Well, folks and fellow travelers, I had a premonition that our cruise was going to be difficult, one surrounded by an aura of disappointment. I’m not Cassandra. And yet——!

I’m not exactly a caring person—I am assured of this by my children—but I’m beginning to have a teeny tiny bit of sympathy for what my husband was going through. Of course, I still find his many bathroom escapades annoying, but now at least they are understandable.

Dear fellow followers of the Babes: With the world in such a perilous state, why are we taking another cruise? Because we signed up for it ages ago before the crap fell from the skies.

I truly don’t understand the Israel/Gaza protests happening around the world but especially in the United States of America. I’m especially puzzled by the protests on college campuses, especially the “elite” ones that are costing parents over $100,000 a year. So I have to ask those students, why are you here? If you truly believe in your cause, why aren’t you in Gaza?

As those of you who have followed me may realize by now that every day I face a new annoyance. As my son said, I live to complain. Do you know that pessimists are more realistic and thus know how to grab fun when they see it, which makes them more positive than an optimist? Is that true? Who the hell knows, but I choose to believe it.

How much effort does it take to say, “Les Miserable?” None. Does saying “Les Mis” make you feel in with the in crowd? Or do you just not know the real source of “Les Mis?” Or, here’s another thought. Maybe you’ve read the novel and found it dragging in spots, so you abridged it, the same way you abridged the title. Here I’m giving you some credit. Take it while you can. But what about “The Three Musketeers?” Do you ever say, “Have you seen ‘Les Trois?’” Something to consider.

Wills, bequests, the pain thereof: I bring this subject up because several people I know are dealing with this situation right now, and they aren’t happy about it. Will the fabric of the family be ripped apart by a will?

I’m sure there was a time in my life when I was excited by snow. Isn’t every child?

Even now, living alone in what some might call old age, those “some” being my children and the help at Costco, who see me coming and get their wand ready to check out heavy items—and yes, I am old enough to buy that bottle of bourbon—I have spaces for absolute silence where my thoughts can wander. In other words, I have chairs.

Then I thought to myself, how privileged you are to have power in the first place, and in the second only to have it out for a few hours—well, who knows when it actually went out.

I had a day to unpack before—wham—woke up with a massive headache, tested myself and have now joined the ranks of Covid sufferers. Is any air safe to breath?

I used to care so much about everything, get all hot and bothered, worried about what was happening on planet earth, but now, well, what the hell, why bother? The seven deadly sins will always exist. The four horsemen are still on the war path. Life will go on without me. And I’ll go on without life.

We’re at it again. The clothes and makeup critic (of her mother) and I are setting off on another cruise adventure.

I love bad poetry. I’ve written bad poetry. In fact, when I was in college, Donald Hall used one of my poems in class as an example of bad poetry. Thank you, Donald. I appreciated that. However, in my second semester of poetry writing, X. J. Kennedy used a poem of mine as an example of, I guess what one could call, “acceptable” poetry. So I can learn.

You weep for the children of Palestine, their mothers, their fathers, their grandparents, as do we all. But you go a step further. You applaud the rape, the murder, the dismemberment, the burning to death of the citizens of Israel, who weren’t only Jews, but also Arabs and Thais.

Am I obsessed with Jelly Juice? No. It’s a time filler for when I don’t want to think of other things I should be doing, like figuring out health care choices now that it’s open season again.

In my continuing efforts to clean out the basement, I found a bin with old photos, yes, from real film, before digital took over the world. The only question I can ask myself is how did I allow myself to get so fat!

My husband, may I label him the ultimate hoarder? He has moved to assisted living, I’m left with the detritus. He saved test papers from high school on. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. From bin to trash in one easy step. Well, not so easy, three steps really and carrying them isn’t fun.

What shall I wear today?  What says me? Well, okay, I guess I’ll go with the usual and look like a schlub. 

They hadn’t written their own vows.  Riley thought it was a corny thing to do.  She just wanted the traditional ceremony.  Vows could be so—sappy.  And sappiness could be saved for the toasts at the reception.