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  • Aural Prompts

    Posted on by Charles Comment

    Samain and the Summer’s End Moon

    Monday gratefuls: Val. Who I think may have been hitting on me. Bless her heart. Zojirushi rice cooker and its first brown rice. Equanimity. Silence. Faith. Middot. Mussar. Emunah and Clouds. Hearing the Voice of the Wind, of the Snow, of the Wild Neighbors, of the Storm. Life in its immediacy. Life as a temporary gift. To cherish. Renaissance music. Cool nights. Gregorian chants. Chiropractors. Ellen and Dick. Heidi. Mountain Jews, my community

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Right now

    One brief shining: The crucifix, bronze and distressed, hung high above the five singers dressed in white tops and black bottoms, two good friends, Irv and Joan, both Jews, joined I learned later by at least one other Jew, as they sang, paradoxically, a high mass from the time of Queen Elizabeth the First, the haunting medieval music somehow transcending time and faith to place us all outside the Episcopal Church in which they performed and in that pure realm of music’s ethereal and ephemeral reality.

     

    Went to St. Laurence Episcopal yesterday to hear the 27 minute performance of Irv’s Renaissance singers. One of its members referred to what they did as serious fun. I’d forgotten how much I enjoy medieval music, early music. Reminded as they sang evoking both a time long ago and yet a time relevant to the present moment. This music is, to my ear, sparer than most later music, focused on a spirituality, not only tonality. I could feel as I listened the voices of the thousands, millions perhaps, that had sung and will sing about the world we rarely see because we know not what to look for. Tibetan and Buddhist chants. Throat singing. Jewish services. Black choirs. Voices raised in cars and at home. We need these aural prompts to sharpen our sight, to encourage us to see what we are looking at.

    Afterward a wine and cheese reception at Marilyn and Irv’s. I got there a bit late because I went home to pick up a book for Joan, a contemporary Korean writer’s short story collection. When I walked in the crowd had already been hitting the wine, so the first hello Charlie got taken up by others, then everybody. Hi, Charlie! I felt well welcomed.

     

    And, no. No news on the testing front. Still “in progress.” I’m prepared to live into any result, continuing my life until it comes to an end, either soon or late. No, not resignation. The opposite. I’m not letting go of this gift until it decides to leave my body.

     

    Looking back a bit. Joan and Albert’s first yarhzeit. Seeing Lauren and Kat, the two bat mitzvah’s from Thursday. Their bat mitzvah service would have been on Masada, as my conversion would have been in Jerusalem. I missed it because of my appointment with Dr. Gonzalez. I gave them chocolate bars from Sugar Jones where I buy my weekly truffles. Ruth at the Blue Fin, smiling and laughing, caring. Irv and Joan singing. A buzzy happy crowd at the reception. A good weekend. A very good weekend. Not in spite of my lagging test results, but because of my life already under way.


    Family Feelings Fourth Phase Friends Health Judaism Music Myth and Story Shadow Mountain

  • Through a dark wood I have already wandered

    Posted on by Charles Comment

    Samain and the Summer’s End Moon

    Sunday gratefuls: Ruth. Blue Fin Sushi. The earrings. Driving back up the hill, into the mountains. Those who would alter time.  More light in the morning. The gentle curve of Black Mountain against a blue-white Colorado Sky. Sally. Jews. My friends. My family. Learning to live with yet more dissonance. Quest Diagnostics. Slow on this one. A good workout yesterday. Yetzer hara: oh, never mind. Let’s rest. Yetzer hatov: It’s worth it. No news yet on my test.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: A stable and happy Ruth

    One brief shining: A blonde-bleached Japanese young woman with elaborate tattoos asked me where I wanted to sit, no not out in the middle, here along the side, yes that will be good, Blue Fin Sushi logo under layers of polyurethane, put my flannel overshirt back on, and slid onto the naugahyde, a deep blue, here comes Ruth, I got up and hugged her so happy to see her smiling, bedecked in rings and necklaces, bracelets, and ear jewelry, her hair its actual brown for now.

     

    In a way Ruth is like the prodigal son. She leaves the world of happiness and teenage life behind on occasion, leaves the rest of us behind while she struggles with what her mind visits upon her. But when she comes home I want to slaughter the fatted calf, bring up the best grains, fruits and vegetables, lay them all before her. Hoping as the father in the New Testament undoubtedly did that she will stay with us this time.

    Last night she spoke of college applications, classes in her senior year, her friends, her Grandma Barb whom she helped get a new phone, buying a new car. She pointed out all the pieces of jewelry she wore that belonged to Kate. Rings. Necklaces. Bracelets. I gave her the earrings I found on the New York Review of Books shop. They featured Walt Whitman quotes. One read: Resist much. The other: Obey little. Kate and I, and at his best, Jon followed these very American ideals.

    A fine and hopeful meal. So, so good to see her. Dazzle Jazz next time.

     

    An odd adjustment to the slow pace of the protein electrophoresis. As the tabs on the various tests have shown Test in Progress, I’ve come to a place of peace about it all. As I would anyway, I’m living my life. CBE Friday night for Albert’s yahrzeit. Dinner with Ruth last night. Going to Irv and Joan’s renaissance singers performance at 3 pm today. Reading. Doing the laundry. Writing. Cooking.

    In this process I rediscovered the truth of it all. Alive now and in each moment. I can only live today, right now. And, I am. So no need to be Dante: Near the end of this our mortal life (but not, I hope, too near) I have already walked in the gloomy forest and come out the other side, no longer caught there far from the straight path, the ancientrail that leads from birth to the grave.

    How first I enter’d it I scarce can say,
    Such sleepy dullness in that instant weigh’d
    My senses down, when the true path I left,  Canto 1, Inferno

    Well, I can now say how first I entered it. My mother’s death pushed me down toward Dante’s inferno at too young an age, not midlife, but at seventeen, Ruth’s age as it happens. I wandered in that pit for so many years, making myself an enemy of myself, closing off the world, pushing others away. But with the help of Jung and John Desteian I found my way out. Long ago. I can still revisit the place on occasion, as I did on Friday, but I know the way out. Back to the light and to this life.

     

     


    Family Feelings Fourth Phase Health Literature

  • Nothing new

    Posted on by Charles Comment

    Samain and the Summer’s End Moon

    Saturday gratefuls: Albert Greenberg’s yahrzeit. Joan. Kat. Lauren. Anne. Quest Diagnostics. Feelings. Veronica. Becoming a Jew by choice. Israel. Hamas. Gaza. Palestinians. Darkness. Standard Time. The days of our lives. Wembanyama. Basketball. The Potluck. Berry Pie. Good Chicken. Good conversation. Helen. Ellen. Mark. Bill. Robbie. Sally. Creme brulee truffles. Ruby’s cracked windshield. The Shadow Mountain life.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Becoming a Jew

    One brief shining: Spent the day yesterday waiting on diagnostic results that remain, yet this morning, in progress leaving me with no new information, making my lev, my heart-mind, spin through scenarios of impending doom and how to cope with bad news without having any real data then remembering and calling myself back to the present, to this moment, in which I feel fine and am living my life.

     

    Made me wonder about having my own Quest Diagnostics account. Trust your doctors. Kate. I’ve tried to be true to her advice while not abrogating my responsibility. A delicate balance. Having my test results come to me before Kristin sees them, interprets them helps me though. I like data. To know what’s going on. But. As Kate knew, I can use the internet to my full disadvantage. Reading this. Pondering that. Working myself into a tizzy as we used to say.

    Yesterday and now still today. An in-between space. Waiting. Not knowing. Most of the time I carried on. Read. Watched some TV. Ran errands. Cooked. Got ready for the potluck and last night’s service. Yet I obsessively ran the Quest site, too. About once an hour or so I’d walk upstairs and crank it up. Again. And again. Nothing. Nope. Nada. Still nothing.

    Not feeling anxious. Not much anyway. A bit buzzy and distracted at times. I slept well which tells me I’m handling my self-induced situation o.k. Reminding myself that the results will be what they are. Talk about high-stakes testing. Geez.

     

    Enough of that. Let’s talk about Israel and Gaza. Nah. Enough of that, too.

    I regularly do three games on the NYT site. Flashback, a history quiz. Spelling Bee. And, Connections. I’ve never like crosswords, having to guess how a person has tricked me is not my idea of fun. Kate loved them. Connections is the hardest of the three. Sometimes. There’s an element of trickery involved. The puzzle creator Wyna Liu produces a grid of sixteen words with four words grouped according to some theme. Figuring out how she’s chosen to group the words is the challenge. Most of the time I can suss out the connections but on occasion she uses themes that make no sense to me. Too esoteric or too niche. Fun anyhow.

    The lift that comes from solving the puzzles is nice. An atta boy handed out by the puzzle folks. I’m a words guy. Spelling Bee is a challenge, but one I can usually master. Not always, but often enough to keep me coming back for that top rank glow.

     

    Not going to get started on it today, but one of my ongoing concerns is the plight of the humanities. Vocational education? Sure. But education on how to live, how to think, what the folks who have gone before us thought and how they lived? That’s still the ideal of a college education to me. But it’s gotten to a dollar and cents equation. Does this degree make me money? That’s an ok question and one many will want to ask. That question though turns education into vocational education and pretends that the humanities therefore don’t matter. No monetary prize in a philosophy or an anthropology degree. For instance.

     


    Feelings Fourth Phase Health Humanities Literature

  • Yikes

    Posted on by Charles Comment

    Samain and the Summer’s End Moon

    Friday gratefuls: Alan Greenberg’s yahrzeit. Joan. A salmon colored Cumulus Cloud over Black Mountain. Dr. Gonzalez. Her nurse. The phlebotomist. My heart and aorta. Considering the body as it decompensates. Shadow Mountain as a stable and supportive presence. Ruby. All Dogs, especially Kippur and Murdoch and Leo. My Wild Neighbors. Melancholy. Dawn. Evening. Liminal times, magical times. Doorways, thresholds. Mezuzahs.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: The One

    One brief shining: Opened up the test results from Quest Diagnostics and read my latest battery of tests with red fields and green, discovering that my doc has ordered a test for multiple myeloma, not completed yet, sending my anxiety titer (a Kate phrase) up, not high but noticeable, wondering if there will be more than my heart involved in this latest visit.

     

    Oh, boy. Well. I freaked myself out back in July when I got low gamma globulin results. Hadn’t processed them or heard from my doctor, went straight to multiple myeloma. Kristin said I was fine. She sees these results all the time. I calmed down. Now I discover she’s running a test battery for just that. Yikes! The results are not in yet, though my other results are.

    The possibility of multiple myeloma, a form of cancer, hit me hard because Dick Mestrich, a colleague of Kate’s at Allina, died of it after a long decline. She made him a friendship quilt which he wore often, may have been buried in it. My son and I played golf with him quite a bit when my son was in high school. I also learned recently that one of the Thursday mussar group also has it.

    The thought of a second kind of cancer to add to my already existing one? Again, yikes!

    All this is unknown right now and I’m pretty good at not getting excited before I know something for sure. Even then, I’m able to hold steady for the most part though melancholy can creep up on me. Understandable, too. Still. An uncomfortable moment for me. For sure.

     

    Just ordered two mezuzahs, one for the front door and one for the door leading to the garage. Will have Rabbi Jamie come out and hang them. There is a ritual for it. Inside each mezuzah is a scroll with the shema hand lettered by a scribe on the treated skin of a kosher animal. Not cheap. From the Jewish Museum store in New York City.

     

    At mussar yesterday afternoon another cancer survivor remarked about the love she experienced from her friends. They go to her appointments with her, help her in many ways. Nancy then mentioned Leslie who died of liver cancer two months ago saying, “Leslie had the same experience. What a wonderful way to die.” I said, “And, what a wonderful way to live. I’m experiencing that kind of love at CBE right now.” And from my longtime friends in the Ancient Brothers and my family. Knowing you are loved buoys the soul, helps it serve as the rock of your life. As long as you have it.

     

     

     


    Family Feelings Fourth Phase Friends Health Judaism

  • Sparkling Snow, a near full moon

    Posted on by Charles Comment

    Fall and the Samain Moon

    Monday gratefuls: Snow. Cold. 6 degrees this morning. Good sleeping. Reading more about Jewish life cycle events. Fire in the fireplace. Hygge. Which helped with melancholy. Those pork cutlets and the instant mashed potatoes, surprisingly good. Cooking for one. Cooking. Decluttering the kitchen. Snow on the Lodgepoles. Black Mountain white. Winter before Samain. Skiing. Israel. Hamas. Anti-semitism. Fighting anti-semitism.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Ruth

    One brief shining: Opened the small drawer of my coffee table and pulled out a box of matches, opened it, and went to the fireplace, striking the match and lighting the newspaper crumpled up at the bottom of the stacked firewood, flames licked up, smoke poured out, oh, open the flue, there better, the fatwood caught and soon the smaller chunks of pine, then a roaring fire captivating, warm.

     

    Last night as bed time came what to my wandering eyes should appear but sparkling Snow covering a back Yard lit by a near full moon casting deep shadows of Lodgepoles across the Snowscape. A few stars danced in the Sky, most hidden by the moon’s late fall exuberance. The weather station read 7 degrees. Could have been the night before Christmas. Santa’s sleigh pulled by Mule Deer and Elk.

    The magic of the Mountains. Their seasons change in dramatic fashion. Splashes of gold against green in the mid-fall. Sudden bursts of Snow. Wild Neighbors engaged in ancient fertility rites. Black Bears eating their way toward a long nap. Skies so blue. So blue. Warm days and cold nights. What a privilege it is to live here.

     

    The Samain moon, which will become the Summer’s End moon tomorrow, marks the transition from the growing season to fallow time. We don’t often have temperatures this cold this early. Last night was cold even by Minnesota standards. Warming a bit today and tomorrow. The cold and the Snow brought an end to Fall with an exclamation mark. Well, that’s over now. Let’s think Thanksgiving, ski season, Hanukah, Winter Solstice, Christmas, Holiseason. Oh, ok.

     

    Kirk Cousins. Achilles tear. Maybe. Every time an Achilles injury makes sports news I flash back to the Seven-Eleven on Yaowarat Street in Bangkok. China Town. A snack and a drink sounded good so I crossed the street from my hotel to pick up some bottled water, maybe something salty. Around 8 pm. Yaowarat, a former main street of Bangkok, is wide and busy. Like, Bangkok busy. I crossed it without incident and decided to go the ATM in the next block before returning to my hotel.

    Though I only had to cross a side street, the traffic was still fierce. My eye was on the ATM. My right foot went down off the high curb and landed in a sewer depression. Hurrying I didn’t have time to readjust so my body went forward while my right foot remained in the sewer. Oh. My. Big, big pain. My source of empathy for Kirk Cousins and any athlete who plants and torques too much.

    As some of you know, that Achilles injury in 2004 marked the beginning of Ancientrails. I had to stay off my right foot for two months. Needed something to do. Thanks, cybermage Bill.

     

     


    Great Wheel Health Mountains Shadow Mountain Sport

  • A chimera, a shadow

    Posted on by Charles Comment

    Fall and the Samain Moon

    Sunday gratefuls: Irv’s Renaissance singers. Joan among them. Marilyn. Snow. 11 degrees. My son and Seoah. Seoah at Crossfit. The only housewife. Murdoch the silly. Kat and Lauren, their Bat Mitzvahs. Rabbi Jamie. The Ancient Brothers. Darkness. Israel. Hamas. Hezbollah. Palestinians. Ruth. Gabe. Kep and Kate. Rigel. Melancholy. How do I feel? Heavy. Weighted down. Snowed in. Icy roads.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Minnesota winter driving skills

    One brief shining: Not so shiny this one, more like one brief pall as the coffee cools beside me, trying to do the heaviest lifting of all to bring my soul out of the darkness, move it toward joy and hygge and a warm fire and a good book, without dishonoring my own inner life.

     

    War. Spinal stenosis. One more thing to take care of. Mom’s death. Memory triggered by changing seasons. Not SAD. Cancer. Anti-semitism. Israel. Palestinians. Terrorism. So successful this time. All these clatter around, poking sharp edges into a soft soul, making me retreat inward, downward. And the train that follows them. A boxcar of sadness. A tank car filled with liquid doubt. A coal car with chunks of despair. Wish I could pull the pin out at least between the engine and the cars let them go, sail off back where they came from. Not yet.

    I feel trapped. Can’t take Ruth to Dazzle Jazz tonight. Icy and snowy Mountain roads. Haven’t told her yet though I did say it was a concern yesterday. Like an old man too scared to drive in a little weather. Disappointing his granddaughter who means so much. Yet I avoid driving on ice. Just. Don’t. Do it. So I see the ads for Senior Living and I think is that me now? Am I finished with the effort it takes to stay here on Shadow Mountain?

    Put myself in that sybaritic one I saw with luxury cars for appointments, travel clubs, fine dining every meal,  a concierge for appointments and tickets and such. Oh, god no. Too much. Surrounded by people my age. No. Hell, no. Maybe an apartment or condo in the city? No. I’m back to that moving to Hawai’i thing. No. I love my home, living in the Rockies. Being close to CBE, to Evergreen. My wild neighbors.

    Oscillating between hell, no and what if I need it anyway? Don’t be too proud, too stubborn. Guess this is my main challenge right now, that nexus between physical health and independence that can be so fraught. Each insult like icy roads can raise the specter of a truncated life, not independent life.

    When those insults come while others crowd in from other vectors, well…

    Once again though. The magic of writing it down, saying it out loud. Seen for the chimera it is. Still real as a shadow though. Sober reflection, yes. Elder agony? No.

    Drove to Safeway yesterday to pickup some groceries. On the way back I turned left to go up the bridge over 285 and Ruby hit an icy patch, kept going straight ahead, hit the curb with both tires, up onto the grass, missed the light pole, backed up, embarrassed. Might have something to do with how I feel.

     

     

     

     


    Feelings Fourth Phase Health Hermitage Shadow Mountain Weather +Climate

  • I see you’re slipping into melancholy

    Posted on by Charles Comment

    Fall and the Samain Moon

    Friday gratefuls: Alan. Joan. Israel. Hamas. The Palestinians. Iran. Saudi Arabia. Mark in Hafir. Mary in K.L. My son and Seoah in Songtan. Diane in San Francisco. Cold morning. Good sleeping. Mary and p.t. Mussar. An off day emotionally. Kep, my sweet boy. Kate, always Kate. Lauren and Kat, adult Bat Mitzvahs next Thursday. Shadow Mountain Home. Herme. October melancholy. Forgot. Darkness. Snow on its way.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Feeling down

    One brief shining: John Destian my long time Jungian analyst gave me a task for Kate; she was to say when she noticed it, “I can see you slipping into melancholy.”; and, so she did for years keeping me aware when my self-awareness faltered, dead now I’ve lost her physical voice but I heard her voice today when I realized it was October the month my mother died.

     

    The gentle sadness of turning leaves, cold rains. Combined with Mom’s sudden death in October of 1964. Still often trigger for me-59 years later-an inner sadness, a melancholy often felt first by Kate, not me. Yesterday. You seemed so far away. Yesterday. The two women I’ve loved most both dead now. Mom for 59 years, Kate for two and a half. Hard sometimes to be without that special form of support, of caring, of seeing me for who I am whole. And yesterday was such a time. I see that now.

    A tricky bit. Saying yes to the melancholy while not feeding it, not letting it have all the oxygen in my inner world. Yesterday I danced around it, pushed it away. Denying. Kept coming. I felt inward, shut down, wanting to be away from people. Mussar couldn’t end fast enough. My p.t. session went so long. Felt relieved when I got in Ruby and headed home.

    This morning I can see yesterday more clearly. Hear Kate. Reminded too of joy as a spiritual obligation in Judaism. Asceticism is not a virtue in Judaism. Jews celebrate the body and its pleasures; its enjoyment. Enjoy. Bring joy into the body. What can I do today that will bring me joy? Yes. This does not fight or deny my melancholy. It recognizes that the melancholy is not all I can feel. I can also eat with friends, laugh, donate money to a good cause, enjoy a good book. No shame in melancholy or joy.

    Perhaps, too, the unfamiliar experience of being targeted by simplistic analyses, of being on the railed against side of progressive arguments, of being a Jew when anti-semitism has gained strength among people with whom I share political values. New turf for me.

     

    It’s a foggy morning here on Shadow Mountain, Black Mountain hidden in the mist. Waiting on Alan to message me about breakfast. I have a few errands. Get a printed copy of the mailing label for the Starlink cable I didn’t need. Get that package to FedEx. Visit Evergreen Market. Do some work in the kitchen. Maybe in the living room, too.

     

     


    Family Feelings Fourth Phase Friends Health Judaism Shadow Mountain Weather +Climate

  • Others

    Posted on by Charles Comment

    Fall and the Samain Moon

    Saturday gratefuls: Lutheran Spine Center. Mary. Melody. Tara. RSV vaccine. Safeway. Israel. BA cancellation. Keshet. Conversion. Mikveh. Embracing the darkness as we move toward the Winter Solstice. Samain. The fallow time. Business mornings. Tuesdays. P.T. exercises. Workouts. Keeping up with it. My novels. The new one aborning. Kep, my sweet boy. Kate, always Kate. Seven Stones. Gabe. Ruth. Friendsgiving. Thanksgiving. Relationships. Family. My boy, Seoah, Murdoch. Friends. Deciding what comes next.

    Sparks  of Joy and Awe: Joann

    One brief shining: Once again confirming my medications, giving my date of birth, looking at my oxygenation, my blood pressure all fine as I prepare to meet yet another doctor, this time Melody, a p.a. physiatrist, who has me bend side to side and forward, who takes both of my legs and twists them this way and that, any pain, stops and says you have every reason to be hopeful as she left the room when we were done.

     

    Yes, my Korea experience still has me on the road for visits to physical therapy and then Lutheran Spine Center yesterday. Melody confirmed my conjecture that my recent neglect of resistance work probably led to my flare. Why did I do that? Not depressed. My best guess is. Got tired of it. Self care takes time. The older I get the more time it takes. Wanted to save a little time by not doing the resistance. Bad choice. Melody also made me feel good because she expressed surprise that I’d held off this back trouble for so long. Definitely your working out. And, she said, if you keep up your exercises you have every reason…

    I know these things to be true. I know. But. There’s a certain weariness that comes with repeating the same things over and over. Get on the treadmill. Do the squats. The chest presses. The lawnmowers. The dips. The bicep curls and the shoulder presses. The skullcrushers. Those core exercises. Now adding in physical therapy exercises for my back specifically. Guess I need an attitude adjustment. Working out keeps me able to do the things I want to do. Like travel. Go see friends and family. Take care of myself while living alone. Pretty important stuff.

    New attitude. Take the time. It’s worth it.

    Similar note. Got my RSV vaccine yesterday at Safeway. Still seems weird to me to go the grocery store for anything medical. Yet there you are. Some kerfuffle with my birthdate and my medicare card made me wait longer. Then a quick jab, a bandaid, thank you. Noticed while I was there that Safeway has renamed their aisles using local street names: Barkley Road and Shadow Mountain Drive, for instance.

     

    At breakfast with Tara yesterday I had an aha. At this point in my life relationships are what matter. Not even writing that new novel or finishing Jennie’s Dead. Not even traveling unless it includes building or deepening relationships. Hmm. That one may not be right. I still like to travel alone. Not even striking another blow for justice. I spend more time now having breakfast and lunch with friends, seeing Gabe and Ruth, my son and Seoah, than I do on anything other than taking care of myself. And it never gets old or repetitious. No, I’m not converting to extroversion. I still don’t like crowds or parties or too many people around. But one on one or with two or three others? Yes. That’s where the juice is in my life now.

     

     


    Asia Family Feelings Fourth Phase Friends Health Jefferson County Korea Travel

  • An Addenda for Kate

    Posted on by Charles Comment

    Fall and the Samain Moon

    Grateful for this article: Doctors at Allina Health Unionize and even more grateful for the docs who made it happen.

    Kate retired in 2011, 12 years ago. She had burned out on medicine long before. Why? Not her patients. But the demands of corporate medicine and its rabid insistence on revenue capture. Upcoding was pushed and pushed hard. Upcoding means doing those things in a visit that qualify for a code that brings in more money than the original or anticipated code for the visit. Patient visits were shortened. Again, more patient visits per day means more revenue capture. Though it wasn’t often an issue in pediatrics the shortening of hospital stays did affect Kate’s sickest patients since they were the ones who ended up in the hospital. Note that neither upcoding nor shorter patient visits nor shorter hospital stays have good patient care as their motivation. In fact the results are often the opposite of good patient care. That is, to be clear, they create bad care.

    Kate and I talked about doctor’s unions a lot. Looked up some information. Talked to some others. But the time wasn’t right. The pandemic induced staffing shortages have made this the right time. And I’m so glad, for Kate’s sake, that leaders in this new movement are physicians at her old place of employment: Allina.

    Go union!


    Family Health Politics

  • Spine and Restraint

    Posted on by Charles Comment

    Fall and the Harvest Moon

    Friday gratefuls: Mary, my physical therapist. Nerve glides. Home exercises. Spinal stenosis. Tamed, but not gone. CBE. Mussar. All the mussar folks. Luke. Anne. Marilyn. Nancy. Ginny. Ellen. Sally. Janet. Jamie. The Shema. Israel. Keshet. Geoff. The international rules of war. The IDF. Palestinian civilians. Israeli civilians. Exercise. Evergreen Market. Sugar Jones. Easy entrees. Safeway. Ruby and her good work for me. Snow. A hard freeze. Cold night. Dreams may come. Black Mountain Lodgepoles with a Frosty look. Stars.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Core muscles

    One brief shining: Mary attaches a band to my raised legs and harnesses herself to it, then pulls back with her body weight, about 110 pounds, to create gaps in my lumbar vertebrae so my nerves will be happy and not angry.

     

    Mary, my physical therapist, is a compact woman. Five feet two and a hundred and ten pounds. An adopted Korean. She’s going to Korea next year for the first time. I’d say she’s maybe 26, 27. We talk about my son and Seoah, about Korea and its evolving attitudes toward women. And Korean women’s evolving attitudes toward their historic role. I admire her grit and her independence. She lives in a cabin on someone’s property in Evergreen and has for three years plus. On her own. She’s a good therapist. She listens and she teaches with kindness. A good find in case my body continues to give me fits. As I’m sure it will. She says we’re making good progress.

    A week from today is my appointment with the Lutheran Spine Center. The doctors there are physiatrists, docs who diagnose the cause of pain and develop treatment plans for it. Mary is the practical, right now approach to acute care. The Spine Center will develop a plan for how I deal with the stenosis long term. Good to have both available and especially good to get into Mary early so I can alleviate my symptoms right now.

    None of this detracts from the good care I got in Korea. The orthopedist there and Mr. Lee took an acute and painful situation, turned it around so I could continue my trip with limited pain. They have my gratitude.

     

    I’ve attached four paragraphs* from a very useful article in the New York Times this morning. In it the author, Amanda Taub, makes quite clear what several centuries of human observations of war and its consequences have done to adjust our understanding of how and why wars should be fought. I found it useful for sorting through the confusing and contradictory feelings I’ve been having. Yes, Israel has a right to fight back and defend itself against Hamas. Of course it does. And, further, what Hamas has done in murdering civilians and taking hostages contravene the international laws of war.

    What Taub’s article makes clear though is no matter the why of Israel’s justified response it must still follow the international conventions which ensure protection of civilians. Hamas’ crimes do not justify similar crimes during Israel’s invasion and bombing of Gaza.

    Several questions will arise once this war comes to an end. What is a viable and permanent solution to the Israeli-Palestinian dilemma? Why did the IDF fail to act earlier and quicker? What happened to Israel’s vaunted intelligence gathering? Why is Netanyahu still in power? Why are the far-right officials in the Israeli government still there? What direction can Israel take to ensure a long and lasting peace? Yes. All these questions will be front of mind the day hostilities cease. But now, right now, the question is how to restrain the IDF from acting against civilians. And that must happen. For the future questions set out above, yes, but more importantly for the protection of Gaza residents. Now.

     

     

    *”Two principles are particularly helpful. The first is that the “why” and the “how” of war are separate legal questions. The justice or injustice of a cause of war does not change the obligation to fight it according to the rules of humanitarian law.

    The second, related principle, from which much of humanitarian law derives, is that civilians are entitled to protection. Armies and other armed groups cannot target them directly. Nor can they disproportionately harm them in the course of pursuing legitimate military goals. And those obligations still apply even if the other side violates them by targeting civilians themselves…

    The core principle of jus in bello is that civilians cannot be targeted for military purposes, or disproportionately harmed as a means to a military end. That’s true regardless of the legality of the underlying conflict, and regardless of whether the opposing side has itself violated humanitarian law.

    “The most straightforward way to think about that is just that the protections are protections for human beings,” said Tom Dannenbaum, a professor at the Fletcher School at Tufts University who is an expert on humanitarian law.” This NYT article by Amanda Taub

     

     

     


    Feelings Fourth Phase Health Judaism Korea Politics World History