And they went and died about it

Winter (last day) and the Imbolc (Wolf) Moon

Sunday gratefuls: Kate’s better couple of days. Rigel, who gets up between 6:30 and 7:00. I get up at 5:30 now, better rested. Resurfacing after 3 plus weeks of difficult days and nights. The Lupercalia. Lycaon. Arcadia. Pan.

How many people have ever lived? Somewhere between 100 and 113 billion. See this wikipedia page for data. Got to thinking about this a few nights ago.

How many people do you know? Probably higher than Dunbar’s number of the 150 with whom we can maintain stable relationships. This article posits a number between 290 and 600. The same article ends by saying most people know only between 10 and 25 people they can trust.

Let’s imagine the number you trust is 25. The high end. Out of all the people that have ever lived you trust only .000000000025 of them and you know fewer than .0000000006 of them.

Why am I belaboring this idea? Good question. What got me going was the idea of how few people, in relation to the historical population of the earth, I know. This thin, wafer thin, slice is the group upon which I base my understanding of our species. Sure, I’ve studied anthropology and psychology, both ways to understand our species considered in aggregations like cultures or personality types, but these are at best reductionist views of exceedingly complex phenomena.

Reading helps. Novels in particular. Even there though we’re viewing characters through the understanding of a novelist whose known slice of humanity is as wafer thin as our own.

In any case we compare our learnings from those methods against the people we know. Who aren’t that many, really. Especially historically. Here’s another issue. We don’t know 600 diverse people probably. Some may. But most of us know people whom we’ve met at school, in our hometowns, in our neighborhoods. Largely people like us.

My point, you might reasonably ask? How little we know about our own species. How little we can know, even if we study the humanities, anthropology, psychology. How small our cohort of known persons is, how really small our cohort of trusted persons is. Given this reality is it any wonder that the 331,000,000 US citizens break into so many small and self-interested groups?

And yet. We have this from Our Town.* Notions, ideas, beliefs. These are the trail markers on the ancientrail of human life. We use them to guide our actions because we can’t use our exhaustive knowledge of life as a human. We don’t have it. Can’t have it.

And we go and die about those notions, ideas, beliefs, or, as General Patton memorably said, “We make some other poor sonofabitch die for his country.”

Humility. That’s what all this means. Provisional, what we believe. What we know. What guides us. Based on so small a sample of other’s lives that it might as well be considered nothing. But of course it’s not. It’s our life, our way of being as part of this hundred billion mass of humanity that has lived and died upon this spaceship Earth.

The things a guy thinks about. Geez.

 

*Our Town, Act 3, spoken by the play’s narrator, the Stage Manager, as he gives the audience a tour of the town cemetery, pointing out meaningful landmarks:

“Over there are some Civil War veterans,” the Stage Manager says. “Iron flags on their graves . . . New Hampshire boys . . . had a notion that the Union ought to be kept together, though they’d never seen more than fifty miles of it themselves. All they knew was the name, friends — the United States of America. The United States of America. And they went and died about it.”

Bearing Down

Winter and the Imbolc (Wolf) Moon

Friday gratefuls: Caring Bridge. Kate’s community of friends. Story. The Ancient One’s theme this Sunday. Workouts. Deb, a new workout next Thursday. The Wind, 20/25 mph this morning. Our hardly wind tight house. Covid. Vaccines. Aging. The old homestead in Andover. The Lodgepoles, swaying, bending, waving.

 

It’s been, overall, a rotten week. Kate’s been in bed, or wanting to go back to bed the whole week. This morning is better. We’ll see. A hard week emotionally for both of us, including one fight which had both of us admitting fault, sorry, no, it’s just really hard right now. Yeah, I know. Me, too. Then on beyond that one.

This follows three weeks that have been no good, very bad weeks. Tubes in and out, in and out of the hospital, a new diagnosis of atrial fibrillation, hypoxia, failing oxygen concentrator, general icky feeling for Kate. Disheartening.

As for me. Better rested. Lower expectations about what I can get done in a day. Taking care with fitness, food, sleep. Going with it.

Scheduled a new workout with Deb. We’ll do it on Zoom because I don’t like to be away from the house very long. We have two red “need you” buttons and receivers placed in the loft, the kitchen, and near the stairs in the living room. Kate keeps one around her neck and the second one is in the bathroom downstairs.

Oil and coal industry readies its fight back against Biden’s climate policies. Jesus H. Can’t they see this is over? Why can’t they be part of the solution? Could you really be a board member of a major oil, gas, or coal company and say, “Hey, it may the downward slope for us. That means we have to squeeze all the profit out. No matter what. Fuck the world.”

The cynicism here is apocalyptic. I mean, literally apocalyptic. If we don’t throttle them, and ourselves, back, our grandchildren and certainly our great grandchildren will bake in the oven of our discontent. I’m Mad as Max and I can’t take it anymore.

In cheerier news friend Tom Crane sent a note about the Mars rover Perseverance “bearing down” on Mars. That’s so exciting. It lands February 18th with a package designed to search for signs of life, new and old. One of things they will be looking for are Stromatolite formations. This ancient life form can still be seen on the west coast of Australia. A trip I’d like to make someday.

I put bearing down in quotes because at the time of the article Perseverance was 4.5 million miles from Mars. I guess that’s the in dark cold of space equivalent.

Wool and Dross

Winter and the Imbolc (wolf) Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: Rigel. Prancing in from a time outside. Kep, jumping up, making his wooo-hoo sounds. Kate and her love. Restorative sleep. Have I mentioned here that Trump is gone? 5+ inches of fluffy snow. Ted, plowing us. Life. Covid.

 

 

Gathering some wool, some dross, and a few grains of wisdom about our near term future. It’s not the most important stuff; but, it could be if it weakens or distracts from work on climate change, racial and economic justice, health care reform. Not there yet. So much to consider.

Here are some of the questions that occur to me:

Who are the Trump cultists? How many of them are there? Where do they live?

Who are the Bernie supporters? How many of them are there? Where do they live?

What do independents think? How many of them are there? Where do they live?

How will the factions within the Democratic congressional delegations be managed? Are there any Republicans who can be shaved off? Who? For what issues?

Will Trump’s trial convince business Republicans that he’s toxic? Will it create a fissure in the GOP? Will it strengthen and harden Democrats? Or will it create some unanticipated trouble?

What is the strategy for neutralizing the libertarian right wing? The pickup truck, flag carrying right? The militia and white supremacist right?

Can the economy stay so hot? Will it boil over, go into a big correction? Will Congress and the Fed guide us to a smooth landing? How?

How do we support small business owners and the huge number of unemployed persons who used to work for them? Can we do both while strengthening unions?

What might challenge movement on climate change, racial justice, economic justice, health care reform? These domestic issues as well as foreign affairs. We need to move forward on all these fronts at once, divide up the tasks, co-ordinate.

 

Dry Well

Winter and the Imbolc Moon

Tuesday gratefuls: Cold. Snow. Still falling. Coffee. -45 here in the good ol’ USA. But, +46, too. Rigel, recovering. Kep. Murdoch in Hawai’i. VRCC. Climate change. Action against emissions. Dr. Gustave, back to North Carolina. My third doctor to leave this month: Dr. Gidday, my primary care provider, Dr. Gilroy, radiation oncologist, and Gustave, ophthalmologist. Geez, guys.

Rigel gave us a scare yesterday. She lost full control of her right front leg, started shaking her head in a rhythmic tic, walked into corners. This went on for about 20 minutes while we debated whether I would take her in to VRCC.

Pretty tough on me. The thought of another dire visit to a clinic with a loved one in trouble. Too much. Decided to wait and see. She calmed down, got up in bed with us and took a nap. After that, no head shaking, full control over her right leg. As if nothing had happened.

Sent a note to her cardiologist. This could be a stroke or stroke like incident occasioned by the vegetation in her atrial valves. Or, not. A mystery. Even to Kate.

I feel better now, like I could take her in if necessary.

Kate continues a low-key, modest recovery after her recent stay at Casa Swedish. Her feeding liquid includes the higher calorie version. She’s using two cans of the new and one box of Jevity. A gradual moving up. Makes her feel strange, she says.

She’s not gotten the changed beta-blocker for her atrial fibrillation. It’s on its way. That may help change her day-to-day symptoms, calm them down. May it be so.

Rigel’s episode yesterday revealed the extent of my exhaustion. I’m running on empty. Which, believe it or not, is an actual improvement over where I was last week. Had a good workout yesterday, a long nap. Good night’s sleep. All helping, but the deficit is high.

Thanks to Easy Entrees, gift cards, Tony’s market. Microwaves and dishwashers.

Folks Who’ve Tasted Blood

Winter and the Imbolc Moon

Monday gratefuls: 46 in, 45 out. A wabi-sabi world. There’s a crack in the world and that’s where the light gets in. My ancient friends. Sleep. Better rested. Kate’s shower. The stoma site improving. Cold. A bit of snow. Reasonable health. (mine) That Kep. And his girlfriend, Rigel. Murdoch.

 

 

Three articles I’ve read:

How experts define the deadly mob attack at the U.S. Capitol.

Coup attempts usually usher in long stretches of democratic decline, data shows

Put these together with the post I made about solipsism. Not a pretty picture. We have sealed off cohorts of angry white people who get their news from agit-prop sources ranging, get this, from Fox News on the left to Parler, Stormfront, Gab on the right. When that’s your continuum, there’s gonna be trouble.

Somehow we have to push forward with vaccines and ppa’s, personal protective actions like masks, social distancing, and remaining at home. We also must push forward on stopping climate change, the true long range threat to people of all colors, everywhere.  No waiting, either, on racial and economic justice.

Yet. We have to do these necessaries while contending with folks who’ve tasted blood. Who have a fat, golf-cart riding pseudo-billionaire willing to chum their waters. Whose economic reality is dire. Whose violent tendencies the NRA reinforced and armed for years. This is a big, big problem.

There is no unifying with folks who believe your values are products of the devil’s wiles. That’s the dangerous conflation of far right rage with evangelical Christian certainty.

I’m not sure what the right strategy is for contending with this toxin festering in our body politic. This is not a small, fringe pool of our fellow citizens. How many folks is it? Again, not sure. Not all the 74 million who voted for Trump, but a large number of those.

Trump’s notion of a Patriot Party might be one solution. Sequester them in an impotent third party so they have a chance to foam and rant, but not accomplish anything. Might backfire. They could be the National Socialists of our moment.

And, what sinister figure slouches among them, waiting to be borne upon the tide of their anger? Is there one who will think like Trump but act like McConnell? Is there one who’s not a fries, milkshakes, and burgers guy, but a sly and competent leader? A Josh Hawley type? A Joseph McCarthy?

How we deal with this clear and present danger to our nation will, no doubt, determine how far we can get on the other pressing issues. A messy and fraught time ahead.

Will we?

Winter and the Imbolc Moon, waxing

Saturday gratefuls: Guinness beef stew, Easy Entrees. Furball cleaning. A clean house. A fib. Rigel, licking my face this morning before I got up. Kep, bouncing on the comforter, eager for breakfast. Murdoch’s flight landed 7 hours ago. Murdoch in Hawai’i. Kate. Enduring. Me, too. -45. +46.

Let us speak of good things. A clean house. Hopefully a reliable house cleaner. The wonderful Guinness beef stew from Easy Entrees. My PSA undetectable. Better knowledge of Kate’s heart. Alan on Thursday. A week of workouts at 3X reps.

Most of all for me. Rejoining the Paris climate accord. Pushing out Trump’s dismal deregulations. A 60 day ban on drilling and leasing on public lands. The clown with the big shoes and funny long tie, the leaning into the wind stance, gone. Feels so good. Lifted from me a terrible everyday burden. Perhaps from you, too?

Not quite so battered by the day. Checking on the idiot no longer required.

“We will not march back to what was, but move to what shall be: a country that is bruised, but whole; benevolent, but bold; fierce and free.” 

Amanda Gorman, The Hill We Climb

Fierce and free sounds like Mary Oliver to me. What will we do with this, our one wild and precious country?

Lean into the future. Huddled masses received with an outstretched hand and a smile. Racial justice on every agenda from health care to vaccinations to jobs to education. Economic justice. Unions reviving. Wages increasing. Essential workers paid like they are. The rich taxed. Corporations taxed. Police cultures struck down and rebuilt. Emissions controlled. A carbon tax. Yes. Lean into it. Put your hand to the back of the wagon and push forward.

Vaccinate everyone. Faster. Faster. No excuses. Everyone. Make this Covid reel. Make life real.

And, yes, I believe this is what Biden wants. Finally. Congruence.

Come with us. Not Sisyphus. We roll the rock up the hill with no intention of letting it come back down. We will let it gain momentum, roll with crashing thunder down the other side, careening into the future.

This experiment, this nation founded on ideals, not history, not language, not ethnicity, not religion, can dream its way forward again. Americans dreaming, smiling. An American dream. Not just for those like us, but for those unlike us. Not just for American citizens, but for all humans, everywhere.

This is the magic here. That we can do this. Will we?

The Hill We Climb

Winter and the Imbolc Moon

Friday gratefuls: Tatiana. A fib. Murdoch’s journey. Brenton. Kate. House cleaning and house cleaners. Morning. Afternoon. Evening. Each day. The sun. The waxing moon. Alan. New meds for Kate.

well worth repeating. put on your hiking gear. let your light shine.

When day comes we ask ourselves, where can we find light in this never-ending shade? The loss we carry, a sea we must wade. We’ve braved the belly of the beast. We’ve learned that quiet isn’t always peace. In the norms and notions of what just is isn’t always justice.

And yet, the dawn is ours before we knew it. Somehow, we do it. Somehow, we’ve weathered and witnessed a nation that isn’t broken, but simply unfinished. We, the successors of a country and a time where a skinny Black girl descended from slaves and raised by a single mother can dream of becoming president, only to find herself reciting for one.

And yes, we are far from polished, far from pristine, but that doesn’t mean we are striving to form a union that is perfect. We are striving to forge our union with purpose, to compose a country committed to all cultures, colors, characters and conditions of man.

And so, we lift our gazes not to what stands between us, but what stands before us. We close the divide because we know, to put our future first, we must first put our differences aside. We lay down our arms so we can reach out our arms to one another. We seek harm to none and harmony for all. Let the globe, if nothing else, say this is true. That even as we grieved, we grew. That even as we hurt, we hoped; that even as we tired, we tried; that we’ll forever be tied together, victorious. Not because we will never again know defeat, but because we will never again sow division.

Scripture tells us to envision that everyone shall sit under their own vine and fig tree, and no one shall make them afraid. If we’re to live up to our own time, then victory won’t lie in the blade, but in all the bridges we’ve made. That is the promise to glade, the hill we climb if only we dare it. Because being American is more than a pride we inherit; it’s the past we step into and how we repair it. We’ve seen a forest that would shatter our nation rather than share it, would destroy our country if it meant delaying democracy. And this effort very nearly succeeded.

But while democracy can be periodically delayed, it can never be permanently defeated. In this truth, in this faith we trust, for while we have our eyes on the future, history has its eyes on us. This is the era of just redemption. We feared it at its inception. We did not feel prepared to be the heirs of such a terrifying hour, but within it, we found the power to author a new chapter, to offer hope and laughter to ourselves.

So, while once we asked: “How could we possibly prevail over catastrophe?” Now we assert, “How could catastrophe possibly prevail over us?”

We will not march back to what was, but move to what shall be: a country that is bruised, but whole; benevolent, but bold; fierce and free. We will not be turned around or interrupted by intimidation, because we know our inaction and inertia will be the inheritance of the next generation. Our blunders become their burdens. But one thing is certain, if we merge mercy with might, and might with right, then love becomes our legacy, and change our children’s birthright.

So, let us leave behind a country better than one we were left. With every breath from my bronze-pounded chest, we will raise this wounded world into a wondrous one. We will rise from the gold-limned hills of the West. We will rise from the wind-swept Northeast where our forefathers first realized revolution. We will rise from the lake-rimmed cities of the Midwestern states. We will rise from the sun-baked South. We will rebuild, reconcile and recover in every known nook of our nation, in every corner called our country our people diverse and beautiful will emerge battered and beautiful.

When day comes, we step out of the shade aflame and unafraid. The new dawn blooms as we free it. For there is always light. If only we’re brave enough to see it. If only we’re brave enough to be it.

46. Yes.

Winter and the waxing Imbolc Moon

Thursday gratefuls: Golden Solar. Finally. Solar power. Running the meter backward. Kate’s better day yesterday. Up until bedtime. Sleep. Exhaustion. Thoughtful gifts from Mary and Diane. Brother Mark. Alan. Tatiana. New West Physicians. Coffee. Did I mention coffee?

Lima, Peru, 2011

Another good day for Kate yesterday. Until bedtime when nausea and chest pain came for a visit. The damned feeding tube now leaks worse than it ever has.

To compound this situation we have the retirement of our primary doc, Lisa, as of January 1st and a confusing, still not resolved hand off of us as patients to a new doc. Health care reform. Police reform. Racial and economic justice. Hear my cry, oh Congress. Hear my cry, oh Biden.

Golden Solar picked yesterday morning to come and replace two microinverters that have been dead since our solar installation. The inverters report to the makers of our solar panels and we can download the reports through our own webpage. They have nothing to do with actually producing electricity. I’ve been asking them to do this for almost five years. Why now? No clue, but I’m glad it’s done.

On a personal note my PSA test results from Tuesday came back. No detectable psa. This is the test that comes after Lupron has truly left my system. It could signal a cure.

That is, I had a recurrence. My psa went up. That triggered the radiation in 2019. Coincident with the radiation I began Lupron injections. The Lupron, as I have said, suppresses psa, but does nothing directly to the cancer except deprive it of the cells it prefers. Lupron does not not cure. When it stops, the cancer can begin to grow again.

Unless it died in the radiation bath I had over 35 treatments. With the Lupron now gone, the cancer could have begun to grow again, but this test results suggests that it didn’t. That could mean that the radiation did in fact kill the cancer that had reemerged.

How will I know? I won’t. If I continue to get undetectable results for a couple of years, they’ll move my psa tests from every three months to every six months. If I continue to get undetectable, at some point, five years or so, I’ll have a presumptive cure. But. I had one of those in 2015 with my prostatectomy. So…

I’m planning a celebratory meal anyhow. Probably Sushi Win. I’m cured until I’m not. That’s the way I want to think. Not always possible, but it’s my goal.

My deep exhaustion continues. Not sure there’s a way around it until the vaccines. Naps. Long night’s sleep like last night. Ten plus hours.

Biden. 46. 45 a painful memory, but a memory. Microinverters replaced. Kate’s having good days. I have the psa result I needed. There are bright spots. And, you, dear reader, are one, too.

Home again, Home

Winter and the waxing Imbolc Moon

Sunday gratefuls: Kate at home. Atrial Fibrillation. Meds. Nurses. Wheelchairs. Swedish Hospital. Kate’s refuge. Kep, Rigel. Family home and complete. 3 days. On the way to Mar-a-Lago. Safeway pickup. Mary’s calendar gift. Precious. Thanks. Notes and cards from Kate’s friends. Evelyn Crane. Tom. His sister.

 

Honey, harvesting

Kate is home. An apparently leak free stoma site. Complete with circumferential suture. Grateful to the interventional radiologists. The pulmonologists. The cardiologists.

This visit worried me. Her, too. Had me contemplating life without her. Of course, I can do it. I mean, I can do the tasks, the chores, the necessaries. She pays the bills and folds the clothes. Yes, I can.

But.

Who would share breakfast? Commiserate over the latest Trump outrage? Answer my medical questions? Who would hug me? Sleep next to me? Well, Rigel and Kep. Sure. But not Kate. Who would recognize when I slipped into melancholy and tell me? Our family would be very different without her.

Not now. Now she’s here. And today is what counts. It’s all that counts. The rest is the idle occupation of a worried mind. Today I will see her at breakfast. Hug her. Grump about pardons-are-us in the West Wing. We’ll laugh. Do a money meeting. Wonder how Ruth and Gabe are doing? Think about Murdoch getting ready to head out for Hawai’i.

I know. If you read these pages, it’s been a downer for the last week or so. Maybe longer. This is my journal, my record of being here. Sometimes it’s this, sometimes it’s that.

Kate’s home. I can turn my mind to other things. Like the inauguration. Oh, wait…

At least it’s not the report of an insurrection

Winter and the waxing crescent of the Imbolc Moon

Saturday gratefuls: Kate. Her feeding tube. Tatiana, her cardiologist. Her stable lung disease. Sjogrens. Paul and his breathing help, for stress. The dishwasher. Working. Cottage Pie from Easy Entrees. Kate’s favorite comfort food right now. Kep and Rigel, a little disoriented without Kate at home. Charlie, a little disoriented with Kate at home.

Gratitude for myself. Never thought of that. But, hey! Why not. I’m grateful for me. Wasn’t always. Those drinking years? I was not always my friend. Now though. With a solid paganism at my core, body working, mind filled with years of learning, loving, experiencing. Yeah, I’m not only grateful to be here, but I’m grateful to be me. Good thing, right? Tough to be somebody else.

Kate with a new born Gabe and toddler Ruth, 2008

Kate’s nearing the end of this time in the hospital. Maybe. The interventional radiologists may extend her feeding tube deeper into her upper digestive track to discourage backing up and leaking. She had a feeding last night and didn’t leak. That’s the reason for uncertainty.

The leaking stoma site sounds innocuous. It leaks, wipe it up? No. First, the leaks happen at night and produce a wet splotch of Jevity. It’s sticky and uncomfortable. If it’s a big leak, the sheets and covers get involved. Result: less feeding, maybe as much as 30%, and lost sleep, plus feeling icky in the sticky.

Kate and Seoah’s mother, April 10, 2016

This has been going on since the tube got placed a year and a half ago. The other sequelae of a leak? An irritated and sometimes infected wound around the stoma site. That’s the wound I’ve been treating now for months under the guidance of Amber, an Advanced Wound Care specialist. If we can stop the leaking, stop wetness around the stoma site, the wound will heal. That would be a big deal.

She has an appointment with her cardiologist this Thursday via telemedicine. Atrial fibrillation followup. She was put on a blood thinner, one somewhat more powerful than the baby aspirin she’s currently on. Need to see what else might help. Tatiana is a good doc. She’s already helped Kate a lot.

Her lung issues have shown stability for a year. Yet. She has had three pneumothorax events. Not sure where that is right now. She has no treatment for the interstitial lung disease. Why? The treatments have bad side effects and Dr. Taryle, her pulmonologist doesn’t want to prescribe them until she exhibits an unstable course for her disease.

I’m looking forward to having her back home though I’m grateful she’s had this chance for scrutiny, especially on the feeding tube. The higher calorie feeding liquid is here, delivered on Wednesday. With this she should be able to lower the flow rate of the pump which might also reduce leakage.

Lot of moving parts.

Oh, and on the 19th I get my PSA tested again. This is, contrary to what I believed earlier, the one with Lupron gone. If it’s clear, the possibility of a cure still exists, might already have happened. That would be nice.