Yearly Archives: 2022

Colorado, Cooking, Health, Hermitage, Politics, Shadow Mountain, The West, US History

When will we ever learn?

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Samain and the Decided Moon

Tuesday gratefuls: Tony’s. That tenderloin roast. Salad. Oh and that sugar cream pie. Diane’s family recipe. King Soopers. The bank. Cash money. In the pocket. Robin. Wrangling my space. Painters. Chilly nights. The mid-terms. Soil. Plants. Rock. Air. Water. Fire. Stars. Artemis I. Exploration. NASA. JPL. The days of our lives. Books. Richard Powers. CJ Box. Immodium. China. Hawai’i. Minnesota. Club Q. Pulse.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Good sleep

 

Colorado Springs. A conservative town. Where hate is fed by so called family values evangelicals. By years of GOP candidates who fed hate into the political blood stream of the city. By the US historical hatred of difference: race, gender, sexual preference.

The West was won. Sure. By killing the folks who didn’t look like the “pioneers.” And, oh yeah, the West is the original gun culture. Side arms and Remington rifles. No gun control at the OK corral. Or in Tombstone or Deadwood. I happened to be in Denver in 2012 when James Holmes went to an Aurora Theater and killed 12 people watching a late showing of a Batman movie.

An irony. The day after the Club Q shooting in Colorado Springs Colorado officially renamed Mt. Evans, Mt. Blue Sky. Why? Because Governor John Evans created the circumstances that led to the Sand Creek Massacre, a critical negative juncture in relations between First Nations peoples and the U.S. government.*

We can treat the Club Q shooting as an expression of Western values, Christian evangelical values, Republican values. As an expression of the perverted, fetishistic worship of the 2nd amendment. As an extension of the pandemic of gun violence which now features four more mass shootings since Club Q: Illinois, Mississippi, Oklahoma, Texas. 600 before Club Q in 2022. (gunviolence.org) 39,567 people have died THIS year due to some form of gun violence.

Sadly. When will we ever learn?

 

Yesterday was a busy day. After writing Ancientrails, I waited on Greg Lell to come. He’s going to be my third bid for painting the upstairs. Greg’s guy stained the house a year ago. If his bid is close to the others, I’ll take it since he proved what he can do. He told me 25% of his business comes from showing up when other painting contractors don’t. That’s the Mountains.

Worked out. Over to the bank to deposit checks, including one from Heatflo covering the cost of my dead water heater. Bought two bundles of firewood for Thanksgiving. Then over to Tony’s to see if I could get my tenderloin roast early. Yes. I could. They tied it up for me, too. I plan to dry brine it this afternoon. Made an experimental sugar cream pie. Pie crust, a deep dish, was too much otherwise. Tasty. While making sure the pie was edible for my Thanksgiving guests, I seem to have upset my digestive tract. Oh, my.

 

*On November 29, 1864, roughly 700 federal troops attacked a village of 500 Cheyenne and Arapaho on Sand Creek in Colorado. An unprovoked attack on men, women, and children, the massacre at Sand Creek marked a turning point in the relationship between American Indian tribes and the Federal Government. From the day of the attack, US Army actions at Sand Creek have been controversial, because the Cheyenne and Arapaho thought they were at peace with the government and innocent people died. The distrust that grew from what occurred at Sand Creek led to later conflicts at Little Big Horn…” NPS

 

“Colorado Governor John Evans warns that all peaceful Native Americans in the region must report to the Sand Creek reservation or risk being attacked, creating the conditions that will lead to the Sand Creek Massacre.

Evans’ offer of sanctuary was at best halfhearted. His primary goal in 1864 was to eliminate all Native American activity in eastern Colorado Territory, an accomplishment he hoped would increase his popularity and eventually win him a U.S. Senate seat. Immediately after ordering the local Native Americans to the reservation, Evans issued a second proclamation that invited white settlers to indiscriminately “kill and destroy all…hostile Indians.” At the same time, Evans began creating a temporary 100-day militia force to wage war on the Native Americans. He placed the new regiment under the command of Colonel John Chivington, another ambitious man who hoped to gain high political office by fighting Native Americans.”  History

Commentary on the news, Dogs, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Hawai'i, Hermitage, Judaism, Mountains, Politics, Shadow Mountain, US History, Weather +Climate

Populists and Authoritarians

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Samain and the Decided Moon

Friday gratefuls: Stevenson Toyota. Blizzaks. Gripping the Snow. Ruby oiled, new boots, tires aligned. A sweet ride. Took her in at exactly 39,000 miles. Could use a good scrub though. Inside and out. The Mountains this morning. Trees with Frost up and down Black Mountain, Conifer Mountain. The Sun shrouded by Clouds. Shadow Mountain Drive snaking its icy way to Hwy. 73. Jackie. Chance. Kristie. Diane and Tom. Me. The Lodgepoles and Aspens.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: My good friend Kep

 

How do I feel? Joyful. How do I feel? Glad. How do I feel? Amazed. How do I feel? Stressed. How do I feel? Grateful. Leaving Shadow Mountain at 7:30 am the Mountains sparkled in filtered Sunlight. Like driving in a Christmas card. Could have seen a sleigh pulled by horses, jingling all the way. 16 degrees. Snow on the Ground. The Trees decorated on each Branch and Twig, Pine Needle and Trunk. I smiled and would have clapped my hands except you know driving.

Further down the hill the Clouds gave way to Colorado blue Sky and the Hogsback, the front edge of the Front Range, was white with last night’s Snow. Beautiful. What a beautiful, delightful place to live. Glad I’m staying. Both going down and coming back up the hill in the morning I had the good luck to follow snow plows. No dangers at 20 mph.

Handed Ruby off to Chance a Toyota advisor, got a ride to Enterprise rental and picked up a Corolla so I could come home, attend my creativity class and workout. Which I did.

After a lunch of Corn salad, Honeycrisp Apples with Peanut butter and Camembert cheese, I hopped in the Corolla and drove back down the Mountain to collect Ruby. Oiled, aligned, winter boots. Vitals checked. She’s in good health.

Drove back up the hill to Aspen Park where Jackie cut my hair and trimmed my beard. She’s such a sweetie. Ronda, too. The conversation in Aspen Roots focused on preparations for Thanksgiving. Jackie’s doing two Turkeys! 22-24 people. Whoa. We talked about things as we always do. After talking about family a bit, Jackie said, Oh, yeah. Family. The other F word. That cracked me up. So often true.

Back here on Shadow Mountain I fed Kep and came downstairs to write this.

 

Still drifting politically. Got the book Cultural Backlash in the mail yesterday. Pippa Norris and Ronald Ingelhart. I mentioned it a few days back. Pippa was on the Ezra Klein podcast last week. Got as far as definitions of populism and authoritarianism. Really odd how they so often rise up together, yet directly contradict each other. Populists want each one of the real people to have a voice, to be in control. Authoritarians want to provide security to the real people. The price? Their voice, their impact on government.

 

Acting, Colorado, Dogs, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Hawai'i, Health, Hermitage, Holidays, Jefferson County, Judaism, Mountains, Our Land and Home, Politics, Reimagine. Reconstruct. Reenchant., Shadow Mountain, The Move, The West, Weather +Climate

Well…

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Samain and the Decision Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: No red wave. Judy’s courage. Tal. A fine director. Astrov, a wonderful character. Memorization. Rebecca. Georgeta. Nittya. Hamish. Emily. How do I feel? Relieved. Chekhov. Kate’s courage. Always Kate. Jon, a memory. Ruth and Gabe. Cold weather coming. A property manager. Vince. (have him handle appliances, too?) Hawai’i. Such a fine place to be. CBE, home turf. Shadow Mountain, home. Kep, dogged. Dan, who brought me home grown marijuana and honey from his own hives yesterday. Past president of the congregation.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Democracy’s faint pulse

 

First. My friend Judy died yesterday. If she followed the path she had explained to me, she took the medication with a trusted friend by her side reading the Psalms. Her shiva minyan is tomorrow night. I’ll be there. Kate, too, chose her own death. This kind of courage needs celebration. It says we can choose to leave life with honesty, with compassion for ourselves and for those we love. It will never be an easy choice which insures its integrity. Judy leaves behind a collection of recipes for the foods she often brought to our meetings. I’ll make at least one this next week in her memory. May her memory be for a blessing.

 

Second. No red wave. Odd, isn’t it, it just occurred to me. Who’s the red menace now? Dr. Oz will have to go back to celebrity medicine. Sad Stacey Abrams lost. I’ve not done a deep look at the results but when a Fox news commentator and Washington Post columnist says: “…the Republican Party has some major soul-searching to do following the 2022 midterm elections,” (Marc Thiessen reported in The Hill.) I’m encouraged.

Gulled by Republican propaganda and Democratic whining to expect the worst, I opened the news this morning to find a horse race. Yeah, horses. Still could tip to Repub control I know. Yet. The fact that there’s a struggle suggests the Extremes and the Trumplicans have not prevailed. Our democracy may not end up in the political intensive care ward. At least not yet.

 

Third. Acting class last night. A lot of memorization ahead of me. A lot. I’m going to devote hours each day until Thanksgiving. I can and will do it. The experienced actors are already off-book for their monologues. I could have been but I vacationed instead. Back to the books now. Literally.

 

Fourth. The decision. Yes, I said I’d make it after the trip. That’s now. I’m leaving a small crack in the door but here are a few new reasons for remaining in place. I put in the mini-splits and remodeled the kitchen. I moved furniture and rehung art. This is my place now. And I worked hard to get it here.

Do what brings you joy, RJ said. Funny how I’d missed that part of the equation in my logical and careful delineation of this and that. It brings me joy to go to acting class. It brings me joy to cook in my kitchen. It brings me joy to live in the Rocky Mountains, in spite of or because of the challenges. It brings me joy to see Hawai’i as the place I choose to live next. It brings me joy to exercise in my own small gym. It brings me joy to host Thanksgiving for my shrinking family here in Colorado. It brings me joy to light up Herme and think of the Hermitage. It even brings me joy to be so much a part of Judy’s life that her shiva minyan is important to me. So. Oh? See where I’m going with this?

To that end I’ve contacted Vince. He’s coming by today. I may even have him take charge of all the stuff, including my appliances. If I have a need, he would contact the appropriate person and oversee their work. Maybe. Not sure about that. He will handle all the outside work. He’s excited about that and the handyman type work on the inside, too. This property is too much for me to handle. Alone. Might pay him a retainer against which he would bill his services. Then, I can let go of that stuff.

When someone asked what did I want in a new place, I’d often say oh five years or so peace and calm. No drama. Knowing that wasn’t possible but really wanting some stability without headaches associated with home ownership. Yesterday I thought. Wait a minute. I’m upsetting a chance for peace and calm right here by going through this extended home selling, relocating process. Which will then entail a whole new period of upset and chaos. By definition. I can achieve what I really want most easily by continuing the work I’ve already begun here.

By peace and calm I don’t mean stasis. The opposite in fact. I want to get back to writing every day. I want my daily life to flow, as I know it can. I want to see how my life unfolds, not keep putting new barriers in front of that unfolding.

What’s the crack in the door? Health. I’ve got a pulmonology referral. When I meet with them, I’m going to investigate any lung related reasons I should move now. Or, sometime soon. If they exist, and I don’t think they do, I’ll recalibrate.

Still gonna prune and paint.

 

 

 

General

Azrael

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Fall and the Simchat Torah Moon

Sunday gratefuls: Judy. Death. Cancer. High Winds. Snow coming. Moderate Fire danger. Hawai’i. Jon, a memory. Kate, always Kate. Golden. Clear Creek Commons. Decision making. Mini-splits. Fatigue. Friendship. Kabbalah. Creativity. Ode. Tom. Bill. Paul. Kep. Emily. Shirley Waste and Septic. Ruby, who keeps running. Blizzaks. Ruth and Gabe. Ali Baba’s gyros. Adapting. Politics. Climate change.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Judy

 

Azrael. The angel of the fourth phase. A visitor with whom I’ve become well acquainted over the last couple of years. In Islam a leaf falls from the tree beneath God’s throne. A name written upon it. Azrael then has forty days to separate the soul from the body.

Pneumonia Kate often said is the friend of the elderly. Azrael. When she realized her time had come, Kate invited Azrael to visit. Death is not an enemy. Not a tragedy. But a completion. A sign that life has finished and the journey after has begun. Whatever that journey may be.

Got a text from my friend. I’m in home hospice now. Could you come visit in the next two weeks? Of course. How about tomorrow? I’m leaving town for Hawai’i on Monday. Would 11 am work? Of course. I’ll see her then.

She and I have shared a cancer journey. We inquired about each others surveillance numbers, treatments. She often said this beast will kill me but not today. That day comes closer. Her leaf has fallen, perhaps a while ago.

When I got her text, I sat in my chair and cried. And cried. Azrael may not be an enemy, but the disappearance of people we have known and loved will always hurt.

Where do they go, those who die? We know this for certain. They leave us behind. No matter how good the death or how bad they are gone. That smile. That touch. Those memories. The wonder and the pain. That soul lifted out and gone.

My mother’s memory a blessing now. Even my father’s now, too. Kate a companion of the heart, her wisdom still teaching me. Jon still a conflicted absence, but sometime, some day what will remain is his love for his children, his gentle manner toward life, that art he made from the beaten and discarded metal left by the road. Judy, her food. Her sharing. Her kindness. But still. All will be gone.

I wish them all well on their journeys whatever they may be. And I hope that when I join them others will wish me well too.

 

Drove over to Golden yesterday to look at Clear Creek Commons. I went on a Saturday. The leasing office closed. I couldn’t get in. Will do when I get back from Hawai’i. On first impression it looked more enclosed than I’d imagined though it is smack downtown and overlooks Clear Creek. Imagining myself in it I felt claustrophobic. Compared to the open space around me on Shadow Mountain. No Lodgepoles. No Mule Deer. No Elk. No Mountains or Foxes. No Aspen.

Though. I adapt well and have lived in a similar environment in Irvine Park in St. Paul and near Loring Park in Minneapolis. Happily. Not by any means ruling it out. Each place has its initial negatives. Hawai’i the lack of friends. Minnesota its brutal winters.

My turn as the theme master for my Ancient Brothers and I chose the theme of decision making. How do you make decisions? What were the best and the worst you’ve made? Wanted something that was existential for me. Decisions are for me.

One matter I’ve not taken into account well enough, I think, is my continuing fatigue. I may not have the energy for a new start in Hawai’i or a house anywhere.

 

Colorado, Dogs, Hawai'i, Minnesota, Shadow Mountain, The Move, Writing

Closing in

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Fall and the Simchat Torah Moon

Friday gratefuls: Darkness at 7 am. Sleep. Up before Kep. Acting. Dr. Artov. Monologue. Ground pork. Potatoes. Cheese. Eggs. Breakfast. Rabbi Jamie. Jon, a memory. Kate, always Kate. Honing in on a decision. Ruth and Gabe. Those Foxes. Ode. Tom. Bill. Paul. My Ancient Brothers. Hawai’i. Emily. Michelle. Robin. Diane.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: See’s Candy

 

Forgot to write yesterday. Got up at 10 till 8, fed Kep, talked to Diane, worked out, went to mussar, then talked to Rabbi Jamie. Home. Cooked. Spaced out till bed time. Not often, but yesterday I just plain forgot. Back at it right now as you can tell.

 

Wednesday was a very productive day. Robin came with Michelle. Michelle was the muscle, a younger woman with work gloves and a plaid shirt. A kind, caring person. We marked the things in the garage that I want to keep or that can be sold. Everything else will get picked up by Reid and Gone For Good while I’m Hawai’i. Also all the stuff Diane removed from the wood cabinets will be taken by Michelle and Robin for donation. I’ll come back to a spacious garage. Gotta get out that power washer for the floors.

They’re also going to move all the banker’s boxes in from the garage so I can sort through them. With Diane’s help last week and the work on Wednesday we’ve made real progress. It feels great. That large sack I’ve been pulling behind me since I lived in Irvine Park has begun to decrease in size. Significantly. Where ever I decide to go, whenever I decide to do it, I’ll have a move that’s both cheaper and easier. A new home setup that will go faster.

 

About that. In mussar we talk about a balance. A midpoint between say pride and meekness. Humility. A midpoint between anger and passivity, assertiveness. A midpoint between apathy and co-dependence, loving-kindness. A mid-point for this move it turns out is staying in Colorado. In particular the Golden area.

Advantages: Cheaper. Quicker. Easier. New place, yet familiar. Gabe and Ruth seen through high school. Easy access to Evergreen and CBE. A college town. My oncologist and Kristie. Personal growth. A chance to see Colorado, which I still haven’t done. Utah. Taos. Santa Fe. Four Corners.

Neither the all out adventure of a move to Hawai’i or a return to the forty years familiar Twin Cities metro. In some sense Colorado is like both. There’s still a lot of Colorado (most) that I haven’t seen. Like Hawai’i and California Colorado is a place people from all over the world travel to see. Like Minnesota I have good friends here.

Definite top of my list right now. We’ll see after Hawai’i. I’ll make a decision then. A major factor in where and when I go, too, is Kep. A lot of places won’t take Akitas, Minnesota, Hawai’i, Colorado. With his recent blindness and deafness I may choose to stay in place until his death, an earlier plan I scuttled when I learned about the tax consequences of selling the house after April 12th. Money is far from everything.

 

Have delayed thinking about the trip to Hawai’i with all the stuff going on. Gotta check my meds, pack, get ready. Every thing is set up. Dog/house sitter. Parking spot. Airline tickets. Should be straight forward. Still needs to get done.

 

 

Colorado, Denver, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Hawai'i, Health, Hermitage, Jefferson County, Judaism, Memories, Minnesota, Mountains, Shadow Mountain, The Move, The West, Travel

Jerseys. Drug Holidays. Golden.

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Fall and the Simchat Torah Moon

Tuesday gratefuls: Memories. Friability. Dreams. The same. Mini-splits. Warm when and where I want it. Cool, too. That back I never had mowed. Beautiful and dangerous if a Fire came through. Sigh. New options for the move. An obvious one, missed until now. Diane. Robin. Tal. His turn at the Creativity Class. Acting class tonight. Chekhov. The Seagull. Uncle Vanya. Ivanov. Will read the Cherry Orchard today. Growing. Right here in Colorado. Change. Stability. One inevitable, the other pleasant while it lasts.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Lead time yields multiple options

 

Whether a correction is in order or not about yesterday’s post, let me be clear: my cousin Diane prefers Jerseys. Always has. Always will. In fact she wore a t-shirt while here that read: Zike Jerseys. Morristown. Higher butterfat than those run of the mill Holsteins. At first she thought my memory might have been wrong, but then she remembered Uncle Riley often bought Holstein bull calves to feed out and sell for slaughter. Could have been some of them. Or, my memory could be faulty.

Still eating through the collection of See’s chocolates Diane brought. A real treat. Ramping up my yogurt and fruit game, too. Told you she was a good influence. Bean and cheese burrito plus yogurt and raspberries for breakfast.

 

Televisit with Kristie. So. Once a month urology oncologists, radiologists, and other specialists and their physicians assistants have a round table dicussion. Each one who wants gets up to two cases to present, then the gathered group provides advice and thoughts. Since Dr. Eigner. my oncologist, and Dr. Simpson, radiation oncologist, differ on their view of the bony sclerosis on my thoracic spine, Kristie will present next Wednesday.

A presentation consists of an overview of treatment from diagnosis through procedures and lab work up to the present day. In my case it will span the time from May 2015 to October 2022. The particular issue in my instance is whether I have metastases causing the swelling on my spine. Dr. Simpson wants to radiate it; Dr. Eigner wants to ignore it.

The most likely result of the conference will be some earlier scans and if felt necessary an MRI to determine the exact nature of those sclerosis. This is good for me because my case is getting reviewed by many docs. Sorta like a fifth, sixth, seventh and eighth opinion.

Kristie gave me some other news, too. If my numbers continue the same PSA undetectable and testosterone low for the next 10 months, I’ll go on a drug holiday. Not sure how long. The reason? These drugs lose their effectiveness over time and a holiday from them reserves some of their capacity so I can still use them. I forgot to ask what the cancer does during the holiday. Lives it up I suppose.

Kristie is a caring doc. I like her and she likes me, a good deal for both of us. We discussed the fatigue I have in the early afternoon. She suggested I check myself while in Hawai’i. If I don’t have it there, it could be psychosomatic. Which was one of my thoughts, too. Good idea.

 

Seeing Kristie brought to the fore a third option for the move, one I’d neglected to consider. Move down the hill. I’ve neglected it because I thought of it as moving to Denver, a place I don’t want to live. But I’ve begun looking seriously into Golden. Once I get to down to 5 600-5 800 feet my O2 sats return to normal.

I’d thought about moving to a college town if Hawai’i didn’t work out, then Minnesota got on my list. Golden has the Colorado School of Mines. That means cultural opportunities. It’s also closer to Boulder with its cultural opportunities and restaurants. Also, it’s right at the base of the Foothills and abuts Interstate 70, a quick shot up to Evergreen and CBE.

Seeing Kristie brought this to mind. I really appreciate her attention to my situation and I wouldn’t have to change oncologists. Medical care in Hawai’i and Minnesota is excellent, so I don’t imagine there would be any degradation of care, but I know Kristie and Dr. Eigner. Eigner since May of 2015. And Kate thought him a good doc.

Not to mention that it would save some money on the move. Quite a bit probably. And retain that link to Gabe and Ruth. All three have strong arguments. Now we’ll see where the different factors begin to move my  heart as we get closer to a pruned house and and a sold house.

Oh. And one more thing. Over the last year especially I’ve found my personal growth accelerating with CBE and mussar, with the Kabbalah Experience classes, and with my CBE friends. A move to Golden would preserve those. Not an insignificant consideration.

 

Dogs, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Memories

Morristown

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Fall and the Sukkot Moon

Monday gratefuls: Diane home safe. Kep nudging me at 4 am. Frost. Ideas spinning. Downstairs to write. For Kep. Agency. Feeling strong in the move. Robin coming Wednesday. Fatigue. Long Covid? Mary. Kobe. On the waterfront, Osaka Bay. Mark, working for Amazon in Oklahoma City. Kristie. Urology Associates. Laughing with the Ancient Brothers. Creativity, creating. Acting. Growing here in Colorado. Me. Ruth.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: See’s Candy

 

Mostly deaf, mostly blind, still a sweet boy. Kep. Kep has adjusted to his disabilities, continuing his life as dogs do. My teacher. He sleeps more, sometimes going to bed as early as 5 pm. Eating well. Enjoying his day in a more subdued manner. Life at the short end.

 

Diane is my first cousin, the daughter of my mother’s brother, Riley Keaton. She grew up in Morristown, Indiana as did my mother and her four siblings: Riley, Roberta, Barbara, and Marjorie. After Mom and Dad moved  to Indiana from Oklahoma when I was about a year and a half old, the Keaton extended family was always nearby. Marjorie in Muncie. Roberta in Arlington. Riley on the family farm in Morristown. Barbara sometimes in the state hospital sometimes not.

Grandpa and Grandma Keaton, Charlie (my namesake) and Mabel, lived in town in Morristown. Since the Keaton family grew up in Morristown, Morristown has always held a special place for all of us.

Morristown had about six hundred to seven hundred souls during my childhood and adolescence. An American small town to Alexandria’s small city status at 5,000 according to Indiana municipal designations.

It also had and has a famous restaurant, the Kopper Kettle, where my Aunt Mame made fried chicken for tourists who would drive to quaint Morristown for dinner, often from Indianapolis. Locals however ate at the Bluebird with an excellent Sunday buffet, sugar cream pie, and a spot for old guys to drink coffee and solve world political issues.

The Kopper Kettle is on Highway 52 which runs straight into Indianapolis. If you go a bit past it and find Morristown Road, you’ll go past the big house that Charlie and Mable lived in before his death. Further on Morristown Road quickly takes you into the country side where corn and soybeans dominate the landscape.

Hanover cemetery appears at the point where Morristown Road veers off toward the County Seat, Shelbyville, and a gravel road veers off in a wide V toward the family farm where my cousin Richard and his wife still live.

Many of my Keaton relatives found their final rest in Hanover cemetery, which Uncle Riley cared for and now Richard after him.

I spent many days and nights in Morristown while growing up, staying with Grandpa and Grandma, weeks at the farm. I loved the the small shed where the metal milk pails sat in a concrete water pool, cooled by an artesian spring until the milk man came to collect them.

I remember one time the Holsteins had come up from a field and begun heading out toward the road. I was there and Uncle Riley yelled at me, “Stop them!” I got scared at the big animals plodding toward me and got out of the way. Apparently all I would have needed to do was raise my arms and shout something at them. Uncle Riley was not happy with me.

Not long after we moved to Alexandria he had inscribed on wet cement Charlie polio, 1949. I think it was in a foundation for a corn crib. He was a sentimental guy who cried easily as I do still.

Not sure I’m getting this right. I want you to know the sweet memories, the lavender scented times, almost Victorian era life I experienced in this small town. One I prefer to my own hometown of Alexandria.

This will probably do it better than I’m able to this morning.

When the Frost is on the Punkin

When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock,
And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin’ turkey-cock,
And the clackin’ of the guineys, and the cluckin’ of the hens,
And the rooster’s hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence;
O, it’s then’s the times a feller is a-feelin’ at his best,
With the risin’ sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest,
As he leaves the house, bareheaded, and goes out to feed the stock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock.
They’s something kindo’ harty-like about the atmusfere
When the heat of summer’s over and the coolin’ fall is here—
Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossums on the trees,
And the mumble of the hummin’-birds and buzzin’ of the bees;
But the air’s so appetizin’; and the landscape through the haze
Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days
Is a pictur’ that no painter has the colorin’ to mock—
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock.
The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn,
And the raspin’ of the tangled leaves, as golden as the morn;
The stubble in the furries—kindo’ lonesome-like, but still
A-preachin’ sermuns to us of the barns they growed to fill;
The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed;
The hosses in theyr stalls below—the clover over-head!—
O, it sets my hart a-clickin’ like the tickin’ of a clock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock!
Then your apples all is gethered, and the ones a feller keeps
Is poured around the celler-floor in red and yeller heaps;
And your cider-makin’ ’s over, and your wimmern-folks is through
With their mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and saussage, too! …
I don’t know how to tell it—but ef sich a thing could be
As the Angels wantin’ boardin’, and they’d call around on me—
I’d want to ’commodate ’em—all the whole-indurin’ flock—
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock!

 

 

 

 

Health

Cancer. A journey

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Fall and the Sukkot Moon

Friday gratefuls: Kristie Kokeny. Prostate cancer. Worry. Resolved. Kep. More and more. The Cloud Appreciation Society. The # has a name. Marilyn’s blog. Sukkot. The lulav. Rabbi Jamie. Humility. Anavah. Workouts. Hitting the mark. Family. Diane. The January 6th hearings.  Quiet time. Emily, the phlebotomist, too well known. Dr. Gonzalez.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Folks who care about my health

 

Disturbing. A phone call from my oncologist’s office. Kristie (my PA) has made changes in my treatment plan. At least that’s what I thought the message was. Before my lab results and before I meet with her on Monday? After several attempts to reach somebody at Urology Associates, frustrating, I finally found out what was going on.

Melinda, a nurse (I think), had left me a message asking if I wanted to change my appointment on Monday because Kristie planned to present my case to other doctors, including the radiation doc and bone specialists, but that wouldn’t happen until after Monday. The message was not clear on the phone.

Gotta admit I moved from disturbed to worried knowing that my case had moved to an all docs on board situation. No I did not want to change my appointment on Monday. I’ll still have my lab results and I want to talk to Kristie to find out what’s going on.

There was a question after my last scan about bony sclerosis on my spine. Two instances. The nuclear bone scan did not show any activity there, the ct scan showed only the sclerosis. I thought the bone scan trumped the ct scan and thought no more about it.

The concern continued for Kristie and Dr. Simpson, the radiation doc. It became a question of whether I would need an MRI to definitively determine the nature of the sclerosis. A tough call for claustrophobic me since it would take a long time, up to 45 minutes. Might mean general anesthetic. Not my favorite idea. Still. If necessary…

I hope that’s what the all docs on board case review is meant to determine. I’ll find out on Monday.

Took me a while, the evening, to recenter myself, collect my more normal sense of self back from my I’m a worried man, singing the worried song self. This morning I’m back to my usual, yes, I have cancer. Yes, I’m doing what I can. Working out. Healthy diet. Regular lab work. What my doctors prescribe. So the rest is as it will be. No gain in worrying about it.

What bothered me most about the call yesterday was how it left important things unsaid. Hanging. As Diane said, You’re in limbo. I don’t like that spot. I like to know what’s going on, even if it’s bad.

Once again, always, writing makes it easier, more manageable.

 

 

 

 

Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Mussar, Plants, Shadow Mountain, The Move

A good influence

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Fall and the Sukkot Moon (the Jewish Harvest Moon)

Thursday gratefuls: Diane. Cleaning out the truly hard part. Her doggedness. She says OCD, I say perseverance. The Yahrzeit plaques, Kate in the middle and reserved ones for myself and Jon above and below her. Hugs at CBE. Bread Lounge breakfast with the cuz. Sourdough bread. Marilyn. The discussion on humility last night. Jackie. Luke. Ellen. Jamie Bernstein. Leslie.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Having Diane here

 

Over to Evergreen early, but not before Diane had taken a 45 minute jog around the neighborhood. She came upon a Mule Deer Buck standing so still and so close to her at one point that she asked, “Are you alive?” His ears twitched, his head moved, then he went on about his day. Mountain spirits. Ready to welcome us or turn us away.

The Evergreen Medical Center had closed for the day so we went on over to the Bread Lounge. We both had Chinook Toast. The servers and the cashier are so friendly. A lot fewer people than on the weekend or Friday when Alan and I usually go.

Tried to go to the Evergreen Market for easy meals, but it didn’t open until 11. Back home I looked at my calendar and, Oh, $%#&! I had a hair appointment at 11:15. Had to reschedule for 12:15. Always good to see Jackie and her colleague.

When I got back Diane was hands deep in mouse turds, had all the items from under the sink and on the lazy susan neatly organized on paper towel sections along the wall. It was after one and I needed my nap.

When I got up, she was still at it! She’d had lunch she said. A nut bar and an apple. Diane has a minimalist approach to eating that I admire. She’s taken most of the choice points out of daily meals by having regular breakfasts and lunches, veggies of some kind, like a salad or something else, plus some protein for supper. She’s a good influence on me.

I had blueberries and raspberries and yogurt for lunch. Tasted good. By then, however, I had to go to Safeway to pick up some food for the MVP mussar group.

In the end I’d had breakfast, had my haircut, napped, and gone to Safeway, only to leave a bit later for MVP. Diane did all the work.

Today we work in the loft.

 

The power of the lit up Aspens captured Diane. As they do me. And, probably everybody that’s up here during our monochrome Fall. If you’ve watched the Lord of the  Rings movies or the Rings of Power, they look like the trees around the Elven castles. Magical and amazing. Flaming Trees that do not burn. Moses and that bush have nothing on a golden Aspen Grove with the sun behind it.

 

The MVP mussar group discussed humility. We didn’t get to Jacob and the Angel, but we hit all the other passages on the reading list. The conversation was strong, thoughtful, heart felt, honest.

We affirmed an understanding of humility that challenges the meek and mild posture often associated with it. No. Humility is knowing who you are and bringing that person, with all his/her/them talents and gifts to every encounter. Not hiding your light under a bushel, neither letting it blaze out like a movie premier spotlight. Authenticity, each and every encounter, including those with your inner self.

My practice this month will be elemental again. I did water as my practice for the middot of cleanliness last month. This month being down to earth is my practice. This practice honors the link among the words humus, humility, and humanity. It also honors the metaphor of each us created from the same elements, from the dust of the soil, with the breath of life breathed into us through the wonder of birth and evolution. I will remember from whence I came and to which I return. In each encounter.

 

Dogs, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, General, Hawai'i, Hermitage, Mussar, Shadow Mountain, Torah

Where am I going?

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Fall and the Sukkot Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: Diane. Coming to help me prune. Jogging. Sleep. Acting. Chekhov. The Seagulls. Cool. Shirley Septic and Waste. Kep. Poor guy. Bumping into stuff. Ukraine. Putin. Missiles. Will. Minnesota. Hawai’i. ? Lab draws this morning. Flu shot.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Hawai’i

 

Picked Diane up at the Federal Center Station of the RTD yesterday afternoon. Drove back to the Natural Grocers where we picked up supplies. Apples. Aloe Vera juice. Organic fish sticks. Mixed vegetables. Raspberries. Blueberries. Bananas. Tomatoes. Lettuce. Headed back home.

At the Natural Grocers we got into a conversation with the cashier. Where’re you from? San Francisco. Here. Oh, I’m from Hawai’i. Oh, I’m moving to Hawai’i. What Island? Oahu. Oh, I’m from Oahu. The North Shore, where all the surfing is. Yes, I’m going to that side, too. Oh, Kailua, Kane’ Ohe’? Yes.

Diane picked up on my answer and asked about it, given my recent blogs. Oh, just trying to bond with the cashier, I said.

More I thought about it though I realized Hawai’i is still top of mind when I think about moving. And, I’ve been telling people I’m moving to Hawai’i for quite awhile now. An interesting, unbidden piece of information about the move.

Not sure what it means. If anything. But there you are.

 

Mussar tonight. My turn to lead. Anavah. Humility. A key idea in mussar is taking up the right amount of space. That’s the idea of humility. Neither self-deprecating nor self-aggrandizing, being who you are.

Here’s a Rabbi’s take on anavah.*

 

How do you experience anavah in your own life? Do you ever take up too much space? Too little? If so, why? How can you create a you that takes up the space you deserve?

One of my favorite stories from the Torah. Jacob and the Angel at the Jabbok Ford.** I see it as an example of anavah. Jacob wrestled with God/the Angel/a man to determine the right amount of space between him and the sacred.

One interpretation is this. Jacob was on a journey, fleeing his brother Esau. He had divided his livestock and servants in two, reasoning that he might escape with half his wealth if his servants encountered Esau. God had come to him in a dream and told him to go to the land of his fathers and God would be with him.

As they crossed the ford of the Jabbok River, Jacob stayed behind. While he was alone, a man came and wrestled with him. Jacob was alone as a result of his struggles with his father-in-law Laban and his brother, Esau.

Jacob had experienced rejection by his father-in-law and his own brother. He had fled them. Who was he now? Was he a man who fought with his closest relatives, made them angry, divided his family? Or, was he a man of the sacred, following a path that was his pilgrimage?

That night beside the river at a ford, places known for their magical qualities, Jacob had to decide who he was. He struggled within himself, trying to decide whether he was a bad brother and a bad son-in-law or was he a good man who had done what was necessary?

In that struggle he learned that he was neither. Or both. When the inner jihad was over, he had a new self-awareness. he was now Israel, for he had experienced the sacred within himself and survived to gain a clear identity, an authentic Self.

 

*Just as the Torah begins with Parashat B’reishit, Mussar practice begins with the middah of anavah. All other middot are accessed through this core character trait. The middah of anavah is essential for living with integrity. When we think of humility, we may imagine someone who is the picture of modesty and meekness. However, in Mussar, humility is not defined as being so humble that you disappear; rather, it is about having all of your character traits in balance so that the inner light of the soul shines pure and clear as originally intended. As Mussar teacher Alan Morinis puts it, “Being humble doesn’t mean being nobody: it just means being no more of a somebody than you ought to be.”
…In our own lives, we hide our authentic selves from the truth of our lives. When we live out of balance, despite the fact that we may be falling apart on the inside or on the outside, we betray our lives. We take up either too much or too little space; either we take away space from others, or we abandon them when they need us. Our sacred connection to anything important—our families, our communities, our work—all suffer when we neglect to live life with anavah in balance. Celebrated with intention, Shabbat provides the time, space, and opportunity to reconnect to our core essence, reacquire a sense of proportion, and connect anew with the people and projects in our lives with both humility and presence. Anavah, approaching our lives with humility, means not taking up too much space in the Garden, not trying to fool others with some disguise of our true selves; but to honestly offer our truest selves to the people and work we encounter in our lives. Humility: Shabbat as a Return to Our Authentic Selves” by Rabbi Michelle Pearlman and Rabbi Sharon Mars in Mussar Torah Commentary, p.3, 6

 

**22 The same night he arose and took his two wives, his two maids, and his eleven children, and crossed the ford of the Jabbok.23 He took them and sent them across the stream, and likewise everything that he had.24 And Jacob was left alone; and a man wrestled with him until the breaking of the day.25 When the man saw that he did not prevail against Jacob, he touched the hollow of his thigh; and Jacob’s thigh was put out of joint as he wrestled with him.26 Then he said, “Let me go, for the day is breaking.” But Jacob said, “I will not let you go, unless you bless me.”27 And he said to him, “What is your name?” And he said, “Jacob.”28 Then he said, “Your name shall no more be called Jacob, but Israel, for you have striven with God and with men, and have prevailed.”29 Then Jacob asked him, “Tell me, I pray, your name.” But he said, “Why is it that you ask my name?” And there he blessed him.30 So Jacob called the name of the place Peni’el, saying, “For I have seen God face to face, and yet my life is preserved.”31 The sun rose upon him as he passed Penu’el, limping because of his thigh.32 Therefore to this day the Israelites do not eat the sinew of the hip which is upon the hollow of the thigh, because he touched the hollow of Jacob’s thigh on the sinew of the hip.