Grounding, Flying

I. Grounding

I thought about deleting that emotional post I wrote a week ago, last Wednesday, "They blinked first.", because it was unfair of me to express anger at people who aren't at fault, people who maybe aren't helping, but who sure aren't the designers of the cruel policies at play in my city, state, country, (... and our world).

But I decided to leave it. 
It's not harmful (I hope), and it's a record of how easily a person (I!) can get knocked off center---a few weeks, days, even mere hours of stress, and I'm lashing out.  
I'm HARDLY alone in this--it's pretty typical. 

It's one of the central challenges of hard times:
How to stay grounded in love, not flying off in annoyance?

By "love", I mean something like,
A state wherein your are able to take a deep breath and then smile gently at someone. 

I was thinking this morning as I was tying sticks together, in prep for making God's eyes in public tomorrow–– (Marz is coming down to join me!)––I was thinking that I keep coming back to making little things from yarn as an example of a policy I want to live by
--the opposite of the policy of cruelty--the policy to...

Find what you can do from your center:
and to choose to do that which doesn't knock you off balance.

Or, that helps you bop back upright if you are knocked off center. Because you will be.

Be the Weeble.
Remember those plastic toys with rounded, weighted bottoms?
 Like clown bop bags,
 Weebles wobble, but they don't fall down.

(Rounded, weighted bottoms? Heh. Check.)

So, the question I want to ask myself isn't,
"Is this enough?" [As in, Is this too paltry?]
 but rather,
 "Is this something I can do to try to help, and still smile?"

Because apathy and despair and hatefulness--perfectly understandable responses though they are!---aren't helpful, 
and it'd be helpful to find some other responses.

So, even if the thing is a little thing, if I can stay grounded in love doing it, if I can keep returning to center (thank you, rounded bottom), then that's what I should pursue.

And if I find myself yelling at people who aren't to blame, then I want to return to center and try again.

And even if I find myself yelling at people who ARE to blame... well, I don't want to do that either.
Not because they don't 'deserve' that;
 but because it's just returning like for like. 
I don't want to be like they are being.
_______________________

II. Flying

Last month I had an email conversation with a longtime friend from the old Blogger days, Deanna. A dozen years ago, we'd spent one afternoon together when I was in Oregon, but otherwise we've stayed in touch on email, especially once she stopped blogging regularly.

Deanna had converted to Eastern Orthodox Christianity years ago, and I loved talking to her about theology. We held an ongoing conversation that we would drop for months, or even years, and then pick up again. 

We didn't see eye to eye on many things, but she was never defensive. (Unlike prickly me.)  We could keep talking because of that open-heartedness of hers.

Just last month, I wrote to her that I thought I'd finally understood something she had been trying to say:
IF you believe that God IS Love, and only and always Love... then you read all the stories about God through that lens. 
And you will see those stories differently.
Was that it?

Deanna wrote back and said, Yes, that's it. That's how I see God.

This morning, Deanna's daughter posted on her Caring Bridge that Deanna died early this morning, about a year after being diagnosed with ovarian cancer.

I am very sad. She had a good life, loving family and friends and deep faith. It seems she had what Catholics call a Good Death.
But I feel more personal loss in her passing than I'd expected, knowing this was coming.

bink replied to me just now, when I texted her that I'm surprised how sad I am,
"Don't downplay the love and loss 
because of the distance between you".

She's right.
There's something precious and true in the connection between people who become friends through blogging. We meet in our words, and maybe... I don't know? Is it the case that some of the crud of our personalities is burned off in the process of writing? 
And some core shines forth?
Maybe not with everyone, but I certainly felt I showed Deanna my best self, and I expect her best self also also shone forth in her words.

I wrote to her daughter,

Tears are running down my face, reading of the passing of my dear old friend... your beloved mother.

I was thinking yesterday of a passage of writing she'd shared with me from her memoir, about a time when she was a little girl playing outside in the firefly-lit dusk, and her mother came to the door, backlit by the kitchen light, to call her home.
And I pictured that happening for her again at this time.
___________________

Then I thought, Oh, I should paint a picture of fireflies to send the family. I'll do it later, and do it right.

And then I thought, No! Don't do it 'right'.
Do it NOW.
So I got out my colored pencils, and I drew firelies fly home.

God speed, Deanna.

 When I am next thrown far off center by the cruelty of the world, I'm going to think of you, and maybe that will give me a little push to center myself again in love.
It would take only the mere brush of your firefly wings.

Letter to Darwi: "tiny parts of a mosaic whose shape, meaning, or size I cannot even guess"

I am going to make God's eyes in public this week:
it is warming up to above freezing! 
Hand can be free of mittens---at least for a little while---and Ms Chocolate sent me 'instant heat" hand warmer packs, that you put in your mittens or boots!

Friends from other places have checked in on me, and that is THE BEST. In hard times, just being asked, "How are you doing?" is a huge gift.
I try to remember that, to extend it myself.

And I have reason to. 
Two people I know, mostly online, are living with cancer. One case appears very hopeful for long-term management. 
The other, I just found out, is a friend who last week moved to hospice care.

Anyway... former blogger "Darwi" (the name is from Dune) emailed me yesterday, asking how I'm doing. 
Darwi lived through the Bosnian war as a teenager and is now a trauma therapist in the US.

This is the letter I wrote in response.

If you've been reading my blog, you'll know a lot of this, but I am posting it as a reflection my of recent thoughts.

LETTER TO DARWI:

My dear longtime friend 😍!

You are soooo kind to check in on me, here in Minneapolis--thank you so much! 
It really helps to have people outside of here drop in and say hello!

I am doing okay, but it is really WEIRD here, as you can imagine!
It felt entirely surreal at first--I tell people,
 It feels like being in a slow-motion civil war in a science-fiction movie.
"Is this really happening?"

After about 9 weeks since the first ICE raid, 
I can accept that it is, and have settled into some rhythm.

Going through the George Floyd murder here was practice, in some ways---certainly civilians here jumped right into organizing and resisting, based partly on that experience.

And for me--(as you and I talked about at that time)--
I gathered some psychological/theological tools that help me now.
Probably the biggest most useful tool was 
getting my own role in perspective:

I am not, cannot be, do not even want to be the Hero of the Resistance.
"I am not the savior."

(Neither is anyone else:
 'heroes' can be intensely ego-driven, and I avoid them.)

Along with that goes the wisdom to PACE myself... 
Or to try to.

For the first couple weeks, I was doing something almost every day--protests or photography or sign-making---and I was blogging about the situation every day-- sharing links, writing my observations-- and sending my write-ups to a few other people (old family friend, for instance) who don't see my blog and had asked for updates.

And then I hit a wall.
I reached "peak peevishness" and was snapping at people--friends and coworkers, and I knew I needed to STOP.

I think writing about it every day was actually driving the worry and horror deeper into me... 
Don't they say that sometimes talking about a traumatic event right away can make it worse?
I'm sure it depends, but I'd started to feel that way...
Dreading sitting down to write up my report...

So I said I was taking a break on my blog--this was only last Thursday, 
and since then I have focused only on ONE thing--making yarn God's eyes.
And listening to audio books that are interesting and/or hopeful.

Last week I listened to Becky Chambers' The Galaxy and the Ground Within (2021).

I bet you know Chambers's sci-fi? 
She is "hope core/ hope-punk"--she imagines GOOD things happening--
like sentient species getting along!

I think her book was more like imaginative sociology than strong narrative fiction (unlike the excellent story of Murderbot)---but I like that a lot. 
Sort of like Star Trek imagining, "How many ways could a biological species eat or reproduce?")

Below: three of my God's eyes:
 the eye on the left is the colors of the Greek/Turkish "evil eye' protective amulet.

I had started this project last summer--making these protective amulet/icons to hang on the fence around the mini-park next to the thrift store.
The city had closed off this tiny park (a corner of the block, like a large lawn) during Covid
because people had been living there and doing "business" (sex and drugs).

That always made me mad because the city didn't give the people anywhere to go, so the "business" just moved down the block into a parking lot.

Anyway, for a long time that fence has been a symbol to me of the ugliness of stupidity and futility. The neighborhood is dirt and run down, and now worse.

So I started to hang little things on the chain links, and then came up with this project of making God's eyes out of donated yarn (free or cheap and sticks I pick up outside).

You know them? They--"ojos de dio"-- come from the indigenous Huichol people of Mexico. The Huichol held onto their traditional religion, so though they are made on crossed sticks, and are meant to be spiritual protection (eyes between worlds?), 
they were not originally Christian at all.
The eyes entered Anglo US culture in the 1970s, when folk art got big. Kids of my generation made them at summer camp and stuff.

So in September I did a big push to make 125, some with friends, and hung them all around the fence.
The idea was people could take them, and over the past 5 months people have taken them slowly and steadily-- and I am able to make enough to keep refilling the fence. so it is always decorated with these bright objects.
 To me, they are a happy, jaunty defiance of despair.

I don't know exactly what Andric meant here, from the end of your email (translated out of Bosnian, by Google translate)
but this actually feels like the God's eyes (and, we, us, ourselves) to me---
"tiny parts of a mosaic whose shape, meaning, or size I cannot even guess".

"We are not carried by the wind like leaves, and this bitter happiness of flying is not a meaning or purpose in itself. We are not atoms of dust that tirelessly rise over the roads in summer, but tiny parts of a mosaic whose shape, meaning, or size I cannot even guess, but in which, here I have found my place and stand reverently, as in a temple..." 
-Ivo Andric

And so that project was already in place when ICE occupied my city, and I decided it was a good and fitting thing to continue.
The eyes are hopeful.
They bring beauty into an ugly situation. 
They show care---they say "I see you".

Making them is calming and meditative... helos me stay centered...
And sometimes it's collective--I invite people to come craft with me at my apartment every Sunday. 
NOT a big "movement"--I don't want to coordinate it at that level--it's just a few pals. 
But that's enough.

I've wanted to make them outdoors but it's been waaaaay too cold---below zero!
This week it's finally warming up enough to take off mittens, 
so on Thursday (forecast to be a balmy 38ºF above zero!) 
I am going to make them in public.

Probably at the memorial site to Alex Pretti. He was murdered a couple blocks from where I lived for 17 years, so I know the spot intimately...
Now I live a couple miles away.
YOU KNOW, better than most how that is...

And Renee Good was murdered near my workplace and George Floyd Square, so once again, this is my home turf. And there's a memorial there, but smaller because it's in the middle of a residential block, while Alex died on a street of restaurants, across from a donut shop... Insane. Anyway there are places for people to hang out and warm up.

 I might also go make them at the Whipple Federal Building, where there is a constant protest. 
That scares me, because it's where they hold people so it's like a military installation.
But I will go and see how it feels...
Protestors warn you to take masks and eye goggles... In case there's teargas, etc.

So I think I'll start with the friendlier space of Alex's memorial, and see how that goes...

I love the God's eyes because while they may seem small and useless, they are actually a path into and through a weird landscape out of a fairy tale, or a sci-fi dystopia?
Whichever.
So they are a good thing for me.

Thank you again, my friend!
Please write and tell me how you are doing, if you have time/energy.

Simply reaching out and saying "how are you doing?" is HUGE.
Thank you.

Live long and prosper!
Love, Fresca

A small break

 Uff-da! I have hit a wall, emotionally – –have reached 

peak peevishness 🙄😆— 

perfectly predictable for people living under stressful conditions, even on the sidelines as I am 

(this stress is like water—it gets everywhere—we all feel it at different intensities, 

wherever we are, 

like we can register distress signals 

Maine, Ukraine, Sudan, etc)– –

and so I am taking a little break, changing the radio dial for ALSO (not only)

 strengthening light waves. 

I’ve been pressuring myself to keep reporting here most every day, for the historical record – – for myself as much as anything  – –and I love doing that— but I need to recharge for a little while, or I’m going to go haywire…

(Reporting peevishness levels is another kind of journalism – – the emotional landscape kind.)

 I turned off comments, to limit incoming energy jangling my nerves, but email is welcome. (Different wavelength, calmer)

Love ya’ll! Keep your little light shining. ❤️❤️❤️

Below: First God’s eyes made with bright acrylic yarn from Linda Sue, with accents of wool carpet yarn from k. Thank you, friends

We do not forget...

 ... No matter what good may eventually come,  

we will not forget those for whom it comes too late.

I had hung ICE-warning whistle kits ^ on the fence next to my workplace in the morning. After work, one had fallen next to a sparrow, frozen in the snow.

They blinked first.

That's how I see yesterday's change of ice leadership. 
I don't know how it's going to play out.
But they blinked first.
______________________

Last night BedBear celebrated by claiming ALL THE YARN that had arrived from Linda Sue (thank you!). 
BedBear graciously grants that it may be used for God's eye making.

BELOW: Sister had sent me this photo of candle luminaries people set in the snow on Lake Nokomis--can you see the little people? The words 'ICE OUT' are big enough to be seen by the many airplanes flying into or out of the nearby international MSP airport.

BELOW: A sticker seen on my way to work: 
ICE OUT OF ORDER

____________________

Did you see the clip of my Rep. Ilhan Omar getting sprayed with some liquid at her open Town Hall forum?
Here, at the Guardian:
theguardian.com/us-news/2026/jan/28/ilhan-omar-sprayed-unknown-substance-minneapolis

Her security team tackles the guy coming toward her, 
but I noticed is she walked toward him too, with her fist up!
Instead of closing down the event, she told her team,

"Please don't let them have the show."

Later she posted, 
“I don’t let bullies win. Grateful to my incredible constituents who rallied behind me.”

The refiner’s fire

 I can’t believe how emotional I am this evening, and have been today since hearing the news that the ice leader was stripped of his title (what a vivid word, stripped). 
And here's how I see that:
They blinked first.
Feeling feelings tonight makes me realize that for the past seven weeks, ever since the first ice raid in the neighborhood where I work, I’ve haven't been. I've been holding it together. 

I’ve not been feeling much at all because every day I go to work, I am thinking/preparing,

What am I gonna do if ice comes and tries to take away some of my coworkers? 

 

And so I’ve not been in a position to get all emotional – –it is an absolutely pointless waste of emotions to rage about Trump – – what I need my energy for is to hold it together, to stay in a suspended state of readiness – – so that I can have some kind of sane reaction if ice comes — so that I can try and be helpful and not make it worse for my vulnerable coworkers. And also how, myself, to not get pepper sprayed or arrested or shot.

But, weirdly, I couldn’t really see that that’s what I was doing until today.

Because today with some tiny respite, a slackening of tension – – who knows what will happen tomorrow, but today there is this tiny respite, this dim possibility of light on the horizon—not light itself, but the reminder of light—

all of a sudden I am absolutely enraged, and I’m crying even as I write this, with tears running down my face (I never really cry like that), and I see how hard this has been – – and how hard it will continue to be, to worry for other people in genuine harm’s way– –

 and I’m just so so SO much appreciating people who celebrate this moment, who see and say:

You guys (or “we”) are doing it right.

You are having an effect. 

Even if it’s just to a new bad, they shifted because of you.

And I am just staring to hope that if ice comes to my workplace – – (and I really am baffled as to why they haven’t already) – – that if they come under a new leader, they might actually listen to people when they say they are American citizens – – which all of my Hispanic African coworkers are – – and not drag them off anyway. 

I don’t know – – but I dare to hope for that now, and also that it’s gonna be less likely that anyone will get shot!

 and that hope made it a little bit —no, a lot, better to be at work today.

And I dropped the shield I didn’t even know I had up, and this well of emotion came up.

I don’t actually feel mad at Trump and the ice thugs – – they are playing out some crazy bad karma of their own which is so remote to me, I actually barely have any feelings about it. 

(Thoughts, yes. Many many thoughts) 

But feelings? 

It’s like how I really don’t have any feelings about lizards.

No, I’m angry at people who are apathetic, or who are complaining but doing nothing;

or who are saying—I’ve literally had people say this to me – – “there’s nothing we can do”, 

or,  “that won’t make any difference”.

I’m even angry – – and I know this isn’t fair, I know it’s an expression of loving concern – –but I’m angry at being told to “stay safe” – – because you know what? 

That might not be possible. 

And I’m not even the one in direct danger—it’s people like my coworkers and their families who don’t get to CHOOSE whether they take a risk.

I am angry at a coworker who told me, when I told him about filming an ice action (from a distance),

 “Be careful, it’s not worth dying for.”

And I said, “Really? What is worth dying for?”  

And a customer who was standing nearby overhearing this, came up said to me, “thank you for what you did.” Which was like a million bucks NOT because it was praise (gross) but because he got it.

Now, I really did almost nothing, and I am not in the least bit interested in being a martyr! Or a hero. I am way to old to fall for the glamour of that bullshit.

But I’m not interested in being a coward either – – and look at how easily people have been martyred here.

They didn’t have to do anything!

So I DO know people meant it kindly – – if you said “stay safe” to me, omg, I’m totally not mad at that! 

 I’m really just mad at the insanity of the situation.

———

This is the crucible that will shape our future, shape who we are. 

 We will not become gold if we aren’t already gold, but whatever metal we are, we will be refined. 

We will be burnished.

Or, we will become ash, god forbid, …but not without a blaze.

——

Today I got or saw two kinds of reactions to the news of ice leadership change and possibly a reduction of numbers of ice troops here. I’d say it was about half and half, who said which.

Some people said,

 So what? It’s just more of the same.

Well, maybe so. 

I see their point, from a political perspective.

 And other people celebrated—NOT because it solves the problems—it doesn’t—but because it shows that we have power, …and we should keep on exercising it!

What a difference those two approaches made to me today, being actually in the middle of it.

To have people hold out hope and encouragement and say, yes, this is making some difference  – of course of course of course it’s not over, it’s far from over – – but “you in Minnesota are doing something right, and keep doing it! 

And I see you, and I support that!”

Or even just to say, 

I don’t fucking know – – maybe it won’t get better – – but let’s be crazy and choose to believe it will! 

And if we’re wrong, well…

we’ll still have placed our bets on the most beautiful horse.

———

After work today, I went into my local deli where I’ve been having a happy hour beer and weaving God’s eyes a couple times a week, since ice came to town. The owner, Kay, has been very very involved in the neighborhood – – a leader—and we have gotten to know each other a little.

I went up to the counter and I ordered my beer, and I said, 

“Kay, is it gonna get better?”

Now, she’s politically sophisticated, and I also know enough to know that the realistic answer is, 

‘gotta wait and see – – 

gotta keep working – –

 blah blah blah’. 

She looked right at me, 

and she said,

“Yes”.

———

Which is what this video  below says. Maybe not today, and maybe not tomorrow, but it is going to get better. Because of what I see in so many absolutely average people around me – – and is the reason the regime can’t nail the resistance to any one leader or group, because it’s so decentralized—

  It’s everyday people saying, 

“wait a minute, this isn’t right.

I need to do something.”

Anything!

Like, “Gee, I guess the thing I need to do today is to stand in front of a moving tank. [In the video]

Guess I’d better do that.” 

Or, get a piece of cardboard and making a sign and go out in subzero weather. Or clean out the food cupboards and take food to a mutual aid drop-off at a church or coffee shop. Or drive someone to work so they don’t get stopped by ice. 

Or, or, or … a zillion little things that add up.

It’s going to get better, yes.

It’s going to get better because a whole lot of “anythings” done by entirely everyday people adds up.

————

 

Video Below: “The Trump regime is cooked”

I’ve said I don’t watch videos, but I do watch a very few people’s – including this woman’s (embedded below)--a permaculturist in Portland, OR. 

 I love her take on Minneapolis  because it matches what I’m seeing—absolutely average people stepping up and not “looking for the helpers” but BEING the helpers.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pTCeT6hp4nY

Photos: Life in an Icey Time. Now w/ GOOD NEWS!

QUICK UPDATE:  Oh, Wut? Good news ???

You'll have seen by now--a friend just texted me---the big bad Border boss is leaving!!! 
Gregory Bovino has been "stripped of his specially created title of 'commander at large'”.
AND... 
Trump “agreed to look into reducing the number of federal agents in Minnesota and working with the state in a more coordinated fashion on immigration enforcement regarding violent criminals”.

--theguardian.com/us-news/2026/jan/27/gregory-bovino-minneapolis-minnesota-alex-pretti-shooting

There is joy in the land!!!

I know this isn't over, but no one should ever say protesting and resistance don't work! 
There is a lot more work to do. A LOT, on every front. Let us draw a breath, and then ...

Never give up! Never surrender!

[--Galaxy Quest, ya know]
____________________________

Before I'd heard that news, I'd posted...

I'd emailed a friend this morning:

Hello my longtime Nefarious friend!

This morning I am not less hopeful, but I am feeling less perky than usual. A little more frazzled.
Not surprisingly.

I'd gone out for coffee with a friend yesterday morning and was commenting on how calm I've been feeling.

Then I saw a masked man coming into the coffee shop wearing a big camo coat and a black face mask, and my heart thudded into RED ALERT.

He looked like ICE, but he was just a customer on another below-zero morning. 

Ha. So. Not so calm. Constantly vigilant. 
It vibrates down to your marrow. I had bad dreams last night. 

Thank you for kindly passing along the Episcopal bishop's letter. *

 I love the letter's opening line, 
"Like Jesus, we live in frightening times."
I suppose all times are frightening, but there are times of heightened drama and awareness, and our time, now, certainly fits the bill.
I HOPE it may be an opportunity we take to wake up a bit.

Be well, my friend! Love you!

[end email]

__________________
I want to share this smattering of photos, for a little feel of life here in the past three weeks, since the surge of ICE came to town...
Very little:I haven't taken many--
mostly because it's been so cold, also sometimes because my hands have been holding a sign or a candle at gatherings. 

ABOVE: Whistle kits hang on the exit-way bulletin board at my workplace.
 bink's neighborhood group puts together hundreds of these kits, and she passes some on to me.
They always get taken right away.

The baggies include  a whistle on a neck cord,  
instructions (but don't worry about it, just blow the thing),
and a pin saying I STAND WITH IMMIGRANTS. 
The pins' inverted blue triangle, "once a classification mark Nazis forced onto migrants in concentration camps, has been adopted as a symbol of solidarity and resistance."
--via Witness at the Border witnessattheborder.org

_______________

Above: "I fight despair with resilience and light" --
poster by Abigail E. Penner abigailep.com 
in the window of an indie vintage shop. 

I stopped in the shop with my "stop killing people" sign to warm up, after signing on the corner. The young store-owner gave me a big hug. I commented how nice people are being, and she said,

"Yeah.. I've been telling people, I can't wait till we go back to hating each other, like normal."

We laughed.

_______________

Above: A Bearcat armored vehicle, (left, red lights on top) and other vehicles from ATF have blocked off the street in front of the thrift store. They are searching (fruitlessly) for weapons stolen from an ICE vehicle the night before.
Right:  87-year old store volunteer, Mildred, walks toward a city cop, who is advising her on how to drive out of the parking lot. It is slippery out, and he walks her to her car.

_______________

Above:  A pal at work shows me the sign he made at our workplace before he heads out to the first big protest here, the Saturday after ICE murdered Renee Nicole Good on January 7, 2026. 
(That's only three weeks ago, tomorrow.)
The volunteer says the Vampire is Stephen Miller,  
and the Evil Witch is Kristi Noem.
_______________

 

Above: A pink hearts package at my door greets me when I return home. Inside is my old stuffed bear, Bed Bear, returned from Duluth where he's been living with Marz, to keep me company.
____________________

 

Above: A sunrise from friend's morning walk.
She sent it to me as a color reference for the God's eyes I've been making at the request of a different friend--
a reminder that the world keeps going... 

And so do we.

____________________________

* From the bishop's letter my friend sent:

"Jesus knew what happens when earthly powers persuade human beings to fear one another, regard one another as strangers, and believe that there is not enough to go around. 
In Jesus’ time, the power of these divisions motivated John’s beheading and Jesus’ own death on the cross at the hands of Roman authorities. 

"In our time, the deadly power of those divisions is on display on the streets of Minneapolis, in other places across the United States, and in other countries around the world. 

As has too often been the case throughout history, the most vulnerable among us are bearing the burden, shouldering the greatest share of risk and loss, and enduring the violation of their very humanity.

"But we do not grieve without hope."

--From Presiding Bishop Sean Rowe: "Death and despair do not have the last word",  January 25, 2026, 
episcopalchurch.org/publicaffairs/from-presiding-bishop-sean-rowe-death-and-despair-do-not-have-the-last-word

The one who cares the most, wins/ Nefarious Knitters

Update:

I just walked into my local coffee shop, above, and they are engaging in Nefarious Feed Your Neighbor activities!! They have dedicated an area where people can drop off food donations on Fridays and Saturdays – – and then they distribute them to people in hiding from ICE.

———-

What do I know about military strategy and psychology?
Nothing much.

But I've seen stuff. We've seen stuff, right?
Growing up during the Vietnam War, I saw that...
The side that cares the most, wins. (Eventually.)

And in the Cold War, as military historian Sarah Paine * says, 
The side who gets tired first, loses. 

The Twin Cities has HOME-GROUND ADVANTAGE.
We care the most.
And we are not going to get tired.

ICE? 
Do they even have a dog in this race?

This real-life, first-person shooter game must be fun ("fun") at times, but it must be getting tiring and, damn, it's cold!
And slippery. 

Any decent man must have some reservations in his heart, lying in bed at night. Or maybe he's too hopped up on dude-hormones to feel it now, but he will suffer later. (Not that that affects the outcome of the game in the moment, but it affects the long term.

Life, and history, is a long game.
To win in any meaningful way––(to protect, or build, or repair a good society)–– you gotta play the long game.

I know this is not popular opinion, but I expect a lot these guys are (or would be) basically decent guys. They're not psychopaths. (Some are! but not most.)
They're people in need of money and meaning, being manipulated by people who are NOT decent human beings.
Yeah, they're dangerous dudes, but they're also dupes.

However, those in charge are hardly brilliant strategists. 
They are making so many mistakes.
Don't let your goons murder young, pleasant-looking, innocent, do-gooders--and let,s be honest, especially not ones who are white! 

And...

"Never get involved in a land war in Asia!"
 [Princess Bride, ya know.]

That is, a large cold continent with people who will engage in guerrilla combat.
Minnesota, a state in the middle of a continent with scrappy inhabitants, seems close...

This poor strategy is to our advantage.

From an article from the Hoover Institute, Why Can’t America Win Its Wars?

From 2016--nothing to do with today, but related:

The American military today is in danger of revisiting the history of the German military in the twentieth century—tactically and operationally brilliant forces that nevertheless managed to lose two world wars 
due to the inability of their leaders to think strategically.

--Peter Mansoor, hoover.org/research/why-cant-america-win-its-wars

__________________

Nefarious!

Okay, folks, so--I don't read the news in-depth. I do look at it—here, a round/up of photos in today’s Guardian, who’s been doing a good job covering this:

theguardian.com/us-news/gallery/2026/jan/26/protests-against-ice-violence-in-minneapolis-in-pictures

Before I started working at the thrift store, I worked in libraries and publishing for thirty years. I'm a fact-checker, and I do diligent background reading. 

(My opinions are my own—I try to keep those separate.)

But I don't flood myself with incoming horror.

I didn't watch the planes flying into the World Trade Towers until  I saw it in the background of a movie two years later (The Barbarian Invasions, 2003). 
I've never watched the video of George Floyd's murder––or Renee Good's, or Alex Pretti's.

I know myself: 
too much would crash my operating system.
I don't know how people who ingest horrific news all the time do function. 
(Some don't, of course. 
They consume news like watching sports:
 they don't get out there and play the game. 
But some people I know have a high tolerance--they do both.

Anyway, my news is friend-filtered:
friends tell me all sorts of bits and pieces of writing. (Not usually video--it also floods the system.)

This morning, Krista (thank you!) texted a clip from today's "Letters from an American", by Heather Cox Richardson:

"Reports out of Minnesota say that in the face of the terror inflicted on it by federal agents, the people there are even more closely linked together in community solidarity. 

They are patrolling the streets, donating food, delivering groceries, helping with legal services, 
organizing to look out for each other in a demonstration of community solidarity so foreign to administration figures that Attorney General Pam Bondi yesterday suggested that there was 
something nefarious about how well organized they are as they protect their neighbors."
--heathercoxrichardson.substack.com/p/january-25-2026

Nefarious!
I LOVE it! 
Something nefarious––wicked!–– about common human decency?

Who are these people?!!
___________________

I want to call my Sunday craft gathering, Nefarious Knitters.


So far none of the eight people who have come are knitters, primarily, but we can still claim it.

The etymology of "knit" is Old English cnyttan: 
"to tie with a knot, bind together, fasten by tying,"

Perfect. We are binding together--yarn, yes––but, more importantly, that stuff Pam Bondi doesn't seem to recognize:
Love for neighbor. 

Have a good day, ya'll:
Love and Light!
__________________

* I find Sarah Paine surprisingly compelling to watch--
even for two hours, as here "Why Russia Lost the Cold War"
youtube.com/watch?v=FdkpWrlR5zg&t=32s
--exhaustion was part of it.

Paine starts with the claim that Ronald Reagan won the Cold War--which Trump promotes in one of the plaques he wrote to attend presidential portraits. 
(Trump reminds me of comic cock-ups like Costello, of Abbott and... Except his slapstick really lands--those are real bone-breakers.)

But yeah, the US build-up of arms under Reagan (started with Jimmy Carter!) did drain the Soviet economy to exhaustion. 
And Reagan's speeches WERE great. 
"Mr, Gorbachev, pull down this wall."

Find Your Brave/ "Your smile got me through"

 "Why are we singing this insipid children's song?" I thought in annoyance at the multi-faith service on ICE-Out strike day, two days ago.
I joined in, anyway... If Senator Amy Klobuchar can sing this earnestly, I can too.

And then at last night's candlelight vigil for Alex Pretti (and all), I called out to the crowd,
 "Let's sing This Little Light of Mine!"
The very same song. 
And we did.

I NEVER thought I would find myself leading a sing-song at a vigil. What happened was... 

(My god, this is all happening so fast.)
Yesterday after I blogged, I got the message that ICE had murdered a second Twin Citian: Alex Pretti.
(You'll have heard, so I won't repeat the details.)

Stunned, I went back to bed and slept for three hours.
Sleep is my go-to drug.

I woke up, dressed up warm, and went out to find sticks for making God's eyes. 
On my way home, I stopped and said hello to a woman standing with a handwritten cardboard sign–– ICE IS FUCKING DANGEROUS-- at the busy street corner where people always Sign for Democracy on Mondays.
People were taking shifts all yesterday (Saturday) too.

I imagine they were coordinating on Signal.
 I don't want to be on Signal, 
but it turns out that being on Foot works just as well.

I scootled myself home, made a sign in 4 minutes (“stop killing people”), and went back out. The woman was gone, so I stood by myself as long as I could stand the cold---only about 20 minutes--but it was heartening.
Almost every vehicle driving past honked, and many waved, or both---including the CITY BUS DRIVER!!!
Love, love, love.

And simply taking physical action helped me enormously.

Here, I want to say, we in the Twin Cities and other places where Ice is active, have a psychological advantage in this crazy time:
There are things we can DO.

Talking to friends in other places, 
I see they suffer from watching and worrying from afar.

Of course they can and do do other things!
Write to their reps, donate to Mutual Aid, pray, make art, light candles---send messages of love and support, and of course some places hold protests too.
IT all HELPS.
It matters!

Hitting the streets is a physical boost that we have at our toe-tips, and it is a win/win:
When you take one tiny step toward bravery,
 you are met with a wave of other people taking their tiny steps, and we all are carried along together.
And we rise. 

I think it's important that at this time we dig deep in ourselves and find our own bravery.

"Look", I want to say to people who feel hopeless--
"SOME ancestor of yours was a member of the Resistance."

They got on a boat, or they got thrown in a boat, or they met an alien boat---but do you think they did any of that passively?
Maybe some?
But SOMEONE was brave.
Many, many of our people were brave.

Where there was a bum deal or a real jackass, someone resisted---maybe only in a tiny invisible way—you can count on that.

My own Sicilian grandmother trapped in a marriage to a violent brute, my grandfather, used to put salt in the sugar bowl when he brought his cronies home for coffee---and she used to STARCH his undershorts! To make them rub uncomfortably.

What I want to suggest is, 
We can ask those ancestors to help us Find Our Brave.

It is yours, and it will arise from your own life, 
and it will look like you. 
And it will help us all, even if it feels like it's too small to matter.

It's not, and it will.

So, what I found myself doing at the candlelight vigil last night was...

I'd taken a hot bath to warm up after the street corner sign-ing; 
got dressed in fresh dry clothes (the ones I’d been wearing were damp with sweat because I'd been jumping up and down, to stay warm---while my toes froze!); 
got my battery-operated candle that Alice had given me for Christmas (I'd thought, Oh, I don't want that, and had intended to donate it---thankfully I hadn't!!!!);
 and headed out to MLK Park.

I expected to hear singing, but when I got there, the large crowd holding candles was circled around an open space on a hill, where a sort of altar to commemorate Alex Pretti was set up. 
People were chatting quietly among themselves.

I walked around looked for The People in Charge to suggest that they should get people singing, but there didn't seem to be anyone in charge. This all happened so fast, within hours...
Even with Signal, no one was Running the Show.

So, WITH HUGE RELUCTANCE, I walked into the empty circle on the snowy slope. 
I pulled up the lyrics to "We Shall Overcome" on my iphone (your phone works great, you fuckers!).
And then I stood there, frozen with fear.
I am NO singer!
I try to avoid leadership, generally.

But I thought, 'If you don't do this, you will forever regret it', 
so I called up my Big Girl Voice, and I called out to the crowd,

"Hey, everybody! Do you want to sing? 
Do you want to sing We Shall Overcome?"

And this lovely young woman--maybe twenty? smiled at me and said, "I do."

I tell ya. I have been feeling Large Forces at work in these days. 
I think there's angels and archangels and Bodhisattvas--call them what you will:
 just plain old humans being our best selves.
But you know how I've been saying Mary (Jesus' mom) has come as a friend to me this past year?
Well, looking back, this girl felt like Mary.

WHATEVER you name this energy, it was good, and she strengthened me.

 I launched into this song, and a few people sang along, and at the second verse I called out,

"I know we're Minnesotans, but we can do better than that!"

People laughed, and more joined it.

Next I said, "This Little Light of Mine"--
and thank you, whoever chose that ridiculous song for the multi-faith service, because a couple hundred people holding lights in the darkness sang it out.

All along, this girl, my Mary, sang and smiled a little gentle smile at me.

After a few songs, we dispersed, and she came up and thanked me, and hugged me, and I said,

"Your smile got me through."

 So I'm telling you: 
You don't have to be an action hero! 
You don't have to take a bullet. 
Maybe you will be given the grace and the opportunity to smile at someone. 
And-- believe it, my friends--if that comes to you, that's going to be 

PRETTI
GOOD.

 

 

Stand Up! (stand by me)

We have not yet begun to fight! 

I want to say, I feel dismayed and even angry when people say things like, our country is doomed, or democracy is dead.

No!

 The mood here in Minneapolis is united and strong – angry— and frightened, yes—but mostly, I see,  fiercely resistant!

A friend was saying “We can do it.  and —(I can’t believe I said this! 😄)— I replied, “Yes! Remember the spirit of Valley Forge!”

Valley Forge??? 🙄 Lol 

I but yes, I am calling up my 5th grade American 🇺🇸  history , and I claim that spirit. And I thought of Valley Forge because it was damn  cold there – – and it is here too!

I went out signing for about 20 minutes at a near busy intersection  before I got too cold with my handmade sign – – I decided it was not a time for clever signage, so I made this as blunt as possible.

MOST passing traffic honked and waved—including the city bus driver!!!

– and I’m about to go out again to the 7 PM rallies held all across the city and state at everybody’s local park.

Don’t be a doom sayer. Show some spirit!  Light a spark for us—and yourselves! Fire 🔥 it up!

Honestly, I could use you at my back, friends.