Yule and the Quarter Century Moon
Thursday gratefuls: Rabbi Jamie. Laurie. Tara. Eleanor the dog. Rich. Joanne. Marilyn and driving in the dark. Irv. Nate. Cold. Snow. Dr. Whited. CT scans. Aortic artery. The heart. The lev. Mussar. This too is for the good. Doctors, Nurse Practitioners. Physician’s Assistants. Medicine.
Sparks of Joy and Awe: Cancer
Kavannah for 2025: Creativity
Kavannah for this January 9th life: Chesed – loving kindness
One brief shining: This computer, the one recording my fingerstrokes in bits and bytes, I bought in a slight morphine haze after having had my left knee replaced in 2016, eight years ago this last December; I will receive its replacement, another Dell tower and new curved 32 inch monitor today, which means that awkward phase moving from one computer to another will begin soon after.
I have two addictions these days. One is buying books. And keeping them. The other is buying a new computer every now and then. I don’t need to. In either case. But both of them trip a little trigger that delivers the equivalent of sugar water for rats in a cage. Given that my previous addiction, alcohol, was both destructive and over time cost more than these two combined, I have come out about even I reckon. Can you say rationalization?
Anyhow my shiny new platinum Dell tower will arrive along with a bigger, curved, 4K screen. That means I can take this 27 inch screen downstairs and watch Criterion Channel movies on it. Or something. I’m just grateful that my thing is not new cars, or houses.
Mussar last night. The stories we tell, this group of confidants, soul replenishers. The seeing and being seen. Intellectual stimulation. Gentle challenges. Digging into the inner world with each other, sometimes guts and all. Hugs and smiles each time we meet. Lunches and breakfasts, texts and phone calls in between. A sphere of intimacy as close as BFF’s, approaching family without quite the same level of obligate love.
Kate and I came to this group together until she died. I went as her spouse. She was on the board at the time. Eight years, or nine. Long enough for the Velveteen Rabbit effect to have worked on each one of us.
Just a moment: Conflagration. Crown Fires. Santa Ana Winds. Movie stars. Canceled premieres. Canceled houses. Armageddon. Hard not to wax apocalyptic. We’ve all seen L.A. burn, get swallowed by earthquakes, invaded by aliens, wrecked by rampaging gangs. This time though the disaster is not on the lot, the lot is the disaster. Life imitating, well, art. Sort of art that is.
And add the compassion of a past, yet future President, who says: the fires are Gavin Newsome’s fault. Just makes it all the more surreal.
California is a repository of the American Dream, one forged by those who kept going west until they got stopped by the waters of the wide Pacific. And sometimes Dreams devolve into nightmares. Right now in LA.
Selfishly, I hope we’re not the next fire prone area to make national news.