Insight. Important.

Samain and the Winter Solstice Moon

©willworthingtonart

Gratefuls: Samain and Winter, my favorite time of the year. Holiseason. Cranking up speed. Paul. 75 years! Charlie H. A reprieve! Another beautiful Colorado Day. High Fire danger since July. New cabinets arriving on location tomorrow. TSA prechek. Hanukkah presents from the Johnson (and my) sisters. Delightful. Gabe, Ruth helping unload cabinets, clearing out the sewing room. Joan Nathan’s chicken stew. Ham and cheese on sourdough. The Meme game.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: That family feeling

Tarot: The Hooded Man, #9 of the major arcana

“The Hooded Man stands at the winter solstice point on December 21, along with the earth and the sun in the night. This is the time to be alone and contemplate life. This card describes the gates of death and rebirth, deep inside the Earth.

After the difficulties and tribulations when confronting the ancient forces, we need a moment of calm and reflection on life.

The Hooded Man (The Hermit, Robin – i – The – Hood, the hermit in the deep forest) will bring persistent light in the middle of the winter as well as use his wand to dig deep and accumulate knowledge. His lantern illuminates the darkest frightening crises in every soul, repels misunderstandings, and opens the way to the door to The Great Tree. He knows that knowledge is the light and can only be cultivated through self-sacrifice and self-discipline. He points out the secrets of the deep forest and helps those seeking ways to cultivate their minds to go deeper into the forest. The Great Tree is one of the symbolic powers of the forest, which contains countless secrets and treasures of erudition.” Tarotx

 

All righty then. I’ve got my old totem animal, the Moose, and my new, sidecar totem animal, The Great Bear, and coming home tomorrow my neon sign of The Hooded Man, aka The Hermit.

Since I wrote yesterday’s post, I’ve been pondering the drum set with JUSTICE spelled out on the bass, long haired me sticks in hand, banging and kicking and whooshing. I’ve been pondering, too, the Hermit, the Hooded Man.

And an odd insight has come to me. The little drummer boy for justice may actually be my anima, so, a little drummer girl instead. Justice is frequently portrayed as a woman and I can see (not sure about this yet) how my mother’s compassion toward and with the poor might have taken root in my soul as the constant song of a just world. Insistent. Rooted in feeling, not ideology. Instinctive. And, feminine. The yin impulse in my soul. Unexamined, strong, protective, nurturing. Insistent. A mother’s way.

Which would then let the Hooded Man (reinforced by the Moose and the Great Bear) have the animus role. Makes so much sense to me. I have a conflict within me between an instinctive desire/need to right wrongs, fight injustice and an equally strong need to be alone, to go within, to sit in the darkness of the long Winter Solstice Night and be still.

These are not exclusive, no. The one refreshes, recharges, brings perspective and deep connection while the other gathers up that energy and throws it into the world, crashing down bowling pins as it does. But it’s the opposite of the stereotypes. The man wants to return home, cook, play with the kids, have a quiet and peaceful life while the woman wants to take up arms against the sea of troubles and by opposing end them.

This feels so right. And so complicated. Especially right now. The trinity of Hooded Man, Great Bear, and the Moose are of the Winter Solstice while Justice runs with the hot sun of the Summer Solstice. Fire energy.

I suppose this time might be a time when the two try to come into harmony, realizing how much each needs the other. Yet, I feel the Hooded Man wanting to claim more and more of our common life. Home. Family. Introspection. Calmness. That bomb throwing Emma Goldman, deeply loved and cherished, on the other hand, feels guilty sitting out when there are wars still to be fought.

Perhaps this new year will be a time to consider how these two can achieve the alchemical marriage: “Alchemical marriage is a soul-interaction that invites the sacred feminine to the sacred masculine. As a result, we experience wholeness in our spiritual core.” from here.

In fact that would be a good goal, uniting the Hooded Man and Lady Justice. How to do that? No clue. Is it a good idea? I think so. Maybe it’s the end of the ancientrail of life. The conclusion or the work of the fourth phase.

 

The Lady and the Hermit

Samain and the Winter Solstice Moon

©willworthingtonart

Saturday gratefuls: Bonnie. Sefer Yetzirah. Rebecca. The Guardian. The New York Times. The Washington Post. The Denver Post. The Alexandria Times-Tribune of blessed memory. Kate, always Kate. Alan. Judy. Joan Nathan. Rigel, the sweet girl. Kep, the independent thinker. Ruby. (even though she is an internal combustion anachronism.)

Sparks of Joy and Awe: These Rocky Mountains

Tarot: Four of Arrows, Rest. Wildwood

 

The rhythms of our lives. A fascinating question posed by Ancient Brother Mario Odegard:

“The topic comes from one of the opening lines that Robert Bly said at one of his retreats that has stayed with me for many years. He talked about the absence of an inner rhythm in many men. He referred to this as not paying attention or listening to your inner flow. He asked what kind of “music” are you making with your life: 
 

What is the inner rhythm deep inside you, that guides you, that swings you, that keeps you dancing with life? Do you need to create a new rhythm?”

 

Thinking about this sent me over an edge into the many rhythms that form the backbeat to our daily lives. Day and night. Heartbeat. Blood pressure’s rise and fall. Breathing in and out. Hunger and satiety. Thirst and refreshment. Weeks. Months. Years. Millennia. Birthdays. The Great Wheel’s seasonal changes. As it leaves, so it comes back.

There’s another rhythm in and down, out and about. That curious dance between introspection and agency.

Sleeping and waking. Punctuations. Semi-colons.

Music, too. Of course. Paradiddles. When I took to the inner rhythm that guides you, swings you, I went somewhere else. To the percussive driving beat of a snare, a fast and steady kick to the big bass drum. Justice. Always. A pushing rhythm, one to thrust me out of my inner fuzziness, my inner doubt and fear. Get out there. Boom. Boom. Boom. Crash. Whish. Go. Go. Go.

So here’s this archetype, the lady and the scales. The sword. Pillars of authority. A veil between her and the world. Let’s say she’s the one playing the drum set in my soul.

At the barest hint of unfairness I hear a faint brush of wire on cymbal. Attenhut! Is there more to this? Example. Got my haircut on Tuesday. Jackie. I’ve mentioned her before. A very sweet lady. Kate’s friend first, now mine, too. Jefferson County instituted a mask mandate last week for inside businesses. Jackie had her mask on. I did, too.

But. “Some of my clients just won’t wear a mask.” Puts her in the position of possibly alienating otherwise regular paying customers. And, does an omicron layoff lie just over the horizon? The combination of alienated customers and the financial cataclysm of a shutdown could ruin her financially.

Not. Fair. Jackie’s in her sixties I imagine. She’s worked hard, on her own, for forty years. Yet she now has to enforce a sensible, but to some, very unwelcome government rule; or, go ahead and cut their hair. Which is what she chooses to do for business and personal reasons. Some of these folks, outside the anti-vax madness are her friends.

Then my mind goes to other hair stylists, nail salons, barbers, mom and pop shops, shoe repair stores, anywhere one or two folks are both work force and proprietor. Lots of people. Especially in lower income communities, yes, but not only there.

I play out in my head the steps it would take to organize enough of these folks to demand some simple JUSTICE. Why? Because this rhythm has ruled my life since I was young. I let most of the situations I discover like this, and they are legion, go. Can’t be all things. Too tired and old. Don’t want to anymore. But there’s always the chance, in the operetta that is my inner life, that one will snag me, draw me in past the oh, I wonder what would happen stage.

Herme

It’s time for a new rhythm. One more to the tune of the Hermit. See what I did there? I’m thinking lutes and harps. Renaissance notes. Quiet. Seeking silence and contemplation like the drummer seeks justice. Justice has had at least 65 years to develop a presence, so I don’t imagine she’ll leave. But the Hermit has been around a long time, too. The guy on retreat. The guy who sought Christian mysticism, who studies Kabbalah and tarot. Astrology. The guy wanting to go in and down, not up and out.

Herme may be the balance to Justice, which pushes me up and out. Into the world. Maybe a battle of the bands?

 

 

 

Rigel at 13

Samain and the thinnest Holiseason waning crescent

Friday gratefuls: Cleaning out the cabinets. Underway. Chicken stew headed to Judy’s with Bread Lounge ciabatta. Alan. Evergreen. Conifer. Our wildfire risk. Black Mountain Drive. Our only route out. The Lodgepoles that will burn. Renewal. Forest metamorphosis. The houses that will burn. Ecojustice. A chance for renewal. That slab of Taj Mahal waiting to be cut precisely to fit my counter. A beauty.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Ursa Major outside my bedroom window

Tarot: Three of Stones, Creativity.

 

Rigel, 2011

Rigel. Has turned 13. A rascal still. Just this morning she grabbed an empty treat package, carried it out to the sewing room rug and ripped it apart.

The very day we brought her home to Seven Oaks in Andover she got her head stuck in the wooden gate going down to our perennial garden. I had to take the gate apart to get her head out. And, with my manual skills.

Kate told me this story. Rigel had come in from outside looking proud of herself. She got into the kitchen, coughed once, and threw up a Rabbit’s head. Eyes still glistening.

Rigel also got her sister Vega in trouble. Often. She discovered a downed Tree limb that provided a route over our 2,500 foot long chain link fence. Located in a far corner of our Woods it took me more than one escape to find the Tree limb and cut it down.

Rigel digging with Vega, 2010

Once she went over, took Vega and Hilo, one of our Whippets, with her. Vega and Hilo returned home for dinner, but Rigel didn’t. She was gone three or four days, having been captured by a neighbor. We finally found her through the dog shelter who relayed a message. While she resided at the neighbors, his son named her Queenie.

Seven Oaks was on the Anoka Sand Plain, the former shore of the ancient glacial River, Agassiz. Great for gardening. And, for two sisters tag-teaming to dig really deep holes. Not one, not two, but multiple holes deep enough to hold a 100 pound+ IW/Coyote Hound mix. Since I occasionally needed to drive a truck in the back, these holes were downright problematic.

the baby

Loud barking. Really loud. Baying. Non-stop. Geez, guys. What’s going on? I searched around in our woods until I found Rigel and Vega digging a hole under a downed Cottonwood. Something was up in the hollow portion of the long dead Tree. Took out my phone and snapped pictures because I could see anything. A baby Opossum. Never understand the strategy of barking at something in a Tree.

Up here on Shadow Mountain where Rigel has spent more than half of her 13 years she continues to hunt. She’s dug out around our deck, trying to get underneath to the tasty baby bunnies that live there. Same for the shed. In spite of severe arthritis in her rear left leg she continues to follow her predatory instincts.

With Rigel, Andover

Last year. August. I felt her forehead. It was hot. Kate took her temperature. 105. Something was going on. Covid raged outside our house. It was a weekend. As often happens.

I took her in to the Veterinary Referral Service in Lakewood. Because of Covid, they had signs on their front door and windows: Humans. Sit. Stay. I had to call in. A vet tech came to get her. I waited in the car, 94 degree heat, for six hours while triage pushed her back in priority. When they finally got to her, the vet confirmed she was really sick.

It took three or four very expensive days to diagnose her with endocarditis, the next to last thing on the differential tree. After that it took two days of high dose, high impact antibiotics to get her ready to come home.

Rigel and a bull Elk in our back a day before my first radiation treatment.

I cried when she same out because I thought I’d never see her again. She was thin, weak, but happy to go home. High doses of antibiotics continued at home for three months. It took about that length of time, maybe a bit more, for her energy level to return to normal.

Today she runs up and down the stairs to the loft. She and Kep have made home a welcoming place for me since Kate’s death. So important for me that I don’t have a word for my gratitude.

Each time she goes to the vet he says she looks really good for as old a dog as she is. At her physical he compared her to a five-year old dog. She’s still like that. How long she can go, I don’t know. But her life has buttressed mine and mine hers. Fair enough.

A New Totem Animal

Samain and the 5% waning crescent of the Holiseason Moon

©willworthingtonart

Friday gratefuls: Blue Skies. Black Mountain. Green Lodgepoles. Naked Aspen. Oceans. The World Ocean. Lakes. Ponds. Puddles. Creeks. Streams. Rivers. Mighty Rivers. Volcanoes. Steam Vents. The Earth’s Core. Riding on the Mantle. Crusty.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Brother Mark

Tarot: The Great Bear, #20 of the major arcana

 

As they often say in fantasy movies, it has begun. I’m deconstructing the kitchen. Drawers with thermometers, hot pads, skewers, kitchen towels. Cabinets with bouillon, cream of mushroom soup, ladles, and wooden spoons. Into the boxes I’ve been saving. I’m doing a little pruning right now, but the priority is to unload all the cabinets before Monday. I’ll prune more as I replace things in the new cabinets or, better perhaps, after I’ve gotten everything in boxes.

I’m excited to have this project moving forward. It’s completion will be the trigger for moving furniture, rearranging the house. One thing I look forward to upstairs is a conversation area focused on the fireplace. Since I don’t have COPD, I can have fires, but a lot of them? No.

The first fire after the furniture and new lamps and table are in place will be Irish peat logs. I mentioned them a while back as reminiscent of the nights W.Y. Evans-Wentz spent in Celtic homes listening to stories around the fire, often peat logs burning. I want to experience the smell and the fire.

Fits in with the Hermitage notion. I’ll welcome you here if you want to come. Oh, and I’m working on that host thing, too.

©willworthingtonart

I may have a new, or additional, totem animal. Can you have more than one? Love the card I drew this morning, the Great Bear. Here it is again.

The Great Bear guards a passage tomb, a sort of pre-Celtic columbarium that could contain multiple tombs on either side of a long passage. In the tomb souls await rebirth and the Great Bear protects the souls as they wait to renew themselves.

The Great Bear, in the Wildwood Deck, corresponds to the Winter Solstice, that longest night when we sink into the darkness. Happens to be my favorite holiday. Matching it with Ursa Major and the Aurora Borealis makes the Winter Solstice take on an even deeper meaning for me.

As it goes, so it comes. When darkness reaches us, it invites into the passage tomb. We have no need to worry because the Great Bear will protect us through the vulnerable process of our soul’s metamorphosis. While we’re in the tomb the night sky shines above us in all its starry, auroral glory.

The Great Wheel teaches us that rebirth is not a singular event. As the dark Night goes, it will come again, offering another chance for renewal, for rebirth. This is a comfort for those who mourn, who feel a new life awaits. For me.

 

And on the third night

Samain and the waning crescent of the Holiseason Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: Jon, in trouble. Ruth, caring for a friend. Gabe, cheerful and helpful. Hanukkah. Lights, presents. Gratefulness. Sarah, Anne, BJ. Tender brisket. Melts in the mouth, they said! Neil Stephenson. Termination Shock. The Master of Djinn. Reading. Fantasy. Science fiction.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Gifts

Tarot:

 

Hanukkah. Lights, camera, presents!

Remodeling. Water.

Samain and the waning crescent of the Holiseason Moon

Dazzle Jazz, 2017

Tuesday gratefuls: Land Institute. Giving. Tara. Jon and his worm fantasy. Rigel. Kep. The Sun. The Moon. Orion. The Zodiac. Republicans. Trump. Omicron. Covid. Death. Life. Kate, always Kate. Wood. Water. Fire. Air.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Kitchen remodel starts Monday

Tarot:  The Queen of Stones, Bear.  wildwood deck

 

counter top slab pre-fabrication

Jodi emailed me yesterday. Bowe will demolish my kitchen on Monday. That’s a good thing. Because. He’ll start to rebuild it on Tuesday. Once he gets the cabinet bases in place the quartzite fabricator folks will come to do their arcane work. Can’t imagine the precision they have to have. Wait 10 days or two weeks. In which time Bowe will finish the cabinetry. After the installation of the counter top Bowe will put up the brick backsplash and make finishing touches. Done by Christmas. Probably.

Deconstruction. Yes. Construction. Yes.

This week then. Empty all the kitchen cabinets. Getting started today.

At that point I’ll be finished with my 2021 house projects: Staining the house. Adding the mini-splits. Remodeling the kitchen. Hermit neon sign. With one exception. I want to get the furniture rearranged. A lot of heavy lifting.

I’m going to text Mike Vanderhee who put in our fence. I imagine he has a buddy who’s strong like bull, too. Mike carried my 50 inch television up the stairs to the loft and put it in place. Damn thing is really heavy.

Next year. Couch and landscaping.

The ephemeral nature of all this. Could be a wildfire tomorrow. Take it all out. Just after it was done. Could be. But. I choose not to live that way. Insurance. A mountain attitude. Just things. Take the dogs and go.

Jon does not have hookworms. His cat apparently does. The urgent care folks said no. No evidence. He expressed chagrin. Anxiety. Rides him like a cowboy breaking a hoss. You know, rodeo metaphors. The West.

Speaking of the West. Snowpack worries have begun to show up in the Denver Post. The Southern and Southwestern part of the state are in 30% of normal range. The Northern part of the state is more like 75%. Most of the Snowpack comes later so no one is sure what’s going to happen, but the possibility for dry adding on to dry is high.

The highest stakes though are in the Northwestern part of the state where the Mountain snowpack feeds the Colorado. The reservoirs downstream like Lake Mead are so low that a minimal snowpack would (probably will) cause old Water rights to come into effect. This means upper basin states like Colorado and Utah may have to let more water go downstream than usual. Water rights holders in those two states may not get all the water they’re used to. The future. Is now.

As a lifelong resident of the humid East until 2014, I find Water politics passing strange. So important. The growth in Colorado population, which is rapid, is in the Front Range/Denver metro corridor. The Water is mostly in the Western part of the state. A call on Water rights for the Colorado could/would produce impacts here. Complicated. Difficult. No easy answer.

Well. Wildfires and Drought. The modern West. Right where I am.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A twofer

Samain and the Holiseason Moon

Sunday gratefuls: Ancient brothers. Bright, Sun shiny Day. Black Mountain. Enduring. Wildfire. Drought. Kin. Of all kinds, furry and other. Cooking. Kitchen(s). Beds. Chairs. Computers. Televisions. Wires. The internet. Newspapers, online and papery/inky. Reporters. Politics. Climate. Its changes.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Cooking.

Tarot: Sunday-The Queen of Stones. Bear.  Wildwood Tarot Monday-The Sun of Life, #19 of the major arcana

 

Oh, boy. A little bleary eyed at 8:30 am. Slept in till 7:30. Made a chicken stew(soup). A Joan Nathan recipe. A Jewish Julia Childs. I made brisket as well for our traditional Hanukkah dinner tonight. Instant Pot. Moist and tender.

Had an interesting experience while I was cooking. A sense of well-being and rightness rose up. I love this! Cooking. It made me so glad that I’d persevered with the kitchen remodel. I feel alive in the kitchen in the same way I do when I write. Paint. With the occasional call from the mitzvah committee at CBE, Jon and the kids I have real people to cook for too. Including me. Maybe I’ll work on a cooking for yourself cookbook.

YEP. Forgodda about it. So, this is now the post for Sunday and Monday.

Saturday evening cooking put me down. For the night plus a bit. Has me thinking about finding those cushiony mats for the stove and prep area. It’s the standing. Combine low to no testosterone and sarcopenia. Result: Legs not as strong as the gardening days. Or, the more recent fire mitigation days. Even so you’ll note I’ve found a happy place. The kitchen.

The Ancient Brothers (our new name, probably the one we’re sticking with) zoomed. Paul joined on the road from Burlington to Robbitson, Maine. Topic: post-pandemic life. Positives from the pandemic. I’ll share the article and some of our thoughts later this week.

Lunch with Tara, who has moved on from her position as director of the religious school at CBE. Sushi! Tara and Marilyn, both last name Saltzman, not related, Kate and I met our first ever evening at CBE over six years ago. Both of them are good friends today. I celebrated her work for the synagogue and our friendship.

Jon discovered what he believes are hookworms in his feet. So. No Hanukkah yesterday for the kids. Maybe tonight, or we might do it on Saturday. My brisket and the chicken stew with matzo balls rest in the frig until they come. I had a bit of the brisket last night. Moist and tasty. The chicken stew has a second lap to its cooking and I won’t do that until I know they’re coming for sure. Part of it is making the matzo balls. Needed the rest yesterday, too, so I’m not unhappy with waiting. Still worn out from Saturday evening.

Need to go down for breakfast and break Kep and Rigel out of the house. It’s housecleaning day. I so look forward to the day when the house has been reorganized, the kitchen remodeled. I have boxes and piles everywhere on the main level. Getting ready for emptying the kitchen when I get a firm date from Jodi.

Bought a Roomba. Kep. It will keep the main level and my floor downstairs clear of dog hair. Shoulda bought this years ago. Happy Hanukkah, me!

 

A Joyful Hanukkah

Samain and the Holiseason Moon

Saturday gratefuls: Tara. Workout yesterday. Feeling good. Rigel sniffing around up here. Ham. Stuffing. Lox. Latkes. Brisket. Chicken Soup. Chicken Pot Pies. A full refrigerator. Alan. The Weekend. No workouts. Dry Weather. Drought. Wildfire. Prostate Cancer. Myriad Genetics. Kep. Lying outside in the cold air. Happy.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Hanukkah

Tarot: Four of Arrows: Rest, The Guardian, #15, The Sun of Life, #19  wildwood tarot

 

Question: What do I need to know to make Hanukkah joyous?

©willworthingtonart

What to avoid: OK. This one stumped me at first. The Four of Arrows. Rest. So I read further. It can signal a time of anxiety and stress from which we need rest. It can also signal trying too hard in a relationship, pushing the other away. In order to transform into the beautiful Butterfly I need to avoid being anxious about Sunday. Simple as that. If I can do that, and I can, it will flow.

©willworthingtonart

The Issue: The Guardian, #15 of the Major Arcana. The Wildwood Tarot Guardian replaces the Rider-Waite decks’ Devil with the skeleton of a Cave Bear. The Bear guards the entrance to our inner darkness, our fears and prejudices, our deep concerns about worthiness, even the inner pathway to the Otherworld. I live on Shadow Mountain, atop the burden of the occult.

Our family ripped open, fault lines ready to move. The death of our matriarch, the anima. Hanukkah, a festival of the light, offers us a chance, as did Thanksgiving, to confront the Guardian, show him our fears of family disruption, even dissolution. And gain the rich power of fears felt together, of fear turned into psychic power, enough power to sew a new quilt with the remainder of our lives. May it be so.

©willworthingtonart

Action to Take:  “A symbol of the power of light and fertility, The Sun Of Life represents blessings, joy, health, and emotional harmony. Like the bright rays illuminating the darkness in your heart and life, The Sun of Life reaches deep within you and energizes your soul. This is the time for your sun to radiate the world around you, bringing warmth, light, and harmony to others.” tarotx

Be the Sun of Life. Avoid giving in to anxiety and stress, go past the Guardian into the dark cave of my inner world and face my fears, then burst out of the blackness filled with joy, with sunny fertility, with the joy of creativity.

Thanks

Samain and the Holiseason Moon

Friday gratefuls: Thanks giving. Kate. Who was always prepared. Ruth, who did not want to talk about Grandma. Then, did. Good stories, well told, bringing Grandma to Thanksgiving. The Ham. The Stuffing. The Pecan Pie and the Cranberry sauce, both made by Ruth. The Texas Toothpick Gabe got me served the ham. “It was the best present ever for you, Grandpop.”

Sparks of Joy and Awe:  The kitchen remodel

Tarot: doing a spread later

 

On the Pampas, 2011

It has come and gone. The first major holiday without my wife, without Grandma, without the oldest sister, without Kep and Rigel’s and Jon’s mom. These are holes in the fabric of our family, dug by Azrael. Left to be filled in as we knit together a new family, one without her physical presence.

Since I have long cooked the holiday meals and since Kate’s presence as an active participant in the holidays began to fade a couple of years ago, it was not as painful as it might have been for me. Ruth, less so. Jon, too. Gabe seems pretty level.

We spent time talking about Kate. Jon remembered when she brought the makings for pizza when he was in rehab. Ruth remembered Kate and her cooking. Gabe said he didn’t remember much. I told about the time in the Galliard Cut of the Panama Canal when a woman sitting with us pulled out wet wipes, just like Kate always did, and I gave in to her be prepared way. Then there was that time in Pizarro’s house (really) in Lima, Peru. She leaned her head on my shoulder. So much more.

Pizarro’s Place

On our honeymoon I got pneumonia and spent most of the time in Vienna recovering. Thanks to the antibiotics Kate had packed. Kate as the ninja weeder. Her name for her dogged attention to the plants out of place in our garden. A bandana around her forehead, a spading trowel in her hand. She gave so many things all she had. The ski bags she made for Jon. That dress she made from six-year old Ruth’s sketch. The shirts she made for me. Her medical practice. Her quilts. What a woman. So lucky I met her and got to love her. Be loved by her. May her journey be what it needs to be.

Slept in for an hour this morning. Cooking and cleaning up after a big meal. Whew. I find myself now able to do all that, not cringe. Just do it. What I’m not is a great host. Kate had that gene though neither of us enjoyed the role. Wonder if I could learn? Not sure. The introverted me finds shepherding an event and cooking/cleaning for same just too much. Not sure if I want to learn though it is an ancient and honored part of entertaining. Making folks feel welcome, seeding good conversations, maybe a game or two.

Kate with Jon at St. Josephs 2019

Whenever reading books about the Middle East, especially historical works, the rules of hospitality are so prominent. No matter who, even an enemy, deserved and received at least three days of food and shelter and freedom from attack. Don’t know whether that reflects actual practice, but they did lift hospitality to a prominent social norm, for sure.

Sunday night, the first night of Hanukkah, Jon and the kids return. I’m making brisket, traditional, and Jon has the making for latkes. We got a gift from Schecky and BJ, a box of lox (hah), latkes, apple sauce, sour cream, Hanukkah candles, and gelt. The presents from the sisters, the wrapped ones, are on the downstairs table. Not sure yet how we’ll handle the 8 days of present giving and candle lighting. We’ll decide on Sunday.

Another first without Kate.

 

Samain and the Holiseason Moon

Frank

Wednesday gratefuls: The Turkey Liberation Front. Stuffing. Family and friends. Clouds. Drought. Woolly Mammoth tusk found ten miles off Monterey Coast. 200,000 years old. That’s older than even Frank. Mark in Minnesota. Honey Baked Ham. In the frig. Ready. Safeway pickup after I talk with Diane. Jon, Ruth, Gabe. Coming tonight.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Rigel shook off her hang dog look. (I think she had indigestion. From that glove of mine she ate.)

Tarot: Message of the three card spread from yesterday. We will have a joyful Thanksgiving. If we remember Kate (we will), and rejoice in our time together. (and I intend to)

 

Bit the quartzite bullet. Ouch. $$$. Not gonna settle. I want a beautiful kitchen. Jodi and Bowe came by. Brian, the Fairplay cabinetmaker whom we chose because my cabinets would be handmade and available in time to get the work done before Christmas, told Jodi he needs more time. Ah, the joys of remodeling.

I liked Bowe. He seems competent and confident. A good combination. The sticking point is this: Bowe can do demo and install the new cabinets in two days. Give or take. But he has to wait to finish the backsplash and the plumbing until the quartzite fabricators measure, cut, polish, deliver, and install the counter top. So, if he has to wait a week on Brian, that means a tight, tight schedule with the waiting time on the countertop.

All in all, not a big deal. With one exception. I have to empty all of my cabinets. I don’t feel comfortable putting things away in the new kitchen until it’s done. A long time to have everything in boxes. I can still cook, use the refrigerator, and the microwave though I don’t know about the sink.

As most of you already know, remodeling means people a large sum of money to inconvenience you in your own home. I don’t have the wherewithal, nor the desire, to move out during the work.

The end result though. Yes. Yes. Yes.

Decided I’m going to find a personal trainer who will come to the house. I don’t need a lot. A new workout every 6-8 weeks. Attention to form so I do the exercises correctly. I like Deb Brown and On the Move Fitness but I don’t feel comfortable going in with Covid surging. Especially, I’m sure, after Thanksgiving.

I do have questions about physical fitness and the aging body. What is my goal? I understand the cardio goal, I think. Work the heart hard, often. At faster and slower intervals. But in the resistance work I’m not trying to bulk up. Never was, certainly not now. How do I know when I’m doing enough resistance work? Do I really need to do three sets? Those sort of questions. Even the cardio. I’ve read too much and absorbed too little.

Trying to bring Kate in closer. Has resulted in more tears. But I expected that. Kate and I are still together, always will be. Unlike, for example, Raeone and me, Judy and me. Kate and I shaped each other. Not so much with Judy and Raeone. A bit, of course, but nothing at the soul level.

Had an insight about mussar. Jewish ethics it’s called, but it’s actually about practical ways to improve character. We learn about midot, character traits. Examples: joy, patience, judging another favorably (and, ourselves), loving-kindness, curiosity, courage of the heart. Each session we come up with a practice to help us “get” the character trait.

Here’s the insight. It’s not so much learning about the character traits that’s important. It’s the constant willingness to examine ourselves and pay attention to the ethical choices we make that creates a heightened awareness of how we are in the world. That awareness is the gift of studying mussar. One I imagine you could gain by studying Buddhism or Taoism with a similar intensity and regularity.

It is not, let me emphasize, a guilt trip. You could take it there, but that’s sorta silly. The core of mussar teaching recognizes our humanness, our flaws and our strengths. Work on one, build on the other. Life-long journey.

When you add tarot into the mix, another route into the development of character opens up. Archetypal work. Venturing into the collective unconscious. Like mussar tarot guides us into looking at parts of ourselves we might otherwise gloss over or outright ignore. Both tarot and mussar require unflinching honesty. That’s another psychic muscle that gets bulked up in both. Without honesty we fall prey to our prejudices, our assumptions, our too quick takes on the world.

Let me give you two examples. The first, about judging the whole of a person favorably. When I encountered this idea in mussar a month and a half ago, I realized in my thinking about Jon I had allowed myself to focus on what I found lacking in him. (note: by my standards, probably not his) When I balanced those things with the good parenting, no, excellent parenting, the long arc of his art teaching career, his own art making, his tender heart, I realized I had an unbalanced approach to him.

Since then, I’ve changed my interactions with him, trying to respond to those positive characteristics and reinforce them. To give him support in critical life areas that can reduce his anxiety. Result? I feel better about my interactions with him and he seems to be eager to interact. A positive change.

Tarot: Each card I draw for a daily oracle or the cards dealt for me during my Tree of Life spread reading with Mark Horn invite me to investigate areas of my life I might miss, or deny.

rider-waite deck

In the Tree of Life spread I had the Emperor in the Keter position and the 9 of Swords in Malkut. The Emperor suggested I look at how my organizational skills might help some as yet unidentified cause. I’m moving in the hermit direction but the Emperor suggests I should not foreclose any particular style of living. I’m currently resisting the idea of becoming engaged with or creating a new organization and might continue to. But even the resistance is a creative tension. Making me consider facets of my new life I might have pushed away.

rider-waite

The nine of Swords in Malkut, the opposite position on the Tree of Life from Keter, this world as opposed to the whole universe, suggested I had grief work to do before I could move on to the next phase of my life. Specifically, I have to bring Kate in closer as a blessed memory, as a daily helper, as a net positive in my psyche. This is to counter my remorse over feeling good when I wonder if I should still be feeling bad.

Continued feeling grief stricken will cripple me. Block me for a new vision. I sense my movement is in the direction of bringing her in closer. But, I’m not there yet.

Time. As Kate would say, the tincture of time.