Category Archives: Family

Family, Fourth Phase, Friends, Judaism, Shadow Mountain

Enough

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Spring and the Trial Moon

Monday gratefuls: The Ancient Brothers. Safety. May. Spring. The beauty of the Lodgepoles. The Aspens leafing out. BJ and Pammy.

Rene Good and Alex Pretti. Say their names,

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Mac and cheese

 

Kavannah:  Zerizut.  Zest and Zeal. Enthusiasm. Risking a gray, homebound life. Need a push. Good for another week. Still at risk.

Tarot: paused

One brief shining: I pull out mac and cheese. Plate it and warm it. Perhaps a frittata instead. No? A drumstick, blueberries and strawberries. Maybe. Having a refrigerator stocked with ready to eat food. Melissa, my visiting angel.

 

Visiting Angels. A palliative care nurse. A social worker. Melissa. Maddie. Used to be Rachel. My home team. They care about me and I appreciate it.

My friends at CBE. Visiting me. Giving me rides. Ruth coming up to cook for me. Tom and Paul’s visits. I’m a lucky guy. Family coming. Mary. Mark. Joe and Seoah. Ginny and Janice, chosen family.

Alone, but not lonely.

It may be, probably is, that these relationships are my purpose now. Staying in touch. Visits. Zoom calls. Enlivening and being enlivened. Seeing and being seen.

Perhaps this has always been true. I-Thou over the I-Its of career, striving.

Yes. If I-Thou extends to the wild realms, to dogs and cats, to the wonder of the light-eaters, then I say yes. More than skill. More than income. More than knowledge. More than status or power.

The simple, everyday magic of loving and being loved. A hug. A gift of a smile, a kind glance. The warmth of another’s hand. Bedrock for all of life.

 

 

Dogs, Family, Fourth Phase, Health

A New Normal

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Spring and the Trial Moon

Sunday gratefuls: BJ and Pammy, Ahi tuna salad. Torah study. Ginny. Luke. Steve. Jamie. Frittatas. Actinium. My sweet Shadow.

Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Artemis

 

Kavannah:  Zerizut.  Zest and Zeal. Enthusiasm. Risking a gray, homebound life. Need a push. Good for another week. Still at risk.

Tarot: paused

One brief shining: Here’s how it goes. I get up, let Shadow out. I start to write. She comes back in and gets two dried minnows. Plays with her tire, her nyla bone, her lobster. I write until 6 am rolls around. Prozac in a pill pouch. A cup plus of dogfood. I sit, write. She eats, drinks. Outside again, then back in. Minnows.

 

Shadow and I have our routines. When I nap, she naps. At night I say the shema, turn on my oxygen concentrator, and Shadow scoots in, waits until I’m in bed, then jumps up and positions herself. A day.

Her arrival day is February 4th. When Ginny and Janice and I drove up to Granby, just beyond Winter Park. The Granby shelter had this small fluff ball. Who came home with me. The past year and a quarter have had their ups and downs. Which make our routines precious. We have both struggled to stay together.

BJ and Pammy got here around 3 pm. First time I’ve seen Pammy since her transition. She has a full female figure now. “I’m living my best life,” she said.

They’re looking at houses. May move here if they find something they like. Idaho has passed restrictive laws for transgender persons. Even so they’d prefer to stay in Driggs. A conflicted time for them.

I continue to improve. Keep forgetting the head drop. I imagine I can get up and do things like I used to. Nope. I tire quickly. Upstairs to the fridge requires a sit down.

Not my preferred way of living but as a friend of mine’s sister said: This is my new normal.

 

Family, Fourth Phase, Friends, Health, Shadow Mountain

Seeing Past Illness

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Spring and the Trial Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: Shadow. Paul, Sarah, Kate. Snow. Cool nights. Dr. Josy. Melissa. Sleep. Food. This nation. Our lives in it.

Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Fruit

 

Kavannah:  Zerizut.  Zest and Zeal. Enthusiasm. Risking a gray, homebound life. Need a push.

Tarot: paused

One brief shining: As sleep has improved, as my diet has gotten more varied, I can feel definite progress. My body feels better. Yet this journey has taken a lot out of me and full recovery will, I imagine, take months. Rehab, movement. More of each. Staying with sleep and diet.

 

I’ve been house bound for a while. Medical appointments the only exception. I can see how being a shut-in (not quite me, yet for the last few weeks…) might cripple a life. Unless friends and family visit, there’s no frisson, no healthy friction between my life and the lives of others.

Why get dressed? Shower? Follow a routine of rising and sitting down, sitting down and rising. Bed to chair to fridge to chair. Of course I have my zoom calls, friends and grandkids visiting. Melissa twice a week. I’m not all the way down that rabbit hole, but its existence looms closer now.

I pride myself on resilience. Take the hits. Timex. Keep on ticking. When my body kept signaling distress, when sleep seemed faraway, I found myself shrinking, diminished to a janky physical platform and an I can’t see beyond this mess version of my self.

With sleep and good food, as my body has quieted, I’ve begun to see past my illness induced narcissism. I can be grateful, very grateful, for the kindness and love I’ve experienced. Tara and Eleanor. Ginny, Janice, Annie, Luna. Melissa. Ruth. An old man, especially when ill, needs folks who see where he is. Ruth comes at least once a month, cooks for me, tells me, “You’re not old, you’re wise.” Bless her pea-pickin’ heart.

Time for breakfast. Melissa made frittatas.

Family, Fourth Phase, Health

Local Family

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Spring and the Trial Moon

Monday gratefuls: Little  Luna. Annie. Ginny. Janice. Potato Soup. Family. Weakness. Vulnerability. Takes a community.

Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Deep Ties-Ginny and Janice

Kavannah:  Zerizut.  Zest and Zeal. Enthusiasm. Risking a gray, homebound life. Need a push.

One brief shining: Ancient Brothers on good news. Found some. Shadow. Melissa. Ruth. Still at it. Slowly. But, hey. Melissa’s meals. Better, not yet good, sleep. Friends like Rich, Rebecca, Tara. Mountains.

 

Ginny and Janice came over. Little Luna and Annie, too. Annie and Shadow: Roughly = weight, age, activity level. Happy times racing through the back.

Ginny and Janice I caught up. Their long planned expansion, begun last fall, is not finished. If we’d realized how long this would take, how much it would cost, and the stress it would cause. Too late. Close, yet not done. At the same time Janice’s niece Heather, her three year old Ashley, and Heather’s partner moved to Kittredge to open a hot tub business–not too far from Ginny and Janice’s place.

Ginny works as an on-call nurse. Janice agreed to be the general contractor for their project. She said she will not do that again. Janice retired as a professor of costume design and construction. A long while ago.

“I missed you guys!” I know, Ginny said, you’re top of our list…but. Yeah, the never ending construction project. They both nodded.

Ginny, later, by email. Let’s do a weekly visit with Annie. We’d both like that, Shadow and I.

Feel a titch better. Still flame out even walking upstairs: brain fog or sleep debt or profound fatigue? Can’t tell. Plugging away.

Longest sick time I can recall.

 

Family, Health

Kate

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Spring and the Moon of Liberation

Sunday gratefuls: Slavic, dishwasher repair guy. Kate, her life and times. Sleep. Shadow, my sweet girl. Artemis II. All safe.

Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Kate of blessed memory

 

Tarot: paused

One brief shining: Five years ago on a cold dark night Kate slipped away. Her breathing troubles, Reynaud’s, rheumatoid arthritis–all solved. I was shocked, so deep in mourning I couldn’t see the benefit to her. Not then.

 

From today’s perspective, she found herself in a difficult and vulnerable place. And stepped away. The path in this life no longer viable. A brave woman. Honest. Unflinching.

Every weekday morning until 2011 Kate got up, loved the dogs, and got in her Tundra to drive to Allina. At work she wrestled eighteen-month old babies. Talked to elementary school kids.

She chafed against corporate medicine. Now they’re only giving us fifteen minutes for a patient encounter. A speed up. We’re also supposed to upcode. Find the most remunerative code that fits the visit. No matter how it affects patients.

Corporate medicine, she would tell you with some heat, is all about revenue–not healing. Not relationships with patients. Made me wonder about all the coding decisions made in her ten last days.

Her last days. Surrounded by family. Visiting friends. Rabbi Jamie. Fitful communication. She would push away the thick plastic triangle covering her nose.

When I came in the room, Kate would look up and sign, I love you. I responded with the same. Each day, sometimes each hour a respiratory therapist would check her O2 saturation. Blood draws. Her arms so thin it was hard to imagine finding a vein.

She lay there in the hospital gown, yellow with red accents, each arm, each leg visible evidence of the strain her body had known since early September of 2018. She often seemed too small, a child sat up so she can see her visitors.

Jon sat in a chair on the left side of her bed. His face a full definition of bereft. Shoulders dropped. Head slumping. Kate reached out, hugged him with her thin left arm. Jon’s relief made me smile. Their relationship, often fractious, melted into mother and son. Each year when we celebrate Jon’s birthday that scene comes to mind.

Five years. A long time. No partner. No Kate. The days collected themselves into months and the months extended into years. Would I find a new partner? Move to Hawai’i? Travel? No to the first. I’ve never met anyone. No to the second. Couldn’t leave Ruth and Gabe. Yes to the third. Minneapolis once. Hawai’i twice. Korea once.

It is not life without her. When I look at the Phoenix in the Mardi Gras poster, I see Kate and me at the Cafe Du Monde, water sweating the sides of our glasses, fresh beignets and chicory coffee.

The chair I use we bought for her. The Hawi’ian painting of sea turtles.  Quilts. Blown glass. Kate in her essence.

She’s with me from the time I wake up until I go back to bed.

She rests.

I imagine.

But, maybe not.

Family, Fourth Phase, Friends, Health

Charlie’s Big Day

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Spring and the Moon of Liberation

Wednesday gratefuls: Diane. Shadow’s duvet nest. Relief. My phone returns. Tara’s big help. Fiber and protein. Groceries.

Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Cease Fire

Kavannah: Wonder. Malchut.  Shadow

Tarot: paused

One brief shining: Some days. Yesterday. Tara picked up my phone from the Synagogue. Once again I am in thrall. She also picked up my grocery order and my meds. The Miralax chose yesterday to kick in. I couldn’t have walked to the pharmacy and back to the car without a problem.

 

Not often two week defining events get resolved on the same day. Constipation ended though stomach soreness has not. I can sleep. Get up from a chair without concern. A festival moment for the Moon of Liberation.

My body got relief from a pestering problem.

Also starts sending out messages. Buy the high fiber oatmeal. The seven grain bread. Move more. Sensible. Stuff I know. I order a clamshell of Kiwi fruit.

Yesterday afternoon I had to get my groceries. Couldn’t. Asked Tara. She agreed. Got my meds. My pick up order. When she got back, she put the groceries away. A good friend.

Using the creepily easy find my phone feature in Google, I saw a small, red upside down tear light up in Lakewood. Lakewood? Only took a moment. Luke’s apartment. Made sense since we had lunch together on Sunday and Luke drove.

Sure enough. When Luke looked in the Subaru, my phone was on the passenger’s side. Yay! He took it to Bagel Table, but had to leave it there. Indisposed as mentioned above, I couldn’t get it. Tara had a tutoring student at CBE on Tuesday. Worked well.

When she came with the phone, she also brought Eleanor. Shadow and Eleanor played hard while Tara left for Safeway. I stayed home, preserving my dignity.

The two burs in my side since Sunday a week a go. Got plucked. It was 8-10 days of silence. Once I got over my 21st century existential crisis–someone might need to talk to me!–I found my phone’s absence a relief.

Except when I thought, oh, I need to text Ruth. Look up characters in a movie. Calendar. Emails. You know. That stuff we do with these powerful small computers.

I’m lucky to have a friend like Tara. She says yes whenever possible and shows such joy when helping. That makes it easier to ask her. I’m learning how to navigate this weaker me.

Happy that between my friends and Miralax I could have a celebratory Tuesday.

An epidemic of loneliness.

I live alone, largely relying on myself day-to-day. When trouble comes, I count on an inner-circle of friends and family.

Alone.
Yet surrounded.
By love.

Aging, Family, Fourth Phase, GeekWorld

Losing it

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Spring and the Moon of Liberation

Thursday gratefuls: Artemis in orbit. High orbit. Space dreams. The Moon. The far side of the Moon. Back at it after 53 years

Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.

Sparks of Joy and Awe:  Retina photographs

 

 

Kavannah: Wonder. Malchut.  Shadow

Tarot: Two of Arrows, Judgement. Randomization today. Decisions will follow.

One brief shining: I lost my phone on Sunday. Hunted in the house, at the restaurant where Luke and I had lunch. No teléfono. Peculiar feelings. Relief. Concern. Has anyone tried to contact me?

Losing your phone seems impossible. Unless you drop it out of a moving vehicle. We cradle and carry our personal computers. With care. Not unusual to hear someone say: My whole life is on that phone.

Cute photographs of Shadow. Alan’s contact info.  A quick way to see if anyone responded to my e-mail about the phone.

When we sit down, the phone comes out. Oh, Ruth texted me. Tom sent out another poem.

How could I leave something that intimate, that personal behind? Maybe it was the fatigue from wearing the neck brace. Maybe that I didn’t wear a hat. I almost always wear a baseball cap. At a restaurant I’ll put my hat down, my phone inside it.

If I knew where I lost it, it wouldn’t be lost.

This would not have been a thing in high school, college, seminary. Or even through my fifteen years in the ministry. Ubiquity of the sort we have today? Not until the early 2000’s.

At my age and my level of infirmity, I’m inclined to forgive myself. Going out has increased in difficulty. Unlike Ruth and Gabe I spent over fifty years without a portable phone. I’m on my side.

Wasn’t always.

What can compare? A car? No match for something I could carry inside it. Television? No. Ironically, no longer bound to home to watch TV. You can watch on your phone.

Lost time. Lost relationships. Lost in the woods. Lost

“Not all who wander are lost.”  JRR Tolkien

In certain Christian communities if you’re lost, you’re going to hell. I’m sure my phone is ok there.

I’ve lost many things. Two marriages. My car in a parking lot. My relationship with my dad. Two wedding rings.

Kate died. Five years ago. In 10 days. Losing her? The most difficult of the last sixty years. I’m following her path. Gradual decline.

Over the last year I’ve lost a lot. I’m weaker. A bit unsteady. My feet don’t always go where I aim them. Opening sealed dog treats. Difficult to impossible.

I’m ok with it.

When you lose something.
Look carefully.
Forgive yourself.

Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends

Who do you love?

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Spring and the Moon of Liberation

Monday gratefuls: Luke, assistant professor of Chemistry. Jamie. Spring. Walking. Moving. Samantha. RMCC.

Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.

Sparks of Joy and Awe:  Leo

 

Kavannah: Wonder. Malchut. The eyes of Shadow. The rough bark of the lodgepole.

Tarot: Five of Vessels, Ecstasy. “…seek and surrender to the cosmic life force.” Accepting, embracing the power of life, even in hard circumstances.

One brief shining: Eating out with Luke. Our long relationship adds another memory over tandoori chicken and mango lassi.

 

Once every month or so Luke comes up to do his laundry. The machines in his apartment complex are cranky, expensive. I love that he comes. A chance to catch up. Eat a meal together.

When Leo comes in the house, Shadow sniffs under the door, tail wagging at propeller speed. Then she twirls around for a couple of turns. When Leo comes through the door, she races over to him, smiling, play bowing.

They go outside for a turn in the big yard, Shadow bouncy and running, Leo walking stiffly. At 13, he’s slower. His joints ache as he tries a couple of runs with the youngster.

Luke had let his hair grow for two years. It came over his shoulder. Before he came up here, he had it all braided, then cut off. He grew it out for a charity that makes wigs for children with hair loss. He showed me a picture of the braids in his hand.

Teaching becomes him. Nobody tells him how to teach. He’s teaching a field he knows well.

He stands straighter, speaks more confidently. He’s created chai-chi–tai-chi taught from within a kabbalist framework.

He also told me yesterday he loves when I tell him I love him. “Not many men do that,” he said. When did we become so closed?

Luke turns 35 this year. Veronica, my mikveh buddy, is late twenties. Ruth turns 20 this year, Gabe 18. At 79 I cherish these relationships.

I turned 34 (Luke’s current age) in 1981. The year Joseph was born and our adoption of him finalized. When I turned 20, I was, like Ruth, still in college. 1967.

The great chain of becoming.  Charlie to Joseph, to Luke, to Ruth. No blood. Still, we love.

When Kate died, I lost my best friend, my lover, my wife. What to do with that love? The love that flourished with Wolfhounds and Whippets, with working in the garden together, cruising around Latin America. Where does that love go? It doesn’t die with her.

Love as many as you can.
As often as you can.
Anywhere you can.

Feeding the dogs. Eating Indian food.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Family, Memories, Minnesota

At the Capital Grille

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Imbolc and the Moon of Tides (2% crescent)

Tuesday gratefuls: Tamales from David’s mom. Ruth smiling. Winds. Melting snow. Final C.T. of this round. The lives of our days.

Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Young love

 

Kavannah: Histapkot. Contentment.   Seek what you need, give up what you don’t need.

Tarot: #4, The Greenman.  “…he brings order, discipline, and the “organized action” needed to manifest ideas into reality.” May it be so for my writing.

One brief shining: Ruth and David came up, their new, tender relationship feeling its way. David, “I’m nervous.” Patriarchs, eh? We sat, David on the ottoman, Ruth in the chair, me in mine, and talked of many things.

 

Do you remember? Meeting the parent or grandparent? I do. When I met Kate’s mom and dad, Rebecca and Merton, I had had, as Ruth said David had, a pep talk.

I was not nervous. At 42 I knew who I was and what I was doing in our relationship. I loved Kate. We were getting married.

Rebecca opened, “So, I hear you’re weaving a story.” Oops. She had taken that line from her loom. She was an accomplished weaver. Her slightly forced smile, her body language. The tone.

Merton, the anesthesiologist, was quiet. He twisted his ring a bit, one he set with a stone from his rock tumbler.

Part of the pep talk prepared me for this. “Mom and Dad think you’re after my money.” Since Kate made four times what I did as a Presbyterian clergy, I could just understand. An odd suspicion. Without evidence.

In retrospect it may be that Kate had told them that after we married I would resign from the ministry to focus on writing, cooking, Joseph.

See. That proves it! He’s taking advantage of her. I could feel certainty behind her not reaching the eyes smile.

I ignored the implication. “Yes, that’s right. A novel, Even the Gods Must Die.”

The booth at the Capital Grille got smaller. The sound of cutlery on China. I shifted my napkin in my lap. She had heard what she expected. I did not then, nor did I later try to dissuade them.

Moral grounding can only show up in deeds. Words are too slippery. Too often shaped to the ears of the other.

They never changed their perception. I didn’t care. Kate and I knew each other. Who we were. What we wanted.

When she came home from work, I had a hot meal ready. The dogs had been fed. I’d written my thousand words for the day. We could be together.

Our life blossomed. Let Rebecca and Merton stay in their xeroscaped home deep in the labyrinth of Sun City, Arizona. Seniors only. Golf carts mandatory.

Here’s the irony. I got the money. When Kate died. I felt sad about her not getting to enjoy more of it. Relieved that I would have enough. So much more than I ever expected.

Rebecca and Merton died long ago. I scattered their ashes into a river flowing into Burntside Lake, near Ely, Minnesota.

Who knows whether Ruth and David have a future. They don’t, not yet. I don’t. If they do, I hope David sees me as welcoming, trusting of his intentions.

That’s all I wanted.

In that booth at the Capital Grille.

 

Family, Korea, Memories, Politics, US History

Love it or Leave it.

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Imbolc and the Moon of Tides

Sunday gratefuls: Torah. Luke. Jamie. Galen. Nate. Ruth and David. Tara. Snow, a bit. Colder. Mary and Mark. Joe and Seoah.

Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.

Sparks of Joy and Awe:  Snow

 

Kavannah: Histapkot. Contentment.   Seek what you need, give up what you don’t need.

Tarot: Six of Stones, Exploitation. The Great Work–creating a sustainable presence for humans on Mother Earth.

One brief shining: Ruth plans to come up tomorrow evening with David, her very new boyfriend. She asked if we could have a fire in the fireplace. When I said, “Yes,” she replied, “Great! I’m bringing fixings for s’mores.”

 

Ruth does not want to stay in the U.S. Medical school abroad. Ruth’s middle school friend, Wilson, went to Glasgow for college straight out of high school. He does not intend to return.

Tara and Arjean will be living in Costa Rica this time next year. Marilyn and Irv checked out Costa Rica.

Love it or leave it. The bumper sticker aimed at the long-haired, draft-dodging, pot-smoking, acid-tripping college kids. Like me. Many of us, including Mike Hines, a next neighbor and good friend, did just that.

Emigration to Canada appealed. No draft. English spoken. Nearby. Friendly. Even so, I never wanted to leave. Stay and fight. My country, not right or wrong. Hardly. Home though. Worth trying to change.

So many of my former friends in the anti-war movement slid out of their draft exemptions into the job market. White privilege keeping us safe for at least four years.

I tried. Wasn’t any good at it. An apprentice manager for W.T. Grant. What was I thinking? After a move to Wisconsin, Judy and I bought a house. Settled into blue collar work.

I moved eight-hundred pound bales of Munsingerwear scraps, left over from cutting out underwear and t-shirts. Put them on a conveyor belt and ran them through a cutting machine. Preliminary to making rag-bond paper for the U.S. Treasury. Much better than W.T. Grant. Even so. Canada looked as good then as it ever did for me.

What does it take to dislodge a person from their home country? Economic collapse.  The Irish potato famine. War. Call these push factors.

What can pull young, bright minds away from their homeland? Foreign students, especially from China, came here for a more open and innovative education. Others for the American Dream. A house. Kids. Decent income.

What about, though, the Ruths and the Wilsons? Perhaps it is the stranglehold on money and power of the older generation. Mine. Perhaps it is a more general unease. Government in shatters. Bigotry ascendant. Climate change imminent. Or, perhaps these same factors have, over time loosed the mystic bonds we call patriotism, made them less, much less, compelling.

Ruth fell in love with Korea. Great medical schools. I hope she finds a good spot. Our kids are leaving not only home, but country.

I will miss them.

So will the rest of us left behind.