Samain and the Holiseason Moon
Sunday gratefuls: Ruth and her sadness. Gabe and his joy. Jon and his struggles. A family meal. Chocolate chip cookies and chex mix. Holidays. Holiseason. Cold weather. Drought. Wildfire. Kate and Mike. Max. Paul and Sarah. Tom and Roxann. Death. Life. Friendship and family. Politics. And its heart knives. Weariness. The race has been long.
Sparks of Joy and Awe: Hanukkah gifts from the Aunts
Tarot: The knight of stones, wildwood tarot
When I woke up from my nap, Jon, Ruth, and Gabe were already here. They came in quietly knowing my napping habit, bless their little hearts. Around 3 pm. Long nap.
Gabe, who is blossoming, took a box I had set aside, one of many for the kitchen remodel emptying of cabinets, and cut arm holes and eye holes in it, wearing it over his head and upper body. I’m a box troll. Good energy for the day. For the Hermitage.
Jon got tired out by the end of the week, but felt good about it. Next week he’s off for a week, then starts up for two weeks, then Christmas two weeks off. A gentle return. I take him on December 7th for a colonoscopy/endoscopy. He’s never had a solid answer as to why his heath declined so fast. I went from a strong middle aged man to an old man over the course of a year.
He limps from some muscle weakness in his left leg, unexplained. His hip feels out of joint. But. He seems to have the Addison’s (adrenal insufficiency), thyroid insufficiency, and his type 1 diabetes under much better control. In particular he admits he’d let his blood sugar run high since the divorce. Five years ago. Now he’s trying to go back to his usual running lean.
Like many others during Covid Jon got off his exercise routines, too. Pretty important for maintaining muscle strength, cardio fitness. He feels in a bad enough place physically that he’s not planning on skiing this year.
Ruth made biscuits and chocolate chip cookies while I made chili. Discovered a flaw in the induction ready pots and pans I purchased as a set. The skillet is too small and so is the dutch oven, at least for the kind of cooking I do when I’m making a larger meal. Back to Williams-Sonoma this morning.
The Paula Deen chili recipe I chose filled the whole skillet and I initially had to leave out a can of black beans. Overflow. Felt like I was cooking in a very cramped space. Good part? Induction stove tops are easy to clean. Still learning, but getting there.
We ate late. For me. Early by the Aurora Olson’s standard which it seems is a more Latin American 9 pm.
Still suffering news aversion. On NPR I heard the Rittenhouse verdict. Pounded my steering wheel. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Then I turned off the radio. Feels like the world may be slipping out from beneath me. If it does, where will I be?
On the other hand that new life, the one I’ve written about, wondered about. Seems it will have cooking, family, friends in a central spot. One ring in a three ring circus. A second ring. Work, my life alone. Third. Something more communal, perhaps political, perhaps religious, perhaps occult. Maybe all three?
The fourth phase. Spirituality. Relationships. Action. Creativity.
Tired. Lost sleep last night. First time in years I had a small stitch in my colon, a sure sign of anxiety for me. I’ve remained calm, mostly, even through the strains of the last year. Oddly, I think it may be getting back to a more normal day-to-day that has caused my anxiety. I’m not fending off or encountering huge stressors. I have time to think about my relationships with Jon, Ruth, Gabe. With Mary and Mark. With the Journeymen (aka Ancientones). CBE. I may slip out of the moment and into tomorrow, or the next day. Result? A frisson of tension. A soupcon of angst. Working on it.
