Saturday gratefuls: Gabe. Jon, a memory. Kate, always Kate. Ruth. Jen. Kep, the one who gets me up. Alan and Tom. The changing Moon. The constant Sun. Black Mountain, my stolid friend. Steady. Maxwell Creek, mover of Mountains. Orion’s return. Artemis I. The Land Institute. The Sanctuary. Democrats. Republicans. Independents. USA. Soccer. The World Cup. Formula 1. Book: Romance of the Three Kingdoms. Poem: The Second Coming. Movie: The original Invasion of the Body Snatchers
Sparks of Joy and Awe: Road trip to Colorado Springs
Up a bit late yesterday. Thanksgiving was fun, but it wore me out. Even with my thyroid hormone back to normal I still have no testosterone and chemo. And, I suppose, I’m 75, too. As things are.
Talked to Tom at 8 am. Afterward I worked out, getting my minutes in for the week. 166 after yesterday. 150 is my minimum and I hit it every week unless something dramatic intervenes. Makes me feel good in the moment and later about self-care.
Lunch with Alan. He and Cheri have decided to move into Denver. A neighbor’s house burned down in August. Had the previous owner not been diligent about fire mitigation there’s would have gone down with it. The final piece of evidence Cheri needed to push forward. She’s convinced folks who live up here, like me, will not be able to insure our houses in five years. She’s a bright woman who worked in insurance. Good thing I’m outta here before that. Not really sure I believe it anyhow.
Back home. Wrapped up that Bose Wavesystem 4 I bought off Amazon, a real deal, and shipped it back. The damned thing either wouldn’t play a CD or wouldn’t load them. It did display READING DISC well though. Back to the internet to find something to play my CD’s. I know it’s ancient technology and now long superseded by blue tooth, but I like my collection. And, yes, I have a good blue tooth speaker for my phone and laptop to use. Just stubborn, I guess.
Afterward I joined millions in the U.S. for a black Friday tradition. No, not that one. I ate leftovers. Had a chunk of tenderloin and a good deal of a relish tray brought by Jen and Barb. When you live alone you can eat odd meals like that and no one’s there to comment on it.
Enjoying Wednesday, a limited series on Netflix. I liked the Addams family when it was on many years ago and I’ve enjoyed many of Tim Burton’s films. Jenna Ortega, new to me but not to tween Disney fans, has a wonderful sardonic presence leavened with caring. Tough acting. Said the now two acting classes experienced very amateur actor.
In other news, this disturbing story. At Protests, Guns Are Doing the Talking: Armed Americans, often pushing a right-wing agenda, are increasingly using open-carry laws to intimidate opponents and shut down debate. NYT today
Had not thought about this. It’s a logical extension of the fetishization of guns and the 2nd amendment. Not sure whether there’s a legal argument against it. A chilling effect on free speech should have some weight as should some domestic terrorism laws. Shouldn’t they?
Hate to say it but there may need to be a martyr or two before this issue becomes heated enough for some political action.
After some thought last week (see my posts about Ezra Klein and Pippa Norris) and after Tom introduced me to the Chrysalis Effect by Phillip Slater, I’ve begun to unwind my pessimism about the future. Yes, even in light of this story and in some ways because of it. I now believe this is a transient phenomenon, this right wing, armed fear. The transient period may be long, perhaps decades, but we will age out of it and into a world dominated by Gen Z, Ruth and Gabe’s generation. They have more vision and compassion than exists in our current political climate.
That caveat? That the norms of our democracy might be destroyed before this transition can take place. Alleviated by the mid-terms. Not resolved, no. But lessened. We can still take a punch.
Tuesday gratefuls: Tony’s. That tenderloin roast. Salad. Oh and that sugar cream pie. Diane’s family recipe. King Soopers. The bank. Cash money. In the pocket. Robin. Wrangling my space. Painters. Chilly nights. The mid-terms. Soil. Plants. Rock. Air. Water. Fire. Stars. Artemis I. Exploration. NASA. JPL. The days of our lives. Books. Richard Powers. CJ Box. Immodium. China. Hawai’i. Minnesota. Club Q. Pulse.
Sparks of Joy and Awe: Good sleep
Colorado Springs. A conservative town. Where hate is fed by so called family values evangelicals. By years of GOP candidates who fed hate into the political blood stream of the city. By the US historical hatred of difference: race, gender, sexual preference.
The West was won. Sure. By killing the folks who didn’t look like the “pioneers.” And, oh yeah, the West is the original gun culture. Side arms and Remington rifles. No gun control at the OK corral. Or in Tombstone or Deadwood. I happened to be in Denver in 2012 when James Holmes went to an Aurora Theater and killed 12 people watching a late showing of a Batman movie.
An irony. The day after the Club Q shooting in Colorado Springs Colorado officially renamed Mt. Evans, Mt. Blue Sky. Why? Because Governor John Evans created the circumstances that led to the Sand Creek Massacre, a critical negative juncture in relations between First Nations peoples and the U.S. government.*
We can treat the Club Q shooting as an expression of Western values, Christian evangelical values, Republican values. As an expression of the perverted, fetishistic worship of the 2nd amendment. As an extension of the pandemic of gun violence which now features four more mass shootings since Club Q: Illinois, Mississippi, Oklahoma, Texas. 600 before Club Q in 2022. (gunviolence.org) 39,567 people have died THIS year due to some form of gun violence.
Sadly. When will we ever learn?
Yesterday was a busy day. After writing Ancientrails, I waited on Greg Lell to come. He’s going to be my third bid for painting the upstairs. Greg’s guy stained the house a year ago. If his bid is close to the others, I’ll take it since he proved what he can do. He told me 25% of his business comes from showing up when other painting contractors don’t. That’s the Mountains.
Worked out. Over to the bank to deposit checks, including one from Heatflo covering the cost of my dead water heater. Bought two bundles of firewood for Thanksgiving. Then over to Tony’s to see if I could get my tenderloin roast early. Yes. I could. They tied it up for me, too. I plan to dry brine it this afternoon. Made an experimental sugar cream pie. Pie crust, a deep dish, was too much otherwise. Tasty. While making sure the pie was edible for my Thanksgiving guests, I seem to have upset my digestive tract. Oh, my.
*On November 29, 1864, roughly 700 federal troops attacked a village of 500 Cheyenne and Arapaho on Sand Creek in Colorado. An unprovoked attack on men, women, and children, the massacre at Sand Creek marked a turning point in the relationship between American Indian tribes and the Federal Government. From the day of the attack, US Army actions at Sand Creek have been controversial, because the Cheyenne and Arapaho thought they were at peace with the government and innocent people died. The distrust that grew from what occurred at Sand Creek led to later conflicts at Little Big Horn…” NPS
“Colorado Governor John Evans warns that all peaceful Native Americans in the region must report to the Sand Creek reservation or risk being attacked, creating the conditions that will lead to the Sand Creek Massacre.
Evans’ offer of sanctuary was at best halfhearted. His primary goal in 1864 was to eliminate all Native American activity in eastern Colorado Territory, an accomplishment he hoped would increase his popularity and eventually win him a U.S. Senate seat. Immediately after ordering the local Native Americans to the reservation, Evans issued a second proclamation that invited white settlers to indiscriminately “kill and destroy all…hostile Indians.” At the same time, Evans began creating a temporary 100-day militia force to wage war on the Native Americans. He placed the new regiment under the command of Colonel John Chivington, another ambitious man who hoped to gain high political office by fighting Native Americans.” History
Friday gratefuls: Stevenson Toyota. Blizzaks. Gripping the Snow. Ruby oiled, new boots, tires aligned. A sweet ride. Took her in at exactly 39,000 miles. Could use a good scrub though. Inside and out. The Mountains this morning. Trees with Frost up and down Black Mountain, Conifer Mountain. The Sun shrouded by Clouds. Shadow Mountain Drive snaking its icy way to Hwy. 73. Jackie. Chance. Kristie. Diane and Tom. Me. The Lodgepoles and Aspens.
Sparks of Joy and Awe: My good friend Kep
How do I feel? Joyful. How do I feel? Glad. How do I feel? Amazed. How do I feel? Stressed. How do I feel? Grateful. Leaving Shadow Mountain at 7:30 am the Mountains sparkled in filtered Sunlight. Like driving in a Christmas card. Could have seen a sleigh pulled by horses, jingling all the way. 16 degrees. Snow on the Ground. The Trees decorated on each Branch and Twig, Pine Needle and Trunk. I smiled and would have clapped my hands except you know driving.
Further down the hill the Clouds gave way to Colorado blue Sky and the Hogsback, the front edge of the Front Range, was white with last night’s Snow. Beautiful. What a beautiful, delightful place to live. Glad I’m staying. Both going down and coming back up the hill in the morning I had the good luck to follow snow plows. No dangers at 20 mph.
Handed Ruby off to Chance a Toyota advisor, got a ride to Enterprise rental and picked up a Corolla so I could come home, attend my creativity class and workout. Which I did.
After a lunch of Corn salad, Honeycrisp Apples with Peanut butter and Camembert cheese, I hopped in the Corolla and drove back down the Mountain to collect Ruby. Oiled, aligned, winter boots. Vitals checked. She’s in good health.
Drove back up the hill to Aspen Park where Jackie cut my hair and trimmed my beard. She’s such a sweetie. Ronda, too. The conversation in Aspen Roots focused on preparations for Thanksgiving. Jackie’s doing two Turkeys! 22-24 people. Whoa. We talked about things as we always do. After talking about family a bit, Jackie said, Oh, yeah. Family. The other F word. That cracked me up. So often true.
Back here on Shadow Mountain I fed Kep and came downstairs to write this.
Still drifting politically. Got the book Cultural Backlash in the mail yesterday. Pippa Norris and Ronald Ingelhart. I mentioned it a few days back. Pippa was on the Ezra Klein podcast last week. Got as far as definitions of populism and authoritarianism. Really odd how they so often rise up together, yet directly contradict each other. Populists want each one of the real people to have a voice, to be in control. Authoritarians want to provide security to the real people. The price? Their voice, their impact on government.
Wednesday gratefuls: No red wave. Judy’s courage. Tal. A fine director. Astrov, a wonderful character. Memorization. Rebecca. Georgeta. Nittya. Hamish. Emily. How do I feel? Relieved. Chekhov. Kate’s courage. Always Kate. Jon, a memory. Ruth and Gabe. Cold weather coming. A property manager. Vince. (have him handle appliances, too?) Hawai’i. Such a fine place to be. CBE, home turf. Shadow Mountain, home. Kep, dogged. Dan, who brought me home grown marijuana and honey from his own hives yesterday. Past president of the congregation.
Sparks of Joy and Awe: Democracy’s faint pulse
First. My friend Judy died yesterday. If she followed the path she had explained to me, she took the medication with a trusted friend by her side reading the Psalms. Her shiva minyan is tomorrow night. I’ll be there. Kate, too, chose her own death. This kind of courage needs celebration. It says we can choose to leave life with honesty, with compassion for ourselves and for those we love. It will never be an easy choice which insures its integrity. Judy leaves behind a collection of recipes for the foods she often brought to our meetings. I’ll make at least one this next week in her memory. May her memory be for a blessing.
Second. No red wave. Odd, isn’t it, it just occurred to me. Who’s the red menace now? Dr. Oz will have to go back to celebrity medicine. Sad Stacey Abrams lost. I’ve not done a deep look at the results but when a Fox news commentator and Washington Post columnist says: “…the Republican Party has some major soul-searching to do following the 2022 midterm elections,” (Marc Thiessen reported in The Hill.) I’m encouraged.
Gulled by Republican propaganda and Democratic whining to expect the worst, I opened the news this morning to find a horse race. Yeah, horses. Still could tip to Repub control I know. Yet. The fact that there’s a struggle suggests the Extremes and the Trumplicans have not prevailed. Our democracy may not end up in the political intensive care ward. At least not yet.
Third. Acting class last night. A lot of memorization ahead of me. A lot. I’m going to devote hours each day until Thanksgiving. I can and will do it. The experienced actors are already off-book for their monologues. I could have been but I vacationed instead. Back to the books now. Literally.
Fourth. The decision. Yes, I said I’d make it after the trip. That’s now. I’m leaving a small crack in the door but here are a few new reasons for remaining in place. I put in the mini-splits and remodeled the kitchen. I moved furniture and rehung art. This is my place now. And I worked hard to get it here.
Do what brings you joy, RJ said. Funny how I’d missed that part of the equation in my logical and careful delineation of this and that. It brings me joy to go to acting class. It brings me joy to cook in my kitchen. It brings me joy to live in the Rocky Mountains, in spite of or because of the challenges. It brings me joy to see Hawai’i as the place I choose to live next. It brings me joy to exercise in my own small gym. It brings me joy to host Thanksgiving for my shrinking family here in Colorado. It brings me joy to light up Herme and think of the Hermitage. It even brings me joy to be so much a part of Judy’s life that her shiva minyan is important to me. So. Oh? See where I’m going with this?
To that end I’ve contacted Vince. He’s coming by today. I may even have him take charge of all the stuff, including my appliances. If I have a need, he would contact the appropriate person and oversee their work. Maybe. Not sure about that. He will handle all the outside work. He’s excited about that and the handyman type work on the inside, too. This property is too much for me to handle. Alone. Might pay him a retainer against which he would bill his services. Then, I can let go of that stuff.
When someone asked what did I want in a new place, I’d often say oh five years or so peace and calm. No drama. Knowing that wasn’t possible but really wanting some stability without headaches associated with home ownership. Yesterday I thought. Wait a minute. I’m upsetting a chance for peace and calm right here by going through this extended home selling, relocating process. Which will then entail a whole new period of upset and chaos. By definition. I can achieve what I really want most easily by continuing the work I’ve already begun here.
By peace and calm I don’t mean stasis. The opposite in fact. I want to get back to writing every day. I want my daily life to flow, as I know it can. I want to see how my life unfolds, not keep putting new barriers in front of that unfolding.
What’s the crack in the door? Health. I’ve got a pulmonology referral. When I meet with them, I’m going to investigate any lung related reasons I should move now. Or, sometime soon. If they exist, and I don’t think they do, I’ll recalibrate.
Saturday gratefuls: Tal. Georgeta. Nitya. The Importance of Being Earnest. Stagedoor Theater. A late Night. Gabe. This afternoon. Blue. Green. Gold. On Black Mountain. Solar panels soaking in the Sun. Boiler Medic. Geowater. Vince. Snowplowing set. Hawai’i. Minnesota. Adventure. Home. The housing market.
Sparks of Joy and Awe: Nitya’s performance
On the subject of liberal arts. If you pay any attention at all to the world of higher education, you know that the liberal arts have been and are under heavy fire from pragmatists of all sorts. Lists of majors that “pay off” are common with Philosophy degrees and Anthropology degrees easily targeted as low earning degrees and not worth the investment. Usually here investment means amount of money for the degree. Guess who has a Philosophy and an Anthropology degree? Yep.
Or, the fabled English major. God help the education major, the arts major. Doomed to a lifetime of depressed financial potential. God better help them because no one in the STEM or Health fields will.
My own conjecture about the roots of this issue lies in the long ago days of decent vocational education, days when blue collar workers could learn welding, carpentry, plumbing, electrical work, auto body and mechanics, cosmetology, secretarial skills and expect to earn a decent living from those skills. By decent living I mean the ability to do three things: buy a house and a car, afford good medical care and food, and a good education for your children.
Three things happened to first confuse then demolish this route to the American dream. First, American manufacturers lost the will to compete with the cheaper labor and goods available in countries like Japan and China. Jobs, blue collar jobs, left the country. Second, foreign goods began to appear in the United States that were not only comparable to US made goods, but cheaper in price, and sometimes, especially in the unfortunate instance of vehicles, better. Third, the combination of one and two lead to the Rust Belt effect where factories closed and well-paying jobs available to persons with a high school degree or even less vanished. Almost overnight.
This is the story, writ large, of my hometown, Alexandria, Indiana. In postwar times, say 1950 to 1970 or so, Alexandria had a thriving main street, Harrison Avenue. On it were two movie theaters: The Town and The Alex. Two grocery stores, Kroger’s and Coxes. Two dime stores, Murphy’s and Danner’s. Broyles’ Furniture. Fermen’s Womens Wear and Baumgartner’s Mens Wear. Mahony’s Shoes. Guilkey’s shoe shop and newsstand. Rexall’s Drugs and Bailey Drugs. The Bakery. The Yankee Bar. Conway’s barbershop.
On Friday and Saturday nights kids from neighboring smaller towns would come to Alexandria to drag main, go to the Kid Canteen, bowl. Parades, big parades, happened on Decoration Day and at Homecoming. Sidewalk Sale days drew customers downtown like weekend food stalls in Bangkok’s Chinatown.
When the crash came, it came fast. By 1974 most of those businesses had altered or closed. In later years plywood fronts would replace plate glass windows. Whole families would leave town in the dead of night, closing the curtains before they left because they could no longer pay their mortgages. Detroit had lost the battle with Volkswagen and Toyota.
I know. You’re thinking, he’s lost the plot. What does this have to do with the liberal arts? Vocational education lead nowhere. Who needed welders? Electricians. Unions began to decline in influence, too, and as they did so did blue collar wages across the board.
It was in this time that the lie of college for everyone began its insidious infiltration into the American zeitgeist. Get a BA and you’ll be safe. College graduates out earn high school graduates. And, this is true. Read this: Do college grads really earn more than high school grads.
And this is the where the story takes its twist. With vocational education or factory union jobs no longer a safe bet for that house and car, good medical care and food, what was left for the blue collar worker? College for all. We’re a small d democratic country. We’re all equal. So it seemed to make sense.
Except it doesn’t. College education takes a certain set of skills and gifts not widely distributed in any population. First, a basic level of intellect. Then, reading and writing skills. A taste for the sort of work required to sit through lectures, study, and write papers or lab reports. This is not about the idea of equality before the law which Americans often confuse with a leveling equality of skills and talents.
Such a leveling does not exist in the US population or any other. I could post links to several articles about the benefits of a college education. You could search them for an admission of the basic requirements to thrive in college. And find nothing.
With the dollar value of blue collar work on the decline along with it went the pride that came with hard work and a decent income. Many blue collar workers used to earn as much liberal arts majors do now. Not anymore. Now the blue collar worker scans and palletizes objects in Amazon or UPS warehouses, sweeps the floors of elementary schools, works in the volatile construction industry. Barely earning a long ago out of date minimum wage.
It was in this transition to an economy with few well-paying lifetime jobs for high school grads that saw white supremacy once again more obvious in US culture. It never left, of course, but it now purported to explain the poor white males declining, even vanishing, prospects. See this recent article by Thomas Edsall, Two Americas.
When the notion of a college education for all began to gain traction in the US mindset, it triggered a concomitant expectation that a college education would deliver a financial reward for those who stuck it out. College education began to replace the old vocational education model where a specific career with specific financial expectations were the norm for students.
And finally we come to the point: In this climate focused on the dollar value of a college education, college education as vocational education, the liberal arts begin to look like a bad bet. Cue the lists of majors and their earning power.
1. The top-paying college majors earn $3.4 million more than the lowest-paying majors over a lifetime.
2. Two of the top highest paying majors, STEM and business are also the most popular majors, accounting for 46 percent of college graduates.
3. STEM (science, technology, engineering, and mathematics), health, and business majors are the highest paying, leading to average annual wages of $37,000 or more at the entry level and an average of $65,000 or more annually over the course of a recipient’s career.
4. The 10 majors with the lowest median earnings are: early childhood education ($39,000); human services and community organization ($41,000); studio arts, social work, teacher education, and visual and performing arts ($42,000); theology and religious vocations, and elementary education ($43,000); drama and theater arts and family and community service ($45,000).
Now we have this remarkable reality in our country. Blue collar workers have trouble, big trouble earning a decent income. Ironically, the communities of color who suffer along with the poor, white male high school grad, have developed ways of coping with economic hardships. See the Edsall article.
And, colleges and universities, stuffed into a false equivalency with vocational education, have cheapened the word value by taking up the talking point of the dollar value of a college education as a primary rationale for attendance.
The problem in other words is not with the liberal arts, but with the mindset that places money as the determiner of a good result in a post-high school education.
This is not only a travesty, it’s a tragedy. And how would you know this unless you had a liberal arts education?
Here’s a good example of what a liberal arts education can do and why it’s not only valuable (good value), but essential:
I don’t know whether the liberal arts in the college and university setting will survive the 21st century. But philosophy, theater, music, painting, sculpture, literature and the other liberal arts will survive. Why? Because we need critical thinking, effective communication, rational analysis, and ethical reasoning to understand and weigh the life or death choices facing humanity. We need them.
Saturday gratefuls: Prostate cancer. Erleada. Rain. Aspens, golden Aspens. A wet driveway with gold coins. Water. Holy, holy, holy. Tom. Diane. Alan. Acting. Chekhov. Tal. Nikkia. Sight. Hearing. Taste. Touch. Smell. Coffee. Safeway. Vaccines. Flu. Covid. Jen. Ruth. Gabe. Denver Springs. Kate, always Kate. Jon. His memory.
Sparks of Joy and Awe: Fall Melancholy
Spoke with Tom. A wide ranging conversation as always. Favorite part. We both spoke to our high school reunions about the things that unite us in spite of divisions. Why we can’t all see that friendships cross political divisions, especially old friendships, saddens both of us.
Class on creativity with Rabbi Jamie. A flash of inspiration. Hochmah. A plan, a container for a work of art. Binah. The act of human creation mimics/is the same as that of sacred creation. In the far away ayn sof, the realm of nothingness, a desire emerges. It travels down the Tree of Life where it realizes itself in the realm of inspirational wisdom, Hochmah. Hochmah passes the desire, now an idea, to the practical wisdom of Binah, the sefirot of builders and wisdom. Here it takes on form, becomes a possibility.
Kabbalah and the arts. The ever flowing Tree of Life finds energy moving down and back up in a continuous circuit. Charging and recharging. Pushing desire into limits where it can act as a catalyst for action, for realization. Kabbalah and Tarot and Taoism. Teachers, revealers. Seeing the processes behind life and its boundless diversity. Opening us to the world unseen as it moves through our daily experience.
No dogma. Nothing but metaphor for the unknown, yet knowable ways the universe changes from invisible to visible, from thought to structure, from vastness to particularity. The path of the sacred as it becomes this holy world in which we live and move and have our being. For a brief time. Until our teshuva, our return to the invisible, the unknown, yet knowable. And our teshuva, our return again, emerging as a desire in the ayn sof, the nothingness, the nirvana, the moksha to which we go like insects toward the ohr, the golden light of holiness. Our chi merged with the tao. Then reemerging as another expression of the tao.
A tarot card presses us to look, to see what cannot be seen until we look, until we see what we are looking at. The power of teshuva rendered clear in the golden Aspen leaves, the bright colors of a Midwest fall, the birth of a child, a memory of a time never experienced in this lifetime.
We can learn to feel the power of desire as it passes into us and through us and on into malkuth, the realm where the holy and the sacred become manifest. Where the bride the shekinah meets the malchiyot the king in his kingdom.
The tree of life not only is a three-d map of the dna of the universe. It also bends back upon itself so that keter, the realm of malchiyot, touches malkuth, the realm of the shekinah. Said another way the masculine, the yang, meets the feminine, the yin, and gives birth to this awful, terrible, wonderful, amazing spot we call reality. Chi and tao. Yin and Yang. Hochmah and Binah. Chesed and Gevurah. Netzach and Hod. Back and forth. Power and desire channeled into containers. The penis and the vagina. The semen in the uterus. In and out. The way of all things.
Thursday gratefuls: Oxygen concentrators. Conifer med. Ann Brown. Paxlovid. Covid. My bed. My schedule. Flexible. Illness. These strange and twisted times. The Aspen out the basement window. Lodgepoles behind it. Kep quiet for now. Liz Cheney. The GOP. Trump, the clown car President.
Sparks of Joy and Awe: Paxlovid.
Wanted to get a Paxlovid script. Called my doc. Positive Covid test. OK, they said, we can see you tomorrow at 3:30. I’m 75, have prostate cancer and a compromised diaphragm. Let me see. OK. Come to the Conifer office at 11:30. Two kind persons came out, a med tech, and Ann Brown, a P.A.
The med tech got my vitals. Ann talked to me about the illness. She reminded me of Paxlovid rebound possibility. Biden. Due to low oxygen saturation numbers she wanted me to drive into the emergency room at Swedish for a chest x-ray. I was not eager to go further than back home.
She agreed to my going home since I have three oxygen concentrators left over from Kate’s long use. She ordered the Paxlovid and coached me:
If you can’t keep your o2 above 90 on the concentrator, go to the emergency room. If you get a fever of over a 102 go to the emergency room. If you get chest pains or shortness of breath, go the emergency room. The big concern is pneumonia, not the covid itself. Pay attention, Covid can turn.
At King Soopers, I got out in my Acorn slippers. Didn’t think I’d have to get out of the car. Walk up pharmacy. Got my drugs and went home. I couldn’t have made it down the hill to an emergency room. When I got home, myo2 sat was 78. The oxygen concentrator brought it back up. And continues to hold it at 90-94. May that continue.
In the times I’ve talked with docs and their staff about Covid something has stood out: respect. This virus has challenged them, met their efforts to ameliorate, and often has given them the slip. One doc said, Covid is weird.
In essence. Respect the disease because it can go down pathways we don’t expect and sometimes very quickly. So. I’ve got my oximeter, my oxygen concentrators, and my Paxvolid. Thermometer, too. Keeping tabs on myself.
The spreading stain of Trumpism and Trumpists. Makes me cry for our republic. Breaking something while claiming to defend it. A curious and tragic strategy.
Monday gratefuls: Early workout. Kep. Realtors. Diane. Tom. Paul. Richard Powers. Dermatology. Clouds in the Sky. Rain yesterday. Hail, too. Looked like Snow. 64 on Shadow Mountain, 92 in Denver. Jon, Ruth, Gabe at the fish and chips place. Ruth has her own money now. Her job. Jon’s waiting for a disability severeness determination. Gabe starts high school today.
Sparks of Joy and Awe: Medicine
Ancient Brothers yesterday. Elder on a bench. My topic. A young man on the bench asked us to give him some thoughts on how to flourish in life. Each of us was to give 3 things that lead to flourishing for us.
It was a fascinating hour. You are enough. Always. Let no one take that from you. Be clear about your work life, lean into it. Floss. Which meant take care of your body as well as your mind. Love the one you’re with. Love all the time, all you can. Take from everywhere, don’t look for wisdom only in the walled gardens of religion or political ideology or received ideas from family. Get a hobby, develop mastery. Seek and keep a few very good friends. Maintain presence in a community. And much more. Wish I’d videoed it. A good Youtube piece.
These guys Mark, Paul, Bill, Tom were there for me through the agony of Kate’s last days and death. With such grace and love. We’ve been there as others have gone through surgery, covid, joys like the birth of Max and Moira’s entry into Texas politics. We know each other at an intimate level. Rare for a group of men our age. Or, any age. I cherish and love each one of them.
At noon I drove into the furnace that is now Denver. A fish and chips place on Broadway. Ruth and Gabe’s favorite place. I hadn’t seen them in a month or so. Ruth’s shift at Rocketflash started at two so they couldn’t come up.
Gabe did not seem enthused about his first day as a freshman in high school. Ruth was every bit the upper classman. Only talk to me if you have normal people with you.
Jon’s waiting for PERA to define his degree of disability. This will determine what work he can do and probably the level of his monthly payments.
We had a good time together. I gave them the photographs I bought for them in Hawai’i. Chatted outside, on a bench, eating fish and chips. A good meal.
When I drove back up to Shadow Mountain, a thunderstorm with hail cooled the temps way down. Another 28 degree temperature spread. So glad.
How bout those classified files, eh? I’m the president and I can do what I want when I want to whatever I want. There is a dogged consistency in Trump’s venality. It lacks vision and strategy while depending on taking today’s problem and creating a tornado where there could have been a waterspout. It’s an odd play, but one he uses so often.
What will happen? Who the hell knows. Trump’s post presidency reminds me of a Shriner convention with all those little cars filled with clowns tooting their horns and throwing confetti.
Monday gratefuls: Tom’s on his way. Kep’s bath. Dealing with money. Realtors. Money managers. The magic in a young girl’s heart. Ruth. Needs some. Jon. Gabe. TheBus on Oahu. That other North Shore. Wawa, Ontario. Pukaskwa. The heart as it changes. Fresh Water. Salt Water. New Mountains. Old Volcanoes. Pele and her ongoing work.
Reading about the geology of the Hawai’ian Islands yesterday. Noticed that the oldest part of the Archipelago, the Kure Atoll, 1,500 miles northwest of the Big Island, formed between 70 and 80 million years ago. Oddly that’s the same time period as the Laramide Orogeny which created the Rocky Mountains.
If the Rockies were covered by an equivalent amount of water as surrounds the Hawai’ian Islands, I imagine they would be Sea Mounts, well below the surface. Mauna Kea is second in height only to Mount Everest when measured from its base on the Ocean Floor.
Yet the Rockies, on land and made of Granite, Basalt, Gneiss, Hematite, and other softer Rocks, stand tall today while the Ko’olau Range on Oahu is only 3,150 feet high. Mauna Kea is 13,800 or so feet above sea level and Haleakala (on Maui) at 10,000 is about the same height as Black Mountain which I see out my window.
Of course the Laramide Orogeny is long over and the Hawai’ian Island building process remains under way. The Sea Mount Loihi, now known as Kamaʻehuakanaloa Seamount, lies about 22 miles off the Big Island’s eastern shore, and is still 3,200 feet from the surface. It’s growing from the underwater flank of Mauna Loa, the largest shield Volcano in the world.
Yes. New stuff to be learned. New curiosities to engage. New people to meet. New ideas to hear and consider. We humans are more like the Hawai’ian Volcanic system than the Laramide Orogeny. As our Self/Soul moves, accretes changes and gifts, we grow slowly from the inside, a Seamount of the Self. If we’re diligent and mindful, before our death we may see the Island in the Sea of human striving that we’ve become.
Well. Damn. Democrats pass legislation! On a 50-50 vote with Kamala Harris casting deciding votes. Forgot this could happen after the sclerosis of the last few years. And on Climate change! Clapping from the peanut gallery, me.
Add to that the stellar work of the January 6th Congressional hearings and a guy could be forgiven for a stray beam of hope lighting up what seemed a permanently darkened sky.
And, yes, I now have some hope. Not a lot, but some. Even 538 says Democrats may take back the Senate. The Republicans still look like they’ll do the usual mid-term boogie and take over, but it’s outside possible that the Extreme Court’s theocratic ruling on abortion might galvanize enough folks to make a big difference. Maybe.
On buddy Tom’s recommendation I drove Kerr Gulch road today. After an unsuccessful hunt for a kiddie pool in which to bathe the Kep. He was right. A beautiful, windy route which narrows to almost one lane as it nears its exit onto Hwy 74 in Kittredge. The houses along there? Big. Horsey. Lottsa cash. Inconvenient so not a lot of through traffic. Quiet. Dangerous in winter for sure.
Tom’s on his way. Tomorrow we’re off to Durango and the train ride. Should be fun.
Decided I’m still on vacation through the end of next week. Why break up a good run when another one starts next Monday?
Result: Breakfast out at the Conifer Cafe.
Kent, my server, had a military haircut, civilian style. High sidewalls somewhat grown out and short bangs. A cleancut All American boy. He also had a waiter’s book with an American flag on the front. Hmm.
A vacation book by John Grisham, The Whistler, sat on my table. “What’s your book about?” “Lawyers and crooked judges.” “Well. We could sure use more rule of law here.” Kent tapped the American flag then pulled out a $2 bill and pointed to the picture in a practiced move. “I always keep Jefferson, Madison, and Monroe close. Those brilliant framers.” He went off to put in my order for eggs over easy and country fried steak.
Pondered that.
At the end of my meal when Kent came to collect my check, I asked him, “So. In your opinion what’s the greatest threat to the rule of law right now?”
He looked a little surprised, then pleased. He gathered his ideas, looking at the blue Colorado morning.
“The first one is that two branches of our government are illegitimate.”
American school children pledging allegiance to the flag
When I gave him a puzzled look, he said, “Dominion and those other voting machine companies. All connected to foreign powers. We need to go back to paper ballots, something we can check and backup.”
Oh. But he had more.
A serious face. “Then we passed the Glass-Stegall act and gave banks the ability to do anything they want.” Oh. Yeah. Populists and I agree at points. This is one of them.
“In the 2010’s we basically legalized propaganda. I’d say voting and the banks though. Those are the biggest threats.”
He didn’t explain legalizing propaganda and I didn’t press. I’d heard what interested me.
Kent was not stupid, nor in a way, preachy. He stated all this as fact. Fact that anyone one paying attention already knew.
I agree that the three things he mentioned, along with Citizens United, are big threats to our democracy. And, on Glass-Steagall, I agree 100%.
Voting rules and measures represent the most exigent threat to our democracy because of the legislation, bolstered by the Big Lie, that puts more and more hurdles in the way of voters. That means we don’t get a free and fair election.
Legalizing propaganda. Making it easier and easier for the dissemination of false “facts” through social media, message boards, and far-right wing media has made it impossible to have a decent conversation rooted in reality. As Kent illustrated.
So here we are. What Kent seemed most like was a Mormon missionary. Clean, respectable, polite and convinced of things so wacky you wouldn’t to spend long talking to him. Oh, and there’s that too close to religious reverence for “our brilliant framers.” Yeah, white men all. Land and slave owners. Convinced that life was fine that way. But also brilliant, yes.