Sunday, September 26, 2021


 Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

I awoke Thursday morning to a warm ball of Penelope curled against my lower back and knew the temperature had dropped. We're enjoying sun and lower humidity––what a relief after the heat of summer.

Franklin's thyroid number was too high, so he takes one pill per day now instead of two. He is a happy-go-lucky guy, as long as he doesn't have to get in or out of the car.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

Wednesday, September 22, 2021


 Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

On Aug. 19th when I said I needed to take a blogging break, I didn't know I'd be away so long. I still have a long to-do list, but I miss you too much to allow it to continue to keep me away from you.

I crossed one item off my list this morning. I got my flu shot.

On Monday I went to Costco and did indeed see roadkill armadillo. It was not pretty, but far worse appeared before my eyes inside Costco.

It's not even October!

I've done some cleaning and organizing around the house, including a lot of work on kitchen cabinets. These were stuffed. Now I can find things in them.

I also have new light gray sheets for my bed, a gigantic Sensorpedic pillow, and a StoriArts Little House On The Prairie blanket to take the place of my falling-apart quilt.

I love the blanket. It's so soft. 

The next item on the list is taking Franklin to the vet for a thyroid check. He's been on his meds for a month. I'm confident his level will be fine because he's so much livelier. He's even returned to dancing for his supper, which entails trotting backward while moving his front paws around as if he's tap dancing.

If it ever cools down, I hope he'll be willing to take longer walks. I can use some good walkies, too.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

Thursday, August 19, 2021


 Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

I'm going to take a bit of a blogging break. I need to deal with some issues around the house, such as the lights in my bathroom don't work and it turns out the AC pipe was clogged and the drip, drip, drip of the leak didn't run out where I could see it. Instead, it went backward––toward the bathroom. 

Other stuff must be done, too, and it is hot and humid.

Take care of yourselves and stay cool in all ways. 

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

Saturday, August 14, 2021


Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

The My Pillow Guy has suffered too much. I can't take it anymore. This man only wants to prove that Don John won the presidency! Why should he be chastised for simply expressing his beliefs? Besides, he has all sorts of evidence to back up everything he says.


A bunch of assholes on Twitter are taking responsibility for it, as if somehow it's funny to go after the messiah's angel.





Go ahead. Laugh it up, people. You've delayed Don John's reinstatement by a few days, but you won't get away with this crap forever.

Excuse me. I can't write anymore. I have to pray for Mike's recovery.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug


Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

I've decided to share some information about myself with you. I'm known here as Janie Junebug, but that's not my real name.

I know my real name because it's the name Mother used for me all the time. My real name is That Goddam Kid

Mother tended to run with a theme. I have one sister name named That Goddam Girl and another who is simply named Goddam it.

However, That Goddam Kid is not the name on my driver's license. My legal name is You Little Shit.

We kids shared the same nickname, though, and we heard it regularly––as in If you think you're going to that party, then you've got another think coming, old girl. Or if you think you're wearing that to school, then you've got another think coming, ________I bet you can fill in the blank.

When I told Sweet Cheeks my real name, he decided to share his real name with me. His mother called him you guttersnipe––as in You got dirty playing, you guttersnipe.

I was shocked. He must be plagued by insecurities after being called a name that horrific. I hope he changes it.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

Wednesday, August 11, 2021


Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

We made the annual visit to the vet on Tuesday, which Franklin and Penelope despised. The vet examined them, cut their nails (he's a much better manicurist than I am), supplied us with a year's worth of flea/tick/heartworm preventive, gave the necessary shots, and drew blood. The blood work costs extra, but I'm glad to pay for it because it enabled the vet to catch the early stages of kidney disease in Franklin. Franklin has eaten prescription food for a couple of years now and the kidney problem is gone. The vet is also monitoring a possible thyroid problem with Franklin.

A visit to the vet is never easy, though. Franklin and Penelope walked across the parking lot with me, but when we actually got to the door, they turned to try to go the other way. More than 100 lbs. of dog can be difficult to deter.  

After the struggle to get inside, we headed for the desk, where Penelope walked around me in a circle, thus hobbling me with her leash. If Mom can't walk, then we might as well leave, yes? NO.

With help from one of the kind assistants, we made it to the back for the weigh-in. Franklin is 72 lbs. and Penelope is 40. Then it was off to the exam room. Franklin was the first to go to the back to have his blood drawn. When the vet returned him to the room, he didn't want to go through the door. As soon as I said, Mom is here, Franklin, he entered the room and threw himself at my feet.

The three of us were happy to leave, although exhausted for the rest of the day. When Franklin and Penelope went out later in the day, Franklin had great difficulty getting up the few steps to the deck. His age-related struggles weigh heavily on my mind.

That night, Penelope woke me by departing the bed in the wee small hours of the morning (Penelope is a Sinatra fan; I am not). Had it thundered, thus frightening her into the safety of my closet? No.

Come back to bed, Penelope. She returned briefly, only to hop down to emit a small, but insistent, bark. We decamped for the backyard, where Franklin, in a ballet of peeing, lifted one back leg slightly, foot straight, toes extended, and then flopped in a pile of dead leaves to watch Penelope with his usual bemused expression. She trotted from one leaf to the next blade of grass, nose to the ground, certain something unpleasant had been in her yard.

After an exhaustive search that turn up nothing, she relieved herself with an eloquent sigh. Could we return to the comfort of the bed? No. She had to inspect the flowerpots yet again, in case access to the secret passage to France had magically opened up. Not finding her heart's desire, finally she allowed us to go inside the house.

Penelope beat me back to bed, where I thought sleep awaited. Two minutes later, I rolled over and knocked one of her toys out of the bed. Unacceptable! She left the bed again to woof about the many ways life treats her unfairly.

Sleep had ended. A new day had begun.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

The red jacket was Penelope's first item of clothing.
She liked it, although it was not French.

Franklin recovering in my bathroom after a potty break
during a hurricane--the one occasion he was angry with me.

Franklin enjoying a Kissmas tree while he waits for Santa Paws.


Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

I watched two documentaries over the weekend and thought both were excellent.

The first was Val (2021, Prime Video, Rated R, 1 hr. 49 min.), in which Val Kilmer looks back on his life while struggling with the effects of the throat cancer that he says has been eradicated.

I've never thought of myself as a Val Kilmer fan. I remember him mostly for doing the weird chomping thing with his teeth in Top Gun,  but Kilmer's poignant reflection on life with his younger brother and the early death of that sibling, along with examining his own work, led me to a desire to watch more of his movies––especially Tombstone

I found his comments on playing Batman in Batman Forever interesting because the Batsuit is so restrictive it precludes acting. He could barely move while in it, and couldn't see or hear.

Kilmer also talks about his preparation for the role of Jim Morrison in The Doors, a movie I did see. Kilmer is a graduate of The Julliard School of Drama. He takes his work seriously.

Val Kilmer has known success and also suffered great disappointments. 

Val is a rarity in its intimacy.

In Refuge of Last Resort (2006, Prime Video, can't find a rating, 1 hr. 12 min.), director James Bills presents photos and footage he shot while stuck in New Orleans during Hurricane Katrina in 2005.

I've seen other documentaries about Hurricane Katrina, including Spike Lee's four-hour When The Levees Broke, but Refuge of Last Resort is striking in its simplicity.

Bills doesn't interview dozens of people in New Orleans, but the few he does interview say a lot in their brief comments. He also doesn't cover every aspect of what happened, but what he does cover is meaningful.

Especially striking are the words of a man who took refuge with his family in a hotel and when the storm ended and they needed supplies, set out for a Wal-Mart only to find it being looted by police officers and firefighters. Bills also shows his footage of pristine port-a-potties at the Superdome, unused because they arrived after everyone had been evacuated.

Refuge of Last Resort is heartbreaking.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

Thursday, August 5, 2021


Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

The governor of Florida is an idiot. 

He's an embarrassment and an idiot. 

Ron DeSantis has been running around making appearances in other states and chastising President Biden while Florida teems with COVID.  He's banned masks in schools. He opposes hospitals making vaccinations a requisite for their staff.  

He appears to be gearing up for a presidential run in 2024.

The governor's office released a statement during July that promoted protecting the people of Florida from COVID:  "The best way to do that is to get vaccinated; the vaccines are safe and effective for most people and are freely available everywhere in Florida."

However, the DeSantis Web site features anti-safety merchandise.

Are the fine unvaccinated people of Florida going to believe the words in the statement or the merch that tells them what they want to hear?

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

Sunday, August 1, 2021


 Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

We're under a heat advisory. I worked around the house Saturday morning (cleaned out a kitchen cabinet and the drawer under the range, dusted, organized my table linens) and gradually disrobed because of the heat. By the time Sweet Cheeks arrived, I was in nothing but my pink panties and a sports bra with no seductive gleam in my eye. 

We sat down to drink margaritas and chat.

I read something about that nerve in your back, Sweet Cheeks said. Siratica. I don't know if that's how you say it.

Sciatica, I told him.

Yeah, siratica, he said.

I laughed and laughed. 

Then we talked about what we'd read in the news, which we always do, which led to us bitching and complaining about people who won't get vaccinated, thereby ruining things for the rest of us.

We are old and tired and with margaritas in us we closed our eyes and took a cat nap. When we awoke, I fixed teriyaki chicken and rice for supper, followed by warm blueberry crumble with ice cream. 

This crumble is better than any cobbler they have in a restaurant, he said, further endearing himself to me.

He helped me with a couple of things that required my presence on the step ladder. It was his job to hand stuff to me, including the silver chafing dish that I put on a shelf in my closet.

I told him the chafing dish had been used a total of once.

We were having a Christmas party, I explained. Ten minutes before the guests were due to arrive, X put the dish on the dining room table, put in the alcohol, and lit it. He had spilled some of the alcohol and when it caught fire, it burned the Christmas tablecloth I spent months embroidering and scorched the table. We ran around opening windows to clear the smoke and covered the burned table with a different cloth. The guests had no clue that anything strange occurred.

Sweet Cheeks laughed and laughed.

We sat down again to chat some more. I showed him how I had set up Alexa so she can turn on some lights.

If I say 'let there be light,' she turns on all the lights, I said.

That's nice, he said.

Thanks, Alexa said. 

We laughed and laughed. I sent him home with leftovers that I put in plastic containers. He is the man I can trust with my Tupperware.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

Thursday, July 29, 2021


Do you buy books or borrow them from the library? 

What's your favorite book?

Your favorite author?

Do you read on a kindle or is a book you can hold in your hands absolutely required? 

Fiction or non-fiction?

Romance novels or biographies?

Historical novels?

The great classics?

How do you organize your books?

Do you have books you got as a child? 

What was your favorite book when you were growing up?

What are you reading now?

Do you read one book at a time or do you flit from one book to another?

Do you pause to look up unfamiliar words or do you guess at meanings from context?

 Any autographed books?

Have you written a book?

Tell us how you feel about books.


Saturday, July 24, 2021


 Hello. It is I, Penelope, a sorrowful, sullen, disgruntled shadow of a dog who was formerly filled with cheer.

When last I spoke with you about my plan to access the secret passage to France, I had closed my eyes to rest for a moment. 

Not even a minute. Only seconds. 

During those seconds, Mom Mom clapped handcuffs on me, put me in a straitjacket, and thrust me in a cage with a padlock. What could a poor, little doggy have done to deserve such ghastly treatment?

I soon figured out what Mom Mom was up to. She dashed out the backdoor and replaced the broken flower pots to keep me from my dream of climbing the stairs to France!

Yes, she is that selfish and uncaring. She hasn't gone to France, so she doesn't want me to go.

Mom Mom laughed with glee at the destruction!

She thinks she is so funny, but she's not funny at all.

Now, all I can do is visit the site of my youthful longing to look at Mom Mom's ugly, stinky flowers.

I thus and therefore do hereby declare my denunciation of Mom Mom. She is no longer my Mom Mom; I am no longer her dog.

That is all. Goodbye from the saddest and most disappointed dog who has ever lived. At long last, I shall give in to my desire to weep. 

Thursday, July 22, 2021


 Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

I'm sure you know by now that don john will be reinstated to the presidency in August, and it looks as if his plan will come off without a hitch.

Uh-oh. I can hear your thoughts and you are thinking that you don't know what the plan is, or if you know what the plan is, you're thinking it can't possibly work.

Oh ye of little faith . . . in the my pillow guy. What is wrong with you? Rejoice in the plan! The big-handed one is on his way back.

Now don't go spreading this news around. The element of surprise is vital.

Here's the way Sweet Cheeks explained it to me:

1. Someone from Florida (I don't know who it is but I hope it's Matt Gaetz) resigns from The House of Representatives, requiring a special election. 

2. Trump is elected to The House of Representatives.

3. The members of the Congressional Black Caucus decide to vote with the Republican members of the House because the my pillow guy will reveal all the evidence he's collected to prove Democrats are blood-sucking pedophiles/satanists.

4. The House gets rid of Nancy Pelosi.

5. The House elects Big Hands as its Speaker.

6. Joe Biden and Kamala Harris are impeached––and convicted––because they were never elected (such an interesting paradox).

7. The Speaker of the House becomes President, and we all know who that will be.

Yippeee! He's back in action!

If, for some reason, the plan doesn't go through in August, then it surely will during the 2022 mid-term elections. Get ready to move out, sleepy Joe.

If you don't like having don john in charge again, then don't worry about it because you're going to die from COVID anyway, or be executed by some redneck good ole boys who take great pride in themselves.

That way, everybody's happy.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

*Graydon Carter's description of Donald Trump in Spy Magazine, 1988. Carter is the  former editor of Vanity Fair.