Category Archives: Woolly Mammoths

Sunny Beaches. hmmm. what would that be in latin?

Imbolc                             Waning Cold Moon

Kate and I have gone through Chapter 4 in Wheelock.  Onto Chapter 5 with the future and imperfect tenses and their conjugation.  Doing this makes me wonder what other layers of knowledge I have tucked away, not called upon, yet ready to return to duty if asked.  As Greg, our tutor, said, “You learned this already.”  We’ll move out of zone of previous learning, but right now, the auld tongue has come back pretty well.

Got back in the study today for the novel after the nap.  We do our sessions with Greg at noon on Thursdays, so we spent this morning on review, then in conversation with him.

The novel has not gone anywhere.  It has not gotten longer while I slept or while I was at Blue Cloud Abbey.  I read much of what I had written, trying to get back in the groove and that took up my writing time for the afternoon.  Tomorrow morning I’ll put fingers to keyboard again.

Buddy Mark has pics from the beach outside Puerta Vallerta.  The one below of an Aztec dancer has an interesting rattle.

Floating Away to Blue Cloud Abbey

Imbolc                              Waning Cold Moon’

Last day at home until Sunday.  Headed out to Blue Cloud Abbey, where Kathleen Norris wrote at least two books.  The Abbey’s buildings are 1960’s modernist, most like public elementary schools, save for the Abbey church which has some panache.  The Abbey church, the guest house and the monastic facilities sit on the highest point for miles.  After sundown, the lights of small towns faraway twinkle.

I’m looking forward to an actual retreat with some quiet time spent on meditation and my own spiritual path.  I haven’t done one of those in a long time, too long.  Love is on my mind, right now, so I’ll plan to spend some contemplative time with how it is in my life and how I offer it to others.  This Valentine’s Day, my 63rd birthday, feels like a spur to thinking about love, a bit unusual for me since I’m normally focused on my birthday.  Anyhow, I have a new Parabola focused on love that I’m taking with me.

Woolly Brother Mark Odegard has taken his magic bus to the shores of the  Pacific Ocean outside Puerto Vallarta.  His journey, a pilgrim’s really, takes him where his vision beckons.  I admire his willingness to open himself to the world and to others, a life lived embracing life.  Very Zorba.  And Zorba is one of my heroes.

The Archaeology of Snow

Winter                                                   Waning Cold Moon

As the Cold Moon begins to wane, so will the bitterness of our winter,  sliding toward warmer averages, probably more snow, certainly no green for another month plus anyhow.  This winter, like winters of yore, we still have November snow Add Newlayered like archaeological remains below December and those below January.  Even with increased temps we will, most likely, bury these further under a February layer and March until we have five months here, mingled compressed, all vulnerable to the sun that rises higher concentrating its blessing until we discover once again that things still grow here.

Preached this morning at Groveland.  A repeat of Roots of Liberalism.  I wrote this piece originally for Groveland, but ended up presenting it in Wayzata last Labor Day Sunday.  My October date with Groveland, when I would have given it there, they asked me to do some consulting, help them get on top of their disintegrating community.  Too much work for too few volunteers, an old churchbane.  No easy answers, but they’re still at it.

When I presented Roots in Wayzata, it went over so well I felt brilliant for an entire afternoon.  Even then, though, I felt near the end I had reached beyond the patience level of the average listener and I felt the same way today.  The reaction today was less effusive and the discussion less rich, but I felt heard again.  Now I can move forward and get to work on Liberalism, part II:  the present.  Due near the end of March.

Buddy Mark Odegard writes about reading on the beaches of Puerto Vallerta.  He believes we should all emulate the small birds who have the good sense to emigrate during the bleak season to warmer climes.  When I grip the steering wheel with white knuckles while driving on ice, I agree with him.

Woolly Monday

Winter                              Waning Moon of Long Nights

Woolly Mammoths

And a Red Stag

In the Black Forest.

Woollys met tonight at the Red Stag.  Ode takes off for Mexico Wednesday morning.  Taylor is getting booted out of the teen cd program.  Bill’s brother with prostate cancer and the 500 PSA lives on, long past the four months projected last summer.  He’s using naturopathic methods.  Scott’s daughter and baby Lela are doing well.

I took Frank home tonight.  The cold weather is tough on his heart condition, as, apparently, too, is eating.  Glad he got home safe.

Woolly Mammoths Meet

Samhain                                        New (Wolf) Moon

Woollies tonight at Scott’s.  The usual delicious food by Yin and Moon in the Simpson Museum of Chinese and Buddhist antiquities complemented an evening spent in a decisive rejection of a non-judgmental life-style.  While we appreciated the sense behind Scott’s exercise, the bulk of us (Tom, Frank, Mark, Bill and me) felt judging is a human activity and one we cannot eliminate, but for which we must take responsibility.

In other news Scott’s daughter is at this moment in hot water, that is a birthing tub, ready to deliver her child into a watery realm.  Paul and Sarah sold their house and have leased a duplex in Kenwood.  Mark and Elizabeth will spend January, February and part of March in Puerto Vallarte, though Mark has an expense paid flight to Bangkok in February for the opening of his sex and the single teen exhibit there.  Tom and Roxann leave soon for twelve days in Hawai’i where they will stay in the Inn at Mama’s Fish House on Maui’s North Shore.  Paul flies soon to Melbourne to deliver a lecture at the World Parliament of Religions, Strangers into Neighbors.  The rest of us will be at home for the holidays.

First Monday Woollies

Samhain                                   Full Dark Moon

When I left for the first Monday Woolly dinner, the moon hung just above the tree line, silver and luminous.  As I returned, it had retreated to a high point, moving away from the horizon toward the open sky.  There are so many nights when the moon outdoes the best human artists can do, so many nights when the moon joins with planets, other solar system neighbors, to create a scene of light against the darkness of space, and we stand feet on the ground, looking up from our home into the vastness from which Earth came and to which it shall return.

Mark Odegard has a job with the river.  He came into Christos tonight wearing a sweatshirt with the US Army Corps of Engineers logo, the mark of his employer at Lock and Dam #1, a spot from which he watches the economy swing through barge traffic, for example regular 2 a.m. barges loaded with steel filings from a company upriver in Fridley have begun to pass through his lock headed for the smelters in St. Louis and New Orleans.  The Great Recession had suppressed steel sales so the filings had piled up in Fridley, the filings came in but none went out, finally though, just in the last couple of weeks the price of steel has begun to go up and now the rush is on to move the filings before the river freezes and the locks become unusable until spring.

This is shift work and Mark rotates through days, evenings and nights every 9 days, 7 days on and 2 off, his body clock taking a beating, so much of one that he has come to know the pleasures of the couch, his creative urge quieted by the shifting hormones his body deploys in the interest of managing his unusual sleep cycles.

Stefan comes with news of children’s woes.  Taylor in Hollywood.  Melina in frat houses at the University of Minnesota.  Frank says Mary has eased into her retirement and spoke of his grandson who has continued to attend school, caddy and play hockey while undergoing chemotherapy and radiation for sarcoma.  Warren tells the unbelievable story about which he will write more of the dairy farmer in Clearwater County who was arrested and charged with false imprisonment for using a chain to restrain his wife, a victim of Alzheimers.  Scott’s daughter is about to give birth, perhaps not only to a baby, but to a new life as a parent, a changed life from her recent past.

On my account the tale was of Kate, of her recovery, the toughness of this Norwegian I love and the gradual return to a daily routine, walker and cane at at the ready, but moving unaided with surprising agility.

When we meet, we Woolly Mammoths, a dense net of past and present walks into the room and sits down, the lives of not only ourselves, but of our families and our friends, their troubles and their delights, our worries and our loves, these times together transform us from solitary males, culled out from the herd, into members of a hardy clan able to stand shoulder to shoulder, backs to the north wind, protecting the little tusks from the cold.

Friends

Fall                                            Full Blood Moon

“There is no need like the lack of a friend.”   Irish saying

How many sets of friends do you have?  Not an idle question since study after study shows friendship a vital element of health.  Friends become even more important as we age.  Here’s a couple of examples:  BBC, Science.

Today at noon a group of friends I still consider new, but whom I’ve actually known for almost 5 years, met for lunch at the Black Forest.  It was those from the Docent class of 2005.  We trained together for 2 years, meeting every Wednesday during the academic year for lectures and tour practice.  The education was fun, since I love learning new things, but over time I’ve found the relationships formed then the most important gift.

An introverted guy, I need these kind of stable groups.  I’m fortunate right now to have three groups in which I’ve made networks.  The Docent class of 2005 has, by now, blended into the docents of all classes, in particular for me, those who tour on Fridays, my tour day.  I see these folks at continuing education, on tours, in the docent discussion group and in these more casual events that happen from time to time.

The Sierra Club, the most recent of the three, taps into older networks for me, the DFL political world and the world of community activists, but has opened up a new one in those people whose primary activist commitment is the environment.  I enjoy being around the new generation of political activists, people in their 20’s and early 30’s.  They’re bright, practical, and seem to have a better balance in their lives than I did when I was engaged as intensively as they are.

The oldest network for me is the Woolly Mammoths.  With the Woolly’s I have 20+ years of twice monthly meetings, annual retreats and social occasions outside those events.  We know each other, each other’s story, our families.  We’ve had fights and reconciled, gone through life and death struggles and will go through more.  As a man, I feel so lucky to have this long term set of relationships in my life.

Bill Wins

Fall                              Waxing Blood Moon

It was Bill’s night at sheepshead.  He came out the big winner.   I don’t feel bad.  I had some good hands, won some, lost some.  Had fun.

Drive back I was on an entrance ramp to 35w coming off Hwy. 280.  It’s a two-lane that goes down to a one-lane.  Behind me two cars went into the last slot side by side.  They shot out once onto 35w.  The first past gave the other the finger.  Then, the other, tan car sped ahead, got in front of the other and slowed down.  What was notable about this?  Both women in their late twenties.

Bio-Char and the After-Life

Lughnasa                             Waxing Blood Moon

The Woolly’s met at the old Cenacle in a new retreat center.  We’ve met there three or four times this year.

The focus was views on the afterlife.  The conversation revealed a surprisingly conservative undertone with several Woollys hedging their metaphysical bets.  Immanuel Swedenborg got a mention as did reincarnation as a proven reality.

Some, like me, took a more existential stance.  “Extraordinary claims require extraordinary proof.”  I believe that was Carl Sagan.  The questions death raises have confounded humanity since at least the time of the Neanderthals.  There is something about a void after death, an extinctionist perspective I saw it called recently, that unsettles many people.

It is, as much as anything else, I imagine, such a stark contrast with the vitality and hereness of life.  That this magical adventure, this ancient trail might end in nothingness seems like a cheat.  But by whose perspective?

To me the wonder is this life, this one chance we have to experience whatever we can, to do what we can.  To be who we are.

On another note Mark Odegard had two words for today’s graduates:  bio-char.  New to you?  Me, too.  It’s worth a look though and here’s a website that will help you get up to speed.

Kate the Cook

Lughnasa                                  Waning Green Corn Moon

It was fun to see Kate get compliments on her cooking.  Her cooking skills are remarkable.  Her nutmeg sauce melts the heart of the largest Mammoth.  We had a ceremony, a brief one, in which Kate passed to me the new wedding ring she purchased for me in Jackson Hole.  We also acknowledged the reason for the ceremony, Vega.

Though we have not done our work here for a public or any public, it gratified us both to have genuine interest in our permaculture efforts.  Having said that I need to get and plant some fall crops right now.