Lake Eye, Energy

 I'd run into a pal, Anita, at the lake path. She later sent me a photo of the view from where we stood-- inspiring a God's eye:

It's my first try at asymmetrical arms of color... I'll work more on that. 

Last night I took Abby out for her birthday at our regular happy-hour place. I brought along the twenty eyes I've made this week and said she could choose one as a present. 
She chose four. 

She wasn't being greedy, she just kept exclaiming over them---and I kept  saying, "you can have more than one", and suggesting she might want one for her daughter and her niece, both of whom could use a little extra divine protection.
 (Couldn't we all?)

The server who often helps was was showing us pottery she makes, and I asked her if she'd like an eye too. I had them spread all over the table. 
She took three.

I was glad to have proof that people want them, and now I must go into PRODUCTION mode to make enough eyes to cover the fence in two weeks. 
bink and I are going on another mini-vacation next week--to see the source of the Mississippi River!!! 
I'll bring along eye-making supplies and hopefully crank a bunch out.

_________________

I'd gone to see Hamilton in the afternoon--a film of the Broadway musical with the original cast.

Two things especially struck me.
First, how important personal energy is. 
Obviously social, and physical, and other factors dominate our lives, but our own energy interacts with them, crucially.

The physical energy! Daveed Diggs as Marquis de Lafayette in Hamilton. 

Physical, mental, emotional, spiritual energy.
I mean, duh. Right?
But I've been thinking about this a lot, recently, after my summer of Doing Nothing. 
My energy is up---how and where to direct it?

Second, how violent American history is. 
Duh, again. All human history is. But this play shows the tapestry of US history shot through with political violence, and how it plays out in one man's life (and death), and it lands differently now than in 2016 when Hamilton opened on Broadway.
The play has a strong Obama-era vibe, and I don't think that message was as prominent then, but it sure stands out now. 
_________________

Clips, below, from an opinion piece in today's Guardian:
"Charlie Kirk’s shocking killing sets the stage for a dangerous federal crackdown", by Moustafa Bayoumi

"The Maga political strategist Steve Bannon told his audience, 'Charlie Kirk is a casualty of war. We are at war in this country. We are.' 

"I disagreed with Charlie Kirk on pretty much everything, but his shocking and morally repugnant assassination is deeply concerning, and not just because it’s another example of the lethality of our politics. 
Kirk’s killing is also sending prominent conservatives on a warpath, 
setting the stage for a dangerous expansion of federal government repression.

"Maga leaders blame a mythically powerful left for political violence. Now, they are bent on destroying anyone who opposes them.

"I find a lot of what Kirk peddled to be reprehensible, but he should still be alive to say it."

theguardian.com/commentisfree/2025/sep/12/charlie-kirk-shooting-federal-crackdown 

_____________________

I ask you, in these times, 
. . . Where are we directing OUR energy?

Duty of Care

A friend misunderstood when I asked them not to tell me bad things about Charlie Kirk.
They thought I was asking them to show respect and not to  speak ill of the dead. 

That's not what I meant at all. 
I meant that in terms of the crime at hand--public execution-–it doesn't matter who Kirk was any more than it mattered who George Floyd was. 
Even if they were the worst people ever, guilty of awful things,
they should not have been executed in cold blood.
(Or executed at all.)

And if they were the best people ever, the crime is the same.

A juror in the trial of Derek Chauvin for the murder of George Floyd said that she made up her mind of his guilt when she learned that police officers have a legal (not to mention moral) "duty of care"* for anyone in their custody.

Even if illegal drugs were involved in Floyd's death (THEY WERE NOT), he wouldn't have died if Chauvin had taken proper care of him.
Floyd did NOT die of drugs, but for the crime at hand, it simply doesn't matter if Floyd was an angel or an addict--or both.

"Custody" means protective care.

We are all in one another's custody. 

Discussing the virtue of a victim is a smokescreen for the real problem.

__________________

*duty of care (n.) a requirement that a person act toward others and the public with the watchfulness, attention, caution and prudence that a reasonable person in the circumstances would use.

"Mere", murder & murals/What are we doing to help?

 I. Mere / Murder

I've idly wondered what Yeats meant by "mere" here:

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world...

"The Second Coming" (written in 1919, after the Great War) came to mind again with out most recent political assassination here in the US*––Charlie Kirk, yesterday (middle name, James, like the Star Trek captain, James Kirk).

So I looked up that use of "mere". Obviously Yeats didn't mean "piffling," but what was the deal?

via English Stack Exchange:

The OED says mere's meaning pure, unadulterated is long obsolete, but absolute, sheer was around in the 19th century. 
___________________

• The word ‘Mere’ means both pure and only,
   and the first section further emphasises the generality and absoluteness of the situation with words such as ‘everywhere’ and ‘all’. 
  
  The ‘Mere anarchy’ which is loosed (by whom?) like a plague or scourge then becomes a tide dimmed by blood, recalling the bloody seas of the Revelation of St John, the flood from the mouth of the serpent and the vials of wrath (Rev 8:8; 12:15; 16:1-4). 

• -- Yeatsvision.com

Well, that makes sense.
 __________________________

*The BBC reports there've been 150 politically motivated attacks in the US in 2025, so far--twice the number of last year.

Today is the 24th anniversary of the Sept. 11 terror attacks. 
These more recent attacks are carried out by our very own, home-grown people. 
__________________________
II. Murals 

Meanwhile, murals have been going up here on the busy street by the thrift store that connects the chain of lakes to the Mississippi River. 
They are part of a $8 million project to Beautify Lake Street. 
The already tattered street was further frayed by protests after the murder of George Floyd in 2020. 

Walking the five blocks to the bus stop after work, I took photos of a few of them (there are more!).

Beautiful! 
But in doorways, ravaged people huddle with nothing.

 Waiting at the bus stop eating a tamale, I saw a guy harassing a street walker. She was dressed in something like cling wrap and carrying a piece of birthday cake on a paper plate. 
A cop yelled out the window of his police car stopped at the red light, "Leave her alone!"

The guy muttered something and walked away.

 I thought, I feel like I'm living in the New York City of Midnight Cowboy and Taxi Driver.
 

This morning I had coffee at a nearby gas station--a great local business with a brew-to-order espresso machine--at their picnic table by this little mural--painted during the George Floyd protests:

                                        Yes. 
________________________

III. What are you doing?

I'm going to leave comments on.
I respectfully request no negative comments about Charlie Kirk and his views and his friends.
I expect that all of us who meet at Noodletoon disagree with him and them.
But that’s not the point. That’s not the crime here. 

(Actually, if you agreed with him, 
I would be interested to hear that!)

––Thank you.

I don't want to hear how bad things are. 
I see it too! I hear it endlessly, everywhere.
* * * I do want to hear about what I / we can DO, . . are doing!

How can we harness, how are we harnessing our power of love and light and smarts--politically, spiritually, in whatever CREATIVE, life-giving ways--to stem the blood-dimmed tide?

Above: William Blake, David Delivered Out of Many Waters,
‘He Rode upon the Cherubim’, c. 1805, Tate Gallery, London.

You know, I'm wrapping yarn around sticks to give away.
They are little Ninja stars to throw at the Vile Beast slouching our way. 
 Maybe the VB will stop and play with them.
Or maybe they'll be incinerated in a flash.
Who knows? 
They keep my head above the waters, anyway.

One more William Blake: "Los Enters the Door of Death"

"Los represents the imagination (the name is from sol, Latin for sun)... the soul of the animating principle of everything in this world. 
Los has to enter the door of death many times, taking his light (the sun of fourfold vision) into eternal death, in order to move out of 'single vision'."-- via

Choosing Colors: "charmed by ununiformity"

My Auntie Vi introduced me to the kinda clangy colorways and "slubby" textures of Noro Yarns--a  company founded by Eisaku Noro. 
Noro says his color and texture choices are cultural as well as personal:

 From ancient times, Japanese have accepted, enjoyed and been charmed by the ununiformity, unevenness, and occasionally the coarseness of nature.

Vi knit this sweater, below, of Noro yarn when she was ninety. It's one of the few things of hers I kept when she died six years later. 
(Is it a silk-cotton-wool blend?)

Looking for color-combo inspirations for my God's eyes, I got it out this morning. It fits! And perfect timing: It's Sweater Weather.

I've also loved the colors of knitter/quilter designer Kaffe Fassett––
sort of Victoria & Albert go to Morocco, via San Francisco:

Last night, inspired by the Gudrun Sjoden clothes catalog I'd brought home, I made a couple eyes with gray, pink, and yellow.
I'm aiming for a polka-dot effect. Though the crossed sticks make that hard, I'm pleased with the direction.

I don't have the right pinks though.
So far I've used yarn I had on hand or bought cheap from the store. 
I may have to go shopping!

 

But I do really like this one:

PS. Problems in Leadership, II

Brilliant Economist cover this week. I’m so glad I resubscribed to the paper edition, even though it cost the moon. You can get a discount subscription to Time magazine, also a weekly , for $14.99/year.

 The Economist never goes on sale. It is $377/year. I don’t care.

In the era of A.I., I am leading with Sticks.

I. Book-Alike 

Shock of the Antropocene: The Earth, History, and Us, 2016
Artificial Intelligence (Time-Life Understanding Computers) 1986

Thirty years apart, the cover pictures are alike--
clouds on top, horizon line, something odd in the foreground:

II. My friend Gregg, from art-college library days always said, 

All you need to make art is a stick in the dirt.

I was thinking about that, making God's eyes.
It takes me quite a while just to prepare the sticks. 
I picked up a new batch on a walk at the lake, brought them home and de-barked the ones with loose bark (most of them)--the exposed wood is nice--snapped them down to size.
I have enough for twenty more eyes.

This morning I'm binding them together--black wool yarn, for the pupil. 
I never thought about it before:
pupils look black because they're a hole in your eye!

"The pupil looks black because light usually stays inside your eye. 
One of the few times that you see light coming back out of your eye is in a photograph: you might see red-looking eyes-- this is light reflecting off the blood vessels in your eyes."  [via]

The pile of bright eyes next to the girlette are from Ms Choclolate. To help me get up to one-hundred by Sept. 27, she made and sent me thirty-eight--a surprise! 

I was so pleased when I opened the box from her yesterday: 
I was going to have to make five a day, and I don't work that fast. 
I thought I'd come up with a formula and crank them out, but so far I am faffing around with each one, and they're all different. 

This is one of my favorites--the colors!
 I don't time them, but it took me quite a while, mostly in choosing the yarn. Sometimes I even unwind a color and start over.
I will add some baubles too (holy medal or broken window glass, and I've also got some beads and tiny brass bells now).

I've asked some yarn-ish friends if they'd like to contribute bits and bobs of leftover yarn--it seems all textile artists have a stash.

This Friday I'm having coffee with a writer friend who knits, John Shk. I'm bringing sticks, and he's bringing yarn. 
Maybe he'll want to make an eye...

I'm NOT trying to make this a community project:
I do not want to coordinate such a thing. Eeek!
But it's natural and easy to ask a few pals for help. 
I've invited a few people to help me hang them on the fence too--as long as it doesn't rain!

III. Fishy Leadership

I've been thinking about leadership---its absence at work has been more evident lately. Our managers barely manage (coordinate the physical processes), much less lead.

Big Boss is a leader: he's charismatic and has a vision. 
But he's a bad manager, especially since now he's E.D. of the whole charitable society (including church parish groups--what a mess), he's rarely at our store; yet he won't let go of control there. 
Not good.

I've written about this over and over in my 7+ years there.

I continue to find my way... unwinding when I've made a mess of my thread, trying again...
I sense I'm some sort of leader---I have a vision---but what sort? 
I'm not a charismatic top-dog, like BB.
I fly under the radar.

I googled it, and there's a lot of kinds of leaders:
I didn't expect this, but they list exactly the sort of things I do--taking food to a sick coworker, getting birthday cards signed, being encouraging (I'd texted a coworker yesterday to let him know someone had praised him)--
as a kind of leadership:
"Servant Leadership".

"Servant" sounds subservient though.
 I'd call it Pisces style:
 I'll swim along with you and give you treats, but I won't lead from the front, nor sheepdog from the rear.

It's not a policy I chose, it's a reflection of who/how I am.

Servant Leadership Qualities:
Listening, Empathy, Healing, 
Awareness, Persuasion, Conceptualization, 
Foresight, Stewardship, Commitment to the growth of people, Building Community.

I ALSO AM...
Cranky, impatient, judgmental,
easily frustrated, slightly anxious, 
often apologizing for blowing off steam...

Yesterday I was so frustrated with a custoner taking a shopping cart to the parking lot, though I'd told her not to--she said she'd return it--
 I fumed to the cashier, 
"If that customer doesn't return our cart, I am quitting!"

I was joking, and she did return it, but often people don't, and our carts get stolen by people who use them to carry their entire worldly possessions in. In the winter, we were down to THREE.

Soon after, a customer approached me, looking worried.
"Did I hear you say you're quitting?"

I explained, and she laughed and said, "Oh, good!"

I didn't even know this customer, but she knew me. What a good reminder:

Your sheep know you!

And you know the shepherd. At work, we are often like sheep wandering on our own.
Oops, there goes another one...

Late summer colors

My God’s-eye making workshop, aka my living room.

Colors below inspired by yesterday’s lake walk. 

We’ve been unseasonably cold, with daytime temps in the 50s.

Wondering how I can make the God’s eyes asymmetrical… more experimentation to come.

Rather than hanging the newly made God’s eyes on the fence by work every few days, I’ve decided to save them up until I have around 100 and hang them all at the end of the month – – around fall equinox and Rosh Hashanah.

Take (the) Charge: "It is very important to practice falling down."

My summer of Doing Nothing went well, and now it is over.
My energy is up since the weather cooled off (way early!)... and since it has felt important to up it. 
After the school shooting, especially, I felt I should--I want to--dial it up.  

The End of Doll Camp bonfire was the jumping off point. It was the College Student's last day off before Thanksgiving, and she came down for it. Jumping the fire burns off old bad crud and launches a fresh new season:

The gathering of fifteen was a random mix of neighbors, coworkers, and friends--one I hadn't seen since before Covid. The age span was 20 (Amina, Book's Girl) to 89 (former publishing coworker I cat-sit for).

 Fire brings people together though. 
I made a little speech about Doll Camp, and I invited everyone to hold a girlette while I ritually threw their stick raft on the fire. (Several women took a doll, but all the men said their hands were full.)

 I'd set up a table of God's-eye making supplies, and it all felt very convivial. I hadn't said it was a potluck because I don't like telling people to bring things--  I'd rather supply just a few things, and I'd said I'd have popcorn and apple cider, hard and soft. Several people did bring food to share, but not all, so there was not too much--sometimes a problem at potlucks. 

My neighbor played his bouzouki for a while, which is mesmerizing. Afterward, he and another neighbor both said they'd like to gather like this again. One said he could get us firewood.
Yay!

A good use of the shared backyard. 

_______________________________

One of the few sports moves I know:
TO 'take the charge' in basketball is to plant yourself in front of an offensive player, so they charge into you, knocking you down. 
A foul on their part, and a brave move on yours.

(I know this from Whoopi Goldberg, below, demonstrating it in the 1996 movie Eddie.)

Preparing for our monthly store meeting yesterday, I listened to some podcasts of Working with People. The morning of the meeting, I chose the episode "Take the Blame". 

I worry before meetings that Big Boss will shame and blame us. He rarely does, but it only takes one use of that tactic to make underlings cower like spaniels. 

I thought. . .  If I can outsmart that tactic, it won't have power over me. I sensed that "taking the blame" would be a smart spiritual Ninja move (Ms Chocolate's name). 

The podcast said that taking blame is a Leadership move: 
Good leaders take responsibility for failures, saying, for instance, "I didn't effectively communicate expectations" ––a larger, true perspective––even if the actual details aren't their fault.
The idea is to CLEAR THE DECK for the good of all, so work can move forward.

My Ninja move worked.
Even though BB did not try to shame us, I sat in a position of power, simply having set my Intention beforehand:
that I would take the blame without reacting because (though galling) it is NOT IMPORTANT and to resist it makes it real and gives it power.

To take a charge looks passive, but it takes a strong will not to react. And...

"... If players don't fall, they won't get the call.
It is very important to practice falling down.  
This will decrease a player's risk of getting injured. 
It's very important for the player to fall on their butt and 'sit down' while taking the charge."

The meeting went great: because I wasn't glowering or back-biting, I was effective. No one sets an agenda or takes minutes for our meetings, so there's usually no follow-through; but some stuff got said that I wanted to act on, so at the end of the meeting I said,
"I'm going to write down the points we agreed on. What were they again?"

And then Jester (Mr Mushroom) and I got right on it!
Details aren't important, but one of the things I did on my own was to cover rusty shelves with donated contact paper. (There wasn't enough for all, but I covered several shelves.)
VERY EXCITING.

I'm just a minimum-wage worker, but I am some kind of leader at my workplace. 
What kind?
I don't know how to describe it.
I am not a rally-the-troops leader; I hate giving orders... I doubt I inspire my coworkers... 
My friend Kathy Moran, who died at 57 years old, got her MA in Leadership, and I wish she were around to ask about it.

A coworker I rarely see (she works one day/week, and it's usually my day off) came to my Labor Day bonfire. I was so pleased, and a little surprised. She got into making God's eyes, and at the end of the evening, she hugged me warmly and said, "I love you."

"I love you too," I said. 
I guess I do, but I was surprised--we barely know each other. Why would she say that?

And I remembered--five years ago, she was very sick with Covid. She was supposed to do something in my department, and she texted that she was too wrung out even to watch TV.

My workplace does nothing for people who are out sick, so I bought apple cider, ginger snaps, lemon drops, and some other comforting things--including a little stuffed bear from our store--and dropped them outside her apartment.
That's a sort of leadership. 
_________________________

Book-Alike

Who knew I'd would ever admire anything about Mike Pence, but he did speak up when Trump pulled a coup. Otherwise I know little about him--except . . . it seems he used to be a young witch in the 1980s?
Look at those faces without their hair...

_________________

sometimes, like yesterday, I get a tamale after work at the Mexican grocery by the bus stop. Cheese and jalapeno, $3.50.
Look--I'm wearing a jacket! It was only 59ªF at 4 pm.

Thanks, everyone who commented or emailed on my last post--I'm glad you're here. 
I just can't handle comments though (I get all neurotic about social media!), so I've left them Off, but emails are welcome.

Love ya!

On we go!

Penny Cooper would love to meet you.

I continue to feel buffered from the shock waves the school shooter sent rippling through the city by the counter-effect of the young man handing me a carnation on the day of the shooting.

His counter-act to the blast--his choice to go buy flowers and walk around handing them out--opened a protective pod in the air, 
like the seed-pod of light you see around holy figures in art... 
Its power continues to surprise me,  like a magic spell you didn't expect to take.
"Wow, that . . . WORKED?!"

Here, a metal mandorla around a marble Buddha--I like the view from the back, like a carapace:

Via Sotheby's: "A marble figure of Buddha with champlevé enamel mandorla and stand, Qing dynasty, 18th / 19th century"
_______________________

Side bar: What is champlevé?

The MMA says, "A decorative technique that fuses a powdered glassy material ["frit"] into a recess in a metal surface through the application of heat.
Enameling describes the technique of using heat to fuse frit (powdered glass) to the surface of a metal object. 
In champlevé enameling, a recess is etched, cast, or carved into the body of the metal substrate to be filled with frit."

__________________

Meanwhile, I was wondering why I haven't had much comfort offered--not to overlook many lovely messages!––and then I remembered:
I'm not on social media.
I'm sure people are reaching out to one another there, with huge outpourings of comfort and shared grief (as well as outrage, judgment, etc., which I'd just as soon miss out on.)

I feel out of it, because--I am out of it! 
And then I remember the personal act of one stranger on the day. 
For me, that outweighs all that online energy I am missing.

I have to laugh though: I feel ignored.
But I walked away.
So it's okay, but I'm still adapting to the change.

What I want is, I want to tend more to the touchable presence of people in my life. (Touchable can include paper, but I mean, other-than whatever the substance is in screens.)
 I've been low-energy there. It's okay: I've been resting.

Now I wonder, again, HOW TO DO THAT?

I've invited several neighbors to the Labor Day bonfire. 
One donated some fire logs from her garage! Which is good because the sticks from the girlettes' raft will burn up in five minutes.
 
I also sent invites to several people I haven't seen since before Covid.
One has moved out of state! A couple others are busy, but one accepted, saying the invitation had made his day.

Ms ChocolateHouse priority-mailed some of her handmade marshmallows to roast at the bonfire!
The girlettes have voted her a special Medal of Honor.
And bink drove me to get apple cider (hard and soft) and popcorn for the event.

Anyway, I think it's good to feel invited to participate, even if you can't or don't want to attend, so I also sent invitations to people far away.

And I invite you!
Really--come on over!
PENNY COOPER WOULD LOVE TO MEET YOU!

The girlettes cast a protective pod around my life too. Not on purpose, like the man with the flowers, but just by existing.

__________________
In other realms...
Blue Willow, Blue Onion

The store got a donation of vintage blue willow dishes, and a new coworker priced the pieces between 69¢ and $1.99 each.
Sixty-nine cents?

I searched the online at picclick dot com, which gives average selling prices on ebay and amazon. They average more like $10 to $30.

I texted her the link. "We should price these $4.99," I said. "Remember, if they don't sell, in three weeks they go on sale, half-price; and the week after that, a dollar."

I repriced them the next day. (The new coworker wasn't in, and didn't seem interested. In fact, like many older ladies at the store (who grew up without much money), she prefers shiny new things. 
So, I have to watch myself, not to come across as snobby.

But I tell ya, good design and good materials shine forth. 
For our sake, they deserve time and attention. 
I mean, we can be nourished by them in a way that we won't be by Ikea plates that show scratches and wear within months. 
These plates have lasted maybe a hundred years!

I realize that if a thrift worker doesn't recognize that there's a difference between the antique ceramic and modern plastic versions of this ever-popular pattern, many customers won't either. 
(Not that thrift workers are well informed. Many know nothing about the cultural history of objects.)

So I set up a display and water-colored a quick sign: 

Antique Blue Willow, 
Made in England since 1780...
Inspired by Chinese design

And then a customer who was admiring them taught me something! 
I love this.
"Oh, look," she said. "The tea cups are blue onion."

I knew naught of Blue Onion. I had thought those were pomegranates around the rim. Looking it up, I read that, in fact, the German designers of this pattern might have mistaken pomegranates for onions. 
So, ha! The original shines through.
_______________________
Side-by-Sides

I'm only in BOOK's 5 hours/week, and housewares 15, so I don't get to faff around there as much. But last week I set up a coupla good (?) side-by-sides:

Someone had set this TEEN CREED mug on the "L, M, N" book shelves--odd--shortly before I came out with a new load of fiction to display, including...

                       "Choose only a date ^
                        Who would make a good mate."

BELOW: Windy days!

BELOW: I found a pencil sketch tucked into Moby Dick:

Book Girl Amina (Book's also does Toys) is so dear--she altered this "Three Wise Men" box:

CROP ART

I put this donated crop/seed art hen & chick (or is that a rooster?) up above the sink in housewares work area.

Crop art, once a folk-craft viewed with all the respect given to puffy-paint flowers hand-painted on sweatshirts, is having a moment--the art museum here is hosting an exhibit. 
new.artsmia.org/exhibition/minnesota-folk-art-showcase

This year's entries to the State Fair included a portrait of the slain Hortmans (including Gilbert Hortman, the dog, also shot to death on June 14).
When I think about how we offer comfort and experience shock and grief, I think... I think we are somewhat, like, deadened?
 Muffled?

I FEEL THAT MYSELF.

It comes so fast and thick, and we see so much internationally on our screens, when violence breaks out locally, does it feel sort of... "more of the same"?
This Is the World We Live in Now.

How to bring love and light, and not be dimmed???
Ideas?

For me, it takes some dialing up of Intention.
I'm so glad I'd already started making the yarn God's/Love/Dolls eyes to give away. bink took this photo of me making a yarn eye on vacation, at a park above the Mississippi River.

Wrapping yarn around sticks helps me--
it is a kind of Intercessory Prayer.

BELOW: some God's eyes on the fence along the store alley. 
About half of the twenty or so I've put up have been taken.
 I want people to take them--that's the idea--but I also would love to cover the fence in them. I can't make them fast enough, and I'm not patient enough to hold onto them until I have 100.
It's okay.

Shine on!

reflective

I’d saved a baggie of the store’s shattered window glass, broken during the protests of the police murder of George Floyd in 2020, always meaning to make something with the chunks. But what?

Five years later, I am wiring them to the God’s eyes I’m making to hang on the fence of the micro-park next to my workplace. Fractured, they make reflections in the eyes.

Yesterday, a day off, I was sitting in the backyard making these. I’d been hearing sirens all morning—we’ve now joined other US cities (nearly forty) that have experienced a school shooting. The grade school is a mile-and-a-half south of here  (and George Floyd Square, the same to the east).

A young man came by, carrying a bundle of long-stemmed carnations. He walked toward me, holding out a spray of white carnations—“For you.”

“Oh!” I said, “You’re making me cry. I’m just making these God’s eyes to give away too – – would you like one?”

Thank you, he said, but I should keep them for someone else. He walked on—I saw him give flowers to a woman and her little girl—and then out of sight.

It shocked me, on this terrible day— this kindness from a stranger.  When I do such a thing, I feel it is minuscule, and in terms of real-politik, I guess it is. But  being on the receiving end, I felt it as enormous. 

I put the flowers in a vase and kept them near me until bedtime, and then I moved them to the bookshelf by my bed.

[comments off; emails welcome]