A Happy Story about the Big C

78  bar falls 29.59  1mph W  dew-point 55  Beltane, cloudy and warm

               Waxing Crescent of the Flower Moon

Grocery shopping.  Lunch and feed the dogs, then off to Minneapolis to Abbott-Northwestern Hospital.  When I got into the Piper Building, the information desk had no one there.  Up to the second floor.  They directed me to the east elevators and floor 3.  Lonnie was in 3556.

A closed door.  I asked the nurse to go check. Stefan was in there.  Lonnie had had a rough night and was still anxious from the meds she had on board.  But.  If the path from frozen sections on Wednesday confirm the initial findings during surgery, she will not need chemo or radiation.  That means a clean excision.  No penetration of the uterine wall.  Therefore no cancer floating in the body at large.

Stefan and I talked for awhile.  About waiting.  Waiting for an appointment with an oncologist.  Waiting for surgery and the prep for surgery.  Waiting for the results of the surgery.  Now, a much easier form of waiting.  Waiting until Lonnie improves enough to go home.

A happy story about the big C.  Not the one’s I recall from the paper.  Diagnosed last week, dead this week.  One to remember.

Taylor came by while Stefan and I talked.  He had made jello for Lonnie, but it took longer than he thought to jell.  He was on his way to a recording studio.  He’s laid down 50 hip-hop songs, “kept 30 of them.”  He has serious folks interested in his work. His ambition is impressive and his willingness to lay it out there suggests to me that he will succeed. 

He had on a big billed hat with gold and logos, a hooded sweat shirt done in an almost 50’s preppy sock diagonal plaid.  His pants, the low hanging denim variety have purple stitching on the rolled up cuffs and gold threaded designs on extra large back pockets.   Trippy.

Back home for  a snack and now a workout before Kate comes home from work.

Circumcise the flesh of your foreskin, and that shall be the mark of the covenant between you and me.

68  bar falls 29.22  2mph  SSW dew-point 62  Beltane, cloudy and rainy

                   Waxing Crescent of the Flower Moon (English)

Coming back from a journey throws the traveler back into daily life,  matters that have been suspended on the road.  This trip is no exception.  Stefan’s wife, Lonnie, has surgery today for her adenocarcinoma.  Kate’s got some problems at work.  The tomato plant has not fruited.  E-mail to catch up on.  That pesky novel still calling to me.  That sort of thing.

Let’s go back to the bris for a minute. 

Here is the passage from the Torah that provides the theological rationale.  It comes from Genesis 17:

  1         When Abram was ninety-nine years old, the LORD appeared to him and said: “I am God the Almighty. Walk in my presence and be blameless.   2  Between you and me I will establish my covenant, and I will multiply you exceedingly.” 3   When Abram prostrated himself, God continued to speak to him: 4  “My covenant with you is this: you are to become the father of a host of nations.  5  2 No longer shall you be called Abram; your name shall be Abraham, for I am making you the father of a host of nations.  6 I will render you exceedingly fertile; I will make nations of you; kings shall stem from you. 7 I will maintain my covenant with you and your descendants after you throughout the ages as an everlasting pact, to be your God and the God of your descendants after you.  8 I will give to you and to your descendants after you the land in which you are now staying, the whole land of Canaan, as a permanent possession; and I will be their God.” 9 God also said to Abraham: “On your part, you and your descendants after you must keep my covenant throughout the ages.  10 This is my covenant with you and your descendants after you that you must keep: every male among you shall be circumcised. 11 Circumcise the flesh of your foreskin, and that shall be the mark of the covenant between you and me. 12 Throughout the ages, every male among you, when he is eight days old, shall be circumcised, including houseborn slaves and those acquired with money from any foreigner who is not of your blood. 13 Yes, both the houseborn slaves and those acquired with money must be circumcised. Thus my covenant shall be in your flesh as an everlasting pact.  14  If a male is uncircumcised, that is, if the flesh of his foreskin has not been cut away, such a one shall be cut off from his people; he has broken my covenant.”

  Verse 10 and 14 have the operative language. (no pun intended)    First, circumcision is a sign of the covenant between Yahweh and the descendants of Abraham and Sara.  Second, Gabe, in order to not be cut off from his people had to have his foreskin circumcised. 

In the living room of Jon and Jen’s home the mohel, Jay Feder, set his instruments on a wooden table top.  I asked him questions and in the process he and I bonded over our shared knowledge.  Educated in several yeshiva and, for the purpose of the bris, in Jerusalem, Jay, a full time jeweler, is a bright and learned man.  He’s also very funny. 

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His shtick included these off hand remarks,  “Oh, I see Adrian (a six month old boy) is here.  I hope he doesn’t remember me!”  When Jon laid Gabe on the pillow (where Jay performs the circumcision), he laid him with his head toward Jay, who said, “So.  Do you like his nose?  You’re ok with it shorter?”  Jon turned Gabe around on the pillow.   He then turned to Jon and said, “All right.  The father performs the bris.  Are you ready?”  And so on.

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The chair in front of the table with the cloth on it is the Elijah chair.  I asked Jay the significance of the Elijah chair.  He told me the story of Elijah.  You may remember Elijah.  He challenged Ahab and his priest, Obadiah, to a contest of efficacy, their gods, Baal and Ahserah, against his, Yahweh.  Long story short.  Yahweh sends down fire and burns a sacrifical bull, and not only the bull, but the altar as well.  Baal and Asherah did not.  Later on, however, Elijah complains to Yahweh that the people of Israel have not been keeping the covenant.  After this comment, Elijah suffers a demotion and has to anoint his student, Elisha, as his successor.

Later, Elijah leaves earth for heaven in a whirlwind, on a chariot of fire.  He is the only character in the Tanakh who does not die.  Rabbinic scholars have made much of the study of Elijah and they conclude that Elijah became a perpetual witness to those events in Jewish ritual life that affirm the covenant.  “The rabbis say this may be a reward or it may be a punishment.”  Elijah’s chair, then, gives concrete expression to Elijah’s presence at this most basic of all affirmations of the Abrahamic covenant.

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This is Jon (my stepson) and Gabe with his knitted yarmulke.  I wore one, too, but I don’t have a picture.  Asked about the significance of the yarmulke, Jay said, “There are many answers, but one I like is that it shows where we stop and God takes over.”

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After the bris itself, Gabe received his Hebrew name, Gavriel.  This is Jon and Jen, Ruth and Gabe with Jay giving Gabe several sips of sweet wine.

Why wine?  Glad you asked, Jay said.  “The body starts deteriorating from the moment of birth until it finally gives up and dies.  It is the reverse in the spiritual life.  As life goes on our spiritual life becomes richer and richer until we make the transition after death.  Wine is one of the things we know that follows the same path.  As it gets older and older, it gets better and better.”

One of the things I admire and respect about Judaism is its emphasis on home-based worship and ritual.  This event sacralized Jon and Jen’s living room.  While Jay sang some of the blessings, I saw many of Jon and Jen’s neighbors pass by on the street.  It was an interesting blend of cultures.

Tales to Tell, But Not Before I Sleep

65  bar falls 29.40  1mph NNE dewpoint 63  Beltane, cool and rainy

                                           New Moon

A quick note to say I’m home.  I have more to say about the bris and tales to tell about the rest of journey, too.  But not now.  It’s too late.

Jay, the Mohel

Quite an afternoon and early evening. 

At 3:30 Gabe had his first post hospital infusion of factor 8, the clotting factor largely absent from his blood.  We drove a circuitous route through the new homes built on the site of the old Stapleton Airport. 

We crossed out of that development into a poorer neighborhood, the one in which Jon and Jen both teach.  It is also the location of a former Army base now occupied by the university of Colorado.  It is also the site of  the old Army hospital plus several new buildings that now constitute the University hospital.

In an old Army hospital building, with a wonderful Art Deco lobby, and old, undecorated halls and rooms is the hemophilia and thrombosis center.  In there the women who staff it made kind noises and praised Gabe’s beauty.

We went back into a procedure room and there the nurse practitioner found a vein near Gabe’s left ear and slid in a needle attached to a line.  She first drew blood to retest his factor level (occasional misdiagnosis), then inserted the hypodermic containing the factor into the line and pushed it into his bloodstream.

It works immediately and in fact aids in clotting the puncture created by the needle.

Gabe whimpered, then went quiet.  In a minute Amy had a gauze patch over the puncture site and held it for about five minutes, just to be sure. 

2 hours later, at Jon and Jen’s home, Rabbi and Jeweler, Jay performed a wonderful ritual.  Jay and I hit it off.  I held Gabe’s legs while Jay, the mohel, cut the foreskin in two practiced movements.  There’s more to this, but I’m in a  hotel lobby and I feel the need to move on.  Later.

Liberalism on the Rise

Double tree has computers, but they come out in this really big font and I can’t figure out how to decrease the size.  So, I’ll. just. shout. it.  out.  o. k. ?

When I left Jon and Jen’s last night, Barb was still at the ER at University Hospital.  I’m headed over there now to help with housecleaning, so I’ll find out what  happened.

There’s a line now at the computers.  That’s what comes with socialism, when everything’s free.  Or, at least when the cost is hidden.  Gal just stood, drinking coffee, looking at me.  Passive aggressive.

Read the newspaper this morning about the economy.  Bad news.  Which is  good news for Democrats.   Also, an interesting article by somebody named Jonathan Goldberg.  He’s an editor of the National Review and author of a book, Liberal Fascism. 

His perspective is that conservativism will rise again.  He said over and over that Republican does not equal conservatism.  The current administration spent like “a pimp with a week to live.”  A colorful metaphor.  I suspect the gut of his argument is correct, however, and that is that conservatism is a part of the American ethos and will only be challenged by a liberal ascendancy, not obliterated. 

We can only  hope that first, the ascendancy will happen, and that it will produce affects that have a long shelf life, like Social Security and Medicare.  Which do need to get fixed.  Amen.

OK.  Out for now.  See you on the flipside of the bris.

In Crip’s Territory

At Jon and Jen’s.  Held Gabe for an hour.  We had guy to guy chats, his little blue eyes looking up and his mouth forming that curve babies use to indicate they know where communication comes from.  He’s swaddled now and in his downstairs bed.

A crack of thunder, a lightning flash and rain.  Nice cool down. A fan is on so the room has a nice cross breeze.  Denver is high and the altitude thinner so sunburn and heat pound on bare human flesh.  Likewise, though, in the evening, once the sun goes down, a pleasant coolness settles over the city.  With few bugs summer evenings have a high human pleasure index.

Jen’s mom, Barb cut her foot on a hotel door.  She went to Urgent Care where they couldn’t stop the bleeding.  Ironic, eh, with little hemophiliac Gabe about to have his bris tomorrow?  So, Jen has left to take Barb to the University ER.  

We had plans to go to a Brazilian steak house, but we’ve decided on take-out sushi instead.  Jon’s taken off to get the sushi.  He’ll take Jen’s order over to the ER.  So, I’m here with Gabe and Ruth, both asleep.  I’ve got a bit of hummus and some goat cheese as an appetizer.

The redevelopment of Stapleton Airport, just blocks from Jon and Jen’s house, is a major urban infill project.  Lots of new housing and lots of new upscale shops.  This, too, is ironic since Jon’s neighborhood has the reputation in Denver as the ghetto. It is a mixed income area with the poor and the middle class sharing property lines.  On the whole it seems a pretty calm place, though Jon says it is Crips territory.  He also says the occasional crackhead will break into houses looking for loot.

Barb’s injury on the eve of Gabe’s bris is family.   The connected web makes her injury now a part of family lore.  Had an odd thought while holding Gabe yesterday.  I am now in the generation that will be remembered, no longer am I part of the generation that remembers.  This underlines the long and ancient trail of generational succession, reaching back to those brave folks who walked out of Africa and stretching forward to where we do not know.   

No Computer? Bad.

In Denver:   temp.  Hot    sky blue  no clouds

Traveling without a computer is harder than I thought.   My fingers now write with the keyboard, without it I have a different stream of thought.  Not worse, just different.

So, I found this computer and decided to log in.  Outside at Jon and Jen’s scratching the soil to plant grass seed.

Ruth and Gabe are, as are all grandchildren, wonderful. Ruth has complete sentences, if you  can follow her language.  I drank it all.  Where my pink sunglasses?  Where my grandma?  She’s also two.  Everything, even the moose, Merton, that I brought for Gabe was immediately hers.

Gabe’s a delight.  I held him right after I got here.  gotta go.  back to the grass