Category Archives: Family

Cooking, Dogs, Dreams, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Garden, Great Wheel, Judaism, Memories, Minnesota, Mountains, Plants, Shadow Mountain

Oh, my

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Lugnasa and the Full Harvest Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: New credit card. Tom in Omaha. At the Air and Space museum. Good workout. Isaac coming today. Possible personal trainer. Ginny and Janice today. Cooling nights. Gold popping up here and there on Black Mountain. My son. His commitment. Palliative care. Sharpe. Salisbury Steak. A vegetable smoothie. Bad dreams.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Protein

Kavannah: Teshuvah   Returning to the land of my soul

One brief shining: Geez, ever have a night where the dreams stuck with you and you wish they hadn’t; last night I bought a used Porsche that had bald tires and rust, tried to preach in a synagogue bare foot which they said was ok, but couldn’t find my sermon, woke up agitated, out of sorts.

 

What dreams may come. Must have been feeling insecure last night. Perhaps because I got a Groveland UU e-wire announcing their dissolution. Kate and I were a part of Groveland from the beginning and I preached there off and on even after we moved to Andover, then the Rockies. I tried to help them grow. Didn’t have much luck. A feeling of failure. Though I never was their minister except for a brief period. Guess it is a feeling of failure. As I write this, I feel bad. Sad. Inadequate. Groveland was the place Kate and I landed after I left the Presbyterians.

Moods. As I’ve written. Need to return to the land of my soul. Which is here, today, this September 19th life of 2024. Shadow Mountain. Seeing friends. Living. How do I feel? Down. How do I feel? Grounded. How do I feel? Anxious. How do I feel? Sad. How do I feel? Inadequate. How do I feel? In my body. How do I feel? Grateful. How do I feel? Gathered in. How do I feel? Anxious. How do I feel? Surprised. How do I feel? Glad. How do I feel? Here. How do I feel? Sad/OK. How do I feel? Ashamed. How do I feel? Oh, yeah. How do I feel? In myself. How do I feel? Knowing. How do I feel? Back. Mostly

What I learned here was why I never served as a pastor. Not me. I’m a political activist, an organizer, but never a minister. Even though I tried on the role briefly. Twice. Kate told me it wasn’t me. She was right. I wanted to work. To mean something. Sure, that’s fine. But I couldn’t get to that being someone I wasn’t. I didn’t have the right skill set to help a congregation grow unless I was a consultant, not of the congregation. And I was not meant for a pastoral role.

I found work that mattered, that was me, in Andover. Gardener. Bee Keeper. Dog wrangler. Lumberjack. Cook. Husband. Writing. Learning. Oh, the joy I felt. We felt. How much time I wasted trying to fit into square holes when I was a plant shaped peg. A lover of dogs, plants, bees, writing, Kate.

Here in Colorado I have a new focus. The Mountains. Judaism. Friends and Family. Writing. Learning. All about love.

 

 

Asia, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Holidays, Korea, Mountains, Mussar, Politics

Exuberance!

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Lugnasa and the Harvest Moon

Sunday gratefuls: THC. Celecoxib. Erleada. Orgovyx. Vince. Alan’s opening night for Man of La Mancha. My son and Seoah in Okgwa. Her father. Her mother. And family. Chuseok. Teshuvah. South Korea. The U.S. Air Force. The wide Pacific. 15 time zones. Korean. Paul Wellstone. Tim Walz. Kamala Harris. We’re not going back. The politics of joy.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: My Korean family

Kavannah: Exuberance

One brief shining: When I choose an intention for the day, sometimes I crosscut the feelings I’m having, as this morning I’m feeling a little pressed down, not much but enough that it interferes with my joy, my willingness to embrace the day, squeeze some juice from it, find the yirah/awe in the ordinary that usually comes easily, sometimes I see the day ahead and want a kavannah that leans into it, focuses me, as I did with teshuvah yesterday.

 

I’m finding this daily kavannah a powerful practice. I write the middah on my small slip of paper, put it into my pocket. The act of choosing it, writing it down, putting it in my pocket and carrying it with me throughout the day triggers an awareness that lasts till bedtime. I want to find things in this day, things that make me want to lift my arms up and shout with joy. With awe. With love.

Exuberance carries over feelings from my zoom call with my son. As I wrote yesterday, they’re in Okgwa for Chuseok, a Korean harvest/fall holiday similar to our Thanksgiving. My son came on in one of the all white rooms at Seoah’s parents house, all concrete, and built for them a year or so ago by her brother. We chatted a bit, he caught me up on work. Showed me Murdoch lazing on the floor. And moved the laptop into the main living area.

There was Seoah’s sister who will take over the farm from her parents starting in some fashion this fall. In the kitchen, her usual location when inside, Seoah’s mom ate from several small dishes in the Korean style. Her Dad, a joyful man and a very hard worker, wanted to say hi. He wanted to see the outside. Removing the camera, I aimed it out my window for a view of Lodgepoles and Black Mountain beyond.

He got excited. I want to come to Colorado! Seoah translating. I got excited, too. Sounds like they may show up here on Shadow Mountain sometime next year. He loves Mountains. Climbs Mountains. Went to China to climb from the China side Baekdu Mountain*, an active strato-volcano on the China/North Korean border. He’ll love Colorado.

 

Just a Moment: Buoyed me up to see Paul Wellstone’s name** back in the national political conversation. The quote and the article referenced below show how Tim Walz might bring the Wellstone spirit to a Harris/Walz government. May it be so.

 

 

 

*”According to Korean mythology, it was the birthplace of Dangun, the founder of Gojoseon (2333–108 BC), whose parents were said to be Hwanung, the Son of Heaven, and Ungnyeo, a bear who had been transformed into a woman.” Wiki

“The legendary beginning of Korea’s first semi-mythical kingdom, Gojoseon (2333 B.C.E.–108 B.C.E.), takes place here. Buyeo (2nd c. B.C.E. – 494), Goguryeo (37 B.C.E. – 668), and Balhae (698 – 926) kingdoms also considered the mountain sacred.” New World Encyclopedia

 

**“I don’t represent the big oil companies, I don’t represent the big pharmaceutical companies, I don’t represent the Enrons of this world,” Mr. Wellstone said. “But you know what, they already have great representation in Washington. It’s the rest of the people that need it.” NYT article. 9/15/2024

Asia, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Holidays, Judaism, Korea, Memories, Reimagine. Reconstruct. Reenchant., Reimaging revelation, Shabbat, Travel

Chuseok and Teshuvah. Double post. see below as well.

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Lugnasa and the Harvest Moon

Shabbat gratefuls: Torah. Jamie. Mussar. Ruth and Gabe. Lighting the candles. The shema. CBE. Mary and Guru. Mark in Bangkok. My son and Seoah in Okgwa for the Chuseok Festival.* Alan and his busy weekend. Good sleeping. Kristie. Second opinions. Cancer. Spinal stenosis. Sally. Aging. Its joys and its struggles. Scott and Yin. Men. Women. UC Boulder.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Friendship

Kavannah: Teshuvah-“…the journey of teshuvah is not about “turning over a new leaf” or being “born again”; rather, it is simply finding our way back to the land of our soul…Every person possesses a core of inherent goodness whose integrity cannot be compromised. While outwardly, one’s actions may not always reflect this inner goodness…people always have the ability to shed their superficial facade and do teshuvah—returning to their truest, deepest selves.” chabad.org

One brief shining: Chuseok draws families together in North and South Korea, often back to the places of their birth or raising, like little Okgwa for Seoah, back for thanksgiving for family, for the harvest, for love between a brother and a sister, all over that land, a return to the place of your formation; we might say finding a way back to the land of your soul, which has an individual component, of course, but also and strongly a community, familial component, though, yes, the land of your soul and your homeland may be also be widely divergent.

Chuseok card

 

 

Sept 2023. Seoahs family

The key move here, from a Jewish perspective, lies in the neshamah, that essence of you, that buddha nature, that stainless and unstainable core to which one can always return, no matter how hamartia-missing the mark-has confused your nefesh, the outward facing portion of you that changes, grows, shrinks, expands depending on which of the many wolves you feed.

The month of Elul, our current month in the Lunar Calendar for 5784, encourages all Jews to chasbon nefesh, accounting of the soul. Look back over the last year and see if you got lost in moments of despair over an illness. Like I did. See if you judged others harshly, rather than judging them on their merits. Like I did. See if you neglected opportunities to act with loving-kindness. Like I did. See if you failed to discern again the purpose of your life. Like I did. See if you failed again to act on that purpose. Like I did. Take steps to amend those personal lapses that you can. Like I have. Take steps to open your lev to your true path. As I have.

Teshuvah is not about guilt, however. It is about sweeping away the barriers in your life to being who you most truly are: a sacred becoming, a moment in the ever expanding tapestry of novelty that is the universe and everything. A unique and irreplaceable soul, a unique, never to be repeated, ishi-go ishi-e self awaits your joyous return.

No stains that lead to damnation. No sins even God could not forgive. Only you and the land of your soul. To which, at any time, you can, with exuberance and calm, return.

 

 

 

*”It’s the other time of the year in Korea besides Lunar New Year’s Day, aka Seollal (설날), when family members gather together.  Usually, this means traveling to the home of the head of the family, often one’s grandparents.

According to legend, an ancient king of the kingdom, Silla, started a month-long weaving contest between two teams.   The team who had woven the most cloth won, and they were treated by the losing team with food, drinks, and other gifts.  Thus starting the tradition of Thanksgiving almost 2000 years ago.

Some scholars also tie Chuseok to Korea’s history, wherein agriculture was a big part of daily life.  Koreans commonly offered rituals to ancestors to give thanks and celebrate the harvest moon.

Traditionally, the purpose of Chuseok was for family members to gather together during the full harvest moon. This usually appeared in the sky on the 15th day of the 8th month of the lunar calendar. Families wanted to celebrate and show gratitude to their ancestors for the fruitful harvest.

Chuseok is very much a traditional holiday where many of the customs from the old days still stand.”

Chuseok in Korea

 

 

 

Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends

Bonus post: That’s Life, that’s what all the people say

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Friends. And, family. Seeing them. Hearing them. Touching them. Being seen, heard, and touched. Equals life itself. We are, for better and worse, social creatures. Go without contact and even the self begins to deteriorate, turn in on itself, push itself further away from health and wholeness.

This morning I drove the thirty minutes to Evergreen, constant thoughts about the middah of beauty coming to mind. The green card with the single word, beauty, in my pocket. Those Lodgepoles covering Black Mountain. The occasional golden Leaf. Black Mountain and Shadow Mountain themselves. Tall, firm, reliable. Vishnu.

I came close to Kate’s Creek and started talking to her as has become my habit. How beautiful, eh, Kate? These Mountains you found. Shadow Mountain Home. You. I do miss the beauty of your presence. I’m heading to see Alan, breakfast at the Dandelion.

Into the charming downtown of Evergreen, beautiful in its Mountain town way. Already filling with tourists. A 70 degree, bright Sun, blue Sky day. Lake Evergreen, a small jewel amongst the Mountains here. Bear Mountain. Berrigan. Others whose names I do not know, but whose features are familiar. This rock outcropping around the Lake. That spot where the Elk herds cross, causing Elk traffic jams.

Past Elk Meadow, the huge open space saved by the Mountain Land Trust. Past the Hiwan Hills Golf Club. Right at the light. The main Evergreen Fire Station with its statuary, one a huge bronze circle with a man riding it at the very top. Another, smaller meadow and valley. Another right turn. Beautiful meadows. Sculptures. Even the main Evergreen Fire House. All pleasing. Offering their own glints of knowledge, of truth sent straight to the heart, no analyzing. Appreciation of the sculptor’s hand. The green of the meadows.

Down a steep, short hill into the Hiwan Mall. Bivouac Coffee and the Dandelion next to each other. Alan already there. And I was ten minutes early. Remarkable.

He smiled as I stood there arms outstretched, palms up. What’s this? Alan? Early?

We ordered. Got our water and utensils, a napkin. Sat down.

Let the healing begin. I know, all too well, the punishments laid on the body by disease, by malformed spines. And, yes, I want the ministrations of healing folks like Sue Bradshaw, Kristie Kokenny, palliative care. But they don’t have on offer the real healing, the true healing. Why? Well, they will always fail. Their job is to push death as far away from the present moment as possible. I want them to do that.

Friends over coffee however heal the soul. Death is inevitable, despair and depression are not. Alan talked about the recycling day tomorrow. His solo in Man of La Mancha which opens tonight. I told him about palliative care. About Professor T, the excellent British mystery on CPTV. We challenged each other when we slipped into platitudes. This heath stuff doesn’t really bother me. Don’t lie to me. Oh, ok. His own lapses into self-denigration. No, dude. You exercise every day. You’re busy and able to be at 72. You go.

When we finished, we both felt lifted up, held in each others care. Loved. You see, death is no match for love. Life’s real purpose? To love and be loved. Not immortality. Not fame or money. Friendship. Family ties. That’s life.

 

Family, Judaism, Travel, US History, World History

Antisemitism and Distant Family

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Lugnasa and the Harvest Moon

Sunday gratefuls: Chesbon nefesh. Accounting of the soul. Elul. The Shofar. Dawn. As light returns. Dusk. As darkness falls. The long, slow move toward the Winter Solstice. The Torah. Parshas. CBE’s Jubilee year. Shabbat. More kisses on the head. The Mule Deer Doe and her Fawn. The Asters in my back yard. Diane and her Hoosier pilgrimage. Mark, soon to be in Sakakah, Saudi Arabia. My son. Seoah. Murdoch.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Ginny’s voice

Kavannah: HONOUR כָּבוֹד Kavod    Honour, respect, dignity; literally “weight”  (יְקָר Yikar, yee-CAR: literally to regard as “valuable/precious”) [זִלזוּל Zilzul, ZILL-zool: literally to treat as “cheap”]

One brief shining: At each service over the Jubilee weekend, at all the High Holiday services, we have armed and uniformed deputies of the Jefferson County Sheriff at the synagogue, looking out of place with their bulky gear, the shoulder radio, the baton, the gun who double as door openers, greeting us with their paramilitary smiles, and reminding us as we leave to return our name badges. Anti-semites.

 

All day, everyday, the synagogue’s doors require a buzzer and a familiar face to open them. Our windows have a special bullet resistant film that once applied makes it harder for an assailant to easily break them with a weapon. We also added air conditioning when the furnaces had to be replaced. So we wouldn’t need to prop open doors.

I want to believe that it can’t happen at Congregation Beth Evergreen, but of course that’s naive. We’re in gun rich Colorado where the far-right white supremacists and anti-semites hunt or bow each evening to the altar of the gun. If they’re out there in Colorado, they’re armed.

Not a new reality, but a persistent one. From yellow stars to pogroms to the holocaust violence against Jews has been a hallmark of the diaspora since at least Roman times. Never ignored. Never stopped. Much like cancer, it occurs to me. We can’t pretend it’s not there. We do what we have to do. Yet we cannot, will not live our lives in fear.

 

Talked with my son and Seoah last night. They’re starting to golf again as the weather has begun to cool. Though it’s still hot in Songtan. Seoah’s sister has begun preparations for planting in this, the first season she begins to take over from her parents. Seoah’s mom and dad own a good deal of land in their small village of Okgwa. All of it under cultivation from rice to peppers to tomatoes and whatever else can be sold to grocery stores, restaurants, or kimchi factories. Seoah’s mom works making kimchi when the growing season is over.

They’re coming here in December and want to connect with Marilyn and Irv, Alan. My friends are now their friends and vice versa. When I go to Korea, I see Daniel and Diane. Daniel interpreted at their wedding. He’s now a food importer/exporter. I also catch up on Jamie, Nacho, Kevin and other of Joe’s buddies from his many deployments and stationings. Not to mention connecting again with Seoah’s family.

Meanwhile Mary and Mark continue their expat lives, touching down in Southeast Asia, then heading to Australia or Saudi Arabia. My distant family.

 

 

 

 

Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Judaism

What a gift

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Lugnasa and the Harvest Moon

Shabbat & Jubilee gratefuls: Being with my sacred community: Veronica, Tara, Ariaan, Luke, Leo, Ron, Rich, Marilyn, Irv, Ginny, Elizabeth. Celebrations. A Mountain evening. A cool Mountain night. Gut shabbas. Absent friends: Alan and Joanne. The drive down Black Mountain Drive and Brook Forest, up past Lake Evergreen, Elk Cows eating alongside the road. The drive home at night.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Congregation Beth Evergreen

Kavanah: Joy  Simcha

One brief shining: The life of a semi-hermit with its openings into the lives of others like sitting with Tara and Ariaan and Luke and Leo while Veronica in her Moon and Stars covered scarf sang, then came over and kissed me on the head, Ron and Rich, strong long hugs, giving Luke the book of Beatle lyrics when we left a bit early, a chill in the air as three stars became visible overhead. Ad astra, Veronica said, as she kissed me.

 

A week of depth and intensity. Beginning with Gabe on Sunday and the hike up Kate’s sadly dry Creek, the next day, Labor Day, driving to Boulder to see Ruth, eat sushi in honor of Jon, over to Denver to drop off Gabe, back home to Shadow Mountain. A quiet Tuesday, recovering. Breakfast at Primo’s with Marilyn and Irv and their friend from the Boston area, Judy. We talked about poor Rider and his blue algae experience, near death. Survived. Judy’s many travels. The Snow Leopard photograph she took in Tibet with a long telephoto. Talking with Ruth twice as she processed Jon’s death away from home.

On Wednesday after my usual erudite conversation with long time buddy, Tom, Jackie cut my hair and we talked about her puppy, kidnapped in a gentle way by her son, stacking firewood, her wood-fired sauna. Rhonda showed us her gray hair. Barely visible underneath. Jackie remembered to the hour, 3pm, and the location, Hampden and University, and her age, 27, when she sat as the stoplight changed, her first gray hair in her hand.

Leaving her salon I drove into Denver and turned north at, yes, Hampden and University, where I found Modern Bungalow in its new location further north. Sat in Stickley/Arts and Crafts inspired chairs and chose one. Over to Dardanos to buy a pair of colorful kicks. Hoka Speedgoats. Tired of white.

Thursday found me talking to Tom again, with Paul and Irv. The Fantastic Four. Zoom. Though I usually go to Thursday mussar I took a nap and slept through. Knowing I was going to go to the Jubilee dinner the next night.

Friday I talked to Diane in a Michigan motel. Zoom. Did stuff around the house.

At 5:30 I saddled up Ruby and drove in my semi-sedate way to the synagogue. It was, for me at least, a night of long hugs, smiles, intimate moments with long time friends. A genuine celebration of this unique community rooted in the Jewish tradition while living into the 2nd millennium with creativity and profound relationships.

Not done yet. A Torah study this morning at 10 and lunch with Alan afterward.

This, then, is my life now. Rich and full, nourishing. Peopled. What a gift.

 

Family, Mountains, Politics, Shadow Mountain, Weather +Climate

Well. All right!

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Lughnasa and the Harvest Moon

Thursday gratefuls: A.I. Drugs. Ruth in her grief. Rain. 44 degrees. Fall. Slowly recovering from Monday. New kicks, colorful Hoka’s. A new chair, a Morris chair. Asset Framing. Stickley furniture. Celebrex. I think. Old age. The Fourth Phase. Tom and Joy. Bellingham. The railroad tracks. Irv. Paul. Tom. Zoom. Travel. Feeling safe, secure. Kristie.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Arts and Crafts movement

Kavanah: WISDOM חָכְמָה Chochma   Wisdom, learning, scholarship    Second Sefirah = intuitive/revelatory ideas; creative flow state; right brain (opposite Understanding/Binah)  antonyms [הֶדיוּט Hedyut: Blank, undifferentiated state]

One brief shining: Found parking behind the Modern Bungalow, entered a rear door, and immersed myself in the Arts and Crafts movement yet again, this time searching for a chair, one with a back that will support me in a more upright position than the recliner we bought for Kate, since my spinal stenosis makes me slump at an angle, found one, bought it, and left. Like this one, but with straight arms.

 

I mentioned the primal in relation to Luke’s snake, Sacha. It got primal up here on Shadow Mountain. Cracks of Thunder rattled the windows. Flashes of Lightning bright enough to read by. Rain. Easy to see a God or Goddess behind them. A clash of divine swords in sacred battle, thunderbolts heaved into the fray. Tears for the fallen. An angry deity might throw a bolt of Lightning and split a tree by mistake, start a fire. Where’s that sacrificial lamb?

Did make me consider that in the immediate area, here on top of Shadow Mountain, my house could be the highest point from some directions. That Starlink antenna’s sitting out there. Never had an issue. Still. Storms of this power are rarer here in the Arid West, so when they come they get our attention. Reminders that we exist at the sufferance of Mother Nature, not the other way around.

 

Talked to Ruth twice yesterday. Jon’s yahrzeit, being away from home for the first time. Tough. I had the same experience in my first year at Wabash. Mom had not even been dead a year. The loneliness that moving in with a whole new group of people can occasion only intensifies the feelings. And this is only her second week on campus. She had good strategies. Call people that knew and remembered Jon. Eat. Don’t be alone. Tough, but manageable. Kudos to her.

Jon’s yahrzeit candle burned out.

 

Just a moment: Well all right! Allan Lichtman and his 13 keys. You can find a fun graphic article about this professor and his keys that have correctly predicted almost all Presidential elections since 1984. He predicts Kamala Harris will win. Worth viewing the article to understand how the keys work and the way he uses them.

Glad to hear this. This has been such a-oh, gosh, what words are right?-unpredictable, strange, bizarre, unprecedented, historic, confusing, off putting, gut wrenching, sad, joyful election season. Definitely historic. The specter of fascism and bigotry and stupidity again lifted high. The drama of Biden’s difficult decision. Kamala and Tim swooping in to, I hope, save the day!

 

 

 

Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Memories

Repost from Sept. 4, 2022: Jon has died.

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The Harvest Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: Ruth. Gabe. Jon. Kate, always Kate. Death. Life. The passage of Time. The Great Wheel, turning. Lugnasa. Fall. Samain. Then the fallow time. The fourth phase. After childhood and education, after family and career, after early retirement and young old age. A time of life’s harvest gathered in for the final years. Knowing that, yes, spring will come for the young ones, summer, too. And we will rely on their memory to keep us here in the physical world.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Grief

Kavanah: COMPASSION   רַחֲמִים Rachamim    Compassion, empathy; related to רֶחֶם womb; cognitive function = personal feeling

One brief shining: A shock in the late evening, the call from Ruth I can still hear today-“Dad is dead.”-disbelief, sadness for the kids, a rush in my heart to get to them, the long forty-five minute drive through traffic and street lights, past stores and filling stations, others going about their life while one we knew would never again find his way in this material world.

The Repost:

Lughnasa and the Harvest Moon

Monday gratefuls: Jon. Ruth. Gabe. Meme. Death. Again. Arapahoe county medical investigator. Police. Family gathering. Again. Sarah. BJ. Joe. Seoah. Kep. Aurora. Jon’s house. Plan. Change plan. That gurney.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: the cycle of life and death

 

A phone call. About 6:45 pm. One ring on the cell phone. Off. Then the landline. Hard to understand. Someone in distress. Crying. Dad’s dead. It was Ruth. She had gone down in the basement of their house to ask him a question and found him. He was cold.

Yes, of course I’ll be there. Threw on my jeans. Grabbed my keys and my phone. Headed down the hill for the 45 minute plus drive in to Aurora.

Joe called. He had plans underway. Be here tomorrow or Wednesday with Seoah. I called Sarah. No luck. All the way down thinking. Jon. Ruth. Gabe. Meme, their cat. What happens now?

Jon. A tortured soul. Buffeted too much by life, never found that life preserver that could have kept him afloat. He would have been 54 this year. Not suicide. Except in a post-divorce slow motion lack of self-care way.

By the time I got there the EMTs had come and gone. Pronounced him dead. An Aurora police car sat near the house. Jen was there.

Ruthie ran up to my car as I drove by. I stopped. She leaned in and sobbed.

Once I parked both Gabe and Ruth ran to me and we formed a tight circle, hugging each other, a defense against this mystery, so ordinary, yet so harsh, so final. Crying. Crying.

Both of them surprised me by asking me how I got through the death of my mother. They knew I was young and that it was sudden. I was numb for a long time. In shock, I said.

Gabe went with me to get some water. Are you really leaving in February? I really wish you’d stay longer. Oh. Arrow found my heart. Focus on the now.

Back at the house on Florence Avenue a vigil of sorts set up. Waiting on the medical investigator for Araphahoe County and the coroner’s van. I had to take my Mountain appropriate sweatshirt off in deference to the 83 degrees of an Aurora late evening.

Jon’s house is in a working class neighborhood. Small brick homes placed close to each other. A mixed community of Latino and poorer whites. The light from the police cruiser painted the house across from Jon’s in a thin layer of bluish white. Hushed conversations.

Jen and I. Thought we might get along but her animosity and cruel treatment of both Jon and Kate was too close to the surface. We had different sectors and the kids came to each of us at different points.

The coroner’s van came. Ruth gave Jon’s quilt wrapped body a final hug and the gurney took him on his last exit from his house.

I left shortly after, driving back up the hill. Ruth and Gabe headed to their mom’s. Sarah and BJ are on their way. Joe and Seoah.

Many things unclear. How will I communicate with Ruth and Gabe now that they will be with their mom full time? What kind of service? Where? Ruth said Jon wanted to be cremated.

The coroner will have his body at least until Tuesday late afternoon. They have to determine cause of death, rule out suicide, other possibilities. Sarah, as his closest blood relative, has legal authority since Ruth is under 18.

Jon had no will. What happens to the house, the cars? All of the stuff in the house. The house itself.

Lots of details ahead. For which I have little energy. Feeling like Colorado has been about too much disease and death. Conflicted about Gabe’s comment. Wanting so much to start a new chapter far from here. Hearing him. And, Ruth.

Boulder, Denver, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Health, Mountains, Shadow Mountain

Earth Waves

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The Harvest Moon

Tuesday gratefuls: Ruth. Gabe. Boulder. Ruby. Celebrex. Tramadol. THC. Gettin’ old. The gradual arrival of Fall. Great Sol. The Flatirons. The High Plains as they wash up against the Laramide Oregeny’s Rocky Mountains. Mountains as Earth Waves. Second looks at my prostate cancer facts. Kristie. Steve. Dr. Leonard. Mr. In Between. Whippets. My son.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Staying the course with Ruth and Gabe

Kavanah: STABILITY יְסוֹד Yesod    Stable, rooted, grounded; literally “foundation”  Ninth Sefirah = Connection & communication; covenant relationship; regenerative organ  [נְתִיקָה Netika: Disconnected, detached, rootless, neurotic]

One brief shining: We gathered, the three of us, the last of Jon’s close family, sitting outside at the Hapa Sushi Grill and Sake Bar, Jon’s complicated impact on each of us lifted to the surface as we ordered the Multiple Orgasm Roll, the Hapa Special Roll, and a sashimi sampler with Daikon fries while Labor Day freed Boulderites and UC students wandered up and down the Pearl Street Mall.

 

At ten am Gabe and I took off for Boulder, an hour drive from Shadow Mountain. Once on 470 we headed east always driving along the Hogbacks that mark the earlier Oregeny (Mountain Building) phase that preceded the Laramide. Thrust up on angles toward the west, these ancient Rock formations mark the end of the High Plains, or their beginning. Heading east from the Hogbacks the High Plains move toward their lower, yet contiguous sisters that make up the Plains States, running as far east as western Minnesota.

Though technically the west begins around the 105th parallel in Nebraska, where Rainfall dips below 20 inches a year, the feeling of being in the West, the Mountain West, only begins when you see the Rockies in the distance and their older brethren, the Hogbacks. Coming from the east, of course, as I mostly have.

I have a marked sense of awe, in Hebrew yirah, wherever I drive in the Mountains. This path from Shadow Mountain to Boulder thrills me, as it follows the evidence of plate tectonics active 75 through 35 million years ago, evidence inescapable to the eye and to the internal combustion engine. The hand of Gaia splashing the ocean of land and creating waves in her outermost layer, easy to see even now so long after she finished. Earth waves.

 

Just a moment: Even with the Celebrex on board, the drive from home to Boulder, then to Denver to drop Gabe off on Galena Street and finally back west through Denver and up 285, left me in pain. And long before I finally got home.

When I got back, I hurt so bad I tossed in a tramadol and an edible. Big mistake. My stomach said no, I do not like this, not at all. Please go to bed. So I did. At 4:30 pm. Got back up a couple of hours later.

Worth it though. Gabe and Ruth need time together and time with me. Especially yesterday, two days from the second anniversary of Jon’s death. I gave both of them yahrzeit candles, candles that burn the full 24 hours of a yahrzeit. Had to take Ruth’s back because: no candles at all ever in the dorms. Oh. Yeah.

 

Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Mountains, Politics

Dried Up

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The Harvest Moon

Labor Day gratefuls: Gabe up here. 47 degrees this morning. Seeing my son with Gabe yesterday evening. Zoom. The Ancient Brothers on poetry. Weakness. Sarcopenia. Coffee. Mac and Cheese with flayed, grilled Shrimp and Japanese mayo. Ode in Glacier Park.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Scrolling through pictures with Gabe

Kavanah: Love Ahava

One brief shining: Ruby pulled over to the side of Brook Forest Drive, Gabe got out, I did too, locked her, and we began a familiar hike up Kate’s Valley to its outlet at the Pond where I distributed Kate’s ashes; it took us a minute, we were so used to it being there, the Creek, Kate’s Creek, had dried up.

 

This bummed us out. Both of us. The Creek filled the Valley with the gentle sound of Water rushing over Rocks. It carried Kate’s ashes quickly away from the Pond, heading toward the Gulf of Mexico and the World Ocean. Plants thrived along its banks and it made Rocks slippery where we needed to cross. The Valley felt empty, deprived of its soul.

Partly because I’m not as strong as I used to be, mostly because we both felt it wasn’t worth the effort without the Creek, we turned back well before the Pond. A treasured friend had gone missing, a friend who gave music, the laughter of Water spilling over Rocks, a sense of vitality with its rapid flow.

The Creek’s Bed laid bare, the Rocks in it seemed ordinary, no longer mysterious beneath its surface. Further up we did find trickles of water, as if the Creek wanted to return, wanted to offer itself as it once had, but that Water died out, too.

I’ve gone up and down Kate’s Valley, along Kate’s Creek for five or six years. Never once was it dry. Until yesterday. Denver Parks has done Fire mitigation along its sides. Did something they did plug up its source? We didn’t get far enough back to hazard a guess.

Hard to describe how distressing this was. Left both of us sad. We’ve had Rain this summer, we’re not in drought conditions. A puzzle.

After, back at Shadow Mountain, I heated up the Mac and Cheese, divided the remains of the Shrimp entree from my visit to Luke’s. Gabe and I ate together.

 

Just a moment: How bout those former East Germans voting in a far right bloc? Talk about irony. They’ve gone from fascism to communism to democracy back to fascism.

Though I’m not sure what’s going to happen in the election here, a chance exists, a good chance, I believe, that we’ll turn away from far right populism and its odors of fascism, a movement giving off the stench of bigotry, hatred, and outright stupidity. The festering wounds of our Trump infected years.

I know. Even if we elect Kamala and Tim, there will still be stores selling red hats eager to promote a lost America that never was. There will still be people to purchase them. The flags won’t come off the pickup trucks. There’ll be one more shot at overturning the election. I hope the last.

But maybe, maybe we’ll turn the corner and drive like hell away from Mar-a-Lago.