Throughout our pilgrim’s progress, we meet so many people who come into our lives and then just disappear into the vast wilderness of moving on.  Sometimes, like now, especially in my old age, I wonder whatever happened to them.

A happy moment a few weeks ago when I saw a fox on my front yard grabbing a squirrel by the neck.

Now I know a lot of companies are jumping on the spicy mayonnaise bandwagon, but their products are worthless.  Spice to them means bland as usual.  Stick with Sir Kensington.  Is it four times more expensive than the other products?  Yes.  Is it worth it?  Yes.  You can make up for it with ramen for dinner.

Now I understand that most people, when about to travel, will assess their wardrobe and think that maybe they need a new addition to make them sparkle. I know this is my daughter’s philosophy. Not me. I have those trusty four blouses from Steinmart that I trot out over and over.

Exercise? Yes. Somewhere in the morning I fit in enough to satisfy my watch. I used to walk every day for about 25 minutes, but lately I’ve decided not to walk if it’s too hot or too cold. So what do I do for exercise? I empty the dishwasher. I fold the clothes. I take an indoor walk. For some reason lately I haven’t made my monthly challenge. My fault? Or should the challenges be easier? Or should I just get a Timex and leave the Apple Watch in its box?

That garden used to be filled with coneflowers, but then the black-eyed susans came along and kapow. There went the garden. They didn’t affect the tiger lilies, but the poor coneflowers were defeated. Only now, several years later have they started to come back. I’m watching for the pernicious yellow to rear its beautiful but deadly head.

Where is all this leading, you ask, and what does it have to do with FLOWERS OF THE DESERT? Well, I didn’t meet those flowers until July 1967. (By the way, FLOWERS OF THE DESERT was not my title for the book. In fact like most authors, I’m guessing, I went into a bookshop and asked if they carried FLOWERS OF THE DESERT. They sent me to the horticultural shelf. The whole experience of getting that book published was a nightmare with the worst editor any author could ever have. She lacked complete understanding of the culture I was trying to represent.)

Now we have another one, poised to become president again. Do we lack the moral stamina to stop him? Could it be that we’re so long from our quest for freedom that we’re no longer patriotic? We forget how we fought against tyranny to establish a union dedicated to liberty and justice for all.

Do you have the life you want? When you were a child, did you dream of commanding the space shuttle or perhaps having the perfect wedding with twenty bridesmaids, all size 4. Maybe you were good in sports and had dreams of an Olympic medal. Or played the flute and thought, if James Galway could do it, why not me?

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?