Tag Archive | climate chaos

The Maui Puzzle

Jan11

A friend loaned me her Maui puzzle over New Year’s. It’s extra large, gloriously vibrant, and layered with whimsy and meaning.

There’s often a natural starting place with these Liberty puzzles that calls to me, in this case the octopus.

After the first few obvious segments were assembled the puzzle revealed its unique strategy which was to complete the sea first, the sky and volcano next, and then fill in the town in between. It took almost a week to do, and provided joy through some otherwise bleak days.

The little swimmers in the top left revealed themselves only when that section came together. The whale grew in one part of the sea based on similar colors, but found her home on the opposite side of the puzzle.
The several sea turtles brought back mixed memories of my one trip to Hawaii decades ago. The highlight for me was swimming close to a sea turtle on our last day.
Throughout the puzzle were moments of pure delight like this one.
It was like three puzzles within a puzzle.

A little part of me died hearing about the murder of Renee Nicole Good. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time, encountering the wrong person, a scared and angry veteran ICE agent. Before we knew as much as we know now, Dan Rather’s account summed up the horror clearly the next day. Since then we’ve all seen variations on the truth of who she was and what occurred, and perhaps just as many variations on the lies the regime concocted instantly to obfuscate guilt: their own, and the murderer’s. We can cleave to the truth, amplify it, hold her and her beloveds in compassion in our hearts. A GoFundMe for her family has raised more than 1.5 million dollars and appears to have paused donations. There are many other ways we can support them and honor her memory, and the memory of Keith Porter killed by ICE on New Year’s Eve, the two Portland victims of an ICE attack on January 8, and the many more lives lost and disappeared by the bully regime’s illegal enforcement arm.

It pleased me to recognize the Hawaii state bird, the néné, once critically endangered but brought back from a low of 30 birds in the 1950s to several thousand now. This goose has the smallest range of any goose species. We did not see néné on that trip.
Though we didn’t visit Maui, it was poignant to recognize as it emerged in the puzzle the Lahaina banyan tree that famously survived the historic wildfire that decimated the town two years ago. What a shock that was! Who ever thought that could happen there?

Part of our species’ problem is the “can’t-happen-here” delusion. I’ve never understood how people can say, in this day and age, “I never thought it could happen here.” School shooting? “I never thought it could happen here!” Vehicle assault on a parade? Domestic terror attack at CDC? Vengeance assassination at a newspaper office? Even a natural disaster out of place or out of season due to climate collapse, like Hurricane Helene’s devastation in the Appalachians; or the freak wildfires that demolished Lahaina and other towns on Maui. Anything can happen at any time, and more worse things can happen in more unlikely communities now than ever before, due to human cultural conditions and climate influences.

Then there was the moment of mythical recognition when I realized that all the weird swirly pieces near the top created the portrait of the volcano goddess Pele. And of course there was a lei or a floral crown around the peak.

There was a suspected (and unlikely) fatal mountain lion attack in northern Colorado last week. Honey Badger asked if I knew the chances of being killed by a mountain lion (which is minute) and our conversation flowed from there naturally to the chances of being killed by an ICE agent. This is currently relatively small but growing. As many people have been shot dead by ICE in the past eleven days in the US as have been fatally attacked by a mountain lion in Colorado in the past 26 years. I’m grateful that I live where my chances of being assaulted by a mountain lion may be slightly higher than my chances of being attacked by an ICE agent. I feared for my city friends this weekend who took to the streets in masses in Indivisible’s ICE Out for Good protests. I honor their courage to assert their First Amendment rights!

The scrumptious colors throughout the puzzle carried a batik vibe.

Little parts of me die daily, beyond the cells and neurons. Little parts of my soul. I think this happens with most people who feel empathy deeply, or who care about the natural world, or who trust in our government; and in people who are ill or care for ill or dying beloveds; or who suffer the atrocities of war torn areas they cannot leave, climate catastrophes that force them to flee, and so many of the tragedies that over population, power concentration, resource extraction, and other horrors born of human greed, hatred and delusion just keep on ramping up.

Working the middle section from the beach upward and the tree downward, the giant Maui puzzle came together. Another delightful surprise was finally fitting the first of four odd pointed pieces into place to reveal that the two beach walking figures were holding surfboards. Duh!

But little parts of me are reborn each day also. The beauty, kindness, and courage I see in people around the world every day flickers to life the same qualities in me. The awe of nature that surrounds me renews my spirit and freshens my cells. The wisdom of teachers and elders stabilizes my perspective. While working on a new puzzle this weekend, I listened to a podcast from the Plum Village monk Brother Phap Huu, The Way Out Is In. In the current episode ‘Calm in the Storm,’ he says that the practice of generating joy every day is foundational work. He goes on to discuss skillful introspection, and the infinite variety of ways that we can cultivate joy, from our own hobbies to appreciating the joy of others.

For me, it’s Liberty puzzles while listening to dharma talks, or starting a bake with a clean kitchen, or teaching, or and always taking pictures… And more than ever, being present for friends and students who want or need to talk, and listening deeply, genuinely caring about the lives of others. And this caring brings with it the weight of their unique sufferings, and the cycle continues. Hold what I can hold, generate joy through the practice of gratefulness, do what I can do in any given moment with the wisdom available at the time. Let me remember to be grateful every living moment of every day.

Learning to Fly

Dec28

In what might have been the last cheese sandwich of 2025, I used romaine, cheddar, mayo, mustard, hibiscus-raspberry jam, and a quick turkey salad made from Thanksgiving leftovers I had picked from the carcass and frozen for Wren. It was a big container and I found enough pickings to make a couple of meals for me.

The uncanny weather finally got wintry with a trace of snow last night, and a seasonal drop in temperature. Before the rain on Christmas, we took a startling walk through the woods. I’d hoped to walk to the rim since the mud had dried enough, but just as we turned east a neighbor across the canyon started shooting, which frightened Wren and made me turn west, taking the short loop back to the house. The mosses were vibrant, and a fall aster was in bloom. This is all wrong.

We humans are making so much progress on so many fronts that it just makes me sad to see how the species insists on escalating its rapacious slaughter of the planet and sabotage of our species. Scum does indeed rise to the top, and now that it’s followed Russia’s lead in this country and many others, the potential of power-hungry malignant narcissists to irreparably break our world with greedy extractive industries is coming to a head just at the time when medical science is on the cusp of discovering treatments for Alzheimer’s, advances in consciousness studies and the intersection between science and spirituality give real hope for finally understanding the imperative to cooperate rather than compete, and the flowering of Buddhist philosophy as a path to peace is growing loving kindness and compassion at an exponential rate.

Amy randomly sent me this recipe for sourdough discard dinner rolls, so I made them on Christmas Eve and have been enjoying them in various ways since. As soon as they came out of the oven I poured some almond butter into a little bowl, with just a hint of recurring aggravation—you can’t really call it butter if you can pour it straight from the refrigerator—and spooned some jam, and enjoyed a simple lunch.

After some very fat sandwiches that night, I sliced the rolls into club style threes to make a sandwich with havarti, lettuce and mayo on one layer, and havarti and lemony pesto a friend made. I’ve eaten them several other ways and still have a couple left, but it’s almost time to bake sourdough focaccia.

The week overflowed with baked gifts as well as abundant sunshine. Among the cookies and biscotti that arrived also came the annual Potica delivery from the next door elves. Last year I was caught taking a shark bite right out of the bag; this year I restrained myself to just sniffing.

I’ve spent part of the weekend in retreat via zoom with Tergar Meditation on Dream Practice, learning how to meditate while sleeping, and how to cultivate lucid dreaming. Some of the most blissful dreams of my life were the few in which I could fly. I used to either jump off a roof, or take a long, slow running start with strides extending longer and higher until I achieved liftoff. But it’s been decades since I could fly in a dream, despite my longing.

It’s been decades since I experienced any kind of lucid dream, until last week when I realized I was dreaming, almost woke up, made myself stay asleep. I’d signed up for this retreat weeks before that, and was pleased to learn during the talk this morning that I had just overcome one of the main obstacles to lucid dreaming: realizing you’re dreaming and immediately waking up. I’m on the right track! And it turns out, the next step after you realize you’re dreaming is to do something, almost anything, to anchor yourself in the lucid dream: taking off flying is the easiest thing to do! Far simpler than transforming a flower into a building or a person into another kind of animal, or even transforming yourself into a newt.

My favorite Christmas gift: a perfectly small bowl with a fucking grasshopper built right in, from someone who knows me too well.

I’m grateful for a week filled with kindness, connection, and compassion in my little bubble, and a week of hopeful exploration of the rich potential and beauty in the human spirit worldwide. We are not prisoners here, nor potted plants. Action is the antidote to anxiety.

Grasshopper Plague

Jul16
On midday grasshopper patrol…

Morning, noon, and evening, neither rain nor hail nor fire nor smoke can keep me from doing grasshopper patrol around the patio and through the garden. Sometimes I use the hose and sometimes I just sweep with my hands. I’m grateful I’ve managed them as well as I have, despite not starting quite early enough; now they’re big I have some strategies in mind but I was waiting for the grasshopper webinar today to decide my next step.

They’ve once again demolished all the rabbitbrush in the yarden, stripping the leaves of what little grew back on this massive bush this year, after they completely denuded it last summer, killing the lower half.

The beautiful little rose bush I nursed along and finally potted up last month was thriving on the patio table, alongside three tiny citrus trees. I checked them several times a day for the slightest sign of grasshopper predation, intending to bring them inside at the first bite.

I failed miserably with the tiny trees: one afternoon I noticed a single leaf damaged, so I set the tray near the door to bring inside—but I forgot, left it out overnight, and the rock squirrel who haunts the patio ate all three down to a toothpick. The rose continued to thrive—until yesterday. Midday it was fine. Evening rounds it was missing three-quarters of its foliage. So I whisked it inside to the sunroom table and administered first aid.

I was relieved to sit down for an hour at lunchtime, amidst heavy smoke outside, to a PPAN (People and Pollinators Action Network) zoom webinar called “Pollinators Meet Grasshopper and Mormon Cricket Management.” Sharon Selvaggio, a pesticide reduction specialist with The Xerces Society, gave a riveting presentation on the complex relationship between grasshoppers, pollinators, and ecosystem health. The Xerces Society, a conservation organization working to protect the natural world through the conservation of invertebrates, educates about the unintended consequences of widespread pesticide use.

Ever wonder why honeybee populations are in steep decline? They’re a canary in the coal mine for native bees and other pollinators like butterflies and moths. APHIS aerial spraying of pesticides to control Orthoptera (grasshoppers, crickets, and katydids) in the Midwest and western states is a contributing factor in the decline of many pollinators. Sharon leads Xerces’ work in seeking sustainable solutions for grasshopper and Mormon cricket management, especially on public lands. She offered some alternatives to pesticides for the home gardener.

Great news! Having a low tolerance for snapping their little heads off, lacking chloroform as my zoo friends use, and not (yet) interested in freezing and frying them, she gave the answer to what to do with them if I choose to pluck or vacuum them off plants in the cool hours while they’re sluggish: drop them into bucket of soapy water! (Ack. I still hate the idea of killing them. Which do I hate more? Killing insects or losing the fruits of my labors? Probably losing my garden.)

Speaking of the garden… I made the onion greens pesto finally, with the chopped greens, some parsley, garlic, lemon juice, pecans, and parmesan cheese. So simple, so delicious!

I was grateful it was cloudy and a little cooler today, so I could also make “Vichyssoise light.” I’d been putting it off because I didn’t want to heat up the house, but you can’t make cold Vichyssoise without first cooking it. I sautéed the onions in butter, added a chopped potato, chicken broth, salt and pepper, and simmered for half an hour. Then I took it off the heat and stirred in a couple tablespoons of yogurt and a big splash of milk and blended til it was smooth and creamy. By then I was too hot to eat hot soup so it went into the fridge for tomorrow. But I did lick the spoon and it’s delicious!

The wind shifted to the west this evening and blew in some fresh air. I was able to cool off outside without a mask and leave the doors open to get a cross breeze through the house for a few hours. I took the opportunity to pick the rest of the un- or less-damaged apricots and harvested more than expected. Another garden success in a scant year!

A screenshot from the Watch Duty app yesterday showing the South Rim fire perimeter, evacuation zones, and the two planes and one helicopter working it at the time. The blue dot near the top is where I live, nine miles as the crow flies from the fire. I’ve been relying on it so much in the past week that I felt compelled to pay their reasonable membership fee; getting the little purple aircraft moving in real time was an unexpected bonus.

I’m grateful for the nonprofits that make the world better, like Watch Duty, PPAN and Xerces, and for endangered government agencies, like APHIS and the National Weather Service, that use science to serve diverse human needs; and I’m grateful for the technology that puts warnings, forecasts, and other helpful data at our fingertips.

I’m grateful for the Weather Underground app, with all the bells and whistles selected: radar, cloud cover, fronts, heat, hail, severe storms… and for knowing where I stand in the midst of it all, once again that little blue dot near the top.

Another Day Alive

Jul12

The Fire Moon, or as some would call it, the Buck Moon, full on Thursday night through the smoke haze.

I’ve got onions protected from grasshoppers in two net cubes, and this morning while it was still cool, I wore a wet cloth mask outside to remove the cube, thin the onions, and replace the cube.

Later I trimmed the onions and divided them into proto-bulbs to use instead of leeks in some vichyssoise, coarsely chopped greens to make into pesto, and finely chopped greens for garnishes and salads this week.

I grated one of the two little cabbages I’ve harvested, and some store bought carrots, to make coleslaw and put some in a sandwich with leftover roasted chicken.

The air by then was clear enough to eat lunch outside, though I could see smoke billowing from the South Rim fire beyond the apricot tree. Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park Facebook page shared several photos of the fire, and reassured people that the Visitor Center had not burned, and also that the fire had not jumped the canyon: they’d gotten a lot of calls from people on the north side worried about the thick smoke. Here are two of those images from the park’s page.

It’s startling to see that it’s spotting down into the canyon. It would take some precision water drops to put out those fire spots. It could easily spark from there to the other side with a few exploding embers. I started packing pet supplies into go-bags this evening just in case.

The smoke continued blowing due east rather than northeast, so by evening the air quality here had improved from 150 to 50. We were able to visit the tadpoles and spiders at the pond for awhile, and leave the doors open until bedtime to get a cooling breeze through the house.

For dinner, I used up some frozen corn that was open making this cheesy grits dish, sautéing a few of the onions in butter, adding the corn, then two cups milk and two cups water, and when it boiled stirring in slowly a cup of grits. When that had cooked into a creamy porridge, I added more butter, grated cheddar and parmesan and topped with a dash of homegrown paprika and chopped onion tops.

After supper, we drove up to get the mail, and a better view of the sky. Above, the South Rim smoke cloud settled over the West Elks, while below, the Sowbelly haze colored sunset, resulting in gorgeous clouds overhead. It was just another full day alive, for which I’m profoundly grateful.

Butterfly Bush

Jun13

The butterfly bush was very busy today. At least one western tiger swallowtail, various bees, some white butterflies, and the prize of the day, a Weidemeyer’s Admiral.

In big wind gusts, the swallowtail and the admiral wrapped their wings around the flower wands to hold on in what looked a lot like hugs.

I think it’s a Checkered White, but I’m counting on Ms. Lepidoptera (Susan, 😉) to weigh in on this ID. Perhaps Dr. Pollinator can identify the bumblebee: there are at least three species with these similar markings and I’m no expert.

I chased the admiral round and round the butterfly bush trying to catch a full open wingspread, but it was pretty windy and I couldn’t get the right angle.

I’m grateful for this exquisite nature in my backyard. I’m grateful for Nature everywhere on this precious planet whether or not I get to experience it. I’m grateful for people who love and protect Nature, and who stand up to tyrannical warmongers who commit crimes against Nature. No Kings! Join your local rally tomorrow. Find out where at nokings.org.

Feed the Birds

May31
The flat light of dusk shows off the brilliant blues of the mountain bluebird.

Do you remember that song Feed the Birds, from Mary Poppins? The old woman on the cathedral steps feeding the pigeons touched me profoundly at the time, and the song is probably the first to embed itself in my young brain. Its message was formative for me.

I was surprised to see a northern flicker using the birdbath, but both male and female have become regular visitors.

Last year I put out this copper birdbath (I think it was last year, maybe the year before). Every morning first thing I turn on the hose to rinse it thoroughly and refill it. But I haven’t fed seedeaters for a decade, ever since the kittens came, because it wasn’t fair to bait the birds in knowing the cats would hunt them.

Be careful what you ask for. I’ve always wanted evening grosbeaks but even a decade ago when I last fed the birds they never came. This year, they dominate the feeder, and perch in the peach tree.

A few years ago, with censure from the phoebes and some serious discouragement from me, Topaz learned not to hunt birds. Now she’s getting old and slow enough she rarely hunts even mice. So after I saw Ruth’s Bird Buddy, and had been longing for birdsong in my days, I started feeding again.

House finches bring the earliest and most lovely song to the yard. The juvenile male above is starting to come into his adult plumage, and will soon resemble the gorgeous red adult, below.

Why did I start feeding birds again when there’s a bird flu crisis? Well, it’s not really affecting songbirds, but because of the scare I think some people have taken down backyard feeders; and beyond that, humans have destroyed and poisoned enough bird habitat, erected enough glass skyscrapers, and loosed enough domestic cats to kill more than three billion birds since 1970. Across all species of North American birds, the average breeding population has declined by nearly one third. The least I can do is feed the birds.

Finches are among the families especially hard hit by this devastating species decline.

The past couple of years I’ve seen an oriole show up at a hummingbird feeder once or twice, but not stick around. So last winter, anticipating, I purchased an oriole feeder. I put it out a few weeks ago when I learned they were in the area, with some nectar and an orange, but no visitors until yesterday: I only discovered that when I checked the orange this morning and saw that it had been picked clean. After having to rescue too many bees from the nectar I had emptied that, but I put out a fresh orange half, and some organic grape jelly, and waited… and waited…

…and waited, all day. I had to go inside for awhile late afternoon, and when I came back outside before sunset I saw half the orange had been scooped out. I sat down again with husband camera. Within a few minutes, here came the Bullock’s oriole to feast! The gratification of watching this gorgeous creature enjoy the fruit was well worth the wait. I’ll try for better light tomorrow.

The elusive western tanager also made a fleeting appearance last week, slipping into the juniper and slipping out while I was on a zoom meeting I had taken outside because it was too fine a day to stay in. As I sat with camera to eye and continued to participate in the meeting, Ana asked if I had seen the Netflix show ‘The Residence.’ I knew immediately why she asked, and I’ve been laughing for days delighted that I reminded her of the detective obsessed with birdwatching. If you haven’t seen that mini-series yet, I highly recommend it.

Enough to Eat

Aug30

I’m grateful for leftovers: veggie enchilada with shredded romaine and fresh garden tomato for lunch today, the last of the cauliflower soup tonight. I’m grateful that I have enough to eat, and a roof over my head, and good friends around the valley and around the country, and everything I need to bake cupcakes tomorrow.

I’m grateful that Hurricane Idalia wasn’t quite as catastrophic as she could have been in terms of human fatalities; though she’ll result in plenty of long-term suffering for millions of Americans along her ongoing path. Supporting my plea argument yesterday, R. Hubbell wrote in Today’s Edition:

         “The effects of human-caused climate change are manifesting themselves everywhere—as should be expected given the interdependence of the Earth’s atmosphere, oceans, land masses, and ecosystems. We can feel overwhelmed if we simply catalog the many ways in which climate change manifests itself. We cannot give in to helplessness. It is never too late to make changes that will benefit current and future generations. The most important thing we can do is to elect leaders who will prioritize the reduction of reliance on fossil fuels…. It is time for all Americans to put climate change at the top of their issues list when deciding how they will cast their vote. Remember that at the GOP debate last week, Vivek Ramaswamy declared that ‘Climate change is a hoax.’ The only hoax is politicians who refuse to address a problem that is an economic and national security emergency affecting the lives of every American.”

Robert Hubbell, Todays Edition, August 30, 2023
I’m grateful for a quiet, uneventful evening walk among the late summer light and the altocumulus sky.

Tragic Garlic Harvest

Aug20

Feeding Biko chopped romaine is a new thing. I used to give him whole leaves, and I’d toss one to Wren to keep her busy. She wouldn’t come close enough to steal from him. But now, with a scatter of chopped, she sneaks in to steal a crunchy piece from the edge and runs off with it. And she loves it so much she’s getting bolder.

After her strenuous thievery in the morning she must nap hard.

My tragic garlic harvest proves that despite a promising start, planting in the spring doesn’t work. I was happy to get a few decent heads, mostly small ones, and those whose greens died back earliest and completely turned out to be nice fat single bulbs–though I will have to cut into each one and smell it to be sure it’s actually garlic. Don’t know what else it could be given where I dug them up, but don’t want to eat a lily bulb or something by mistake. I’m grateful for the harvest anyway: despite its paucity, it’s still more garlic than the sixteen individual cloves I planted in March, and I learned some things about what works and what doesn’t.

I’m grateful for Amy-inspired lemon ricotta pancakes which I finally made tonight to use up leftover ricotta from our gnocchi zoom. After burning the first few as usual, I got the hang of it. They were delicious. I used a NYT recipe but there are dozens available online that all look delicious. Since my frozen blueberries are buried under frozen apricots, I just broke up a few of the last fresh apricots and then doused the pancakes in real maple syrup. I cooked the whole batch, and froze leftovers in bags of two. Amy said they reheat well. I can imagine popping them in the toaster.

I live each hour, each conversation, each delicious meal, each page I read, physically aware of the climate chaos that rages all around. In this moment, in this place, all is well. In Canada and the Pacific Northwest wildfires rage out of control emptying whole cities; in Hawaii an entire city demolished by fire and thousands of lives lost, human and otherwise. California desert towns are flooding overnight, and maybe some larger cities as well. Another aggressive heat dome locks the central US in record high temperatures. Newscasters naively refer to some of these as “a once-in-a-lifetime event,” which enrages me.

In this moment, in this place, all is well, for the moment. At any moment wildfire could rip through the precious woods where I live. If it does, may I be ready to flee. May I have time to gather my animals and a few treasures, and escape alive. May my neighbors also be so fortunate. May all in the path of climate chaos be saved, I want to pray, knowing it simply is not possible. This keenly felt awareness both paralyzes me, and fills me with gratitude for every living moment of every day.

Warm Windows

Jul15

It’s ironic that it wasn’t winter but summer that finally lit a fire under me to get back to the ‘warm windows’ drapery project. Twenty years ago when I conceived and began this creative endeavor, it was to cover the sunroom windows in winter to keep the house warm. Climate chaos has shifted my motivation to finish these insulated shades in order to keep the house cooler in summer.

The light was so blinding I had to wear sunglasses as I worked feverishly this morning to measure and cut the insulation for part of two panels, pin the fabric on, and tack them to the window frames. It’s been getting hot inside earlier every day this week, not surprisingly. By Monday we’ll experience highs around 100℉ (which is nearly 38℃ for my foreign friends). Without air conditioning, we rely on opening all the windows for a cool overnight breeze, then shutting up the house during the day to keep a comfortable indoor temperature.

I thought I had finished the appliqués on the Scarlet Macaw panel, until I hung it up. I realized it needs a few pops of warm color lower down, maybe some bright pink or yellow blossoms at the tips of the macaw’s vine, or a big frog in the lower leaves. Other than that, this one is ready for assembly. The heat relief was instantly palpable when it went up.

Next up was the Iguana panel, which needs a lot of decoration with leaves, insects, and flowers. The sunroom temperature dropped another couple of degrees as soon as I tacked this one up. But then it was time for lunch, and then class. So I didn’t get the fourth panel up until evening.

The eyelash viper, a small arboreal snake native to Central and South America, comes in several astounding colors, including vibrant yellow, orange, and green. Back in my wild days I had several friends who captive bred this beautiful species, so had to include it in my tropical project.

With one window fully insulated (the Toucan), and three mostly insulated, I think I’m in good shape for the peak of this heat wave. I can’t bring myself to cover the fifth window until I have at least one other shade functional so that I can let in light when I need it. Also, the fifth window shines onto my breakfast table where I have several bonsais living, and they need the light. I’m grateful to have these ‘warm windows’ cooled off, and also to have the panels hanging so I can stay inspired to continue piecing them and eventually wrap up this unexpectedly lengthy creative effort. There’s another quilted drape to be made for the landing window!

Beautiful Citrus

Dec23

I’m grateful for this box of beautiful citrus that arrived today from a dear friend in Florida. Four grapefruits, three satsumas, and two Meyers lemons. And I’m grateful for the other box too, with even more. A few of those satsumas were smashed and leaking, but they had a long cold trip.

I’m grateful for these generous gifts and the causes and conditions that got them here. As I think about all the steps involved in their journey from seed to tree to fruit, from High Springs to here, how they made it through or before the ‘once-in-a-generation’ winter storm, I’m considering that roughly 60% of the US population is experiencing extreme cold tonight, including blizzards, and lethal windchill temperatures. I’m grateful I’m safe and warm. I’m sadly aware of those many humans and other people who are not. Wild animals of all kinds, those in captivity, neglected pets, stray dogs, feral cats, and many more are also at risk from this massive storm. It’s tough to think about. And it’s just the tip of the iceberg of suffering across this fragile planet. I’m grateful for people of all species everywhere who make time to be kind, to support and care for each other.