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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!

Mushrooms

Oct28

That last eye-candy puzzle was child’s play compared to the one I’m working on now. Last season Philip wanted to get the hardest puzzle Liberty offered, and I think he succeeded. I finally pulled it off the shelf just over a week ago, and it’s been challenging me ever since. This gorgeous image was done by Adolphe Millot, a 19th Century entomologist and painter who was the senior illustrator at the French National Museum of Natural History.

Each of the 141 mushrooms is numbered and there’s a key on the Liberty website. I sorted the 743 pieces into mushrooms, other whimsies, numbers, and everything else, before starting to find order within the chaos. It got easier once I looked at the boxtop closely enough to see that there are actually two pages of mushrooms joined in the middle, with numbers 1-69 on the left page, and numbers going from right to left on each page but not exactly in order.

Oh wait, those aren’t in the puzzle, they’re in the kitchen!

I was heartened this morning as I puzzled away to listen to an hour-long discussion between Robert Hubbell and Jay Kuo about the illusion of polls, major media’s integrity failure, billionaire manipulation of misinformation, the fundamental goodness of the American people, and other rational election analysis. If you’re worried about a possible fascist victory, and/or violence around the election, I recommend listening to this conversation for a healthy and reassuring perspective.

But then I was shaken to my core when I dared to venture a question at Cousins’ Zoom this afternoon. “I know we don’t discuss politics, but I’m curious if the Hitler comments have changed anyone’s opinion about Trump,” I said politely. One cousin pounced and vehemently proclaimed that he now supports Trump even more because those were despicable lies. Another said mildly, “Yeah, let’s don’t talk politics,” and I immediately tried to shut that can of worms or Pandora’s box or whatever I had opened, but it was too late, almost everyone had to throw in their two cents. One cousin said, “Three hundred and thirty million Americans, and we have to choose between these two clowns?”

I thought, If I can’t even talk about this with family, how did I ever think I could talk with strangers? So I pushed out of my comfort zone awhile later and called another one of the cousins, curious about her comment on the zoom. We had a civilized and affectionate conversation, in which she framed the choice as “the lesser of two evils,” asked me if I’m sure Kamala isn’t a Communist, and acknowledged that she hasn’t been paying attention. I reminded her about January 6 and the facts revealed during the subsequent Congressional hearings, the implications of the Supreme Court presidential immunity ruling, and spoke about the dire collapse of women’s healthcare. What if her granddaughter gets pregnant from rape, or needs a medical abortion as a couple of my young friends have when their embryos were catastrophically malformed? Women are dying every day because of the overturning of Roe v. Wade. Maybe I gave her enough information to persuade her to vote for Kamala, the only candidate defending basic rights for all Americans, and the only candidate who isn’t a convicted felon, an insurrectionist, and adjudicated a sexual predator. I’m committed to doing at least one thing every day to contribute to saving the American democracy that five generations of my ancestors have fought to preserve.

Where’s Wren?

Voting

Oct27

As I continue to recover well from surgery, gaining mobility and strength daily (with occasional half-steps backward) I’ve relied on Liberty puzzles for several hours a day to keep my spirits up. My new puzzle for the season is “Summer Swans,” a platter of vibrant eye candy whose whimsy soothed my soul for a few days when I could do little else. While I’m puzzling, I listen to dharma talks like the marvelous selection from Upaya Zen Center, and various other sources including Tricycle and Lion’s Roar. Thus exercising my brain with the puzzle and my practice as I listen, and getting up frequently to exercise my new hip. Many of the Upaya talks revolve around engaging with the world to improve conditions for all beings; starting, of course, with bringing the best of ourselves into each day through practicing things like generosity, ethics, patience, wisdom, compassion, and kindness.

Spending hours each day in contemplation and practice of these many facets of living mindfully, I can forget for minutes at a time that there are people in this country who see the world through completely different lenses. The three poisons of Greed, Hatred, and Delusion are surging through the veins and arteries of the American people these days like never before, under the insidious influence of a madman. What has happened to the Republican Party of my parents, my grandparents, Abraham Lincoln, hell even Ronald Reagan? What has happened to the ideal of “Duty, Honor, Country” that motivated my father and great-grandfather as graduates of West Point and career Army officers?

An old friend asked me tonight how she could talk compassionately with her sister about voting. Like an unfathomable number of women, the sister plans to vote how her husband tells her to, which in this case is most definitely not in her own interest as a woman, nor in the interest of her daughter of reproductive age. It was good timing to make me to share a couple of links that another friend sent the other day, after telling me of her stealth sticky-note plan for her road trip this weekend. She’ll be sticking post-its on women’s restroom mirrors and stall doors all the way from northern Virginia to southern Tennessee, on which she wrote short messages like, “We didn’t get the right to vote, we fought for it. Fight now!” and “Your vote is secret – he’ll never know – vote for your rights!” and simply, “Vote for your daughters – vote for Harris/Walz.”

One could add to those notes, “Vote for Nature – vote Democrat down the ballot!”

I hadn’t heard of this grassroots effort that some woman, somewhere, started a couple of months ago and many other women quickly got on board. My friend sent an article in Ms. Magazine and another on NBC describing this women-to-women movement that reminds women they can vote “freely and privately regardless of the political beliefs of their spouse or partner.” In addition to restrooms, women are putting the notes discretely on shelf items like tampon boxes. An 81-year-old woman interviewed said she is posting them everywhere “to atone for the fact that I voted for Trump in 2016.” This is just one of many grassroots people-to-people efforts that give me hope that our democracy will not fall to the fascist regime promised by the violent insurrectionist former president, and outlined in Project 2025. Read more about this proposed decimation of our rights here.

I need to confess a personal failure. I was inspired by our local Indivisible chapter zoom to take a one-hour phone bank training to get out the vote for the Democrats. I was impressed with the training, and girded my loins to do the 15-minute call session included in it. But I have been unable to rise to the moment and connect into the Anytime call center again. Each day I intend to buck up and do it, and each day comes to an end without my having done it. In a past life I sold underwriting for public radio, a cause I still deeply believe in, and if I got one harsh no, I drove home and curled up in bed for the rest of the day. I’m afraid I’m constitutionally unfit to make cold calls to engage reluctant or even hostile people in conversation even about the urgency of keeping a dangerous criminal out of the White House, despite some remarkable inspiration to do so.

But I am able to have mindful conversations with friends about ways to keep calm, stay strong, get engaged, participate in being good stewards of this fragile spinning globe we get to live on for a short time; I’m able to offer guidance to those who ask even as I continually learn how to navigate this increasingly challenging world we are passing through. There’s not much we can control. But we can control where we place our attention, how we bring our values into our thoughts, speech, and actions, and how clearly we are willing to see reality. And we can choose to practice gratitude, meet suffering with compassion wherever we encounter it, and engage in life with an open heart. Even when it’s hard, even when we can do nothing else. And we can vote for people who truly reflect the universal spiritual values taught by Jesus, Buddha, and many others; not for people who twist and distort for personal power.

I’m grateful that women and their supporters fought for the right to vote and won it barely a hundred years ago; and grateful that I got to vote this week in support of basic human rights for all Americans. I hope that you also will vote for the decent candidate for President, Kamala Harris, and not for the candidate who is the first president in US history to refuse the peaceful transfer of power, who is a convicted felon and sexual predator, and the only presidential candidate ever to openly admire Hitler. Remember, your vote is confidential and anonymous.

Learning

Jul25

Garden Buddy brought over a bag with a notebook of instructions, sample rag strips, and crochet hooks, and gave me a lesson. I’m grateful for her generosity in providing not only all the materials I need to finally learn to hook a rag rug, but also her time and confidence that I’d get the hang of it. My first effort (below) started a little rough, partly because I’m learning, and partly because I chose to start with a favorite old shirt that was so worn it kept tearing apart as I pulled it through the loops.

But I’m persevering! It’s not a perfect circle like Garden Buddy’s are, but that’s okay.

The Pond Project continues. This morning I took the photos above, to show the root masses and silt, and also the clarity of the water once it’s finally visible again. This afternoon, 95℉, I went in and cleared some more slabs of reeds. Below is a slightly wider angle on the same stretch above, after another hour’s work. I built a wall taller than Wren with the rushes I removed.

And then I rested… ahhh! Looking back on the progress: I cleared a canal from the north end where there are steps to enter, along the west side, and across to the southeast edge where there is a built-in bench. I’ve taken the recommendation of an Australian physiotherapist to add water therapy to my exercise routine: I don’t think this is what he had in mind, but the truth is, simply being in the water eases the pain. He said something about about hydrostatic pressure alone being beneficial. I’m grateful that my wrists and shoulders are strong enough now to do this work again, even though I let it lapse another three years, making it that much more challenging.

This morning I baked some burger buns, in anticipation of tonight’s dinner…

I’ve been wanting to try these Mushroom turkey cheeseburgers for a couple of weeks, and finally had time and all the ingredients, including an onion from the garden (more about garden onions soon!) I’m grateful to learn this trick: You pulse the mushrooms in a food processor with a pinch of kosher salt, and then squeeze them finely chopped in a clean towel, releasing a bunch of liquid, and leaving a mass with much the texture of ground meat; then mix in with the ground turkey, make patties, and grill. So simple, so delicious!