Here There and Insanity
I have a group of buddies who gather early in the morning to swim. Everyone needs a group that can help keep them sane, and this is the group for me. We share news updates. We share reactions. We share our own ups and downs. Some of us are elders; we share our aches and pains. And at all of this – we laugh. Thanks be to God; we help each other keep things in perspective and keep a sense of humor about ourselves.
AdventureMan tells me I have a special smile for when I am in Alaska, or when I am on a boat. Both sing to my soul. It’s hard coming off a great vacation, and even harder when a heat dome covers Pensacola and there is barely a whiff of fresh breeze, even by the shore.
I thank God, too, for the life I was given, my time in Alaska, and my time with my husband living in so many different countries in service to our own country. You know, old fashioned things like building alliances, learning foreign cultures and languages, building relationships.
So forgive me if I rant now and then about the craziness I see in our current situation. Sometimes I feel like the blog name should be Here There and Insanity; as Paul says to the Romans, we are doing the things we ought not to do and not doing the good we ought to be doing.
What to do?
Here is what I wish for you – a strong partner, and a loving family. A group, or two or three, of buddies who can help you laugh when insanity happens in the world, and a belief system that can keep you grounded when moral values are topsy-turvy, shaken and tossed out.
“There are places I’ll remember all my life – though some have changed . . . Some forever, not for better, some have gone, and some remained . . . All these places have their moments with lovers and friends I still can recall, Some are dead and some are living – in my life, I’ve loved them all.”
Alaska 2026: Homer and Love Languages
There are some books out that talk about Love Languages, and they mention five. I actually read the original book and almost threw it at the wall in frustration. It seems so obvious to me – there are thousands of love languages! We are all wired differently, and a successful pairing requires each person paying attention to the small things that matter to the other person.
No! Don’t bring me candy or expensive jewelry! I have particular – maybe peculiar! – tastes.
Love isn’t perfection, it’s abrasive, it rubs off our sharp spots and helps us become easier to live with. AdventureMan has learned a thing or two about me, things I didn’t even know. Keep me traveling. Keep exposing me to new ideas, new sights, sounds, and tastes. I thrive on exposure to new things.
Allow me to break the rules now and then, and eat those King Crab legs, so extravagantly beyond our normal budget. Unexpected kindness is always a love language.
(Aside, Jewel Kilcher, who sings the song with the refrain “In the end, only kindness matters,” was born in Homer. She is related to the Alaska: The Last Frontier Kilchers.)
And this.
It may not look romantic to you.
I have annoyed AdventureMan for years with my need to document, to stop at every gorgeous, irresistible view and take a photo. Sometimes I shoot through the windshield when stopping isn’t possible.
He cleans the windshield.
I don’t ask him; he thinks of it all by himself. He doesn’t do it for himself; he does it for me.
True Love. If you have the eyes to see. If it matters to you, you can see it. True Love.
You’ll have your own definition. True Love is what matters to YOU.
Alaska 2026: Still the Last Frontier
For a welcome shift in pace and point of view, I am about to take you with AdventureMan and me as we escape “the lower 48” and the current murky political situation and escape, as so many have before us, to Alaska, The Last Frontier.
I’m a born Alaskan. I lived there until I was 11. I still know all the words to the State Song, although Alaska was not a state when I was born; it was still a territory, and became a state while I lived there.
Eight stars of gold on a field of blue
Alaska’s flag. May it mean to you
The blue of the sea, the evening sky,
The mountain lakes, and the flow’rsnearby;
The gold of the early sourdough’s dreams,
The precious gold of the hills and streams;
The brilliant stars in the northern sky,
The “Bear,” the “Dipper,” and, shining high,
The great North Star with its steady light,
O’er land and sea a beacon bright.
Alaska’s flag to Alaskans dear,
The simple flag of a last frontier.
Marie Drake
I am still moved by the song.
Talking With My Mom in the Commissary
“Mom! Look at the price on that flank steak!” When she sent me off to college, one of the pieces of advice she shared with me was never to spend more than $1.25 per pound on flank steak, one of the leanest, thriftiest cuts of beef available. Even four years later, the butcher looked at me in amazement and said “your mother’s information is out of date.”
But when I saw these breathtaking prices – even marked down! – for flank steak, I couldn’t help taking a photo to share with Mom.
Yes, I still talk with my Mom, I can’t help it. She should not have died when she did, one of the earliest victims of COVID. I have so much admiration for the choice she made – she chose not to be intubated. Intubation machines were limited, and she wanted younger people to have priority on their usage. She was 96. Her mother lived to 104. She requested hospice, and went quietly and without pain. I still choke to think of it, but it was her choice, and a heroic choice.
“Can you believe this?” I ask my mother, incredulously. “Hershey’s chocolate FLAVOR! Not even real chocolate!” and Mom replies in my head, telling me not to buy it, it’s just chemicals.
As the oldest daughter, some of my earliest memories are Saturday trips to the supermarket, wheeling the basket while Mom filled it, stopping now and then to chat with shopping neighbors, or to show me a label and what it meant. It was excruciatingly boring. I learned a lot.
She also taughte me to cook. I’m not the greatest cook (neither was she), but, like her, I have a few great recipes that make me look better than I am. Some of them are hers 😊. Even better, when we were cleaning out her condo, I found this old set of measuring spoons, which I brought home and still use. They must be seventy or eighty years old; look how thin the aluminum is.
I talk to her in the kitchen, too. Yesterday, I made her Autumn Plum Cake (Pflaumekeuchen) (you can get the recipe by typing that into the search box, it’s a great, easy recipe for an Alsatian kind of torte) only I used fresh cherries, and it turned out really juicy. She just laughed (in my head) and told me not to try it with blueberries, that they are a real mess. But she never really liked blueberries.
I have some strange beliefs, including the veil between life and death being a lot thinner than we know. The last message my Mother left on my phone was about some masks I made and sent; she was excited for them to arrive, but that night she fell ill and went to the hospital. She never got to see the masks.
The Things That Matter
Moving to Kuwait was huge, with so many adjustments. As we hunted for a house, we were shown palatial living spaces. One had a big pool as you entered the house – inside the house. One house had an elevator to the three floors. We were shown so many truly amazing places to live.
It was just me, AdventureMan, and our cat named Pete. My husband worked hard. Those houses were just too big for me, and the quieter life I wanted to live, and how would I find Pete hidden in one of those huge houses?
We chose an apartment high on the 10th floor in Fintas, overlooking a beach park, overlooking a wild street, with a 180 degree view of the Arabian/Persian Gulf. There really was never a question. That view took my breath away, and gave me hours of pleasure, watching dhows, watching fishermen, watching people in the park. I called it my Eyrie.
It also gave me a glorious daily sunrise. Every sunrise was different and glorious.
Later, we were able to buy exactly the house I wanted in Pensacola – a house we had owned before, with a view of the Bayou. As a great favor to me, AdventureMan, who never wanted to move again, agreed to move, and together we watch the sun set over the Bayou. Every night we have a sunset. Every night, a different sunset, a different angle, a different color, a different mood. I am grateful for the richness that fills my life every evening when we watch the sun set, and my heart fills with awe.
Stranger in a Strange Land: High School
Today’s writing prompt is irresistible: Something you learned in High School.
I left my US High School mid-year to live in Germany, and to go to a US Department of Defense High School.
I learned that not everyone thinks the same way I think.
I learned that sometimes the way I think might even be wrong, or incomplete.
I learned that even within our own culture, there may be varieties of cultures and many different ways to do a thing, and that none is truly the “right” way, that there may be many right ways.
I learned to lean back and observe, before I ventured an opinion.
I learned to listen when someone said I was wrong. I didn’t have to agree, but it helped to get this other perspective (no matter how mistaken it might have been, LOL)
After high school, I lived a nomadic life, back and forth to university, then marrying a military man and being on the move for the next forty years. Some of my best friends to this day are friends I made during those high school years, people who have led very different lives, but who still share so much in common because of our uncommon heritage and our diverse views. Learning that kind of flexibility eased the way in later life, living in different cultures in Germany, in Africa and in the Middle East and finally, in the Deep South. I’m still learning! 🙏😄🙏
A Small Disaster
“Aaaahhhk! Aaaaaahhhhkkk! AAAAAHHHHHHKKKK! HELP! HELP!”
Our quiet, peaceful Saturday morning suddenly goes emergency mode as AdventureMan aaaacckkks in the kitchen.
“What??? What?!!” I ask, because he can’t articulate in his distress.
“We have water running all over the kitchen!” he gasps.
Alaska girl that I am, I have a stash of thirsty old towels nearby, and as I go to get the spare towels tub down, I ask “Where is it coming from?”
He checks under the sink and finds this:
There is a gap in the drain pipe to our right side sink. AdventureMan is in the process of making his famous beans, and when he ran the water, it started gusing out the gap. He tried to twist the connector-thingy but it did not grab.
“I’ll mop up, you call the emergency plumber,” I said, already at work gathering up the stuff stored under the sink, cleaning up the mess and dragging out things that needed to be further cleaned. It isn’t a bad leak, but it’s a leak that prevents us from running water into that sink. On the other hand, it gives me an opportunity to give the area a good cleaning up; you know how it gets under the sinks. As I am cleaning, I admire the solid pinewood cabinets in this mid-century house, built in 1974. I had the plain pine re-faced with birch when we bought the house, years ago, but I won’t replace solid wood cabinets.
Our normal plumber is a family owned business, with the luxury of taking the weekends off. Fortunately for us, there are emergency plumbers, and we are on the list for one to come today. Meanwhile AdventureMan has found a fan to dry out moisture remaining under the sink, and is continuing on with his baked bean magic.
LOL, as I look at this photo, I can see the near-empty tub for the towels on the dining room table, and the bottles from under the sink. And I see that the ham and the bacon are already frying to be added before the beans bake.
April has been a month for home-keeping. The handyman put in a set of discreetly hidden laundry lines outside, far from prying eyes, and I have already used them for sheets, and now they are ready for a load of towels to wash and dry for future emergencies. Our electricians put in lights and switches, small luxuries, but small luxuries can make such a lovely difference. I am personally thankful that the pipe broke while AdventureMan was using it, and that we tackled it as a team, so that the end result was only 15 minutes of chaos and disruption, rather than a whole morning. And oh, the wonderful aroma of beans baking slowly for hours, as AdventureMan makes his magic.
We are invited for a special celebration tomorrow, and when I asked “can I bring AdventureMan?” she immediately responded “Oh Yes! Can he bring biscuits?” Who knew that after a career as a top dog, he would become famous late in life for his fabulous cooking skills? Life is full of mysteries!
AdventureMan’s Quest
Our marriage is cross-cultural. I am of the North, my husband is Southern. I learned to make decent cornbread, thanks to his grandmother who shared the secret of the cast-iron skillet, but I never mastered biscuits.
When he retired, AdventureMan went on a quest to make the perfect Southern Biscuit. He researched recipes. He tried recipes. He found an almost perfect recipe and worked with it, tweaking an ingredient here, an amount there. One day, with great glee, he made the perfect biscuit.
Part of the secret, once again, is a cast-iron frying pan.
The biggest part of the secret is butter. Lots of butter.
He was up early this morning, making biscuits for the family. The biscuits have buttery crusted bottom, and they melt in your mouth. One batch is enough for each of us to have one, and the rest we share with our family, nearby.
He texts our son that he just made biscuits, asks if they want some. Within seconds, the response comes “YES, please!”
It’s not just biscuits! For Valentine’s Day, it was Pasta Carbonara. For Thanksgiving, it was Smoked Salmon Fettuccine. He is skilled with duck, and sauces, and with steak. He has found his Secret Superpower, and he is a happy man.
Sunset on the Coldest Night of the Year
What you can’t see is the wind blowing, and the white caps on the bayou. We had to re-cover and re-clothespin the roses and plumbago, and the ice on our water tubs was an inch thick. No problems with the running water freezing – so far. We have some cold days yet to come, but this is likely to be the coldest day of the year.
We saw One Battle After Another yesterday at the theater downtown that shows art films, foreign films and award nominees. The tickets are $10, the venue is provided free and the guy that runs the show does it for the love of film. Not only do we watch the films, but there are also great discussions.
Friends told me I probably wouldn’t like the movie, but I loved it. Going to Uni on the West Coast, I felt like I knew those people, on both sides. And dark as it was, it held a mirror up to current themes. I love actors who choose challenging roles, and even roles in which they play people who make bad decisions, or aren’t the brightest bulb in the chandelier. Leonardo diCaprio had his work cut out for him in this role, and I think he nailed it. Yes, it is wacky and violent. We are living in wacky and violent times. Who would have thought we would elect a liar, cheat, and felon to be President of the United States, and that we would stand by, helpless, as he gutted our Constitution? Wacko. It’s all wacko.
Today is a Full Moon, a new month and God willing, a time to turn things around. Bruce Springsteen has the number one song in 19 countries, with The Streets of Minneapolis, a roaring anthem fit for the times, and Minneapolis has been nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize for their activism and self-restraing in the face of the goons of ICE.
Atlantic Monthly has a new article on how the Proud Boys aren’t coming in the counter the hundreds of demonstrators; that the Homeland Security and ICE squads are doing a fine job – and they have photos to show how an organization theoretically doing customs enforcement now looks just like the Proud Boys. When did Customs Enforcement dress like troops going into villages in Afghanistan? What legitimate law enforcement officers wear masks? Who in their right minds arrests little children?:
Proud Boys in Washington, DC
ICE agents in Minneapolis
Law Enforcement officers, in civilized countries with laws protecting the innocent (and who are innocent until the system determines them guilty), are TRAINED to operate with restraint. Trained personnel do not fire on civilian bystanders.
I’ve watched the Minneapolis tapes, especially the one filmed by officer Jonathan Ross. I listened to him as, just after the shooting, he said “F@#king B!tch” and I don’t think he was even thinking about Good; I think he was angry that Good’s wife had called him “Big Boy” and told him to go get a sandwich. Most of the guys we see in those uniforms are hefty, and slow, and clumsy. And they do not respond to mockery with self-restraint – as we have seen. They need training. And it wouldn’t hurt if they had grown-up leadership. The kinds of vague, unconstitutional and inciting instructions they have received seem designed to be incendiary.
Oh! The People You’ll Meet! (Apologies to Dr. Seuss)
Under the category of Stranger in a Strange Land, things change. My generation revolted (and were sometimes revolting) and rioted and demonstrated against the VietNam War and for Equality, Diversity and Inclusion. We marched. We made documentaries. Oh, we were so idealistic.
AdventureMan, my husband, was a warrior from the beginning, and fought in that unpopular war. When he returned home, people were harassing returning soldiers, even spitting on them.
Emotions have calmed through the years, and many surviving fighters in that war, men and women, have had a tough time dealing with their participation in the war. We often see homeless veterans here in Pensacola; the homeless find Pensacola comfortable, and temperate. You can sleep rough most of the year.
My husband keeps his eye open for fellow vets. When he sees someone with a VietNam vet bumper sticker, or wearing a VietNam Vet bill cap, he’ll go over, shake hands, and swap old war stories. It can be a very moving moment for both parties involved. War-fighting is intense. There are things you don’t forget. There are things you do forget, and years later, they come back in dreams, not good dreams.
And there are also fraudsters out there. Some are well-meaning, well enough, or just oblivious. Some are trying to fake an experience they didn’t have.
We had a homeless man here in Pensacola we helped occasionally. When he told us he had also been in the military, AdventureMan started talking with him and soon started looking very confused. “He’s never been anywhere near being in the military,” he told me, “No one in the military forgets where they did their basic training or can’t remember where they were stationed.” Nothing makes a person mad like someone straight out lying.
Other times, it isn’t so manipulative, it is just ignorant. In the local Apple Market, AdventureMan shook a man’s hand and asked where he’d been in VietNam and the man just looked foolish and said, “It isn’t really my hat, a friend gave it to me.”
More recently, out at Peg Leg Pete’s on the beach, as we were leaving, AdventureMan stopped to talk with a man wearing a 7th Cav hat. But no, he had never been in the 7th Cav; he had been in the Navy, and he was a Cowboy Re-Enactor. He also looked sheepish.
People are tribal. The like association. Kids wear Nikes because they want to play basketball like Michael Jordan. Some people wear Florida State hats because they hope Florida State wins the big game, not because they have ever set foot on the Florida State campus. Or Hawaiaan shirts, or turquoise squash blossom jewelry, or Yosemite sweatshirts (me), because of the association. It’s just the way we are, expressing ourselves with tribes, aspirational or not.
It’s a bad idea to give an impression, knowingly, which may be easily discovered to be false. I had a friend once who found an old sorority pin in a thrift store and wore it as costume jewelry. I told her it was a bad idea, that sororities inspire deep loyalties, and wearing a pin to a sorority that you don’t belong to could damage your reputation. I think she chose to wear it ironically.
Living in Doha, where designer copies were cheap and plentiful, one of my Japanese friends told me that she would NEVER buy a copy; that people who know what details to look for would know you were a pretender. Once you got that reputation, you would always be known as a person who couldn’t afford the real thing. I listened and learned!
AdventureMan says, “Be careful what you wear because of the message that it sends. If you didn’t earn it, don’t wear it.” His Dad was a SeaBee, but he would never wear his Dad’s insignia. People may not be trying to fool people, but people will see what you are wearing and make assumptions.
The majority of people wearing military memorabilia actually have a legitimate connection to that unit, and greeting them results in truly wonderful moments of sharing and camaraderie.
Also – if you believe no women were serving in VietNam, you need to read Kristin Hannah’s book, The Women. Women served as nurses, medics and doctors, as Red Cross workers, and in administrative roles. Although not in combat, they served their country and were shot at, wounded, killed, hit by explosives, died in helicopter evacuations. They suffered PTSD and were treated as poorly as the other wounded vets that came out of that war.
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