Category Archives: Family

Asia, Cooking, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Korea, Mountains, Shadow Mountain, Wild Neighbors

The Meat Shop

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Lughnasa and the Korea Moon

Thursday gratefuls: K55. The bus to Osan AFB. T-card. Transportation money on a debit card. Rain from Typhoon Hauikui. Seoah. Murdoch. My son. Comic books. Dressed in his uniform and off to work. Posco the Sharp. My son and Seoah’s apartment complex. CS. A convenience store. The Meat Shop. How my son cares about his squadron.

Sparks of Joy and  Awe: A well organized and easy to understand bus system

One brief shining: When boarding a city bus in Songtan, the bus stop itself tells you how far away in minutes your bus is as well as having a swiping spot that tells how much money you have on your T-card no digging  through pockets for change or wondering when the bus will be there or whether you have enough money for a fare. Civilized.

 

Went out last night for a farewell dinner for a master sergeant who worked in my son’s office. The Meat Shop. In that cluster of small shops and restaurants I mentioned across from the main gate for the base. Slices of meat in a long row of glass covered cases. Pork. Ham. Galbi. (beef cut in small pieces). Sausages. Pork belly. Some marinated in soy sauce, others in a barbecue sauce. Vegetables like bok choi, mushrooms, onions, tomatoes. Rice at a separate station. Lots of small saucers and plates and bowls. Linoleum and several long tables.

An odd decor which featured a Klimt print, muscle bound scantily clad women, tiled surfaces with faces on some of the tiles, a Korean calendar, lacy paper on some of the shelving.

Back at the table every four chairs had a gas burner and a large griddle tilted downward toward a grease pit. Cut out the chef. Make the guests cook their own meal. A very typical Korean spot. Hot Pot the same. Galbi, too.

Seoah has her own opinions about how meat should be cooked. Wielding scissors, also so Korean, she cut our meat into smaller pieces, turning them with chopsticks. A loud and boisterous evening. Lots of beer and meat. Very American yet with a strong Korean stamp.

 

Seoah and I took a taxi home because my son  had to walk all the back across base to his car. When we got home, Seoah went down the CS (convenience store) and the dry cleaners. I sat down on a stone bench to wait. My hip was sore for some reason.

While I waited, the towers of the five tall apartment buildings in the Posco the Sharp complex rose above me. Lights on in random windows. A slight mist in the air. Cars came and went from the parking garage directly across from where I sat. Hissing in the recently rained on streets.

Delivery motorcycles avoided the automated gates and turned into the garage. Not busy, a late evening pace of movement. Folks returning from work. Going out for a meal or to a club. Ordering food for delivery.

Thought of Shadow Mountain. The Lodgepoles and the Aspens. The Mule Deer and Elk. Bears and Mountain Lions. Black Mountain across the way. This spot where I sat was as far away from Shadow Mountain as I could get. Urban. Gentle slopes. City streets. Constant movement of cars, buses, taxis, motorcycles. People living high off the ground stacked on top of each other. Lights blinking and fading, suddenly appearing.

Yet, I liked this, too. I also realized how it fooled the eye. Yes, every one lived one above the other, side by side, yet each apartment was an individual home. Folks here did not live their lives with each other, rather they lived their lives in their own versions of home, still separate from each other. Not like, say, a small village where Seoah grew up.

Sure on any day you’ll run into way more people here than I do on Shadow Mountain, but the number you know? Probably about the same, given the usual differences between introverts and extroverts.

I could live like this. But I don’t want to. I prefer my own house, my wild neighbors, the Rocky Mountains. Still, at another point in life? Maybe.

 

 

Asia, Cooking, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Korea, Travel, Weather +Climate

A Babette’s Feast of Sushi

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Lughnasa and the Korea Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: The gym. A workout. Rain. Typhoon Haikui. Sushi place. Lunch with Seoah. Tripping the circuit breaker. Murdoch. Soil, a classic Korean novel. Kate, always Kate. Jon, a memory. The USAF. Osan AFB. Sim cards. Smart phones. Computers. Zoom across the waters. From Songtan to downeast Maine.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Humid Korea

One brief shining: That lunch with Seoah yesterday first came miso soup, kimchi, pickled onions, water cress, seaweed packages, creamed corn (I know.), then udon noodles in soup, after that a large serving platter of sashimi, beautiful fresh Salmon, Tuna, translucent Fish, a buttery cut, all thicker than U.S. sashimi slices, later tempura a sushi roll and a dish of Fish entrails.

 

This was the Babette’s Feast of sushi. The food kept coming on the little serving trolley. The smiling waitress unruffled as she sat down dish after dish. I quit before the sushi roll and the Fish entrails. Full. Seoah ate on. Not much in the way of carbs, mostly protein and vegetables.

The restaurant had a second story perch over the same ro (street) on which Seaoh and my son’s apartment building sits. A delightful time with Seoah talking and eating, sharing. Making more memories together. Due to rain we took a cab both ways, oddly the same cab driver both ways.

 

Got back to workout routine. Treadmill and resistance. In a room of eight treadmills I had one to myself until a Korean man came and chose the one right next to me. An American would have chosen one in the rank of treadmills facing the other direction. We ran together for a bit.

In the weight room were three buff middle-aged Korean women and an older Korean man. I felt slightly self-conscious as the only old guy, only white guy, and the only one lifting lighter weights. Got over it. I know my weight lifting, my lower body work with the exercise ball, planks. Did shoulder presses, chest presses, concentration curls, flys, crunches, plank, dips, and squats.

Felt good to get back in the gym. My body had been feeling sore and I am demonstrably weak. I can cure most of that with regular gym time here and back home. Our bodies are meant to move.

 

Jet lag is in the past. Normal bed time. Up at 5:30-5:45. Joe gets up around the same time. He checks up on baseball, other sports. We talk a bit. He gets ready and leaves between 7 and 7:30 in desert camo with the oak cluster of a Lt. Col. prominent. Sand colored boots.

 

It’s the end of the rainy season here but typhoon Haikui has pumped up the cloud systems, sending more and more water over Seoul, Osan, and most of South Korea. The Mountains on the way to Okgwa and Gwangu over the weekend looked like Jungles with Vines overgrowing road signs, Trees green and healthy and numerous.

Looking forward to the cooler and drier weather of September. Cool back home, I noticed.

 

Family, Feelings, Korea, Travel

Songtan. Its streets. Korea.

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Lughnasa and the Korea Moon

Tuesday gratefuls: Songtan. Rain. Lots of rain. A walk. Buying Vitamin D3 and a green tea latte with the aid of my translation app. Signing up for the gym in the apartment complex. 28,000 Won. My son playing video games he found in moving. Old ones. Having a great time. Seoah and I have a sushi brunch date today. Sleep normal. Good. My own desk and chair in my room here.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Korea

One brief shining: Pressed my index finger into the scanner with the apartment complex manager softly touching it, went into the gym area, put my finger on the scanner and got an X, back out to try my thumb, again a soft pressure from the manager, again to the scanner, X, only to learn that sometimes old people’s fingerprints are too weak.

 

Oddly disappointed that my fingerprints were too weak. Considering it later I think it might be years of grasping and gripping, typing polishing the whorls and curlicues, losing definitive ridges. Reminded me of my mortgage banker Valerie who was one of a rare group of people who have no fingerprints at all. Valerie would always get X’s.

The gym is a good one. Six high quality treadmills in their own room. A weight room with machines and free weights. A room with mats and exercise balls. May get down there before my brunch with Seoah. If not, I’ll for sure start tomorrow.

 

Took a walk yesterday down a street used by locals, lots of coffee shops, drug stores, small restaurants, an occasional clothing store. When I stopped in one of the drug stores, I typed Vitamin D3 into my app and showed it to the clerk. Ah. She said. And went to get the pharmacist. Who found it and asked me if it was for an adult? Yes. Pricey. 23,000 Won. $17.

At the Paris Baguette I met the limits of the translation app. The young Korean girl, masked, read my order, nodded and asked me a question. Well now… A bit of back and forth. Finally figured out she wanted to know if I wanted only one. Made me wish I’d been more diligent with my Duo Korean.

I backed away from it after realizing I’d been doing it wrong from the start. And, I was pretty far along before I realized it. I learned Hangul. I learned words and phrases, could distinguish the spoken words. But I had neglected to pronounce the words as I learned them. Turns out in the real world of Songtan, being able to speak it is the most important skill. Being able to read, much less so.

Hope I can leverage my immersion here, Seoah, and Duo itself to recapture some of the gains I made and add to them pronunciation.

 

Korea, like all nations, has a complexity and sophistication difficult for a foreigner to see. Of course the language. Of course the bowing. But the knowledge of the  land, how to make it productive. The weight and possibilities offered by a long history, still shaping Korean life. Those Confucian virtues rippling down through time. The military victories and losses. The time of the hermit kingdom. Now a nation intertwined with great power conflicts between the US and China. Isolation no longer a possibility. The role of women. A fight back as contemporary women refuse to marry and bear children.

Still learning. So much fun.

 

 

Asia, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Korea, Travel

A Daughter is Stolen from her Mother

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Lughnasa and the Korea Moon

Monday (across the date line) gratefuls: Mary’s birthday! Shaking off the body’s desire to still be in Colorado. Back home in Songtan. Everybody happy to be here. Most of all Murdoch. Warm and humid. 96%! Not the arid U.S. West. Korean fried chicken for dinner last night. Watermelon from Okgwa, Seoah’s parent’s grown. Being here. Faraway, yet with those closest to me.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: My little family

One brief shining: At the table we’d sat around in Warner Robbins, Georgia, on Hickam AFB in Hawai’i, now in Songtan, Korea my son, Seoah,  and I ate fried chicken, drank water and chatted about tours we could take in the land of the morning calm.

 

Daughters are stolen from their mothers. Seoah repeated this bit of Korean folk wisdom to me as her mother stuffed watermelons, long beans, an Instant Pot, a blender, a mystery appliance, and other items into various bags before we headed back to Songtan. This sudden efflorescence of baggage required Joe to remove the golf clubs, stow the cargo cover, and arrange everything carefully.

Appa and Umma watched as did Seoah’s youngest sister and her daughter. Appah went into his machine shed and gathered some cold bottled water for all three of us. He gave everyone a hug, smiled. Seoah’s younger sister prodded her daughter who came over and gave me a delightful hug. A loving and familiar sendoff after a family visit to the farm.

 

Korea is a land of low Mountains covered by deciduous Trees, vines, and in obvious open spaces the mounded graves and grave markers important to this still Confucian inflected culture. It reminded me a bit of the Smokies. Except no signs for boiled peanuts, no Confederate battle flags. The journey from Okgwa to Songtan took us through many, many tunnels. At least twenty, perhaps more.

Most of the traffic control on the highways involves photo enforcement and various, often odd, reminders. Like the occasional actual rear end of a police car with a speed limit sign attached. Or, also a speed limit sign, but a police mannequin below watching the traffic. At regular intervals there are flashing blue and red lights like those on a stopped police car. A subliminal message? Not sure.

Unlike Korean urban drivers these highway drivers were sedate and orderly for the most part. Very few angry speeders or the dimwit who weaves in and out to gain a few seconds advantage. Urban drivers here, at least according to Joe, are unpredictable and erratic. I’ve not witnessed this myself.

 

Today or tomorrow I’ll start exercising again. Gotta do more resistance work. My back is sore and I’m weaker than I like. Feels good to be on vacation with my home duties signed off to Vince and Luke, bills paid, and money in the bank f0r the trip. Also to be in a country as far away my own culture as Korea.

A traveler can focus on the similarities or the differences between their home culture and the place they have traveled to. Neither focus gives a true picture of a cohesive culture, an intricate web of customs, assumptions, language, location, ethnicity, history, and ambition.

Glad to be here long enough for immersion.

 

Family, Korea, Memories, Travel

A Birthday Party

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Lughnasa and the Korea Moon

Sunday gratefuls: Seoah’s mom and her 70th birthday party. In Gwangju. Her dad, a sweet guy. Her two sisters and her brother. Outback Steakhouse. The three hour drive from Songtan to her small village outside Okgwa. Highway rest stops along the way. The verdant, overgrown Mountains. The Rivers. Those grave sites high on the Mountain sites. Seoah’s memories. Swimming in the River. Playing in the Mountains. School. My son’s careful, steady driving.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Being able to translate the Hangul (mostly)

One brief shining: My poor jet lagged body kept me in a purple haze for most of the trip to Seoah’s parents I saw the passing countryside, the blue tiled roofs, the goofy speed signs with a mannequin policeman, listened to Seoah’s commentary, but not much made it past the veil.

 

We arrived in Okgwa after a long and congested trip on various Korean highways. Her brother had built her parents a brand new home, mostly concrete, stylish inside with an all white interior, polished floors, marble kitchen surfaces, in room mini-splits, and designed lighting. Kate and I saw the old house so I could see the contrast. Huge.

Four bedrooms so the family could stay for holidays or just because. One bedroom was the one he always uses when he visits. He lives in Osan as do Joe and Seoah. Knowing I was recently arrived and an elder, he gave up that room to me and slept last night on the floor with two of Seoah’s nephews. Not as onerous as it might sound since sleeping on the floor is still common in Korea. Joe, Seoah, and Murdoch found their room.

At 5:40 we drove to Gwangu, about 30 minutes away, and found the Outback Steak House. A much different experience than in the U.S. It had high stairs on both sides leading to an entrance on a balcony. Seoah’s oldest sister showed me the way.

The sisters had a clever idea. In a cake shaped object with decorations there was a card. When Seoah’s mom took out the card to read it, it caused a ribbon of 5000 Won notes to pull out. $1,500 worth. Her grandchildren gathered around her, her husband read the card to her, and behind the two of them was banner with an early picture of them as a couple and congratulatory statements.

The original plan was for all to go to a karaoke place. OMG! Someone said no. Instead we all drove back to the new house and had an after party. Seoah’s youngest sister, her husband, and her three kids stayed the night. In the morning Seoah’s mom made a traditional Korean breakfast for all. Tofu soup. Rice. Bulgogi. Kimchi. Bean sprouts. Egg pancakes. Quail eggs and mushrooms. Delicious.

The drive back. Much less eventful. We got back. Tired. But with another family memory in place.

 

Asia, Family, Feelings, Korea, US History

Day 2 Korea

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Lughnasa and the Korea Moon

Saturday gratefuls: That disappeared Thursday. A good shower. Electronics charged up and ready. Mastered the Korea two pin outlets. Got a new sim card. $49 for a month. Unlimited data. Verizon’s plan? $10 a day. Korean barbecue with my son and Seoah after. Learning building codes, apartment code. Necessary numbers. Murdoch the tail wagger. Slowly entering Asia culture.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Credit Cards

One brief shining: A shiny tin pipe about the width of a large coffee cup drew smoke away from the barbecue set in the middle of the table, Seoah had the tongs and the scissors, her show, placing plates of beef one slice at a time on the metal sheet over the fire below while the waitress brought rice, pickled cucumber, kimchi, glass noodles, tofu, then boiling miso soup.

 

All this in a restaurant a block or two away from the imposing gate of the Osan AFB. My son got me to a sim card shop and the owner recommended the place to eat. This is in cluster of streets and businesses all lined up to catch money flowing from the pockets of Uncle Sam via the military personnel working and living across the street. One more robust American stood outside a souvenir shop flapping his shirt bottom and staring vacantly at the goods on display. Where Korean commerce and US customers meet.

Seoah and I got there from their apartment building via taxi. Joe had just gotten off work and we found him sitting on a couch at the realtors who helped them find a place to live. Joe makes friends easily and had done so with the realtor.

The sim card shop was shallow, maybe 8 feet in depth and twenty wide. A display case with faux phones advertising real ones to purchase. The owner behind the counter and a small area for customers between the display case and the window wall to the street.

Seoah talked with him and Joe pulled out 5000 won notes to pay. No credit cards. I bought dinner. About the same.

 

Today we head to Gwangju and Seoah’s parent’s village. It’s her mom’s 70th and we’re staying all night at their new house. Built courtesy of her brother. My son and Seoah bought the appliances.

My understanding at the moment is that her birthday party will be at a fancy Gwangju steak place, the Outback. Yep. An American chain with an Australian theme in one of the most radical cities of all Korea. Go figure.

Gwangju is about three hours south of Osan and her parent’s village maybe a half hour further. I’ve been to the village once before when Kate and I came for my son and Seoah’s wedding. Her father was headman of the village for many years. As I get it, sort of Mayor and clan chieftain.

We had a wonderful neighbor produced meal with many Korean women chattering and putzing around in the kitchen while we sat at the very low table chatting. Sister Mary was along, too.

Asia, Family, Travel

On the Ground, far from home

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Lughnasa and the Korea Moon

Friday gratefuls: A safe but long flight. Two smiling happy humans greeting me in the Incheon Airport. Driving through streets with signs in Hangul. Lots of Koreans around here. The view from my son and Seoah’s apartment. Loss of a whole day. Time. Eh? Where did it go? Murdoch the happy. Being on the road again.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Lift

One brief shining: That moment when the landing gear whines as this heavy, heavy object filled with human lives including mine breaks free of the planet’s surface and soars into the air much more clumsy than a bird but sufficient to its task.

 

Three or four movies, one Jack Reacher novel, a few hours of fitful sleep and voila! Asia. Korea. Incheon. My son and Seoah. Songtan bus. Walk a bit. To their apartment building. Seojong bu-ro 99. Up 12 floors. The journey was over. The destination achieved.

Next morning now. Thursday disappeared somewhere in the air over Vladivostok. So Friday morning. Looking out over a Korean Sky filled with puffy Cumulus and an overhang of gray. In the distance apartment buildings literally as far as I can see. Back in the direction of the Seoul. I think.

Korean buildings in this area, larger Osan, have some soot and a palette that varies from muted white through muted greens and pinks. Some old style tile roofs but most are gone. Replaced by much less beautiful modernist works. Blocky and unimaginative. But easier to build.

The general impression. A bit tired, used, yet still useful.

Tried to use the microwave. All in Hangul. Which I can parse, but I don’t know the words. Couldn’t figure it out. Ate cold chicken. Seoah showed me when she got back from walking Murdoch.

 

Traveling has displacement as its objective. Not only the physical body, but also the mind, the soul, the everything that makes home home. All left behind, displaced by a new place, other peoples homes. This is truest when going to a country not only far away but far from the assumptions of home. Asia, for example, when reached by an  American soul.

Here the language does not conform to an American’s eye, nor do the faces and habitus of the people. Epicanthic folds. A skin color, definitely not yellow, a lighter tan perhaps also not familiar. Shuffling, hurrying, moving on paths known to them but mysterious to me. Yet all  human, most likely thinking about grocery lists, family squabbles, work that needs to get done.

Three workmen have come in to replace the stove. All ready, tools in the inevitable plastic bucket and toolbox. The smaller guy seems to know the work. He’s engaged now turning screws. One guy watches, the other cleans the sink!

 

About time for a nap. Still tired from the journey even after 12 hours of sleep. Where part of Thursday went. Mostly settling in, learning the Korean way of refuse. Particular bags for fruit, general waste. Separate bins for plastic and cardboard.

 

Acting, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Shadow Mountain, Travel, Writing

Two to get ready

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Lughnasa and the Korea Moon

Monday gratefuls: Paul’s ok. And the rest of us, well… Hard to say. Luke. Leo. Vince. Almost ready to go. A bit of packing. Some last minute details. Ruth. Seeing her today. Still feeling the afterwash from the play. A solid, satisfied feeling. Reminds me how much I love to write. And perform. A blue Colorado Sky. A Shadow Mountain Morning. The penultimate I’ll see for over a month. So ready to be on the road. Vince and Luke and Leo will take care of my house.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Ruth

One brief shining: Head buzzing a bit from sleeping in after the three late nights last week body atingle the after effects of hard work and a lot of loving given and received hugs and well wishes bon voyages applause quiet moments with Ruth a dinner with Alan and Joan nighttime drives up Brook Forest and Black Mountain Drives waiting for another flash view into the call of the natural world.

 

Tomorrow night well after midnight I’ll head out to the Parking Spot, a long term guarded lot near DIA. From there a shuttle bus to the American Airlines terminal and after that to the security checkpoint. My flight is at 5am and I’ll be there early, but I want to have no hiccups. I’ll sacrifice sleep for made connections. Sleep and I are going to have a rocky relationship for the next few days anyhow. Why not start at the beginning?

But, like most trips there are still some here and now matters to attend to. Have to go the Conifer post office and see if they’ll extend keeping my mail past what appears to be a hard limit of 30 days. I’ll be gone 36. I don’t imagine it’ll be a problem, but I do have to have the conversation with them. Then over to Evergreen and CBE to take the check for my dues. Without getting into the saga it’s a journey every year due to mailing foul ups and Mountain post offices. After that down the hill to see Ruth one last time before I leave.

Will complete my packing, essentially done, later on today or early tomorrow. Check in for my flight. Go over my packing list a final time. Excited. Ready. Would go right now if I could.

 

I do have a new idea for a novel. It’s banging around, making itself felt. Imagining this and that. How this might look, where this thread might lead. I love this time with a new work. Where all the ideas are fresh, seen in their fanciest clothes before the hard work of writing begins to wear them down to real thoughts and words. Where all the possibilities expand out from a simple idea, roads leading to this plot or that one. Characters emerging, sinking away. Writing winnows all those roads until there are only the essential ones, all those characters down to the ones needed to tell the story, all those places to the ones most evocative of the storyline.

Acting, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Myth and Story, Plants, Reimaging revelation, Shadow Mountain, Tarot, Wild Neighbors, Writing

Go now, the play has ended

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Lughnasa and the Korea Moon

Sunday gratefuls: The Trail to Cold Mountain. Performed to applause. Released. Packing started. Radical light this time. The company of actors. Acting. Alan and Joan at dinner last night. Cold Mountain. His poetry. The improv class’s Armando. Ginnie. Rebecca. Marilyn and Irv. Ruth. Jen. Gabe. Joan’s piece on the dybbuk. Alan’s on aging. Tal, a master teacher at 26. A chilly Mountain Night. Luke and Leo. Vince. The Parking Spot. TSA open at 4 am for precheck security. Korea. Israel. Taipei.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Live a Great Story (decal on a Jeep back window)

One brief shining: This time there was a crowd when I walked out, confident in my piece, carrying the drinking Gourd and my parchment poems, dropped into Herme and Han Shan’s story, Great Sol gone unseen as Berrigan Mountain rotated west with the rest of us, a light breeze blowing.

 

Go now, the play has ended. My first play has found an audience. What a rush. I finished saying, “Take the Trail to Cold Mountain.” And we all had. My performance was over. The work of the summer over. Ups and downs culminating in a work I was proud of and a performance I was proud of. Felt wonderful. Stretched in a healthy way past my comfort zone.

Only will know later if my goal for the piece spreading the word about the Rivers and Mountains poetry tradition of China found its way into anyone’s heart. If I had written an artist’s statement for The Trail to Cold Mountain it would have been something like this:

I want to introduce to a Mountain audience the Rivers and Mountains poetry tradition of China through the Tarot archetype of the Hermit. I believe most Mountain folks have a strong component of this archetype that led them here. We like the curvy roads, the cool Mountain mornings, living with Wild Neighbors on Forested Land. No, more. We need to live away from the World, to clear the heat and dust from our minds and be where the Wind sings through the Pines. So, too, in China. In the Andes. In all the great Mountains and Forests of the World. We are one people.

Poetry and archetype, myth and legend. Religion. This has long been my realm. From one novel to the next, from one job to the next, even the motor behind the justice work. Now it speaks to where and how and with whom I live. In the Mountains, with other Hermits yet also linked in loving ways to a community, caring for them and being cared for by them. Still linked in deep heart connection with Minnesota made friends, with family far away and nearby, living my own life with them all, yet apart from them, too.

Deepening the love. Burning away the dross.

 

Coming home, late. Drove up Brook Forest and Black Mountain Drives. Realized a powerful raison d’être for experiencing the sacred. As I drive along the familiar ranks of Lodgepoles and Aspens, I look now for another glimpse, a brief appearance of the natural world calling to me. (Art Green, Radical Judaism, p. 120) I know that the opportunity, the chance to again see through a portal like the Rainy Night Watcher exists. Thus, I’m more aware of the sacred all along the drive.

This is, I imagine, the reason others over the course of history have written down their experiences, collected the stories of others, and collected them in what we call sacred writings. Not to freeze those moment and make them rules against which to measure our lives, but as clues, as prompts to the possible moments when the natural world will reach out to us, to help us be ready to see what we’re looking at.

 

Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Health, Judaism, Memories

A letter to Kate on her 79th

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Lughnasa and the Korea Moon

Friday gratefuls: Kate’s 79th birthday. The Trail to Cold Mountain. A good dress rehearsal. A late night. Seeing Seoah and my son on Zoom. Getting closer to leaving this popstand. On a jetplane. With passport in hand. Sleeping in. Ann. The poems on parchment. The drinking gourd. My costume(s). Ruth. Seeing her today. Taking Ancientrails on the road. Korean history. Seoah studying American history. Her mom’s 70th birthday, two days after I get there. In Gwangju. Steak House. Luke and Vince. Leo.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Writing, again. Still.

One brief shining: Put on my linen medieval shirt and pants, collected my poems on parchment from Ann, picked up my walking stick, got a glass of water (filling in for the drinking gourd that I forgot), proceeded with: I’m going to tell you this story in the best way I can and reeled off a mistake free performance. Yes!

 

Kate.

You would be 79 today. Closing in on the big 80. Wanted to catch you up on some recent happenings.

I’m a playwright! A short play, about 20 minutes. The Trail to Cold Mountain. Performing it tomorrow night at CBE. The amphitheater if the weather permits.

Also, I’m converting. Yes, after 32 years with you and 8 with CBE, I realized your people are my people, too. Rabbi Jamie’s excited for me. We’re studying Judaism together. 10 sessions. But before I finish my conversion will take place. In Jerusalem! On Samain! How bout that.

I’ve become even more integrated into CBE. Joan and Alan are both in my acting class and will be performing Saturday night, too. I see Marilyn and Irv every couple of weeks, Alan once a week. I’ve become good friends with Rebecca Martin, too. Mussar remains my primary contact with the congregation although I’m considering going to regular services now that my energy is better.

Cancer. Yep, still with me. As you know. But I’m off the meds as of Wednesday and hoping for clear sailing for some length of time. A tiny chance I’m cured. If you have any pull with the cosmic powers, see if somebody could yank a lever on my behalf. Eigner is retiring. His wife died a couple of years ago and changed his perspective. I’ll see him for a last visit on November 20th.

Ruth’s still struggling. I’ll see her in the hospital today. Going to take her a bagel with caviar from Rosenbergs. Stanley Market. Gabe’s doing well. I think. Playing guitar, taking theater. He may express the Olson performing gene. We saw Oppenheimer last week and we’ll go to the last Rockie’s game of the season on Oct. 1st when I get back from Korea. They’re playing the Twins.

Oh. I’m going to Korea on Wednesday. Then, Israel on Oct. 25th. A week on my own then the CBE group trip. Excited about both of these. Joe’s a Lieutenant Colonel now. Can you believe it? Remember him stomping up and down the steps at my Irvine Park Place in ski boots?

Of course you walk through all these moments with me. Sometimes I stand at the kitchen window, look out at your Iris garden, and feel your head on my shoulder. Driving back up the hill from Evergreen I reach over on occasion and hold your hand. Your memory is a blessing for me and so many others. Not to say at all that I’m wallowing. Just that I loved you, I love you, and I will love you.