Politics, US History, World History

Maybe this time, maybe this time we’ll be lucky

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Lugnasa and the Harvest Moon

Thursday gratefuls: Orange implosions. All over the web. Kamala, Democrats. Invigorated. Diane in Indiana. Cousin Melinda. A better interior political mood. My interior. Great Sol. First commercial space walk. Taylor Swift. Voters registering. Shorter days. Longer Nights. Cool temps. Shadow Mountain. Its bulk. Its support. Its altitude. Mussar.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Kamala

Kavannah: Contentment

One brief shining: Oh, the flutters of maybe now, maybe this time as Kamala’s picture appears above the fold, storylines advancing her victory over the orange moron, attacking him by laughing at him, look at the silly stupid man who believes immigrants eat pets in Springfield, Ohio, who believes he gave a perfect answer on abortion, who believes all the polls show he won, one by 92-8. Who cannot separate propaganda from reality.

 

 

I’m beginning to believe. Allan Lichtman’s 13 keys. Kamala’s debate performance. 45’s big reveal of himself as unable to handle himself under pressure, not even for 90 minutes. When he needed to for his own self interest. Maybe he can get a shadow cabinet of his buddies Orban and Putin, Kim Jong Un, to say nice things about him. Make him feel better.

In the race to election day, as the time grows shorter, momentum counts. Even though the polls say the race is as tight as it can be, that’s today. The big mo is about the longer game and with that longer game being only 54 days in length, I believe the energy Democrats got from Kamala’s debate will serve her well. Might be enough to push her past the one who even former appointees call stupid. Kamala demonstrated that he’s emotionally unfit to be president.

I know a win by Kamala will inject us into another round of I won, really. I won! See where they screwed me. Cousin Diane asked a good journalist’s question this morning when I talked to her. What do the higher echelons of the Democratic party have in mind to counter claims of election fraud and other techniques for disrupting the will of the electorate? Saw in the NYT today that the Department of Homeland Security has elevated January 6th to a security level equivalent to the Superbowl and other highest profile target moments on the American calendar. That’s a start.

Expats and deployed military are often the first to vote. My son got his ballot last weekend. Don’t know about Mary and Mark. Point is the election moment has already begun its extended rollout with absentee ballots for those faraway. Some states will mail their ballots, Colorado included, well in advance of Election day. Election day is no longer the sole day for most to cast their votes. A certain amount of the votes will have already been made before November 5th. What’s happening now can be determinative for those.

I’m eager to get my ballot. I know that. It will go back the same day.

 

Just a moment: How about the Indiana Fever and Caitlin Clark? Women’s sports having a minute. Maybe women in a U.S. presidential race, too?

 

 

 

Feelings, Fourth Phase, Health, Judaism, Mountains, Mussar, Plants, Politics

A serene and joyful cluster

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Lugnasa and the Harvest Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: Orange one v. Harris. Harris by a knockout. Great Sol. Tara. Ariaan. Vincent. Julia. Sophia. Mystical awareness. The sacred within and as the ordinary. Politics. Life at home. Muir Woods. Joshua Trees. Bristlecone Pines. Coastal Redwoods. Sequoia. Lodgepoles and Aspen. First gold beginning to appear. 9/11.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Accepting life as it comes

Kavannah: CONTENTMENT הִסתַפְּקוּת Histapkut     Contentment, simplicity, moderation; from ספק to divide/apportion (נַחַת Nachat: Satisfaction, gratification, comfort) (קִמּוּץ Kimutz: Minimalism, frugality, thrift; related קוֹמֶץ closed hand/fistful)  [קִנְאָה Kinah: Passion, envy, competition]  brackets are antonyms

One brief shining: Great Sol comes in at wider angle now, Mother Earth’s tilt having brought us round to Fall, headed toward Winter and the fallow times, my Lodgepole Companion has begun to settle in for the cool weather and heavy loads of Snow that lie ahead; the Aspens have sensed the changes, too, and auxin proliferates which triggers the revelation of gold that lies below the chlorophyll green; soon the Mountains will become a brilliant minimalist work of art, gold and green against the steel blue of a Colorado Sky.

 

I’m looking at a cluster of middot that are key to my life right now: contentment, serenity, equanimity, balance, beauty, joy, patience, peace, stability, wisdom. There are turbulent factors in my life, all medical at this point, that rise up, break the surface releasing noxious gases of agitation, sadness, worry, sending my moods into dark places. I don’t want to overstate this. I’m still essentially stable, balanced in the way I react to these miasmic intrusions. But it takes greater effort these days.

The two major sources of swamp gas are uncertainty about my current cancer reality, back pain and the methods to treat it. Having untreated metastases, as I do now, meaning I have active cancer growth until or if the orgovyx/erleada combination drops it to zero again, makes me feel untethered, floating free of effective medical care. The celexcoib has tamped down my back pain, though I’m now noticing break through pain right after I get up and in the late afternoon, early evening. Which might mean I need to increase my dose which increases the possibility of negative side effects.

So I need more joy, patience, peace, and serenity. I plan to focus on these middot over the next few weeks with the overall intention of keeping me here and now, in this 9/11/2024 life. Also holding uncertainty as the truth and constant that it is. Merely the overall state of all things, not a purveyor of doom.

 

Just a moment: I tried to watch debate. I saw orange guy bloviate. I watched Kamala rehash lines from her CNN interview. I thought about the observation that wanting to be president should disqualify you from the job. Realized both of them were distasteful to me in that sense. Nope, I don’t to watch preening and attacking. The world has enough of that. And it doesn’t enhance my serenity.

Wish I’d hung on a bit longer. Apparently Kamala got the orange one to twist himself into the negative, thoughtless, witless person that he is. Go, Kamala.

Will it be enough to turn the tide? Not on its own. But it will energize the Democratic troops for a marathon push to election day. Probably good enough.

Art and Culture, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Health, Judaism, Shadow Mountain

A Busy Day

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Lugnasa and the Harvest Moon

Tuesday gratefuls: Seeing long time friend, Scott Simpson. Dinner with Joanne, Rebecca, and Terry. Water treatment by Greg. Vaccine reaction. Early dark. Waking up in the dark. Stars through the Lodgepoles. Evergreen. Coal Mine Dragon Chinese. Los 3 Garcias. Tara. Ariaan. Eleanor, their new dog. Norbert, their old dog. Both very sweet. The Muddy Buck.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Scott in Evergreen

Kavannah: Serenity Menucha

One brief shining: Sat at one of the Muddy Buck’s white marble topped tables on the boardwalk in Evergreen, waiting for Scott, delighted to see Yin had come along, too, that special joy of greeting long time friends who’ve gone out of their way to see you, getting coffee with Scott and talking for an hour, knowing each other, seeing each other in the way only aged friends can, past the surface quickly and into things that matter.

 

On Sunday at noon I got a flu vaccine and a covid vaccine. Left arm. Safeway pharmacy in the still novel to me experience of getting jabbed by pharmacy techs. I like it. No need to go to the doc. Collected my 10% off my next grocery order coupons, two, one for each needle. Sort of like the pediatrician’s lollipop for a good patient.

Went home and about an hour later felt tired. 3 hours later up from my “nap.” Yesterday morning had to go back to bed, slept another two hours. I’ve never had a reaction to vaccines before, but I recognized this for what it was. Not a large price for protection from two diseases that can devastate the older body.

 

The Geowater guy came, checked my water’s acidity, and swapped out my filter for a new one. Geowater has changed from its former aggressive upselling and now seems focused on customer service. A welcome change. Paid by check. Always feels anachronistic.

Greg lingered, chatting. Couldn’t see why, but he must have liked me and/or had some extra time on his hands. We talked about the bike park, the spate of brutal wrecks a month or so ago on Hwy 285, Mountain living. After he left, I took another nap, a brief one, to be sure I would be rested for seeing Scott and for the later dinner with Rebecca, Terry, and Joanne.

 

At 3:10 I hopped in Ruby and drove down the hill to Evergreen. Scott was kind enough to meet me in Evergreen at the Muddy Buck before a concert at Red Rocks. I hadn’t seen him in a long time, years for sure. Scott introduced me to the guide program at the Minneapolis Institute of Arts. He talked about a recent Chinese tour he and Yin gave. Made me nostalgic for my docent days and the Institute’s Asian art collection.

 

When the Muddy Buck closed at 5, Scott took off and I drove the short distance to Evergreen Lake and the Coal Mine Dragon Chinese restaurant. Where I met Rebecca, Terry, and Joanne. Rebecca leaves on Thursday for another four month stint at a Tibetan Buddhist nunnery near Dharamsala. She teaches English to the nuns and has become a beloved teacher over the last few years of her regular four month visits.

I admire her grit. She’s four years older than I am, also has spinal stenosis, and makes the trip there and back annually. Terry gave her an early birthday present, hers is in October and she’ll be gone. A purple floppy Octopus. Like Kate, Rebecca loves octopuses.

The four of us talked books and politics and Judaism. Joanne told a funny story. She always packed lunch for her late husband, Albert. One day she had nothing for dessert, so she put in four marshmallows, a candle, and a single match. At his work Albert found them, took out the candle, lit it, and began to roast a marshmallow. Oh, one of his co-workers said, I didn’t know that was a Jewish ritual.

As I drove back in the dusk, Elk Cows lounged in the front yards near Brook Forest Drive, occasionally going down to Maxwell Creek to take a drink, perhaps eat a late meal of Kentucky Bluegrass. The rut is near.

 

Memories

Photogravure

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Lugnasa and the Harvest Moon

Monday gratefuls: The Ancient Brothers on the harvest of their lives. Covid and flu vaccines. Chicken wings and deli salad. 3 hour plus nap. Busy Monday: Workout. Geowater. Scott Simpson. Rebecca, Terry, and Joanne. Muddy Buck. Coal Mine Dragon Chinese. Dawn coming later, dusk earlier. Celebrex. Living in the slow lane. Herme. His journey.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: My pantry

Kavannah: SERENITY  Menucha

One brief shining: As I left the synagogue on Saturday, Veronica followed me out; it made me feel good to see you put your arm around Matt, I said, and, using her own metaphor, to see a hard heart soften, that means relationships in tough spots do have a chance, and touched my heart; remember to leave your name badge said the Jefferson County Sheriff’s deputy, shifting her bulky belt.

 

 

                                                                                                                                     THE SUMMER

June

My back yard
Guanella Pass
Pet Scan

July

Breakfast at Lucille’s after meeting my radiation oncologist
Rockies versus the Giants

August

Deer Children at the CBE preschool playground
The Quarry Fire
Family, Judaism, Travel, US History, World History

Antisemitism and Distant Family

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Lugnasa and the Harvest Moon

Sunday gratefuls: Chesbon nefesh. Accounting of the soul. Elul. The Shofar. Dawn. As light returns. Dusk. As darkness falls. The long, slow move toward the Winter Solstice. The Torah. Parshas. CBE’s Jubilee year. Shabbat. More kisses on the head. The Mule Deer Doe and her Fawn. The Asters in my back yard. Diane and her Hoosier pilgrimage. Mark, soon to be in Sakakah, Saudi Arabia. My son. Seoah. Murdoch.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Ginny’s voice

Kavannah: HONOUR כָּבוֹד Kavod    Honour, respect, dignity; literally “weight”  (יְקָר Yikar, yee-CAR: literally to regard as “valuable/precious”) [זִלזוּל Zilzul, ZILL-zool: literally to treat as “cheap”]

One brief shining: At each service over the Jubilee weekend, at all the High Holiday services, we have armed and uniformed deputies of the Jefferson County Sheriff at the synagogue, looking out of place with their bulky gear, the shoulder radio, the baton, the gun who double as door openers, greeting us with their paramilitary smiles, and reminding us as we leave to return our name badges. Anti-semites.

 

All day, everyday, the synagogue’s doors require a buzzer and a familiar face to open them. Our windows have a special bullet resistant film that once applied makes it harder for an assailant to easily break them with a weapon. We also added air conditioning when the furnaces had to be replaced. So we wouldn’t need to prop open doors.

I want to believe that it can’t happen at Congregation Beth Evergreen, but of course that’s naive. We’re in gun rich Colorado where the far-right white supremacists and anti-semites hunt or bow each evening to the altar of the gun. If they’re out there in Colorado, they’re armed.

Not a new reality, but a persistent one. From yellow stars to pogroms to the holocaust violence against Jews has been a hallmark of the diaspora since at least Roman times. Never ignored. Never stopped. Much like cancer, it occurs to me. We can’t pretend it’s not there. We do what we have to do. Yet we cannot, will not live our lives in fear.

 

Talked with my son and Seoah last night. They’re starting to golf again as the weather has begun to cool. Though it’s still hot in Songtan. Seoah’s sister has begun preparations for planting in this, the first season she begins to take over from her parents. Seoah’s mom and dad own a good deal of land in their small village of Okgwa. All of it under cultivation from rice to peppers to tomatoes and whatever else can be sold to grocery stores, restaurants, or kimchi factories. Seoah’s mom works making kimchi when the growing season is over.

They’re coming here in December and want to connect with Marilyn and Irv, Alan. My friends are now their friends and vice versa. When I go to Korea, I see Daniel and Diane. Daniel interpreted at their wedding. He’s now a food importer/exporter. I also catch up on Jamie, Nacho, Kevin and other of Joe’s buddies from his many deployments and stationings. Not to mention connecting again with Seoah’s family.

Meanwhile Mary and Mark continue their expat lives, touching down in Southeast Asia, then heading to Australia or Saudi Arabia. My distant family.

 

 

 

 

Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Friends, Judaism

What a gift

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Lugnasa and the Harvest Moon

Shabbat & Jubilee gratefuls: Being with my sacred community: Veronica, Tara, Ariaan, Luke, Leo, Ron, Rich, Marilyn, Irv, Ginny, Elizabeth. Celebrations. A Mountain evening. A cool Mountain night. Gut shabbas. Absent friends: Alan and Joanne. The drive down Black Mountain Drive and Brook Forest, up past Lake Evergreen, Elk Cows eating alongside the road. The drive home at night.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Congregation Beth Evergreen

Kavanah: Joy  Simcha

One brief shining: The life of a semi-hermit with its openings into the lives of others like sitting with Tara and Ariaan and Luke and Leo while Veronica in her Moon and Stars covered scarf sang, then came over and kissed me on the head, Ron and Rich, strong long hugs, giving Luke the book of Beatle lyrics when we left a bit early, a chill in the air as three stars became visible overhead. Ad astra, Veronica said, as she kissed me.

 

A week of depth and intensity. Beginning with Gabe on Sunday and the hike up Kate’s sadly dry Creek, the next day, Labor Day, driving to Boulder to see Ruth, eat sushi in honor of Jon, over to Denver to drop off Gabe, back home to Shadow Mountain. A quiet Tuesday, recovering. Breakfast at Primo’s with Marilyn and Irv and their friend from the Boston area, Judy. We talked about poor Rider and his blue algae experience, near death. Survived. Judy’s many travels. The Snow Leopard photograph she took in Tibet with a long telephoto. Talking with Ruth twice as she processed Jon’s death away from home.

On Wednesday after my usual erudite conversation with long time buddy, Tom, Jackie cut my hair and we talked about her puppy, kidnapped in a gentle way by her son, stacking firewood, her wood-fired sauna. Rhonda showed us her gray hair. Barely visible underneath. Jackie remembered to the hour, 3pm, and the location, Hampden and University, and her age, 27, when she sat as the stoplight changed, her first gray hair in her hand.

Leaving her salon I drove into Denver and turned north at, yes, Hampden and University, where I found Modern Bungalow in its new location further north. Sat in Stickley/Arts and Crafts inspired chairs and chose one. Over to Dardanos to buy a pair of colorful kicks. Hoka Speedgoats. Tired of white.

Thursday found me talking to Tom again, with Paul and Irv. The Fantastic Four. Zoom. Though I usually go to Thursday mussar I took a nap and slept through. Knowing I was going to go to the Jubilee dinner the next night.

Friday I talked to Diane in a Michigan motel. Zoom. Did stuff around the house.

At 5:30 I saddled up Ruby and drove in my semi-sedate way to the synagogue. It was, for me at least, a night of long hugs, smiles, intimate moments with long time friends. A genuine celebration of this unique community rooted in the Jewish tradition while living into the 2nd millennium with creativity and profound relationships.

Not done yet. A Torah study this morning at 10 and lunch with Alan afterward.

This, then, is my life now. Rich and full, nourishing. Peopled. What a gift.

 

Feelings, Fourth Phase, Great Wheel, Reimagine. Reconstruct. Reenchant.

Harvest Season

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Lugnasa and the Harvest Moon

Friday gratefuls: CBE. Tara. Jamie. Luke. Rebecca. Joanne. Alan. Marilyn and Irv. 50th year Jubilee. Celebration tonight, tomorrow, and Sunday. Diane in Indiana and Michigan. And Ohio. Cousins. Mark and Mary. Fall. This surprising election year. Hope, that battered refuge. The United States of the Americas. Our regional and political differences. Ruth in college. Gabe a junior. All you Virgos out there. Including you, Mary.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Tarot

Kavanah: THANKFULNESS   הוֹד Hod Thankfulness, acknowledgement, distinction; related to הוֹדָיָה/הוֹדָאָה confession. Eighth Sefirah = splendour, literally “glow/brightness”; concession & submission; left leg (opposite Netzach/Victory) (הַכָּרָת הטוֹב Hakarat Hatov: Gratitude, appreciation; literally “recognition of the good”)

One brief shining: Calmed my breathing, cast a mental net for the question that mattered most today-Is my final harvest beginning to take shape?-and drew a card from my Jessica Roux Woodland Guardian’s deck, 46 the Butterfly and Snowdrops, then one from my Wildwood Tarot deck, the Ace of Arrows, went over to the chair and read what they portended, rejoicing.

I sent this question to the Ancient Brothers for this Sunday mornings reflection:
“Fellow travelers on the Great Wheel. We are in the Celtic season of Lugnasa, the first fruits of the harvest. It is the first of three harvest festivals, following it is Mabon or the Fall Equinox, then Samain, or Summer’s End.
I invite you to place yourself on the Great Wheel of your life. What might you consider its first fruits, its main harvest, its final harvest before the fallow time?”
My own reflections on it prompted the question in one brief shining: Is my final harvest beginning to take shape?
Got to this today because my first fruits harvest and my main harvest seemed apparent to me. First fruits were the various justice and Great Work initiatives I worked on in my late 20’s, 30’s, and early 40’s. They were a direct link to the preparation for leadership and for a sensitivity to issues of justice that had dominated my life in high school, college, and directly after college.
My main harvest happened in the Years of Abundance, from 1994 to 2014, when Kate and I gardened, growing vegetables and flowers, had an orchard, cared for bees and many, many dogs. Novel writing. Caring for Joe and Jon. A lived expression of our mutual commitment to and love for Mother Earth. What a time!
The harvest of my final years, still underway of course, seems more difficult to define. I see three or four main threads, but can’t yet see the common one. There is a thread of death, disease, loss and grief. There is a thread of living into what is here: the Mountains, the Trees, the Wild Neighbors, Congregation Beth Evergreen, Mountain living, Evergreen and Conifer, Colorado and the West. There is a thread of relationships as life giving, life affirming treasures. Since Kate’s death, there is, too, a modified Hermit’s life thread which includes the mystical matters of Tarot, Astrology, and Kabbalah.
So my question. Is that common thread becoming visible? Is there another turn that might happen, needs to happen? Will happen? I don’t know. The cards I pulled today offer the possibility that its appearance might not be far off. May it be so.
Family, Mountains, Politics, Shadow Mountain, Weather +Climate

Well. All right!

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Lughnasa and the Harvest Moon

Thursday gratefuls: A.I. Drugs. Ruth in her grief. Rain. 44 degrees. Fall. Slowly recovering from Monday. New kicks, colorful Hoka’s. A new chair, a Morris chair. Asset Framing. Stickley furniture. Celebrex. I think. Old age. The Fourth Phase. Tom and Joy. Bellingham. The railroad tracks. Irv. Paul. Tom. Zoom. Travel. Feeling safe, secure. Kristie.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Arts and Crafts movement

Kavanah: WISDOM חָכְמָה Chochma   Wisdom, learning, scholarship    Second Sefirah = intuitive/revelatory ideas; creative flow state; right brain (opposite Understanding/Binah)  antonyms [הֶדיוּט Hedyut: Blank, undifferentiated state]

One brief shining: Found parking behind the Modern Bungalow, entered a rear door, and immersed myself in the Arts and Crafts movement yet again, this time searching for a chair, one with a back that will support me in a more upright position than the recliner we bought for Kate, since my spinal stenosis makes me slump at an angle, found one, bought it, and left. Like this one, but with straight arms.

 

I mentioned the primal in relation to Luke’s snake, Sacha. It got primal up here on Shadow Mountain. Cracks of Thunder rattled the windows. Flashes of Lightning bright enough to read by. Rain. Easy to see a God or Goddess behind them. A clash of divine swords in sacred battle, thunderbolts heaved into the fray. Tears for the fallen. An angry deity might throw a bolt of Lightning and split a tree by mistake, start a fire. Where’s that sacrificial lamb?

Did make me consider that in the immediate area, here on top of Shadow Mountain, my house could be the highest point from some directions. That Starlink antenna’s sitting out there. Never had an issue. Still. Storms of this power are rarer here in the Arid West, so when they come they get our attention. Reminders that we exist at the sufferance of Mother Nature, not the other way around.

 

Talked to Ruth twice yesterday. Jon’s yahrzeit, being away from home for the first time. Tough. I had the same experience in my first year at Wabash. Mom had not even been dead a year. The loneliness that moving in with a whole new group of people can occasion only intensifies the feelings. And this is only her second week on campus. She had good strategies. Call people that knew and remembered Jon. Eat. Don’t be alone. Tough, but manageable. Kudos to her.

Jon’s yahrzeit candle burned out.

 

Just a moment: Well all right! Allan Lichtman and his 13 keys. You can find a fun graphic article about this professor and his keys that have correctly predicted almost all Presidential elections since 1984. He predicts Kamala Harris will win. Worth viewing the article to understand how the keys work and the way he uses them.

Glad to hear this. This has been such a-oh, gosh, what words are right?-unpredictable, strange, bizarre, unprecedented, historic, confusing, off putting, gut wrenching, sad, joyful election season. Definitely historic. The specter of fascism and bigotry and stupidity again lifted high. The drama of Biden’s difficult decision. Kamala and Tim swooping in to, I hope, save the day!

 

 

 

Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Memories

Repost from Sept. 4, 2022: Jon has died.

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The Harvest Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: Ruth. Gabe. Jon. Kate, always Kate. Death. Life. The passage of Time. The Great Wheel, turning. Lugnasa. Fall. Samain. Then the fallow time. The fourth phase. After childhood and education, after family and career, after early retirement and young old age. A time of life’s harvest gathered in for the final years. Knowing that, yes, spring will come for the young ones, summer, too. And we will rely on their memory to keep us here in the physical world.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Grief

Kavanah: COMPASSION   רַחֲמִים Rachamim    Compassion, empathy; related to רֶחֶם womb; cognitive function = personal feeling

One brief shining: A shock in the late evening, the call from Ruth I can still hear today-“Dad is dead.”-disbelief, sadness for the kids, a rush in my heart to get to them, the long forty-five minute drive through traffic and street lights, past stores and filling stations, others going about their life while one we knew would never again find his way in this material world.

The Repost:

Lughnasa and the Harvest Moon

Monday gratefuls: Jon. Ruth. Gabe. Meme. Death. Again. Arapahoe county medical investigator. Police. Family gathering. Again. Sarah. BJ. Joe. Seoah. Kep. Aurora. Jon’s house. Plan. Change plan. That gurney.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: the cycle of life and death

 

A phone call. About 6:45 pm. One ring on the cell phone. Off. Then the landline. Hard to understand. Someone in distress. Crying. Dad’s dead. It was Ruth. She had gone down in the basement of their house to ask him a question and found him. He was cold.

Yes, of course I’ll be there. Threw on my jeans. Grabbed my keys and my phone. Headed down the hill for the 45 minute plus drive in to Aurora.

Joe called. He had plans underway. Be here tomorrow or Wednesday with Seoah. I called Sarah. No luck. All the way down thinking. Jon. Ruth. Gabe. Meme, their cat. What happens now?

Jon. A tortured soul. Buffeted too much by life, never found that life preserver that could have kept him afloat. He would have been 54 this year. Not suicide. Except in a post-divorce slow motion lack of self-care way.

By the time I got there the EMTs had come and gone. Pronounced him dead. An Aurora police car sat near the house. Jen was there.

Ruthie ran up to my car as I drove by. I stopped. She leaned in and sobbed.

Once I parked both Gabe and Ruth ran to me and we formed a tight circle, hugging each other, a defense against this mystery, so ordinary, yet so harsh, so final. Crying. Crying.

Both of them surprised me by asking me how I got through the death of my mother. They knew I was young and that it was sudden. I was numb for a long time. In shock, I said.

Gabe went with me to get some water. Are you really leaving in February? I really wish you’d stay longer. Oh. Arrow found my heart. Focus on the now.

Back at the house on Florence Avenue a vigil of sorts set up. Waiting on the medical investigator for Araphahoe County and the coroner’s van. I had to take my Mountain appropriate sweatshirt off in deference to the 83 degrees of an Aurora late evening.

Jon’s house is in a working class neighborhood. Small brick homes placed close to each other. A mixed community of Latino and poorer whites. The light from the police cruiser painted the house across from Jon’s in a thin layer of bluish white. Hushed conversations.

Jen and I. Thought we might get along but her animosity and cruel treatment of both Jon and Kate was too close to the surface. We had different sectors and the kids came to each of us at different points.

The coroner’s van came. Ruth gave Jon’s quilt wrapped body a final hug and the gurney took him on his last exit from his house.

I left shortly after, driving back up the hill. Ruth and Gabe headed to their mom’s. Sarah and BJ are on their way. Joe and Seoah.

Many things unclear. How will I communicate with Ruth and Gabe now that they will be with their mom full time? What kind of service? Where? Ruth said Jon wanted to be cremated.

The coroner will have his body at least until Tuesday late afternoon. They have to determine cause of death, rule out suicide, other possibilities. Sarah, as his closest blood relative, has legal authority since Ruth is under 18.

Jon had no will. What happens to the house, the cars? All of the stuff in the house. The house itself.

Lots of details ahead. For which I have little energy. Feeling like Colorado has been about too much disease and death. Conflicted about Gabe’s comment. Wanting so much to start a new chapter far from here. Hearing him. And, Ruth.

Boulder, Denver, Family, Feelings, Fourth Phase, Health, Mountains, Shadow Mountain

Earth Waves

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The Harvest Moon

Tuesday gratefuls: Ruth. Gabe. Boulder. Ruby. Celebrex. Tramadol. THC. Gettin’ old. The gradual arrival of Fall. Great Sol. The Flatirons. The High Plains as they wash up against the Laramide Oregeny’s Rocky Mountains. Mountains as Earth Waves. Second looks at my prostate cancer facts. Kristie. Steve. Dr. Leonard. Mr. In Between. Whippets. My son.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Staying the course with Ruth and Gabe

Kavanah: STABILITY יְסוֹד Yesod    Stable, rooted, grounded; literally “foundation”  Ninth Sefirah = Connection & communication; covenant relationship; regenerative organ  [נְתִיקָה Netika: Disconnected, detached, rootless, neurotic]

One brief shining: We gathered, the three of us, the last of Jon’s close family, sitting outside at the Hapa Sushi Grill and Sake Bar, Jon’s complicated impact on each of us lifted to the surface as we ordered the Multiple Orgasm Roll, the Hapa Special Roll, and a sashimi sampler with Daikon fries while Labor Day freed Boulderites and UC students wandered up and down the Pearl Street Mall.

 

At ten am Gabe and I took off for Boulder, an hour drive from Shadow Mountain. Once on 470 we headed east always driving along the Hogbacks that mark the earlier Oregeny (Mountain Building) phase that preceded the Laramide. Thrust up on angles toward the west, these ancient Rock formations mark the end of the High Plains, or their beginning. Heading east from the Hogbacks the High Plains move toward their lower, yet contiguous sisters that make up the Plains States, running as far east as western Minnesota.

Though technically the west begins around the 105th parallel in Nebraska, where Rainfall dips below 20 inches a year, the feeling of being in the West, the Mountain West, only begins when you see the Rockies in the distance and their older brethren, the Hogbacks. Coming from the east, of course, as I mostly have.

I have a marked sense of awe, in Hebrew yirah, wherever I drive in the Mountains. This path from Shadow Mountain to Boulder thrills me, as it follows the evidence of plate tectonics active 75 through 35 million years ago, evidence inescapable to the eye and to the internal combustion engine. The hand of Gaia splashing the ocean of land and creating waves in her outermost layer, easy to see even now so long after she finished. Earth waves.

 

Just a moment: Even with the Celebrex on board, the drive from home to Boulder, then to Denver to drop Gabe off on Galena Street and finally back west through Denver and up 285, left me in pain. And long before I finally got home.

When I got back, I hurt so bad I tossed in a tramadol and an edible. Big mistake. My stomach said no, I do not like this, not at all. Please go to bed. So I did. At 4:30 pm. Got back up a couple of hours later.

Worth it though. Gabe and Ruth need time together and time with me. Especially yesterday, two days from the second anniversary of Jon’s death. I gave both of them yahrzeit candles, candles that burn the full 24 hours of a yahrzeit. Had to take Ruth’s back because: no candles at all ever in the dorms. Oh. Yeah.