Monthly Archives: April 2018

Observations on A Mid-April Morning

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Posted by on in children, collaborating, Community, Education, Family, impediments, Inspiration, Matters of Faith, Personal Values, Spiritual

April 19, 2018, Prescott-

I appreciate the attention so many have paid to my reblog of the post on Bleach Enemas.  In what dimension anyone could think such a procedure is anywhere near good, I don’t know.  My blessed mother fought tooth and nail for our well-being, and would have clobbered anyone who even dared hint at something of this nature.  Dad loved us dearly, and would have had one thing to say to the suggestion of bleach enemas:  “Pig’s neck!” (His polite term for BS.)

Barbara Bush left a grand legacy of literacy promotion, continued by her daughter-in-law.  The gift of literacy is one key element, in the package of empowerment that loving people can offer to others.  Long may her legacy thrive!

Ridvan begins tomorrow evening, at sunset. It is the twelve day festival, commemorating Baha’u’llah’s Proclamation of His Mission to the world and His departure from Baghdad, towards Constantinople (Istanbul), on horseback and on foot, in April and May, 1863.  My Lord lived a life of exile, imprisonment and torture, yet, like unto Christ, never once turned His back on humanity.

Chalk-It-Up is Prescott’s annual art fair, at which a wide variety of chalk art is available for public view and on which viewers may vote.  I will be insanely busy on Saturday, but Sunday will find me taking in the wonders of human imagination, in that temporary gallery.

Arizona’s educators are winding up a vote, as to whether to walk out, or not.  I’ve cast my vote and will keep my own counsel on the matter.  My first loyalty, in any event, is to the students.

Speaking of whom, several students at our school will be out on the front lawn, in a 17-minute vigil, tomorrow morning, honouring the memory of the Parkland shooting victims.  They will then return to their studies.

Have a blessed day, my friends.

Let’s Talk About Bleach Enemas

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Posted by on in Uncategorized

Yes, this is apparently a thing- just like Tide Pods. Except, it’s not Millennials and Founders doing this to themselves. It’s parents-of various generations, doing this to their kids. BLEACH.IS.POISON.

theyoungermrswarde's avatarWibbly Wobbly, Neuro-UNlogical Stuff

A few days ago in a parenting facebook group someone posted asking about parasite cleansing protocols. I asked if they were referring to bleach enemas, which got some LOL responses. Turns out, people thought I was joking. They didn’t know that some parents are so insistent on “fighting autism” and “reclaiming” their child that they squirt bleach up their kid’s butts to “kill the parasites.” And post pictures of the shredded lining of the intestines that come out, insisting it’s the dead “parasites” that are causing their child’s autism. This is a real, actual thing, and people need to know about this.

Horribly enough, this isn’t even a new thing. If you Google “bleach enemas” there was a lot of uproar about it 5 years ago. It was in the media a bit and a change.org petition was made, but that is useless because it’s not the government or…

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Haunted

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Posted by on in Inner Struggles, Poetry

April 17, 2018, Prescott-

What is it with you?

Only the muscle-bound are welcome

in your gym.

Does the presence of the imperfect

spook you?

What is it with you?

Hoisting yourself up onto

a kitchen counter,

when a point of view

different from your own,

is spoken by someone

sitting on a stool,

in your dining area.

Does the presence

of a caring soul,

who is imperfect,

frighten you?

What is it with you?

Turning aside from

a person,

or people,

who would give

their lives

for you,

because they don’t

fit the mould.

Does the presence

of  elders

haunt you?

 

Mr. Ribeiro

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Posted by on in Fiction

April 16, 2018, Prescott-

The cicadas started early this year.  Spring Break is usually not a time for such serenades.  Truth be known, my Nonna wishes there were never such a festival della canzone. It keeps her awake, tossing and thrashing- so she puts on a CD of the late Pope John XXIII, talking about the saints.  That of course, sets her to crying, and brings Mama, ever ready to console, into her bedroom.  In short order, the rest of us are up and making plans to start the day.  It is 3 A.M.  Not even the bakers are awake, in Little Italy, at this hour.

Baltimore is ready for action, though, at any time that one chooses to get going.  Papa gets showered and dressed- and expects us boys to follow suit.  “I got some deliveries we can handle, Gennaro.  Santino, you go over to the Flower Mart, and drop off the bags of mulch.  Ribeiro ought to already be there.  He has nothing else to do, after all.”

Antonio Ribeiro had come to the Flower Mart from New Bedford, where he had been the odd duck in his south side neighbourhood, preferring to cultivate flowers, rather than run numbers, or crack cocaine for the Shower Posse, who were ubiquitous in southern New England, in the early ’80’s.  His boys protected “Simple Tony”, and besides, the girls were all over him- and would have not taken well to the Jamaicans mistreating him.

He’d been a fixture in Baltimore for ten years now.  Antonio lived in a small room, in the back of his Flower Mart stall.  “It saves capital”, he told his clients.  He needed no car, did not have any prevailing vices and slept on a woven mat.  His meals were obtained by barter- his flowers, gratis, to local restaurateurs, in exchange for small meals:  Simple Tony, simple diet.

My brother pulls into the Flower Mart, right around 4 A.M.  Mr. Ribeiro is up and at ’em, with the rows of pots and vases 2/3 full- ahead of the 5 o’clock opening.  “Buon giorno, young Castaldo”, he chirps at Sonny.  “Back at ya, signor”, brother responds, while plopping the sacks of mulch on their customary pallets, “Pop says it’ll be two and  a quarter.”

“Tell your father I’ll need to settle with him on the First, Santino.  Things are a bit tight, this third week of August.”  Sonny massages his chin, turning a flinty eye towards the flower vendor.  “Okay, Mr. Ribeiro, that’s what my Papa figured you’d say.  Guess there’s no mulch until September 1.”  Santino, my hulking brother, alley-oops the mulch back into his truck.

He doesn’t feel the cudgel that knocks him cold.  My hulking brother is found, unconscious, in the cab of his otherwise empty truck, at 7 A.M., at Pier 26, in the Inner Harbor.

Simple Tony Ribeiro is not quite so simple.

Lucky

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Posted by on in children, Community, Personal Values, Social, Spiritual

There are no words that can fully describe my disgust and anger at the way the filth of sexual violence is deepening, in too many parts of the world. That it is being defended at all is even more disdainful.

Megha's World's avatarMegha's World

This poem is fifth in the anthology of poems based on Social Evils.

Please read the previous ones here

  1. Rape is a severely under-reported crime with surveys showing dark figures of up to 91.6% going unreported.
  2. A United Nations statistical report compiled from government sources showed that more than 250,000 cases of rape or attempted rape were recorded by police annually. The reported data covered 65 countries.
  3. 1 out of every 6 American women has been the victim of an attempted or completed rape in her lifetime (14.8% completed, 2.8% attempted).
  4. Every 98 seconds another American is sexually assaulted.

I have seen how the definition of this heinous act has degraded over the years.Initially, just being raped was a taint to someone soul and body and now as the humanity degrades further and flushes the morals down the drain even more, just being alive after being raped is considered “lucky”. So where are we heading?

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Out of Water

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Posted by on in distraction issues, impediments, Personal Values, Spiritual, Striving

April 15, 2018, Tempe-

I felt like a fish out of water,

yesterday and today.

It’s not that

the place is awful.

It’s quite beautiful here.

It’s not that

the people are disagreeable.

Even in expressing

an alternate opinion,

my fellow Baha’is

are quite loving.

No, the problem was,

I left my do Terra supplements

at home.

These make all the difference,

in my body chemistry.

(Two hours later, in Prescott, I am back on an even keel.  This is not a mistake I’ll make again!)

Baked Carrots, etc.

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Posted by on in Community, Entertainment, Matters of Faith, Social, Spiritual

April 13, 2018, Chino Valley-

I attended a small gathering, this evening, in which one of the centerpiece dishes was baked carrots, wrapped in maple-glazed bacon.  The dish proved ornery, and two of us settled for loving crunchy carrots with fairly crisp bacon wrap.  I like my carrots raw, anyway, but these were delectable- organic and freshly-picked, from the taste of them.  Since the other centerpiece was quinoa spaghetti with pomodoro sauce, no one went without a satisfying meal.  This omnivore has had many wonderful repasts sans viande, and this was yet another.

On another note, I am now graced by the presence of 900 followers.  That the 900th is a dear new friend, makes this milestone that much sweeter.  I am keeping up with as many of your posts as my life, in toto, allows.  One benefit of being so far behind (14 days, in many cases) is that I am increasing my speed reading skills.

I’ll be off to lovely, vibrant Tempe, for a two-day Baha’i conference, and will post a bit of the desert, in its Spring glory, before returning to Home Base on Sunday evening.  Lovely weekend to all!

 

Spikes

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Posted by on in distraction issues, Poetry

April 13, 2018, Prescott-

Happy Friday the Thirteenth!

Truth be told,

I’ve not had

an unlucky day

when the workweek

ends on a day

named “thirteen”.

Today will be interesting, though.

There is a cold snap,

of sorts.

Several people mentioned

last night,

that they needed to bring

their plants inside.

The temps did dip

into the twenties.

Three days ago,

it was 85/47.

This coming Sunday,

it’s back into the 70’s.

Then, the bouncing begins,

for a few fun days,

back and forth.

Mother Nature  is

acting like the Stock Market.

(Dear friends across the north,

stay safe.  It may seem hard

to fathom, but there will be

a summer this year.)

Love vs. Romance

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Posted by on in impediments, Inner Struggles, Personal Values, Striving

April 11, 2018, Prescott-

It’s no secret, among those who know me, that I am a loving soul.  I have no reason to despise anyone, among my wide circle, either in real time or online, and disagreements about politics or religion cannot negate that, at least on my end.

I have had only two real romantic relationships in  my life.  One lasted a whopping three months, in 1972-going nowhere, because of my immaturity.  The other, as most know, was durable, a thirty-year courtship/marriage, cemented by adversity and challenges.  My lover became my angel, my spirit guide.

Of course, like many who go through the trauma of loss, there were a couple of cases, after Penny went homeward, where I imagined myself having feelings, above and beyond those of friendship.  Fortunately, for all concerned, these did not go very far.  No harm, no foul.  Both women have fallen off my radar screen, so I hope they are okay.

Right now, other than an occasional message from someone who imagines herself having post-traumatic feelings for yours truly (also not going anywhere), romance and I live separate lives.  I enjoy real friendships with several women, across ages, faiths, political mindsets and national boundaries, and very much like it that way.

Friendship has the strictures of honesty, loyalty and mutual respect.  Romance, if it does not remain rooted in mutual respect, becomes toxic. Therein lies the fallacy of an affair that comes solely as the result of trauma-based illusion.  I thank my loving angel, for guiding me away from the toxic.

What If

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Posted by on in distraction issues, Education, Hiking and Nature, Inspiration, Poetry, Striving

April 10, 2018, Prescott-

We went over to the local YMCA,

this morning,

and the students did several elements

of gymnastics.

I confined myself to the trampoline pad,

doing five rounds of three minutes each

and a rest in between each.

Cardiovascular is critical to good health.

What if I had hung from the high rings

and jumped into the foam pad pit?

I have thought, quite a bit,

of through-hiking,

when I am about 74 or so,

perhaps the Pacific Crest,

or the East Coast Continental,

which subsumes the AT

and Florida Trail.

Maybe, I will get really

ambitious, and walk

from Nordkap to Gibraltar.

A veteran through-hiker

says it takes lots of money

to do any of  this.

I suppose one could argue

that it takes lots of money

to do anything worthwhile.

What if I did it on a shoestring?

These are random thoughts,

on a languid Tuesday.