And Congress did...

For context, I sent a variation of this letter to both my senators and my representative this month, sometime after Renee Good, but before Alex Pretti. If you'd also like to write to your Congresscritters, find out who they are here. Feel free to use the basic points brought up in this letter -- but please use your own words. I believe that's always going to be more effective than passing on someone else's thoughts.

 * * *

Dear Senator,

You happen to be one of my Senators, for whom I voted to represent me in Congress. So let's chat for a bit, shall we, about a small fraction of the things President Donald Trump has done and what Congress has done in response, in the last year alone.

Trump sent Elon Musk and his band of DOGE hackers to "clean up" the "waste, fraud and abuse" in government, rather than doing it the way all sane administrations have done in the past, by conducting a government audit. They broke dozens of useful organizations in the process, including USAID. I've lost count of how many people around the world have starved to death because we summarily yanked food aid to them with no warning. And Congress did nothing.

Trump famously loves "the poorly educated," and to that end he is dismantling the Department of Education and threatening to yank the funding of our world-class research universities unless they bend the knee to him. And Congress did nothing.

Because he presumably couldn't get the military to act against its own people, Trump spun up ICE under the Department of Homeland Security as a band of masked thugs who seem to answer only to him. They have been given a budget exceeding the total military budgets of most other nations. They've done fun things like assaulting and deporting non-citizens without due process, refusing to identify themselves, hassling and assaulting citizens, firing on peaceful protesters, and now murdering an unarmed woman by shooting her directly in the face. And Congress did nothing.

Starting in April, Trump has yanked tariffs around like they're his own personal hot and cold taps, claiming the fig leaf of "national security" to raise the price of everything on every American and make every working day in the United States absolutely unpredictable. His unhinged on-again, off-again tariffs have ruined the American economy, damaged a generation of American farmers, and ground the engines of industry down to an anemic trickle -- and then he has the chutzpah to lie to our faces about how the price of our gas and groceries is getting better, as though his saying so somehow MAKES it so despite the evidence of our own eyes and our wrung-dry bank accounts. And Congress did nothing.

Tariff monies haven't been enough to satisfy Trump, so he has turned the White House into a revolving door of grift, Hatch Act be damned. All anyone, from any organization or government, need do is waltz in and offer Trump a shiny golden cookie of some kind to get a favor done. And because he always wants more cash and cookies and fawning praise, he is constantly whinging about being awarded a Nobel Peace Prize he will never deserve or receive, offering to level Gaza so it can be turned into a seaside playground for the rich, threatening and bullying some of our nation's most trusted allies, including Canada and Denmark, trying to get them to cede territory to him solely because he demands it. And Congress did nothing.

He has ditched our allies in Europe as Putin leers hungrily at Ukraine, forsaken Taiwan as China sharpens its bayonets, winked at Netanyahu as Israel commits genocide, and otherwise made America smaller, less powerful, more insular and more focused on grabbing other people's territory in its own hemisphere. And Congress did nothing.

He threatened, cajoled and otherwise bullied everyone in Congress into passing the Big Ugly Bill, which has looted the pockets of the poor and middle class in order to further enrich the wealthy (including himself, of course). And Congress? CHEERED.

He shut down the government for weeks rather than even talk to the Democrats in Congress, cynically pulling food aid to the poorest Americans and financially starving members of the Armed Forces, who went unpaid during the shutdown. And Congress, instead of fighting him, rolled over and capitulated.

He has, through inaction and the vague promise of "concepts of a plan," allowed subsidies for the Affordable Care Act to expire, causing health insurance costs to absolutely skyrocket for the average American. He's allowed Robert F. "Brainworm" Kennedy, Jr. to destroy our public health measures. He's taken the right to choose away from American women and is actively stoking the fires of bigotry against trans people. And you know what Congress did about it? Nothing.

Trump is manifestly one of the unhealthiest presidents in modern history. I don't care what his prevaricating staff and lackey doctors say; anyone with a brain and a pair of eyes can tell he's seriously unwell, both physically and (increasingly) mentally. He is incapable of sticking to the point in a speech, he is incapable of staying awake in Cabinet meetings, and he is increasingly incapable of making sane or logical decisions -- throwing tantrums (and, if rumor is to be believed, ketchup bottles) rather than attempting to reason or think his way out of a crisis. He should be removed from office for his utter incapacity to lead. But you guessed it, Congress. Did. Nothing.

He has been so afraid of the presumably vile stuff in the Epstein files being made public that he's fired back at his most loyal voters, played hide-the-whoremonger with Ghislaine Maxwell, dribbled out highly-redacted sections of the files rather than fully complying with the law, has attempted to smear people he dislikes, torn down the East Wing of the White House, shut down the government, and literally tried to provoke war with Iran and Venezuela -- without getting permission from or even informing Congress of the decision. And guess what Congress did?

Trump undermines the rule of law every day. He does whatever he can to run the country by executive fiat. He has snatched the power of the purse and the ability to declare war away from Congress. He makes friends of our enemies and enemies of our friends. He is making all of us poorer, sicker, less educated and more afraid, each hour he remains in office. He is a mentally unstable stochastic terrorist; far from holding the highest office in the land, he should by rights be serving time in prison for numerous felony convictions. You are a member of a co-equal branch of government, meant to enact the checks and balances that keep despots like Donald Trump from doing many of the things he has already done. Yet every day, as one of our designated representatives in government, you come to work, collect a hefty paycheck and sumptuous benefits, and -- YOU. DO. NOTHING.

What kind of calamity will it take to shift you? Another pandemic? A nationwide general strike? More Americans being summarily executed in the street? Perhaps a major American city being leveled with nuclear weapons by one of our erstwhile allies?

At risk of sounding disrespectful to a duly-elected official: GET OFF YOUR ASS AND DO YOUR JOB. NOW. Before Trump decides he should just run everything from the Oval Office and doesn’t need a Congress any more.

Furiously,

Soozcat

Ants

We live in a home built the same year Star Wars released, and it's slanting toward winter in the Northern Hemisphere, so that means one thing: ant season.

Say hello to our leetle "friends"

If you've ever had to deal with ants in your living space, you know they get into everything and can be nearly impossible to eradicate. Most other insects you can just swat, spray or trap and be done, but ants are different. They live in large underground colonies; the ants you see are merely advance food scouts for the entire colony. If you kill them, the colony just sends more scouts. Further, as it gets colder outside, the colony sends scouts into warm human homes where food is always plentiful.

We think the ants are coming up from the crawl space under our home, but we can't figure out where the colony is, and at the moment we can't afford to pay an exterminator.

So it's time to use some strategy. And bait.

Fast-acting poison isn't the best choice against ants -- as mentioned, if you kill the scouts, the colony just sends more -- so it's more effective to use ant bait. Ideally, if you have sugar ants, you need a sweet bait that contains borax, a slow-acting poison. When the scouts find this bait, they can't get enough of it. (A few actually climb into the bait station and drown in the stuff, it's so good.) Then they take their hoard of delicious poison back to the colony. They feed it to other ants. They feed it to ant larvae. And eventually, if we're lucky, they feed a lot of it to their queen.

At first it seems like you're just giving the ants free lunch, because the number of scouts actually increases as everyone goes to the bait station to fill up on the new food source for the colony. But then things start to shift in the anthill. You see, borax makes it impossible for ants to digest food, so they eat and eat and eat and are still constantly hungry. Eventually, when the queen has been fed enough poison, she starves to death -- and the entire colony dies with her.

So, to reiterate: the best way to destroy a colony is to freely offer a substance that tastes like real nourishment, is delicious and plentiful, and is perniciously toxic, slowly making it impossible for the colony to digest anything that's good. And if you can successfully poison the colony's leader, everything else dies.

I can't help but think there's an analogy to be found there somewhere.

Sorry, it's been a minute

As the little banner in the sidebar points out, this blog is written by a human, not an AI. And this particular human is very, very tired.

What's it like to live in the United States right now? In a word, exhausting. Every day we're jerked around another corner by the madman at the wheel, all of us hoping against hope that he won't plow us all into a brick wall just for funsies. And even as I write this, I recognize that many other people with less social currency than Captain Midnight and I are having it SO much worse under this regime that it seems boorish even to complain about what we've experienced.

Perhaps I'm so tired simply because I know it's all likely to get far worse before it gets better. And I don't know if I'll live long enough to see things improve.

Since November 2024 I have thought, very seriously, about moving to another country. Let's just say there are some logistical issues with the idea. We used money from the sale of my family home to put a down payment on a house in 2022, which means we're tethered here by a mortgage. While Captain Midnight has looked into overseas employment, it's been difficult to find jobs outside the United States where he could command even a small fraction of the salary he was paid last year, and I've been out of the regular workforce long enough that I don't have much by way of useful skills to recommend me as an immigrant. Then too, I'm both a Type 2 diabetic and a bariatric patient, which means I'd have to choose a country where the medications I need to survive are readily available. We're both in our fifties, which means emigration to certain countries is simply barred to us (places like New Zealand, for instance, strongly prefer young families with children). Finally, we stay anchored to the USA because of numerous family members and friends. We're both loath to leave the nation we were raised in, even though it's becoming increasingly difficult to recognize.

I did attend one of the many Hands Off protests that occurred on April 5. That was, actually, quite cheering. The nearby small town I went to had so many protestors in attendance that the main street was completely blocked to vehicular traffic. I know that at least some of the people there voted for our current Dear Leader, so I have hope that the cultlike attitude toward him and his ilk is starting to sour. We'll see.

Normal

HILE it's all still clear in my head, here in early 2025, I thought it might be worthwhile and potentially educational to write an (incomplete) list of things that have long been considered part of normal life in the United States:

• Taking a trip across or outside the country without asking a government official's permission.
  
• Crossing state lines without going through checkpoints. 
• Being able to use interstates, state highways, bridges and local roads without a second thought, because they've been reasonably maintained and are open to traffic.
  
• Being able to get by on a single income. (NOTE: For many families, this is no longer "normal.")
  
• Being able to afford keeping a pet.
• Being able to afford meat and eggs.
• Being able to afford the occasional meal in a restaurant.
• Being able to send a letter or package to someone else in the USA via USPS and knowing it will arrive within two weeks.
  
• Seeing same-sex couples in public just living their lives.
• Seeing mixed-race couples in public just living their lives.
• Understanding that the phrase "all men are created equal" doesn't mean we are all born into equal circumstances--we're obviously not--but that we are all considered equal under the law. Even the President.
• Having your basic civil rights secured even if you're not married, middle-class or higher, white or male.
• Not having to be a Christian (or even religious) to participate fully in public life.
• Not having to justify your existence if you're a childless woman.
  
• Being able to get the book, music, movie or game you want from the public library.
• Having access to a public library.
• Being able to vote in local, state and federal elections without intimidation or coercion.
  
• Having a reasonable expectation of the peaceful transfer of power between one administration and the next.

What are your expectations of "normal life" in the USA? Are there things you anticipate might change in the next few years?

How the Internet occasionally saves my sanity

(Pumpkin spice peanut brittle image courtesy of Target.com)

I enjoyed a piece of pumpkin spice peanut brittle today (go get some at Target, it's really good!), and as I crunched on it a phrase from a book bubbled up to the top of my head -- something about someone buying peanut brittle for an older relative, who would "clatter and crunch" over it later. I knew that particular phrase, and I knew I'd read it many times in the past, but couldn't place it.

People born after 1990, I want you to get a little taste of what life was like in the 1970s and early '80s. Barring my finding that phrase in a book through happy accident, or my subconscious managing to dredge up where it came from, I would have no choice but to let the phrase "clatter and crunch" bounce around in my skull for weeks to months, with no easy way to look it up because there was no modern internet.

As it was, I had my answer within 90 seconds. It comes from an early passage in the book We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson, and it describes the narrator's Uncle Julian messily enjoying his treat.

Once again the internet has saved my tenuous sanity. Thanks, Al Gore!

The push

Today I'd like to tell you a story about war, and about the things we do to save other people. I know most of us are sick to death of hearing about war right now, but today -- March 10 -- is an important holiday in our family, in part because of a different war that happened a long time ago.

You see, on this day in 1967, four very young men got into two very fast planes to complete a dangerous wartime mission: a bombing run of an enemy steel mill in North Vietnam. But someone tipped off the North Vietnamese that they were coming, and as a result both their planes were heavily shot up with anti-aircraft fire. Both were leaking a lot of fuel. One of the pilots, Earl Aman, soon realized that he wouldn't have enough fuel to get back to base, and that he and his weapons system officer (aka the GIB, or "guy in back") would have to eject over enemy territory.

This state of affairs didn't sit well with the pilot of the other plane, a guy named Bob Pardo. Bob's plane was leaking fuel too, but not as much as Earl's. And Bob refused to leave anyone behind. He thought fast and came up with a crazy idea.

"Don't eject just yet," he told Earl. "I'm going to try to push you."

The F-4 Phantoms they were flying were originally Navy jets, so they had tailhooks to help them land on aircraft carriers. And after trying unsuccessfully to push Earl's Phantom using the drag chute in back, Bob had Earl lower the plane's tailhook. He flew up carefully behind the plane and just kissed his windscreen against the heavy tailhook, and somehow, even with turbulence and slipping and a windscreen that kept cracking every time they came in contact, managed to push the other plane far enough that they made it to Laotian airspace -- closer to safety. With barely two minutes of flying time left, all four men ejected from their planes.

One of those men had his back damaged by the ejection seat, and his parachute got caught in the trees as he came down, so he was in a lot of pain. But there was no time to rest, because once he got free and was on the ground, he heard the shouts of some local villagers looking for him. They shot at him a few times, which suggested to him that they weren't friendly, so he started running (as well as he could with a damaged back). He ran for a long time, but eventually his strength gave out. He leaned up against a tree, gasping for breath, and wondered how bad it would be if they caught him and put him in a POW camp.

And then a thought came vividly to his mind. He thought of his new son, who had just been born three months earlier. He thought, If I'm killed or captured, I'll never get to see my little boy. He'll have to grow up without a father. And so, leaning against a tree in the middle of the Laotian wilderness, he prayed. He prayed for help and strength and the ability to evade the unfriendly people who were looking for him. He prayed to be able to see his son. And somehow, he found the strength to keep running. Not long after that, he and the other pilots were picked up by rescue helicopters and brought safely back to base.

Now, why do I tell you this story? Two reasons. First, our family celebrates what we call "Pardo's Pushday" because if Bob Pardo hadn't decided to give that other plane a push, there's a good likelihood we wouldn't be a family. See, Earl Aman's "guy in back," the man who leaned against a tree and prayed for strength, who had never seen his new son, was my father-in-law. The little boy whom he'd never seen was my husband, the intrepid Captain Midnight. And if Dad hadn't been rescued, he certainly would have been either imprisoned or killed. My husband would have grown up without a father. He would never have had a younger brother. Had the circumstances of our lives changed only a little, CM and I might never have met and married.

Here's the other, more important reason. Most of us aren't going to use our incredible flying skills to push a damaged plane out of enemy airspace. But the things we do -- the little pushes of encouragement we give people -- ripple outward in space and time and touch others in ways we couldn't possibly imagine. Because Bob Pardo saved those three men, they and their families would go on to influence so many other lives in so many countries. Likewise, because one of us puts a jar of peanut butter or a few cans of tuna into a Little Free Pantry, someone else might be able to make ends meet until payday comes and won't be kicked out for non-payment of rent. Because one of us donates money to a charitable organization dedicated to helping refugees, a family fleeing Ukraine or Somalia will have a hot meal and a place to sleep tonight. Most of us will never really understand the full impact of the small things we do to help push people to safety -- but it's important to do those things, to send love and help out into the dark, with the faith that they will make a difference for good in the world.

So, happy Pardo's Pushday. It’s traditional to have a donut (whatever flavor you like best) and toast Bob Pardo with it.

(Thanks for the push, Bob.)

Notes from the Oak Table Cafe

HERE'S a place in Silverdale at the top of a hill, overlooking the valley and Dyes Inlet, called the Oak Table Cafe. It serves only breakfast and lunch, and it usually has a long wait time because the food is fantastic. Anyway, since my brother was in town and since we were all hungry, we went to Oak Table for some delicious brunch (if you're interested, I had the eggs Casey; Captain Midnight and Tim-my-brother opted for corned beef hash).

It had been a very long time since I entered the dining area of a restaurant; I've been very careful during the pandemic to stay masked in public and not to linger too close to strangers for very long. Looking around the room, I noticed literally no one in the very busy dining area was wearing masks or social distancing, which gave me the willies.

When CM and I first moved to Seattle, I learned some history about the city. In 1889, there was a huge fire that destroyed practically all of the central business district. After the ashes and rubble were cleared away, the city fathers urged business leaders to build back higher than the shoreline so there would be less trouble with flooding and sewage issues (the tides had a tendency to back up all the city's toilets), but as soon as they could, people began rebuilding right back on the flat again. Nothing would convince them to work in the best interest of all Seattleites; they wanted to get back to making money immediately.

At the time I couldn't understand why so many people would act in such a short-sighted fashion. But now I get it. All these places across the United States are reopening without Corsi-Rosenthal boxes or any other kind of viral mitigation measures, as the Covid pandemic continues and as we prepare for a potential H5N1 pandemic. No one will take even basic measures to guard against more people falling ill. Because it's been a few very lean years and damn it, they want their money.

It makes me wonder whether cities that want serious viral mitigation should do what the city of Seattle did to fix their problem. Since they couldn't force shop owners to rebuild higher than their original storefronts, they chose to rebuild the infrastructure--namely, the streets--twelve feet above the front doors of the new shops, requiring pedestrians to use ladders to cross the streets. This situation was so awkward that it soon became evident to shop owners that they had better do what the city government had asked for in the first place. Maybe, if you couldn't reopen your business without several Corsi-Rosenthal boxes in place and running, you would do what you needed to do to get back to serving customers. Because clearly, most people aren't going to do what's right unless it's making them money, they're being legally dragged to it, or they're shamed into doing it.

Blam This Piece of Crap Day: Let's blam some Spam! (Plus bonus blamming)

Well, it's the day you've all been waiting for!

I'll admit, I didn't think up a good idea to celebrate BTPoC Day until it was upon us. But then I realized I had not one, but two different examples of BLAMming ready to go.

Let's cover the tastiest one first: Spam fried rice. This recipe was slightly modified from one made by Seonkyoung Longest and it is YUM.

Yeah, yeah, Spam is a registered trademark, yadda yadda, bite me, Hormel. Anyway, this can be made with any kind of "canned luncheon meat" you have on hand, as long as the flavor isn't too exotic. I recommend using lower-sodium generic spam if you can find it, because the sauce we're gonna make for this has a fair amount of sodium already.

I have long held a pink-meat prejudice that dates from my teenhood, when my working mom would occasionally make jazzed-up ramen for dinner. If I came in late for dinner, which I occasionally did, I'd get ramen noodles so soft they were falling apart, garnished with shriveled peas and cold chunks of spam. Bluergh. So for a long time I wouldn't eat spam. This recipe brought me around to liking it again. Maybe you'll feel the same way.

Anyhoo, get that spam out of the can and cut it into 1/4" thick slices, then into dice.

And if you have cats, better put them somewhere else. Charlie and Millie became very interested in our kitchen-related doings the minute they heard that can open. But spam of any kind has too much fat and salt and mystery amendments to be good for them. (Sorry, kittens)

Four eggs. There go our next four mortgage payments. Scramble 'em up.

A medium-sized white/yellow/brown onion, chopped or diced. This is optional, but Captain Midnight likes it.

A few cloves of garlic, finely chopped, minced or pressed. You can add as much or as little as you like, but at least three good-sized cloves, I think. 

A whole lotta rice ("6 cups," says Captain Midnight). It doesn't have to be fresh from the rice cooker, like this. In fact, fried rice benefits from using rice that's a day old and starting to dry out. (Yes, another piece of crap to BLAM!)

Also a whole lotta green onions. Use these even if you don't use the white onion; they taste different and a little bit set aside makes a very pretty garnish for the finished bowl.
 

Homemade teriyaki sauce. Refer to the Seonkyoung Longest recipe for full details because I'm lazy.

Oh, okaaaaay. Briefly: 2 parts soy sauce, 2 parts sake, 2 parts mirin, 1 part sugar. For this batch of fried rice, we did "tablespoons" for parts. You can scale it up or down depending on your tastes and how large a batch you're making.

And, of course, a wok. No, it doesn't have to be 35 years old like this one. You don't even need a wok, but you do need a pan that can handle high heat and a lot of fast sauteing, and has enough volume to hold a lot of rice.

Not shown, but used: vegetable oil, a little sesame oil, some cut-up slivers of nori if you like it, and some sesame seeds. And maybe some sriracha.

Now, what happened next went fast enough that I didn't take pictures, but:

Captain Midnight prepped all the ingredients beforehand. He got the wok screaming hot (yay gas stove!) and put in a tablespoon or two of vegetable oil. When it was hot, he threw in the egg. It immediately puffed around the edges. He tossed the egg around until it was about three-quarters cooked, then fished it all out into a bowl. Then he added a tiny bit of oil and the chunks of spam. These he cooked, gently moving them constantly, until they started to get crispy (the first rule of improving spam: improve the texture). Once they were nice and crisped up, he fished them out so he could cook the yellow onion. (If you're not using this, don't take out the spam; just move right on to the garlic.)

Onion in. He cooked it just until it softened and started to brown. Then in went the garlic, and he tossed it around just until it started to smell good. Back in with the spam; added the rice. He stirred it about until things were well incorporated, then drizzled the teriyaki sauce around the edges of the wok. That was thoroughly mixed in. As the rice absorbed the sauce and started to get dry again, he threw the egg back in and chopped it up a bit (you want fairly large chunks of egg in this -- I mean, if you're going to pay for eggs, you might as well be able to taste them!). Off the heat, he added just a touch of sesame oil for flavor, three-quarters of the green onions, some sesame seeds, gave it all a good toss and it was ready.

This was promptly plated up and sprinkled with additional green onions.

I prefer my fried rice without nori on top.

Captain Midnight prefers his with LOTS of nori on top. And some sriracha for good measure.

Remember what I said about the cats? Yup.

No, Millie, you cannot have some.

Both the cats did get some strips of nori, aka Tasty Green Fish Paper. And great was the omming and nomming thereof. So a good time was had by all.

And now for the Bonus Blam: a thrift store special!

About two weeks ago I ventured into the local Goodwill looking for sundries. What I found was a very large ball of red yarn with three sets of knitting needles shanked into the middle of it. Whoever had owned it before had started knitting a scarf with it, but had gotten bored with the project and ended up donating it to Goodwill.

Well, I ripped it back to the beginning, and after two or three tries with different patterns, I finally settled on this one.

This is variously called a basketweave or checkerboard pattern, it's fully reversible and it works up fast enough that even though I'm a slow knitter, it's nearly done. I will either give it to the Red Scarf Project or pass it on to someone else in the community who needs or wants it.

So that was our Blam This Piece of Crap Day. How was yours?

Why Twitter? (WHY, Twitter?)

Some of you know I've had a Twitter account since 2009. I originally joined to hawk my wares on my now-defunct Etsy site, but stayed for the comments and other silliness.

And now I'm leaving.

With the changes being implemented by its new Musky overlord, Twitter shows signs of circling the drain. People are leaving in droves, and the ones who choose to stay will have to fight an uphill battle.

While Twitter is often crazy-making, I will miss it for many reasons -- one of which is the atmosphere. Every social media platform has its own peculiar atmosphere -- kind of the way every new place you move to has its own quality of light, its own sense of safety or danger, a particular scent to the air.

Facebook is being stuck in a huge room with all your family, friends and acquaintances, most of whom want to show you their photo books. There are a few "privacy" booths, but it's very easy for Gramma to accidentally meet your secret "friend" because NO COMPARTMENTALIZING ALLOWED.

Nextdoor is what happens when "Old Man Yells at Cloud" and your local paper's Letters to the Editor section have a baby. A very whiny, very entitled, often racist baby that makes you want to retroactively un-meet all your neighbors. (Can you guess it's not my favorite? Yeah.)

Instagram: BEHOLD MY GLORIOUS LUNCH. 'Nuff said.

Blogger: HAHAHAHAHA wait, people still blog in 2022? (...uh, yes. I do. So there)

I like Goodreads, if only as a place to keep track of what I've been reading (where DID that book go?), but social engagement on the site is sadly lacking. I don't even engage much on the site with the real-life friends I'm following on Goodreads. Anti-social media, maybe?

Then there's Twitter, AKA short-attention-span blogging. The character restriction leads people to scream slogans at each other rather than engaging in active discourse. The algorithm is designed to provoke anger and outrage. They keep tweaking the UI, moderation is, uh, uneven, and Elon just welcomed back Agolf Twitler.

It was kind of a hot mess even before the recent changes. So why will I miss it?

Because occasionally, Twitter did wonderful things. It would connect you with the account of a famous medieval poet who tweeted in Middle English. It would introduce you to people who shared short videos about cute fuzzy animals and humans being kind. It would put you in the way of up-and-coming comedians, famous horror writers, sassy food bloggers, Florida men whose beards ate combs for breakfast and who talked about Rule 303, amateur plumbers who'd tell you what to do about that knocking sound, and people who did their best, in 280 characters or less, to support each other and lend their strength in hard times.

Then there's the other kind of information. George Floyd's murder was shared on Twitter, and #drivingwhileblack began here too, showing how police profile black drivers. News about COVID-19 broke here, as well as the first medical strategies to fight it. And when Dolt 45 attempted a stochastic coup, Twitter (although it dragged its feet) was the first social media platform to ban him; once it set the example, others followed.

Twitter was the kind of place where you could scream a question into the void and (along with a share of random responses from bots and edgelords) you could get valid answers and links to more information from a half-dozen experts on the subject. And they didn't even have to be following you. If you let everyone reply, just about everyone WOULD reply. Some were jerks, but others were helpful, thoughtful, wise, kind. The kind of people you'd want as friends.

As with all social media platforms, your individual experience largely depended on the type of people/accounts with whom you chose to interact. But Twitter, despite its many failings, did a great job of connecting up people who might never have met otherwise. I don't know whether I'll find that particular atmosphere on Mastodon, or BlueSky, or Tribel, or any other proposed Twitter substitutes being bantered about right now. And although Twitter could sometimes make me feel crazy, I think losing its particular atmosphere is something to mourn.

Just something to think about.

P.S. - If you're interested in joining Mastodon, I can be found there at Soozcat@vmst.io.

A visit to a hobbit house

I'm still exploring the edges of the new county in which we find ourselves, and several local folks have suggested I visit "the hobbit house." Turns out there are at least two places in the county that qualify as hobbit houses -- one at a local greenhouse, and one on Bainbridge Island.

Today I went to the Bainbridge hobbit house.

With seasonally appropriate decor!

Turns out it's a little business. And a cute little business it is too.

The legend of founder Perky Paul

Perky Paul's Gourmet has recently (well, within the last five years) relocated to the Pacific Northwest and is now serving up his home-canned goodness from a cute tiny house just across from his front door.

It's even cuter on the inside!

Paul sells jams, pickles, chutneys, sauces, and all sorts of tasty goodies, from teeny trial sizes to full quarts.

A wizard would never steal, right?

Everything here is sold on the honor system. THIS MEANS YOU, GANDALF.

They're so cute

After perusing all the contents of the shop, I chose a half-dozen little tasting jars and absconded with them (yes, OF COURSE after paying for them). We've already opened up some jam, and tell you what, Perky Paul knows what he's doing! This stuff is fantastic.

On privilege and noblesse oblige

[I composed the skeleton of this post on social media, but since I liked the idea and since I'm not sure the original message will stay there, I've brought it over here. So there.]

America was founded on the precept that "all [humans] are created equal." Yet everywhere one looks in the USA, there are clear signs of a two-tiered society, with one set of rules for the poor and underprivileged, and another set for the rich and overserved. I've been thinking about the wealthy, that first-tier group in American society, and how immature and tone-deaf its members often act in public places. And it's occurred to me that, in the absence of true egalitarianism, we need to bring back the concept of noblesse oblige.

If you already know what that phrase means, hear me out. If you don't, let me explain.

"Noblesse oblige" (French: "nobility obliges") is the expectation that those who enjoy wealth and privilege in society also perform the social responsibilities that come with their station, especially with regard to the people around them who are less privileged than they. Or, to put it in a quintessentially American way, "With great power comes great responsibility."

The notion of noblesse oblige has a long history in Europe and, to a lesser extent, the USA. The feudal lord who protected the peasants who worked his land? Noblesse oblige. The tradition of British monarchs and their families to serve in the military, even though they could easily get out of doing so? Noblesse oblige. The Boxing Day holiday, where one gives small gifts to people in the service industries? Noblesse oblige. The tendency of wealthy families to start charities and donate large sums of money to social causes such as curing or preventing deadly illnesses, housing the homeless, or caring for orphans? Noblesse oblige. The reason why the word "noble" is a synonym for kind, generous, gracious, and self-denying? Noblesse oblige.

Why do I think we need to bring this concept back? Because there are way too many self-focused Karens in the world, the kinds of people who throw adult tantrums in Starbucks because their convoluted coffee order was one degree colder than what they demanded, or who scream and flip tables when their wills are in any way thwarted. When such people throw fits in public and/or are brutal to people in service jobs merely to flaunt their privilege, they just end up looking like entitled asshats. Also, nothing says "new money" like vulgar insecurity acting out. When you order the world's first ultramegasuperyacht with your billions just to flaunt your cash liquidity before other wealthy people, they may say aloud, "That's a big boat," but privately wonder whether you're overcompensating for something. No one is overawed with your ability to maintain a laser-like focus on your own navel.

People with generational wealth and privilege have often been taught the concept of noblesse oblige from childhood. While some of these can still be oblivious to all the perks and privileges that come with their station, they still tend to be thoughtful, gracious and generous to the people around them. They have nothing to prove, so they don't act out like spoiled toddlers, and they realize that kindness is a true sign of quality.

Of course I would prefer a truly egalitarian society over the two-tiered mess we currently have. I believe in that promise of equality and I'm not going to stop working to make it reality. But even our current unequal society would be much more tolerable if the overserved among us were to recognize and uphold the responsibilities that came with their social privileges.

Lookout and labyrinth

Hello, folks! It's been a while.

What have I been doing, you may ask? Well, Captain Midnight and I moved. We're still in a nifty computerized Batcave somewhere around the Puget Sound, but in a slightly different location. And this time, we bought the place.

Since our new place is not just in a new town, but in a whole 'nother county, and since I really don't know anyone around here other than Captain Midnight, Miss V and Charlie-cat, the move has been more than a little discombobulating. It doesn't really feel like home yet -- more like a very long stay in a very large hotel room -- so in an attempt to drive myself out of a funk and get a general feel for the area, I've been running around looking for strange and wonderful things to see and do. So far I've found the eight-foot-tall gnome outside a random residence, the cute little waterfront shopping area, the amazing pizza joint, the hobbit hole, the most scenic drive from the docks to our house, the wooden troll that guards a local nursery, several hole-in-the-wall spots that sell fantastic pancit and lumpia (there's a large Filipino presence here), our local library and, yes, Trader Joe's.

But one of my favorite discoveries, made thanks to Atlas Obscura, was one I visited today -- the Halls Hill Lookout and Labyrinth, near the south end of Bainbridge Island.

Red arrow shows approximate location of today's adventure.
Map courtesy OpenStreetMaps.

Bainbridge is only physically connected to the mainland by one tiny bridge at the far northwest end of the island, spanning Agate Passage. So aside from the traffic that flows off the ferry from Seattle past the town of Winslow, up the state highway and across the bridge to the rest of the Kitsap Peninsula, most of Bainbridge is the road less traveled. The whole island functions as a kind of artists' retreat, and everywhere you go there are signs of creative people at work.

Today's adventure is no exception.

Halls Hill Lookout, which overlooks Blakely Harbor to the south, is a privately-owned park that's open to the public. It's been here for some time, but the labyrinth is a relatively recent addition.

The mosaic labyrinth was completed in June 2014 by Portland-based stone artist Jeffery Bale. Most of the work was completed with stones gathered from local beaches around the island, but there are also a few glittery surprises to find.

Well, let's follow the yellow brick road, shall we?

And here's what we find at the end: a Chartres-style labyrinth worked in stone.

Labyrinths like this one are meant to be a kind of walking meditation. There's one path in, and the same path out. The path twists back on itself in unexpected ways, so that if you are walking the labyrinth along with someone else who's much farther along on the path, you may be walking side by side at times. When you reach the center, you are encouraged to pause, recharge and seek mental clarity before turning to retrace your steps to the entrance.

There are numerous flowers worked into the stone of the labyrinth's path.

Also wonderful found objects, like this metal lock embellished with a Hindu deity...

...and geodes and other shaped rocks and shells as well.

I walked the labyrinth today seeking something very specific. I'll let you know if I find it.

Anyway, there's more than just the labyrinth to be discovered. This, for instance, is the community prayer wheel, cast by artist Tom Jay and first displayed here in 2004.

If you spin the prayer wheel nine times, it rings a 300-pound bell inside. (I tried it; the bell made more of a CLONK than a BONG sound, not as impressive as I'd hoped.)

Well, moving on.

The paths and gardens in this area are meant to look like composed wilderness. The trees and other plantings are mostly local species. (Lots of salal berries!)

There are also plenty of places to sit, look out over the landscape, and compose your mind.

And as you look around, you may find other faces looking back at you.

This bridge over a small stream is cut from one massive tree trunk.

There are beautiful views of the harbor. Here's a peek at a swim dock out in the water.

Everything feels well-planned here; even the dormant grasses are a beautiful gold against the green.

Yet another face staring back at me, this one high in a tree.

Just by the entrance, there's a little dahlia cart out today. It's prime dahlia season in this area.

Everything for sale here is offered on the honor system. You take what you want and leave money in the box. Fortunately, most visitors are honorable.

I did catch this little visitor making off with some nuts. (Sorry about the blurriness; he didn't do a great job of holding still.)

Who knows whether the labyrinth does what it's meant to do, but any connection to nature and to art is bound to be healing. I left Halls Hill feeling much more composed and calm than I was when I entered. (Also hungry. Time to get some dinner.)

Yet another addition to the van Gogh list

It's been a while since I added someone to the van Gogh list, but I feel like this one's important.

Sir Paul McCartney
(publicity photo taken 1963, photographer unknown)

Yes, I know it's an old photo. But this man has steadily been writing and performing great music since the early '60s. He's nearly 80 at the time of this writing and is still going strong -- in fact, he's on tour right now. His work with the Beatles, his collaborations with other singers, and his solo projects are excellent, lyrical, sometimes heartbreaking in their beauty, and to my way of thinking he wrote and performed some of the best songs of the 20th century. I'll probably never get to see him in concert, but I feel very fortunate that our lives on this planet happened to overlap in time.

(Oh, and if you do happen to catch him in concert? Let me know how it went! I will try to keep my envy down to a dull roar.)

The grown-up playdate

"Playdates" didn't really exist when I was a kid. My sibs and I tended to be pretty free-range compared to kids from more recent generations; we'd come home from school and ask "Can I go over to Amy's house?" and if Mom or Dad knew Amy's family well enough, the answer would be "Sure. Dinner's at 6:00; be home by then." We were responsible for getting transportation to and from the friend's house (usually walking or biking) and for keeping track of time once we got there. And we tended to do things like playing with dolls or card games or puzzles or swinging on the swings at the park or in the back yard (remember, this was the 1970s; the only thing to watch was boring local TV).

Captain Midnight and I learned about playdates when we started taking care of Miss V full-time. The summer before she started school, she kept looking around the neighborhood and asking us "Where is everybody?" and we kept assuring her that she'd meet kids her age as soon as the school year started. But we also kind of wondered where everybody was; kids didn't just ride their bikes around the neighborhood any more. Most kids were either inside playing video games, or their parents had "programmed" their summer schedule -- camps, classes, sports teams, etc. And because kids had so little free time, their parents and guardians would have to schedule dates for their kids to play together. (Yes, I still find that weird.)

Frankly, though, the concept of a playdate -- even if we don't call it that -- makes a lot more sense for adults. There used to be a lot more downtime built into life, so it didn't take much effort for adults to find time to catch up with friends or do something simple and fun together. But just as our world has gotten busier, so have our individual lives. It's hard to find time to spend with friends unless we make concrete plans. (And for introverts, that's hard; we're just as likely to dread upcoming social activities as anticipate them.)

Anyway, all this is just a preface to say that my friend Wendy and I had a grown-up playdate today.

No, we didn't go swing on the swings (although why not, that's still fun!), but we did go to the park.

Specifically, Volunteer Park.

The final Friday of every month is a free admission day at Seattle Asian Art Museum. I hadn't visited in a long time, and it was the first time for Wendy, so we parked near the Black Sun sculpture and headed in.

Hey, it's one of the entrance camels! Hi there, entrance camel!

There's a lot to see in the SAAM, but you're not going to see much of it here. Mostly because I forgot to take many photos. We were too busy happily chatting about things like religion, the varying conceptions of deity in other cultures, how various cultures portray people and animals, and all sorts of other things. We both like to chat, and whenever we get together we do a lot of it.

If you have a chance, though, you should visit the SAAM. The collection is beautiful and often unexpected, and the building itself is an Art Deco masterpiece.

It seems every culture has to contend with damaged sculptures. I'm not sure what happened to the hands of this Buddha.

It's hard for me to say what I like the most in any art museum. But certain artworks are more compelling to me than others. This sculpture in the fountain court spoke to me particularly strongly.

I mean, it didn't LITERALLY speak to me; that would have been terrifying. But this meditative figure, portrayed as covered in beads of water, probably cold, but nonetheless serene... I don't know. Most days I wish I had this kind of unbreakable calm.

Anyway, one of the temporary installations while we were there featured several kimono.

This one was gorgeous. And I'm not even especially fond of pink.

Dragons! Woven right into the fabric! Yes please!

We didn't see everything before our time was up, but it just means there's an opportunity to come back again later.

Thanks for coming to the SAAM with me, Wendy!