By Bob Gaydos

The rare black squirrel.

     I saw a black squirrel the other day. Black! Do you know how rare that is? One in 10,000. I had to check with the person driving to make sure I saw what I saw.

      “That was a black squirrel. Did you see that?”

      “Yes. A black squirrel. I never saw one.”

      “Me either.”

      And I’ve seen quite a few squirrels in 83 years.

       The black squirrel was sitting casually on the side of Black Rock Road in Pine Bush, a hamlet in slightly upstate New York better known for sightings of unidentified flying objects than appearances of unlikely furry objects.

        So I figured it had to be an omen. What does Google say?

       — “A spirit animal, the black squirrel represents adaptability and the ability to thrive in various environments and situations.”

       —  “They are portrayed as being of royal blood and are regarded as the wisest and noblest type of squirrel. In Celtic folklore, black squirrels were associated with magic, occult knowledge, and the otherworld.“

       In various cultures they are regarded as a symbol of good luck, good fortune, trust, preparation and foresight. Undoubtedly because of all that gathering of nuts before the frost.

     Taking all this into account and looking to connect the dots, I went looking for nuts in the rest of the world.

     J.D. Vance made it easy. At pretty much the same time as I was marveling at the black squirrel, the Republican Party’s candidate for vice president was talking to Dana Bash on CNN. He was talking about other animals. The senator from Ohio was in the midst of acknowledging that he knew the stories about Haitian immigrants in Springfield, Ohio, stealing neighbors’ cats and dogs and eating them were false, but he kept repeating them anyway, for political reasons.

     “The American media totally ignored this stuff (Republican campaign claims) until Donald Trump and I started talking about cat memes,” Vance said. “If I have to create stories so that the American media actually pays attention to the suffering of the American people, then that’s what I’m going to do, Dana, because you guys are completely letting Kamala Harris coast.”

      Bash pointed out Vance’s stunning admission: “You just said this is a story that you created.”

      “Yes!” Vance said.

      And he was proud of it. 

      Think about it. A United States senator admits spreading false racist, anti-immigrant stories about one of the communities he represents and having no qualms about the consequences. And there were plenty.

     Bomb threats were made against hospitals and City Hall. Schools, too. They were closed. Meetings were canceled. More threats were made. Police were on alert. Springfield was under siege. The MAGA world jumped at the bone Vance and Trump threw them. And kept throwing, despite statements from Springfield’s mayor (a Republican) and police chief that the stories were false. No evidence. All a mistake. Please stop.

  But the lies continued. Given the atmosphere of fear and violence casually and consistently promoted by Trump and Vance, lives were put in genuine danger in Springfield. Merely to gain attention so that Vance could spread other lies.

       This shameless behavior should not be allowed to stand. Ever. There has to be some consequence for political candidates knowingly creating a dangerous situation for selfish political reasons. Certainly for a sitting senator to do so.

     Some public official, in Ohio or in Washington, D.C., needs to find some law that says this is not allowed. Surely the Senate must have some basic rules of engagement that prohibit trying to gain votes by knowingly putting the lives of people in danger through reckless lying. If not, it needs to get some.

       And in the meantime, surely this heartless disregard for basic human decency by Vance and Trump and the pure hubris of Vance in publicly flaunting it, should finally convince enough clear-thinking Americans that these two soulless men belong nowhere near the White House.

    This is ultimately up to us. Let this finally be that magical, unexpected but well-deserved moment of good fortune for America. Connect the dots. Collect the nuts. 

       I’m not wasting this black squirrel, people.

rjgaydos@gmail.com

By Bob Gaydos

Pete Hamill

Some random observations of a Covid-weary pundit in the month of August …

By the way … The death this week of Pete Hamill, at 85, got me to thinking about journalism — by which I always mean print journalism — and the voices I listened to as I followed my own path as a newsman. Hamill was right there with Jimmy Breslin, the voices of New York, whose columns were more than words on a page. They were conversations in a diner. I heard them in my head. That’s because they were honest and true to their creators. Nothing phony. Less noted than Hamill’s recent death was that last year of Russell Baker, longtime New York Times columnist and two-time Pulitzer Prize winner, whose “Observer” column was as much a must-read for me as any of Hamill’s columns. Totally different, but required. Brilliant satire that was like having a cup of coffee with a very clever friend. 

   I had a couple of other favorites — Jim Murray, who never wrote a sports column the way they taught it in college, and Jimmy Cannon, whose ”Nobody Asked Me, But …” columns were required reading and the inspiration for this obvious knockoff. The voices in my newspapers are all gone. What remains with me is the now-conscious, but onetime unaware, conviction that a writer must be true to him or her self first. Do not try to impress or be what you are not. Tell the story as best you can so that people will actually want to read it. Trust your voice and your opinion.  Check your facts, use proper grammar and know how to spell, too. It seems I’m in search of some new voices to read today.

    By the way … They call these the dog days. Why? Have you ever known a dog to like the hot, humid days of August? No dog I’ve ever known, including each half of the current duo, Taj and Prince, has ever suggested taking a long walk on a 90-degree day and maybe playing some Frisbee later. It’s usually let me out to do my stuff and let’s get back inside with the air-conditioning, fast! And before some smart Alec with an itchy Google finger hurries to straighten me out, I already checked with Merriam-Webster. Apparently, the phrase was first used in 1538 and referred to the rising of the Dog Star, Sirius, in the skies in the period from early July to early September. OK, but it’s been almost five centuries, people. Let’s give dogs their due with a star in the skies, but let’s not pin this crummy weather on them. They had nothing to do with it and they like it even less than humans do. Prince told me so.

    By the way … Try as I may, it is virtually impossible for someone writing about life as we know it today to avoid writing about the Embarrassment Administration. I’ll go easy, with a pass at the putz-in-waiting, Mike Pence. The nearly invisible and virtually mute vice president had something to say this week. He should’ve kept it to himself. Pence thinks Chief Justice John Roberts is a “disappointment” to conservative voters. Maybe it’s that lifetime appointment and separate and equal branch of government thing that Pence doesn’t understand. Maybe he doesn’t get that people in high government office, even vice presidents, are allowed and even expected to have their own opinions on issues and be willing to stand by them. And, in Roberts’ case, be protected by a lifetime appointment.

        The Chief Justice “disappointed” Pence by siding with the Supreme Court’s more liberal judges on cases involving LGBTQ labor rights, reinstatement of the Dreamers, a rejection of a Louisiana law restricting abortions and a rejection of. a Nevada church’s attempt to avoid limits on attendance because of Covid-19 restrictions. Pence said his boss would make sure to appoint more reliable rubber stamps to the court if he is re-elected. He’s even planning on putting out a list of potential candidates, not that he would dream of politicizing such an important position just before an election.

            Roberts, of course, cast the deciding vote in a previous 5-4 ruling that preserved Obamacare. Pence’s boss promises to provide a substitute for this healthcare plan about every couple of weeks. But apparently his golf gets in the way. I’d like to say it was nice to know the vice president actually speaks, but then, he is what is waiting in the wings. You, sir, are a disappointment to the majority of Americans. On the other hand, Mr. Chief Justice, well done.

rjgaydos@gmail.com

Bob Gaydos is writer-in-residence at zestoforange.com.

The new normal.

THE REPORT … masks, wildlife, dogs, waste and scoundrels

April 16, 2020

     So I shaved my beard and mustache off the other day. Three-blade razor, no soap or gel. Not bad and only two small nicks. Now my N95 mask fits more snugly and friends will be able to understand me when I shout hello to them from 6 to 8 feet away in the supermarket. By the way, a big thank you to all supermarket workers. Be well.

     — By the way … The cardinals have still not returned to our birdfeeders, but we had a visit from a large, male wild turkey the other morning. Undoubtedly shopping for his young brood snuggled away someplace nearby. He apparently didn’t like what his feathered comrades were feasting on and eventually wandered off. Probably see the whole family soon.

     — By the way … One of the more significant changes brought about by the coronavirus came in the country of its origin, China. Following up on its decision announced in February to ban the eating of wild animals, the Chinese government last week said it will also be illegal as of May 1 to eat animals raised as pets. In China this is big. Dogs and cats are now safe. The wildlife trade in China has long been controversial and lucrative and has always been a potential source of some new virus. Wildlife has traditionally been used, not only as a source of food, but for clothing, medicine, ornaments and pets. Past attempts at curtailing these uses of wildlife have been only marginally successful. Given the worldwide pandemic that is believed to have started in a Chinese wildlife market, one would hope that there will be serious international pressure on the Chinese government to strictly enforce these new rules.

    — By the way … is it just me, or does it make no sense in a country of such vast resources for there also to be such widespread need? With the pandemic making it even harder for millions of Americans to get enough healthful food, farmers in Florida were plowing under acres of fresh produce and in Wisconsin and New York – including in my own Orange County — dairy farmers were pouring gallons of milk into fields. With schools and restaurants closed, the major buyers have almost disappeared. But people are still hungry. Question: Instead of giving farmers millions of dollars in bailout money for throwing away good food, why not buy the food and give it to food pantries for people who are hungry?

      — By the way … when Congress gets back from its self-isolation, that handful of members who sold and bought stock after being briefed early on the virus should be investigated for insider trading. They knew what was coming, kept quiet or even downplayed the risk and then cashed in big on the worldwide suffering. Unconscionable.

      — By the way …  I think the stay at home order is resulting in a lot of healthier canines. Walking the dog is not just a chore anymore.

       — And finally, by the way … although I am firmly ensconced in the age group most susceptible to dying from COVID-19, I am not willing to simply give it up so that Rush Limbaugh, a bunch of Tea Party Republicans, Dr. Oz, Laura Ingraham or any other cult member can “get back to business.” I plan to live for the Day of Reckoning. For any evangelists who wandered into this column, that’s The Rapture without the empty clothes stuff.

Bob Gaydos is writer-in-residence at zestoforange.com.

rjgaydos@gmail.com

Willie Mays, "the catch," 1954 World Series, the Polo Grounds.

By Bob Gaydos

I wasn’t planning to write for the Zest blog this week because I had other stuff on my mind and nothing about which I felt a need to expound. That wasn’t good enough for my fellow Zester, Mike Kaufman.

He felt a need to call me out in a column he wrote — he actually did two of them — on whether it’s OK to let your dog pee on a neighbor’s mailbox post. Really. Even did a poll on it. Since I thought this question was covered by the “do unto others” credo by which we all aspire to live, I ignored it. But he insisted. Yes or no, Bob, pee or no pee. Exasperated, I answered: No pee! No pee! Never let your dog pee on my or anybody else’s mailbox post! Yucch.

But the pee question turned out to be a straw dog. Mike, a former sports writer, was really calling me out on the designated hitter in baseball, which I had supported in one of my previous posts. At the end of his dog pee column, he added: “NOTE TO BOB GAYDOS: Ron Blomberg of the New York Yankees was the American League’s first designated hitter on Opening Day 1973. Thirty years later he expressed regrets: ‘I screwed up the game of baseball. Baseball needed a jolt of offense for attendance, so they decided on the DH. I never thought it would last this long.’ If even Blomberg can recant, it is not too late for you, Bob. Please come to your senses. Come home to the real game of baseball.”

First of all, Ron Blomberg is one of those Old Timers Day “Oh yeah, he was a Yankee, too“ guys. He had a couple of decent years and faded fast. He was never big enough to screw up the Yankees, let alone the whole game of baseball.

But Blomberg and Kaufman miss the point. There is simply no going back to anything. Baseball has evolved over the years, becoming more attuned to what fans like, which is more offense. It’s why they lowered the pitching mound. Sure, everyone can appreciate a good pitching matchup and no-hitters are special. But a whole season of teams batting .256 facing each other and watching opposing pitchers avoid number eight hitters with .230 averages to get at a pitcher who is an almost sure out is not fun. Nor does it necessarily win games. Good pitching always trumps all else. But when all else is equal, the teams that can hit — and that means mostly American League teams with designated hitters — will prevail. Look at the inter-league games records. The American League destroys the National League

I don‘t know what happens to pitchers when they leave high school. Until then they are usually the best players all around on all their teams. That means they could hit, too. But even before the DH, major league pitchers were no longer feared hitters. Players can’t bunt anymore. It’s a disgrace. The hit and run is almost obsolete. Baseball went bonkers with steroids for a while, and everyone was a home run threat. Now, things are back to seeming normalcy, but next year teams are going to play teams in the other league every day. That’s not fair to American League teams whose pitchers will have to bat. National League teams will gladly find a guy on the bench to add some punch to their anemic lineups.

The point is, the players union will never give up the jobs and the fans who see the DH every day will never go back to so-called “real baseball.” Not that long ago, baseball players used to leave their gloves on the field and wearing a batting helmet was unknown. But once upon a time, in the 1860s, nobody (not even the catcher) wore a glove, the ball was pitched underhanded from 45-feet from home plate, the ball could be caught on a bounce or on the fly for an out and you couldn’t overrun first base. In addition, foul balls were not strikes and if the umpire, standing to the side of the batter, didn’t happen to see the pitch, it didn’t count.

Now, that’s old time baseball, too, and they still play it in Cape May County, N.J., Michael, if you’re interested. For a whole season, I’m sticking with the current version.

* * *

While I’m at it, I might as well take care of all the dog-eared baseball questions. In response to my own poll (“Where Have You Gone, Joe DiMaggio?”), my colleague Jeffrey Page responded: “Bob, What about the Question of the Eternal Triangle: Mantle? Mays? Snider? My heart says Duke. My head says Willie. Mantle? He was pretty good, too.”

OMG, Brooklyn, get over yourself. Yes, New York City had the three best center fielders in baseball in the 1950s, but the Duke was always number three and you know that in your head, if not your heart. Mantle could have been the best ever but he drank like a fish and wrecked his leg and was still an all-time great and notches above Snider. But Willie Mays had it all, including a flair for the dramatic. I watched him rain triples and chase down fly balls all around the Polo Grounds and my head and heart have never doubted his preeminence. Best ever. Willie, Mickey and the Duke. 1,2,3.

* * *

Which brings me back to Michael and his dog pee. The most fascinating thing about his poll to me is that, of the 10 people who replied, four apparently said let your dog go wherever, whenever. I want their names, Michael. I don’t have a dog, but I have a friend who has three and they’re looking for new fields of dreams.

 bob@zestoforange.com

Jamestown Afternoon

By Carrie Jacobson

For better or worse, and believe me, it’s both, Peter and I have seven dogs, all rescues, all with issues, many in varying stages of decrepitude.

We’ve had a spate lately of accidents that, while horrifying at first, have ended up with no injuries but have left me wondering just what the heck we’ve gotten ourselves into here.

One of the dogs, Zoe, is just plain blind and now nearly deaf, too. But she is a Lhasa apso, quick on the draw and aggressively protective.

Another of the dogs, Kaja – a German shepherd/chow mix – is about 14, shaky and arthritic, stone deaf, half-blind and increasingly unwilling to watch where she’s going. She’s decided she is going to walk wherever she wants to walk, and if there’s a bad-tempered Lhasa apso in the way, so what.

Kaja steps on Zoe, who jumps up snarling, but of course, Kaja is completely deaf, and the alpha dog to boot, so the little one might just as well be a flea, or less, far as she’s concerned.

Lately, Kaja has taken to walking into the water bowl and knocking it over, oh, two or three times a day. Our kitchen floor has never been cleaner.

She has figured out that we will give her pretty much anything that she wants, now, so she will turn her nose up at regular dog food and wait until we give her the good stuff (canned food) or better yet, pieces of our own meals.

And you know what? At 14, she deserves whatever tastes good to her, that’s what I think.

The bad-tempered Pekingese, now 14 himself and pretty much deaf, growls and snarls for the heck of it, also aiming much of his ill temper at Kaja, who I believe goes out of her way to step on him.

The ancient Samoyed, 98 percent blind and the sweetest dog in the world, crashed down a short set of steps this morning into the basement, where no dog has ever been. He is fine, but the big lummox was trembling like a leaf in my arms.

His sworn enemy, a bichon with neuroses and deep-seated and inexplicable hatred of the Samoyed, stood at the top of the steps and barked nastily as I hauled the Samoyed up.

So we go on, our aged and aging dogs growing more and more dear, as they accompany us into the latter part of our lives. Sometimes I am sad beyond words at all of us. Sometimes their crashes and bickering, their bad tempers and refusals, just make me laugh, and make me glad to be alive.

All of which has nothing to do with this painting, but is something I was thinking about this Sunday morning.

What about you? Are your pets helping you deal with the passing of the years?

This painting is oil on canvas, 16×20. If you want price or delivery information, please email me at carrieBjacobson@gmail.com