Category Archives: Politics

Judaism, Politics, World History

May It Be So

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Mabon and the Harvest Moon (for me and my gal, Shadow)

Tuesday gratefuls: Everwood. Treat Williams. The Morning Show. Reese Witherspoon. Jennifer Aniston. Steve Carrel. Ginny and Janice. Annie and Luna. Coming today. Cool morning. Tramadol plus acetaminophen. Nerve ablations. Coming soon. Shadow of the morning. Showers. Fresh Tomatoes. Garlic. Artemis. Simcha.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Seeing Ginny and Janice

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei and my trainer, Shadow

Week Kavannah: Simcha. Joy. Shadow of the morning.

Tarot: paused

One brief shining: Bought a small crystal ball with a stand that illuminates it, the Milky Way Galaxy embedded, so when I turn it on with a press of my finger, the awe and wonder of the universe pops immediately in front of me; I look for a moment at the small (oh, so relative) Orion Arm about half way from the galactic center and imagine that I see us, twirling around the center of the Milky Way at 500,000 miles per hour, this orbit finishing up in another 200 to 250 million years.

Just a moment: All the living hostages have come home. Israel sighs. At a celebration in Hostage Square on Saturday night the crowd booed at the first mention of Netanyahu’s name. (reported by Noa Limone, Haaretz, 10/13/25.) Of course Israel has to heal. Of course. So do the remaining inhabitants of Gaza. Healing in Israel can come only  if a full reckoning of Netanyahu’s lack of leadership and his collusion with far right Orthodoxy occurs.

This might be hard. Calls for unity, for looking across differences may suggest a soft approach to what needs to be a searing look at the immorality of Israeli leaders at every step in this war, including how the IDF could have allowed such an attack as October 7th. That is no small element for had the vigilance of the IDF on the Gaza been what it should have been this war could have been avoided.

But. It was not avoided. In its wake the limits of violence as a political solution got laid bare over weeks that turned into months, months into two full years of bombing and killing civilians. Enough. We need, Israel needs, the Palestinians deserve a two-state solution. If this can happen, then this tragedy may not have been in vain.

Yes, if you’re an Israeli, the thought of an independent Palestinian state may loom as a breeding ground for future attacks. And it may. Yet the pressure will be on all parties, Arab and Israeli, American and European, to create a lasting peace. None of the parties want everlasting war. Only the river to the sea militants and they will not get their way.

Israel, this strong, vibrant economic power house and refuge of last resort for a minority too often treated as the other, will remain. As will all the Arab states. Only peace can create a dynamic and flourishing Middle East. The time to build that reality starts now.

May it be so.

Health, Judaism, Politics, World History

The Knight Errant of Peace

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Mabon and the Harvest Moon

Monday gratefuls: Shadow and her lobster. Made of heavy duty stuff for aggressive chewers. Frost. 32 degrees. Cold frames at work. Tomatoes still yielding. Beets and Spinach and Kale ready for the final harvest before the Garlic comes. Carrots still growing. The Ancient Brothers on war. Hostages released. Trump does good. Cease fire holding.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Hostages released

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah:  Simcha. Joy.   Cease fire.

Tarot: Paused

One brief shining: First average frost up here comes in early September; but, not this year-October 13th-after I pulled down the cold frame covers over Artemis’ outside raised beds, forty-eight degrees in the greenhouse itself, trying to extend an already extended growing season and succeeding, more vegetables to harvest.

 

Just a moment: Props, red tie guy. Donald J. Trump has brought the hostages home. I hereby dub thee Knight of Peace Errant and beloved of all Israel. Of course this should have not needed to happen, or should have happened months ago, but I will praise him for being instrumental in making it happen now.

So much suffering. Hamas won this war. Yes, quite a while ago. They calculated Israel would over react if they were horrible in every way on October 7th. Netanyahu’s right-wing coalition with segments of Israeli society who never fight for it ensured a long, brutal campaign to totally eliminate an idea.

That idea, Palestinian release from their long captivity to Jewish constrictions, cannot be eliminated. Should not be eliminated. Hamas reasoned that Israel’s reaction would raise the plight of Palestinians to world attention once again. And, if Israel over reacted, they could achieve a secondary aim of damaging Israel’s reputation among the world’s nations. Accomplished.

Israel, specifically Netanyahu and his ruling coalition, driven by a toxic mix of xenophobia and religious triumphalism wedded to the need of a corrupt leader to avoid prosecution, kept killing Palestinians long after their point had been made. Turning away aid from starving Gazans, bombing their hospitals, driving deeper and deeper into the constricted space which gave civilians no room to flee. Oh, Israel.

Like so many of my fellow Jews I support the existence of Israel, of a safe haven for Jews who need it. I do not and have not since early in the war supported the war aims of its blinkered and racist ruling coalition. Can we help a broken and self-terrorized country find a way toward peaceful coexistence? I see that as the major role for the diaspora now. Use our influence, our wealth and power, to help Israelis and Palestinians build a common, abundant life as neighbors. May it be so.

 

This week: Nerve ablations. Oddly this, the week when I might get relief from the pain I’ve experienced every day since September of 2023, my hip has chosen to worsen.

When I got back from seeing Gabe in Lakewood, my hip nearly drove me to the ground on the return home. Pain at 11 on the Richter scale. I see an orthopedist on November 11th. Might be difficult decisions ahead.

Family, Far Right, Politics, White Supremacy

Gabe

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Mabon and the Harvest Moon

Sunday gratefuls: Gabe. His “Twenty-Five Years of Ink”. The Crawling Crab. RTD. Back Pain. Hip Pain. Tramadol. Acetaminophen. Nerve ablation. Rides. Tara. Jamie. Kate, always Kate. Frost tonight. Rain. Israel. Palestinians. Ross Douthat. Ezra Klein. Hard Fork. The New York Times. The Washington Post.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: The Grandkids

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah:  Simcha.  Joy.     Aspen Gold against Lodgepole Green.

Tarot: Paused

One brief shining: Lunch came in plastic bags, one to Gabe filled with Snow Crab in a hot sauce, one to me with peeled Shrimp and, for some reason, Mussels, boiled Corn on the Cob, two servings of Garlic toast, which we upended onto the white waxed paper our waiter had put down. Yum. The Crawling Crab.

 

Gabe: Gabe took the RTD to the Lakewood-Wadsworth stop where I waited inside the parking structure, using my handicap  placard for the very first time. When he came down the stairs, I flashed my lights. In his hand he carried stapled pages which contain his expanded version of a short story he wrote earlier this year.

We had lunch plans at the Crawling Crab. See above. He has, he said, sent off four college applications, and would finish a fifth yesterday. These were all instate including CSU Boulder. Out of state come next. University of Iowa and its well known creative writing program is his first choice. Hamline University in St. Paul his second.

A high school senior Gabe has English, Civics (borrring), Ceramics, Stagecraft, and something else I’m not remembering. He has found many classes boring over his high school years, although he loves Religious Studies, which is his second idea for a major after creative writing.

“Then I might have a crisis like Ruthie, and change my major anyway.” You just never know.

Always good to see the grandkids.

Big wreck had traffic on 285 moving forward soo slowly, both lanes filled as far as I could see ahead. Not much fun when the hip has taken over for the left leg as a primary purveyor of pain. I wanted to get home.

 

Just a Moment: Saw a Swastika on Nextdoor Shadow Mountain. A big one. Placed on a hill visible to traffic on I-70. Read the comments, all of them. With the exception of a couple of “free speech” advocates-who don’t understand that hate speech is not protected-I felt gratified to see condemnation.

An extra charge of emotion seeing this. More than an abstract repulsion, something more personal. Over breakfast on Friday with Alan and Joanne the holocaust came up, as it often will when talking to children of survivors. This generation of Jews, my generation, often have parents or grandparents who fled Europe or were in the camps at the end of the war.

On occasion we have the conversation, often stimulated by events like the big swastika. Is it time to go? Where would we go? Costa Rica. Canada. Latin America. Because those who lived through late 1930’s Germany feel the same bad moon rising.

Most of my friends say they’re too old to move. Me, too.

 

 

 

Health, Judaism, Politics, US History, World History

A Half-Teaspoon of Yellow Liquid

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Mabon and the oh so bright Harvest Moon

Thursday gratefuls: Laurie, PET scan tech. The rickety metal stairs. PET scan on wheels. Handicap placard. Shadow, my sweet girl. Kate, always Kate. Farmers. Gardeners. Horticulturists. Bee Keepers. Arborists. Seed Savers. Heirloom Seeds. Vegetables. Flowers. Fruit. Nuts. Herbs. Artemis. Fungi. Light Eaters. Peace.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Moonlight

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah:  Yesod. Groundedness.

Tarot: paused

One brief shining: Shadow lifts the miniature tire high in the air, firmly gripped in her sharp teeth, shakes it as she holds tight, then on the ground, rolls over on her back and the tire does not yield, she presses harder, rolls again, shaking, shaking, until she decides to go for another toy.

 

Peace: Don’t know much about it yet. Headlines. Pictures of Israelis dancing. Trump’s great bulk swelling with dreams of Noble Prizes. Gazans, I imagine, collapsing with some relief though wary, caught still between Hamas and Jewish fears.

Still reeling. Trying to imagine this as the truth, bring it into my reality. Hoping. That other shoe not far off the floor. Time, tincture of time as my Kate would say.

The Middle East has changed in fundamental ways though we don’t what they are just yet. My hope is for a return to the Saudi/Israel/Emirates peace deal. A new axis of the self-interested, Sunnis and Jews together against Shia terrorism.

Another hope: Netanyahu prosecuted and jailed. War as a crime. Lengthening it for his own selfish, evil needs.

A Palestinian state. May it be so.

Until more becomes evident I finish this.

 

Just a moment: The Burger King as peacemaker? Hell, let him have the credit if the peace holds. Yet. What about peace at home? What about his war on the poor, the Brown, the non-Christian? Give peace afar and take it away here? Not the mark of a sane man.

We cannot let any adulation he receives paper over cuts to Medicaid and food stamps, to burning food and medicine already allocated for 3rd world peoples, to pressuring the courts with threats and bad lawyering, to stressing the strongest and best functioning economy in the world, to his destruction of our reputation abroad.

Still. A. Scumbag.

 

PET Scan: I rolled onto Dry Creek Road at 11:50 am, forty-five minutes from home, drove a short distance past Pulmonary Intensivists who treated Kate now long ago, and into the parking lot of Rocky Mountain Cancer Care. All medicine all the time.

Checked in, paid my $250 copay for imaging, and sat down to wait. A young man sat nearby, a strained worried look on his face. He did not invite conversation and I followed my usual siloing by pulling out Edith Wharton’s The House of Mirth, my readers, finding my place, and continuing to follow Lily Bart’s journey through the Gilded Age with nothing but beauty to sustain her.

“Buckman.”

“Sort of,” I said under my breath. Jaggedness from the drive and the scan leaking out. Laurie guided me through the halls of this older facility, out a door to the outside, and up metal stairs to the mobile PET Scan unit. The same one I had my initial scan in so many years ago when it sat in faraway Aurora.

Laurie covered my legs with a warm blanket as she readied me for the injection of the isotope attached PSMA. First, a butterfly needle for an IV.  A push of saline. Opening a lead cabinet with the same radiation hazard emblem on it I had on my red t-shirt from Los Alamos. A syringe with no more than half a teaspoon of a yellow liquid. In through the IV. Another push of saline.

As the radioactive yellow liquid moved into my bloodstream, it takes about fifty minutes for it to find and link up with the prostate cancer cells metastasized in various parts of my body, I tilted the chair back, closed my eyes, said my mantra-Stream flowing, White Pine rooting-and took a rest somewhere between sleeping and dreaming.

Laurie came back to see if I wanted to use the men’s room before the scan. Always a good idea. Back inside. When we returned, Laurie positioned me on the metal sled that glides in and out of the scanner. Again I closed my eyes, still a bit drowsy from my nap. Twenty minutes later, scan finished, I got back in Ruby and drove home.

 

Judaism, Politics, US History, World History

This Damned War

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Mabon and the Harvest Moon

Sunday gratefuls: Shadow. Cool nights. Tomatoes. Beets. Carrots. CBE men’s group. Irv. Jim. Joe. Jamie. Lawyer. Jamie’s sabbatical. Football. Soccer. Basketball. Baseball. F1. Boiler. Mini-splits. Dog food. Dog treats. New York Times. Minneapolis Star-Tribune. Talmud. Torah. Alan. Cheri. Francesca. Tom.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Conversation

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah: Yesod. Foundation. Groundedness. Tenth sefirot. The link between this world and the world of sacred becoming.

Tarot: Paused

One brief shining: Her curled up softness on the bed, sleeping like a young child, breathing slowly, I reach over and touch her lightly, not enough to wake her, but enough to say I love you to her dream world. My Shadow.

 

Israel: Talk about complicated. I mean, geez. This beacon of hope for a post-holocaust diaspora. The Nakba. A thriving techno state filled with agriculture, the ancient sites of Christianity and Islam as well as their mother, Judaism. A military powerhouse, who doesn’t know about the IDF: the Israeli Defense Force. A land of Jews surrounded by Arabs who would like to push them out: from the river to the sea.

Beloved of American Jewry. A strong, very strong lobby in D.C. A place where aliyah makes real the promise of escape to a safe space. A wonder considering years of pogroms, inquisitions, ghettoes, anti-Semitism.

Then, bam! October 7th. Hamas. Murderous. Rapist. Hostages. Embarrassing for this mighty mite with Mossad, IDF stationed nearby. The world onside. Terrorists. Shooting up a music festival. Go after them! You have the right to strike back.

Then. Bombs. Bombs. Bombs. Homes, hospitals, places of business. Trying to kill Hamas, a well-tunneled enemy, hiding in Mother Earth and, shamefully, within the wretched of the Earth, the Palestinian citizens of Gaza.

OK. Surely that’s enough. How many thousands dead? Non-combatants. Civilians. Mothers and children. You’ve made your point. But Israel didn’t, hasn’t stopped. Kill Hamas. Total destruction of an enemy. The war aim. When the war itself ensures more and more recruits for the enemy. Which will never die because it’s an idea, a no to the dreams of 1949. A no to Jewish safety. A no to the perceived oppressor. One man’s revolutionary is another man’s terrorist.

How will it end? IDK. Maybe the Burger King will pull off a win. I hope so. Yes, even though… Hell, give him the damned prize. If only he can stop the slaughter and start the inner journey of a post-war Israel. A journey that must reckon with blood lust, with the responsibility of great power, with the irony of becoming the Cossack, the Nazi. Killing without remorse. Most difficult. With the reality that Netanyahu extended the war, the death and destruction, to avoid criminal prosecution. And nobody stopped him.

Yet. I still want to visit Israel. Which the war prevented. To see the Wailing Wall. The old city. The Arab quarter. Restaurants catering to meat and not dairy or dairy not meat. To have an Israeli breakfast. See Masada. The Sea of Galilee. Bethlehem. Gethsemane. The kibbutz. Megiddo.

Oh Israel. So much sorrow.

 

Far Right, Health, Holidays, Judaism, New Apostolic Reformation, Politics, Shabbat, US History

Kinetic, Joyful, Earth and Human Focused

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Mabon and the Harvest Moon

Shabbat gratefuls: Shabbat. Israel. Gaza. Palestinians. A Palestinian state. Hafar. Osan. Melbourne. Conifer. Longmont. Denver. Family. Cold frames. Artemis. Almost finished. Shadow. Kate, always Kate. Travel. Maybe possible. Neck brace. Lidocaine. Dr. Vu. Mountain View Pain Center. Kylie. Evergreen Orthotics. Handicap placard. Alan.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Nathan

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah: Yesod. Foundation. Groundedness. Tenth sefirot. The link between this world and the world of sacred becoming.

Tarot: paused

One brief shining: Two days out from my last lidocaine injections and still feeling some relief, really, a lot of relief, relief that has made a certain part of me awaken, the active ready-to-go person who can get things done without wincing, wakes up without caution, who might even dance if he ever had.

 

Sukkot*: Begins on Monday. The Jewish Mabon and Samain. A festival of ingathering, of the harvest. The sukkahs represent not only the temporary dwellings in the wilderness, but also the temporary dwellings farmers would erect so they could work in the fields until the harvest was complete.

The lulav:** The lulav (with three species) is held in the right hand and the ertrog in the left. A blessing for the harvest and for rain is implied as the lulav gets waved through all four directions plus up and down.

Sukkot is a joyous holiday with meals in the Sukkah. At CBE we often study in the Sukkah.

My delight with Judaism begins on Sukkot, an ancient harvest holiday of celebration for Mother Earth’s bounty, of family and friends, of farming.

After Sukkot comes Simchat Torah, dancing with the Torah as one year’s reading ends with the burial of Moses and the next year’s begins with Bereshit, or Beginnings: Genesis. Both of these holidays are kinetic, joyful, earth and human focused. And old. I love the fact that these traditions have been observed for thousands of years.

See you in the sukkah.

 

Just a moment: From joy and delight to anger and disgust. I can feel the moment. The moment, now, when enough of us say enough of this miserable son-of-a-bitch who lies, seeks vengeance, grabs wealth for himself and his oligarchic posse, destroys our nation by ignoring democratic norms, blessing white supremacy and a militant far right, including Christians of the New Apostolic Reformation, all while displaying the moral sensibilities of a rutting boar(bore).

Can you tell I don’t like him?

Still no reply to my e-mail to the President of Ball State. Connecting with David Letterman has proven a challenge-a well-guarded celebrity-but I’m still on it.

When we have any personal linkage to the Burger King’s awful choices, we need to use that leverage to oppose him. Today and until 2028. God. That’s a long, long time.

  • *Agricultural: It is an autumn harvest festival, also called Chag HaAsif (“Festival of the Ingathering”). It is a time for expressing gratitude for the bounty of the earth and the final crops gathered before winter. 
  •  Historical: The holiday commemorates the 40 years the Israelites spent wandering in the desert after the Exodus from Egypt, living in temporary shelters. Building and dwelling in a sukkah recalls the miraculous protection that God provided during that time.

**Lulav ([lu’lav]; Hebrew: לוּלָב‎) is a closed frond of the date palm tree. It is one of the Four Species used during the Jewish holiday of Sukkot. The other Species are the hadass (myrtle), aravah (willow), and etrog (citron). When bound together, the lulav, hadass, and aravah are commonly referred to as “the lulav”.

Health, Politics

Health and Protest

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Mabon and the Harvest Moon

Friday gratefuls: Tom. Alan. Prostate Cancer. Shadow. Debbie. Dr. Vu. Needles. Lidocaine. Nathan, back at work, finishing up. So many Tomatoes, more than I imagined, less than I hoped. Artemis. Letting people help. The Night. Cool Mountain days. Bright blue Colorado Skies. Rocky Mountain High.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Shadow’s Attention

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah:  Malchut. Wonder

  • “What we lack is not a will to believe but a will to wonder”. Heschel

Tarot: paused

One brief shining: Onto the gurney again, face down, four numbing jabs, four lidocaine jabs, meanwhile talking about great bands, concerts; Jake, the physician’s assistant saying he’d seen the Dead, second to last Jerry Garcia performance, asked me my favorite concert, “The Cream in the Chicago Stockyards. 1968.” Ah. Days of yesteryear.

 

Health: Lidocaine wears off in 8 hours or so. Usually. Mine has blessedly chosen to stay around a bit. This morning I’m as close to pain free as I’ve been in a couple of years. Feels amazing. If the nerve ablations pull off a similar feeling for a longer period of time. Hallelujah  will not be enough.

Learning to ask people for help. As Tara said to me, “Asking someone to help is a great gift. To them.” Seems so. Great conversations with Susan and Debbie on the way to Lonetree and back. Since I’ll need more help as time goes on, a valuable lesson.

My friend Ric Posner, who had a heart attack a month and a half ago, sent me a text that he’s going to DJ again this Saturday afternoon. His show, the Comfort Table, goes out over Clear Creek Radio. Glad to see he’s able to do it.

Other friends have sleep studies and treatment decisions to make. It’s that time of life. For some of us. Bill Schmidt on the other hand rocks on at 88. Odegard seems healthy at 80. Frank, well, still Frank at 93. Diane’s back to jogging up Bernal Hill, talking to the coyotes. 77.

I know it may be difficult, sometimes boring, or perhaps scary, to hear another’s medical story; but, as Tom pointed out yesterday, this stuff matters to us now the same as family and work mattered in the second phase of our lives. No, you don’t want a steady drum beat, I get it. Still…

 

Protest: Sent this email to the President of my alma mater, Ball State University.

Subject: Susan Sweirc

As a 1969 graduate from Ball State, it appalled me to read her story in the New York Times.
Have you decided on anticipatory obedience, a hallmark of autocratic regimes? You must have because her firing, both you and I know, violates her first amendment rights.
Universities, in spite of the temptation and fear, must not bend the knee.
Shame on you.

 

Today I’m messaging David Letterman, a fellow 1969 graduate from Ball State, to see if he would head up an alumni protest. I mean: Colbert, Kimmel.
We cannot. Let. This. Shit. Stand.

 

Dogs, Politics

You Fool

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Mabon and the Harvest Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: Susan. My ride. Shadow. Looking at me with her is it time to feed me yet eyes. Nope. The Night. Great Sol shielded by Mother Earth. Cool days and cooler nights. Blue Skies with scattered Cumulus Clouds, Black Mountain in its gold and green autumnal garb. Even the Asters have begun to die back. The rut. Black Bear pre-hibernation hunger. Yosemite National Park turns 135.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: A Mountain Fall

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah:  Malchut. Wonder

Tarot: Paused

One brief shining: Today, later on, a physician’s assistant will put a blue sheet of paper over my lower spine, Dr. Vu will swab it with alcohol and delicately (I hope.) insert needles filled with lidocaine there as I lay face down on the procedure table, testing which nerves need to have their sheaths burned away. Tomorrow repeats on the other side.

 

Dog journal: Shadow of Shadow Mountain. A dog of legend already and still a puppy. We’ve had a life affirming, difficult few months, eight as of today, yet neither of us willing to say no, this won’t work. Two months or so ago the biggest barrier, her nighttime return to the house, gave way. That calmed down life for both of us.

Now, instead of barking at every Tree Branch rustled by the Wind, every noise from our Wild Neighbors, she goes round about in the way of dogs, then settles nose to tail, not two feet from my head. In the morning she lays her head on my pillow and waits for me to turn around and face her. Then, kisses. My heart melts. I scratch her belly, run my hand over her body in affection and inspection. Any ticks, other bugs, wounds?

When we finish that, I throw back the covers and put my legs over the side of the bed. She jumps up on my legs with her front paws and we cuddle, make the day start with signaling how much we mean to each other. Can’t beat that. Well, we could do it at six instead of 4:30, but, hey…

 

Just a moment: The mice have spoken to the mighty. Never in my lifetime has the gap between authority and competence been so limned as yesterday’s narcissistic and feeble king of the mountain played by “our” Secretary of “War” and the Commander in Thief.

800 of the highest ranking members of the military sat and listened to a National Guard major and a never served fatty address them on how to fight, how to be warriors, how to be lethal, how to take down American citizens in American cities. Donald McBurger King (DMK) even suggested we should use American cities to train our military. Nope. Never. Posse comitatus, you fool.

DMK gave almost the same speech he gave at the UN, a garbled, non-cohesive, often incoherent diatribe against enemies near and far, the splendor of his own majesty, sprinkled here and there with remarks that seemed to recognize this was not a campaign rally.

Friends, Judaism, Politics

Ready for your spot at Alligator Alcatraz?

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Mabon and the Harvest Moon

Friday gratefuls: Veronica. On her way to Brooklyn. Nono’s. Catfish Po’ Boy. Barbecued Shrimp. Shadow’s patience. Ruby. Fiction. Non-fiction. Money. The rollover. My pension. Social Security. An I-Bond. Vanguard stock and savings. Home equity. Enough. More than enough. Adolescence. The Netflix series. Iron Flame.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Joanne

Year Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah:  Yirah.  Awe and wonder.

Tarot: #4, The Lord (reversed) Druid Craft       Abuse of power: A person in authority is acting tyrannically, enforcing rules without logic or compassion, and refusing to listen to others.

One brief shining: Abuse of power thy name need not be spoken for your actions and your words reveal what a small man with great power can do to wreck history, destroy alliances, oppress the poor, ruin a nation, and bring shame to its citizens.

 

Friends: “We’ll always have the mikveh,” I said to Veronica as we hugged one last time after our dinner at Nono’s, a New Orleans style restaurant. She came back a week or so from a month and 700 miles on the Pacific Crest Trail, hiking alone.

She told me she’s moving to Brooklyn on October 4th. Surprised me. “I’ll miss you!” “I’ll miss you, too!” In the way of today’s labor force for some, she’s arranged to do her work at Lockheed-Martin remotely from a Brooklyn one-bedroom apartment that formerly belonged to her brother, who died in March.

She has her second mom, cousins, aunts and uncles nearby. She’s returning home. Family draws us from place to place.

Joanne called me yesterday, wondering how I’m doing. I haven’t seen her in a couple of months. We talked for a while. She sang me songs, satirical ones that she makes up. Her birthday on Wednesday was number 93.

Last year I drove up to the Bistro as she climbed off Rabbi Jamie’s motorcycle, removing her helmet just like a biker chick. That was just before our celebration for her 92nd. She’s an amazing, talented, funny friend.

 

Just a moment: Nothing quite like using the U.S. Justice Department as your Bond villain vengeance instrument. My mouth cannot gape any further or I will dislocate my jaw.

I thought the U.N. speech was, well, a certain nadir. But, no. Always one rung lower on the step ladder to Hell for the Burger King. Much more than his politics, if he has any, I find this juvenile desire to punish perceived enemies as repugnant. What was it Jesus said? You know, the one about enemies.

He and the gang that can’t shoot straight have put this once respected and mighty country, not so long ago the world hegemon, through a shredder leaving us with only strips of our dignity, self-respect, and world reputation.

Send us your huddled masses yearning to be free and we’ll give them a free plane ticket to the South Sudan. Been a long term, loyal U.S. ally? Here’s your new tariff.

We used to be real live nephews of our Uncle Sam. Now? We’re the red-headed step cousin ready for our spot at Alligator Alcatraz.

 

Aging, Far Right, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Health, Politics

An Overly Medicalized Life

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Mabon and the Harvest Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: Close friends Tom, Paul, Mark, Bill, Alan, Tara, Marilyn and Irv, Rich, Ginny and Janice, Luke. Shadow. Artemis. Rain, Rain, come again. Monsoons. Yes. Cool nights. Days of Awe. Mark with the Camels, Goats, and Sheep. In Hafar. The Burger King at the U.N. “…it was foreign affairs journalist Ishaan Tharoor who captured the larger story of Trump’s speech. “A senior foreign diplomat posted at the U.N. texts me,” Tharoor wrote, “‘This man is stark, raving mad. Do Americans not see how embarrassing this is?’” quoted by Heather Cox Richardson

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Long, cool Rains

Year Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah: Yirah. Awe and Wonder

Tarot: Five of Pentacles, (Druid Craft)

  • Endurance of personal hardship: The card focuses on the endurance of the solitary journey through a desolate landscape. The message is to face and acknowledge the difficulty of the situation rather than ignore it. 

One brief shining: The five of pentacles recommends facing and acknowledging the difficulty of my situation rather than ignoring it; sound advice, I’d say, yet when the situation requires constant acknowledgment, persistent recognition a resilience fatigue can-and at times-does manifest, a weakening of resolve, of the head down, keep pushing attitude I try to maintain.

 

The Burger King and the U.N.: Hangs head in shame. In case you haven’t seen this, I’m appending a youtube collection* of clips from his remarks at the U.N. Thanks, Mark.

“I hate my opponents. I do not wish the best for them.” DJT at Charlie Kirk’s memorial service. “Out of control migration is ruing your countries. Your countries are going to fail.” Speaking to representatives of the world’s nations at the U.N. “I’m really good at this,” he said.

Dear leader needs to get on a heavily armored train, build a bridge across the Bering Sea, and go visit his buddy Kim Jong Un whom he praised to South Korea’s President during a recent visit. Then we can blow up the bridge and leave him in the Hermit Kingdom.

 

Feelings: A long gauntlet of medical matters. Next week the lidocaine injections that will guide the nerve ablations two weeks later. Four appointments in all. On October 8th a P.E.T. scan to see what might have caused my PSA to move up a titch. Follow up appointments with my pain doc and my medical oncologist.

When these matters have been handled for now, I plan to move on to the neck brace for my wobbly head. Also, Maddie has follow-up calls with Panorama Orthopedics about my torn labrum.

At times, like last night, I push myself into a dark corner. I compare myself with others my age, what they’re doing with their lives. Tom and ESI. Bill and his present moment approach to life. Paul with his hospice work, political organizing, and Maine Humanities Council. Mark visiting his friends, working on his art. I’m not doing anything comparable.

That sends me into a tailspin. Not self-berating, rather a wistfulness for the time when I had the energy to get out there. Sadness about the truncated, overly medicalized life I’m living. That’s why the message from the Five of Pentacles lands with a thud.