I am sharing this post, from a friend who goes by Simple Dimple. It expresses how I feel, very well.
People come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. When you know which one it is, you will know what to do with that person. When someone is in your life for a REASON it is usually to meet a need you have expressed.
Author Archives: Sagittarian Seeker
Tangential, Part 1
September 8, 2018, Prescott-
This morning, on a visit to Prescott Farmers Market, I spent a few minutes sitting on a bench, near where the guest musician was playing an acoustic version of Outkast’s “Hey Ya”, accenting the powerful words of the sometime party tune.
I began to get caught up in the presence of his delightful little family, noting his daughter’s interaction with a another little girl, about her age. As I smiled at a nearby vendor’s waving and goofing around with the singer’s infant son, the mother looked at me quizzically and I gave her the proper explanation, as to what was happening, before excusing myself and going off to finish my purchases for the day.
I was challenged, earlier this morning, as to having been short and to the point, in my communications of late. Simply put, I felt a lot of pressure this week, especially at work, with hard things happening to my team members, and a difficult person inserting herself into the classroom mix. I have no problems, in particular, with the person who sent the message this morning. We each are highly intuitive, but intuition, on a human level, is not foolproof. One’s own fears and challenges get mixed in, invariably. I take my own intuition with several grains of salt, and end up doing the same with other people’s observations, regarding my life.
Prescott Farmers Market, and the local Planet Fitness franchise, are places I frequent. I notice that, with one or two exceptions, the management team in each of these places tend to keep me (though not their favoured few) at arm’s length, most likely for good reason-but what that reason has to do with me, specifically, I’m not sure. Conversely, having the managers of a given establishment be my well-wishers is not why I avail myself of its services. The Market does have several stalls, where I am on good terms with the vendors and can chat for several minutes, without the emotional door slamming in my face. The gym provides me with a reliable set of full-body machines and the incomparable Hydrobed, a next-gen version of the Ceragem massage bed that we had, in the Phoenix house. Besides, the manager’s front desk assistants are uniformly more personable, and actually seem happy to see people come in, who are less than buff.
This leads me, again, to the whole culture of anonymity that seems to pervade the urban American West. This puzzles me. No one really seems to enjoy living as if under siege, but each of us does it, to some degree. I have made some headway, walking to and from downtown and Yavapai College, and joining in more group activities, especially in the past two years.
I am approaching a crossroads, of sorts, which I had hoped would not be imminent until at least Autumn, 2020. Still very much hoping to complete this academic year in one piece, the difficult academic specialist aside, I go to work each day and give it my best. Still hoping to be of value to my Baha’i and other communities, I am a regular at scheduled and spontaneous events. Still hoping to keep my head above water, I listen, carefully, to the voices of both support and of criticism, to glean the necessary lessons.
Part 2: Affirmations and expectations
August Didn’t Kill Me
September 7, 2018, Prescott-
August didn’t kill me.
It was not for lack of trying.
I am, like others in my family,
stubborn, determined,
that the month,
this year,
the next two or three years,
are not my swansong.
Joint pain came and was dispatched,
thanks to my chiropractor,
and a gift from a trusted friend.
Secrecy, in and around my little work family,
means nothing to me,
in terms of my getting my job done.
Harsh criticism,
coming from a casual acquaintance,
who claims to know my future,
will not blunt, or alter, my life’s course.
August didn’t kill me,
nor will September.
The 2018 Road, Learnings and Observations: Part 2
September 3, 2018, Prescott-
In any stretch of time and effort, be it work or leisure, there are learnings. Some come to us because they derive from novel experiences. Others arise, because we become complacent, set in our ways.
I didn’t read the details closely enough, that morning in Elkhart, IN. My eyes told me the dinner was that very night. It would have been convenient-for me. The words actually read “tomorrow evening”. That was convenient for the main party. Read carefully, completely and in a wakeful state.
I crossed the bridge, from Warren, MI to Windsor, ON, without hesitation, this time. I stayed in the proper lane, unlike on my previous run to Vancouver, three years ago. The Canadian highways are no mystery-they’re essentially the same as on this side of the imaginary line. Most of the problems we create in our minds are pointless.
For many years, since losing an electric cookpot to a raging maniac, who threatened to hurt my disabled wife (long story), I had been relieved of nothing. My car’s interior had been left alone, for many years now. On a Saturday evening, in Montreal, my lengthy walk to the Baha’i Centre gave someone, or two, a window of opportunity, which they smashed. Gone were my seven-year-old laptop and my passport. The computer has been replaced. The document waits for me to retake photos, which happens tomorrow. Use the money belt, even here in North America, and put the laptop in the trunk, if it is even necessary to leave it in the car at all.
When one is on the road, there are several options for accommodation. Many people can’t abide the idea of not staying in an expensive hotel room or rented house/apartment. Be aware of surroundings, but don’t rule out hostels, guest rooms, (clean) couches, campgrounds or even highway 24-hour, or 12-hour, rest areas. The only things that matter are safety and hygiene.
Observations-
Even in a rundown, construction-heavy community, there are ways to mail a letter. I don’t even remember the town, but somewhere in Missouri or Illinois, I mailed a letter back to Prescott.
People don’t seem to tailgate as much, or pass on the inside as often, the further east one drives. At least, that’s been my experience.
Warm-hearted people may be found anywhere. The same is true of the icy people. Most often, they work side by side.
Pay attention to body language, even when tired. Some men of a certain age only communicate with head nods and grunts. Then again, so do some teenagers.
Research different ways, ahead of time, to stay connected, when in the car.
Know that, in a pinch, it’s okay to cross back into the U.S., by car, from Canada, with a valid U.S. driver’s license and VA photo id. The reverse is not true.
Terra Shield, by do Terra, works very well, in keeping bugs away.
Lake Champlain, Chesapeake Bay’s Western Shore and Richard Russell Lake are enchanting places, even when it is stormy. Lake Oconee is the stuff of dreams, and crazy expensive. (No, I didn’t stay there.)
There is nothing better, when tired of the road, than just sitting for two days, in a family home, watching TCM and dipping in the pool.
Teen girls can cook, and cook well- the little breakfast place, off I-95, in Timmonsville, SC, offers proof.
Single African men also can cook well. The little apartment which I visited, in Salisbury, NC, offers proof.
Eastern Tennessee has its share of “Heavens on Earth”. I spent two days in just such a place.
Next time, whenever that is, I will set aside more time for Denver, for Chicagoland, for Elkhart and for Amarillo.
The 2018 Road: Honours, Learnings and Observations- Part 1
September 2, 2018, Prescott-
The forty-day journey, whose chronicle I have just completed, is now well-past the reflection stage. The longest trip I have undertaken, since 2015, has passed without controversy, among those of my family and friends who have viewed my travels in the past, with some consternation.
There were mostly good things that happened, this summer that is nearly passed. I want to first note those who have honoured me with their presence, in the deepest of ways. Then, I shall note the learnings I picked up from the trek. Finally, some observations are in order.
Honours-
The first of these always goes to my family: Being in Christ Church, Philadelphia, for the wedding of my beloved youngest niece; having my son, Aram, and his girlfriend next to me during the service, throughout the reception and for much of Father’s Day. I’m grateful to her, for having given him much happiness; being with all of my siblings, nieces and nephews and nearly all of my extended family.
My northern Nevada family has always been there for me, as well. This year, over Memorial Day weekend, was no different.
My sister in spirit, Corina, drove an hour each way to visit with me a bit-once I got to Wilmette, but to no avail. My arrival was way too late, so back she went, to spend Sunday afternoon with her beloved. I feel honoured, nevertheless. Just being in the embrace of the Baha’i House of Worship is a singular honour, in itself.
Having dinner with friends in Mishawaka, IN, was a sublime blessing. Thanks, Val and Sparky.
I cannot say enough, for the staff and fellow hostelers at Auberge Bishop, Montreal, for confirming my worth as a human being, in the aftermath of a serious loss. I am also grateful to the agents at USAA, for mitigating that loss. It was a joy to take lunch at one of the restaurants of a friend’s establishment: La Panthere Verte. I would feel similarly honoured, again, at hostels in Baltimore and in Memphis.
One of the greatest honours is to connect with the spiritual energy of one’s ancestors. My maternal grandmother’s hometown, Plattsburgh, NY first welcomed me, and a few weeks later, my sister and a maternal cousin connected with some of Grama’s grandnieces and great grandnephews.
Penny’s family will always be my own, as well. They helped me greatly, in the wake of Montreal. A few days’ respite, in the family home, in Spring Hill, FL helped me rest before the home stretch, and reaffirmed our bond. Paying my respects to her departed cousin, a few days before, in Maryland, was essential.
There are many, across the nation and world, who I regard as spiritual family. They are of all Faiths and of no Faith. Connecting with a woman who is like a daughter to me, in Virginia Beach; an immigrant friend who is like a brother, in Salisbury, NC; and my Tennessee brother and sister of the heart, in Crossville, have made all the difference in healing a part of me that still grieves, somehow.
Being in Memphis, and feeling the pain that all of us who are of good heart experienced, the day Martin Luther King, Jr. died, was cathartic. I had not cried in a good long while, and this overwhelming sadness brought out a lot. Later in the day, walking along the banks of the Mississippi and along Beale Street, felt like a dirge was playing. Dr. King honoured us all.
NEXT: Learnings
The 2018 Road, Day 40: In The Conquistador’s Shoes
July 4, 2018, Petrified Forest National Park-
The long journey around the length and breadth of North America is coming to a close today, the 242nd anniversary of our nation’s Declaration of Independence. I have re-entered Arizona, my home base for 35 of the past 40 years and, most likely,for 2-3 years to come. A relatively short four hours remain, before I am back in my Prescott apartment, and I will face weeds, a small amount of dusty furniture and four days’ accumulation of dirty laundry.
This morning, however, I embraced Independence Day, first by enjoying a simple breakfast on the patio of Sunset Motel, then taking a short stroll in its small garden.
Moriarty is becoming a bedroom community for Albuquerque, a scant 40 minutes away to the west. I have been to the Duke City, nearly a dozen times, over the past four decades. Until today, though, I had not set foot in Old Town, Albuquerque’s original settlement, established in honour of the Duke of Alburqerque, who was Viceroy of New Spain at the time the settlement was established, in 1706. The statue shown below is of Don Francisco Cuervo y Valdes, the founder of Albuquerque.
I spent a bit more than an hour, on this early Wednesday morning, taking in the sights of a historical district that is still waking up from pre-Independence Day revelry, last night.
There are many artists’ studios, crafts shops and small restaurants in Old Town. The centerpiece, though, is the Church of San Felipe de Neri.
This is the eastern arch, leading out of the church property, into a pleasant promenade along Old Town’s many shops.
Below, is a view of the west arch.
The promenades led me to a Salvadoran restaurant, which was closed, and to Black Bird Coffee House, which was very much open.
I chatted with the proprietress of the shop, who was pleased that I had made Old Town the focus of this Albuquerque visit and hoped I would feel at home there, on future such jaunts. She told me that the former owner of the shop had headed to Prescott, hoping to open a coffee shop there. I wish him luck, as our town has fifteen such shops, counting the chain franchises.
On the way back to Elantra, I spotted a couple of significant plazas.
Near Sombra, there was a curious silver backed bench.
Old Town was starting to stir, for Independence Day, as I made my way to my car and back to I-40.
I stopped briefly at the first rest area in Arizona, near Lupton, for a short nap, then came here, to the Petrified Forest Cafe, for a quick lunch. Now, it’s time to head out on the home stretch.
The 2018 Road, Day 39:Plowing On, Through Remorse
July 3, 2018, Moriarty, NM-
I woke up in Sallisaw, just after 6 AM, which is my usual wake-up, when on the road. Ed’s Cafe was across the road from Sallisaw Inn, so I headed over for breakfast. The waitress looked to be a sassy sort, the kind that can handle truck drivers very well. She plopped a menu down in front of me and took my coffee order, then walked over to a gray-haired gentleman and plopped her cleaning rag in front of him. I liked her right away. Turns out, he was indeed a regular, coming by here every two weeks.
I ordered the special, and Sassy Stacey got me to change it to the same plate from the regular menu, telling me quietly that “the boss jacks up the price for the special, when all it is, is more hashbrowns.” So I got a good deal on a very decent breakfast.
I headed straight across Oklahoma, bypassing OKC, and stopping at a Braum’s, in Weatherford, for lunch. I like Braum’s for their milkshakes and malts, getting one of the latter, to go with my chicken tenders. Weatherford is a nice little town, so getting in out of the heat there, and giving the Elantra an hour’s rest, made perfect sense.
Next was the Texas Panhandle, a far more magnificent place than many people might see. My remorse came from not giving old Texas Tidbits enough of a heads-up, as I approached Amarillo. So, it happened that my only Texas stops were gassing up in McLean and a short meditative visit to the rest stop off I-40, at Alanreed.
Despite the ominous clouds, I did not get so much as a drop on my windshield today.
After leaving Texas behind, I made two stops in eastern New Mexico, dinner at K-Bob’s, in Tucumcari, taking advantage of the chain’s delicious catfish plate and generous salad bar, then gassing up at a Mom and Pop store in Milagro- just because the young couple are making a heartfelt effort to revive the windswept little settlement.
Finally, the day ended at one of Moriarty’s oldest inns: Sunset Motel. The widowed daughter-in-law of the motel’s founders runs this place with a velvet fist. Her business acumen and graciousness do not clash- which I find admirable and reassuring. She keeps her late husband’s and in-laws’ legacy running very smoothly.
The 2018 Road, Day 38: Memphis, Part 3-Resolute, Whilst Sitting On A Beale Street Sidewalk
July 2, 2018, Memphis-
The man to whom I am referring, in the above subtitle, was one of a relative few who were sitting in various spots, along Memphis’ touristy and bustling Beale Street, “Birthplace of the Blues”. I had no green in my wallet, and so gave him a few quarters-though I generally avoid such donations. He is a man my age, though, and probably served in “the Nam”, which tends to be more of a bond than many might understand. So, I dug in my pocket. Of course, it was something of an insult and he yelled in protest, as I made my way back towards my car, parked just off the riverfront. He struck me as being altogether determined to survive and maintain his place in that particular spot.
There is, in Memphis, a publication called The Bridge, which is sold in tourist areas. I bought one, from a man working the parking lot of the National Civil Rights Museum. Ironically, the lead article was about the last regular occupant of Lorraine Motel, who was evicted to make way for its conversion into a tourist venue. She stands, most days, across the street from the Museum, holding a protest sign and calling for more humane treatment of the very people for whom Dr. King fought.
I did notice, as well, there was a certain hardness about the people, mainly African-American, who were working in the Museum. As cogent and compelling as the subject matter was to me, to them, it seemed like just a job-from the no-nonsense ticket seller to the bored young lady sitting in a nearly empty gift shop, in the annex, across from Lorraine Motel.
I carefully parked my Hyundai in a lot one block from Beale Street. The place is a sanitized version of the place known by W.C. Handy and B.B. King, and tourists, many of whom perhaps have buried their own Blues, were in full force on this Monday afternoon. I contented myself with buying one t-shirt, actually one of two trinkets I’ve picked up, this journey. (The other was a “Moose” t-shirt from Ausable Chasm.) I might have dropped into one of the several restaurants that line the five-block area, but Arcade took care of my hunger, very well. Beale Street is an area that is worth visiting, at least once. On another trip this way, I would figure to spend more time in places like Sun Studios.
Here are some Beale Street scenes.
Above, is the west entrance to the entertainment district. Below, the Orpheum Theater has hosted a good many musical events, for nine decades.
The name, itself, tells all.
Here is a view of the heart of Beale Street.
I got my t-shirt at Beale Street Gifts, an unpretentious and very busy little shop. In the background is the east entrance to the district.
I came across this sculpture, in Beale Street’s small park, just after my encounter with the leonine man on the sidewalk.
The widely revered, but tortured, Elvis Presley will always be a part of Memphis.
Leaving Beale Street, I spent a short time on Memphis’ Riverwalk, paying my respects to the Big Muddy.
On the river, many visitors took in the sights from one of two river boats. Here is the Memphis Queen.
A smaller vessel took visitors further upriver, to the north side of downtown, near Mud Island.
As I prepared to head towards Arkansas, one last look uptown was in order. The Pyramid will be on a future itinerary-if for no other reason than that it is there. Pyramids, even commercial ones, are symbols of hope and unity.
I crossed the I-55 bridge, wending my way past West Memphis and cruising through Arkansas, stopping only for a light convenience store supper, in Conway. Sallisaw, OK offered the night’s lodging, at Sallisaw Inn. The town seems to have grown a bit, since I was here in 2016.
The 2018 Road, Day 38: Memphis, Part 2- Martin and The Mountain Top
July 2, 2018, Memphis-
From the time I was a nine-year-old, trying my best to vicariously understand why Black people were struggling for the same rights my parents seemed to have, I have been fascinated by people like Martin Luther King, Jr., Malcolm X and Fannie Lou Hamer. Rosa Parks and her story came a bit later to my consciousness, when I was in high school, and the works of Langston Hughes were part of our tenth grade English curriculum.
The murders of Emmett Till, the children in the Birmingham church bombing, the Civil Rights workers in both Alabama and Mississippi, Medgar Evers- all hit me hard. I remember my Dad being pissed about the assassination of Malcolm X- “He was just starting to be reasonable”. It struck me that maybe that dialogue with White America was what got Malcolm killed; that maybe the powers that be don’t want the common folk to get along. His death turned me from Goldwater youth to angry leftist radical. The common denominator, for both alt-Right and Far Left seems to be the sense that the poor are just fodder-for those with money to burn. 1968 just added gasoline to my fire.
Time has made me recognize the complexity of the whole ball of wax. I remain committed to a solid implementation of social justice, though, and visiting the National Civil Rights Museum brought me to my knees, in silent, shaking tears.
Martin Luther King, Jr, indeed made it to the mountain top. While his last physical gaze was at the eastern edge of downtown Memphis, his spiritual gaze saw the heights of recovery from a deeply-embedded misogyny, from a dalliance with classism and Marxism and from narrow focus on the cause of Black folk. He spoke of, and was moving towards, leaving no one out: Opposition to the Vietnam War was a part of his new credo, but so was the plight of hardscrabble farmers and miners in Appalachia and the Ozarks. Forging ties with La Raza Unida and Native American activists was a rising tide, but so was listening to the children of European immigrants who were living increasingly precarious lives, in poor urban neighbourhoods and rural slums, alike.
So, my morning was focused, in three museums in and around Lorraine Motel.
This establishment had been one of a relative handful of inns, across the country, where African-Americans could stay in safety, whilst traveling.
In the main hall, there are replicas of key episodes in the Civil Rights struggle. Below, is a depiction of Rosa Parks, taking her rightful place on a Montgomery bus.
This credo has been, to varying extents, followed by the greatest of those who have sought to bring about meaningful change.
Those kids were my age, or younger, and that this did not matter to the bombers will forever burn in my heart.
These two bedroom photos show the room occupied by Dr. King (top) and by one of his top aides(bottom).
This museum, across the street from the Lorraine, features two floors that exhibit details and archives of the assassination and the investigation into James Earl Ray and his suspected associates. The killings of other key figures of the Civil Rights Era are also examined here.
My evolution, as a compassionate soul, is far from finished. Being a “woke white man” is a worthy goal, but I still feel a bit drowsy. This has nothing to do with my visiting places associated with the Confederacy or pondering conservative statements: One must know what the “other side” thinks, and why, if there is to be a lasting peace in society, and in the world.
Lastly, before heading to the musically significant Beale Street, I stopped for a late lunch at one of Memphis’ oldest eateries. The Arcade has been around since 1959. The crew definitely made me feel at home, at the counter. I’ll be back again.
The 2018 Road, Day 37: All The Way To Memphis
July 1, 2018, Memphis-
With apologies to the campy 1970’s band, Mott The Hoople, the above title just jumped at me. Driving clear across Tennessee in one day would ordinarily be wasteful-no Nashville stops, blowing past Jackson and no diversion to Shiloh or to the Land Between the Lakes. Time is getting short, though, for my stated intention is to get back to Prescott, sometime on July 4, rest up and then do a few days of service at a Baha’i camp, west of Flagstaff.
In the meantime, though, a day or so in Grind City has been long overdue. I had contacted a friend in the Nashville area, and she turned out to be busy, so after saying farewell to Laureen and Chuck, and making a snap decision to take lunch at Country Kitchen (cute waitress wanted to go to Memphis with me, but that’s another story), I headed out of Crossville, bypassed Nashville and bore on to Jackson, making a brief refueling stop.
Hostel Memphis is a faith-based center, properly called Pilgrim House, in the midst of Memphis’ hip Cooper-Young neighbourhood, in Midtown. In addition to the hostel, the organization offers separate programs to assist the homeless and needy families. No Memphis residents, save the staff, are allowed to stay in the hostel. Shelters are dispersed, elsewhere throughout the city.
I entered here.
and was permitted to exit here.
This evening was well-spent, on a Cooper-Young walkabout.
In the immediate vicinity of the hostel, there is a food bank, with a cafe for low income people. It would not open until 11, on Monday morning, so I had no chance to visit, with the Museum of Civil Rights being on my itinerary, by then.
The storage unit of Pilgrim House is right next to a playground, so it is dressed up for the occasion.
Walking further, to the corner of Cooper and Young, I found a number of inviting restaurants and chose Young Avenue Deli.
The atmosphere was one of modest young partyers, still all having a great time. I took a table by a window, watching both the antics of a little girl “feeding” her stuffed animal, on the outside patio, and those inside, teasing one another and posturing for people they found attractive. I find it life-affirming, to be among the younger generations, making the world over, as they see fit.
After a satisfying Reuben plate, served by a steel and velvet, tattooed waitress, I strolled further down Cooper Street, finding unique little shops. This little shelter is devoted entirely to the needs of cats.
It is neither safe, nor legal, to climb up the berm to this railroad overpass, but it surely is a joy to see from below.
This mural, across the street from an ice cream parlour that’s attached to Railgarten Diner, is one of several that celebrate Memphis’ diversity. I felt very much at home here, whilst walking and licking away at a double scoop mint chip cone.
That, in a nutshell, is, to me, the whole purpose of traveling as I do: Expanding my feelings of being at home, and of who my family is.
NEXT: The National Civil Rights Museum
