My friend, Cynthia Levinson‘s husband, received this in the mail yesterday. He is a prominent constitutional law professor at Harvard Law School. The postcard reads: “Hey Sandy, You just got your kike ass kicked. Fuck you hymie. We’re gonna drain the swamp at Harvard Law. Juden Raus!” That closing means “Jews Out!” and was a Nazi rallying cry, shouted by the Nazis throughout the ghettos when they were trying to force Jews from their hiding places.
They’ve reported this to the Anti-defamation League and Southern Poverty Law Center, as well as to the university.
The Holocaust did not begin with killings: it began with words. Never forget.
In spite of the political upheaval life, as it always does, continues, mostly in its old grooves. Here on Shadow Mountain for example the divorce process has entered its waning days. Final orders will be issued late this month though the outline for them, largely fair and equitable is already known. Jon’s anxiety level has receded. Good and heartening to see.
We had Asplundh tree service here on Friday and Monday clearing out the tree cover from the power line easement. I spoke with the workers, current day lumberjacks operating outside the timber industry.
“That’s hard work,” I said.
“Yes, but it’s honest. No shortcuts.” replied the bearded young man in charge of the crew. He’s right about that.
The utility bills from IREA, Intermountain Rural Electric Association, have been, since May, $10, a line fee that supports such work as the Asplundh team. The electricity we use has been produced by our solar panels.
Lycaon
I continue to write, now upwards of 63,000 words (I was a little too early when I said I’d reached 60,000 last week.).
Kate and I are becoming more and more a part of Congregation Beth Evergreen. It’s an interesting experience for me. I’m a participant, not a leader. I like it, being part of a community but not being responsible for it. I can help in modest ways and that feels appropriate to me for right now. That may change though with the political work that is brewing.
It’s dry, no snow. According to the weather services, this could reach a record snowless period for Denver. We’ve had a little snow on Shadow Mountain, but only two instances, rare. This, plus the winds and the low humidity, means the potential fire situation here remains at an elevated risk.
This morning at 10 I have my pre-op physical for my December 1st total knee replacement. The pain in the knee worsens, it seems, by the day. That’s good, I tell Kate, because it’ll feel so much better after the new knee. I’m grateful there’s something that can be done about it.
And, improbably, it will be Thanksgiving next week. There is no hint of over the river and through the woods weather to stimulate that Thanksgiving feeling. We may get a storm on Thursday. That would help.
We’re going to smoke a small turkey. Annie will be here from Waconia, Jon and the grandkids. Unlike the nation we’ll be celebrating Thanksgiving on Wednesday because the grandkids go to their mom’s for Thanksgiving this year. Under the new divorce terms holidays alternate and this year is Jen’s Thanksgiving. It will be good once again to have family (and dogs) underfoot during the holiday.
Just realized in all the election fun I’ve allowed holiseason to get started without any remarks. Look for that to change as we head into the most holiday rich season of the year.
Yesterday was an after the grandkids slow day. We went to Brooks for our business meeting, napped. I went to the Evergreen Library for the Evergreen Writer’s Group. Home.
Let the peoples vote
Today is boiler inspection day with Ken, who installed our new boiler last year. Big fun.
We’re in a slow skid, a drift. Election day is less than a week away and the country has its wheels locked, smoke pouring off the political rubber. When the election is over, another round of “we don’t want to govern” will grip the remnants of the GOP. They will obfuscate, delay, denounce, pass legislation they know will go nowhere, refuse advise and consent. I’m tired of this ideological warfare. Let’s put compromise, negotiation, the good of the country ahead of of the tired scholasticisms of the reformicons, the neo-liberals, the tea party, the so-called Freedom Caucus. Yes, even U.S. style democracy is vulnerable to idiocy when it runs like a virus through a certain party.
Had a couple of days in a row where the writing didn’t happen. This and that. Now I have to finish my critiques for the writing group Monday night. Critiques are difficult to do well, at least for me. Superior Wolf continues to grow in size though. It’s at 60,000 words now, 2/3’rds of the way toward my goal of 90,000.
We went to see Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children. A long movie and a dark one. As friend Tom Crane said, it’s a good movie, not a great one. A bit slow in the beginning and a bit scattered near the end. It has a grandpop as a central, heroic character.
Set in 1943 and 2016 the holocaust is the background. The grandfather is from Poland where, “There were real monsters.” The Home gets bombed by Nazi bombers. The grandfather and his son, a lead character, Jake, can see the Hollows, short for holocaust Ruthie said, but no else can.
Afterward we ate at a Brooklyn style pizza joint.
Ruth is filling out her application for the Denver School of the Arts. The application process includes an audition sometime in January. She’s going for fine arts. Ruth is a printmaker, a painter. She draws well, too. I really hope she gets in. She needs peers, other kids with her level of talent, intelligence and curiosity. Otherwise, she gets in trouble. Grandpop did, too.
Gertie is doing well. She’s a rascal and can’t keep her long, prehensile tongue from snaking up onto a plate without permission. Rigel bounds in the car when she can go. Most of the time she sits up in the back, looking this way and that. And Kepler, serious Kepler, watches and listens. Barks and growls. He also does athletic food catches.
Pain. Can make you tired. Can make it difficult to focus. Just plain hurts. My left knee has gone from bad to very bad. Trying various meds as a way to make it from now until January. Some success. Pain is a peculiar phenomenon, so assertive, so real; yet totally individual. Inaccessible to another. A message that, once sent, it would be nice to be able to turn off.
Superior Wolf continues to grow. 50,000 words. Writing is so much damned fun. Interesting to see a story unfold from the tips of my fingers, words and ideas following one another, no idea where they’re coming from. Doesn’t seem probable, but it happens. Everyday. Odd.
The aspens stand unclothed, their skirts dropped by the big winds we had last week. I’m glad they’re here. Realized yesterday that bare deciduous trees are a marker of fall for me, being a Midwest boy. We’re in that time between the falling of the leaves and the coming of the snow, a time with a skeletal aesthetic, when a senescence aesthetic with browns, tans, ochres in various shades colors the mountain meadows, an arid aesthetic with little rain, little snow, mountain streams at their low ebb. Samain, next Monday, is the holiday of this transition time, a holiday of the veil between this world and the Other World thinned. The growing season is well over, the season of harvest is ending. The fallow time comes next.
simchat-torah-beth-evergreen
Kate went to Simchat Torah at Beth Evergreen last night. This holiday marks both the end of Sukkot and the annual end of reading through the Torah. I chose not to go because it involves dancing and lots of standing. The congregation holds the Torah scroll at various points, symbolizing the year’s readings and the Torah’s ability to link the congregation together.
The rabbi, in this case Jamie, goes around and tells each person which portion of the Torah they hold. Kate had the story of Jacob and the angel at the Jabbok Ford. Probably my current favorite Biblical passage. I like the notion of struggle, of wrestling through the night, with the sacred. I like the suggestion that such a struggle can change your identity, give you a new name and a new purpose.
Didn’t expect snow this morning, but there it was, white in the yard. The season is trying to push toward winter, but has a bad case of reticence.
I’ve been working on the second chapter of Superior Wolf. It got plenty of critiques, valid ones, in my writing group, so I decided to rewrite it. I believe version 2.0 will be better.
Kathleen Donahue. Died. I met Kathleen, really, on facebook, though she was from Alexandria, my hometown. She was seven years younger than me, meaning she was in 6th grade when I graduated from high school. She moved to California long ago, got involved in the music business writing lyrics, suffered through two violent attacks and had an iconoclastic personality.
About six months ago she posted that an unexpected finding during a visit to the doctor had uncovered stage 4 lung cancer. They gave her about six months to live. I’m surprised how much her death affected me. Social media has its rightful critics, but for the purpose of staying in touch with old friends and faraway family, for the opportunity to renew or begin acquaintances with people with whom there is some connection already, they offer a possibility unavailable when I was younger.
And with that opportunity comes the chance for grief.
Kate and I did the drive into Denver yesterday. A long way for nosepads for a pair of glasses and to have some Mac repair guys wave their hand over her Ipad. They made it all better. There are things you can’t accomplish in the mountains, these are two of them.
Jon’s in a much better place. If things remain as they are, he will get most of what he wants in the divorce’s final orders, due November 28th. It’s gratifying to see that his strategy of taking responsibility, being open to negotiation and trying to avoid stirring things up in this delicate pre-final orders stage is working.
Big winds, gusts up to 40 mph, some as high as 60. Those golden leaves on the aspens? Mostly gone. Now their winter nakedness. The season has advanced, though the climate warmed air has remained unseasonable.
In to Evergreen last night for the second meeting of the Evergreen Writer’s Group. The comments on my submissions were very helpful. This is a group of fantasy writers for the most part, folks who understand the challenges and possibilities of the genre. They will make me a better writer.
Before the group I went to the Vienna Beef shop in downtown Evergreen for an Italian beef. The guy who owns the shop makes Italian beefs with that straight from State Street taste. Best I’ve ever had outside Chicago. He said the president of Vienna Beef has been in his place twice this year. “Not sure why he was in Evergreen, but he loved my place.”
I’m at about 48,000 words now on Superior Wolf. There will be some drastic changes to material I’ve already written, but that’s usual, at least for me. The story continues to unfurl, whether lodged in a Platonic ideal that I’m accessing via woo-woo, or simply contained already in the beating hearts of its characters. Creativity is weird.
Vienna Beef place (far right) in downtown Evergreen
Superior Wolf has reached a rough half way point. Maybe. I’ve written about 45,000 words toward a goal of 90,000. I say maybe because my ambitious goal for it may require a longer novel, perhaps as much as 150,000 words. Not sure yet, not sure right now how I’ll know if I need to go longer. My goal is to write a novel of a sort I admire, long and bending of genre, deeply researched, typified by two books: Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell by Susanna Clarke and The Historian by Elizabeth Kostova. Superior Wolf feels like my best effort toward this goal of anything I’ve written.
750 words a day seems like a sweet spot for me. Sometimes it takes 30 minutes. Other days four or five hours. But writing 750 words every day produces a steady accumulation of text, enough to make it seem both adequate and effective. Self reinforcing.
Working on homeowners insurance right now, a fraught topic in the red zone. The red zone, which I have mentioned before, is the area in Colorado most likely to experience wildfire. Jefferson County, our home county is the long, narrow county which abuts the southwest side of the Denver metro (gray blob, high center right). We are smack in the middle of Jeffco’s redzone.
There are many things to consider, but the most important is the replacement value of the home. Since replacement for a structure will be undertaken in a contemporary environment (at the time of the fire), the home’s initial construction value is irrelevant. What matters is what it will take to rebuild an equivalent structure when a fire occurs. This is, of course, affected by any upgrades. We’ve added solar panels, refreshed the kitchen and redone the downstairs bathroom. You don’t want to pay for too much replacement value, but you for sure don’t want to have too little. A tough balance to strike.
Also called the guy who installed our boiler for an inspection before winter gets ornery.
Final activity for yesterday was changing the oil in the snowblower. If you have any mechanical aptitude, this is probably not worth mentioning. In my case the material world and I struggle every time we come in contact. I did get the job done, but it took much more thinking and jiggering than it might have. Example: to drain the oil the snowblower has to be tipped over on its side, but not fall over. That meant balancing the snowblowers unwieldy bulk with my legs while my arms prevented it from tipping over all the way. The result was dependence on my knees for backward stability. And that left one isn’t working so well right now. Gave me a couple of interesting moments.
Yesterday included three separate trips into Evergreen. First, I took Kate in for the morning Rosh Hashanah service at Beth Evergreen. Then, I came back to answer questions, be available for the electrician and the painter. At noon I went back to pick up Kate and eat the after service lunch with her. All these trips included waits in two spots on Brook Forest Road for culvert repair. Stop. Slow. Stop. Slow.
It was a glorious Colorado day with brilliant blue punctuated by puffy white, a soft wind, then a brisk wind blowing and temperatures in the mid to high sixties. Low humidity.
The service, as services often do, ran 20 minutes over so I sat on a concrete patio outside of Beth Evergreen’s event hall. The brisk wind stripped pine needles from the huge ponderosa’s on the hillside sending flotillas of the connected two needle bunches at me. Round top tables set outside on the patio had rocks on their table cloths. A table near where I sat blew over; the tablecloth, I think, acting as a sail.
There were kugels in aluminum pans, bagels with lox and cream cheese or chopped egg, fresh cut vegetables, fruit. Paper plates and plastic forks. Lots of eating and greeting. Some very short skirts. Some men carried small cloth pouches containing prayer shawls and yarmulkes. Kids ran around,
teenagers laughed knowingly to each other. The wind continued to blow.
Back home we napped while Caesar finished painting. The big thing unfinished is installation of the shower door. That will probably happen today. The result is even more pleasing than I imagined it would be.
Where the Books Go
The third trip into Evergreen was for the Evergreen Writer’s Group at Where the Books Go. Writing groups are fragile things, easy to get wrong. They focus on critiquing work, the very work you’ve been laboring over in private for hours, days, sometimes weeks and years. The internal stakes are high, no matter the outward stance individuals take.
If one of Kate’s sewing groups was similar, the women would bring in their current project and ask others what they thought. How are the seams? What about color choice? The fabric. Their intention for the work and whether they seemed to be achieving it. Most important, the event would not be collaborative as these groups are, but critical.
There might be something to learn here. Perhaps the writing group could be more collaborative, be more a place where we could write together, work on current projects or doing writing exercises together.
Anyhow this trip to Evergreen was without the stop. slow. stop. slow bit because the Jeffco work crews had shut down the skip-loaders, dump trucks and road graders and gone home.
Kate went with me, dropping me off at the meeting and going on to the Lariat Lodge where we ate a couple of weeks ago. She managed to get most of the reading done for our Mussar group, four chapters worth! She also bought supper for me.
With the grandkids coming last Friday night and leaving at 2 pm on Sunday, then erev Rosh Hashanah that night, and the three trips into Evergreen yesterday, it’s been a very busy few days for us. And, we’re not done yet.
This morning I’m seeing Lisa Gidday, our internist, to discuss knee replacement. We’ll also get our flu shots. The week calms down some after this.
Gonzalez and Eduardo came again yesterday. They poured concrete, doing the initial work for creating a shower pan. And guess what? It has a small, Gertie sized dog print in it. She can’t keep her paws off of anything. Bear Creek Design is a pleasure to work with. They communicate often, keep their word. More expensive, but worth it in reduced hassle.
Went to my first meeting with the Evergreen Writer’s Group last night. Formed in August of this year this group meets in a used book store, Where The Books Go, in Evergreen. There were four of us last night. I sat and listened since I had not understood the mss submission process. Just mechanics.
Writing is a source of pleasure for me, genuine joy. At the same time I have a fear of exposure, of people looking at my work and going, meh. These two sentences explain the paradox of over 50 short stories written, 6 novels and two more underway with no sales.
This is a new group of people and the chemistry among them seemed good. At least two are retired like me. We’ll be meeting every other week, another reason to get into Evergreen.
Because I went to the Evergreen Library to pick up some audio books for my drive to Minnesota, I ate at a small Vienna Hot Dog spot. First time outside of Chicago that I’ve had an Italian beef that tasted like being on State Street. The Midwestern equivalent of Proust’s madeleine.