Saturday gratefuls: Kate, sticky with the honey harvest. Kate, shepherding me into a shower, giving me antihistamines after multiple bee stings. Kate, Celt, and I at the St. Kate’s art fair in St. Paul. Cody Wise, a Wells Fargo Banker. Rich Levine, bee keeper. Rabbi Jamie. Mark Koontz, of Primitive Landscaping. He will extend and replant the Iris bed and put in three Miss Kim lilacs in the back. BJ live on the radio with Schecky.
Sparks of Joy: Beekeeping. Getting tasks done.
Wild grapes waiting for Kate to turn them into jelly
Yesterday afternoon I pulled out all the honey harvesting equipment: uncapping knife and rake, solar wax renderer, motorized extractor, buckets, and filters. Took it to the driveway so Rich could pick it up for our work this morning with Sofia.
As I moved these objects, each last touched by us in 2014 when we moved, a wave of sadness and longing swept over me. Kate and I were partners. We grew flowers, picked fruit in our orchard, planted and harvested vegetables, managed a pack of dogs. My partner is dead. I missed her so much in that moment. Went back inside, sat down, cried for a bit. Not paroxysmally, but tears running down my face.
We were bound together by those things of the soil, of the four-leggeds, of the six-legged. It was a good life until the physical burden of became onerous. The move to the mountains, here on Shadow Mountain, came at a time when we needed to set down those tasks, pass them onto the younger couple that bought our Andover home.
We partnered again, living in the move. It took us most of 2014 to get ready and we worked hard. Once here in the Rockies we found ourselves tested by cancer, by Jon’s divorce, by Kate’s medical issues. Through it all. Partners.
Even to the last. Death with dignity. Yes, the right choice for you, I said. Even beyond the last. I’ve hired a landscaper who will fulfill two of Kate’s last wishes, a larger Iris bed in front and Lilacs planted in back. Half of her ashes will go into the Iris bed in August when family gathers to honor her on her birthday, August 18th.
Those tears, that sadness. It was for the good stuff. The way we lived together, always. Yes, I miss my pard, as we might say here in the West, but the knowledge and memory of how we were together does and will sustain me as I move forward.
Thursday gratefuls: Kate, always Kate. Her memorial service and each of those who attended. Each person who has Kate in their heart right now. Ruth, who offered to stay with me last night and the night before. And, did. Jon, who saw Kate’s spirit before she died. Gabe. Kep and Rigel. The Woolly Mammoths.
Sparks of Joy: Ritual and its healing power. Sitting shiva. SeoAh’s arrival.
Wednesday I drove down the hill on an icy Shadow Mountain Drive. Evergreen Memorial Park. Finish the details of Kate’s cremation. When I left, as I realized suddenly what I had done, I had to stop, put my hand out and steady myself on the door jamb. Goodbye to the earthly container, the thing of Malkut.
Kate has returned to the cycle of life, ready to join the upcoming surge of spring and the growth of Beltane. As you, as I, move through this turning of the Great Wheel, she can walk with us, point out the energy and the power from her side of the veil. The gardener in her delights in this time and I delight in it with her.
As her condition deteriorated, I bought two sets of emergency call lights, synched them and place them around the house and up in the loft. We never used them. This morning, when I came up to the loft to write this, the receiver next to my computer blinked off and on, blue light flickering. I plan to let it blink until it runs out of energy.
We decided that I would I sit shiva, go through the mourning rituals. And, I am. There’s a lot about it that I don’t understand, most of the rules I don’t know, but CBE will guide me through it. Rabbi Jamie and my buddy Alan Rubin.
The torn garment, or torn ribbon, represents rending of life by the fact of death. I’m choosing a black ribbon to tear.
Not sure whether we’ll do seven nights (shiva means seven), probably not, but on Sunday night there will be a shiva minyan, requiring at least 10 members. A service very like the one done on Wednesday will be held.
Of all the statements made about Kate over the last week, the one that touched my heart most came from Lisa Deutsch, a CBE member and member of the Thursday mussar group Kate and I attended, “She was,” Lisa wrote, “what you would call a good Jew.” That makes me so happy because Kate considered her Jewishness a primary fact of her life, one she was only able to honor fully after we joined CBE.
Kate Olson has died. She was a wife, a mother, a grandmother, a pediatrician, a gardener, lover and mother of dogs, a bee keeper, a quilter, a needleworker, a master cook, and crossword puzzle completer.
She was also Rachel since her early 30’s after her conversion to Judaism at Temple Israel in Minneapolis, Minnesota.
Kate died April 14th after a long illness, over three years, wore out her body.
Kate loved me (her husband) with a love that made me a better person and she told me my love for her made her a better person. No marriage can wish for more.
A tribute from a friend who got Kate right:
“She seemed fearless, walked to her own drummer and if she wanted to do something she damn well did it.”
As her long illness pushed past her body’s ability to cope, she chose to move to hospice care. Her choice. A brave one, someone said. Yes, it was brave, and yet it was typical.
I will miss her at a level and in a way no words can express. The joy she brought me will be a constant resource when times are tough. Again.
Tuesday gratefuls: Kate, always Kate. The washing machine. Food from CBE. Tara last night with great Japanese. Schmira. Evergreen Mortuary. Zoom. Coffee. Rest.
Sparks of Joy: Snow and cold today. Kate’s favorite.
Kate, costumed for Purim March, 2018
Schmira. Folks from CBE now watch over Kate’s body in an ancient tradition that guards or watches (schmira) until burial or cremation. One at a time, 24 hours. Her soul lingers until then and needs companionship. That’s the idea. I think. Reassuring and humanizing this wait no matter the reason. Humans and religion. A wonder.
Kate was a Jew of the heart, I told Rabbi Jamie the other day. She walked into Temple Israel in Minneapolis, attended a service officiated by Rabbi Max Shapiro and “I felt at home.” She was in her thirties. This lead to a full conversion, a two year process in which she studied with Rabbi Shapiro.
When we moved to the mountains, our last great adventure together, we happened on a class, “King David”, taught by Bonnie Houghton, then a rabbinical student. At that that class, over five years ago, we met Tara and Marilyn Saltzman. They are our friends today. In fact, Tara brought food for our gathering last night.
Congregation Beth Evergreen became a locale where, for the first time, Kate could live as a Jew in her own synagogue. She became a trusted and loved friend to many.
Baruch Dayan Emet,
With heavy hearts, we share the sad news of Kate Olson’s passing.
Kate had been a member of Congregation Beth Evergreen since 2016, was an active member of the Mussar class, and served on the board of directors.
We extend condolences to her family. Details about arrangements are forthcoming.
Sunday gratefuls: Broad spectrum antibiotics. Kate’s will. Jamie Bernstein. Easter and Passover and Spring. Friends. Rabbi’s. Countryfolk. Mountains. Dogs.
Sparks of Joy: Kate’s blood cultures negative for infection. Exhaustion, but exhaustion held in the care and concern of so many others.
Kate at Mama’s Fish House
Been thinking, a lot, about the holidays: Ostara, Easter, Passover. How they hold the wonder and awe of Spring and apply it to our human lives. On Maundy Thursday (no, I never remember what that means) Kate was in severe crisis. She had a crowd of nurses, physician’s assistants, respiratory therapists, a pulmonologist. All working carefully, quickly, urgently.
I had a hushed conversation in the hallway with the physician’s assistant and Dr. Fenton, the pulmonologist, about resuscitation. Asking hard questions. Trying to be true to the situation, to her wishes, to the possible.
She survived the crisis, her blood pressure down and her breathing more stable. She moved to the 10th floor where she could be treated with nurses who work with more complicated cases.
Her situation got better, but death still seemed as plausible as recovery. On Good Friday, her lucidity returned, she made it off the bipap (a small mask that is actually a treatment for the pneumonia, among other things), and her white cell count continued to come down.
Yesterday we found her blood borne infection was gone. Though it still needs a four to six week bout of IV antibiotics to make it sure it doesn’t resurface. She passed her swallow study so she can drink and eat. Prognosis still guarded, but less so now.
Her friend, Jamie, reported she looks good. Jamie stayed all night with her.
Saturday gratefuls: Tough towels. Morning lucidity. Vaccines. Kate’s appointment today. Georgia GOP. No doubt now about their racist, oligarchic ideology. The Voting Law. Ditching the filibuster.
Sparks of Joy: Vaccine #2 on April Fool’s Day.
Gabe’s bris
Miracles in my world. The greening of the Lodgepoles. The leafing out of the Aspen. (both of these I’m anticipating) A Black Mountain decked in white. Iris rhizomes throwing up stalks for another year. (this, too, anticipated) Fawns. Calves. Colts. Life. Abundant and rich. Puppies. Dogs. Love. Mountains. Justice. Memories. So many, everywhere. Hallelujah.
Oh. Terrible night. Kate talking throughout the night, explaining her dreams to herself, she said. Lotsa lost sleep for both of us. Makes everything more difficult.
Contacted Jewish Family Service in Denver. They’re sending a social worker out who specializes in gerontology. With her we’ll develop a plan, perhaps, plans, that we can use to define our next year, few years. Housing options. In-home health care options. That sort of thing.
There are lots of services available but knowing which ones exist, which might come to the mountains, costs, is difficult. At best. Same with housing options including, but not limited to, buying another home.
Kate’s healthspan, lifespan are critical, but unknown. I imagine this will include some more time with Dr. Thompson, consulting. Mine are, too, but I’m the more functional at the moment. Dogs are a crucial element. Our stuff is less of an issue. We can sell or keep. My library can be sold in whole or in part. In that sense we’re portable. Except for the Dogs.
I suppose you could say, why didn’t they consider all this before they moved to the Mountains? Fair enough. We did give it cursory attention, but we both felt good, were planning for a healthier time than we got. Didn’t happen.
Shadow Mtn. Drive, down the hill a mile from home. Black Mtn ahead
Living in the Mountains is a big adventure for us, something we wanted long before we decided to move. I don’t regret it, not for a minute. Even if it seems foolish. Even if it was foolish. To lose a sense of adventure, of new possibilities, is to die before the grave.
We’ve had six years so far. A really long vacation in a place people come to from all over the world. Would I make the move knowing what I know now? Maybe not, so I’m glad we did it without knowing.
Rigel and a bull Elk in our back a day before my first radiation treatment.
My hope is that we will find a combination of home health care services that allow us to remain here. Moving the Dogs would be very difficult. They’re both older, Rigel beyond the expected life span of large breed Dogs at 12, and Kep turning 10 this year.
I’m still alive, healthy for 74. Love Kate, the dogs, our house, family, extended and birth, our CBE friends, my Ancient friends. I love reading, learning, writing, creating. Colorado and the West. The humid East. The Midwest. The Mountains and all of our wild Neighbors. Neither resigned to life, nor resigning from it.
Friday gratefuls: Kate, always Kate. Her chipmunk face. The feed bag. Kep and Rigel, bright spots in each day. Vaccines. Kate’s at 2:30 on Saturday. Covid. Illness and struggle. The Ancient Ones and Spring.
Sparks of Joy: A normal Presidential press conference. A good annual physical.
Passover begins on Sunday, March 28th. The vaccine is our lamb’s blood over the lintel this year. Azrael, pass us by. Pfizer and Moderna, protect us.
This holiday may be my favorite one of all. Why? Because of its focus on liberation, on empowerment and freedom from oppression, on taking action against oppressors.
Also because of its honesty. The Exodus began with the Hebrew slaves leaving the Pharaoh’s plantation and escaping through a seemingly impassable obstacle. But it took forty years (a long time) to accomplish. And in that time there were gripes, and blasphemy, and salvation by manna. A mixed bag. The Torah came down. As did the Ten Commandments. Burning bush, yes. But, golden calf, too.
The journey from enslavement to self-determination is not an instantaneous one. It takes determination, doggedness, a willingness to embrace doubt and confusion, yet keep moving. This is true for individuals, for former slaves from Egypt or Louisiana, for those of us still searching for a just America.
One of religion’s great gifts is its retention of these stories, of these yearnings of the human soul. Whether it’s Vishnu as the stable factor in creation and Shiva the creative and destructive force or the Tao as the water course way or Jesus and the story of resurrection, we can reach into these flashes of insight that help us navigate this strange miracle we name life.
So, if you’re member of the tribe, or a fellow traveler like me, find a seder, eat some bitter herbs and watch the kid find the afikomen. Your life and the life of those you love will be better for it.
Monday gratefuls: More Snow. And, yet more. Kate’s temp and blood pressure in normal ranges. Vaccines. Covid. 46 at work. Colorado, its interesting divisions. No pussy grabbing in the news. No need to check on the idiot. Oh, hallelujah.
Sparks of Joy: Flocked Lodgepoles. Resilience.
The Bristlecone Psalm
When Creeks run full down the Mountain,
And Thunder booms deep in Valley,
I cry by the Bristlecone Pine.
Lenticular Clouds crown the Mountain,
Waters course toward the Sea,
As I mend by the Bristlecone Pine
Sweet grass and Boulders, Mule Deer and Moose,
Pines, Aspens, and Willows and Spruce
Find me sad by the Bristlecone Pine
That Water my tears, the Thunder my grief,
With hard Rocks and wild Flowers tucked underneath,
Make me holy by the Bristlecone Pine
The sounds of the clear water running,
The sense of the mending it brings,
I dance by the Bristlecone Pine
This was my final piece for the Psalms class. Yes, it still needs some work, but I thought I’d put it out there as an example of a realization I had after a conversation with Kate.
A tree island at the krummholz level
I’ve been struggling with keeping up exercise and tending to Kate’s needs. Partly my fault because I’m pretty habituated to a MWF morning routine and if something breaks up those mornings, I’m not motivated to replace them.
I asked Kate about it in the context of whether I should take: The Alphabet, The Psalms, and You: Sound and Symbol, Word and Melody, Awareness and Attunement. This Rabbi Jamie class is taught at 9:30 am Friday, as was the Psalms class. Direct conflict with my workouts, you see.
Kate suggested I do what would make me feel best. Well, doing both. But, given my routine… Anyhow, here’s the realization. I need to do something for my mind/soul as much as I do for my body. All connected, all important.
Mt. Goliath, a large stand of bristlecone
These days I’ve been telling myself, stay flexible, change as needs change. Wu wei. Go with the course of the qi as it passes in and through and around you. This is important at all times, but none more so than when life keeps throwing things at you’ve never seen before.
So. Compromise. Ensure workouts on Monday and Wednesday. Take the class on Fridays. Perhaps a workout or a hike on Saturday or right after the class. No pressure on that one.
