Cooking, Politics, Science

What was the right choice?

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Samain and the Summer’s End Moon

Monday gratefuls: Joy. Simcha. In late Fall, in morning darkness, for Artemis and her children, in Shadow’s eager hugs in the morning. Joanne at home. Shrimp Broil. Cooking. My kitchen. The many trails of our lives. Mule Deer in the yard yesterday. Dr. Patel. Torn labrum. MVP. Evergreen Orthotics.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Cooking the Shrimp Broil

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah:  Chesed.  Loving Kindness.  “Kindness is the language the deaf can hear and the blind see.”  Mark Twain

Tarot: Being a metaPhysician

One brief shining: Though darkness obscures Black Mountain, the Lodgepoles, Derek’s house, the night also offers an advantage to those  Animals with eyes made to see in its limited illumination, so the night falls not as fully as it seems to our human, diurnal eyes; yet, Great Sol’s light which returns Black Mountain to our eyes, his very light obscures and hides completely Stars and Galaxies that make up our Universe, which is the greater veil, night or day?

 

Cooking: Finally. Made the shrimp broil sheet pan recipe, enough for four or five meals.

The standing. Even with my rubber anti-fatigue mats, which help, I had to sit down often after I powered through gathering the ingredients, Shrimp thawed from the refrigerator, sweet Corn, too, baby Potatoes, extra virgin Olive Oil, paprika, cayenne pepper, Old Bay seasoning, and Himalayan pink Salt, and cut the baby potatoes in half, throwing them in the large mixing bowl with two tablespoons Olive oil, and two minced garlic cloves. Stir to coat. Then dump onto the new Nordic Ware half sheet pan.

Knackered with dehusking the Corn and cutting each ear into four smaller pieces, buttering each one, setting them aside. I put the Potatoes into the 425 degree oven, set the timer for 20 minutes, and sat down. Not long, less than five minutes.

Pat the Shrimp dry and toss them with more Garlic and more Olive Oil. Put seasonings into the bowl and stir to coat. Sit down.

Ding. The Potatoes were finished so I placed the Corn on them and put the pan back in the oven. 2 minutes and out, turn the Corn, and add the Shrimp. 2 minutes later, turn the Shrimp. 2 more minutes and done. I sat for each interval.

That first plate tasted so, so good. I love cooking.

 

Just a moment: Caving. Eight Senators. one independent and seven Democrats, voted to end the shutdown without extending health insurance subsidies. A reasonable person can make an argument of compassion. SNAP returns to normal. The military gets paid, National Park rangers along with other  Federal workers, many of whom worked, like the military, with no pay for a month plus, get paid.

A reasonable person could also make a compassionate argument for holding out for the subsidy extensions. Millions of ordinary Americans, including many, many Trump voters will have to pay greatly elevated health insurance premiums. In effect a tax on a necessity, further weakening the cash flow of the middle and working classes.

I don’t know what the right choice was. Do you?

 

 

Garden, Greenhouse

Go now, the growing season has ended

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Samain and the Summer’s End Moon

Sunday gratefuls: The Trail. Ancientrails. The Abyss Trail. Burning Bear Creek Trail. The Kalalau Trail. The trail into the Haleakala Caldera. The trail in Waimea Canyon State Park where I almost died. The trail along the Rum River where I used to exercise. The trail in the Woods behind the Andover Library where I snowshoed. The trails in Turkey Creek State Park where I ran out my grief. Upper Maxwell Creek and Lower Maxwell Creek trails.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Shrimp Broil

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah:  Chesed.  Loving Kindness.  “Kindness is the language the deaf can hear and the blind see.”  Mark Twain

Tarot: Being a metaPhysician

Before the Fall

One brief shining: Picked up my new garden shears, an old favorite style from the Andover days, released their spring, and started cutting the thick stalks of now withered Tomato Plants after I severed the twine holding them up; a few frozen Roma and Cherry Tomatoes, most red but a few green still clung to their branches, snip, snip, snip, snip then with gloves on I began to pull, the interlaced Branches making the task of removing all of them easier, a few Tomatoes fell off, but I piled up the Plants outside, went back inside and picked them up, one smashed by my foot, its Seeds spilled on the greenhouse floor, tossed them on the pile and Artemis’ first year had ended. Almost.

Hanging the Mezuzah on Artemis: Irv, Marilyn, Gabe, Tara, Me, Rabbi Jamie

Artemis: Go now, the growing season has ended. Not quite though. Nantes Carrots still grow in the east facing raised bed. Probably should say they were still growing yesterday. 17 degrees right now. That might end them though Carrots can survive a lot of chill, becoming sweeter as they do. They are the last with the exception of that Russian Garlic I planted over a week ago in the west facing bed.

May plant Lettuce, Arugula, Kale, and Chard where the Tomatoes grew. Need for Nathan to install the insulation panels before that makes sense. Also need to procure a better heater, probably propane.

Even with good temperature control it’s possible winter crops will be hard to grow given the weaker light of Great Sol. Learning. I love having all these problems to solve, things I understand. A real hobby.

Which reminds me of my painting I’ve not gotten back to. And cooking. Which I also enjoy. I’m hopeful that the nerve ablations, when they happen (still unscheduled), will free up some energy, some stamina for both of them.

Stamina becomes an issue because pain in my lower back does not take long to wear me out. I had ten Garlic Cloves to plant, for example. After digging their holes, putting in the fertilizer, placing the Clove, and covering each one with Soil, then more potting Soil, I had to stop at six, come in and rest my back before I could finish. Same with removing the Tomato Plants. Took two sessions.

Working with Plants, with Soil, with the raised beds, the greenhouse, painting, and cooking all require standing. Which taxes me. A lot.

Politics, Wild Neighbors

A One-Antlered Elk Bull

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Samain and the Summer’s End Moon

Shabbat gratefuls: New electric blanket and duvet. November. Late fall. Aspen leaves still visible on the ground, their golden color now faded. Elk Cows and three Bulls along Cub Creek at the turn into Evergreen. Alan and the Dandelion. Joanne back home. Shadow eating her breakfast. Torah study. Cutting out the Tomato Plants. Planting Lettuce, Arugula, Chard. Cooking. Sheet pan meals. Alan.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: That one-antlered Elk Bull, all grown up

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah:  Chesed.  Loving Kindness.  “Kindness is the language the deaf can hear and the blind see.”  Mark Twain

Tarot: Being a metaPhysician

One brief shining: Have you ever seen the slimy evidence of a Banana Slug as it chews its way through Lettuce, Tomatoes, Bean Stalks, or the delicate imprint of two cloven hooves, perhaps a yearling Mule Deer, maybe the segmented three toed evidence of Wild Turkeys in the Snow, perhaps the imprint of a small rubber rainboot heading not away from the big puddle but into it, if so, you have witnessed the presence of another by the trail they leave behind.

 

Wild Neighbors: On June 6th of 2019 I began my first day of 35 sessions of radiation. Before I left for Lonetree that morning, I looked out back and there were three young Elk Bulls in the back yard, hundreds of pounds each, dining one by one on the yellow dandelions I encourage to grow there. One of the Bulls had only one antler.

These same three, the one antlered one among them returned for three more early June sessions over the years, sometimes staying the night to resume their meal; then they stopped coming. I figured they’d been shot or died an early death of one sort or another.

When I turned off Brook Forest Drive yesterday on my way into Evergreen, several, maybe as many as twenty dark brown Elk Cows lined the banks of Cub Creek, resting in the yards of two small houses, eating grass, drinking from the Creek. A not uncommon sight there.

Watching over them were three Elk Bulls, one with only one antler. Of course I can’t be sure they were the same Bulls who ate yellow flowers in my back yard, but in the almost eleven years I’ve lived here, I’ve only seen one one-antlered Bull.

Most often, too, I see only one Bull with a harem of this size. There were three. All grown up. They stood proud and watchful while most of the Cows reclined as if in a pillowed room of a Caliph’s inner sanctum. In my imagination anyhow these are the same three, deciding to live their best Elk lives together, breaking the usual rules and sharing their duties without antler clacking acrimony.

Made me smile.

 

Just a moment: With Tuesday’s heartening election results still resonant, I cringe even more at the Supreme Court allowing (temporarily, they say) red tie guy to intentionally starve millions of our impoverished fellow citizens. If only cruelty and meanness were bread and meat, no one would go hungry in Trump’s America made great again.

Cooking, Judaism, Torah

A Comedian God?

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Samain and the Summer’s End Moon

Friday gratefuls: Morning kisses from Shadow. Her vitality. Joanne. Tara. Alan. Sarah and Josh, their new restaurant. Newalins style. Dandelion. Deeper darkness. Orion, my Winter friend. Whom I have neglected. Pregnant Cows, Does, Black Bears, and Mountain Lions. Among many others. CBE. Its origin and its present. The Trail. The Ancientrail.

Sparks of Joy and Awe:  Sheet Pan Meals

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah:  Histapkot.  Contentment. Acceptance.                       I’m comfortable with who I am and with what I have.

Tarot: Being a metaPhysician

One brief shining: Filled up my copper watering can, picked up a handful of dog treats, went outside into a Mountain late Fall day where the difference between sombre et sol could be fifteen degrees or more;  I watered my brave Carrots, their delicate, frond-like Leaves swaying back and forth in a light morning Breeze, then turned to play with Shadow, following the Sunlight to stay warm while I put treats on the ground or asked her to sit, down, or touch. She smiled, tail wagging.

 

Two Nordicware half sheet pans came yesterday, making my old docent colleague, Linda Jefferies, a few cents richer. Linda’s grandfather invented the bundt cake pan.

Though once a cake baker myself at the Party Cake Bakery in Appleton, Wisconsin, I no longer delight in mixing huge bowls of cake batter and squeezing precisely one pound of it into cake pans sitting on a small scale.

These sheet pans are for my new cooking venture, sheet pan meals. First will be Cabbage and Butter Beans followed by a Shrimp broil. Gradually closing the book on Cook Unity. At least for a while. Either today or tomorrow.

 

Parashat Vayera for tomorrow morning’s bagel table. This important segment of Bereshit (Genesis) has the prophecy to Sarah, at which she laughs. The destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah. The exile of Hagar and Ishmael. And, the Akedah, the binding of Isaac.

Not sure which direction Luke will take the morning since it’s impossible to cover a whole parsha in one hour and a half session. Lots of wonderful mythic tales. Sarah, in her late nineties, is told her barrenness will come to an end. She laughs as Abraham did in the previous parsha at the same news. God as the first borscht belt comedian? I love that those sages who stitched together all these different stories included a couple that feature laughter. A pregnant near centenarian? What’s not to laugh at?

But poor Isaac. Sarah’s only son. Whom God instructs Abraham to sacrifice. The Akedah. A test of Abraham’s faith? Therefore our faith in ourselves to handle even the most demanding expectations with which life presents us? I like this idea that each of us may have an Akedah which asks us  to sacrifice what is most dear to us in the name of love.

The midrash. One says the Ram that appears in the bush as an alternative sacrifice for Isaac gives its two horns as the first shofars, one blown at the foot of Mt. Sinai when the wandering Jews receive the Torah and one blown for the coming of the messiah.

Another suggests Satan told Sarah who died of shock and grief.

Yet others see Isaac as older, some see him as old as 37, and a willing participant who tells Abraham to bind him tightly so he won’t struggle and invalidate the offering.

What kind of midrash could you offer?

 

Cancer, Friends, Health

The Missing Hour

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Samain and the Summer’s End Moon

Thursday gratefuls: Nurse Marissa. Dr. (Kirk) Harter. Dr. Garapati. The Radiology Tech. The MRI machine that I never saw. Swedish Hospital. Kate, always Kate. The view from a hospital bed. Tara, my sweet friend. Eleanor, who played all day with Shadow. Being driven. Being helped. Rabbi Jamie’s birthday on the fourth. Mayo, helping my buddy, Tom.

Sparks of Joy and Awe:  Propofol

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah:  Histapkot.  Contentment. Acceptance.                       I’m comfortable with who I am and with what I have.

Tarot: Being a metaPhysician

One brief shining: A ritual of infantilization begins with go to this room on this floor, continues with a nurse telling you to remove all of your clothes, put on some of ours that tie in the back and let your butt hang out, now lie down in the bed and I’ll bring you a nice warm blankie before asking you so many, so many questions they will seem like a lullaby. Which they were.

 

The missing hour: After all of Marissa’s questions had been asked, the IV placed, an oximeter taped to my finger, and a blood pressure cuff attached to my arm, plus one more warm blankie for good measure, Dr. Harter, barely old enough to shave, came by my bed and asked me many of the same questions again. We chose conscious sedation and I signed a temporary reversal of my DNR just in case the anesthesia stopped my heart. That’s something easily and non-invasively fixed. Or so Dr. Harter promised. Happy to observe that was not necessary.

After a half an hour or so of watching people and beds come and go in the Ambulatory Care Unit, a Radiology tech kicked the lock off on my bed and pushed me, pretty fast and confidently, to a large bed-sized elevator to go down one floor to imaging.

A small bay in the room with POWERFUL MAGNETS ALWAYS ON, as the sign read, was the last thing I saw before my missing hour. The tech, an older woman, late sixties I’d say, hooked me up to a machine to read my vitals: heart rate 69, bp 119/72, O2 sat at 97 with a canula, a few other numbers I couldn’t understand. She then came over and pushed some saline into the IV.

Dr. Garapati mused about the advances in medicine I’d seen in my lifetime. I really wasn’t as aware of them as he seemed to think. Still, he seemed nice.

Dr. Harter came on my left, or IV side, and attached a line to my IV, then that line to a hanging bag. This will take just a minute to act…and then I was in recovery, wondering where my missing hour had gone.

A strange sensation, to have no memory at all of the MRI, a good sensation for claustrophobic me. If I have to have another MRI, this is the method I’ll choose. How many times in life can we bypass something terrifying (to me) with the help of so many nice people?

 

 

 

Reimagine. Reconstruct. Reenchant., Reimaging revelation

The MetaPhysician Is In

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Samain and the Summer’s End Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: Tara. MRI. Swedish. Kate, always Kate. Shadow, who greets me. Carrots, strong in the cold nights. Joanne. Rehab. That Spider walking across my hand this morning. Super Moon coming. Evening darkness. Tom and Paul. Diane. Joe Greenberg. My son. Mark’s photo of Hafar at night. Mary’s of her Melbourne neighborhood. Seoah.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Chatgpt on neck braces

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah:  Histapkot.  Contentment. Acceptance.                       I’m comfortable with who I am and with what I have.

Tarot: Being a metaPhysician

One brief shining: At Bivouac I got a Cortado in a small blue glass; the barista put it on a wooden tray with a sweet biscuit and a short glass of seltzer water which I carried to a table outside in Great Sol’s late fall warmth; Joe followed with his cup of regular coffee and a similar tray, sat down, and we began the delicate dance of getting to know one another.

MetaPhysician: Gonna put a sign up outside my house, metaPhysician for hire. Ontologist available with sufficient lead time. Got this idea riffing with one of my friends, I think Paul.

Partly comes from the idea of no longer wanting therapy, self-improvement books, notions for polishing the psyche. We’ve graduated from all that, having done the work, thank you.

Does not mean though that there aren’t still mysteries and flaws. Just that we know about them, allow them to be without the globalizing judgments of our second phase lives.

I decided I could be, maybe have always been, a metaPhysician, a healer of Cartesian worldviews, a friend who would stare into the abyss with you, a companion on the long, strange journey from the mundane to the sacred. Need a reminder that body and mind are one? Come to me for short or long sessions.

Having an existential crisis that requires getting to the depths of the Marianna’s Trench of your inner world? I’ll dive with you. Beginning to suspect that reality is not as discreet and separate as your senses suggest? I can help with that.

Yes, you can pay me in the golden leaves of Rocky Mountain Aspen in the fall or a clear glass of sanitized Maxwell Creek Water. We also accept Water from any of the Great Lakes except Ontario and Erie. Mushrooms of the edible or hallucinogenic variety. Morels in particular. The metaPhysician loves beef tenderloin with Morels cooked in butter.

Have you had an experience of the oneness of all things, but don’t know what to do now? Our Ontologist who is on retainer can reassure you that far from having gone mad, you’ve actually gone sane.

Having trouble believing the chair you’re sitting in is mostly empty space? Our Ontologist can explain. Feeling sad for Schrodinger’s cat? We can both comfort you. We’re sad about it, too.

In closing. The world is not what it seems to be. It’s so much more. And all of it is right here for all of us always and in all ways.

Fallow time special: two visits for four nice Morels or a sack of golden Aspen leaves.

Health

A Wobbly

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Samain and the Summer’s End Moon

Tuesday gratefuls: Shadow and the time change. Joe. Sue Bradshaw. Dandelion. Safeway. Shrimp Broil. The Mountain Night Sky. Up the hill and faraway to grandpop’s house we go. Artemis in late fall. Only Carrots still growing. Winter crop planting soon. That wobbly neck. Erleada and Orgovyx. Radiation. Jangly. Gabe as Bruce Springsteen. Seo as Spider Punk.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: My chair, which supports my neck

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah:  Histapkot.  Contentment. Acceptance.                       I’m comfortable with who I am and with what I have.

Tarot: Being a metaPhysician

One brief shining: While Ana cleaned my house, I went to Aspen Perks for an early lunch, fish and chips; after lunch I walked through the Safeway to the pharmacy picking up the drugs for my still long awaited nerve ablations (not yet scheduled), came back out to Ruby, opened the Safeway app and alerted the pickup crew that I was, once again, in parking spot number one and would use the passcode 7528 when they came out, drove home and unloaded the groceries in their brown paper sacks, put them away. Exhausted, wrung out.

 

Here’s what seems to be going on. I think of my ailments as separate entities of different etiologies and not influencing each other. That feeling is not inappropriate. The hip pain is from my torn labrum. The back and leg pain from bulging discs and spinal arthritis. Prostate cancer from runaway rogue cells that birthed in my prostate. The wobbly neck is a late season present from my 1949 illness. See, different etiologies. Separateness, too, seems supported by this:  different medical specialties treat each one.

Yet. Each one draws on the energy reserves of my body. Chronic pain distracts and exhausts. Cancer means my body has to work extra hard to make up for the energy supplies the cancer cells steal from it. But, right now, I think my main point of exhaustion comes, surprisingly, from my wobbly neck.

While at the synagogue Saturday for bagel table and the men’s group, I became aware that sitting in chairs without head support, most chairs at the synagogue and in restaurants, leaves me, at the end of an hour and a half tingling with fatigue. And I’ve done nothing physically but sit in a chair.

By the time I got home on Saturday weariness had overtaken all of me.

Yesterday, as I wrote above, lunch out and walk across Safeway to the pharmacy followed by unloading and putting away my groceries left me in the same depleted state.

Why do I think it’s my wobbly neck that saps the final dregs? I come home, sit in my chair with neck support for an hour or so, and I’m ready to get up and go outside with Shadow, work in Artemis, cook. If, even at home, I’m up without neck support for a long period, say forty-five minutes, the exhaustion returns.

Fatigue in my case may begin with chronic pain and cancer, but it becomes debilitating when my neck does not have support. This places renewed attention on the hunt for some kind of brace. Not an easy one. It also means I have to pay attention to the places I go and how I am in them.

Cooking, Dogs, Garden, Greenhouse, Plants, Sport

Maybe…

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Samain and the Summer’s End Moon

Monday gratefuls: Ginny and Janice. Planting Garlic. Putting the Garden to bed. Solving Garden problems. Dead Cucumber Vines and Nasturtiums. Frost, hard Freeze. Mother Nature, time to slow down. Shadow and the time change. New electric blanket. Working with the Soil. Winter is coming.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Planting in November

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah:  Histapkot.  Contentment. Acceptance.                       I’m comfortable with who I am and with what I have.

Tarot: Being a metaPhysician

One brief shining: A splendid day yesterday, blue Sky, a few clouds, temperature in the mid-sixties, so I got out the trowel, dug ten medium holes in the west raised bed, dropped a bit of organic fertilizer in the bottom, covered that with Soil, placed a Garlic Clove in with care, filled the hole with Soil, repeated this ten times, and after put two inches of soil over the now resting below Ground Cloves, followed that with six inches of Hay from Tara. Now we wait until next spring.

 

Dog diary: Each morning I let Shadow out. She runs about fifteen feet from the house, then stops. Her head swivels from left to right, checking her territory, seeing what should occupy her first. From that spot she often runs to the back fence where she sometimes finds Mule Deer or other Dogs, further away.

Her job is to know every inch of the yard and as far as she can see in any direction. Later in the morning as some neighbors walk their Dogs, she has responsibilities along the front fence, barking at these maybe invaders first from one side of the house, then running quickly to do the same at the other side of the house, being sure they stay on the other side of her domain.

A happily busy girl, my Shadow.

It occurred to me that we might sell permanent standard time, not for humans, but for Dogs. So many dog owners. So many confused and unhappy Dogs. We all love Dogs, right? Even if it strains us to love our fellow Americans. Just a thought.

 

Cooking: I ordered all the ingredients for two sheet pan meals: a Shrimp Boil and Roasted Cabbage and Butter Beans. This may be the trick I’ve been looking for to bring more Vegetables into my diet. Each recipe serves 4 which means I can get three to four meals out of each one. They’re also easy to assemble and cook. We’ll see over the next few weeks.

 

Sport: I know. So, so, male? Right? Well, never said I wasn’t a guy. (and, yes, before you say, I know there many rabid fans across genders and gender preferences.)

Baseball: I was a Dodger fan when I was a boy. Sandy Koufax, Don Drysdale, Maury Wills. They won it all in 1955, 1959, 1963, and 1965, the year I graduated from high school. I listened to games on my transistor radio as I delivered newspapers. Yes, still a fan and a happy one.

Football: Oh, that, too. Da Vikes. Perennial hope dashed always. Yet. Did we see a glimmer-again-of what could be? Vikings 27-Lions 24. McCarthy looked good. Maybe…

 

Back Pain, Cancer, Cooking, Coronavirus, Politics, Post Polio, Sport, US History

How Great an America is This?

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Samain and the Summer’s End Moon

Sunday gratefuls: Dodgers win the World Series! Rabbi Jamie’s hug. Joe. Alan. Jim. Corey. Irv. Matt. Torah study led by Luke. Bagels and schmear. Joanne in rehab. Back to real time, standard time. Dark Winds. Everwood.  Heather. Tramadol. The boiler. The mini-splits. My breath. Sight. Touch. Taste. Hearing. Smell. YHWH.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Home

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah:  Histapkot.  Contentment. Acceptance.                       I’m comfortable with who I am and with what I have.

Tarot: Being a metaphysician

One brief shining: Sitting in regular chairs, my head unsupported by a back rest, fasciculations begin, muscles straining and flexing, moving under the skin, distracting me from the words of Hagar and the Angel, from El-Roi, the God who sees, I don’t notice it, the wobbling, at first, until my shoulders get sore and I’m no longer able to concentrate, be sharp, as my head tilts right, polio wreaking one last not so subtle blow.

 

So. I’m taking notice. Part of my fatigue, maybe a big part, follows from my increasing inability to hold up my own head. Dr. Eunberg diagnosed it, post-polio syndrome. I’ve been to an orthotists’ office and been told my situation has no other instances. They’re going to modify soft collars for me. We’ll see.

Beginning to feel like my body’s falling apart literally from the neck down. A tumor on T4 needing radiation. Arthritic L1-L5 nerves needing ablation. A right torn labrum possibly needing surgery. I mean, geez.

I’m so far ahead of my insurance company with expensive cancer drugs, pet scans, mri’s, and radiation. That makes me feel somewhat good. Even so…

 

Food: Had the last of the sheet pan meal with my Cherry Tomatoes and Beets. So. Good. Planning more sheet plan cooking, easy, quick, lots of Veggies. Of all the health maintenance matters, cooking for myself has proved the most challenging. Just hard to pull off.

CookUnity has been ok, but just ok. Pricey and with time constraints that make it difficult to use. Some of the meals are tasty, many of them edible, but only edible.

May not be getting enough calories, protein.

 

Sport: What a world series! Game 7, extra innings, Dodgers behind with two outs in the ninth…and Rojas hits a home run! Tie game. In the 11th, the 11th inning of Game 7 of a world series with a historically long game 3, 18 innings, a double play ended the Canadian’s dreams. Dodger’s repeat. Not since the Yankees 1998-2000 run has a world series champion repeated.

Meanwhile, back in forlorn football country, JJ McCarthy returns from injury absence. Will he play like a future franchise quarterback? Or, will he rip out the hearts of a Twin City’s fan base already inured to the breaks never falling their way. If the Vikings didn’t have bad luck, they’d had have no luck at all.

 

Just a moment: SNAP. Medicaid. Obamacare. Taking money literally from the mouths of the poor, taking away their final recourse for medical care, raising health care premiums to the    sky for even middle class Americans. Funneling the money “saved” into the pockets of oligarchs. How great is this America?

Cancer, Health

Let’s Get Radiated!

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Samain and the Summer’s End Moon

Shabbat grateful: Joe Greenberg. Joanne. Shadow, the aggressive chewer. 26 degrees. Dr. Carter. Todd. Jenna. Another CT. RMCC. Ruby. Her Snow shoes. A full tank. Morning darkness. The festival of Samain, the final harvest. The fallow time. Winter is coming. That scene in Dark Winds, season 3, where Robert Redford and George Martin play chess in the Navajo Tribal Police jail cells.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Dodgers force game 7

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah:  Histapkot  Contentment     Acceptance.    I’m comfortable with who I am and with what I have.

Tarot: Being a metaphysician

One brief shining: A purple haired, antennaed alien, and Todd settled me once again into a CT sled, gave me a warm blanket, and heated a plastic mesh that fit just below my chin, over both sides of my bare chest almost to my belly button, pressed it in place, then hit the button that sent me under the whirring scanner after which Todd gave me two black tattoos, ouch, to insure correct placement for my 10 sessions of radiation.

 

Health: Drove 45 minutes to RMCC (Rocky Mountain Cancer Care) off Dry Creek Road in Littleton. I was a little unhappy because I had liked Dr. Leonard, but he was unavailable so I had to see Dr. Carter. While driving, it occurred to me that I might like him, too.

A handsome man in a rugged way, gray-blue eyes, short cut curly hair, and wearing gray scrubs, he entered the room smiling. I liked him right away. May sound silly, but it matters a lot to me that I have a good fit with my many doctors. Hell, they’re a significant part of my social life after all.

He went through my chart and my symptom list more carefully than any doc I’ve had. I felt cared for in his attention to the details. He and I laughed a lot.

I agreed to ten rounds of lower dose radiation rather than three higher dose sessions since my T3 vertebrae had been radiated in 2023 and T4 is right below it. Radiation can weaken the vertebrae and there was a spot where the T4 radiation might overlap with the older site. The lower dose per day decreases the chance of any harm because of that. It’s my spine, after all.

A kind man, too, Dr. Carter arranged the necessary planning CT to happen right after our visit, saving me a trip. Thanks, doc. Jenna, a CT tech, dressed as the alien. It was after all, Halloween.

Cancer. I’ve had many years now to consider it. An inner assassin. My body turned against me. A chronic disease. And, it is all those things. Yesterday I considered it sui generis. Simply an organism, if a runaway cell can be called that, cancer follows its own path, doing what it needs to do to survive. As I, the larger organism do, too.

My cancer is crafty, cunning. Consider that I’ve had the collective wisdom of decades of experiments, scientific break throughs, surgery, radiation, and drugs. It’s beaten them all. I admit to a grudging admiration for its tenacity.