Thoughts of my age hit me again this week. You know you’re getting old when your body starts sending you hate mail every morning. Popping joints, mystery aches, and a lower back that’s staging a full-blown rebellion—welcome to the daily grind of aging. I swear, I went to bed at 30 and woke up feeling like a creaky 80-year-old antique.

For many in this world, Sunday is Mother’s Day. But for our family, it’s an annual complicated day of celebration because we have two grandmas, two Moms, a Dad’s birthday and a Mother’s birthday. How do you make them feel special when they share the same cake? Get separate cakes that no one will eat? I don’t think so.

As you read this email, know that I am currently in Ventura County, California, accompanying my wife in one of her business trips. It’s the first time I’ve ever been here. I asked my good friend Ed (a travel aficionado) what Ventura County is famous for and he said “Thrift Shops.” Immediately, gold nuggets started pouring out of my eyes. I got excited because I love the bargain hunting game. It's one of the simple joys of life.

So, I started painting again. I've been planning to do this for years. When I was younger I thought I would get the chance to do this when I retire. Then I figured, why wait? Just do it now while I still can see, still can use my hands … still cognizant. So now my room's all messed up with paint tubes and brushes all over the place.

It was an ordinary day. People were waking up preparing for the work of the day. My Dad was gathering the sheep to graze on the mountains. Mom was preparing breakfast. I was on my way to the well to fill up a pail of water.

She said (growing up) her parents were so strict about their bedtime; even if the movie they were watching was not yet finished, they had to go to sleep already. This pattern stayed with her all her life. To this day she has no clue of the endings of many movies she has partially watched.

Coincidentally, last Sunday I had a conversation with a church mate who just retired from the marketing division of Toyota. He said that Toyota's quality control was so stringent that there are only 10 parking slots at the end of the factory's production line. There is where the inspectors measure every single gap in the doors, the tightness of the steering wheel, the flashing of the signal lights, etc. Each car comes with a fixed number of parts that are supposed to be assembled in that model. If they discover a solitary screw that is unattached, an alarm goes off and the whole plant stops production until they figure out where that screw should have gone. Compare that to factories of General Motors where there are hundreds of parking slots at the inspection line. Quality for the Japanese vs. volume for the Americans.

Today we’re seeing the unraveling of censored data and testimonies that authenticate the claims of our favorite conspiracy theorists. Just recently they opened up the Pandora’s box of the JFK assassination. Investigators are still rummaging through the mountain of evidence but for now it is clear that Lee Harvey Oswald was just the fall guy of the deep state.

You’ve heard of puppy eyes, right? Tinker is the expert in that department. She knows how to pull my heartstrings. I have to resist her spell to avoid giving her too much vegetable treats. Of course those eyes are there again when I’m eating, watching TV or just walking. She aims to please so she always checks if I approve.

Raoul’s Two Cents: March 7, 2025 Looking Forward to a Better World Did you notice people walking around with black smudges on their foreheads last Wednesday? Actually, it wasn’t dirt. It was ash/charcoal. This strange beauty mark was supposed to come from the burned palm leaves that was used in Palm Sunday of last year. Last Wednesday was Ash Wednesday, …