Winter Waxing Moon
Thanks to all of you who participated in name that moon. All the ideas were good. I chose this one because it’s short and lunar and germane to Kate’s goals. Thanks, Scott.
Kate had a bad day yesterday. Nauseated when she got up and fatigued right away, unfortunately both continued throughout the day. It was not, however, eating related.Which was good news. She does feel better this morning.
She had an appointment with our internist, Lisa Gidday, at 9:15, so we drove once again to Littleton, probably our most frequent out of the house destination over the last three months barring Swedish Hospital. The progress with food-related nausea and cramping pleased Lisa, but the morning nausea concerned her. Surprisingly, given her reticence in the past, she suggested Kate try cannabis during the day for appetite nudging.
That meant that after the trip to Littleton we drove on past Conifer to Bailey, to the Happy Camper. I bought Kate two packs of Dabba chocolate mints. The strain this time is sativa, not indica. Indica produces a lassitude that is congenial with sleep; sativa has a more energetic profile. Better for parties and staying awake. We’ll see if that helps.
SeoAh cooks by feel, learned by watching her mother cook. I understand this method, mostly my own. I do occasionally follow recipes; so does she, but we both prefer tasting as we go. I’m trying to learn how she thinks about cooking by watching her. I’m beginning to get it. She has a lot in common with Italian cooking. Simple preparation. Fresh ingredients. A lot of pasta. And, of course, rice. I believe by the end of her stay I’ll be able to do a good novice’s job on some Korean dishes.
I drove a lot this week. And it’s worn me out. One more trip today, into Maria’s for empanadas. Also this Sunday is another Jewish Studies Sampler Sunday. My friend Deborah is going to do some breathing exercises during the session.
Gertie, Kepler, Rigel, and Murdoch all enjoy winter. Running through the snow, rolling in it. All in good health. Gertie spends most of her day with me in the loft. Rigel, who gets along well with Murdoch, spends most of her day on the couch. Kep, who attempted to chow down on Murdoch during his last trip here, is either in the sewing room or outside unless Murdoch is in his room. Complicated doggy logistics, but not at all unfamiliar to us.
2019. The Blade Runner year. Dystopian time? Match. Authoritarian regime? Match. Police killing those marginalized to society? Match. The cinematography of our era may look different-though Hong Kong, Shanghai, Dubai-but the underlying premise of a dark future catching up with all of us was prescient, if not exactly surprising.
Dystopian futures, even ours from the perspective of 1982, have this seeming anomaly: Life goes on. Most folks make some accommodation, some compromise, and go on with their daily routines. Short of mass suicide, what other option is there? It is those very accommodations and compromises that are fertile soil for the demagogue and the populist. See Trump, Erdogan, Germany’s alt-right, Hungary’s Viktor Orban, Brazil’s Michel Temer. Movies have to convey dystopian troubles cinematically, so we think if the visuals don’t correlate with ours that the movie doesn’t apply. Wrong. It’s the core cultural themes that are important.
10 degrees on Shadow Mountain. A couple of inches of fluffy powder fell over night, a minor storm compared to what had been predicted earlier. The lodgepoles have white flocking. Black Mountain hides behind a gray blue cloud. The neighbor’s Christmas lights, now past their expiry date, still glitter.
The learning curve in both astrology and oil painting slopes almost straight up for me. My mind gets short of breath at times. I remember this from Latin. Slog. Slog. Slog. Oh! “Confusion,” I read, “is the sweat of the intellect.”
At almost 72 I’m no longer naive enough to think I can master anything, but I’ve proved to myself over and over that with patience (difficult for me at times) and either a good teacher or a lot of autodidactic effort, I can learn new things. Even new things that might seem unusual for me. Organic gardening. Beekeeping. Raising perennial flowers. Writing novels. Teaching Jewish religious school. Living at altitude. Cooking. The downside of this valedictory life, that’s a thing, is that I’ve not become Tolstoy or a commercial beekeeper or Top Chef, certainly no Latin scholar. But I have had the chance to peek behind the curtain of numerous activities I might have once thought, like German, beyond me.
Not long after my December 1st, 2016, knee surgery, I had an odd moment. It was Hanukkah. Gabe and Ruth were plowing through their presents, and I sat on the couch, my leg up and some combination of pain meds circulating, morphine and oxycontin, I think. Ruth lit the menorah. A sudden, overwhelming (undoubtedly drug accelerated) sense of dislocation came over me. Sadness, too. What was I doing in this house? No Christmas tree. No decorations. This exotic holiday had pushed all that away and left me on the outside.
The stent went in easily. No pain for Kate, only a local anesthetic at the insertion site in her groin. Whether the procedure solved the problem only time and many meals will tell.
In ancient Uruk residents opened all city gates, lit bonfires and sang hymns timed to the rising and the setting of certain stars in the sky. This all night vigil honored many Sumerian deities, but most of all Anu, king of the gods, and special protector of the city. In the Congo the Mbuti hunters clap, sing, and dance around a fire at night, the Molimo Ceremony. This is not only a solstice observation, but for significant events. If there has been a death, they sing to the forest: “If darkness is, and the darkness is of the forest, then the darkness must be good.” from the Lapham Quarterly, Winter 2019
Then Kate can heal over the longest night of the year. Fecund darkness, calm and quiet night, holy night, sacred night. A 98% full moon. With all the energy of a still waxing moon, one very near fullness, she will receive the best energy this long night can offer. If you have a moment once the darkness falls, feel your way into it, perhaps in the moonlight, and remember Kate.
Finally. The stent goes in tomorrow. God, I hope it does what we want. The guy, Dr. Mulden, is the senior guy in the metro on this particular kind of work. Lucky to have him. She’ll be in the hospital tonight, maybe tomorrow night if they feel observation is necessary after the stent placement. Home by Saturday lord willin’ and the creek don’t rise.
Tomorrow is the winter solstice. I haven’t gotten yet to the six new rituals I found in Lapham’s, but I will either later today or tomorrow. The dark, the long night, to me symbolizes healing, fecundity, a depth experience for the Self, a soulful journey. It’s what I need right now, a time out of time, time with the ancientrail that winds in and down, following the shamans toward the center of the earth, the center of the soul.