Category Archives: Dogs

Aging, Dogs, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Garden, Great Wheel, Great Work, Politics, Wild Neighbors

They Call it Puppy Love

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Imbolc and the full Snow Moon

Friday gratefuls: Mini-splits. Shadow. Ginny and Janice. Luna and Annie. Leo. Gracie. My Lodgepole companion. The crooked Aspen outside my bedroom. The Mountain Lion family near Morrison. Black Bears. Soon. Mule Deer and Elk. Fox. Abert’s Squirrels. Red Squirrels. Rabbits. Voles. Mice. Marmots.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Wild Neighbors

Week Kavannah:  Yirah. Awe.

One brief shining: Tis an odd season this with taxes due next month, the wearing of the green celebrating St. Patrick who took Irish Wolfhounds to the Pope, big Snows covering basketball tourney roads, and hints of Spring with resurrection and liberation waiting to manifest.

 

Always of two desires in these months. Crack wind, Winter blow, Snow. Stay longer. Fire in the fireplace. A good book. Cold nights for sleeping. Yes.

Open vistas. Clear Skies. Mountain Wildflowers. Aspen Catkins. Lodgepole Anthers. Rabbit families. Chipmunks. Greening Willows and Dogwood. Mountain Streams in full voice, tumbling and turning. A sense of possibility strong in the Air. Yes.

Dog journal: If you’ve never had a skittish puppy lay at your feet, head rested on your slipper. If you’ve never had a puppy wriggle up the side of your leg and look you in the eye with, yes, puppy love. If you’ve never had a puppy. I wish you had.

Shadow incarnates love. Adoration. Companionship. Even the struggles and the outright exhaustion. All part of the joy.

Puppies, like Wildflowers and Spring, remind us of the Great Wheel, Maiden-Mother-Crone, life begetting life. Old age and youth running next to each other in partnership. With love.

Shadow. A small streak of black fur bounding through Snow drifts, racing around the perimeter, the fence line, all young muscle and limber movement, all newness. A potion to ease the aching joints and rigidity of 78 year old bones.

 

Just a moment: I keep finding Seeds. Books about Seeds. Seed-Keepers. Seed Savers Exchange Catalogue. Seeds. The Seed Vault in Svalbard. Chapters in the Light-Eaters. Lectures in online botany classes.

Recalling the spiny nubbin of a Beet Seed. The delicate Carrot Seed. The thick Pea. The Soil in an Andover raised bed leavened with compost and top soil, organic chemicals. Pressing the Seeds into the Soil. Feeling a frisson of future salads, side dishes.

In remembering these things a sort of strange hope rises. That we, the faded flowers, now the Seed heads of yesterday’s generational garden will leave our Seeds of love, justice, and compassion to grow in the rich Earth of this once and future nation.

Maybe we could create a Seed Catalogue for our nieces and nephews, our grandchildren. Even a Seed Savers Exchange for the ideas and actions that still hold the promise of a victory garden for diversity, for equality, for shared wealth and opportunity.

Or a nation in exile limned in a new Whole Earth catalogue for those of us who hold fast to the notion that rapaciousness, cruelty, mockery, and misogyny have no place in America’s fields and beds. Plant these instead, these seeds of liberty and freedom with their attendant responsibilities.

Plant this seed of love and that one of compassion. Fertilize with chi, illuminate with ohr, moisten with joy.

Dogs, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Health

A Shadow in the Night

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Imbolc and the Snow Moon

Thursday gratefuls: Shadow. Ginny and Janice. Friendships. Adoption. My son. Training outside. Shadow’s a night owl. The Celts. Holy Wells. St. Winnifred’s. Hawarden. Lugh. Brigid. Arawn. The triple death. Scotland. Wales. Ireland. Brittany. The Gaeltacht. Cornwall. Richard Ellis.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Shadow and her personality

Week Kavannah: Yirah. Awe.

One brief shining: Shadow has taken a liking to the night, last night for example she went out at 6:30 PM, running and zooming, playing, and did not return inside until after midnight. Sleepy me.

 

Dog journal: Shadow has come out of her shell, no longer in hiding under the bed or behind the coffee table. She loves to train, for a short while; then, on to her toys the strong Kong and the soft animal which she throws in the air. Her appetite remains strong and dependable.

She greets me in the morning with such joy. All exuberance, zerizut wrapped in a small canine form that hops, reaches out, touching my arm, my shoulders, my face. She’s mostly house trained now with fewer and fewer gifts left on her rug.

One area that requires work. Coming back inside at night. Well, ok. An area that requires a lot of work. She will not come in when I call her and will not come in if I’m near the door.

I can’t press her or spook her because that will just make the problem worse. Amy thinks it’s some difference between the inside and the outside after darkness falls. Like seeing herself in the glass doors. Or, something.

Last night I waited until 10:15. A long, long wait for me since I go to bed at 8:30. Put on a full court press with treats, high-pitched voice for my sweetie pie to please, please, please come in. Failed.

Feeling very guilty, but also needing sleep, I closed the door and went to bed. When I got up at 12:20, Shadow agreed to come back inside. I slept well the rest of the night.

Running ideas through my head. Dog door. Long wire lead. All her feedings before 1 pm. Eventually teaching her the come command, but that’s a weeks long strategy. And I need sleep each night.

Today I plan give her last feeding around 1pm and let her outside. She’ll most likely come back without too much trouble. Around 6 pm or so, in spite of the fact that she is not leash trained, I plan to take her out on a leash. After we come back in, that’s it until the next morning. See if that works. If it does, it should be good until she’s learned to come to me on command.

 

Just a moment: A good friend has struggles with a possible new diagnosis. I feel for her and the journey of learning often difficult information. She has a strong partner which makes the situation less fraught.

As we age, for most of us, the day comes when see you next year is not the good-bye we get from the doctor’s office. See you in three months. See you after the labs get run. See you after the MRI. See you soon.

Commentary on Religion, Dogs, Politics, US History

Shadow. N.A.R. Storm.

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Imbolc and the Snow Moon

Friday gratefuls: Jorge Borge. Herman Hesse. Thomas Mann. Sinclair Lewis. Theodore Dreiser. Goethe. F. Scott Fitzgerald. Ralph Waldo Emerson. Thoreau. William Cullen Bryant. Dante. Homer. Euripides. Moses. Ovid. Mary Oliver. Coleridge. Wordsworth. Poe. Hawthorne. Cooper Powys. Joanne Greenberg. And so, so many others.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Creativity

Week Kavannah: Patience.  Savlanut. When I rush, slow down. When I want to speak, wait. When my inner agonizer arises, calm him, move on

One brief shining: Said the shema, said my I am comfortable with who I am and what I have, turned on the oxygen concentrator when I heard a crash and then another crash from the space where Shadow was; went back out of the bedroom to find my laptop, my Kindle, various papers, and a bag of treats splayed out on the floor, a shocked Shadow looking sheepish, a little scared. So I picked things up, comforted her, and returned to bed.

 

Dog Journal: As her comfort level increases, Shadow has become more and more a regular puppy. Chewing up her brand new bed. Trying to get into the treats I left on my computer table. Being bouncy and happy and wiggly. She has learned sit, down, and touch.

She still does things that confound me. When I want her to come in, she stands by the door, won’t come in until I sit down. Often, too, she will run back outside if I get up too fast. When it’s cold outside? Annoying. Like right now for instance.

Having her here when I wake up. When I come home. Glad to see me, tail wagging. Yes. Many times yes.

 

N.A.R. notes. Wagner did a phenomenological analysis of Christian church growth. He found the most growth in Pentecostal congregations in the third world and mega-churches in the U.S. His conclusion? The holy spirit was at work reshaping the church for a new era.

From within his worldview this was a logical conclusion. Where there are signs of vitality, there is the current activity of God in the world. He also noted that in these new congregations, these gatherings local leaders were the authority. The megachurches, too. Apostles and prophets were the missing elements from denominational governance. Instead of bureaucracy there were charismatic leaders who spoke directly with God and acted in (his) stead.

We will see later how this lead to the powerful, politically motivated Christian Nationalism that we wrestle with today. Wagner’s work I’m discussing now is from the late 1990’s.

 

Just a moment: I have George Friedman’s The Storm Before the Calm out again. Going to reread his last chapters. The Trump/Musk assault on American norms of the last 80 years may be the storm Friedman predicted. Sure feels like it anyhow. A tearing down of the old paradigm followed by a reshaping. The reshaping will not be the work of the MAGA folks but of a coalition, I would imagine, of the center-right and the center-left, perhaps forming a new political party.

 

Dogs, Dreams, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Memories, Minnesota, Shadow Mountain, Wild Neighbors

Call of the Wild

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Imbolc and the Snow Moon

Monday gratefuls: Shadow. Eating. Marilyn and Irv. Eleanor and Tara. Snow on its way. March of the big weather. Ritalin. A bit more energy. Mary’s truffles. Yum. My son. Murdoch. Seoah. Teaching Shadow. Ancient Brothers on freedom and communal responsibility. Mountain Jews. Shadow immersion. Study. Reading.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Sit, Down, Touch

Week Kavannah: Patience.  Savlanut. When I rush, slow down. When I want to speak, wait. When my inner agonizer arises, calm him, move on.

One brief shining: In the far away and long ago my buddy Dave and I settled into his red VW Beetle for a drive from Muncie to Detroit, headed to Canada, Toronto, to pick up information about emigrating from the Toronto anti-draft folks; got stopped because of our long hair, so we turned around, went back into Detroit and bought white shirts, stocking caps for our hair, crossed the bridge again, and were admitted for our Canadian vacation. Ta dah.

 

Thought of a through line I’ve never mentioned here. Reading and Minnesota, Shadow Mountain. As a young boy, I read so much. Certain things impacted me. A lot. Always wanted to see Peru after the Silver Llama. Like many boys, I imagined myself as James Bond. Sherlock Holmes. Robinson Crusoe. Fighting in the War of the Worlds. Building robots with positronic brains beholden to the Three Laws of Robotics.

Jack London though. He changed my life. I read Call of the Wild. I admired Buck. Yes. The description of the Canadian wilderness. Buck’s journey into his wild nature. Pine Trees. Lakes. Wolves. Wolverines. Cold winters. Surviving in the north.

Central Indiana. Flat. Paved. Industrial and where it wasn’t industrial carved up into mile square sections of farm land. Small towns every 5 or ten miles in all directions. The opposite of the wilderness where Buck finds his true identity.

When I married Judy Merritt, her home state of Wisconsin triggered my long dormant desire to leave a place where, as I saw it, there was no there there, all domesticated by human artifice. We moved to Appleton, Wisconsin to be near her family. Imagine my disappointment when I found a city and region filled with paper mills and dairy factories. Nope.

Judy and I decided to split and an odd chain of circumstance led me to seminary in Minnesota. At least there were lots of Lakes. Once I found my way up north the Boreal Woods and the Glacial Lakes matched my fantasy. Minnesota became home. For forty years.

Kate and I moved to Colorado to be in the grandkids lives, but we never considered living in Denver. Had to be the Mountains. For both of us. Our Andover life had prepared us for life with Wild Neighbors, Lodgepoles and Aspens, Mountain Streams and trails, by holding us close to Mother Earth.

In that sense, and it’s a far from trivial one, Jack London and Call of the Wild changed the trajectory of my life by igniting a desire to live in cold lands, where Wilderness and humans could cohabit.

Dogs, Fourth Phase, Friends, Judaism, Politics, Shadow Mountain, US History, World History

Jewish Men Together

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Imbolc and the Snow Moon

Sunday gratefuls: CBE Men’s group. Orion. The Night Sky. The 1% waxing sliver of the Snow Moon. Ritalin. Ruth and the Flatirons. Gabe and college. And guitar. Tara and Eleanor. A Shadow playdate. Safeway Pickup. Silver Bistro. Cook Unity. Conquering the experience of pain. Back to working out.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Shadow and Eleanor zooming

Week Kavannah: Patience.  Savlanut. When I rush, slow down. When I want to speak, wait. When my inner agonizer arises, calm him, move on.

One brief shining: Tara brought Eleanor over, leggy curly haired and full of puppy energy Eleanor, who sniffed Shadow, Shadow sniffed back and the playdate was on as the two circled each other, smelling for information, then running full tilt in the back through Snow drifts, chasing, quarreling a bit, Shadow rolled over bared her teeth after saying I submitted now stay the hell away from me, a long conversation with my heart friend Tara as they played.

 

Dog journal: Shadow had her first playdate here. Not her last. I have a large fenced yard, almost an acre with Lodgepoles and an Aspen. Snow drifts that last throughout warmups because it faces north. In the Spring there will be Rabbits and Mice and Voles and Squirrels to chase. The occasional Mule Deer and Elk for Shadow to herd. A good place for Dogs. No Rocky ledges for Mountain Lions. Fence keeps out Coyotes. Safe enough during the day.

Like nanny’s at a Central Park Playground Tara and I let our Dogs run while we talked. Tara, like Marilyn, is part of MVP. She said yesterday that she and Arjan would take Shadow whenever I had to go somewhere. Limited prospects on that, but still, like the offer from my son and Seoah, appreciated.

 

CBE men’s group last night. We began to get down to it. We told some of our stories. Moving from Chicago. L.A. Florida. Minnesota. Buffalo. Dallas. To find our true home. Both in the Mountains and as Mountain Jews at CBE. Fleeing in-laws, a broken life, New York City. Looking for Mountains and trails. Quieter. Simpler. Often finding and not finding what we sought.

A question unique to this sort of group. How long can we stay here? Where will we go if things get bad? The question of 1930’s Germany. Of Babylon. Of Russia under the Tzars. Of the Inquisition era in Spain. As evil Donald continues to extend his poison from sea to shining sea and well beyond.

I felt for the first time that there may be a more important question than maleness, the nature of the masculine role in society for a men’s group. At least this men’s group.

Another factor. As Jamie observed, there aren’t that many Jewish men. In the world. What unique role might we have in a world bent on rushing headlong into a dangerous yesterday?

If these men commit, stay the course, this will be a fourth anchor point for me at CBE. Mussar/MVP. Torah study. Men’s group. Friends.

 

Dogs, Kabbalah, Mussar, Plants, Science

Growing My Soul

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Imbolc and the Birthday Moon

Tuesday gratefuls: Tupelo Honey. Birthday lunch. Alan. Downtown Denver. Challenging myself. Adopting Shadow. Good CT scan. CT. With contrast. The wide world of medical imaging. Waiting rooms. Hospital parking lots. Good sleep. Great Sol. Lodgepole shadows.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: I.V.’s

Week kavannah:  Netzach with zerizut and simcha

One brief shining: Shadow curls her small head up toward my chair arm, her dark eyes with black pupils looking into mine, asking for food which I have placed behind the chair-where she usually eats, perhaps she’s forgotten and I’ll have to show her. I’ll give it a bit, better she finds it for herself.

 

Never thought I’d be talking about growing my soul. Yet. As I’ve come to understand the term, I do. What is my soul? Multi-layered. The first and core level is the nefesh. What is the nefesh? The nefesh is that which identifies me as human.

I say it’s DNA. Why? Because DNA links me to all living things and identifies me as part of Mother Earth’s evolutionary experiment while giving me a unique location in that experiment and a uniqueness, too, within my species. Being part of the grand evolutionary experiment also connects me to the organic and inorganic building blocks which allow that experiment to flourish, including the boundless fusion energy of Great Sol which passes its vitality from the solar furnace to leafy, green plants.

The neshama soul grows in the space between the DNA created unique me and the outer world in which it moves and lives. Heidegger called this the dasein. There can be no neshama without the nefesh, but likewise there can be no nefesh without being-in-the-world, dasien, as a shaper of that world and as a being shaped by that world.

As my nefesh encounters the world as it is, that encounter flows dialectically, into my dasein and out to the dasien of the other. In that tension comes the vitality, the livingness of being alive. Note that in this view there is no clean, clear distinction between me and thee. Or, me and my Shadow. Or, my favorite Lodgepole. Lodgepoleness flows into me and Charlieness flows into the Lodgepole. We are both changed during the encounter. Think of the Japanese idea of forest-bathing.

We can come to notice that our actions have influence on others and theirs on ours. How do we live into those encounters, how can we be there with the other fully? That’s where disciplines like mussar come in. There are ways of becoming that enhance our encounters and ways that diminish them.

Say my dasein includes Shadow. How I approach her affects her dasein so that we either grow closer to mutuality or further away from it. If I move suddenly, I notice, she retreats, moving away from the boundary of my dasein. That tells me, in my Shadow inflected dasein, to move more slowly in her presence. We can call that realization an expression of chesed, of loving kindness, which allows our dasein’s to come closer, to increase our intimacy.

Just where my head went this morning. From my dasein to yours. Good day.

Dogs, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Health, Judaism, Mussar

Dream Time

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Imbolc and the Birthday Moon

Friday gratefuls: Big Snow. Shadow, the good Dog. Murdoch. My son. Seoah. Vince and Snow plowing. Feeling well rested. Pain doc. Chocolate. Hawai’ian dark chocolate with Macadamia Nuts. Chocolate coffee beans. Mary in Oz. Diane, healing. The rise of autocracies. King Donald. A third term. Prostate cancer.

BTW: If you are new to Ancientrails or have forgotten, we Jews are grateful for everything that happens since it is all part of the One. Doesn’t mean we like all of it or don’t want/need to change it. But even King Donald is part of our wonderful, amazing, grace filled World.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: My sacred community of family and friends

Week Kavannah:  Persistence and grit.  Netzach.

One brief shining: I looked up and noticed Shadow returning to her food bowl, first licking up crumbs, then trying to eat the yellow and purple Crocuses off the Portmerion pattern, digging her puppy teeth into the porcelain with a grinding sound, going after those flowers, puzzled by their intransigence. I will get her a raised set of stainless bowls, but not right now, so she’ll have to deal.

 

Here is your illuminated manuscript-style illustration, capturing the essence of the Stable Rock of Shadow Mountain, Maxwell Creek, and the sacred wildlife in a medieval bestiary aesthetic with golden detailing.

Dream last night: I had moved to a new city and decided to follow a long dirt road that wound far away from town, visible for a long way until it turned right around a low hill. Didn’t get very far because I hadn’t checked the gas gauge. E. I pulled to the side, got out and walked over to a rocky cliff.

Began to climb. I got the top after some effort and found a place that looked like it would have a gas can. When I went in, grandson Gabe was with me. Together we looked through a lot of different shelves, finally locating a gas can which I bought.

We walked back outside to fill it up and where I thought there would be gas pumps, there were none. Oh, well. We began walking, asking people if they knew where we could get gas. That’s all I remember.

 

Saw the pain doc on Wednesday. Rode up in the elevator with a guy saying he was heading in for the pain and torture spot. Turned out we were both going to Mountain View Pain Medicine. He to p.t., me to an initial consult.

When I explained my lower back pain, how it drastically limited my mobility and gave me excruciating pain after my drives to Boulder and back, the P.A. went into a dialogue that confused me at first.

I’m a rule follower, she said. If we’re going to work with you, you’ll have to do conservative therapy and come in here once a month. Then, I tumbled to it. Can my primary care doc manage my tramadol? Oh, yes. All the hesitation dropped away. This was a continuing, and welcome, echo of the oxycodone addiction crisis. No pain doc will risk their practice by giving away narcotics.

She suggested an MRI which I agreed to. Sometime in the next two weeks. Get to the root cause of my pain. Yes. What I’ve wanted for a while now. Admit to a little anxiety about incidental findings with this so careful an imaging tool since the source of my pain and the areas of my metastases coexist. Might find more cancer. Hope not.

 

Just a moment: Got into a funk yesterday. Ached. Pain less well controlled after no more Celebrex. Maybe a little tired. Fatigued by whatever: uncontrolled hyperthyroidism, very low testosterone, the effects of my cancer drugs. Wondering if the shortness of breath, weakness meant (against current evidence) my cancer was advancing. Thought about not going to mussar, too tired. Too much effort.

Nope. My kavannah, netzach, said, get up and go anyhow. What a good choice. I’d only missed two sessions, but I got some glad you’re backs. Geez. Also, my funk disappeared in the solvent of friendship, study, seeing and being seen.

Had a time afterward with Rabbi Jamie looking for a text to use for MVP in two weeks. We laughed a lot together. A good friend.

On the way home I remembered, as I sometimes have to do, that I am alive and loved today, in this February 21st life, no matter what the future holds. Be gone, funky thoughts!

 

 

Cinema and Television, Commentary on the news, Dogs, Family, Friends, Politics

Can find only sarcasm and satire

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Imbolc and the Birthday Moon

Thursday gratefuls: Mussar. Tara. Eleanor. Shadow. Pain doc. MRI. Cool nights. The internet. Ukraine. Self-determination. Bullies, especially Russia. Now, the U.S. Banana Republic politics, USA might. Ensure. Mark in Al Kharj. His acquaintance. Murdoch. Annie. Leo. Rufus. Gracie.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: MRI

Week Kavannah:  Persistence and Grit. Netzach

One brief shining: After 17 dogs, I’m learning the basics of sit, down, potty training, with a rescue dog, Shadow, a 6 to 8 month old puppy who’s smart, wily, and more than a little traumatized by a house fire, a shelter in southern Colorado, then one in Granby, being taken from her siblings and brought to my house.

 

Shadow and I make slow progress. This week she has regressed some, hard to get inside after going out. Not drinking her water, but going outside to eat Snow. Pooping inside. Still a wiggly, happy girl when I get up. She sits beside me, nuzzles. Plays with her toys. One step ahead, one back.

 

So. Yesterday. Birthday lunch with Tara at a renewed and better Golden Stix. Adding it to my list of places to go. Always so good to see Tara. She’s a heart friend, honest and open. Her own woman and clear about that. Headed to NYC this morning to see her son Vincent who’s on his second bite of the big Apple, this time on what sounds like surer footing. In college, a job, a good place to stay.

Mark reports a friend has gone into a diabetic coma in Thailand. Made Mark reflect on the positives in his life now. He loves teaching, his students. Wants to see countries he’s not yet visited. Purpose is a mighty force in the psyche. As is, in the opposite way, lack of purpose.

 

Watching a later Startrek series, Picard. Written in large part by Michael Chabon, of Kavalier and Clay, the Yiddish Policeman’s Union, and many more books. Excellent TV. If you have Paramount Plus, watch Season 2, Episode 2. Chilling.

 

Just a moment: OK. Zelensky is a dictator who started a war against Ukraine’s poor neighbor, Russia. Bad Zelensky. Bad Ukraine. Yes, it’s devolved even further with the American President, let me say that again, the American President, who will remain shameless, speaks Russian propaganda to the press. Putin says he’d like to see Don again and hopes it will happen soon.

Lewis Carroll could not have written a parody of Wonderland that would have been more mind-boggling than the real world-this is the real world isn’t it-which we now inhabit.

Clean up the Ukraine mess, turn Gaza into a Riveria with Trump properties for the well-heeled. Palestinians welcome to return from their new homes in Egypt and Jordan if they have enough shekels. Now we’re making progress.

I’m glad others have serious analysis because at least for now, I can’t find anything other than satire or sarcasm.

My son. Serving his country, now 16 years in. And this is the country he spends all his working life trying to protect?

 

 

Dogs, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Politics

A Shadow

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Imbolc and the Birthday Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: Amy. Clean, fluoridated teeth. Dentists. Shadow. Buster’s for treats and food. Trying out new ways of getting my nutrition. Diane’s microwaving Vegetables. Ensure. Canned chicken. Fish. Training Shadow. Working out again.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: That scraggly Blue Spruce with all the new growth

Week Kavannah: Persistence and grit.  Netzach.

One brief shining: Reaching my hand in the kibble I draw out a quarter cup of food, then another, and another, and another while Shadow waits, it sprinkles into the bowl, making a noise she will learn to associate with feeding, her alert mind always working.

 

Two weeks into Shadow’s life with me. And mine with hers. Following the three day, three weeks, three months recommendations for bringing a rescue dog into the house. Three days: orient, go slow. Three weeks: bonding, socializing, some simple training. Three months: Training, bonding, socializing more.

Amy taught us both sit and down yesterday. How to lift the treat up while saying, Shadow, sit. She looks up, which tends her toward a sitting position. Good, Shadow. Down. Treat. All her knees on the floor. Palm down, Shadow down. Shadow, down. Good Shadow. Treat.

That’s the good. The not quite there yet. I’ve been letting her out every three to four hours, sometimes sooner. She runs around in the yard, clearly having a great time. No pooping inside so I thought she was doing it outside. Good Shadow.

Nope. She’d been holding it. Left presents for me near the door. A lot. Fortunately well-formed. More work to do. Before you go ick. Ask yourself how long it took to potty train you!

She goes outside with no prompting. For two days or so she came right back in when I opened the door. Now we’re back to one foot in, two feet in, back up and move away. Forward. Backward. Learning, retreating into fear.

We’ve made good progress together. Look forward to yet more.

 

Birthday celebration with Tara today. Golden Stix. Our friendly neighborhood Chinese restaurant. Where I’ve only been once, long ago. Unimpressed. Others say it’s improved a lot. Birthday celebration with Alan on Saturday. Not sure where. Maybe Sushi Win. I like this strung out birthday. Feels good.

Tom Crane sent me a new Mary Oliver, Blue Pastures, and a helluva an interesting Northshore card with a waterfall and trees jigsawed as a frame. A sweet guy.

78. Making steady, incremental progress toward 80. Now I notice every time someone reaches out to help me. Geez, what do I look like? 78. Makes me feel cherished and cared for, also want to push it away and say, hey, I can do this on my own. A balance, a gradual change from those truly independent years. Not an easy or welcome transition.

 

Just a moment: Oh, yeah. Russia is our buddy. Ally Comrade Putin. Come on, Don. Read your history. Look at Ukraine, Crimea. The USSR. Reagan said tear down that wall. GOP Reagan. Strange and foreign policy that.

Dogs, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Travel

Gathered, then dispersed

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Imbolc and the Birthday Moon

Monday gratefuls: The big questions. The Ancient Brothers. Barb Bandel’s funeral. Murdoch getting groomed. Seoah and my son back to their Korean lives. Ruth and Gabe. TV. Picard. FBI. Morality plays, the 3rd millennium additions. Shadow. Her calm nights. Her waggy tail. Heading into the Snowy weeks.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Jet travel. Time zones.

Week kavannah:  Persistence and grit. Netzach.

One brief shining: Walking through the bedroom door on my way to bed, my hand brushes the mezuzzah, and after I’ve said the shema, I say, I’m comfortable with what I have and I’m comfortable with who I am .

 

Gathered, then dispersed. Family. Ruth staying in Boulder in her dorm. Gabe back to his room at Jen’s. My son and Seoah traveling across the big Waters, back to Asia, Korea, Songtan.

Shadow and I stay here on Shadow Mountain. Getting to know each other better. Learning to love each other. A still point, high and lifted up, for far flung family. For us.

A weekend of longing for more time with my son, Seoah, Ruth, Gabe. An awareness of absence, of what was near now gone. A sadness, a sense of loss. Normal for me. A way of saying how much they all mean to me.

Then, too, a sense of joy for the new memories. Casa Bonita. Birthday lunch at Snarf’s with Ruth and Gabe, my son and Seoah. Boulder. My son’s big hugs. I love you, Dad. Seoah’s hands in mine, saying that when the two years in Korea are up, they want me to come live with them. Whether I do or not, being wanted filling my soul with warmth. Gabe coming up on the commuter bus. Ruth greeting us outside her dorm across from the planetarium. Where we used to go on Friday nights when she was younger.

There is, for us old folks, a rhythm of gain and loss when loved ones visit or when we visit them. A knowing of that ultimate departure embedded in the Thanksgivings, Hanukkahs, short and long trips to see each other.

In this we are unlike the families of the past. We stayed in our villages, lived our lives in extended families, perhaps never knowing long absence.

Today we pursue individual dreams. Off to Boulder for college. Over to Malaysia for a stint teaching ESl, then never really going back. A time as a bicycle messenger, then 20 years or so in Bangkok, more years in Saudi Arabia. Breckenridge for 3 three years, after that Maxwell AFB, Georgia, Hawai’i, Singapore, Korea. 40 years in Minnesota traded for a new life in the Rocky Mountains.

Strong moves for us, weakening moves for family, for that sense of home only the rooted can know.

Sure, I’m a globalist, a man of the world, not just my own nation. And I love the adventure of  a new life in a new place. Always have. A wanderer at heart like my sibs.

Yet sometimes. The cost can feel too high. When love becomes primary, not achievement or travel or the shiny new thing offers that. I miss my dead and my far away family.

I also love my life here on Shadow Mountain. Now with Shadow, the growing puppy. Yes. And yes to my CBE friends. Yes. All yes.