I’ve never been a complainer.
I was raised to let my actions speak for me. I was taught that a man toughs it out and that hard work would eventually be recognized and rewarded… that it was noble to suffer indignity in silence and to stand up for yourself (and especially others) when you could. These were good ol’ Midwestern values, commonsense, and a blueprint for what it takes to be a man in this world. Perhaps it is no wonder John Wayne was a childhood hero…
Not so many years ago, my wife was out shopping with the family and I was home alone preparing dinner (I like to cook). I did something stupid and sliced quite a bit more than just the tip of my thumb off. I use professional grade equipment so the slicer was extra sharp (and the wound so deep) I didn’t even realize I’d injured myself until everything (the cutting board, my potatoes, my hands) was covered in red. I went through half a roll of paper towels using pressure to stop the bleeding and seriously considered cauterizing the wound before I reasoned out that the blood flow was steady – not spurting (so, there was no life-threatening arterial bleeding). Once I had that relatively under control, I called my wife and asked her how her shopping was going. I casually mentioned that I’d cut myself and maybe I could use a little bit of help? She knew this was very out of character for me (and you may not know this, but I married a fiery Latino) so, I had to calm her down and reassure her that I was fine – no, I didn’t need to call an ambulance but, if it was convenient, it would be great if she could come home.
Well, I live on the outskirts of the Dallas metroplex, so I knew even with her single focus on getting home (and heaven help any officer that tried to pull her over for speeding) it would take her at least an hour or so to reach me. But, by this time, I was starting to feel it. I mean, I was REALLY STARTING TO FEEL IT. The only thing more painful to me than my wound was the thought of my wife coming home to a crying, slobbering, bleeding, fool sitting on the kitchen floor amidst a sea of red (ok, maybe not a sea, but take my word, it was bad enough). I started trying to clean up, but that was a no-go until I could get the throbbing pain out of the way. So, I did what John Wayne would do… I opened up the liquor cabinet.
My wife, being from South America, is an absolute connoisseur when it comes to high-quality rums and tequilas. She seldom drinks, but when she does, it is only the good stuff. I’m usually a bourbon guy but in this case, I wanted the strongest liquor I could find and her 25-year-old Flor de Caña fit the bill. I briefly remember considering I would be misusing a $150 bottle of rum but rationalized the situation justified it (that is my excuse to this day and I’m sticking with it). When my wife finally arrived the rest of the family was in tow, which was a good thing because it allowed me to stage events. I immediately directed my wife upstairs to grab the first aid kit – I already had it, but it allowed me the time to motion my niece over and give her instructions…
I should explain that I love my niece with all my heart. I changed her diapers when she was a baby, tried to be around when no father was, took her with me on various travels and vacations, and proudly accepted the responsibility of being the Godfather to her firstborn. She represents the crossover generation for that side of my family – the first generation to grow up here yet still be accepted as native to the old country and ways. We are very close and I like to think we share a special bond.
Anyway, as she was the first person to actually reach me, I asked her to help me up off of the kitchen floor (I hadn’t left the kitchen because I didn’t want to stain the carpet and really, after a few shots, the kitchen floor was perfectly comfortable) and to please clean up as much blood as possible before my wife saw it - It’s not that my wife couldn’t handle it, it’s just that it’s my job as a husband to spare her such things. My niece, being the super hero she is, somehow managed to get my wife and me situated in the dining room while clandestinely cleaning up the kitchen. A few hours later she grinningly showed me the end of my thumb she had recovered from the goo and I have to admit, my stomach did a little flip. It is memories like these that cause me to reflect I must be getting old… in my generation women (like my niece) feigned being frail, embraced femininity, had the emotional strength and disipline of ten men, and were the bedrock of civilization. Today, it seems that many ‘woke’ women pretend to be strong but are emotionally catatonic at the first signs of confrontation, are offended if they catch a stranger admiring their beauty, and generally disaprove of men being, well… masculine.
At any rate, I am telling you this because ‘being a man’ has been radically redefined in our culture – and the idea of standing up for what you believe in seems to have lost its luster. I’m not sure I can abide that. There is something inside me that won’t shut up, lay down, and be quiet. Maybe it’s hubris or maybe it’s patriotism, but even though I know it would be safer to keep my mouth shut, I just can’t resist standing up to the elitist Ruling Class forces trying to pervert our freedoms and saying, “Screw you.”
I don’t know what the future holds, and I don’t judge any man – I figure everybody will do what they can do (or, answer for it in another life). As for me, I am Blessed (or, cursed) with being able to see through the propaganda and clearly see the evil ambitions of many who wield power. I pray I am not Don Quixote – I pray I am not the only soul who still believes in a just cause. I pray that many will stand up to the Establishment status quo in our country and demand we return to a government of the people, by the people, and for the people. But, whether a multitude or an army of one, I have to ask myself… what would John Wayne do?
StressFreeBill
STUPID JOKE of the WEEK
Q: Why don’t you ever see hippopotamus hiding in trees?
A: Because they’re really good at it.
SOLE AMANDINE RECIPE
This is quick, easy, and impressive… (A StressFreeBill favorite)
INGREDIENTS
Whole Sole
QTY 2
Coarse Sea Salt, to taste
Coarse White Peppercorn, to taste
Flour
QTY 3-4 Tbsp
Olive Oil
QTY 2 Tbsp
Salted Butter, room temperature
QTY 4 Tbsp
Sliced Almonds
QTY 2 Tbsp
Lemon, cut in half
QTY 1
Italian Parsley, coarsely chopped
QTY 1 Tbsp
COOKING DIRECTIONS
Using a paper towel, pat dry fish and season with salt and pepper. Dredge with flour. (Optional: Remove head if desired using a sharp knife).
In a small mixing bowl, mix 3 tbsp. butter with juice of ½ lemon and parsley. Cut other half of lemon in slices or wedges to serve as garnish.
Heat remaining 1 tbsp. of butter and olive oil on medium low in a large sauce pan. Sauté the almonds until golden and remove with a slotted spoon to a paper towel. Increase heat to medium high. Place the sole in the pan, dark-skin-side first. Cook for 3-4 minutes and using a long spatula, flip to the other side. Continue cooking for 2-3 minutes. Remove soles and place on a platter. Add flavored butter to pan and whisk until slightly melted.
Using the back of a spoon or an edge of a knife, peel the skin of the whole fish on both sides. Serve with some flavored butter, toasted almonds and lemon slices or wedges.
Remember, next Tuesday's newsletter will carry a section identifying and describing one of the elite Ruling Class factions who believe themselves in charge of our country and planet. These wild, fun bunch of elitists do the craziest things and it’s probably a good idea (for self-preservation and the like) to get a clear handle on who they are. This Tuesday we’ll focus on the Ruling Class Media!
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