Category Archives: Cooking

Cooking, Denver, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Health, Mountains, Shadow Mountain, Sport, US History

A 76’er

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Imbolc and the Valentine Moon

Monday gratefuls: Birthday dinner with Ruth and Gabe. Pappadeauxs. Chiefs win. Kep’s new gettin’ up time. His sweetness. Ruth, newly black hair and pink glasses with crystals. Gabe in his fancy shirt with no pocket. The old man eating alone. An American revolutionary birthday tomorrow. Pulmonologist. The Ancient Brothers on their favorite things. Dogs. Hawai’i. Sushi. Dr. Zhivago. Little kids. The Chiefs. Mendocino. Delmar, California. Shanghai. Wombats.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Dining with Gabe and Ruth

 

Realized yesterday that this is my American revolution birthday: 76. A revolutionary celebration. I like it. All you 76’ers out there. We’re not done yet. May not be nearer to God, but I am nearer to 80.

As you can tell, my mood has lifted. Thanks to those of you who expressed concern. Sadness stands next to joy. Both are important.

Pappadeauxs. Disappointing. Could have ordered off the Cajun menu: gumbo, crawfish etouffé, jambalaya, but I chose a dish I first had in Savannah, shrimp and grits. Loved it there. The Pappadeux version was over spiced and not very good. Though. Gabe loved the Red Snapper. Delicious, he said. Ruth had a dish with blackened catfish, cooked oysters, shrimp, and dirty rice. She loved it though, I’m trying to get off sea food. Wants to go to Watercourse, a full vegan restaurant for her birthday. 17. A teen queen.

Ruth says she’s reintegrating at Northfield H.S. She sounds and looks good. Earlier drug related jitters calming down. We talked about food, being a teen, cancer, laughed a lot. Took one silly picture. Gabe tried with some visible discomfort to dine with aplumb. Those bread crumbs spread around his plate told the tale.

Glad they were able to join me. They were both eager Eagle’s fans. I told them I wanted the Chiefs to win. Nah, Nah, Ne Nah, Nah. Hey, Hey.

At the table next to ours an older man than me dined alone. He had on a red and black plaid shirt and ate his catfish carefully. His hair was white, his skin the papery texture I associate with a person in their 90s. Wondered if his wife had died, or if he had been alone a long time.

Got home about 7:30 pm. I did notice that my jaw clinched on my way home, but it lifted as soon as I got back into the Mountains. This is home and my body knows it.

 

76. Eh. After three score and ten, we’re all in bonus time. My friends are older now, too. Though I have Luke, 28, and Mike and Kate. Ruth and Gabe. They keep me connected to earlier days of the journey. Glad I’m no longer scanning the horizon for what I want to do.

 

How bout those Chiefs. Stand up of that Eagle’s player to admit he did grab the jersey of the Chief’s receiver. Resulted in a penalty that gave the Chiefs a chance to run out the clock and kick a winning field goal. Wish I had had the opportunity to watch this one. A true championship game.

 

Cooking, Denver, Dogs, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Health, Judaism, Travel

Luke’s

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Imbolc and the Valentine Moon

Sunday gratefuls: An open heart. The joy that sits next to sadness. Tu BiShvat. The new year of the trees. Luke. Leo. Those construction folks. The one from Texas. The bald guy and the old man. Zoom. Manna. The Red Sea as birth imagery. The sabbath. Judaism. Mary back in the frozen tundra. Sayonara, Kobe. Mark in OKC. Kep. Kate, always Kate. Early rising. Pappadeaux’s with Ruth and Gabe tonight. A Cajun 76th birthday meal.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Feelings

 

On Friday night I drove into Lakewood for dinner with Luke, the former Executive Director of Congregation Beth Evergreen. He’s a good friend. When I copied his address I added an S in front of Ames St. That gave me the opportunity to see more of Lakewood than I intended. Sheridan runs north and south through Lakewood and I accessed it off of Hwy 285, turning north. The city limit between Denver and Lakewood.

The west side of Denver is heavily Latino as is the east side of Lakewood. The houses are small. The lots close together. Pickup trucks in most driveways. Spanish a second and often first language on storefronts. This was around 4 pm and Sheridan had the full city traffic experience to offer. Blinking turn signals, horns, and about halfway to Luke’s a huge red metal Mexican guitar on a sign that said Westwood. On the Denver side.

Luke had called and warned me of logistical issues. True. A new gas main project had a trench dug for seven blocks, including his. At one point I needed to make a left turn onto Colfax, old highway 40, and a main thoroughfare through Denver and beyond.

I was having no luck and just contemplating a right hand turn, then crossing three lanes of traffic so I could make a u-turn later. A bald headed guy came from behind me and said, “Wait, old man.” He got out into traffic and tried to create a space for me so I could cross the stopped traffic. A guy in a white pickup refused to back up the 6 feet or so I needed. Don’t know why.

Finally got Ruby’s nose in, wiggled her through, and the bald guy stood in the oncoming lane with his hand out stopping cars so I could turn. Gratitude. Although. Old man? I mean, how he did know I turn 76 on Tuesday?

Took me a while even after that to get to Luke’s and when I did I had to park on one side of the trench. And walk over it. The construction workers were gracious, kind and guided me through.

Dinner with Luke, who’s Italian, was eggplant Parmesan. His favorite food since 5th grade. I brought Italian bread and a salad. Leo, his mostly German Shepherd dog, is ten years old and as sweet a dog as you could wish for.

Luke had a tough exit from CBE. We talked about that and what he plans going forward. He may have found a very well paying part time gig with Judaism Your Way, another reconstructionist effort in South Denver. No synagogue. Gatherings for holidays at Denver’s Botanical Gardens. Not sure what else.

His path since leaving the Materials Science Ph.D at Colorado School of Mines has found him doing computer work for a non-profit, converting to Judaism, becoming CBE’s executive director, and now perhaps turning toward Tarot and Astrology to round out his income. Things, he said, I love.

After dinner he pulled three cards from the Druid Oracle deck: Mint, Woad, and a Hawk. We discussed my sadness and the way forward in light of those cards. Encouraged and supported by him and by his reading.

He walked me to the gate. We hugged, said I love you, and I went back across the trench.

Aging, Commentary on the news, Cooking, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Great Work, Jefferson County, Judaism, Mountains, Plants, Politics, Shadow Mountain, US History

It was a lynching

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Winter and the Valentine Moon

Tuesday gratefuls: Hot Water. My shower. Marilyn and Irv. Ageism. Aspen Perk. Aspen Park Dental. Darlene, the hygienist. Seeing the Magpies against the Snow as I sat in the dental chair. Clean teeth. Good gum health. No work needed. Yes. Grocery pickup. Home. Brined center cut porkchops. Cooked in the Air fryer. Mixed vegetables. Tangerine. Mary’s photos of her last days in Kobe. Eau Claire. Air travel. Sarah and Annie. The Jeep.

Sparks of joy and awe: Friends and family

 

A note I sent to my county commissioner, Lesley Dahlkemper, about a proposed Mountain bike park on Shadow Mountain Drive:

Hi, Lesley!

Met you at Marilyn Saltzman’s 70th birthday party. Before you became a commissioner. Congratulations!

I live on Black Mtn Drive. Up the hill about 2 miles from the proposed mtn bike park. Aside from the obvious degradation of a mountain side and a beautiful, clear running stream and aside from the obvious traffic nightmare on already difficult to navigate blind curves and narrow no shoulders Shadow Mountain Drive, I’d like to tell you about a 7 AM drive I took that passed by the bike park area.

There in that meadow were thirty cow Elks and one magnificent bull, a fourteen pointer. A mist was rising from Shadow Brook. Now that may not be a logical argument against the bike park, but it’s damn sure a good one to me.

 

Tyre Nichols. Still think the role of police in our culture doesn’t need drastic and dramatic change? Tainted by the power given to them by a frightened white majority the police live out the violent fantasies of those at home watching TV. Their color does not matter. What matters is their intent, their willingness to step well beyond the bounds of decency. Remember Derek Chauvin’s knee? One of the officers who stood by was Hmong. The others who stood and watched? Rodney King?

Tom Crane found an interesting interview with Rev. Dante Stewart. His words on lynching are worth sharing:

“That was more than police brutality. That was a lynching. They wanted to kill him because, in some sense, lynching is about the spectacle. It’s about what someone with power does to another human being to ride and rid them of every ounce of their dignity and put it in the public to show this is what we think about this person.

“When those in the past put Black people up on noose, it was a message to them: This is our estimation of your life, and much more, this is our hatred of your life. And when Tyre Nichols was beaten and the just immense disregard to him, it showed us in public once again the estimation of Black life, white racism and white supremacy.”  WBUR

This sort of action by the police reimagines the whip of the plantation slave master. Sanctioned violence to keep the enslaved in place. We still fear the emboldened and empowered other. What might they do to us? What to do? Do it to them first.

 

On a better note, also from Tom. On Kernza Grain. “I just came across this perennial grain developed by the Land Institute. I also ordered some from a site which sells it as a cereal much like oatmeal. I’ll let you know how it is.”

The Land Institute is a solution finder. Glad Tom found this product, the first commercial fruits of the Institute’s work. I’ll let you know what he thinks.

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Cooking, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Health, Hermitage, Politics, Shadow Mountain

A bit of an organ recital. Another gun rant.

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Winter and the Valentine Moon

Tuesday gratefuls: Robin and Michelle. Space Wranglers. Coming today. Kep, the sleeper. Award Winning Pet Grooming. His next big adventure. Cool temps. 8. The Rockies in Winter. Alan and his moving angst. Computers. Zoom. Smart phones. Cancer meds. Imani Perry. A good nights sleep. Mark. Mary. Diane. Tom. Ancient Brothers. Vince. Furball Housekeeping. Ana.

Sparks of joy and awe: Clean house. Thanks, Ana and friend. Makes my daily life better. This time they loaded the dishwasher and ran it, too. Feels good to have a clean house.

 

While they work, I worked out. Getting in 70 minutes of quality time with my old friend the treadmill. For some reason I’ve been resisting resistance work. (see what I did there?) Know I need it. Or sarcopenia will keep getting worse. Just. Not. Doing. It. Right now.

Might need an Ode solution. Go to some faraway Beach and walk in the Sand and the Sun.

 

Used my air dryer for the first time last night. It cooked my tator tots while I fried my Alaskan Rock Fish on the stove and cooked peas in the microwave. Using all my electrical appliances in a coordinated fashion. A kitchen symphony. Most excellent.

Been doing my own cooking almost exclusively over the last couple of weeks. Liking it. Lost some weight in the process. As my doc thinks is important for me to do. Four, five pounds.

 

On paying for my cancer meds. OMG. So I asked about the billing of my orgovyx at $135 instead of $896. The McKesson finance department in response sent me every bill they’ve ever made with my name on it. Thankfully online. With the last one which reads $135. WTF. And on the Erleada. Would I like to have help with my copay? Sure, but if it’s the manufacturer’s plan I don’t qualify for it. Oh, no. This is a foundation. Not the Assistance Fund? No, something different. Well, hell yeah. We’ll see if I qualify.

But, in the interim. No Erleada. Fortunately I have some free samples and a bit more from my last delivery. Otherwise. This helping would be creating over a two week lag in my meds. Sigh. Still, better to have folks trying. As long I have some meds. I mean, they are for my cancer after all.

Between this and the moving target that is my thyroid stimulating hormone, some changes to my blood pressure meds and statins. Getting complex. Along with upcoming appointments to a vascular surgeon and a new pulmonologist. Dentist. And I feel fine. Except for this damned fatigue. Worst in the afternoons.

Thus endeth the organ recital.

 

7 more in California. Half Moon Bay.

“In the first few weeks of 2023, at least 69 people have been killed in mass shootings across the country, including two shootings within days of each other in California.” ‘Tragedy Upon Tragedy’: January Brings Dozens of Mass Shootings So Far

And the folks who sponsored this epidemic of gun ownership and their violent use on other humans want to take over the government.

My heart does not like this. How much sadness can we stand until we do something effective?

 

 

 

Art and Culture, Colorado, Commentary on the news, Cooking, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Tea, Travel

Dushanbe Tea House

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Winter and the Valentine Moon

Monday gratefuls: A good night’s sleep. Cool temps. Light Snow keeping things fresh. Mike and Kate. Dushanbe Tea House. Lapsang Souchong sausage. The brewing tea at altitude dilemma. Central Asia. Boulder. A drive. Ode in Rarotan. DAVA fund raiser for the kids. California. Now another mass shooting. See that adjective? Another. C’mon. Relationships. Friendships.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Travel

 

What fun. Brunch at the Dushanbe Tea House with Mike Banker and Kate Strickland. On so many levels. First, the drive. Getting down the hill, yet driving very close to the Hogbacks that mark the beginnings of the Laramide Orogeny. The Flatirons, too. Sheets of Rock thrust up.  Going past the Rocky Flats Site. Then down into Boulder. As the wags like to say, 25 square miles surrounded by reality.

On the way into Boulder on 93 you pass a big campus with NOAA, National Weather Service, and an experimental laboratory for the Dept of Commerce. Further on is the CU Boulder planetarium where I’ve taken Ruth many times. Before downtown by about a block is the Tea House.

When I got there, I parked and saw a large crowd outside. 45 minute wait. I was a little early so I put my name for a table for three and went to sit at the bar. Ordered silver needle white Tea. Mike and Kate showed up as I poured my first cup. They ordered Darjeeling, Kate in memory of her trip to Darjeeling before her time in Japan, and Matcha, Mike likes the Japanese Tea Ceremony.

The second level. The wonderful coffered ceilings, all ceramic, a riot of colors. Plants in the center of the large open seating area. A crowd, young for the most part, Boulder’s a college town. The Tea. I should say, the Teas. A thick bound book has five pages with different Teas listed front and back. You can buy Tea there, too. Loose and in satchels for ease of use. When your small white teapot comes, the waiter places a tiny three minute hour glass down with it and tells you how to long to let your choice steep. Three minutes for the white Teas.

The third level. The brunch menu. I had the Swiss Raclette. Eggs in a dish of melted fondue cheese with small chunks of ham and Yukon gold Potatoes. Toast on the side. Kate ordered a side of lapsang souchong sausage so we could taste it. Delicious. Mike had the lapsang souchong flavored bulgogi! And Kate had the Indian Dosa. An exotic menu. Great tastes to go with wonderful Teas.

The fourth and most important level. Being with Kate and Mike. A bright young couple. Kate engaged in the Great Work, creating a sustainable presence for human beings on this planet, Mike now at work with a documentary film company that had him most recently in Kyiv. The table conversation was witty, wide ranging, and fun. I told them how much I appreciated spending time with folks their age. Most of my friends are further along in the aging process. Ahem.

We agreed to meet again in Evergreen. Sometime soon. I felt they genuinely enjoyed hanging out with me. Honored.

 

DAVA. The annual Aurora art teachers art show is this week. They’re having a fund raiser for Ruth and Gabe. This is the first year Jon won’t have any work in the show. I’ve been to the show many times over the years. The art teachers have donated art for sale, the proceeds going to the kids. I’m going with Jen, Ruth and Gabe.

 

My buddy Ode is on Roatan, an Island off the coast of Honduras. Continuing healing for his new knee. Enjoying the sun.

 

Last. How bout those mass shootings, eh? They just keep on coming like the Blue Light specials at the old K-Mart stores. When I opened the NYT yesterday and saw that, my heart shriveled. Again. Another. Then my mind went to the good guys with guns. Like the one here in Aurora who shot a perpetrator only to be killed by police. With their guns. Guns. For god’s sake. Can’t we see the problem is the damned guns?

Cooking, Dogs, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Health, Hermitage, Music, Mussar, Shadow Mountain

Gloomy inner weather

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Winter and the Wolf Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: Safeway pickup. Safeway pharmacy. Urology Associates. Prostate cancer. Metastases. Erleada. Orgovyx. The Post Office. Kep, who finds his way. Slowly. Diane. Tom. Interlocutors. Alan. Tomorrow. The Ancient Brothers. Early rising. 5:30 am. Omicron booster. Writing over a thousand words a day. How To Become A Pagan and Ancientrails. Snow on its way. Dropping temperatures. My new weather station.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Erleada, keeping the metastases in check.

 

Read the clinical notes of my radiation oncologist, Dr. Simpson. Starts out: patient with metastatic prostate cancer. Not sure why but it nicked me this time. That phrase. Especially metastatic. That’s me. I have a cancer that has metastasized. A bit later I got the bill for the P.E.T. scan. $1,000 bucks. Then, tried to roll up the rug in my new home office. Too much. I’d waited too late in the day. Result: gloomy mental weather.

After that I went to Safeway. Pushed outside my comfort zone ( my mussar practice this month) and went inside to get an omicron booster and pick up a prescription for a drug that had run out early. You have to make an appointment for a booster. I didn’t have to the last time. We’ve always done it this way. I’m here; can’t you just go ahead? No. Sigh. Got in line, 8 people. When I got there. Can’t fill it. Your insurance company says not till January 2nd. Well, fuck it.

So much for pushing past the comfort zone. By the time I got home with my groceries. Which I was able to accomplish. In a funk. Box breathing. Unclench jaw. Damn it. None of this is a big deal. Well, the cancer. Yeah. But that’s not new.

Made myself some eggs, sopped them up with French bread. Righted the ship after a no good, but not really very bad day.

I write this to illustrate how easy it is to get off course with a nick here, a nick there. Good to have some tools. Forgot the How do I feel exercise. But. I did do notice five things. A traffic sign. The Grass. Conifer High School. The pavement. Lovely clouds. And my version of box breathing. Breathe in four counts. Hold for seven. Blow out for eight. Repeat. Activates the vagus nerve. And, take some action. Made myself dinner. Calmed down.

Chesed. Loving kindness. Not just for the other. For yourself as well. Equanimity is a middah, too. Bringing oneself back into balance. I try to remember to show compassion for myself when I get in these spots. Don’t always remember because the feelings, the downer ones, can dominate. For a while. I also try to bring myself back into balance, realize the context, get a perspective on my mood. Can take as long as a day. Sometimes only a few minutes. Yesterday was in between.

This drag happens much less these days. Hardly at all. Yet. When the blues strike ya, you gotta do somethin’.

 

Which reminds me. If you haven’t seen the Muscle Shoals documentary on Netflix, I recommend it. Highly. A small town in Alabama with a big influence on popular music. Who recorded there? Percy Sledge. Wilson Pickett. Aretha Franklin. The Rolling Stones. Duane Allman. Lynyrd Skynyryd. Bob Dylan. Bono. Etta James. Clarence Carter. Bobby Gentry. Kris Kristofferson. Steve Winwood and Traffic. Alabama. Paul Anka. Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel. Bob Seger. Leon Russel. Otis Redding. Rod Stewart. And a whole lot of others.

Worth it for the inspiration.

Colorado, Cooking, Health, Hermitage, Politics, Shadow Mountain, The West, US History

When will we ever learn?

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Samain and the Decided Moon

Tuesday gratefuls: Tony’s. That tenderloin roast. Salad. Oh and that sugar cream pie. Diane’s family recipe. King Soopers. The bank. Cash money. In the pocket. Robin. Wrangling my space. Painters. Chilly nights. The mid-terms. Soil. Plants. Rock. Air. Water. Fire. Stars. Artemis I. Exploration. NASA. JPL. The days of our lives. Books. Richard Powers. CJ Box. Immodium. China. Hawai’i. Minnesota. Club Q. Pulse.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Good sleep

 

Colorado Springs. A conservative town. Where hate is fed by so called family values evangelicals. By years of GOP candidates who fed hate into the political blood stream of the city. By the US historical hatred of difference: race, gender, sexual preference.

The West was won. Sure. By killing the folks who didn’t look like the “pioneers.” And, oh yeah, the West is the original gun culture. Side arms and Remington rifles. No gun control at the OK corral. Or in Tombstone or Deadwood. I happened to be in Denver in 2012 when James Holmes went to an Aurora Theater and killed 12 people watching a late showing of a Batman movie.

An irony. The day after the Club Q shooting in Colorado Springs Colorado officially renamed Mt. Evans, Mt. Blue Sky. Why? Because Governor John Evans created the circumstances that led to the Sand Creek Massacre, a critical negative juncture in relations between First Nations peoples and the U.S. government.*

We can treat the Club Q shooting as an expression of Western values, Christian evangelical values, Republican values. As an expression of the perverted, fetishistic worship of the 2nd amendment. As an extension of the pandemic of gun violence which now features four more mass shootings since Club Q: Illinois, Mississippi, Oklahoma, Texas. 600 before Club Q in 2022. (gunviolence.org) 39,567 people have died THIS year due to some form of gun violence.

Sadly. When will we ever learn?

 

Yesterday was a busy day. After writing Ancientrails, I waited on Greg Lell to come. He’s going to be my third bid for painting the upstairs. Greg’s guy stained the house a year ago. If his bid is close to the others, I’ll take it since he proved what he can do. He told me 25% of his business comes from showing up when other painting contractors don’t. That’s the Mountains.

Worked out. Over to the bank to deposit checks, including one from Heatflo covering the cost of my dead water heater. Bought two bundles of firewood for Thanksgiving. Then over to Tony’s to see if I could get my tenderloin roast early. Yes. I could. They tied it up for me, too. I plan to dry brine it this afternoon. Made an experimental sugar cream pie. Pie crust, a deep dish, was too much otherwise. Tasty. While making sure the pie was edible for my Thanksgiving guests, I seem to have upset my digestive tract. Oh, my.

 

*On November 29, 1864, roughly 700 federal troops attacked a village of 500 Cheyenne and Arapaho on Sand Creek in Colorado. An unprovoked attack on men, women, and children, the massacre at Sand Creek marked a turning point in the relationship between American Indian tribes and the Federal Government. From the day of the attack, US Army actions at Sand Creek have been controversial, because the Cheyenne and Arapaho thought they were at peace with the government and innocent people died. The distrust that grew from what occurred at Sand Creek led to later conflicts at Little Big Horn…” NPS

 

“Colorado Governor John Evans warns that all peaceful Native Americans in the region must report to the Sand Creek reservation or risk being attacked, creating the conditions that will lead to the Sand Creek Massacre.

Evans’ offer of sanctuary was at best halfhearted. His primary goal in 1864 was to eliminate all Native American activity in eastern Colorado Territory, an accomplishment he hoped would increase his popularity and eventually win him a U.S. Senate seat. Immediately after ordering the local Native Americans to the reservation, Evans issued a second proclamation that invited white settlers to indiscriminately “kill and destroy all…hostile Indians.” At the same time, Evans began creating a temporary 100-day militia force to wage war on the Native Americans. He placed the new regiment under the command of Colonel John Chivington, another ambitious man who hoped to gain high political office by fighting Native Americans.”  History

Acting, Cooking, Dogs, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Garden, Health, Hermitage, Memories, Mountains, Our Land and Home, Plants, Shadow Mountain, Tarot, Travel

Androgyny. Needs and Desires.

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Summer and the Living in the Mountains Moon

Thursday grateful: Running lines with Alan. The Campfire. That pastrami sandwich. Feeling conflicted. Money. Trips. Axumin scan. Long term care insurance premium. Maybe a new (read expensive) hot water heater. Friends. Family. Travel. A need for rest, time away. How to reconcile. The synagogue. Luke. Rebecca. Jamie. Marilyn and Irv. Kep. So excited in the morning. Food, dad, food!

Sparks of Joy and Awe: It’s a ladle (not a spoon, you dumb ignoramus!) a line from the Odd Couple

Tarot: The Seer, #2 of the major arcana

“With the innate ability to balance emotions and the power of will and source of knowledge, The Seer encourages us to change the ordinary material world. She uses all of The Wildwood’s natural resources skillfully. She nurtures positive changes in people’s minds, expressed through emotions and commitment to life. Her magic is one of the purest and most revered things on earth.”  tarotx.net

 

Androgyny. Quite a ways back Kate paid me a compliment, one I’ve treasured. “You’re the most androgynous person I know, Charlie.” I value the balance of yin and yang, of the feminine and the masculine. In me. I love being a sensitive man who will knock down injustice. I love cooking, raising kids, keeping a nice house. The chainsaw and I were one. Back when I could still hold one. The axe, too. I loved gardening, the labor of it and the nurture of plants. Raising dogs and caring for them when they’re sick. I loved being in relationship with Kate.

The Seer and I are old friends. Her feminine intuition, her link to Mother Earth. I feel them. Honor them. Honor her. She was the one who told me, “You need to be a Dad.” And, I listened. She was the one who told me, “You need to write.” And, I did. She was the one who told me, “Marry Kate. Right now.” I did. I listen to her as often as I can, as closely as possible. She was the one who told me, “Move to Colorado. Be close to Ruth and Gabe as they grow up.” And, we did. I have never regretted hearing her voice.

Drawing this card today reminds me to collect the information I’ve gleaned over the last year and two months since Kate died. To listen to the Seer once again. Hear her advice on what happens next. What I need to do now. Listening.

 

I’ve put myself in a box. One of my own making, one that expresses deep desires but may not conform, right now, to my reality. I really want to go to Durango with Tom. I really want to see the Redwoods with Diane. I really want to extend my reunion trip and visit Sarah and Jerry at Belews Creek. But. In August I have my Axumin scan. Over a thousand bucks. Then in September my long term care insurance comes due. Three and half times that. Plus I may need a new water heater. Maybe more than the two combined.

Money. I have enough. Yes. But not more than enough. I so want to go places, see other people. But. I may have to settle for Hawai’i until I’ve seen my way through these big expenses. Adulting. Bah, Bah. Gonna have to count my pennies again. Stay tuned.

Cooking, Dogs, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Health, Mountains

To Bailey, To Evergreen, And Home Again

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Spring and Seoah’s Citizenship Moon

Thursday gratefuls: David Sanders. Mussar. Award Winning Pet Grooming. Amanda. A clean, much more slender Kep. His schedule with Amanda. Good Will in Evergreen. Last of the pruning gone. More, still much more to come. Pruning. Energy. Eigner. More blood work next week. Diane. Mediterranean diet. Milk Street cookbook, thanks Ode.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Kep smells so good!

 

Yesterday. Wrote Ancientrails. And posted it to the web! Glad to have that back as a regular event.

Took Kep to Bailey to Award Winning Pet Grooming. Amanda is a sweetheart. Dropped him off, then turned around and drove back to Evergreen. Goodwill Donation Center. It was very windy, not too cold unless a blast of air caught you. Gusts in the 60 mph range.

I tried to get somebody to help me unload. Still thinking, I can’t do this. Not sure why but I couldn’t find anybody. The back, filled with large gray plastic bins for sorting donations, had someone carrying in a student desk (I could see it over the bins), but no one responded.

Ah well. I started unloading. Huh. This isn’t so bad. I finished with ease. Not huffing and puffing, not feeling like I needed a nap or a good long sitdown. Huh. This is just weird. I thought. But good weird. Yeah.

The trip to Evergreen took about 45 minutes. Amanda said to figure three hours for Kep, maybe two if he was ok with the whole process. Turned around and drove back to Bailey.

Thanks, Ode

Earlier in the day I talked to my cousin Diane who lives in the land of the salad eaters, San Francisco. She saw my mention of constipation and said I wouldn’t have it if I went full Mediterranean diet. Oh.

Told her before she mentioned that that I’ve been able to keep at exercising because it gives me a right now benefit. I feel better. Today. Psychically and physically. Also helps with sleep. But diet? No immediate payoff, so I’ve not been able to switch.

She had a meat and potatoes diet growing up, the same as me. But, she said, living in the Bay Area had gradually weaned her from the Midwest heart attack/stroke focused diet to one favored by the Levant. She encouraged me, again. Thanks, Diane.

Realized as I drove back from Evergreen. Constipation. Mediterranean diet and no constipation. That’s a right now positive effect. Like exercise. OK. That makes sense.

Not too far from China Village. Gives the flavor of Bailey and Park County

Decided to try Golden Pines Chinese in Pine Junction, about half way back to Bailey. Easy to go Mediterranean there. Nope. Closed for a “much needed family reunion.” OK. On t the Riverbend for a salad. The Riverbend doesn’t open until 3 pm, I learned. Well. I’ll have a final old style breakfast at the Cut Throat Cafe. Chairs up on tables there. Well, damn.

China Village. This restaurant, attached to a run down motel, had been on my avoid list since I first saw it. It appeared, however, to be only place open in all of Bailey. No, there’s not much to Bailey, but even so.

Really good. I had salt and pepper shrimp on a bed of cabbage with red and green peppers, onions. Wonderful. A bit basic on the service side. Paper plate. Wooden chopsticks replace other diners plastic fork. A plastic tumbler for water. The tea was fine and plentiful.

All squeeky clean

As I paid, $20 with tip, a deal these days, Award Winning Pet Grooming called. Kep was done. Got over there in about three minutes. Kep jumped up on me. He’s always relieved when I pick him up. Thinks he’s been left for good.

He’s now on an 8 week grooming schedule. We’ll see. Amanda thought that should solve my dog hair problem. I decided I couldn’t take anymore tufts of dog hair. If 8 doesn’t do it, we’ll try six. We went home.

Footnote: I did have some energy left, but I felt like I’d earned a rest. Which means. Now that I have more energy I have to recalibrate, decide what to do with this new superpower. A happy problem. I remember happy problems, just haven’t had too many in the last few years.

 

Astrology, Cooking, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Health, Memories, Our Land and Home, Shadow Mountain, Tarot

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Imbolc and the Seoah Citizenship Moon

Monday gratefuls: Kep. My phone, which reminds me when 6 am is now. Darkness again. Sadness. Ukraine. Russia. War. Peace. That Dragonfly lamp. The slowness of things just now. The Ancient Brothers. And their still more ancient fathers and grandfathers. Including the con man, the Irishmen, the one in green flannel underwear.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Finding the stock pot and the mixing bowls

 

Ah, the simple joys of kitchen remodeling. I put the stockpot up over the refrigerator, but when I first looked I saw only the second shelf akimbo. It was too heavy for me to lift into place. Can’t be there. Left hand cabinet door. Later, when I decided to look everywhere, I opened the right door and there was one of my favorite kitchen tools on a bias at the other end of the slanted shelf. Really? I did that? Yep.

And the mixing bowls. Determined I went through everything again. Then, there they were. Again, right where I’d put them behind the Pyrex measuring bowls, sort of hidden. Whew. Not crazy.

Bouncing between final moves on the furniture rearrangement and the kitchen reassemble. Both take time and energy. The end results I love. But still more slogging to go. A ways to go before I finish. At this pace? Maybe a month.

I took a big check over to Jodi at Blue Mountain Kitchens on Friday. Bowe still has to come out and finish a few things. Minor. Convince one drawer to glide easily. Some staining. A filler piece between the dishwasher and the sink.

Nausea has begun to get in the way, too. Damn. That’s no fun at all. This Erleada may be important, but it’s not very friendly. Hot flashes seem to have disappeared. Bowels a bit happier. Fatigue, stamina, and my tummy-not so much.

Wrote a piece about astrology for the final class tomorrow. I’ll append it here*. Feels like a fail for me. Might be, might not.

One similar tale. Long ago. Logic, my freshmen year at Wabash. I had done fine in Philosophy 101, all my other classes, too, except German. Which I dropped. Second semester I took Logic from Professor Larry Hackestaff, notable for wandering the green with a six pack of Bud dangling from his side, his belt run through an empty plastic ring. The beer looked like a large set janitor’s keys. Perhaps to the unconscious?

It wasn’t happening for me. I listened to his lectures. I studied hard. I flunked an early test. Oh, god. Was this going to be my first grade below a B ever? And maybe an F? How could this be? Couldn’t imagine. Shame. Fear. Anxiety. None of which helped me of course. It was around this time I got diagnosed with a spastic colon, now irritable bowel, I think.

And then. One morning in the library, in my favorite carrel, I pushed one more time and the world of logic opened up to me, blossomed. The law of excluded middle. Yes. Proofs. Yes. It was fun. A puzzle. Riddles within riddles. Aced the midterm and the final. Felt like I’d strapped myself to the mast like Odysseus, escaping the Sirens of doubt.

Maybe someday I’ll have a similar experience with astrology. Not now. Not sure when I’ll go back to it. Maybe soon, maybe never.

It’s weird because the Tarot has become a daily part of my spiritual practice. I thought astrology would, too. Apparently not.

Breakfast now. Then over to see Dr. Gonzalez, see if we can figure out the fatigue-stamina-nausea trio. Does make me feel a bit fragile. A feeling I don’t like.

 

 

*Astrology and me

A learning curve difficult to surmount. Not sure why. Usually. Fast into the wheelhouse of an idea. This subject. Not so much.

Part of it no doubt is my bedrock empiricism which can swing close to scientism, something I despise. Part of it is a lifetime of seeing the astrology columns in newspapers and reading them for amusement or entertainment. Part of it is a strong existentialism which finds it hard to give outside influence impact over my life. Part of it is the how. How can this be? How can this work? Maybe it’s the wrong moment in my life.

These classes have helped me. I now have a better grasp of the elements of astrology, still unable to put them together with any ease. Not even sure how I can advance. Perhaps I need to go back to work with Elisa on my chart. Learn it. Get it down.

Got to admit this troubles me. A strong part of me relies on intellect. Another strong part of me relies on the heart. At my current age I’d say they are in balance. When my intellect finds it hard to crack the code of a subject, I feel hesitant, reluctant to dig deeper. I had the same issue with languages. Just. Real. Hard.

I wish I had a better way of describing my journey. Yes, I’m intrigued that my chart seems to get some parts of me right. Yes, I’m intrigued by the idea of transits inflecting our lives as the planets move. But moving past intrigue into using astrology as a tool for my own journey? Still not there, after two private readings and two wonderful classes.

Leaving this path with way more questions than answers.

But, as Douglas Adams said, Thanks for all the fish.