I can’t get enough of the precious apricot tree in her fall raiment. And with that beautiful BIG blue sky behind her!
I don’t know who said it first, but I heard it from Jess Craven in this 2.5 minute video thanking us, the grassroots activists and all the voters who chose democracy over oligarchy: “The many are more powerful than the money.” Tears and tingles have been rising all day as I celebrate with friends around the country, listen to my heroes who have been on the front lines as their joy and gratitude overflows, and release wave after wave of tension and anxiety from my body.
The little birds got a new feeder today: all metal cage and perches, with a tricky system for opening. This should stump jays, squirrels, and maybe even bears.
Robert Hubbell sums up the many small victories that amount to a huge win for regular Americans in this eight minute read or listen. Former DOJ attorney Joyce Vance celebrates in this post named after the book she released last spring, Giving Up Is Unforgivable. We won because we didn’t give up!
Now, the hard work begins, as everyone is saying. But first, we get to breathe, and celebrate, and rest on Cloud Nine for a little while… Then come January, those moderates, those firebrands we elected, we hold their feet to the fire and make them enact meaningful legislation that starts improving lives immediately. Next week is not too soon to start letting your elected representatives know what you expect from them when they’re sworn in.
The forest floor is insanely green these days, more so than I hav ever seen it, ever. We took a ramble this morning before more rain moved in this afternoon, with snow possible at this elevation overnight.
Starting on Day 1, here are some top priorities: *) Release unredacted Epstein Files! Like housecleaning, this might necessitate accomplishing a few things before you can get to the one thing, like tidying up clutter before you can dust. Those things might be a) Impeach AG Todd Blanche, and b) enlarge the Supreme Court by a significant number (and then strike down rulings like Citizens United and Dobbs and a few others).
I’m grateful for every meal, every day, knowing so many don’t have enough to eat. May our blue tsunami turn the tide on hunger in America. I’ve almost got the fish sandwich down. This time, I didn’t use bread flour for the rolls and they didn’t turn out so well. But I’ve got the coating right, with flour, cornstarch, and Penzeys Cajun seasoning, and zero cornmeal. (40% off almost everything at Penzeys right now in celebration!
I’m not ranking priorities because there are just too many that need to happen all at once. We’re looking at a triage scenario to save the casualties in this train wreck of a government. *) Break the Big Awful Bill so that SNAP, Medicaid, and Medicare are all resurrected to their full health and even bolstered: Healthcare for All, whatever forms that takes. *) Immediately reunite all detained and deported immigrants who have been separated from their children, and rescue as many as possible from prisons overseas; then formulate a realistic and compassionate Immigration policy and defund ICE. *) Restore the Department of Defense: Impeach Hegseth and fire his toadies, stop the war with Iran, stop murdering boatfuls of people in the Caribbean, restore military honor to those officers besmirched by this regime. *) Fire RFK: reclaim federal public health agencies including CDC and HHS, and start nurturing these sickened, broken organizations back to full strength; restore funding for cancer research and other crucial studies. *) Stop BIG OIL: Save the Arctic! Save the PLANET! *) Save the children, Stop the guns! *) Save Science! Save public education! Save Reality! Save the Gulf of Mexico! Save the Kennedy Center!
You have probably thought of three or four urgent priorities of your own as you’ve read this tragically incomplete list of mine. I could go on but you get the picture. And not one of us has to be responsible for all of these. My suggestion is that you pick one or two pet priorities for the next six months, and be clear and constant in your communication with your representatives about its importance; spice up your daily calls or missives with an extra one now and then. Make democracy fun again!
Today’s lunch, simple and delicious: another bad bun, toasted, with havarti, the last purple tomato, and a side of small tomatoes, with chips, and the last of a fun read about Anne Boleyn, The Beheading Game. In this version, she comes back for revenge!
Like any abuser, and I’ve known more than my fair share, the Abuser in Chief now pays lip service to reform, claiming he will work with Democrats because he doesn’t want to veto everything. I’ll believe it only when I see it and meanwhile I’ll be anticipating many more about faces, temper tantrums, scapegoats and vitriol. I wouldn’t even be surprised to see him take his Qatari jet and flee the country for Vanuatu, Morocco, the UAE, or some other country that has no extradition treaty with the US.
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.
There used to be a nice bird feeder hanging in this tree. I glanced at it from the patio this morning as I always do, and saw that it needed filling, but when I came down with a scoop of seeds the feeder was nowhere to be found! Obviously it hadn’t been there two minutes before: whatever I’d seen was an optical illusion or my imagination filling in a habitual expectation. Ironically, I had just gotten frustrated with it a few days ago because the handle had bent, making the lid hard to open. I thought maybe a squirrel had been worrying it. But to find the stout twig it hung from broken off and the feeder disappeared, my best guess is a bear ran off with it. Several thoughts clambered through my head. I hope he didn’t get a paw stuck in the handle, or worse a head… but no, it was too small an opening for a head… I’m sorry it was probably empty at the time so it wasn’t even worth her effort… do I buy a new one? …bears are having a rough season…
Climate chaos is affecting bears severely this year, report several sources including The Colorado Sun, and this one in The Guardian. “In Colorado, there have been more than 8,600 reports of bear sightings and incidents this year, more than twice as many as last year, according to the state parks and wildlife department. The agency has euthanized 294 bears, three times the 2025 amount.” This isn’t news to most of us living in the rural west, even in towns. A killing freeze in the spring plus extreme drought depleted their natural food supplies throughout the west, and they’ve been coming out of the woods desperate. My neighbor lost her gas grill to a bear last month. But I have not seen a bear yet this year, and I’ve never seen one in my yard. The article goes on to say that “there have been 10 confirmed bear attacks in Colorado, the highest number on record…. In August in New Mexico, which also has had more bear encounters this year, one killed a 67-year-old wildland firefighter inside his home.”
This much larger broken limb likely came down in a recent storm. The woods are so green right now. Another neighbor reported nearly an inch of rain since yesterday, starting shortly after the little ones and I took a nice long ramble. I knew we were in for a few wet days.
Verdure everywhere, mosses, grasses, weeds…
I’m grateful for the respite of the woods, and I’m keeping my eyes open for bears. I’m trying to keep up with the horrors happening and also keep things in perspective. It takes all my mindfulness skills to get through every day, and using them I’m cultivating resilience. Horrors have happened as long as there have been humans, near as anyone can tell. While I pray that they will one day cease when enough people wake up, I have no expectations. This week I read of this new film about the genocide in Gaza asking the question: How do human beings explain taking part in genocide? It was chilling and enlightening.
Then since my loins were already girded for horrors, I read this interview with Mirjana Spoljaric, the head of the International Committee of the Red Cross – not your local disaster relief Red Cross. It’s a long read, but well worth spending the time with her compassion, wisdom, and insights. “Today you get the feeling that war becomes the means to an end itself, and wars continue because people want to stay in power. They have created an environment where war becomes the condition under which they can continue ruling, and that’s very dangerous. You ask me whether we are approaching a third world war. Honestly, history will judge that. History books will tell us whether today we were already in the beginning, or maybe already in the middle of such a situation. The I.C.R.C. didn’t know that we were in the Second World War when it was happening.”
On a potentially more comfortable note, I enjoyed this article exploring the four foundations of mindfulness in the garden, especially resonating with the first foundation, mindfulness of body in being aware of one’s movements and postures while gardening, as well as the sensory experience of working in soil, and the various facets of beauty in the garden, like these Sunfired Flare tomatoes which came on very late in summer, and came off the vine with a lot of skin damage I suspect was inflicted by insects. They sat on the counter a long time ripening after I picked them while I pondered the best way to use them. Finally I just cut and roasted them the other day, and squeezed them out of the skins easily. I used some in a batch of beans for burritos, which I like to make in bulk and freeze for a quick meal. I was glad to have some homegrown onions, too, and used up the last white and yellow onions along with a red one in the beans. The rest of the reds I’ll probably pickle.
An interview I listened to while cooking was with Dr. Jeremy Faust explaining what ER doctors are actually looking for when you show up there, and why he thinks the 1-10 pain scale is pretty much useless. I know I’ll now have a better sense of how to answer questions if I ever end up in an Emergency Room again, and also the next time I see my nice new primary care provider.
Walking in the woods, puttering or working in the garden, cooking and cleaning the kitchen, these activities ground me in what is real and true, help me see reality clearly. And even with the rich reality of my grounded life, I can feel my attention being subtly sucked by the insidious tendrils of algorithms. I’m sorry to admit that I spend more time playing NYT word games and scrolling Instagram now than I did a year ago. It’s a way to escape the horrors of the distillation of power and money to the oligarchs, but the escape itself is a delusion. Christopher Armitage explains the whys and hows in his article ‘Fracking Attention and Strip-Mining Mental Health’. It’s uncomfortable but it offers some small sense of agency going forward in how I spend my attention budget. And it’s been a mindfulness tenet for millennia that where we place our attention forms our world view.
In my house growing up, the only time sour cream ever showed up was when mom made beef stroganoff. I picked up a childish aversion to sour cream because my parents seemed to avoid it, and besides it just sounded all wrong. It’s one of many foods I developed a taste for years later. It’s been many years since I’ve had any kind of stroganoff, and when I saw this recipe for mushroom stroganoff I replenished my sour cream supply and whipped up a quick batch. So simple, so delicious!
And on a differently uncomfortable note speaking of food, this article ranging through the Dark Nutrition movement offers plenty of food for a flite of thoughts. Alexandra Petri once again skewers our times with her satire on ‘humanitarian’ and other words that have lost their meaning in the Trumpscape. And in other doublespeak news, Texas senate candidate Ken Paxton appears to be guilty of voter fraud.
Prickly pear pads plump and round with recent rains…
My practice is all about balancing external influences and internal knowing in an everchanging landscape of uncertainty day by day, minute by minute, breath by breath.
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.
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.”
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.
Insane rains the past two days. One deluge after another rolling through in waves, lightning and thunder, branches blown down, a large dead piñon toppled, and that’s just what I can see within and from the yard. Poor Wren’s heart may give out before the monsoons are through. But we are all so very grateful for the water, even though much of it is just running off the hardpan ground. Some of it’s penetrating. It will be interesting to see what kinds of flash floods emerge in this region with this unusual storm cycle.
I have been gathering a post about 9/11 which I started on the 25th anniversary last Friday, and I just can’t seem to give it the time it needs. My attention touches then glances off it, but I’ll persist. Obviously, like so many, the day brought up a lot of emotions, primarily fear, dread, and grief. I was grateful for many thoughtful reflections and commemorations around the world that came to my screen, and I want to share some of them.
But mostly, in this moment, I want to offer thanks for the insane rain, and reflect on how unsettling it is after what seems like decades since I’ve experienced anything like it. A lot of these thunders have made me jump. It’s enervating enough for me: I can only imagine how unnerving it is for little Wren. I worry for her bladder as well as her heart, as I have to coax her out between storm bouts, with more forecast through the next week. Topaz was out in a thunderous gale for awhile tonight and I was so happy when she finally came bedraggled and mewing to the window.
Gathered at the strawberry patch in sunnier days, like Saturday. We’ve been getting two or three ripe berries a day, which naturally I have to share. I get one good bite, and one of them gets the stem end with a generous bit of berry left on.
A few more modest harvests from home, and some treats from the farmers’ market. It took awhile but I finally made bread and butter pickles with the cucumbers from the farmers’ market last time. Just two pints, so I didn’t bother canning them, just put them in the fridge. They won’t last long.
I was grateful for a gorgeous day today, and for the help of Good Tim in the garden. Here he’s cutting suckers from the wild plum with Wren’s help. She adores him and follows him around when he’s here like a—well, like a puppy dog.
I learned a new technique for bread scoring, where you do the decorative scoring only (wheatstalks, here) and bake for seven minutes, then you take the lid off and do the expansion score (straight lines) so the loaf can rise to its full potential, replace the lid and bake the rest of the covered time, then remove the lid as usual until done. Pretty pleased with my first attempt.
The shades are coming along, I spent hours this weekend on several panels in varying stages, and I’m happily absorbed in completing the appliqués. (I’ll iron out the wrinkles before assembly.) I’m grateful I’ve rediscovered the joy of sewing. I heard just this evening on Forrest Hanson’s ‘Being Well’ podcast that when you don’t find joy in things you used to it indicates depression.
While I was designing a trumpet flower on the lower section, little miss Topaz did her cat thing. These are impressionistic shades, not ecologically or geographically accurate, so I anchored this panel with a bunch of cypress knees, checking my memory of them against photos from an Ecosia search online. Yes, they really do look that strange and otherworldly.
I had a couple of errands to run, including swinging by the lumber yard to buy the 1×2 strips for mounting the shades, so I saved them for Farmers Market day. Paonia is an interesting town, with the strongest Blue streak in a Red county. As US politics gets ever more bizarre and divisive, I found this interesting piece on the right’s attacks on Jon Ossoff somewhat enlightening.
Wren came to town with me, and her day got very interesting. She met Huckleberry at the lumber yard. Then she heard fire engine sirens up close and personal at our next stop. Then she met Huckle at the Farmers Market, and she was so excited to see him that I think she must have spent some time with him before, at the Bad Dog Ranch where he’s a neighbor.
Today was an extra bright day for me after the rough week the world just finished. Losing Dolly Parton was the first blow. I know there are a lot of ‘good millionaires’ out there just living their lives and not being greedy; but it does seem that the wealthiest people on the planet are the hungriest ghosts. There are some notable exceptions, among them Dolly, who spent her wealth freely for humanitarian causes.
Thankfully many of the worst fires in the US West are under control or out, though fires in Washington State continue to create unhealthy air, new fires burn in California, and some fires remain in Oregon, Nevada, Arizona, and New Mexico. Colorado, which kicked off the season well ahead of other states, now, blessedly, remains almost fire-free. The Guardian published this article last week about Josephine County, Oregon, which has the highest rate of deaths from wildfire smoke of any place in the country. It’s a sad testament to the obvious effects of climate chaos, and at the same time it validates my experience of our smoky days here and their effect on my breathing.
I’m thankful that the COPD that afflicts me does so only moderately, not severely, but I understand that it’s an irreversible illness that, without adequate precautions, will worsen and could eventually kill me. Oh well! This is how it is. I’m taking the precautions I know of, and always open to more helpful measures. In so many ways, I’m more fortunate than most people on the planet.
Certainly my good fortune far exceeds that of those poor people living along the Trishuli River on the border of Tibet and Nepal. A dear friend has lived in Nepal, has friends there, and has been watching developments in this climate-fueled mega-disaster closely. She shared this link to a fascinating in-depth analysis of the geological and climatological conditions that factored into the seismic ‘debris flow’ or, as some are calling it, ‘inland tsunami’, the effects of which will be felt for a long time to come. A lot of survivors I’ve seen interviewed said there’s no reason left to live: they’ve lost so much that life has no meaning anymore. Many expressed survivors’ guilt. The grief and trauma the entire remaining population of those demolished communities are suffering is almost as unfathomable as the mind-boggling catastrophe itself.
Holding tragedy and grief in my heart, holding the world and all beings in compassion, how else can I live but by appreciating all the small joys as they arise? And every day they arise one after another after another, though some days I notice only a few, and for awhile there I couldn’t see any. Today overflowed with lovely moments.
I spent more money than I should have at the market, including $20 on a pizza to support The Learning Council, a community advocacy group who offers wood-fired pizza and an organic full meal each week for any donation. I enjoyed a couple of slices at a picnic table, listening to the lovely music, before heading home.
I also bought a couple of tomatoes, some pickling cucumbers, and three skeins of yarn. I only intended to buy two. I was entranced by the colors of these hand-dyed wools last time, but I can’t wear wool, it itches. So I pondered what I could do with some, and realized that Wren can wear wool! And I call her Wrenbow, so I planned to get some rainbow wool to knit her a new sweater.
I was grateful to snag the last two skeins of the most rainbow yarn. Then I had a lovely chat with Tonya of Wooly Colorado as I perused the rest of her wares, and she pointed out “Those two are cotton, I spun them. Dyed with indigo.” Something happened. I picked one up and teared up. Emotion overcame common sense, rationalization reared its lovely head, I can wear cotton, and I bought one. Just holding it, carrying it to the car, telling someone about it on the phone later, tears and tingles kept coming. My heart is open again.
Today’s post is a little different. It’s the transcript, essentially, of my final podcast, “Suffer Less with Mindfulness,” which aired last week. You can listen to all episodes for a few more weeks wherever you get your podcasts or on my website, before I cancel my subscription to the Captivate platform at which point it disappears forever from everywhere, except possibly Apple Podcasts, and maybe Insight Timer.
What’s your understanding of equanimity? Mine includes the idea that we can find balance under any conditions, and we aren’t constantly being jerked by our emotions or external circumstances or our own thoughts or other people’s actions from one extreme of joy and excitement and positivity to the other extreme of despair or rage or negativity; maintaining an even keel. It includes the idea of seeing all humans as having equal value, not judging people until we know them, and then using discernment, not snap judging. It includes the idea of not labeling, of being open to seeing, to understanding that each person is who they are, and they bring to each encounter all the causes and conditions of their life up to that moment, just like we do. It’s embodied in the idea that I’ve mentioned before, and we’ll swap out mindfulness for equanimity: “Equanimity is not about feeling better, it’s about getting better at not making things worse.” And it’s so much more than all these things.
One rich ground for equanimity practice is the fact that Death is certain, time of death uncertain. In some ways my whole life, my whole mindfulness practice since I began it 20 years ago, has been about learning to die. I’ve been afraid of death, afraid of dying, since I was a child and first learned of death. For the past year, I’ve been preparing to die. This last month, as part of that, I’ve been doing a life review, reading my old journals starting from the first one in high school. Partly so that I can burn them or send them to the dump so that they’re out of my house when I die; and partly to shift my perspective. I’m getting some resolution, some equanimity with who I was in the past. Who I am right now is not who I was even yesterday. I’m making peace with the process of growing and changing, and remembering that every moment I’m choosing ‘how do I wanna be?’ Equanimity can really help us make those choices with wisdom and compassion.
I’ve dipped into some of these journals through the years. Occasionally I’ve looked back at a certain event or a certain timeframe, and I’ve read it and been disgusted with myself, judging harshly: Same old patterns, same old complaints, same old, same old. This time I’m looking back on my life systematically with a different lens: the lens of compassion, which I’ve never used before.
‘How was it for younger Rita?’ Can I offer her kindness instead of judgment? Can I bring curiosity to reading these journals, to see what she might have been going through, get a healthier perspective on the conditions around her, and bring a sense of acceptance, equanimity, even gratitude, to the life I’ve lived so far?
I’ve found some tragically silly little love poems. I’ve read of my aspiration to be loving and kind repeatedly, yet also how I remained in vicious and constant judgement of others. I’ve recognized my tendencies of projection, labeling, exaggeration, and many more afflictions that mindfulness practice diminishes with awareness. I’ve seen myself back then from morning to night, bouncing from absolute giddiness to utter despair, from feeling really good about myself because some boy thought I was cute, to feeling worthless, to feeling high as a kite because of some fun party I went to or ice skating or a kiss, to feeling total confusion and contempt. External influences, mostly boys, swung me from one extreme to another emotionally with zero equanimity, though there were occasional insightful moments of awareness. I now recognize this as the condition of adolescence, puberty, being a hormone-addled teenager; I see my past self with tenderness instead of scorn, and see all teenagers now with compassion.
I’ve come across a few striking instances that illustrate the malleable nature of memory. I was stunned to read that I got the part of the pregnant girl in the local TV station PSA in sophomore year. All I’ve remembered for as long as I can remember was the humiliation of the audition. I sat in an empty classroom with my head on my arms pretending to cry. The scout team wanted actual tears. I went to great lengths to generate tears, pinching myself, recalling my cat’s death, even asking for a slice of raw onion from the cafeteria and breaking that up under my face. I didn’t get the part. Shame. Yet in my journal, I read that I got the part! I got my current crush to play my boyfriend, kids in the halls called me ‘movie star’ for weeks afterward, and I felt respected by the cool kids for awhile. Why did I take away, or reconstruct, a memory of failure?
I’ve been surprised also that through those years I found three instances where I describe almost verbatim a terrible pit in my stomach, a gnawing emptiness, a burning hole in my gut, clearly physical. What was that about?
One thing that helps us cultivate equanimity and also feeds equanimity is this idea of perspective, and the more we can exercise a flexible open mind, the more we gain a broader, more open-hearted perspective. Now, as I’m learning about the influences of being raised by immature parents, of growing up in a home with constant bickering, a father who was power hungry and a broken-hearted mother, and nervous system development, I have a lot more perspective. I’ve already found some closure, some resolution, some equanimity and compassion with who I was then. I just wanted to be seen and loved.
There are those whose opinions differ, but it seems painfully clear that the human species over the past 400 years or perhaps our entire evolution has set in motion the collapse of our planetary systems. Climate collapse is a no-brainer. I live in the US west where for the past decade average temperatures have been rising in all seasons, and concurrently wildfire season has grown from a few months in late summer to encompass more than half the year. There is really no time of year, where I live, that a random lightning strike couldn’t provoke a cataclysmic fire, except a few months in deep winter if there is adequate snow cover, which is no longer guaranteed.
The Gold Mountain fire 60 miles south of here that burned 38,000 acres, now they’re having flash floods as a result of the monsoon storms coming through and washing down the burnt bare hillsides, carrying rocks and mud and wiping away houses at the bottom that survived the fire. The Elk fire just a few miles east of that continues to grow, making it unhealthy or impossible to spend time outside. Spokane, Canada, Oregon, France, Spain, whoever is next… The planet is burning.
The planet is burning because of people’s choices. It’s largely been the choices of people in power in corporations and in certain countries. It’s systemic. We can’t solve this individually. They led us to believe that recycling would fix it, that solar panels would fix it. None of those things ever worked because they were intentionally deluding us all along, and we were letting ourselves be deluded. Meanwhile, they can’t quit blowing shit up.
Seeing reality clearly, can we acknowledge that this is a really hard time? The planet is burning. Cultural collapse seems imminent as evidenced in the decline in reading, the inability of younger generations to write in cursive, and measurably shorter attention spans in students. Loss of human contact is prevalent in the ascendance of AI, in the proliferation of self-checkout, in the tacit permission to be cruel in online trolling, in person now, and in our institutions. Loneliness is pandemic. Societal collapse is underway and all you need do to see it is look around you. These days I experience more and more moments where I feel compassion for the tragedy of the human condition rather than anger and resistance to the way we are as a species. What a seething mass of parasites we are on this planet, and the sad part is — we simply couldn’t help it.
Yes, it’s true that at other times in human history, in other parts of the world, there have been civilization collapses and ecological collapses, and it’s also true that there are many good people around the globe working hard in many ways to stem the tide, to improve conditions in very many ways. But this current poly-crisis planetary collapse is different in scale and in momentum.
How do we live in such a world? How do we bring equanimity, compassion, and kindness out into the world? It doesn’t hurt to start with a healthy comparison of myself with those suffering worse than I, like climate refugees, brutalized immigrants, all manner of oppressed people from BIPOC to trans and queer people to people living in poverty or without homes. This leads to a healthy appreciation of the current conditions of my life, despite its challenges. Next, remember to be kind. “It’s so easy to be nice,” said my friend Kathleen as we discussed this the other day. Why expend the energy to be hateful?
It is hard to have equanimity in this time that we find ourselves. It takes conscious effort. It takes intention, and it takes choosing where we place our attention. And this is why these four heart qualities, the Four Boundless Attitudes of Equanimity, Compassion, Kindness, and Appreciative Joy, are so important: because life on earth is just gonna get harder. The more we can find peace, equanimity, compassion, and wisdom in ourselves, the more we can be islands of strength and resilience in our lives and for the people around us. And then we can turn our strengths into actions in our groups and our communities, and make our voices heard, and vote right.
We can do all those things and more; but can we also practice equanimity in this very dicey time? Well, what are our options? We can suffer and be miserable and be scared, and every emotion is contagious. So if we are going around angry and scared, we’re gonna make other people angry and scared. If we can have even moments of peace in any situation, we can share that peace. We can calm and soothe others.
We find this capacity in ourselves through our mindfulness practice, and in whatever spiritual grounding we each have. We find equanimity not only internally, but also in the groups of people where we can share in this ‘seeing reality clearly,’ share our broken hearts, share the anger and fear, and share the commitment and the intention to keep practicing. Keep practicing.
I don’t expect to die any time soon, but … death is certain, time of death uncertain. In the past year I’ve experienced an unusual number of health challenges, some of which can be managed with medications or lifestyle adjustments, and the rest I can adapt to. These actually started piling on after I set the intention to prepare to die, and for awhile they eclipsed that aspiration. Now as I’ve tamed some of them, they serve as motivation to accelerate my preparation.
There are so many things I’ve left undone in my life, and it’s winding down. At best I’ll have another twenty or so productive years. At worst, I could go tomorrow. If I only get a few good years before my lungs are too compromised to remain at this elevation, I’d like to at least finish some of the domestic projects here at Mirador, like the series of five quilted, tropical-themed warm-window drapes begun twenty years ago to keep the sunroom warmer in winter, and now more essential to keep it cooler in climate-intensified summer heat.
That’s just one of dozens of undone creative projects. Not to mention PG&D: personal growth and development. I’m finally acknowledging that being raised by parents with narrow, rigid minds, functional alcoholics who were exemplary products of the military-industrial colonization culture, wasn’t just a mismatch for my sensitive temperament, it was a constant low-grade trauma to my nervous system. As a result, there’s a lot of healing to do before I die, so that I can live more fully in alignment with my values, bring more meaning to this fleeting existence, in the time left to me. I’m on the right track. In some ways I’ve always been on the right track. Because it’s always been the path that has opened before me, each remarkable step of the way. Now, navigating that path involves withdrawing some of my externally-oriented energies and turning inward even more deeply.
So, this is the last episode of this podcast for the foreseeable future. Mirador Eco-retreat is essentially a single-person business without much capital, and I can no longer afford to produce a podcast. The cost isn’t sustainable either financially or energetically. Thank you for listening, and I hope that you have derived some benefit from the lessons and meditations I’ve shared over the past four years. You can support my ongoing mindfulness work or join the Suffer Less with Mindfulness virtual sangha at this membership page: miradorecoretreat.org.
