Category Archives: Family

Art and Culture, Cinema and Television, Commentary on the news, Family, Humanities, Travel, US History, World History

The Maker and the Made

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Beltane and the Wu Wei Moon II

Tuesday gratefuls: Ginny and Janice. Annie and Luna. Luke and Leo. Shadow. Happy to be with Leo. Cool night. The last for a while. Tom and Rascal. That Lodgepole leaning. Rain. Possible Monsoons. Traveler’s Insurance. Ruby.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Art Green

Week Kavannah: Zerizut. Enthusiasm. ?How do I reignite my enthusiasm for working out?

One brief shining: I went and got coffee; it’s cool to be independent in a place that is completely new says American Ruth on the streets of Songtan, Korea;  a spot I knew well from my time with my son and Seoah.

 

Ruth’s on day 2 of her Korean trip. Sleeping in the same bed I slept in two years ago. Probably jet lagged, but leaning way in to the new world, Asia, so different, yet fully human.

Travel expands the range of the possible. Nope, knives and forks and spoons? Not everyone uses them. The language. The way of writing it. The gene pool. Sloping tiled roofs in the Asian manner. Food with all the sides typical in Korea. A world of difference. What the MAGA folks miss in their cultural chauvinism.

Here’s to Ruth. Adventuress.

 

A conundrum. Me, too, and art. And thought. And friendships. Do you still watch Woody Allen films? How about Roman Polanski? Attend Catholic mass? Do you admire Bill Clinton? How about Picasso? Art Green? Believe Anita Hill? Weinstein? Kevin Spacey? Bill Cosby?

Here’s the conundrum. Do bad acts taint everything a person has done? Is Kevin Spacey less good in American Beauty because he’s a sexual predator? Is the Catholic church defiled in toto by its wayward priests? Does Picasso’s notorious philandering make his painting less than?

I come down with confidence on all sides of this issue. Woody Allen slept with, then married the adopted daughter of his former wife, Mia Farrow. Does this make his films less funny?

Can we separate the maker from the made? Yes. No. First of all, look at the long history of art now represented in museums. Most of the works in any museum come with little information about the artist’s private life. Especially those works from antiquity.

Since we admire these works without knowing the peccadillos of the sculptor of the Doryphoros  or the carver of the Jade Mountain, the potter who made the roku tea cups, it is possible, probably likely that some of them were miserable human beings.

Is that Greek athlete, a spear-bearer, any less magnificent if we would find his maker was a pedophile? Or, the potter a wife beater? Would the graceful and beautiful scenes on the Jade Mountain be less so if the maker were a thief?

In other words in cases where we have no idea about this information we find no impediment to our appreciation of the work on its own, distinct from the hands and the heart that created it.

This suggests to me that the work is independent of the maker, of the maker’s biography, whatever it includes.

On the other hand. Bill Cosby. I can’t see anything he’s made without carrying to it his drugging women for sexual predation. Even Woody Allen. Though less so for some reason. Picasso? I don’t consider his private life at all when I see his art.

What are the criteria we use? Do we condemn the bad act(s) and draw a clean line between, say, Polanski and The Fearless Vampire Killers, a favorite comedy?

I guess I come down on separating the made from the maker. Yet a taint on it, a principled revulsion, a pulling away from the work made also makes sense to me.

I do know this for sure. I would not want my work judged by the worst mistakes I’ve made in my life.

Asia, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Health, Travel

Ruth Goes to Korea

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Beltane and the Wu Wei Moon II

Ruth’s first meal in Korea

Monday gratefuls: Ruth. In Korea! Seoah’s note. Ruth’s journey. Rich. Doncye. Mary. Her journey. Minneapolis to Singapore to K.L. to Incheon. My son’s journey from 9/11 to command. Shadow and her journey. All ancientrails. Each and every one.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Love

Week Kavannah: Enthusiasm. Zerizut.

One brief shining: Messages came in: In Calgary, the people are so nice here and things are cheaper; Currently walking to board the plane, the big plane; I’m flying over the long archipelagoesque part of Alaska; I don’t know what the cause is, but it got dark in like two minutes. Then came the picture from Seoah.

 

Ruth getting Kate’s little black bag for her 19th birthday

Our all dean’s list all the time Ruth has vaulted through the heavens on a great circle route taking her far to the north before returning to Earth at Incheon, South Korea. Now a world traveler, far from Northdale High and CU-Boulder.

Ruth, in some ways, feels more like a daughter to me than a granddaughter. Since my son was my only child. It fills me up to watch her post-high school self take wing. Literally yesterday. She texted messages all the way along on her flight. (see one brief shining)

We shared many breakfasts and lunches at CU-Boulder over her freshman year. Our relationship has deepened over this time and it touches a part of me that blossomed only with her. That’s the part that feels more like a daughter. A female to nurture on a growing up path. Different than a son.

Seeing her eating a bowl of what I imagine is bibimbap, in Korea. Oh, my. To see the world anew, to see Asia for the first time at 19. To confidently travel abroad. To go with the sense that life has only begun to unfold, that these new experiences have begun a journey, not ended one. I can feel that again through and with her.

 

Took Mary to the Federal Center RTD stop in Lakewood. She boarded the train headed to the same airport where, at 7 am, Ruth had caught her first of the three flights that took her to Korea.

I need a map with LED avatars to keep up with my family. I’m the still point, high up on Shadow Mountain. In a week most of those avatars would be clustered in Osan for my son.

 

Just a moment: Joe and me. Here’s an NYT explainer that details what it’s like now for those of us, including Biden, with stage 4 prostate cancer.

What applies to him in this article applies to me as well. We’re both in the hormone sensitive condition which means androgen deprivation therapy-knocking out testosterone production-still stops the cancer from spreading further.

The new drugs the article mentions are there when androgen deprivation therapy no longer works. Those drugs are the 5-7 year life span extenders. And neither one of us are on them yet.

My cancer is not particularly aggressive, just durable, meaning it beat the best treatments available for curing it. I’ll know more about my status in early June after a new MRI and a new P.E.T. scan.

 

 

 

 

Family, Fourth Phase, Mountains, Park County

Mary’s Visit

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Beltane and the Wu Wei Moon II

Sunday gratefuls: Sibling talk. Memories of home. Seeing my son, Seoah, Murdoch after his prize-winning day. Rich’s response. Ruth. At the airport, waiting on her flight to Incheon. Korea. Side-dishes. Songtan. That fried Fish place. The Chicken in a pot place. The French Bakery. Melbourne. Sidney. Brisbane. K.L. Al Kharj. My far flung family.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Sisters and brothers

Week Kavannah: Enthusiasm. Zerizut.

One brief shining: An Asian restaurant, the menu read, welcoming us to Golden Stix, me a Mountain dweller, and Mary, a near constant citizen of Southeast Asia since 1985, now an Auzzie in training while, I, unlike either of my siblings remain rooted in the auld soil even now during the reign of his fauxness, the one with the bottle blonde hair, and the long red tie.

 

Mary and I have had a good visit, following the adventures of Mark in Saudi again, my son and his ceremony, Guru in Indiana with Gill who’s dating our first cousin, twice removed, Chantel. Ruth at the airport waiting on her first international flight. Shadow, who prefers women, took to Mary and Mary to Shadow. Sweet to see.

Life in close circles where everyone matters. Loved, loving. Friends like Deb in Eau Claire. Robin. Sheila. Friends new and old. Rich. Tom. Alan. Bill. Irv. Paul. Luke and Leo.

She flies back to Minneapolis today. We saw my son and Seoah on zoom last night. She’ll see both of them on the 26th, the day before my son’s ceremony. Ruth will see them both tomorrow. Bon voyage to Ruth whose plane leaves in an hour. My clan may be small, but it is well-traveled.

 

Mary and I drove up Guanella Pass yesterday, an instance of National Forest wildness reachable by car. We saw Geneva Creek rushing down its narrow valley between Mt. Bierstadt and Square Top Mountain.

(Header photograph by Tom Crane at the top of Guanella Pass.)

Gabe at the same spot, September 2024

At a pulloff we got out and watched, listened to Geneva Creek as its late Spring filled Water crashed over Boulders, around fallen Trees, seeking the South Fork of the North Platte on its literal analogy to Nietzsche’s myth of eternal return. Waters fall toward the World Ocean, get absorbed, rise and fall, rise and fall, rise and fall. Without the cleansing of this cycle we would all die.

Near the top of the pass, where the ongoing road to Georgetown remains closed, were the Abyss and Burning Bear trailheads. Love the names out here in the U.S. West.

We also saw four yearling Bighorn Sheep, one with the first curls of what will be an adult male’s 30 pounds or so of horn. Not far from where Guanella Pass starts off Hwy. 285 is the Shaggy Sheep Cafe, an excellent breakfast spot.

 

 

Just a moment: Mary’s friend refers to the Secretary of Defense as Hogsbreath. I’m stealing that one for future writing.

Hogsbreath has waged a too successful campaign against books in base libraries, exercising his emphasis on lethality by ridding military libraries of books focused, in his definition, on diversity, inclusiveness, and equity. All shibboleths of a woke right.

Aging, Dogs, Family, Fourth Phase, Friends

A Family and Friends Friday

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Beltane and the Wu Wei Moon II

Shabbat gratefuls: Mary. A regular visitor. Spice Fusion. Tandoori Chicken and Shrimp. Lyft. Airplanes. Trains. Transportation. Shadow, the shy. The gnawer of beds. Licker of heads. Birds crying in the dawn. That Raven I saw hopping up and down. Maxwell Creek running full.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Mary, a permanent resident of Australia

Week Kavannah: Enthusiasm. Zerizut.

One brief shining: Mary opened the bag of take-out from Spice Fusion, the new Indian restaurant nearby, started pulling out boxes and plastic containers, and a large piece of garlic naan wrapped in enough tin foil to decorate a Christmas tree, a feast of good food with my sister. Rare.

 

Had breakfast with Alan and Joanne. Dandelion. Always a stimulating conversation with those two. Joanne and I have an organ recital, laughing and wincing as us old folks do. Knowing the pain in the other and knowing also that the pain, while unwelcome, does not overcome life, nor the living of it. A part of the landscape for many of us over seventy and for most over eighty.

We have stories. Told over eggs and breakfast tacos, coffee, and a blueberry scone. Of waitressing near Shiprock, Arizona. Of cutting Munsingwear underwear cutouts into smaller pieces to make ragbond paper. Or firing up the popcorn aroma machine at KMart.

You know, friends sharing more of their story, becoming in that way part of each other’s story. Knowing each other by the breadcrumbs we drop to help others find their way in the thick forest of our memories.

Then over to Rich’s office to deliver gifts from Ingebretsen’s, the Scandinavian gift shop in Minneapolis. A little lefse, some chocolate, some Lingonberry jam, Hackberry jam, and strings of small colorful birds. Thank you to them for finally seeing the money into my 529 account for Ruth.

Where btw, I saw Kippur, the dog Rich and his law partner share. The last time I saw Kippur, he was a puppy who jumped up on the couch and snuggled with me like I was his long last Dad. He’s all grown up, but still that same sweet boy. What a delight to see him.

 

Mary came. By plane, then train, then Lyft. Traveling light. So good to see her.

We shared the second floor of 419 N. Canal for several years. Alexandria, Indiana. A small town where everybody knew your name. Much diminished from its heyday in the late 50’s and 60’s, it remains of course the reservoir of our childhoods. I’ve not been there since well before Covid.

She and Guru will fly to Korea for my son’s ceremonial promotion to commander. Ruth will already be there, having made her first international flight tomorrow morning. Missing will be me. Hobbled still by this damn back.

I so want to be there. To say, That’s my boy! To hug his uniformed, medaled, and beribboned person. I know he knows I would be there if I could.

He and Seoah sent me a picture of Murdoch with his second place Dog show trophy. All three of them looked excited.

Dogs, Family, Feelings, Politics, Torah, US History

Lives on a Runway

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Beltane and the Wu Wei Moon II

Monday gratefuls: Understanding Shadow. Prison trained Dogs. Friends Forever holistic Dog training. Morning darkness. Shadow inside and up at 5:15. Me, too. Ruth and Gabe. Ruth, now a sophomore. Dean’s list again. Gabe, not finished until May 31. Then, a senior in high school. Cookunity. Sue Bradshaw. Dr. Buphati. Rich.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Dog training

Week Kavannah: Zerizut. Enthusiasm

One brief shining: Ruth and Gabe announced their imminent arrival by text and phone, arriving soon after through the front door, with Ruth’s familiar high-pitched, Hi!, and Gabe’s, Hey, Grandpop, coming downstairs to see Shadow and me.

 

Songtan

Ruth has begun to levitate about her upcoming trip to Korea. Her first foreign travel. And, on her own. The Godfather, that’s my son, gets elevated at last to command of his squadron on May 27.

Do I have to go through customs in Denver? No. What do I do in Korea? Go through Nothing to Declare. Any other tips? Get out, walk around, see the city at eye level. Go to that fried fish place near their apartment in Songtan. Have fun.

Ruth moved out of her dorm room last Thursday, all her finals finished. She’ll be at Jen’s until her flight on Sunday at 7 am. One day after she returns from Korea, she boards another flight for Anchorage, Alaska. She’s going to be a camp counselor.

Gabe’s mom got him a four day creative writing course at CU-Denver for a birthday present. June. Then he goes to his last hemophilia camp in July. Something he’s been doing since he was five or six. At 17 he’s in his last year of eligibility.

Their lives are on the runway, engines beginning to rev, trying to gain enough altitude to break free from the surly bonds of home and childhood.

Exciting to see. And gratifying that they still want to spend time with their grandpop. This little family, Ruth and Gabe, my son and Seoah, and me has begun to grow closer as we all age. A wonderful, amazing moment for me.

 

Dog journal: Figured out one part of Shadow’s desire. She wants the back door open so she can come in and go out as she wants. I’ve decided for the moment to grant her wish and deal with any invasive creatures. She did come in last night.

When I mentioned the board and train option at Friends Forever yesterday, Ruth said a lot of folks in her neighborhood use the Women’s Prison on Havanna, near their house. Turns out the Colorado prison system offers several sites for a similar board and train option of four weeks, compared to Friends Forever two week program. At almost half the cost. So. Options.

 

Just a moment: Some MAGA folks already talking about the woke Pope. Beginning to reveal their true allegiance to the Golden God of Pennsylvania Avenue and Mar-a-Lago.

Time to start smashing idols as midrash say Abram did in his father’s idol shop. In the midrash he left one, large idol standing. When his father came back and found his inventory but one all broken, he asked Abram what had happened.

Oh, he did it, Abram said. What? His father said, they’re just idols!

Commentary on Religion, Family

Gabe at 17. The Pope is dead.

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Spring and the Wu Wei Moon

Monday gratefuls: Gabe at 17. The Water Grill. Creative Writing. Poetry. Looking at colleges. University of Iowa. U.C. Denver. Metro State. Go, Gabe. Wasting Time. Don’t waste time on being productive. Just live. Shadow, the toy render. A drive down the hill. Halibut. Swordfish. Clam Chowder. Oysters.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: A gap year for Gabe. Here?

Week Kavannah: Sensibility. Daat.

One Brief Shining: Driving back up the hill in late afternoon, Great Sol above Black Mountain, those ski runs that mar its side still limned in Snow, my new Raybans cutting the glare as I round Windy Point, closing in on Conifer where Kate found our Shadow Mountain home, back in the Mountains. Yes.

 

Gabe turns seventeen tomorrow. We celebrated at the Water Grill where he, Ruth, Jen, and I ate Thanksgiving last November. Much, much less crowded.

He had the clam chowder. My favorite soup. At Dad’s we always bought canned clam chowder. His entree? Swordfish. Which he ate with the completeness of Shadow finishing her meal.

We had a conversation about colleges. His creative writing teacher has encouraged his poetry. Right now he wants to major in creative writing. No surprise University of Iowa made his list.

He may want to take a gap year. To find out who he is. What he wants. Guess where he wants to live? Grandpa’s house. He loves the Mountains. And his Grandpa. That’s a year away. So we’ll see.

By that time Ruth will be a junior at CU-Boulder. In her second year of pre-med. Not sure how that timing works out for graduation.

I recall holding infant Gabe while the mohel circumcised him. He looks older now.

 

chatgpt in the style of Raphael

The Pope is dead. Long live the Pope. The Conclave comes to life at the death of Pope Francis, a man who had an inclusive heart.

The intrigue of papal politics will be on display. The ritual seclusion of the Cardinals, princes of the Church. The Sistine Chapel in all its Michelangelic glory. What a setting! Smoke signals. A Monarchy with a ritual method of choosing a ruler to follow in the footsteps of St. Peter.

I admire the Catholic Church as an institution. It’s nearly two thousand years old, an astonishing run for any human creation. Not to say there haven’t been many bumpy years, even centuries. Yet it remains largely the same. Which is why I don’t admire it as a religious institution, yet I’d acknowledge that may be a clue to its longevity.

A story only beginning. But I have a question first.

 

Just a moment: Did JD Vance kill the Pope? This correspondent wants to know. Sure, the Pope had been ill. Sure. What better time for an assassination attempt.

Besides, that odd beard. What’s he hiding? Is this why Vance converted? To get close enough to take out a Trump critic?

Q-a-conspiracy thinks it might be true enough. I don’t know what to believe. And so close to Easter? Come on, something smells fishy in the Vatican State.

You heard it ginned up here first.

Dogs, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Garden, Great Wheel, Health, Judaism, Mountains, Our Land and Home, Paganism, Plants, Politics, Reimagine. Reconstruct. Reenchant., Shadow Mountain, The West, US History, Weather +Climate, Writing

Living. Not dying.

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Spring and the Wu Wei Moon

Thursday gratefuls: Shadow. Her kindness. Amy. Her understanding. Cookunity. Colorado Coop and Garden. The Greenhouse. Gardening again. Korea. Malaysia. Australasia. Wisconsin. Saudi Arabia. The Bay. First Light. 10,000 Lakes. The Rocky Mountain Front Range. Where my people live.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: The Greenhouse

Week Kavannah: Joy. Simcha.

One brief shining: Nathan and I wandered in my back yard, his app that shows Great Sol’s illumination searching for a good spot to plant my greenhouse, until we neared a spot close to the shed, that was it with decent morning Sun and an hours worth of afternoon Sun more than anywhere else.

 

 

That picture is not quite what I’m getting. Mine will have an outdoor raised bed on either side and shutters that move themselves as the greenhouse heats up and cools down. It will also have an electric heater for Winter and a drip irrigation system inside and out.

This guy Nathan, a Conifer native, started his business Colorado Coop and Garden to give folks like me an opportunity to grow things up here. Working a garden at ground level is long past for me. But Nathan can build the raised beds at a height where my back is not an issue.

Guess I’m regressing here in some ways. A Dog. A small Garden. Andover in miniature. The greenhouse will have a sign: Artemis Gardens. Artemis Honey was Kate and mine’s name for our bee operation.

 

I’m loving my classes at Kabbalah Experience. Reaching deep into the purpose of religion and Judaism in particular. Reimagining the story of Adam and Eve. My life, my Jewish life and my Shadow Mountain life, have begun to resonate. Learning and living an adventure in fourth phase purpose.

No matter what the near term future holds for my health I will not succumb to despair or bleakness. As I’ve often said, I want to live until I die. This life, I’m coming to realize, is me doing just that.

If I were a bit more spry, I’d add a chicken coop and a couple of bee hives, but both require more flexibility than I can muster.

I’m at my best when I’m active outside with Mother Earth and inside with a Dog, books, and new learning. All that leavened with the sort of intimate relationships I’ve developed both here and in Minnesota and with my far flung family.

That’s living in the face of autocracy and cruelty. I will not attenuate my life. Neither for the dark winds blowing through our country and world, nor for that dark friend of us all, death.

 

Just a moment: Did you read Thomas Friedman’s article: I’ve Never Been More Afraid for My Countries Future? His words, served up with a healthy dish of Scandinavian influenced St. Louis Park Judaism, ring more than true to me. They have the voice of prophecy.

We are in trouble. No doubt. Trouble from which extrication will require decades, I imagine. If not longer. Yet. I plan to grow heirloom vegetables year round on Shadow Mountain. To have mah Dog Shadow with me in the Greenhouse.

I also plan to write and think about the sacred, the one, the wholeness of which we are part and in which we live, die, love. I will not cheapen my life with bitterness, rather I will eat salads, read, play with Shadow and dine with friends, talk to my friends and family near and far.

Asia, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Holidays, Judaism, Mountains, Shadow Mountain, Travel

Passing on Passover? The Jangs.

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Spring and the Wu Wei Moon

Sunday gratefuls: Second day of Passover. Kate, always Kate. Shadow the toy mover. Her zooming in the back yard. Liberation. Freedom to choose. Egypt. The many Egypts we are heir to. Tara. Arjan. Robbie and Deb. Sandy and Mark. Eleanor. Kilimanjaro. Jungfrau. Black Mountain. Shadow Mountain. A Mountain night.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Liberation

Week Kavannah: Joy. Simcha.

One brief shining: The Haggadah had wine stains; the seder plate had a kiwi because we can; we dipped the parsley into salt water, tears for the suffering of the slaves, of all oppressed people, spread dots of wine or in my case grape juice for each plague, retelling each part of the passover story as if we were there, as our story.

 

Talmud Torah in the morning. (Torah study) A focus on the maggid, the telling of the passover story in the Haggadah. Complete with midrash, interpretation and expansion.

Later, around 4, over to Kilimanjaro Drive. Tara’s house. Steep driveway with cars parked at various spots along the way. All the way up to the top where I found a spot in front of a Tesla.

Thirty minutes before I had almost chosen not to go. Coming home in the dark. General inertia. A long standing aversion to parties. But this was Passover. At Tara’s. I’d be happy once I got there.

So I went to the liquor store, picked up a bottle of mid-range red wine and drove past Evergreen Meadows and past Evergreen Funeral Home where both Jon and Kate lay after death, down curvy N. Turkey Creek Road to the Mountains and roads leading to her house.

And I was happy to be there. Until we sat down to the table. Then the noise level, the angle of the voices, the general clash and clamor of a meal with eighteen other people. I began to recede. Off in my own quiet room of acoustical challenge. Nodding and smiling. Trying to keep up. Too often failing.

Now having to rethink even Passover, at least in people’s homes. Where it means the most. Where my friends want me. Where I want to be. The congregational Passover has round tables, more distance among the guests. Kate and I usually attended. I may need to go to it just so I can hear.

 

Talked to my son and Seoah on Friday night. Murdoch’s getting crate training. Seoah’s running, happy. We talked about Kate, her death, her wonderful life.

My son and I discussed details for the Jang family visit this summer. Money is, as you can imagine, an issue. 5 adults and two children. Seoah’s Mom and Dad, her brother, her sister and her two kids. Airfare, lodging, transportation. Food. That’s what we’re working out now. Need to make some decisions soon because Air BnB’s begin to fill up for the summer in this time frame.

Will be the trip of a lifetime for the Jang’s. The U.S. The Rocky Mountains. Deepening connections with my son’s side of the family. Myself, Ruth, Gabe.

Stay tuned.

Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase

Four Years

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Spring and the Wu Wei Moon

Shabbat gratefuls: Kate, always Kate. Her yahrzeit. Passover. Talmud Torah. Tara. Arjan. Eleanor. Leo. Findlay. Gracie. Annie and Luna. A Mountain Morning. Pagans. Planting festivals. Beltane. Greenhouse. The Night Sky. Shadow. A perfect night. Paul’s procedure. Dad’s birthday.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Passover

Week Kavannah: Wu Wei

One brief shining: Kate had the b-pap on, negative pressure to get air in the lungs, hated it; not long after she asked me if I would rather have her dead or disabled, not long after that she decided to die.

Kate in Lima, Peru. Pissaro’s place. 2011

Of course I told her I wanted her alive between those two choices. When she decided to die, she asked what I thought of her decision. I hate it, because I’ll lose you; but, I think it’s the right decision for you.

She had a clarity of thought, an unflinching nature in the face of trouble. If there was ever an emergency at work, she got called to go with the crash cart. We both knew the struggle had gotten near the end.

We cried. I asked her about some of her last wishes. Jewelry to Jeremiah, the painter and brother-in-law. Expand the Iris bed on Shadow Mountain. Plant lilacs. Then to me: Zip up. And trust your doctors.

Her doctor came in and said she understood Kate wished to “transition.” Die is not in the vocabulary of the physician. Kate said yes. Her life supports, including the b-pap machine were removed. Morphine sufficient to stave off the fear generated by air hunger dripped from her IV.

I left. The doctors said it would take a day or two for her to die. I had Rigel and Kepler to take care of back home. After driving me home, Rich asked me if I wanted to go back. No, I said.

At that point I had to feed and get water for Rigel and Kepler. The last ten days had been constant travel between Shadow Mountain and Swedish Hospital down the hill in Englewood. Emotional and physical exhaustion had taken a toll on me, too.

She died that night. I regret not being there. I also regret that when I saw her corpse it frightened me so I could not go to her. Over the years since I’ve made my peace with those regrets. I can’t change them and Kate, I know, would have understood.

This is the first time I’ve written about these last things. The regrets. I do it now because we make such a fetish of hiding the reality of death. I don’t want to be part of that. It was hard, painful for her and for me. For many others, too.

Later on, a couple of years following her death, I took her remains, housed in a Richard Bresnahan clay jar, and spread them out on a small, unnamed Mountain Stream that feeds into Maxwell Creek, then Bear Creek, then the South Platter River, carrying her down to the Gulf of Mexico and the World Ocean.

Dogs, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Holidays, Judaism

Shadow. Yet again. Passover.

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Spring and the Wu Wei Moon

Friday grateful: So. It has come to this. The Supreme Court, remember how big it used to loom over our culture, has to say no, you cannot leave an immigrant you deported by mistake in an El Salvadoran prison because you claim you have no authority to undo it, to the President’s lawyers arguing against bringing him home. The Supreme Court. Involved in fixing a bureaucratic travesty any decent person would have scrambled to fix on their own.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Puppy energy. Even at 5:30 am.

Week Kavannah: Wu Wei

One brief shining: No more night time excursions for Shadow, for whatever reason darkness transforms her from Shadow into Nightshade the ornery, unwilling to come in, happy to wander in the dark well beyond my bedtime.

 

Dr. Shadow is in the house

 

Dog journal: She’s nose deep in a new toy for aggressive chewers. Sharp teeth and not afraid to use them. By turns amusing and frustrating.

She’s house-trained. Loving. Self entertaining. Willing to train. Sometimes. Her eyes contain the lives of Dogs around the campfires in the Veldt. Domesticated, but not quite.

Part Dingo. Part Kelpie. Part Dalmatian. All Australian muster Dog. Alert and ready to herd.

No, Shadow. It’s not yet time for breakfast. She’s looking right at me, putting in her order.

 

Got back to mussar yesterday. First time in a month or so. Maybe a bit more. Though I’ve been on zoom. Still working on anavah: humility.

Odd moment. I wore my new round Raybans, my trademark plaid flannel, and my Grateful Dead dancing bears hat. One of the women said, after class finished, that I was the sexiest man in the room. Only three of us: Rabbi Jamie, Luke, and me, so there’s that…

Still. It surprised me. Made me think of days long past. BP. Before prostatectomy. 2015. Yet the affirmation made me feel good. Even at 78.

We all need the occasional validation of others. No matter the reason. When validation comes unexpectedly and in a manner that delights us, all the better.

Here’s the big takeaway. You can be the source of that kind of validation for another. Elevating others is a kindness always available to us. Worth doing.

 

Dawn has come to Shadow Mountain. An hour plus after Shadow gnawed me awake. Another Mountain Morning. Grateful for that.

Going to Evergreen this morning. The Dandelion. Breakfast with Alan.

 

Just a moment: Yesterday was anniversary #9 for my son and Seoah. Today’s my brother’s 66th birthday. Tomorrow’s Passover and the fourth anniversary of Kate’s death and my father’s birthday: #112 had he lived.

A lot of big moments for a three day period.

I’ll be heading over to Tara Saltzman’s for her seder tomorrow afternoon at 4 pm. My contribution is red wine.

We’ll sit around the table and celebrate the origin story for our people. Remember that time back in Egypt, so long ago. That night when we spread the blood of lambs on our doorposts and lintels. When the angel of death passed by our first born sons. Remember?

Remember the Reed Sea. How it made way for us?

This festival of liberation. Of the freeing of slaves. This is now my story, too. And a wonderful story it is. To have at its root the struggle against an oppressor, one who would diminish slaves through harsh labor. Of a people who listened to the sacred inner voice calling out for freedom and, most important of all, acted on it. Gained their release. An ancient story, yes, but one that needs reliving in every decade, every century, every millennia.