Still frowned upon.
Then, what isn’t these days, right?
Why not? What the hell.

Somewhere in the writings of Roger Angell, a writer for the New Yorker magazine who, of all things in the New Yorker, covered baseball, there is this story.

How does someone get to be the baseball writer for the New Yorker?

For one thing, you better have a way with words.

And having Katherine Angell White for a mom and EB White for a step-dad won’t hurt either.

The story goes that when the 1962 San Francisco Giants won the pennant, the news room editor of the San Francisco Chronicle yelled for the headline, WE WIN.

HOW BIG?, someone yelled back.

Same size as FIDEL DEAD!

In the movie Citizen Kane, Kane, his business manager, Mr. Bernstein, and his editor are arguing over the size of headline.

“News wasn’t big enough,” says the editor.

“If the Headline is big enough, the New is big enough,” responds Kane.

“That’s right Mr Kane,” says Berstein.

Pardon me for a strange interlude.

“The Gods Look Down and Laugh … this would be a better world for children if the parents had to eat the spinach.”

NO NOT THAT STRANGE INTERLUDE. (You will have to do the google)

I just went online to check on the spelling of Mr. Bernstein.

He may be my favorite character in Citizen Kane and he was played by actor / songwriter Everett Sloan

And I says to myself what else did Everett Sloane do in his career.

And thanks to Wikipedia I found that I had seem him over and over again in an appearance on the Andy Griffith Show.

In the episode, Keeper of the Flame, when Opie is accused of burner down a barn, the crabby old farmer, Jubal Sloane, is player by Everett Sloane.

Mr. Sloane is also credited with writing lyrics to the Andy Griffith Theme song.

What do you do when you write the lyrics to one of the most recognized tunes in American history and the tune itself is known for the fact that is whistled and not sung?

Interlude over, back to the blog.

In the age of the tablet and the hand held device all headlines are the same size.

How do you ‘glance’ at the headlines to get a feel for today?

If I do that this morning what I see is Cop26, Trump, Britney and Free Britney, Ghislaine Maxwell, the Queen’s Bad Back, Maine Lobster, Pence Disloyalty, Republican Obstruction, Why staring at screens is making your eyeballs elongate – and how to stop it, Houses of tomorrow: A more hopeful vision of domesticity, or a dystopian nightmare?, Harry and Meghan, Greek prime minister tries to broker deal for return of Parthenon marbles, Texas schools resist Republican request for records on classroom books and We’re going to need a bigger planet: the problem with fixing the climate with trees.

That is just one newspaper.

If I look at the headlines on something like Google News, it seems that almost anything and anyone can get a headline.

Everything gets a headline.

Everything is still frowned upon by somebody.

It is those frowning that get the headline.

Squeaky wheel I guess,

My haiku comes from the movie, the Royal Tenenbaums.

I recently watched this movie as I was searching out other movies directed by Wes Anderson.

Sometimes I think my life IS a movie directed by Wes Anderson.

In the movie, Royal Tenenbaum, played by Gene Hackman, is approached by his ex-tennis playing son with a question.

Royal’s response is:

“Still frowned upon.
But then, what isn’t these days, right?
I don’t know, maybe it works.
Why not, what the hell.”

I am not going to tell you what the question is because it seems that the response is just perfect for anything and everything right now.

Royal continues:

“Nobody knows what’s going to happen, so…
You know something.
Don’t listen to me.
I never understood her myself.
I never understood any of us.
I wish I could tell you what to do
but I just can’t.“

Anyone who reads this blog, and thank you for those who do, you know that I know that God knows what is going to happen.

But in the day to day life on the this planet when you WANT to know what is going to happen in the day to day it is good, I think, to know that nobody knows what’s going to happen, so… you know something, don’t listen to me.

If you want to do something, most likely it will be frowned upon by somebody.

But then, what isn’t these days, right?

Sometimes things work out.

And sometimes you write the words to a song everyone knows, but nobody sings.

I don’t know, maybe it works.

Why not, what the hell.

*In honor of Everett Sloane, here are his lyrics to the Andy Griffith Show theme song.

Well now, take down your fishing pole
And meet me at the fishing hole
We may not get a bite all day
But don’t you rush away
What a great place to rest your bones
And mighty fine for skipping stones
You’ll feel fresh as a lemonade a-setting in the shade

What a fine day to take a stroll and wind up at the fishing hole
I can’t think of a better way to pass the time of day

We’ll have no need to call the roll
When we get to the fishing hole
They’ll be you, me, and old dog, trey to do the time away
If we don’t hook a perch or bass
We’ll cool our toes in dewy grass
Or else pull up a weed to chaw
And maybe sit and jaw

Hanging around, taking our ease
Watching that hound a scratching at his fleas

I’m gonna take down my fishing pole
And meet you at the fishing hole
I can’t think of a better way
To pass the time of day

Source: Musixmatch
Songwriters: Spencer / Hagen / Sloane
The Fishin’ Hole lyrics © Larrabee Music Publishing

both speed, convenience
with deliciousness and the
joy of creation

Seem to writing a lot about food lately.

But then it is the season.

Harvest time.

Thanksgiving on the way.

Cold weather.

Below 75 degree weather.

Fall weather.

All adds up to comfort food.

It is that time of year.

And a new documentary is being released on November 12.

A new documentary on Julia Child.

Says co-director  Julie Cohen, “Julia changed the way Americans thought about food, fully and completely, from the idea that the goal shouldn’t just be about speed and convenience, but deliciousness and the joy of creation.”

In a review of Julia in the Guardian, Charles Bramesco writes, ” . . . she arrived not a moment too soon, lighting up a gustatory dark age of Jell-O molds, mayonnaise-based “salads” and tinned pineapples.

I grew up in that gustatory dark age.

I grew up in that era of Jell-O molds, mayonnaise-based “salads” and tinned pineapples.

When I started making my own Thanksgiving dinners I figured that what was missing was the Jello mold from my childhood.

So started my families’ tradition of the a ring of strawberry Jello filled with strawberries, blueberries and clementine’s and covered with non-dairy whipped topping slowly melting on the Thanksgiving table.

Imagine our surprise when a guest to our table, born and raised in the South, took one look and yelled, “CONGEALED SALAD! HOW COOL IS THAT!”

Congealed Salad is now an expected part of the holiday meal.

My parents either got engaged or ‘reached an understanding’ before my Dad left to go to Europe for World War 2.

While my Dad was overseas my Mom thought about their future life together.

Even though her Mom, my Grandma Hendrickson, was acknowledged far a wide as a great cook, my Mom signed up for free cooking classes sponsored by the General Electric company.

The General Electric company wanted folks to buy their new electric ovens and stoves so what better way to make folks need them then to teach them how to use them.

According to a history of these classes I found online, the classes were in theaters where attendees watched meals being created on stage.

Attendee’s received souvenir recipe booklets to take home and study while wishing for a new electric ovem.

I think some of those recipes stayed in my Mom’s repertoire forever.

I knew we were having oven baked chicken when early in the afternoon I would hear my Mom flatten a big bag of potatoes chips with a rolling pin to create the crispy coating that the chicken would be dredged in before going into the baking pan.

Another item that from this era that lasted was my Mom’s famous Candlestick salad.

Lay a piece of lettuce on a salad plate.

Put one ring of sliced canned pineapple on the lettuce.

Take a banana and slice into two halves.

Slice the very tip off the banana halves off so that both ends are flat.

Slice a bright red maraschino cherry in half.

Stand one of the banana halves in the center of the pineapple ring.

Place a half cherry on the tip of the banana.

Drizzle whipped cream over the banana-cherry and serve.

Maybe I was sheltered or something but it wasn’t until I served this to my almost-son-in-laws and they fell out of their chairs laughing over the sexual innuendo comments they all made that I came to see this salad in an entirely different light.

DO NOT MIS UNDERSTAND ME.

My Mom was a great cook.

She embraced speed and convenience, with deliciousness and the joy of creation.

By the time I showed up, my Mom was cooking for 10 people (counting herself) everyday.

And three more kids were on the way.

All I am saying is that I grew up in the 1960’s of home cooking.

I sure don’t remember much complaining.

Well, okay, beef chunks wasn’t anybody’s favorite but there it is.

It was also a Dutch household.

Go online and you won’t find a lot of cookbooks of favorite dutch recipes.

Keep in mind the dutch hard candy, babbelaars.

One year when I was working at WZZM13 in Grand Rapids, Michigan, I wrote an anchor toss for the noon show to set up a live shot for our coverage of the Tulip Festival over in Holland, Michigan.

I said something along the lines of the Tulips are bright, the shoes are made of wood and the babbelaars are sweet …

The anchor read over her script and came to me and said, “BA BABEL LA lers?? HA WHA????”

I pronounced it BA BA LAARS and told her to trust me.

She said it on air but she wasn’t real comfortable with it.

On the other hand she was never real comfortable working with me since the time I was standing in the studio during the countdown to going live and I caught her eye and did the pulling-the-thumb-off-my-finger trick and she screamed as the show started.

The babbelaar is one of the best known Dutch candies.

And what is in it?

Sugar? Check!

Water? Check!

Butter? Check!

Vinegar? Vinegar!

The are pretty good, trust me.

Reading now Stanley Tucci’s Taste: My Life Though Food, I marvel over his families dedication to their cultural food history.

It must be a great thing, food wise, to have been italian.

We had spaghetti often.

And occasionally we would order a pizza as a late night treat but never for dinner.

Lunch was often SpaghettiOs or Chef Boyardee ravioli or my favorite, beef-a-roni.

All out of cans.

At the same time, my Mom watched The French Chef.

She would watch and laugh and laugh.

Her regular comment was along the lines that there had to be someone under the counter out of camera sweeping stuff out of way.

I think she would watch these things being created and then translate the recipe into feeding 10 or 12 people and that chip coated chicken looked much more realistic.

I would watch with my Mom.

I had an odd fascination with food.

A fascination with the concept of fine dining.

Once I took it upon myself to set the table for Sunday dinner.

I got out everything I could think of.

Salad forks and plates, folded napkins, butter knives and glasses for milk and water.

There was little room on our huge family table for food.

My Mom was sweet and commented how nice the table the looked.

My sisters demanded that I do all the extra dishes.

I loved reading about food as well.

The Hornblower Novels are about a British Naval Officer in the Napoleonic wars by CS Forester are a series of 11 novels.

In each novel, at least once, Forester will have a scene where a meal is described in great detail.

I read and reread all those scenes.

Jim Harrison’s romance with food, (See his essay, A Really Big Lunch) is an undercurrent in all of his writing.

And I enjoyed watched the French Chef with my Mom.

We would look at each and shake our heads or look at each other and say, wonder what that taste’s like.

The odd thing is that she often let ME try something we saw on the show.

Saturday was the big grocery day for my Mom.

I think she went every other day for various things but Saturday was the big day.

This was in the era of home milk delivery and with the size of our family, 10 half gallon cardboard cartons were delivered 3 days a week along with a stop for one last gallon after church on Sunday.

Somehow in the middle of this logistical nightmare of feeding everyone my Mom listened to my questions about cooking.

I was taught how to make scramble eggs of course and my favorite molasses cookies.

And every once in awhile, after watching something on the French Chef that caught our attention, my mom would pick up a few extra ingredients and we would make a Saturday lunch.

I remember a version of chicken cacciatore and a chicken breast in apple cider dish and Veal Scaloppini Marsala.

How did she find the time and energy to indulge this is beyond me.

What my brothers and sisters thought about this is also beyond me.

I was a little bit nuts so maybe they just included this as part the deal that I came with.

Speed and convenience, but deliciousness and the joy of creation.

That was my Mom.

I would watch her make pie.

She would get out her rolling cloth.

Lard, flour, salt and water and blueberries and then like a conjurers trick, now you see it, now you don’t, there was pie.

She cooked for all of us.

She cooked with me.

And we watched Julia Child together.

rare is the bus that
can keep both on board end at
two destinations

I grew in West Michigan and in winter time, I was taught, snow on a roof was a good thing.

In winter time, what snow on the roof meant was that house was well insulated against the cold.

If it wasn’t, if heat was escape through the roof, the snow on the roof would melt and the roof would be bare.

Insulated a home against the cold wasn’t cheap but it was cheaper than running the furnace all the time.

After 50 years in the snow I moved south to the Atlanta area.

Atlanta is known as the place that invented the two story mobile home.

Okay not a mobile home but a two story modular home.

Five Four and a Door they called them.

Five rooms on top, four rooms and a front door on the bottom.

They built them fast and they built them cheap.

One of the cost cutting measures was to build these homes without any insulation.

In the south who needed?

It didn’t get cold.

Or at least that cold.

Who needed to keep the cold out.

The sad part of the story is that was the wrong question.

Down south what you wanted to ask, what you needed to ask, was how do you keep the cold in?

One thing saved the south after World War 2.

One thing made the big cities of Atlanta and the one in Texas possible.

That was air conditioning.

Living in Altanta we ran the air conditioning a lot.

We had a house with full southern exposure.

We had a house with no insulation in the attic.

In the summer the AC ran all day and all night.

Sometimes we could get the indoor temperature upstairs to around 80 degrees.

No insulation did save money.

For the builder.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, well.

I am thinking about this about reading the best discussion of being green that I have found lately.

Muddled, top-down, technocratic: why the green new deal should be scrapped by Aditya Chakrabortty just resonated with me.

I loved the line, “Rare is the bus that can keep on board both Sadiq Khan and John McDonnell, and take them to totally different destinations.“

Maybe because so much of the green issue is our fault.

Maybe because so much of the green issue is typified by the thinking described in my insulation story.

Maybe because the article just made harsh sense.

It stated:

The next few decades will not be about inventing entirely new things but substituting for what we already have. Installing heat pumps and ripping out boilers, using renewables rather than fossil fuels, relying on battery power over the internal combustion engine: moving to a lower-carbon future is not going to be a great, dramatic transformation – it will be slow and chronic, and frankly more expensive to societies reared on cheap food, cheap energy and the idea that the rest of the bill for both those things will be picked up by someone else, perhaps yet to be born.

Will it happen?

It depends on leaders and leadership I guess.

I for one can’t wait for the candidate who says at a debate, my plan is, frankly, more expensive to societies reared on cheap food, cheap energy.

Maybe arks ARE the answer?