The well-fed good old days.

Funny thing. Happened. On the way to maturity. I became a Chicago Cubs fan. I can’t go a day. During the baseball season. Without bringing the dear Cubs into my life. Doesn’t matter. Whether they are in first place. Or last place. Good or bad. I’m addicted to the Cubs. Spent many of my teen years. At Wrigley Field. In the bleachers. When the price of admission was 60 cents. My brother Bruce, too. Was addicted. We hopped a bus on Cermak Road, then transferred to the elevated and the subway.  And off we went. From west side suburban Berwyn. With a hearty lunch. Packed by Aunt Martha. Yes, we stayed with Aunt Martha and Uncle Fred. For complete home stands. Those were the days. When we lived for the Cubs. But really. There was something better. Now that I reminisce. Aunt Martha’s Bohemian home cooking.  Fruit dumplings. Kolaches. Yes, I was addicted to pastries. And sausages and sauerkraut, too. My mouth still waters.  From the thought of those well-fed good old days.  --Jim Broede