• Category Archives Feelings
  • Hello In There, Hello

    Winter                                                                                Cold Moon

    I guess it was inevitable.  After all the psychic work over the last few weeks, the last year, I’m beginning to head into a heavy place.  Low energy.  There is, too, the cabin fever syndrome.  Not out much.  Staying down here in the basement, reading, translating.  Working.  Then working out.  Sleep.  Get up.  Repeat.

    Don’t know how long this will last, though I do know enough about these moods to know that they usually precede a creative period.  It may be that my work on the Edda’s, on thinking about the next revision of Missing, plotting for Loki’s Children; it may just be that all that has to go into the pot and cook awhile.  Meanwhile I’m on emotional simmer.

     


  • For Kate

    Winter                                                                        Cold Moon

    Would never have thought to say it this way, but it’s true.  

     

    when I met you,
    flowers started growing
    in the darkest parts of my mind


  • On My Platter

    Winter                                                                      Moon of the Winter Solstice

    Today is distribution day for the manuscripts of Missing.  As I said before, I have some anxiety about this, but I know that facing this anxiety and going ahead anyhow is its only solvent.  It’s exciting to me to be 65 and still have cutting edge growth on my platter.  The anxiety is merely a mental clue that this work matters to me.  A lot.

    On my platter.  A cliche.  Yes.  But meaningful, as many cliches are.  Overly the last year I’ve though about my platter, just what I want to serve myself every day.  What are the main food groups in my day to day life.  Let’s assume the broad base of the food pyramid consists of family, financial matters, home, food and exercise.  This is the stuff that forms the essential nutrition.  Next up from this base level are dogs, garden, bees, Woolly Mammoths.  Friendly and interdependent relationships with other humans, animals, insects and plants.  This level provides intimate feedback on a regular basis.

    Then come increasingly idiosyncratic activities:  reading, watching movies, listening to music, visiting art museums, travel.  Finally come the core activities in which I not only participate but actively create:  this blog, writing novels, translating Latin and putting together tours at the MIA.  Oh, well, the food pyramid breaks down here.  Maybe Maslow’s hierarchy does a better job at this juncture.

    These last three writing, Latin and art have become the arenas in which I express the creative, generative aspects of myself, those aspects Maslow calls self-actualization.  Utilizing either the food pyramid or Maslow, engaging this work is only possible if the base, the friendly and interdependent and, too, the more solitary levels are in place and functioning.  Then the work that becomes play, the work that transcends labor can happen.

    Latin, art and creative writing.   These are now the core of my work and, I think, will remain so for as long as I’m healthy.


  • Saturday

    Winter                                                            Moon of the Winter Solstice

    The long night has come and gone.  The days have begun to grow longer, even if only by seconds.  I’ll be happy to see the first flowers of spring, the bees coming and going again, the garlic pushing its way through the mulch; of course I will, but that is in its season.  The season now is one of cold and darkness and I like it, too.

    I have done my first compilation of Missing.  It’s 110,000 words.  A 320 page paperback, roughly.  Using Scrivener makes the process of creating a manuscript from many different documents pretty easy.  That’s not to say the first compilation is what I want.  It’s not.  Not quite.  So, I’ll have to spend some time fussing with it tomorrow, but I don’t think it will too long to get one that pleases me.

    On the downside I got so into this task and my workout that followed that I missed signals from Kate that she was locked out.  Our garage door opener had quit working; she left it here and went out to do her nails.  When she came back, I was already working out and she couldn’t get in.  She was pretty steamed when she did.  She slogged through the snow in her clogs.  Not a happy camper at all.

     


  • Lalalalala

    Samhain                                                    Moon of the Winter Solstice

    Earlier this summer I went outside and found holes dug under the orchard fence.  Vega and Rigel had figured out a new way inside.  Once in they dug up the earth around three of our apple trees, in one case exposing about half the close in root system to the air.  When I saw this latest breach of our attempts to lead two live, dog owners and gardeners, I froze.  Something just crumpled.  I couldn’t deal with another one.  Not again.  This was one time too many, the straw…well, you know how it goes.

    I told Kate how I felt.  She said she understood since it was the way she had felt the last couple of years working for Allina.  That got me.  What I experienced was almost disgust, a visceral abhorrence and she had felt that toward her employers.  Wow.

    Later on, after the feeling waned, I once again repaired the breach, came up with a new system of entrance denial, which Vega and Rigel promptly conquered.  So, I went at it again, then winter came.  We’re on hiatus now till spring with the ground frozen.

    When I flipped on NPR today, as I drove over the pharmacy to pick up my drugs, there was a debate beginning on gun control.  When I heard the opposing arguments, I had that same reaction.  Disgust.  Ultimate weariness.  A not again feeling.  I turned it off immediately.  This is not the first time I’ve had this feeling about political discourse.

    Each time I have it I turn off the radio, put down the newspaper.  Put my fingers in my ears and go lalalalalala.  Then, I think about all the years when I didn’t react like this.  When, instead, I joined with others of like mind and took political action.

    Each time I turn my head away from a political debate, I feel a frisson of guilt.  If folks like me don’t stand up, then who will?  And, the only necessity for the advancement of evil is for good men to do nothing.  I know this.  I believe it.  I even realize the self-righteousness trap in this logic and know it must not defeat action.  Still, at times, like yesterday, I turn away.

    Am I certainly right?  Of course not.  Is my opinion as important and as valid as anyone else’s?  Of course it is.  And I’m not alone.  Yet, at times, my feeling is that the political world has moved past me.  That I’m too old, too short term, too distant, too something to do anything.  At some point, I know, as with Vega and Rigel, I’ll lean in again, listen, parse, perhaps even organize.

    Right now though.  It’s lalalalalala all the way.

     


  • Moving Up the Emotional Scale

    Samhain                                                      Thanksgiving Moon

    I have a spotter in the world’s least emotional state, Singapore.  Long term resident, sister Mary.  Singapore, along with much of Asia, loves campaigns to improve public behavior.  Mary spotted several current signs that attempt to deal with Singapore’s emotional flat line.  Here they are:

    This last one reveals a major part of the problem.  No, not the sunflowers.  But, soar like an eagle, dream believe achieve, learn from the best.  These make happiness a tool for success.  Ain’t gonna work.  Happiness happens.  It’s a secondary outcome of other attitudes and behaviors.  Check out the positive psychology folks for example.

    See Martin Seligman’s work at his website:  authentic happiness.

     


  • The Past Is Not Past

    Fall                                                                   Harvest Moon

    The internet is forever.  At least for now.  I learn this every so often and right now I’m learning it again in regard to a post of mine from two years ago that has become my most commented upon.  It talks of a difficult time in my life, when my then wife, Judy, and I bought a farm near Nevis, Minnesota, a back to the land moment.

    Johnny and Judy, could be a mack the knife sort of tune, left me standing by myself one weekend in September of 1974, standing alone on 80 acres of scrubby land with a house and some outbuildings.  They took off for the Caribbean to spend the winter working boats sailing those waters.  Judy and I were married.

    I took a quit claim deed to the farm signed by Judy and an uncontested divorce to the Hubbard County courthouse and legally resolved that episode of my life.  Legal action, of course, is not emotional nor does it shed history, rather it records emotional and historic changes.

    As I say in that short piece, written after a day of using the chainsaw on our land here in Andover, I don’t blame Judy.  I don’t.  Three years after this time I acknowledged my alcoholism and started on the long road to recovery.  My behavior toward her in the months and years preceding 1974 would have made me want to run away to the Caribbean.  A bad time in my life that reached its nadir right about then.

    Our life, our whole life, remains within us and within the memories of others.  It is not something we can set aside, push out of the way, deny.  We can, with time, place events in our life in context, in the trajectory of a whole life, yet they remain what they were.

    I am no longer that young man, just as Judy is no longer that young woman.  We have both aged, gone different ways and had our own futures.  Those were exciting, revolutionary times and much of the revolution happened at the personal level.  Judy, Johnny and I played a part in that change, a small part, yet large in that moment of our lives.

     


  • Mr. In Between

    Fall                                                           Harvest Moon

    This hanging in between, between the trauma of the operation and a recovered back to normal state, has begun to wear on me.  Already.  I’ve forced myself, as I said below, to go slow, rest.  Now that the pain has almost totally subsided, that’s not so easy.  When there was an ouch or two or more to deal with, I reached into the reserve we all carry for those things and pushed through it.

    (former web page vanished)

    In the time while I’m still vulnerable to undoing the repair that has been done and beyond the pain, this time, my guard goes down.  Fatigue and unrealistic expectations begin to set in.  I remember this from my Achilles repair, too.  As I got closer to the end of the two months in a cast and on crutches, my desire to throw them away, cut off the cast and get on with it was extreme.

    The main effect I see now is mental.  I’m physically fatigued and my body still has work to do on integrating that mesh which leaves my mental acuity less than I need.  Latin just seems too hard.

     


  • We Needed Each Other

    Fall                                                                       Harvest Moon

    The Woollies gathered tonight at Scott Simpson’s house.  Our usual first Monday meeting night.  Unusual to be in a home for this meeting. (usually held in a restaurant)  Scott and Yin felt a quiet home would be better for a time with Bill Schmidt.

    It was.

    Bill continues his centered, positive perspective while acknowledging tears and grief.  We listened to him.  Ate a meal together.

    Main thought/feeling from the evening.  How rare and precious it is to be part of a group of men who could come together with a member who has lost a spouse, the day after, in fact, and be important enough to matter.  This time, this meeting was, in many ways, like other times we’ve been together, focused on the situation of one of us in a tough or delicate situation in our lives.

    Those other times, the retreats, the casual gatherings have glued us together now with a bond not seen normally outside of families.  Bill needed us and we needed to be with him.

    A gift beyond measure and one we have given to ourselves, over and over again.  Thanks, guys.  I was proud of us tonight.

     


  • A Peat Bog

    Lugnasa                                                        Hiroshima Moon

    This has been a down August for me.  Still slogging through molasses.  Only bursts of energy, clarity.  Don’t like it.  Doesn’t seem to be much I can do about it.  One foot in front of the other.

    Worked all morning on Missing.  Right now I’m summarizing chapters, creating character bios and defining scenes.  The result will be an outline with chapter summaries and a read through, quick, yes, but still a read through.  Once the read through is done and all chapters summarized, I’ll be ready to start working on Loki’s Children.

    When that comes, my days will be Missing revision, writing Loki’s children, translating Latin and the occasional tour.  Hoping that I will get assigned to the terracotta warrior show since I’m prepared already for Qin Shi Huang-Di and the rise of the Qin dynasty.

    Right now all this sounds too much, but a hold over from the days of salaried work is a good work ethic once I’m clear on where I’m going.  That means I’ll keep going.

    The bees.  Dejected, yes.  Defeated, no.  Last year I decided I would buy packages, build up the colonies and take the honey they produced, all of it, including their winter stores, then start over again the next year.  This was partly a response to difficulty over-wintering bees, partly to mite loads.  Fail.

    So.  I have to look at this a first year project, in which case I have one colony, the aggressive one, that will have plenty of honey and brood for the upcoming winter.  The other, the less active one, had, today, brood.  Surprise!  They must have swarmed earlier and created a new queen.  Not sure right now how to encourage them through the winter, but I’ll find out.  If the strong colony produces any extra honey, I’ll give it to the weak one.