November 11, 2025- We were in the middle of the Veterans Day Parade, three vehicles representing the American Red Cross, in this largest such parade west of the Mississippi River. I chose to ride in the cab of the second truck, having felt slightly enervated when it came time to decide who walked and who rode. Coffee took care of that, so no worries-but I stayed in the truck. We were greeted by a slightly smaller group than I’ve seen before, but the cheers were no less fervent. It occurs to me that this is my penultimate Prescott parade, the last one will be the Christmas Parade on December 6. I will be a spectator for that one, which has its share of Santas, elves and Grinches. Rumour has it that there may even be a Krampus or two in the mix. Such fol de rol does not detract from the true meaning of Christmas, which is rightly focused on Jesus the Christ’s Message of peace. We do well to keep that message first in our hearts and minds, even in tough times like the one we are in now.
I didn’t partake of any of the freebies that are offered to military veterans on this day. Breakfast was at home; I didn’t really need lunch and I joined a regular group for Taco Tuesday, at El Gordo, which doesn’t offer any veterans’ discounts. My reasoning is simple-give the breaks to the homeless veterans-who shouldn’t be homeless. Use the resources available to help them get shelter and stabilize their lives.
I’m just glad to have been of service, and to have had my life stabilized by learning discipline.
November 8, 2025- Her voice carrying the strength of a gale force wind, Ember captivated those of us sitting in a half-filled room, for two hours of acoustic magic. She sang of the power of wonder, the animating force behind the songs that have brought her, and the band called Lake Francis Case (after a favourite vacation spot of her childhood), a seminal place in Prescott’s vibrant music scene. The group has relied upon live concerts, both with the full five members and the acoustic trio, for its appeal to audiences around Arizona. They will finally complete an album of recorded music, in the next several months.
Being able to wonder at things has largely powered my own life, even through adulthood. I don’t think I’d still be alive, if I gave in to jadedness or quotidian thinking. There is just too much that is magical in life, and worthy of being seen through almost child-like eyes. I guess that is what has kept me active, up early each morning, so often exploring both natural and urban settings. It has also kept me reading and seeking more information about various aspects of all layers of the world, of the Universe.
Curiosity has occasionally gotten me into trouble, but that difficulty has usually been short-lived, and as can be seen, I’m still here, no worse for the wear. There is, after all, so much more to be explored and to be learned. Wonder escapes those who sit still.
November 3, 2025- I revisited a small regular gathering today. One usually consistent attendee was conspicuously absent. It was explained to me that this person is on an inward journey and does not wish to be with anyone, for the time being. While this news is a bit disconcerting, I have to wish friend well.
I have rarely, if ever, ensconced myself in seclusion for very long. There was a period of time, after Penny passed (2011), when I kept a lot to myself, but there were always other people in the house and I never really felt like I was cocooning. In truth, though, old habits and ways of viewing the world, some of which I had held since adolescence, were being shed. Wrapped up in contemplation, I came out of that period, towards the end of 2014. During those three years, there were a few adventures and a couple of colossal missteps, that might have wrecked my life, and those of a few other people, but for the Grace of the Almighty.
We are each ever in a state of flux, with changing circumstances that could either propel us forward, or upend everything we know and cherish. Sometimes, life brings us a little of both. I see that this might be happening to said friend, and can only be a well-wisher. My own life, in the next six weeks, will see the conclusion of one great chapter and the beginning of another, perhaps grander. I will not be cocooning, though.
November 2, 2025- The meeting, held unusually on a Sunday, was going like clockwork. Out of the blue came a rash of cursing and threatening language. Those involved knew fully well that they were disrupting the meeting next door. They made it clear that they didn’t care-and further, that no one was going to tell them to stop arguing and leave the building.
The right to use foul language and disrupt business, however, seems to end three feet from one’s neighbour’s face. In a privately-owned facility, moreover, a person may be compelled to leave, at the discretion of the building’s owner, or her/his lawful representatives. This is what ended up happening today. The person responsible for keeping order in the meeting, aided by two other officers, escorted the four disquiet people out of the building. There was some discussion outside, but the four went their separate ways, apparently understanding that attracting the attention of the police was not in their best interests.
This is my own main argument for not letting alcohol, or any mind-altering substance, affect one’s ability to carry on with life. I was, at one time, a terrible drunk, and I will leave it at that. I seldom, if ever, though, threw my weight around. On the few occasions that I did so, I was readily called to account, and there are those in my past who are all too happy to remind me of that time when…. So be it. Life is a series of mishaps and, hopefully, of lessons learned.
As a society, though, we still have drug allusions that are used to extol the virtues of a legitimate food or beverage-i.e. “It’s better than crack”. Oh? How do you know about crack? The fact that such a horrible substance is seen in a positive light gives me the willies. Disquietude can be found in any nook and cranny of society. Dealing with it, rooting it out, takes fortitude-and persistent effort-the kind that does not allow for a positive view of an addicting substance.
November 1, 2025- One of the things that appeals to me most about Home Base I is that not a whole lot changes, on occasions when I am away-even for almost two months. A restaurant closed, with the promise of re-opening in another location, “soon”. Taking its place was a high-priced establishment that serves dinner only, five nights a week. No other changes are evident, though.
I dropped in at one favourite stop, and found the owner, a friend, uncharacteristically angry. It turned out that someone reneged on a promised gig, for the flimsiest of excuses. I would have been furious. I think my friend handled it rather well, considering.
Today was All Saints Day, mostly celebrated heartily in predominately Roman Catholic countries. It is a national holiday in the Philippines and in several Latin American nations. In Mexico, it dovetails with Dia de los Muertos (Day of the Dead), which is more prominent in Mexican culture. I was present for the holiday in Manila, in 2022, even if I was merely wending my way to Aquino International Airport. It was still a day when many Filipinos were on the move, both domestically and internationally. To me, sainthood is relative. Only a few souls have neared perfection, in this mortal life, and even fewer have attained it.
I have a long way to go, but that’s okay. I am giving life my best shot.
October 30, 2025- Rosie was as effervescent and perky a server as I’ve seen anywhere, gladly guiding me to a seat, for a late breakfast, at the fairly new Cowboy Kitchen. She and another young lady were taking turns as hostess and serving tables around the large, almost horseshoe-shaped, cafe that used to be called Lone Spur. It’s no Zeke’s, but Cowboy Kitchen is a new gem in town, thanks to the energetic young people who are running the show. The food is also quite good.
I am in a different situation now, simultaneously carrying on my Home Base routine and preparing to move to Texas, towards the end of December, to be with my little family, as our angel will arrive then. I’ve been told, by many, that grandparenthood is a sublimely beautiful experience. It will be for me; I can already feel it. It’s almost as if I already know her, even with two months remaining until she is born.
This is a mild, dry time of year, usually for two or three weeks, until the late autumn storms come, bringing with them the hint of what winter holds in store. This year, the atmospheric river may well visit the Southwest with a fair ferocity. For now, I will enjoy the moments that our late “Indian Summer” is bringing.
(I will be writing two posts per day, until the dateline of my post meets the actual date on which it is written. Stay tuned.)
October 29. 2025- The longest journey I have ever undertaken, across the largest number of countries, would be meaningless, but for the people I met along the way, who made Europe in general feel like a giant Home Base and certain places feel as homey as Prescott, Oley or Grapevine.
Above all the rest was my Nynashamn family: Sarah, Matias and their children. First Camp was my lodging, and it is salubrious, the perfect blend of forest and sea. My heart’s home, though, was that little apartment on a hill, Home Base #4.
Not far behind were Boris, in Split, with his hospitality and knowledge of the Dalmatian coast and its antiquity; Adis, in Sarajevo and Srebrenica, bringing the struggles of the Bosnian people into stark relief, without vilifying the present Serbian people who live among them; Lisa, Pupak and Alan, in Findhorn, giving me Home Base # 5, with the energy and spirit of the northeastern Scottish coast, mixed with a sense of mysticism; Sian, in Fishguard & Goodwick, going out of her way to make sure I felt welcome; Badi, in Reykjavik, taking time form his schedule to welcome me to the Icelandic Baha’i Center; Sasha, in Vienna, guiding me around the Baha’i National Center and the volunteers at the Baha’i House of Worship, Langenhain. My gratitude also to the Baha’i friends of Dublin, for including me in the Twin Holy Day celebrations and to Carmel, who came from Derry and met me in mid-town Dublin, albeit for a short while.
People I met randomly, along the way, also stay in my heart: The concierge at START Hostel, Keflavik, who did my laundry on short notice and summoned a taxi driver, to guide me around Thingvellir (Junction of two tectonic plates) and the geysers that are continuously spewing forth, not far from there; the driver himself, with his deep knowledge of the Reykjanes Peninsula; servers who made me feel like family, at Gray Cat, Bao Bites, Reykjavik Fish (Reykjavik) Take Off Bistro(Keflavik); Brod & Salt; Grain Cafe, Meno Male, Mahalo and La Solo (Stockholm); Espresso House, and Taco Bar(Nynashamn); Wisby Hof, Cafe Amalia and Visby Ost (Visby); The Rib House (Helsingor); Mr. Pho (Copenhagen); St. Christopher’s Cafe (Berlin);Pryztanek Pierogarnia (Krakow); Chata na Zaborskiej (Oswiecim); Konoba Fratelli (Split); Restaurant Sebilj (Sarajevo); Station Bar and Cafe (Ljubljana); Stadtalm Naturfreund Restaurant (Salzburg); Eden Hotel Restaurant (Munich); Joe Molese Burgers and Sandwiches (Heidelberg); Main Kai (Frankfurt am Main); Hotel Strasbourg Dining Room (Strasbourg); The Coffee Shop (Metz); JOST Hostel Italian Cafe (Le Havre); IBIS Hotel Breakfast Bar (Portsmouth, UK); Cote French Cafe (Salisbury, UK); Rose and Crown Inn Dining Room (Goodwick, UK); Coast Hotel Dining Room (Rosslare, Ireland); La Rendezvous and Ne Zha (Dublin); NUVA and Burgers & Beers (Edinburgh); The Captain’s Table (Findhorn); The Pheasant Inn and The Flying Egg (Harlington). There were also the homeless couple on the train from Newhaven to Portsmouth, the tourist office clerk in Budapest,the souvenir vendor in Heidelberg and the admission clerk at Christ Church Cathedral, Dublin, who showed particular concern fro my well-being.
HI Loft (Reykjavik); First Camp (Nynashamn); Hotel Skandia (Helsingor); Generator Hostel (Copenhagen); St. Christopher’s Hostel (Berlin); Villa Centro (Oswiecim); Red Radisson (Vienna); Stadtalm Naturfreund (Salzburg); Alora Heart of Zagreb and Mickey Mouse Apartment (Zagreb); Hotel Pax (Split); Guest House Yildiz (Sarajevo); Lotte Backpackers Hostel (Heidelberg); Hotel Strasbourg Montagne Verte(Strasbourg); Hotel Escurial (Metz); Rose and Crown (Fishguard & Goodwick); Home from Home (Rosslare) and Argyle Backpackers Hostel (Edinburgh) were standout lodging facilities. While I had no substandard experience anywhere, those are places I would recommend to the adventurous soul.
There are seven weeks of gratitude, in a few long paragraphs. I have taken today off, pretty much, other than going through two boxes of mail and old newspapers (The delivery man and the front office at Gannett don’t seem to communicate much). Two months are left to me, at Home Base Prescott. More about what lies ahead in November, December and beyond, in the next post.
October 28, 2025- I am back at Home Base I. The story of how I got back, after seven weeks on the continent of most of my forebears, is a reflection on our times.
Up early, and bidding farewell to Apple Guest House, I walked to Harlington Village and found Premier Laundry. The kind proprietor took in my dirty clothes and said he needed two hours to get the job done. It was 9 a.m., so I spent time in the village park, doing devotions and reflecting on the journey now coming to a close. Breakfast then came, at The Flying Egg Cafe, a “breakfast all day” establishment that is popular with locals. The owners, from Pakistan, did a fabulous job with my “Airport Breakfast”, a lighter version of such full English offerings as “Lumberjack” and “Builders” breakfasts. I relaxed for about 1 1/4 hours there. By the time I got back to Premier, the clothes were ready, and I took time to repack my backpack, in th estore’s foyer.
It took two buses to get from Harlington to Heathrow Terminal 5, but I was there in short order. Check-n and security were easy, and I was in the cavernous area near the gates, by noon. Giraffe World Kitchen was too enticing to pass up, so I ordered chicken quesadillas, as today was a Tuesday, and that usually means Mexican food. (I knew British Airways would give us two meals, but there was no telling, at this point, how long it would take to even board the plane.)
Once the flight was posted, I made my way to the proper gate. Then, the first announcement came-“flight delayed by ten minutes”. It is never ten minutes. Any reason to set back a flight means that either there is a mechanical issue, a software problem or something is amiss on the other end of the flight. Two hours later, the boarding process began. The overly officious young man at the desk, who had taken to snipping at various passengers, was sent somewhere else and a group of young ladies processed us with fair dispatch. I later learned that there had been a back-and-forth between Heathrow and those responsible for air traffic control assignments in Washington-with our British hosts insisting on knowing for certain that the plane would not have to circle around Phoenix or be directed elsewhere, once the plane was near destination. That is what took two extra hours.
The flight itself was lovely. I got four hours of sleep, watched three films and enjoyed both meals. My seatmate, from France, has a home near Phoenix and told of his enjoyment of the Arizona desert. The first film, “The Salt Path”, with Jason Isaacs and Gillian Anderson, told the story of a chronically ill man and his wife who lose their home to speculators, then embark on a trek along England’s South West Coast Path, starting at Poole and eventually making their way to Penzance, Cornwall. It is a story of a terminally ill man’s triumph, through both the love of his wife and his gradual recognition that he had the strength within him to overcome the hardest adversity.
Next was an Indian film, “Bramayugam”, (The Age of Madness), which told the story of a folk singer who wanders into a mana (mansion) that is inhabited by a master, his cook and a “trapped” goblin. The “master” is fact the goblin, who has trapped the real master and has him in chains. The cook is in fact the true master’s illicit son. The story is classic good vs. evil, with a twist at the end.
The third film that came my way was “Doctor Sleep”, the sequel to “The Shining”. It tells the story of adult Danny Torrance, who has grown up struggling to hold down a job and even to live a normal life, following the death of his mother by natural causes, when he was 20. He continues to exhibit the “shining” (extreme intuition), and becomes connected to a young girl, who has an even stronger version of the shining. They are targeted by a group of vampires, who seek to dominate through gradually killing off anyone with such abilities. The story follows a predictable path, but not without a great deal of loss on both sides.
After “Doctor Sleep” came sleep of my own, then “dinner” (at 6 p.m., MST, over the plains of North Dakota and eastern Montana). We landed around 8 p.m., gathered luggage,then went through a surprisingly easy inspection by ICE and walked back to Terminal 4. I caught the 9:20 p.m. shuttle, having missed the van on which I was originally supposed to ride. As luck would have it, there was one seat left on the 9:20, and the person who reserved it was himself on a delayed flight. Thus, I rode back to Prescott and was at Home Base I by 11:45.
“Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end”- Dan Wilson. “Closing Time”
October 27, 2025, Harlington, England- “Wonder of wonders! We actually have a train that stopped in York!” The solid lady, nearly out of breath, had just raced across the station in the historic northern English city, after the earlier train that she and her husband were planning to board was canceled. She told me that only the train between Edinburgh and King’s Cross, London has York as one of its stops and not all the time.
I bid mar sin leat to Edinburgh, finding my way easily to Waverley Station from the Victoria Street bus stop. The train to King’s Cross was right on time for departure, with stops at several north English and eastern Midlands cities. There were no stops in the south of Scotland, so our first was at Newcastle-on-Tyne. The only things I knew about the now fairly updated city were that it was not the place to be shipping coals (Tyneside was a major producer of the mineral) and it is the home of Eric Burdon and the Animals, a well-known ’60s band. Newcastle became the only place where I snapped a photo, on this leg of the journey. Here is the River Tyne.
River Tyne, south of Newcastle
Most of the rest of the trip featured tracks with high berms, factory districts and tunnels. York might have been an exception, but I was engaged in concern for the hapless fellow passengers who were trying to catch their breath. By the time all were settled and happy, the great cathedral had long passed from view.
I have rekindled an appreciation for couples, along this 7-week journey. I find most Europeans along the way are quite happy in their relationships. This has been true across generations. It was nice to see a relationship form on this train, as a Mexican gentleman sat next to a Filipina woman and engaged her in a lengthy conversation. They left the train at King’s Cross, hand in hand.
Once at King’s Cross, I followed instructions and sought the Elizabeth Line. An older couple from the Midlands were headed in that general direction, so I tagged along with them, and got on the line to Reading, which let me off at Hayes-Harlington. From the bus stop, I joined a group of college students who were headed to a hostel, just not to Apple Guest House, my lodging for the night. My trusty locator got me to the front door of Apple, only to have no one answer the door bell, nor was there any message with a numerical code.
Piffle! The only thing to do was go to dinner. So, back I went, backpack, roller case and all, to The Pheasant Inn, just up the street. The host had seen this situation before, and calmly seated me at an inside table, I fetched an N/A and the counter attendant took my meal order. He also gave me the WiFi password, the subtle hint being that now I should call Apple’s contact number and leave a message, at least. Perfect! Within minutes, I had a message that served up the numerical code for the front door. Dinner was excellent and the ambiance of The Pheasant was as welcoming and relaxing as any place I’ve been, these seven weeks.
When I got back to Apple Guest House, the door was open, as a food delivery man, who also lives there, had just returned from a run. I made my way upstairs, and settled in for the last night in Europe. Apple’s rooms are small but comfortable, so I promptly left my initial annoyance in the dust bin.
Tomorrow, a long flight will take me back to the lovely Southwest.
October 23, 2025, Dublin- The status of churches and cathedrals in Ireland, in terms of denomination, often needs a scorecard. Some great buildings are under the Church of Ireland. Others are under the Roman Catholic Church. One parish, St. Audoen’s, has one of each. (The Protestant building is under renovation.)
Into the morass of denominational turmoil, in the mid-19th Century, stepped the figures of al-Bab and Baha’ullah, Whose birthdays, close together on the Badi (Persian Lunar) calendar, we Baha’is celebrate in back-to-back Holy Days. The concept of Progressive Revelation explains the differences among the Faiths of the past and offers a way for those of all Faiths to reconcile.
Our observance of the Birth of Baha’ullah took place in the cafe of the National Gallery of Ireland. The arts are celebrated and honoured in the Baha’i traditions. So, in an environment of splendour, some 25 of us sat and discussed various topics of interest. Following the celebration, which of course included a slice of cake and beverage, of one’s choosing, some of us went to enjoy other rooms of the Gallery.
National Gallery of Ireland
The paintings I found of interest included John Lavery’s “Her First Communion”, Jan De Beer’s “The Flight Into Egypt”, Adam Pankraz Ferg’s “A Landscape with Figures and Horses”, Jack B. Yeats’ “Above the Fair”. None of these may be shown outside the Gallery, save on its website. Thus, there are no photos, even with watermarks.
Upon leaving the National Gallery, I headed to Dublinia, a museum dedicated to the interaction between Celts, Vikings and Norman French, over the centuries, in the development of the city.
Viking information, at Dublinia
As we learned in Reykjavik, and further in Stockholm, the word Viking most likely refers to one who lives near or comes from an area near, a vik– a bay or cove. Over time, it came to mean anyone who came to the British Isles or mainland Europe, from Scandinavia or Denmark.
Here is the basic truth about the founding of Dublin.
Origin of modern Dublin
The Vikings found two Celtic settlements in the area, one on each bank of the River Liffey.
Ath Cliath (u-thuh clee uh) and Duiblinn (dove-lin).Interior of a simple peasant hut, during Viking ruleA street scene, in 14th Century DublinLooking down from the steps to St. Michael’s Tower, Dublinia
Looking at my watch, it did not seem wise to go up the steps to St. Michael’s Tower, as I normally would. There was a meeting with an old Baha’i friend, at a hotel across town, in a relatively short time. Iveah Gardens Hotel was shown to me as being at a major intersection in central Dublin, except that the people who worked at that location had never heard of it. They directed me westward, towards “a big building, that you can’t miss”. In other words, they couldn’t find it on their GPS, either.
I eventually did find an Iveah Court, an apartment building. The guard there thought it was back towards where I had just been, “but in any case, just walk straight, no turns”. Two inquiries later, I came upon Iveah Garden Hotel. It is indeed an elegant place, but is discretely signed. The young lady for whom Penny and I were mentors, in the 2000s, had grown into an elegant and well-spoken teacher of the French language, the promulgation of which was one of her principal reasons for being in Dublin. We got to catch up on the course of our respective lives, for twenty minutes in the hotel tea shop and fifteen minutes walking towards her work site.
Bidding farewell to C, I headed down Cameron Street, towards Temple Bar. I found Ne Zha, an intriguing Asian tapas cafe, which normally requires reservations. The owner found a stool, on which I could sit by the kitchen and observe the chefs at work. It was a fabulous small dinner that ensued.
Tomorrow, I bid farewell to Dublin and to Ireland, with its cousin to the northeast on my radar screen.
A Sagittarian Seeker 