After the storm that raged through the night, today the skies are a clear, beautiful blue. If only the political storm we’re living through could pass as easily.
It’s a quiet Sunday here. I’ve cooked a few meals for the week ahead and now, with that done, I’m settling into the stillness.
On a scale of one to ten, my desire to write is about a one. I’d much rather curl up with a book.
So that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
This morning, we picked our very first Minnesota-grown zucchini! Joe is chopping up the flower to add to his veggies for lunch, and the zucchini itself will be part of mine. It’s a nice little milestone from our garden. We grew radishes last fall, and we've been harvesting a few each day since. Our kale is doing exceptionally well. Once the rain lets up, I’ll be picking our first crop of green beans too.
Speaking of rain—it’s been coming down most of the day for the past two days. I don’t mind it; the garden and yard are getting all the water they need without much effort from us. Yesterday, there were flash flood warnings for many of the counties around the Minneapolis/Saint Paul area. Luckily, we're far enough from the river that it hasn’t affected us directly. That said, the Crow River has been running high since early spring, so I wouldn’t be surprised if we see flooding soon on my favorite drive home from Megan’s, along a quiet backroad between Hanover and Saint Michael.
Tonight is Caleb’s first swim meet, and we’re excited for him!
Even with the soggy weather, it feels good to be settling into summer routines—watching the garden grow, cheering Caleb on, and finding joy in the small things each day.
Wrapping up thirty years of life in one home feels like a huge task. Until we moved to Minnesota, the house on Southwood Drive was my favorite place I’d ever lived. But truthfully, it wasn’t just the layout of the house itself that made it so special—it was the memories we created there.
So today, as a way to close this chapter, I’m jotting down just a few of those memories that quickly come to mind:
This was the house that gave Megan and me a safe, affordable landing spot when it became clear that my first marriage was ending.
Within months of moving in, Joe Coehlo and I grew to love each other. He proposed to me in this house.
At just three years old, Megan learned to rollerblade across the hardwood floors—on her older sister’s oversized rollerblades. Years later, as an adult, she and her boyfriend would refinish those same floors.
When Megan was four, she accidentally fell into her sister’s green bean plants, part of a school science project. The beans were growing in small planters in the family room. (She was not rollerblading at the time!) Her poor sister was so distraught—until Joe calmly explained she could include the accident in her project and observe how the plants responded to trauma. Problem turned into opportunity.
In fifth grade, Megan wrote a school paper about her favorite place. While her classmates wrote about Disneyland, camping, or vacation spots, she wrote that her favorite place was home. Since she’d already been to Disneyland and done the camping thing, I found her words especially touching. I had to hold back a laugh when she mentioned how much she loved the smell of the house on cleaning day.
Our Thanksgivings were anything but traditional. We usually had a mix of family and friends—an eclectic group that sometimes included Muslims, Christians, and even a Wiccan all at the same table. It was beautiful to see them find common ground. Our friendships were diverse in ways that made life richer.
In the years after COVID, we began hosting monthly dinner gatherings—just a group of friends sharing food, wine, margaritas, and lots of laughter. Those nights filled the house with warmth and connection.
We had the kindest neighbors. Over time, Joe and I went from being one of the “young families” to the older neighbors on the block. The neighborhood kids always waved to Joe when he worked in the yard. Two little girls especially loved calling to him—they thought it was funny that their dad was also named Joe.
Every June, we celebrated Irma’s birthday (even though her real birthday was on Christmas Day) with a magical party for the neighborhood kids.
The back patio was one of my favorite spots. I could sit there for hours, enjoying the garden. When I close my eyes and think of the times I spent out there with Kim, with Joe, or with another friend, it brings me such peace.
Much of the year, we could step out the back door and pick fresh vegetables or fruit for a meal. Herbs from the front yard were a bonus.
Saying goodbye to Southwood Drive wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t as hard as I imagined, either. I think having a year to prepare helped. I’m so grateful for the years we spent there—and for all the memories that made that house a home.
My friend Elizabeth, who believes our home is magical. Hearing her say that reminded me of the moment I first stepped through the front door and instantly fell in love with this place.
A body that lets me keep a clean and tidy home. That ability matters more to me than I sometimes realize.
Joe Coehlo — my partner in life, and in all the ways that matter.
Three healthy grandchildren who are growing into such fine, thoughtful people.
A daughter who cares deeply — about her family and the wider world.
A son-in-law who is a loving partner and fiercely devoted father.
Friends who enrich my life with kindness, humor, wit, and cleverness.
The ability to think for myself.
My love of words — a quiet but constant joy.
Gratitude grounds me. The world can feel loud and chaotic, especially when I focus too much on the state of politics or government. But pausing to notice what’s good — what’s steady and true — helps bring me back to center.
What’s one thing you’re grateful for today?
Friends, When she was in Congress, I disagreed with almost everything she said and every vote she made. But on the transcendent issue of our time — protecting our democracy from Trump and the forces of authoritarianism and fascism — Liz Cheney has been correct, clear, and courageous. Today I received this text message from her, and I want to share it with you because it’s right on point. *** From Liz Cheney Dear Democratic Party, I need more from you. You keep sending emails begging for $15, while we’re watching fascism consolidate power in real time. This administration is not simply “a different ideology.” It is a coordinated, authoritarian machine — with the Supreme Court, the House, the Senate, and the executive pen all under its control. And you? You’re still asking for decorum and donations. WTF. That won’t save us. I don’t want to hear another polite floor speech. I want strategy. I want fire. I want action so bold it shifts the damn news cycle — not fits inside one. Every time I see something from the DNC, it’s asking me for funds. Surprise. Those of us who donate don’t want to keep sending money just to watch you stand frozen as the Constitution goes up in flames — shaking your heads and saying, “Well, there’s not much we can do. He has the majority.” I call bullshit. If you don’t know how to think outside the box… If you don’t know how to strategize… If you don’t know how to fight fire with fire… what the hell are we giving you money for? Some of us have two or three advanced degrees. Some of us have military training. Some of us know what coordinated resistance looks like — and this ain’t it. Yes, the tours around the country? Nice. The speeches? Nice. The clever congressional clapbacks? Nice. That was great for giving hope. Now we need action. You have to stop acting like this is a normal presidency that will just time out in four years. We’re not even at Day 90, and look at the chaos. Look at the disappearances. Look at the erosion of the judiciary, the press, and our rights. If you do not stop this, we will not make it 1,460 days. So here’s what I need from you — right now: ⸻ 1. Form an independent, civilian-powered investigative coalition. I’m talking experts. Veterans. Whistleblowers. Journalists. Watchdog orgs. Deputize the resistance. Build a real-time archive of corruption, overreach, and executive abuse. Make it public. Make it unshakable. Let the people drag the rot into the light. If you can’t hold formal hearings, hold public ones. If Congress won’t act, let the country act. This isn’t about optics — it’s about receipts. Because at some point, these people will be held accountable. And when that day comes, we’ll need every name, every signature, every illegal order, every act of silence—documented. You’re not just preserving truth — you’re preparing evidence for prosecution. The more they vanish people and weaponize data, the more we need truth in the sunlight. ⸻ 2. Join the International Criminal Court. Yes, I said it. Call their bluff. You cannot control what the other side does. But you can control your own integrity. So prove it. Prove that your party is still grounded in law, human rights, and ethical leadership. Join. If you’ve got nothing to hide — join. Show the world who’s hiding bodies, bribes, and buried bank accounts. Force the GOP to explain why they’d rather protect a war criminal than sign a treaty. And while you’re at it, publicly invite ICC observers into U.S. borders. Make this administration explain — on camera — why they’re terrified of international oversight. ⸻ 3. Fund state-level resistance infrastructure. Don’t just send postcards. Send resources. Channel DNC funds into rapid-response teams, legal defense coalitions, sanctuary networks, and digital security training. If the federal government is hijacked, build power underneath it. If the laws become tools of oppression, help people resist them legally, locally, and boldly. This is not campaign season — this is an authoritarian purge. Stop campaigning. Act like this is the end of democracy, because it is. We WILL REMEMBER the warriors come primaries. Fighting this regime should be your marketing strategy. And let’s be clear: The reason the other side always seems three steps ahead is because they ARE. They prepared for this. They infiltrated school boards, courts, local legislatures, and police unions. They built a machine while you wrote press releases. We’re reacting — they’ve been executing a plan for years. It’s time to shift from panic to blueprint. You should already be working with strategists and military minds on PROJECT 2029, a coordinated, long-term plan to rebuild this country when the smoke clears. You should be publicly laying out: • The laws and amendments you’ll pass to ensure this never happens again • The systems you’ll tear down and the safeguards you’ll enshrine • The plan to hold perpetrators of human atrocities accountable • The urgent commitment to immediately bring home those sold into slavery in El Salvador You say you’re the party of the people? Then show the people the plan. ⸻ 4. Use your platform to educate the public on rights and resistance tactics. If they’re going to strip us of rights and lie about it — arm the people with truth. Text campaigns. Mass trainings. Downloadable “Know Your Rights” kits. Multilingual legal guides. Encrypted phone trees. Give people tools, not soundbites. We don’t need more slogans. We need survival manuals. ⸻ 5. Leverage international media and watchdogs. Stop hoping U.S. cable news will wake up. They’re too busy playing both sides of fascism. Feed the real stories to BBC, Al Jazeera, The Guardian, Reuters, Der Spiegel — hell, leak them to anonymous dropboxes if you have to. Make what’s happening in America a global scandal. And stop relying on platforms that are actively suppressing truth. Start leveraging Substack. Use Bluesky. That’s where the resistance is migrating. That’s where censorship hasn’t caught up. If the mainstream won’t carry the truth — outflank them. Get creative. Go underground. Go global. If our democracy is being dismantled in broad daylight, make sure the whole world sees it — and make sure we’re still able to say it. ⸻ 6. Create a digital safe haven for whistleblowers and defectors. Not everyone inside this regime is loyal. Some are scared. Some want out. Build the channels. Encrypted. Anonymous. Protected. Make it easy for the cracks in the system to become gaping holes. And while you’re at it? Stop ostracizing MAGA defectors. Everyone makes mistakes — even glaring, critical ones. We are not the bullies. We are not the ones filled with hate. And it is not your job to shame people who finally saw the fire and chose to step out of it. They will have to deal with that internal struggle — the guilt of putting a very dangerous and callous regime in power. But they’re already outnumbered. Don’t push them back into the crowd. We don’t need purity. We need numbers. We need people willing to burn their red hats and testify against the machine they helped build. ⸻ 7. Study the collapse—and the comeback. You should be learning from South Korea and how they managed their brief rule under dictatorship. They didn’t waste time chasing the one man with absolute immunity. They went after the structure. The aides. The enforcers. The loyalists. The architects. They knocked out the foundation one pillar at a time — until the “strongman” had no one left to stand on. And his power crumbled beneath him. You should be independently investigating every author of Project 2025, every aide who defies court orders, every communications director repeating lies, every policy writer enabling cruelty, every water boy who keeps this engine running. You can’t stop a regime by asking the king to sit down. You dismantle the throne he’s standing on — one coward at a time. ⸻ Stop being scared to fight dirty when the other side is fighting to erase the damn Constitution. They are threatening to disappear AMERICANS. A M E R I C A N S. And your biggest move can’t be another strongly worded email. We don’t want your urgently fundraising subject lines. We want backbone. We want action. We want to know you’ll stand up before we’re all ordered to sit down — permanently. We are watching. And I don’t just mean your base. I mean millions of us who see exactly what’s happening. I’ve only got 6,000 followers — but the groups I’m in? The networks I touch? Over a quarter million. Often when I speak, it echoes. But when we ALL speak, it ROARS with pressure that will cause change. We need to be deafening. You still have a chance to do something historic. To be remembered for courage, not caution. To go down as the party that didn’t just watch the fall — but fought the hell back with everything they had. But the clock is ticking. And the deportation buses are idling. |
The high of our day was a visit to Como Zoo in Saint Paul. Dave, Elizabeth, Joe, and I took advantage of the 94-degree weather to sweat it out while we checked out the animals. I rented a mobility scooter so they didn’t have to stop as often for breaks.
Como Zoo and the attached conservatory and gardens are free to visit, with a suggested donation of $4.00 for adults and $2.00 for kids. Even with the severe heat warnings, the zoo and grounds were pretty crowded. The temperature with the humidity felt like 105 to 110 degrees. We used plenty of sunshade, wore hats, and lasted about an hour and a half before needing a real break. Thankfully, the visitor center was air-conditioned and had lots of seating for people to cool down and rest.
We decided to skip the conservatory and gardens since it was still getting hotter by 2:30 p.m. We put it on the list for their next trip to Minnesota.
The low of the day came in the evening, with the news that the U.S. bombed three nuclear sites in Iran. The story is just hours old, but 47 has declared the mission a success. Time will tell if this was a good or bad move.
To me, it feels like we’ve taken the role of aggressor, and that’s not within my comfort zone as a way to resolve conflict. We have friends with family in the military, stationed in the Middle East, and we’re worried that any retaliation might be aimed at U.S. soldiers in the region.
Stay safe.
After a morning visit to French Regional Park, Dave, Elizabeth, Joe, and I had our picnic lunch at Riverside Park in Rockford before heading over to the high school to watch Charlotte’s theater class perform The Little Mermaid.
Charlotte was in the chorus, playing an orange squid and, at one point, water. Her costume changes were pretty simple—just a quick swap of headgear twice and adding a skirt once. We all agreed the performance was delightful. The kids genuinely looked like they were having fun on stage. Later, Elizabeth asked Charlotte if she enjoyed the week-long theater camp and the performance. She did! I asked if she’d want to do it again next year—she gave a definite yes.
After the show, we headed over to Megan and Jeremy’s. Elizabeth and I played with Oliver while Dave and Joe helped Jeremy hang a large mirror. Caleb disappeared to play somewhere, and Charlotte relaxed in the living room with Elizabeth, Oliver, and me. Elizabeth got to hear three of Charlotte’s current favorite jokes.
We got home around 6:00 p.m. Elizabeth cooked the Delmonico steaks my brother Jeff had left for Joe and me. I made the salad and baked the potatoes. Dinner was delicious.
Now I’m really dragging and looking forward to going to bed early tonight.
Happy Solstice!
June 19, 2025
Today I chose to take a nap instead of writing. We're really enjoying our time with our guests, Elizabeth and Dave, so this week my priority is simply to be present and make the most of their visit.
Tonight, while Joe was at work, they took me out to dinner. We went for burgers at the Dairy Queen just half a mile from our place. Last night, I cooked bluegill that my brothers had left for me. Tomorrow and Saturday, Elizabeth will be grilling steaks that my brother Jeff brought along on their visit earlier this month.
Tomorrow’s plan is to head to French Regional Park, then in the afternoon, we’ll watch Charlotte perform in a theater production. After the show, we’ll stop by Megan’s so Elizabeth and Dave can meet our grandchildren—and so Elizabeth can hold Oliver.
On Saturday, we’re tentatively thinking about visiting the Minnesota Sculpture Garden or maybe Como Park & Zoo, which also has a conservatory and both tropical and Japanese gardens.
It’ll be a full couple of days, but I’ll try to check in.
May 18,2025 - no blog for today as I was busy with our guests and then conducted a mid-year audit on estimated income taxes. The guest part is FUN! The tax part not so much.
Our friends, Elizabeth and Dave are arriving just after midnight to visit us for a few days. Instead of writing I will post memes.
When someone writes something I find powerful, I like to share it. Adam Kinzinger's thoughts are worth reading. It is the idea that political violence is wrong no matter what political affiliation the culprits claim. You can subscribe to Adam for free content on Substack.
Political Violence in America Is Here — And It’s Killing Our DemocracyA deadly weekend shows how far we’ve fallen—and why we must stop excusing violence from “our side” before it’s too late.
This past weekend, America crossed a terrible line. A Democratic lawmaker and her husband were brutally murdered in their home. A state senator and his wife were nearly killed. Early reports suggest the suspect had a political hit list—names of elected officials targeted for their beliefs. This wasn’t random. It wasn’t senseless. It was intentional. And it should have been a moment that froze us in our tracks—a moment of shared grief, outrage, and resolve. But instead, what did we do? We opened our apps and jumped into the spin cycle. Elon Musk immediately blamed “the far left.” It was the same broken instinct we’ve seen before. This is the crisis we’re living in now. One where facts are irrelevant, and narrative is everything. We’ve become addicted to outrage. We process political violence not with sorrow or solemnity, but as content for the next viral post, or fuel for our side’s fire. We don’t stop to consider the consequences—we just double down. I’m not immune from this either. It’s as if we’ve forgotten that political violence isn’t partisan. It’s not red or blue. It’s a sickness. Look around: This isn’t looming. It’s not a future threat. And this is how democracy dies—not with a single bullet, but with each one we explain away, each act of violence we rationalize, and each truth we abandon for tribal comfort. I know this isn’t easy to hear. But we have to say it plainly: And if we keep doing that—if we keep letting our party identity matter more than our shared humanity—we will lose something that can’t be recovered. But here’s the truth that gives me hope: it doesn’t have to end this way. I've spent years in the military, in Congress, and in communities across this country. I’ve seen Americans rise to the moment—choosing principle over politics, truth over convenience, and courage over comfort. I’ve seen Democrats call out their own when it mattered. I’ve seen Republicans take political risk to do the right thing. I’ve seen independents reject extremism altogether. And I believe most Americans want to be better than this. So, where do we begin? We begin by refusing to make violence partisan. When someone is attacked or murdered because of what they believe, we condemn it. Period. No qualifications. No whataboutism. No spin. We begin by rejecting conspiracy theories—especially the ones that make us feel good. It’s easy to believe something that flatters our side and makes the other look like monsters. But that ease is the very thing that erodes our democracy. We begin by defending the truth. Even when it’s inconvenient. Even when it’s unpopular. Even when it means losing followers or votes. Because in the end, we won’t save this country by defending our parties. So if you're tired—tired of the hate, the fear, the chaos—good. That means you’re paying attention. Now, take that exhaustion and turn it into action. Speak up when you see a lie spreading. We are not powerless. But we are at a crossroads. And what we do next will determine whether this democracy endures—or fades into history as one more great thing we let slip away. Let’s not let that happen. Let’s choose each other. |
After the storm that raged through the night, today the skies are a clear, beautiful blue. If only the political storm we’re living through ...
