Category Archives: US History

Dogs, Fourth Phase, Friends, Judaism, Politics, US History

The Seed Keeper’s Catalogue. And, Shadow

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Imbolc and the Snow Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: Shadow and her leash. Amy. Ron and his Purim spiels. Joanne. Ruth of the Flatirons. Gabe and his guitar. The Seed-Keeper’s Catalogue. Jon Stewart. The Daily Show. Working out. Tara and Eleanor. Ode and his friends. Tom and the maturing men. Paul and his son, his grandson. Bill and showing up.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Days of Dogs and books

Week Kavannah: Social Responsibility. Achrayut.

Practice: continuing work on the Seed-Keeper’s Catalogue

One brief shining: Bellying through the Snow drifts in the backyard, racing from one fence line to the other, bowing and running with Eleanor, Shadow puts her puppy energy out there, laying it all on the line each moment as we do without thinking when we’re young; so much more deliberate and difficult when we’re old. Learn from puppies.

 

Dog journal: Amy came by yesterday. Week 5 of training the old guy how to live with and educate a 9 month old Puppy.

Leash training didn’t go so well. Waiting now with the leash near her water. Shadow gives it the side eye when she goes to drink. This is desensitizing her. In a couple of days I’ll attach it to her, let her drag it around if she will. Take it off. Leave it out. Plenty of treats and praise. So on. Patience. Savlanut.

I want to get her leash trained so I can take her to the vet for a well Dog checkup. I don’t see anything wrong with her at all, but she needs to meet the folks at Sano, get used to the vet experience.

Tara brought Eleanor, tall, leggy, black Eleanor over for a playdate yesterday, too. Eleanor and Shadow ran and ran and ran. Tara and I talked. She’s my heart friend.

On the fourth anniversary of Kate’s death I’m going to Tara’s for Passover. April 12th. One of those nights when I’ll drive. Her house, in Mountain terms, is not far from mine. Maybe 10-15 minutes.

While I was out talking with Tara, I saw my neighbor Jude. We don’t see each other much in in the Winter, but it was warm yesterday. He retired from his welding work in January. Started drawing his Navy pension. Will collect social security in a couple of years.

 

Got my next oncology appointment changed to an in person visit rather than telehealth. Rich Levine wants to go with me and I’ll be glad to have him there.

Mailed my taxes at the same time I mailed the fourth iteration of documents to MnSaves, Ruth’s 529. Hopefully we’ll have it figured out before she becomes a sophomore. Rich helped this time.

 

Just a moment: Here’s an excerpt from my work with chatbot on the Seed-Keeper’s Catalogue. If you have time to read this, comment on it, it’s still in very, very early stages. Not sure it’s the direction I want to go. But, it might be.

In conclusion, the Seed Keeper’s Catalogue is more than just a website or a publication – it’s a community-driven movement to celebrate and disseminate the knowledge that sustains society. Our proposal outlines a project that leverages modern technology (AI, interactive web design) and timeless principles (open sharing, collaboration, civic duty) to build a resource unlike any other: one that is at once practical handbook, history textbook, and civic guide, all wrapped in an accessible, open-source package.

By rooting the Catalogue in values of free access, diversity of content, and community empowerment, we aim to create a living library that grows and adapts with the times. Whether someone comes looking for advice on planting their first garden, understanding their rights, learning about pivotal moments in history, or figuring out how to organize their neighborhood, they will find not just information, but inspiration and connections to a larger community of knowledge-holders.

This proposal paints the vision and the roadmap: a structured yet flexible platform, rich content categories with real examples, integration of AI for continuous improvement, strategies for inclusive collaboration, and a plan for sustainable growth. With enthusiastic contributors, supportive partners, and engaged readers, the Seed Keeper’s Catalogue can flourish. It will stand as a testament to what is possible when knowledge is set free and nurtured by the many – truly a catalogue of seeds that, when planted in minds and communities, can grow solutions to even the toughest challenges like poverty and climate change.

We invite all stakeholders, from potential contributors and tech partners to educators and community organizers, to join us in making this vision a reality. Together, let’s keep the seeds of knowledge, culture, and responsibility – and pass them on, so that they may take root for generations to come

Aging, Fourth Phase, US History

An Ode to Old

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Imbolc and the Snow Moon

Tuesday gratefuls: Ana. Furball Cleaning. Alan. Lucille’s. Learning a new city. Denver. Pain Perdu. Shadow. Amy, the trainer. Hospice work in Washington County, Maine. Paul. Cousin Donald. His cracked team of ideologues and greedy billionaires. Foxes. Henhouses. Black Bears and Mountain Lions. Red Flag days. High Winds. Low humidity. Dry fuel. The Wildland Urban Interface, the WUI. My home.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Getting lost

Week Kavannah: Social Responsibility. Achrayut.

One brief shining: Alan and I sat outside at Lucille’s, the inside din of pans and loud conversations too much, the weather 70 degrees and a big fire in their fire pit combined with the sun for comfort while I ordered chicory coffee, French toast, a poached Egg to go with my hot Louisiana sausage, enjoying my long term friendship with Alan.

 

Need to say a few things about aging and being old. Do not shy away from the truths of aging. It’s hard. Often.

Fingers might hurt from rheumatoid arthritis. That knee that buckles when you get out of the car. What’s that? You can’t hear as well. Me, too!

You might have Sjogren’s syndrome which dries out essential tissues. Your eyes might need cataract surgery or cornea transplants. Balance may not be what it once was. A problem with brittle bones from osteopenia or osteoporosis.

What’s up, too, with all that packaging? The heaviness of things that used to be light. Or the shortness of breath.

Here’s what I have to say about all of those. No fun. No fun at all. No romanticizing. These problems, like the ache in my back right now or the prostate cancer, make life more challenging, less easy. Every day. Sometimes every hour.

Yet most cultures, not ours but most, have honored, even revered those who grew old. Elders. Sages. Wise ones. The one who knows the stories, the knowledge of plants, the ways of battle and of peace. The grandmother who councils young mothers. The ones who bless and counsel. Who settle disputes, pass judgment.

Where does that leave us, the old ones of our synagogues and neighborhoods? OK, boomer. Not a request for advice. A slight aimed at those of us in the graying baby boom, some of us now in our late seventies.

I don’t want to be a gray panther, a senior Olympian, a ripped octogenarian. A silver fox or a pickleball champ. Good thing, too. Since I’m unlikely to fit any of those American Immortal archetypes.

I say we claim the role of elder. Like Tom bringing the young men together. Like Bill and his daily mitzvahs. Like Ode and Imogen. Like the Hospice work Paul does.

Let’s show that the real challenges of aging, as with all elders, only prove the road, the long road we have taken. The scars from hard won lessons, loves won and lost. Bullies faced down. Hard relationships resolved. Children raised.

Let us claim through our actions the role we have earned. We cannot, in other words, abdicate now to the golf course or the television or the trout stream. Especially at this time when the world needs us. Please.

 

 

Cooking, Dogs, Fourth Phase, Health, Politics, Seed Keepers, Shadow Mountain, US History

Help Me?

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Imbolc and the Snow Moon

Monday gratefuls: Shadow and me. Cool nights. Good sleeping. Figuring out Shadow. Amy. Annie. Luna. Leo. Gracie. St. Patrick’s Day. Taxes. 529. Cousin Donald. Democrats, wherever they (we) are. A world changing. My son and his theologizing. Seoah.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Granite Mountain Hotshots

Week Kavannah: Social Responsibility. Achrayut.

One brief shining: We were all together, Maine to Shadow Mountain, spots around the Twin Cities, as we have been for several years on Sunday morning, talking about sleep, yes, but really seeing each other, nodding to the gods the neshama the imago dei in each of us linking arms again as we walk each other home.

 

Dog journal: My instincts about dogs came alive in the struggle over Shadow and coming inside. I realized what needed to happen.

When she came to the door, I opened it. When she then ran away, I closed it. We did this many, many times on Saturday. Many times. Now when she scratches on the glass, I open the door, sit down, and she comes in! Hallelujah. A chorus from Leonard Cohen in his raspy voice as background music.

Shadow and I crossed a bridge on Saturday, from puppy enigma to young dog companion. My confidence level in our relationship solidified. And hers with me. I can see it. We see each other now.

What a journey. 100% worth it. We needed each other and, thanks to Ginny and Janice and Heather and the Granby Shelter folks, we found each other. A journey only just begun. More doggy tails to come.

 

Have found a meal service I like. Cookunity. Not cheap, but not expensive when balanced against eating out. Lots of meal selections, easy to heat up, and all the ones I’ve eaten, six as of last night’s Chicken Schnitzel with Mustard mashed Potatoes, tasty.

I find the four meal plan works well for me. The meals arrive fresh and their use by dates make ordering a week’s worth problematic.

Breakfast I manage well. Lunch, too. The evening meal though I’ll often skip because I’m tired or at least too tired to go through the whole rigamarole of cooking and cleaning up. Still, I need the proteins and veggies. Four nights covered. All right.

Also measure the cost against having a light housekeeper come in twice a week to cook a couple of meals, tidy up, do laundry, unload the dishwasher. Probably a hundred to hundred and fifty bucks a week. This notion driven for the most part by the cooked meals.

Taking care of myself while living alone is not always easy. Maintaining chez Shadow Mountain, seeing I eat well, workout. I can do it, have been doing it, but things that ease the way are always welcome.

Fortunate to have enough money. Kate, always Kate. Still caring for me four years after dying. What a woman.

 

Just a moment: I liked the image that came to me of my age peers as the faded flowers of the Baby Bloom, seedheads ready, needing to disperse our seeds so that a new generation of just and compassionate Americans rise up when Spring finally comes for our benighted nation. Help me make this happen?

Aging, Dogs, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Politics, Reimagine. Reconstruct. Reenchant., Seed Keepers, US History

Still Learning

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Imbolc and the Snow Moon

Sunday gratefuls: Shadow. Cookunity. Cold night. Drinking the Golden Calf. Midrash. Torah. Religion and its ignorers. Ginny and Janice. Tethering. Salmon and white Bean salad. Battle Mountain, Joe Pickett. The many sided crystal of perspective. Lenovo laptop.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Midrash

Week Kavannah: Social Responsibility. Achrayut.

Practice: Working on Seed Keepers, Seed Savers

One brief shining: Working with AI, an odd by which I mean new and novel experience, to give form to a Seed Keeper’s Almanac, a self-help manual to recreate an America always longed-for, yet never lived in, a hybrid format in paper and on the web, replenished and renewed by its users, focused on dreaming America as neither an utopia, nor as a replica of a faux golden age, rather as a stewpot where different ingredients in different amounts blend together into a powerful, compassionate whole.

 

An issue for me. How to reconcile my lower energy, dog-distracted, hermit favoring life with a steady felt need to stand upright in this most ridiculous and chaotic of times. Not be absent.

I write, yes. I talk with friends and family, reinforcing their desires to get out there and do something. I’m part of a religious community dedicated to a just and compassionate world. Yet. What is mine to do?

The more I futz with chatbotgpt, the more I find possibility in the idea, the bringing into reality of a self-help manual for that world I’ve worked for my whole life. A connected hermit. A dog-distracted but still alert old guy. Using my energy as I can.

 

Thinking about those isolated from this dystopian new world disorder. Trappist Monks in the Gethsemane Abbey. Amish families around Lancaster, Pennsylvania and Fort Wayne, Indiana. Subsistence farmers. Those of us old folks with adequate financial resources. (mostly. Though Social Security and Medicare…) Expatriates like Mary and Mark. Wilderness dwellers in the North Woods, in the Mountain Ranges of this great land. Oddly perhaps some Native American nations. Probably some recluses and communal living folks far off the grid.

And, of course, the oligarchs.

The rest, even cousin Donald’s base. Nope. Vulnerable. Without cover. That includes my son and Seoah. Ruth and Gabe. Luke. Ginny and Janice. Anyone unfortunate enough to be poor. Or different in a way that the oligarchs and their tattered army dislike.

This struggle will continue for the rest of my life. That alone means something to me. A need to not kneel. Not acquiesce. A need to do what only I can do. Now.

 

Just a moment: I had a no good week in part. Feeling down, dog defeated. Weak in body and mind. Took wrassling and seeing others to bring myself back to level.

That’s ok, though. Learning how to live through the troughs as well as the highs is a key lesson. OK. Learning to live through the occasional abyss as well as the getting along just fine days. Glad I’ve advanced enough for that.

Back to working out. For example…

 

Health, Myth and Story, Politics, Seed Keepers, US History

The Daily Miraculous

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Imbolc and the Snow Moon

Shabbat gratefuls: Talmud Torah. Shadow, her jaws, her claws, her intensity. A cold night. Good sleeping. Studying Zornberg. The Golden Calf. Cookunity. Shrimp and cheesy grits. American Idols. MAGA. Cousin Donald. $$$$. Matt Desmond. Jon Stewart. Working out. Finishing taxes and 529.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: AGI

Week Kavannah: Social Responsibility. Achrayut.

“Being human means being conscious and being responsible. By becoming responsible agents for social change we actualize not only our humanity but also our mission as Jews.” Viktor Frankl

One brief shining: When I turn my coffee grinder on and it begins its whirring chomping way through the dark roast espresso Beans, my ear knows, just knows when enough has been ground to fill the coffee maker. How?

 

The human body. Talk about awe. It knows so much more than we realize in consciousness. Like the length of time it takes to grind enough coffee beans. Or, where we are in a room and what’s behind us. Or, how fast we have to go to avoid a car merging into our lane. How to move and twist for a layup. When we’re in love.

How to get enough oxygen to your brain. Blood to your organs and extremities. How to make hormones that regulate blood sugar. How to clean toxins from your blood.

Or your brain. Which makes a navigable world each time you open your eyes. Taking in the right amount of data. Not too much, not too little.

The new field of sociogenomics recapitulates Heidegger and his dasein. We affect the world and the world affects us. Through genomics. How the body’s genetic material adapts and gets adapted to by its social environment.

The wonder, the awe of it all. Kate and I often observed that the wonder is not that the body fails sometimes, but that it works so well almost all of the time.

Breathing. Moving us through space. Reminding us to rest. To sleep. Perchance to dream. To wake. To eat. Making use of the fuel we provide it through metabolism. Parceling out nutrients to each and every cell. Speaking of miracles. Of magic. Of life.

 

Just a moment: I’m imagining a new Whole Earth catalogue. Or, better, a Seed Saver’s Catalogue. With colorful pictures, descriptions of Seeds like organizing, working the political process, current facts about poverty and its many solutions, success stories from around the country and the world, resources.

What Seeds might you include? I would want information on the American Renaissance. Poetry. Slavery. Stonewall. How to grow a garden. Raise Chickens. Wild Neighbors. Climate Change. How to repair a leaky faucet. How government works. The constitution.

Perhaps some sort of AI way of generating new and more information, connections. A link, maybe, to the Wikipedia project.

Liberty and freedom. Communal responsibility.

How to train a dog, raise cattle. Do wildfire mitigation. What are the responsibilities of a citizen?

Engaging, short articles. Lots of images. Lots of resources. If possible, free to all. A labor of love of country and Mother Earth.

Commentary on Religion, Dogs, Politics, US History

Shadow. N.A.R. Storm.

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Imbolc and the Snow Moon

Friday gratefuls: Jorge Borge. Herman Hesse. Thomas Mann. Sinclair Lewis. Theodore Dreiser. Goethe. F. Scott Fitzgerald. Ralph Waldo Emerson. Thoreau. William Cullen Bryant. Dante. Homer. Euripides. Moses. Ovid. Mary Oliver. Coleridge. Wordsworth. Poe. Hawthorne. Cooper Powys. Joanne Greenberg. And so, so many others.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Creativity

Week Kavannah: Patience.  Savlanut. When I rush, slow down. When I want to speak, wait. When my inner agonizer arises, calm him, move on

One brief shining: Said the shema, said my I am comfortable with who I am and what I have, turned on the oxygen concentrator when I heard a crash and then another crash from the space where Shadow was; went back out of the bedroom to find my laptop, my Kindle, various papers, and a bag of treats splayed out on the floor, a shocked Shadow looking sheepish, a little scared. So I picked things up, comforted her, and returned to bed.

 

Dog Journal: As her comfort level increases, Shadow has become more and more a regular puppy. Chewing up her brand new bed. Trying to get into the treats I left on my computer table. Being bouncy and happy and wiggly. She has learned sit, down, and touch.

She still does things that confound me. When I want her to come in, she stands by the door, won’t come in until I sit down. Often, too, she will run back outside if I get up too fast. When it’s cold outside? Annoying. Like right now for instance.

Having her here when I wake up. When I come home. Glad to see me, tail wagging. Yes. Many times yes.

 

N.A.R. notes. Wagner did a phenomenological analysis of Christian church growth. He found the most growth in Pentecostal congregations in the third world and mega-churches in the U.S. His conclusion? The holy spirit was at work reshaping the church for a new era.

From within his worldview this was a logical conclusion. Where there are signs of vitality, there is the current activity of God in the world. He also noted that in these new congregations, these gatherings local leaders were the authority. The megachurches, too. Apostles and prophets were the missing elements from denominational governance. Instead of bureaucracy there were charismatic leaders who spoke directly with God and acted in (his) stead.

We will see later how this lead to the powerful, politically motivated Christian Nationalism that we wrestle with today. Wagner’s work I’m discussing now is from the late 1990’s.

 

Just a moment: I have George Friedman’s The Storm Before the Calm out again. Going to reread his last chapters. The Trump/Musk assault on American norms of the last 80 years may be the storm Friedman predicted. Sure feels like it anyhow. A tearing down of the old paradigm followed by a reshaping. The reshaping will not be the work of the MAGA folks but of a coalition, I would imagine, of the center-right and the center-left, perhaps forming a new political party.

 

Commentary on Religion, Politics, US History

Know thy adversary

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Imbolc and the Snow Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: MVP. Snow storms. Tourney weather. Indiana. Small towns. The 1950’s. Mary and her morning ritual. Mark training a new generation of Saudi engineers and physicists. Diane healing. Shadow and her still forming personality. Chewy. Kate, always Kate. Bond and Devick. Sue Bradshaw. Dr. Buphati. Kristie Kokenny.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Salaam, dog sitter

Week Kavannah: Patience.  Savlanut. When I rush, slow down. When I want to speak, wait. When my inner agonizer arises, calm him, move on

One brief shining: Shadow scratches the familiar sound of a collar against nail; she cleans the Snow out from between the pads on her paws put there as she flew like a small black missile through drifts from the recent Snow, pure Dog and Puppy delight, oh Shadow.

 

New Apostolic Reformation. Finished my second book on this almost invisible movement. The New Apostolic Church by C. Peter Wagner. As I mentioned before, I studied with Wagner during the late 1980’s in a two week church growth seminar at Fuller Theological Seminary in Pasadena, California.

This movement began to be understood as a new thing under the Sun thanks to Wagner’s academic work on church growth. He began as a student of church growth. Where was it happening? How was it happening? Were any of the things he learned replicable?

Those of us responsible for the health of congregations in the former mainline Protestant denominations sought answers to the opposite problem, church decline. That’s what led me to this prominent conversative seminary seeking answers that might help us turn things around.

My thesis for my Doctor of Ministry showed that the Presbyterian Church had begun to decline as a percentage of the U.S. population in the 1920’s though numerical increases hid that decline until the 1970’s. We were not alone. United Methodists, U.C.C., ELCA, and Episcopal churches had begun shrinking, too.

Maybe the church growth movement had some answers. Wagner had the most information and experience, so I went to him. Didn’t help. All the former mainline churches have continued a slow sinking into obscurity. Chatbotgpt offered these numbers about the Presbyterian church:

  • 1983: 3,131,228 members ​
  • 2013: 1,760,200 members.​
  • 2022: 1,193,770 members.

Wagner looked at these and the comparable numbers for other mainline denominations, saw the decline in conservative denominations which was smaller, but still noticeable at the time, and declared the beginning of a Post-Denominational era.

Where were churches growing? In Latin America, China, and Africa. Pentecostal churches for the most part. Non-denominational. Also megachurches in the U.S. which had begun to plant smaller versions of themselves. These were the congregations Wagner began to call the New Apostolic Reformation. Denominations were a post-Luther Reformation phenomenon, usually created by division over doctrine.

These independent, non-hierarchical congregations had the current energy and vitality in the Christian church globally. Over the final years of his life, Wagner died in 2016, he served as a visionary apostle (his language, or, rather his use of New Testament language) to help these loose knit congregation develop cohesion without becoming denominations. An apostle in this sense has the same status as an apostle of Jesus. They lead. Prophets, a notch below them in spiritual authority, receive new revelation from God, the apostles execute the commands of the new revelation.

Neither apostle nor prophet had a role in church governance before the N.A.R. Instead there were denominational bureaucracies. These bureaucracies managed selection, education, and ordination of clergy who then served as employees of congregations.

The NAR form of governance, while eschewing formal bureaucracy, relies on individual, usually male, leadership who have power only in their domain.

This is getting too long for one post. I’ll share more tomorrow.

 

Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Memories, US History

The Making of a Social Justice Warrior

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Imbolc and the Snow Moon

Monday gratefuls: Shadow. Amy. Snow. Vince. Deep clean for Shadow Mountain Home. Cook Unity. Training Shadow. Studying the New Apostolic Reformation. Working my purposes. Ruth’s 19th birthday meal early. Sushi Den. Gabe and his Ph.D. in theater. Kate, always Kate. Rigel. Kep. Vega. Gertie.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: The Atlantic Ocean

Week Kavannah: Patience.  Savlanut. When I rush, slow down. When I want to speak, wait. When my inner agonizer arises, calm him, move on

One brief shining: The crunch and push of metal on asphalt belies the soft and fluffy nature of the Snow the blades of the orange Jefferson County snowplows move off the roadways to keep us Mountain folk mobile, safe. Grateful for them.

Rembrandt-style painting depicting 1950s union workers, 1960s civil rights activists, and anti-war protesters standing together in unity.

During the Ancient Brothers meet yesterday morning I had another aha about my childhood, another throughline. The grooming of a social justice warrior. I realized there were three key drivers, maybe a fourth, that led me to spend my early and middle adulthood working for social justice.

First, my dad. As a journalist, a columnist, an editor, his job was to be clear eyed about what happened in my hometown. Then to write about it, decide what stories needed exposure. And, crucially for me, to have an opinion about the fairness, the justness about some of them.

Second, my church. The United Methodist church we attended had a strong social justice element to its ministry. This came directly from the work of John Wesley, who organized coal workers in the coal mines of nineteenth century England and believed Jesus mandated work on behalf of the poor and disadvantaged.

By the time I was twelve I had visited poor neighborhoods in Chicago, New York City, and Washington, D.C. on see-it tours sponsored by the church. And the United Nations, Congress, even the Russian consulate in D.C.

Third, and not least by any means, Alexandria served as a home for hundreds of men, almost all men at the time, who worked in General Motor’s factories nine miles away in the county seat of Anderson, Indiana. Delco Remy and Guide Lamp. Or, Guide and Delco as we knew them.

That meant they belonged to the UAW. The United Auto Workers union. At the time strong and forward looking. My friends families owned their homes, bought cars, took vacations, and could afford to send their kids to college. If the UAW went on strike against General Motors, Alexandria felt it. Yet the salaries, health care benefits, and generous pensions these men, most from the South and most not high school graduates, earned made Alexandria a vital, wonderful place to grow up.

Put those three together. Seeing taking a stand against injustice, unfairness, as a personal responsibility, feeling a religious calling to stand with the poor and disadvantaged, and understanding the positive role unions and economic justice could make for all of us prepared me for a lifetime of seeing injustice and doing something about it.

The fourth element I mentioned would be this. Growing up in a small town-John Cougar Mellencamp is a Hoosier-gave me a sense of what it meant to live as part of a community, one where I knew some people well, some less well, and others only in passing, but I did know them. And what happened to them. Justice, love, and compassion become real, tangible in such a setting. There was, I think, a balance between the individual and the community.

 

Dogs, Fourth Phase, Friends, Judaism, Politics, Shadow Mountain, US History, World History

Jewish Men Together

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Imbolc and the Snow Moon

Sunday gratefuls: CBE Men’s group. Orion. The Night Sky. The 1% waxing sliver of the Snow Moon. Ritalin. Ruth and the Flatirons. Gabe and college. And guitar. Tara and Eleanor. A Shadow playdate. Safeway Pickup. Silver Bistro. Cook Unity. Conquering the experience of pain. Back to working out.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Shadow and Eleanor zooming

Week Kavannah: Patience.  Savlanut. When I rush, slow down. When I want to speak, wait. When my inner agonizer arises, calm him, move on.

One brief shining: Tara brought Eleanor over, leggy curly haired and full of puppy energy Eleanor, who sniffed Shadow, Shadow sniffed back and the playdate was on as the two circled each other, smelling for information, then running full tilt in the back through Snow drifts, chasing, quarreling a bit, Shadow rolled over bared her teeth after saying I submitted now stay the hell away from me, a long conversation with my heart friend Tara as they played.

 

Dog journal: Shadow had her first playdate here. Not her last. I have a large fenced yard, almost an acre with Lodgepoles and an Aspen. Snow drifts that last throughout warmups because it faces north. In the Spring there will be Rabbits and Mice and Voles and Squirrels to chase. The occasional Mule Deer and Elk for Shadow to herd. A good place for Dogs. No Rocky ledges for Mountain Lions. Fence keeps out Coyotes. Safe enough during the day.

Like nanny’s at a Central Park Playground Tara and I let our Dogs run while we talked. Tara, like Marilyn, is part of MVP. She said yesterday that she and Arjan would take Shadow whenever I had to go somewhere. Limited prospects on that, but still, like the offer from my son and Seoah, appreciated.

 

CBE men’s group last night. We began to get down to it. We told some of our stories. Moving from Chicago. L.A. Florida. Minnesota. Buffalo. Dallas. To find our true home. Both in the Mountains and as Mountain Jews at CBE. Fleeing in-laws, a broken life, New York City. Looking for Mountains and trails. Quieter. Simpler. Often finding and not finding what we sought.

A question unique to this sort of group. How long can we stay here? Where will we go if things get bad? The question of 1930’s Germany. Of Babylon. Of Russia under the Tzars. Of the Inquisition era in Spain. As evil Donald continues to extend his poison from sea to shining sea and well beyond.

I felt for the first time that there may be a more important question than maleness, the nature of the masculine role in society for a men’s group. At least this men’s group.

Another factor. As Jamie observed, there aren’t that many Jewish men. In the world. What unique role might we have in a world bent on rushing headlong into a dangerous yesterday?

If these men commit, stay the course, this will be a fourth anchor point for me at CBE. Mussar/MVP. Torah study. Men’s group. Friends.

 

US History, World History

Time Travel

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Imbolc and the Birthday Moon

Monday gratefuls: Marilyn and Irv. Shadow. Not quite potty trained. Protein. 24″ of Snow on Saturday. CT Scan today. Ancient Brothers. Dog toys. Dog bed. Settling in with Shadow. Ratzon. Will. Desire. Zerizut. Enthusiasm. Simcha. Joy. Feeling rested. Safeway pickup. Living in the Mountains. Yesterday’s world brought to you by Don and the MAGAs.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Shadow

Week kavannah: Netzach with a dash of zerizut and simcha

One brief shining: As the policy of he who shall remain shameless becomes clearer, a strong whiff of steam engines and ocean liners, La Belle Epoque when might still meant right for the Tsars, for the Prussians, for colonial militaries dividing up Africa, as an isolated America sat it out save for brief adventures to Cuba, later to the Philippines while satisfying its Manifest Destiny by pushing slowly westward and killing nations indigenous to this continent. Ah, the days of yesteryear.

Never thought I’d have a chance to relive the days of robber barons. We’ve moved into the world of Theodor Drieser’s  The Financier, the Titan, the Stoic, His trilogy about Frank Cowperwood. Of Sinclair Lewis’ Main Street, Babbit. Back when the U.S. made its bones on the backs of Native Americans and Chinese coolies, rather than foreign adventures like the Europeans.

Sure, the moves of a strongman are redolent of many eras, but none so much in the U.S. as when men like Andrew Carnegie, Cornelius Vanderbilt, James J. Hill, J.D. Rockefeller had their way with our young country. Did you watch the coronation? In the most prominent rows, behind the King’s family were Elon Musk, Jeff Bezos, Mark Zuckerberg, Tim Cook, and Sundar Pichai.

What’s next? Bring back vaudeville, silent movies, Ziegfeld’s Follies.

All I’m saying here is that Trump is less of an anomaly than he seems. Pushed up  against the recent past, yes, but as a historical type? No. What is different is that he’s combining robber baron domestic policies and the expansionist, naked self interest foreign policies of that same era, too.

We’ve allowed him to shuck off the progressive policies that began to take hold after Teddy Roosevelt’s trust busting and drag us back to a time not long after we had to fight a war to end slavery. This is the reactionary way, a turning back to old ways of oppression and wealth concentrating.

Where or how can this end? I’m not sure. By the time 2028 rolls around, we’ll be firmly lodged in 1928. You know what happened in ’29.

 

Just a moment: CT scan today. Aortic artery aneurysm. Someday soon an MRI for my hip and lower spine. Perhaps a PET scan later in the year to check on my metastases. I’m taking a tour of imaging devices. Isn’t medicine fun? Oh, and I had full dental x-rays last week. See inside of me. Now.

Yes, life at the most personal continues even while our nation twists and turns on its allegiance to a sad man, a bad man, behind blue eyes.