OCD – Obsessive Christian Disorder

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Being the one black sheep in the family who struck out on their own to explore faith, rather than regurgitate the family belief system, is a tough road to walk – especially when the rest of the family has gotten rather obsessive over the recruitment aspect of greater Christianity.

Some times I just want to smack the lot of ’em.

I do not share out my own belief system, because I simply do not believe that faith is supposed to be shouted from the rooftops.  Faith should be the most personal of things, the truths you carry in your heart.  You’ve never walked another’s path, lived another’s emotions, or felt the stirrings of another’s heart – so how could you possibly share the exact same truisms?

The only way another could fully understand my faith is to have lived my life…every last second of it  – and imagine what my brain and the influence my life to this point would have me believe all the future seconds hold.

My faith is the always-updating culmination of my life experiences…it shapes itself with every breath and with every heartbeat.

Got ya confused yet?  Yea…me too.  But not everything has to make sense, because the human brain isn’t designed to understand every significant aspect of this rock we call home.

That’s one of the core truisms I believe…not everything is going to make sense.

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My family (like most families in the US) is Christian.  They read scripture, cite Bible passages, go to church, praise Jesus, believe in Heaven, lament Hell, and raise good, God-fearing children.

Once again, I prove to be the exception here…

For a long time, my options when faced with the family faith were simple:  either get extremely quiet when such faith-based exhibitions were active (preferred), or leave the room (frowns).    Attend the church services when a family gathering coincided with one (preferred), or pretend to be too tired to go (frowns).

And, above all…DON’T QUESTION THE FAITH!

I ceased to pay this grossly unauthentic ‘lip service’ to the family faith around 7 years ago…

And the family…

Was not amused.

I’ve paid the blood price for that coming out in more ways than I can detail…from emails  filled with passages from the Bible, links to ‘important’ Christian websites and Jesus-Memes, to Facebook postings, to gifts with religious iconography branded into them.

I believe my Dad, however, is amping things up.

For the past 2 years, he’s been dropping little hints and requesting a little slice of my time to speak of matters regarding faith, which is odd, as in my growing years, he didn’t seem to be that interested in the church.

The strange thing is, every time he does a little reach out in the faith department, he’s hesitant, unsure, a bit awkward in the approaches, which is NOT the father I knew growing up.  At the family gathering this summer, he performed his latest approach.

It was weird.  Every alarm in my head went off.   The lines of his body language screamed misery.  Torment trod across his face.  His eyes were heavy with moisture.  His voice quavered with each syllable.  Every visual cue in the unspoken language of his body was screaming at me:  “This is wrong, this is wrong, this is WRONG!”

What.  The.  Actual.  Fuck?

My dad is one of the most rock solid, dependable, and mindful individuals it has EVER been my luck to interact with.  His mind is knife-sharp, analytically keen, and once in possession of all the facts, unfazed by any manipulation attempts.   He constantly analyzes everything – even his own failings – and does the right thing even when it runs contrary to his desires.

He voluntarily gave up his light-aircraft licence even though he LOVED flying, because he determined his eyesight and reflexes were no longer up to his own, high safety standards.

So to have him approach me in this manner – where he’s borderline terrified of the conversation he has in mind??

What.  The.  Actual.  Fuck?

The conversation will be one of 2 things.  Either he’s gotten a holy person so concerned about ‘the little lost lamb (that would be me) needing to be rescued,’ that he’s being pushed to perform this little ‘intervention,’ or he’s honestly in research mode, and wants to know more about what drives me.

Queue up the title of this post…

It’s not the 2nd.  That’s my wishful thinking again…

 

I don’t think anyone in the family reads my blog except my eldest son and DIL.  The rest of ’em may see the photo that loads into Facebook (occasionally commenting on that), and the blurb that posts along with it, but I don’t believe they ever click through to WordPress to read the actual content.

In fact, I know they don’t – no heads have exploded yet…

I’ve had quite a few conversations with myself as I pound the pavement to and from work.  I’ve never quite worked out the entire dialog, as I manage to get either irritated or depressed (sometimes both at the same time!) whenever I drag this subject out of the recesses of my mind and attempt, once again, to resolve it internally.

I’ve also torn apart this particular blog post more times than I can count in search of that same resolution.

I guess I’m down to my favorite quotes, after all.

(1) – I’m not lost – I’m just on a different road.

(2) – If the core of your being says something is wrong – you should pay attention.

(3) – The only one wasting his time is the guy at the bottom of the mountain, screaming at the climbers for taking the scenic route.

 

So Dad – if you DO actually read this poor scribbling – I’m not a little lost lamb, and I don’t need to be returned to the safety of the paddock…I’m a full grown ram, and I’m off doing Ram-Things.

(Insert Supernatural Being of your Choice)’s got my back.

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This Old Tiny House…Mobile Edition

I’ve been watching the Tiny Homes Movement with more than just a little envy.  There’s a part of me which adores the idea of minimalist living.  Dumping all the dreck and flotsam collected during the average life, learning to live with just enough, thumbing the nose at our mass-consumption culture which demands we by more, More, MORE, MOAR!!!! on a daily basis.

It’s also tied heavily into the survivalist mentality – those who eschew living on the grid and are determined to comfortably survive -on their own terms- in the event of a zombie apocalypse or dictatorial regime.

A series of pictures from the tiny home category, coupled with the recent US Holiday celebrating our treason against the crown of Mother England,  have me wandering down the fuzzy memory pathways.

That’s so 70’s.  To me, anyway.

Here comes the fuzzy memory bit…

Back in my formative growing up years, my family was 6+ – 2 parents, 4 kids & a full-grown Samoyed dog.  Each summer, we had camping obligations, starting with a week long outing over Memorial Day, anther week long thing over the 4th, an extended weekend for the yearly family reunion, random, stealth-outs through the rest of summer, usually culminating in a final, extra-long weekend for Labor day.

Each obligation entailed packing the entire family up, relocating to a distant point on the compass in the middle of nowhere, and huddling around a burning fire while trying to keep the bugs from consuming ourselves in entirety.

And fishing…there was always a lake nearby.  I still hate seafood.

With 4 kids, 2 adults, and a big dog…that’s a lot of stuff to pack.  Fun stuff, food stuff, clothing stuff, fishing stuff, bug stuff, shelter stuff, hygiene stuff, emergency medical stuff…

Carlin…Stuff…nostalgia moment…

Now, I’m just assuming here, but back in the 70’s – you didn’t buy a full-blown mobile home on a cop’s salary, especially if said cop had to also pay for a house, 4 kids, wife & dog.  And though we did have an old VW Van for shorter hops involving the entire family, all those bodies didn’t leave a whole lotta room in the van for all the aforementioned stuff.

So enter…the old school bus.

Not sure how my Dad managed to procure an old school bus…but with a little planning, the right tools, and a LOT of sweat-equity, he managed to turn that old bus into a veritable palace that not only slept the 6 of us and the dog, but had enough cubbies and cubicles for all our stuff AND a reasonable facsimile of the perfectly good house we’d just abandoned.

An almost-full service kitchen (‘fridge, stove, oven, limited countertops, space for dishes & cooking stuff, and a sink), a table which sat the six of us, a radio, and a TOILET.

Granted, you had to ‘flush’ it with a ladle of water…but it was still a little room you went to and did…business.

Us kids slept in the way back of the bus on bunk beds.  The parents converted the dining table into their bed at night.  We even had a small closet to store any clothing that required hanging up to remain presentable.

I only wish I had pictures.

 

The HoneyMoon’s over (Lake Michigan)

Originally published 6.15.2014 on The Tempest and the Teapot’s Google site.

This Friday, June 13th, 2014 – there was a rare event.  A full moon rising on Friday the 13th.  What made this moonrise even rarer was the coloration – a warm, amber-honey color was predicted for this rising.  Thus, the Honey Moon.

So, risking all the horrors of Friday the 13th – and when you’re carrying a DSLR camera to the beach/lakefront that’s a LOT of money to be daring the bad-luck fairy to look away from – the mythos of the full moon causing madness (ok…so I’m already crazy and didn’t need to worry too much about that one) and the SQO’s being bored, I dragged him into the car and off we went.

Once we got to the lake, I realized I had forgotten all about the whole ‘cooler by the lake’ thing, and was only wearing a light top with no sleeves.  Well…  Artists always suffer for their work.  My Turn!!!

We arrived a bit early – sunset was in full swing, but the moon hadn’t come up yet.   So, as I had some time to kill, I set up on my beach for some sunset shots.

I wasn’t disappointed – Mother Nature delivered a very purple sunset…

My beach on the Lake (and just to be clear, here, if I’ve gone to a location for shots 3x or more, it officially, at least in my mind, becomes ‘mine.’  My Beach, my Riverwalk, my Fountain, etc…) runs roughly northwest to southeast, so I can get both sunset and moonrise on the same location.

I foresee a foray out to my beach in my future…one VERY early morning.. to catch a sunrise.  

Two years, hasn’t happened yet.  Can I procrastinate, or what???

As we made our way up the concrete causeway to the round observatory extending into the Lake, I found – people.  Not many people, mind you…but just a few -as crazy as I am- with cameras extended toward the horizon to catch the Honey Moon rising.  Once again proving that I’m not the only nut-job in this state, but amongst a small, eccentric minority of slightly insane nature-lovers.

I snapped away.  Moonrise was well in progress, the color was fantastic, and the camera was singing in electronic joy.  Once I took my attention off the moon – I noticed the power plant further up the shoreline.  Beautiful, the way the reflections hit the water.

Say what you will about the cost of utilities these days, but I’ll forgive them my high-heat bill last winter for them putting out this spectacular light show on the shore.  But only last winter’s bills.  This winter, they’re on their own.

Now, I know I’ve mentioned that the SQO is a musician.  As a performer, he’s a natural in front of the camera.  I’ve lost count of the number of projects he’s appeared in – he’s always a willing vict…er…volunteer for whatever insane idea I have involving my camera.

I’d come across a number of forced perspective photos on the web – and naturally, the ‘what the hell’ just burst out of me in the throes of the moonrise (who am I to question the strange ideas blooming under the light of the full moon?)
Several moments of ‘just a bit to the right, now raise your hand JUUUUUUST a bit more, back to the left a hair, turn your head a little more, lower your chin, NOPE, too much, lower your hand a fraction of an inch,’ produced this ducky little shot.

 

And, as an aside – He was certainly more attentive to the Lakeshore temperature than I was – June, and he’s sensibly dressed in a leather jacket, hat, and scarf, while I’m doing the whole ‘Freezin’ for a Reason’ thing.

Overall, the shoot went well – but I couldn’t tempt the wicked fates of Friday the 13th by getting great shots without paying the price for my success – even with being under dressed, freezing my bunz off, and succumbing to the influences of the light of the crazy-generating moon.  (where do you think the term ‘lunatic’ comes from?)

Finally, there were no more good shots to be had.  As the moon rose higher in the sky, the amber hue faded away, until only the standard white moon filled the sky.  Quite pleased with my shots, I quickly packed things up…because by this time I was shaking more than a bit, I believe I started acquiring a lovely shade of blue, and the mosquitoes were undaunted by the brisk night air.

In Wisconsin, the mosquitoes grow fur to combat the weather!

The DSLR came off the tripod and into its bag – close and clip.  The Canon with the mega-zoom got looped around my neck.  The tripod was folded, but the legs were still extended.  The teacup had its own little bag to stay secure in, along with a smallish brass chalice I’d picked up at Goodwill (seriously, folks, if you’re ever looking for awesome photo props that won’t break the bank – go to your local Goodwill, St. Vincent de Paul, or any other resale shop in your area), and they were both nestled inside.

We made haste to the car – up the concrete sidewalk toward shelter and warmth, when I heard it.

A metallic tink. Followed by the breaking of glass.

I had forgotten to zip the bag with the teacup.  Both it, and the chalice, launched from the bag in a misguided attempt to break for freedom.  My poor, brave, foolish little teacup.  I guess the pressures of stardom were too much for it.  It must have been depressed to never be pressed into service as a container for a hot bath of Earl Grey, surrounded with happy, crunchy bikkies on the side.  It ended its life of photographic supermodel-dom on the concrete walkway for the observatory on Bender Beach on the Wisconsin side of Lake Michigan.

Rest in Pieces, little buddy. Friday the 13th took you from me, and the Honey Moon is now over…

The Dog Days of Disaster

 

This is a special little request from Maggie over at The Zombies Ate my Brains

Hot dogs.

In the US – the hot dog can be just about anything.  Technically, it’s a thin cylinder of ground meat – usually a blend of a couple different proteins –  various flavorants and binders, heated until cooked through, then slapped on a thicker tube of sliced, baked bread product before being garnished with the consumer’s choice from a cornucopia of sauces, veggies and seasonings.

historyofchicagodogWe have the world-famous Chicago-style Red-Hots… This is an all beef dog, white-bread bun with poppy-seeds baked into the top, garnished with sweet pickle relish, onions, mustard, tomato, a dill pickle spear, sport peppers and just a shot of celery salt.

They take their dogs seriously in the windy city…

 

We also have your ‘Gourmet-blend’ dogs –  which are ‘flavored with a bounty of the freshest herbs and spices,’ have a ‘special coarse-grind blend of the finest cuts of beef and pork,’ and come in an all-natural casing… served hot and steamy on a 7 grain ‘artisan’ bun, lovingly topped with a generous portion of garlic-and-Parmesan aioli.

 

l278978301In the tiny town of Waterloo, WI – they have a festival around dogs called Weiner & Kraut days.  Every man, woman and child within a 5 county radius descend on this small town for an entire weekend to devour all the hot dogs they can eat, with as much sourkraut, mustard and onions as can be (un)reasonably crammed atop the bun.

They use the collected gastro-emissions to power the town all winter long.

 

We have your standard, mass-produced industrial sausages – sold with catchy jingles, cartoon-dogs dancing the night away, and, if you’re lucky, you might just get a Weenie-whistle from the spokes-Weenie-wagon as it passes through your home town.

But only if you can sing the jingle…

Hell, we Wisconsinites even tied the hot dog to our Baseball team.  At any Brewer’s game throughout the season, the half-time show includes the Klement’s Sausage Races.

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Look at them Weenies RUN!

Everywhere, throughout the States, you can find this ubiquitous processed meat-product.  They’re in convenience stores on the special roller-grills.  They’re in concession stands in parks, stadiums, fairgrounds, and all your better tourist traps.  Hell, in the bigger cities, there are even these little carts that some guy pushes around on the street – dogs on the go, for those on the go…anytime…anyplace!

And…of course – every day the temperature reaches above 50 degrees in this state – you can bet your last dollar that some fella has fired up the grill in the backyard to flame-roast these special little tube steaks in an attempt to blot out the memory of winter.

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I prefer my hot dogs coarse grind, natural casing, slightly spicy, with a good, grainy mustard and plenty of raw onions.  Occasionally, I’ll go for either chili or sourkraut – but I gotta be in juuuuuuuuuuust the right mood.

the Wasband, on the other hand, worships ketchup.  In his mind, that shit goes on everything.  Dogs?  Ketchup.  Enough to float the Titanic.  Steak?  Ketchup.  Enough to kill the taste.  Fish?  Ketchup.  Enough to make the breading soggy.  He likes his ketchup with a sprinkling of french fries, and adds the vile stuff to chili.  He’s the only person I’ve ever seen take one of the little ketchup packets given out by any take-out restaurant, tear the foil, and suck the package dry.

Ewwwww!

I personally disliked ketchup before I went keto.  Now…you might as well just sit with the sugar bowl and spoon the crystallized stuff directly into your mouth while sucking on a tomato.

It’s.  That.  Sweet.

But to the Wazband – ketchup is not a condiment.  It’s a vegetable…and one that needs to be consumed in mass quantities at every meal.

On one of our day vacations, we went to one of the summer water-park tourist traps in the area.   We spent the day frolicking in the huge pool of antiseptically-clean water, appropriately themed  with fiberglass statues and carefully selected plants interspersed through and around the concrete walkways with an estimated 209,000 other people who had the same idea.

For me…this was the perfect opportunity to work on my sunburn.  Nothing turns my pale skin the color of a freshly boiled lobster faster than spending time in the center of a gigantic, sunlight-reflecting pool of water.

For the record, I have two skin tones…red and white.  There are no shades of brown in between.

We splashed in the shallows, rode innertubes in the wave pool, and stood in line for the water slides, the toilets, the single patch of shade hidden in the middle of this concrete jungle.

When tummies started growling, we ducked out of the water to stand in line for one of the multitude of vendor stands surrounding the park.

Their specialty was ‘The Best Damn Hot Dogs in the Dells…’

By this point, I swear my skin was audibly sizzling…and a table opened up IN THE SHADE.  I rattled off a very simple order to the Wazband, and ran to claim the table before I burst into active flame.

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He brought to the table our Cokes, two orders of fries, and a plate full of ketchup.  He swore to me there ware actual hot dogs, in buns, under the red goop.

I bit my tongue.

Counted to 10.

Bit my tongue again.

Selected an even higher number.

Chomped on that sucker a third time….just in case.

And asked – deadpan:  ‘Why is there an ocean of ketchup on my hot dog?’

 

He hadn’t considered, even though we’d been a couple for at least a decade at this point, that I despise ketchup.  He’d dressed the dogs to his preference without any thought.

I ate a lot of fries that afternoon.  He ate the hot dogs.  There was no saving them from the red menace.

NEVER leave a man alone with your hot dog.  They can’t be trusted.

And I still have tooth-marks on my tongue.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Visitations

 

First…I’d like to personally thank each and every unique visitor to the T&T – these poor scribblings from this humble scribe are a sloppy attempt at a clumsy gift for such lofty and Auguste Personages.

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I couldn’t resist borrowing (and MASSIVELY paraphrasing) those words from Taita, slave to the Lady Lostris, from the book River God by Wilbur Smith.  If you want a tale of Ancient Egypt, SET in Ancient Egypt, that really comes alive in your head – go dig this one out.

And the sentiment is genuine – if I didn’t have regular readers on this, my tiny slice of the blogosphere – I’d probably have abandoned it by now…

I’d like to think my personal blend of sarcastic whit & photography, wrapped up with a chainmaille bow & served with a slice of keto-cake is at least a “smidge” entertaining…

And…because you guys come and read and like my stuff, I get to return the favor – checking out your blogs and your words and your brand of entertainment…so thanks for writing, as well as reading…your work is appreciated!

Reading & writing – like 2 peas in a pod…

 

Unintentional Funnies attracted some unusual attention, in the form of several very Christian Bloggers.  As I visited their sites, I was flooded with a deluge of scripture and pondering of the faith.  I’ve no reason why this particular post drew in those who find comfort writing about God, as there wasn’t anything even remotely faith-like in it…

NOT that I’m complaining – everyone is welcome here at the T&T to read, share, comment, or even condemn if I’m WAAAAAAAAAAAY off base.  I try to avoid subjects that have measures of conflict built in rather like the way certain subjects were forbidden at the dinner table when I was a child.

Typed my Mom’s voice:  ‘Two things never discussed in polite company:  Religion & Politics.’

So you’ll never see the T&T fall into the political or theological pathways.  There are other, more hardened writers out there, to handle both these spectrums.

I’ll just keep observing my little bit of world, and share those with you…

You’re welcome!

 

 

 

 

Lights…Camera…ACTION!

 

Camera work.  For me, it’s an on-again, off-again obsession.

A lot of times, I get a satisfactory dose of camera work whenever I finish up a new chainmaille piece…after all, the thing has to be properly photographed and listed on Etsy.   Using the smart phone and a tiny tripod, it’s become semi-regular to set up the shot, frame, shoot, edit, and post – all from the comfort of my work station.

It isn’t often the Camera Muse stirs from her hibernation for purely artistic reasons – but when she woke at the mention of an event going on in Hales Corners – she REALLY woke.  Not only did she roar through my mind like a toddler hyped on sugar & the Muppets, she organized the other muses with more vengeance than the Greek Furies.  At one point, the whole lot of ’em were picketing the command center of my brain – DEMANDING I get my buns and the big camera to …

The China Lights Event.

Now – granted – it didn’t take that much persuading.   The China Lights event at the Boerner Botanical Gardens is a traveling display of Chinese Paper-lantern artworks.  These are brightly lit, intricate displays set against the velvet dark background of nighttime – My personal favorite when it comes to art photography…

The rest of the household?  It didn’t take much persuasion to get the kids to agree – they’re always searching out new and exciting things to look at – and with them being fire-spinners, night-time light shows are already a part of their psyches.

The SQO was less enthusiastic, but he was pleased to see the creative flows boiling over in me, so was ultimately happy to come with.

So the whole lot if us jumped in my Cheap-Jeep and off we went to the wilds of Hales Corners.

In retrospect- my use of the words ‘wilds’ may be a bit…off.  Hales Corners is a perfectly urban city-type population mass on the south end of the Milwaukee Metroplex.  The only ‘wilds’ are in my imagination…

Traffic was heavy once we got close.  Got even heavier once we saw the squad car with full party lights spinning blocking the entrance to the botanical gardens – announcing a full parking lot at the event and waving all us wanna-be light-show viewers to the side streets.  I managed to find a parking space about a half-mile away.

Here’s where I do an overt nod to the keto efforts of the summer.  I’ve lost some of my excess poundage, which has allowed me to be a bit more active.  I survived the walk TO the entrance, and the walk up the slight hill (another good half-mile) to the ticket booth without collapsing in a heap from the exertion.

The heavy traffic, the crowds, and the walking were totally worth it.

I’m sharing my favorite pics of the thing…

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D taking the time to stop and sniff the extremely illuminated flowers.

 

 

 

 

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These flowers look like they’re spilling from the basket.  This was set on a slight slope, so the basket is at the top of the hill.

 

 

 

 

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In case you were thinking ‘Botanical Gardens=floral displays ONLY,’ They didn’t JUST do flowers.  This zebra is sporting what can only be called a “Da Fuq YOU lookin’ at, Bro??” face.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Or maybe the zebra was just upset because the pandas appeared to be having WAY too much fun on the seesaw!

 

 

 

 

 

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Of course – it wouldn’t be a China Light show without a resident dragon…

Here with D in the foreground for scale, and trees in front for a stained glass look.

 

 

We also had a detour into Holland, with various tulips and pinwheels.

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This has to be S’s favorite light sculpture…she’s been obsessed with praying mantis bu
gs lately, and she squealed in delight when we ran across this little guy.

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I think this one was my favorite – they had a walkway covered with these flower-forms.

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Here’s the whole gang (minus myself, who prefers to be behind the camera) under the flower-walkway.

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I’m fairly certain that the fan was their show-piece.  They had a little wood ‘stage’ set up in front of it for people to pose at.  D didn’t disappoint.

The fan deserved multiple shots…

As we were leaving the event, a bit footsore and a very sated Camera Muse in tow, I had to stop for one last shot.  This grouping was outside the ticket gate, in front of the Garden’s welcome center – and had a frog with, again, the ‘what chOOO lookin’ at’ expression.

Because it was ‘outside’ the gardens and not well-watched, D crossed the little rope ‘fence’ to get up-close and in the toad’s face.  Gotta love my Rebel 😀

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Mousse & Squirrel

Hey, hey Rocky – watch me pull a fantastic dessert outta my hat!!!

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Yea, I’m dating myself again, quoting a cartoon I watched when I was a kid a few more than 29 years ago.  One of these days, I’ll have to update my fictional age to a more believable number…

And no – I did not make a dessert out of squirrel.  I’ve never been one for weird meat.

Yea…I went there…

This weekend was the Independence Day holiday – the weekend of the year where Americans of all ages go to their local fairgrounds and eat WAAAAAAY too much really bad for you, insanely expensive, questionable foodstuffs, drink WAAAAAAAY too much over-priced, watered down alcohol, go on WAAAAAAY too many spinney-type rides, stopping the frivolity only long enough to visit a conveniently-placed waste barrel to empty their stomachs in the worst possible way.

I once tried to convince people to avoid the middle-man by offering to punch them in the stomach for $50.00 (still get the pain, but no stinky, smelly puke breath), but nobody took me up on the offer, not even when I offered to roll them down a hill for the dizziness effect.

Entrepreneurs have it tough in this country.

How do we end this celebratory dine & purge fest?  We blow stuff up.

Yea, I could wax nostalgic on the whole ‘rocket’s red glare, bombs bursting in air,’ but it sounds better my way – it’s very ‘Murikan! to blow stuff up.

Boom

I don’t go to the fairgrounds over the 4th holiday – my family has a yearly reunion at Dad’s home on Lake Reinhart.  We gather, bring a dish to pass, swim in the lake, socialize in the shade, and let the kids (mostly my younger nephews & nieces) do what kids do best.

Dad usually has sandwich stuff and cold salads (macaroni, potato, etc…) along with fresh veggies & dips for lunch, because we all tend to arrive (hungry) at different times.  For dinner, we do those salads & veggies again, a sugar-rush of desserts, and the ‘Official Summer Meat of Wisconsin’ fresh off the grill-altar.

If I have to say brats…you need to read more of my posts 😀

At lunch, the first thing that was mentioned was the woeful lack of bread or carb products on my plate.  I filled up instead with the veggies & dip, and some cold ham & sausage from the available meats.

Which gave me the perfect opportunity to explain keto to the family.

My dish to pass for the event emerged at the evening meal.  Now, I made 2 desserts, actually.  One with real sugar for everyone else, and one with just enough sugar substitute to satisfy my rather blunted sweet tooth.

Berries and creamMousse & berries.  This stuff, with real sugar, tastes exactly like the cream filling they pipe into cream puffs up here.  And pairing out fresh blackberries and raspberries made it the perfect 4th of July celebratory dessert.  Good Ole’ Red, White & Blue.

Here is the recipe:

Keto Mousse & Berries
The Stuff
3 TB each  Marscapone cheese and heavy cream
2ish TSP Erythritol
1.5 tsp vanilla extract
1/4 C fresh raspberries
1/4 C fresh Blackberries
The Execution
Blend Marscapone cheese and heavy cream until well combined
add sweetener and vanilla
Blend until well thickened
Split the raspberries inbetween 2 tall fluted glasses
Pipe half the cheese mixture into each glass on top of the berries
Split the blackberries between the two glasses on top of the cream

EAT WELL.

Here’s the weekly Keto update:

Wednesday – Tried an experiment with almond butter, coconut, cream cheese & caramel syrup.  Not terrible, but I probably won’t repeat.

Thursday – My first ever work-sponsored-lunch-on-Keto.  They brought in pizza, garlic bread, and salad.  I nimbly avoided the garlic bread, scraped the toppings off 2 slices of pizza, and loaded up on the salad.

Friday – Chicken & Salsa soup.  ’twas FANTASTIC, crammed full of black olives & green cabbage.

Saturday – Fine dining on good Wisconsin brats & my berry mousse.

Sunday – Movie night.  The SQO was rather hot to see this movie called ‘The Purge:  Election Year.’

If you haven’t already guessed, he’s REALLY a Cinephile.  

As the movie was a dystopian future flick, I was on board, as that’s one of my favored genres.

 

This is a strange film.  The premise is that, for one night every year, the citizens of the US are allowed to commit any crime they wish without legal issue.  All crimes, for the one night, are LEGAL.

The commentary in the film makes it painfully obvious that this sanctioned night-of-chaos is part of the 1%-ers plan to eliminate as much of the poor and lower-class populations in the easiest way possible – let them kill each other.

For the first time, government officials are no longer exempt from the Purge – because a senator running for the Presidency with some establishment-busting ideas is actually WINNING in the polls – and this is the establishment’s ‘bid’ to eliminate her.

It’s gruesome – this film. Rather disturbing in the way it violently shoves the unpleasant darkness residing within all humanity down your unwilling throat.  But I’ll probably go see it again 😀