Immortal She

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March 5, 2017, Prescott-

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The wind has blustered, all day.

It blusters, still.

The water level in the reservoirs is high.

Cottonwood Peninsula is inaccessible.

Far away, across the Pacific,

a young man celebrates turning thirteen.

North of where he revels in his adolescence,

another young man, nearly sixteen years his senior,

thinks of his departed mother.

Gone six years now,

she lives on in memories,

and watches us all,

from the Placeless beyond.

I am asked,

‘Have you moved on?’

I am asked,

‘Are you not lonely?’

Behind those queries

is always the thinly veiled,

‘How about ______?’

‘What’s wrong with _______?’

The truth be told, though,

I am secure.

Other times, I may think,

‘ I have this blotch on my cheek’.

‘I’m missing a few teeth’.

I may say, under my breath,

‘I have no means to support another person’.

The truth be told, though,

I am secure.

She, the immortal spirit,

would let me know,

if my life should change.

She would let me know,

if someone waits in the wings;

just as she let me know

that she was waiting,

so many years ago.

 

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Photos are of an at-capacity Willow Lake.

Clear As Mud

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March 4, 2017, Camp Verde- One of the features of Arizona life, that escapes many visitors, is the seasonal vitality of our rivers.  After taking part in a Red Cross service activity, I headed to Clear Creek Day Use Area, which offers access to the West Clear Creek, as it heads southeast, towards its eventual confluence with the Verde River.  As you will see, the creek’s name, this time of year, is a misnomer.

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There was a party of above 18 people, including two small children, preparing to raft West Clear, as I arrived for a short hike along its west bank.  All were well-suited up for the experience, and I wished them safe passage.  Below, are several things that awaited them.

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Of course, there was plenty of open water, behind this particular tree; but you get the picture.

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One of the attractions here, in calmer weather, is the jump-off point.

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Some people just figure, in the dryness of September and October, that it’s no big deal to leave a memento of industrialism.  More’s the pity.

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Once back on drier terrain, I made note of the footbridge, built by the Civilian Conservation Corps, way back in 1940.

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There was still some energy left in me, so, despite it being the period of the Baha’i Fast, I took in a short segment of Copper Canyon Trail.  The last time, I walked the north segment, which leads to I-17.  This time, I headed southward and up a small mesa.  It is not an especially spectacular trail, but it’s nature and I practically had the place to myself.  An old cowboy, passing by, made note of my Red Cross t-shirt and remarked as how such charities are in debt, before going his way.  While that may have been true, at one point, I’m not so sure that our donors put up with such, anymore.

 

Anyway, here are a few scenes, which a couple of herds of cattle and I shared, along the trail.  There wasn’t much water in Copper Creek, but it was clear.

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It wasn’t long, before I headed up the two switchbacks which led to the mesa top.  There are, actually, about five such mesas, rising up out of Copper Canyon.  The scene in the near distance, is Clear Creek Village, just south of Camp Verde.

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It is possible for the discerning eye to see traffic, headed northbound, on I-17.

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Despite the winter’s continued scenes of bareness, the promise of Spring is evident, in these wild dandelions.

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So, there goes a very full day, spent with our beautiful eastern neighbour, the Verde Valley.

Sixty-Six for Sixty Six,Part XIII: Civility

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March 4, 2017, Camp Verde-  I began the day, helping with a Red Cross Home Safety activity, in a neighbourhood near the main fire station, in this town that lies over the Black Mountains and some forty-five miles east of Prescott. We worked with town firemen, installing smoke detectors along a street that abuts the fire station.  As I had done a similar task, late last year, in Sedona, the event today went very smoothly.  The firemen are also past masters at installing the devices, which made it smoother still.

After that, I took a couple of hikes, one along the Verde River, at Clear Creek Day Use Area and the other in Copper Canyon, which lies southwest of Camp Verde.  More about each of those, tomorrow.

Today, though, comes the matter of civility. We have, before us, a sitting President accusing his immediate predecessor of conducting surveillance on his signature office building and residence, during the brouhaha that masqueraded as an election campaign. Said predecessor, speaking through his aides, denies the accusations. Time, and investigation, will, of course show who is being truthful here.

We are in the throes of incivility, and have been, for some time now.  Consider:  It was four years ago, last December, that 26 people were slain in an elementary school.  Two days after the carnage, unknown militants threatened to kill both the survivors of those victims AND a man who had taken other children into his home, and reunited them with their parents.  The trolls were insisting that all the above were part of a Federal conspiracy to confiscate weapons from private citizens. Never mind that seven of those families were headed by members of the National Rifle Association, and owned weapons.

Consider:  Survivors, loved ones, of American military heroes, have been, and are still being, attacked by uncivil people-of both Alt-Right ( in the case of the Khan family) and Far-Left (in the case of Karenn Owens) political bent.

Consider:  Trash-talking by adults about, and towards, children is almost de rigeur, online and in the check-out lines of stores; in public and, no doubt, in trusting private.  Children have been treated like mini-adults, by the media, for some time (Children of colour, in particular, are most often referenced by surname, in the mainstream media).  Many parents, citing “freedom of speech”, are following suit.

The way adults treat one another is often little better; thus, the reverse role models, who give kids the notion that no level of profanity, no level of insult, is too extreme.  To the innocent mind, this seems like a perfectly acceptable way to be taken seriously, and thus, filth streams out of many children’s mouths.

I was raised to be civil, and I know I am far from alone. Anonymity is cited as the reason for road rage, Internet trolling, stalking, and bullying of all stripes.  It is not valid.  We can see those at whom we honk horns or flip the bird, and whose vehicles we tailgate or cut off.  We can read the responses, see the fear or sadness of those we attack on social media.  We can feel the trepidation and notice the unease of those we try to intimidate.  The bully knows what is being done.

It all goes back to our self-image.  If, deep down, one doesn’t feel he/she matters, then no one else matters, either.  The fact is, each of us does matter, or we wouldn’t be here.  Each of us does have a mandate to be civil- regardless of the false mirrors we see on television, in the movies, on stage and the messages we hear on radio or see online.  Each of us could learn from those whose opinions differ from ours, because each of us has a portion of the truth, within our psyches.

Each of us could choose to be civil.

 

 

Sixty-Six for Sixty Six, Part XII: Healing

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March 3, 2017, Prescott- 

Some kids asked for Beatles music

In particular, “All You Need Is Love”

Teacher put on Scottish folk tunes,

and bagpipery, instead.

The focus was on painting Tartans,

on sheets of felt.

Emotional healing is the hardest,

because the medicine is so fleeting.

Painting, music and dance

are the remedies she has chosen

for our charges.

Some resist, because the pain

is just too deep.

For me, there is also

the element of fasting.

I kept it simple,

explaining that I simply

don’t eat lunch,

until after Spring Break.

It is a far less onerous

mental task,

now,

then back in the days

when I needed to cast off

my consuming ego.

Most folks, though,

find healing begins

when they are seen and heard.

Sixty-Six for Sixty Six, Part XI: Purification

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March 2, 2017, Prescott-  

A handsome, smug man, in his twenties, happens upon a lovely woman, about his age, tries to get a date with her, and is rebuffed.  He stalks her, online, and screen-shoots photos she has posted on her social media.  He finds that, instead of going on a date with him, she went to a rave, at a converted factory.   Incensed, (no pun intended), he goes to the very next rave, finds her, and drops an incendiary device near where she is standing.  He has carefully jammed the nearest exit shut, the device goes off, and 39 people die, in the ensuing blaze.  The woman he wants survives, but is burned over 30 % of her body, and is blinded.

This was the gist of a three-part episode of Dick Wolf’s “Chicago” quadrilogy, which aired Wednesday evening.  It hit hard at me, for several reasons:

  1.  I have had a family member, by the grace of God, survive severe burns and go on to live a full life.  I could not imagine life without that family member.
  2. There was a time in my life, about seven years, when I was rebuffed by women, primarily because of my own awkwardness and quirky behaviour, not because of any particular flaw on their part.  I never harboured any desire for revenge against any of them, figuring we would each find our own special soul.  I did, and had thirty good years with her.  One of the women, I know for certain, also did and has had nearly 47 wonderful years, with a very good man. I’m willing to bet that a good many others have had fine relationships. I’m glad we’ve all moved on, in peace.
  3. I maintain that the worst human loss is that of a parent losing a child.  Thirty nine couples lost a child, in the triptych mentioned above.  My in-laws lost their daughter, nearly six years ago.  My mother lost a son, many years ago.  Some good friends have lost children, over the years.
  4. I know children, still of formative age, who show serious signs of heading in a sociopathic, or at least misanthropic, direction.  Good people, professionals, are doing all they can to head such a fate off, at the pass, in a manner of speaking.  Yet, we can’t save everyone.

This is the season when we Baha’is conduct a Fast, of nineteen days’ duration.  There is a physical component:  Able-bodied people, between the ages of 15-70, take no food or drink, between sunrise and sunset, during those nineteen days.  The more important spiritual component gives rise to examinations of self.  It is all about purification, as the season of Lent, which coincides with our Fast this year, does for Christians, when conducted at its best.  The self-examination aspect is what led me to share the above observations.

MisPriced

4

February 27, 2017, Prescott-

A little observation about the Academy Awards:

Seems there was confusion about envelopes.

Perhaps colour-coding is in order.

Colour was, in itself, not an issue tonight.

The ceremony was bathed in full Moonlight.

The auditors, though, remained in LaLa Land,

jarred only by the stunned expression

on the face of Warren Beatty,

and the concern for justice,

in the eyes of Emma Stone.

Mahershala Ali calmly waited his turn,

knowing, in his heart of hearts,

that the prize was his own.

The gauntlet has now been run,

and the people have won.

Oscar is no longer a grouch,

the voice of reason has spoken out.

Facing reality has trumped sweet escape.

Several notions of beauty,

now leave the beholder agape.

Sixty-six for Sixty Six, Part X:The Hotshots Trail

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February 25, 2017, Yarnell-

A lone cactus wren croaked, as I came up the first stretch of hillside, on the way to the spot where, on June 30, 2013, nineteen formidable men met their doom, while working to safeguard this small community at the southeast edge of the Mohave Desert.

I encountered a moderate trail, whose increase in elevation is tempered by long switchbacks, frequent stops to read and ponder each of 19 memorial plaques, set in stones along the way.  Wooden benches and informational signs also provide respite, for anyone who finds the place more strenuous than anticipated.

Yarnell Hill abounds in granite boulders, much as does the back country between here and the east side of Prescott, nearly 50 miles away.  One of these boulders resembles a praying monk.  It is one of the first sights greeting the hiker, on the way up from the trailhead, 1 1/2 miles southwest of Yarnell’s center.  He stands, as lonely as the wildland firefighters must have felt, on that blazing final day of June.

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Each man left people in grief- parents, a loyal woman, young children, siblings and entire communities, from Prescott itself to places as far afield as Oregon, Idaho and North Carolina.  Each man is immortalized by his own plaque.  Crew Chief Eric Marsh founded the Granite Mountain Hotshots, and was responsible for the recruitment and training of the men he led, for ten years, in the aftermath of the Indian Fire, which came close to obliterating downtown Prescott, in 2002.

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I know some of the family members, of four of the Hotshots.  Each of the families has a solid work ethic, reflected in what their sons, brothers, husbands and fathers gave, however long their terms of service were.

The terrain that presented itself, that blustery, torrid weekend, was no gracious host to anyone hauling 50 pounds of gear uphill.  It was, as I say, of moderate difficulty for me, with my 15 pounds of day pack, and for those between the ages of 15 and 75, who I encountered along the way.  A couple of ladies said they found the trail scary.  I could easily figure out which places to which they were referring, though long ago, I stopped fearing secured heights.

Following, are some scenes of just what the wildland fire crew faced, in terms of terrain.  Three red-tailed hawks circled, above this rock.

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Notice the charred mesquite, above, and the manzanita, below.

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Unlike today’s hikers, the Hotshots had to pick their way up granite-strewn hillsides.

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The town they were working to save survived, and will be a more vigilant place, with regard to fire safety.  Like the boulder below, Yarnell shows a large, if broken heart.

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I continued from the main trail’s overlook, at the two-mile marker, to the memorial at the fatality site, another 3/4 mile to the east. At the site, 19 cabions encircle 19 crosses, one for each man who gave his life that day.  Some mementos have been left here, as well as at the flagpole that stands 500 yards to the east.

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I sat here, in the wind, contemplating the meaning of sacrifice, while a lone woman circled around the memorial, lost in her own thoughts.  It is said that the mystery of sacrifice is that there is no sacrifice.  That can be understood, but, I would venture, not easily by a small child who wonders why Daddy went away.

Long may the heroes comfort the grieved, from their own private Valhalla.

 

 

Ever-standing

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February 23, 2017, Prescott-

Over the past three years, I have been roundly excoriated by the following:

Alt-right extremists

Far-left extremists

Pedophiles

Misogynists

Strict disciplinarians

Free-child advocates

Other Baby-Boomers

Gen-X’ers

Crabby children

Cranky seniors

I must be doing something right.

Whatever, I’m still here.

 

Sixty-Six for Sixty Six, Part IX: Relativity

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February 22, 2017, Prescott- 

In honour of George Washington and my paternal grandmother, (who would have been 118 today), this day was devoted to keeping my nose to the grindstone and making certain that the disparate, discordant and mutually-dissociated elements that come together, to make up my work day, were harmonized enough so that all were safe.

Lead teacher’s concerns are not the same as those of our students.  I have to listen to and answer her, while insisting to the children that they may NOT kill or maim one another-even if that means getting between them and restraining the wiry, determined revenge-seeker.

At bus time, our kids all got onto their buses, in short order- a welcome change of affairs. My other charges, the rest of the school’s bus riders, experienced a different scenario. There was unusually heavy traffic, parent-wise, today and for the first time this year, there were not one, but two, backlogs of cars.  I kept things going relatively smoothly, nonetheless.

General Washington barely knew a moment’s peace, until he retired to Mount Vernon.  My Nana only knew tranquility after her youngest son was married, and she was able to hold court on Sunday mornings, with us regular visitors in attendance.  I know peace and quiet, from 3:30 on, so by comparison, my days are sweet.

Sixty-Six for Sixty Six, Part VIII: Thin Skin

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February 21, 2017, Prescott- 

The young fitness center worker,

seeing people of a certain age,

makes a stink face and hides,

when one of us approaches the desk.

A boy of ten,

never acquainted with people of colour,

inveighs about how ugly he thinks they are,

until warned by the teacher

that this is an outdated way of thinking

and is a serious offense.

The President of the United States,

fearful of those who have differing opinions,

rallies those who care for him,

and succeeds in deepening divisions,

which he swore to end.

I go about my life,

needing no approval from anyone,

except my God.

Sticks and stones…..