Weirdly stymied

Hope tomorrow is a day to “get back at it.” Social media? Blah! Just made a mango, pineapple, Red onion and cilantro chutney. So things ARE HAPPENING, just not here online.

To re-enter, how about some pix from the writing retreat in Hawley, Mass? It was waaaaay cooler than last year and also amazing, profound, and a blast. Heard the most amazing writing. Got three more scenes to balance out end of my manuscript.

And then — here are some pix from the garden. Today I sweat and sweat and remembered how much I used to move plants around, and loved doing so. Still love doing so, as it turns out. Lately all I’ve been doing is weeding.

What did you do this weekend?

What counts as good news

Maddow on pause because I just can’t take anymore right now. And you know, it’s not just the onslaught of breaking, awful news, it’s also (and this happens frequently), the disorientation that arises when a big scoop turns out to be something we’ve heard before, maybe even more than once and often over a year ago (recent example, David Farenthold’s Washington Post story on trump’s hypocritical dependence on immigrants without legal status at his various businesses).*

Before pausing the news just now, I learned the identity of this MAGA-hat guy that I used on a SoulCollage card as a stand-in for the rot that trump has exposed. Turns out he’s the worst of the worst. He’s Andrew Anglin, founder of the Daily Stormer website, terrorist extraordinaire. He was one of the organizers of the Charlottesville protest two years ago. He’s a Holocaust denier who advocates Jewish genocide and has an army of like-minded white nationalists at his disposal. The Southern Poverty Law Center calls him “a prolific Internet troll and serial harasser.”

Well — judges in three recent high profile cases have awarded Anglin’s victims damages.

If you remember, these are the kinds of law suits that the Southern Poverty Law Center filed to good effect against klansman years ago.

The imposition of damages on white nationalists and their organizations counts as GOOD NEWS, particularly since we now know that the Department of Justice cannot be relied upon any longer to do the right thing (the legal, moral thing). As long as these cases come before judges appointed in the pre-trump era, we can hope for more satisfying outcomes.

* in reading the Washington Post piece this morning, I can appreciate what’s hopeful there, too, actually.

In a world where Democrats are slow-walking the impeachment process, we can look to state courts for interim justice. They have to be courts out of the reach of AG Barr, of course, but since they are, they’re also courts not bound by the OLC memo prohibiting indictment of a sitting president AND their judgments cannot be subject to presidential pardon power. Surely state laws are being broken by not only hiring undocumented immigrants but in instructing them in where and how to get fake papers.

Meanwhile K arrived home from his 49th trip to China last night and I’m off to Western Mass. tomorrow for a writing retreat. I kinda wish I was staying home honestly.

Lastly, what good news have you to report? I’ll start: CBD oil seems to be helping with my joints!

Dog walk in pix

With a special eye to the trees (after reading Mo’s recent post).

A series of violent thunderstorms barreled through the region yesterday, It feels like we survived something. Now the air clogs with humidity such that I can almost see steam rising off the sidewalks. Gonna make do with fans for as long as I can stand.

Later: do you see Finn in the shade?

Morbid milestones matter

Xerox image of my mother transferred using eucalyptus oil

My mother about a year before she died

This month holds one of those morbid but inescapable milestones — the moment when I outlive a parent. I’ve already survived my father by eight years, but it’ll take four more days to beat out my mother, who died at age 62 1/2.

My mother’s birthday is this weekend, too.

Painting by my mother — one of my favorites

No wonder I’m running to the doctor with vague UTI symptoms and acting like a klutz. Last week slicing onions, I cut half a fingernail off (fortunately, no flesh) and on Sunday — whoops! — fell flat on my back trying to negotiate a berm between sidewalk and beach near Castle Island.

Beach near Castle Island, Boston

K texts me about chicken hot pot from somewhere across the date line and it occurs to me that grab bars to aid safe exit from the bath tub might be advisable at this point.

That’s it. That’s the whole idea. I’m planning to live until age 86, in case you’re wondering or biting your tongue about the power of thought, etc.

My mother was a middle child. So am I

Once I’m past the date, I’m pretty sure it’ll hold less charge.

Fort Independence, built 1634

One of two quilts found while closet cleaning

Birth quilt: hand of midwife; cervix shapes

What’s in your front closet?

Besides shoe polish, stationery, my pocketbook, travel pillows, the basket for rogue socks, and a pile of shirts to be ironed, there were many bins of fabric in my front closet. How did they get there? Was there a party I didn’t know about?

Just kidding! How else to keep several compositions going without running to the basement every other minute?

The closet had to be mostly emptied this weekend because I sold a cute patchwork purse on Etsy last week and cannot find it. Anywhere. This in spite of the fact that I took over one of the boys’ rooms as a “store.”

I’ve looked in all the right places and all the crazy places. Pulled furniture from walls. Looked in attic luggage and under car seats (don’t ask). Looked using casual side eye and with focused attention using a flashlight. Nada.

And to make matters worse? I can’t help but keep a rough tabulation of my time at this point — something I generally avoid because the numbers tend to be depressing.

A very generous guess puts my hourly rate at about $5 / hour for this pouch — which was machine pieced, hand quilted, machine and hand bound. There’s a Chinese closure which was hand stitched on. That rate excludes shipping and handling time (– another hour minimum). With every hour of searching, the rate goes down. And down.

Good thing the buyer is my cousin!

I will be making another pouch. A different one, of course, because all my cloth work is one of a kind. A weird pressure arises because the one my cousin bought came out really nice and they don’t all — ya know?

If the search hadn’t been so thorough, here’s where I’d joke that the damn thing will probably turn up the the second I finish a replacement. But I won’t now because it feels well and truly gone. I am mystified.

Leprechauns, for sure. What else could it be?

Also, what’s on your fridge?

Rain and expectations

The rain and wind come. We open windows. Ahhh. Today: writing. Grocery shopping (cold cucumber soup would be good! Coconut milk for new ice cream maker… ). Also today: managing expectations about Mueller hearing. I wish it was going to be a game changer. I doubt it will be a game changer.

I don’t know which is harder to bear: the passive, corrupt GOP or the passive, impotent Democrats.