Health, Politics

Blow up!

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Mabon and the Samain Moon

Sabbath gratefuls: Joanne. Alan. Cold night. New ceiling fan. Shadow, smiling. Sheet pan recipes. Hot Italian sausage. Mark, the Ameriki. (American in Saudi Arabic) Mary, the Hoosier in Oz. Rich. Artemis, ready for a day of harvest and planting. Me, too. Garlic Cloves. Great Sol lower in the Sky. The downed Lodgepole. That Pendleton Wool blanket. My peculiar electric blanket.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Radiation

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah: Hochmah.  Wisdom.   “Who is wise? The one who learns from every person.”  Perkei Avot: 4:1  Making medical decisions this week.

Tarot: Paused

One brief shining: That newish fan in my bedroom has a not so funny quirk; its light turn on on its own, sometimes a lot like last night, other times not at all for weeks lulling me, it’ll be ok now; but it’s not ok and I spent much of last night getting illuminated, finding the remote to switch off the light, darkness ah, oh damn it! Looking for a new fan.

 

My medical October continues:  On Wednesday I learned that nobody, at least for now, can make me a lightweight, elegant brace for my floppy head. Not even in the world of custom orthotics. I’m not giving up, even if I have to figure it out myself.

Maddie, my palliative care nurse comes up for a visit on Tuesday. She’s a good woman, attentive, caring, knowledgeable. I’ll discuss my back pain, torn labrum, and recent PET scan with her. She often has interesting ideas like adding acetaminophen to my tramadol to make it more effective. Or, prescribing Ritalin for fatigue.

On Thursday I see Kylie, my pain doc, to continue the slow march toward nerve ablations for my back pain. She will review my pain diaries and send a report to my insurance company. And only then will we be able to schedule the actual ablation. Since late April. Geez.

On Halloween  I get to do something truly scary. I’ll see Dr. Carter, a radiation oncologist, to discuss radiating the tumor on my T4 vertebrae. Before we actually do it, I have to have yet another MRI to check for nerve involvement with the tumor. That’s not scheduled yet.

 

Just a moment: I’ve taken notice of that odd moment in conversations with friends when the thing happens. You know what I mean. The realization you’ve entered Red Tie Guy zone. One of you might try to shake it off like a Dog after a bath, but you know now something will have to be said.

What might it be? Could be a mention of demolishing, oh what was it? Part of the Whitehouse? Really. I mean. Or, it might be using our military to play whack a boat in the Caribbean and the Pacific. Drug smugglers, he says. Maybe it’s moving an aircraft carrier into waters somewhere off Latin America, a whole strike group now near Croatia.

Where’s our version of William Randolph Hearst and Joseph Pulitzer? Remember the Maine! Let’s go kick some Latin American, drug smuggling, narco-trafficking butt. DJT might blow up his chance for a Nobel prize.

 

Family

My Son

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Mabon and the Samain Moon

Friday gratefuls: Shadow and her love. Joanne in the hospital. Dark Night Skies. Crescent Moons. Orion. Vega. Rigel. Betelgeuse. Andromeda Galaxy. Three laws of robotics. Isaac Asimov. Robert Heinlein. Dune. Ring World. The Mysterious Stranger. Mark Twain. Heart of Darkness. The Shadow Line. Joseph Conrad. The Genius. The Titan. The Financier. Theodore Dreiser.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Paul in prison

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah:  Ometz Lev.  Courage of the heart.

Tarot: Paused

One brief shining: When I moved to Wisconsin in 1969 with Judy and Israfel, the angel of music who escaped from our car at a rest stop in Illinois, my heart turned north for over forty years, following my Jack London, Call of the Wild, inspired fantasy of tall pine trees, cold lakes, and brutal winters. I was not disappointed.

 

Friends: This week I had brunch scheduled with Joe Greenberg, but he called to say he wasn’t feeling well. Then breakfast with Marilyn and Irv got canceled due to Marilyn’s need to give grandkid rides. Both rescheduled. Got a text on Wednesday from Joanne: I won’t be able to come Friday. I’m in the hospital and I don’t know for how long. (from Joanne’s daughter-in-law). Still don’t know what happened to Joanne. Life in the olden days. Things happen, plans change, lives get altered in a flash.

A friend of my cousin Diane’s, Randy, says, “I don’t know if I have 20 minutes or 20 years.” Just so.

 

Family: My son’s forty-fourth birthday. Remembering the four pound, four ounce tiny baby in the wicker basket carried by the blue and white garbed nuns off the plane from Kolkata. The bitter cold of that Minnesota midnight and the Angel who towed me home after the orange V.W.’s fuel line froze up.

Those t-ball games later where all the kids, all of them on both sides, who would run toward the ball. Later, at age 6 the Minnesota Twins, whose games we had attended, won the World Series.

When we went to Lake Winnibigoshish, where he caught the Lake record Blue Gill and a golden eagle swooped down at us while we drove back roads to another fishing hole.

The kid who restored the downhill ski racing team at St. Paul Central would later move to Breckenridge for three years after graduating with his double major in Physics and Astrophysics.

Even later he moved to Alabama, then Georgia, Florida, back to Georgia, Korea, Singapore, Hawai’i, and back to Korea. A married man with a sweetheart of a wife.

I had a t-shirt made for both of us that showed the alignment of the planets on December 15th, the day Raeone and I took him home from the airport, beginning his U.S.A adventure. An immigrant now proudly serving his beloved country.

We often say, we parents, how proud we are of our kids. All grown up and out in the world. I am proud of my son, all grown up and out in the world.

 

Dogs, Friends, Politics, Sport

From the Hadean to Red Tie Guy to Unicorns

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Mabon and the Samain Moon

Thursday gratefuls: Joanne. Joe. Marilyn and Irv. Tara and Eleanor. Shadow, smiling. Illness. Aging. Complicated schedules. Tomatoes, Roma, to Tara. Cherry Tomatoes, sweet off the plant. Low fire risk since late June. Rabbi Jamie’s sabbatical. Mussar. Bear Berry. Bunch Grass. Lichen. Fungi. Sushi Win Special Roll.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Quantum Computers

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah:  Ometz Lev.  Courage of the heart.

Tarot: Paused

One brief shining: Wu wei you might wonder is it rolling with the punches living like a Mountain Stream taking a licking and keeping on ticking going with the flow becoming one with the movement of Clouds and Wild Neighbors living life with ease not pressing for a result, no expectations and you would be as right as Chuang Tzu dreaming himself a butterfly or wait was it a butterfly dreaming it was Chuang Tzu.

 

Tara and Eleanor: Tara brought Eleanor over to play with Shadow. Eleanor, still very much a puppy, stands about three times Shadow’s close to the ground height. They run and run and run and run.

Also, Eleanor this time tried to hump Shadow, dominance assertion, but Shadow would have none of it. I may be small, she said, but I’m neither submissive nor a pushover.

Meanwhile Tara and I talk as close friends do. She’s an important person in my life, ready to help or laugh or tutor me for my Bar Mitzvah. What a delight.

The next time Tara comes she’ll bring me some hay I can use to bed down the Garlic I plan to plant over the weekend. I gave her three Garlic cloves so she can plant her own.

 

Just a moment: Hey, shhh! We’re gonna demolish us some Whitehouse, eh? But. Don’t tell anybody. Once it’s gone, who’ll know the difference. Right?

Oh, and here’s another thing. Get Justice to sign off on that $231,000,000. I might need more gold leaf for the ballroom, you know. Can’t skimp there.

While you’re at it? Raise tariffs and keep Congress out of everything. What are they for anyhow, dude?

Thanks. I’m heading over to the Golden Arches (see, they like me) for a few Big Mac super meals. Might stop into a Burger King, too, for another paper crown. Don’t wait up.

 

Reading: Finished A Brief History of the Earth by Andrew Knoll. A gift from Tom. Recommend it if you want a quick over view of geological, paleontological, and climatological thinking that’s up to date and written for non-scientists. Thanks to Tom and Andrew.

 

Sport: As baseball’s season comes to an exciting climax with Shohei Otani and the Dodgers facing the Toronto Blue Jays, the NBA season opened the other night with a game between the Dallas Mavericks and the San Antonio Spurs.

More unicorn action there. Even though Cooper Flag, the Maine baller and first pick in the NBA draft played in his first professional game, attention focused instead on Victor Wembanyama.

The 7’5″ player in his third season returned after a blood clot ended his playing last year. His grueling summer training included martial arts training in a Shaolin Temple.  He returned to dominate the Mavericks with 40 points, 15 rebounds, and three blocks. In 30 minutes of playing time.

 

Garden, Politics, Sport

Immigrants and a Foreign Country. In Baseball!

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Mabon and the Samain Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: Ruth. Two years sober. Sushi Win, jr. International Wombat Day. Shadow letting me sleep. Cold Air. MRI with anesthesia. Radiation. Gabe, at a friend’s on Thanksgiving. Evoke 1923.  Ruth, skiing on Thanksgiving. Trash pick up. The last Aspen golden torches of the Fall. Garlic in the house. Final harvest for Kale, Spinach, Beets. Then, planting the Garlic.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Ruth, her empathy

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah:  Ometz Lev.  Courage of the heart.

Tarot: Paused

One brief shining: On these crisp afternoons Shadow jumps up on the window nearest my chair, she wants me to come outside and play, so I pick up a handful of treats and we roam the yard together, an occasional sit, down, touch punctuated by such a good girl and treats dropped behind me, her tail wagging, wagging, a smile on my face.

 

Artemis: Garlic, the contrarian of the Vegetable world. Plant it in the fall, harvest in June. I love to plant it for that reason alone. Oh, I’ll use the Garlic, sure, but the fun of planting something when everything else has finished its run? Priceless.

In Andover Kate and I would braid the soft necked Garlic stalks and hang them in the shed Jon built, where their fellow Alliums red, white, and yellow onions dried on a large screen the fall before. The Scapes of the hard necked Garlic would get cooked in stir fries or omelets.

 

Sports: Baseball, that most American of games. Beloved by blue collar workers and knowledge workers from Brooklyn to L.A. I’m not a huge baseball fan though my son is, tossing around stats and how to rebuild his sad home team with ease and excitement.

However. This year. This 2025 Fall classic. This World Series for this Yankee Doodle game? I’m loving the irony. On the Dodgers we have two starting pitchers from Japan: Yoshinobu Yamamoto and the spectacular Shohei Otani. The word used by many sportswriters to describe Otani? The unicorn. A singular talent, once in a lifetime, probably once in all of baseball history. He pitches. Hits homeruns. Steals bases.

Second irony. The Dodgers’ opponent this year. The Toronto Blue Jays. A Canadian team playing for all the marbles in the World Series. I wish they could win, just to add a Maple Leaf finger to this xenophobic administration, but I doubt anyone can beat this Dodger team.

Even so, their presence in the World Series speaks to all that is good and true about my America. Immigrants excelling, living the Cooperstown dream, and our closest ally engaged in friendly competition with them. In baseball!

Take that you narrow minded twats!

Just a moment: Speaking of narrow minds. Did you see the backhoe tearing into the East Wing facade? With no advance warning. Casual violence against the People’s house. All to build a ballroom? Like Mar-a-Lago?

It will probably be the best ballroom in all the world. I doubt it, check Vienna, Versailles, St. Petersburg, but even if it is? So what? Did it cure, say, measles? Feed hungry people in Chicago or San Antonio? No, it did not.

Dogs, Family, Health, Holidays, Travel

Ometz Lev

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Mabon and the Samhain Moon

Tuesday gratefuls: Ruth, two years sober. Paul, hearing Yo-Yo Ma. Tom and his PET scan. Dr. Bupathi. Metastases. Radiation. The maze at Swedish. Shadow, the good girl. Kate, always Kate. Driving down the hill and back again. Frost, the third. Sleep. Ruby and her snowshoes. On next Monday. Winter is coming.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Sobriety

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah:  Ometz Lev.  Courage of the heart.

Tarot: Paused

One brief shining: As I drove around and around, trying to find valet parking, hidden in a frustrating maze of blocked roads and Kafkaesque detours, I knew the results of my PET scan awaited me, if only I could find a parking spot, each circuit seeming to put me further and further away from information I needed, needed, not wanted.

 

Health: I finally found a spot, a handicap spot in a parking garage I could have used much earlier, if I hadn’t been trapped in my ruminations. What will the new PET scan show?

The mystery of the slow rise in my PSA solved. One metastases enlarged from 8.8 to 52. A big jump. It’s on my T-4 vertebrae. Not a great spot. Dr. Bupathi has referred me back to Dr. Leonard, my radiation oncologist, to kill it. But. Need an MRI of my back first to be sure there is no nerve involvement. This time I’ll need anesthesia for the imaging.

My cancer has begun to push against the Erleada and the Orgovyx. Slipping toward the hormone resistant stage though if the radiation can kill this one, I might stave it off a while longer. On the other hand my other mets were stable to improved. That is good.

I had planned to stop at Noodles and pick up some comfort Mac and Cheese, but after my maze runner hunt I wanted to get home, see Shadow, consider all this.

Now an in-between before the MRI, then another before the radiation, and another until l know the results of the radiation. These will test my resolve to live in between. So many high stakes moments in such a short space of time.

Meanwhile, the back pain story continues on, a slow rolling melodrama with a potential finish in early November. And, just for completeness I’ve tried to adapt to a foam collar for my neck. Haven’t found the right one. Feels, well, weird. A journey  just begun.

 

A look back: In 2004 I took an early November trip to Southeast Asia, starting in my sister Mary’s Singapore. My week there happened to coincide with the second election of George Bush, Ramadan, and Diwali, the Hindu festival of lights. It’s underway this year in late October.

We went to Little India and saw the place lit up for this joyous, light filled holiday. That was fun for this Midwestern guy, but the peak came in the wee hours of the morning. At Sri Mariamman Temple. The oldest Hindu Temple in Singapore, it features, during Diwali, firewalking.

Mary and I walked the empty streets of China Town, which had closed around this temple built in 1893, and found a long line of people waiting for their chance to walk on hot coals, immerse their feet in a milk bath, then be caught by volunteers.

Of most interest to me were the folks at the end of the line, all women. We talked with some of them and found that their inclusion in the ceremony had come only recently, feminism changing even this thousands of years old ritual. Gave me hope for the world.

 

Health, Sport

Living in the in-betweens

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Mabon and the Harvest Moon’s 1% crescent

Monday gratefuls: Shadow chewing on her Kong lobster. Rich, a good friend. Dr. Bupathi. PET scan. Night and all it nourishes. Shohei Otani. The GOAT. My son, his empathy. Seoah, her joy. Murdoch, his life with them. South Korea. Everwood. Loot. The Morning Show. Apple TV. A Brief History of the Earth. Tom. Bill. Ode. Paul.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Life

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah:  Ometz Lev.  Courage of the heart.

Tarot: Paused

One brief shining: When I sleep, the night air comes in over my head with the scent of Lodgepole Pines and wet Aspen leaves; out the window lies Cassiopeia, so far away, yet so faithful, Polaris, our true North Star, found by following the tail of Ursa Major while down here Ursus americanus, the Black Bear, grows fatter and fatter, ready to sleep as the Winter Constellations climb into their long Night Sky.

 

The In-Betweens: A lesson from cancer patients for the rest of you. No matter the type of cancer, you have follow ups, even if it’s in remission. The periodicity of the follow ups tells the tale of how likely a sudden change is. In the best case the follow ups start more frequently, say every three months for a couple of years, then every six months or even annually.

No matter the intervals we all live in the in-between, that is, the time between one follow up and another. As the date of a follow up nears, say a blood test or an imaging procedure, we often experience what some call scanxeity-a heightened worry that this time, this follow up will reveal either a cancer’s return or its progression.

Since 2018 I’ve had follow up blood tests every three months with a PET scan once a year. Due to a recent rise in my PSA from .2 to .3 I have had another blood test, then a PET scan even though I had one back in May. This last to check for changes in my metastases. My in-between now in weeks, not months. May not last, but for right now it’s what I need.

If you cannot learn to live your life in the in-betweens, you allow cancer to ruin your life before you die. I’ve had times, as recently as last November, when the pressure of a possible change to my status got to me. At an appointment when I thought I would get information, there was none. I got mad though really I was anxious. Turned out to be a false alarm but I lost a week of my life to anxiety. I wasn’t living in my in-betweens.

In a very real sense life itself is an in-between, lying between what the Mexica called a sleep and a sleep. Or, that time after you took a test, submitted a paper and the posting of grades. Between an interview and a hiring decision. Between one pitch, one throw down field and the next.

Whatever your in-betweens they are when your life happens. Live, don’t curl up or go jittery. Live in the in-betweens.

 

Sports: I have to remark on Shohei Otani’s majestic game 4 of the National League playoffs, Dodgers v Milwaukee. After an opening walk Shohei the pitcher got three strike-outs, then as lead off batter in the Dodger line-up smashed a home run. He would go on to pitch 6 scoreless innings with 10 strikeouts and hit two more home runs, one that cleared the roof of Dodger Stadium. Probably the greatest game for a single player in the entire history of baseball.

 

Judaism, Torah

Talmud Torah

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Mabon and the Harvest Moon

Sunday gratefuls: Mother Earth. Talmud Torah. Bagels. Cream Cheese. Rosemary bagels. The Morning Service. Kabbalah. Nefesh. Ruach. Neshama. Robbintson, Maine. Shorewood. The Twin Cities. Homes of the Ancient Brothers. Rocky Mountains. Wild Neighbors. The Bears in hyperphagia, getting fat. Elk Bulls, rutting and locking horns. Mule Deer Bucks, too. All timing for optimal Spring time emergence. Clear Colorado Blue Skies. Puffy Cumuli.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Clouds and the Water Cycle

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah: Ometz Lev. Courage of the heart.

Tarot: paused

One brief shining: Steve Horowitz worked the bagel slicer, sesame seeds dropping to the table, while others passed out paper plates, napkins, and a kitchen knife for the schmear; Cassie reached up behind her and pulled maroon Tanakhs and Siddurs to pass around while Jamie fiddled with his computer so our Canadian friend Bev could join for our study of Bereshit, the first parsha in the Torah cycle.

 

Torah study (Talmud Torah): Since seminary, I’ve loved serious study of the Bible, both what I once knew as the Old and New Testaments, and now Tanakh, which contains the Torah (which means learnings), the Prophets, and the Writings.

Why do I love this? Not always sure. I used to enjoy the exegetical methods of higher criticism which used language (Hebrew, Greek, Aramaic), textual analysis, understanding of traditional forms like the blessing and the curse, historical background, and even how a text had been understood in the past to reach a best sense of what a text meant to the people who wrote it. The real “meaning” of the text. As close to the presumed true understanding of the text as we could get.

Now though in study of the Torah I have encountered a more ancient way of using the biblical text. Jews do not hunt for the real meaning of a text, do not seek a singular truth as it must  have been understood, rather we seek a particular understanding for this day, this moment.

We read the Torah in parshas, often several chapters long and divided so the whole Torah can be read in one year, parshas that have been read and reread for over three thousand years, so many truths.

Jews view the Torah through the prism of language, sure, but they also view it through the prism of interpretations called midrash, the understandings of Rabbis collected throughout the centuries. And midrash is not finished. Each Jew is expected to bring their own mind and heart to understanding the text.

Different ways of reading a text are not only expected, but celebrated. Two Jews, three opinions. There is no truth, no fixed meaning to be found, only encounters with the text on a particular day, by particular people seeking their truth, for that day, for that text. And when the creation story(s) come up again, as they do right now in the Jewish liturgical year we may understand the majestic and orderly first creation story, “In the beginning…” (bereshit), in a way very different from the way we understood it last year.

Friends, Memories, Mountains

Living In a Small Town

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Mabon and the Harvest Moon

Shabbat gratefuls: Joanne and Joe. Derek. Vince. Shadow. Israel. Gaza. Palestinians. Arabs. Mark in Hafar. My Lodgepole, a living Tree. Cut down. A leaner after heavy Winds. Tara and Jamie. RMCC. Dr. Bupathi. Maddie. Social Worker and RN. Palliative care. My PET scan.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Shabbat

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah: Ometz Lev.   Bravery of the heart.  Seeing my medical oncologist, Dr. Bupathi, on Monday.

One brief shining: Jackie and Rhonda, dispensing love in, as Rhonda’s shirt said, Small Acts (that) Change the World; a lot like Cheers where everybody knows my name and by simply knowing my name makes my day brighter, more.

 

Living in a small town (Mellencamp): Yes, Alexandria. 5,000 people in my time there: 1949-1965. Walk everywhere. To Cox’s Grocery Store. To the Methodist Church. To Thurston Elementary School. Bailey’s Drug Store. The Carnegie Library. The Town Theater or the Alex. Walking meant running into people you knew well and people you knew only slightly. Always.

Alexandria shaped my idea of how life was supposed to go. Not in an urban environment where most of the time you had no idea who you saw in the grocery store, who sat down next to you in a restaurant, but rather as part of a thick web of people who knew each other at least well enough to nod with recognition.

This meant kids were safe to wander the streets because everyone knew who you belonged to. This also meant getting into trouble would always get back to your parents. Always.

I most remember the shoe leather and glue smells of Guilkey’s Shoe Repair. The cool humid ramp that led down to the children’s room of the Alexandria Carnegie Library. And, the Silver Llama, my favorite book which resided there. Those reading competitions in the summer.

Or, having a fizzy soda at the soda fountain in Bailey’s Drug Store. Buying Cinnamon extract there in liquid form, then putting toothpicks in it to savor later. Benefield’s Market, right next to Kildow’s Paint Store where, during lunch break at junior high, we’d all go to buy penny candy.

That high diving board in the pool at Beulah Park. I never did summon the courage to go off it though I did pass my swimming test so I could go in the deep end of the pool.

For some reason, lost in the history of Madison County, the Madison County 4-H fair was held in Beulah Park each August, not in Anderson, the county seat. I loved the buttermilk from the Alexandria Dairy Booth. A small Dixie cup. Salt and Pepper.  Mmmm. Looked forward to that.

Now I live in two small Mountain towns, Conifer and Evergreen. When I see Jackie and Rhonda, I feel right back in a small town. They know me, knew Kate. I know them. I know about Jackie’s son who recently divorced that (very wrong according to Jackie) woman and now lives back up the hill in little Shawnee. I saw Rhonda’s new purse. We all laughed at Tom’s joke about the Guinness Book of World Records. Living in a small town.

 

Friends, Health, Sport

Pay Better Attention

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Mabon and the Harvest Moon

Friday gratefuls: Jamie Bernstein. Living in the in-betweens. More lidocaine. Ablations in a month. Shadow of the morning. A hard freeze. Artemis with her cold frames. Harvesting more Tomatoes today. All the Spinach, Kale, and Beets soon. Dr. Vu. Mountain View Pain Center. Our poor benighted country. The Dodgers! The Blue Jays.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: That feeling high in my chest when I turn onto 285 and head into the Mountains

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei and my trainer, Shadow

Week Kavannah: Simcha. Joy.    The Grateful Dead.

Tarot: Paused

One brief shining: My friend Jamie told me she now relies on anecdotes to get her through the day relaying the story of the young Mule Deer Buck who ran onto 285 and hit her car a glancing blow then bounded off across the highway causing her to pull over to the side and the man passing by who stopped, ran back to her and gave her a hug while she cried.

 

Health (correction): Jamie Bernstein was one of Kate’s closest friends. A former hospital administrator and a very bright woman, she gave me a ride yesterday to Lone Tree. We had a lot of fun trading stories, bemoaning life in Trump’s golden shower America. Her husband, Steve, has a very aggressive form of prostate cancer, currently calmed down thanks to a clinical trial. Enough so that he’s playing golf again.

(The Correction): So. Either I didn’t pay attention, or it was not explained to me, but I had to have two rounds of lidocaine injections, not one. Means these were not ablations this week. Damn it. Rather two more doses, left and right side, of lidocaine injections, the same as I had two weeks ago.

I see Kylie, my pain doc, in yet two more weeks. She evaluates the results of the lidocaine trials and relays them to my insurance company. Then, and only then, do I get cleared for the actual ablations. Which may be two weeks from that visit if not more. Sigh.

Conclusion. Pay better attention.

 

Sports: Baseball playoffs. Japanese pitchers: Ohtani and Yamamoto for the Dodgers. Toronto Blue Jays tie the American League playoff series. I love the obvious, so obvious diversity of Asian baseball players especially when added to the so fine possibility of that Canadian team, the Toronto Blue Jays, winning their way into the World Series. Take that you dimwitted gold plated simulacrum of a human being.

Watched a bit of the Steelers v Bengals last night. Aaron Rodgers and Joe Flacco behind center. Both over forty. Both new to their respective teams. Flacco only ten days a Bengal. They both looked good, taking quick reads, passing fast.  Wonder if we’ll see quarterbacks with AARP cards in their wallet?

How about Caitlin Clark? Playing in the Annika pro-am golf tournament in November. Sort of a female Michael Jordan thing, eh? Well, maybe not. Here’s what she promised her fans on Instagram: “Will try not to hit anyone 🙏,” she captioned the post.

Dogs, Health, Judaism

Tzelem Elohim

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Mabon and the Harvest Moon

Thursday gratefuls: Dr. Vu. Tara. The Grateful Dead. Ablation #1. Feeling sore, but better. Ablation #2 today. Shadow. Who missed me. Darkness increasing. Back to Standard Time. Oh, joy. Carl Hiaasen. Israel. Gaza. Vincent. Rich. DJT at home divider and vengeance seeker. A cool Breeze. A long Fall.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Ablation #1

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei and my trainer, Shadow

Week Kavannah: Simcha. Joy.    The Grateful Dead.

Tarot: Paused

One brief shining: Once again face down, shirt and pants scooched up, numbing shot you’ll feel a pinch, ouch, moments later, with Sugaree playing in the background, you’re all done, and my first ablation had ended, belt back on, out to sit in the waiting room, no fainting, and I’m off for home.

 

Health: My good friend Tara picked me up and drove me to Lone Tree. Dr. Vu worked his needle magic on the left side of my spine, sending radiofrequency energy at various nerves heating the nerves to around 176 degrees, and creating a tiny lesion which blocks the pain signal to the brain.

I’ve bonded with Dr. Vu and his med tech over the Grateful Dead, so they played Sugaree while doing my procedure. When they come to call on you, take your poor body down, Sugaree, just one thing I ask of you, please forget you knew my name, my darling Sugaree.

Tara took me home. Still sore from my needle pokes, but that will abate. Hoping for significant relief that may last 6 to 18 months, maybe more. May take one stressor off the table for quite a while.

Still no word on my PET scan results. Last couple of times they’ve been read within a day. I image the fact that I had this in the mobile unit has somehow delayed things. I see Buphati, medical oncologist, on Monday so I’ll know by then.

 

Dog Journal: When I came back from the procedure, Shadow jumped up on me, communicating, I thought, that she wanted  outside. She ran out, but then came right back in. Jumping up on me again. She wanted to me sit down. I did. Then she hugged me, wagged her tail, leaned in closer. She had missed me. Almost made me cry.

 

Life purpose: Been struggling with this a bit lately. In my next to last appointment with Caroline Merz, the Sloan-Kettering trial for psychology support of cancer patients over 70, she reminded me that meeting with friends and family, whether in person or over zoom, involves giving of myself.

And, she added, even having people give me rides to my procedures affords them the satisfaction of helping me. Not an easy thing for me, asking for help, yet this past year and my friends more than willingness, even eagerness, to help suggests that’s true as well.

I suppose that means I could consider my life purpose just being who I am. That requires a leap in my sense of self-worthiness. Even writing about it makes me feel sheepish.

Yet. Tzelem elohim. Often translated as made in the image of God, I would translate it as being made as God. If God and the universe are one, each thing, each distant galaxy and each rock on Shadow Mountain is God. And, so am I. And, you too. Own it. Embrace it. Become sacred for yourself and for others. Just by being yourself.   Amen.