fancy pheasants

     tiger and i killed thirty eight one day - most walked up over dogs, some driven out of the crops planted on his chester county property.  we'd always set fifty as our goal, but never achieved it.  that sounds like a lot of birds - and it is - but not when compared to driven pheasants in the u.k.

i had the good fortune  to be invited - by people i didn't really know, but came to like immensely - to join a line of eight guns for a week's driven pheasant shooting - one day of grouse thrown in - for two successive years, shooting from birdsall house in north yorkshire, the home of lord and lady middleton - michael and janet.

after my enthusiastic acceptance i learned it was to be a formal occasion - i.e  black tie dinners and double guns only.  i didn't own one, let alone two, of the afore mentioned, but was lucky enough to win a rather grand sum at the dice tables in the summer before my first trip, purchased a pair of beretta over and unders [barely acceptable]...and arrived in yorkshire so armed.

birdsall house was a grand old victorian pile set in the netherlands of north yorkshire. upon arrival we were presented with a schedule for the week:  "arrival at birdsall & tea - 2000 [hrs.] dinner at birdsall" etc. and what i particularly enjoyed [in classic british understatement] "please be punctual as the daylight hours for shooting are few at this time of year and we should be prompt."  being seated on her ladyship's right at the table for twenty was an honor only muted by the fact i couldn't stir until she did.  "dressing" for dinner proved not the chore i expected - after all one had to wear something after a day's shooting and a hot bath....

i made a few mistakes in my two years' shooting at birdsall - which, i suspect had something to do with my not being asked back.  on the first drive in the first year i killed a pheasant, which my host - next to me - had "pricked" [another expression i love], behind him.  he glared at me.  "not done," he said.  "not done," he repeated.  the next year i refused an invitation to a piano recital pleading family obligations whereupon my brother, in front of all my shooting friends, arrived to pick me up in an old, balky austin motorcar which we had to push down the hill to get started once he'd said his hellos.  after that i had the good [?] fortune on one drive to kill as high a pheasant as i think possible which fell in the midst of his lordship's prized charolais cattle causing them to moo in horror and semi stampede. there was also considerable murmuring amongst the beaters and gamekeeping staff.  lastly, in what was probably the high point of my shooting career, with my host's wife at my elbow for verification, i killed seventeen pheasants with seventeen cartridges at a reasonably difficult stand [the birds came circling from right to left just below the brow of a little hill in front of me] on the last drive of the day, in the gloaming.

i guess the lesson learned is don't ever show up your host.  oh, and on our high day we killed 259 - not great but well in excess of tiger's and my longstanding target.

we

had that dinner...it was delicious.  i ate the remaining caviar for breakfast on boxing day.  we drank, at different times - champagne, vodka [chilled], whiskey, pinot noir, sauvignon blanc, and port.  we also toasted absent friends and fell into bed, slightly - but not terribly - drunk.

christmas dinner

     silver polished...check,  table set...check, candles ready for lighting...check.

     caviar...blinis for sally [sour cream?]...a mother of pearl spoon for me...8 ounces is  a lot, but what the hell. once a year, and all that.  it's paddlefish as i can't afford the osetra any more - still awfully good...veuve cliquot [yellow label] in tall flutes.

     standing rib roast...medium rare...the fat crackly and the meat tender.

     green beans...cooked just a little so they crunch a bit as you chew.

     scalloped potatoes...the top of the dish all chestnut brown from the oven's heat.

     sally likes a soft red wine - not too much tannen.  i don't - the reds don't agree with me so i'll have bit of water, or maybe a little sauvignon blanc.

      a lovely piece of christmas chocolate as a sweet.

     vintage port.

     merry christmas and a happy new year!

boom

     boom came to my hospital room after my horrendous car wreck as i lay recovering from a broken jaw.  my mother was there when he arrived, sports magazines clutched in his massive paw.  boom was an ex vikings linebacker, big, solid and hard as nails.  he was a bouncer in one of the gin mills i frequented in those days.

"here. these are for you," he mumbled, pushing the pulp into my lap.  "you need anything, you call boom.  hear."

with that he retreated.

like some of my other guests he frightened my ma.

aerostar

     i had a friend who owned an aerostar - a sleek, twin engined, very fast, prop plane.  we used to fly to atlantic city, to gamble, some evenings after work.  it took twenty minutes from new castle county airport, where he kept her, to bader field on great island, just west of the resort.  there was a small administration building where we checked in...outside there was  usually a cab idling to take us to the casino of our choice.

     one night we flew over but on arrival things seemed quiet - the "office" was dark and no cabs were sitting at the exit door.  we hadn't known, or realized, that the city had closed bader so had to make our way to the boardwalk on foot...it took us longer to get to the craps tables than the duration of our flight.  i also remember on our return, taking off into a light north east breeze, that the air conditioners atop the trump tower seemed very close to our landing gear.

     the last time i made the trip we ran into snow on our way home.  in the landing lights, at a hundred plus miles an hour, the flakes were enormous, beautiful, and slightly ominous.  when we arrived at new castle county airport the main runways had been plowed - but not the taxiways.  as a consequence, when we turned off to head for the administration building we immediately foundered and sat, stuck in the snow, until a plow arrived to tow us, slowly, to safety.

i don't remember whether we won or lost - but i suspect the latter.

goddamn

the warmongers....they are beating their drums again.

  think of the travesty of iraq.  god knows how much of our nation's treasure spent , how little gained, and the fiscal cost... for naught.  the country is in turmoil yet...turmoil of our making.  and afghanistan...what a disaster and a lesson not learned.  the brits couldn't tame it - the russians left with their tails between their legs, and we have been pounded for ten years - and counting.

  now comes syria with all the possibilities of mayhem it represents - and the drums are sounding.  we CANNOT put troops on  the ground there...even if our ally, israel, is attacked.  materiel support...okay - naval blockades...okay - drones...okay, but keep our service men and women out of harm's way!

  this is a changed, and ever changing, world...we'd better learn well that religion and tribal affiliation are key to the upheaval we are currently experiencing - and will continue to be so for the foreseeable future.

  i am not optimistic.