This morning, I was quickly overtaken by three stories:
● Michele Obama receiving criticism for describing current state of affairs as a “janky” period?
● Trump’s request to have the Nuclear Code?
● And, learning today the Trump administration is stopping mandatory flu vaccines for the U.S. military?
As regards Michelle Obama’s remark, I also find everything coming out of Washington these days to be “janky.”
True, I had to look up the word. But it’s more or less what I would imagine:
From Google: “It often implies that an object is shaky, faulty, or a ‘cobbled together, makeshift solution. Common examples include broken technology, rundown cars, or poor-quality, unreliable items. Synonyms include shoddy, sketchy, junky, shaky, or flimsy.”
Now, thanks to Michelle Obama, I have a nifty, new word to describe current affairs.
Moving on, as a child of the Cold War era, nothing can be more horrifying than The Code falling into the President’s hands—any president. But especially this president and his janky administration.
Moving on to flu vaccines. Secretary Hegseth says the removal of mandated vaccines is a means of democratizing the individual military experience.
Is that really what we need for the military? Sure, if there’s medical reason to forgo the shot, I’m sure there’s always been provision for an exception there.
So what is it the secretary has really accomplished?
There comes a time when we cannot deny that Donald Trump is unfit to serve this country.
He isn’t our crazy Uncle Donnie who the family rolls out at special events.
The whole family is on alert and, at the first hint of trouble, Uncle Donnie is led away, smiling and waving with his free arm.
Mostly, this Uncle Donnie is harmless, though definitely someone capable of bringing shame at any moment.
But whatever “Uncle Donnie” has done that harms those he theoretically cares about, it doesn’t begin to touch the dangerous, embarrassing, dishonorable, mean-spirited antics of the other Donnie, you know, the one in the White House.
I don’t know if any remnants remain of the USA’s better days as the good guys and gals. But we have prayed that the President’s better angels would lead him to the right things.
Well, I fear the better angels are fighting an uphill battle against greed, wealth, mistreatment of people, illness, and starting a war with provocation or congressional approval.
And now, he apparently thinks he is God. What can we do?
As a private citizen, neither you nor I can launch the two remedies available under the law: The 25th Amendment, and Impeachment.
But we can create a clamor so thunderous it cannot be denied.
If you do not believe how out of touch with reality this Uncle Donnie is, consider the picture he posted and has since taken down: Him as Jesus, or a Jesus wannabe, hovering over a man’s hospital bed.
That is a serious distortion of reality. We all know it. But does he? That is the really worrisome concern.
Today, a good number of people ordained in the Episcopal Church will head to Phoenix for the Renewal of Vows service. I will be among them.
The service is paired with receiving Holy Oils blessed by the Bishop for use in churches throughout the coming year.
This is not only a local event. Across the country, deacons, priests, bishops attend such a service annually, many of those services traditionally occurring on the Tuesday in Holy Week. This year, that falls on March 31.
This is serious business, yet not grim. It is a joyous opportunity to remember not only our day of ordination, when promises were made, but also the intervening years of serving God’s people, both when it has been uplifting and also when it has borne the weight of tears.
This service we are called to provide is a twenty-four-seven calling. Over time and as the new wears off, we may find our spirit threatened.
But then we receive the Holy Week call to renew the vows made at our ordaining and we happily respond as we did then: I will.
Tales of a preeminent sled dog race can either celebrate or denigrate this long-standing Alaska event.
As a longtime dog lover, I can see this annual event two ways. A celebration of the dog-human relationship, or a misuse of the trust dogs so easily invest in us.
Either way, I can’t turn away from a couple of amazing accounts nestled in history books.
First, some news from the 2026 race that ended on March 17, when Jessie Holmes won his second consecutive Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race in Nome, Alaska. The former reality TV star completed the roughly 1,000-mile course in nine days, seven hours, and 32 minutes. As this year’s winner, Holmes received an $80,000 prize.
Now for a couple of did-you-knows:
Saving lives with sleds
In the 1920s, before vaccines, there were 100,000–200,000 diphtheria cases and 13,000–15,000 deaths in the US each year.
The risk made its way all the way to Alaska. While a successful serum was available, getting it to Alaska was not always possible.
The 1925 Great Race of Mercy saw 20 mushers and give or take 150 dogs relay diphtheria antitoxin 674 miles in 5.5 days to save Nome, Alaska, from an outbreak.
Facing -50°F temperatures and blizzards, teams led by Togo and Balto delivered the serum, inspiring the annual 1,000-mile Iditarod sled dog race.
After a vaccination program was introduced in the late 1940s, cases dropped dramatically. Today, childhood vaccination rates remain high.
Yes, poodles on the Iditarod
A musher named John Suter had a dream to run the Iditarod with Standard Poodles, and he actually made it happen. He got his first poodle in 1975 and by 1976 was running local races near Chugiak, Alaska.
Suter entered the 1988 Iditarod with standard European poodles on his dogsled team. He placed 38th out of 52 starters in that 1,100-mile race.
And yes — in 1988, Suter appeared on The Tonight Show to talk about his poodle racers. That link is available in YouTube.
Nancy Guthrie is still missing. At least as of noon MST on Tuesday, February 10.
Along with so many others I pray for a safe conclusion to this event. And soon.
I can only imagine how this is weighing on the family. From what I can observe, they appear to be holding it together pretty well. But there must be moments of sadness, anger, hope, futility. Family members have been the object of suspicion, at least at the gossip level. That’s the last place anyone should be judged, yet often it’s the first stop we make just trying to find the truth. Whatever that is.
I was a journalism major in college, later working some fifteen years for daily newspapers. That experience lends credibility to what I believe about the sometimes messy business of reporting the news.
You’ve got a deadline. You’ve got competition. You’ve got a boss who doesn’t want to be scooped.
You don’t want to be scooped.
You want to save your time for rooting out new angles, genuine updates, following law enforcement, following tips, and so on.
Nothing wrong with any of that. Except. In a race to deadline it’s very tempting to pick up what you’ve already run and slap it in there as background.
In so doing, it’s really easy to pick up something that was never factual, and you run it yet again.
There’s a good example from the Guthrie case.
Early on, news reports agreed that the family was alerted by a church friend when Nancy had not showed up for church Sunday morning, February 1. That was picked up and shared broadly. Why not?
The problem is the picture it created in readers’/viewers’ minds.
Many accounts since have picked up and run with this version. The problem? Nancy has not attended in-person church since COVID. Six-plus years ago
According to a story published today, the friend was wanting to set the record straight: since COVID, several women gather at another’s home on Sunday mornings to “attend” an online-church from New York. The article said that it is the church Savannah attends.
Maybe you think, so what? What difference does it make? Here’s how it created a difference for me.
BTW, I am an ordained Episcopal priest, and have wondered why a church friend would feel it so important to let the family know so quickly that their Mom was a no-show at church. I strongly suspected that some detail was missing.
What’s factual is that this friend did inform the family. What isn’t factual is that this was connected to a Tucson church. We are still free to attend or not attend a church service in its building. An absence here or there wouldn’t automatically trigger a call to family.
But a no-show to a friend’s house is a much different situation.
So my practice is to be suspicious while reading or viewing the news, and if something just doesn’t add up right, call the reporter and check it out. They want it right, also.
Dear God, we pray for the safe return of Nancy Guthrie, and for peace of heart and mind for her family. Amen.
Good or bad, each day unfolds pretty much to our expectations.
Kids to school.
Dog to vet.
Catch the top news, however it is we do that.
Phone Mom and Dad.
Text that recipe to a friend.
Go to a scheduled meeting.
For the most part, days pass by like that, without surprise, without incident.
The rhythm is so reliable, it leaves little room for the surprises.
But the surprises can force their way in anyway.
You never know what the day may bring.
It’s a simple sentence that doesn’t require a lot of explaining. Even so, we march on, optimistic, not a care in the world.
Oh, sure, we know that our next moment might be ripped from us. But intellectually knowing the possibilities of major disruptions does not adequately prepare us for when they come.
Just read the headlines on a given day, and put yourself in the place of someone who got that bad news.
Here are a couple of examples, occurrences that nearly take your breath away:
—My heart goes out to the family of 84-year-old Nancy Guthrie, missing from in Tucson, Arizona.
—Also to the family of an 18-year-old Northern Arizona University student who is presumed to have died in a fraternity rush activity.
So, what’s my point?
Well, since there’s no known way of warding off horrific news, I believe I am left with doing a better job of valuing, not only the great days, but also the mindless days when no harm comes to me or mine. Days when I forget something on my grocery list, or have to circle the block several times to get a parking place; or clean up where my dog peed on the kitchen floor because I didn’t get her out in time.
Imperfections, for sure, but not tragic, or life-altering, or even memorable.
So, welcome, ordinary days. I hope to see you for the blessing you are and the treasure you bring to my life.
On January 7, 2026, Renee Good began her last day on Earth as planned. Up and out of the house to drop off a child at school. Maybe some coffee in there somewhere. Then, in support of friends, we are told, headed to a local protest against ICE. Eventually, now with wife and dog in the car (maybe they were always there), she began to thread her way through parked cars to head home. Meanwhile, an ICE officer allegedly shot her three times, the last shot at what looks like point-blank range. When she sustained fatal injuries, her car continued under its own volition, until colliding into a vehicle at the side of the road. — There has been so much craziness in the wake of this unjustified killing. False claims of Renee’s criminal history published on social media.
It was another Renee Good.
Snopes reports says she did not weaponize her vehicle and try to hit the officer who killed her. More likely, he (me speaking now) was allowed back to duty too soon following being struck and injured by another car, another event. How do I know that what I’m telling you is true? No criminal record, not headed toward the officer with intent? Just killed as a very bad — what?— mistake? —- We can get so caught up in “our side” of a story that we may forget to do our homework. We hear or read words that support our general viewpoint. And we run with it. And, thanks to high internet speeds, we run quickly. In this frightful time, we cannot rely solely on the traditional media to fully inform us. You know, with the story behind the story, motivations, hidden agendas, errors, intentional skewing. — Here’s what I do to get to the truth: Question everything. If it seems iffy in any way, check other media sites. Know which media have a bias one way or the other.
And, finally, fact check with stable resources such as Snopes (snopes.com.) Or one or more other fact check resources. Then, once sorting out the truth as best we can, we face the toughest work of all: What are we going to do about it?
Mountaineering is a very respectable activity. You’re outdoors breathing clean air. Getting a healthful amount of the sun’s rays. The aerobics involved in climbing mountains can be beneficial. The entire enterprise merits some positive attention at the proverbial “water fountain” at work come Monday morning.
But there also must be an awareness that climbing can be dangerous. It requires carefully placing each foot. It demands full attention. Don’t do it just for fame, glory, and fabulous selfies. It’s serious business requiring the whole person: Mind, body, spirit.
At the end of 2025 three hikers died while attempting to conquer Mt. Baldy in Southern California’s San Gabriel Mountains.
According to news reports, they were on a particularly treacherous section: The Devil’s Backbone. Picture the spinal structure of a human body, knobby and running across a perilous ridge en route to the mountain’s peak. Not everyone who attempts the climb makes it to the top. Add to that extreme high winds, and you have a disaster that not even rescue helicopters can engage. The fierce wind was a definite setback for any hope of rescuing the three late last year.
Over the years, it has claimed many lives.
All of this makes my story even more incredible, especially to me.
In the mid-1960s, while still in college, I successfully reached the top of Mt. Baldy, traversing the Devil’s Backbone.
The recent tragedies there sparked the memory. Even so, I questioned the reality of that. I must be mistaken. Why would I have attempted such a thing?
But, yes, I went at the urging of a college friend of both my brother and me. For awhile, there was hint of a romantic spark between us, but Mt. Baldy more or less quenched the flame. And it wasn’t all his fault.
I’m pretty sure I told him I did not do a lot of climbing. So I complained the entire climb. Are we there yet? People really do this for fun? How much farther?
This was before Google, where I could have looked it up. Or Dateline, which might have offered another possible motive for this trek.
As we neared the peak, I noticed hikers coming back our way. I was quick to comment, “So people actually do return.”
That day was the end of mountain climbing for me, and pretty much the end of anything further for that friendship.
All of which leads me to this conclusion: If you’re out of shape and someone eggs you on to try something you know is beyond your desire and your ability, DON’T GO.
A friend of mine often ends one of our discussions with the phrase above.
You never know what the day will bring. It’s similar to punctuation used as a bow tied around a gift.
While a death was its original context for my friend and me, it serves well in many other circumstances.
It came to mind today as I pondered the life story of Grandma Moses, who first applied paint to canvas in her seventies. A link below provides a brief look at her life, which ended at age 101.
One hundred one. Just think about that for a moment. The day she picked up a brush, I expect many people were skeptical. Hopefully they kept that negative thought to themselves. Many, I am sure, smiled politely, perhaps daring to offer the ofttimes dismissive, “Well,bless her heart.”
Bless her heart, indeed. At her death, she had generated more than 2,000 paintings. One of the favorites, The Old Checkered House, donned the cover of Time magazine on December 28, 1953.
If you like art. If you’re certain you aren’t good at it. If you’re the one who says you don’t have an artistic bone in your body. Well, here several things to consider:
You never know what the day will bring.
Grandma Moses began her art career at age 78.
Listen to today’s podcast, featuring Tucson artist Jeanine Colini, who loves to help adults uncover the artist within.
