Weather, Vision, Life

Beltane                                                                              Running Creeks Moon

snowmarch2
March 19th

This last round of snow, ice and colder weather got a lot of grumbles. Fortunately, we didn’t get the 5 inches predicted and the roadways were warm enough to melt what fell, but the part of our bodies that wants blue skies and somewhat warmer temperatures felt cheated. Not rational, I know. And the snow was pretty as always. But still.

Today Dr. Repine gets a look at my eyeballs, a glaucoma check, and a refraction. Might produce new reading lenses. After that we’re going to Whistling Duck, a carpentry shop specializing in beetle kill/blue pine. Our upstairs dining is still on the round bar table we bought as a temporary measure the month we moved in.

Life’s been eventful since our return from Asia with Vega’s death, the legal wrassling and the reluctant iconoclast moment. There’s another major event swirling in our lives right now, too, one I can’t write about openly yet. Not a health issue, not about Shadow Mountain or any of its residents.

Last night I got glimpses into the way forward on both Jennie’s Dead and Superior Wolf. That means my creative mind has emerged from the fog of image expunging. The Superior Wolf concept pushed me back to the origin idea, made me see that the way forward lay in the mythos, starting the story at the beginning. Solving a way for a magician to pull off a remarkable trick pushes the storyline of Jennie’s Dead past a road block. Feels good.

Works of Art in an Age of Digital Reproduction

Beltane                                                                  Running Creeks Moon

Kate, May 2013
Kate, May 2013

It’s taken me a week and a half, but I’ve cleaned up Ancientrails. All images are either mine or ones from sources without copyright issues. The time it took was penance for not being attentive to this issue for over ten years. There is, too, a financial penalty, negotiated between a lawyer and myself for using a copyrighted photograph.

I feel like a raven whose stash of pretty things has been stolen. But, ravens are thieves and I was, too, though not in a possessive way. Both Richard Prince, an artist who reuses the photographs of others, and Walter Benjamin, who wrote a famous essay, “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction,” have been on my mind during this time.

Once I’ve taken a break from the computer, today I’m going to do a lot of straightening up and rearranging up here in the loft, I’m going to give the whole issue of copyrights, attributions and fair use a concentrated look. Included in that will be a rereading of Benjamin and some of the follow on scholarship plus material about Richard Prince and others like him.

 

Hangman, Vigilante, Desperado

Beltane                                                                          Running Creeks Moon

Trying to get some printing done, photographs on fabric. Having a hard time. Our H.P. refuses to recognize its own ink cartridges. A friend of Kate’s who lives outside Bailey had an inkjet that refused to perform, too. Looking for other options in Denver and I’ve found some.

Puerto Mont, Chile tapedero
Puerto Mont, Chile tapedero

When we visited Judy Young, Kate’s friend, on Tapedero Drive, getting there gave us that odd insight street names give to an area’s early shapers. We turned off Cty. 43 onto Hangman Road. Off Hangman onto Vigilante Avenue. Hitchrack Road and Desperado Street intersected. Tapedero is a covering for the front of the stirrup so the boot won’t slip through.

An old west fantasy was on the mind of whomever platted this area.

Iconoclast

Beltane                                                                             Running Creeks Moon

Upper Maxwell Falls May, 2015
Upper Maxwell Falls May, 2015

Due to a modest legal dispute I have decided to take down all images from Ancientrails that are not my own or NASA’s. That work has occupied the daytime for the last week and a half. And I’m not done yet. When I’ve figured out how to use images appropriately (something I should have paid more attention to all along), I’ll gradually add some other sorts of images back in.

The work, which involves pulling up each post, going into edit mode and either deleting all the images or making the post private, then saving that work before going on to the next, has left me almost speechless. Deleting images tamps down my voice. Interesting. Or, the work is so repetitive and dull, plus so forehead slappingly self-inflicted, that it drains that energy away. There are, btw, over 8,000 posts on Ancientrails at this point.

My immersion in the art world has left me hungry for images of all kinds. I’ve developed an eye and enjoy finding and deploying them. My enthusiasm though has intersected with the reality that this blog is in fact publishing and that its reach is global. That means I have responsibilities just like magazines and newspapers even though I feel like this is a letter from me to whomever chooses to read it.

The rendering of some posts as private may mean that if you use the search functions on this blog you may be unable to read certain entries. I apologize. If you find entries in the past that you want to access and cannot, please e-mail me and I can send you a copy. Not hard, but clumsy, I know.

 

 

 

Big Fun on Shadow Mountain

Beltane                                                                           Running Creeks Moon

Wildfire mitigation. Still at it, today by proxy. Always Chipper, a small company run by Kevin Breeden, husband of our former housecleaner, came over today.  I had asked him last fall to come and chip the slash from my fire mitigation work then. But. The day he was to come we got two feet of snow. And the piles remained covered all winter. As I blew the snow off our 200 inches or so of snow (one of the five biggest since the 1990’s), I covered the slash. Over and over again. It wasn’t until this last Sunday that the snow melted and Kevin could come.

As Kevin said, he widened our driveway. He and his partner Mike also took down several trees I felt surpassed my skill level, either too close to the house, the fence or the powerline. I only had him fell them. I’ll limb them and cut them up along with the remaining blue ribbon trees, then have Always Chipper come back and eliminate that slash, too.

My goal is to have all this done before Memorial Day, before the El Nino inspired precipitation leaves us and we’re barenaked again to a normal wildfire season.

At the same time our neighbors, Holly and Eduardo, decided to move a shed from one side of their property to the other. This is the Han Motogear shed, the one that contains their side business making women’s apparel for motorcyclists. It took a lot of jacking up, positioning on cement blocks, then setting it down on a trailer, moving the shed about a hundred feet and reversing the process. By late this afternoon our properties looked significantly different than they had in the morning. Big fun on Shadow Mountain.

I heart heart

Beltane                                                                           Running Creeks Moon

Raffles Town Club breakfast: Singapore
Raffles Town Club breakfast: Singapore

The things life splices together. Yesterday Kate had an appointment with her cardiologist. I went with her. She showed me the report of her echocardiogram, we discussed the cardiologist’s finding. All very clinical. Yes, the heart is a muscle and one which can be graded and observed at many levels. It has ejection fractions. leaflets, diffusions and profusions, valves and chambers. The fine tuning of the heart’s care is a substantial branch of medicine.

On the bus to Gwangju
On the bus to Gwangju

The heart is also, and perhaps more importantly, a metaphor. For love. For feeling. For courage and persistence. For essence. For intimacy. The metaphor can, too, be graded and observed at many levels. Heartless bastard. In my heart. I heart NYC, you, my dog, my honor school student, my rifle, my concealed carry handgun. That gets right to the heart of things. My heart is heavy. You have heart. My heart belongs to you.

Why might the metaphor be more important than the muscle? Because love lives on past the stilling of the muscle. Kate and I spliced together the cardiologist appointment with a visit to DazzleJazz, hearing the Keith Oxman quartet and Dr. Diva, a singing professor from Nebraska. We sat next to each other, she rested her head on my shoulder. We whispered and touched. My heart belongs to her. And that muscle so closely examined a few hours before? No match for her true heart, the one that belongs to me.

BTW: usual aging heart stuff for Kate. Blood pressure meds now. Attention to diet, keep up with the tai chi. Some upper body resistance work. We can push back against the dying of the light, but it goes out anyhow. Something, sometime. Yet love remains.

The Madhatter Zone and Kairos

Beltane                                                                             Running Creeks Moon

This is no longer a silly season. We’ve passed over silly into the Madhatter zone. How did the richest and most powerful country in the world, renowned for its democratic experiment, manage to nominate for the presidency two its most reviled citizens? This is a question that will puzzle the world, this country, political scientists, pundits and historians for decades. Not, to make it all that much worse, that there were any really better options. A crazed Texan whom nobody liked? A sneaky far right winger with a Cuban pedigree? An Ohio governor who masked a cruel streak? An aging and not very presidential democratic socialist from the Green Mountain State? This is the best we can do?

Feeling the Bern, for those us of a leftist persuasion, has been great fun, but he was no more presidential in his way that triumph of skyscraper buffoonery, Donald Trump. Hillary does have the chops, the gravitas for the job, I’ll give her that. And, it may have to be enough this year. As a country, we simply cannot afford to put an idiot in the Whitehouse. Hillary is a centrist, a hawk and definitely uninspiring.

The people who raise her negatives are not all boiling over tea party crackpots. She’s wonky and sort of anti-charismatic. Her inability to reach younger women has put a bright line down in the lane markers of contemporary feminism. Older women who want a woman, a competent, dues paid up woman like Hillary are in a slow lane to the right of the millennials who want what the feminist revolution promised, to choose a candidate based on her politics, not her gender. This may be one of the larger ironies of our time. The very success of mid to late 20th century feminism has made breaking the ceiling with the toughest glass difficult for one its champions.

I wish I could view this as a phenomenon, a circus act, a sideshow moment in our political history. This way to see the most incredible hair in all of American politics. See the amazing slippery Hillary explain it all. It’s not, though.

It’s a time Christian theologians of the crisis school would call kairotic. A time of kairos, a time that requires action, definitive action that will dramatically affect the future. Climate change has a deadline and that deadline is 2050. If we don’t reduce the use of fossil fuels by 80% by 2050, a huge amount, then the degree of climate change that will be baked in will alter our grandchildren’s world beyond our recognition.

This single issue has many political inflection points: fracking, tar sands, the whole Middle East mess, the funding of terrorism, how to support renewable fuels, funding new modes of transportation, shifting the world’s manufacturing and home heating energy sources and perhaps most importantly the economic impacts of all these.

Climate change and its hydra headed nature is not, however, the only critical issue. The continued rise of Asia, China and India foremost there, will change the geopolitical nature of our world, already has changed it. The tensions in the South China Sea are a leading indicator. India, within the next decade, will pass China as the world’s most populous country. How these two Asian giants manage their economies, their militaries, their internal politics will demand creative responses in U.S. foreign policy.

Internally, we have an economy that has thrust a demagogue and a left-wing populist into national prominence. This is a gilded age more patinaed than that other Gilded Age which Mark Twain satirized. The fault lines in our economy are many. The un or undereducated young have an unemployment rate of 17.8% according to today’s New York Times. The radical union busting of the post-Reagan era, all too successful, has diminished the clout of those in working class jobs like hotel cleaners, janitors, minimum wage factory workers, convenience store clerks, fast food workers.

Meanwhile, the gutting of Glass-Steagall led to the very catastrophe it was enacted to prevent, runaway banks and cunning, rather than sensible, financial instruments and markets. This had the perverse effect of giving the already muscular top 1% of our economic elite a sustained regime of fiscal steroids leading directly to the dangerously top heavy accumulation of wealth in our distributional pyramid. It’s more of an inverted pin really, a pinhead of unimaginably concentrated power and a thin column of those who barely count economically. This is a recipe for revolution, a recipe which has already led to Trump and Sanders, the mildest menu items on the list.

The Black Lives Matter movement continues a history of our nation long struggle to open our society to descendants of the enslaved. Changing demographics will alter the relative power of Latinos, African-Americans, Asians, Native Americans and Whites. The surge of angry white men wanting to make America Great Again is an attempted stiff arm to the increasingly powerful rush of these forces.

Finally, although not at all really the end, we have in the West, where I know live, a movement, the SageBrush Rebellion, which wants to take public lands and turn them over to state control, eventually for sale to private parties. This movement is a quixotic but potent mix of NRA supporters, libertarians, would be right-wing revolutionaries, ranchers, constitutional wingnuts. All of them find the economic and demographic changes going on now threatening in the extreme. The economies of the West are often fragile, subject to market forces beyond their control and now water issues made more difficult by a changing climate.

None of these are trivial matters, none of them will be blustered away or easily solved, even with the best of intentions. The world, our planet, needs, deserves leadership that will address these problems, not avoid them. Given the choices in this madhatter political season here in the U.S., I say Hillary. She’s the best still standing.

 

This, that

Beltane                                                                       Running Creeks Moon

Front, May 6th
Front, May 6th

The snow is mostly gone in the front, south facing yard. In the back though there are still long drifts of snow punctuated by even larger patches of soil, rock and the tufty grass we have up here on Shadow Mountain. The days are warmer but the nights remain cool. They will remain relatively cool and dry even during the summer.

I’ve had a time consuming blog related project that has eaten up days of time and is not done yet. It has given me an opportunity to go back over all the wordpress entries: 2016-2007, which has been fascinating. Some 8,000+ now.

Back, May 9
Back, May 9

Kate has Bailey Patchworkers, a sewing/quilting group, today and will make a run to the Happy Camper for cbds. My elliptical comes this morning. I’ll be able to get back to working out at a high intensity with the elliptical’s knee joint friendly motion. The treadmill will stay for walking at a moderate pace.

Once this blog project is over I plan to start regular hikes in the woods and a return to the fire mitigation work I began last fall. Kate is currently doing cross stitch for a very cute baby blanket. The baby blanket comes, naturally, after the wedding quilt.

Much to my chagrin, since I stopped adding salt to my meals, my weight has dropped, my blood pressure has dropped and I’m sleeping much better. Of course, I’m happy with the improvements. Still. Imagine me slapping my forehead with my hand.

Water. Psyche.

Beltane                                                                     Running Creeks Moon

maxwell 2015Went into Evergreen yesterday hunting for truffles-no, not nose to the ground, nose to the display case-and a bottle of Chardonnay. On the way down Shadow Mountain and whatever other mountains I descend on highway 78 (Shadow Mountain Drive, Black Forest Drive and Brook Forest Drive) Maxwell Creek tumbled down its narrow bed toward the rocks of Upper, then Lower Maxwell Falls. Further down Cub Creek came crashing down the mountain, headed toward a rendezvous with Maxwell. This time I realized that the creek going over the concrete spillway further on down 78 was neither Maxwell nor Cub, but a third creek coming down and out of Shadow Mountain like Maxwell. This one hits either Cub Creek or Maxwell somewhere, I couldn’t find the spot, but in any case all three join below Lower Maxwell Falls parking lot and speed toward Evergreen.

IMAG1503Not so long ago, I think it was 2012, these same three creeks overwhelmed Evergreen, causing considerable flooding. That was the same year that Golden and Manitou Springs and Boulder had flood problems, too. This is not that kind of year, but the amount of energy in these creeks impresses me.

The stolid, deeply moored mountain shows its power to create movement, the opposite of its apparent nature. Which might say something about us, about what we perceive as permanent and unchanging in our Selves.  Look for what movement it creates, perhaps unknown to us until we look.

Mystic Chords

Beltane                                                                               New (Running Creeks) Moon

The mood here. Still subdued, still gathering the reality of Vega’s death around us. When Mom died, now 52 years ago, the ongoingness of life surprised me. Cars still rattled down Canal Street. Lights went off and on in houses. School was open, teachers teaching and kids squirming at their desks. The sun rose and set. Dogs barked. We needed sleep and ate breakfast.

This no longer amazes me. The feelings of absence, of missing, of longing do not disappear however, though they can get submerged in the running creek of life. I still miss my mom, not in that acute, gut twisting way of 52 years ago, but longing for her, for her presence remains.

Abraham Lincoln called these threads of feeling and remembrance, their resonance, the mystic chords of memory. Yes. Part of their function, a paradox, lies in the quickening of our daily life, jimmying us out of the cracks and ruts we fall into. We realize a life time has bounds.

As the writers of the Hebrew scriptures often said, this background music is a blessing and a curse. It can become a cacophony, a dirge we cannot shut off. A mental tinnitus. Yet, it is the dead, as much as the living, often more, who shape us, create us-sometimes to our exasperation, other times to our joy.

With Vega the only source of pain is her sudden absence. The rest, the memory of her, the mystic chords she sets off, are joyful and loving. And those will persist.