The 2016 Presidential Election

I do not intend to perpetuate the political moaning and groaning about our recent election, but I have given it a great deal of thought and will reward myself for that effort by sharing my conclusion here. These will be my last words on the subject.

Donald Trump won this election by winning the hate vote. He campaigned for it, he cultivated it, and people who hate other people who are not just like them voted for him in droves.

This includes people who hate people of different races, colors, religions, nationalities, politics, gender, sexual orientation, physical and mental ability, social standing, wealth, and (God knows) intellect. I believe that some people who voted for Trump hate some other people who voted for Trump, but he brought all the haters together, and together they gave him victory.

The most insightful post-election comment I’ve heard regarding that victory came from an 18-year-old college freshman named Richie Knez who posted on Facebook, “I think the bigger issue is us as a country, not him.”

I think he is absolutely correct, and I know that it will be Richie and America's younger generations who will have to fix it.

Good luck, kid.

Moon Struck

We were driving home from a late dinner and Walmart visit last night around 8:30 when I caught sight of the moon. It was prominent in the night sky, and, according to what I can find at the font of all knowledge (that is, the Internet), it was a Waxing Crescent, on its way to becoming the First Quarter. Its crescent wasn’t straight up and down, however; it  slung off a little to the bottom left.

It made me think of a big curvy chair, just like the moon in cartoons where we see the Man in the Moon lounging upon it, his legs dangling as he straddles it while leaning back with his hands behind his head.

And then we turned a corner onto another street, and there suddenly – there he was! I could see him plain as, well, day. I was delighted. What a joy actually to see the Man in the Moon!

But when I moved my head slightly, I realized it wasn't the Man in the Moon at all. It was bug guts on the windshield.

Go Cubs Go

Everybody who watches baseball knows that the Chicago Cubs have not won a World Series since 1908 and have not even been in a World Series since 1945.  That year they lost to the Detroit Tigers.  That was the year before I was born.

I have, therefore, been waiting all my life for the Cubs to win the National League Pennant, which they did Saturday, beating the Dodgers and causing me and a bunch of other people who never thought that day would come to weep tears of joy.

I said I didn't even care if they won the World Series -- I just wanted them to win the Pennant and be in the World Series. That's not true, of course. I do hope they win the whole thing.

Game 1 tonight in Cleveland, another team without a win in a long time. Too bad. Our turn.

Hey, Chicago, what'd'ya say? The Cubs are gonna win today!

Vanity and Diplomacy

Foreign heads of state who come to the United States on an official state visit are greeted by the President in a formal ceremony at the White House, almost always on the South Lawn. The South Lawn, of course, is outside.

Therefore, I want to urge all those who are thinking about voting for Donald Trump to ask themselves how they would feel if they saw the President of the United States shaking hands with, say, the Chancellor of Germany or the King of Saudi Arabia while wearing a ball cap to keep his comb-over from blowing in the wind.

I’m just sayin’.

And the Cubs won the game

It is well known in my circle of family and friends that I am a big soft mush who can be moved to tears in any sentimental moment. Yesterday was a hard day.

I was barely holding it together last night while ESPN showed ballplayers in stadiums all over the country remembering Miami Pitcher Jose Fernandez, killed the night before in a boating accident. If they couldn’t hold back their tears, how could I?

Then during the Cubs-Cardinals game, David Ross, Cubs catcher who in only two years has endeared himself to the fans in Chicago, came to bat in what was to be the Cubs’ last home game of the season. Ross, 39, has announced this is his last year in the big leagues. When his name was announced, the crowd gave him a rollicking standing ovation.  He was moved.  So was I.

When he came up to bat for the second time in the game, the Cub fans again got to their feet and cheered him noisily. He thanked them by hitting a home run. That alone could have put me over the edge, but then they broke away for a special news break saying Arnold Palmer had died.

Later in the game, with two outs in the seventh inning, Joe Madden came out of the dugout and ambled toward the pitching mound. Nobody could understand why he was doing that since Jon Lester was pitching a fine game and in no trouble at all. But Madden went out there not to relieve the pitcher but to take Ross out of the game so the fans could shower their appreciation on him all over again. Ross was moved. So was I.

I blinked the tears out of my eyes, trying to put myself back together as I watched Ross leave the field, waving his thanks to the fans. I had almost succeeded when the picture switched to a shot of the next St. Louis batter, Catcher Yadier Molina, standing at home plate sincerely applauding Ross as he walked toward the dugout.

No more holding back. More Kleenex, please.

How To Maintain Control

I used to collect pencils from golf courses, those stubby little things they give you to mark your scorecard that have the name of the course printed on them. At first I saved pencils only from courses I had actually played, basically as souvenirs.

But then I started having friends bring me pencils from courses they played in other towns or states, and any time I drove past a golf course from which I had no pencil, I’d stop in and ask for one. I faxed or e-mailed scores of courses asking them to send me a pencil or two. Through the miracle of the Internet I found other collectors to trade with, and I created a web page (that was mentioned in Sports Illustrated magazine) to promote the hobby. I became quite the Grand Poobah of golf course pencil collecting. I had pencils from over 2,600 golf courses from all over the country and the world.

And then one day I was tired of it, so I sold the whole bunch to a fellow collector and was glad to be done.

I have a collection of casino chips. I save one or two chips from every casino I gamble at, basically as souvenirs.

Friends sometimes offer to bring me a chip from some casino they plan to visit, but I politely decline; or if they do give me one, I accept it with thanks but keep it separate from the others, limiting my collection to chips from casinos I have actually been to and gambled at.

You see, I learned my lesson from the pencils.

A fried cake by any other name

I downloaded an eBook I found online called "Bohemian-American Cook Book," which I thought might be amusing and possibly useful. It is a translation into English of a cookbook originally published in Bohemian by one Marie Rosický in 1915. It is intended for the daughters of Bohemian immigrants who, to Mrs. Rosický's sorrow, cannot read the language of their forebears.

There are exactly 1000 recipes in 43 categories covering, literally, soup to nuts. Some are for dishes I would never prepare, much less eat (jellied carp, calf’s brains) and things I don’t even know what they are (sago soup, breaded salsify). But, to warm the heart of any grandchild of a Bohemian grandma, there are 29 recipes for dumplings.

Each recipe includes both an English and Bohemian name, and in the section on Doughnuts and Fried Cakes, Recipe No. 809 (Fried Cake, or Šišky) caught my eye. I loved my grandmother's Šišky (pronounced SHISH-key), which is a fried, hole-less doughnut. I got Grandma's recipe from an aunt who spoke but couldn't read Bohemian and who said she translated as Grandma gave her the recipe orally.

Here is what Marie  Rosický says to do:  Cream together half a cup of butter, four yolks, a dash of salt, a dash of grated lemon rind, a dash of mace, add a quart of warm flour, then a cake of compressed yeast dissolved in tepid cream enough to make a thick batter. Beat until the dough does not stick, then stir in two tablespoons of seedless raisins, sprinkle the dough with flour and let it rise. When it has risen, turn it out on a floured bread board, cut into small pieces, roll each into a small roll, let them rise again, then fry in deep hot fat. When done on both sides drain and dust with powdered sugar.

Except that there is no reference to the temperature of the flour, Grandma's recipe calls for the exact same ingredients in the exact same amounts and includes such instructions as "then the yeast dissolved in tepid cream enough to make a thick batter. Beat until dough does not stick."

I'm guessing Grandma didn't bring that recipe with her from the old country.