Summer                                                             Park County Fair Moon

Inviting our cold war enemy to spy on a running candidate for President? Then trying to shrug it off as sarcasm? I call this what it is: treason. Plain and simple. In any other election year, when the public gag reflex had not been systematically desensitized, this comment about asking the Russians to find e-mails purportedly linked to Hillary Clinton would have resulted in demands for Donald Trump to be tried as a traitor.

This year? Well, Trump said he could murder someone in New York and not lose any votes. Shame on us as a country. Shame on us.

Yesterday

Summer                                                              Park County Fair Moon

Kate got back last night, a long drive, 9 hours, from Jackson Hole to Shadow Mountain. Good to have her back. Home is better when both of us are here.

staing begun
Masked with the staining begun, 7/19

The painters may finish today, they’re very close. This project has taken three weeks so far. The cabinets are done, most of the other interior work, too, including Kate’s splash of bright green above the cabinets, changing the character of the kitchen yet again.

It was hot here yesterday, though pallid in comparison to Denver. We remain less humid than the plains and the nights are cooler. Minnesota has had a siege of weather related storms and heat, not over yet.

ruthandgabe 86
Beginning of school a year ago

The grandkids were up last night. Gabe reprised his week ago trick of attaching a dog bone to a long line of twine and “fishing” for dogs off the deck. This time though he used a stick. The bone worked better. Ruth had a sore throat, but was in good spirits. It was a calm, normal evening, the goal toward which all this divorce mess aims. It was good to see.

Today is another court related hearing, an important one, for Jon. We’re all going in to see what the disposition will be. He goes back to work next week and is planning, for now, to commute from here into Aurora which is on the eastern edge of Denver. A long drive in rush hour.

 

 

 

 

Becoming Vishnu

Summer                                                           Park County Fair Moon

Bhagavan_VishnuVishnu is the Hindu god of stability, the preserver and protector. When I look at the Hindu pantheon, my eye has always gone to Shiva, the god of creation and destruction, the whirling vibrant energy of the universe. Were I Hindu, I would be a Shaivite. But as we’ve aged, as we’ve become the members of our family and, for that matter, of our generation, at the edge of extinction, it has become clear to me that Vishnu defines us better.

When we stand, as we do, between life and death, life itself takes on a different color, a different valence. That’s not to say that we don’t always stand between life and death, life is fragile and death, in its entropic way, more natural. But as we veer past the mid-60’s, the path from birth to death has grown long and its terminus closer.

We stand, too, at the end of our ancientrail, able to look back over the days and years with gathered wisdom. At least sometimes. Shiva forces are at work in our children’s lives and especially in the lives of our grandchildren, creating careers, destroying dreams, unfolding the future. Our reach now extends into those lives as a somewhat distant, but sometimes intimate force, offering stability and protection. We have become the avatars of Vishnu.

natarajThe role is unnatural for me, having been more of a bomb thrower in my youth and in my middle-age, too. The Vaishnavite forces, always there, for we are a mix of all these fundamental powers, have gradually strengthened, gained more purchase. It’s possible, I suppose, to see Shiva as the radical, willing to take apart received wisdom, to burn institutions to the ground, to start over and over and over, and Vishnu as the conservative, or at least conservator, the solid, steady hand needed when Shiva’s work has gone too far.

The Hindu trinity of Shiva, Vishnu and Brahma, the God of origins, the creator force who lives now distant from the work of his creation, constitutes, like the Christian trinity, an expression of the one god in three manifestations. Like the Great Wheel it is a poetic, a metaphorical expression of the nature of reality. You may choose to believe that these gods are real and I wouldn’t argue the choice, but in my maturing understanding of religious belief, all the world’s religion are artistic renderings of the subtle and not-so subtle forces set in motion at the big bang. No, they are not all the same, hardly; but they are all attempts to give expression and coherence to the context of this temporary, wonderful miracle we call life.

So, it’s not surprising to me that in this third phase of my life, I find a purpose defined by a Hindu god. We arrive at this moment shaped and pulled by the paths we have chosen. Our ancietrail is now more experience than future. As Vishnu rises in our lives, that experience becomes his form, the vital energy that allows us to serve as anchor for our family, for our community, for the world we’re passing on to our children and grandchildren.

I said above that the Vishnu role is unnatural to me. Perhaps I should say that it was unnatural to the younger me. Now, it seems natural, necessary, good. The maintainer and protector.

 

 

Tears

Summer                                                        Park County Fair Moon

Politics is about so much more than elections and campaigns. It’s even about more than governing. Politics are about heart, about the deepest dreams we have for our common life. My political river has its headwaters in the Roosevelt liberalism of my parents, the hard-nosed politics of the labor movement of the 1950’s, especially the UAW, and in my childhood friends and their parents whose lives were the reality I knew affected by both of these.

Michelle Obama’s speech at the Democratic Convention last night, which I just watched in its entirety, brought me to tears. This articulate, eloquent black woman spoke of the true purpose of politics as the world we leave behind for our children. She spoke of Hillary Clinton as the woman we could entrust with that world. The first lady, a black woman, speaking on behalf of the first woman candidate for president and the likely winner, cheered on by Latinos and African-Americans and women and LGBT delegates, made me believe in the promise of our country. Still. Again.

That political river with its headwaters in Alexandria blue-collar Midwestern America altered its course during the heady politics of the late 60’s and early 1970’s. A powerful tributary which came down like a mountain stream in May carried with it a vision of an America which could actually collect on the promissory note long owed to the Indians and to the descendants of the enslaved. It was fed by the rhetoric and actions of such men as Martin Luther King and Malcolm X. It was fed by the consciousness changing politics of such women as Bella Abzug, Betty Friedan and Gloria Steinem. It was fed by the grape boycotts of Caesar Chavez. It was fed by the anger and dismay of all who thought the Vietnam War was a mistake, a mistake so costly in human lives and treasure that it represented a fundamental denial of the purpose of politics given voice last night by Michelle Obama.

In Michelle’s speech the early politics of the working classes and the Rooseveltian compact with the elderly and the veteran and the poor flowed into a mightier river, the one created by the confluence of mid-century liberalism with the radical analysis of the 1960’s. In this moment there is a chance, an opportunity to reawaken the labor movement, to reinforce the voice given by Barack and Michelle Obama to African-Americans, to lift the Latinos and Asian-Americans to full citizenship. And this chance comes with the voice of a woman, one whose own political agenda has been pushed to the left by the wonderful, quixotic campaign of a 74 year old Vermont democratic socialist.

This is the nation for which I have yearned and fought and worried all these years. Those were the tears that fell this morning as I watched her speech. Tears of realization, tears of hope coming to fruition. At 69 it feels good to see at least the possibility of a mighty, mighty river finding its way to the ocean of justice.

 

 

Missing Kate

Summer                                                               Park County Fair Moon

imps
imps

Interior painting today. Very close to this project’s wrap. Just right because I got the contract for the bathroom remodel in the mail yesterday. Was thinking how much cash we’ve put into this house over the last couple of years, wondering if it made sense. Our attitude, in Andover and here, has been, invest the money early so we can enjoy a space that nourishes our creative lives, expresses our values and is in the best shape possible for the future. Still does make sense, at least to me.

I was wrong yesterday about a couple of things. BJ will join Kate at the Hitching Post Motel right next to the hospital. There’s a wheelchair accessible suite available and it will allow BJ to remain close for physical therapy. Sister Anne comes on Friday for a couple of weeks. Family at work. A theme of our last two years. Too, BJ has invited us back for the August 21st total eclipse. The path goes right over Driggs. I hope we can make it.

Also, Jon made considerable progress on the bathroom and the deck, but he didn’t complete them. Jen will have to hire a contractor to finish. Still, he did thousands of dollars worth of work. Some encouraging news from his lawyers. Even so this has become a gauntlet for him. One that wears him down.

Jon and I moved his ski collection and other miscellaneous things to his storage space in the Stapleton new urbanism development, then loaded up the Rav4 with its third load of items to store in our garage. It was hot and humid, draining. Dehydration is a constant danger when working outside in a Colorado summer, especially down below in the Mile High city. Much cooler and drier up here on Shadow Mountain.

Feeling a bit weary today. Want my partner home. I miss her.

So far

Summer                                                                    Park County Fair Moon

Kate takes her sister, BJ, home today from the Jackson Hole hospital. The surgeon says she’ll regain enough range of motion to continue bowing. That’s a huge relief. Can you imagine contemplating the end of a career that began when you were in single digit age? Because of a damaged shoulder? We often read about athletes felled by physical trauma, not so often about musicians or construction workers or artists (with the exception of Chuck Close). That’s not because it doesn’t happen, BJ’s injury demonstrates that it does, it’s because the media coverage of athletics is so outsized to its cultural importance.

Jon’s finishing up the last of his work on Pontiac Street. He’s done a lot though not as much as he’d hoped. A new deck and a new bathroom seem like pretty good accomplishments for a single person working in 90+ degree heat and high humidity. The divorce continues its jagged march through the lives of Jon, Jen, Ruth and Gabe. It’s slated for a mid-September to mid-October finish as I understand it. Can’t come too soon.

Here at home, the painting and staining moves forward. Getting the projects around the house finished makes me feel good. So far they have been mostly maintenance and necessity oriented: boiler, generator, new gas lines, electrical work, wildfire mitigation, the painting and staining. The kitchen and the solar panels were not necessary, but they were desirable. The remodel of the downstairs bath to a zero entry shower reflects a reality of aging bodies; we’re not as agile as we used to be. It will be finished by Samain. The only projects after that will be rationalizing our sound system and some electrical repairs.

house and garage

shed
shed
garage, one door painted
garage, one door painted

The Silly Season Turned Mad

Summer                                                                           Park County Fair Moon

What’s going on out there in this silly season turned mad?

Scared, angry white folks. Siding with the Donald. Promises have been made to them. Promises of rising tides and jobs if only the unions and the regulators would get out of the way. If only the death tax and the onerous corporate taxes and the capital gains taxes were lowered or eliminated, then capital would rejuvenate the economy. Unleash the entrepreneurs, unshackle the men of Wall Street. Return public lands to the states. (they weren’t the state’s to begin with, but, hey, what’s a fact in this election year?)

The Donald has revealed the lie behind these ideas. A Glass-Steagall freed banking system drove us all to the brink of ruin, set back wage growth for the middle and working classes, crashed the savings vehicles of those about to retire. The tax breaks for the wealthy have served to enrich the 1%, not tune up the engine of capitalism.

The gloom unveiled in the Trumpet blast as he received the GOP nomination reflects the fears of those whose unearned privilege has eroded. And fast. The racist and nativist elements of the Donald’s civil war with the very elite of which he is a part are wrong and must be battled by every decent American, Republican or Democrat. But. The woes of the white middle and working classes are real. They cannot be explained away or discounted because those subject to them hang on to myths about their origins.

African-Americans, whose promissory note cannot find a decent bill collector, see their children shot, jailed. Their communities are often without investment, services. Each African-American, no matter their level of achievement, is at risk on the street or on the highways. Every day. They have been promised much and had so little delivered. And even that must taste like ashes in their mouths. The dead cannot be lifted up by affirmative action.

Latinos have similar problems today, though the root of their life here in the U.S. is different. They are largely voluntary immigrants, forced out of their countries by lack of economic opportunity. Their numbers are increasing and the full weight of their cultural influence on the U.S. is not yet felt. Many Latinos are here without documents and many of those are children born in this country. Their lives are unpredictable because our government cannot solve the problem of their futures.

Native Americans continue in their struggle to overcome the Indian Wars, sequestration on reservations, Indian Schools run by the BIA. The direst poverty in this land of opportunity exists on the res.

LBGT folk have made progress, real progress, but the recent legislation in North Carolina about transgender bathroom use demonstrates the often thin veneer of hope that progress offers.

Women still get paid less for equal work. Women still are vulnerable to the male gaze and the male sense of privilege over their bodies. Yes means yes. No means no. Yes, a woman may sit in the oval office for the first time, but it’s not enough and it seems very, very late.

My point is that the major political parties have had decades to resolve these fundamental problems of our democracy and they have failed. There are legitimate grievances felt by a majority of the total U.S. population. Where are the statesmen and stateswomen who can rise above party and find workable answer? The Donald is too childish, too self-congratulatory, too ill-informed to do more than give voice. Though that contribution should not be diminished. The next-up Clinton has ideas, but her personality and her character make her unlikely to be the healer, the unifier, the move us forward person we need.

What we may have in this mad season is a loud, chaotic revelation about the need for a functioning government. Perhaps it is not this election. Perhaps it is the next one that will produce candidates alive not only to the problems of our nation, but to the need for solutions that bind us together rather than pull us apart.

Tilt A Whirl

Summer                                                                     Park County Fair Moon

teton-pass-jackson-hole-wy-postcardSwirling. The world, or at least the part of it connected to me and mine, has taken flight, gone up in the air like dust devils. BJ had surgery on her shoulder in the late afternoon yesterday in Jackson Hole. Kate said she liked the surgeon, which is roughly the same as saying he’s a rock star. The Hitching Post, a motel next to the hospital, has rooms for $45 a night if a family member is in the hospital. She’s staying there.

Jon is rushing to finish remodeling a bathroom, put on a deck and doing other fix-it chores at the Pontiac house. He has to be out of there before Jen and the kids return on Monday evening. A restraining order makes it so. The heat-and, ironically for this arid state, the humidity-have been high. It was 99 there yesterday when he and I ate lunch at the wonderful dining table he built.

Though, for those of you in the Gopher State who read this, I know it’s been pretty bad there, too. Both places remind me of Singapore in April when Kate and I visited Mary. We managed to hike across the Singapore Botanical Gardens on a day when the temperature was within one degree of an all time record and the humidity created a watery, heated bubble around us as we walked. Can anyone say carbon tax?

Timberline Painters finished staining the garage, shed, and two decks yesterday. One garage door is green, the other will follow. Interior painting starts on Monday. The dogs, who have to be inside while the painters are in the yard will be happy when this is done. Yesterday, while Gertie and I were in the loft, unbeknownst to me, the painters sealed off the door out of the loft with 3M plastic. The mammoth bone handle knife gifted to me by Tom Crane came in handy as I sliced through the plastic. Felt like I was being born again as I stooped through the small hole with Gertie behind me.

In Colorado, so far, it has been the summers of our discontent, the winters have been fine.

Wildfire

Summer                                                                              Park County Fair Moon

wedding gwangjuKate had to take a large detour due to a forest fire in southern Wyoming. She spent the night in Aspen, both north and east of Utah. The next hundred miles will take her to Driggs where she’ll pick up BJ and drive her into Jackson Hole for a new hospital bed and examination by the shoulder surgeon. If the shoulder’s swelling has gone down sufficiently, the shoulder repair will happen at 5:30 pm.

Jon’s situation has gotten more difficult. The path forward has become murkier for right now. So much of his life is changing and in ways not fully predictable. He’s still working at the house in Denver, trying to finish before Monday when Jen and the kids return. I’m going in today and we’ll have sushi in Lodo, a trendy neighborhood near downtown.

The dogs and I have the house to ourselves. With the exception of the Timberline painters. They completed the first coat on the garage yesterday. The deck on the house, too.

Black Mountain Drive exists in the eye of a family hurricane. The winds are fierce further out in Denver and up in Driggs, Idaho. Here on Shadow Mountain we exist in relative calm.

Now

Summer                                                                          Park County Fair Moon

Hard to believe how much the Republicans want Hillary to win. In any other combination of opponents she would be up against the ropes with her gloves covering her face. In this case however Trump and crew bang their head repeatedly on the ring posts, leaving themselves bloodied and confused. The convention so far: rogue delegates try to unseat Trump’s nomination, plagiarism, former candidate refuses to endorse. Wonder what they have for us today?

Mark in Saudi ArabiaBrother Mark is doing well in Saudi Arabia. He’s in his second year of teaching at Jubail, his students members of the Saudi Arabian navy.

Kate leaves today for Jackson Hole where her sister, BJ, will be moved tomorrow. A fan of BJ’s, a former anesthesiologist at the Jackson Hole hospital, has found a very well respected orthopedic surgeon for her. He only does shoulders. They may operate tomorrow after her move. Kate will be there tonight.

Jon had his sawzall at work cutting through the old bathtub in their downstairs bathroom when I visited yesterday. He’s made a lot of progress, but the working conditions, hot and humid, are brutal. The divorce continues with the level of conflict continuing to amaze both him and me.

Staining still underway. The shed has had two coats as have portions of the garage. The monsoon rains here have impeded progress somewhat.