Winter Cold Moon
Minnesota Needs Its Own Column
Snow. Falling.
Winter Cold Moon
The snow has come. It started right on time at 9:30 am and continues now, at 5:30 pm. Not a lot of accumulation so far, but the forecast has the big shot coming tonight through tomorrow morning. After a quiet November and December, it’s fun to get the snow groove back. Here the weather forecasters gleefully predict the potential for lots of snow. Colorado is that sort of state.
The knee has calmed way down. I’m doing my exercises, three sets a day, and attending out patient p.t. twice a week. The whole pain, trauma, drug, rehab arc, while positive on the whole, has upset my body and refuses to let me come to a stable, yippee I’m better! place. Nausea, achiness, insomnia are hardly the four horsemen of the apocalypse but in the moment they can make a day miserable. This will pass.
I’ve also been a bit weepy today, crying (or about to) at silly stories on facebook, in the newspaper. You know the ones where the big, burly guys row out onto a fully iced lake, breaking the ice in front of them, to retrieve a dog hanging onto the edge of a hole into which he has slipped. Heroic things, compassionate acts, that sort of stuff.
I’m in that transitional phase between invalid and a returnee to normal life, neither one nor the other, pining for unremarkable days with routine moments, yet not far removed from agony and narcotics. Makes for an emotionally friable inner life. At least today.
Kate, I’m happy to say, has brightened since her normal endoscopy. She’s had a hell of a few months, especially December. She had me to care for, the grandkids here for 8 wonderful, exhausting days and the threat of some dire disease lurking under her constant fatigue. It’s enough to throw even this steady Norwegian into a bit of a spin.
Gertie loves the snow. She goes outside and immediately plunges her face into the snow, pushing along with her nose as a plow. Then she hops up, shakes off and falls over on her back, sensuously rolling this way and that, legs in the air, squirming like an overturned bug. Kepler and Rigel like the snow, too, but they’re not that enthusiastic.
At An Undisclosed Location
Winter Cold Moon
There’s a bright golden haze on Black Mountain. The clouds presaging the storm pile up over the continental divide to the west, then begin to slip over to our side. The sun’s rising and it has painted those clouds with a brush from Raphael’s palate. Over the course of the day they will slump this way, graying the sky and carrying the moisture necessary for what Weather5280 now estimates as 10-20 inches of new snow. And so we rest in those delicious moments before the heavy snow arrives, estimated to be around 9:30 a.m.
New information in divorce matters. Jen has moved out of the house on Pontiac Street to an “undisclosed location.” Ruth apparently knows where it is, but didn’t offer to tell Jon and he won’t ask. That’s part of the restraining order which is still in place, no using the kids as communication conduits. This is a positive moment for Jon though because it means he can get in the house and get the remainder of his stuff.
Kepler has astounded Kate and me. He tore off the outside nail on his left front paw, leaving the quick exposed. Pretty painful. We took him to the vet on Monday. They sedated him, cleaned up the nail, put a bandage on it, then wrapped the whole foot in a bandage and some leopard spotted coban. He has not touched the foot bandage. Not at all. Every other dog we’ve had would have had that damn thing off the same night without an e-collar.
I’ve rethought turning my life over again. The threads I’ve got established are substantial and nourishing: novels, working out, Latin, this blog, mountain living, friendships, Beth Evergreen. I want to sustain the momentum I have in all these areas, so my life will remain much the same. Two changes I do want to make. I want to include more reading time, reading non-fiction on such topics as: the West, American political life, magic, science. Also, I need to find, sometime in the next month or so, a platform for the anti-Trump work.
It will be awhile before the rhythms reestablish and the new changes take hold. Though the knee is no longer painful, there’s still a long way to go before it’s rehabbed. That means distractions related to the knee will continue. Also, I have to wrestle this sleep demon to the ground and exorcise it. These things will happen.
Sleep. Gone.
Winter Cold Moon
Sleep has finally gone on holiday for me. Not sure why, maybe no reason. Over the weekend I did have withdrawal symptoms since I stopped my narcotics: chills, upset stomach, agitation, generally feeling lousy. Kate says lost sleep might be part of withdrawal, too. I hope so.
We’re in storm’s coming mode. Not much of a storm by last winter’s showing, but at least a bona fide winter weather warning. 6-12 inches at the outside. I like it. We have no where to go and can enjoy the snow as it comes. I’ll be cleaning off the deck, which is pretty easy, but if plowing is required Ted will do it, that’s Ted of All Trades.
The knee has largely quit hurting, moves with more ease and is easier to use to go up stairs. The recovery arc is positive.
Haven’t mentioned the divorce in a while. Final orders were cut, so the marriage dissolved officially on Nov. 28. The house is the big remaining obstacle. It needs to be sold because both of them need the proceeds to pay for lawyers and to buy new homes. The hot, hot Denver housing market suggests the house will sell quickly and for a substantial gain. I hope so.
Of course, with joint custody and decision making, as I discovered, you are really divorced to someone, rather than from someone.
Negative. Good.
Winter Cold Moon
Kate’s endoscopy is over with gratifyingly negative results. The GI doc was a right jolly old elf with white hair and a belly that shook like a bowl full of jelly. Swedish Hospital, where the procedure was done, is an old hospital, built in multiple oddly connected buildings of different ages. Some are brick, some the same tired modernist shtick that infests elementary schools. Overall the mood is mildly depressing.
Swedish is in Lakewood, the first ‘burb in the Denver metro after we leave the mountains headed east on Hwy. 285. Its massive ongoing construction, buildings separated from each other and a general confusion about what goes where, makes their offering valet parking a very nice gesture.
This one had Kate worried. Not me, but it wasn’t my alimentary canal being scoped either.
After Kate woke up, she got dressed and asked that I drive further east on Hampden (also 285) to the New York Deli. There we picked up a half gallon of CNS, one huge matzo ball and a pastrami sandwich. We turned back west on Hwy 285 and made our way out of the Mile High City and into the foothills, then the Front Range.
Each time we leave the Denver metro and head home into the mountains, one of us says, “I love living in the mountains.” Kate said it today. As we climbed into Conifer, flakes of snow began spitting around us, not much, but a reminder of the bigger winter storm scheduled to hit us tomorrow and Thursday.
As the storm comes, we have plenty of CNS and leftover pastrami sandwich to see us through. New York Deli has come to the mountains.
The Year of the Absent December
Winter Cold Moon
Two good friends, Allison and Tom, have recommended I see Lion, on my list for this week, especially now that I’m mobile, both on foot and behind the wheel. Yes, the knee is becoming much less painful though strength and stamina will take a while to regain. Not sure whether it’s the drug cocktails I’ve been taking or what, but sleep has become a precious commodity again, not easily found in batches long enough to feel rested. Ick.
2016 will be year of the absent December for me. My 
surgery was December 1st and much of the first two weeks + I spent in a narcotic haze. Or so Kate tells me. The remainder of the month has been physical therapy and figuring out how to manipulate the meds so they help me rather than hurt me. Not an easy task.
The good part was having the grandkids here for most of Hanukkah. When Kate and I returned them to Jen yesterday, Ruth came back to the car to say goodbye to me. We touched hands and she smiled, a furtive lightning of her face. I said, “Remember what I told you about your audition.” (that I have faith in you) She said she remembered. This is her audition for the Denver School of the Arts. She presents her portfolio and sits for an interview.
Next big medical event is Kate’s endoscopy tomorrow. This is a follow-up on an occult blood finding, so it could have serious implications, though I’m not expecting them. I have physical therapy at 7:15 a.m., then we head down the hill on 285 to Swedish Hospital for a 9 a.m. procedure.
A sequelae of the absent December is waking up from it to a New Year. What will I do in 2017? Will it be continuous with the first two years here? Or, will I rethink it all, maybe reshuffle the deck one more time? I’m leaning toward the latter. There will be Superior Wolf, yes. There will be workouts, yes. There will Beth Evergreen. There will, I decided yesterday, be Latin. I’m picking that project up again beginning this week. But, beyond those and how those fit with other potentials? I don’t know. I do know that taking a big insult to my physicality, even for a good cause, has got me in a contemplative mood, wondering, once again, about how life fits together.
The Holidays
Winter Cold Moon
The grandkids have been here since December 23rd, with the exception of one day. That means a full house, lots of zigging and zagging. Adding Hanukkah to the mix leaves empty boxes, unfurled wrapping paper and gifts cluttered in the living room. Lots of watches this holiday: Ruth, Gabe, Kate all got watches. Too. There were legos, several games like Pandemic, Mexican Train, Rock of Archimedes, Mille Bourne, an assortment of clothing items like socks, ski jackets, t-shirts and the odd book or dvd.
While their presence here is a blessing and one of the really good things to happen as a result of the divorce, it gets pretty stressful with five people in the house, two under 11. Not to mention that Kate has had a wounded me to care for, in addition to the other work she does for the grandkids like laundry and cooking. We will miss them when they leave tomorrow, but both of us will require some time to decompress and get back to our usual, slower old folk rhythms.
Gabe enjoys the dogs, sometimes too much. Yesterday he squeaked and squeaked and squeaked a nerf football at Kepler. Eventually, Kepler told him to stop that. He did.
Ruth and Jon went skiing again yesterday, a wonderful warm day with reasonable numbers of folks at A-Basin even though it was New Year’s weekend. Ruth loves to help. She offers to get the mail, feed the dogs, help make supper, buy presents. And then does just that.
Her audition for the Denver School of the Arts is January 7th. She has an hour before an admissions committee. By herself. At age 10. She has a portfolio of work she’s done, a lot of work, much of it prints. That weekend I’m going to take her to this place, The Inventing Room. She’s been there and loves its emphasis on nitrogen fixing of food.
The knee. So much better now. Still achy, but not bad. Biggest problem now is that it still interrupts my sleep. My workouts for p.t. are a lot of bending the knee, straightening the leg, strengthening muscles that support the knee. I have to do 3 sets. Since my p.t. is scheduled at 7:30 a.m., I’ve shifted my workout from the afternoon to the mornings. I’ll likely keep it there since it’s much cooler then in the summer.
Hmmm.
Winter Cold Moon
Yamantaka for the New Year
Winter Cold Moon
Existentialism is a philosophy for the third phase. No matter what other metaphysical overlays you may have the tick-tocking grows louder as you pass 65. When this clock finally strikes, it will take you out of the day to day. Forever. Strangely, I find this invigorating.
In case you don’t get it the occasional medical bomb will go off to make sure you pay attention. Last year, prostate cancer. This year, that arthritic left knee. Kate goes in for an endoscopy on January 3rd. She’s waiting approval for a biologic drug to help her rheumatoid arthritis. All these are true signs of the pending end times, but they are not the end itself. These medical footnotes to our lives press us to consider that last medical event.
I’ve followed, off and on, the Buddhist suggestion about contemplating your own corpse. I imagine myself in a coffin, or on a table somewhere prior to cremation. This is the work of Yamantaka, the destroyer of death, in Tibetan Buddhism. I’m not a Buddhist, nor do I play one on TV, but I became enamored of Yamantaka while learning about the art of Tibet and Nepal at the Minneapolis Institute of Art.
This mandala is a profound work of art on view in the South Asia gallery (G212). Adepts of Tibetan Buddhism use this mandala as a meditation aid to make the journey from samsara, the outer ring representing the snares that keep us bound to this world, and the innermost blue and orange rectangle where the meditator meets the god himself. The impact this work and the portrait of Yamantaka that hangs near it have had on me is as intimate and important as works of art can evoke.
Death is more usual, more understandable, more definitive than life. Life is an anomaly, a gathering of stardust into a moving, recreating entity. Death returns us to stardust. Yamantaka encourages us to embrace our death, to view it not as something to fear but as a friend, a punctuation point in what may be a longer journey, perhaps the most ancientrail of all. Whatever death is, aside from the removal of us from the daily pulse, is a mystery. A mystery that has served as muse to artists, musicians, religions and poets.
Yamantaka has helped me accept the vibration between this life and its end. That vibration can be either a strong motivating force for meaningful living (existentialism) or a depressive chord that drains life of its joy. I choose joy, meaningful living. Perhaps you do, too.
Toxic Exhaust
Winter Cold Moon
These are the waning days of 2016, a year whose toxic exhaust will follow us into the New Year and well beyond. The past, as someone said, is prologue and in this case the book that will get written beginning in 2017 has Gothic political thriller for its genre. In the best case the book will be a dark comedic adventure, in the worst case it will be the memoir for a grand experiment in democracy.
