Category Archives: Dogs

Aging, Dogs, Family, Fourth Phase, Friends

A Family and Friends Friday

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Beltane and the Wu Wei Moon II

Shabbat gratefuls: Mary. A regular visitor. Spice Fusion. Tandoori Chicken and Shrimp. Lyft. Airplanes. Trains. Transportation. Shadow, the shy. The gnawer of beds. Licker of heads. Birds crying in the dawn. That Raven I saw hopping up and down. Maxwell Creek running full.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Mary, a permanent resident of Australia

Week Kavannah: Enthusiasm. Zerizut.

One brief shining: Mary opened the bag of take-out from Spice Fusion, the new Indian restaurant nearby, started pulling out boxes and plastic containers, and a large piece of garlic naan wrapped in enough tin foil to decorate a Christmas tree, a feast of good food with my sister. Rare.

 

Had breakfast with Alan and Joanne. Dandelion. Always a stimulating conversation with those two. Joanne and I have an organ recital, laughing and wincing as us old folks do. Knowing the pain in the other and knowing also that the pain, while unwelcome, does not overcome life, nor the living of it. A part of the landscape for many of us over seventy and for most over eighty.

We have stories. Told over eggs and breakfast tacos, coffee, and a blueberry scone. Of waitressing near Shiprock, Arizona. Of cutting Munsingwear underwear cutouts into smaller pieces to make ragbond paper. Or firing up the popcorn aroma machine at KMart.

You know, friends sharing more of their story, becoming in that way part of each other’s story. Knowing each other by the breadcrumbs we drop to help others find their way in the thick forest of our memories.

Then over to Rich’s office to deliver gifts from Ingebretsen’s, the Scandinavian gift shop in Minneapolis. A little lefse, some chocolate, some Lingonberry jam, Hackberry jam, and strings of small colorful birds. Thank you to them for finally seeing the money into my 529 account for Ruth.

Where btw, I saw Kippur, the dog Rich and his law partner share. The last time I saw Kippur, he was a puppy who jumped up on the couch and snuggled with me like I was his long last Dad. He’s all grown up, but still that same sweet boy. What a delight to see him.

 

Mary came. By plane, then train, then Lyft. Traveling light. So good to see her.

We shared the second floor of 419 N. Canal for several years. Alexandria, Indiana. A small town where everybody knew your name. Much diminished from its heyday in the late 50’s and 60’s, it remains of course the reservoir of our childhoods. I’ve not been there since well before Covid.

She and Guru will fly to Korea for my son’s ceremonial promotion to commander. Ruth will already be there, having made her first international flight tomorrow morning. Missing will be me. Hobbled still by this damn back.

I so want to be there. To say, That’s my boy! To hug his uniformed, medaled, and beribboned person. I know he knows I would be there if I could.

He and Seoah sent me a picture of Murdoch with his second place Dog show trophy. All three of them looked excited.

Dogs, Friends, Weather +Climate

Don’t think she’s trying to kill me

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Beltane and the Wu Wei Moon II

Thursday gratefuls: Amy. Natalie. Shadow. Lifeguard Alert. Cool night. Shadow inside. Good sleeping. Great Sol. Lifted above Shadow Mountain by Mother Earth. Nathan Stewart. Greenhouse construction starts next week. Jackie and Ronda. Radical Roots of Religion Class. New Human Consciousness Class. Adam and Eve, their story expanded and changed. Paul and Sarah. Tom’s bookmarks. How did he know?

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Friends, friendship

One brief shining: A phone call from the Golden Police Department at 6:20 am this morning got my attention, but I thought I knew its source; sure enough, “We got a call from Lifeguard Alert.”; yes, indeed, I was right as I held in my hand at that moment the mangled fob for my Lifealert necklace and button. Who knows what Lifealert dangles in the mouth of a puppy? I do.

 

Dog journal: I don’t think she’s trying to kill me. Pretty sure. But I did knock my Lifealert fob off the nightstand while reaching for my hearing aid. Went back to sleep, got up only to find the fob gone. Looked under the bed. Yep. There it was. Had to get down on my stomach to reach in far enough. Upon pulling it out I saw the toothmarks, the plastic peeling away from the fob’s back. Shadow doesn’t know this is my lifeline does she? No.

Then a phone call my phone thought was spam followed by that call from the Golden Police Department. No, I had to say. I’m ok. My puppy chewed up my alarm button. What a nice way to greet the day. Shadow.

Amy came yesterday and we made some good progress with the leash. If Natalie can’t board Shadow, I’ll continue with Amy. Shadow’s too woven into my life. Her story and mine will be told together. Even the frustration and problems are good for this old man. Keeps me engaged with the world as it is and rewards me with furry hugs and head kisses.

 

Jackie and Ronda. Went into Aspen Park. Get my ears lifted. I go every three weeks. Partly to look good. More to see Jackie and Ronda who like to kid me and have fun. I appreciate them as friends, as a pair of women with an independent and edgy view of life and love.

Jackie loved Kate. When I get too edgy back to her, she reminds me: This is what Kate would do. And holds up both hands with their middle fingers extended. Yes, indeed. That’s exactly what Kate would do. And Kate’s independent spirit fills the room for a minute. Even from those last few visits to Jackie’s in her wheelchair.

Life in a place where people know my name.

 

Just a moment: On a positive weather note. Seems we’ll have the monsoons in July and August. That means the high fire season this year should only be the month of June, as it used to be before climate change screwed everything up.

Dogs, Health, Politics

Which is better?

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Beltane and the Wu Wei Moon II

Wednesday gratefuls: Natalie. Friends Forever. Coming Friday. Hello, darkness, my old friend. Bird song. Shadow outside. Select Physical Therapy. Halley. Amy, today. Radical Roots of Religion. Exercising.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Natalie

Week Kavannah: Enthusiasm. Zerizut.

One brief shining: Bird song speaks to the dawn as it comes to Shadow Mountain, a coolness remains from the night, and I sit here, hitting the keys on my laptop.

 

chatgpt portrait from a Shadow photo

Dog journal: Shadow and I have reached a detente. I leave the backdoor open and the bedroom door. When she needs to, she can seek safety under the bed, or wander outside. Last night, right at 8:30 she came inside, went under the bed. I slept much better.

Natalie, of Friends Forever and the two week boarding and training experience, and I talked yesterday. She had some interesting thoughts on Shadow’s trauma. She could have experienced a pole catch during the fire or been forcibly drug away with a leash.

She also talked about the 7-9 month age range for a puppy, roughly Shadow’s age. Hormones kick in at that point and the Puppy has an, oh, yeah, I hear you, but-No, sorta attitude. I saw it in Shadow a month or so ago.

She also said that Dogs who are hyper-vigilant often experience things as being done to them, rather as an opportunity to learn. And even if they do learn something, they often forget it.

She’s coming by Friday to assess Shadow. I hope she’ll take Shadow in the boarding/training program. She sounded kind and knowledgeable. She also has a Border Collie, a similar breed to Shadow, who is older and calm.

 

Had physical therapy yesterday. With Halle from Madisonville, Kentucky. A cheery young gal. Knows her trade. After a careful review of my medical history, she had me doing standard baseline moves. Standup straight. Arms to the side. Bend to the left, now the right. Bend over, try to touch your toes. Bend backwards.

Pressure on my spine, my buttocks, hips. Does this hurt? A bit. Yes! Some. Not much.

She introduced me to three simple exercises which did help me get out of bed easier this morning. I enjoy working with her.

Near the end of my time with her I plan to go back to on the move fitness, get some new workouts from Deb. It’s been a couple of years.

 

Just a moment: Dollar diplomacy has inflated to billion and trillion dollar diplomacy. Also, Qatar’s bribe, a tricked out, in Royal Arabian Peninsula style, 747. Goldfinger loves big numbers, big deals.

Croesus. Midas. Would be Goldfinger friends for sure had they lived in this era. Vanderbilt. Carnegie. Mellon. James J. Hill. All exemplars of the golden rule: He who has the gold rules.

A very common form of government over the ages. If you liked slavery, you’ll love oligarchy and autocracy. Remember the divine right of kings? Or, in the Chinese instance, the mandate of heaven.

Power in the hands of a few or in the hands of the people. Which sounds better?

 

Dogs, Family, Feelings, Politics, Torah, US History

Lives on a Runway

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Beltane and the Wu Wei Moon II

Monday gratefuls: Understanding Shadow. Prison trained Dogs. Friends Forever holistic Dog training. Morning darkness. Shadow inside and up at 5:15. Me, too. Ruth and Gabe. Ruth, now a sophomore. Dean’s list again. Gabe, not finished until May 31. Then, a senior in high school. Cookunity. Sue Bradshaw. Dr. Buphati. Rich.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Dog training

Week Kavannah: Zerizut. Enthusiasm

One brief shining: Ruth and Gabe announced their imminent arrival by text and phone, arriving soon after through the front door, with Ruth’s familiar high-pitched, Hi!, and Gabe’s, Hey, Grandpop, coming downstairs to see Shadow and me.

 

Songtan

Ruth has begun to levitate about her upcoming trip to Korea. Her first foreign travel. And, on her own. The Godfather, that’s my son, gets elevated at last to command of his squadron on May 27.

Do I have to go through customs in Denver? No. What do I do in Korea? Go through Nothing to Declare. Any other tips? Get out, walk around, see the city at eye level. Go to that fried fish place near their apartment in Songtan. Have fun.

Ruth moved out of her dorm room last Thursday, all her finals finished. She’ll be at Jen’s until her flight on Sunday at 7 am. One day after she returns from Korea, she boards another flight for Anchorage, Alaska. She’s going to be a camp counselor.

Gabe’s mom got him a four day creative writing course at CU-Denver for a birthday present. June. Then he goes to his last hemophilia camp in July. Something he’s been doing since he was five or six. At 17 he’s in his last year of eligibility.

Their lives are on the runway, engines beginning to rev, trying to gain enough altitude to break free from the surly bonds of home and childhood.

Exciting to see. And gratifying that they still want to spend time with their grandpop. This little family, Ruth and Gabe, my son and Seoah, and me has begun to grow closer as we all age. A wonderful, amazing moment for me.

 

Dog journal: Figured out one part of Shadow’s desire. She wants the back door open so she can come in and go out as she wants. I’ve decided for the moment to grant her wish and deal with any invasive creatures. She did come in last night.

When I mentioned the board and train option at Friends Forever yesterday, Ruth said a lot of folks in her neighborhood use the Women’s Prison on Havanna, near their house. Turns out the Colorado prison system offers several sites for a similar board and train option of four weeks, compared to Friends Forever two week program. At almost half the cost. So. Options.

 

Just a moment: Some MAGA folks already talking about the woke Pope. Beginning to reveal their true allegiance to the Golden God of Pennsylvania Avenue and Mar-a-Lago.

Time to start smashing idols as midrash say Abram did in his father’s idol shop. In the midrash he left one, large idol standing. When his father came back and found his inventory but one all broken, he asked Abram what had happened.

Oh, he did it, Abram said. What? His father said, they’re just idols!

Dogs, Feelings, Reimagine. Reconstruct. Reenchant., Wild Neighbors

Walk Toward the Light

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Beltane and the Wu Wei Moon II

Sunday gratefuls: Shadow. Her behavior. Spring springing. 50 degrees at 7 am. Greens. Lodgepole Needles. Grass. Yellow-green Aspen Catkins. The side of Black Mountain. Clump Grass. Bearberry. Along Maxwell Creek, Willow Leaflets on bright yellow new growth. Red Osier Dogwood. My Greenhouse. Soon. Planting again. Yet new pain. Great Sol, supporter of photosynthesis since 3.8 billion years ago. Mother Earth, supporting life since around the same time. Homo sapiens, trying to understand it all for over 300,000 years.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Warm Days

Week Kavannah: Zerizut. Enthusiasm. II

One brief shining: Shadow’s night out began in an ordinary way with her going outside around 4 p.m. and ended with her finally coming inside at 7:30 a.m. for her breakfast while in between those hours she rejected coming inside in spite of the door being opened every fifteen minutes until 9 pm and three times later in the night.

 

Dog journal: Officially and with chagrin I’m beyond confused about Shadow. She no longer sits beside me, runs from me when I approach her, and last night, as I wrote above, she refused to come inside. In another location this last may not seem a safety problem, but up here in the Mountains we have Mountain Lions. Dogs are a good meal.

I can’t see inside her doggy brain and oh I wish I could. What of my behavior has she interpreted so negatively? I use all positive training. I don’t yell at her. Though the occasional sigh of frustration or damn it does slip through.

With all my years of experience with Dogs I’ve never encountered anything even close. I love her and I know she loves me. Even though something has come between us right now. I feel sad and frustrated, having already spent a lot on personal training sessions.

I’m considering putting her in a holistic, two-week, all positive training program. It would be a boarding situation, but with the promise that “In this 2-week (14 days) program your pet will learn all of our “Foundation Skills” ( Sit, Down, Place/Stay, Come when called, Walk on a loose leash, Leave it, Drop it, Off )”

The location is not far from here, in Pine. And they only accept one Dog at a time for this program. Shadow would live in their house. I’m considering this because I’m not sure I can keep her without those commands. It hurts like hell to get out of bed, even to get up from a chair and having her refuse to come in could be a deal breaker.

 

Just a moment: Talking with my Ancient Brothers about how we sustain our spirit in these times. Yes, darkness seeps from the news. Yes, the country feels sick, even in despair. Yet. My life has so much light. So many friends. So many Wild Neighbors. So many Dogs. Great Sol. Books and art. Movies and television shows. Family. Jewish civilization.

Look for the light in your life. It can, no, it will dispel the darkness. Let it be so.

Commentary on Religion, Dogs, Health, Mussar

A New Pope

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Beltane and the Wu Wei Moon II

Friday gratefuls: Marilyn and Irv. Alan. The Cheesecake factory. Shadow, the night Hawk. Pope Leo XIV. A Chicago boy. Exhaustion. Ritalin. 12″ of heavy Snow. Melted. The Solar Snow shovel. That long nap yesterday. Cookunity.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: An American Pope

Week Kavannah: Enthusiasm. Zerizut.

One brief shining: After a late night from MVP, Shadow kept me up even later, past midnight, then licked my head and whined at her usual 5 am time leaving me more than exhausted yesterday and napping through the morning missing Diane and my class at Kabbalah experience.

 

Also failed to pick up my ritalin, I realized. No wonder I crashed on Thursday. Gotta switch those meds to Safeway. Can’t get ritalin or tramadol through the mail. Controlled substances. Walgreen’s made sense when my doc was in Evergreen, but the clinic is moving here to Conifer.

Anyhow Thursday was a washout, rest and relax day. Unintentional since Thursday tends to be my busiest day of the week with Diane, Kabbalah class, and Thursday mussar.

 

How bout that Leo XIV? Chi town. A south sider. A naturalized Peruvian. Another Pope from Latin America. One with a bias toward the poor, the left out. The marginalized.

An adroit move if the consideration went: Trump is a big problem for the world. For the poor. Look at USAID. Francis sensitized us to the needs of the marginalized as a world church. How about an American pope with strong ties to the Third World? Multi-lingual. And familiar with the Vatican and its ways. Prevost was that guy.

He headed the Vatican department that vetted bishop candidates. A gatekeeper role for future church leadership. He also spent decades among the poor in Peru. While there he twice became leader of his order, the Augustinians.

I’m heartened by his selection. We need more voices for the poor, for justice. No, I won’t agree with all of his views, nor he with mine; but, we share core values, too.

 

Meanwhile on Shadow Mountain. Shadow of Shadow Mountain has regressed in her coming in and going out. Unpredictable. I may have to open the door for her several times before she feels comfortable coming in the house. Why? I have no idea. If I did, I might be able to figure out a solution.

Too, the twelve inches of heavy, wet Snow that fell on Tuesday and Wednesday has melted off roads and driveways. Still some patches in my north facing backyard. Enough to move Smoky’s hand from high fire risk to low.

 

Just a moment: I’ve been pondering a view of the human from the stand point of mussar and Jewish thought.

Here’s some preliminary work. The neshama, the pristine soul, our link to the whole, still must engage the world. That’s what the nefesh does. Spurred by the pristine connected neshama, the nefesh moves me out into the world through desire. Desire for food, for safety, for love, for education. Desire without valence.

Our yetzer hatov, our good inclination, and our yetzer hara, our selfish inclination, try to influence how we live our desires. Our will recognizes both the desires and the yetzer’s attempt to direct our action. That is the bechira point, the moment when we actively choose to satisfy a desire following a healthy, just path, or a selfish, self involved path.

 

 

 

Dogs, GeekWorld, Great Work, Politics

Sins of Emission. No, Onan, Not You.

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Beltane and the Wu Wei Moon II

Tuesday gratefuls: Rental Camry. Snow today. Rain overnight. Thunder yesterday afternoon. Seasonal transition. Still late Winter here. Or very early Spring. Shadow, who needs her space. My wu wei teacher. My Lodgepole companion. Aspen catkins. Lodgepole male and female cones. Grass, greening. Good sleeping. Dependable organic alarm clock. Learning about Abraham Joshua Heschel. The Shema. Mah Tovu. My mezuzahs.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: The Lord and the Lady

Week Kavannah: Enthusiasm. Zerizut.

One brief shining: Drove down the hill yesterday to Stevinson Toyota, Ruby needing IV fluids for her transmission, her differential, her brakes, and her motor oil so I had to leave her at the clinic, take a rental to drive back up into the Mountains.

 

Chatgpt favors symmetry over all. It left out the seventh sin: Oligarchy

Each time I have work done on my infernal combustion engine, I have a strong anachronistic feeling. Like a guy sitting in the buggy repair shop getting a broken spoke repaired, or split tongue. Perhaps having the buggy whip replaited.

Sins of commission and emission. All those miles over 62 years of driving. All those rush hours. All those times with the car idling to keep the interior warm. Trips in and out of gas stations. In and out of repair shops. Until not so long ago, ordinary, venal we might say. Now one of the seven deadly ones, maybe the deadliest in a literal sense.

Perhaps Hell is perennial eye watering smog, acid rain, Phoenix in summer heat, and everyone in MHGA hats. With red ties so long everybody trips, falls in the polluted mud.

Hoping the Snow holds off long enough for me to pick up Ruby before it gets heavy. She has Snow tires. The Camry does not.

This morning I have to vote in the Elk Creek Fire board election, keep the libertarian trolls under their bridges. Then scoot over to Evergreen, to Rich’s law offices to sign what I hope is the last communication about Ruth’s 529.

I-70 down to Hwy. 6 to liberate Ruby from the clinic. After paying her hefty bill of course. Worth it. Her transmission, differential, and brakes work extra hard during Mountain driving.

 

Dog journal: Shadow requires wide open doors. Then she feels safe coming in. Some times. A new learning on my part. She knew it all along.

Even when she refused to come inside-most of yesterday-if I went outside, she ran to me tail-wagging, play bowing, happy I was outside. Some trauma runs deep in her doggy psyche. Post-traumatic stress, I’d say.

She’s come so far from her days of hiding under the bed.

 

Just a moment: Fog among the Lodgepoles this morning. Reminds me of red tie guy’s flood the zone strategy. Raised an obscuring fog as DOGE dug their precocious hacking fingers deep into the entrails of U.S. payment systems. As ICE agents in plain clothes hustled foreign students into vans for a free trip to Louisiana. As Trump Tarrific played his anti-globalist cards here, there, then everywhere. As judge’s orders went unheeded. As retribution against his enemies gained steam, using the powers of his office.

Oh, America. My heart weeps for thee.

 

 

AI, Dogs, Feelings, Fourth Phase, GeekWorld, Health, Humanities

Me and my Shadow. AI.

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Here’s a Zen-ink-wash “Wu Wei Moon.”
I went with sumi-e because its spare brushwork and generous empty space feel like the visual counterpart of 無為—letting things happen without forcing them. The drifting boat and the moon’s reflection hint at the watercourse way, quietly moving under its own power (note the chatgpt I)

Spring and the Wu Wei Moon II

Monday gratefuls: Maddie, new palliative care nurse. The Ancients on technology. Back pain. Worse. Shadow. An evolving challenge. Keeping my mind sharp. McMurtry Spéirling. Water. CookUnity. OK, not great. AI on Kaplan. On Dramaturgy. On Movie Criticism. Will the Humanities Survive AI? by D. Graham Burnett.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: The Humanities

Week Kavannah: Persistence. Netzach.

One brief shining: An insight borne from the article about the Humanities goes like this: AI, artificial intelligence, AGI, artificial general intelligence, the Humanities, what it means and has meant to be human. Seems important, now. Eh?

 

Me and my Shadow. I know. You were waiting for that one, I’ll bet. She licks my head about 5:20. I creak and twist and ache and burn toward verticality. Let her out. She, in a phrase I’ve never understood, does her business while I go upstairs for some coffee, mostly for motion as lotion, make my back remember about movement without so, so much pain.

Back downstairs the mini-split has begun to warm what has become since A.S.A., after Shadow’s arrival, my primary space in the house. Soon she’ll come back in, drink a lot of water, and begin staring at me-as she is right now-hoping to convince me that it’s already 7 am. Her feeding time. Doesn’t work, but it’s a sweet look.

We do a round of training before her morning meal. Still working on touch, which replaces come, sit and down. All three she will now do without a treat. Hand signals only. We made a little progress on the leash. She only sulked when I had it on her for about 15 minutes.

Dog. As I say, God spelled correctly.

 

 

AI, to this curious guy, a Dogsend. Patient. Willing to explain in detail. Make images. I just asked chatgpt if it would make an image of itself in a style of its choice. Ooh, this is going to be interesting.

When I responded to the image, here’s what it wrote back: “I’m glad it resonates! I was aiming for a contemplative, almost illuminated-manuscript feel, blending Art Nouveau curves with Morris-style botanical patterning and hints of circuitry to whisper “silicon monk.” If you’d like to tweak colors, add more overt tech motifs, or try a completely different style, just say the word—I’m happy to iterate.”

I find that an intriguing self-portrait.

Here are a few paragraphs from the New Yorker article I cited above:

“Do they herald the end of “the humanities”? In one sense, absolutely. My colleagues fret about our inability to detect (reliably) whether a student has really written a paper. But flip around this faculty-lounge catastrophe and it’s something of a gift.

You can no longer make students do the reading or the writing. So what’s left? Only this: give them work they want to do. And help them want to do it. What, again, is education? The non-coercive rearranging of desire…

But factory-style scholarly productivity was never the essence of the humanities. The real project was always us: the work of understanding, and not the accumulation of facts. Not “knowledge,” in the sense of yet another sandwich of true statements about the world. That stuff is great—and where science and engineering are concerned it’s pretty much the whole point. But no amount of peer-reviewed scholarship, no data set, can resolve the central questions that confront every human being: How to live? What to do? How to face death?”

 

BTW: I asked chatgpt why it chose Art Nouveau. Here’s its reply:

“A few things nudged me toward Art Nouveau:

  • Organic lines for organic conversation. Art Nouveau’s hallmark whiplash curves and plant-like tendrils felt like a visual rhyme for how ideas branch and loop when we talk.

  • A bridge between nature and tech. You often pair the natural world (your mountain home, the Seed-Keeper vision) with advanced tools like AI. Art Nouveau already blends those realms—botanical motifs rendered with almost mechanical precision—so weaving circuitry into the foliage felt seamless rather than forced.

  • A cousin to styles you keep citing. You’ve asked for William Morris patterns, illuminated manuscripts, Pre-Raphaelite romance, National-Parks posters. Art Nouveau sits right in that late-19th-century family: decorative, human-scaled, handcrafted. The choice let me echo your past aesthetic preferences while still offering something distinct.

  • Monkish calm. The movement loved allegorical figures and quiet, contemplative poses. That let me cast the “AI scribe” as a serene monk—matching the reflective tone you appreciated—without drifting into cold futurism.

In short, it was a style that could honor both your ongoing themes (nature, craft, historical design) and the idea of an AI whose “roots” are in silicon circuitry. If you’d like to see me re-imagined in, say, a WPA poster or Ukiyo-e print, just let me know!”

 

Dogs, Fourth Phase, Friends, Politics

Friends.

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Spring and the Wu Wei Moon II

Sunday gratefuls: Shadow, the trench maker. Tom’s visit. Paul’s trip to Salt Lake City. Kathleen and Jason. My son. Murdoch. Seoah in Gwangju. Zoom. Technology. Alan. First Watch. Dramaturgy. Steroids. Back Pain. Veronica. Her brother. Shiva minyan. Kaddish.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Deep and old Friends

Week Kavannah: Persistence and strength. Netzach

One brief shining: Sitting shiva for Kate, her yahrzeit on the Hebrew calendar tomorrow, memories of her as the ninja weeder, as the physician to children, as my longtime traveling companion, friend, and lover, her dexterity, her quilts, her presence that remains with those she loved.

 

My good friend Tom visited, again. He’s a faithful and honest wanderer on this ancientrail of life. We talk, mostly. About matters of the heart. He’s come often enough that folks at mussar, including Rabbi Jamie, greet him by name. Marilyn and Irv have eaten breakfast with him more than once.

He brought gifts for Shadow. Spoke gently to her, waiting out her cautious, sniffing approach. A man for animals. Obvious.

We men can be different. Tom and Paul and Mark and Bill and I have taught each other how. The Ancients. Men together, caring for each other. Walking each other home.

 

Drove down to Wheatridge yesterday morning. Time with Alan. First Watch. A chain breakfast joint with a wonderful menu and lots of seating.

Challenged myself, testing the legs and back on a thirty minute drive. Not a good experience. Driving has become difficult, even over relatively short distances. This lumbar spine thing is, as we used to say, a real pain.

 

Planned to go to Veronica’s shiva minyan for her brother who died last month. Shadow, however, would not come in. I can’t leave her outside at night-the shiva service started at 7:30. She didn’t come in until 7:45. 30 minutes to the synagogue. Back home in the dark.

Feel guilty I couldn’t make it since Veronica and I became Jews on the same day and became a son and daughter of the covenant on the same day. We’re bonded.

Enough, with the continuing back pain, to press me down a bit, tease the dark moods, open the cavern door just a tetch. You know how that goes. Can’t slam it shut or else more darkness will spill out later. Don’t want to leave it open since sadness and guilt suppress joy.

Acknowledge the guilt. Sad I couldn’t go. Also, glad. Don’t like to go out in the evening, especially at night. Feeling glad made the guilt a bit worse. Could I have gone anyway? Nope. Too late.

The good in it. Having friends up here that matter enough to feel guilty about not showing up. The cavern’s bronze doors beginning to swing shut.

As I embrace the man I am, neither the man I want to be nor a man I don’t want to be, they clang shut.

 

Just a moment: Those famous first hundred days. Turns out, if you’re incompetent and you show it, clap your hands. If you’re petty, mean, and cruel and you show it, clap your hands. If you’ve damaged the economy and you meant it, clap your hands.

Oh, wait. They’re not clapping, are they?

 

Dogs, Health, Politics

Shadow and Pain

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Spring and the Wu Wei Moon

Thursday gratefuls: Tom. His visit. Diane. Adam and Eve. The story retold. Shadow, up at 4:45. Me, too. Outside. Gabe. Ruth. Darkness. The hours of early Morning. Thrownness. Heidegger. Dramaturgy. Sleep. Back better. For now. Golden Stix. Hot and Sour Soup. Garlic Shrimp. Lumbar support pillow.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: 4:45 am

Week Kavannah: Sensibility. Daat.

One brief shining: Those needles that burrowed through my extra tight foramens delivering steroids to four of them have offered some relief already, pain decreased, for how long not clear, yet appreciated, a return to a Charlie I had forgotten.

 

Yes. Pain down my legs and around my hip much better this morning. Achiness and pain in my lower back, apparently arthritic, remains. I feel lighter though a bit strung out from the procedure, the mild sturm and drang around it. (All in my head.)

When I got up at 4:30 for the bathroom, Shadow got up, too. She needed to go outside where she is still at 5:20. While she dawdles, I decided to get a head start here.

 

It’s odd. Usually memory of pain recedes with the pain itself. Not with the back. At least so far. I treat myself with the same careful movements and anticipation of discomfort. Perhaps this will fade.

Since these injections were my first procedures for the back pain, I do not know what to expect. As I didn’t when I met Dr. Vu.

I’m a little scared, I told him.

He nodded. Needles. And the spine, eh?

Yes. That was it. And the initial pain. This morning. Worth it. However long it lasts.

 

Shadow slips her head between the slats at the head of my bed. Her warm nose, wet, hits what little hair I have. Then, her tongue. Please get up. Please get up. No. Not yet. Please. Just a little more sleep. More kisses. It’s now 6:50. OK. All right.

She continues skittish, hyper-vigilant though less so by a lot than that first month. She has a deep wound of some sort, just what I’ll never know. But its effect presents itself in each interaction with her.

Shadow unfolds slowly, like a flower not certain it wants to bloom, perhaps the sun is too hot or the bees are not out or rain might damage the petals.

A sudden movement. She cowers. Crossing a threshold seems to have the liminal power of ancient magic. Danger may lurk on the other side.

Once inside and safe. She’s delightful. Tossing her toys in the air. Putting her front paws on my chair arm, extending her full length on her hind feet, all smiles and warmth. It’s a tale of two Shadows.

Her coat has blown but she won’t hold still for me to brush her. A leash still frightens her so I can’t take her to the vet or to a groomer.

Slowly, slowly.

 

Just a moment: In Minnesota up on Leech Lake fisherman come to fish for the fierce Muskellunge, or Muskie. Perhaps a few of those brave souls could cast a lure onto Pennsylvania Avenue and troll for Elon.