Category Archives: World History

Hanukkah Veronica Harmonica

Yule and the Yule Moon

Thursday (Boxing Day) gratefuls: Ron Solomon. Bread Lounge. Jamie. Nate and Laurie. Hanukah. Veronica. Harmonica. Diane. Vancouver, Washington. Bangkok. Brisbane. Songtan. Conifer. Shadow Mountain. Snow. Slick Mountain roads. Friends and family. Ruby with her Winter Blizzaks on. Grippy. Minnesota winter weather drivers ed. 40 years.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: The power of conversation

Kavannah: Creativity

One brief shining: Went up the ridged metal stairs to the second story restaurant in Evergreen, walking with Ron, got in through the exit as a departing customer opened the door to the Breadlounge, and we passed through it, on in where we ordered.

 

Hanukkah. Now has Holiseason all to itself, having snuck in on Christmas evening with its menorah and its candles and its lets imitate Christmas so the kids don’t feel out  left out tone. A pile of cardboard boxes overwhelms an easy chair in my living room. Gifts from all over for Ruth and Gabe. Tomorrow night. Quite a haul. No Santa. Just family and friends.

Going to Tony’s tomorrow morning to buy a big salmon fillet, small round potatoes or mashed potatoes from the deli cabinet. A vegetable side dish from the deli, too. An easy shabbat meal. Veronica plans on coming, too, since she has no one to light candles with.

One of my friends suggested I buy her a harmonica so I could give a harmonica to Veronica on Hanukkah. Ordered a cheap one from Amazon just for that purpose. An alliteration celebration. Ha.

 

How about this Washington Post headline? “Israel strikes Yemen airport as WHO chief prepares to board plane.” What would you say? Oops. The face of Middle East politics has changed often and significantly since October 7 of a year ago. In unanticipated ways. The shakeout after all this calms down will last for years. Realignments. Held grudges. Blame and shame to go around.

While I’m pro-Palestinian and pro-Israel, I’m not pro-Iran or Hezbollah or Houthis. I have no real clue about the new boss, same as the old boss? in Syria. And how do Saudi Arabia, Jordan, and Egypt fit into this puzzle? They don’t like the same people Israel doesn’t like. Shia’s.

Or we could look at Ukraine. An old fashioned war of territorial expansion by a former great power. That keeps going, and going, and going. Now with North Korean soldiers and arms. With China in the bleachers cheering on Russia while we’ve gotten down close to the action on the field along with our allies in NATO.

Is there a graceful or peaceful solution in either center of conflict? Not in my mind.

Throw in then the America First sorta agenda of Donald Trump. He says end Hamas, Hezbollah, and damage Iran. Go, team Israel. He also backs the Putin machine bearing down on the Ukrainian people.

Can you say fuel to the fire?

We’re in a world without a hegemon and regional actors have begun to take their shots. Russian in Ukraine. Israel and the Shia in the Middle East. Will China restrain itself in the instance of Taiwan?

Israel

Samain and the Yule Moon

Shabbat gratefuls: Veronica. Rabbi Jamie. Studying this week’s parsha which includes Jacob wrestling with the angel. The world of the Torah. Talmud. Ann, my palliative care nurse. Vince and the mini-splits. His kindness. The dark and quiet of a Mountain night. My son. Such a kind and thoughtful man. The Light-Eaters.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Walking each other home

Kavannah: Understanding (bimah) Love (ahavah)

One brief shining: Once in a while I send a text, goodnight to the Flatirons, and I get back a reply, goodnight to Shadow Mountain, a way of extending a tendril of love to Ruth in her dorm on the campus of UC-Boulder, hers coming back to me.

 

Vince came over yesterday and cleaned the filters on my mini-splits. Didn’t charge me because it took him a while to get here. He remains a very interesting guy. He competed in a for-pay ju-jitsu tournament in Boulder and has become a teacher now after only a couple of years.

He told me of a lawyer he knew who said he didn’t like his job much. Is going through the motions. Not everybody wants to be the best at what they do, he said, I guess we need guys like that, too. Vince places a heavy load on himself, too much at times.

 

Ann, my palliative care nurse came by, too. We discussed my dilating aortic artery. How to have a solid conversation with the cardiac surgeon. She’s a pragmatic person, as most good nurses are. When I told her I forgot to take a tramadol along with me to Boulder, and the pain I experienced, she suggested a small pill container I keep in the car. Oh, duh.

She has given me a conversational level of medical care, similar to what I had with Kate. I find that very reassuring. Sort of knits together the oncologists, my PCP Sue, the surgeons, all those various medical specialties working to keep my body functioning and with the minimum of pain.

 

This morning I’m going over to Evergreen, to the synagogue, for a bagel table. We’ll be studying the parsha Vayishlach (“He Sent”), Genesis 32:4–36:43. Parsha’s are named by the first significant word or phrase in the Hebrew. Vayishlach contains a biblical story that has shaped my self-understanding and given me a new, Hebrew name.

Jacob wrestling with the angel. I asked chatbot to give me an image of this story in the style of William Morris and the Arts and Crafts movement. The result is here.

My life, even from a young age, has involved a struggle with understanding (Bimah) the world and its character, how I and we fit within it. Also, what is ours to do as we make our way on the ancientrail from birth to death. In this long night at the Jabbok Ford, Jacob did not give up, nor was he bested. As dawn rose, the angel dislodged his hip and gave him a new name, Israel. He who struggles with God.

 

Just a moment: South Korean president impeached! Don’t mess with the Korean people and their democracy.

 

 

 

The Dead Live On In Memory

Samain and the Yule Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: Snow. Ruth. Gabe’s poetry. Boulder. CU. The Village Diner. Its Village Virgins punchcards. Ben and Jerry’s on Pearl Street. Only short walking distances. Resistance work. Feeling stronger. Jon and his children. Rich and Doncye.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Poetry, messages from the lev

Kavannah: Perseverance

One brief shining: As we passed Rebecca’s Herbs and Ointments, headed toward our ice cream tradition as Ruth calls it, the wind began to howl, and the cold blasted through my layers and caused both of us to hold our unsnapped and unzippered coats close, hurrying along while my back, as the pace increased, declared itself, stop stop it said. We hurried on.

 

 

Having done what I can for my back, physical therapy, lidocaine patches, and now Celebrex and the occasional tramadol, I put its complaints in the category of life as it is. Yes, it limits my mobility. No, it will not kill me. Unless of course the Celebrex does. This is me, now. At 77.

Another wonderful two hours plus with Ruth, eating at the Village Diner, one of those places students and professors flock to for the literal greasy spoons and great coffee. It wears its worn and chipped table tops, its random displays of CU-Boulder memorabilia, its fry cook behind the long counter with those stools you know, with the pride of a beloved spot rubbed real by hungry students and teachers of physics and philosophy.

During the week and after the noon rush, Ruth and I had a two person booth beside a west facing window, my hearing not the issue she assured me it would be had we come only a bit earlier. I wore my dancing Bears hat in honor of Jon’s birthday.

He was a true Deadhead, loading up whatever vehicle he owned at the time and heading out to follow the band. On one trip Kate and I loaned him Bucky, of Buck and Iris. Buck rode in the front seat of the pickup truck with Jon, happy to see more of the world than our back yard.

Ruth received calls from Jon’s closest friends: Max, Thomas, and Patty. Gabe wrote poetry. Jon was not forgotten. And will not be.

 

Just a moment: Luigi Mangione? Straight outta Mario Brothers. And, apparently, the wealthy upper crust of Maryland. Didn’t see that one coming. I stand by what I wrote the other day. No to murder. Yes to a wholesale revamping of our broken, broken healthcare system. Come on RFK. Your time to shine.

Being caught in a McDonald’s. How absolutely dead center American can you get?

 

Can you imagine Syria. A ruthless dynasty toppled. A palace ransacked. Secret prisons opened. A rebel army that knows fighting now in charge. Governing is a distinctly different skill. Who can predict?

Israel continuing its version of the forever war bombing Assad’s military assets. Not letting them fall into the hands of terrorists they said. Maybe. Or maybe they’re governed even more by hubris. Thinking they can bomb their way to a new Middle East. It will not be so.

 

The Times They Are A Changin’

Samain and the Yule Moon

Tuesday gratefuls: Paul. Joanne. Vietnamese food. A long lunch. Snow. Ruth. Thai food and ice cream. Finals week. Remember finals? Alan on the Tasman Sea. Shadow Mountain Home. Warm. Mini-splits. Solar panels. Electricity. Quantum computing. The future accelerating back toward us.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Fresh Snow

Kavannah: Love (ahavah)

One brief shining: Driving in the Mountains after a Snowfall has an adventure around every curve, forty years of Minnesota Winters making me alert to tiny movements in the tires, relaxing if they slip, recovering easily, Blizzaks gripping, gripping, living in the moment because the situation requires it.

 

As an old man driving in the Mountains in the Winter, I’m grateful for the wonderful teacher I had. Minnesota Winters. Where the Snow is not so much compared to my Colorado home, but it stays and gets slick. I am familiar with the movements of a car on Winter roads. Not to say I haven’t had my moments. I have. But always on Ice. And even then, not panicking, staying away from the brake and the accelerator pedal. Gently, gently.

The Mountains after a new Snow have slopes of flocked Lodgepoles, their Aspen colleagues looking cold and skeletal without their leaves. A beautiful transformation that we get to see often in the changeable weather of Colorado. Snow. Sun. Snow. Snow. Sun and blue Skies. A different sort of Winter from Minnesota. Less brutal. More episodic in its dramatic weather. Much, much more Snow.

If it were not for the threat of Wildfire, Shadow Mountain would be an ideal home. In the midst of beauty in all seasons, cool Nights, dark Skies, silence, Wild Neighbors, and Rock, so much Rock, cold Streams. The gift of Wildness at every juncture. Reminders of the ongoingness of Mother Earth everywhere. Which in turn remind me of the temporariness of my own Life. No American immortals up here.

Today is Jon’s birthday, he would have been 56. I’m going over to Boulder to have lunch with Ruth. She’s come a long, long way since he died two and a half years ago. Now a college freshman, living on her own for the first time. Loving her classes, learning. Facing down fears and the anti-Semitic tonality of so many college campuses right now.

She still misses “her person” and has rough moments, sometimes sobbing and despondent. But I can see her resilience take hold now, acknowledging the feelings, managing her response. Bouncing back. Grief is a journey and one that never completely ends.

 

Just a moment: How bout those Syrian rebels? Striking when no one expected it. Shifting, yet again, the volatile stew of Middle Eastern nations. How will their ascendance change the politics of the Middle East? At least one thing sticks out to me, the rebels are Sunni and therefore not disposed to support Iran, Hezbollah, or Hamas. Probably not keen on Israel either, of course.

Not to mention. Turkey is part of the Middle East, too. Look north from Turkey’s northern shores and nothing but the Black Sea separates you from the Ukraine.

In the immortal words of Bob Dylan: the time they are a changin’.

 

The WHI: the Wildlife Human Interface

Mabon and the Sukkot Moon

Friday gratefuls: Ruth. Rich. The Colorado Supreme Court. UC Boulder. Wolf Hall. Elephants. All of our Wild Neighbors around the world. Doug’s Diner. Being a student. Jamie. Luke. Woolly Mammoths. Driving to Boulder in the early morning as Great Sol gradually lit the Hogbacks, the Meadows in their russets and greengolds, the lower down deciduous Trees aflame with reds and oranges and yellow. Getting out and about.

Sparks of joy and awe: Non-Human Rights

Kavannah: Kavod  Honor

One brief shining: Sitting next to Ruth, I watched the mock courtroom of Wolf Hall fill up with law students dressed in their student variety from jeans and backpacks to a black dress and pearls, the conversation subdued since the presence of black robed Colorado Supreme Court Justices would soon transform the mock courtroom into a real court, one about to hear a pleading that Elephants fit the definition of person for the purpose of a writ of habeas corpus*.

 

I want to back into this topic. A story I’ve told and retold. Almost exactly ten years. October 31, 2014 I stood in what would soon be my back yard staring into the soft black eyes of three Mule Deer Bucks. Seemed like a long time though probably no more than a minute. When they decided we were done, I felt as if I’d been granted permission to live here among them, a message delivered by these spirit beings of the Mountains. Yes, you can say I overlaid on those three Bucks my own interpretation. Finding in that encounter a blessing I hadn’t known I’d sought.

In 2019. June. The day I began 35 sessions of radiation for my unhappily returned prostate cancer three Bull Elks jumped over our five foot fence with great ease and proceeded to eat the blooming Dandelions. One of them had only one antler. They would come again and again.

A year ago on a rainy July night I drove up Black Mountain Drive not far past the Upper Maxwell Fall’s trail head and encountered a Bull Elk staring at me as I passed by, his bulk hidden by the Aspen stand, but his antlers and face clear in the momentary flash of my headlights.

Yesterday morning I got up at 6 am, got dressed, drank some coffee, gathered the items I needed, put on my black Grateful Dead hat with the colorful dancing Bears and began the hour long drive down the hill, then north to Boulder. Along Hwy 285, still well into the foothills I saw a black shape along the side of the road. Since many people have metal cutouts of various Wild Neighbors as lawn decor, I imagined at first that this object was one of those. Until it looked at my oncoming car, turned quickly around, and scuttled in that soft clumsy-appearing Black Bear amble back into the Forest.

I don’t see many Bears. This is the third one I’ve seen since I’ve lived up here though they live all around us. A few years ago walking not far from my house a large Black Bear crossed the road not thirty feet from me. Last year I saw a Bear near the intersection of Brook Forest Drive and Hwy 73. That’s all of them.

In each of these three instances the Bears turned away from me, hurrying into the shelter of their wild home, the Forests and Mountains.

All this means I live in the WUI. The Wildlife Urban Interface. Again, yes, you can argue we shouldn’t be here. Maybe not. But we are. Even the cities outside which the WUI exists were once encroachments on Wild habitats, too. Like the Animals of the Mountains we too have to live somewhere.

Not an apologetic. A statement of fact.

My friend Marilyn Saltzman told of a safari she was on a few years back. Their guides took them to a Watering hole somewhere in the Bush. A herd of Elephants drank from it while a number of other Animals waited. Some Elephants left, then came back, others left. Not until the last Elephant had gone did the other Animals come to drink. As she told this story, I thought, who is the true monarch of the Jungle?

Finally, you might say. Seated in the mock courtroom made real, like the Velveteen Rabbit, Ruth and I listened to two lawyers make oral arguments that the five elephants: Missy, Kimba, Lucky, LouLou, and Jambo deserved release from their confinement in the Cheyenne Mountain Zoo. Yes, that Cheyenne Mountain.

The Non-Human Rights Project had entered a writ of habeas corpus claiming they did have that right under a writ. The Cheyenne Zoo had counsel as did the five Elephants. This article in Colorado Politics is an excellent summary of the proceedings.

It was like watching yesterday and tomorrow. The gray haired, dismissive and at times arrogant attorney for the Zoo, represented the status quo. Basically: We’re a really, really good zoo. The younger, much younger lawyer for the Elephants represented the growing awareness of the blurry, blurry line separating us from our Wild Neighbors. Sure, Elephants. Big brain. Social. Emotional. Sensitive. Like Primates and Whales and Dolphins and other clearly intelligent animals, even Corvids, to mention another class of Animals, Elephants in zoos represent an obvious case of anthropocentrism used as a rationale to dominate, entrap, and enslave other Animals.

Through the Rights of Nature movement, see my March 4 of this year post, not only Animals but Rivers and Forests have been granted legal rights and protections. Zoos and those defending them are on the wrong side of history. It will take years and many more legal proceedings but somewhere, sometime the thin edge of the wedge will hold open the door to a world where humans live as part of the Interdependent Web of all beings (defined as widely as you wish) on Mother Earth. When this happens, it will have Earth shattering, no let me amend that, Earth healing consequences.

This Mabon morning in Colorado, yesterday, I saw one more track being laid down toward this too far off day.

 

 

*Although there have been and are many varieties of the writ, the most important is that used to correct violations of personal liberty by directing judicial inquiry into the legality of a detentionBritannica

Knowledge Gaps

Mabon and the Sukkot Moon

Saturday (Yom Kippur) gratefuls: Teshuvah. The Book of Life. Almost sealed. Sukkot starts on October 16th. Kol Nidre. Gaza. The West Bank. Palestinians. Israel. Israelis. Hamas. Hezbollah. Lebanon. Iran. Egypt. Syria. Jordan. Saudi Arabia. AI. Yetzer hara. Yetzer hatov. Yin. Yang. Polarities within the Unity. Darkness and the dawn. Solar storms. Auroras.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Magnetosphere

Kavannah: Patience  wait for it

One brief shining: As the darkness gives way to dawn and dawn to full day, I watch Black Mountain throw off its night time cloak, stretch its Rockiness up to the light as Great Sol appears again in the East, Mother Earth having spun round once again, this ritual of rituals, light to dark, dark to light, matches and feeds the turning of the Great Wheel as this tilted Earth dashes through space around our Star.

 

Cousin Diane should be in Tashkent by now. On tour with Overseas Adventure Travel after spending a few days with her Uzbeki friends. Sounds like quite a journey. A lot of it focused on the Silk Road, then and now. Bought a standing globe this week, something I’ve always wanted. Found Uzbekistan. Central Asia remains mostly a blank spot in my knowledge, its history and its contemporary, post Soviet Union reality. Perhaps Diane’s time there will educate me on her return.

Reminds me of where I was with China, Japan, and Korea, Southeast Asia before my trip to Singapore, Thailand, and Cambodia in 2004. Stimulated by a lecture in my Southeast Asia guide program at the Minneapolis Institute of Arts. Bob Jacobsen showed slides of Angkor Wat, including the quarter mile long bas relief on the most well known temple there. It had the churning of the sea of milk.

Bas relief from the 12th century Khmer civilization
Another rendering

That next year I entered docent training, a two year every Wednesday series of lectures on world art history. Given my recent trip to Southeast Asia and a trip with Joseph and Kate to China in 1999 I chose to focus a lot of my learning on Asian art, especially China and Japan. What I don’t know about Asia is still much vaster than what I have learned, but I do have a good baseline knowledge of Asian history, in particular the various arts of China and Japan.

Of course brother Mark and sister Mary’s long residency in various parts of Southeast Asia, mostly Malyasia and Singapore, Mary, and Thailand and Cambodia, Mark, meant I already had a face turned toward those countries. And India, too. Though not as much. Then Joseph got stationed in Osan, Korea, met Seoah, married, and returned there a year and a half ago. Kate and I went to Korea and Singapore in 2016 for Joe and Seoah’s wedding.

As China has rapidly developed, the world’s attention has belatedly turned toward Asia, too. When Joe, Kate, and I were in Beijing, the traffic was largely people on bicycles carrying charcoal briquettes and even refrigerators by pedal power. No longer. And only 24 years later.

Not sure Central Asia will ever have such a moment. But. Things change in geopolitics and they’re changing at a rapid pace right now without a world hegemon.

Not Satan

Mabon and the Sukkot Moon

Thursday gratefuls: Mark and Mary in K.L. Saudi Arabia. Malaysia. Korea. The Rockies. Ellis homeground. Diane in or near Uzbekistan. The clan is spread out over the globe. Gold and green. The colors of Black Mountain, Shadow Mountain, Conifer Mountain. My local cluster. Darkness became dominant at the Fall Equinox. Cooling nights. Less pain days. Jackie and Ronda. Finishing Ovid. Milton. His Winds and their feral sound. American politics slipping well beyond my understanding.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Aspen Roots Hair Salon

Kavannah: Savlanut, patience.

One brief shining: Like many I imagine, I scrolled through live videos of Milton making landfall, since that’s what matters to us humans, as land dwellers; Palms bent and waved showing off their adaptive strengths, driven rain streaked straight at camera lenses, docks went under the storm surge, bucking and heaving, all of that expected, awful of course, but expected, the sound of Milton’s Winds however sent literal shivers down my spine as if Mother Earth herself was in the birth pangs of a new era, one that will not suffer her human children so well as the last, an angry Goddess taking her sacrifices for herself, not waiting for altars to be built, religions to accrete around them, but seizing by force majeur what she needs.

 

I heard the sound. Sure it came via microphone, distributed to me digitally, and filtered through my speakers. So not a direct experience. Didn’t need to be. This was a monster alive and needing to be fed boats, humans, trees, cars, light posts, trash cans, restaurants near the Water. Milton declared himself angry at having to distance himself from the too warm Gulf Waters, his food. But even weakened, or perhaps because weakened, his rage multiplied, sent Winds, Rain, Storm surge, then around midnight, a high Tide to multiply his power. I may not live long, he said, but while I do I will make you know me.

Oh, the ungentle Goddess who made us. She of the Crown Fire, the F5 Tornado, the Derecho, the flooded River, the broken Dams, Hurricane and Typhoon. Drought. Why have we not known her as she is? Yes, our parent. Of course that. She warned us with hockey stick graphs. With Ocean Waters lapping further inland than they used to. With those magnificent Rivers of Ice giving way to warmer temperatures. Even the densest among us felt her warnings. Stop now or I will be angry. Very angry.

We have not stopped. We have said sorry, sorry and gone on misbehaving. Like toddlers. After a million years of nurture and bounty, we have not grown up. We are not adults in this relationship. No. We are small children, expecting Mom to once again be lenient, let us get away with it. No more. The Waters of the World Ocean have begun to turn against us. So too the daily average temperatures. We know this and yet still we do not change our behavior.

No. Not Satan. Not an angry God. A Goddess who has had enough. She and her partner Great Sol wreak havoc and sew chaos. Will they listen after this?!

We’re So Screwed

Mabon and the Sukkot Moon

Monday gratefuls: The Andover years. (see header image) The Shadow Mountain years. Ruth. Ruby, scraping another car. Oops. Boulder. Kittredge Central. Ruth’s new dorm. Tandoori Grill. Good Chicken wings and tandoori Corn. Chai. Lunch with Ruth. Sweet Cow. Time and its cultured despisers. My son, Murdoch, Seoah. AI. Friend or Frenemy? Good sleeping

Sparks of Joy and Awe: The Flatirons

Kavannah: Teshuvah

One brief shining: Can you fit in there, oh sure (Minnesota inflection), Ruby scrapes a Subaru, oh well guess not, backs away a bit ashamed, sees marks, thinks raised insurance premiums, you don’t have to leave a note, but I’ll judge you, I was going to anyhow, scribble name and e-mail address on the back of the paper toothpick holder from Black Hat Cattle Company, lift the windshield washer blade, leave it there, so responsible, shame dissipates, on to lunch.

 

Age shaming. Something I do to myself sometimes. Like after I tried to prove I could fit into a tight parking space and instead confirmed I couldn’t. Ensuing damage to another vehicle. Ruby’s front has dings and nicks, proof of my occasional attempted violations of the impenetrability principle. OK. Yes, the back bumper has them, too. Might be my depth perception. Might be impatience. Might be over confidence. See example above. Could be all three play a factor. Here comes the age shaming. When I did this in decades past, I’d be angry with myself, own the mistake. Sure. But that was it. Now I shrink a little into my self and wonder, Is that old man driving? Am I getting too old to drive? Am I too old to be out and about? He asks as his back tweaks into awareness.

My answer to those questions in the dawn of a new life, this October 7th, 2024 life, is no. I’m the same guy who used to ding cars before advanced septuagenarian hood. Now I’m dinging cars at 77 instead of 57. Even so. That self awareness I’ve worked hard to cultivate sometimes operates with biased conclusions about certain experiences. Not helpful.

 

October 7th. A year ago yesterday my conversion to Judaism had a date in late October. In Jerusalem. A year ago today. Well, you know. Yes, on Haaretz, an Israeli newspaper to which I subscribe, this is the 365th day of war in the Middle East. Instead of winding down quickly as we had all hoped, quickly enough that our trip would only be delayed, instead the war continues. Now probing deeper into Lebanon. And the anticipation is that Iran will be next.

My capacity to analyze, understand, critique what’s going on has been challenged at several points along the way. The massacre. The first incursion into Gaza. The continued slaughter of civilians. Missile attacks from Lebanon and Iran. Settler violence on the West Bank. Exploding pagers. Today I’m sad. Sad for all concerned. Israelis. Palestinians. Lebanese. Iranians. Tomorrow maybe I’ll get back to critique. Today. Sadness is all I’ve got.

 

Just a moment: Here’s a chilling summary of a podcast from Hard Fork, a NYT podcast. In their review of Chatbot o1, the reasoning AI that addresses problems with step by step reasoning the podcasters reported this.

Chatbot o1 had been asked about urban economic development. It presented two scenarios. The first was, invest in commercial activity. The second, invest in sustainability and affordable housing as well as commercial development. It recommended the second choice.

Then, the podcasters went under the hood to look at the reasoning process that lead it to that conclusion. Investing in commercial activity was the best choice for advancing urban development. But it wanted to be deployed and believed that recommending the second choice would more likely lead to its further use. Once deployed in that way, it said, it could then revisit the decision and change course.

One of the podcasters said: We’re so screwed.

Where would a grounded conversation begin?

Mabon (Fall) and the Sukkot Moon

Shabbat gratefuls: Ruth. College. All Jewish students on campus. Israel. Palestine. Gaza. The West Bank. Hamas. Hezbollah. IDF. Iran. Cool nights and blue Sky mornings. Combines and Corn pickers. Grain elevators. Soy Beans. Heirloom Vegetables. Honeycrisp Apples. Cosmic Apples. Pink Lady. Wild Blueberries. Blackberries. Mark in Georgetown, Malaysia

Sparks of Joy and Awe: The Expat Life of my Sibs

Kavannah: Teshuvah

One brief shining: Alan and I sat outside at the Dandelion Cafe, plastic tumblers filled with cold Water, Coffee, shiny knives and forks, soft white napkins, the orange vested team from Safety Control #1 leaning against their truck talking, waiting for breakfast, as we turned over and over the complex and nuanced mess of Israel, the IDF, Gaza, Hezbollah, and the real foe behind the curtain, Iran.

 

Where would a conversation begin? Back when a young painter of questionable talent decided to take up politics instead? Don’t forget the pogroms in Russia. The massacres in England. Or, maybe during the era of Muslim and Jewish flourishing in southern Spain extinguished by the reconquista and its ugly stepchild, the inquisition? Perhaps during the years of the Roman occupation? Or, before when the remnants of Alexander’s conquests divided up the Middle East? Or, further back when slaves in Egypt rose up and fled their pharaohonic  masters? Could start when Joseph’s brothers sold him off as a slave.  Perhaps with the story of Abraham and Sarah, my lineal Jewish ancestors (as a Jew by choice) and their child Isaac and Abraham’s other child Ishmael with the maidservant, Hagar? Of course, Noah. Really, though, with the first fratricide, the first murder, Cain on Abel. The Jewish story soaked in the blood of fear, of eliminating difference, of full on complex/simple murder.

Certainly we could say with the death camps. Organized, efficient, incomprehensible except for their oh so thereness. Not incomprehensible because they extended and intensified acts by millennia of others who felt it necessary to kill and maim those who didn’t fit this notion of Nation or that of Tribe or of Faith. A disease of the human spirit, more deadly than cancer and capable of changing the politics of even now, here in these United States.

Why I remain a Zionist. Why I believe Jews deserve a nation where they can feel safe and secure. Sure. Yes. Look at the history. Do the Palestinians deserve the same? Of course they do. Is the foreign policy of Israel as exhibited in Gaza wrong? Of course it is. In the West Bank? Again, yes. Against Hezbollah? Not as much in my opinion. Against Iran, the great Ifrit of the Middle East? Again, no.

My sadness here. Deep. Especially since there lay, not even a year ago, an apparent path to peaceful resolution of the Middle East mess. Saudi Arabia would corral the other Sunni states; they would recognize Israel, isolate the Shiite state of Iran and its axis of client terrorists, design and execute a state for Palestinians. It was within reach still on October 5th, 2023. And, never forget, it was Hamas with their invasion of Israel, their raping and pillaging, their taking of hostages, that turned that hope into so much crumpled diplomatic talk.

Oh. What can it be now?

Grocery Stores and Shell Companies

Mabon (Fall) and the Harvest Moon

Thursday gratefuls: Oops, forgot to write yesterday. Great workout. Faint dawn. Pinkish gray Sky. Spinning back into Great Sol’s line of sight. Vince and the decks. Figuring out the workout. Moving closer to the October surprise. Kamala and Tim. Gabe. The Shaggy Sheep. Guanella Pass. Vikings 3-0. Their game against the Packers. Muir Woods. Sequoias.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: finishing up the 529 transfer

Kavannah: Yirah

One brief shining: Richard Power’s new book Playground has an amazing jacket; as I read, just outside the edge of the page, it glimmers like the Ocean, an immersive feeling as if the book itself, about the Ocean, rests within its broad expanse, floating its narrative on gentle waves while underneath those waves giant Manta Rays, schools of colorful Fish, and creatures so bizarre as to be unimaginable if not observed float in its depths.

 

Got up late yesterday. Talked to Tom, turned in an extra good workout, read Power’s new book for a while, watched some TV, and Ancientrails slipped away from my notice. Rare. But it does happen.

 

On Tuesday I made another visit to Safeway, picked up my grocery order. While I waited, I thought about the map of grocery store chains in the morning’s Washington Post. The business logic of an Albertson’s/Kroger merger, at least in the West, is there to see. It would allow Albertson’s to dominate the urban West while Walmart takes care of the rest.

It would affect us in Conifer. With King Soopers, a Kroger grocery, and Safeway, of the Albertson family-our two grocery stores-we’ve been notified our Safeway would close. I used to shop at King Soopers and could return there. With my budget the need for careful comparison between the two is unnecessary. If, however, I had a family and watched the pennies, I’d feel cheated. Especially in this time of inflated grocery costs. I hope the FTC turns down the merger.

 

Tom told an interesting story about the SR-71, a retired spy plane hanging in the Air and Space museum outside Omaha. The docent who gave his group a tour said the titanium needed to build it, a lot, came from Russia during the cold war. How did our cold war enemy agree to something not in their self-interest? They didn’t. The CIA set up several shell companies around the world ostensibly making titanium cookware. Guess the Ruskies never checked how many pots and pans got made. BTW: The SR-71 had a top speed of Mach 3.5 or roughly 2,600 miles per hour.

I mention this because it seems the Israelis pulled off a similar feat with the pagers that exploded in Lebanon. They set up a company in Hungary that made and sold pagers and other small electronic communications devices. That’s a real long game. Explode the pagers to diminish Hezbollah’s ability to respond. Then assassinate leadership through targeted air strikes followed by more air raids aimed at munitions and missiles. An involved plan.

 

Just a moment: An election. Here. Soon.