Category Archives: Friends

Bees, Friends, Great Work, Sierra Club

The Everyday Wonderful

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Lughnasa                                                                    Honey Moon

The environmental community has a new addition, Arthur Levi Neilsen, born today.  8.5 pounds, 21.5 inches to Greg Neilsen and Margaret Levin.  Margaret is the executive director of the Northstar Chapter of the Sierra Club.  Congratulations to Greg and Margaret!

Grocery shopping today for the first time in a long time.  Kate’s been handling that for a while, seeking deals quite successfully and saving us money.

It’s been a domestic week for team Olson-Ellis with the honey extracted and partially bottled, excess books taken to Half-Price books and sold and multiple cans of paint and other hazardous waste accumulated over many years taken to the Anoka County hazardous waste pickup.

Now kicking back and enjoying the slow ride toward misplaced heat.  The heat has, however, made rendering the wax from our cappings a breeze.  We have a tupperware container full of bright yellow, clear, wonderful smelling wax.  A treat.

 

Friends

Fortuna, Where Are You?

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Lughnasa                                                                       Honey Moon

Boy, Fortuna decided to take a walk.  I’ll have to find what her devotees left at her altars and get some of it to her.  My cards have been lousy for two times in a row.  I don’t get any sympathy of course and expect none.  I would like to have a decent hand now and again to remind me of the old days.

On the other hand the table conversation among this group of men, among whom I am the youngster, grows deeper and richer each time we meet.  The cards are the point and beside the point at the same time.

Dinner with friend Bill Schmidt at Pad Thai on Grand Avenue in St. Paul.  Good conversation about writing and an excellent peanut salad.

Sheepshead has become a ritual in all senses of the term and I’m glad for it.

Friends, GeekWorld, Woolly Mammoths, Writing

Gratitude

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Lughnasa                                                               Honey Moon

In the now long ago a spiritual director told me that the key component of spirituality is gratitude.

Let this first post after our hiatus be one of gratitude.  Bill Schmidt, thank you!  This wasn’t easy as it turned out and I’m grateful for the perseverance and skill.

I’ve known Bill for over 25 years as Woolly Mammoth and friend.

Art and Culture, Friends

Nude Summer Camp

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Lughnasa                                                            Moon of the First Harvests

Went into Minneapolis today, to the Black Forest, for Nude Summer Camp.  This was actually a reunion of Nude Summer Campers from 2008.  The campers were, with one exception, from the docent class of 2005.  Today the topic was the contemporary nude.  The conversation rolled and rocked from issue 0 of Playboy, thank you Tom Byfield, to relational aesthetics, Joy, the ecstasy of Bernini’s St. Teresa and the general question of why nudes are a topic at all.  We sat in the rear booth of the Black Forest’s outdoor dining area for a couple of hours.

Do I miss giving tours?  No.  Do I miss the continuing education at the MIA?  Wish it was of such quality that I could say yes, but no.  Do I miss driving in every week or so?  No.  But.  Do I miss my classmates and fellow docents, the conversations and the camaraderie?  Definitely yes.

I felt lighter after leaving this conversation.  In the presence of friends.  A life shared with friends is a full life.  And I’m lucky that way with the docents and the Woollys.  I’m grateful for all of them.

Dogs, Faith and Spirituality, Family, Feelings, Friends, Our Land and Home

Kona

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Summer                                                                  Moon of the First Harvests

Kona died this morning.  Both Kate and I spent time with her just before she died.  She was alert and responsive to the end.  She died knowing we loved her and in the crate she knew as her safe place.

(Kona)

We cried, both of us.  Yes, in spite of an end obvious long ago, the actual loss still opens a chasm between the living dog and the dead one.  That chasm represents the never will agains.  And those made me cry.  I would never again feel her nuzzle into my hand.  Never again see her smile.  Never again see her run the trails in our woods.

Her corpse no longer retained her; it was a symbol now, not a reality.  This is a wonder to me.  When I spoke with her about a half hour before she died, she looked at me, put her nose in my palm, caressed me with her muzzle.  Kona was 100% there.  Then, she was gone.  The light left her eyes and her body no longer moved.

The wonder is this, that life has a magic about it, seen most clearly after it is lost.  That which was Kona was there, then not.  Yes, her memories live on, that’s true.  But Kona does not.  The personality, the somewhat aloof I’m living life as I intend to personality of the sighthound, has vanished.  Just like that.

(Rigel, Gertie, Kona)

Life is a miracle, ordinary in its profusion and ordinary as long it exists, yet when it has gone, then we know.  So, each death gives us a moment to reflect on the precious gift we have.  The one carrying us forward into tomorrow.  A gift others give to us, too.  Each death is an opportunity to affirm and celebrate life and living.

Kona’s father was a whippet champion named Drum.  When we picked up Hilo and Kona from the breeder, the puppies and the parents were watching Animal Planet.  We brought them home and they began a series of escapes from the property, going under the chain link fence in pursuit of prey or delight, often both.

We held them on our laps when they were young.  Hilo would squirm, sit up, stretch, jump down.  Kona, the much larger of the two, would lie quietly, happy to be there.  

In her early days Kona was a predator.  I remember one day Kona came up on the deck, dropped something there, then ran back out into the woods.  The something was the still warm and clear eyed head of an adult rabbit.  Why she brought it to the deck I don’t know.   Over a long period Kona would kill rabbits and we would pick up the dead rabbits, put them in a plastic bag and dispose of them.  This never deterred Kona.  She just kept at it.

Hilo died three years ago of kidney failure and was never much of a hunter.  She liked to be with her people.  Kona kept to her self, finding places to sit nearby, sometimes with us, often not.  She kept her own counsel and determined what her day would be like, pretty much independent of us.

After her death this morning, I went out into the garden and sat on one of the raised beds.  Gardens heal.  Surrounded by life and life producing food, the cycle of life was concrete.  Kona fit into this cycle.   It helped me remember that at some point the light in my eyes will go out, too.  And, more.  That will be fine, it will fit into this cycle.

(Vega and Kona)

Kona had privileges the other dogs didn’t.  She would go with me into the garden, mainly because we could count on her not to dig holes in the garden beds.  She would also be outside on our brick patio with us because we could count on her to stay around the house.

She has been part of our lives for 12 plus years, as real and regular a part of our lives as we are to each other.  True she was a dog, but as a companion and fellow traveler on this pilgrimage she was with us, part of our pack as we were part of hers.

We travel on now with one less pilgrim immediately in our presence, yet at the same time, the whole pack with us, all 17 dogs, two parents and two sons.  Amen.

 

 

Art and Culture, Dogs, Friends, Great Work, Writing

A Trip Into The City

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Summer                                                             Moon of the First Harvests

When I picked up our rug from American Rug Laundry, the guy said he couldn’t believe how much dirt he got out of it.  I told him, but I’m not sure it registered, that our dogs really, really like this rug.  All of them.  And they come in and lie down on it.  Roll on it.  Transfer the sand from the Great Anoka Sand Plain to it, deep in its fiber.  As he now knows.  Not many folks let dogs on their multiple thousands of dollars oriental rugs, I imagine.

(this rug.  with favorite dog objects.  the one to the far right is a stuffed squirrel.  a big hit.)

On the same trip I took a baby quilt in to Margaret Levin.  She’s due sometime in the next couple of weeks.  Says a lot about our society that she’s in her last term of pregnancy and still running the Northstar Chapter of the Sierra Club.  Kate makes lots of baby quilts. This one used cloth made from our neighbor’s mother’s stash.  When she died, it fell to Pam who gave it to Kate.  This particular cloth was from the 1930’s.

We talked about politics, of course.  That was my entré to the Sierra Club and what I did with them for 5 years or so.  I asked her if she has the same sense I do that a cultural shift has begun on global warming.  A positive one.  She said yes, but she also said the movement thought one was happening in the 1970’s, too.  Still, you add in a Democratic President and Senate, plus the changing demographics of the U.S. population and there could be real grounds for optimism.  Whether such a shift would happen soon enough to matter? Hard to tell.

Stopped by the Northern Clay Center as well.  It’s only a block from the Sierra Club. There are a lot of able potters represented there.  I’m in the market for another tea pot since I plan to return to brewing tea from tea leaves rather than tea bags when I start Loki’s Children.  A reward for finishing the third revision.  Didn’t find anything.  I plan to look on Sunday at a large pottery show, but if I don’t find anything I’ll head up to St. John’s and Richard Bresnahan.  I’ve wanted one of his teapots for some time.

 

 

Family, Friends, Our Land and Home, Woolly Mammoths

Home Olympics

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Summer                                                        Moon of the First Harvests

Noticed as I did my second round of foliar spray today, vegetative and reproductive plants separately, that we have tomatillos, eggplant, many tomatoes and green peppers.  None ready for harvest, but they’re on the way and it’s only mid-July.

A few last minute things for the Woollies.  Have to move more ash sections to serve as seats and go over the fire pit area one more time.  Kate began prepping for today over two weeks ago.  Between the Woollies and the kids plus Mark in June, we’ve done a lot of spiffing up and getting things ready, things that will last past the events that triggered them.

Sort of the home equivalent of the Olympics.  No bird’s nest auditorium, no fancy velodrome or natatorium, but the fire pit and the cleaned up orchard (which didn’t get scheduled until after the Woollies, but we planned it before), the hung chandelier, Kate’s familiarity with certain recipes and her finely-tuned entertainment acumen, the cut firewood, the lights in the fire pit, not to mention all the reflections on home I anticipate and the memories from June and tonight will vibrate here long after everyone goes to their home while we remain behind, here, in our own.

 

Aging, Feelings, Friends, Health, Third Phase, Woolly Mammoths

Watching As the Lights Go Out

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Summer                                                                        Solstice Moon

When we gathered last night at the Woodfire Grill, five of us Woollies talked, catching up on family, discussing current events, laughing.  Then, the talk turned serious and deep, as the fly fisherman said, “existential.”

A sister-in-law, a chiropractor, called one of us and told him she was retiring.  “Because,” she said, “I’ve been diagnosed with early Alzheimer’s.” That brought silence around this table where the youngest was 64 and the oldest 80.  As is his way, this one wondered how to be present to her, not to fix her, but to aid her in her present situation.  How might he stay present to her over time, perhaps learning enough to alert her children, who live far away when things become dire?

I pointed him to a website I recently added here, under the link’s title, Third Phase, called Watching the Lights Go Out.  Here’s this 68 year old retired physician’s description of its purpose:

“In September of 2012 I was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease. This blog is the story of my day-to-day life with this illness and my reflections upon it. We tend to be scared of Alzheimer’s or embarrassed by it. We see it as the end of life rather than a phase of life with all its attendant opportunities for growth, learning, and relationships. We see only the suffering and miss the joy. We experience only the disappearing cognitive abilities and ignore the beautiful things that can appear.”

One of us has an obvious anxiety about this since he has a mother with Alzheimer’s and definitely does not want to place that kind of burden on those who would be his caretakers. What will I do, he asked, if this becomes me?

We turned to the writer who cared for his mother-in-law, Ruby, who tipped over into Alzheimer’s after open-heart surgery.  He has interviewed many Alzheimer’s sufferers and said that after a couple of years of sometimes intense existential dread, there comes a peace with the disease.

“But I don’t want to not care!” said the one of us who was anxious.  “That leaves my caretakers with the burden.”

This conversation continued, all of us trying to put ourselves in the situation of watching the lights go out.  It was not pleasant, but neither was it hopeless, because we had friends around the table.

A primary inflection of this whole conversation was readying ourselves to live into this and other dark realities that loom not far down the stair case of aging.

 

 

Friends, Garden, Great Work, Weather +Climate, Woolly Mammoths

Svalbard

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Summer                                                                            Solstice Moon

Friend Tom Crane and his wife Roxann are going polar.  Not bi polar, but north polar, getting all the way to the 78th parallel.  Pretty damned far north when you consider the pole itself is 90 degrees north.  On a long list of populated areas by latitude there are only three closer to the north pole and I’m guessing they’re not the kind of places you’d go to get lost in.

(Svalbard in brown on a polar projection.)

Two years ago Kate and I visited Ushuaia, Argentina, the fin del mundo, as it bills itself.  It’s where expeditions for Antarctica set forth.  By contrast it is only at the 68th parallel, a full 10 degrees closer to the equator than Svalbard.

This is one lonely location, though it’s not as isolated, interestingly, as the Hawai’ian islands.  But, I’ll bet when you’re there, it feels more isolated.  Tom says he’s drawn to this trip by the very high caliber naturalists who are along to give lectures and guide.

Svalbard came to my attention, as perhaps to yours, not as a tourist destination for an Arctic experience, but as the home of the Svalbard Seed Vault.

(The entrance and the portion under glass were designed by Norwegian artist, Dyveke Sannes.)

What is it?  Here’s a quick explanation from their website:

“The Svalbard Global Seed Vault, which is established in the permafrost in the mountains of Svalbard, is designed to store duplicates of seeds from seed collections around the globe. Many of these collections are in developing countries. If seeds are lost, e.g. as a result of natural disasters, war or simply a lack of resources, the seed collections may be reestablished using seeds from Svalbard.”

Here are two typically nordic answers as to why they chose this location, especially the last sentence of reason 2.

1. Svalbard, as Norwegian territory, enjoys security and political and social stability. Norway understands the importance of preserving Svalbard as an area of undisturbed nature, which is now an important research and reference area. The seed vault fits ideally into this concept.

2.  Svalbard has an isolated position far out in the ocean, between 74° and 81° N and only 1000 kilometres from the North Pole. The archipelago is characterised by an undisturbed nature. Permafrost provides stable storage conditions for seeds. Besides which there is little risk of local dispersion of seed.

 

 

Aging, Friends, Third Phase

Lady Fortune Takes a Break

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Beltane                                                                              Early Growth Moon

Fortuna shifts her affections.  I fear I’ve been late in my sacrifices to her over the last month.  She left me dangling near the bottom of the pack tonight at Sheepshead.  Balancing things out, I suppose.

(fortuna)

Of course, there were a few self-inflicted wounds that I can’t foist off on her.  But there were those really bad hands.  And, yes, that one very good one.

Had supper with friend Bill Schmidt.  We ate at Pad Thai on Grand Avenue in St. Paul, near Macalester College.  It’s interesting to note how perspectives change as age downshifts expectations and heightens other facets of life.  A factor we both gave a nod to is one little admired in our mobile culture, the virtue of inertia and of its sometime attendant virtue: rootedness.

The soul, I believe, craves constancy, needs some stability and a key way we get that is to put down roots somewhere.  I’ve talked about it elsewhere, but it may be especially important in the third phase.  This is not to deny the attraction of travel, even of picking up and moving somewhere else, but the decision to do so late in life needs, I think, to be carefully made, with an eye not only to what will be gained but what will be lost.