I was in Portland this weekend.  Oregon.  I was there just long enough to know which way to turn when I stepped out of the elevator without having to squint at the hall sign, trying to determine if 415 came before or after 428. I traveled down on the train. I had a stack of  Read the Rest…

Last week before the lilac fell and Gwen, my neighbor who knows something about just about everything, brought her chain saw over to lay waste both to the tree and to any fragments of male chauvinism in this neighborhood of powerful women, I had written a series of politicizing, sermonizing, sarcasmizing blogs posts which prompted  Read the Rest…

When I was a student at Whitman I had little interaction with the town of Walla Walla.  These days, the town is part of the fun of the visit. But being a Whitman graduate it’s hard to match wits with people outside the college.  Here are three vignettes: As a student I once rode my  Read the Rest…

I could write a whole post about eating my way through Walla Walla and then put up a few photos of me bloated from days of wheat and sugar.  But I won’t.  At least I won’t post the photos.  But here are some notes from the weekend’s menu: In my Postcard from Walla Walla I  Read the Rest…

I am taking a break from raging against the Catholic church and breathing feminist fire to sing a little song of Walla Walla, Washington.  I am here to do a book signing at Book and Game Co on Main Street and to stay with my college roommate Putzer, the attorney, and her husband, Jim. My  Read the Rest…

There’s a candy store in Ketchikan called KetchiCandies. “Oh, that’s .  .  . clever.”  I said The owner looked up dolefully, “Yeah,” he said. “I was drunk.” It has a reputation for the rough and rowdy, does Ketchikan. The stormy afternoon we arrived, four ships had already tried to dock, had given up and moved  Read the Rest…

On my recent stint as a water-colorist on board a cruise ship, Nancy, my traveling companion and occasional container for my mental health, took photographs to preserve her impressions.  I wrote.  Here are some vignettes: *                            *                            Read the Rest…

In our entire week aboard a cruise ship (the S.S. Wish-I-Was-Home), Nancy and I did not use the Fitness Center once.  I wasn’t even sure where it was.  However, except for the day we came on board after a cold, wet 8 hours in Juneau, we did not use the elevator either.  We used the  Read the Rest…

(written aboard the S.S. Wish I Was Home, June/2011) A cruise ship operates on a feudal system.  The peasants smile, say good morning, look exhausted and serve the Revenue Guests until their wide feet ache.  The RGs have so many needs that I understand why room service sometimes brings the cream but the water is  Read the Rest…

Today is the day I pack for a trip—teaching watercolor on a ship cruising up the Inland Passage into Alaska– but I have reached a point where I would rather stay home than cope with the mounting number of things to do before I leave.  A few weeks ago when I hauled out the suitcase  Read the Rest…