Self-Image

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April 12, 2026- Dessert time, this evening, featured ice cream for the three adults, and a back-and-forth laughing contest between Hana and her mother. They made each other laugh, continuously, for about fifteen minutes. The laughter of a baby is always extra sweet.

Hana can now recognize herself in a mirror, and smiles at what she sees. She has also managed to get herself to sleep and can turn right or left, when she gets to a barrier during her scooting. That last has become her preferred self-directed activity, and she works hard at it-even inside her crib. Of course, this makes it all the more imperative for us to watch her constantly. The danger of suffocation is very real, for infants between 3-6 months of age. Hana is ten days shy of 4 months.

So many of us derive our self-image from how well we do our tasks, both assigned and self-appropriated. For many years, I let the expectations of others determine my esteem levels. After doing the best I could for Penny, during her long illness, I stopped worrying about what anyone else had to say. That has led to occasional tension with some family members, but in general, I feel good about how I have completed any work that I’ve shouldered.

Nowadays, my main concern is that Hana feels good about herself, even at her very early age, and that she is able to minimize her frustration at not being able to do everything she sets out to do, as the months and years roll by. She has dedicated, loving parents-and I want them to feel good about themselves, as well. They are proving to be an imaginative and loving family.

True Blue

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April 11, 2026- The penultimate speaker, in this evening’s memorial to the late Baha’i teacher, Glenford Mitchell, began by noting that the hour was getting late, and saying he would be brief. He then went on for ten minutes. No reminiscence about Mr.Mitchell could ever be ever be brief, though he himself was the model of brevity, in his talks and speeches. He simply meant too much, to too many people.

I sat for the live-streamed broadcast of this memorial because of the tenor of Mr. Mitchell’s work. An early founder of the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Council (“Snick”) and co-author of “The Angry Black South” (1962), he became enamoured of the Teachings of Baha’ullah, first taught him by his paternal uncle, in his native Jamaica and coming again to the fore of his heart while he lived in Raleigh, NC as a student at Shaw University. Glenford threw himself more fully into Baha’i work and by dint of his devotion and work ethic, was elected to one Baha’i administrative body after another, serving fourteen years on the National Spiritual Assembly of the Baha’is of the United States, then twenty-six years on the Faith’s Supreme Body: The Universal House of Justice.

In his later years, Mr. Mitchell’s health declined, but his spirit kept on and he continued to welcome friends and family to his home, even if he could no longer walk or speak. His wife and family stood by him, and saw that his declining years were not those of misery. Glenford Mitchell’s spirit remained true blue-even through his passing on February 7.

Randy Smith, who also passed on recently, served the Baha’i Faith in Washington State and in Prescott Valley, AZ, for nearly thirty years. I knew Randy, and his wife, Linda, as steadfast, long-suffering community servants, in the Prescott area. Others recall the same about them, in the Olympia and Longview areas.Randy was most often found in his shop/garage, attached to the family home. He welcomed neighbours, including youths, who were either interested in his various projects or who simply wanted to borrow tools. He also spent long hours with his grandchildren, either when the family came up from the Phoenix area or when he and Linda went down there for a visit.

Randy was a quiet man, who shunned the limelight, but he was most often the first to arrive at a gathering, and one of the last to leave. Making sure a job was complete was his trademark. If that involved learning a new skill, well, that was a natural outgrowth of his upbringing in Ketchikan, at the southeastern tip of Alaska. Randy was also true blue.

It was my good fortune to have become familiar with Mr. Mitchell’s life and work and to have known Randy as a personal friend. May there more people who show themselves, like the scholar and the tradesman, as True Blue.

Obsessions

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April 10, 2026- As I sit at the computer, reading some articles and writing my own, I watch one or two squirrels traversing the neighbour’s roof and nearby trees, living the full life of exercise, play and acorn gathering that make up the life of a tree squirrel. I also listen for my granddaughter, napping downstairs in her bassinet. She will call out or coo, when she wakes up, knowing that I will shortly come downstairs and tend to her needs.

In neither the rodent, nor the innocent child, is there an excessive focus on anything other than surviving and thriving. Once a person reaches the age of reason, however, unmet needs can turn into obsessions, almost exclusive foci on one or two persons or concepts, even to the extent of neglecting one’s daily duties or responsibilities.

A friend has written an article about “derangement syndrome”. I have yet to read the piece, but I can say, ahead of the game, that such terms indicate obsession, not only by the person who hates, but also by the one who is receiving the vitriol-if that person encourages the attention. It is well-understood, by child psychologists and parents, that a neglected child, one deprived of attention over an extended period, will construct his or her own universe, in which he or she is the center.

We all do this, to a modest extent, as no parent, however dedicated and loving, can shower attention on a child 24/7. For the well-adjusted person, however, there are limits to self-absorption: A spouse, a friend, a sibling, a child or an organization will have needs that the individual, of own volition, will choose to help meet.

For the deprived individual, however, everything in the constructed universe becomes transactional, with him or her as the end recipient. The longer and stronger the deprivation, the deeper the delusion, the louder the demands for attention, and the more creative the transactions. This has been borne out, throughout history, across nations and cultures.

Now, it’s time to tend to my granddaughter.

Time Frames

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April 9, 2026- I was the first person top arrive at Baha’i Feast, this evening. Sometimes, this is awkward, if the host is busy setting up at the last minute, but tonight’s host was gracious and we sat in conversation for several minutes, until the next few friends arrived. As it happened, they dawdled on the sidewalk and steps, finishing their own conversations, before entering. The host opened and closed the door a couple of times, before the friends were ready to come in.

I was raised to arrive on time, preferably five minutes early. On my own, I have adhered to that- and in Prescott, I made that ten minutes early, as many of the members of any given group were transplants from places where “if you’re on time, you’re late” was the mantra. In one situation, a few people decided they would be the first to arrive-and they were, getting to the gathering ( a breakfast) even before the cooks!

In my married years, Mr. On Schedule was happy with Last Minute Lucy. Penny was determined that she would finish what she was doing at home, before we set out for an engagement. That left a few feathers ruffled, over the years, but I always took her side. The punctualists, though I agreed with them in principle, came across like Der Burgermeister- more officious than humane.

Aram has grown to be committed to being on time, simply because,as with me, that strikes him as being courteous. Yunhee is usually ready to also be ahead of schedule. Hana, so far, goes by her body clock and wakes pretty much on time for every feeding, having enough energy to do some activities for an hour, or ninety minutes, after her meal. She is fairly easy to get to nap, when it’s time and sleeps pretty much through most nights.

I still wake with the birds and get to bed well before midnight, each day. The fullness of a day’s schedule, whether caring for my granddaughter or meeting an occasional appointment, is perfectly satisfying.

Scapegoats

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April 8, 2026- I recall my father telling me, when I was nine, that President Harry S. Truman said “The buck stops here”, as a point he was making on taking responsibility for one’s actions. I largely managed to stick to admitting my mistakes and taking the consequences, for about the next twenty-five years.

As time went on, and life threw a few curve balls at me, and at my family, I fell into the habit of blame casting: “The politicians” or “Big Money” was responsible for my being let go from different jobs. I saw myself as an honest servant of the common people-and it was corrupt overseers who wanted me gone. That may have been the case, but the fact remains that I didn’t learn anything, or make any progress as a human being, by not owning my part in my own situation.

We seem to have created a situation, in which scapegoating is a national pastime: Depending on who is talking, the nation’s ills are being created by “the Democrats”; “the Republicans”; “drug cartels”; “immigrants”; “Fascists”; “Communists”; “Californians”; “New Yorkers”; “Texans”; “Europeans”; “the Chinese”; “Sleepy Joe”; “MAGA”.

My late father-in-law had a simple cure for my own blame-casting “No one is that powerful. Besides, even if there was a person who contributed to your being let go, you bear the ultimate responsibility. You don’t live rent free in anyone’s head. Why let them squat in yours?”:

Each of us can identify people who contribute to the nation’s well-being, or to the nation’s ills. In the end, though, how we fare depends on the actions of the citizenry as a whole. Scapegoats, as my FIL said, are little more than squatters.

Sanity Prevails-For Now

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April 7, 2026- The only possible solution to the current stalemate in and around Iran has been reached-for now. Personally, I am most concerned for the safety and well-being of my fellow Baha’is in that country. They have, since the proclamation of the Babi Faith, in the days of the Qajar Dynasty, been relentlessly persecuted by the Shiite Muslim clergy and by elements of the government. This was as true during the Pahlavi Dynasty of the mid-Twentieth Century as it was earlier. The Islamic Republic has upped the level of persecution, to the extent of desecrating Baha’i graves, banning Baha’i marriages and refusing to let children of Baha’is receive an education, past eighth grade-if even for that long. Many Baha’is have been imprisoned, and several executed.

That said, the way to reversing the waves of prejudice against my fellows in Faith doe snot lie in “an eye for an eye” or “bombing the country back into the Stone Age”. ( Iran was a highly civilized place when much of western Europe was still a land of hunter/gatherers and North America was mostly settled and a place of organized agricultural communities, but not yet of classical, nation-based civilization.) Baha’is take the position that only consultation and equanimity can resolve the various conflicts, large and small, around the globe.

One of the tenets of the Baha’i Faith is to “regard the Earth as but one country and mankind its citizens.” This is accepted, in principle, by a good many people around the world. Some go back, though, to “What about national sovereignty?” or “Clean up your own back yard”, when I have raised this in the past. I say we can, and should, be concerned at all levels. Indeed, my most elemental concerns are for my own health and well-being, then for my granddaughter and her parents, and on up the family ladder. Neighbourhood, community, state, nation and planet do not, however, get short shrift. We all share the air, water and mineral resources.

The various leaders, when they take a break from screaming and yelling at one another, can surely bear witness to this reality.

Messy

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April 6, 2026- Babies can be messy. They need to be bathed, have their diapers changed, undersides cleaned, faces washed and mouths rinsed with pre-dental solution.

Children can be messy. They need to be taught to take their shoes or boots off, when entering a house, or wipe their feet, when entering a public place. They need to be trained to wipe themselves after using a toilet, and wash their hands afterward, then dry them with a cloth or paper towel. They need to be shown how to make their beds and clean their rooms, putting things back where they found them.

Teenagers can be messy. They need to be held to account and actively encouraged to slow down and be present in a situation. They know how to focus on others; they do so with their friends, all the time. Extend that focus to people older and younger than themselves.

Families can be messy. Patience and communication are the cleaning agents. So is reflection-remembering when one was in the same position as the one who made the mess, or looking ahead to when one will be in the same position. The child will become an adult, and very well may be a parent. The parent may very well become a grandparent. The grandparent must never forget what it was like to be a baby, a child, a teenager, a parent.

Communities, and organizations, can be messy. Patience, and communication, are even more essential here, even as they become more complex. Technology can help, and it can also hinder; the way in which it is used determines which will be the case. The viewpoints of leaders, and members, will decide how tools, including technology, are used.

Life is messy; it can only be cleaned by those living it.

Atonement

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April 5, 2026- It was a blustery, snowy night, in February, 1978. Out of money, out of gas for my Ford LTD, I walked into the Sheriff’s Office, in Skowhegan, and asked the deputy to lock me in a cell for the night. I had broken no human laws, but still felt that a night in jail was what I deserved. He obliged-no charges, no fines, just a hard bunk, an old pillow and a blanket.

I had gone up to the Winter Carnival, in Quebec, with three young ladies along. They found their own accommodations, and I, my own. We met up on Sunday morning, after what had been a fairly pleasant 1 1/2 days. The ride back, through an increasingly heavy snow, was sent from Down Below. By the time we got to Skowhegan, in western Maine, the car was nearly out of gas, we were all just about out of money and the women were out of patience with me. They left, and were able to hitch a ride, or two, back to Orono, and their university dorms.

I chose to wait until morning, thus the jail cell. It’s the only time I have ever been the guest of a county sheriff, or of any law enforcement authority. At 7 a.m., the sheriff himself unlocked the cell and wished me well. I got the remaining food out of the cooler in the car, locked it again and hitched my own ride back to Bangor. I called my cousin in Orono and got him to take me tot he bank, then to Skowhegan, where I then gassed up the car and caravaned with him back to Bangor. (As it happened, Monday was bright and sunny, and I had been expected at work. A call from the pay phone outside the sheriff’s office cleared that up.)

I thought, long and hard, that night, about the man I’d become: Unmoored, in a no-win job situation, and with little to show for my twenty-seven years. I shortly afterward entered a Master’s program, at the University of Maine. I would not take more than three courses, in the time I had left, but it was a jump forward and I showed myself that there was hope for the future. In June, 1980, my Master’s program re-started, at Northern Arizona University, and I made good.

A footnote: Cleaning out my LTD, on Monday afternoon after the debacle, I found the wallet of one of the ladies, and drove it up to her dorm in Orono. She wasn’t in, which was just as well, so I left it with her roommate, who had heard all the grisly details and was understandably frosty. I only hope the lives of those three women have gone much better, since that night.

Still Afloat

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April 4, 2026- I have always been a bit on the sensitive side. There have been a number of occasions when that sensitivity took the form of self- absorption, bristling at criticism-even when I knew, deep down, that the critic was onto something. Those were the times when my personal growth was short-circuited/

There were long stretches of my life, when I searched for someone who was as worthy of my love as my mother was. Indeed, it’s often said that a man marries his mother, and a woman, her father. My marriage to Penny did neither. Save for the fact that they each had a pleasant singing voice, Penny was nothing like my Mom. I, in turn, was nothing like her Dad. We were drawn together by Faith, a mutual love of learning, and a commitment to better the world. We fell truly in love, only gradually.

A lot of that was on me-the self-contained unit, who had to learn to consult with her about even those things that seemed, to me, to be self-evident. With time, and the resurgence of her congenital disease, I plowed through, and past, a number of personal flaws and reached a modicum of stability. Being a caretaker does that to one who survives.

She passed to the spirit world, in 2011. Since then, a number of people have come into my life. Those, both women and men, who recognized my strengths and weaknesses, and focused on the former, are still in my life. Those who chose to dwell on the latter, especially those who tried to take advantage of those weaknesses, are long gone.

I built a good life in Prescott, and a strong network across North America, and on opposite ends of the world. That network stays in place, even as my life has shifted to Plano, and my immediate focus is on my family-especially on my little granddaughter. I am still afloat on the sea of life, even during this time of wider storms.

Happy Easter and Joyous Passover, everyone!

He Gave All, and Went Home

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April 3, 2026-(This is a short piece, Substack readers, so do not take offense at its brevity).

There was never a time when Yeshua Ben Yusuf thought only of Himself-the musings of “Jesus Christ, Superstar” aside. He could not have done so. It would have negated everything for which He was sent, in the first place. Besides, He knew too much, from the day of His birth. That birth may well have occurred in the Northern Spring, right around the time of Passover. For reasons of tradition, however, it hurts nothing to continue celebrating His birth around the time of the December Solstice, and Chanukah,; then celebrating our world’s Spiritual Rebirth around the time of Passover and between the Holy Day of Naw-Ruz and the sacred season of Ridvan.

Jesus the Christ gave everything He had, almost constantly, from the day He first sat with the elders in the Temple, at the age of 12, until He gave up His earthly life, on the Cross at Calvary. That is the Way of the Messengers of the Divine. We who stand at Their feet and think we know Their truths cannot begin to fathom their sacrifices. A Kindergartner, or a High Schooler, can tell some things about what great scholars are saying, but gets in overhead pretty quickly, by making assumptions, based on what she knows from her own lessons.

Like all Messengers of the Divine, the Spirit that we know as Jesus the Christ went back to the Source, and is vital in His influence on those who read and heed His words, especially when they study those Teachings themselves. Happy Easter, to all who honour Jesus this weekend.