Category Archives: Family

Kate’s Next to Last Day of Work

Summer                                              Under the Lily Moon

Business meeting this am.  Our financial situation looks good.  For now.  Wondering about the changes to the tax code, the possibility of continued slow to no growth.  Impacts of both would require changes in our budget.  Still, that’s tomorrow’s problem and today’s, as the good book says, are sufficient unto themselves.

Took Kate into work for the second to last time.  Next Wednesday she goes in 5:00 to 9:00 for her last work session in a long career, dating back to her 19th birthday.  Since then, one way or another, she’s been involved in medicine.  That’s over 49 years, damn near 50, and the last 18 driving Highway 10 south to the Coon Rapids Allina Clinic.

The change to medicine run as a corporate enterprise and a vertically integrated one at that has made practicing much less appealing to her.  Schedules, pace, income, review all dependent on corporate norms, not medical results.  The physician has transisted, over her years of practice, from a private, mom and/or pop shop to giant clinics like Coon Rapids stuffed with specialties and designed to “maximize revenue.”  Not as much fun, not as good a medical environment for either patients or docs.  Great for administrators, though.

 

The Sunnier Side

Beltane                                         Garlic Moon

OK. I may have tilted toward the darker side in the post below.  It’s here, all right, and dominant in much of what I’ve personally experienced of Romania this week.

However.  If this were a movie, the weather would have started rainy and cool, which it did.  We might say, the Romania I reported on in the post below.  Then, as the week went on, the rain would lift until a pleasant, sunny, mild day ended the visit.

The Romania which I saw, for example, as I took a walk around the hotel’s block.  There apartment buildings of modest heights, 3-6 stories, hide behind vine covered fences, a small pocket park has a shady place for children from the Mikos child care center.  Two backyards (all the backyards) have well-tended plantings and fountains.

A couple sat on their balcony four floors up, smoking, drinking morning coffee.  And, of course, there are homeless people on the streets and under the bridges of Minneapolis and St. Paul.

There is, too, the land, a beautiful land with mountains, picturesque villages, good train service and a friendly population.  And Bucharest has many, many trees and beautiful parks, wide streets and a safe feel so often not present in US cities.

This is a country, I believe, that awaits its vision of itself as a free people.  I can imagine one though.  It roots in millennia of settled history, linking this land to the greatest of early Western civilizations, Greek and Roman and makes the remains of those two a vital aspect of a new future.

The difficult period after the fall of Rome adds great texture to current Romania as Mongols, Magyars, Russian and Turks fought back and forth over this rich land at the nexus of so many ambitions. Those eras, though painful, also enliven a sense of Romania as a place desired by many; many who contributed cultural legacy to the present, like the Saxons around Brasov, the Slavs on the coastal regions of the Black Seas and the Hungarians in northwestern Romania.

The 19th and early 20th century had some stirrings of a free Romania, then world war II came and after that the fall of the iron curtain.

Now there is a country just waking up in its own home, a home with a past, and now one with a future.  I hope this is just the first visit for me.  Nicoleta’s brother and his wife have a baby on the way, naming ceremony in October.

 

Be Glad to Exist

Beltane                                         Garlic Moon

A Greek bowl in the alternately wonderful and frustrating Constanta musuem of archaeology and history had this inscription:  Be Glad To Exist.  Those Greeks.  Had it going on so early.  And now?

Be glad to exist and carpe diem amount to a satisfactory life philosophy.    I finished the book Masters of the Planet, an excellent summary of current findings and theories about human evolution.  The author added this to a summation of cognitive theory:  “We are ruled by our reason, until our hormones take over.”  Fits with the Greco-Roman fortune cookie life path.

While on my way to Constanta Tuesday, I returned to Bucresti Nord and ate breakfast there.  As usually happens to me at some point on a trip like this, I do something I never do at home:  eat at McDonald’s.

It felt like being in American terrarium, eating a sausage McMuffin and drinking the still not very good version of coffee.  Inside the terrarium I looked out at a Romanian world:  a board of all the departures and arrivals for Bucresti Nord, a currency exchange shop, Schimb Valutar, Romanians going about their mornings off to work, running, sitting, waiting, flirting.

The cut of the suits, the occasional very Slavic physiognomy: eyebrows, squared off jaws, thick necks, serious all remind me of the latter days of the Soviet Union when apparatchiks still roamed the countryside, conducting the business of a centralized state and a planned economy.

It occurred to me, as it has before and like my hero Scott Nearing proposed, that the middle way would be best, a place between the grim and often inefficient (therefore grim?) Soviet communism and rapacious, winner take all, screw the little guy late stage capitalism now regnant.

In other words, let capitalism have the non-essentials designer cloths, fancy watches, restaurants, but not groceries, hotels but not homes, minute clinics but not personal health care, boutique education but not public education, a gated community or two, but not urban planning.  Give capitalism the margins and let the money enchanted compete and scrabble and become rich there.

The rest of us, whose lives themselves are our focus, those of us glad to exist, could read, write, paint, sculpt, build cars, houses, care for the health of others, teach, grow and distribute healthy food.  We might, probably would, have less material wealth, but we would have life itself.  And think how short that is.

 

 

La Revedere

Beltane                                                           Garlic Moon

Checked in for my flight, boarding passes printed out for the journey to Bucharest.  Bit of a bump.  The Delta website said, Visa required.  Have proper documentation.  Whoa.  I thought…  So, I checked again.  Nope.  No visas required.  Romania requires one after 90 days.  But, passport’s good until then.  Geez.  Don’t scare me like that.

Bags are packed, I’m ready to go.  Well, almost.  I haven’t quite finished Pentheus and I want to do that before we leave for the airport.  That’s next.  Last few things go in the pack and in the checked baggage just before I leave.  That sort of thing.

My plan right now is to update from Romania.  Perhaps starting Saturday since I get in at 3:05 pm Bucharest time which is 11:05 pm here.  Updates always depend on finding wi-fi but I anticipate it will not be a problem, at least not too much.  So, if you’re interested, tune in again on Saturday when we’ll be reporting live from the home of the 5th Romance language.

The header is from a small village in rural Romania.   Oh, and la revedere is good-bye in Romanian.

 

Being a Helpmate

Beltane                                                              New Garlic Moon

Today is a help Kate day.  Working on her schedule and her list to get those things done that will make her life easier while I’m in Romania.  Some weeding, banking, picking up laundry.  Things of that sort.

Tomorrow I want to finish off Pentheus and pack.  Packing always makes me a bit anxious before I leave on a long trip, more so than a short one, so if I get out of the way early, I don’t experience that uptick.

 

A note came today from Woolly Tom Crane who is in the land of the midnight sun, able to work now with the long day in a place where, in January, they had to knock off at 2:30 pm or so due twilight.

 

Rainy Weather

Beltane                                                                New Garlic Moon

Rain.  Thanks, weather gods.  Lightning and thunder and high winds, they scare Rigel and Gertie.  Rigel tries to bark the thunder away.  Which, needless to say, increases the noise level some.  All the veggies got a good soaking, the orchard and the flowers.  Nice.

Kate said tonight that her first job was a great fit, wrapping presents at a gift shop.  She also said she thought medicine fit her, too.  I surprised myself then by saying, “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever had a job that fit me.  Not one.  Except maybe the last 20 years.”  Writing, being a husband and a father, gardener.  Sometimes I get exasperated with the boss, but that’s true in every work situation, right?  (just to be clear.  le boss est moi)

Kate thought I might have made a good journalist.  Maybe.  Hard to say.  Strange to look back over my life and realize I never worked (by that I mean, employed specifically for) at anything I really enjoyed.  I did a lot of things I considered important, good, worthwhile, but that’s not the same, is it?

 

A Thought, A Sigh

Beltane                                                                            Beltane Moon

All day.  A thought comes.  A sigh, hoping to delve into, oh, say, renaissance humanism.  Dive in and just stay there until all there is to absorb crawls inside my skin and remains.  Or, maybe Romania.  Wondering just how the Slavic countries ended up north and south of Romania-Hungary-Austria.  Here’s another part of the world about which I know almost nothing.

Later, watching Kate, seeing her sinking back into a life without paid work, a sense of relaxation, of being at home.  At last.

Looking at the Google art.  A kris.  A southeast Asia blade with a wavy, not straight edge.  Indonesia.  Again, a country with a population comparable to the US and lots of islands, but, again, not much is in my head about it.  A little.  Bali.  Krakatoa.  Suharto.  My god, it has 17508 islands.

Lyndon Johnson.  In the first volume of Robert Caro’s four volume (so far) biography.  He dominates, pushes, acts out against his parents.  The hill country of texas.  A difficult place, a trap for the unwary.  Most of the people who lived there.

The dogs.  At the vet.  18 years to the same vet.  Many dogs, all panting, all nervous.  Rigel, Vega and Kona today.  Rigel and Vega, sweet dogs.  Kona more aloof.  A grand dame.

Irrigation overhead busted in the southern vegetable garden.  Pulled loose from the pcv that feeds it water.  Have to fix it.  Plant more collards and beets.  I’ve touched most of the plants here, memories.  Buying them at Green Barn.  Digging a spot for them.  Pouring water on them.  Over the years, 18, lots of plants, thousands.  One at a time.  In the soil.  Maybe pick it up and move it or divide it.  That sense of a deep, long connection.

Dream of the Red Chamber.  Chinese literature, the third classic of the four major ones.  Romance of the Three Kingdoms.  Monkeys Journey to the West. Sinking into the rhythms of another culture.  Reading it on the Kindle.  Odd juxtaposition of past and present.

original by Ivan Walsh)

Now, tired.  Smelling the lilacs Kate brought me.  Thinking of sleep.

 

 

Changes

Beltane                                                                       Beltane Moon

Received a second invitation to a going away party for two friends moving to Maine.  They’re part of the Woolly change, the moves and deaths, the losses that accrue as we head past 65.  They seem pretty energized by this move to a home in Robbinston, a spot near the Atlantic and New Brunswick.  And why not?

Change can give us a fresh perspective, a place to begin again or to continue, but in a different direction.

Over the last several years I’ve chosen to embrace change as a deepening process, crossing thresholds into the unknown in areas with which I have substantial familiarity:  literature, arts, gardening, politics, family, religion.

In literature, for example, I moved into a different kind of book, a fantasy epic instead of the one off novels I’ve written up till now.  This change exhilarated me, made me stretch, thinking about the long arc rather than the shorter one handled in one volume.

The Latin learning and translating I’m doing is in service of deepening, too.  Deepening my knowledge of Greek myth and Roman culture.  I have, also, now peaked behind the veil of translation, learned something about the kinds of choices translators have to make.

In the arts I’ve chosen to focus most of my learning in Asian arts, probing deeper into Chinese history and the role of context for the art we have at the MIA.  This part year didn’t see as any Asian tours as in the past, but I’ve continued studying, reading Chinese literature and learning more history.

My grasp of photography has increased considerably, too, as has my understanding of contemporary art.  Going deeper.

As Kate and I have gotten wiser about our garden and how we actually use it, we’ve gone deeper into vegetable and fruit growing and preserving.  The bees increased our appreciation for the engagement of insects in the plant world.  And for honey, too.

In religion I’ve stepped away from any organized groups or lines of thought, trying now to penetrate how changes underway across the world might demand a new way of faith.  This one’s proving difficult.  But, that’s where the juice is, right?

Finally, I’m learning, still, how to be a grandparent with my two instructors, Gabe and Ruth.  Also, I’m learning the role of parent in children’s mid-life, where demands of work and family consume them.  Again, a deepening and a change.

Emerson said long ago that we do not need to travel to Italy to see beauty.  Beauty is where we see it, not only, perhaps not even primarily, where others see it.

 

Mother’s Day. Not A Happy Day.

Beltane                                                                        Beltane Moon

Mother’s day.  Every year.  Since her death.  1964.  A long time to be motherless.  Almost a life time.

Her stroke changed all our lives.  We went on but not well.  I often stumbled, not picking myself up and shaking it off, not turning the pain into a gift.  Instead, I experienced it as pain.

(Morristown Post Office)

She was a small town girl. Morristown, Indiana.  800 people.  Many of them our kin.  A rural town right where Indiana breaks into full on country as you travel south, the big cities and heavy industry behind you.  Lots of corn and beans (soy beans), tractors, barns, cows, pigs, a few horses.  Still that way.

Might have been a small town girl her whole life, except for WWII.  Signal Corps.  Mom was a WAC.  She went to Rome, Naples, Capri, Algiers.  After, she married Dad.  She had an A.A. degree in teaching, elementary.

Never learned to drive.  Can you imagine?  A midwestern country girl who never learned to drive.  Didn’t stop her from an active life. In our small town, Alexandria, Indiana, there was no spot you couldn’t reach by walking.  So Mom went everywhere on foot or riding with Dad.

Warm and quick, kind, loving.  Compassionate.  You know, the mom you see on the cover of Saturday Evening Post drawn by Normal Rockwell.

Since 1964, she’s been a memory.  At times she almost seems to slip away, a murmur, a rumor from the past, like an imaginary place I used to visit as a small boy.  Then I recall the garden spider at our kitchen window.  Her taking insects in a kleenex to release outside, something I still do.  Her voice breaking as she learned her father, Charlie Keaton, my namesake and grandfather, had died.

So, mother’s day has not been a big favorite of mine, not for a long time.  Not a happy day with dinner out, flowers and a big hug.  No, “remember when?”  No, “you’re just what I hoped.”  No, “oh, you.”  Just not. Absence.

Auntie Biotic

Spring                                                       Beltane Moon

Kate is home and her arm (cellulitis) looks much better.  Still a ways to go both on the antibiotics and healing, but the right direction.  Among the vagaries of strong antibiotic treatment is its kill all nature.  Like Round-up can’t tell the difference between weed and grass, most antibiotics can’t tell the difference between the pathogens and the friendly flora and fauna of your gut.

As a large symbiotic organism with literally billions of helper one-celled creatures throughout our body, it’s not a good idea to kill the guest-workers.  It would be sort of like throwing all the immigrants in jail (or deporting them) that you need to do the work in agriculture, manufacturing and domestic services.  Oh, wait…

How does the old song go?  You don’t know what you’ve got ’til its gone.  The digestive tract needs these wee beasties, needs them bad.  When they get killed off in sufficient quantities, the intestinal tract can get thrown way outta whack.

Now, I’m not sayin’ the cure is worse than the disease, but at certain points in time it can feel like a toss up.  This very problem can cause cancer patients to push away chemo-therapy, concluding that in this case, in spite of a terrible disease, that the cure is worse.

A lot of medicine relies on harsh chemicals, the internal equivalents of pesticides, fungicides and herbicides.  It’s popular in some circles to acknowledge this and give a blanket condemnation of Western medicine.  This kind of criticism only makes sense in a world where dying from an infection triggered during gardening seems impossible.  Why impossible?  Because we have the harsh chemicals to combat the even harsher outcomes of untended infection.

Overuse has begun to erode our edge against infections, so we might again have an era when the yearning will be for the time when we could beat stuff back.