Sweeping Vistas to One-Star Bare Bones

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March 11, 2024, Eloy, AZ- The manager of the motel took a minimalist view of the condition of her establishment: Rooms which are clean and very well-appointed, but have yet to install locks on several of the rooms-relying on chains inside the door, only. “We have a security guard who is constantly on the move or is watching the bank of security cameras! Those who want more can go the city, and pay more!” Me (Silently)- “I see, said the blind man”.

This is a place where tragedy is waiting to happen, despite the woman’s declaration that “My staff and I refuse to rent to anyone who looks shifty!” Update: As it happened, I got a wondrous night’s sleep here. Yet, it will be the last time I stay at the place. A skewed vision of how people should be served and protected will not end well.

My day, otherwise, was splendid. Coffee with a group of fellow seniors, was followed by a Zoom session on contacting our district’s Congressman, on a matter of interest to my fellows in Faith-and me. Then, there was a hike with HB, in the Constellation Trail system, named for a jet plane, which crashed in the area, in 1959. We walked about an area with sweeping vistas, which I had last hiked, with another friend, in the snow-four years ago. It is equally majestic, in the snippets of Spring.

Northward view, from Constellation Trail system (Hully Gully Trail)

Looking towards Hully Gully Trail, Constellation Trail system

Striated rocks, Constellation Trail system

A petrified chorus, Constellation Trail system

One could spend days, exploring the Constellation system, itself part of the Granite Dells formation, on Prescott’s northeast side. I have been there several times, and will be there several more.

After helping serve another buffet-style meal, this evening, at Solid Rock’s soup kitchen, it was time to head out towards Tucson, and the border with Mexico-where I will spend a couple of days, seeing what is actually going on-as opposed to the conjecture of the mainstream media. Getting to this small, but growing, desert city, roughly halfway between Phoenix and Tucson, I settled in at the above-mentioned motel, which will remain nameless, for now.

It was a fine, productive day, so I leave the management of the place to learn their own lessons, as I have spoken my peace to them.

Discretion

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March 10, 2024- The talk show host listened, incredulously, as a woman insisted that her son should be treated by a veterinarian, because he identifies as a cat. I would recommend a different type of medical professional-for the mother. Children engage in imaginary play and fantasy-all the time. When an adult buys into the child’s mental exercises and verifies the imaginary as real-the child is, naturally, confused.

Just because one can do something, even under the law, doesn’t mean one should engage the whim. I have heard that a man is insisting on his right to use the woman’s restroom, at a place I visit frequently. This establishment has two restrooms-one for each sex. The clientele is older, and more traditional in their view of such matters. In other establishments, most transgender people I know are perfectly okay with using a “Unisex” restroom. In fact, there are several places where ALL the restrooms are unisex. They have stalls, and there are provisions for parents with children, disabled people and their caretakers, and other special cases. Common sense is not on vacation.

At a Women’s March, yesterday, a trio of men showed up and counter-protested. There is no problem there, but the men decided that the March itself deserved to be broken up. I seem to recall this happened fifty-nine years ago, in Alabama, with deadly results. A woman, who was with the counter-protesters, decided to use a bullhorn, to keep the Marchers from speaking their peace. The March had official sanction. The woman with the bullhorn did not. This matter will be taken up by the proper officials. There was no one injured today, but as Justice Barrett said the other day, the temperature needs to be lowered. Just because one can do something, doesn’t mean one should.

Common sense is not on vacation.

In large and small cities across the country, people have indulged themselves with ignoring traffic rules, weaving in and out of the traffic pattern, in small electric vehicles. Others have ignored the rules of commerce, and helped themselves to significant quantities of clothing, jewelry and other items, with the understanding that, as long as the value of the pilfered items is less than $1000, it will not matter. Just because one can do something, doesn’t mean one should.

Common sense is not on vacation.

The Dreamer’s Edge

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March 9, 2024- The young lady looked, for all the world, like a 1920s Flapper. The moment she began singing, though, the melodious and heartfelt voice brought the chatty audience to rapt silence. Her connecting two very different semblances and times-the Roaring Twenties and the Hesitant Expectancy of the 2020s gave me much to consider. There really isn’t a whole lot different, between the two decades that lie a century apart.

Two business-oriented politicians, Calvin Coolidge and Donald Trump, set the tone for the conduct of affairs in the country. Both believed in the power of the marketplace and in cultivating a top-down economic structure, in which commercial interests are to be the stimulators of the nation’s prosperity. Coolidge’s programs did not factor in the suffering that was still extant in Europe, after World War I and the Influenza Epidemic of 1918-19. Trump’s programs were stymied by Covid-19, and by the turmoil in underdeveloped countries, much of it fueled by the international drug trade and its accompanying violence.

In the economic crash that followed the failure of Coolidge’s policies, and those of his successor, Herbert Hoover, only a combination of progressive governmental intervention, and the outbreak of another global conflict brought about recovery on a massive scale. It took twelve years to complete. The turmoil that accompanied Trump’s efforts was not as severe, but some governmental intervention from his successor’s team has helped lower inflation and improve at least the long-term prospects for a good many people. Time will tell whether the short-term efforts of the current administration will register with the American public.

In both decades, the difficulties faced by the average person led to impatience, and a certain amount of tolerance for authoritarian rule-even among those of historically marginalized populations. Only the recognition of Franklin D. Roosevelt’s comprehensive platform for recovery, and the patriotic fervor that followed the bombing of Pearl Harbor, and the D-Day landing at Normandy, three years later, stayed the hand of ultra-conservatism. It remains to be seen how the current, palpable climate of impatience will play out, in the Fall.

The capacity of the human spirit to look beyond temporary difficulties, the dreamer’s edge, if you will, may yet temper any rush to embracing a retreat from the constitutional republic, a form of democracy. In order for that to happen, the frequent victims of reverse marginalization need to be heard, and to feel that their concerns are being addressed-by the forces of a democratic mindset. That must happen, without the zero-sum game playing out; without historically-marginalized groups being shoved, once again, back into the corners of the American Mansion.

Will the current Twenties roar, or squeak?

No Backward Pivot

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March 8, 2024- My mother was a stay-at-home housewife, who also had a marketable skill: Hairdresser/cosmetologist. Our kitchen was her workspace, and I was honoured to make runs on a bus, to downtown Lynn, MA, from our home in Saugus, to purchase items that she needed for her trade. She is well-read, well-spoken and has kept up with current events, even in her 90s. Mother is nobody’s fool, and the four of us, her adult children, are all the better for it.

Today is International Women’s Day. Besides the maudlin truth that I would not be here today, were it not for a woman, it stands that I would not have had any kind of a life worth living, were it not for the life lessons imparted by Mom, by the six women who taught in our Elementary School, by several of the teachers in Junior High and High School (most notably Mrs. Katherine Vande and Miss Gladys Fox) and the devotion of my late wife, Penny. I would not be living as full a life as I have now, without the friendship of at least two dozen women, including someone I adore the most., but ALL of whom I love dearly.

There are those, both male and female, who harbor a thinly-veiled desire to put women “back in their place”, harkening back to the time when Mick Jagger could sing an abysmal tune, like “Under My Thumb”, or John Lennon croon a wretched song like “Little Girl”, and get away with it, even making a fair amount of money in the process. Maybe they want to go even further back, to the time when women were legally their husband’s, or father’s, chattel.

The genie cannot be put back in the bottle. It is ironic that many of the women who spout “traditonalist” views are self-made professionals, who have even told me that they are perfectly fine without a male mate in their lives. In that last pronouncement, they are right, in my humble opinion. Going back to the time when I was first contemplating proposing marriage to Penny, I weighed, very carefully, just how much I would add to the already distinguished and successful life she had made for herself. I am glad to have fully supported her further achievements, of two more Master’s Degrees and the implementation of three innovative programs, in schools where she subsequently worked. The woman was a genius. She was a fine wife and mother, but she would never thrived in a stay-at-home role.

In the Baha’i writings, it is stated that, given a choice of only educating one of two children, a son or a daughter, it is preferable to send the daughter to school, as the first teacher of a child is the mother. Cases in point: It was my mother who taught me to read, and to write in cursive letters. She was professional and exacting, and the lessons stuck. It was Penny who taught our son, Aram, to read, and to be careful in researching various aspects of life, before making a decision. Every one of the mothers among my female friends has had an outsized influence on the achievements of those of their children who have reached adulthood. That includes my sister, who has raised four strong and successful professionals.

The clock cannot be turned back. Thank God.

All Sacred, Holy

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March 7, 2024- The veteran teacher was barely able to stand up, at day’s end, admitting that she was completely exhausted-and would take her time driving home this afternoon. I was able to help with a few of the remaining tasks this afternoon, during her meeting elsewhere, and the children were both helpful and well-mannered. My tie with teacher and students is sacred.

This evening, the President of the United States delivered an address that was, by turns, feisty, celebratory, and accusatory. A senator, from the opposing party, gave a response that was measured, questioning and accusatory in kind. Both recognize that their relative positions are somewhat rooted in fact, but missed the recognition that their opposite’s positions are also, to some extent, rooted in fact. The truth is bigger than the sum of its parts. Confusion comes from ambition, from the stance that only oneself can resolve the issues facing our time. Confusion comes from a totalitarian mindset. Both liberalism and conservatism are necessary. Each has a piece of the truth, and that piece is sacred. The truth is bigger than the sum of its parts. The truth cannot be fabricated, or deep-faked. It will come out, regardless. Truth is sacred.

While all that was going on, a few friends and I were in devotions, and were talking of communications with the next world. When I was at Penny’s grave site, on Tuesday, I noticed an inscription that had not been there, previously. It was not in any script that I recognize, and I know of the essential forms of Arabic, Hebrew, Mandarin, Korean, Japanese, Burmese, Thai and Cyrillic scripts, as well as the Phoenician/Roman alphabet. It was not in any of those, and I got a message that this was a sign of her spiritual progress. One of the more “practical” friends in the group said it was probably just gang graffiti. Not everything that happens in this life, however, has a quotidian cause. All communication that comes from the heart, or from spirit, is holy.

I have, as has been said often, a large number of friends, across the continent and across the planet. All of these relationships are sacred, as all life is sacred, holy. This is true, from the moment of conception, though we must somehow ascertain exactly when conception takes place. This is true through infancy and childhood, even when those stages are difficult. It is true throughout adolescence and adulthood, and into the senior years. It is true, whether a person presents self as a liberal, conservative, moderate; as Christian, Muslim, Jew, Hindu, Buddhist, agnostic, atheist or Baha’i; is male, female or uncertain as to sex. All people, indeed all living beings, are, at their core, sacred, holy.

It behooves those, who are quick to cast aspersions on others, to remember that. Yes, I include myself in that admonition.

Further Reflections On The Graveside Vigil

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March 6, 2024- The dream sequence found Penny and me in an Italian restaurant, in a very different community. The proprietor took my debit card, and a couple of other cards, which were beige. He asked me if we wanted dessert, which was answered in the negative. He ran all three cards, then came back and sternly said that the two beige cards could not be used, as I had the wrong citizenship. He seemed hesitant to use the debit card, and we were at a standstill. Then I awoke, and realized there was no such conflict.

I felt a heaviness, as the message came to get up and start the day. Not really being fully in the moment, I nonetheless got up and went about grooming and dressing for the work day. It was a very good day, with a fair amount accomplished, working with individual students and one group. After work and a chiropractic adjustment, messages began to come to me, relative to yesterday’s visit to the Arizona Memorial Cemetery.

Questions were the format by which these messages were introduced. The answers, at least for now, came to me almost instantaneously.

“Why are some presences in my life stronger, more meaningful than others? Are some more loved than the rest?” It is beyond a simple matter of ‘some are friends, while others are mere acquaintances’. “Such reasoning is a dodge. Everyone whom one encounters is worthy of being viewed as a friend, although some make it difficult. Those closest, and most beloved, are in some instances present in one’s life for a long time, in some cases for a lifetime. In other cases, they appear late in one’s life, yet are no less treasured. Some are with a soul every day; others only fleetingly, and in other cases, may only be encountered once or twice.”

“Why am I feeling a drag on my energy, as if there is a darkness about? ” I had not felt this, in other graveside visits. “There is a residue of guilt. Also, it would have been preferable for you to make a brief visit here, then to have engaged in an act of service-even to have worked a half day. It is not necessary to make a visit to this place, as your primary act for these anniversaries.”

With these reflections, I go forward and know that there will be further questions and answers, as this year of rapid fire change and the overcoming of conundrums, along with artfully managing synchronicity- Many people tap into the prevailing energy of a given date and time, to schedule events at the same time as others, even knowing that the same people will be drawn to both events. Splitting one’s time between competing events isn’t just for Christmas Eve and New Year’s, anymore.

Cycles of Thirteen

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March 5, 2024- I sat at Penny’s gravesite, early this afternoon, reciting a special Tablet written by Baha’u’llah, and several other prayers that I customarily say each day. The place was quiet and the air calm, with only a few other people around, either paying their respects or working.

She was in declining health, and I was her mainstay, for thirteen years (1998-2011), from her first head trauma to the day of her passing. It has now been thirteen years since she went to the afterlife, which Baha’is know as the Abha Realm (Abha means Heaven, or Most Glorious). In that time, I have shed much lack of confidence, honed social skills-some of them the hard way and become more patient with myself. None of that would have been possible, I believe, without the support of my strongest spirit guide. What gave her fits, in this life, has largely been overcome by her patient admonitions and way-showing.

The next thirteen years, if indeed such a cycle has started to succeed the last two, will likely find me even farther afield than the one just ended. I will possibly be occupied with remaining international journeys, may be building another relationship-or both. Regardless of the substance of this life, I know it will have the support of the soul with whom I became a strong Baha’i and raised a fine young man to adulthood. Any and all bumps along the way were just part of the growth process.

May her soul ever shine its light on any dark path I encounter.

Not Too Taxing

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March 4, 2024- Four years ago, the retired IRS inspector was ready to haul me before a few of her successor agents, for an infraction that was really a disagreement between the agency and my employer at the time. It was resolved by a few phone calls that were above my pay grade.

Today, this same former inspector couldn’t have been nicer. My financial situation is certainly much more cut and dried, so the process this time took less than an hour. The American Association of Retired Persons has redeemed itself, in my eyes, and I, in its. Besides that, I have a five-year membership.

Most everything, these days, from the most discrete of my friendships to the online dance party that lets me limber up, is on a smooth track. The key to it all is keeping a sense of constancy, of self-assurance that is closely linked with faith in the Divine. Baha’is between the ages of 15-70 are fasting now, as I did, not so many years ago. My prayers go out on their behalf-and that has some effect on what transpires on this end, as well-paying both backward and forward.

So, from the coffee klatsch this morning to the the dance party that just ended, this day was not at all taxing.

“Everyone shines in a different light.”

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March 3, 2024- The usually urbane man was blunt: “No way would I shake the hand of (political opposite) in public. Once I saw there was no one watching or holding a camera, I shook (political opposite’s) hand.” Thus have we reached a point that the wirepullers, the puppet-masters of division have wanted to see for several decades. It has gone beyond the snarky put-downs, which used to be easily dismissed. The image is the message.

I thought of my own actions, and reactions, as is my reflective wont. I will not shake the hand of anyone who advocates mass murder. For that matter, such a person would earn my contempt, for as long as that advocacy, or worse yet, the commission of such an act, is in the person’s repertoire. Merely being a political opposite, otherwise, does not merit my contempt. So far, I have not felt the need to cut anyone off for less than assault on my person, wanton grifting or impugning the memory of my late wife. I have been fortunate to have not met anyone who advocates atrocity.

A member of my wider circle made the title statement today, in reference to one of her loved ones. Embracing diversity, even if it is contrived for a time, on account of someone’s confusion, is hardly a bad thing. Again, I draw the line at advocacy of destructive behaviour. There are many in my circle of friends who live differently, think differently, embrace a different Faith, groom differently, and so on. Everyone does shine in their own particular light, and I would not want it any other way.

Redemption

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March 2, 2024- I watched the film, Dune, Part 2, this evening. The plot is basically a “He who has the gold, rules” type of tale. Without giving away anything else, it is also a tale of several people who have various chances to choose redemption or condemnation. Each of us must make that choice, sometimes on a daily basis.

Three different types of people caught my attention today. The first, indicative of most people in my life circle, is a solid friend, who was just glad to see me, after two weeks. The second, drawn to me on occasion, is a self-absorbed soul, who sees self as a perpetual victim. (I have no resources to bail out a hand that is always outstretched, but that’s a whole other matter.) The third is an opportunist, who waited until I was off tending to a task, and grabbed a drink that I’d purchased and set down. Thankfully, this one is a fleeting presence in my life, and I know what not to do next time.

I have been the first two types, at one point or another in my seven decades and two years on this plane. I was effectively dissuaded, by my father, from being the third type, more than once. I stopped being the second type, mainly because it was isolating and self-defeating, as the present self-defeating people are finding out. It has been, and is, redemptive to be the first type. Those who love freely and pull their own weight tend to be happy, and self-fulfilled. We are not smug, and when difficulty strikes, we work through it. Those who have known me for a long time, or at least since the 2000s, know that the life I lead now has not always been the case.

I choose a path that is redemptive, not because other people dear to me demand it, but because it just feels better. The approval of family and friends is a bonus.