One rep at a time

Between the sub-zero cold and the MLK holiday (people thought we were closed), the store was quiet yesterday. I was happy to have time to straighten some shelves. (My knee doesn't hurt if I'm standing still, and when I walked around, mostly I leaned on a cart.)

I spied this set of napkin rings, which had been in the napkin-ring bin since before I started 3 months ago. "These are vintage".
(Yep, 1970s. Online, Otagiri–Japan napkin rings are $15–30.)
I windexed the smudges off, repriced the set from 49 cents to $2.99, and put it on the Vintage shelf. I'll be interested to see--I predict it will sell fast.
 

Gym Ben sent an encouraging email to All yesterday evening, after the inauguration of DT:

"It is my deepest hope that our little gym can be a very literal anchor....  We have withstood so many hard times so far, and will continue to do so. Please let me know how I can continue to support you, as we stand shoulder to shoulder, strong and unified."

He signed off,

"Take care of yourselves, take care of each other. 

ISYMFS, One Rep at a Time"

ISYMFS?

I looked it up--it's a weightlifting term that stands for
"It's Still Your Mother-Fucking Set".

That is, don't leave the bench, you still have reps to do. 

 Don't Stop Your Work.

I heard it as an adjunct to the MLK phrase I'd posted yesterday:
"The moral arc of the universe is long, but it bends toward justice".
It's long means, you still have reps to do...
Keep your eyes on the prize, and pace yourself.

Little motions add up.
A donation of pink and blue paper plates reminded me of the trans flag, so I decided to build an end-cap display around them.
January needs color! And for those with eyes to see, it's welcoming.
               "Life is a beautiful ride."

I abhor the new executive order to lock-down two sexes.
(You know, the horrible Mr Musk declared [to Jordan Peterson * ] that his trans daughter is “dead — killed by the woke mind virus.”)

There are some problems with some trans politics (cult-like pressures to agree or be declared anathema). It reminds me of the ridigity of 1980s lesbian feminism, which I participated in enthusiastically as a scared, angry, righteous 20something.
But declaring your child dead???
That is bonkers.

Ordering there to be only two sexes? That's not even science. You can't order the ocean tides. I know ya'll know... Biological sex can be "kind of science-fiction material".
––"The Idea of 2 Sexes Is Overly Simplistic", Scientific American, 2018.

{DT not being scientific. Imagine that.}

Anyway, anyone's gender is not my business, and I believe (*hope*) that the movement to loosen-up gender restrictions is a move toward liberation.

'ALL ARE WELCOME HERE' is literally true at the store.
You can pass out on our couches, pee on the floor (it's happened), throw a stapler, steal stuff, whatever.
Really, we don't even ban shoplifters. (Well, almost never. There was one guy...)
That can make the store hard, and even unsafe, but I love that that's how we roll.

The Girlettes don't care. Here they are at the end of the day yesterday. "We are girls, but we don't care what you are."
They really don't care, not one jot. "That's a human thing."

* I loved and laughed out loud at this review in the Guardian of Jordan Peterson's new book, We Who Wrestle with God (2024), by Rowan Williams (once archbishop of Canterbury): "A Culture Warrior Out of His Depth".
Williams's is a gentle take-down whose very gentleness is hilarious, almost a la Monty Python--as if you were to argue with Philomena Cunk granting that her points were reasonable.)

Examples that made me smile:

"Peterson’s readings are curiously like a medieval exegesis of the text, with every story really being about the same thing: an austere call to individual heroic integrity."

{Ah, curious, that.}

And, "There is certainly a discussion to be had about toxicity in parenting, but finding it in the second chapter of Genesis requires impressive single-mindedness."

{Impressive single-mindedness. Impressive!}

... And,
"He relies a lot on rather dated Christian commentaries (and seems to have a limited acquaintance with Hebrew, a drawback for a project like this)."

{Rather dated? And a limited acquaintance with Hebrew? Such a shame.}

Final lines of the review:
"This is an odd book, whose effect is to make the resonant stories it discusses curiously abstract. 'Matter and impertinency mixed', in Shakespeare’s phrase."

{We mourn with Shakespeare.}

But---on we go. We got reps to do!

And after, perhaps some tea with milk from a ceramic animal?

Good to know

It's Martin Luther King Jr Day, and we in the U-S-of-A are inaugurating our new head honcho attended by his crew--all denizens of a Star Wars cantina, "a wretched hive of scum and villainy". *
Are you ready?

ABOVE: Maurice Sendak illustration
for Open House for Butterflies by Ruth Krauss
"A screaming song is good to know
in case you need to scream"

________________

STORY IDEA: The world's richest and most powerful bad men (r&mpbm) are gathered on a platform for a ceremony.
Due to what is later determined to be an accidental but catastrophic failure of the screws supporting the structure, the platform collapses.
Miraculously most people survive with barely a scratch,
but the r&mpbm are crushed to death.
What next?
____________________

Such catastrophe is unlikely.
We're more likely in for the continuing slog along "the arc of the moral universe", which, MLK said, "is long, but it bends toward justice.”

I used to think that MLK quote was mere wishful thinking.
But it came to me last night as I was falling asleep:
no, that's right.

I keep marveling at my (our) experience of being a Blip o' Carbon that gained Consciousness.
It is the nature of Consciousness to expand beyond Self-awareness to Other-awareness:
As it is for me, so it is for thee.

A concomitant result of the expansion of consciousness is what we call justice. Justice is not an emotion, it is a response to the rain that falls on all.
The Golden Rule, applied, can look more like engineering:
if you don't like to get rained on at the bus stop,
build a bus shelter.

The growth of the species is like the growth of a child.
Consciousness expands, like a stretchy web.
First it becomes self-aware, and it cares for its own survival. And the survival of the other people it depends on, and later, its own offspring.
Gradually it (the child, the species) builds up awareness that Other People Are Real too--other people beyond the immediate family and tribe.
And the consciousness expands outward, for some, to include all of existence.

So yeah, I think 'the moral arc bends toward justice' is a way of saying that. It's not guaranteed--MLK doesn't even say it will reach justice--but it is like a plant growing toward the sun--it wants to go that way.
It helps if we clear the stuff that blocks the light, that warps the arc--of our own personal life, our hearts,  and onward, outward to our neighborhoods and beyond.

Let us hold hands and keep on going. 

How long, oh Lord, how long?

Long, and very long.

 
__________________

* The quoted words from Star Wars are Obi Wan-Kenobi's.
The idea of DT's cabinet picks being from a Star Wars cantina is Robert Reich's, former US secretary of labor.
I had snapped a photo of the Sendak illustrations weeks ago--and saved it for today.

Cold!

Ooh, it's cold here. You too? –13ºF this morning, not due to get above zero for a couple more days.

Yesterday I took this picture of me in the city-bus's video screen (right, circled in red). For the cold, I'm wearing my bright green snow pants (as well as my usual turmeric down coat).

At work I sat (for my sore knee) and priced cool old books-- then hobbled about setting up a few book displays.
I love Children Everywhere in the pages of a book:

We're very low on novels. On an empty Fiction shelf, I set up books with book-related titles--almost always a sign of a badly written book. The Messy Lives of Book People is a great title though.

Mingling books in with housewares is working well--they sell! I added some Childcraft Annuals about nature to the owls that remain from a huge batch. A man who lived nearby collected them. He was a regular, and he left all his stuff to the store when he died.

Oh--bink is here for Sunday coffee--all for now.
I hope you're toasty!

bink's Mosaic!

It's done! bink has been working on her mosaic in the remodeled kitchen for a couple months. Her design was partly inspired by ancient Greek art--and by her love of dogs. I love it-- buoyant & noble!

bink had suffered a bad concussion three Aprils ago. It knocked her vision out of whack, and she couldn't do close-up, detailed work for almost TWO YEARS!
So it's extra cool to see her making intricate art again. It's been a long haul.

I am getting to practice the patience of the wounded myself:
my knee is a little better, but it's too painful to do anything much. I priced housewares from a chair yesterday--and will today, but of course there's still a lot of up and down and moving around.
(Doing gentle floor exercises too.)

I realized--(as I didn't when I was thoughtlessly mobile)--that the city bus has removed steps. The buses even "kneel", so the flat entrance ramp is only a small step up from the curb.
Hooray! for planners and designers who think of such things. They are angels among us.
I should/will write a thank-you to the City.

Buses have also reduced prices. I was shocked--who lowers prices?
And their policy is that if you ask for a "courtesy ride", the driver will let you ride for free. There's some social resistance to this--you can imagine--but it's a blessing.

 And city planners who've added bike & bus lanes all over town--more brilliance! I've heard car drivers complain about the lanes--even well-meaning people I know.
I'm like--you know your car is a problem, right? Show some school spirit!

I love the photo on Abby's sidebar:
"You are not stuck in traffic. You are traffic."

Anyway... I like limp to the bus stop today too. Manageress was sympathetic--she has a bad back. "You can work sitting down."

Speaking of noodles---I'm kind of mommish with New Boy at work, and I asked him what he'd like for his 32nd birthday lunch. He requested tuna noodle salad "with peas", so I am bringing that in on Monday.
Anyone have tips for making a good tuna noodle?

New Boy is the tough-punk-in recovery coworker I've mentioned who likes stuffed animals. He's got an orphan-waif vibe to him. He's a mess, honestly--the way young people who struggle can be.
I think he's got what it takes to make it. He's smart! (Not necessarily a plus? but certainly a pleasure to be around.)

Time to head out--into the "polar vortex dipping down from Siberia"--you may be feeling it too if you're in North America.
Bundle up!

P.S. Here's the full view of the mosaic:

Sick Day, w Tamarind Sauce & Astronauts

Getting Strong Now (or Later)

It was inspiring to meet with trainer Ben at the gym yesterday--though my hurt knee limited what I could do. I trust it will get better, and I'll work to get stronger again--and protect myself from injuries like this (from overuse at work, not an accident).

Ben & I were talking about Duluth--his sister lives there and, for now, so does Marz. (Today is the first day of her second semester.)
I said my goal is to be strong enough to hike a section of the Superior Hiking Trail. The SHT runs through the city of Duluth--I've walked 5-mile segments--but the entire thing is a 260-mile rugged footpath along a ridgeline overlooking Lake Superior, from Duluth almost to the Canadian border.
No amenities: you have to backpack everything in and out.

The SHT website cautions, "You should carefully consider whether you’re in good condition and prepared before setting out" [unsaid: so we don't have to send the Rope Team (a real thing) to rescue your dumb ass].
I wouldn't want to hike-through the entire trail, but I'd like to be able to. And then just go for a day hike. (There are mosquitoes.) (And bears.)

So that was good, but today I feel a little down.
You know how it is to be set back and immobilized.
Very much not like Rocky running up the steps.

(He does start out a lazy, out-of-shape slob, but he's also thirty years old... Regaining strength at my age looks different. Still, I love that movie--maybe it'd cheer me up to rewatch it again.)

I took the day off work to rest my knee. I have 48 hours till I go back on Friday--hopefully it'll be much better by then. If not, I can do some seated work––looking up prices––but the job is of course mostly physical. I didn't do myself any favors, taking 8 months off, physically. (Psychologically, though, it was entirely a win.)

It's good for me to have this motivation to keep strong for work. I am lazy and would never do it otherwise.
This is a good place for me to be.
________________

Sauce It Up

After the gym, I went to Everett's on the next block––a family-owned butcher and grocery where I used to go when I lived in that direction. They're an old-fashioned mom-and-pop outfit, selling classics like pork chops and iceberg lettuce, but they carry some newer-to-town foods too.

Like this Somali tamarind and date sauce made by a local company, Hoyo (means mother, and also home). Its sweetness is from dates alone. (I'd decided dates are okay.)
It's like a relative of ketchup--the first ingredient is tomato.

(Hm, though the roots of ketchup are in fermented fish sauce, not tomatoes:
"By the early 1700s, the word was apparently understood --by the British--to mean a kind of spiced, savory condiment broadly known in South Asia and distinct from soy sauce. ")

Puck, above, right, is telling Penny Cooper how she showed her bionic leg to Ben. True. Ben was complimentary. I don't know what he feels about things--he's slightly remote--but I love how he just rolls with stuff. "Okay, here is a client who brings her doll."
And why not?

That's the book I'm reading--re-reading. Project Hail Mary, by Andy Weir who wrote The Martian (movie with Matt Damon. I hear Project HM has already been filmed w/ Ryan Gosling--to be released next year.)
Project is an even better story:
the reluctant astronaut––a junior-high school science teacher––meets an alien astronaut, and together they work to save the galaxy from a light-eating microbe.
It's funny and imaginative--and Weir does the math (literally and symbolically) to make it work. (All the work I don't want to do when I come up with a fun story idea.)

Anyway, I ate the tamarind sauce with baked chicken last night. It was good--zingy and sweetish, and not something I'd overeat, unlike sugary ketchup which I'd pour on like syrup.

I read something yesterday that touched on my question, If you take  semaglutide drugs that remove appetite, what happens to psychological needs that used to be met by (over)eating?
A therapist said that a client who used to overeat started a weight-loss drug and then began to pick their skin off instead.

It is not known:
Do the drugs adversely affect mental health, or, do they reveal underlying issues that over-eating was addressing?

I'm tinkering with how I eat, you know, and wondering about the way food and comfort and well-being are all interwoven.
But I'm not taking away the pleasure and comfort of eating, I'm replacing processed-sugars with other foods.

Aside from some sadness at first (no–ice-cream felt like a loss), and some confusion from changing habits (what do I do now?), giving up sugar hasn't hurt my mood--maybe because I can still overeat. That's even been funny! Like, the day after the election, I binge-ate an entire baked butternut squash. Aside from being very high in potassium (hard on kidneys), butternut squash is a big health plus, even in excess. 😄

After three months of not-eating added-sugars, I feel more level, emotionally--and physically. That's a nice thing.
I thought I'd really, really miss candy and ice cream, because I ate it every day. I'm surprised I don't. Giving myself permission---encouragement, in fact--to eat anything else helps a lot. Food with natural sugar, like butternut squash, keeps cravings away, and flavorful food provides satisfaction. It's still sometimes a drag to have to make decisions to feed myself (instead of the easier option of Just Eat Sugar), but it's doable.

Food in Childhood

If you have an easy, happy relationship with food, this is maybe all obvious. I've never had that.
Well... that's not true. When I was a little kid in the 1960s, I didn't have much choice, and my family ate pretty well.
My mother cooked pretty much every meal, even after she went back to work part-time as a secretary at the University.
Oatmeal or eggs for weekday breakfast. Oh, and corn flakes with strawberries. That was our junk cereal.

We walked home for lunch. What did we eat...?
Geez, I don't remember. It must be in my data bank somewhere--I'll put in a request and see what gets returned.
I remember saying I was hungry but turning down the only snack on offer--an apple.

Dinner was classic mid-century meat (baked chicken, some cut of beef, pork chops); bread/ brown rice/potatoes; and green salad with olive-oil dressing.
Did we even have dessert? My mother baked, for sure. But was it every night?  She also loved ice-cream with "goop": Smuckers chocolate and butterscotch topping in a jar.
She would go on weird diets where she ate nothing by Saltine crackers and Coca-cola. (Not diet.)

Junk food was a rarity--sometimes my father got Fritos corn chips and bean dip (in a can) for Sunday football games, and we could have a few.
Once in a blue moon we went to McDonald's, which was a HUGE treat.

Anyway, as I've said, this all went haywire when she left the family in 1974, the same time fast- junk foods and super-sizes were just starting to rise to their ascendancy.
I'm repeating myself here, I know, but I keep re-viewing it:
What happened? To the country, the world, to us, to you and to me?

STORY IDEA:

You know stories like the 1978 movie Heaven Can Wait where someone dies and they go to Heaven and lodge a complaint–– "I wasn't supposed to die" (Warren Beatty says to heavenly agent Buck Henry)--and it turns out they're right:
someone made a mistake, and Heaven tries to rectify it?

Okay, so this is just the same, but in reverse--thinking about reincarnation and also  about how people sometimes feel they shouldn't be here, they don't belong.
What if there's a mistake sometimes and people are incarnated into the wrong life?
According to the swami I'm listening to sometimes, that's not possible. "You can never be somewhere you're not supposed to be."
But, what if there's a mistake?

Like, you should be surrounded by people you share karma with,
But you're not? "You were never my mother!"
Hm, is that possible, if everyone's been everything to everybody?
I don't know.
Maybe they get incarnated on the wrong planet?
"This is not my solar system!"
Just an idea to kick around...

It could be comforting in a weird, reverse way. "Sorry, you're right! We'll send in some support, but you're just going to have to bumble through this lifetime."
Sure can FEEL like that!

"Life goes on"

I love it when Sally says in Peanuts that her life philosophy is, "Life goes on," "Who cares?" and "How should I know?":

[High schoolers I worked with last spring did not know who Charlie Brown was. "Why is he bald?" one girl asked. "Does he have cancer?"]

 But I don't love Sally's philosophy in public leaders...

[Explanation for me in the future, when this ^ might not be obvious.
L to R: At the same time LA caught fire, Mark Zuckerberg of Meta (Facebook & Instagram) announced Meta would drop fact-checking, aligning with the desires of incoming US president Trump and his billionaire handler/minion?, Elon Musk, owner of Twitter/X.]

‘How should I know?’ is not a great approach to personal physical health & finances either, but it's been mine. Just ignore it, and it will go away--can be true for money & health!

Every so often, however, I make a big push to GET IT TOGETHER.
Which I spent the morning doing.
I am reapplying for health insurance from the State. (MN's coverage for povvos is great--basically it pays for whatever you need).
Since I quit the public schools 4.5 months ago, I've been without health care. Luckily, I didn't need it. I didn't bother to apply until now--the day before the deadline.

Aaaand... today I start 1:1 training again with Ben, the owner of a small strength-training gym in an old gas station where I worked out during 2020.
His gym's motto is Empathy | Resilience | Community.

It was such an upsetting time, I used to lie on the ground and stretch... and talk (wearing a mask). It was as much emotional centering as strength-training.
One day after the murder of G Floyd--the gym is a mile away-- I was walking home and truckloads of the National Guard rolled past me down the city street. I was so upset, I stopped at the gym and cried.
Ben was chill.

He is also entirely chill with people setting their own fitness/body goals. "Some people just want me to walk around the block with them." He says one reason he works to be strong is so he can help other people.
This is Ben:

This decision to work out again rolls on from my experience this fall of not being able to run-shuffle up a slight incline at Gooseberry Falls State Park. I started walking, but being back at the store, lifting and carrying, I can tell I've lost strength. I want to rebuild that--and maybe go beyond?
But for now, I'm coming from behind--I twisted my knee yesterday and am hobbling along.

 S  l  o  w  l  y  does it.

Also, you know, I keep thinking about the new weight-loss drugs, like ozempic. They are the opposite of what I want for myself, Being a Carbon-Based Life Form with Consciousness.
I am not a go-getter, I am not Pursuing Enlightenment with vigor. 
I just want to putz along in my small life;
but I want to be awake for it. You know?
I don't want to turn it over to the Medical Establishment.

Especially because I KNOW I started overeating because I felt empty and abandoned as a teen. The response I want isn't to knock it back with drugs, but to . . .
to wrap my arms around the whole shebang--emptiness and delight--and take it in.
Which I've been doing for years, and intend to continue.
Low and slow.

[I always want to add, if someone’s life is threatened by obesity, these drugs look to be miraculous! 

And also, of course everyone wants to do and can do different things.]
__________________

 Recently someone told me that a "shamanic practitioner" who lives nearby (in the neighborhood going away from the thrift store, not toward it) is offering New Year readings.
I was dubious but curious, so I looked closer.
He charges $70 for a half-hour reading, so, no...
But worse in my eyes, he offers these only on Zoom.

I asked Penny Cooper. Can spirits come through Zoom?
She said they could... If they want.
But she went on to say they often don't want to, because the tubes are so small. Further, some of them are naughty and stuff popcorn in the tubes, so then the readings "might be wrong."

(I suppose spirits can do whatever they want, but that's her take, and I like it.)
__________________
Time to go to the gym!

Here's the latest morph of the end-cap at work that started as a Hannukah display; then became solid colors; now––Suitable for Pasta:

Wriggle out of it

Ha, again. Not a triumphant "ha" this time though.
I'd been feeling groovy lately--practically congratulating myself on my imperturbability--and then I went to an art-making afternoon led by my hardest kind of person:
someone who doesn't ask, doesn't listen, but tells you how you feel, what you think, and what you should do.

"We're all having a hard time now," she trumpeted. (Are we? ) "We need to make art!" (Do we?) And on and on, in the most prescriptive, prepackaged terms.

I was feeling fine until then. Afterward, I thought of Ram Dass saying that if you think you're enlightened, go spend a week with your family.

This sort of person reminds me of being a child not-listened to, dictated to. You'd almost think the Universe dropped me there yesterday: "Deal with it."

I left halfway through--always a good option when you can't stop seething––but I did collage a nice card for the coming Year of the Snake (Jan 29, 2025).

"The window of the parlor which she used to occupy was open, and"

The snake is a symbol of transformation––shedding the old––and its year invites wisdom, transformation, calmness, and creativity.
Okay, then.
The window is open.

"A mythic life is not a banking transaction."

"A mythic life is not a banking transaction."
I hear people judging their lives as if they were a retail exchange--like, it should be equitable. We make an effort and we should get a good return.
Or as if our lives were like a skin-care regime:
we should be able to show good results.

Even some spiritual teachers imply (or say) that you should be able to recognize if someone is (you are) 'enlightened'.
But can you?
I think it's far weirder than that.

I told Mr Furniture once that he was a genius artist.
"Then why am I here?" he said (meaning working for minimum wage in the armpit of the city).

I was surprised that this outlaw took worldly judgement as any kind of valid reflection of himself.
"You KNOW the world doesn't judge fairly!" I said.

What if we look at our lives in mythic terms?
What if they aren't measurable, but magical?
In fairy stories, things are often disguised, maybe the opposite of what they appear.
Good skin is not the marker.

I'd been talking with a friend about feeling older & wiser, and the friend was saying they weren't sure they were---that they'd done some things that maybe "set back their personal growth".

I got thinking, there's a vocabulary of judgment and worth in common use that sounds more like financial investment terms than terms that could best describe a human life.
I've complained about terms such as "self-care" before--they sound as if our souls just need a bubble bath.

But that's not the only vocabulary we have.
In myths and fairy tales and religions, a soul might find itself in a muddy swamp or a desolate desert, turned into a frog, or fed by crows, and required to perform an impossible task or to recognize a tempting offer as a trick.
_____
Myth full of pain and failure reassure me, but not when it gets happified into refrigerator magnets and marketing schemes.

 I like this Frida Kahlo mural on a business near the thrift store.
But look--she's almost Disneyfied.
She's smiling, for instance, which she never is in her self-portraits, and they leave off her mustache, which she proudly included. She looks almost plump and healthy, which she certainly wasn't.

I'm not objecting to this mural. I have a carrying bag with Vincent van Gogh's sunflowers. I'm just saying human lives don't need to be a constantly rising line on a graph of improvement.
It's weirder than that.

Pom-pom

LA is on fire.
That sounds like a story prompt for a futuristic short story, but it is real, and now. Trump is blaming California water policies “to protect an essentially worthless fish called a smelt”.
Um. No.
(I know you know. "This is how tipping points happen: The LA wildfires are climate disasters compounded"--from the Guardian.)

Orange Crate Art has posted 4 live links to help LA.

May we wake up.
I deleted my Facebook account this morning. I kept Instagram, so that's mostly pointless, but my act is to remind ME of what matters:
FB was mostly people I could write letters to.
Do that.
________

I am to be given a pom-pom for my hat! Not frivolous: humans connecting.

At coffee yesterday morning, I'd mentioned to chocolatier Tracy that you could tell it was seriously cold outside (near zero F) because 23 of the 26 people on the city bus were wearing hats. (Minnesotans almost never wear hats.) Only TWO of the hats had pom-poms on top, however, and I was sorry mine wasn't one of them.

She, crafter extraordinaire, said she would make me a pom-pom!
BELOW: Me, left, in pom-pomless hat knit by Auntie Vi, and Chocotrace. If you're in southern Wisconsin, visit her Sjolinds Chocolate House.

At work, I spiffed up the Valentines section with more non-Valentine frivolities:
a pair of little lamps with bases of frilly, Dresden-type figures in pastels; a packet of women socks with pink flamingos; a decorative box of beginner's calligraphy pens and nibs; more books and DVDs.
Can I keep this up for the month until V Day?
Probably not, but it's funner for me, and hopefully for shoppers. Manageress complimented me too.

And I made my coworkers lunch in a crock pot entirely from donated canned food:
kidney beans, black beans, green beans, collard greens, carrots, fire-roasted tomatoes, pasta sauce, and chicken. Meat in cans kinda grosses me out, but there it was--free protein.

I see at work how people are "nutrition poor". Usually there's something to eat, but often it's cold carbs. My coworkers are generally happy to have hot food.

I ate it too. Too much sodium, but not much added sugar (just the pasta sauce). I'm trying to avoid processed foods, but in reality I just don't have the oomph to do all my own cooking from all-fresh foods.
When it's too cold to bike, shopping for freshies is an extra trip on the bus and I often skip it.
And that's totally okay. I'm not going for purity. That way lies madness. (You can see it on social media--some truly crazy food obsessions.)
______________
Where the Store Lives

I don't blog much about the social setting of the store anymore, so for anyone new to my blog, let me note:
the store is located in one the first neighborhoods on "areas of the city to avoid" lists.
It's a mile from where the police murdered George Floyd, which was entirely in keeping with the Way It Is. I was shocked, but my coworkers were, like, "That almost happened to my cousin."

The nest of dealers across the street from the store have moved on (for now), so it's not quite so in-your-face, but poverty and all its cruel companions are on display daily.

People have told me they're afraid to come to the store, and I don't blame them. I hope you can see here that it's lots of kindness and fun too. And fun stuff! Once I figured out that I AM NOT THE SAVIOR, I've been good there.
Lots of good and interesting stuff nearby too--like mercados:
(me w/ my earlier self-cut hair)

It's my day off--I'm going downtown to mail a vintage Stanley "built for life" thermos to Marz, so she can take hot lunch to school. She'd wanted one, and on Tuesday one came into the thrift store. It's like a magic river: eventually (almost) everything comes by.
Probably pom-poms too, but I'd rather have a friend-made one.

After the PO, I'm going to a coffee shop to write a letter. Oh, yes, and I'll get ingredients for this miso soup.

Take care out there!

TY, Scrapper

 Leaving in a few minutes to have coffee with Chocolatracy before she leaves town this morning, so just a quick Photo Toss.

I set up a display of bright solid colors--I love the scrappy cat cup and this vintage hippo candle. TY for thank you.

I rounded up a few old LPs and some love stories books & DVDs for the Valentine's display:

I've been surprised that I continue to lose about half a pound a week, when I'm eating a lot of everything but sugar. Yesterday morning at work, the break room table was full of leftover Xmas chocolates--Sees, Lindt, chocolate peanuts, "chocolate" pretzels... as well as the usual bakery, and it was a visual clue to why:
NO WONDER.
Last year I'd have eaten a lot (a lot!) of that chocolate, all day long.

As it was, a scruffy young woman was half-sleeping in a chair in the furniture room. I asked her if she needed some water? A donut?
"Thank you, I haven't eaten today."
I gave her that box of Danish, and she immediately ate three.
Luckily we also had some donated, frozen prepared meals, from the food-shelf , and she took some with her.
Humans must eat.