(I was going to blog today about the new assault rifle being sold to civilians, which is not only twice as powerful as the AR-15, but it capable of shooting through bulletproof vests. The horror of that makes me nauseous and causes me great fear for America. I believe we’ve lost both our moral compass and our minds.)

Let me assure you, I’m no Jack Reacher, nor Nancy Drew. But yesterday, I was making a fruit dessert and went to use my blender. I set the glass container on the counter and filled it with a variety of pineapple, mandarin oranges, and cherries. I opened the pantry to retrieve the bottom motorized part, and spent the next twenty minutes searching for it–to NO avail. Due to the loss of time, I was forced to adapt. This morning, I took the entire pantry apart. Of course, I discovered a lot of items I didn’t know I had. I rearranged everything and threw stuff away. (Who really saves a half-eaten small bag of chips from a holiday party?)

Regrettably, the blender bottom remains MIA. I’ve no idea when I last used it–maybe a few months ago or maybe a year ago. I was about to put the glass container in the donation box, but I knew if I did, I would eventually find the missing piece. Thus, I just shoved it back in the pantry to gather dust. If and when the occasion calls for a blender, I’ll throw another tantrum when I can’t find the bottom. I have NOT lost my moral compass, but I have, indeed, lost my mind!

Cockroaches were immortalized in Kafka’s novella, Metamorphosis, when salesman, Gregor Samsa, awakens to find himself transformed into a bug. (The Samsa bug is frequently illustrated as a cockroach.)

Several weeks ago, I was staying in a North Carolina Beach house which had an ample supply of cockroaches. Though I’m not a fan of them, I not afraid of them–even when they hiss. However, one of my guests was absolutely terrified. She screamed, as if the bejesus had stopped her heart! For some perverse reason, I found this amusing. So much so, I decided to research this ancient group with ancestors over 300 million years old.

Pundits believe cockroaches exist to make us clean our houses and shut our doors. They also justify the bugs’ existence to induce terror among both men and women–gender equality! While others posit, the exercise benefit of chasing and swatting these despicable creatures. Some folk are highly allergic to these pests, and in fact, when I had allergy tests years ago, one of my only negatives was cockroach poop!

Actually, though, cockroach lives are important: they feed on decaying matter, such as dead plants, dead animals, and animal waste. Their waste provides much needed nitrogen to the soil. Secondly, they are a primary food source for certain species of birds and small reptiles and mammals, such as mice. In some countries cockroaches are also a food source for humans, and in China, they are used for medicinal purposes, including the treatment of burns and diarrhea.

So the next time, you’re in a panic trying to terminate a roach, remember you’re messing with the ecosystem. And yes, Cathy, cockroach lives do matter.

We know the adage: Necessity is the mother of invention. Perhaps, I’m the most uncreative person around because the tools, appliances, and equipment I have each serve a certain purpose. I could no more think of turning my washing machine into a blender or converting my circular saw into a meat slicer. My brain is reserved for writing novels that combine reality with fiction to spin stories and jokes.

Last weekend the extended Mexican family I’ve known for twenty years dropped in for a pool party at my casa. Multitudes of children from 6 months to eighteen years floated around my pool with their parents and numerous inflatable rafts, tubes, and balls.. Pizza boxes, soda cans, and ice cream sticks were everywhere. And of course, there were cervezas, not in flip-top cans, but in glass bottles.

I sat down at the patio table across from the patriarch, Lorenzo. Lorenzo had been my landscaper, contractor, electrician, and my friend for over ten years. I was sipping a Miller Lite, and he got up to retrieve a Modelo from the cooler. I couldn’t believe what happened next!

Holding the beer bottle in one hand, Lorenzo picked up an errant hammer I’d neglected to stash before the party. Using the claw of the hammer, he popped off the bottle cap. I was in awe. “Lorenzo, how did you do that? I’ve never seen anyone do that! I have a kitchen drawer full of bottle openers and could have given you one.”

“Hey, Sue, you know us Mexicans, we make do with what’s available.”

Hmm. I must ponder that.

Most of us have a variety of friends: old friends from childhood and college, new friends we meet along our journey, social friends we hang out occasionally, peripheral friends (acquaintances we meet through others.) Some of us are fortunate enough to have best friends–the kind who accept all of our proclivities and still like us. Best friends are never too busy to answer our calls for help or for advice or to listen to our stories of woe. Best friends laugh with us, cry with us, and hug us when we are in need.

Even though the adage dubs “old friends as the best friends,” I recently discovered that’s not true in my case. In fact, I’ve created a new category–exceptional friend. An exceptional friend is as rare as an honest politician or a bird without feathers. Few folk could earn this distinction. In fact, in over 70 years, I never encountered anyone–until Thursday, June 30th, my grandparents’ 100th wedding anniversary.

I found my aged dog dead in the backyard. Her abdominal cavity was totally gone, like the carcass of a Thanksgiving turkey. In my hysteria, I thought she was the victim of a coyote attack. In retrospect, I believe she died due to her heart failure condition. (The vet had diagnosed 6 months-to a year survival rate almost a year ago.) Scavengers, like owl or rats, may have claimed her corpse. My grief was uncontrollable, and I was shaking so hard I could barely hold the phone when I called my next-door neighbor. Sass immediately came to my rescue. Even though she had open heart surgery eight weeks ago, she loaded the remains into a box for me and we drove to the emergency vet clinic to arrange cremation.

Granted Sass has saved me before when an errant snake slithered into my yard, she held my hand through my other crises, but what she did for me and for my beloved, fourteen-year-old Roxy was extraordinary. May you all find a rare, exceptional friend.

In 1971, the Five Man Electric Band wailed, Signs, Signs, Everywhere Are Signs. Precisely how I feel about charging cables for technology products.

I have a minimum of three drawers and several stashed boxes filled with charging cables. Of course, I’ve no idea which device uses which or if none of them do. Of course, not all of them are mine–some belong to my kids or are gifts from long gone visitors that left them to live with me. Sometimes, I feel like they multiply at night and delight in entangling themselves.

Additionally, if a dog chews a cable or I lose one for a current device, I’m forced to order another. The dilemma, at my age, is I don’t know which cable to order. Do I have a Kindle Fire 7? An 8? or a 20? Do I have an IPHONE 6,7,12? My IPAD charger and my Fit Bit charger is in my lost luggage, which probably went to live with Jesus and Jimmy Buffet’s lost salt. Thus, yesterday I rush ordered a new one. Sadly, it was NOT the correct one.

Yes, I understand free enterprise, and yes every manufacturer should be able to make their own charging cords. But why do they change the cord every time they make a new model Kindle, IPAD, IWATCH, or IPHONE? Why can’t electronic devices be universal to each manufacturer by product?

Like all of us, we have standard large and small devices in our homes from a myriad of companies from kitchen blenders and waffles irons to televisions and refrigerators. All of them come plug-in ready to use. Plug them in, and voila!

So, today I wonder why things aren’t standardized? Why do I have to know which generation I have of this Apple device or Kindle Fire? But more importantly, why can’t we all be friends? I shall ponder this at 4 am.

Sunday night–five days after the attacks on The Twin Towers, The Pentagon, and another downed aircraft in a Pennsylvania field. We decided to take our kids out to dinner to a Scottsdale Mexican restaurant; our mood was light. Our kids chatted, and we ordered our dinners. Our waiter had just finished placing steaming plates of fajitas, tacos, pollo fundido, and enchiladas in front of us. A mariachi band had positioned its members across the upstairs balcony overlooking all of we diners in the packed room below. They began to play God Bless America.

Every patron put down their forks and drinks. Everyone stood and sang boldly and proudly. At the song’s conclusion, there was no applause–just a lot of teary eyes. The background noise of a very busy restaurant was replaced with quiet subdued talk.

Fast forward twenty years: January 6, 2021. Gone was the true patriotism I had witnessed in that Mexican restaurant. I watched in horror as supposed Americans attempted to destroy the US Capitol Building. Suddenly, 233 years after the US Constitution outlined democracy, a segment of our society disregarded, disparaged, and attempted to destroy it. Their reason: Our Guy Didn’t Win.

Spare me. In every sports competition, the team with the highest score wins. In gambling, either one gets the cards or doesn’t. Miss America, the Pillsbury Bake-Off, and the Publishers’ Clearinghouse have one winner. Just because one doesn’t like the results, doesn’t call for insurrection.

Twenty years later, I feel like Rip Van Winkle. I’ve awakened to a new America that randomly kills its young and elderly, that threatens to destroy revered institutions, that spouts outrageous conspiracy theories at every turn. What ever happened to the true patriotism of Land that I Love?

On several occasions this week I was with educators. Some were classroom teachers, some were administrative secretaries, and some were principals and district superintendents. All of these occasions were social gatherings, not business meetings. As I mingled with folk, I was stunned to hear their personal “war” stories of the school year.

Their overarching conversations focused on the toxicity of others. One district office secretary said, “Sue, I hate to answer the phone. The vast majority of those calling begin with a fiery, swear-word rant about their issue from bus routes, to playground time, to cafeteria services, and of course, teacher performance. Their anger overrides any attempt to have a reasonable discussion. I’ve been so brow-beaten I decided to quit, but with the help of my husband, I learned to not internalize nastiness.”

Principals and classroom teachers are at the forefront of the educational toxic environment. Somehow, they are accountable for school violence in addition to their already cumbersome duties. Books are banned, lesson plans are questioned, assessment practices are challenged. To add further to the chaos, state legislatures and governors pass hundreds of new requirements on the institutions that were designed to ensure an educated public, ala Thomas Jefferson and Horace Mann.

Unfortunately, it seems no one is immune from rampant toxicity. An orthopedic surgeon and several others were murdered this week in a Tulsa Hospital by an angry patient. Flight attendants are shoved, hit, and even punched in the mouth by unruly passengers. Restaurant servers endure her harassment from customers, and police are the frequent victims of ambushed violence. Even fire and emergency folk are subjected to this uncontrollable cancer.

The English language has nose-dived. Gone are the words of decorum and civility. Confrontation has replaced cooperation. All of us has become you versus me. Disparaging, insulting descriptors have eradicated empathetic kind words. WHY?

The answer lies with us. Is this truly the world we want to live in–a world of hate? WE ARE BETTER THAN THIS.

Tuesday, May 24, 2022, was a devastating day for educators, parents, extended families, and most importantly for children, as the horror in Uvalde, Texas unfolded. Once again, evil invaded a school and massacred innocent teachers and students. I flashbacked, nine and one-half years ago, when I was seated in a school board meeting. I asked our superintendent to light a candle for the students, teachers, and principal slaughtered at Sandy Hook Elementary School and to offer a moment of silence.

I was so wrong! In fact, so wrong that last night I apologized at a party I hosted. I should never have asked for silence; I should have pleaded for VOICE. Thoughts and prayers will not allow the lost children to graduate from elementary school, let alone college. In the early 1990’s AR-15’s were banned from sale to the general public; they were sold solely to the military and law enforcement. When the ban expired in 2004, gun manufacturers seized the opportunity to market them to everyday folk. It was like trading up your old car for a high-tech Tesla or Lamborghini. Currently, AR-15’s have the highest sales and the ability to deliver hundreds of bullets in a short time, without reloading.

Further given the ready availability of AR-15’s, they are purchased by some who aren’t mentally stable or are immature. If I have to be 21 to gamble or buy a beer, I should have to 21 to buy a gun. If I have to show my ID to buy Claritin, there should be restrictions on gun sales. Damn, one terrorist put a bomb in his shoe, and we ALL have to take off our shoes at airport security, unless… we have TSA clearance, which includes a fingerprint scan, identification, and a background check.

Sadly, no place is immune to violence. Schools, churches, grocery stores, restaurants, and playgrounds. We must SPEAK UP! We must no longer tolerate the wanton waste of human life. The government is bold enough to FORCE me to have a kid, but too WEAK to ensure my kid makes it to recess alive. We are better than this.

No, I’m not talking about English, though many folk obviously weren’t paying attention in English class. I’m talking about:

Latin is a dead language

As dead as it can be.

Latin killed the Romans

And now it’s killing me!

Au contraire, I beg to disagree. Latin was so beneficial to me as an English major and made my study of French even easier. I took five years of Latin in high school and college, which served to improve my vocabulary and spelling, but it also made it easier to decipher words I’d encounter I didn’t understand. My internist is also a member of our weekly trivia team, and his undergraduate major was Latin. Between the two of us, we can arrive at logical answers of word derivatives and Greek and Roman mythology. He’s also the first to admit Latin was extremely helpful in medical school–a comment made by law students as well. So why did Latin vanish from public schools?

According to a The New York Times article, in the 1960’s students rebelled against the classics and the Roman Catholic Church ended Mass in Latin. However, recently there has been a resurgence of Latin; not only on the East Coast, but in states like Alaska and New Mexico. Some attribute this increase to student fascination with Harry Potter ‘s Latin chanting spells, others say it increases SAT vocabulary skills, particularly in high-performing suburban schools. Jason Griffiths, headmaster of Brooklyn Latin (a NY public school) says: “it’s the language of scholars and educated people…people who are successful.” Adam Blistein, executive director of the American Philological Association at University of Pennsylvania adds Latin study appeals to college admission officers as a sign of critical thinking skills and true intellectual passion.

Yet, if a school wanted to offer Latin, there is a dearth of Latin teachers. Some schools have waited four years to fill a position with a qualified teacher. Yes, there are online courses available, but none would compare to my wonderful Latin I instructor, Ron Cataland. Yes, Mr. Cataland, I remember the opening line of The Aeneid: Arma virumque cano. (I sing of arms and men.) Further, I’m particularly fond of Kansas’ state motto: Ad Astra per Aspera (To the stars through difficulties.)

Latin will never be a dead language for me. I’m very grateful to Youngstown Public Schools for offering it over 50 years ago. E Pluribus unum…out of many, one. Check your money; now you know.

(Apologies to The Beach Boys.) But I need help. In fact, I need a lot more help as I’ve aged. Replacing burned out light bulbs on my 10-foot ceilings is no longer on my to-do list. In fact, standing above the third ladder rung makes me perspire. Secondly, I’ve every jar lid removal appliance invented. I swear it used to be I could simply tap them on the tile floor and twist the lid off the pickle jars. And don’t get me started about the heinous Gatorade bottles or childproof prescription bottles, which I’ve been known to smash with a hammer.

To complicate my life even further, I’m living in a digital world, where others seemingly understand how to set up their computer, smart phones and watches, and charge hundreds of cordless devices. (I’ll save my rampage about charging cords and charging devices for another time. But really, why can’t they all be somewhat universal.)

While I’m most appreciative of those who help me navigate and fix things for me, I’m very grateful for Rhonda–my pet name for You Tube videos. I was not always a visual learner, after all, I was an English major. But when we entered the high-tech age, their language made zero sense to me. I struggled reading and rereading unintelligible instructions. I had to compensate for my inadequacies before I looked royally stupid. Now, I’m amazed by the number of things I can do by watching a one-minute instructional movie! I’ve learned how to change watch bands, program my phone, download apps and delete apps, and repair a leaky faucet. This week my touchless garbage can wouldn’t work; okay, just replace the batteries. Once I replaced the batteries, it still didn’t work. But Rhonda came through for me. Clean the sensors with a wet rag. Voila! It works. And to think I was initially so frustrated I was going to buy a new one!

And so my friends, when you encounter a problem in our complex, technological world–ask Rhonda.