Imbolc and the Moon of Tides
Tuesday gratefuls: Shadow, who sleeps against my leg. Dan Herman. Rich. Alan. Jamie. Ron. Jackie and Rhonda. Clean teeth. No work needed
Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.
Sparks of Joy and Awe: Telling the story to myself (aka: a first draft)
Week Kavannah: Yetziratiut. Creativity. Revising Superior Wolf, learning from my writing coach. Focus.
Tarot: #18 The Moon on the Water
Beyond the flight of the sacred heron lies the fusion of our ancestral soul with the soul of the Earth.
One brief shining: The Moon on the Water, a major arcana, speaks to my deepening creative journey as I hone what my writing coach calls late stage style, crisper, often in fragments, leaning more on nouns than verbs. Work that reflects my inner moon. A great joy.
Teeth cleaning. Oncologist. Nurse. Social worker. Yes. Social worker. Radiation follow up. CT scan for aortic aneurysm. Three weeks. The steady drip of medical care. This ailment, then that.
When I say, and mean, I’m alone, but not lonely, I don’t count those visits. Though sometimes I do. Maddie. Rachel. Sue Bradshaw, my PCP. Long term. Personal first, professional second. My preference.
Many friends. This cardiologist. That pulmonologist. Keeping us healthy. Reminding us that we’re not. An irony.
A friend of mine, Frank Broderick, turned 93 yesterday. 93. Frank, a man of strong opinions. Anti-Catholic. Pro-indigenous people. Served a long term on the board of the Minneapolis Indian Health Service. He wrote back to birthday greetings, “If I’d known I was going to live this long, I’d have taken better care of myself.” At coffee, rants even now about DeLaSalle High School.
Wondering if the PET scan will trigger a huge co-insurance bill. I want to stay right here on Shadow Mountain. However. A bad fall. Pneumonia. Could push me out.
Solitude. I live alone. What happens to Shadow? My stuff. All those books. Used to be. The kids might move in. Or. I might move in with them. Unlikely. A son in Korea. Sister in Australia. Brother in Saudi Arabia. Me, by choice, in the Rocky Mountains.
Shock absorbers: far away. Friends become critical, necessary. Tom and Paul, distant yet close. Warms me. Tara, who plans a move, soon, to Costa Rica. Damn it. Alan and Joan, who like Frank is 93. Marilyn and Irv. Luke. Ginny and Janice. Close friends.
Ruth and Gabe. Grandkids already loaded in the cultural missile of higher education.
I love my splendid isolation. On top of Shadow Mountain. The moon of my inner sky illuminating my ancientrail.
Yet.
Feeling a hug from my boy.
Oh.