Category Archives: Feelings

A Busy Day

Lugnasa and the Harvest Moon

Tuesday gratefuls: Seeing long time friend, Scott Simpson. Dinner with Joanne, Rebecca, and Terry. Water treatment by Greg. Vaccine reaction. Early dark. Waking up in the dark. Stars through the Lodgepoles. Evergreen. Coal Mine Dragon Chinese. Los 3 Garcias. Tara. Ariaan. Eleanor, their new dog. Norbert, their old dog. Both very sweet. The Muddy Buck.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Scott in Evergreen

Kavannah: Serenity Menucha

One brief shining: Sat at one of the Muddy Buck’s white marble topped tables on the boardwalk in Evergreen, waiting for Scott, delighted to see Yin had come along, too, that special joy of greeting long time friends who’ve gone out of their way to see you, getting coffee with Scott and talking for an hour, knowing each other, seeing each other in the way only aged friends can, past the surface quickly and into things that matter.

 

On Sunday at noon I got a flu vaccine and a covid vaccine. Left arm. Safeway pharmacy in the still novel to me experience of getting jabbed by pharmacy techs. I like it. No need to go to the doc. Collected my 10% off my next grocery order coupons, two, one for each needle. Sort of like the pediatrician’s lollipop for a good patient.

Went home and about an hour later felt tired. 3 hours later up from my “nap.” Yesterday morning had to go back to bed, slept another two hours. I’ve never had a reaction to vaccines before, but I recognized this for what it was. Not a large price for protection from two diseases that can devastate the older body.

 

The Geowater guy came, checked my water’s acidity, and swapped out my filter for a new one. Geowater has changed from its former aggressive upselling and now seems focused on customer service. A welcome change. Paid by check. Always feels anachronistic.

Greg lingered, chatting. Couldn’t see why, but he must have liked me and/or had some extra time on his hands. We talked about the bike park, the spate of brutal wrecks a month or so ago on Hwy 285, Mountain living. After he left, I took another nap, a brief one, to be sure I would be rested for seeing Scott and for the later dinner with Rebecca, Terry, and Joanne.

 

At 3:10 I hopped in Ruby and drove down the hill to Evergreen. Scott was kind enough to meet me in Evergreen at the Muddy Buck before a concert at Red Rocks. I hadn’t seen him in a long time, years for sure. Scott introduced me to the guide program at the Minneapolis Institute of Arts. He talked about a recent Chinese tour he and Yin gave. Made me nostalgic for my docent days and the Institute’s Asian art collection.

 

When the Muddy Buck closed at 5, Scott took off and I drove the short distance to Evergreen Lake and the Coal Mine Dragon Chinese restaurant. Where I met Rebecca, Terry, and Joanne. Rebecca leaves on Thursday for another four month stint at a Tibetan Buddhist nunnery near Dharamsala. She teaches English to the nuns and has become a beloved teacher over the last few years of her regular four month visits.

I admire her grit. She’s four years older than I am, also has spinal stenosis, and makes the trip there and back annually. Terry gave her an early birthday present, hers is in October and she’ll be gone. A purple floppy Octopus. Like Kate, Rebecca loves octopuses.

The four of us talked books and politics and Judaism. Joanne told a funny story. She always packed lunch for her late husband, Albert. One day she had nothing for dessert, so she put in four marshmallows, a candle, and a single match. At his work Albert found them, took out the candle, lit it, and began to roast a marshmallow. Oh, one of his co-workers said, I didn’t know that was a Jewish ritual.

As I drove back in the dusk, Elk Cows lounged in the front yards near Brook Forest Drive, occasionally going down to Maxwell Creek to take a drink, perhaps eat a late meal of Kentucky Bluegrass. The rut is near.

 

What a gift

Lugnasa and the Harvest Moon

Shabbat & Jubilee gratefuls: Being with my sacred community: Veronica, Tara, Ariaan, Luke, Leo, Ron, Rich, Marilyn, Irv, Ginny, Elizabeth. Celebrations. A Mountain evening. A cool Mountain night. Gut shabbas. Absent friends: Alan and Joanne. The drive down Black Mountain Drive and Brook Forest, up past Lake Evergreen, Elk Cows eating alongside the road. The drive home at night.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Congregation Beth Evergreen

Kavanah: Joy  Simcha

One brief shining: The life of a semi-hermit with its openings into the lives of others like sitting with Tara and Ariaan and Luke and Leo while Veronica in her Moon and Stars covered scarf sang, then came over and kissed me on the head, Ron and Rich, strong long hugs, giving Luke the book of Beatle lyrics when we left a bit early, a chill in the air as three stars became visible overhead. Ad astra, Veronica said, as she kissed me.

 

A week of depth and intensity. Beginning with Gabe on Sunday and the hike up Kate’s sadly dry Creek, the next day, Labor Day, driving to Boulder to see Ruth, eat sushi in honor of Jon, over to Denver to drop off Gabe, back home to Shadow Mountain. A quiet Tuesday, recovering. Breakfast at Primo’s with Marilyn and Irv and their friend from the Boston area, Judy. We talked about poor Rider and his blue algae experience, near death. Survived. Judy’s many travels. The Snow Leopard photograph she took in Tibet with a long telephoto. Talking with Ruth twice as she processed Jon’s death away from home.

On Wednesday after my usual erudite conversation with long time buddy, Tom, Jackie cut my hair and we talked about her puppy, kidnapped in a gentle way by her son, stacking firewood, her wood-fired sauna. Rhonda showed us her gray hair. Barely visible underneath. Jackie remembered to the hour, 3pm, and the location, Hampden and University, and her age, 27, when she sat as the stoplight changed, her first gray hair in her hand.

Leaving her salon I drove into Denver and turned north at, yes, Hampden and University, where I found Modern Bungalow in its new location further north. Sat in Stickley/Arts and Crafts inspired chairs and chose one. Over to Dardanos to buy a pair of colorful kicks. Hoka Speedgoats. Tired of white.

Thursday found me talking to Tom again, with Paul and Irv. The Fantastic Four. Zoom. Though I usually go to Thursday mussar I took a nap and slept through. Knowing I was going to go to the Jubilee dinner the next night.

Friday I talked to Diane in a Michigan motel. Zoom. Did stuff around the house.

At 5:30 I saddled up Ruby and drove in my semi-sedate way to the synagogue. It was, for me at least, a night of long hugs, smiles, intimate moments with long time friends. A genuine celebration of this unique community rooted in the Jewish tradition while living into the 2nd millennium with creativity and profound relationships.

Not done yet. A Torah study this morning at 10 and lunch with Alan afterward.

This, then, is my life now. Rich and full, nourishing. Peopled. What a gift.

 

Harvest Season

Lugnasa and the Harvest Moon

Friday gratefuls: CBE. Tara. Jamie. Luke. Rebecca. Joanne. Alan. Marilyn and Irv. 50th year Jubilee. Celebration tonight, tomorrow, and Sunday. Diane in Indiana and Michigan. And Ohio. Cousins. Mark and Mary. Fall. This surprising election year. Hope, that battered refuge. The United States of the Americas. Our regional and political differences. Ruth in college. Gabe a junior. All you Virgos out there. Including you, Mary.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Tarot

Kavanah: THANKFULNESS   הוֹד Hod Thankfulness, acknowledgement, distinction; related to הוֹדָיָה/הוֹדָאָה confession. Eighth Sefirah = splendour, literally “glow/brightness”; concession & submission; left leg (opposite Netzach/Victory) (הַכָּרָת הטוֹב Hakarat Hatov: Gratitude, appreciation; literally “recognition of the good”)

One brief shining: Calmed my breathing, cast a mental net for the question that mattered most today-Is my final harvest beginning to take shape?-and drew a card from my Jessica Roux Woodland Guardian’s deck, 46 the Butterfly and Snowdrops, then one from my Wildwood Tarot deck, the Ace of Arrows, went over to the chair and read what they portended, rejoicing.

I sent this question to the Ancient Brothers for this Sunday mornings reflection:
“Fellow travelers on the Great Wheel. We are in the Celtic season of Lugnasa, the first fruits of the harvest. It is the first of three harvest festivals, following it is Mabon or the Fall Equinox, then Samain, or Summer’s End.
I invite you to place yourself on the Great Wheel of your life. What might you consider its first fruits, its main harvest, its final harvest before the fallow time?”
My own reflections on it prompted the question in one brief shining: Is my final harvest beginning to take shape?
Got to this today because my first fruits harvest and my main harvest seemed apparent to me. First fruits were the various justice and Great Work initiatives I worked on in my late 20’s, 30’s, and early 40’s. They were a direct link to the preparation for leadership and for a sensitivity to issues of justice that had dominated my life in high school, college, and directly after college.
My main harvest happened in the Years of Abundance, from 1994 to 2014, when Kate and I gardened, growing vegetables and flowers, had an orchard, cared for bees and many, many dogs. Novel writing. Caring for Joe and Jon. A lived expression of our mutual commitment to and love for Mother Earth. What a time!
The harvest of my final years, still underway of course, seems more difficult to define. I see three or four main threads, but can’t yet see the common one. There is a thread of death, disease, loss and grief. There is a thread of living into what is here: the Mountains, the Trees, the Wild Neighbors, Congregation Beth Evergreen, Mountain living, Evergreen and Conifer, Colorado and the West. There is a thread of relationships as life giving, life affirming treasures. Since Kate’s death, there is, too, a modified Hermit’s life thread which includes the mystical matters of Tarot, Astrology, and Kabbalah.
So my question. Is that common thread becoming visible? Is there another turn that might happen, needs to happen? Will happen? I don’t know. The cards I pulled today offer the possibility that its appearance might not be far off. May it be so.

Repost from Sept. 4, 2022: Jon has died.

The Harvest Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: Ruth. Gabe. Jon. Kate, always Kate. Death. Life. The passage of Time. The Great Wheel, turning. Lugnasa. Fall. Samain. Then the fallow time. The fourth phase. After childhood and education, after family and career, after early retirement and young old age. A time of life’s harvest gathered in for the final years. Knowing that, yes, spring will come for the young ones, summer, too. And we will rely on their memory to keep us here in the physical world.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Grief

Kavanah: COMPASSION   רַחֲמִים Rachamim    Compassion, empathy; related to רֶחֶם womb; cognitive function = personal feeling

One brief shining: A shock in the late evening, the call from Ruth I can still hear today-“Dad is dead.”-disbelief, sadness for the kids, a rush in my heart to get to them, the long forty-five minute drive through traffic and street lights, past stores and filling stations, others going about their life while one we knew would never again find his way in this material world.

The Repost:

Lughnasa and the Harvest Moon

Monday gratefuls: Jon. Ruth. Gabe. Meme. Death. Again. Arapahoe county medical investigator. Police. Family gathering. Again. Sarah. BJ. Joe. Seoah. Kep. Aurora. Jon’s house. Plan. Change plan. That gurney.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: the cycle of life and death

 

A phone call. About 6:45 pm. One ring on the cell phone. Off. Then the landline. Hard to understand. Someone in distress. Crying. Dad’s dead. It was Ruth. She had gone down in the basement of their house to ask him a question and found him. He was cold.

Yes, of course I’ll be there. Threw on my jeans. Grabbed my keys and my phone. Headed down the hill for the 45 minute plus drive in to Aurora.

Joe called. He had plans underway. Be here tomorrow or Wednesday with Seoah. I called Sarah. No luck. All the way down thinking. Jon. Ruth. Gabe. Meme, their cat. What happens now?

Jon. A tortured soul. Buffeted too much by life, never found that life preserver that could have kept him afloat. He would have been 54 this year. Not suicide. Except in a post-divorce slow motion lack of self-care way.

By the time I got there the EMTs had come and gone. Pronounced him dead. An Aurora police car sat near the house. Jen was there.

Ruthie ran up to my car as I drove by. I stopped. She leaned in and sobbed.

Once I parked both Gabe and Ruth ran to me and we formed a tight circle, hugging each other, a defense against this mystery, so ordinary, yet so harsh, so final. Crying. Crying.

Both of them surprised me by asking me how I got through the death of my mother. They knew I was young and that it was sudden. I was numb for a long time. In shock, I said.

Gabe went with me to get some water. Are you really leaving in February? I really wish you’d stay longer. Oh. Arrow found my heart. Focus on the now.

Back at the house on Florence Avenue a vigil of sorts set up. Waiting on the medical investigator for Araphahoe County and the coroner’s van. I had to take my Mountain appropriate sweatshirt off in deference to the 83 degrees of an Aurora late evening.

Jon’s house is in a working class neighborhood. Small brick homes placed close to each other. A mixed community of Latino and poorer whites. The light from the police cruiser painted the house across from Jon’s in a thin layer of bluish white. Hushed conversations.

Jen and I. Thought we might get along but her animosity and cruel treatment of both Jon and Kate was too close to the surface. We had different sectors and the kids came to each of us at different points.

The coroner’s van came. Ruth gave Jon’s quilt wrapped body a final hug and the gurney took him on his last exit from his house.

I left shortly after, driving back up the hill. Ruth and Gabe headed to their mom’s. Sarah and BJ are on their way. Joe and Seoah.

Many things unclear. How will I communicate with Ruth and Gabe now that they will be with their mom full time? What kind of service? Where? Ruth said Jon wanted to be cremated.

The coroner will have his body at least until Tuesday late afternoon. They have to determine cause of death, rule out suicide, other possibilities. Sarah, as his closest blood relative, has legal authority since Ruth is under 18.

Jon had no will. What happens to the house, the cars? All of the stuff in the house. The house itself.

Lots of details ahead. For which I have little energy. Feeling like Colorado has been about too much disease and death. Conflicted about Gabe’s comment. Wanting so much to start a new chapter far from here. Hearing him. And, Ruth.

Earth Waves

The Harvest Moon

Tuesday gratefuls: Ruth. Gabe. Boulder. Ruby. Celebrex. Tramadol. THC. Gettin’ old. The gradual arrival of Fall. Great Sol. The Flatirons. The High Plains as they wash up against the Laramide Oregeny’s Rocky Mountains. Mountains as Earth Waves. Second looks at my prostate cancer facts. Kristie. Steve. Dr. Leonard. Mr. In Between. Whippets. My son.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Staying the course with Ruth and Gabe

Kavanah: STABILITY יְסוֹד Yesod    Stable, rooted, grounded; literally “foundation”  Ninth Sefirah = Connection & communication; covenant relationship; regenerative organ  [נְתִיקָה Netika: Disconnected, detached, rootless, neurotic]

One brief shining: We gathered, the three of us, the last of Jon’s close family, sitting outside at the Hapa Sushi Grill and Sake Bar, Jon’s complicated impact on each of us lifted to the surface as we ordered the Multiple Orgasm Roll, the Hapa Special Roll, and a sashimi sampler with Daikon fries while Labor Day freed Boulderites and UC students wandered up and down the Pearl Street Mall.

 

At ten am Gabe and I took off for Boulder, an hour drive from Shadow Mountain. Once on 470 we headed east always driving along the Hogbacks that mark the earlier Oregeny (Mountain Building) phase that preceded the Laramide. Thrust up on angles toward the west, these ancient Rock formations mark the end of the High Plains, or their beginning. Heading east from the Hogbacks the High Plains move toward their lower, yet contiguous sisters that make up the Plains States, running as far east as western Minnesota.

Though technically the west begins around the 105th parallel in Nebraska, where Rainfall dips below 20 inches a year, the feeling of being in the West, the Mountain West, only begins when you see the Rockies in the distance and their older brethren, the Hogbacks. Coming from the east, of course, as I mostly have.

I have a marked sense of awe, in Hebrew yirah, wherever I drive in the Mountains. This path from Shadow Mountain to Boulder thrills me, as it follows the evidence of plate tectonics active 75 through 35 million years ago, evidence inescapable to the eye and to the internal combustion engine. The hand of Gaia splashing the ocean of land and creating waves in her outermost layer, easy to see even now so long after she finished. Earth waves.

 

Just a moment: Even with the Celebrex on board, the drive from home to Boulder, then to Denver to drop Gabe off on Galena Street and finally back west through Denver and up 285, left me in pain. And long before I finally got home.

When I got back, I hurt so bad I tossed in a tramadol and an edible. Big mistake. My stomach said no, I do not like this, not at all. Please go to bed. So I did. At 4:30 pm. Got back up a couple of hours later.

Worth it though. Gabe and Ruth need time together and time with me. Especially yesterday, two days from the second anniversary of Jon’s death. I gave both of them yahrzeit candles, candles that burn the full 24 hours of a yahrzeit. Had to take Ruth’s back because: no candles at all ever in the dorms. Oh. Yeah.

 

Dried Up

The Harvest Moon

Labor Day gratefuls: Gabe up here. 47 degrees this morning. Seeing my son with Gabe yesterday evening. Zoom. The Ancient Brothers on poetry. Weakness. Sarcopenia. Coffee. Mac and Cheese with flayed, grilled Shrimp and Japanese mayo. Ode in Glacier Park.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Scrolling through pictures with Gabe

Kavanah: Love Ahava

One brief shining: Ruby pulled over to the side of Brook Forest Drive, Gabe got out, I did too, locked her, and we began a familiar hike up Kate’s Valley to its outlet at the Pond where I distributed Kate’s ashes; it took us a minute, we were so used to it being there, the Creek, Kate’s Creek, had dried up.

 

This bummed us out. Both of us. The Creek filled the Valley with the gentle sound of Water rushing over Rocks. It carried Kate’s ashes quickly away from the Pond, heading toward the Gulf of Mexico and the World Ocean. Plants thrived along its banks and it made Rocks slippery where we needed to cross. The Valley felt empty, deprived of its soul.

Partly because I’m not as strong as I used to be, mostly because we both felt it wasn’t worth the effort without the Creek, we turned back well before the Pond. A treasured friend had gone missing, a friend who gave music, the laughter of Water spilling over Rocks, a sense of vitality with its rapid flow.

The Creek’s Bed laid bare, the Rocks in it seemed ordinary, no longer mysterious beneath its surface. Further up we did find trickles of water, as if the Creek wanted to return, wanted to offer itself as it once had, but that Water died out, too.

I’ve gone up and down Kate’s Valley, along Kate’s Creek for five or six years. Never once was it dry. Until yesterday. Denver Parks has done Fire mitigation along its sides. Did something they did plug up its source? We didn’t get far enough back to hazard a guess.

Hard to describe how distressing this was. Left both of us sad. We’ve had Rain this summer, we’re not in drought conditions. A puzzle.

After, back at Shadow Mountain, I heated up the Mac and Cheese, divided the remains of the Shrimp entree from my visit to Luke’s. Gabe and I ate together.

 

Just a moment: How bout those former East Germans voting in a far right bloc? Talk about irony. They’ve gone from fascism to communism to democracy back to fascism.

Though I’m not sure what’s going to happen in the election here, a chance exists, a good chance, I believe, that we’ll turn away from far right populism and its odors of fascism, a movement giving off the stench of bigotry, hatred, and outright stupidity. The festering wounds of our Trump infected years.

I know. Even if we elect Kamala and Tim, there will still be stores selling red hats eager to promote a lost America that never was. There will still be people to purchase them. The flags won’t come off the pickup trucks. There’ll be one more shot at overturning the election. I hope the last.

But maybe, maybe we’ll turn the corner and drive like hell away from Mar-a-Lago.

Coiled Around It In a Flash

The Off to College Moon

Sunday gratefuls: Seoah. My son. Dawn. A milky gray blue Sky. 47 degrees. Leo and Luke. Lakewood. Autism. Cash on hand. The Beatles. Mary and Mark, their ex-pat lives. Mary between K.L. and Melbourne; Mark between humid, libertine Bangkok and arid, rule bound Saudi Arabia. Ode in Glacier, seeing, then drawing. Travel. Taipei. Seoul. Songtan. Taos. Santa Fe.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Celebrex

Kavanah:  KINDNESS חֶסֶד Chesed   Kindness, sharing, helpfulness  Fourth Sefirah = expansion & unboundedness; love & mercy; right hand pulling closer (opposite Gevurah/Strength) (טוּב-לֵב Tuv Lev: Good-heartedness, benevolence, charitableness)

One brief shining: At Luke’s in Lakewood yesterday I watched Sacha, his Ball Python, move around her aquarium home, forked tongue piercing the air as her sinuous moves carried over a Tree branch, dipped her nose into the water, then slipped around and behind a large rock, always the tongue out, sniffing the air; she’s hungry, Luke said, looking for the live rats I give her.

 

Sacha, named after Sacha Mama, a Peruvian forest guardian deity, gets fed in a plastic bucket. Luke quickly throws in a live rat, about every two weeks. She’s coiled around it in a flash, he said. Sometimes the rat’s eyes bulge until it quit thrashing. Sacha releases the rat and feels it with her head until she determines where the head is and proceeds to consume it head first, moving it through her body as she goes into S-shaped constrictions to crush all of its bones. Takes her about two days to digest her meal. Gentle Luke. Primal Sacha. Nature red in tooth and scale.

 

Gabe’s coming up today. We’ll go searching for wild Raspberries along Kate’s Creek. Hope we find some since he loves eating wild fruit. Tomorrow we head over to UC-Boulder and pick up Ruth. We plan a sushi meal on the Pearl Street Mall in honor of Jon, who died two years ago on September 4th. It’s important that I celebrate with them since we’re Jon’s surviving family.

Afterward, I’ll take Gabe home to Galena Street in northeast Denver and hopefully drive home against returning Labor Day traffic. The Celebrex makes all of this possible with much less stress on my body. Which I very much appreciate.

 

Just a moment: Another surprising word about chronic pain. First, my shortness of breath has diminished. Not sure why though it might be that the fatigue caused by pain led my respiratory muscles to tire, too. Second, it’s not perfect, but I don’t need it to be. I still feel little jolts and tweaks in my hip. What’s different is that my back and core aren’t struggling to contain the pain, tightening and holding in awkward positions.

I’m still amazed at how much pain relief has done to help my quality of life. Only beginning to appreciate what it might mean if I can continue to use the Celebrex. We’ll check kidney and liver functions in a month and if they’re ok, every three months after. I may have to buy Cheryl, my phlebotomist, a cake. She says she’s gonna retire in January, but I hope not. She’s smooth as buttah.

 

Got it now

The Off to College Moon

Thursday gratefuls: Diane. Ruth in Willville. Taking college classes. Eating dorm food. Gabe, coming up this weekend. My son and Seoah, a year ago yesterday in Songtan. Travel. Celebrex will help. Affirming life. Not waiting on death. Greeting Great Sol. The new fan in my bedroom. Keeping me cool. Electric blankets. Eyes. The occipital lobe. Frontal cortex. Amygdala. Hippocampus. Gray matter. White matter. Limbic system. Sloshing around in our skulls.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Mark’s new job!

Kavanah:  PEACE  שָׁלוֹם Shalom   Peace, quietness, wholeness (קוֹר רוּחַ Kor Ruach: Calm, composure, literally a “cool spirit”) [בֶּהָלָה Behala, beh-ha-LAH: Fear, alarm, panic]

One brief shining: The blue Sky silhouettes the gentle curve of Black Mountain, its stony bulk covered by green Lodgepoles and clonal colonies of Aspen, at ten thousand feet it rises another twelve hundred feet above my home here on the top of Shadow Mountain, yet does not lord it over us, rather graces us with a neighborly, oh, there’s another Mountain feeling.

 

Sometimes I read more into what people say than they intend. I’m not the only one, I’m pretty sure. Let me give you an example. In conversation with my long time and dear friend Tom he made a casual comment about my application to get a Whippet puppy. “That’s a life affirming choice.”

He meant, I now believe: “That’s a life affirming choice.” I heard: I’m relieved you’ve finally made a life affirming choice after several weeks focused on death or disability. Which, of course, reflects my immersion, partial, yes, but tangible nonetheless, in matters cancerous over the last few weeks.

Since, in fact, that day after my bar mitzvah, when he and Paul listened in on my telehealth visit with Kristie. I try, and most of the time believe I succeed, in living a balanced life when it comes to cancer. That is, I acknowledge its existence, keep up with my blood draws, doctor visits, take my meds. Do what’s needed, what I can do. After that let it lie as a complex fact of my existence, not really at the level of consciousness most of the time.

Over the time since my PSA went up during my drug holiday, sooner than Kristie expected, I’ve been up and down, a shortened life span, wrestling the lesser demons in my body, mostly in an unhappy stew of uncertainty about where things stood. I felt Tom had ridden through my cover and seen the other side. Now, he may have. But in this instance he was not talking about that, but instead he was giving me a thumbs up for doggy possibilities. Sorry, Tom. Got it now.

 

Just a Moment: The asshole snuck above the fold with his usual gauchity, douchebagness. Doing politics in Arlington Cemetery. Flouting military rules designed to prevent it. I suppose this falls under the there’s no such thing as bad publicity rule. I’m so, so tired of him, of his disregard for decency, for the rule of law, for his support of white supremacists, his misogyny, his overall creepiness. So tired.

 

Heirs

The Off to College Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: Tom. Diane. Brother Mark’s Bangkok walks. Water Monitors. Cattle Egrets. Wild Neighbors in urban areas. Rebecca leaving for India and the Buddhist nunnery. Joanne. Her new book with two Buddhist therapists. Pain. Cranking it down without addiction. Whippets. Sight Hounds. And those who love and breed them. Dogs. Oh, OK. Dogs again.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Sight Hounds

Kavannah:  Friendship  אַחֲוָה Achava (חֲבֵרוּת Chaverut: Partnership, camaraderie) (אַחְדוּת Achdut: Unity, solidarity, togetherness)

One brief shining: A few decades ago, maybe 4, a group of middle-aged men who knew each other somewhat well ate dinner together in an Indian restaurant in Minneapolis, joined by two other men who did not know each other, but had slight acquaintance with one or two of the others; might have been a poker night or a get together to watch the Vikings lose another big game, instead it was the beginning of 40 year plus bonds of friendship among the Woolly Mammoths, who surprisingly still live up to their motto: We’re not extinct yet.

Wegman’s

Keep forgetting to post this. If you wanted to mail drugs worth $800 for a thirty day supply, how would you package them? Wegman’s is a compounding specialty pharmacy. Inside this colorful wrap sat my first doses of this round of Erleada. Clever, eh? And it gives the healthy message Ms. Thurston gave me in the first grade: Charles Paul, eat your vegetables. A twofer. Fun with cancer!

 

Had a session with my folks at Bond and Devick, financial advisors, RJ now for over thirty five years. They keep Kate’s IRA rollover steady. When the market goes up, you go up a little; when the market goes down, you go down a little. We’ve been with them since Penny Bond formed her firm, then hired RJ later on as her first employee. RJ just stepped down as owner/President, but keeps client contact and portfolio work. The IRA churns out what a 19th century British novel would refer to as a stipend and a nice one at that. With my Presbyterian pension and Social Security, I have more than adequate monthly cash. And. I will leave a tidy sum to my heirs: Ruth and Gabe, Seoah and my son. My heirs? That’s a weird phrase to write out loud.

The corpus has indeed gone up a little, down a little, always growing a bit but staying in the same basic range. Kate, always Kate, left me better off than she found me in so many ways, not the least financially. A shame that she didn’t get to enjoy the money she earned for longer. Thankfully, we had long ago passed the mark of mine and hers. We were together in all ways, no barriers between us. When she died, so did a part of me. A part now, in the way of the Soil, fertile ground for my new life after her death.

I suppose, come to consider it, that is the point of having heirs.

 

 

 

Pain and Suffering

The Off to College Moon

Tuesday gratefuls: RJ. Michele. Bond and Devick. Penny. Kate, always Kate. Ruth in college. Great workout yesterday. Terry. Rebecca. Joanne. Ginny and Janice. Whippets. Emma and Bridgit. Hilo and Kona. Buck and Iris. Dogs. Great Sol. Celebrex. Pain tamped down. Kamala’s bounce. May it grow. New electric blanket. Mary’s birthday across the International Date Line. Happy Birthday, Mary.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Sisters

Kavanah: UNDERSTANDING בִּינָה Bina:  Understanding, differentiation, deep insight; from בּוּן to split, pierce/penetrate; also בֵּין between.  Third Sefirah = Left brain (opposite Chochmah/Wisdom)  (תְבוּנָה Tevunah: Comprehension, analytical thought, reason & intellect)

One brief shining: Take one a day with food it says on the pill bottle, a small white capsule, generic Celebrex, and so, compliant and dutiful, I take mine with breakfast as I read about Kamala and Tim, about Israel and Hamas, about Ukraine’s invasion of Russia, all outer battles dealing with the pain of conflicting values and unyielding desires for power, while in my blood stream this Cox-2 inhibitor acts to reduce the inner pain of spinal stenosis, pinched nerves, in my lower back.

 

Long ago, a young medical student who had become my friend told me he believed doctors should treat pain, but never suffering. Steve Miles went on to become a well know medical ethicist, and his words have stayed with me down the decades. Treating suffering meant treating it medicinally, with narcotics or other addictive substances. As the oxy epidemic hit, ironically, it would be the treatments for pain that caused the suffering.

Suffering is the province of religion and psychoanalysis, self-knowledge and self-care. Not medicines. At the time psychotropic drugs were often more problem than cure. Some still are and the issue is still fraught. As I hope it always will be. We need caution when crossing the line between medicine and the inner world of the psyche.

Granddaughter Ruth and stepson Jon are, together, paradigmatic. Ruth has struggled and fought for a sane life without maintenance psychotropics. She’s currently using none and is in her best mental health of the last decade. Jon self-medicated his psychic pain. And died as a result. The balance between the bodymind and its from the outside aids for health remains a form of art as much as science. Perhaps a matter for religion at its best, kindest, and broadest.

Who are we? What brings us joy and love? How do we know the path that leads to a full and rich life? The ancientrail right for you? On my own path I stumbled long ago after my mother’s death sent my Self on an underworld journey maintained and sustained by alcohol. It took years of analysis to find my way back to the light. Not psychotropics, but deep self-understanding, self-forgiveness.

This week I’m on a different path. Back to Steve and the treatment of pain. I thought since my back pain wasn’t constant it wasn’t chronic. Sue thought I’d feel better if she could treat the pain. I reluctantly agreed. Celebrex carries heavy potential side effects and I’d said no to this kind of intervention before.

In the three days I’ve taken it I’ve learned some things about pain. I didn’t realize the degree to which I’d adjusted and adapted my daily to ease my pain. More and more sitting. Lying down. Not lifting. Doing household chores slowly, resting often. Sometimes deferring them. And here’s an odd piece. As I adapted to the pain, I did not think it was chronic because I could make it fade. That was the pain managing my life for me. Huh. This in spite of regular exercise, physical therapy.

With the Celebrex on board I can bend down without wincing, turn corners without tweaking my back, go upstairs with ease, get out of chairs without groaning. It’s seductive. I feel more and more as I used to in my body. That is a wondrous thing. Yet the dangers it poses are real. Again, more blood draws to check liver and kidney functions. Taking prilosec to guard against intestinal bleeding. I may not be able to sustain its use. But, I might, too. It’s nonaddictive, why I chose it, on second thought, over tramadol.

I’ve dealt with my suffering. Perhaps now its time to let physicians treat my pain.