I’m never sure how yootoob executes searches, as I frequently have something pop into my Recommendations that I had unsuccessfully searched for many moons ago. Much to my delight this is one such example that showed up last week.
As I have already indicated I could listen to Delphine Galou sing the phone book. I am no fan of operatic music but somehow this oratorio by Vivaldi is captivating. I am such a fan of hers that were she to tour the US I would make every effort to attend a concert. Even if it meant going to NYC, especially if Congress manages to pass CCW reciprocity.
Mrs. Galou is firmly ensconced in my current pantheon of female vocalists along with Jennifer Warnes and Eva Cassidy, with Alison Krauss, Gloria Lynne and Deborah Holland in the bullpen. Full confession — I just don’t get Billie Holliday.
Against the glory of Mrs. Galou’s singing is the ridiculous visual of the chamber music ensemble wearing face diapers in keeping with the edicts of the Fauci Flu fraud purveyors and their gullible myrmidons. Was the Fauci Flu a real thing? Of course, I spent nearly two weeks in the hospital with it. I know folks two degrees of separation who died from it, usually in forced isolation as they died. Was Fauci Flu something “special” epidemiologically? Other than its sponsorship and source, not particularly. Periodic lethal respiratory flus sweep the nation with only slightly less mortality.
I have a good friend who was a BCN specialist in the military. That’s Biological, Chemical, and Nuclear weapons. His expertise indicates that the only protection against viruses the size of Fauci Flu would require a full, sealed hazmat suit with independent air source. Face diapers are futile, as the unfolding medical literature is confirming. (Mrs. Barn is a trained scientist and reads the stuff)
Thus, the sight of this instrumental ensemble performatively wearing completely ineffective “protection” is more sanctimonious virtue signaling than anything else. I wonder when or if we will look back at such posturing with the ridicule it demands, or if any of the perpetrators will ever receive justice..
Ironically, one of the guys who got this exactly correct, and was systematically silenced and defamed by the “smart people,” will soon become the most powerful person in the US medical establishment. Karma, baby. Karma.
If my comments about the Fauci Flu disturb you, I will give your concerns all the gracious consideration is appropriate.
Okay, I’m done with those considerations.
And if you are not enamored with the voice of Delphine Galou? You just might be a barbarian.
My recent post about apple butter making was an account of a “public” event at our friends Pat and Valerie’s place a month ago. A couple weeks ago we learned that there was going to be a second episode of apple butter making, this time pretty much restricted to a close circle of friends. We are, fortunately, part of that circle.
The appointed day for the apple butter rendering was a brutal cold, raw, windy and rainy day. In response Pat and Valerie set up the cauldron inside their boiling hearth, normally holding the sugar water boiling pan for making maple syrup. Being a creative guy, Pat removed the pan and rigged up his cauldron with a propane burner to cook the apple chips. Or maybe it was Valerie’s idea, I don’t rightly remember.
This made the entire event even more charming and cozy.
So there we were in this homey setting, stirring and adding apple chips to the bubbling cauldron until after several hours it was time to add the spices. Normally sugar would also be added but this batch of apples was so sweet naturally none was needed.
The spices were stirred in for another half hour.
At the proper time the canning began with a well-honed assembly line. Once again my task was to take away the full cases loaded with the still-hot apple butter.
Out came the fresh biscuits, made with loving excellence by Pat’s sister. The scrumptious biscuits were used to clean out the cauldron. Yummmmm.
Three Saturday’s ago I went to our friends Pat and Valerie for their annual apple butter day. It’s a local tradition that we have gladly glommed on to.
Great fun and fellowship abounded.
At the start, apple chips are just dumped into the copper cauldron and stirred with a canoe paddle.
There is a lot of standing around while we watch the person with the paddle. This is where the tall tales and gripes about taxes emerge.
As it cooks down more apple chips are added and the stirring switches to a custom designed stirring paddle.
Hours later it is all cooked down and ready for adding the spices and sugar. Occasionally they make a batch of sugar free apple butter, that is the stuff we like. But this was a sugared batch.
Once that is all cooked and stirred some more, Pat conducts an “all finished” viscosity test by depositing a dollop on the underside of a sauce pan. Too runny? Cook some more. When it is ready it gets canned in jars.
At this point my job was to carry the cases of still-hot jars into the sugar house for later labeling and, eventually, selling.
The big highlight is that after all the work is done, Pat’s sister breaks out the bin of fresh, still-warm biscuits we use to scrape the residue out the cauldron. The moaning of delight commenced.
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