My neighbors across the street still have a pile of dirt in the yard (excavated during sewer line repair) and I think it's time to offer a food gift, so I'll do a one-two package of mashed sweet potatoes and cinnamon rolls. (I promised the rolls to another friend also, so it's past time to make them). It also gives me a chance to catch up and learn if the work is nearing completion.

As 2026 unfurls itself in spectacularly grim fashion it is possible to feel like any individual can't make a difference. To be occupying space and going through the daily routine is insufficient. I have signed myself up for two marches this month, but beyond the public display, will resume writing to my representatives. I've sent my annual letter requesting my absentee ballots (that must be mailed way early now to be sure they are postmarked in time). It feels like the two steps back slide while attempting one step forward. When a mom in her family minivan can be blown away in the street by the Trump dementors for no damn good reason, we're all equally at risk.

Trying to stay out of trouble, but it seems to be coming to us.