May 22, 2017, Prescott-
So many youths,
glad for an evening
of music that made them
dance,
on the floor
and in their hearts.
Nineteen are gone,
fifty hanging on,
because of one
with a detonator.
A light-hearted young woman,
seeking to make her fans’ lives
a bit more carefree,
sits crestfallen,
broken-hearted,
in a hotel room,
in Manchester.
May 21, 2017, Kelowna,BC-via Prescott
“Wherever you have friends, that’s your country. Wherever you receive love, that’s your home.” Tibetan proverb quoted by the Dalai Lama in The Book of Joy (I highly recommend this book!) This quote brilliantly summarizes my experience of life with and as an exchange student. Half your heart has moved to a new location.
May 21, 2017, Prescott-
Yesterday could have been seen as somewhat of a bust.
I didn’t spend all that much time at a memorial picnic.
I felt there were some serious issues of trust,
coming from some of the people closest to the man,
in whose memory we were gathered.
Earlier, I had been at a place where trust HAS been earned,
and, in honour of my maternal grandfather,
enjoyed a Chicago-style Polish Sausage.
I never met Papa, in this life,
but his forebears hailed from Silesia,
when it was German turf.
There was, then, as now,
a great deal of interplay between German and Pole.
So, Polish sausage, with sauerkraut and Dusseldorf mustard, it was.
There was great food at the picnic, as well,
and the Mariachi were heartfelt in their performance.
It was a magnificent tribute,
frayed only by that lack of trust,
something that the honoree would never have countenanced.
I moved on, and read, just this morning,
a horoscope that told me,
those who hurt you were doing the best they could,
under the circumstances.
None of us, really, are ourselves,
in the wake of shattering loss.
I wasn’t, from 2011-14.
A lot of people were hurt,
in the wake of my mourning.
Some have never forgiven;
most have moved on.
Last night,
I happened on a troubadour.
Her message, sung across the miles,
to the one man she loves with every ounce of her being,
was just how lucky he made her.
The audience, mostly late middle-aged couples,
heard it in their hearts, too.
I know that feeling, so well.
My spirit angel was one of a kind.
She said to us, to me, if you’re struggling,
hang on. It’ll all work out.
She sang of falling gently,
as she did for the man who waits for her,
back in Cape Cod.
Enjoy the accompanying message, from Monica Rizzio,
and if you’re ever in Cape Cod, catch one of her gigs.
May 20, 2017, Prescott-
My spirit got me out of bed at 5:45,
just because this time of year,
with work winding down,
and the relative relaxation
of June approaching,
fills the spirit
with affirmation.
It’s easy to get off track,
when competing agendas,
of straight and narrow,
clash above my head.
This morning,
there is no such noise.
The lively Farmer’s Market
is always good for
several minutes of relaxation,
and live music,
even if one has to sit
on a curb,
as the tables are occupied
by people I’ve not met.
I’m just not so forward, yet.
My shyness goes back
a long way,
but no matter.
Let everyone
just enjoy themselves.
I think of a little girl,
whose name I know not,
who greets everyone
at school with
a hopeful smile,
and those she trusts,
with “Good Morning!”
Would that we could
all bring ourselves
to do the same.
I think I am going to buy
and put up, a hummingbird feeder.
It’ll be by the front window
during June,
and again from
August, forward.
I think I am
going to get rid
of lots of other stuff
in June,
and again in August.
I am going to make
Superior to Globe,
my getaway mainstay,
from September to May.
There is no romance,
that’s not the point.
There is intense spiritual energy,
vortical sustenance,
in many parts of the Southwest,
but especially along
that Copper Road.
These are my thoughts,
in this Saturday morning world.
Now it’s time to do a few errands,
pull a few weeds,
and eat a hot dog,
in honour of Armed Forces Day.
Happy Weekend, one and all!
May 18, 2017, Prescott-
“The girl doesn’t want to be saved”,
said her lover’s brother to her lover.
That was from a TV show.
A girl who works
to save herself,
tells me, regularly,
“I’ve got this, Mr. B.”
So she does take care of herself,
and is the singular
real success story
of this year’s efforts.
I am close to
a woman who,
many years ago,
was in a car, which
burst into flame.
She survived,
and made a life
for herself,
and raised
a formidable
family.
She’s Nana to
several grandchildren.
The burning car
did not stop her.
My wife suffered
increasingly,
as years passed,
and kept on,
bearing and raising
the only child
she could have.
The wheels of
misfortune,
burned hotter,
yet she rose
higher,
and earned
three advanced degrees,
in her time.
The other women,
I have been honoured
to call friend,
in the years since,
got past the burning car,
and saved themselves.
That’s what makes them.
May 17, 2017, Prescott-
In my twelve years of public education, 1956-1968, there were mostly competent educators, a few misfits and twelve stand-up, top flight professionals, who either were my teachers of record or served as mentors beyond the immediate classroom.
One, Miss Bernis Hanlon, passed on, over the weekend. She was my fifth grade teacher, and one of two at the Felton School, Saugus, MA, who went above and beyond, when it came to building character. It was largely Miss Hanlon’s influence that brought me out of my shell, had me at least approach a modicum of competence in a few sports and join the Boy Scouts. She taught us that boys and girls, working together, accomplish three times as much, as the genders working separately. She taught me that having a then little-known disability (mild autism) was never an excuse for not doing one’s level best. She built on the framework which my third grade teacher, the then Miss Joanne Nugent, had started.
Fast forward, to 1966-67, my Junior Year at Saugus High School. I had survived junior high school, the awkwardness, the quirky behaviour, which had generated taunts from otherwise good people, and the fires of our eighth grade year. Only the stalwart protection of Mr. Paul O’Brien, who died earlier this year, and Mr. Ron Ahern, and the character education of the late Miss Gladys Fox,kept me on an even keel. I had endured inept teachers, in three of my freshman classes. I had mastered grammar and punctuation, with the guidance of Miss Miriam Kochakian, as a Sophomore. It was the junior year that brought Mr. John Quinlan and understanding of Algebra, Mr. Bernard Hussey and a stellar United States History class, Mrs. Lillian Pittard Bisbee, and love of prose, and the renewed mentorship of Miss Hanlon, by then a colleague of Mrs. Bisbee and a full-on enthusiast of poetry and drama. The two ladies set the stage for Mrs. Katherine Vande and the best creative writing instruction I have ever had (Senior English).
Miss Hanlon was an integral part of that A-Team of mine, and I can’t imagine how my life would have played out, without her presence. I know she is smiling down on all of us whom she loved, with that reassuring, infectious Irish grin.
May 16, 2017, Prescott-
Some say there are giants
buried in the earth.
They say this explains
the great mounds of Ohio
and Cahokia.
The giants,
the story goes,
fouled the planet,
yet also built the Great Pyramids,
and dug the canals of Arizona.
They built Stonehenge,
and arranged the boulders
at Carnac.
These giants,
their chroniclers say,
were evil.
If this is true,
I’m glad they’re gone.
I had a dream once,
that I was in the presence,
of such a giant.
I had the opportunity
to torture him,
to inflict
extreme pain.
I declined.
Loathsome as he seemed,
he was a creature of God.
It was the Almighty’s call,
as to his fate.
The giant
and his own captors
were puzzled by my response.
I went my way,
in peace,
and the giant fell,
of his own weight.
This is the way of the Light.
Those who carry darkness,
find it the most unwieldy
of burdens.
May 15, 2017, Prescott-
There was no obligatory Mother’s Day post here, this year. The Second Sunday itself was largely taken up with funerary rites. Mom got a call from me in the evening, though two earlier attempts were made. She’s on the move yet, during the day, so evening always seems to work best.
She loves the roses, and will hopefully have some idea of what I can do, come July, regarding helping to renovate our family home of 62 years. Those are more welcome gifts than tying up the phone, which she finds tiresome, after ten minutes or so. Perhaps the best gift I can give her, though, is maintaining a positive attitude. It’s gotten her through nearly nine decades, and keeps her on top of what goes on, day by day.
My second brother, also a model of positivity, came through today’s medical procedure, ready as ever to get back to taking on the world. He helps guide the company that produces some of Boston’s finest frankfurters (“hot dogs” is not the term of choice there).
That news is indicative of this month: Warm and cool days intermingle. Death and suffering are dovetailed with love and recovery. Years ago, my over-correcting, on a California surface road, almost derailed our pending marriage, but warmer hearts and cooler heads prevailed. Fifteen years later, I had walking pneumonia, which took well into June to disappear. Now, twenty years further on, I am in the penultimate week of a challenging, but largely successful, academic year, and my first full-time stint since 2004. ( A brief internship with a rather mercenary “social service” agency, in 2009, hardly counts.)
May, 2017 has met its Ides, and the year as a whole is moving along, much faster than the previous two. I wonder what Quantum Physics has to say about such things.
May 13, 2017, Prescott-
Another long-suffering soul has gone home.
His first comment to me,
thirty-six years ago,
was to not soak a tub of beans overnight,
unless the plan was
to stay up and watch them.
This, as we saw that someone had
done the opposite.
The ground was littered
with soft pintos.
Ants were emerging,
to savour the feast.
His last remarks
to his family, were
that he wanted to go home.
Yesterday afternoon,
he did just that.
In seventy-five years,
Moses Manybeads Nakai
had been a steadfast believer
in the Oneness of Mankind.
He married a young nurse,
who had come to the Navajo Nation,
to serve both the Dineh and Hopi.
They raised two daughters,
both of whom are
college-educated professionals.
Moses went many places,
in his life,
from Samoa to Alaska.
He always came back,
though,
to his beloved Dinnebito.
It was there that his father
practiced traditional healing.
It was there that his mother
made the best mutton stew
in the universe.
It is there that his sister
still lives,
with her husband and family,
living the traditional herding life.
Moses left us,
while in the comforting environs
of Montezuma Well.
It gave him solace
to know that
there is a deep connectedness there.
Only days ago,
a rare red snapping turtle
emerged from the well.
It had navigated the channels,
of which we seem to know little.
Moses knew,
and the Navajo people know,
quite a bit about such things.
One more bit of connectedness
has now gone through the veil.
I trust
that I will hear from you,
again soon,
my friend.
Embrace the Light.
May 12, 2017, Prescott-
On an insight received today:
Your shout at me
was really at him.
Your scream ricocheted,
way back to that day.
I kept you in,
and kept you safe,
He kept you in,
and scarred you for life.
The life I want to give
back to you,
little man,
is that which he stole,
is that which you
deserve.
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