Abraham Lincoln was assassinated …

… on Good Friday, April 14, 1865, when President Abraham Lincoln was shot while attending a performance of Our American Cousin at Ford’s Theater with his wife and two guests.

Lincoln’s assassin, actor and Confederate sympathizer John Wilkes Booth, had also plotted with fellow conspirators to kill William H. Seward (then Secretary of State) and Vice President Andrew Johnson respectively. Although Booth succeeded in killing Lincoln, the larger plot failed. Seward was attacked, but recovered from his wounds, and Johnson’s would-be assassin fled Washington, D.C. upon losing his nerve

– Wikipedia

There are not so many things in this world that have the emotional impact as the flying machines of the golden age of aviation. The Waco is not Howard Hughes’ H-1 or Amelia Earhart’s Lockheed Electra but it, along with Boeing’s Stearman taught legions of pilots for WWII and while many Stearmans went into post-war service as crop dusters and had dramatically short lifespans, the Wacos went into private hands and were cared for and passed from one set of caring hands to the next.

Fuel prices, FAA regulations, and liability concerns have turned many of these airborne icons of history into Hangar Queens and museum pieces; silencing them forever. Most may not pass to another generation of guardians.

It really does feel like and ending.

For those who have not read the post, it is a humorous look the common cold through the 5 stages of death. Here’s a link for your … umm … enjoyment.

One of his many legacies is the Alice Project – a 3D animation environment that makes it easy for students to learn object oriented programming while creating animated movies.

As for “the Last Lecture”, here are a few of his memorable quotes …

remember, the brick walls are there for a reason.  The brick walls are not there to keep us out.  The brick walls are there to give us a chance to show how badly we want something.  Because the brick walls are there to stop the people who don’t want it badly enough.

The best way to teach somebody something is to have them think they’re learning something else.

It’s not about how to achieve your dreams.  It’s about how to lead your life.  If you lead your life the right way, the karma will take care of itself.  The dreams will come to you.

… a mixture of spirits and flavorings that whets the appetite, pleases the eye, and stimulates the mind. It is one of our conspicuous contributions to cultured living, up there with the Great American Songbook and the tuxedo.

By the 1990s, few establishments could produce a passable Martini or Manhattan.

Some of it is the ignorance of the folks behind the bar, who not only have a limited mastery of the ratios that make such cocktails refreshing but also fail to measure. It is a profession after all dominated by disabused actors and women comfortable in brief attire. But it is just as much the lack of audience.

The best cocktails were not the product of the 1950s when the Rat Pack set the standard, but the 1920s when piano bars and hot jazz ruled and people changed their clothes for the evening. Our most elegant cocktails were part of the great modern revolution in design and had the same sleek lines as that era’s airplanes and motorcars.

- The Weekly Standard – “The Cocktail Renaissance“

First, the disclaimer – I have nothing against actors for female bartenders. I do not disparage the beer drinker. I do take offense with someone behind the rail who can’t be bothered to learn how to do their job and worse still, makes the customer the guilty party for requesting the bartender actually perform their trade.

It does not take a degree in organic chemistry to make a proper cocktail. It takes three things – ingredients, equipment, and the ability to follow directions. It’s my guess that all three conspire against perfection. First, the ingredients. Cheap booze makes cheap drinks and in a market where volume sales is what that majority of customers demand, quality gets a nail it its coffin. The equipment is less of an issue other than the fact that it requires more work to keep six things clean than it does one … and the bottle open or corkscrew rarely get cleaned anyway so that makes it “zero”. Finally we arrive at “following instructions”. Doing things right takes time and why bother making one good drink if you can pawn off four bad ones in the same amount of time and get tipped for doing so.

The well formed cocktail has gone the way of fine crafted coachwork, the hand made chair, and braided rugs – all were built with pride and quality and the time involved resulted in something that would last.

A cocktail “must whet the appetite, not dull it.”
A cocktail “should stimulate the mind as well as the appetite.”
A cocktail “must be pleasing to the palate.”
A cocktail “must be pleasing to the eye.”
A cocktail “must have sufficient alcoholic flavor.”
A cocktail “must be well-iced.”

- David Embury,  Fine Art of Mixing Drinks

On a personal note, I’m a lightweight. If I can only have one drink in a sitting, I’d rather it be one worth drinking. While those around me pay $6-$10 for 3 drinks of C₂H₅OH + “filler”, I’d rather pay the same for one spectacular representation of a classic libation. If you are up for the challenge of learning a classic, check out Mike Hagan’s “5 Classic Cocktails Every Man Should Know“.

I made [it] for several years in some of our "poor" days, soup from any bone I was able to get.  The type of bone determined the flavor and ingredients.  Ham bone – lentils.  Chicken or turkey- noodle.  Beef – vegetable.

In the depression era or even just a family having a hard time of it for any reason would go to the butcher and ask for a bone for their dog.  The butcher would wrap the bone as he would any cut of meat and the woman or child would be spared the humiliation or embarrassment of having the neighbors see what they had received.  There was no cost back then for the bones and usually quite a bit meat left on them that would of course boil off and make a good soup base.  To that a wife would add what vegetables she had been able to get.  Sometimes they also would come as discards from the green grocer.  Sometimes the bones were used over and over ’til the was no flavor left.

- Theresa

Her story got me thinking about my original post and the sorties I was told about food rations and hard times. So, I set out to try and recreate Dog Bone soup.

My first stop was the butcher at the local grocery story. I rang the bell and explained what I was trying to do. He said he still had "dog bones" and given what I planned, he recommended he cut them into 6" lengths. They are now called marrow bones and they are not free. I asked for 2. They were $0.99/lb and the total was 2.89 lbs. Given the resulting size of my batch of soup, one bone would have been more than enough.

I then tracked down dry lentils and the fresh vegetables. I went with the mirepoix as my starting point (1lb carrots, 1 head celery, and large onion). Again, I got more than I needed – half or even a third would be enough.

Back in the kitchen, I chopped up the carrots, celery, and onion. I had a small piece of fatback in the refrigerator so I tossed that into my one pot and cooked out a small amount of fat and then tossed in the mirepoix. I cooked them on medium high heat so they browned a little (rather than the conventional sweating on low heat). I then moved the vegetables to a large bowl and put the bones and approximately 6 cups of water in the pot and brought it to a boil before turning it back to simmer for an hour.

I scooped out the bones and any large bits that were in the stock but I did not strain it. I then added 2 lbs of dried lentils. Yes, again, more than I needed and had I made the corresponding reductions previously mentioned, a single 1lb bag would have been right. I brought the stock to a boil and then simmered for an hour.

I added the mirepoix to the lentils and stock and spiced to taste. I then let it sit on the stove over night to cool down slowly and let the flavors meld. In the morning, my first reaction was "too much soup" so I removed about half into plastic containers for freezing. I then added 4 cups of water.

There was still something missing. Theresa’s note had the answer – "a wife would add what vegetables she had been able to get.  Sometimes they also would come as discards from the green grocer". I scrounged through the refrigerator and found the but ends of two tomatoes and a head of romaine lettuce.  I chopped up the tomato and the outer leaves of the lettuce and tossed them into the soup while bringing it back to a boil. I also added a small amount of dark brown roux – more for flavor than thickening.

The soup is as close to what I remember as I would hope. I probably have just a bit too much fat in the soup. The fatback helped with the vegetables but the combination of that fat and what came off the bones may be a bit too much. Still, it’s probably accurate.

Thanks to Theresa and my mom for help bringing this recipe back to life for me. A special thanks to Ann for introducing it to me in the first place !

Postfix: the soup goes great with the heal ends from a loaf of multi-fiber bread

This one surprised me not only because Amazon performed the remote wipe but because the books in question are the ones we expect to vanish in some totalitarian dictatorship / censorship movie …

Amazon last night deleting every single legitimately-purchased copy of 1984 and Animal Farm from all Kindles remotely.

Apparently, the publisher changed its mind about having electronic versions of Orwell’s books. So Amazon removed them from the store and in the process remotely deleted the books from the Kindles of anyone who bought them, depositing a refund in their account in the process.

read more about it at the NY Times

Short, sharp, blasts on infantry whistles. No time to think now. Out at the double into about four feet of water, just about up to my chest. I touched bottom and forced myself forward. The water seemed to be holding me back, but at last I was on the beach and running like hell for cover. The O.C. and I, being first out, were well ahead with the troop fanning out close behind. There was a large number of dead on the beach staining it red with their blood. I hurled myself down behind a sand dune by the side of a Canadian soldier, who I had met on "Clan Lamont" he appeared to me to have taken up a firing position, I spoke to him, but there was no reply, he was dead. Looking round quickly; I saw that we were a bit spread out now but I was glad to see we had suffered no casualties. All my mates were with me and my confidence returned somewhat although I was out of breath and my heart was thumping.

There was an enormous crash behind us as I felt the blast in my back.he assault craft, which had brought us in, had caught a packet even before she had had a chance to back off. Mortars had straddled her, even though she had cleared the beach, was listing badly and on fire. Peering through all the black smoke I could see that only some of the crew had survived.

Another LCI (Landing Craft Infantry) came tearing in at that moment and it had its underbelly ripped right open by an obstacle and was almost upended. It had a huge gash underneath and the troops aboard had to leave from the rear and swim for it. They must have been glad of their life jackets. There were a number of dead bodies floating at the water’s edge they were being pushed out of the way by the swimmers coming in.

full story (WW2 People’s War is an online archive of wartime memories contributed by members of the public and gathered by the BBC)