There are better ways

Bird feeders are back up. Birds are temporarily boycotting because we had the feeders down for a couple of days to discourage the peregrine falcon that was checking out the place.

Yellow Goat's Beard (Tragopogon dubius)

Photo by J. Harrington

The morning’s drive to pick up this week’s community supported agriculture [CSA] share was basically uneventful. Sightings included one whitetail deer, several pair of sandhill cranes, and multiple songbirds. Goat’s beard has started to bloom. The CSA share box included:

• BROCCOLI RABE
• BABY KALE SALAD MIX
• RADISHES
• GREEN INCISED AND MAGENTA LETTUCEs, and
• ENCORE LETTUCE MIX

I've been getting more and more frustrated with myself about the amount of time I spend doom scrolling social media while accomplishing little more than making snarky comments. Then I took a look at one of today’s emails and realized I’m already doing things to help make the world a better place. Voting is very important, but there’s lots more we can do the rest of the year. Here’s a list, via AFSC, of ways you might want to consider for yourself and your familly:

De-commodify what you can. Not everything has to be subject to money. Experiment with formal or informal mutual aid practices. These can include bartering; sharing time, resources, and skills; and receiving help yourself.

Consider self-provisioning. Are there things you can do, make, or grow for yourself and others? Possibilities include arts and crafts, music, gardening, preserving food, making bever-ages, raising chickens, do-it-yourself projects, and knitting.

Think about where your money goes. Consider moving it from big predatory financial banks to credit unions or locally owned financial institutions. When possible, spend yours on locally and sustainably produced goods and services and fair-trade items. Buy from worker-friendly businesses.

Support cooperative or alternative enterprises—or consider starting one. Community land trusts and similar efforts can be a way to preserve affordable housing and even support the local production of basic needs.

Research more possibilities. There are a huge number of resources and organizations that can help you learn more and find a niche to support this growing movement. Check out the websites of the U.S. Solidarity Economy Network and RIPESS, the Intercontinental Social Solidarity Economy Network.

Further reading:

• Seven ways to build the solidarity economy by US network coordinator (and former AFSC staffer) Emily Kawano
• Realizing the Solidarity Economy and System Change: A Basic Primer to the Solidarity Economy, by Nonprofit Quarterly

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The Campus on the Hill

By W. D. Snodgrass

Up the reputable walks of old established trees

They stalk, children of the nouveaux riches; chimes

Of the tall Clock Tower drench their heads in blessing:   

“I don't wanna play at your house;

I don't like you any more.”

My house stands opposite, on the other hill,

Among meadows, with the orchard fences down and falling;   

Deer come almost to the door.

You cannot see it, even in this clearest morning.

White birds hang in the air between

Over the garbage landfill and those homes thereto adjacent,   

Hovering slowly, turning, settling down

Like the flakes sifting imperceptibly onto the little town   

In a waterball of glass.

And yet, this morning, beyond this quiet scene,

The floating birds, the backyards of the poor,

Beyond the shopping plaza, the dead canal, the hillside lying tilted in the air,

Tomorrow has broken out today:

Riot in Algeria, in Cyprus, in Alabama;

Aged in wrong, the empires are declining,

And China gathers, soundlessly, like evidence.

What shall I say to the young on such a morning?—

Mind is the one salvation?—also grammar?—

No; my little ones lean not toward revolt. They

Are the Whites, the vaguely furiously driven, who resist   

Their souls with such passivity

As would make Quakers swear. All day, dear Lord, all day   

They wear their godhead lightly.

They look out from their hill and say,

To themselves, “We have nowhere to go but down;   

The great destination is to stay.”

Surely the nations will be reasonable;

They look at the world—don't they?—the world's way?   

The clock just now has nothing more to say.

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Donnie, Prince of Orange: Ruler by divine right? God forbid!

I just read a scary story in the LA Times: Is Donald Trump a new King David? Ask California’s right-wing Sons of Liberty The fact that a number of Americans think along the lines in the article is what I find most scary. I thought the Divine Right of Kings was eliminated centuries ago, but it looks frighteningly like The Donald might be trying to bring it back. Have you read the Project 2025 manifesto? “The Mandate states that "freedom is defined by God, not man."^[13] That's almost as bleak as Kris Kristofferson’s wonderful line from Me and Bobby McGee: “Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose” 

LeGuin: Divine Right of Kings quote

One of my favorite writers, Ursula K. LeGuin, has offered a much more positive perspective on freedom, embedded in an equally concerning warning in her speech at the National Book Awards years ago. That  speech was the source of the quote above. Please go read the whole thing.

Minnesota once had a US Senator who could, from time to time, be infuriating, but he was a real human being. We need to elect more politicians who believe, as Paul Wellstone did, that: “We all do better when we all do better.” Remember, we can’t all be first but we can all do better. Now, ask yourself, if monarchy is so great, why isn’t the United States still a British colony.

Freedom

By Jill McDonough

I talk to the students in jail about freedom, how in America

we obsess over it, write it over flags on T-shirts, spread

it around under eagles. It has something to do with guns

and fireworks, Harley-Davidsons, New Hampshire, living free

until you’re dead. I tell the students I think the people

fetishizing freedom don’t mean it. That they really mean

look over here, away from all the slavery

we did, away from all the jail! I tell them they

are the experts, ask them to write what freedom means:

privacy is freedom and if  you feel held back, afraid

to do something, you’re not completely free.   No fear

of  loss. No fear of  hunger, no fear of  pain.   A body

to call my own, a voice driven by my own mind.

The security of a dry, warm place to sleep.   To own

my own time left here.   Being able to hold my son

at night.   Showering in private.   Freedom to me

is having the choice to walk away from a fight. Freedom

a work in progress. Everyday freedom, the real work for us all.

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Reason to believe?

Today’s posting will be very short and not so sweet. It’s been triggered by my listening to some folk songs from back when, especiallly one written and recorded by Tim Hardin. It focuses on this question:

Did Tim Hardin foresee the candidacy of Donald Trump and his following of MAGAts and tRumpsters?

Read these lyrics and I hope you’ll see the reasons for my question. Perhaps the campaign could try to turn it into a theme song.

Tim Hardin Lyrics

"Reason To Believe"

If I listened long enough to you

I'd find a way to believe that it's all true

Knowing that you lied straight faced while I cried

Still I look to find a reason to believe

Someone like you makes it hard to live

Without somebody else

Someone like you makes it easy to give

Never thinking of myself

If I gave you time to change my mind

I'd find a way to leave the past behind

Knowing that you lied straight faced while I cried

Still I look to find a reason to believe

If I listened long enough to you

I'd find a way to believe it's all true

Knowing that you lied straight faced while I cried

Still I look to find a reason to believe 

I can almost understand why some disenchanted voters supported a reported con man in 2016. Unless they're too embarrassed to admit how wrong they were, I can't comprehend why anyone would vote twice for the same loser.

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REMEMBER

Today is Native American Heritage Day. November is Native American Heritage Month. In Minnesota, Native American Heritage is acknowledged in and through:

• Native Governance Center, "a Native-led nonprofit dedicated to assisting Native nations in strengthening their governance systems and capacity to exercise sovereignty.”
• Why Treaties Matter
• Teaching Native American History and Culture (Minnesota Historical Society)
• Indian Affairs Council
• American Indian Cultural Corridor (Minneapolis)

American Indian Cultural Corridor Minneapolis

Photo by J. Harrington

The linked resources above include additional resources that can help US learn about and honor our diversity while acknowledging the high and low points of our histories and conflicts.

Remember

Joy Harjo
1951 – 

Remember the sky that you were born under,
know each of the star’s stories.
Remember the moon, know who she is.
Remember the sun’s birth at dawn, that is the
strongest point of time. Remember sundown
and the giving away to night.
Remember your birth, how your mother struggled
to give you form and breath. You are evidence of
her life, and her mother’s, and hers.
Remember your father. He is your life, also.
Remember the earth whose skin you are:
red earth, black earth, yellow earth, white earth
brown earth, we are earth.
Remember the plants, trees, animal life who all have their
tribes, their families, their histories, too. Talk to them,
listen to them. They are alive poems.
Remember the wind. Remember her voice. She knows the
origin of this universe.
Remember you are all people and all people
are you.
Remember you are this universe and this
universe is you.
Remember all is in motion, is growing, is you.
Remember language comes from this.
Remember the dance language is, that life is.
Remember.

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Home, again?

A week from tomorrow is July 4. Where I come from [Boston, MA], that’s deep into Summer. June is wending along the same path as Spring, into memory land. Greens are deepening, as we get some rain. More types of butterflies are showing up almost daily. We’ve already more than halfway to the average number of days we reach 90℉ [9 so far, 13 is average]. We’ll have to wait and see how it goes from here. Cooler and wetter, but not too much, would be nice.

I’m noticing that spending less time checking newspapers and social media usually puts me in a better mood and gives me more time to devote to things I can actually do something about and/or things I enjoy doing. I’ve been reading more and more about Traditional Ecological Knowledge [TEK] and that’s slowly helping me to shift bits and pieces of my world view. I’m involved, as a volunteer, in a project for which I’d like to find at least one way to integrate TEK, similar to the Wakan Tipi Center at the Bruce Vento Nature Sanctuary in St. Paul. 

Water of the Dodem Spirits

Photo by J. Harrington

I grew up learning about the American Revolution, the Minutemen, and the “shot heard round the world.” I have been much slower, as I grow older, learning about those who lived here before “settlers” arrived, before the fur trade changed the economy and the relationships among those living here. We can’t go back, but we can do a much better job of restoring not only the environment on which we depend for food, clean air and water, and our relationship to that environment plus our relationship with those who lived here before US and are still here.

Dakota Homecoming

By Gwen Nell Westerman

We are so honored that

              you are here, they said.

We know that this is

             your homeland, they said.

The admission price

             is five dollars, they said.

Here is your button

             for the event, they said.

It means so much to us that

             you are here, they said.

We want to write

             an apology letter, they said.

Tell us what to say.

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One Treat; Two Tricks, so far

Here’s a report on the Treat:    I went off to get some errands done today. As I drove past the Sunrise River pools in Carlos Avery Wildlife Management Area I saw several flocks of American Coots floating on the water. It’s the most waterfowl I’ve seen in one place at one time since the spring migration.

Although we haven’t been specifically watching for the fall migration, we live close enough to the  resting pools that we usually see birds if they’re around. Even though I’ve not hunted waterfowl for several years now, I still get a thrill from watching them come, raise a family, and go.

bigger swallows smaller: it’s monstrous!

Photo by J. Harrington

Now for the Two Tricks:

1. We recently learned that our local trash and recycling provider has been bought by one of the big, national corporations. We’ve already been informed that several items, such as used oil, will no longer be collected as part of the recycling service. We’re waiting to see what other changes may be in store, and our expectations are not very positive.


2. The local auto dealerships where the Better Half and I each bought our Jeeps have been bought by one of the two huge Twin Cities auto conglomerates: Luther Automotive, Morrie’s Auto Group. I stopped by today to schedule an oil change and buy four new tires. The service advisor informed me, as I was standing in the service bay, that I would have to call or schedule the service on line. This is a new and unwelcome change, since the tires I want, which were original equipment brand, are specifically excluded from a MOPAR coupon. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to sort that out on line or over the phone without having to dig out the specifics on the tires make, model and size. If I have to go to that much trouble, I might as well see where else I want to do business.

It’s probably no more than a sign of just how old I’ve become, but I remember waaay back to when “the customer is always right” days and businesses would do their best to make it convenient to do business with them. Apparently, with  alll the “progress” we’ve made using information technology, we’re close to returning to the days when you could buy a Ford in any color you wanted, as long as it was black.

I'll try to not let the corporatization of local economies and businesses get to me too much unless we also experience belated tricks and the Democrats lose control of Congress and/or the statewide offices in Minnesota.

First, my Motorola

Alexandra Nemerov

Nemerov constructed this poem by simply listing every brand she touched sequentially during a day, from the moment she woke up, until the moment she went to sleep: it's hard to imagine a more accurate contemporary self-portrait. And it doesn't get "sexier", "cooler", or "more accessible" than this.

First, my Motorola
Then my Frette
Then my Sonia Rykiel
Then my Bvulgari
Then my Asprey
Then my Cartier
Then my Kohler
Then my Brightsmile
Then my Cetaphil
Then my Braun
Then my Brightsmile
Then my Kohler
Then my Cetaphil
Then my Bliss
Then my Apple
Then my Kashi
Then my Maytag
Then my Silk
Then my Pom
Then my Maytag
Then my Kohler
Then my Pur
Then my Fiji
Then my Kohler
Then my Maytag
Then my Herman Miller
Then my Crate and Barrel
Then my Apple
Then my On Gossamer
Then my La Perla
Then my Vince
Then my D&G
Then my Ralph Lauren
Then my Moschino
Then my Ralph Lauren
Then my Lucchese
Then my Apple

Then my Trish McEvoy
Then my Dior
Then my Lancome
Then my Kevin Aucoin
Then my Trish McEvoy
Then my Tarte
Then my Apple
Then my Louis Vuitton
Then my Jansport
Then my Louis Vuitton
Then my Adidas
Then my Adidas
Then my Nike
Then my Masterlock
Then my Fiji
Then my Apple
Then my Bang and Olufson
Then my Ito En
Then my Trident
Then my Chiquita
Then my Dole
Then my Motorola
Then my Chanel
Then my Schlage
Then my Louis Vuitton
Then my Jansport
Then my Motorola
Then my Apple
Then my Trident
Then my Fiji
Then my Apple
Then my Motorola
Then my Jansport
Then my Cosi
Then my Sweetheart
Then my Minute Maid
Then my Jansport
Then my Louis Vuitton
Then my Mastercard
Then my Louis Vuitton
Then my Jansport
Then my Motorola
Then my Trident
Then my Apple
Then my Chanel
Then my Jansport
Then my Louis Vuitton
Then my W
Then my Adidas
Then my Adidas
Then my Nike
Then my Ralph Lauren
Then my D&G
Then my Moschino
Then my Vince
Then my Lucchese
Then my La Perla
Then my Nike
Then my Jansport
Then my Fiji
Then my Masterlock
Then my Fiji
Then my Apple
Then my Bang and Olufson
Then my W
Then my Motorola
Then my Masterlock
Then my Lifefitness
Then my Fiji
Then my Masterlock
Then my Jansport
Then my Fiji
Then my Nike
Then my Adidas
Then my Adidas
Then my Nike
Then my Vince
Then my La Perla
Then my D&G
Then my Ralph Lauren
Then my Chanel
Then my Chiquita
Then my Trident
Then my Apple
Then my Bang and Olufson
Then my Jansport
Then my Louis Vuitton
Then my Schlage
Then my Maytag
Then my Zimmer
Then my Gil Ferrer
Then my Cetaphil
Then my Remede
Then my Brightsmile
Then my Braun
Then my Brightsmile
Then my Gil Ferrer
Then my Skintimate
Then my Schick
Then my Bliss
Then my Bliss
Then my Zimmer
Then my Ralph Lauren
Then my Fresh
Then my Cetaphil
Then my Bliss
Then my Gil Ferrer
Then my Gil Ferrer
Then my Frederic Fekkai
Then my Herman Miller
Then my Pottery Barn
Then my Apple
Then my Hewlett Packard
Then my Apple
Then my La Perla
Then my Petit Bateau
Then my Jill Stuart
Then my Dolce and Gabbana
Then my Wolford
Then my Ralph Lauren
Then my H&M
Then my Motorola
Then my Fendi
Then my Kevin Aucoin
Then my Trish McEvoy
Then my Dior
Then my Trish McEvoy
Then my Lancome
Then my Motorola
Then my Estee Lauder
Then my Louis Vuitton
Then my Louis Vuitton
Then my Motorola
Then my Trident
Then my Schlage
Then my Fendi
Then my Motorola
Then my Dibruno Bros.
Then my Fendi
Then my Louis Vuitton
Then my Tanqueray
Then my Fendi
Then my Motorola
Then my Fendi
Then my Louis Vuitton
Then my Fendi
Then my Louis Vuitton
Then my Schlage
Then my Fiji
Then my Hermann Miller
Then my Pottery Barn
Then my Apple
Then my Kohler
Then my Cetaphil
Then my Brightsmile
Then my Braun
Then my Brightsmile
Then my Kohler
Then my Ralph Lauren
Then my Bliss
Then my Cetaphil
Then my Wolford
Then my Dolce and Gabbana
Then my Petit Bateau
Then my Motorola
Then my Ralph Lauren
Then my La Perla
Then my H&M
Then my Anthropology
Then my Motorola
Then my Bvulgari
Then my Asprey
Then my Cartier
Then my Frette
Then my Sonia Rykiel
And finally, my Motorola

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How can we harvest honorably?

Three books have had a disproportionate influence on me in both my professional and my personal life. They are Ian McHarg’s Design with Nature; Aldo Leopold’s A Sand County Almanac; and, Robin Wall Kimmerer’s Braiding Sweetgrass. Today’s posting explores a section of the third book because I’m in  the process of deciding if I can figure out how, and how much, of the principles of an honorable harvest can actually be applied in today’s world.

deer eat the bushes, birds the berries, we harvest what’s left

Photo by J. Harrington

Here are the principles under consideration:

The Honorable Harvest, a practice both ancient and urgent, applies to every exchange between people and the Earth. Its protocol is not written down, but if it were, it would look something like this:

Know the ways of the ones who take care of you, so that you may take care of them.
Introduce yourself. Be accountable as the one who comes asking for life.
Ask permission before taking. Abide by the answer.
Never take the first. Never take the last.
Take only what you need.
Take only that which is given.
Never take more than half. Leave some for others.
Harvest in a way that minimizes harm.
Use it respectfully. Never waste what you have taken.
Share.
Give thanks for what you have been given.
Give a gift, in reciprocity for what you have been given.
Sustain the ones who sustain you, and the Earth will last forever.

There are several versions of these principles in publication, but they all convey essentially the same message. As I read them, many, perhaps all of these principles fit much better in a foraging or hunter-gatherer culture than one which depends on industrialized agriculture. But, many (most?) can be applied to small scale agriculture (know your farmer) and foraging and home gardening. (Do any farms have kitchen gardens anymore?) Here are the ones that look to me as if, in one way or another, we could readily do a much better job of respecting:

Know the ways of the ones who take care of you, so that you may take care of them.
[ecosystem services and biodiversity]
Take only what you need.
Harvest in a way that minimizes harm. 
Use it respectfully. Never waste what you have taken.
Share.
Give thanks for what you have been given.
Sustain the ones who sustain you, and the Earth will last forever.
[ecosystem services and biodiversity]

The adaptation isn’t perfect but it does represent a profound transformation in attitude and perspective. It may, or may not, offer an alternative to the Gordian knot of using legalistic standards such as “organic” food and regenerative farming. I’m reminded of a very true assessment in a book I recently finished reading. One cannot force another to love them. If we all do much, much better at learning to love and respect the Earth, we may need fewer regulations and have a better chance of lasting forever.

One final observation for today. Notice that the Honorable Harvest protocol is not written down. Now note that Aldo Leopold informs us that:

“I have purposely presented the land ethic as a product of social evolution because nothing so important as an ethic is ever ‘written’… It evolves in the minds of a thinking community.” The Land Ethic, A Sand County Almanac.

We could stand to do a lot more these days to (re?)create “a thinking community.” to help figure out how to harvest honorably, right?

Praise the Rain

By Joy Harjo

Praise the rain; the seagull dive

The curl of plant, the raven talk—

Praise the hurt, the house slack

The stand of trees, the dignity—

Praise the dark, the moon cradle

The sky fall, the bear sleep—

Praise the mist, the warrior name

The earth eclipse, the fired leap—

Praise the backwards, upward sky

The baby cry, the spirit food—

Praise canoe, the fish rush

The hole for frog, the upside-down—

Praise the day, the cloud cup

The mind flat, forget it all—

Praise crazy. Praise sad.

Praise the path on which we're led.

Praise the roads on earth and water.

Praise the eater and the eaten.

Praise beginnings; praise the end.

Praise the song and praise the singer.

Praise the rain; it brings more rain.

Praise the rain; it brings more rain.

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Does a better world depend on good people?

The Better Half reports hearing chickadees' spring songs today. That's a hopeful sign. Tomorrow, and a number of days thereafter, the high daily temperatures are forecast to climb above freezing about every other day. I look forward to hearing the sounds of melting, dripping waters and seeing life return to bare branches that need greening.

springtime chickadee

Photo by J. Harrington

Back in the prior millennium, during my college days, I encountered the teachings and writings of several schools of psychology, including gestalt and humanistic. As I scan social media and news reports these days, it seems clear that many people aren’t familiar with, or have rejected, a fundamental perspective of Fritz Perls captured in the Gestalt prayer:

“I do my thing and you do your thing.

I am not in this world to live up to your expectations,

And you are not in this world to live up to mine.

You are you, and I am I, and if by chance we find each other, it's beautiful.

If not, it can't be helped.”

 These days I suspect many might claim that the “prayer” is but a rationalization for a world view that justifies a colonial mindset. On the other hand, an alternative approach seemed to offer more.

Humanistic psychology helps the client gain the belief that all people are inherently good.^[2] It adopts a holistic approach to human existence and pays special attention to such phenomena as creativity, free will, and positive human potential. It encourages viewing ourselves as a "whole person" greater than the sum of our parts and encourages self exploration rather than the study of behavior in other people....

I suspect many of us would undoubtedly quibble with  the validity of the first sentence in the quotation immediately above. Personally, I can accept “many” or, on a good day, even “most,” but I’ve seen too much evidence to the contrary to believe that “all people are inherently good.” That brings us to one of the  reasons I can’t and won’t accept inherent goodness: the abuse of the attention economy today.

We have misinformation, often due to incompetence, disinformation, usually due to malicious intentions, both of which bring a signal to noise ratio to the point of being largely useless and contribute mightily to confirmation bias on either or all sides of an issue. If we are to have a future, we can and must do better. “How?” becomes a key question. See if this possibility is of interest:

In a world of too many options and too little time, our obvious choice is to just ignore the ordinary stuff. Marketing guru Seth Godin spells out why, when it comes to getting our attention, bad or bizarre ideas are more successful than boring ones.

If so, watch his TED Talk here: How to get your ideas to spread [there’s also a transcript if you’d rather read.] I need to spend time rewatching and rereading this and a few more of Godin’s presentations and see if they help me understand, accept and learn how to respond to the fact that Republicans seem to be winning a war of ideas that I would expect Democrats to prevail in. Or is grasping power only about power and not about ideas?

Ideas

By Kathryn Starbuck

I was the lonely one in whom   

they swarmed in the millions.   

I was their creature and I   

was grateful. I could sleep   

when I wanted.   

I lived a divided   

existence in sleepdreams   

that lit up a silence as dreadful   

as that of the moon. I have   

an overly-precise recall of   

those solitary years before   

I opened the curtain and drew   

upon a universe of want that made   

me so strong I could crack   

spines of books with one hand.

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Valentine's minus 4

Red, in different shades, is the color for Valentine’s Day. That means on or before the fourteenth of this month we’ll start looking at the local clusters of dogwood to see if the colors of their stems have brightened yet. I bet we can find a few more vases and places to set them if we collect some dogwood stems to help brighten the rooms and hasten the feeling of spring’s arrival.

red osier dogwood in February

Photo by J. Harrington

Red, again in different shades for arteries (bright) or veins (dark), is a color that comes into view or to mind all too often in Claudia Rankine’s Citizen: An American Lyric.

Citizen came out in October 2014. In the first printing, according to a Graywolf publicist, Page 134 read:

November 23, 2012 / In Memory of Jordan Russell Davis  

That was the date the black 17-year-old was gunned down in Jacksonville, Florida.

The next page, 135, was headed:

February 15, 2014 / The Justice System

That was the date the prosecution of Davis’ shooter, Michael Dunn, ended in a mistrial. (Dunn was later convicted, in October, of first-degree murder.)

But for the second printing, which went to press on Sept. 24, 2014, Rankine chose to add another name to Page 134’s written monument—that of Ferguson’s Michael Brown. The new edition read:

November 23, 2012 / In Memory of Jordan Russell Davis

August 9, 2014 / In Memory of Michael Brown

Now, the third printing, from Nov. 20, 2014, shows the most powerful change yet. The phrase “In Memory Of” repeats down the side of Page 134, with the names of victims arrayed to the right: Jordan Russell Davis, Eric Garner, John Crawford, and Michael Brown. Blank spaces next to the remaining “In Memories” suggest that more black men will eventually join the ranks of those already fallen.

As we approach Valentine’s Day almost a decade after the third printing, it’s more than disheartening to think how much longer, with how many more names, could be added to pages 134 and following. [My copy of Citizen has a list that stops at the name Sandra Bland, “a 28-year-old African-American woman who was found hanged in a jail cell in Waller County, Texas, on July 13, 2015, three days after being arrested during a traffic stop.”]

I’d love to listen to, or read a transcript of, a conversation between Amanda Gorman, talking about Call Us What We Carry and Claudia Rankine, discussing Citizen and whether the former contradicts or complements the latter.

To return to a Valentine’s theme, “Only love can break a heart, only love can mend it again.”

from Citizen, VI [I knew whatever was in front of me was happening]

Claudia Rankine

I knew whatever was in front of me was happening and then the police vehicle came to a screeching halt in front of me like they were setting up a blockade. Everywhere were flashes, a siren sounding and a stretched-out roar. Get on the ground. Get on the ground now. Then I just knew.

And you are not the guy and still you fit the description because there is only one guy who is always the guy fitting the description.

 

I left my client's house knowing I would be pulled over. I knew. I just knew. I opened my briefcase on the passenger seat, just so they could see. Yes officer rolled around on my tongue, which grew out of a bell that could never ring because its emergency was a tolling I was meant to swallow.

In a landscape drawn from an ocean bed, you can't drive yourself sane—so angry you are crying. You can't drive yourself sane. This motion wears a guy out. Our motion is wearing you out and still you are not that guy.

 

//

 

Then flashes, a siren, a stretched-out roar—and you are not the guy and still you fit the description because there is only one guy who is always the guy fitting the description.

Get on the ground. Get on the ground now. I must have been speeding. No, you weren't speeding. I wasn't speeding? You didn't do anything wrong. Then why are you pulling me over? Why am I pulled over? Put your hands where they can be seen. Put your hands in the air. Put your hands up.

Then you are stretched out on the hood. Then cuffed. Get on the ground now.

 

//

 

Each time it begins in the same way, it doesn't begin the same way, each time it begins it's the same. Flashes, a siren, the stretched-out roar—

Maybe because home was a hood the officer could not afford, not that a reason was needed, I was pulled out of my vehicle a block from my door, handcuffed and pushed into the police vehicle's backseat, the officer's knee pressing into my collarbone, the officer's warm breath vacating a face creased into the smile of its own private joke.

Each time it begins in the same way, it doesn't begin the same way, each time it begins it's the same.

Go ahead hit me motherfucker fled my lips and the officer did not need to hit me, the officer did not need anything from me except the look on my face on the drive across town. You can't drive yourself sane. You are not insane. Our motion is wearing you out. You are not the guy.

 

//

 

This is what it looks like. You know this is wrong. This is not what it looks like. You need to be quiet. This is wrong. You need to close your mouth now. This is what it looks like. Why are you talking if you haven't done anything wrong?

And you are not the guy and still you fit the description because there is only one guy who is always the guy fitting the description.

 

//

 

In a landscape drawn from an ocean bed, you can't drive yourself sane—so angry you can't drive yourself sane.

The charge the officer decided on was exhibition of speed. I was told, after the fingerprinting, to stand naked. I stood naked. It was only then I was instructed to dress, to leave, to walk all those miles back home.

And still you are not the guy and still you fit the description because there is only one guy who is always the guy fitting the description.

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This election is the DFL’s to lose and they’re working hard to do it!

The local precinct caucus is February 1. According to the Chisago-Isanti DFL web site:

DUE TO REDISTRICTING, WE STILL WILL NOT KNOW WHAT U.S. CONGRESSIONAL DISTRICT CHISAGO OR ISANTI COUNTIES WILL BE IN UNTIL SOMETIME AFTER FEB. 15th.

The NON-ATTENDEE FORM tells me that:

As a non-attendee you won’t be able to vote (for candidates, delegates, or resolutions), but you will be able to:
• Be nominated and possibly elected as a precinct officer or a delegate or alternate to a higher level convention.
• Submit resolutions for caucus approval by attaching a Resolution Form. (Available at dfl.org/caucuses-conventions)
• Sign up to help in other ways: as an Election Judge, or as a member of a committee setting up for a higher level convention.

I can find no information regarding actual or potential candidates for my House or Senate district, presumably because local district boundaries depend on congressional district boundaries?

All of which makes me wonder

WHY THE HELL THE DFL IS STUPIDLY HOLDING CAUCUSES NOW!

will the number of nuts at a caucus attract squirrels?

Photo by J. Harrington

At least I can save money by not contributing to a political party that’s this disorganized. As for participation under these circumstances? I VOTE NO!

[UPDATE:

Redistricting

Both the DFL-led House and Republican-controlled Senate have released their proposed versions of new legislative and congressional redistricting maps. Neither set of plans makes dramatic changes to the current district lines, but each would bend them in subtle ways to benefit their own party at the polls. Yet neither plan is expected to become law, since it's unlikely the divided chambers will agree before the Feb. 15 deadline to strike a deal. Without a legislative agreement, a five-judge panel will release its own set of maps that day.]

Why I Voted the Socialist Ticket

By Vachel Lindsay

I am unjust, but I can strive for justice.

My life’s unkind, but I can vote for kindness.

I, the unloving, say life should be lovely.

I, that am blind, cry out against my blindness.

Man is a curious brute—he pets his fancies—

Fighting mankind, to win sweet luxury.

So he will be, though law be clear as crystal,

Tho’ all men plan to live in harmony.

Come, let us vote against our human nature,

Crying to God in all the polling places

To heal our everlasting sinfulness

And make us sages with transfigured faces.

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Post solstice solace of space and time

Yesterday was winter solstice, the shortest day and longest night of the year. According to my copy of the Minnesota Weatherguide Engagement Calendar, the sun rose at 7:48 am and set at 4:34 pm. Today the sun rose at the same time as yesterday but sets at 4:35 pm. That doesn’t mean we gained a whole minute. It’s actually as little two seconds if on Tuesday 4:34 was actually 4:34:59 and today’s 4:35 was actually 4:35:01. But that’s not what I’m trying to figure out. Does the extra time come at the beginning, the middle, or the end of the day, or all three? It probably doesn’t make much, if any, difference, but I’ve become curious about whether we’re measuring time or daylight or both and how it works. The twenty-four hours in a day is reported to be comprised of “23 hours, 56 minutes and 4 seconds to complete one rotation and that we round up to 24-hour days. But that additional 3 minutes, 56 seconds takes actually into account Earth’s movement around the sun.” And remember, every four years we add a whole day at the end of February.

where in time-space are the tree lights?

Photo by J. Harrington

So, it appears that our time-keeping is somewhat arbitrary, but not necessarily capricious. Does this have anything to do with Einstein’s time-space continuum? Possibly, according to this description from What is the Space-Time Continuum for Dummies?:

But in a relativistic universe, time cannot be separated from the three dimensions of space. This is because the observed rate at which time passes depends on the velocity of an object relative to the observer. Also, any gravitational field strength slows down the passage of time.

I’m not enough of a physicist or philosopher to actually think I understand all this but the phrase "the observed rate at which time passes depends on the velocity of an object relative to the observer” makes me wonder if there may not be some significance to where in the day the extra light gets added. If you have thoughts about this, feel free to share them in the comments.

I spent part of the morning today helping the Daughter Person assemble some flatpak children’s furniture. I think that trying to follow the instructions may have caused my mind to slip into a different dimension. Plus, more cloudiness and cold is affecting my brain. I believe I need a dose of Alfred and the Chipmunks to get me back on the seasonal straight and narrow.

The Chipmunk Song (Christmas Don’t Be Late)

Alright you Chipmunks, Ready to sing your song?
I'd say we are
Yeah, Lets sing it now!
Okay, Simon?
OK
Okay, Theodore?
OK
Okay Alvin?...Alvin?...ALVIN!!!
OKAY!!

Christmas, Christmas time is near
Time for toys and time for cheer
We've been good, but we can't last
Hurry Christmas, hurry fast

Want a plane that loops the loop
Me, I want a Hula-Hoop
We can hardly stand the wait
Please Christmas don't be late

Ok Fellas, Get ready
That was very good, Simon
Naturally!
Very Good Theodore
He He He He
Uh Alvin, You were a little flat
Watch it, Alvin... Alvin?...ALVIN!!!
OKAY!!

Want a plane that loops the loop
I still want a Hula-Hoop
We can hardly stand the wait
Please Christmas don't be late
We can hardly stand the wait
Please Christmas don't be late

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The “fat lady” hasn’t sung. She’s not even on stage, yet.

I’m not denigrating the size, seriousness nor complexity of the issues we face locally, nationally nor globally, but among the current crop of books I’m reading, it’s obvious that humans and their societies have a long experience of making a mess of things and fumbling through. Will this time be different? We don’t know and won’t know unless and until enough [too many] of us give up. Furthermore, neither is this intended to be a “misery loves company” solution. Here’s the books I’m referring to:

• Sacred Earth, Sacred Soul: chapter 1, Pelagius, makes repeated reference to “the religion of the [Roman] empire was about to formalize a teaching that was convenient for imperial power, enabling empire to relativize people’s worth rather than reverence their dignity.” 


• The Dawn of Everything: A New History of Humanity: chapter 1, Farewell to Humanity’s Childhood, asserts (all in UPPER case) among other things “How the conventional narrative of human history is not only wrong, but quite needlessly dull”


• On Immunity, an Innoculation (which I’m rereading) notes that “Throughout the nineteenth century, vaccination left a wound that would scar. “The mark of the beast,” some feared. In an Anglican archbishop’s 1882 sermon, vaccination was akin to an injection of sin, an “abominable mixture of corruption, the lees of human vice, and dregs of venial appetites, that in after life may foam upon the spirit, and develop helll within, and overwhelm the soul.”

not all serpents are snakes

Photo by J. Harrington

If you read the Bible’s Old Testament, you may have noticed that, although Adam and Eve had only one job, it didn’t take them long to screw it up. Then, some time later, the whole human race had to start over with Noah and the Ark. Does this mean that our species is hopeless? Probably not, but it seems to strongly suggest we are subject to evolutionary developments. If we continue to destroy earth’s climate and life support systems on which we depend for food, water and shelter, it might be unwise to expect divine intervention to bail our dumb asses, or us, out of our self-created diminution. What we seem to be facing is not a serpent in a tree but the excessive, egregious influence of non-human “persons” on our institutions, customs, and values. Frankly, the serpent was less pernicious.

A Map to the Next World

By Joy Harjo 

    for Desiray Kierra Chee

In the last days of the fourth world I wished to make a map for

those who would climb through the hole in the sky.

My only tools were the desires of humans as they emerged

from the killing fields, from the bedrooms and the kitchens.

For the soul is a wanderer with many hands and feet.

The map must be of sand and can’t be read by ordinary light. It

must carry fire to the next tribal town, for renewal of spirit.

In the legend are instructions on the language of the land, how it

was we forgot to acknowledge the gift, as if we were not in it or of it.

Take note of the proliferation of supermarkets and malls, the

altars of money. They best describe the detour from grace.

Keep track of the errors of our forgetfulness; the fog steals our

children while we sleep.

Flowers of rage spring up in the depression. Monsters are born

there of nuclear anger.

Trees of ashes wave good-bye to good-bye and the map appears to

disappear.

We no longer know the names of the birds here, how to speak to

them by their personal names.

Once we knew everything in this lush promise.

What I am telling you is real and is printed in a warning on the

map. Our forgetfulness stalks us, walks the earth behind us, leav-

ing a trail of paper diapers, needles, and wasted blood.

An imperfect map will have to do, little one.

The place of entry is the sea of your mother’s blood, your father’s

small death as he longs to know himself in another.

There is no exit.

The map can be interpreted through the wall of the intestine—a

spiral on the road of knowledge.

You will travel through the membrane of death, smell cooking

from the encampment where our relatives make a feast of fresh

deer meat and corn soup, in the Milky Way.

They have never left us; we abandoned them for science.

And when you take your next breath as we enter the fifth world

there will be no X, no guidebook with words you can carry.

You will have to navigate by your mother’s voice, renew the song

she is singing.

Fresh courage glimmers from planets.

And lights the map printed with the blood of history, a map you

will have to know by your intention, by the language of suns.

When you emerge note the tracks of the monster slayers where they

entered the cities of artificial light and killed what was killing us.

You will see red cliffs. They are the heart, contain the ladder.

A white deer will greet you when the last human climbs from the

destruction.

Remember the hole of shame marking the act of abandoning our

tribal grounds.

We were never perfect.

Yet, the journey we make together is perfect on this earth who was

once a star and made the same mistakes as humans.

We might make them again, she said.

Crucial to finding the way is this: there is no beginning or end.

You must make your own map.

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Time to check all systems

It’s been a strange twenty-four hours. Yesterday, as the downpour was ending, the power went out. Xcel had it restored about 4 p.m. Our phone and internet connection disappeared approximately the same time as the power. That didn’t get restored until eighteen or twenty hours after it went down. Midday today, while walking the dogs, we noticed what looked suspiciously like a dead whitetail at the end of a neighbor’s drive. Then, after we had come back into the house, begun to settle down, and finally got to turn to online activities, we noticed that the Better Half’s email application persisted in incorrectly autocorrecting the spelling of my last name. We think that’s finally been corrected by laying hands on the application's settings. In that process, we discovered the need for a universal, standardized, location for a save button on all computer applications.

more storm clouds ahead

Photo by J. Harrington

As we begin to adapt to climate breakdown and eliminate greenhouse gas emissions, I’ve spent some of the past day thinking about the reliability of the systems on which we’ve come to depend. The loss of power yesterday might have been mitigated if we had a generator, but only if we could still pump gas to keep a generator running during an extended power outage such as Superstorm Sandy’s. Much of the emphasis of responding to climate breakdown has been on the need to keep fossil fuels in the ground. Not enough, in our opinion, has been stressed about increasing the reliability of our electrical system, nor about shifting to a more decentralized generation pattern and microgrids. If indeed we commit to no more burning of fossil fuels and become solely reliant on electricity, we’ll need to be much better at 100%+ uptime of the electrical system, particularly for hospitals and comparable institutions. Given last winter’s Texas breakdown, neither the public nor the private sectors seem capable of safely meeting our  needs.

Meanwhile, we have a political system, including SCOTUS, that does serve the short term needs of (s)elected officials and their corporate sugar-daddies much more so than the needs of present and future citizens of the country or the planet. About the only positive thing I can share regarding the Democratic party is that it’s not the Republicans. I look forward, with little expectation, to being able to post something more positive in the near future.

I’m coming to believe that the cumulative effects of user-unfriendly design of many of our systems, plus their growing lack of reliability, is contributing substantially to a society that, more and more, seems prepared to “go postal.” We certainly shouldn’t want to return to the kind of normal that brought us to this point. Nor do we think it acceptable to pay more for slower postal deliveries. Sigh!

The Promise We Live By

By Simon J. Ortiz

On the West Coast, days of rainstorm wrestle

the Coast Range, their wet fury driven landward.

We never quite known what the sky promises,

and there is certain assurance in that fate.

It is for that we wait. We’ve already weathered

more than promises. They’ve passed us by.

So I’m not sure this morning when I step outside,

and suddenly it’s not winter anymore but some

warm mask that molds the contours of my face

with unbidden warmth. It’s almost unnatural

but I hope not, having already found reliable

the promise of loss. My expectation is unfulfilled.

Somewhere within the universe of the prairie hills

is a climate that is yet unnoticed, and from it

is welling a warm rupture of another sure season.

Believe it is not unusual, I urge myself

whose myths are always changing in the light.

So it’s this we arrive into daily, always

another season, warm or frigid, and it’s we

who wage weather within our furious spirits.

Tomorrow’s dawn is a promise that will fulfill.

Never mind if the sky does not quite agree.

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On the eve of Memorial Day...

Tomorrow is Memorial Day, "a federal holiday in the United States for honoring and mourning the military personnel who have died in the performance of their military duties while serving in the United States Armed Forces.^[2]" Although my father served in both WWII and the Korean "police action," and my father-in-law served in WWII, neither "died in the performance of their military duties," for which their families are grateful. However, both men have now passed on and we tend to remember them as much or more so on Memorial Day as on Veteran's Day, perhaps because Veteran's Day rarely triggers a three day weekend at the beginning of summer and is often overshadowed by Thanksgiving two weeks afterwards.

Memorial Day poppies

When I was young and living in Massachusetts with my family of origin, I remember seeing, and hearing, military honor guards firing salutes at various cemeteries on Memorial Day. Since we've no family members interred in Minnesota, we've not visited any cemetery on Memorial Day or any other time. Our remembrances tend toward the private kind rather than a public honoring of those who deserve to be remembered for their sacrifices to protect their country.

In Flanders Fields

John McCrae - 1872-1918

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
    That mark our place; and in the sky
    The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
    Loved and were loved, and now we lie
        In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe: 
To you from failing hands we throw
    The torch; be yours to hold it high. 
    If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
        In Flanders fields.

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