We all walk ancientrails. Welcome to the journey.

Live pump going in the ground

Written By: Charles - Oct• 25•18

Fall                                                                    Healing Moon

A few photos of the new pump emplacement and one video:

7 pvc lengths in

7 pvc lengths in

The new pump

The new pump

New pump leaves daylight behind

New pump leaves daylight behind

Dead pump lying in the ground

Written By: Charles - Oct• 25•18

Fall                                                                        Healing Moon

wellWell pump dead a couple of hundred feet under the surface. It will cost about the same as I’m projecting Kate’s hospital co-payments. Oh, joy. Right now I’m feeling beat down, labile.

I know this is just today’s trouble. And, I know that I’ve solved it. Living Water will have the pump replaced by supper time. But having to spend the day on this, plumber, then well pump guy, has pushed me up to an unhappy edge. Temporary, I know, but right now? Yecchh.

Looked down our well casing. Not much to see. Dark and deep, just like Frost’s snowy woods. The pump truck is in our front yard, boom up about 25 feet or so, lowering down a piece of tackle that links on to 21 foot lengths pvc. They have to be unthreaded and set aside. However deep the well is we’ll have an equivalent amount of pvc. Between 9 and 15 of them.

Well+Pump+FailureThen the pump. It labors on our behalf, in the dark, responding when the pressure tank calls for water to keep the house supplied toilets, showers, faucets, hoses, dish and clothes washers. The pump is most of the expense, this one coming in at $1,500. Other matters are metal sleeves for the new pump, new wiring, since the 1991 code requires all wells to have a ground and ours went down in 1982, and, of course, the men and the truck.

Home ownership. The American dream. And water such a big part of it.


One g*&$%!m thing after another

Written By: Charles - Oct• 25•18

Fall                                                                                  Healing Moon

piling onSometimes. Piling on. You’ve heard of it, right? Jumping on the quarterback or wide receiver or tail back with more big bodies after they’re already down, stopped. Well, SeoAh telling me last night that there was a water problem. Piling on. For a reason I do not understand we have no water. In the whole house. Of course, this happened at 8 pm, after I’d already taken my thc and had a long, fruitful, but exhausting day. Just. Couldn’t. Deal.

But. I checked the electrical panels anyhow. No thrown circuit breakers. All the water valves were in their proper alignment. WTF? It has occurred to me that the problem might be our water pump, but I don’t know how to check that. This morning I got down in the crawl space and checked the fuses on the water tank that stores water for the house. They were fine. I mean, geez.

piling on puppiesAt 7 am I’m going to call Herb Swindler of H2 Plumbing. Herb, oddly enough, lived in Ramsey, Minnesota, less than 10 miles from our house in Andover. It may not be a problem he can fix, if it’s the pump, but I want to rule out some simple explanation inside the house first.

Gotta say I could do without this.

And so…

Written By: Charles - Oct• 21•18

Fall                                                                               Healing Moon

The standard model

The standard model

Been pondering success after my Percival/Grail post for the Woolly Mammoth retreat. This paragraph in particular:

In terms of publishing my work I’ve failed. Big time. Consistently. A big lump of zero. At first I submitted my work, but I allowed rejections to stoke my fear, rather than my persistence. (which is, I should add, odd, since persistence has otherwise been a strong suit) I stopped submitting. I even stopped writing at one point and spent a year reading the classics, starting with Dante’s Divine Comedy. All of it.

I took a big risk at the age of 41 with Kate’s consent and support. By any standard understanding of success I did not succeed. To succeed would been to have least published, made some money. But, no. Those facts are not in question.

Here’s the question that interests me now. Would I have been a better person today if I had published, made some money? I don’t think so. Now this is not a defense of failure as a great teacher, a springboard to future achievement, rather it’s a question of what success means.

success failSuccess means you gain more of something you desire by doing something. So it presumes lack, a missing ingredient in your life that can be obtained through hard work or brilliance or talent. Get a promotion. Build a business. Publish a book. See your name in lights. Think how much motivation the idea of success brings to our culture. If only you think more clearly, innovate faster, learn method acting, master Python, then, then…

Then, what? People will admire you. Like you. Say your name in whispers. Write about you in articles and books. That’s the upside of ambition, isn’t it? More money in the bank. Name recognition. Contribution to the future, a legacy.

I’m in no way denigrating people who set a goal and succeed. Kate became a doctor. Tom started an engineering business. Ode designed museum exhibits. My sister Mary has become an international educator, invited to teach in places like Japan, Pakistan, Finland, Australia. Joseph is a major in the USAF. Good for all of them.

Abandon all attachment to the results of action and attain supreme peaceBut many (most, I wonder?) hope for the corner office, the book jacket, the big bank account, the poster for the rodeo and don’t succeed. Set goals and fail to achieve them. Self help literature, especially of the business genre, offers pathways to success, a journey to maximum achievement. They wouldn’t sell if the people who bought them were already realizing their dreams.

So what about the rest of us, the ones who couldn’t lean quite far enough off the Merry-Go-Round to grab the brass ring? Based on my perspective at 71, I say to failure, meh. I’m alive. Fit. Have friends. A wife I love. Grandkids and sons. I don’t do regret. I live forward, not with my head turned toward the past. I live today, neither yesterday nor tomorrow. I feel good about myself, about my tiny spot in the vast ongoingness.

Would my life have meant more in some hypothetical cultural currency had I become, oh hell, let’s go all the way, a famous author? Hard to say, but I doubt it. Why? Because over time there have been millions of writers, authors of books of many kinds, some famous for a while, then blinked out by the passage of time and changes in intellectual and aesthetic fashion. The same is true of painters, of architects, of politicians, of lawyers and business executives.

My point is I'm in the upper right quadrant

My point is I’m in the upper right quadrant

Now I suppose if I had plunged our family into poverty, wasted a great talent through dithering, caused human suffering by not succeeding I might feel differently. Might. But even then my life could only be lived forward and in this moment. Even then.

Here’s what I know now. Set goals and push toward them. Of course do that if you want. Do not attach your sense of self to the outcome, however. Never, and I mean never, compromise your true Self to realize a goal. Why? Because whether you reach your goal or whether you do not, you still have to live, still have to be human. If you give away your humanity to succeed, you have then truly failed.

And if you succeed? Send up balloons. Shake a few hands. Invest wisely. Because at some point it will be behind you and you will have to put one foot in front of the other. Life’s just like that.


Written By: Charles - Oct• 20•18

Fall                                                                     Healing Moon

Exhumation of the Mastodon: Peale, Charles Willson, 1741-1827.

Exhumation of the Mastodon: Peale, Charles Willson, 1741-1827.

Another of life’s inflection points. I want to consider it, honor it, respond to it, but I’m having a hard time. Just too tired. And, I feel guilty about that. Like somehow I should be able to just power my way through and get back to the usual. Which is unrealistic. Certainly for the next few weeks, maybe on an ongoing basis. Need to know what the new normal might be like. Too soon. I know it. So I’m trying to hold back, not speculate, not project. The fact of trying though suggests I’m not always successful.

Here’s an analogy I discovered in the High Country News, my favorite source of information about the West. In reviewing a novel called West there’s a quote from a widowed farmer on his way to the land beyond the Mississippi. He says, to a Dutch land agent he encounters on a river boat, “I am seeking a creature entirely unknown, an animal incognitum.” Apparently Thomas Jefferson also sought the animal incognitum, probably a Mastodon.

Humanity has always wondered what's on the far shore -- even if our guesses sometimes miss the mark.

Humanity has always wondered what’s on the far shore

Right now, I’m on the riverboat, looking at the western shore of the Great River, wondering what lies on the land which spreads out from there to the Pacific Ocean. It contains, I know, a life incognitum, a life so far unknown. Not entirely unknown, certainly. There will be familiar elements in familiar places, but the rhythm, the demands, the joys? Will change. That farmer and I share a desire to explore the land, to find the incognitums, to embrace them, and find our way anew.

It’s a source of energy. I love the unknown, the strange. Vive la difference! More news as this pilgrim sets foot on the shore, buys an oxen or two and loads up the Conestoga with supplies.


On Her Way Home

Written By: Charles - Oct• 20•18

Fall                                                                                   Healing Moon

Kepler, a serious dog

Kepler, a serious dog

Took Kepler in to see Kate yesterday. We sat on the large front porch at Brookdale, enjoying the mid-sixties sunshine and blue Colorado sky. Kep nuzzled her, sat down, then looked back, yep, still here, and settled down in front of her. Guarding.

United Health Care has said our benefits stop on Sunday. Having an insurance company determine the end to this incident rather than medical professionals is annoying, but it’s felt close to time for a while. The weight gain is the primary issue at this point and we can work on that from atop Shadow Mountain.

Joe and SeoAh are on their way with Murdoch, planning to arrive Sunday. Perfect timing. Joe turns 37 on Wednesday, too. 37!

Life will change again, of course, when Kate comes home. We’ll have to see how much, probably quite a bit in the beginning, though not sure what will change. I’ll have to assess  the rest of my life in relation to it, whatever it is. She’s first.

suncityKate and I have had our first brush with the skilled nursing, assisted living world. We visited Merton at the Forum in Phoenix and I’ve visited congregants in various nursing homes, but this is the first time for one of us. As a rehab place, I would rate Brookdale as excellent. It’s clean and well-maintained. The staff are friendly and attentive. The rehab crew has kept Kate moving forward.

But. God, I wouldn’t want to be there too long. No matter how good the food (according to Kate, pretty good) or friendly and professional the staff, no matter how clean the carpets and fresh the paint, it’s a context of despair and desperation. Folks with their heads down shuffle along behind walkers, a demented patient screams at night, people move around in motorized recliners, wheel chairs. The rooms (apartments they’re called) are generic, similar to a modest upscale motel chain with white popcorn plaster, large but antiseptic bathrooms, no comfortable chairs for lounging.

happyThey share, too, a primary problem visible in the Del Webb communities like Sun City. That is, they’re age homogeneous. No toddlers. No teens. No mid-life adults except for staff. Just older folks and not only older folks, but older folks with serious medical or mental issues, or both. This is not a real place. It’s a concentration of maladies. Not a healthy, diverse environment.

Home. Better. She’s coming back.





Written By: Charles - Oct• 20•18

Fall                                                                              Healing Moon

“Everyone experiences stress and anxiety at one time or another. The difference between them is that stress is a response to a threat in a situation. Anxiety is a reaction to the stress.”  adaa

stressFinally figured out my life over the last three weeks or so. I’ve been telling people I haven’t been anxious. And, I haven’t been. Thank you, years of Jungian analysis, existentialism, Taoism, the Great Wheel, and each of you out there. But. I have been stressed. Unable to focus. Tired. Responding to new threats. Did I mention tired? In spite of adequate sleep and decent nutrition.

StressCartoonSomehow this makes me feel better, validates learning I hoped had sunk in deep. Reminded me a bit of “living in the move” which Kate and I tried to do while preparing for and executing our move out here to the Rockies, for the most part successfully.

This definition of stress and anxiety is new to me, but I’d grown to suspect the explanation for my inner life in the recent past involved some split like this. Stressed, but not anxious.



Stop the Squirrel Cage

Written By: Charles - Oct• 19•18

Fall                                                                     Healing Moon

stressWent to mussar yesterday for the first time in three weeks. Lots of hugs. Lots of obvious caring for Kate.  One of the ironies of this whole situation is that three weeks ago yesterday Kate and I co-taught a mussar session on compassion, rachamim. The next morning at 6 a.m. she was in the E.R. at Swedish. She’s been gone from home ever since.

Yesterday’s mussar was a sort of going away party for Rabbi Jamie who starts a three-month sabbatical on Sunday. Lot of folks brought sweet thangs. My first buffet in memory with snickers bars on the table.

Since I’d had a tough day at CBE on Wednesday, I wondered how I’d react in this setting. At first I was uncomfortable, both with the attention and with the fact that it was Kate who was ailing, not me, yet I was the focus. That lasted awhile. Roughly until we got into the discussion about emet, truth.

emet-truthIt was not the content of the discussion, but its nature that finally lifted my stress. Considering the meaning of truth, identifying the Jewish take on it, relating the search for truth to loving-kindness all stimulated my thinking, made me go deep. And that was the solace. Leaving the squirrel-in-a-cage stressors behind for a while, I went into that realm of memory and creativity where old ideas and new conditions meet, changing each other.

Rabbi Jamie is a great interlocutor. I learn from him, but mostly with him.

talmudThere is, I’m coming to understand, a unique Jewish epistemology, one which places a possible truth on the table and passes it around to the many gathered in its presence. Each one comments, shares the part of the elephant that they can see. The process iterates since commentators will comment on others reactions. It does not mean that there is no truth, this is the key move, but that truth itself is multi-perspectival. It takes a village to know a truth.

This has similarities to pragmatism which recognizes that truth with a capital T is not within our grasp, but that our search for it can identify useful approximations, their usefulness identifying their degree of truth.

So now I know a great stress reducer for me. Challenge the mind. Make it work. Let go of the present troubles in a search for new ideas, new ways of grasping what it means to be human.

Let Down

Written By: Charles - Oct• 18•18

Fall                                                                                 Healing Moon

I missed seeing Kate yesterday for the first time since that Friday when we went to the Swedish Hospital’s E.R. And, I missed seeing Kate.

20181016_091641Odd experience yesterday. I led an exercise that involved body outlines I made from this template. (they actually looked better than this picture might suggest.) The kids responded to several prompts, among them: first school memory, early friends, where were you born, childhood hobby, childhood dream, then illustrated them on their body outline. The results are beautiful in many cases, revealing in all of them.

They were into it, using markers and crayons and stickers. The latter many of them used to decorate their faces as well. It felt energetic and engaged, the exercise, but I couldn’t get a conversation going about the results, so it felt like a failure to me. Alan, on the other hand, thought it was a great success. So did all the teachers who looked at the results.

The idea was to get the kids thinking about their childhood as they shift from childhood to being a teen. And, in that sense, yes, it worked. Where it failed was in having a discussion about commonalities and differences among the results.

Afterward, like the first two times I taught, all I wanted to do was sit down. Like a hard workout. Exhaustion. Attending to the little sprays of emotion, provocations of other students, even their eagerness and desire to do a wonderful job (which most of them had) was difficult. At least for me. Very difficult.

At the staff meeting afterwards exhaustion and an attendant lability found me looking out at the others: Rabbi Jamie, Alan, Tara, Debra, Karen, Tal from inside. Hard to describe. I was there, listening, understanding, but it was as if there was an invisible barrier of weariness between the watcher within and the physical circumstance he inhabited in that moment. I spoke very little, in spite of a fascinating introduction to the method of studying torah that resulted in the talmud.

In another instance I might have said I was depressed. The physical sensations were very similar: subdued, a feeling of distance, limited affect, low energy. That led me to my refrain over the last almost three weeks. I’m ok. No, I’m not anxious. Yes, I’m in the moment, responding to now, not imagining the future or regretting the past. I have believed that of myself, believed it was my experience, but was it?

As far as anxiety goes, I’m exquisitely sensitive. Generalized anxiety disorder will do that to you. I am, at least I think I am, an expert on my own anxious responses, what they feel like, how they manifest. As long as the ambit was Kate, her medical care, the dogs and their needs, my own needs, I felt fine. No, of course, I wasn’t joyous, nor was I unconcerned, but at no time did the usual stomach flutters, sweaty palms, shallow breathing signal an OMG moment. Was I repressing them? I really don’t think so.

But, there was a high stress level. That’s undeniable. It was a fraught situation, especially the first two weeks with Kate bombarded by tests, procedures, transfusions, and finally the bowel resection. Even so, the stress did not trigger anxiety. It did, however, exact a price and that price was exhaustion, depletion. As long as I was only handling the temporarily  resectioned world I described in an earlier post, I was fine. Being alone with all this was not a difficulty for me, in fact, I prefer it.

When, however, I took this still existing high stress level-Kate’s still gone from home, driving in and out takes a toll, for example-into a social setting, I believe it surfaced the stress in a much different way. I was no longer in my temporarily resectioned world but in that ongoing life that is the world, the ongoingness that seems so strange from within a bubble of stress or grief. Yet, it is not strange, it’s the usual, the normal, the everyday, it was my stress that was unusual.

I was not able to fully enter into the casual flow, the ordinary ongoingness. I wanted to, but the effort required was just beyond me. This doesn’t seem aberrant to me, but it did make me realize the degree of stress, of the energy required to cope that I’ve been experiencing.

Final note here: People want to help and I truly appreciate that. But, I’m not real good at knowing what kind of help I need, what would be useful. I’ve always been a very private person, one inclined to handle my life on my own terms with my own energy. I know the pitfalls in that, but it’s a lifelong habit. And, one I generally admire. Right now I think it might be in my way, but I’m not sure what to do about it.



Just Say No to Despair

Written By: Charles - Oct• 17•18

Fall                                                                            Healing Moon

DyingA guy could be forgiven for feeling despair. Climate change has turned the dial up on danger. In so many ways already and bound to worsen. Fascism is not just for Europe anymore. The Proud Boys, as one article I read the other day pointed out, are brown shirts. Thugs for a narrow and dangerous political perspective.

And, of course. Well, you know who he is. He’s trying to shut down protest around the White House among other despicable things. The backlash against identity politics grows more vicious and more widespread, surfacing especially as a wedge issue for right-wingers. Women, in particular, have had a constant barrage of insults since 2016, misogynists emboldened by the same evil that courses through Congress, down Pennsylvania Avenue and spills into the air over the whole country.

fascism proud boysWe’re fighting so many conflicts in so many places. There’s a trade war underway. Immigration policy and environmental policy and policy for public lands, to mention only a few, are being made by people against immigrants, pro-coal and oil, and advocates for mining and pumping on Federal land.

I’m not feeling despair. I’ve not gone over to the dark ecology side even though I agree with their projections for our future. I’m not jettisoning political life in spite of the steady rhythm of awful policies and values spewing forth from Washington. I know years of progress have been shredded and actively reversed. Yes, I know all of that.

20181004_082605However. Life is not lived in some grim future contaminated by and doomed by the present. No, it is lived now. Today. Here. Loving Kate and the dogs, relating to friends from Minnesota, from Congregation Beth Evergreen. Being with family like Jon, Ruth, Gabe, Joe, SeoAh. I pay our bills, cook lunch, feed the dogs, visit Kate, teach religious school, write this blog. All now. Not tomorrow, not yesterday, but now.

None of the rays of darkness trying to blot out decency and hope prevent me from living my life now. This life, this one right now, right here on Shadow Mountain is good. You might think that Kate’s medical issues make it otherwise. You would be wrong. The current medical matters and all the others that have kept us occupied over the four years since we moved here are life itself. As is Jon’s divorce and the sequelae from that, still rolling over us. Also life itself is the care and love between Kate and me and the dogs, between us all and our friends, family. Life goes on until it doesn’t. That’s not news; that’s the oldest ancientrail there is.

expectThrownness has deposited us all in these times. Could have been pharaonic Egypt, Song Dynasty China, the Jalisco era in Mexico, but it wasn’t. It’s now. YOLO. Or reincarnate Or shift off to heaven or bardo. No matter. It won’t change that fact.

A guy could be forgiven for feeling despair; yet, I don’t feel it. Instead I feel love, joy, delight. I relish the cold, the snow, the mountains. I live for living for friends and family. Doesn’t matter the context of awful. Doesn’t change that. I’m not putting on blinders, not ignoring the world. I’m saying that no matter what happens it will not sway me from the only life I’ve been given, one with the humans and animals and plants and rocks and streams, the stars and weather and climate with which I interact directly.