On the Eastern Shore

Samhain                                                            Winter Moon

Down to the river again tonight.  This time not on Nicollet Island but on the eastern shore, connecting to Chicago, Pittsburgh and New York, the businesses of St. Anthony on Main, a place much visited 30 years ago, less so now.  We were at Vic’s, a restaurant with a great view of a lit up Minneapolis sky line, the river running cold and sluggish below.

Irv Williams (Photo: Kevin Brown)

KBEM, jazz radio, had its Christmas party tonight, another, the last, of the years restaurant fund-raising evenings.  This one featured a 95 year old saxophonist, Irv Williams, short with a polished bald head the color of stained cherry.  He was, my Kate told me, Mr. Smooth.  His music wrapped around us as we ate and talked, a quiet tributary of the same great river plyed by John Coltrane, Charlie Parker and Ornette Coleman.

Warren and Sheryl were there, venturing out after four years in care-giver isolation, still trying to wrap their heads around the freedom they have.  It was a large crowd, maybe 3 or 4 times larger than usual because all the KBEM staff were there.

There will be another jazz noir radio play in April and a restaurant night at the Dakota on January 22nd.

Cilia Scene

Samhain                                                          Winter Moon

from Wired. Com

Ralph Grimm, Jimboomba Queensland, Australia.

Subject: Paramecium, showing contractile vacuole and ciliary motion. Paramecium lives in fresh water. The excess water it takes in via osmosis is collected into two contractile vacuoles, one at each end, which swell and expel water through an opening in the cell membrane. The sweeping motion of the hair-like cilia helps the single-celled organism move.
Technique: Differential interference contrast
Magnification: 350x-1000x

Credit: Ralph Grimm / Olympus BioScapes Digital Imaging Competition®

 

Warm

Samhain                                                             Winter Moon

Still warm from yesterday evening.  We need the small flames that friendship kindles to keep the soul from growing cold.

Tom’s other gift of holly and acorns, the Holly King and the Oak King, sits above my computer, recalling the struggle between the two over the last six months, a battle that will, starting on the Solstice bend toward the Oak King’s forces of light.

Mark’s gift of polished Woolly Mammoth tusk is up there, too, waiting inspiration.

As many of you know, I’m no longer a Christian, but I celebrate Christmas the holiday still, only now in the way we did last night, by seeing people I love.  No tree.  No gifts.  No cards. No church services. Just other humans walking this most ancientrail–life–together.