Author: Karen

Thursday Essay (And Music)

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This piece by Adam Serwer in The Atlantic is worth your time today. He rides along with a few volunteers–some delivering food, some watching ICE–and, in a very dry Atlantic way, absolutely destroys the assholes responsible for this occupation.

For example:

[The] remarks reminded me of something Stephen Miller, the Trump adviser, had written: “Migrants and their descendants recreate the conditions, and terrors, of their broken homelands.” In Minnesota, the opposite was happening. The “conditions and terrors” of immigrants’ “broken homelands” weren’t being re-created by immigrants. They were being re-created by people like Miller. The immigrants simply have the experience to recognize them.

 

and:

The federal surge into Minneapolis reflects a series of mistaken MAGA assumptions. The first is the belief that diverse communities aren’t possible: “Social bonds form among people who have something in common,” Vance said in a speech last July. “If you stop importing millions of foreigners into the country, you allow social cohesion to form naturally.” Vance’s remarks are the antithesis to the neighborism of the Twin Cities, whose people do not share the narcissism of being capable of loving only those who are exactly like them.

 

But the quote from this piece that I see going around the most is near the end, and it’s circulating for good reason:

The secret fear of the morally depraved is that virtue is actually common, and that they’re the ones who are alone. In Minnesota, all of the ideological cornerstones of MAGA have been proved false at once. Minnesotans, not the armed thugs of ICE and the Border Patrol, are brave. Minnesotans have shown that their community is socially cohesive—because of its diversity and not in spite of it. Minnesotans have found and loved one another in a world atomized by social media, where empty men have tried to fill their lonely soul with lies about their own inherent superiority. Minnesotans have preserved everything worthwhile about “Western civilization,” while armed brutes try to tear it down by force.

 

And if that didn’t get you fired up enough, listen to this song Bruce Springsteen wrote Saturday, recorded Sunday, mixed Monday, and dropped Tuesday. Solidarity!

Micro Joy: LABEL MAKERS

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I saw a phrase over the weekend floating around Instagram: “Micro joys are how we survive macro grief.” And it’s the same idea as collecting wonderful things or that there’s some good in this world, Mr. Frodo. So I humbly present a source of joy: the label maker my dad got me for Christmas.

The back of a label maker labeled "Karen's Label Maker" in gothic font

Close up of a warning sticker on a metal ladder, with a label saying "ladder" above it.

Two leftover containers labeled, "Alan's container" and "Mike's container"

Yes those first few labels were just me goofing around, but it’s really coming into its own as I re-do all the sewing storage in the new space:
Three clear organizers of sewing supplies, all neatly labeled

Knitting Appreciation Post

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Blogging as usual feels a little like this: Split screen meme with a burning city at the top captioned, AMERICA RIGHT NOW and A man shouting at the bottom, captioned, "ANYONE WANT TO TALK ABOUT CRAFTS?"

But as the great Elizabeth Zimmerman said, “Knit on with confidence and hope through all crises,” so that’s what I’m doing.

I’m down to the final ribbing on my rainbow stripe sweater that took one entire year so expect pictures of that soon. And instead of doomscrolling at night for the last few days, I’ve been scrolling knitting patterns to find my next sweater that will take another year.

I do love the PetiteKnit patterns and she has a mariner stripe sweater that could be great in an orange and white–but I also saw this neutral (!) cardigan that pulled up memories of my two favorite Banana Republic sweaters in high school, a gray cardigan and a marled b&w turtleneck:

A tan cardigan with black flecks and a floppy collar

The back of a tan cardigan, with a narrow black stripe running across the back

If I could BUY this I would have already, but I’m not sure about making it: Those black flecks are actually colorwork,  i.e. knitted into the fabric using two yarns vs. just using a speckled yarn, so this might not be a fun relaxing knit for me.

But wow did it bring back nostalgia and make me want to cuddle into a cardigan and read some J. Peterman catalogs.

Monday Poem

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Things are bad in America, friends, but we’re still here. This is from a collection di Prima started writing in 1968, which is really comforting for me (in a “We survived that” sense, not that they’re still applicable even today.)  You can find most of the poems as a PDF in a few places.

 

REVOLUTIONARY LETTER #100
REALITY IS NO OBSTACLE
by Diane di Prima

refuse to obey
refuse to die
refuse to sleep
refuse to turn away
refuse to close your eyes
refuse to shut your ears
refuse silence when you can still sing
refuse discourse in lieu of embracement
come to no end that is not
a Beginning

 

The Helplessness Is By Design

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The news out of Minnesota is so bad, friends. But as I was reading and panicking and feeling like all is already lost, I had to remember: They want us to feel like that. So don’t. Go to a rally Friday, throw money at the food pantries making deliveries or law groups stepping up, talk to your neighbors, think of wonderful things.

Here’s Mike Monteiro on those wonderful things:

Remembering and holding on to the things that make us feel wonderful are fuel. In some cases they remind us of what we’ve lost. In other cases they remind us of what we’re fighting for. And, on a really good day, they remind us of what we’re still able to achieve despite the weight of absolutely everything trying to keep us from doing so.

[…] I am listing these things out as reminders for why we fight. Your list may be very different from mine. … I bet there’s something on your list of what makes you feel wonderful that would make me feel wonderful, but it hasn’t even occurred to me! And vice versa. Maybe you’ve got spicy mango on your list. It’s wonderful, right? Maybe you’ve got a good molotov recipe. Wonderful, let’s share it.

Maybe one of us will knock an ICE goon on his ass. I guarantee that’ll feel wonderful. Like ice cream at the perfect temperature, or a Thin Mint right out of the freezer.

2026 is the year we win. That’ll feel wonderful too.

 

And here’s Winston Hearm on what it’s like in the Twin Cities right now:

Have you ever participated in disaster relief efforts? After a flood, or a hurricane, or a wildfire, or what have you? In those moments the scarcity mindset of capitalism falls away, and people collectively tap into a spirit of care, of generosity, of solidarity. Any need that can be met is, any help that is needed is satisfied.

Right now the Federal Government is the disaster, and ICE are the chaos agents, and my community is a beautiful defensive force that will not be defeated.

[…] Right now on the ground in Minnesota, the revolution has already taken place. We are not waiting for saviors. We are not waiting for heroes. We are strong enough on our own.

[…] We love each other too much, we care for each other too much to let these fuckers’ visions for the world succeed. The better futures we hoped to one day build are now present in every single act of defiance. I don’t know how this specific invasion ends, but I know that what we’re building on the ground is beautiful. I love us.

 

And here’s some cool art you can download for free (she has a lot of options!) if you feel like having some cool art:WW2 style poster with a nazi soldier behind an ice officer. Text reads, We beat 'em before... we'll beat 'em again!

How’s The Basement Coming Along?

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I’m slowly getting things moved downstairs. Mid-move I had a real moment of regret about my plans for the space (“I already HAD a sewing room, what am I even doing??”) but now that it’s a little more set up, I’m extremely pleased. This will be the fancy sewing lair I dreamed about when I bought the house, uh, fifteen years ago!

A large room with a long table with 3 sewing mahchines on it against one wall. A long green cabinet is against the other wall and there is a fluffy white rug.

A desk drawer is pulled out. It's filled with thread in rainbow order.

A cabinet with green doors stands open. It is filled with folded fabric.

I still need to: move more things, make a new ironing board cover, make a new fabric-covered pinboard, get more drawer organizers, hang art, and figure out the lamps I want to use, but the fabric fits in the cabinet (whew) and the sewing machines are all down there. We’re getting close!

Seven Years

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A woman in shorts stands in front of a giant tropical plant

 

We said goodbye to Mom seven years ago today. Sometimes it seems like it happened decades ago; sometimes I still think, “I need to call her and tell her this!”

Grief does change, though. It doesn’t get “better,” but you get more used to it. Your loved one’s loss is (usually) less of a surprise, and you get more used to thinking about them without your heart breaking all over again.

It doesn’t go away, though, and I’m realizing that I don’t want it to. Because:

Screenshot of a post that says, Grief is perhaps the last and final translation of love. This is the last act of loving someone. And you realize that it will never end. You get to do this to translate this last act of love for the rest of your life.

 

American Onsen

Karen

After five years of day trips, we spent our first night at Maple Grove Hot Springs. There was a learning curve with the wood stove and I realized I’ve completely forgotten how to travel, but it was a kindly place to start to re-learn.


A steaming stream runs down to the river in the afternoon sun

Morning on the river, with mountains on both sides and frost on all the river grasses

A stone pool with a waterfall, steaming in the winter afternoon

Wood stove in a yurt with the door open to see the fire

Plus, they had wild swans on the river AND a resident cat! (He was so friendly, I got a lot of bonks.)
A woman in a spa robe squats down to pet a gray cat