It’s tough for wildlife here in the Arizona this time of year. Especially this summer, when the heat in the southern half of the state has broken all kinds of records. We recently went 31 straight days when the thermometer rose above 110 degrees, which nearly doubled the record set 50 years ago.

But we humans mostly get to live in air-conditioning. Our wild animals do not. I mention this because despite the fact that our creatures are suited for the heat, these extremes are putting pressure on them.

A case in point: Recently, a man was sitting by his cabin in the woods drinking a cup of coffee and a black bear attacked him for no apparent reason. Both the man and the bear were killed in the altercation. Attacks by bears are extremely rare, and after a necropsy found the bear had no underlying health conditions that might have precipitated the attack, researchers were puzzled. Though the bear was well-fed, the idea now is the animal was just hunting for food, the hot, dry weather having made those searches more difficult. Bears have a great sense of smell and perhaps it was scavenging and sensed a meal at the cabin.

I bring this up because when living around bears and other wild creatures, we should know what to do when one appears. I have spent a great deal of time in wilderness areas and have always prided myself on being ready in case of an emergency. Of course, knowing what to do and actually doing it are two different things.

One day outside of Greer, Arizona, up in the White Mountains, my outdoor skills were seriously tested, and I failed miserably. Georgie—my beautiful little black-and-white collie—and I got into a jam on a mountain trail. It was a spectacular blue-sky-puffy-white-clouds kind of day. The sweet scent of pine and moist forest earth permeated the air.

Then a noise made me stop and look uphill. I noticed thick vegetation swaying back and forth. My first thought was an elk, but the foliage was not very tall, so an elk would have been visible. The plants continued moving as I remained still on the narrow trail. Georgie stood beside me. I sensed it was a bear heading toward us, because I knew of no other creature that could move those plants with such force.

I’d never met a bear on foot in the wild.  My understanding was that I should make myself look as big as possible by raising my arms in the air and create a lot of noise. Most importantly, I should not run.

I thought about those things, but stood frozen. I glanced at Georgie, who sniffed the air beside me. Our eyes met. Then, to my surprise, my dog bolted back up the trail and disappeared around a rocky bend. I looked toward the swaying shrubs trying to gage the size of the animal that was approaching. I ran over the rules in my head: Stay calm. Stand upright. Make loud noises. Slowly back away. Do not run!

And what did I do?

I ran…skittering over loose stones, dodging roots and rocks. I didn’t turn around, afraid of what I might see. The famous quote from the great Satchel Paige popped into my head. “Don’t look back. Something might be gaining on you.”

I ran until I doubled over, out of breath.

Georgie was waiting for me on the trail, looking a  little guilty. Other than the thumping of my heart, the woods were quiet, only a breeze pushing through the pines.

Later, Georgie and I made our way back to civilization. Perhaps, because we were both embarrassed by our reactions, we never spoke of our encounter again.

So, the next time you’re out in nature and run into a bear DO NOT do what I did. Follow the rules and be safe. And have a chat with your dog ahead of time.

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I received a large box in the mail the other day. I’d been expecting the package. It came from Vancouver, Washington, from my in-laws.

Like many older people, Arlene and Stanley are downsizing, and with a move on the horizon they asked me and my sweetie pie if there were any of their belongings we might want. Since I’d always admired the guitar that hung on the wall in their living room, I asked if anyone else had expressed an interest in the old Gibson. They said no and that they’d make sure it would go to me.

The guitar belonged to Arlene. “I began guitar classes at The Old Town School of Folk Music on Chicago’s north side in maybe 1967,” she said. “After a year or more of lessons I realized I wanted a better sounding and easier-action instrument. We found the Gibson in a pawn shop I think for $30.”

As I gently unpacked the box, I realized that the Gibson had been on quite a journey.

“The guitar moved with me once in Chicago,” Arlene said. “Then to Phoenix, then Beaverton, Oregon, on to Portland, then the San Francisco area, back to Portland, on to Camas, Washington and now Vancouver, Washington.”

And now back to Phoenix.

I opened the new case that had protected the guitar on her journey to me. She was nestled in soft padding and I thought she looked lovely. Still, though I wanted to pick her up to see how she sounded, I knew I couldn’t. A note inside said she had a cracked bridge and that I shouldn’t tune the strings until that medical problem was addressed. So, I needed to make an appointment with the guitar doctor.

I’d visited the guitar hospital before. I’d traveled to the west side of Phoenix to Atomic Guitar Works when one of my other guitars had a terrible fall onto some concrete.  

“She’s in great shape!” the Guitar Doctor, Tim Mulqueeny, said of the Gibson. “Most of the ones I see that are this old are really banged up.” He explained how he would build a new bridge and give her new strings. Then he instructed me to play her all the time.

Here is where I’ll say that I’m not a very good or consistent guitar player. I played from the time I was 12—when my aunt handed me a little nylon-string guitar—until I was about 22. I got a Yamaha 12-string when I was 15, and it was that guitar that I, like Arlene, lugged from state to state over the years: New Jersey, Ohio, Washington, D.C., Georgia, Virginia, New York, Connecticut, and Arizona.

And still, I never played. That guitar sat in the corner of my bedroom staring at me for 33 years. Somehow, music got pushed into the background, usurped by my everyday life.

Then, at 55, I started playing again.

“Guitars are like parrots,” the Guitar Doctor explained. “They need attention. You have to play all the time.”

I stroked the guitar constructed of warm Honduran mahogany and spruce, which was lovingly handmade back in the 1960s. I recalled that not too long ago, after I’d been ill with Covid and spent almost a year recovering from severely broken leg that had to be surgically repaired, I’d completely stopped playing again. I’d stare at the guitar in the corner, but I was sad and could find no music in my world.

And then, one day, for no particular reason, I started playing again.

The Guitar Doctor explained that she’d have to stay with him for a few weeks, but that he’d take good care of her. And when she comes home, I will do my best to take his advice and play her every day.

In the meantime, I’ve named the guitar Chrissy, which is Arlene’s nickname, and whenever I pick up my Gibson, I will think of her and do as she suggested.

“Play with joy!” she said.

And…I will.

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I live in Phoenix, Arizona. I’m guessing some of you might be aware that recently that means I’ve been living inside an oven. Literally. This is record-breaking heat even for those of us who are used to desert extremes with weeks and weeks of temperatures above 110 degrees and overnights in the 90s, so there is no relief. And it’s mainly due to a high pressure dome, one that won’t move on and which is causing us to sear like meat.

Don’t believe me? Last week, a guy was waiting for a bus and thought it might be a good idea to sit on the curb. He got third degree burns, through his clothes.

I mention this because while I whine and moan daily about getting fried by my seatbelt or weeping at the scorched remains of my vegetable garden, I must remind myself of one important thing: I no longer have to go outside and work in the heat.

I was an amateur sports official for 40 years. Twenty-nine of those were here in Arizona. When I had games coming up, I paid close attention to the weather report, because I often had to deal with extreme heat and sometimes that did not go well.

Consider that in baseball, a sport played year-round here in the Southwest, I had to don under armor-type gear, plastic shin guards, a thick chest protector, polyester shirt and pants, a tight wool hat, and a face mask constructed of metal and leather pads. While in football there was no heavy protective gear to contend with, the requisite under-garments, long black polyester pants, striped shirt, and cap were not made with hot weather in mind.

Many people may not realize this, but as a sports official my primary responsibility was to keep people safe. Every year, my brethren and I took classes and clinics, webinars and exams that not only focused on game rules, but on safety protocols, as well. And still, according to the National Center for Catastrophic Sports Injury Research, 51 high school football players have died from heatstroke since 1995, which was the leading cause of preventable death in high school sports.  

Note that high school athletes are primarily young, healthy individuals, while the average age of a high school sports official is about 50. I didn’t retire from officiating until I was almost 65.

While the Occupational Safety and Health Administration issues safe temperature norms for those who work indoors, I could find no such limit in place for those who toil outside. Construction workers, firefighters, miners, agricultural workers, mail carriers, and others must learn to tough it out. And, I learned the hard way, so do officials.

I was working a varsity high school football game in severe heat one evening, when I noticed two of my crewmates were not in their positions. I looked toward the endzone, where both were lying in the grass, suffering from heat sickness. I’d worked with these men for years and had never seen them go down. One was a medical doctor, and when he said he couldn’t continue, I knew we had a problem, because I also felt ill. I’d had heat sickness at least three other times, so I knew the symptoms and realized that soon I might be lying in the grass with them.

It was just before halftime, so I called the head coaches together and explained the situation. For safety reasons the game could not continue with fewer than three officials, so in an effort to finish the contest, I suggested we run the clock in the second half,  which means the clock is not stopped in the usual manner between plays. I considered it a fair and equitable solution. The coaches argued a little, but since neither wanted to return and continue the game at a later date— which would have happened if I went down—they agreed.

I couldn’t have been more surprised when my boss called a few days later and railed at me for running the clock. It seems the losing coach, though he’d agreed on the field, had called to complain.

I held my ground. “I have a right to protect those at a game from harm,” I said. “You know that!”

“Yes, you do, but the rules say your job is to protect players, coaches, and fans. There’s nothing in the book that says you have to protect other officials.”

I almost dropped the phone.

The point, of course, is that it’s not just difficult working in the heat, it can be deadly. In fact, more people die of heat-related injuries in this country every year than in all other weather-related events combined.

So, the next time you head out to watch your children and grand-children play a game, carrying your chilled water bottle and hand-held, battery-powered fan, wearing a floppy hat, T-shirt and shorts, maybe say thank you to an official, if one passes by. Because without them, there’d be no game. And, after all, sometimes they’re risking their lives for your enjoyment.

Anne Montgomery’s novels can be found wherever books are sold.

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Christian Molinar invited me to join him on his podcast The Bus Stop. We talked about a lot of things, including my rather unique trip though the sports world, where I served as both a sports reporter and an amateur official in five sports: football, baseball, ice hockey, soccer, and basketball.

Christian wrote the article below, a story that gives me hope that someday those who don’t always fit in will be welcomed.

Thank you, Christian, for your kind words.

Breaking Barriers:

Anne Montgomery’s Extraordinary Journey in Sports Journalism and Officiating

Christian Molinar

Anne Montgomery shattered barriers throughout her remarkable journey in the world of sports journalism and as a sports official. She shares her extraordinary story, unveiling the challenges she overcame and the triumphs she achieved.

From the very beginning, Anne faced numerous hurdles on her path to success. As a young woman aspiring to be a sports journalist, she encountered a male-dominated industry that often dismissed or undervalued her talent. However, Anne’s determination and passion for sports fueled her drive to push boundaries and defy expectations.

Undeterred by the gender biases that pervaded the sports journalism world, Anne fearlessly pursued her dreams. She dedicated countless hours honing her skills, studying sports extensively, and building a network of mentors who believed in her potential. With unwavering perseverance, Anne proved time and again that her gender was not a limitation but an asset that enriched her perspective and storytelling.

Anne’s breakthrough as a sports official marked yet another momentous occasion in her career. In a realm predominantly occupied by men, she embraced the challenge of becoming a respected authority figure in the sports arena. With her deep knowledge of the game and a steadfast commitment to fairness, Anne swiftly gained recognition as a trailblazer in the field.

Throughout her journey, Anne encountered countless obstacles and faced resistance from those resistant to change. However, her indomitable spirit and relentless pursuit of equality ensured that every barrier would eventually crumble in her wake. Her fearless determination opened doors not only for herself but for countless other aspiring women who saw in her a beacon of hope and inspiration.

As Anne reflects on her incredible journey, she reminds us that breaking barriers isn’t just about personal accomplishment; it’s about challenging societal norms and fostering inclusivity for all. Anne’s contributions to the sports journalism world and her role as a sports official will forever be etched in history, serving as a testament to the power of passion, perseverance, and the unwavering belief in oneself.

Be inspired as Anne Montgomery shares her extraordinary story, one that transcends the boundaries of sports and sets a precedent for all who dare to dream big and strive for greatness.

Yes, I’m blushing now. If you’d like to listen to my conversation with Christian, just click the link below.

I was casting about for something to do, because almost all the things I spent my life doing are no longer options. The kids are grown, and I’m retired from reporting, teaching, sports officiating, and lap swimming.

As I was considering new options, a website caught my eye: Learn How To Play Again. I was intrigued so I read on. “Second Beat Improv Theater is rooted in the long-form format of improvisation. Our classes encourage students to trust their own choices both on and off the stage. We promote the idea of working as an ensemble through performance and class exercises to fully support everyone’s ideas. The belief is implemented through listening, saying yes to new ideas and reacting honestly.”

It sounded pretty tame, until I read the definition of improv. “Improv is live theater that is made up in the moment. Nothing is scripted, nothing is rehearsed, there’s no net. And it’s unique: Once you see an improv performance, you’ll never see that show again. Every performance of improv is different.”

Despite my reservations, I instantly forked over my credit card and signed up. Over the next six weeks, I and my fellow students learned the basics of improv, thanks to our director Sam Haldiman, pretty much the nicest teacher I’ve ever had.

“There’s no judgment. People get the chance to play at being kids,” he said. “Working with groups and having the opportunity to build a collaborative atmosphere..(is) something of intrinsic value to make you a better person.”

Sam ushered us through acting drills where we practiced things like performing scenes without words. “Just talk in gibberish,” he explained.

Note that’s harder than you might think. Still, working in teams of two, we somehow managed to make our scenes understandable.

One of the tougher drills for me was when I stood alone on the stage and had to play ten characters for ten seconds each. There was no planning. Every ten seconds Sam said switch, and I had to play whatever character came to mind. It was exhausting but also exhilarating.

As you might expect, we students became pretty tight over the course of our class, despite all of us being very different.

Alicia Williams is 37 and has worked in education most of her life. She decided to take the class to stay in the present and get out of her head. “Improv reconnects you with your inner child through playing games and being silly,” she said.

Angelo Fiore, a 27-year-old process quality engineer in the aerospace and defense industry, agrees. “In work I need to be an adult. Here I can be more childish,” he said. “I’ve learned that it’s okay to be yourself. It’s easy in a group like this to let yourself go.”

Connor Scott is 26 and works as a risk analyst for brokerages. For him, the class was about reconnecting with acting, which he did in high school. “I wanted to act without having to memorize lines,” he said laughing. “Thinking on your feet is more challenging. (Being) in the moment is much more difficult.”

Jowi Estava Ghersi worked as a professional actor before the pandemic. The 31-year-old, who’s also a graphic designer, said that improv has helped to reignite her brain. “Isolation was hard and I don’t feel like theater has fully come back,” she said. “I feel like I’ve reclaimed the part of my brain that lets me get on stage and trust what’s about to happen.”

At 54, Laura Renaud spends her work hours as an executive coach. When I asked why she decided on improv she said, “Why not! I think it’s really about leaning into the aspect of being comfortable with the uncomfortable. I’ve learned that connections and relationships are important. There’s a certain way you have to see your partners to make it work. Improv is a way to feel open and free.”

The class builds to a final show where we will perform a 20 minute program based on a one- word suggestion from the audience. Sam has assured us that we’ll be great. He’s so positive that his deep appreciation for the values of improv is easy to understand. “I wanted to have a creative outlet,” he said. “To have fun, and try new things, be bold.”

I couldn’t agree more.

Anne Montgomery’s novels can be found wherever books are sold.

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“The author’s ability to interweave the past and the present was masterful. The characters were complex and interesting, especially with the underlying theme of rethinking the history of worldly human migration. I saw myself in the book, through both Kate and Kaya, through the accurate representation of the balance women face between their passions, society and partnership. Without giving away the ending, the emotions I experienced in the last chapters were ones rarely felt when finishing other books. A real page turner and I am wondering when the movie is going to be made!”

Alicia Williams

Goodreads

The past and present collide when a tenacious reporter seeks information on an eleventh century magician…and uncovers more than she bargained for.

WOLF CATCHER

TouchPoint Press

Historical Fiction

Get your copy here or wherever you buy books.

In 1939, archeologists uncovered a tomb at the Northern Arizona site called Ridge Ruin. The man, bedecked in fine turquoise jewelry and intricate bead work, was surrounded by wooden swords with handles carved into animal hooves and human hands. The Hopi workers stepped back from the grave, knowing what the Moochiwimi sticks meant. This man, buried nine hundred years earlier, was a magician.

Former television journalist Kate Butler hangs on to her investigative reporting career by writing freelance magazine articles. Her research on The Magician shows he bore some European facial characteristics and physical qualities that made him different from the people who buried him. Her quest to discover The Magician’s origin carries her back to a time when the high desert world was shattered by the birth of a volcano and into the present-day dangers of archeological looting where black market sales of antiquities can lead to murder.

What’s worse than a fractured foot? An injury that has no story. You know,  something like “I was being chased by a bear and fell off a cliff!”, or “I tripped while saving a baby from a burning car!”, or “I was whitewater rafting, hit some rapids, flipped into the water, and hurtled downstream into some rocks!”

Sadly, my story is…nothing happened, except I’d been walking around on a sore foot for a few months.

My podiatrist took some X-rays, fiddled with my aching appendage, and said, rather ominously,“You’re not going to like me.”

But, of course, that could never be true. He’s the doc who used a titanium plate, eleven metal screws, chewing gum, bailing wire, Super Glue, and who knows what else to reconstruct my formerly broken other leg.

“You have a stress fracture.”

“Why! I didn’t do anything,” I protested. “I didn’t fall or exercise too much! Hell, all I do is walk a few miles every morning. That’s what I’ve been reduced to.”

He nodded and spread both hands. “I’ve had my hip replaced and rotator cuff surgery. The result of old sports injuries. That’s what happens to athletes.”

Isn’t that sweet that he said I was an athlete and not, “Well, you’re old and paying the price for your misguided youth.”

So the story is some old foot injury that never healed properly, after decades of abuse, just fractured. Maybe it was 25-plus years in ice skates. Or 40 years of sports officiating. Or skiing some of those slopes I didn’t belong on. Or maybe I’ll blame my mom who accidentally dropped a freezer on my bare foot when I was a teen. Who knows?

“You still have your boot?”

I took a deep breath as I remembered the plastic-strapped contraption I’d worn while learning to walk again following my surgery. “I do.”

“And you have the lift for your other shoe?”

I wrinkled my brow, as he referred to the divice that keeps boot-wearers level when they walk. “I don’t know.”

“It’s in the boot,” he said with such confidence that I wondered if he’d actually been in the corner of my closet where the boot has resided since I was finally freed from the thing.

“Don’t walk without your boot,” he said. “I’ll see you in three weeks.”

I can’t say I didn’t whine all the way home. Then, I slid back the closet door, dug out the boot, and you know what? That shoe lift was exactly where he said it would be.

I’ll ask him how he knew, in a few weeks. In the meantime, I’m working on a better story.

I’m open to suggestions.

Anne Montgomery’s novels can be found wherever books are sold.

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I was a high school teacher for 20 years. I mention this so you’ll know I’ve spent a great deal of time around children. During that time, I met far too many kids who were terrified of failing, which made them unwilling to try anything new. School—high school especially—is where young people should take advantage of extracurricular activities like sports, drama, clubs, music, art, debate, and whatever else they’re offered. But in my experience, few children took advantage of those opportunities.

Because much of my background is in sports and so many of our young people are in need of exercise and socialization, I often encouraged students to pick a sport.

“I don’t know how to do that,” a child would say.

“Not a problem. The coach and other players will help you learn,” I’d counter.

One kid shot back, “No! Our team sucks!”

“Then perhaps you could help them improve.”

There are a number of reasons young people may fear failure. Some children have low self-esteem and little confidence. Sometimes kids are bullied and believe they’re not good enough. And sometimes parental pressure is the problem. All of these issues compel young people to stay in their comfort zone, making it difficult for them to stretch and grow. And, sadly, many become underachievers, who lack the skills to achieve their dreams.

Maybe they’d feel better if they understood that even the greatest athletes, artists, and business people suffer from insecurity, at times. The difference is they manage to shake off their fear and push forward, learning as they go.

In my efforts to get my students to try new things, I often used the story of Michael Jordan, who famously didn’t secure a spot on his high school basketball team when he was a sophomore. Jordan was a skinny 5’10’ player who after tryouts was relegated to the junior varsity squad. I’m guessing he was disappointed, but did he quit? No! He worked harder and today is known as the NBA’s greatest player of all time.

Some  of my students understood that failure could be used as a tool for growth. There’s a special place in my heart for the wide receiver who dropped an easy catch a few yards from the endzone, a touchdown that would have won the game. And the kid who struck out swinging with the bases loaded in the final inning. And the one who, with the game on the line, missed the free throw. These children picked themselves up and arrived at practice the next day ready to give it another try. And that is a beautiful thing, don’t you think?

This willingness to step into the spotlight, fail, and learn from one’s mistakes is one of the most valuable skills a child will ever learn, one that is at the very heart of succeeding in life.

Anne Montgomery’s novels can be found wherever books are sold.

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When I was a teacher, much of my job was about helping students plan for the future. The idea was to determine where in the business world they might be happy and thrive. The process wasn’t difficult, if I could get a child to answer those three important questions: What do you like to do? What are you good at? What will someone pay you to do?

Over 20 years, I posed those queries to just about every student who walked through my classroom door, but looking back, I think I might have failed them, because I never saw Artificial Intelligence coming.

Like many people, I watched those sci-fi films where robots evolved and threatened human existence. Movies like Stanley Kubrick’s 1968 epic 2001: A Space Odyssey, where Hal, the computer with a human personality, took control with deadly consequences. In the same vein are The Matrix, I Robot, Westworld, and Ex Machina, where humans find themselves second-class citizens in a mechanized world.

While I don’t want to go all doom-and-gloom, the rise of the machines will change our world exponentially, primarily in the area of jobs. It’s estimated that within the next 20 years no humans will be working as travel agents, truck and ride-hailing drivers, bank tellers, sports officials, warehouse personnel, cashiers, and fast-food workers. Publications like newspapers and magazines will be entirely digital, jettisoning the folks who print and deliver periodicals. I even saw a video recently about a three-story building that was being assembled using a 3D printer. Only two men were required at the site to monitor the process, eliminating the need for construction workers.

You may have noticed that most of these jobs are considered low-skill positions, occupations that don’t require a big investment in education. But high-skilled employment will not go unchallenged. With ChatGPT—an Open AI model that can speak, think, and grow—jobs held by creatives like authors, artists, musicians, screen writers, and video game and graphic designers are also in peril.

So, what do we do now? We can’t stop AI; no stuffing that genie back into the bottle. It’s estimated that by 2030 between 400 to 800 million jobs will be eliminated by automation. As many as 375 million people will have to find new occupations. That means we must teach people to monitor and adjust. There will be no staying in one career for life. We have to learn to pivot and try new things. Be life-long learners, as the job market changes.

Recently, Microsoft co-founder and philanthropist Bill Gates spoke at the commencement cermony at Northern Arizona University where he offered this advice. “Your life isn’t a one-act play. What you do tomorrow, or for the next ten years, does not have to be what you do forever.”

The good news is that even though many jobs will disappear, others will emerge. A good place to start planning your future is the Bureau of Labor Statistics, a governmental agency that keeps tabs on overall job growth, as well as impending growth in individual occupations over the next ten years.

So strap yourself in and be open to a future that will be everchanging.

It should be quite a ride.

Anne Montgomery’s novels can be found wherever books are sold.

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I watch the news a lot, but sometimes the world’s happenings are hard to bear, so to give myself a little break I periodically switch over to PBS where they have those wonderful programs that make me forget what’s going on.

I’m talking, of course, about cooking shows.

There are perfectly good reasons why I love cooking shows. I worked in the restaurant business in my youth and was married to a chef for a while, so I like to think of myself as a bit of a foody. My sweetie pie also loves to cook—in fact my ex-husband gave him some pointers and once exclaimed that, “Ryan makes the best coq au vin I’ve ever tasted!” I fell in love with cooking shows when Ry introduced me to Diners, Drive-ins and Dives, hosted by chef Guy Fieri, the most un-chef-like chef you’ll ever meet. (Give it a try!)

I bring this up because sometimes I learn fascinating things about food from these shows that have me running to the computer to learn more. Like the fact that Europeans, upon meeting a tomato, decided it was poison. Why you ask? Because only wealthy people could afford these fantastical New World fruits—yes, a tomato is a fruit—and strangely those rich folks started dying after eating what came to be called “poison apples.” Poor people blamed the tomato, when in fact it was the pewter plates that were knocking off the rich because of lead poisoning.

Then there’s the artichoke, which most 16^th century European women were banned from eating, because the vegetable was believed to make people feel…um… frisky. All the way back in ancient Greek times that prickly plant—called kaktos by the locals— was thought to be an aphrodisiac. And when Italy’s Catherine de Medici was shipped from her home in Italy, where women relished the artichoke, to France where she married King Henry II at the tender age of 14, she exclaimed, “Oh, mio dio!” when she was told that eating her favorite vegetable was a no-no, even though men were free to consume it. However, Catherine was lucky because Henry didn’t seem to mind her constantly scarfing down artichokes. It’s good to be the queen, apparently.

Puffer fish are an interesting food, as well. People eat them even though THEY CAN KILL YOU! Before I go on, let me say that I’m a scuba diver and puffer fish are very cute, so I would never eat one. Also, I don’t want to die a miserable death from poisoning. In Japan, however, puffer fish are all the rage. A Japanese friend once explained that even though the fish contains a toxin called tetrodotoxin which can cause paralysis and death, people eat it because the chefs who prepare the delicacy must take a national test and practical examination to be allowed to prepare and serve it. She also explained that eating puffer fish is a manly exercise, where a dude’s masculinity quotient is elevated because he’s so very brave for eating a poison fish. Kind of a mine’s-bigger-than-yours contest.

The point, I guess, is there’s a giant world of interesting food out there and we should learn about it, especially since it’s so much more entertaining than the news.

Anne Montgomery’s novels can be found wherever books are sold.

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