T. R. Mugler

Today's final destination is Yellowstone National Park. Leaving Heart Mountain, we were able to see Devil's Tower from the main road, its massive presence stood majestically in the distance. Strangely all I could think about was mashed potatoes and Close Encounters the Third Kind. The mind is a strange an unusual keeper of time.

The winding road offered wide open spaces and the devastation of charred forest stood in contrast to the resilience of nature. The blackened remains of trees fell into the shadows of new life, as we marveled over the strength and spirit of life's rebirth.

Weaving through the park we drove slowly around the often-tight bends, finding unexpected waterfalls and Wild Buffalo grazing near the road. It was as though time stood still and world drifted on the edge of centuries gone.

Wanting to see the world-famous geyser come alive, we stopped for the night not far from Old Faithful. The Lake Hotel came into view like an opening scene in a movie. Soft yellow lap board edged with mountain peak white trim, stood like a gentle giant behind its towering columns beckoning you inside.

Quickly learning accommodations inside the park are booked up months ahead, we were offered a great nugget of advice by the concierge that proved to be true. Waiting until 4:30pm for the cancellations of the day to be released, you can land one of the 153 rooms without a reservation, and we did.

While it was odd that no internet, microwave, refrigerator, air conditioning, or television were among the amenities offered, we easily slipped into the quiet comfort of unplugging. A sense of togetherness wrapped around us, as we relaxed in a large common area, observing children basking in the undivided attention of their parents, playing board games, reading books and writing in journals. The disruptive gadgets of cellular phones, and televisions purging 24-hour news cycles into the air were absent, while life settled into the cradling arms of silence and we collectively exhaled.

Embracing the mild temperature and sun filled sky, we set off on a leisurely walk along the lake across the road. Exploring narrow paths through wooded areas, soon gave us the gift of a tranquil group of Elk foraging in a discreet clearing.

The rustling of leaves above our heads whispering the stories of yesterday, we embraced the smooth feel of grass beneath bare feet as our spirit reached beyond the chaos. Often it is in these serene moments we truly find ourselves. Stillness swaddles us like infants torn from the womb, lifting us into the light as we break free of the manufactured darkness, we allow life to create.

Take a moment or a day and allow peace to rock you gently into the calm waters of your most sacred dreams. Adventure awaits along this ever-winding road.

Heading out the following morning around 10am, we filled up in Powell at $3.23 a gallon and drove straight to Heart Mountain to learn about one of the 10 American concentration camps during World War II. An informative and enlightening experience unfolded as we discovered the realities behind the 'relocation' and 'internment' of thousands of American Citizens.

The 'camp' was nothing short of a prison, detaining 14,000 people with Japanese ancestry from August of 1942 until November of 1945, two months after the war ended. Not learning much about these relocation centers in the American public schools I attended, I was quickly reminded America's past is never that far behind us. Lurking in the shadows of a forgotten history are the thick scars of oppression and bigotry. Creaking along a cogwheel system of habitual entitlement, the belief of race superiority doesn't lie dormant in the pages of long ago, it still screams loudly among us.

Using the fear sparked by the bombing of Pearl Harbor, President Roosevelt and his bigotry reigned supreme, as he and the media spun a web of prejudice to convince the nation of the many dangers to come if these Japanese citizens were allowed to roam freely.

Immersed in the self-guided tour, it didn't take long to recognize the recycled rhetoric still used today. The divisiveness it creates, allowing the rampant white supremacy ingrained into the fabric of our country to fester.

Although the thousands of imprisoned Japanese at Heart Mountain, and the other 9 'relocation centers' in various states, were not tortured, or murdered, they were definitely not treated like humans. The barracks were constructed in such a way that 6-8 family members shared one room, as barracks were divided into small sections inside. Toilets were installed side by side without privacy partitions.

During the early months of filling the camps with prisoners, food was sparse. Many came from their homes thousands of miles away, forced to leave their businesses and homes behind. Later, prisoners were granted permission to grow gardens and construct a root cellar. The hospital, kitchen, housekeeping, and laundry were all staffed and ran by those forced to live behind barbed wire and armed guards, for no other reason than their ethnicity.

Wondering about the property we ventured to an original barrack that had been recently donated back, (most were sold, or torn down after the facility closed). The reconstruction of the divided rooms speaks volumes to how difficult it must have been to pack 8 family members into one small space. The hospital and boiler room are still standing, though crumbling to the point they are not accessible to anyone. I was able to get a few inside photos from outside windows that are now covered in cage wire.

Much to my surprise the Japanese were not the only ethnicity targeted during WWII, over 11,000 Germans and 3,000 Italians were also detained, labeled 'alien enemies', though many were citizens. Finding myself faced with this very real and blatant human rights violations, I quickly realized how much has not changed in the United States. This grand American Experiment in democracy, cradling its ideals of freedom on worn and faded parchment, have yet to come close to realizing them.

Adventures filled with unknowns and small surprises often make the journey more desirable. Sometimes, not so hidden in the hills of dust and time, we find the gaping wounds of America's own atrocities, still oozing beneath the scar tissue of our self-appointed privilege.

May we all seek the answers beneath our truths, offer light to those left in the dark and wield kindness like a sword upon those we disagree. May we also wake each day with gratitude when we find freedom still outside our front doors, and spread love along this ever winding road.

Leaving Gillette, we headed toward Cody Wyoming. After a day of driving, we soon discovered a hotel was not to be had for less than $200, and that was the small non-chain motels. Determined to visit the Japanese "internment" camp at Heart Mountain the following day, we settled for a Super 8 for $159 in Powell.

Looking for a good meal, we asked for direction and the hotel recommended the Lamplight Inn Lounge, though we have no idea why. We entered the lounge and a woman walked pass us, going loudly on about how hot it was.

We continued to stand there, waiting to be seated, for 6 minutes, while listening to her go on an on about the heat with a man standing at the bar. Only 3 other tables were occupied and no waitress in sight. Imagine our surprise when the woman at the bar eventually approached us and led us to a table. Saying very little she disappeared before we were actually sitting. Another 4 minutes passed before she reappeared with a water carafe, that she promptly sat on the table. Quickly handing each of us a single sheet menu she disappeared again without a word to either of us.

After pouring our own water, we perused the menu. Its offerings were limited and the prices exorbitant. A mere 6-ounce sirloin was $26 and came with zero sides, meaning we would have to pay an additional $7 for a 'house salad'. We typically split our meals while traveling, thus resigned ourselves to giving the place a try.

Fifteen minutes later, we were still waiting to order, and decided to leave. No one seemed to notice either. Right next door we found a Millstone Brewery and Restaurant, which didn't appear very busy. Upon entry, we were immediately greeted and shown to a table. A waitress promptly appeared and took our drink order. The food was very good and the prices reasonable. The staff were super friendly and the atmosphere fun.

If you find yourself in Powell, along this ever winding road, we highly recommend you give the Millstone a try.

We headed out this morning toward Wyoming. 

Driving down the winding roads beneath the numerous mountains is simply breathtaking. Taking in the untouched bluffs and jagged rock where a multitude of tribes and pioneers once built their lives, felt like touching history as we inhaled the essence of another time.

Anticipating the unfolding of pages in history, we stopped in Deadwood, South Dakota. https://www.deadwood.com/ 

At first glance everything appears reminiscent of the 'Old West', or at least what we believe it must've looked like, thanks to the numerous 'westerns' we watched on television as children. Unfortunately, it is nothing more than a facade designed to pull you in, to an overflowing tourist trap. 

Numerous store fronts proclaiming to be restaurants, lure you inside to find casino after casino after casino. I'm not a history expert, yet I'm fairly certain slot machines and roulette wheels were not this significant to the great west. In Deadwood, they are the foundation to their economy. For those keepsake knickknacks one might be in search of to commemorate their trip, other shops offer an endless array of souvenirs and gunslinger toys made in China.

After paying a guy $7 to let us park our own car in a narrow back alley, we happened upon a Stagecoach tour. Agreeing this would be a fun way to learn the local history we quickly boarded along with 5 others. A bumpy ride along cobblestone streets, we struggled to hear a tape-recorded guide point out supposed important facts. I have no idea what they were, or if in fact they were important, as we literally could not hear the muffled voice coming from a tape recorder hanging in a cloth bag, swinging back and forth the entire 20 minutes of the horse drawn ride. Hey, we've spent more on less and the proceeds here help rescued horses and other animals. Check em out and if you can throw some monetary support their way! https://www.facebook.com/theluckyhorseco/

Afterward, we hurried down to the information center to inquire about the 'Trolley Tours', which were widely advertised, only to discover they are not 'tours' at all! The Trolley is nothing more than a hop on, hop off taxi service which requires $1 each time you 'hop on'.

In need of sustenance we wandered into one of the many casino's, looking for food and drink. Mavericks was just the ticket. The agave gods were watching out for us as One of the BEST margarita's ever made, was found right here and it was a MIX!! I suppose stranger things have happened. https://www.deadwood.com/business/bars-and-saloons/mavericks-steaks-and-cocktails/

While walking along the souvenir shops we found a building claiming to be an original Brothel that was in operations until 1980! Climbing the steep narrow staircase, hoping to get a peek into the past, your mind drifts to the lives that were here before and the history they created just trying to survive. Though promising a 'century of prostitution history', the guided tour of rooms left much to be desired. The bland and dull décor felt out of place among the evolution of the sex trade stories, and the demise of the brothel industry. For $15 a person, you can judge for yourself. https://www.deadwoodbrothel.com/#g-container-main

The highlight of Deadwood for us was found inside the 1892 Adams House Mansion. After paying a mere $10 a person, we learned it had been left to its own devices, sitting quietly alone for over 50 years after Adam's death in 1934. The hand-painted wall coverings, stained glass windows and furnishings were found in surprisingly impeccable condition as it waited for a new life. The fully restored house got a second wind as a museum in 2000.

Driving toward Wyoming, we were able to see Devil's Tower from I-90. Landing in Gillette for the night, we enjoyed an amazing meal at the local Rib & Chop. The staff here were tons of fun and the food fantastic. We highly recommend you check them out! https://ribandchophouse.com/locations/gillette-wyoming/ 

If you find life has been stifling this past pandemic year, we encourage you to hit the winding road and discover the many treasures in lying in wait in your own backyard. Adventure awaits...

Road Trip 2021 is in full swing, or drive, as the case may be, and so far, we haven't any exciting news or experiences. We left Sioux City Iowa on Tuesday the 6th to embark upon our journey to the west coast. Not being far from South Dakota, we of course rolled in quite quickly after our departure and excitedly headed west for Wyoming.

First unplanned stop on our venture was Sturgis. We needed a comfortable bed and a good meal. Sturgis South Dakota, known for its mass motorcycle rally it hosts every year in August, at first glance doesn't appear to be much of a city. While it boasts several motorcycle shops, its sparse in the hotel, motel & restaurant arena.

Our hotel desk clerk highly recommended we partake in the cuisine at a local spot called The Knuckle Saloon. She stated the beef tips were the best she had ever had. Not knowing her history, or vastness of her experiences, we hesitantly followed her advice.

The Knuckle Saloon was packed with motorcycle enthusiast, taking up one entire side of the place. Applause rang out as raffle tickets were being drawn and prizes were being handed out. Unsure of what was happening, and not wanting to impose, we stuck to the opposite side to observe from a distance. It was quickly clear a poker run of some sort had reached its end, and participants were celebrating and mingling.

We were waited on immediately, by an outgoing young waitress. We ordered our drinks and perused the menu. Recalling the desk clerks verbal yelp-type review, we settled on the beef tips, and decided to share a pound of them. Not wanting fries, the waitress suggested tots with a side of cheese sauce. Well yes! I think we will! *if you're someone that passes on cheese sauce, we just can't be friends.

The tips were phenomenally tender, easily cut with your fork and the flavor superb. The tots were nothing special, seriously they literally come one way right? They were cooked perfectly crisp without dripping in grease, that has to be a culinary skill! The cheese sauce was well, cheesy, what more can you ask for?!

After our meal, we ventured out to explore more of the town. Sturgis, obviously, embraces the biker clan regardless of the time of year and motorcycles are in greater number than cars. Cruising the quiet streets, we happened upon an antique shop, "Unique Antique", that happened to have its door open and lights on. Though not officially open, the owner graciously invited us inside to browse while she assisted a local artist in restocking her hand made jewelry, which she also sold.

Visiting with them, we were soon reminded that while the world seems vast, it is quite small. The jewelry maker told us her mother was from Spirit Lake Iowa! Anyone living in the NorthWest corner of Iowa, KNOWS Okoboji and its surrounding towns. What are the odds?

If you happen to find yourself in the area, don't hesitate to stop in for a bit. Sturgis isn't just for the bikers, and the locals will be happy to see you and will no doubt share a story or two about their life along this ever-winding road.

On this day 100 years ago Mary Patricia Plangman was born in Ft. Worth Texas. Twenty-nine years later she would become known all over the world as Patricia Highsmith when her first novel Strangers on a Train was optioned by none other than Alfred Hitchcock.

Highsmith went on to become one of the most elite writers of mystery and murder. Her ability to tap into the psyche of her murderous characters offered up tales woven on the border of horror like no other and quickly put her in a genre all her own.

Author of more than twenty novels, including The Talented Mr. Ripley and his many new adventures that followed, Highsmith was soon among the most filmed authors with a total of 28 films depicting her stories and unforgettable characters.  The beautiful cinematography success of the 2015 Todd Haynes film Carol, based on Highsmith's novel The Price of Salt, was nominated for numerous awards including the Oscars and Cannes.  

Diogenes Verlag, the literary estate holder of Patricia Highsmith, in preparation for the marking of her 100th birthday released Ladies, showcasing stories that previously appeared in school newspapers and women's magazines. This never before published five story collection was soon followed by the reprinting of other Highsmith works: The Sweet Madness, Deep Water, The Owl's Cry, Elsie's Lust for Life, Edith's Diary and The Price of Salt.

A complicated and brilliant woman, Highsmith possessed a darkness that would catapult her career and simultaneously disrupt her personal life many times over. Her private diaries, filled with prejudices, longing, love and despair, display an inner battle of self-loathing crashing against a desire to give affection while never truly accepting any.

100 years from her birth and 71 years from her writing debut, the brilliance that is Highsmith remains unrivaled. Her unmatched ability to twist deception and evil into a likable, relatable character is certain to attract new generations of readers for decades to come.

The announcement from Diogenes in September of 2020 that they will publish several excerpts from her many journals has been met with anticipation and intrigue. The upcoming 2021 release will no doubt bring much discussion and deliberation over the dichotomy of the author that was seen and the woman that hid behind the pages of her innermost vile thoughts.

For those that can't wait, you can find excerpts from her diaries and insights from those that knew her in The Talented Miss Highsmith: The Secret Life and Serious Art of Patricia Highsmith, by Joan Schenkar (2009), or check out the newest journey into the mind of Highsmith with Devils, Lusts & Strange Desires: The Life of Patricia Highsmith by Richard Bradford, set to release January 21, 2021.

Revisiting a year no one could have imagined and contemplating things completely unexpected, I find the world presently in a past somehow forgotten. Squandered in the vernacular of an obsolete time, it is difficult to articulate what is new and what is old.

2020 has been an ongoing demonstration of all things iniquitous. The abhorrence seeping into the crevices, cloaking everything in its darkness, while the insidious turmoil pervading our lives leaves us gasping for oxygen in a world without air.

Abruptly uprooted, lives are rearranged as the masses flail about searching for a life raft, unaware we were never drowning in the first place. Storms come and go, after all its the only way for life to push itself forward and further from the shores of sameness.

Standing on the beach may be the perfect backdrop for partaking in colorful beverages adorned with umbrellas, but it quickly becomes indolent as our idle spirits crave the unknown beyond the horizon. Imbalance crashing upon the rocky coast, the world searches for the beacon in a darkness it never saw coming. In the cacophony of chaos, purpose is often lost in translation. The mightiest of all weapons, dialogue becomes the penetrating fusillade, cutting the hardest of stones and melting the softest of hearts.

Though few things can reach beyond turmoil and unrest, it is our words that travel the furthest. Across the globe, mankind wrapped itself in the banners of righteousness, demanding justice, the call to arms and claims of superiority echoing forth the long simmering animosity generated through our ancestors and passed on as though part of our DNA.

Through our ability to express thoughts and ideals, language can become the catalyst to affect change or the keepers of stagnation. Philosophers once walked upon the land, stringing together manifestations of wisdom, imparting ideologies and explanations of the unanswered questions enveloping the universe. Feeding the hunger inside each of us to make sense of the unexplainable.

I suspect their contributions were not appreciated until long after their stories ended. From the tongue of Socrates, to Voltaire and Diogenes, it is clear people turned a silenced ear toward the truths they did not wish to hear. Basking in a self-imposed ignorance, humans throughout history gravitate near the hamster wheel. Predictability chosen over fear, the longing for improvement cast aside in favor of placation.

Advancements in technology rapidly feed false narratives, confusing the masses, and leaving truth behind, lying in a heap at the foot of a dumpster we call the internet. The world literally at our fingertips, words became the accomplice in the dumbing down of a society previously hungry for knowledge.

Whether it is wise words, words of comfort, or words to live by, we often find ourselves seeking retribution, explanations, and absolution. Politics to religion, life's many mysteries drum loudly in each of us. From a long walk to purgatory, to a difficult climb to heaven, we lean on prose to ease our discontentment.

The dichotomy of values and morals crowding the airwaves, leaving the very essence of what it means to be human in the middle of a revolution between troglodyte and millennial. Sacrificing truth and lies equally to the hyperbole of the day.

Standing alongside our convictions, rising against the social media machine of false information, we found the words to bring us together while apart. A trying and bizarre year on a multitude of levels, 2020 found inspiration in surprising and unusual ways.

Watching speech equally build up and tear down a society, it was redundantly clear that what we say matters. The volley of political correctness against basic kindness set the stage for a long overdue intermission. The entire world forced into a simultaneous timeout; reflection could no longer be avoided.

The upheaval and torment loudly broadcast in every medium possible, words alone could not deter the longing for equality nor the ideology of freedom's existence. The reverberation of the loudest voices in the room could not break the spirit of the human need to be with humans.

Through the fog of divisiveness, and the solitude of isolation we sought togetherness. Creativity pouring into the heartbeat of the living, progress infiltrating our veins, we became experts at Zoom and video chat apps, devouring them like the nectar of life. Streaming concerts, movies, talk show interviews and Tik Tok content, we found joy and laughter cracking open the night.

Homeschool fails and victories led to long overdue appreciation for the teachers raising our children. Job loss and boredom led to new innovations and entrepreneurship. Single-minded survival fell away to unprecedented gratitude for the frontline workers willingly sacrificing everything for strangers. Hoarding basic necessities no longer vital as the term 'essential' shifted our realities.

Our families, neighbors, and our planet became points of deliberation as we each considered what was truly important. Suddenly acutely aware of the mass waste and disposability around us, we became a collaboration of revisionist. Learning and relearning to take only what we need and leave the rest.

Lifting us out of perdition, our generosity and humanity will again lead us to the resurrection as we mend friendships and familial ties. Moving the world forward steadily, our resilience will take precedence over battles fought and never won. Holding tight to hope's hand we search for common ground in a shared unprecedented loss.

Regardless of the presumed rhetoric, humans will always be more alike than different. We will inevitably rise from the proverbial ashes and set upon a pristine path of righteousness. Coated in a semblance of the familiar, we will again prompt history to repeat itself while proclaiming it all fresh and new.

Standing on the cusp of tomorrow, marinating in yesterday, we continue to do the same things over and over, all the while expecting a different outcome. Humans become the hamster as time writes a history, we will one day erase, declaring its many falsehoods to hide our shame.

In this time of contemplation may we strive for compassion over cruelty and love over hate. Mindful of their impact, may we choose our words carefully. Commencing upon the coming year, may we find gentleness in our reflection and thoughtfulness in our humanity. Benevolent in our mercy and generous in our understanding, may we each walk with grace by our side, goodness in our intentions, and decency in our hearts.

As 2020 comes to a close and the dust of dissent settles, may we use our words to rejoice in our freedoms, protect one another, and implement the promise of brighter days along this ever winding road.

I grew up in a world where most people looked like me. I watched the world change while women evolved and did extraordinary things. These women also looked like me.

I admired Barbara Walters sitting next to Hugh Downs co-anchoring the news and looked forward to her numerous one on one interviews for the infamous Barbara Walters Specials. Geraldine Ferraro was the selected VP choice of Walter Mondale while I was in high school. The excitement around the historic moment left me disappointed that I wasn't old enough to vote, and equally frustrated when they lost.

Seeing women doing the same jobs as men, I felt empowered and believed through them, that I too could do anything.

Growing up during the ending run of the second wave feminist movement, my young and naïve mind believed we had won. We had won some long hard-fought battle against the patriarchy and women were finally equal, after all the television and magazine world seemed to be packed full of brilliant, strong & intelligent women rattling the cages of oppression and ringing in feminism.

Gloria Steinman was a household name, and Ms. magazine was often found on our coffee table. Comedian's like Lily Tomlin and Joan Rivers were in the mainstream, Dolly Parton left Porter Wagoner and struck out on her own to an unprecedented success. Stevie Nicks was leading Fleetwood Mac in sold out venues, Sandra Day O'Connor was appointed to the Supreme Court and Madeleine Albright became Secretary of State. While these women were few and far between, I believed nothing was impossible.

These women weren't my heroes, they were my possible and they all looked like me.

I was a white kid living in the projects, on the outskirts of hope and opportunity, and I always knew I could and would get out. The young women of color around me, didn't have this multitude of successful women that looked like them. They didn't have this ingrained expectation of success to fill their pores with possibilities and triumph.

It's not that women of color haven't done extraordinary things or found insurmountable success throughout the history of the world, they indeed have. Unfortunately, you have to look hard to find them. Stories written down, yet not repeated get lost in the winds of change. History tends to linger in the stories that are told and taught in our schools, our movie theaters, around our dinner tables and on the nightly news.

If the stories of Harriet Tubman, Madame C.J. Walker, Katherine Johnson, Dorothy Vauhn, Mary Jackson, and Shirley Chisholm aren't taught to the next generation, they disappear into the background noise and someone calls it progress.

While poet Maya Angelou's autobiography, 'I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings', spoke to all women and young girls, her oration of 'On the Pulse of Morning', during President Clinton's inauguration was unprecedented, and little black and brown girls were paying attention.

Oprah Winfrey rose to the top with the admiration of most women. Like many others, her story and success weren't without hard work and sacrifice, and she soon became a long-awaited example that success doesn't have to be measured by color or gender alone.

Tarana Burke hatched the #metoo hashtag to show young survivors of sexual assault they were not alone. It has grown to a national movement for women of all colors and socioeconomic position, the fact a black woman sits at the helm isn't lost on black and brown girls, who are disproportionately affected by sexual violence.

From memoir writer to editor, New York Time's bestseller Roxane Gay has not gone unnoticed among women eagerly searching for representation in the often pale waters of publishing success.

The rise of film maker Ava Duvernay for her incredible work behind 'When They See Us', and Pulitzer winning journalism of Nikole Hannah-Jones for her groundbreaking '1619 Project', women of color are finding true to life inspiration in women like them.

The nomination and successful election of America's first female Vice President has broken a multitude of barriers simultaneously. Kamala Harris isn't just the first female, she's the first black, the first Indian, the first bi-racial Vice President of the United States. While this is exciting for all women, for little black and brown girls looking for role models that look like them, it's so much more.

Representation matters. Seeing yourself in others doesn't just sew empathy or understanding, it can weave ambition and determination into your DNA. It can mirror a future never imagined.

Held up high, by the many women who have carved a path in the hardest of stone, Kamala is that mirror. Every little girl and young woman, from every walk of life and every color can now see themselves where they once never dared to dream.

A Woman Like Me also posted to medium.com

<https://trmugler.medium.com/a-woman-like-me-5f67481df2fb> 

Born the 14th of September 1934, in St. Paul Minnesota, Kate Millet's mother never could have predicted that her little girl would one day change the world and its view of women.

Earning a Bachelor degree from the University of Minnesota, a Master's with first class honors from University of Oxford and a Phd from Columbia University, Millet herself couldn't have foreseen the path she would pave.[1]

A writer and an artist, Millet didn't long for the spotlight, she merely wanted to tell her truths as she saw them. Publishing ten books by 2001, she continued to write and publish articles in notable formats until 2014, always strong in her analysis and unwavering in her beliefs she continued to crash waves upon the shores of women's oppression.[2]

Most notably known for her 1970 book Sexual Politics, based on her doctorial dissertation of the same name, Millet challenged and changed how society viewed the patriarchy and its overall subjugation of women. Its unpredicted success catapulted her into the forefront of the women's liberation movement, much to the disdain of other prominent feminists like Betty Friedan.

Although some sought to discredit Millett as a true feminist after she came out as bisexual, she continued to fight the good fight, writing groundbreaking works on political torture, prostitution and mental illness.

Passing away on September 6, 2017, she left her mark not only on the women she met, but on those she never crossed paths with. Across the country and across the globe, her strength and courage to demand something better rippled into an ocean of change that continues today.

On this National Coming Out Day, it seems only right that one of the often forgotten warriors is shown a bit of gratitude for living her truths in such a way as to create the possibility others can too.

[1] https://www.britannica.com/biography/Kate-Millett

 
[2] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kate_Millett

America was leading the way in eugenics long before Adolf Hitler came to power. The forced sterilization and refusal to provide access to safe, legal contraception is just another dark layer of America's continued war on women, hidden in the shadows of the past. 

Follow the link for 'Op-Eds' to read my latest or copy/paste the link below.

https://medium.com/@tamimugler/the-muddy-waters-of-a-right-to-life-71538ed529f5?sk=36d06f796761af3c88a260e01fa4aeef