Dr. Suze

“There’s NO Such Thing…”

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CLIMATE CHANGE? FAKE NEWS!

As many of you know, I grew up in the city but spent my weekends and summers at my grandparents’ farm. I had the best of both worlds. On one hand, I had the city conveniences of restaurants, movie theaters, shopping malls, and good schools. But on the farm, I received an education! Just like Mark Twain opined: I never let my schooling interfere with my education.

At the farm, I witnessed the stillbirth of a calf, I watched a barn cat deliver ten kittens, I fed the chickens, I helped slop the pigs, I milked a cow, I planted seeds and sapling trees, and I drove the tractor during haying season. I was overwhelmed by the amount of work farmers did: 24-7, 365 days of the year. In fact, I asked my grandmother, “Why don’t you and Grandpa take a vacation?”

“Suzanne! You know why. Cows, chickens, pigs, cats, dogs. Do they ever take a vacation? Plus, there’s crops to grow, gardens to plant, picking, and canning. And then there’s the weather. Will it snow or rain? Will we get enough? Or too little or too much?”

Fast forward to May, 2026. We regret to inform you that our fruit stand will be closed this summer and fall due to a late frost. We are unable to offer any fruits or vegetables. Years ago, a friend of mine recommended this market, who brings in truck loads of fresh, delicious apricots, tomatoes, red and black raspberries, cherries, blueberries, and peaches from Utah. The Angelo Peaches are undoubtedly the best I’ve ever had! I’m really bummed I won’t get to bake a peach cobbler and smother it with vanilla ice cream.

What can we expect? We shoot more pollutants into the air; we abuse the Earth; we mock Mother Nature and defame science. But what I do know this: Dr. Suze can’t bake a cherry, nor a peach pie. Sorry, Billy Boy, your father was right. I’m not wife material.

The Last Inning Fan

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That’s what I am. Of course, there was a time when I was not. When I was in high school, I faithfully sat through every football and basketball game to root for my friends on the field or court. When my girls played tennis, I was there. When my youngest was a cheerleader I sat on the front row bleacher. As a football season ticket holder and alumna of Arizona State, I sat in the crumbling Pasadena Stadium and watch Ohio State beat us in the last seconds of the Rose Bowl. Admittedly, I closed my eyes when Luis Gonzales came to bat in the ninth inning of the World Series. But, with rain drizzling down my face, I saw him cross home plate, and I heard the announcer scream, “OMG! The Diamondbacks win!”

Time passed. My interest waned. Why? Perhaps because I didn’t know any of the players or I just didn’t care. In fact, some folk would ask me, Aren’t you excited about… and cite some random team name? No, I’m not. It doesn’t matter. At this stage in my life, I’ve better things to do than sit on the sofa for three and a half hours and watch football, or basketball, or baseball, or put-me-to-sleep golf.

My sports’ lifestyle today is best described as a two-minute-warning. Then and only then am I able to turn my attention to the TV, unless it’s Miller Time!

How One Town Rallied: A Story of Hope

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With both our nation and our world in such disarray this week and with all the personal struggles and uncertainties our family and friends are experiencing, I offer this true story of hope.

Lakeview, Oregon is the Lake County seat, with a population of 2,418 (2020 Census.) It dubbed itself as the “Tallest Town in Oregon,” for its elevation of over 4,700 feet above sea level, and its residents are primarily loggers, ranchers, or government employees. This past spring, the town officials informed the community, there were no funds to open the public swimming pool, due to a hefty loss in tax revenues. Realizing the importance of providing that recreation, the folks came together and donated enough money to open the pool.

Then as summer edged toward fall, town officials delivered worse news: there were no funds to plow snow this winter in a town that typically gets 44+ inches of snow! Why? After all, Lake County is nearly the size of New Jersey, yet inhabited by less than 9,000 people. Most of the land is under the Bureau of Land Management or Forest Service control, and thus it is not taxable, which further contributes to the town’s financial woes.

Faced with this potentially critical dilemma, the community had to do something. How would their children get safely to and from school? How would mail be delivered? How would stores and offices be able to open? Thanks to the ingenuity and creativity of several community members, they decided to print and sell a 2026 calendar–not just any calendar–but an Outback Naked calendar, and dedicate 100% of the sales for snowplowing. Using volunteers from senior citizens to those in their mid-forties as the monthly models in scanty clothing, they published a most hilarious calendar, which went viral. Even The New York Times published this article: One Town’s Plan to Address a Financial Crisis: Nude Calendars by R. Fernandez. (Don’t be alarmed, the models don’t let it all hang out; it’s no more skin than you’d see at the swimming pool.) The Drew Barrymore Show is also scheduled to feature Lakeview’s project.

I would urge you to join me in supporting Lakeview’s endeavor. Check out: Outback Naked Calendar’s Shop on zeffy.com Trust me, you’ll get a kick out of each month and applaud the resilience of a town who refused to accept the unacceptable.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, Dr. Suze

(Photo courtesy of: Tiffany Paull. Model: Kenda Fuhriman)

The Scrooges of Capital Hill

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As a child, I was moved by Dickens’ A Christmas Carol. Why? I guess because I was young and had never met a ruthless, nasty Ebeneezer. When How the Grinch Stole Christmas appeared in 1957, I was nine-years-old and certainly still too young to understand the heartless green, evil guy.

Today, I’m a septuagenarian–more experienced, worldly, and battle-worn, who has encountered a mere handful of abominable folk. Until now. Now? They’re everywhere. Yes, everywhere, particularly in Washington, DC. The newfound colony of millionaires, billionaires, and even a trillionaire, who are clueless about the rest of us. They don’t go to the grocery, nor the gas station. They don’t shop Black Friday sales, nor do they use duct tape to repair a broken pipe. Their pension and health insurance is guaranteed for life. And when THEIR company shut down, they got paid, while our military and air traffic controllers did not.

This past week, these egotistic villains failed to act on health care plans, causing over half of us to be faced with increased costs of as much as 500%. Imagine the young teacher, who is currently paying $180 per month. In January, her bill will be $1,200 a month! To me, this is unconscionable and irresponsible–and inhumane. It seems these elected politicians are oblivious to their looming reelections in 2026, since 57% of those on the expiring Affordable Care Act are Republicans.

The holiday memories of my childhood are crystal clear this time of year. I sat in the upper choir loft of the Methodist Church and joined my friends in singing, Glory to the newborn King. On Christmas Eve, I looked out my bedroom window to see if I could spot the jolly, old soul. I believed in the spirit, the miracle birth, and the love and the joy.

My greatest wish this season is for those on Capital Hill to wake up from their oblivion! Your constituents are hurting. You should embrace and act on Peace on Earth and Good Will to All. My question is: Will you?

It Seems to Me….

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Time goes by faster every year. I can’t believe Christmas is so near.

I need to shop and bake and write, but I read the news and shake with fright.

We blow up boats and deport non-whites, we break up families throughout the night.

No votes for women, they must be ladies, who cook and clean and tend to babies.

History’s destroyed; the East Wing’s gone. I fear old Lincoln won’t be long.

Tariffs have made the prices soar, forcing stores to close their doors.

Who in this season has caused this mess? Read the headlines. Any guess?

A selfish Grinch devoid of shame, as long as everything bears his name!

He lies and lies; he cheats and steals. He makes millions on all his deals.

So in this season to be jolly and deck the halls with boughs of holly, I’ll try to stay in a good mood. I’ll go out and do some good. Among those who are in need and have a lot of kids to feed.

My days grow shorter, that I know, and I have many miles to go

To cast my vote and have a say, and hope that cruel fop fades away.

Here It Comes Again

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Many of you fell back to standard time yesterday, and today the grocery stores and big box scores were selling holiday wares. TV ads for the “most wonderful time of the year” were aired by a variety of sponsors. Even pre-Black Friday sales events are trending.

As a child, I anxiously awaited the long holiday break from the monotony of school. I was raring to drink hot chocolate, leaf through the Sears Catalog, sled ride, ice skate, and pound my brother with snowballs. But then, those days of November to mid-December crawled by. Would the holidays ever arrive?

Now, as a septuagenarian, I’m astounded! In less than two months, it will be 2026. Where did the time go? What did I do? Did I accomplish anything other than just trying to stay alive and out of jail? Did I make a difference in the lives of others?

Obviously, I managed to stay alive and out of jail. I hope I’ve accomplished things, I hope I’ve been kind and respectful, and I hope I’ve helped folk along the way. But one thing I absolutely know for certain is: I have NOT solicited for a $5.00 donation to get into Heaven, nor did I throw a $3 million party for Jay Gatsby.

The swift downhill journey to ’26 is upon us.

The First Wives’ Club

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As most of you know, I’m a card-carrying member of this organization, and I know all the words to You Don’t Own Me, even though I can’t sing like Lesley Gore. When Diane Keaton died last week, social media was awash with the movie clip of she, Bette Midler, and Goldie Hawn’s exit to that song.

The First Wives’ Club premiered in 1996; I was 48, Diane and Bette, 50, and Goldie, 51 years old. Even after all the years have passed the movie remains a vivid memory and makes me smile as I remember Elise’s (Goldie) bulging, botoxed lips, Brenda’s (Bette) quick wit, and Annie’s (Diane) takeover of her husband’s fortune. What surprised me the most about Keaton’s final pictures was how old she looked. Then I saw photos of Bette and Goldie; hell, Bette even has grey hair! How can that be? Where has the time gone? And the most recent photos of Robert Redford before his death–ye Gods! What happened to the Sundance Kid?

Little did I know I was in for the ultimate shock; I looked in the bathroom mirror. OMG! Who’s that ancient creature staring at me? Even Maleficent looks better than me! Oblah dee, oblah da….

If It’s Not One Thing, It’s Another

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Read the title in your best nasally, whiny Roseannadanna voice, and you’ll understand my week. Please know, I’m not looking for sympathy; in fact, my purpose is to bring a smile or a sigh of relief that it didn’t happen to you.

My former husband used to say, You can’t have construction, without destruction.” Monday was destruction, which began in my hallway at six AM, when they jack-hammered up the floor. Not only were my dogs terrified, but the deafening sounds of scraping concrete gave me a roaring headache. Then came the construction phase, which continues through this coming week. The constant whirring of the tile saw and mortar mixer increased my anxiety.

On Thursday, a large limb on my grapefruit tree snapped sent a hundred, large unripe fruit to live with Jesus. (Note picture) Friday and Saturday, mother nature finally sent rain to the desert–not the lovely gentle rain that soaks the parched soil, but the wild torrents of flooding. And during these severe storms, my kitchen skylight leaked, and the ceiling bubbled. And just when some semblance of calm appeared, one of my dogs vomited, which necessitated a very pricey trip to the emergency vet clinic.

Thankfully, my dog is better, and tomorrow I’ll schedule appointments with my landscaper and my roofers. Hopefully, by mid-week my hallway floor will be finished. Until, the next time….

NIMBY

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An acronym which has been around for forty-six years–not in my backyard. Originally, it was coined to oppose governmental or environmental changes to one’s neighborhood, such as a nuclear plant, low-income housing, or commercial development. But its meaning has morphed over time to include most everything no one wants, until….disaster strikes.

  1. “Why weren’t we warned of the impending floods in the Texas High Country?” Hmm. You weren’t warned because the state legislature denied your numerous requests for a $77,000 weather alert system. Instead, the legislature has proposed moving the Challenger Space Shuttle from the Smithsonian to Houston at the cost of $300 million! It’s all about priorities.
  2. “Where is the Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA), and why is ICE Barbie here?” Because ICE Barbie directs FEMA, an agency destined for the chopping block, as a wasteful, unnecessary nuisance. Further ICE Barbie is a pro at dealing with disasters. She dons her combat gear, pulls out her AK-47 and fires.
  3. “Where are Senator Cruz and POTUS?” Cruz is viewing the ancient ruins in Greece, and his highness is golfing. After all, it’s the weekend.

But this is a disaster, and it’s in my backyard! I need help.

I understand, but you denied help when it was in someone else’s backyard. You slashed funding and personnel without any thought to the consequences. I mourn the loss of so many innocent lives that were lost to your callousness and greed.

It’s How You Look at It

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Everybody and their dog is familiar with: Is the glass full or half empty?  It depends on your perspective.  My thought was as long as there is more libation to add in the glass what did it matter.  However, I’ve meet a handful of people along the way who are consumed with negativity.  Sadly, these folk never have a good day, they never see the silver lining in the face of adversity, and they don’t laugh at their own foibles.  Further, they are unable to accept blame for their own mistakes.

Witness the PT Barnum circus in Washington.  For the first time in history, only PT knows the truth–everything else is “fake.”  Wow!  I must be the most stupid person on earth to watch a PT video, which is immediately denied as “fake,”  if there’s a backlash. It’s a most curious world.

As most of you know, a week ago I turned 70.  Not a number I necessarily wanted to be, but I can’t deny my birth certificate, nor my passport.  I can’t call it fake news.  It is a fact. Yes, Sue, you’re 70, and the sun is still shining.

Admittedly, I had a tough time turning 70.  It was a anchoring moment…until my one of my high school friends posted:

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Yep, it’s all in how you look at it.  A mere 21 in Celsius.  Now, don’t get me wrong, I’ve no desire to be 21 again–50ish perhaps, but not 21.  Working all day, staying up late partying all weekend, or squeezing my squashed behind into trendy clothing.  But at least I’ve a comeback remark when someone asks, “How old are you?”

“Fahrenheit or Celsius?”