Spring and the Wu Wei Moon
Monday gratefuls: Gabe at 17. The Water Grill. Creative Writing. Poetry. Looking at colleges. University of Iowa. U.C. Denver. Metro State. Go, Gabe. Wasting Time. Don’t waste time on being productive. Just live. Shadow, the toy render. A drive down the hill. Halibut. Swordfish. Clam Chowder. Oysters.
Sparks of Joy and Awe: A gap year for Gabe. Here?
Week Kavannah: Sensibility. Daat.
One Brief Shining: Driving back up the hill in late afternoon, Great Sol above Black Mountain, those ski runs that mar its side still limned in Snow, my new Raybans cutting the glare as I round Windy Point, closing in on Conifer where Kate found our Shadow Mountain home, back in the Mountains. Yes.
Gabe turns seventeen tomorrow. We celebrated at the Water Grill where he, Ruth, Jen, and I ate Thanksgiving last November. Much, much less crowded.
He had the clam chowder. My favorite soup. At Dad’s we always bought canned clam chowder. His entree? Swordfish. Which he ate with the completeness of Shadow finishing her meal.
We had a conversation about colleges. His creative writing teacher has encouraged his poetry. Right now he wants to major in creative writing. No surprise University of Iowa made his list.
He may want to take a gap year. To find out who he is. What he wants. Guess where he wants to live? Grandpa’s house. He loves the Mountains. And his Grandpa. That’s a year away. So we’ll see.
By that time Ruth will be a junior at CU-Boulder. In her second year of pre-med. Not sure how that timing works out for graduation.
I recall holding infant Gabe while the mohel circumcised him. He looks older now.
The Pope is dead. Long live the Pope. The Conclave comes to life at the death of Pope Francis, a man who had an inclusive heart.
The intrigue of papal politics will be on display. The ritual seclusion of the Cardinals, princes of the Church. The Sistine Chapel in all its Michelangelic glory. What a setting! Smoke signals. A Monarchy with a ritual method of choosing a ruler to follow in the footsteps of St. Peter.
I admire the Catholic Church as an institution. It’s nearly two thousand years old, an astonishing run for any human creation. Not to say there haven’t been many bumpy years, even centuries. Yet it remains largely the same. Which is why I don’t admire it as a religious institution, yet I’d acknowledge that may be a clue to its longevity.
A story only beginning. But I have a question first.
Just a moment: Did JD Vance kill the Pope? This correspondent wants to know. Sure, the Pope had been ill. Sure. What better time for an assassination attempt.
Besides, that odd beard. What’s he hiding? Is this why Vance converted? To get close enough to take out a Trump critic?
Q-a-conspiracy thinks it might be true enough. I don’t know what to believe. And so close to Easter? Come on, something smells fishy in the Vatican State.
You heard it ginned up here first.