• Suffering. Shadow. Shame.

    Beltane and the Wu Wei Moon II

    Thursday gratefuls: Natalie. Diane. Ruth. Seoah. My son. Korea. Morning darkness. Radical Roots of Religion. Art Green. The One. Ritual. Prayer. The Morning Service. Shadow, shredder of Kleenex. Outside work with her. My back yard. The Bearberry. The Clump Grass. That leaning Lodgepole. The Lilacs in Kate’s garden. Nathan coming today to look at the foundation he wants to make for the greenhouse. For Halle and all the traveling physical therapists.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: The Greenhouse

    Week Kavannah: Zerizut. Enthusiasm. For working out, for physical therapy.

    One brief shining: Worked for two hours yesterday with Natalie and Shadow and Cooper, her 6 month old English Cream Lab, wandering the yard, dropping treats behind me, letting Shadow come in front of me, then turning and walking away, waiting for her to follow, Cooper bounding in his slow sure way next to Natalie, more, as she said, a people dog than a dog dog.

     

    Scott Adams, creator of Dilbert, in the NYT: “My life expectancy is maybe this summer,” he said. “I don’t have good days,” he said. “Every day is a nightmare. And evening is even worse.” NYT

    This in an article revealing he had, at 67, an aggressive form of prostate cancer. Oh, boy. His words scared me, especially as I hobble around in the early morning before my back and hip begin to loosen up.

    Then, I go back to my own journey, now in its eleventh year. Not aggressive. Slow growing. Still hormone resistant. Could be worse, a lot worse.

    My heart sinks for Adams and for Biden. Fellow travelers on this ancientrail nobody wants to follow. Cancer, as I told Kathy, a stage 4 breast cancer survivor, is a humbug.

    In our small mussar group we have multiple myeloma, breast cancer, a blood cancer, prostate cancer. Leslie, a former member died of liver cancer and Judy, my friend from MVP, of ovarian cancer.

    No wise words here. Just an observation that suffering and angst pervade the human story, are not rare. Common. Which could serve as a reminder to be kind.

     

    Dog journal: The two hour session with Natalie wore us both out. Shadow went to bed around 5, two hours early. I had to remind her to go outside before bedtime. We walked a lot. My own fatigue caused me to message Natalie and say no more two hour sessions.

    And yet. I can feel a change. As we let up on the obedience and began to work on building trust. Responding to subtle clues I had missed. Waiting for Shadow’s consent before touching her. Watching if her weight is on her hind legs or her front legs. Is she leaning in or preparing to exit?

     

    Just a moment: Seems like our golden shower boy wants to relive his gory days on The Apprentice by saying the political equivalent of, “You’re fired!” to heads of state. First, Zelensky in a shameful moment in U.S. history. Yes, pretty bad. Then exploiting the situation to get rare minerals.

    Now, in a beyond shameful clash with the President of South Africa, declaring white Afrikaners, the architects of apartheid, subject to genocide. This is not even a dog whistle to the white supremacists in his base. It’s a y’all come on, we got this now.

     


  • Halle and Shadow

    Beltane and the Wu Wei Moon II

    Wednesday gratefuls: Natalie. Halle. Physical therapy. Back and leg pain. Natalie’s husband. Ginny and Janice. Annie and Luna. Art Green. Cool night. Good sleeping. New exercises. Our spinning Planet. Great Sol revealed again. From the east. His light on the Lodgepoles. Grass green. Aspen Catkins yellow against blue Sky. Lodgepole Anthers. Fawns and Calves and Kits and Cubs. Spring in the Rockies.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Shadow

    Week Kavannah: Zerizut. Enthusiasm. For working out, doing p.t.

    One brief shining: Sitting down on the mobile table, talking with Halle, a bit later face down with her massaging my lower back, after that dropping my knees to the side, controlled, does it hurt, oh yes, but not too bad. See you next week.

     

    Back pain: Halle from Madisonville, Kentucky. What brought you to Colorado, Halle? Oh, didn’t I tell you last time? I’m a traveling physical therapist, like a traveling nurse.

    She goes for a year or so, or longer, then picks up and moves. Last year she was in Albuquerque.

    What a great way to see the country, new places. She imagines she’ll end up back in Kentucky, but, she says, she could do this her whole life if she wanted.

    Halle has a great table side manner. Encouraging. Thoughtful. Challenging. I like her.

     

    Dog journal: Natalie of Friends for Life. Came by to assess Shadow for her two week training program. Older than Amy, maybe 50. Lavender tinted hair. Amethyst earrings. Purple t-shirt. Deep dog knowledge, especially of fearful dogs.

    Her husband, a retired long haul truck driver, had a stroke last year. Is in a long recovery. We talked about caregiving and care giver fatigue.

    We also talked about having a buffer dog for Shadow, a dog who could take some of my attention off her, ease the pressure on both of us. A good idea. Not sure I’m up for two dogs though.

    We also talked about Shadow as a fearful, shy dog. How to tell if she’s ready for interaction.

    Natalie suggested a game of follow me. I put a treat down. When Shadow comes to get it, I turn and walk away. She follows, comes around the front. I drop a treat in back, then turn and walk away. Repeat. Repeat. This leaves her in control.

    Also, I’m to feed Shadow by hand, about half of her meal. All about building trust. Natalie’s not big on obedience training. As I am not. What we both want is a relationship of trust and affection with our dogs. That’s how Kate and I always lived with our dogs.

    The big difference with Shadow is her fearfulness, her trauma. And, her age. Natalie will teach us how to gently enter each other’s lives. I’m confident with Natalie’s help we can get to a mature relationship in time. A relief.

    Natalie’s coming back today. A blitz for a couple of weeks, then weekly sessions.

     

    Just a moment: “In a White House meeting, the U.S. president is expected to point to alleged discrimination against white South Africans, a week after welcoming a group of them as refugees.” NYT article, 5/21/25

    Oh. My. God.


  • The Maker and the Made

    Beltane and the Wu Wei Moon II

    Tuesday gratefuls: Ginny and Janice. Annie and Luna. Luke and Leo. Shadow. Happy to be with Leo. Cool night. The last for a while. Tom and Rascal. That Lodgepole leaning. Rain. Possible Monsoons. Traveler’s Insurance. Ruby.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Art Green

    Week Kavannah: Zerizut. Enthusiasm. ?How do I reignite my enthusiasm for working out?

    One brief shining: I went and got coffee; it’s cool to be independent in a place that is completely new says American Ruth on the streets of Songtan, Korea;  a spot I knew well from my time with my son and Seoah.

     

    Ruth’s on day 2 of her Korean trip. Sleeping in the same bed I slept in two years ago. Probably jet lagged, but leaning way in to the new world, Asia, so different, yet fully human.

    Travel expands the range of the possible. Nope, knives and forks and spoons? Not everyone uses them. The language. The way of writing it. The gene pool. Sloping tiled roofs in the Asian manner. Food with all the sides typical in Korea. A world of difference. What the MAGA folks miss in their cultural chauvinism.

    Here’s to Ruth. Adventuress.

     

    A conundrum. Me, too, and art. And thought. And friendships. Do you still watch Woody Allen films? How about Roman Polanski? Attend Catholic mass? Do you admire Bill Clinton? How about Picasso? Art Green? Believe Anita Hill? Weinstein? Kevin Spacey? Bill Cosby?

    Here’s the conundrum. Do bad acts taint everything a person has done? Is Kevin Spacey less good in American Beauty because he’s a sexual predator? Is the Catholic church defiled in toto by its wayward priests? Does Picasso’s notorious philandering make his painting less than?

    I come down with confidence on all sides of this issue. Woody Allen slept with, then married the adopted daughter of his former wife, Mia Farrow. Does this make his films less funny?

    Can we separate the maker from the made? Yes. No. First of all, look at the long history of art now represented in museums. Most of the works in any museum come with little information about the artist’s private life. Especially those works from antiquity.

    Since we admire these works without knowing the peccadillos of the sculptor of the Doryphoros  or the carver of the Jade Mountain, the potter who made the roku tea cups, it is possible, probably likely that some of them were miserable human beings.

    Is that Greek athlete, a spear-bearer, any less magnificent if we would find his maker was a pedophile? Or, the potter a wife beater? Would the graceful and beautiful scenes on the Jade Mountain be less so if the maker were a thief?

    In other words in cases where we have no idea about this information we find no impediment to our appreciation of the work on its own, distinct from the hands and the heart that created it.

    This suggests to me that the work is independent of the maker, of the maker’s biography, whatever it includes.

    On the other hand. Bill Cosby. I can’t see anything he’s made without carrying to it his drugging women for sexual predation. Even Woody Allen. Though less so for some reason. Picasso? I don’t consider his private life at all when I see his art.

    What are the criteria we use? Do we condemn the bad act(s) and draw a clean line between, say, Polanski and The Fearless Vampire Killers, a favorite comedy?

    I guess I come down on separating the made from the maker. Yet a taint on it, a principled revulsion, a pulling away from the work made also makes sense to me.

    I do know this for sure. I would not want my work judged by the worst mistakes I’ve made in my life.


  • Ruth Goes to Korea

    Beltane and the Wu Wei Moon II

    Ruth’s first meal in Korea

    Monday gratefuls: Ruth. In Korea! Seoah’s note. Ruth’s journey. Rich. Doncye. Mary. Her journey. Minneapolis to Singapore to K.L. to Incheon. My son’s journey from 9/11 to command. Shadow and her journey. All ancientrails. Each and every one.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Love

    Week Kavannah: Enthusiasm. Zerizut.

    One brief shining: Messages came in: In Calgary, the people are so nice here and things are cheaper; Currently walking to board the plane, the big plane; I’m flying over the long archipelagoesque part of Alaska; I don’t know what the cause is, but it got dark in like two minutes. Then came the picture from Seoah.

     

    Ruth getting Kate’s little black bag for her 19th birthday

    Our all dean’s list all the time Ruth has vaulted through the heavens on a great circle route taking her far to the north before returning to Earth at Incheon, South Korea. Now a world traveler, far from Northdale High and CU-Boulder.

    Ruth, in some ways, feels more like a daughter to me than a granddaughter. Since my son was my only child. It fills me up to watch her post-high school self take wing. Literally yesterday. She texted messages all the way along on her flight. (see one brief shining)

    We shared many breakfasts and lunches at CU-Boulder over her freshman year. Our relationship has deepened over this time and it touches a part of me that blossomed only with her. That’s the part that feels more like a daughter. A female to nurture on a growing up path. Different than a son.

    Seeing her eating a bowl of what I imagine is bibimbap, in Korea. Oh, my. To see the world anew, to see Asia for the first time at 19. To confidently travel abroad. To go with the sense that life has only begun to unfold, that these new experiences have begun a journey, not ended one. I can feel that again through and with her.

     

    Took Mary to the Federal Center RTD stop in Lakewood. She boarded the train headed to the same airport where, at 7 am, Ruth had caught her first of the three flights that took her to Korea.

    I need a map with LED avatars to keep up with my family. I’m the still point, high up on Shadow Mountain. In a week most of those avatars would be clustered in Osan for my son.

     

    Just a moment: Joe and me. Here’s an NYT explainer that details what it’s like now for those of us, including Biden, with stage 4 prostate cancer.

    What applies to him in this article applies to me as well. We’re both in the hormone sensitive condition which means androgen deprivation therapy-knocking out testosterone production-still stops the cancer from spreading further.

    The new drugs the article mentions are there when androgen deprivation therapy no longer works. Those drugs are the 5-7 year life span extenders. And neither one of us are on them yet.

    My cancer is not particularly aggressive, just durable, meaning it beat the best treatments available for curing it. I’ll know more about my status in early June after a new MRI and a new P.E.T. scan.

     

     

     

     


  • Mary’s Visit

    Beltane and the Wu Wei Moon II

    Sunday gratefuls: Sibling talk. Memories of home. Seeing my son, Seoah, Murdoch after his prize-winning day. Rich’s response. Ruth. At the airport, waiting on her flight to Incheon. Korea. Side-dishes. Songtan. That fried Fish place. The Chicken in a pot place. The French Bakery. Melbourne. Sidney. Brisbane. K.L. Al Kharj. My far flung family.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Sisters and brothers

    Week Kavannah: Enthusiasm. Zerizut.

    One brief shining: An Asian restaurant, the menu read, welcoming us to Golden Stix, me a Mountain dweller, and Mary, a near constant citizen of Southeast Asia since 1985, now an Auzzie in training while, I, unlike either of my siblings remain rooted in the auld soil even now during the reign of his fauxness, the one with the bottle blonde hair, and the long red tie.

     

    Mary and I have had a good visit, following the adventures of Mark in Saudi again, my son and his ceremony, Guru in Indiana with Gill who’s dating our first cousin, twice removed, Chantel. Ruth at the airport waiting on her first international flight. Shadow, who prefers women, took to Mary and Mary to Shadow. Sweet to see.

    Life in close circles where everyone matters. Loved, loving. Friends like Deb in Eau Claire. Robin. Sheila. Friends new and old. Rich. Tom. Alan. Bill. Irv. Paul. Luke and Leo.

    She flies back to Minneapolis today. We saw my son and Seoah on zoom last night. She’ll see both of them on the 26th, the day before my son’s ceremony. Ruth will see them both tomorrow. Bon voyage to Ruth whose plane leaves in an hour. My clan may be small, but it is well-traveled.

     

    Mary and I drove up Guanella Pass yesterday, an instance of National Forest wildness reachable by car. We saw Geneva Creek rushing down its narrow valley between Mt. Bierstadt and Square Top Mountain.

    (Header photograph by Tom Crane at the top of Guanella Pass.)

    Gabe at the same spot, September 2024

    At a pulloff we got out and watched, listened to Geneva Creek as its late Spring filled Water crashed over Boulders, around fallen Trees, seeking the South Fork of the North Platte on its literal analogy to Nietzsche’s myth of eternal return. Waters fall toward the World Ocean, get absorbed, rise and fall, rise and fall, rise and fall. Without the cleansing of this cycle we would all die.

    Near the top of the pass, where the ongoing road to Georgetown remains closed, were the Abyss and Burning Bear trailheads. Love the names out here in the U.S. West.

    We also saw four yearling Bighorn Sheep, one with the first curls of what will be an adult male’s 30 pounds or so of horn. Not far from where Guanella Pass starts off Hwy. 285 is the Shaggy Sheep Cafe, an excellent breakfast spot.

     

     

    Just a moment: Mary’s friend refers to the Secretary of Defense as Hogsbreath. I’m stealing that one for future writing.

    Hogsbreath has waged a too successful campaign against books in base libraries, exercising his emphasis on lethality by ridding military libraries of books focused, in his definition, on diversity, inclusiveness, and equity. All shibboleths of a woke right.


  • A Family and Friends Friday

    Beltane and the Wu Wei Moon II

    Shabbat gratefuls: Mary. A regular visitor. Spice Fusion. Tandoori Chicken and Shrimp. Lyft. Airplanes. Trains. Transportation. Shadow, the shy. The gnawer of beds. Licker of heads. Birds crying in the dawn. That Raven I saw hopping up and down. Maxwell Creek running full.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Mary, a permanent resident of Australia

    Week Kavannah: Enthusiasm. Zerizut.

    One brief shining: Mary opened the bag of take-out from Spice Fusion, the new Indian restaurant nearby, started pulling out boxes and plastic containers, and a large piece of garlic naan wrapped in enough tin foil to decorate a Christmas tree, a feast of good food with my sister. Rare.

     

    Had breakfast with Alan and Joanne. Dandelion. Always a stimulating conversation with those two. Joanne and I have an organ recital, laughing and wincing as us old folks do. Knowing the pain in the other and knowing also that the pain, while unwelcome, does not overcome life, nor the living of it. A part of the landscape for many of us over seventy and for most over eighty.

    We have stories. Told over eggs and breakfast tacos, coffee, and a blueberry scone. Of waitressing near Shiprock, Arizona. Of cutting Munsingwear underwear cutouts into smaller pieces to make ragbond paper. Or firing up the popcorn aroma machine at KMart.

    You know, friends sharing more of their story, becoming in that way part of each other’s story. Knowing each other by the breadcrumbs we drop to help others find their way in the thick forest of our memories.

    Then over to Rich’s office to deliver gifts from Ingebretsen’s, the Scandinavian gift shop in Minneapolis. A little lefse, some chocolate, some Lingonberry jam, Hackberry jam, and strings of small colorful birds. Thank you to them for finally seeing the money into my 529 account for Ruth.

    Where btw, I saw Kippur, the dog Rich and his law partner share. The last time I saw Kippur, he was a puppy who jumped up on the couch and snuggled with me like I was his long last Dad. He’s all grown up, but still that same sweet boy. What a delight to see him.

     

    Mary came. By plane, then train, then Lyft. Traveling light. So good to see her.

    We shared the second floor of 419 N. Canal for several years. Alexandria, Indiana. A small town where everybody knew your name. Much diminished from its heyday in the late 50’s and 60’s, it remains of course the reservoir of our childhoods. I’ve not been there since well before Covid.

    She and Guru will fly to Korea for my son’s ceremonial promotion to commander. Ruth will already be there, having made her first international flight tomorrow morning. Missing will be me. Hobbled still by this damn back.

    I so want to be there. To say, That’s my boy! To hug his uniformed, medaled, and beribboned person. I know he knows I would be there if I could.

    He and Seoah sent me a picture of Murdoch with his second place Dog show trophy. All three of them looked excited.


  • Another Place I Could Be Happy

    Beltane and the Wu Wei Moon II

    Friday gratefuls: New, piercing pain. Left hip and leg. Shadow. Natalie. Alan and Joanne. Dandelion. Donyce. Rich. Ruth’s 529. Now available. Lifealert. New fob. Diane. Jogging again. Living with aging bodies and alert minds. Halle. New physical therapist. Mary, coming today. My son. Seoah. Murdoch.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Ruth and her first international trip

    Week Kavannah: Enthusiasm. Zerizut.

    One brief shining: A busy, physical week of doctors, long drives, filling out forms for the cancer support trial, Amy, two zoom classes, that would have been a decade ago a light week, the difference pain can make.

     

    All I can say is, damn it! Now the left hip, so painful. Wasn’t sure I could get down five stairs holding onto the rail and a cup of coffee. That’s beginning to get in the way of daily life.

    Sorry. Don’t mean to leave a trail of agony on these pages, yet honest reporting requires acknowledgment of what’s going on. After seeing Buphati, I’m left wondering if both hips might have metastatic cancer. Sure hope not.

    We’ll know soon. Next P.E.T. scan June 3rd. Not yet scheduled for my open-sided MRI. But in the next week or two.

    This cancer/pain path I’m on demands a lot. Got accepted into a Sloan-Kettering trial to determine the better of two therapeutic protocols for cancer patients over the age of 70. Filled out pages and pages of a survey about anxiety and depression, other mental health matters. I’ll have eight phone therapy sessions with somebody. Then, booster sessions after that for four months.

    There are nuances to managing my mental health and my spiritual health (which I see as more important than either physical or mental health). I look forward to discussing them with someone paid to listen to me.

    Why is spiritual health most important? Because it contains the broader context in which both mental and physical health reside. Being one with the Tao, allowing the wu wei of physical illness and pain to run their course without stiff-arming them. Experiencing the occasional fear and dread as part of my inner work, work strengthened by mussar, by being part of two sacred communities. Taking the solace of Shadow Mountain, its Lodgepoles and Mule Deer and Aspen and late season Snow as it offers itself to me. Seeing the whole sacred world as my home.

    With those as context neither pain nor death can have permanent control of my psyche. Because pain and death are momentary, passing, but my location in the sacred unity of all things will remain.

     

    Just a moment: I find myself watching TV shows set on Islands. Death in Paradise. Hawai’i 50. Deadly Tropics. Moana and Moana 2, movies. I know, low brow in the extreme. Yet I love the combination of lightly considered mystery and the sights and sounds of Islands.

    Something about Island life calls to me. Not over against Mountain life which I also love, but as another place I could be happy. Why Hawai’i itself reached out to me not so long ago.


  • Don’t think she’s trying to kill me

    Beltane and the Wu Wei Moon II

    Thursday gratefuls: Amy. Natalie. Shadow. Lifeguard Alert. Cool night. Shadow inside. Good sleeping. Great Sol. Lifted above Shadow Mountain by Mother Earth. Nathan Stewart. Greenhouse construction starts next week. Jackie and Ronda. Radical Roots of Religion Class. New Human Consciousness Class. Adam and Eve, their story expanded and changed. Paul and Sarah. Tom’s bookmarks. How did he know?

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Friends, friendship

    One brief shining: A phone call from the Golden Police Department at 6:20 am this morning got my attention, but I thought I knew its source; sure enough, “We got a call from Lifeguard Alert.”; yes, indeed, I was right as I held in my hand at that moment the mangled fob for my Lifealert necklace and button. Who knows what Lifealert dangles in the mouth of a puppy? I do.

     

    Dog journal: I don’t think she’s trying to kill me. Pretty sure. But I did knock my Lifealert fob off the nightstand while reaching for my hearing aid. Went back to sleep, got up only to find the fob gone. Looked under the bed. Yep. There it was. Had to get down on my stomach to reach in far enough. Upon pulling it out I saw the toothmarks, the plastic peeling away from the fob’s back. Shadow doesn’t know this is my lifeline does she? No.

    Then a phone call my phone thought was spam followed by that call from the Golden Police Department. No, I had to say. I’m ok. My puppy chewed up my alarm button. What a nice way to greet the day. Shadow.

    Amy came yesterday and we made some good progress with the leash. If Natalie can’t board Shadow, I’ll continue with Amy. Shadow’s too woven into my life. Her story and mine will be told together. Even the frustration and problems are good for this old man. Keeps me engaged with the world as it is and rewards me with furry hugs and head kisses.

     

    Jackie and Ronda. Went into Aspen Park. Get my ears lifted. I go every three weeks. Partly to look good. More to see Jackie and Ronda who like to kid me and have fun. I appreciate them as friends, as a pair of women with an independent and edgy view of life and love.

    Jackie loved Kate. When I get too edgy back to her, she reminds me: This is what Kate would do. And holds up both hands with their middle fingers extended. Yes, indeed. That’s exactly what Kate would do. And Kate’s independent spirit fills the room for a minute. Even from those last few visits to Jackie’s in her wheelchair.

    Life in a place where people know my name.

     

    Just a moment: On a positive weather note. Seems we’ll have the monsoons in July and August. That means the high fire season this year should only be the month of June, as it used to be before climate change screwed everything up.


  • Which is better?

    Beltane and the Wu Wei Moon II

    Wednesday gratefuls: Natalie. Friends Forever. Coming Friday. Hello, darkness, my old friend. Bird song. Shadow outside. Select Physical Therapy. Halley. Amy, today. Radical Roots of Religion. Exercising.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Natalie

    Week Kavannah: Enthusiasm. Zerizut.

    One brief shining: Bird song speaks to the dawn as it comes to Shadow Mountain, a coolness remains from the night, and I sit here, hitting the keys on my laptop.

     

    chatgpt portrait from a Shadow photo

    Dog journal: Shadow and I have reached a detente. I leave the backdoor open and the bedroom door. When she needs to, she can seek safety under the bed, or wander outside. Last night, right at 8:30 she came inside, went under the bed. I slept much better.

    Natalie, of Friends Forever and the two week boarding and training experience, and I talked yesterday. She had some interesting thoughts on Shadow’s trauma. She could have experienced a pole catch during the fire or been forcibly drug away with a leash.

    She also talked about the 7-9 month age range for a puppy, roughly Shadow’s age. Hormones kick in at that point and the Puppy has an, oh, yeah, I hear you, but-No, sorta attitude. I saw it in Shadow a month or so ago.

    She also said that Dogs who are hyper-vigilant often experience things as being done to them, rather as an opportunity to learn. And even if they do learn something, they often forget it.

    She’s coming by Friday to assess Shadow. I hope she’ll take Shadow in the boarding/training program. She sounded kind and knowledgeable. She also has a Border Collie, a similar breed to Shadow, who is older and calm.

     

    Had physical therapy yesterday. With Halle from Madisonville, Kentucky. A cheery young gal. Knows her trade. After a careful review of my medical history, she had me doing standard baseline moves. Standup straight. Arms to the side. Bend to the left, now the right. Bend over, try to touch your toes. Bend backwards.

    Pressure on my spine, my buttocks, hips. Does this hurt? A bit. Yes! Some. Not much.

    She introduced me to three simple exercises which did help me get out of bed easier this morning. I enjoy working with her.

    Near the end of my time with her I plan to go back to on the move fitness, get some new workouts from Deb. It’s been a couple of years.

     

    Just a moment: Dollar diplomacy has inflated to billion and trillion dollar diplomacy. Also, Qatar’s bribe, a tricked out, in Royal Arabian Peninsula style, 747. Goldfinger loves big numbers, big deals.

    Croesus. Midas. Would be Goldfinger friends for sure had they lived in this era. Vanderbilt. Carnegie. Mellon. James J. Hill. All exemplars of the golden rule: He who has the gold rules.

    A very common form of government over the ages. If you liked slavery, you’ll love oligarchy and autocracy. Remember the divine right of kings? Or, in the Chinese instance, the mandate of heaven.

    Power in the hands of a few or in the hands of the people. Which sounds better?

     


  • A Good Friend

    Beltane and the Wu Wei Moon II

    Tuesday gratefuls: Detente with Shadow. Ruth with all A’s to finish her freshman year. Sweet Sue, my PCP. Abby, med tech and phlebotomist. Dr. Buphati’s quick intelligence. Rich, a good friend. A second MRI, hips this time. And, for good measure, a PET scan. As many images as a celeb out for a party evening.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Rich

    Week Kavannah: Enthusiasm. Zerizut.

    One brief shining: On the way back from a Mountain hike, he mentioned Bees, explained his hives-on-a-wire (Bear protection), invited me over right away to see his setup; Rich and I have developed a friendship, one rooted not only in Bees, but in the work of mussar, his work as my lawyer, his kindness after Kate died, his presence at my oncology appointment, a mensch.

     

    Another one of those days. A medical day. With Sue in the morning and Dr. Buphati in the afternoon. Sue has to see me every 3 months because she’s managing my tramadol prescription. A regulated substance. She’s a delight. A caring person and a good doc. She has an FNP-BC which is a souped up nurse practitioner certification.

    Nothing new this visit. But still reassuring to see her.

    After my time with her, I drove over to Rich’s office and we went to lunch at the Nepalese/Himalayan place in Bergen Park, the downtown Edina of Evergreen.

    We ran into his 86 year old mom who had come shopping there. She had her helper, Linda, and her dog, Sparky, with her. Obviously bright and with it, she’s become frail, and Rich coaxed her to come up two steps. He’s a kind man.

    Rich drove us into Englewood for my visit with Dr. Buphati and came in with me. My blood work showed stability in my cancer. Always good news. Concerning though was my right hip which threatens to buckle under me at times.

    “We’ll need an MRI of that hip to see if it’s arthritis or cancer. I’m also scheduling another PET scan.”

    Even with an open-sided MRI I now know I’ll need medication. Claustrophobia. “I’ll prescribe an ativan.”

    Rich volunteered to drive me to the MRI. After a procedure with sedation, state law requires a driver. I’m learning to accept help; Rich and Alan and Tara have made it easy.

    I’m feeling settled with the cancer. It continues, as it will. My medical team and I push back at it and it slows down. Matters will progress at whatever pace they do.

    The back pain much less so. It continues and offers now a stabbing pain in my left hip followed by a thrill of pain that descends from the hip, along my left thigh, past my knee and down to my foot. While sitting down. Sitting down used to have no pain.

    Physical therapy, round two, starts today for my back. As Rich suggested yesterday, I need to develop enthusiasm for working out. Again. A substantial practice for this month. And, a necessary one.

    I know. An organ recital with too many notes. Still…