July 11, 2026—Laramie, Wyoming to Ogallala, Nebraska.

After drinking the “real” Margarita the night before, I slept petty good in the motel in Laramie. I checked my road atlas and Google Maps—6hrs &4min to Grand Island, Nebraska, 4hrs &3min to N. Platte, 3hrs &19min to Ogallalla, Nebraska. I was learning that whatever google said, double that, so I would aim for Ogallala.

About one-half way from Laramie to Cheyenne, Wyoming, I needed a rest stop and pulled in here.

After using the facilities and taking pictures of this humungous statue of Lincoln, I started my car. GPS had my continue through the parking lot onto Jack Rd. which turned into gravel. I could see there were a couple of cars ahead of me, but I thought this can’t be right and turned around and went back to the parking lot.

There had been so much construction on I-80 and signs about alternate routes, but I just felt uncomfortable about continuing on that gravel road by myself. I wandered around and took more pictures. A man smoking a cigarette was leading his family of five around, talking loudly and explaining everything to his family. Finally, I got the never to ask him if he had come from Cheyenne and if I-80 was open. He told me yes he had gone over the pass that way. It was slow because of the construction but it was just fine.

I got back in my car and headed to the on-ramp for I-80, but then I asked myself what would David do? I followed GPS which now had rerouted to a road that was paved. It was a two-lane highway that rolled through stunning semi-mountainous terrain. Very few other cars, a few bikers and I arrived in Cheyenne after about 40 minutes. A Blue Highway. Finally!

I thought I had been in Cheyenne before but realized I had Laramie and Cheyenne mixed up. I had been to Laramie quite a few times back when I lived in Boulder in the 80’s and would drive back and forth from Seattle to Boulder. Laramie is where turn south. I googled coffee and found a cute little Western Wear shop, with an espresso cafe in the back. The Barista told me about a natural food store that was on the other side of town.

I loaded up on healthy road food. Natural Grocers is a chain (they have several in Portland). Since I need a second soft-cooler for all the stuff I was buying, a salesperson named Starlight (or something similar) showed me how to download their app to get a free soft-cooler.

Finally found an exterminator, who set traps, but she refused to get trapped. Finally, he had to set out bait, and I had to wait for the smell after she died. And did it stink. We poured bleach into the wall, which meant I had to leave, and sleep in the spare bedroom with the cats and all the windows in the house open. That was just one night. I finally found her corpse under the shelf in the laundry room where we keep the rags. I picked her up with a shovel and through her in the garbage. I called her Ratsa, because Ron the exterminator was pretty sure she was a pregnant female. I thought the saga was over but about 10 days later my house was filled with flesh flies. I hung fly traps all over the house and now most of the flies are now gone.

I took my coffee and sat on the rocks outside my motel room in Rock Springs. I didn’t leave until almost 11:00am. That was way too late. The thermometer was already climbing. About an 1&1/2 hours east of Rock Springs, and just past Rawlins, I began getting weary. I got off the 80 and pulled into the little town of Sinclair. I found myself on a leafy side street, in from of a friendly looking house. When I stepped out of my car, even though I was in the shade, it was extremely hot. I began walking very slowly towards what looked like a city park.

I lied down on the lush grass in the shady part of the park and began doing some yoga stretches. I sat up and saw two cop cars and two cops, one male and one female. I stood up, a little nervous that they might think I was a vagrant, but they both greeted me with a Good Afternoon and Welcome to Sinclair. I asked them what was up with all this weird architecture and they pointed me to this sign.

They suggested I visit the museum where the curator was a wealth of knowledge, but it was closed. I walk around as much as I could in the heat and took some more pictures.

I drove just a little past the park, before I left town and discovered this refinery. I went on for blocks. There is also a Sinclair refinery about 100 miles north, near Casper, Wyoming that David and I passed on our way to Colorado a few years ago that I wrote a poem about. I will see if I can find that poem. Here are some pictures I took at a gas station in Snowville, Utah on my way back to Oregon. You just can’t get away from this guy.

I intended to make it as far as Cheyenne and stay with my friend Elaine, but only made it as far as Laramie. There was another windstorm right before Laramie. The sky turned gray, but the visibility wasn’t too bad. There were really strong wind gusts. To get off the freeway, I had to turn left across a four lane highway with no light. It was rush hour and dozens of cars were making the same turn. It was finally my turn (meaning it was up to me to gauge if I could make it or not). I made it across and found a pretty ratty motel just as it was getting dark. Fortunately there was a Mexican restaurant across the parking lot, so I could walk. I ordered a real Margarita (as opposed to a mock Margarita). It came in a tall metal tumbler, which the waitress poured through a sieve and into a little glass. I had never been served a Margarita like that.

To be continued…

It was a beautiful morning (after the windstorm of the day before), and after breakfast at the Best Western (see Day 2), I got a relatively early start. I thought I was going to continue on I-84 and drop down into Utah, but my GPS took me on Highway 30 through Soda Springs, Montpelier and right into Wyoming at Cokeville.

In these little towns at the crossroads of Idaho, Utah and Wyoming you can find a bit of history of the area, but in between them is miles of nothing but red rock, mountains and blue sky.

In Wyoming, a black calf—

white face. Runs towards the highway.

Is it lost?

About four in the afternoon, I was once again weary. I saw a sign for Opal and turned off the main highway. Wikipedia tells me the that according to the 2020 census the population of Opal is 64, but I could have sworn the sign I saw said it was more. It is really hot and I really have to pee. I do not see a soul. I drive towards the Post Office and Town Hall thinking might have a restroom but they are closed. I hear the sound of children laughing. I drive around and find a shady spot and pee behind my car door.

To be continued…

Day 7— I go from Lincoln, Nebraska, into Iowa for a minute, cross all of Missouri, and end up at the Route 66 motel in Springfield, Illinois.

I filled my gas tank and washed the smashed bugs off my windshield in Lincoln, but I still needed to eat. I thought I’ll wait until I have to pee and then stop. Around Nebraska City, but not quite into Iowa, I see a Love’s Truck Stop. When David and I drove to Colorado a few years ago we came to love Love’s. I pulled into a spot furthest from the pumps, but in the shade because it was just beginning to get hot, next to a small truck with a small camper on the back

I went into Love’s, peed and bought two freshly cooked all beef hot dogs without the buns. As I was walking back to my car with my breakfast an older man was crawling out of the back of the truck and lacing up his boots. I think we talked about my great breakfast, I found at Love’s. He admitted that he had slept there in Love’s parking lot and nobody had bothered him. He was in his eight’s and had some mobility issues. He had been to a Caving conference, and was on his way home. I told him my husband had recently died. he told me his wife had died about ten years prior. He was going to keep traveling solo as long as he’d could.

The Missouri River is the longest river in the United States and a tributary of the Mississippi. Loess Bluffs National Wildlife Refuge is located in the Missouri River basin and provides safe resting, feeding, breeding, and nesting areas. Over 325 species of. birds travel theMississippi Flyway, which runs from the McKenzie River in Canada to the Gulf of Mexico. Uninterrupted by mountains, the Mississippi Flyway extends more than 3,000 miles.

It is only noon, but I am already road weary, and feel I must stop. I pull off the main highway and soon encounter this sign. I take a picture, then decide to drive up the road and check it out. I find a shady spot to park. As soon as I get out of my car, the heat and humidity hit me. I take my phone, my road atlas and my journal and sit at a picnic table, also in the shade.

Birds, so many birds, so many bird songs. I am in the heart of the Mississippi Flyway I have heard so much about. I have goin from hot dry heat to hot muggy in just a few hours. Trees and a loud buzzing, I feel like I am in the jungle. I look at my atlas, I am just north of the Ozarks.

American Bell Flower

According to Google, this drive should have taken me only 2 hours and 45 minutes but I think it took me about four hours. It was a gray day and not quite as hot. Since on the way east, I had driven through Nebraska City and into Missouri, I had not had the pleasure of driving through Omaha. Once I hit Council Bluffs (the city on the Iowa side) and into Omaha it was getting hotter and I was on a six lane highway for what seemed like hours. Before Omaha, it was a pretty drive though. I stopped at this gas station that only sold diesel, made myself a sandwich and took those pictures.

I believe this is Amaranth.

As soon as I got out of Omaha, Nebraska and into the country a bit, I saw a huge barn with a huge picture of Donald Trump, and a sign that said something like Remember the Unborn. A few minutes later I stopped at a Cenex gas station to pee. The restrooms were clearly marked Men Only and Women Only.

Day 23—July 29, 2026 Grand Island, Nebraska

On my drive west across Nebraska, I knew I wanted to stop in Grand Island; there were two things I wanted to see. One was the Stuhr Museum and one was the Crane Trust Nature and Visitor Center. First, I stopped at the gate to the Stuhr Museum of the Prairie Pioneer. The woman who sold me a ticket for $18 was quite excited to tell me about the Static Train Exhibit, the Railroad Town (a replica of a real town), including the Silver Dollar Cafe and Mercantile and the house that actor, Henry Fonda (farther of Jane Fonda) was born in. Also, there was a Pawnee Earth Lodge. It wasn’t on the map, but she showed me where I could find a display about a white settler and his son that were killed by Pawnee Indians.

I went to the Stuhr Building first because it was air-conditioned and it was already getting hot.The museum is named after Leo Stuhr, a local farmer and politician whose family were among the area's pioneer settlers. He donated land, money, and numerous artifacts that served as the foundation of the museum. They did have a cool exhibit of photographs by Thomas D Manglesen, an American nature and wildlife photographer and conservationist who was born in Grande Island. He is most famous for his photography of wildlife in the Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem.

I buzzed through there pretty fast and outside in the extreme heat. I tried walking to the Pawnee Earth Lodge but only saw this marker and a single teepee and had to walk back to my car.

I had to drive to the Railroad Town, and was totally unimpressed. The houses were similar to ones I had seen driving through Nebraska. Henry Fonda’s house seemed like it had been just plopped down there from where it had been a few miles away. I got in my car and drove to the Crane Trust.

The lady at the Stuhr Museum told me the cranes are there all year, but that totally iras not the case. The Platte River is home to one of the greatest spring migrations in the world but that only happens in March. The Crane Trust works year round to protect and preserve 10, 000 acres of critical habitat for endangered Whooping Cranes, Sandhill Cranes and many other species of sharing fragile river and prairie ecosystems.

At the Visitor Center, I watched a video of the incredible March event, she lots of crane art (I bought some beautiful cards) , visited the butterfly garden and looked for there mama bison and her baby in the field but did not see them.

Back to the Outlaw Inn. Since I was here last, they have installed a new cocktail bar (where I was too tired to go) and opened their restaurant for dinner. Around 2:30pm I stopped in Rawlins, Wyoming to see if they had coffee. I was very sleepy because of the Benadryl I was taking (I will explain later). It was looking doubtful, but I googled coffee and found a delightful little place, Mukwano, that was closing at 3pm. When I travelled across the US with my aunt and uncle in 1973, my aunt who was from NYC would complain how you could not find good coffee, but now you can find espresso almost anywhere.

The middle of nowhere in Wyoming. The did not have coffee here.

I made my reservation for The Outlaw over the phone, probably talking to someone in India, when I got there 1&1/2 hours later, they gave me room facing the highway and the key didn’t work. I went back to the office and told them the key didn’t work and asked if I could get a room facing the rocks. They obliged. I took a very long shower, put on the only dress I brought and had a lovely speghetti dinner and went to bed at 8:30pm.

Since I haven’t written for a while I am going to back up a bit.

Day 20—July 26, 2026 Chicago, Illinois

Sandy’s backyard again. 6am. Very hot, muggy and gray. Something is making a beeping sound every 20 seconds. An airplane flys over. We must be close to an airport. We’re all made of the same stuff—molecules, atoms, particles. A bird tweets. I could load Merlin on my phone, but that would take my attention away from this world, the natural world.

Day 23—July 29, 2026 Lincoln, Nebraska.

Instead of driving back through Missouri, which is the way I went east, I drove back through Iowa, and spent a very pleasant night in another Best Western in Des Moines, Iowa. I finally went swimming in the indoor pool before breakfast. While in Chicago, I had noticed my Toyota would need to be serviced soon. I thought it could wait until Lincoln, but as soon as I crossed into Iowa, the warning message on the dash said Service Now. I decided to stop for lunch in the first major city in Iowa which is Davenport, but as I was heading for the place I had chosen for lunch, I saw a Toyota dealership. Even though I was in the middle lane, I managed to get in the right lane just in time to turn into the dealership.

The place was empty. Ian told me they would be happy to do the 40,000 mile service: an oil change and tire rotation. In my soft cooler, I had plenty of stuff for lunch. I took the cooler into the waiting area. I had a great lunch of cold lentil soup, crackers and humous with the last of my munster cheese. As I was finishing my lunch, they told me my car was ready. Ian gave me the bill, but I told him I was on the five year free-service plan. He wasn’t sure how to find out but after a few minutes on the computer, he told me, yes, in fact that was true. He didn’t know where to find a coffee shop that wasn’t a Starbucks, but his co-worker did. I spent quite of lot of time in Makenna Koffee drinking iced coffee and doing business on my phone, so it was after 8pm before I got to my motel in Des Moines.

In Lincoln, I found a Best Western with fourth floor room looking out over the plains. Seemed like a different world from a few weeks ago, when I stayed downtown near the capital. You have to drive everywhere. I did find a great Italian restaurant, a few miles away. Decided to have Pinot Noir, and ordered the Grilled Eggplant dinner which was enough to feed three people, so took most of it with me in a styrofoam container. When I got back to my hotel, around 8:30pm. It was not dark yet but the sky was very gray and the thermometer in my car said “107.”

Before I left Lincoln, I drove downtown to the Hub Cafe near the University of Nebraska.

To be continued…

Spent two days with Sally and John in Chicago. I am using alias’s because you know we live in a dangerous world. Went with Sally to a rally in Mokena, Illinois a suburb of Chicago on Sunday (I posted a video on Facebook). There are rallies every weekend, and they switch off between Mokena and Orland, another suburb of Chicago.

John grew up in Poland, during the Cold War and has a different take on it. He doesn’t think demonstrations work. He thinks it will take something drastic like World War III, but isn’t that we are in right now?

I myself have hope. Laura J and myself met so many wonderful people during the reunion and on our way back to Indiana to drop Laura off.

Meghan, barista at Full Strength Coffee Company in Westfield, New York. Overheard me talking to a customer about our GPM reunion and what were did in 1986. Customer said, “we need to do something like that again.”

My friends in Ypsilanti, Michigan

Amish horse in La Grange, Indiana

To be continued…

In 1973, when I was 17, I rode with my aunt and uncle from Mercer Island to Ithaca, New York and one of the places we stopped was Niagara Falls. I remember sitting on the deck of a restaurant where they bought me a beer and watched the incredible Niagara Falls. Yesterday, one of the tourist things planned for us Peace Marcher’s at our 40th reunion being held at the Great Blue Heron Event Center in Sherman New York, Chautauqua County was a visit to Niagara Falls.

I was finishing up one of the wonderful brunches at the outdoor dining area and someone mentioned the trip to Niagara. I went to the spot where people were beginning to gather. There were only one or two of us there. I had on sweat pants and it was already getting hot. (We had done our morning outside yoga down by the lake before brunch). Also, my wallet and all my money were locked in my car. I went to my car where most of my stuff was stashed, but it was locked and I couldn’t find my keys.

I went down to the lake where we had done yoga earlier and searched the grass. I went to the water’s edge where I had had my morning coffee and listened to the birds and watched the fog rise off the lake. I searched all the pockets of my recently purchased yoga bag and nothing. My car doesn’t allow me to lock my keys in my car, so they couldn’t be in the car, but I could have locked the car without my keys. The last place I could look was back at my tent, but I couldn’t imagine me leaving them there.

In the meantime, a bunch of Marchers were gathering by a bright red jeep parked next to me. I said I would be happy to drive, but I had to find my keys. Another vehicle was circling around looking for people who wanted to go. They said I could ride with them, but all my money and ID and clothes were locked in my car (I was not going wearing those sweat pants). It had already taken over an hour gathering people and getting them in vehicles. I told Ben, my old beau from 40 years ago, who was driving there red jeep to go on. If I found my keys before half an hour I would catch up. Niagara Falls was over 2 hours away.

I went past the Maypole which marks the beginning of the camping area which is called Dragon’s Run, past the fallen tree which almost fell on Cheryl’s tent, past the reclining Buddha, and to Cafe in the Woods where I turned left to get to my tent, and there, flung over my camp chair was my raincoat with my car keys in the pocket.

To be continued…

As I was checking into my Extended Stay Hotel in Lincoln, Nebraska last night, I noticed a sandy-haired boy, about ten trying to get some more snacks to take to the car, and a little girl, about seven, in a red, white and blue dress twirling in the parking lot. When she twirled, the red, white and blue made a solid color. I told her what a pretty dress, and she smiled a great gapped tooth smile. As I was heading out later to get some dinner at The Oven, an Indian restaurant in the Haymarket District, I noticed the mom, was still trying to get the car loaded, and at 8:30pm, it was still very hot. Then it dawned on me Extended Stay Hotel, this family was about to become homeless. I thought about handing them a hundred dollar bill, but they were packed now, the die was cast, and it would be a little awkward. I got to the restaurant, just as they were closing, so just ordered Mulligatawny and a chapati. The soup was pretty spicy so the young waiter, born in and bread in Lincoln, found some yogurt in the kitchen for me to mix with it. It was a light meal so fortunately, no leftovers to take to my room.

Woke up at sunrise, knowing I had a six hour drive, which for me is eight. The capitol dome was gleaming in the early morning light. The middle aged white woman at the desk explained the fresco that sits atop the dome. The sower, a 12 and 1/2 foot pedestal of shocks of wheat and corn and 19 1/2 foot tall figure. Because after everything is said and done, Nebraska is an agricultural state.

Photo of a photo in my room at the Extended Stay Hotel

From the gas station where I washed the smushed bugs off my windshield.

To be continued…

After leaving Twin Falls instead of staying on I-84 heading south to Utah, my GPS had me go on I-86 then 30 up into the mountains through McCammon, past Lava Hot Springs, Soda Springs, then Georgetown. It was a beautiful drive and not too much traffic. Before I know it I was in Wyoming and I made a pit stop in Opal population 65.

David and I travelled Boulder, Colorado a few years ago to the 50th reunion of The Naropa Institute. David was already pretty sick from cancer and chemo. It was November and snow was already threatening in the Rockies. We drove through Wyoming and turned south at Laramie toward Colorado Springs and Boulder. We found this great motel in Rock Springs, Wyoming called The Best Western Outlaw Inn I decided to stay there again. They had a great restaurant with photos of famous outlaws, but they were remodeling so the restaurant was closed and I had to go across the highway to a Mexican restaurant that has $2 margaritas, but since I’m not drinking, I ordered a virgin margarita that I think was more.

When I was leaving, I told the woman at the desk what I was doing. She said I was so brave. I said maybe not brave but crazy

No David didn’t carve that.

We’re in the Southwest now

I’ve only covered Day 3. It is now day 6, and I have to get up early and drive across the entire northern part of Missouri to get to Illinois.

After the wonderful meal at the Brick-29 restaurant, I left Nampa around 1pm. My GPS said possible thunderstorms, but it was sunny and still pretty hot. Probably around Mountain Home, the sky’s started turning dark and the winds started. I had a reservation at a Best Western in Coalville, Utah, near Ogden. Then the dust started, everything was gray and I could see tumble weeds screaming across the road. By the time I got to Twin Falls, I knew I was going to have to stop. I found another Best Western pretty easily. Even though it was only a couple hours before I was supposed to be there, they let me cancel the reservation because of the wind/dust storm.

Breakfast—One thing I love about Best Western’s, is they always have the best breakfasts. I sat down next to a man I thought might be Hawaiian. We started talking and I asked him where he was from. Jim is from Vancouver, Washington and was going to a meeting of children of Japanese-Americans who had been intered during WWII. The meeting was at Minidoka National Historic Site which had been an internment camp.

This was quite a coincidence, because I had just finished reading The Poet and the Silk Girl a memoir by Satsuki Ina. Her parents, Itaru and Shizuko were forcibly sent to US prison camps because they were Japanese, and Satsuki Ina was born was born in the Tule Lake Segregation Center. During my drive I had been listening to Rachel Maddow’s podcast Burn Order, a six-episode podcast investigating the U.S. government's unconstitutional mass incarceration of Japanese Americans during World War II. It focuses on the brazen lies used to justify the policy, early whistleblowers, and the intentional burning of government reports to cover it up.

I told Jim about the Great Peace March, and the reunion, and he invited me to Senior Lunch in downtown Portland where they talk about this history. Jim was amazed that anyone today is interested in it. I was little lonely traveling by myself and here I make a friend from back home at the Best Western Complimentary Breakfast.

Next Twin Falls, Idaho to Rock Springs, Wyoming.

Georgetown, Idaho I think

Day 1—Scappoose to La Grande. My plan was to leave at 8am after giving instructions to Sam about how to water and take care of the cats. But didn’t leave until 1:30pm. Lunch at a Mexican restaurant in the Dalles. I am drinking a mock Margarita, which I am becoming quite fond of

My plan was to car camp at Farewell Bend State Park, which is at the border of Oregon and Idaho, but I only made it as far as La Grande. I found this great motel which was funky but well kept. An old Travel Lodge probably built in the sixties. An actual Mr. Coffee, coffee maker (not pictured).

Day 2—La Grande, Oregon to Twin Falls, Idaho. In the 50’s and 60’s my grandfather sold women’s dress coats whole sale, and traveled by train throughout the West. One of the places he went was Twin Falls, Idaho, but I had never bern there. I didn’t get a chance to go see the falls, but after looking at pictures on the internet, I wish I had.

I left La Grande at the reasonable hour of 10am, and hooted and hollered when I changed time zones to mountain time and hooted and hollered when I crossed the border into Idaho. It was a beautiful sunny day. That would soon change.

As soon as I was in Idaho the speed limit changed from 70mph to 80mph but everybody just went at whatever speed they wanted. The traffic thinned as I drove more into the country. I stopped to pee at a little gas station in I think Parma run by an East Indian guy. As soon as I got out of my air conditioned car, I felt the heat. I found everything I needed ,but didn’t buy in La Grande—trail mix, hand lotion, a banana, and a good sunhat. He sold a lot of jewelry, crystals and tie die etc. There was only one other car in the parking lot, a young couple in station wagon with two kids, buying snacks and beverages and getting the kids situated. It was already 98 degrees.

Even though I used the restroom in Parma, I soon had to go again. I saw a sign for I thought Sand Hallow, but Im not sure now because I can’t find it on the map. I found a little whitewashed store and grocery. When I got out of my car it was hotter than blazes, probably 102. I was feeling a little nauseous, maybe from not pooping for two days, or driving through a very long section of the road filled with shreds of burst tires that smelled like chemicals for 10 miles. (All of I-84 and I-80 across Idaho ia under construction) I walked into the store, thinking of maybe getting some herb tea but an ancient looking lady said they were closed. I walked through the not air-conditioned store looking for something to soothe my stomach but nada.

I got in my car thinking, maybe I can find someplace to in the shade. About a block up a gravel street was an RV park. I pulled in and found a parking spot under some trees. It was too hot to get out of the car. I turned the air-conditioner on full-blast ,put the seat back and tried to rest (I felt like shit). I saw a rest room for the RV park customers and thought maybe I could wash out my coffee cup and fill it with water from the jug I had in the back of the car. I didn’t have enough energy to get to that restroom. What would David tell me to do? I got out of my car just long enough to open the rear hatch, rinse my coffee cup out using water from the jug, fill it with water and mix the Emergen-C. I drank it down, did some deep breathing and got out of that hell-hole.

I stopped at a rest-stop, thinking I could make myself lunch, but there was no place out of the blazing sun to do that. I picked out Boise as a good place to stop for lunch, but with the traffic and construction, I only made it as far as Nampa, which was a great choice. I headed for downtown Nampa and googled restaurants and found the Brick 29, an elegant restaurant on the 4th floor of an old brick building which used to be a Masonic Temple (lodge number 29). There was a 360 degree of downtown Nampa. It was a little spendy, but after all that I had been through that day already, I deserved it. I ordered a Caesar salad and herb tea.

View from the Brick-29

Day 2—La Grande to Twin Falls To be continued

I decide to stream Bad Bunny’s Un Verano Sin Ti from Apple music. I pick it because of the graphics--a red heart with legs and one eye--standing on an island with palm trees and purple dolphins diving into a sunset-colored sea. I’m driving to an appointment on an unusually sunny day in the beginning of February. Immediately my mood improves as I sing along even though I know very little Spanish.

Bad Bunny is scheduled to perform at the Superbowl Half-Time show. Weeks before the game, Trump calls the selection a terrible choice and states, All it does is sow hatred. Maga was freaking out, they decide to create their own Half-Time show; it bombed. They were losing the culture war. After the show, Trump claims it was an affront to the Greatness of America, claiming nobody understands a word this guy is saying.

You dumb ass, I want to say.

Two days before the Superbowl Half-Time show, I watch the Apple Music interview. Bad Bunny strides out wearing a gray pin-stripe suit covered by a humongous furry coat (like rabbit fur), a matching wool hat (with ears like a bunny) and dark sunglasses that cover half his face. Underneath all that bling he seems humble and authentic. The costume disguises his shyness. When asked how he is feeling, he simply he takes a moment, you can tell he is struggling to find the right English word, Grateful. When asked about what to expect from the Half-Time show, he says he wants to expose people to his culture, to be a spokesperson for Latin America, but most importantly, he wants people to have fun.

Approximately, 128.2 million people in the U.S. watched Bad Bunny’s Half-Time show on NBC, Peacock, Telemundo, and digital platforms. It has been reported that global, cross-platform views reached 4,157 billion over a 24-hour period. If you haven’t watched it, you should. Watch it on a big screen TV, not on your phone. It is truly the stuff of Broadway.

*

In 1996, Nick Gold, Ry Cooder, and Juan de Marcos Gonzales, formed a musical ensemble made up of Cuban musicians and named it the Bueno Vista Social Club after a members-only club originally located in Buenavista (good view), in the current neighborhood of Playa in Havana. They wanted to bring the popular styles of 1940’s Cuban music (son, bolero and danzen) to the world.

The original club was created in 1932, when clubs in Cuba were segregated; there were sociedades de blancos (white societies), sociedades de negros (black societies), etc. The Buenavista Social Club operated as a black society, which was rooted in a cabildos, fraternities organized during the 19th century by African slaves.

Gold, Cooder and Gonzales recruited a dozen veteran musicians, some who had been retired for years. An album was recorded in 1996, released in 1997, and quickly became an international success. German director, Wim Wenders filmed a documentary of their performances (New York and Amsterdam) in 1999 that included interviews with the musicians, recorded in Havana. The film was nominated for an Academy Award.

Ry Cooder described the players as pre-communist, non-political artists, that understand each other through means other than speaking.

*

I don’t have many things on my bucket list, but one of them was to see a Broadway play. When I got a chance to visit my sister who had just moved to Manhattan, I went on-line and found tickets for a matinee of Bueno Vista Social Club. I picked it primarily because it was the cheapest matinee. Bueno Vista Social Club opened just over a year ago on Broadway and features a live on-stage Cuban band.

I walk 40 blocks from my sister’s apartment on 85^th and Broadway to the Gerald Schoenfeld Theatre on 45^th and Broadway. Hunks of dirty gray and black snow left from the recent snowstorm litter the sidewalk along with bits of fresh dog shit that the nannies with strollers must navigate around. Even though it’s not necessary to dress up, I am wearing my MaryJane shoes, a skirt and a Canadian coat with a fake fur lining and collar. Even though I am wearing tights my legs are freezing. I focus on the sidewalk because I don’t want to step in the shit or in puddles of icy water that have pooled below the curbs.

I have been advised to get to the theatre forty-five minutes before show time. My heart is pounding. I slow down for a sip of water and realize I am front of a small park and a statue of Dante Aligheri. I am almost to Lincoln Center. My sister warned me to avoid Columbus Circle, but my GPS is guiding me right around it. More and more people are streaming around the circle. I can’t stop or someone will ram into me. Then I see it, the statue of Christopher Columbus, standing proudly in the gray light, the Nina, the Pinta and the Santa Maria in bronze on the column under him. Then I see the marquee and the lights of Broadway.

Even though I left early there is a long line in front of the Shoenfield Theatre, I encounter a sizeable line. A ticket taker is directing people to form another line at a different door. I follow his directions. An icy drizzle is falling. I pull my fake fur collar around my neck. Then, then I am in and directed up the stairs to the second mezzanine. A woman points you to my seat. I am in the aisle and only feet from the restroom. A rather large woman is in the seat next to mine and she must move her legs so I can squeeze into my seat.

The musical is set in Havana and spans the time from the 1950’s to the 1990’s following the lives of four prominent musicians and the effect communism, and the rise of Fidel Castro had on them. It covers two timeframes. In the 50’s, singers Omara Portundo and her sister older sister Haydee are singers and dancers at the Tropicana in Havana. Omara finds the Bueno Vista Social Club and wants to check it out, but Haydee tells her it is dangerous. She goes anyway and loves it because they play the songs she learned as a child and begins singing there.

The Revolution begins and within hours people must decide whether to stay or leave. Haydee buys plane tickets for both; they have been offered a record deal, I think with Columbia, but Omara refuses to leave, and performs at the Bueno Vista Social Club. She makes a name for herself, but eventually stops performing, but we only find out later, she had stopped when she finds out that Haydee that she never saw again is dead.

In the ’90s, an older Omara eventually finds her way back to the “old songs” and the Bueno Vista Social Club band members with whom she shares history: guitarist Compay Segundo, vocalist Ibrahim Ferrer, and pianist Rubén González.

For an hour and a half, I am smiling and laughing and clapping. I feel like a load has been lifted from my shoulders.

*

My 4&1/2 days in NYC screams by. I must be at the airport by 1:00, which means I must order an Uber for Noon. At 11:00, I call an Uber, but mistakenly order it for not Noon but 11:00am. He arrives instantaneously. There is a number on the app, and I call the driver who is in front of the door, but ten floors down, and I don’t have my shoes on. He doesn’t speak any English, but I manage to convey uno hora, so he can leave and get his next fare. He tells me I will have to reach Uber to cancel and re-order another Uber, which I do.

Jose is there right on time and helps me get my bag from the icy street. I see he has Bad Bunny on his screen and after I get my seatbelt on, I tell him he can turn it up. His English is a little better. Jose is Dominican and he did see the half-time show. He tells me …He turns it up loud and begins singing and gesticulating to every song. He takes his eyes off the road and makes eye contact with me as he sings. Then he teaches me to say Conejo Malo, Bad Bunny in Spanish. We take turns screaming Conejo Malo, me from the back seat, him in the front seat. When I am not singing, I play drums on my thighs. We do this for the forty-five minutes it takes to get to JFK. When we stop at the to the drop off, he gets my bag, and we fist bump as we say Conejo Malo in unison. I give him a crumpled $20 for the performance.

After I get home, I download Debí Tirar Más Fotos. The cover—two white plastic chairs placed strategically under a banana true. A huge cluster of bananas hangs low enough you might be able to grab a banana while you sit in one of those chairs. As I listen to the first song, NUEVAYoL, I am reminded of the first song (El Carretero) on the Bueno Vista Social Club (Original Broadway Cast Recording) —The horns, the beat, the drumming, and most importantly the singing (which you understand whether you know Spanish or not) is about love of country and culture.

*Note—I am no longer asking for money for subscriptions, but I would love it if you left a note on what you think of this piece, and if you want more of the same.

Let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late—Bob Dylan

“From the moment that Renee Good was approached by agitated, profanity yelling ICE agents, to her last words—“I’m not angry with you”—the instant before she was executed, it became clear that American citizens of every stripe, save MAGA, are now under siege by the current administration…People can’t be beaten for not shopping; can’t be jerked from cars or zip-tied for gathering knowledge, writing letters and organizing boycotts while supporting their neighbors. Cancelling Facebook, Twitter and Instagram accounts will stop 7 or 12 million nickels and dimes from flowing to the people destroying our country. We should be careful not to make the perfect the enemy of the good.” Peter Coyote

Nicole Good had been shot. I focus on the Virgin of Mary candle flame casting spider shadows on the spent Hanukkah menorah while listening to Tibetan monks chant Om and imagine million’s of people world wide simultaneously putting down their phones and disconnecting their computers and not using the internet for five minutes. What would happen?

of a salmon

rising out of the creek

turning white.

Maybe a piece of grass

pushed back and forth

by the current.

All I can see

is one

undulating white line.

In the deep

pool

three spawned out

salmon

swim in a row.

Each

has a white

line

from nose to tail.

I don’t like to feel the pain. The white

hot steel, the sharp edge drawing a line

of red down my arm. Going down, down,

down. Then Neil or Mick start singing.

I go down even further, hit the gravely

bottom, start the journey back up.

Images taken and poem written at the Coava Cafe in Portland, Oregon

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I remember listening to Rickie Lee Jones first album Rickie Lee Jones in my basement bedroom on Mercer Island, Washington during my first year of community college. I was still living at home. I set up my first personal stereo (a tuner and record player) on some bricks and boards next to my bed, and put the few records I owned on this rickety shelf—Dylans’ Blonde on Blonde, Paul McCartney’s McCartney, Carol King’s Tapestry. This is the bed where I lost my virginity when I was 17. My first boyfriend loved The Grateful Dead, I loved The Rolling Stones. We broke up after two years.

This memory cannot be correct because according to Wikipedia, Rickie Lee Jones came out in February of 1979. I met my second boyfriend in 1976 and married him in 1978. Memory is a funny thing. Music can inspire memories, but they are not always correct. I was wondering what happened to Rickie Lee Jones when I found her here on Substack and decided to download Rickie Lee Jones.

I could go on and on about what I found out about it on wiki, but here is just a snippet A retrospective review from AllMusic stated, ‘With her expressive soprano voice employing sudden alterations of volume and force, and her lyrical focus on Los Angeles street life, Rickie Lee Jones comes on like the love child of Laura Nyro and Tom Waits on her astounding self-titled debut album that simultaneously sounds like a synthesis of many familiar styles and like nothing that anybody’s ever done before.”

Rickie Lee Jones was born on the north side of Chigago on November of 1954 making her only one year older than me. At 21 she began singing “traditional jazz and original compositions in coffee house in Venice, California.” (At 21, I was studying Social Work at the University of Washington and dreaming of becoming a poet). Rickie dated Tom Waits for two years from 1977 to 1979. There is a pretty interesting bit in wiki about how the song “Chuck E’s in Love” came about.

My summary—Rickie and Tom spent a lot of time hanging out with their friend Chuck E Weiss at the Tropicana Motel in LA. “Chuck E” disappeared from their lives. A while later he called their apartment. Tom took the call. He told him he had moved to Denver because he was in love. I imagine Tom lifting the receiver from his ear and whispering to Ricky “Chuck E’s in love.” Ricky being the consulate poet she is, liked the sound of that and wrote a song.

Whoever I was with at the time, Rickie Lee Jones hit me in the gut, but in a good way and has stuck in my mind an heart for forty-four years. Every song on that album is stellar—jazzy, but down to earth. So Long Lonely Avenue is off of her second album Pirates. I don’t remember owning that album, but I remember that song. The lyrics are a little hard to understand so I will print them here.

Come on, Joey, get out of school
We got places to go
A ‘57 Lincoln you got a radio that hurts
And the girls like to touch it
Just to find out if it works
Don’t look at me
It wasn’t me

Joey live on the edge of the corner
Living on the run
I like to ride in the middle
I’m just tryin’ to have some fun
Until the pirates come

And I won’t need a pilot
‘Cause I got a pirate who might sail
Somewhere, I heard, far away
You wait for me
So I’m holding on
To your rainbow sleeves

Well, goodbye, boys
My buddy boys
Oh, my sad-eyed Sinatras
It’s a cold globe around the sea
You keep the shirt that I bought ya

But I know you’ll get the chance to make it
And nothing’s gonna stop you
You just reach right out and take it
You say, “So long, lonely avenue”
Hey, so long, lonely avenue

Well, I’ll see you there
Wait and see
Be lookin’ for me
Just like you
Just like me, yeah

Source: Musixmatch

Songwriters: Rickie Jones

Pirates (So Long Lonely Avenue) lyrics © Reservoir Media Music, Easy Money Music, Reservoir Media Management (ireland) Limited

All source material https://en.wikipedia.or

With all the changes to Substack, I haven’t seen Rickie Lee Jones lately. She writes great stuff about music and what she’s been doing lately. She is still touring and singing. I think I will go try and find her now.

This is my recent photo taken outside the Apple store in Portland, Oregon taken November 2, 2025. I don’t know why, but it reminded me of Rickie Lee Jones.