Today was the last day the mammogram van (or the mamm-o-van as I call it) was on site at work. I showed up for my appointment; the van is a huge RV, very pink, and parked right outside the main entrance at work, fully viewable through the glass windows up 8 floors. I don’t know why I blush at the thought of 2,000 of my coworkers observing me going in, and I’m pretty sure they are all aware I am over 40. So, why care?

Losing 20 lbs has made getting a mammogram more challenging – one extra view added to get the side-boob. “Hold still now, and take a tiny breath in and hooooollllllddddd it…OK!” The nurses are pretty awesome. I am glad they are women. They get really close up and handle you a lot to get the best images possible. And you wear a huge pink gown. What more could you ask for. Not some Larry Nassar shit. No thank you.

Good healthcare is something to be thankful for. I was looking into the urban development stuff. A friend sent me an initiative tackling the health and well-being of African-Americans in my city (and why it matters). The report went over the goals – addressing education, chronic diseases, lifestyle risks, health insurance and access to doctors, maternal and child healthcare, mental health, violence and injury, and HIV/AIDS & other STDs.

Having access to healthcare early on in life and then having routine and good healthcare throughout life adds to the quality of the person significantly. The report had a financial slant to it (the why it matters). It does matter to the person because education, chronic diseases, mental health issues, violence, incarceration, sexually transmitted diseases and early death all go hand in hand and cost any economy dearly. It also fucks the lives of the people – not just the primary person, but their children, their families, the people they live around – the wider community. There’s a huge psychological ripple. That is quantifiably costly.

My parents did not go to college. My brother did not go to college. On my father’s side, my cousins did not go to college. But everyone went to and finished high school (except my grandparents, they stopped at 8th grade).

What all of them had was a good infrastructure – family, friends, church, a place to live, a job, an awareness of how not having any of these things could derail their quality of life. It makes a difference to have role models to guide you along – looking among your peers, family members to see what you could be doing. It becomes unacceptable – with the usefulness of peer pressure – to let the utilities lapse and get the lights shut off.

A lot of kids go home to a cold house in the winter. It sucks to be poor. It sucks when there is not enough to go around at home and the adults cannot get it together enough to make things better. When my parents became disconnected from their support system their shit fell apart.

My great aunt died this week – she had a long life. Longevity is also a product of good healthcare, the decreased exposure to chronic disease, violence, etc.

Yes, the mamm-o-van leaves red marks all over your chest, and it is weird to disrobe in the presence of a complete stranger and have them twirl you around like a baton to take x-rays, but it is something to have the privilege of health screenings and good health. Free flu shots are definitely more prevalent these days. Some antibiotics are free of charge. I get a physical at no cost from my health insurance annually, and I take advantage of it. Good dental health also increases physical health tremendously.

I remember meeting this older woman when I worked in healthcare. I went to her house to open her case, to get her home health services. I drove to a relatively nice neighborhood and knocked for a long time until she finally answered. She was blind and in her late 80’s so that was why she couldn’t make it to the door fast (something I did not know going into the situation, her granddaughter said, “She’s hard of hearing, so knock hard.”)

She was also living in a house packed full of stuff from other relatives, everything dumped in every room. She had a little trail between the rooms she used to guide herself around the house. The fridge was empty.

I asked what she had eaten that day. Just a cup of coffee and a piece of dry toast, she said, in a tiny whisper. And the day before? The same thing.

“Wait right here,” I told her. I came back with groceries. I know most people doing this type of work end up stumbling upon the demise of others, and when you can do something, it is good to be able to do it. I made her some lunch and she perked up considerably. I canceled all of my appointments for the rest of the day and we talked for hours. She was a person deeply connected to the civil rights movement in the 1950’s and 60’s. She was with Dr. King marching for her freedom. She was history, right there in that little condo!

I remember being in a skirt that day (that was probably the last time I was in a skirt before the most recent kilt) and I rolled up my sleeves and reorganized the whole house while she directed me to put things here and there. She told me stories while I plugged away, and later, I made her dinner, and she finally stopped me to ask what was next – for her. A woman who just met me was asking me, a total stranger, what was next for her. This is how much need is in the world around us! If we can rise to meet the need, it is ours to address. I haven’t always done this, either. I drove past a guy laying in a sleeping bag under an overpass for an entire winter vacillating around what in the world I could to do increase his quality of life. Almost anything, girl, just go do it. But, I did not.

I assured her I would follow up with her family and took down their names and phone numbers. And I did reach out to each of them, and was met with a lot of resistance and suspicion for my inquiries and I backed off a little in order to gain their trust. Their grandmother needed a knee replacement – it was the only reason she could not walk, the inward bending in of her knee was terribly painful. I went over her health insurance with them, but they just thanked me and wished me on my way.

Before I departed, I took the granddaughter with the power of attorney to the side and insisted on a home health aide to ensure food, meals, hygiene – small quality of life things were taken care of. Nothing pisses me off more than old people and kids getting abused.

I went back to check on her all the time. No one ever called the police on me, and I did not need to call social services on them because they made good with their promises. And she answered the door just as happy as could be, giving me a hug and a big smile.

I followed up a few years later. She had been moved downtown to a big hotel – considered an old folks place, the Jefferson Arms. The hotel has long been closed and she has passed on, too. I have never forgotten our time together.

If you have a support system, if you are able, or if you are a capable support to others, life is so much better. There are times when we are without and it hurts, but it makes the times when our needs are met so much sweeter.

Thich Nhat Hanh said when he has a bowl of rice or a piece of bread to eat he pauses and thinks how lucky he is to have something to eat when so many do not have anything at all.

You do not need to be feeling guilty about all you have. It is enough for us to start off with thankfulness.

This book, titled “Low Rent Housing Project for Negro Families Project MO. 1-1” is hand typed from 1941, when it was decided to raze seven blocks of “the worst slum district in St. Louis.”

This action displaced 459 families and this tiny book described the conditions of the housing before they were evacuated (loose term for forced out) and where they went afterwards.

While the majority either rented movers or had friends and family help them move 4 families moved their belongings on foot. Think that over for a moment. Carrying everything you own to somewhere else. They had a good case for destroying the slums, if you are fine with uprooting generations instead of fixing the poverty and housing.

It was not straightforward. It was a long slide into poverty. It started as Irish immigrants began to arrive into the North Area from 1860-1880. When they saw displaced Jews from Poland and Russia arrive in the late 1890’s the original high society had already fully vacated, and the Irish, who took their place, took off westward just like their predecessors. At one time Biddle Street was the Jewish heart of St. Louis.

By 1910, the neighborhood’s ethnicity took another directional turn. “First came the Sicilians, quickly followed by the rapidly increasing Negro community.”

Why was it rapidly increasing? Because the Civil War displaced everyone including a whole lot of sharecroppers who went north to the city.

I am equally Northern Italian and Sicilian - four generations back. Beyond four generations I’m Spanish, Italian, and a little bit of Greek (and a hint Jewish). For reference, Sicilians do not even consider themselves Italian. They are blobbed together here with the poorest laborers, as tenants, not owners. As definitely less. Just like the African Americans (who, incidentally, did not willingly get on boats like my family did to come here).

This book has a lot of bias and I’m trying to take it for its period-relevance without rolling my eyeballs so hard they pop out of my head.

The highlight to me is in the nuance. The westward drift changed occupancy from owner to tenancy and the landlords, citing a lowering of their property values, were allowed to let the properties lapse into crapholes. Then they could truly embrace their other name: slumlord. So, exactly who caused the slums in the first place...

As of 1941, when this report was complied, the area was described as follows: “...nothing more than the shell remains of many of the once fine old residences of the North Area. Smoke, soot, weather and lack of upkeep have taken their toll. Almost all of the residences have been “converted,” making for more dwelling units in the structures.”

That was caused in part by zero city-oversight and a lack of housing codes, which were not fully developed until later when things like fire codes became top of mind. The book on the history of the St. Louis Fire Department is excellent (and reprinted for almost nothing available on Amazon). A lot of bad stuff (like raging fires that plowed the city down repeatedly) had to happen to drive standardization but way too late to save the City from its white flight.

The Sicilians and Italians left, too. That left the African Americans. A statement describes what they did when they arrived: “They brought with them the simple culture of the plantation and tried to fit it to the ways of the city, often with disastrous results.” They spend a long time going over demographics in pictorial form, which is not so different to how we present data today.

I have been been fascinated by the evolution of housing projects in this area and have read the entire process from the 1950’s when most of the housing projects where established through to the 1980’s mainly to understand at a higher level the impacts to the economy over time, to the people and to the city itself - to answer the questions of why it has struggled to thrive since the 1920’s.

Fascinating stuff. I might go into urban development here for my next career. The lottery is up to a billion bucks and if I win, I’m going to reopen the neighborhood schools with quality teachers paid well to draw people back to live and work in the community again.

Meanwhile, I am continuing to learn as much as I can because you don’t need a billion dollars to start making a difference.

Thich Nhat Hanh is my spiritual leader.  For real.  One of the benefits of being a religious studies major in college was having a professor who was wild for Thich Nhat Hanh (that’s “Tick Nat Han”). I was assigned “Being Peace” in my first class.  I read 6 others after that, but I bought Peace Is Every Step a dozen or more times since 2002, when I first got it for myself.  It is pretty beat up, but I have retrieved it for re-re-reading this week.
 
For a while, I handed Peace Is Every Step and (simultaneously) bibles out to random people and friends.  I am unsure what people have made of me to this point in my life; such a contradiction of terms.  It takes a sturdy person to befriend me.  The point is, I felt strongly connected to both books, I have studied both closely, and beyond studying, I have kind of clung to each of them a little stronger or lesser so over the years.
 
Today, I sat on the runway in Seattle for 59 minutes and 14 seconds before the fog lifted enough to take off.  Then I sat through another 4 hours aflight.  Further, I could not dial into any of the meetings my boss asked me to listen in on (who knew you could listen in on meetings while suspended at 30,000 feet, but you can).  The wifi was again, dead, and so I was left alone with my thoughts, and Plants vs. Zombies + a few Netflix downloads.  These are the times when I go to Peace Is Every Step.
 
In Peace Is Every Step, on page 41, in the chapter entitled Hope as an Obstacle, I have the first sentence underlined: Hope is important, because it can make the present moment less difficult to bear.  Suffice it to say this book follows a similar theme about being in the present moment.  And in this chapter, the emphasis of having hope and still being in the present moment.  Because, to hope at all, as a verb, is to exist in some other space and time, not in the present. 
 
“When I think deeply about the nature of hope, I see something tragic.  Since we cling to our hope in the future, we do not focus our energies and capabilities on the present moment. We use hope to believe something better will happen in the future, that we will arrive at peace, or the Kingdom of God. Hope becomes a kind of obstacle. 
 
If you can refrain from hoping, you can bring yourself entirely into the present moment and discover the joy that is already here.  Enlightenment, peace, and joy will not be granted by someone else.  The well is within us, and if we dig deeply in the present moment, the water will spring forth. 
 
We must go back to the present moment in order to be really alive. When we practice conscious breathing, we practice going back to the present moment where everything is happening.”
 
I jotted something in the margin further down the page near the bottom.  You can have hope and be in the present moment. Not to yearn is the key.  Judging by the pen, it was written in 2002 – the year I graduated from college, age 30.  I went to grad school 8 years later and did a masters in business and, whoa, a hamster could have done that degree.  Alternatively, the religious studies degree challenged every part of my critical thinking.  It made me wonder, more than anything else, and I haven’t wondered as often since.  Thay (Thich has a nickname, which means teacher, and I don’t know how to pronounce it, but it’s probably “Tay” if I had to guess) has a chapter about losing the cookie of childhood – which is essentially losing your sense of wonder because everything else has crept in to spoil your most innocent enjoyment.
 
And this is where I stood for a long time.  I felt the cookie of childhood contained an element of hope.  Like a kernel that kept you going.  Except hope can become an obstacle if you are not living in the present, if it is a carrot out before you, distracting you from the many-pesterings of the present.  The present will demand its own attention.  It is only when we decide to face it that we can tackle it properly.
 
At times, hope seemed like all I had.
 
I hoped for better health.  I hoped I had the strength to go through another day, to make it home, to rest.  I did not hope I kept my job, I just did my job the best I could and knew if I had it taken from me, it was not because of me.
 
I did not apply this same theory when I hoped for other extraneous things like better relationships.  Relationships are better when everyone is doing their part; hope is not necessary because the rubber is meeting with the road.  I don’t know why I lived in suspension for so many years hoping and hoping for changes to my life when hope was not a factor.  It was an obstacle.
 
Now think of it for a moment, where is hope an obstacle to you, and where is it an inspiration?
 
Thich Nhat Hanh is no stranger to pain and suffering.  That’s why, to me, he has credibility.  He has not lived a life of luxury.  He hasn’t been living in a little box, unaware of the world’s happenings.  He has purposely engaged in non-violent peace efforts in scary points in time.
 
Lion’s Roar posts a lot of great Buddhist articles, and I like them because they are straightforward, and doable.  These things can be put into regular life right away.  Anyway, he knew about suffering because he lived in Vietnam when it was under colonial French rule, and during a war between the French and the Vietnamese.  When Thich Nhat Hanh Met A French Soldier is a great essay, and I know you will go read it, because you have forced yourself to read all the way down the page this far, so you’re ready to go over the waterfall and finish off your cookies and milk with this fine article.  
 
I still see hope as a big part of every day, but I do not hope for the future as long as I used to.  It is a practice as much as anything else to reappoint yourself as the holder of your own happiness, which is right here, right now.  Practicing takes a lot of repeated attempts and that is why people meditate upon the simplest things even half a century into their meditation practices – it is a practice that you do all the time knowing you are not going to reach perfection.  It is not in our nature.
 
Away from the philosophy is the reality.  The change of pen shows I wrote the following in August, 2010:
 
My family is dysfunctional
Each of them cause me great pain.
I must learn how to forgive and love them
Despite this mess,
Despite my continuous resistance.
I need to live on in peace.
This is the only way.
 
Living categorically is also something I do not believe in anymore.  I enjoy the gray in life, not the black and whiteness.  I do not think there is an only way anymore.  My family still causes me great pain, and I still do not know how to both forgive and love them yet.  My continuously hard head continues to provide resistance to change, too. 
 
In the very back of the book, in yet another pen, undated, I wrote down 9 walking meditations.  I was big into walking meditations for a while, and now and then, I will pause where I am and do one.  Thich would remind us to use something to bring us to consciousness – like a church bell, or some periodic sound at work – that when we hear it, we pause for a moment and breathe in and out, mindful of our own breathing, returning to ourselves.
 
My favorite of his walking mediations is this one, and I’ll close with it.
 
Listen, listen
This wonderful sound brings me back to my true self.

bored and creative.

I have been listening to Hundred Acres by S. Carey. It’s very Bon Iver. I heart that stuff so much. If it’s a little dark and moody and colorful then I’m in.  The whole album is a beautiful thing.

The temps here drop fast after the sun goes down. It will be 38 degrees F by sun-up. I’m at a nice little Teahouse sipping a Bond Street Chai Latte, which the tea-master/mistress said had to steep for 8 total minutes, so I cooled my jets and Rose Petals came on. I’ll paste More I See below because it sounds great. (they both sound pretty swell)

I went for a run after work, down from the little city center to the park nearby, across the wooden bridge and past the soccer fields where the 5 year olds were swarming the ball. Over to the quiet neighborhood after that, then back onto the main road and up the giant hill to the roundabout past at least 4 brewpubs with people outside drinking beers together - there is no shortage of beer here.

Took a few pics. All the leaves are changing. It will snow soon and not stop for a long time. The place I’m working at this week has 4 snow machines on hand. Everyone drives a huge truck. An older lady got off the plane with me and was thrilled to come home to no snow. So, I came at the right time. I will be encased in fleece until late April. Please come back, Summer sun...

I must rise early for a virtual breakfast with a new chief in NYC. It was originally scheduled at 7am CST but he changed it to 730, which is 530 where I am and a Zoom meeting for which I must be dressed. At least to the waist ;)

PS I’m reading the 5th Armistead Maupin book, Significant Others, but will have to pause as Anthony Bourdain’s Kitchen Confidential just arrived and I’m going to give it a go. I wrote a thing last week to all the people I’ve known who have either committed suicide or died an untimely death. I’m never going to give suicide 2 inches of me or it will try to take it all. ​

​I listened to The Not-So Great Unknown today. The first segment about going to space is very good. There’s a part at the end about a picture the guy took called Earthrise. Google it. They went all the way to  moon to have the earth blow their minds. Pretty amazing, wondrous stuff.

2,000 miles of air travel under my belt for the day, heading to Oregon, land of the amazing mountains and high deserts.  The woman next to me is eating popcorn from a microwave bag, stuffing it in while she talks on the phone.  For the sake of this observation, I have tuned out her conversation, because having listened to it for 35 seconds (along with her licking her fingers very loudly – like knuckle to fingertip) I cannot imagine abiding it for much longer than a full minute.  She managed to get the words “SOME COACHING FOR THAT PERSON PLEASE” and “WE NEED TO CLOSE THE DEAL! THE DEAL! WE NEED TO CLOSE THE DEAL!” into her phone while stuffing in the popcorn, balancing a People and a Vogue on her lap and alternately taking huge swigs of Coke.  Very important person, obviously.
 
In the TSA precheck line this morning, an agent let a family of people in ahead of the line – all in wheelchairs.  America.  Everyone in a wheelchair boarding early so they can run to freedom the moment the plane touches down.  Miracles are happening every day, people.  They really are.
 
My first flight boarded at 530am, an inhospitable hour, as we know.  CNN had been blaring overhead on the tvs for the 30 minutes I spent at the gate prior to lining up.  How different would everyone be if we brought the zen instead? 
 
I was on Long Island the week before last eating at this asian restaurant around 730pm, just me and the servers – the food was very good. They had the most majestic music piped into the dining area.  A surprise to be inspired along with my pad thai.
 
So, this morning, everyone is stepping all over each other as usual.  The plane boards.  I sit as close to the front as possible to get the hell off that tin can when they open the front door.  The guy across the aisle decides he is going to walk to the back of the plane and put his roller bag up down there.  To get back to his seat he climbs over everyone still boarding all the way back to the front of the plane to me.  A larger lady was standing next to me as he forced his way past her, forcing her onto me.  She gritted her teeth at him and said: “FUCK DUDE!”  That was 545am.
 
Change planes in Denver.  Denver was beautiful this morning, the sun rising, the clouds and fog burning off and the mountains peeking from behind.  Got a smoothie and a croissant.  The woman asked me if I wanted it warmed up “just a little bit so it taste good.”  I smiled at her.  People can be so nice.  815am, boarding, the gate agent screwed up the boarding monitors and suddenly a hundred people tried to get on all at once.  Sometimes I am so glad I am wearing my headphones and miss everything around me. 
 
They untangled everyone and pushed them all back to begin the boarding order again.  I finished my smoothie and my slightly warmed to perfection croissant.  Three hours later, I finished the rest of the outline for Eddlin, which, even if it is not the greatest story ever written, it is my first entire outline – the first long story I have not just written from start to finish without a plan of some sort.  A good use of time since the wifi was naff and I could not work.
 
Change planes in Seattle.  There is a Sub Pop store at SEA-TAC.  https://www.subpop.com/airport
 
It is brilliant.  I loved my personal stereo when I was 13; it was tape player.  My brother got one of the first CD players and that was even more amazing.  The sound was perfect.  I barely let him use it.  They have tape players, CD players, they even have a tiny little synth in the shape of a tape, with little nobs for reverb.  I resisted everything, even the vinyl.  It was tough.  Sub Pop has always been a pioneer label.
 
The last flight of the day is going to board on the tarmac, out there where the planes park.  The tiny little prop is going to take me through the pass and into Redmond, and I’ll drive to Bend where I will spend the night. 
 
I called my son as he said he was home, and I’m usually completely unsure of the local time when I travel so I checked.  He has a half day today and a full day off Friday because of the parent teacher conferences.  And that brings me to my next point.  We went to his parent-teacher conferences last night, picked out the top 3 subjects he’s struggling with and sat down with the teachers.  It makes sense to me that my son may be totally unable to find his ass with a flashlight when he gets home because he’s leaving it all on the field when he’s at school.
 
I know he’s capable, smart, bright, funny, able, thoughtful – but he is 14 and he is not self-aware.  Our life talks have taken on epic proportions and this week, I told him I need a break from being his life coach.  I was yelling a lot more than I was talking.  Everyone has their limits.  Then I listened to his teachers describe him.  A brilliant writer.  Not afraid to tackle a tough math problem.  Adjusting to talking German 100% of the time in class.  A person developing self-awareness.  I stopped his German teacher when he said that.  Really?  Yes, really, he actually moves himself to a quieter desk some days when the kids are too rowdy and he needs to concentrate.
 
That will make a parent tear up.  It is damn hard to raise people. 
 
We dropped by his other house to discuss post-conference.  He cares a lot about school.  I still make him go to bed at 845pm.  I don’t care – he says he’s not tired but he’s out cold by 9pm, so I think he needs the rest.  He is 100% non-participating in social media; his biggest vice is playing Dragonvale.  I can deal with that.  And I’m taking a break from being his life coach.  No one needs a good yelling at. 
 
I am going to LA and Miami after this week and then I am calling it quits – no travel in December, not even if there’s an “or else.”  I’m not going anywhere but home.  I have started to research a trip either to Yosemite to do 6 days of hiking in the upper Sierras or to Italy, the homeland.  Something like that.  I haven’t ever done a week of hiking, to the tune of 9 miles per day anyway.  The glacial cut mountains and waterfalls of Yosemite National Park are so breathtaking it may just be it.  

But, as always, the Netherlands are calling, and I also want to go during tulip season and bike everywhere – something like this.

Work has been a mixed imbalanced throng of business and oddities.  I made a training video with a coworker yesterday wearing LEGO movie heads.  A little claustrophobic, but hilarious and why not be funny when you can – see below.  That’s all the news worth talking about.

I got a kilt.
 
I’ve been wearing it quite a bit and I am just fine with wearing it quite a bit more.  It does not go well with t-shirts or flip flops, but I don’t give a hoot.
 
Let’s talk about the main benefit of not wearing pants.  The breezy nature is almost enough to fill up my cup and while it’s runneth-ing over, fill it back up again.  Delightful.  I wore it to the Renaissance Faire today.  The jousting and huzzah’s were just a little more fun with it swishing in the wind.  A monstrous storm swooped in around 330pm and drove us back home.  There are times when you have to keep your hands at 10 and 2 and not think about the 3 feet of visibility in front of you and lightening bolts flashing above in the sky because you have 3 other people rolling on those 4 wheels and everyone needs to go to bed safely tonight.
 
“I’m off the deep end
Watch as I dive in
I’ll never leave the ground…”
 
Saw A Star Is Born last night at my #1 favorite place to watch movies in my home town.  It’s a restored palace of a house, a place destined to bring things to life on the silver screen.  It has a snappy backlot addition, but I love the main theatre, big and wide with its turquoise interior and relatively cheap priced concessions.
 
Lady Gaga – I love her slightly off-kiltered being.  I love how bare she laid it all out on the line in her Netflix documentary.  She has let herself be a channel for the creative current.  She has opened herself up for criticism.  Still, she goes right on.  She would not have deleted half of her posts in embarrassment. 
 
She and Bradley Cooper do well together in this movie.  He’s a mess.  She’s not a mess, just talented and going up as he’s sliding down and down and down.  This is not a review.  This is not the review I read last week where the guy said something like “Lady Gaga isn’t as pretty as usual, but…”  There’s a lot of stupid-fuck going on with people.  Try not to pay any attention to them. 
 
The sound track is also amazing and it is blazing in my ears as I type all of this.  It’s 34 tracks of movie dialogue and singing and snips of songs.  It’s like seeing it and yours ears seeing it.  Go see it.  Go see it in my favorite movie theatre or yours, just get thee to it. 

The last song is a kicker; it will unstick all those tears you’ve been saving up for some special time when you think they’ll be needed, saved up from all those other times you did too much crying.  It will happen again.  Because the last time is pretty hard to come to terms with.  You never know when that last time is going to come, or maybe you make it happen so you do know when it is going to happen, so that you have some control over a corner of a life where you have no control at all.  I don't know. 

I've had kind of a fucked up three weeks or six months, I can't tell anymore. I left my glasses in Chicago, Fedex returned them to me.  The front desk clerk was asleep on the sofa in the lobby Friday morning.  I reported a flight attendant to Southwest a month ago for informing the entire flight that there was sadly only one woman on the flight for the guys to look at.  I have slept more sitting upright on an airplane than I have in a bed at any of the 10 hotels I've been in during the last 2 months.  I need what is left of my impulsive head examined.

One bright spot.  On my departing and arriving flights to Baltimore, I traveled with the Kansas Honor Flight crew.  Let me Google that for you.  As I was boarding, I said, HELLO KANSAS!  Those vets are a lot of fun.  They pointed me to the two female Vietnam veterans on board.  That was a pretty sweet moment to savor.  On the way back, on an equally early flight, they were all gathered once again, on board first.  One of the guys said, "You're back!"  It is nice to be remembered on the road.  And it is nice to travel with people who signed an open-ended contract to give up everything - up to and including their life.
 
I’m going to make the first screens for the t-shirts.  My wife is the handiest person I’ve ever met and she has figured out how I can make shirts to order instead of making a ton of them using a commercial printer only to gather dust and take up shelf space.  Plus, they’re all made by hand, by me, one by one, carefully, until I am happy with what I’m looking at, then that will be good enough for you. I have to find the right shirts and make the screens and then we shall see what happens next.
 
I need to go dry my kilt.  It’s still wet from being caught in the rain.