Category Archives: Coronavirus

A Busy Week

Fall and the Michaelmas Moon

Monday gratefuls: Quest lab. Blood draw. PSA. Testosterone. Metabolic panel. CBC. Safeway pharmacy: flu and third Covid push. Down the hill in Lakewood. Closest. Albuterol. Frozen dinners. HVAC, mini-splits. Going ahead. House staining. Starts Wednesday. Bear Creek Design on Thursday. Painting.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: The Universe. Ohr.

Tarot:   The Moon, #18 in the major arcana

 

First blood draw on Orgovyx. A month into the prescription. Blood sugar and triglycerides can both go up. Putting the dipstick in the PSA reservoir, too. And, logically, my testosterone level. I have a, let’s get this blood work done early in the day sorta thing. Expresses my willingness to stay on top of the predatory invasion, stay ahead of it. And to know what’s really going on.

A bit nervous though not as much as the first time after I finished radiation. Thought, hoped, for a cure then. Not so now. Surveillance, making sure the cancer doesn’t break out of the starvation prison we’re putting it in.

Gonna hit the Safeway Pharmacy, too. Quest labs has an office in the Lakewood Safeway. There I’ll get, I hope, a flu shot and my third Pfizer push. Doing what I can to stay alive.

Which I appreciate. That I’m doing those kinda things. Means I’m rolling along with a desire to be here. What I want.

Quite the week. A chart reading by Elisa Robyn. My CBE astrologer. May take a class with her from Kabbalah Experience. Astrology and the Tarot. Blue Mountain Kitchens to choose kitchen cabinets, counter top, backsplash. Tuesday. Wednesday house staining begins. Thursday Bear Creek Design come out for a kitchen redesign session. Mussar that day, too, and coffee with David, my fellow advanced prostate cancer guy from CBE. After at the Muddy Buck. Alan for lunch on Friday, then Kristie, my oncologists P.A., at 2:30 that day. But wait! There’s more. On Saturday a memorial service for my personal trainer who died of glioblastoma in June of 2020. The first class of my Gates of Light Tree of Life spread course with Mark Horn. Later in the afternoon, Jackie for a hair cut. Whew.

The next week is calmer.

Picked the Moon, #18 of the major arcana, again. Deep into feminine mysteries. My anima poked once more.

Ta. Off for Quest Labs.

 

Post Covid. Or, not?

Summer and the Lughnasa Moon

Tuesday gratefuls: Rebecca of Conifer P.T. Stretches. New exercises. Shirley Septic Trash. Goodbye Mountain Waste. Bread Lounge Sourdough bread. Evergreen farmer’s market. Grant Property Medics. Money. Ruby. Kepler and Rigel.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Good bread.

 

Goya’s, Self-Portrait with Dr. Arrieta. Mpls  Institute of Art

Post-pandemic life. For those with vaccines. In countries where vaccines exist in large numbers. Getting back to it. Mussar without masks. Dinner at a friend’s sans masque. Going into the grocery store. Talking with Eduardo yesterday evening. Feeling good.

Not really post-pandemic though. The Delta Variant (a movie thriller title?) will chew through red states where enforced ignorance has replaced any need for public policy. Just say no to the 2020 election results. Support your local klan.

Ignorance of the law, the laws of epidemiology in this instance, will not be an excuse when the virus comes to call. Sickness and death will follow. A sad story in the Washington Post a couple of days ago about nurses in Appalachian critical care units. Patients dying of covid saying it was the flu. Their families devastated, not sure what happened. The nurses standing in grocery store lines hearing people joke about the hoax of covid. Unmasked. A woman quoted in the article saying that it was public knowledge covid was really a way for doctors and hospitals to make more money.

And those countries that can’t afford the vaccines. Poor India. A quote from today’s New York Times:

Another wave of the pandemic is hitting many parts of the world, with countries in Asia, Africa and Latin America experiencing their highest caseloads, driven in part by the highly contagious Delta variant of the virus.

No. It may seem like a post-pandemic world for those of us with our filled out vaccines cards and the Pfizer or Moderna or Johnson and Johnson shots ramping up our immune responses, but we’re experiencing a privilege of the developed world. Of course, 45 did try to match our treatment of the virus to the worst places in the world: Brazil, India, South Africa, Chile, Mongolia. An election intervened and a determined 46 has put us in a much better place. Thank him and mRna.

Intersectionality. Often the study of race, class, and gender bias as they interweave. Covid’s intersections add another to the mix: the politicized anti-science response to the politicized pro-science response. With mask policies in retreat around the country the guidance is that those unvaccinated need to wear masks. The rest of us, the vaccinated, the saved, no.

Does anybody believe those unvaccinated by choice will wear masks? I don’t. Which makes it hard to impossible to know who’s unmasked thanks to immune responses and those unmasked due to Trump induced brain trauma.

An interesting graphic from the Economist suggests that being out of the house and shopping has edged close to pre-pandemic levels in a sample of 50 countries. On the other extreme attendance at sports events, flying, and movie going remain severely affected.

We will never regain the old normal. A new normal, yes, but not the old one. What will change? Hard to know for sure but it’s clear the nature of work and where work happens will be one. Grieving families, nations will have to reorient themselves after great loss. Travel may change, too. Some believe business travel will never resume its former pace. mRna vaccines may provide a new frontier in the fight against viral illnesses, especially the seasonal flu.

I want to know what you think. What will change, what will remain the same?

 

A Good Day

Imbolc and the waning Megillah Moon

Thursday gratefuls: Kate, feeling better with a new placement of her feeding tube. Our 31st anniversary. Vaccine shot #1! Vaccines. Polio. Snow. Big Snow. Living in the mountains.  Ruby, sure footed on the snow. Blizzaks.

Sparks of Joy: Vaccine shot #1! Vaccines. Kate. Seeing her yesterday.

Kate on our 2011 cruise around Latin America, Santa Marta, Colombia

What a day yesterday. A good day. Needed one. Went into see Kate. Can’t miss seeing your wife on your anniversary, right? She looked and sounded wonderful, better than she has for weeks. I took her an empty olive jar filled with wine. Looked like a urine sample since it was white wine. I figured the hospital would be less likely to reject a glass jar than a wine bottle.

31 years. Good ones. We’ve been places together, grown flowers and vegetables, raised many dogs, and have two wonderful sons.

Her self-advocacy convinced the interventional radiologists to snake her feeding tube lower, getting it all the way into the jejunum. We’d expected that placement during her surgery to create the feeding site.

This puts the tube further down, out of the small pouch of her stomach created during her bariatric surgery. Hopefully this will mean less or no leaking, allow a faster feeding pace, and better absorption of the nutrients and calories. Since malnutrition is a major, perhaps the primary, medical issue for her at this point, we may see some significant improvements. Yeah! Go, Kate.

Love is a verb. Love guides and wills you to act. And, love is the act itself. Life without love is a sterile desert, nothing blooms. Flower for those you love.

First vaccine dose. Pfizer. Left arm. No pain or swelling. I sat in a socially distanced chair afterward, a small plastic timer stuck to a doorjamb behind my head. 15 minutes. Carla, the nurse, watched the long hallway filled with just shot folks. My timer beeped and I could go on with the rest of my day. And, I was that much closer with being able to go on with the rest of my life.

Even with the chaos of the weekend and the last three days I felt jubilant. A positive, wonderful step toward dealing with the virus instead of passively trying to stay out of its way. After a year.

45 in the rearview. One of two jabs complete. Kate feeling better. The stimulus passed. A big snowstorm on its way. I could get giddy.

I started yesterday with a trip to Bailey, The Happy Camper. (THC, get it?) Bought my Cheebachews for a good nights sleep. Had to wait until around 10 am so 285 could clear the snow and ice collected over night. That’s the beauty of the Solar Snow Shovel. The continental divide snakes along the horizon just after Pine. Snow covered.

On the way home I stopped at Scooter’s Barbecue. Voted the top barbecue joint in all of Colorado two years in a row. And it’s in Conifer. Odd, but true.

The guy who runs it is a linebacker sized guy, Southern. Thick accent. “I have this catering job, a Mexican wedding in South Park this Saturday. I’ve told them we’ll not be here on Saturday, that they have to pick it up on Friday.” He shook his head, “These people.” I waited for a racial slur, “They just don’t understand March in Colorado.” Ah. Good.

We’ll keep yesterday as one of the good days.

 

 

Yesterday

Imbolc and the Megillah Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: Trash. Covid. Vaccines. Kate’s wakeful, but good night. Sleep. Me. Sushi Win. Their Special roll. Spring rolls. Purim box from CBE. And, one from the Kabbalah Experience. Memories of Covid. Early ones. Seoah among them. Cold. Blue Sky.

Sparks of Joy: Rigel prancing. Kep lying on my legs. Kate excited. Vaccines.

 

Kate, costumed for Purim

 

Spent yesterday, some of it anyhow, moving and rearranging and tossing. Stuff that has needed doing but I’ve not felt the energy for. Found that energy. Felt good. Not done, but will finish this week.

Drove over to Congregation Beth Evergreen to pick up a Purim box. Each member has one. A mask, groggers, and I don’t know what else. Got another box from the Kabbalah Experience with masks and paints for Purim. Will explain all in the Friday megillah post.

In the same direction as Sushi Win so I got takeout. Sushi Win is an above average sushi joint. A special treat that it’s up here at all, so we order takeout every once in a while. Big tips, too. We want to see them survive the pandemic. Us, too.

Couple of Sheriff’s vehicles at Derek’s yesterday. No idea why.

Kate woke up with an idea about how her terrible bout of herpes might be involved with her current condition. She’s going to get her medical records from Abbott-Northwestern, see if they can help. I sure hope so.

A meme from Facebook: Mars is the only planet we know inhabited entirely by robots.

News of the strange: Saw an article in the Washington Post about an Oklahoma man who killed a neighbor, cut out her heart, cooked it with potatoes, and served it to his uncle and his family to get the demons out. Apparently didn’t work because he then killed the uncle, the uncle’s four year old grand-daughter, and stabbed his aunt in both eyes. WP, 2/24/2021

 

The Frozen Rose of Texas

Imbolc and the Megillah Moon

Sunday gratefuls: All the Megillah’s. More snow. More cold. A good sleep. Cold chicken. Red Lobster biscuits. My Ecuador alpaca coat. My new LLBean insulated plaid shirt. My duckies. Love the cold, don’t love being cold.  Vaccines. Covid. 45 gone. 46 in. Judah and the Black Messiah.

Sparks of Joy: Fresh, white Snow. Rigel jumping up on the deck like a 5 year old. Life.

 

 

Those vaccines. Hard to come by up here in the mountains. Not yet. We’ll get them though. Sooner, I imagine. Haven’t gone the obsessive click now, click again, click now, click again route. We’ve survived Covid so far doing what we’re doing. Gonna keep at no visits, grocery pickups, only essential medical visits. Probably for a while after the vaccine, too.

Love that they’re out there. That we’re eligible. That others are getting them. That more will get them. Might be Happy Hanukah and Merry Christmas. Ho, Ho, Ho. or Dreidel, Dreidel, Dreidel. If that happens, I’ll still enjoy the darkness of the Winter Solstice, but I’ll be right there with the light worshipers, too. Can you imagine how festive a season that will be?

Meanwhile a hyper clean, car sized robot will roam Mars punching holes in its surface and storing soil in special containers for the second part of a three stage project. The second stage is a lander that picks up those containers and the third stage returns them to Earth for NASA and European Space Agency labs. 2025-2027. Far away from the virus infected planet it left last July. Smart Perseverance.

And, maybe, just maybe, our nation will have made progress on sorting out its painful contradictions. I watched Judas and the Black Messiah yesterday on HBO Max. Fred Hampton was 21 when J. Edgar conspired with the Chicago P.D. to eliminate him. 21. When I watched, I kept saying yes, Fred, yes. Power is people. Capitalists, no matter their color, exploit the people. A Rainbow Coalition. Yes, Fred. Then he died in his bed, never waking up, his pregnant Deborah arched over his body.

Of course, the move reminded me of the damning curse of racism, but it went further, much further. Fred brought together Puertoricans and poor whites. He saw the thread that wove together the oppressed and was able to speak to it, to help others see it. No wonder they killed him.

What if the Proud Boys and the Black Panthers saw common cause? They could. It’s corporate capitalism that keeps them both down. What if those of us on the far left joined, too. And Chicanos. And Asians. And Native Americans. There would need be no violence. That sort of self-awareness would win at the ballot box.

I know. Texas. How would you like a $16,000 bill for keeping the heat on? See the paragraph above.

100 Days

Imbolc and the waning Wolf Moon

Thursday gratefuls: Wolves and their moon. Deb Brown and her workouts. The Monk Manual. A better afternoon and evening for Kate. Buddy Mark’s swallow test. A Fib and its treatments. Vaccines. Covid. The writers for the Alienist, Titans, Gomorrah, 30 Coins. Writers, books, printers, ink, distributors. Podcasts. Oh, came back up here to mention: 45 gone.

100 days. Another tradition. A lot of juice for an incoming president and their administration. How they use it often determines the effectiveness of their presidency. Biden has made moves worthy of a change agent President. His long time in the senate, 36 years, could make him an LBJ lite. I say lite because he doesn’t have the Democratic majorities that Johnson did, nor does he have Johnson’s personality.

The leavening aspects for Biden’s presidency are the long reign of error and mendacity, rampant stupidity and cupidity that preceded him. The Covid crisis in both its medical and economic forms. The final triumph of climate science. Now policy must follow. The George Floyd stoked rise of Black Lives Matter and the surge of Black and Latino voters. They provide a platform for strong, effective reform of policing.

The $%!!@#$%^ Republicans cannot bring themselves to do more than slap Marjory Greene on the wrist. Bad girl. This means the slime, the Thing still covers GOP minds, corrodes any hope it has of returning to normal political party status. We need Trump’s Patriot Party. Carve off these deluded folks and clump them together.

Rabbi Jamie wanted me to be part of a class on the Psalms, “Psalms Resung in a Kabbalistic Key.” Called me twice. I’ve missed three classes, but I decided to give it a try. Tomorrow morning will be my first time. Zoom, of course. Something hard, mind-bending, scholarly. Yes. Much needed.

Yesterday, as I cleaned off my art table which I had allowed to become loaded with filing, I turned on Pandora. Bette Midler, the Rose. Lacrimae. On the Wings of an Angel. More tears. Guess I’m carrying a load of sadness not very far from conscious awareness. Surprised me. Then, it didn’t. Felt good.

Kate seems to be having a good start to her day, down to make her breakfast, get her some coffee. Tomorrow.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Still here. Still ok.

Winter and the beautiful waning crescent of the Moon of the New Year

Ordinary time. Is there any such thing right now?

Saturday gratefuls: Kate. A good night’s sleep. For both of us. Much needed. Rigel keeping me warm. Kep the good boy. Impeachment. 25th Amendment. Resignation. January 20th. All. Subway last night. Beef stroganoff tonight. Easy Entrees, thanks Diane and Mary. Life. Its wonder even amidst its difficulties.

 

 

 

Whoa. Yesterday was tough. I slept from eight last night to seven this morning. All the way through. Thankfully. Feel rested and ready for today. Grateful, really grateful.

Kate’s still worn out though the oxygen situation has resolved. She’s already fatigued from whatever has been going on for the last three weeks, then to have an insult like the oxygen concentrators gave her was hard. She’s still asleep. I’m glad.

As long as I can stay rested, healthy, get my workouts in, see friends and family on zoom, I am ok. Though on occasion I get pushed right up against my limits. I imagine Covid is helping me since I don’t get out, am not around sick people. Or, when I am, I’m masked. Odd to consider, but I’m sure it helps.

Life continues, no matter. Until it doesn’t, of course. That is, even when an evil bastard like Trump is in office, we still have to eat. When a rampant virus rages, we still have to sleep. When a family member is ill, we still love each other, support each other. Life is a miracle and wasting it, well, please don’t.

Got an article about building a computer. Something I’ve always wanted to try. Might just do it. Also read about an experiment that proved quantum entanglement is not instantaneous. And one about the lost merry customs of Hogmanay. And about lyfe, the idea that life might be, probably is, existing in forms we carbon based life forms might not recognize, even if it’s in front of us. And another on why water is weird. And another on why the universe might be a fractal. (thanks, Tom)

No matter how proximate or distant disturbances in the force, science goes on, literary folks write books and articles, the past remains a source of inspiration, and the future a source of hope. No matter whether life has meaning or whether it is absurd (as I believe) the secondary effects of this strange evolutionary push into awareness persist. And, yet they persisted.

Lucretia hangs in the Minneapolis Institute of Art, ready for witnesses to her dignity, her sense of honor, and her tragic fate. Goya’s Dr. Arrieta, not far from her, documents gratitude for healing and the comfort of ancestors. Van Gogh’s Olive Trees teach us that perspective differs from person to person, yet each perspective can be beautiful while remaining unique. Beckman’s Blind Man’s Buff embraces the mythic elements of life, helps us see them in our own lives. Kandinsky. Oh, Kandinsky. His colors. His lines. His elegance.

Mt. Evans and its curved bowl continues to deflect weather toward us here on Shadow Mountain. The light of dawn hits Maine first, as it has for millennia. The polar vortex slumps toward Minnesota.

Roman Ephesus. The last standing pillar of the Temple of Diana. Delos. The Temple of Apollo at Delphi. The ruined temples of Angkor Wat. Chaco Canyon. Testimony to the ancientrail of human awe. Of an eagerness to memorialize wonder.

It is, in spite of it all, a wonderful world.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Redlined

Winter and the waning crescent of the Moon of the New Year

Ordinary Time

Friday gratefuls: Oxygen concentrators. The Oxygen Concentrator Store. Kate. Hypoxia. This crisis. That crisis. Covid. Armed seditionists, domestic terrorists, right wing Trump cultists. Exposed for what the word patriotism means to them. Trump. Go away, and, don’t come again another day. Brother Mark. Diane.

So Kate. Hypoxia. One of our concentrators gave out in the middle of the night. One we’ve had in for repairs twice, the last only two months ago. A confused time ensued when I got her the portable O2 concentrator and it didn’t seem to lift her O2 saturation readings. Sleepy. Gave her my O2 tubing, connected to the O2 generator I use at night. Not a big deal for me. My need for O2 at night is due to 8,800 feet and slight COPD, but I can do without it.

In the morning her O2 sats remained low. She was gray and chilled. Very unusual, that last, for Nordic Kate. Worked stuff around, got our third O2 concentrator kicked up a level and gradually her color returned. She got warm.

But the whole ordeal had wiped her out. Understandably.

Called the O2 concentrator store and said I’d like a new one. Joshua sympathized. But. We’d get you a recertified one right away, but Covid has us with no inventory. No recertified or new units. We’ll have to ship it off and see that you have no costs involved. Best I can do.

Just another random effect of the Covid crisis. Like Seaoh spending a full month of 2020 in quarantine. Like sister Mary unable to teach in Japan or make her way to Kuala Lumpur. Like brother Mark well into his longest stay in Saudi Arabia. Like toilet paper and standup freezer shortages.

Not to mention the newest superspreader event, the storming of the US Capitol by thousands of unmasked domestic terrorists. Seditionists. Acts of treason. These are the blasphemy equivalents for a democracy.

Fraught. Tired. Running at max rpms. Anymore and I’m into the redline. Exercise tomorrow. Not now.

Ordinary time. Yeah…

 

sedition: incitement of resistance to or insurrection against lawful authority

treason: the offense of attempting by overt acts to overthrow the government of the state to which the offender owes allegiance or to kill or personally injure the sovereign or the sovereign’s family

Both definitions from Merriam-Webster

New Grange. Stonehenge.  Chaco Canyon. Goseck Circle. (Germany) Tulum.

Winter and the Moon of the New Year (and the great conjunction of Jupiter and Saturn)

Monday gratefuls: The Winter Solstice. 30 days. Cottagepie from Easy Entrees. Family. Friends. Lights. Jacquie Lawson’s Nordic Advent Calendar. Magic. In an old guy’s heart. Songs. Gifts. The wonder of children.

 

 

Ah. Can you sink into the darkness? Feel its fecund cape wrap round your shoulders? Comforting. Nourishing. Deep. Deep as the depths of your soul. Deep as the depths of time, even beyond time, to the Hawking period before the universe began to expand. Deep as the love you feel for those close to you. Deep as the bounty of mother earth is abundant.

The longest night. It comes to you. The sun low in the sky, the day shortened. Cold weather, perhaps. Early on in humanity’s adventure with the stars they knew. The sun had begun to flee. Even at the height of the growing season, on the summer solstice, the nights had begun to increase in length.

This gradual, oh so gradual, slipping away of the light. Would it continue until the night became all there was? How would the crops grow? The animals get fed? The people stay warm and fed?

But, yes, I imagine they also knew. Last year, too. And the sun returned. And the year before that. Let’s see if we can find the moment, capture the day. That way we can assure each other that the sun will not stay away. Let’s build monuments in stone and wood that capture the light of that day, or the position of the stars on that night.

New Grange. Stonehenge.  Chaco Canyon. Goseck Circle. (Germany) Tulum.

This suggests to me that far from being frightened on this night of nights, the ancients anticipated it, probably looked forward to it. But, they also wanted to be sure it would happen again and again, so they spent vast resources ensuring they would know its arrival.

Can you imagine the celebratory feelings when, just as the stone alignments had predicted in the past, the sun came again through the slot, lined up with the stones? The shaman was right! We would get another growing season. See! Life could go on. Ancient science comforting the masses, just as contemporary science comforts us now with vaccines.

Never in my lifetime have we needed the message of the winter solstice more than this year, this 2020 of cursed memory. As the virus claims more lives, infects more people, remains dangerous especially in the richest nation on earth, we need a sign. Tonight is that sign.

Darkness need not lead to despair. These depths, this night, this virus, are not static. Just as fecund darkness enriches all plant life in the fallow season, so does the light of creation shine each year to enrich the plants in the green time. We know that because tonight teaches about darkness and its twin, the Summer Solstice, teaches us about light. Both necessary. Like the symbol of the Tao.

Rising right now, in the Covid darkness, vaccines have begun to dispel the fear and show us that yes, this pandemic can and will end. We are victims neither of darkness nor the glare of a sun that will not set. The earth teaches us this lesson every year. The Great Wheel turns and so do all the vagaries of life.

Oh. We live in interesting times.

Samain and the Moon of the New Year (and the great conjunction of Saturn and Jupiter)

Saturday gratefuls: 32 days. 32! Nearly finished with the cds. A snowy, snow globe day. Rigel and Kep, our bed warmers. Kate. A wise woman. Smart, too. Vaccines. Coming to an arm near you. Soon. That light in the tunnel went up a bit in brightness. The star over Bethlehem explained? The Winter Solstice. Soon. Staycation.

 

Complex feelings. Friend Tom Crane talked a couple of days ago about the feelings that come up when considering climate change. Made me think about all of us right now. I’ve been labile this week, up and down. Unusual for me. If I get melancholy, I stay there a while. Up and bright? Ditto. But. Covid. Trump. Kate’s long illness. Climate change plus the long road ahead for our nation. Isolation from friends and loved ones.

Bet I’m not the only one experiencing complex emotions. Up. Vaccines. Down. 377,000 deaths. 250,000 + new cases a day. Up. 32 days! Down. Still 32 days left. Up. Renewable energy. Back into the Paris Accords. Down. Baked in heat. Record carbon emissions this year. Up. Jon and Ruth and Gabe on Google Meet. Down. Having to see them on Google Meet. Up. Many good days in a row for Kate. Down. Sudden fatigue yesterday. Up. Good days mean no nausea, no fatigue beyond the usual. Down. Stamina poor.

And these are the big drivers. Every day has mood changes. That unexpected money from the oil well! That crabby e-mail from a relative. Work or relationship stress. Kids. Dogs. Weather. Feelings of self-worth or self-worthlessness. Whatever triggers you. And we all have triggers.

Point. A complex web of stressors has us all dangling in our silken cocoons and each shake of the web warns us that the spider might be coming for her next meal. This is not normal. Where do we go? Out to eat? To a movie? Have friends over? A sabbath service? Take a vacation? Not for most of us. What’s the right metaphor? See-saw. Spider web. Thin ice with cracks. Fingernails on chalkboards. Whatever it is, this is a fraught time. An interesting time.

I’m giving myself permission to feel these movements, up and down, and to react to them. To not be hard on myself for not maintaining an up feeling in down times. Perhaps you need this permission, too.