Category Archives: Minnesota

Fourth Phase, Memories, Minnesota

Shining Through

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Spring and the Moon of Liberation

Shabbat gratefuls: Christina. Sam. Jamie. Luke. Two Wendys. Gary. Ayelet. Ode. Tom. Paul. Bill. Neck brace. Writing. Parsha.

Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Chesed

 

Kavannah: Areyvut. Mutual responsibility.  All humans are accountable to each other.

Tarot: Five of Bows, empowerment.  Returning to the homeland of your soul. I write.

 

One brief shining:  I have a coffee mug. A male moose stands in shallow water, looking away, toward the boreal forest. Below him is an inscription: The Gunflint Trail. I bought this mug over forty years ago. It has survived moves, constant handling. A Velveteen Rabbit.

 

Legacy cannot be purchased; but it is inescapable.

 

Ruth and Gabe will remember me.  Ancientrails, words and ideas over time.

Legacy arises from life. It cannot be created by a name on a building or a ghost-written biography.

My social worker, Rachel, believes in the ripple effect. She sees  our interactions with others expanding, rippling out. Rachel is a kind and sensitive woman. She treats me with kindness. Her soul expands further into the world when I unconsciously treat another with kindness.

That coffee mug. Has had a ripple effect. On me. Holding it I remember Raeone and a night on the Gunflint Trail when we heard a banging, clanging sound. Opened the door to a black bear, head in our garbage bin.

I remember M.J. We were close, then not.

Holding it I remember the boreal forest which fills the Arrowhead region of Minnesota. Wolves, bears, moose. Glacial lakes. A border with Canada. A long coastline on the Great Lake, Superior.

The ripple effect. Ceramics capture ripples. Over the years since that banging, clanging night I’ve often picked up this mug, filled it with cold coffee, and signed on zoom with my Ancient Brothers, three of whom still live in Minnesota.

The moose has a few spots where its glaze has worn off to reveal the white glaze of the mug’s first firing. Constant use has changed it from a souvenir to a vessel of memory, more filled with Grand Marais and the North Shore than the gallons of coffee I’ve drunk from it.

The mug’s legacy. An emptiness bounded by glazed clay. It’s that emptiness, the cylinder-shaped nothing. That makes it useful.

That’s legacy. Unintended. Yet inevitable. Our lives create an empty space which others can pour themselves into.  At my age much of my glazing has worn off from  constant handling. The self–my neshama–once glazed over by convention and routine, now casts a gentle glow through my long frayed exterior.

Pick up the mug.
Fill it.
Remember.

Family, Memories, Minnesota

At the Capital Grille

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Imbolc and the Moon of Tides (2% crescent)

Tuesday gratefuls: Tamales from David’s mom. Ruth smiling. Winds. Melting snow. Final C.T. of this round. The lives of our days.

Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Young love

 

Kavannah: Histapkot. Contentment.   Seek what you need, give up what you don’t need.

Tarot: #4, The Greenman.  “…he brings order, discipline, and the “organized action” needed to manifest ideas into reality.” May it be so for my writing.

One brief shining: Ruth and David came up, their new, tender relationship feeling its way. David, “I’m nervous.” Patriarchs, eh? We sat, David on the ottoman, Ruth in the chair, me in mine, and talked of many things.

 

Do you remember? Meeting the parent or grandparent? I do. When I met Kate’s mom and dad, Rebecca and Merton, I had had, as Ruth said David had, a pep talk.

I was not nervous. At 42 I knew who I was and what I was doing in our relationship. I loved Kate. We were getting married.

Rebecca opened, “So, I hear you’re weaving a story.” Oops. She had taken that line from her loom. She was an accomplished weaver. Her slightly forced smile, her body language. The tone.

Merton, the anesthesiologist, was quiet. He twisted his ring a bit, one he set with a stone from his rock tumbler.

Part of the pep talk prepared me for this. “Mom and Dad think you’re after my money.” Since Kate made four times what I did as a Presbyterian clergy, I could just understand. An odd suspicion. Without evidence.

In retrospect it may be that Kate had told them that after we married I would resign from the ministry to focus on writing, cooking, Joseph.

See. That proves it! He’s taking advantage of her. I could feel certainty behind her not reaching the eyes smile.

I ignored the implication. “Yes, that’s right. A novel, Even the Gods Must Die.”

The booth at the Capital Grille got smaller. The sound of cutlery on China. I shifted my napkin in my lap. She had heard what she expected. I did not then, nor did I later try to dissuade them.

Moral grounding can only show up in deeds. Words are too slippery. Too often shaped to the ears of the other.

They never changed their perception. I didn’t care. Kate and I knew each other. Who we were. What we wanted.

When she came home from work, I had a hot meal ready. The dogs had been fed. I’d written my thousand words for the day. We could be together.

Our life blossomed. Let Rebecca and Merton stay in their xeroscaped home deep in the labyrinth of Sun City, Arizona. Seniors only. Golf carts mandatory.

Here’s the irony. I got the money. When Kate died. I felt sad about her not getting to enjoy more of it. Relieved that I would have enough. So much more than I ever expected.

Rebecca and Merton died long ago. I scattered their ashes into a river flowing into Burntside Lake, near Ely, Minnesota.

Who knows whether Ruth and David have a future. They don’t, not yet. I don’t. If they do, I hope David sees me as welcoming, trusting of his intentions.

That’s all I wanted.

In that booth at the Capital Grille.

 

Memories, Minnesota, Shadow Mountain, The Move

At Home

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Imbolc and the Moon of Tides

Friday gratefuls: Jackie and Rhonda. Ears lifted. Diane. Kristin. Jennie. Artemis. Ruby gleams. Aspens. Lodgepoles. Lycaon

Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.

Sparks of Joy and Awe:  Jackie

Week Kavannah:   Yetziratiut. Creativity.   Feedback on my new writing style.

Tarot: #13, the Journey

I’m in clinical trial world, my cancer path, once stable, turned over to randomization and hope.

One brief shining: A lightness in my step. Decision made. Eager to get on with it. Hair cut and beard trim. Agency lifts the heart, the lev. Dance to the music.

Most of us old folks want to stay home. Not as shut-ins, but as persons living where the grandkids came for Hanukah. Where Kate and I came when the mountains called us. To this spot on Shadow Mountain.

Home. Minnesota, forty years. Andover, twenty years. Shadow Mountain, in the twelfth year. Competence. Autonomy. Belonging.

I took care of Kate here.

I take care of myself.

Alone, but not lonely. Congregation Beth Evergreen. Here, I’m at home.

Memory plus strong emotion. Embedded, lasting. So many memories. Jon and Ruth, with her little plastic shovel, removing snow on our new driveway so the moving van could park. Tom and I letting the dogs out after the long drive from Minnesota. They ran around the yard once and jumped back in. Ready to go home.

311 E. Monroe Street. Alexandria, Indiana. Where our milk came each day by horse drawn delivery wagon. Where mom and I watched the yellow and black garden spider live her life.

419 N. Canal. I used a slingshot to break the windshield of an insurance agent visiting mom and dad. Paid for it by washing dishes at twenty-cents an hour. I listened to the Ring cycle in my bedroom. Mom died.

Andover. Flowers. Raspberries and leeks. Honey and the Orchard. The firepit. Seventeen dogs.

Home.

Not only shaping home with garden trowels and dog bowls, but being shaped in turn by the homeplace. In Andover we had two and a half acres, partially wooded, and room for gardens, for dogs to run free. Kate and I chose to live into that place filling it with flowers, vegetables, dogs.

On Shadow Mountain we lived (and I live) in rarified air. Lodgepoles and aspens. On an ordinary day driving by Black Mountain. Following Maxwell Creek down the long slope of Shadow Mountain. Kate said she felt like she was on vacation every day.

Home.

 

Fourth Phase, Garden, Judaism, Minnesota, Paganism, Reimagine. Reconstruct. Reenchant.

I flew with hawks

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Imbolc and the Moon of Deep Friendship

Thursday gratefuls: Tom and Paul. Tara. Dr. Bupathi. Shadow and her doughnut. Clergy. My time in the ministry. A life lived in pursuit of love and justice.

Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.

 

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Religion

Week Kavannah: Hakarat Hatov. Gratitude.

I chose this because Tom and Paul are coming. Ruth, too. And, my 79th birthday. And, for life, my precious.

 

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Tarot: Five of Bows, Empowerment

“By facing and defeating our greatest fears, we empower ourselves and grow more resilient and effective against adversity…The empowered individual ultimately has the capability to influence and affect the outcome of events and change perceptions.” Parting the Mist

One brief shining: In 1976 I wore a monk’s robe, a child’s wooden necklace with a cross around my neck. I knelt and a crowd of clergy and elders lay on hands until the hands of those closest to me rested on my head. From layperson to ordained clergy.

 

Those hands felt heavy. I could feel a charge pass from them to me. The laying on of hands. Ancient. Primal.

Political radical. Warrior and priest. I stood with the people of Stevens Square and with the descendants of John Calvin.

An out of body experience: Reverend Buckman-Ellis. “If clergy are usually more priest or more prophet…” I was more prophet.

Yet I prayed. Led worship. Served communion. Baptized my son and his close friend Alex. Studied the scripture.

Until I couldn’t. That day when my spiritual director said, “Charlie, I think you’re a Druid!” I wasn’t. I crossed over from Christian to pagan. Mother Earth my altar and sanctuary.

Kate. Radical Kate. She let me retire from the ministry with dignity. Falling into her life, she was my dear and glorious physician. A synchronicity.

With dogs and vegetables, flowers and honey, our life went against the grain. She my weeding ninja. Me, her gardener. No need for a robe, a title. A spade and a trowel, yes.

Yet I also wandered the natural places of Anoka County. Honing a pagan’s blurring of the lines between creature and plant and landscape. I flew with hawks. Bloomed along the Rum River. Religious.

Until late in my journey, I decided to blend my pagan life with those who escaped from Egypt, who wandered in the desert. Immersed three times in warm mikveh waters. Came out a Jew.

At last. With my Hebrew name, Israel, I became what I always was. A god wrestler. Uneasy with answers. Kate’s path. Then mine. Now one.

 

Cancer, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Health, Memories, Minnesota

The Land of Lake Woebegone

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Imbolc and the Moon of Deep Friendship

Monday gratefuls: Dr. Bupathi. Prostate cancer. New mets. Joe and his work. Shadow of cone and bandage. Dr. Josy. Her journey. Youtube. Kate, always Kate. Artemis in Winter. Her Garlic. The Dog run. Epstein files. Kennedy center closing. Minneapolis. Cool weather. Hard Rock Medical. Tu BiShvat.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Living

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei    Shadow, my Wu Wei mistress

Year Kavannah: Creativity.   Yetziratiut.   “Inspiration exists, but it has to find you working.” ― Pablo Picasso

Week Kavannah: Tikkun  Olam. Repairing the world.

  • Lurianic Kabbalah: A 16th-century mystical belief that the world was created by divine vessels that shattered, scattering “sparks” of divine light. Humans perform tikkun by gathering these sparks through prayer and mitzvot.
  • Modern Social Justice: Since the 1950s, the term has become a shorthand for social action and progressive activism, such as environmentalism and human rights. 

Tarot: Seven of Arrows, insecurity.

“…this card focuses on the psychological state of vulnerability…”

One brief shining: In the winter of my life I live beside a hearthfire built over the years from the warmth of deep friendship, the stable power of family, a lev calmed by meditation and acceptance, a soul anchoring me in the interconnected web of Lodgepoles and Grasses, Dogs and Elk, Mountains and Rivers, and in a loving, sacred community.

Health: Petscan results have come back. They show new metastases. Not what we’d hoped. Not what I want. But the case anyhow. Puts me over into the hormone resistant phase of stage four prostate cancer. I see my oncologist today and expect that he’ll start me on some new protocol.

Thanks to dramatic advances in dealing with just this situation there are still many effective treatments left. Not sure which direction we’ll go, but I’ll let you know when we decide.

The seven of arrows speaks to the feeling of vulnerability I experience each time new test results come in and especially when, like these results, they have unwelcome news. Yet, well into my eleventh year of prostate cancer, I have this reaction. OK. This is where I am. What do we do next? Not resignation, not OMG, but a desire to stay in it, be present.

I’m grateful for each of you who care about me, love me. This journey would be bleak without you. With you it’s just that, a journey that is part of my life, hardly all of it.

The Wild: When writing last week about my White Pine guide in Boot Lake SNA, the natural world of northern Anoka County came flooding back. The early mornings I would spend doing cardio by the Rum River, following a county park trail beside it. The bitter cold mornings on Snowshoes in the woods behind the new library.

Time spent in the Helen Allison Oak Savannah among its Bur Oaks, tall Grasses, and Wild Flowers. Hawks, Songbird, Frogs. Afternoons at the Cedar Creek Ecosystem Science Reserve.

Winter days taking Sorsha, our 150 pound Irish Wolfhound bitch, for a walk in the Ice fishing village on a frozen Lake George.

Beautiful and precious moments in the land of Lake Woebegone.

Great Wheel, Minnesota, Politics, Seed Keepers

A Winter People

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Imbolc and the Moon of Deep Friendship

Renee Good and Alex Pretti, say their names

Sunday gratefuls: Dr. Josy coming to change Shadow’s bandage. Shadow, enconed. Cool weather. Protein. Exercise. Roxann and Tom, recovering. The resistance in Minnesota. In Minneapolis. A gentle, angry people. Political pressure. Finally, Democratic pushback. Minneapolis nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize. A light to the nation and the nations.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Courts of law

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei    Shadow, my Wu Wei mistress

Year Kavannah: Creativity.   Yetziratiut.   “Inspiration exists, but it has to find you working.” ― Pablo Picasso

Week Kavannah: Tikkun  Olam. Repairing the world.

  • Lurianic Kabbalah: A 16th-century mystical belief that the world was created by divine vessels that shattered, scattering “sparks” of divine light. Humans perform tikkun by gathering these sparks through prayer and mitzvot.
  • Modern Social Justice: Since the 1950s, the term has become a shorthand for social action and progressive activism, such as environmentalism and human rights. 

Tarot: Queen of Arrows, The Swan

  • Attributes: She embodies honesty, logic, and a sharp wit. Like the traditional Queen of Swords, she is highly capable and values direct communication.
  • The Swan Element: The swan’s presence signals a need to swim toward clearer waters after a period of sorrow or separation.

One brief shining: Can you feel the sorrow, the sore hearts, the sadness rising in Americans all over this land; the Swan that is  our collective weariness with the harsh, coarse hand of a government devoid of love, compassion, and justice swims in her graceful desolation toward states united against rule by whim and fear, standing together like the North Star, blazing in the cold.

Minnesota: “Don’t attack a winter people in the winter.” A Minneapolis resident quoted yesterday. Going in layers to meet the day. A layer first, close to the skin of warm compassion.  A second layer over that one of chesed, loving kindness expressed in action. A third layer of indignation, a layer protective against the winds of oppression, and finally, a layer of gentle fierce anger, an anger that pleads for, no, demands justice.

Don’t forget a warm hat and boots. Gloves, too, my winter people.

The Great Wheel: Today, February 1st, marks the beginning of Imbolc, a Celtic cross quarter holiday that lies midway between the Winter Solstice and the Spring Equinox. A traditional understanding of Imbolc says it means, “in the belly.” Short hand for quickened Ewes beginning to freshen, that is, lactate.

After a long fallow time living off the stores of last year’s growing season, the freshening of the Ewes promised milk, cheese, and the birth of new Lambs, pure white Lambs. Family and village wealth increases and the Lambs evidence the imminent coming of a new growing season. Cold weather crops might go in the ground just after Imbolc, providing fresh greens for the table.

Imbolc also celebrates the Celtic triple goddess, Brigid. She is the goddess of the hearth, inspiration, and the smithy. She warms the home, inspires bards and poets, and heats the blacksmith’s fire. Fire is her element and her holiday reminds us each year that Great Sol has begun to warm Mother Earth with new intensity.

This Imbolc I’m celebrating the fire in the belly of Minneapolis citizens. Their actions can birth a Spring of justice and compassion if we can keep the pressure on, turn up the heat.

 

Dogs, Minnesota, Politics, Seed Keepers, Tarot, US History

We Are the North Star

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Yule and the Moon of Deep Friendship

Shabbat gratefuls: A day of peace. Shadow and her cone, her brightly taped leg. Roxann. Tom. Jessie. Minneapolis. Resistance. In song and action. Red tie guy who could end this. The Federal Reserve. Washington Post reporters. Don Lemon. Cell phone videos. ICE. Border Patrol. Our poor benighted Republic.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Dr. Josy, caring vet

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei    Shadow, my Wu Wei mistress

Year Kavannah: Creativity.   Yetziratiut.   “Inspiration exists, but it has to find you working.” ― Pablo Picasso

Week Kavannah: Tikkun  Olam. Repairing the world.

  • Lurianic Kabbalah: A 16th-century mystical belief that the world was created by divine vessels that shattered, scattering “sparks” of divine light. Humans perform tikkun by gathering these sparks through prayer and mitzvot.
  • Modern Social Justice: Since the 1950s, the term has become a shorthand for social action and progressive activism, such as environmentalism and human rights. 

Tarot: Nine of Vessels, Generosity

Generosity of Spirit: This card represents a deep, selfless love (agape) and a willingness to share one’s inner resources, compassion, and joy with the world.

Connection: This card emphasizes that sharing your emotional abundance fosters deeper connections with companions and the surrounding environment.

One brief shining: Non-violent resistance flows from nine of vessel’s energy, linking this peace seeker with that peace seeker in a chain powerful enough to hold back cruelty and hate, yet soft enough to ensure the well-being of neighbors in distress, and loving enough to re-place power where it belongs, in the hands of just folks.

Dog journal: Beginning the fourth day A.C. After the cone went on. Neither one of us like it much, only its proven medical purpose makes it and Shadow’s bandage bearable.

Going outside has become a chore. The bandage can’t get wet. That means I had to place the makeshift IV bag solution on Shadow’s injured leg. Difficult. I bought and received booties which are somewhat easier, but both require a lot of bending over and my right lower back does not like that. At all.

Only eleven days to go.

 

Just a moment: I can’t improve on this excerpt from a Krista Tippet Substack post forwarded by friend Paul Strickland. Her credo nourishes and promotes a way to heal our sore hearts:

…this is one of those moments when the strange and beautiful reality of the human condition rises in the face of what would deny it. In Minnesota, where I raised my children and grew this On Being Project, a world of care and dignity one human being towards another has flourished within and around all the images coming to us of violence and protest and despair. There are churches converted to food banks. There are families accompanying other families and neighbors delivering meals and other essentials to individuals who feel vulnerable for multitudes of reasons. There are strangers bearing witness, non-violently, as homes are approached and doors beaten down. There are teachers and librarians and healers stepping up to care for children and teenagers who are traumatized by all of this. I am hearing a thousand stories that are not making the “news” as I’m trying to follow it, but they too are the story of our time, and they are stories of what makes us human and humane.

I repeat: I cannot believe that this beautiful strangeness and complexity reside on one side of our political lines and not the other. A few years ago, I penned a few lines in this newsletter that have become my credo:

Enough of us see that we have a world to remake.

We want to meet what is hard and hurting.

We want to rise to what is beautiful and life-giving.

We want to do that where we live, and we want to do it walking alongside others.

We’re asking, where to begin?

We have a long way to go to find our way back to feeling our belonging to each other that has never stopped being true. But it is what we are called to. I cleave to my faith that there are “enough of us” longing to meet this calling.

The common ground of our sore hearts may be the place to begin, and return, and ever begin again.
Anoka County, Minnesota, Plants, Seed Keepers

Winter’s Mysteries

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Yule and the Moon of Deep Friendship

Friday gratefuls: Rabbi Jamie. Rabbi Rami Shapiro. Kabbalah Experience. Mah Tovu. Rollover IRA. Kate, always Kate. Shadow healing. Diane. Dr. Josy. “I was born to heal and be of service.” Melting ICE in a Minnesota January. Minnesota Anthem. Streets of Minneapolis. Resistance. Showing the way.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Tom, Roxann, Jessie

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei    Shadow, my Wu Wei mistress

Year Kavannah: Creativity.   Yetziratiut.   “Inspiration exists, but it has to find you working.” ― Pablo Picasso

Week Kavannah: Rachamim. Compassion.

While chesed (lovingkindness) often refers to a choice of action, rachamim is deeply tied to visceral emotion and empathy—feeling the pain of another. 

Tarot: Page of Arrows, the Wren

The colors of the Goldcrest – red, white, green, and black – were once held to be sacred and the common Wren was considered a guardian of the winter mysteries.  Parting the Mists

One brief shining: Nazis drove toward Moscow in the winter while ICE and the Border Patrol came to the streets of Minnesota in January, both tactical and strategic errors born from the arrogance of ignorance and a lust for power unbridled that blinded leaders and empowered those they aimed to oppress. Winter mysteries.

For Roxann: Boot Lake Scientific and Natural Area, not far from Kate and mine’s Andover home, held a mother White Pine with two trunks splitting off from the main trunk about ten feet up. No straight timber there, no whaling ship’s mast. It got left behind when the lumberjacks came.

A century or so later this unwanted Tree had birthed a ring of younger Pines grown up almost in her shadow. I found this Tree, which I thought of as my Tree, not in the sense of ownership, but as a friend and spirit guide, while hiking in the SNA as I often did, especially in the Spring when the Bloodroot blooms.

In summer I would bring a snack from home, hike through the used to be home plot, now a field of grass, then through an outer ring of Birches that opened onto a Meadow enclosed by Birch and Oak and White Pine. Across the Meadow, inside the Woods there, I would find my tree, sit beneath her, my back against her rough bark. Sometimes I would meditate, imagining her roots sunk deep beneath me, feeding and being fed by mycelial networks invisible to man. Seeing her lower branches reaching out toward her children, acknowledging them as her family. Feeling her crowns still pushing toward the Sky, toward the warmth and energy of Great Sol. Sometimes.

Sometimes I would eat my heirloom Tomato with White Onion slices and feel the companionship of my Tree and her children.

In Winter I would strap on my Snowshoes and hike through deep Snow, through the Birches, and across the white blanket covering the Meadow and find her again. I often made this hike on the day of the Winter Solstice. She would speak to me then of winter’s mysteries. Of vast silence. Of cold so sharp it made her Needles twitch. Of the Deer that might bed down near her.

I love that all I have to do is reach out in memory and I am with her again, as I could be today if I strapped on my snowshoes and climbed over the fence.

Dogs, Minnesota, Music, Politics, US History

Action

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Yule and the Moon of Deep Friendship

Thursday gratefuls: Dr. Josy. Petscans. Glaucoma. Shadow enconed and bandaged. Tom. Roxann. Jessie. Bruce Springsteen, The Streets of Minneapolis. Resistance. ICE. Border Patrol. Alinsky, the action is in the reaction. Prostate cancer. Winter, winter where art thou? Amazon. Safeway. New Korean restaurant in Evergreen. Rebecca and Joanne. Tara.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: the action is in the reaction

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei    Shadow, my Wu Wei mistress

Year Kavannah: Creativity.   Yetziratiut.   “Inspiration exists, but it has to find you working.” ― Pablo Picasso

Week Kavannah: Rachamim. Compassion.

While chesed (lovingkindness) often refers to a choice of action, rachamim is deeply tied to visceral emotion and empathy—feeling the pain of another. 

Tarot: #1, The Shaman

“The shamans unique quality is the ability to enter and commune with all levels of sentient life on the earth. It is he who shudders with the wisdom and joy contained in the haunting music of the whale song or whose skin prickles with arousal at the howling of the timberwolves. His soul reverberates with the unheard sonorous call of the mountains and smiles with pure joy at laughter of the waterfall.” Parting the Mist

One brief shining: Under the bed eyes glowing cone attached lay Shadow in her most secure most safe spot wondering wondering about the silly thing around her head about the bandage on her right front leg about her Dad looking at her and speaking softly.

 

Dog journal: Shadow came home, happy to see me, snuggled up in my legs, licked licked licked my face. If she wasn’t so furry, I might have done the same to her.

Dr. Josy said Shadow followed her around in the house. Wondered if she did the same to me. Was she anxious? No, I don’t read her that way. She wants to be in my vicinity, and when I sit down, she wanders off to do her own thing. Natalie, the trainer, calls Blue Heelers velcro dogs. Once they bond to you, you’re the center of their life.

This is gonna be hard. She needs to go out, yet have the bandage protected. Dr. Josy made a plastic leg cover out of an IV bag and tubing. Works, but I have to get it on her, my back not always a cooperator. Just two weeks. We’ll get by. Ordered some outdoor socks that will be easier to get on and off.

 

Just a moment: Saul Alinsky said the action is in the reaction. This basic principle of non-violent protest has played out once again on the Streets of Minneapolis. The violent, cruel, inhumane reaction of ICE and Border Patrol agents to the action of Minneapolis citizens has produced political pressure and a lot of it. Will it be enough to change the course of this thugee approach to immigration enforcement? I’m not sure.

My guess? Yes, for a bit anyhow. Yet. The entrenched callousness and ruthlessness of MAGA and their sorta leader, red tie guy, suggest they ain’t gonna wanna change for very long and no more than they have to.

Unless. More cities, more US citizens take to the streets. And if Democrats grow a spine. Push back. Possible. Just possible.

I’m attaching Springsteen’s song again just because.