Category Archives: Minnesota

The Mountain Difference

Summer                                                       Recovery Moon

The last few nights the clouds at sunset have been what seem to my eye a color of red peculiar to the west. They remind me of Riders of the Purple Sage or High Noon if it had been made in color. The sun goes down behind Black Mountain from our vantage point, so just beyond it the old west could still be banging saloon doors, its streets filled with dust as the cowboys ride in after payday.

I’m no geographical determinist, but to say that living on a mountain is different from living on the flat lands of the Midwest is only common sense. In Minnesota the variation in the landscape came from beautiful rivers, forests of deciduous trees sprinkled with conifers, lakes and ponds, wetlands and the changes going north wrought on all of these. It was not big sky country, but on the way home to Andover the dome of the sky was large and largely visible.

In the Front Range the variation in landscape follows an altitude gradient, different trees and different plants, wildflowers appear as we drive up from Denver the 3,600 feet that separates Shadow Mountain from the start of the high plains. The sky, once in the mountains, is visible in fragments determined by the height and shape of the mountains. The trees are mostly conifers and firs, green throughout the year, though the aspen grows well even at our 8,800 feet. Along the creeks willows and dogwood grow, deer and elk browse.

The changes are more subtle here and require some to time to absorb though the mountains, in their bulky looming make themselves known like the slow-moving, light blinking semi-trailers that crawl slowly up the highways into them. You have to move around them. In the fall there is no blaze of color, jack frost running from tree to tree calling out magenta, dark red, yellow, subtle browns. In the mountains there is green, the conifers and firs, and gold, the leaves of the aspen finished with their summer’s work.

 

I’m An Old CowHand From the Rio Grand

Beltane                                                           Closing Moon

Three things of significance today. Picked up Mary for her first visit to Black Mountain Drive. I’m wired up with leads and a belt holster, ekgs available at the push of a button. This is for thirty days or until I have 3 episodes or events.

And. The Andover house closed, almost all of the money is in our bank account. We are no longer cash poor and paying two mortgages. Yippee, Yi, Ya as we say out here in the West. It hasn’t quite sunk in yet, but we’ve looked up our bank balance and it’s pretty damned healthy. Great to have that uncertainty behind us.

Now the entire circus tent has been struck, all three rings, loaded on the train and the train’s left town, heading west. Our last physical and fiscal ties to Minnesota ended today around 3pm. The friendships, the cultural and political ties, those will remain.

But today we are wholly here from a business perspective. Black Mountain Drive already feels like home, as does the Front Range. How long it takes for our souls to take root in the mountains is an unknown, but a pleasant one, a process of taking the mid out of the midwesterner. It’s already begun. Gotta go now and hitch my hoss to a post.

 

 

 

 

Chunks of our life

Beltane                                                     Closing Moon

Word on Real Estate Street is that our closing may, if the gods of the under(writer)world are appeased, happen today at 2 pm. May it be so.

Holter monitor gets strapped on at 11:45 this morning and then it’s out to DIA (Denver International) to pick up Mary. She’s flying here from Minneapolis where she goes to see her financial advisor. Mary gets around. She’s been in Greece, Indonesia and I don’t know where else already this year. Her home is still in Singapore.

Which brings up Mark. Brother Mark. Who reports that Riyadh is hot. He also sends me news of bombings and shootings in Saudi Arabia, many of them claimed by the Islamic State. He says he feels safe, especially since he lives near the King’s palace.

Steadier internal seas, less distraction. Even cancer can recede when it becomes ordinary, a part of the inner furniture. That’s not to say it’s out of mind, just relegated to the we’re doing something about this and have to wait pile. This will, I’m sure, go through changes, but right now, a good place.

(How I will feel after the closing actually happens.)

Under the Closing Moon (I Hope), Just Me and My Gal

Beltane                                                            Closing Moon

Spoke with Kate and our money manager, RJ Devick, yesterday. Made plans for the house proceeds that we will not receive today. (see below) I know real estate deals aren’t over until the money exchanges hands. I know it. But, I let myself believe this week. Shattered faith. Well, no. But disappointed? Yes.

Kate’s headed for a quilt shop in Hot Springs, South Dakota, also site of the adolescent mammoth suicide hole. Hot Springs imbedded itself in my memory on one early visit. I ate lunch at a local cafe and when I got the check, it had a 10% discount on it. When I asked what the 10% was, the clerk, in her teens, said happily, “Oh. That’s the senior discount.”

On Kate’s trip. Got a strange call from Enterprise, the car rental folks yesterday. Mr. Olson? Sort of. Huh, oh, well anyway. We’d like to go over the final bill for Kate Olson. What? Yes she checked in today. No, I don’t think so, since she’s still in Minnesota. What? A lot of confusion, silent but pregnant. After all, he had the numbers right in front of him. Then. I see, do you have a number for her? I did.

Meanwhile I had a day of rest, no medical tests, no interactions with others except the four dogs. Priceless. In much better spirits this morning. Better rested, unprodded and quiet.

There was that matter of the Zatarains though. Kate bought me some crawfish meat and I planned to stir into a Zatarain’s jambalaya mix for supper. I set the Zatarain’s box out on the counter in preparation. Later in the day I looked where it had been. Only empty space. Some dog ate it. Cardboard and dry contents altogether, leaving only the aluminum foil liner that held the rice and seasoning. So, I went to Brookforest Inn and got a pizza.

 

To Our Future

Beltane                                                                              Closing Moon

We celebrated last night at the Prague in Evergreen, wiener schnitzel, reminiscent of our honeymoon’s late night dinner on the Ringstrasse in Vienna. We’ve traveled a long distance since that red checkered cloth table across from the Hotel Astoria and we’ve traveled it together.

The house in Andover will close next week, the funds from the sale wired into our bank account. This means we can replenish our emergency fund. The emergency fund served us well during the move, providing our our 20% down payment to avoid mortgage insurance, paying the movers and the many miscellaneous expenses of an inter-state change of homes. We did drain it though, almost to the bottom, with all of our non-IRA cash then effectively tied up in the Andover property.

With two mortgages and two sets of utility bills we’ve had a tight budget in Colorado for our first five months and little reserve. So, yippee!Kate and me1000cropped

We’ve also confronted, unexpectedly, a serious challenge to our life together. A cancer diagnosis may not seem like a reason to celebrate, but it was for both of us. As a couple, we work much better with facts, data. We can then make decisions, choose ways to move forward. From April 14th, the date of my physical, until May 21st, the day I got my biopsy results, we were in a zone of ambiguity. That was tough on both of us.

With not only a diagnosis, but actual data about the cancer, we can work together, suss out the most intelligent line of treatment. That removes the anxiety of the unknown and helps us see a way beyond vague fears. It helps a lot, of course, that this particular cancer is usually caught early and has good clinical results for treatment, in many cases a cure.

Kate started our dinner with a toast, “To our future.” That was why we were celebrating.

 

 

Camp du Nord and Ely

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A room in Thor’s cabin

Beltane                                                                                            Beltane Moon

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Overlooking the North Arm of Burntside Lake
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Chipmunk dining table
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At the International Wolf Center
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North American Bear Center
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The bear that walks like a man
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Woolly’s at the shore
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Burntside looking east

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Places are strange

Beltane                                                                            Beltane Moon

The plane performed its wonder, lifting a couple of hundred people into the air. The full Beltane moon lit up the clouds passing by underneath. I stared out the window, a bit confused, leaving Minnesota to return home. This required an adjustment in my thinking.

Then, when I arrived at my home airport, it was strange, another place on the road with unfamiliar paths and habits. Mostly I enjoy learning new things, but it was 10 pm, almost my bedtime and I stumbled a bit, as I would in an airport unknown to me. This experience conflicted with Kate waiting in the cell-phone lot, ready to pick me up and take me back to the mountains. Odd.

Coming home to Colorado, the first time from away. The Woolly retreat for 2015 now over.

It’s a cliche. Felt like I never left. But true. Slipping back into the physical presence of my friends, my Woolly brothers, was like putting on a comfortable shirt. It just fit. Coming as it did a couple of weeks after the start of the prostate path, it was especially welcome. One friend has had prostate surgery. Another knew many who had. Most of the news was positive. Cures, few side effects. Offers to talk further as the path winds on. So welcome.

I suspect the level of my comfort at Camp du Nord, about a half-hour north and west of Ely, figured inversely to the level of strangeness I felt when returning to Colorado. But. I had no desire to remain in Minnesota, to reconsider our decision. I wanted to get home.

More on the retreat later.

The Path

Spring                                                                  Beltane Moon

Back from the urologist. The waiting room was like a gynecologist’s only reversed. Lots of old men, some sitting down in a tender way. None looking too happy.

Dr. Ted Eigner is a good find. He’s pleasant, clear, straightforward. After reviewing my psa, up to 6.2 since December’s 4.4, his physical finding which confirmed Dr. Gidday’s and my family history, he said, “It’s a no-brainer. We’ll do an ultrasound and get cells from 12 different sites.” That’s scheduled for May 14.

Today I got two things: a doctor in whom I have confidence and the next step on the path, a biopsy. After that? Won’t know until the biopsy results are in.

Kate asked me if I felt better. My first response was no. I had no new information. Then, a bit later. Well, yes, I feel better. I have a path and a good doctor.

This is not the only thing going on in my life. But it sure muscles out a lot of stuff. It does not push away the fact, the very good fact, that we’re expecting an offer on our house tomorrow evening. Selling Andover would move us squarely and completely to Colorado. We’re both more than ready for that.

Peek-A-Boo

Imbolc                             Black Mountain Moon

Reading in the New York Review of Books about FBI surveillance of the anti-war movement. There was paranoia about the Feds all the time, with new folks coming under suspicion. The times were rich with focus, focus that made sense and focus that did not. The two were sometimes hard to separate.

Anyhow, the article reminded me of the funniest instance of FBI surveillance in which I personally participated. Back in ’72 or ’73 a bunch of us conceived the idea of a human chain around the Federal Building in St. Paul. There may have been a court case then, I don’t recall, but we showed up bright and early, joined hands and made a circle around the building. OK, almost the whole building. We didn’t have enough to close off the loading docks.

Anyhow, the Kellog Square apartments were under construction across the street from the Federal Building. They were mostly complete, several stories of apartments with glass windows facing the street. All of the apartments, up, I don’t know 20 floors, were empty. No curtains on the windows. No furniture. No renters yet.

Except. About six stories up, one unit had curtains. And, peeking between the curtains were cameras. The lenses were visible to the naked eye. Once we noticed them we waved, of course.

Very subtle of the FBI to hide behind curtains. In the only apartment that had them.

Oh, those were the days.

Validation

Imbolc                                                      Black Mountain Moon

Validation comes at odd points, often years later. In this Atlantic article, the Miracle of Minneapolis, the author, with the aid of Myron Orfield, links the Twin Cities’ blend of more abundant affordable housing and wealth to regional government. Somewhat valid.

Here’s the valid part: “While many large American cities concentrated their low-income housing in certain districts or neighborhoods during the 20th century, sometimes blocking poor residents from the best available jobs, Minnesota passed a law in 1976 requiring all local governments to plan for their fair share of affordable housing.” op cit

The invalid part is this. Even with these kind of laws on the books there are powerful forces that still work against the development of affordable housing. The NIMBY movement can marshal usually white middle and upper-middle class folks against multi-family housing. In Andover, for example, the city council time and again denied applications to build multi-family housing, denials premised in large part on the number of police calls to the two instances of multi-family housing (excluding senior citizen housing). This dynamic plays itself out in wealthy neighborhoods and suburbs across the Twin Cities.

Here in the Denver metro area another force, the market, stands in the way of affordable housing. Rents are high and single family homes are in short supply as well as increasingly unaffordable for new home buyers. This dynamic pushes against the development of affordable housing because normal development is so profitable.

Although some action has been taken in Minnesota and a few other states, the minimum wage is another barrier to affordable housing. Even affordable housing has to be paid for and often folks in the low wage sector: convenience stores, walmart employees, waitresses and bar-tenders, grocery store clerks and baggers, retail workers simply don’t earn enough to afford even reduced cost housing.

 

Here’s the validation. Back in the 1970’s and early 1980’s I was part of a Twin-Cities wide movement of neighborhood activists who advocated for and built affordable housing. We did this through the creation of Community Development Corporations (CDC’s), neighborhood level organizing and in-depth participation in city political races as well as city council deliberations. Most of the affordable housing in Minneapolis and St. Paul-I can’t speak to the suburbs-would not have been built without this committed core of ground level workers, activists and  community developers alike.

(I chaired the West Bank CDC during its most expansive phase of building in the late 1970’s. See pic.)

On the West Bank, where we built 500 units of affordable housing during my time there, we also pressed this movement further by organizing worker-owned co-operative businesses. We were trying to deal with the wage side of the affordable housing equation as well as reducing the cost of housing to begin with.

These were exciting and productive times with different city and state level initiatives being pushed forward by different groups. This all tailed off in the 1980’s.

“In the 1970s and early ’80s, we built 70 percent of our subsidized units in the wealthiest white districts,” Myron Orfield said. “The metro’s affordable-housing plan was one of the best in the country.”

The region’s commitment to dispersing affordable housing throughout the metro area has since diminished.” op cit

This decline exactly parallels the rise of Reagan and the subsequent gathering storm of the Moral Majority followed by the Teaparty movement and the war on terror. The way to achieve and maintain gains for the poorest of our citizens are known and replicable. They do require political will at several different levels of our society and this current society has broken faith with the idea of communal responsibility. This is the great evil of our time, worse than wars or Ebola or terrorism because the cost in damaged lives is so much greater.