Category Archives: Politics

Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Health, Politics

Ancora Imparo

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Spring and the Mesa View Moon

Friday gratefuls: The end of radiation. No more drives to Lone Tree. No more creepy Hal machine up close to my head. Beethoven’s Ode to Joy. Snow on its way. Cold night. Slept well. Kate’s yahrzeit. Recognized at the service tonight. Peanut butter and pickle sandwiches. Erleada in the mail. Dreams. The dream group. Next Friday. Ready almost for the threshold. Gabe and the dog treats.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: The end of radiation

One brief, shining moment: The intimate assassin took some hits over the last three weeks, suffering under high intensity radiation delivered through the Cyberknife aperture deep into my body, shriveling his forces, perhaps delivering the same death blow he sought for me.

 

Finit. For now. Maybe for good. But cancer has its devices and as Dr. Simpson admits we just don’t know all we need to know. I will not miss the drive to Lone Tree, a freeway adventure from start to finish. Lots of trucks. High speed Colorado pickups expressing their anxiety about life through rapid movement.

Not sure whether it was the radiation or the long drive or the constant reminder that I have cancer but this last three weeks wore me out. Slept 10 hours two nights ago and again last night. Plan to take today and the weekend as lower energy days. Though.

 

Gabe’s big birthday dinner is tomorrow tonight. I got a text from him this morning asking me to clean out some spilled dog treats in the back seat. He’s psyched up as we used to say. Going to Benihana with his friends. And his grandpa.

And. Kate’s yahrzeit is today. 30 Nisan. As the Jewish month of Spring phases into the month of light. I’ll go to the service tonight. Stand for the kaddish in honor of her.

Sunday I’ll be at the synagogue from 1:30 to 4:30. 1:30 is an informational meeting about a trip to Israel in October. At 3 pm I have the first Dismantling Racism class.

Maybe I’ll extend those lower energy days into the next week, come to think of it.

 

James Pogue’s book Chosen Country covers most of the recent rebellions in the West, starting with Clive Bundy’s against BLM restrictions on cattle grazing on  BLM lands. He has a chapter on a miner’s stand against BLM’s finding of noncompliance for his gold mine and cabin. Security organized by the Oath Keepers and III percenters. The book’s focus is the Malheur occupation in Oregon.

After reading Jeff Sharlet’s Undertow, Imami Perry’s South to America, Stephen Greenblatt’s The Swerve, Patrick Deneen’s Why Liberalism Failed, Matthew Rose’s  A World After Liberalism, Wes Jackson’s Becoming Native to This Place and dipping into Stephen Wolfer’s The Case for Christian Nationalism, Vibrant Matter by Joan Bennet, Seeing Like a State by James C. Scott, I’m beginning to get a clearer picture of the roiling currents muddying the waters in the U.S. right now. Not ready yet to talk much about what I’m learning, some of it’s still organizing itself in my mind.

I know this much. There is no easy political fix for any of this. Though I do see some possible alliances that might bring folks together in very strange bedfellow ways. More on this to come as I keep reading. Talking.

 

Friends, Health, Hermitage, Judaism, Politics, Shadow Mountain, US History, World History

Good News

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Spring and Kepler’s Moon

Tuesday gratefuls: A good colonoscopy report. Tara. That catfish po’boy and beignets. Susan, my nurse. Luke, the doc. Propofol. Little pictures of the inside of my insides. A really long nap afterward. Sleeping in this morning, a bright one well underway at 7 am. Melting snow. Dark Sky communities. 5 in Colorado. The Milky Way. Our Galactic neighborhood. The Spiral Arm. Our street. The James Webb. Science. Community. The Humanities. A sad time.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: That Threshold, becoming more clear

 

Small polyp. Benign, Evans said. But. Sent to pathology anyhow. That propofol. A white solution injected into my iv. I watched as the fluid went in and woke up later back in the same small curtained off area I had left for the exam room. In between Evans had pumped CO2 in my intestines and run a scope up them looking for cancer. None. Good news. Also. You’ve graduated. No more colonoscopies. Yay! But. Can I still do the prep every once in a while, just for fun?

When I did wake up, I wanted to go back to sleep. I felt so good. So good. I go back to sleep. Charlie, are you ready? Huh? No, not yet. A bit more time went by. Charlie! Are you ready? Oh, uh, yeah. Getting up now. (I wasn’t.) Charlie. A frustrated gal. Ok, ok. Swing your legs over the edge of the bed. Ok, ok. How do you feel? Dizzy. Sleepy. But. I’ll get dressed. I promise. And so I did.

Tara, who took me, smiled when I came out. She took me to Nono’s and bought me a catfish po’boy and two beignets. Then home. A sweet woman and important in my life. I was at her house for a seder last week.

We discussed the history of Christianity. A bit fuzzy if your life orientation is Jewish. Also parenting. Jon, Vincent, Sofia. And, just. Life. You know.

Back home I ate my sandwich and the beignets. Watched TV. Took a three hour nap.

 

Now that Doug has finished, I can begin making decisions about where to put my art. Going to take my time. Not rush. Maybe get in some work on the loft, too. Clear off my art table. Maybe reshelve some books. Move files downstairs to the home office. Have Ana clean it when I get done. When I get the art figured out, I’ll get Vince to come over and hang everything.

I have a list of property management chores for him and as soon as it warms up I’ll get him started on those.

 

My journey into the dark and confusing reality of our current political situation continues. Why Liberalism Failed will help me crystallize my understanding. Without getting too far into Deneen’s argument right now I will say that he’s coming at liberalism as a political philosophy and not using the term as we do in the U.S. for party politics. In his broader argument most U.S. conservatives are liberals, too. That is, both parties (bracketing Trumpists and the new Far Right) support free enterprise, science as a way to gain dominion over nature, the autonomous individual, and government that derives its authority from the consent of those individuals.

Dogs, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Health, Hermitage, Politics, Shadow Mountain, Travel

Guns and Poses

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Spring and Kepler’s Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: Jackie. Patty. Carmela. Cyberknife. Dr. Simpson. Mary voting. And winning. Wisconsin Supreme Court. The late season wet Snow on the Lodgepoles. More than predicted. Doug. Starting on the lower level. Mark in Hafir Al Batim. Settling in during a slow period at the University, Ramadan. Kep. Kate, always Kate. Gabe and Benihana. His 15th. Ruth, now 17 + a day.

 

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Black Mountain white

 

Doug came. I had to move upstairs to the third level, my new home office. He’s painting the lower level. I can still sleep down there for now.

It’s a lot to have somebody working on your home for this long. Constant disruptions. Some mild. Like clearing the common room surfaces. Others not. Getting the dining room cleared. Another person working in the house. Doug’s easy. Friendly. Competent. Even so.

I chose this. I know. And I like the result already. Good thing, eh? I’ll like it even better when the arts rehung. Not yet. Not for a good while yet.

After that one more round with Robin and Michele. Then I’m going to let things be for a good long while. Enjoy the house. The Mountain.

 

Kep’s death does open the door to travel for me. I no longer have to worry about someone else coming in while he’s in decline. Chose to not do that.

There is a Southern saying. When the last dog dies. Now I feel the love and pang in that. Also the release. Thinking about some day trips once the weather turns away from Winter. Maybe longer trips. Around the state, the region.

The first time in over thirty years that I’ve had no one to come home to. And the first time in a few years when I’ve had no one to care for except myself. An odd feeling. Untethered. A bit floaty. Is this real life if no other life depends on me? Suppose I’ll get used to it, but right now I feel, what, almost irresponsible.

 

Look at the Wisconsin Supreme Court election map. It’s a tale, again, of rural and urban except for the southern tier of the state. Because I lived in Wisconsin, I happen to know that southern tier accepted immigrants, especially from Bismarck’s Germany. They were socialists and anti-draft. Bismarck had instituted the first draft which prompted a wave of emigration. Their political legacy lives on. Wisconsin politics, like Colorado, are complicated.

Mad City = Boulder. Milwaukee = Denver. Southern tier of Wisconsin = Front Range and the wider Denver Metro. Wisconsin’s Lake Superior counties = Aspen, Vail, Copper Ridge, Breckenridge

There’s a populist streak in both states though Colorado has more of the Western libertarian, leave me alone ethos.

These maps, with the counties filled in by dominant party (or, inclination), tell one more tale. At least. The story of how difficult a slow civil war (Sharlet), an American Divorce (Marjorie Taylor Greene), RAHOWA (White supremacists) would be. Cities against outlying rural areas. Villages against villages. Neighbors against neighbors. Within one state.

This would not be the simple geography of The civil war. No. It would be the geography of a chess board or a go board.

It would also be the gunned against the largely ungunned. Though of course how many of the armed would fight? Hard to know.

Any such civil war (an oxymoron I just realized) would probably end like a pandemic. When we tired of it and quit.

 

Dogs, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Politics

Important Folks

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Spring and the Kepler Moon

Tuesday gratefuls: Bill’s cartoon. Snow. Kep. Ruth and Mia. Gabe. Doug. Alan. Individualism. Community. Fear and loathing in New York. The Orange one gets a perp walk. Ruth’s 17 today! Shadow Mountain. Black Mountain. Lodgepoles. Mule Deer. Elk. All the wild neighbors. Cold morning. Garden Path. A fresh look on the main level. Coming soon to the lower level.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Snow whirling around the Lodgepoles

 

Doug came yesterday to finish up the main level. We talked for a bit. Told him about Kep. He surprised me by reaching out and giving me a hug. A sweet guy. Spoke about pets. He and his wife Judy had Jack. Dead ten years now and they still call for him sometimes when they come home. He told me about Moses, his Capuchin Monkey. Doug was 15. Had to build a cage for him that took up half his room. Monkeys are difficult pets. Escape a lot. Wreck things. He shook his head at his younger self.

Doug’s about my size with dark hair and silver tufts over his ears. He speaks quietly, almost a mumble. I can’t understand him at all without my hearing aid. He’s fit, works quickly but patiently. Came up here in 1981 and has been self employed the whole time. Quite a feat considering the lack of housing back then. Think he said he was late 60’s.

Two new folks in my life. Doug and Doug. Doug Doverspike. Won’t see either of them much, I imagine, but they live in Conifer. Got a nice note from Dr. Doverspike after Kep’s death. Appreciated him and his care. I wasn’t alone for Kep’s final weeks and Kep did not suffer.

 

Ruth. 17. Wow. So many stories and memories. Her on a bus with me, riding to the National Western Stockshow. I want my mommy! Oh. Well. We can call her. That made it ok. Her pouty face while we rode on the Georgetown RR. The whistle was too loud. Ruth with the astronaut Buzz Aldrin (I think) at Wings Over the Rockies. Visits to the Planetarium in Boulder. Her trying on silly hats. Our Christmas Eve outing in Colorado Springs which included getting our nails done at a fancy nail place. Her phone call. Dad is dead. Her hug last Friday. A childhood now beginning to fade into young adulthood.

 

The orange one. His perp walk. The least significant of his crimes. IMO. Still. Indicted. And a former President. Will probably solidify his base for the 2024 campaign. Make them more and more invested in his victory. Clean out the deep state that would do such a thing to God’s agent.

Still reading Undertow, beginning to feel the strands pulling at the fabric of our nation, threatening to unravel. To paraphrase the orange one, decent people on all sides. Some so full of disinformation that their minds suffer from bloat. No contrary facts allowed. Many. Undertow shows how much of the tension has religious roots even if not all of the actors are strictly speaking religious. That is, part of the evangelical right. Still working on this.

 

 

Dogs, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Health, Hermitage, Politics, Shadow Mountain, US History

A Strong Week

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Spring and the Garden Path Moon

Thursday gratefuls: Ruth, creating three oil paintings: Dear Dad. Mia, an artist, too. Tiny. Gabe. Loud and full of bad jokes. Here yesterday through tomorrow. Doug. Finished Garden Pathing the main level. For the most part. A small bathroom and that weird wall in the new dining room remain. Kep, better this morning. A bit. Doverspike. Driving into Denver. Into Spring. Leafy Deciduous Trees. Daffodils. Feelings. Still Winter on Shadow Mountain.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Teenagers

 

We’re treating Kep empirically. With antibiotics. Hoping that whatever took him downwards is an infection and not cancer. The first couple of days of amoxicillin will tell us what we need to know. He’s comfortable, lying down. Not coughing. No labored breathing. I had to dry pill the meds this morning and found my grip strength inadequate. Messy and difficult. Gotta get back on that resistance work. This is unacceptable and unnecessary.

Ruth and Mia brought Kep up the stairs last night so he could be with us while we ate Beau Jo’s pizza. That was sweet. We had the living room still in dishabille from Doug’s work. Couch across from the Fire place. My chair at a right angle to it. Ruth sat on the ottoman, Gabe and Mia on the couch. Kep took his night time meds in pizza crust. Didn’t work so well this morning.

Ruth and Gabe are comfortable up here. It’s a second home in the Mountains for them. I’m glad they feel that way. Makes me feel like a good grandpa. Both of them bring friends up. Another clue about how they feel about Shadow Mountain.

It’s nice to have people noises in the house. Footsteps. Refrigerator door opening. Food disappearing.

 

Doug got almost finished with the main level. That wall and the small bathroom. He’s going to finish the downstairs next week. Gotta message Vince for an art hanging and small fix-up day. Some mild furniture rearranging. Later one more day with Robin and Michele. I know the remaining closets and storage areas. Probably one morning’s worth. Be good to have all of those things accomplished.

 

Another good workout today. 240 minutes for the week. Enough. May go with the kids on their hike today. May not. Depends on how I’m feeling.

A strong week. Luke on Sunday. With Doug. Doverspike. The kids. Exercise. Breakfast with Alan tomorrow. Maybe take the kids, too. Dreams. First dream session with Irene at 11:00. Life up here on Shadow Mountain. Real life.

 

Still reading Undertow. Maybe a quarter done. Sharlet’s a good writer. And he’s empathetic even when he’s with folks like he discusses in the “manosphere.” This is the online world of incels, sluthaters, fans of the guy who shot up a college in California because it hadn’t given him the “beautiful girlfriend he deserved.” He reports on them as they are, not as they should be, not as he feels about them, but as they are.

He did the same thing with Rick Wilkerson, Jr. The third generation clergy in a mega church dynasty. Miami. A guy who thinks the gospel is about getting yours and being pretty. Sharlet builds a portrait of an America most of us (readers of this blog, for example) have no idea exists. Or, if we do, we know little about the real people inside it and how they live their lives. Remember the subtitle: a slow motion civil war. I can see what he means already.

The manosphere and the Wilkersonsphere are Archimedian levers that pry open cracks in the body politic. As are the Christian Nationalists heading for northern Idaho and those wealthy coastals exercising their right to exit, heading West.

I can see them all from up here on Shadow Mountain.

 

Mussar, Politics, US History, World History

Vive la difference

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Spring and the Garden Path Moon

Friday gratefuls: Alan. Bread Lounge. Mussar. Thursday. Kep with pain resolved. Doug. Colorado Cold. 14. Snow showers off and on. Safeway. Grocery pickup. Lab tests. Thyroid. Plus a few. Nichie. Kristie. Dr. Gonzalez. Ruby. Ivory. Ruth. Gabe. Jon, a memory. Kate, always Kate. Ukraine. Russia. China. India. USA. Liberals. Socialists. Communists. Belize. Marilyn.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: A Mountain Dawn

 

Another good workout yesterday. Hitting 200 + minutes a week this last month. 11 more to go this week. Feels good. No resistance work though. Need to get back to it, but I’ve found a reluctance that I don’t understand.

 

Doug didn’t show up yesterday. That’s what he had said on Tuesday. That he wouldn’t be working Thursday or Friday. Then he said he would be here. Guess whatever it was came up anyway. Might be Snow. He could be a skier. Folks in the Mountains prioritize matters differently. Dr. Doverspike has changed two appointments with Kep due to sudden outbursts of Powder. Makes sense to me. Even if I can’t do it.

 

In Mussar yesterday Sally, a Trump supporter who lives this half of the year in Ecuador but comes in through zoom, said she doesn’t understand all the emphasis on differences. We should be emphasizing how we’re alike, she said. She’s been a good friend to Anshel, a trans man at CBE, and to Luke, the gay former ex-executive director of CBE. And they appreciate her for her friendship.

So the group went off on how everyone has a divine spark (Lurianic kabbalah), is made in the image of God. I agree with the conclusion though the metaphysics for me are different. We’re all children of the stars made of atoms passing through this phase of their existence.

Sally has a wedge issue here and she’s not wrong. We need to emphasize our commonalities. What’s beneath this though is a right wing attack on identity politics. In order to get justice we have to recognize that though we are all one in the eyes of God or the universe differences do exist and they matter when the favors of our civilization get distributed.

For example, we also discussed deed covenants in Denver. No Negroes. No Latinos. No Jews. I’ve mentioned before the first house I bought in Minneapolis had similar covenants. These covenants were legal until 1964 when the Civil Rights Act passed. So here’s the problem. Folks with the power to enforce injustice recognize differences. Ask any gay man or woman. Any trans student forced to choose between gendered bathrooms. Ask any Jew. Any Latino working in the fields of California’s Central Valley or on the lawn of homes of any gated community in the U.S.

That’s not all though. The differences matter in a positive way, too. The richness of a world with Tex-Mex food. With Chinese bronzes from an ancient civilization. With folks among whom you feel comfortable. With hamburgers and pizza. With Italian and Hmong and Tagalog and Arabic and Latin and Korean. With sons from India and daughter-in-laws from Korea. With genders recognized along the continuum that has always existed. With bulgogi and moo goo gai pan. With sushi and a full Scottish breakfast. With tartans and kente cloth. With black skin and white skin and yellow skin and brown skin and red skin. With skiers and snowboarders. With Olympic athletes and amateur golfers.

We need difference. Vive la différence.

Yet we also need to recognize our dependence on the Sun and on Mother Earth. We eat. We laugh. We bark. We cry. We wail. We hurt. We experience awe. We roar. We swim in the ocean depths and fly high above the Lodgepole Pines. We are one as travelers through the vastness on this tiny blue marble.

Are we all one? Oh, yes. Are we all different? Oh, yes. Can we merge these two truths? Oh, yes.

 

 

Politics, Shadow Mountain

Love, Justice, and Compassion

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Spring and the Painter Moon

Tuesday gratefuls: Doug the painter. Starting today. Old age and cancer. A winning combo. Tom migrating the wrong way to the cocaine splattered streets of Miami. (I’ve been watching Narcos on Netflix) Kep. Moving better outside. Solly, now dead at 14. Ruth and Gabe’s dog. Jen’s. Ruth and Gabe coming up next week during Spring break. Another festival for the season. A fertility among rite college students also migrating to Florida. A bright sunshiny day.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: A fresh look for the main level and downstairs

 

Doug starts today in Kate’s old sewing room. The ceiling. Spent yesterday afternoon and early this morning moving stuff out of the way. Have to do it in short segments, then rest. S.O.B. as the docs say. Shortness of breath occasioned by a bum diaphragm and low T. Plus that nasty bugger sarcopenia. Not a big deal unless I’m bending over a lot. Which this required.

Some stuff I can’t move. Heavy boxes, bookshelves. We’ll do that together when he comes. I explained my limits to him. He’s 69 himself, but fitter than I am because he’s kept up physical labor. Of course, at 69 I was in good shape, too. He said I looked good for 76. Liked that.

I’m excited. This is the capstone project from the days of figuring out I wanted to stay here. After this, art gets hung, furniture arranged in configurations that should last a good while. My home. With Kate’s memory imprinted everywhere, of course.

 

Xi Jinping and Vladimir Putin. Buddies. Dear Friends. They said so on TV. Well. Remember that New World Order? It’s shaping up as Ukraine and its fight reshapes global politics. Pushing the US and Europe closer together. Solidifying strategic alliances for the US in Asia: Philippines, Japan, South Korea, Vietnam, Australia. And of course, most importantly, Taiwan. India trying to start punching at its weight. Africa a contested territory. Latin America, too. Big fun.

And meanwhile here at home. WTF? I mean, really. WTF! The right has become a many splintered thing. The far left hardly visible. Moderates trying to figure out why they can’t make policy. Good question. Look at Manchin. Sinema. Look at the Boeberts and Greene’s, the Rick Scott’s. Look at the Extreme Court. We’re a nation that has turned in on itself. Like a really bad ingrown toenail. And it hurts. Like a really bad ingrown toenail.

My passion project for this time period is understanding these dynamics. Looking for a way forward. Seems like something political elders should do. And, like it or not, I’m a political elder. Been thinking about politics, justice, freedom, and liberty. The American experiment. My. Whole. Life. Still committed to it. Still believe in it. Still see how very, very far we are from its realization. Yet. I also know that politics are dynamic, a living force in our nation, as in other nations.

My father talked about shuffling off this mortal coil. Don’t hear that phrase much anymore. But until I do, my hand and mind wants to stir the pot, put in words and ideas and actions for a world of love, justice, and compassion.

 

Cooking, Dogs, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Health, Letters, Literature, Politics, Sport

Dogs and Cooking and Reading

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Imbolc and the Waiting to Cross Moon

Saturday gratefuls: F1 Jeddah. Qualifying. Dr. Doverspike. Kep, pain managed. Walking taller. Cold night. Good sleeping. The light of a new day. A light yellow between the white flocked Lodgepoles. A robin egg’s blue sky above. 5 degrees. Another Shadow Mountain morning. Each day is a new life. A resurrection. A rebirth. Jon’s house on the market next weekend. My son the golfer. His wife, too. Furman. Farleigh Dickinson. No more Arizona. No more Purdue.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: A Mountain morning

 

So. No radiation this week. Got a call from Dr. Simpson yesterday. Radiation oncologist. Am I experiencing any difficulty in tasks of daily living as a result of my cancer? No. That’s what they wanted to know. They being the just say no team at United Health Care. Might know next week. I feel good about participating in holding health care costs down. Don’t I?

 

Dr. Doverspike came yesterday. We agreed Kep has made steady, but slower than expected progress. Probably because of the long low dose steroids. Stopped those. Now he needs to get outside, wander around. Climb stairs. Rebuild muscles. He’s still 13 of course so he’s not going back to bounding around. He’s calmer. Sleeps through the night. Eats well. A good life.

 

Cooked Salmon last night. Still finding the right temps using the induction cooktop. Found it for Fish last night. No more burning. Setting 7 out of 10. Made cacio e pepe in the morning. Cheese and black pepper spaghetti. Put a couple of Eggs on top of a modest serving. Fancy breakfast. Adding the leftover chorizo from the soup I made last week. Tasted good. Had Salmon, cacio e pepe, and mixed vegetables for supper. I enjoy cooking when I feel up for it. I always make breakfast. Usually, these days, overnight oats. Plus something else. Blueberries. Eggs. Yogurt. If I eat a big lunch, I’ll probably skip cooking an evening meal.

 

I’ve only got a few more books to go in the Joe Pickett series by CJ Box. Then I’m going to shift my fiction reading to the Arabian Nights. A return journey. Still working my way through Vibrant Matter. It’s a short, but dense book. Nearing the end of How to Change Your Mind. Got James Pogue’s book, Chosen Country, on the Malheur Occupation. Still following that far right thread. The newspapers and magazines help me, too. The Proud Boys and their lawyers antics during their sedition trials. An Atlantic article on political violence talking about Portland as a battleground between far leftists, anarchists, and the far right. The abortion pill debacle. Trump and DeSantis. This is gonna get worse.

If Rich is right, it may never get better. Who knows. I may own property in the sovereign nation of Colorado if I lived on another hundred years. What fun.

 

Gotta get some breakfast. Watch qualifying in Jeddah. Read the articles about Purdue and Farleigh Dickinson.

Oh. And the day has fully dawned with bright clear light falling on the Snow covered Lodgepoles. Till tomorrow.

 

Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Politics, Reimagine. Reconstruct. Reenchant., US History

Memory Foam and Vibrant Matter

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Imbolc and the Waiting to Cross Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: Shirley Septic and Waste. Ruth. Gabe. Probate. My son’s diligence. Kate, always Kate. That Tempurpedic mattress. Sleep. The changing of the times. Kep’s good appetite. Taxes finished. Beau Jo’s pizza. Finished. A workout day. Vibrant Matter. Assemblages. Conatus. Aporetic. Learning new words. ChatbotGPT4. Fun. Resting heart rate getting lower. Dreams. Playfulness. Snow and Cold coming.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Probate and my son

 

Didn’t expect this. Rotated the Tempurpedic mattress Kate and I bought around Thanksgiving of 2015. Settled in the other night for sleep. Realized that this memory foam mattress contained imprints of Kate’s body. And I was lying on top of them. Felt good. Much like life in the house. The imprints of her life and mine are everywhere, from the collection of specialized kitchen utensils to the small glass Turtle on the new home office shelf. Her sewing room now a dining room. The Portmerion plates, bowls, serving platters. Bought on our honeymoon in London. The oriental rug she bought for her townhouse. Jerry’s two big paintings. Imprinted. In my heart. Imprinted forever. Her memory a blessing.

Ruth has decided she wants to go to CU Boulder, get a BFA with a concentration on printmaking. This is a change from Cornell for a Pharm.D. which has been her focus for the last couple of years. And she may change again. And yet again. She is, after all, sixteen, soon to be seventeen. The time of wide swings in interests, goals, dreams. May she find herself, her focus, her own way when it’s time.

Meanwhile Gabe’s wrestling with facial hair, dead lifting two hundred pounds, and trying to get his GPA up to a B this semester so I’ll take him to Benihana.

Next month is birthday month for this pair. Ruth on the 4th and Gabe on the 22nd, Earthday. Brother Mark’s birthday on the 11th and Dad’s on the 12th, the date of Kate’s death. Also Kate’s second yahrzeit. Gabe will turn 15. A big month for family.

 

Read chapter 2 of Vibrant Matter. Jane Bennett uses a big Electric grid blackout in 2003 to demonstrate how vibrant matter can act within what she calls an assemblage and affect both human communities and other assemblages. The notion of vibrant matter for her entails a new way of understanding accountability in the political and legal spheres.

Though Enron played a role in this blackout so did the deregulation of the electric grid, changing the rules so power generated in Ohio could be sold to homes in California. More. The behavior of Electricity itself. When running through a grid on its way to a more distant destination Electricity might follow the path set out in the contracts or it might choose to follow a different route. In this case it did, creating on its own a loop of Electricity running through the grid in Ohio and other near by states. In the end it was a complex interaction of vibrant matter, Electricity, Trees falling on transmission wires, Wildfire, legislation, corporate greed, and the building out of exurbs that created the blackout.

This understanding of vibrant matter as what Benett calls an actant changes the legal considerations for assigning blame. A fascinating approach to what I might call animism or paganism.

 

Beyond the Boundaries, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Memories, Politics, Reimagine. Reconstruct. Reenchant., US History

A Psychedelic Old Age Anyone?

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Imbolc and the Waiting To Cross Moon

Monday gratefuls: Movies. Women Talking. TV. New Amsterdam. On Joy, Season 4, episode 1. The Last of Us. Finale. Furball Cleaning. CJ Box. James Pogue. Anarchy. Political Violence. Decivilization. Michael Pollan. How to Change Your Mind. The Plant Magic Cafe in Denver. Keens. Ruth and Gabe this afternoon. Taxes. It’s time. Silicon Valley Bank. Vibrant Matter.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: ChatbotGPT

 

This week. One eye exam. Two radiation treatments. Three visits with friends. And a Peruvian glazed chicken breakfast for supper. Almost Christmas. Gotta figure out my playlist for the Cyberknife. Coltrane. The Band. Cool jazz. The Blues. The Goldburg Variations. Not sure.

Yes, there’s a bit of absurdity to my life. It veers from the sublime to the profane and back again. Wait a minute. That’s everybody’s life isn’t it? One moment we’re watching our grandson make his uneasy way across the floor to us and the next we’re paying bills. Getting on a jet plane for that much needed vacation. Stuffing the grocery list in our pocket and heading out to Safeway or Lunds.

We can’t afford to stay in one state too long. Neither the mundane or the profound. Not built for it. A continuous state of ecstasy would drive us mad. Too much of the quotidian dulls us, pulls under. We all need to work on our ecstatic to the ordinary balance.

That’s why I plan to head into the Plant Magic Cafe someday soon. See if there’s someone who can help me find a willing source for some psilocybin. It’s been a minute for me. It’s now legal in Colorado to receive a gift of psilocybin. And to have it in your possession. But you can’t buy it.

Not that that’s the only source of ecstasy for me. Dream world. Hiking in the Mountains. Reading a great poem. Discovering new ideas. Deep conversations with friends. Writing. Even so. It is one and I want to go again.

There was this time, you see. Long ago and far away. But not so long ago, really. When students opposed a stupid war. Men walked on the Moon. And there were drugs to help you find your own way among the stars. The music, too. That wonderful music. We did slip the surly bonds of normal life. A time when the ecstatic to the ordinary balance tipped toward the ecstatic.

We lived it. Some of us. Then many of us, most of us, allowed the lapping Waters of work and family to serve as a constant draught from Lethe. We never fully forgot though. A bit of Tinkerbell’s dust remained caught in our hair.

No. I don’t want to go back to a psychedelic age of protest and up the establishment. That was college. This is old age. What I want is a psychedelic old age. And protest? Of course. Always. Up the establishment? Never quit on that one. Or the protest either for that matter.

Thing is I can’t stay up late lying on the floor with my head between the speakers and the Doors cranking out Riders on the Storm.

What’s that look like? A psychedelic old age. About to find out.