The Way of the Great Basin Bristlecone Pine

Fall and the High Holidays Moon

Sunday gratefuls: Erev Sukkot. Jen. Ruth. Gabe. Trees of gold flame. Early Sun. Cool night. Open Window. The Move. Leaving Shadow Mountain. Kep, the non-seeing eye dog. Warm against me last night. Creativity. Poetry. Sumi-e. The Night Sky. Ruth Gendler. Sad. Tal. Wendy’s. Rarely. Ukraine. Putin. Nuclear weapons. Anarchy at the international level of world affairs

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Flexibility

 

I do not know how the mid-terms will turn out. And, neither do you. That’s a good thing because it means there are some statistical scenarios where the far right gets pushed back and the sane Americans retain control of at least one house, possibly two? Dreaming, I know. But a fellow can hope.

Methuselah Walk USA Ca

What I would like to put this thought over against is this article in New York Times: In California, Where Trees Are King, One Hardy Pine Has Survived for 4,800 Years. You know this tree, no doubt. Methuselah. Named after the Biblical Patriarch who lived 969 years. 4,855 years this Tree has kept its streak of living going. It follows its chi better than any other living creature. Wu wei all the way. Adapting to changing seasons, climates, insects. Poor soil and limited moisture.

Methuselah and its fellow Great Basin Bristlecone Pines grow only in California, Nevada, and Utah. There are Bristlecone Pines here in Colorado but they live less long, some only 2,000 years. Only. I wonder what they communicate to each other over the depths of their millennia?

These Trees. They exemplify the tao. If you live your life within the limits all lives have, you will flourish. Against this the hubris of oil. The tragedy of MAGA. The disaster crashing down on our only Planet. Even the simple problems that occur among us humans like probate, or loss of a partner. We must choose a life way that wends around and through the challenges that living presents.

One way to do that is to stay engaged with life, but to not take detours from your desired outcomes as bad or good, frustrating or stressful. Just detours or the path going a different way. The old military cliche, no battle plan survives contact with the enemy, sounds the same precaution.

In my instance right now the Fed has pushed interest rates up and will likely go higher. Mortgage rates follow. This will impact the sale of my Shadow Mountain home. Probably negatively. The changes in Kep’s eyesight have created doubts in me about putting him through a long flight and adaptation to a very foreign environment.

My move off Shadow Mountain needs to happen sometime in the mid term future. I’ve already said why many times. But when and to where? Uncertain right now. That’s ok. I have many options and will look for the one that offers the best for myself and for Kep. As well as I can understand it. I have no worry that we will land in a place that’s right for us for now. You could call this the Great Basin Bristlecone Pine way.

Meanwhile I will continue to prune, to deaccession, getting ready for a move when the time and place present themselves.

Will (Should) The Liberal Arts Survive the 21st Century?

Fall and the High Holidays Moon

Saturday gratefuls: Tal. Georgeta. Nitya. The Importance of Being Earnest. Stagedoor Theater. A late Night. Gabe. This afternoon. Blue. Green. Gold. On Black Mountain. Solar panels soaking in the Sun. Boiler Medic. Geowater. Vince. Snowplowing set. Hawai’i. Minnesota. Adventure. Home. The housing market.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Nitya’s performance

 

On the subject of liberal arts. If you pay any attention at all to the world of higher education, you know that the liberal arts have been and are under heavy fire from pragmatists of all sorts. Lists of majors that “pay off” are common with Philosophy degrees and Anthropology degrees easily targeted as low earning degrees and not worth the investment. Usually here investment means amount of money for the degree. Guess who has a Philosophy and an Anthropology degree? Yep.

Or, the fabled English major. God help the education major, the arts major. Doomed to a lifetime of depressed financial potential. God better help them because no one in the STEM or Health fields will.

My own conjecture about the roots of this issue lies in the long ago days of decent vocational education, days when blue collar workers could learn welding, carpentry, plumbing, electrical work, auto body and mechanics, cosmetology, secretarial skills and expect to earn a decent living from those skills. By decent living I mean the ability to do three things: buy a house and a car, afford good medical care and food, and a good education for your children.

Three things happened to first confuse then demolish this route to the American dream. First, American manufacturers lost the will to compete with the cheaper labor and goods available in countries like Japan and China. Jobs, blue collar jobs, left the country. Second, foreign goods began to appear in the United States that were not only comparable to US made goods, but cheaper in price, and sometimes, especially in the unfortunate instance of vehicles, better. Third, the combination of one and two lead to the Rust Belt effect where factories closed and well-paying jobs available to persons with a high school degree or even less vanished. Almost overnight.

This is the story, writ large, of my hometown, Alexandria, Indiana. In postwar times, say 1950 to 1970 or so, Alexandria had a thriving main street, Harrison Avenue. On it were two movie theaters: The Town and The Alex. Two grocery stores, Kroger’s and Coxes. Two dime stores, Murphy’s and Danner’s. Broyles’  Furniture. Fermen’s Womens Wear and Baumgartner’s Mens Wear. Mahony’s Shoes. Guilkey’s shoe shop and newsstand. Rexall’s Drugs and Bailey Drugs. The Bakery. The Yankee Bar. Conway’s barbershop.

On Friday and Saturday nights kids from neighboring smaller towns would come to Alexandria to drag main, go to the Kid Canteen, bowl. Parades, big parades, happened on Decoration Day and at Homecoming. Sidewalk Sale days drew customers downtown like weekend food stalls in Bangkok’s Chinatown.

When the crash came, it came fast. By 1974 most of those businesses had altered or closed. In later years plywood fronts would replace plate glass windows. Whole families would leave town in the dead of night, closing the curtains before they left because they could no longer pay their mortgages. Detroit had lost the battle with Volkswagen and Toyota.

I know. You’re thinking, he’s lost the plot. What does this have to do with the liberal arts? Vocational education lead nowhere. Who needed welders? Electricians. Unions began to decline in influence, too, and as they did so did blue collar wages across the board.

It was in this time that the lie of college for everyone began its insidious infiltration into the American zeitgeist. Get a BA and you’ll be safe. College graduates out earn high school graduates. And, this is true. Read this: Do college grads really earn more than high school grads.

And this is the where the story takes its twist. With vocational education or factory union jobs no longer a safe bet for that house and car, good medical care and food, what was left for the blue collar worker? College for all. We’re a small d democratic country. We’re all equal. So it seemed to make sense.

Except it doesn’t. College education takes a certain set of skills and gifts not widely distributed in any population. First, a basic level of intellect. Then, reading and writing skills. A taste for the sort of work required to sit through lectures, study, and write papers or lab reports. This is not about the idea of equality before the law which Americans often confuse with a leveling equality of skills and talents.

Such a leveling does not exist in the US population or any other. I could post links to several articles about the benefits of a college education. You could search them for an admission of the basic requirements to thrive in college. And find nothing.

With the dollar value of blue collar work on the decline along with it went the pride that came with hard work and a decent income. Many blue collar workers used to earn as much liberal arts majors do now. Not anymore. Now the blue collar worker scans and palletizes objects in Amazon or UPS warehouses, sweeps the floors of elementary schools, works in the volatile construction industry. Barely earning a long ago out of date minimum wage.

It was in this transition to an economy with few well-paying lifetime jobs for high school grads that saw white supremacy once again more obvious in US culture. It never left, of course, but it now purported to explain the poor white males declining, even vanishing, prospects. See this recent article by Thomas Edsall, Two Americas.

When the notion of a college education for all began to gain traction in the US mindset, it triggered a concomitant expectation that a college education would deliver a financial reward for those who stuck it out. College education began to replace the old vocational education model where a specific career with specific financial expectations were the norm for students.

And finally we come to the point: In this climate focused on the dollar value of a college education, college education as vocational education, the liberal arts begin to look like a bad bet. Cue the lists of majors and their earning power.

See these four points from a Georgetown University article on the Economic Value of College:

1. The top-paying college majors earn $3.4 million more than the lowest-paying majors over a lifetime.
2. Two of the top highest paying majors, STEM and business are also the most popular majors, accounting for 46 percent of college graduates.
3. STEM (science, technology, engineering, and mathematics), health, and business majors are the highest paying, leading to average annual wages of $37,000 or more at the entry level and an average of $65,000 or more annually over the course of a recipient’s career.
4. The 10 majors with the lowest median earnings are: early childhood education ($39,000); human services and community organization ($41,000); studio arts, social work, teacher education, and visual and performing arts ($42,000); theology and religious vocations, and elementary education ($43,000); drama and theater arts and family and community service ($45,000).

Now we have this remarkable reality in our country. Blue collar workers have trouble, big trouble earning a decent income. Ironically, the communities of color who suffer along with the poor, white male high school grad, have developed ways of coping with economic hardships. See the Edsall article.

And, colleges and universities, stuffed into a false equivalency with vocational education, have cheapened the word value by taking up the talking point of the dollar value of a college education as a primary rationale for attendance.

The problem in other words is not with the liberal arts, but with the mindset that places money as the determiner of a good result in a post-high school education.

This is not only a travesty, it’s a tragedy. And how would you know this unless you had a liberal arts education?

Here’s a good example of what a liberal arts education can do and why it’s not only valuable (good value), but essential:

I don’t know whether the liberal arts in the college and university setting will survive the 21st century. But philosophy, theater, music, painting, sculpture, literature and the other liberal arts will survive. Why? Because we need critical thinking, effective communication, rational analysis, and ethical reasoning to understand and weigh the life or death choices facing humanity. We need them.

Creativity. Our birthright

Fall and the High Holidays Moon

Saturday gratefuls: Prostate cancer. Erleada. Rain. Aspens, golden Aspens. A wet driveway with gold coins. Water. Holy, holy, holy. Tom. Diane. Alan. Acting. Chekhov. Tal. Nikkia. Sight. Hearing. Taste. Touch. Smell. Coffee. Safeway. Vaccines. Flu. Covid. Jen. Ruth. Gabe. Denver Springs. Kate, always Kate. Jon. His memory.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Fall Melancholy

 

Spoke with Tom. A wide ranging conversation as always. Favorite part. We both spoke to our high school reunions about the things that unite us in spite of divisions. Why we can’t all see that friendships cross political divisions, especially old friendships, saddens both of us.

 

Class on creativity with Rabbi Jamie. A flash of inspiration. Hochmah. A plan, a container for a work of art. Binah. The act of human creation mimics/is the same as that of sacred creation. In the far away ayn sof, the realm of nothingness, a desire emerges. It travels down the Tree of Life where it realizes itself in the realm of inspirational wisdom, Hochmah. Hochmah passes the desire, now an idea, to the practical wisdom of Binah, the sefirot of builders and wisdom. Here it takes on form, becomes a possibility.

Kabbalah and the arts. The ever flowing Tree of Life finds energy moving down and back up in a continuous circuit. Charging and recharging. Pushing desire into limits where it can act as a catalyst for action, for realization. Kabbalah and Tarot and Taoism. Teachers, revealers. Seeing the processes behind life and its boundless diversity. Opening us to the world unseen as it moves through our daily experience.

No dogma. Nothing but metaphor for the unknown, yet knowable ways the universe changes from invisible to visible, from thought to structure, from vastness to particularity. The path of the sacred as it becomes this holy world in which we live and move and have our being. For a brief time. Until our teshuva, our return to the invisible, the unknown, yet knowable. And our teshuva, our return again, emerging as a desire in the ayn sof, the nothingness, the nirvana, the moksha to which we go like insects toward the ohr, the golden light of holiness. Our chi merged with the tao. Then reemerging as another expression of the tao.

A tarot card presses us to look, to see what cannot be seen until we look, until we see what we are looking at. The power of teshuva rendered clear in the golden Aspen leaves, the bright colors of a Midwest fall, the birth of a child, a memory of a time never experienced in this lifetime.

We can learn to feel the power of desire as it passes into us and through us and on into malkuth, the realm where the holy and the sacred become manifest. Where the bride the shekinah meets the malchiyot the king in his kingdom.

The tree of life not only is a three-d map of the dna of the universe. It also bends back upon itself so that keter, the realm of malchiyot, touches malkuth, the realm of the shekinah. Said another way the masculine, the yang, meets the feminine, the yin, and gives birth to this awful, terrible, wonderful, amazing spot we call reality. Chi and tao. Yin and Yang. Hochmah and Binah. Chesed and Gevurah. Netzach and Hod. Back and forth. Power and desire channeled into containers. The penis and the vagina. The semen in the uterus. In and out. The way of all things.

Creativity is literally our birthright.

 

A Good Day

Lughnasa and the Harvest Moon

Monday gratefuls: Jon. His service here. So sweet. Just right. Ruth and I ok. Gabe his usual wry self. Sarah’s remarkable diplomacy. Seoah’s amazing crab boil. Just like the Korean Cajun place in Honolulu. Ram Dass, “We’re all just walking each other home.”

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Family

 

I have an emendation to J.O.E. It is now J2OE. That is Johnson.Jang.Olson.Ellis. Left out the Korean side of our odd little clan. My mistake.

 

Yesterday was something we all needed. A good day. Heartfelt. Bonding. Rabbi Jamie came and helped us navigate the many who wanted to share stories of Jon. Ruth wore clothes she and Seoah bought on Saturday. Gabe slumped on the couch near Jamie. Max, Jon’s long and good friend, was here from Minneapolis and spoke a touching remembrance of their friendship.

After the service Seoah did a crab boil with a Dungeness crab I had from the Sitka Salmon Shares folks. We ate in the reconfigured dining room where Kate had her sewing room. It was a wonderful funeral meal with a lot of laughing.

Anguish is such an amazing teacher. It forces us  into spaces we might otherwise find inaccessible. Like seeing a person’s amazing side. Jon was Magical. Gentle. Kind. A Creative. Ruth’s person. Gabe’s rock. And how he and his mom opened us all to the new family born in the fire of their pyres.

We’re now in the more practical days. When can we move onto the house, Ivory (the Rav4 gifted to Ruth)? Creating the estate for the kids. Probably slower and less fraught. I sure hope so anyhow.

I continue to experience fatigue. That is, I sleep, but am not rested. I’ll say again. I could not have handled this without J2.O.E. I would have ended up in some dark cave, huddled up and sad.

The Traveling Willbury’s below is their response to their bandmate Roy Orbison’s death.

 

Live Until I Die

Lughnasa and the Harvest Moon

Saturday gratefuls: Net sheets. Robert Martin. Realtors. Hawai’i dreaming. Running the numbers. Growing up. Kep. Kate, always Kate. Selling. Mussar. Mussar Thursday group. Mussar MVP. Clarity. Sudden. Following the path as it opens before me. Taking my cues from friends and experts. And, of course, my own heart. Problems. Solutions. An Ancientrail for sure.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Friends

 

Oh. My. Ran my own cash flow analysis this morning. I think that’s what it was anyhow. Gave me inner peace. Not kidding. I’ll have this much to spend by this date. This much by this date. Use the money as it comes, then goes. Pay attention. Don’t fall behind.

So glad I contacted Ruth Hayden. I asked her to remind me of things I already know. She did just that. After some hesitation I did a solid run on my expenses as they recur on a monthly and annual basis. Got solid numbers. Income is easy. Outgo is more chaotic, harder to systematize.

These three months: July, August, and September were filled with expenses. A trip to Hawai’i. A new hot water heater. My premium for my Long Term Care insurance. Plus what would have broken the bank, that trip to Durango, if my buddy Tom hadn’t stepped in to help.

I saw it all coming. That was the good part. But how to untangle it, find the right tools to manage it, and insure it doesn’t happen again? That was the hard part. Pretty sure I got it. Not so hard, but numbers and dates have to be paid attention to. Having the money available after a big bill comes due doesn’t cut it. It has to be available on time.

Figured my own process that I believe will work. Up till now I counted on money being there. At the right time. Oops. Like for example when a six week old check hit my account and put me into overdraft territory. Or, when I looked out to September and couldn’t find enough cash available to pay that insurance premium. Not good.

Decided to take it as motivation to finally wrassle this gator to the ground.

Realized just now that all this falls under a more generic habit I’ve worked at hard at folding into my life. Stop anxiety producing things before they start. Gonna die? Yes. OK. Deal with it, recognize it. Own it. Gonna move to Hawai’i? Do the tasks necessary to make it there. Need to eat? Shop. Or, go to a restaurant. Need reassurance or input? Go to friends and family. Have prostate cancer? Stay on top of it, but let it be. Those sort of things.

 

Robert Martin’s numbers and Alice Carmody’s are almost the same. Still waiting on Linda. Her SO died two weeks ago and the funeral was Wednesday. Giving her extra time. The numbers from Robert and Alice, using comps in a low part of the real estate market, put me with a solid net between $500,000 and $600,000. That’s what I need and the February market should improve those numbers a bit.

Based all of this on the Zillow estimate, but didn’t know till the end of this work week whether it was accurate. It was. Sort of a shoot, fire, aim situation. I sought the information on the hope it was out there. It was.

Lots of balls still to juggle, but I’m having fun with this so far. I’d have had a lot more fun if it wasn’t for that damned Covid. My 02 sats have begun to fall a bit, too. No good, but I’m not worried. O2 concentrators here. Sea level in March.

Yes, there’s the possibility of bony mets in my spine. Yes, there’s the possibility of some respiratory hooha, but I’ll manage them if and when they come. Do what’s necessary.

 

Live until I die. That’s my prime objective.

Fatigued

Lughnasa and the Harvest Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: Luke. Alice. Kep. Kate, always Kate. Hawai’i. Meds. Covid. Sleep. Dreams. Taking action. Agency. Owning my desire to move on. Finding a realtor. The Windward side of Oahu. Ocean. Reefs. Tide Pools. Sea Turtles. Animals of the Water. Volcanic Islands. Tradewinds. Reconstructionist Judaism. Potlatch.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Potlatch

 

Contacted LG about my Watery experience with their washer. Under warranty. Will get taken care of sometime in the near future. Still a hassle because. No washer.

Laundromat. Always an experience filled with memories of other points in my life. The smell of soap powder, sudsy Water, the warm breath of dryers opening. Those hard plastic chairs. Change machines and soap dispensers. Also, and my favorite part, the bulletin board offering house cleaning services, massage, junk removal, homes for sale, photography, lawn care. Fun to see what people post.

On a similar theme I called Boiler Medic to see if my lifetime warranty payment had been approved for my new hot Water heater. Did I mention I’m tired of dealing with this stuff? No call back yet. I suspect it wasn’t approved and they feel bad about telling me. Hard Water. A possible reason for denial.

 

Had Luke, the Executive Director of CBE, over for dinner last night. A fine conversation. He’s a thoughtful, multi-talented guy who’s making the shift from a life of science to working for non-profits and to Judaism. A convert. Have not had many people over. Luke dropped out of a materials science Ph.D. program at the School of Mines.

 

Took myself out for breakfast yesterday. Chicken fried steak, eggs over easy, and fried potatoes. Since Covid I’ve had this need for protein. May do the same today.

 

Had a subtle but powerful moment yesterday. I walked out to the mailbox to collect my mail. And a memory of a walk Seoah and I took out to the end of the driveway flashed over my thoughts. The last day of shiva. A ritual. The members of the minyan form two lines and the mourner walks through them to the end of the driveway. Shiva is over and the world outside of intense grieving at home awaits.

Grief returned for a moment. Then, I had this wonderful feeling. That Kate was blessing my move to Hawai’i. Part of the wider world beyond our former home together. Unexpected. A mixture of sadness, yearning, and joy.

 

Alice has come and gone. She seems very competent, too. The comps she offered were lower than I hoped, but she’s at work finding more. This is a tough time period as it’s the slowest and lowest part of the market. Of course, those things can change. Once I have everybody’s net sheets, I’ll have a better idea of where I am.

No matter what I’m committed to moving off of Shadow Mountain. If I end up without enough money to make Hawai’i work, I’ll find somewhere else.

 

Fatigued today after a good night’s sleep. Must be lingering Covid. A little jangly, too. Hope this doesn’t continue. Gut issues seem to have resolved. A gift that keeps on giving.

 

 

 

 

 

Paradise, bad. Tempter, good.

Lughnasa and the Harvest Moon

Monday gratefuls: Feeling almost whole. Paradise. Rental agents. Kep’s legs. The trash. Cooking for myself. That chicken from Rich. French toast. Whipped cream. Ruby. My ride. Kailua. Looking better and better. Or, Kaneohe. Though, windward, tsunami side. Robert Martin. Express mail to Vanguard. Depositing my TABOR check. Healing. The wonder of the body.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Agency

 

Paradise. A walled Garden in the original Persian, perhaps a hunting preserve. Paradise, a walled Garden for Creation, guarded by an angel with a flaming sword. Been thinking about walled gardens we humans create for ourselves. Gated communities. The Garden of Eden, the first gated community.

Our versions of paradise: Religions and their variants. Political ideologies. Ethnic purity. Even our own homes. That castle of our own. Skin color.

Inside these walled gardens we follow the same version of truth. The supremacy of white skinned humans. Submission to Allah. The Presbyterian version of the Christian story. Or, the Episcopal one. Or, the Pentecostal one. Or, the Roman Catholic one. I’m French. Swiss. American. Malawi. Aboriginal. I fly the Gadsen flag on my pickup. I’m a liberal. A libertarian. A Trumpist. A Nazi. An anarchist.

We mold and shape our perceptions of reality to conform to the presuppositions and biases of our walled Garden. This is confirmation bias. Selective perception.

Each of our walled Gardens also has its own Serpent, its own tempter, who hisses, “Eat of this Tree and you will know all.” This tempter might be biblical scholars who created the documentary hypothesis. Or, that little voice that whispers, “Other people with different skin colors don’t seem so bad.” Or, “What about traditions and heritages that give our lives richness?” Or…

There are so many walled Gardens. So many. Each with their gatekeepers, each with their own tempter. Each with their own Tree and its Fruit. What purpose do they serve? Tamping down ambiguity. Making the inevitable choices of our lives simpler. Creating a matrix against which we can lay our life and determine its worth.

I’m white. A superior race. I deserve my place above the mud people. I’m a liberal. The best political perspective. Why can’t those conservatives understand that? I’m Swiss. Sorry, but you’re not.

Easier to decide who to marry. What job to take. Where to live. Who to listen to. What flag to salute.

Here’s the thing though. Paradise was always an illusion. Those walled Gardens keep you in, narrow your world, define it in ways that often are harmful both to you and to others. Those gatekeepers. That angel with the flaming sword? Keeping you in.

That tempter. May be your guide out of Paradise. That Fruit. That Tree. Eat from it. Right now. It will taste good. Your eyes will open to the complicated, messy, never right or wrong world. Your life will become harder. You’ll have to choose without guard rails. There will be cliffs and sinkholes.

Help enough friends to do the same and you can take out the gatekeeper, walk out of the garden, and into the world as it is. As you were meant to know it. Neither bad nor good. Neither right nor wrong. Filled with the riches of people with different skin colors, of other heritages and traditions, of other nationalities, of other political perspectives.

This is the Field Rumi speaks of, the one beyond good and bad. Go out there, past the gatekeeper of your walled Garden, and I’ll meet you there.

rental agent draft

rin, I’m looking to move to Oahu within the next 6-8 months. No later than March, 2023. I’m single, widowed, 75. I have an Akita, 85 pounds. Apartment or Condo. Quiet is important. 2 bedrooms. High speed internet. Probably AC. If not in Honolulu, parking. Between $3000 and $4000 or so a month.

An Island and Ocean Guy

Lughnasa and the Durango Moon

Friday gratefuls: Cool Morning. Kep, the quiet dog. Senior move managers. Hawai’i. Shadow Mountain. Black Mountain. Lodgepole Pine. Aspen. Trees and their communities. Tom and Paul on Overstory. CBE. Dreams. Taking care of that injured dog in my dream. Planning the move. So many moving parts. Another drug run. Pruning. Right sizing. Healing. Covid. Paxlovid. Royal Hawai’ian Moving Company.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Early morning exercise in Hawai’i

 

Finally back upstairs. Feeling pretty normal. Some gut issues. Some fatigue. Otherwise. So. Much. Better. This was a blank couple of weeks for the most part. Some work done on the move. Some cancer matters kept cooking. Otherwise tired and in bed or tired and sitting in a chair reading or watching TV. Or, clueless and not sure where I was.

I recommend against it. Find that next vaccine. Stay away from crowded indoor places. Be kind to yourself and others. Keep that streak alive if you haven’t had it. It’s a bastard.

Illness does have that when you stop beating your head against the wall moment when it lifts. Oh, yeah! I remember this feeling. Me. All here and functioning. Have it now.

Gonna continue to rest and recuperate until Monday, then it’s back to the grind. Hiking, exercising. Pruning. Right-sizing. Getting this move underway.

 

Called senior move managers yesterday. No joy yet. Apparently out of state, especially to Hawai’i, makes them skittish. Not totally sure why since what they would do here remains the same. I’ll know more as I keep contacting them.

Really need help organizing the steps required for liftoff. So many. Key steps: deciding what to move. Deciding how to eliminate what I don’t want to move. Getting house cleared out, painted and patched. Choose a realtor. Put house on market. Move stuff to Hawai’i. Figure out what to do with Kep until I have a place for us both. Decide when all this should happen. Health insurance. Sell car. Not sure how to make it all work smoothly.

So excited though. Want to become an Island and Ocean guy. Been a Mountain Man for eight years. New elements. Go boldly where I’ve not gone before.

 

Going to get some breakfast. Find myself craving meat. Protein. Must have depleted my stores. Had sushi last night. Not enough. I’ll get back to my Mediterranean diet. Gotta get the body right first.

 

House cleaners coming today. Glad. Place needs it. Has that sick person feel.    Ta.

 

 

 

Short one

Lughnasa and the Durango Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: Covid receding. Tired less. Dr. Simpson. Gabe and a girl. Ruth and a new guy. Jon coming up to mow. Diane. Mary. Mark. A sunny day. Getting ready to get on the move tomorrow. Look for senior move managers. Start pruning books, one shelving unit at a time. Make list of furniture, appliances, kitchen tools, dishes and pots and pans to take. Start cooking through my pantry. Make the move real. Small steps. Realtors.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Recovery

Yesterday was a slow day. More sleeping. TV. Reading. Feeling more and more normal. Gradually.

Not much to report. Realtors will all have been  here at least once after next Wednesday. A new retirement projection looks good though I’m gonna need a little help to understand it. Diane suggested the gradual pruning of my library.  Take books downstairs that I want to keep and put them in the garage. A good idea. I’m starting tomorrow. She also suggested using the area behind the knee wall in the sewing room as a place to sequester furniture, appliances, dishes, pots and pans, other things I want to take. Making it real.

 

Still fussing over results from the last set of scans. Might be mets, might now. Maybe an MRI. Maybe not. Adds a little flavor to the soup.