All posts by Charles

Judaism, Kabbalah

The Omer

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Spring and Kepler’s Moon

Sunday gratefuls: Easter. Passover. A cool night. Kepler, my sweet boy. Kate, her yahrzeit this Friday. Probate. Some ways through. Snow falling on Lodgepoles. Though not this morning. A Mountain morning feeling its way toward the light. Alan. The Bread Lounge. Counting the omer. Rabbi Jamie, a teacher. The Evergreen Market. Southern Fried Catfish. Broccoli salad.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Gettin’ Old

 

And now for something completely different. Counting the Omer is a first fruits practice that celebrates the beginning of the barley harvest. In this way it is similar to the Celtic Lughnasa which celebrates the first corn (wheat in Britain) harvest on August 1st. Counting the Omer starts during passover and proceeds until Shavuot 50 days later.

I like this practice, though I find it hard to follow, because it adds a thoughtful intention to each day, an intention that helps carry us away from the slavery of culture and history toward the promised land. What promised land, you might ask? Well. What promised land do you need?

I also like this practice because it is, as are many Jewish holidays, rooted in Mother Earth and her changes.

 

Counting the Omer*

“And from the day on which you bring the sheaf of elevation offering—the day after the sabbath—you shall count off seven weeks. They must be complete: you must count until the day after the seventh week—fifty days; then you shall bring an offering of new grain to יהוה.” Leviticus 23:15-16

This is a spiritual reenactment of the Hebrew slaves journey of out Egypt, out of slavery toward the promised land. As Rabbi Jamie explains it:

“Over the course of the seven weeks between the holidays of Passover
and Shavuot, we are invited to recount the steps of our ancestors. As the first
three uncountable stars appear on the second night of Passover, we count each
day of a journey from the shores of the Sea of Reeds, newly freed from the
constraints of enslavement under Pharaoh’s reign, to the revelatory peaks of
Mount Sinai. We number the days and weeks to revisit a path that took us from
a narrow and harrowing escape to a knowing and holy expansion of awareness
and mission. From Mitzraim [Egypt] we were forced out by plagues, and
decrees. At Sinai, we stood and freely choose a collective destiny.

“It is easier to take the people out of slavery than to take the slavery out of
the people,” it has been said. Mussar is a discipline devoted to shedding a
‘slavery mentality,’ increasing the human capacity to freely choose how we act,
even how we think and feel.”

Each night, the beginning of the Jewish day, a prayer is said and the omer for that day is counted. Traditionally the counting of the Omer (and naming a
measurable attribute to practice) happens as soon as possible after the stars
appear in the night sky, and is preceded by the following blessing: “Blessed are you O Lord our God, King of the universe, who has sanctified us by his commandments and commanded us concerning the count of the Omer.

Today is day ten, which is one week and three days of the Omer.

Day 10. Association with sages. Sign up for a class. Attend a class. Read a
book or article by a scholar or writer that you respect – and one you don’t.
Organize a book club. Remember as you go through the day, that one who is
wise “learns from everyone.” Consider everyone you meet a teacher sent by the
universe just for you, and you will always be in the company of the sages…and
be counted among the wise.

This thought for the 10th day of the Omer comes from Rabbi Jamie’s fitting of the whole counting of the Omer into a kabbalistic frame.

*An omer is a unit of measure. On the second day of Passover, in the days of the Temple, an omer of barley was cut down and brought to the Temple as an offering. This grain offering was referred to as the Omer. Judaism 101

 

One brief, shining moment: The inner way has many paths, some shrouded in darkness, some pressing against the heart to be felt, others pressing against the mind to be understood.

Acting, Art and Culture, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Health

Robot Overlords and Improv

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Spring and the Kepler Moon

Saturday gratefuls: Rebuilding Notre Dame. Wildfire. W.U.I. Kepler, my sweet boy, his memory for a blessing. Kate. A blessing always. Jon, a memory. Ruth, 17. Gabe, a week away from 15. Fresh Snow. 19 degrees. Good sleeping. Rabbi Jamie today on counting the omer. Alan. Rebecca back from India and feeling better after pneumonia. Scott, a reader of Ancientrails and a friend. Dogs.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Dogs

 

Round 4. Miles Davis as the Cyberknife made its robotic transitions around my abdomen. If AI rebels and sends out robots after us humans. Fear them. The Cyberknife has constraints. For now. The route the medical physicist prescribes. Ensured by Patti at the controls. And, it’s bolted to the floor.

The Cyberknife is basically an industrial robot designed to deliver radiation in precise measures to exact spots in the body. Put it on treads, push its radiation up to kill. You see the problem. Also, it’s built of heavy, heavy metal. It would not go down easily.

Yes. OK. I do find the Cyberknife menacing. Sort of. It whirs around my body, pointing its raygun at me. Clicking. Clicking. Hard to not see the business end of it as a head with a weapon. I know it’s under control and in fact working for my benefit. Yes, I know that. However. Our all too human tendency to anthropomorphize.

After session number 5 on Monday, the focus of the treatments will change. Its aim will be just below my clavicle. Going through my esophagus to my T3 vertebrae. I imagine the sense of menace will increase. There is an odd disconnect between the disconcerting fact of a metal behemoth focused on my body and its healing function. Probably because I can neither see nor feel the radiation. I do trust Patti and Dr. Simpson. Otherwise…

 

The showcase for All in Ensemble, Tal’s new theater company, was fun. Whether it was intentional or not, he set up in CBE’s social hall. The effect was good organizing. More chairs had to be brought out. Then. No more chairs. SRO. Created a good buzz. I sat on the front row, on the far left. Maximizes my ability to hear. Which, even with my excellent hearing aid, is not good in these situations.

There were monologues and scenes for the Jewish American Playwrights class. Joann Greenberg gave a heartfelt and funny rendition of the funeral of Froem, a disliked member of a Yiddish speaking Jewish community in Germany. Hamish and Terrence went each other as a son, Terrence, betrayed by his businessman father. Hamish has a niche now. Tortured characters. And, he’s good at it.

The improv crew, which included Luke, did something unusual. Each actor, five altogether, gave a short monologue about their life. The improv took its cue from these monologues which were sprinkled throughout the performance.

The first monologue, offered by an older woman, told of an evening on the high seas where she was a cook aboard a yacht. Making spaghetti. In rough seas. She served guests on the high side and the boat heaved spilling the spaghetti back on her. I then went directly to bed.

Her story set the tone for the evening which eventually featured Poseidon, fish trying to make it on land, and a charming Prince Eric who wanted to conquer the land for his dad, Poseidon.

I admit it got me going again on the acting thing. Might try again.

 

One brief, shining moment. The Lodgepoles this morning wave in prayer to the Sun, encouraging it to shine, shine, shine and melt the Snow off their downswooping Branches so more food can be made, more of the  miracle without which all Animal life on Earth would perish.

 

Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Writing

Working for me

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Spring and the Kepler Moon

Friday gratefuls: Dr. Simpson. Carmela. Patti. The others waiting. A shared male experience. Neil Young searching for a Pot of Gold as the Cyberknife did its work. Slept in after MVP. Long nap after radiation. Cooked. All in Ensemble. CBE. Rebecca. Ginny. Marilyn. Leslie. Ellen. Luke. Leo. Gracie. Ann. 2 nights out in one week. #4 today at 1:30. Light Snow this morning. More tonight. Temps cooling again.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Acting

 

I find myself developing an odd calculus. (and, btw, no. I have not forgotten about Calculus or Korean though I’ve put them both aside for right now.) Here’s an example. Minimum 150 minutes of exercise a week. NHS recommendations. After 150 is in the bank I prioritize relationships. So, if I have 150 minutes, but a friend is only available on an exercise day, I’ll see them instead of the treadmill. But, if I’m not going to make at least 150, I’ll say no. Both have significant value for me. Taking care of myself comes first. Because. Well. Taking care of myself. Relationships are so valuable. Why I take care of myself. So I can enjoy them.

Another example. I said to myself that I’d only go out one night in a week. But this week, I went out twice. MVP on Wednesday and the All in Ensemble showcase last night. Why? Two core groups. The Jamie, Marilyn, Tara, Susan, Rich, Ron mussar group on Wednesday. As close to the Woollies as I’ve come here.

Thursday. Tal and his acting classes. Brought out a side of me that had lain dormant for many years. I skipped the Jewish American Playwrights class, otherwise I would have been in the showcase last night. I wanted to support my friends Rebecca, Hamish, Terrence, Natiya, Luke, and Tal.

So. If two core groups of relationships have a night thing in the same week, the relationships are more valuable than my one night rule. And in fact I find it good to challenge my own rules every once in a while.  So I’m not getting into a rut. For example I slept well last night. Feel rested. Maybe two nights? At least when it’s not icy out? Maybe Spring, Summer, and Fall? Important to maintain my rest, yes. But maybe I can do that and still go out a bit more at night.

Another example. Not deviated from with rare exceptions. Write Ancientrails when I get up in the morning. No matter where I am, no matter what’s going on. I’m convinced this writing has helped me sort through the long string of difficult events that eventuated after our move to Colorado. Both in the moment, writing about them as they happened, and over time, writing about their cumulative affect. Writing puts things just a hair away from inside, yet still available for consideration. Also documents them. Leaving a record I can refer to later.

Writing about them doesn’t make them easier. Nothing can make death, family dysfunction, cancer easier. And probably shouldn’t. We need to live into these sorts of things, not push them away, avoid the feelings. But writing, especially writing in a public way as I do here, does have a dual function. First, it informs those who care about me, love me, of what’s going on in my life. No hiding. No secrets. Second, it allows me to put difficult matters in context, see them as part of a longer tale. Context puts tears and awful, awful days in the flow of life. I tend to get stuck in them less. That’s valuable.

With the aid of Ancientrails, self care, and people who love me with whom I communicate regularly, my life retains its richness and I remain afloat even through the worst storms. Working for me.

 

 

Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Health, Hermitage, Judaism, Mussar, Shadow Mountain

Round Three

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Spring and the Kepler Moon

Thursday gratefuls: MVP. Tara. Marilyn. Susan. Jamie. Rich. Ron. Bitachon, trust. Kate’s memory, a blessing in all ways. Cooler today. Snow. Good workout. Furball Cleaning. Ana and friend.  A clean house. The new colors. That threshold. Coming closer. Irv. Adoptable dogs. Radiation #3. Joy. Simcha. Embracing joy. Living joyfully.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Eudaimonia

 

Hit the treadmill for 65 minutes. 101 total minutes of exercise with the 2 minutes for every intense minute calculation. Felt good. Coffee and albuterol, oatmeal and peanut butter on board before hand.

While I exercised, Ana and her friend cleaned the house. It needed it. The last of Kep’s hair. The leftover from Doug’s painting. Ruth, Gabe, and Mia’s visit. Plus it had been three and a half weeks since it was last cleaned. Feels so good to have a clean house. A clean house with a fresh look. Mental health. Moving forward, over that threshold.

 

MVP last night. The topic, the middot, was bitachon, trust. I said that I trust everyone. To be who they are. Realized I need to modify that. I trust everyone to be who I know them to be. I can’t truly know another’s essence. But I can know how I experience them. In the moment and over time.

This means I have varying levels of trust, many of them. None blind. All based on experience, not hope. If you tend to show up late, I know that. If you do what you say, I know that. If you anger easily, I know that. If you steal things, I hide what’s valuable to me. Either emotions or goods.

We all agreed we had trouble, for various reasons, keeping our mouths shut about others. Not that we gossip, but that some circumstances arise. Ones where we start sharing things about others that aren’t ours to tell. Not necessarily secrets or negative things. Just things that belong to others. One person gave the example of a neighbor asking about a divorce. She found herself offering more detail than she needed. Wanting to keep the friend. That sort of thing.

So our mutual practice for this month is. Value the vault. Keep what we know to ourselves. Allow others to tell their own stories. If they want to.

 

Round three of radiation on my left hip lymph node today. Though the radiation itself is both invisible and non-tactile at my sensory level it’s still powerful. Find myself sleeping longer and harder. Fatigue, not awful, but there. The thing about radiation is that its side effects can show up a year, two years later. And I won’t know for sure whether it killed my two mets until later this year when I have a P.E.T. scan. An odd form of therapy. You can’t feel it and you can’t tell if it worked until sometime after. Glad it’s available though.

Next week we get started on my T3 thoracic vertebrae. This is the one where the possible side effects become dire. Including, but not limited to, paralysis. After several conversations with docs, I decided the risk made sense. There is a chance, albeit a small chance, that if we kill these two mets I could be cured. Wouldn’t that be something?

Not counting on that. But I will extend my time off Erleada and Orgovyx when I go on a drug holiday later this year.

Neil Young for music today.

 

Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Health, Shadow Mountain

Kate

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Spring and the Kepler Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: Kate, who died two years ago today. Kep. Radiation #2. Jon, a memory. Ruth. Gabe. Both a year older this month. Another bright Mountain morning. Heat. Melting snow. Floods likely. The Colorado River. The Compact. Water and the West. The humid East. 10,000 Lakes and that really big one. Moose. Wolverines. Grizzly Bears. Gray Wolves. Coyotes. Great Horned Owls. Pine Martens. Minx. Mountain Lions. Black Bears.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Life after Kate’s death

 

Two years ago today I got the call from Sarah. She’s gone. Kate was the one. And no longer with me day to day. Of course I hear her. Have you zipped up? Do you trust the doctors? Turn the heat down and it’ll be fine. Add some vinegar. I love you. Flashed, too, with the ASL. I see her presence here in Jerry’s paintings, the few turtles I’ve kept from her collection. The Karastan rugs in the lower level. The Portemerion dishes we bought at the Reject China shop in London. The Stickley furniture we both loved. And most of all in Ruth and Gabe, her living legacies.

No memory, nothing tangible, however, can replace her presence. Her love. Her wisdom. Her wry humor. Her honesty. I miss all those to this day. She was my cooking consultant, offering me the lessons she’d learned as a great cook. We talked thing through together. Made joint decisions. Also had our separate lives. Her sewing room. My loft.

We began living her Jewish life from the first night at CBE. A class on King David. She gifted me the community that now sustains me here. Her IRA, earned over many years of work taking care of children, has given me financial stability. She’s far from absent in my life.

Last night I had a long dream. Kate and I had gone to a conference. I left the conference and went out to deliver a note to a guy that ran a drugstore nearby. It was London. A down at the heels and no straight roads at all London. With people struggling, kids trying to steal things from me. I wandered, hunting for the drug store. Thieves got my phone and my wallet. Got very, very lost. Night began to fall and I couldn’t call. I asked some folks about Randall Street. Oh, it’s very far away. How do I get to it? The directions made no sense to me. Then I woke up.

 

Yesterday, lying on the thin metal bed of the Cyberknife treatment room, I looked up at the rich wooden slats above me. The Cyberknife whirred and danced around delivering radiation according to the medical physicist’s plan.

I had asked for Southern Gospel Revival, a band, but I guess Kim only heard gospel. Oddly the second tune that came up was He Touched Me. Written by the Gaithers. My old high school French and English teachers. Put me in an odd, nostalgic place.

That transformed into a moment of existential aloneness. The Cyberknife clicking its way into different positions. Oh, I realized. This is a matter of life and death. And I’m in here alone on the altar because no one else can see the face of this modern God and live.

The moment passed. But in that moment I felt the truth of our essential isolation, limited to experiences mediated through our senses. Did not feel bad. Just real.

 

Friends, Health, Hermitage, Judaism, Politics, Shadow Mountain, US History, World History

Good News

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Spring and Kepler’s Moon

Tuesday gratefuls: A good colonoscopy report. Tara. That catfish po’boy and beignets. Susan, my nurse. Luke, the doc. Propofol. Little pictures of the inside of my insides. A really long nap afterward. Sleeping in this morning, a bright one well underway at 7 am. Melting snow. Dark Sky communities. 5 in Colorado. The Milky Way. Our Galactic neighborhood. The Spiral Arm. Our street. The James Webb. Science. Community. The Humanities. A sad time.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: That Threshold, becoming more clear

 

Small polyp. Benign, Evans said. But. Sent to pathology anyhow. That propofol. A white solution injected into my iv. I watched as the fluid went in and woke up later back in the same small curtained off area I had left for the exam room. In between Evans had pumped CO2 in my intestines and run a scope up them looking for cancer. None. Good news. Also. You’ve graduated. No more colonoscopies. Yay! But. Can I still do the prep every once in a while, just for fun?

When I did wake up, I wanted to go back to sleep. I felt so good. So good. I go back to sleep. Charlie, are you ready? Huh? No, not yet. A bit more time went by. Charlie! Are you ready? Oh, uh, yeah. Getting up now. (I wasn’t.) Charlie. A frustrated gal. Ok, ok. Swing your legs over the edge of the bed. Ok, ok. How do you feel? Dizzy. Sleepy. But. I’ll get dressed. I promise. And so I did.

Tara, who took me, smiled when I came out. She took me to Nono’s and bought me a catfish po’boy and two beignets. Then home. A sweet woman and important in my life. I was at her house for a seder last week.

We discussed the history of Christianity. A bit fuzzy if your life orientation is Jewish. Also parenting. Jon, Vincent, Sofia. And, just. Life. You know.

Back home I ate my sandwich and the beignets. Watched TV. Took a three hour nap.

 

Now that Doug has finished, I can begin making decisions about where to put my art. Going to take my time. Not rush. Maybe get in some work on the loft, too. Clear off my art table. Maybe reshelve some books. Move files downstairs to the home office. Have Ana clean it when I get done. When I get the art figured out, I’ll get Vince to come over and hang everything.

I have a list of property management chores for him and as soon as it warms up I’ll get him started on those.

 

My journey into the dark and confusing reality of our current political situation continues. Why Liberalism Failed will help me crystallize my understanding. Without getting too far into Deneen’s argument right now I will say that he’s coming at liberalism as a political philosophy and not using the term as we do in the U.S. for party politics. In his broader argument most U.S. conservatives are liberals, too. That is, both parties (bracketing Trumpists and the new Far Right) support free enterprise, science as a way to gain dominion over nature, the autonomous individual, and government that derives its authority from the consent of those individuals.

Asia, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Health, World History

Prep. Korea.

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Spring and the Kepler Moon

Monday gratefuls: Gatorade. Dulcolax. Miralax. Gas-X. Colonoscopy prep. Tara, taking me. My son and his wife’s wedding anniversary. Seven years. Probate. Jon, a memory. Kate, always Kate. Kep. Doug. A freshly painted interior. A good experience. A freshly cleaned out interior. Not such a good experience. Brother Mark in Saudi. An old Saudi hand. Mary in Eau Claire, teaching. A Mountain early morning.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Korea

 

The newest wrinkle in colonoscopy prep. Split prep. You drink half of the 2 quarts of Gatorade and Miralax starting at 5 pm the day before. Then, six hours before the procedure get up and drink the other half. That meant I started hitting the Gatorade again at 4 am. This morning. A treat.

Ritualistic. Coming to the temple of medicine purified, washed out. Following orders. Preparing yourself for an inner journey. A journey of exploration and discovery.

Not terrible. Not much fun either. Every ten years seems like about the right amount of time to wait. This should be my last one.

 

Finished Undertow and began Why Liberalism Failed by Patrick Deneen. A thoughtful exercise in political theory and history. Obama praised it. A  good read for anyone interested in the deeper roots of today’s political malaise.

 

Not sure I would have paid much attention to Korea had there not been a personal connection. Now I see articles about Korea and read them. K-Pop. K-drama. The first one I read about, the second one I watch.

Korean history intertwines with Japan, as its occupier and invader off and on over the last 500 years. The occupation of Korea by Japan from 1910 to 1945 ended with the finish of WWII. My daughter-law’s father was born during the occupation.

Since the Japanese engaged Koreans in forced labor, including sex work as comfort women, and took land from its Korean owners, there has been a long standing resentment toward the Japanese in Korea. That seems to be changing now.

A key driver in the change is the emergence of China as a regional powerhouse and global leader. Korea, like many Asian nations, saw China as the epitome of civilization, adopting the Chinese writing system and Confucian values. Now Korea finds itself a small country in the shadow of an increasingly aggressive China.

Taiwan stands out as a possible flashpoint in the Far East. The U.S. has worked hard at relationships with Asian countries like the Philippines, Japan, Korea, Australia, and, ironically, Vietnam. This means Korea finds itself embedded in a struggle between great powers. Who are its allies? The U.S. Yes. But Japan as well.

There is also a good deal of tourism from Korea to Japan. My daughter-in-law’s father raised her to differentiate between the Japanese government and the Japanese people. Korea and Japan have vibrant economies and democratic governance.

What does the future hold for Japan/Korea relations? It seems to me that current geopolitical realities predict closer ties between the two. As the soft diplomacy of tourism and popular entertainment work on the two nations, perhaps a new relationship between them will emerge.

 

 

Cooking

Oh. The Irony

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Spring and Kepler’s Moon

Sunday gratefuls: The Ancient Brothers. Food. Food. Food. Colonoscopy prep. Warming Weather. A gentle Breeze. Doug. Finished. A good guy did great work at a reasonable price. Kep. Kate. Vega. Rigel. Gertie. My Colorado companions. All dead. Still here. Black Mountain clear of Snow. Snow melting in the front. Hanging around in the back. Remembering special meals with Kate.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Food

 

Irony. Being on a colonoscopy prep day when Ancient Brother Paul chooses food as the topic. See the questions.* I’ll give you a bit of my answers.

Meal anywhere: Crispi’s. An Italian restaurant down the hill from the Hotel Internazionale in Rome. Our honeymoon. Fresh, wonderful food. We ate there everyday we were in Rome. Also included in the thought. Italian coffee and croissants in the hotel every morning.

Second place. Mama’s Fish House. Maui. Gentle breezes, windsurfers. An older Hawai’ian decor but not kitsch. Again Kate and me. So many times. The name of the fisherman who caught your fish on the menu.

Favorite food: Korean fried chicken. Sashimi. Poke salad. Rare filet mignon. Macaroni and cheese. Hot dogs. Hamburgers. These last four I have only on occasion these days.

Allergic to or detest? Not allergic to anything. I don’t like slimy foods, e.g. lutefisk. Yet I love oysters. My rule: if a human can eat it, I can eat it.

Most memorable meal: D’Amico’s Cucina in Butler Square with Kate. We’d been dating for six months or so. She leaned across the table, looked me in the eyes, and said, I make $120,000 a year. Oh.

Another one. We took the 10 hour train ride from Venice to Vienna. On a train with no food. Surprise! When we got into Vienna at 10 that night, we passed our luggage to the bell guy, and walked across the Ringstrasse to a little Viennese cafe. Red checkered table cloths. Wienerschnitzel. Spaetzl. Cabbage. N.A. Beer, Thomasbrau. Oh, so good.

Food preferences changed. Not really. I’ve added, but not subtracted.

With others: As Paul said, communion. Nourishment of the body and soul. Yet. I also love to eat alone. A good book and a meal prepared by somebody else? Yes.

Foods I like to cook: Roast chicken. Fish of all sorts. Eggs. Potatoes. Steak. Pork.

Any new foods? Not really. Oh, wait. I did have a mushroom quiche at the Plant Magic Cafe. That was pretty good. Umami.

Taste preferences: Yes. But salty if pushed.

Favorite ethnic: Japanese. Middle Eastern. Greek.

Most expensive. Ruth’s 16th birthday meal at Sushi Den in Denver. I asked the waitress to bring us sushi and sashimi she thought we’d like. She did.

Stories. Kate and I stayed in the Hotel Wales in New York City. We went to a restaurant nearby. Sitting next to us were Joan Woodward and Paul Newman. Kate kept trying to touch the hem of his sports coat. He made his own salad dressing.

Favorite fruit: Jackfruit. Blueberries. Blackberries. Raspberries off the cane. Plums. Fresh cherries.

Favorite dessert: Banana’s Oscar. Gulab Jamun. Sesame covered fried balls of chocolate. Crema. Dulche de leche.

 

 

*-If you could have any meal anywhere, what would you eat and where?
– What is your favorite food(s)?
– What food(s) are you allergic to or absolutely detest?
– What is your most memorable meal?
– Have your food preferences changed over the years?
– What does a meal with others represent for you?
– What food(s) do you like to cook?
– Have you tried any new food(s) recently?
– What tastes do you prefer, sweet, salty, savory?
– What’s the most exotic food you have ever eaten?
– What’s your favorite kind of ethnic food?
– What’s the most expensive meal you have ever eaten?
– Do you have any stories about dining out?
– What is your favorite fruit(s)?
– What is your favorite dessert?
– Is there something else you want to say about food?

Denver, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Judaism, Mountains

Over the Mountains and through the Freeways to Alan’s new place

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Spring and Kepler’s Moon

Saturday gratefuls: Ruth. Sarah and Jerry. BJ and Schecky. Annie. The soft Light of early Morning. The calm Lodgepole standing by my window, its Cones hugged tight to needle covered Branches. Let the photosynthesis begin! Alan and his new home, home turf. He’s not in the Mountains anymore. Sam’s #3. Kep, my sweet boy. Kate, my sweet gal.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Trees

 

Drove down the hill. Left here at 8 am, just late enough to avoid rush hour. Followed Ruby’s wayfinding. Not the way I would have gone, but I thought, what the hell.

A blue shiny Colorado day. We get lots of them. My heart opened up as I did something unusual, going into the city early in the morning. That travelin’ gene kicked in. I could be doing this anytime I want. Headed in any direction. Toward Mexico. Toward Taos or Santa Fe. Toward Moab. For any length of time. Lock up the house. Hit the road. Plan to after this course of radiation quiets down.

Fun to be out of the usual habitat. Although. I don’t like city driving much anymore. I find difficult intersections overwhelming, too many vehicles, going too fast. And I don’t know the city well. Have to listen to Ruby. You know, sensory overload compared to Black Mountain and Brook Forest Drive.

Lucked out on Curtis Ave. One parking spot away from the intersection where Alan waited at Sam’s #3, a go to diner spot. An empty slot. Dove in. Fed the meter. With my Visa card. Crossed when the light’s little man showed up.

Alan waiting inside. Sam’s #3, there are several and they’re all named #3, has two loops of counter seating and several booths right along 14th Street. Looking out toward the Link building. Ironically, Alan’s old office building back when he worked for Century Link.

Gyros and eggs over easy, home fries. Alan, keeping kosher for passover, had chile rellenos and eggs. Home fries. First time I’d visited him in his new neighborhood. Denver calls this, clumsily I think, Upper DownTown.

We caught up. Radiation. My son. Probate. His daughter, Frannie. How much he likes the new digs. The new neighborhood. One block from the Denver Performing Art Center. Where the big blue Bear leans onto the window wall.

We walked the two blocks from Sam’s #3 to his building. A tall glass affair. Balconies. A fob for the door. Found the elevators. The tour. A floor with two concierge like employees who gather in packages from the post or Fedex or UPS. Who take other deliveries like dry cleaning and laundry. Out the door a heated pool, a hot tub, a shallow pool with foam recliners. On the other side barbecue grills. Three next to each other. Great views of the Mountains the downtown skyline. Inside again. The gym.  A good one, with free weights and exercise machines along with the usual treadmills and ellipticals. Empty at 10 am on a Friday.

Up to the Sky Club. Available only for those with units on the 34th floor and above. The penthouses. All. Marketing. The Sky Club on the 42nd and last floor. Pool table. A long dining table. Glass window walls with both Mountain and downtown scapes. Locked individual wine cupboards. Comfy chairs and sofas. Alan calls it a vertical cruise ship.

Then, down to his and Cheri’s place on the 38th floor. On entry a short hallway to the right goes to the laundry. The entry way opens out onto the kitchen, all appliances on a wall, an island across from them. The living/dining area showcases a view of Pike’s Peak seen past the Hyatt Regency, the Cash Register Building, and other hall marks of downtown Denver.

Master bedroom to the right. Cheri’s dance studio was immediately to the left after the entry. Alan’s office to the left. A good sized room made smaller with a loveseat facing the TV. A huge walk in closet. One in the master suite, too. Lots of storage.

Two balconettes. One off the living room and one off the master suite. Wide enough for a chair, long enough for three.

Considerably smaller than their old house in Genessee. Downsizing. What they wanted. Mostly what Cheri wanted was no threat of fire. No threat of losing house value if insurance companies turn against those of us in the W.U.I.

Frannie, home for passover, popped in with her friend Jenna. We all chatted for a while and I took my leave. Happy to leave the city for the mountains.

 

Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Health, Hermitage, Holidays, Judaism, Mountains, Shadow Mountain

Oh. Huh.

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Spring and Kepler’s Moon

Friday gratefuls: Alan. Doug. Nearly done. Snow melted. Low fire danger. Tara. Ofer. Jack. Adam. Cheka. Andrew. Savannah. Robbie. Arjean. Tara’s seder. The Cyberknife. The CT. Diane. Kim and Patty. Carmela. The medical physicist. Norbert, Tara’s dog who died suddenly. Julie and Sophia. Jayden. Safeway pickup. A blue Sky early morning.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Cheka and Andrew

 

Patty, a sweet lady and the lead radiation therapy tech, told me yesterday, as I left the CT room zipping up my jacket. Have a good Easter. I smiled. Jolted. No I said in my head I’m more of a passover guy now.

A strange moment. My reaction, that of an outsider to a cultural norm assumed so easily it’s not checked, surprised me. I didn’t realized how far down the Jewish path I’d traveled in my heart. This was not intellectual, it was visceral. Nope, wrong holiday.

When I mentioned it to Tara last night at her seder, she nodded. Yes. And it doesn’t get easier. Sometimes you smile. Sometimes you say something. Sometimes you’re just frustrated.

Tablet Magazine is an online magazine for Jews. I read it off and on. Yesterday I took a quiz titled what kind of Jew are you? For a goof. With little variance from my truth, that I’m not Jewish, I answered the questions. Are most of your friends Jewish? Certainly here yes. Have you attended a Jewish function in the last week? Of course. Do you belong to a synagogue? I do. I came out an affiliated Jew. Huh.

Still don’t want to convert, but I may have already. I thought of the old ways of becoming a lawyer, a physician. You read the law, worked in a lawyer’s office until you grew proficient enough to set out on your own. Same with physicians. I may have read Judaism as I’ve attended mussar, gone to shivas, been part of one for Kate, have two Jewish grandchildren.

Certainly there’s a deep reality in me now that identifies with Jews. With Kate’s loved faith. With the people and the community I’ve come to know as a result.

Hope you have a good Easter. Unless you’re more of a passover sort.

 

First radiation treatment yesterday. Cyberknife again. The same place where I had 35 sessions in 2019. Lone Tree. Anova Cancer Care. Chose The Band for my music. The Weight. The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down. Up on Cripple Creek. Music to be radiated to. An atomic playlist.

Afterward I drove over to Sally Jobe and got another CT. This one to facilitate the planning on my T3 met.

When I left the room after my session, my images were still up on the computer screens. I asked Patty what they were. She showed me my hips, my femurs. A blue grid with small squares over lay the area just away from my left hip. On the grid were brown marks. The points the Cyberknife uses to follow the medical physicist’s plan.

I’m at the start of this journey, ending now on April 19th. Probably eight sessions in all. I don’t know what might occasion another session or two.

 

Doug has begun painting my bedroom. The final piece of his work. He may finish today. Furniture rearranging after. Then some time to take art out, find the right places for various pieces. After that some help to hang it.

 

Tara’s house, 6060 Kilimanjaro Road, accessed off Jungfrau Drive, overlooks Mt. Blue Sky (formerly Mt. Evans). A steep driveway that I would not want to have to plow or have plowed. But a beautiful location.

The seder began at 4 pm. I left at 8:30. Tara presided over a teaching seder. Being the former director of religious education at CBE. We retold the Exodus story. Learned the symbolism of the objects on the Seder plate. Dipped parsley in salt water and ate it. The tears of oppression. Put horseradish, maror, on matzah and tasted the bitterness of slavery.

Every year Jews not only celebrate, but relive the experience of the Exodus. The moment of their birth as a free people.

Powerful.