Monthly Archives: February 2023

Minnesota, Politics, Shadow Mountain, US History

Could Be Fun

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Imbolc and the Waiting to Cross Moon

Tuesday gratefuls: Happy Camper. Smiling Pig. Furball Cleaning. Chance of Snow. Bahrain Grand Prix Sunday. Red Bull. Ferrari. Mercedes. Aston Martin. Alpine. Alpha Tauri. Williams. McLaren. Haas. Alfa Romeo. Probate. House cleaning. Good sleep. Radiation. Pacific Cod. Breaded. Lodge skillets. Cooking. Findlay and the deer. Max. Kep. Tweaking his meds. Dr. Doverspike.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Workout yesterday. 110 minutes.

 

Down a rabbit hole. A lot of my attention has gone to the Vanity Fair article Diane sent out. Fascinated. No, not going conservative. But the threads of political ideas active in the U.S. have entered a zone of extreme ferment. Not always visible.

Ever since my Alexandria days fringe political movements have interested me. Even then, in the late 1950’s and 60’s, we had the John Birch Society, the Minutemen, and the Ku Klux Klan active in our town. One of our doctors was a Bircher. Founded in 1958 in Indianapolis one of its early members and top financial supporters was Fred Koch, founder of Koch Industries.

Dad published a page or two from the John Birch Blue Book in the Times-Tribune, our local newspaper. It exposed the radical ideas held by Robert Welch, the Society’s Indianapolis based founder. Made me feel good to see Dad take a stand against them.

Both the Birch Society and the Minutemen held strong and in the latter case, violent, anti-communist views. Wikipedia entry: “…observers have stated that the JBS and its beliefs shaped the Republican Party, the Trump administration, and the broader conservative movement.[18][19][20][21] Writing in The Huffington Post, Andrew Reinbach called the JBS “the intellectual seed bank of the right.”[22]”

The KKK passed out leaflets in town from time to time and held recruiting drives at a local restaurant on Highway 9, aka the Highway of Vice Presidents (Dan Quayle and Benjamin Harrison were Hoosiers.)  The Klan has a long and infamous history in American fringe right wing circles, but the Birch Society and its effect on the Koch family has to get its props, too.

What reading the Vanity Fair article did. First. Though perhaps still fringe movements in regard to the larger society the New Right, the Dissident Right, the Christian Nationalists, the Evangelical right, and the Trumpists do have a strong hold on the Grand Old Party. Second. Some, hardly all, but some of the ideas in the article resonated with my back to the land, anti-war, anti-establishment ideas of the late 1960s. Third. Got me wondering about if this might all weave together at some point. Far left. Crunchy right.

Most of all. Back in the day. The day being 1968 in Muncie, Indiana. Not all that far from Indianapolis. I told Bill Hariff, leader of the SDS on Ball State’s campus. I want to be a theoretician for the revolution. I know. Naive. Precious. Maybe even laughable.

Yet. In these days of living on the mountain top. With a deep background in both the history and reality of right wing extremists and far left extremists. BTW: Among whom I still count myself. Could I take on a role as a writer about these movements? Maybe a new weekly blog? Say, notsoAncientrails. Wondering. Or, help organize an online think tank that might do for the next New Left what the Birchers seem to have done for today’s buffet of conservative ideas? Probably both have been done and I don’t know about them. Still. Could be fun.

Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Politics, US History, World History

Jon. Apocalypses.

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Imbolc and the Waiting to Cross Moon

Monday gratefuls: Kep, struggling outside. Jen, anxious about money. Ivory going to a new home. Jon’s house mostly cleaned out. My son managing matters from the middle of the Pacific. Cooling down. 62 yesterday in Aurora. Snow midweek. Doubt about the pain management protocols. Trust your doctors and zip up. OK, Kate. Matters of business. The New Right. The Dissident Right. Conservatives. Integralism. Ways of thinking about our commons. Socialism. Globalism.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Bill and his granddaughter in Atlanta

 

Down to the old house. Jon’s place. Floors still messy, but furniture, piles of clothes, tables. All gone. Almost everything cleaned out. Jen made some decisions about what to keep, what not. Wants to involve the kids. Makes sense. Found Merton’s photographs, slides. E-mailed a pic to BJ.

Jen took home the Bernini, Kate’s fancy sewing machine she bought with her inheritance money from Merton. Also, Kate’s featherweight. A portable Singer sewing machine. A shop Vac and an air compressor. These matters are on their way to a conclusion though still slow. Now six months out from Jon’s death. Have I mentioned MAKE A WILL!

The big dumpster outside Jon’s house had cardboard boxes, furniture, appliances in it up to the brim. A life’s material contents on their way to a landfill. Inside remains photographs, art, Grateful Dead tapes, LP’s, a bicycle. Tools. A printing press. Two dishwashers. ? Some other unconnected appliances Jon intended to put in his kitchen, still bare. A metal sink from our garage. A few boxes of indeterminate things.

The cleaners worked hard. A physical challenge. When Jen and the kids decide what they want to do, the cleaners will finish up and the house will go on the market as a distressed property. I pay the cleaners and may have to cure the mortgage since the bank has begun foreclosure noises.

When the house sells, and the realtor thinks it will go at or above asking and probably fast, I’ll get my money back. He said hopefully. Oh. Did I mention make a will?

 

Onto other less dramatic topics like the various apocalypses on the global stage. Climate change. Still trundling along toward Hothouse Earth. Emissions increasing. The Ukraine. Fighting to the death with a wounded Russian Bear. A dangerous animal with a lot of tooth and claw left. All those displaced Ukrainians. Europe discovering it needs muscle. Again. Same with the Chinese sphere Asian countries like Korea, Japan, Taiwan, the Philippines.

Those American right wingers invested in various gilded back to the land exits. The huddled masses of Mexico and Central America yearning to be Americans.

Racism here in the U.S. White supremacists headed to Idaho and Montana and Wyoming. Different strategies to deny American citizens their vote. Women stuck between a post-Roe abortion wall and unwanted pregnancy. Inflation and high employment running along together. Wildfires, atmospheric rivers, floods, sea level rise, empowered hurricanes. All this the view from the top of Shadow Mountain. Glad to be at 8,800 feet.

Feelings

Late Afternoon Sunday

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Imbolc and the Waiting to Cross Moon

Sunday afternoon gratefuls: Jen. The Ancient Brothers on Soul. Driving down the hill and back up again. Jon’s mess. Get a will! Cod for dinner with Collard Greens.

 

Wanted to reach back to the post where I wondered about feeling depressed. I don’t.

Considered a 30 minute writing session. Did it. Got somewhere. Need to build a routine. I can do that. Also, after reading the Vanity Fair article, I no longer find my CJ Fox jones too light a reading load. He’s writing right into these waves of change happening in our least populated state. If you want to know the zeitgeist as a whole in Wyoming, read Box.

I’m still struggling with the need to be useful as opposed to the need to just quietly become who I am becoming. That’s the frisson. And, it’s a healthy one. I don’t want to leave anything on the table, yet I know I’ve already done as much work as I need to. What things bring me joy? Lift me up? That’s what I’m hunting for now.

So, please disregard any mentions of depression. Tune into the first F1 race of the season this Friday in Bahrain. Dance a jig. Talk to your Black granddaughter in Atlanta. Watch Findlay hunt deer. Be soulful with your 16 inches of Winter.

Amen.

Dogs, Health, Politics, Shadow Mountain, The West, US History, World History

Kepler. The New Right and the West.

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Imbolc and the Waiting to Cross Moon

Sunday gratefuls: Dr. Doverspike. A man of high energy. And, acupuncture. Kep, the confused. So much adulting this weekend. Dogs. Doverspike’s Mesa. Powder hounds. Alan and Cheri, tired. Very tired. That article from Vanity Fair that Diane sent me. Ukraine, a year in. Soul Food Cook Off. The New Right and the Far Right. Christian Nationalism. Back to blood and soil. A fermenting politics of imminent doom. Good news for Kep.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Kep’s pain management

 

So. Much. To.

Let’s start with the pain management and mobility vet, Dr. Doverspike. He drove up at 11am yesterday, a 13 year old German Shepherd in the backseat of his Audi. She goes with him on house calls. Glad she didn’t come in. I would like to have met her, but Kep. Not so much.

He watched Kep move, take his slow way up the stairs from the lower level. When Kep finally got up, Doverspike took off his stethoscope. Listened. Pressed Kep’s back legs in several different spots.

Not what I thought. Not torn cruciate ligaments. Muscle weakness. We can bring him to near 100 percent.

We’ll see, but I want him to be right. He gave Kep an injection, a pregabbepetin capsule and inserted acupuncture needles along his spine and along his shoulder blades.

He’s the nicest Akita I’ve ever met. I get that a lot. Well, it’s a testimony to you. (And, Joe and Kate)

Dr. Doverspike has a multi-modal approach to pain. Acupuncture. Different meds. Physical therapy. I have to have Kep stand on the same soft blue plastic device I use for balance. Each back leg, five minutes. Every day.

Doverspike will come weekly until Kep improves. Then monthly. Then maybe every three months. He does acupuncture each visit. A former Florida guy, but before that Colorado, he lives in Conifer now with his wife. His practice, Mesa pain management and mobility, gets its name from Mesa, his first German Shepherd. She went back country skiing with him. Including jumping off cornices. Often steep ones.

If he succeeds in getting Kep’s back legs better, I’m sure Kep will live longer. So, go Dr. Doverspike. Not cheap, however.

 

Cousin Diane found this article in Vanity Fair, Inside the New Right’s Next Frontier, the American West. It fits with this article from the Washington Post about northern Idaho, ‘Christian patriots’ are flocking from blue states to Idaho, and this one from the New York Times: How Montana Took a Hard Right Turn Toward Christian Nationalism.

The Vanity Fair article focuses more on Wyoming while also taking a much broader look at the New Right. Including tech billionaires who want to build city-states and crypto countries. I plan to reread the Vanity Fair article and match it to some other reading I’ve been doing this year about the Far Right.

Though anti-globalism features as one of the big ideas promoted by nearly all camps represented in the Vanity Fair article Diane points out the frequent references to Orban in Hungary, the new far right Italian Prime Minister, Giorgia Meloni, and even Narendra Modi, Prime Minister of India, the Hindu nationalist. Anti-globalists, eh?

Diane and I both agreed on the privileged nature of those seeking the right to exit. There are deep peculiarities and ironies here, too. Many who to seek to exit have an almost back to the land reverence for nature. Many are also anti-big corporation and all are definitely anti-establishment. There’s a lot to think  about, talk about. Something’s happening here, what it is is not exactly clear.

 

 

Acting, Astrology, Cinema and Television, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Health, Hermitage, Judaism, Literature, Shadow Mountain, Writing

Young Men’s Dreams, an Old Man’s, too

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Imbolc and the Waiting to Cross Moon

Saturday gratefuls: Tal. Bread Lounge. F1. Red Bull. Scuderia Ferrari. Mercedes. Charles LeClerc. Max Verstappen. Carlos Sainz. A hobby. I think. Warming. Snow melting. Dr. Doverspike. Coming today. Kep, the early. His rear legs. Love for and from him. Tal’s dream. His own theater company. Like the Group of the early 1920’s. Young men’s dreams. Old men’s dreams.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Dreams

 

Had lunch with Tal. He got let go at Evergreen Players where I had taken two acting classes from him. Budget. He landed on his dream. He’s doing two acting classes right now, holding them at CBE. American Jewish Playwrights and Improv.

His plan. Build a theater company based on the Group, a late 1920’s creation of Lee Strasberg and others. An ensemble, The Group often performed plays written for them, using the same pool of actors, the Group, to cast each play. Tal wants to develop an ensemble which will choose plays and perform them, directed by himself. The plays will fit the ensemble rather than assembling a cast to fit the play. He had the first board meeting for his company last week.

Luke, too. Wanting to work with the things he loves: Tarot and Astrology and Art. A young man with a dream. He had an interview two days ago with Judaism Yourway for a tech position with them. If he gets it, it could fund his developing a practice with Tarot and Astrology. Give him more time to develop his art.

The late twenties, early thirties. A time for exploration. Testing the self. Trying this, then that. Who will I be? Who can I be? When will it happen for me? Dreaming with them both. An old man’s dream, may these young men realize theirs.

 

This old man has dreams, too. He wants to write a book, another book. That one about the pagan life. About finding and developing a love for Mother Earth and Father Sun. But. He’s stuck. Maybe depressed?

I have plenty of time. Plenty of material, both original and researched. I know how to stick with a project until I have completed manuscripts. Yet. I’m not writing. Not even picking up a keyboard.

Maybe the deep sadness over cancer has combined with suppressed feelings over Kate’s long illness and death, over Jon’s life, his divorce, his death, and Ruth’s mental health to cast a darker pall over me than I’ve known. Recognized.

When I worked with Alan and Cheri last weekend, I discovered I had stamina. Yet when I come home, I fall into routines. Some helpful. Like Ancientrails. Like caring for Kep. Though I’ve not been as good a dad as he’s needed of late. Zooming with friends and family. Zoomies. Exercise. Cooking for myself.

But my reading has tailed off into finishing CJ Box’s long Joe Pickett series. I watch too much tv. I don’t feel energetic at home. One or two events outside of the house and I’m done with my day. Yes, there’s the trifecta: low testosterone, altitude, and my funky diaphragm. And, yes, they affect me. But I’m beginning to think my low energy may have deeper and other roots.

Not sure where to go with this. Not sure I’m right. Paying attention in a different way now.

Dogs, Sport

Kep. F1

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Imbolc and the Waiting to Cross Moon

Friday gratefuls: Kep. My sweet Kep. Tal. Alan and Cheri. Cold Nights. Snow. Dr. Doverspike. Coming to the house. Pain management. Phase 1 of Jon’s house cleaning complete. Title cleared for Rav4. Richard from the DMV. A kind man. Driving to Evergreen. Through the Mountain Valley. The Bread Lounge. Soul Food Cookoff. Jazz. African-American history. Those who fight systemic racism.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Soul

 

Kep. Tried to take him to the vet yesterday. He would not put his front legs in the car so I could help him. I can’t lift him. Two olds together. Got a referral to a vet who will come to the house. Dr. Doverspike. He’s a pain management and mobility specialist as well as a doggy dentist. Lives in Conifer.

Kep’s eating well. His allergies aren’t bothering him. He’s healthy except for his two rear legs. Which is a big exception. I have one more move I can make for him. Transfer his food and treats down to the lower level. That way he never has to leave it. He can walk outside with no steps. I’ve brought the big rug down so he has traction on the floor. I don’t like to restrict him like that, but the five steps up to the main level have proved increasingly difficult for him.

Death’s not imminent, but his days grow shorter. Like me. Like many of you who read this blog. To paraphrase Ram Dass: I’m just walking him home. As he has walked me.

 

Signed up for F1 TV. Watch races, documentaries, coverage of qualifying and testing. Bought subscriptions, as I may  have mentioned, to Road and Track and Motorsports. Read them regularly now. One interesting part of that reading is the angst felt and often conveyed right across the racing and motoring world. One writer referred to them as our beloved dirty, filthy sports.

Awareness of climate change has rippled through all racing events: F1, Indycar, rally, endurance, sports car/hypercar racing, motorcycle racing. F1 has an E race series. The engines in F1 though still gas have pioneered many fuel sparing innovations. There are very fast electric motorbikes. Right now the events featuring E vehicles have issues. But they’re being solved. One is battery life. They need fast charging, but don’t have it yet. Another is weight. Yet another is, oddly, lack of noise. What’s a race with no thumping and growling of exhausts?

Road and Track had an interesting video on its website of the new, 2024 release Dodge E muscle car. The muscle part is easy. Remember Tesla’s ludicrous mode? But at least for now the lack of noise is a problem. This video showcased the latest iteration of the Dodge E’s artificial rumbling. Sounded pretty good, not perfect. A little, what, manufactured?

I wonder if F1 E will add that in? Weight is always an issue in racing so having to add a sound system? Not an insignificant ask of drivers and teams.

Anyhow this former Hoosier reclaims a fun and indelible part of his childhood, car racing.

 

 

Cooking, Dogs, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Health, Hermitage, Judaism, Mountains, Plants, Shadow Mountain

Glad

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Imbolc and the Waiting to Cross Moon

Thursday gratefuls: Mauve Sky through the Snow laden Lodgepoles. Beautiful. Fresh Snow. Cold temps. -8 last night. Probate. My son working hard. Jon’s house cleaned almost. Jen and I go through it on Saturday. Title for the Rav4 cleared today. Salmon tonight. Alan and Cheri, moving. Tom, who leads and builds. Kep to the vet today. Dr. Simpson. Hep B. Diane. Mary in a hip new apartment building. Eau Claire.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: My son

BTW: my son is a security choice for him.

 

The cleaners have done the first pass on Jon’s place. Jen and I will go through it on Saturday, identify what needs to go to storage and how much space we’ll need to rent. The cleaners will move those items to storage, then complete the clean out. House on the market next week. Maybe. At a decent price. Not a great one, but the market shifted a lot over the last six months and is in a weird place right now. Seems well considered.

I’m going to the DMV today to sort out the title for the Rav4 and will take that to Jen on Saturday. Then it’s hers and Ruth’s. After the house sells, the next step will be Jon’s pension and mutual funds. At that point? Finis. The whole sad saga can move on into the lives of Ruth and Gabe, me. I still have his ashes, for example. I hope we can organize an exhibition of his art at some point. Perhaps sell some for the kids.

With the probate process taking so long there’s been no chance for closure. A constant reminder of the negligent side of Jon. Grated against all of us. Including Ruth and Gabe. When the house sells, Ivory goes to Galena Street, with the storage unit filled and the money issues settled, we’ll all be able to remember the artist, the teacher, the dad, the stepson, the sensitive and so bright guy he was. Those will, as they should, grow to overshadow his struggles, allow his fullness to come back into our hearts.

My son had all this work lined up and ready to go last September. His work as Jon’s personal representative has been an act of brotherly love. Typical of him. He and Jon were close.

May Jon’s memory be for a blessing.

 

Kep goes into the vet this afternoon. See if we can do anything to help his hind legs. Though I doubt it. Check his sight and hearing. There again. Little to be done, I’m sure. Good to have a look. Maybe some pain meds? I don’t think he’s in pain, but I want to be sure.

 

Alan and Cheri. Moving down the hill today. After 27 years. A big moment for them. Right into the heart of Denver. City folk.

 

Mountain life. I’ve stuck with it. And am glad I did. Seeing the Snow on Black Mountain. A Fire in the fireplace. Deepening relationships with CBE folk. Experiencing the benefits of doctors who know me and want me to thrive. Staying connected with folks near and far. Family and friends. Alone, but not lonely on Shadow Mountain. A wonderful house. A good gym setup. Books. Entertainment. A kitchen that inspires me to cook. A soon to be newly painted interior.

 

Asia, Dogs, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Health, Hermitage, Korea, Politics, Shadow Mountain, US History, World History

Pruning. Oblation. China.

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Imbolc and the Waiting to Cross Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: Snow. Cool night. Kep, the early. Now, me too. Good boy! Dr. Simpson. Radiation oblation. Hep B. My son. His wife. Korea. Korean. Hangul. English. Animas chocolates. Thanks again, Mary. Liminal spaces. Lenticular Clouds. The Clouds before a Snow Storm. Mountain Weather. Sano Vet. Palmini. Safeway. Grocery pickup. Stinkers for gas. And quarts of milk.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Moving forward

 

Quite a day yesterday. Robin and Michele came. All the art is off the upstairs walls. Means Doug can start the first of March. Main level. Garden Path green. The upstairs door will be Backwoods green. Benjamin Moore. They also removed all the clothing I thinned out from the walk in closet. A lot. Coats. Shirts. Shoes. Sport Coats. Michele moved all of the photographs into the closet and consolidated my clothes on one side. She also took an area rug I no longer wanted.

Kate’s molas from the Cuna Indians are now in a pile on the table. All her sewing related art, too. Everything is off the fireplace mantel. Once Doug is done I’ll have some fun rehanging art. Herme will have to come down for a while. Excited about the new colors.

Also excited about the leaner feeling the house has now. When I’m ready to move, most of what’s left will go with me. Except for the books. The books have got to slim down. Way, way down. Way down. But I have four years for that painful process. One more visit with Robin and Michele. Then, I’ll be done for now. Three more closets (smaller). Linens and towels. Perhaps once more through the kitchen.

 

Also a long conversation with Dr. Simpson. The pros and cons of radiation for my two mildly active mets. It probably won’t increase your survival, but it will increase the amount of time you can be off the drugs. Oh. The drug holiday coming this summer. So. In terms of risk and benefit? Worth it since the quality of my life is high and a longer drug holiday will enhance it.

Downsides. Possible bowel obstruction. Possible chronic pain. Possible paralysis. But the odds are very low for those. Decided to go for it. Dr. Simpson’s a good guy. We decided together, Let’s treat it!

Will get started sometime soon. Probably eight sessions in all. See the old gang. If they’re still there. I know Carmela is because I’ve talked to her on the phone.

 

China and Russia. Share a long border. 2600 miles. Little real history together in spite of that. Very different cultures. And a lot of that border is far away from centers of population. Bonded now though by their enmity towards the U.S. Putin’s Russia also abhors the decadent West. As in Europe. I can imagine them imagining a war where they guard each others flanks and project power east in the instance of China and west in the instance of Russia.

I don’t think China understands how weak Russia really is. Their military has suffered tremendously already in the Ukraine. And will suffer more.

And China may not understand how determined the U.S. is. We’ve made partnerships with Korea, Japan, the Philippines, Australia. Even Vietnam. That means for China to get to our mainland they would have to send out ships and planes from their mainland, through a gauntlet of U.S. allies.

Just thinking out loud here.

Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Health, Hermitage, Judaism, Mountains, Plants, Politics, Reimagine. Reconstruct. Reenchant.

Digging in

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Imbolc and the Waiting to Cross Moon

Tuesday gratefuls: Dr. Eigner. Orgovyx. Erleada. Sushi. Okinawa. Insurance companies dropping neighbors for home insurance.The Dark. Sun unseen. Kep, the early. Extending my mornings. Sano Vet. Thursday. My son and his wife. Murdoch. Love over the internet. Golf. For them. Wiring up the loft door. High winds. Cooling temps. Shadow Mountain. Shadow Brook. Conifer and Black Mountains. Berrian Mountain. Bergen Mountain. Korean fried chicken.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Dr. Eigner

 

80 mph gusts here on Shadow Mountain yesterday. Blew my loft doors open. Lifted the ceiling tile covering the entrance to the loft’s rafters. Due to damage to the doors that I imagine occurred during a similar event I had to wire the door to a broom handle placed on the other side of the railing for my deck. Actually enjoyed the problem solving, the act. Agency. Winds continue this morning. A big change in Weather coming.

 

Three questions for Dr. Eigner, my oncologist: Will I live long enough to follow my son to Hawai’i? Should I radiate my two mets at T3 and on my left pelvic lymph node? I’ve been feeling sad about having cancer. Is that usual?

You will die of old age. Have I been wrong? Sure. But not often. New treatments every year. Orgovyx and Erleada didn’t exist when we first saw you. Your PSA has been undetectable for almost two years.

How long do you plan to live? To 90 or so. Then treat the mets. If you’d said, 80 or 85, I’d say no.

Why has it taken you eight years to feel sad? This is so common I have plans for managing it. If you were depressed, I’d contact your primary for anti-depressants. Exercise helps your mood, too. We treat the whole person.

Given the Vascular Institute results and the Rocky Mountain Pulmonary Intensivists results: no problem here, dude. And Eigner yesterday. I’m digging in for the long haul.

Talk to Dr. Simpson today to schedule my radiation. A brief treatment, 3-5 sessions.

 

Rabbi Jamie asked me what kind of ritual I would like to clothe this threshold crossing in? See the O’Donohue post. Told him I’d appreciate a consult. Then ideas began to come. CBE is planting trees this spring for a memorial garden. Folks who do human composting or aquamation can have their remains scattered up there. I might help pay for the trees.

Then another idea. I wrote a poem a while back that had this line it: Death’s door opens both ways. An image of a door, a free standing door. With old West saloon doors in the shape of wings. Death’s door opens both ways inscribed on both doors. In Latin. Of it burning up as I walk through. Having a strong cohort of friends plus Ruth and Gabe walk me up to it, then go around on the other side to greet me. Maybe some music.

I’m having lunch on Friday with Tal. Gonna ask if he knows a stage carpenter who might be able to make this happen. Not ready yet, but preparation is good.

 

How bout that Biden? Sneaky. Going to the Ukraine. And Putin. Pulling out of the nuclear arms treaty? And my son going to Korea. For four years. Yikes.

Anoka County, Bees, Colorado, Dogs, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Garden, Health, Hermitage, Jefferson County, Judaism, Memories, Minnesota, Mountains, Our Land and Home, Plants, Shadow Mountain, The Move, Writing

Waiting To Cross

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Imbolc and the Waiting to Cross Moon

Monday gratefuls: Dr. Eigner. Dr. Simpson. Kep, the early. Snow. More Snow. Mild temperatures. The Ukraine. Biden. The James Webb. Tom and Bill, the science bros. Max, getting older. Ode, the well-rooted wanderer. Paul, the steadfast. Alan, the cheerful. The Ancient Brothers, a true Sangha. Zoom. Korean fried chicken. Jon, a memory. Kate, always Kate. Ivory. Ruby. Oncology.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: The Ancient Brothers

 

So I said it out loud. My reaction to mom’s death turned me from a confident, ready to take on the world teenager to a frightened, hesitant young adult. One who dropped German because he was failing it. Shame. One who convinced himself there was not enough money for Wabash because he was afraid to go back. Shame. One who entered then a great teacher’s college, but a mediocre university. Ball State University. Shame.

Not a lot of shame in my life. Very little. That’s where it lies. Perhaps now having put it out there. So late. 76. It will fall away. It took me years, nearly three decades, to put the pain of her death in perspective. Treatment for alcoholism. Quitting smoking. Quitting the ministry. Years of Jungian analysis. Finally. Meeting Kate. 26 years later. I finally passed the threshold of grieving mom’s death.

And started living my life. As a writer. A gardener. A dog lover. A beekeeper. An anachronistic blogger. With a woman who loved me as I was and one whom I loved as she was. A love where we wanted and supported the best life for each other. We traveled. A lot. We stood with both sons fully.

Abundance. Yes. Ode’s word for our Andover home. Yes. Flowers. Meadow. Fruits. Nuts. Berries. Grapes. Honey. Plums. Pears. Apples. Cherries. Iris. Tulips. Spring ephemerals. Roses. Hosta. Gooseberries. Beans. Heirloom tomatoes. Leeks. Garlic. Onions. Kale. Collard Greens. Lettuce. Carrots. Ground Cherry. Raspberries.

The fire pit. The woods.

The dogs. So many dogs. Celt. Sorsha. Morgana. Scot. Tira. Tully. Orion. Tor. The Wolfhounds. Iris. Buck. Hilo. Emma. Kona. Bridget. The Whippets. Vega and Rigel. The IW/Coyote Hound sisters. Gertie, the German Short Hair. And Kep, the Akita.

It was so good. Until the work became burdensome. Until I visited Colorado one year and Ruth ran away from the door because she didn’t expect me. A surprise visit. Then we had to come. The two. A push. The work of Seven Oaks had become too much. A pull. We wanted, needed to be there for Ruth and Gabe.

So we packed everything up. And on the Winter Solstice of 2014 moved here, to the top of Shadow Mountain. 8,800 feet above sea level. Into the Wildland/Urban Interface, the WUI. With four dogs: Kep, Gertie, Rigel, and Vega. Again, thanks to Tom for helping with the dog move.

When the time came, we put away Andover and envisioned a life together in the Rocky Mountains. Kate felt like she was on vacation every day until she died. Where she found the Jewish life she had always wanted. Where we both found ourselves immersed in the lives of our grandchildren, of their parents.

Now Kate is dead. Vega is dead. Gertie is dead. Rigel is dead. Only Kep and I remain alive. I’m at another threshold, waiting to cross.