Tuesday, February 10, 2026

Heat Wave


6:20

8:06

8:20

Well, it's warming up, 27º and by noon we should have temperatures in the 40s—47º warmer than yesterday morning's -7º. It's 7:40, and I've been up for an hour, Evie for 15 minutes. We're both busy this morning: Evie with school, me with yoga. I want to get back on track and make it to yoga at least twice a week, with hikes on the other days.

Monday Morning Sky

Monday was a wasted day for me, but a productive one for Evie. My morning followed the usual routine—reading, blog, and breakfast, all done by 9:00. Because of the frigid single-digit temperatures, I stayed inside and wallowed in self-pity. I read my book Stay, and something interesting happened. The main character, Aud, lives alone in the woods—a rugged individualist rebuilding his grandfather's cabin piece by piece, even hand-splitting shingles with an ax. He's been living in solitude since the shooting death of his love, Julie. In the aftermath, he killed the shooter but blames himself for her death. A former Atlanta police officer, he rescues a friend's girlfriend from a sexual predator in New York City at the friend's request. Later, he returns and beats the predator to a pulp, destroying all the sex videos. Halfway through the book, I had a startling realization: He is a She. How did I miss that? Bizarre.

Around 10:30, Evie took a break from laundry to give me a much-needed haircut. I showered, then had lunch—leftover potatoes and ham. I left for Jamestown at 1:00 for an appointment with my gastroenterologist's PA. We discussed various diets to alleviate my stomach pain, and she gave me a handout on the Low-FODMAP Diet, which I will not follow, of course. On the way home, I stopped at Michael's to return my air inflator to Amazon, then swung by Evans for some Blackbox wine.

I was home by 3:00, read for a while, then fell asleep on the couch until wine time at 5:00. At 6:00, Evie air-fried a couple of walleye filets, heated up the leftover potatoes, and made a salad—we had a great dinner. We watched the last two episodes of Hostage on Netflix and would give it a B-. I then watched the first half of the Kansas/Arizona game, but went to bed and missed the second half. Kansas ended up upsetting Arizona, the number one team in the nation.

Below is a clear, factual list of the publicly reported accusations of sexual assault or serious sexual misconduct against Donald Trump made by women (many of which he has denied). Some have been part of lawsuits or civil findings; others are individual allegations from news outlets or public statements. These are drawn from widely cited reporting and legal records.

🎯 Allegations of Sexual Assault / Serious Misconduct

  1. E. Jean Carroll
    — Alleged Trump sexually assaulted (including rape) her in a Bergdorf Goodman dressing room in the mid-1990s. A civil jury found Trump liable for sexual abuse and defamation, awarding damages.

  2. Jessica Leeds
    — Alleged in the 1970s on a flight Trump grabbed her breasts and tried to put his hand up her skirt without consent.

  3. Kristin Anderson
    — Alleged that in the early 1990s Trump groped her vagina through her underwear at a Manhattan nightclub.

  4. Jill Harth
    — In the early 1990s alleged Trump forcibly kissed her, groped her breasts, and grabbed her genitals; she described this as attempted rape in a civil complaint.

  5. Stacey Williams
    — Said in 1993 Trump groped her breasts, waist, and buttocks at Trump Tower in the presence of Jeffrey Epstein.

  6. Rachel Crooks
    — Alleged that around 2005 Trump kissed her on the mouth without consent while she worked as a receptionist.

  7. Mindy McGillivray
    — Said in 2003 Trump groped her buttocks at Mar-a-Lago without consent.

  8. Bridget Sullivan
    — Former Miss New Hampshire runner-up alleged around 2000 Trump would hug women low on their backs and walked through dressing rooms with contestants undressed.

  9. Cassandra Searles
    — Former Miss Washington alleged in 2013 that Trump grabbed her buttocks repeatedly at the Miss USA pageant.

  10. Natasha Stoynoff
    — Alleged that in 2005 at Mar-a-Lago Trump shoved her against a wall and kissed her forcibly during an interview.

  11. Summer Zervos
    — Former Apprentice contestant alleged in 2007 that Trump forcefully kissed her and groped her breasts in both Trump Tower and a Beverly Hills hotel.

  12. Karen Johnson
    — Reported Trump pulled her by her crotch into a tapestry at a New Year’s Eve party in the early 2000s.

  13. Amy Dorris
    — Former model alleged at the 1997 US Open that Trump forcibly kissed her and groped her in his VIP box.

  14. (Unidentified “Jane Doe”)
    — A woman once filed a lawsuit alleging Trump raped her when she was 13 alongside Jeffrey Epstein; the suit was dropped before trial.

  15. Ivana Trump (former wife)
    — Alleged in a divorce deposition that Trump raped her (she later clarified she did not mean “rape” in a strict legal sense). 

  16. Trump has denied all of the above allegations. In many cases, he labeled them false or politically motivated

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A Response To Bad Bunny's Half Time Show

 

Michael Garrett - NC Senate  
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I watched Bad Bunny deliver the most American halftime show I have ever seen. Then I came home and watched it again. And I am not okay. In the best possible way.
He sang every single word in Spanish. Every. Single. Word. He danced through sugarcane fields built on a football field in California while the President of the United States sat somewhere calling it “disgusting.” Lady Gaga came out and did the salsa. Ricky Martin lit up the night. A couple got married on the field. He handed his Grammy, the one he won eight days ago for Album of the Year, to a little boy who looked up at him the way every child looks up when they dare to believe the world has a place for them.
And then this man, this son of a truck driver and a schoolteacher from Vega Baja, Puerto Rico, stood on the biggest stage on the planet and said “God bless America.”
And then he started naming them.
Chile. Argentina. Uruguay. Paraguay. Bolivia. Peru. Ecuador. Brazil. Colombia. Venezuela. Panama. Costa Rica. Nicaragua. Honduras. El Salvador. Guatemala. Mexico. Cuba. Dominican Republic. Jamaica. The United States. Canada. And then, his voice breaking with everything he carries, “Mi patria, Puerto Rico. Seguimos aquí.” My homeland, Puerto Rico. We are still here.
The flags came. Every single one of them. Carried across that field by dancers and musicians while the jumbotron lit up with the only words that mattered: “THE ONLY THING MORE POWERFUL THAN HATE IS LOVE.”
I teared up. I’m not ashamed to say it. I sat on my couch and I wept because THAT is the America I believe in. That is the American story, not the sanitized, gated, English-only version that small and frightened people try to sell us. The REAL one. The messy, beautiful, multilingual, multicolored, courageous one. The one that has always been built by hands that speak every language and pray in every tongue and come from every corner of this hemisphere.
That is the America I want Jack and Charlotte to know. That when the moment came, when the whole world was watching, a Puerto Rican kid who grew up to become the most-streamed artist on Earth stood in front of 100 million people, sang in his mother’s language, blessed every nation in the Americas, and spiked a football that read “Together, we are America” into the ground. Not with anger. With joy. With love so big it made hate look exactly as small as it is.
And what did the President do? He called it “absolutely terrible.” He said “nobody understands a word this guy is saying.” He called it “a slap in the face to our Country.” The leader of the free world watched a celebration of love, culture, and everything this hemisphere has given to the world, and all he could see was something foreign. Something threatening. Something disgusting.
Let that sink into your bones.
The man who is supposed to represent all of us looked at the flags of our neighbors, heard the language of 500 million Americans across this hemisphere, and felt attacked. That’s not strength. That’s not patriotism. That is poverty of the soul.
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