When I heard Rush...

Limbaugh was about to receive the Medal of Freedom Award, I checked my calendar. Nope. April Fools Day was still months away.Then I Googled a few reliable news networks. (No, not Fox Fear Network). Sure enough, a sexist, racist, homophobic radio personality, who made a career of spouting bluster, bulls—t and bigotry was walking away with the gold. 

Here’s the story behind the medal.

The Presidential Medal of Freedom is awarded by the president of the United States "for especially meritorious contribution to (1) the security or national interests of the United States, or (2) world peace, or (3) cultural or other significant public or private endeavors".

I’m not wandering these days as much as I’m wondering. So I Googled notable Rush Limbaugh quotations. Here’s a few choice gems: 

"If any race of people should not have guilt about slavery, it's Caucasians. The white race has probably had fewer slaves and for a briefer period of time than any other in the history of the world ... And yet white guilt is still one of the dominating factors in American politics. It's exploited, it's played upon, it is promoted, used, and it's unnecessary."

"Feminism was established so as to allow unattractive women access to the mainstream of society."

I'm a huge supporter of women. What I'm not is a supporter of liberalism. Feminism is what I oppose, and feminism has led women astray. I love women. I don't know where all this got started. I love the women's movement, especially when walking behind it." 

"When a gay person turns his back on you, it is anything but an insult; it's an invitation.“

On the Central American migrant caravan heading toward the U.S. in 2018: "The objective is to dilute and eventually eliminate or erase what is known as the distinct or unique American culture ... This is why people call this an invasion."

"The NAACP should have riot rehearsal. They should get a liquor store and practice robberies."

"I’m not saying we should bring [slavery] back, I’m just saying it had its merits. For one thing, the streets were safer after dark.”

 "We need segregated buses."

Get the point? Now I know what you are thinking. What a great mentor for America’s young people! Well, not exactly.

To be on the impartial side, I did some comparison shopping of other Medal of Freedom Award winner quotes:

From Mother Teresa.

 Let us always meet each other with smile, for the smile is the beginning of love.

If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other.

From the Reverend Martin Luther King:

 "I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character. I have a dream today“

From Neal Armstrong:

“That’s one small step for a man, one giant leap for mankind.”

From Rosa Parks:

Each person must live their life as a model for others.

I would like to be known as a person who is concerned about freedom and equality and justice and prosperity for all people.

From Fred Rogers: 

When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, “Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.”

What were these people thinking? Brotherhood of Man? Equal rights for all Americans? Showing kindness to strangers? The Human Race’s potential for performing incredible feats? Absolutely shocking!

Of course, I’m being facetious. All the above were truly worthy of such an honor. Except Rush.

But Wait! 

Then I thought about the name of the medal. In America we still have Freedom of Speech. One OxyContin popping radio personality has the right to make unsubstantiated and unethical claims about Gays, Blacks, Hispanics and Women. It’s right there in our Constitution’s First Amendment.  (All the while making bank while doing it. It’s estimated the Rusher’s net worth is over 500 million.) 

However, one does not have the right to walk into a crowded movie theater and scream, “Fire! Fire! Fire!” 

BUT! An American has the Second Amendment right to purchase a semi-automatic AR-15 and fire into that same theater. (Aurora, CO. July 20, 2012). 

The US has more than it’s share of hypocrisy and hypocrites. 

Final Rush Quote.

It’s nice to know the God/Goddess of Karma is still lurking out there. Cough! Cough! 

Final Photo: I too, was once bestowed a Gold Medal. I received a prestigious IPPY Award for Self Publishing “Destroying Demons on the Diagonal.” 

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B006VXRMUG?keywords=Jeff%20Sambur&qid=1447125667&ref_=sr_1_1&sr=8-1b

Without a hint of irony, I feel I earned this Medal more than Mr. Limbaugh earned his. 

Adolf Hitler was the most...

influential man in my life.

Now before you go “goose stepping” to conclusions, allow me to explain. 

If not for the World’s undisputed champion of death, destruction and evil there wouldn’t  have been a Holocaust. There wouldn’t have been a reason for Szyja Sambor from Byzaziny, Poland to get on a slow boat from Europe to immigrate to America. The same can be said for my Mother Clara Zinn of Vienna, Austria. My parents left their family and friends behind for one and only one reason. Leave or be murdered in a precision German engineered manner. 

Without their Great Escape to the Bronx, Sid wouldn’t have had the chance to ask Clara out on a blind date.  Post WW II, this short cute couple married. In the span of six years  Allan, Micheal and Jeffrey were born. (We were all named after family members killed in the Holocaust.) 

All these events due to an angry white demagogue rising to power while overcoming Germany’s system of Constitutional checks and balances. Without Deh Fufrer, there wouldn’t have been a Holocaust and hence no little Sambur’s

So...Hitler was influential to me, but not in a good way. 

On April 30th, 1945 the German Dictator performed his one and only good deed. He swallowed a cyanide tablet and then inhaled a bullet. The spell he cast over his people was broken. The war in Europe ended eight days later. When his supporters were pressed for an answer to the ultimate “What the F—k were you thinking?” Their response was lame and inexcusable. “We were just following orders.” 

When the final tally of WW II was taken 70-85 million humans perished as a result of one madman. 

I grew up with the awareness that anti-semitism existed throughout the World. On numerous occasions I experienced it first hand in the US. Sure it upset me. But I shrugged it off in the belief these folks were in the minority instead of the rule. I went about my business of being a tax paying, law abiding American. 

In 2015, I began to notice a sea change in American politics. A bloated blowhard billionaire was drawing big crowds at his rallies. Like the man himself, his theme was simple. “Make America Great Again.” But the real message was “Make America White Again.” With campaign promises of building the Great Wall of Racism, limiting the number of Muslim immigrants and speaking in terms of “those people.” The Donald was placing most of his chips on the Angry White Folks card. The fringe groups of America had found a savior. 

"If you can convince the lowest white man he's better than the best colored man, he won't notice you're picking his pocket. Hell, give him somebody to look down on, and he'll empty his pockets for you." -Lyndon B. Johnson

For the second time in 16 years, a candidate became President despite losing the popular vote. So much for American Democracy.

All this rhetoric scared me and kept me awake at night. Bigotry and racism isn’t  like placing a menu order. ”I’m OK with the Jews, but hold the Mexicans.” It’s a general, I’m not fond of those who don’t speak like me, pray like me, have sex like me  or look like me. It’s the opposite of all inclusive.

Since that pivotal moment in US History, there’s been an increase in the number of hate crimes

. https://www.nytimes.com/2019/11/12/us/hate-crimes-fbi-report.html

At the same time, we’ve seen a decrease in the Constitution’s checks and balances. The Senate’s recent vote of “We don’t need no stinkin’ witnesses in an impeachment trial” has essentially handed more power to the Executive Branch. The US is tottering on becoming an autocracy ruled by a finger pointing demagogue with little understanding of the Constitution or the Rule of Law.

If you aren’t noticing similarities between Germany in the 30’s and the present, you aren’t paying attention.

On August 3, 2019, twenty-two Mexican Nationals and Mexican Americans were murdered at a Walmart in El Paso, TX. 

On October 27, 2018 eleven Jews were murdered at the Tree of Life Temple in Pittsburgh, PA. 

On August 11-12 Made in the USA Nazis bearing torches and Swastica flags paraded through the streets of Charlottesville, Virginia chanting “Jews can’t replace us!” (Why would we? Who would want to replace assholes? )

If Sid and Clara were around to see this they would cry, “Jeffy! It’s happening again!”

My fellow Mericans please don’t allow this to happen again.

Final Photo: In case you need a visual aid. All of these people except my father (standing in the middle) were murdered in the Holocaust. 

Minnesota Soup...

English was a second language for my Mother. She was more “at home” speaking Yiddish than English. So at times her pronunciation of words morphed into another word. Minestrone Soup became Minnesota Soup. It wasn’t a big deal since her three young ones were fluent in  “Clara-speak.” 

Minnesota soup was a special treat served up on extra dark wintry nights. It was Mom’s version of kosher comfort food. The main ingredient was a few packages of Manischewitz Minestrone soup mix. The other components were a “bisl” (Yiddish for “a little”) onion, potato, celery and maybe a carrot If there was one handy. To this mixture she would sprinkle the quartet of Central European spices - salt, pepper, paprika and garlic, all in  bland moderation. An added bonus might be a challah bread with gobs of greasy margarine slathered on the shiny slices. It was one of our favorite meals. 

Mom wasn’t a Jewish version of Julia Child. For every Minnesota Soup dinner there were too-many fish sticks and frozen Green Giant boil-in-a-bag creamed corn meals. We forgave her. We were scoring lots of attention, affection and hugs. That’s plenty of nourishment.

Lately I’ve been craving kosher comfort food. But first I had to find a supermarket with a kosher foods section. The Rabbi blessed items usually cover a distance one step wide. If I  drank too much coffee I would stride right by it. That’s where I’ll find the key ingredient to Minnesota Soup. Manischewitz Minestrone Soup Mix. It’s impossible to have one without the other. Fortunately, Snobsdale, AZ contains enough “Unfrozen Chosen” to warrant a kosher foods section at Safeway. 

Once I have the main ingredient, the rest comes easy. I’m not religious about following Mom’s exact recipe. I’ve taken a few liberties. There’s heaps more vegetables including (OY!) red peppers, green chili peppers, mushrooms and red chili powder in my blend. All the contents eventually end up in a Dutch Oven. Then I’ll let it all stew in its own juices for about eight hours. 

When it’s done I’ll pop an IPA and microwave a tortilla. The savory soup’s warmth comforts me. But what really makes me wag my invisible tail, is how I reconnect with my Mom.

I think about all the positive traits she passed onto me. Such as: 

Start all conversations with a smile.

If given the choice between a handshake or a hug, go for the hug.

Always offer food/drink or both to all who cross your doorway. (This includes plumbers and painters and other hardworking strangers). 

Pick up a book in your downtime. 

Be civil. Mind your manners. It’s OK to say you are sorry.

Draw back the curtains to allow the sun to shine in.

It’s better to be a nurturer than a schnorrer. (Yiddish for taker).

Lastly, she taught me how to make Minnesota Soup so I could remember her fondly.

Thanks Mom for making me a better person. 

Cheers!

Happy 2020 too.

Jeff 

Christmas. It’s not for everyone.

When I was five years young Bobby Aquino was my best friend. The Italian Catholic Aquino’s were also our next-door neighbors. After Thanksgiving, a pine tree would materialize in their living room.Soon thereafter ornamental baubles and glitter would sprout from its green branches. As the days went by I noticed more and more mysteriously wrapped boxes under the tree. 

I’ve always been a wonderer. So I asked Bobby.

“What’s up with the tree and all those boxes under it?” 

“Christmas is coming. Don’t you have a tree? Don’t you get Christmas presents?”

“Ahhh No...”

So I began a campaign of kvetching (Yiddish for nagging) to my father Sid. 

“Where’s my Christmas presents? Why don’t we have a tree in the house?”

Sid ignored me at first. BUT! I’m a persistent whiner. Eventually Sid had enough. He wanted peace restored in the Sambur household. He thrust a package into my skinny arms.

“Jeffy! We are Jewish! We don’t celebrate Christmas. It’s not our Holiday. This is a Hanukkah gift. Its a Jewish holiday. Understand? Now come. We will light the menorah. Your mother will fry up some potato latkes for us to eat. Later on, I’ll teach you how to play dreidel.” 

Years went by. I grew up. Somehow I managed to score a career as Northern Colorado’s only Jewish firefighter. Come Christmas time, things got awkward. 

“Jeff! What will you be doing on Christmas?”

 “I’ll try to score a shift of overtime. If not I’ll work a time trade for another day off in the summer.”

“Don’t you want to be off on Christmas?” 

“No, not really. It’s not a Jewish Holiday. It doesn’t have the same meaning to me as it does to you.” 

Sometimes I had to elaborate on this trivial factoid.

“You know there’s an Old Testament and a New Testament. Right? Well for the Jews, our story ends with the Old Testament.” 

To a few of my fellow firefighters, this was a revelation.

Maybe by now, some of you might be thinking I’m a devout Jew. I’m not. I stroll into a Temple about as often as I do a Church or Mosque. In other words, nearly never. The few times in my life I experienced anything close to religion, I was alone on a mountaintop, in a canyon or another wilderness type setting in between. 

This doesn’t mean I never got into the Holiday spirit. I did. I invented an offshoot of Seinfeld’s Festivus. I named the secular holiday Kwanhanumas. Kwanzaa, Hanukkah and Christmas. It was an instant Fort Collins, CO hit. We’d meet in a neighborhood bar the week following Thanksgiving. The invitation encouraged the participants to bring holiday knick knacks, whether it be a menorah, dreidel, Christmas tree ornament or stockings. Unfortunately, we never had anyone show up bearing Kwanzaa swag. Conversations were quite animated. There was no gift giving. There was no guilt giving either, unless the miscreant wasn’t buying a round of drinks or appetizers.  No one ever tried to convert anyone else. We told stories. We laughed a lot. At the end of our celebration of humanity, we hugged. 

Isn’t that what religion should be all about?

I now have a dream of resurrecting Kwanhanumas in my new hometown of Durango, CO. Until then, I’ll probably continue to lay low during the Holiday Season.

I hope all of my readers (including all those Russian, Polish and Ukrainian Trolls) had a joyous, safe and healthy Holiday Season regardless of how you celebrated it.

Happy 2020,

Jeff

Last photos: This is how I spent Christmas Eve. I did a fly by with Fluttering Wandering Butterflies. Two landed on me. I’ll accept that as a good omen for 2020. 

What would a John Muir...

Think?

I’ve been in the Sierra Nevada mountains of California for over a week. I wanted to spend a lot more time there in what Mr. Muir precisely called “The Range of Light.” As usual, his assessment is jaggedly correct. The Sierra Range is different. The area emits it’s own wavelength of light. It’s so unique, it could be the fourth primary color.  Even the cedars, ponderosa, and sugar pines exude a just shtupped glow. At times, the glare is so bright, it almost has me reaching for sunscreen. I love the Sierra Nevada of Eastern California.

I chose a great time to be here. The summer is on the wane. The National Park Service of Yosemite were shuttering the high country campgrounds and visitor centers. The somewhat burnt out employees seemed almost gleeful about the closure. One told me, “If you think it’s still crowded, you should have been here in August. It was nuts!” 

His job was heading west into Yosemite Valley. “There’s no off-season there anymore,” he sadly stated. 

I found the trails to be somewhat empty IF you got an early start. As usual upon my return the parking lots were full. I’d spot many unprepared visitors going in as I was coming out. I suppose it’s their way of seeing what this hiking stuff is all about. Most were carrying I-Phones though. 

In other areas, the roads were chockablock with “leaf peepers” photographing the yellows, oranges and reds of the going dormant aspen trees. The colors added to the  brightness of the scene. Fishermen and women were out in full force dipping their lines to land the last lunker of the season. The sun arrived late and disappeared early amid the canyon walls. The nights were long. I read a lot.

Mr Muir left behind a legacy of famous quotes. They aren’t as entertaining as Yogi Berra’s, but worthy just the same.

Here’s a few: 

“Thousands of tired, nerve-shaken, over-civilized people are beginning to find out that going to the mountains is going home; that wildness is a necessity; and that mountain parks and reservations are useful not only as fountains of timber and irrigating rivers, but as fountains of life.”

“Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature’s peace will flow into you as sunshine into trees.”

People are taking Mr. Muir’s suggestions to task. When Mr Muir passed away in 1914, there were less than 100 million Americans. Now there’s 326 million. Mr. Muir hiked on game trails and old Native American routes. There were probably a few miners trails as well. Now the paths are often two-lane highway widths. There’s evidence of erosion. The campgrounds are devoid of underbrush. It’s all been trampled. The land is not healing from the onslaught of all these Nature Lovers. We are hurting the very place we all love. 

This would bring a tear to John’s eyes. Like me, he was a sensitive guy.

Enjoy the photos. The Sierra is a special place on Earth. My guess is that one day, we will require a permit just to drive into Yosemite National Park.

From Bishop, California 

Jeff

I have acute Chionophobia...

From the source of all knowledge. AKA Google.

The fear of snow, or chionophobia, is often linked to other phobias. Those with fears of cold or severe weather. 

It’s safe to say I’m no fan of winter. Never was nor will I ever be.

I have my reasons. Mostly they are the close encounters of death/injuries I’ve experienced due to the icy white stuff. For me, winter has never been about making snow angels. The cold season is about avoiding snow demons.

Here’s a few frigid examples:

The first and last time I went downhill skiing was back in 1978. After a few runs on the “Bunny Slopes”, my friends  deemed me worthy of the “Black Diamond” slopes at Aspen Highlands ski area. I wasn’t ready. The mountainside was a sea of humpback whale-sized moguls. I made a lame attempt to retreat to easier grades. Alas, a ski went one way, my knee went the other way and POP! No more intact anterior cruciate ligament. My left knee has never been the same since. 

Years later, I tried cross country skiing. On one particular bad day a storm rolled in unexpectedly when me and a buddy were sliding around on Montgomery Pass in Colorado. The  snow began to fly horizontally. The visibility went opaque. The trail became obscure. The temperatures were spiraling down in an un-summer like way. We somehow managed to grope our way down through diminishing conditions and impending night to the parking lot. I kissed my jalopy. That was the last time I went cross country skiing. 

Then there was  the time I was returning from Moab, UT back to Fort Collins, CO. It was mid-November and I was heading east on I-70. My Ford Explorer hit a malevolent patch of black ice. I slid south to north across three lanes of traffic. Miraculously a 80,000 pound gross vehicle weight semi-truck took evasive action and narrowly missed me and my Ford by three feet. I doubt if I would have survived a direct hit. I had to pull off the Interstate to regain my composure after that one. It was about the last time I ventured into the mountains during winter driving conditions. 

Here’s one more Owwie. Recently, I hit the concrete after slipping on clear ice in Durango.  I mangled my elbow. This occurred over two weeks ago. I can now barely raise my right arm above my head. It takes a few double IPAs and handfuls of aspirins to dull the pain. 

Lastly Jews weren’t bred for winter. Moses and his Hebrew minions didn’t wander around the steppes of Siberia for forty years eating cold manna. They were tough and hung out in a cloudless Middle Eastern desert without the benefits of sunscreen or skin moisturizers. Jews aren’t called the “Frozen Chosen.” Which brings up the old joke. “What’s a Jewish woman’s favorite wine? Answer. “I wanna go to Miami!” 

My mental and physical injuries weren’t always centered around me. During my career as a firefighter/EMT I attended to many senior citizens who had run-ins with Jack Frost. We’d find Edna or Elmer lying supine on the cold ground. Kind citizens or caring family members would heap piles of comforting blankets upon the Old Timers. We were always extra gentle with these elderly patients. Eventually we would pull the blankets aside to access their injury. If we saw a shortened leg awkwardly rotated outward, we all sighed a silent “Oh Shit!” A probable broken hip. For these unfortunate folks the next blanket placed upon them might go up and over their heads. A fractured hip from an icy slip is a death sentence for many elderly.

https://medicalxpress.com/news/2018-06-hip-fractures-elderly-death-sentence.html

Falls weren’t the only problems seniors faced. There’s influenza, carbon monoxide poisoning and just dialing 911 because they felt isolated and alone. On wintery call outs where we didn’t require all hands on deck, I’d grab a snow shovel and clear their steps, sidewalks and doorways. It was my preventative maintenance program to keep these Oldsters out of the morgue. I knew one day I too would grow old.

For these reasons and so many others, (IE: long shadows, short days) I fear the harsh season. 

Am I happy about this? Absolutely not. Being a snow and cold weenie makes life complicated. It’s expensive too. (I’m now paying rent in Durango as well as in Snobsdale, AZ.) i never wanted to leave Durango, just winter. 

I don’t want to slip and break my hip! 

Cheers from Snobsdale where nobody knows your name,

Jeff

PS. You know another thing I don’t like about winter? There are no flowers or baseball.