Category Archives: Our Land and Home

Astrology, Cooking, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Health, Memories, Our Land and Home, Shadow Mountain, Tarot

Learning Curve Trending Down

March 14, 2022 Charles Leave a comment

Imbolc and the Seoah Citizenship Moon

Monday gratefuls: Kep. My phone, which reminds me when 6 am is now. Darkness again. Sadness. Ukraine. Russia. War. Peace. That Dragonfly lamp. The slowness of things just now. The Ancient Brothers. And their still more ancient fathers and grandfathers. Including the con man, the Irishmen, the one in green flannel underwear.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Finding the stock pot and the mixing bowls

Ah, the simple joys of kitchen remodeling. I put the stockpot up over the refrigerator, but when I first looked I saw only the second shelf akimbo. It was too heavy for me to lift into place. Can’t be there. Left hand cabinet door. Later, when I decided to look everywhere, I opened the right door and there was one of my favorite kitchen tools on a bias at the other end of the slanted shelf. Really? I did that? Yep.

And the mixing bowls. Determined I went through everything again. Then, there they were. Again, right where I’d put them behind the Pyrex measuring bowls, sort of hidden. Whew. Not crazy.

Bouncing between final moves on the furniture rearrangement and the kitchen reassemble. Both take time and energy. The end results I love. But still more slogging to go. A ways to go before I finish. At this pace? Maybe a month.

I took a big check over to Jodi at Blue Mountain Kitchens on Friday. Bowe still has to come out and finish a few things. Minor. Convince one drawer to glide easily. Some staining. A filler piece between the dishwasher and the sink.

Nausea has begun to get in the way, too. Damn. That’s no fun at all. This Erleada may be important, but it’s not very friendly. Hot flashes seem to have disappeared. Bowels a bit happier. Fatigue, stamina, and my tummy-not so much.

Wrote a piece about astrology for the final class tomorrow. I’ll append it here*. Feels like a fail for me. Might be, might not.

One similar tale. Long ago. Logic, my freshmen year at Wabash. I had done fine in Philosophy 101, all my other classes, too, except German. Which I dropped. Second semester I took Logic from Professor Larry Hackestaff, notable for wandering the green with a six pack of Bud dangling from his side, his belt run through an empty plastic ring. The beer looked like a large set janitor’s keys. Perhaps to the unconscious?

It wasn’t happening for me. I listened to his lectures. I studied hard. I flunked an early test. Oh, god. Was this going to be my first grade below a B ever? And maybe an F? How could this be? Couldn’t imagine. Shame. Fear. Anxiety. None of which helped me of course. It was around this time I got diagnosed with a spastic colon, now irritable bowel, I think.

And then. One morning in the library, in my favorite carrel, I pushed one more time and the world of logic opened up to me, blossomed. The law of excluded middle. Yes. Proofs. Yes. It was fun. A puzzle. Riddles within riddles. Aced the midterm and the final. Felt like I’d strapped myself to the mast like Odysseus, escaping the Sirens of doubt.

Maybe someday I’ll have a similar experience with astrology. Not now. Not sure when I’ll go back to it. Maybe soon, maybe never.

It’s weird because the Tarot has become a daily part of my spiritual practice. I thought astrology would, too. Apparently not.

Breakfast now. Then over to see Dr. Gonzalez, see if we can figure out the fatigue-stamina-nausea trio. Does make me feel a bit fragile. A feeling I don’t like.

*Astrology and me

A learning curve difficult to surmount. Not sure why. Usually. Fast into the wheelhouse of an idea. This subject. Not so much.

Part of it no doubt is my bedrock empiricism which can swing close to scientism, something I despise. Part of it is a lifetime of seeing the astrology columns in newspapers and reading them for amusement or entertainment. Part of it is a strong existentialism which finds it hard to give outside influence impact over my life. Part of it is the how. How can this be? How can this work? Maybe it’s the wrong moment in my life.

These classes have helped me. I now have a better grasp of the elements of astrology, still unable to put them together with any ease. Not even sure how I can advance. Perhaps I need to go back to work with Elisa on my chart. Learn it. Get it down.

Got to admit this troubles me. A strong part of me relies on intellect. Another strong part of me relies on the heart. At my current age I’d say they are in balance. When my intellect finds it hard to crack the code of a subject, I feel hesitant, reluctant to dig deeper. I had the same issue with languages. Just. Real. Hard.

I wish I had a better way of describing my journey. Yes, I’m intrigued that my chart seems to get some parts of me right. Yes, I’m intrigued by the idea of transits inflecting our lives as the planets move. But moving past intrigue into using astrology as a tool for my own journey? Still not there, after two private readings and two wonderful classes.

Leaving this path with way more questions than answers.

But, as Douglas Adams said, Thanks for all the fish.

Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Our Land and Home, Shadow Mountain, Tarot

Changes

March 2, 2022 Charles Leave a comment

Imbolc and the Moon of Seoah’s Naturalization

Wednesday gratefuls: Shirley waste. Vince and his laborer. Moving day. Kristine Gonzalez. Kep, my buddy. Rigel, consciousness shifted. Kate. Always Kate. The Ukraine. Russia. Biden. Democrats. He who shall not be named, but will be put in jail. I hope. Sun. Solar power. Snow coming. Warmish weather. Projects. Phases.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Young muscle

Tarot: Knight of Vessels, Eel.

And so the day comes round at last. The shifting of furniture, the changing of the house from its care for Kate days to its Hermitage days. I keep hearing in the back of my head, “You’re erasing me.” You said this when I first began to move things in the kitchen to better reflect how I cooked.

Kate, I’m not erasing you. You will be present throughout the house and the loft. In the common room a wall dedicated to art that you loved. Including Jerry’s big landscape. The bronze statuary. An arts and crafts clock with a turtle tile. In the bedroom the Bailey Patchworker’s quilt remains on the bed. Your sewing room will become a family gathering/celebration space. In the loft your ashes will sit behind my computer, so you’ll be with me while I work. I’m thinking about stenciled Irises in the kitchen. I can see the expanded Iris garden from the loft window. And, the lilac bushes await spring for their second year of growth.

More. Our anniversary comes next week. I’m going to celebrate. Not sure yet, but it will be you and me somehow. Also, the April Big Celebration will include plenty of time for your yahrzeit. No, you are gone as a body, but not as a memory or a presence. Your love, your intelligence, your knowledge, your passion lives on in those of us who loved you and all the patients and their parents you served over many years. Your friends at CBE and Kate’s girls, the Bailey Patchworkers, and the Needleworkers. Each one carries a piece of you in their heart.

But, yes, I am changing things to meet the new life that has emerged after your death and Rigel’s. More conversation around the fireplace. More family and friend meals. Holiday celebrations in your old sewing room. A more Arts and Crafts lower level, a better appointed guest room.

Hey, guess what? You know that thing we couldn’t figure out on the stairway upstairs from the lower level? It’s for cd’s. It held all of the cd’s!

Your life and mine. Intertwined. Now and forever until the end of the universe. No erasing possible.

Vince D’Orio and his brother Preston have come to move everything. Nice guys. Vince replaced John who replaced Ted, all since you died. Vince is the best of the three. He’s young, energetic, personable, friendly, and eager. His brother the same.

Do you think it means something that his brother Preston showed up with a Woolly Mammoth on his hat? Vince’s family came to Long Island from Sicily, then moved to Albuquerque. Now the D’Orio boys are both in Colorado. Vince lives on Warhawk. Preston in Henderson.

Now they’re moving stuff around in our house here on Shadow Mountain. Oh, yeah. And then there’s the house. Which you found. Which you chose because of it’s loft space for me and my library. My eyrie, you wanted to call it. It’s that, too.

You live in my heart and in my memory as a blessing.

Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Our Land and Home, Shadow Mountain

Sweet honey to the rock of my sadness

February 28, 2022 Charles Leave a comment

Imbolc and the 3/4 Moon

Monday gratefuls: Vince and his laborer coming Wednesday to move furniture. Unloading the Stickley bookcase and the leather bench. And, the cd cabinet and the Stickley table. Herme goes upstairs. Jon’s work now in three print shows. His idea to take the bookcase downstairs. Ruth’s gentler habitus. Kep’s calm. 32nd anniversary next week. Kate, always Kate.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Kate

Tarot: Six of Stones, Exploitation

Getting ready for the big switch. Vince and his laborer come on Wednesday to move furniture around. The stationary bike will go to the loft, where I’ll use it for HIIT workouts. The cd cabinet (remember cd’s?) will go where it used to sit in the downstairs home office. The Stickley bookcase will go to my level downstairs, against the wall under the mini-split. The leather chair from Pottery Barn will go upstairs to the common room. The leather bench will come up to the loft, too. The teak dresser in my bedroom and the tv on it will go into the guest room, aka, Seoah’s room. The Stickley table will go up into Kate’s sewing room, creating a new dining room for larger meals.

The end result will be a comfortable conversation area in front of the fireplace, a Stickley themed space on my level, a place for guests to unpack and put their clothes away plus a tv if they want, a sorta formal dining area, and a place to take off boots in the loft and a stationary bike well suited to high intensity workouts. This will end the second phase of my plan. The first phase was the kitchen remodel. Which is almost, almost done.

The third phase will see the arts and crafts chandelier hung and Herme finally moved to his place on the wall. This phase requires an electrician. At that point I’ll declare a pause until spring when I have some landscaping/yard cleanup work that I hope Vince can accomplish. There’s another level of organization that the loft requires, too. I’ll be getting on that as soon as all this calms down. Mostly filing that needs doing as a result of my taking over the financial responsibilities.

My conceit is that Kate would have loved all this, but truthfully, I’m not sure. A lot of money splashed around, a lot of disruption. As she might have said, “I’m feeling penurious.” I know I’ll love all of it.

One unexpected but oh so good part of all this was my discovery of a notebook containing a page from January 2021, four months before Kate’s death. She had started a gratitude journal. Early in the month one entry read, “Charlie’s wonderful care.” A second, later in the month, “Charlie, always.” Sweet honey to the rock of my sadness.

Time for breakfast now and then more prep work for Wednesday’s moving day, a workout after. Gotta go. On the flip side.

Anoka County, Dogs, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Great Wheel, Health, Judaism, Kabbalah, Memories, Minnesota, Mountains, Mussar, Our Land and Home, Reimagine. Reconstruct. Reenchant., Shadow Mountain, Weather +Climate

Charlie’s Difficult, Wonderful Week

February 18, 2022 Charles Leave a comment

Imbolc and the 3/4 Moon

Thursday gratefuls: Rigel. Her death. Kep. That hole in my heart. Tom. Here. Cannabis. Leah. Marilyn and Irv. Susan Marcus and Thoreau. Rich Levine. Dr. Palmini. VRCC. The new kitchen. The new furniture and lamp. Snow. A good bit. Stopped early morning. Plowed Black Mountain Drive. Bright Sun. Robin Egg’s Sky. White Lodgepoles and a white Black Mountain.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Rigel’s death. And, her life.

My life flows on in endless song,
above earth’s lamentation.
I catch the sweet, though far-off hymn
that hails a new creation. The Hymnary

Yes, it’s surprising, but this is how I feel. Eager for the new creation while sad about Rigel, about Kate, about the life that included them in the body. No, I’m not moving out of the present moment. I anticipate nothing. I regret nothing. I yearn for nothing.

Part of this equilibrium I have Tom Crane to thank for. He came here, to Shadow Mountain. And cousin Diane Keaton, my best person when Kate and I married. I speak with her once a week. Part of it has to do with the Great Wheel which has turned for Kate and Rigel and will one day turn for me. Part of it has do with the loving and loved members of Congregation Beth Evergreen and the Ancient Brothers. They hold me in a fine net of their care, mystic cords of love.

And, of course, part of it lies within me. One now turned toward the earth rather the heavens of the old three story universe. One reading the torah of mother nature, listening to midrash about her. Her oral torah loosed in the songs of birds, the bugling of the elk, the silence of snow falling.

Leaving now for breakfast with Tom. More in a while.

No, the deep sorrow has not left me. If someone says something kind about Kate or the conversation turns to death and dying, sometimes tears will press up, coming from a holy well of honor for her, for us. This will, I imagine, lessen over time. It did with my mother. It has with each of the dogs. Vega’s death took the longest to assimilate because she died suddenly and after we had been gone for four weeks.

Tom’s willingness to be here and his actual presence has, as my Jewish friends say of the deceased, been for a blessing. We know each other. Pain. Flaws. Joys. Anguish. Inner compasses aligned.

Kep and I have begun to negotiate life after Rigel. Just us boys. He comes up to the loft, but he’s not eager to stay. He likes to roam. Gertie would lie down on her bed, from time to time gaze up at me, and leave with reluctance.

Today is body-mind-spirit day. Breakfast with Tom. Therapy with David Sanders. Annual physical with Kristine Gonzalez. New workout with personal trainer, Deb Brown.

Did not finish this yesterday. So, I’ll just go on from here.

David Sanders called me an exceptionally intelligent person. Nice to hear. In these tough days a few compliments help. He also noted my breadth of knowledge. OK. Enough back patting. He convinced me to send him some of my work. I sent him the first fifty pages of Superior Wolf. And, I admitted that I probably had a book in me about the Great Wheel, tactile spirituality, the ur-religion. Feels like he moved the meter in my head back toward creative work.

Saw Kristine Gonzalez, my new primary care provider. What a delight! She loves taking care of folks over 65, listened to me, discussed my health with me like an adult. To my Bill Schmidt inspired question about what I needed to do to love (meant live, but this works, too) until I’m 90, she said, “Just do it. Your prostate cancer is under control. You should be able to.” A big sigh of relief to be in a smaller medical practice and with a competent, caring doc. I told her Kate would have liked her a lot.

Dave and Deb, owners of On the Move Fitness

Then, over to On the Move Fitness for a kick start to my workout routines which I’d let slide. Deb is the person who lost her husband David to glioblastoma in June of 2020 as the Covid pandemic began to wrap its coils around our lives. Dave and I bonded over cancer recurrences and now Deb and I have over grief. She gently guided me back to a new routine. Slowly, slowly.

By the time I got home I was exhausted. Called Tom and said so. He graciously agreed to let me rest. He’s coming here for breakfast before his board meeting, then we’ll probably head over to the Happy Camper. Might go to Scooter’s for lunch.

One of the upsides of all the angst this last year has been an immersion in love. Folks from all parts of my life from high school to college, family to friends, Minnesota to Colorado, Evergreen to Conifer, Judaism to Christianity have reached out, offered or given me support. It’s had the result I’ve needed. I’m not alone. I’m both needed and accepted as I am. Good to know at 75.

Cooking, Dogs, Family, Feelings, Mountains, Our Land and Home, Shadow Mountain

Award Winning Pet Grooming. Happy Camper. Shaggy Sheep.

February 4, 2022 Charles Leave a comment

Imbolc and the 3/4 Moon

Friday gratefuls: Racism. Anti-Semitism. Sexism. Caste consciousness. Hate. Love. Justice. Resistance. Struggle. Le lucha. The long dureé. Vince. Snow. Ruth and her commitment to herself. Jon and his love for her. Betty Whiteout and Ctr Salt Delete, names for Minnesota Snowplows.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: The Container Store (for my new kitchen organizing)

Tarot: Nine of Bows, Respect.

Started putting things in cabinets and drawers. Gonna have to get creative since I lost two drawers in the remodel. Going to the container store tomorrow. Pots, pans, dishes, bowls, cups, infrequently used items like soup tureen, large serving dishes, punch bowl, even appliances will have plenty of room. Towels and dishrags, too. Often used items like forks and spoons and steak knives, spatulas, tongs, wooden spoons, as well. But the not so often used things like thermometers, Kate’s extensive collection of single use kitchen devices, e.g. cherrypitter, pomegranate deseeder, not so much. I look forward to solving this problem. Seriously.

Rescheduled my appointment with Deb Brown for Zoom.

Talked to Ruth again yesterday. She’s pleased with her care at Denver Springs. Music therapy, group therapy, regular individual therapy sessions. It makes me happy that she wants to call me to talk. Sad that she calls me from a psych unit.

That’s the roof with the solar panels. See the problem?

Sent Vince, new snowplow guy a note. Would he be willing to rake off the bottom foot or so of my solar panels when he plows? This would pay for itself if he’s willing. Then, the snow slips off as the sun comes out and I get back to electricity generation. Especially important since the mini-splits are electric.

I did turn the hot water heat on in Kate’s sewing room because I’m going to be rearranging the pantry and bringing things back into the kitchen from there. It’s still a point of chaos in some areas, too. Not gonna deal with that until it’s warmer, too expensive to heat all year round.

Becky Chamber’s, A Long Way to a Small Angry Planet, is an interesting read. Her characters and world-building are very strong. The plot maybe not quite as important. Recommended. Like being back in the reading groove.

Lots of positives right now. May they continue.

Abraham Lincoln died. Rich made a digital picture file.

Got to take Rigel to Bailey today for Award Winning Pet Grooming. Gonna go first to Happy Camper for Cheeba Chews, then on into Bailey to the groomers and on past them to the Shaggy Sheep, near Grant, for lunch and to wait on Rigel. Shaggy Sheep is fun. A New York City chef wanted the quiet life so he moved to Colorado and put a restaurant together on Hwy. 285 between Bailey and the Kenosha Pass.

General, Judaism, Our Land and Home, Politics, Shadow Mountain

Canaries in the Coal Mine of our Democracy

January 19, 2022 Charles Leave a comment

Yule and the Moon of the New Year

Where’s the Webb? 95% of the way to L2. 847000 miles from home. Only 52000 miles to go. Mission day 25. According to the graphic all mirror segments are now deployed.

Wednesday gratefuls: Shirley Waste. Bowe. The grout and the backsplash. The farm sink. Inching closer. Closer. CORE. Generator. Kohler. Solar panels. Juice in the house. Computers. Induction Stove. Lights. Televisions. Mini-splits. Baseboard heat. Fans. Treadmill. Rigel’s stiff leg.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Electricity (lol)

Tarot: Queen of vessels, Salmon

The hostage taking in Colleyville, Texas. Congregation Beth-Israel. A Britisher who believed Jews controlled the media, the banks, the government. Old tropes from The Protocols of the Elders of Zion. Yes. Propaganda has affect. Even after all its creators are long dead. Want to understand some of the white supremacists? Read The Turner Diaries. Words have power. Ideas have power. And, conspiracy ideas can kill.

My shoulder next to Alan’s. Next to Marilyn’s. Next to Jamie’s. Next to Luke’s. Next to Ellen’s. Together. Solidarity challenges hate. Love challenges hate. Compassion challenges hate. As Beth Israel congregant Jeffery Cohen, one of the hostages, said:

“(He) said he didn’t regret the generosity the congregants had initially shown the stranger who showed up at their synagogue.

“I don’t like what happened. I wish it hadn’t. I wish this guy hadn’t been that way,” he said. “But where would we be in a world if we didn’t welcome the stranger? That would not be a world that I want to be in.”” Washington Post, 1/18/22

Not a world I’d want to live in either.

If you’re not Jewish, or closely aligned, you may not be ticking up the number of assaults on Jews and synagogues. If you are, though, each incident seems like one more finger pulled out of the dike behind which lies a lake of venom. I think Jeffery Cohen had Never Again on his mind; he refused to kneel when the hostage taker demanded it. As the anti-semites become more emboldened, as white supremacists increase their attacks on Americans of color, the fabric of our Republic has begun to tear. Sometimes I wonder, Jose? Is that flag still there?

I find myself thinking about the Weimar Republic. Of the world after the Spanish Flu. About the flourishing world of the Incas and the Aztecs just before the conquistadors arrived. About the Moors in immediately pre-inquisition Spain. About those doomed civilizations. Those who loved and laughed and danced among them. How shocking the rise of the Nazis. How shocking the world’s morality weakened in the aftermath of a long plague. How entrancing the pleasures of Germany after WWI. How vibrant and colorful the indigenous empires before the plumed helmets and arquebuses.

It is vanity of the most naive and dangerous kind to think all these were abberations. That Rome falling has nothing to do with 2022 America. That Kublai Khan’s vanquishing of the Song Dynasty does not have lessons for us. The Song dynasty was a high-point in ceramics, painting, of literature and song. The Yuan dynasty which followed it in 1271 had a steppe Mongol as its emperor.

I hope, without much conviction, that the Trump era brought in the clowns and we voters packed up their tents and hurried them off to the long time home of American circuses, Florida. Yet as the anti-semites pull themselves out of their darkened rooms, as the Klan and the Proud Boys and the 3%’rs and their enablers in the GOP take politics into a muddy, mucky, bloody brawl, as climate change bears down on us, I wonder how many it will take to pack up the tents and the menageries and the sideshows this next time?

I don’t want to live through the demise of American democracy. I’m guessing you don’t want to either. What’s the priority right now? I guess I’d fall back on this old chestnut: the only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is that good folk do nothing. Spoken by noted British conservative, Edmund Burke.

Aging, Anoka County, Dogs, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Garden, Great Wheel, Health, Judaism, Memories, Minnesota, Mountains, Our Land and Home, permaculture, Plants, Shadow Mountain, Tarot

Impermanence

January 15, 2022 Charles Leave a comment

Yule and the Moon of the New Year

Where’s the Webb? 791ooo miles from home. 108000 miles to L2 insertion. 88% of the way. .1769 mps. Sunshield: 131 F. Primary Mirror: -328 F.

Saturday gratefuls: Snow. Fresh and white. A friend’s Dog, cancer. The house changing, transforming. The Hermitage. Brown. Color. Kep’s abundant, luxuriant, always growing fur. The Mountains in Winter. The Lodgepoles with heavy bows. The Arcosanti bell has a white fairy cap. The outdoor table has a round, snowy table covering exactly its size. Medical Guardian. Uncertainty.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: The love we have for our Dogs. And the love they have for us.

Tarot: Page of Arrows, The Wren

A friend’s dog diagnosed with inoperable cancer. A friend on her third or fourth round of chemo for ovarian cancer. Kate dead. My own, more tractable cancer. Life. Then death. The way of the animate world. It says something about our need, our lust for permanence that disease followed by death exacts such a toll. But it does. Death is no more, no less prevalent than birth and life; but, it insults us, destroys our fabricated lives.

When the snow fell today, all day, as it hasn’t in a while, it covered the driveway, my solar panels, this Shadow Mountain. Even our daily views are impermanent, changing often in the temperate latitudes where I’ve lived all my life.

Ichi-go, ichi-e. Every moment, every encounter is once in a lifetime. The tea ceremony is a beautiful expression, a reminder of this oh, so important truth. Kate will never be here on this plane again. Unique and significant in her quick intelligence, her dry wit, her chesed, her love for me, for Jon, Ruth, Gabe. My friend’s dog, whom I’ve met many times, likewise. Stolid. Built low to the ground. Attentive, but mostly arranging himself near Rich. Each time I met him was a whole moment. Complete and wonderful. As was each day with Kate.

This summer my friend with ovarian cancer made home-made strawberry ice-cream and we shared it at a table in Mt. Falcon Park, near Morrison. We both had the brand of the impermanent burned into our bodies with blood draws, sleepless nights, worry, treatments. If we could, as the Buddhists I think recommend, lean into the impermanence, grant it the piquancy it brings, the poignance of ichi-go, ichi-e as a home truth, if we could, we might still mourn and grieve, but we might also find room to celebrate the passing of each once-in-a-lifetime instance.

Each spring in Andover plants would push up from the cold, cold Earth. The Grape Hyacinths, the Daffodils, the Crocus, the Anemones. The Spring Ephemerals. Those plants whose strategy is to store food during a burst of growth before Leaves on Trees and Bushes, taller Flowers block them out. Such a joyous, brilliant, hopeful life. Yet, brief. Ephemeral. Gone in a couple of weeks, three, four at the most.

Oh, how I miss those delights of the cold, wet days of late Winter, early Spring. I no longer miss caring for the Gardens, but I miss them nonetheless. Those gardens were an immersion, like foreign language immersion, in the ongoing lives of plants, in the dance of life and the inevitability of death. Each fall we composted the dead stalks that delivered food to the roots of vegetables and flowers. They had more to give even though they were now lifeless.

The Earth gives us daily lessons in impermanence, but we rationalize, smooth over, just don’t see them. I’m writing this now in the 10th month after Kate’s death. Her memory blesses me every day. Her lessons, the things she taught me. The same. I leave the door open on the washer so it won’t mildew. I trust my doctors. I love Judaism and the Jews that I know. Impermanence has permanently changed me.

Art and Culture, Asia, Cooking, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Our Land and Home, Science, Shadow Mountain, Tarot, Writing

Blessings and Curses

January 9, 2022 Charles Leave a comment

Yule and the Moon of the New Year

Where’s the Webb?: Fully deployed the Webb has come 684000 miles from home and has 214000 to go to reach L2. This is 76% of the journey in distance. However this is Mission day 15 and it won’t reach L2 for another 14 Earth days. Slowing still at .2358 mps. Sun shield temp: 131F. Primary mirror: -289.

Sunday gratefuls: Modern Bungalow. Cheap sunglasses at Target. Down the hill and back. Ruby, still less than 32000 miles on her. Iris kitchen. The Turtle clock. A new living room waiting. Early February, after the kitchen reentry. Feeling energized and excited. The Webb fully deployed, now cruising to its spot on L2. Quantum mechanics. Natal charts. Kabbalah. A new way.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: New furniture

Tarot me, current path, potential: eight of stones, skill; three of bows, fulfillment; six of vessels, reunion

On the drive down to the Modern Bungalow in Denver I took the time to consider my schedule. My bête noire of the moment. Wipe the slate clean. What’s my schedule like at its barest? My day has four anchor points: 6 am, get up and feed the dogs. 6:30 or so, up to the loft and write Ancientrails. 3 pm, feed and water the dogs. 8:45 pm, go to bed. I have to get up and go to bed. I have to feed and water the dogs. I do not, however, have to write Ancientrails in the morning.

Of course, I’ve done that for almost 17 years, since March of 2005 while recovering from my Achilles tendon repair. That’s a pretty long streak. Still, I could do it another way. I can write it later in the day. Which I’m doing right now, at 5:30 pm. I’ll still post it in the morning, but my experiment with my time will be this: 6:30 or so, up to the loft and write 1,000 to 1,500 words. Fiction. Jennie’s Dead or my new work which will feature Lycaon again.

Exercise will still be important, but a shade less important than all the writing. That is, I will finish my word count for fiction before exercising. And, I will tailor my exercise to the time I have. Gonna consult with somebody to work out the minimum necessary to maintain my health. Two to three HIIT sessions. At least one, preferably two longer, slower cardio days. At least two days of resistance. That will be the goal, but it will be subordinate to writing.

Appointments in the early afternoon if possible. Weekends and Wednesdays exercise free zones. Wednesday still D3 day.

For many years I wrote 1,000 to 1,500 words a day, day in and day out. That’s how I have 9 novels finished at least through the first draft. I lost that rhythm and I’ve felt the loss every day since. Want it back.

At the Modern Bungalow I picked out a rocker, a coffee table, a chandelier, and a standing lamp. Found an Arts and Crafts clock with a Turtle in ceramic tile and bought that, too. Kate’s totem animal was the Turtle, slow and steady. The clock will give the new living room a definite Kate accent. I scheduled delivery for early February, a birthday present to myself and well after I’ve reestablished myself in the new kitchen.

I plan to ask Jon if he will stencil yellow Irises above my new cabinets in the kitchen. I want it to be the Iris kitchen. Another Kate acknowledgment. Irises were her favorite flower. The kitchen will need a splash of color since the brown of the cabinets will give it a darker feel. Why I splurged on the counter top, to have a large light surface against the dark cabinets.

The Webb. With all of the turmoil and division roiling the political landscape it sure felt good to see a BIG project like the Webb get through launch and deployment. So many of my friends also seem enthralled with this new tool for deep space observation. A lot of its work will be in spectra of light that human eyes cannot see.

I noticed from a NYT space notice on my google calendar that this week is the earth’s closest approach to the sun in its orbit. I don’t know if that had anything to with the timing of the Webb launch, but it seemed apropos anyhow.

We not only live the curse of the Chinese, May you live in interesting times, but we also live with the blessing of a visionary, pioneering space program.

Gotta admit I’m excited to be alive right now.

Cooking, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Health, Our Land and Home, Shadow Mountain, Tarot

Core Issue 2022

January 8, 2022 Charles Leave a comment

Yule and the New Year Moon

Where is the Webb? 664000 miles from home. 234000 miles to L2. 74% of journey complete. .2484 mps. Mission day, 14. Final deployment of the remaining mirror segments can be seen at 7 am MT here. Sunshield temp is 131F. Primary mirror temp is -278F.

If you look at this photo just right, I think you see Kate Olson looking back at you.

Saturday gratefuls: The weekend. Yes, I still observe this two day holiday. Working on my core 2022 issue. Snow rake. Brian. Bowe. Judy. The finish line. Maybe Jan. 17. The Webb’s deployment and the Iris Kitchen happening at the same time. Max and Kate. Life continuing. Innocence. The Snow. Tarot. Getting stuff done.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: This photograph and sentence from Grandpa Strickland.

Tarot: spread for today: Two of Bows, fulfillment. Ten of Vessels, happiness. #19 The Sun of Life (aspiration, obstacle, how to overcome)

Watched the last of the Webb deployment on NasaTV. I still can’t translate time from one zone to the other. This is a longstanding and frustrating glitch in my getalong. Almost missed it. Brother Tom prodded me.

Wow. Lots of other steps in bringing the telescope into full utility, but failure at anyone of the deployment steps would’ve precluded its functioning at all. Sighs of relief as this expensive mission completes its major hardware hurdles. I’m happy.

Which latter point brings me to the hard card in today’s spread. My question was: how can I resolve a dialectical conflict between creative time and self-care time, especially exercise? Happiness is the obstacle? Huh?

Then I thought about the article I read a few weeks ago about happiness and satisfaction, or, as I will characterize it here, happiness and flourishing. (Eudaimonia) Happiness is a fleeting thing, a thing of the moment. Lunch with a friend. A smile from a child. That dog sticking his head out the window. Yes, it is both important and to be treasured. But. It’s not a constant state. Can’t be by its nature.

Most people, this article said, choose satisfaction/flourishing over happiness. We will often forego times that would make us happy to engage in work that allows us to express ourselves fully in the world.

Oh. Yes, even happiness can be an obstacle to work that takes incremental effort. This does not mean we make ourselves unhappy, but that we choose a longer path which can reduce our titer of happiness in the moment.

How can we overcome our need to be happy now? By having work that matters, that is the Sun to our life. Seeing happiness as a condiment for life rather than its purpose.

To flourish I need to finish novels, learn Kabbalah and tarot and astrology, study more about democracy and our current troubles, learn better cooking techniques. I can feel I’m peaking now intellectually and creatively so I’m gonna lean that way.

Not sure yet how to solve the schedule conflicts between exercise and creative work. That’s my central issue for 2022 and beyond.

No issues with my teeth. Full x-rays. Good news. I take good care of my teeth and that’s paying off. Also, the business person at Aspen Park Dental said I could drop my existing dental insurance in favor of the AARP Plan-1’s coverage. That’ll save me $65 books a month. Really $130 since I only this week convince Ameritas to cancel Kate’s insurance. $1560 a year. Enough to pay my Plan-1 premium and take a bite out of my ridiculous car insurance premium. Good deal.

Jodi got covid and couldn’t come to look at the work with Bowe and Brian. Bowe, who is, as he said, a cabinet guy, had a long conversation with Brian. Those hinges, that door, those lazy susans. Oh. Brian says. I see. That’s an easy fix.

His delivery date was the week before Christmas and we still don’t have all the cabinets yet. Plus he made what Bowe called rookie mistakes. It’ll all get sorted out over the next week. Bowe starts the backsplash on Monday. Brian delivers the rest of his work, cabinets and shelving, on the 17th. I like the cabinets. Thank god.

Cooking, Dogs, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Health, Jefferson County, Judaism, Memories, Minnesota, Our Land and Home, Science, Shadow Mountain, Tarot

That Small Town Feeling

January 5, 2022 Charles Leave a comment

Yule and the New Year Moon

Where is the Webb? 2/3rds of the way to L2! 597000 miles from Home. 302,000 to orbital insertion. Still slowing at .2964 mps. Secondary mirror deployment begins. Mission day 11. Full mirror deployment scheduled for mission day 15!

Wednesday gratefuls: Small towns. Stephanie. My urology referral. Evergreen. The breakfast burrito. Kep and Rigel. Bowe. The cabinets. Getting there. Grief. Mourning. Kate, always Kate. Yellow Irises in the new kitchen. Cold coming today. Snow. Snow rake here. Gonna use it today. Ruby, riding down the mountain and back up. A sweet ride.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Small town feeling.

Tarot-January spread, Health: Page of Arrows, the Wren.

“Wren urges us to be the sort of person who keeps the curiosity of youth, to be attentive to our surroundings, and ready to learn when the opportunity appears.

The Druids considered that the wren, the smallest bird, was the wisest. So, wrens remind us to listen.” wildwood book

Simple things that make me happy. Moved my doc to Conifer Medical Practice’s Evergreen location. So, so happy. I drive a familiar road, down Black Mountain Drive and then Brook Forest Drive to 73. Into Evergreen to Stagecoach Boulevard. Stephanie, the PA I saw today, was chatty, friendly, unguarded, knowledgeable.

Didn’t have go down the hill, into suburban Littleton to a bigger physician’s group. When I got done, I found a breakfast burrito and coffee at the same place I buy the occasional chili cheese dog on my way home from mussar.

I’ll still have to down the hill for my ophthalmologist and urologist, gastroenterologist. But those are occasional appointments.

When I see Jackie in Aspen Park, my hairstylist, I get the same feeling. She knows me. I know her. We both live up here.

Going to Congregation Beth Evergreen expands the number of folks I know who live up here, too: Alan. Marilyn and Irv. Michele and David. Rebecca. Rabbi Jamie. Luke. Ellen. Elizabeth. Rich. Tara.

When I worked on the West Bank in Minneapolis. Same. I got to know residents, business owners, street people. We said hi. Sometimes stopped to talk. Seeing and being seen.

When I create Shadow Mountain Hermitage, it’s a hermitage embedded in a nest of familiar places and people. Alone, but not lonely. Grieving, not mourning. Life without ennui or angst. Small town, rural life.

Some folks might feel suffocated in such a small circle of people. Not me. Feels just right. Family comes from time to time. Friends, too. It has the emotional quality for me as walking downtown in Alexandria, Indiana. Indiana as a state appalls me. Yes. But growing up in a small community where seeing and being seen was a gift freely and often unknowingly granted to everyone imprinted me.

I’m speaking for myself. You might be an urban guy or suburban gal. I’ve lived in both and know they both have terrific aspects. When it comes to where my heart feels best though. I’m living in it.

A real afterlife exists in the mailing lists and databases of companies and institutions. Kate continues to get mail. Now 9 months after her death. The most peculiar one was this one and it made me think Kate may have been paying attention to Moira:

The kitchen remodel grows closer and closer to the finish. Bowe put up cabinets, got water to my dishwasher. Brian still owes us two cabinets, a few doors, and shelving for installed cabinets. He did the take the China display cabinet I’ve been trying to get out of our downstairs since we moved in here. Fist pump!

When I stood in the kitchen after Bowe left, I did another fist pump. Even unfinished it made me feel energy, desire to cook there. I’m excited. The new, hybrid space has begun to emerge from plans, boxes, waits.