Category Archives: Health

Health, Politics, Travel

I feel my powers returning

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Beltane and the Moon of Shadow Mountain

Wednesday gratefuls: Sleep. Great Sol. My Lodgepole Companion. Black Mountain. My son. Seoah. Murdoch. Diane. San Francisco. Torah portion. Tara. Irv. Marilyn. Fingers and toes. Noses. Skin. Taste and Smell. Opening the heart. And the mind. Snow. Frost. 25 degrees. Mountain Spring. Wild Neighbors. Maxwell Creek. Kate’s Creek. Colorado Blue Sky.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Being Home

One brief shining: As the train ran on metal wheels, pulled by massive diesel engines, my roomette and I remained still, watching the U.S. West unfold from the Presidio past Sacramento and on into the Sierra Nevadas, into the alakali flats of Nevada with Battle Mountain and its gold mines, next into the big stop for Brigham Young-Utah, Provo and Salt Lake City gone in the night while I slept, awakening to hoodoos, not long not long after pushing on into Grand Junction, home in Colorado, home in the Rockies, a few more hours of Mountains and Streams, ski towns, Snow, and we took a long gentle curve to bleed off altitude and made the final leg into Union Station where Adam picked me up for my return to Shadow Mountain.

 

As my son once said, in a line quoted often by Kate and me, “I feel my powers returning.” He said this on the way home from Arizona after her parent’s 50th anniversary party. We were in our RV somewhere in New Mexico. This food poisoning really put the hurt on me. Exacerbated no doubt by having to take that long train ride home. And by its following a week that already stressed my body. Maybe too by its having taken up lodging in a 77 year old body. We don’t throw things off as easily as we age. Even so I can feel my body regrouping, gathering strength, much needed and appreciated strength.

Back to exercise? No. The tummy would not support that quite yet. Buy some groceries, Bar Mitzvah lesson, more rest, The change however has begun to flow in a positive direction.

 

Just a moment: Yes, I admit it. The hush money trial? That one where a former president could go to jail for contempt? Where the witnesses include Michael Cohen and Stormy Daniels? Where a once and future king could become a felon. Where he could be sentenced to prison. Has my attention. Like watching a slow-motion train wreck of our nation’s rule of law, norms of decency, and our ability to stomach one more written sentence-like this one?-about, well. You know.

Glad we now have in the record the positions the Donald and Stormy experienced with each other. His bareback style. His boxer shorts that suddenly appeared. No tightie whities for our Don.

In my admittedly hopeful and legally unshaped opinion? He did it! He did it! He did it! Lock him up. Right now.

God. If only. I can see signs, dark signs that events may conspire to give the orange one an advantage in November. Consider this the first movements of a spell I’m casting. Against just such a thing.

 

Health, Sport, Travel
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Beltane and the 1% Moon of Liberation

Tuesday gratefuls: 29 degrees. Freeze warning. Spits of Snow. Not in the Bay Area anymore. Windy, a cold white Sky. Ah, the merry, merry month of May! Mark in Bangkok. Where it’s hot, dense, different from his last visit. Staying at home, letting the food poisoning resolve. Shadow Mountain. A Lodgepole topped by high Winds. Food. Water. Rest. As buddy Mark Odegard observed, “At our age traveling is hard work.”

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Sleep

One brief shining: Looked out my bedroom window and found a green Shrub that was unfamiliar, unfamiliar?, in the scene I see several times a day, I shook my head, no, can’t be, yet there, oh wait, my eye had traveled to the top of a Lodgepole next to the new Shrub, that fresh gash; it was a Tree top snapped off in one of our high Winds, yes the transition in weather can be brutal here.

 

Though the back dominated my trip the food poisoning of last Friday night has dominated its end and my return home. I know. I know. Debbie downer. Again. You can skip this without guilt. Still, I want to leave bread crumbs about life here. So. Not sure where I picked up the bad food, bad food stay down! Damn it. Possibly Japantown where Diane and I had lunch. Maybe that piece of tempura shrimp? Whatever it was by 9 pm on Friday I had both diarrhea and vomiting. And not just a little. I became weak, dehydrated, and, of course, did not sleep on that the night before I reboarded the California Zephyr for the return trip to Denver.

Packing seemed impossible. I called Diane and asked her to come help. Even when I did I knew, due to the parking situation, that she couldn’t. But she understood. A real sweetheart, my cousin. Instead of packing I stuffed things in the Travelpro. Going home that’s ok. All will need washing and care anyhow when back. At least that’s what I told myself. Finished up. Went downstairs and checked out. Diane came.

It was a Rainy Saturday after seven straight days of beautiful weather. Sunny. Light Breezes. Warm but never hot. Like a movie the weather signaled my inner world. I got on the Amtrak bus and headed across the Bay Bridge.

The journey home. Garret helped. The sleeping car attendant. Brought me my meals.  There was a bathroom just down the hall. My roomette was on the ground level of the sleeper along with five others, checked bags, and shower rooms. Couldn’t have asked for a better set up.

At Union Station Adam picked me up in his Tahoe (Now, I’ve been there. Sort of.) and deposited me on Shadow Mountain. I needed his help getting my bag in and out.

Now Tuesday morning. Trying to stay hydrated without getting my stomach excited enough to remember Friday night. Still eating bland food. Sleeping a lot. Nap after I write this.

Just a moment: Oh, the agony. NOW the Timberwolves get real.

 

 

 

 

Art and Culture, Asia, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Health, Travel

Backing Away

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Beltane and the Moon of Liberation

Monday gratefuls: Shadow Mountain Home. My pillow. My bed. The Rockies. Living in the Front Range. Amtrak. Garrett. Sleeping car attendant. Travel. Diane. San Francisco. Muir Woods. The Japanese Tea Garden. That early transitional Rothko at the De Young. The Thinker at the Legion of Honor. Ukiyo-e prints. Japan town. Bernal Hill. The Mission. 12 Lucky.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Homecoming

One brief shining: Found my key under the chair arm where I left it for Ana, opened the door, and came home for the first time in eight days, medieval French music played quietly downstairs, a power outage and generator start having turned it on, rolled the Travelpro over to the ottoman and used it like a hotel luggage rack so I could get at what I needed, my meds and the Lidocaine patch, went downstairs and using the remote turned off the music, sinking into my chair. Ah.

 

Don’t like saying it out loud. Admitting it to myself. However. Traveling has changed for me. Probably permanently. I had all the usual delights in San Francisco. Seeing Diane on her home turf, her home on 12 Lucky, her jogging route up to Bernal Hill, and the small town like neighborhood commercial area which includes Wise Son’s Deli and an $8 haircut. Visiting amazing places like Muir Woods and the Japanese Tea Garden. Seeing great work by artists old-like Hokusai and Rodin-and new like Lee Mingwei’s Rituals of Care. Being driven by a native up one lane, yet inexplicably two way streets angled like steep Mountain roads. Seeing Earthquake shacks, lived in today, but built as temporary housing for the victims of 1906.

Diane and I visited Japantown, drove through the beautiful Presidio, and I bought some new clothes not far from the Chancellor Hotel across Union Square. Bonobo’s on Grant Street. I would make the journey again (well, probably not, but you get the feeling) just to see the Redwoods. So stunning. So magnificent. So alive. These beings remind me that life’s boundaries are much looser than our often blinkered day-to-day allows us to see.

And yet. At the start of each day I felt good. Walked over to Sears Fine Foods for breakfast. Met Diane. We went here or there, the Asian Art Museum, the De Young, Muir Woods. After walking any distance or, even harder, standing in one place, hello-museums!, my back would signal me through hip pain, sometimes even neck pain. Not long after I walked bent over, neck awry. Even with the lidocaine patch, the stretches, the very occasional NSAID. Gonna make one more pass through the medical system. See if there’s stuff I’m missing, could use. If not, and I’m not expecting anything, my traveling days have changed.

I can go for a couple to three hours of sight seeing, after transportation which has its own ouches.  Then. Back to the hotel for the day. I’m done. Either I go somewhere and stay a while or it won’t make sense to go. At my son’s in Korea I can stay in their apartment when I need to rest. I’ll get over there next year for his taking command ritual, maybe stay a couple of months. Might cough and faint in dismay but I might buy a business class ticket so I can arrive more or less uninjured.

 

 

 

Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Health, Travel

In them thar hills

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Beltane and the Moon of Liberation

Friday gratefuls: Hills. Bernal Hill. Diane’s jogging path. Wise Son’s. Since 5771. 12 Lucky Street. Earthquake shacks. Mission. Valencia. 24th Street. Community Music Center. Maru Sushi. Chancellor. Unafraid to have a 13th floor. Bell guy. Laundry. Cool nights. Mild days. 6 sunny days.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Neighborhoods

One brief shining: Drove in to Diane’s well organized garage, got out, and waited for her, taking pictures of the murals across from 12 Lucky, when she came back we walked one lane Lucky, with cars parked on both sides to 24th, where we turned left into a low scale neighborhood with $8 haircuts, a street sign: Latino Cultural District, and a ways down Wise Son’s Deli where we ate breakfast, lox and bagel for Diane, latke smash-up for me.

 

Last day on Powell Street. Back on Amtrak tomorrow morning at 8:25 am. Powell, California, and one other street have working cable cars. Diane pointed out an interesting aspect of other street cars used here. Some of them are faithfully restored models from the past or, in other cases, from other countries. Very cool.

Yesterday was San Francisco daily life immersion with a visit to Diane’s antique filled home on 12 Lucky Street. Many of the pieces of furniture I recognized from Uncle Riley and Aunt Virginia’s house on the farm. 12 Lucky is a peaceful, calm spot with various salvaged items from Diane’s jogging up Bernal Hill, finds of furniture and plants that others have thrown out. Lucky Street is off the main street of her neighborhood but parallel to it. A quieter environment. She’s been there 14 years.

Her neighborhood has a definite small town feel to it, lots of Latinos, some Samoans, Jews, African Americans, remnants of the halcyon days of the late 60’s. A spot where a person can live a normal life in a city, especially with Bernal Hill so close by.

Diane has taken me by the hand this week. Showed me her town. Commiserated with my aching back. Been understanding when I bail out on a day early. Thanks, Diane. Much appreciated.

Yesterday, too, we saw earthquake shacks. These tiny homes built of redwood, most under 900 square feet, were built to house victims of the 1907 earthquake. Most are gone but a few remain scattered around the city, several in Bernal Hill.

To do that we drove up and down steeply inclined streets with cars parked on both sides and only one available lane for two way traffic. It was Diane’s milieu and that was obvious from the way she navigated. Yet. For an outsider? Would have been nerve jangling to drive here. Especially with a manual transmission as Diane has.

We returned to the Chancellor via Mission Street and Valencia, Mission still with nefarious activity, Diane’s words, yet apparently less than before. Valencia more a young urbanite location with restaurants and bike lanes.

 

My back is worse than I imagined. Very limiting. I have about a half day or less of energy. Makes future travel plans much different from what I might otherwise choose.

 

Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Health, Travel

This test. Going ok.

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Spring and the Moon of Liberation

Tuesday gratefuls: Muir Woods. Redwoods. Asian Art Museum. Bonobos. Walking. Back pain. Ellis Avenue. The Tenderloin. The Chancellor. Boutique hotels. Amtrak. Travel. The Cable Cars. Powell. Sears Fine Foods. Hokusai. Ukiyo-e prints.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Challenging myself

One brief shining: About eight blocks from Bonobos, around Mason and Geary, my back complained, why it asked are you doing this to me, and I replied we are together finding out just how much trouble you are, both so I can take care of you and so I can not limit us unnecessarily, oh it said, that makes sense and I don’t want to be more of a problem than I need to be.

 

There are two facets to the back pain that are problematic. In the moment the pain can make me stop, sit down, wait for the nerves to calm. That’s the acute issue. The second facet is the price in fatigue. That is, after a bout of walking or standing which has any length at all, dealing with the back takes a toll, whether pain becomes acute or not, just from my bodies positioning and repositioning of itself .

Finding that I only have a morning and afternoons worth of energy. Or, I imagine, one of those and an evenings worth. Like yesterday.

Walking down Powell and across a Union Square bedecked in flowers-it’s Union Square in Bloom!- I wandered according to Google, found Grant Street while being assaulted with the noise of urban life, including a loud exhaust fan aiding a worker below street level, located the building, went up in the elevator to the second floor, found Bonobos and met Ish, short for Ishmael. He walked me through a fitting. Helping me find pants and shirts that actually fit.

The pants we got in one go. Shirt size took four different versions. But now we know. Ordered some chinos and three shirts, all but one shirt being mailed back to Colorado. The last shirt comes to the Chancellor tomorrow for Comedy Night.

Back down at street level I decided to walk to the Museum. I need the exercise and I love walking. In cities. In the Mountains. Slow, flaneur style walking. Noticing the hat store now closed directing customers to a new location. The woman wrasslin her thick male pit bull, muzzle on. A man sitting in a wheelchair along Ellis Street as if he were on the beach at an all inclusive resort. That guy with the pressure washer cleaning the sidewalk. The Tenderloin Police precinct.

By the time I found the Asian Museum I needed to sit. So I went to the Asian Box cafe and had lunch while waiting on Diane.

When we finished another few hours seeing the collection of Avery Brundage, proud racist and anti-semite, yet collector of Buddhist and Hindu artifacts, Diane left for her music with kiddos and yoga. I didn’t stay long. The day was done. I went back to the Chancellor a bit after 4 pm and rested until bedtime. Tired out and happy.

Health, Travel

April 26 and April 27 posts

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Spring and the Moon of Liberation

Friday gratefuls: Lidocaine patch. Amtrak. Honeybee rides. Waking up at 5. Shower. Finishing last of the packing. Some coffee. Then in the car. A true start to the trip. That first transport. Breakfast at Union Station at Snooze. Boarded train on time. Overcoming inertia.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Train in the Rockies

One brief shining: The fork at Snooze had curved tines, used them to pick up delicious chunks of corn beef, hash browns, washed down with a Blackberry Limeade, just right; after I sat on the traditional railroad benches, sooo uncomfortable.

Boarded on time, but left about 20 minutes late. I’m in my roomette,#21 on car 540. On this part of the trip I face south. Well, my window faces south. I actually face in the direction of travel. Right now, west.
We’ve been rolling now for an hour and a half. A long stretch out of Denver went north, then a wide sweeping turn found us inching up a grade, slow into the Front Range. We’ve been in the Mountains for a long while now. Passing through, on my side, walls of Rock, 17 tunnels, and lots of Evergreen. Some Snow remains, patches on the northern slopes which are out my south facing window.
Wherever we are now Winter remains. Deep Snow. Probably near a ski town. As we rode through the Denver metro, the dogwoods were in bloom. The yards were green. Spring had taken over. Not up here. However high we are.
Though the Creek running along side the tracks is full, not frozen. Something’s melting somewhere.
Snow topped Mountain Peaks, a fast running Mountain Stream, a herd of Elk, still in Colorado for sure. Guess we’re near Steamboat.
9,200 feet they just said. Only 400 higher than me. We’re in a really long tunnel right now.

My apprehension has now turned to observation. Using the p.t. exercises, the lidocaine patch, sitting down. So far not impossible. Struggled with my suitcase up the stairs to the level of the rooms. Expected that.
A really, really long tunnel.
The journey. The ancientrail of travel, of the Fool’s path. Something I need every once in a while. This may be a good alternative. Lower to the ground, no long airport walks. Slower. Which I like.

I’m using my laptop keyboard. Didn’t want to pack my ergonomic keyboard because I’m carrying rather than checking my bag. It’s heavy. Right now I’m finding this keyboard mostly ok. To my surprise. A pleasant surprise.
Writing on the tray table.
This is a very long tunnel. Did I mention that? I think I heard 9 miles long. We’ve been dark for a while.
Lunch is at noon. First come, first served. May skip. Probably got my day’s calories at breakfast.
Out of the tunnel at Winter Park near Granby where Rabbi Jamie sometimes lives. Got a quick photograph of a lift.
So far, so far. Still many miles to go. And I’m glad.

 

Spring and the Moon of Liberation

Sabbath gratefuls: Sleep. Ibuprofen. Lidocaine. Dennis. Roomette #21. Northern Nevada. Salt Lake City at midnight. Thin milk Sky with Great Sol riding the Southern passage. Snowy Mountain Peaks just beyond I-80. Greening landscape. Mesquite and Scrub grass. Breakfast between Battle Mountain and Winnemucca.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Vacating ahead of another 16 inches or so of Snow

One brief shining: Roomettes are small, but private, two seats, two nighttime beds, an outlet on the wall, only one, designed before personal electronics became more and more of our lives, most important a large window, a porthole as this long metal passenger ship presses its bulk forward, in this case to the Ocean, the wide Pacific and its bays in California.

Woke up around 5 am after off and on sleep until I took an ibuprofen, previously forbidden to me. Kidney disease. Since my labs have indicated no kidney disease for the last three years-it’s a mystery, Sue decided I could chance the occasional dose when things were, well, not good.
Trying to sleep last night as my hip said, hey, I’m here! I’m here, I reached a point where things were not good. Pain made it hard to sleep longer than an hour. So I reached for my first nsaid in many years.
Hammered that pain back into the hole it crawled out of. I didn’t feel bad. I’ve done p.t., which helps. Used the lidocaine patch, but 12 hours on, twelve hours off. Tried acupuncture, no relief. Seen a physiastrist. Increased my resistance work to strengthen my legs and core.
Two nsaid’s? NBD. Now that I know how much more effective they are than acetamenophin for back pain, I’m going to press for greater clarity about kidney disease.
All in all though, painful moments have not prevented me from boarding the train, walking around, going on vacation. Mixed conclusion, but right now travel trumps pain.
Part of the trick is to avoid over stressing my back. I did that yesterday walking around Union Station and to the train itself. Had I been a bit more circumspect I may not have had the pain I did. Learning curve

Yesterday the route of the California Zephyr followed the Colorado River for a long way. As I watched its muddy, ordinary flow, I wondered how something so mundane could be so important to millions of people. It is. The Water that flowed toward the Baja collects and channels Snow melt from Mountain Tops and Valley Floors, rushing it on south toward Las Vegas, Phoenix, even Los Angeles. Agriculture is the largest user though, not metro areas. Setting up a current struggle between population focal points and fields.

Just a moment: Student protests. Then and now. This 77 year old veteran of the war against the war knows the power and the fury of going over against the war machine. Against death from the Sky, death decreed by old white men, usually, too often, the death of those seen as other, be they North Vietnamese or Palestinians.
Yet this time. Anti-semitism is in the mix. Hard.

Art and Culture, Health, Politics, Travel

Soon to be on the road

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Spring and the Moon of Liberation

Friday gratefuls: Pesach. Counting the Omer. Tarot. Astrology. Luke and Leo. Rebecca. Marilyn. Irv. Ginny, Janice. Rabbi Jamie. Conversion. Bar Mitzvah. Hoarfrost again on my Lodgepole Companion. And as far as I can see on other Lodgepoles, too. My son. Seoah. Murdoch. The Ancient Brothers. Alan. Joanne. My tallit. The morning service. The Shema.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Lidocaine patches

One brief shining: Using scissors, I cut open the thin pouch that contains the Lidocaine patch, pull it out of its airtight container, taking care to remove only half of the covering of its working side, place the open half on my lower back, then peel back the rest of the covering, letting it settle into place over the spot where my back hurts.

 

The road so far. P.T. and sitting help my back. Acupuncture. Not feelin’ it. However, the lidocaine patch. It definitely helps. 12 hours off, 12 hours on. So can use for a day of touring, being out and about. Then take it off at night. If I need to, I can try the ibuprofen at night. Suppose I could use the ibuprofen and the patch. Don’t want to. Minimal treatment. Local if possible, not systemic. Beginning to see a path forward here. Most of the time I don’t need the patch or meds, but when I do. I have them. Comforting.

 

This weekend. Travel planning in serious mode. Try packing my carry-on as my one bag. I.D. all the must take with me like meds and electronics. Clothes. Go over Diane’s comprehensive list of possible things to do and establish some priorities. Must does are easy: Asian Art, the de Young, and the Legion of Honor. The Japanese Tea Room. Chinatown. Muir Woods. Eating out fancy at least once. Other museums, tourist sites, maybe Japantown, I’ll have to sort through, put on a list of if we get to it. If not, another time.

I’m no longer an I’ve got to tick off this sight and that one to feel like the trip was worth it. I prize much more these days quality time with a place. I also know that life is short and I’ll never see everything. Mostly in that stance anyhow, by nature and inclination. I’m the guy that reads the plaques in the museum. Listens to the audio. Stays in one place awhile.

Getting excited for the trip. The journey will be an important part of it. I love traveling by rail, going slower and at ground level, being able to saunter up to the dining car, the snackbar car, the viewing car. Or, sitting in my roomette watching the terrain go by. (unintentional) Maybe reading, maybe writing. Doing nothing at all.

 

Just a moment: Looks like Israel at least for now has not screwed the pooch in its response to Iran’s flight of the drones. Thank yod-heh-vav-heh. Maybe the calculus of the Middle East can change. Maybe Israel, Saudi Arabia, Qatar, UAE, Jordan, even Egypt can make a pact of some part. An anti-Iran coalition similar to NATO. One for all and all for one. Probably unlikely, but any joint presence that stiff arms Shia Muslims operating in the Middle East would be quite an advance over the current reality.

 

Cinema and Television, GeekWorld, Health, Hebrew, Judaism

Ouch. Judaism. Movies.

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Spring and the Moon of Liberation

Tuesday gratefuls: Marilyn and Irv. Great Sol. My Lodgepole Companion. Black Mountain. Those gravel roads in Indiana. Corn fields. Holsteins. Angus. Brahma. Highland. Duroc. Hampshire. Milky Sky. 35 last night up here after Sunday evening’s 82 in Denver. Altitude. Shadow Mountain. My Rock. Shadow Mountain Home.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Mountains

One brief shining: Disrobed, crawled up on the massage table, covered my groin with a towel, and waited for Jill to come in with the needles, went to physical therapy for 10 sessions with Mary, do squats and lunges and dips, cardio, take the occasional acetaminophen, have not tried the lidocaine patches yet, and still my back hurts, more and more. Discouraged.

 

So far none of the treatment modalities I’ve tried have succeeded in calming down my back. Seems to get worse. That is, more painful more often. Guess I’ve got to return to the doctor. See what else can be done. I said no surgery, but if this keeps up? Might have to consider it. Of course at 77 surgery, especially anesthesia, comes with its own risks independent of the purpose. Getting to one of those fulcrum moments. Where none of the decisions seem good.

Not going to project an outcome or its sequelae. Too many variables. And, could produce anxiety. Going to stay in this eternal moment. Doing what I can. As I can.

Worked out on Sunday. Just cardio. And my hip and leg didn’t like it. Hurt enough yesterday that I skipped working out. Gonna work out later today. Not working out is a slippery, self-fulfilling slope. Been there and don’t want to go back.

This is not life-threatening, but it is life threatening. Meaning I may have to modify my life in ways I’d prefer not to. Age.

 

I’ve chosen some parts of the morning service that I want to do. I can learn the Hebrew to lead the congregation in the morning blessings and I can lead the Shema. This in addition to my Torah portion. Which I have pretty much down now except for inflection.

With learning my Torah portion, Rabbi Jamie’s conversion classes, two mussar classes and prepping for all of these, it’s been a Jewish immersion. Not only in the mikveh. I’ve also added shabbat to my week. No other classes right now. After the bar mitzvah, all this will quiet down. I’ll be done with Rabbi Jamie’s classes. The Hebrew learning will at least shift focus. I’ll still be doing Torah study with Gary as well.

 

My next enthusiasm is cinema. I got a subscription to the Criterion Channel, and have access to Prime Video and Turner Classic Movies. I have to learn Chromecasting so I can use the Criterion Channel downstairs. I’m going to take my dvd player downstairs, too.

Got pushed on this when I watched Invasion of the Body Snatchers. I have it on DVD. It’s so much of a commentary on the 1950’s as well as on the subject of political manipulation and/or conforming to other’s expectations. A general practice doc is the main character, referred to as a man of science. His main squeeze wears cashmere sweaters and has very pointy bras. In the evening they have martinis, barbecue, and spend time in the outdoor room with friends. His office is quintessential g.p. from the 50’s. A nurse with a tabbed hat and a white uniform. A lot of deference from the town folk.

In other words the non-horror aspects of this movie fascinated me as much as the pods. I want to be able to write, talk about it. But to do that I have to have a good way of watching. I’ve got several mediums that will work and I have so many classical movies to see. Many again. Many for the first time.

 

 

Aging, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Health, Mountains, Shadow Mountain, Wild Neighbors

Apres la psilocybine

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Spring and the Moon of Liberation

Wednesday gratefuls: Shirley Waste. Up early. Cleaning out the freezer. Two weeks from today, Amtrak. Shadow Mountain Home. Rebecca. Wild Alaskan. Black Mountain Drive. Brook Forest Drive. Shadow Mountain Drive. How I get down the Hill. Kate’s yahrzeit approaching. Eight Track Day. My transistor radio of long ago. Ruby. Will need summer shoes.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: The generator

One brief shining: Could be the morning rises with a hint of darkness reluctant to let go, with a slow and lazy illumination spilling like molasses first over the base of Shadow Mountain, then up up up defying gravity, turning on the lights as it goes, until Black Mountain, my Lodgepole companion reappear, and another Colorado blue Sky day has begun.

 

Gotta leave this writing a bit early, but will return. Biweekly trash day and I’m clearing out my freezer, getting ready for Spring and for a less hoarding way of using the freezers -21 degree temperature. Trash has to be out by 7 am in case the routes have changed. Mostly ready but the freezer clean out had to wait until just before I move the clunky plastic bins. Bears. As I long I put the freezer contents out still frozen, their scent should not become a problem. Bears have just begun to wake up and they’re hungry. Long, long nap.

Life is different in the Mountains. In any rural area with Forests and Wild Neighbors. The back and forth between humans and their environment never disappears in a cloud of bus exhaust or the twinkling of store lights. Here we have to travel within the Wild Neighbors’ domain. They are not relegated to alleys and basements, parks and open spaces by streets and acres of buildings, apartments and factories and businesses, hospitals and schools. We two-leggeds are the interlopers here. Exactly. Interloping. Loping along in our metal noisy contraptions.

Careful now. Weeks old Mule Deer and Elk and Moose wandering the Arapaho National Forest. Fox Kits and baby Porcupines, Marmots, Albert and Red Squirrels all waking up to their first Mountain spring. We must lope with attentiveness. With care. Bear Cubs. Mountain Lion Kits.

Not green here. Not yet. Still plenty of Snow in the back. On the ski runs of Black Mountain. In the shaded parts of the National Forest. Occasional scents of thawing Soil. The hurried babble of Mountain Streams draining rocky heights. (Gone for about 15 minutes. Finished. Freezer clear. Trash bins rattled out to the driveway’s edge. Waiting for the truck.)

 

Just a moment: Apres la psilocybine. Surrender. Not resignation. Not aimlessness. Definitely not submission. Perhaps openness. Acceptance. Wu wei. That moment while watching the Nahuatl Gods and Mayan hieroglyphs scroll across the ceiling of Heidi’s therapy office. That moment when in response to an inner doubt. I’m not using this trip well. I’m having too much fun. Very Calvinist inner dialogue. That moment when I wondered what I needed now. Up came the word surrender.

And it lodged in my consciousness. Where, to this day, it filters moments and conversations. Finding evidence. That woman I know with stage 4 breast cancer. Who said cancer had clarified life. Distilled it to its essence. She asked me if I’d had the same experience. Not quite. But that crisp December morning on Crooked Top Mountain. Yes. Clarity.

All of us over 75 are in stage 4 life. We’re terminal and we know it. Clap your hands. Life did not end abruptly for us. As it did for my mom, for example. No. We have the chance to pass through the last of the gates, the one that opens to eternity, knowing. If we surrender ourselves. Accept death for what it is. A final mystery. One that hides its truth even now.

Feelings, Fourth Phase, Health, Politics, Sport, World History

The Good Boy. Again.

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Spring and the Moon of Liberation

Monday gratefuls: Power back on! Internet back up! Exclamation points available! Only a bit over 24 hours but felt longer. Bleed appointment reassuring. Working on the Good Boy and his fears. Finishing Three Body Problem book. Reading There, there. And The White Road. A beautiful, calm day in the neighborhood. C.O.R.E. linefolks. Good work.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Sparks of electricity

One brief shining: Not sure what your triggers might be, here are a few of mine: must, should, have to, no choice, get on it now which of course reveal an underlying trigger too often tripped by those with imagined authority over me, my life, my choices, you know, you’re not the boss of me.

 

Wanted to unveil an inner dialogue I had at 7:00 am today on the way to an appointment with a G.I. doc. While driving I rehearsed, “I’ve been without power and internet. I couldn’t have signed in.” “Are you even in the service business? Where do you get off telling me I must sign in?” “My late wife retired because she was so tired of this sort of medicine.” And other similar phrases.

I wasn’t sure I’d make the 7:30 appointment. The first trigger. One of my own. Rocky Mountain Gastroenterology text saying: You must sign in for your 7:30 appointment. Second trigger. Internet down and power out. Third trigger. I felt embarrassed, ashamed, late, angry, defensive. Ready to go to battle with the evil empire of capitalist medicine. For about 20 minutes of drive time.

And, I knew I was being this way. Tried to talk myself down. Failed. Finally got to a point where I could walk in and say, “Hi, I have a 7:30.” The folks behind the desk coudn’t have been nicer. They helped me get signed in, were solicitous, kind.

Ashley, the P.A., was sweet. Knowledgeable. The bleed. Scary, but not life threatening. Might happen again. Good to be prepared. She had a sensible plan that includes checking my anemia, considering then whether to do a more invasive exam. I liked her.

This was all about the Good Boy. The part of me that wants always to slip through authoritarian gates unnoticed. Neither defensive nor obeisant. Not sure why I’m so conflicted about authority, so eager to avoid its grasp. Might be Dad. Might be a more generalized angst about being trapped because of someone else’s rules.

 

Just a moment: Iowa lost. But Caitlin. Ah, Caitlin. “I never sit and sulk about things that didn’t happen.” NYT

This young woman is the complete package. Skilled, persistent, determined, sound work ethic, and now with inner calm. Be like Caitlin.

 

In other news: Wars and rumors of war. Elections and rumors of denial. An eclipse with a prediction of clouds. And it has ever been so. The immediate, the happening causes us to gaze into the future, dragging it with us as we look. Ukraine and Gaza. Can WWIII be far behind? Biden and Trump. Who will claim to have won? Totality. What does it look like under cloud cover? Might be easier to live with what is and not wonder what will be.