Sunday, May 31, 2026

There Was A Tree

 Ode to the Weeping Elm

O, green cathedral of the lawn,
Great dome of architecture and grace,
You do not reach to meet the dawn,
But bend to touch the earth’s embrace.

Praise to the seam that holds your soul—
The borrowed roots, the weeping crown.
A human hand once made you whole,
And taught your branches to cascade down.

An emerald tent where summer rests,
A secret room of quiet shade,
A sanctuary for the nests,
Inside the fortress you have made.

Stand on, great curiosity of art,
Where human craft and nature agree.
You hold the corners of our heart,
O, beautiful and solitary tree.

Saturday, May 30, 2026

Margaret Sanger

 Margaret Sanger

Margaret Sanger

was a nurse and a birth control advocate

walking the crowded tenement streets
of Manhattan’s Lower East Side,

where poor women, already burdened by hunger,
worked swollen with pregnancy after pregnancy,

and when abortion was beyond their reach,
they faced desperate choices in shadowed rooms.

Contraception, once legal in the nineteenth century,
had nearly vanished from public life by the early twentieth.

Many women sought out illegal abortion providers,
slipping through back alleys and unmarked doors.

Others, with nowhere left to turn,
attempted to end pregnancies themselves,

risking infection, hemorrhage, and death.

Margaret knew these stories intimately.

The daughter of a stonemason,
she was the sixth of eleven children,

raised in a household crowded with voices,
where the strain of endless childbearing was impossible to ignore.

She began to argue that family limitation
was more than a private choice—

it was a path to freedom,

a way for working-class women
to loosen the crushing grip of poverty,

to reclaim their bodies, their wages, their futures.

She championed contraception
and founded the American Birth Control League,

the organization that would later become Planned Parenthood.

In March 1914, after one of her patients died
from complications of an illegal abortion,

Sanger launched The Woman Rebel.

Its pages crackled with defiance,

challenging laws and customs
that kept women uninformed and powerless.

The monthly newsletter brought the phrase
“birth control” into public conversation,

but controversy followed close behind.

Three issues were banned.

In August 1914, federal authorities indicted her
for violating postal obscenity laws.

Rather than surrender,

she boarded a ship bound for England,

leaving New York Harbor behind in a veil of fog.

Before departing, however,

she instructed friends to distribute
one hundred thousand copies of Family Limitation

a slender sixteen-page pamphlet

containing plainspoken instructions
for preventing pregnancy.

The pamphlet spread from hand to hand,

through factories, kitchens, and crowded apartments,

carrying information many women
had never been allowed to receive.

For decades, Sanger devoted her life
to educating women about birth control,

arguing that access to contraception
was a matter of medicine, public health, and human dignity.

She lived long enough to witness a turning point.

In 1965, the Supreme Court’s decision in Griswold v. Connecticut
made birth control legal for married couples.

A year later, at the age of eighty-six,

Margaret Sanger died,

having spent a lifetime pushing open a door

that generations of women would walk through.

 

Friday, May 29, 2026

Writing A New Book

 Writing a New Book

The process can feel like a rewrite—
a better-edited version of the past.
But who would read it?

Time is precious and fleeting, especially lately.
They say memory is unreliable.
How many people will forget these last several years?

Some say to start with an outline.
Others say to write immediately, while it’s fresh, while the anger still burns.
And over the years, I have been very angry.

But now it is late spring, and I have a remarkable story to tell—one filled with strange adventures and unforgettable characters: Katya M. Cartouche, a black cat; Tiki, an eight-foot wooden yet mobile Indonesian tiki; Gina, beautiful and innocent despite adulthood; and Anthony—the Roman with the hooded beak—from Naples. There is also a dead ex-husband and a time machine.

Tony used to tell Gina that no one is truly good.
He said it often.

What he meant was that no one is entirely bad, and no one is entirely good.
People are complicated, unpredictable creatures.

For Gina, letting go of the safety net felt like jumping from a perfectly reliable airplane. The first step was the hardest. After that, she simply had to trust that the parachute strapped to her back would open and carry her safely down.

It did.

And the book clamoring to be written could become a bestseller in some universe willing to accept the truth as Katya and Gina understand it.

Right now, though, they are knee-deep in the swamp, while the ticks cling on for dear life.

And soon, all the masks will come off.

 

Thursday, May 28, 2026

How Many Apps do you have on your Phone?

 How Many Apps Do you Have On Your Phone?

 

I don’t know

I’d have to count

funny 

like one of my apps professes to be a botanist in my pocket.

I love how simple things can cure all my plant woes

but please step out of my pocket

people will talk

and I’m still trying to live down my misspent youth.

Okay, so I’m counting now—

There are twenty-four per page

times eight plus 3= 195!

Do I use all of them?

I have Parking apps (because most meters don’t take money- small change, what’s that? Pennies are gone, guess what’s next?)

Shopping apps

Banking apps

Weather apps

Utility apps

Hiking apps

Health apps

Airline apps

Games, I have game apps for long flights, waiting rooms, etc. 

Photo apps- I have backups for my backups. 

Mail apps—email spam should be outlawed

Music apps

I even have a Jetpack for my WordPress app.

I have a sleep app that I’ve never used. 

I have a Gym app, also hardly used. (Just do the workout)

National Park app

State Park app

I have Audible

WhatsApp

Open Table ( Anyone need a reservation?)

Marking my calendar app now

Seriously, and you’re wondering why the doctor never looks at you!

So the door doesn’t have to hit me in the ass twice

I’m reserving some time to delete 

and get out of the app trap.

See you next week, maybe.

Geez!

Did I mention the car apps?

 

 

 

Wednesday, May 27, 2026

The Light at the End of the Tunnel

 The Light at the End of the Tunnel

 

Can you see the light?

I think I can.

After four months of inactivity

I am slowly coming back to myself.

Surgery was a cakewalk

Yes, I was asleep for the duration.

But real healing takes time.

My body must accept the new ball and joint,

reattach and mean it

because I plan to put it to the test.

My surgeon, Dr. Stone,

yes, that’s his real name,

said stay upright, not really, but you get the gist.

Stay upright, my dear, and all is well, plus you won’t have to keep that appointment we set for next January.

Stay upright like a tin soldier and soldier on like the Mailman who delivers the mail in all kinds of weather, or the thief who steals from you and then goes on TV to brag about it.

Stay upright, and you never have to see me again.

Now I know what you’re thinking, and I’m thinking it too

How long will it be before she falls?

Well, don’t take that bet yet

because I already did

back in Florida at my favorite beach

and I’m FINE.

I know how to fall, and it was brilliant

Sorry, you missed it

Well, it’s over now, and I survived.

Try to remember that and carry on.

No bets today or tomorrow.

Go back to fighting over politics and the price of oil.

I’ll be here minding the joint.

 

Tuesday, May 26, 2026

Dear Emmeline Pankhurst

 “We are here not because we are law-breakers; we are here in our efforts to become law-makers. I would rather be a rebel than a slave! “ Emmeline Pankhurst was a leading British suffragette who played a militant role in fighting to gain women the right to vote. 


Dear Emmeline, 

You dared to go against the establishment

and not in a trite way,

 but with a rebellious heart that came with discipline and extreme focus.

We salute you because it was unpopular and came at a high price. 

We salute you for dedicating your life to the cause.

We salute you for being unwavering and selfless.

We salute you for being willing to go to jail seven times.

We salute you for convincing Churchill to vote in favor of a women's suffrage bill in 1904. 

We salute you for the motto: ‘Deeds not words.’

Your influence and inspiration stretched across the Atlantic to America, and for that, we salute you. 

Signed,

A New Generation of Rebels



P.S. Red Lipstick Rules!



Monday, May 25, 2026

Today We Pause

 Today We Pause

 

Today, we remember those who laid down their lives for our democracy

our way of life, and Eleanor Roosevelt comes to mind.

She said, “You Must Do The Things That You Think You Cannot Do.”

I’m wearing the shirt with that statement, in my mind, and looking out my window on this rainy morning, thinking about how the garden was a huge sacrifice

Much of my youth was spent pulling weeds, back-breaking work with little yield and much cost.

Now I appreciate the wildflowers fending for themselves with their steely determination.

The way they endure, while vicious and self-serving predators

concerned only with enriching themselves,

bark at and devour what they conceive as low-hanging fruit.

Anyone or anything that refuses to bend to their will.

Lives that mean nothing to them or their cronies.

Lives that sacrificed everything for liberty, GOD, and country

Honorable men and women who served

so that they could climb the ladder of success without so much as a turn of the head or a thank-you. The craven who claims his own orbit.

As if they deserved it. And we didn’t. 

Predators who trample the garden amidst those who continue to tend it, as if all that destruction never happened. The sustaining survivors, rebuilding, sacrificing, sowing hope from tiny seeds. So that we may bring a measure of joy to those who cannot.  The ones who paid and continue to pay, slaving and bowing, and hoping for reason, justice, and sanity. 

 

Sunday, May 24, 2026

Retaking A Cognitive Test

 Retaking A Cognitive Test

is not  typical

This test is not about IQ

It’s MoCA, baby. Google it. 

Bragging about it is dumb and concerning. 

Can you draw a clock?

Make the time at ten past eleven

Determine the correct sequence of five numbers and letters starting with A and 1.

Draw a cube  

It’s not about how artistic you are. 

Identify the camel, rhino, and lion

Name the three objects

Remember the words: face, velvet, church, red, and daisy? We will ask you again in five minutes

Count back from 100 in denominations of seven

Say 742 backwards

Can you repeat three sentences after me in varying lengths?

Do you know where you are:

what city, the date, the time, or are you mildly impaired? What was your score? Do you remember? 

 

Saturday, May 23, 2026

Paying For The Primrose Path

 Paying For the Primrose Path

 

Basil, mint, and oregano are pungent spices that put off pests like groundhogs.

 Rosemary, Sage, Thyme, 

Lavender, Lemon balm, and Hot Pepper spray are also strong deterrents

 

Nothing seems to daunt a fanatic, though

especially a greedy one, making millions off the taxpayer.

 

And getting away with it.

The President is running a hedge fund out of the Oval Office

60 trades a day in the first quarter of this year. 

750 million so far

Call the FBI,   padlock the door

Vote to ban elected officials from trading stocks.

 

Republicans who make 174,000.00 plus benefits and pensions a year

mutiny over slush fund, immunity agreement

illegal wars, threats against Cuba, and Greenland.

The aftershocks are far-reaching.

Gas prices are higher

Grocery prices are higher

Racism is still a problem

Dismantling the black vote is a problem

Diluting the black voice is a problem

Taking away a woman’s right to choose is a problem

State Legislatures dictate many of our basic rights

Where is our middle ground?

There is no room for sidelines or silence.

Does the people’s voice count when the Supreme Court is allowed to overturn the vote in Virginia?

Is everything by this administration rigged?

Are the midterms rigged?

We are not about hate and vitriol. 

We are not misinformed, stupid, or pests.

Keep Fighting Tennessee

Push Back

We can level the field.

The Blue Wave is Coming

Everyone Must Vote.

Friday, May 22, 2026

The Disgruntled Chef

 The Disgruntled Chef 

 

serves breakfast, brunch, and sometimes dinner.

It is an American/ Asian fusion restaurant in Gardiner and

received a 10+ from our group of nine hikers.

We are a senior, discerning crew, and being raised in New York, we can be a bit loud and frightening at times. Fuhgeddaboudit!

Yesterday, my sandwich choice did not disappoint

I picked the curried chicken wrap

The flavors permeated throughout, and it was visually stunning. 

As a photographer, I should know. (Sorry, no pictures this time.)

My evil twin, aka The Food Critic,

would reluctantly agree. Delicious, timely, and

pet-friendly. The tables were spaced like a well-organized trail map,

with no confusing configurations, and plenty of room to stretch and converse.

I’d go back in a heartbeat. 

I  have one question,

who came up with the name?

 

Thursday, May 21, 2026

Trail Mix, Fava Beans, and Lady Slippers

 Trail Mix, Fava Beans, and Lady Slippers

 

All we need is some Chianti

and I’m checking the mileage

like there’s a truck stop up ahead

a place to fill up on fuel and wine.

Only we’re walking here.

We’re walking, and we’re talking

like it’s 1999, Y2K didn’t happen,

and guess what else didn’t:

You got it:

no wine,

no trucks,

no lines,

but I did get a few lady slippers and fava beans

from the Azores. Go ahead—look it up. I’ll wait.

Wednesday, May 20, 2026

Can I Get A Pass?

 Can I Get A Pass?

 

or a little mercy—

the kind that hushes even the shiver in the leaves.

I’ve been laboring since dawn—

the kind of labor counted in acorns, wind, and worry—

said the squirrel, still a quick brown spark in the branches,

flitting from limb to limb like a thought that would not settle,

and the forest answered him with laughter.

The birds, being birds, turned mockery into song—

a bright unruly weather of chirps and shining eyes,

as though all spring had been a rehearsal

for the sweet small privilege of teasing a squirrel.

Hershel sighed for a holiday.

Sally, meanwhile, wanted one as well—

preferably with cake and a patch of afternoon sun,

which seemed, for squirrel ambition, almost courtly.

You’re nuts,

said one voice, and not with kindness enough to make it praise.

Ask again in five minutes, when hunger comes back wearing its old crown.

We all have a stake in this—

if not in heart, then surely in bark and timber.

Then even the deer and mountain lions lost their solemn manners

and laughed as though some ancient burden had skipped them for a day,

and even the trees leaned softly into the joke,

bending in the breeze with that old wooden laughter

that begins in the leaves and ends in the smallest wheeze.

So there it was—

a brief and shining mercy, dressed up as a punchline.

 

 

 

Tuesday, May 19, 2026

The Power of Story

 The Power of Story

 

We each have one.

It defines who we are,

shaping our day-to-day

in a profound way.

Our stories travel with us.

They thread their way

through our lives,

follow us down paths,

to the right and left,

guide our steps,

while our dreams lean ahead.

Our stories are fledglings,

small birds learning the air,

on their own

into the great wide world

to be interpreted by people

who will add, subtract

and make them their own. 

 

Stories stitched into patterns

of color, history, and skin

changing faces

leaving traces

of greatness from above.

They will explore the vastness

of space

travel to other worlds

throw stones at what they fear

take what is not theirs to study,

then form conclusions,

acting on limited knowledge,

from fragments they mistake for truth,

and then retell the story. 

 

 

Monday, May 18, 2026

The Katya Chronicles-Gina (present time)

 The Katya Chronicles-Gina (present time)

Gina was still on her sixth life.

Time had passed quickly, and there was no looking back—though she had no desire to.

Too much had happened—things that could never be undone.

Tony was dead.

He had been gone since 2017, and the horror show had long since ended.

The years of abuse were a faint memory.

Gina was starting to remember the good times.

It hadn’t been all bad. Nothing ever is.

Now, when she looked at an old photo, she could almost see why she’d fallen for Tony.

He was strikingly handsome, with a muscular frame and piercing blue eyes. You could bounce a quarter off his abs. He could hold his own with anyone. Tony was all swagger and menace—a predator with a colossal ego. In the end, they caught him in the act, and he would never abuse another woman again.

In the photo, he posed beside a giant marlin hanging from a hook. There were many pictures like that, trophies from fish he had battled over the years. He had even written a poem about his conquests. Even that had felt like an invasion, as if nothing was sacred, as if he had to claim superiority in every possible way. By then, he was deep into his tattoo phase, his upper torso covered in ink. Gina’s name was tattooed on his upper arm—left or right, she could not remember.  Enough, she thought, tossing the photo back into the box. It was time to shower and get dressed.

 

Gina needed to focus on caring for Sophia.

Her mother was on her ninth life. Sophia’s time was almost over.

Nothing was more important than that, especially not a dead husband. 

 

Sunday, May 17, 2026

The Trouble with Time Machines

 The Trouble with Time Machines

Or Outlander—and the weapons I’d bring into battle.

Guns tear holes. Bad attitudes hold the wreckage together. But Jamie and Claire—what happened to them? Are they truly gone? Are we really supposed to believe the door to time travel is shut for good—and that we’ll never hear Sassenach again?

And Roger and Bree? Ian and Rachael? Absolutely not. I wouldn’t leave them dead. I’d drag them back, send them home to the Ridge, and give them the lives they were always meant to have—especially for Fannie, after Claire swore she’d never leave her behind.

I’d make Claire carry gemstones—no excuses, no regrets. If Jamie can time-travel in dreams, then I’m not surrendering my happy ending.

Not while Katya and Tiki stand at the forest's edge, straight from the future, beside their one-of-a-kind time machine. So tell me—do we get the ending we deserve, or does the doom-and-gloom crowd win?

Saturday, May 16, 2026

Money

 Money

say it:

Show me the money.

honey

where would we be

without it?

I’d like to shout it

from the rooftops

Money makes the world go round

you relentless hound.

It’s what keeps us afloat

in your boat

which is huge

what a stooge.

It’s that silly

willy nilly

Philly

at the Kentucky Derby.

It’s everything we had

before the wheel turned against us.

So it comes down to this:

money, power, and time.

We find the signs

you left behind, too late

after the horse is out the gate

and your horse always wins

again and again.

You shout down

through the air

in some satellite above humanity

in your precious throne room

filled with supercomputers

and data banks for your crypto

currency.

But shh

Don’t say it’s power.

Don’t say it’s time.

Don’t say you care, it’s money.

 

 

Friday, May 15, 2026

Chocolate As Inspiration and Art

 Chocolate As Inspiration and Art

(Inspired by Lagusta’s Luscious in New Paltz)

 

We appeared to be provisional citizens of an avoidable misunderstanding,

furious vulvas, indeed!

While the confections proceeded with unofficial diplomacy

until Hawaii entered the paragraph as an expert witness with tenure.

And to think it all started with vegan chocolate, made by women, which arrived with the self-importance of a minor prophet and excellent packaging.

Our writers group nibbled while drafting, each of us pretending this counted as research.

It was intense and sweet, like brainstorming in formalwear during a very polite emergency,

luscious and lively, as if every sentence had a train to catch and a reputation to protect,

and somehow, against all odds and several commas, it was wildly productive.

We praised the small miracles of language, especially the ones that arrived five minutes after we had given up

while rolling each confection over our tongues like a suspicious but promising thesis statement

letting the sweetness settle into us until every bad draft looked briefly like destiny in a good coat.

Thursday, May 14, 2026

Feasting, Fanfare, and a Very Determined Walk

 Feasting, Fanfare, and a Very Determined Walk

 

Today is the Feast of the Ascension,

and the clock is grinning at five.

A little late for heaven’s early-bird special,

but still squarely in the rooster-approved shift

when prayer slips in like steam from a fresh cup,

bringing mental cobwebs to heel

and kicking stress out like an uninvited cousin.

I am oddly peaceful,

like a parade float before the band starts blasting.

Today’s grand quest: a lap around the lake with friends,

having already evicted a few stubborn gremlins from the attic of my mind.

I am awake,

armored in clothes,

and primed like a toaster at dawn.

The body is on board,

though the appetite has been throwing confetti for days,

so now it is time to let my Keens preach.

 

 

Wednesday, May 13, 2026

Bare Limbs

 Bare Limbs

Greening light,

bare limbs growing bright,

bare limbs wake and sway,

as green life finds its way.

 

Spring has sprung,

the bells have rung,

time to rise,

and greet warmer skies.


Bare limbs stir,

a soft and leafy blur,

alive with squirrel song,

while groundhogs nose along.

 

Still, we watch with care

as seedlings fill the air,

beneath the budding trees

that dance in the northern breeze.

Tuesday, May 12, 2026

Directing The Unruly


At present, nature’s cycle lays down its campaign—

blue forget-me-nots spread like a polite little carpet,

with purple and yellow wildflowers freelancing at the edges.

It still looks manageable out there—or at least it does from the porch—and I, their General, must command the forces.

The wild animals, aside from the chipmunks and squirrels, are currently occupied with sabotage elsewhere.

We live in the country, bordered by woods and woodchucks—voracious little heathens with excellent tunnel strategy.

Monet would paint this if only someone had the decency to install a pond.

“You over there—yes, you—stop growing.

I’d like you all to remain exactly this height and not flood the front steps this year.

We will maintain peace and harmony despite the seasonal uprising.

Sticker bushes are hereby ordered to retreat and let the front line have its moment to bloom.

Day lilies, front and center. Lilacs, this is your hour—try not to get smug about it.

I need a clear view of the field before the next skirmish.

To mulch or not to mulch: that is the question.

Whether ’tis nobler to trim and weed or to let the ivy stage its slow-motion coup along the side garden remains under review.

Your General is, alas, allergic to the insufferable poison ivy, which looks innocent now but has the soul of a criminal.

I promise to attack the flanks and tidy up soon—tomorrow, if morale improves.”

Monday, May 11, 2026

Mother's Day

 Mother’s Day

 

Over the years,

we look back

and remember the women

who helped shape our lives

and this year was no different.

Each year, I like to think

I’m growing a little wiser,

though some years the jury is still very much out.

Choices made and lessons learned

have a way of humbling us at remarkable speed,

but Mom usually knows what you’re thinking

before you do, which is honestly unsettling.

She made you, after all,

and, as the saying goes, she can still take you out—without leaving her chair.

Maybe that is the purest form of love: fierce, patient, and never fooled.

So shape up, say thank you, and try not to make her repeat herself.

And when she leaves for her next great position,

as a star in  Andromeda,

pass on what she taught you:

Love, after all, is the greatest gift we get to give.

Sunday, May 10, 2026

Sometimes, The Thing That Stands Out Is Small

Sometimes, The Thing That Stands Out Is Small

 

It is the board in the fence,

shifted only slightly to the right,

opening a breach in your understanding

of the neighbor—

and making you wonder which way they lean.

Is it safe to bring a hammer and a nail,

or would that cross the line itself,

that invisible border saying, without words,

where your limits lie,

what may be carried in your hands,

or whether a weapon still counts as speech?

Because you might expose what is already

plain,

and then they would have to set it right—

straighten the board by making a hammer of you,

in their grim reckoning,

and leave you on the fence, a warning to whoever forgets where they do not belong.

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