An Old-Time Favorite

I've decided that soup is the way to go.
I am not someone who cooks things from complicated recipes producing dishes so lovely that one is reluctant to eat them and thereby destroy a masterpiece.
No, dear reader, I am more a meat and potatoes kind of guy. I like my food basic so lasagna, meat loaf, roasted chicken and spaghetti are high on my list of meals to prepare. But the first cold snap rolled in the other day and I thought it a nice day for soup.
I'm not a fan of canned soup though it will do when I need something quick. I prefer soup that is thick and gives you a meal in a bowl and yet you can eat two bowls and not feel particularly guilty; beef vegetable seemed to fit that description.
I picked up the ingredients, cut and diced everything then pitched it all into a pot and let them cook. My oh my was that good. It filled the house with the most pleasant scent, the kind that says welcome as soon as you come in from the cold outside at days end.
Next week: chicken. I can hardly wait.

Wait! Wait! What About Me?

TO: The Main Bailout Office
Washington D.C.

Subject: Where's Mine


I'd like a Bailout please and make it a large one. Here are the facts to support my case.
I have credit card bills.
I can burn through cash when I get my hands on it.
I can make promises that seem good when they're made.
I loaned a guy some money once even though I knew he had no assetts nor any prospects for getting some and he didn't pay me back.
I can, after I have my Bailout in hand, rent a dozen or so nice rooms in a great resort and wine and dine a group of people for a few days and chalk it up to doing business.
If I should come back for another Bailout, I can do the same thing over again.
I can run my business so poorly that I drive it into the ground.
I have a Golden Parachute that will lower me safely to earth and further cushion my fall with a nice thick pad of bonus money while others in the company are left to fall on the hard, cold reality of life without a job or prospects for any.
Seems to me I have all the bases covered.
M

The Paper Trail

It begins at printing presses across the country and, no doubt, in some foreign countries. It travels courtesy of train and plane and semi truck and finally the mail carrier's car to end in the mailbox at the front of our ranch. It is the rising tide of holiday catalogs.
Once a year I write something exactly like this and, every year, the paper harvest I'm allowed to make grows larger and larger; farmers should have luck this good with their crops and livestock.
There were enough in today's pile to crush a small puppy if dropped. My wife and I went through them and saved two --- the rest go to be recycled.
On a few of them there was a large red sticker warning that this would be my last catalog, that my name was being dropped from the companies mailing list because I wasn't buying anything and catalog distribution costs were rising.
Ah, if I were but so lucky. As I recall, they gave me the same warning last year.

Simple Still Has a Place

Please note the following as you begin your Christmas shopping tours for the youngsters in the family. It came over the wire today and restores my faith in the simple act of imagination and a child's gift for using it:

Toy Hall of Fame points to new addition: the stick
ROCHESTER, N.Y. (AP) - The lowly stick could be a magic wand, a knight's sword or a fishing rod.
Now the universal plaything has landed in the National Toy Hall of Fame, along with Baby Doll and the skateboard.
The three were chosen Thursday to join the lineup at the Strong National Museum in Rochester, N.Y. Previous inductees include the bicycle, Mr. Potato Head, Crayola crayons and the cardboard box. Curators say the stick is a special addition. They praised its all-purpose, all-natural, no-cost qualities. They also noted its ability to serve either as raw material or an appendage transformed
by a child's imagination.

Congratulations Folks

Well, what a day!
A huge turnout of voters across our coverage area. Where I voted a poll worker who has been there every year I've voted and before told me it was the largest crowd she'd ever seen in all the elections she's worked.
I'm a big fan of folks showing up to cast a vote and, in my mind, I would be happy if every possible voter did that for every election. There is no such thing as a small election, no such thing as a minor election for I view each as important. Each allows me to have my say no matter how small it may seem. It also allows me to voice my opinion of government for I have done my share and that gives me license to be critical if I choose.
So, I am proud of us. We showed ourselves for what we truly are. Good Job!

He Heard Well

Studs Terkel passed away the other day and we are the lesser for it. One obituary I read described him as "the ageless master of listening and speaking" and I must agree. His book, Working, was a classic celebration of working people across America written in their own words. He heard what they said and passed it along to those of us who weren't able to hear them for ourselves. It ought to be mandatory reading for those who take leadership positions in government or large companies for the book gives the other side of the story, as it were.
The books Studs wrote were often seen as targets of banning from school libraries and even public ones. Once, as I recall, he went to a city in western Pa. to personally make his case to keep the book available. I couldn't help but admire that. I thought his books an opportunity to sample parts of America I would likely never see and to visit them using the eyes of someone actually living and working there. I follow in his footsteps, in a very small way, when I go on vacation or travel on business seeking those who live and work where I happen to be; I get the real picture of an area that way not the one in the tourism brochures.
So, my hat's off to Studs for the life he lived and the work he did. He indeed knew how to listen to America.

Tricked and Treated

A Q-Tip came to my door last night; so did a leaf blower. Behind them were gypsies, cheerleaders, doctors, nurses, witches and goblins. What else could I expect on Halloween night?
The numbers were down but that merely continues a decline I've seen in recent years: trick or treaters don't come around like they used to.
At its peak the street in front of our ranch had a parade of creatures that might have been from a John Carpenter movie. Each kid carried a searchlight so it looked something like a bunch of scary fireflies moving through the dark. But, as they say, that was then and this is now.
When I thought about it I realized that there were lots of kids in the neighborhood when we moved in. All those kids who provided so much amusement are grown and gone, some with their own kids now to take out trick or treating. We have few youngsters to keep up the tradition locally.
Still, the doorbell rang last night and those few faces came calling, sometimes having a short rhyme or a brief song to sing, perhaps a little joke, one I've heard at least six dozen times over the years. It was good and pleasant and not too spooky. It was a chance to see some up and coming talent, a chance to see some kids who, if we're lucky, might some day in the future come knocking at our door leading yet another generation of kids who go bump in the night.