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

Learning Curve Trending Down

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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.

 

 

Cooking, Dogs, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Judaism, Literature, Shadow Mountain

Life. Changing.

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Imbolc and the Seoah Citizenship Moon

Monday gratefuls: Kep. Beside me right now, my new loft dog. And my bed warmer. Furniture moved, clutter being forwarded to new, organized locations. Peter coming to hang Herme. Vince who will hang much of my very big art. A whole wall dedicated to Kate, art she loved. The Ukraine. Resistance to tyranny. Always. The way the world was. The way it might yet be. Kate, always Kate. Our 32nd anniversary on Thursday, March 10th.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Snow

 

Spent yesterday moving furniture. Boxes. Bongs. Dog toys. Judaica. Electronics. Purposeful piles of paper. Collections of recipes not yet put in binders. Oh, and books. Always, books. Five more boxes for donations are beside the door ready to load into Ruby. These will go to Goodwill in Evergreen. Easier.

Scoping out the hanging art situation. Vince will be back.  These suckers are heavy. An antique map of the Big Island, a gift from Kate. The second of two of Jerry’s large landscapes. Four or five pieces including Love is Enough, Kate’s retirement present, and her 75th birthday present. Not yet. Not quite. Have to shim up the bookcase. Do a little more kitchen work. Peter will come for Herme. Hopefully this week.

I can see it now. The bones of the new look are in place. Things may require re-organizing as time goes on and as I see how the spaces get used. The kitchen still has a long way to go. The pantry needs creating. With storage containers and spots for all the appliances, large pots and pan. Winnowing and replenishing. I can finish by mid-March.

It will rock my world in a good way when all the pieces are in place. Including the loft. I’m going to have Marina’s crew clean the loft next week, then dive into finishing the re-organizing I started after Kate’s death. Spring. Renewal and rebirth. New life.

Almost done with the Becky Chamber’s series that began with A Long Way to a Small Angry Planet. This is character work at its most ingenious, fleshing out-as it were-not only human personalities, but Aeulons, Harmagians, and Aandrisks. Read the books to see what they are. Worth it.

Next up is Beginner’s Magic, then Ada Palmer’s work. Or, maybe Overstory by Richard Powers. Ruth’s reading that one so I may break out of my sci-fi thing for lit fic. Now that the common room and my level have achieved near lift off I’ll get to reading more. Including non-fiction. Back to the Irreducible Mind. Breathe. The Werewolf in the Ancient World.

I’ve cut my TV watching in half or more. Reading. Glad. However I do have favorites: The Qin Empire: Alliance, Juvenile Justice. Hotel del Luna. Vox Machina. Pennyworth. The Righteous Gemstones. The Book of Bobba Fett. I love access to tv shows made by different nationalities with their own cultural biases and ways of telling stories. Talking story, as the Hawai’ians call it.

The Qin Empire Alliance is one of those. An historical epic, which I also enjoy, about the Warring States period in China. Serialization of a really long book by Sun Haohui. Same title. Five million words. I mean, wow. He wants the series to run up to a 100 episodes. Hope it does because it’s fascinating. I’d read the book, but it has no English translation yet. The longest book I’ve ever read was not War and Peace, which I have read, but The Romance of the Three Kingdoms, a key classic in Chinese literature with several English translations, most of them bad.

At the most demanding time of Kate’s illness I didn’t have much energy for study or writing. So, I watched TV. My favorite in that time period was Resurrection: Ertugrul. It has five seasons and varied in number of episodes from 76 to 90 per season. It calmed me down to revisit this world for several weeks in a row. I could watch TV and be close to Kate who slept nearby.

Wondering now if writing is my thing, or is study? If it is study, to what end? Or, does there have to be an end? A goal beyond learning. Judaism prizes scholarship with no purpose, no reward. I do, too. Might be another reason why I like Judaism so much.

On to making a Container Store order. Organizing kitchen stuff, cabinet by cabinet, shelf by shelf. Fun.

 

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Mind Blown

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Imbolc and the 3/4 Moon

Sunday gratefuls: Past lives. Near death experiences. Mystical experience. Reincarnation. Ode. Cooking. The meister chef, Tom. Cabbage and beef soup. Catfish. Chicken potpies. Rigel. Drinking. Ruth, so much better. Jon, too. Gabe, puzzling. My mind twisting round. The lamp, Ruth assembled. Swapping out coffee tables, the new one down here. The old one upstairs.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Reincarnation

 

Mind. Blown. Where to? Don’t know. That ship haha has sailed. Into the area of the map famously identified by: Here there be monsters. Or, angels. Or, Grandma. Or, the Otherworld.

My buddy, Ode, who has long insisted that reincarnation is a fact, long proven, as might a friend of both Terence and Dennis McKenna, has finally pushed me aboard the good ship Beyond. As most of the scientists in the video below claim, I don’t know where the ship has set sail for, nor how to interpret the evidence in a definitive way. But I’m aboard, maybe as a reluctant stowaway, but I want in on this journey.

No accidents. Not sure this idea and the idea of post mortem consciousness belong together; however, it is the case that for the last four years plus I’ve studied kabbalah, an ancient Jewish mystical philosophy that includes reincarnation as a reasonable and accepted part of its world (otherworld) view.

Astrology, too, as well. A brand of this even more ancient discipline called Evolutionary Astrology which presupposes reincarnation and strong hints about yours revealed by the nodes of the moon in your natal chart.

You might say, well, Kate’s dead so these ideas have more traction? Or, this is the day before your 75th birthday. What better time to throw on a sash that reads, Reincarnated! An escape hatch at last.

Those could influence me, I suppose, but all my life I’ve thought on my own, accepting ideas and rejecting ideas because they listen well in my inner chambers of judgment. Or, because they seem like nonsense. The video below listens well there.

An old and strong aspect of my thought could be called flat earth humanism, or as Ed in the video rightly calls it, physicalism. Materialism in its fancy philosophical dress clothes. Existentialist me, a Camus influenced college part of me, faced the darkness unafraid. Willing to make my own meaning. Living because I wanted to live, not because I had to and not because anyone told me how.

That Alexandria First Methodist guy, a young one, had some notion of the afterlife. My mother’s death at 47 took it to the grave along with her. Not fair. Not fair at all. Therefore neither just nor loving, both attributes of the one, the true, the mighty.

A while later I picked up the Christian mantle again and threw it over my shoulders, but this time I was not interested in the next world, but this one. How might we live here? Right here amidst war, the Vietnam War, economic injustice, racial and gender discrimination? I found answers in old Jewish notions of just kingship and a New Testament that demanded extension of love and compassion to the poorest and most despised among us.

Nowadays the Great Wheel, that pagan metaphor of life’s seasons, including the long fallow one in which we temperate folks find ourselves right now, guides my thinking. I can fold this post mortem idea into it.

This is a willed rejection of Wittgenstein in the Tractatus when he says: Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent. I shared this chivalric reticence, its honesty, for a long, long time. Now I feel it reveals fear rather than expressing a stoic truth.

Over the course of the next few years I plan to continue my study of kabbalah, astrology, and tarot. I ordered the three books of Edward Kelly. Gonna read them. I’m also reading two new anthropological books reassessing human development from physical, historical, and genetic perspectives. Taoism is in there, too.

The Rockies and the complicated textbook about life and change that they are teach me everyday. Pursuing these investigations because they interest me. I may have a book in there, some way of showing others how the natural world can teach us what we need to know about life, and now perhaps, death.

Gotta do something with this extra time the oncologists have given me. May as well be of some use.

And, happy birthday to me!

Cooking, Dogs, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Health, Kabbalah, Mountains, Mussar, Shadow Mountain, Weather +Climate

This Will Pass

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Imbolc and the 3/4 Moon

Saturday gratefuls: That Urbandale rocker. The new coffee table. The new lamp. Here at the Hermitage. Many items put in cabinets, fussing will be required. A plan slowly coming together. Feels wonderful. Rigel did not eat today. Her footpads. The two delivery guys from Modern Bungalow. “Do you have wildlife up here?” Looking at 4 Mule Deer in the front. Kids. Ruth’s first day back after the hospital. Snow coming down gently. Night fell.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Salmon a la Ode

 

Tired of feeling tired. I get only a few things done. Sit down. Nap. A few more. Not enough. I imagine it’s either the Erleada or the Erleada/Orgovyx combo. So hard to suss out though. Sarcopenia from not working out. Other meds. Getting good sleep so that’s not it.

Next week, two days after my 75th, David Sanders and the question, what’s this guy gonna do with the rest of his life? 11 am. At 1 pm I have my annual physical with Cynthia Gonzalez. First time I will have met her. Fatigue high on the list. At 3 pm Deb Brown at on the move fitness. Need to get moving, doing resistance work. Balance. Flexibility. I’ve never felt the need more.

This 74th year, February 14 2021 to February 14 2022, on the planet has had more than its share of challenges. For all of us. Some have added a few more. Like me. Widower. Single guy living alone. Remodeling, refurnishing. Rigel’s health. Jon’s. Ruth’s. Life. As it flows on in endless song.

Feeling it all today. Ruth’s struggles. Jon’s. Rigel’s. They could add to the fatigue, too, of course. My response to them, that is.

The two young guys who delivered the Modern Bungalow order. A handsome 20 something Black man and a handsome 20 something Latino. Felt like they’d been cast in a movie, the new diversity sensitive films. Just guys. Friendly and helpful. Awed, as we all are, by wild Life. This delivery will remain in their minds, perhaps later draw them to the mountains.

With weariness comes a touch of melancholy. Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t erase.

Snow means low Fire danger. Yeah. Also, beauty. 6-9 inches. Means Vince will be here. He might try the Snow raking.

Lots of moving parts in caring for a house, dogs, a life. Called the home call vets. Will get word tomorrow am about a visit. Rigel’s lethargic. I bought stick on pads for her paws which should help improve her mobility, but she’s hardly moved since I put them on. I got XL, but they’re not big enough. If they seem to help, I’ll go XXL.

At this moment life feels a little hard, a little too much. Ruth. Jon. Rigel. The fatigue, the lack of stamina. This will pass.

Cooking, Dogs, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Shadow Mountain

Clash

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Imbolc and the 3/4 Moon

Tuesday gratefuls: Rigel the wonder dog. Up and out today. Go figure. Kep. Half the night with Rigel upstairs, half with me downstairs. First round of cabinet stuffing complete. Safeway pickup. David Sanders. Sleep. Marina Harris. Container Store. Enlightenment. Sunny Sky. Warm Day. Colorado weird.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Rigel alert and happy to see me this morning. When I thought she might have died overnight.

 

Rigel and a bull Elk in our back a day before my first radiation treatment.

Clashing movements in my life. Rigel yesterday. Enfeebled. Back legs splaying out. Coughing. Not eating. Looking miserable. Today. Happy to see me. Up on her own. Outside. Ate a piece of hotdog with her meds in it. Did not eat her breakfast so it’s not all good, but from Monday? Wow.

Wonder dog.

That silverware goes in the top left drawer. The wooden spoons, spatulas, tongs, whisks below them. The potato masher, basting brush, wooden pot scraper below them. The Portmerion punch bowl over the microwave along with the Portmerion soup tureen. Mixing bowls and measuring cups and measuring spoons in the triangular cupbard, bottom. Thermometers and scale and knife sharpeners. Can opener and immersion blender. To the right of the stove.

Roasting and baking pans, wire racks for them below the oven. Plates large and small over the dishwasher. Bowls above them. Serving dishes flat above them. Serving bowls above them. In the cabinet next to the refrigerator, bread box. Above it. Metal baskets for potatoes and onions. Above them Corning Ware.

The new furniture coming Friday, displaced from Thursday by a therapy session with David Sanders. Tom’s wonderful offer to be here if Rigel worsens to a terminal situation.

Classes this morning. So. Much. Going. On.

Jodi can’t work this week because her father in Iowa City has lung cancer and took a turn for the worse. She’s going home.

And so on. Whew.

Cooking, Dogs, Family, Feelings, Mountains, Our Land and Home, Shadow Mountain

Award Winning Pet Grooming. Happy Camper. Shaggy Sheep.

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Imbolc and the 3/4 Moon

Friday gratefuls: Racism. Anti-Semitism. Sexism. Caste consciousness. Hate. Love. Justice. Resistance. Struggle. Le lucha. The long dureé. Vince. Snow. Ruth and her commitment to herself. Jon and his love for her. Betty Whiteout and Ctr Salt Delete, names for Minnesota Snowplows.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: The Container Store (for my new kitchen organizing)

Tarot: Nine of Bows, Respect.

 

Started putting things in cabinets and drawers. Gonna have to get creative since I lost two drawers in the remodel. Going to the container store tomorrow. Pots, pans, dishes, bowls, cups, infrequently used items like soup tureen, large serving dishes, punch bowl, even appliances will have plenty of room. Towels and dishrags, too. Often used items like forks and spoons and steak knives, spatulas, tongs, wooden spoons, as well. But the not so often used things like thermometers, Kate’s extensive collection of single use kitchen devices, e.g. cherrypitter, pomegranate deseeder, not so much. I look forward to solving this problem. Seriously.

Rescheduled my appointment with Deb Brown for Zoom.

Talked to Ruth again yesterday. She’s pleased with her care at Denver Springs. Music therapy, group therapy, regular individual therapy sessions. It makes me happy that she wants to call me to talk. Sad that she calls me from a psych unit.

That’s the roof with the solar panels. See the problem?

Sent Vince, new snowplow guy a note. Would he be willing to rake off the bottom foot or so of my solar panels when he plows? This would pay for itself if he’s willing. Then, the snow slips off as the sun comes out and I get back to electricity generation. Especially important since the mini-splits are electric.

I did turn the hot water heat on in Kate’s sewing room because I’m going to be rearranging the pantry and bringing things back into the kitchen from there. It’s still a point of chaos in some areas, too. Not gonna deal with that until it’s warmer, too expensive to heat all year round.

Becky Chamber’s, A Long Way to a Small Angry Planet, is an interesting read. Her characters and world-building are very strong. The plot maybe not quite as important. Recommended. Like being back in the reading groove.

Lots of positives right now. May they continue.

Abraham Lincoln died. Rich made a digital picture file.

Got to take Rigel to Bailey today for Award Winning Pet Grooming. Gonna go first to Happy Camper for Cheeba Chews, then on into Bailey to the groomers and on past them to the Shaggy Sheep, near Grant, for lunch and to wait on Rigel. Shaggy Sheep is fun. A New York City chef wanted the quiet life so he moved to Colorado and put a restaurant together on Hwy. 285 between Bailey and the Kenosha Pass.

 

 

 

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Imbolc

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Imbolc and the 3/4 Moon (that’s 3/4 of a century for me on February 14)

Tuesday gratefuls: Winds. Swaying Lodgepoles. Cold and Snow coming. Polar Vortex slumping all the way down to Shadow Mountain. Bowe and his work today. Fatigue. Erleada. Mighty chemicals fighting prostate cancer on my behalf. The Assistance Fund. Cheese curds from Wisconsin Cheese Brothers. Night. Sleep. Electric blanket. Pillow. Kep and Rigel with me.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: The Kitchen. Almost remodeled.

Tarot: Nine of Bows, Respect

 

Bowe installed all of the hardware, my magnetic knife holder, a light can in place of a fan, and noted the still unfinished parts of Brian’s work. There are a couple of glitches, but I think they’re minor. Will be fixed. I love it. The hardware makes the whole. If I’m honest, what I love best are the under cabinet lights. I can see!

The kitchen invites me in. Says, work here. It’s your space. I’m proud of the design and the work to realize it. I plan to start loading the cabinets tomorrow. Too tired tonight. Even modest labor like putting things in cabinets does wear me out right now. I go slow.

This is so exciting to me. A part of the new life comes into reality. Chef mois. A lot of self-education over the next few months.

 

Time learning more about South Nodes and North Nodes. South Nodes present our “karmic” past. Things unfinished, things done wrong, things involved in tragedy or heartache, things that tip over into this life. Unfruitful reactions to circumstances. Spots of difficulty in career or marriage or self-awareness. This hinges on your ability to believe in past lives, of course. Tough for me. But, I’m learning it anyhow.

The North Node is the “cure” to the troubles of the South Node. If, like me, you have a South Node in Sagittarius, the North Node, directly across the face of the natal chart clock, is in Gemini. If I came into this life trailing wispy baggage of dogmatism, dark magic, rigid certainty, (all likely as dark sides of Sagittarius) then, the Gemini positives of listening and learning from others will help free me from that baggage. I’ll become a more well-rounded, healthy person.

Still unsure about all this, but over the last couple of weeks the houses, the planets, and the Nodes have become clearer to me. It’s a complex, maybe overly complex, art form, astrology. It does help me to remember that astrology and astronomy were one pursuit in ancient times.

And, too, learning something has its own value. The kabbalistic frame for astrology remains elusive for me. I’ll get there with it.

 

Ruth

Ruth remains under Children’s Hospital’s psychiatric care. She’s been there since dinner Saturday night up here. I’m not sure the exact nature of her crisis, but her being there still underscores its seriousness.  I can’t visit. I’m not on her list. I’ve got a call in, but the psych folks have not called me back.

No idea when, or even if, this will resolve. Having a grandchild, Ruth especially, with severe mental health problems. Sad. Hopeful. Puzzled. Loving. How can we help her right the ship? I don’t know.

 

Rigel, being beautiful, July, 2018

Rigel’s getting new drugs, or rather, more of the recently prescribed drugs: oxycodone and a muscle relaxant. They help some. As Dr. Palmini said, “We’re not trying to get her into Division I athletics.”

Final note: These Winds have blown all the time I’ve been writing. I saw 35 mph on my anemometer. Some gusts higher than that, I’m sure. The Winds of change. A cold weather system is on the way and these Winds are its harbinger.

 

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The Consolation of the Natural World

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Yule and the Moon of the New Year, at 4% Crescent

The Webb in its L2 orbit:

“Telescope deployment is complete. Webb is now orbiting L2. Ongoing cooldown and eventual instrument turn-on, testing and calibration occur. Telescope mirror alignment and calibration also begin as temperatures fall within range and instruments are enabled.

The telescope and scientific instruments started to cool rapidly in the shade of the sunshield once it was deployed, but it will take several weeks for them to cool all the way down to stable operational temperatures. This cooldown will be carefully controlled with strategically-placed electric heater strips. The remaining five months of commissioning will be all about aligning the optics and calibrating the scientific instruments.” NASA

Monday gratefuls: Mental health care for teens. Jon’s care for Ruth yesterday. The tenderloin roast. Yumm. The blizzard in Maine. The cold in Minnesota. The mind numbing 45 degrees we had here today. Ode in Mexico. Peak TV. All the wonderful series on now. Righteous Gemstones. Pennyworth. Bulgasal. Hotel del Luna. Qin Empire. New Book-Becky Chamber’s, A Long Way to a Small Angry Planet.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Life

Tarot:

 

Tom asked me this morning how I got along so well with prostate cancer. With grief. With living alone. OK, he didn’t ask those last two, but I figure he implied them.

When first diagnosed in May of 2015, six months after we moved to Colorado, cancer hit me hard. I sat there in Eigner’s office listening. Who me?

When I got in the car to drive back home, the first thought was: Don’t drive when in the grip of strong emotions. Oh. Yeah. Sat there for a minute wondering if it was a good idea to pull out of the parking lot. But. How am I gonna get home?

The mountains were still new to me then. Amazing me each time I went somewhere. Still true, yes, but then my amazement was new, too. I chose to drive back Deer Creek Canyon Road, a sort of back way from Littleton to Conifer.

Turning left about three miles north of the Denver Botanical Gardens, I began the trek up the site, millions of years ago, of the Rocky Mountain Orogeny.  Rocky Cliffs rose from the Earth and the road began to climb as Cliffs and Streams and Boulders began to dominate. Colorado Blue Spruce, Ponderosa Pine, Lodgepole Pine. Aspen. A few Willows and Dogwoods along Deer Creek

Numb. Yes, numb. But then. These Mountains. The layer cake of their formations. One strata on top of another pushed up, up, up out of the Bedrock during the Laramid Orogeny, 80 to 55 million years ago. This Rock was ancient then, resting in place, awaiting the slow changes that come even to the seemingly obdurate.

These facts were fresh with me because, as is my way, I’d been reading a lot about the Rockies before and after our move. I like to know where I am. And how it got to be there.

Huh. It hit me. I’m such a Mayfly. Even my cancer is such a small thing. Big to my life, sure, but in the scope and sweep of these Mountains, Granite and Gneiss and Marble and Shale exposed after a long, long sleep. A sweep of the second hand.

As is also my way my Body went out to the Mountains, following them as I drove. Embracing them as teachers, as guides on this Planet we share. I gradually became calm, understanding that my life and the life of the Mountains are not separate, but joined. Now and forever.

There is a Great Wheel not wedded to the Seasons of temperate latitudes, but one wedded to the creation, life, and inevitable doom of this Rocky, Watery place we call home. I am part of that Great Wheel’s turning. As are each of you who read this.

Before what I have long called the Consolation of Deer Creek Canyon, I experienced the Consolation of the Great Anoka Sand Plain, the shore of the Glacial River Warren. There in Andover I planted, Kate weeded. Flowers and vegetables grew. Dogs ran here and there in the Woods. Bees flew in and out of the Gardens, the Orchard.

Each fall I would find Folk Alley radio on the internet, turn it up so I could hear on our small brick patio outside the lower level. There I would replenish the soil with compost and other nutrients. Digging out onto a tarp, then shoveling it back in. When that was finished I would open the boxes of Bulbs, Corms, and Tubers and Rhizomes. They would go in the Soil, with a bit of fertilizer, at the right depth, then get tucked in with a hard pat. Next Spring there would be Lilies, Tulips, Iris brightly signaling a new growing season.

I loved that work on those fall afternoons. I’d often hear the Andover Marching Band practicing. The Garden of course had its rhythms. It was finishing as I planted the perennial Flowers.

The Garden fed us all year. Fresh veggies, canned veggies. Fruits, too. Raspberries, Honey Crisp Apples. Plums. Cherries. The Bees gave us Honey.

The Garden was part of me and I, after the eating the produce and the Honey, was part of it. I call this the true transubstantiation.

In all Seasons I would hike to my Tree in the Boot Lake Scientific and Natural Area. I would sit with my back against it, looking at all of its Children who grew in an irregular circle around it. I sprinkled Tully’s ashes there. She was a sweetheart and I wanted to honor her.

I’ve gone on too long. The point is, I long ago found my place in the Natural World, its bounty, its death, its ongoingness. And as the Mountains along Deer Creek Canyon reminded me, that was and is enough.

Cooking, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Health, Shadow Mountain

Primals

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Yule and the Moon of the New Year

tenderloin primal

Sunday gratefuls: Ruthie’s troubles. Jon’s doing much better physically and fiscally. Gabe’s blossoming into a very sweet, kind kid. Bowe comes tomorrow for finishing work. Rigel wanted a different wet food. Salmon worked. That tenderloin primal and the roast last night. The induction stove.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Ruth, bright, loving. And, tortured.

Tarot: Two of vessels, attraction.

 

 

Beef primals. Who knew? These are the cuts that butchers use to divide up a carcass into particular sections. Chuck primals. Sirloin primals. And, tenderloin primals. My friends at Tony’s Market had a sale on primals last week. Bought a tenderloin primal. They will cut it up however you want. I chose two two pound roasts, several individual steaks, and two pounds of lean hamburger.

Tony’s left one of the tenderloin roasts unfrozen. The rest of the primal is in my freezer. I like Tony’s and Cook’s Venture, chickens, because they demand humane conditions for the livestock and natural feed.

The plan was to use this roast for first heat in the new, completed kitchen. Sigh. I went ahead anyhow. No hardware on the cabinets, therefore no stuff in cabinets. That meant I had to go looking through various boxes for: the skillet, the dutch oven, a spatter shield, Olive oil, cooking oil, brown sugar (failed on that one), the knives, a cookie sheet, a wire rack.

Hell, I was exhausted before I got to cooking. Earlier in the day I took the roast out and coated it with sea salt. Before I began assembling my cooking tools, I took it out of the refrigerator and let it warm up to room temperature.

At that point I decided to finally cut up all of the Chewy and Amazon boxes piled up in the sewing room. I moved them into the kitchen, got out my trusty pocket knife, and went to work. My kitchen window opens to the front of the house and is low to the ground. I positioned both recycling and garbage bins near the window, opened it, and lifted stuff out to the waiting maws of the plastic bins.

By the time I was done I was exhausted. Orgovyx and Erleada and cancer itself cause fatigue. I was fatigued. So I took a nap, then got up and did my find the cooking utensil walkabout.

The cooking wore me out, too. A while back I purchased two fatigue mats for the kitchen, but I can’t put them down until the kitchen gets finished. The mats will help.

Not mine, but mine looked just like this!

Even though I’m the one saying it I gotta say that tenderloin roast was perfect. A nicely crusted exterior and a pink interior with no gray streaks. Yes! I fried up some potatoes, boiled some carrots and bathed them in butter and maple syrup. A lot of satisfied noises.

A glimmer of what can happen once the kitchen has drawers and cabinets filled with tools and foods.

Happy with the results so far. My plan is to start learning basic cooking techniques and move onto Italian and Korean cuisine. I want the Hermitage to be a place where good food and good times around the table are the norm. Last night fit that notion.

Ruth, 6 years old

But. Ruth. In crisis. What a sweetheart and so hurt, so damaged from a tough, tough early life. I don’t know all the vectors that have harmed her, but I know some of them. All sad. All unnecessary. Yet, all impacting her now.

She spent the night on a psych ward at Children’s Hospital and will go somewhere else today. Makes me very sad.

 

Cooking, Dogs, Family, Fourth Phase, Health, Mountains, Shadow Mountain, Tarot

Remodeling, Dogs, Family

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Yule and the New Year Moon

Where’s the Webb: On Mission day 26 all the primary mirror segments have deployed and the Webb continues to slow as it heads toward L2. 515 mph. Hot side: 134, Cold side: -340.

Thursday gratefuls: Under cabinet lighting! Drawer organizers. Getting closer to the finish line. But, Brian… Sigh. Rigel’s arthritis. Seeking help. Ruth wants to go to Greeley to a museum. Jon and I have sushi plans for Friday. Gabe’s getting his Hanukkah present, books from Amazon: Frankenstein. Swiss Family Robinson. Fahrenheit 451. 1984. The Godfather. Snow and wintry weather ahead. At least some. The Wind.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Toddlers and dogs riding with their heads out of car windows

Tarot: The Wanderer, 0 in the major arcana

 

The remodeling update. Bowe installed under cabinet lighting and I love it. I like clear light when I’m prepping and cooking. He’s also going to install a magnetic knife/utensil holder so I don’t have to have the large wooden block on the counter. I’m working on a minimal plan for things actually out on the counter top. I think right now toaster, coffee grinder, coffee maker, probably a cutting board, but maybe not. I want a clean top for easy working.

Kep and Rigel have kept close watch on Bowe, making sure he doesn’t have any stray treats. Also they have opinions about the remodeling. Like, why isn’t it done, Dad? Brian, I tell’em. It’s all down to Brian.

Right now I’m looking at drawer organizers, containers for staples. Other things like standard spice bottles. This is fun. I’m excited about putting everything away in an orderly fashion. I know! Weird, eh? But, there you go.

The first meal I cook in the new kitchen for others will be for Jon, Ruth, and Gabe a week from Saturday. Tenderloin roast. Mashed potatoes. Vegetable salad from Tony’s. Something fancy to kick things off. Get a good vibe in the new space.

Another view. Not sure why this gives me joy, but it sure does.

Once I get well into the kitchen reinstallation I’ll have, as my mother would say, beaucoup boxes. They’ll have to be broken down and stood up in the recycle bin. Lots of different tasks. I’ll also be organizing the pantry as well.

When all the boxes that have held skillets and plates, silverware and storage containers, serving dishes and pots and olive oil and cooking oil and rice wine no longer clutter the floor in front of the fire place, I’ll call Modern Bungalow and get my shipment set up. Also have to find a couple of strong guys. Gonna go on Nextdoor Shadow Mountain. Moving furniture.

Taking Rigel to the vet tomorrow. Her arthritic back leg worries me. She moves so well with it. Still hunting critters, digging under the shed, prancing when she comes in from outside, but she sometimes slips on the stairs going up to the living room. I put down grippy strips on all of our stairs for my two unsteady females: Kate and Rigel. Doesn’t seem to do the trick all the time. Not sure if Palmini (the vet) has any tricks. I hope so. She eats well. She’s eager to go here and there. She barks and whines. She’s a living treasure, as the Japanese would say.

Ruth sent me a note about a model railroad museum in Greeley. She wants to go. So do I. Part of our thing has always been museums, zoos, the planetarium in Boulder. Makes me feel good when she asks to do something. Not all 15 year old girls want to be seen with their Grandpop, let alone go somewhere with him.

Was gonna take Jon to a jazz joint this month. But. Omicron. Too crowded and breathy. We’ll do sushi at a less crowded venue.

This is, a meme I saw on Facebook, the winter of our discount tents.