Bourbon Rotisserie Pork Loin

I’m starting a new adventure on my blog. For the past few months I’ve only posted bible studies and the occasional option or observation style article. Today is the first share on my new endeavor to learn more about cooking, grilling, and rotisserie recipes to try.

In 2021 my wife and I did a remodel in our backyard with one feature which has a particularly high value for me. The new DCS natural gas grill with rotisserie option was a great decision.  I like to grill much of the time, I also have an electric smoker which I use regularly.  But this new rotisserie option was a whole new thing for me.  Most of the people I’ve talked to love the rotisserie chicken available in the local food marketplace.  And I have and will do chicken many times in the future.  However today, I was to give you a birds eye view my process for cooking Bourbon Pork Loin on the rotisserie.

This is a 2.05 lb pork loin, which will be enough for the dinner, and a leftover meal or sandwiches.

I started with a wet rub to add flavor to the pork loin overnight.  Light brown sugar, coarse black pepper, brown spicy mustard, paprika, garlic powder and onion powder. After whisking the dry ingredients together in a bowl, I covered the pork loin all over with the brown spicy mustard, and put the dry mixture on both sides. It looked like this in the basting bag, before going into the refrigerator for at least 12 hours, mine sat for about 15 hours.  I rolled all the air out of the bag wrapping it tightly so no air could infiltrate.

About an hour before cooking the pork loin I took it out of the refrigerator and brought it to room temperature, about 45 minutes on the counter. You can see that I tied the pork loin with cooking string to keep a uniform shape while it cooks. After placing the pork loin on the rotisserie spit, I went to work on the Mop for basting the pork loin as it cooked.

The Mop includes bourbon whiskey, light brown sugar, 1/4 small pureed yellow or sweet onion, ketchup, dark corn syrup and more spicy brown mustard. When the mop was mixed and ready, I fired up the rotisserie burner on the grill allowing plenty of time to get to the correct cooking temperature.

Here is a short video of the pork loin turning while the burner is lit to a bright orange indicating it is time to get this show on the road!

I cooked this pork loin for a little over 2 hours 45 minutes, left it on the spit, and covered it with aluminum foil to let it rest for about 20 minutes.

For the final phase of the meal I made Almanzo’s Fried Apples N Onions on the stovetop.

2 Fuji apples peeled, cored and sliced, the other ¾ of the sweet/yellow onion cut into matchstick sized pieces, brown sugar, and some ground cinnamon.

Melting a ½ cup of butter in a sauce pan, then adding all the ingredients together and cooking about 15-20 minutes, my side dish was finished.

After taking the apples and onions off the heat to cool a little before serving it is time to slice the pork into ¼ or ½ inch slices for plating.

Here is the dinner plated and ready to eat!  It was amazing to me how well the apples and onions paired with this pork loin.  The juices from the side dish made a great sauce adding even more flavor to the pork.  It was time well spent and a great adventure in cooking.

One last note… these are not my original recipes, I found them by searching for rotisserie options online.  For the exact details for these recipes, the links are here:

Pork Loin recipe

Apples N Onions recipe

Going Somewhere

In my distant past I read books. By this I mean I preferred hardcover books to paperback, and I shunned those who purchased the first electronic reading devices as though they had a serious and contagious illness to which I was vehemently determined not to succumb. As I said this was my distant past.

For the first time in too many years, two weeks ago while pondering the beautifully leather bound classics my wife inherited from her father at his recent passing, I determined to pluck one from the shelf and read it. I did this as much to honor the man who willed us these books, as to simply read an actual book. Much of my reading over the last 15 years or so has been using my Kindle reader on my mobile devices. So yes, I did succumb to the evil electronic readers available today.

Imagine my surprise when I opened the pages of a book never read, a book which had been printed and bound, and boxed and shipped, then put on a shelf to live out its days, unread. Instantly I was greeted with the fragrant musky scent of old paper and leather. My mind raced back to former days and the joy of buying that hardcover book and breaking it in, before ever reading a word. I did this now with a leather bound copy of Treasure Island, originally titled The Sea Cook A Story for Boys, first published in 1883.

My copy of Robert Louis Stevenson’s book was printed and published in 1975 as a limited edition by the Franklin Library, Franklin Center, Pennsylvania. It includes copies of the original illustrations by N.C. Wyeth and used by permission from Charles Scribner’s Sons. From first to last these 305 pages of story kept me captivated for days. I highly recommend this book, however, the point is that it served as a bridge for me. A bridge back to the joys of reading an actual book you can hold in your hands.

Is the story less rich or less enticing when read electronically? No. Does the meaning and moral of the story diminish in anyway when read electronically? No. But that is not my point. It probably won’t change my lifestyle of using my mobile devices to read a book when I’m out to lunch without my wife, or when I’m on vacation, or at any other time when it is necessary or convenient to do so. The Bridge part is that I’m now going somewhere. I’m going back in time to that place where one of the best parts of my day was to sit down with a good book and read.

Everyone has good intentions. I do too, having the intention to read more than just one of these leather bound classical works. I’m not sure I can do it in my lifetime, for while there only 88 of these beautiful and colorful books, they include works and titles that are very heady reads.

The Tragedies of Sophocles, Political Writings by John Stuart Mill, The Divine Comedy by Dante Alighieri, Thucydides – The Peloponneisan War, War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy, Pensees by Blaise Pascal, and the Trail by Franz Kafka.

It might take me a year or two to get through just these 8 books and there are 80 more of the same vein, all classical works in their own right. So I may have good intentions to read all 88 before I die, and while it remains a noble crown to achieve should I do it, I’m 68 years old in a couple of days, so it seems a daunting endeavor.

So there before is The Bridge. I would never have to purchase another book in my lifetime to fill my mind with thoughts above my own, more brilliant than my own, more entertaining than my own. It is a bridge which I’ve set my foot upon and I dare not turn back. I wonder if I’ll make it all the way across…


Are you an extrovert or introvert?

The answer lies in whether you see yourself through your own eyes (self-examination) or through the eyes of others (expressed in how they respond when you are around). Herein lies the problem. The definition of extrovert vs. introvert is almost always housed in psycho-babble more confusing than it actually needs to be to help a person answer the question. Here is one example:

“Introverts are most comfortable interacting in small groups and with one-on-one relationships, and are energized by spending time alone. Extroversion is a personality type characterized by traits such as sociability, assertiveness, and cheerfulness.” (quote from:

When I typed this title question into the BING search engine it produced 2,200,000 results, which is probably as telling as anything I’ve said so far. Then I revised my question to ask “extrovert or introvert test” which produced 2,290,000 results. On of these tests, I took the time to answer every question as accurate as I could, and in the end came up with the answer I already knew about myself from my own self-examination over the years. Here is what came back:

“You are an ambivert – a mixture of both personality types. It means that depending on your mood, you can gain energy either from socializing or being on your own. You enjoy social interaction, are interested in other people, and love to get to know them. But just like introverts, you feel the need to withdraw and stay on your own after a social event. Yet, too much alone time makes you feel restless and lonely, and you find yourself craving social contact again.” (

This word describes every aspect of the various seasons of my life, from High School, through College, marriage, and working in different environments where I was forced to be an extrovert part of the time, wanted to hide like an introvert part of the time, and for the bulk of the time was a blending jumble of both/and not either/or resulting in Ambivertness. (Yes, I know that is not a word, and the incorrect use of grammar, but there it is – I said it anyway. My extrovert is showing.)

The problem I’ve discovered over all this time is how our culture today has taken this whole either/or concept and made it into an art form. You can either be this or that, but not both at the same time, or move from one into the other and back again. And, you don’t change at all, becoming one or the other over time, you just are, or you aren’t one or the other.

Wrapping people up in tiny little boxes with labels has been the problem for thousands of years. In fact, one of the greatest evidences of this is found in how people treated Jesus of Nazareth. Ask yourself, “was Jesus an extrovert or an introvert?” How most people answer this question says much about their own knowledge of Scripture, but specifically their understanding of what Jesus said, and how Jesus behaved, as a Hebrew male in Nazareth and Jerusalem and all points in between or nearby.

In Scripture, we see Jesus in the middle of crowds of thousands, teaching, healing, playing with children, confronting His enemies who would later have Him killed. But we also see Jesus calling those 12 men He chose, pulling them aside and away from the massive crowds for alone time. Within that smaller group, we also see Jesus taking just three of them, Peter, James, and John, even farther from the 12 to do side trips. And last we also see Jesus moving away by Himself, for quiet-alone times by Himself, away from every other person or distraction. Jesus was neither an extrovert or introvert. Jesus was an ambivert.

I have known for some time now that I wanted to model for people around me, what it means to be like Jesus. Now, I’ve found that as an ambivert, I am like Him. So, what can you do with this information?

If you know your tendency is to be an introvert: shy, silent mostly, and alone much of the time, find a way in your own life to be like Jesus… find some friends, hang out, speak up, be bold. He will help you do this.

If you know your tendency is to be an extrovert: ready to party, ready to meet new people, ready to speak your mind, find a way in your own life to be like Jesus… calm down, get away, shut your pie hole one time and let someone get a word in. Trust me, He will help you do this.

Regardless of what your tendency might be, remember these words from the Apostle Paul to the church in Philippi describing his own ambivertness (I did it again):

“I know how to get along with little, and I also know how to live in prosperity; in any and every circumstance I have learned the secret of being filled and going hungry, both of having abundance and suffering need. I can do all things through Him who strengthens me.” [Philippians 4:12-13]

It’s So Morantic

The old Bee Gees song lyric was, 
It’s only words, and words are all I have to take your heart away…

Words are what make us unique from every other species on the planet.
We communicate in language… in words.

I may occasionally use the wrong word with the right intention and be completely misunderstood.

On rarer occasions still, because my tone was correct, or my inflection convincing, your own five sense look past the words as they fall on your ears, and see my heart loving you, beyond any word known to man.

When our eyes meet, when I feel the gentle stroke of your hand on mine, is it any wonder that I struggle to put two words into a sentence that make sense to the world?

When we say the exact same thing, at the exact same time, and laugh out loud at the timing of such a silly thing, it’s not really the words at all… it’s the connection we share, the fleeting intimate moments of oneness.

You know when I say bass-akwards, the meaning is something else.
Just like when I heard you say, “It’s so morantic,” I knew exactly what you meant.

So, proving the old Bee Gees song is in fact just good lyrical writing, it’s not about the words so much at all is it?

In the end, it’s about being…
and … first, last, and always…

It’s about us.
And I choose us.


I guess I never really understood the power of music.
Music meaning the sum total of meter, rhythm, melody, lyrics, instruments, vocals.
Every note a new heart stopping vibration touching the sinews of my soul.
Intention, motivation, desire wrapped around, into and through a simple lyric.
The soul of a cello, the siren song of a flute, the silence between the notes full of anticipation and fulfillment.
The hum of my computer hard drive, powering up when I send some “e”.
iTunes playing the latest in my “you’ve got to listen to this!” list.
Movement in the air from the Vornado on the far side of the room adding not just background noise, but ambience to every sound, thought, feeling.

My desk vibrates with the pounding subwoofer found lying on the floor, its base elements beating in my chest.
Keyboards and fingers, drumsticks and guitars, symbols, congas, altos and bases, long soul-full moans and tight fisted high notes.
It may be all in the mix, but for me it is a singular driving force that makes me think of you.

The essence of the lyrics, and I can’t escape the emotion of wanting you more than ever before.
Closing my eyes only enhances the desire.

I can’t sleep because I dream of you.
I can’t eat because I’m not with you.
I can’t work because I find myself wanting to be with you.
The hours drag by until I can see you smiling at me again.

So what do I do?
I put another quarter in the Jukebox.

Swept away into a mystical far away place and suddenly we are … together.
Do you know what time it is?

It’s time to put another quarter in… the Jukebox.

Holding Toes

Hands were meant for holding it seems, and long have been the standard for acceptable public  displays of affection… holding hands.

Walking down the street.

Heading into the restaurant.

Watching the movie.

Waiting for your meal to be delivered to your table.

All these times of holding hands are special and wonderful events of simple love.

When observed from a nearby viewer who has no hand to hold, it could bring sadness or hope, but the hand-holders wouldn’t know.

But when we get back home.

When we are alone on the sofa.

Watching that favorite show, or movie, or listening to the Piano music on Spotify, that most intimate of times has arrived.

The time for holding toes.

You have beautiful toes.

I’ve said it many times, and it’s clear it may embarrass  you, but the fact remains, I love those toes.

When your neuropathy is overwhelming and I rub your feet, I pay attention to those toes.

When I’m pursuing your love, when I want to make it ultimately clear just how much I love you, I kiss those toes.

The amazing thing about toes is how important they are to how we move.

Dancing.  Posture.  Balance.  Walking, running, jumping.  All dependent on the toes.

I love watching you dance.

I love watching you walk, to me… and away from me.

I love how you glide across a room like a perfectly balanced high-wire tight-rope walker.

It makes my soul want to walk with you on the not-so-beaten path and see what none has seen before.

It makes my heart jump like the silly frog leaping from pad to pad in the pond.

It makes me want to run to you again and again and again.

I’ve said it over and over, until I’m sure you must tire of hearing it, but once again… I love your toes.

When we’re laughing, when we’re crying, watching that favorite show, when the lights around the pool have waned to just a faint glow… it is the touch of your toe that I crave.

That one last touch at night before I go off to sleep, that first hello as morning breaks again, it is the touch of your toe that I crave.

For me, forever, it will be… about… touching toes.


Some years ago it occurred to me that even though my life lacked romance and intimacy, that these were elements of my life I hoped would come to me one day. Using this as motivation, I wrote a series of free-form verses of poetry. Sometimes they rhyme, many times they don’t. Yet each conveys a yearning for something more… and I have finally found it. This is the first I’ll share, with a few more to come, until the love of my life says “that’s enough.” I’m not sure she ever will… for they reflect what I have found in her.



The smile.
The frown.

Just a few of the faces I’ve seen.
All coming from one set of muscles designed to demonstrate unlimited tales of emotion.
The face.

Yours is beyond beautiful.
The lines of time in all the right places, enhancing your glow, casting spells on all who care to see.
The eyes, nose, cheeks, lips all perfectly placed, what a marvelous creation.
Each expression a diamond mine to explore until time is no more.
And even then, there would be no end to the joy that is your face.

Mine seems to be one dimensional compared to yours.
I lack the luster, and grace of the excitement of your eyes.
My nose just sits there whether I talk or listen.
Yours with all it’s tiny curls and twitches brings brilliance to every laugh, drama to every tear.
My lips too long have drawn taunt with frustration, anger, depression.
Yours always inviting conversation and the taste of life and love.

Why is it that women’s faces are always so beautiful, and men’s always so worn and chiseled?
It doesn’t seem fair until I realize one simple truth.
Men were never intended to look into mirrors.

They were created to look into the divine and bring him glory.
And to facilitate that end, God in his infinite wisdom gave man the greatest of all gifts.

The faces of the woman he loves.


Perhaps the one command the Apostle Paul made we have the most trouble with is, “make yourself nothing.” I know there are those who will say, “Paul never said that!” Oh but he did. He wrote to the church in Philippi that they should “… have the same mindset as Jesus Christ;” (Philippians 2:5). So we have to look forward about what Paul says Jesus Christ’s mindset was. And it was this, “… he made Himself nothing…” (Philippians 2:7).

Now, there is a troubling thought. Our current cultural climate doesn’t even allow us to think about becoming nothing. You can’t invest nothing, you can’t deposit nothing in the bank. There is no self-esteem seminars for nothing filled nobodies. Nothings get laughed at, demeaned, or cancelled today.

But Paul says, “Jesus… made Himself nothing.” This was a willful choice emphasized by His actions. Think for a minute about what this means. All His divine rights and privileges, Jesus cast aside to become nothing… a nothing like you or me… human. How do you measure the height of this descending concept? The distance between God and man has been the subject of thousands of books, movies, plays or poems. But it cannot be measured.

The Creator of all things, of energy, animals, mankind and the universes of heaven, chooses to empty Himself and become nothing, so I can be something. Jesus subjects Himself to obedience as a human child to say, “Yes Dad, and ok Mom.” Jesus gives up the relentless praise of all the heavenly angels, to hear only the constant ridicule of the Jews and humanity. Jesus Christ leaves heaven for earth for a singular purpose and end. The Cross of Calvary.

As if that were not enough, in making this choice, Jesus moves from sinless to sin-filled… filled by the sins of all mankind before and after Him, facing the raging wrath of God’s anger toward sin. But we have to remember something here. Jesus was not forced to do this. He wasn’t coerced or blackmailed. This action was an intentional and conscious decision made in an unwavering commitment to the will of God.

Jesus chose a life of giving Himself away, serving those who followed Him, losing His life on a cross, and dying for all of humanity. He made Himself “nothing.”

This is a hard teaching from scripture and goes against human nature, conventional wisdom, and cultural logic around the globe. Yet, it is what Paul demands that we adopt as our own mindset if we are true Christ-followers. Anyone, any teacher, preacher, or Sunday School leader who has suggested the Christian life is easy, may need to rethink the teaching of Philippians 2, and the call to “nothingness.”

It makes no sense to the lost world. It makes no sense to the religious community. It is non-sense to most people today. But to the true Christ-follower, by the authority of the Apostle Paul, given to him by Jesus Himself, this is a command, not an option. Maybe, this command is challenging you today to rethink everything you’ve ever been taught about what it means to follow Christ. Especially in a world ravaged by the politically motivated, power-hungry “somebodies” who want to tell you what to believe, how to act, what you can and cannot say. Does a nobody even have a voice?

Adopting the mindset of Jesus Christ will speak louder than any silver-tongued politician who thinks themself “somebody” when they are the real “nobodies” when compared to Jesus the Savior.

Trust Him. Follow Him. Descend with Him, into nothing.

Pobody’s Nerfect

I’ve observed, lived through, and learned some valuable life lessons over the past couple of months. Life and Death have knocked on the door twice during this period and it was an eye-opener if there ever was one. My loving, gracious, beautiful wife lost both her parents in what can only be described as a bizarre look at the frailty of life.

Just one year ago, before the big “C-19”, on that Wednesday before Turkey-Day we were planning thanksgiving with her parents at their home in Lubbock, Texas. It went how many thanksgiving meals go… the turkey wasn’t quite unfrozen when it was cooked, so came out of the oven a little less done and just a tad rubbery. The conversation around the table was occasionally filled with the tension between parents and children derived from years of misunderstanding, miscommunication and borderline abuse. Yet, this time last year, these two people were perfectly healthy 87 year old adults.

On Monday, November 9, 2020, Eleanor “Skeet” McLain Brown took an afternoon nap. When she awoke, she was in the arms of Jesus.

Skeet was born to Jessie Marie and Thurston Vernon “TV” McLain on September 23, 1932. She was the middle daughter of three girls. Skeet attended Lubbock High School 1948-1950 where she was head cheerleader her senior year. In high school, she fell in love with the star athlete, Bobby Brown. She attended Texas Tech, he was at TCU, but he couldn’t live without her, so they married November 25, 1950 in Clovis, NM. Skeet was a homemaker and mother to Pamela and Gregory. Throughout their 70 years together, Skeet and Bob lived in El Paso, Wichita Falls, Ruidoso, and Lubbock at various times. However, Lubbock was their home, so Lubbock is where they chose as their final destination.

Playing bridge was Skeet’s passion and an easy way to meet new friends wherever she lived. She leaves behind many loving, forever friends who loved her as she loved them. My mother was a beautiful woman who taught me to never leave the house without eyebrows and lipstick.

As it was at the beginning of their lives together, never being apart from each other for very long; so, it was at the end of their journey. She only survived 19 days without her life partner.

Robert “Bobby” Brown passed away peacefully at home Wednesday, October 21,2020. Bob was born July 6, 1932 in San Angelo Texas to Malcolm and Mary T Burton. He attended Lubbock High School 1947-1950. On June 15, 2019, Bobby was very humbled and appreciative of being inducted into the 2019 class of LISD Athletics Hall of Honor for football and baseball 1947-50. He was a very talented athlete, earning all-state recognition in baseball and football. He played pro baseball for the Cleveland Indians minor league, until an injury ended his baseball career. 

Now, Bob and Skeet were loved by many people. They were probably equally disliked by just as many people. But, this is only because… they were PEOPLE. People make choices, and Bob and Skeet made choices. One of the things I discovered over the years, that captured me about Bob, was how he would just give things away. He gave away every golf club he ever owned, and he owned many. He gave away lawn equipment, household furnishings; well, you name it, if he didn’t need it, you could have it.

And, I’ve seen the pictures of Skeet when the was a young woman, raising a family, and I have to tell you, I know where my wife got her beauty. She was ever conscious to put herself forward in the most presentable manner.

Bob and Skeet Brown were two people loved each other for their whole life. They lived their lives together. They made plans, and lived never looking back. But they weren’t perfect. Nobody’s perfect. Or to my point “Pobody’s Nerfect.” You thought I couldn’t spell, right? No, it’s just an eye-catcher.

For me, the past couple of months was like I was looking back through the lens of my own life in many ways. I too, have made many choices that were perhaps good for me, and not so good for other folks. But they were my choices, and I owned them. I still own them. In the end, Bob and Skeet did too.

I was there, holding Bob’s hand when Jesus called him home. It was a dear and precious time to me, and one I won’t ever forget. And while Bob was anything but “perfect” during any moment of his 88 years on earth… today, in the arms of Jesus – Bob is perfect.

Pam and I were working a puzzle that afternoon on November 9th. That morning, when Pam had spoken to her mother, Skeet seemed vibrant, dressed and ready for the day of activities, which included a visit to her Dr. Then, later that day, Pam got “the” call that turned our world upside down again. Less than three weeks had gone by, and her mom simply took a nap and went to be with Bob once again. This beautiful imperfect woman is also now perfect, wrapped up in the arms of Jesus.

I put Skeet first in the narrative above, because for most of their life, it was all about Bob. And well, like Jesus said, at least for the purpose of this article, “the first shall be last, and the last shall be first.” It’s ok, I think Bob is smiling about it all now. In fact, I think he might just be saying, “well, Jim, in the end, I think you got it right.”

I’m thinking, Pobody’s Nerfect.