Category Archives: Friends

Art and Culture, Family, Friends, Politics

Japanese Armor and Flights West

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Beltane                           Waxing Planting Moon

Up early.  For me.  7 am.  Had to get Kate to the bank and to the airport by ten.  We made it.  Her plane took off at 11:45, (turned out to be 1:15 pm instead) so Delta promised.  I haven’t heard from her yet, but I imagine she’s there and in her hotel and asleep.

The airport always makes me laugh.  The alert level remains at orange.  Does anybody recall what that means?  I don’t.  Also, the sign suggests, report suspicious activity.  Call 911.  Irony aside, I wonder how many calls they get?  After, of course, you screen  out the people who call all the time.  Not that threats are not real, and certainly not that they should be taken lightly, rather the government that gives the same message over and over and over and over while nothing happens begins to look silly, out of touch.  They need to do something different.

Since I live up north, I rarely have the opportunity (challenge) to drive on Hwy 62, but I took it into the Museum.  Boy.  What a ride.  The new ramp that carries west bound 62 traffic onto Hwy 35 sweeps up in a broad, elegant curve.  At its apex, the view offered of downtown Minneapolis has a picture postcard look.  A great way to introduce newcomers to the city.

George Hisaeda, Consul General of Japan at Chicago, offered commendation to the Minneapolis Institute of Arts for its dedication to Japanese arts, and the acquisition of an important suit of armor.  I went to this hoping to hear the lecture by Matthew Welch that I missed earlier.  The Consul General offered kudos to the MIA for its fine presentation of Japanese culture and arts.  He also commended Matthew Welch on his remarkable work building the collection since 1990.

After the Consul’s presentation, Matthew gave an abbreviated version of his explanation of the armor.  Tom Byfield, my seat mate, wrote notes in spite of the dark.  I hope my eyes improve enough to work as well as his do.  In fact, I hope they improve, very unlikely.

After the armor conversation, we had a meeting of the docent discussion group or whatever it is and decided on events for the summer:  a tour on music by Merritt, a public arts tour in July and a photography event with the curator of photography in August.

Back home for a nap.  This cold I’ve got, the first I can remember in 2+ years, made me very tired, so I slept soundly.  Worked out.  Had a political committee meeting with the Sierra Club.  I serve on this one as a non-voting member.  Works out well since I can use the phone.

Talked to Kate whose flight was delayed an hour and a half here and the baggage was delayed an hour in San Francisco.  She got assistance at both airports though and reported a tiring journey, but a successful one.  As only a meeting of physicians can do, registration for her conference is at 6:30 a.m. tomorrow morning.  Perhaps, it is just occurred to me, based on peoples time zone habits.

Over and out.

Aging, Faith and Spirituality, Family, Friends, Humanities, US History

Baby boomers, angels or devils?

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Beltane                                           Waxing Planting Moon

Baby boomers, angels or devils?  As part of the bleeding edge of the boomer generation, born in 1947, and step-parent to a Gen-Xer who often articulated his frustration with us all, I have had the full boomer experience plus listened to and read many critiques:  self-involved, cowards, greedy, idealistic (in a pejorative sense), hypocritical.  You might summarize it by this phrase:  Not the Greatest Generation.

Were there the yuppies who only provided the then current manifestation of suburban oxford cloth striving?  Of course.  Were their Vietnam War era protesters who were cowards?  Sure.  Did many who critiqued Emerson’s notion of the establishment end up part of it and indistinguishable from those there before them? Had to be.  I’m sure if we did a generational breakdown of the folks involved in the latest banking scandals we would find many boomers among them.  Greedy?  Hell, yeah. Clinton and Bush were our Boomer presidents.  Uh oh.  Did many boomers have dreams of a back to the land paradise that devolved into something much less?  Oh, yes.  I had the Peaceable Kingdom, for example.

All these critiques are valid.  And they would be valid for any generation.  They only express the ongoing critique of American culture as materialist.  It is a critique based in fact.

History will be kinder to the Baby Boomers than the keyhole history used to validate sweeping criticisms.  Why?  Because as a generation we sacrificed ourselves and our lives over and over again.  We provided allies to and were a direct part of the Civil Rights struggle.  When our country interfered in a millennia old civil war in Southeast Asia, using as a rationale a bankrupt understanding of communism, we stood against it.  When women began to push back against the leftists of the day and the whole patriarchal culture, we again provided allies and were a direct part of the struggle.  While many of us blended back into the cultural establishment we had critiqued, which is no surprise, many of us stayed out.  We joined the Peace Corps.  We worked in community organizing, community based economic development, community health clinics.  We stood in solidarity with working people and were working people.  We supported the poor and were poor.

We put our own beliefs and our own received values again and again into the alembic of radical critique.  We changed our hearts, transvaluated our values and moved on to the next struggle.  Yes, we were then and are now guilty of idealism, of believing we need a more just, verdant and peaceful world, as the NPR sponsor says.  Our lives have not been easy, they have often been painful estranged lives, wandering from one inner journey to another, searching always searching, traveling this ancientrail, then another.  This is the stuff of epochal change, of shifting the zeitgeist.

Has that change always gone in the direction we intended or hoped?  Never does.  Has much of the change we sought produced the conservation reaction we saw in Reagan, the Moral Majority, the Christian Right?  Yes, but always remember Alinsky, the action is in the reaction.  The view of history is long.  Once the reactions have settled down, as they may be beginning to now, it will become more obvious that baby boomers paid with the coin of their own lives to gain both victories and defeats.

We rode and shaped a shift from a manufacturing based economy to a knowledge based economy, from a white majoritarian male world to a world with an appreciation for difference, a world in which women have surged ahead, a world in which war no longer stands for glory and is questioned at every turn,  a world in which the world matters.  These are not bad things.  They are good things.  Very good things.

Were we responsible for them?  No.  Did we act as the agents of the change? Yes, we did.  We shaped and were shaped by the chaotic, violent, bigoted world into which we were born.  When the last boomer is dead, our legacy will be a different set of problems from the ones we inherited.  That’s the way culture and history works.

Family, Friends, GeekWorld

Our Servants

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Beltane                                        Waxing Planting Moon

A business meeting took most of the morning.  Our new pull behind wagon for the lawn tractor has come in and I need to go pick it up.  Also, I have to purchase two sprinkler heads, both to replace ones dug up and removed by Rigel.  She does not like the sound of that water in the pipes.  Of course, I also have to solve the problem at its source, the irrigation timing itself.

Yesterday there was no power at all to the wall to which the irrigation clock connects, therefore, no irrigation.  After a number of moves, a tripped GFI switch on the west wall of the garage turned out to be the  culprit.

I often marvel at the number of electro-mechanical servants we have.  The irrigation clock controls twelve different zones allowing us to water different sections of our property at different times and with amounts appropriate to the area.  If we need to go somewhere, we hope in a metal cabin, turn a switch and an internal combustion system comes to life to move us along on our journey.

When we have food that needs long term storage, we put it in a metal box that provides temperature cold enough to keep it frozen.  Food that doesn’t need that level of refrigeration go into either our upstairs or downstairs refrigerator.  Though both cooking devices we have in the kitchen run with gas, if we need an even heat we can use the convection feature in the oven, or we can use the toaster oven.  The microwave cooks foods in a manner inconceivable when I was a boy.  A blender and food-processer save long bouts of stirring with spoons or paddles while an electric mixer will kneed dough and work with flour.  There is, of course, the dishwasher as well.

When we want entertainment, we turn on one of the hd tv’s which receive their programming through a cable attached to our house.  The same cable brings in broad-band internet service which connects our three home computers to the world–quite literally.  These computers allow us to send mail, buy almost any retail product, research all manner of topics, read the news, even watch movies and tv shows if we were so inclined.

That’s not all.  If we want to talk directly to friends or family near or faraway, we can pick up a small phone, independent of any lines at all and call toll free, all amazing from the reference point of my childhood.

In addition of course we have the lights powered by electricity in every room of our home and in outlying sheds as well.

Now, go back over this list and imagine the number of servants it would take to water the property with the kind of precision and control I achieve by pushing a few buttons.  Think of all the work in the kitchen that would require either a cook or a stay at home parent.  The internet and cable tv afford us opportunities that were simply not available in my childhood, global reach and multiple forms of entertainment–at home.

Staying connected with friends and family has become casual, not requiring long trips or extended conversations via letter.

Then there’s the matter of all those candles.  Replaced by light switches.

And, oh yeah, how could I forget in Minnesota:  the furnace and the air conditioner.

This is, truly, an age of miracles.  But, the miracles come at a cost, don’t they?

Aging, Art and Culture, Bees, Friends, Great Work, Health, Humanities, Woolly Mammoths, Writing

When Do Many Avocations Become a Vocation?

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Beltane                                       Waning Flower Moon

Beekeeping, it seems to me, must always fall under the avocational** rather than hobby* definition, because it engages one’s time in a manner similar to an occupation, only perhaps not in as time intensive a way.  Under the latter definition I have an avocational interest in gardening, writing, art, religion, politics and now Latin.
Add them all together, as I do in my life, and the result is a vocation composed of many parts integrated through my particular participation in them.

I like the idea of a hobby as an Old World falcon, that is, engaging the world with grace and speed, stooping now and then to pluck a prize from the earth below then returning to some nest high and remote to enjoy it.

Whoa.  Worked out last night at the new, amped up level, after advice given to me by an exercise physiologist.  My polar tech watch which monitors my heart rate began to fade so I didn’t have a reliable way of checking my heart rate.   Guess I overworked myself because when I finished dizziness hit me and nausea soon followed.  Kate was home last night so she took care of me, eventually giving me a tab of my anti-nausea med.  That calmed things down, but didn’t put me right.  So I went to bed early.  Even this morning my stomach was sore, like someone had removed it and wrung it out like a dish rag.  Kate says I may have too little fluid during the day yesterday combined with salty foods.  Combined with the more vigorous workout it upset my body’s homeostasis.  It put me temporarily in the same place as the benign positional vertigo.  No fun.  No fun at all.

Lunch today with Paul Strickland.  He still doesn’t know for sure why his hemoglobin levels dropped so far.  He had a five-hour iron infusion last week and his color is better as are other symptoms.  We talked about his and Sarah’s place in Maine which has the possibility of a large LNG port being created nearby.  This is Eastport, Maine, roughly, and borders Canada, so the Canadian government has a voice as well as environmental groups.  Sounds horrific, an example of big corporate power taking on a relatively weak local government.  Bastards.

More sleep after.  I have returned to near normal but I’m going to skip the workout tonight just to be sure.

I have never sought nor do I plan to seek retirement though most folks would call me retired and I so call myself at times in order to give folks a handle easily understood.

At 6:00 pm I’m going to my first meeting of the Minnesota Hobby Beekeeper’s Association. It raises an interesting question for me about the difference between a hobby and an avocation.

The first two definitions here are of the word hobby:

*1. Etymology: Middle English hoby, from Anglo-French hobel, hobé
Date: 15th century

: a small Old World falcon (Falco subbuteo) that is dark blue above and white below with dark streaking on the breast

2. Etymology: short for hobbyhorse
Date: 1816
This one comes from an entry on avocation:

: a pursuit outside one’s regular occupation engaged in especially for relaxation

** Etymology: Latin avocation-, avocatio, from avocare to call away, from ab- + vocare to call, from voc-, vox voice — more at voice
Date: circa 1617   : a subordinate occupation pursued in addition to one’s vocation especially for enjoyment
Aging, Art and Culture, Faith and Spirituality, Friends, GeekWorld

Every Life Is A Universe

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Beltane                                      Waning Flower Moon

As you can tell, cybermage Bill Schmidt has contributed again to this blog.  He set me up on WordPress and has updated this software from time to time, including the new photograph.  The old one has only been retired, not eliminated.  We would like to find a couple of more photographs I could rotate over the course of year, perhaps a seasonal array.  Thanks again, Bill.

In the docent lounge today I saw Wendy talking with Linda.  This was a moment to remind us that we can never tell what lurks in the life of people we see casually from a distance.  These two women talking, not remarkable.  A woman recently treated for breast cancer and another whose son recently died of an overdose of oxycontin talking, more remarkable.  It took my breath away.

I’ve spoken with both of them over the last few weeks and I can only say that the resilient and yet unblinking attitude they both have is a testament to the human spirit.  We never know the full story of those we meet, even those closest to us, because the inner life exists encased in an impenetrable place, the mind and heart of another.   Still, we do get clues, signals from the interior and they often come in moments of tragedy.

(Pissaro:  Conversation)

One of the truest things I have ever read is that each death is an apocalypse for an entire universe dies each time a human dies.  This makes these encounters with it more telling, for the stakes are so high.  So, the next time you see two people engaged in casual conversation, pause a moment to celebrate this oh so simple, oh so magnificent act.

Art and Culture, Friends, Health

Marx and Global Art

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Beltane                                              Waning Flower Moon

I checked and rechecked my Latin today and still had a couple mistakes; but, mostly it was much improved over last week’s work.  Greg and I also made our way through 4 more verses of the Metamorphoses; if I count right that leaves only 14, 991 or so to go.  That was the morning.

When I finished, Kate put a blue sack in my hand and I headed off to the MIA.  The sack had a grilled cheese sandwich, a banana, mochi, pickles and a diet rootbeer.  I polished that off on the way while listening to a very interesting lecture on Marx’ theory of alienation.  When I’ve had a chance to absorb it a bit more, I’ll write about it here.

At the museum I attended a lecture on contemporary art with an emphasis on its global expression.  The woman, Kristine Stiles, has impressive academic credentials and has compiled a key text for the study of contemporary art:  Theory and Documents of Contemporary Art.  She tried to stuff a consideration of Until Now and ArtRemix into an already existing lecture on her new book, World Trends in Global Art Since 1945.  It was too much.  She spoke fast, trying to finish, leaving little room for the audience to write or absorb.  Even so, there was a lot of interest and it will help frame tours of the Until Now exhibit when I have to begin.

(much of the contemporary art in Vietnam uses socialist realism, sometimes done on billboards, but also, sometimes using oil paints on silk.)

Spoke a moment with Wendy Depaolis who had surgery February 1st.  She looks great and credits her exercise and healthy eating.  Something’s working well for her.

Art and Culture, Bees, Friends

Yeah, Mon

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Beltane                                            Waning Flower Moon

Good bee news on two fronts.  In colony 2, the child colony, I inserted the queen using the slow release method, a piece of marshmallow covering her escape route which she and her new family will eat away over the next few hours.  Hopefully, this slow entry of her pheromones into the colony will encourage this colony to accept a strange queen.  In colony 3, the one begun from the 2 pound package a bit over a week ago, I checked the frames today and found larvae.  That means the queen survived my clumsy introduction of her using the quick release method, basically shake her out on a frame and then close up the hive.

At the moment, then, I have the parent colony with two honey supers on, the child colony, the division, with a new queen, and a third colony with its new life here under way complete with a laying queen.  The parent colony should produce a good honey flow this summer.  The child colony may produce a bit of honey but its primary job is to become a colony strong enough for division next spring.  That is also the task of colony 3.  The goal is to have two parent colonies next spring and two child colonies.  If I can maintain those numbers, we should have a lot of honey, some to give as gifts and some to sell at the farmer’s market.

I added my second copper top when I put in the new queen.  Soon I’ll order a copper top for the parent colony and next spring I’ll add the fourth one.  With the polyurethaned hive boxes and  honey supers, the copper tops will make our bee yard an aesthetic addition to the place.

Earlier today I attended a docent luncheon for Michele Yates, leaving for York, Pennsylvania on June 20th or so.  Allison’s place sits near 50th and France.  Her neighbor’s house has a Sotheby’s real estate sign.  That kind of neighborhood.  Her backyard has stone landscaping and orderly plantings all in vigorous growth.  She has a gracious home and entertains with elan.

Carreen Heegaard told the story of her 1988 honeymoon, nicely timed to coincide with Hurricane Gilbert.  She and her new husband Eric had chosen Jamaica as a destination because the prices were very reasonable.  They spent the first night of their Jamaican vacation in Peewee’s Bar, perched high above the ocean, Peewee’s being one of the few nearby buildings that had concrete walls.  She described the sound of nails popping out as the train-sounding winds peeled back the corrugated roof exposing all those huddled under a long table to the pounding surf and rain.

The highlight of her story, which had many, involved their trip to the grocery store after Gilbert had passed.  In Carreen’s  words, “There we were, a Minnesotan (Eric) and a Canadian (Carreen), standing in line with a grocery cart while the store was being looted.”  Says so much about cultural variance.

Aging, Art and Culture, Bees, Family, Friends, Garden, Health, Woolly Mammoths

Man About Town

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Beltane                                    Waning Flower Moon

We were both a bit achy from yesterday’s garden-a-thon, but it’s that good kind of ache that comes from things accomplished, the kind of things outside, those things that often feel more substantial, more real than the reading and writing.

Today has busy on it, too.  In an hour there’s a going away party for Michele Yates, a sweet woman, an artist, a French citizen long ago, now American for the most part.  We’ll miss Michele, we being the docent class of 2005.  We’re a close group, again for the most part.  We met every Wednesday for two years, not to mention hours of practice tours, parties, that trip to New York, enough time to bond with each other and as a group.  Michele is part of us and she’s leaving, so we need to say good-bye.

I leave Michele’s party to visit my dermatologist, not exactly a 9 on my thrillometer, but one of those important self-care things, like teeth cleaning and annual physicals.  Dr. Pakzad, a thin, intense guy comes in white coat, hurried but kind, confident.

In between Dr. Pakzad and the Woolly restaurant evening tonight, I have to get in a nap, queen my divide and check the package colony for larvae.  It’s doable, but it will be a whir.

Tomorrow morning I’ll go with Kate for her first visit to Dr. Heller, who does the minimally invasive hip replacements.  This visit should determine whether Kate has the right pathology for a hip replacement.  I hope she does.  She throws her right leg out as she walks, trying to find a movement that doesn’t cause pain.  With no luck.

37

The Way takes no action, but leaves nothing undone.
When you accept this
The world will flourish,
In harmony with nature.

Nature does not possess desire;
Without desire, the heart becomes quiet;
In this manner the whole world is made tranquil.

Aging, Bees, Dogs, Faith and Spirituality, Family, Friends, Garden, Great Work, Humanities, Our Land and Home, permaculture

Home

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Beltane                                     Waning Flower Moon

There is here the action:  taking the hive tool and wrenching loose the propolis, moving the frame, all the while bees buzzing and whirring, digging into the soil, placing the leeks in a shallow trench, the sugar snap peas in their row, inoculant on top of them, around them.  The plants move from pot to earth home, their one and true place where they will root, work their miracle with light and air.  The dogs run, chase each other.  Vega plops herself down in the water, curling herself inside it, displacing the water, getting wet.

There is, too, this other thing, the mating of person and place, the creation of memories, of food, of homes for insects and dogs and grandchildren, for our lives, we two, on this strange, this awesome, this grandeur, life.  This happens, this connection, as a light breeze stirs a flower.  It happens when a bee stings, or a dog jumps up or leans in, when Kate and I hug after a day of making room for  more life here.

In a deep way it is unintended, that is, it happens not because it is willed, but because becoming native to a place is like falling in love, a surprise, a wonder, yet also a relationship that requires nurture, give and take.  In a deep way, too, it is intended, that is, we want to grow vegetables, flowers, fruit, have room for our dogs and for our family, for our friends.  The intention creates the space, the opening where the unintended occurs.

Sixteen years Kate and I have lived here.  A long time for us.  Now though, we belong here.

Aging, Bees, Dogs, Faith and Spirituality, Friends, Garden, Health

Life is a Conspiracy Against Nature

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Spring                                         Full Flower Moon

Dicentra in deep pink, iris in deep purple, tulips in yellow, red, orange and purple, daffodils in many combinations of yellow and white, plus, amazing for this time of year, lilacs, fill out the full flower moon here.   The moon’s light, silvered and slight, gives no presence for the flowers so they close up, invite no visitors.  When I walk in the garden at night, under the flower moon, its namesakes here on earth sleep, perhaps dreaming of bright days, bees and warm breezes.

Emma has recovered almost to her old self, and I do mean her old self, not even her mature self.  Her old self is wobbly, a bit eccentric in motion and attention, but she enjoys the sun, a small dinner and a warm spot on the couch.  So do I.  Life is a conspiracy against nature, wonderful and delightful while it dances and spins, mocking the tendency of all things toward chaos.  That it exists at all is a miracle.

A good day, productive and educational.  All except for that sting on the posterior.  A bit of humility administered by an aging worker bee.