• Category Archives Acting
  • Two to get ready

    Lughnasa and the Korea Moon

    Monday gratefuls: Paul’s ok. And the rest of us, well… Hard to say. Luke. Leo. Vince. Almost ready to go. A bit of packing. Some last minute details. Ruth. Seeing her today. Still feeling the afterwash from the play. A solid, satisfied feeling. Reminds me how much I love to write. And perform. A blue Colorado Sky. A Shadow Mountain Morning. The penultimate I’ll see for over a month. So ready to be on the road. Vince and Luke and Leo will take care of my house.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Ruth

    One brief shining: Head buzzing a bit from sleeping in after the three late nights last week body atingle the after effects of hard work and a lot of loving given and received hugs and well wishes bon voyages applause quiet moments with Ruth a dinner with Alan and Joan nighttime drives up Brook Forest and Black Mountain Drives waiting for another flash view into the call of the natural world.


    Tomorrow night well after midnight I’ll head out to the Parking Spot, a long term guarded lot near DIA. From there a shuttle bus to the American Airlines terminal and after that to the security checkpoint. My flight is at 5am and I’ll be there early, but I want to have no hiccups. I’ll sacrifice sleep for made connections. Sleep and I are going to have a rocky relationship for the next few days anyhow. Why not start at the beginning?

    But, like most trips there are still some here and now matters to attend to. Have to go the Conifer post office and see if they’ll extend keeping my mail past what appears to be a hard limit of 30 days. I’ll be gone 36. I don’t imagine it’ll be a problem, but I do have to have the conversation with them. Then over to Evergreen and CBE to take the check for my dues. Without getting into the saga it’s a journey every year due to mailing foul ups and Mountain post offices. After that down the hill to see Ruth one last time before I leave.

    Will complete my packing, essentially done, later on today or early tomorrow. Check in for my flight. Go over my packing list a final time. Excited. Ready. Would go right now if I could.


    I do have a new idea for a novel. It’s banging around, making itself felt. Imagining this and that. How this might look, where this thread might lead. I love this time with a new work. Where all the ideas are fresh, seen in their fanciest clothes before the hard work of writing begins to wear them down to real thoughts and words. Where all the possibilities expand out from a simple idea, roads leading to this plot or that one. Characters emerging, sinking away. Writing winnows all those roads until there are only the essential ones, all those characters down to the ones needed to tell the story, all those places to the ones most evocative of the storyline.

  • Go now, the play has ended

    Lughnasa and the Korea Moon

    Sunday gratefuls: The Trail to Cold Mountain. Performed to applause. Released. Packing started. Radical light this time. The company of actors. Acting. Alan and Joan at dinner last night. Cold Mountain. His poetry. The improv class’s Armando. Ginnie. Rebecca. Marilyn and Irv. Ruth. Jen. Gabe. Joan’s piece on the dybbuk. Alan’s on aging. Tal, a master teacher at 26. A chilly Mountain Night. Luke and Leo. Vince. The Parking Spot. TSA open at 4 am for precheck security. Korea. Israel. Taipei.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Live a Great Story (decal on a Jeep back window)

    One brief shining: This time there was a crowd when I walked out, confident in my piece, carrying the drinking Gourd and my parchment poems, dropped into Herme and Han Shan’s story, Great Sol gone unseen as Berrigan Mountain rotated west with the rest of us, a light breeze blowing.


    Go now, the play has ended. My first play has found an audience. What a rush. I finished saying, “Take the Trail to Cold Mountain.” And we all had. My performance was over. The work of the summer over. Ups and downs culminating in a work I was proud of and a performance I was proud of. Felt wonderful. Stretched in a healthy way past my comfort zone.

    Only will know later if my goal for the piece spreading the word about the Rivers and Mountains poetry tradition of China found its way into anyone’s heart. If I had written an artist’s statement for The Trail to Cold Mountain it would have been something like this:

    I want to introduce to a Mountain audience the Rivers and Mountains poetry tradition of China through the Tarot archetype of the Hermit. I believe most Mountain folks have a strong component of this archetype that led them here. We like the curvy roads, the cool Mountain mornings, living with Wild Neighbors on Forested Land. No, more. We need to live away from the World, to clear the heat and dust from our minds and be where the Wind sings through the Pines. So, too, in China. In the Andes. In all the great Mountains and Forests of the World. We are one people.

    Poetry and archetype, myth and legend. Religion. This has long been my realm. From one novel to the next, from one job to the next, even the motor behind the justice work. Now it speaks to where and how and with whom I live. In the Mountains, with other Hermits yet also linked in loving ways to a community, caring for them and being cared for by them. Still linked in deep heart connection with Minnesota made friends, with family far away and nearby, living my own life with them all, yet apart from them, too.

    Deepening the love. Burning away the dross.


    Coming home, late. Drove up Brook Forest and Black Mountain Drives. Realized a powerful raison d’être for experiencing the sacred. As I drive along the familiar ranks of Lodgepoles and Aspens, I look now for another glimpse, a brief appearance of the natural world calling to me. (Art Green, Radical Judaism, p. 120) I know that the opportunity, the chance to again see through a portal like the Rainy Night Watcher exists. Thus, I’m more aware of the sacred all along the drive.

    This is, I imagine, the reason others over the course of history have written down their experiences, collected the stories of others, and collected them in what we call sacred writings. Not to freeze those moment and make them rules against which to measure our lives, but as clues, as prompts to the possible moments when the natural world will reach out to us, to help us be ready to see what we’re looking at.


  • Anticipation

    Lughnasa and the Korea Moon

    Saturday gratefuls: Ruth. Working, struggling. Rosenberg’s Deli. Bagels, cream cheese with caviar for Ruth. Driving down the hill. Driving back up. Widest temperature spread ever: 101 in Denver, 80 on Shadow Mountain. Bless the altitude. Family. My son playing slow pitch softball. Seoah studying English and Social Studies. Flight Review, an app for travelers of all sorts. Apples and peanut butter.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: The Mind and the Brain in all their complexities

    One brief shining: A shiver of disconnection runs through me expressing my remembered absence from Shadow Mountain before it happens as I make sure the passport, yes, cables, yes, drugs, yes, flight still on, so far yes, thinking of being in the air over Denver on my way to Incheon, perhaps reading the book of Korean short stories I got a couple of days ago, sinking into my seat for the long haul.


    Last week I mailed a package to my son via the APO mail system. Military mail. I think I’m going to beat it there. I track it and it just left Chicago for the next USPS facility. Not sure when the military takes over. It has gifts and a guidebook for the subway plus Jon’s tax refund. No matter when it gets there, I didn’t have to carry these items. A good deal for $20.

    Marilyn Saltzman, an intrepid traveler, gave me some good tips. She recommended the Flight Review app which announces flight and gate changes often before the airlines do. Easy to use and free. Also, Jetzone, a homeopathic jet lag treatment that she said actually helps. Also, not for the Korea trip, but when I hit Heathrow in October on my way to Israel there’s a little used escalator to the train that bypasses the elevator crush when gates are announced there. Only 40 minutes before the flight!

    Yes that travel gene, an inheritance from both Mom and Dad. Mary and Mark have covered the planet. I’ve been here and there, as well. My primary reasons: seeing myself as other and learning new ways to solve common human life needs like what to eat, what to wear, how to communicate, how to build homes and businesses, how to get from one spot to another, how to embrace or reject human difference, how to treat strangers and guests, how to show reverence for the sacred.

    Saw an article yesterday that said Denver Airport is the third busiest in the world. People are missing planes because of long security lines. Made me glad I’m getting to the airport at 3 am for my 5 am flight. Yes, the first leg is domestic. I fly from here to Dallas, then get on another American Airlines flight that turns around and flies right back over Denver on the great circle route to Korea.


    Tonight is the showcase for the character study class. Moved up a week so I could participate since I’ll be in Korea next Saturday. I’ve gotten a lot out of this class. Learned a new skill: playwriting. Also how to express three different characters using voice and posture. Plus I seem to have done a good job of blending Chinese poetry and the Tarot archetype of the Hooded Man/the Hermit. Exciting. Will be videoed, I think.


  • The Ancientrails of Politics, Theater, and Health

    Lughnasa and the Korea Moon

    Thursday gratefuls: A week from today I’ll be in Osan. If all goes well. Ruth. Gabe. Acting. Tom. Diane. The Ancient Brothers on being 24. Asian Art. Shin Long-Lin. The tea ceremony. Ichi-go, ichi-e. Tsundoku. Forest bathing. In my back yard. The Asian pivot of my family. Magic the Gathering. Formula One. Baseball. Chinese bronzes. Ukiyo-e prints. The Kano period in Japanese screen painting. Song dynasty ceramics. Korean celadon. Song dynasty painting. Asia. So much history. So little known here.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Asia

    One brief shining: Put on a new ring this morning Gold with a setting of Emeralds Kate purchased in Cartagena because the jewelers had air conditioning; I had the Emeralds set in the ring when Kate had a breast cancer scare over 25 years ago, now it soothes me with her memory and as a talisman against cancer.


    Yesterday I loaded my pill containers with blood pressure meds, cholesterol meds, psych meds, but no cancer meds. Everybody I mention it to is happy for me. It felt liberating, for sure. Yet than niggling hangover. I’m not treating it now, as I have been for nine years. What will it do? Guess I got used to having a dike against it. Surgery. Radiation. Drugs. Trust your doctors, she said. And, zip up. Yes, dear.


    Tonight is dress rehearsal. My parchment copies of the Cold Mountain poems, done in calligraphy by Ann, get delivered today at 12:30. Perhaps a white banner with the Chinese ideograms for Han Shan. I’ll put on my linen pullover shirt, my linen medieval pants, and if it’s cool enough for the rehearsal, the hooded poncho. I have my water gourd, too. The sort used by Chinese recluses and martial artists to carry wine. It’s my visual signal that Herme and Han Shan may be the same person. I’m going to run through the whole thing again. I know it, but I fell out of character at a certain point Tuesday. Don’t want that to happen on Saturday night.

    Just realized I don’t feel the same sort of vulnerability with The Trail to Cold Mountain that I’ve felt with my novels. Odd since Joan’s in the class. A successful novelist. Tal helped me understand the collaborative nature of playwriting. Maybe that’s it. The first written work I’ve done that was collaborative. Maybe a clue there?


    Been feeling Kate this week. Her 79th birthday tomorrow. A full post for her then.


    How bout those Georgia indictments? No Federal pardons allowed and no pardons at all allowed until 5 years of a sentence has been served. Sounds fair to me. The Orange One is the most indicted Presidential candidate ever! What an honor.

    I hope for a few things for the next election. That the indictments convince independents to vote Democrat. That the abortion issue catalyzes women, including moderate Republican women to not only vote, but to get out the vote. That the fall off [to death] of four million older white males and the large number of newly voting aged Gen Z’ers give Democrats a boost.

    Also, I’ve been amazed at Biden’s successes with the Inflation Reduction Act, the bipartisan Infrastructure bill, the Covid Relief bill, and the CHIPS act (building semi-conductors at home). This is not to mention his deft handling of the war in the Ukraine, supporting that nation without getting us directly involved. Also not to mention (bar Hunter’s problems) the scandal free term. No dogwhistling. gaslighting, or outright incitement to riot. Which shouldn’t have to be noted as a success except over against 45’s awful, treasonous behavior.

    We have to sell Biden’s work.



  • A significant day

    Lughnasa and the Korea Moon

    Wednesday gratefuls: Shirley Waste. Off all cancer meds. Got rid of last medical bill I didn’t owe. Performed The Trail to Cold Mountain in class. To applause. 2 hour workout. Yesterday. A good day. Ticking off pre-trip have to’s. Vince coming today. Seeing Ruth at noon. Joan’s poncho with hood. Abby performing without the words. Chocolate chip cookies. The Church of Hera. That Squirrel at my window.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: The Trail to Cold Mountain

    One brief shining: A ritual of abandonment I take the compacted trash to the yellow trash bin and the recycling to the green bin throughout the week then on every other Wednesday the bins tilted and rolling like thunder across my asphalt driveway, I deposit them lids forward to Black Mountain Drive as other’s drive by on their way down the hill to jobs in Denver or Littleton or Lakewood.


    Some days. Have more in them than others. Tuesday was such a day for me. Wrote a post about conversion, ate some breakfast. While waiting for breakfast to settle before my work out, I called New West Physicians.  After a year of back and forth convinced them that no, I did not owe them $429 for that echocardiogram from April of 2021. Raised both arms after the call. Victory! Worked out. A good one. Took a long nap.


    Telehealth call with Kristie. Stop the Erleada and the Orgovyx right now. Today. Should start feeling better in a month. While in Korea. Could be off the meds for weeks, months, years. I choose years. But of course my cancer has all the agency in the matter. Still blood draws every 3 months. I imagine if the PSA continues undetectable for a certain length of time they might stretch that out a bit. If the PSA starts rising? A PET scan. Probably radiation again, though maybe new meds. Part of the plan is to live long enough for new and better treatments to be on the table. I’m ok with that plan. Now well into my ninth year with cancer. Still alive! Would not have been so in my instance as recently as 20 maybe even 10 years ago. Grateful.

    My oncologist, Dr. Eigner, is retiring. His wife died a while back and he wants something different. I get it. I’ll see him for a last visit when I get back from Israel. He wants that. And so do I. He’s guided both me and Kristie over the ups and downs since my diagnosis in May of 2015. That’s a long time. I’m grateful to both of them for the kind and compassionate care they’ve given me. Healers in truth.


    Over to the synagogue for the last class of the character study. Wore a short sleeve shirt and shorts. Beep! Wrong again. We performed outside at the synagogue’s amphitheater and after the sun went down it was chilly. Joan thank god had brought me a poncho with a hood for my costume. Wool. Saved me from shivering through The Trail to Cold Mountain.

    Three folks said, “Brilliant!” Not sure what that means though it’s positive. Felt good. Screwed up a bit. Will practice more, but I know it. Just jitters, I think.



  • Good Enough

    Lughnasa and the Herme Moon

    Wednesday gratefuls: The Trail to Cold Mountain. Joan. Rebecca. Deb. Abby. Tal. Acting. Being Jewish. Israel. Korea. Rabbi Jamie. Night drives up Brook Forest and Black Mountain Drive. Black Mountain. Shadow Mountain. Berrigan Mountain. Conifer Mountain. Aspen Perks. Friends there. Travis. Brought me coffee without asking. Grieving. A journey toward wholeness. The work of acting. Memorizing. Love. PSA and testosterone. Prostate cancer. Love.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Love

    One brief shining: Undetectable again my PSA and a T score lower than 10 which you would think would make me feel wonderful but no, it raises the reality now of the drug holiday when I go off Erleada and Orgovyx for as long as my cancer will allow it which feels like jumping out of a plane with no parachute relying on good luck or another sky diver to pluck me up before I crash into the earth.


    That probably overstates how I feel. But not by much. Since 2015 I’ve segued from one treatment protocol to another, always getting surgery, radiation, or androgen deprivation therapy. To go naked. To just let the cancer have a safe space with no barriers to its growth? Yikes! The theory is two fold. The first. The radiation and ADT (androgen deprivation therapy. keeping my psa and testosterone suppressed chemically.) may have done such a good job that my cancer [my cancer. huh. I guess it is just that.] will not wake up, at least not for a very long time. The second. The ADT drugs lose their efficacy after a while and have to be stopped before that point, usually two years after starting their use.

    I will still have blood draws every three months. Always waiting for the one where the PSA starts to rise indicating the cancer has begun to grow again. That is the most likely scenario. How long that takes is unknown and peculiar to the individual. There is a slight possibility that all these treatments have cured me. Unlikely, but possible. However, even with a long run of suppressed PSA tests I will never know for sure. That will only happen when or if I die of something else.

    This is that window of time every three months where my blood gets drawn, the test results come back, and I meet with Kristie, my oncology PA. At this point it doesn’t raise my anxiety level much, but it does raise my awareness level. Oh. Yeah. Cancer! No escaping that. Literally. No escaping it at this point. Big fun.


    The good news is that I keep living instead of waiting to die. Writing The Trail to Cold Mountain. Learning to act. Putting on a showcase. Converting to Judaism. Taking care of the house. Eating out with friends. Talking to friends and family over Zoom. Living in the Mountains. Seeing sacred moments like the Rainy Night Watcher. Dreaming. Dog sitting. Traveling.

    In that sense, that most important sense, my cancer treatment has been wildly successful. With only occasional periods of awful fatigue and hot flashes, side effects, I’ve been strong enough to care for Kate through her long illness, continue working out, engaging life, not sitting in death’s waiting room. Good enough for me.

  • Fusion energy

    Lughnasa and the Herme Moon

    Tuesday gratefuls: A great workout yesterday. Murdoch, the hooman. 15 days till Korea. Whoa. 11 days till the showcase. Whoa! Memorizing. Acting. Writing. My new idea for a novel. Desiderata day. Great Sol, our energy, our life. The Wild Neighbors. Han Shan. Chinese poetry. Chan Buddhism. Asian history. K-dramas. Korean literature. China. Romance of the Three Kingdoms. Monkey’s Journey to the West. The Dream of the Red Chamber. Outlaws of the Marsh.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Asia

    One brief shining: Murdoch sat hind legs crouched, front legs straight on the leather bench next to my son, gazing across the table at another man in a blue US Airforce t-shirt as if ready to join the conversation and I got three pictures in quick succession from Seoah across the 9,000 miles that separate us something families do.


    Closing in on being off book for The Trail to Cold Mountain. Maybe today, certainly this week. Good thing since the showcase is a week from Saturday. Remembered I have logs in the back already cut. Will try to lift one this evening. Still no cloak or boots. I’ve gone from being frustrated and tired of the whole thing back to energized.

    When I work on things like this, I have them in my head as a priority task. All the time. You know, that nagging thing you need to finish. But can’t quite seem to get to. At least not enough to close it out. At some point with each of my novels I’ve reached that point. The energy drains out of them. The story is stale. It’ll never be any good. I want to chuck it, start over, or start something new.

    Got there with the Trail to Cold Mountain last week. I had to perform last during the class. It was well past 8 and I was tired, my body beginning to wind down for sleep. I gave an unspirited, clunky version of my piece. Fell right into the writer/actor abyss. Why have I bothered with this? I’ll never act anyway. Maybe I’ll say I can’t make the showcase. Won’t matter. I’ve done what I wanted.

    Except. I didn’t. I kept memorizing even though it felt like a waste. Then, a breakthrough. As I got close to having it all down, my excitement about Han Shan and even the work I’d written returned. I can do this. I’ll introduce Chinese Rivers and Mountains poetry to a new audience, blending my words and his. Donning the costume, using the gourd water bottle and the logs, the parchment paper filled with Cold Mountain’s poetry. Herme will have his night to shine.

    And, it just occurred to me, that threshold will be crossed. In the months after Kate died I felt and lived like a hermit with benefits. Friends, that is. The notion of the Hooded Man from the Tarot Deck, so strong an archetype for me. I had him created in neon. Herme.

    Now I’m bringing that archetype to life, blending it with the Asian pivot my whole family, save for me, has made. A fusion of life with family Mary, Mark, Seoah, my son, Murdoch, the Jangs, life with friends Tal, Alan, Joan, Deb, Rebecca, and life with CBE-classes held there, performance at the synagogue’s amphitheater, Tal my teacher, the Rabbi’s son.

    To be clear. This does not constitute all I wanted to do with the threshold ceremony. I still want to do the mezuzah hanging ritual and a celebration of male aging. Pushing it off to next year, maybe my birthday. 77.

  • A Mushroom Cloud of lies and conspiracy theories

    Lughnasa and the Herme Moon

    Sunday gratefuls: Memorizing The Trail to Cold Mountain. Seoah, my son, Murdoch. Korea. Brother Mark. Sister Mary. Gabe and Ruth. Kate, always Kate. Jon, a memory. A Foggy morning. 48 degrees. Magic the Gathering. Korean competition. Sky Castle. K-dramas. Writing. A new novel idea. Getting ready for the long journeys. Israel trip meeting today. Packing gifts for Korea.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Fog

    One brief shining: Fingers curve over the keyboard as I learned in high school typing almost 60 years ago a manual skill one of the few I learned well, how to fell a tree, limb it, and buck it another, suppose you have to add driving, and there you have it.


    I’m close on memorizing The Trail to Cold Mountain. A couple of more hours today and I’ll be even closer. On the 19th I’ll have all the poems as a prop, but not what I’ve written. My costume still lacks a cloak and hood, boots. Gotta get on those this week. Satisfying.


    Toobin’s book, Homegrown, details the lives of several feckless men and women folks whose lives never managed to crystallize. Failed marriages, bouts of unemployment dotted with rants, seeking a culprit and finding one in the Federal government.

    McVeigh spent much of his adult life going from one gun show to another, often driving thousands of miles in a week. Toobin illustrates how gun shows are a carrier of the far right pathogen. At the larger ones there were sessions on the Constitution, what really happened at Waco and Ruby Ridge, how to become a sovereign citizen, survivalist skills. Then there is the gunshow loophole which allows individuals to sell guns and ammunition with no checks of any kind. This still exists.

    While on the road McVeigh listened to Rush Limbaugh, often for hours at a time. At night he had a shortwave radio and listened to a similar podcast from Arizona. His friend Timothy Nichols added the plight of farmers in the 1980’s to Tim’s thinking. Nichols hated banks, floated around the Michigan militia movement. With his lone wolf, road warrior lifestyle McVeigh rarely came out from under the mushroom cloud of conspiracy theories, second amendment fanatics, and gun show radicals.

    Toobin shows, in a neat twist, how the early response to the Murrah Building bombing focused on Muslims, on foreigners who wanted to do harm to the Great Satan. But no. Instead this bomb made of fertilizer and racing fuel in 55 gallon drums all packed tight in a rental truck came from the same source as those who blamed the attack on outsiders.

    As my brother said in an e-mail, reconciling the Trumpists with the rest of our nation will be difficult. Make no mistake. Trump is only a highly visible manifestation of the same mushroom cloud of lies and hate that engulfed Timothy McVeigh over thirty years ago. And the bomb that made that cloud became real in a fantasy world already well inhabited by the heirs of the Ku Klux Klan, the John Birch Society, and the NRA.


  • Unforgivable

    Lughnasa and the Herme Moon

    Wednesday gratefuls: Acting class. Abby. Joan. Rebecca. Tal. Deb. Voices. Haunting voices. Dreams. Hail. Rain. Thunder. Lightning. Acting. The Trail to Cold Mountain. Almost finished as a script. Cool mornings. Good sleeping. A drive back in a Rain soaked Night. Again.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Feelings

    One brief shining: Last night a cool breeze came off Berrigan Mountain making the synagogue’s social hall comfortable while I shuffled my pages of The Trail to Cold Mountain and raised the music stand a bit.


    Most scripts are collaborative, Tal said. The playwright gives them to a director and a group of actors. Everybody has their say. I like that. I enjoyed writing this script. It felt natural to me. Might try a different idea. As well as a new novel.

    I know there is a certain amount of avoidance involved in starting a new novel while I have others at important stages of revision or with a few thousand words left to complete a first draft. Well, maybe more than a certain amount.

    However, it’s the act of writing (like I’m doing right now) that excites me, turns me on, and the rush of a new idea, or a new form? Wow. And since, for some reason, I don’t care about readers, or at least not enough to become skilled at marketing my work, why not go with the journey?


    Going to see Oppenheimer in about 45 minutes with Gabe. I found my copy of Oppenheimer: American Prometheus yesterday and brought it downstairs. I want to read it. Probably later in the fall. This is the book underlying the movie.

    Can you imagine having Nagasaki and Hiroshima on your heart? I can’t.

    Been reading in the Korean histories about the nuclear frisson there. How South Korea wanted the bomb but the U.S. walked them back from it. And, how an unfortunate series of preventable events led North Korea to pursue it. The whole rogue state thing was unnecessary. Could have been different.


    The big one has landed. Trump’s indictment in January 6th. Here’s a line from a fascinating Atlantic piece about it: “Enough of all this; we can love our friends and our family and our neighbors without accepting their terms of debate. To support Trump is to support sedition and violence, and we must be willing to speak this truth not only to power but to our fellow citizens.”  This is it.

    All else pales before a President who commits high crimes and misdemeanors. I agree. The rest is awful and unforgivable. Classified documents. Financial and sexual abuse of one sort and another. Yes, a despicable person. Sure. But for a President to act against the nation which elected him? A firing offense. Of course. But also a disqualifying one for future office.

    Of course. Innocent until proven guilty. Yet. We all know. Even, perhaps especially his followers and sycophants know. This man wanted to upend the peaceful transfer of power after a national election. That’s as far away from ok as a defrocked pedophilic priest saying the mass.

  • Chesed and The Emotive Presidency

    Lughnasa and the Herme Full Moon

    Tuesday gratefuls: Gabe coming up today. We’ll see Oppenheimer together tomorrow. (He said he was going to wear a suit.) Prolia. Bone density. Resistance work. 2 hour workout yesterday. Ann. Her good work on The Trail to Cold Mountain. Zoom. Skype. Pixels. Computer GPUs. CPUs. Screens. Keyboards. ChabotGPT4. AI. Skynet. The Internet. Laptop. Desktop. Tablet. Smartphones. Our world of small miracles. The James Webb. Starlink. The Book. The Chair. Vision.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: The Internet

    One brief shining: “Charlie,” the woman in the blue coat called through a cracked door so I got up and went to her; she had her left leg wrapped in blue with an orthopedic black boot up to the calf  and resting on one of those little scooters you see every once in a while now; her name was Carol it said on her blue coat, “Sit here,” I did and she placed a small tray with a syringe near me, had me turn to face the wall since the Prolia shot goes in the back of the arm, she stuck me, I said thank you, and left.


    I mention Carol because her demeanor was so calming and warm. An instant connection. This woman cares. I could feel it. Kindness came off her in waves. Due to my delicate condition I see lots of medical professionals over the weeks and months. Few of them are robotic or uncaring, but many, most of them are hurried. And I know why. The era of corporate medicine times “patient encounters” and the ability to upcode. A patient’s feelings or the end result of a visit are not part of the metrics. In spite of those cute little surveys sent out after each encounter. Be ye not fooled. They are not striving to improve their service though they may be trying to improve how you evaluated your visit. Not. The. Same. Thing.


    Fell back asleep this morning. Happens some times. Up at 8:30! Oh, my. I chuckled at myself. Today is Trail to Cold Mountain day. Editing the script, refreshing memory, going one page deeper into memorization. Acting class tonight.

    Gabe’s visit will include Oppenheimer tomorrow. Looking forward to having him here. I need to see these kids more often. Not sure how to do that. Their lives are busy now and I can no longer hop in the car to go see them without losing a day after to recovery from the drive. A conundrum.


    Let the silly season be seen as well underway. A NYT article reports Trump and Biden tied in a hypothetical rematch. Not sure I can stomach much more of this. Already. And we’re a year plus away from the voting. How he wrote wonderingly can this be? A man with indictments already in two investigations and other indictments likely in two others against a man whose performance in office has not been flashy, but has been much, much better than I anticipated. And in the midst of genuine crisis after crisis. Covid. The Ukraine. Inflation. The economy post Covid. We are well and truly divided.

    Read this George Will column for a cogent explanation as to why this upcoming election may be so painful. Here’s a quote from it: “In a National Affairs essay with that title [The Emotive Presidency], Mikael Good, a Georgetown University political theory student, and Philip Wallach, a senior fellow at the American Enterprise Institute, argue that “Trump’s masterstroke” was to realize that, for his core supporters, his governing is of secondary importance.”