Jimmy Carter, Kamala Harris, Marianne Williamson, and Impeachment: a few notes

Jimmy Carter tells it like it is. We have an illegitimate president, who smiles at Putin, mouthing his joke to not interfere in the 2020 presidential election.
This is disgusting. This president is a traitor. We need to start impeachment proceedings immediately.
Meanwhile…Kamala Harris wowed at the second Dem debate last night. I would love to see her debate the illegitimate president. I would love to see her intimidate the hell out of him.
I ‘m an Elizabeth Warren fan but am now closely watching Kamala, reading about her qualifications beyond being smart and a great storyteller.
No way would I support Marianne Williamson for president but she makes a valid point in a recent tweet:

Marianne Williamson

The main causes of mental illness in America are disconnection from tribe and community, disconnection from nature & disconnection from the arts. In other words, so many of us are sick because the society itself is sick. People are just reflecting back the insanity of our times. 

I agree with 538.com that trump’s support among Republicans doesn’t change no matter what outrageous things he says or does.
Would impeachment initiate a sympathy vote to Trump the way it did when President Bill Clinton was impeached in December 1998? I don’t think so. House Speaker Speaker Nancy Pelosi is worried about that. In my view it’s a different situation.
— Impeachment is our constitutionally designated process to warrant investigation of a sitting president and censure him. Trump would not be convicted (removed from office) in a Republican-led U.S. Senate trial.
— This illegitimate president must not get away with obstruction of justice and perjury, which he has participated in throughout his lying presidency.
–Thousands of Americans listen to TV sound bites. They’re too busy with their daily lives, trying to make a living, taking care of their kids, or they don’t care about politics. Many decent, law-abiding citizens don’t know about Trump’s myriad malfeasance, but if they hear evidence-based reporting on TV they may be persuaded to vote against him for a second term.
— Yes, I’m aware that many Americans will simply write off impeachment as a socialist, left-wing Democratic conspiracy against this illegitimate president. I still think impeachment is worth considering.
Perhaps honest Jimmy Carter will soon agree. Perhaps he already has.

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One Man’s Quest to Save Us from Gloom

Jogging up Sabino Canyon a middle-aged African-American man wearing an MLK T-shirt calls out to me, “Hey kiddo, nice to see you today!”

“How are you doing?” I ask.

“Outstanding! Have I told you this one: Why did the raisin take a prune to the prom?”

“Nope, I haven’t heard it.”

“Because he couldn’t find a date.” We both giggle. Fist pump, and he continues jogging, “Good health and happiness to you!”

This smiling man stops to talk with everyone. People are glad to see him. Nearly every time I’m walking in Sabino Canyon, he’s there jogging.

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How green is the desert…Sabino Canyon is always a joy to behold.

The world is a beautiful place, wrote Lawrence Ferlinghetti. He’s right. And the people are mostly beautiful, too.

If only world’s most powerful ones were more empathetic, less selfish, more compassionate, less consumed with money, and more willing to save our planet.

 

 

Posted in Bopping Around Tucson, Fight wimpiness, Nature Girl, Out West, Politics | Tagged , , , , | 7 Comments

A Comedy of Airlines: no to Air France; maybe to American Airlines

If you harbor concerns about your flight and are flying into London Heathrow, look for  troubleshooting agents in the left-hand corner before you approach the gates.

Magic — like walking through the brick wall to Hogwarts in Harry Potter books — may win the day for you, as it did for me.

American Airlines kept changing our flights to Madrid, then Bordeaux, France, the start of Claire & Sheila’s Excellent Adventure. Claire — a Maine friend of more than forty years — and I booked “reward” tickets more than a year ago.

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Flying over Spain.. one of my favorite photos

On May 14, our meeting date in Madrid, long-made plans turned topsy-turvy. My flight arrived an hour early so I quickly texted Claire: “I’m running to get on your morning flight to Bordeaux!” Meanwhile, she texted me, “I missed the flight because of a workers’ strike. I’ll be on your 4:20 p.m. flight.” Searching for each other in the Madrid airport, which turned out to be way more complicated than expected, we finally met outside.

“Can you believe it, we’re finally starting our excellent adventure!” We laugh heartily.

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We boarded a red double-decker tour bus to tour Madrid in a few hours, staying awake after long flights across the Atlantic.

Claire and I spent hours prior to the trip grumbling by phone about “Evil AA (American Airlines). “I’m so done with them!” we frequently told each other.

We tried to get on the same flight across the pond — Claire from Boston and me from Philly — but AA’s phone reps wouldn’t have it.

The only other thing we grumbled about  was the weirdly mispronouncing GPS that was supposed make driving around in France go smoothly.

“HA, I hate her,” I often pronounced, following GPS’s garbled directions over narrow, curvy mountain roads, trying to reach tiny villages only an hour away…

Our trip is now a rose-infused, shiny-leafed vineyard, bike-riding, two baguette plus Rose wine dream.

Still, it’s only right that I commend the ponytailed AA agent, who on June 4, persisted in changing my flight home to Tucson at London Heathrow, otherwise I would have waited for seven hours in Dallas (my least favorite airport, in tornado heaven).

“Smashing!” she announced, when she managed to get me on an earlier flight to Phoenix. Magic, indeed.

In flight when I woke from my four-hour nap, flight attendants were passing out GOURMET chocolate ice cream. What a lovely surprise. AA redeemed itself.

Air France: Printed on my May 24 boarding pass from Charles de Gaulle  to Florence was Gate 47. Two minutes before takeoff my name blasted over the PA calling me to Gate 54, where I met a nasty agent, yelling: “I’ve cancelled you from the flight! Yes, you weren’t here for boarding. ”

“What?? I didn’t hear any announcements about a gate change,” I replied.

“Well, we can’t do that because it’s too noisy.”

I finally boarded the flight after more arguing, already unhappy about paying AF 44 euros to check a small suitcase.

My June 3 return flight from Florence to Paris, was delayed for six hours due to “technical reasons.” Exhausted when passengers finally lined up, a French lawyer explained “Watching the grounded plane I didn’t witness any mechanical crews. Mon dieu, It’s a personnel problem. Air France does this all the time. They’re so unprofessional.”

On board, a so-called “flight attendant” dressed in jeans and a t-shirt wore a security pin. You can’t get a glass of water without paying. Finis, Air France!

Fellow/Sister adventurers, don’t let airport mishaps stop you! And, there’s always Turkish Airlines where the pilot addresses the “dear children” before takeoff.  There’s a menu welcoming you on your seat, which features better than edible food and a smashing chocolate mousse.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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A Garden of Women Writing in Tuscany

Burnt red tile rooftops in Florence, Italian voices wafting up from the overcrowded streets, and bathroom bidets remind me that I’m far from home.

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Me and the big guy

No longer at the Tuscany Villa where we six women bonded — hailing from Washington State, Hawaii, Arizona, New York, New Mexico, LA, and New Orleans — we’re now in bustling  Florence. A flurry of roses, poppies, olive or cherry trees aren’t visible from my hotel window, I can tell you that.

But each of you is a distinctive blossom (I’m too tired to cleverly figure out which).

How can I adequately thank Sheila Bender for helping me to see the forest through the trees, and for her generous spirit? Probably by continuing to write my life. I have such admiration for her skillful gardening.

Lee — a daughter of Sicily — deems me an iris. With her quips, one-liners, and hearty laugh she would be a great stand-up comic. Whether or not she creates pandemonium with children’s stories, she’s committed to the best words.

Nancy — previously devoted to writing children’s nonfiction, she’s been brave to switch to poetry in the past five years, and to plant herself in our villa garden — despite her helicopter children’s protests.

Julie — a rose is a rose is a rose. Exuding calm and positivity, a master of onomatopoeia (or maybe synonyms?), she will finish her “Spacious Unknown” on the Italian coast. She inspires me with her adventurous and intuitive nature.

Lucille — precise, caring, and a talented professional, she’s solid and straightforward. I hope she finds the exact rose she’s looking for. She may be a New Yorker but she’s clearly not provincial.

Rhonda — no bullshit for her, strong and sturdy. She’s gone through a lot and will help others grow by telling her story, of which I have no doubt. Her sharp images have stayed with me.

May your writing flourish, wherever it takes root.

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A secret garden in our Tuscany villa backyard

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Room with a French View…

Mon Dieu, the South of France is exquisite! Join me for a quick peek at Claire & Sheila’s Excellent Adventure! Perhaps I’ll dispatch a few photos and not say much (What! Yes I’m tired after driving three hours today).

What an amazing trip my Maine friend of forty years and I have been having! We’re staying in a castle tonight, on our way from Sarlat to Provence. Drinking one or two glasses of red wine nightly has become a delightful habit. I’m looking forward to sipping Rose and wearing lighter clothing in Provence.

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Chateau de Creissels in Millau, France

Sarlat, the heart of the Dordogne region, was magnifique. We stayed at the Lanterne, and were greeted by our wonderful hosts Jayne and Ian Holliday, Brits who wanted “to try something different.” The smiling, witty couple moved to France a year ago.

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The arched front door at the Lanterne, built in 1503, welcomed us under an arch of roses.

Saved by history, the Dordogne villages we visited included Beynac (my favorite) — complete with a Game of Thrones castle — high atop a hill overlooking the Dordogne River.

Je me souviens, as they say in Quebec. French culture’s attention to beauty, relaxation, and food is indisputable. Uplifting. No matter what, a beautifully presented dejeuner and a glass of wine — or two — reminds me how grateful I am. For now, bon soir, mes amis!

 

 

 

 

Posted in Food/happy hours, For Love of History, Old friends, The Rest of the World | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

Wordplay Authors, My Daughter-in-law, and Ordinary Human Beings encourage Me…

Ok, chatting with Stephen King was pretty cool. His author presentation opening the Wordplay Book Festival in Minneapolis — of which my amazing daughter-in-law is the founding director — was super funny, smart, and humane. King’s fan base and reputation as the second wealthiest author on the planet  is astonishing (after J.K. Rowling, last I looked). But he’s an ordinary guy.

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The king wore a Maine t-shirt. I wore my little black dress. Photo Credit: Kay Martin/taken before the performance of the Rock Bottom Remainders at the Wordplay book festival in Minneapolis. (what happened to his hand?)

Having owned the Oz Children’s Bookstore in Southwest Harbor, Maine, for fifteen years, I had met King before. When I told him Friday night that my son was born in Ellsworth, and had been driving the RBR around Minneapolis for  the past two days, he said, “Let’s go see this Mainer.”

I took meticulous notes at King’s Saturday morning talk, quotes and all, on my iPhone. Somehow I deleted them. What I remember most: King believes his writing can dispel anxieties, especially when it crosses over to the supernatural. It’s so subtle the reader may not recognize the transformation, but sure, it serves as an escape from the unease of real life. Guess the reader worries so much about the horror she’s immersed in, small worries disappear.

In a way, I’m glad I deleted my notes/quotes. This morning I met three more ordinary people, who haven’t amassed a fraction of King’s notoriety, but each contributed to my faith in humans.

First Conrad the Lyft driver : He picked me up at my Minneapolis hotel. We talked about Judaism, Conrad being super religious and me being super secular. Upon our arrival at the airport Conrad handed me a dollar bill, telling me it would be good luck for my trip. Also, he said, “You must do a mitzvah,” or help someone I meet, which I’ll be more than happy to do.

At the Minneapolis airport: Amanda, a beautiful young American woman, who works in the coffee industry, and lives in Lima, Peru, told me, “You must go to Enoteca Pitti Gola e Cantina in Florence! It’s to die for!” She encouraged me to travel more.

And what about the calm, efficient woman who waited on us at the French Meadow cafe for breakfast? She took care of every diner’s requests with a smile. I told her she was fantastic. Inspiring, really.

The waitperson, the business woman, the Lyft driver, and Stephen King encouraged me to rock on…Now I’m waiting for American Airlines to get our plane going to Philadelphia, from where I’ll board my flight to France.

Oh, and did I say that a really nice American Airlines employee helped me check in my suitcase, which I’m happy I did.

We made it. Packing up in our tiny Ibis Budget hotel room in Bordeaux, we’re heading to the Dordogne countryside. Onward for Claire & Sheila’s Excellent Adventure!!!

 

 

 

Posted in Fight wimpiness, It's only rock 'n' roll, Mount Desert Island/Maine, Old friends, The Rest of the World, Tucson Festival of Books/good books | Tagged , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Helping Migrants Seeking Asylum

Enter the monastery. My shift was from noon to 3 p.m.; folding clothes would be my bag. The well-organized, super well-stocked free-clothing shop welcomed migrants already approved for political asylum: “Born to be UA Wildcat” onesies for newborns; jeans for every size and shape; colorful Southwestern tops and dresses; even size one sparkly boots for little ones on their way to Minnesota.

We were ready. But the building was quiet today, not like last Friday when I dropped off clothing for the newcomers. “We’re expecting 400 more people tonight,” one woman said then. We had seen people arriving in large Department of Homeland Security buses as we strolled by on our way to a movie at the Loft Cinema.

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One of Tucson’s most historic buildings, a few blocks away  from us on Country Club Road

“There are only 70 people here, with 25 more expected later,” the same woman said today.

So I quietly folded a giant bag of new unisex t-shirts. Apparently, the sorting room emptied out prior to Easter. Not anymore. Crates stacked high, marked with their contents, await the next influx of migrants. Human beings who have somehow made it from Guatemala, Honduras, El Salvador. Places no longer hospitable to them.

Here, three meals a day await them in the immaculate comedor (dining room).

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This home away from home exudes kindness. Formerly occupied by a few elderly nuns, it welcomes all. Spanish-speaking volunteers accompany a mother and her two children, each carrying a donated new pillow for dreaming sweet dreams.

Last week I felt heartened watching so many smiling kids as they blazed around the monastery yard on toy vehicles and tiny bikes. Going fast. Weaving between fruit trees. Trying out their new world.

I wonder what the family’s next stop in our scary country will offer?

I wish them well.

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Waiting for the next batch of kids

 

 

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