July has arrived, the peak of vacation time. How would you like to hang out in a castle? No problem, and you won’t even have to go to Europe. We have a castle a few miles down the road from our house.

Our neighborhood is a crazy mix of small homes like ours (1,200 square feet), moderately larger size homes, farm houses and super-sized luxury properties.

If our local castle is not your style, you might wish to stay in the lion house, named for the two stone lions that guard the long driveway that leads up to this gigantic villa. It has everything you need for a relaxing stay; tennis courts, multiple swimming pools, a full-size gym, a bar room, a media room and, almost as an afterthought, Lake Michigan in the front yard.

There’s only one possible hindrance to a stay at the castle or lion house and that is the price for one night’s rental. Both were originally built as single family homes. The 1% spare no expense when it comes to family comforts. Now both are upscale B&Bs without the second B. The castle goes for $1,450 a night. The lions command a heftier price, $4,500 for a one night stay.

If you are not in this economic league, you can vacation in another local attraction, an authentic replica of a German guest house. One man’s dream, it was built by him and his family over a period of five years. The owners were not wealthy and put every cent they had into the project with nothing left for advertising. Sadly, their Gasthaus went bankrupt. Another local family purchased it and now it is called Highland Lodge and Pub, a bit of a misnomer. But it’s still a delightful place to stay and only $120 dollars a night…breakfast included.

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I made four attempts to write this blog. All failed.

For the past fourteen years, on the week of July 4th, I have abandoned the stated mission of my blog to stay out of politics. But this year everything I attempted to write sounded more like an obituary rather than joy about living in a Democracy. And rather than subject you, valued readers, to my angst and gloom, I have decided to turn this week’s words over to Molly Ivins.

A Texas institution and a brilliant political journalist, Molly used witty satire to lampoon “the self-seeking, the corrupt and the incompetent in positions of public trust.” May her words put a bit of hope, cheer and laughter into this once wonderful holiday.

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“The thing is this: You got to have fun while you’re fightin’ for freedom, ’cause you don’t always win.”

“On the whole, I prefer not to be lectured on patriotism by those who keep offshore mailboxes in order to avoid paying taxes.”

“Politics is not a picture on a wall or a television sitcom that you can decide you don’t care much for. “

“Many a time freedom has been rolled back – and always for the same sorry reason: fear.”

“Whenever you hear a politician carry on about what a mess the schools are, be aware that you are looking at the culprit.”

“Americans are not being screwed by the Republican Party. They’re getting screwed by the large corporations that bought and own the Republican Party.”

“It’s all very well saying regulation is bad, get government off our backs, etc. Of course our lives are regulated. When you come to a stop sign, you stop; if you want to go fishing, you get a license; if you want to shoot ducks, you can only shoot three ducks. The alternative is dead bodies at the intersection, no fish and no ducks. O.K.?

“Cheer up, it could always be worse. You could be living in Texas.”

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Molly Ivins died in 2007 of breast cancer. Her words continue to be very much alive. And needed.

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The other day I was reading an article entitled, “How to Get a Better Night’s Sleep”. Since I have no sleep problems, I have no idea why I was reading this except that I tend to read whatever print I chance upon, the chronic reader syndrome.

I got as far as the fourth recommendation for good sleep. It admonished, “Do not allow your pets to sleep in your bed.” I immediately laughed and stopped reading.

I sleep every night with three guys, and I wouldn’t want it any other way. My first guy is Guy, our oldest, gentlest and sweetest cat. Many years ago, we heard a car pull up in our driveway. By the time we got to the door, the car was gone, but a lovely, gray cat was at our doorstep. We let him in and immediately knew he was a treasure, a perfect gentleman and a perfect bed cat in every way.

Stripe is my second bedfellow. He was a feral cat who roamed around our house for several years, stopping off almost daily to eat in our garage and sleeping in on bitterly cold nights. He would not let me get close to him, but I patiently tried to narrow the gap between us. And then one day, he let me get close enough to pat his head. He decided on the spot that being petted was an incredibly wonderful sensation and began leaning into my hand asking for more.

I subsequently made a deal with Stripe. If he would give up his adventurous, wild and free life, I would give him all the petting he wanted. Stripe began his indoor life and I had an overwhelming sense of relief. I would no longer have to worry about this beautiful boy being hit by a car or being eaten by a predator.

Stripe’s a live wire, always wanting to be behind the other side of any door he is behind. Stripe sleeps beside me but frequently wakes up to be petted or make sure that dawn will arrive on time.

My third guy is, of course, my husband. He is blessed with the amazing gift of falling asleep instantly and getting back to sleep immediately if something (perhaps a cat) interrupts his sleep.

In my opinion, the sleep article was nonsense. A good night’s sleep is possible while sharing your bed with pets. But one problem does arise. Whenever I am in a hotel room, I wake up frequently during the night, feeling around for something that is missing…something warm, furry and comforting.

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My son and I have come to the same, sad conclusion. Restaurant prices have become outrageous.

Dining out is one of life’s great pleasures, and like so many other things, it has become only for the financially endowed, those folks who never have to look at the price. Moderately priced, full service, ambient restaurants are a rare breed these days, and we treasure the ones that have managed to survive.

I learned to appreciate restaurants at an early age. My parents both loved eating out, and I was not consigned to a babysitter. Every Saturday night of my childhood was spent at the La Joy Chinese restaurant in Milwaukee. I loved the dimly lighted decor with dragons, scrolls and latticework. I loved the chicken and shrimp chow mein. I hated to even look at the egg foo young my father ordered every time and still think it’s a disgusting puddle of ugliness.

My mother finally rebelled at all that Chinese food and wanted a more varied menu. I must have been the luckiest kid ever because they switched to a gorgeous restaurant, the Boulevard Inn, for almost every Saturday night of my teen years. With large picture windows overlooking a park, crisp, snowy white linens, soft lights and flowers, this restaurant was the epitome of elegance. And my very middle-class family could afford to do this weekly.

These fabulous restaurants still exist, but my husband and I will not be frequenting them. It’s not much of an overstatement to say that America’s current restaurant scene consists of cheap, unhealthy fast food prepared by teenagers or healthy, fresh food prepared by trained chefs. Hang on to your wallet if the restaurant proclaims itself to be “farm to table”. Those will be the most expensive carrots you will ever eat.

The other day I did a computer search for a reasonably priced Italian restaurant in Minneapolis. When I read the following item and price on one menu, I knew that restaurant prices have gone berserk.

Listed as a “starter” salad to your entree:

Wedge Salad

Iceberg lettuce, tomato, red onion, cucumber, blue cheese dressing, bacon lardons… $15.95

I fully understand that my dinner price must include money for the building, equipment, energy, taxes and decor. I also know that with a tip of over 20%, I am paying a huge piece of the employees’ wages. But a $16.00 iceberg lettuce chunk still seems unjustified.

As we were eating our Saturday night dinner at home last week, my husband and I were discussing the super inflated restaurant prices and out of curiosity decided to calculate the cost of our entire dinner including the glass of wine and beer. It came to just under $10.00 for everything on the table. Since a meatless pasta entree, salad and wine for two plus a tip at the “iceberg” restaurant would be over $100.00, I think some outrage is justified. It’s enough to make you lose your appetite.

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Watch out for them. They’re coming soon to a grocery store near you, and they’ll be hot…hot pink, that is. A rose shade of pink is the newest thing in pineapples.

Novelty is always a good thing for the bottom line, and the folks at Del Monte came up with the idea of turning pineapples pink. They’ve been working on this color makeover in Costa Rica since 2005.

Turning a yellow pineapple into a pink one is done by changing an enzyme that controls the color of the fruit. Here’s a description from the F.D.A. on how the growers accomplished this feat. “The new pineapple has been genetically engineered to produce lower levels of enzymes that convert the lycopene to the yellow pigment beta carotene. Lycopene is the pigment that makes tomatoes red and watermelons pink, so it is commonly and safely consumed.” Both lycopene and beta carotene occur naturally in pineapples.

With the F.D.A’s seal of approval, the pink pineapples arrived on the market in 2017. Since almost all the produce we eat in America is hybridized in one way or another, I’m not afraid of a pink pineapple. (After all, no mad scientist has put octopus genes in them or something bizarre like that.) Nevertheless, I will not be eating any of Del Monte’s trademarked Pinkglow pineapples. They’re selling for an incredible $30 each, and you don’t even get the leaves or crown of the pineapple. Del Monte farmers chop it off to replant and produce the next lucrative crop.

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