Memorial Day is my least favorite day of the year even though it often coincides with my birthday. There’s nothing grimmer than a day set aside to honor the dead, primarily those who died in battle, that’s been co-opted by cook-outs and door buster sales. And so I’m feeling crabby. And cranky. And battling the urge to eat junk food. Tons of junk food. Fried, salty, spicy and terribly, terribly fattening!

It’s also the official start to my least favorite season: summer. When I was a kid, summers meant endless hours of swim team practice, ear infections, blurry vision, and slimy, yellow-green hair. And that was during the week. Then… yippee! Weekend backpacking trips into the High Sierra. Nothing could be more fun for a teenage girl than trudging uphill, carrying a thirty-pound backpack, and breathing in the dust from the mule train ahead of her. I never did get the “glories of nature” bit my father promised from those “vacations.”

Now if I could have ridden this beast up the mountain, I might have enjoyed backpacking!

I was in a hurry but the next time I’m over at the park, I’ll make sure of jot down the name of the artist. What a masterpiece of imagination!

My daughter has always been very good at sending cards. All different types of cards for all imaginable holidays and events. Only, she’s never been into arts and crafts and so generally it’s a store bought card. However, her daughter enjoys drawing and so for special events I usually get an Audrey original. Audrey likes flowers.

Of course, her younger brother is at that age where he is not to be outdone by his sister.

You’ll notice the more forceful style. Happy Mother’s Day or else. But I really got a chuckle from this message.

“Ok, so I will draw a picture for you!“

Do you think a little coercion was involved? As in: “Don’t you want to draw a picture for your Grandma?”

(That’s probably meant to be a coffin in the ocean with Grandma’s dead body inside and she’s floating off into the sunset. No more pesky prods to draw pictures for her!)

We aren’t all lucky enough to be mothers in the literal sense but most of us have cared for someone at some point in our lives, even if that someone had fur or scales or feathers or . . .

And so, Happy Caring Person Day to us all!

*** This message was not coerced.

She gave it a shot. Nesting under the eaves on our front porch. But, upon second thought, she decided not to take the risk. At least, I hope that’s what happened.

In other news, this spring had been brutal on many plants. California is going through menopause with brutal hot flashes followed by stormy temper tantrums. The weathermen don’t even seem to know what to expect. It should be called Global Confusioning.

This poppy plant survived.

From one my all-time favorite Beatles albums, a song about fleeting relationships which always reminds me of sitting by the fire on a snowy night a very long time ago.

I hate to brag, but I have a very talented automobile. Behold her masterpiece:

Those of you familiar with the work of Georgia O’Keeffe may think my sixteen-year-old gutless wonder is copying her style, but no brushes were used in creating this masterpiece. Only the rising sun.

Of course, like sandcastles and chalk murals, car art is transient. Here one moment; gone the next.

Here is another work of art, slightly less transient.

Shelly, who’s been the star attraction at the local garden shop for SIXTY Years.

Not to worry – she’s well taken care of.

Who wants to read a novel based a woman’s fourteen year battle with the Tax Man? No one, am I right? Which is what I tried to tell my publisher back in 2014 . . . Taxes, ugh. Although . . . it is extremely easy for many married woman to run afoul of the Almighty Tax Code and find themselves with a tit caught in the wringer (as my grandmother used to say). All is takes is “willful avoidance.” Care to guess what that is?

But my publisher insisted I was wrong and so painfully, and employing a heap of sarcasm, I wrote the book and titled it, of course, Willful Avoidance. To promote the book, I wrote a series of posts on Looney Tax Laws married women and men (guess what married guys – it can happen to you too!) should know.

In Honor of US Tax Day:

Five Deadly Sins in the Eyes of the Taxman:  Language in the tax code that might surprise you, especially if you don’t understand the financial documents your spouse insists you sign.

The Three Easy Pieces:  The minimum requirements for Innocent Spouse Relief if your spouse’s financial fandangos leave you in the crosshairs of the IRS.

Secrets of a Kick Ass Tax Woman:  How a tax expert will help you fight the Code if you threaten his manly parts.

Off to See the Wizard: Fun facts about the judges on the Court of Last Appeal.

Confronting the BOE:  Your last hope – The Board of Equalization (not to be confused with The Equalizer.)

Has this ever happened to you? A long time friend announces out of the blue that she’s started going to church and then waits for your response.

“That’s great. I’m happy for you.”

“Really?”

“Why, yes really.” (What did she expect me to say?)

I’ve had this happen a couple of times and there doesn’t seem to be a good way to respond. Churches provide companionship and solace for a great many people. Churches can do a lot of good in their communities and throughout the world. If I found one that didn’t demand I accept all church doctrines, tenets and interpretations of the scriptures without question or debate then I’d probably join. If I found one that studied other belief systems with open hearts and minds, then I’d probably join.

I should point out that I’d met these ladies in the SF Bay Area where for decades we’d worked (and partied with) gay people, trans people, Muslims, Atheists, Jews, Hindus, Wiccans, Devil worshipers . . . You name it. Both of these women had been married and divorced, both had had affairs with married men (and men of color) and both had probably endured at least one abortion.

And then both women (for different reasons) had moved to towns in the inland valleys of California where, after about a year, they’d informed me they’d started going to church. I could have informed them that I’ve actually read and studied the Bible as well as volunteered countless hours etc. But that isn’t the point, is it? Believing in the concepts of Christianity and attempting to act on them shouldn’t be a competition.

And so I attempted to move on to other topics and when that hadn’t worked, and the conversation turned stale and humorless, I’d moved sadly on.

I awoke this morning thinking about this beautiful boy, my nephew, who unfortunately never grew into a man although he would have been a great one which is probably why my ex-husband always called him “Great Scott.” Today would have been his birthday.

You can see in this child’s face, slightly swollen from the chemo, radiance. In this child’s eyes, wisdom beyond his years. In this child’s smile, acceptance.

For the Great Scotts of the world, please . . . not another needless and totally preventable war. There’s enough misery in the world.