The America in Jeopardy Show

If you haven't paid much attention to where taxpayer money is going, or what we're unknowingly supporting, you're not alone.  I know, it's boring to research every shady deal; so here, in perfect 2026 communication format, is a YouTube video from Oregon's Senator Jeff Merkley, which places the Golden Goose Eggs in one basket:

America in Jeopardy, featuring participants Senators Elizabeth Warren, Chris Van Hollen and Tina Smith, is highly entertaining.
Certainly enlightening.
Definitely alarming.

Time To Ponder

It's been a couple of weeks since my mental shift, so how's it going?  Pretty well - I make a conscious decision each morning that I'll either have a good day or a crappy one, my choice.  Any time my mind drifts to unpleasant subjects or people, I nudge myself to turn off the tube or change the radio station.  I know horrible things continue to occur, but I also know I'm doomed to breathe for another 30 years so I'd better learn to deal with my reactions.

This is my Tino, who I'd hoped to introduce to all my friends and grow old with.  Didn't happen, for one year later he was gone; that was 30+ years ago.  I mention it now because last night I had a dream, something I rarely have.  I used to dream all the time - vivid technicolor movies with me being an active participant, often flying.  I could wake up several times and always return to my place in the dream, like pausing a VCR.

But finding Tino's lifeless body on the floor shocked my system such that I stopped dreaming but once in a blue moon.  I always thought that was God adding insult to injury, but what can you do?

Anyway, in my dream I got hit by the proverbial bus I keep talking about; after which I was immediately enveloped by Tino's presence, that's the only way I can describe it.  That was all, but it was enough.  Didn't care about the unfinished project nor my unsold possessions.  Nothing - not a care - just Tino's love.  That was enough to reassure me that he, and others, are waiting for me; I choose to believe.  My turn will come.  Nothing to do but keep plugging away like everyone else, but at least since I've been ordering up a good 'tude each morning, my spirit has lightened, and that's nice. Pretty easy, too; what's taken me so long?

I was going to write about things like our Patriot missile aresenal being decimated to shoot down drones; for what if our enemies decide to hit all at once?  'Caught with our pants down,' I can't be the only one thinking that; and getting rid of experienced Generals and Admirals in favor of Stepford Husbands doesn't seem like the smartest move.

People are worried about Abdul El-Sayed in the same manner others would react to Charlie Kirk being elected to the Senate.  The idea of socialists taking over the country doesn't frighten me, for there are different kinds of socialism, just like any ideology.   We've got to acknowledge that people with similar sentiments exist all over the country, and we'd better work together before we blow it all apart. 

It wouldn't be difficult to prevent if Checks and Balances still existed, but they started by getting rid of Inspectors General and worked up to the Supreme Court so that, unfortunately, we no longer seem to have anything of the sort at the top.

I also pondered to myself, "If Donald Trump dies in office, does that mean Melania will take over?  Or one of his sons?"  That's why we have the VP, you say, but will we have one in the future?

Before my, Gonna have a GOOD day - day, I spent too much time wondering about stuff like that; or how many people are going to vote for Donald's picks; how many election-deniers are in influential positions; will the Post Office deliver my ballot?  I hope I'll still be allowed to vote.

So I'll brush off my negativity and head for work, which is slow because the Canadians aren't coming down to visit and gasoline prices are so high.  Takes mucho dinero to fill a monster RV.

Was Pearl Bailey's 'Hello, Dolly!' Wokish?

The first time I saw Hello, Dolly! was in 1967; with the first all-Black production staring Pearl Bailey and Cab Calloway and let me tell you, it was fabulous. I was 12, and it made a positive impact - what could be accomplished not only by Black people but ANY person.  Here's a synopsis from Life magazine:

"The musical Hello, Dolly! made its Broadway debut in 1964 and was an instant smash with Carol Channing in the title role. Three years later, when ticket sales were starting to slump, producer David Merrick retooled with an entirely black cast that featured Pearl Bailey as the lead and Cab Calloway as her love interest. The move was such a success that it landed Bailey on the cover of LIFE. And it also drew the attention of the sitting U.S. President."

In a good way.  I didn't consider that 'wokish' back then because the word didn't exist, or at least wasn't part of our vocabulary; but my thinking was also influenced by growing up (until 8) in an inner-city neighborhood in NYC, where everyone had a different familial background.  That continued as we-all moved into the suburbs.  It certainly broadened my thinking in ways that small, relatively isolated communities don't experience in the same way so they consider new things dangerous.  Consider the times then and now.

So what if a Black actress is playing Helen of Troy?  How many White actors have played Black and Brown characters?  Think Othello.  OK, it's not too common, but why should it be?

Whenever I've asked, "What does woke mean?"  to someone who's criticizing an idea or person as being too woke, I get blank stares and some mumbo-jumbo which only magnifies their ignorance.  I looked it up just now to see what AI would provide, easy enough for anybody to do, and this sums it up:

"Origins: It builds on the older African-American Vernacular English term "woke", which meant being alert to racial prejudice. 

Modern Usage: It often refers to policies, corporate statements, or media that adopt social justice language in a mild or half-hearted way. 

Critical View: Opponents use "wokish" to dismiss trends they view as intrusive or trend-following rather than genuinely helpful."

So there you go.  I also saw Carol Channing in a Portland production of Hello, Dolly! in 1995 and she was terrific, too; a true icon.  Had a thick mask of makeup including the batty black eyelashes she was famous for, but it didn't matter.

It was her PERFORMANCE which mattered, as it should with Lupita Nyong'o's Helen.

Come on, people, let's not turn everything into a WOKE issue.  We're smarter than that.

What If An Unexpected Upset Snatched Half Your Annual Income?

Six thousand dollars may not seem like much to you, but let's put it in perspective:  what would you do if a major home repair or doctor's bill suddenly required half of your annual income?  A $25, $50 or $100,000 bill at one time, boom.  Happy Birthday.

I'm still wrapping my head around it.  I rationalized how I'd prefer the bill over a 3-year car payment, imagining how to get along without my own transportation.  A friend offered to buy me an adult tricycle, but even with 3 wheels my balance wouldn't master the challenge.  And besides, there aren't bike paths around here.

So I tighten my belt even more by not going anywhere, not doing anything, not volunteering anyplace because of gas prices (over $5 here) plus fear of more repairs.  Someone else might have to give up a child's Summer Camp; yank out teeth instead of repairing them; move.

You have my sympathies, but not the President's.  $2.2 billion is what DJT is estimated to have made last year alone.  He wants to be the richest man on the planet or at the very least the United States; but he's got a long way to go to match Elon so I don't know about you, but I'm preparing for even higher prices.

Like everyone else I'm trying to keep my spirits up in these crazy times.  Fractured families; continuing inflation; stripping away people's rights; wars, plural; he's not finished yet.  I don't care about guilded statues, ballrooms and arches - I'd rather have a bit more SNAP benefits because of increasing food prices.  Consider this assumption:  unhealthy eating leads to increased health costs, so it would be cheaper to feed us than to nurse us.

I'm on the tail-end of my 70th year, which has caused much contemplation over the  past months.  Not in a morbid way, but my time left doesn't seem as indefinite as it used to; acknowledging I could get hit by a bus tomorrow.  So I'm re-watching favorite movies, for it may be the last time I watch it; that kind of thing.

All of the aforementioned has converged at this moment to cause what I'm hoping will be a permanent mental shift.  Recently, after spending way too much time and energy being annoyed by some young Gen-whatever with a 'tude, reliving the gripe over and over, I considered,

"If this was my last day on Earth, do I want to think that I spent it contemplating revenge on someone who, in the grand scheme of things, matters to me not-in-the-least?"

Do I want my final thoughts to be worrying about what some schmuck in the Oval Office is up to, or how well I spent the day; it's up to me. I choose the latter; but I'll have to make that same decision every single morning for the rest of my life; or until it becomes a habit, which Mom always said takes 6 weeks. That's a big change that will only be accomplished through work and discipline.

Which is how I managed to change my thinking over my $6,000 car repairs.  Yesterday I bitch-slapped myself by reminding Me that if I was still in my old place - paying rent parked on someone's property or in a Section 8 shithole, scraping together every cent to make the rent Slumlords demand - I could not have surmounted the car repairs. But fortunately I cleaned up my credit rating after Bankruptcy and the IRS were finished with me, so I was able to charge a good portion on credit cards, which I didn't have back then.  There's an example of why, "People are charging more," as if it's all on frills.

Considering my situation right now, I'm MUCH better off.

So I don't live in a house with solid walls.  So I don't get to take a vacation until 2028 (I'm hoping).  So I'm back to Iceberg instead of Romaine and only eat two eggs on special occasions.  So I won't get another dog for companionship out of fear of added expenses. So I am forgotten by my own government.

What the hell, I've still got me, and that'll be good enough.

PS:  On a separate note, the 90,000 acre Grasshopper Fire in eastern Oregon is starting to blow into Canada, so does that mean they can charge us like Trump said we could charge them because of smoke in America? Ahhh...I just heard the President is pausing tariffs on Canada...

"You don't need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows."

"Failure to Control Your Dependents"

My Army husband (not him) got into hot water a number of times because of something I did or said, so I can't help wondering what's going to happen to the Naval personnel whose relatives are speaking up about poor conditions on the USS Abraham Lincoln.  Parents are different - but spouses and children - that's ostensibly under the control of the servicemember.  Here's an AI-nutshell:

"In the United States military, there is no direct criminal charge or specific Uniform Code of Military Justice (UCMJ) article titled "failure to control dependents." However, a service member can still face serious command or administrative actions if their family members break laws, violate base rules, or cause major disruptions."

One time in particular stands out (c.1983) when White Sands Missile Range, NM, hired tree trimmers to address the entire base; and they were about as good as the contractor who painted the Reflection Pool.  Men wielding chainsaws were all over the place, indiscriminately disfiguring the trees without any perceived expertise.

With Papillon-mix, Boots

Trees on the base were not plentiful so we all cherished any shade we could get out in the middle of the desert.  One Army-wife went out to ask them to please leave alone the tree newly planted in front of her quarters.  I don't know much about trees but it was a small stick with a clump on top about 7 or 8 feet tall?  They'd recently planted a bunch around the housing area.

So what does the young fellow do?  Takes his chainsaw and cuts the tree off halfway down, smiling at the lady.  That's not the only story I heard; and they weren't exactly difficult to prove.

I had two apricot trees next to one another in the backyard and I can't stand apricots.  Our first year there the trees were full of them, dropping all over the place, nasty mess.  Neighbors came by to take whatever they wanted, blech.

During the second year I became interested in canning, probably because for a year I'd heard over and over about the possibilities I was wasting.  I'd watched Mom try canning one time - the boiling water and glass jar-bit, no thanks.  Then I found a recipe for preserves you only needed to stick in the freezer after cooking, lasts 6 months; I could manage that.

But when it came time, there were no apricots.  There had been hardly any flowers but I hadn't put two-and-two together (as I say, not a horticulturist).  I was so bummed - had the jars and the know-how - then I learned that trees don't bear fruit every year.

OK, live and learn.  Third year comes around and the trees were loaded with flowers, both of 'em, just turning to fruit; when I came home from work to discover my beautiful trees had been raped.  This one in the front was hacked up somewhat but the back - all the flowering limbs were gone and my shock turned to anger - they couldn't have waited a couple of weeks - gone on to other houses then come back? (Photo: my '79 MG Midget - wasn't she a beaut?)

Anyone with a suggestion, comment (or complaint, I took it to mean) was free to call the Commanding General's Tip Line, so I did.  I gave my opinion of the workers; rebuked the Army for doing the opposite of what they asked of us: caring for the miilitary's housing; and invoking Lizzie Borden at some point.

And like the honest idiot I was (and too often still am) I identified myself and my Sponsor's info.  My memory's a bit hazy about exactly how-all that was transmitted; but I do remember hubby coming home, none too happy about being called on the carpet by his CO.  This stuff goes into their records, depending on the offense, and it wasn't the first time nor the last, unfortunately for them - I had two Ex's in the military, both deceased.

Anyway, fast-forward to today's news about the ship's terrible conditions.  I don't doubt the sailor's claims, but I also heard it was more of a problem in the beginning, when things were getting sorted out; even some of the complainers agree things got better.  Clogged toilets, bad food & water and no soap are in a separate category than what's going on inside their heads, at least to me.

I can somewhat appreciate the mental anxiety they're going through because thev've not had any shore leave and are experiencing a deep sense of isolation.  Here's my experience:

Twice, in the 1970s and 1980s, (we) were transferred to Germany for 3 year stints; 18 months for non-accompanied personnel.  Waiting for mail call was a highlight, and we used a pay phone in the mail room at really expensive rates per minute to call home - on Thanksgiving/Christmas/Special Occasions ONLY.

We had ONE television channel - Armed Forces Network (AFN) and so if you wanted to watch TV you had to sit through Hee Haw or The God Squad - a weekly 1/2 hour program with a (military) Priest and Rabbi (and maybe someone else?) offering differing points of view, really quite interesting - they should do that now.  We also suffered through terrible Public Service commercials like this photo and a voice warning, Nothing smaller than THIS. Huh????

Point being, things weren't exactly cushy then; so part of me can't help wondering if the distress so many are experiencing is the result of the conditions or the Generation?  Boy, I could get slammed for that, but Baby Boomers know what I'm talking about.

Mom on my Christmas call

We were all homesick, most of us, at different levels; and it was hard on our families back home, for all Moms want to see their babies.  My husband was often called to remain at the missile base for days on end and I wouldn't have a clue as to his well-being unless a message was passed along.  It wasn't combat but there was a constant sense that things could go wrong, and what's the first things fired off in wars?

So that's my backstory.  Still, it's not fair to compare the relatively-comfy conditions (we) experienced back then and what's happening now. However, in today's world of instant gratification, impatience with anything longer than 10 seconds and inability to communicate to an actual person, what am I to think?  What are Vietnam Veterans to think?

It's hard for servicemembers to ask for mental help, for whatever goes into your record can make the difference between being promoted and being RIF'd, or asked to leave.  But isn't that what friends are for?  Didn't anyone other than a wife (via text) on the other side of the world notice something was wrong?  Whose fault is that?  I've known more than one person who got out of the military by convincing doctors they're crazy - I think I'd try that before diving off the deck of an aircraft carrier.  Not everyone's cut out for the military, no shame in that.

My take, that's all.  Therefore, in this instance I don't 100% believe either 'side', not that I'm defending Hegseth.  But like so many things, I believe the truth lies somewhere in the middle.  I hope they all safely return home soon.

PS:  I came to love mixing apricot preserves with a bit of soy sauce and lemon as a basting sauce for pork.  I even grew to enjoy Hee Haw.

"Stop, or I'll TOOT" - Stories from Matin d'Or

This is a tale I've been promising myself (and my friends) to write for years.  It's from my Ruff Life days in Parguera, Puerto Rico, circa 2000.  I once said I'd run the story and pictures past them for pre-approval, but I'm changing my mind; frees up my creativity.

I'm just hoping they'll still speak.

I was working at kite shop Volantines one day when this tall, blond Salty Dog with a thick British accent (which I mistook for Australian) asked,

(sic) "Hello there.  I don't know if you remember us from last year..."

To be honest, so many boaters passed through Parguera over the years, one 'stick' looked like another, but there was something familiar, I think I said.

That was the beginning of a 26 year friendship when in fact we haven't seen one another in, oh, I'd say 20 years.  But Pam and Roger are the kind of friends you can pick up a conversation with as if it were yesterday; you know what I mean.

Their sailboat, Matin d'Or, was a big Westerly Oceanmaster, close to 50-feet (seemed to me) with the tallest mast in the anchorage.  Like other cruisers, they'd stopped in Parguera for provisioning on their way to Venezuela or elsewhere south of a particular latitude before hurricane season began on June 1st.

Cruisers handed out 'boat cards' with the name of their boat, the type, often the size and other statistics, names and mailing addresses and other personal info. I have a stack somewhere, but happily Matin d'Or's was within easy reach so I could ID the make.

My Ruff Life (l) arrived (without cards) in 1998 and remained anchored in la Parguera until 2009.  Those early years were great for Parguera was still undiscovered; before the 'la' was dropped.   I typed up a page of local info (dinghy dock access, water, groceries, supplies, etc) which either Cap or I would dinghy over to newcomers.  We gave rides to marine stores and lent our PO box for deliveries.  You become fast friends quickly, being in the same boat so to speak; but then they'd move on and we'd have a chance to visit again maybe on their way back north.

But Pam and Roger really liked Parguera and for a number of years, while they cruised up and down the Caribbean, they would return and stay for a month or longer.  It was heaven for me because rare was the chance to have girl-chats in English, and Roger and Cap got along well.  We often partied with other couples in the anchorage, here's Yvonne from Holland with Pam behind.

Roger is a wine connoisseur and Matin d'Or's hold (cellar) contained a large assortment of tasty vintages (cases - I won't say how many).  He brought some from Britain and acquired others while island-hopping.

 

I loved listening to Happy Hour stories of this island and that, for even if I'd wanted to move, there were islands where Ruff Life would not have been permitted to anchor.  She was never officially documented; only an Oregon boat registration.  (L) Here's Dutchman Peter with an intentionally blurred Roger, to preserve some dignity.

The wine was nice, but what really got everyone going was Roger's famous Punch, a red concoction that kicked your ass (look, in every picture, we all drank it).  I'd be sorry the next morning, but it really was delicious; and besides, I didn't have to drive the dinghy home - just not fall out.

Over the years we shared different experiences.  Pam came to some of my classes at Michaels, where I taught Norwegian Rosemaling of all things.  Knowing my difficulty with mixing colors, she presented me with a beautiful set of six pages explaining Color Theory (l).

Pam's aids were true works of art which I treasured as much for the artistry as the knowledge.  I returned them to her for that reason years later, but not before scanning each one.  As I've said in the past, there's only so much I can fit in a coffin.

One year Matin d'Or needed a new television set, so Cap drove Roger and Pam to the Mayaguez Mall, where they found one in Sears.  The way Cap told it: They were driving around to the back side of Sears to pick it up, when a policeman on a motorcycle in front of them lost his balance and dropped his bike.  Embarassed, he looked at our car's occupants (Cap never said if they were laughing) then noticed the car didn't have a current registration sticker (we were dead broke at the time).

The policeman righted his motorcycle and walked back to Cap, demanding his license, etc.  I think he claimed Cap 'tapped' his bike and that's why he fell. It was the Memorial Day weekend and the parking lot was packed.  The officer called for backup and a number of police cars from different municipalities arrived, lights flashing, drawing a crowd.  Their intention was to 'escort' the group to the Mayaguez Police Station; until Pam asked sweetly (sic),

"Do you mind if we first go 'round to pick up our telly?"

The crowd grew, which only rattled the officers more, but after a brief confab they agreed.  Some cars left, and the remaining 4 or 5 took off, lights still flashing, with Cap in the center.  The motorcade crawled their way through the parking lot to the back side of Sears and stopped while our friends went inside.

The police still intended to haul them all down to the station, but while waiting they finally reached their Supervisor who astutely decided it wouldn't be a good look for tourism.  They told Cap to return the next day with the sticker and fined him $250; might as well have been $250,000.

Cap, of course, wanted to fight the fine and dragged Roger with him to court.  Roger wore shorts and flip-flops, but his size and accent apparently impressed the Judge enough to scrap the fine, or significantly reduce it.  I think the officer was admonished for making such a fuss.

Friends Gayle and Joey, whose vast spread (r) is along the southwest coast enjoyed entertaining and always welcomed drop-ins, so we'd include Pam & Roger whenever they were in the anchorage.  A good time was had by all; I know everyone has great memories.

I also know from experience that while cruising it's nice to be included in the local culture in more intimate ways (as compared to the Vegetable Lady you see each morning);  which makes the experience that much more enjoyable.  Pam and Rog are personable and loads of fun, and easily fit in.

We'd reciprocate on Ruff Life, even though the venue was smaller; made even smaller by the inevitable RAIN which accompanied 99.9% of my get-togethers, most frustrating.

At the time, and I assume still, my friends were far advanced in the ways of computers.  I watched them experience the frustration of finding compatible-this for their laptop-that; which reminded me of Aunt Cathy learning to use her first microwave in 1973.  Not me, no thanks, I thought both times.

Yet here I am, 'prattling on' about nothing in particular.  I learned phrases like 'faffing about' (puttering) and 'cock-a-snoot' (thumb your nose at).  Always fun to learn more about furriners, isn't it?

I'd become a licensed Artesana working with higueras, seen here drying in a hammock on the top deck.  But if you look closely in the background you can see Roger in one of his favorite spots for chillin' while tannin'.

I once asked Roger (for the purpose of this article) a bit about his background with England's police force.  These notes don't make sense and are my words, but it'll give you a sense:

- 10 yrs Inspector

- Well-respected
- Ran counter-terrorist search team ('80s, Thatcher)
- Hotel bombing

I only now looked that up and I'm assuming this is it:

"The hotel bombing during Margaret Thatcher's term was the Brighton hotel bombing, an assassination attempt targeting Thatcher and her cabinet at the Grand Hotel in Brighton, England."

Not everyone's CV includes something as James Bond-ish as that.  So one day, Roger and Cap were discussing the differences in police tactics; in particular the peculiarity (to us) of British Bobbies to carry whistles instead of firearms.

"So what do you say when you're chasing a subject, 'Stop, or I'll TOOT!'"

I always thought that'd be the perfect title.  That first year, Pam painted this charming watercolor of Ruff Life from their vantage point.

Eventually, as cruisers inevitably do, Pam and Rog tired of the lifestyle, not to mention all the hard work and expense.  They sold Matin d'Or and went back to their comfy home in Herfortshire; where Pam faffs about in her garden and Roger cocks-a-snootful at his tastings.

It's hard to convey the happy feeling of a familiar sailboat coming into the anchorage, or the sadness watching it leave.  But that's cruising - always comings and goings.

I'm sure I'll see my friends again some day...on dry land.

Cheers, my friends!