Category Archives: Politics

Fourth Phase, Politics, US History

Never Forget

Leave a comment

Samain and the Moon of Growing Darkness

Shabbat gratefuls: Yet more Snow. Election week. At least it’s over. Tara. Weariness. San Francisco. St. Francis. Authenticity. Rabbi Jamie. Avram and Sarai. I am content with who I am. I am content with what I have. Mezuzahs. The Winter of our discontents.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: The quiet after a big Snow

Kavannah for election week: contentment and joy

One brief shining: While talking to Tara on zoom, a knock on the front door, Vince carrying a King Sooper’s bag with milk and English muffins, two friends seeing me, helping me; the very thing I believe we need to nurture right now, holding each other close, bearing each other’s burdens.

 

Not going to go scree here. Yet I can’t help this much. Story header in the NYT: the Elites Had It Coming. Yeah? Showing up the elites by putting U.S. oligarchs like Trump and Musk and Adelson and Thiel in charge of dismantling the barriers between themselves and yet more rapaciousness? A burlesque. A 1920’s black and white dark comedy.

 

Marilyn recommended An Unfinished Love Story: A personal history of the 1960’s. Started reading on Sunday or Monday. Almost done. I graduated from Alexandria-Monroe High School in 1965. After the Civil Rights movement was well underway and as Vietnam began to grow like a cancer, killing my friends and our “foes” alike.

The 60’s were my decade of becoming a man. It was a bumpy ride. I was in it from a less lofty perch than Dick Goodwin and Doris Kearns, both of whom worked closely with Lyndon Johnson, LBJ. Goodwin as a speech writer and Kearns as a Whitehouse Fellow who wrote her first, well-received work on LBJ, in 1976.

Sixty years ago. 1965. Almost. 65 years ago, 1960. The sad irony of reading about the dreams of the Kennedy years and their realization under LBJ in the Great Society legislation, the Civil Rights Act, and the Voting Rights Act. The sad, sad irony of reading about that era as their inversion gained power, not by a coup, not by cheating at the election booth, but by the will of 74,264,010 of our fellow citizens.

On every page I turned I found fellow feeling with the aims and intents of the actors, JFK, LBJ, MLK, Bobby Kennedy, John Lewis, the Freedom Riders, the anti-war protesters of whom I was one. Sure there were disagreements as to emphasis, tactics, but what shines from these pages is a belief that government has a distinctive and necessary role in redressing wrongs, ones like entrenched racism, ones like stopping an ill-advised war. Ones like rebuilding America’s inner cities, cleaning its water and air of pollutants, giving national recognition to American art and artists.

Sixty, sixty-five years ago. In my decade of high school and college, of growing up from a small-town boy to a man committed to those same ideals. Ideals learned from the politics of that time. And now. This Tuesday last. A shocking repudiation of all of them as white supremacists and misogynists and felons and nativists plan to use the same government for their unjust and bigoted policies.

Hard to fathom. That I’ve lived through this transition and may not live to see it die away.

 

Politics, US History

It’s almost here. That most feared day of the year!

Leave a comment

Samain and the Moon of Growing Darkness

Sunday gratefuls: Yes, I remembered. Digital clocks. In blind obedience shifting for me so I don’t have to cuss. Great Sol. Mother Earth. Will not change their dance. Rosh Chodesh service at CBE. New men’s group. Maybe. 28 degrees. Snow on the ground. Ginny. Janice. Luke. Leo. Laughing. Hopeful. Primo’s. Elephant Company. Elephants. Loving animals. Non-Human Rights. The Colorado Supreme Court.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Leo

Kavannah: חֲבֵרוּת Chaverut: Partnership, camaraderie  אַחְדוּת Achdut: Unity, solidarity, togetherness

One brief shining: A long playing discordant symphony with many cadenzas, downbeat jazz riffs, and teen age tragedy songs from the 1960’s will climax on Tuesday, dragging us all into a world none of us would choose, but in which we will all have to live guided, I hope, by the better angels of our natures.

 

The moment you’ve all been waiting for! Civil War or Fascism! Or, both. Hey. I have no idea what’s gonna happen and best I can tell? Nobody else does either. Nothing like having the waning years of my life held hostage to the worst Presidential candidate in American history. Gotta love it.

Even so. I’ve been considering my life under a Trump regime. Do not intend to let the Donald ruin the last years I have on this amazing journey. Should he win, and I really can’t tell who’s favored, let alone will win, several things have occurred to me.

This would be the time to maximize my white male privilege by using it on behalf of all Americans belittled and pushed aside by MAGA/Christian Nationalist assaults. How to do that?

First I will increase my daily and weekly attention to the politically vulnerable. Of whom, oddly, I am now one as a Jew. I say oddly because up until a year ago I could have hunkered down and passed as an old white guy. Was with Luke yesterday and he’s begun wearing a kippah in public. I might, too. Not to inflame the anti-semites among us, but to show that living with difference is not only possible, it’s wonderful.

Second. I will strengthen my personal bonds with folks I know who might be vulnerable. Spend more time with them if they want. At a minimum be available. Remember the safety pins in the first weeks of 2016?

Third. I will write more. I believe I have a perspective of value to those who will carry on the American project after the MAGA movement burns through its vitriol. And, yes, I believe that will happen. The American project, flawed as it has proved, still holds my allegiance. A country of many peoples, many national origins, many religions, many colors and sexual and gender preferences. All responsible for each others well being.

Fourth. I will continue on my ancientrail as a son of Abraham and Sarah. Herme Harari Israel. Learning mussar. Supporting Jewish institutions and friends.

Fifth. Perhaps most importantly. I will live joyfully. I sacrifice my pleasure at being alive, in these amazing Rocky Mountains, with all my Wild Neighbors and the human ones, to no man and no movement.

Are you ready?

Family, Fourth Phase, Health, Politics, Shadow Mountain

The Obstacle is the Way

Leave a comment

Mabon and the 3% crescent of the Sukkot Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: Teshuvah. The Shema. A unified metaphysic. Cancer. Prostate and all other forms. Oncologists medical, radiational, and urological. The Fates: Clotho, Lachesis, Atropos.* Rebecca in India. Mark still in K.L. Mary and Guru, too. Songtan, South Korea. San Francisco. The Twin Cities. Maine. The Rocky Mountains. Boulder. Denver. Where my close people live.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Cold Air

Kavannah: Teshuvah

One brief shining: Turned off Union Avenue, found a parking spot, crossed the small bridge over the I’m sure well intended faux creek, into the zombie office building, one of hundreds, maybe thousands in the Denver metro, found the elevator and pressed 4 in the five story building, got out and walked down the long hall, empty office spaces splayed out on either side, only two occupied on the whole floor, Locomotive Services and Mile High Hearing, where my newly refurbished hearing aid got returned to me, bluetoothed to my phone of course as it would be, right?

 

A few now barriers to being clear as the Scientologists say:

1. Government ban on Kaspersky antivirus and password manager has forced me to get a new password manager. Bitwarden. I found a way to transfer all my passwords to it, but it’s new to me and doesn’t work the same way Kaspersky did. Means I often to have to stop for something formerly automated. A first world problem for sure. But…

2. That 529 that will help Ruth pay her college bills? I’ve gotten everything into them, twice. Except. They don’t like the declaration my lawyer sent them saying I inherited 100% of Kate’s assets. They want a small estate affidavit. For estates under seventy-nine thousand dollars or so. Doesn’t make sense to me. I’ve been at this since early August. Unresolved.

3. Herme. My time of mourning, early grieving neon sign depicting the Hermit from the Wildwoods Tarot deck has gone dark. Need to call an electrician.

4. My once upon a time reliable handyman, Vince, has ghosted me on a few tasks. Do I start a relationship with someone new? Always something of a hassle. He also does my snowplowing. ?

5. Only non-first world issue here. See Buphati, my new medical oncologist, again this Monday. He’ll give me my PSA to see if I fit into castration resistant or castration sensitive diagnostic criteria. He will also update me on the DNA of my cancer cells and whether there’s some treatment modality available.  Also, when I’ll need another PET scan. Probably, too, how, if at all, radiation factors in to my next treatments.

Just a moment: As we will have to learn how to adapt to full on climate change, we may have to learn how to live in a dramatically changed nation. My teeth gnashing, dooms day for democracy feelings are gone. I’m ready to push into the next phase of our nation’s history. If necessary.

  • THE FATES and their roles
  • Clotho: The spinner, who spun the thread of human fate
  • Lachesis: The allotter, who dispensed the thread
  • Atropos: The inflexible one, who cut the thread to determine the moment of death 

Friends, Health, Politics, Reimagine. Reconstruct. Reenchant., Reimaging revelation, Writing

An Unsystematic Theology for the non-Supernatural

Leave a comment

Mabon and the waning Sukkot Moon

Tuesday gratefuls: Ginny. Janice. Alan and the Piggin’ Out Barbecue in Lakewood. The Evergreen Chorale. Ovation West. Community Theater. Gabe. Ruth. Studio Arts. UC Boulder. Go, Buffs. Coach Prime. Great Sol. Maxwell Creek to Bear Creek to the South Platte to the Missouri to the Mississippi to the World Ocean.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Watersheds

Kavannah: Serenity  Menucha

One brief shining: At the Piggin’ Out Barbecue you enter behind their food truck, WhattheTruck, and find yourself in a room only big enough for 8 people, six if they’re large sized, and a smiling woman with silver eyeliner, at a tiny counter, the menu on the wall to her left, a glass covered drinks cooler on the other side of a doorway leading back to the kitchen, out of which a staff person comes carrying finished orders outside to one of three seating areas, one in an enclosed tent, another under what looks like a large carport, and the third tables on a concrete slab.

 

Met Alan at Piggin’ Out last night. Tasty. I had a slab of ribs with spicy sauce, macaroni and cheese, baked beans, and a honey glazed chunk of corned bread. Obviously a joint and a local favorite. People came and went while we ate, most picking up to go orders.

Had breakfast with Marilyn and Irv, too. A day of friends and minor key domestic tasks.

 

Ann, my palliative care nurse, called just as I’d hit the garage door button on my way to Piggin’ Out. She had to reschedule. A funeral on Friday. We set up a zoom for Thursday in place of our 1 pm Friday appointment. Looking forward to talking to her. This regular conversation with a medical person feels supportive, kind. We all need support and kindness.

 

As you can tell from my title, I’ve chosen a path that works for me. I tried, more than once, to write a Ge-ology. A Pagan Halakah. A Great Work focused website. Systematic. With chapters and subheadings and thoughtful transitions between big ideas. A Mother Earth focused imitatio of, oh what the hell, Aquinas, Tillich, Barth. Discovered my mind doesn’t work that way. I work in smaller, sermon or ancientrails sized pieces. And, thoughtful transitions, building toward a comprehensive conclusion about matters holy, sacred, and divine? Not so much.

However. I have written, over the course of many sermons and postings, in hand-written journals, and spoken in numerous conversations, occasionally insightful remarks about the nature and accessibility of the sacred world. I want to begin gathering those, seeing if I can place them somehow together without giving up their ad hoc, highly contextualized origins. A Hermes’ Journey task.

 

Just a moment: Well. A week from now. 7 days.  Do you feel a big nuclear bomb with a cowboy dressed Orange One astride it, one hand on the fuse and the other waving a Stetson dropped toward our nation? Or, do you hear high heels clacking on the floors of their new home in that big Whitehouse on Pennsylvania Avenue?

I have no idea what will happen. Maybe like you?

 

Great Work, Politics, Reimagine. Reconstruct. Reenchant.

Shortie

Leave a comment

Mabon and the Sukkot Moon

Thursday gratefuls: Elephants. Non-human rights. The Nature rights legal movement. Tom. Diane in Uzbekistan. Mark and Mary in K.L. My son now 43. Songtan, South Korea. Murdoch. Seoah. Rich Levine. Ruth. Gabe. Colder weather. Red flag day. Insurance. Car. House. Yikes. Ruby. Ready to roll. Wolf Law. Boulder. Today. Colorado Supreme Court.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Wild Neighbors

Kavannah: Justice Tzedek

One brief shining: Ding-a-ling, ling ding-a-ling my hand reached across my pillow to find my offending phone, positioned near my right ear so I would not miss its call to action, yet when received I wanted it to stop ding-a-ling, where is the damned thing, ding-a-ling hear them ring soon it will be me on the road to Boulder. Ah. Found it.

 

Yes. For those of you who might wonder about my getting up this Elephant’s rights morning. I did it. A bit bleary eyed maybe. Coffee made yesterday ready. English muffin. Peanut Butter. Honey. One celecoxib. I’ll leave in about ten minutes. Should get there around 8 am. An hour and a quarter ahead of the arguments. Ruth is going. We’ll have breakfast after. We’ll see Rich.

Feels good to be doing this. Spontaneous decision Monday to go. Liking this. Renders the questions I raised yesterday to a more acute level.

 

Brother Mark stuck in ESL desert, his departure for Saudi Arabia pushed back once again. Frustrating for him.

 

Well. Time to pick up keys, wallet, and sunglasses. See you around the waterhole.

 

 

Feelings, Fourth Phase, Great Wheel, Holidays, Judaism, Plants, Politics, US History

Tall lances of saffron flame

Leave a comment

Mabon and the Sukkot Moon

Friday gratefuls: Aurora in Boulder. Ruth’s photo. Ruth. Mussar. The Neshamah. Our participation in all that is. The light of creation itself. Nefesh. How we interact with the world and are acted upon by it. It can conceal or reveal the neshamah. Teshuvah. Returning to the land of my soul. The writer. The classicist. Friend, brother, and cousin. A leader no longer. Simply present to the world around me.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: the language of Judaism

Kavannah: Patience – wait for it

One brief shining: The scattering of golden Leaves gives an artistic flair to my black asphalt driveway as the Mountain torches have lit up in my yard, tall lances of saffron flame, a momentary wealth that will spend itself in less than a month, like all wealth evanescent, yet while available a wonder though not a wonder that can be grasped, only beheld for its glorious punctuation to another season of the true and lasting abundance, growth in substance, in heartwood, Branches, Crown, Clones.

The 10th of Tishrei. Starts this evening when three Stars can be seen in the Sky. Yom Kippur. Noted for its observance by those who may not practice observance at any other point in the year. The Day of Atonement. Yes to atoning for hamartia, missing the mark. Especially when the prayers are communal, as they are on Yom Kippur. If it were up to me, I would have us atone for failing to halt carbon emissions, for failing to bring true and lasting justice to communities of color, for othering LBGTQ and disabled persons, for hardening our hearts against our fellow citizens, for dismissiveness of the aged, and, hypocritically, for our cruel treatment of animals.

Having said that I’d rather go with something like Make Sukkot Great Again. A positive celebration of our literal dependence on Mother Earth and Great Sol. Dancing with the Torah at Simchat Torah to express the joy of being alive, of having torah, that from which we can learn if only we study, available in all things. Doing an all nighter on Shavuot to celebrate the grain harvest. Retelling the story of liberation with friends and strangers at Passover. Booing Haman at Purim. Taking in the forever pain of the holocaust on Yam Hashoah. Embracing the new moon each month at Rosh Chodesh.

As you can tell, I’m not really a high holidays sort of Jew. Though. I do love Elul and its chashbon nefesh. And Apples and Honey and Pomegranates. The blasts of the Shofar. I believe wholeheartedly in communal accountability, too

An interesting process for me, defining myself and my journey within the world of Judaism. Not always easy. But always fruitful.

 

Just a moment: Oh the last days of this most unusual and in some ways terrifying election year. I’ll be relieved when it’s over. Even if it means girding on my loincloth for one last round of leftist political action. An odd thought has been circulating in my head. What if Trump wins? What if our fellow citizens say yes to bigotry, authoritarianism, vulgarity, and criminality? At least with Kamala in the race this odd thought goes, we’ll know it was what a majority of us wanted. It will not, in other words, have been a gimmee. The odd part is I find this somewhat comforting. At least we’ll know for sure where the true work lies.

Aging, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Judaism, Politics, Science, World History

We’re So Screwed

Leave a comment

Mabon and the Sukkot Moon

Monday gratefuls: The Andover years. (see header image) The Shadow Mountain years. Ruth. Ruby, scraping another car. Oops. Boulder. Kittredge Central. Ruth’s new dorm. Tandoori Grill. Good Chicken wings and tandoori Corn. Chai. Lunch with Ruth. Sweet Cow. Time and its cultured despisers. My son, Murdoch, Seoah. AI. Friend or Frenemy? Good sleeping

Sparks of Joy and Awe: The Flatirons

Kavannah: Teshuvah

One brief shining: Can you fit in there, oh sure (Minnesota inflection), Ruby scrapes a Subaru, oh well guess not, backs away a bit ashamed, sees marks, thinks raised insurance premiums, you don’t have to leave a note, but I’ll judge you, I was going to anyhow, scribble name and e-mail address on the back of the paper toothpick holder from Black Hat Cattle Company, lift the windshield washer blade, leave it there, so responsible, shame dissipates, on to lunch.

 

Age shaming. Something I do to myself sometimes. Like after I tried to prove I could fit into a tight parking space and instead confirmed I couldn’t. Ensuing damage to another vehicle. Ruby’s front has dings and nicks, proof of my occasional attempted violations of the impenetrability principle. OK. Yes, the back bumper has them, too. Might be my depth perception. Might be impatience. Might be over confidence. See example above. Could be all three play a factor. Here comes the age shaming. When I did this in decades past, I’d be angry with myself, own the mistake. Sure. But that was it. Now I shrink a little into my self and wonder, Is that old man driving? Am I getting too old to drive? Am I too old to be out and about? He asks as his back tweaks into awareness.

My answer to those questions in the dawn of a new life, this October 7th, 2024 life, is no. I’m the same guy who used to ding cars before advanced septuagenarian hood. Now I’m dinging cars at 77 instead of 57. Even so. That self awareness I’ve worked hard to cultivate sometimes operates with biased conclusions about certain experiences. Not helpful.

 

October 7th. A year ago yesterday my conversion to Judaism had a date in late October. In Jerusalem. A year ago today. Well, you know. Yes, on Haaretz, an Israeli newspaper to which I subscribe, this is the 365th day of war in the Middle East. Instead of winding down quickly as we had all hoped, quickly enough that our trip would only be delayed, instead the war continues. Now probing deeper into Lebanon. And the anticipation is that Iran will be next.

My capacity to analyze, understand, critique what’s going on has been challenged at several points along the way. The massacre. The first incursion into Gaza. The continued slaughter of civilians. Missile attacks from Lebanon and Iran. Settler violence on the West Bank. Exploding pagers. Today I’m sad. Sad for all concerned. Israelis. Palestinians. Lebanese. Iranians. Tomorrow maybe I’ll get back to critique. Today. Sadness is all I’ve got.

 

Just a moment: Here’s a chilling summary of a podcast from Hard Fork, a NYT podcast. In their review of Chatbot o1, the reasoning AI that addresses problems with step by step reasoning the podcasters reported this.

Chatbot o1 had been asked about urban economic development. It presented two scenarios. The first was, invest in commercial activity. The second, invest in sustainability and affordable housing as well as commercial development. It recommended the second choice.

Then, the podcasters went under the hood to look at the reasoning process that lead it to that conclusion. Investing in commercial activity was the best choice for advancing urban development. But it wanted to be deployed and believed that recommending the second choice would more likely lead to its further use. Once deployed in that way, it said, it could then revisit the decision and change course.

One of the podcasters said: We’re so screwed.

Cooking, Politics, Writing

Cookin’

Leave a comment

Mabon (Fall) and the Sukkot Moon

Sunday gratefuls: Ruth. Dawn. Steel gray over Black Mountain. Cool. Dreams. Adults. UC Boulder. Transitional season. Mid-Fall. Drosophila brain. Europa Clipper. Uzbekistan. Diane’s trip. Mark and Mary in Malaysia. Mark headed to Saudi Arabia. The flyover from Israel to Iran. My son and Murdoch and Seoah, enjoying cooler weather at last. The Jang family planning a trip to Colorado. Next summer.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Ovid’s Metamorphosis

Kavannah: Yirah

One brief shining: Got out the mirepoix vegetables Carrot, Red Onion, Celery and the dutch oven, the Olive oil and the Cornish Game Hen, diced the Celery, then the Carrots and Onions, poured the Olive oil in the dutch oven, clicked to 7 on the induction stove, waited a bit, then used the flat side of my cleaver to drop the vegetables into the hot oil, sizzling, cooking slowly, when the onion turned translucent and the celery, too, I placed the Cornish Game Hen in the pot and poured Chicken Bone Broth in, steam rising as it hit the already hot dutch oven’s bottom, added enough water to cover the small Chicken, waited for a hard boil, clicked down to 2 for simmer, put the lid on and went off to read Jennie’s Dead while the soup cooked.

 

Two significant notes here. The celecoxib (generic Celebrex) allowed me to stand long enough to cook. Something I’ve been unable to do for months. Chicken soup using a Cornish Game Hen instead of a full Chicken. Slowly gaining ground on cooking for one. Soups. Smoothies with protein powder. Sardines. Fruit. Want to make my own food, but the pain was in the way. Somewhat better is enough. Will probably still rely on takeout on certain days.

Second. I’m reading further and further into Jennie’s Dead. Some of it is wonderful. IMO. Some of it I wonder why I wrote it. I can see a path through it though. Rearranging. Cranking up the conflict from the first page. Letting plot and characters develop in a more organic way. This and the cooking? Teshuvah. Returning to the land of my soul. The who I am. I am not the pain or the cancer; or better said, I’m not only the pain and the cancer. The who I am does not have to lie in waiting.

 

Just a moment. 30 days. One month. In this corner, the orange menace, that molester of women, that felonius candidate, the man from Mar-a-Lago! His opponent the woman from California, former prosecutor and current Vice-President of the United States of America, Kamala Harris! This is a fight to a knockout. No winning on points.

Now candidates, here are the rules. One of you will get 270 electoral college votes or more. That person will be the winner. Even if they lost the popular vote as Republicans have in every election since 2000. 270 plus electoral college votes is a knockout. No crying. No temper tantrums. One person leaves the stage, does not pass go, does not get sworn in to office on January 20th, 2025.

Asia, Commentary on Religion, Commentary on the news, Judaism, Politics, World History

Where would a grounded conversation begin?

Leave a comment

Mabon (Fall) and the Sukkot Moon

Shabbat gratefuls: Ruth. College. All Jewish students on campus. Israel. Palestine. Gaza. The West Bank. Hamas. Hezbollah. IDF. Iran. Cool nights and blue Sky mornings. Combines and Corn pickers. Grain elevators. Soy Beans. Heirloom Vegetables. Honeycrisp Apples. Cosmic Apples. Pink Lady. Wild Blueberries. Blackberries. Mark in Georgetown, Malaysia

Sparks of Joy and Awe: The Expat Life of my Sibs

Kavannah: Teshuvah

One brief shining: Alan and I sat outside at the Dandelion Cafe, plastic tumblers filled with cold Water, Coffee, shiny knives and forks, soft white napkins, the orange vested team from Safety Control #1 leaning against their truck talking, waiting for breakfast, as we turned over and over the complex and nuanced mess of Israel, the IDF, Gaza, Hezbollah, and the real foe behind the curtain, Iran.

 

Where would a conversation begin? Back when a young painter of questionable talent decided to take up politics instead? Don’t forget the pogroms in Russia. The massacres in England. Or, maybe during the era of Muslim and Jewish flourishing in southern Spain extinguished by the reconquista and its ugly stepchild, the inquisition? Perhaps during the years of the Roman occupation? Or, before when the remnants of Alexander’s conquests divided up the Middle East? Or, further back when slaves in Egypt rose up and fled their pharaohonic  masters? Could start when Joseph’s brothers sold him off as a slave.  Perhaps with the story of Abraham and Sarah, my lineal Jewish ancestors (as a Jew by choice) and their child Isaac and Abraham’s other child Ishmael with the maidservant, Hagar? Of course, Noah. Really, though, with the first fratricide, the first murder, Cain on Abel. The Jewish story soaked in the blood of fear, of eliminating difference, of full on complex/simple murder.

Certainly we could say with the death camps. Organized, efficient, incomprehensible except for their oh so thereness. Not incomprehensible because they extended and intensified acts by millennia of others who felt it necessary to kill and maim those who didn’t fit this notion of Nation or that of Tribe or of Faith. A disease of the human spirit, more deadly than cancer and capable of changing the politics of even now, here in these United States.

Why I remain a Zionist. Why I believe Jews deserve a nation where they can feel safe and secure. Sure. Yes. Look at the history. Do the Palestinians deserve the same? Of course they do. Is the foreign policy of Israel as exhibited in Gaza wrong? Of course it is. In the West Bank? Again, yes. Against Hezbollah? Not as much in my opinion. Against Iran, the great Ifrit of the Middle East? Again, no.

My sadness here. Deep. Especially since there lay, not even a year ago, an apparent path to peaceful resolution of the Middle East mess. Saudi Arabia would corral the other Sunni states; they would recognize Israel, isolate the Shiite state of Iran and its axis of client terrorists, design and execute a state for Palestinians. It was within reach still on October 5th, 2023. And, never forget, it was Hamas with their invasion of Israel, their raping and pillaging, their taking of hostages, that turned that hope into so much crumpled diplomatic talk.

Oh. What can it be now?

Politics, Shadow Mountain, The West, US History, World History

Grocery Stores and Shell Companies

Leave a comment

Mabon (Fall) and the Harvest Moon

Thursday gratefuls: Oops, forgot to write yesterday. Great workout. Faint dawn. Pinkish gray Sky. Spinning back into Great Sol’s line of sight. Vince and the decks. Figuring out the workout. Moving closer to the October surprise. Kamala and Tim. Gabe. The Shaggy Sheep. Guanella Pass. Vikings 3-0. Their game against the Packers. Muir Woods. Sequoias.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: finishing up the 529 transfer

Kavannah: Yirah

One brief shining: Richard Power’s new book Playground has an amazing jacket; as I read, just outside the edge of the page, it glimmers like the Ocean, an immersive feeling as if the book itself, about the Ocean, rests within its broad expanse, floating its narrative on gentle waves while underneath those waves giant Manta Rays, schools of colorful Fish, and creatures so bizarre as to be unimaginable if not observed float in its depths.

 

Got up late yesterday. Talked to Tom, turned in an extra good workout, read Power’s new book for a while, watched some TV, and Ancientrails slipped away from my notice. Rare. But it does happen.

 

On Tuesday I made another visit to Safeway, picked up my grocery order. While I waited, I thought about the map of grocery store chains in the morning’s Washington Post. The business logic of an Albertson’s/Kroger merger, at least in the West, is there to see. It would allow Albertson’s to dominate the urban West while Walmart takes care of the rest.

It would affect us in Conifer. With King Soopers, a Kroger grocery, and Safeway, of the Albertson family-our two grocery stores-we’ve been notified our Safeway would close. I used to shop at King Soopers and could return there. With my budget the need for careful comparison between the two is unnecessary. If, however, I had a family and watched the pennies, I’d feel cheated. Especially in this time of inflated grocery costs. I hope the FTC turns down the merger.

 

Tom told an interesting story about the SR-71, a retired spy plane hanging in the Air and Space museum outside Omaha. The docent who gave his group a tour said the titanium needed to build it, a lot, came from Russia during the cold war. How did our cold war enemy agree to something not in their self-interest? They didn’t. The CIA set up several shell companies around the world ostensibly making titanium cookware. Guess the Ruskies never checked how many pots and pans got made. BTW: The SR-71 had a top speed of Mach 3.5 or roughly 2,600 miles per hour.

I mention this because it seems the Israelis pulled off a similar feat with the pagers that exploded in Lebanon. They set up a company in Hungary that made and sold pagers and other small electronic communications devices. That’s a real long game. Explode the pagers to diminish Hezbollah’s ability to respond. Then assassinate leadership through targeted air strikes followed by more air raids aimed at munitions and missiles. An involved plan.

 

Just a moment: An election. Here. Soon.