“Resume Roulette”

c. 2017 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(7-17)

“Nine months retired. It is a reality which I ponder over morning coffee and with the final brew savored long after dark. Unexpected unemployment. A life pause. Time for my tired physical frame to rest. While my cerebral cells gather to compute a way to survive this temporary tempest. No income, no insurance. No work schedule. No responsibilities. No call-back date. No reflection in the mirror. My familiar self is gone. Instead, I see the image of an old fellow with a Jim Beam Poker cap and a scruffy goatee. Happy to be off the wage-slave treadmill, yet sobered by the need to return. For a little while. Because… because I am not yet old enough to count myself as being officially retired. If it were a book, I would title it ‘How to stay alive at 55.’ A guide for those lost in the shuffle of business downsizing.”

A recent day in the home office caused me to think of such things, while working on a condensed version of my personal resume. A document for use on Internet employment websites. A brief calling card to attract attention, with the obvious desire to get a face-to-face follow-up and interview.

My yield was a message ready to send into cyberspace with hope and courage:

From: Rod Ice

Re: Resume

Contact: icewritesforyou@gmail.com

Work Experience:

33 years, retail. A veteran of American Seaway Foods, Fisher’s Big Wheel, Kresse’s Bi-Rite, Janco/B.R. Johnson Maintenance, Rini-Rego Stop-n-Shop, Giant Eagle, CVS Pharmacy. Store management and various duties.

35 years, professional writing. Veteran of The Ithaca Times (Ithaca, NY), Biker Lifestyle Magazine (Redondo Beach, CA), The Geauga County Maple Leaf and Gazette Newspapers. Founder, The Geauga Independent.

Education:

Cornell University Learning Web apprenticeship (1978-1980)

Riser Foods (Rini-Rego) QEI Program

Published Books:

Thoughts At Large (First ten years collection), The Cat And The Strat, Popcorn Season, Who Is Carrie Hamglaze?, Biker Lifestyle – And Beyond.

Blogs:

Thoughts At Large – chardonthoughtsatlarge.blogspot.com

Words On The Loose – wordsontheloose62.blogspot.com

After nine months, I had managed to garner four interviews and no job offers. It was a sobering experience. Lowered expectations did not bring much in additional opportunities. I started to consider more menial employment, simply for the sake of maintaining my connection to the workforce. And some personal sense of dignity. But the result did not change.

Beginning an online newspaper helped bolster my feeling of self-worth. It was a project long ago considered, when I did not have enough free time to act on the idea. Something often discussed with fellow journalistic veteran Mary Malloy Bramstedt, when we reflected on Chardon’s late and lamented ‘Weekly Mail’ newspaper. As a writer, this action created a needed sense of value. It caused me to bring other wordsmiths into the fold, other voices to speak about life in our county. But, it made no money. So I soon returned to the routine of scanning job listings until my eyes grew weary.

I remember a bit of advice that came from my New York friend Paul Race Jr. in distant times: “If you’re going to bust your ass, you might as well do it for money.” He was a talented fellow with three college degrees. Yet he always seemed to be stuck as a laborer lost in the corporate maze. Never quite able to rise through the ranks as he should have done.

My own situation was locked in a pattern of business sale or closure. I had dependably managed to lose my job every six to seven years, for over three decades. This meant that I reached middle age with a varied and colorful resume, yet without the seniority or perks that friends in other careers had enjoyed. It was not an accomplishment worthy of celebration. Career Builder, Monster, Indeed, Ohio Means Jobs… I signed up with all of the familiar websites. My profile on LinkedIn got plenty of notice. But at the end of the day, I remained on the sidelines.

On the bench. No game action. Just a head full of memories and a heart full of determination.

The condensed resume offered one more avenue for advertising my skills. And it constituted another writing project, something I always desired. A new sword for battle. A new standard to bear crossing over into uncharted lands. A symbol of resolve. I had crafted my weapon carefully.

Now, it was time to rejoin the hunt.

Comments or questions may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com

Write us at: P.O. Box 365 Chardon, OH 44024

Published weekly in the Geauga Independent

“House Call”

c. 2017 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(7-17)

It was a slow day at the Icehouse home office.

I had been struggling to find a column idea for the ‘Geauga Independent’ since daybreak. But with some sense of resignation, I realized that all of my creative ideas had been tapped out and used. Even the subject of fried bologna recipes did not move the meter. Nothing useful came from the ether. I was an empty vessel. Spent. Gone dry.

An Internet search yielded little relief. Until it linked to an odd tidbit of information – the switchboard number for 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. Literally, the White House number. My interest was piqued. In an age of Twitter tweets and Snapchat screen caps and instant communication of all sorts, would a live person still answer the phone in Washington, D.C. as in days of yore?

I made a pot of coffee. Carefully, I punched in the number on my cell phone. What follows is a transcript of the conversation that ensued:

WHITE HOUSE: “Hello, may I direct your call?”

ME: “This is Rod Ice, from Thompson, Ohio. I am a newspaper journalist and would like to speak with President Trump, please...”

WHITE HOUSE: (Clearing her throat) “Sir, you can’t just call up and talk to Mr. Trump. It doesn’t work that way. I would suggest holding for the communications office. I can forward your call...”

ME: “Sorry, I did not understand your remark. President Trump is a public servant, correct? He was elected by the people and serves at their pleasure. So in a sense, I am one of his bosses. Please ask him to come to the phone, would you?”

WHITE HOUSE: (Coughing) “Sir, we do not appreciate ‘crank calls’ on this line. I am hanging up now...”

ME: “Wait! Wait! This isn’t a joke, ma’am. I would like to speak with our chief executive as a local writer from the Midwest. He was just out here, in Youngstown. Surely he has a couple of minutes to devote to someone from the heartland?”

WHITE HOUSE: “I am hanging up now...”

ME: “No! Not yet! Give me a chance! I would like to ask about the administration’s inability to get things done in Washington.”

WHITE HOUSE: “Mr. Trump is not a politician, sir.”

ME: “I think that has been very clearly established.”

WHITE HOUSE: “That is why voters chose him over ‘Crooked Hillary.’ He brings a breath of fresh air to this town.”

ME: “One would think that an across-the-board political stalemate would render stale air. But I digress. I would like to ask him if he expects to achieve anything beyond issuing executive orders and making a pick for the supreme court?”

WHITE HOUSE: “Sir, I answer telephones here. I do not comment on policy goals of the administration.”

ME: “That is why I asked to speak with President Trump personally.”

WHITE HOUSE: “He does not have time to talk with everyday citizens. I am sorry!”

ME: “So, he can seek my vote but not answer a phone call?”

WHITE HOUSE: “I am the switchboard operator. I answer when you ring.”

ME: “Great. Then patch me through to the Oval Office, please!”

WHITE HOUSE: “This must be Lawrence O’Donnell from MSNBC, right? Trying to garner some better ratings for this week’s shows? I have to say that your tactics aren’t very creative...”

ME: “Ma’am, I am a journalist from Geauga County, Ohio!”

WHITE HOUSE: “Gee-hooga? You made that up, right? Did Rachel Maddow help you with that name?”

ME: “My name is Rod Ice. I am with an online newspaper called ‘The Geauga Independent.’ From Thompson, Ohio.”

WHITE HOUSE: “From Gee-hooga County. Right. That sounds like the horn on a Model T Ford...”

ME: “Ma’am, it is GEAUGA County. From the native word for raccoon.”

WHITE HOUSE: “Look, these pranks by you people from ‘The Huffington Post’ are really tiresome. Hanging up now...”

ME: “Wait! Please! Give me five minutes with President Trump and I’ll never call you again.”

WHITE HOUSE: “Tell Chris Hayes that he looks like Maddow’s little brother.”

ME: “Ma’am, I do not work for MSNBC. I write for a newspaper.”

WHITE HOUSE: “An online newspaper?”

ME: “That’s right. Actually, I am the editor. So you might say that I work for myself. Ultimately, I work for our readers, as Mr. Trump works for the citizens of the United States. Does that make sense?”

WHITE HOUSE: “Anything makes more sense than wasting ten minutes of my time speaking with a fake reporter from MSNBC! Hanging up I say...”

ME: “Wait! Wait, I beg you! All I ask is five minutes with the president. He isn’t a king, after all. Not even a business CEO any longer. He is our nation’s highest public servant. Do you get the meaning of public service?”

WHITE HOUSE: “What I ‘get’ is the telephone when it rings.”

ME: “And you have done an admirable job of lifting the receiver. Now patch me through to the Oval Office and we’ll be good.”

WHITE HOUSE: “May I suggest that you watch the daily press briefing...”

ME: “Since Sean Spicer stepped down, those have been considerably less entertaining.”

WHITE HOUSE: “Sir, we are not here for entertainment.”

ME: “I know. You are there to answer the phones.”

WHITE HOUSE: “Correct.”

ME: “Your job is done. Connect me with Mr. Trump, please.”

WHITE HOUSE: “Sir, if anyone could just call up and speak to him, we’d have real chaos in this office.”

ME: “More chaos than with you people in charge?”

WHITE HOUSE: “Hanging up, Mr. MSNBC...”

ME: “Don’t touch that button! I am a concerned citizen and a professional writer. It is your duty to let me speak with the leader of our country. Your patriotic duty!”

WHITE HOUSE: (Laughing) “Rachel Maddow knows how to pen a good script. This is going to be on her program tonight, I’d bet.”

ME: “I have never met Ms. Maddow.”

WHITE HOUSE: “Right. I bet you’ve never met Senator Franken. Or Senator Schumer. Or anyone from ‘Daily Kos’ right?”

ME: “Ma’am, for the last time, I am a newspaper journalist from northeastern Ohio. And officially, a Libertarian.”

WHITE HOUSE: “Have a good day then, Mr. Ohio. Hanging up now. Hanging up!”

My attempt at reaching the Oval Office failed. But true success came from breaking through the barrier of ‘writer’s block’ that had taken hold. No longer was it a boring day in the Icehouse home office.

Now, it was time to write my column!

Comments or questions about ‘Words on the Loose’ may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com

Write us at: P.O. Box 365 Chardon, OH 44024

Published weekly in the Geauga Independent

“Fast Food Politics”

c. 2017 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(7-17)

Libertarian.

One cannot even speak this term in America without evoking all sorts of conflicting emotions, hasty conclusions, misguided thoughts and bias. It is a label of sorts that seems to tear at the fabric of our stilted political reality.

One or the other. But nothing more.

A week or two before Election Day, one of my friends observed that she wished we had other choices for the White House than Mrs. Clinton or Mr. Trump. When I pointed out that indeed, Americans did have other candidates to select, her reaction was pure wonder.

“There are other parties?” she gasped. “Really?”

Her naive response sounded sad, but genuine. For this writer, familiarity with political groups of all sorts was something I have worked to develop. But for many, everyday citizens, real knowledge about the process has been lacking. Quiet censorship by media outlets who televise scripted debates that are controlled by the major parties does not aid in educating the masses.

While some fear Russian involvement in the recent election, few seem to realize that our ‘duopoly’ of red and blue barely surpasses the tight-reigned governance of their distant model.

The United States is controlled by a system based on ‘fast food’ logic of the 1960’s. McDonald’s or Burger King. Two options that are the same, yet different. But not really different. Want a quick submarine sandwich? Maybe a speedy taco? Or a chicken creation? Many nations in the civilized world offer such choices in their versions of the democratic model. But here at home, we believe in something more akin to the old Soviet system. One-party rule, plus one.

You may have a burger. Or if you like, a burger!

In terms of media coverage, the Libertarian Party barely exists between national elections. Only when there is a contest for the White House, and the result of big-money control seems briefly in doubt, do most media outlets mention its existence. Democrats and Republicans chide those who dare to think of alternative choices at the voting booth. Each side, right and left alike, are certain that the LP has no power other than to help their opponents win elections. The major parties fight ballot access for anyone outside of their circle. Why? Controlled lives matter.

The red and yellow clown, or the smiling king. Choose wisely, dear friends!

Libertarians are suspected of wearing tinfoil hats. Of dancing to the music of tone-deaf, experimental composers. Of taking notes during every Alex Jones broadcast. Of longing for a nation without dependable roads and bridges, or the U. S. Postal Service. Of worshiping in secret, offering praise to the saints of obscure religious sects. Of home-schooling children with the intent to build a citizen militia capable of wreaking havoc. Of believing in and spreading rumors on social media.

Of choosing a mixed-up, political salad over a simple burger.

The election of 2016 offered compelling evidence that our two-party system does not serve any useful purpose. It was an example of the need for change like no other. Yet most Americans simply turned left or right in the predictable paths of yesteryear. Once again, after complaining about the ‘status quo’ voters endorsed the very habits they claimed to despise.

Presidential candidate Gary Johnson did not help the cause, by displaying a lack of foreign-policy knowledge that would embarrass a child in grade school. Media pundits, already entrenched in promoting business as usual, pounced on his gaffes.

We were all poorer as a result.

The recent election of Donald Trump stood decorum on its head. But his chaotic term may actually be productive, going forward. The ‘Cheeto in Chief’ has helped to highlight the divided nature of not only the nation, but also of Republican politics. While extremists seem willing to endorse nearly anyone in their quest to control the party, and win elections, those who consider issues with more care have been moved to ponder a vigorous third group. One without the scent of cultural fascism. One with a more Libertarian outlook.

In domestic politics, money matters. The ability to raise funds and dependably turn out voters is a skill possessed by both the Democrats and their rivals in the GOP. A centrist effort borrowing some of that talent could finally offer citizens a real choice on Election Day.

Something besides the same old burger, topped with different condiments.

Comments or questions about ‘Words on the Loose’ may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com

Write us at: P.O. Box 365 Chardon, OH 44024

Published weekly in the Geauga Independent

“Lay Your Hands”

c. 2017 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(7-17)

“This old life seemed much too long

With little point in going on

I couldn’t think of what to say

Words just vanished in the haze

I was feeling cold and tired

Yeah kinda sad an uninspired

But when it almost seemed too much

I see your face

And sense the grace

And feel the magic in your touch

Oh lay your hands

Lay your hands on me...”

- The Thompson Twins (Bailey/Currie/Leeway-1984)

Trump.

So much has been written about the man that even rendering his name in print seems useless. Is it possible that anything new could be contributed by this act? Even for a professional writer bolstered with the inertia of good intentions? To conclude in the affirmative stands reality on its head. If ever there were an American personality completely drowning in ink, it is that of DJT. His life as a thrill-seeker has been documented to the point of hysteria. Perhaps no other figure in our culture has drawn such energy from his detractors. Like an alien beast, he seems to feed off hatred and controversy. Poison darts that would kill mortal men only fortify his blood. Reason and decorum are negated in his world by the appetite for publicity. Does he have any genuine core philosophy? Is he a man of faith?

This question echoed in my head when I saw a photograph of evangelical ministers prayerfully laying their hands on him, in the Oval Office. The image provoked a sort of personal introspection for which I was unprepared.

My childhood was spent growing up in a conservative household that followed traditions of the non-denominational ‘Church of Christ.’ From a young age, I received instruction in carefully avoiding even the appearance of evil. (1 Thessalonians 5:22) I was taught to forego the use of instrumental music during formal worship. (Ephesians 5:19) I learned to focus on eternity rather than the fleeting wealth of mortal life. (Matthew 6:19-20) And I came to understand that God and man were separate in scope and intent, each with a place and purpose for humanity. (Matthew 22:21)

This careful path was clearly defined. Grandma McCray helped lead me toward fulfillment by reading the scriptures, daily.

My family did not engage in common practices like drinking beverage alcohol or dancing in public. We did not gamble. We were not promiscuous. There were no examples of alternate lifestyles, protest or self-aggrandizement. Our walk of life was a quiet journey. A prayerful trek toward salvation and away from Satan’s grasp. My paternal lineage was Republican. My maternal side, purely Democrat. But on these issues of religion, they were united. One, in the blessed hope of salvation.

As a teenager, I once drew a ‘peace sign’ on my school notebook. This act, which must have seemed to support the anti-war movement, brought parental correction. I was told to place a cross on the volume, instead. “The true sign of peace.” Later, I grew my hair long, in the ‘hippie’ style. More correction arrived from older members at church who were horrified by this look. (1 Corinthians 11:14) Duly shamed, I signed up for Air Force ROTC in junior high school. Before I could participate, however, my family moved to another state. Each step in this terrestrial voyage came with caution and forethought. With respect for the creator and his plan. (2 Timothy 2:15)

As an adult, these memories helped to provide a distant, yet enduring foundation for living. Not always one which I adhered to with literal obedience, but a series of guideposts that continued to chart my concept of right and wrong.

Then came Donald Trump.

Some in the brood urged me to vote for this controversial fellow, in 2016. An act they said would further the cause of righteous living. After the election, another family member posted an image of him receiving the tender embrace of Jesus, at the White House. This meme, on Facebook, struck me as truly incredible. I was speechless. And I suspected that DJT himself must have secretly experienced a similar sense of wonder at being supported by such people of faith. People very unlike him at the core of their character.

From the Christian Bible, I had learned that we were known by what we produce in life. (Matthew 7:16) But now, this test was apparently no longer applied. A man known for boasting (James 4:16), lies (John 8:44), adultery (Proverbs 6:32), self-interest (Philippians 2:3), abusive habits (1 Corinthians 9:18), or profiting from deceit (Job 27:4) and trickery, had suddenly become one worthy of praise. Such false teachers were foretold, even in the Bible. (2 Peter 2:1)Yet in my own faith community, debate and uncertainty had some willing to suspend the familiar teachings of Christ to endorse Mr. Trump.

And of the laying on of hands to protect him, from believers bowed in prayer.

In discussing this with my family, I tried to speak with respect. “Tell me you voted for Trump out of desperation with government. As a calculated political move. Or as a shrewd play to shake up the system. But please do not invoke God as a cause. There is no such justification. He does not, in my opinion, love you or the creator you worship. He is only concerned with taking long gazes into the mirror. And self-congratulation.”

In personal terms, I had experienced the ‘laying on of hands’ directly. When a pastor at church strayed in his conduct, we gathered at the altar to prayerfully ‘lift him up’ as a brother in need. The ritual brought some to tears. In that instance, there was obvious regret and contrition. A genuine desire to turn away from evil and sin no more. (John 8:11) President Trump seems to have never been contrite, in any circumstance. Indeed, his gospel has been one of ‘winning’ rather than submitting as a believer to the will of God. (Ephesians 5:21)

Prayers for our leaders are necessary and correct to offer. I often prayed for President Obama’s safety, for example. And for all of our leaders, of whatever partisan affiliation, to be wise in their actions. As a Libertarian believer, this was not difficult. But for Christians to publicly and vocally give their approval to one who has unashamedly lived in the interest of self, rather than the humility of Jesus?

I can only watch, and ponder what Grandma McCray would think.

Questions or comments about ‘Words on the Loose’ may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com

Write us at: P.O. Box 365 Chardon, OH 44024

Published weekly in the Geauga Independent

“Crackers + Coffee”

c. 2017 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(7-17)

I moved to Thompson in 2002.

Said more accurately, I crash-landed in this rural community after my first marriage blew apart and home became a four-wheel-drive, Ford pickup truck. Instead of counseling, I chose defiance. But the price of separation was greater than I could have imagined. Family, friends and household lost. It was a life lesson delivered with gusto. Proof of an old adage with my father liked to repeat when I navigated difficult situations:

“Actions have consequences.”

I revisited the state of being homeless, something first experienced as a young man, living under a bridge in New York. The modern twist on this condition was that somehow, I retained my position as a salaried business manager throughout this ordeal. Work responsibilities kept me focused on survival. I balanced my checkbook and wrote newspaper columns, in the office after hours, as my night crew labored away at our store.

Weeks elapsed with my credit being refused at several local banks, as I tried to finance some sort of living space. My possessions remained in limbo. I felt like a non-person. Like a political dissident, seeking asylum. My only address was the post office box that I used for the newspaper. I did not have a cell phone.

Relief came only after much embarrassment and many sleepless nights. I purchased a trailer at a distant park by the county line. It was named ‘Rustic Pines.’

My first evening on the east side of Geauga came in this empty mobile home. I had no common household fixtures. No couch or bed. No television or radio. No kitchen table. No towels or washcloths. No blankets. Not even a wastebasket. I sat in a used rocker bought from a customer at my grocery store. A box fan from Kmart provided an artificial breeze. I made a meal of Oscar Mayer ‘Little Red Smokies’ on my new George Foreman grill, acquired for ten dollars. Though bleak, the moment constituted a victory of sorts. Liberty from weeks of sleeping in my pickup or on the couch at my sister’s home. I could not have imagined that fifteen years later, my address would be the same humble patch of ground.

On a recent night, I pondered such things. And ate Oriental crackers.

Coffee came from my familiar Bunn device. The snacks were ‘Hapi’ branded, wasabi treats. I had found them at an Amish salvage store, near Middlefield. It was an improbable, yet perfect meal for 2:30 in the morning. With memories whispering from the ether, I sank in my living-room chair.

“Fifteen years… how could it possibly have been fifteen years?”

Much of my life in Thompson consisted of being away at work. Neighbors literally wondered if anyone actually lived in my trailer, because I never seemed to be home. As a store manager, I had little time for myself. When I did spend a leisure hour at home, it meant partaking of Labatt Blue in copious amounts.

Friends from work were also in the park. But I rarely shared their company. The job routine ruled my life. It provided safety from the drama of real living. And a sense of purpose.

I suddenly found myself on unemployment after a company sale, in 2006. The break offered time to pursue writing projects with greater zeal. Yet I struggled to rediscover my sense of discipline. After serving as a newspaper editor, I returned to retail management. The old habits reappeared. I lived at work. Home was once again, the place to drink beer and sleep. Neighborhood bonfires added a bit of social adventure to the mix. Still, true solace came from my place in the machinery of business. I felt useful, if empty.

This existence exploded once again, last year. Another business sale and another management reorganization occurred. The need to complete a ‘reduction in force’ (RIF) had me walking out the front door, into early retirement. At 55, I did not feel ready. But the opportunity to create an online newspaper was something I welcomed. For the first time, I was my own ‘editor-in-chief.’ I convinced fellow wordsmiths to join in the venture.

“The Geauga Independent – Free speech celebrated here!”

The approach of my Thompson anniversary provided cause for reflection. And for the overnight meal of crackers and coffee. I counted the personal milestones during that period. Two divorces. Four employers. Two newspapers. Four pickup trucks. Twice at the point of bankruptcy. Many times tempted to roll the relationship dice again. Many more times feeling relieved that I did not. Each memory helped chart my position in the continuum. Knees and left hip in decline. Mobility with a cane. Sleeping in my clothes. Dog walks by moonlight. A long farewell to the self of yonder days. A tender embrace for the middle-aged man in the mirror.

My rocker was broken now. I used it to hang baseball caps and seat a plush, M&M figure in the household collection. The Foreman grill had burned out years ago. I could not find the ‘Little Red Smokies’ anymore. Still, there was a sense that I had proved my worth by surviving. After a decade-and-a-half, my mobile home had not moved from its spot. Nor had its occupant. Like Popeye, I took strength from the fine art of being myself.

“I yam what I yam!”

Nine months into early retirement, I had relearned my editing skills. In the home office, I worked away at a new series of newspaper columns. Samples of my product went to every publication in the area. Time, at last, was an advocate. Without a schedule to keep, I wrote by moonlight and slept in the sunlight. On again/off again/on again/off again. Breakfast at midnight. Sleep in the morning. Chinese buffet for lunch. A nap for dinner. No master counted my steps.

And no voice chided me for the ill-advised pairing of Oriental crackers and Java.

Comments or questions about ‘Words on the Loose’ may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com

Write us at: P.O. Box 365 Chardon, OH 44024

Published weekly in the Geauga Independent

“The Dissident Chef Returns”

c. 2017 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(7-17)

Revolution. Born of grit and gunpowder. Or perhaps, a knife and fork?

Much has been written about the creeping control of ‘political correctness’ on our modern society. An artificial paradigm enforced with good intentions, yet often, yielding woeful results. Less talked about is the similar nature of modern dietary discipline. The march of kale, ancient grains and seaweed into kitchens across America has some thrilled with foodie glee. But those who remember a time when blue-collar habits were the norm yearn for liberty on their dinner plate. Grilling out is often ‘poo pooed’ as being unfriendly to the environment. Roasting meats is likened to swinging the truncheon in a prison camp. Creating homemade pork rinds is cause for apoplexy. Traditional diner fare must be reinvented with oats and flaxseed meal, to avoid being exorcised altogether.

Into this changing, unfamiliar world, the original ‘Dissident Chef’s Cookbook’ exploded, nearly ten years ago. It was an effort by this writer to catalog some of the culinary ideas that were loose in the ether. Like fireworks on Independence Day, each recipe offered a burst of authentic national pride and rebellion. A raised middle digit to the notion that citizens should cook only what the intelligentsia approve.

What follows here are more examples of this outlaw vibe, ready to be prepared on your stove top:

Rod’s Retirement Breakfast (My personal creation)

Ingredients -

Two eggs

Frozen burrito (Tina’s Red Hot Beef is my favorite)

Sausage links, bacon or ham

American cheese

Italian bread for toast, or hash brown patties

Vegetable oil, divided

Directions -

Prepare breakfast meat in a large skillet with oil and set aside. Fry eggs in a separate skillet with more of the oil. Meanwhile, place frozen burrito in microwave for one minute on high power. When eggs are done, fry burrito till golden brown in the remaining oil. Top burrito with American cheese when it is close to being ready. Allow to melt. Serve all with toast or hash browns as desired.

Bologna Potato Soup (Allrecipes.com)

Ingredients -

1 onion, peeled

2 cans (15 ounce) cut green beans, with liquid

1 ½ lb. Of bologna, cut into pieces

8 potatoes, peeled and cubed

4 quarts water

Salt and ground black pepper to taste

½ cup cornstarch

½ cup cold water

Directions -

Place water in a 6 quart (or larger) pot. Bring to a boil. Place whole onion and bologna into the water and boil for 30 minutes, adding more water as needed. Add potatoes and cook until tender. Remove onion and add the beans. Whisk the cornstarch and cold water together and also add. Cook until thickened. (Slice onion, reintroduce to the soup.)

Fideo With Vienna Sausages (readyseteat.com)

Ingredients -

2 tbsp. Vegetable oil

¼ cup chopped green bell pepper

¼ cup chopped yellow onion

2 small cans Vienna Sausages, drained and cut into ½ inch pieces

7 ounces dry Fideo macaroni, uncooked

1 tsp. Finely chopped garlic

3 cans (8 ounce each) tomato sauce

1 cup water

Directions -

Step One, heat 1 tbsp. oil in large skillet over medium heat. Add bell pepper, onion and sausages, cook 3 to 5 minutes or until browned. Remove from skillet; set aside.

Step Two, Add remaining 1 tbsp. oil, Fideo pasta and garlic to skillet. Stir to coat pasta with oil; cook over medium heat 1 to 2 minutes or until pasta is golden brown, stirring constantly.

Step Three, stir in tomato sauce and water; return sausage mixture to skillet. Reduce heat to medium-low; cover and simmer 10 minutes until pasta is tender.

(Note: Fideo is a short, thin strand of pasta found in Mexican or Hispanic sections of a grocery store. If unavailable, angel hair pasta, broken into short pieces, may be substituted.)

Pork Rind Pizza (food.com)

Ingredients -

8 ounces cream cheese, softened

4 large eggs

1 cup ground pork rinds

¼ cup Parmesan cheese

2 cups shredded Italian cheese

½ tbsp. Italian spices

½ tbsp. garlic powder

Directions -

Preheat oven to 425 degrees. Mix cream cheese, eggs, seasonings and Italian cheese. Mix well. Add pork rinds last. (This will be a very thick mixture.) Plop the dough onto a heavily Pam-sprayed pizza pan, or cover a pan with parchment paper. Cover with plastic wrap or a layer of wax paper and roll or pat out to edges. Bake the crust for 20 minutes, remove from oven and let stand 10 minutes. Add your favorite pizza sauce, shredded cheese and desired toppings. Bake again until bubbly. Allow to stand 10 minutes before serving.

Beer Bread (food.com)

Ingredients -

3 cups flour (sifted)

3 tsp. Baking powder (omit if using self-rising flour)

1 tsp. Salt (omit if using self-rising flour)

¼ cup sugar

1 (12 ounce) can of beer

½ cup melted butter

Directions -

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Mix dry ingredients and beer. Pour into a greased loaf pan. Pour melted butter over mixture. Bake 1 hour, remove from pan and cool for at least 15 minutes. (If you prefer a softer crust like traditional bread, mix the butter into the batter instead of pouring it over the top.)

Rod’s Retirement Nachos (Another favorite treat)

Ingredients -

1 jar cilantro salsa

1 bag of tortilla chips

1 container (16 ounce) sour cream

1 can (15 ounce) pinto beans

1 jar sliced jalapenos

1 small can of black olives, sliced

1 jar cheese salsa or queso

Hot sauce (Texas Pete or Frank’s Red Hot) as desired

Directions -

Cook pinto beans until hot. Line a dinner plate with tortilla chips. In the middle of your plate, spoon beans as a garnish. Top with the remaining ingredients, adding sour cream last. Enjoy!

Rod's Ranch Onion Dip (My recipe from the 1980's)

Ingredients -
 

1 16oz container Sour Cream (Heluva brand is best)

2-3 tablespoons Hellmann"s mayonnaise

1 pkg Ranch Salad Dressing Mix

1 pkg Campbell's Onion Soup Mix

Sprinkle of Garlic powder

Directions - 

Mix all together. Let set in fridge for several hours.

Serve

 

Political dissent has been called a sacred right of American citizens. No less important is the dissent of those who choose the less-traveled path to culinary satisfaction by concocting rowdy dishes in their home kitchens. To cook freely is to speak freely.

“Vive la resistance!”

Comments or questions about ‘Words on the Loose’ may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com

Write us at: P.O. Box 365 Chardon, OH 44024

Published weekly in the Geauga Independent

“Floor Crew”

c. 2017 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(7-17)

It was a quiet Sunday morning in Thompson.

I had nearly finished a pot of coffee, made just after daybreak. At the other end of our house, my Black Lab had taken his traditional position by the front window. Sunlight bathed his dark body. But he slumbered with no interest in greeting the day. He snored like an old man.

I was checking e-mail messages when my phone began to ring. A moment of disbelief passed quickly. It did not seem possible that anyone would waste such a moment of weekend liberty making calls. But the stored chime of a vintage rotary device sounded defiantly. When I answered, a familiar voice cheered with abandon.

“Good morning, Rodster. How are ya?”

It was erstwhile cohort Big Ralph, chief of maintenance with my last employer. A literal ‘jack of all trades.’ Gifted at learning on-the-fly. Able to do carpentry, mechanical repair, and electrical wiring, while still finding time to play the role of barbecue chef for his sons and grandchildren. I had tried to reach him two weeks ago. His busy schedule often created gaps in our stream of communication. They sometimes kept me guessing about details. Yet I knew that eventually, he would make contact.

“Hello, Ralph,” I said brightly.

“They have been riding me rough!” he explained. “And not in a good way. Lots of fixer-up projects to be done over the summer. And I can’t keep anyone on the floor crew. Would you believe that tonight, I have a homeless guy running the automatic scrubber? The poor fellow was begging in front of a McDonald’s in Lake County. I offered him a job. Can’t get people to work anymore!”

I shook my head. “That was why I called two weeks ago. About a job. A paycheck. Gas money, at least.”

“You want to work for me?” he laughed out loud.

My spirit sank into a mood of resignation. “I’ve been off work for nearly nine months now. Sending resumes everywhere. To every store in Northeastern Ohio. So far, I’ve had one interview.”

“With 30 years of management experience?” he shouted. “Horseshit! I think you’ve been drinking beer, eating Doritos and watching ESPN.”

“No, really,” I protested. “It has been a tough search. I even applied to run a Goodwill store. And tried to get hired at a car dealership.”

“Screw that!” he barked, “What about your writing?”

“None of the newspapers are hiring,” I said. “My resume has gone to every publication from here to Lorain and south to Akron and Youngstown. Plus the Cleveland-area magazines. The only one I haven’t tried yet is the old Painesville Pride. Used to get that in the mail for free, when I had a house there with my first wife. Not sure if that is printed anymore.”

“Painesville Pride?” he snorted. “Never heard of it.”

“They had the most unusual columnist I ever read. An amateur with no inhibitions. Her tagline for each week’s installment was ‘I remain Joanie, then and now.’ Like somebody’s grandma had a word processor.” My head filled with memories.

Big Ralph cleared his throat. “Well, anyway, if you really want a job with me, I’d be happy to put you on the team. But could you really do the work?”

“Yes!” I answered with confidence.

“Leaning on your cane?” he probed.

“Back in the 80’s, I would show up on Sunday morning after a night at the long-lost Chardon Beverage & Bar. The only thing that kept me vertical was the floor machine. But I got the store clean before opening.” My head bowed. “I did that kind of work with three different retail companies. In those days we were expected to handle a variety of chores.”

“I hear ya!” he smiled.

More memories filled my brain. “At Rini-Rego Stop-n-Shop, we could barely keep a porter on the crew. So there were nights where I managed the store until closing, took off my dress shirt and tie, and proceeded to run the scrubber.”

Ralph struggled to breathe. “Insane, I tell ya!”

“My money is almost gone,” I confessed. “Nobody is calling back on my resume submissions. I reckon they are too shy about hiring a middle-aged man with mobility issues. So it’s time to bite the bullet. I need work. Any kind of work...”

“Once again, I hear ya!” he agreed.

“This can last another three weeks,” I said. “Then, things will start falling to pieces. Would prefer not to end up on the street. I did that in New York, 35 years ago. Would not fare so well in my current condition.”

“Of course,” he answered, turning serious. “Rod, you’ve got a place on my crew whenever you need it. Just tell me when you want to start.”

“Three weeks from today,” I declared. “If this situation doesn’t turn around. One last roll of the dice. Hoping against hope itself. Then… I start cleaning your floors.”

“If you’re serious, come find me in Ashtabula,” he said.

My voice went hoarse. “I owe you, brother.”

Suddenly, Big Ralph leaned away from his phone. He bellowed instructions to the homeless man from Lake County. “Don’t ya get it? Lift the squeegee. You’re leaving trails all over the aisle. Pay attention, will ya?” Apparently, he needed my help no less than I needed employment.

“Take it easy, Rodster!” he shouted. “I gotta take this guy back to the McDonald’s!” The line went dead before he could say anything more.

I thumbed through pages in my unemployment notebook. Entry after entry lay open before me. I counted each week of the job search. Just like my previous experience, ten years before, it had been something of an ordeal. Only thrifty habits and a bit of good luck had made it possible to survive this long.

As Harry Chapin once sang: “All my life is a circle.”

I was about to experience that reality once again – three weeks from today.

Comments or questions about ‘Words on the Loose’ may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com

Write us at: P.O. Box 365 Chardon, OH 44024

Published weekly in the Geauga Independent