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.

caviar, smoked salmon, and oysters

     caviar...twice a year - a mother of pearl spoon - birthday and christmas...sancerre...or champagne if you prefer....

     smoked salmon...quarterly - toast points, diced onions, capers, and a lemon...chilean sauvignon blanc....

     oysters...monthly - plump and salty, in mid afternoon...a little vodka, and bed....

chokoloskee

     swan and i went to chokoloskee one fall to fish for snook with gil drake, our key west friend and tarpon guide.  ed watson's ghost stalked us the whole time we were there.  we had both read peter matthiessen's novel KILLING MISTER WATSON and part of our interest in the fishing had to do with visiting the scene of the killing - which actually took place in front of ted smallwood's store, not far from where gil docked his boat.

edgar, ed, e.j., jack watson - call him what you may - was a formidable character in southwest florida in the early years of the twentieth century.  he came to that part of the country via south carolina and oklahoma - where it is said he had killed belle star.  he farmed - successfully - an old indian mound at chatham bend just south of chokoloskee and, rather than pay them at the close of harvest season, killed several of his farm hands. some number of other murders or disappearances were attributed to him as well.  he so terrified the locals that, at last, they shot him down in a group as he was coming ashore to purchase supplies.  much murkiness surrounds his killing - certainly enough to support his ghostly presence. 

the people of chokoloskee are not particularly friendly - especially to yankee fishermen and i suppose that helped with our feeling of dread.  gil took us by the chatham bend homestead - nothing remained, he said, but the cistern.  i knew from my reading that the government, when it created the park had burned down all man made structures within its boundaries but that did nothing to dispel the willies.  i felt like a kid on his first halloween.

we didn't catch many snook - though we both developed bursitis in our casting shoulders skittering our flies in under the mangroves hour after hour.  we certainly felt mister watson's presence, menacing even today, a hundred years later.