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Intelligent Life

Oct2
My heart is moved by all I cannot save: so much has been destroyed. I have to cast my lot with those who age after age, perversely, with no extraordinary power, reconstitute the world.
ADRIENNE RICH

I’ve been reading N. K. Jemison’s trilogy The Broken Earth for a compelling diversion from our current earth-breaking trajectory. As in all good fiction, there are some terribly resonant parallels to our times so it turns out not to be more of a reflection than a distraction. This series followed my reading of Octavia E. Butler’s chilling Earthseed series, Parable of the Sower (1993) and Parable of the Talents (1998), which I’d call prescient except this trajectory was already painfully clear to many visionaries back then.

Poised as we are on the precipice of great changes, one way or another, I’ve been especially interested in the AI thread of our species-wide suicide drive. The Lunch Boyz used to talk about the Singularity regularly, and it took me several patient lunches worth of explanations to begin to understand it. I keep forgetting to ask Philip if it’s here yet, but I’m pretty sure I don’t need to.

So I choose from the endless emails to read articles like this one in The Atlantic, “The Truth Physics Can No Longer Ignore.” How could I ignore that headline? Astrophysicist Adam Frank is optimistic that now that the field of physics has turned its attention to the mystery of life itself, it will be able to help direct the growth of AI. Of course, the article was written almost a year ago, and feels hopelessly out of date now. Nevertheless, it came to my inbox a couple of weeks ago, and this passage intrigued me: “The fundamental laws that govern matter and energy cannot predict another fundamental property of life: It is the only system in the universe that uses information for its own purposes. Plants grow toward light, microbes swim toward rich food sources, animals hide from predators, humans send giant metal contraptions into outer space. Although one can, say, program a robot to search for a wall plug when its battery gets low, a living thing (a human programmer, for example) must hard-code that need into the machine. Life, by contrast, is both agential and autonomous.”

Four panels down, one to go! Inspired by Nature.

A few days later, also in the Atlantic, I read an article subtitled “How exactly is AI supposed to kill us all?” which caused me to wonder, IS Life the only complex system in the universe that uses information for its own purposes? I followed this with a valuable analysis of the threat from SNL’s Weekend Update, an interview with Anthropic CEO Dario Amodei.

The three panels completed over the past month all raised to let in warm sun, and lowered at night.

Before I could get this post finished a new article came out about the hitherto unrevealed extent of rogue AI. The very next day the US president “signed a document drafted by Mark Zuckerberg and approved by the AI oligarchs before it was presented to Trump, who then released it as a White House agreement.” Robert Hubbell went on, “As AI displaces your children and grandchildren from their jobs, gobbles up land and resources in their communities, and drives up utility costs, remember that Trump surrendered to the AI industry in a document drafted by Mark Zuckerberg. And, as a public service announcement, I remind everyone that Trump and the AI industry want to rename ‘artificial intelligence’ to ‘super intelligence,’ to remove any doubt about their belief that humans will be subservient to AI’s alleged superior intelligence.”

The large piñon pine that blew over in the big storm a couple of weeks ago. Brought to you by Nature.

I guess I’m spending the news portion of my attention budget on science-based existential threats rather than political existential threats because, well, been there done that and it broke me after a decade. (Although there’s really no separation at this point.) I’m putting myself back together, healing, by turning the bulk of my attention toward real life, lived experience in this body, on this land where Nature’s intelligent life holds me every day, and inspires my very human creativity, something I refuse to surrender to Artificial Intelligence.

A tiny nest on the forest floor on our walk this morning. I thought it was a hummingbird nest but when I reached to pick it up it felt stuck to the ground, so I left it there.

Also helping me cope with “the colossal scale of so much of what is happening: attacks on the free press, denial of life-saving aid to millions overseas, ongoing ICE killings on the streets and in detention facilities,” are the tactics outlined in the Greater Good Science Center’s recent article Seven Ways to Outlast Political Authoritarianism, recounting the experiences of Serbian activists who learned “how to practice sustainable resistance to authoritarian regimes in challenging conditions.”

Wren enjoying her “last bite” of latté foam.

Only intelligent life can resist, so they have to dumb us down. One way they do this is by hijacking our attention. Alexandra Petri explains another way in “The Kennedy Center Is the Most Terrifying Building in America,” if you want to end with an ironic chuckle.

Inside the Kaleidoscope

Sep30

Another opportunity to practice Equanimity! After the dish water slowed to a trickle this morning we went out to the utility room to find this: the new ‘automatic’ pressure switch failed. Oh well. They’ve scheduled me for Friday. It’s worse this time because I can’t manually activate the new switch so I’m down to jugs only. Glad I have plenty left! I’m grateful that in this little slice of life that was the worst thing about the day. Rain fell off and on all day, with snow on Mt. Gunnison, and plenty of other consolation prizes.

I went out to bring in the potted lemon tree because it could get below 40℉ tonight, and discovered even more mushrooms. It’s been practically eastern with all this rain, earthworms crawling up on the stepping stones and mushrooms all over the place. I spent the cool, drizzly day inside finally mounting two of the drapes. They’re not perfect, but who am I to let perfect stand in the way of good enough? I learned new skills with each of them which I hope I remember when I mount the next one. As I stood there looking at the instructions this morning I felt a little frustration arise: it looked daunting. And it was! But as a little whine began to whisper I can’t do this!, I calmed it with the reminder, I’ve never done this before so of course I don’t know how, and it’s okay if it takes all day. And it did! And that was okay.

I took a lunch break, and after I hung the second panel I warmed up some cheesy grits to eat with coleslaw for dinner. During dinner I dropped everything and stepped outside to savor the sunset. And then I reclined with the heating pad at my tweaked back, ate some ice cream, and started the next knitting project while I watched the final two episodes of this season of Grey’s Anatomy. I hope many millions of Americans have watched this season, which features some prominent storylines highlighting diverse tragedies caused by this current anti-science, anti-research, anti-American government.

Mendicant Ridge shortly before dinner, above, and during dinner, below.

Needle Rock and Sleeping Indian shortly before, and then during sunset.

My Good Fortune, or, Wren’s Very Big Day

Sep1

I was grateful for a gorgeous day today, and for the help of Good Tim in the garden. Here he’s cutting suckers from the wild plum with Wren’s help. She adores him and follows him around when he’s here like a—well, like a puppy dog.

I learned a new technique for bread scoring, where you do the decorative scoring only (wheatstalks, here) and bake for seven minutes, then you take the lid off and do the expansion score (straight lines) so the loaf can rise to its full potential, replace the lid and bake the rest of the covered time, then remove the lid as usual until done. Pretty pleased with my first attempt.

The shades are coming along, I spent hours this weekend on several panels in varying stages, and I’m happily absorbed in completing the appliqués. (I’ll iron out the wrinkles before assembly.) I’m grateful I’ve rediscovered the joy of sewing. I heard just this evening on Forrest Hanson’s ‘Being Well’ podcast that when you don’t find joy in things you used to it indicates depression.

While I was designing a trumpet flower on the lower section, little miss Topaz did her cat thing. These are impressionistic shades, not ecologically or geographically accurate, so I anchored this panel with a bunch of cypress knees, checking my memory of them against photos from an Ecosia search online. Yes, they really do look that strange and otherworldly.

I had a couple of errands to run, including swinging by the lumber yard to buy the 1×2 strips for mounting the shades, so I saved them for Farmers Market day. Paonia is an interesting town, with the strongest Blue streak in a Red county. As US politics gets ever more bizarre and divisive, I found this interesting piece on the right’s attacks on Jon Ossoff somewhat enlightening.

Wren came to town with me, and her day got very interesting. She met Huckleberry at the lumber yard. Then she heard fire engine sirens up close and personal at our next stop. Then she met Huckle at the Farmers Market, and she was so excited to see him that I think she must have spent some time with him before, at the Bad Dog Ranch where he’s a neighbor.

Today was an extra bright day for me after the rough week the world just finished. Losing Dolly Parton was the first blow. I know there are a lot of ‘good millionaires’ out there just living their lives and not being greedy; but it does seem that the wealthiest people on the planet are the hungriest ghosts. There are some notable exceptions, among them Dolly, who spent her wealth freely for humanitarian causes.

Thankfully many of the worst fires in the US West are under control or out, though fires in Washington State continue to create unhealthy air, new fires burn in California, and some fires remain in Oregon, Nevada, Arizona, and New Mexico. Colorado, which kicked off the season well ahead of other states, now, blessedly, remains almost fire-free. The Guardian published this article last week about Josephine County, Oregon, which has the highest rate of deaths from wildfire smoke of any place in the country. It’s a sad testament to the obvious effects of climate chaos, and at the same time it validates my experience of our smoky days here and their effect on my breathing.

I’m thankful that the COPD that afflicts me does so only moderately, not severely, but I understand that it’s an irreversible illness that, without adequate precautions, will worsen and could eventually kill me. Oh well! This is how it is. I’m taking the precautions I know of, and always open to more helpful measures. In so many ways, I’m more fortunate than most people on the planet.

Certainly my good fortune far exceeds that of those poor people living along the Trishuli River on the border of Tibet and Nepal. A dear friend has lived in Nepal, has friends there, and has been watching developments in this climate-fueled mega-disaster closely. She shared this link to a fascinating in-depth analysis of the geological and climatological conditions that factored into the seismic ‘debris flow’ or, as some are calling it, ‘inland tsunami’, the effects of which will be felt for a long time to come. A lot of survivors I’ve seen interviewed said there’s no reason left to live: they’ve lost so much that life has no meaning anymore. Many expressed survivors’ guilt. The grief and trauma the entire remaining population of those demolished communities are suffering is almost as unfathomable as the mind-boggling catastrophe itself.

Holding tragedy and grief in my heart, holding the world and all beings in compassion, how else can I live but by appreciating all the small joys as they arise? And every day they arise one after another after another, though some days I notice only a few, and for awhile there I couldn’t see any. Today overflowed with lovely moments.

I spent more money than I should have at the market, including $20 on a pizza to support The Learning Council, a community advocacy group who offers wood-fired pizza and an organic full meal each week for any donation. I enjoyed a couple of slices at a picnic table, listening to the lovely music, before heading home.

I also bought a couple of tomatoes, some pickling cucumbers, and three skeins of yarn. I only intended to buy two. I was entranced by the colors of these hand-dyed wools last time, but I can’t wear wool, it itches. So I pondered what I could do with some, and realized that Wren can wear wool! And I call her Wrenbow, so I planned to get some rainbow wool to knit her a new sweater.

I was grateful to snag the last two skeins of the most rainbow yarn. Then I had a lovely chat with Tonya of Wooly Colorado as I perused the rest of her wares, and she pointed out “Those two are cotton, I spun them. Dyed with indigo.” Something happened. I picked one up and teared up. Emotion overcame common sense, rationalization reared its lovely head, I can wear cotton, and I bought one. Just holding it, carrying it to the car, telling someone about it on the phone later, tears and tingles kept coming. My heart is open again.

No Kings! 3 and Sad Shoes

Mar28

Among the millions of American patriots at thousands of rallies across the country, there were about five hundred of us in Paonia Town Park today.

I arrived early to film the installation of a powerful art piece, ‘168 Pairs of Shoes.’ Local artist Virginia Unseld honored the Iranian schoolgirls slaughtered a month ago by US bombs. Throughout the afternoon, I spoke with people who walked the spiral and came out stunned, shaken, or in tears. (Video link coming soon)

Virginia acquired 168 pairs of little girls’ shoes from regional thrift stores. They cost more than she expected to pay, but when they heard about her project, store managers were generous; and friends also rallied to contribute shoes.

It was Wren’s first time at a public event like this, and I couldn’t get over what a good girl she was! She engaged with the many people who spoke to her, and honored some of them with extra attention. She slipped her collar a few times when I was conversing with someone and she wanted to keep investigating, but came right back with a gentle request when we both noticed. It was a true joy to have her companionship at this event, and she delighted lots of other people too.

There were many of her tribe there and she got along with all of them, even getting a little off-leash play with another rescue dog about her age, Cowboy. And she was happy to see some of her regular human friends there as well.

One of her compatriots had his own sign, which said ‘Crown Clown.’

The tiny red hats weren’t as popular as I’d hoped they would be, but the North Fork Immigrant Protection Team was grateful to have them and raised a little money. I left them with them to sell at the farmers’ market or wherever they can.

The day included inspiring songs and presentations from North Fork Indivisible members, including a singalong with Ellen Stapenhorst to ‘This Land is Your Land,’ and a tribute to our eldest matriarch, 94 year old Mary Smith.

Other protest art included these provocative television pieces by Karen Floyd, and Mary’s popular sign-making table. It brought home the importance of the arts as free speech, and also as a force in our little valley.

At the end of the rally, the crowd ambled past the shoe memorial to march downtown.

Just like last time, I lingered at the park awhile and my escape from town was curtailed when a city cop pulled up to block the road for the march. As I pulled over, grateful for the opportunity to film them, he tried to stop my car, thinking I was trying to drive around him. When I explained I was with the group and thanked him for helping he was all smiles. I thanked him again as I returned to my car. “Of course,” he said. I drove home with my broken heart soaring for a little while, humming This land is your land, this land is my land…, while savoring the sensation of community and the sweet spring air.

Under the Apricot Tree

Mar26

Savoring the sights, sounds, scents of the fruit trees in flagrant bloom this week, I laid a camping pad under the apricot tree on the day the petals all flew off. I was grateful to see a dozen painted ladies, a few bumblebees, some moths, and several other kinds of native bees as well as a few honeybees also enjoying the flowers.

The next day, the wild plum burst into blossom, and the day after that the peach tree buds started to open.

And Biko showed Wren how to enjoy a strawberry.

Saturday is the third No Kings Day national protest against the corrupt, murderous regime in power in the US. If you’re not outraged, you’re not paying attention. You can find an event near you here. I’ll be joining friends at the Paonia Town Park, and donating my craftivism to the local Immigrant Protection organization. These little red hat badges will be available for a $10 minimum donation to support local families affected by ICE terrors.

Red Hat Day

Feb26

I posted on Feb. 1 that I could hardly wait for the red yarn to arrive. It did shortly thereafter, and I’m grateful that I got two hats knitted and delivered in time for Red Hat Day. I’m curious to know if either hat went out in the world on those dear heads today. I stayed home and worked, meditated for inner and outer peace, and gardened. Tonight I continued to knit on the third red hat, the one I’ll get to keep.

Red Hat Day marks the day in 1942 that the Nazis outlawed red hats in Norway. Joyce Vance quotes their proclamation in her Substack yesterday, The Other Red Hat. I started the first hat on an old plastic circular needle that I found in my mother’s trove of knitting supplies. I haven’t had to buy needles or notions in twenty years. But I don’t like the feel of plastic needles or how the yarn moves over them, so I indulged in the purchase of a new circular needle with metal tips which make a satisfying click as I knit. The top of the hat, though, decreases to the point that I have to switch to DPN, double pointed needles, to finish it, and the last inch or so gets tricky.

The current Red Hat resistance was born in a yarn store in Minneapolis last month after Renee Good’s murder by ICE agent Johnathan Ross, who has yet to face any consequences. By the time we started our red hats a few weeks later our first yarn choice was sold out and wouldn’t be in stock again til April, and red yarn was flying off shelves virtual and actual so fast that there was a nationwide shortage. Despite regime claims that ICE has downsized in Minneapolis, it’s not by much and atrocities have continued unabated. Both immigrants and citizens continue to be arrested, and detainees are released at all hours with nothing but what they’re wearing. Haven Watch has volunteers meeting detainees with phones, food, blankets and other support as they walk out of the Whipple Building. Reports indicate horrific conditions inside.

I found this Norwegian perspective on both the original and the current Red Hat Resistance at the Red Hat Factory, which includes a link to the Needle & Skein pattern that has raised well over $600,000 to protect and support victims of ICE in Minneapolis. It’s beautiful to see the resurrection of a Nazi resistance tactic from Norway taking root in the US eight decades later, and to see the world embrace it again in solidarity with us.

Cousin Melinda verifies receipt of the first hat.

I may be finding a new direction in Craftivism, which seems to suit my introverted nature better at the moment than taking to the streets weekly at our local Honk ‘n Wave. I’ll still participate in the next No Kings Day on March 28, and hope millions of others will as well.

Amy models the second hat she received yesterday.

The two skeins Amy bought came with “free ball winding,” and I didn’t quite realize what that was til they arrived. I was grateful for it! A yarn skein often comes as a large, loose loop that’s been twisted tightly into a handy size for selling. But a twisted skein is not handy for knitting from; in fact, it’s impossible. So you have to wind the yarn into a ball before you can use it. The third skein from a different seller arrived in a twist.

I’ve rarely had to roll a skein into a ball, and the few long-ago times I did there was always someone to hold the loop around their wrists, elbows bent, arms outstretched with just enough tension to hold the loop on, as I pulled one strand after another off it, rolling a messy round ball that I unraveled from the outside in as I knitted. But there’s another way to wind a ball, center-pull, and YouTube provided instruction. I untwisted the skein and draped the loop around my knees, careful to keep it out of Wren’s hair. It was fun and meditative to wind the ball this way, leaving a tail in the center and winding neatly around my thumb until the ball was so big I had to pull it off and hold it. I’ve been gratefully and neatly pulling the yarn from the center of the ball as I’m knitting my hat on my pleasing new metal needles.

A couple inches of snow, warm days, a drizzle, nourishing the spring bulbs. What a joy it is to see them bloom! How my heart aches for the exquisite beauty of this planet, how I weep for the wild world plundered and sundered by human greed. How grateful I am for daily engagement with a tiny slice of it.

Finally I was quick enough with the camera to catch Topaz upside down in her basket almost before she rolled over. I keep trying and thought she must have some sixth sense, as despite my stealth she always mrrrrps and rolls suddenly just as I get the camera in place. But no, she simply sleeps with one eye open.

The Market Square

Jan28

My generous cousin sent me a couple of ancestral jigsaw puzzles for my birthday. I love these puzzles for several reasons. This is the fourth I’ve gotten to do: The Market Square. I love the evocation of simpler times, the craft of being cut with an actual jigsaw by an individual, the way they don’t completely lock together like modern puzzles but segments slide apart at the slightest touch. They require a most delicate approach. I love that there’s no picture, just the title, so the image grows from mystery to completion. I love my great grandmother’s handwriting on the lid, and the note that one piece is missing. I love that at nearly 100 years old the pieces remain mostly in great shape.

I love that they’re small enough to do on just part of my desk so I can do a few pieces at a time on a short work break without rearranging my workspace for days at a time. I love the muted colors, the cuts that delineate color blocks adding difficulty, the illusion of bringing order to my mind as I fit the pieces. I love giving myself this little gift a few times a day as a way of surrendering to who I am: imperfect, aspiring, basically a good person despite the habitual afflictive thoughts and emotions that arise continually, despite the practice.

This is the second puzzle I’ve done this season knowing a piece is missing and not knowing which piece. It requires a looser approach and more comfort with uncertainty. It’s a good analogy for my own growth. Something’s missing, I don’t quite know what, I just trust the process and keep putting pieces together to eventually get a pretty complete picture.

I’m grateful today for the kindness of two people in this little community, one who helped soothe my struggling body and one who helped comfort my challenged mind; both provided the spaciousness to let go of a little suffering. May we all do the same for one another.

The Sweater

Oct9

I mentioned the sweater awhile ago, how I bought the pattern somewhere between fifteen and twenty years ago but could never muster the motivation to find the perfect yarn, or tackle the complicated pattern; and how I finally did both this summer. I started knitting sometime in June.

By mid-September I had knitted the back, front panels, and sleeves. I had to rip out many inches of the second sleeve after I suspected I’d gone off the pattern by one stitch. I thought, “How can it possibly matter if I purl two – knit one instead of knit one – purl two” but it turns out it gave the sleeve a distinctly different look. But it was worth doing right, so I patiently ripped out six inches back to the cuff and did it right. I learned so much about knitting as I picked up dropped stitches, corrected mistakes, figured out how to tie a secure vanishing knot to connect skeins, weave in loose ends, and unknit complicated stitches when I realized I’d missed one. I learned a new and more refined way to cast on, and several ways to bind off. I took my time assembling the panels and sleeves, and learned different ways to sew knitted pieces together depending if they were vertical to vertical, or vertical to horizontal, or on increasing or decreasing edges. It was really fun! I was grateful for my new skill of patience.

I learned to knit buttonholes when I knitted the two front bands, but here the directions failed me. There was no explanation of why the front bands were shorter than the front panels, so I knitted them long enough to experiment with when I got them sewn on. I had blocked the front bands with special pins and special blocking foam, but they felt very loose when I attached them. I sewed those two seams just as I’d sewn all the others, and the long bands fit the front panels perfectly. Something was wrong.

I went ahead and knitted the neck band anyway, and the whole sweater just felt floppy. I spent one whole day undoing a week’s work, but hey, I had patience! And it was worth doing it right. I ripped out the neck band, unsewed the front bands and shortened them, learning how to sew a short band to a longer panel and make it come out even, and then reknitted the neck band but made it a size smaller. Finally finished! I was sure I had six silver buttons of the correct size in my button jar or button box, but I did not. The best I could come up with were these brown leather-covered buttons, and I kind of like the contrast. One day one of them will fall off, and then I’ll go buy some silver buttons.

I stumbled into accidental cocktails this evening when I delivered a yard sign to dear friends, and since I was wearing the sweater I asked my captive audience which included three crafty women, how can I make these bands less wobbly? They all shrugged. None of them knit. But the retired park superintendent spoke up softly suggesting I block the sweater. I giggle just to think of it. His mom used to knit, and he dug into some memory strands and recalled she laid it out on the kitchen table, put a towel under and a towel over, but he wasn’t quite sure what she did after that. It was all I needed. The vast resource of YouTube knitting tutorials taught me from there. Tomorrow I’ll steam block the sweater and we’ll see what happens.

On the way to accidental cocktails…

The retired park superintendent mentioned a new group that he’d joined, and when I looked it up I realized that I also can join it! It felt great to sign up to join them, and to set up an automatic monthly donation. Only three dollars a month, but if every former seasonal employee like me, or everyone who ever volunteered at a national park, or worked there for a career did that, what a resource we’d be together.

As I was leaving accidental cocktails I savored the view of my friends’ garden with the tentative storm beyond. A small flock of sandhill cranes had just flown overhead seeking their evening roost. I felt their ancient voices keenly.

Arriving home again shortly before sunset.

Looking west from the top of the driveway, a sundog; a few minutes later, looking east, a fraction of a rainbow.

Grief is an acknowledgement of loss, an emotional state in which we exist between what we once understood or knew to be true, and an uncertain future where someone or something we cared about no longer exists with us. For me, acknowledging grief and allowing myself to dwell in this open space, this bardo, is a relief, and a step up from the paralysis of Despair. So I’ve spent a joyful day connecting with people as I ran errands and received assistance at a couple of healthcare appointments, relishing the feelings of simultaneous grief and gratitude, instead of bouncing between the opposites of gratitude and despair.

We walked to the west fence after sunset to see what the clouds would do. But the lone horse in the neighbor’s pasture to the south looked longingly at us. The rescue horses to the west had all gone in, and this sweet mare’s interest in us was compelling, so we strolled the fenceline down to greet her. Turns out, she wasn’t the least bit interested in me: she was fascinated by Wren. The two grazed together placidly for awhile as I watched clouds. But after awhile she snuffled my hand and let me caress her velvet nose, and we communed in silence til the color left the clouds.

Creative Energy

Jul23

I’m grateful for the simple, productive pleasure of knitting. I’ve just started the right front panel of the dream sweater. Allowing the flow of creative energy releases agitation and grounds me in this moment. Whether it’s with knitting needles or a camera, writing or in the kitchen cooking, focusing my attention on creating something or capturing a fleeting image calms thoughts and eclipses ego. Wren was grateful that I took her to the canyon this evening.

Resilience

Jan25

It was time for a puzzle. Time to listen to dharma talks, wise and compassionate podcasts, and good music, and spend a few hours a day immersed in a Liberty puzzle. Liberty… Let that word sink in. It’s been a hell of a week in US government, and there are plenty of intelligent analysts writing about it, so I won’t dwell on the politics of the trumpscape: though I am reminded of my grueling nightmare after his first inauguration and my sense now is that we’re not even halfway through the violence of that dream. My conclusion remains the same: You might steal my nights, you bastard, but I won’t let you have my days.

So I recommit my days to teaching and learning mindful skills to alleviate suffering where I can and to strengthen my own courage and resilience. I spend some time each day nourishing myself with soul food which sometimes looks like a wooden jigsaw puzzle. This week’s puzzle feels especially appropriate in this mind-bending time-warp we find ourselves, with everyone except straight white males in America now targeted for oppression and worse by a politics of cruelty. It’s a painting from 1936 by Archibald John Motley, Jr., known for his joyous depictions of the early 20th century ‘Jazz Age’ and identified with the Harlem Renaissance which celebrated African American culture across the arts.

Some of my companions during this puzzle this week have been Sensei Koshin Paley Ellison and Sensei Chodo Robert Campbell of the New York Zen Center, Robert Hubbell of Today’s Edition on Substack, Bishop Mariann Edgar Budde of the Episcopal Diocese of Washington, D.C., Roshi Joan Halifax of the Upaya Zen Center, and father of western mindfulness Jon Kabat-Zinn. Earlier this evening I listened with dismay to Dr. Jeremy Faust and Dr. Atul Gawande in this 24-minute conversation about the unfathomable approach of the new regime to federal public health initiatives, including halting PEPFAR, the US program that has saved more than 21 million lives by providing HIV medications. The fallout from ending this program alone will kill many people in this country and around the world, never mind the death toll from stopping other global health initiatives with widespread benefits. Is that their goal?

Among the many delightful whimsy pieces this close-dancing pair fit beautifully into the image. Do you see them, below?
There are a fair number of delightful bugs in this puzzle, including this… beetle? fly?

I spent some quality time in the kitchen this week also, including making a retro-casserole called Mamaw’s chicken and rice. It couldn’t have been easier, and I wanted something simple and a lot so I could take most of it to an ailing neighbor. I used organic chicken but everything else was standard cuisine, including instant rice and three cans of Campbell’s cream of soups. So simple, pretty darn good. And I felt good about making and sharing it. More and more as these years grind forward we’ll be needing to take good care of one another in every way we can.

And my final culinary endeavor to wrap up a thoughtful Saturday is a lemon chess pie. I’m still not happy with the laminated pie crust I’ve been practicing with, and think next pie I’ll revert to my regular old short crust pastry. But the lemon custard inside? So simple, sooooo delicious!