Monthly Archives: March 2022

Dogs, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Health, Kabbalah, Mountains, Mussar, Shadow Mountain, Tarot

It’s a New Day

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Imbolc and the Seoah Citizenship Moon

Tom and Bill, Guanella Pass

Friday gratefuls: Jon’s ok. Ruth, growing up. That weird sandwich. Not so ok with my stomach. The anniversary. The people who helped me through it. Chicken soup. Soul. Mine. Trying to find it. Searching for soul. Lev and the mouth. Tom’s 74th. Astrology. Tarot. Kabbalah. Jon’s art. My writing. Water from the Chalice Well. Carolyn Levy. Seoah and her interview this morning.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Grief and its depth

Tarot:

 

Kep’s raggedy look. I brush him and brush him and brush him. Taking off as much fur as any dog probably has on them at any one time, yet he has still more. And yet more comes. The second coat of a cold adapted dog breed. A damned nuisance.

On the other hand. He doesn’t slobber. Which both Vega and Rigel did. Their Coyote Hound inheritance. Both the constant shedding and the slobber were new to Kate and me. Irish Wolfhounds and Whippets don’t have either. We had to adjust. Still adjusting.

5 degrees again this morning. This last couple of weeks have reminded me of Minnesota, creating the sort of icy conditions better suited to flatland. Colorado drivers don’t understand it. After 40 years in Minnesota, my instincts are intact. Won’t say an icy curve can’t catch me off guard, but I’ve got a better chance than most of the folks I routinely drive with.

Made it through yesterday. Remembering. Loving the remembering and being saddened by it and gladdened by it. I did what I said I would. Moved Kate’s ashes and her signature red glasses to a niche behind my computer, behind me right now. Rigel, too. Both weighed about the same. Rigel’s big paw print in plaster of paris and a sweet card from the folks at Sano, acknowledging Rigel as a very sweet dog who will be missed. By us all. My two ladies, now elsewhere, gone from here. Not from the soft squishy thing in my skull however.

I can feel yet more plate tectonics in my soul. Subduction pushing up long buried hopes and dreams while carrying surface worries and false paths below. Something about writing going down. Something about people and this house rising. The grief orogeny changing the once flat plain of my old life. New peaks and valleys coming into existence, old ones disappearing.

Cousin Diane said something that stuck with me. Sounds like prioritizing exercise is important. Yes. Broke a logjam in my thinking that kept pressing writing and exercise into a face off for my time. Health comes first. I should know this already after watching Kate’s steady, sad decline. But, I didn’t have it. I’m going to get my 30 minutes plus in five days a week. We’ll see how the rest of the schedule takes shape with that as the priority.

Realizing right now that I have lived through a major life crisis with the folks at CBE. They knew Kate well. And, me. They knew we came as a pair. If she was there, I was there, and vice versa. Except for board meetings and when I did physical work. They were with us through her long illness and are now with me in my grief. Holding me in love and kindness.

Told David again, I don’t want to convert. Might be a little bit repetitive on that one. But, I said, I’m so drawn to the people, the tribe. Not the torah or the kabbalah or the talmud or even the regular services, but the community. I told him about dating three Jewish women at the same time after my divorce from Raeone. Not sure why, just happened. Well, probably not.

He said something very interesting. Sometimes those kind of things happen after events in a past life. Oh. That felt oddly right. Something to explore as this new life, this new day, makes me feel good.

This video surprised me by being a prompt, a hope, a dance I want. Not there yet, but on the way. A new ancientrail.

“Dragonfly out in the sun you know what i mean dont you know
Butterflies all havin’ fun you know what I mean
Sleepin’ peace when day is done that’s what I mean
And this old world is a new world and a bold world for me” Nina Simone

Kate loved dragonflies and butterflies, so here you go:

Dogs, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Health, Kabbalah, Mussar, Shadow Mountain, Tarot

Results not guaranteed

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Imbolc and the Seoah Citizenship Moon

Thursday gratefuls: Snow. Kate. Our 32 plus years together. Her laugh. Her wry humor. Her keen intelligence. Her knowledge of cooking and medicine. And classical music. Her. Kep, snuggling this morning before we got up. MVP. Forbearance. Savlanut. Diane. March on Shadow Mountain.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Diane, cousin and friend

Tarot: How can my new life emerge from my grief?

spread: current situation, obstacle, advice

Cards: queen of stones, bear. seven of stones, clearance. three of arrows, jealousy.

 

And so the anniversary heads into the evening. Early, starting this blog. Talking to Diane. Then, 30 minutes on the treadmill. After. David Sanders. A talk about art and life. About Faure’s requiem and Up on Cripple Creek. Over to mussar to be with friends. Drive to Marshdale Burger and get an improbable burger/corned beef, sauerkraut and thousand island dressing with tater tots. Mountain health food.

On the way back get a call from Ruth. Jon had a seizure in the class room and got taken to the hospital in an ambulance. Ruth leaning into the situation, handling it. Still uncertain as to what caused the seizure.

First anniversary without my Kate. Peopled with friends and family. Soothing. A few tears at mussar. Some last night thinking about, something. Something random. Kep came up, his worried look on, nuzzled me. I kissed his furry head.

David and I talked about a sheet I filled out for him, a sheet of open ended questions. We got through two of the questions. Life is… Short, art is long. Two favorite songs. I remembered why Faure’s Requiem meant so much to me.

Carolyn Levy and I went to the St. Paul Chamber Orchestra. The cello concerto left me in tears. Grieving my marriage to Raeone, to being alone, to not knowing what came next. A heart thing. Deep. In fact I think it may have been the night I decided Carolyn wasn’t the one. A smart, beautiful, talented woman. Just not for me.

Up on Cripple Creek includes this line: A drunkard’s dream if I ever did see one. And I know that to be a lie. A drunkard’s dream would be a nightmare, one bringing disability and death.

Dave said I was a wonderful person and a wonderful teacher. Therapist talk, yeah, still nice to hear.

32 in gematria, both David and Jamie said, is heart. Kabbalah has a saying, have the heart and the mouth in line with each other. Authenticity. Yes. Today, this 32nd celebration of our wedding is all about heart for me. I speak that celebration on these pages. To her, wherever she may be. To myself, still here. To Jon, in University hospital. To Ruth, acting like a grown-up.

As Mindy said, one of the things she learned after the death of her husband was that she had to become friends with sadness. Yes. Sadness tells the heart’s tale. Its yearning for that which was, which now cannot be. Yet, it also speaks of the depth of love, the honor of a long time together, the truth of two hearts that beat as one.

Don’t know what the evening holds with Jon. With Ruth and Gabe. Whatever it is, it is an extension of our marriage, our choice to be here with them. Living our promise. Enough. Results not guaranteed.

Feelings, Fourth Phase, Health, Mountains, Plants, Tarot

Knowing My Limits

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Imbolc and the Seoah Citizenship Moon

Tuesday gratefuls: Luke. Rabbi Jamie. New Snow. March. The second month of Adar. Leap year in the Jewish calendar. Kate, my sweetheart, always Kate. The cleaning crew. Vince. My infrastructure folks, as Tom calls them. Becky Chambers. Ada Palmer. Ed Kelly. Psilocybin. THC. Cold Weather. 8 degrees on Shadow Mountain. Fatigue. Weakened stamina. Prostate cancer.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Orgovyx and Erleada

Tarot: Knight of Vessels, the Eel

 

House cleaned. New workout proceeding. Back to five days a week. Still fatigued. Started thinking about this last night.

Why do I continue being fatigued? Well. Testosterone as low as it can go. Sarcopenia from meds and aging. Lower o2 saturation due to post-polio and high altitude. Hypothyroidism. Outside of that I’m full steam ahead. For three or four minutes.

My stamina has improved. Still not great, but better. Fatigue, too, for that matter. They’re related, of course. I’m working out and that does help. It’s counter intuitive for sure, but yay moving and challenging those muscles. I’m hoping treatment for the hypothyroid condition will give me a boost. March 14th with Kristine.

When Kate was sick, my principle with her was that I would do for her anything she could not do, but I would not do for her anything she could do. Sounds simple, but it’s not.

I do not have all these. But many. No heavy menstruation for example. Or, any for that matter. But, I do have a lot of them.

I apply the same idea to myself. If I can increase my stamina on my own, I’ll do that. But. I can’t make my thyroid right. Or, deal with my prostate cancer without drugs that make me tired. I can stave off some of the sarcopenia with resistance work but I can’t make my bones strong without plyometrics and my artificial knee makes them contraindicated.

Or, I can move furniture around on one level, but not between levels. So, Vince. I can’t hold heavy things up anymore. So, Vince. I could clean my own house, yes, but I’ve proven to myself over and over that it feels burdensome, even loathsome. Better to hire Marina’s crew.

The kitchen remodel. Very far from my thing. Staining the house. Putting in mini-splits. Oh so far away from my thing.

Living alone. I like it. But it does require honestly acknowledging my limitations and finding solutions when necessary. Fortunately, I have adequate resources. Not unending, but enough.

Be like a Lodgepile Pine Branch. When the weight gets too heavy, slough it off and spring back. Be like Maxwell Creek, allow gravity to take you back to the World Ocean. Be like Black Mountain. Stand firm in the midst of Storms, give some of yourself that others might grow, stand out on the horizon of your own life. Be like the Mule Deer, find nourishment up high and down low. Be like the Mountain Lion, hunt carefully and unceasingly for what you need. Be like the Black Bear, when what you need is scarce, slow down, way down and cut back your needs.

 

 

Cooking, Dogs, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Judaism, Literature, Shadow Mountain

Life. Changing.

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Imbolc and the Seoah Citizenship Moon

Monday gratefuls: Kep. Beside me right now, my new loft dog. And my bed warmer. Furniture moved, clutter being forwarded to new, organized locations. Peter coming to hang Herme. Vince who will hang much of my very big art. A whole wall dedicated to Kate, art she loved. The Ukraine. Resistance to tyranny. Always. The way the world was. The way it might yet be. Kate, always Kate. Our 32nd anniversary on Thursday, March 10th.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Snow

 

Spent yesterday moving furniture. Boxes. Bongs. Dog toys. Judaica. Electronics. Purposeful piles of paper. Collections of recipes not yet put in binders. Oh, and books. Always, books. Five more boxes for donations are beside the door ready to load into Ruby. These will go to Goodwill in Evergreen. Easier.

Scoping out the hanging art situation. Vince will be back.  These suckers are heavy. An antique map of the Big Island, a gift from Kate. The second of two of Jerry’s large landscapes. Four or five pieces including Love is Enough, Kate’s retirement present, and her 75th birthday present. Not yet. Not quite. Have to shim up the bookcase. Do a little more kitchen work. Peter will come for Herme. Hopefully this week.

I can see it now. The bones of the new look are in place. Things may require re-organizing as time goes on and as I see how the spaces get used. The kitchen still has a long way to go. The pantry needs creating. With storage containers and spots for all the appliances, large pots and pan. Winnowing and replenishing. I can finish by mid-March.

It will rock my world in a good way when all the pieces are in place. Including the loft. I’m going to have Marina’s crew clean the loft next week, then dive into finishing the re-organizing I started after Kate’s death. Spring. Renewal and rebirth. New life.

Almost done with the Becky Chamber’s series that began with A Long Way to a Small Angry Planet. This is character work at its most ingenious, fleshing out-as it were-not only human personalities, but Aeulons, Harmagians, and Aandrisks. Read the books to see what they are. Worth it.

Next up is Beginner’s Magic, then Ada Palmer’s work. Or, maybe Overstory by Richard Powers. Ruth’s reading that one so I may break out of my sci-fi thing for lit fic. Now that the common room and my level have achieved near lift off I’ll get to reading more. Including non-fiction. Back to the Irreducible Mind. Breathe. The Werewolf in the Ancient World.

I’ve cut my TV watching in half or more. Reading. Glad. However I do have favorites: The Qin Empire: Alliance, Juvenile Justice. Hotel del Luna. Vox Machina. Pennyworth. The Righteous Gemstones. The Book of Bobba Fett. I love access to tv shows made by different nationalities with their own cultural biases and ways of telling stories. Talking story, as the Hawai’ians call it.

The Qin Empire Alliance is one of those. An historical epic, which I also enjoy, about the Warring States period in China. Serialization of a really long book by Sun Haohui. Same title. Five million words. I mean, wow. He wants the series to run up to a 100 episodes. Hope it does because it’s fascinating. I’d read the book, but it has no English translation yet. The longest book I’ve ever read was not War and Peace, which I have read, but The Romance of the Three Kingdoms, a key classic in Chinese literature with several English translations, most of them bad.

At the most demanding time of Kate’s illness I didn’t have much energy for study or writing. So, I watched TV. My favorite in that time period was Resurrection: Ertugrul. It has five seasons and varied in number of episodes from 76 to 90 per season. It calmed me down to revisit this world for several weeks in a row. I could watch TV and be close to Kate who slept nearby.

Wondering now if writing is my thing, or is study? If it is study, to what end? Or, does there have to be an end? A goal beyond learning. Judaism prizes scholarship with no purpose, no reward. I do, too. Might be another reason why I like Judaism so much.

On to making a Container Store order. Organizing kitchen stuff, cabinet by cabinet, shelf by shelf. Fun.

 

Aging, Coronavirus, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Health, Judaism, Politics, Reimagine. Reconstruct. Reenchant., Shadow Mountain, Tarot

the moment when change is possible

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Imbolc and the Moon of Seoah’s Citizenship

Babar on Dick Cavett, Jon Olson, Spark Gallery

Sunday gratefuls: Jon. Spark Gallery. Tom Liker. His paintings. Santa Fe Art District in Denver. Rocky Yama Sushi. Rabbi Jamie. Divorcing. Luke. The Mussar group. MVP. Snow. Cold. The Ancient Brothers. David Sanders. Kep. Ukraine. Zelensky. Kate, always Kate. Rigel. Kristine. Kristie. Erleada. Orgovyx. Prostate cancer. Deer Creek Canyon. Living with, living in spite of, living into. Living.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Rabbi Jamie

Tarot: Two of Vessels, Attraction

 

Accent acute. Accent grave. The cedilla. Diacritical markings. “The word diacritic is a derivative of Greek diakritikos, meaning “separative” or “able to distinguish,” which is based on the prefix dia-, meaning “through” or “across,” and the verb krinein, “to separate.”” Merriam-Webster

Kairos. Another Greek word. This one often used in theology, there translated as crisis. This from wikipedia: ‘the right, critical, or opportune moment’. In modern Greek, kairos also means ‘weather’. It is one of two words that the ancient Greeks had for ‘time’; the other being chronos. Another translation: the moment when change is possible.

We have lived for this whole millennium in interesting times. Since 9/11/2001. That was the first and so far most impactful inflection point. It is easy to separate, to distinguish between the pre-9/11 world and its aftermath in which we still live.

It was a kairos moment, a moment when change was possible, and we chose, through the dark machinations of Rumsfeld, Cheney, Wolfowitz, and their likable stooge, George Bush, Osama Bin Laden’s exact goal: an asymmetrical war considered a holy war, or. better, an unholy war against Muslim’s who co-opted the idea of jihad.

We were in the right; they were in the wrong. Let’s go get’em! Now 21 years later the wreckage of our intervention has left smoking ruins in Afghanistan, Iraq, Syria, and to a lesser extent in Lebanon and Palestine. We’ve spent lives, a trillion dollars or two, but who’s counting, and our reputation as a beacon of liberty. Coming well after another stupid war, the Vietnamese War, these twenty one years have eroded the idea of democracy and helped fuel the rise of oligarchs and autocrats.

Kairos II. A macro problem, let’s call it. Because the next big shock was microscopic, a virus. Can’t even see the damned thing. We’re still not done with it, may never be done with it, and millions have died world wide. We’ve holed up in our houses, become afraid of our neighbors and friends, let alone the maskless vigilantes who so badly misunderstand liberty that they’re dying by the thousands without needing to.

Kairos III. Sorta in the middle of all this, what?, horror? George Floyd. In my former home town, Minneapolis. The San Francisco of the Wheat Belt, a progressive’s dream city if there ever was one. Black Lives Matter. Riots and protests. All over the world. Where did we put that beacon anyhow?

Of course riding high above all this was Kairo Prime of our time, climate change. Super wildfires. Ocean rise. Tumbling condos. Jacked up hurricanes and tornadoes. Changing weather patterns. A lot of record warmth. Uneven rains, 800 year droughts. Geez.

We got a lot going on here as I head into my 75th year. Three quarters of a century and I’ve never seen any time like these last twenty. Even the Vietnam War and the movement seem preparatory, not diacritical as I once thought.

And I have grandchildren. Who have to live into this world we’ve birthed. Yes, none of this had to happen. But cooler heads did not prevail and we got global warming. Peaceniks failed and we got forever wars. The civil rights era came up short and we got George Floyd, Trayon Martin, Ahmaud Arberry. How do I sit down with Ruth and Gabe and say sorry?

I really, really don’t know. Yes, of course love. Yes, of course compassion. Yes, of course justice. Knowing this from the jump doesn’t seem to have saved me from implication as a failure in every kairotic moment, every event diacritically identified here.

And, I’m tired. Not sure I have the eagerness or the energy necessary for another fight. Without a fight how can I hope to live with myself in my last quarter century? Or so.

Yet. Joy. Patience. Loving kindness. Honor. Holiness. Also necessary. Perhaps I can evoke, provoke those? Keep tossing virtues into the collective until something catches fire? I don’t know and I don’t pretend to know.

I do know that I cannot be silent, nor complicit. The chief sins of our age.

 

Family, Feelings, Judaism

The Ancientrail to Joy Winds Through Sadness

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Imbolc and the Moon of Seoah’s Citizenship

I offer you this because it spoke to my own hard-ship over the last year. And I appreciate each of you who read this as one of the members of the crew who has helped me steer to calmer waters, a more joyful place. Reading it can help.

 

Sunday Gratefuls: Rabbi Jamie’s piece in this month’s Shofar, the CBE newsletter.

“…this psalm, Psalm 102, reminded me of an often-overlooked truth. The pathways to the kind of enduring and exalted joy we seek goes through and not around the disappointments, struggles, and tragedies of this life. Holidays like Purim and Passover do not avoid the grave threats of power hungry demagogues like Haman, and dictators like a Pharoah trying to perpetuate a slave-based economy.

With groggers in hand, we read in the scroll of Esther [Megillah] eight chapters of a nightmare scenario before we celebrate an unlikely redemption. Around the Passover table, the jubilant songs of the seder come only after pages of pages of oppression and plagues in the Haggadah.

In our quest for joy, we don’t avoid the hard-ships of life, we steer them, we sail them towards a promised land. We suffer loss and grief because we love with fervor. The extent of the grief parallels the extent of our love. And, the depth of our sadness elevates our eventual joy.

So, we tell the story of our ancestors (Israelite and American) and honestly confront the scars and sins of our past, not to ferment guilt or diminish our sense of pride. We remember and allow ourselves to feel the pain of a legacy of enslavement, oppression, and genocide because this is how we cultivate compassion and inspire acts of lovingkindness. Welcome the stranger because you were strangers in Egypt. And the stories of sadness and grief that we share as part of our holiday rituals are integral to and in service of our journey to joy.

Ivdu et hashem b’simchah. And so, we feast. And when our plates and wine glasses empty and our bellies and hearts fill, prior to offering a blessing following the meal [bircat hamazon], it is customary to chant Psalm 126, a ‘song of ascents:’

It’s like a dream – our mouths filled with laughter our tongues with song…we will rejoice. Those who sow with tears will reap with joy…

Explore the tears, journey through the sadness. You will return with bundles of gladness and joy.

And so may it be. And so it is.

Chag Purim Sameach – Happy Purim!

Chag Kasher v’Sameach – Happy Passover!

Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Our Land and Home, Shadow Mountain, Tarot

Changes

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Imbolc and the Moon of Seoah’s Naturalization

Wednesday gratefuls: Shirley waste. Vince and his laborer. Moving day. Kristine Gonzalez. Kep, my buddy. Rigel, consciousness shifted. Kate. Always Kate. The Ukraine. Russia. Biden. Democrats. He who shall not be named, but will be put in jail. I hope. Sun. Solar power. Snow coming. Warmish weather. Projects. Phases.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Young muscle

Tarot: Knight of Vessels, Eel.

 

And so the day comes round at last. The shifting of furniture, the changing of the house from its care for Kate days to its Hermitage days. I keep hearing in the back of my head, “You’re erasing me.” You said this when I first began to move things in the kitchen to better reflect how I cooked.

Kate, I’m not erasing you. You will be present throughout the house and the loft. In the common room a wall dedicated  to art that you loved. Including Jerry’s big landscape. The bronze statuary. An arts and crafts clock with a turtle tile. In the bedroom the Bailey Patchworker’s quilt remains on the bed. Your sewing room will become a family gathering/celebration space. In the loft your ashes will sit behind my computer, so you’ll be with me while I work. I’m thinking about stenciled Irises in the kitchen. I can see the expanded Iris garden from the loft window. And, the lilac bushes await spring for their second year of growth.

More. Our anniversary comes next week. I’m going to celebrate. Not sure yet, but it will be you and me somehow. Also, the April Big Celebration will include plenty of time for your yahrzeit. No, you are gone as a body, but not as a memory or a presence. Your love, your intelligence, your knowledge, your passion lives on in those of us who loved you and all the patients and their parents you served over many years. Your friends at CBE and Kate’s girls, the Bailey Patchworkers, and the Needleworkers. Each one carries a piece of you in their heart.

But, yes, I am changing things to meet the new life that has emerged after your death and Rigel’s. More conversation around the fireplace. More family and friend meals. Holiday celebrations in your old sewing room. A more Arts and Crafts lower level, a better appointed guest room.

Hey, guess what? You know that thing we couldn’t figure out on the stairway upstairs from the lower level? It’s for cd’s. It held all of the cd’s!

Your life and mine. Intertwined. Now and forever until the end of the universe. No erasing possible.

Vince D’Orio and his brother Preston have come to move everything. Nice guys. Vince replaced John who replaced Ted, all since you died. Vince is the best of the three. He’s young, energetic, personable, friendly, and eager. His brother the same.

Do you think it means something that his brother Preston showed up with a Woolly Mammoth on his hat? Vince’s family came to Long Island from Sicily, then moved to Albuquerque. Now the D’Orio boys are both in Colorado. Vince lives on Warhawk. Preston in Henderson.

Now they’re moving stuff around in our house here on Shadow Mountain. Oh, yeah. And then there’s the house. Which you found. Which you chose because of it’s loft space for me and my library. My eyrie, you wanted to call it. It’s that, too.

You live in my heart and in my memory as a blessing.