Monthly Archives: October 2025

Dogs, Family, Health, Holidays, Travel

Ometz Lev

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Mabon and the Samhain Moon

Tuesday gratefuls: Ruth, two years sober. Paul, hearing Yo-Yo Ma. Tom and his PET scan. Dr. Bupathi. Metastases. Radiation. The maze at Swedish. Shadow, the good girl. Kate, always Kate. Driving down the hill and back again. Frost, the third. Sleep. Ruby and her snowshoes. On next Monday. Winter is coming.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Sobriety

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah:  Ometz Lev.  Courage of the heart.

Tarot: Paused

One brief shining: As I drove around and around, trying to find valet parking, hidden in a frustrating maze of blocked roads and Kafkaesque detours, I knew the results of my PET scan awaited me, if only I could find a parking spot, each circuit seeming to put me further and further away from information I needed, needed, not wanted.

 

Health: I finally found a spot, a handicap spot in a parking garage I could have used much earlier, if I hadn’t been trapped in my ruminations. What will the new PET scan show?

The mystery of the slow rise in my PSA solved. One metastases enlarged from 8.8 to 52. A big jump. It’s on my T-4 vertebrae. Not a great spot. Dr. Bupathi has referred me back to Dr. Leonard, my radiation oncologist, to kill it. But. Need an MRI of my back first to be sure there is no nerve involvement. This time I’ll need anesthesia for the imaging.

My cancer has begun to push against the Erleada and the Orgovyx. Slipping toward the hormone resistant stage though if the radiation can kill this one, I might stave it off a while longer. On the other hand my other mets were stable to improved. That is good.

I had planned to stop at Noodles and pick up some comfort Mac and Cheese, but after my maze runner hunt I wanted to get home, see Shadow, consider all this.

Now an in-between before the MRI, then another before the radiation, and another until l know the results of the radiation. These will test my resolve to live in between. So many high stakes moments in such a short space of time.

Meanwhile, the back pain story continues on, a slow rolling melodrama with a potential finish in early November. And, just for completeness I’ve tried to adapt to a foam collar for my neck. Haven’t found the right one. Feels, well, weird. A journey  just begun.

 

A look back: In 2004 I took an early November trip to Southeast Asia, starting in my sister Mary’s Singapore. My week there happened to coincide with the second election of George Bush, Ramadan, and Diwali, the Hindu festival of lights. It’s underway this year in late October.

We went to Little India and saw the place lit up for this joyous, light filled holiday. That was fun for this Midwestern guy, but the peak came in the wee hours of the morning. At Sri Mariamman Temple. The oldest Hindu Temple in Singapore, it features, during Diwali, firewalking.

Mary and I walked the empty streets of China Town, which had closed around this temple built in 1893, and found a long line of people waiting for their chance to walk on hot coals, immerse their feet in a milk bath, then be caught by volunteers.

Of most interest to me were the folks at the end of the line, all women. We talked with some of them and found that their inclusion in the ceremony had come only recently, feminism changing even this thousands of years old ritual. Gave me hope for the world.

 

Health, Sport

Living in the in-betweens

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Mabon and the Harvest Moon’s 1% crescent

Monday gratefuls: Shadow chewing on her Kong lobster. Rich, a good friend. Dr. Bupathi. PET scan. Night and all it nourishes. Shohei Otani. The GOAT. My son, his empathy. Seoah, her joy. Murdoch, his life with them. South Korea. Everwood. Loot. The Morning Show. Apple TV. A Brief History of the Earth. Tom. Bill. Ode. Paul.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Life

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah:  Ometz Lev.  Courage of the heart.

Tarot: Paused

One brief shining: When I sleep, the night air comes in over my head with the scent of Lodgepole Pines and wet Aspen leaves; out the window lies Cassiopeia, so far away, yet so faithful, Polaris, our true North Star, found by following the tail of Ursa Major while down here Ursus americanus, the Black Bear, grows fatter and fatter, ready to sleep as the Winter Constellations climb into their long Night Sky.

 

The In-Betweens: A lesson from cancer patients for the rest of you. No matter the type of cancer, you have follow ups, even if it’s in remission. The periodicity of the follow ups tells the tale of how likely a sudden change is. In the best case the follow ups start more frequently, say every three months for a couple of years, then every six months or even annually.

No matter the intervals we all live in the in-between, that is, the time between one follow up and another. As the date of a follow up nears, say a blood test or an imaging procedure, we often experience what some call scanxeity-a heightened worry that this time, this follow up will reveal either a cancer’s return or its progression.

Since 2018 I’ve had follow up blood tests every three months with a PET scan once a year. Due to a recent rise in my PSA from .2 to .3 I have had another blood test, then a PET scan even though I had one back in May. This last to check for changes in my metastases. My in-between now in weeks, not months. May not last, but for right now it’s what I need.

If you cannot learn to live your life in the in-betweens, you allow cancer to ruin your life before you die. I’ve had times, as recently as last November, when the pressure of a possible change to my status got to me. At an appointment when I thought I would get information, there was none. I got mad though really I was anxious. Turned out to be a false alarm but I lost a week of my life to anxiety. I wasn’t living in my in-betweens.

In a very real sense life itself is an in-between, lying between what the Mexica called a sleep and a sleep. Or, that time after you took a test, submitted a paper and the posting of grades. Between an interview and a hiring decision. Between one pitch, one throw down field and the next.

Whatever your in-betweens they are when your life happens. Live, don’t curl up or go jittery. Live in the in-betweens.

 

Sports: I have to remark on Shohei Otani’s majestic game 4 of the National League playoffs, Dodgers v Milwaukee. After an opening walk Shohei the pitcher got three strike-outs, then as lead off batter in the Dodger line-up smashed a home run. He would go on to pitch 6 scoreless innings with 10 strikeouts and hit two more home runs, one that cleared the roof of Dodger Stadium. Probably the greatest game for a single player in the entire history of baseball.

 

Judaism, Torah

Talmud Torah

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Mabon and the Harvest Moon

Sunday gratefuls: Mother Earth. Talmud Torah. Bagels. Cream Cheese. Rosemary bagels. The Morning Service. Kabbalah. Nefesh. Ruach. Neshama. Robbintson, Maine. Shorewood. The Twin Cities. Homes of the Ancient Brothers. Rocky Mountains. Wild Neighbors. The Bears in hyperphagia, getting fat. Elk Bulls, rutting and locking horns. Mule Deer Bucks, too. All timing for optimal Spring time emergence. Clear Colorado Blue Skies. Puffy Cumuli.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Clouds and the Water Cycle

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah: Ometz Lev. Courage of the heart.

Tarot: paused

One brief shining: Steve Horowitz worked the bagel slicer, sesame seeds dropping to the table, while others passed out paper plates, napkins, and a kitchen knife for the schmear; Cassie reached up behind her and pulled maroon Tanakhs and Siddurs to pass around while Jamie fiddled with his computer so our Canadian friend Bev could join for our study of Bereshit, the first parsha in the Torah cycle.

 

Torah study (Talmud Torah): Since seminary, I’ve loved serious study of the Bible, both what I once knew as the Old and New Testaments, and now Tanakh, which contains the Torah (which means learnings), the Prophets, and the Writings.

Why do I love this? Not always sure. I used to enjoy the exegetical methods of higher criticism which used language (Hebrew, Greek, Aramaic), textual analysis, understanding of traditional forms like the blessing and the curse, historical background, and even how a text had been understood in the past to reach a best sense of what a text meant to the people who wrote it. The real “meaning” of the text. As close to the presumed true understanding of the text as we could get.

Now though in study of the Torah I have encountered a more ancient way of using the biblical text. Jews do not hunt for the real meaning of a text, do not seek a singular truth as it must  have been understood, rather we seek a particular understanding for this day, this moment.

We read the Torah in parshas, often several chapters long and divided so the whole Torah can be read in one year, parshas that have been read and reread for over three thousand years, so many truths.

Jews view the Torah through the prism of language, sure, but they also view it through the prism of interpretations called midrash, the understandings of Rabbis collected throughout the centuries. And midrash is not finished. Each Jew is expected to bring their own mind and heart to understanding the text.

Different ways of reading a text are not only expected, but celebrated. Two Jews, three opinions. There is no truth, no fixed meaning to be found, only encounters with the text on a particular day, by particular people seeking their truth, for that day, for that text. And when the creation story(s) come up again, as they do right now in the Jewish liturgical year we may understand the majestic and orderly first creation story, “In the beginning…” (bereshit), in a way very different from the way we understood it last year.

Friends, Memories, Mountains

Living In a Small Town

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Mabon and the Harvest Moon

Shabbat gratefuls: Joanne and Joe. Derek. Vince. Shadow. Israel. Gaza. Palestinians. Arabs. Mark in Hafar. My Lodgepole, a living Tree. Cut down. A leaner after heavy Winds. Tara and Jamie. RMCC. Dr. Bupathi. Maddie. Social Worker and RN. Palliative care. My PET scan.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Shabbat

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah: Ometz Lev.   Bravery of the heart.  Seeing my medical oncologist, Dr. Bupathi, on Monday.

One brief shining: Jackie and Rhonda, dispensing love in, as Rhonda’s shirt said, Small Acts (that) Change the World; a lot like Cheers where everybody knows my name and by simply knowing my name makes my day brighter, more.

 

Living in a small town (Mellencamp): Yes, Alexandria. 5,000 people in my time there: 1949-1965. Walk everywhere. To Cox’s Grocery Store. To the Methodist Church. To Thurston Elementary School. Bailey’s Drug Store. The Carnegie Library. The Town Theater or the Alex. Walking meant running into people you knew well and people you knew only slightly. Always.

Alexandria shaped my idea of how life was supposed to go. Not in an urban environment where most of the time you had no idea who you saw in the grocery store, who sat down next to you in a restaurant, but rather as part of a thick web of people who knew each other at least well enough to nod with recognition.

This meant kids were safe to wander the streets because everyone knew who you belonged to. This also meant getting into trouble would always get back to your parents. Always.

I most remember the shoe leather and glue smells of Guilkey’s Shoe Repair. The cool humid ramp that led down to the children’s room of the Alexandria Carnegie Library. And, the Silver Llama, my favorite book which resided there. Those reading competitions in the summer.

Or, having a fizzy soda at the soda fountain in Bailey’s Drug Store. Buying Cinnamon extract there in liquid form, then putting toothpicks in it to savor later. Benefield’s Market, right next to Kildow’s Paint Store where, during lunch break at junior high, we’d all go to buy penny candy.

That high diving board in the pool at Beulah Park. I never did summon the courage to go off it though I did pass my swimming test so I could go in the deep end of the pool.

For some reason, lost in the history of Madison County, the Madison County 4-H fair was held in Beulah Park each August, not in Anderson, the county seat. I loved the buttermilk from the Alexandria Dairy Booth. A small Dixie cup. Salt and Pepper.  Mmmm. Looked forward to that.

Now I live in two small Mountain towns, Conifer and Evergreen. When I see Jackie and Rhonda, I feel right back in a small town. They know me, knew Kate. I know them. I know about Jackie’s son who recently divorced that (very wrong according to Jackie) woman and now lives back up the hill in little Shawnee. I saw Rhonda’s new purse. We all laughed at Tom’s joke about the Guinness Book of World Records. Living in a small town.

 

Friends, Health, Sport

Pay Better Attention

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Mabon and the Harvest Moon

Friday gratefuls: Jamie Bernstein. Living in the in-betweens. More lidocaine. Ablations in a month. Shadow of the morning. A hard freeze. Artemis with her cold frames. Harvesting more Tomatoes today. All the Spinach, Kale, and Beets soon. Dr. Vu. Mountain View Pain Center. Our poor benighted country. The Dodgers! The Blue Jays.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: That feeling high in my chest when I turn onto 285 and head into the Mountains

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei and my trainer, Shadow

Week Kavannah: Simcha. Joy.    The Grateful Dead.

Tarot: Paused

One brief shining: My friend Jamie told me she now relies on anecdotes to get her through the day relaying the story of the young Mule Deer Buck who ran onto 285 and hit her car a glancing blow then bounded off across the highway causing her to pull over to the side and the man passing by who stopped, ran back to her and gave her a hug while she cried.

 

Health (correction): Jamie Bernstein was one of Kate’s closest friends. A former hospital administrator and a very bright woman, she gave me a ride yesterday to Lone Tree. We had a lot of fun trading stories, bemoaning life in Trump’s golden shower America. Her husband, Steve, has a very aggressive form of prostate cancer, currently calmed down thanks to a clinical trial. Enough so that he’s playing golf again.

(The Correction): So. Either I didn’t pay attention, or it was not explained to me, but I had to have two rounds of lidocaine injections, not one. Means these were not ablations this week. Damn it. Rather two more doses, left and right side, of lidocaine injections, the same as I had two weeks ago.

I see Kylie, my pain doc, in yet two more weeks. She evaluates the results of the lidocaine trials and relays them to my insurance company. Then, and only then, do I get cleared for the actual ablations. Which may be two weeks from that visit if not more. Sigh.

Conclusion. Pay better attention.

 

Sports: Baseball playoffs. Japanese pitchers: Ohtani and Yamamoto for the Dodgers. Toronto Blue Jays tie the American League playoff series. I love the obvious, so obvious diversity of Asian baseball players especially when added to the so fine possibility of that Canadian team, the Toronto Blue Jays, winning their way into the World Series. Take that you dimwitted gold plated simulacrum of a human being.

Watched a bit of the Steelers v Bengals last night. Aaron Rodgers and Joe Flacco behind center. Both over forty. Both new to their respective teams. Flacco only ten days a Bengal. They both looked good, taking quick reads, passing fast.  Wonder if we’ll see quarterbacks with AARP cards in their wallet?

How about Caitlin Clark? Playing in the Annika pro-am golf tournament in November. Sort of a female Michael Jordan thing, eh? Well, maybe not. Here’s what she promised her fans on Instagram: “Will try not to hit anyone 🙏,” she captioned the post.

Dogs, Health, Judaism

Tzelem Elohim

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Mabon and the Harvest Moon

Thursday gratefuls: Dr. Vu. Tara. The Grateful Dead. Ablation #1. Feeling sore, but better. Ablation #2 today. Shadow. Who missed me. Darkness increasing. Back to Standard Time. Oh, joy. Carl Hiaasen. Israel. Gaza. Vincent. Rich. DJT at home divider and vengeance seeker. A cool Breeze. A long Fall.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Ablation #1

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei and my trainer, Shadow

Week Kavannah: Simcha. Joy.    The Grateful Dead.

Tarot: Paused

One brief shining: Once again face down, shirt and pants scooched up, numbing shot you’ll feel a pinch, ouch, moments later, with Sugaree playing in the background, you’re all done, and my first ablation had ended, belt back on, out to sit in the waiting room, no fainting, and I’m off for home.

 

Health: My good friend Tara picked me up and drove me to Lone Tree. Dr. Vu worked his needle magic on the left side of my spine, sending radiofrequency energy at various nerves heating the nerves to around 176 degrees, and creating a tiny lesion which blocks the pain signal to the brain.

I’ve bonded with Dr. Vu and his med tech over the Grateful Dead, so they played Sugaree while doing my procedure. When they come to call on you, take your poor body down, Sugaree, just one thing I ask of you, please forget you knew my name, my darling Sugaree.

Tara took me home. Still sore from my needle pokes, but that will abate. Hoping for significant relief that may last 6 to 18 months, maybe more. May take one stressor off the table for quite a while.

Still no word on my PET scan results. Last couple of times they’ve been read within a day. I image the fact that I had this in the mobile unit has somehow delayed things. I see Buphati, medical oncologist, on Monday so I’ll know by then.

 

Dog Journal: When I came back from the procedure, Shadow jumped up on me, communicating, I thought, that she wanted  outside. She ran out, but then came right back in. Jumping up on me again. She wanted to me sit down. I did. Then she hugged me, wagged her tail, leaned in closer. She had missed me. Almost made me cry.

 

Life purpose: Been struggling with this a bit lately. In my next to last appointment with Caroline Merz, the Sloan-Kettering trial for psychology support of cancer patients over 70, she reminded me that meeting with friends and family, whether in person or over zoom, involves giving of myself.

And, she added, even having people give me rides to my procedures affords them the satisfaction of helping me. Not an easy thing for me, asking for help, yet this past year and my friends more than willingness, even eagerness, to help suggests that’s true as well.

I suppose that means I could consider my life purpose just being who I am. That requires a leap in my sense of self-worthiness. Even writing about it makes me feel sheepish.

Yet. Tzelem elohim. Often translated as made in the image of God, I would translate it as being made as God. If God and the universe are one, each thing, each distant galaxy and each rock on Shadow Mountain is God. And, so am I. And, you too. Own it. Embrace it. Become sacred for yourself and for others. Just by being yourself.   Amen.

Health, Politics

We All Fall Down

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Mabon and the Harvest Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: MVP. Susan. Tara. Joanne. Kaethe. Jamie. Rich. Ron. The Night. Darkness. Shadow, who let me sleep in. Aspen, torches of the fall. Artemis, protector and co-creator. Kate, always Kate. Marrow bones. Nerve ablation today. Joy. Ruth and her love of chemistry. Gabe. Derek, who took down the leaning Lodgepole.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Shadow’s eager hugs

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei and my trainer, Shadow

Week Kavannah: Simcha. Joy. Shadow of the morning.

Tarot: Paused

One brief shining: The automatic light failed, leaving the path between the garage and the house in 9:30 pm darkness; my eyes not adjusted from the lights in the garage, I felt my way, one foot, another, where’s the deck, where’s the damned deck, oh, there. No.

 

And. I fell. Onto my right shoulder. Grinding down into the rocks, backpack away to my right, the French string basket of mandarin Oranges and that new foam collar landing on the deck. I was close. Not close enough. Ouch.

Embarrassed. The only time I’ve fallen in the last two years plus happened shortly after I got home from the 15 hour flight back from Korea, jetlagged. Not with it. September, 2023.

Tried to get up. Stumbled. Laid back down thinking maybe I’d just stay there for awhile. Meanwhile car lights flashed past on Black Mountain Drive. Nope. I need to get inside. Up we go.

Made it inside without further incident. My shoulder hurt, not awful. Nothing broken. Have to get Vince over to take care of that light.

Oh, here’s something else. I had come home from the synagogue, MVP, my one night out a month. I go because I love these people. The topic for the evening? Joy.

Unbidden, while I contemplated staying on the stable ground awhile longer, came that word: joy. I smiled, thought, well of course. Joy. I’m alive. Nothing’s broken. This is home. Shadow and Artemis are here. So is my bed. Yes, I’m joyful even in this absurd position and an ouchy shoulder. Odd, but true.

 

Just a moment: Remember the voting rights act? Remember the idea of one person, one vote? Not one literate person. Not one white person. Not one male person. One person. Remember equal representation? Remember a time before weaponized gerrymandering. If you do, watch the Supremes as they take a shot at the last vestiges of the 1965 Act. Oral arguments today on Louisiana v. Callais.

Shelby v Holder stripped away the critical section of the Voting Rights Act that required preliminary approval at the Federal level of certain states when they wanted to enact changes to voting procedures. Southern states, now released from Federal oversight, have begun to pass restrictive voting laws again. Grrr.

Louisiana v Callais challenges racially based redrawing of Federal election maps. “The case challenges the constitutionality of creating majority-minority districts to remedy racial discrimination, and a ruling against the VRA could significantly weaken protections against discriminatory redistricting nationwide.” Gemini search

This would weaken the last major element of the Voting Rights Act. A few provisions would remain, but nothing of the sweeping range of the Act when it was passed.

Judaism, Politics, World History

May It Be So

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Mabon and the Harvest Moon (for me and my gal, Shadow)

Tuesday gratefuls: Everwood. Treat Williams. The Morning Show. Reese Witherspoon. Jennifer Aniston. Steve Carrel. Ginny and Janice. Annie and Luna. Coming today. Cool morning. Tramadol plus acetaminophen. Nerve ablations. Coming soon. Shadow of the morning. Showers. Fresh Tomatoes. Garlic. Artemis. Simcha.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Seeing Ginny and Janice

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei and my trainer, Shadow

Week Kavannah: Simcha. Joy. Shadow of the morning.

Tarot: paused

One brief shining: Bought a small crystal ball with a stand that illuminates it, the Milky Way Galaxy embedded, so when I turn it on with a press of my finger, the awe and wonder of the universe pops immediately in front of me; I look for a moment at the small (oh, so relative) Orion Arm about half way from the galactic center and imagine that I see us, twirling around the center of the Milky Way at 500,000 miles per hour, this orbit finishing up in another 200 to 250 million years.

Just a moment: All the living hostages have come home. Israel sighs. At a celebration in Hostage Square on Saturday night the crowd booed at the first mention of Netanyahu’s name. (reported by Noa Limone, Haaretz, 10/13/25.) Of course Israel has to heal. Of course. So do the remaining inhabitants of Gaza. Healing in Israel can come only  if a full reckoning of Netanyahu’s lack of leadership and his collusion with far right Orthodoxy occurs.

This might be hard. Calls for unity, for looking across differences may suggest a soft approach to what needs to be a searing look at the immorality of Israeli leaders at every step in this war, including how the IDF could have allowed such an attack as October 7th. That is no small element for had the vigilance of the IDF on the Gaza been what it should have been this war could have been avoided.

But. It was not avoided. In its wake the limits of violence as a political solution got laid bare over weeks that turned into months, months into two full years of bombing and killing civilians. Enough. We need, Israel needs, the Palestinians deserve a two-state solution. If this can happen, then this tragedy may not have been in vain.

Yes, if you’re an Israeli, the thought of an independent Palestinian state may loom as a breeding ground for future attacks. And it may. Yet the pressure will be on all parties, Arab and Israeli, American and European, to create a lasting peace. None of the parties want everlasting war. Only the river to the sea militants and they will not get their way.

Israel, this strong, vibrant economic power house and refuge of last resort for a minority too often treated as the other, will remain. As will all the Arab states. Only peace can create a dynamic and flourishing Middle East. The time to build that reality starts now.

May it be so.

Health, Judaism, Politics, World History

The Knight Errant of Peace

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Mabon and the Harvest Moon

Monday gratefuls: Shadow and her lobster. Made of heavy duty stuff for aggressive chewers. Frost. 32 degrees. Cold frames at work. Tomatoes still yielding. Beets and Spinach and Kale ready for the final harvest before the Garlic comes. Carrots still growing. The Ancient Brothers on war. Hostages released. Trump does good. Cease fire holding.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Hostages released

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah:  Simcha. Joy.   Cease fire.

Tarot: Paused

One brief shining: First average frost up here comes in early September; but, not this year-October 13th-after I pulled down the cold frame covers over Artemis’ outside raised beds, forty-eight degrees in the greenhouse itself, trying to extend an already extended growing season and succeeding, more vegetables to harvest.

 

Just a moment: Props, red tie guy. Donald J. Trump has brought the hostages home. I hereby dub thee Knight of Peace Errant and beloved of all Israel. Of course this should have not needed to happen, or should have happened months ago, but I will praise him for being instrumental in making it happen now.

So much suffering. Hamas won this war. Yes, quite a while ago. They calculated Israel would over react if they were horrible in every way on October 7th. Netanyahu’s right-wing coalition with segments of Israeli society who never fight for it ensured a long, brutal campaign to totally eliminate an idea.

That idea, Palestinian release from their long captivity to Jewish constrictions, cannot be eliminated. Should not be eliminated. Hamas reasoned that Israel’s reaction would raise the plight of Palestinians to world attention once again. And, if Israel over reacted, they could achieve a secondary aim of damaging Israel’s reputation among the world’s nations. Accomplished.

Israel, specifically Netanyahu and his ruling coalition, driven by a toxic mix of xenophobia and religious triumphalism wedded to the need of a corrupt leader to avoid prosecution, kept killing Palestinians long after their point had been made. Turning away aid from starving Gazans, bombing their hospitals, driving deeper and deeper into the constricted space which gave civilians no room to flee. Oh, Israel.

Like so many of my fellow Jews I support the existence of Israel, of a safe haven for Jews who need it. I do not and have not since early in the war supported the war aims of its blinkered and racist ruling coalition. Can we help a broken and self-terrorized country find a way toward peaceful coexistence? I see that as the major role for the diaspora now. Use our influence, our wealth and power, to help Israelis and Palestinians build a common, abundant life as neighbors. May it be so.

 

This week: Nerve ablations. Oddly this, the week when I might get relief from the pain I’ve experienced every day since September of 2023, my hip has chosen to worsen.

When I got back from seeing Gabe in Lakewood, my hip nearly drove me to the ground on the return home. Pain at 11 on the Richter scale. I see an orthopedist on November 11th. Might be difficult decisions ahead.

Family, Far Right, Politics, White Supremacy

Gabe

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Mabon and the Harvest Moon

Sunday gratefuls: Gabe. His “Twenty-Five Years of Ink”. The Crawling Crab. RTD. Back Pain. Hip Pain. Tramadol. Acetaminophen. Nerve ablation. Rides. Tara. Jamie. Kate, always Kate. Frost tonight. Rain. Israel. Palestinians. Ross Douthat. Ezra Klein. Hard Fork. The New York Times. The Washington Post.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: The Grandkids

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah:  Simcha.  Joy.     Aspen Gold against Lodgepole Green.

Tarot: Paused

One brief shining: Lunch came in plastic bags, one to Gabe filled with Snow Crab in a hot sauce, one to me with peeled Shrimp and, for some reason, Mussels, boiled Corn on the Cob, two servings of Garlic toast, which we upended onto the white waxed paper our waiter had put down. Yum. The Crawling Crab.

 

Gabe: Gabe took the RTD to the Lakewood-Wadsworth stop where I waited inside the parking structure, using my handicap  placard for the very first time. When he came down the stairs, I flashed my lights. In his hand he carried stapled pages which contain his expanded version of a short story he wrote earlier this year.

We had lunch plans at the Crawling Crab. See above. He has, he said, sent off four college applications, and would finish a fifth yesterday. These were all instate including CSU Boulder. Out of state come next. University of Iowa and its well known creative writing program is his first choice. Hamline University in St. Paul his second.

A high school senior Gabe has English, Civics (borrring), Ceramics, Stagecraft, and something else I’m not remembering. He has found many classes boring over his high school years, although he loves Religious Studies, which is his second idea for a major after creative writing.

“Then I might have a crisis like Ruthie, and change my major anyway.” You just never know.

Always good to see the grandkids.

Big wreck had traffic on 285 moving forward soo slowly, both lanes filled as far as I could see ahead. Not much fun when the hip has taken over for the left leg as a primary purveyor of pain. I wanted to get home.

 

Just a Moment: Saw a Swastika on Nextdoor Shadow Mountain. A big one. Placed on a hill visible to traffic on I-70. Read the comments, all of them. With the exception of a couple of “free speech” advocates-who don’t understand that hate speech is not protected-I felt gratified to see condemnation.

An extra charge of emotion seeing this. More than an abstract repulsion, something more personal. Over breakfast on Friday with Alan and Joanne the holocaust came up, as it often will when talking to children of survivors. This generation of Jews, my generation, often have parents or grandparents who fled Europe or were in the camps at the end of the war.

On occasion we have the conversation, often stimulated by events like the big swastika. Is it time to go? Where would we go? Costa Rica. Canada. Latin America. Because those who lived through late 1930’s Germany feel the same bad moon rising.

Most of my friends say they’re too old to move. Me, too.