Tag: travel

When April Teaches You How to Feel Warm Again

Some days don’t announce themselves. They don’t kick down the door or roll in with thunder. They just show up quietly, like an old friend who doesn’t need to knock. Today was one of those days.

The official coastal temperature — the one the weather folks love to toss around — sat at a stubborn 47°. Cooler at the coast, they say, as if we haven’t lived long enough to know the ocean keeps its own personality. But then I stepped outside, and the sun hit me in that particular April way, the way that says, Relax. I’ve got this.

And just like that, I felt better already.

MSN Weather, in its polite little digital voice, tried to explain it:
“Dominant factor: humidity.”
Which is really just science’s way of saying the air has softened. The sharp edges have rounded off. Your skin isn’t fighting the cold anymore. The breeze isn’t stealing heat from you like it did all winter. And the sun — well, the sun is finally acting like it remembers what month it is.

Stand in the right spot — out of the sea breeze, tucked against a sun‑warmed wall, maybe near a patch of pavement that’s been soaking up the morning light — and the whole world shifts. The thermometer can cling to its 47°, but your body knows better. Your body says 59°, maybe more. Your body says, Hey, we made it. Look at us now.

That’s the thing about April.
It’s not just a month.
It’s a mood.
It’s the first real exhale after months of bracing yourself. It’s the moment you realize the warmth isn’t a rumor anymore. It’s here. It’s real. And it’s trying its best to meet you halfway.

So yes, the coast may be cooler.
But today?
Today feels warm enough to believe in again.
Warm enough to loosen your shoulders.
Warm enough to remind you that you’re still here, still breathing, still capable of feeling good for no grand reason at all.

And sometimes that’s all a person needs — a little sun, a little shelter from the breeze, and the quiet surprise of feeling warm again.

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Rating: 1 out of 5.

Gridiron for Leg Irons

In the winter of
Nineteen hundred and sixty-four
Something was going on,
Called the Vietnam War.

But all we could hear,
At the stadium that night
Was the roar of the crowd,
As we continued our fight.

But older friends
Had joined the fray,
And died in a swamp
Many worlds away.

The play was called.
And I started my run.
As another friend died
Under the gun.

The play I remember
Was Buck-forty-five
As the government kept telling
Us, lie after lie.

Then came the day
They said I must go.
But I stood on the line and shouted
My NO!!

They locked me in chains,
Both hands and
Both feet.
But the mind of the boy
Would not face defeat.

The judge said,
Son, “What will you do?”
I said, “Your honor.
It is all up to you.”

If you think I was wrong, then
To jail, I must go.
If you believe I was right
There’s a great Broadway show.
Perhaps we could go.

And with those words
In the blink of an eye
I traded the gridiron
For leg irons
And two years
At Danbury FCI.

Rating: 1 out of 5.

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Rambling Harbor Dispatch: The Bill Comes Due

In the late 1960s, while napalm lit the skies over Vietnam, a quieter rebellion flickered across American kitchens. It wasn’t shouted in the streets—it was whispered through unpaid phone bills. The government had slapped a 10% excise tax on telephone service to help fund the war. And hundreds of thousands of citizens said, “No thanks.” They refused to pay, not out of stinginess, but out of conscience. I was one of those. They called it war tax resistance. I call it dialing into dignity.

By 1972, as many as half a million Americans were hanging up on war—literally—by withholding the tax. The IRS attempted to pursue them, once even seizing a man’s car over $2.44. That’s not enforcement. That’s bureaucratic burlesque.

Fast forward to 2025, and the bill has come due again. Only this time, it’s not for war—it’s for one man’s legal battle against the government. President Trump, facing a thicket of lawsuits, wants taxpayers to help cover the costs of his defense. The irony? It’s thicker than a Nixon tape.
In the Vietnam era, we resisted paying for bombs. Today, we’re being asked to pay for briefs. Legal briefs. Filed by a man who once promised to drain the swamp but now wants us to subsidize his wade through it.
Where’s the opt-out box on that invoice?

This isn’t just about money. It’s about memory. About whether public funds should be used to defend personal grievances. About whether the American people are shareholders in someone else’s vendetta. And about whether resistance still has a place in the age of auto-pay and algorithmic distraction.

It may be time to revive the spirit of the phone tax rebels, not with rotary dials and mimeographed pamphlets, but with satire, sanctuary, and a refusal to subsidize secrecy. Maybe it’s time to hang up again—this time on legal tab transfers disguised as patriotism.

Whether it’s $2.44 or $2.4 million, the principle remains: we should not be forced to pay for what violates our conscience.

And here’s my thought: what if you decided to withhold even $ 5 from any tax you might owe, along with a long explanation about why you are doing this? And sure, that would really make no difference, but sometimes it’s the symbolism, the meaning behind the action.

Donald Trump is reportedly seeking reimbursement of approximately $4.2 million. So, along with our $5, what if we lean on major companies? Corporate Tax Revenue: In 2024, the federal government collected roughly $425 billion in corporate income taxes.

Imagine if Apple, Amazon, and Google said: “We’re withholding 3% until Congress passes climate legislation.” Or until war funding is redirected to healthcare. And not one cent to Donald Trump’s defense. It would be the modern equivalent of hanging up on war—only this time, with billions instead of phone bills.

3% Withheld: That’s about $12.75 billion withheld.
Sure, I’m Dan Don Quixote, still maybe swinging at windmills, but this is my first thought tonight. If you have a better one, don’t hesitate to share it.

Rambling Harbor remembers. And resists.

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