A recurrent meme on Face Book asks if we would turn our lights on during an air raid as stark comparison to going out in public without a mask. It makes me laugh for two reasons. First, and I hope that more people read this one sentence than any other that I have, or will write:

Wearing a mask is to protect other people from you.

It is to prevent your spittle from being distributed in the world. Unless you are a health care professional working in a contagious environment, wearing the appropriate safety gear, the mask does very little in protecting you, the wearer. Sorry, that is just how it is. When you wear a mask it is because you care about the people around you. When you do not wear a mask in public, well . . .  (F#@k you)

So why is it that so many people seem to disregard such basic information? What is it about human nature that that seems to bridge this obvious cognitive dissonance?

Let me explain the second reason for my meme laughter. It was thought that the bombing of London would so completely demoralize the English that the war would be as good as won, once the bombing started. Honestly, I can imagine the fear I would possess if I knew that bombers where on their way to Vallejo. I, like the British before me, would hunker down in a bunker. (Ha! Hunker in a bunker.) When the All Clear would sound, I would then reemerge and literally pick up the pieces. Or I would not.  I would either be alive, or I would not know the difference. This point may seem very direct and almost harsh, but it is reality, its core truth cannot be denied. If you are dead, you no longer have fear or dread. If you live through a bombing, you may be traumatized if; the bombing was very nearby, you witnessed someone dying, or if you were injured; but, and this is a big but, but you would have survived. Your personal experience of the bombing was that you lived. If you were further out from where the bombing occurred there would be even less, or perhaps no, trauma at all.  As it turned out, the routine of gathering in the bomb shelter, this forced common experience, galvanized the British spirit which in and of itself was a stunning defeat for their attackers. We all know that that war ended.

So let me just break this concept down in super simple terms:

  • If the bombing killed you, the thought of future bombings has no effect on you.
  • If you were affected by the bombing, your behaviors would change, but you are in a very small cohort since the experience was localized.
  • If you were not affected by the bombing, (the bombs were not dropped on or near you) the experience of living, of not really having your life threatened, is the thing that you most remember and the one that affects your future behavior.

Sheltering at home has protected most of us.  The bombs are dropping on someone else’s house. There is no loud noise that can shock us. There is no demolition whose pieces we must pick up. The greatest number of us do not even know someone who has gone into the hospital let alone someone who has died from all of this.  This is the why. This is the reason why we so easily disregard the truth. Our personal experiences tell us that it is safe. That it has been over 2 months and nothing bad has happened . . . to us. Our gut instincts tell us the danger is not real and wearing the mask is, well, uncomfortable.

This is the why, and only the why.

Please wear a mask in public.

Wearing is Caring!

Until the next time,

Tommy Judt


It has been a tough couple of weeks for me. First an august body, to which I am appointed, suffered worldwide embarrassment. Second I am heart sore resulting from my own behavior. Thirdly, I am burdened with the knowledge of an ethical dilemma which, while it does not involve my actions, could be yet another blow to the city I love so.  The only thing that I am thankful for is that because I am forced to keep my distance, I have not bent everyone’s ears about my first world problems. On top of all that, a few more pieces of a puzzle have slipped into place for me, concerning our shared condition.  Normally I try to share the positive experiences in my life. Sometimes logic and timing shade my thinking. Below is something that came to me this week.

I read something in the news that actually made sense. I know, it was probably a one off but never-the-less. First though, let us put the pieces together.

  1. A vaccine is 12 – 18 months away.
  2. The threat will not pass until we achieve herd immunity.
  3. Herd immunity is 2/3’s of the population.
  4. You cannot get immunity until you have been exposed.
  5. You cannot be exposed if you isolate and wear a mask.
  6. So in order for this all to pass, we must all get infected.

Jump in any time and correct me if I have gotten anything wrong . . . please!

Let me take you back to yet another dinner table conversation that I remember from my youth.  My father was a pharmacist and worked for the old Payless Store in San Pablo. As the chief pharmacist it was his job to order the inventory and manage stock levels. I remember him coming home one day shaking his head about something that happened at work. At dinner he went on to explain that his boss was directing him to order products in a certain way. His boss wanted him to order small quantities from the store’s main distributor. My father could order from the manufacturer in a slightly larger bulk for a much better price and turn a better profit for his store. Which he did. And this is what frustrated him. Even though he showed a higher dollar profit, his boss was directing him to use a version of just-in-time delivery. 

Just-in-time delivery is a concept that I believe was developed for the auto industry. Let us say that Auto Maker 1 planned to manufacture 100 autos per day or in other words, 500 per week. So rather than get a weekly shipment of the various parts for 500 cars once a week, they would get the parts for 100 cars once a day. Or maybe 50 cars twice a day. Just-in-time. This process reduces not only the amount of inventory a company must keep on hand, this reduces the amount of cash locked up in that inventory and the amount of space necessary to them. Suppliers could then streamline their production output to just meet the demand by Auto Maker 1. They in turn could reduce their raw material inventory and so on and so on. The benefit of this system is that while it required capital to get started, and capital can be easily borrowed, all this systems really needs is a steady flow of business and cash. Business to consume the product and cash to pay back the loan. A cost savings for businesses and a boon for banks lending money. The problem with this system is simple. Should one part fail, the entire system fails.

That brings us up to today. Follow me on this if you will.

  1. Shelter in place has effected many industries.
  2. We do not need as many new cars nor gasoline since we are not driving.
  3. We do not go out to movies or to restaurants so no need for them to be open.
  4. We are not going out as much so no need to purchase as many clothes.
  5. However, we still need to eat.
  6. Just recently there was news about the meat packing plants closing down.
  7. Question: What happens if we cannot supply the just-in-time food deliveries to retailers?

So here we are left with one more question to answer:

Why is the government so ready to start opening up and declaring meat packing plants as essential knowing that more people will get infected and die?

Could it be that we do not have enough food in the supply chain to last very much longer? At least not without having people go back to work at food processing facilities.  So it seems that we are not through this at all, and in order for us to survive as a whole we need to eat. And since the food we eat comes just-in-time, when the system is functioning normally, it almost becomes a mathematical equation.  How many will die from the virus, versus what will happen to our society if we run out of food? (Think Bread and Games.)

Infections will continue, they have told us that already. A few different treatments are being touted in the press to help ease our fears. Even with that it seems that we will not see the other side of this for some time and not without a significant loss of life. The truth? It no longer is a matter of if, only a question of when you catch this flu.

Until next time,

Tommy Judt


I feel that it is important for me to explain my actions and behavior to you, my neighbors in Vallejo.

What you are about to read are MY thoughts, feelings and opinions. The do not represent the City of Vallejo, the Vallejo Planning Commission nor any of my fellow Commissioners.  They are mine solely.

Recently I had the opportunity to tell our Mayor just how much I enjoyed sitting on the Planning Commission. I find it satisfying to know what is going on in our town, I feel privileged to be a part of the larger conversation and I am humbled to remember that I do it as your representative. Now I must share that the challenges are real. Take for example the development that just moved forward from the Planning Commission and is now headed to the City Council for final approval.  This process has taken years just to get to this point. As a citizen I am thrilled that this type of quality development has come to our town. I am appreciative of the fact that Costco could have chosen another city to relocate to but has decided to affirm their relationship with Vallejo.  This project will be good for all of us.  Well, almost all of us. There are real traffic concerns which I addressed in open meeting. (This means that I can talk about them now, since I have already voted.)

The traffic on Admiral Callaghan is predicted to be . . . well . . . awful. The EIR said nothing could be done about it. I did not agree, and worked with a very professional staff, over this challenging issue. To say that I pressed the limits of my professional relationship would be an accurate statement. I felt that the impacts on traffic was so significant, to coopt the exact phrase from the Environmental Impact Report, that for me to do my job, the one that you count on me to do, I needed to raise whatever awareness to this situation that I could. This included raising a motion to continue the EIR until we could decide on a higher traffic standard.  I was not successful but my voice was heard and I hope this is how you are asking me, your neighbor, to view this job.

What I could not have anticipated were the unfortunate events that have now made the news. Just so you know, each Commissioner is allowed to share their opinions and to ask questions that they feel are relevant to the project. All of us on the virtual dais asked and opined. In an unforgettable moment, something that is becoming more familiar with teleconferencing meetings, the sound of a pet wanting attention could be heard. (I have recently learned that the following is now news halfway around the world.) One of our Commissioners picked up his cat, introduced it to the meeting, and then tossed it out of frame.

Please let me stop here and tell you that in no way do I approve of this behavior. 

It is not my place to continue speaking about someone else’s behavior. What I would like to address are my own. The ones that followed as a response. In the video I can be seen covering my face with my hands. That clip is as surreal to me now as it was in that moment. In what was an instinctual reaction, as I felt for both the Commissioner and his cat, I placed my hands over my face. Another thing that I could not control was my nervous laughter. I assure you that I was not laughing because I found the situation at all amusing. The laughter too was a reflexive response that I could not control.  As I sat there watching all this unfold on my computer, the incredulity of the situation so overwhelmed me that all I could think to do was to shake my head and attempt to choke back my awkward outburst.

I apologize to anyone who felt offended by my response and understand how easily it would be to misinterpret my reactions.

I have been a long time pet owner and have written in the past how I start every day hoping that I will live up to my dog’s expectations of me. Feeling that I needed to do something positive in response to this situation, I have made a donation the Humane Society of the North Bay. These are good people, who do amazing work for animals that are lost or forgotten. I have included the link for you and ask that you do the same, for not all of us have someone to look after us.

I am not a seasoned politician, nor is that my goal in life. I willing serve you, my neighbors in Vallejo, because I believe in who we are and where we live. I am embarrassed with my awkward behavior of the 20th and ask for your understanding.

Until next time,

Tommy Judt

Donate Here:


It was the worst of times.

I want to thank a Nextdoor reader for reaching out to me yesterday to see if I was alright. She had not seen a post from me in a while and was concerned. That was just plain kind.

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of light, it was the season of darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.”

Charles Dickens wrote that, and the first time I read it I thought that he was being melodramatic. Just goes to show me, I guess.

Lately I have been huddled away at home subjecting myself to being garden shamed. So many of my industrious friends are pruning their ivy or building fences. I have a quarter acre of lawn and a dozen planter boxes needing attention. A friend said to me, that my reading their posts merely inspired me. Nope, I feel the burn of shame. So this weekend I whacked the weeds, mowed the lawn, all-the-while kicking the ball for the dogs in between the passing of rows. I purchased a new garden hose as the old one had burst in multiple places and planted seeds for lettuce, giant sunflowers and sweet baby watermelons.

My box of beets and red carrots have already started to push. The tomatoes, which I began from purchased starters, clock in at around 12 plants this year. A mix of orange, yellow and funkily shaped heirloom tomatoes will delight your BLT’s at Provisions later this summer. Oh! I did plant a Roma this year, so that I might make a little fresh sauce for my pasta or Chicken Parmesan. The dill weed I planted months ago is filling out but the spinach that I tried between the fruit trees was overcome by crabgrass.  Later this spring I am going to attempt to dig out as much of that incredulous little monster as is possible, without damaging my blood orange tree roots.

I am a little excited. A few years back I planted said blood orange tree with visions of a communal Sangria bowl in the future. The tree itself has always been healthy and green, but never flower nor fruit to be seen. I read somewhere, this past winter, that the soil was probably too rich in nitrogen and weak in other nutrients. Rachel Hoff of Grow a Pear Nursery, here in Vallejo, always recommends testing your soil. It is inexpensive and easy. Turns out the soil was low in potassium and now my little pretty is festooned with lovely, little white blossoms, so sweet to the smell. I look forward to that first blush of fruit in my glass.

My asparagus bed is about 4 years old now and is feeling its oats. I should back up and say that this last winter I headed up to American Canyon to pick up two truckloads of rich, ripe compost for which to feed my yard. I felt sorry for my neighbors because after I had spread both loads generously atop all of my boxes and planting beds there was this certain – pong – to the air. More than one neighbors popped their heads out of their houses and asked me if I smelled something. Sheepishly I replied, “It was me.” Fancying myself an Aqua Velva man, and not wishing to put off any potential partners in the following evening’s conversation,  I showered, twice as long, and reapplied said, branded aftershave before heading out that night. Only a faint wisp of musk followed me, or so I am told.

Truthfully, this last week has been a bit hard for me. I found myself faced, on multiple fronts, with the choice of addressing situations head on, as I am want, or deferring to a more political stance which will keep me quietly employed. Question: Do I save myself for another day, or at my age, and with the level of responsibility I bear, is today the day I have been saving myself for?  The thought of slipping into quiet retirement is a pleasant one. Best definition ever for being prepared for retirement. Having just enough to be snug with a bit left over for a pint.  This is my goal, to be snug.

My oldest friend, that is to say the friend with whom I have been acquainted with for the most number of years, and I had a pleasant conversation the other day. His is as bright a mind as I have ever had the pleasure of being challenged by and the topic of our collective present situation quickly rose to the forefront. We batted it back and forth a bit like the beleaguered little shuttle cock that it is, and somewhere betwixt the pummeling and ground this thought spun off:

Best thing to do in a pandemic: Shelter in place to avoid infection.

Worst thing to do in a pandemic: Shelter in place to avoid infection.  Cuz if you are never exposed, you cannot develop antibodies.

It was the best of times . . .

Yes, I miss you all too and promise to keep in touch,

Tommy Judt


I think that I have already mentioned, that I was recently hired into my dream job.  Yup, after 45 years of working, studying, winning and failing; I finally found my dream job, or as close to it as I can get. Let me count out some of the dreamy parts of working for the local parks department for you.

  1. I now have a key role in improving the quality of life for my neighbors and their families. (I have so many great memories of my local parks growing up.)
  2. I have a reasonable salary that is provided for by property tax that is less subject to economic swings. (I know that you all understand what having a real steady paycheck is like.)
  3. I work with amazing, committed people who are passionate about doing the best job that they can.  (Having great co-workers is such a key element to being happy at work that I cannot tell you.)
  4. I can walk to work in 30 minutes. (I used to drive up to an hour and a half each way before.)

It is the last one that keeps me thinking.  The backyard of my house backs right up to the sound wall for Highway 80. During regular times, when I am outside, I can hear the traffic whoosh passed. With the exception of the obnoxiously loud motorcycle, it all seems of white noise to me. Inside, after I replaced my windows with double panes, one can barely hear a thing.  Now with Shelter-In-Place, I can stand outside and barely hear a thing.  I am constantly enjoy how much fresher the outside smells and take every opportunity to open the windows to air out my house. (Two dogs you know.) It feels like living in the country only with closer neighbors.

I stumbled across an article this morning and just reading the title gave me pause.  Automobile insurance companies are planning to give refunds to drivers who are not commuting. That’s cool, I thought. Then it hit me. Fewer drivers commuting = fewer accidents. (Sorry Rose’s Collision.) I have been in a few accidents in my life, another reason for me wanting to walk to work, and I always imagine the claim’s person on the other end of the phone, with a list of fresh accidents before them, jammed into a room with a hundred other unfortunates just like them.  Now picture that same room after 90% of us stop jamming the roadways.  Quiet as a church this past Easter.  

Our economy is bound to be realigned after this. I am saddened that there are people who are not working and are seriously in need of assistance. What I hope is that we look to this whole time and take this ‘new normal’, cast aside the unwanted stuff yet keep the best in order to create a better “New Normal.” Let’s keep the baby and throw out the bath water. Together we can raise it to help create a better world for all of us to live in.

Until next time,

Tommy Judt


When I was 16 years old my mother asked me what I wanted to do.  While I loved my mother immensely, I do not think that, over the entirety of my life, I was ever more annoyed with her for asking that question.  For goodness sake, I was 16 years old and barely more than a decade away from wetting my pants. What did I know of the world, and now I am supposed to decided what career I want for the rest of my life?  The best advice about earning a living that I was ever given, immediately followed that question: You can either go to college or go into the trades. Either one will allow you to buy a house and provide for your family. This was definitely true in the 60’ and 70’s when unions were at their peak.

There are two companion words which, for the life of me I cannot recall. I promise a bottle of wine to the first one who will leave me the answer in the comments below. These words I read only once in Malcolm Gladwell’s book, David and Goliath. I would look them up myself but my book bag was taken from my car just as I was on the last chapter. Here-in-follows my best description of them.

  • There is a word that defines when you study something that is easy or natural for you to learn.
  • The companion word defines when you study something that is hard for you to learn.

I have been fortunate to have studied things that were my natural predilection. Things that were easy for me to grasp. I became frustrated, and embarrassingly quit, when they were too challenging for me to learn.

An aside on commitment: I have learned this again from a very close friend who had a vice that they were constantly leaning on to escape. Recently they committed to giving up that vice and it has been a joy to watch their life bloom.  You see, we all think something like; I am going to quit this job and open a bar on the beach. Now this sound innocuous enough but the simple act of allowing yourself a mental escape truly prevents you from committing. By not allowing yourself any thoughts of quitting, the energy you would have spent imagining that seaside bar now goes into the task at hand.  Another personal embarrassing fact, it has taken me way too long to learn this lesson. To that point, I ended up studying those things that came easy to me and eschewed the things that were difficult to learn. Quitting for the greener grass. I became a walking poster boy for: Easy to learn, difficult to master.

Now my frustration as a younger man, at having to make such an important decision so early in my life, has yielded both reward and failure, although not in equal sums. I have traveled many parts of the world, speak small bits of several different languages, trained in more than a few professions, studied from renowned scholars and still manage to fall flat on my face. The joy, that this approach to life has given me, is measurable in every airplane lounge conversation I have ever gotten myself into. The sorrow can be found in my never really playing a long game. Now, off with this melancholy and onto the thrust of my point.

As a man of my years is want to do, I daydream a mindful of what ifs. What if I did this? What if I had done that? When I have these daydreams it means that it is time for me to pick up a new book. A lovely thing about reading in particular, and watching videos to some degree, is that as you imagine yourself in the situation that you are experiencing on your couch, you are stimulating the very same neural pathways that you would do if you were out actually doing that thing. It is crazy, I know. You can literally get an understanding, and mentally walk in another person’s shoes, just by reading about it.  Sometimes during the day I stop and think of what else I might have done as a young man. What other path could I have chosen? What experiences would I have to share now? Would my conversation be that much different? Today I watched a video of a company in France that still makes butter with 19th century techniques. Sitting back I wonder if I had just focused a little differently in culinary school, what my life would be like if I had gone to France to learn how to make butter. Or, if I had perhaps become a dive master and surfer and travelled the world’s beaches. Or, if I had joined the merchant marines, lived my life at sea and become a ship’s captain.

After graduating from culinary school I would often say, I would like to own a restaurant that does this. Or I would like to own a restaurant that does that. In truth, after opening and closing my own place, I learned to say, I would like to go to a place that does this, or that and not actually own it. Thankfully I still enjoy reading, and with each new read I can do both. I can both go to that new thing and do it at the very same time.

I wish you many happy reads.

Until tomorrow,

Tommy Judt


Okay, I have made it. I am finally here. It is time. Time for a pair of whiskeys and some real social gathering.

My favorite bar for whiskey is shuttered, of course. I could order the ingredients for my Improved Whisky Cocktail, and make myself one here at home. (I have tended bar.) But that is not it. That is not what I need right now. See, here is what I usually do. Being a man who actually remembers the 60’s, it is difficult for me to strike up an earnest conversation at the bar just by showing up and sitting down. I am sure that it is the wrinkles and the gray that gives the false impression. So in order to strike up a conversation, I employ a method that I learned in the movies. Perhaps some of you remember The 13th Warrior with Antonio Banderas. It this version of the Beowulf tale, Antonio’s character is the poet in the court, of the Emir in Arabia. He is in love with the Emir’s wife and the Emir finds out. Instead of being killed he is sent north as the Emir’s ambassador to the Vikings. Upon finding the Vikings there ensues a feast where all the Vikings get drunk and pass out. He does not. Then in the morning, when he is the first to wake, something small but significant happens. Upon exiting the tent, Antonio’s character notices, through the mist, a young Viking boy standing at the prow of a docked long-boat. The long-boat had arrived sometime during the night yet the boy chose not to disembark. Instead he stood perfectly still for hours. When asked why he was just standing there, the boy responded, “I want to make sure they know that I am not a demon.”

So now to make sure that everyone in the bars knows that I am not a demon, I take a book, sit by the fire, order a whiskey and read for a bit. It is obvious that people notice that I am reading and they politely leave me alone. Sometime after I order my second whiskey I will fold up my book and find an open seat at the bar. The bartenders know me so we often share a brief and pleasant exchange. Occasionally I will get asked about my book. Mostly I will start a chat off with an, Hello. Having sat quietly in the bar for the length of a cocktail, not bothering anyone and ‘appearing’ interesting, I have found that it is quite easy to strike up a conversation. Sometimes it will cover the topic of whiskey, although seldom does that topic venture to its logical middle and end, women then horses. No, the topic of whiskey is enough. Other times it will be about the restaurant, and how this couple just found it for the first time and are spending their anniversary there. They will tell me about their dinner or I will talk about my favorites on the menu. On that rare occasion I find a kindred mind, the one asks way too many questions and like me, seeks to find answers 2 miles ahead of the curve, I settle in for the evening.

It is in those few instances that I will enjoy a third whiskey, with a water back. I will drink the water and sip the whiskey while listening to my newfound companion share their impressions of the human condition. I find in these conversations the same interest that I find a finely prepared meal. Having such a long career in the food industry, I have developed a very bad habit of rushing through my meals. I must intentionally slow myself down whenever I dine with friends. Even then I am always the first to finish. You can blame it on the fact that I like to eat my hot food hot and my cold food cold, I suppose. Mostly it is because I got so used to having only a few minutes to eat, wash my hands and get back to work. This is generally the case unless, it is a finely cooked meal. When the food has been exquisitely prepared I slow way down. Friends who know me will ask if something is wrong. Nope, I am just really enjoying it. The same thing happens when I find a conversation that I truly enjoy. I slow way down. I listen to every word spoken and attempt to be extra thoughtful with my responses. I learn from these and am thrilled when I can share an original thought with a curious companion.

My mind is seldom quiet. I watch mind numbing TV for just that reason: to numb my mind. I am really enjoying my job at the Parks Department but like everyone, I need to turn that switch off for a while each day as well.  Nothing for nothing, I am really missing reading my book at the bar. As I sit there soaking in the author’s mind I positively bristle with the anticipation of that next amazing conversation.

I am sorry that I missed writing to you yesterday. My edges are becoming just a touch more shopworn and I needed a day to just ‘not’. I hope that you understand.

Until tomorrow, or our next whiskey,

Tommy Judt


I so love to breathe the outside air when the rain has passed. And when the sun breaks out, the sky is so bright it hurts my eyes.  My garden is bursting with new life pushing up through the mulch, the decay, the chaff, from dead plants before it.  I think that I know why gardener’s garden. There is something about the cycle of life that reminds us that life is precious and beautiful and that nothing is permanent. If, for example, our Brussel Sprouts do not Brussel. Well then, we try again next year. We change, we adapt, WE grow. We keep trying until our’s are the most amazing Brussel Sprouts. That’s what we do.

“There will be growth in the Spring,” Chance the Gardener said. Of course he is right. Every year he is right. But this spring is different. The chaff of our old routines lay fallow as our new routines, our new normals, takes hold. We should take a lesson from our gardens and let those old routines feed and germinate a rebirth; a renaissance. A new normal that will effectively change the way we interact with each other, and the planet, on a daily basis. Think global, act local; I think they said.

Recently I wrote that ROUTINE IS EXISTENTIAL. I know this to be true. Without structure to fall back on we are literally aimless in our pursuits. Routine is the structure by which we lay the foundations of our lives and that which helps us erect our castles, or small cottages as we wish. 

Question: Remember that guy in school who used to say, “Hold my beer.” or “Watch this.”?  What I tell you now is something that I truly wish for you to take to heart.  I want you to be the person who says to the world: Hold my beer and watch this.  I challenge you to redesign your normal routine into a new normal. I ask you to challenge your ability to slough off the chaff of your old routine and be a creator of our collective new normal.

Seriously, would you just look out the window for a minute and see how blue the sky is? Do we really need to commute to some building 5, 15, 50 miles away just to feed ourselves? I have a brand new job working for the local parks department. I can walk to work in under 30 minutes if I wish. After decades of having to drive a food truck for the movies, work in a restaurant as cook or manger, or cart my tools in a very fuel inefficient truck to a jobsite I have the job that I have always wanted.  But here is the thing that I just learned. I do not need to be in the office to do my job well. It is just as easy from me to manage all that I need to manage from my home office. Now I have already all but eliminated the exhaust fumes that I need to produce. At work, I now have eliminated the need for 100 square feet of space dedicated to housing a desk and chair just for me. My shoes will last longer, my dry cleaning bill will be lessened, and I am happier. What would happen if even just 10% of those who have to commute were to change their habits after the All Clear sounds?  Or 20%, or even 30%. What would happen to our way of life?

I will go on record as saying, “It will get better.”

After working for over 40+ years I finally have the job that I have always wanted. I am able to reduce my impact on the planet and can now give back to my community. My new normal after the All Clear? 

Double down, to see how much more I can do to help foster a new normal.

What will your new normal be?

Until tomorrow,

Tommy Judt


In the time of Covid it has been discovered that: Carbs are King!

Applause to all of you home bakers pulling the old Betty Crocker Cookbook off of the shelf, dusting it off, and impressing the internet with your leavened creations. So spoiled am I, living in the San Francisco Bay Area, for their lives on our shores a unique strain of wild yeast that gives our sourdough bread such a lovely, sour flavor. The heart of any great sourdough bread is the sponge you see. Thesponge, in case you did not know, is a soft, wet mixture of flour, yeast, and water that is left to sit open, high up on a shelf, in a warm spot of the kitchen. Here it is free to collect wild and rampant yeast spores which will feast upon the floury carbs, inoculate the mixture with its mouth-watering sourness and finally belch the very leavening gas that leaves those amazing nooks and crannies for olive oil or butter to fill, when finally kneaded and baked.

Extra applause goes to the baked ziti and to the pasta dishes festooned with fired Cremini mushrooms I have seen on my screen. Also too, the fat, fat lasagnas and the over-stuffed pot pies. Bring me my peanut butter and jelly sandwich knave and a fistful of cowboy cookies too. Pizza, pizza, pizza. Tea and toast!  Apple pie and chocolate cake.  “Bring me more carbs!” said the King of my castle.

Quick aside: Sunday was our one day off, on Easter Island, and two very, important things would happen that day:

  1. The local bakery would make Empanadas. (Bread)
  2. The local soccer teams would come out to play. (Games)

I read where the orange orangutan spoke on a conference call with representatives from all of the major sports organizations: MLB, NBA, NFL, NASCAR, etc.  Baboonishly he voiced optimism about opening up major sports venues in August. Apishly, the representatives were hopeful too.  All this makes me think of Juvenal, an ancient Roman poet credited with the phrase: Panem et Circenses (Bread and Circuses). The idea, in the political sense, is to keep the masses distracted with food and entertainment. Literally feeding their basic needs. If they have food and something to occupy their time, then they will not pay too close attention to what is happening politically. It is easy to see just how much money team owners have to lose if there is no sports season what-so-ever. No big stretch there. Politically it becomes even more interesting because, well, have you seen the bread aisle in the stores lately?  No Bread, nor Games. Oops!

I stumbled across a FB meme written by Ben Hauck (@fightdenial) who wrote:

Wouldn’t it be crazy if there was a large external shock yo our extractive capitalist system that proved without a shadow of a doubt that our entire economy runs on the labor of the working class, not the unseen and immeasurable genius of plucky billionaires?

Bread & Games, bread & games, bread & games. Wouldn’t it be nice though, if they all started up just before election season. 


Until tomorrow,

Tommy Judt


This was not intentional on my part but as it turns out, you are experiencing my flight to South America in real time.  Needless to say, I could not get comfortable enough to sleep on the chairs at Orlando International. No matter how creative I got with their placement, my back just could not take the positioning. So, from midnight until 6 a.m., when the breakfast café opened, I tossed, turned and went full on brain numb. Finally, breakfast.  The plane boarded easily and I sat in another lovely, comfy seat on my multi hour flight to Santiago Chile. I think that I chatted with my seat companion for a few minutes, then tucked myself in for a long winter’s nap. I awoke just as we were beginning our decent. My seat companion expressed his jealousy at my being able to sleep the entirety of the flight.  Our chat ended with the touching down at SCL, Santiago International Airport. Here is where it gets fun.

So over the past number of years working construction I have learned a bit of Spanish. It has been my privilege to work with men from Mexico, Guatemala and even Columbia. Each with their own idioms and accents. Currently I am able to:  Ask how you are; tell you to dig a ditch; and, well, to piss off; if I want. All very important communications tools. At the time of these travels I barely had 4 words of Spanish. Upon landing we were directed to head through customs with all of our luggage.  The queue was long and I felt personally proud that I was able to manage the 12 or 13 cardboard boxes of my belongings.

It is said that each person’s favorite word is their name. When called, almost all of us will turn in response. Standing in line I thought that I heard something familiar. I will share with you now that it was my name being called over the loud speaker. (A Tannoy for my English readers.) Not accustomed to International travel I was focused on getting through the customs lines and while I looked up I did not see anyone holding a sign with my name. (God how I hoped for that scene.)

The Custom’s Officers in Chile were dressed in sharply pressed blue uniforms and carried a sidearm. Hmm? When my turn came they asked me what was in the boxes. I had previously been instructed to tell them that it was my clothing. They asked me to open a box. Of course it was a cooler packed with food stuffs. The younger officer’s eyes went wide as he blurted, “Contraband.” Here is where my 4 words of Spanish both helped and failed me. “Pelicula,” I said. “Isla de Pascua,” I added.  (Movie; Easter Island.) I had such a horrible American accent that neither men knew what I was saying.  “Film, movie, Easter Island,” I repeated. The older agent nodded and ushered me along. The younger agent’s eyes got even wider.  “Contraband!” he repeated, with even greater emphasis. I stood there frozen trying to stem the surge of Chilean prison images that flooded my brain. The anxiety must have shown on my face and the older agent looked at me in a blessedly paternal manner. He turned to the younger agent, lowered his voice and said a few short words in Spanish to him. The younger man dejectedly deferred and they ushered me along.

Always a supporter of local economy, two young gentlemen approached me and offered to help with take my packages to my final connecting flight, the one that would drop me to my final destination of Isla de Pascua. It was only a few short meters to the next desk but I was thankful for the assistance. When we arrived at the next check-in counter they asked for payment. The ticket agent immediately spoke up in my defense and had the young men seal up my open boxes and load them onto scale for me. I gave them each a fiver, US. Sweet, I had made it and my next flight was due to take off within the hour. First things first, all of my packages were weighed and checked in. Great. Being pleased with myself for upgrading all three legs of the flight, I was so looking forward to the first class lounge, I asked politely with a smile; “May I use the first class lounge?” “No.”  “Sorry, but I have a first class ticket.” “Sir, you are not on the next flight.” Now it was my turn to open mu eyes as wide as saucers. “What!?” “Sir, you are not confirmed on the next flight.”  “But you just checked in all my luggage.” “Yes sir.” “But the flight leaves in 45 minutes.”  “No sir, it has been delayed 8 hours.”  “When will I be confirmed?” “Check back later. Next!”

Seriously? I was kicked out of the first class lounge in Orlando, and left to fend for myself in the cold dark expanse of Orlando International. Now here I was in a foreign country; no money; no language skills; no clean clothes; no McDonald’s in sight; AND my flight, which I was not confirmed on, was delayed, again! (SCL, just so you know, was a small single terminal airport without any amenities, save Los Baños.) Talk about being lost. I had no idea where I was, no idea how to get in contact with the movie production company, and really, no idea as to what to do next.  I plopped myself down in one of those hard, molded fiberglass chairs that are oft found in amusement parks and stared straight ahead. A woman sat down next to me and placed a cage with 2 chickens in it, on the floor. Oh great, this just keeps getting better and better. A few minutes later, when the check-in line had dwindled, I queried the ticket agent a second time. Again, no. I must have done this at least 3 more times over the course of 2 hours. As you might imagine, I was beginning to get airport stir crazy. I went outside for a bit of fresh air and sat on the lawn which was the median strip for the airport. That lasted no time at all as the diesel smoke was just too thick to take.  Back to the hard chair for me. I think that I nodded off for a bit, that or I must have blacked out the thought of it, because I cannot remember what happened over the next few hours. Once more into the breach!  “Am I confirmed?” “Yes, here is your ticket. The flight leaves in one hour.” “May I use the first class lounge please?”  The furniture was much more comfortable there and I had no qualms at all about stretching out on the sofa for a nap.

The flight to Easter Island was quick and comfortable. A little known fact: The airstrip on Easter Island was built by NASA as an emergency landing strip for the shuttle, should it ever have to land in that part of the world, and was a full 2 miles long. The landing there was the smoothest I have ever experienced. The pilot required no flaps, or reverse thrusters, to slow down the aircraft. We just glided to a stop. We deplaned on the tarmac and a lovely woman came running up to me and asked, “Tom?” “Yes,” I replied.  “Oh my God! We did not know if you had made it on the plane. We had someone at the airport to greet you and take you to a hotel room where you could shower and rest.”

I just laughed. In truth, I had made it, literally, half way around the world with relatively few discomforts. I was alive and about to start an amazing adventure. So, I just laughed. It was nighttime and I was shown to my room at the local motel. The building was old and weathered from many years of tropical storms, and the hot water smelled of Sulphur but the shower was delicious.  Having shampooed, showered and shaved, I tucked myself in to a proper bed for a good night’s sleep. The only sound I heard was that of a gentle Pacific Ocean breeze. I had work tomorrow but tonight I slept.

Until Tomorrow,

Tommy Judt

p.s. Oh, I almost forgot. As I turned out the light and nestled into my soft, soft pillow embracing the breezy quiet of the island I heard this strange clicking sound moving across the hard floor of my room. I sat up quickly and switched on the light. Looking down I saw three HUGE cockroaches coming at me from the front door. They must have slid under from outside. And to this day I will swear, on any holy book that you give to me, that I heard one of them say, “You two hold him down and I’ll grab the pillow.”

Welcome to Hollywood!