Online somewhere, someone asked about guest room reading.
Light reading is necessary in guest rooms. If a guest chooses to read a long book, what good are they as guests? If the book is drowning in drear, they leave depressed. What good was I as a host?
My suggestions
Mark Twain short stories
Arthur Conan Doyle (agreeing with the one post I read)
John Grisham
Stephen King
Agatha Christie
Edward Lear
Guinness Book of World Records
James Thurber
An atlas
Poor Richard's Almanack (Franklin)
Collection of baseball statistics
2-3 volume encyclopedia
October 23, 2008
October 22, 2008
Looking for Resolutions, Not Revolutions
No coffee, no romance this time around. Just looking at the anger in this world, in a melancholic state as I think people worry more than act....
I read the polls are telling us people are worried about the economy. I am not. Not the war in Iraq, or even terrorism. Whether a candidate is making history, making money, or making whoopee, I am unconcerned. I will vote based, in part, on how I believe the candidates will do, but, I am not worried.
I do not care about most of what is in the news about each candidate and their VPs. I am tired of the hate spewed by some supporters of each, and avoid the topics.
I don't care who wins the World Series, the price of gas, or the weather. I want my team to win, lower prices, and warm weather, but not enough to worry.
My wallet is fine, I am safe, and my home is adequate. Other people are hungry. I am not in danger. Other people face gunfire. It is chilly here, but others are homeless.
The posturing about life's trials does both me. We complain about our lives, but there are those with more difficult trials who do not need a protest or blog entry, but someone to buy them lunch or give them a job.
Iraq, the economy, the political scandal of the week is not worth my worry.
What is, and what can worrying do to fix it?
--Brockeim
looking for resolutions, not revolutions
I read the polls are telling us people are worried about the economy. I am not. Not the war in Iraq, or even terrorism. Whether a candidate is making history, making money, or making whoopee, I am unconcerned. I will vote based, in part, on how I believe the candidates will do, but, I am not worried.
I do not care about most of what is in the news about each candidate and their VPs. I am tired of the hate spewed by some supporters of each, and avoid the topics.
I don't care who wins the World Series, the price of gas, or the weather. I want my team to win, lower prices, and warm weather, but not enough to worry.
My wallet is fine, I am safe, and my home is adequate. Other people are hungry. I am not in danger. Other people face gunfire. It is chilly here, but others are homeless.
The posturing about life's trials does both me. We complain about our lives, but there are those with more difficult trials who do not need a protest or blog entry, but someone to buy them lunch or give them a job.
Iraq, the economy, the political scandal of the week is not worth my worry.
What is, and what can worrying do to fix it?
--Brockeim
looking for resolutions, not revolutions
October 19, 2008
Lifts the Meal to Sublimity. review: Alessi Sea Salt, Coarse, 2.83-Ounce Grinders (Pack of 6)
Lifts the Meal to Sublimity
Alessi Sea Salt, Coarse, 2.83-Ounce Grinders (Pack of 6)
No phantasm, nothing eerie about the friendly, warm mist lifting from the gentle mound. The concise hills, like sandy camels kneeling in petition of an oasis, were baked and split Russet Burbank potatoes sending a steaming waft as a signal for butter, and for salt. A quick slip of a smooth knife delivered a melting slice of yellow cream.
A sprinkle from a common table shaker would not do. Not with a filet recently from the grill waiting. Not with a 1994 merlot resting before pouring. Not with green spring peas buttressing the steak. A plebeian salt could not do.
Salt ground from coarse to useful fell into invisible crevices, engaging the potato into evoking flavor. The filet, the merlot, the peas were better for having shared the plate with the potato. No more can be said for this simple salt's necessity. This is what it does. Nothing more.
May your potato's request be met with salt ground at the moment before dining.
--Brockeim
Alessi Sea Salt, Coarse, 2.83-Ounce Grinders (Pack of 6)
No phantasm, nothing eerie about the friendly, warm mist lifting from the gentle mound. The concise hills, like sandy camels kneeling in petition of an oasis, were baked and split Russet Burbank potatoes sending a steaming waft as a signal for butter, and for salt. A quick slip of a smooth knife delivered a melting slice of yellow cream.
A sprinkle from a common table shaker would not do. Not with a filet recently from the grill waiting. Not with a 1994 merlot resting before pouring. Not with green spring peas buttressing the steak. A plebeian salt could not do.
Salt ground from coarse to useful fell into invisible crevices, engaging the potato into evoking flavor. The filet, the merlot, the peas were better for having shared the plate with the potato. No more can be said for this simple salt's necessity. This is what it does. Nothing more.
May your potato's request be met with salt ground at the moment before dining.
--Brockeim
Brockeim Nonsense on Mugs and T-shirts
Some of these bits of nonsense are now available on mugs and t-shirts. More coming. Remember, mugs declaring duck wisdom must be worthy of your coffee.
October 09, 2008
Books Are Good Food Coffee Mug (Fun Gift for Librarians, Writers and Bookworms
Books are good food.
Wash them down with coffee.
Buy now.
October 06, 2008
Shotgun Start at the Golf Match
The men stood warily, yet focused at their tees. Clubs stretched out, feet steady, ready to begin the 18 holes, intensity and tension filled the air.
"Gentlemen... at you tees. Ready, set, swing!"
The shotgun rang out.
Eight men swung with a mighty unified whoosh downward like Viking warriors rowing into battle, then upward, crashing into the ball, setting it forth toward Heaven, piercing the clouds on their way. Heaven thought better of this, throwing the balls back toward Earth as fast as gravity and inertia would take them, clipping trees before stumbling into a rolling thud into the sand...
"Gentlemen... at you tees. Ready, set, swing!"
The shotgun rang out.
Eight men swung with a mighty unified whoosh downward like Viking warriors rowing into battle, then upward, crashing into the ball, setting it forth toward Heaven, piercing the clouds on their way. Heaven thought better of this, throwing the balls back toward Earth as fast as gravity and inertia would take them, clipping trees before stumbling into a rolling thud into the sand...
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