Category Archives: Politics

Politics, Wild Neighbors

A One-Antlered Elk Bull

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Samain and the Summer’s End Moon

Shabbat gratefuls: New electric blanket and duvet. November. Late fall. Aspen leaves still visible on the ground, their golden color now faded. Elk Cows and three Bulls along Cub Creek at the turn into Evergreen. Alan and the Dandelion. Joanne back home. Shadow eating her breakfast. Torah study. Cutting out the Tomato Plants. Planting Lettuce, Arugula, Chard. Cooking. Sheet pan meals. Alan.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: That one-antlered Elk Bull, all grown up

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah:  Chesed.  Loving Kindness.  “Kindness is the language the deaf can hear and the blind see.”  Mark Twain

Tarot: Being a metaPhysician

One brief shining: Have you ever seen the slimy evidence of a Banana Slug as it chews its way through Lettuce, Tomatoes, Bean Stalks, or the delicate imprint of two cloven hooves, perhaps a yearling Mule Deer, maybe the segmented three toed evidence of Wild Turkeys in the Snow, perhaps the imprint of a small rubber rainboot heading not away from the big puddle but into it, if so, you have witnessed the presence of another by the trail they leave behind.

 

Wild Neighbors: On June 6th of 2019 I began my first day of 35 sessions of radiation. Before I left for Lonetree that morning, I looked out back and there were three young Elk Bulls in the back yard, hundreds of pounds each, dining one by one on the yellow dandelions I encourage to grow there. One of the Bulls had only one antler.

These same three, the one antlered one among them returned for three more early June sessions over the years, sometimes staying the night to resume their meal; then they stopped coming. I figured they’d been shot or died an early death of one sort or another.

When I turned off Brook Forest Drive yesterday on my way into Evergreen, several, maybe as many as twenty dark brown Elk Cows lined the banks of Cub Creek, resting in the yards of two small houses, eating grass, drinking from the Creek. A not uncommon sight there.

Watching over them were three Elk Bulls, one with only one antler. Of course I can’t be sure they were the same Bulls who ate yellow flowers in my back yard, but in the almost eleven years I’ve lived here, I’ve only seen one one-antlered Bull.

Most often, too, I see only one Bull with a harem of this size. There were three. All grown up. They stood proud and watchful while most of the Cows reclined as if in a pillowed room of a Caliph’s inner sanctum. In my imagination anyhow these are the same three, deciding to live their best Elk lives together, breaking the usual rules and sharing their duties without antler clacking acrimony.

Made me smile.

 

Just a moment: With Tuesday’s heartening election results still resonant, I cringe even more at the Supreme Court allowing (temporarily, they say) red tie guy to intentionally starve millions of our impoverished fellow citizens. If only cruelty and meanness were bread and meat, no one would go hungry in Trump’s America made great again.

Back Pain, Cancer, Cooking, Coronavirus, Politics, Post Polio, Sport, US History

How Great an America is This?

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Samain and the Summer’s End Moon

Sunday gratefuls: Dodgers win the World Series! Rabbi Jamie’s hug. Joe. Alan. Jim. Corey. Irv. Matt. Torah study led by Luke. Bagels and schmear. Joanne in rehab. Back to real time, standard time. Dark Winds. Everwood.  Heather. Tramadol. The boiler. The mini-splits. My breath. Sight. Touch. Taste. Hearing. Smell. YHWH.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Home

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah:  Histapkot.  Contentment. Acceptance.                       I’m comfortable with who I am and with what I have.

Tarot: Being a metaphysician

One brief shining: Sitting in regular chairs, my head unsupported by a back rest, fasciculations begin, muscles straining and flexing, moving under the skin, distracting me from the words of Hagar and the Angel, from El-Roi, the God who sees, I don’t notice it, the wobbling, at first, until my shoulders get sore and I’m no longer able to concentrate, be sharp, as my head tilts right, polio wreaking one last not so subtle blow.

 

So. I’m taking notice. Part of my fatigue, maybe a big part, follows from my increasing inability to hold up my own head. Dr. Eunberg diagnosed it, post-polio syndrome. I’ve been to an orthotists’ office and been told my situation has no other instances. They’re going to modify soft collars for me. We’ll see.

Beginning to feel like my body’s falling apart literally from the neck down. A tumor on T4 needing radiation. Arthritic L1-L5 nerves needing ablation. A right torn labrum possibly needing surgery. I mean, geez.

I’m so far ahead of my insurance company with expensive cancer drugs, pet scans, mri’s, and radiation. That makes me feel somewhat good. Even so…

 

Food: Had the last of the sheet pan meal with my Cherry Tomatoes and Beets. So. Good. Planning more sheet plan cooking, easy, quick, lots of Veggies. Of all the health maintenance matters, cooking for myself has proved the most challenging. Just hard to pull off.

CookUnity has been ok, but just ok. Pricey and with time constraints that make it difficult to use. Some of the meals are tasty, many of them edible, but only edible.

May not be getting enough calories, protein.

 

Sport: What a world series! Game 7, extra innings, Dodgers behind with two outs in the ninth…and Rojas hits a home run! Tie game. In the 11th, the 11th inning of Game 7 of a world series with a historically long game 3, 18 innings, a double play ended the Canadian’s dreams. Dodger’s repeat. Not since the Yankees 1998-2000 run has a world series champion repeated.

Meanwhile, back in forlorn football country, JJ McCarthy returns from injury absence. Will he play like a future franchise quarterback? Or, will he rip out the hearts of a Twin City’s fan base already inured to the breaks never falling their way. If the Vikings didn’t have bad luck, they’d had have no luck at all.

 

Just a moment: SNAP. Medicaid. Obamacare. Taking money literally from the mouths of the poor, taking away their final recourse for medical care, raising health care premiums to the    sky for even middle class Americans. Funneling the money “saved” into the pockets of oligarchs. How great is this America?

Cooking, Greenhouse, Health, Plants, Politics, Shadow Mountain

Charred Tomatoes

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Samain and the Summer’s End Moon

Friday gratefuls: Alan. Joanne. Rabbi Jamie. Ric. Shadow the wonderful. Kate, always Kate. Rigel. Vega. Gertie. Kepler. Murdoch. All Dogs. Cooking with homegrown food. Kylie. Nerve ablation. Dr. Carter. Radiating my T4 vertebrae. Life with chronic disease. Tom and his PET scan. At Mayo. All men with prostate cancers.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: My Cherry Tomatoes and Beets. Cooked.

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah: Hochmah.  Wisdom.   “Who is wise? The one who learns from every person.”  Perkei Avot: 4:1   Making medical decisions this week.

Tarot: Me as a Metaphysician

One brief shining:  After pouring three tablespoons of extra virgin Olive oil on the Pepper strips, the delicate Garlic slices, the wedges of Scallion, the whole Cherry Tomatoes, and the hot Italian sausage, I took my favorite wooden spoon and began stirring it all on the baking pan, coating the Vegetables with a bright sheen, the sausages, too. Under the broiler.

 

Artemis/Cooking: Alan reminded me of the sheet pan recipes in the New York Times cooking section when I mentioned my bumper crop of Cherry Tomatoes. He had some favorites using Cherry Tomatoes and forwarded them to me. I found them and another one using Italian sausage.

Ordered the sausage, the Scallions, the Garlic, to go with my Cherry Tomatoes and Beet, the already cut strips of Bell Peppers and last night I assembled them all. My ability to stand has its limits, but I thought of movies where Italian mothers sat peeling and chopping, and did some of the work that way.

I cannot tell you how meaningful, how wonderful it was to once again cook with food I had grown myself. I could have done more but I ate the other Tomatoes off the Plant or soon after. The first bite of the charred Tomatoes? Exquisite. The second of my Beets? Excellent. Overall a great Thursday evening meal.

Two gallon bags remain, one with Spinach and Beet Leaves, the other with Kale. I plan to cook them over the weekend. An unexpected bonus? Energizing my desire to cook for myself. Will cancel Cook Unity for now. Have at it.

 

Health: Saw Kylie, my pain doc, yesterday. She sent the order for my nerve ablation. Should hear from scheduling in a week or two. Can’t be too soon. If the ablations produce that pain free feeling I had for a couple of hours after the first lidocaine injections, I will be ecstatic. Should reinforce my cooking decision.

Hannah, Kylie’s med tech, lives in Bailey, even further west into the Mountains along 285. Maybe 13 miles. Each time I see her we discuss the drive in. She does it everyday, including winter. Not an easy commute for a job that can’t pay too well.

 

Just a moment: Nuclear Don. Red Tie Guy glowing with energy after his meeting with Xi Jinping. His erratic behavior would cause serious, thoughtful, concerned reporting yet because it seems to be only an extension of prior behavior, it seems to rouse less interest. Odd. IMHO.

Health, Politics

Blow up!

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Mabon and the Samain Moon

Sabbath gratefuls: Joanne. Alan. Cold night. New ceiling fan. Shadow, smiling. Sheet pan recipes. Hot Italian sausage. Mark, the Ameriki. (American in Saudi Arabic) Mary, the Hoosier in Oz. Rich. Artemis, ready for a day of harvest and planting. Me, too. Garlic Cloves. Great Sol lower in the Sky. The downed Lodgepole. That Pendleton Wool blanket. My peculiar electric blanket.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Radiation

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah: Hochmah.  Wisdom.   “Who is wise? The one who learns from every person.”  Perkei Avot: 4:1  Making medical decisions this week.

Tarot: Paused

One brief shining: That newish fan in my bedroom has a not so funny quirk; its light turn on on its own, sometimes a lot like last night, other times not at all for weeks lulling me, it’ll be ok now; but it’s not ok and I spent much of last night getting illuminated, finding the remote to switch off the light, darkness ah, oh damn it! Looking for a new fan.

 

My medical October continues:  On Wednesday I learned that nobody, at least for now, can make me a lightweight, elegant brace for my floppy head. Not even in the world of custom orthotics. I’m not giving up, even if I have to figure it out myself.

Maddie, my palliative care nurse comes up for a visit on Tuesday. She’s a good woman, attentive, caring, knowledgeable. I’ll discuss my back pain, torn labrum, and recent PET scan with her. She often has interesting ideas like adding acetaminophen to my tramadol to make it more effective. Or, prescribing Ritalin for fatigue.

On Thursday I see Kylie, my pain doc, to continue the slow march toward nerve ablations for my back pain. She will review my pain diaries and send a report to my insurance company. And only then will we be able to schedule the actual ablation. Since late April. Geez.

On Halloween  I get to do something truly scary. I’ll see Dr. Carter, a radiation oncologist, to discuss radiating the tumor on my T4 vertebrae. Before we actually do it, I have to have yet another MRI to check for nerve involvement with the tumor. That’s not scheduled yet.

 

Just a moment: I’ve taken notice of that odd moment in conversations with friends when the thing happens. You know what I mean. The realization you’ve entered Red Tie Guy zone. One of you might try to shake it off like a Dog after a bath, but you know now something will have to be said.

What might it be? Could be a mention of demolishing, oh what was it? Part of the Whitehouse? Really. I mean. Or, it might be using our military to play whack a boat in the Caribbean and the Pacific. Drug smugglers, he says. Maybe it’s moving an aircraft carrier into waters somewhere off Latin America, a whole strike group now near Croatia.

Where’s our version of William Randolph Hearst and Joseph Pulitzer? Remember the Maine! Let’s go kick some Latin American, drug smuggling, narco-trafficking butt. DJT might blow up his chance for a Nobel prize.

 

Dogs, Friends, Politics, Sport

From the Hadean to Red Tie Guy to Unicorns

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Mabon and the Samain Moon

Thursday gratefuls: Joanne. Joe. Marilyn and Irv. Tara and Eleanor. Shadow, smiling. Illness. Aging. Complicated schedules. Tomatoes, Roma, to Tara. Cherry Tomatoes, sweet off the plant. Low fire risk since late June. Rabbi Jamie’s sabbatical. Mussar. Bear Berry. Bunch Grass. Lichen. Fungi. Sushi Win Special Roll.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Quantum Computers

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah:  Ometz Lev.  Courage of the heart.

Tarot: Paused

One brief shining: Wu wei you might wonder is it rolling with the punches living like a Mountain Stream taking a licking and keeping on ticking going with the flow becoming one with the movement of Clouds and Wild Neighbors living life with ease not pressing for a result, no expectations and you would be as right as Chuang Tzu dreaming himself a butterfly or wait was it a butterfly dreaming it was Chuang Tzu.

 

Tara and Eleanor: Tara brought Eleanor over to play with Shadow. Eleanor, still very much a puppy, stands about three times Shadow’s close to the ground height. They run and run and run and run.

Also, Eleanor this time tried to hump Shadow, dominance assertion, but Shadow would have none of it. I may be small, she said, but I’m neither submissive nor a pushover.

Meanwhile Tara and I talk as close friends do. She’s an important person in my life, ready to help or laugh or tutor me for my Bar Mitzvah. What a delight.

The next time Tara comes she’ll bring me some hay I can use to bed down the Garlic I plan to plant over the weekend. I gave her three Garlic cloves so she can plant her own.

 

Just a moment: Hey, shhh! We’re gonna demolish us some Whitehouse, eh? But. Don’t tell anybody. Once it’s gone, who’ll know the difference. Right?

Oh, and here’s another thing. Get Justice to sign off on that $231,000,000. I might need more gold leaf for the ballroom, you know. Can’t skimp there.

While you’re at it? Raise tariffs and keep Congress out of everything. What are they for anyhow, dude?

Thanks. I’m heading over to the Golden Arches (see, they like me) for a few Big Mac super meals. Might stop into a Burger King, too, for another paper crown. Don’t wait up.

 

Reading: Finished A Brief History of the Earth by Andrew Knoll. A gift from Tom. Recommend it if you want a quick over view of geological, paleontological, and climatological thinking that’s up to date and written for non-scientists. Thanks to Tom and Andrew.

 

Sport: As baseball’s season comes to an exciting climax with Shohei Otani and the Dodgers facing the Toronto Blue Jays, the NBA season opened the other night with a game between the Dallas Mavericks and the San Antonio Spurs.

More unicorn action there. Even though Cooper Flag, the Maine baller and first pick in the NBA draft played in his first professional game, attention focused instead on Victor Wembanyama.

The 7’5″ player in his third season returned after a blood clot ended his playing last year. His grueling summer training included martial arts training in a Shaolin Temple.  He returned to dominate the Mavericks with 40 points, 15 rebounds, and three blocks. In 30 minutes of playing time.

 

Garden, Politics, Sport

Immigrants and a Foreign Country. In Baseball!

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Mabon and the Samain Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: Ruth. Two years sober. Sushi Win, jr. International Wombat Day. Shadow letting me sleep. Cold Air. MRI with anesthesia. Radiation. Gabe, at a friend’s on Thanksgiving. Evoke 1923.  Ruth, skiing on Thanksgiving. Trash pick up. The last Aspen golden torches of the Fall. Garlic in the house. Final harvest for Kale, Spinach, Beets. Then, planting the Garlic.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Ruth, her empathy

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah:  Ometz Lev.  Courage of the heart.

Tarot: Paused

One brief shining: On these crisp afternoons Shadow jumps up on the window nearest my chair, she wants me to come outside and play, so I pick up a handful of treats and we roam the yard together, an occasional sit, down, touch punctuated by such a good girl and treats dropped behind me, her tail wagging, wagging, a smile on my face.

 

Artemis: Garlic, the contrarian of the Vegetable world. Plant it in the fall, harvest in June. I love to plant it for that reason alone. Oh, I’ll use the Garlic, sure, but the fun of planting something when everything else has finished its run? Priceless.

In Andover Kate and I would braid the soft necked Garlic stalks and hang them in the shed Jon built, where their fellow Alliums red, white, and yellow onions dried on a large screen the fall before. The Scapes of the hard necked Garlic would get cooked in stir fries or omelets.

 

Sports: Baseball, that most American of games. Beloved by blue collar workers and knowledge workers from Brooklyn to L.A. I’m not a huge baseball fan though my son is, tossing around stats and how to rebuild his sad home team with ease and excitement.

However. This year. This 2025 Fall classic. This World Series for this Yankee Doodle game? I’m loving the irony. On the Dodgers we have two starting pitchers from Japan: Yoshinobu Yamamoto and the spectacular Shohei Otani. The word used by many sportswriters to describe Otani? The unicorn. A singular talent, once in a lifetime, probably once in all of baseball history. He pitches. Hits homeruns. Steals bases.

Second irony. The Dodgers’ opponent this year. The Toronto Blue Jays. A Canadian team playing for all the marbles in the World Series. I wish they could win, just to add a Maple Leaf finger to this xenophobic administration, but I doubt anyone can beat this Dodger team.

Even so, their presence in the World Series speaks to all that is good and true about my America. Immigrants excelling, living the Cooperstown dream, and our closest ally engaged in friendly competition with them. In baseball!

Take that you narrow minded twats!

Just a moment: Speaking of narrow minds. Did you see the backhoe tearing into the East Wing facade? With no advance warning. Casual violence against the People’s house. All to build a ballroom? Like Mar-a-Lago?

It will probably be the best ballroom in all the world. I doubt it, check Vienna, Versailles, St. Petersburg, but even if it is? So what? Did it cure, say, measles? Feed hungry people in Chicago or San Antonio? No, it did not.

Health, Politics

We All Fall Down

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Mabon and the Harvest Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: MVP. Susan. Tara. Joanne. Kaethe. Jamie. Rich. Ron. The Night. Darkness. Shadow, who let me sleep in. Aspen, torches of the fall. Artemis, protector and co-creator. Kate, always Kate. Marrow bones. Nerve ablation today. Joy. Ruth and her love of chemistry. Gabe. Derek, who took down the leaning Lodgepole.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Shadow’s eager hugs

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei and my trainer, Shadow

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

Tarot: Paused

One brief shining: The automatic light failed, leaving the path between the garage and the house in 9:30 pm darkness; my eyes not adjusted from the lights in the garage, I felt my way, one foot, another, where’s the deck, where’s the damned deck, oh, there. No.

 

And. I fell. Onto my right shoulder. Grinding down into the rocks, backpack away to my right, the French string basket of mandarin Oranges and that new foam collar landing on the deck. I was close. Not close enough. Ouch.

Embarrassed. The only time I’ve fallen in the last two years plus happened shortly after I got home from the 15 hour flight back from Korea, jetlagged. Not with it. September, 2023.

Tried to get up. Stumbled. Laid back down thinking maybe I’d just stay there for awhile. Meanwhile car lights flashed past on Black Mountain Drive. Nope. I need to get inside. Up we go.

Made it inside without further incident. My shoulder hurt, not awful. Nothing broken. Have to get Vince over to take care of that light.

Oh, here’s something else. I had come home from the synagogue, MVP, my one night out a month. I go because I love these people. The topic for the evening? Joy.

Unbidden, while I contemplated staying on the stable ground awhile longer, came that word: joy. I smiled, thought, well of course. Joy. I’m alive. Nothing’s broken. This is home. Shadow and Artemis are here. So is my bed. Yes, I’m joyful even in this absurd position and an ouchy shoulder. Odd, but true.

 

Just a moment: Remember the voting rights act? Remember the idea of one person, one vote? Not one literate person. Not one white person. Not one male person. One person. Remember equal representation? Remember a time before weaponized gerrymandering. If you do, watch the Supremes as they take a shot at the last vestiges of the 1965 Act. Oral arguments today on Louisiana v. Callais.

Shelby v Holder stripped away the critical section of the Voting Rights Act that required preliminary approval at the Federal level of certain states when they wanted to enact changes to voting procedures. Southern states, now released from Federal oversight, have begun to pass restrictive voting laws again. Grrr.

Louisiana v Callais challenges racially based redrawing of Federal election maps. “The case challenges the constitutionality of creating majority-minority districts to remedy racial discrimination, and a ruling against the VRA could significantly weaken protections against discriminatory redistricting nationwide.” Gemini search

This would weaken the last major element of the Voting Rights Act. A few provisions would remain, but nothing of the sweeping range of the Act when it was passed.

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.