Tag Archive | liberty or fascism

A Fulfilling Day

Oct26

It’s been a good Monday. The sun was out all day and the moon just past full shone in a clear sky tonight. After using a new inhaler for two days I’ve had great energy all day. It’s amazing what sufficient oxygen will do. I made a delicious sandwich for lunch, a riff on a kale reuben using what I had on hand (see below). I enjoyed some meaningful conversations. And I exercised my right to vote.

There was a spectacular rainbow yesterday afternoon, and I happened to step outside at just the right time. It lasted a good fifteen minutes or so as the clouds shifted around and through it. There was nothing else that felt more important than simply watching it.

Something only one person knows about me is that I don’t like library books. I love libraries, don’t get me wrong. But I’ve come to the realization recently that I don’t like their books. I think there’s been a subconscious aversion for a long time, which first began to manifest after I got a kindle paperwhite eight years ago. I began to enjoy not having a heavy book clunk me in the face when I fell asleep reading. Then Covid struck, and I surrendered to my peculiar brand of germ-phobia.

I’m fine with garden dirt, earthworms, forest detritus, decaying animal carcasses, etc., but I don’t like touching library books that dozens of people have handled with their potentially dirty hands. Imagine all the places your fingers have been when you read a book, and you probably never think to wash hands before you pick it up. I’m a compulsive hand-washer anyway, to a degree which I recognized immediately when I went onto water rations last month. Still rationing, by the way! and very hopeful for a final resolution tomorrow.

Fresh sourdough yesterday

When Covid came along (I know it’s airborne but it heightened my awareness of germ transmission in general) I found myself taking an alcohol wipe to the cover of any library book, and I still couldn’t shake the gut-level discomfort of picking it up and turning its pages. So except in book club emergencies, I’ll avoid a library book. It’s a visceral reaction that affects only me, so I indulge it without much questioning.

I didn’t have sauerkraut for the reuben so I made coleslaw with cabbage and carrot I grew specifically to make coleslaw: garden wisdom says “grow what you love to eat.”

In a similar way, I had a visceral reaction to one of the statutory measures on the Colorado ballot that I filled out this morning, Proposition 133, proposing a mandatory life sentence for human trafficking of a minor. The crime turns my stomach and my gut reaction was to vote yes. But because my gut reaction on this issue could affect many others and not me, discernment was required so I delved deeper. It was the only measure I had any uncertainty about when I read through them on the Blue Voter Guide the first time and saw that most organizations whose endorsements I respect recommended a NO vote. None recommended Yes, and only two had no opinion, the Bell Policy Center and Western Colorado Alliance.

The official drop box at Crawford town hall. I filmed my deposit out of an abundance of caution, and will be checking emails frequently until I receive notice it’s been received. I never used to think twice about the security of my ballot.

Both said essentially the same thing, which instantly solidified my NO vote: There’s no exception for victims of sex trafficking who are sometimes forced to participate in recruiting or managing other victims; legal experts concur that it would not “meaningfully reduce the prevalence of child sex trafficking”; and “Judges, not lawmakers or voters, should determine an offender’s sentence. This measure takes away discretion from legal professionals who are intimately acquainted with cases and are better able to thoughtfully assess facts and culpability.”

I sautéed the last handful of kale along with garlic and red onion, all from the garden…

Another measure that forced some extra discernment is Proposition 137, which on its surface looks like a good revenue reallocation for conservation. But the organizations were split in their recommendations, with more endorsing NO than Yes. On this one I went with the Center for Biological Diversity‘s reasoning, and voted NO. Hidden in the conservation claims is the result that “it would actually allow for expanded logging and road building throughout Colorado’s forests.” Nope. We just don’t need more roads through the woods. Not good for wildlife. So another gut reaction, after some discernment.

…sliced some havarti…

Bottom line, I found the Blue Voter Guide extremely helpful in filling out my ballot, because it offers links to the reasoning behind the endorsements of so many organizations. For the record, Colorado Indivisible and the League of Women Voters both recommend voting YES on Proposition NN and Amendment 87, and NO on everything else. So if you have not voted yet, YOU BETTAH VOTE this week, and check out the guide to inform yourself and maybe switch up some gut reactions. If you haven’t already mailed your ballot and you’re voting early, you probably want to use an official drop box or deliver it in person.

…lightly spread the insides of the bread with mayonnaise and toasted them in the pan, before laying on the cheese, and the mixed kale and coleslaw, then grilling the sandwich til the cheese was perfectly melted.

Back to libraries: I still love and support my local public library! I keep my card current and use it on the eLibrary Libby, donate to Friends of the Library with an annual membership, and donate good quality books to their Cabin Fever Book Sale. I’m meeting some friends for coffee there this week, to enjoy the community-tended garden and as one of them said, “our being there and having fun would be good enticement for patrons.” Our rural county library has struggled through the decades I’ve lived here, due to county cuts and intermittent low patronage. But it’s always enjoyed remarkable community support and a committed and caring staff, and it’s an indispensable technology resource for many people in our neck of the woods.

Wren napping between my knees during a brief rest in a fulfilling day.

Blue for Green

Oct19
If grief can be a doorway to love, then let us all weep for the world we are breaking apart so we can love it back to wholeness again.
ROBIN WALL KIMMERER

One way we can do that, maybe, is to counter the six cults described by Chris Murphy in his book Crisis of the Common Good, shared by my friend Ted Leach in his blog today. The cults are Profit, Consumption, Globalism, Technology, Credentialism, and Corruption. Not quite the Seven Deadly Sins, but getting there.

I’m grateful that one of my slothful habits turns out to be “an accessible and low-cost protective factor across the lifespan” for my brain! “A growing body of research” indicates that reading for pleasure by children can improve attention and executive function, and by adults lower stress and increase cognitive function; in both, it improves mental health. I could have told you that last bit! In more good medical news, it looks like coffee, even decaf, supports gut health and potentially cognitive health.

I did something different with this week’s sourdough, shaping in a banneton, rising overnight in the cool mudroom, and baking on a sheetpan instead of in a Dutch oven. This resulted in a much thicker crust, and could have used a few fewer minutes in the oven. Or maybe a lower temperature.

What else improves my mental health is the Great British Baking Show. It’s back on for its 17th season, the last twelve of which are available on Netflix. Four episodes down, and even though it was disastrous for most of the bakers this week it’s still the most feel-good show on TV. Yes, it’s a competition, yes there is nail-biting anxiety during some of the challenges -ok, most of them- but it’s a show that cultivates the kind of connections mentioned as an antidote to the destructive cults above. And there is Alison Hammond, an ebullient host whose chemistry with quirky comedian Noel Fielding keeps contestants in good spirits no matter what. And now there’s Nigella Lawson, too.

And, there is Paul Hollywood’s eyes.

On the home front, I’m grateful for snow in the mountains, and another small harvest from the garden. And I mean small! I planted four cabbages in the spring, which were supposed to mature in sixty days or so, and it took them all summer and into fall to be ready to pick. They were supposed to be small, but not this small. I picked all the green tomatoes, too, the evening before we had a hard freeze. Every year the garden is one experiment after another. I’m grateful for all the professional growers in our valley.

I’m grateful for a kindred spirit in my friend who came for a walk and tea on a sunny day after the freeze and the rain. While we bundled for the walk, by the time we turned for home we’d shed our jackets, and then we enjoyed a leisurely pot of tea by the pond. She’s been working hard to save democracy after founding our Indivisible chapter a decade ago, and is still going strong. She led the local “Vote Early” action for No Kings Day last Saturday, which nationwide was a historic success.

If you want to vote to protect our environment, our democracy, and an America for all the people instead of a select few, check out the Blue Voter Guide. Type in your address, which isn’t saved and is used only to locate your ballot choices, and you can see all your candidates and ballot initiatives, along with all the organizations endorsing each side of the issue. I found it helpful for most of the issues, but am still left scratching my head over a couple of them. More research needed before I cast my ballot later this week.

Wren and Elena both very fashionable in their pink neckwear.
Cleaning up the patio today after having brought in all the houseplants, I noticed something in the adobe wall and had to wonder, Did I do this? It’s possible, but I don’t think I did… Who carefully placed this flat stone in the hole in the wall? And by who, I mean what kind of creature, bird or rodent or…?

I do know that I did this, however. I’m so glad and relieved to have finally completed the insulated window coverings for the sunroom! I hung the final panel on Saturday. Stay tuned for the whole Warm Windows story, a remarkable quarter century in the making.

Vote, Dammit!

Oct13
The monsoons continue to be generous this year, taking the edge off the drought.

I know people who don’t bother to vote, especially in a midterm. I’ve skipped an occasional midterm vote but that was before I understood the system. Next month, just weeks from now, the stakes are way too high to let your vote slide.

After torrential rains last month, erosion at the canyon was dramatic with deep rills carved down the steep walls.

We get to VOTE every two years, for various local, state and national representatives. Each election cycle represents an incremental turning of the rudder of our collective ship. This means that over time, say, eight to ten years, we get to change the direction of our government.

So each election, it behooves us to reevaluate: how well are the people I voted for last time actually representing my personal interests, and how well are they contributing to the collective wellbeing of our [fill in the blank: town, county, state, country] and ultimately, are we moving toward the destruction of life on earth or are we mitigating the accelerating crash of climate chaos? 

Wait! Forget I said climate chaos, since I hope that I’m speaking to some climate change deniers. Just forget about the bigger picture for a minute and consider: are you personally better off now than you were two years ago? I don’t know anyone who can answer YES to that. I know of some people who can, people who were already filthy rich (or getting there) who have benefited from the current government’s policies: new and forever wars, exemptions, extractions; the demolition of the underpinnings of public health, food safety, public lands, cultural treasures, endangered species, infrastructure, retirement and healthcare; and the ruined lives of immigrant families, military families, poor families, LGBTQ people, wildlife; and so much more.

But me? I was tenuously set for retirement, if I was frugal, before the last presidential election. Now, I’m worried. I am choosing to skip certain doctor visits because I can’t afford the gas to drive one to two hundred miles round trip. I’m cutting back on some of my favorite foods, and reevaluating my staple groceries because I can’t afford my former shopping habits. Vacation is out of the question: Even if I were willing to get on an airplane again (which I have not since 9/11) I can’t afford a flight; nor can I afford the diesel to fuel my camper van. 

How about you? If you tune into your true experience of living these days, and ignore unruly thoughts about imaginary horrors you don’t personally experience fed by fear-mongering propaganda, what do you discern? Are your neighbors actually out to get you? Or are they just like you, trying to live their lives without bothering anyone, trying to make an honest living and be happy and not suffer? 

Are you spending more on groceries than you ever have? Are you spending more on fuel than you ever have? These are some of the things you should be worried about, not the lies that the current regime spews at you daily.

Yesterday we got a morning rainbow in the west, an afternoon rainbow in the east, and snow overnight.

You should also be worried about your watershed: Where does your drinking water come from, and do you think it’s a bottomless well? Do you think stripping environmental protections means you’ll still have plenty of clean water? Do you live in a tornado alley, or in the path of hurricanes? Do you think your weather forecasts and warnings are as accurate as they were before staggering cuts to National Weather Service? And if you’ve suffered losses from a natural disaster in the past two years, where has FEMA been?

Take a gentle, clear look: Are you better off now than you were two years ago? Do you feel safer, have more financial security, feel less anxious or angry, get along with your community, your family, and yourself any better? This is what it comes down to. My answer to all those questions is no, and I still consider myself pretty fortunate. Only a sweeping Democratic shift in the House and the Senate can put the brakes on the thieving, greedy, corruption that’s ruining the conditions of our daily lives. You don’t have to admit to it, just do it: vote for Democrats down the ticket. Give it eight or ten years, and see if you aren’t better off than you are now.

Are you registered to vote? Even if you think you are, you might not be. Federal interference with state voter rolls may have compromised your status. You can double check here with just a few clicks, and if you’re not registered there may still be time in your state. Don’t let anyone take your voice: your vote matters!

If you enjoy Morning Rounds please share it using the buttons below.

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.

Spoiled White Girl

Sep26

I treated myself to a massage last week, but as usual little Wren claimed Elyse’s attention as soon as she arrived. Later, she jumped up on the table and lay quietly between my knees as I received one of the finest back massages of my life. I had her focus on my back because I’d pulled something (conveniently) the day before our appointment, whilst accidentally cleaning out the chest freezer. I only meant to scrape some of the ice that was impinging on lid closure, but couldn’t stop myself from emptying it all out, defrosting completely, sorting contents into Compost (2018 wax beans, 2016 rhubarb, etc.), Keep, or House, to bring into the house freezer or fridge and eat soon.

I haven’t eaten much red meat for years, but when I did I bought the best: local, free-range, from people I knew who raised their animals with love and care. The only meat left in the freezer was a pair of ribeye steaks, which went into the House pile. I have no idea what year they were from, and knew that if they looked awful when thawed I’d throw them away; if they looked fine but not appealing I’d cook and cut them up small for Wren fud; and if they looked tasty to me I’d indulge.

They did look tasty! But they were huge. So I rewrapped one for later and put it back in the chest freezer, and looked up the best way to cook the other. In the years since I cooked meat, I’ve learned a thing or two from watching chefs on tv or instagram, and my mouth always waters a little when I see Chef Matthew Ryle basting browned meat with butter, which I’d never done. Oh, I’d fried steaks in butter, but never knew to baste them. It just looks so sumptuous.

So I browned the first side in butter, and then tossed in finely chopped shallots, garlic, and sage, all from the garden, and finished cooking while I gently tipped the skillet and basted the steak. I probably should have basted before I put in the flavors but I’ll try that next time.

After a few minutes on each side and a poke with the thermometer I determined it was done to medium and removed the steak to a plate to ‘rest.’ Also something I had never bothered with before. Then I splashed a little red wine into the pan and cooked it down to a lovely quick sauce. I sliced a few thin strips to eat with a baked potato and leftover collards, and enjoyed a restaurant meal in my sunroom.

One reason I cooked the steak was so that I could have leftovers in sandwiches for a few days. Wren got all the fat and gristle chopped up small for topping on her next few meals, and I boiled the bone down to a broth for her also. The first sandwich included deli-sliced smoked gouda and garden tomatoes. Between the luxury of steak and the garden tomato, it made me think again of a phrase that comes to mind occasionally, ‘spoiled white girl.’

Shortly after college, I moved to a southern town and lived miles into the country in the ground floor of a two-story duplex owned by an older black woman in town. We had a cordial landlady-tenant relationship, I thought, until one day when her brother picked all the biggest, ripest tomatoes I had grown in my garden out back. I’d invited him to pick a few, but not all of them! I must have mentioned it to her, because she said “You just a spoiled white girl!”

The words stung, I’ll be honest. I mean, like a hard, full-handed slap in the face. They felt deeply unfair, yet also somehow true. I recall nothing more (maybe it will turn up in my journals when I get back to reading them) but the label has haunted me for four decades. As I begin to learn the importance of self-compassion, and explore the process of cultivating it, that phrase keeps bubbling to the surface. I accept that I was raised as a spoiled white girl, but I believe that I’ve come a long way from my upbringing. I see that this weekend in my equanimity and adaptability to losing the running water in my home. The plumber can’t come til Tuesday but I’m making do with water jugs and shower offers from neighbors.

A dessert last week with strawberry ice cream, garden strawberries, and melted dark chocolate.

I noticed quickly that my baseline stress bumped up a couple of notches, simply from not having reliable running water. In truth, I’ve gotten the pressure tank to fill up a couple of times but the switch is dicey and dying. I’m managing to keep dishes clean with frugal intention and flush the toilet when necessary with the house water, but I don’t think that luxury will last through the next few days. I’m grateful for the kindness of friends nearby. This couldn’t have happened at a better time: plentiful rain and cooler temperatures allow a pause in watering the garden, and jugs will work for the few plants that may need some; I’m not dealing with stomach flu or colonoscopy prep; it’s still warm enough that I’m not relying on a hot shower to thermoregulate. There’s much to be grateful for.

And certainly, I recognize my good fortune that this minor inconvenience is the worst hardship I currently personally face. For one thing, I can still afford to fill up my car, which a friend kindly suggested I do the other day before prices go even higher, though it did cost almost fifty dollars for less than a full tank, and forty is the most I’ve ever paid to fill it from empty. Coincidentally, this sign showed up in an email later that day, with a link to Factocracy.net where you can download this and many more signs for free.

But I’m keenly aware of the suffering of humans and other beings around the globe. Everything changes. All the time. In this moment, all is well in my tiny sphere. I think of people in Ukraine, Gaza, Lebanon, Sudan, Nepal, who once had running water and now live in ruins. You never know what’s coming. I think a true spoiled white girl wouldn’t consider the suffering of others, just as the spoiled white men ruling this country don’t consider, or don’t care, about the suffering they’re imposing on millions of Americans—on most Americans: at the gas pump, the grocery store, the hospital, you name it. I know that, privileged as I am, I’m considerably worse off now than I was two years ago, financially, mentally, and emotionally.

Wren reluctantly sits for a fitting of her new sweater underway.

The only thing that saves my sanity at this point is the practice of mindfulness. I teach a meditation called “Three Thoughts,” and each morning I wake up and remember those thoughts as I make an accurate assessment of my life: 1) I’m very fortunate, and I name some of the many ways; 2) my fortune could change in any way at any moment, and death is certain, time of death uncertain; 3) how can I live each precious day that will never come again so that I can face death when it arrives with no regrets? Every day takes learnin’ all over again how to fuckin’ live.

Resilience

Jul29
A rare morning rainbow in the western sky last week.

With its apparent resilience, the monarch butterfly provides another apt metaphor. After a precipitous decline in population and a decades-long international collaboration to save the species, monarch numbers have increased in the past few years. They’ve followed more or less the same migratory pathways for 20 millennia, the science of tracking and protecting them has been going on for .0025% of that time by my calculation, and they could go extinct in the next fifty years.

I’m grateful that I got to visit Rosario in the late 80s as a guest of a research team under the direction of Dr. Lincoln Brower. The sanctuary had just been designated. During my week at the field camp, the weather was unseasonably cold and the last few days were blanketed in a rare snow. We drove down from the mountaintop to El Rosario and walked the dusty paths, but even there the monarchs were largely dormant. Nevertheless, I remember the miracle of being among their stunning multitude. I’m grateful they seem to be adapting to habitat loss.

But if we as a species don’t slam the brakes on climate chaos, those amazing butterflies don’t stand a chance. The world has “junked 45 climate pledges.” Under the current US regime, public lands including irreplaceable wilderness and cultural sites are being torn open to fossil fuel extraction. This is unconscionable. Killing two birds with one stone and the planet in the mix, destroying our public lands protected by our tax dollars for their value to our American lives, AND accelerating the climate catastrophe. We stand to lose not only the butterflies, but so many other natural wonders and cultural treasures. Call your representatives now.

As a society, we’re going to need all the resilience we can cultivate, given the insidious influences trying to shape the way we think, feel, and interact with our world. The Patriarchy may be in its death throes but it’s pulled out all the stops, as this insightful piece from The Atlantic illustrates. Can we support the men in our lives, young or old, in resisting this toxic masculinity scam? Can we help each other see reality clearly? Your wellbeing and happiness depend upon my wellbeing and happiness, as mine depend upon yours. We are interdependent. Can we hold on to this certainty in some way as nefarious forces continue trying to fracture us, both individually and collectively? Daily mindfulness practice helps me feel more resilient.

Doing my best most days to eat in a way that supports my health, I made a delicious golden mushroom soup last week, with portobellos, orzo, turmeric, and turkey stock. And a pat of butter, per the recipe.

And it’s not just the natural world this Republican regime is assaulting. Our health as individuals, communities, and a nation is at risk from the boneheads in charge of public health. This 23 minute talk Joyce Vance had with Dr. Vin Gupta lays out the threats pretty clearly, and offers us some resources since we can no longer count on the government websites to provide science.

The once bountiful garden is struggling with the heat, though it’s still providing about as many leafy greens as I can stomach. The ‘Mickey Maters’ started from Dog World seeds are not thriving. I don’t think they’re meant to be quite this small. I’m grateful for the few strawberries that have survived the chipmunks.

A friend brought me a nice organic zucchini a couple weeks ago, and the only thing I wanted to do with it was try again to make zucchini fries. This time I used a batter recipe Amy had sent, since the last time it was too thick and took so long to fry to golden that the zukes were just utter mush.

With this tempura-like batter they fried quickly and remained beautifully firm, almost crunchy. Maybe next time, with the oil a little hotter, they’ll do even better. It’s a great way to get a fried fix. For sauce this time, nothing fancy, just mayo, mustard, a squeeze of tomato paste because I had no ketchup, and a spoonful of sweet pickle relish.

Morning at the Bombay Wall. I did NOT empty all these bottles by myself, it was a community effort over two decades. They were just too pretty to throw away.

Speaking of blue beauty, the lazuli bunting has been a regular at the feeder and I was happy to get some good shots. I thought at first glance that he was wet from a rare rain, but on closer inspection recognized the tips of new feathers all over his head. He didn’t show up while he was molting—it might have alarmed me to see a bald-headed bunting, but I’d have remembered what I learned when Cousin Mel had a bald cardinal at her feeder. It’s not unusual to see bald songbirds occasionally during molting season.

This is my first ever journal, covering the last six weeks of freshman high school through the summer and the first few months of sophomore year. As part of my preparing-to-die work (no rush, don’t worry, just want to leave a little less stuff for others to deal with whenever it does happen) I’ve gathered all my old journals and am reading them in order, with several goals. One is to review my life with compassion for a change. Oh! The Drama! Also some good insights: I was more resilient then than I remember. And some perspective: Doodles and I pooled our money after a bike ride to town, and had to choose between buying a coke or a slurpee with our 16 cents!

Back then, I was only dimly aware of worldly concerns, but I do remember thinking that the grownups would save the ozone layer and solve global warming and tighten the growing income gap, so I ignored all those things for a few decades. Turns out, they all just kept getting worse.

Thanks to an infusion of new sourdough starter from the Bad Dogs, I got a proper rise to my boule last week.

Also in baking news, it was time for another birthday cake. I chose for Rosie a 7-Up cake, a retro Southern recipe which uses the lemon-lime pop as both liquid and leavening. The flavor is enhanced with lime zest and juice, but my limes were not organic and I won’t zest sprayed fruit. So I used lemons instead. It calls for a lemon glaze, but I knew she likes frosting so I made a lemon cream cheese buttercream—yum! I also tried to candy lemon slices for decoration, but I lost track of the process (twice!) resulting in a burnt mess. Oh well. I’ll try again some day.

Coffee at the pond this morning with a gentle doe.

Wren (like all my dogs) has always gotten last bite of everything I eat. I’ve found only a few things she won’t eat: raw celery, zucchini, and mushrooms. The other day I thought to offer her a spoonful of cinnamon foam after I finished my latté. She was so excited to try it! And she loved it, so now it’s another regular last bite treat.

Still Breathing…

Jul3

A week ago wildfires started in Colorado. Off and on, the mountains to the east are entirely obscured by smoke from the convergence of wind currents blowing through the Gold Mountain fire to the south the Snyder fire northwest on the border with Utah. Grand Mesa to the north is also occasionally invisible, and the sun is a red disk setting.

At times the smoke is mild, reminiscent of a campfire at a site across the campground, only pervasive and persistent, not wafting and shifting. Other times it’s an acrid stench that stuns my lungs. I’m grateful the fires aren’t closer, grateful I’m still safe at home, still breathing.

The Air Quality Index has been fluctuating between the 50s on the best nights to as high as 185. During the day it’s been hovering around 90 give or take a dozen, depending on how the winds have been blowing the previous hour. I wear a dampened mask to go outside and fill bird feeders, shift hoses in the yarden. The poor little birds! Especially the hummingbirds with their tiny lungs and extravagant heartrates.

Unretouched photo of a sagebrush glowing at sunset.
Smoke billows a few days ago from the Gold Mountain fire roughly 60 crow miles south of us.

This evening the West Elk mountains are under deep chiarascuro. It changes hour by hour, more or less dense, wind dependent. The good news is that the Snyder fire seems to have stalled at 30,000 acres and is now 95% contained per Watch Duty.

Last night’s moonrise

The bad news is, the Gold Mountain fire just north of Ouray has grown to 25,000 acres in six days. The 2500-acre Willow fire in the mountains above Aspen forced evacuation of an Outward Bound base camp where a friend’s son lives. He remains up in the mountains on an extended backpack with a group of teens and may not even know of the fire. Friends of a friend lost everything the other day in the explosive Aspen Acres fire southwest of Pueblo including their pets, and barely escaped alive. More than 11,000 humans have been displaced from that fire alone as of tonight. Hundreds of structures have burned. Fairgrounds around the state are open to house large animals evacuated from the paths of various wildfires.

Current Watch Duty map, at 9:21 pm MT July 3.

And there are a few more wildfires in Colorado. A week ago, there were none. Multiply every human that’s affected by these fires by pick-a-number, and guess how many other sentient beings have been killed or displaced. Most of these fires will be found to have been started by human activity, whether accidental or malicious. All of them are raging as wildly as they are because of human-caused climate chaos. Tomorrow will likely bring more fires across the region from idiots shooting off fireworks despite fire bans. Climate ignorance pervading the political sphere has only and will only exacerbate the threats to all beings.

And even in the midst of smoke and rage I’m doing my best to calm down and eat well. Here’s a creamy potato-cheddar soup I had for lunch the other day.

I’m furious about human stupidity. I’m grateful for the courageous individuals and teams who do their best to mitigate these disastrous consequences, from the local, state, and federal firefighters on the ground to the fired federal employees who got together to resurrect the Strump-shuttered climate.gov with a new website, climate.us, and everyone in between.

I’m gratified to see the desert willow in full gorgeous bloom just a few years after a freeze so hard I thought it was dead.

I’m grateful once again for Alexandra Petri, who writes about MAHA day at the Great American State Fair, an event which I’ve been only peripherally aware of with my limited intake of current events and what passes for news. I giggled all the way through, from her description of the Screamin’ Freedom energy drink to her interaction with a featured ‘legacy’ speaker who urged her to go topless. If you don’t laugh sometimes you’ll just cry.

Even though Amy and I swore off Instagram recipes, we both can’t stop. The other day I tried the rice-waffle with some leftover rice, mixed with a little rice vinegar and sesame oil. I used too much liquid since I fudged the recipe with only enough rice for one cake. It took forever to crisp up and didn’t hold together well, but it was tasty and fun enough that I’ll try it again with proper proportions. They topped theirs with sushi elements, but I just made an Asian tunafish salad based on this recipe with what I had on hand.

Also doing my best to savor the moments I’m able to be outside. The temperature this fiery week has been lovely, it’s just been too smoky to enjoy it except in small sweet snatches.

And when we can’t be outside, we make the most of being inside.

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.

Sacred Rest

Mar13

I did another ancestral puzzle last week, Bookstalls on the Seine, from 1931. Almost a hundred years have faded the subtle shades of green and the ecru background, and dozens of fingers have rubbed the wood soft and left their stain.

There’s no picture on the cover of the tattered box. I tried to start with the edges but found the bridge railing easiest to decipher, and then the buildings with their perspective, the windows’ sizes and shading. Mixed in there a few of the people came together.

There was a poignant contrast between the gentlefolk on the street, and the huddled figure on the step. Though assembling the puzzle was a rest of sorts, my mind certainly buzzed the whole time with comparisons of the world and humanity between a century ago and now.

Despite only having 325 pieces (not a one lost in a century!) it took about five days to complete, partly because it was so hard and partly because it wasn’t as compelling as a colorful Liberty puzzle. But it offered its own unique muted pleasure which suited my mood.

I’d forgotten the 5 Calls app for awhile, relying on other sources to decide what to say to my reps when I call, and I’d dropped calls down to about once a week to each of them after finding myself unable to leave a civil message. But I started using 5 Calls again, and really it makes it so easy, and by setting a mindful intention to stay calm and stick generally to the given script, I’ve kept my temper in check and added to the congressional tally of discontented voters on numerous issues through the days.

On Tuesday I met with my Grateful Gathering group to discuss the importance of sacred rest. From time to time throughout the day, or once a day or once a week, a secular Sabbath or a spiritual one; or a longer rest, a residential retreat, a backpacking trip. How restorative it is to make time to unplug, step outside the usual routine of a busy life, step back in time to pre-super computer in your pocket days, not even a hundred years ago, for me just twenty. It was inspiring. I realized it had been too long since I’d walked to the canyon, between the mud, snow, wind, work, the distraction of pain and absorption in obligations and external events.

So I did that on Wednesday. I walked slowly, picked my way along the trail pausing many times, looking around, breathing, inhaling the still peace of the forest. I recalled my relationship with the trees, the ease with which I walked here thirty years ago, a big dog at my side or far ahead. Some years two dogs or three, two or three cats as well, and no phone in my pocket. A complete rest, of sorts, absorption in the forest.

During this time burdened by worldly ills and evils, on a day that I felt I’m not doing enough, I came to the edge of this canyon and I recalled, I’ve saved this land from subdivision, this forest from being recklessly cut, cleared for fields or harvested for firewood or artful tabletops or lamp stands… I saved this land because of its inherent right to exist as it is, a living system just like me, only bigger, and infinitely more complex. An organism in itself and a host to multitudes. A small wild patch in an ever-diminishing patchwork of wild land. Neighbors perpetually cutting trees, shooting wild animals for trophy or food or sport or nuisance. I did something good, and I reminded myself that I try to do good every day. And that’s enough.

After the morning’s sacred rest walking the woods I felt reconnected enough with my true nature to make the drive to town a pleasure, and to delight in a visit with my doctor. Leaving, I saw a dear friend in the waiting room, she and I the only people masked in the whole building. I don’t know if I was more surprised to see her, or to see a little dog follow another woman in and automatically take his place under her seat. The drive home through the gorgeous spring afternoon felt light, and back in the yarden I sat with my little dog who exhausted herself with her frenzied greeting and then lay down to rest in the warm grass.