Love my neighborhood!

After another almost all-nighter as a rookie book-maker, Luci and I got a late start walking.  On our walk, we met potential friends and one dog even smaller than Luci. 

I love my neighborhood!  

No matter what our yard signs may have said during voting season, we are all united around the death of little Kellyanne.  

Eva and George have spent the week doing recovery at the Guadalupe.

Tyler and his girlfriend moved into a corner house two days ago, catty-cornered across from Kellyanne's family.

Phil and Patty have an adorable little silky terrier named Lily.   

Another Phil, an immigration lawyer, with a dog named Marfa.  

Also ran into Nathan who works for ESPN--and who communicates regularly with my Marcus for whom that is a dream career.  One of his daughters was in third grade with Kellyanne. 

When I first met Nathan two years ago, and when I learned that he works for ESPN, I asked him for a favor--to reach out to Marcus and talk sports.  He did and they do!

Best of all, of course, Jan next door and her family visiting from Austin. Last night I was the lucky recipient of the best chalupa ever made by Jan and a watermelon pizza slice made by Makken--a triangular slice of melon topped with green yogurt with blueberry eyes on its face. 

Good people all around!

When I come home, I write down their names and addresses to help me remember.  

Book Binding Hours

 Last night I lay down around 11, intending to sleep like normal people do.  But around midnight I woke up and remembered the book that was frustrating me to pieces!

This little book starts out with a large sheet of good paper, and collaging  all over it, then cutting it into signatures.  After making a cover (gluing handmade paper onto book boards), I thread SIX needles and follow the instructions for stitching them together.  

A few years ago I might have thrown it all in the trash, but now I am persistent.  I don't stop until a book emerges.  At 2:00 in the morning, with no phone ringing, no dog wanting in or out, this baby of a book was born!  It wasn't actually finished until about six this morning, but the link stitch finally made sense.  

The book I now hold it my hand is an imperfect treasure, and I will soon make another while muscle memory serves me. 

As the elder I now unquestionably am, I've learned that the hours of the night are my most productive, even sometimes exhilarating.  When Luci emerges from her burrow under the covers, I say, "Hey, Luci, look at this!"

She's not impressed.  Few, if any, humans would be impressed.  But what I do these days is not contingent on anyone's being impressed; it's all about the process of learning so many things in one tiny structure.  The Ethiopian stitch that connects the pages to the cover; practice with thread tension; what kind of paper works best; and keeping six needles in play from cover to spine!

The temptation is to go to the thrift store and pick up some more vintage books for my upcoming project of turning an old book into a new book.  Or the art supply store to get a chisel.  Or organizing my art supplies and cleaning off the dining table.

All the tempting distractions are almost as much fun as making an actual book, but on this Saturday morning--after I go back to sleep for a bit--I'm resolutely avoiding them and preparing to start a very different book.  

Luci--probably, a Dachshund Corgi mix, is a funny little creature.  Having observed her for four and a half years, I've been intrigued with her desire to please and her penchant for healing.  So I'm now doing a little "research" on Facebook reels--which is how I've guesstimated her DNA.

I subscribed to two groups--Corgi Lovers and Dachshund Lovers--and they post the kind of videos that sometimes make me laugh out loud.  Except for the loud and frequent barking of those breeds. Luci combines so many traits of both. 

Like a  Doxie, she has stubby legs, a sausage body, and gives me the side-eye anytime my actions don't match her lofty expectations.  WHY don't you want to go to walk again or throw my toys?  WHY don't you see that that steak you're eating is my favorite thing?  WHY do you disturb my slumbers by getting up at night and playing with papers?  

Also, there's very little she can't reach by jumping, and her 14 pound furry self takes up three-fourths of my bed.  When I watch a movie in bed, she burrows deep under the covers. Whether I'm gone for two minutes or two hours, she dances and jumps with delight when I come back.  Jan says that she frequently complains to her that I have abandoned her--again--but she doesn't hold it against me. 

Like both breeds, she's a fast runner.  But her favorite activity is observing and getting love from friends and strangers.  

Her body shape may be Doxie, but her coloring is pure Corgi.  Her big fan tail comes from who knows where?  Some observers have seen strains of Papillon.

Meek.  Undemanding.  Opinionated. Grooms herself like a cat.  Never asks for anything--unless you count the intense eye contact she gives me as she stands under the treat drawer. 

She understands English that applies to her.  "Do you want to go to walk?" sets off a routine of going to her toy basket, grabbing a celebratory toy, and running around the house in glee. 

Why, when I have the real deal, do I so enjoy these doggie reels so much?  Not just to explore her possible pedigree, though that's very entertaining.  Mainly because, while Luci's sleeping, I want more of her, or more like her.  If I had more energy, a bigger yard, and someone else to help, I'd get her one of those as a playmate, maybe two. 

She and Carma love each other in their way, but their personalities are very different.  Carma is exuberance personnified--or doggie-fied. Her tail is a wonder to watch, a veritable windmill of pleasure. 

Carma has one speed: full on joy in motion.  

Luci is moodier.  Maybe just the tiniest bit neurotic in her separation anxiety.  

Carma eats anything--and I mean ANY thing.  Luci is a delicate picky eater who turns up not only her nose but her whole head when she loudly resorts to chomping kibble if nothing better is forthcoming.  As she chomps--that's when I get a certain disapproving look.  "You have no idea how much I hate this food!" 

Today we stopped in at the Green Door Thrift Shop.  I could hear the clerks saying to each other, "Luci's here!" and then they all gathered around.  One picked her up and put her on the counter.  For about 20 minutes, two 80-something regulars pet her and hugged her and cooed like little girls getting to pet a puppy.   No wonder Luci likes thrift shopping! 

"Everybody's Girl"

Walking past the house of Kellyanne's family, Jan and I noticed that large green bows had been wrapped around the trunks of trees in their yard and in the community garden across the street--a take on the "yellow ribbons around the old oak tree." 

We'd just heard from two sources that two of the eleven still-missing girls had been found in a tree in Comfort, miles from the camp--a story we were about to learn wasn't true.  Improbable as it was, we were so hopeful for those few minutes. We could picture the family coming home intact, seeing the neighborhood wrapped in Cambridge Elementary green.  

The two women (friends of Kellyanne's mother) were moving down the street, wrapping more trees. When they saw how moved we were by their project, they  gave us each a green plastic tablecloth from the Dollar Tree, so that we could wrap our own.  

Jan shared a comment a woman at her church had made: "Kellyanne is now our girl, our daughter, our granddaughter."  

What if she's safe? what if she comes home? what if we can now get to watch her grow up? 

 

She's everybody's girl. 

Every day in Gaza, in Ukraine, and in war-battered places all over the globe, children die, starve, disappear, and suffer in ways we can't even imagine. 

What if we had the capacity to feel that every one of those children are "ours"? 

No human mind is capacious enough to hold them all. But what if?  

When the worst  happens, it's human nature to imagine our daughters, our granddaughters, in the same peril. 

To see our girl's father on the news, searching desperately through rubble and saying, "She's got to be here!" how can we not weep?  He's one of us, he's our son, broken in the worst possible way. 

Two weeks ago, I passed a house I walk past every morning.  I'd never met the people who live there, but on that morning I watched a festive cluster of people outside taking pictures--parents and three little girls.

In each window of the van, a name was scrawled with shoe polish.  

The three girls were posing, each under the window with her name on it.  

I slowed my gait to watch the simple ordinary moments of a family getting ready to go someplace, three little girls dressed up like Easter morning, their parents calling their names.  Hurry up, nice, stand there, stand by your name.

I only remember one of the three names, Kellyanne. 

We exchanged no words, only smiles, but I kept thinking about them, as if storing the whole happy tableau for future reference.  

I would likely not have recalled any of this except for today's tragedy.

As I walked Luci late this afternoon, I spoke with a neighbor who told me more of what I already knew about yesterday's  flood that had caused the entire Camp Mystic to be evacuated.  "Over 700 girls had been camping at the church camp when the Guadalupe rose too fast for anyone to escape," he said.  

Jan had told me earlier that 23 little girls were still unaccounted for, and one of them lives on our street.  Her first name--Kellyanne. 

If I am this gutted after only seeing Kellyanne that one morning, I can't even imagine the devastation of all who love her and are still holding out hope that she's alive.   Her young parents, her two little sisters.  Her teacher and classmates at the elementary school at the end of our street. 

The continuing rain today, the grey skies, Mother Earth weeping.

Little baby gratitudes

I believe that what most people want is to have someone value whatever it is we have to give. 

If it's food, we want those we share it with to love it.  Same with flowers, a scarf,  or even a story we have to tell. 

While we can't fake it, (sometimes what another has to give isn't our cup of tea), we'd all do well to find at least a kernel of delicious or good or worthy in the gifts we are given from other people.

But we're maybe too tired to remember to tell the giver that we liked.....fill-in-the-blank.  The dinner, the pie, the story, the song.  

Years ago, traveling to Georgia, I left my car unlocked with my pocket book in it--just to look at something a few steps away.  I don't remember what.  

I saw a kiosk, a black woman inside selling cokes, and realized I was thirsty.  And so I ordered one, only to realize that I had no money on me.

"No problem," she said,  "I'm giving it to you."

I protested--my car was just there, I could go get a dollar, be right back.

She looked at me with a look of mock-reproach and said, "Girl, don't take away my blessing!"

My good fortune was to find a drink, but her good fortune, or blessing, was the joy of giving something away.  I should have said--and ultimately did say--just "Thank you!"

"Corruption, Cruelty, and Chaos" Joaquin Jefferies, July 3, 2025

The passing of Trump's Big Ugly Bill undermines the best of America and will cost millions of lives worldwide, but what does he care?  Americans picked a creepy reality show guy who doesn't give a damn. Even most legislators who privately claim not to like it voted for it for fear of losing their Big Ugly Jobs and Big Ugly Money. 

I used to be goosebump patriotic.  Not for the bombs bursting in air part, but for the amber waves of grain part.  

I used to be religious.  Not the fear of hell part but the love and generosity part. 

Today I can't align my deepest values with the kind of religion co-opted by the most fundamentalist branches. (I am glad to have grown up in church before it married nationalistic and self-serving patriotism.)  July 4th rah-rah doesn't do anything for me since Trump happened. I'm embarrassed that our country has sunk so low in the eyes of the world. 

The religious right today (not all religious people by any means, but the loudest of them) are doing everything they can to shove their evangelical beliefs down the throats of the country, posting The Ten Commandments in classrooms while withholding food from needy children in those classrooms.  

The very word, patriotic rankles, suggesting a loyalty to the "father" land.  I deeply love this country for its beauty and its potential, but until it's true, I can't say the words "liberty and justice for all."   

This Maga-Mega-Bill may be the most disgusting move yet--though it's hard to rank Worst in Nothing But Ugly when there's something new and cringeworthy every single day.  

The Trump Supreme Court, the Trump cabinet, the Trump Republicans in Congress, the Trump voters--all are culpable :

Withholding funds for food and medicine from people who won't survive without it.

Dumbing down education.

Ripping away reproductive freedoms.

Appointing and electing criminals--including the recent Justice department appointment of one of those convicted, then pardoned, for January 6th. 

Privileging the already privileged and impoverishing the already impoverished.  

Closing of rural hospitals and clinics.

Refusing to continue to provide life-saving vaccinations and AIDS medicines to those who need them.

Dismantling USAID--which has been doing good work for 60 years.

ICE agents attacking innocent people at their jobs to deport them. 

The damage of this Big Ugly Bill will be felt for generations--and all of this will flow from the Big Ugly Magic Marker of the current president of the United States.