Monthly Archives: January 2023

Roots of My Being

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Posted by on in collaborating, Family, impediments, Inner Struggles, Inspiration, Personal Values, Social, Spiritual, Striving

January 20, 2023- Mother never took a day off. She was never gone in the night. Dad was not so fortunate. He worked whatever shift he needed to, in order that we would have what we needed. When he was off work, he was with us. Mom, though, was never without us. I, the satellite, much of the time, wanting to make sure everything was okay when Dad was at work. I would invent my detailed stories, play 45 rpm records, even wrote a “newspaper”, for visitors to read and pretend to be impressed, by words describing things about which most of them could have cared less.

I was interested in “boy” things, like Lincoln logs, toy trucks and road equipment, playing with whoever came along, in our sandbox. I was clumsy, according to an older cousin because of the circumstances of my birth-I was very nearly breech. That impacted my hand-eye coordination, and athletic skills, even my balance. It would take me until near adulthood, before I could stay upright on a bicycle. It wasn’t until it came time to show my son how to play baseball, that I could even hit the darned thing. Maybe much of this was mind over matter, but it was a steep uphill.

I loved the woods and the marsh, though, and spent as much time as I could in either one-whether with other kids or alone. There was a nook, along a creek, where I would sit and think about life. One day, crews appeared, across the creek, and began building new homes, where the woods had been. I silently welcomed the people who would live across from my nook, and bid farewell to the little spot.

Before that, there were great woods in the first neighbourhood I remember, where we lived alongside an uncle aunt and three cousins. Grandma lived up the hill, and I would roam the woods with a neighbour boy and a couple of girls-playing pirates, or cowboys. When we moved into our own house, there were the woods I mentioned first, a hill with rock ledges, where I would sit and tell wild stories to anyone who would listen-even when they rolled their eyes. Sister and I would walk with Dad, after supper, in the summertime-and go see the horses at one or another of the ill-fated farms which became housing developments. Dad told me early on, that house building was an industry, and it would never go away. He even had a side hustle-paperhanging, which he taught me when I was ten.

Mom was always around for us, even when Dad had to work overtime-or graveyard. She’s still with us, having re-made her life, in a home with other women-and so thriving, at 94. I thought of all this, after reading of the Prime Minister of New Zealand, the youngest person ever to hold that post. She is stepping down, deciding to focus on her child, after giving 5 1/2 years of her life to her country. A group of us had a brief discussion on the matter, this afternoon, and though I was the only male in the group, we were of one mind in stating that nurturance is of paramount importance to any child-and is most naturally provided by a mother.

It is the background of Mother’s “smotherly love” (her term) that made my own feelings towards women to be so strong. Her personal strength of character and perseverance contributed to my sense that every person’s dreams deserve a shot at success, and the support of anyone who claims to love that person.

I haven’t done everything she ever hoped for me to do, but I’m still in the game.

Embracing True North

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Posted by on in Community, Inspiration, Personal Values, Social, Spiritual, Striving

January 19,2023- When a group of us were marching back from the Courthouse to the United Methodist Church, on Monday, we passed True North Nutrition, the unintentional, but worthy, successor to Ms. Natural’s. I determined that a visit to this unique establishment would be in order-and today afforded the chance to sample the fortified waffle, which includes one’s choice of flavoured protein powder. The place promotes flavoured iced teas, yet also has delicious coffees.

The shop, which the owner, Ben Filer, calls the club, has a line of protein shakes, and he shows the year-long progress of several people, including himself and his wife, Susan, in their weight loss. It is credible, as are the various testimonies by users of other such entities, including Thrive by Level, which I have used, albeit intermittently. There are many paths to better health.

What makes True North different is the local angle. They are a small start-up, with a core staff. Ben and his wife operate this shop and one in Scottsdale, reflecting their own lifestyle of enjoying seasonal dwellings. Those who sign up for Ben’s program are given the option of a weekly progress check, by whoever is their coach. The other staff are cordial, if businesslike, explaining the nutritional benefits of the made-to-order breakfast and lunch items and encouraging use of the nutritional supplements. It is not, however, a hangout, and I was discouraged from sitting and writing in my journal, once I had finished my breakfast.

I purchased a trial shake powder and raspberry iced tea, using them as a replacement lunch. I found this quite satisfying, and MAY look further into the program. Their strengths are the unique menu, and Filer’s contagious enthusiasm. I am a bit more cautious around the other staff, but some people just need time to grow on one another.

The Colour of Fear

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Posted by on in collaborating, Community, Education, Inner Struggles, Inspiration, Matters of Faith, Personal Values, Social, Spiritual, Striving

January 18, 2023– There is no such thing as a “White Nation”. Caucasians, by my humble count, consist of no fewer than 67 ethnic groups-if one counts Arabs, Berbers and Jews, along with the ethnic groups of Europe and the Caucasus. Most, if not all, of those groups are represented in the populations of settled countries, like Canada, Australia, New Zealand and the United States. Immigrants from most, if not all, of the other nations of the world are also represented in the settler populations of these countries.

I had the privilege, this evening, of watching much of a film called “The Colour of Fear”. In it, eight men, representing the White, Black, Hispanic and Asian communities, spent a weekend sharing their thoughts about race and about their perceptions of their roles in American society. As one might expect, there were some very strong statements made, by each of the participants. The messages were instructive: The men of colour stating all the occasions when they felt invisible, unheard or infantilized; the white men stating their contention that people should “pull themselves up by their own bootstraps”. One of the Hispanic men retorted, “There are plenty of times that those ‘bootstraps’ break off. Then, what are we supposed to do?”

I have mentioned before that I am not given to fear of other people. Perhaps it is because those of colour have not physically harmed me and in moments of tension between us (long ago, actually), the communication has been direct-almost searingly so. As I sat in the room and watched the discourse, I almost wished Wayne Jefferson, Lavern Bartley, Larry Grinston, Lionel Emilien and my buddy Anthony Banks could have been there-and said, with one voice, “Remember the time…..”. I thought of Lynwood Nichols, and his cogent, very early assessment of “White Privilege”, and of Clinton Bird Hat, who taught me how to carefully and sensitively interact with Native Americans. That those life lessons occurred early on has come to be an eternal blessing.

I am proud of my heritage- the German, French, Penobscot, English, Irish and whatever other ethnicities who have contributed to my whole. I am equally proud, and honoured, by the presence of all those who have helped refine that whole person.

Breathing Room

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Posted by on in Assistance, collaborating, Community, Historical, impediments, Inspiration, Personal Values, Service Activities, Social, Spiritual, Striving

January 17, 2023- Fifteen people graced the Founders Room, in Prescott Public Library’s main building, this evening, as Prescott Peace Builders presented a documentary on the life of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. The film reviewed what each of us present have lived, with regard to Civil Rights era and Dr. King’s role in the attainment of Civil Rights for African- Americans. What those rights boil down to is space for a physically, economically and politically hobbled people to breathe, to live full lives.

No one has said that anyone is entitled to a perfect life; no one IS. There is, though, plenty of space for freedom from being the target of assumptions from those in power and those who enforce that power. I was raised to not cross the street, when approached by a person of colour, or a person dressed in tattered clothing, or any given individual who was not acting in an obviously menacing manner. I was taught that when anyone asked for directions, they were to be given clear directions, in the most polite language possible. Essentially, every human being who crossed my path was to be treated fairly.

Those teachings became part of my being- and made getting over the subliminal messages, from the wider community, a whole lot easier. I have made my share of mistakes and have had to root out many microaggressions, but the foundation I got from my parents has eased the recognition of the Oneness of Mankind. It also made incorporating the admonition about never ASS-uming anything, about another person or group, a whole lot easier.

The day as a whole was marvelous: Safe drive to Phoenix and back; excellent dental check-up; three great meals-breakfast at Wildflower Bakery, lunch at Local Jonny’s and a bowl of soup for dinner, at Mob Burger-each served by a congenial soul. Then, there was the above-mentioned gathering, the second of three such meetings, honouring Dr. King and his legacy.

There is much breathing room, for yours truly, so far this winter.

“All Means All”

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Posted by on in Assistance, collaborating, Community, Inspiration, Matters of Faith, Personal Values, Service Activities, Social, Spiritual, Striving

January 16, 2023- The process tends to loop around in circles, sometimes spiraling forward and other times heading back the other way.

April, 1959- A tough-looking boy, a bit older than me, rode up on his bike as I was walking back from the south side of town. He said his name was Richard; that he was a Creole from New Orleans and that I looked like a money man. I was eight, Richard was probably ten. I showed my empty pockets and he sniffed and rode off. “Next time, Money Man!” I didn’t see him again until we were in Junior High. He was into other things by then, and never bothered me. I later learned, from another Black child, that Richard no one in his life, except his Grandma, who was a custodian at the high school.

June, 1963- A seasoned jazz saxophonist, named Wilton Felder, sat down and recorded a re-arrangement of “Lullaby by JS Brahms”. It was nothing close to a lullaby, when he was finished. Mr. Felder was expressing his rage-at the murder, in 1956, of Emmett Till; at the murder, a few days before the recording, of Medgar Evers; at the many instances of cruelty towards people who looked like him . He was in no mood to offer gentle comfort-and so he made the piece soar to the heavens-loud and angry. The performance was terribly prescient. Three months later, four young girls, dressed in their Sunday finest, were blown to bits by a crazed bomber, as they waited in a Birmingham church.

April, 1968- Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. spoke to a group of sanitation workers and others who were gathered in their support. He remarked that the people were “headed to the Promised Land”, and that he “may not get there with you”. That night, as he took in the night air of a Memphis spring, he was sent to the hereafter. Far to the north, in the mostly white town where I was coming of age, a few of my friends mused aloud, about going over to a black neighbourhood in the next town, and stirring things up. The father who overheard those remarks forbade his son from taking part-as my father would have, if I had even wanted to be part of such a thing. As it was, I only wanted to see black people treated fairly and my heart was broken. I went on home.

June, 1969- Communication was not my strong suit, as I entered Basic Training in the U.S. Army. Having had little direct experience with African-Americans, I found that I had committed a few faux pas. Lavern was already a beaten-down, world-weary soul, at age 19. He desperately wanted to be understood, and had a hard time expressing the ways in which people like me had hurt him. A sharp-eyed friend advised me that some other black trainees were talking with Lavern, and looking my way. I spoke with a mutual friend, who was also black; the two of us sat down with Lavern, and got things amicably settled.

September, 1969- One cold morning, at Advanced Individual Training, in Indianapolis, I was having a hard time waking up and must have had a sour expression on my face, as we gathered at the latrine sinks, to shave our faces. Wayne was spring-loaded and outspoken. He thought my scowl was directed at him-and put me on notice that this was not acceptable. A more even-tempered black colleague explained that this was how African-American men communicated with one another-direct, full-in-the-face. In this way, I was being let inside. I had no further issues with Wayne, or with any other person of colour, the rest of the time I was in the Army. Direct, and to the point, always worked.

July, 1995- I was getting ready to cross a busy street, in St. Louis, with my wife, son and our hosts. Of a sudden, a hand grabbed my arm and pulled me back-just as a car came speeding along in the inside lane. The man who saved me had appeared to be on drugs-but he was aware enough to keep a stranger safe. This gave the lie to our hosts’ musings about black people being worthless. There was no further racist talk coming out of their mouths during our visit.

All these years later, one of the main speakers at today’s Martin Luther King, Jr. Day of Service asked, among other things, how many friends of colour each of us had. It was a rhetorical query, intended to get us thinking. My unspoken answer is, “Many, but nowhere near enough”. The keynote speaker then underscored this question, saying that ALL people’s lives indeed mattered. To that African-American, female pastor, everyone was due respect and accordance of dignity-even if they act despicably.

All people means all people.

.

Magical Again

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Posted by on in children, collaborating, Community, Inspiration, Personal goals, Personal Values, Service Activities, Social, Spiritual, Striving

January 15, 2023- An eclectic musician was also present, at least night’s concert-dancing with several ladies, in the small area, front of the band. He was sporting a red ball cap, with the acronym MAMA, representing “Make America Magical Again”.

I rather like that notion. Much of what has made life nice, these many years, has seemed almost magical in its unfolding. How many times have I been graced with accommodations that would ordinarily seem out of reach? How many meals have come my way, both when Penny and I were at wit’s end and when I have been on my own? How many friends have appeared, seemingly out of nowhere?

Some of this is, certainly, a reflection of love for others. I find myself thinking, ” Whatever you need, my love”; or “As you need,my pal”, when helping a child or adolescent, or a young woman, for that matter. Their needs are those of the future, after all. Their dreams and efforts are a good part of what will make seeming magic become commonplace. Helping remove obstacles, for anyone really, is an essential part of being an adult in this world.

As I sat with one of my young friends, last night, she noted that what makes any community special are pockets of celebration and affirmation. Some communities, like San Francisco and Boston, have several such areas. Prescott, with Raven Cafe, Founding Fathers Collective and Wild Iris, among other places, is increasingly holding its own in that regard. Faithful readers will note other such pockets of celebration, around the United States and in various countries across the globe.

So, the magic unfolded: The delightful sprite-like dancer, mentioned in the previous post; the structured, polished ballroom styles of an elegant couple; the dancing musician, wearing the M.A.M.A. cap; the melodious offerings of the three lovely women from Bisbee; the genuinely joyful presence of a dear friend and collaborator. Magic, after all, when it is intended to bring harmony, is pure and loving energy.

The River Flows Freely

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Posted by on in Assistance, Community, impediments, Inspiration, Personal Values, Social, Spiritual, Striving

January 14, 2023- The best part of this evening’s encore performance by The Barn Swallows, besides the incomparable music, was the blissful dancing of an irrepressibly free spirit. While her mate contented himself with just sitting or with taking photos of the snow falling outside, the young woman whirled about, not dervish-like, but in a manner that brought joy to everyone in the full house. Even when she went up to refill her water glass, it was with a gently swaying, waltzing motion.

Earlier, as I made plans to attend this evening’s concert, I got an ethereal message that a dear friend would also be there. I got to the Raven around 8, just as the Swallows started warbling their sweet tunes, and took care of dinner, at a high top table. After a fashion, the friend in question walked in, greeted two other friends who were sitting a short ways from my table, then came over to the high top and engaged in intermittent conversation, also flowing around the room to mingle with others. She, too, is a passionately free spirit.

I have had the thoughts, especially lately, that friendships, and relationships in general, flow organically, if they are healthy. My own progress, in that regard, has been to comfortably let people alone and largely leave it to them to contact me, in their own time. There are exceptions, of course, when I know of illness or special situations, and the first step needs to be mine. Strong ethereal messages, like this evening’s, tend to come to me as well, and can advise either to be ready to greet and spend time with someone, or to keep my distance.

Life is good now, and as long as I follow the free-flowing river of friendship, things will progress nicely.

Thirteeners

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Posted by on in Assistance, children, collaborating, Community, Education, Inner Struggles, Inspiration, Personal Values, Service Activities, Social, Spiritual, Striving

January 13, 2023- The usually rough and tumble boys were a lot more subdued and looking towards the mostly female staff for guidance today. The roughest of the bunch was a lot more sensitive. The sassiest of the girls were very quiet all day. This all made more sense to me, when contemplating the feminine energy of Friday, combined with the number thirteen. Friday is named for the German goddess Freya. Thirteen is said to have a feminine flow, according to numerologists, because of the thirteen phases of the Moon.

The day itself has been transmogrified into some sort of a culturally freakish day of misfortune. I, personally, have never had a bad day on Friday the 13th. Those few that I’ve heard of who have wished they had spent the day in bed are no more likely to suffer on this combination of weekday and day of the month, than on any other day.

Nor are people in their first full year of teenage necessarily more difficult to get along with than those who are at other stages of adolescence, or at any other time of change. For me, twelve was probably the hard adolescent year, with twenty-five and fifty-nine the other rough personal years of change. Thirteen, though I was going through the heart of puberty, was a year of emergence from awkwardness.

The contrived bad luck associated with the thirteenth floor of a multistory building seems to be just that, contrived. I have not heard of any such particular association, in reality. Some people feel the whole bad luck association with the number-and the numerodiurnal combination, was a ploy to curb feminine power. I’m not sure it’s all that organized, but it makes as much sense as anything else.

In any case, any day when energy is nurturing and healing is a good day, in my book-and so it was.

Fascinatin’ Rhythm

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Posted by on in Assistance, collaborating, Community, impediments, Inner Struggles, Inspiration, Personal goals, Personal Values, Social, Spiritual, Striving

January 12, 2023- There was this long journey, made by someone dealing with an injury, the journey was a solo one, with only an intermittent stop, for someone to check on the person’s condition. Then, the road continued. The destination was reached, around 4:30, this afternoon. I had the honour of helping the individual get settled again.

January is ever a surprising month, and this year is already a year of surprises. More rain and snow has fallen, in California, than in any winter in the past thirty years. Lake Cachuma. a key reservoir near Santa Barbara, that has been rather low, for several decades, is now full to overflowing- becoming so, just in the past month. I suspect the same is true for other southern California lakes-though not yet for Lake Mead.

The rhythm, the pattern, of winter in the western United States thus far this year suggests a 1924 song by George Gershwin. “Oh, what a mess you’re makin’.”, sang Tony Bennett, as Joe Bari, in 1949. Oh, what a mess is being made now. Will the solutions that come out of the current mess, whether it is made, or they are found, in California, in Kenya or in Brazil, be equally as fascinating and impressive in their execution.

Here’s Tony Bennett performing “Fascinatin’ Rhythm” with Diana Krall, in 2018.

Is Pressure Intended?

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Posted by on in collaborating, Community, impediments, Inner Struggles, Personal goals, Personal Values, Service Activities, Social, Spiritual, Striving

January 11, 2023- Among the features of this blog site is Seven-Day Highlights. The daily, sometimes hourly, algorithm serves as a scold-showing comparative ratings of Visitors, Views, Likes and Comments. A red arrow shows the least little decline in any of those areas, as if how people react is within my power to “correct”. This ignores the fact that I write for myself, but capitalizes on the notion that not everyone does. Those who have monetized their blog site are likely to take this more seriously, and “up their game”. These are the people who join writing courses and fret over lost readers.

I used to be like that, wanting to increase my readership. The fact is that few of us can set aside the time to read dozens of posts, each day. So, my posts have become more vehicles of self-expression and almost journalistic in content. That should be okay-and it is with my friends, even those who used to be close, but are now separated from me by schedules, temperament, divergent views of life and the vagaries of Nature. People are not commodities, as much as some would like that to be the case.

This brings up the larger question: What does anyone really gain, from putting pressure, intentional or not, on others? It basically, as someone recently pointed out to me, is a reflection of pressure one puts on self. We like to share what’s in our life, and so the bitter comes along with the sweet-ignoring the age-old adage: “Laugh, and the world laughs with you. Weep, and you weep alone.” (This, also, is a rather distasteful view of life; but it does serve as a forewarning of how we might manage our well-being.)

I am better able to manage both internal and external pressure, through meditation and the act of bringing self to account, several times each day-not in an accusatory manner, anymore, but with a more neutral view of my own actions and motivations. I was asked by someone dear to me, a while back, to maintain a “neutral love” towards her. I know what she was implying, and the fact is that Agape was already in the driver’s seat, vis-a-vis our friendship. Pressure, coming from a misdirected and unrealistic view of interactions, is brought to heel by a mature view of their ebb and flow.

So, if you, or the systems you employ, are making life harder on self and everyone else-consider taking things down several degrees, decibels or ergs.