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And the Adventure Begins

17 Tuesday Jan 2017

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A few days after Christmas, Rich and I began our two-week adventure, touring France and Spain. Having never traveled overseas, we didn’t know what to expect, and were a bit tenuous about the lengthy flights from Seattle to Reykjavik, Iceland, and then onto Paris an hour later.

Our bags packed, pet-sitter squared away with instructions and key to our Mount Vernon house, mail stopped, plane and train tickets safely stowed, and storm shutters closed at our Coupeville house, we headed to the Seattle-Tacoma Airport. With INRIX open on my phone, and Google Maps on Rich’s we plotted out the fastest, least trafficked route, and in spite of a few snarls, we made it to airport parking within two hours.

Before getting into the airport shuttle, I asked Rich ten times if he locked the car, and had everything he needed. The answer was consistently “yes.”

His reassurance, however, didn’t calm my apprehensions about having too little food for the long fights, and the realization I’d packed WAY TOO much stuff, making my suitcase extremely heavy and unwieldy. I also had a large gym pack with a pair of socks and underwear for each day, two sets of pajamas, assorted other undergarments, a plastic puzzle, deck of cards from Scruples (to be used in Mallorca), travel books, magazines, and two 1-gallon Ziploc bags of toiletries and every conceivable pill, ointment, fizzy tablet, and potion I could possible need for two weeks.

Cursing at my overloaded suitcase – with my gym bag on top, which kept toppling over — we made our way up the escalators to the Icelandair ticket window. Much to my delight, the agent asked if we wanted to check any bag.

“Heck yes,” was my immediate thought. Not only did we get to check our over-loaded suitcases, but Rich secured exit-row seats. “We were ready to rock,” I mused.

The next necessity, at least in my mind, was to secure food. Rich disagreed, arguing we had a splendid assortment of pretzels, tangerines, Triscuits, granola bars, 4 cheese sticks, and candy from Christmas for the duration of our 7-hour flight. He reasoned we could always buy food on the plane or when we reached Iceland.

Grumble.

We then headed through security – always fun to remove half your clothes, unpack the contents of your carry-one for security personnel to scrutinize, and then undergo a full-body scan, only to be patted down because your hair barrette has a sliver of metal.

Rich tends to have a more challenging time of getting through security with his cell phone case threaded through his belt – with a buckle on the end – a wallet, money clip, loose change, and wristwatch. Adding to his assemblage of potentially questionable stuff was his new-fangled, waist bag with his credit cards, encased RFID-blocking protective cases.

Through security, and resigned to having “snacks” for dinner, I pulled out my smartphone for a bit of entertainment. A few minute later, an older, pot-bellied gentleman with gray hair and matching beard, walked over and started a conversation. It was obvious he was highly educated, having held a position of authority by the manner of his speech, and the way he held himself.

He was very familiar with Seattle, having commanded a Lake Union-based NOAA (National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration) ship for many years. He currently resides in a retirement community in Pennsylvania, and for the past week, was visiting a lady-friend in Seattle who was evidentially smitten with him, and wanted to sell her Seattle condo to join him in Pennsylvania.

He didn’t share her same level of admiration, having lost his wife three years earlier, and not feeling the need to enter another relationship. Nevertheless, the two of them, along with several other retiree, were heading for Iceland to celebrate the New Year under the aurora borealis.

I just wanted to eat more than tangerines, cheese sticks, and handful of Triscuits for dinner.

With thoughts of subtenant food wafting through my mind, I observed others in the international terminal. A dark-skinned man in a long, beige trench coat was absorbed in a cell phone conversation. His two children, a young boy and girl, maybe in their early teens, nibbled on fast food. They were both extremely tall, slender, and elegant with fine facial features. The girls was adorable and reminded me of a Bratz doll, her thin, chocolate brown legs barely filling her bright red boots.

Rich commented on the children’s height, and I remarked, “Wait until the father stands up.” He was easily 6 foot, 6 inches, walking with graceful strides to check on the status of their flight.

A short time later, we boarded the plane, and were pleased no one was sitting by us. We had plenty of room to stretch out, plus Icelandair provides free entertainment, dozens of movies, TV programs, music, and educational clips about Iceland, which stream onto the built-in screens in the seats. Fortunately, I packed two sets of headsets so Rich could also enjoy a movie.

We both watched Birdman, and then spent the rest of the flight reading, and trying to sleep. Outside of being too stressed (and hungry) to sleep, the flight was pleasant with a representation of the Northern Lights illuminating the cabin.

As we prepared to land, Rich said we’d get something to eat at the airport. The flight attendant had mentioned the airport is very small… evidentially too small to allow more than a handful of aircrafts to pull up to the terminal. Instead, you descend down a ladder into jarringly icy cold air, complete with a hefty wind, onto the tarmac, and then scramble into the terminal. Happily, we zoomed through Iceland customs, and were on the way to food within fifteen minutes…

A glance at the display with the arrivals and departures, however, indicated, we had less than 45 minutes to make it to our gate. Not only were there hordes of people making their way through the terminal (some very slowly), the walls were lined with travelers waiting to board flights, making it challenging to move much faster than a crawl. With the minutes ticking away, there was no time to dillydally. We zigzagged through the terminal, past the food court to our gate. If felt like a high school where all the classes had just let out, and every student and teacher in the entire institution, carrying large backpacks, were trying to make their way to their next class.

Craziness!

When we arrived at our gate, we lined up in front of an agent, donning a heavy parka. Why? Behind the agent was a sloped hallway onto the tarmac with the door wide open. We stood in the line, shivering for about twenty minutes, until we were “released” to go down the hallway, and board a bus, which was even colder with the doors wide open. We stood in the bus for another twenty minutes, chilled to the bone, until it closed the doors, and proceeded to the plane.

I calmed myself, thinking “It’ll be warmer on the plane.” However, the plane was equally cold, having no doubt sat on the tarmac all night. This time, we were in the cattle car section of the plane with Rich’s legs squished against the seat in front. At 5 foot, 2 inches, I rarely have this issue.

Another twenty or so minutes later, with all the cattle seat-belted in, we were ready for the 4.5 hour flight to Paris. As the plane took off, and was significantly warmer, it occurred to me that I’d packed my scarf, two pairs of gloves, and a warm hat in my carry-on bag, along with a lightweight parka. I’d shivered in vain when I could have been warm!

Yes, there is food aboard Icelandair flights. It’s expensive, and in my opinion not particularly appealing. On our subsequent flight during this trip, we did an exceptional job of purchasing food in advance, and eating like kings. In fact, the most memorably meal of the trip, was a crisp, thin, whole grain baguette, spread with sweet butter, with thick slices of brie and tomatoes, and mini greens lettuce, which I enjoyed on the flight from Paris to Barcelona.

In spite of our need for sleep with the a 9-hour time difference between Iceland and Seattle, we were fidgety, intermittently watching movies, listening to music, looking out the window, trying to sleep, and growling at each other throughout the flight to Paris.

Paris Exceeded Expectations

We were relieved when we finally landed at Charles de Gualle Airport, and were able to walk through a causeway into the terminal. Because France and Iceland are in the European Union, we didn’t have to go through customs again!

We followed the signs to the baggage area, riding up-and-down people movers through corridors, and a plastic enclosed tube through the middle of the circular terminal. Above and below were other, seemingly random tubes. It was fun and futuristic!

We had no problem getting our baggage. What stood out was an Oriental girl, sitting on a small pink suitcase with wheels, noisily pushing herself around the baggage area, as if she was in a playground, and not an area, scrutinized by security personnel.

While waiting for our bags, I tried to discern where to purchase tickets for the metro (RER). While I thought I’d created good notes, complete with photos of the airport, information about which train to take, and maps of Paris and how to get to our apartment, they were confusing and contradictory. Or maybe I was too tired figure them out.

At any rate, after some heated discussion, Rich and I made it to the metro station, purchased tickets, and crossed our fingers that we were on the correct train. Adding to the confusion was the train was going the opposite direction of the instructions I’d written out, and I hadn’t realized Charles De Gualle was nearly an hour from where we needed to get off, the Latin Quarter of Paris!

Fortunately, the train wasn’t crowded, and we were able to spread out maps, over our two suitcases and two carry-on bags as we debated what we needed to do, including contact the property owner for the apartment we were renting.

For whatever bizarre reason, when booking a place to stay in Paris, I inadvertently chose Residence Sorbonne, an apartment, similar to Airbnb. The instructions said we needed to call for an appointment to meet once we arrived, and if we missed our appointment, we’d have to wait for another time slot. Once we got on the train, I dialed the number, but couldn’t figure out what numbers to dial since I hadn’t made an international call in ages. At work, I used Skype to dial from my PC. And while trying to call, a busker was in the next car, loudly playing a violin so I couldn’t hear the message on my phone when I finally correctly dialed the number. Plus, the message was in French.

“I’m calm. No, I’m not!”

I left a message, then sent an instant message, hoping we could meet when we arrived.

After getting off the metro, and lugging our suitcase through several turnstiles and up several flights of stairs, I was at a complete loss as to what direction to walk, and it didn’t help that we couldn’t use the maps on our smartphone because we hadn’t signed up for international data. Upset, impatient, hungry, and tired, I took off running with carry-on bag slung over my shoulder, and suitcase dragged behind.

… cut to the chase…

We went the wrong direction, and only the kindness of two women, in two different locations, got us on the right path. Here’s the hysterical part. Our apartment was across the street from the Sorbonne (Paris University), and two blocks from the Pantheon. Theoretically, all we had to do was ask any yahoo on the street, “Point us towards the Sorbonne or the Pantheon,” and we would have been within spitting range of the apartment.

Half an hour of walking in circles, we say the property manager in the middle of the street, waving at us. We were given instructions of how to access the property’s courtyard, then use the key to get into the building. He then lead us to an itty-bitty elevator, crammed us and our luggage into the elevator, and pushing the “up” button. Five minutes later, the door opened to a pitch black corridor.

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Rich, who was completely feed up with me, walked into the hallway, and found the light switch. A moment later, the property manager arrived, having climbed the stairs to the fourth-floor apartment. We were lead into a petite apartment with a small kitchen, complete with a two-burner stove, camper-sized refrigerator, small sink, microwave, a cupboard of dishes and utensils, and something beneath the stove, which was obviously a washing machine, and maybe also a dryer.

The next “area” was a table for two with a small round table and two metal chairs. The rest of the room consisted of a large red chair, brown hide-a-bed, coffee table, and two small cabinets, one with a small TV on top. The bathroom was nicely tiled with a tub/shower, sink, and toilet. Next to the table was a small balcony that looked out onto the courtyard.

Rich assured me it would be “fine,” and sure enough it was a great place to stay!

After ironing out a few details with the property manager, we were ready to see Paris. By then it was around 3:00 in the afternoon, and while my first priority was food, Rich was more intent on getting his bearing and finding a map.

It should also be noted that it was very cold… and we’d rushed out of the apartment with insufficient clothing.

An hour of darting in-and-out of the street, snapping a few pictures, and seemingly getting nowhere ended happily with our finally agreeing on a place to eat, La Creperie, a small café by the Pantheon. We were seated by a window, and fortuitously by another couple from the “states” who answered many of our “tourist” questions.

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Not fully comprehending the entire menu consisted of crepes, Rich ordered the “calzone,” and I ordered the menu item with chicken, broccoli, and cheese. We also ordered hot chocolate and coffee au lait. We were thrilled with our meal! We each received a large buckwheat crepe, filled with tasty ingredients, along with a small bowl of mixed greens. The drinks were topped with peaks of whipped cream, and two small packets of sugar. We were definitely in France!

Our tummies happy, we headed to a small neighborhood grocery store to purchase fresh baked bread, a jar of berry preserves, brown eggs, fruit, and instant coffee. We then returned to our apartment to sketch out our strategy for our first full-day in Paris.

Within the hour, we’d undone the hide-away bed, and curled under the thick duvet, for a long night’s sleep.

Cats of Mallorca

16 Monday Jan 2017

Posted by in Travel

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“Cats are a mysterious kind of folk. There is more
passing in their minds than we are aware of.”

Sir Walter Scott

It seems fitting to start my series of post about Rich’s and my recent European trip with the cats of Mallorca, Spain. Unlike tourist spots, routinely shared in books and online, they cats were unexpected delights from cats with ordinary coats to those who were all white or part Siamese.

The capital and largest town on Mallorca is Palma. The remainder of the island is primarily dotted with quaint small towns and fishing villages, citrus, almond, and olive groves, and historical and geological attractions intertwined in the dramatic landscape.

Wild and somewhat domesticated cats — perhaps because of their tenacity at taming rodent populations — roamed freely wherever we went. One of the first cats we saw was at Sa Calobra, a small seaside village on the northwest coast of the island. It was late in the day, and we went into a cafeteria, one of the few places open during the winter. We split plates of seafood paella, meatballs and potatoes, bread, olives allioli, baked ribs, and a large mug of fresh-squeezed orange juice.

The restaurant smelled heavenly, a mix of cooked food, and smoke from a wood stove, used to heat the dining room. A light-colored cat with a white chest and paws lounged in front of the stove, happy to be admired and caressed by visitors.

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After eating, we took a walk along the coast, spotting several other cats, darting between the few buildings and narrow streets. Two young, all white cats played in a planter box, scarcely taking notice of Rich and I who spent several minutes trying to catch their attention.

A few days later, we ambled between the towns of Sollar, Fornalutx, and Biniaraix. At the start of our walk, we encountered a beautiful, part Siamese cat with blue eyes that followed us like a dog hopping onto the stone walls, zigzagging between our legs, and meowing when we pet its head. After ten or fifteen minutes, she decided to stay behind as we journeyed along the stone pathways and cobblestone streets through orchards, farmsteads, and the towns.

Along with seeing an occasional goat and numerous sheep – the bells around their necks complementing the lovely ambience – we saw many cats, lounging on balconies, darting into doorways, and watching passersby from the safety of a planter box or stairwell. It was challenging photographing because they weren’t tame or at least, interested in our affections.

A day later, we visited the Coves De Campanet, a magnificent cave that is accessible through a carved passage on top of a hill. In front of the cave is restaurant with a beautiful terrace, overlooking the valley, orchards, and small farms below. The establishment has 16 cats, many of whom were stretched out, enjoying the afternoon sun, including a majestic, long-haired red cat, which welcomed the attention and was proud to flaunt its beauty.

Check out the many cats of Mallorca, above, along with a couple of pigeons in an picturesque window.

Comment Leads to Constitutional Research

12 Saturday Nov 2016

Posted by in Politics, Uncategorized

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An acquaintance recently wrote on Facebook, “The independent states were originally united by the U.S. Constitution, which has been systematically dismantled,”

I inquired “What’s been dismantled?”

He wrote back, “The Constitution, as drafted by the authors, via erroneous interpretation.”

I retorted that the founding fathers couldn’t have visualized today’s modern world, and therefore a document written hundreds of years ago, would have to be open to interpretation to be relevant to today’s technologies, issues, and human needs. The U.S. Constitution is essentially a framework.

He wrote back a missive of gibberish and nonsense citing the Revolutionary War, Lexington and Concord (Civil War), Nazi Germany, and Russia, and how “the Constitution was drafted by geniuses so the county could be run by idiots if they just stick to the script.” It was obvious that he was simply repeating what he’d heard from a conservative pundit or pseudo constitutionalist.

To be honest, prior to our exchange, I barely knew anything about the U.S. Constitution, let alone why there seems to be a perpetual controversy surrounding its meaning.

I went online to do some investigating (and learning).

In 1787, there were approximately 4 million people living in the original 13 American colonies. They were governed under the Articles of Confederation, which lacked the mechanisms to fund the federal government through taxation, and likewise persuade delinquent states to pay their share of expenses, like the Revolutionary War (1775 – 1783). In addition, the Articles didn’t provide a means to adjudicate issues between the states, such as boundaries and tolls on road that crossed multiple states.

Originally conceived to revise the Articles of Confederation, the Constitutional Convention took place from May 25 to September 17, 1787. Because travel in colonial times was challenging, it took several months before representatives from twelve states arrived in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, establishing a quorum. Seventy-four delegates were invited, but only 55 attended, with 39 eventually signed the Constitution. It took nearly three years for all thirteen states to ratify.us_constitution

The writing of the U.S. Constitution wasn’t a slam-dunk. It was a compromise between several mindsets with disputes and debates centered on how “proportional representation” would be defined. The final wording in Section 2, third paragraph of the U.S. Constitution is ”Representatives and direct Taxes shall be apportioned among the several States which may be included within this Union, according to their respective Numbers, which shall be determined by adding to the whole Number of free Persons, including those bound to Service for a Term of Years, and excluding Indians not taxed, three fifths of all other Persons.”

While slavery no longer exists in America, making those living in the United States, “free,” if you were to literally apply what’s written in the U.S. Constitution then Native Americas who don’t pay any taxes aren’t counted when determining the number of representatives per state. In 2015, the Tax Policy Center estimated the percentage of households who don’t pay federal income taxed to be 45.3%. If Native America’s mirror this statistic, does that mean that 45% of them don’t count?

And what about the “three fifths of all other Persons” statement? Does that consist of people with green cards? Illegal immigrants? U.S. citizen who live outside the country?

Section 2, paragraph three of the U.S. Constitution further states, “The Number of Representatives shall not exceed one for every thirty Thousand, but each State shall have at Least one Representative; and until such enumeration shall be made, the State of New Hampshire shall be entitled to choose three, Massachusetts eight, Rhode-Island and Providence Plantations one, Connecticut five, New-York six, New Jersey four, Pennsylvania eight, Delaware one, Maryland six, Virginia ten, North Carolina five, South Carolina five, and Georgia three.

If the U.S. Constitution names only thirteen states, is it also relevant to the other 39, plus a couple of territories like Puerto Rico? After all, the “number of representatives shall not exceed one for every thirty Thousand,” which today is the size of small American town, not a huge metropolitan area like Los Angeles with over 4.03 million people.

The point being, the U.S. Constitution must be interpreted in context to today’s world. To bounce up-and-down saying politicians and pundits are straying away from the tenants of the Constitution is preposterous because a document written over two hundred years ago can’t possibly be rigidly followed unless you abandoned progress. It’s like treating cancer by applying leeches.

Sections 3 through 6 of the Constitution spells out the election, responsibilities, behavior, and compensation of members of the Senate, House of Representatives, and President. Section 7 discusses the creation and passage of bills.

Section 8, from a viability point-on-view is one of the most important once because it states, “The Congress shall have Power To lay and collect Taxes, Duties, Imposts and Excises, to pay the Debts and provide for the common Defence and general Welfare of the United States; but all Duties, Imposts and Excises shall be uniform throughout the United States.” It continues, defining how monies can be used including for posts offices, roads, support armies and militia, borrowing on credit, commerce with “foreign Nations, and among the several States, and with the Indian Tribes,” progress of science and useful arts, and much more.

Section 9 deals with migration and “importation” of “Persons,” along with the authority to apply a “Tax or duty may be imposed on such Importation, not exceeding ten dollars for each Person.” Read that again. Once again, if the Constitution were to be followed by the law, and not interpreted, it sounds like people can be imported for just $10 per head.

This section also prohibited states from levying taxes and duties on exported articles, granting titles of nobility, and privileges of the Writ of Habeas Corpus (bring a person before a court to determine if the person’s imprisonment or detention is lawful).

The remainder of the Constitution continues in a similar manner, detailing the design, checks and balances, and responsibility of the government and its officials – as envisions by the representatives of the Constitution Congress in 1787.

Bill of Rights: The other half of the Constitution

One of the more contentious debates surrounding the writing of the Constitution was how slaves or other property was defined. After being drafted, this issue bubbled to the top when the states were asked to ratify the document. States and critics argued the Constitution lacked a bill of rights, which protected citizens’ rights.

Two states – North Carolina and Rhode Island – refused to ratify until the Bill of Rights was proposed in Congress in 1789. Even so, Rhode Island only ratified, by two votes, when threated with the possibly of being treated as a foreign government.

The Bill of Rights consists of ten amendments. As you read them, consider which ones are being “systematically dismantled.”

Amendment I: Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.

Amendment II: A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.

Amendment III: No Soldier shall, in time of peace be quartered in any house, without the consent of the Owner, nor in time of war, but in a manner to be prescribed by law.

Amendment IV: The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated, and no Warrants shall issue, but upon probable cause, supported by Oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized.

Amendment V: No person shall be held to answer for a capital, or otherwise infamous crime, unless on a presentment or indictment of a Grand Jury, except in cases arising in the land or naval forces, or in the Militia, when in actual service in time of War or public danger; nor shall any person be subject for the same offence to be twice put in jeopardy of life or limb; nor shall be compelled in any criminal case to be a witness against himself, nor be deprived of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor shall private property be taken for public use, without just compensation.

Amendment VI: In all criminal prosecutions, the accused shall enjoy the right to a speedy and public trial, by an impartial jury of the State and district wherein the crime shall have been committed, which district shall have been previously ascertained by law, and to be informed of the nature and cause of the accusation; to be confronted with the witnesses against him; to have compulsory process for obtaining witnesses in his favor, and to have the Assistance of Counsel for his defence.

Amendment VII: In Suits at common law, where the value in controversy shall exceed twenty dollars, the right of trial by jury shall be preserved, and no fact tried by a jury, shall be otherwise re-examined in any Court of the United States, than according to the rules of the common law.

Amendment VIII: Excessive bail shall not be required, nor excessive fines imposed, nor cruel and unusual punishments inflicted.

Amendment IX: The enumeration in the Constitution, of certain rights, shall not be construed to deny or disparage others retained by the people.

Amendment X: The powers not delegated to the United States by the Constitution, nor prohibited by it to the States, are reserved to the States respectively, or to the people.

Were the Signers of the Constitution Geniuses

James Madison, who became the fourth President of the United States, is considered the “Father of the Constitution” for his pivotal role in drafting and promoting the Constitution and the Bill of Rights. He was born into privilege, the oldest of 12 children, to a Virginia tobacco planter and the daughter of tobacco planter. The Madison family was the largest landowners in the area with hundreds of slaves on a Montpelier, VA plantation.

Madison had private tutors, and attended the College of New Jersey, which later became Princeton University. He studied and mastered a breadth of subject, becoming a Virginia State Legislator 1776, where he initially met Thomas Jefferson. Jefferson later sent Madison crates of books from France on various forms of government. These learnings were central in Madison’s viewpoints when drafting the Constitution, and driving compromise and consensus.

One delegate wrote, he’s “the best informed Man of any point in debate.” Madison wasn’t just wise, but understood human foibles, writing “If men were angels, no government would be necessary.”

The first Secretary of the Treasury, Alexander Hamilton was the consummate statesman, leading the Annapolis Convention, playing a pivot role in composing the Constitution, writing 41 of the 85 installations of The Federalist Papers, and adjudicating in many federal issues. He was also born out of wedlock in Charlestown, British West Indies to a mother whose ancestry was African, British, and French. His father was from Scotland.

In 1804, Aaron Burr was defeated as the governor of New York. He felt that Hamilton’s support of his opponent, Morgan Lewis, and the contents in a letter written by Hamilton, attacked his honor. While attempts were made to reconcile their differences, a duel was arranged between the two men. Hamilton, feeling obliged to his family, and wanting to continue playing a role in politics, resolved to throw his fire, meaning to abort a conflict by allowing one’s opponent to fire first. It’s unknown whether Hamilton fired after being struck by Burr’s bullet or if they fire simultaneously, but the shot to Hamilton was fatal.

It’s easy to assume all of the signers of the Constitution were outstanding individuals, however, like modern-day politicians they had their flaws or at least, a tendency to resolve conflicts through gun fire.

Richard Dobbs Spaight signed the Constitution when he was only 29 years, having previously been a delegate to the Confederation Congress and served in the North Carolina House of Commons. When he was 44, like Alexander Hamilton, he was died from injuries sustained in a duel.

A member of the North Carolina delegation at the Constitutional Convention, William Blount and his brothers gradually acquired 2.5 millions of acres in Tennessee and the trans-Appalachian west, which left him deeply in debt. He then hatched a scheme to increase the value of his lands by working with Great British to seize Spanish-controlled Louisiana and Florida, and then give American merchants free access to New Orleans, and the Mississippi River. When his duplicity was discovered, he was expelled from the Senate, and become the first U.S. public official to face impeachment.

Timothy Pickering, who was also a signer of the U.S. Constitution, and involved in impeaching William Blount, served as Secretary of State under Presidents George Washington and John Adam, and was also a Massachusetts Senator.

In 1810, he challenged Thomas Jefferson’s Embargo Act by holding several conferences with special British envoy George Rose in hope of creating a pro-British party in New England. Passed in 1807, the Embargo Act supporting U.S. neutrality during the Napoleonic Wars, and imposed embargos on Great Britain and France. At the time, the British Royal Navy was forcing thousands of American seaman to serve on their war ships.

Pickering’s insolence in wanting to form a party sympathetic to Britain was in violation of the Logan Act, which forbids unauthorized citizens from negotiating with foreign governments who conflicted with U.S. interests. In addition, Pickering read confidential documents in open Senate sessions before an injunction of secrecy had been removed. By a majority vote of 20-7, Pickering was censured by the Senate on January 2, 1811.

Born in County Carlow, Ireland, and one of the largest slaveholders in the United States, Pierce Butler represented South Carolina when he signed the Constitution. Recognizing human dignity, he introduced the Fugitive Slave Clause to the Constitution. Throughout his life, he lobbied for better treatment of slaves, but continued to support the institution because of its importance to the southern economy.

Considered “eccentric” and an “enigma,” he summarized his view of government as “Our System is little better than [a] matter of Experiment…. much must depend on the morals and manners of the people at large.”

Final Thoughts

The Constitution has withheld the test of time. But it’s important to keep in mind, it was created through compromise with aspects of the final version drawn from five different points-of-view, the Virginia Plan, New Jersey Plan, Hamilton Plan, Pinckney Plan, and Connecticut Compromise. There was heated discussions and modifications that continued for several months with some of the signers reluctantly adding their signatures, and sixteen refusing to sign.

More than half of the delegates were trained as lawyers with others being merchants, manufacturers, shippers, land speculators, bankers or financiers, physicians, a minister, and several small farmers. Twenty-five owned slaves.

Once signed, the next challenge was to get the 13 states to ratify, and adhere to its premises. To nudge reluctant states to sign the Federalist Papers – a collection of 85 articles and essays – were published under the pseudonym Publius. Written by Alexander Hamilton, James Madison, and John Jay the papers are interpretations of what’s contained in the Constitution and were envisioned to speed up the ratification.

If the signers of the Constitution found it necessary to help state legislatures and citizens better understand the idiosyncrasies of the Constitution by writing the Federalist Papers, then it’s not unreasonable to continue interpreting the document as it applies to modern-day issues. Sure enough, the Federalist Papers are often referred to by judges in applying the laws-of-the-land.

One aspect of the Constitution, which is coming under scrutiny, is the Electoral College. In Federalist [Paper] No. 39, James Madison argued the Constitution was designed to be a mixture of state-based and population-based government. Federalist [Paper] No. 68, written by Alexander Hamilton presents the advantages of the Electoral College, focusing on elections taking place among states so they can’t taint “the great body of the people.” He also commented Electoral College delegates – none of whom can be a U.S. officeholder – have information that might be unavailable to the general public.

Unfortunately, recent history has twice elected a president for whom didn’t receive the population vote, which begs the question, is it time to re-interpret this aspect of the Constitution to elect a president who is chosen by the majority of people?

 

Grow Another Me

19 Wednesday Oct 2016

Posted by in Gardening, Rose's Writings, Uncategorized

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The following essay was written by my grandmother, Rose Ridnor. I found it humorous because I’m often precariously balanced on a ladder, in the middle of summer, trimming the dead flowers off our two lilacs in Mount Vernon, WA. And while I have the clippers, the nearby apple trees also gets a trimming.

The lilac tree was long overdue for pruning. This particular morning, after spending almost two hours pulling weeds, cutting, and cleaning up the front and side of the house, I was finally ready to begin trimming the lilac. When I as more than half done, I found I was getting terribly tired.

The burning sun had followed me all morning, making my face flush and sticky with sweat. My legs ached from leaning against the runs of the ladder, my hands were stiff from wielding the clippers. I just had to finish. Stop now and who knows when I could get back to it. So I pushed harder with the clipping and snipping to finish faster.

I was concentrating hard on lopping off a heavy branch, my mind as blank as it could get, when out of the blue, a line of words popped into my head. It was odd. I eased off a second to repeat it to myself, “I can always plant another tree, but I can never grow another me.”

Raspberry lilac
Lilac
Apple blossom

Quickly, I fathomed its meaning, and for a moment was tempted to heed its message. But no, I couldn’t stop now. I had to finish.

But it kept bugging me. Why am I pushing myself? What am I out to prove? I have just so much energy, exhaust it, and I’m finished. The tree doesn’t give a darn whether I cut off its dead flowers or crowded limbs. It will just go on doing what it has to do: Grow and produce more flowers that will die, and I’ll have to cut off.

I set the clippers down, stepped off the ladder, went into the den, and plopped into a chair. I could feel the tiredness ease out of my body.

Ten minutes later, quite refreshed, I went out, put away the ladder and tools, left the sweeping to Morris [husband], and that was that! I didn’t hear one word of protest from the lilac tree.

Life is a constant weighing of the importance of one’s own self in relation to everyone, and everything else.

Bystanders at Oyster Run

08 Saturday Oct 2016

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A few weeks ago, Rich and I attended the 35th Annual Oyster Run, a rally of roughly 20,000 motorcycles, and 30,000 or so riders and spectators in Anacortes, WA (Fidalgo Island). Some came from hundreds of miles away, others a short ride from neighboring towns: North from Tacoma, Seattle, and Everett, south from Bellingham, and parts of Canada.

A few weeks ago, Rich and I attended the 35th Annual Oyster Run, a rally of roughly 20,000 motorcycles, and 30,000 or so riders and spectators in Anacortes, WA (Fidalgo Island). Some came from hundreds of miles away, others a short ride from neighboring towns: North from Tacoma, Seattle, and Everett, south from Bellingham, and parts of Canada.

Knowing there would be large crowds, and streets filled with bikes, we arrived early, parked on a side street, and then scurried to Calico Cupboard for breakfast. While waiting, we engaged in a conversation with a couple from British Columbia who expressed concerns over a Donald Trump presidency. We concurred, explaining the race will probably be tight, but in the end, we’re hopeful Hillary Clinton wins. Nevertheless, should Trump succeed, we deliberated whether Canada will close its border to migrating Americans.

After waiting half an hour, we were seated in full view of Calico Cupboard’s glass cases of scrumptious breads, pies, and pastries. Exercising control, I ordered somewhat healthy breakfast food, a scrumptious Greek scramble (feta cheese, tomatoes, spinach, Kalamata olives, and red onions), and Rich opted for the Santa Fe omelet (green chilies, jalapeno jack cheese, tomatoes, salsa, guacamole, and sour cream). Our meals also came with two slices of their amazing hearty grain bread, and petite cups of homemade jam. I had raspberry and Rich received strawberry.

The food at Calico Cupboard is equivalent to what you’d find at an upscale health resort. Even a simple cup of fruit, which was included with my scramble, is memorable with a stylish slice of pineapple, wedge of kiwi, slice of ruby grapefruit, and section of banana, cut on an angle. Everything is made from scratch with the best ingredients.

Our tummies happy, we ventured outside to wander among the motorcycles. Most of the downtown streets were closed for the Oyster Run. By mid-morning, they were completely filled with cycles, two rows down the middle, and a row on each side of the street, with bikes parked within inches of each other, every brand, color, and type imaginable from vintage motorcycles (some built from scratch) to roadsters, muscle, crotch rockets, and spiffed-out touring bikes and trikes (in my opinion, three-wheeled monstrosities).

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We were most interested in Harley-Davidson Heritage Softail Classic motorcycls, which we felt would meet our needs for comfort, and yet have a “bad boy” motorcycle feel with room for two, leather saddle bags, and lots of chrome. However, after chatted with several people, including two men who’d each owned several Harley’s, Rich is now leaning towards a Harley Road King, a slightly taller bike (since Rich is 6’ 3”) with locking saddle bags.

Whatever bike Rich choose, it won’t be until 2017 after we’ve moved to Whidbey Island. In the meanwhile, we had a great time, chatting with motorcyclists, taking pictures, and wandering through the streets of bikes, which extended past the designated downtown area.

One man, who we spoke with for 20 or so minutes, was on a red Vespa, my dream bike! He said it’s a “babe magnet” like babies and puppies. He’s often ridden with other motorcyclist who in his words don’t create the best impression. However, when he zips by on his Vespa, people wave, and women come running.

Another man was suited up in leather, a heavy helmet, and bright orange vest. He lives on the southern part of Whidbey Island, and used to work at Boeing. He lectured Rich and me about safety, and the need to have ABS brakes and cruise control on a motorcycle. He also felt we should get a trike and not a motorcycle. Not gonna’ happen!

One of the most memorably motorcycles at the run, we heard before we saw it. After eating breakfast, we were waiting to cross the street when we heard the sound of approaching motorcycles, along with mowing. A man was riding a motorcycle, which sounded like a cow and was tricked-out with a large leather horse saddle, longhorns, cowhide backrest, wooden replica of a rifle, long cow tail, and black testicles, dangling below the license plate.

After parking the bike, the owner put out a basket of hay, and a cow paddy by the back tire. Check out my photos to see it.

We’re looking forward to attending next year, this time as riders, and not spectators.

 

 

 

Books and Speeches I Wish I Hadn’t Seen

25 Monday Jul 2016

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When I lived in Texas, over ten years ago, I found a book of photos taken by a Los Angeles police photographer of traffic fatalities from the 1930’s through 1950’s. At the time, cars didn’t have seat belts.

I was fascinated by the black-and-white photos, and seeing the circumstances of the accidents. Many of the victims appeared to be barely injured, peacefully slouched in the driver’s or passenger seat, the front or sides of their car crushed, and windshield shattered. Others were covered in blood, their limbs unnaturally bent, and pain and struggle frozen on their faces. Some were dressed in fancy clothes, no doubt starting or returning from a night-on-the-town. While others met their death during the day, perhaps during the course of work or running an errand.

I urgently wanted the book, even though I was filled with disgust at my curiosity, even voyeurism, at my eagerness to flip through the pages, scrutinizing each picture for clues as to what happened to the victims.

Within a few weeks of purchasing the book, I witnesses several traffic fatality. One was within a mile of my house. I blamed the book, illogically reasoning my zeal for seeing the pictures somehow channeled negative energy.

The next day, I brought the book to work, and left it braced against a tree, hoping someone would take it or perhaps, it would be scoped up by a security officer.

Watching Donald Trump’s vile acceptance speech last week, I felt the same disgust and horror, as if I was witnessing something that was none of my business. After five or ten minutes, my mouth agape, I sprung to my feet, and rushed out of the houses, snapping at my husband. I couldn’t possibly listen to another minutes of his hatred-filled, inflammatory rhetoric.

He crossed the line in so many ways.

Like the photos of the horrendous traffic fatalities, I can’t erase seeing his condescending stance or hearing the shameless condemnations that spewed from his mouth.

Jet Skiing on the Toasty Colorado River

05 Tuesday Jul 2016

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In February, we visited Bullhead City, AZ to tend to the death of Rich’s step-father, Ted Robertson. At the time, we stayed at the Tropicana in Laughlin, NV. The evening of our last night, a transformer at a local power plant caught fire, creating a city-wide power outage (although, the casinos had back-up generators, keeping the slot machines running and the blackjack tables lit).

After waiting an hour for the power to return, Rich and I headed to the Arizona side of the Colorado River where we ate dinner at a very crowded Carl’s Jr. When we returned, the Tropicana staff were handing out hand-cranked flashlights. We climbed 21 stories to our room by flashlight, attempted to take a shower with a drizzle of water (the water pumps were electric), and then went to bed.

A month later, we received a letter from the Tropicana, offering us three free nights. We took them up on the offer. Two weeks ago, Monday, at 4:30 in the morning, we found ourselves driving from Mount Vernon to the SeaTac airport for a flight to Las Vegas.

A few days before, having read the temperatures were supposed to be in the 100’s, I invested in several pairs of skorts and camisoles from Value Village. Indeed, after stepping outside to take the bus to the Las Vegas car rental facility, I felt like I was standing in front of a kiln or open oven. The heat was oppressive!

We’d arrived at the start of a heat wave with Las Vegas reaching 109 the day we arrived, and Bullhead City, AZ exceeding 120 degrees! Nevertheless, I was upbeat, especially after hearing we were getting a VW Bug to rent. Although, when given the keys, the car had a striking resemblance to a Nissan Versa. At least, it was red!

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Our first stop was the Hoover Dam. Rich was hoping to take a tour, but moments before we made it to the ticket counter, they ceased tours due to an issue with the elevators. I suspect the heat was a factor. Nevertheless, we were able to buy tickets to see the tourist center, which had many interest displays, and was thankfully in air conditioned buildings. Plus, the main building had a great view of the dam, and the “Winged Figures of the Republic,” which are my favorite part of the dam.

I won’t go into details about the dam, which is considered an engineering masterpiece, especially considering the tools (in comparison to what we have today) were rudimentary, relying primarily on ingenuity and manpower.

After roasting, I mean walking, outside for half an hour, we shuffled to the car, fighting fatigue as we drove to the Tropicana in Laughlin, NV (across the Colorado River from Bullhead City, AZ). Ten minutes after checking in, we were in the hotel swimming pool, cooling off. Even though the sun was setting, it was over 120 degrees.

After a quick shower, and eating at the casino buffet, we quickly drifted off to sleep around 9:30 pm.

The following day, we grabbed iced coffees and Egg McMuffins before visiting the realtor selling Ted’s house and the lawyer handling his estate. We also went to Ted’s house to determine what repairs needed to be made. Several weeks ago, there was an offer on the house, which unfortunately fell through. The only positive outcome was we learned what needed to be fixed after it “flunked” the inspection, and the buyer’s finances imploded.

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Finally, we visited the three mobile homes Ted owned. One home is being taken by the bank due to being extremely “underwater” with extensive repairs needing to be made before it can sold. Another mobile homes went to Rich after Ted’s death. Rich had paid off this home many years ago, and is now collecting $300 a month in rent. The third mobile home is being sold to the current tenant, who has multiple dogs, cats, and birds. When we knocked on the door, we noticed three tiny kittens under the mobile home, who were very leery of humans. She’s purchasing the house for $5,000, which gives you an idea of its age and condition.

With our chores done for the day, we donned our bathing suits, and headed to Katherine’s Landing, on Lake Mohave, where we rented a jet ski for four hours. Slathered with 30 SPF sunblock, we zoomed to Davis Dam, then circled back to visit the many coves Rich and his family had frequented, starting when he was ten years old. He recalled a cove where a houseboat had tied up. Ted, perturbed at their impedance to anchor near his canopy and water toys, got in his boat, and circled in front of the houseboat, making waves until they left.

For every cove, Rich had a story. He also recalled long weekends of lounging on the shore, jet-skiing, waterskiing, and swimming.

With relatively few people on the river to disturb the wildlife, we saw mallard ducks, American coots, common mergansers, Western grebe, and a fabulous blue heron that swooped in front of us as we motored into a cove. One cove was rather odiferous with several bushes submerged in the water. Dotting the bush was a collection of delicate dragonflies with black, gray, and blue wings. Tired from our jet ski adventure, we headed to Carl’s Jr. for a quick meal before heading back to the Tropicana to shower, turn on the TV, and conk-out.

The following day, we returned to Ted’s house to make some quick repairs, including covering up the rust on his gate with white spray paint. Even though, he’s passed away, his home owners’ association is actively looking for issued with his house. A few weeks after he passed away, they sent a letter saying he had too many “lawn ornaments” in front of his house. For the last seven years or so, he’s had an old horse-drawn wagon, mining pans, and other collectibles he’d gathered in the desert in front of the house. None were added after he passed away!

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After finishing up what we needed to do, we wandered through the car collection at the Riverside Casino. Don Laughlin, who essentially founded Laughlin by turning a small motel into a blossoming casino and soon destination, was a car collector.

Afterwards, we rented a jet ski on the Colorado River, across from the Laughlin casinos. With the water colder, we did more riding than swimming, and instead of seeing wildlife, we checked out the homes lining the Arizona side of the river. The Nevada side of the river is owned by the Fort Mojave Indian Tribe. There are few buildings along the river, except the Avi Casino. A distance from the river are numerous homes, apartments, and a handful of small businesses. Driving around the area, in search of somewhere to eat, it became clear that Laughlin residents need to travel to the Arizona side of the Colorado River for groceries and most of their shopping needs. Laughlin commerce primarily consists of eight casinos and associated restaurants and shops along a 4 or 5 mile stretch of the river.

The fourth day of our visit, we got up early and headed back to Las Vegas to catch a flight to Seattle. The flight home was a little over two hours, slightly more than the time it took to drive from Seatac Airport through Seattle and Everett up to Mount Vernon. Northwest Washington traffic is horrible!

Death in the Family

[I started writing this in late February]

Last Tuesday, February 21, at 7:45 in the morning, Ted Robertson’s heart stopped. He was my father-in-law, but his death elicited little sadness, only anguish for the amount of work my husband Rich will have to do to settle his estate.

In a sense, his death felt like a wilted bouquet of flowers. What was once appealing and promising was now just frail stems with strewn petals, needing to be cleaned up.

Since September, Ted had been ailing, starting with pneumonia that sent him to a hospital in Las Vegas. The course of antibiotics resulted in his getting c. difficile, a bacterium that causes horrific diarrhea. He spent the next few months isolated in a rehabilitation center in Bullhead City, Arizona (90 miles from Las Vegas). While he was there, two of his toes, which had become necrotic were also being treated.

He was sent home in early January, moving in with Sue, a woman he’d befriended several years earlier, and with whom he gave a “supposed” engagement ring. In December, we’d learned they’re joined checking accounts, except the only funds going in seemed to be from Ted, with Sue making weekly purchases and cash withdrawals, even though Ted was in the hospital or rehabilitation center.

In the three weeks Ted spent at Sue’s house, all of his toes became necrotic, and the local paramedics were called four times. The last time, his blood sugar was over 1,000, and his body had become septic. He was immediately airlifted to Sunrise Hospital in Las Vegas, where he was stabilized, and numerous tests were conducted, revealing he needed a stent, and his lung were filled with fluid.

On President’s Day, Monday, February 20, we received a call from Ted’s son, Chris, who lived in Philadelphia. Ted’s physician wanted the family to make a decision whether to place Ted back in intensive care or hospice. Knowing Ted didn’t want any life-prolonging treatments, Rich and Chris opted for hospice care.

We immediately went home, and made arrangements to fly out the next morning from Bellingham International Airport. The rest of the day, I scrambled to document what needed to be done at work for the rest of the week, then sent emails to my colleagues with instructions. Rich did the same, in-between looking for the legal documents that showed him to be the executor of the estate.

Tuesday morning, while going through security at the airport, Rich received a call from the hospital, indicating Ted was in “bad shape.” Twenty minutes later, he receive another call, saying Ted had passed. We both got on our phones to call and text families before getting on the plane.

Our first stop in Las Vegas was the mortuary, where Sue and her daughter were waiting. We were informed most of the paperwork had been completed by Sue, using Ted’s last name, and pretending to be his wife. Some of the information was wrong, such as his date of birth. Sue ardently argued it was 1936. The mortician used 1935, which was on Ted’s driver’s license. It was an awkward situation, which was tactfully solved by the mortician who insisted he couldn’t complete the paperwork until Ted’s nature son, Chris, arrived from Philadelphia on Wednesday afternoon.

Our next stop was Sunrise Hospital and Medical Center, a 730-bed facility in southwest Las Vegas that looks and feels old. The front doors opened to the crowded main entrance with a guard sitting behind the front desk. He directed us to the security office, located in emergency department to get Ted’s personal effects, which seemed like a bizarre place to keep deceased people’s belongings. We started down a long sterile, non-descript corridor, past an occasional prosaic framed picture, numerous closed doors, and polished linoleum floors with layers of wax, disguising their age.

A few people passed us, darted behind a door or turn down another indistinguishable hallway. We followed the signs, making several turns until we arrived at double-doors indicating we’d arrived at the emergency department. My first thought was apocalyptic.

Nearly every chair was filled. Along the walls were people in wheelchairs or sitting on the floor. Children. Adults. Elderly. Street people with their possessions by their side. People who looked somewhat healthy, and others no doubt regulars to the emergency department, especially the obvious homeless and indigent.

Rich knocked on the door of the security office, and was told they’d get Ted’s possessions shortly. After waiting twenty minutes, I decided to go outside where several ambulance were dropping off or picking up people. A woman approaching me, explaining her husband had been brought to the hospital earlier that morning after having difficulties breathing. She was hoping he’d be admitted. She commented Sunrise regularly turns away ambulance when their emergency room fills up.

Indeed Ted had spent several days in the Sunrise emergency department until they found him a “bed” in the hospital. On Yelp, the hospital barely gets 2.5 stars with most people complaining about the long waits in the emergency room, and subpar care.

After finally getting the handful of items Ted had in his room – including a shaver, phone charger, and stuffed teddy bear – we headed to Bullhead City, AZ.

After checking into the Tropicana Casino, across the Colorado River in Laughlin, NV, we headed to Ted’s house. While we knew it was a disaster from previous visits, we weren’t prepared for the extent of the disarray and filth. And unlike other visits, it was now up to us to clean up the mess, and figure out what to do with his properties, which included a large 4-bedroom house, and three dilapidated mobile homes.

To be continued…

Invocation #48: A Plea

19 Thursday May 2016

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O Lord, we have again come together to spend a few hours of companionship with our fellow members.

In these days of unrest and violence in the world, we ask that you help us to maintain our inner peace and tranquility, a rightfulness of purpose, a tolerance of others so that we may ever remain people of goodwill and intent.

This innovation was written in 1983. At the time, a terrorist explosion killed 237 U.S. Marines in Beirut, a South Korean plane was shot down by the Soviets, killing 269 people, and the United States invaded Grenada. Counteracting these acts of violence, a leap for mankind (or rather womankind) occurred when astronaut Sally K. Ride became the first American woman to travel in space on the Challenger. At the time, Ronald Reagan was president, and George Bush was vice-president.

Little has changed.

Yesterday, an Egypt Air jetliner, carrying 66 passengers disappeared on approach to Cairo. Terrorism is suspected. It’s the third Egypt Air incident this year. Meanwhile in Iraq, an angry hornet nest of violence since it was unjustifiably invaded by George W. Bush in 2001, has been experiencing suicide and car bombings. Yesterday, 46 people died in an explosion, bringing the number of dead in the past few weeks to over 200.

The Soviets, led by the irrational hothead Vladimir Putin, has been engaging in empire-building with their incursion into Ukraine, Georgia, and Moldavia. Their precarious finance situation, precipitated by a fall in oil prices, however, has quelling their aggression, at least for now. Back in 1983, their saber-rattling led President Reagan to propose a Strategic Defense Initiative missile shield, which came be known as “Star Wars.”

In turbulent times, the only escape might be to seek inner harmony, rather than hope the world quiets down, becoming more peaceful and tolerant. There’s no pleading with people determined to cause chaos in the name of the causes.

Invocation #47: Mother’s Day 1982

05 Thursday May 2016

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We thank thee, O Lord, for bringing us this day so we may celebrate another Mother’s Day with our fellow members.

We are grateful there is this day of recognition for those of us who give of their time, effort, and selves in the fulfillment of the role of motherhood.

There are also among us women who have never known biological motherhood, but in their own way have earned the title of “mother.”

They have mothered sisters and brothers, and other people’s children, and whenever a helping hand was needed, they were there. To them, we extend a special Mother’s Day accolade.

Now we ask your blessing that we remain in good health and spirit so we may continue to function as helpful mothers and friends.

My grandmother had three sisters, and three brothers. All three of her brother’s married, but only two had children. Two of her sisters each had one child. And one never married, having no children.

My grandmother’s husband, Morris, had seven sisters. All of them married. One, however, never had children. And several of his sister’s children never married or had children.

It makes me wonder if my grandmother was referring to her extended family when she wrote, “women who have earned the title of mother.” Having been the first born in her family, she naturally became the one to lend a helping hand, especially when it came to caring for your younger brothers and sisters.

After she married, she had to deal with the drama surrounding her husband’s sisters and their children, along with continuing to emotionally support her siblings. Shortly after marrying, her brother Teddy, temporarily moved in until he was old enough to care for himself. Later, a nephew stayed with them after his mother had a nervous breakdown.

My grandmother was more of a mother to me than my mother. She worried about my health, stressed the importance of doing well in school, and emphasized I could become whatever I wanted. Nearly every Saturday from the time I was nine until seventeen, my grandparents visited, bringing the Sunday comics, boxes of Cracker Jacks, and a respite from my mother’s lunacy and constant demands.

Happy mother’s day to my grandmother, and all the women in the world who loving care for others, enriching their lives, and bringing joy and comfort.

Birthday Surprise Weekend

06 Wednesday Apr 2016

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Every year, Rich surprises me with a get-away for my birthday. This year, he upped the game, keeping a tight lip until the last possible millisecond.

The weekend started on Friday evening with Rich telling me to pack a light bag for the weekend. We then visited Qdoba, where I had a burrito bowl with flavorful brown rice, tequila chicken, roasted vegetables, and corn salsa. Yum!

Coldstone was our next stop for my favorite: Coffee ice cream, crushed Health bars, almonds, and caramel syrup. It doesn’t get any better!

After arriving in our house in Mount Vernon, our weekend get-away, I took a quick look around the yard, delighting in my emerging peonies, blooming spring bulbs, and other plants, starting to awaken in the warmer weather. I then scurried into the house, plopped on the futon, and l waited for Rich to select that evening “important” TV viewing. We’ve been watching the British series, Happy Valley. Following tradition, Rich and I both snoozed through the program. The older we get, the more Friday nights are for napping with the blaring TV as a lullaby.

Meanwhile, Lolitta (Lynx-point Siamese) and Lila (Angora), who are seasoned car travelers, race down the hallways, excited to be the only cats in the household. Our other four cats, left behind in Kirkland, probably break out the catnip and tuna juice as soon as Lolitta and Lila are loaded in the car. Cats can be catty, and ours are extra bitchy.

Saturday morning, we went to McDonalds’ for our ubiquitous Egg McMuffins and iced coffees. Rich then aimlessly drove around downtown Mount Vernon, while I kidded him that my surprise trip was to camp in our motorhome, parked in the driveway of our Mount Vernon house. Not a word escape from his lips.

He then turned into the Amtrak station, and I screamed, “We’re taking a train. We’re taking a train!!! Are we going north to Canada or south?”

Not a word came from his inscrutable lips.

After a short wait outside the station — because the guard hadn’t shown up that morning to open the stations — we went inside where we struck up a conversation with a man from Canada. The day before he had driven down to attend a Bernie Sanders event. However, his car conked out, and he was trying to get back to Canada since the repairs couldn’t be made on his car until Monday morning.

It should be noted. The Washington caucus coincided with my birthday week. I’d registered to attend, and had looked forward to casting a vote. I made it very clear to Rich that my celebration better be fabulous to miss out on an opportunity to vote for Bernie!

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Riding a train evokes simpler times when people weren’t tethered to electronic devices, and entertainment was watching the passing scenery, reading a book, playing a game of checkers with the person opposite, or busying your hands with knitting or crocheting. Travel took days and not hours. It was a cherished opportunity to get dressed up, sit back, and relax.

Even though most people today start the journey with a smart phone or tablet tucked in their pocket, purse or bag, within a few minutes, stretched out in a wide seat, with plenty of leg room, and no one fussing over the size of their carry-on luggage and where to stash it overhead, they loosen up, talk to the people around them, peek out the window, walk around, or get something to eat from the dining car.

The porters in their perky Pullman caps greet each passenger, collecting tickets, assigning seats, and moving people to make their journey more pleasant. On our way back to Mount Vernon, the porter assigned us two sets of seats. Going to Seattle, we were on the east side of the train, and then switched to the west to watch the sunset as slender-legged herons swooped over the Puget Sound, sea birds bobbed in the water, and an occasional seal popped its head up, perhaps observing the people on the shore, parents with their kids, pet owners with happy dogs frolicking in the water.

Unlike plane travel, people on trains become more amiable as the hours pass. Going to Centralia, we were seated behind a young couple with a young son, and bouncy 2-year girl who kept peered around the seat, stretching out her hand so we could shake or playfully grabbing the sweater off my lap. The family was heading to Kelso, Washington for Easter.

Across from us were two young boys, traveling with their grandmother. Unlike the parents in front of us who pointed out interesting landmarks to their kids, the boys missed the sites, along with the rumbling and swaying of the train. Both were wearing headphones and watching a cartoon on a laptop. When they weren’t tuned-out, they were eating copious amount of store-bought food, dropping the wrappers on the floor.

With numerous stops at cities and towns along the way, it took nearly four hours to reach Centralia, 84 miles south of Seattle.

With a population of less than 17,000, Centralia was founded by George Washington, an African-American free man who was the adopted son of Missourian J. G. Cochran who in 1850 filed a donation land claim on what is now Centralia. Two years later, he sold the town site to Washington who filed a plat for the town of Centerville, offering lots for $10 each.

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The town as officially incorporated as Centralia on February 3, 1886. The largest employer in the area was TransAlta Corporation, which operated the Centralia Coal Mine. In November 2006, they eliminated 600 coal mining jobs. Fortunately, the cuts didn’t impact the town longer-term, and today, has one of the lowest unemployment rates in Washington, bolstered by the opening of a Millard Refrigeration Service facility (temperature-controlled storage, warehousing, and distribution) and Lowe’s Distribution Center, along with the rejuvenation of the downtown area.

Smack dab in the middle of downtown Centralia is the Union Depot, which has undergone extensive restoration and has vintage wooden benches, oak trim, bright white subway tiles, ornate plasterwork, and framed vintage photos. You need a token to use the restrooms, and in my excitement of having arrived, I used my token to enter the men’s room. I quickly realized my mistake, but decided to continue with the matter at hand…

Then I heard a token being deposited into the door. I was relieved when Rich walked in, and not someone else! He guarded the door until I could safely exit, pretending nothing unusual had happened.

Cattycorner to the train station is McMenamin’s Olympic Club. Once considered a “gentleman’s resort” where loggers, miners, gamblers, and miscreants could get a shave, haircut, shoe shine, good meal, Cuban cigar, liquor, game of pool or seat at a poker table. Adding to the allure was opulent mahogany bar and paneling, ceramic-tiled floor, tiffany-style lights, and Belgian crystal glassware. At the adjacent Oxford Hotel, men could partake in the company of working women.

The Club survived prohibition with bootlegger shipping liquor from Canada, and smuggling it in through a tunnel running from the train station to the basement of the club. When the club was renovated by the McMenamin’s, they found a pickle barrel with a hidden compartment.

Today, the Olympic Club consists of a hotel, restaurant, two bars, brewery, movie theater, billiards room, and event venue. For many years, I longed to spend a weekend at the club, and my birthday was the perfect excuse.

Upon arriving, we found a cozy booth in the restaurant for a late lunch. Rich had a McMenamin’s Hammerhead beer with an el diablo sandwich, consisting of grilled chicken, avocado, pepper jack cheese, lettuce, and tomato, on a squish bun with chunky fries. I opted for fresh-pressed apple cider and a scrumptious West African bowl with veggies (squash, onions, peppers), brown rice, and tasty spicy peanut-tomato sauce.

Burp.

We couldn’t check in until 3 p.m. so we wandered the downtown area, darting into the many antique shops, selling everything from fine furniture to 1970’s schlock. I purchased an ornate doily with pink roses for $4 from an Ace Hardware store, which devoted part of its space to selling collectibles!

We also visited the historic library, built in 1912 with a grant from Andrew Carnegie. Between 1883 and 1929, 2,509 libraries were built in the United States with money from Scottish-American businessman and philanthropist Andrew Carnegie.

As the afternoon progressed, we returned to the Olympic Club to check into our room. The hotel consists of 27-guestrooms, each with a small sink, bed, night stand, a chair or two, and hooks for hanging clothing. We were in the Lester Weber room, which was conveniently across from one of the communal bathrooms. It was cozy with an extra surprise on the bed, a bottle of sparkling wine, two keepsake champagne flutes, massage oil, and small box of chocolates.

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Also on the bed was plush white robes for trips to the bathroom. Although, it didn’t really matter because it was Easter weekend, and few people were at the hotel.

After dropping off our bags, we trotted back outside for more sightseeing, including watching numerous freight and Amtrak trains zip by, visiting a blown glass studio, and surveying where we wanted to eat dinner.

If you stay at the Olympic Club, admission to the theater is free. We opted to see a 9:40 p.m. showing of Star Wars: Episode VII. To whittle away the time, we returned to the hotel, and popped the cork of the sparkling wine, drinking most of the bottle before we waddled down the street to the O’Blarneys Pub for dinner.

I enjoyed a warm Ruben sandwich, while Rich has pot roast with carrots, garlic mashed potatoes, and dense soda bread. We skipped dessert, and dodged under awnings to avoid the light rain, before dashing across the street to the theater. After settling into two comfortable chairs, Rich ordered cups of coffee to keep us awake during the movie.

McMenamin’s theaters are outfitted with sofas, easy chairs, and small tables so you can enjoy food and libations while watching a flick. Rich’s and my second date was at the McMenamin’s Bagdad Theater and Pub in Portland, OR, after initially meeting at the McMenamin’s Sherwood Pub… following several weeks of corresponding on Matchmaker.com. Our wedding rehearsal dinner was at John Barleycorns, a MeMenamin’s restaurant in Tigard, OR. You can see why McMenamin’s pubs, theaters, and venues hold a special place in our hearts!

We thoroughly enjoyed the Star Wars flicks, and closed our eyes 30 minutes later, with the smells from the restaurant wafting into our room, gently patter of rain, and occasional whistle of a train. Even though ear plugs are provided in the rooms, neither Rich nor I are bothered by the sound of trains. In fact, I told Rich that several trains passed throughout the night, and he didn’t recall hearing any of them!

The next morning was overcast with no rain in sight. We walked two miles to the McDonald’s off Interstate 5. It was an enjoyable jaunt through neighborhoods of older, nicely kept homes, and light industrial. On the way back, after our routine Egg McMuffins and latte’s, we walked through an urban area, which seemed to be shorter.

With it being Easter Sunday, most places were closed; however, after retrieving our bags from the hotel, and checking-out, we meandered to the Station Coffee Bar, one of the coolest coffee houses I’ve ever been in! We’d seen it the day before, and walked in, thinking it was a furniture store.

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Located in a large storefront with two sizable display windows, an expansive area on the lower level, and two second-story spaces, Station Coffee was furnished with gorgeous, black leather sofas, black tables with black-leather upholstered chairs, shorter, stylish coffee tables, and shelves filled with books.

In the display window where we sat – me with a chai, and Rich with a frozen caramel coffee – was a cushy, black sofa with decorative pillows, coffee table, and off to the side was a smallish round table and four high-back stools. Some of the walls were painted deep red, adding to the ambiance.

It was so much fun to sit in one of the display windows and watch the world pass by on the sidewalk outside!

Our tummies made happy with our drinks, we headed back to the Olympic Club Theater to watch an 11:40 showing of Kung Fu Panda III. It was better than expected, but probably more thoroughly enjoyed by the handful of kids in the theater with their parents.

Following the movie, with plenty of time on our hands, and few places open, we wandered through a residential area, watched a coupled of trains pass, and then headed to the grocery store to purchase food for a late lunch, and dinner on the train.

I think our expected appetite was larger than reality because we walked out with two large burritos (we thought they were healthy wraps), cheese sticks, day-old pastries, container of macaroni salad, six hard-boiled eggs, box of Triscuits, oranges, and mango/orange flavored fizzy water.

We definitely had enough food to last us until we arrived at close to 9 p.m. back in Mount Vernon. On the way home, we once again enjoyed the ambiance of the train, ever-changing scenery, and chance to just kick-back and relax.

It was a fabulous, fabulous birthday weekend to remember for a very long time. Thanks Rich and the McMenamin’s Olympic Club!