Welcome to an Adventure of a Lifetime

This past month, my sibling and I went on an adventure to Antarctica. 

I am unlikely to ever see anything like this again.

The trip was several years in the making, even before the passing of one of my parents. However, it was part of this parent's passing that I was (mostly) able to go. It was also partially inspired by the same parent never making it to South America nor Antarctica, though they had been on all of the other major continental plates.  

This trip also coincided with the two year anniversary of their passing.

My sibling and I did a lot of research prior to deciding to join a National Geographic Expedition Cruise. We would start in Argentina - where we would embark on the ship - and end in Chile - where we would fly to from Antarctica (yes, there is an airport on the continent - more on that later). This would give us two continents and two countries that we had never been to. We would also have to traverse the infamous Drake Passage at least once.

We began in Atlanta. Were you expecting somewhere else?

Yes, Atlanta, we wanted to fly out together and Atlanta had the best flights to Buenos Aires that allowed that. It also gave us a brief layover at our aunt and uncle's house. I also had my first cool animal sighting when I spotted a bobcat on the side of the road. I had never seen a bobcat before and felt it was a good omen for the experiences I would have in the near future. 

What wasn't good fortune was our luggage situation. I had forgotten that there were weight (and dimension - more on that later) restrictions for the flight from Antarctica to Puerto Natales in Chile. I left a few things at my aunt and uncle's house and borrowed a bigger suitcase. 

The flight to Buenos Aires was fine; going through customs was like watching a snail race. Multiple flights had gotten in at the same time (not unusual) and not all of the windows were open. Thus it took over two hours to escape the airport. 

We were only in Buenos Aires for the day - more like afternoon once we got to the hotel. I was able to spend some time walking around while my sibling relaxed at the hotel. I saw the Casa Rosada or Pink House and Plaza de Mayo. Dinner was at an Italian Argentinian restaurant called D'oro - recommended to us by one of the doormen. It was very good and I believe they have a location in Miami.

Early the next morning we were up very early to go to a different airport, Ministro Pistarini International Airport (EZE) - it's basically their national airport - for an early flight to Ushuaia, the southern most city in the world. We explored part of the city and began meeting other members of the expedition. This is also where we learned the bit about the luggage dimensions. One of my bags was an inch too tall, however we were reassured that it was only the weight that mattered - this did nothing for my anxiety.

 

Route 6 ends or begins here as well and goes all the way to Alaska.

Prior to boarding the National Geographic Explorer (that was the name of the ship), we were taken on a bus tour of the Tierra del Fuego National Park - a dream I'd had since I was really little - and a boat tour of the Beagle Channel. We saw a lot of beautiful birds - one even seemed to be posing for us - and our first sea mammals, southern sea lions. 

He's not sure if he'll jump in or not.

He knows he's pretty

We left Ushuaia in the early evening. For the next week we were in one of the most remote places on Earth. 

Ushuaia

There were about 150 passengers on the ship. All of us were excited and ready to explore Antarctica, but first we had to get through the Drake Passage. You might think that we would have had plenty of downtime the first two days we were in open ocean. 

We did not. 

National Geographic and Linblad Expiditions (the two companies collaborate on ocean voyages) have a full schedule everyday of talks, presentation, and workshops to go along with the excursions. The first presentation was a video on the Drake Passage made by a Irving Johnson called Around Cape Horn (and can be found on YouTube). He shot the video in 1929 when he was in his early 20s and narrated by him over 50 years later in 1980. It is well worth a watch. We also had talks on photography and the birds we were likely to see before and after arriving in Antarctica. 

Now, if you are familiar with the Drake Passage, you might be wondering if we had a Drake Lake or a Drake Shake.

We had a Drake Shake - one of the worst they'd had in a few years. 

It eventually calmed down to a wobbly Drake Lake, but for the first morning ropes were needed to help people walk around. Breakfast was particularly dangerous with dishes nearly ending up on the floor every few seconds. I managed to spill my coffee twice. 

As luck would have it, we ended up arriving early to Antarctica and were able to get an extra excursion in. Preparing for this excursion required us to attend a safety lecture and have any outer clothes we planned to bring onto the continent inspected. My sibling and I had rented a lot of our equipment and some of our clothes, but we had a few things looked over (extra gloves, hats, and scarves). This was very important as they want to minimize any trash or other organic materials from coming with us. Antarctica is heavily regulated to prevent pollution and invasive species from impacting the continent. 

Trying to describe the continent of Antarctica is like trying to describe the Grand Canyon - words and pictures just do not do it justice. Much like how big and vast the Grand Canyon is, Antarctica is never ending rock, snow, and ice surrounded by deep blue ocean water. And also like how the Grand Canyon seems to stretch on for eternity, Antarctica appears never ending. There were icebergs larger than our ship - taller than buildings - floating by. The water was so stunningly clear that you could see pretty far down. Because it was almost summer, the sun seemed to never set and I didn't manage a peak at the southern night sky. 

This was taken at about 1:00AM.

Also taken at about 1:00AM. 

The animals also don't really see humans as predators in Antarctica. Penguins in particular seem to view humans as weird intruding observers rather than a threat to their safety or to their babies. They might walk up to you, but you aren't allowed to walk up to them. And even if you were allowed to get close to the penguins, you really don't want to.

I want it on record that penguins are one of the smelliest animals I have ever encountered. 

At one point the smell was so stomach turning, I almost added to the environment - which would have been bad. 

Otherwise, penguins are adorably hilarious. We saw all three types of brush tailed penguins (gentoo, chinstrap, and adelie). They are excellent climbers and swimmers. Their feathers look soft, but are actually quite coarse (no I didn't pet a penguin - it was not allowed and even if it were, I wouldn't want to get that close to them). They seem to fly through the water rather than swim in a technique known as  porpoising. They do waddle when they walk, but can also easily slide through the snow on their bellies. Some of them have the reputation of having the intelligence of a box of rocks (mostly this is for the adelie, but I did see a gentoo walk off a rock and faceplant into the snow below - he was fine, just a perceived bruised ego). 

See the line under his chin? That's a chinstrap penguin!

Eye make up means this is a gentoo penguin.

A blue eye and no make up means that this is an adelie penguin.

It was especially cool to see them swim next to the ship and zodiacs. 

Whales were also common to spot near the ship. One morning, we went off program for 45 minutes to follow a huge pod of orca (or killer whales). They were likely hunting penguins and I got to watch them coordinate from the ship's bridge. Everyone was welcome onto the bridge and it was the best place to learn about the animals being spotted around us. 

Humpback whales were the most often spotted leading the ship to her next destination. I felt so lucky when I got to see a humpback whale dive deep into the water very close to the ship. I didn't even think to take a picture. One second the whale was cruising near the water's surface, the next a blast of air and a tail flick and the whale had dived.

The other confirmed whale sighting was of a fin whale that happened during one of the evening debriefs. Unconfirmed, but sighted by a small group of us at dinner, was of a minke whale. The minke whales are some of the more illusive to spot since they are small and blend in well with the ice. 

Also constantly around, but harder to see, were the different seal species. Weddell seals were the most common and tended to look like big rocks. We saw them first on our second excursion to hike around  Mikkelson Harbor. They were huge and just kind of laying there chilling. Less chill was the very grumpy fur seal we encountered on our last hike on Deception Island in Whaler's Bay. Two of our group got a little too close for comfort before the guides managed to mark off a safe area - he was well hidden amongst the rusted old whaling buildings that had long since been abandoned. 

I'm fairly certain this is a weddell seal.

Leopard seals are easily mistaken for weddell seals (and vice versa). The best way to tell the difference is to see how long a seal's neck is. If the neck is long and lizard like, it's a leopard seal. If the seal has big eyes and a stout neck, it's a weddell seal. Leapard seals are also the ones that eat penguins - though only in the water, apparently they leave penguins alone if they are sharing land together.

The final seal spotted was the crab seal. It doesn't actually eat crabs, the Germans who first identified the seal didn't have a special name for krill. We got a good look him because we were in a small zodiac while he was sunning himself on a chunk of ice. Occasionally he'd sit up and check to see that we were maintaining an appropriate distance, but otherwise he was happily relaxing.

Waving Crab Seal

My sibling and I went out to kayak at one point. We were out for about an hour in choppy surf and a dusting of snow. It was the first time I'd ever tasted salty snow. Leaving the ship was easy, trying to get back was tough. Eventually, the guides had to end the kayaking a little early due to the shift in weather. By that point, my sibling and I were already back on the ship with a warm cup of cocoa.

Yes, I'm helping by taking pictures. 

Kayaking resumed the next morning for those who didn't get to go out the day before. The rest of us got a cool zodiac ride (zodiacs are the small rubber boats used to transport us from the ship to land - we can also ride around in them)  around Useful Island and Useless Island. Why are they called Useful Island and Useless Island? I don’t know, but Useless is a lot smaller than Useful. The penguins seemed to prefer Useless Island for their nests. 

National Geographic and Linblad ensured we were all well fed with delicious food and classy settings. We were given breakfast, lunch, tea time, and dinner as well as snacks throughout the day and a cocktail hour every evening. At first, many of us were confused by the amount of food, until we missed our first tea time due to an excursion and realized how hungry we got between meal times. 

Though there wasn't a pool, our ship did have a sauna (fitting since our captain was Finnish and the chief Swedish), a fitness room, spa services (which I indulged in), and morning stretches that included a health smoothy (I only made the first class since they were really early in the morning). The ship also included a chart room, lounge, library observatory, and gift shop (because of course there was a gift shop). At the bottom of the ship were the crew offices, medical, and base camp - which is where we gathered for expeditions and did the polar plunge (the worst kept secret on the ship). My favorite room - aside from the Bridge - was the chart room. It had unlimited coffee, tea, and soda. 

Instead of taking the Drake Passage back to Ushuaia to go home, our group flew from the science outpost on King George Island to Puerto Natales, Chile. The airport in Antarctica is technically Chilean and consists of three hollowed out shipping containers. There is a porch area and a bathroom, but they ask that you only use the bathroom in an emergency since it is very difficult to clean (i.e. process the human waste - I didn't ask for clarification). They also provide tea, coffee, and water in their waiting rooms. We didn't have to go through security.

I was a little sad that I didn't get on the penguin plane, but I can say I've flown Antarctica Airline.

My bag that was one inch too long made it to Chile without a problem (as long as you don't count the flight attendants having to slam the overhead closed a few times). Also, due to the timing, none of our carry-on bags were weighed. This had been a major point of anxiety for our group. It was funny to see someone pull an extra pair of pants out of the front of their parka and shift them into their bag.

Puerto Natales is one of the smallest airports I've even been to. It has one gate and you have to walk on the tarmac to your plane. The only smaller airport my sibling had ever seen was in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. Going through customs and emigration was a trial in patience. It likely would have taken all night if the power hadn't gone out at one point and knocked out the computer system. If this had been anywhere in the United States we never would have left the airport, but Puerto Natales felt the honor system was a-okay (despite Chili being one of the most strict countries I've been to in regards to plane travel). They inspected our bags and handed out forms for us to fill out. We couldn't lose the forms though, as then we might not be able to leave the country.

It was still faster than trying to get through customs in Buenos Aires. 

I wish we could have spent more time in Puerto Natales. It was beautiful and the hotel we stayed at was really cool. My sibling and I weren't able to go into the main town, but it looked adorable. Patagonia is now high on my list of places I'd like to hike around.

Our expedition ended in Puerto Natales. A lot of people decided to fly home over two days (in a burst of two or three or sometimes four flights). My sibling and I opted to spend two nights in Santiago. My sibling saw a picture of the city surrounded by the Andes and had to see it with their own eyes. It would also give us a chance to recover from the constant activities from our time on the ship. 

Santiago is one of the most unique places I have ever been. My sibling arranged a private tour for us to see the main points of the city, but it still wasn't enough time. It's another place we will have to visit again to better explore. And unlike Buenos Aires, Ushuaia, Puerto Natales, and especially Antarctica, Santiago was hot. 

My first trip to South America was amazing, though short. My Spanish was okay, but it was sometimes difficult to keep up with the different accents (I'm more familiar with central American Spanish accents). I will have to keep practicing for when I return.

Antarctica is an experience. One that very few people will ever get to have. Scientists are of course almost always at one of the research bases, but artists and writers can sometimes get grants to visit (the National Science Foundation has had a program, but it's unclear from the website on its current status). Additionally, you can take a tour like I did, though they tend to be very expensive once in a life time trips. Some people sail their own vessels (we saw a private sail boat in Whaler's Bay), but it is dangerous and you are subject to your country of origin's laws while on the continent.

I find pictures of flying birds oddly romantic.

I'm glad I took this trip. If I ever had the opportunity to do it again, I would say yes (and make a few changes to my itinerary). I wish both my parents had been able to come. The living parent stayed home, but maybe we'll get them there on another trip. Hopefully a trip where we get the Drake Lake or are able to skip it entirely. As for my parent who passed, I'm thankful they could make this trip happen. My deceased parent had been discussing sending me and my sibling before they passed - since I was already trying to figure out a trip. I'm sad that I can't share the experiences, let alone the pictures with them. 

This really was the trip of a lifetime. 

Until next week.

Before I go my usual closing, I wanted to leave you with an extra note. I kept a fairly detailed journal of my trip and have been thinking about posting the entries on this blog. The entries would be edited and in the style of how I write my journals. Keep a look out for these posts if you are interested. 

If you enjoyed this post (or it really pissed you off) please like, share, and/or leave a comment. I love hearing from my readers and I hope y'all like hearing from me.

Welcome to Tricks and Treats

My first Halloween at my house was so much fun. I’m glad Halloween fell on a Friday this year, so I could fully enjoy the holiday (next year it’ll be on a Saturday!).

I didn’t have a lot of decorations to put up, but a lot of houses in my neighborhood went all out with lights, inflatables, and giant skeletons (they are quite popular in this area). One house even had zombies “rising” up from the ground. I put up my door sign - though I couldn’t find the actual hanger so it was on the storm door’s handle - and carved a pumpkin to put on my stoop.

It’s a winky face!

Some of my neighbors set up a small bonfire and handed out candy as a group. A few dressed up or wore Halloween themed clothes. I found a headband shaped like cat ears, wore a “Hocus Pocus” shirt, and layered my original Busch Gardens Hallow-Scream sweatshirt. I chose to sit on my stoop and enjoy the ambiance of kids running around collecting their treat with a bag and a half of candy.

I did not buy enough candy.

I didn’t know what to expect from Halloween in my neighborhood. At the apartments I used to live at, only one had trick or treating and it wasn’t an annual thing. When I lived in the house in New Jersey, I only ever had one trick or treater. Every year, I’d buy candy and be left with too much to eat until January. I asked the previous owners of the house if they got trick or treaters and they said “not really”.

I don’t think the family put much effort in the holiday because there were tons of kids and families out and about. Trick or treating started promptly at 6:00, just as the sun was setting, and went until just after 8:00. I went inside right at 8:00 and had one last group of kids knock on the door at around 8:10.

My first half bag of candy quickly and realized that I could only give one piece if I wanted to stretch the amount I had into the night. I met a few witches, some Disney Princesses (Snow White was a nice surprise), grim reapers, and quite a few blow up characters of various designs (standouts include a giant rubber chicken and a hot dog being abducted by aliens; there may have also been a Pikachu). I even saw little angel. Family costumes were popular and I saw a mom and dad with their daughter as “A League of Their Own”. My least favorite duo were a duo of clowns (one had to have been a dad or older brother) who went around honking horns to announce their presence. It brought me back to the 2010s clown attacks.

I ran out of my traditional candy within an hour. I broke out my fancy pumpkin spice chocolates and tried to keep to one piece per kid. But I’m a sucker for the “my mom really likes this candy, can I have an extra for her?” puppy dog eyes. I don’t care if they were lying, they get an extra piece for mom.

The chocolates were gone so much faster than the original bags. I then approached my neighbors, looking to meet new people and moan about not having enough candy. They took pity on me (after exchanging names and some small talk) and gave me a refill of their candy. 

So, I went back to my stoop where I met a pair of teens dressed in black and clearly not in any costume, but begging for candy none-the-less. I complimented their “ninja” costumes and the teens seemed to appreciate me playing along. Then came a group of multiple families with all the kids in costumes of characters I wasn’t at all familiar with. I thought one might be a Pikachu, but I got a groan as a response. 

My knowledge of gen alpha’s favorite things is pretty much nonexistent despite having gen alpha cousins. At least I understood the two parents walking around with a balloon 6 and 7. I still have no idea who the kid in a yellow fur suit was supposed to be.

Refilled bag of candy ran out just as quickly and the neighbors gave me a second refill. They also told me to head inside at 8:00. I agreed with that deadline because it was getting colder. 

I did leave my pumpkin and porch light on, just in case there were a few late night treaters. There were a couple and I gave them a few extra pieces of candy from the second refill. I finally brought the pumpkin in and turned off the porch light around 10:00 (later than necessary, but I got wrapped up in a movie).

All in all, it was a fun evening. I’m so happy I finally had tons of trick or treaters. It reminded me of when I was a kid walking around my neighborhood with my parents or the years my dad would decorate his truck and drive around a group of us in the bed (we sat on hay bails and had plenty of supervision). My parents used to go all out decorating our house - complete with a graveyard, our skeleton (named Fred), and a fog machine. Mom usually passed out candy dressed as a witch.

I’m glad I’m able partake in the trick or treating traditions in my neighborhood. I hope to have more decorations next year and dress up a bit more. 

But that’s next year. This year, I made some nice memories to look back on.

Until the next week.

If you enjoyed this post (or it really pissed you off) please like, share, and or leave a comment. I love hearing from my readers and I hope y’all like hearing from me.

Welcome to Survival Soup and Bread

Did y’all know that Putin’s grandfather was a cook? I hadn’t. 

Apparently, it is a widely known (and propagandized) fact in Russia. Putin himself noted the fact in early interviews to secure his popularity in a post Soviet Union world. It likely adds a layer of humility for the leader to have come from a family of cooks.

I recently finished Witold Szabłowski’s What’s Cooking in the Kremlin: From Rasputin to Putin, How Russia Built an Empire with a Knife and Fork. Witold (he’s always referred to by his first name while conducting interviews in the narrative) is a Polish reporter whose other works include How to Feed a Dictator and Dancing Bears. The interviews all took place before Russia’s invasion of Ukrainian and my copy contains a preface and afterword about the impacts it has had on the people whose stories are told.

The book is fascinating and hard to put down. Starting with the story of the Czar’s loyal cook dying with the doomed family and ending with the final thoughts of a cook who worked in the Kremlin and Stalin’s favorite dacha, this book covers roughly a century of Russian (and USSR) history through the view points of cooks. Both men and women are represented in the book as well as former Soviet satellite states. Some of the best stories are also some of the emotionally hardest.

Famine happened in the former USSR, mostly intentionally done to starve the targeted population out of existence. The Nazis killed about 1.5 million people in their siege of Leningrad, while Stalin himself instigated the 3 to 7 million deaths during the Ukrainian Great Famine. Witold’s interviewees note that they were able to survive by becoming bakers or cooks for the few institutes that still had resources and if they were too young to work, their mothers did.

Bread and soup were what kept them alive.

There are many instances where bread and soup come up as important food staples in literature. The Hunger Games nearly always points out the different types of bread the Districts bake and Peta is the son of bakers. He even saves Katniss before the games by giving her burnt bread. Jean Valjean is arrested for stealing a loaf of bread early in the narrative of Les Misérables. Plus the Bible references bread multiple times. 

As for soup, one of my dad's favorite stories was that of "Stone Soup" (I wrote a blog post about this several years ago). There are several versions of this tale, but the most common one I know involves soldiers returning from the Napoleonic wars. I also read Chicken Soup with Rice by Maurice Sendak all the time as a kid. 

What many of these stories have in common is that bread and soup were an important part of comfort and survival. When made with little processing, bread and soup both pack a powerful nutrient punch. Soup typically has some kind of vegetable and protein, while bread should have whole grains with plenty of fiber. Add in a bit of hard cheese and you've got a great comfort meal. 

Soup kitchens are often euphemisms for places that feed the most vulnerable of our communities and bread lines are a term for unemployment (and getting government assistance, especially during the Great Depression). For long journeys (especially at sea), hardtack was often included as a shelf stable supply. Hardtack is dense, long lasting cracker like bread that is softened with hot liquids like coffee, tea, or soup.

I love a nice hot bowl of soup. I made some tonight - butternut squash soup with carrots, honey nut squash, sweet potatoes, red onions, and garlic. I ate it with some apricot bread I picked up at the Farmer's Market yesterday, though I often top it with homemade croutons or a toasted baguette. When I'm really struggling with what to eat for dinner, I often make something I call a "pantry soup". It's whatever I can find in my pantry and refrigerator that could make a good soup. Black beans with onions in whatever broth I have on hand with a bunch of herbs is probably my easiest and favorite (this is the recipe from my food blog - which I haven't updated in a while...I'll get on that).

With the seasons changing to cooler weather and times getting tougher, I won't be surprised if more people start to bake more and share soup recipes. During COVID, bone broth and sourdough starters became wildly popular. I think we'll start seeing this trend again soon.

If you are able to, please pick up a canned good or two for your local food pantry. There are a lot of people out of work right now with the government shutdown and the start of an economic slump. I'm seeing more and more people pan handling on major intersections. 

I'm glad I read Szabłowski’s What’s Cooking in the Kremlin. I learned quite a bit about Soviet history through the lens of food and the people who made it. Without a doubt the saddest story was about the women who cooked for the people trying to stop the Chernobyl melt down in the Fairytale Forest. Many died from radiation poisoning and those who are still alive suffer greatly from all kinds of health problems. Bread and soups feature prominently in the book along side the personal stories. The book even includes a few recipes. 

What is your favorite soup? Do you have a favorite bread? I love a good gazpacho in the summer and an easy chicken noodle in the winter for soups. My favorite bread is probably naan or spoon bread.

Let me know your favorites in the comments. and whether or not you consider chili a soup (I personally do not, but I'm open to changing my mind).

If you enjoyed this post (or it really pissed you off) please like, share, and/or leave a comment. I love hearing from my readers and I hope you like hearing from me.

Until next week. 

Welcome to the Lessons Taught

 …but didn’t sink in.

Have y’all ever wondered how much media is out there about World War 2. I have - mostly because while cleaning out my one parent’s apartment, I came across so many books and movies about World War 2. Books about ships and weaponry, books about major battles, mysteries that took place during the war, thrillers and spy novels mostly set in Europe, multiple copies of the same movie (why were there three versions of Tora! Tora! Tora!?), and documentaries galore. 

I ended up getting rid of a lot of it, but I still wanted to take my time and appreciate some of the books and DVDs. I am also still finding multiple copies of the some movies that I didn’t catch earlier. 

This is an old photo of the Mighty Mo where World War 2 officially ended.

World War 2 was a major event - there is no denying that. It shaped a lot of media in the mid- to late- 20th century. From the early propaganda films to turn of the century miniseries like “Band of Brothers” and “The Pacific”, there isn’t a lack of shortages in documentaries, TV shows, books (fiction and non), art, and video games.

Tons of which are still coming out today.

I’ve even won a few books seeped in World War 2 influence from GoodReads giveaways. Three to be precise. One is a post war mystery thriller featuring Julia Child as a side character - the first in a series I’d like to keep reading - called Mastering the Art of French Murder. Another is the non-fiction account of the writer’s grandfather’s tank unit called Task Force Hogan: The World War II Tank Battalion That Spearheaded The Liberation of Europe. That one is worth the read if you enjoyed stories like “Band of Brothers” or if you had a family member who served in a similar setting. The third was a strange thriller called Her Father’s Daughter which focused on recovering stolen art and finding Nazis who escaped justice. Sadly, it was not as good as the summary might suggest. I don’t recommend that one.

Because of its cultural significance, World War 2 was a major part of my education. History classes would focus on how appeasement didn’t work to keep the Nazis from their expansionist goals and how Japan wanted to join in on colonialism since it worked so well for western countries (though much less so for all colonized people). Pearl Harbor, D-Day, and Hiroshima were studied inside and out. We watched parts of movies and miniseries like “Saving Private Ryan”, “Barefoot Gen”, and (of course) “Band of Brothers”. Our English teachers had us read A Thousand Paper Cranes, Night, and The Dairy of a Young Girl (i.e. Anne Frank’s Diary). We visited the Holocaust museum in 12th grade for a field trip and discussed the results of the Nuremberg Trials.

Yet with all this history and media, the current state of the world has me questioning if anything was actually learned. I grew up knowing the Nazis were bad guys, not only because Indiana Jones fought them, but because we learned about the Holocaust and how their actions compounded into one of the greatest mass murders in world history. Yet now, an Indiana Jones game comes out and there are people mad that Nazis are the bad guys. We also have people denying the Holocaust happened.

I could argue that there’s a similar over saturation of media about the American Civil War. Again, it was a major event that killed hundreds of thousands and ended the horrific practice of slavery. Except it took another century for the Civil Rights Act to take effect - that was during my parents’ childhood.

About two years ago, I was fortunate enough to see a stage performance of “Cabaret” at my local theater. I loved it and wrote a post about it. In the post, I noted that we lived in interesting times and that if you didn’t think they were interesting, then you weren’t paying attention. Well, I hope you are paying attention now.

I continue to hope for better times, but the lessons I was taught in my history and English classes indicate that things are likely to get a lot worse. What will be the new “normal” is up in the air.

But if we can’t learn the lessons from World War 2 (like how appeasement never works), why should more and more media about that time period keep coming out? There have been other wars, other world conflicts, and genocides that could and likely should be studied. Is it because many Americans view themselves as the ultimate “good guys” during that time (at least in the European theater - the Pacific is a lot more complicated)? 

On another hand, World War 2 media often tops the lists of banned books. Two books I’ve read, Night and The Diary of a Young Girl. Others include Maus and Number the Stars - both of which I’ve been recommended. All of these books were either written by people who experienced the Holocaust first hand, had family who survived the Holocaust, or conducted on site research.

Everyone wants to be a hero in some capacity. I often wondered what I might have done during some of history’s biggest events. Where I’d have been or how I might have contributed. You, dear reader, likely have as well.

The answer is, whatever you are doing right now. History is happening. The ordinary and nameless are who make the biggest impact. What stories are you leaving behind? In 20 or 30 or 50 years from now, someone might ask you what you were doing today. Will you be proud of your answer?

Until next week.

If you enjoyed this post or it really pissed you off, please like, share, and/or leave a comment. I love hearing from my readers and I hope you all like hearing from me.

Welcome to Wayward Girls

Happy first day of fall! I’m looking forward to crisp weather, apple cider, and pumpkin spice everything! It’s also the oficial start to spooky season - August is too early corporate America!

Now that all my excitement and exclamation points are out of the way. I want to tell you about my first spooky book of the season. Well, I guess I really read it in August (it takes place in the summer so it’s fine), but it is a good creepy read for anytime of year. That book is Witchcraft for Wayward Girls by Grady Hendrix. 

Let’s be real, I picked up this book because of the cool cover art.

Hendrix is primarily known for being a comedy horror writer. His first book (and the first one I read earlier this year), Horrorstör, is about a group of coworkers spending the night in a knock-off IKEA with ghosts and it volleys between horrifying and hilarious. I enjoyed it, though I felt the ending didn’t hit it out of the park (plus a case of too many characters).

An interesting fact about Hendrix’s books, many of them are written with the main point of view character being women. Hendrix is a guy. So when I saw he had written a horror story about pregnant girls in the South, pre Rowe v. Wade, practicing witchcraft, I was a little skeptical.

But Hendrix knocks it out of the park. He doesn’t shy away from the horrible ways these girls are mentally and physically mistreated. He graphically describes giving birth in the 1970s. And this is the none supernatural parts of the book.

In fact, witchcraft doesn't show up for the first 100 pages of the book. It’s a slow burn of real life historical horror that then gets ramped up by creepy witches.

Part of why I think Hendrix was able to pull off this story was because at least two of his relatives were put into these homes to have babies because they were “unwed” mothers. These babies were then spirited away to (most likely) never have contact with their birth mother ever again - regardless of what the mother wanted.

Sometimes, young children were just straight up kidnapped from their mothers under false promises of government help. Georgia Tann was a famous social worker who kidnapped over 5,000 children in Tennessee and sold them to adoption agencies for a fee. This practice still goes on, especially in poor communities around the world. Mothers will think that they are sending their child to a “school” or “government program” only to have their child disappear and end up with an adopted family. This is why it can be difficult and expensive to adopt children period. 

Side note: the American foster system is overflowing with kids who need loving families to look after them. Though many may not be up for adoption, they still need a safe place to call home. 

Hendrix makes sure to include some of his research at the end of the book. He includes stats (where they can be found) and notes that these places the girls were disappeared to largely disappeared after Rowe v. Wade was decided.

I do have to wonder if these homes will start to pop up again in the wake of the Dobbs decision. 

Hendrix captured the horror, heartache, and trauma that these girls were put through. All of the blame was put on these girls. They are stripped of their names, hometowns, and autonomy. Their stories include the fathers of their children, but the home won’t let them speak of their “real” lives, so only the girls are at fault. And as soon as they were no longer pregnant, things could “go back to normal.” 

Except for one girl, a 14 year old who became pregnant by an authority figure in her life. In the book, the 14 year old’s baby is going to be adopted by that authority figure and neither will ever escape him.

That’s why they turn to witchcraft.

The supernatural gives them power that they’d never had even before they were stripped of their identities. But this power comes at a cost. The cost is painful and must equal in proportion of the power being summoned. Once a spell is started, it must be finished or there will be dire consequences.

Earlier this year, I read Stepford Wives and The Movement. Like Witchcraft for Wayward Girls, Stepford Wives was written by a man and told from the perspective of a woman/girl. The Movement is a nonfiction “oral” history (transcripts of interviews) of ten years of the Women’s Liberation Movement in the 1960s and 1970s and provided cultural context for the other two fiction books. It is interesting how well the two men were able to portray horror that primarily affects women through research and empathy.

That doesn’t mean The Stepford Wives nor Witchcraft for Wayward Girls are perfect books. I may have given both five stars on GoodReads (yes, I use it to track my books and get tons of free ones), doesn’t mean I can’t see some flaws. However, don’t let that stop you from checking them out.

Who is a witchcraft for Wayward Girls for? Everyone.

Who maybe should skip this book? I’d say people who have had trauma around childbirth, pregnancy, and/or sexual assault.

What should you know before reading? It’s a slow burn with much more real world horror over the supernatural. It’s a creepy book with a bitter sweet ending. 

Do I recommend Witchcraft for Wayward Girls? Yes, it’s a good story about a time in history that is often swept under the rug in hopes that no one would notice the lumps.

Have you read Witchcraft for Wayward Girls? Let me know in the comments what you thought about it.

If you enjoyed this post (or it really pissed you off) please like, share, and/or leave a comment. I love hearing from my readers and I hope y’all like hearing from me.

Until next week.

Welcome to Pet Loss

Last week, my beautiful cat, Karma Lynn, crossed the rainbow bridge. She’d been battling kidney disease for roughly a year and took a sharp turn for the worst in July. For five years, Karma had been my constant companion and cuddle bug. She was with me during the worst of COVID, my second layoff, taking care of one of my parents after a stroke, and when that same parent later passed away.

Karma had been my family’s cat for 17 and a half years. She came to stay with us for one weekend and never left. 

Karma’s start to life wasn’t the easiest. She’d been found by a construction worker in the neighborhood I grew up in, alone with a hurt paw. The construction worker took her to a nearby house which happened to belong to friends of ours. The friends called my mom, who helped take Karma to the vet. 

The vet said that Karma was about a month old and that she might lose the paw if she didn’t have constant care. They also said she was a short hair domestic tortoise shell cat (more on this later). Our friends, who were looking for a permanent home for Karma, had a trip coming up, so they left her at our house. 

My family, at the time, had a two year old boarder collie German shepherd mix. We weren’t sure how the dog would react to a cat, so Karma was placed in the first floor bathroom away from Gertrude (the dog). Karma had a nice little set up where her leg could heal and her cone of shame wouldn’t bother her. 

While I was out walking Gertrude - I had the night walks - my family took Karma out of her designated shelter and were cuddling her on the couch. I soon as I got back, I let Gertrude off the leash and closed the garage door. As I opened the door to go inside, Gert shot off like a rocket, jumped on the couch, and excitedly tried to lick Karma.

Badly startled, Karma also took off, racing over my sibling’s shoulder and falling down the back of the couch - only to be caught by her little cone before falling the whole way to the ground. My sibling got a small scar on their chest out of the commotion.

Gertrude loved Karma. They weren’t always buddy-buddy, but they occasionally curled up together. Gert loved mothering Karma while she was still tiny and, when Karma grew older, loved it when Karma would swipe chewable items off high places for her to gnaw on. My dad lost several very nice pens to Karma and Gertrude’s antics.

Sadly, Gertrude passed away in early 2019. She was about 12, nearly 13, years old. Karma was about 10, almost 11 at the time.

What ended up causing my family to keep Karma was one of my parents and my sibling begging to let her stay. My parent had put her on a little red velvet pillow and was carrying her around like the queen she knew she’d be. Every time she was lifted up, kitten Karma would let out an imperial meow as though addressing the rest of us as her loyal subjects. 

My other parent caved and I accepted the fact that we now had a cat.

It was only after deciding to keep her, did we finally decide a name for her. One of our family friend’s suggested we call her Karma since us taking her in would bring “good karma”. Coincidently, while on the way to the vet, the song “Karma Chameleon” came on the radio and quickly became the go to song to sing to Karma. I like to think I was the one to get the name Karma to stick, but we were all likely calling her Karma. 

There isn’t any story about how Lynn came about as a middle name and my one parent always insisted it was actually Kitty. 

My personal favorite memory of Karma was a year or so into my university years. Karma liked going into the basement and hunt for mice. Normally, we’d find the successful hunts lined up in the living room - nose to tail - waiting to be discovered. This particular night, Karma had had a successful hunts lined up and as she was bringing her catch up, I spotted her. I told her to drop the mouse; I thought it was dead. I wanted to get rid of said dead mouse now instead of waiting to find it later.

Karma ducked her cute little head as though to drop her prize, but didn’t. Instead, she gave me a look like: “are you sure you want me to drop it?” I said drop it a second time. And she dropped the mouse.

The mouse was not in fact dead.

It scampered through the kitchen, passing my sibling who jumped on the kitchen island screaming her head off, and found a hiding spot near the shoe box in the front hall. Needless to say, Karma gave me a “what did you except?” look, then shot off after the very much alive mouse. I grabbed the broom and dustpan and followed my miniature tiger to where she had cornered her quarry.

It took the better part of an hour, but eventually, I did get the still very much alive mouse away from Karma. I trapped it on the dustpan and released it outside. It was not a cute mouse. It was ugly, with a face like a snarling opossum mixed with a particularly feral wolverine. 

Karma was not happy with this development.

The vet said that Karma was a domestic short hair cat - which in the cat world means she was a mutt. However, she was not in fact short haired. Her hair grew long and fluffy. It got everywhere. I often brushed it for her in her later years. And when I did have to give her an infrequent bath, she looked like a sad Victorian child once the process was said and done. Her tortoise shell coat with black and orange meant that she looked like a Halloween decoration year round. She did have a white chest and socks (her paws were white), but that didn’t lessen the infamous tortitude tortoise shell cats are famous for. 

Karma was a spicy kitty and she left everyone know it.

The reason Karma came to live with me isn’t the happiest, but she became my cat because of it. Her later years were spent at my apartment playing with her toys (the ghost was her favorite) and enjoying time on the balcony and in front of the fireplace (weather dependent). 

This past year was especially tough. I knew logically that she wouldn’t live forever and that at 12 (when I got her), her years were numbered. Her diagnosis last year was devastating. I used to say that Karma would live to 20 out of sheer spite - which was more of a prayer for her to actually do so. There were a lot of ups and downs, but my biggest goal was seeing her in my new house. Thankfully, she made it and lived in the house for four months.

Karma loved the big guest room and claimed it as hers. She especially loved the deck and would spend time out there even when it was 100F out - much to my concern. She would howl outside the basement door because I wouldn’t let her go downstairs without me. She was excited to greet every guest that stopped by and enjoyed her view from the front door of me working in the yard.

Over the last few weeks of her decline, every morning I’d wake up, tell her how much I loved her, and say how blessed I was to get an extra day with her. I had hoped she’d be here for the first holidays in the house, but it was her time.

She didn’t get to live in the house long, but she got to be here and her presence is very much missed.

Karma is not my first pet death, but it is the first time I’ve lost a pet that I was primarily responsible for. I cried ugly tears and had to have my friends come get me. I cried for two days straight and even now am getting a little teary eyed. I miss her and nothing can replace her. I’m glad I was able to give her a good home in her last years. She was my baby and it’s hard being without her.

My family has sent me some wonderful memories of her. I have a friend who is going to paint her portrait for me. Her ashes are going to my parent who has Gertrude’s ashes so Karma can be with her mama dog. 

It hurts a lot and I don’t know if I ever want to go through this kind fo pain again. I’m not sure how people are able to have multiple pets after losing one. 

But I have to keep living and hoping I’ll meet her again in the afterlife.

Until next week.

If you enjoyed this post (or it really pissed you off) please like, share, and/or leave a comment. I love hearing from my readers and I hope y’all like hearing from me.

Welcome to 50 Years of Jaws

 How many times this week did you hear that it was the 50th anniversary of Jaws?

Well, I’m here to mention it again. 

I’m a fan of the first Jaws movie. I haven’t seen any of the sequels except for Jaws 3D (though not in 3D) - and I actually kind of like that one. I have ridden “Jaws the Ride” at Universal Studios Osaka - this was a really cool experience ride that I only partially understood  since the “guide” only spoke Japanese. I think we rode it about three times. I also got a hat, which I still wear.

I did not like the Jurassic Park ride.

Jaws is not my favorite movie, but it is one that I can stream on a hot summer day and pretend I’m at the beach. Not that I want sharks to show up at my favorite beach, but one of the incidents Jaws is based on happened near my favorite beach town in New Jersey.

Side note: my favorite movie is a different Steven Spielberg movie that also features practical effect monsters.

Jaws changed the way people went to the movies. The term “blockbuster” (may the store rest in corporate afterlife) was coined because people liked up around the block to purchase tickets. Soon after, any “big” movie with a large audience was branded a blockbuster and advertised as such (gotta maximize those profits).

It also changed the way people viewed sharks.

Prior to the 1900s (the century not the decade), most people didn’t interact with sharks unless they were fishermen or caught in a shipwreck. 

However, in the late 1800s and early 1900s, seaside vacations became popular with the upper classes. Cape May became one of the first beach resort towns that New Yorkers flocked to. It was in 1916 when a series of shark attacks took place off the coast of Ocean City, New Jersey (this is explicitly referenced in the film). It caused a panic, like in the movie, but the casualties were spread out all along the south New Jersey coast.

More than half century later and there were far more people frolicking in the water. Peter Benchley came to regret his 1974 novel of the same name as the movie because of the increased fear of sharks. This fear may have led to more people killing sharks and causing their populations to decrease. Yes, shark attacks continue to increase, but that’s because humans are encroaching more and more into their territory, not because they like the taste of human. 

Consequently, Benchley became a shark conservationist and dedicated much of his later life to educating people about sharks. Apparently, there’s now even a shark named after him colloquially known as the ninja lanternshark (Etmopterus benchleyi), which was confirmed in 2015.

I consider Jaws to be an adventure horror movie - a very rare mashup in my opinion. Like many films by Spielberg, there’s a sense of wonderment and exploration that blankets the film through the horror of the shark attacks. Even John Williams score volleys between suspenseful and creepy (the shark’s theme) to whimsical and thrilling (Chief Brody’s ending theme while shooting at the shark). 

It’s also rated PG instead of PG13 (mostly because PG13 wouldn’t come around until Spielberg’s Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom in 1984). 

Jurassic Park (also directed by Spielberg) has a similar adventure horror mix as Jaws, as does The Mummy (1999) and The Mummy Returns (though those two aren’t Spielberg’s). The scary parts are still there, but I feel like I’m on an adventure when I watch them.

And 50 years later, Jaws still holds up. The practical effects are great, the characters believable and relatable, and the shark is still scary. 

Fun fact: the shark’s name became Bruce on set after Spielberg’s lawyer. 

There were multiple versions of the shark, none of which worked quite right nor looked very good, which is why you don’t see much of the shark. This caused creative use of the camera and shots taken, adding to the film aging well. I saw a version of Bruce at Universal Japan as a kid (that same trip mentioned above). 

I’m also not afraid of sharks and never really was. My biggest fear in the ocean as a kid was seaweed. My grandfather told me seaweed was mermaid hair and that really freaked me out. I didn’t go in the water for three years. Drove my parents nuts.

I recently won a copy of “Robert Shaw: An Actor’s Life on the Set of Jaws and Beyond” from GoodReads. I haven’t read it yet, but I’m looking forward to cracking it open on a sunny day at the Jersey Shore. Maybe I’ll even pick up a copy of the original “Jaws” book too.

Happy 50th birthday Jaws. May Jurassic Park age as well as you. 

Until next week.

If you enjoyed this post (or it really pissed you off), please like, share, and/or leave a comment. I love hearing from my readers and I hope y’all like hearing from me.