Jeffrey D. Sachs | Feb 13, 2023 | New World Economy Column The American economist writes as part of a series debating the wisdom of peace negotiations The greatest enemy of economic development is war. If the world slips further into global conflict, our economic hopes and our very survival could go up in flames. The Bulletin of Atomic Scientists just moved the hands of the Doomsday Clock to a mere 90 seconds to midnight. The world’s biggest economic loser in 2022 was Ukraine, where the economy collapsed by 35 per cent, according to the International Monetary Fund. The war in Ukraine could end soon, and economic recovery could begin, but this depends on Ukraine understanding its predicament as a victim of a US-Russia proxy war that broke out in 2014. Unless the proxy war ends soon, Ukraine faces a dire future. Ukraine needs to learn from the horrible experience of Afghanistan to avoid becoming a long-term disaster. It could also look to the US proxy wars in Vietnam, Cambodia, Lao PDR, Iraq, Syria and Libya. Starting in 1979, the US armed the mujahideen (Islamist fighters) to harass the Soviet-backed government in Afghanistan. As President Jimmy Carter’s national security adviser Zbigniew Brzezinski later explained, the US’s objective was to provoke the Soviet Union to intervene in order to trap it in a costly war. The fact that Afghanistan would be collateral damage was of no concern to US leaders. The Soviet military entered Afghanistan in 1979 as the US hoped, and fought through the 1980s. Meanwhile, the US-backed fighters established al-Qaeda in the 1980s and the Taliban in the early 1990s. In 2001, the US invaded Afghanistan to fight al-Qaeda and the Taliban. The US war continued for another 20 years until they finally left in 2021. Afghanistan today lies in ruins. While the US wasted more than $2 trillion of military outlay, Afghanistan is impoverished. Its 2021 GDP per capita was below $400! The proxy war in Ukraine began nine years ago when the US government backed the overthrow of Ukraine’s President Viktor Yanukovych. President Yanukovych’s sin, from the US viewpoint, was his attempt to maintain Ukraine’s neutrality despite the US desire to expand Nato to include his country (and Georgia). America’s objective was for Nato countries to encircle Russia in the Black Sea region. The US has been massively arming and funding Ukraine since 2014. Three demands: The US overlooked two harsh political realities in Ukraine. The first is that Ukraine is deeply divided ethnically and politically between Russia-hating nationalists in the west and ethnic Russians in the eastern region and Crimea. The second is that Nato enlargement to Ukraine crosses a Russian red line. Russia will fight to the end, and escalate as necessary, to prevent the US from incorporating Ukraine into Nato. At the end of 2021, Russian President Vladimir Putin put forward three demands to the US: Ukraine should remain neutral and out of Nato; Crimea should remain part of Russia; and the Donbas should become autonomous, in accord with the Minsk II Agreement. The Biden-Sullivan-Nuland team rejected negotiations over Nato enlargement, eight years after the same group backed Yanukovych’s overthrow. In March last year, Ukraine’s President Volodymyr Zelensky seemed to understand his country’s dire predicament as a victim of a US-Russia proxy war. He declared publicly that Ukraine would become a neutral country and asked for security guarantees. He also publicly recognised that Crimea and Donbas would need some kind of special treatment. Yet the US blocked the peace process. The basis for peace today is clear. Ukraine would be a neutral non-Nato country. Crimea would remain home to Russia’s Black Sea naval fleet, as it has been since 1783. A practical solution would be found for the Donbas, such as a territorial division, autonomy or an armistice line. Most importantly, the fighting would stop, Russian troops would leave Ukraine and Ukraine’s sovereignty would be guaranteed by the UN Security Council and other nations. Above all, the government and people of Ukraine would tell Russia and the US that they refuse to be the battleground of a proxy war any longer. In the face of deep internal divisions, Ukrainians on both sides of the ethnic divide would strive for peace, rather than believing that an outside power will spare them the need to compromise. Prof Sachs, director of the Center for Sustainable Development at Columbia University, is president of the UN Sustainable Development Solutions Network, among others, and author. https://www-dailymaverick-co-za.webpkgcache.com/doc/-/s/www.dailymaverick.co.za/opinionista/2023-02-13-the-new-world-economy-what-ukraine-needs-to-learn-from-afghanistan-about-proxy-wars/

Fred Plotkin, a pleasure activist and passionate Italy and culinary expert, speaks each Friday with leading people in the arts FRED PLOTKIN is one of America’s foremost experts on opera and has distinguished himself in many fields as a writer, speaker, consultant and as a compelling teacher. He is an expert on everything Italian, the person other so-called Italy experts turn to for definitive information.  Fred discovered the concept of "The Renaissance Man" as a small child and has devoted himself to pursuing that ideal as the central role of his life. In a “Public Lives” profile in The New York Times on August 30, 2002, Plotkin was described as "one of those New York word-of-mouth legends, known by the cognoscenti for his renaissance mastery of two seemingly separate disciplines: music and the food of Italy." In the same publication, on May 11, 2006, it was written that "Fred is a New Yorker, but has the soul of an Italian."

By Bonnie Fishman / San Francisco Bay Area I’m on a crusade to keep cabbage from being the forgotten vegetable, the lowly and rarely seen side dish on restaurant menus, and the unwanted kitchen guest regarded as too smelly when you cook it. Enough is enough. Cabbage is a great vegetable and it’s time to celebrate it (just because I say so!). I’m not the only one on this path. Did you know that there is even a National Cabbage Day and it was last Friday on Feb. 17? A day doesn’t go by without a head of cabbage in my fridge. For real. Why, you might ask? I use it as the base for my lunch salad almost every day. Upon returning from my lap swim and a shower, I build my humongous bowl of greens. The cabbage gives the salad that sustained crunch, crunch, crunch. You really feel like you’re eating something. I add any of these more tender greens: arugula, spinach, field greens, or romaine hearts. Sometimes fresh herbs. From there, I add some fresh fruit: oranges, apples, or pears, nuts (peanuts or almonds), cheese (chèvre or feta), and a few other veggies. A splash of good balsamic vinegar, coarse salt and fresh pepper–voila! I crunch away for at least a good 30 minutes. I’ve got this down to a science after doing it daily for years. You ought to try it. Cabbage has quite a pedigree. Its origin (from the Brassica genus) goes way back to 4000 B.C. in China and 3000 B.C. in Europe. It arrived in the Americas with the French explorer, Jacques Cartier, in the mid-1500s. It was an important vegetable on sailing vessels for three main reasons: it has high water and Vitamin C content, both useful when out to sea. Also, cabbage has a long shelf life out of refrigeration. The countries that produce and eat the most cabbage are China, India, and Russia. Being such a versatile vegetable, it can be eaten raw but also stewed, pickled (like Kimchi), braised, sautéed, boiled, or even roasted. From wild cabbages came the cultivation of broccoli and cauliflower. “Cauliflower is nothing but cabbage with a college education,” said author Mark Twain. I love that! Cabbage, like other cruciferous vegetables in the genus Brassica, often causes gas. Many people have trouble digesting these vegetables, probably because of their high fiber content. They’re most troublesome when eaten raw, though this is not a problem for me because I have a cast-iron stomach. The best way to reduce the gassiness of cabbage is to either cook or ferment it. Cabbage grows well in colder climates because it is frost-hardy. My sister, Marcia, traveled to Anchorage last August and attended the Alaska State Fair in Anchorage. Of all things, the fair officials held two contests celebrating cabbage because the vegetable thrives in their cold temperatures. One is a giant cabbage growing contest. Last year, the winner raised a head weighing in at 84 lbs! The second contest was for limericks pertaining to cabbage. Marcia, being a poet, submitted this poem: From Bully to Slaw The giant green cabbage had gall. It bullied the sprouts who were small. One day all the Brussels Ganged up with their muscles And minced up the cabbage, now slaw. The health benefits of cabbage are also a great reason to dine on this wonderful vegetable. It is high in fiber and low in calories. Besides vitamin C, it has anti-inflammatory properties and is good for heart health. There are many varieties to try, some with a more “cabbage-y” taste, like classic heads or milder types, like Napa. On our road, about a half mile down from our house, are two large planting fields that are leased out to different farmers. Last spring, both fields were planted with rows and rows of head cabbage. When they ripened, I was tempted to get my knife out and hack away at a head, but no, that was stealing. I waited and waited for those cabbage to be harvested. NO one ever did! They rotted in the field for months. Do you want to know what that smells like on a hot day? I didn’t think so. I asked around as to why the field was never picked. The answer just broke my heart. The price of cabbage had dropped so low that it wasn’t worth the investment to hire a crew to harvest because they wouldn’t come out ahead financially. All of those acres of cabbage went to waste. There are hungry people everywhere who would have benefited from these vegetables. Unfortunately, that’s not how it works. In my recipe offering today, I’m doing a traditional Eastern European preparation. It is hearty and delicious. I’m using pre-cooked chicken sausage but feel free to use cooked kielbasa or any other favorite sausage. If you are vegan or vegetarian, just skip the meat and the steps cooking it. The cabbage will still be great. Tell us at The Insider if you’ll jump on the cabbage bandwagon and begin cooking it and eating it more often. Beer-Braised Cabbage with Sausage Yield: 6 servings 3-4 Tbsp. vegetable oil 12 oz. cooked sausage links (chicken, kielbasa, vegan) 1 lg. onion, cut in half, then in thin slices crosswise 2 lb. cabbage, knife shredded 1 lb. small Yukon gold potatoes, cut into 1/2” thick slices 1/2 bottle of dark beer 1 tsp. caraway seeds (optional) salt and pepper to taste In a large sauté pan or braiser, heat the oil over moderately high. Brown the sausages on all sides. Remove to a cutting board. When cool enough to handle, cut on the diagonal in 1/2” pieces. Reserve. Turn pan heat down to medium. Add the onions. Cook until translucent, about 6-7 minutes. Add the cabbage. Cook until wilted, about 10 minutes. Add the potatoes and the beer. Add seeds if using. Bring to a boil; turn down to a simmer, cover for 15 minutes. Add the sausage. Remove lid, increase heat to moderately high. Cook until the cabbage has browned and most of the liquid has evaporated, about 20 minutes. Can be served with a hearty rye bread. Bonnie Fishman attended the Cordon Bleu Cookery School in London. Later, she owned and operated Bonnie’s Patisserie in Southfield, Mich. and Bonnie’s Kitchen and Catering in Bloomfield Hills, Mich. She has taught cooking for over 35 years and created hundreds of recipes. She is now living in Northern California.

By Marieke Slovin Lewis / Honolulu It’s a miracle that the Post Office knows where to find my husband Richard and me these days. In mid-December, we moved from Prescott, Ariz. to Seattle, Wash. This move came a year and a half after we returned to Arizona after living overseas in Belgium and France for the past five years. So needless to say, my stamina for packing and making big life transitions was not high to begin with this time. I made it a month in Seattle before the gray and rain and stress of living in my mother-in-law’s basement sent my mental health reserves plummeting to dangerously low levels. My husband and I talked about possible solutions, including driving or flying down to Tucson to get some desert sun, or visiting relatives in Los Angeles. Then we remembered that many airlines offer nonstop flights to Honolulu from Seattle, and my aunt and uncle live in Honolulu. When we were making pro and con lists to help us decide whether to stay in Europe or return to the U.S., the ability to visit family was one of the benefits of returning. I sent tentative messages to my aunt and uncle on Jan. 17, exactly a month after arriving in Washington, to see if they were around and wouldn’t mind a visit from their niece. When they responded with enthusiasm, I started looking at flights. A friend had told me she had found great prices on the Hopper App and Priceline, but I was only finding flights between $500-600. What was the price of joy? How much was I willing to pay for sunshine? If there were a black market for the sun in the Pacific Northwest, someone could make a lot of money. I was so desperate for a prison break from the Seattle winter, I might have been willing to pay even more than the costly flights I was finding. Being a person who struggles with depression and anxiety, I place a very high value on my mental health and well-being. I have made enormous changes in my life in pursuit of what I refer to as “self-sustainability.” And yet, even after having studied this realm in my academic, personal, and professional lives, as well as in the music I write with people from their stories, I still find myself feeling guilty for making choices for my mental health. If I had to choose one important lesson from my own research and experience, as well as from the ongoing pandemic, it’s that self-care is not selfish. It’s the idea that we each put our own oxygen mask on first before helping other people. The healthier we are as individuals, the more able we are to help other people, those in our inner circle and beyond. When I am able to fill my cup, I am more grounded, more patient, and more kind to people in general. And so, with a desire to embrace this idea and model what I preach about self-care, I booked a 10-day trip to Honolulu. I would leave on Saturday, Jan. 21. I would stay with my aunt at her home in the Mānoa neighborhood and visit my uncle and his new wife at their apartment downtown. In between social visits, I would spend time doing the things I needed to refill my well of well-being. Namely, I would spend as much time near the sun and sea as possible. I would also go for long walks and eat good food, fresh from the ocean. I did a fair job, dedicating myself to my own well-being while also balancing time with family. I love the way you can feel like a new person on holiday, as if all of your cares and worries have disappeared into the vacation cosmos. Life is carefree. You are a better version of you. Like so much of the heavier stuff in life, however, gravity can draw it back into my sphere of existence. Depression and anxiety came creeping back in five days, drawing the door open in a slow, creaking fashion, craning the necks of their dark, unwelcome faces around the door frame to peer in at me. Those weighty emotions had been following an ongoing saga during a challenging life transition that involved me, my husband, and his aging parents. Their reappearance was not surprising. It was perhaps naïve to think I could go anywhere in the world without at least one of two of my inner demons catching a ride in one of my carry-on suitcases. Truth be told, my husband and I were struggling well before I left for Hawaii. We had decided in November to move from our home in Prescott in the sunny Central Arizona desert to take up temporary residence in his mom’s basement in Edmonds, a town just north of Seattle in the gray and rainy state of Washington. This was a decision made more by my husband in order to help care for his aging parents and begin a dream job he had recently been offered as library director at a large university. I had mixed feelings about the move. On the one hand, I was bursting with pride for my husband. On the other, I knew from experience that I had a hard time living in regions with weather that tended toward gray and rainy for much of the year. My husband told me he recognized this was not an ideal choice for me and he would understand if I was not up for it. I love my husband, and I turned my world upside down when I met him many years ago because I believed so strongly in our connection. I don’t think anyone ever tells you how challenging marriage can be, but I believe it is worth the struggle. In the end, I chose to go with him. My husband was understandably overwhelmed by everything going on: the responsibility of caring for his 85-year-old mother and guiding her through increasingly difficult choices; getting ready to start a complex new job; completing the sale on our Arizona house; and finding a house we could afford (and that we both liked) in the greater Seattle area. With his overwhelm, it was up to me to take care of my health and well-being. I was overwhelmed and heartbroken at leaving our home in the desert. Each time we traveled north to Washington, we seemed to become enmeshed in the energy of so many relatives that our own relationship suffered. In my mind, I was fast becoming what our expat friends in Europe referred to as a “trailer wife,” following my husband as he pursued one dream after another, each of which would propel his own professional career forward while mine lay stagnant and dormant. I packed up all of our belongings and cleaned the house. I researched Zillow to find places we might live. We arrived in Edmonds just ahead of a winter snow and ice storm. In-between the snow, rain, and holidays, we managed to find a home we loved and make an offer. Our offer accepted, we marked a calendar and began crossing off the days. I spent hours walking my dog all over Edmonds and wondering what I was doing with my life while my husband went off to navigate his new job. Our relationship was feeling the pressure of the transition and everything that came with it, but for me the most urgent priority was finding the sun. I felt some guilt and also enormous relief, stepping off the plane and feeling the humid air of tropical Hawaii envelope me in its misty embrace. My first day in Honolulu, I borrowed my uncle’s car and drove down to a local beach my cousins had recommended on our last visit. It’s a relatively quiet spot, and you have your pick of palm trees to sit beneath. I went for a short swim and then sat with my towel wrapped around me, my feet digging into the hot sand on the surface of the beach. Each time my feet cooled off, I moved them to a new spot. As my feet warmed, I turned my face to the sky. Catching the sun on my cheeks, I felt like I was coming up from a deep underwater dive. I had just reached the surface and I was gasping for breath. It felt like I couldn’t quite get enough oxygen to turn down the urgency flashing warning signal on the desperation dial for my soul. Slowly, the warmth of the sun and sand, the soothing breeze from the water, and the song of the sea lulled me into a more peaceful state. Suffice it to say that there were a couple of incidents—one involving the house my husband and I are in the process of buying and another involving a visit to the vet for our dog, who experienced a small seizure and whose own well-being has topped the charts as the most urgent matter affecting my mental health. You can leave your life behind to an extent just by boarding a plane and setting foot some hours later in an entirely different place. But life follows you wherever you go. The pandemic follows as well. Here in Honolulu, social distancing signs are ever-present and people are mostly wearing masks, both when frequenting indoor and outdoor settings.  While much of my life feels up in the air and my soul ungrounded, I can take comfort in knowing I have arrived in a place where people seem to care about their own and the well-being of those around them. There are still signs, many well-worn, with reminders to socially distance. “Please Kokua,” they say. Kokua means "help" in Hawaiian. I looked down at my feet as I sat outside of one restaurant opened by a Japanese family after they were forcibly shipped to an internment camp during WWII. "Spread Aloha, not germs," it read. I have noticed that the pandemic still seems present and not past in Hawaii. People continue to wear masks, much more than on the mainland or even by the people around me at the airport. Rather than feeling strange for using a wipe to clean my seat and tray on the plane, I feel like I am being respectful of other people each time I pay attention to pandemic social etiquette. Thanks for masking up, Hawaii! May the mask be a metaphor for self-care and sustainability, in addition to your glorious saltwater and sun. Afternote I wrote the above while still in Hawaii. Somewhere between the kokua and aloha, my overtaxed system succumbed to Covid. Three days after arriving back in Washington–on the same day that my husband and I received the keys to our new house–I tested positive. A parting gift maybe, but from whom? Marieke Slovin Lewis is a writer, musician, singer-songwriter, yoga teacher, and editor. She holds a Ph.D. in Sustainability Education and writes music from people's life stories, using a method called Story-to-Song that she developed with a fellow doctoral student. She was recognized as a finalist for the 2021 Amateo Award for arts participation projects in Europe for her project, "On the Move: Poems and Songs of Migration," for which she wrote songs with refugees and asylum seekers in Brussels, Belgium about their migration experiences. Marieke is a wandering soul and has lived all over the world. She is currently living with her husband, two cats, and a big white husky in Seattle, Washington.

By Andy Borowitz February 17, 2023 SAN FRANCISCO (The Borowitz Report)—Newly surfaced texts showing Tucker Carlson telling the truth threaten to damage his brand irrevocably, the Fox News host fears. After publication of the texts, which indicate that Carlson knew Donald J. Trump’s claims of widespread election fraud were false, the anchor, concerned that his reputation for mendacity had been permanently tainted, spiralled into despondency. “Tucker is in a very dark place right now,” a Fox News colleague said. “To be unmasked as an honest person is literally his worst nightmare.” In an emotional appearance on Fox, Carlson begged his viewers not to “rush to judgment” based on a few “ill-advised texts that give off the unfortunate appearance of accuracy.” “A couple of years ago, in a moment of weakness, I slipped and told the truth,” Carlson, choking back tears, said. “I plead with you not to judge me by this shameful episode but by my entire body of work.” Andy Borowitz is a Times best-selling author and a comedian who has written for The New Yorker since 1998. He writes The Borowitz Report, a satirical column on the news.

By Jeffrey Markowitz / Detroit As the month of February winds down, my heart starts beating a little faster because I know what’s ahead—it’s called “the countdown.” Realizing the hockey season is coming to an end, there is only one thought — how many days will it take until I can get on a golf course or a baseball diamond? This feeling has never left me for over 50 years. There isn’t a conversation with my buddies that doesn’t include this all-important question. When I was a teenager growing up in Oak Park, Mich. in the 1960s, there was a field for anyone to chase their athletic dream. There were baseball diamonds, football fields, tennis courts, outdoor basketball courts, and an enclosed ice arena, just to name a few. We were very fortunate to have all these sporting venues readily available. We didn’t have to travel to other cities to play our favorite sports and we certainly didn’t know how lucky we were. The premier spot in the city was the Oak Park Park. Located in the central part of the city, it was truly the place to hang out. There were many leagues that played baseball there, both softball and fast pitch. Most importantly, it was where Oak Park High School played its home games. When I was finishing my first year of college in 1969 at Eastern Michigan University, a friend called to let me know about the start of a new slow pitch softball league. It turned out to be the rage of the country. In fact, one of the most popular spots for slow pitch was the Detroit metro area. It also produced some of the best competitive traveling teams as well. My friend, who was nicknamed Fritz, told me whom he contacted to play on our team. Most of the team had played Little League baseball as kids and Varsity baseball at Oak Park High School. They were familiar with the fields. Each team had a sponsor who provided T-shirts with their local business names printed on the front. Scheduling was completed by the league and was then handed out to team managers. By the third practice we were given our schedules for the season. With much anticipation and anxiety, we all wanted to know how many times we would be playing at Diamond One. We also wanted to know which teams we were up against. Diamond One represented the dream that we were actually playing in a professional stadium. The field itself had stands up and down each foul line and trees hugged the fencing from the right field foul pole to the left field foul pole, giving the feeling of an enclosure. In addition, the fences were a few feet shorter than Diamond Two, which created an expection that there would be more home runs hit. Spectators came to watch softballs fly out of the park. The city of Oak Park, where we grew up, was a story itself. It was truly a melting pot, and its official motto was “The Family City.” What was interesting was that people we didn’t know, who lived in Oak Park, regularly came to watch our games. Young and old would gather at the park on summer nights to watch America’s pastime. Some came with their children to enjoy an evening of baseball, hoping their kids might take the field one day. And other dedicated spectators would follow our team when we played at away games. They were loyal fans. The crowds that cheered us on used our nicknames and probably never knew our real names. Almost everyone in Oak Park who was involved in athletics had one. To name a few there was Caesar, H, Bibby, Wally, Barbut, Beaver, Ballou, Zip, and The Mouse — my infamous name. All these nicknames have stayed with us for over 50 years. On a clear summer night, you could see the park from several streets away. With the lights of two baseball diamonds, the tennis courts, the public pool and, of course, well-lit parking lots, it made for an unmistakable setting. You couldn’t miss the Oak Park Park even if you tried. As a teenager, I would often wonder what drew these people to our glorified baseball games. It wasn’t until I was much older that I understood their need to watch our games and connect with the past. The crowds were enjoying an outing after a long workweek; it was an opportunity to get away from the responsibilities of everyday life. The games brought back fond memories of their own youth and the simple times they were missing. Little did I realize back then that there were other reasons why people gravitated to our games. They were a diversion. In the 1960s, the world was changing quickly. Baseball brought relief from the constant images of the Vietnam War seen on TV. My friends and I were glued to “The Lottery.” This is when a random number between 1 and 366 was assigned to your birthday. Capsules with numbers were then pulled out of a fishbowl on prime-time TV. Men with lower numbers were called first. We all kept praying that our number wasn’t picked, and we wouldn’t be drafted. Along with this anxiety, there were anti-war protests in most cities and college campuses. Issues regarding civil rights were in the spotlight and fighting for change was the focal point. Along with the women’s liberation movement, Watergate, and political assassinations, these issues created a need for escape. Baseball was the ticket. Unfortunately, along with the excitement and comfort that baseball provided, there were people at the park who found distraction in other ways. They used baseball as a shield to hide what they were doing from the public. They were mixed in with the fans, but weren’t there to watch baseball. This was the dark side of the park — the drug culture. Not only did the Oak Park Park offer baseball games on the weekends, it also was a place where people came to do business. Drugs could be bought, and they were plentiful. Marijuana was the big seller but some people found their way into psychedelics and opioids as well. Drugs then brought a different crowd to the park. As drugs seeped into American culture, it also seeped into our own bloodstream — both on and off the field. We started to get high before our games, and even sneaked in a pill or two that were tucked into our baseball socks. At the time, Quaaludes were the rage. It seemed like many people in Oak Park were now hooked on “Ludes” and it created a lifestyle. On the baseball field, we were buzzed but still played well enough to win games and then got totaled after the game as well. Spectators hardly knew what was going on with the drug scene unless they partied themselves. Parents, in particular, did not have a clue for years about the drugs their children were abusing. As a matter of fact, our parents were taking some of the same prescriptions drugs but they got them from the pharmacy to help with pain and sleep issues. We were buying them illegally and taking them from our parents’ medicine cabinets. Even though the drug atmosphere started ramping up, baseball remained the focal point of our lives. During the week and even on weekends, the park was the place to be seen. It became a social hub and when you didn’t have a game, meeting girls was the next best thing. If you hit it off, you’d be on your way for a late night snack— Katz’s Deli, O Sole Mio Pizza, Stafford’s or even The Stage. These were the hot spots. But the evening wasn’t complete until my buddies and I visited the pool hall or preferably the racetrack. This was a great night out on the town! Growing up in Oak Park was truly like living in a fantasy. Virtually every day of the year, there were sports to be enjoyed. But the recollections of playing soft ball at the park remain the most vivid. I can still hear the crowds shouting and rooting for our team. These are strong memories and clear snapshots that are cherished. One distinctive thing about Oak Parkers is that they remember the past like it was yesterday. Those early friendships are still the ones I have today and value the most. After a 30-year career in construction management, building commercial and residential jobs, Jeffrey has turned to his passion–cooking. He is the master of the grill and has been nicknamed Chef Jeff by his family. Jeffrey also started a small catering business. Nothing makes him happier than satisfying his customers. Jeffrey enjoys sports and has spent 60+ years playing golf. Competing with friends, playing the course and, most of all, keeping his head in the game for all 18 holes has been gratifying — even if he’s far away from par. He is also the husband of Judi Markowitz, who writes the Dateline Detroit column for The Insider. They have four adult children and seven grandchildren who keep them on their toes. Oh yeah, let’s not forget George, their Bernese Mountain granddog. Jeffrey’s life is full, and he is happy.

By Sienna Beck / New York City 185,000. That’s the estimated number of Latino kids and their families, familias, who migrated from all over South and Central America to the United States, undocumented, in October 2022 alone. Each and every one of these families is hoping for a better start and better life. Crossing through many borders, fronteras, taking many buses, cars, carros, trains, trenes. Their journey took months and months, meses y meses. All in the hopes of a better life. Crossing through the border of Texas with almost nothing, casi nada!, is very difficult, muy difícil. It’s even harder for families that arrive speaking only Spanish in a country that speaks mainly English. When the migrants crossed into Texas, Governor Greg Abbott shipped the new arrivals by bus all over the country. Many, muchos, ended up in homeless shelters (very hard) and on the streets, calles, as beggars (even harder). Some were offered better choices, but there was not enough money, dinero, to help everybody. New York City (well, a lot of us New Yorkers) welcomed the Latinos with open arms. Some New York City schools set up donation rooms and the Latino families received the necessities-clothes, shoes, zapatos, and toiletries. My class welcomed eight fifth-grade Latino kids in the middle of October 2022: (three, tres, from Venezuela; three from Ecuador; one, uno, from Nicaragua; and one from Colombia). Five, cinco, boys, niños and three girls, niñas. I think the class adjusted rapidly, rápidamente, but there was a lot of change. For about four months, my teacher was alone, sola, in handling 26 kids, eight of whom did not yet speak English. That was not easy, facil! To make their English-learning faster, designated people, personas, renovated their classrooms, aulas, and met with each Latino kid at the designated time, tiempo. At the beginning of this month, February 2023, Febrero, we acquired an amazing assistant teacher, maestra, who had lived in Mexico for a couple years, años, and knows Spanish. She’ll be with us on Tuesdays, Martes, Wednesdays, Miercoles, and Thursdays, Jueves. Now, it’s easier for my teacher because the work, el trabajo, is shared by two teachers. Lately, I’ve been wondering, pensando: how exactly did these families arrive in the United States? What made it so difficult? I asked around my classroom, and here’s one of the responses I received from a new friend, amiga, 11 years old: “I felt very sad because I thought we would never make it to the United States. It took me two months to arrive there. And I was cold and hot while sleeping–on the floor of the earth–on the mountains. We would walk without stopping for 12 hours, not eating, always in danger, always hurting and scared. Getting caught by the Juarez cartel. We were always thirsty and hungry. I was with only my younger sister and my mom; my dad was in Venezuela. It was a very painful journey. But I think the United States is beautiful.” –Translated from Spanish by the author We’ve had these new friends from Latin America in our classroom, aula, for several months now, and now I feel like they’re part, parte, of the class. If they were to go away, si fueron, we would all feel very sad and empty. Sienna Beck is a future author. She would like to become president when she is older. She lives in New York City (the best city in the world!) and spends her days ping-ponging between her two sisters, Willa and Olive.

By Andy Borowitz February 6, 2023 OUTER SPACE (The Borowitz Report)—Extraterrestrial beings have admitted surveilling the United States with high-altitude objects, but claimed that they did so only to monitor the weather. The revelation appeared in an official statement released to the American media by an organization calling itself the Intergalactic Command Force. “The I.C.F. has, over the past several years, launched a series of surveillance craft that have hovered over the United States,” the statement read. “We can assure you that we did this only to advance our understanding of weather conditions in your country.” The aliens admitted that they were “surprised” that their high-altitude objects had gone undetected for so long. “Given that the Pentagon has an annual budget of eight hundred billion dollars, we never dreamed it would take them years to notice us,” the statement read. Andy Borowitz is a Times best-selling author and a comedian who has written for The New Yorker since 1998. He writes The Borowitz Report, a satirical column on the news.

By Victoria Rolfe / Red Hook, N.Y. As a chicken owner myself, I was quite intrigued to hear that due to the rising cost of eggs, the business (that I was previously unaware of) of renting fully stocked chicken coops has been growing in popularity. When it came to my attention, I had many mixed notions and emotions about this practice. I will try to sort them out for you here. In addition to being a chicken owner, I am also a frugal budget coach, so my first thought was “Is this really saving any money over just buying the high-priced eggs?” I remember when we first got our chickens. Being as super-budget-minded as I am, I decided to keep careful records on all chicken-related expenses and on egg production. If you have ever attempted to grow a garden, it is likely you have come across the hilarious book The $64 Tomato. How One Man Nearly Lost His Sanity, Spent a Fortune, and Endured an Existential Crisis in the Quest for the Perfect Garden by William Alexander. In a nutshell, it is all about all the products he bought to grow his tomato plant that resulted in the title tomato. Well, it is much the same with chicken raising. Before you ever delight in finding that amazing first egg in the nesting box, you have already shelled out quite a bit of scratch. First, you have to buy or construct a coop, then acquire feeders and waterers, plus bedding and straw, or whatever you choose to put on the floor. And this is all before you have even bought your first chicken. This is actually the least of the expenses, as baby chicks can run as cheap (or cheep, as they say) as $2 per chick. But then you are feeding and bedding those adorable babies for six months or more before you lay your eyes on that first egg. All this to say that according to my calculations, our first egg cost us $776. And we were doing things frugally! With a coop that was given to us, and a (predator-proof) enclosure that we made for them to run around inside, mostly out of free pallets and scrounged wood. Naturally, once the eggs start coming, in the cost-per-egg begins to go down, but even after three years (when I mostly stopped keeping track), according to my calculations we were down to about $7 per dozen. Not too bad for “farm fresh/organic” eggs right from your own yard, but certainly no huge savings over the supermarket prices, even of today. I know this sounds like I am trying to discourage you, but this is not entirely the case. What I am warning against is jumping into a new fad on a whim. In all probability, you will not be saving any more money than if you had just kept buying the overpriced egg cartons at the grocery. And as a level-headed “budgeteer”, I highly disadvise jumping on trends in general, especially expensive ones. Of course, if you rent the chickens, all of those expenses are included in one (not so low) price. And you can choose to forgo raising the little chicks if you want and just rent pullets (or hens on the cusp of laying). But I looked up the pricing at a local rent-a-chicken agency and did a quick calculation as to what they were offering (the coop and all supplies needed including food for six months). The standard rental price was $667 from May to October for two chickens. According to my arithmetic, based on average egg-laying per chicken, by the end of the rental period this deal will cost you approximately $27 per dozen. Remember you are not only shelling out the money for all of the chicken’s needs, but there is also a middleman making a profit on this exchange. In addition, I do need to point out here that the coop that they give you for that rental price is just a tiny thing, so unless you are able to free-range your ladies during the daytime, they will be cooped up (so to speak) in that tiny hut 24/7. If you live in a predator-laden area as we do, and you are concerned at all with their happiness and well-being, they will need a bigger safe enclosure to frolic in. Also keep in mind that you will be required to care for these chickens on a daily basis, making sure they have fresh water and food all day, cleaning out their coop at least once a week, and watching for potential problems and keeping them healthy. And if you go anywhere for more than a few days at a time, you will have to find someone (and possibly pay them) to watch your chickens for you (adding more money to your price of eggs). But all this is not to say that I am telling anyone not to get (or rent) chickens. I love my chickens! I am delighted to have them and would highly recommend anyone getting them. But not because it is a fad, or because you’re going to get “free” eggs. If you have been contemplating adding chickens to your repertoire, I say go for it! Not because egg prices are up now. They could very well come down by the time you even get your first egg. But just because now is as good a time as any. And if you are not sure if you are going to like it, then renting may well be a good option for you to start out. It might also be a good choice for you if you would just like your kids to enjoy raising baby chicks and experiencing the fun of caring for chickens and collecting (and eating) fresh eggs, without the long-term commitment of buying (or building) your own coop and chickens. If you really like it (and fall in love with your fluffy-butted girls, which you surely will), then I think most of the rental companies give you the option to buy the whole set up at the end of the rental. So, should you rent-a-chicken? If you are being realistic about it, and not just thinking you are getting free eggs to offset the high supermarket cost, then absolutely! It’s not just about the eggs. Chickens are full of personality and make delightful pets. They are funny girls and a hoot to watch as they go about their business, full of curiosity and charm. I think you will love it! I know my family does! A long, long time ago, after the birth of her third child, Victoria made the life-changing decision to leave the work world behind and devote herself to being a full-time mom and homemaker. Along with her new title of Domestic Engineer, she took on the role of the Chief Home Economist for the family. At first, it was scary to try to live on less than half their income, but Victoria found that she not only rose to the challenge but thrived in the enjoyment of learning to live their best life with limited resources. She embraced this new frugal lifestyle of the at-home-mom and went on to add a fourth child to the mix. And their family was complete. Along the way she acquired a great deal of wisdom in how to not only avoid debt, but pay off mortgages early, buy cars for cash, travel on a shoe-string budget, and send kids to college with no student loans, all while also saving a tidy nest egg for retirement. She currently educates others in these skills through her business Bright Future. Now living the life of a modern homesteader in the Hudson Valley, New York, Victoria has added gardening to her list of skill sets as she grows many of her own vegetables to supplement her family’s primarily vegan diet. And she has come to realize that this waste-not, want-not, carbon-friendly, sustainable life she is living is not only benefiting her own family but also our Mother Earth, and that each of us has the obligation to live a responsibly sustainable life not only for ourselves, but for the greater good of our community, and our planet. We can all do this one household and backyard at a time. We are the world! And it all begins right at home. Victoria can be reached at brightfuture2budget4@gmail.com

By Bonnie Fishman / San Francisco Bay Area A truer statement couldn’t be made at a more appropriate time than now. In 1965, the composing duo, Burt Bacharch (who passed away last week at 94) and Hal David, gave this song to legendary singer, Dionne Warwick to record and it has since become an anthem for us all. This is Valentine’s Week and the world really needs a little more love. There is so much hate and strife around the globe. Here in California, we recently had a week of four mass murders in our state. These tragic occurrences have become so commonplace that feathers seem barely ruffled. Innocent people were gunned down. Can we even let that sink in or is it too horrific to contemplate, especially day after day? How about the constant bombings and hand-to-hand combat all over the world? I can’t even imagine what life must be like in say, Ukraine. Peace seems so elusive. There seems to be an unending litany of hateful rhetoric all over social media, TV news, and print publications. Our previous president made it acceptable (and even preferred) to spout these evil statements. Were those thoughts in people’s minds and hearts all along and now it is simply okay to say them out loud? Pretty scary stuff. Bringing it closer to home in our own personal worlds, we ask ourselves, where can we bring love into our lives? Where can we give more love? Valentine’s Day has mostly been regarded as a time to celebrate loving relationships between amorous partners. Should we stop there? I’d like the holiday to be more inclusive. I’ve given some thought to being more kind and loving to the people within my circle. Sometimes, when I have an encounter with a grouchy cashier, I want to ask, “Would it kill you to be nicer?” Instead, I keep my mouth shut, lavish them with kindness and say to myself, they must be having a hard time. I attend two different community groups a week that focus on loving kindness. One is a meditation at a nearby Thai Buddhist monastery. I wish they could take their show on the road! It’s all about getting in touch with your own light and love and sending that out in the world. The other is a group where people learn to listen to one another and support each other in their troubles with a loving hand. We, as parents, try to teach our children to be kind to others. Every night at the end of NBC Nightly News, I wait for Lester Holt to say, “Please take care of yourself and each other.” Such a great sign-off. I remember when I was a child on Valentine’s Day, Mom would buy books of valentines. We would punch them out, maybe do a little assembling, and address one to each kid in the class, whether they were your friend or not. When my children were kids, I would buy boxes of valentines. Everyone in the class received a bag full of valentines when they left school that day. What a sweet tradition. Where does all that hate out there in the world begin? According to the Smithsonian magazine, Richard Cadbury began in 1861 putting cupids and rosebuds on heart-shaped boxes: “Even when the chocolates had been eaten, people could use the beautiful boxes to save such mementos as love letters.” When my children were school age, we would take a vacation to a warmer clime each February during spring break. It often coincided with Valentine’s Day. I would do some careful shopping and stuff a red bag instead of a heart box for each kid to have on the plane to remind them what a loving time this was. The chocolate candies in the bags sure made for a pleasant trip. What would Valentine’s Day be without chocolate? To celebrate inclusion this holiday, I’m making a Chocolate Bread Pudding that serves eight so that you can share your love. It is particularly delicious served warm with vanilla ice cream or Chantilly cream. Go all in! Tell us here at The Insider what chocolate dessert you are making for your beloved friends and family. And please, have a sweet day! Chocolate Bread Pudding Yield: 8 servings 3 lg. eggs, separated, room temperature 3 oz. sugar + 2 oz. sugar 1 1/2 tsp. vanilla extract 1 1/2 tsp. instant coffee powder 1/2 tsp. cinnamon 1 c. heavy cream 1 oz. unsalted butter, cut into pieces 6 oz. bittersweet or semi-sweet chocolate, chopped 1/2 lb. loaf egg bread (do not trim crust) cut into 3/4” cubes (@ 5 cups) Spray a 1 1/2-quart shallow baking dish or casserole with pan release.  Reserve. Place yolks in large mixing bowl.  Whisk in 3 oz. sugar, vanilla, coffee powder, and cinnamon.  Bring cream and butter to a simmer in a heavy medium-size saucepan over medium to high heat, stirring frequently.  Gradually whisk hot cream into yolk mixture, a little at a time to temper the eggs.  Add chocolate and whisk until melted and smooth. Beat egg whites in another bowl to soft peaks.  Gradually beat in remaining 2 oz. sugar.  Beat until stiff but not dry.  Fold beaten egg whites into chocolate mixture in 3 additions. Add bread and toss to coat evenly.  Transfer mixture to prepared dish.  Let stand 30 minutes.  Cover pudding with foil.  Bake in 325° oven until set, about 40-45 minutes.  Cool pudding slightly before serving. Bonnie Fishman attended the Cordon Bleu Cookery School in London. Later, she owned and operated Bonnie’s Patisserie in Southfield, Mich. and Bonnie’s Kitchen and Catering in Bloomfield Hills, Mich. She has taught cooking for over 35 years and created hundreds of recipes. She is now living in Northern California.

By John Rolfe / Red Hook, N.Y. How absolute is your right to use lethal force in self-defense? Should you be free to kill under any and all circumstances in which you feel threatened? Dr. Brian H. Williams, a trauma surgeon and professor at the University of Chicago Medical School, recently wrote a thought-provoking opinion piece on laws that enable citizens to use firearms with few restrictions or liabilities, even if they can escape to safety. “These laws promote vigilante justice, needless escalation of interpersonal conflicts, and are an increasing threat to public health and safety,” Williams wrote. “Stand-your-ground laws must be repealed.” Williams, the author of the forthcoming book The Bodies Keep Coming: Dispatches from a Black Trauma Surgeon on Racism, Violence, and How We Heal (Sept.) cites a report by the nonpartisan think tank RAND Corporation that found Stand-Your-Ground increases firearm-related homicides while annually causing more deaths than all mass shootings combined. Twenty-five states now allow private citizens to kill or wound others in perceived situations of personal threat. The most notorious case remains the 2012 fatal shooting of 17-year-old Trayvon Martin by George Zimmerman in Sanford, Fla. The incident, in which neighborhood watch captain Zimmerman confronted and shot Martin, made Zimmerman a celebrated hero of the political right, which strongly favors Stand-Your-Ground as a vital personal freedom. In another major case, Ahmaud Arbery, a 25-year-old jogger, was suspected by residents of a South Georgia neighborhood of burglarizing a house under construction in 2020. Two local men chased him and shot him to death during the struggle that ensued. The pursuers claimed they felt threatened during the confrontation but were later convicted of a federal hate crime. Arbery was found to have been at the house in question but surveillance video suggested he was merely there seeking water. Other people had also been there illegally. Both Martin and Arbery were Black. Zimmerman is Hispanic. Arbery’s killers were White, and their conviction was unusual. “An analysis of Department of Justice statistics by the Urban Institute found that if the shooter is White and the victim is Black, that shooting is deemed justified five times more often than if the situation is reversed,” Williams wrote. “Stand-your-ground laws place Black Americans at increased risk of violence, death, and criminality due to firearms.” It’s painfully obvious that, if given the chance, frightened or angry people will resort to unnecessary violence, especially if having a gun feeds their sense of power. According to Williams, “Most uses of stand-your-ground laws are actually an escalation of interpersonal differences, and one study of cases in Florida for which stand-your-ground was used as a defense found that the majority (79%) of shooters could have retreated to safety.” “Brute force first” is often the go-to option for the police, as the killings of Tyre Nichols in Memphis and Brionna Taylor in Louisville (to name just two) demonstrate. Many cities have created special law enforcement groups like the now-disbanded Scorpion Unit in Memphis to patrol and crack down on crime in hot-spot neighborhoods. Too often those units are encouraged by their commanders to be tough on suspects and the officers feel a sense of impunity, which increases the likelihood of them using unnecessary force. Cops in Huntington Park, California are under fire for shooting and killing a knife-wielding double amputee who was trying to flee on his leg stumps. Watching the video, one wonders why it was necessary to riddle the suspect with 10 bullets. Even if he was dangerous (he’d attacked and seriously wounded a man), did cops really have no other alternative in this case? Fortunately, public outcry and protests are forcing many police departments to revamp their training to include more de-escalation tactics. These are used by law enforcement officers in the UK, who do not carry guns. If you want to watch them in action, check out the TV series “999: What’s Your Emergency?” You’ll be amazed by how they can defuse volatile situations and subdue agitated, dangerous people without resorting to force. America badly needs to embrace the value of de-escalation and nonviolence. The worst manifestation of our violence-as-solution mindset is the deadly January 6, 2021 siege of the Capitol, which the Republican Party claims was merely “legitimate political discourse.” Unfortunately, the GOP keeps pushing for less restrictions on gun ownership in an angry, divided country already flooded with millions of easily-available weapons. In Missouri, the state’s Republican-controlled House voted down a measure that would ban minors from openly carrying weapons in public without adult supervision. Go ahead. Read that sentence again. On Feb. 3, the Fifth Circuit Court of Appeals overturned a federal law that forbids the subjects of restraining orders for domestic abuse from possessing guns. Never mind that women are five times more likely to be killed by abusive partners with access to a firearm. It boggles the rational mind that an ostensibly civilized country would allow anyone anywhere to own guns without permits or training or even a reliable record of responsible, rational behavior. As a school bus driver, I am required to pass a background check, be fingerprinted and regularly tested for drug use, pass written exams and road tests, and undergo weeks of training with annual refreshers. This is all for the sake of safety. But guns? Ours is an irrational society besotted by violence. It’s telling that the Wild West chapter of America’s history holds a certain “romance” as an era of great personal freedom and rugged self-reliance. It was a time when people felt free to settle disputes with firearms and shoot first, ask questions later. Just like now. John Rolfe is a former senior editor for Sports Illustrated for Kids, a longtime columnist for the Poughkeepsie Journal/USA Today Network, and author of The Goose in the Bathroom: Stirring Tales of Family Life. His school bus drivin’ blog “Hellions, Mayhem and Brake Failure” is parked on his website Celestialchuckle.com (https://celestialchuckle.com) with the meter running.

Fred Plotkin, a pleasure activist and passionate Italy and culinary expert, speaks each Friday with leading people in the arts FRED PLOTKIN is one of America’s foremost experts on opera and has distinguished himself in many fields as a writer, speaker, consultant and as a compelling teacher. He is an expert on everything Italian, the person other so-called Italy experts turn to for definitive information.  Fred discovered the concept of "The Renaissance Man" as a small child and has devoted himself to pursuing that ideal as the central role of his life. In a “Public Lives” profile in The New York Times on August 30, 2002, Plotkin was described as "one of those New York word-of-mouth legends, known by the cognoscenti for his renaissance mastery of two seemingly separate disciplines: music and the food of Italy." In the same publication, on May 11, 2006, it was written that "Fred is a New Yorker, but has the soul of an Italian."