Fire-fighters' Drop; and Amazing Miniaturist Artists! Frances Glessner Lee & Tom Hickman

Safety First, Penny Cooper said. There was no way to get from one floor of Playground House to another, so they cut a fire-fighters' drop.
Chuck had to lie on her back to push the drill power button with her foot:

It works! The hole was made by drilling the outline of a circle through the plywood, so the edge is jagged, but it's no problem for hard-plastic bodies.

 
At work on Friday, Jester had handed me the little live-edge wood table (below, on first floor): "Something for your dollhouse."
Perfect for the 1970s vibe...

__________________

Dollhouses are on my radar now. 

II. From bink:
"The Grim Crime-Scene Dollhouses Made by the ‘Mother of Forensics’ Frances Glessner Lee (1878−1962): 
They’re perfectly to scale, and all based on real cases", 
atlasobscura.com/articles/frances-glessner-lee-crime-scence-forensics-investigation-dioramas



ABOVE: Kitchen, c. 1944: 
"This is one of Frances Glessner Lee's Nutshell Studies of Unexplained Death, a series of 1/12-scale dioramas based on real-life criminal investigation cases. 
They were used—and continue to be studied today—to train investigators in the art of evidence gathering, meticulous documentation, and keen observation."

Another crime-scene by Frances Glessner Lee, "Red Bedroom"

__________________

III. And, from GZ:
Tom Hickman’s Dolls House and Miniature Exhibition, 
with a Mystery Hotel:
 "An Lanntair (Arts Centre in Stornoway, in the Outer Hebrides, Scotland) invited 40 artists, makers, dreamers, school pupils and other curious minds to design a 1:12 scale hotel room", 
welovestornoway.com/index.php/articles/40787-stories-and-pictures-from-an-exhibition

BELOW: The Mystery Hotel in the gallery.
I LOVE THIS. I wonder how I could organize such an event--everyone making a room. A great community project... 

Tom Hickman does far more than dollhouses--he stitches with local wools and remnants of Harris Tweed--and more mixed media art.

BELOW: A couple favorites of mine from exhibits of Hickman's art hosted by Robert Young Antiques:
 robertyoungantiques.com/collections/tom-hickman:
Left: "Remnant-Tweed Covered Kitchen Chair" 
Right: "3D Lamb in Mahogany Box"

"Hickman lives alone in a croft on the Isle of Lewis in the Outer Hebrides, he has no mobile phone, ipad, television or wifi.  
He recently wrote: 
“Naïve, primitive, amateur, provincial, self-taught, non-accademic: stylistically there is no one term that satisfactorily describes my stitching of sheep on tweed remnants. 
Some would say they are not even art, being well outside the realms of taste established by the elite culture, however I prefer to regard them as a truly vernacular response to my Hebridean island surroundings”.

 >  More here, from Tom Hickman's blog, Hebridean Dreaming:
"Doll's Houses and the Art of the Miniaturist," Dec. 5 2025, 
hebridean-dreaming.blogspot.com/2025/12/dolls-houses-and-art-of-miniaturist.html

Happy Winter Solstice all!

Solstice-Eve Day

My every-other Saturday at the French cafe after the needlework group at the library. Tomorrow is winter solstice: we will have a centimeter more light, or something like that. Beautiful bright light this Saturday before Christmas, and I’m mending holes in my favorite cashmere sweater—it’s from the thrift store and I work in it all the time.

I almost didn’t go to needlework because I wanted to mess with the dollhouse. They are decorating for Christmas!

I’m glad I went, it’s such a pleasantly laidback social group. One woman had said she’d bring me some leftover crewel yarn, and she did; and another wanted to exchange addresses for a direct postcard exchange. Nice.

So, the dollhouse is up off the floor, on the printing table, and that’s good,  but everything on that table is displaced. Some order will be established in time for holiday tea tomorrow…

Yesterday at work a guy bought $350 of warm clothes, socks, etc. He keeps them in his car and hands them out. 

More light!

Christmas Is Coming to Playground House

 Plans are underway for Christmas-ifying the Playground House--with a downstairs room temporarily (not glued down) wallpapered with this (below) Norwegian winter scene on paper. 
I'd saved it for ages. It will have to be cut to fit, but now it will have useful life again. I think their little tree will fit in the room too. 

I only did a quick look-up but can't find info--a Google search showed many similar things but not this.
Made in Norway, 1970s (?), artist Chr. K.
There are other little forest creatures (trolls? elves?) tucked around in the picture.

I work today, but have all weekend off---my tea party guests won't mind eating scones among art makings.
(Nor will my Xmas Eve guests, who are half the same people, b & M).
Last night I skimmed a book about Ocatvia Butler (sci fi writer)--she was isolated, and to cheer herself on, she wrote out self-help dictates from people like Dale Carnegie. 
This is from J. Lowell Henderson (maybe from Learn and Like It, 1945):

"Every person has a capacity for a certain degree of genius, through developing the power of concentrated and sustained attention."

I thought, yes--and she had something she wanted to pay attention to--writing.
My attention is always more focused when I have an object of desire, like the Playground. Otherwise, I can drift...

Playground House: "You just can not fake that sort of wear and tear!"

Linda Sue inspired me to take seriously my idea of bringing the Crack Home dollhouse home for the Girlettes (who were all for it), by saying, 

"You just can not fake that sort of wear and tear!"

bink said, "If you have a budget of millions like Netflix making Stranger Things, you can". 
But right, in my life, I will only get the real deal if it is, in fact, the real deal. 
Which this is. 
Wood paneling from the 1970s, carpet samples, linoleum, peeling wallpaper, ripped Easter Seal stamps...
It's tattered, but it is solid.

Penny Cooper has renamed it PLAYGROUND HOUSE.



I hesitated mostly because it'd take up a fifth of my living room, taking into account proper space to maneuver around it––and to work on it. (I'll put it up on the work table.)

Also--transportation. 
No way was I getting that to the bus--it's a two-person carry. But I was talking to a coworker about it, and she said, "I can drive it home for you today! I have a van."
I didn't know that. She did, and it was easy. Nice.

I'm excited to work on it!
The interior dividing walls upstairs are blank--to be painted.

Possibly, painting furnishings for the upstairs bedrooms on the walls, inspired by Ludwig Bemelman, creator of Madeline? 
Rendering loosely a fireplace and curtains; a doorway around the doors (they're just the right size for the dolls); 
an empty frame for postcards.
Maybe some jungle animals? 
Parrots, or poodles?

BELOW: Bemelman's drawing of his Splendide Apartment.
 (More on Bemelman and hotels at Condé Nast Traveler.) 
The salmon pink would go well in the Playground.

I will sit with it for a while and see.
Or, just start.
Penny Cooper says SHE can draw the drawings! 
Well, okay then.
_____________

Christmas is one week away, and today I am taking the bus to the butcher where I always buy the beef (chuck roast) to make pot roast for Christmas Eve. 

Unless--if bink is up for driving, we could go together. 
A couple months ago, she had foot surgery to plane down bone spurs, and her foot is still healing, so she has to take it easy.

It'll be bink and Maura and neighbor Alice for Xmas Eve dinner. 
Marz was going to come, which I'd love, and maybe she will, but I encouraged her to stay and celebrate with her sweetie Q. 
"It's your first Christmas together!"

I'm sure she wants to stay, but she wasn't sure she was invited to family stuff--though Q's parents treat her like family already. 
 I get it--there's that awkward period when you're not sure what your role is--can you trust you are welcome?

Seeing her in a romance makes me (sort of) want to fall in love. Nostalgia for those lovely dopamines!
I don't know--it's been so long, I can't even imagine it... 
And mostly it seems like it'd be a massive inconvenience--far worse than a large doll house in your living room!

Yeah, so it doesn't sound like I'm into it, does it?

A few years ago, after I tried online dating (dull, so very dull), 
I'd declared that love would have to drop on me, like an acorn dropping from an oak tree in autumn.
It hasn't, and bink pointed out that since I never GO anywhere to meet people, it's unlikely it will. 

Lately I am interested in meeting people who MAKE THINGS, and I have started to do that. The needlework group meets again this Saturday. Doesn't seem like an oak forest, more like a prairie of compatible grasses and flowers.

And it's wonderful that Em is back at the store--she and I have already started to assemble a new Alley Protector! And she said I should take the Crack Home home too.

Anyway, I am happy for Marz, and I hope she stays up north for Christmas. (I bet she will.)

bink just called--she wants to go shopping, so yay! 
Better get my lists together.
I'm also hosting a tea on Sunday--making almond-flour scones with dried apricots.

I've started to loosen up a smidge about eating NO added sugar and have been eating sweets more at special occasions.
At the holiday potluck at work yesterday, for instance, I ate a half-slice of pie a volunteer made w/ cherries he'd picked in the summer--so good! 
He said the recipe called for a cup-and-a-half (!) of sugar, 
but he only used half-a-cup--so the cherries were tart, like they should be. so good)

 I'm a little afraid I will backslide, 
but so far it's been no problem. As long as it's not IN my house, I think I'll be okay.
And NO ICE CREAM!
Ice cream is more addictive than falling in love.

___________
Oh, one more thing--I was glad Ass't Man finally came back agin to put together an End Cap.
 (He'd come once, then missed two weeks, so I wasn't sure he would).

He talked again about mistakes he'd made at the store--being so inexperienced working with people--so it seems he's taking accountability, but in a sideways way.
Though I've missed him over the past two years, I am reminded of how immature he is emotionally, though it seems he's matured somewhat, working with Special Ed students.
 "You can't do anything but be patient," he said, "so I've had to learn that."

He only has about an hour between getting off work and picking his young daughter up, and he spent half of that chatting with old coworkers, which is fine with me. 
He works fast, and I helped him with put this end cap together. With Xmas I have not kept up with housewares, and it's nice to have a display that is NOT holidays. 

 

Japanese Thread Ornaments

I knew it!
I KNEW other people besides the Huichol of Mexico must make 
thread/yarn-wrapped art (like the God's eyes).

Two thread-wrapped, diamond-shaped ornaments got donated with Christmas stuff yesterday.
Wonderfully, one unfinished, so you can see the structure underneath: 

 

I looked them up, and they're of Japanese origin:
Hishikazari (or Dragon Boat, or Girls Day?) hanging decorations--
for good luck.

Must explore more---starting with Gina-B Silkworks--
she does a lot of traditional work (with thread ends?).
Look at these cool wrapped buttons from her blog heading! 
ginabsilkworks.co.uk/blog

And here's a video from Anne Waller 
(her blog: annewaller.wordpress.com
 for Gina-B:
"Hishikazari Dragon Boat Demo for Gina-B-Silkworks"
youtube.com/watch?v=BlhlUvOdXzQ

A commenter said:
"I must share that those are NOT "dragon boats", those are call Hishikazari and are parfum sachet ornaments (I do not know the right translation, but "kashari" means "ornament")".

Ok, and there are also traditionally crafted Japanese fabric thread balls, Temari.
I must look further, but not at the moment--going to holiday lunch at work--I made vegan kale w/ white beans.

Miracles & Wonder: Tuck and Roll

Four of my coworkers went out to the dumpster for a smoke break yesterday afternoon. I jumped on it and invited all of them to help me light the Hanukkah candles.

It was the wrong time of day, but Sander was mad at one of the coworkers and had told me he wouldn't sing the Hannukah prayer, so I extemporized. 
Which is to say, along with lighting the candles before sunset, I skipped prayer altogether. 
Em lit the wrong number of candles--should've been two--and then she lit her cigarette off the lead candle... 

These are the days of miracles and wonder, 
and these missteps don't matter. 
Light was lit.

We placed the menorah in a broken dollhouse out by the dumpster. With its carpeting samples and peeling wallpaper, "It looks like a crack house," Jester said.

"No, a crack home," said Em.
Home, sweet crack home.

Later Sander said, "There are six more nights of Hanukkah, we can do it another night."
Maybe. 
He and I only work together one more day this week, and on that day Marz might come to visit, in which case I am taking it off.

Again, doesn't matter. 
Even with rituals, there's always room for improv. 

Light in the Darkness

 It has warmed up--into the 20sºF--luckily, because tonight is the second annual
Hanukkah Doll Candle-Lighting by the Dumpster 
after work!

They have bundled up "warm"--this is just a concept to them:
they don't get cold. But Penny Cooper points out, 
"The humans feel cold if they see us without warm clothes in winter."
Anyway, they love to dress up!

Coworker Sander will sing the Hebrew prayer, and this year I have a real menorah--a tiny one! with candles.
Though the apple worked so beautifully to hold candles last year,  I'm going to bring one in case we prefer it.

The Girlettes are no religion--"that's for humans"--but they love all the rituals that involve LIGHTING THINGS ON FIRE.
Something like Doll Zoroastrians.
________________

Did you see Raul Malo died last week (December 8)?
He was the lead singer (beautiful voice) and songwriter of The Mavericks.
I always say I'm not much into music, but I discovered The Mavericks all by myself and I love them.
Malo was only sixty... 
Music is light in the darkness, and this is a sad loss.

BELOW: "Here Comes the Rain"
Maybe my favorite Mavericks song--here, in 1995 they perform it  for the first time–30 years ago. They have to start over because Raul Malo forgets his way part-way in!
 

His Fleecy Highness

Coffee at bink’s this cold Sunday morning. Her dog, Astro, was napping under a fleece blanket on the couch – – when he got up to go get some water, the blanket went with him, trailing like a royal cape…

It’s due to warm up, starting now—up to merely freezing! (32F/0C)

The Search for Spock’s Present

> > Now more prescient than ever!

(I made this at Christmastime 2016, during the last month of Obama’s presidency—Trump would be inaugurated for his first term the next month.)

The Search for Spock’s Present

Captain Kirk doesn't know what to get Spock for Christmas, so he's time-traveling to ask for suggestions.

1. Starsky has lots of ideas, including an ant farm, like he got Hutch.  
Kirk is, like… uh?

2. Kirk, having politely declined a Budweiser ("I'm on duty"), waits patiently to talk to George Jones. 
He always loved George & Tammy Wynette's duet Mr. and Mrs. Santa Claus, but he never heard about George's dreadful relationship history. (Some things get lost between now and the 23rd century.) 

The meeting will prove unproductive as Spock does not like firearms or Fireball.

3. President Obama goes through the list of Vulcan-appropriate gifts he compiled. 
Kirk becomes distracted when he remembers how this period in history is going to play out. 

[2021 Update (and again in 2025!): Geez. Was I ever prescient, or what?]

4.  Naw, he already has mine.

__________

Part II: "The Search for Spock's Present: The Aftermath"

noodletoon.blogspot.com/2016/12/the-search-for-spocks-present-aftermath

Michelin Me

Met J-shek for coffee at Four Seasons this morning before work. Above: the tree in their atrium

  Temperatures will be falling all day, by the time I leave work it will be near zero degrees F, so l wore my snow pants.

—I feel like the Michelin Man!

Mundane Matters: Beer & Baubles

After work yesterday, I went for a happy-hour beer at the nearby deli again, where I started addressing Christmas cards. 
This time, only a whiff of barbecue was in the air--the deli must've been actively smoking their slicing-meats last time when it smelled so strongly.

I must say, their deli sandwiches look great. 
No vegetarian options though. I might suggest egg salad. All their fresh products are from local farms, and their eggs are $11/dozen.

A neighborhood group was meeting at the deli. 
I was cheered to overhear bits of their conversation--mostly about their strategies for ICE---like, which platform for which messages? 
The Signal app for alerts? *

bink & Maura's neighborhood group is almost entirely taken up with strategizing for ICE too. (These neighborhoods see action, it's not just theoretical.)
They also use online communication of course--as well as bagging up 500 whistles to give away, with instructions to BLOW for ICE.

I could have walked over and joined the group. 
Did I? Would I?

Nope.
"Do Something" is my motto, but groups are not one of some things I do.
 I'm greatly heartened, though, to know that this is a normal Something that people are doing in many places.

ANYWAY... here's my work haul.
 (The plant is the deli's.)

I love old-fashioned handmade Xmas decorations, like these two blue spangly balls--constructed with hat pins stuck into styrofoam. 

The shiny little drums were Made in Japan--they must be 60 years old. They are for the Girlettes' Holiday Marching Band.
I'd better get on that:
 I'm a little shocked to realize that Christmas is only two weeks away now!

The yellow wheeled-reindeer mug jumped out at me as especially adorable. Turned it upside down: 
it is Marimekko. 
Good design pops out, if you have an eye for it.

Behind the mug is my ear-flap PENDLETON hat that Manageress had put in textile baling last week.
 (Baling = bin of unsaleable fabric items to be squashed into bales at the warehouse, to be sold on for recycling or industrial use, etc.)

"It's got hair on it," she said.
The faux-fur had shed a little, but the inside label looked so clean, I doubt it'd even been worn.

So, I got it for what we pay for items from baling: a dollar.

Later, Manageress told me she hadn't deducted nine dollars from my store credit after all, for the tent I'd given to the homeless guy.
! ! !
I thanked her. 
(In fact, I'd been surprised she'd charged me in the first place, because she's usually generous to people in need.)

It can be really hard to keep emotional (or ethical) balance at work, in the shifting seas of No Consistency.
Sometimes it's to my benefit (the Pendleton hat), 
sometimes it taxes my sanity.

But overall, I've gotta admit, though neither is good, I tolerate chaos better than micro-management. 
Still, it's a wild ride. 
_________________________

But this is supposed to be a post about MUNDANE Matters, 
so let me get back to those.

Yesterday was a Red Letter Day at work because new floor pads got donated. Whoo-hooo!

(Rather than buying them, management relies on the inconsistent donation of such supplies. Frustrating though this is, the truth is, most needed supplies do get donated. . .  eventually.)

It so happened that our tidiest volunteer was working with me in Housewares.
I pulled up the old floor pads in our work station and asked her if she'd like to sweep up.

"Yes!" 

Honestly, I was being generous to offer-- I'd have enjoyed sweeping up too. 
It'd been a few years since we'd put down the last pads, and the floor was enjoyably dirty--that is, lots of dirt but nothing rotting. 
Very satisfying to clean up.

BELOW right: She mopped too--"The water is black!"
We were both ridiculously happy--it was a real bonding moment.

_____________________

Oh! More happiness-- as I am writing this post, an email came in from the Neighborhood council with the City's  
"All are welcome here" poster,
with official links to information about legal rights and resources.

Nice! 
I've wanted to post something at work, but knew Big Boss would object to anything "political" (he wouldn't even post Black Lives Matter). But this is Official City Business--I won't even ask.

THIS is a Something I can Do:
I will print copies at the library today to post on the bulletin board at work tomorrow.

It literally illustrates my print! LET'S HOLD HANDS:

minneapolismn.gov/government/programs-initiatives/racial-equity/know-your-rights

___________________

One more Holiday decorations picture.

Left: handmade egg-carton ornament (you can glimpse the shiny blue ball inside)

Right: German mini-candleholders 



And ONE MORE THING...
A beat-up old (not "vintage" 😆) handmade doll house, out by the store's green trash dumpster.
Emily-Ann, the Cashier Who Returned, sent me its photo, saying it looks like a crack house and my dolls should come play in it.

Hanukkah starts this Sunday, Dec. 14--so on Monday, the Girlettes will be lighting candles with Sander by the dumpster after work, like last year, and Emmler can join in too. 
They can check out the house then too, if it's still there.

__________________________
P.S. I had a good chat with Sister at the Art Institute. 
I gently (really!) suggested she could try trusting her intuition, making her own color choices in quilting:

"You are far better at it than you think!" I said.

This (being better than you think) is probably true for many people who don't suffer from Dunning Kreuger effect. 
Those people are far worse at things than they think.

Unfortunately, those people (with DK) are running the government of my country.

[You probably already know, 
"The Dunning–Kruger effect is a cognitive bias that describes the systematic tendency of people with low ability in a specific area to give overly positive assessments of this ability." 
--Wikipedia]
_________________________

* I only knew of Signal from when secretary of defense (whoops--now "secretary of war"--jesus mary & jospeh!) Hegseth shared troop details on it [BBC article]. 

So I looked it up and discovered that Signal is encrypted, like my new email server Proton--so it's private. 
"Vulnerable to hacking" though. 
What isn't? 
(Not a rhetorical question--really, is anything NOT vulnerable to hacking?)

Protect Your Wrongs

This season in the sign of Sagittarius is warm, even if the temperatures isn’t, and I have more social plans lately --normal for holiday times for many people, right?
 
I'm going out with Sister this afternoon to the café at the art institute, if she doesn't cancel because MORE SNOW is forecast. 

I said I'd post Sister's final baby quilt.
These are the pieces.
I was so happy to see that she chose the colors herself, instead of asking the quilter she considers her Color Queen, like she usually does, which makes me sad:
I want people to trust their artistic intuition, even if it's bad.
I want this because everything conspires to make us, to “help” us Get it Right. 

A Procrustean bed that punishes wrong choices squashes creative spirit. 

Don't be afraid to Get it wrong!
I suppose it could be said that Sister's choice of ONE dark piece in the lower left corner is "bad", 
but I wouldn't say so.

In fact, I think it's a bit brilliant:
The weight of the dark color among the bright ones is like a dissonant note in a piece of music--something you want to "solve", but can't, so you're left a little ... jolted. 
Jolted awake.

Or, it's like art that is a little off-center. 
Wrongness invites us to engage.
For example, this woodblock print, below, by Japanese woman artist  Iwami Reika. 
I want to nudge the sun into the center of the wood knot, but the sense is that it'll be moving itself. Rising!

Via Smith College

Of course that was a masterful choice, not a beginner’s fumble. 

My happiness was dashed when the Color Queen pointed out to Sister the disproportion of the dark square. 
That sounds dramatic, but really, I my heart sank.
Sister, though, sounded grateful for the help and happy to "fix" it with a brighter floral print. 

It's correct now––matchy-matchy, pretty. 
Of course that's fine for a baby blanket;
 but the point is, I'd cheered that Sister had made her own artistic choice.

Importantly, I bet her friend didn't even ask her if she liked the dark square there, I bet she just pointed out that it was wrong.
(Hm, I wonder how the dark square would have looked in the center...)

III. "How do we guard our souls?”

Blogger Michael recently asked, "How do we guard our souls?” 
Especially in these days of political madness, he meant, but the question is always relevant. 
There are always forces that work to grind us down.

Simple entropy, for instance: 
things, including our bodies, fall apart. 
It takes energy to maintain them, 
and the Conservation of Energy kicks in--
not the law of physics, but the way a system prefers to use minimum effort.

Laziness is an emotional coping mechanism for me--I tend to let my energy drop. Some of this is good self-protection, 
but INERTIA kicks in, and that's a problem--
once energy drops, it's hard to rev it up again.

Related, there's the problem of 'Why bother?' 
Why expend energy in a world that seems not to care?

So, yeah, I think Choosing Your Own Colors is good, vital work to push back at the dimming norm.
The outcome matters aesthetically and socially, but it has nothing to do with guarding your soul--that comes from simply spending the energy to make the choice. 
And that's of primary importance.

A.I. could choose correct colors. 
It can't guard a soul. 
The opposite, in fact--it wants to make it easy for us to 'get it right'.

But it isn't easy to get it right!
And the effort, the expenditure of energy, to make artistic choices is protective of the soul
---like the way carrying heavy weight makes our bones stronger.

Getting It Wrong is becoming a marker signifying
 A Human Made This.

A lumpy knitted object, a poorly worded thank-you note, an off-balance hand-painted poster---and anything ugly and misshapen. 
Bodies too, as people are sculpting them to their preference, surgically, chemically, and otherwise-- to a sci-fi level.

Be ugly! Make lopsided stuff! Save the Humans!

Guard your soul.

Any thoughts on how? 

The Fence in the Snow

 I. The Fence in the Snow

It's hard to photograph the fence of godseyes because the eyes usually lie flat against the chain link. Yesterday the wind had blown them on an angle to the fence, giving a good view of them: 

Almost none of the original 125 remain from the end of September--these are mostly ones I've made and hung in the two+ months since. 
Sometimes friends make a few for the fence when they come over to my place too.

I love that people can feel comfortable to come by my apartment. 
I used to have people over at previous places, but it'd been a while. (Housemate wasn't welcoming, and of course neither was Covid...)
Having godseye-making supplies all over is nice--often people will pick up some sticks and make one as we chat.

Now that it's been snowing so much, I have to figure out what to use for the cross, since I can't find natural sticks very easily.

Forward

 

Do you like ^ one version better?

Yesterday’s 1st print,  above, left, w backwards “a”.

Above, Right—cleaned up final version. (Decided against a heart or anything in the “O”—Open like this, I see it holding open space.)

I rushed too fast to “fix” the first carving : this morning I love that 1st version! I wish I’d printed a whole bunch of them – – (maybe fixing the “a”—or not even that). I like how chunky and crowded it is. 

I texted it to a woman I know from the store  yesterday, saying I’m going to post them up in the store’s  neighborhood. (Their oil ink has to dry first.) 

Her reply practically made me cry: “Not much makes me happier than guerrilla art that makes you smile (or rally)”

And she recommended this book by Cory Doctorow, an author/journalist/sci-fi-er I like: Enshittification: Why everything suddenly got worse and what to do about it (2025)

“Enshittification, as defined by Doctorow, is a process that online platforms undergo from being user-friendly and valuable to gradually turning into revenue-driven platforms at the expense of user experience”. 

Doctorow is at craphound.com.

___________

I’m learning: in printmaking and life, you can make duplicates … but you can’t go backwards.

So—on we go, forward!

Let's Hold Hands Backwards

I'm on my third (fourth?) try making a lino print of LET'S HOLD HANDS--a line I'm always quoting from Toy Story 3.
The toys don't say that, actually--they do it:
they take each other's hands as they are being conveyed into the Fiery Furnace of a garbage plant, like Shadrack, Meshach, and Abednego.

Hey, Shadrack, Meshach, and Abednego say NO KINGS!
Hahahahaaaa, I would use that on a poster if the public knew who they were. 
(As you may know, inHebrew scripture they are the three young Jewish men who defy their employer, Nebuchadnezzar, king of Babylon, by refusing to worship his GOLD image of himself--in the Book of Daniel, chapter 3.
The king has the three thrown into a fiery furnace, but a divine figure walks with them, and they emerge unharmed.)

Anyhoo, the first carving didn't work at all; 
then I carved the "a" backwards. Sometimes that's okay, but it didn't read, so I fixed it. 
Then the O was too heavy, so I opened it up...

This ^ is my orange kitchen table--taken from the reverse angle of the photograph of the pine boughs w/ girlettes the other day.

It's a little café table, not really sufficient, but I use it for everything. Isn't it funny how sometimes we'll choose the most awkward place to work? Like a cat will curl itself into a tiny container and fall asleep.

The open O looked like a donut, so I'm testing a heart (glued, here) in its center:

I don't know. It's fine, but I don't love it.
It's what happens whenever I try to Make a Statement--it feels like ... a statement.

Actually, this is a statement. 
ICE is in town (the federal agents, not the weather, though that too--today's temps are in the single digits), and I'm seeing lots of informative or supportive (of immigrants) or angry posters and fliers around. 
I thought I'd make something to put up along with them.

I was just talking about the different between pure play and playful resistance tactics.
Pure play is pointless.
Resistance has a point, and this is that. 

Does anyone purely love a message?
Well, of course we do.
I just don't love this print!
But I don't think I will love it more if I make another iteration.

But maybe . . . taking off the heart?

Will futz some more.
____________

Sometimes Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego are referred to as children. The girlettes would love to play them. 
"Put us in the fiery furnace with a divine being!"

Who would be the divine being?

"We shall choose among us."

They are popular in art history. My favorite

Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego in the fiery furnace, in the Priscilla Catacombs, Rome, Italy. via

Be the Anvil... or the Banana.

Remember saying 'the record's skipping' when the record-player needle ran into a scratch on an LP, or something?
I'd felt like I'd jumped the track for a while, but even more people cheered me up yesterday, and I'm in the groove again. 

As we in the US and elsewhere see a rise of bad actions and intentions, I am seeing so much personal good on display. Am I just noticing it more, or is it on the rise, too? 
Is the bad squeezing us like oranges?

First cheering thing yesterday, a woman donated six boxes of the best books––all of them high interest and in excellent shape. 
I could tell at a glance that they were gold: like-new books that customers will love––artsy, alternative, healing social justice--queer qabalah kinds of books––and that she could have sold elsewhere.

I thanked her heartily.

"I'm moving", she said, "and this store has helped me so much, I wanted to give back."

I wheeled the boxes on a dolly directly onto the sales floor and put them right out. I priced a few high, for us--$3.99–$5.99. Some of them, below, were 30, 40 dollars new. 
(But I left most at our flat price: $1.49 for paperbacks, $1.99 for hardbacks.)

I was gleeful that I'd already seen our main re-saler scanning ISBNs with his phone app earlier in the day. Hopefully neighborhood people will get to these books before he comes back. And in the afternoon, I saw a local woman buying several. She told me, 
"This is such an amazing place for books."
"People donate amazing books," I said.

_____________________

Then, three college students came into the thrift store, (all white women, one trans--I note for sociological interest), shopping for sleeping bags and tents. They were part of a student group, they told me, that gives supplies to people sleeping out, like the guy I gave a tent to the other day. 
 
I got talking to them when one asked me why a sleeping bag was priced $77.99.

We have few guidelines on pricing, so various coworkers come up with some weird ones, but that's weirder than even our normal. 

I have no idea, I said, but that is wrong.
I looked it up (on the internet in my pocket), found the brand for $50 used on eBay, and marked ours down to $14.99.

Within a mile+ radius around the store, people often walk up to you asking for help. Usually for the most portable help––money.

But last night at the bus stop, I had no cash so I offered a guy the banana I had in my bag.

"Thanks!" he said. "Bananas are my favorite."
 
"Me too!" I said.

This little exchange and watching this guy walk away carrying the banana helped keep the needle in the groove too. 
Everybody likes bananas. :)

(I need to remember to start carrying mittens and scarves in my backpack again--or else I end up giving away my own, and  I love the ones I have right now.)

The big public actors can be lighthouses. Like, I went to hear Rev. Marianne Budde speaking the other day. Her talk was called Courage Is Contagious--and she did en-courage me.

My favorite thing she said was:

"Don't just be against things.
Be for things."

So that's great. Even more, however, it's the everyday people, people who are not high-powered, who inspire me, because they are all around me, and I am in that category. 

______________

Side Note I: My Favorite Thing in Civilization 

The college women were so fresh and bright--not only because they were young, but because they've practiced good dental care. You can see this.

I don't just mean dental visits.
I mean access to sinks with running water (clean! hot!), new toothbrushes, ample toothpaste & floss––
and people who care and teach and urge you to use them.
We who've always had this tend to take it for granted.

The US could have better health care, for sure! 
But people of my class tend to overlook the fantastic public health system we already have. 
Functioning sewers!

They were hard won, and take a lot of maintenance. We would miss them if they're lost.
Hopefully it won't come to that.

[End Praise of Sewers]

_____________________

Side Note II: Praise of Silliness...

We got a donation this week of three boxes of ceramic figurines made in Occupied Japan (1947–1952). 
A few are rather fine, some are charming, and many-- most-- are lumpy copies of European porcelain.
Like this couple below. 

What are they holding?
She is supposed to be holding a fan, but doesn't it look like a dildo?
I don't even know what he is supposed to be holding.

Maybe I should gift this to Smitten Kitten, the feminist sex-shop.
________________________

A Serious Note: "The Anvil always breaks the Hammer. Be the Anvil."

Last night, I got a group email from the indie gym I used to go to. The founder, Ben, was an anchor for me during Covid and the George Floyd uprisings. I've mentioned that one day when the National Guard rolled past me  as I walked home, I'd stopped and cried with him.

So though I don't go to the gym, I've never dropped out of Ben's group e-mails.

His approach is not mine:
he is about helping people cultivate physical strength, as they are able, to support The Good. (He used to work with special Olympics, and he still coaches a group of weightlifters with Down syndrome.)

He talks about iron. I talk about yarn.

He is like a French Resistance fighter in WWII, 
and I, I suppose, am like a person who'd draw a butterfly on a prison wall (and then die of dysentery).
These, at best, are complementary energies.

I love that Ben pours his heart out every so often.
(He also coordinates the sharing of info, gatherings, and actions, which I didn't include here.)

 I'm sharing this last outpouring, here below—written as ICE agents are sweeping down on town, especially on Somali and Latinx Americans here.

Begin email from Gym Ben: [boldface mine]

"The Anvil Always Breaks the Hammer. Be the Anvil.

"Hey all, simply wanted to drop a note to everyone; 
I have some words on my heart tonight.

"As the feds roll through our city, we all know folks who are affected, some directly, some by degrees. 
I want to share something [a friend] said to me a few years ago when we were talking about being involved in the revolution. 

"I didn't know if I was doing enough, or what to do, 
and he simply said something along the lines of 
finding my spot in it, and doing SOMETHING. 

"I understood he meant this in the context of something meaningful and sustainable, as this was not a quick, easy fight. Meaningful change takes time, and effort, and very often, pain and sacrifice.

"We are in it, and it is real. 
Neighbors are being kidnapped by people with bad intentions. 

"A big part of the fascist playbook is to create division and terror, and destroy hope and faith. 
We must keep hope and faith, and understand this is a long fight, and a tough one. We will win this fight - always - on a long enough timeline.
We must withstand the hammer blows, see and feel what is happening, remember and connect with what we know to be Truth and what is Real. 
2 + 2 does not equal 5.

"This takes energy, so remember to rest, and remember to tend whatever it is in you that brings you vigor and energy. 
Find joy - especially those little spots of it. 
This is what we train for.

"Iron is a constant, an anchor. 
Let your training in a safe space, with safe people, and cool lights, be your anchor.

This gym is, and will forever be, as safe as we can make it, and as consistently *exactly what it is* as possible.

"We are Strong, Kind, Helpful, Considerate, Disciplined, Empathic, and Powerful people.

Take Care of Yourselves, and Take Care of each other.
Big Love... "

[End email from Gym Ben]

_____________

How We Be.

There are all sorts of strategies to try to prevent and to fight against bad things happening, or to repair after. 
As Noam Chomsky says: 
You know (or can figure out) what it right for you to do. 

Or, I would add, to be.
Because there's also the cultivation of the kind of strength required to accept moments when you can't do anything--and sometimes that's in the middle of the action.
And then we call on who we are, how we "be".

I always point to what this scene in Toy Story 3:
as the toys are being conveyed on a belt into a fiery garbage incinerator, they can do nothing. They simply reach out and hold one another's hands. 

(There is a miraculous rescue.)

Sometimes we are the anvil.
Sometimes we are the banana.

Sometimes we are wonky, hand-painted sheep, like these donated figures from a creche made in Italy in ... the 1960s?
I love them! 

And how 'bout that chonky shepherd carrying a struggling sheep?

 
I'm going to the Needle-workers meet-up at the library soon.  

I have to leave plenty of time before going out to catch the bus to get dressed warmly to go outside.
It's 'warmed up' from our coldest day-- 

now it's 23ºF / –5ºC.

Have a good day, Beautiful Spirits! 

Freshen Up, Heart Up

Deep cold has come early this winter.  
As I start to write this morning, it's  –3ºF (–19ºC). 

It won't be light for another hour. At least the snow cover will brighten the day.

I. Heart Up

I have to screw up my courage and get out my warmest clothes to go outside, these first cold days.
I'm off work today, and I (probably) will bundle up and go downtown to see the Rev. Marianne Budde––the Episcopal bishop of Washington DC who'd asked Trump to show mercy in her inauguration-day sermon. 
Budde used to live here, and she is speaking at the noontime Town Hall Forum. 

It's a few-blocks walk to the bus that goes directly to the forum. 
I'm reluctant to go outside, but I know I'd get a lift out of seeing Budde, like I did seeing Sharon Day, the Ojibwe leader of the Water Walks.

Gotta try to keep the heart up!
_________________________

I'm doing a little online housekeeping this early morning. 
Like, I just cancelled the auto-renew of my CostCo membership. 

I get downhearted at CostCo, seeing people wheeling giant carts with plastic bottles of water bundled by the dozens in plastic across the giant parking lot of the giant warehouse.

The shoppers themselves aren't necessarily giant. 
Have you started to notice Americans getting smaller?

I have. At my workplace, three men have each lost around 100 lbs! Two used Ozempic,  one quit drinking alcohol.  
I wonder how these weight-loss drugs will change us overall, in subtle ways. We'll have to wait and see.

II. Fresh Baby 

A cheering sight:
Mr Jester Mushroom modeling pink fabric, so I could photograph it for my sister. 
Yesterday she'd asked me to keep an eye out for a piece of pink fabric big enough to back the baby quilt she's making.
And, in the magic of thrift, I unpacked one that very afternoon.

"I'll be the baby," Jester said.

(I'm proud of Sister--she choosing this quilt's colors herself! She's right, she's not great at it, but I really like that this quilt won't look like it's from a kit. I’ll post a photo when she's done.)

Jester has become my main work friend. He is goofy and kind, and he brightens my day so much. (Mr Furniture is mostly at the warehouse or driving the truck these days, and I don't see him much.)

And he's inspiring: a few years ago, he made big life changes, pulling himself out of a lifestyle hole. It's like one of the prehistoric animals DID escape a tar pit. (Surely sometimes one did manage to?)

Gradually so much good has come from the changes he made--he's quite a different person. Well, no, he's the same person, but he's so much lighter and brighter. 
Freshened up!

I'm not against weight-loss drugs--it's so hard to stay upright in this tilt-a-world, if drugs help, that's a valid option.
But it's inspiring to me that he didn't use them.

No matter what, the inner work of being human remains.Nice to see people doing it bravely.

III. Back in Balance

Yesterday I was returned to myself at work.
I kept feeling like the Universe was sending me person after person to remind me of who I am, having been knocked off my moorings.

A regular customer I know making me mittens; 
another telling me she was looking into going to church because she has been so inspired over the years by OUR STORE (I didn't tell her church has little to do with it--because, in fact, faith (in many flavors) does);
a customer I didn't recognize flat-out telling me, "You are kind, you are a big help here".
Customers doing things like that for me, and coworkers too, like Esmeralda pricing my earmuffs "free".

I saw it, I appreciated it, but still I felt adrift--mostly because of Big Boss and his Christian cronies' faux–thank you dinner.

Then, late in the day yesterday, I was shelving Christmas stuff (endless!), and a man with a big backpack came in and asked me if we gave away free tents. It looked like he was unhoused, I guessed, and needed a tent to sleep outdoors. This isn’t uncommon, but usually in warmer months.

I said--assuming, without checking--that we didn't have any, and turned to Big Boss who was nearby to ask who might give tents away.
He told the guy a place to go, 
but added that they wouldn't be open at that time.

The guy left, and I thought,
I should just check if we have any tents.

We did.

I grabbed an intact-looking one in a carrying bag, priced $8.99, and hurried outside after the guy, where again it so-happened Big Boss was nearby, standing in the cold talking to a customer on their way to their car.

The guy with the backpack was already to the corner.
I called, but he didn't hear.
Feeling desperate, I turned to Big Boss:
"I can't RUN," I said, gesturing to my still-vulnerable knee. "Help!"

Big Boss let out a piercing whistle, and the guy turned to look. I flagged him back, holding up the tent.

"What kind of tent did you want?" I asked when he got near.

"Any kind," he said.

"Well, take this one, it looks pretty good." 
I showed him the tent poles (sometimes they are lost). "Are you sleeping out tonight?"

He said he was, took the tent, and thanked me.

 "Take care." What can you say?

Yeah, so, as you can see above, temps fell below zero last night.
There are people who DO know how to take care and live outdoors here, year round.
 I hope he is one of them. 
(Lots of people avoid the shelters, and there aren't enough beds anyway.)

Going back inside, I asked Big Boss if the tent was a gift from the store, or if I should pay for it.

"Ask Manageress," he said.

I TRY not to express disdain for Big Boss to his face, because it's not helpful, but I did roll my eyes at that. He could have made the call.

Technically Manageress is the store manager, while BB is Exec. Director of the Society that oversees it and the parish charitable groups. 
When it comes to things like buying shopping baskets, however, he still (micro-) manages our store.
When it came to this, he passed the buck. 

So I asked Manageress, and she said no, I can't give things away. People have to bring in a Voucher to get free things. (The Vouchers are dispensed three mornings a week, across town.)
I would have to pay for the tent. 

Fine, I am perfectly willing to pay 9 bucks for a tent. 
I've bought people stuff they needed before--(or, honestly more often, given things to them on the low down).

But it was that misfire—Big Boss's deferment to Manageress, and her decree--that set me to rights. 

I don't need to judge these two people.  They have their own reasons––(they both come from harsh backgrounds)––and I know they do their own kind of good. 

I have seen it. And often I have failed to do so, crossed the street, gone into the back room to avoid someone inconvenient.
I am not better than them.

But that they would turn away someone who needed a free tent--the most flimsy of shelters? And then charge me for it? It’s not like there was no room at the inn. The store could afford to give away a donated tent. (And who buys them in winter anyway?)

The thing is, Why have I ever given these people any power over me and my mood?

Well, I am not anymore. They are not the boss of me.

Writing that, I feel refreshed. 
I am going to go out into the cold to hear Marianne Budde in a few hours. I want to be in the presence of someone of courageous faith.