All posts by Charles

Dogs, Fourth Phase, Friends, Health, Jefferson County, Mountains, Shadow Mountain, Tarot, Weather +Climate, Woolly Mammoths

A Rake. And, two photos

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Samain and the Moon of the Winter Solstice

@willworthingtonart

Saturday gratefuls: Snow! Cold. Winter. A rest day. Feeling less bad. Template for the counter top done. Jodi. Best contractor I’ve worked with. Rabbi Jamie. Mourning. CBE. Safeway. Pickup. Frozen entrees. Microwave. Tom’s photos. His safe arrival in Minnesota Weather.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Frozen food

Tarot: Nine of Stones, Tradition. wildwood

 

 

Chilly. Colorado chilly. 15 degrees, some Snow. Maybe 3 to 4 inches. Good to see. It helps with the wildfire situation. Doesn’t solve it, but it helps. Also, beautiful.

Snow rake today. I’ve had the rake since we installed the solar panels, but never used it. This year, with the mini-splits installed and heating with Electricity, I plan to. You only have to rake a section off the bottom of each panel and the snow slides off as the sun comes out. At least that’s the theory. I’ve not done it yet, so I can’t really say.

Safeway pickup as soon as I finish with this. Torah study with Rabbi Jamie at CBE. 10 am. Jon at Gaetano’s for his 53rd birthday. 5:15 pm. Some stuff going on.

Still feeling a little off, but headed up rather than down. Not sure what that was about. Didn’t like it.

Pictures today courtesy of Tom Crane’s phone:

Herme and me
Kep and I contemplate the partially finished kitchen

 

Cooking, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Health, Jefferson County, Judaism, Memories, Mountains, Our Land and Home, Park County, Shadow Mountain, Tarot

That’s Sick!

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Samain and the waxing Winter Solstice Moon

©willworthingtonart

Friday gratefuls: Tom’s visit. Happy Camper. Cutthroat Cafe. Tradition! Lunch with Marilyn and Irv at Aspen Perks. Bowe and his helper. Lower cabinets in place. Microwave up and plugged in. Sink in but non-functional. Appliances back in place. Stove and frig working. Herme is in the house. It will be a while before he gets hung. Snow. Maybe an inch or so.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Friendship. Ancient brothers.

Tarot: Ten of Vessels, happiness. wildwood

 

Goya’s, Self-Portrait with Dr. Arrieta. Mpls Museum of Art

Feeling crummy. Tom flew all the way out here and I couldn’t go to dinner last night with him. Slight nausea, mild headache, and felt like headed toward more and worse. Stayed in, went to bed early. This morning a bit of a stuffy nose, a little off. But not worse. Maybe a stomach thing, a bit of food poisoning? Or, something I got from grandson Gabe?

I’ve not been ill since a round of pneumonia in 2019. Well, except for the persistent cancer and post-polio and… That’s significant when you consider the stress of caring for Kate over just those intervening years. I consider myself a pretty healthy person, bracketing the afore mentioned, of course.

Before I skipped dinner though, Tom and I had a full morning. After Bowe and his helper got here to finish installing the bottom cabinets, Tom came. We decided to go to the Cutthroat Cafe in Bailey for a small breakfast since we were meeting Irv and Marilyn at 11:30 at Aspen Perks.

Met a nice former Wisconsin resident who drives to Bailey from Denver to waitress. She had a kind smile and a happy temperament. We ordered off the Senior menu, which, as Tom pointed out, we were over qualified for since it started at age 65. We spoke as long time friends will, of things near and far in time, of journeys and other friends, family. Hopes and dreams. Fears. The food came and went, more coffee.

The Cutthroat

During the week the Cutthroat is the only breakfast place in Bailey. Locals and tourists alike. On the weekend the Rustic Station has breakfast and its fabulous heavy cream pancakes. But the Happy Campers’ Happy Hour, with 20% off all purchases, is only available during the week. That means I rarely get to the Rustic Station.

Tom and I bought Cheeba Chews Indica and a new Cheeba Chews product, Sweet Dreams. Indica plus cbd and melatonin. Tried it last night and it worked well for me. I needed the sleep, too.

Pine Junction (about half way between Conifer and Bailey)

The drive from Conifer to Bailey goes up and down Mountains, through Valleys with Mountains in front and in back, down other Valleys with Mountains filling the view, often covered in mist or clouds far away. As 285 runs past King’s Valley, where Marilyn and Irv live, the Continental Divide comes into view. It’s far away, in South Park, past Fairplay. At this time of year it is often, as it was yesterday, Snow covered.

We had a delightful lunch with Marilyn and Irv. Bringing together the two important friendship groups in my life: The Woolly Mammoths and Congregation Beth Evergreen. We talked about Robert Bly and the men’s movement, the formation of the Woollies, its endurance over time. Multiverses, too. Quantum mechanics. Books. Like the Midnight Library which Irv had listened to.

Home of the Master Benders who created Herme

When Tom and I got back to Shadow Mountain, we opened the back door of Ruby and took Herme out. Downstairs on the Stickley table. I lit him up for Tom. Rigel and Kep looked on wondering what those silly humans are up to now?

I had Tom clip on Roger. Sitting in the passenger seat presents my left ear to the driver, my nonfunctional left ear. With Roger clipped to Tom’s vest I could hear him. When I clip it on somebody now, I joke saying at least this time Roger will go home with someone I know if I forget him. As I did at Gaetano’s.

Sure enough. As Tom pulled out of the driveway, I heard a familiar ping. Roger was getting away! I ran out after Tom, but he didn’t see me. Fortunately, a guy in a pick up saw me and flagged Tom down. Roger came home.

After I got up from my nap, I began to feel off. Just not quite right. Stomach, head. That dissonant sense when the body’s no longer in homeostasis. I held off messaging Tom as long I could, but finally I had to say no. I can’t do it tonight. A shame since he’s here and I see him in person rarely. Still. Illness is no respecter of persons or calendars.

Covid. The first thing that ran through my mind. Nope. No fever. No respiratory involvement. An intestinal critter of some sort, I guess.

Quartzite fabricator comes today. Measuring. Then, a lull in the action while Brian finishes the upper cabinets and the cabinet doors and the quartzite gets cut. It will be close, but I think we’ll make Christmas. I’m excited about reorganizing the kitchen, cooking in it. An ongoing treat.

 

 

 

Family, Fourth Phase, Health, Judaism, Our Land and Home, Politics, Shadow Mountain, Tarot

Oh, Todd.

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Samain and the waxing crescent of the Winter Solstice Moon

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Thursday gratefuls: Tom’s visit. Bowe and his helper. Almost done with this first round of work. Rigel and Kep, my all night heaters. Who needs an electric blanket? The mini-splits. Fire danger. Lodgepole Pines. Rock outcroppings. Hwy. 78, our only route in or out. Rabbi Jamie. His mother-in-law, Toni Haas. Who died. With whom he was living.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Hand/Craft work. Skilled labor.

Tarot: King of Stones, ww

 

Remodeling has its moments. One came yesterday when Bowe said, hey, look at this! What? See these? He showed me one of three electrical wires with exposed wire. Yes? These were behind your wall. And, alive! He showed me his knife blade where the arc of one of the wires took out a chip of metal.

Oh, Todd. We’re sorry we ever knew ya. Todd was a retired fireman. His name is forever held in infamy in our house. However his assignment has now descended to the lowest pit of contractor hell. May he stay there with exposed wires, leaky pipes, and poorly hung cabinets.

Bowe’s helper, who lives in Colorado Springs, quite a hike from here, is big. Tall and with a beery gut obtained over a lifetime of commitment to the brew. And, about my age. He moved a cabinet and I found him propped up on it, breathing heavily. I’ve had two (pneumo thorax) and they’ve reduced my lung capacity. Oh. Well, you’re also at 8,800 feet.

Bowe himself is a cheerful, short guy. Shorter than me, even at my diminished height of 5′ 6″. Bouncy energy. If he can get the faucet, he’s going to hook my sink backup for use during the fabrication time for the quartzite. He says about two weeks. I thought three. I’m going with his estimate.

Cousin Diane said yesterday that I could just plug my microwave in and use it. I said, nah. They cut the chord at the end. Tom suggested I have somebody help get it back on the counter since it plugged in. I looked closer. What I thought was a cut wire was in fact cut tubing from the water purifier. Oh. Well, Diane and Tom. Thanks. Gonna have the fabricator, who comes tomorrow, help me horse back onto the cabinets. Then I can have chicken pot pies. Burritos. Warmed up leftovers. Yes.

Tom brought me two bags of Battle River Wild Rice. A Minnesota gourmet treat. Thanks again, Tom. We had supper last night at Three Margaritas, the closest restaurant to the house. I haven’t been in there in a year and a half plus. Covid plus Kate’s increasingly sensitive palate.

With our proximity to Texas and New Mexico Colorado has many Latino residents, so the Mexican food here, including Tex-Mex, is pretty good. Lots of food trucks in the city serve it, too. Especially in Aurora and on Denver’s West side.

Sent a note to my urologist about the $1,800 bill from Myriad Genetics. Sussing out whether I have any genetic leanings toward prostate cancer. If I do, as I move forward, they may be able to treat me with medication designed for the genetic markers of my particular cancer. Good idea. But the $1,800 qualified as a big surprise! Doc’s nurse has set me up with folks who might lower my bill. Maybe way down. Hope so.

If I was paying full freight on my Orgovyx, $836 a month copay, my prostate cancer care would now be upwards of $10,000 plus a year with the auximin pet scan and the genetic testing. Which is, of course, a one time only. But the other two are ongoing.

Now you might say. Geez, it’s saving your life. What’s the price for that? A good question. And I so appreciate all the medical advances in prostate care. I like living. But, in staying alive, I have to do just that, live. Quality of life is important, too. If my disposable income gets sopped up by co-pays and co-insurance, then I’m stuck. Yes, it’s a problem of privilege, I see that, too. However, it’s still a problem.

I reapplied to the Assistance Fund for co-pay assistance with the Orgovyx. I won’t know until January, possibly late January. They say their ability to reup aid for those of us in the program depends on the financial commitments they get from their patrons. Which makes sense. But it does leave the process a bit too up in the air. Why I’m a bit sensitive about the Myriad bill.

Aging is, among many other things, expensive.

Not complaining. Well, not personally complaining. I can handle it. But for so many an $1,800 bill would break their finances. Let alone a regular $836 dollars a month. This is capitalism and our Rube Goldberg payment methods for medical care. Did I mention a need for universal health care?

Rabbi Jamie read this poem yesterday:

 

Dirge Without Music

Edna St. Vincent Millay – 1892-1950

I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.
So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind:
Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned
With lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned.

Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you.
Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust.
A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew,
A formula, a phrase remains,—but the best is lost.

The answers quick and keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love,—
They are gone. They are gone to feed the roses. Elegant and curled
Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do not approve. 
More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world.

Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.

 

 

 

General

Remodel. Justice.

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Samain and the Winter Solstice (no kitchen) Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: Shirley Waste Pickup. Bowe. And, the kitchen demolition. Seeing the walls of my kitchen. Jon’s colonoscopy/endoscopy. Being with him on the way out and back. No microwave. No sink. No cabinets. Rigel and Kep, not sure what’s going on here. Heidi’s Brooklyn Deli in Lone Tree. That salami and provolone sandwich.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Agency

Tarot: Six of Arrows, transition.  wildwood

 

Coffee perking up here in the loft. I can smell it, see it. Yes, it’s kitchen remodel time! Busy day Monday. Full day with Jon yesterday, driving to Aurora to pick him up, then down to Lone Tree for his imaging, back to Aurora, then drive home in the early rush hour. Exhausted when I got back to an empty kitchen. Well, almost empty. The dishwasher, new induction stove, and the refrigerator are still there.

By keeping the appliances, including the microwave, and not putting in a new floor (the current one has radiant heat), I saved additional expense. But. It does mean we have to match the tile in some fashion. That’s imposed some limits on aesthetics.

Not going to be quite as busy today. Until later. Funeral at 2 pm for Rabbi Jamie’s mother-in-law. Going on zoom. Tom’s coming to take advantage of Colorado’s green free zone. And to spend some time with me. After the funeral we’ll connect.

The last two days have hammered me. Too much driving. Which I find exhausting these days. I forgot to take Herme out of the car yesterday so he visited Aurora and Lone Tree. Going on the downstairs table for now.

Took a beat on the way in to pick up Jon and went up Colorado Blvd to the Modern Bungalow. This place has Amish furniture but most of it made in the arts and crafts style. Their inventory fits well with the Stickley furniture Kate and I bought a long time ago.

A rocking chair. A chandelier. And, a floor lamp. From them. Not right now, but I wanted to see the stuff in person. Like it. The rocker I saw was perfect. Also looking for a low table, but something unique. Not in the arts and crafts style. At least most likely not. Something organic, think stone or wood with live edges.

A cool spot with lots of nice things. I gotta get out here before I spend a lot of money. Owner: No. Stay!

Jon’s trying to figure out why he’s lost 40 pounds and has neuromuscular problems in his leg. Big problems but no explanations. At least right now. His ability to do daily work has taken a substantial hit. Makes it hard for him to stay employed.

Hope he gets some diagnostic news. Without a problem definition, there’s no solution.

Remember I said there might be an issue that could slip past my old guy in the mountain top Hermitage defenses? Well. Might have found one. A small business support, start-up help effort. A local Jewish venture capitalist, Seth Levine, Boulder, has a special take on “entrepreneurship.” His book, just out, using the term New Builders because of the stereotypical view of business startups as coastal, white male, and tech.

According to his data the vast bulk of new start-ups are by women and black women in particular. In the middle of the country. I love his idea. He’s in Boulder. He’s Jewish. Rabbi Jamie has a close connection with a Black congregation in Denver. I love synergy in these situations and I can see it coming into existence here. Around what? I don’t know, but something connected to women-owned, black-owned startups, small business support. Possibly linking Denver Jewish congregations into the mix. Using as leverage the more progressive congregation way out here in the Foothills. Could happen. Might be fun.

 

Cinema and Television, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Memories, Minnesota, Tarot, Travel

A busy day

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Samain and the Winter Solstice Moon

Tuesday gratefuls: Colonoscopy prep. Jon last night. Cancer worries. Jon’s 53rd on Friday. At Gaetano’s. Ruth and Gabe putting their Hanukkah gift mugs in my cabinet. Our cabinet. Cabinets emptied. Whew. Bowe starts demo today. The new cabinets, the bottom ones needed for the quartzite fabricators are here. Bowe installs those on Thursday. The plan anyhow. Herme is home. Neon. Noble gases. Elements. Sulfur. Helium. Carbon. Uranium. Lead. Potassium.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Phase Four

Tarot: Six of Stones, wildwood

 

Dove off of always under construction Highway 70 at the Peoria exit. Then spent an interesting 15 minutes searching for Identgo, the TSA contractor for my TSA prechek appointment. 39th Street is a boundary line. On its south flank Aurora extends into its eastern suburbs. On its north it serves as an artery for capillary streets that end at the freeway’s fence. Concrete buildings with truck bays facing the street. A few RV’s parked in what look like permanent positions. Lots of extended chain link topped with razor wire. The faceless underbelly of small companies or the warehouses for big ones.

Identgo, also the site of Unicorn Drug testing, sat at the end of one of eight rows of sad, buff colored small offices. Christ-Ministry. Gospel Church. Mountain Stone. Identgo.

I had a thick sheaf of documents, divorce decree, marriage licenses, a birth certificate. They stayed in their envelope. This was a much more casual process than I had imagined. The gender fluid person who checked me had on outrageous boots. Made of brocade with thick laces and standing on 5 inch heels these were uncommon.

“Those are some boots” started a longer conversation. They showed me photos of other cool boots. A Canadian designer was their favorite. He also had high boots that looked like cows hooves. Dress shoes in yellow. Or, fading from yellow to purple.

They had been in Tokyo and NYC working for Identgo. In spite of the cheesiness of the office, the process itself was high-tech and quick. A handheld computer did most of the work. A blue screen for a photo, $85 and Bob’s your uncle.

Hopped onto 70 listening to a CPR program about Westside Story and why Puerto Ricans felt a remake was overdo. Short answer: Rita Moreno was the only PR in the first version though she did win an Oscar. Also, it reinforced Puerto Rican’s as an immigrant group somehow involved in teen delinquency. Might not have been so bad if it didn’t go on to become the best musical and fourth favorite movie of the Oscars.

Turned off I-25 near Bronco’s Stadium and into another, more upscale warren of businesses. Zuni Street. At 13th, near the brand new and strange Meow Wolf, I turned left into a newer, snazzier business mall. Morry’s Neon.

When I got there Tina, Glen, and one of the master benders were eating Mexican food off paper plates. Probably food truck fare. Glen took me back in the shop, plugged in the Hermit. I said. Wow. He smiled. Showed me how he would hang it. Clean it with a soft brush. The transformers good for about ten years. Other than that. No maintenance.

Tina took my money. Glen loaded Herme in the back of Ruby. Onto a moving blanket I had positioned there for that purpose. Back up the hill. And, none too soon.

Since Kate’s illness, the pandemic, and her death, I’ve not gone down the hill much. I find myself overstimulated in the city. Traffic. Exits. Navigating. Too many people. Lights. Police. Just. More. Than. I. Need. Strange for a guy who did  nothing but urban work for over 25 years. But, true. Exurban, mountain me.

When I got back, the remainder of the cabinet cleanout. Though I had a huge stack of boxes in the living room on Saturday, I used all of them except one. I did the last few jars while I fed the dogs this morning. Lots of evidence of mice. Wish I could have a cat.

This whole process got hard. Oh, I remember Kate using this cherry pitter. Who owns a cherry pitter, anyhow? Her canning stuff, pressure cooker, water bath. Empty Ball jars. The mustard yellow fondue pot. A relic of the sixties. Her sixties.

There’s a dark beauty in grief. As it deepens feelings, it opens me to more feelings, to the wonder of our time together. Cooking. Harvesting honey. I came across a quart jar of Artemis Honey with the Ode made label still on the lid. Peaches. 2016. 2018. Western slope peaches. Canned right here. There was currant jelly, too. Ground cherry, wild grape. All by her hand. So much. Quilts. Mug rugs. Runners. What a life we had.

In an hour I’m leaving to take Jon to his colonoscopy. Sarah and BJ, two of Kate’s sisters, may have convinced him to let them help him sort out his house. That would be a big deal. He might get the stimulus to finish the kitchen, other rooms. That would be so good.

 

 

 

Fourth Phase, Friends, Judaism, Kabbalah, Memories, Minnesota, Mountains, Our Land and Home, Shadow Mountain, Tarot

Week Ahead

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Samain and the Winter Solstice Moon

Monday gratefuls: Ancient Brothers. Da rhythm. Of our lives. Kep and Rigel, a two dog snugged close night. Brian bringing the new cabinets. TSA prechek. Herme coming home. Jon’s 53rd birthday this Friday. Going to Gaetano’s. 20 degrees this morning. Still no Snow.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Cabinets, new

Tarot: three of bows-fulfillment

 

henry moore nuclear energy. I spent a mescaline evening crouched inside this monument to Enrico Fermi’s splitting of the atom. 1969.

 

A full week. Learning to husband my energy. Stamina still less than pre-androgen deprivation therapy. Though. I think grief takes its toll on energy, too.

Decided to take not liking the security line at the airport off the table. Going to TSA Prechek this morning to apply. Lot of documents required since I changed my name when I married Raeone. That’s in downtown Denver at 11:40.

After that it’s over to Morry’s Neon to pick up Herme. Where will I put him while the remodel is going on? Maybe in the garage.

TSA is the exit before Pena Blvd which heads into DIA. A long ways from here. Guess it makes sense it would be close to the aeropuerto.

While emptying kitchen cabinets yesterday I got briefly overwhelmed with sadness. A few tears. BJ said that when she talked with Kate in the hospital last April, Kate told her we intended to remodel the kitchen. It was the we that got me. I no longer have that we.

Our we lived in those conversations. Remodel the kitchen? Pizza for dinner? How can we help Gabe and Ruth? What book did you like best? Do you remember when you were 6? And the memories of those conversations held in the others bank of the past. For retrieval if somehow forgotten by one of us.

Drains a lot of energy. Those moments. Yet I welcome them. I feel her with me. The vitality and presence of our time together. Palpable. Almost. So if you walk in on me and my eyes are a bit red and puffy, you’ll know Kate’s come for a visit.

Though. If you see me smile, grin with no seeming referent, you’ll know she’s come, too. I’m widowed to Kate. Forever more.

Tom Crane comes on Wednesday. We’ll hang out, talk about life and love, death and life phases. We’ll also have brunch with Irv and Marilyn Saltzman at Aspen Perks.

Tomorrow I take Jon for his colonoscopy/endoscopy. Searching for reasons behind his loss of 40 pounds over the last few months. On Friday I’ll take him to Gaetano’s. I may take Roger with me, but I’ll clip him to Jon if I do. Not gonna give’m two.

Bowe comes tomorrow to remove the old cabinets. Thursday to install the ones Brian delivers today. Then, a three week wait while the quartzite fabricator measures twice and cuts once, delivers and installs. After that, another wait because the backsplash decision is going to wait on the Taj Mahal slab. To check colors with the new counter in place. Maybe up to three weeks, but better to have it right than to guess.

Hanukkah is done. The menorah’s cleaned out. Candles put away. Presents distributed. Next up. The Winter Solstice. The holiday of holidays in my world.

 

Art and Culture, Asia, Fourth Phase, Great Wheel, Holidays, Kabbalah, Myth and Story, Our Land and Home, Politics, Reimagine. Reconstruct. Reenchant., Shadow Mountain, Tarot

Insight. Important.

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Samain and the Winter Solstice Moon

©willworthingtonart

Gratefuls: Samain and Winter, my favorite time of the year. Holiseason. Cranking up speed. Paul. 75 years! Charlie H. A reprieve! Another beautiful Colorado Day. High Fire danger since July. New cabinets arriving on location tomorrow. TSA prechek. Hanukkah presents from the Johnson (and my) sisters. Delightful. Gabe, Ruth helping unload cabinets, clearing out the sewing room. Joan Nathan’s chicken stew. Ham and cheese on sourdough. The Meme game.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: That family feeling

Tarot: The Hooded Man, #9 of the major arcana

“The Hooded Man stands at the winter solstice point on December 21, along with the earth and the sun in the night. This is the time to be alone and contemplate life. This card describes the gates of death and rebirth, deep inside the Earth.

After the difficulties and tribulations when confronting the ancient forces, we need a moment of calm and reflection on life.

The Hooded Man (The Hermit, Robin – i – The – Hood, the hermit in the deep forest) will bring persistent light in the middle of the winter as well as use his wand to dig deep and accumulate knowledge. His lantern illuminates the darkest frightening crises in every soul, repels misunderstandings, and opens the way to the door to The Great Tree. He knows that knowledge is the light and can only be cultivated through self-sacrifice and self-discipline. He points out the secrets of the deep forest and helps those seeking ways to cultivate their minds to go deeper into the forest. The Great Tree is one of the symbolic powers of the forest, which contains countless secrets and treasures of erudition.” Tarotx

 

All righty then. I’ve got my old totem animal, the Moose, and my new, sidecar totem animal, The Great Bear, and coming home tomorrow my neon sign of The Hooded Man, aka The Hermit.

Since I wrote yesterday’s post, I’ve been pondering the drum set with JUSTICE spelled out on the bass, long haired me sticks in hand, banging and kicking and whooshing. I’ve been pondering, too, the Hermit, the Hooded Man.

And an odd insight has come to me. The little drummer boy for justice may actually be my anima, so, a little drummer girl instead. Justice is frequently portrayed as a woman and I can see (not sure about this yet) how my mother’s compassion toward and with the poor might have taken root in my soul as the constant song of a just world. Insistent. Rooted in feeling, not ideology. Instinctive. And, feminine. The yin impulse in my soul. Unexamined, strong, protective, nurturing. Insistent. A mother’s way.

Which would then let the Hooded Man (reinforced by the Moose and the Great Bear) have the animus role. Makes so much sense to me. I have a conflict within me between an instinctive desire/need to right wrongs, fight injustice and an equally strong need to be alone, to go within, to sit in the darkness of the long Winter Solstice Night and be still.

These are not exclusive, no. The one refreshes, recharges, brings perspective and deep connection while the other gathers up that energy and throws it into the world, crashing down bowling pins as it does. But it’s the opposite of the stereotypes. The man wants to return home, cook, play with the kids, have a quiet and peaceful life while the woman wants to take up arms against the sea of troubles and by opposing end them.

This feels so right. And so complicated. Especially right now. The trinity of Hooded Man, Great Bear, and the Moose are of the Winter Solstice while Justice runs with the hot sun of the Summer Solstice. Fire energy.

I suppose this time might be a time when the two try to come into harmony, realizing how much each needs the other. Yet, I feel the Hooded Man wanting to claim more and more of our common life. Home. Family. Introspection. Calmness. That bomb throwing Emma Goldman, deeply loved and cherished, on the other hand, feels guilty sitting out when there are wars still to be fought.

Perhaps this new year will be a time to consider how these two can achieve the alchemical marriage: “Alchemical marriage is a soul-interaction that invites the sacred feminine to the sacred masculine. As a result, we experience wholeness in our spiritual core.” from here.

In fact that would be a good goal, uniting the Hooded Man and Lady Justice. How to do that? No clue. Is it a good idea? I think so. Maybe it’s the end of the ancientrail of life. The conclusion or the work of the fourth phase.

 

Faith and Spirituality, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Music, Politics, Tarot

The Lady and the Hermit

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Samain and the Winter Solstice Moon

©willworthingtonart

Saturday gratefuls: Bonnie. Sefer Yetzirah. Rebecca. The Guardian. The New York Times. The Washington Post. The Denver Post. The Alexandria Times-Tribune of blessed memory. Kate, always Kate. Alan. Judy. Joan Nathan. Rigel, the sweet girl. Kep, the independent thinker. Ruby. (even though she is an internal combustion anachronism.)

Sparks of Joy and Awe: These Rocky Mountains

Tarot: Four of Arrows, Rest. Wildwood

 

The rhythms of our lives. A fascinating question posed by Ancient Brother Mario Odegard:

“The topic comes from one of the opening lines that Robert Bly said at one of his retreats that has stayed with me for many years. He talked about the absence of an inner rhythm in many men. He referred to this as not paying attention or listening to your inner flow. He asked what kind of “music” are you making with your life: 
 

What is the inner rhythm deep inside you, that guides you, that swings you, that keeps you dancing with life? Do you need to create a new rhythm?”

 

Thinking about this sent me over an edge into the many rhythms that form the backbeat to our daily lives. Day and night. Heartbeat. Blood pressure’s rise and fall. Breathing in and out. Hunger and satiety. Thirst and refreshment. Weeks. Months. Years. Millennia. Birthdays. The Great Wheel’s seasonal changes. As it leaves, so it comes back.

There’s another rhythm in and down, out and about. That curious dance between introspection and agency.

Sleeping and waking. Punctuations. Semi-colons.

Music, too. Of course. Paradiddles. When I took to the inner rhythm that guides you, swings you, I went somewhere else. To the percussive driving beat of a snare, a fast and steady kick to the big bass drum. Justice. Always. A pushing rhythm, one to thrust me out of my inner fuzziness, my inner doubt and fear. Get out there. Boom. Boom. Boom. Crash. Whish. Go. Go. Go.

So here’s this archetype, the lady and the scales. The sword. Pillars of authority. A veil between her and the world. Let’s say she’s the one playing the drum set in my soul.

At the barest hint of unfairness I hear a faint brush of wire on cymbal. Attenhut! Is there more to this? Example. Got my haircut on Tuesday. Jackie. I’ve mentioned her before. A very sweet lady. Kate’s friend first, now mine, too. Jefferson County instituted a mask mandate last week for inside businesses. Jackie had her mask on. I did, too.

But. “Some of my clients just won’t wear a mask.” Puts her in the position of possibly alienating otherwise regular paying customers. And, does an omicron layoff lie just over the horizon? The combination of alienated customers and the financial cataclysm of a shutdown could ruin her financially.

Not. Fair. Jackie’s in her sixties I imagine. She’s worked hard, on her own, for forty years. Yet she now has to enforce a sensible, but to some, very unwelcome government rule; or, go ahead and cut their hair. Which is what she chooses to do for business and personal reasons. Some of these folks, outside the anti-vax madness are her friends.

Then my mind goes to other hair stylists, nail salons, barbers, mom and pop shops, shoe repair stores, anywhere one or two folks are both work force and proprietor. Lots of people. Especially in lower income communities, yes, but not only there.

I play out in my head the steps it would take to organize enough of these folks to demand some simple JUSTICE. Why? Because this rhythm has ruled my life since I was young. I let most of the situations I discover like this, and they are legion, go. Can’t be all things. Too tired and old. Don’t want to anymore. But there’s always the chance, in the operetta that is my inner life, that one will snag me, draw me in past the oh, I wonder what would happen stage.

Herme

It’s time for a new rhythm. One more to the tune of the Hermit. See what I did there? I’m thinking lutes and harps. Renaissance notes. Quiet. Seeking silence and contemplation like the drummer seeks justice. Justice has had at least 65 years to develop a presence, so I don’t imagine she’ll leave. But the Hermit has been around a long time, too. The guy on retreat. The guy who sought Christian mysticism, who studies Kabbalah and tarot. Astrology. The guy wanting to go in and down, not up and out.

Herme may be the balance to Justice, which pushes me up and out. Into the world. Maybe a battle of the bands?

 

 

 

Dogs

Rigel at 13

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Samain and the thinnest Holiseason waning crescent

Friday gratefuls: Cleaning out the cabinets. Underway. Chicken stew headed to Judy’s with Bread Lounge ciabatta. Alan. Evergreen. Conifer. Our wildfire risk. Black Mountain Drive. Our only route out. The Lodgepoles that will burn. Renewal. Forest metamorphosis. The houses that will burn. Ecojustice. A chance for renewal. That slab of Taj Mahal waiting to be cut precisely to fit my counter. A beauty.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Ursa Major outside my bedroom window

Tarot: Three of Stones, Creativity.

 

Rigel, 2011

Rigel. Has turned 13. A rascal still. Just this morning she grabbed an empty treat package, carried it out to the sewing room rug and ripped it apart.

The very day we brought her home to Seven Oaks in Andover she got her head stuck in the wooden gate going down to our perennial garden. I had to take the gate apart to get her head out. And, with my manual skills.

Kate told me this story. Rigel had come in from outside looking proud of herself. She got into the kitchen, coughed once, and threw up a Rabbit’s head. Eyes still glistening.

Rigel also got her sister Vega in trouble. Often. She discovered a downed Tree limb that provided a route over our 2,500 foot long chain link fence. Located in a far corner of our Woods it took me more than one escape to find the Tree limb and cut it down.

Rigel digging with Vega, 2010

Once she went over, took Vega and Hilo, one of our Whippets, with her. Vega and Hilo returned home for dinner, but Rigel didn’t. She was gone three or four days, having been captured by a neighbor. We finally found her through the dog shelter who relayed a message. While she resided at the neighbors, his son named her Queenie.

Seven Oaks was on the Anoka Sand Plain, the former shore of the ancient glacial River, Agassiz. Great for gardening. And, for two sisters tag-teaming to dig really deep holes. Not one, not two, but multiple holes deep enough to hold a 100 pound+ IW/Coyote Hound mix. Since I occasionally needed to drive a truck in the back, these holes were downright problematic.

the baby

Loud barking. Really loud. Baying. Non-stop. Geez, guys. What’s going on? I searched around in our woods until I found Rigel and Vega digging a hole under a downed Cottonwood. Something was up in the hollow portion of the long dead Tree. Took out my phone and snapped pictures because I could see anything. A baby Opossum. Never understand the strategy of barking at something in a Tree.

Up here on Shadow Mountain where Rigel has spent more than half of her 13 years she continues to hunt. She’s dug out around our deck, trying to get underneath to the tasty baby bunnies that live there. Same for the shed. In spite of severe arthritis in her rear left leg she continues to follow her predatory instincts.

With Rigel, Andover

Last year. August. I felt her forehead. It was hot. Kate took her temperature. 105. Something was going on. Covid raged outside our house. It was a weekend. As often happens.

I took her in to the Veterinary Referral Service in Lakewood. Because of Covid, they had signs on their front door and windows: Humans. Sit. Stay. I had to call in. A vet tech came to get her. I waited in the car, 94 degree heat, for six hours while triage pushed her back in priority. When they finally got to her, the vet confirmed she was really sick.

It took three or four very expensive days to diagnose her with endocarditis, the next to last thing on the differential tree. After that it took two days of high dose, high impact antibiotics to get her ready to come home.

Rigel and a bull Elk in our back a day before my first radiation treatment.

I cried when she same out because I thought I’d never see her again. She was thin, weak, but happy to go home. High doses of antibiotics continued at home for three months. It took about that length of time, maybe a bit more, for her energy level to return to normal.

Today she runs up and down the stairs to the loft. She and Kep have made home a welcoming place for me since Kate’s death. So important for me that I don’t have a word for my gratitude.

Each time she goes to the vet he says she looks really good for as old a dog as she is. At her physical he compared her to a five-year old dog. She’s still like that. How long she can go, I don’t know. But her life has buttressed mine and mine hers. Fair enough.

Fourth Phase, Great Wheel, Kabbalah, Our Land and Home, Shadow Mountain, Tarot

A New Totem Animal

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Samain and the 5% waning crescent of the Holiseason Moon

©willworthingtonart

Friday gratefuls: Blue Skies. Black Mountain. Green Lodgepoles. Naked Aspen. Oceans. The World Ocean. Lakes. Ponds. Puddles. Creeks. Streams. Rivers. Mighty Rivers. Volcanoes. Steam Vents. The Earth’s Core. Riding on the Mantle. Crusty.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Brother Mark

Tarot: The Great Bear, #20 of the major arcana

 

As they often say in fantasy movies, it has begun. I’m deconstructing the kitchen. Drawers with thermometers, hot pads, skewers, kitchen towels. Cabinets with bouillon, cream of mushroom soup, ladles, and wooden spoons. Into the boxes I’ve been saving. I’m doing a little pruning right now, but the priority is to unload all the cabinets before Monday. I’ll prune more as I replace things in the new cabinets or, better perhaps, after I’ve gotten everything in boxes.

I’m excited to have this project moving forward. It’s completion will be the trigger for moving furniture, rearranging the house. One thing I look forward to upstairs is a conversation area focused on the fireplace. Since I don’t have COPD, I can have fires, but a lot of them? No.

The first fire after the furniture and new lamps and table are in place will be Irish peat logs. I mentioned them a while back as reminiscent of the nights W.Y. Evans-Wentz spent in Celtic homes listening to stories around the fire, often peat logs burning. I want to experience the smell and the fire.

Fits in with the Hermitage notion. I’ll welcome you here if you want to come. Oh, and I’m working on that host thing, too.

©willworthingtonart

I may have a new, or additional, totem animal. Can you have more than one? Love the card I drew this morning, the Great Bear. Here it is again.

The Great Bear guards a passage tomb, a sort of pre-Celtic columbarium that could contain multiple tombs on either side of a long passage. In the tomb souls await rebirth and the Great Bear protects the souls as they wait to renew themselves.

The Great Bear, in the Wildwood Deck, corresponds to the Winter Solstice, that longest night when we sink into the darkness. Happens to be my favorite holiday. Matching it with Ursa Major and the Aurora Borealis makes the Winter Solstice take on an even deeper meaning for me.

As it goes, so it comes. When darkness reaches us, it invites into the passage tomb. We have no need to worry because the Great Bear will protect us through the vulnerable process of our soul’s metamorphosis. While we’re in the tomb the night sky shines above us in all its starry, auroral glory.

The Great Wheel teaches us that rebirth is not a singular event. As the dark Night goes, it will come again, offering another chance for renewal, for rebirth. This is a comfort for those who mourn, who feel a new life awaits. For me.