Ever since I was little, I loved the magic of a garden and the joy of picking beans and tomatoes, shucking corn, and searching for the biggest pumpkin. When I moved to Arizona, I tried to replicate a much smaller version of the ones my grandparents had. But unlike their Ohio garden, in Phoenix, I could have both a spring and a fall/winter garden.

Yet, this year high September temperatures prevented me from planting until two weeks ago. (It remains to be seen if it will mature and produce.) And given the late start, I was forced to not use seeds, but mature plants of zucchini, broccoli, and tomatoes. Thanks to an ample supply of horse manure from my neighbor, I meticulously tilled, watered, and firmly set each plant. All was well. Until….

Being Type A, my ingrained-morning routine includes a walk to my garden, where I assess soil moisture, plant growth, etc. Much to my horror and disgust, I discovered some varmint had invaded, dug several holes, and pulled up all of my tomato plants. Damn, damn, damn. Gophers? Moles? Years ago, I’d ordered some solar-powered, sonic pest repellents; I’d try those. Alas, they wouldn’t arrive for two more days, and my garden could be decimated by then. With the help of one of my old campaign signs, a piece of screen, and duct tape, I built a barrier. Viola! It worked. The varmint had vacated.

Curious and curiouser. Suddenly, it occurred to me. Given the random holes in my garden and the uprooting of my plants, it wasn’t a gopher or a mole. It was my cabana gal’s long-legged Bernedoodle, who loves to dig anywhere and everywhere.

Tomorrow, I’ll return my unopened sonic repellents to Amazon.

I spent this weekend in Houston attending my niece’s 40th birthday party. Though I missed the freshmen football game on Thursday night, another grand nephew is the center for the varsity team and played Friday night.

Now, I’ve never seen a full episode of Friday Night Lights, but I have been to Houston often enough to know about how revered high school football is in Texas. (In fact, currently one district in suburbia has a $69.5 million bond issue on the ballot to build a new stadium to seat 8,000!) As a spectator for the visiting team, I had to buy a ticket on-line. No cash–not even for concessions.

The school parking areas were full when we arrived, and we parked across the street. The police had strategically and conveniently set up a temporary crosswalk to facilitate our entrance. We walked toward the gate and I saw two, semi-trucks and a panel truck with my nephew’s school logo. WTH? The band equipment!

I couldn’t believe my eyes when I spied the stadium. It outshone any small college athletic facility. In fact, I’ve never seen anything in the Phoenix area of that quality! Unfortunately, I can’t share photos of the field due to a mishap. But thankfully, the school district has its own YouTube channel and not only streams each game live, but replays it all weekend. Thus, I watched both half-time performances and the second half. Had I been in the stands, I would never seen my nephew’s snaps up close and personal.

Curiously, Texas ranks 42nd in public school funding, even though 91% of its children attend public schools. Its governor and legislature has embraced funneling public monies to 9% in the name of choice. Clearly the vast majority attend public schools and support athletics, band, and extracurricular activities. Yet…oblah dee, oblah dah.

(Note: Photo is a $70 million, high school football stadium in Allen, TX)

I find his insults of women most appalling but had no desire to go public about them until…his trash talk about “childless cat women teachers,” who prey on our children. Not only was his stupidity showing, his knowledge of American education is glaring. In the 1800’s, women teachers were NOT allowed to marry. School boards wanted young women to devote their entire lives to educating children. God forbid, if they hired a married teacher, who became pregnant. In fact, this practice continued until after World War II and in some states wasn’t abolished until the Civil Rights Act was passed in 1964. Of course, this practice bolstered the “she’s just a teacher” when it came to salary. “She” doesn’t need much money, “she” has no family to feed, “she” just does this for love of children, and “she” has no social life.

Like you, J.D., I was born in Ohio, and I went to kindergarten in 1953. During my K-6 experience, I had four, unmarried, female teachers, and none of them corrupted me. And by the way, though they were childless, one of them had a dog, another a parakeet, and one them had a fish tank full of guppies. Fortunately, my classmates and I weren’t scarred for life when we witnessed the live birth of baby fish.

Sadly, many years later, I learned Miss Peddlar, my fifth grade teacher, was indeed married. She chose not to broadcast it because her original contract required she be single. Perhaps, it was to keep her reputation as the most demanding teacher in Washington School! Yet, her demanding ways improved my cursive handwriting, taught me how to memorize, and greatly influenced my passion for learning.

Yes, J.D., I’ve read Hillbilly Elegy and have seen the movie. You only succeeded because of your grandmother and your teachers. Without them, you, would not be a vice-presidential candidate today. Think about that before you make these disparaging remarks about teachers. Better yet, admit to yourself and your minions that you would be nothing without the teachers who taught you to read and to add two and two together.

Yes, I do have a lot of dogs–four of mine, one I inherited, and one who belongs to my tenant. Yes, a half-dozen canines roam my acre property. A year ago, my golden doodle escaped from her collar and leash as we entered the vet’s office, and ran back and forth a six-lane highway. It was truly a miracle she wasn’t killed, but given the 112-degree heat that day, she suffered a heat stroke and seriously burned her four paws. To this day, I have PTSD every time I drive through that intersection, and she has developed extreme anxiety in many situations. Thus, I decided I’d no longer take her to the vet I’d use a mobile service when necessary that comes to my casa.

When the vet and her tech came on Friday, I wasn’t quite prepared. “Didn’t you get our text?”

“No, I was rather surprised by your early arrival.”

“We apologize. We must have had the wrong number. Check it, Allison.”

Allison scrolled through her laptop, “The message was flagged and not sent.”

Both the vet and I asked in unison, “Why?”

“Unacceptable language. I guess the AI censors didn’t like: Arriving in 15 minutes for our appointment with Fanny.”

I laughed, “I named her Fanny Brice after the Broadway musical Funny Girl because I’m a fan of the musical and the film. The only other Fanny I knew was my great aunt whose really name was Frances. But my late neighbor, who was English, was horrified I named a sweet puppy, Fanny. ‘Sue, you need to change her name; it’s really a filthy word in England.’ And when she told me, it was filthy.”

Certainly, as an English major, I believe there must be some acceptable standards of word usage in writing, but I am uncomfortable with some AI bot lifting a word from context and serving as the censor police. The next time I need a GO VETS visit I’ll make an appointment for Frances, Francine, or Fantasia.