Friday, May 1, 2026 (Beltane/May Day); from Jinny in San Diego, CA to Sally in Taneytown, MD
Dear Sal,
A somewhat “upside down” spring here. We experienced our hottest March on record, with a number of days of 90+ highs, and almost no moisture. The dry heat made it awkward to figure out what and when to plant—I started a couple of eggplant seedlings much earlier than I typically would have. I’m experimenting with sweet potato slips in the raised bed in the backyard. They’re surviving, but would be much happier with cooler weather and more sky-gifted moisture.
The temperatures didn’t stop us from attending the latest of a series of “No Kings” rallies in downtown San Diego. The event, on the final Saturday of March, coincided with part of grandson Parker’s spring break from college. He gave us a ride to our nearest trolley stop, avoiding the need to drive downtown. I was a little disappointed the crowd was not larger (estimated by police at 40,000, by organizers at closer to 50,000). I’m pretty sure that weather was a factor. I really liked some of the clever homemade signs people carried, a marked contrast to the uniformity of red hats and pre-printed signs at Trump rallies:
“Don’t bite the hands that feed you,” (superimposed on an image of the flag of Mexico)
“Trump: $20.28 per gallon” (simultaneously debunking notions that theorangeman is entitled to run for a third term, and pointingout the soaring price of gasoline, mostly due to the war with Iran)
“Honor the troops, question the wars”
“Grandmas against Fascism” (held aloft by an older woman who’d come with her lawn chair and sat in the shade at the edge of the parade route)
One middle aged man I talked with briefly wore his slogan on his t-shirt. He was an entomologist at an area university. His shirt (and hat, too) proclaimed for all to see: “We only need one monarch, and it’s a butterfly.”
For me, one of the most telling and most concise summaries of our current situation had just six words: “Sicker, poorer, dumber, meaner—Thanks, Trump!”
My fervent hope is that we will avoid another pandemic or related health emergency while the current occupant of the White House and his health administrators continue to dismantle any relevant safety nets and health insurance funding. Other, smaller rallies were held throughout San Diego County the same day, with overall attendance estimated at nearly 100,000 people in 22 different venues. Now if all of us will only vote come November!
A few weeks earlier, Jim and I had met son Scott, Morgan, and granddaughter Kenley in Las Vegas for a long weekend. We’d negotiated the logistics ahead of time—if we’d provide babysitting services one evening, Scott and Morgan would bring Kenley with them and stay in “Sin City” for a couple of extra days. The two adults would attend a concert by the Backstreet Boys, one of Morgan’s favorite groups, at the immersive venue The Sphere. Fans converged in droves to concerts of this “boy band” formed in Florida during the 1990’s. Maybe a little like the cult of Elvis when we were teenagers? I’d looked up a few of their musical hits, and vaguely recognized the tunes and lyrics.
I’d packed a few kids’ books to gift to a not-quite-four-year-old who’s beginning to work on learning her letters. The evening of the concert, Kenley got fixated on one older book (from a library book sale) about shopping, with alliterative products at each store—groceries, clothing, flowers, etc. We must have read it together at least 30 times. It got lost in their packing to go home, and seems to be out of print, so Kenley will continue to learn her letters via other media.
The day after the concert, the five of us went together to “Shark Reef,” a large aquarium in the basement of one of the resort complexes in town. Kenley got a charge out of trying to “pet” the stingrays.
In early April, I took a “solo sabbatical” and spent a day of quiet at one of the California missions fairly close to us. The Mission of San Luis Rey is about 20 miles from where we live. It bills itself as “king of the missions, a place for solitude, healing, and revitalization with a variety of spiritual and educational programs.” I’d registered online ahead of time and paid the small fee for access to a private room and the beautifully landscaped gardens between 9 a.m. and 4 p.m. I arranged with a local post-covid personal driver to get me to the mission in the morning and then to pick me up after the worst of rush hour in the evening. The short break from everyday chores and from media was just what I needed.
Media or no media, I can’t quite ignore the passing years. I’ve had another birthday and so am closing in on the “big eight oh” next spring—it somehow seems more daunting than a seven. I don’t remember much about Mom’s 80th, except that she seemed to want to downplay her aging. Perhaps we all do. It would be special if you could come to whatever celebrations Jim and I choose to have (he’ll hit 80, too), but I don’t expect it to happen.
So far, this year’s May Day finds me healthy (mostly), wealthy (somewhat), and perhaps a tiny bit wiser than earlier in life. I hope the same is true for you. Please take good care. Lots of virtual hugs!
Love, Jin
