peas as well. ;)

Something I've been tripping over lately in friends-of-friends and other posts....well.

HERE is a friend-of-a-friend post. He wants us to know that Armistice Day/Veterans Day isn't about honoring soldiers at ALL, it's about how nasty the Great War was and we should....uh, actually I'm not sure what he thinks we should do instead of honoring our military.

HERE is someone else writing on Armistice Day who "objects to the valorization of the military and of militarism." He (?) adds that "armies are reactionary, undemocratic institutions that inevitably come to wield too much of the wrong kind of power. The more a democracy worships its standing army the more danger that democracy is in." Objectively speaking, there's a certain amount of truth to this, but more later.

Lastly, a comment unrelated to Nov. 11th, once again in a friend-of-a-friend's journal. (Which is why I haven't commented on any of the above and you guys play nice.) This commentor opines that the CSA were "willing to betray their entire nation".

Okay, getting down to cases, let me look up something here. Democracy, over at dictionary.com, is defined as government by the people; a form of government in which the supreme power is vested in the people and exercised directly by them or by their elected agents under a free electoral system. There's also a link to the concept "majority rule".

Hmm.

I'm guessing that most of the above writers are proponents of democracy. If the majority of the population supports something, does that not make it democratically right and lawful? (I'm trying to parse my way logically through the intersection of morality and legality via the democratic method of governance, so it may be heavy going.)

Taking the last link first, I looked up the actual numbers for Alabama. Representatives were elected for the secession convention of 1861, who proceeded to vote 61-39 to secede. Later that year, John G. Shorter is elected governor over Thos. H. Watts by 37,849 to 28,121 votes. Since Shorter included in his inaugural address the phrase "Alabamians never will surrender," I'm guessing he wasn't a Unionist.

By calling these people "traitors", are we not infringing on their democratic right to self-governance?

Onward. The second link:

So what happens if a democracy votes to become some other form of governance? Should they "not be allowed" to do so, on the basis that they are then depriving future generations of self-governance? Who allows or doesn't allow? (This seems to lead to some very shaky ground involving moral arbiters and sources thereof.)

And as for the first link I posted, it's pretty hard to oppose cultural evolution, even when you don't like the direction it's headed.

I've always been interested in niche cookbooks, so when I saw a cookbook on Amazon called Hungry Girl: 200 under 200, I clicked on it out of curiosity.

They had the look-inside option, so I clicked through until I found the first recipe, which is for "Fab-Five Banana Pancake Minis".

Well, it went downhill fast. The blurb below the title says

Yep, there are FIVE of these banana-licious babies in this single-serving recipe.

Oh really--I'm going to go to all the trouble to make pancakes and have only ONE serving?? I don't think so. (I also don't think the Captain would like it too much if I served him five tiny pancakes and then said "Nope, we're out.")

And they have just the right amount of banana flavor.

I'm not crazy about banana anything, but that's not her fault. Reading on.

These are great with sugar-free pancake syrup

Sugar-free?? Surely you jest. That stuff is vile even when it's based on something that won't poison me.

or just a squirt of fat-free Reddi-wip.

*gags* Besides, hasn't she heard about trans fats?

Well, maybe the actual recipe will give me something to work with. Those were just serving suggestions, after all, and I feel quite free to ignore them.

1/4 cup whole-wheat flour

Um, no problem, substitute oat/rye/millet flours. Onward.

1/4 cup mashed banana (about half a banana's worth)
3 tablespoons fat-free liquid egg substitute

Whoa. That stuff is 1) hella expensive, and 2) made from egg whites. Why not just tell the audience to use just the white of the egg? (more on this later)

1 tablespoon light vanilla soymilk

The Captain can't have that either, and I have a sneaking suspicion that "light" means artificially sweetened. I must wonder here how much caloric difference there is between one tablespoon skim milk and one of soy. I mean, really.

1/4 teaspoon baking powder
1/8 teaspoon vanilla extract

...tell me again why using artificially-flavored soymilk (bet you a dollar) is better than just putting cows' milk in and doubling the vanilla portion?

1 no-calorie sweetener packet
Dash salt, dash cinnamon

Yuck. Not only will some sweeteners poison me, but others turn weird flavors when subjected to heat.

This recipe isn't even worth adapting (for me) and I question whether it's worth MAKING for anybody. I suspect also that the reason for the egg substitute is so that you don't have that EEEVIL yolk hanging around once the white is used in the recipe, just begging to be used in something. O.o

Moving on to the next page, I find instructions for the worst thing to happen to oatmeal since Jock mistook the oatmeal crock for the guzunder. She throws it ALL in here--instant *gag* oatmeal, butter substitute in spray form, the fatfree Reddi-wip, sugarfree syrup, soy milk, artificial sweetener, and tops it off with two tablespoons of canned pumpkin for some bizarre reason. Then she MICROWAVES it.

Okay, I found a beautiful, perfect Thermos at the Goodwill. It looked like this, except it was solid blue instead of striped. If you scroll down, you'll see what was to me the most important part of the package--the stopper.

My Goodwill thermos had a STOPPER, not a twist-and-pour piece of crap or a top with a "sealer ring" or, God forbid, one of those push-button-and-pour tops. (I've tried all of the above and they get moldy in the crevices unless you dry them by the stove for a few days after each use. No, thank you.)

So when the boat rolled and my beautiful thermos fell off the couch and broke the liner....

I looked at the Thermos company's site and they don't make stoppers any more, preferring the twist-and-pour model.

I've been scouring the thrift stores but so far all I've found is a later-model thermos with perished seals and an apparently ineradicable smell. :P While I really, really want a thermos with a stopper....I'm not quite prepared to shell out $20 for it just now. (Shipping costs, though if it were to be shipped free I'd just damned well buy that one on Ebay for 12.)

Specifically, Sweet Woodruff, or Galium odoratum.

I've made Maiwein a few years from it, and I adore the sweet new-mown-hay odor it has. It smells like sweetgrass when burned, a factor that influenced my decision to include it in a blend of kinnikinnick recently. (I used roughly one part pipe tobacco, one part kinnikinnick leaves and one part sweet woodruff--the herbs were dried and crumbled.) It smelled absolutely delicious and smoked pretty nicely also (I was using it to break in my new clay pipe).

I was unaware of its reputation as a mild sedative in tea form. Apparently the sedative effects are enhanced by smoking, as the feeling of relaxation and drowsiness that came over me once the pipeful was three-quarters smoked was quite a surprise.

I live in hopes of finding sweet woodruff essential oil, but so far no luck whatsoever. It does spread well, though, so I have no shortage of it.

It probably explains much about me that one of my earliest and most-often-repeated lessons in life was that no matter what you do--or refrain from doing, for that matter--you will offend SOMEBODY.

I could give the gory details, but we've all got better things to do than retrace tedious tales of yesteryear (and besides, I'm sure you all have tales of your own). Suffice it to say that I upset and inconvenienced a few individuals merely by being born and it went on from there.

Therefore, stress not over what others might think of your deeds and act according to your own best judgment. After all, some people get upset over what you had for dinner.

From November's Outdoor Life (paraphrased except for direct quotes0:

The term hoplophobia was first used in 1962 by world-renowned handgun instructor Col. Jeff Cooper, who defined it as 'a mental disturbance characterized by irrational aversion to weapons', and went on to say that 'The most common manifestation of hoplophobia is the idea aht instruments possess a will of their own, apart from that of their user.'

I was reminded of this thread in a friend's journal where we began a discussion about guns in general, handguns in particular, and U.S. habits and mores in specific.

The foreigner I was hearing from was so sheltered that she alleged "most people don't carry a knife unless they plan to use it" and so forth.* She was also clearly suffering from a raging case of hoplophobia.

In far too many cases, laws are being passed by people who have the same issues and irrational fears. I'll have to research it (Google is not my friend just now), but I remember reading an unintentionally-hilarious piece from a woman who was previously vehemently antigun. Then somebody begged, browbeat or bullied her into going out to a shooting range and actually *GASP* shooting a handgun at paper targets!!

...by the end of the article she was essentially going "Whee, this is fun!" and doing a complete 180 on her previous anti-OWNERSHIP stance.

I'm tempted to have a T-shirt printed up to the tune of "End Hoplophobia Now!" but then I'd need little cards to hand out to explain what the hell hoplophobia is.

*I carry a pocketknife as standard equipment--days go by when I don't need it, but then all in one day I'll have to slit open a package, trim off dangling threads on my cuffs, slice a lunch apple, and remove a splinter from my own thumb. ...Doesn't everyone?

I was just thinking about how very much of the Captain's boat I've put work in on.

The salon. (I stripped the old adhesive off the floor and helped paint it, ripped down the nasty cloth on the ceiling, scrubbed the walls, and sanded the old paint down.)
The floor and bunks of the V-berth. (Stripped the adhesive and washed the walls/ceilings of the nasty cigarette smoke.)
The futon. (Helped buy it, transport it and assemble it.)
The dining table. (Same as above--bought it, transported it and helped disassemble/reassemble it.)
Rugs. (Ditto.)
Windows. (Aided with transport of the replacements, installation, and sewed curtains for the salon windows/forward head/stateroom.)
Woodwork. (What I haven't scrubbed I've stripped or sanded and repainted.)
The downstairs head. (I made the pattern for the flooring, scrubbed everything within reach, stripped/sanded the woodwork, painted the walls, and stained&varnished the cabinet.)
The kitchen. (I helped procure the microwave, donated the coffeemaker and the stove, sanded/primed/painted the stove, stripped the old contact paper out of the cupboards, washed the walls, stripped the nasty contact paper off the fridge, and scrubbed out the interior of said fridge.)
The stateroom. (Helped with repainting the floors, stripped the old wallpaper/carpet, scrubbed the walls, closets and drawers.)

And of course I've essentially done the OR-nurse thing whenever he has to work on the engines. (I swear next time I'm going to ask him before he starts if he has his 5/8 and 11/16 wrenches--it's always either one or the other.)

...but I can't afford it right now. *sad eyes*

I did find it on Youtube:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r3OXqRciinw

And, for those more literarily inclined( , The Lyrics )

A lot of the guys at rondys wear the playing card that they shot in half pinned to their hats.

If I wore a hat, I'd damned well pin the string to it. (The Captain says most people use a larger caliber than .45 for such shoots. :)

Anyway.

A couple nights ago, we bought a pack of drumsticks for $1.79 and I made chicken & dumplings. (Wheat-free, egg-free, etc. gets dicey with baked goods.)

( The Recipe )

Well, that's it for this year.

We were at the Littlerock Rendezvous this weekend; we set up on Thursday and packed up Sunday.

I'm quite sorry that it's over (although I'm not sorry about that army cot; honestly, I was more comfortable sleeping on the ground). Maybe I'm just peculiar, but I find that I actually LIKE boiled coffee. (Modern trick: sew a muslin bag to put the grounds in and you don't have to settle them before you pour the coffee out of the pot. Also, linen tow ignites better from charcloth than the jute used by the Captain as his standard firestarting material.)

I entered the rifle course, the pistol course, the knife & 'hawk "survival trail", the grubshoot, and the fort shoot. My rifle's continuing nipple problems proved an Issue as well, and I now have to carry a nipple pick at hand to use between shots. (We're going to work on the wretched thing this winter.)

( Details, details )

( Survival? )

The grubshoot was a simple exercise where targets were hung on strings, with numbers on them. $2 entry fee, and you won the prize whose number you shot down. (Shoot the STRING, not the number. :-D) I duly entered and won prize #8! (YOU shoot a string in half using a muzzleloader with iron sights; there was a breeze blowing as well.) My prize was just spaghetti sauce and noodles, but at least it wasn't diet cola like prize #9. :-P

The Captain was having flint trouble again during the grubshoot, but he entered the candle shoot at dusk (where the aim is to shoot out the candle flame without touching the wax) and stayed in it for four rounds. (That was at a longer range than the grubshoot, too--they started at twenty yards and moved the candles out ten yards per round.) Deadeye Dick finally dropped out when it got so dark he could no longer see his front sight.

( Holding down the fort )

At the awards ceremony, I got a special necklace--it's a pierced .58-caliber ball with a bone arrowhead dangling below it, decorated with beads. On the arrowhead is written (black ink) "Dry Ball". (So did four other people, all the ones who would admit to having loaded without powder.) I'm supposed to wear it at all rendezvous for the next year. *rueful smile*

We were pretty far down the prize list because of our miserable performances at rifle (him) and pistol (me), but I got a Green Mountain blade requiring a handle and he picked a nice heavyweave shirt since one of his tore over the weekend.

This rendezvous was sponsored by the Green River Mountain Men and happened up in Ravensdale. (No, I didn't know where it was before Friday either.)

( Being a happy camper )

( The whole durn shootin' match )

( Food & frolic )

Breakfast was cornmeal mush with butter and honey (me) and butter & molasses (him). Lunch was generally grabbed on the fly and usually consisted of jerky, fruit (dried apples/raisins) and parched corn. Supper....well, the first night I cooked a stew.

( Recipes, including the Great Bean Debacle )

For the prize ceremony, I got a "Pilgrim" medal for shooting at my first rendezvous. They called up the shooters in order of score to pick their prizes, and by the time I got there it was pretty well ransacked, but I did get a ball bag for my .45 with an antler spout.

My other scores included the cot, belt sheath and iron patch knife given me by the Captain; a pair of hightopped moccasins that fit fairly well, for which I traded a beaded hatband of my own manufacture; a glass-paned candle lantern, for which I traded a rabbitskin pouch sewn with handspun linen thread; a blue-enamel coffee cup (because the one the Captain provided was brass, and I dislike the taste of brass in my coffee) purchased with money; part of a tea brick and an enormous amount of fun.

I soaked my own moccasins (the ones I sewed myself), then the Captain traded his belt knife for a really superior pair of moccasins and I got his old ones. Which then got soaked. (Seriously, I'm surprised I don't have trench foot after wading around that mess in homemade moccasins.) Which led to the fly in the ointment--while I was talking with the nice people who gave us the stew, naturally we mentioned the weather. A fellow who strolled up while we were talking (wearing jeans and Mossy Oak) butted in when I bemoaned my soggy feet and told me, "You need some of these--" holding up one foot--"Gore-Tex." I just looked at him and said "Uh-huh," because clearly he Did Not Get It. (Come ON--I'm wearing a beaded headband, a neck knife, a blue blanket-cloth possible bag with a strap I beaded myself, a gray wool belt pouch, calico plains-style dress, red wool leggings, a belt that I also made myself, and moccasins. Goretex....One Of These Things Is Not Like The Others.)

Every time I had to tend the fire I had to kneel on the wet, muddy ground and my leggings are displaying the legendary toughness of wool. My clothes and hair all smell richly of woodsmoke, right down to my underwear.

We're doing it again in a couple weeks. :D

Since we're going to attend two rendezvous (plural??) in September, I'm preparing some period foods for the Fur Trade Era, roughly defined as 1800-1840.

Pursuant to that end, I dug some camas, namely Camassia quamash. It took me maybe twenty minutes to amass a double handful, whereupon I stopped, figuring that was enough to experiment with.

Note: it's very important to make sure that you're digging camassia and not zigadenus. Since you can identify them with surety only when they're blooming and the best time to harvest the bulbs is six months later, the casual user is presented with a pretty problem indeed. I avoid this danger by knowing the field I dug in from childhood and seeing it near-daily this spring, thus if any Zigadenus had sprung up there I would have seen them.

I peeled half of them and merely washed the other half, then I boiled each half separately until tender. While they peel like onions, once boiled they do indeed taste like roasted sweet potato (as related by early explorers). Peeling before boiling is easier, or so it seems to me.

I then mashed them with a fork and formed them into cakes as per the accounts of the Lewis & Clark Expedition and am drying them in the stove with the pilot light on.

Also in the stove at the moment are two test batches of dried beef, one salted by brining before drying and one dried without salting (sources disagreed on the necessity for salting and the method thereof).

....Well, to start at the beginning, I bought one of these at Oregon Trail Days, only in .45 caliber.

She's a sweet little kit-made percussion rifle that (after sight adjustments) hits in the black at 25 yards every time. Therefore, her name is Dead Center.

I'm still learning blackpowder shooting as opposed to rimfire, but I'm putting up groups of six inches or less even pre-sight adjustment.

Here's a photo of the Post-it we used for a bull after the stump got so full of holes that there was some doubt as to where the latest ball had ended up:

Yes, that's my shot.

Dead Center.