Monthly Archives: October 2025

Asia, Family, Fourth Phase, Health, Korea, Travel

Constraints

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Mabon and the Harvest Moon

Shabbat gratefuls: Shadow of the morning. Out in the darkness. Mary in Oz. Mark on the Arabian Desert. My son and Seoah on the Korean Peninsula touching the Sea of Japan. Me in the Arapaho National Forest among the Rocky Mountains. Ruth and Gabe on the High Plains.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Family

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah:  Simcha. Joy.        Simcha Torah. Sukkot. Artemis. Shadow. Ablations.

Tarot: Paused

One brief shining: Amazon boxes pile up on my living room floor, two new wastebaskets, terracotta pots for Artemis, a bottle of Calcium plus vitamin D3, healthy snacks like Edamame and popcorn and protein bars, no longer shopping in the physical world (IRL) I have become instead a receiving clerk, checking goods against their invoices, having to dispose of the packaging.

Shut Down: Talked with my son last night. How about those Yankees? He’s a baseball fan, reading the stats, watching games, caring about the playoffs. I’m a fan of him so I pay some attention, enough to know when something of note has happened, like the Yankee’s hyper symbolic loss to the Toronto Blue Jays. Oh, Canada! Tariffs can’t win the game.

We had father and son scans this week. My PET scan. His CT and MRI. He gets semi-annual scans for hepatitis B as I said earlier and this time an MRI for his back. Geez. And we don’t even share DNA. Surveillance, which, oddly is his primary work in Korea.

“I might need some cash, Dad.”

Oh, some financial crisis in his and Seoah’s life? Nope. He’s not getting paid. Because of the government shut down. Oh. Well. His opinion of Congress has hit an all time low. As he points out, they still get paid.

Not to mention all those young men and women he’s responsible for. Many in their late teens. Living off base with kids and rent and refrigerators. And no money.

Grrr.

It’s one thing when the politics of stall and wait are on the front page. News about stuff happening somewhere else. Yankee’s lose! Federal worker’s furloughed. May get back pay. May lose their jobs entirely.

Another thing when your son has car payments, groceries, dog food to buy. When he’s doing that in service to his nation. Then, it’s personal.

Government matters. And ours, especially Congress, has been asleep at the switch for so long. So damned long.

Wake up, America!

Health: My medical October continues this week with a visit to my ophthalmologist. Glaucoma. Then, two trips to Lone Tree for nerve ablations. Doesn’t end until a week from Monday when I visit my oncologist to discuss results of my PET scan. Big fun.

Cousin Diane, who leaves this month for a trip to Peru to see Machu Pichu, had planned to spend time in the Peruvian segment of the Amazon. But. When she saw the travel medicine doc: Nope. She, like almost everybody in the U.S., had not gotten a yellow fever vaccine before age 60. And, for some reason, they no longer work at our advanced ages. No Amazon for Diane.

 

 

Colorado, Jefferson County, Mountains, Our Land and Home, Park County, Plants, The West, US History

A Westerner

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Mabon and the Harvest Moon

Friday gratefuls: Shadow and Tom’s nylabone. Morning darkness. Hawai’i. Hickam. Honolulu. Diamond Head. Pearl Harbor. Big Island. Kona. Hilo. Volcanoes National Park. Mauna Loa. Kilauea. The Mauna Kea. Waimea. Kauai. Kalalau Trail. Hanalei Bay. Maui. Mama’s Fish House. Haleakala. Lahaina. The Weston. The Pacific. Surfing.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Hawai’i with Kate

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah:  Yesod.  Groundedness.

Tarot: paused

One brief shining: Funny how peace can soothe us, make us dance in the streets, as if that long long period of death and destruction existed only to show us how much peace means to us, how much stability and order provide the framework for a rich, calm life. Why can we not remember this before we start a war?

The West:  Woke up this morning to find my back door open! Geez. Must have been high winds over night and a not quite closed door. Glad no hyperphagic Bear discovered it. Or, a hungry Mountain Lion. Will make me more vigilant. Shadow Mountain at night. Not a place for open doors.

Been thinking about The West. About becoming a Coloradan. Which happened a few years ago. Not sure I could pinpoint a moment, more like a gradual realization that turning toward the Mountains meant turning towards home.

Becoming a Westerner is different. It has not only a specific and important geographical connotation, but also a mind set, a way of seeing what’s important from a spot that begins, at least for me, at the Front Range where the High Plains fall away and the Rockies begin.

In Indiana and later in Minnesota my attention turned toward the East Coast. To its prominence in U.S. history, its storied Universities, Boston, New York, Washington, D.C. The birthplace of our nation.

When I went to college, I chose Wabash, which styled itself as the Harvard of the Midwest. I wanted, for a long time, to live in New York City or D.C. The ocean I thought about was the Atlantic. Somehow destiny and greatness could only be found by going East.

No longer. While in Minnesota, as Mary, Mark, and eventually my son took up residence in Asia, my gaze began to turn West, toward the Pacific. Toward Asia.

As a result, when Kate and I moved to Colorado, I had already begun to redirect my gaze toward the West, toward that region of the country long associated with escape from the fuss budgets and robber baron capitalists, even from the often ossified social status of the Ivy Leagues. Go West, young man!

It has however only been of late that my inner world has fully shifted from those long years of focus on the East Coast as the region of primary importance for our country. Of course, Harvard and Yale. Still there. D.C. Still the center of U.S. political power. New York City. Still the financial center and the locus of the old world’s art and culture.

But. For me. They are all far away. A distant land of strivers, over achievers. Of people who put success before family, even before the nation. I no longer yearn to find my place in the world of their values.

Today my U.S. has Fourteeners. Mountain Streams. Huge amounts of unsettled land. Mule Deer and Elk. Mountain Lions. It is a U.S. defined more by its topography than its ability to shape the wide world. I wonder why I was ever drawn to the kinds of achievement typified by Ph.D.’s, fat bank accounts, ruling the world.

No, I’ve not replaced my suit with a Stetson, blue jeans, and a Western shirt. Although I might some day. Instead I watch Fog cover Black Mountain. I brake for the Elk Cows and their Calves crossing the highway. I live up high, not only distant from the East in miles, but also in altitude. In attitude.

I’ve abandoned the historic early U.S. for the ages long journey of Rocky Mountains, of their Hills and Valleys. For Wild Neighbors. Want to make policy? Consider them. Support and encourage a melding of humans and their natural environment rather than making the world safe for Big Ag, Big Pharma, Big Business, Big Egos.

Come out here to learn the human place in the world. Then write your dissertations, create IPO’s, pass laws.

Health, Judaism, Politics, US History, World History

A Half-Teaspoon of Yellow Liquid

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Mabon and the oh so bright Harvest Moon

Thursday gratefuls: Laurie, PET scan tech. The rickety metal stairs. PET scan on wheels. Handicap placard. Shadow, my sweet girl. Kate, always Kate. Farmers. Gardeners. Horticulturists. Bee Keepers. Arborists. Seed Savers. Heirloom Seeds. Vegetables. Flowers. Fruit. Nuts. Herbs. Artemis. Fungi. Light Eaters. Peace.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Moonlight

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah:  Yesod. Groundedness.

Tarot: paused

One brief shining: Shadow lifts the miniature tire high in the air, firmly gripped in her sharp teeth, shakes it as she holds tight, then on the ground, rolls over on her back and the tire does not yield, she presses harder, rolls again, shaking, shaking, until she decides to go for another toy.

 

Peace: Don’t know much about it yet. Headlines. Pictures of Israelis dancing. Trump’s great bulk swelling with dreams of Noble Prizes. Gazans, I imagine, collapsing with some relief though wary, caught still between Hamas and Jewish fears.

Still reeling. Trying to imagine this as the truth, bring it into my reality. Hoping. That other shoe not far off the floor. Time, tincture of time as my Kate would say.

The Middle East has changed in fundamental ways though we don’t what they are just yet. My hope is for a return to the Saudi/Israel/Emirates peace deal. A new axis of the self-interested, Sunnis and Jews together against Shia terrorism.

Another hope: Netanyahu prosecuted and jailed. War as a crime. Lengthening it for his own selfish, evil needs.

A Palestinian state. May it be so.

Until more becomes evident I finish this.

 

Just a moment: The Burger King as peacemaker? Hell, let him have the credit if the peace holds. Yet. What about peace at home? What about his war on the poor, the Brown, the non-Christian? Give peace afar and take it away here? Not the mark of a sane man.

We cannot let any adulation he receives paper over cuts to Medicaid and food stamps, to burning food and medicine already allocated for 3rd world peoples, to pressuring the courts with threats and bad lawyering, to stressing the strongest and best functioning economy in the world, to his destruction of our reputation abroad.

Still. A. Scumbag.

 

PET Scan: I rolled onto Dry Creek Road at 11:50 am, forty-five minutes from home, drove a short distance past Pulmonary Intensivists who treated Kate now long ago, and into the parking lot of Rocky Mountain Cancer Care. All medicine all the time.

Checked in, paid my $250 copay for imaging, and sat down to wait. A young man sat nearby, a strained worried look on his face. He did not invite conversation and I followed my usual siloing by pulling out Edith Wharton’s The House of Mirth, my readers, finding my place, and continuing to follow Lily Bart’s journey through the Gilded Age with nothing but beauty to sustain her.

“Buckman.”

“Sort of,” I said under my breath. Jaggedness from the drive and the scan leaking out. Laurie guided me through the halls of this older facility, out a door to the outside, and up metal stairs to the mobile PET Scan unit. The same one I had my initial scan in so many years ago when it sat in faraway Aurora.

Laurie covered my legs with a warm blanket as she readied me for the injection of the isotope attached PSMA. First, a butterfly needle for an IV.  A push of saline. Opening a lead cabinet with the same radiation hazard emblem on it I had on my red t-shirt from Los Alamos. A syringe with no more than half a teaspoon of a yellow liquid. In through the IV. Another push of saline.

As the radioactive yellow liquid moved into my bloodstream, it takes about fifty minutes for it to find and link up with the prostate cancer cells metastasized in various parts of my body, I tilted the chair back, closed my eyes, said my mantra-Stream flowing, White Pine rooting-and took a rest somewhere between sleeping and dreaming.

Laurie came back to see if I wanted to use the men’s room before the scan. Always a good idea. Back inside. When we returned, Laurie positioned me on the metal sled that glides in and out of the scanner. Again I closed my eyes, still a bit drowsy from my nap. Twenty minutes later, scan finished, I got back in Ruby and drove home.

 

Health

An Art

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Mabon and the Harvest Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: Tom. Paul. P.E.T. scan. Radio isotopes. Irv. Sukkot. Harvests and Harvest festivals. Corn Dolly. Sheafs of Wheat. Combines and Corn Pickers. Plucking Tomatoes from the Plants in Artemis. Garlic on its way. Kale, Spinach, and Beets all doing well. Carrots growing, too. All in cold frames. A frost yesterday morning.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Rabbi Rami Shapiro

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei.

Week Kavannah:  Yesod.  Groundedness.

Tarot: paused

One brief shining: Once more into the breach, or in this case, the large machine with its bits able to see the uptake of a PSMA, a prostate membrane specific antigen delivered into my bloodstream by injection, the needle itself coming in a lead lined box until it penetrates my skin, protecting the imaging tech, not me, since this antigen has a radioactive tracer attached.

October Health Month: Continues today with yet another PET scan. This one because my PSA rose slightly and Dr. Buphati wants to know, as do I, what, if anything has happened to my metastases. I hope very little. The path could take a turn here, though I would prefer it not. I’ll know more, possibly as early as tomorrow.

My son, who has Hepatitis B, also goes in for scans on the 10th. In his case they’re checking the liver. Hep B, which he got at birth, as do many Asian and South Asian babies, can cause liver cancer.

A friend of mine goes for a PET scan on the 28th, I believe, checking, in his instance for prostate cancer. A diagnostic scan. It’s a small world under the sophisticated magnifying glasses we have today.

An old internist told me that each of us is a black box. All unique, yet similar. Once we cross the swaying bridge to chronic disease we need these high tech imaging systems to peer inside the black box; yet, we see through a glass darkly. Even the most sophisticated of them offer only approximations of what is there.

Medicine as art. Decisions get made, life altering or life saving decisions with often only hints, perhaps big hints, but with large margins for error. In spite of the general and well earned cynicism about medical care I remain in awe of these men and women, like Kate, who devote their lives to helping us with what remain crude and often fallible instruments. And with proximate knowledge only of how to fix what ails us.

Insurance companies, on the other hand? Not awe. But frustration at the corruption of a sound idea, spreading our collective risk over millions, hundreds of millions. In the hands of Big Medicine’s executives the art is how to wring the most premium dollars out of us while paying out as little as possible.

An art measured not in health preserved, not in lives extended, not in compassionate care given, but in the easier to understand bottom line. Money, or revenue capture, taints the whole practice of medicine, nowhere as much as in the C-Suites of outfits like United Health, Humana, Blue Cross.

Next week in health month: Glaucoma check and nerve ablations!

Health

Handicaps

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Mabon and the Harvest Moon

Tuesday gratefuls: Evergreen Orthotics. Handicap placards. Ruby. Low thirties. Rain. Golden coins among the green Needles. Fat Bears. Horny Elk Bulls and Mule Deer Bucks. Shadow spending more and more time inside. Closing my cold frames. Picking Tomatoes today. Rabbi Rami Shapiro. Lidocaine losing its efficacy.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Morgan at Evergreen Orthotics

Life Kavannah:  Wu Wei

Week Kavannah: Yesod.  Groundedness.

Tarot: still paused

One brief shining: Morgan came in, her hands full of plastic wrapped cervical collars, opened one and set its front half on my neck and under my chin while strapping me in at the back; how does that feel? Weird. Too much.

 

DMV: Yesterday began with a visit to the Evergreen DMV to register for my first ever handicap placards. I drove down through fog, wipers on slow beats, past Kate’s Stream and her Valley.

The DMV and the Sheriff’s office share a building. As I sat in my car, I arrived a bit early for my appointment, a large man, built like a Bulldog with a Sheriff’s deputy uniform on, waddled to the door. When I went in a few minutes later, a uniformed deputy, not the same guy, stopped me. He had a ripe banana on the small desk, a laptop open.

“I have an 8:15 with DMV.”

“First name.” I told him. “You’re clear to go.” Seemed odd to me that there was a gatekeeper with a gun in such a quiet spot.

Inside the DMV had skeletons, bats, an orange spider web plastic basket, and Dracula hanging above the plastic window to which I turned. A pleasant gray haired woman took my document, checked it over, compared the data on it to my driver’s license, then went to a drawer on the wall behind her and found two of the familiar blue and white hangars, using a bar code on each to scan them into the system.

She explained how to use them. The only restriction that surprised me? If I use the placard, I have to get out of the car and go in wherever I am. I can’t drive someone somewhere, use the placard, and wait. Not sure about that one, but, hey. I’m glad to have them.

Handicap placards in my small backpack I drove back toward home, filled up with gas, ate breakfast at Aspen Perks, then drove down the hill, more fog, to Evergreen Orthotics.

Evergreen Orthotics: Where I met Morgan. What a kind and fun person. Mid-thirties, curly auburn hair and a casual smiling manner, we decided cervical collars, meant for folks with fractured vertebrae, were overkill for me. Not to mention sorta ugly and intrusive.

Wearing anything around my neck in public feels like, will be, a big change from 78 years of not doing that. However, my neck has become increasingly unstable. If I’m standing, looking up at a taller person while I’m talking, my neck begins to wobble almost immediately. I already walk head down and people notice that, plus the tilt to my head, especially later in the day.

Morgan, the clinical manager and Orthotist at Evergreen, has never made a custom neck brace. That’s how rare my situation is. Even so I asked her to give it ago. She’s doing some research and I may get something 3-D printed. Until then, I’m going to try a foam collar.

The material she’s looking at is the same kind professional athletes wear if they’ve broken their nose. You’ve seen the masks, I’m sure. They’re all 3-D printed. We’ll see where this goes.

Friends, Garden, Great Wheel, Greenhouse, Judaism, Plants, Seed Keepers, Weather +Climate

Nathan and Lizzy

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Mabon and the Harvest Moon

Monday gratefuls: The Ancient Brothers. The Night. A cool, very cool Night. 35 right now. Shadow curled, nose to tail. Tom. Roxann. Ode. Elizabeth. The Northshore. Lake Superior. Grand Marais. The Poplar River. Lutsen. Wolves. Moose. The Boundary Waters. My new Pendleton Blanket with the Aurora Borealis. Electric blankets.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Nathan and Lizzy

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah:  Yesod.  Groundedness. Foundation.

Tarot: Paused

One brief shining: Rain saturates the red cinder blocks making up my small patio, indoor light reflects off them as I open the door, outside for Shadow into the early morning darkness, eager, tail high, wet cold air seeps inside. I shut the door.

 

Hanging the Mezuzah on Artemis: Irv, Marilyn, Gabe, Tara, Me, Rabbi Jamie. Nathan took the photograph rendered here in the style of Thomas Benton.

Nathan and Lizzy: I love developing relationships. When they happen naturally. Yes, I’m an introvert, proud of my solitude and nourished by it. Yes. But I’m far from a misanthrope. The world has so many amazing people, kind and skilled and offering a perspective only they have. Can have.

I’ve gotten to know Nathan over the construction of Artemis, from rough idea to frame up to raised beds filled with soil and now plants. He’s a young guy, maybe early thirties. A man of business. A handyman. A trucking company. Colorado Coop and Garden.

He has plans. Emulate Tuff Shed. A Colorado firm that started out building sheds, then went to making kits that they ship all over the country. Next year he’s renting a shop where he can work regular hours, make kits for greenhouses and chicken coops, market them to the nation.

Lizzy, his partner, whom I met yesterday, runs a pet sitting business. She has larger ambitions, too. She’s a beautiful, high energy lady with a sweet soul. And, she loved Shadow. Ah, a way to care for Shadow if I get well enough to travel. Quirky dogs are her and a few of her employees special interest. Even better.

May they live long and prosper.

 

Artemis: I planted in late July. The average first frost at my elevation has come in early September, some years late August. It’s October 6th and still no frost. My Carrots, Beets, Spinach, and Kale are all cool weather crops, can withstand low temperatures, even light frosts. Especially the Beets and Carrots improve with the cooler weather, get sweeter.

The Tomatoes, my inside the greenhouse crop, do not like the cold. I’ve gotten a great first year crop with them, but if I could have had them in a month earlier, I would have had a huge crop. For a tiny greenhouse.

Nathan and Lizzy came by yesterday so Lizzy could see the almost finished Artemis and Nathan could install hooks for my cold frame tops. With the cold frame tops I can enclose the outdoor beds so they still receive Great Sol, yet remain above freezing. Extending my growing season on the outside of the greenhouse.

Once Nathan puts hard foam insulation panels-with handles-inside Artemis I should be able to grow Kale, Lettuce, Arugula over the winter. I should also be able to grow my own starter plants as winter begins to let go.

Good for my soul.

Judaism, Politics, US History, World History

This Damned War

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Mabon and the Harvest Moon

Sunday gratefuls: Shadow. Cool nights. Tomatoes. Beets. Carrots. CBE men’s group. Irv. Jim. Joe. Jamie. Lawyer. Jamie’s sabbatical. Football. Soccer. Basketball. Baseball. F1. Boiler. Mini-splits. Dog food. Dog treats. New York Times. Minneapolis Star-Tribune. Talmud. Torah. Alan. Cheri. Francesca. Tom.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Conversation

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah: Yesod. Foundation. Groundedness. Tenth sefirot. The link between this world and the world of sacred becoming.

Tarot: Paused

One brief shining: Her curled up softness on the bed, sleeping like a young child, breathing slowly, I reach over and touch her lightly, not enough to wake her, but enough to say I love you to her dream world. My Shadow.

 

Israel: Talk about complicated. I mean, geez. This beacon of hope for a post-holocaust diaspora. The Nakba. A thriving techno state filled with agriculture, the ancient sites of Christianity and Islam as well as their mother, Judaism. A military powerhouse, who doesn’t know about the IDF: the Israeli Defense Force. A land of Jews surrounded by Arabs who would like to push them out: from the river to the sea.

Beloved of American Jewry. A strong, very strong lobby in D.C. A place where aliyah makes real the promise of escape to a safe space. A wonder considering years of pogroms, inquisitions, ghettoes, anti-Semitism.

Then, bam! October 7th. Hamas. Murderous. Rapist. Hostages. Embarrassing for this mighty mite with Mossad, IDF stationed nearby. The world onside. Terrorists. Shooting up a music festival. Go after them! You have the right to strike back.

Then. Bombs. Bombs. Bombs. Homes, hospitals, places of business. Trying to kill Hamas, a well-tunneled enemy, hiding in Mother Earth and, shamefully, within the wretched of the Earth, the Palestinian citizens of Gaza.

OK. Surely that’s enough. How many thousands dead? Non-combatants. Civilians. Mothers and children. You’ve made your point. But Israel didn’t, hasn’t stopped. Kill Hamas. Total destruction of an enemy. The war aim. When the war itself ensures more and more recruits for the enemy. Which will never die because it’s an idea, a no to the dreams of 1949. A no to Jewish safety. A no to the perceived oppressor. One man’s revolutionary is another man’s terrorist.

How will it end? IDK. Maybe the Burger King will pull off a win. I hope so. Yes, even though… Hell, give him the damned prize. If only he can stop the slaughter and start the inner journey of a post-war Israel. A journey that must reckon with blood lust, with the responsibility of great power, with the irony of becoming the Cossack, the Nazi. Killing without remorse. Most difficult. With the reality that Netanyahu extended the war, the death and destruction, to avoid criminal prosecution. And nobody stopped him.

Yet. I still want to visit Israel. Which the war prevented. To see the Wailing Wall. The old city. The Arab quarter. Restaurants catering to meat and not dairy or dairy not meat. To have an Israeli breakfast. See Masada. The Sea of Galilee. Bethlehem. Gethsemane. The kibbutz. Megiddo.

Oh Israel. So much sorrow.

 

Far Right, Health, Holidays, Judaism, New Apostolic Reformation, Politics, Shabbat, US History

Kinetic, Joyful, Earth and Human Focused

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Mabon and the Harvest Moon

Shabbat gratefuls: Shabbat. Israel. Gaza. Palestinians. A Palestinian state. Hafar. Osan. Melbourne. Conifer. Longmont. Denver. Family. Cold frames. Artemis. Almost finished. Shadow. Kate, always Kate. Travel. Maybe possible. Neck brace. Lidocaine. Dr. Vu. Mountain View Pain Center. Kylie. Evergreen Orthotics. Handicap placard. Alan.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Nathan

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah: Yesod. Foundation. Groundedness. Tenth sefirot. The link between this world and the world of sacred becoming.

Tarot: paused

One brief shining: Two days out from my last lidocaine injections and still feeling some relief, really, a lot of relief, relief that has made a certain part of me awaken, the active ready-to-go person who can get things done without wincing, wakes up without caution, who might even dance if he ever had.

 

Sukkot*: Begins on Monday. The Jewish Mabon and Samain. A festival of ingathering, of the harvest. The sukkahs represent not only the temporary dwellings in the wilderness, but also the temporary dwellings farmers would erect so they could work in the fields until the harvest was complete.

The lulav:** The lulav (with three species) is held in the right hand and the ertrog in the left. A blessing for the harvest and for rain is implied as the lulav gets waved through all four directions plus up and down.

Sukkot is a joyous holiday with meals in the Sukkah. At CBE we often study in the Sukkah.

My delight with Judaism begins on Sukkot, an ancient harvest holiday of celebration for Mother Earth’s bounty, of family and friends, of farming.

After Sukkot comes Simchat Torah, dancing with the Torah as one year’s reading ends with the burial of Moses and the next year’s begins with Bereshit, or Beginnings: Genesis. Both of these holidays are kinetic, joyful, earth and human focused. And old. I love the fact that these traditions have been observed for thousands of years.

See you in the sukkah.

 

Just a moment: From joy and delight to anger and disgust. I can feel the moment. The moment, now, when enough of us say enough of this miserable son-of-a-bitch who lies, seeks vengeance, grabs wealth for himself and his oligarchic posse, destroys our nation by ignoring democratic norms, blessing white supremacy and a militant far right, including Christians of the New Apostolic Reformation, all while displaying the moral sensibilities of a rutting boar(bore).

Can you tell I don’t like him?

Still no reply to my e-mail to the President of Ball State. Connecting with David Letterman has proven a challenge-a well-guarded celebrity-but I’m still on it.

When we have any personal linkage to the Burger King’s awful choices, we need to use that leverage to oppose him. Today and until 2028. God. That’s a long, long time.

  • *Agricultural: It is an autumn harvest festival, also called Chag HaAsif (“Festival of the Ingathering”). It is a time for expressing gratitude for the bounty of the earth and the final crops gathered before winter. 
  •  Historical: The holiday commemorates the 40 years the Israelites spent wandering in the desert after the Exodus from Egypt, living in temporary shelters. Building and dwelling in a sukkah recalls the miraculous protection that God provided during that time.

**Lulav ([lu’lav]; Hebrew: לוּלָב‎) is a closed frond of the date palm tree. It is one of the Four Species used during the Jewish holiday of Sukkot. The other Species are the hadass (myrtle), aravah (willow), and etrog (citron). When bound together, the lulav, hadass, and aravah are commonly referred to as “the lulav”.

Health, Politics

Health and Protest

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Mabon and the Harvest Moon

Friday gratefuls: Tom. Alan. Prostate Cancer. Shadow. Debbie. Dr. Vu. Needles. Lidocaine. Nathan, back at work, finishing up. So many Tomatoes, more than I imagined, less than I hoped. Artemis. Letting people help. The Night. Cool Mountain days. Bright blue Colorado Skies. Rocky Mountain High.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Shadow’s Attention

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah:  Malchut. Wonder

  • “What we lack is not a will to believe but a will to wonder”. Heschel

Tarot: paused

One brief shining: Onto the gurney again, face down, four numbing jabs, four lidocaine jabs, meanwhile talking about great bands, concerts; Jake, the physician’s assistant saying he’d seen the Dead, second to last Jerry Garcia performance, asked me my favorite concert, “The Cream in the Chicago Stockyards. 1968.” Ah. Days of yesteryear.

 

Health: Lidocaine wears off in 8 hours or so. Usually. Mine has blessedly chosen to stay around a bit. This morning I’m as close to pain free as I’ve been in a couple of years. Feels amazing. If the nerve ablations pull off a similar feeling for a longer period of time. Hallelujah  will not be enough.

Learning to ask people for help. As Tara said to me, “Asking someone to help is a great gift. To them.” Seems so. Great conversations with Susan and Debbie on the way to Lonetree and back. Since I’ll need more help as time goes on, a valuable lesson.

My friend Ric Posner, who had a heart attack a month and a half ago, sent me a text that he’s going to DJ again this Saturday afternoon. His show, the Comfort Table, goes out over Clear Creek Radio. Glad to see he’s able to do it.

Other friends have sleep studies and treatment decisions to make. It’s that time of life. For some of us. Bill Schmidt on the other hand rocks on at 88. Odegard seems healthy at 80. Frank, well, still Frank at 93. Diane’s back to jogging up Bernal Hill, talking to the coyotes. 77.

I know it may be difficult, sometimes boring, or perhaps scary, to hear another’s medical story; but, as Tom pointed out yesterday, this stuff matters to us now the same as family and work mattered in the second phase of our lives. No, you don’t want a steady drum beat, I get it. Still…

 

Protest: Sent this email to the President of my alma mater, Ball State University.

Subject: Susan Sweirc

As a 1969 graduate from Ball State, it appalled me to read her story in the New York Times.
Have you decided on anticipatory obedience, a hallmark of autocratic regimes? You must have because her firing, both you and I know, violates her first amendment rights.
Universities, in spite of the temptation and fear, must not bend the knee.
Shame on you.

 

Today I’m messaging David Letterman, a fellow 1969 graduate from Ball State, to see if he would head up an alumni protest. I mean: Colbert, Kimmel.
We cannot. Let. This. Shit. Stand.

 

Health, Korea, Memories, Travel

The Ancientrail of Pain

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Mabon and the Harvest Moon

Thursday gratefuls: Dr. Do Vu. Injections of lidocaine. Relief on the left side. Pretty good. Susan. Who drove me. Her kindness. Today, the right side. The Night. Shadow. CBE and its Mitzvah Committee.  Lone Tree. Fairplay. Troublesome Gulch. Pine. Conifer. Evergreen. South Park. Kenosha Pass. Guanella Pass. The Shaggy Sheep. North Fork of the South Platte.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Jews

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah:  Malchut.  Wonder.

  • “Wonder rather than doubt is the root of all knowledge”.  Abraham Joshua Heschel

Tarot: paused

One brief shining: When the first of the six needles went in, a numbing one, I said, “Fuck me!” as I lay face down, head supported by a leather pillow with a hole in it, much like a massage table, but this was no massage and I could tell that right away, not a fan of pain-who is-yet this was pain in service of pain reduction, an irony no one needed to point out.

 

Slowly, slowly: The Joseon Palace, Gyeongbokgung, Seoul. Two years ago last month. A tourist day in Seoul, driven by Daniel and Diane. Daniel interpreted for me at my son and Seoah’s wedding in 2016.

Earlier in the day we had visited the fish market with Diane’s dad, a professor of communications at a university in Busan. They asked me, at a particular stall, to point to a Fish. I did. Oh, my. The stall owner gaffed the big Snapper and we took pictures as it flopped around. I did not feel wonderful.

After seeing a few more of the stalls, we took an elevator to the top floor of the market, went into a restaurant, where we had sashimi and fish head soup. Yep. That Snapper I condemned.

We dropped Diane’s Dad off at the train station for the high speed train that runs from Seoul in the far north to Busan in the far south of South Korea and followed my interest in seeing historical sights. The first one we visited, Gyeongbokgung. 

A huge place. I loved it. Yet somewhere along the way my back no longer wanted to hold me up. I started sitting outside spots where my son and Seoah, Daniel and Diane, went inside. Finally, the pain got bad enough that I asked to leave, to return to Songtan.

That began a two year long journey. Massage and various machines in a Korean orthopedist’s office. Meds dispensed in small cellophane made units. Back home 29 total sessions of p.t. Celebrex until it bothered my kidneys. Acupuncture which only yielded a nice nap for ten sessions. Tramadol and acetaminophen, which help some, but not nearly enough.

Yesterday, the first of four appointments hopefully leading to substantial relief. Nerve ablation. Burning off the fatty sheath around the offending nerves. Plus a butrans patch which may knockdown any residual pain. May it be so.

I so want to return to Korea, maybe even visit Mary and Guru in Melbourne. Go on another cruise. You know, get outta the house a bit. Fingers crossed.