On Thursday night, I went to an anti-ICE rally.
U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement, better known as ICE, is trying to buy an old auto parts distribution center in Chester to use as a
concentration camp mass detention center. The Hudson Valley doesn't yet have a dedicated
concentration camp mass detention center.
The HV community at large is widely opposed to building a
concentration camp mass detention center, even in Trump-tilting Orange County, New York, where Chester is located. Orange County is currently pursuing legal deterrents, arguing that, since the old warehouse sits on a floodplain, turning it into an ICE facility would violate zoning, deprive the community of tax revenue, and overwhelm its sewage system.
Something must have escalated. I'm not sure what. But this rally was called on very short notice, and I figured absolutely no one else would go—I mean, nighttime at the nadir of a polar vortex?
Which is why I was determined to go.
When jackbooted thugs come to stamp out the last sparks of the American experiment in democracy, I don't want it to be said that I let the fire go out without a fight.
As it turns out, I was wrong about attendance. At least 300 people showed up, enough so that the Chester Commons' little lot was completely filled up, and we had to find a parking spot about half a mile away. A long, cold hike; temps were around 5°F.
Turns out my gloves are inadequate for this degree of cold and turned into ice blocks after 40 minutes of chanting & listening to local Congresscritter Pat Ryan speak. The rest of me, under three layers of undergarments, sweaters, coats, scarves, and Ushanka, was very toasty, though.
I suppose it could have been described as a beautiful night. The luminance of the not-quite-full moon—pinpoint Jupiter dangling just beneath it—reflecting off the vast banks of white snow, offered a really eerie backlighting:
In other news, penury prompted me to change my auto insurance. I am an incredibly cautious driver, which means I haven't gotten into any accidents in the last 15 years. (Please Universe, don't jinx me for writing that!) And yet my monthly premiums were really, really high, I suspect because State Farm saw me as a cash cow. As I was switching to an auto insurance policy that will save me $1,500 a year, I got a phone call—
It was from one of the property management companies that oversees one of the many, many low-cost senior housing complexes I have applied to over the past year.
They were not exactly offering me an apartment.
They were calling to tell me I was next on the waiting list if the person to whom they
were offering an apartment decided they didn't want it.
The apartment is in Kingston, which is an extremely pleasant little city.
They will be doing an eligibility interview with me mid-February.
I am assuming the person they're offering the apartment to will take it.
But that means I am next up on the waiting list. Good news!
###
Also, Icky showed up Thursday. A mere four days after his most recent departure.
It
was the Thursday Icky usually shows up to take possession of the younger spawn, Gus, but I was hoping the length of his previous tenancy meant he would skip this time around.
Gus promptly barricaded himself in his room. Gus spends as little time in Icky's physical presence as he possibly can.
About half an hour after Icky arrived with
his hostage Gus, Christine's current husband, Jeremy, dropped by with Gus's antidepressants—which are no longer given to Icky (who "forgets" to dispense them) but now handed directly over to Gus.
I was in the kitchen cooking rice & beans, so I let Jeremy in. "Hi Jeremy!"
(I will be eating a lot of rice & beans till my monthly heating bills drop beneath $500.)
Icky
glared at Jeremy—the full-on malocchio Death Star stare. Did not say a single word.
When I'd spoken to Christine on the phone last week, she'd mentioned that Jeremy reacts to Icky in much the same way that I do. "See, I think he's a complete asshole, but he doesn't bother me the way he bothers you & Jeremy. You & Jeremy are sensitive! I'm not!"
Anyway, I tried & tried & tried to make Jeremy more comfortable. He's a postman; I asked him questions about his route, quoted Herodotus at him:
Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds..."
Good to see you again," he told me gratefully.
One good thing about Icky's presence: I won't have to deal with the chickens' water problem.
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