Category Archives: Fourth Phase

Fourth Phase, Mussar

Will to have no will

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Spring and the Wu Wei Moon

How about letting the River flow by, twisting here, pooling there, rushing over dams and Rocks and Boulders, always soft, brushing against its Banks, taking a bit of the Soil, other Organic matter, blending it with the Waters of Mountain Streams and Creeks, seeking a path to the World Ocean.

Of course. Really. No choice. The way it goes anyhow. Only difference? Twisting and turning no more. Set in the kayak that holds my life, using the paddle to stay in the current. Let go. Let be. Unloose. Set free.

Cannot shake this desire, this ratzon. This will for my life. Irony. Will to have no will. Desire to have no desire.

It scares me. Unmoored, tethered no more. A Pebble, a speck of Sand carried by forces invisible. Give up the rudder? Who does that? At any age.

Shadow runs through her day. She takes food and water when they come. She rolls and jumps and zooms. Plays. Presses the squeaker on her toys until she wears out. Then she sleeps. Wakes up. Again, the day as it comes.

We Americans, like all advanced civilizations, pride ourselves on bending nature, talent, life, even love to our intention. Manifest, damn it! Our stubbornness, our drive, our will to power create sharp angles, boxes where nature has fractals and curves.

Even the Gods. We pray and create dogma. Box in the sacred. Give its revelation to ancient authors. To rituals. We run from the still small voice as if it were the battle cry of an ogre.

When. If. We stopped for a moment to listen. To see. To wait. To feel the flow of the universe around us, to grant ourselves the freedom to become flotsam on the quantum foam. We would become one with the foam, one with the One. As we are already. No matter our beliefs or attitudes.

I want, no, I will my life to have no will. No intention. No truth. No direction. Float with my Shadow, my home, my friends, my family. Where the River goes.

Dogs, Family, Fourth Phase, Health, Politics, US History

Pain Doc and Chauvinist Economics

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Spring and the Wu Wei Moon

Monday gratefuls: Shadow and her aggressive chewer toys. Perfect. Going in and coming out, less of an issue. Her spirit. Sitting at the Wicked Whisk with Ruth and Gabe. Talking. The spirit of Sound. And the spirit within us. Resonant. Days gone by. My son’s generous spirit. Korea. Murdoch. Luke and Leo coming up today.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Grandkids

Week Kavannah: Wu Wei

One brief shining: In the empty bakery, sold out early of its French pastries, eating the last of the scones, the shortbread almond cookies, and drinking espressos from paper cups, Ruth and Gabe and I talked of parents who died too soon, the excitement of international travel, reincarnation, and the Reformation, as families will on a late Sunday morning when they’re Jewish.

 

Seeing the pain doc today. MRI results. Home P.T. referral. Not too hopeful, but looking for any help I can get. That’s not addictive or surgical. A short list.

Need it even more. The pain has moved across my lower back and now includes my left hip and upper leg. Hope none of it is cancer pain. I don’t think so, but I don’t really know.

Will get a copy of the radiologist’s report. Look for those incidental findings.

 

Luke and Leo coming up this afternoon. Luke will help get my Dell desktop setup. Leo and Shadow can have the backyard, get to know each other.

Once my new desktop functions I plan to introduce Shadow to the stairs. So far she has not learned to go up them and that has confined her to my lower living space. And pretty much me along with her.

I’m a bit reluctant to do it since there’s a whole new world of things to chew upstairs. She’s been really good about the furniture down here. Except for my nightstand. It was not well made.

If she has toys, she prefers them. Most of the time. Like a toddler she embraces distraction. I can put a new toy in front of her and she’ll choose (chews) that over a chair leg.

Right now she has a yellow duck in her mouth, squeaking. Every once in a while, duck held tight, she’ll look up and smile. Warms me.

 

Just a moment: Oh, spare me. Already. Third term floating out there. Can you run the country from a memory unit no matter how high end? Vance runs, then gives the scepter to the Boss. What will there be left to eviscerate?

Do you understand how tariffs raise money for us? Cars will get more expensive. Other goods, too. Inflation will rise. A possible recession. Of which Trump is not afraid. No doubt. All billionaires can continue making money even during a recession. A recession damages labor and those lower on the economic totem pole, i.e., the rest of us.

Reagan practiced supply side, or voodoo economics. Trump practices chauvinist economics and ignores their impact on anything but what his narrow America First agenda prioritizes. Yikes.

Sounds like a planned economy to me. Eh?

 

Feelings, Fourth Phase, Memories, Music

Aural Journal

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Spring and the Wu Wei Moon

Shabbat gratefuls: CBE. Alan. Joanne. Marilyn. Irv. Tara. Arjan. Ginny and Janice. Dan. Rich. Ron. Jamie. Laurie. Veronica. Rick. Luke. Leo. Eleanor. Shadow. Gracie. Annie. Luna. Wild Neighbors. Great Sol. Colorado Blue Sky. Shadow Mountain. Rock. Soil. Trees. Creeks. Valleys. Clouds. Atmosphere. Seasons.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah: Wu Wei

One brief shining: Songs that we love, that drive our hearts mad, dredge up detailed glimpses of experience past, send our souls into spiritual ecstasy, make our feet begin to tap and our body begin to sway, what is this strange hold sound has over us?

 

 

 

Feelings, Fourth Phase

My Heart Wants This

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Spring and the Snow Moon

Friday gratefuls: Shadow. Digestion. Alan. Cool nights. Shadow’s toys. The Duck, almost rended. The Chipmunk. Unidentifiable. My nightstand. Gnawed. Puppies, eh? On liberation. And wandering. Tolkien. Moorcock. Britain. England. Scotland. Wales. Cornwall. Ruth and Gabe. Lox.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Shadow running with a nerf football

Week Kavannah: Ratzon. Will, desire, pleasure.

One brief shining: A paw, a lick, a pushup on her two hind feet and her butt Shadow greets me with a full body hug, mouth open sharp puppy teeth snagging my sweatshirt, eyes wide with love.

 

Several things flashing signs at me. Diane, “Your job is to stay healthy.” After retirement. That way others who need you can still find you above ground. A song as TV background, “You just gotta let go and everything will be all right.” Wu wei.

Began to think about my odd path to this age. Left the work force at 43. Kate, always Kate. Wrote 9 novels. Gardened. Cooked. Cared for Dogs. Did grocery shopping. Kept Bees. A Docent for 12 years. Living the life of a suburban housewife.

After our move to Colorado, I did all the fire mitigation: cutting down the Trees, delimbing, bucking, moving slash. Still shopping and cooking. Caring for the Dogs. Then, Kate. Her death.

Four years later Shadow and I reside here at Shadow Mountain Home.

Never really had that clean break with the work world most folks experience at retirement. My work became my daily life and the meaning, the purpose Dogs, Kate, grandkids. Writing.

Listening to my heart now. What is mine to do? The hermit life (with benefits-friends and family) has begun to appeal to me again. This time as an expression of the fourth phase, the spiritual wanderer, the Fool of the major arcana. Also as an expression of a retreat from my previous world of politics and action. My version of retirement.

I’m old enough. I’ve earned it with a life of action and service, by coping well with serious illness, by having a wonderful environment and home.

A part of me says no. No. Judaism runs, in some ways, across this decision. Rabbi Tarfon, “You are not duty-bound to finish the work, but on the other hand, you have no right to waste time from it…” Using age and infirmity as an excuse rather than a reason.

The activist in me says everything is political. Even this decision because it leaves the playing field to MAGA and the world of the autocrats. If everybody followed my choice.

Yet. I feel the need to take a breath. To lay down my sword and shield, down by the Riverside. To become the Taoist scholar of those wonderful Song dynasty paintings.

Let the hours and the days, the months and the years wash over me. Become. Live in becoming rather than doing.

My heart wants this. Long habit and a felt pressure from the Tarfon’s of this world (including and most telling, my inner Tarfon) pushes against letting go. Letting the world go on, in a sense, without me.

Fourth Phase, Health, Shadow Mountain

Neighbors Helping Neighbors

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Spring and the Snow Moon

Wanted to capture this while fresh. Drove into Leetsdale Ave near Cherry Creek in Denver. Right at the boundary of the largest Jewish community in Colorado. But I wasn’t there for religious reasons, I needed an MRI of my lumbar spine and Open-Sided MRI has its clinic there.

After time in an iron lung, which I do not remember, my body will not let my head be confined. At all. Ever. Traditional MRI’s therefore are out. Long metal tube, human insert. Face inches from the tube’s top. Nope.

So. Open-Sided. Though. When the sled slid under the projection of the magnetic circle, I looked up, found metal inches from my face. “I can’t do this.”

Chris pulled me back out. How about if you look to the side. I tilted my head to the left and there an opening appeared. But I was already scared. “I’m not sure.”

“I’ll get Audra and she can sit with you.”

A measure of serendipity. I’d talked to Audra on the phone Monday and discovered she had moved to Conifer last October. She had a quick wit and kindness in her voice. We agreed to swap stories of best spots to eat when I got there. A charming woman in her late 30’s, early 40’s I found her delightful at check-in, too.

Audra came in and held my hand for the entire 20 minutes of the exam. At first, still nervous, I looked her in the eyes and she pressed her thumb against my left hand which she held in her right.

After a while the odd noises of the MRI, which sounded like House music, and her comfort helped me relax. I closed my eyes.

A long twenty minutes. But, when it was done, I collected my disc with the scan on it, went out to the front desk and thanked Audra, back at her computer, again. She put my chai necklace back on.

I thought, decided to go ahead. “My wife died four years ago. That was the longest I’ve been touched since then. Regardless of the help I needed with the MRI, I wanted to say thanks for that, too.”

A sweet moment.

 

Family, Fourth Phase, Politics

Dining with Ghosts

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Spring and the Snow Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: Shadow and the deconstructed bed. Ruth at 19. Almost. Sushi Den. Ruth driving. The Black Bag. Gabe. His junior year. Tom, Chris, Calvin, Joseph. Men. Learning about men. CBE men’s group. Psylocibin. Miso Soup. Warmer weather. For now. Reading. Movies.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Ruth

Week Kavannah:  Ratzon. Will, desire, pleasure

One brief shining: Ruth, whisper thin, engaged and thoughtful, nearing her April 4th 19th birthday, poised between the teen years and young adulthood, presented yesterday with her great-grandfather’s black bag which contained Kate’s stethoscopes, otoscope, small rubber hammer, tuning fork, and other essentials of the general practitioner’s craft.

 

Lima, Peru. 2011

Ruth drove up here yesterday and stayed the night so she could drive us both into Denver to Sushi Den.

We ate there for her sixteenth birthday. I asked the waiter to have the sushi chefs give us what was special that evening. Ended up being the most expensive meal I’ve ever paid for. But so fun.

16

She was with Cord, her first boyfriend. Jon and Gabe were there, too. Kate had died the April before. The first of Ruth’s birthdays that she missed.

Three years later, her father Jon is dead, and two years ago the relationship with Cord ended.

She and I sat down in a booth for two near the bar. Dining with ghosts. We ordered a Shrimp tempura appetizer in honor of Kate who happily watched the rest of us eat raw fish while dining on tempura. Ruth remembered her dad ordering communal sushi.

We offered tempura and sushi to the memory of Kate and Jon, mother and son, wife and father. In the way of ghosts they ate only the invisible essence of the food, leaving the rest to nourish the bodies of the living, the left behind.

Starting next year in a new major, Integrative Physiology-as I mentioned in an earlier post-Ruth has set herself on the path of her childhood dreams. Becoming the third generation of Johnson-Olsons to become a doctor.

Hence my decision to gift her the black bag which I have, up till now, featured on my mantle as a memory of Kate.

May she live long and prosper.

 

Just a moment: Gee. The clown cars on Pennsylvania Avenue have so many red and orange haired folks sticking out, horns honking, big feet flapping, noses bulbous that a guy can’t help feeling entertained.

Until that moment. Wait a minute. These clowns, these very clowns have their hands on the controls of the world’s most powerful military. Not to mention the economy. And the regular checks for our country’s most impoverished citizens. And, and, and.

Not to mention. Sealing the deal honk, honk. Throw confetti in the air. Why not invite the editor-in-chief of the Atlantic magazine into a nuts and bolts discussion about bombing Yemenites further back into yesterday? Seemed like a good idea at the time?

Thought this line from Timothy Snyder, quoted by Heather Richardson on March 24th captures the truth: “Foreign policy scholar Timothy Snyder posted: “These guys inherited one of the most functional state apparatus in the history of the world and they are inhabiting it like a crack house.””

 

Dogs, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Shadow Mountain

Hunting for paths to joy

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Spring and the Snow Moon

Monday gratefuls: Water. Lodgepole Bark, red in Great Sol’s early light. Aspen and their photosynthetic bark. Forlorn Grass, desiccated and brown as the Snow melts. Maxwell Creek. Cub. Blue. North Turkey. Bear. Kate’s. This wide world. All of it. Everyone in it. Daniel Silva. CJ Box. Authors. Poets. Painters. Musicians. Artists.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Working out

Week Kavannah: Ratzon. Will, desire, pleasure.

One brief shining: Realized that Ancientrails resembles my father’s column, Smalltown, USA, in that it focuses on daily life, his with a larger ambit, mine more personal, yet both with an occasional digression into the political or the humorous, printer’s ink and hot lead in both our veins.

 

Dog journal:  Another realization. A different female has me back at a long trained habit, putting down the toilet seat. Kate of course insisted as do women in most homes here. This time though putting down the toilet seat prevents Shadow from drinking out of the magic fountain.

Her ears stand forward. She plays all morning with toys she never puts back after taking them out. Maybe I can train her to do that? Shadow’s all puppy now. Secure in her home, her routines.

Once more. Happy I took the risk.

 

Inner life: Been down, thinking about death with every tweak and pain. Whether all this self care makes any sense. Remembering Judy and Kate both saying, enough.

Then. Come on, dude. Shadow. Friends. Family. The Mountains. Books to read. Movies to watch. Places to go. Ruth and Gabe’s still young lives. My son and Seoah.

Further. Worked out. Mood instantly better. Wonder why I resist this consistent mood lifter. One which has the added benefit of improving my overall health? A puzzle.

Gonna wrestle with this one. All the way until it gives me my Hebrew name, Israel.

In part? I’ve been too serious about my life. Always wanting, maybe faux-needing, to think I have something important, significant to do.

Joy is a religious obligation in Judaism. For good reason. This life, the one freely given, is not meant to be a trudge, a never ending journey of obligation and expectation. It’s meant to be filled with good food, good friends, family. Rich experience. This whole world, this creation, a gift so precious and wonderful. Life itself, a miracle of evolution. Amazing.

Think I’ll back off myself. Lighten up.

 

Just a moment: This morning I’m a happier guy. Peg it to my workout yesterday afternoon and my decision to take a staycation. Read 75% of Daniel Silva’s 16th Gabriel Allon novel, The Black Widow. Plan to read more today.

Subscribed to the Criterion Channel. Plan to start watching movies from it on a regular basis. Watching ghosts, as Paul’s mother described watching classic movies. There’s a cinephile buried in me, but not too deep.

I’m ready for a new pattern to emerge. Will be watching for it as I paint, maybe write a little more. No hurry. Hunting for paths to joy.

Dogs, Fourth Phase, Friends, Judaism, Politics, US History

The Seed Keeper’s Catalogue. And, Shadow

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Imbolc and the Snow Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: Shadow and her leash. Amy. Ron and his Purim spiels. Joanne. Ruth of the Flatirons. Gabe and his guitar. The Seed-Keeper’s Catalogue. Jon Stewart. The Daily Show. Working out. Tara and Eleanor. Ode and his friends. Tom and the maturing men. Paul and his son, his grandson. Bill and showing up.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Days of Dogs and books

Week Kavannah: Social Responsibility. Achrayut.

Practice: continuing work on the Seed-Keeper’s Catalogue

One brief shining: Bellying through the Snow drifts in the backyard, racing from one fence line to the other, bowing and running with Eleanor, Shadow puts her puppy energy out there, laying it all on the line each moment as we do without thinking when we’re young; so much more deliberate and difficult when we’re old. Learn from puppies.

 

Dog journal: Amy came by yesterday. Week 5 of training the old guy how to live with and educate a 9 month old Puppy.

Leash training didn’t go so well. Waiting now with the leash near her water. Shadow gives it the side eye when she goes to drink. This is desensitizing her. In a couple of days I’ll attach it to her, let her drag it around if she will. Take it off. Leave it out. Plenty of treats and praise. So on. Patience. Savlanut.

I want to get her leash trained so I can take her to the vet for a well Dog checkup. I don’t see anything wrong with her at all, but she needs to meet the folks at Sano, get used to the vet experience.

Tara brought Eleanor, tall, leggy, black Eleanor over for a playdate yesterday, too. Eleanor and Shadow ran and ran and ran. Tara and I talked. She’s my heart friend.

On the fourth anniversary of Kate’s death I’m going to Tara’s for Passover. April 12th. One of those nights when I’ll drive. Her house, in Mountain terms, is not far from mine. Maybe 10-15 minutes.

While I was out talking with Tara, I saw my neighbor Jude. We don’t see each other much in in the Winter, but it was warm yesterday. He retired from his welding work in January. Started drawing his Navy pension. Will collect social security in a couple of years.

 

Got my next oncology appointment changed to an in person visit rather than telehealth. Rich Levine wants to go with me and I’ll be glad to have him there.

Mailed my taxes at the same time I mailed the fourth iteration of documents to MnSaves, Ruth’s 529. Hopefully we’ll have it figured out before she becomes a sophomore. Rich helped this time.

 

Just a moment: Here’s an excerpt from my work with chatbot on the Seed-Keeper’s Catalogue. If you have time to read this, comment on it, it’s still in very, very early stages. Not sure it’s the direction I want to go. But, it might be.

In conclusion, the Seed Keeper’s Catalogue is more than just a website or a publication – it’s a community-driven movement to celebrate and disseminate the knowledge that sustains society. Our proposal outlines a project that leverages modern technology (AI, interactive web design) and timeless principles (open sharing, collaboration, civic duty) to build a resource unlike any other: one that is at once practical handbook, history textbook, and civic guide, all wrapped in an accessible, open-source package.

By rooting the Catalogue in values of free access, diversity of content, and community empowerment, we aim to create a living library that grows and adapts with the times. Whether someone comes looking for advice on planting their first garden, understanding their rights, learning about pivotal moments in history, or figuring out how to organize their neighborhood, they will find not just information, but inspiration and connections to a larger community of knowledge-holders.

This proposal paints the vision and the roadmap: a structured yet flexible platform, rich content categories with real examples, integration of AI for continuous improvement, strategies for inclusive collaboration, and a plan for sustainable growth. With enthusiastic contributors, supportive partners, and engaged readers, the Seed Keeper’s Catalogue can flourish. It will stand as a testament to what is possible when knowledge is set free and nurtured by the many – truly a catalogue of seeds that, when planted in minds and communities, can grow solutions to even the toughest challenges like poverty and climate change.

We invite all stakeholders, from potential contributors and tech partners to educators and community organizers, to join us in making this vision a reality. Together, let’s keep the seeds of knowledge, culture, and responsibility – and pass them on, so that they may take root for generations to come

Aging, Fourth Phase, US History

An Ode to Old

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Imbolc and the Snow Moon

Tuesday gratefuls: Ana. Furball Cleaning. Alan. Lucille’s. Learning a new city. Denver. Pain Perdu. Shadow. Amy, the trainer. Hospice work in Washington County, Maine. Paul. Cousin Donald. His cracked team of ideologues and greedy billionaires. Foxes. Henhouses. Black Bears and Mountain Lions. Red Flag days. High Winds. Low humidity. Dry fuel. The Wildland Urban Interface, the WUI. My home.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Getting lost

Week Kavannah: Social Responsibility. Achrayut.

One brief shining: Alan and I sat outside at Lucille’s, the inside din of pans and loud conversations too much, the weather 70 degrees and a big fire in their fire pit combined with the sun for comfort while I ordered chicory coffee, French toast, a poached Egg to go with my hot Louisiana sausage, enjoying my long term friendship with Alan.

 

Need to say a few things about aging and being old. Do not shy away from the truths of aging. It’s hard. Often.

Fingers might hurt from rheumatoid arthritis. That knee that buckles when you get out of the car. What’s that? You can’t hear as well. Me, too!

You might have Sjogren’s syndrome which dries out essential tissues. Your eyes might need cataract surgery or cornea transplants. Balance may not be what it once was. A problem with brittle bones from osteopenia or osteoporosis.

What’s up, too, with all that packaging? The heaviness of things that used to be light. Or the shortness of breath.

Here’s what I have to say about all of those. No fun. No fun at all. No romanticizing. These problems, like the ache in my back right now or the prostate cancer, make life more challenging, less easy. Every day. Sometimes every hour.

Yet most cultures, not ours but most, have honored, even revered those who grew old. Elders. Sages. Wise ones. The one who knows the stories, the knowledge of plants, the ways of battle and of peace. The grandmother who councils young mothers. The ones who bless and counsel. Who settle disputes, pass judgment.

Where does that leave us, the old ones of our synagogues and neighborhoods? OK, boomer. Not a request for advice. A slight aimed at those of us in the graying baby boom, some of us now in our late seventies.

I don’t want to be a gray panther, a senior Olympian, a ripped octogenarian. A silver fox or a pickleball champ. Good thing, too. Since I’m unlikely to fit any of those American Immortal archetypes.

I say we claim the role of elder. Like Tom bringing the young men together. Like Bill and his daily mitzvahs. Like Ode and Imogen. Like the Hospice work Paul does.

Let’s show that the real challenges of aging, as with all elders, only prove the road, the long road we have taken. The scars from hard won lessons, loves won and lost. Bullies faced down. Hard relationships resolved. Children raised.

Let us claim through our actions the role we have earned. We cannot, in other words, abdicate now to the golf course or the television or the trout stream. Especially at this time when the world needs us. Please.

 

 

Cooking, Dogs, Fourth Phase, Health, Politics, Seed Keepers, Shadow Mountain, US History

Help Me?

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Imbolc and the Snow Moon

Monday gratefuls: Shadow and me. Cool nights. Good sleeping. Figuring out Shadow. Amy. Annie. Luna. Leo. Gracie. St. Patrick’s Day. Taxes. 529. Cousin Donald. Democrats, wherever they (we) are. A world changing. My son and his theologizing. Seoah.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Granite Mountain Hotshots

Week Kavannah: Social Responsibility. Achrayut.

One brief shining: We were all together, Maine to Shadow Mountain, spots around the Twin Cities, as we have been for several years on Sunday morning, talking about sleep, yes, but really seeing each other, nodding to the gods the neshama the imago dei in each of us linking arms again as we walk each other home.

 

Dog journal: My instincts about dogs came alive in the struggle over Shadow and coming inside. I realized what needed to happen.

When she came to the door, I opened it. When she then ran away, I closed it. We did this many, many times on Saturday. Many times. Now when she scratches on the glass, I open the door, sit down, and she comes in! Hallelujah. A chorus from Leonard Cohen in his raspy voice as background music.

Shadow and I crossed a bridge on Saturday, from puppy enigma to young dog companion. My confidence level in our relationship solidified. And hers with me. I can see it. We see each other now.

What a journey. 100% worth it. We needed each other and, thanks to Ginny and Janice and Heather and the Granby Shelter folks, we found each other. A journey only just begun. More doggy tails to come.

 

Have found a meal service I like. Cookunity. Not cheap, but not expensive when balanced against eating out. Lots of meal selections, easy to heat up, and all the ones I’ve eaten, six as of last night’s Chicken Schnitzel with Mustard mashed Potatoes, tasty.

I find the four meal plan works well for me. The meals arrive fresh and their use by dates make ordering a week’s worth problematic.

Breakfast I manage well. Lunch, too. The evening meal though I’ll often skip because I’m tired or at least too tired to go through the whole rigamarole of cooking and cleaning up. Still, I need the proteins and veggies. Four nights covered. All right.

Also measure the cost against having a light housekeeper come in twice a week to cook a couple of meals, tidy up, do laundry, unload the dishwasher. Probably a hundred to hundred and fifty bucks a week. This notion driven for the most part by the cooked meals.

Taking care of myself while living alone is not always easy. Maintaining chez Shadow Mountain, seeing I eat well, workout. I can do it, have been doing it, but things that ease the way are always welcome.

Fortunate to have enough money. Kate, always Kate. Still caring for me four years after dying. What a woman.

 

Just a moment: I liked the image that came to me of my age peers as the faded flowers of the Baby Bloom, seedheads ready, needing to disperse our seeds so that a new generation of just and compassionate Americans rise up when Spring finally comes for our benighted nation. Help me make this happen?