What Makes Me Proud

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February 8, 2022-

What makes me proud of the man I helped raise? His work ethic, independent frame of mind, commitment to the well-being of humanity, love for his wife and maintaining self-care. What makes me proud of the young people I help educate? Their day-to-day enthusiasm, even when it is a bit loud; concern for one another and for the adults who show them respect; open-mindedness, even towards those whose beliefs seem antiquated; dogged pursuit of truth; gradual and steady outreach to those who are marginalized. What makes me proud of my community? The commitment to virtuous behaviour, even when it flies in the face of demands made by those towards whom some feel obligated to show fealty; the standing up for what one believes, whilst for the most part letting opposite points of view be openly expressed; the commitment to open space and increasing willingness to conserve resources. What makes me proud to bear witness to my Faith? It is based on the oneness of humanity; owning up to, and working to shed, prejudices and other flaws; independent investigation of truth, not dependent on group pressure or self-aggrandizement; the equality of women to men.

I am proud to be part of a world where the best among us work to empower one another, to show respect, even to those who disrespect us.

Random Thoughts On The Passing Scene

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February 7, 2021- I had a relatively productive day, getting a Special Needs child to do what her lead teacher said was a prodigious amount of work. That the child let me know when she’d had enough, in a nice way, was certainly fair, and she got a break for the last half hour.

The title of today’s post is borrowed from the great Thomas Sowell, with whom I have rarely agreed, but whose tone has always been respectful towards those of other viewpoints and whose diction has always been impeccable. Dr. Sowell’s columns of this ilk would touch on three or four items of general interest. This post will look at three such topics.

I am curious, as to why Supreme Court Associate Justice Clarence Thomas joined in a ruling that stayed a prior ruling, by a lower court, which would have nullified redistricting maps for Congressional seats, in the State of Alabama. Then again, he ruled earlier, with the majority of the Court, that much of the Voting Rights Act of 1965 was antiquated and thus worthy of disposal. It is likely that the good Justice feels he will vote anyway, when the spirit moves, and needs no special fiat from Congress, or any other organization. He’s right in that respect, and it should always have been thus. Reality, though, oftentimes needs a nudge. No one in their right mind is going to tell an Associate Justice of the United States Supreme Court to shuffle on down the road. As for those among the Joe and Jane Sixpacks of the nation, who happen to be African-American, the facts sometimes tell a different story. We have a long way to go, in the area of bona fide equality between the “races”. Going backwards should never be on the table.

Nina O’Brien, one of the top members of the United States Olympic Skiing Team, suffered a debilitating leg injury, in yesterday’s competition, at the Beijing Games. My parental mode kicked into gear, at this news. The heart hurts when any young person hurts, especially when the person is acting responsibly and in good faith. Active sport always entails a risk, as does any vigourous activity. Nonetheless, and even though this particular Games event is unlikely to turn out to be an American medals blowout, my heart goes out to everyone who has made the effort to keep this a sporting event, and not a High Five for authoritarian excess.

On a more personal note, in planning a combination observational and family/friends visit to the Southeast, from mid-March to mid-April, I came upon an eponymous soul, who is one of the management team at a botanical garden, in southwest Florida. He says he’ll be glad to meet me, and likewise. There are only about a half dozen of us, so this interesting encounter will likely be far more personally affirming than, say, a gathering of the John Smith Association or Mohammad Ali Society, if such entities even exist. That said, my best to everyone named John Smith, or Mohammad Ali.

Vagaries

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February 6, 2022- As a switch, this evening, I put on a dark comedy about a woman who is recruited to be a Deputy U.S. Marshal, based on the true story of Francis Miller, an Oklahoma rancher, who DID become a peace officer. The antagonist in this film happened to be an Afrcian-American, who had himself owned slaves in Texas. Just how many such men there were in the South is debatable, but they did exist. This individual was presented as somewhat of a psychopath, who nonetheless served as a dispassionate observer of the hypocrisy exhibited by those who swore to uphold the law.

Antisocial people can frequently excel at pointing out the flaws of others, usually because it serves as a distraction-and helps them get the drop on those who are trying to bring them to justice. As happened, to a degree, in this film, so does it seem is unfolding on a wider scale, in the modern world. Autocrats love to turn the tables and claim what is wrong is actually right; what is dark is actually light; what is hateful is, in truth, loving kindness.

As it was for one Richard Andrews, in the film “Lady Lawman”, so it is for any number of would-be tyrants, who charm those living in uncertainty and self-loathing, building a loyal corps of defenders and toadies. How their particular stories play out, depends on the attention level of those seeking to bring justice to society, as well as to the integrity of those people. We’ve seen, in the past, how much fortitude and fastidiousness was required, in order for justice to prevail. Let us now again steel ourselves and not be either distracted or dissuaded by the difficulty presented by latter day miscreants, either at the local, national or international levels.

A Queen and Her Precipice

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February 5, 2022– It’s been a busy day, with a service project and two meetings to keep me honest, until mid-afternoon. This is all part of what Elizabeth Peru talks about, when discussing keeping the soul relevant and staying connected to the Oneness. Besides, I do things that I enjoy.

It is also bittersweet, as the morning paper brought an essay on Cheslie Kryst. The suicide of any young, highly intelligent, sassy, multi-talented and comely human being is a disaster, at both a deeply personal and a profoundly social level. I looked at the images of Cheslie and could only think, “God, I wish I had known her, could have intuited something was wrong and reached out. ” If I have been guilty of overkill in any area, it has been of a near obsession with the well-being of the younger generations.

Yet, I leave my son to forge his own destiny, while dropping everything when he calls. The thing is, he knows he CAN CALL, day or night, and I will drop everything else. I devote snippets of time, here and there, to those in my circle of friends, of all ages, whose issues are chronic, even seemingly intractable, with the understanding that I will get over to see them or at least talk with them, when I can. The bottom line is that each one continues to matter, and none need consign themselves to the scrap heap.

Cheslie Kryst had family who loved her dearly; friends and mentors who guided her, the best they knew how to guide. She had a loving group of well-wishers, who cheered her on, throughout her wonderful moments of triumph. There was also a chorus of dementors, who hounded her to end her life, and in that final, terrible end moment of dejection, that last group forced her hand.

Simply put, no one deserves the fate wished on them, by those whose own lives are miserable and who lack the courage to set those wrecked houses in order. No one deserves to feel so alone, even in the dark of night or early morning. If you read this, know that, in a moment of despair, you may reach out and I will find a way to send out a message of hope-that you may back away from that ledge of doom.

Is Life Formulaic?

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February 4, 2022- In the 2019 film, : “The Rising Hawk”, a small party of Ukrainians fends off both a much larger Mongolian force and their turncoat Ukrainian allies. This is reportedly based on an old Ukrainian legend, of a heroic fighter who lived into his nineties and his wife and helpmate, who in this telling is the daughter of the turncoats’ leader. It is a somewhat farfetched, and rather formulaic, action film, with people switching sides when convenient for the plot and brute strength displayed at exactly the right moments. It’s also a sign of the cinematic times that the film uses plot twists from at least three other films.

There are a few political movements, current in a few countries-including this one, that seem to be dependent on plot formulas turning in a certain direction, at just the right moment. It is no accident that the leaders of these movements have established their standing with a fair audience by borrowing shopworn tactics of demagogues past. There is a lot of wishful thinking on the part of those who believe that the world ought to unfold in a prescribed and orderly manner, as prescribed and ordered by a certain elite. Life, however, is not formulaic. There is an urban myth that Benito Mussolini made the trains in Italy run on time. Another credits Adolf Hitler with the humming of the German economy, by the late 1930s. Neither tale is true. Economies on a national scale have numerous moving parts, not credible to any one person-or clique. Effective strikes and slowdowns by labour movements can bring even the most hardheaded tactician down to size.

The film itself, ironically, demonstrates the humanity of the tough Mongolian leader, seen crying at the death of his son. There is also enough brutality on both sides-or on all three, if you will, to once again show the futility of war-even as there is a nod to valour. Finally, there is a split-second switch of fealty, near the end.

Is life formulaic? No, as it happens. Free will most often seems to get in the way of the best plot lines.

A Tapas Experience

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February 3, 2022- This evening was devoted to honouring a good friend, on her birthday. My practice has been to at least extend greetings to those whose special days come to my attention, and how much more to those close to me, to help make their days memorable, in whatever way is appropriate.

For this occasion, dinner at our local tapas restaurant, El Gato Azul, filled the bill. I have never had tapas, per se, finding this evening’s fare very much the equivalent of appetizers. The chef and his crew offer several dozen items on their tapas menu, along with a well-varied listing of entrees. We each selected seafood items as our entrees, enjoying side salads and a tapas item, giving each of us a taste of the tapas crew’s considerable gifts.

This restaurant is one of the few in Prescott where reservations, made at least a week in advance, are of the essence. It is also a place in which people dress, albeit business casual, for the occasion. There was a hearty crowd, mostly couples and foursomes, with single diners (“the regulars”) seated at the bar. We had a table in the larger dining area, sheltered by sheeted plastic in the colder months, and an open patio once things warm up. We were comfortable this evening, despite the frigid air that has hung around outside for the past several days.

We talked of several things, over the course of ninety minutes, from home maintenance-always an issue, it seems, in this transitional period between solid construction and the rush to throw up housing that meets immediate needs-to arcane aspects of personal astrology, a topic about which I comprehend very little. (I do, however, see how cosmic energy can set off, or settle, a person, depending on one’s energy path.)

I look forward to several outings with this friend, over the time to come, and to other visits to El Gato Azul.

In Praise of Candles

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February 2, 2022- Long before the Groundhog was deemed a prognosticator, the world turned to blessings with candles, to get a sense of when the North could expect to see buds and feel the promise of new life. Today’s date was the time for having one’s throat blessed by two candles, crossed at the median point of the throat. The idea was to ward off respiratory ailments, and like many practices of Christianity, arose from a mix of commemorating reported events in the life of Jesus the Christ and the faithful’s understanding of Roman or indigenous northern European practices. Candlemas happens to fall forty days after the western date for Christmas and roughly thirty-thirty five days before the Lenten Season, which itself commemorates the forty days spent by Christ in the wilderness of Judea-thus representing a midpoint of sorts.

Candles more commonly provided a way to light the night, especially inside a dwelling or place of business, where the use of torches would have been more dicey. Even in the age of electric or solar-powered lighting, candles are important to have on hand, in the event of a power outage or in case flashlights turn out to have expired batteries. Candles also help us in celebrations, such as birthday parties, and in vigils for fallen community members.

Animal tallow, once the most common material from which candles could have been made, competes with oil-based paraffin as a source for candle-making. As with all things petrolean, there is a lot of controversy as to whether those who use candles are somehow contributing, collectively, to climate change. I prefer to use candles made from essential oils, and these are only lit sparingly.

To me, candles are simply an important symbol of hope and of resilience.

Plus and Minus

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February 1, 2022- Going into a local bank to pay my monthly housing rent, I was struck that there is one teller, who tends to about 45% of the branch’s total daily business, on each of the five days that she is there. The young lady has a pleasant demeanor and is especially engaging with those who are regular customers of the bank. While her colleagues staff desks or are busy counting cash or auditing transactions, B deals with all manner of people in their moods of the moment. I have mostly seen her treated well and complimented by people in line ahead of me, as she takes a genuine interest in their affairs. I have seen her get harshly, verbally abused on occasion, for matters that were decided in board rooms and corner suites far from here and, thus, beyond her control. Of course, she had to “take ten” after such a browbeating and regroup, while people like me were feeling an almost parental pain on her behalf.

The frontpeople in our lives have suffered, sometimes in silence and sometimes standing up and retorting to their critics. The pandemic has brought this to the fore, but it has gone on for decades and centuries. The negativity of ego takes aim at even the most positive of loving souls. I have seen tons of it; probably most of us have. Disquiet, unhappy people have written or spoken diatribes, directed at everyone from the neighbourhood grocery clerk to Jesus the Christ. The aphorism, “Hurt people hurt”, says a lot, but overlooks one thing: Those who do the most good have figured out how to overcome personal attacks, or to let them slide off like water. Better, still, are those who can turn adversaries into loyal friends.

B, the teller, has a handle on this. I have managed to get to that place as well, though I was much older than she is now, before reaching it. Those who succeed in life, in the real sense of the term, are the ones who can spread this way of being to all who cross their path.

Of Conquistadors and Tigres

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January 31, 2022- Carrie is another soul whom I could swear I’ve known for centuries. The young Park Ranger minds the Visitors’ Center at Coronado National Memorial, assisted by a small crew of Border Patrol agents who keep watch on the roads that intersect this National Park property, in southwest Cochise County. We talked, for about thirty minutes, about the effects of the border wall and barbed-wire fence on the movement of wildlife, especially large cats (jaguars and ocelots). She sees the barriers as a trade-off for security that definitely makes her own situation a lot safer-though she longs for the day when such blockades are unnecessary. The ease of our conversation reminded me of others, with whom I could walk in and begin speaking, as if we were resuming an interaction that had been interrupted by some strange event, a while back. Then, too, there was the group of mule deer, which visits her and watches through the large picture window. They are like members of her family.

The Monument, as its known hereabouts, commemorates the explorations of Juan Vazquez de Coronado and his party, who marched from Compostela, on the west coast of Mexico Proper, through the Sonoran Desert and the Sky Island country of what is now southern Arizona, clear past the Rocky Mountains of present-day New Mexico and Colorado, to an area of central Kansas, near Salina, which he called Quivira. The expedition was manned largely by indigenous Mexicans, with a few hundred Spaniards and a hundred or so Africans. Coronado’s legacy, like that of most European conquerors, is a mixed bag. He is no hero to the Puebloans, whose ancestors were slaughtered in the Tiguex War of the mid-Sixteenth Century, but is remembered more neutrally by the Apache and by the Plains nations, such as the Wichita and Arapaho.

Here are some views of Coronado National Memorial. Below is Ranger Carrie’s work space.

I dubbed these the Jaguar Watch.

The southern terminus of the 800-mile Arizona Trail can be reached by hiking the steep, 3-mile round trip Yaqui Ridge Trail. This is a task for another visit, possibly in early March. As it was, the day was well-spent, and featured everything from a power outage, just before I checked out of Motel 6 in Douglas to a Zoom meeting that I joined from Casa Grande’s Public Library. In between was the rewarding time spent at “the Monument” .