Train Diaries, Day 3.

 

I am yet again marveling at how willing, even eager, people are to tell their stories.  There’s a sense of occasion on a train.  Everyone here chose the slow way, crawling across the vast landscape in this anachronistic vehicle, through a country that's forested and mountainous on the edges, full of corn and wheat and canola in the flat middle, experiencing the barricades that stop traffic from the side that clangs and lists as it slows down.

 I had breakfast today with a woman bringing her grandchildren back to their home in Manhattan after spending time with her in Cali.  The conversations always start out with the basics – where are you headed, where did you get on the train, how do you like it, blah blah blah.  But within a few minutes, if you show a morsel of interest, you get the downlow.  You learn about the estranged, drug-addicted brother, the twenty years of caring for a vain mother, the son’s weird in-laws.  The $700 Lego set that you bought for your grandson on your fixed income, because, “it’s grandma’s job to encourage passions, and if he wants to build the titanic out of plastic blocks, that’s not for me to judge.”  

She told me that her son’s in-laws redecorate their giant Connecticut house every two years, and recently spent $60K on a patio remodel, but never spend time with the grandchildren. “No offense,” she said, “but they’re REALLY white.”

 We talked about dusting.  (Me:  I dust every two years and call it redecorating.  Her, laughing: In the Hispanic culture, we have a saying, “Only dust where your mother-in-law will see.  But I have no mother-in-law! And no boyfriend! I’m free at last!," she exclaimed.  "I can finally do exactly what I want.  I run around the house naked when I feel like it!”

She told me about capturing a photo of a hawk swooping down to snatch a kitten from the neighbor’s backyard.  “Cycle of life,” she remarked.

I talked with a mother, travelling to return her 10 year old son to his dad’s house for the school year.  “This isn’t how I thought it would be,” she said, tearing up.

It’s like the train casts a magic spell.   It’s a pretty easy way to fall in love with the humans.

In other news, today I changed my shirt and braided my hair.  Lost my glasses and then found them.  (That’s not a metaphor.  It really happened.)

Train Diaries, Day 2

 

Train Diaries, Day 2.  8/13/25

One of the best things about the train is the conversations you have with people you wouldn’t ordinarily sit down to a meal with.  People behave as if they aren’t on the internet (because they’re not! They’re on the train!) On the internet, people say mean things.  And other people click like on the mean things.  And on and on it goes until we’re all so discouraged and trying to keep our sanity by using the Plum Village App.  (Or is that just me?). Side bar about internet trolls:  I heard something the other day about a guy who calls people who leave nasty comments online to ask if they are okay.  I sort of want that job.  Checking in on the trolls.). But back to the train.  I haven’t heard the president’s name uttered aloud even once, which is refreshing.  We talk about other stuff.  I think about other stuff.   

Today I’m wondering where all of the Amish people are going.  Maybe 30% of the coach section of the train is Amish people.  The babies are super adorable in their black bonnets.  

Yesterday, I had lunch with a lovely woman in her late 70’s who recounted the very sad tale of the demise of her 50 something year old daughter a few years ago, after a long battle with bipolar disorder, drug addiction, a brain tumor, and more.  We talked for an hour about complicated grief.  About how the last time she saw her daughter, she had driven her to a dr, appointment,  the daughter stormed out of the car, slammed the door, and a few days later she was found dead in her apartment.  The mother was glad that her daughter, who had been quite unkind and manipulative at the end, was finally at peace in the loving hands of the god she believes in.  So much kindness in her world view.

I also dined with a woman who complained about everything, the train included.  We danced around the topic of the big orange narcissist.  Me:  I wonder if the service decline has to do with how the federal government recently laid off a lot Amtrak employees recently.  Her:  No, they are investing in Amtrak, and building building new rail lines.  Me:  I believe the infrastructure bill [I didn’t say who signed it] allocated $66 billion to Amtrak for improvements, but I’m not sure what’s going on with those projects now.  We both skittered away from the conversation politely, the way you do in person.  

Today I had lunch with a woman and her 9 year old grandson who take a trip together every year.  I asked the boy what his favorite trip has been, and he said this one, which is always a  good answer.  I asked grandma, and she said they had gone to the Ark Encounter in Kansas, a gigantic replica of Noah’s Ark built by the Young Earth Creationists.  The Christian amusement park depicts, among other things, scenes of humans fighting dinosaurs! Who knew? I didn’t talk about the infrastructure bill during our meal.  

That’s it for Day 2.  Chicago soon. 

The Train Diaries, Day One

The sun wakes up Spokane

I’m trying to get my writing mojo back, and figured I’d write about my current train trip.  

The station in Everett is gorgeous, with a painted grand piano and other art installations.  While it’s not as fancy as King Street or Chicago, it still gives you the feeling that you’re stepping into an Edna Ferber novel, but with a mix of people who wouldn’t appear in Edna’s books.  The family – 2 young parents – mom, a skinny, tattooed woman in cutoff shorts and a midi shirt (is that what you call a shirt that reveals your navel piercing?), dad who looked unremarkable, two adorable, feisty children, and young grandparents.  All were white except grandpa, who was black, and seemed to be the children’s favorite.  I decided this because the kids spent their time climbing on him, telling jokes and stories, and begging for his stories.  The parents left the waiting area a few times to drive to the store, leaving  grandpa behind with the kids, remarking, “Why do they keep going to the store? Doesn’t that seem strange?”  Each time, they returned with a greeting card-sized plastic bag.
At the other end of the row of seats was an Amish couple – man in a polyester black suit,  and woman in a dress, stockings, and bonnet, using cell phones and drinking iced lattes, sipped through plastic straws.  It seems funny that people who eschew  zippers have an iPhone 16, but I’m not super familiar with the religion.  And what we do know is that religions can be pretty confusing.  See Pete Hegseth.

There were a bunch of other people whom I got to see in close detail, because the train was 4 hours late. Every half hour or so, the nice train station lady would come out from behind the counter and say, “It looks like the train is running late, it will be here in half an hour.”  Always half an hour.  One time she was correct, and the train arrived a little after 10 pm. 

About 15 minutes before we got on the train, I got an e-mail from Amtrak saying that my sleeper room had been canceled and I’d been reassigned to coach for my trip from Everett to Chicago.  I wish I had gone to the store 4 times like the young couple with kids, because I would have procured some provisions, like a pillow, blanket, and food.  Instead, I just have two cumbersome, heavy satchels full of art supplies, journals, 3 knitting projects, and too many pairs of socks.  Count them: three watercolor kits.  To be fair, one is a super tiny (like, two side-by-side postage stamps) one is an altoid tin kit that I fashioned with air-dry clay, and the third is regular.   As if on this three day trip I’m going to develop wonderful creative habits where all I do is wear socks and make stuff.
I was super irritated upon the news of my sleeper car cancellation.  I’m not for sitting up for three days.  Horizontal is one of my very favorite positions.  I had imagined this trip to be: when upright, creating.  When not creating, horizontal.  It was hard to switch gears to:  when upright, sitting in a cramped seat next to someone, with all of my supplies in an overhead bin, and eating not the food from the dining car (that comes with a room), but from the snack bar.  You know snack bar food: jumbo sized candy bars, gummy worms, microwave burgers, and chips.  Nachos with cheez whiz.  
I called the number on the e-mail, and pleaded, but the voice on the other end just said, “The car that your room was in has a bad smell.  It’s closed.”  

We did that thing where we were both quiet, me hoping it would be a power move.  She may have been scrolling on Instagram, who knows.  When my silence didn’t give me the upper hand, I broke it.  “So, will there be a car added in Spokane with a sleeper?” 
“Nope,” she said.  

I put my phone down and walked across the gorgeous terrazo floor with an inlaid map of the Snohomish River Delta, to the nice “the train will be here in half an hour” lady.  When I told her my situation (privileged white lady who has to ride coach, gasp!), she showed the proper amount of empathy.  

I asked a nearby mother-daughter couple if they were in the same plight.  They weren’t.  I went back to my spot to sulk just a little bit.   Anyway, a few minutes later, the mother, a suspected Sunday school teacher in her late 70’s, came over and spoke conspiratorially.  “I have an idea,” she said.  “I always bring my own pillow, and usually there’s an extra blanket in the room.  So I can sneak a pillow and blanket to you in coach.”  It was such an impractical kindness that I was completely touched and almost got over myself.  This woman didn’t look like a rule breaker, but here she was, plotting to smuggle bedding to me.  I declined – the train is a quarter of a mile long, and even finding one another would be tough, not to mention what, jail time or something if she were caught?
And then, miracle number two:  just as I was about to board, “the train will be here in an hour” lady trotted over and handed me a new ticket.  “I got you a sleeper from Spokane on. I had to call all over.”  (Suddenly, this has turned from a long ramble into a post with a plot! Bad things, good things, miracles!)

And one final miracle for day 1. I was in my coach seat, kind of cold and uncomfortable.  The AC was turned up high, which is good for sleeping but not if you’re sitting up wearing shorts and a tank top.  I was wide awake at 3 am with a neck cramp and aching hip, counting down the hours until horizontal could be mine, when a woman, just a random passenger, tiptoed down the aisle,  and whispered, “Honey, are you cold?”

“Um, a little bit.”

She leaned over and handed me a plastic water bottle that she had filled in the bathroom with hot water.  “Here you go,” she said, and disappeared down the aisle.
Ok, there are your three miracles for the first 12 hours of this trip. 

Horoscopes: The boycott edition.

Aries (3/21 - 4/19):  In case you've been hiding under your bed with your hands over your ears, I peeked out for a minute, and here's what's going on: an immigrant from South Africa, who became the richest man in the world by selling electric cars, is running the government.  He donated buckets of money to a guy who's opposed to both electric cars immigrants, making people wonder if the new unelected pres is indeed very smart, or if he's just rich.  He and his child with a runny nose, strangely named after the failing social media site, seem to be running the country now.  MAKE NAMING CHILDREN AFTER CONSONANTS ILLEGAL AGAIN!  Stay tuned, Aries.  We will not comply. 

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  When 2025 started, I thought, hey, I'll write little horoscopes every week.  I'll pick a few current events, and work them into horoscopes -- news, ultra-light.  A little levity amongst the madness.  But now there's so much going on that I'm like, wait, what are the top things? There's a dude named Big Balls ransacking the IRS! Oh wait,  200,000 federal employees got laid off.  Look, the tariffs are back.  Uh oh! Measles, coming right at you! DUCK, it's bird flu!  Taurus, stay focused on what you can offer to the world and bring it.  This is a full on resistance potluck, bring your best dish.

Gemini (5/21 - 6/21):  We barely remember that like, a few minutes ago, Los Angeles was on fire.  Imagine that.  We've been so busy!

Cancer (6/22 – 7/21):  I was on a wildlife safari a minute ago (we call everything "a minute" now.  As in, a minute ago it was Halloween, and the scariest thing was witches and ghosts; now, a minute later, democracy is circling the drain!) Back to the point:  I was sitting outside with a Manhattan, which is exactly like a safari without all of the big game and mosquitoes.  Anyway, I was gazing (in a decidedly non-creepy way) towards the windows of the skyscraper tower across the way, and thought I saw the northern lights! How can this be?!! The northern lights, visible right here in a major city!  Alas, after watching for a while I realized it was merely the glow of a big screen tv. The same little flickering greenish light coulda been this, coulda been that.  Turns out it was that, not this, but still.  We had a little moment, that green light and I.  When you see something, imagine a a bit of good.  We need that, Cancer.

Leo (7/23 – 8/22):  Is it time to establish local currency? Here's how it works. First, you need a good name for the currency. How about Duvall Dollahs or Fool's Gold? Fort Knocks? Ok, we'll keep thinking. Anyway, there's an issuing point. Sure, I'll be it if anyone asks. You go to the issuing point, exchange your US dollars for these local dollars. You take those bucks and spend them in a local business. That business can give them out in change, pay local vendors for purchases, give a portion of employees pay in the local currency, etc. When someone needs to purchase something outside of the local economy, they take the local dollars back to the issuing point, and trade them in. Guess who doesn't make any money on those transactions?  Right?  Let's give it a go, as we say around here.  

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22): This just in: NOAH Weather has been replaced with the orange guy's sharpie.  No more inconvenient weather!  Phew! Luckily, there is no truth anymore! We can cross out stuff we don't like. Buy some whiteout and enjoy the new world, Virgo.  Chin up.  

Libra (9/23 – 10/22):  The H1 stuff is confusing, so here's the deal: one is the kind of visa that tech bros like (H1B), and one is the bird flu (H1N1).  H1B runs the country and fires people; H1N1 kills half the people who get it.  Is this a horoscope, you ask? Sort of?  I don't now what I'm doing here.  I have no knowledge of the actual star forecast.

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21): It looks like we can buy sovereign countries now, so I've been browsing,  shopping for a country that I can have for my very own.  I'm looking for a small territory that can be delivered directly to my home without outrageous shipping charges (on a day when we're not boycotting everything).  I've ruled out the Vatican (too catholic), Monaco (too much concrete), Tuvalu (too vulnerable to sea level rise).  I'm leaning towards San Marino.  What do you think?  Scorpio, would you like to go in on it with me?  Oh wait! That's not a thing! We can't just buy other countries!  Scorpio, enjoy all of the things that money can't buy, and let's not take over other kingdoms. Pinky promise!
  

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21): Speaking of theft... I've been waiting for someone to steal my identity, but nobody wants it.  But just in case, here's how it goes:  You'll spend a lot of your time crashing around in the thick PNW forest underbrush, tying plastic to vegetation.  You'll devote more than a little time encouraging the townspeople to dress as vegetables.  You'll have to live in this very messy house or clean it yourself.  You'll have to draw insects on cardboard and knit little tiny vegetables -- carrots and beets and the like -- and finish a bazillion half-started projects.  Sag, embrace your identity this week and beyond.  Don't let anyone steal it even if it's messy and weird.  

Capricorn (12/22 - 1/19): There are a handful of things I'll never tire of, like stories of twins separated at birth, DB Cooper, people who stage their own disappearance (ala, "Honey, I'm just going out for a pack of cigarettes..." and two years later, their spouse recalls that they didn't even smoke), interesting fossil finds, and mysterious sightings (sasquatch, ghosts, northern lights, the first bean plant to come up in the cold spring garden).  But one thing I am terrified of is space travel.  Why anyone wants to leave this beautiful little planet and go Out There is beyond me.  But for those who aren't afraid, well, maybe they should just go!  

Aquarius (1/20-2/18):  Well, we suffered through the Hegseth hearing, and watched him being rude and dismissive to the representatives.  I don't really know much about what's required for jobs other than mine, where I crawl around by myself in the woods, but if I were in charge of anything, I'd say the head of national defense should have excellent de-escalation skills, and be super respectful.  Aquarius, let's all do that.  The de-escalation, the super respectful.  Oh, and your horoscope? That was it.  De-escelate where you can.  

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20): In case it's confusing, when someone invades your country with an army, starts killing your people in order to claim your land, it's not a 'both sides' thing.  Sadly, Pisces, the current administration has sided with the aggressor -- we are now officially part of the axis of evil.  Sometimes it's okay to take a break from it all and look at videos of the baby tapir at Point Defiance Zoo, or that guy who has a pet camel that sleeps next to his bed.  Also, what I've started doing is really focusing on the dogs when I take a walk.  They're trotting along, smiling, tails high.  Let's give it a go, Pisces.  Head high, bring your best game.

Goodbye, Jasmine

Jasmine Cavendish Palmer, 9/1/15 – 11/26/24, was a beautiful yellow lab with white markings behind her shoulders and a pink nose.  She became my boss eight years ago, and determined when we got up (early), when we walked (a lot) and when to went to bed (early).  She’s the only dog I know of who announced with persistence that it was time for EVERYONE to go to bed.  She reminded me a bit of my dad in that way, who would get up from his chair in a room full of people, turn off the lights, and say, “I’m going to bed.”  

She knew a million words and phrases; some sort of uncommon for a four-legged.  Like, “would you like to go into the fenced area?” and “please use the bridge” (when the current in the stream that we crossed every day was too strong).  Or, “cover your eyes.”  She never did cover her eyes, but would watch carefully while I hid treats around the room.  Did she not understand the words, or was she cheating? I’ll never know.  After treat hiding was complete, I’d say, “ok, open your eyes and find the treats!” And she’d find them every single time, snuffling around the room for the kibbles I’d hidden, and she'd look at me with a smug expression, like, I did it!  Sometimes she’d sit up especially straight after we finished, and stare at me, signaling that she was willing to play another round.  We’d spend the evenings this way, while others might play scrabble. 

When I sneezed in the woods, she knew to come right to my side.  It was good to be able to summon her without revealing my gender.  (Men might not understand the need for secret communication between girls in the woods, but it was helpful on more than one occasion.)

We called each other “business ladies,” but truth be told, she didn’t do a lot of business lately.  She thought the Beyonce song was, “I’m a Business Lady” and liked to dance to it.   She retired as a lab assistant a few years ago when her arthritis got too bad, but before that, she’d crawl through blackberries without complaint if that’s where we were going.  She had an advice column for a while but got tired of dealing with people’s problems.  Up until the week before she died, she ran a successful side hustle of helping with the dishes, especially difficult pots that had housed stew or something cheesy.  She worked at this tedious job with good cheer, not complaining if it was an evening or a weekend.  She was an amateur botanist, and liked to eat blackberries off the vine.  She knew to avoid stinging nettle.  But her main talent and lifelong profession was as a greeter.  She greeted people like no other business lady.  She would strain on the leash or just sit down and refuse to proceed until she could full-on greet whomever it was with squeals of delight and serious wagging.  Strangers seemed surprised, and then complemented by her attention.  That this random dog wouldn’t carry on with her life until she greeted them with all of that enthusiasm.

She also liked trick-or-treating.  Her version, similar to what the children do on Halloween, involved her going outside, then barking to come in, but rather than entering, she would snatch the offered treat and run outside with it.  Rinse, repeat.  She could play that forever.

She loved rolling in towels.  If she found a towel that someone had used after bathing, she would grab it and roll in it, wagging and smiling.  At other people’s homes, she’d bee-line for the bathroom to scope out the towel situation.  Everyone wasn’t charmed by this.  Go figure.  And speaking of bees, she had a lifelong interest in entomology, particularly honey bees.  They stung, but they also tasted delicious.  She was willing to take the risk, which is a good quality in a being.

With a swollen eye from a bee sting

Her name, Jasmine, came with her.  I added Cavendish Palmer for fancy, because that's the fanciest name I know.  She was fancy.  She died peacefully at home, surrounded by family.  She loved and was loved by many.  I will miss her forever.  In lieu of flowers, maybe  just greet someone with enthusiasm today.  Or roll in their used towel.

Fake Horoscopes for Dark Times

Aries (3/21 – 4/19):  

Do you ever have that thing where you sit down, home alone, mix yourself a good Manhattan, and then get that benevolent feeling like you should send Jimmy Carter a love letter and knit a scarf for AOC and make hats for all your friends? And then, you look up and think oh my god, this situation is way beyond hats and scarves.   I know.  It's okay, Aries.  We'll all just keep doing the best we can.

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20): We've learned this week that the new secretary of defense is the current weekend host of a right wing tv show.  He's being lifted from the important work of defending fox viewers from actual news to being in charge the most powerful military in the world.  I guess that's what they mean by draining the swamp?  (Btw, as a wetland biologist who has spent my life trying to STOP SWAMP DRAINING, I'm not a fan of that phrase.) I'm curious about how many people a talk show host supervises.  Me, I work alone in the woods but I oversee my dog (HA HA HA! She's lying on the couch laughing at me just like Putin is laughing at us right now).  But here's my question, Taurus: Is it difficult to scale up from however many people a talk show hosts oversees to supervising over 2 million people (with weapons)?  I don't know the first thing about talk shows, but I'm thinking they supervise the makeup guy ("can you make me look less oily, and more like a guy who could host on a weekday?").  And maybe the haircut guy (Jeez, fire that dude.).  Are they also the boss of the guy who lines up the guests, or are the weekend guests just leftovers who didn't call back the weekday guy fast enough?  Anyway, Taurus, scale up this week! Take on a little bit more work for justice and integrity.  You can do it! 

Gemini (5/21 – 6/21):
The new head of Health and Human Services, aka Brain Worm Guy, shown here with his buddies consuming a big mac and pepsi, I think they're on Jeffery Epstein's airplane.    Anyway, the new guy recommends that we take an eight year break from trying to cure infectious disease.  Okay, Gemini, bear with me for a little side story: When I was a young college grad, I lived for a few months on an island helping a graduate student with her research on harbor seals.  She did a necropsy on a dead pup and ended up with a weird infection on her hand that we called "seal finger".  With all the money we'll save on studying the regular diseases that normal people who don't decapitate dead whales and drag bears around get, we'll finally be able to focus on seal finger and brain worms.  But that's not your horoscope, Gemini! Here it is: oh shoot, I got nothing.  The stars, the planets, blah blah blah, carry on.  We love you, Gemini! 

Cancer (6/22 – 7/21):  Do you know the word, "petrichor"?  It describes the smell when it rains after a long dry spell.  That earthy, calming aroma that happens at no other time -- there's no cologne, air freshener, dryer sheets (sparing you the side rant about dryer sheets, but WTAF?).  No petrichor scented candle.  It's a unicorn of smells -- you have to be there at just the right time to experience it.  Cancer, be there at the right time! For all things.  And if at first it seems like its not the right time, could it be an attitude?  Do your magic to make it so.  But also, help me answer this question:  why would there be a special smell just for that one thing?  Create something special for just one thing or person this week.  You can do it!

Leo (7/23 – 8/22):  Well, Trump has picked two more (known) sex crimers for his cabinet (besides himself).  We now have Matt Gaetz, who grinds up ED medication in redbull so that he can sustain the energy and erection needed to rape underage girls.  And we have Pete Hegseth, three times married guy who paid off a woman who accused him of sexual assault.  This is the family values crowd, I said to my dog.  She said, hey, let's go out for another walk! But I stray from the point.   Jumping Elon isn't in the cabinet (yet), but he's another accused sex offender.  What seems weird to me is that these guys profess to be anti-abortion.  You'd think, well..  Anyway.  Leo, be flat on your back for the winter, if that's the best you can do.  (We call that "thinking" here.) But see if you can get up, stand up, stand up for your rights.  This week, and all winter long.

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):  Here's a true story, Virgo.  Once upon a time in the little town where I live, on one magical day a few years ago, little plastic toy collies appeared everywhere.  They were on benches and windowsills and in planters; pretty much every nook and cranny, a collie.  A very tiny plastic dog snowstorm had occurred during the night.  Since then, every day I wish for another dog storm.  Will it be terriers? Beagles?  But so far, nothing.  Virgo, create a miniature storm of goodness, the way you always do.  

Libra (9/23 – 10/22):  Our new health and human services lady will likely be the dog murder lady, who killed a puppy due to misbehavior.  Oh, and a goat.  She murdered a goat for being mean.  Hard to get behind this  I guess this qualifies one for being in charge of the well-being of Americans?  Looks like Mercury is in retrograde and we are going back.  We're going back to a time when it was okay to murder a puppy for eating chicken.  Do any of you eat chicken? BEWARE.  Libra, keep your wits about you.

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  The rapey red-bull/viagra guy says he's gonna go over to the justice department and "start cutting fucking heads".  It might just be me, but I think RFK is the guy for cutting heads, at least whale heads.  We don't know what this is going to look like for sure, but the path ahead looks dark.  The ancestors have endured worse.  I mean, 55 million years ago, we and the whales were one.  Carry on, Scorp.  

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21):  In a strange melding of fact and fiction, The Onion, a parody news account, has purchased Newsmax, which used to be an angry, meanspirited fake news site because the deranged owner, Alec Jones, had to sell it at a fire sale to pay debts related to his cruel conspiracy theories.  Infowars site was down, then up again, so don't click there yet.   The fact of it is, though, Sag, we need to be astute.  Ferret out the truth.  Do not succumb to the fake news.  

Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19):  We also have a new nomination for Secretary of Transportation,  Sean Duffy.  His Wiki article says he started log-rolling at age 5; I suppose that's a good background for a transportation guy.  Bring on the logs, Duffy.  We'll all be rolling, one way or another, soon enough.  Capricorn, this week, use your stubborness for good.  Step away from the abyss.  Look at it with binoculars or a telescope, and maybe pull out those eclipse glasses.  There's no need to get all cozy with it just yet.  

Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18):  We're all suiting up for the days ahead, trying to capture the last bits of sun I mean Biden/Harris to store in our sparkle suits for the long dark time ahead.  Music, Aquarius.  Gather music, make playlists.  Lot's of them.  Don't be afraid to put cheesy pop songs on them, like this.  Whatever works.  There's no shame.  Also, Aquarius? We need some new, catchy protest songs.  No particular reason.  See what you can do.  

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):
The good news, Pisces, is that the salmon are returning in big numbers this year.  They don't know what they're up against, with a new EPA director who doesn't even do log rolling, if wikipedia can be trusted.  But still.  They swim upstream, over and over.  Well, only once, as it turns out.  But we can do that! Learn the back float for the really rugged times, but keep swimming.

Do I have this straight?

If you've been too busy having an actual life, or perhaps riding out the dog days of summer like this pretty girl, let me recap what's happened in the past few days.

Trump got hit by a speeding bullet and wore half a kotex on his ear for a few days in public, and lots of his supporters, who tend to call liberal people “sheeple” for being blind followers, also wore white pads on their ear. The ear is apparently all healed up now, nary a scratch. The shooter was a young republican NRA member. We haven’t seen as many AK-47 lapel pins since the shooting, but truth be told, the giant white pads may draw your eye away from the lapel area and towards the ear. 

 Trump picked JD Vance as his running mate, who, a few years ago described himself as a never trump guy and called Trump, “America’s Hitler”, an idiot, etc, but is now his biggest fan. Rumors (untrue) abound that Vance has had a fling with a couch. The pictures of the crowds wearing maxi pads on their ear have been replaced by photos of Vance oogling a couch.  New slogan emerges, "Couches for Kamala."

 Republicans have been trash-talking Biden for being too old to be president for months. Biden decided to let his younger, capable running mate be the candidate instead of him, in a supreme act of selflessness and patriotism, and Republicans are now threatening to sue to keep him on the ballot. They wasted money on signs that say, “Let’s go Brandon”, which apparently is a slur and means you’re voting for trump, but let’s be honest, it’s not super clear. We’re not sure where Brandon is supposed to go or why, per the signs. I’m not a real political analyst, but if I were, I’d suggest that they put the candidate’s name on the signs. A guy who spent $10,000 on Let’s Go Brandon signs is also suing Biden. Perhaps he can find a candidate named Brandon? 

 Trump announced that Elon Musk, who owns a social media site that everyone continues to call “twitter” will be donating $45 million a month, and because of this, Trump’s plan as president is to help Elon, one of the wealthiest people on the planet. We’re not sure why he needs help, although maybe because Elon makes his money on electric cars, which trump is opposed to? Something about sharks and electricity and wind killing the birds, maybe a spot of Hannibal Lecter tossed in there. Elon says he’s not really giving that much money.  We're not sure if there's lying, backpedalling, or both in this situation.

 The attacks on Kamala Harris have begun in earnest. They attack her intelligence, her laugh, the fact that she never bore children (although her husband’s ex-wife issued a statement today saying that Kamala has been a parent of her children.) Apparently, if a woman runs for president, the birth canal must be involved? (This does not apply to men.) Some republicans are claiming that Kamala is “not really black” (because as we know, being black is an advantage in this country; lots of black presidents!). They’ve also been claiming she’s not really a citizen (although she was born in the USA) in a sorry rerun of the birther business from the Obama years.