The past few days living inside the kaleidoscope…
Local Color
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Gratitude for Science
“The Devil’s beating his wife,” the Colonel used to say when rain fell during sunshine. There was a brief moment this morning when that happened. It was beautiful, and I reflected on the phrase, such an innocent reference to domestic violence. Normalizing words, phrases, and ideas softens their impact and can lead to complacency.
There are holes in the narrative of yesterday’s assassination in Utah. American Muckrakers outlines provocative elements that suggest a false flag, and it’s sickening to read and makes a lot of sense. Question the prevailing narrative on this one, and question mainstream and liberal media who are reporting spurious details as fact.
Before I read that, though, I was pondering with great sadness how Republicans react with horror and even compassion when it’s one of their own who is shot: But where were they on June 14 when Minnesota state representative Melissa Hortman was assassinated, her husband and their dog killed also, in their home, and two other Democrats injured? Why wasn’t the flag ordered half staff nationwide for her? Where was the federal outrage when the CDC campus was shot up last month?
Where is the federal compassion and call for justice for the 39 murders in US school shootings so far this year? Where is the national coverage of yesterday’s school shooting in Colorado? Locally, and quite timely, the Paonia Players are taking the stage as part of a nationwide creative endeavor to speak out against gun violence. Enough: Plays to End Gun Violence takes place in more than fifty communities on October 6, and in Paonia, Colorado at the Blue Sage Center for the Arts.
Gun violence is a problem, but a bigger problem for me is that I can identify with the hateful people. I don’t much care that a rightwing mouthpiece was assassinated as a result of the gun culture his tribe venerates. My sympathy falters when I feel someone has brought their suffering on themself. And that’s a failure inside me, of the human I want to be. And a very scary world view.
This is why I practice. And pausing, waiting for more information, allows my heart to remain open, to soften, to hold it all, including the possibility that yesterday saw one of the most nefarious double reverse false flag psy op killings ever on US soil. Was Charlie Kirk killed by a bumbling amateur who strew evidence all over the scene, or by a highly skilled, well-paid and protected, professional sniper? All I’m saying is, question the narrative.
At the intersection of gun violence and science, this conversation between Dr. Eric Topol and Dr. Peter Hotez, both renowned scientist-physicians, explores the scope, the financial motivation, and the ramifications of the staggering ignorance behind an organized assault on global health and world peace by the anti-science movement in the US. Dr. Hotez himself receives frequent death threats. Between the Kirk assassination and the CDC attack, I’m sure he’s more concerned than ever about his numerous upcoming public and university talks.
And wrapping up with gratitude for science, this photo essay in The Atlantic reminds us of the scourge of polio that was eradicated in the US when I was ten. When and where did I get my polio vaccine? This is one of those moments when I miss my mother to tears, unable to ask her. I remember the smallpox vaccine because it left a scar on my shoulder for decades, but could not recall the polio vaccine until I reached the last photo in the essay (oh yes, now I remember: just a cube full of sugar helps the medicine go down – I probably asked for seconds).
As I was working on this post, the sky got even more spectacular. I missed a giant lightning strike by a split second, then realized I could pull images from video so I set the phone in the tripod (hello, science? the phone camera, I mean!) and filmed ten minutes of celestial glory.
Another Sunset
I was grateful to get into the dentist today to check out increasing pain in my teeth since the crown a few weeks ago. All kinds of nightmare scenarios were going through my mind, but not with the pernicious insistence of pre-mindfulness days. The dentist was reassuring, diagnosed it as a “bite problem” and ground down both crowns to resolve it. They said my teeth were bruised. What? I was grateful to learn something new: teeth are held in place by ligaments, and ligaments can get inflamed for all sorts of reasons, including not quite perfect crowns. Fingers crossed that’s all it is. We’ll know more later.
I’m grateful for making it through to another glorious sunset. West, light smoke floated below the clouds. To the northwest the wildfire smoke seemed to float above the clouds, though really, I think, it was just closer.
Another Day Alive
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.
Delusion
It was a great day to be living inside the kaleidoscope. Off in Washington the party of pride and prejudice sold out the American people to kiss the feet of the billionaire class. I was grateful to be immersed in my little garden, and the big sky, and meaningful connection with two sanghas and several friends.
“We’re excited to get this done. If Hakeem would stop talking, we’ll get the job done for the American people. It takes a lot longer to build a lie than to tell the truth, so he’s really spinning a long tale in there, but we’re excited. The people will feel the effect of this bill….. The sooner we can get to it, the sooner the Democrats will stop talking, we’ll get this bill done for the people and we’re really excited about it.”
Speaker Mike Johnson lying through his greedy teeth to CNN this morning during Jeffries’ last ditch effort to stop the big bad bill. You bet the American people will feel the effects of the bill. Despicable. Excited, cheering, their ruthless delusion knows no bounds. I tried to call Jeff Hurd again this morning and when I chose the option to leave a message I was disconnected.
I had to run to the bank this afternoon and spotted this bumper sticker, which raised ironic thoughts, reflections on the prevalence and persistence of delusion, a brief spin into conjecture about how this pronouncement will be perceived in a year or four years, raised some bile: May you have the day you voted for. And then back to practice: May all beings be healthy and happy, may all beings be safe, free from inner and outer harm, may all beings live a life of joyful ease. May all beings be healthy and happy…
One can’t practice enough these days. Literally, I cannot practice enough to keep my gorge from rising, the bile from a constant burn in the back of my throat. But I keep practicing, because that’s what we do.
After meditation, and a zoom sangha with Upaya, we strolled up the driveway to savor the sky, the clean damp air; to ground in the clear truth of nature, ancient junipers, mutable weather, the fleeting grace of a doe, a tiny spotted fawn running through the field.
You do what you can, what you must, with hope, without clinging to outcome. You accept the truth that this is how things are right now, and then you adapt, reset, recuperate, and start again the next day. But for this evening, just for these precious few hours, you relax into whatever nourishes you, whatever sustains and restores you, and savor it like there’s no tomorrow. You step into the kaleidoscope and ride.
Choose Beauty
How did I not notice this extraordinary pattern in Wren’s blue eye? This is one reason I love photography. I see better sometimes through a different lens. I can zoom in or out for a fresh perspective. My aging eyes can’t see this detail when she’s got her face in mine and we melt looking into each other. I’m grateful for this delightful surprise today.
I’ve looked back through images of her to see if this was just an artifact of the camera, or the light, or whether it’s been there all along—and it has! Even in one of first pictures I took of her (above) in May 2022 when I’d had her only a few weeks, you can see the starry darker blue in her iris, but not with the striking clarity of the new phone camera. I simply didn’t look closely enough back then.
Today was classic March in the mountains, windy, cold, with stinging snow flurries, and occasional fits of tepid sunshine. It was a great day to stay inside. Lunch was a grilled Havarti, mushroom, and shallot sandwich. On breaks I continued to puzzle in the sunshine. More about this one later, just a taste today.
I long for the halcyon days when there was nothing more urgent to do with my spare time than enjoy the beauty around me. The causes and conditions of this new era we’re in demand that we all participate in the fierce tapestry of resistance growing daily. I’m grateful to be among many who see clearly; and grateful for the many others who work to strengthen the warp and woof of the weave, the good lawyers and good politicians and good journalists who get paid to defend democracy. Our local Indivisible chapter met this afternoon on zoom and held the full range of each others emotions on this terrifying roller coaster.
Though tonight’s sunset was flat grey, last night’s was ethereally stunning. I’m grateful for a new tripod attachment that let me shoot some short timelapses, and anticipate much joy in coming months from acquiring this single implement. No matter what else you do, make time to do the things that bring you joy. Choose beauty wherever you can.
Another Sunset
Tonight I’m grateful for living to see another sunset. So many people didn’t.
Microadventures
I was flabbergasted to see this photograph of a new class of cruise ships, advertised as ‘better for the planet’ though this claim is roundly debunked in the article describing this behemoth, which carries 7000 people. I couldn’t make sense of what I was seeing at first. Now that I’ve understood the photograph, this surrealistic ship entering the port of Miami whence it sets sail (ha! LNG-methane emissions motoring) tomorrow, I still don’t understand, I really cannot comprehend, the very idea of this as vacation.
But some people will love it, and who am I to judge. It just concerns me that as fragile as we know our planet is, and our atmosphere, so many humans still pursue such resource-indulgent recreation. Also crossing my screen this morning was this lovely article about paying attention to and discovering wonders in our own back yards, much more my speed. Alastair Humphreys has traveled the world exploring nature, but he’s beginning to reconsider his impact on the planet: “If I love wild places so much, I’ve begun to wonder, am I willing to not visit them in order to help protect them?”
He goes on, “Only a tiny minority of the people on the planet step onto a plane each year; just 1% of us take more than half of all flights. How can more of us enjoy wild landscapes and the mental and physical benefits of getting out into nature without it costing the Earth?” He suggests we do this with microadventures, taking bike rides and camping trips and other opportunities to experience wild nature close to home.
I’m grateful for the many microadventures I’ve had just this week, and I’ve barely left the house. I’m grateful that I live where I can step out my door into nature, but even if I couldn’t I know that I’d find beauty and wonder in whatever little patch of nature I could experience–even if it were just the spider making her web in the window.
Wonder: walking up the driveway I spy in the mud and ice this gorgeous butterfly; dead, of course, this time of year. I surmise it fell from the grill of the FedEx truck, or my personal shopper’s car, where it had been stuck since warmer weather. To be surprised by such a sight in deep winter was a microadventure. For little Wren, too.
I have microadventures with this aging body all the time. Monday it was a strained tendon, which with the right tool for the job and a sweet resting place is healing well. I’ve graduated to a lighter brace, and no longer have to sleep with it.
I’m grateful for microadventures in the kitchen. Opening this carton of eggs and being surprised by all the colors, shapes, and sizes! I’m grateful for my friend’s adventures raising the chickens, and grateful for her sharing the bounty. With a sudden abundance of eggs I was encouraged to plan some more eggy bakes, and celebrated by poaching two that very night for dinner. Another microadventure: I’ve seen so many ways to poach eggs without using cups, and the few I’ve tried before have been unsuccessful. But I tried again and this time they came out beautifully. With a pat of butter, a sprinkle of salt and pepper, they were perfect.
Using up leftovers is always a microadventure also. The last tortilla, the last of the chicken salad, half an avocado, some cheese on the bottom, and the last (again) of the sunroom tomatoes — but there are blossoms now, and more little green tomatoes growing! The microadventure of growing food in winter.
Driving to town, any of the three towns around, is always a microadventure if you choose to see it that way, which I do. Turning off the radio and turning my attention to the subtle colors and patterns of the sere rolling landscape, alert for wildlife along the roadside, and appreciative of the clouds.
Back home, walking again, appreciating the bright green moss thriving under the junipers, and the cat who walks like a dog, and also climbs trees. Knowing the names of some of the grasses and weeds, knowing the life cycle of the trees, knowing just the tip of the iceberg of the lives in this forest, knowing there’s so much more to know…
The best. loaf. of. sourdough. ever. Learning the alchemy of flour, salt, water, and microbes, each bake a unique microadventure.
Even simply waking up alive each morning is a microadventure. I never know what will be the first thing I see!
A Cloudy Day
Sometimes grey is just the right color for a day. I’m grateful for a cloudy day with scattered snow showers and mist. Wren, Topaz and I enjoyed a break from work with a mid-afternoon walk up the driveway.
Minutes after we got back inside, the dark clouds opened and snow pelted down for a few minutes, but overall only an inch or so fell here. In the mountains, though, a wealth of snow to replenish the reservoirs. I’m grateful for a cloudy day.
That Kind of Friend
Another sunny day! Another lunch outside, and more hours to winterize the yarden, draining more hoses, storing plant pots, tidying garden tools. Each ‘last sunny day’ a respite before the strongly predicted storm due to arrive now in about three hours. We’ll know more later!
The aspen has lost all her leaves, but the crabapple still clings to color. I’m grateful for the small display of deciduous trees in the yard, and sometimes wish I’d planted more. I was limited by how much water I had for them, but now that they are all established maybe I can add another one… or two… in spring. A sour cherry, and a red maple, those are my dream trees.
I’m grateful for another delicious zoom cooking with Amy. I can no longer recall which of us spotted this recipe on Instagram, but Amy tracked it down so we could read it easily and then alerted me this afternoon that the salmon had to marinate for at least an hour and the rice had to be completely cooled. I got those things done just in time to get online with her for assembly and cooking, and then we sat down to enjoy our meal.
Nori squares, sushi rice, and salmon marinated in soy sauce, honey, hot sauce, ginger and some other yummies, all tucked into muffin cups and baked hot for fifteen minutes; then glazed with another delicious concoction and served hot and crispy, sweet and sour and salty, crunchy and sticky and soft. I will definitely be making these again!
Shortly after we toasted our salmon ‘muffins,’ she got a call from a friend who needed an urgent ride to the emergency vet for a badly injured dog. Amy is just the kind of friend you need in a situation like that. She didn’t bat an eye. She explained, and I said “Bye!” and ended the zoom. I’m grateful for that kind of friend whether mine or someone else’s; we all need them. And I’m grateful that you’re the kind of friend who is now worried about a dog you’ve never met, so I’m glad to tell you that though it was ghastly it was only a flesh wound, and Boone is going to be fine with some stitches and a night or two in the hospital.