I’m thinking folks who are concerned about transgender people using the restroom of their choice don’t know much about women’s restrooms.

First, let me say, as nearly as I can tell, the people who are over-wrought about this aren’t really worried about transgender people. They’re afraid that heterosexual men will pretend to be transgender so they can go into women’s restrooms and sneak peeks at the girls (best case scenario) or rape them (worst case scenario).

Here’s the thing: In large women’s restrooms, there are multiple stalls with doors that shut.  A woman or girl goes into one totally clothed, does her business, and comes out totally clothed.  Then she goes over to the row of sinks to wash up.  Here she probably engages in polite conversation with the other women lined up there.  They may pass each other paper towels or comment on how nice it is to have hot water or commiserate about the opposite.

In single person restrooms, you lock the door when you go in.

Now, I realize bad things can happen.

Many years ago in the Oakland Colosseum, during a Warriors game, a friend went alone into a large restroom that seemed to be deserted.  Not a smart move to start with.  While she was seated in a stall, a man climbed up and leaned over the top of the adjacent stall.  This woman had a Texas drawl that had been honed to perfection over time. She looked up at him and said, “Sir, you should be ashamed of yourself.  Your poor mother would be so embarrassed if she knew what you were doing. Now, you get yourself out of here and go back and watch the game, right this minute.”

I do realize this event could have had a tragic ending.

Here’s another thing:  I have never been in a men’s room, but I understand that they do not afford the privacy that women’s restrooms do.  I think a really tragic and more likely ending to this bathroom dilemma would be for a transgender man having to use the men’s room and being assaulted there.

Mother always said,”Go before you leave the house.”

No one asks me for advice these days, which is ironic, because after all these years I have picked up some pretty good ideas, and I have figured out how to choose good ideas  over the bad ones that can cause folks a lot of problems.  Which is another way of saying I’ve learned a lot from my mistakes.

Here’s a good idea:  If you have less than admirable friends, find new ones.

Here’s another: If you live in a remote place, like Pecos or Hotchkiss or Maui or Salem, read the NY Times online.  Not so much for the “news.”  You can get that 24/7 anyplace you happen to be.  Avoiding the 24/7 and sorting through it is the challenge, so turn it off.  That’s my advice. Just turn it off!  But with the Times, you get book reviews, TV suggestions, all sorts of fascinating opinions to sort through in the Op-Ed section, and even a great “recipe of the day.”

And grow something.  Great or small.

Even if you can only have a pot on a window sill or on a porch ledge. Grow something.  Here endeth the lesson.

Today is Primary Day in NY, which, apparently Candidate Trump sees as his hood.

One hardly knows what to say about him. He just has so much to say about himself.

Here’s a favorite quote: “I’m less focused on New York now,” he said. “I started going international and national, which is what we are doing now, and then I did the presidential thing, so that to me is cooler than all of it.”

How cool is that? All this country needs is a president who wants to be cool. Never mind his inability to talk like a grownup.

He is also quoted as having said, “I was the king of approvals.”  I have no idea what that means.  I think he was talking about his ability to get financing for risky projects. I think he’s rather be king than president.

Regarding his eccentric coif, you can see lots of pictures online illustrating how he achieves this look. My question has never been “How?”

Pick one as your worst nightmare:

1. Putin riding a horse half-naked
2. Trump caught in a wind tunnel
3. Trump and Putin liking each other on Facebook

I’m thinking of the first presidential campaign I remember in my childhood.  I think I was in fourth grade and I had an “I Like Ike” button that I thought was very nice.  Those were the days.

Faithful readers, both of you, know how much I love where I live.

True. There were some challenges last week, but just living in this beautiful place where I have found  “community” makes coping doable.

First, St. P.’s worked valiantly to minister to a refugee family.

Although we were saddened that this turned out to be an abortive attempt to meet their cultural needs,  we sent them on their way to what we hope is a good new home.

The other challenge was our sweet Rosie’s diagnostic surgery.  Our neighborhood vet clinic, where Rosie and Roxie and I, along with previous beloved family companions, Kobe, Lula, and Blue, have been cared for in times of concern and sadness, is such a great comfort. Everyone who works there is a family friend.  Rosie’s extensive test results are pending.  In the meantime, she is back to her old self, resting up during a Sunday nap with Roxie and me. (Be sure to get the full details of this relaxing time by noting the bra hanging over the chair in the background. My legs are thankfully concealed under the quilt.)

Moving on to more of the reasons I love it here, one day Roxie and I walked over to St. P.’s to drop off some bay leaves from our tree for a stew-making project in the church kitchen.  Saw some beautiful spring stuff and some eccentric art objects on the way.

This was in our pathway on the corner of High and Rural:

This in a carport:

At which Roxie barked ferociously.

One evening, I went to an evening artists’ open studio event at  Willamette Heritage center.  I took this to send to the artist’s mother, who is a friend:

The things I love about this town range from the ridiculous to the sublime, and sometimes, I’m not sure which is which.

I love it that a big insert in the local paper on Saturday  was this:

How do you not love a place where folks look to tractors to realize their potential?

I really don’t.  It’s just fun to read about new babies and the names their parents bestow upon them.  I often choose winners and losers.

The winner of my Best Baby Name Prize this week is Addison Katherine.

Of course, I always bestow a booby prize too.  That was going to Everlie Kimber-Luv, until I spotted these twins:

Hella Feioch Preanna and Helli Fuuran Karsista, whose parents have the traditional names of Nancy and Peter.  I’m thinking perhaps Nancy was still under the influence of some nice analgesics when she chose those burdensome appellations, and Peter wasn’t going to argue with her at that point.  Or perhaps they have some ethnic significance that is lost on me.  Going to be lost on  their kindergarten teacher too when it’s time to learn how to spell and pronounce them.