• Category Archives Health
  • Coronavirus

  • Back to Travel

    Posted on by Charles Comment

    Spring and the Purim Moon

    Wednesday gratefuls: Alan. Lucille’s New Orleans cafe. Down the hill. Visiting Spring. The Three Body Problem. Reading and forgetting. MVP. Colorado Eye Consultants. Talmud Torah with Gary. Working through Bereshit, the first parsha. Slowly. Clean house and loft. Snow in the back still high. Travel. Amtrak. BEI Wyndham. Asian art. Art.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Railroads

    One brief shining: Feels like I have lifted myself up from my inertia, almost done with first phase of planning, booking Amtrak and San Francisco hotel, Diane suggesting other things to do, including Muir Woods, looking forward to challenging myself, seeing how this physical therapied, accupunctured, physiatrist scrutinized back holds up with lidocaine patches ready for the times when everything else fails.

     

    Yeah. Finally. Money from my IRA plumping up my travel fund. And my fund for Ruth’s 18th birthday, graduation. Grease for the rails.

    Frustration with myself, my reluctance fading. A long winter? Sure. Back issues? Yes. Homebodiness? Of course. Reasons to stay stuck? No.

    As my friend Ode observed after his trip to Nice with Elizabeth, “Travel is hard work.” Yes, it is. Especially when stamina and various ailments intrude on the journey. Yet. We know hard work. And we know it’s worth the  end result. At least some of the time. In this case the hard work lies in lifting and walking and hurrying. In being on your feet more than in a normal day at home. In confronting challenges with food, sleeping, lodging in unfamiliar places. You know what they are. All amplified in magnitude by a weaker body.

    The hard work of travel has always been worth it for me. I’ve faced times since Korea when I doubted whether it was still worth it. I’m not sure. If my back seizes up on me after a day out and I can’t sleep. If its pain brings me up short during a day like it did in Korea. If the exercises and the lidocaine patches don’t calm it down. Well. Then I’ll know and have to readjust. Reconsider. But if, as I imagine, I now know how to handle my back, not let it get away from me, then I’ll start looking at flights to Taipei and Incheon.

     

    My taxes are done. That feels good.

    I have MVP tonight. I’m presenting on bechira, choice points, and kehilla, community. What in your world creates a choice between this appetite and that virtue? How do those choices affect the people with whom you live?

    Eye doc today. Glaucoma. Photos of my retinal nerve. Seeing Dr. Repine. Thorough. Quick. With cataracts and glaucoma I could have gone blind twice. Thanks for modern eye care Jane West and Dr. Repine. Easy to forget the things that haven’t happened as a result of good medical care. I’m not functionally deaf either. Nor am I dead from prostate cancer.

     

    Just a moment: Israel. Digging itself deeper and deeper into everyone’s bad graces. When you’re in a hole, stop digging. Still pro-Palestinian. Still pro-Israel. Anti militarism as the only solution to Israel’s security. Sad beyond measure. So conflicted. Angry. Worn down. A troubled place.

     

     

     


    Health Judaism Politics Travel

  • Choice

    Posted on by Charles Comment

    Spring and the Purim Moon

    Monday gratefuls: 9 degrees. Yet more Snow. The Dark. The Quiet. Ruth and Gabe coming up for Spring Break. Chamber Music. Inertia. Ginny and Janice. Bechira points. Kehillah. Mark still in Hafar. Exercise. The rain in K.L. Torrential. Travel. Pleasure. Guilty pleasure. Nuts. Pistachios. Salted peanuts. Alan and BBQ. Reney. Shiva.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: What’s App

    One brief shining: Said to my friends I’m done with winter but winter is not done with me and sure enough around three pm yesterday the Snow came again, hard, like rain in straight lines, the cold came too as the temperature fell into single digits making the night perfect for more Snow; in bed I felt Snow melt on my head, my window still slightly open.

     

    Open Snow and Weather5280 keep me informed. Open Snow has a handy feature that gives a Snow to date number for very specific areas. Intended for skiers tracking powder and the best Mountain conditions, it also works well for Mountain microclimates like Shadow Mountain. As of last night’s storm, we had 11 inches of new Snow bringing our running total to 136 inches for the year so far.

    Down in Denver they had blizzard warnings. Ruth and Gabe had planned to come up today and stay through Thursday. They’re on spring break. Probably not gonna happen today. Maybe tomorrow. April is their mutual birthday month with Ruth turning 18! on April 4th and Gabe 16 on April 22th. This is Ruth’s last semester of public school. College next fall.

    Beautiful, yes. I can see that. Yes, I’ve stayed too long without a break. Not the winter’s fault.

     

    Which brings me to bechira, a Hebrew word for choice, especially as choice signifies free will. Mussar tradition talks about bechira points, choice points where we can exercise free will. According to Jewish tradition they’re not as common as you might think, though they’re not rare either. A bechira point occurs when the yetzer hara, the selfish inclination, and the yetzer hatov, the good inclination conflict. That is, when we choose between a selfish course of action, one we know is not the direction we need to go, and a good choice, one that enhances our life and the lives of others. In that moment we know, are conscious of, a choice. It is that knowing, that awareness that makes it a bechira point.

    Let me give you two examples. Yesterday I had a ticket for a chamber music concert at St. Laurence Episcopal. Which is about as close to me as possible. Less than ten minutes. And I love chamber music. At 2:30, the concert was at 3:00, I looked at the Snow. I thought about parking in a small lot, being crowded into a small sanctuary. Sank back into my chair and continued watching a not very good movie.

    The night before. The Purim speil at CBE. 7 pm. I wanted to go, intended to go. But as the time approached the same concerns cropped up, parking and a crowd. Added to that night time driving. I stayed home. Again.

    In and of themselves neither choice was a big deal. It’s the pattern, the bechira point pattern, that matters. These choices reinforce my inertia, my Covid hangover fear of crowds, my I like it here where everything is comfortable tendency.

    Here’s another way to consider this. I’m making choices that make sense for this time of my life, for my vulnerability as a cancer patient, for my safety. I need to consider the valence to give these choices, don’t I? They are still bechira points. The question becomes whether they are moving me forward in my life or hindering me. Right now I’m not sure I can tell.

    Making clear and healthy decisions drives our lives forward, advancing our capacity to love ourselves and to bear the burden of the other. It is the awareness of choice points that allow us to exercise free will. Otherwise we have become habitual, conditioned, acculturated.

     

     

     

     

     


    Feelings Fourth Phase Health Judaism Mussar Shadow Mountain Weather +Climate

  • Not so Ancient rails

    Posted on by Charles Comment

    Spring and the Purim Moon

    Shabbat gratefuls: Jackie. Purim Spiel. Socrates Cafe. Those ski runs on Black Mountain. Maxwell Creek running free. Kate’s Creek. Her Valley and its trail. Bechira points. Kehilla, community. Choosing others. Starlink. DSL. The Internet. Leviticus. How to sacrifice and why. John Connolly. Kindle. Phonak. Better hearing through science. The Roger.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Shabbat candles

    One brief shining: Moods, swinging to and for like pony tails, like jump ropes, like Lodgepole Branches in a wind, switching from side to side, up to down, occasionally twirling like a Dog’s tail, almost able to achieve lift off, then settling down between the legs in a sulk.

     

    I’ve settled now on two sources for my less than buoyant inner weather. First, cabin fever. Too long in the Mountain Winter. Second, lack of exercise. Gonna remedy the second one first.

    Alan encouraged me to go somewhere by train, offering, no insisting that he would chauffeur me from Shadow Mountain to Union Station and bring me back home. I’m giving that serious thought. Where I go matters less at this point than whether I go. Barriers: all those pills. Having to deal with my supply of Depends. Extricating myself from my not very confining schedule. Packing. Money. And the least of these is money. The biggest of these is inertia. A body that sits in his chair is most likely to remain in his chair. Get up, old man! Get up.

    Drifted off there for a moment. Over to Amtrak. Here to San Francisco. San Francisco to points south, maybe New Orleans, circle back to Denver? Roomettes are pricey but they do include all meals. Of course, cabs and hotel rooms when staying overnight somewhere. Meals. Still. Traveling by train. I really like it. Would take me away from all this and into a different reality for a while. Worth it.

    Or, Denver to Chicago. Chicago to New Orleans. New Orleans to LA. LA to SF. SF back home. Or. Denver to SF. SF to Seattle. Seattle to Minneapolis. Minneapolis to Chicago. Back home. Mmmm. ?How to achieve lift off.

     

    Never thought I’d feel in synch with the Royal family, but hey! Cancer. Doesn’t matter your station in life, the body rules. And what happens to it is what’s happening to you. This earthly, better earthen, vessel is heir to this shock and that, this moment of joy and that one of despair.

    I understand the shock and awe of a cancer diagnosis. The ripple effect such news has on the psyche, on family, on friends. Cancer not only impacts an individual but also a kehillah, a community of concern. Even though cancer no longer means a death sentence, at least not always, that message has not settled in. The big C.

    Perhaps not a death sentence, or at least not as sudden a death as in times only recently past, it still pulls you into a long, often upsetting series of treatments and wrangles with insurance companies. I suppose the Royal family may be spared that last one. Good for them.

     


    Commentary on the news Health Travel

  • Snow and Colds

    Posted on by Charles Comment

    Imbolc and the Purim Moon

    Shabbat gratefuls: Lighting the candles. Big Snow. Cold night. Cold recovery underway. My torah portion. Bechirah. Choice points. Kehillah. Community. Next MVP. Me. Rich Levine. Ron. Tara. Susan. Jamie. Joanne. Rebecca. Alan. Luke and Leo. Snow burden on the Lodgepoles already diminished. Snow all round the house. 3 feet for sure. Four in some spots.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: A very, very Snowy Mountain Morning

    One brief shining: Roll over after waking up, raise head to see out the window, and Snow above the window sill, look again, same, oh right the big storm, Snow stretching out beyond the window to the Lodgepoles and fences in back, driveway buried in front.

     

    Though compacted some by weight the Snow remains impressive here. According to neighbors, Conifer got hit more than the rest of the state. Not sure I believe that though we sure got a lot. One guy had 65 inches on his tape measure. I know I got over three feet, less than four. Think of the Wild Neighbors who still have to forage through all of this. They have to eat each day, too. The burden of life.

    My regular plow guy, Vince, had surgery a couple of weeks ago and is having a tough recovery. He texted me before the storm, said he and his backup guy would come checkout my driveway. Well. Texted Vince yesterday. The backup guy is stuck in his own driveway. Ah.

    Onto Next Door Neighbors. Guys with heavy equipment have posted, one on Shadow Mountain. I’ve messaged them, maybe they can dig me out. Not a big deal really. Plenty of food, house is warm. And in true Colorado fashion this will all melt during the next week anyhow. Still, I’d like to get out and see the sights.

     

    My cold has faded away, leaving me fatigued and feeling off. Haven’t got the bounce back jolt of energy yet. Looking forward to it. For now, shabbating anyhow.

    When ill, at least for me in the acute phase, my world narrows. I become the slight fever, the runny nose, the aching body and not much else. Maybe hunger sneaks in around the margins. There’s even a sense that my eyes have a more compact field of vision. Everything contracts.

    So the experience of recovery becomes a widening, a gradual reembracing of thought, of other concerns like that to do list on my phone. Marveling at Great Sol on the vast expanse of white Snow. Letting the world beyond my own skin back into visibility.

     

    Just a moment: I have pictures of the Snow but due to technical difficulties, I can’t post them yet. Too unnecessarily complicated to explain. But soon.

     

     

     


    Feelings Fourth Phase Health Weather +Climate

  • Storms inner and outer

    Posted on by Charles Comment

    Imbolc and the Purim Moon

    Friday gratefuls: SNOW. Guessing 4 feet here. Shadow Mountain home. Keeping me hygge. Heat pumps stealing heat from 20 degree air. Rice maker. Zojirushi. Black-eyed Peas. Mixed Greens, southern style. Lox and English Muffins. Storms of March. Good moisture for us. Generator. Diane. Riley. Richard. Zoom. Sue Bradshaw. Medicine.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Snow Storm

    One brief shining: Sent Ron a note about free will, he wrote back, “I’m in awe of the storm,” Susan sent out a note to us all in the MVP, “I’m in awe of the storm,” and I looked out the window with snow higher, a good deal higher, than my bedroom’s window sill and thought, “I’m in awe of the storm.”

     

    Great Sol awaits our turning toward his face so I cannot yet see what the night added to the Snow visible yesterday evening. This was a big one. Made me think of be the change you want to see in the world. Each Snow flake alone would melt on contact with the ground in March. Many, thousands, millions, cool the surface and make it survivable for those Snow flakes on the way, each alone as they drop from the Sky. Over time they build soft new shapes, white mounds of frozen water, altering the landscape for as far as can be seen. Changing the world.

    My Lodgepole companion has become visible now. Their Branches hang heavily with the Snow burden. Earlier Snow, less moisture dense, slides off as the Branches bend toward our Mother, this denser Snow adheres. Needles can only be seen from underneath the Branch.

    Finished, the Snow has moved on, leaving us with this beauty, this wonder.

     

    My cold followed the storm. I’m left with fatigue and some clogged sinuses, but otherwise feeling well. Glad it was mild.

    More disquieting than the cold was its capacity, as I wrote in Flip the Kayak, to turn my mood sour, headed toward self-pity and self-doubt. I fought it with rounds of Tal’s acting warmup: How do I feel? And, stepping back a bit, looking in toward the part of me oh so willing to find the negative, the downbeat, the self-critical. Oh, that guy. He’s back? Short-timer. He’ll leave soon. Worked. Most of the time. A persistent fog, cold and heavy lingered hinting at the long slide into the Shadow I could take.

    The body. The lev. The soul. All wrapped up in each other, each effecting the other, pulling each other sometimes in synchrony sometimes with dissonance. My soul remains calm beneath the swampy ebbs and flows of a tired, sick body and a lev which has forgotten compassion. Did Jamie just disregard me? Why didn’t Marilyn sign on to the post about how good I was at leading the group? Did those who did mean it or are they just knee jerk complimenters? Likely the latter my lev said. And the body agreed. Sank a bit behind the eyes where fatigue and emotional weariness drag down my clarity of vision.

     

    Just a moment: The Trials of Donald Trump, or, Devils in America. Coming to a Broadway stage in this the year of our Lord 20toodamnedhot50.

     

     

     

     

     


    Feelings Fourth Phase Health Weather +Climate

  • Flip the Kayak

    Posted on by Charles Comment

    Imbolc and the Purim Moon

    Wednesday gratefuls: Snow already falling. 3 feet! predicted. Whoa. Jackie and Rebecca, both canceled. Haircut and a friend lunch. March in the Mountains. Tom. The tire pressure sensors. The cold. Making a come back. Sleep. Naps. Tired. Anemia. Snow plows and their drivers. The roadgrader, too. Shadow Mountain and Black Mountain. Storm.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Lotta Snow

    One brief shining: Illness and its changing of the inner atmosphere, like a cloud scudding across the fearful ego; moods altered by digging down below to find dirty gems, sad regrets, remnants of life, of past mistakes, of old fears, a comprehensive muck raking that can destabilize the heart sending it spinning out, out, out faraway from its real home.

     

    Guess I didn’t pay attention when Kate was alive. 7-10 days for the common cold. Tom knew that. I thought I was getting better yesterday. But no. Still tired, sneezy, and drippy. (guess I’m one of the 7 dwarves) Fortunately I have almost no obligations right now, especially over the next few days. Should see me through this insult.

    Went to the doctor yesterday to talk about my bleed. She prescribed more of the suppositories because they seem to help. Having them on hand gives me a bit of security when my situation turns ugly. I went to a Walgreen’s to pick them up and experienced an oh my I’m old moment.

    As I got ready to pay, a phone number popped up on the card reader’s screen:  303-674-xxxx. Tell me the last four numbers for security purposes. Nothing. It simply wasn’t there. I was sick anyhow and this task overwhelmed me. I don’t have that phone anymore, I said. I lied. And regretted that, digging my hole deeper. The clerk put in my cell phone number, which I know. The minute she did what popped in my head? 5398. Yes, those four x’s.

    I recount this to show how, instead of going from strength to strength, we can, when old, go from weakness to weakness. Already sick I doubled down by freezing on that phone number. Which I instantly read as a sign of senile brain. Only later did I realize that the unexpected nature of the request combined with a number I already had trouble remembering (address-9358. last four numbers-5398) was the issue. Not memory.

    My reaction time when surprised has declined significantly. It’s not my mental capacity which continues vigorous and strong. It’s about capacity to adapt quickly to the unexpected. Don’t give me command of anything that requires sudden decisions. It’s also part of why I don’t like to drive at night anymore. My reactions are already compromised and the darkness amplifies them.

    How we can turn on ourselves, give ourselves short shrift. I needed some time and some distance to sort all this out. A fortunate aspect of aging is our capacity to see things for what they are, to not be fooled by momentary or unusual circumstances. To be able to flip the kayak underwater, then flip it back up to the surface where there’s oxygen again. Can’t say it always happens instantaneously though.


    Aging Feelings Fourth Phase Friends Health Weather +Climate

  • Kate

    Posted on by Charles Comment

    Imbolc and the Purim Moon

    Monday gratefuls: This damned cold. Heat pumps. Morning dark on Shadow Mountain. The lives of my Wild Neighbors. Ruby and her snowshoes. Taxes. Preparing and paying. Election 2024. Joe Biden. 45. 45 entertaining Orban in Florida. Gaza. Israel. Hamas. Judaism. Two state solution. Mussar. Kabbalah. Tree of life. Ed Walsh. Sheepshead. Games.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Chesed

    One brief shining: Formula One has begun its 2024 season with Max Verstappen winning the first two races; this sport so expensive, so fast, so global fires the dreams of go-kart drivers and a 77 year old on Snow tires in his SUV.

     

    My isolation here on Shadow Mountain keeps me mostly away from Covid, RSV, but not from the common cold. Achoo! Not sure how I caught it (shouldn’t it be the cold caught me?), maybe at Aspen Perks on Saturday or Mussar on Thursday. Anyhow interrupted sleep, lots of kleenex. Push fluids, Kate says. And rest. Yes, ma’am.

    As you know, even colds are nothing to sneeze at in your late 70’s. Another Kate saying from medicine of yesteryear: Pneumonia is the friend of the elderly. Meaning it can end suffering. Cheery thought.

    Kate. So smart. So knowledgeable. So sweet. Handy with a kitchen and a sewing room. Yesterday marked the 34th anniversary of our 1990 wedding in St. Paul. Joseph played the piano. BJ, Sarah, and a couple of hired musicians performed our wedding composition. Diane stood up with me. A lovely and meaningful start to our thirty-one years together.

    How can I say the depth of my feeling for her? Kate came into my life at just the right moment. I’d lost my faith in the Christian God, needed to get out of the ministry, but how would I pay the bills? Raise Joseph? Kate saw and understood my predicament, said yes when I asked her if I could quit. Said yes to my writing and cooking, caring for the dogs and the boys as my contribution to our marriage. She took a chance on me as I did on her.

    After our move to Andover, a Twin Cities exurb, well into what Kate and I called the pickup zone (where the bulk of the vehicles on the roads were pickups), our life together blossomed. Literally and figuratively. Flowers and Vegetables and a small Orchard. Bees. Dogs, so many Dogs. The firepit. We lived a life of horticulture, apiculture, and, as Jon called it, dog ranching.

    A mutual life. Kate extracting honey. Kate the Ninja weeder with her bandana. Charlie the Soil and planting worker. The beekeeper. The Dog feeder. Kate quilting. Me writing. Both of us hanging out with the Dogs. Prepping meals with our own heirloom Tomatoes, our own Leeks and Onions, Carrots, Green Beans. Honeycrisp Apples. Cherries and Plums.

    A complete and grounded life.

    Kate’s last years were spent on Shadow Mountain. Where, she often said, everyday was a vacation day. We loved living here, loving here. Our marriage continues. Ruth and Gabe. This house. The substantial IRA Kate left to me. Joe and Seoah, who loved Kate and was loved back by her. She is gone from this vale but not forgotten. Never forgotten.


    Family Feelings Fourth Phase Health

  • Biden needs to step away

    Posted on by Charles Comment

    Imbolc and the Ancient Moon

    Sunday gratefuls: Myself. Mark. His student, Shayim. Hafar. Alan, still recovering. Luke in Grandby for shabbat. Working on his art. Leo there, too. Floaters. Dusting of Snow. A Mountain Morning. The Mule Deer Yearling and her friend. The Ancient Brothers. On folks that made a difference. My son. Kate, of blessed memory. All the Dogs we loved. Becoming.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Healing

    One brief shining: My fingers move and words spit out on the screen where before only white space existed, giving evidence to some electrical activity in my skull, not guided, not followed, not sure how it happens or why, a real mystery, a miracle that suggests intention more than demonstrates it, something I do not grasp.

     

    What I mean is this. I’ll have a general idea, right now this mystery of words formed by my fingers on a keyboard. Yet as I write I don’t think before I write: Oh, now I should write I don’t think before I write. If I did, I’d never get anything on the page. See that just came out. No forethought. Imagine yourself in a conversation. Do you consider the words you’re about to say? Sure, sometimes, but I mean in casual, ordinary situations. Just chatting. Oh. Now I should say, I’m not thinking about what I say. The point is that if we stopped to consciously choose each word we write or say, then we’d never write or talk. Not sure why this is a big deal to me. But it is.

    Yes, and a further mystery. The words usually cohere. Thoughts form. We understand each other as if we had carefully crafted what we said. That’s the point, btw, not that you don’t think-hardly-rather that the expression of your thinking comes fluidly and quickly. Not confident I’m saying this well.

    Now I am forming each word as I write. Ha. Became self-conscious. Oh, damn it!

     

    Just a Moment: Biden’s age. A majority of those who voted for Biden in the last election now thinks he’s too old to be effective.  63% either strongly or somewhat agreed in a recent NYT poll. At 77, the orange one’s age, and closer to 81 than 70, I have mixed feelings about this.

    In spite of my prostate cancer I feel that my health is very good to excellent. No, I can’t run a mile anymore or walk as far as I could without pain, but can my mind function clearly and decisively? Of course. At least I think so. You, reader, may be a better judge. Even so my stamina is not what it once was. Not even what it was ten years ago. Age does matter, but it matters differently for each person.

    So I resist the ageist impulse behind Biden’s detractors. In spite of his many critics, he’s passed major legislation, kept the country engaged but not embroiled in two potentially explosive conflicts in the Ukraine and Israel, been a steady hand on the tiller. And don’t downplay the value of that last piece. Compare him to 45. I’ve seen no evidence that his mind is not up to the task. (He’s a stutterer and makes the occasional gaffe. So what?)

    On the other hand perception is nine tenths of the law in politics. For whatever reasons, ageism one of them, even those who support him have not only begun to doubt but gone full throated about his inability to do the job. I think he needs to step aside. Not sure how that happens, but this election is too important. We have to win it. And I don’t think he can do it.

     


    Fourth Phase Health Politics Science

  • Loneliness

    Posted on by Charles Comment

    Imbolc and the Ancient Moon

    Tuesday gratefuls: Dan. Alan. Joanne. Snow. My companion Lodgepole greeting the Snow. Much as they greet Great Sol. Home. Sue Bradshaw. Josh. Proctitis. Feeling vulnerable. Alone. A white Snow Cloud filling the Sky. Electricity. Fitbit. My desktop and laptop. The internet. What a joy. A.I. Senate Navy Bean Soup. Corn bread muffins. Health

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Waking up

    One brief shining: We need the windows in our homes like we need our eyes, so we can see outside, right now my eyes turn to this computer screen, but every so often they turn up and look toward Black Mountain, see only the Clouds bringing the Snow, of course, too, my hands typing and the file cabinet and the wall, like the window view we see only a portion of the World around us, yet it is enough for the moment.

     

    With my visceral world calmed down, as it has been since Sunday morning after that no good, horrible night, I want to revisit my feelings of loneliness. They stemmed not from the bleed itself, but from the feeling of vulnerability it sent cascading through my soul. Looked at from today’s perspective that makes sense to me. What else is loneliness than a feeling of vulnerability in a world populated by over ten billion other humans? And none available when life gets scary, hard.

    I feel fortunate that for me the feeling was temporary, exacerbated by the depth of the night and the severity of my situation. Several folks have reached out since then, confirming what I knew-once that shock passed: there are many who would take my call, even come. I’ve returned, strengthened by those responses, to my usual alone, but not lonely. Visiting loneliness for an hour or so was a brusque shock; however, it gave me a window, see one brief shining today, into that narrowed and insecure experience.

    I’ll see Sue Bradshaw on March 12th and I’ve sent a note to Kristie, my oncology P.A. I want to be aware and ready if this happens again.

    Mentioning Kristie reminds me I’ve not remarked about my latest lab results. My PSA rose slightly, as did my testosterone. That may mean my cancer has begun to wake up from its chemically induced slumber. May not. Another round of labs-I’m a phlebotomy regular!-in six weeks rather than three months. If it’s rising again, we’ll wait until it hits .3 and then I’ll have another PET scan. That will determine a new course of treatment.

    Kristie tells me that even since I went on the Erleada and Orgovyx, now some two and a half years ago, other treatment protocols have been found. The ever pushing forward of prostate cancer research produces results helpful to me in real time. As a result, I’m not worried, more curious about what happens next.

     

    Just a moment: A friend from CBE recently returned from her months long stay in a Buddhist nunnery in India sent me a note. Since I was officially a Jew now, she said when I replied to her I had to kvetch about at least one thing. Kvetch=complain in Yiddish. I sent her a note with this.  My kvetch: Election year 2024. That one should be good for some months.


    Family Feelings Fourth Phase Friends Health Politics

  • Life

    Posted on by Charles Comment

    Imbolc and the Ancient Moon, now waning

    Monday gratefuls: Life. Familiar sounds as Shadow Mountain folks go off to work. The Sky like a polished katana. My buzzy body. Taking in our insults, regathering. My lev healed. For now. Rest days. Bereshit. Television. Soothing. Taking care. Of myself. Annie. BJ. Sarah. Phone call from Ruth. Gabe and his learner’s permit test. Taxes. Tis the season.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Steroids

    One brief shining: Our body carries the after effects of our lousy night, a bit shaky, thrown off, yet also eager to move on, get fed, go back to the usual diet and exercise routine, yet not yet, for the lingering sense, a drained out, hollowed feeling, goes back and forth, up our back and gut, into the shoulders, and thence directly to the mind where memory traces its account in blood.

     

    Blessed cessation. Oh, yes. When something not happening takes on an outsized significance. A quasi-normal day after a horrible night. Quasi because not confident in the not happening. Will this start up again? God, I hope not. Likelihood seeming less and less as the day wore on. Confidence increasing. This flare has ended. Still some laundry to do, but yes. Moving past this to healthy life again. Oh, thank you to the miraculous body who is me, who is our physical presence in the world. Who in spite of our troubles finds our center again, rushes to healing. Our journey together, my lev and my body, is the most ancientrail of all.

    As I learned, again, after Kate’s death, Great Sol appears anyway, throwing the bright light of fusion driven energy on the peak of Black Mountain. The Lodgepoles still reach toward Great Sol, eager for their daily nutrition. Maxwell Creek flows on down the Mountain, Kate’s Creek feeding into it not far from from Hwy 73. Neighbors get up and brush their teeth, eat breakfast, go to work. Our journey is brief, our significance most likely little. We sink quickly from sight and memory.

    Why then do we live? Why do we greet a return from illness or problems as a resurrection? A return to normalcy. Why? Because life is all we know. These cells of our humanness, so few compared to the others-just checked this out and turns out it’s not true. The best estimate, cited in this article: 1.3 microbiome cells to 1 human cell. Even with this estimate the reality is that our human cells are less than half of our body’s constituent cells. And, BTW: there are also viruses, fungi and archaea in addition to the microbiome’s bacteria. What even is “our” life? We have had no say in creating this astounding organism, this host-self, that wants most of all to continue to live. That is the existential imperative. We gasp for Air. We find Water. We eat each day. We do these things not out of choice, but habit, instinct. The lungs must have oxygen. Our cells must have Water and nutrition. So we organize ourselves around those needs. We live.

    Of course we can fancy this up with philosophy and religion. We can come to an awareness of living that raises our continued existence to the level of choice. Yes. But even then the biological imperatives must be met while considering this. What we do with this strange and momentary glance at reality depends on our learning, our choices, our dreams, of course. But deprive the body of air or water or food and no dream, even one of justice, will come first.

     

     

     


    Feelings Fourth Phase Health