Michael Hinko Jr

 Given the opportunity, kids will be kids. We owe them that opportunity.   Dieng Plateau, Indonesia.

 Here's a YouTube video, a two-minute montage of the Hinko Family enjoying food. https://youtu.be/DezXAhG8W64 If you want to know what's cooking, visit the Hinko Family Recipes blog.

 Grandma Hinko immigrated from Ukraine when she was a teen. Her role in the family was to cook. She was rarely seen outside of her kitchen. Even had a kitchen at the cottage in the Indiana Dunes. And a smokehouse for sausage. Her daughter Marie had to go over and clean the house because Grandma was busy cooking. Grandma filled big blue roaster pans with stuffed cabbages, pierogis, etc and my bachelor uncle and my grandfather would fill the car with pans and drive to the homes of the other family members to drop off food and, always, two 10” pies. Just in case we might have a hunger attack later in the day. Ha. She also had a garden and grew poppies. Then she would save the seed pods and use the seeds to make poppy seed cake. Oh, and she also baked huge loaves of bread! I inherited the garden/cooking gene.  Grandma Sabina Hinko in her kitchen with Grandpa John Hinko

  According To Me At Age Seven In 1962. In October of 1962, the Soviet Union, whatever that is, started to deliver missiles - which is a type of rocket, but without an astronaut - to Cuba, an island near Florida. We knew this because earlier in the evening President Kennedy came on TV, on all the channels at the same time, and spoke in a serious voice.  I already had an idea it was going to be about serious stuff because Dad came home from work early and we had early dinner and then we all went into the living room to watch President Kennedy. All of this was way different than the usual evening. Dad never came home from work early, he was always a little late. And after we ate dinner, my two older sisters would take turns on the telephone, calling their friends, while my younger sister and I would play. But here we all were in the living room, watching President Kennedy. I wasn’t sure I understood what the President was telling us. I looked over at my dad and I could tell I’d ...

 My uncle, Nick “Corky” Hinko, was a Chicago cop. For his entire career he ran right into the middle of the trouble. Think about that. We would seek to distance ourselves from such situations. But his job was to be right there, trying to protect us from the bad guys. See how big he looks standing next to his police car? That’s not a camera trick. If you were in a tough spot, Corky would be the guy you’d want to see rolling up. This short piece isn’t about the battle between the cops and the bad guys. You can find a mile high stack of stories about that. This is about Corky. Getting ready for a day’s or a night’s work, Corky would put on the uniform and pack his belt with the gun, the bullets, the nightstick, the sap, the handcuffs, the notepad and pens, the jacket and cap. He’d grab his lunch and thermos of coffee and head out to whatever that day would bring. Day after day, sweltering summers, freezing winters, he was there for the people of Chicago, to serve and protect. At the e...

  ...west of Chiang Dow, north of Chiang Mai. October 8, 1983 I’m certainly ‘away from it all’ now. The Shan people, my guide explained, are the most civilized of the tribes we will visit. They have a written language, as exhibited in the ‘Shan Book,’ a collection of writings centered on their history and Shan Buddhism. Tonight we sleep in the former head chief’s house; a pretty nice place, actually. There’s no furniture, but it is clean, dry and built of solid teak - even teak shingles on the roof. Our guide is now cooking dinner in a wok over an open fire. Earlier I bathed in a nearby stream - sure felt good. Time to eat. Rice, Shan beans and chilis. Shan beans are white beans steamed soft, rolled into a paste and dried over a fire. They taste like some soybean snacks I’ve had.     I really feel I’m in a different environment. Up till now there was always something I could identify as related to my lifestyle; an electric light, a bed, radio, something. Right now I’m rec...

 I'm scanning family photos from the 1950s and 1960s. It's fun to look back. It's also a keen look inside early 1960s middle class life. My family lived in Chicago's Roseland neighborhood. A lot of the homes were owned by guys working in heavy industry jobs; U.S. Steel South Works, Republic Steel, Sherwin Williams, many others. Union jobs that paid a wage allowing families to live in a middle class neighborhood. That all came to a screeching halt when heavy industry shut its doors, and the nearby neighborhoods fell apart. Horrible urban decay. A young activist named Barack Obama looked at the decline of Roseland and decided to do something about it. Roseland has come back around. Not completely, but Obama pointed people in the right direction. I still watch what's going on in Roseland, and wish them better days.

 October 17, 1983 I'm sitting atop a Buddhist temple built in 1218 AD. In front of me is the Irrawaddy River. And all around lies a sea of 11th Century temples; 250 temples and pagodas in a 46 square mile area - perhaps the most significant archaeological site in Southeast Asia (I have to interject the humorous comment from my travel companion, "This looks just like your apartment in Lincoln Park.") Inside these temples are massive figures of Buddha; some constructed of wood & gold leaf, others of stone, masonry, plaster. Also inside are fresco paintings depicting Buddha's life, and life in general.

Commentator Cokie Roberts talks about the history of generals in White House roles. I asked my question at the 2 minute 15 second point in the segment.

My sister reminded me of my friendship with the garbage man who came through our alley in Chicago once a week. This must have been before I started kindergarten, otherwise I wouldn't have been able to be out there each time the truck rolled by. I was fascinated by the way the truck's mechanism brought a huge metal blade down to scrape away the garbage, sending it to the interior of the truck. I got to know one of the crew members on the truck. He greeted me each week and talked with me while he dumped our garbage into the truck. One week I invited him to have dinner with our family. He accepted. I can't remember whether I first ran that by my mom. Anyway he came over. We had salmon patties. He was very well mannered, courteous and friendly. He belonged to a south side church, and he gave me a Christian friendship ring. It is inscribed, "Love One Another."

 Hog slaughtering day in the Lahu tribal village. The old man asks for a larger share of the hog meat. The tribal chief explains to the old man that he doesn't work as much as some of the younger members of the village, so he gets a smaller share of the meat.

  A hodge podge of photographs taken across several decades .

  Photographs of a 1983 trip to Southeast Asia .

  Portraits of Donna Michels

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 https://hinkofamilyrecipes.blogspot.com/

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  It's no secret to those who know me; I hate shopping. I'll put off a trip to the store for as long as possible, and beyond. But yesterday I buckled under the pressure of a household in short supply and a shopping list that was creeping toward the margins of the scrap of paper. I went to the store. Afterward I calmed myself with a walk around the neighborhood, including Monona Terrace. The weather forecast predicted rain. My hope was that it would hold off long enough to accommodate my outing. It did, and the skies offered me this beautiful sight. And now I don't have to shop for ... an extraordinarily long length of time.