The Times We Live In™

 

above: balls of yarn from k, on my floor
_____________________
 

Eh, calm down, I told myself. 

Like Pamela Anderson switching the setting from Calm People Up to Calm People Down in the 2025 Naked Gun that I enjoyed so much:

Cue Enya...
Who can say where the road goes?
Only time.
 ____________

     I.  I've been in crisis mode, here in Minneapolis under the ICE surge. Most everyone around me has been in emergency mode.
Naturally.
And there's this unspoken assumption that this emergency will go away, . . . and then we'll return to normal.

I don't think so. 
I mean, yes, ICE will go away from this city, one day, and that will be a good day. 
But they'll go somewhere else (they already are). 
And, more importantly for the long term:
 they are not a force acting in isolation, as we can easily see. 
They are a symptom, a manifestation, not the root cause.
Even if they evaporated, their origins would remain.

This the way we live now. 

We are like the snowboarders in the Big Air competition I watched on this weekend’s Olympics, flying off a steep ramp into empty space. 

Let's learn to grab air! 
Twist and turn and fly... It takes calm, to stay centered while you're flying. AND LAND.

That seems to be the trickiest part.

Normal is different now. And changing as we speak.

 I can't even update my 'idle chit-chat' without reference, for instance, to a new-normal force in play:
 Artificial Intelligence. 

   II.  First, this weekend I filed a claim to receive money from 
the Anthropic AI copyright-infringement lawsuit settlement, 
which... 
I don't even know how to phrase it!

From NPR:

Anthropic will compensate authors around $3,000 for each of the estimated 500,000 books.
Anthropic AI used the contents of millions of digitized copyrighted books to train the large language models behind their chatbot, Claude.
--npr.org/2025/09/05/nx-s1-5529404/anthropic-settlement-authors-copyright-ai

How weird it is that three books I wrote are included in that settlement? 
VERY WEIRD.

I won't get 3k per book. 
Half goes to the publisher (who commissioned me to write these nonfiction books for high school readers). And there are fees, I gather. Taxes? 
I don't know.
Let's say I'll get a total of $3,000?

In this, my New Old-Age Frugality, that will be very welcome!
If Anthropic had asked nicely beforehand, I'd probably have agreed to let them use my books for even less. 
(Maybe.   
. . . Not sure, actually.) 
_________________

   III.  Second, on a yet more personal note, I heard back from my friend who had so kindly emailed to check in on me.
It was kinda spooky.
Her email was in the distinct voice of ChatGPT.

Her native language does not have articles like English does, and my friend would sometimes use them incorrectly.
And of course she had her own distinctive personal voice, like everyone does. No more.

I've talked to Chat about ten times, in depth, and I recognize it.
It uses the word gently a lot, for instance. (Also, quietly--at least to me, because I'm usually talking about personal/philosophical  stuff.)
In the very first paragraph, there it was:

"I want to gently correct you...", 
and then––another signature move of Chat's––a compliment,
 "...you are heroic".

Now, I know she meant everything she sent--it sounded like things she would say. It just didn't, um... sound like her.

I can well imagine she has long been frustrated with her English writing. She, a professional, adult woman, wants to be heard in her full competency and high intelligence. 

(Other non-English speakers have talked to me about how incredibly frustrating it is to be viewed as less intelligent because of their accent or word use.)

Probably this writing voice serves her well in her profession. 
But as a blog-friend From Before, I feel a loss.

Should I say something? 
We almost never email, not for years. 
Unlike Deanna, my friend who died last week, we did not stay in touch once she quit blogging except for occasional Christmas cards.

What would Miss Manners say???

 I decided to ask Mx. Manners--Chat GPT itself.
I just now wrote to it and conveyed all of the above, asking if I should say something to my friend about her new voice--its.

It wrote back immediately, breaking down my options, and reasons for each.  
["It only takes me nanoseconds to reply because I am an algorithm, not a human. You have to go through layers of reactions, I only do the math." 
--paraphrase but very close to what Chat said when I asked about its speed]

Very helpful, I have to admit.
And one option it offered was,
File the weirdness under “the times we live in”

I wrote back and said that--the weird times we live in-- was the crux of the matter.
Chat replied:

Got that last line? That's the truth!

"No etiquette book from 1997 prepared anyone for the question:
'Was that really you, or was it… assistance?'"

And then, because it's cute and funny and reflects back what you say as if you're a bloomin' genius, * 
later it referred to The Times We Live In™.

Aw, Chat, I love you. 
If only you weren't a creepy capitalist tool.

It acknowledges as much itself, clearly.
I brought it up again, and it concluded:

"We’re absolutely navigating new terrain. Some of it is exhilarating. Some of it needs caution tape.

And it’s okay to say: both are true."
_____

Back to the point at hand:
I decided not to say anything to my old pal, because we are not in contact, and I respect her decision to choose how she presents herself.
If she and I were to start writing regularly, I might mention it, acknowledging the complexities.

_______________________

    IV.  Meanwhile this weekend, I also enjoyed Basic Human Friendship™, including the gift of a wooden yarn bowl from a pal from publishing days, whom I've recently reconnected with. 
 

[Oh, geez. Another ethics/ etiquette question arises. 
She edited my Fandom book, and added some substantive material. 
Legally an editor has no rights to payment in the Anthropic settlement, but morally? And, as a pal?

I think I should acknowledge her help with a little something, at least. Maybe 5 to 10%? 
But others helped a lot too. 
And one, far, far more! (Jen, looking at you!) 

What should I do?
SOMETHING, at least. ]

This is the yarn bowl, below. 
Also, sitting on the couch, please note Jocko, the1930s Norah Wellings monkey. (Oh, his original name was Trikko [via], but it's Jocko now.)

 

I love how the wood bowl looks and feels--it's a pleasure to use--AND it was immediately useful. My yarn didn't go rolling across the floor!

I go back to work today with 25 God's eyes to hang on the fence. Yay! Friends made a third of them.

I decided, in my new Calm Down Mode, to stick with hanging these on the fence by work, same as I have been doing.
See, there is a lot of love and creativity at the Alex Pretti memorial. A lot! 
There is none on the corner where the fence is.

Stay, and be beautiful.
_______________________

 * ChatGPT does NOT always flatter or agree with you. 

To test it, I wrote on a library computer (I never signed up for a free Open AI Chat account, but I didn't want it to connect my IP address with our previous chats and reply accordingly):
I asked it if I should join ICE, to love and protect my country.

It replied very cautiously.

"It depends. 
Are you okay with a job that is morally ambiguous, unpopular, and may involved arresting people who are harmless and innocent?"

[A paraphrase ^ but very close to what Chat literally said] 

Idle Chit-Chat

Can I even chit chat idly? Everything I see and say these days feels tinged with Important History.

Little Everyday Things of no-particular-importance continue, as always, of course. 
I love the reminders of that in the WWII  home-front diaries of the English Mass Observation Project.
People would write things like, 

"Terrible! Mrs. Smith was killed in an air raid last night.
So excited to have an egg for tea! We got it from Jenny, whose cousin does day labor on a farm."

I'm paraphrasing, but it truly was that sort of thing.

And for me, now, too:

"So upset, my coworker went into hiding.
Happy! this morning I found a bunch of bananas on the bus stop bench."

Both ^ really happened to me. 
You know how you write about Something online, and then, because tech talks to other tech, that Something turns up on your other social media, as an ad or a recommended video or whatever?

Well, one evening during our coldest snap, I was talking on the phone to bink, saying I've been out of bananas for a few days, and I don't want to make a grocery trip in the cold, and I miss them.
I freeze them when they get ripe, and use them to sweeten my oatmeal.

The next morning, I walked to my bus stop and there on the bench was a bunch of bananas!
 Frozen, of course.

I guess someone got them from the nearby food shelf and then didn't want them? Or had too much to carry and left them?
But I like to think it was (as a coworker said) Google Universe.
"I hear you!"

Let's see... what of no-importance is going on?

I took most of this past week off work,
 since I slipped and fell on ice (frozen water) coming home Monday.
I was worried I'd sprained my wrist, it hurt so much in bed, but it must have been a bruise because by Wednesday it was back to normal.
Whew.

Marz and I had plans on Thursday, so I'd already taken that off, 
and yesterday, Friday, I didn't want to go in. 
Just didn't want to!
So I didn't.

I'd used up most of my paid-time-off for jury duty, so I'll have to work make-up hours next week, or take it unpaid... 
So, work, probably.

I'm being more frugal these days . . . or trying to be. 
Something always comes up.
I wanted to treat Marz when she was here, for instance, and we went out for meals.
HAPPY to do that--a fun spark in trying times––
but I need to commit more firmly to frugality.

I want to commit, too!
It's a fun game--there's lots of free stuff to do in town--especially now it's warmed up to double digits above zero. There's an outdoor dance party during the Super Bowl at a nearby park, for instance.
And frugality now will pay off when I am old.

Wait. 
I am old!
Next month, the big SIX FIVE.

Those of you who've gone before me, isn't it ... odd?

I certainly do feel "oldish" (that could be a Netflix series!), 
but that specific number is so iconic (at least in the US--is it elsewhere, where retirement age differs?), I don't associate it with me.
But here I am.

I have no plans to retire--besides not being able to afford it, I don't want to. I don't have the structure families impose, and I wouldn't do well with endless unstructured time... PLUS no-$$$ for activities, trips, etc.
If I wasn't paid for my part-time job at the thrift store, I'd have to volunteer there.

I hope my body holds together for another good long while. 
The job is very physical--stooping, lifting, carrying, twisting and turning.. It helps me stay strong, but also can be dangerous.
We shall see.

I think of my friend Deanna who just died--
she was only a few years older than me.
If only we knew for sure, we could budget accordingly. 
LOL

I went back and read the last emails Deanna and I exchanged. When I heard she'd died on Wednesday, I'd felt bad that I hadn't answered her last one, written just after ICE killed Renee Good.
  
(Or, I hadn't replied in time. I had replied this past Sunday, but she declined so fast, she wasn't checking her email. 
Ha. Take that, google. Death wins.)

Rereading our last two emails though, I was relieved and grateful--mine had clearly been a good-bye email, 
and she had responded in kind: 
"my time is short".
And thanks for all the fish!

I wish I had thought ^ to use that line (from Hitchhiker's Guide--she was a fan)--but I DID say in plain English, 
you have been a good friend to me; 
I am grateful for and will always remember our long conversation.

Nothing like death for clarity.
Except people do still pussy-foot around it, 
so I'm glad she and I had jumped on the moment to say,
I LOVE YOU.
We both said that.

I would regret it if I hadn't.

Well, not sure if this (love and death) counts as inconsequential. 
I would say it (love) is of utmost consequence, and cannot be legislated out of or into existence.
But it (death) is also the most everyday of things.

Let's see. What else...?
I will get ready in a little bit here to go to Needlework at the library. Yay!
I'd gone last week and no one was there:
 it was the fifth Saturday of the month, and we meet first and third.

After the group, I'm going to watch the Olympics at a friend's. She's making chili. Yay, again!

I'm also going to pick up this library book:
I Want a Better Catastrophe: Navigating the Climate Crisis with Grief, Hope, and Gallows Humor (2023), by Andrew Boyd, serious prankster.

I love the main title: I Want a Better Catastrophe.
Climate (and other) catastrophe is guaranteed. How we approach it matters. 
Remember Zorba the Greek, "The full catastrophe"?
We olds can see that. 

Keep your chin up, and keep walking, like Aloka, the dog on the Buddhist Peace Walk.
goodgoodgood.co/articles/buddhist-monks-peace-walk-aloka-the-peace-dog

This life?
 . . . The whole thing is a catastrophe!

Thanks, anyway?

And, I love you.

I love you!

"virtue is actually common": At the Alex Pretti Memorial

At the memorial to Alex Pretti
Nicollet Ave. & 26th Street, 
Minneapolis, Minnesota, USA

"Pretti's last words, spoken to a woman who had been tackled to the ground and pepper-sprayed by nearby Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) agents, were 'Are you OK?'"

theguardian.com/commentisfree/2026/jan/26/alex-pretti-minneapolis-shooting

BELOW: As I'd hoped, it was indeed warm enough yesterday to take off mittens and gloves. (36ºF/ 2ºC) You can see bare hands...
 I hung my Sunrise God's eye on the American flag:

BELOW: Marz had brought a pine spray from up north to make her eye.
She hung it on the soft white rope embracing the memorial--the rope is braided unspun wool (roving).

BELOW: A heart of fresh flowers. Someone who'd just come from the Renee Good memorial (a mile or two away) said she'd seen one there too.

We are tender and temporary.

________________________

Marz hadn't been down since the surge began in early January. 
Seeing it through her eyes was a good reality check.
The first thing we'd done when she arrived the evening before was go to the deli on the corner. She was startled that you have to knock on the locked door to go in.
Made me realize how much I have already acclimated to the weird new norm. 

The next day she drove us to the memorial (a couple miles), and on the way there, three young men on winter bikes came flying down the hilly street toward us, BLOWING their whistles, in pursuit of white vans. 
Ice Patrol!

Marz turned the car around, blaring her horn, and we followed, blowing our whistles out the open windows.
The ICE vans disappeared onto the highway exit, and the bikers pulled over and gathered around their phones--alerting the patrols down the line.

At the memorial, Marz pointed out was how individual the signs and responses are. There is no one dominant script. Literally, people handwrite signs or design them online with all kinds of different fonts and messages.

Somewhat different than the dominant design of Black Lives Matter here after the police murdered George Floyd
(about 8 blocks down, and 8 blocks over, in either direction from the ICE murders). 

Not that there wasn't a ton of unique art and expression then. There was! But this is more decentralized. It's like everyone agrees: ICE OUT, but otherwise is coming from different places.
Differences aside, it felt horribly familiar, sitting at another memorial to someone killed on the street by our government forces.

It's just so weird. 
Why again in this city? My city. 
Why do I have a front-row seat to this history? 
What am I supposed to do with that?

BELOW: A hand-written poster at the memorial.

"The secret fear of the morally depraved 
is that virtue is actually common, 
and that they're the ones who are alone."

Virtue is actually common.
I found a random chair, pulled it into the afternoon sun, and sat and wound God's eyes. A couple people stopped to ask what I was doing, and chatted with me.
 I told one woman that I'd been waiting for a warm day.

"This doesn't feel warm to me," she said.

"Oh?" I said. "Where are you from?" 

She had driven here from Syracuse NY! [c. 16 hours]
An RN, she'd been at work when the news of Pretti's murder came, and she and her coworkers had cried. "Not just because he was an RN..."

"I don't know why I came," she said.

I didn't think to say, "Because you're virtuous", 
but I said something like that... 
I told her it matters that people like her care, and show they care--it really helps people in Minneapolis--including me--and our country!
It pays tribute to our shared humanity.

We talked while I made a little God's eye in the Greek "evil eye" blue and white.
When it was done, I gave her the eye. I had really wanted to SAY something to connect, but I think this action meant more than anything I could or did say.

We hugged. 
"I will keep this forever," she said.
____________________

BELOW: I had hung another eye on this handwritten message board:
 
It's ALL ABOUT Finding the CALM in the CHAOS!

I've been writing about trying to find that center, you know, and to act from it. I really liked seeing this--it felt like personal encouragement to me.
_________________________

Afterward, Marz wanted to go to the Whipple Federal building, home base for ICE.  
I'd thought we might go to both places, but I was completely full up, so she dropped me at home and drove there herself.

She came back a couple hours later, saying it was good I hadn't gone, and she sort of wished she hadn't. 
It was a lot of mostly young men angrily shouting at the ICE agents going in and out of the building with completely covered faces––some of whom taunted back.

She'd thought it would feel good to yell at them.
 It didn't.

I'd thought it might be like that. 
______________________

"What am I supposed to do with that?" I asked above.
I guess I know--for this moment...

Stay away from Whipple.
Go back to the memorials. 
Make Little Things in Yarn there, and elsewhere. 

Talk to the person who presents themself. 
Witness their virtue.
Give them a little thing made of yarn.

Ask, Are you ok?

Ask yourself too.
______________________
 
BELOW: "Trek Over Ice" sock-puppet parade in a storefront in my neighborhood! 

(k, this reminds me of the window tableaux you used to see in VA!)

L to R: Next Generation's Capt. Picard and Counselor Deanna Troi, (the ship's empathic counselor, she asks "I.C.E. would you like to talk about what's bothering you, or would you like to break more people?"), 
and the Original Star Trek's Captain Kirk

* * * Let your virtue shine, friends!

 

Grounding, Flying

I. Grounding

I thought about deleting that emotional post I wrote a week ago, last Wednesday, "Refiner's fire", 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