Category Archives: Travel

2013: Second Quarter

Winter                                                            Winter Moon

The first day of the second quarter, April 1st, is Stefan’s birthday and was a gathering of the Woolly’s at the Red Stag.  I made this note: “Here we are seen by each other.  Our deep existence comes with us, no need for the chit-chat and polite conversation of less intimate gatherings.  The who that I am within my own container and the who that I am in the outer world come the closest to congruence at Woolly meetings, a blessed way of being exceeded only in my relationship with Kate.”

The “doing work only I can do” thought kept returning, getting refined: “With writing, Latin and art I have activities that call meaning forward, bringing it into my life on a daily basis, and not only brought forward, but spun into new colors and patterns.” april 2 On the 13th this followed:  “Why is doing work only I can do important to me?  Mortality.  Coming at me now faster than ever.  Within this phase of my whole life for sure.  Individuation.  It’s taken a long time to get clear about who and what I’m for, what I’m good at and not good at.  Now’s the time to concentrate that learning, deepen it.”

The best bee year we’ve had started on April 16th with discovering the death of the colony I thought would survive.  While moving and cleaning the hive boxes, I wrenched back and the pain stayed with me.  That same day the Boston Marathon bombing happened.  In addition to other complicated feelings this simple one popped up:  “The most intense part of my initial reaction came when I realized what those feelings meant, the emptiness and the sadness and the vacuum.  They meant I am an American.  That this event was about us, was done to us.”

Another theme of this quarter would be my shoulder, perhaps a rotator cuff tear, perhaps nerve impingement caused by arthritis in my cervical vertebrae.  Maybe some post-polio misalignment.  But over the course of the quarter with a good physical therapist it healed nicely.

Kate went on a long trip to Denver, driving, at this time, for Gabe and Ruth’s birthdays. While she was out there teaching Ruth to sew, Ruth asked her, “Why did you become a doctor instead of a professional sewer?”  When Kate is gone, the medical intelligence of our house declines precipitously.  That means doggy events can be more serious.

Kona developed a very high fever and I had to take her to the emergency vet.  She had a nodule on her right shoulder which we identified as cancerous.  This meant she had to have it removed.  At this point I was moving her (a light dog at maybe 40 pounds) in and out of the Rav4 with some difficulty because of my back.

This was the low point of the year as Kona’s troubles and my back combined to create a CBE (1)dark inner world.  The day I picked Kona up from the Vet after her surgery was cold and icy, but my bees had come in and I had to go out to Stillwater to get them, then see my analyst, John Desteian.  That day was the nadir.  I was in pain and had to go through a lot of necessary tasks in sloppy slippery weather.  That week Mark Odegard sent me this photograph from a while ago Woolly Retreat.

By the end of the month though Kate was back and April 27th:  “Yes!  Planted under the planting moon…”

For a long time I had wanted to apply my training in exegesis and hermeneutics to art and in this time period I decided to do it.  In the course of researching this idea I found I was about 50 years late since the Frankfurt School philosophers, among them, Gadamer and Adorno, had done just that.  Still, I patted myself on the back for having thought along similar lines.

Over the last year Bill Schmidt, a Woolly, and I have had dinner before we play sheepshead in St. Paul.  His wife, Regina, died a year ago September.  “Bill continues to walk straight in his life after Regina’s death, acknowledging her absence and the profound effect it has had on his life, yet he reports gratitude as his constant companion.”

By April 29th the back had begun to fade as an issue: “Let me describe, before it gets away from me, submerged in the always been, how exciting and uplifting it was to realize I was walking across the floor at Carlson Toyota.  Just walking.”

Kate and I had fun at Jazz Noir, an original radio play performed live over KBEM.

In my Beltane post on May 1st I followed up my two sessions with John Desteian:  “John Desteian has challenged me to probe the essence of the numinous.  That is on my mind.  Here is part of that essence.  The seed in the ground, Beltane’s fiery embrace of the seed, the seed emerging, flourishing, producing its fruit, harvest.  Then, the true transubstantiation, the transformation of the bodies of these plants into the body and blood ourselves.”

Then on May 6th, 5 months into my sabbatical from the MIA:  “The third phase requires pruning.  Leaving a job or a career is an act of pruning.  A move to a smaller home is an act of pruning.  Deciding which volunteer activities promote life and which encumber can proceed an act of pruning.  Last year I set aside my political work with the Sierra Club.  Today I have set aside my work at the Minneapolis Institute of Arts.”  That ended 12 years of volunteer work.

“When you recover or discover something that nourishes your soul and brings joy, care enough about yourself to make room for it in your life.”

Jean Shinoda Bolen 

It was also in May of this year that Minnesota finally passed the Gay marriage bill.  Gave me hope.

May 13 “Sort of like attending my own funeral.   All day today notes have come in from docent classmates responding to my resignation from the program.”  During this legislative session, I again became proud to be a Minnesotan.

As the growing season continued:  “If you want a moment of intense spirituality, go out in the morning, after a big rain, heat just beginning to soak into the soil, smell the odor of sanctity…”

On May 22nd the Woolly’s gathered to celebrate, with our brother Tom, the 35th year of his company, Crane Engineering.  The celebration had something to do with a crystal pyramid.  At least Stefan said so.

A cultural highlight for the year was the Guthrie’s Iliad, a one person bravura performance by veteran actor, Stephen Yoakam.

Friend and Woolly Bill Schmidt introduced me to High Brix gardens.  I decided to follow their program to create sustainable soils and did so over the course of the growing season. I got good results.

Our new acquaintance Javier Celis, who did a lot of gardening work for us over the year, also finished up our firepit and we had our first fire in it on June 7th.  It was not the last.

On June 12th Rigel came in with a small pink abrasion on her nose.  She had found and barked, barked, barked, barked at a snapping turtle.  Kate removed the turtle from our property.  The turtle came back, hunting I believe, for a small lake not far from us in which to lay her eggs.  The next time Rigel and Vega still barked, from a safe distance.

And on Father’s Day: “Is there anything that fills a parent’s heart faster than hearing a child light-hearted, laughing, excited?  Especially when that child is 31.”

During her visit her in late June grand-daughter Ruth went with me on a hive inspection: “She hung in there, saying a couple of times, “Now it’s making me really afraid.” but not moving away.”

My favorite technology story came on June 27th when NASA announced that one of the Voyager spacecrafts would soon leave the heliosphere, the furthest point in space where the gases of the sun influence matter.  This meant it would then be in interstellar space.

And, as Voyager entered the Oort cloud Tom and Roxann made their way Svalbard and the arctic circle.  Thus endeth the second quarter.

 

 

NoSnowBirds

Samhain                                                            Winter Moon

They leave.  This is the time.  Lois, our cleaning lady, poked her head in and said, “Good-bye.  See you in April.”  Mark and Elizabeth leave on the 29th for Grass Valley in California.  Many others are already gone to Florida or Arizona or New Mexico or Mexico.

We call them snowbirds, though it should be nosnowbirds, since they fly away at dropping temperatures and clouds of frozen moisture.  The reasons they go are diverse, I imagine, but cluster around icy roads, slick sidewalks, the uninviting nature of cold air for being outside.

It makes sense.  At a certain age, one I’ve reached, driving on roads and navigating sidewalks slick with ice and polished snow can be scary.  To get outside requires more thought in dress and more intention.  Just going out for a stroll can mean preparation. There is, too, the lure of a different place.  The beaches of Florida, the culture of the Southwest and Mexico.  A way to break up the year, give it a punctuation when work no longer provides it.

Still.  I love the snow, the cold, the quiet, the coming of the inside season.  The holiseason makes a good deal more intuitive sense with distinct seasonal changes, seasonal changes I find crucial to my own spiritual practice.  Putting the garden to bed, letting it rest for a season plus also feels right to me.  I would not want to continue my gardening season past the end of September, early October.

No.  We’ll stay.  Here.  In Andover.

East Meets West

Samhain                                                                Winter Moon

Another shooting in Colorado.  In a school.  In the Littleton School District, site of the 4-798D0E18-1629023-800Columbine shooting.  I was in Denver with Jon and Jen, both teachers in the Aurora School District, when the gunman shot up Batman theatergoers in Aurora.

(granddaughter Ruth at the Stock Show)

The culture of the West and the culture of the East collide with some visible force in Colorado and Denver is the epicenter.  Each January the Great Western Stock Show gathers cowboys and ranchers, rodeo queens and fancy riders, bulls and horses and cows and sheep into one place for a celebration of Denver’s central locale in the Old West.  This is a culture of hardy individualists, folks used to taking care of things on their own and not interested in citified ideas towards guns.

At the same time Denver is the business capitol of the region with shiny glass skyscrapers 4-CFBE0C9F-2317503-800and people in business suits hustling for a buck.  It’s also a major educational and health services center.  In addition thousands throng through the tented Denver Airport on their way to the ski slopes of the Rockies:  Aspen, Vail, Steamboat Springs, Breckenridge.  This is a culture more interested in public safety, clean streets and good medical care.

(Looking out from the Denver Museum of Art toward the State Capitol building)

It’s an uneasy conjunction, a mixing occurs, yes, but neither group comes away much changed from the interaction.

A Soul in Ruins

Samhain                                                           Winter Moon

It was nine years ago the first of November that I left for Southeast Asia, visiting Mary when George Bush again won the presidency.  Mary and I went to the American Club for brunch around 8 a.m. to watch the polls close and night-time punditry begin.

Later a Singapore taxi-driver, Chinese, explained how much he disliked Bush and how much an American election, 12 time zones and 12,500 miles away, affected him.  It was, he said, a strange and not a good feeling to have so much of your future tied up with a foreign land and its peculiar decision making about leadership.

Singapore has a distinctly pro-Western bent for all its declaiming about Asian values; it is capitalist and materialist to its fingernails.  Mary and I experienced Diwali, the Hindu Festival of Lights, saw firewalking in a Hindu temple and broke the Ramadan fast in Arabtown.

Bangkok came next, a $60 introductory rate flight by Tiger Air, a cut-rate airline beginning to service Southeast Asia.  Bangkok’s ChinaTown, my home base for the two weeks I spent there had sidewalk fold-up restaurants at night, vendors during the day and always people, lots of people and cars streaming by on Yaowarat.  The neon lights gave the after dark old main street of Bangkok a garish look, but also made it enticing.  Exotic.

After some time in Bangkok, I got on a Bangkok Air flight for Siem Reap, Cambodia.  We landed next to a plane from the Republic of Vietnam.  On the flight from Bangkok bomb craters had been easy to pick out in the fields below.  Taxiing up to a spot beside that plane, in Cambodia, brought back anti-war memories from the 60’s.

The highlight of this trip was still ahead.  Angkor.  Most people identify this complex with
the name Angkor Wat although all that means is Angkor Temple and there are many, many temples.  The temple widely known as Angkor Wat is closest to the small Cambodian city of Siem Reap.  It is huge and well preserved.  I spent a full morning climbing its ritual and mythic architecture, it recapitulates a sacred landscape, and took most of my time at the object that made me travel all this way:  the churning of the sea of milk.

(This bas relief, carved intricately at all points, runs round the bottom most walls of the temple, roughly 1/4 of a mile.  The panels are maybe 12 feet high.)

This sentence from the Unesco world heritage website will give you an idea of why Angkor Wat is just a taste of what’s in the area.  “(Angkor) extends over approximately 400 square kilometres and consists of scores of temples, hydraulic structures (basins, dykes, reservoirs, canals) as well as communication routes.”

This is not a week’s journey, not even a month’s.  Three months would be a good start, especially since early morning and late afternoon are the only times you can really visit since the temperatures are so intense in midday.  I had four days.

All my photographs are on an old hard drive and I haven’t retrieved them yet, a project ahead of me. There are a lot of photos: Bantay Serai, Ta Phrom, Bayon, Preah Khan.

Morning and night for four days I explored, dodging scorpions, nodding to saffron robed monks, amazed by the kapok tree roots reclaiming these 9th through 14th century sites.

A memory that stands out came on evening the third day.  I had clambered around the temple mountain of Bayon, the temple with the four-faced stone monuments you’ve probably seen in pictures.  Incense drifted over from a contemporary Buddhist temple across the dirt road, following the smoke was music from cymbals and gongs.

Sitting on tumbled down stones near Bayon’s west entrance, a reverie overcame me and I drifted back, back, back in time to the days of the Khmer and the god-kings who built these monuments to politics and divinity.  To a time when the Khmer carved living rock from quarries far-away and floated the carved rock down river to these sites, using an elaborate system of canals.

(Bayon’s west side.)

This was when I realized a strong part of me was a soul in ruins, captured by the past, most alive while picking my way through Ephesus, Angkor, the Forum, Delphi, Delos. Through ancient texts like the Metamorphoses and the Odyssey and the Iliad.  Learning the ancient Roman language.  That realization has shaped much of my work since then.

 

 

Could You Teach Them?

Samhain                                                                   Winter Moon

Brother Mark taught in Hail two years ago and had technical school students.  These kids might have been in his classroom.

“Saudi youths demonstrate a stunt known as “sidewall skiing” (driving on two wheels) in the northern city of Hail, in Saudi Arabia March 30, 2013. Performing stunts such as sidewall skiing and drifts is a popular hobby among Saudi youths.”

 

At Home

Samhain                                                     New (Winter) Moon

Kate’s timing was ideal.  She got home as the rain cum snow began.  She accepted the greetings of a grateful doggy contingent and a happy husband. Good to have her back.

Snow’s coming down with some energy now.  Big fat flakes which usually mean less accumulation, little snow big snow being Northern weather wisdom.  We’ll see.  As the temps cool down tonight, the snow could increase in volume going from fat wet clumps to smaller flakes that will collect in larger amounts.

A severe shock of below normal temps will hit western North Dakota meaning those poor bastards outside in the Bakken Oil Fields.  It’ll be so fracking cold the workers will have a tough time staying limber.

 

The Corn Palace

Samhain                                                        New (Winter) Moon

Kate’s in Mitchell, sleeping near the Corn Palace.  She’ll make it home tomorrow Lord willin’ and the creek don’t rise.  It’s been a week since she left and the house has had that not full resonance.  Tonight, knowing she’ll be home tomorrow, it has the she’s just gone for a little while feel.  Slowly taking on its more usual tones as her presence returns, a piece at a time.

It’s been an interesting week since I’ve been without a car and have not left our property for the duration.  The only difference I’ve noticed is that the occasional urge to go somewhere, to the grocery store or a quick trip into Minneapolis, vanished quickly.  As soon as it surfaced.  Otherwise I’ve followed my usual routines.  Missing Kate, of course, but also enjoying the monastic moment.

Tonight will be the last night alone in the bed.

Samhain                                                          Thanksgiving Moon

Kate spent the night in Sundance, Wyoming, near Devil’s Tower.  She remarked on the beauty of Wyoming and I agree.  It’s a beautiful place with very few people, fewer than 575,000, which puts it at 50 of 50 in terms of population.  That’s 5.9 folks per square mile, lower density than 48 others.  Only enormous Alaska has a lower density at 1.3 per square mile.  Beauty does not feed people.  The barren high plains and intermontane areas plus the Rocky Mountains on the western edge make Wyoming inhospitable. Sounds like a perfect place to live.  Except for those Cheney’s and the homophobia.  Laramie’s in Wyoming.

 

 

Me and My Gal

Samhain                                                     Thanksgiving Moon

May the Thanksgiving Moon shine over me and my gal.  She’s set out on Federal Highways, Interstatials to Denver, the back of the truck packed like Santa’s sleigh, only in this case it would be Tevya’s wagon with dreidels decorating its wooden sides.  As always, I travel with her as she stays home with me, our lives entwined, sometimes entangled.  This sounds bad in a psychobabble way, I know, but it shows merely and oh so much the degree to which we have become partners, not dependent on each other, no, but relying  on each other.  Love.  What it is.

As she drives south in Minnesota, then into Iowa, heading right at Des Moines and left at the moon, across the bridge across the wide Missouri and the often shallow Platte outside of Omaha, past the home of the Cornhuskers in Lincoln and under the silly arch for the pioneers somewhere near Kearney, she carries us along.  We are now the older generation, the ones closest to the final passage.  We are Grandma and Grandpop, bearing responsibility for our family as we both wish our families had done for us.

I’m thankful for classical music and seasonal subscriptions.  If the St. Paul Chamber Orchestra had been locked out, we never would have met.  Strange.  How many couples will go undiscovered with the pitiful display the Minnesota Orchestra has put on these last few months?

So much in our lives happens by chance.  No intentionality behind it.  Life shows up and we either greet it or miss it, that’s the way it is.  Opening ourselves to the fates, who weave our lives on some misty mountaintop somewhere, makes this the adventure of a lifetime.