Tag Archive | the cheese sandwich

Equanimity

Jan20

It’s felt both lovely and freaky to sit down at the pond for awhile almost every day this birthday week. Meditating, reading, sipping tea, pondering the implications of this dry, warm January. It doesn’t bode well for summer, but it does encourage savoring the present moment.

The future of the planet feels urgently precarious these days, more than ever before, with its fate literally in the hands of a tragically mad tyrant. How is it possible that no one seems able or willing to stop him?

From Instagram
Much love and many fun things came on my birthday, including stickers both whimsical and political.
I got the best laugh when I brought down the mail on my birthday, and in the first package I opened found this adorable card—and there was another one in the next envelope! What are the odds? I felt seen and known.

There have always been mad tyrants, but it’s the exponential scale of the chaos he’s sowing that’s existentially terrifying. Quotidian delights feel both less relevant and more precious. It takes sustained effort to hold awareness of national and global events, participate in resistance, and still experience inner peace and stability. I guess the good lord never gives you more than you can handle, or at least that’s what they say. Maybe that’s why I’ve been obsessed with personal discomfort, it’s easier than focusing on international calamity.

Celebrating various angles on this spectacular orchid as the sun lights it through the day.

I confess to feeling a little disappointed. I had pinned my hopes for some relief on an appointment with a new dentist tomorrow, which got canceled this afternoon. I’ve been waiting six weeks for this. The incremental improvement that has crept along for six months more or less plateaued around the holidays, and I’m left with several areas of constant and distracting discomfort, plus occasional pain and some anxiety about longterm tooth health.

The house sparrows continue to roost in the wild rose, challenging Wren’s equanimity or delighting her, not sure which.

Teeth are hitting and clacking that aren’t supposed to. Chewing, especially soft foods, is the sensory equivalent of fingernails on a chalkboard. The lower jaw remains stiff and forward of where it should be, with tension along the lower right jaw; at rest my mouth won’t close without effort. My tongue feels too big for my mouth, and a hundred times a day I consciously release it from twisting and pressing into the upper right front teeth; internal pressure in that jaw fans up into my cheek and eye bones, into a low-grade headache most of the time. And some other stuff.

The tame roses that came for my birthday continue to delight me with their vibrant colors.

I just wanted to tell all this to someone who might be able to explain and help. For six weeks I’ve been documenting symptoms and rehearsing/trying not to rehearse what I would say to the new dentist. Maybe writing it down here will help me quit rehashing the narrative in my head, and free me to simply live each moment without the burden of story.

Pickled red onion has become one of my favorite condiments. For so long it was a hasty afterthought, but this week I planned it and made a whole pint so I could use it generously in sandwiches and salads.

The original dentist who did the crowns left the practice, and her partner did a couple of follow ups but then quit. She told me in December that whatever is going on with me now has nothing to do with her partner’s work, “it’s been too long.” None of these symptoms is new: they have all been ongoing since July, and have fortunately decreased with time. I have resisted paying the balance on work that I believe was badly done. We are at a mutually resentful impasse.

But my disappointment at the cancellation was tempered in the same instant as learning of it. “The doctor has a medical emergency she needs to take care of,” the message said, “and she’ll be out of the office for a few weeks.” I called back to offer well wishes and reschedule. “We’ve got a lot of calls to make,” she said. “We don’t even know the extent of it yet.” My heart sank for the dentist, for her staff, for her family. Was it herself? A child, a parent? It could be anything. Compassion rose immediately, eclipsing disappointment and curiosity. And I’m grateful for that.

Little Wren warming by the pond this morning.

There was a time when disappointment about my personal situation or fear about global unrest would have been the defining emotion of my day, but mindfulness practice has transformed my perspective. The two boundless qualities of equanimity and compassion have truly found a foothold in my heart, balancing the more afflictive emotions that still reside there.

From Instagram: Venerable Samma Maggo has left the Walk for Peace to return to his dwelling place in France. He walked bent over his hiking poles, keeping pace with his brothers, with deep concentration. At rest stops, he radiated peace with the most beatific expression. May I emulate his courage and commitment.

Both And

Jan6
Mind like the sky

After a mindless moment last night at a zoom meeting and my subsequent apology, the friend I had interrupted kindly forgave me, and said about current events, “What if it all turns out ok?” Bless his heart. My fingers are crossed but I’m not holding my breath. This is a common perspective in a certain branch of Buddhism, pointing out that, due to Impermanence, we never know how things will turn out. We really don’t. A common example is the Chinese invasion of Tibet in the 1950s which forced the young Dalai Lama to flee to India; which was the direct cause of His Holiness’s benevolent influence spreading around the world for the next sixty-five years. So sometimes awful things do have a silver lining.

It’s been awhile since I baked a loaf. I tried to score a rose on this one; the stem just opened wide, but the blossom turned out okay for a first effort.

It’s my fear, however, that even if it does eventually turn out ok, whatever that looks like, there will have been total American Carnage in the meantime. Carnage that the USA will have wrought upon innocent beings of all species worldwide, and carnage that will have been wrought upon many millions, in fact most, Americans, by this despotic imposter government. At least from some angles, this is the end times that those apocalyptic idiots on the evangelical right, who have infiltrated then severed the three branches of government, have been working toward all along. But contrary to their beliefs, there will be no messiah coming to save or rapture anyone. And even if there were, it would certainly not be those agents of planetary destruction that she would be coming to save.

If anyone were to be saved by divine intervention, if there were such a thing, it would be the innocents, the thin orange thread of Buddhist monks weaving through the southern US, the millions of American children this regime has robbed of nourishment and healthcare, the cowering brave citizens of Venezuela and Ukraine, and all the future countries conquered by the new Axis of Evil the US just joined. It would be the untold billions of living beings who would be raptured, from ancient juniper trees and giant redwoods to the tiny, iridescent orchard bees to the zooplankton and the giant whales they nourish, all already sustaining lifetaking assaults by the oligarchy gathering at the top of world society like a giant pus-filled zit. Sorry. Please forgive me.

On a lighter note, I made a fabulous cheese sandwich for lunch today: havarti on mayo with Penzeys sandwich sprinkle, jam, lettuce, and a drizzle of honey mustard dressing. So simple, so delicious.

I had a rough night last night, was still nursing a black eye and bloody nose this morning from a bout with my Inner Critic. Maybe that’s colored my view today. My jaw and bite are still not right from that dental work seven months ago and that has certainly affected my tolerance for the taste of bullshit. Welcome to my rare but inevitable occasional rant on the state of the union, on this laden anniversary. It’s Insurrection Day. The regime wants you to forget it ever happened, and the Criminal in Chief is doing his ignorant best to divert our attention through waging war and threatening more. We, the majority of Americans, are not being properly represented; our tax dollars are soon to be requisitioned for global expansionism by the oligarchs who could well afford to wage any war they wish to by dipping their bloodied hands into their personal petty cash vaults. It’s time for a tax strike.

I’m grateful that due to Impermanence, my mood had improved dramatically by lunchtime and I was able to enjoy my little lunch ritual.

I’m grateful that wise friends offered perspective and insight last night when I was beating myself up, that my friend understood and forgave, grateful that the skills of apology and of forgiving myself come much more quickly to me than they used to, and grateful for the wisdom of the Buddhist perspective. Life is both suffering and joy, both beauty and horrors. Equanimity is holding awareness of both/and. The monks’ message in one of their posts today was Peace in Gratitude. In part, “This is not about ignoring difficulty or pretending that everything is perfect. It is about training our hearts to recognize the countless ways we are supported, nourished, held by life itself–even in the midst of challenges.”

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.

This Weekend in Birds

Dec9
Slate-colored junco

I’m grateful to Ruthie and Jeff for inspiring me to get a Bird Buddy feeder. I hadn’t fed birds for a decade, and I missed them. They’ve brought such joy to our days, and once the snow covered the land feeding them feels especially meaningful: Giving back.

Two house finches and a mountain chickadee

My heart melts for the northern flickers who are new to the feeder, though they’ve been regulars in the yarden all summer. Another newcomer is the black-billed magpie, caught on camera for the first time on Friday.

There were other gifts interspersed with birds, including young Bucky nibbling fallen desert willow leaves; and a large four-point buck, several does, and their adolescent fawns, all making the rounds each day to sweep up under the feeder, nap under a juniper, graze under the snow.

Saturday I needed an extra morning hot drink after coffee, and finally broke out the Swiss ovomaltine a friend gave me a couple of months ago. She’d been given it by a young friend who brought it from Switzerland, but passed it on to me because malt disagrees with her. With the help of a translation app and a conversion app I got it mixed with the right amount of hot milk, and gave myself a morning break with the last shortbread, a gift from another friend. (How lucky am I!)

An uncommon black-capped chickadee sharing the feeder with a female house finch
Two of the three Woodhouse scrub jays who dominate the feeder. I believe these are the babies I watched fledge last spring.

Another gift enhancing life is this salad dressing bottle, with recipes for five dressings and measurements right on the glass. I had misplaced it for a long time, and was embarrassed to tell my sister who gave it to me. But now she’ll know that I’ve found it and am grateful all over again for it. I’m also grateful for the gift of enough Tupelo honey to splurge on the honey mustard dressing.

Another mountain chickadee, or maybe the same one, with another house finch, or maybe the same one…

I’m grateful for the Great British Baking Show for so many reasons, but in this case for the challenge where they were judged on the scoring of their loaves. It inspired me to try an oak leaf, and I would not have gotten good a good score on my scoring. But I think Paul and Prue would have approved of the bake, and the tuna melt.

Just look at those eyelashes!

Another baking experiment turned out well, these chocolate snowflakes from Penzeys. More about them later. I couldn’t resist dropping one on the mint chocolate chip ice cream. But just one.

A male house finch thinks he’s got the feeder to himself…
… then has to share with a burly evening grosbeak, who takes over the moment.
(from Rob Brezsny’s Astrology Newsletter)

This message spoke to me this week, as I continually navigate the threshold between who I think I should be and who I actually am. I’m grateful for a wonderful discussion tonight with our monthly grateful gathering around the concept of thresholds. One person entering the job market, one considering retirement, several concerned for grown children at their own thresholds, and all of us feeling the gravity of the threshold our country is poised on. All of us, also, facing awareness of the final threshold that awaits every living being. I want to relax along the path and enjoy the journey to that cliff, before the inevitable jump off.

Gemini Full Moon

Dec4

I was grateful today for abundant sunshine to charge the solar panels and melt a little ice once I’d shoveled the paths again. And to lift the spirits of many of us.

I was astonished to look out the west window and see a doe chewing on an old shed antler that was ornamenting the garden. She munched on it for a long time while her fawn nibbled some leaves under the snow. It reminded me it was lunchtime.

Today I was grateful for the last two slices of bread which I dressed with peanut butter and jam. But yesterday, as cold and grey as it was, I was really happy to make a grilled cheese sandwich. I used mayo on both slices but then remembered I had a smidge of that tomato butter Amy and I made back in September. I’d pulled it from the freezer to make room for turkey stock and been using it up all week. So I spread that on one side, layered cheddar and Havarti on the other, and closed the sandwich. Then I tried a trick we’d seen on Instagram, to spread mashed potatoes on the outsides of the bread before grilling.

It must have not been the right kind of potato. It looked great, but the bread was actually less crispy than a usual butter or mayo grilled cheese. I topped it with the single harvest from the hydroponic tomato experiment, which also looked great but felt like a little marble so I gave it to Wren for last bite.

My little philosopher…

It was a lovely day. After lunch I edited some meditations, including this one from my dear departed friend Cynthia Wilcox. The timing was perfect for “Sensing into Boundaries.” As I was editing it someone came to the door that I just couldn’t attend to in that moment and Cindy’s guidance supported me.

And before I knew it, the short day was over. I made sure not to miss the rising of the Gemini Full Moon, whatever that means. A friend had mentioned it this morning as meaningful to her, and later texted after she watched it rise six hours earlier in London. I’d been upstairs waiting for it but remembered I had to run out and dump the birdbath before it froze, and just as I got there the moon peeked over the mountains.

The birdbath was already frozen. We came inside after this shot. I love how the farthest peaks of Mount Gunnison are still in alpenglow and the moon highlights a ridge I’d never realized was part of the distant mountain.

These last two are through the window so there’s a bit of distortion. I considered what my friend had said, and looked up the significance of this moon. Yoga Journal offered a full and mindful analysis from which I’ve excerpted this:

“What makes this full Moon particularly potent is how Gemini teaches us that reality is malleable. The stories we tell ourselves about who we are, what is possible for us, and what we deserve directly shape our experiences. When we change our internal narrative, we change our external world. This is the secret power of Gemini—it shows us that a simple shift in perspective can unlock doors we didn’t even know existed.”

This Week in Cheese Sandwiches

Oct27

I started the week with a fresh loaf of sourdough, which I hadn’t made in awhile since I was obsessed with tomato sandwiches on the complicated mock wonder bread. It’s a relief to return to the simplicity of sourdough. Tuesday evening in grief, I ate a simple deconstructed cheese sandwich with the first two slices: mayo and havarti on one, butter and rosehip-crabapple jelly on the other. Yeah, the jelly is a little overcooked as I’d feared, a bit thicker than I’d like, and a little sticky to spread, but it tastes great. I had to try it before I send off the jars to the lottery winners. In case, you know, it was a total fail and I had to eat it all myself with a spoon.

With local tragedies and national catastrophes, it’s a good time to remind myself that most people are good and kind and there’s a lot of great news that just doesn’t make headlines while the bad news come so fast and furious. I don’t remember how Daily Good found its way into my inbox, but I’m grateful there’s a group of volunteers curating good news stories around the world (also, it seems that AI is working for good in this instance); 625 stories so far this month, which I trust is a drop in the bucket, simply knowing how many good, sweet connections were made just in my neighborhood this week.

Wednesday’s sandwich was a simple cheddar, havarti, lettuce and tomato, but I wanted extra crunch so I quick pickled some tiny red onions from the final harvest. Mayo and Penzeys sandwich sprinkle completed the project.

One of those good things came in a voicemail yesterday from an unknown number. Last year when I struggled so before hip surgery, I had registered to get assistance from North Fork Senior Connections, and also offered to volunteer for them in some capacity after recovering from surgery. I hadn’t done either yet, and sort of forgot about it. But there’s a new crew closer to home now, and the coordinator wanted to know if I could use help with anything next weekend on their Service Saturday. As it happens, I could! I was so grateful to be asked, and when I called back I also gratefully volunteered to bake and do other light services as needed. I’m looking forward to participating in this community building network created “to support aging with dignity, choice, and companionship.”

In more good news, I started the Bibliofillies pick for November this week, The Book of Hope, Jane Goodall’s conversations with Douglas Abrams. Abrams brought us The Book of Joy a few years ago, chronicling the beautiful friendship of H.H. The Dalai Lama and Archbishop Desmond Tutu. It’s perfect timing for me, and maybe for you, too. I’ll take inspiration anywhere I can get it.

Jane has been much on my mind since her death October first. I’d admired her for years before I was fortunate to meet her. I worked at Busch Gardens in Tampa, as a conservation educator in the zoo division of the amusement park. Busch housed a chimpanzee colony, and Jane had just emerged from Gombe after understanding that she needed to speak to the world about the plight of wild chimps, and the urgency of saving the species and their forest habitat. The zoo was aflutter that she was coming to Busch to speak, and would also, incidentally, be evaluating our chimp facilities. She was gracious and kind as she greeted a lucky few of us junior staff. She was not impressed with the zoo’s chimp habitat, however, which prompted a total, costly revamp which ultimately, years later, earned her approval.

She campaigned tirelessly to protect our precious world, and though her hope faltered occasionally, she never lost it, confident for four reasons: “the amazing human intellect, the resilience of nature, the power of youth, and the indomitable human spirit.”

Thursday was cool and grey with glorious rain off and on all day, and snow in the mountains. It was crisp but cold outside Friday so the sandwich had to be grilled: Brie, pickled onion, mayo, and calamondin jam.

Jane told Abrams, “Hope leads to future success in a way that wishful thinking does not. While both involve thinking about the future with rich imagery, only hope sparks us to take action directed toward the hoped-for goal.” It occurs to me: Wishing is to Hope as Empathy is to Compassion: Hope and Compassion spark action. Robert Hubbell’s weekly dose of perspective Saturday touched on this same idea. He covers the White House horrors every day, yet he remains an inspired, hopeful, and inspiring activist, lifting us up daily with his newsletters and a weekly livestream pep talk.

“Hope and optimism are not the same thing,” Jane says. (Boy do I know that from the inside! As I read this I think, Hope is wishing plus Action; Optimism is wishing plus Belief. I’m grateful to be reading a book that’s making me think.) Abrams says, “Archbishop Tutu once told me that optimism can quickly turn to pessimism when the circumstances change. Hope is a much deeper source of strength, practically unshakable.”

Saturday’s sandwich was not grilled, but otherwise essentially the same: Brie, pickled onion, mayo, with the new red jelly and lettuce. And Jane, for company, in the sunroom.

Hope, Jane says, “does not deny the evil but is a response to it.” And later offers this pressing insight, “If we live in a society with a reasonable standard of living and some degree of social justice, the generous and peaceful aspects of our nature are likely to prevail, while in a society of racial discrimination and economic injustice, violence will thrive.”

Today’s cheese sandwich: mayo, havarti, pickled onion, lettuce, bacon, and apricot jam. It was a beautiful, mild day here, on this precious planet, and I savored lunch outside, with a different read, keenly aware of everything, absolutely everything.

“Facing our grief is essential to combatting and overcoming our despair and powerlessness,” she says, and adds, “Every day we make some impact on the planet. And the cumulative effect of millions of small ethical actions will truly make a difference. That’s the message I take around the world.”

I was online leading a meeting this evening so I missed the sunset, except for the layered cloud colors I could see through the kitchen window beyond my computer, and the alpenglow, which I could see behind me through the east window, reflected back to me in my square on the zoom screen. There was a pang of longing to be out in it. So I was thrilled to get a text an hour later of this gorgeous sunset over downtown Hotchkiss from my friend Mary Hockenberry who caught it on her evening walk.

Look Ma, No Cavities!

Apr8

Yesterday Wren had an appointment for a dental at the vet an hour away. I’d been anxious about it for weeks. It was a great opportunity to observe my wild thoughts, my willful attention that insisted on ruminating on potential bad outcomes from anesthesia, mistakes, other things beyond my control. My rational mind kept repeating all the reasons it needed to be done. I conjured my mother’s voice saying, “It’s going to be fine, sweetie.” The tech was very reassuring and let me leave a shirt with my scent for Wren’s comfort in the cage. After I dropped her off, I drove down to the next town to visit a friend I haven’t seen for years.

She lives with her husband in a sweet spot outside the city, with a pond, a greenhouse, a couple of big dogs. We relaxed in the hot tub with coffee, and spent the next several hours catching up, appreciating the sights and sounds of a yard coming to spring life with birds and buds. I was so grateful for her kind company in her little refuge which helped me stay present instead of worrying about Wren, who hates to be away from me and is terrified of cages. And vets.

She was pretty loopy when I picked her up. Doggie Dentals aren’t what they used to be. It took all day. She’d been sedated, intubated, knocked out, tapped into an IV for quick response in case anything went wrong, monitored constantly, with a long recovery in a cage. They said she did great, no cavities, no attacking the cage, but they did pull one little tooth they said was almost out already. (So now she can whistle when she talks, like Heidi n’ Closet.) I’m grateful her teeth are bright and white like a young dog’s should be, and mostly that we both made it through our stressful day and home safely.

I was grateful to wake up this morning with all of us in this little household where we are supposed to be; I was grateful for the sunshine and warmth, for the beefly I saw in the flowers, for cheerful help in the garden, for the camaraderie of like-minded friends in zooms of two flavors, one political and one spiritual, from a local zoom to one that spanned states from here to New York and Alabama. In my first grateful gathering tonight, we talked about some of the questions offered by Grateful Living in response to the video “A Grateful Day.” The one that struck me to practice with this month is: “If you approached the day as if it were your very first day, what would you see, hear, feel notice? What would seem extraordinary? What would be heartbreaking?” I look forward to waking up tomorrow and taking these questions into my very first day.

Other gratitudes today include the cheese sandwich: mayo, mustard, Penzeys Sandwich Sprinkle, romaine, Havarti, prosciutto, and red onion, definitely a frontrunner for sandwich of the week. And early this morning, my first chuckle of this one precious day that will never come again: I was trying to remember the Czech poet-president’s name, because Mel tried Havel for a Wordle solution, and I was thinking Gustav Havel? Victor Havel? when it came to me Vaclav Havel. I’m grateful for the synapses still firing even if they’re not in a straight line.

Abundant Sunshine

Mar25

I subscribe to The Atlantic online but recently haven’t read many articles because, you know, the headlines. I couldn’t resist one this morning, “The Trump Administration Accidentally Texted Me Its War Plans,” and was flabbergasted by this staggering story (gift link). I see by evening it’s hit all the papers and petitions, and really, everyone involved should be forced to resign. Call your representatives now or send a letter with Resistbot. National security is as chaotic as this puzzle, but not nearly so pretty.

Abundant sunshine has been most welcome these past few days, but it was cold and grey most of the days I worked ‘Sunshine Splatter Paint,’ on loan from the Hotchkiss branch of the Puzzle Club.

Biko has been happily spending the days in his round pen, and staying out long enough to tuck into his new log. The tulip sprouts are crazy with color!

As with the overall picture, I’ve been spending time making order from chaos. Along with Liberty puzzles, abundant mindfulness skills and supportive relationships have greatly assisted my sanity and my fluctuating joie de vivre. I’ve faced a few challenges, both internal and external, and been able to transform afflictive habitual thoughts (“suffering catalyzed by our interactions with other people, the environments and situations we find ourselves in”) into true (if fragile) open-hearted sentiments of compassion and loving kindness.

All but one of the little cabbage sprouts collapsed and died after I transplanted them up to larger pots. It was too soon, I think, their roots too fragile to rise to the challenge. So I planted more seeds directly into the larger pots, and have been setting them outside during the day to give them a head start on sunshine when they do emerge.

Just for this one picture, I did break the cardinal rule of Puzzle Club: no food or drink on the puzzle table, ever. How could I not just set a small bowl of color in the midst of the puzzle? I removed it right away and ate the dark chocolate M’s elsewhere.

The few butterflies in the puzzle recall the few butterflies I’ve seen outside, mostly little white ones since the passing sightings of Milbert’s Tortoiseshells a month ago.

The easy parts of the puzzle moved pretty fast, large flowers and stunning sky, but the middle took a bit longer. The entire process was its own unique delight, as always, from the whimsy pieces to the tenuous touches of placement, and of course, the bacchanal of colors.

Where’s Wren?

Naturally, I made time between teaching, learning, physical therapy, and puzzling to get outside once the snow slowed and mud began to dry. I cleared a couple of branches broken in spring storms, and ventured a little farther down the path each day. And I kept up my perpetually unfolding science experiments, also, with my latest subject a drowned spider. I didn’t mean to drown her but she’d gotten in the sink and I didn’t see her until she was well and thoroughly washed along with some dishes. Usually I see the occasional spider before I start washing and toss her gently over the edge where she can find her way back to her web. This poor girl, I thought she was dead at first but set her on a paper towel to dry off just in case she wasn’t. I dabbed her gently and she moved a leg, so I left her there. After the first day, she turned a bit, so I kept a loose cover over her and checked in a few times a day. After almost four days, she finally sauntered off between checkins.

This week’s winning sandwich was grilled havarti and prosciutto with mayo, mustard, and raspberry jam.

And then, the puzzle was finished, and ready to go back in the box. And I’m honored to have been invited to come out of my box this weekend and discuss ‘Skills for Being More Kind’ on the Mindful Life webinar this Sunday, March 30, at 6 pm Mountain Time. This monthly webinar series is free. In keeping with our mission to make mindfulness accessible to all, anyone who would like to attend can register here to receive the link. I hope I’ve developed enough skills for being more kind to find something wise to say.

One thing I’ll probably suggest is that being more kind to oneself makes it a lot easier to be more kind to other people. Another facet of kindness I’ll mention will be how when we understand our interconnectedness with all beings we naturally begin to develop more kindness toward our fragile spinning planet. The side-by-side images of the brachia of a human lung and a branching tree crown struck me as a potent image of intrabeing. This image and the one below came from an Instagram post by the drag queen Pattie Gonia, whom I just started following after seeing that she made the list of National Geographic’s 33 Changemakers for 2025. I don’t know where she got the images but want to credit her for sharing them.

If you want to organize, check out the links below. The top three offer up to date ways to get involved, and the third, Jessica Craven’s Chop Wood Carry Water also publishes a good news edition on Sundays. I hope that after reading The Atlantic article linked above, you’ll use the 5 Calls app in the bottom section to call your representatives and demand the resignations of the top US so-called “security” officials.

Choose Beauty

Mar18

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.

The Wisdom to Know the Difference

Mar9

Spring inside the house includes tropical orchids and jasmine blooming, and far fewer fires in the woodstove. Yesterday when I realized it was DST I heard myself say I hate daylight saving time! which has been my feeling about it forever. But I decided to try to adapt instead of continuing to resist, in hopes that it will make this transition smoother and faster. Last year I never did quite adjust, because I was too busy hating that it was the way it was. DST is gonna be with us unless it’s eliminated by royal decree, so I’m going to shift my perspective. My plan is to spend that extra hour of light in the evening simply sitting and enjoying it, with a cup of tea or a cocktail, spending time on the deck or in the garden savoring that sweet evening hour before sunset.

Just because it’s spring doesn’t mean every day is balmy forty-something sunshine. We enjoyed a few blustery snowy days last week, and though it was cold overnight the snow melted each day, watering the mini irises. The dark purple are always first to bloom, and as the first patches withdraw more patches blossom, dark purple, dark blue, and these special frilly ones whose name I don’t recall. Last year, these were eaten by deer before they even opened, so I’m especially delighted to see them in full flower this year. I did remember to cover all the bulbs as they pop up with wire cloches to protect them from marauders.

I read a provocative post the other day comparing “patrimonialism” with “authoritarianism” which used the genius of AI to explore the differences. That got me to wondering, when Truth fails us in human discourse, will AI be more, or less, reliable? Then the hopeful notion popped up that maybe the Singularity will save us after all: Perhaps when AI takes over the world, it will know how to discern fact from fiction and will hold to a higher standard of Truth than human beings.

I used to spend one to two hours a week resisting the authoritarian agenda, back in the first regime; even less time politically active during those honey days of the Biden/Harris administration. Now I spend one to two hours a day engaged in some form of action to save America from the MAGA racist-misogynist-white nationalist agenda. It’s a lot. So I’m pretty protective of my down time, and once I have completed my political engagement for the day, I let it go and turn my attention to other things: the beauty that surrounds me, that new recipe for triple chocolate biscotti, a fresh loaf of bread, the latest sprouts in the garden.

After yesterday’s calls to congress, I potted up the cabbage sprouts. I’ve gotten pretty clear on what I can and cannot control, and cultivated the wisdom to see the difference (thanks, Fred, for the reminder of Niebuhr’s Serenity Prayer). Healthy boundaries and proactive self-care are essential for as long as I have the wherewithal to engage in those also.

“The best thing you can do to stay mentally healthy is to lean into the fight, be a leader (if possible), surround yourself with like-minded people, and rest when appropriate. We are in for a long fight, so we must pace ourselves while remaining nimble.”

Robert Hubbell

I’ve found the 5 Calls App to be exceptionally easy and user friendly to voice my concerns to the legislators allegedly representing my interests. In all the calls I’ve made in the past month I’ve only once reached an actual human aide. The rest of the time I’ve left voicemails, and I’ve started them off this past week speaking directly to the person taking the message. It goes something like this: “I’d like to leave a message for the congressman, but first I’d like to speak directly to you, and invite you to ask your parents or grandparents if they receive social security benefits, Medicare, or VA healthcare, and see how they feel about potentially losing those benefits in exchange for tax cuts for billionaires. And then explain to them how your boss justifies his support of these policies….” Then I go on to leave my message about how the executive order to increase timber logging will affect the watershed where I live, or how abolishing the Department of Education will devastate public schools and strip civil rights protections for millions of students, and so on. Another good way to share your dissent with the status quo is with Resistbot.

And then it’s mealtime again. Whew! My precious mealtime rituals, moments of dedicated peace and pleasure. This week’s Sandwich of the Week was an impromptu indulgence. When I was growing up the Colonel occasionally brought Brie and baguettes home from the grocery store. I don’t think good Brie was as readily available back then, and it was always a special occasion when he found triple cream. I loved it, but he was austere even in luxuries. He scolded me more than once for putting too much Brie on a piece of bread. His admonition shamed me, but it also puzzled me. Was there such a thing as too much Brie? Somehow I internalized that limitation. I’d occasionally run across a sandwich at a restaurant that included Brie, and always ordered it with a little frisson of in your face to the Colonel; but it never occurred to me that I could make a Brie sandwich at home until recently. The other day, with half a small wedge of triple cream Brie in danger of turning, I sliced it thick and laid it between buttered toasts, one slice with raspberry jam and the other with maple cream. OMG. It was positively divine.

Today’s lunch was another indulgence. Farm fresh eggs are back after winter’s pause. Best eggs here are $8 a dozen at the store, so I rejoiced to learn that the Bad Dog hens are laying once again, and celebrated with two fried eggs this morning, a few bacon crisps, and the heel of today’s warm loaf, with butter and jam.

Clean hankies on the line in today’s abundant sunshine.