A year + into 45’s reign of chaos. There have been so many outrages, so many reversals of policies that had made America an admired and respected country. So much lying and graft, so much collusion and racism. So many reasons to march, to resist, to protest, to make our outraged voices heard. I’m exhausted by the tsunami of 45’s draconian rule. But now, there has been another school shooting by a teenager with a semiautomatic AR-15 rifle, leaving 17 dead and many wounded. I feel called to action. Continue reading “A Call to Craftivist Action”
I have never liked arithmetic. That, and actual numbers and the awful, cold formulaic logic of numbers. Maybe I don’t like them because I’m a total failure at using them. When I first took the math SAT, my score was so low that I was asked to do it over. My score didn’t improve much on the second take. Continue reading “Undone by Numbers”
Only after looking closely at the pallid women on their sofas would one think they must be ill. One of them wears black–not a good color for her. She has interlaced her long fingers together, perhaps to steady her nerves. Her gaze is steady but untrusting, almost a little fearful. The other woman is less interesting, less defined, one dimensional. Something seems very off about her; her forehead is too short, perhaps. Her lips are pressed tightly shut. She looks angry. Maybe she resents being stared at?
One might be spurred to ask how did Miss Elizabeth Reynolds Chanler and her doppelganger come to be perched rather tentatively in my basement? How, indeed… Continue reading “Miss Chanler Makes a Visit”