Category Archives: US History

Memories, Men, Minnesota, Politics, US History

The Heart of Darkness

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Lughnasa and the Cheshbon Nefesh Moon

Thursday gratefuls: Paul. Tom. Naps. Shadow and her new Lobster. Nylabone. Her morning sweetness. Rain. Smoky the Bear on Low Fire Danger. The family in South Korea. In Denver. In Saudi Arabia. In Australia and K.L. In Longmont. Planting Carrots. Watering them in. Irv and his new tooth. Rumi. Kabir. Hafiz. Basho. Cold Mountain. Woodsworth. Coleridge. Blake. Keats. Thomas. Harris. Berry. Whitman. Dickinson. Oliver. Collins.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Mountain roads

Year Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah: Rodef Shalom. The desire to generate well-being for ourselves and others.

Tarot: The Greenman, #4

  • “Creative fertility and power: Represents the abundant, regenerative, and vibrant male energy of the natural world.
  • Assertive dynamism: Signifies a new and thriving drive to begin projects, relationships, or new ways of living.”  Gemni

One brief shining: Morning darkness now greets Shadow and me as we get up, covering the back yard, obscuring the Lodgepoles, the Aspen, Artemis except for the glow of her heater, all the toys and socks and bones Miss Shadow has relocated there, the Bluebells, the invasive Mullein, those sawtooth Ground Covers I don’t recognize; the same darkness obscures 10,000 foot Black Mountain as if its Massif did not exist. What does your inner darkness obscure?

Minneapolis: Forty years of my life were spent in Minnesota. Most of them in the Twin Cities of Minneapolis and St. Paul. Cities I loved and love still. My heart breaks for Minneapolis, a city with flaws, sure, it’s a place inhabited by humans; yet also a place committed to a diverse citizenry, to beauty, to citizen based planning, to justice for all. Does it fall short on all of these? Of course it does, yet no more so than most, probably a lot less.

And yet.  The Annunciation shooting yesterday. Melissa Hortman and her husband. Gilbert. Only two months ago. George Floyd.

When I worked on the West Bank in Minneapolis, I conducted a memorial service for a long time resident of that then counter-cultural neighborhood. I don’t remember her name, but I remember how she died. Standing on the back porch of her second floor apartment, a bullet so spent it didn’t pierce the back of her coveralls, did shatter her heart. She had children, was in her early thirties.

I do remember saying in my eulogy for her that the only sense that could be made of her death lay in one place. The need to control gun violence. I don’t recall if we did anything about that then, I suspect not or I would remember. This would have been in the mid-nineteen eighties.

In the same time period I counseled a young Black man from the Southside to give evidence against a known gangster. Another young Black man who had committed more than one murder, his violence keeping others in the neighborhood quiet.

To show the complexity. He did give evidence. And then was harassed at his job at a local pharmacy by friends of the man he’d sent to Stillwater Prison. So often that he eventually moved to Florida. His sister, too.

I think of Joseph Conrad’s, The Heart of Darkness.

Dogs, Family, Far Right, Friends, Politics, US History

I Mean, C’mon Guy

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Lughnasa and the Cheshbon Nefesh Moon

Tuesday gratefuls: Cool Morning. Morning darkness. Shadow and her tire. New toys for Shadow. Insulation for Artemis. Shadow and Artemis. Enriching my life. And, theirs. That Mule Deer Doe yearling. Eleanor. Tara. Marilyn and Irv. Late lunch at Three Victorias. Rabbi Jamie’s 20 years. The insuring of Shadow.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Tara’s snacks, her conversation

Year Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah: Rodef Shalom. The desire to generate well-being for ourselves and others.

Tarot: Ace of Arrows, the Breath of Life

“The card signals the start of a journey focused on intellect, communication, and ambition. It’s a call to examine your beliefs and be open to new information, “spring cleaning” your mind of what no longer serves you.” Gemini

One brief shining: The small mostly black Dog ran ahead of the tawny colored Mule Deer, dashing turning, catching up then chasing, two young Animals at play, ginning up energy as they ran, the joy of being young.

 

Dog Journal: Eleanor came to visit the same day. She’s black with curly hair. A bundle of puppy doggy earnestness, movement twice as big as Shadow. They ran outside, around the yard, then back inside up the stairs to see what Tara and I were doing. Talking. Boring. Back down the stairs and outside. Quite a day for the Shadow Dog.

 

Children and Grandchildren: Tara and I meanwhile parsed the mysteries of raising children, grandparenting. Each child, each grandchild has their own, unique path. Vincent’s second bite at the Big Apple. Ruth switching her major from art to premed. Julia in her second year of a master’s degree in something neurological. In Holland. Gabe, waking up, choosing creative writing. Sophia, working at Wendy’s, fashion forward. My son, in command far away on the Korean Peninsula. All spokes radiating outward from their family of origin, all connected, yet also all so, so different.

Tara brought bacon and a Fruit salad; I made the coffee. We also talked gardening. Her Tomatoes have begun to ripen. She made Zucchini bread and had some for me. Tara starts her day seeing how her garden is doing, first looking at it from the second story deck, then wandering down to check on it up close. I go to mine each day, too.

Oh, and btw. I found my Seeds. I’d put them behind the metal bookstand next to Moby Dick. Planting Carrots this morning.

 

Just a moment: Conservative principle #2. Nationalism. “Human beings form national collectives characterized by bonds of mutual loyalty and unique inherited traditions.” Hazony places this definition over against what he considers Enlightenment Liberal understandings of the nation as a creedal collective. The French Revolution. Jefferson’s Declaration of Independence. For instance.

In Hazony’s Hobbesian world (though he lumps Hobbes in with the Enlightenment Liberals, he leaves out Hobbes’ war of all against all.) competing families form competing clans which in turn form competing tribes which then create a nation. Which competes with other unique nations.

My primary critique of his view of nationalism is that I see no evidence for competing families forming competing clans. Or, clans forming tribes. Let alone tribes creating a nation. So there.

He also, later on, makes the extraordinary claim that nations function according to the scientific method, remember historical empiricism? Like Newton the conservative nationalist observes how laws work, how programs and policies function, then inductively creates any tweaks necessary. This after what I can only call a rant about rationalism. I mean, c’mon guy, choose a path.

Dogs, Far Right, Greenhouse, Politics, US History, Wild Neighbors

Creative Tension

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Lughnasa and the Cheshbon Nefesh Moon

Monday gratefuls: Shadow’s sweetness. Morning darkness. Shadow, destroyer of towels. Ode and his mushroom trip. His brother. Cancer. Rain. Cool mornings. Many, many green tomatoes. That Mule Deer in the yard. Learning how to use Artemis. Rabbi Jamie’s gala. My best teacher. Luke. Alan and Cheri, healing.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Artemis’ Hail protection

Year Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah: Rodef Shalom. The desire to generate well-being for ourselves and others.

Tarot: Page of Bows, Stoat

“The stoat’s seasonal coat change and use as royal ermine emphasize a sacred connection to the earth and the cycle of nature. The card serves as a reminder to honor the ground beneath your feet and reconnect with your vital, ancient self.” Gemini

One brief shining: Buddy Ode wrote me from the road, a trip with and for mushrooms, all the way to Telluride with Dennis, then over to K.C. to see his brother, driving by himself much of the way, a lone Ancient Brother, a rolling meditation.

 

Dog journal:

Bandit. Saw a post on Nextdoor Shadow Mountain about a Blue Heeler named Bandit. He slipped away from his humans in Hiwan, part of Evergreen. They described him as skittish and shy, unlikely to come to a stranger. Sightings of him led them to near the Buchanan Recreation Center. Though skittish and shy even with his humans, he “finally broke down and came to us.” This week.

Boy, this is Shadow. Must be breed specific behavior. Makes me feel better about the bond Shadow and I have. And, about getting her back inside at all on Saturday.

Addenda: Stopped writing. To workout. Kate’s old sewing room that overlooks the backyard. A Mule Deer Doe, a yearling was in the yard. Shadow was not barking at her, though I wish she would. To protect my growing Vegetables that don’t yet have critter barriers.

Shadow gave an obvious play bow to the Deer. Then again. And again. Finally, the Deer got it and they chased each other in zooming circles throughout the backyard, through the Lodgepoles, around Artemis, past the lone Aspen, onto the leechfield and on and on.

I don’t know how long, three/four minutes. The Mule Deer had longer strides, might have been faster on a straightaway, but she tilted and had to correct while trying to follow Shadow’s fleet bursts of speed and turns. Play ended with the Doe’s tongue hanging out, panting. Shadow came inside, proud of herself.

 

Shadow Mountain Home: One inch Hail yesterday. Unusual for this elevation. Had  roofers knocking on doors, looking for that big insurance payout.

I’ve saved a couple of guy’s information who live here on Shadow Mountain. May have one of them come to check my roof. Of course this came just after my home insurance policy added a $5,000 deductible for any Hail damage claim. Sigh.

The good news is that I had Nathan build out the roof on Artemis so it covered the outside raised beds. One round of Hail like this could wipe out a whole season’s growth. Kale, Spinach, Beets, Squash, Nasturtiums all healthy.

Odd thing. Saw a note about planting carrots right now, letting them get sweet as the weather cools. I thought, oooh, I have carrot seeds. I can plant them in the east facing bed. I even added special soil to that bed on Saturday morning. However.

Where did I put those seeds? I bundled up the packets I hadn’t planted and put them away for next year. OK. That’s good. But where did I put the damned things? I can’t find them. They’re here in the place I considered logical a month ago. Again, sigh.

 

Just a moment: I do plan to return to the five principles of National Conservatism, but until I do I have begun to wonder about the nature of conservatives. Why they focus so much on stability and order.

The thinking in Hazony’s book is about confining the individual and the group by adherence to historical empiricism, not only as I wrote about it on Friday related to governance, but in every other sphere of life: family, (tribe, which I don’t find a convincing argument for in U.S. culture), and nation.

My take is that much, if not most, of conservative thought comes from fear-based reflections on the human experience. A fear that too much leeway to change laws will destabilize the nation or the state. A fear that accepting gender challenges will destabilize relationships. A fear that allowing women their whole life will destabilize the family. A fear that an intentionally heterogeneous citizenry will destabilize the culture.

While these fears may not be unreferented, their effect is to trap the other in the closet, in the kitchen, in a white’s only culture. That’s why we need both liberals and conservatives, conservatives to remind us of what we have and liberals to remind us of what we can yet have. A healthy, creative tension.

 

 

Dogs, Family, Far Right, Fourth Phase, Greenhouse, Politics, Seed Keepers, US History

Paying For It. Right Now.

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Lughnasa and the Korea Moon

Tuesday gratefuls: Kate, always Kate. Gabe, thinking of her, thinking of me without her. He and Ruth driving up here yesterday. Oyama. Sushi, our common ground for food. Our conversations. About two college girls on their own in an apartment. About senior sunrise, which Gabe is doing right now.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Grandkids.

Year Kavannah: Wu wei

Week Kavannah: Histapkot. Contentment.

Tarot: The Forest Lovers, #6

One brief shining: Hammer in hand, I drove four nails into Artemis, two on each outside raised bed, pulled out a length of twine, long, cut it from the spool and tied loose knots around Squash Plant Vines under a branch for strength, attaching the twine to the first nail, looping it, and the second nail, a tight note, redirecting the Squash toward the ground so its large fruits will not occupy the raised bed, robbing the Kale, Spinach, and Beets of Great Sol’s light.

 

Yesterday I wondered what I might do to celebrate Kate’s birthday. Last year I took myself out to dinner at Evoke 1923, ordered oysters for an appetizer, and discovered a pearl. Hard to top that.

Yet, it happened. Gabe thought of me, texted Ruth in Longmont. She contacted me and we soon had a lunch plan for a sushi place in Golden. That morning, yesterday morning, Shadow got me up at 3:30 am, and my back acted up early.

Ruth was ok with driving the extra half hour up here. (I paid for her gas.) They got here to the Mountain home around 11:30. We ate lunch at Oyama, a local sushi spot.

In honor of Kate I ordered a tempura bento box. When the rest of us, Jon, Ruth, and I, would go to a sushi place, she made do by ordering tempura. She was more a prime rib or tenderloin sorta gal.

Discovered, again, why I don’t order it for myself. Too dense. Too heavy. Still, Kate’s memory.

We came back to Shadow Mountain, talked some more. Toured Artemis and her amazing Tomatoes, her Spinach, Kale, Beets, and Squash. Everything that’s growing has done well over the last couple of weeks.

Gabe carried two bags of gardening Soil out to her for me. Something only a few years ago I could have done under one arm. Sigh.

 

Me and my Shadow: Yesterday I laid down for a nap (up at 3:30, remember?) and didn’t call Shadow for naptime. I wanted to get to sleep and sometimes she wakes me up.

I turned on the oxygen concentrator, cranked the fan up another turn, and went to sleep. When I woke up, Shadow had curled her body next to my pillow. Fast asleep. Oh. Well.

 

Just a moment: I read this Atlantic article yesterday, How Ivy League Admissions Broke America. I found the author’s argument not only persuasive, but possibly a way forward. He shows how an intentional change by Harvard to admissions based on intelligence rather than family lineage created an unhealthy distortion in our whole education system. The valorizing of intellect über alles.

We pushed away the bakers and candlestick makers, the steelworkers and the factory workers, farriers and dress makers. Placed them on a lower social rung. We’re paying for that right now.

Ancient Brothers, Family, Fourth Phase, Friends, Humanities, Poetry, Politics, Seed Keepers, US History, World History

Ways Forward

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Lughnasa and the Korea Moon

Tuesday gratefuls: Waning gibbous Moon. Morning Darkness. Shadow. Father of Shadows. Great Sol. Artemis and her children. Heirloom Vegetables. Raised beds. Co-creation. Gardening. Kate, always Kate. Bee keeping. The Atmosphere. The Troposphere. Space. The International Space Station. The Hubble. The Web. Exoplanets. Distant Suns. Galaxies. Black Holes.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Shadows

Year Kavannah: Wu wei

Week Kavannah:  Hakarat Hatov. Recognizing the Good

Tarot: The Seer, #2

One brief shining: The boiler turns itself on, feeding hot Water into the hot Water tank while open windows let cool Air flow in and over my chair, my feet the chair chosen by Kate supporting me while I write.

 

Hakarat Hatov: Recognizing the good. Luke’s joy at getting an associate Professorship in Chemistry. His care for Leo. Rabbi Jamie’s creative teaching. Tom’s quiet confidence. Ode’s sketchbooks. Bill’s everyday kindnesses. Paul’s serious joy.

As Paul said on Sunday, if we seek Hakarat Hatov, goodness abounds in everyday life, no matter the bitter and ugly transformation of our government. Too easy to focus on the doom, let ourselves fall into despair. Don’t ignore it, no, but also recognize the ordinary good all around.

 

Just a moment: A way forward. Storm Before the Calm by George Friedman. Amy, my audiologist, echoing a similar idea. She knows folks she said, progressives, who want to return to the Obama era. No, she says, MAGA has revealed too many cracks (her word. I might go with chasms, abysses.) in the U.S. There’s no going back Amy went on. What we have to do is survive these years, then build something new, something that takes into account the MAGA reveals.

I agree with her and with Friedman. The excesses of the Gilded Age, which Trump apparently has in mind, led to the progressive era of Teddy Roosevelt, the trust buster.

Or, we could also call this late stage capitalism wherein the oligarchs gather so much money unto themselves that the rest of us have too little to power the consumer economy.

Greed cometh before a fall. As Gordon Gecko showed us.

 

Learning: Higher education and in particular the Humanities have suffered hit after hit as the conservative mortar crews have begun to walk in their ordnance, finding the bunkers and trenches of Renaissance and Enlightenment thought with their “anti-semitic” coded explosives.

I no longer fear the elimination of Humanities courses. Why? Because Thucydides and Beowulf and O’Neil and Whitehead and Mozart and Caravaggio do not live in the academy. They live in those who seek to understand their own humanity, the ways forward when faced with a culture shattered by avarice and base fears.

We and mine will still read the Iliad to understand how one man’s rage can cost the lives of thousands, even millions with today’s WMDs. We will also return to multiple perspectives as modeled by Impressionist, Expressionist, Abstract, and Realist painters and sculptors. We will embrace a world characterized by the metaphysics of becoming, of a One always in process, over the split apart world of Cartesian metaphysics.

The Humanities will not, cannot disappear because they are us at our best, self critical. learning from the vast deposit of human lives already lived.

 

Asia, Denver, Family, Korea, The West, Travel, US History

The Buckhorn

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Lughnasa and the Korea Moon

Friday gratefuls: The Buckhorn Exchange. Appa and the long guns. Umma eating beef tenderloin. Buffalo Bill Cody. Guru, the Malaysian Sikh, partner to Mary for 28 years. Their attendance at my son’s command ceremony and Mary’s at my son and Seoah’s wedding. Mary’s long stay in Hawai’i after being deported.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Mark in Saudi Arabia

Year Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah:  Ahavah. Love.

Tarot: The Woodward, #11

One brief shining: Ruby drove into the Buckhorn parking lot at 4:45, the first car there for the evening; as Great Sol boiled the asphalt at 102 degrees hipsters rode by on electric scooters and expensive bicycles with very thin tires, the RTD station filling up with early evening commuters while I waited to dine with Appa and Umma, my son and Seoah in Denver’s oldest restaurant.

The Jangs: The whole clan visited the Denver Museum of Natural History in the afternoon. They found its size amazing, Joseph said. Dongun and Dioon (his sister) (please note: I may have these spellings wrong) loved the mummies.

Leaving Shadow on her own in the back yard, Ruby and I left for Denver around 4 pm, filling her up at the Conoco station before hitting 285. Only with my new seat cushion would I willingly drive down the hill. It makes driving bearable, not pain free, but not excruciating.

As I drove down the hill, evening commuter traffic flowed in the opposite direction, west to Littleton and south up 285 to the Mountains. Nice to go against the traffic. Easier.

Picked up 20+ degrees as I left the Rockies and got back on the High Plains, another reason not to drive down the hill. I did though, as we Mountain folk do, have a light jacket with me, knowing the Buckhorn would be air conditioned and the Mountain evening air would be cool.

Appa’s vision of the American West comes from John Wayne movies. The Buckhorn Exchange, 130 years in the same building next year, hosted many famous men of the Wild West era like Buffalo Bill Cody and Wild Bill Hitchcock.

Founded by a German family, it has, I only tumbled to this yesterday, the feel of an old world Germanic hunting lodge. And, in fact, all the stuffed animals died under the guns of the founding family.

We also learned from our knowledgeable waitress that during Prohibition you could order Pumpernickel Bread. A whole loaf would be brought to the table and inside it would be a bottle of whiskey.

My son, Appa, and I had the special, Elk and Buffalo tenderloin, while Seoah and Umma had beef tenderloin. Appa cleaned his plate and ate some of Umma’s as well.

A fitting final evening meal in Colorado. Seoah’s sister’s family stayed behind, finishing off the gyros from Monday’s way too much for one night supper. They had been surprised by how much they had been spending. Even with a weaker dollar, the won to dollar conversion is not favorable so the actual cost of things snuck up on them. An easy mistake to make your first time out of your own country.

Asia, Colorado, Family, Korea, Politics, Travel, US History

The Third Day

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Lughnasa and the Korea Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: Appa and Umma. Seoah. My son, their rock. Min yun. Dinosaur Ridge. Buffalo Bill Cody. His grave on Lookout Mountain. Shadow. Sleeping beside me. Ruth and Gabe, coming up today. Artemis, protector of Plants. Buchanan Rec Center. Sue Bradshaw. Post-polio syndrome. Steroids in right hip working.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Talking politics with Seoah’s father, brother, sister, and brother-in-law

Year Kavannah: Wu wei

Week Kavannah: Ahavah. Love.

Tarot: Three of Bows, Fulfillment. (If I don’t post the question, it is: What do the cards have to say to me today.)

One brief shining: Smart phones out, language apps called up, gyros and hummus and basmati rice from Ali Baba put away, we sat around the dinner table, Seoah translating for Appa, her brother and sister, her brother-in-law as we all vented against Trump, against oligarchs, for governments that serve the people and not the rich, a common fight, one we all recognized, my people, my family.

 

The Jangs: The Jangs and my son went to Dinosaur Ridge, where the first Stegosaur bones were found, and Buffalo Bill Cody’s grave.

Appa had a great time, riding on a faux horse, then getting a cowboy hat and chaps, continuing to ride. I saw videos. He’s a very in the moment guy, open and full-hearted. Whereas Umma holds her emotional cards close. She smiled last night, a rare and happy experience.

The whole family and my son then went to Ali Baba and picked up enough gyros to feed us all. I drove over to the air bnb and enjoyed a meal and an evening with the Jangs.

They’re a friendly, happy family. I enjoy being with them. Even with the language barrier. Seoah took on the difficult task of translator as we discussed the predations of Trump tarrific, the ills of societies structured for the wealthy and against the rest, the common bond we felt as persons who believe government’s role lies in leveling the playing field with affordable housing, decent health care, good education and food available to all citizens.

My sister and brother, both long time expatriots, have had, I’m sure, many similar meals with their Singaporean, Thai, Arab, Malaysian, Aussie friends. I’ve not had the experience often and mostly with Seoah’s family, but I cherish the moments when the realization arises, hey, we have similar feeling and dreams across cultures.

I used to believe that America existed to support such common feeling, support it enough to include dreamers from other nations who wanted to share their dreams with us as fellow citizens. Now I see that dream turning into a nightmare, one that would gather up the Jangs, put them in a concentration camp, then deport them to any random country that would take them, if they chose to stay past their tourist visas.

Sigh.

 

Just a moment: It’s Andy Warhol’s birthday. And yesterday was International Owl Awareness Day. More pertinent to me, August 11th is International Mountain Day. Perhaps Shadow and I will gather inside Artemis to celebrate Shadow Mountain.

 

Memories, Politics, US History

I am become death

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Lughnasa and the Korea Moon

Sunday gratefuls: The Jangs. Landed. Asleep in Conifer. My son, too. Cool Mountain Mornings. Shadow, defender of the yard. Kate, always Kate. That long thin line between the first single-celled organism and each of us alive today. That long thin unbroken line. Shadow’s upside down Dog move.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: The Jangs. My son.

Year Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah:  Ahavah. Love.

Tarot: Ace of Arrows, the Breath of Life

One brief shining: Odd to consider a whole family of South Koreans asleep only a few miles from Shadow Mountain, bunked in for now after a late arrival yesterday, asleep I imagine since on Korean soil the time is 9 pm and each of them traveled over 6,000 miles yesterday.

 

Just a moment: Yes. Up here at the top. Why? Two Donald moments that should frighten the bejeezus out of all of us.

The worst of the two:

Didn’t realize how deep seated my fear of nuclear Armageddon had become. Until my President-commander in chief of the world’s most powerful military-announced he had repositioned nuclear-NUCLEAR-submarines in response to a playground taunt from a former Russian president.

An instinctive response. Oh, my god. Dr. Strangelove. 7 Days in May. Not fiction. This is how it begins, who knows how it will end.

Recalled too the many drives before moving to Colorado. Through the barren reaches of South Dakota and Wyoming. The square plots with chain link fences and razor wire dotted every once in a while in the flat landscape. Inside them missile silos. Missiles with nuclear weapons. Too real for me.

In just three days we acknowledge a day that lives in infamy, to paraphrase FDR. August 6, 1945. The atomic bombing of Hiroshima. Robert Oppenheimer quoted the Bhagavad Gita: “I am become death, destroyer of worlds.” And so it came to pass.

Those of us baby boomers could also be called the cold war generation. The generation of mutually assured death and destroyed worlds. Duck and cover drills? I don’t remember them but I apparently haven’t forgotten the ur-fear of my childhood, nuclear holocaust.

 

The more subtle, yet still horrifying second thing:

So let’s say a courtier brings a message to the king. Oh, king, the harvest in the villages. Some of it will rot in the field because your nobles refuse to pay for the work. Let’s also say that the king feared this message because it would him look like a bad king. Don’t kill the messenger came into common use only after many such messengers died.

And what did our naked emperor do to become famous? He said, “You’re fired!” He’s killed thousands of messengers since then in that third millennium way.

“These numbers, oh, king, are worse than we originally thought. The nobles failed to report them because it made them look bad.”

And the naked emperor did decree on that day that henceforth the nobles would report only good numbers because bad numbers, well, they made him look bad.

 

 

 

Dogs, Friends, Politics, US History

Drug Backwards Through History

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Summer and the Greenhouse Moon II

Monday gratefuls: The Seer. Luke. Ginny and Janice. Annie and Luna. Shadow at play with Annie, zooming. Another night inside. The darkness of early Morning. Tandoori Chicken. Garlic naan. ChutPo salad. Spice Fusion Ranch. Ancientrails back up. Cyber world. The leaning Tree. Friends and family.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Friends. Ginny and Janice.

Year Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah: Ahavah. Love.

Tarot: The Seer, #2 in the major arcana. How can I improve my diet?

One brief shining: Took my three pronged cultivator and worked organic fertilizer into the raised beds of Artemis, being slow to plant the fall garden, but already engaged in staking Tomato Plants which get floppy as they get tall, their strong, acidic scent carrying me back to Andover.

 

Friends: Ginny and Janice came over yesterday, picking up food at Spice Fusion Ranch on the way. Ginny had Luna the small in a t-shirt covering her surgery site. Annie the vigorous strained against her leash wanting to get inside, then outside with Shadow.

After an initial testing of each other’s mettle, they began a happy afternoon of racing around the yard, Shadow running just to the left of Annie and behind, guiding her as Border Collies and Australian Cattle Dogs will do.

They wore each other out while we ate lunch made at the too-good for Conifer Spice Ranch Fusion. Mostly we told Dog stories. Of Dogs who did agility courses fast but not accurately or accurately but not fast. Ginny said, “She ran through the tire, then turned and ran through it again.”

I told the favorite tale of Celt whom we took lure coursing. When Kate slipped him, our one hundred and ninety pound Wolfhound ignored chasing the lure and instead chose to head straight for the mini-doughnut stand.

Dog people.

 

Just a moment: Again I say the words. Concentration camps. They came for the immigrants with ICE men in civilian clothes, ready to fill prison facilities already owned by private companies. Hundreds more will be built as a result of the legislation passed last week.

Who will they come for next? LGBT? Jews? Single parents? College professors? This kind of fervor feeds only on hatred, bigotry, and cruelty. And fear. A fear consuming a minority of white people that somehow their lives, their futures, will suffer if they cannot cleanse the land of all others.

This old story crawls its poisonous path through history. Rwanda. South Africa. Sudan. Russia. Germany. China. Myanmar. India. Too many to count.

Who stands in its way? We pluralists. Globalists. Democratic socialists. We who love the rich quilt sewn by different languages, different national origins, by love expressed in its many faceted ways. Who willingly accept the creative tensions of a nation not dominated by one class, skin color, sexual preference, religion, or political inclination.

No time for hesitation, for weak words or weak action. These actions of an administration dragging us backwards through history to a simpler time when oligarchs stood astride the land and our country shrank from the world must not stand.

 

Dogs, Health, Politics, Tarot, US History

A Holocaust Moment?

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Summer and the Greenhouse Moon II

Tuesday gratefuls: Pain and lump resolved. Shadow, the feral dog. United Health Care paying for my P.E.T. scan. Shadow coming in. Potcake Dogs. Harry Dresden. Jim Butcher. The Morning Service. The Woodward. TACO. Darkness my old friend. Immigration/Holocaust. Cruelty, Vengeance, and Greed as a philosophy of governance.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Natalie

Year Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah: Patience. Savlanut.

Tarot: The Woodward. ? How shall I live my life today.

One brief shining: Yesterday around six p.m. a sharp, yet diffuse pain in my abdomen, a lump there roughly over the site of my steroid injection yielded a bit to the touch, not hard, an emergency or not, I couldn’t tell so I called the on call doc of my practice who said it didn’t sound like one, but if it gets worse, call him back. It didn’t and the lump is gone this morning. Wha?

 

Yeah. These things happen after hours. By rule. No Kate in the house anymore to reassure me. How would I get to the E.R.? Who would I call? Exposed the everyday vulnerability of all of us who live alone. Things are fine. Until they’re not.

The doc last night reassured me, said he’d leave a message for the front desk, have them call me, get me seen. Glad I have these folks in my hip pocket.

Drive myself or call a friend. Driving myself saves time. Have to find a friend at home and able to come. Then, it takes them time to get here. You get it. No obvious best answer.

 

Tarot: The Woodward, major arcana #11 in the Wildwood deck.

“The Woodward represents emotional support when we fall into a state of out of control, out of reason, when we encounter destructive challenges.

When individuals are pulled out of their comfort zone, they will be deprived of every emotion they once had when they were in a stable state. During that depriving process, individuals will have to seek within them their own true strength.”

Well. Gee. The message. Don’t tip over into anxiety. Call the on call doc. Which I did. Go see a doctor today. Which I will do. Don’t fuss. Act.

 

Dog journal: Natalie came yesterday. It was raining so we worked on a command called place. It involves a towel or some other well defined spot. I reward Shadow when she comes on the spot, then draw out the time she stays on it by slightly delaying the next treat.

Natalie told me Shadow acted like a feral dog. Like a Caribbean Potcake Dog, or a wild Dog fed from the leavings in a pot. She’s smart, learns things in one or two passes, but she’s also very suspicious. That means when a negative thing happens, like when I accidentally stepped on her left paw, she learns right then to avoid that situation.

Classic anxiety. Generalize from a negative experience, then protect against it by avoidance. Slowly, slowly.

 

Just a moment: Concentration camps like Alligator Alcatraz, then depriving immigrants of due process before deporting them, sometimes to countries where they don’t speak the language and have no family connections.

No, there might not be gas chambers. Yet. But a minority group has been singled out for rough treatment, taken from their homes, and disappeared from the U.S. Which minority will be next?

As Linda Greenhouse says in this New York Time article: We Will Regret Not Standing Up to This Venomous Cruelty. New York Times, 7/14/2025

And I have to also recognize this former Israeli, former member of the IDF, now a genocide scholar’s article: I’m a Genocide Scholar. I Know It When I See It.

I will not be a fellow traveler. I will not let my voice be on the wrong side of history.