The Virginia Nomad

Inherited Distance: When Blood Is Not Enough (05/26/2026)

2026-05-26T09:17:20.645-07:00

Recently, I spent an afternoon with friends and learned a lot about family dynamics. She is a good friend of my wife, and her daughter has a lot of issues with her uncle. I am just amazed that there is nothing new under the sun. People fight with each other, especially with those close to you. It reminds me of a saying in my native language: “good neighbors are better than a distant relative.” We have been trying to live our life that way, especially now since we have absolutely no relationship with my siblings, sometimes to my regret, but also often to my relief.

My parents were perfect role models for family feuds; we must have learned it from them.

On my father’s side: Once my uncle Karel died of meningitis in the 1960s, we lost contact with his wife and two kids. It seems my uncle was a player (well taught by their father) and they were about to divorce. When I finally met my cousin in 1971, we were 18, she did not want to acknowledge me, she actually was angry at me at first sight. We ended up in the same classes in college, but she always stayed angry with me and once told me that her mother had told her what scum we were. I finally met her brother around 2001 but he was friendly and told me that she always had an angry outlook on life.

My uncle Willem also screwed around and divorced his wife. They had four daughters and he had a son from the affair. Once they divorced, my parents chose sides against the brother. My father and his brother finally reconciled a year or two before Willem died of cancer. My father always appeared to be sorry that the break lasted so long and that they only had two years to catch up.

On my mother's side: Things were not any better. I previously wrote about how my grandmother mistreated my grandfather and my mother. One of her brothers (Jan) died in a German concentration camp. But eventually my mother broke her relationship with her two remaining brothers. Simon fooled around, got divorced and again there was a choice against him. Eventually my mother did allow him to visit her, but this was a few years before she died at the age of 76. Her other brother Cornelius and mom had a mutual breakup and they never reconciled. The breakup was also wife related, my mom and my aunt could not get along, and the breakup occurred sometime in the 70s and they did not see each other for 30 years although they lived less than 2 miles apart.

I have often wondered why both had these issues. While it is easy to assume what brought it on, my parents did not accept unfaithfulness or divorce, I doubt whether my father was faithful. It is easy to blame my mother, she seemed always angry, had a strong character and was principled, uncompromisable, and stubborn. I should have asked them what made them like this. Now it is too late; they are gone.

In a later post I will eventually chronicle why my siblings and I all broke up. But this post is getting long. We broke up around 2005. Around that time I told my siblings that we were emulating what our parents did with our own interactions. “Fuck you” was my sister emailed me in a response. My brother wrote me: “Now you did it.” In other words, we have not spoken since 2005. Do I miss them? I think about them at times; but I feel that I tried to make amends but was pushed away. I have given up, I will no longer make an attempt on reproachment. I told my wife that I will be open and respond if or when they contact me. I will be friendly but be very cautious and probably will not allow myself to become too close.

What will I recommend you do? Try to treasure your parents, siblings and extended family as much as you can, but don’t let them abuse or bully you, your family, or the life you lead. In an article in Very Well Mind the authors write that if fighting is unavoidable, it is best to not take things personal; find support elsewhere; try not to perpetuate it; invest in your own family; and accept the reality of the situation. I think I have done all these things in my situation. But if all fails get professional help by seeing a therapist. I just hope our daughter breaks the cycle.

My sister and I. I was probably 11 here in this photograph and she was 2 or 3.

My brother an sister. We visited the Holland American Line's Rotterdam when it visited Curacao where we grew up. I think they were 9 and 4 at the time.

Sucking the Marrow Out of Retirement (05/21/2026)

2026-05-21T09:07:04.300-07:00

It has been more than a month since I have written here and updated the world on what I have been up to. I am not planning to stop or disappear from the written word or the world, but these past five to six weeks have been absolutely jam-packed with excitement or activity.

It all started out with the delivery of our new travel trailer or camper: an airstream (model, World Traveler). We got a Ford F-150 the week before, so we had something to tow the airstream with. I drove the airstream home with a friend and backed up into our driveway in the dark. It was all successful. But we had applied for a loan to pay for all this, and that was the stressful part; all the hoops we had to jump through. We can afford all these purchases, but a loan made sense from an investment strategy.

Our neighborhood had a community wide yard sale three days after parking the trailer in our driveway. On a whim, I put a for sale sign on our camper van, and to our surprise we got an offer on the van that we could not refuse. Next was getting the van ready, emptying it. But we also needed to outfit our new rig. On top of that, my wife took off for California to visit the family. Followed by an exciting board meeting at our UU church (of which I am the president) where we decided to follow our principle and spend around $80,000 to put solar on the roof of our church. That weekend we had our annual cluster meeting where all the local UU churches come together. This was followed by a trip to the airport to pick up my wife. Subsequently, we needed to get ready for our shake-down cruise, our first (weekend) camping trip with the new camper, to figure things out. Mixed in to all of this is managing the church contracts for solar and another meeting or two. And here they tell you that life gets slower when you retire.

The word life, reminds me of a YouTube clip I watched where someone old stated something like “I don’t know how much longer I have to live, but I want to make the best of it: I am going to make sure that I use and enjoy the remaining time to the best of my ability.” This reminds me of the words Henry David Thoreau wrote in Walden: “Suck out all the marrow of life,” or “when I came to die, discover I had not lived.” I have noticed that you become more aware of your mortality when you grow older. “How much time do I have left” has been going through my head. It hasn’t stopped us from buying the camper; currently I am planning a three-to-four-week trip through the Canadian maritime. I hope to do this early in September. But first an off-grid trip to The Peaks of Otter campground on the Blue Ridge parkway to celebrate our 49th anniversary. Interesting fact, Thomas Jefferson thought that the Peaks of Otter were the tallest mountains in the entire USA.

So yes, life sometimes gets in the way of writing my blog posts, which are a form of diary for myself as well as an update to the rest of the world. I promise I will keep doing this as long as I can; but maybe not that frequent.

The airstream arrived in our driveway! We are still debating where to place it.

Camping in Westmoreland State Park. We decided to cook our first meal outside, which we will probably do with more. It was just very pleasant to be there with the dogs. Westmoreland is one of our favorite parks. We have stayed here at least three other times in the cabins. This is our first time camping.

Our first meal in the new camper. We cooked steak, fried potatoes with onions and peas.

Breathing Botany’s Baby Batter: A Pollen-Season Memoir (04/07/2026)

2026-04-07T07:52:00.000-07:00

Or, the Yellow Haze of Spring

It’s spring. The days are getting warmer; the birds are chirping; the daffodils in our garden have finished flowering; leaves are popping out everywhere; the redbuds and dogwoods are blooming; the May flowers have woken up—and yes, there is pollen everywhere.

Pollen is so thick right now that our gray deck is yellow, and you can watch it drift over the boards when there’s even a slight breeze. Our concrete driveway is yellow, and the vehicles are coated, too. While the major culprit in our pollen plague is the loblolly pine, it started earlier with the maples and oaks. They announced the start of pollen season about two weeks ago.

The first time I mentioned pollen on this blog was in 2014. My first post was in June 2013 (wow—13 years ago), so April 2014 was more or less the first time I could have complained about it in these pages. I think I mentioned it every year since. Spring pollen has been a perpetual issue here in Virginia (and farther south). For a few weeks, the sky looks yellow and—somehow—everything else does, too. We were walking along the York River and clouds of yellow dust drifted over the water from the shore. When you walk the dogs in our neighborhood and a gust of wind kicks up, you get a face full of the stuff and your eyes sting from all the tiny particles. Even your shoes turn yellow after a stroll through the grass or along a forest trail.

I had a perverse sense of humor when I was still teaching—actually, I still have a streak of it. I’d ask my students if they knew what pollen was: plant sperm. Tree sperm. “Now everyone, take a deep breath in through your nose and inhale all that sperm through those nostrils into your lungs.” A few weeks later, the water in my rain barrels smells horrible. Rotten eggs smell like perfume compared to this brew. Pollen has a high protein content, and all that protein has to break down—ferment, rot, or whatever you want to call it. I’ve always assumed this liquid is fine to use on my bonsai; I’m sure it must be nutrient-rich. And, over the years it hasn’t killed a plant yet.

Soon, this pollen episode will be a thing of the past. We’ll have forgotten it until the end of March next year when it begins again. Now, the seasons will get warmer, and summer will be upon us. Heat and humidity will be there, and maybe a chance of hurricanes? Let’s just hope I can keep complaining about pollen on our deck and cars for a few more years.

Our deck covered by pollen

Uganda here we come (03/17/2026)

2026-03-17T08:46:00.000-07:00

The couple was aimlessly wandering through the departure halls of Zanventem, the international airport of Brussels in Belgium. He was 24 and she was 22. It was February 1978 and they were filled with apprehension. They had met two years earlier and got married 7 months ago and now they were going to the man’s first full-time job as farm manager at a leprosy center in Uganda. It was 10 o’clock in the evening. They were taking a Sabena (the Belgium National Airline) flight to Nairobi, Kenya and from there to Entebbe, Uganda. Into the unknown.

At the time of their move, Uganda was ruled by the ruthless dictator Idi Amin who had given himself the title "His Excellency, President for Life, Field Marshal Al Hadji Doctor Idi Amin Dada, VC, DSO, MC, Lord of All the Beasts of the Earth and Fishes of the Seas and Conqueror of the British Empire in Africa in General and Uganda in Particular." He was known for the deportation of all Asians in the country and a brutal murderer of anyone who opposed him. Moreover, flying to Entebbe meant they were going to the airport that was famous for the hostage crises and Israeli raid of 1976. Everybody they knew told them that they were crazy and that they were going to be in severe danger by going there. The couple kept telling themselves that leprosy would repel anyone that could threaten their lives; people were afraid of that biblical disease called leprosy, or so they thought. Now these two were not religious, they went for humanistic reasons and for adventure. Little did they know what would happen in the next year and a half.

The two had arrived in Brussels in the morning by train from Rotterdam. They deposited their luggage at the hotel from where the Sabena shuttle to the airport would leave that evening. Having time to spare, it was time to do some sightseeing: the Great Market and Manneken Pis, have a last Trappist beer and a nice dinner. After that, they sat in the hotel lobby waiting for the shuttle to the airport.

Their flight left Brussels around midnight. They were flying over the Sahara when the sun came up. It was one of the most beautiful sights they had ever witnessed in their young lives; parts of the mountains and dunes illuminated by the orange light of the rising sun, while the opposing sides of hills were still in the dark.

They never exited the plane in Nairobi, but they could feel the warm tropical air rushing into the cabin when the doors opened to let passengers off and allow new ones to come on board. Th majority of the embarking folks were Africans and so, the ethnic makeup of the passengers changed dramatically. Reality hit, they suddenly realized that they were no longer in Europe but were entering dark Africa.

The landing into Entebbe gave them some beautiful views of Lake Victoria and their first Ugandan villages down below. Once landed the plane taxied to the terminal where they were greeted by a huge banner with the face of that ruthless Ugandan dictator, Idi Amin Dada, the conqueror of the British Empire. The banner was draped from the roof of the arrival building and reached all the way to the ground. Now in 2026 the couple is being reminded of that sight by similar banners with the picture of the current U.S. president that are draped of buildings. Let’s not talk about Amin’s massive deportation drive of folks that had migrated into Uganda and did not look like him. Nothing new under the sun.

Once they cleared customs, the couple was met by Pieter, the Dutch doctor and medical superintendent of the leprosy center, and Steve, the Ugandan anesthesiologist. Later they learned that Steve was a wheeler dealer for the hospital, he knew which buttons to push, who to bribe and even had sex with him. But so did the sworn bachelor Pieter, neither gentleman had ever heard of sexual harassment and avoiding sexual relationships with underlings. But after all, this was Africa and late 1970s.

Naturally, that couple were my wife and I. As you know, my writing is a collection of autobiographical sketches, environmental essays, and political commentary. Hope you enjoyed this one and it gives you an insight into my brain and who I have become over the years. Feel free to browse the keyword list for the word Uganda; there is so much more, and more to come.

Manneken Pis

The conqueror of the British Empire

Resillence (3/2/2026

2026-03-02T16:23:00.000-08:00

The other day, at our UU church we had a program on the resilience of nature or may be on how nature helped us with our resilience. This brought me back to my Ph.D. study, and particularly my research project. We moved to Las Cruces, NM in 1986 for my studies. Nine years married and yes, we had our occasional marriage spats. I think the issues were mostly my doing and most likely caused by my insecurity concerning my qualifications even to pursue a Ph.D. (imposter syndrome) and the decision we had made to finally settle in the U.S.A. (being a Dutchman who had traveled most of his life, that was an alien concept).

My research plots were in the Jornada del Muerto. It was at the southern end of the of an area in New Mexico made famous by the Trinity site, where Oppenheimer and his compadres detonated the first nuclear bomb. My site was far enough away from that area for any remaining radioactivity to ever have gotten that far south and have any effect on me. This was a good thing, since we (my wife) became pregnant in 1988, midway through my studies.

One of the things that stayed with me from that time were the weekly trips to my research plots. We had to travel about an hour into the desert away from all civilization. I was taking physiological measurements on broom snakeweed (Gutierrezia sarothrae); a common weed in this area of the country. I had to get there before daylight to take what are called pre-dawn plant measurements and compare them to changes that occurred during the day, when it got brighter and warmer. We got to the site when it was just getting light and stayed until two or three in the afternoon and took measurements on the hour. We hid in the shade under a shelter that we set up between measurement times. On some really hot days I would take a quick dip in a nearby stock tank if the water looked clean. Remember, the temperatures in southern New Mexico would easily soar over 100 degrees (38 Celsius) in summer.

At sunrise, exactly when the sun hit the site, the coyotes in the area started howling, just for a minute or so. It was absolutely amazing and, in a way, very moving. It sounded so wild and primitive. To think that there were all these eyes watching us and we hardly ever saw them. And then all the snakes (rattlesnakes) that were also observing us, the birds and other critters.

Recently I wrote a couple of posts about the more bashful coyotes in the woods behind our home. They excite our dogs, especially when they start howling at two in the morning. Hearing the howl or even seeing them brings me back to my studies in the Jornada desert and those early mornings when the coyotes graced me with their concert.

Coyotes are amazing animals. Persecuted and killed, they seem to survive, even in our urban areas. These are resilient species and fit into the discussions we had that Sunday morning. Resilience, we biologists sometimes used the word plasticity in place of resilience. At times this seems more appropriate, nature is resilient by being adaptable or what we would call plastic. An interesting concept to ponder.

The Coyotes behind our home (left and center)

All you need is love (2/7/2026)

2026-02-07T08:49:00.000-08:00

What a world we live in. A goon squat patrols the streets, murdering unarmed US citizens; what a dystopian world we live in. It looks like that they want to prevent folks from protesting and showing their empathy. In this country where weapons are ubiquitous, it is open season on folks like you when you show empathy for your fellow human beings. Let’s not talk about what they try to do to you if you are against what the current administration is doing and you carry a weapon. It is dangerous what is going on; it really tastes like what Hitler did in Europe. Anything to distract from the Epstein case; we don’t want to know what our current Hitler wannabe (tRump) did with underaged girls. It is very distressing to me.

Initially, I wanted to write a post that detailed the retreat that I attended last week in the mountains on the border of Idaho and Montana. We discussed the settlement of the western part of this country that the USA obtained as part of the Louisiana purchase. I left Missoula for home on a high, much like the retreat last year. We were with eighteen folks and had the best time, intellectually and just in friendship. I knew at least eight of the attendants either from last time or meetings we have on Zoom. It was so familiar and there was an atmosphere of pure love and respect for each other. I liked the discourse and the deep thinking we all did. We all respected each other even when there were disagreements. It almost felt like a meeting at the forum at our Unitarian Universalist Church. This is how our country could and should function.

While Jefferson was highly educated, well cultured, a great writer, scientist, and a wonderful tinkerer and inventor, he absolutely had some non-admirable qualities. Were these a reflection of the times he lived in? For example, in the Declaration on Independence wrote in it that “All men are created equal,” he was a slave holder and considered the Native Americans savages. I do not think tRump believes that all men (human beings) are equal; in his eyes you have the humans (rich, multi-millionaire) and the savages (middle class and poor). He called Somalis savages. I believe he considers many non-citizens barbarians. The emperor has no clothes, that’s for sure.

How the hell do we solve this problem? I have learned one thing over the years: whether you live in the USA, Singapore, Hong Kong, Brazil (the four top countries where my readers come from) or anywhere else in the world, Your Vote Matters! Secondly, I stand on the side of love. As the title says, love is all you need! What the current regime is doing is broadcasting hate. The only way we can conquer hate is with love. Yes, love includes demonstrating for what you believe: our love for our fellow human beings. All of course, by the right have cost the lives of Heather Heyer (Charlottesville), Renee Good or Alex Pretti, and of course all those people who died in the custody of those goons. It needs to stop, this is insanity. All we need is love!

Photo of the day. It has been crazy weather here in Virginia. Global warming is showing its cards.
These crazy love birds met each other 50 year ago this past January. Yes, we have had fights, arguments and alike, but are still able to solve our differences. Having gone through so much together in our past, nobody would be able to understand our psyche anyway.

Plastic fantastic lover (1/18/2026)

2026-01-18T06:06:00.000-08:00

I am traveling this week and was struck by what is on my pill box. We live in a "What the Fuck" time. (I know it is a plastic box)

A few years ago, I first learned from the book “Finding the Mother Tree” by Suzanne Simard that trees in the Northwest had accumulated fish DNA. This occurred in trees with a lot of fish carcasses around the base. All these fish bones were likely left there by bears (grizzlies) after they ate the salmon they caught. Can you imagine bears leaning against a big tree and munching on dead fish. It sounds like a Gary Larson Far Side comic. Some of these trees were a considerably distance removed from the stream from which the fish were harvested by these animals. It seems the mycorrhizal fungi were decomposing the carcasses and sharing the nutrients including the DNA with the tree.

Thinking about it, it begs the question will human DNA also be incorporated into nature? Could it be that the trees in the woods behind our home have some DNA from George Washington? He spent time in these woods, and I am sure that he left some DNA behind. I am not sure how long DNA remains unaltered when single cells are deposited in the natural environment.

Next question: is my DNA being incorporated into nature since I love to pee outside in the yard and in the woods? I learned that we are able to detect if people have corn products in their diet. Corn has a certain isotope composition that can be incorporated into our bones. An isotope analysis of these bones will show archaeologists what a person’s diet was like. Now this is not DNA, but I can now imagine that if I consistently use a single tree out there for my urination practice, it may actually incorporate something of me into its structure. This sounds like an idea that is fascinating and cool, but also scarry. Fascinating and cool because something of me may continue its presence after I am gone. I don’t know how long or even if it is more than a few molecules. Nobody has come back from being incorporated into a tree to tell me.

The scary part of this equation is that if this is true, anything we do has a long-term impact on nature. This seems to be undeniably the case anyway. It might explain why the eggs of chickens that are fed fish by products have a fishy taste, or the milk from cows solely grazing in organic pastures has a higher nutritive value than those fed with corn. The milk from these pasture and grass-fed cows has a higher Omega fat content. I have also heard somewhere that the meat from these cows rivals the Omega fat content of salmon.

While that may be not the scariest, even scarier is that we are so busy screwing up nature. We appear to be cavalier about what we are doing; it is insane. We know now that plant cells have PFAS and microplastics in them, and those chemicals are also being incorporated in us. We now find these chemicals in our brains and in men their testicles (this reminds me of Jefferson Airplane’s Plastic Fantastic Lover). Plastic babies anyone? (Is that a Frank Zappa song?)

It is unbelievable what we are doing to the environment! And then to think that the current administration is dialing back the clock and weakening the environmental regulations in favor of industry. It also seems that the large Wall street firms are distancing themselves from environmental causes. Many of the most polluting industries are in or near minority areas. It seems to be another form of genocide that they are attempting. Affluent folks can afford more expensive organic food, the costlier glass food storage containers, and so on, but let’s feed the poor and racial minority the unhealthy processed food. This seems to be the plan of the ultra-rich and the Stephen Millers of the bunch. If they cannot kill them with the Trumpstapo, by rounding them up and shooting them using the military or ICE like what happened to Heather Good, then we can at least try to poison them slowly. It is obscene!

We need to set aside our politics. We need to protest what is going on in our environment, and fight for civil rights, environmental and social justice . Alternatively, we need to prepare ourselves to apologize to our children, grandchildren, and future generations for fucking up their world.

No snow in Montana in January. Must be global warming.

Does the natural world communicate with us? (1/10/2026)

2026-01-10T18:13:00.000-08:00

I have started to read a book by Robert Macfarlane entitled “Is a River Alive.” In the introduction he writes that his 9-year-old son asked him the title and premis of the book, and when he told him, his son said: “well, that is going to be a short book, of course it is.” Reading this I wondered whether nature or the natural environment is talking to us. I am a pantheist and would like to argue that even rocks, stones, and clouds are alive and communicate with us, even though they do not have DNA.

This idea reminds me of a post I wrote some time ago entitled: “Does the world love us.” These are interesting questions. I know that I love the world. I take a walk with my dogs in the woods behind our home almost every morning. I wrote about this in 2018 (The Old Man and the Woods), where I describe taking a walk with our previous dog Jake. To think I called myself old more than 7 years ago. I had just re-read Hemingway’s book “The Old Man and the Sea,” and felt inspired by it. I just used the title to spin off the title of my post.

I try to live in the moment whenever I am out in nature. I always look around, take it all in and try to learn. For example, I love large beech trees; I like their elephant skin like bark, and I love their root spread. During the past years I have tried to make an inventory of the large beech trees in the woods behind our home. I do this by getting off the trails and bushwacking. To date I have found 17 bigger trees. I have no idea how old they are, but I always wonder if they were planted by folks that lived back there before it was converted to park land, and unlike the pines, oaks and maples these beeches were never harvested.

One of the beeches I found the other day

I am in LOVE, whenever I am in nature. Even in times like the other morning when we ran into Blondie, the blond coyote and our two dogs go absolutely insane. But as the song goes “Love hurts,” and I often find it more entertaining that aggravating, even if their howls and barks are deafening and they are trying to pull your arm off (yes, we always walk them on the leash). Those coyotes are getting bolder. Early in the morning, around 2 am on January 1 and 3 they were in our neighborhood, just a few houses over. Their howling and japing woke our dogs, and our dogs woke us. It was crazy.

But back to our woods. Before the invasion of the English settlers, the woods behind our home were the home of the Kiskiack tribe, a group that was part of the Powhatan Confederacy. Kiskiack means wide land or broad place in their native language, and it also seems to be the name of the town they lived in, near the current Yorktown. From what I can determine, the woods must have been cleared in spots for agriculture using slash and burn. Corn was their main crop. The area was also used as hunting grounds.

The Brits eventually cleared large tracks for the cultivation of tobacco. Our woods were part of something that was called the Edgehill Plantation, although there was no actual plantation house. The area was straddled by two roads: Warwick to York and Hampton to York (later on Warwick was incorporated into the town of Newport News). During those times, our region was a very active participant in the Revolution and later the Civil War. I wrote a tongue in cheek post about it once <here>.

I do not exactly know what happened after the civil war. It was around the 1930s when our immediate area was taken over by the National Park Service and most likely the Newport News water works. Recently, we examined the tree rings of a large pine that had fallen across our trail, and someone cut the trunk to allow passage. Dating it by counting the tree rings showed us that it was approximately 80 years old. It appears that the tree probably germinated around the 1940s and was allowed to grow without much interference. This again dates to a time just after the annexation of the area by the Park Service. The tree was one of the bigger ones and is located in an area with some of the largest trees in the woods behind our home.

There is so much to explore and think about when I walk through nature, listening to nature talking to me and to each other.

The beeches so far

A good haul today, we found 3

Before I die and before I’m gone (1/4/2026)

2026-01-04T17:42:00.000-08:00

How would I look back at my life, my accomplishments, regrets, failures, things or places I never did? I already have written about an eulogy as I described in part over in this blog post. But is that all? I have written about other things that are going on or have occurred in my life; however, I somehow feel more contemplative during the days with the least daylight in the year. Christmas and the new year are ideal times to reflect. Most of my regular readers know that I am not a guy for New Years resolutions. I discussed that in my recent blog post for my church and in this regular post here.

Do I feel my mortality? Maybe a little, I am getting older and I feel like I am getting slower. My joints hurt, I get mysterious muscle pains, I am looking forward to my mid-day naps, and I have become more cerebral and reflective. I am no longer that interested in the advances in biology but I have changed interests to history. I am still interested in science and I consider myself a naturalist who enjoys being out in nature and I hope to continue chronicling my forays into and opinions of the natural environment.

The truly most enjoyable things I have done in my life involved nature; those events stayed with me over the years. I have been above 14,000 feet three times in my life and those are among my favorites. The top of Mount Elgon (14,177 feet or 4321 meters), Grays Peak (14,276 feet or 4351 meters), and the north slopes of the Annapurna (we estimated to approximately 16,000 feet or 4800 meters). Our visit to Gros Morne National Park was another highlight. Finally, our hike on the Isle of Sky ranks up there as well.

My failures and most troublesome experiences include my job and stay in Uganda. I have had a difficult time holding on to jobs over the years. I am sure it was caused by my sometimes-abrasive behavior and my cynicism and sarcasm. Early on I had a difficult time compromising; but then I hate hypocrisy and that is how I perceived the world (and sometimes I still do). During my job in Nepal, I walked into my supervisor’s office and saw him bent over a chair with his pants down getting screwed in the rear by the assistant supervisor. That surely did not help, both were male and married to women. I lost my job fairly soon after that.

Anything I still want to do, experience or place I still would like to visit? I am 72 years old. How many more years do I have in me; how much longer will I live? Five, ten, fifteen, twenty years? I better hurry up. They call the 80s the slow go years (obviously even slower than right now), and the 90s the no go years. My wife thinks we will be strong and independent for a long time; seventies is the new sixties she keeps reminding me. There are places I would like to return to: Curacao, Newfoundland, Scottland, Uganda, Nepal, Japan, just to name a few. I would love to visit New Zeeland, the Easter Island, Chili, Portugal, Spain, Italy, Finland, the Faro Islands, Iceland, Alaska. Things to do? Take a Rhine cruise, eat in some high-end luxury restaurants, visit the Albuquerque balloon festival, go to the Munich October fest, take a stroll on the beach of Ipanema (I guess that I am still a dirty old man), visit Rome and Florence. I am sure there are a lot more things, but I better keep it realistic.

These are some of my thoughts about going into the new year. Politically, socially, and environmentally, 2026 is going to be an interesting, albeit very stressful year. Put on your seatbelts.

A picture from our hike on the Isle of Sky in 2011

Coyotes and skinny dipping (12/22/2025)

2025-12-22T09:04:00.000-08:00

Walking in the woods behind our home is one of the most pleasurable things I (we) do. As you know, I am a huge fan of what is called “forest bathing.” No, this has nothing to do with getting naked in the woods during a rainstorm or in a river, pond or lake. Although that does sounds like fun (at least when the weather is warm). We have done some skinny dipping in the past, but I am not sure I want to embarrass myself anymore with this old body.

My favorite skinny-dipping memory was the time we did it in the mountains above Logan, Utah. We had been hiking with our friends; we were hot and happened upon a pool in a creek. It was so inviting. The four of us stripped and jumped in. After sitting in the refreshingly cool water for approximately ten minutes some hikers approached and when they walked by, we recognized the male in the group as the dean of our college at Utah State University. Both Jeff and I knew him well and the only thing we were able to do was wave and say “hi.” The next day we were both somewhat on pins and needles, wondering if the dean would say something. But we never heard from him about the incident.

Enough about that and back to my more recent experience.

We have coyotes in the woods behind our home. While we already knew that, and saw one a few years ago, our sighting of them has become increasingly frequent. Wildlife watching has become our sport, ranging from fornicating deer to coyotes. We have been told there are at least bobcats back there and now we have been told that there was a bear sighting nearby.

Well, don’t go wildlife watching with two dogs on the leash. The dogs go absolutely ballistic the minute they even sense a wild animal. While the hound howled and the other barked incessantly at the screwing deer or any other deer they see, but coyotes eat the cake. They go nuts. On top of that, the coyotes don’t give a damn. They just stay where they are and look at you with this attitude of “bring it on.” I had to walk by them one day while they were approximately 60 feet (20 meters) away from me, with two insane dogs that I hardly was able to control. The coyotes just stood there and watched me struggling (walk) by with two absolutely bonkers dogs.

By rough estimate we have approximately 17 square miles (11,000 acres) of forest behind our home. For our metric folks that is around 44 square kilometers (4.400 hectares). That is large enough for coyotes, bears, and bobcats to hide.

I am still working on an inventory of all the beech trees directly behind our home. Yesterday, I set out into the woods on my own, at the advice from my wife. She knows my love for nature and for forest bathing. My goal was to go to one of my favorite beeches and just sit at its roots, meditate and inhale nature.

It was somewhat quiet out there; however, it was frequently interrupted by the sounds of civilization. An airplane was landing at the airport nearby and you could hear the incessant noise of traffic on the highway. Finally, I heard the call of the pileated woodpecker.

It felt good to be out in the woods, although it was difficult to relax and meditate with all the crap going on in the world around us. Despite all that, I definitely need to do it again.

We call the Blondy and Yote

Crazy, just relaxing in clear sight

At my favorite beech

Reading, politics and Rome (8/12/2025)

2025-12-08T14:04:00.000-08:00

I am currently reading three books at the same time:

Thomas Jefferson: Writings (just 1599 pages including index or 1517 pages of actual writing).
Anthony J.C. Wallace: Jefferson and the Indians. The tragic faith of the first Americans.
Edward J. Watts: Mortal Republic. How Rome fell into Tyranny.

These books are connected by a common thread. First of all, it is Clay Jenkinson (from Listening to America). I am reading the first two books in preparation for a workshop that I will be going to in January, which is somewhat similar as last January’s trip that I took, but then on a different subject. The third is currently being discussed in a book club hosted by Clay. Although I do not attend the club, a friend who is, told me that this is the book that the members are reading and discussing. It sounded interesting and I decided to read it independently. As some of you know, of late, I have been reading on Roman stoicism and this felt like a logical follow up book, or so I thought.

Is there another common thread between these books? Jefferson was a student of the Roman civilization and was most likely familiar with Rome’s democratic system before the rise of the emperors. Rome was, in many ways, very democratic and treated its citizens fairly equally (except for slaves). This idea is echoed in the U.S. Constitution, where everyone is considered equal (now stop snickering). The Romans considered themselves civilized and all others were seen as savages. In Jefferson’s time, the white settlers considered themselves civilized, and my understanding is the Indian population was considered savages, while the black slaves were seen as barbarians. The prevailing belief was that savages could be educated, assimilated and civilized, but barbarians were considered a lesser class. There even was a push to relocate freed slaves to Liberia in West Africa. This worldview is troubling, especially considering how we continue to judge people by skin color or gender today. The latest examples of that are the outrage from our president (with a very small p) about folks from Afghanistan and Somalia, and by his derogatory treatment of women, calling them stupid and piggy. This clearly shows that we have not evolved much. In some way, we may be regressing into a stage similar as the one that ended in the turmoil which resulted in Rome’s decline into dictatorship.

The Romans normalized violence with their gladiator fights, desensitizing the public to brutality. Similarly, today’s regime is doing the same thing with boat strikes; the ICE-stapo that is going rampant in some town; and visits to Salvadoran concentration camps. Are these actions meant to immunize us to violence, especially with upcoming elections? It definitively feels like that. It may well be an effort to maintain power by rallying the base and encouraging others to look away. This “immunization campaign” is happening while public health efforts are being undermined and the CDC and JFK jr. are trying to curb access to vaccines. A strange and disturbing world, indeed.

I realize that I am oversimplifying these complex issues. As I am sure you know, I expect to write more about these topics in future posts, especially after my workshop in January.

A photograph from the site of last January's workshop. I wonder how much snow there will be this time.

Veronica and the fornicating deer (11/18/2025)

2025-11-18T08:22:24.803-08:00

On our walk this morning we saw a gorgeous (at least 8 point) buck humping a doe in the woods. This made me think about a wool hat that a friend of ours knitted for me. We always call this hat “The Fornicating Reindeer Hat”.

Ever since we met in April 1994, Veronica was special to us. She was an archaeologist at the company I joined, she was half Dutch and still had a grandmother (oma) in the Netherlands. Her father was a Mennonite from Selinsgrove, Pennsylvania, and her mother was half Indonesian and half Dutch. Her dad was ultra conservative, a chiropractor, alternative medicine doctor and anti-vaxxer. Mom was a traditional housewife and somewhat of a homesteader. Veronica had a lot of fights with her father but often showed the same conservative streaks that he had. She was an amazing fiber artist and an expert spinner, knitter and weaver. Lastly, Veronica was grossly overweight.

She left her profession and moved to Burlington, VT right after we left Cincinnati for the Hampton Roads in Virginia. We did not lose touch, especially early on. We exchanged monthly phone calls, and her job required her to travel all over the place, so she made an effort to visit frequently. Veronica became her mother away from home when our daughter moved to New England. We had fun visiting her one autumn to coincide with the famous New England leaf-peeping season.

Eventually, the phone calls became scarce and when we spoke, she seemed out of it, or even drunk. At times we spoke the day after and she did not remember that she had called us the day before. Veronica lost a couple of jobs, but it was never her fault, and we never clued in that it could be alcohol related. After a hiatus of a half year, she called us and told us that she had used her frequent flyer miles to fly to Rio de Janeiro to attend the Olympics, in particular the rugby games which she loved. Not long thereafter we got a phone call from her mom telling us that Veronica had died.

Veronica was 55 years old when she died, and we learned she had a thyroid issue but like her stubborn father refused to take the regular medicine that could keep it under control. Our daughter went to look for the obituary and googled her name. It was then that we learned that Veronica had a couple Driving Under the Influence (DUI) convictions (for drunk driving) and actually was sentenced to a half year in jail. This was during the time she was supposedly in Rio (the lies alcoholics tell). A combination of thyroid disease and alcohol abuse must have killed her. We suspected alcohol before but never figured it was that bad. We still often kick ourselves that we did not clue in and did not drive up to intervene. We miss her terribly and often talk about her, even some six or seven years after her demise.

Crazy what a couple of screwing deer brings back. While Veronica technically did not commit suicide, she did it in her own way. She hated her father and loved him at the same time. Some famous person once wrote that hate and love are the same emotion. We knew that a lot of her drinking was about her father. Every time our friend called while under the influence, she spoke about him. If you suspect that a friend is in trouble, go out and help him or her. I do not think we would ever make that error again, and neither should you.

This is the cap that Veronica knitted for me. She told us that she would go to a bar and knit one of these in an evening and when a guy would tell her that he loved it, she would sell it to him on condition that he would pick up her tab.

Road trips of the past (11/11/2025)

2025-11-11T08:52:00.000-08:00

I now have taken four extended road trips since we retired two and a half years ago. I made one solo trip and three with my wife and our dogs (2023, 2024 and 2025). As part of these trips, I have seen the Grand Canyon twice (the South Rim during our first visit and the North Rim, a half year before it burned down, during my solo trip). After twice visiting the town, I have learned why folks always say, “Get the hell out of Dodge.” Maybe more about these events later, However, I do not want to make this post another report of my trips. Wherever possible, I have tried to stay away from the Interstate Highway system, interact with people I met on the way (one of my favorite books is Blue Highways, by William Least Heat-Moon). Highways were some cases unavoidable, or they saved us a lot of time.

Now, this is going to be a long post.

The overarching item that I learned from our trips is that every state we passed through had absolutely beautiful areas. I am sure there are also horrible parts in each state, although we have not seen many of them. What I mention as ugly may be because of the place’s sordid history. Moreover, beauty is in the eyes of the beholder. When I am writing about ugly areas, I am thinking of places like Uvalde (TX) that had a mass shooting and we visited the memorial. But I am also thinking of Selma (AL), where we stayed overnight and walked the Edmund Pettis Bridge. This small Alabama town seems to be very depressed and probably ignored town of very important historical significance. Sorry Alabama, the 16th street Baptist Church in Birmingham elicited a similar reaction in me. While nice looking, these spots were saddening because of what took place there.

What were the most memorable things we saw or experienced? This will be a list, and I will start with the most recent. The ferry between Ludington (MI) and Manitowoc (WI); the drive from Van Horn to the McDonald observatory (TX); Big Bend and Guadalupe Mountains National Parks in Texas; Death Valley (CA); the Dignity of Earth and Sky statue in Chamberlain (SD); The Grand Canyon (AZ); Theodor Rosevelt National Park (ND); Lemhi Pass (MT and ID); Sedona (AZ); Selma (AL); Uvalde (TX); Naca Valley Vinyards (Nacogdoches, TX); and Sleeping Bear Sand Dunes National Lakeshore (MI). I am sure I am forgetting one or two, but these are burned into my memory bank.

What were the most disturbing things we encountered? Driving through Georgia and South Caroline (Macon to Savana) we were amazed by the hurricane damage so far from the Gulf of Mexico and now more than three months after it happened. It remined us of our situation after hurricane Isable in 2003. Other items that bothered us included the begging coyote in Big Bend National Park, the stop at Uvalde, the 16th Street Baptist Church in Birmingham and our visits to Selma and Freedom Trail. We both graduated from Utah State University in Logan and were sadly reminded of our lives there when we visited.

Were there things we really hated? Driving a whole day to heavy rain is no fun. It ruined our driving pleasure between coastal Texas and coastal Louisiana. That drive from Victoria (TX) to Baton Rouge (LA) was stressful and horrible, oh well. It would have been nice to see the Louisiana bayous from the road or even stop here and there, but the rain was relentless.

In the western part of Texas, we were plagued by very heavy desert winds between Fort Stockton and El Paso. It is a shame because this is one of my favorite eco-regions. I got my Ph.D. doing graduate work in the Chihuahuan desert. Writing about weather, the 105 degrees we experienced in September in North Sioux City (SD) provided little camping pleasure and we had to spend that night in a motel.

While there must be nice areas in Kansas (for example the Tallgrass Prairie Preserve), the region around Dodge City isn’t it. The area is full of feedlots and slaughterhouses. The area stinks and has more flies than you can shake a stick at. It almost made us vegetarians. We need to feed the nation and therefore need hamburger producing regions like this, but it added very little scenic or cultural value to our trips.

Which folks are staying with you in your memories? Two young waitresses are still on my mind. One in Selma (AL) and the other in Pratt (KS). Both were in their late teens or early twenties. They both seemed resigned to where they were in life, but not happy. They wanted to get out of the town they grew up in, which is understandable when you examined the towns we were in. Both appeared to be at a loss on how to get out and go to the big city and have a life. They tried to make the best of it and earn some extra cash waitressing.

At the North Rim, I was served by a set of waiters that came from Turkey. They were engineering students at the university in Istanbul and spent the summer months working in US National Parks to earn some extra money and learn about the US. I had fun talking with them.

There were these two couples in the tram going up the St. Louis Arch. They lived a couple of blocks apart (less than a mile) in Madison, WI and did not know each other. They even had friends in common but met for the first time on that tram going up the Arch.

We had a great evening talking with a younger couple while sipping wine at the Naca winery near Nacogdoches (TX). She was a teacher, and we talked about education, vacations and the world in general. She would spend the summer in an RV somewhere along the TX coast and her hubby would visit on weekends.

We met a lot of interesting camping owners or hosts. The lady in Miles City (MT) was a riot, and so was the manager of the McDonalds in that town. It must have been the water. We met a couple from Florida that managed a camping area on the Blue Ridge Parkway and the lady with a colostomy bag in the UP of Michigan. A lot of the hosts were retired and got free camping in a beautiful spot or maybe a small stipend. The lady in Lisbon (OH) either made a little money or had free camping while hubby worked at a refinery nearby. They were from Billings (MT) and she homeschooled her two kids, while they followed her husband’s job.

Talking with people was fun, and I noticed that most of them are friendly and nice, especially if you treat them the way you want to be treated. We tried to stay away from the hot button issues like politics and religion. Although, when we told them during our first cross country trip that we were either on our way or returning from our daughter who was going to be or just was ordained as a minister, everyone melted and reacted very friendly.

I wanted to make this essay a lot more detailed, but once I started listing the items I noticed that I could write a book about these experiences. I hope you like this. My message is, smile, be kind to people and start a conversation.

Driving the north shore of Lake Michigan

Ready to descend into Death Valley

More detailed account of our Sept. 2025 trip - Part4 (11/3/2025)

2025-11-03T08:36:00.000-08:00

So now it was time to turn the front of the vehicle towards the south and southeast. That morning, we headed to the so anticipated Mackinac bridge. This is a 4.9 mile (8 km) long bridge that is 200 feet (61 m) above the water. It has four lanes (two each way) with the center lanes over a metal grid; in other words, when you look down you can see the water. This bridge seems to unnerve enough people that you can rent a professional driver to shuttle you across. Not for us, it actually was a fun easy drive across in our Transit on our way to Traverse City.

Little did we expect that the drive through the northern part of Michigan would be so beautiful. We fell in love with Charlevoix (another French name) and Traverse City. The next day, we stopped over at the Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore Park on our way further south. Sleeping Bear Dunes is another place we need to spend more time at during a subsequent visit. It is absolutely all that it is made out to be. That afternoon, after a nice hike through the dunes, we drove south to Weidman via Pontiac. But first lunch and coffee in the parking lot at the park. It is nice to be able to do that in the van. Our Anker Solix (no I am not sponsored by them) has been an invaluable during this trip; we had no problem brewing our own coffee while just sitting in a parking lot.

The KOA in Weidman was at least better than the one we visited on our way up; the owners had really made an effort, but our site selection was somewhat dismal. Our neighbor, a welding inspector from Texas, had been living there for a couple of months. When he returned from work, he sat outside a spoke very loudly over the phone with his brother who had his birthday. We learned more about that family than we wanted to know. We now learned that inexpensive sites come with their own challenges. But then the cheap off-grid $10 and $20 sites are sometimes much better.

We had missed Holland, Michigan, so this Dutchman had to go there. We first stopped in Muskegon at the Hackley and Hume Historic Site and had a nice walk along the harbor. The father of a dear friend of ours grew up in the Hackley and Hume house in the 1930s. The windmill and the New Holland Brewing were on our schedule for that late afternoon and evening. Holland reminded me a little of what I left in the Netherlands. For example the Dutch Reformed Church (de Gereformeerde kerk or Zwarte Kousen Kerk = Black Stockings Church), there were four on one block in the beautiful center of town. Shops in parts of the town were closed on Sundays, another relic from old Europe. The architecture downtown was charming.

The next day we went further south, with the Hocking Hills in Ohio on our radar. We left the interstate highway after a beautiful hike in Hudsonville and headed south to Bowling Green, Ohio. A little piece of highway near Kalamazoo and then we drove relatively narrow farm roads to our motel. While driving, we wondered how many people would enjoy the narrow rural farm roads and observe farm life, like we did. It was absolutely delightful; corn and soybeans were yellowing which cast a wonderful fall vibe to our drive. The next day down to the Hocking Hills we tried to do the same thing but eventually could not avoid the hustle and bustle of the highways around Columbus, Ohio. We did stop for a very brief walk at Stepping Stones Park in Upper Sandusky; another place where after exterminating all the native Americans we memorialize them; at least that was our feelings after visiting the place.

Hocking Hills is a must-visit place. It was crowded, but that is not surprising since it was a nice warm Sunday afternoon. We had a great hike in the canyon. The most expensive space at the KOA in the area gave us a concrete pad where we finally could get rid of some of the sand we had picked up in Michigan. We have an outdoor rug that we put out, and oh boy, did it accumulate a lot of sand during our beach camping nights

This brings us back to the post about September’s trip that I started out with; Douthat State Park. I hope that I did not bore anyone to death with these travelogs. Let me know. I have tried to add a few of my observations and thoughts in this four/five-part series and tried to stay away from a travelog that goes like: we went here to here and then here; although that is unavoidable. I promise, my next posts will probably again be more political, philosophical and educational. Moreover, one of these days I will write about my impressions of America after four extended trips through this amazing country. But I encourage all of you to travel, see your country and learn from the folks who’s lives you touch in your daily lives and during the trips you take.

Fall in Central Ohio

Hiking in the Hockin Hills, OH

The Hackley Hume Historic site

Camping in Weidman, MI

More detailed account of our Sept. 2025 trip - Part 3 (10/23/2025)

2025-10-23T08:48:00.000-07:00

Back down the peninsula we go. The area was lovely to drive through. It has a mixture of agriculture fields, pasture and forest. There were some signs that winter was approaching: the trees started to show their fall colors, the corn and soybeans were yellowing and ready for harvest. We stopped at a road-side cheese store (Renard’s Artesian Cheese) or tourist trap, but that was ok. Wisconsin is the cheese state after all. The cheese was good but probably overpriced. Once we rounded the southern tip of Green Bay, we pointed our rig northward and saw the town of Green Bay speed by us at a distance. Later that day we wondered if we should have visited the town; however, our time to run around is short, and the cheese shop and our lunch stop delayed us enough and we reached our camp site around 4 pm.

We had a great lunch in Oconto at a funky coffee shop (The Shop on Main). Afterwards we went for a brief walk on the Oconto Marsh Bird Trail. We saw a few wood ducks, but I found the trail a little disappointing; you just should not expect many birds around noon. Ice stop in Menominee (Michigan) then up Highways 41 and 35 to OB Fuller County Park.

OB Fuller is in Bark River Michigan. It is situated on Lake Michigan, and we got a spot right on the beach. It was a wonderful place, but little did I realize how sandy Lake Michigan shore is. Even at the bath houses had a hose in front of the entrance asking people to wash the sand of their feet outside before going to the bathroom or taking a shower inside. In other words, sand is everywhere. I am still surprised we did not get sand in our bed; but I can still find sand in the van. The park was nearly a dark sky park. We loved sitting outside drinking a glass of the wine we bought at the cheese shop that morning and just enjoying the night sky, the sound of the waves on the beach and the honking of the Canada geese. The camp host was very nice and helpful, but she complained about her medical issues including her colonoscopy bag. I am amazed that she was still doing this. But it is a free space to stay for the season and that might be a savior if you are indigent or need to make some money while relaxing. Our mostly quiet and private neighbors could barely be heard; it was enjoyable to hear them play guitar and sing softly in the distance. After walking around, we decided that next time we should take a spot slightly inland, on the grass. Yes, there will be a next time; it was very enjoyable, and we plan to come back.

We departed for the Big Knob campground, the next morning after breakfast and a shower in the bathhouse. Big Knob was the campground that was highly recommended by our fellow steamship voyagers a few days ago. On our way there we got groceries in Gladstone, and lunch in Manistique. TAB 21 was a neat bar with some good bar food. We walked across the street to a tourist store named “The Mustard Seed.” The next stop was the Seul Choix Pointe Lighthouse.

Some of you may know that in January I will join Clay Jenkinson of “Listening to America” and “The Jefferson Hour” fame at the Lochsa Lodge in the Idaho Bitterroot just west of Missoula, Montana (here are two accounts of my visit this past January <part 1><part 2>). This time we will be spending a week discussing “Jefferson and the West.” I am required to read a number of books in preparation for this workshop and in Donald Jackson’s Thomas Jefferson and the Stony Mountains I learned that the UP (Upper Peninsula) of Michigan and the northern part of the lake were part of a trading route between French Canada and New Orleans. It was also settled by the French. Hence the French name for the lighthouse. The point on the peninsula was an important navigation landmark for the travelers. It seems that after the Louisiana purchase the future (short-term) President William Henry Harrison was instrumental in informing the traders that they were now passing through territory owned by the USA.

Big Knob State Forest Campground was our destination for the night. It is located just south of the hamlet of Engadine, Michigan. We had a 7-mile dirt road drive, our second of the day; the trip to the lighthouse also required a dirt road trek. Big Knob turned out everything that it was promised to be and more. It is a primitive campground with no running water or electricity, but it had a hand pump well that yielded potable (drinking) water and a pit toilet. There was plenty of room at the campsite and we chose a spot behind a vegetated dune close to the lake. We had a nice interaction with the couple neighboring our site. They had a daughter with them who appeared to be in her early teens and on the “spectrum.” When we arrived, the girl was running around in a cat-suit, hopping around and digging in the sand. She acted shy, and the parents were nice. They told us they were from the northern part of the UP and came here for a week to relax. They could do this because they homeschooled the girl. The couple were amazingly decked out with a 500 liters water tank, loads of firewood and a generator which they used for about an hour to charge their house battery. The lady was in a sleek long black dress. In general, what we noticed during our travels, adults that travel with children during school season like this couple are homeschoolers and probably more conservative politically. We once overheard kids telling each other that in regular public schools you enter in the morning as a boy and come out that afternoon as a girl. I think that says it all!

At Big Knob I walked in Lake Michigan, it is very shallow. The only negative about the park were the mosquitoes so we spent the evening inside the van to avoid most of them. The next morning, we had a wonderful hike through a marsh-sand dune region. The dunes were completely vegetated with white cedar, maple, aspen, and pine with an understory of ferns, blueberries, wintergreen and cranberry. Of course, many more species, but this was what I casually observed. Nature was impressively abundant, and we spent an absolutely amazing time in the northern regions of Lake Michigan including Wisconsin and the UP of Michigan. To think we only explored a thin sliver, probably less than 25 miles wide along the northern edge of the lake. Little did we expect how gorgeous it was, and we need to come back to explore more.

Next, the return trip.

Camping on the beach at OJ Fuller

The night sky

Seul Choix Pointe Lighthouse.

In Lake Michigan

Hike in the woods at Big Knob

More detailed account of our Sept. 2025 trip - Part 2 (10/19/2025)

2025-10-19T18:17:00.000-07:00

Arrived in Manitowoc, Wisconsin, after a pleasurable four-hour ferry ride. Ah, my last state in the lower 48! Our vehicle was the second one being unloaded from the ferry and off we went, before most of the others vehicles came off. A quick stop at a park along the harbor to allow the dogies to relieve themselves after being cooped up in a swaying van for five hours. The plan was to drive only approximately 100 miles to Ellison Bay where if everything went well, we would stay two nights.

We had to stop in the town of Two Rivers to visit a knitting store. The town had a festival, which we walked through since the knitting store was right in the middle of the festivities. Parking was at a premium, and we parked at a paid lot. We got to talk with the parking “manager.” This was an older lady with young girls around her. The local credit union had asked the high school to manage their lot, since they were open on Saturday mornings and needed to keep rogue parkers away from the lot so they could service customers. The curse of having a downtown bank at festival time. I forgot which high school club the proceeds were for, but I bet it was a good fundraiser. They told me that there will be another festival in two weeks. I guess they need to get their parties in, up there in the cold north, before the world freezes over. This is the Green Bay area also known as the frozen tundra. Interestingly, we were told that in winter, people drive their vehicles as far as one mile far on Lake Michigan to go ice fishing. We bought a dozen cookies from one of the stalls at the festival, and they gave us heartburn.

On the road again. Now our regular quest for ice, to keep our perishables cool. Amazing how all small convenience/gas station stores are staffed (owned or managed?) by what appear to be either folks from Indian, Pakistani, or Middle Eastern decent. Even in the cold environments of northern Wisconsin or Michigan. Somehow, I felt sorry for these folks, for one because of what I assume the winters in these areas would feel like and on the other hand what discomfort must haunt them knowing that ICE and their boss ICE-Barbie (Kristi Noem) might be looking to deport them. (ICE = U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement). As is the case very often, there are not a lot of people that are willing or able to own, manage or staff these types of stores. Later, during our drive home, on a Sunday morning, in Ohio the 25-year-old (Indian looking and sounding) attendant told me (at 10 am) that he was tired. He had to get up at 5 in the morning to open and run the gas station in this God-forsaken little village in central Ohio.

If you look at a map of Wisconsin, there is this thin peninsula sticking in Lake Michigan just east of Green Bay. A large section of this peninsula is in Door County. I had decided to camp at the far tip of the peninsula at the highest rated camping I could find. Our camping, The Wagon Trail, did not disappoint us; it was worth a two-day stay. Getting there from Two Rivers took us through small towns, Algoma used to have a train ferry to the other side (Green Bay to Frankfort?). Baileys Harbor was party central. In that town we saw two weddings, two microbreweries and a winery. We tried the winery and found it mediocre. I have a friend who is a major, award winning vintner in Washington State and he mentioned that a lot of these types of wineries truck in tank wagons of grape juice to make wine from. It definitely tasted like cheap wine, but they charge premium prices.

The Ellison Bay area and the Wagon Trail camping were magnificent. Absolutely worth a two-day visit and maybe more. I would like to return and make it at least a three-day stop-over. The first evening and night we had a few terrific thunderstorms including some small hail, which sounded nice on the van roof. We had some nice nature walks: Sand Bay Park/Beach and Ellison Bay Bluff State Natural Area. A restaurant in Ellison Bay proper: Della Porta, was stylish and the food was delicious. In the next post I will chronicle the next leg of the trip, back into Michigan and homewards.

Walking the dogs after arriving in Manitowoc and looking back at our ferry.

Looking over the Green Bay from Ellison Bay Bluff State Park

A neat trail to Sandy Bay Park

More detailed account of our Sept. 2025 trip - Part 1 (10/9/2025)

2025-10-09T12:53:00.000-07:00

Looking over the railing we watched the lighthouse slowly drifting by. Quick a selfie. Soon, the vastness of the open space. Lake Michigan. The boat slowly started swaying and rocking on the waves of the lake. Not badly, but it was perceptible, especially when you watch the horizon. Just a pleasurable experience.

We are standing on the front deck of the Ferry “The Badger.” Built in 1953 as train ferry to shuttle trains between Ludington, Michigan and Manitowoc, Wisconsin. Now it only ferries vehicles across the lake. We are six days into our fall trip. A trip that will eventually take 16 days. It is taking us, somewhat on a whim, on a drive around Lake Michigan, or so we thought. This was partially prompted by the fact that Wisconsin was the only state in the lower 48 (for the non-US residents, these are the US states excluding Hawaii and Alaska) that I had not set foot in, and partially to try something new this year. We had yet to go camping in our van. I miss it. But, we did not want to do another cross-country drive to Los Angeles this year.

The initial plan was to drive up the eastern coast of Lake Michigan and down the west coast. As we all know, all good plans have the option to change; we wanted to stay away from driving in heavy city traffic. All said and done, we decided to drive to Ludington and take the car ferry across to Manitowoc. We would then eventually drive north along the shore of Lake Michigan and cross back over on the Mackinac bridge (a 5-mile long very tall bridge). Both were somewhat anxiety evoking to my wife. Honestly, both were very pleasurable crossings, and absolutely no anxiety was needed (more later).

You are required to travel a few days when you live in Virginia and want to catch the ferry across Lake Michigan. The first two days were spent at the Shenandoah River State Park, where we hiked and visited the Shanandoah National Park. We hiked 2 miles on the Appalachian Trail which gave us some gorgeous vistas of the Shenandoah valley.

After crossing 5 state boundaries (in order: Maryland, West Virginia, Pennsylvania, back to West Virginia and then finally Ohio) we ended up at a camping near Lisbon, Ohio. It was a nice ride, but the camping was so, so. The camping included a good education on how some people live. The manager (or camp host) was a gal who lived with her husband and two kids in a nice large trailer. They had moved to the area from Montana for his job at a nearby refinery. It seemed that the couple just moved from job to job. Follow the money. Then she would pick up some odd jobs here and there, while home schooling the kids. However, this year their oldest had wanted to go to a real (public) school. The next morning a school bus dutifully stopped in front of the camping to pick her up.

We visited friends near Ann Arbor the next night and in the morning, we continued our trip to Ludington. I had screwed up and booked the ferry a day earlier than intended. It meant postponing our planned trip to Holland, Michigan to our return trip. Once in Ludington we visited a microbrewery in town and to the delight of our dogs spent a night in a motel room. In the brewery our dogs provided a rich source of interaction with the folks around us. I do not remember any earth-shaking interactions with folks in Ludington. The beer was decent, but the pizza was strange and fair.

Getting on the ferry and the ferry ride itself was a different story. It was rich with human interactions. Folks with dogs get singled out and their vehicles are boarded last. We had fun walking the dogs before boarding and interacting with fellow dog owners. On board you kept running into the same folks and mid-voyage you were escorted down below to check on the pouches. We really got to know one couple with whom we discussed their vehicle set-up (Ford F-150 pickup with a hybrid package and a camper shell), in particular because we learned that they drove to Alaska in 2024. They also gave us the name of one of their favorite camping spots on the UP (upper peninsula) of Michigan.

The ferry ride was absolutely fun and relaxing. The ferry (the Badger) is an old coal-fired steamship that was built in 1953. Naturally, that fact created a bond between me and the boat, since I was born the same year. The boat served as a railroad ferry, and you can still see the railroad tracks on the boat’s vehicle deck. The ride was 4 hours and the waters on the lake were relatively calm. The boat has two restaurants/snack bars, gift shop, museum and of course the famous Badger Bingo.

The Badger

Breakfast in Manchester, MI

Lighthouse selfie

Boarding the Badger (see the old train tracks?)

The end of a trip (10/2/2025)

2025-10-02T09:49:00.000-07:00

A CCC (Civilian Conservation Corp) log-cabin in the woods on a lake, not a bad thing to end a vacation. The cabin was built around the mid-1930s and obviously was restored and upgraded over time. I remember staying in one some 15 years ago; the floors were rough-sawn planks, now they look like (fake) oak flooring; the kitchen is upgraded, as is the bathroom. Now it even has a covered porch and a nice steel and wire baluster. But it is still rustic; you can see the lake through the trees. An occasional vehicle passes by on the road below.

A sixteen-day vacation book-ended by two 2-day stays in cabins at Virginia state parks: Shenandoah River State Park going, and Douthat State Park returning. It is nice to unwind and relax for two days after 14 days on the road. I tried to make it less frantic, for example, we stayed two days in Door County, Wisconsin at a camping (Wagon trail) that was absolutely one of our favorites. Although I tried to keep each day of driving under 200 miles or theoretically under 4 hours of traveling, we never got to our next destination before 4 pm. Too many fun side trips to natural areas to walk the dogs, or interesting lunch stops. There were the McDonalds, Subways, Arby and Wendys stops for lunch as well, not endorsing anyone.

We were off grid in Douthat, and most of our trip we have tried to keep away from the news. Some news was not easy to avoid since we tried to keep our Wordle streak going and had to sneak a peak at the New York times headlines every time we wanted to solve the various puzzles.

But there were times that we had to look. This was the case when Donna said: “Oh shit, Kim mentions on her Facebook page something about a shooting in Michigan.” We had just exited Michigan the day before and were on our way home driving through central Ohio on our way the glorious Hocking Hills when she mentioned that. When it was her turn to drive, I had to look up the event, to find out we had our next mass shooting, now in a Mormon church. It is extremely tragic to lose all this life to senseless gun violence. Moreover, it is unavoidable to ignore events like this, in particular since I am now the president of a church; a very liberal church at that.

It felt good to be away from church, although I am only president since July 1. I enjoy the challenge and managing the church in a neutral, balanced way. However, it is demanding a lot of patients and maturity from me. I like to joke, be cynical, crack dad (or bad) jokes, but now I must behave myself.

Highlights from these 16 days of vacation? Can I really call it a vacation when you are retired and tell folks that every day is Saturday? When I asked a gas station attendant how he was doing, he replied with OK and asked me how my day was. I told him great, especially since I am retired and every day is Saturday. He replied with “I am retarded too.” Anyway, the highlights include our brief walk on the Appalachian Trail; the visit to our friends in Michigan (for whatever reason); the ferry ride across Lake Michigan; all three camp sites in Wisconsin (Wagon Trail, O.J. Fuller and Big Knob); the Sleeping Bear Dunes; the Hocking Hills and now off grid at Douthat State Park.

It has been a fabulous trip; we have seen and learned a lot. I will write more about it in future posts. Finally also, I now have set foot in all 48 states in the lower 48. Still missing are Hawaii and Alaska. Oh, what a challenge.

Last leg of the trip first; Douthat SP

Yes, we traveled with our dogs

Relaxing on the porch of the CCC cabin at Douthat SP.

Hocking Hill, SP

Made it to Holland, Michigan

A nice night at a campground without mosquitoes

Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore

Seuk Choix Pointe Lighthouse

Camping on the shores of Lake Michigan, sand and mosquitoes

Ellison Bluff State Natural Area, Wisconsin

On the Badger, the ferry from Ludington (MI) to Manitowoc (WI) a 4 hour ride across Lake Michigan

Get on those barricades (8/18/2025)

2025-08-18T17:01:00.000-07:00

As you may have seen in my previous posts, I have been writing about my life and of my immediate family. However, I am currently hitting somewhat of a wall. I guess that happens when you have been reading, listening and watching too much news and combining that with the responsibility as president for a board that is responsible for running a church. Don’t worry, I am not going religious on you. While Unitarian Universalism is definitively a religion, it should not be confused to proselytizing religions. Our motto is that we except folks from all religious and philosophical walks of life. This includes atheists and humanists. We don’t recruit much, but maybe we should; I think a lot of folks could find a spiritual home with us.

But let’s take a step back. These past few months we have been bombarded by news that the climate is worsening including the horrible floods in Texas where at least 135 people died; floods in Milwaukee, New England, New York City, etc.; a pretty strong earthquake and tsunami warnings; wild fires all over the world; and hurricane Erin that went from a category 1 (75 to 95 miles per hour wind) to a category 5 (more than 157 miles per hour or 252 km per hour) within 18 hours. We learn about a flip-flopping tRump who now supports Rusia again, or worse has given us whiplash from his tariff games. Finally, I cannot escape talks about sexual predators on television or in my own life, and no, I am absolutely not one of them, nor have I ever been abused. I have simply not been able to find any good news these past few months. So, why the hell write about my youth and my family; I should be on the barricades.

The Buddhists tell me to live in the moment and enjoy the shitshow. Stoics tell me that even living in the moment will not do it, since this last word I typed in already in the past. They tell me to concentrate on things that I (think) have control over. Talking about barricades, I have participated in a few demonstrations, but is that control? Maybe I have taken control of some of my frustrations by these actions. It definitively feels good to be among peers, people who think the same. However, it sure does not look like I am changing anyone’s mind.

Looking at the blogs that I wrote over the past 12 or so years, I have been warning you about climate change, political extremeness, war, gun violence, the environment, stormwater, soils, life on or near the water, and I occasionally write about life and bonsai. I am hoping that that the occasional post may affect some of you in a positive way; although I have no illusions that I can change the world this way. I confess, I am not doing a damn thing about it except write about it. Yes, I pick up the dog poop when we walk our animals; I recycle (not the poop); we have not used fertilizers or pesticides in our home in years (except my bonsai); we have little to no lawn to speak of; we drive a hybrid; and we vote. Remember, your vote matters!

What message am I trying to convey in this post, what charge am I giving you? I don’t know, maybe this is just a bitch session, a bitch post. Maybe I am trying to get myself motivated to do more; to write more; to bitch more, in the hope to change maybe one mind a year; to get you all motivated to work harder to change this world for the better, for your children and grandchildren. Our descendants deserve a livable world when we are no longer here. Fuck the fake republican fear of budget deficits, environmental deficits make the world unlivable whether we have a balanced budget or not. Let’s get on those barricades together and change the world.

Stolen from the movie Les Misérables

The Story of my parents (Part 2) (8/4/2025)

2025-08-04T16:35:00.000-07:00

Back to 1940. A few days after the Dutch government surrendered my grandparents on my father’s side got a knock at the door. The visitor was someone from the red cross informing my grandmother that one of her son’s had died during the Battle of the Grebbeberg. The visitor handed Wim’s military dog tag to my oma and he left. I have been told that my distraught oma locked herself into a private room and meditated for three days. My oma was a known fortune teller; family lore told us that one of her foremothers was a gypsy fortune teller. I remember that when I was young, during card games with my oma, she would suddenly gasp when she looked at the new hand she had been dealt and say something like “Oh my someone I know will become ill and will be dying soon.” She would refuse to tell you who the person was and that made it even more spine-chilling.

When my oma exited her room after three days, she announced that “Wim wasn’t dead.” Less than a week later Wim walked in the home, very much alive. His partner in the foxhole had been killed and Wim had swapped dog tags with the dead body in the attempt to hide his identity and enable him to join the resistance without implicating the family. The story goes that my grandmother’s hair had turned white during the three days of meditation. She had been a redhead before the episode.

It also seems that my dad worked in France during the early part of WWII. This might have been in 1940 or 41. He never told us much about it, except that he lived or spend time in a brothel in northern France (near Amiens?). While I assume he had a good time with the ladies, he never provided a lot of details of his life there. I found old photographs which showed him on a building site at an airport. On a few pictures you can see him doing some kind of roofing job; he was sitting on top of the roof rafters. I can assume that this was a work camp of sorts. The Germans forced a lot of young adults into forced labor. Jan, my mother’s oldest brother ended up in a labor camp (the concentration camp Bergen-Belsen) and died there two days after being liberated by the Americans.

What happened after that is somewhat of a mystery. I don’t know when exactly it took place, but my dad told me that he tried to escape to either a neutral or an allied country, and he traveled to Finland to try to cross the border into Sweden. I assume he somehow left or escaped the labor camp in France. He probably made it back to the Netherlands and took off for Sweden. I am not sure what his route was, except that he spent some time in Latvia. My research shows that Latvia was officially occupied by the German Army in July 1941 during operation Barbarossa when Hitler tried to invade Russia. Latvia remained under German occupation until October 1944. I also wonder how the heck he was able to do this as a young adult (it must have been in either 1941, 42 or 43, so he was between 19 to 21 year-old) without attracting the attention of the Germans and being (re)captured; however, it seems that he made it to Rovaniemi in Finland and spent the winter there.

The stories that my dad told me of this time include an account of him sitting in a soup kitchen in Latvia across from an elder man with a Jewish star on his jacket. My father told me he was able to sneak one of his id-s in the hope that the guy could use it to stay out of the hands of the Nazis. Stories of Finland include tales of cold, darkness, skiing, drinking and saunas. I learned about one of his buddies who was drunk and went outside to relieve himself. They found him, the next morning, just outside the door dead, frozen solid. Dad told me that they assumed that he tripped and that was it. Dad was never able to cross the Swedish border and somehow made it back to Holland.

Here it gets strange. When I got an interview for a job at a company in Amersfoort, my father insisted on going with me, and he and Donna went to visit the site of Kamp Amersfoort. After my interview they took me there, as well. It seems that my father ended up in that camp after the Finland episode. Amersfoort was a work/transfer camp. I am not sure how long he was back before he was captured. Kamp Amersfoort seemed to house a few Jews, but mostly workcamp evaders waiting for transfer to work camps in Germany. Furthermore, it had some resistance fighters, black marketeers and Russian prisoners of war. It seems that the surviving Russians (Uzbeks) were executed after a few months. Dad talked about having to work in the camp filling sandbags. He told us that he responded to an inquiry by the Germans if there was someone who could operate a train. The train was taking the sandbags to a point from where they were shipped to who knows where. Dad told us that he volunteered but did not know how to drive a train. The train promptly derailed. Did dad sabotage it? He claimed he did, but I am not sure. It could also have been pure incompetence. He told us that he was put in the “Rose Garden”, an enclosure surrounded by barbwire and had to stand in it for 36 hours without water and food.

He became ill with dysentery in the camp and credits his survival on a Russian guard who somehow smuggled in opium which stopped the diarrhea. Amersfoort was mostly a transfer camp. Jews were sent to extermination camps in Germany and the non-Jews to work camps. At times they were the same camps. It is therefore no surprise that my father was put on a transport train to the German concentration camp Buchenwald. It appears that he was not sitting in a cattle car but in a regular passenger car with guards. This might be a separation between the forced labor and the Jews, who I am sure were stuck in cattle carts. Somehow the Dutch resistance jumped the train near Venlo, overwhelmed the guards and my father was thrown out of the slow riding train. He was still very ill and somehow made it to a nunnery or cloister in Belgium, where he was rehabilitated. He told us that he was in a coma for approximately a week. “I saw the light,” he often told me, a near-death experience.

There is another gap in his stories and the next one he told me about was that he joined the Canadian soldiers in the spring of 1945 when they fought their way through the Netherlands, freeing it from the Germans. They were sitting in a barn somewhere in Over-IJssel or the Achterhoek when all the sudden a projectile came flying through one of those typical thatched roofs that many Dutch farmhouses and barns had. It had gotten stuck in the thatch, not exploded and was hanging above their heads. One of the soldiers was brave enough to climb on a chair and decommission the bomb while it was hanging in and from the ceiling. He mentioned that this was one of the scariest episodes in his life. And there you have it, my father’s life till the end of World War II, as I can remember from his stories.

A picture of my mother and her friend Hennie being silly during the war. The sign says "Safety order, it is forbidden to take pictures or have cameras on you. The storm troupes from the Netherlands." These were the German troupes stationed and/or recruited in the Netherlands under Hitler.

The Story of my parents (Part 1) (7/29/2025)

2025-07-29T12:49:00.000-07:00

My father was born in 1922 in Rotterdam; he was the youngest of three brothers. I would need to do some research one of these days to figure out if being the youngest had anything to do with how he turned out. It always seemed to me he was always running away from something; maybe not so by the end of his life; but that is even debatable. He committed suicide in 1984, which is a method of getting away from it all; but that is getting ahead of the story.

My grandfather owned a contracting business. I previously wrote about my family’s background in the construction trade in my blog, and the following is a quote from the post:

Uncle Willem (Wim), dad's brother owned a construction company, and when we moved back to the town of Capelle and den IJssel in 1996 he had developed and built almost ¾ of that town. As I mentioned before my opa (grandfather) owned a construction company, as well. However, my uncle Wim built his company on his own, from scratch. My great-grandfather (my grandfather’s father) was also into construction. He was a very skilled carpenter and his claim to fame was that he supposedly built the Bijenkorf (a large department store) in the center of The Hague (Den Haag). This must have been in the early 1900s.

The one thing he told me about his growing up was the meetings that were held at his home. I think they had maybe clandestine meetings of the Dutch communist party. I am not sure if these meetings were held before or after the second World War. He told me about his memory of the singing of the “International”, the communist anthem. He also mentioned often intently listening to Joaquin Rodrigo’s Concerto de Aranjuez; during or after discussions on the Spanish civil war of the 1930s; the same one Hemingway was in. This concert was published in 1939 and first recorded in 1947. My father played it a lot when I was young, telling me that it brought him back to those (post WWII) meetings; to the time, I guess, when he was 25 and about to marry my mother in 1948. The second movement of the piece may actually be a memorial to the bombing of Guernica in 1937.

My father had one best friend, Piet Doornbos and his parents lived in an upstairs apartment in the house owned by my grandfather. Piet’s father worked for my grandfather and stories abound that my grandfather would frequent the upstairs apartment, especially when Piet’s father was at work. My grandfather had a reputation of sleeping around; and my mother, Piet’s wife and my grandmother (oma) were always privately wondering if my father and Piet were half-brothers, since they were so alike in behavior. But on the other hand, they grew up together, so who knows? They confided their suspicion to me, but I do not think they ever told the two men. I am not even sure if Piet’s kids were ever told of the women’s suspicion.

My grandparents owned a vacation cabin and a daysailer on the Rottemeren, a lake on the river de Rotte, north-northeast of Rotterdam. I have photographs of the family outings to the lake, and my father and brothers (including Piet) as boy scouts sailing on the lake.

Germany invaded the Netherlands on May 10, 1940. My father was barely 18 years old. His brothers were in the Dutch military, and my understanding is that they took part in the Battle of the Grebbeberg. The Germans won that battle and slowly advanced. On May 14 they bombed Rotterdam and demanded unconditional surrender. Right after the bombing, probably on the 14th or 15th the city emptied; people fled the burning city. My father and his parents traveled up the Rotte to their cabin. It is my understanding that during that evacuation or maybe during previous outings, my mother who lived in Terbregge along the river noticed my father and vice versa and a love story developed. My mother was almost 13 years old at the time of the bombing, and she told me that her friends and her were fascinated by these older boisterous boys on the river.

My mother told me that she did not have a happy youth. Her mother was mean; and when I grew up, we all thought grandma looked like a witch. I realize that is not a nice way to think about your grandmother, but later I learned she had acted a little like that as well. When my mother grew up, she would tell her: “I don’t understand why I have three beautiful sons and you an ugly daughter. I am not sure where you came from; maybe the milkman left you here with one of his deliveries.” She also treated her husband like dirt, and he walked (was kicked) out of his home three times for six-month stints, and then he crawled back home. He (Simon van den Ende) was the proprietor of the local butcher shop and when he left home he moved into a boarding house near his store. My mother told us that he was somewhat of a pushover, a softy. Hence, my young mother’s interest in this happy family that had fun on the river.

Opa van den Ende died in 1956. I know that I met him (I have a photograph of me sitting on a potty in front of him); I was 3 at the time. I stayed with oma in Terbregge for 3 months in the summer and early fall of 1959. I briefly attended the first grade in the village and contracted mononucleosis; kissing disease at the ripe old age of 6. I remember the walk from school to the gate in oma’s back yard.

My grandparents on their sailboat on the Rottermeren

My parents. I am not sure what the date is, if they were dating or married.

My eulogy/autobiography (7/4/2025)

2025-07-04T11:17:00.000-07:00

I just turned 72 and am sitting here on pins and needles waiting for the word that my first grandson was born. This will be a thing of the past by the time this writing will be made public, either as part of a memoire and/or a blog post. Why now, can we blame turning 72, my grandson, or my daughter or her wife for this introspection? I don’t know; it is probably a combination of a lot of things.

I am in a men’s group, and we assigned ourselves the project of writing our own eulogy. If that wasn’t enough, during a birthday get together a good friend asked me all kinds of biographical questions, and unbeknown to me he taped the whole conversation. He showed me that he was recording it after my birthday dinner at a Mexican restaurant. This made me feel self-conscious, and together with the fact that I now will have someone to carry on the torch (a grandson), it made me want to record a little more of mine and my family’s history. I have done a bit of this already in some of my blog posts, and I may refer to them when appropriate. I expect that I will publish sections of this writing in my blog, again in the hope that those of my direct family that comes after me will read it and find it interesting, useful and informative.

Where to start? But below is a section of the eulogy that I wrote for myself or maybe for those celebrating my life on this blue marble once I kick the proverbial bucket.

“What the heck is Kalemi? Well actually it is a town in the far eastern part of Congo. During colonial times it was the Belgium Congo, and the town was named Albertville after one of Belgium’s monarchs. I (my name) was born in that town on June ??, 195?. We are gathered here to celebrate the premature passing of Jan-Willem or as many of his friends knew him “Jan the man.” As he often told us that when at a doctor’s office no one got up when a name was called, it meant it was his turn to see the doctor. Everybody seemed to have difficulties pronouncing his name, and then when “Jan” got up they seemed even more confused. Is Jan a guy?”

Did it frustrate me that folks had difficulties with my name, my first and last name? Not at all, I found it amusing. In its own way it showcased the lack of cosmopolitan experience that I have observed in this country. Living in Cincinnati in the late 1990s I was always tickled when during our first meeting folks would ask me which high school I had graduated from. Like the majority in the area, they had never spread their wings, and they could obviously not fathom that there was actual life outside Cincinnati. Even more fun was when they told you about the great vacation they had in Indiana, a state maybe less than 20 miles to the west. Here in the Hampton Roads, where I currently live, it is a little less narrow-minded, since there is a large concentration of military and ex-military that have spent time in foreign countries on military installations or at war.

During the clandestinely recorded interview our friend Mason wanted to know how the heck I ended up being born in a small town situated on Lake Tanganyika (or now Lake Tanzania). Well, my father had a job there as director of a furniture company. That raised even more questions, so here we need to pause and start with the story of my father, which then raised the question of how my father and mother met. As you can imagine, the questions never ended.

I'll stop here. If there is a next post it will be about my father before 1948.

Me as a 10-month-old on Lake Tanganika in the Congo

My dad and I around the same time.

Mother and son

Chaos anyone? or the three C-s of this administration. (6/20/2025)

2025-06-20T12:56:00.000-07:00

Recently, I read somewhere about the 3C-s of the Republican Administration. It seems that the tRump Whitehouse thrives on:

Chaos
Cruelty, and
Corruption

I would like to add three more C-s:

Carelessness
Criminality
Confusion

Although it seems that chaos and carelessness may be related as are corruption and criminality, but then, the Supreme Court kind of ruled that the president is above it all.

When all fails, the administration can always resort to name calling and accuse others of conduct that they are actually doing. One of the latest was tRump calling Bruce Springsteen and wrinkled old prune and then to think the plump old prune in the Whitehouse is older than Bruce. Moreover, he has a much lower cognitive ability, cannot remember things and has a reduced language ability. But it seems that there is never a dull moment in American politics these days. I am just amazed that every Republican in Congress just rolls over and plays dead; I cannot imagine that they do not see it. Real character is missing or are they afraid of losing their cushy, high paying job?

I have been reading a book on the old Greek and in particular Roman stoic philosophers (A Guide to the Good Life by William B. Irvine). While reading this, I have concluded that tRump and a lot of the folks associated with his regime are simply very unhappy, un-balanced people. Truth be told, if you are happy in your skin and with your life, you do not crave approvement, constant acknowledgement, stroking, bribes, more wealth, more possessions, more power; you do not need to gaslight everybody. I can go on. When you are happy with the situation you are in, you are at peace with yourself, calm, tranquil and you work for the betterment of society, not your financial, social or political standing. Even the portraits he put up of himself show that he is brooding, angry and suspicious. His incessant use of social media illustrates his need for validation and his need for power. He cannot rest on his laurels. He is not tranquil, and I wonder what he is running from or to.

In the past, I mentioned that in order to break him we need to ignore him for a week or maybe even a day or two <here>. Do not mention him in the news, give him complete radio silence. Lack of attention: may be dangerous; he is likely to start a nuclear war just to get in the news; however, it may also give him such a fit that he may perish in loneliness, or lack of attention. For one, he should know that we will all perish one day as was detailed by the senator from Iowa (Jodi Ernst). In full disclosure, I have only watched the (inter)national news probably 3 or 4 times since his election, but I do watch local news and read two national newspapers in which he features prominently. In other words, I have yet to ignore him myself. But then the world seems to go to hell in a hurry; in LA, the Middle East and who knows where else.

Back to the newscasts. I started writing this post at the time of the big divorce between the two buddies tRump and mUsk. Crazy, and as I mentioned, there is something new every day. How should I feel now that the guys that I hate the most have a fall out? I’m not sure, but I definitely do not want vAnce. Maybe it is better that they kiss and make up. And the invasion of LA by his troops. This country is really between a rock and a hard place, isn’t it? That serenity prayer that I wrote about sounds so good (and stoic).

I spend a lot of time in the garden and with my bonsai. That is the only way I can achieve some sanity and tranquility.

Exhausted and exasperated (5/22/2025)

2025-05-22T12:00:00.000-07:00

I feel empty and exhausted. Crazy, considering I sleep well, exercise (walk and bike), have hobbies (I work on at least three or four of my bonsai trees almost daily), do a lot of reading lately, you name it. I have my fair share of friends (or should I call them acquaintances). In other words, I have a full life as a retired dude. Am I depressed? Am I getting old and this is part of slowing down? My diet? I do not know.

Maybe I need more adventures. A few weeks ago, we had a great visit to James River State Park, and that was a welcome diversion. Then we experienced the election of a new pope. He is 69 years old and three years younger than I am. Leo (his newly chosen name) is embarking on a completely new adventure. I guess that in July I will embark on a new adventure as a grandfather and as chairperson (president) of our Unitarian Universalist church board. I have already been made aware of all the potential difficulties I might be getting involved with at church. Grandfathering will hopefully be easier.

I guess it is the incessant news about tRump and his antics that exhausts me the most. There seems to be something else every day ranging from “screw the poor and help the rich" to lining his own pocket with a donated airplane.

One of the books that I am currently reading (I am reading four at the same time) deals with the old Greek and Roman stoic philosophy. Very much like Buddhism, it tells me not to worry about the past (it is over), not about the future (not much we can do about, it is coming whether you like it or not), and don't worry about what is happening right now (it will be a thing of the past in an eye-blink). Remember the idea about never crossing the same creek twice? It is different every time, different water molecules. What is left? Enjoy the moment. The Buddhist say, “live in the moment.” I wish I was able to take that attitude, but it is difficult in today’s sociopolitical climate.

This is probably why it feels so good to have new and different adventures to look forward to. While apprehensive, I am excited about what’s to come. I am thinking about flying west to visit my new (first) grandson. In addition, I have been planning a trip circumnavigating Lake Michigan. We have never visited Wisconsin, and I would love to visit Holland, Michigan. We’ll see if it comes to fruition.

I think it is very important to have new adventures in life and not to stagnate. In many of my posts I write about never stopping to learn (one example is here and here). But I get 543 posts when I enter the word learn in my blog search bar. I think it crucial to keep learning and develop your critical thinking skills.

I read somewhere that the reason why time seems to go faster when you grow older is that you do not experience anything new that needs to be processed by the brain. Young folks, on the other hand, need to process all the new experiences and therefore the time seems to go much slower. What am I trying to explain here? New experiences at an older age slow down the perceptual time. In other words, I am looking forward to all these new adventures (new experiences) and growing old slower.

So many folks in this and a lot of other countries have given up on experiencing new things, on learning. They act like sheep, being herded by a dog or even a shepherd (read authoritarian leasers like tRump). It appears that they have lost their ability to think on their own, although they still think that they are thinking on their own. They are just following what the demagogues, the gas lighters or dictators tell them.

I don’t care if you are liberal, conservative, have a different sexual orientation, black, white or purple, we all need to keep learning, experience new things, think and question what we read, see or hear on the television or get from social media. Reading, learning and bonsai is how I am trying to fight my exhaustion.

One of my trees that I have been working on (a water birch)

Serenity please (5/8/2025)

2025-05-08T12:13:00.000-07:00

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

I have a friend whose adult son is addicted to fentanyl. He has been kicked out from rehab clinics for the stupidest things such as giving (selling?) cigarettes at the clinic he was in for rehab (yes, he was stupid). His son now lives out of his car in Richmond; he refuses help from his father and is still using drugs whenever he can. My friend was told that he is essentially helpless and just must wait till his son either dies or genuinely asks his father for help and to put him in rehab again. In the meantime, my friend’s counselor told him to pray. The problem is that he does not believe in a god, and we had a long discussion on prayer. We concluded that the best would be to recite the serenity prayer that I started out with in this post.

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

My wife and I are extremely upset by what the current occupier of the White House is doing. So much so that when we watch some of the comics making fun of tRump or mUsk and accomplices, she gets even more upset. We refuse to watch the national news shows any longer, although we do read the New York Times and the Washington Past. She is getting more and more distressed. I told her to recite the serenity prayer:

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

I have adopted a more Buddhist attitude: you cannot do anything about the past (or dwell on it), you cannot impact or be worried about the future (or get upset about it). However, best is to try to live in the present and enjoy the shit show!

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

Maybe a strange way of living; and yes, I get pissed about what these people and the republican house and senate are doing. The only thing that I can do about it is to contact my elected officials, to demonstrate, and to advertise my displeasure in my writings, postings and interaction with people.

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

As I promised in my latest post, I will continue writing and let you know where my heart is and what’s going on in my mind and heart. We are living in difficult times; USAID, the EPA, NOAA, Social Security, health and money items more are being assailed by these nuts, they want the clearcut and mine our national parks and monuments. They are going after art and education, planning to turn museums into prisons. This all feels very much like what happened in the 1920s and 30s in Germany; and we know what that led to. They built their first concentration camp in Poland, the republicans built one in El Salvador. Nicely out of the way of the public in both cases (the 30s and now). So don’t get me wrong, I am angry and upset; however, I keep reminding myself to “enjoy the shit show.”

One more time:

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

Last week we spent some time at James River State Park near Gladstone, VA. It was so nice to be off the grid and enjoy the night sky in this dark sky park,