Author Archives: Sagittarian Seeker

An Eastward Homage, Day 7: A Paris Walkabout- Part 1, Tuileries

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Posted by on in Travel

I had started Monday, June 2, intending to tour the Louvre.  Several things transpired which made that not practical for this morning, so I switched Monday’s plan with Wednesday’s.  Thus, I spent 2 1/2 hours on Monday morning, walking Tuileries, the gardens and sculpture areas which were the grounds of the Bourbon dynasty’s Paris place of residence. Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette were confined here, after the Revolution of 1789.

Confinement is a relative term.  The expanse that is Tuileries fronts a greater expanse, that we know today as the Louvre.  Here are some scenes from this fine garden area.  Actually, this statue of Jeanne d’Arc is across the street from Tuileries.

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The scenes below are in the park, though.

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I thought about not including the sculpture below, after being attacked online, as a “misogynist”, earlier this evening.  You know, though, unless a WOMAN comes on here and says that’s how she sees me, I’m not going to change who I am.  A man calling me “misogynist’ is like a white person calling another white person a racist, or a straight person tripping out on another straight’s “homophobia”.  I’m saying it here, all people are beautiful in the sight of God, and using terms of endearment towards people of the opposite gender is not wrong.  Both genders admire each other’s physical features, and both genders, at least among those of good will, value the WHOLE of another person.  THAT is what I believe;  end of rant.

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This lawn evoked “Alice in Wonderland”.

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This grove is indicative of the actual forest of the Bourbons’ time.

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Next, I will share the rest of the walk, at Place de la Concorde, along the Seine and at the Tour Eiffel.

An Eastward Homage, Day 6: To Paris, With An Absent Crowd

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Posted by on in Travel

Sunday, June 1 was one of those days that starts out with everything going like clockwork, hits about five rough patches, and then ends with everything silky smooth.  I had no trouble checking out of Q Greenhotel, rode the tram into downtown Frankfurt with a Sri Lankan-German taxi driver, who had the day off (Please, no “Busman’s Holiday” jokes) and enjoyed a leisurely continental breakfast at the Hauptbanhof (Central Train Station), before boarding the train to Paris.  It left a few minutes late, but I was just fine with that, as there were only three of us in the second class train, clear to Saarbrucken.  Here a few of the things we saw, between Frankfurt and the French border.  First, auf wiedershehn to Frankfurt, my first European host since 1982.  You have set the tone, and Europe is less daunting, even for someone like me.

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Forty minutes out, we came to Mannheim.  I was expecting a fairly large contingent of American servicemen boarding here for Paris, but few people came on board.  Here is the Maritim Hotel, one of Mannheim’s grandest.

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West of the large city, the mountains of Baden-Wurttemburg began to show themselves.  There were some mountains in the area, as is pretty much true of all of lower Wurttemburg.  Hikers were out in force, as were filmmakers and barbecue grillers.

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Here is a small parish, east of Kaiserlautern.

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The row houses of Saarbrucken were the the last notable site in Germany, before we crossed the border into France.  It was here that we were joined by about 30 people, most of them academics, who were coming from a conference in Koln.

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I arrived in the Gare du Nord District, in good enough time to get  on my way to my hotel, or so I thought.

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With good directions as to the AREA, I made it easily to Montmartre, which I THOUGHT was the location of Monte Carlo Hotel. I was reassured by a local resident at the base of  the hill leading to Eglise Sacre Coeur that that was so.  All the locals I asked, atop the hill, thought differently.  Turns out the Rue Faubourg Montmartre is a LONG way from the district of Montmartre.  A kind Tourist Office clerk set me straight, though sans street number.  I eventually got that, in a hotel in the 9th Arrondisement (District), that was about four blocks down from the Monte Carlo.  At 5:30 PM, I checked into my cozy room, which is about the size of my old bedroom when I was a kid.

Well, since I was up top on Montmartre, here are three scenes from there.

First, these are the steps.  There is a transom, which I at least used going down.

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Next, here is the goal of the steadfast among us:  L’Eglise Sacre Coeur.

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Lastly, here is the view from the top, which spared me from climbing Le Tour Eiffel.

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I finally made it to Monte Carlo at 5:15 PM.  The first thing I did, once checking in, was find all the remaining hotel telephone numbers on my list.  The Monte Carlo is the last photo on this set.  I know I said two posts would be up tonight, but downward and sleepward.  See you manana.

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An Eastward Homage, Day 5: Germany’s Tank Engine

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Many people have told me that Germany is a squeaky clean country, almost obsessively so.  That is no longer the case, at least with the obsessively clean part.  Around the Central Train Station, at several bus stops, and in some of the large apartment blocks, cleanliness remains a constant challenge.  The CST , or Hauptbanhof (Hbf), is still a very stately place, and a beehive within this greater beehive that is Frankfurt am Main.  Get used to my using the local names of things.  Everyone I have met here breaks out their English, as soon as I speak German (or French, for that matter,) with my North American accent.  It’s important to go halfway with these things, if we are ever to really understand one another.  Still and all, I will carry on here with putting the local term side by side with our English colloquialism.

Here is Frankfurt Hauptbanhof, inside and out.

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I spent several minutes, once disgorged from the speedy train from Frankfurt International Airport, trying to find the bus stop for the route given me at the Information Booth. This is where my fatigue kicked in, and it took three other people being asked, before the Captain Obvious scenario played out, and I was en route to my Saturday night lodging.  I left my bags in the hotel’s safe, and was registered by a rather saturnine desk clerk.  When I returned from the mandatory hiatus, at 2 PM, I saw why:  A group of 75-100 university students were at the hotel for the night, with all that could imply.  The men outnumbered the women, almost 3:1, but I would hear no hanky-panky or excessive noise, during the night.  These folks have built a culture of deepening true friendship, and I hope it continues, without being side-tracked by “real world” distractions.

I walked to the Frankfurt Messerhaus, the city’s major trade and exhibition hall.  On the way, I discovered a small wursthaus (sausage restaurant), run by a couple who are German/Polish.  They have been here in Frankfurt for twenty years, and have watched the world come to Germany.  Indeed, an African woman runs a grocery store, a Sri Lankan man has driven a taxi for  35 years, and East Asian people are everywhere.  We are at the point where EVERYONE is EVERYWHERE, and that’s a good thing, to me.

Anyway, here is the hotel where 200 kids, and I, stayed last night.

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Many German homes maintain the “fairy-tale” quality that places them in so many of the “original” Grimm tales.

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That quality is enhanced by the evergreens nearby.

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Any economic powerhouse needs good parts for its engine.  These parts in Frankfurt are largely provided by the work done through the auspices of Frankfurt Trade Center, or Messershaus Frankfurt.

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Here is a look at downtown Frankfurt’s skyline and a couple of more light-hearted scenes.SAM_8882

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With that, I am tired by today’s long and full series of life lessons.  Tomorrow, a tale of transition between cultures.

An Eastward Homage, Day 4: Leaping over a Very Large Pond

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Posted by on in Travel

I had a close call on the night of May 29, just my error of being an inch or two to the left of being in good visual command of oncoming traffic.  No one was injured, no cars collided or left the pavement.   I just needed a reminder of a very important point: Little things matter.

I would be reminded of that fact in two unrelated incidents on Sunday, but getting back to Day 4.  I awoke, with sufficient alacrity that I was going to drive the rental car successfully back to its lot, without damage to any car or any driver or passenger.  I forewent breakfast, save a cup of coffee, until the job was done.  The big thing is, I found how easy it actually is to get to Wyndham Gardens Hotel, near Newark International Airport.  DON’T LISTEN TO VOICES OF DOOM!  “OMG, you’re going to make all those quick turns, with those impatient people, at rush hour?”  Yes, I did, and here’s how to get to the place, if you ever need or want to, from west of Newark:  Take I-78 east to Rtes 1 & 9 South, stay to the left, with the commuting traffic, and exit at Haynes Road.  Take International Way, past the Park and Ride turnoff, and go into the Wyndham parking lot.  Yes, you need to take an entry ticket, but leave it in the car.

I made it to each of my flights, with time to spare.  Briefly, Newark to Montreal left on time and was smooth.   My seat mate was very quiet and seemed as if she were heading towards something WAY out of her comfort zone.  Montreal to Ottawa, via a twin engine prop, left ten minutes late, due to the lingering threat of lightning.  We had it easy, staying inside the terminal.  Three planeloads of passengers and crew waited outside, in their planes.  Once the threat passed, they came in, en masse.  I got a chance to buy a new ballpoint pen out of the deal, by virtue of having time to do an OJ and bound up and down the stairs, with full backpack and bag.  I am getting a lot of weight and endurance training on this trip.

The food benefits are not bad, though.  At Ottawa International Airport, I enjoyed a BLT, with mozzarella sticks on the side, plus the usual fries.  Not Health City, exactly, but satisfying, after a long morning and afternoon.  When I off-handedly remarked to myself that someone had left their receipt unsigned, on the table, Charles, the server, deadpanned:  “That would be the person who sat here before you.”  His service after that little quip was exemplary, though, and was a good send-off to Frankfurt, in its way.  So, too, was this:

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Ottawa has accented its heritage as a gateway to the north country, but with none of the “redneck chic” hokum that undercuts the real fineness and beauty of the area and its people.  The city is no longer in anyone’s shadow.

I had, as seatmates on the Ottawa- Frankfurt flight, a Turkish couple and their college age daughter, who were polite and cordial, but mainly kept to themselves, chatting in German about a variety of subjects,  My TV kept me plenty busy, as did writing in my pen-and-ink journal, which accompanies this blog.  On hand were an episode of “Rookie Blues”, a Canadian police drama, and a film version of the story of Ste. Jeanne d’Arc, whose real story I will view in Rouen, this coming Thursday.  Finally, I was a silent viewer of  “Ronin”, a Keanu Reeves action film, with him as a samurai rebel, or so it looked from where I sat.  Both “The Messenger”(the Joan of Arc bio) and “Ronin” were tales of righteous obsession, juxtaposed with naked self-service and aggression.

MORNING!  The light greeted us sleepyheads, while we were still over England, and just about all of our section had the progress of the flight on our screens, in an “Are we there yet?” fashion.  We arrived, had a smooth landing, went through immigration, in perfunctory fashion, and I was out on the streets of Frankfurt by 7:10 AM, Western Europe/ West Africa time.  It did take me another hour or so to locate the bus to the area where my hotel is located- and that’s a story for Day 5.

An Eastward Homage, Day 3: The Sum Total

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Posted by on in Personal goals, Travel

I had no trouble getting up the morning of May 29, having briefly risen at 3 AM, said a prayer in honour of Baha’ullah’s passing, 122 years ago today.  I thought later that morning of my youngest brother, Brian, who would have turned 50 today, had he not suffered for 22 years and died after 29 of them.

Today on the ground, however, was about the family Norm Fellman left behind, especially his wife, my mother-in-law.  The family is at their south Jersey home, in a place called Vineland.  I had a heart-wrenching visit with my MIL, and will not go into detail as to all she, or her daughter, shared.  .

What were nice were two things:  A walk around their immediate neighbourhood, and the London Broil dinner we had, fresh off the grill.  Wynne and David have worked hard at making the home nice for her devoted mother.  Here are some scenes of home and neighbourhood.  The sum total of this whole trip is the devotion of family.  I have my part to share in this.  It is to visit those sites which Norm and his comrades-in-arms sanctified with their sacrifices, whether by dying or by suffering both internal and external wounds.

For most of us, wounds are hard to conceal.  The pain of loss is felt by all, including the family’s last surviving dog. The window box, though, is a spirit lifter, which Wynne has prepared in her father’s memory.

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We did get a change of scene, by walking about the immediate neighbourhood, which is filled with both architectural and botanical gems.  The first we saw was a red maple, spread fully with stunning foliage, long before Fall.

Here’s a little rabbit, just before Willow charged at it.

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The great forests have nothing on Vineland.

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One of Vineland’s most stately Georgian era homes is now an attorney’s office.  Note the special feature in the chimney.

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Back at the house, it struck me how it is similar, in some respects, to the old house at Longmeadow Farm.  Mom remembers the farm as their strongest dream, and greatest success, as a couple. Joseph Campbell advises us to “Follow your bliss.”  This, the Fellmans did, and in spades.  Now, all of us are protected by a cadre of angels.

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An Eastward Homage, Day 2: Broken Stuff

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Posted by on in Travel

My flight to Newark, from Phoenix via Charlotte, started inconspicuously enough.  We flew out on time (11:40 PM) and I got about four hours of sleep on the first leg of the trip.  My seat mate was a quiet young lady, also concerned with using the dark stretch of  the route for a restorative sleep.

We got to Charlotte on time, and I enjoyed a light breakfast.  Leaving the Queen City, though, was definitely an exercise in patience.  Technical safety issues plagued the lead flight attendant, and it took an hour to get her situated in a flight-worthy jump seat.  No one squawked, for after all, everyone needs to both feel and BE safe- on any public transport.

The delay gave me another hour of sleep, and the flight itself, still another forty-five minutes’ worth of shuteye.  My seat mate for this leg was a very pretty, engaging young lady, M, who is an artist living and working in Manhattan.  We discussed the September 11 memorial and agreed that a Gift Shop, in such a place is a bit questionable, and certainly difficult to pull off.  Time will tell on that last point, but it is not my idea of a proper memorial.

We left Charlotte an hour late, so we arrived at Newark an hour late.  Then, the conveyor belt bringing our luggage to the carousel, broke.  It took about twenty-five minutes to get it up and running again, but this break down in the system got very old, fast.  M had enough on her plate, and I was getting very tired and wished for one thing:  My motel room in Parsippany, and hot running water.

“Not so fast!”, said the Universe.  After I had my luggage in hand, including the “carry-on” that I checked-in, for the Team, at the last minute on Tuesday night, it was time to go get my rental car.  Of course, the Advantage Car agency is NOT at the Rental Car Lot.  It is at  Wyndham Gardens.  It was amazing, the way one thinks all similar companies ought hang together in one spot, but it seldom works that way.  There is always at least one outlier.  Advantage is a nice agency, and gave me a lovely nearly new compact car, for which I asked.  One thing on which they were off was the set of directions for getting on I-78 West.

I never did get on the 78.  The 1 & 9, secondary highways that somewhat parallel the 78, got me to NJ Highway 7, which got me to  Hwy 23, then back to the 46.  I had nothing pre-arranged today, but I am still concerned with there being a striving for accuracy in direction-giving.  The directions I was given had me headed to the Holland Tunnel.  Granted, the Wyndham Gardens is off the beaten track, as Newark area hotels go, but hey, if I can navigate to Red Roof Inn,  in Parsippany, with no GPS- the car rental people can give accurate info.

It ended well, though.  I enjoyed a great corned beef Reuben at Clifton Bagels and Deli, en route to Parsippany, reveled in my return to humanness, once at Red Roof Inn, and had one of the best Fujien-style Chinese meals in memory, at Qin Dynasty, next to Red Roof Inn.  The cook threw bits of well-cooked squid in with my cashew chicken, bringing back fond memories of our Jeju days.

Tomorrow, after paying  early morning respects to Baha’ullah, on the 122nd Anniversary of His Ascension, I will head down to Vineland, NJ, in mid-morning, and visit with Penny’s Mom and sister for a spell.  Their spirits are up and down, as might be expected, but they are far from broken.  Northeast Jersey, you aren’t broken either- so believe in yourselves, and get it together!

An Eastward Homage, Day 1: A More Timely Departure

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Posted by on in Personal goals, Travel

This morning began as most days do:  Prayers, errands and reading the paper, over coffee.  The usual stuff took on more urgent tones, around 9:30, and there were bills paid for June and July, brief visits to a couple of friends and last-minute mailings of various items.

I made the walk to Hassayampa Inn, and a rendezvous with the airport shuttle, in plenty of time this afternoon.  This gave me an excuse to photograph the Hassaymapa’s lovely east courtyard garden.

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The shuttle ride was smooth and swift, and provided a chance to hear the insights of a local pastor/psychologist.  Like me, he is urgently concerned with the mental health and well-being of  the surviving Prescott Hotshot, and of the families of the men who were killed, nearly a year ago.

Sky Harbor Airport was crowded and bustling, at 6 PM.  I passed through security without fanfare, though a book I had just finished, “Touch the Top of the World”, by Erik Weihenmayer, got lost in an unguarded moment.  Whoever has it now is in for a treat.  Erik, a blind man, has successfully climbed peaks as disparate as Everest, Mt. McKinley, Aconcagua, El Capitan and Kilimanjaro, with various teams.   His story should prove inspiring to anyone, regardless of one’s personal challenges.

My new read is “Bunker Hill”, by Nathaniel Philbrick.  This will keep me enthralled, during several flights in the days ahead.  Sky Harbor at night is a different place.  As happens elsewhere after hours. those waiting for night flights gather as a sociable family, of sorts.  The insular crowds of the daylight hours have gone on, and the Redeye Crowd are pumped for their flights into the morning sunlight, or California midnight, as the case may be.

I whiled the waiting period away at Olive and Ivy Marketplace, a nice little deli and pizzeria.

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Well, kids, it’s time to put this computer away, and mosey on down to the gate.  The Queen City, Charlotte, NC, is next on the itinerary, then on to Newark, and a day or two in the familiar climes of the Garden State.

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It Wasn’t the Women’s Fault

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Posted by on in Social

“There’s a killer on the road.  His brain is squirming like a toad.”- Ray Manzarek, “Riders On The Storm”

I love women; always have.  Even when they were girls, I thought they were beautiful.  My Mother was my first best friend, and I tried to be hers.  My relationships with girls and women ever since have been friendships first, and, in about five or six cases, they were more than that.  The friendship, then and now, is the, most important element.  It is what held my marriage together, even when I was making a mess of my life, in the late 1990’s and early 2000’s, and it was what gave Penny some semblance of quality of life, in her declining years, later in that merciless decade and in the first fourteen months of this one.

I’ve had friends of both genders, and of all ages, before and since.  Beautiful women are among my best friends now.  There is no romance, to cloud the vision, and when a few of my women friends have started seriously dating, I am among the first to cheer them on. It’s a happiness thing, a means of some fulfillment.  More important to me are their dreams, their goals.  Don’t get me wrong.  If someone special comes into my life again, it’ll be just fine.  This is not a priority right now; that’s all.

It was therefore with profound shock that I read and viewed news reports of the carnage in the Isla Vista area of Santa Barbara, on Saturday.  The deranged assailant/killer blamed rejection by women- in a pseudonarcissistic rant, which fooled no one. Santa Barbara was, and is, one of my favourite places in California.  I was last there in 1997, but keep abreast of  more seemly events there, through an online friend who has ties to the area.  It is, like many places in our modern society, a fast-paced and sometimes anonymous community.  When making connections, one must be patient with those around you.

I am somewhat of an outlier, myself.  I do not blame anyone else for that.  I live comfortably, I make friends more easily than I used to.  In my youth, I did not have women throwing themselves at me.  I was considered “an individual” by those of the elite who were thoughtful.  I was seen as a bit weird, by the rest.  That was never something for which I cast blame on others.  We all rail at our plights, now and then, and I did, just before meeting Penny.  Figuring that it was the way I was going about meeting people that was the problem, helped me right my social sailboat.

So, buying expensive clothing and driving a BMW didn’t work for Elliot Rodger.  Is anyone surprised by this?  If anything, it confirms what one of my beautiful friends from the early 1970’s had to say- “No personality, no date.”- Lisa was gorgeous, but never shallow.  Apparently, neither were the three young victims in Isla Vista.  My condolences to the families of the dead.  My entreaties to the Elliots who are still out there:  It is not the woman’s fault if she doesn’t find you attractive.  Each of us has a personality, and the tools for determining whether chemistry exists between us and others.  No personality match, no relationship.

This Memorial Weekend

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Posted by on in Personal goals

Memorial Day this year has a special poignancy for me, with the departure of my father-in-law on May 7.  We have traded Father’s Day, my in-laws’ wedding anniversary and his birthday for this special day of remembrance.  I am grateful for every year he was within earshot, a phone call away or a shoulder to lean on- though never to cry on.  Now, he gets to see us from a different realm, a more distinct vantage point.

Memorial Day has somewhat gone the way of other “Holidays” in America.  We are bombarded with offers we “can’t refuse”, many are expected to work through the weekend and others just seek a chance to unwind, in their usual manner.  There is nothing wrong with relaxation.  We all need it.

It has been gratifying, though, that in communities both large and small, people seem to be returning to things that matter most during this weekend of reflection.  Yesterday, I went to the Phoenix area a day earlier than I had planned.  The young grandson of a long-time friend had died, in a tragic accident, the weekend before, and yesterday was his memorial service.  Such a vibrant, vital child was now with the Holy People and several hundred people came from all over Metro Phoenix, and beyond, to show their love.

The Christian pastor said it well- We know not why such an early death happens to a young child, but as a gardener chooses a variety of flowers for his bouquet, so does the Heavenly Father choose those of different ages as His angels.  We prayed, hugged one another, cried and laughed at remembrance of this beautiful child’s antics.  In the end, after a satisfying meal, nearly a hundred balloons were released into the air, in his honour.    The loss of a child is always jarring, horrifying, yet the send-off for a soul can be magnificent, and this was so.

I drove off, after the service, and paid private respects at Penny’s gravesite, and at nearby tombs of two other Baha’is:  Kenneth Jeffers, and the little boy’s great-grandfather, Bill Karnes.  Three undaunted teachers of our Faith, laid to rest in a triangle within several hundred yards of one another, and now they are circling around us all, in the spiritual realm.  The Messengers of God promise us this and it seems so, every day as I arise and every night as I get ready for sleep.

Today, I focused more on service close to home, pulling a dead tree branch back from its overhang over our north wall, where it jutted into our neighbour’s parking lot.  So, one less eyesore and safety hazard is in the way of honest people trying to earn a living. I made some progress on clearing brush and weeds along the wall and in front of the wooden sheds.  More needs to be done tomorrow afternoon, once Memorial Day itself has been observed at our Citizens’ Cemetery and in front of the VA Hospital, and I have visited some hospitalized patients there.

Time is now getting short, before I head off to what amounts to a memorial month- World War anniversaries in France and Belgium, a visit to my paternal ancestral city of Rouen, France and walkabouts in cities large and small in Germany and Luxembourg, as well as the aforementioned countries.  Part of my mind and heart will be watching what goes on here in Arizona, as the fire season continues to play out, in Flagstaff, Sedona and other towns.  My heart goes out to those who lost loved ones in Isla Vista, near Santa Barbara and to those dealing with extended flood emergencies in the Danube Basin.  I will have more to say about the UC shootings tomorrow.  Be safe, my friends and readers.

Time, Times and Half A Time

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Posted by on in Personal goals, Social

Rev 12:14″ And to the woman were given two wings of a great eagle, that she might fly into the wilderness, into her place, where she is nourished for a time, and times, and half a time, from the face of the serpent.”

It has been just shy of a year, since one of the most horrific events to befall my adopted town took place on a remote ridge:  The Yarnell Hill Fire, which claimed the lives of 19 Wildland Firefighters.  Every family left behind has suffered unimaginable grief.  A widow, just shy of 30 years of age, has the task of raising four children, albeit with a strong, emotionally-supportive extended family and an upstanding Faith Community.  For the past seven months, she, and they, have dealt with a bureaucracy and its supporters, whose mantra has been “Life happens.  Make do with what you have.”

Fine words for those who may have suffered through the Depression, by taking in laundry, picking weeds or digging ditches, but the world has changed a tad.  Much water has gone under many bridges.  The issue in this case, though, is that while all the crew members worked equally as hard as the next, only some, by the interpreted letter of the law, were well-tended by the system.  The rest were to find other means of support.

After 1 1/2 days of hearings, the regulatory authority in this case determined, by majority vote, that the young widow and her children were indeed entitled to full benefits, under the appropriate system.  Our system may be slow, may often need careful, patient action to correct its mistakes, but today is proof that it works.  Today is proof that, even in our times of instant gratification-or-nothing, not giving up is essential.

On a far different note, I came home and read a  lengthy rejoinder to a comment I had made, relative to the Islamic Faith.  The author cites chapter and verse to show that Islam is inherently evil, and that anything said to the contrary is naive and “PC”.  I will obviously have to do a lot of research before responding to the innuendo, just as the legal team which prevailed in this week’s hearing had to do an enormous amount of work, in righting  a serious wrong.

Saint John the Divine, in the passage above, alludes to a desperate soul getting assistance from unlikely sources, and in a most unexpected way.  Those with a stake in an established system will naturally do all they can to guard that system- be it a governmental structure, or a code of beliefs. We must also bear in mind that many a misguided set of beliefs or codes of regulations themselves are rooted in correcting both real and perceived injustice. The needs of the  weak, the suffering, and the pure in heart, however, have a far more powerful set of allies to meet them.  It just takes longer to address them fully.

I also note that another young family, on the other side of the country, received word that THEIR anxiety and difficulties will now also be relieved- on a long-term basis.  Time, and time again, we seek relief.  Never give up!