Imbolc and the 78th Birthday Moon
Wednesday gratefuls: Shadow. My son. Seoah. Today! Ruth on Friday! -8 this morning. Snow. Red Lodgepole Bark against White Snow. Eating and drinking. Celebrex no more. Tramadol. Sue Bradshaw. Thyroid Stimulating Hormone. Kaylor. Prostate cancer. Spinal stenosis. Mark in Al Kharj.
Sparks of Joy and Awe: Shadow
Kavannah: Love. Ahavah.
One brief shining: My son texted me from the airport, they’re about to board soon, and a thrill ran through me, those two, precious cargo on their way here to Shadow Mountain, my family.
Annual physical yesterday. Key learning. No more celebrex. My kidney functions showed deterioration. And, as Sue said, we need our kidneys. That leaves me tramadol and a referral to a pain management doc. Their options will be limited to. Next best treatment: narcotics.
The pain has grown incrementally since its break out moment in Korea a year and a half ago. Not having Celebrex will mean increasing limitations for my mobility. Not a happy thought. Will be adjusting to this for a while. Unsure what the future holds.
To complete a medical trifecta of dermatologist, pcp, and oncologist I have a telehealth visit with my medical oncologist’s p.a. Kaylor, today at 3. Big fun. PSA stable. Testosterone low. Should not be any surprises.
OK. Enough about me. How are you feeling?
Just a moment: Breaking heart. The specter of a President flaunting judicial decisions may happen this week. My head spins at that thought. I mean that.
All my life, 78 years tomorrow, I’ve lived in a rule of law society where courts arbitrate the most difficult, thorny problems and adjudicate between adversaries. Disrespecting a court decision? Unthinkable. Literally.
Never on my horizon. Now the President has spent a business career dodging and weaving from the courts. Even when finally cornered and convicted he trashes the legitimacy of the legal process. This from the leader of our government.
My inner gyroscope, the one that orients me to my place in the United States, has a serious tilt. My lev, too.
I prefer Margaret Renkl’s response. (see yesterday’s post). My America has begun to shatter. Its culture losing its moorings. This place, these United States, are my home and my home now feels like it’s built on a cliff soon to erode from a rising sea of political thuggery.
Maybe there’s help in the world of song lyrics about lost love.* Or, in poetry:
Yeats, The Second Coming
Turning and turning in the widening gyre