September 22, 2023- It seemed the interior lights were stuck on and visions of a dead car battery floated in front of me. I headed to work anyway, with a TPM light also pinging on, as the SUV rounded the corner on Pleasant Street. Earlier, other indicators of dearth appeared, on my e-mail serve. The message that I got was “Carry on, and be patient. Solutions to these piddly matters will come, after your day with the children is done.” So it was-tire pressure issue was resolved first, then the lights were found to be due to the overhead switch having been hit, inadvertently. There was no dead battery in the offing.
Hurdles come to us, whether one is rested or tired, insightful or insipid, calm or rattled. Like anything else, what we do with them is a measure of judgement and character. There was a time in my life when the slightest hiccup assumed great urgency. You can pretty much figure out how effective my problem-solving skills were at that time.
I mention this primarily because, in teaching developmentally disabled children, as I was today, the greatest gift we can impart to them is how not to be rattled by frustration or delayed gratification. The brighter a developmentally-delayed person is, the more the challenges posed by those circumstances. ,
On this day, in the little classroom, four of us were pretty much one-on-one-and it worked out all for the best. There were no major meltdowns, for which the regular staff were grateful and the children actually showed retention of a skill or two-things that are not possible, if there were any kind of tension.
The catered meal, of Cajun food, was also all for the best-perhaps too much so. Oh well, I have the weekend to work it off.
September 18, 2023, De Queen, AR- “Sit wherever you want, hun. What can I get you to drink, my love?” Each person who came into Huddle House, in Corinth, this morning was greeted thus endearingly by the lead server, Ryanne- and what better way is there to start a Monday morning? She recounted to me, at table, that her morning had not exactly been a time of sweetness and light. She was not, however, about to let before-work woes ruin her day at the diner, or anyone else’s. As she worked, calls came that conveyed the message that solutions to the mishaps were in progress. I get the sense that her attitude towards life generates such positive outcomes.
The next stop, on a horseshoe-shaped ramble, was Tupelo- birthplace of Elvis Presley. Though I did not make a stop at the King’s boyhood home, getting the ambiance of the place and a sense of how it affected his musical trajectory came from stops in downtown and at Ballard Park, in midtown Tupelo. There is a tolerance of individuality in Tupelo- borne out by the boutique, Main Attraction, where I purchased a latte from a flamboyant, but rather soft-spoken entrepreneur- whose main wares were women’s clothing and New Age items, such as Buddha tea mugs and incense burners. There was also this mural, honouring the spirit of the region’s indigenous Chickasaw people.
Mural in downtown Tupelo
There are scattered memorials to the area’s Confederate dead, but these are tempered by acknowledgement of the contributions of African-Americans, including this marker at Tupelo National Battlefield. The battle that took place there, in 1862, set the way for both the Federal occupation of Vicksburg and Sherman’s March to the Sea, by disrupting Confederate supply lines.
Honouring the brigade of United States Colored Troops, for its efforts at the Battle of Tupelo.
The Lee County Courthouse, like others in mid-sized southern towns, has its dome. This construction feature is designed to convey the majesty of law. That majesty has come hard, only gradually overcoming the resistance of many residents to a more inclusive community ethos.
Lee County Courthouse, Tupelo
The Deep South is changing, though, and I felt only welcome and conviviality on this initial swing through the heartland of the Civil Rights struggle. Ballard Park, where a lone Hispanic woman was jogging while pushing her infant in a stroller and feeding the gaggles of Canadian geese that dominate the south shore of the lake, is a case in point.
South Shore of Ballard Lake, Tupelo.
At some point in the not-too-distant future, I will make a music-centered return visit, and the actual Elvis Presley Lake, as well as his boyhood home, will be part of that itinerary. There is resistance in the Universe to my being on the road, though, epitomized by the current financial downturn, so I have to be patient and perhaps focus more on working, to rebuild my nest egg. A lot of people have goals that face similar straits; yet on we go.
Despite having those thoughts, the road continued-to Philadelphia, MS, scene of the murders of three Civil Rights activists, in the “Freedom Summer” of 1964. At that time in my life, a revulsion towards authoritarian Communism existed side by side with an equally strong conviction that African-Americans were being grossly denied full citizenship, especially in the South, but also in my hometown, north of Boston, where few Black people were allowed to live, at the time. Debates on the subject were civil, yet I was regarded as somewhat naive in “the way life really is”. How times have changed!
I felt a rather dark energy, approaching Philadelphia. It was almost as if the ghosts of the murdered were trying to communicate. When I got to downtown, and parked my vehicle, beginning a short stroll, I was greeted warmly by a well-dressed gentleman, who somehow recognized me from who knows where. He shortly went about his business, and I made note of Neshoba County Courthouse, and the water tower that draws from a reservoir near where the three men were buried. Downtown, for the most part, was quiet.
Downtown Philadelphia, MSNeshoba County Courthouse, Philadelphia, MS.
Headed out of town, towards Jackson, I found myself behind several school buses. One of them led the way, for about eight miles, and I noticed rambunctious behaviour through the opaque rear window, similar to the shenanigans of countless children and youth, the world over.
It was also quitting time in the state capital, so when I got to the seat of Mississippi state government, I had a “state business only” streetside parking space to myself-for five minutes, under the watchful eye of a Capitol Police Officer. Here, then, are the Mississippi Capitol and a nearby First Baptist Church.
South side of Mississsippi State Capitol, JacksonFirst Baptist Church, Capitol Hill, Jackson
The road west and north passed a sizable back-up, across I-20, near Tallulah, LA, where I stopped for dinner and heard details of the overturned truck, from another driver who witnessed the rollover. Leaving the Interstate, just shy of Shreveport, my memory of map study when I was a teenager and young adult came in handy-and up through Springhill, into Arkansas, it was. I passed through the place called Hope, in which Bill Clinton still believed, on the night of his election to the Presidency, in 1992. Respite, though, has come, at the Palace Hotel, in this little town of De Queen, just shy of the Oklahoma border. I was the last guest checked in for the night, before the clerk decided he’d had enough, and locked the office door.
The Universe may be resistant, in some ways, but there are plenty in it, who are looking out for me.
September 11, 2023, Kittery, ME- I rang the doorbell to an old friend’s home, in mid-morning, and was glad that he was home and agreeable to a visit. He looked slightly better than when I last saw him, four years ago, though he is moving slowly. We reminisced, as always on such visits, about the old neighbourhood, whose make-up has gone from mostly European ethnicities- Irish, French, Italian, Polish and English, to largely Brazilian and Cuban. He, unlike me, still lives in the house of his youth-inherited from his parents, whom I adored.
Many of the gripes he had with others are similar to behaviours he has himself exhibited on occasion, as have I. Not answering one’s phone, in times of busy-ness, or while driving (not everyone has Bluetooth), or when someone has already called three times in a span of two hours, is an understandable situation-though it probably hurts the caller on some level.
The things that rankle us about others are also the things that most bother us about ourselves. Mother gets irritated, when I am too fastidious about placement of napkins or eating utensils on a table, but guess who taught us that etiquette? I don’t like getting three Messages a day, from the same person, generally about small matters-but I have been known to Spam people about things that are so crucial to me. Life is certainly a big opaque mirror.
The rest of the day was spent with Mom, though I got in a half hour of exercise-as Saugus has a Planet Fitness. I also had dinner with my brother and sister-in-law, before heading up here, to a cozy room, in rainy Maine. In between, there were a trio of Lifetime movies, each with similar plots and dialogue to the other two. It makes Mom happy- and I recall the devotion she had to the repetitive activities of ours, as toddlers. It’s different in tone and intellectual level, of course, but letting her routine be repetitive is only fair.
September 10, 2023, Lynnfield, MA- Mother turned 95 today. The first thing out of her mouth, after acknowledging her age, was “As long as I get to 103, I’m good.” Why 103, is between her and the Divine, but I’ll take it.
I am quite a bit like her-she used to call me “Gustav the Stubborn”, and she can be obstinate, though less so than in her younger years. We each adapt to broader change quite well, though, so figure that out. We each have a more romantic view of the opposite sex, and she has always encouraged us, her sons, to be forthright in our feelings towards the women in our lives-the way she was with Dad and expected him to be, in return. We are each comfortable in our own skin and can happily spend lots of time alone-she prefers television as a backdrop, while I am usually with my nose in a book. She enjoys my activities and goofy sense of fun, though she herself tires easily-and is grateful for us being able to wait on her. Considering all she did, for us and for the extended family, over seven decades, it’s beyond fair. Most importantly, Mom taught us to keep the needs of others on the same level as our own. This has informed my own social engagement.
So, let 98, 100 and 103 come along. As long as mom is in good health, we, her four children, are blessed.
September 8, 2023, Bedford, PA- It could have been any small town hot dog stand, in any small Midwestern town, with a perky, in-charge high school cheerleader cooking, serving and keeping interlopers out of the kitchen-a perfect after-school job. Dogs On The Run, though, is in East Palestine, Ohio-site of a severe toxic waste spill, following a freight train derailment, in February of this year.
I went to E.P., this afternoon, to see how well the town is doing, and how much of the recovery is being done on its own. It was gratifying that a team of EPA workers was having lunch at Dogs, the same time I was there. They were a relief team, who had just arrived, and were being briefed by the section chief. The spirit in East Palestine seems cautiously optimistic. The Feds were a bit wary of my taking photos around town, but I took none of them, or any other people. The citizens were polite and appreciated getting support.
EPA is still in the game.A great place for lunch, and a one-woman show.THIS is the attitude I found, all over town.
After bidding farewell to a visibly tired clerk, at Best Motel, earlier this morning, I headed to one of Toledo’s classiest breakfast/lunch establishments: Reynolds Garden. The place was packed, at 9 a.m., and the hostesses, servers and bussers were in constant motion. The corned beef hash was excellent, and Garden has heart- a little girl was confused, on her way from the restroom to her table, and was calmly and quietly helped to find her mother, by the lead hostess.
East Palestine has a roadmap to recovery-defining “Strong” through hard work and a solid community spirit. So, too, does Imperial, PA, where police and fire units responded swiftly to a road emergency, near a Day Care Center, as a dozen drivers, including me, were turned around, out of the way of the operation. So, too, does Toledo, and North Platte-and every community where “strong” has been attached-including New York on 9/11/01.
My faith in the human spirit has been re-affirmed, with every mile traveled and every hour passed.
September 3, 2023, Black Forest, CO- The ball cap fluttered down from the dining hall balcony, with a gleeful pair of bright blue eyes following its progress. While the adults and older kids were busy talking among themselves, the three-year-old weaved his way across the balcony and down the stairs, retrieving the cap-and exploring the recess under the platform. He was soon joined by an adventurous friend, who came back out, a few minutes later, to announce the presence of Black Widow spiders in the alcove. Jack was unperturbed. The main thing was, his curiosity was satisfied.
He, and the other children present at our gathering, are creatures of agency. They have been granted such, by the wiser among the parents, grandparents and those of us who are uncles and aunts-either familial or by dint of inclination. We claim agency for ourselves as well-so it is natural that this be extended the future generations. The old saw, “Be kind to your children. They will be choosing your nursing home”, comes from far deeper sentiments. I can’t imagine being less than kind, or acting unloving-not in the past forty-four years, not even in the days of my own intemperance, impatience and insecurity.
Our lives matter, from the inception, the conception, of our souls. They matter until we have drawn our last breath, and long afterward, as the memories of those lives inform the decisions and actions of our descendants-both biological and societal.
Thus will Jack, and his friend, Astrid, and all those older and younger than they, make their will known, triumph from the decisions they make that are wise and forward-thinking and learn from those of their decisions that are not so.
It was this set of thoughts that rang most prominently, throughout a far more welcoming and affirming day at camp.
August 29, 2023- The little boy held five crayons in each hand, carefully divided between primary and secondary colours. He sang a song of his own composing, in a rudimentary form of English, the words’ meanings known only to himself. The melody, though, was pleasant and his whirling dance juxtaposed nicely with the song. This occupied him for almost forty minutes.
Creativity is a bounteous thing, and we can learn more ways in which it may be applied, by almost anyone-regardless of their intellect or state of mind. With regard to the former, my youngest brother, with limited speaking ability, nonetheless would raise a cup of juice and call out “Achtung!”, wanting those at table to join him in a toast. (He got this from watching episodes of the TV show “Hogan’s Heroes” It sounded to him like something that would be a nice cue for a toast.) Mentally challenged people are among the most loving and generous of all humans. With regard to the latter, mankind has shown both a limitless capacity for generosity and inclusivity; on the other hand, whole museums have been devoted to the Holocaust of World War II and there are Museums of Torture in a good many cities across Europe, as well as in Chicago.
Among the items in my own wardrobe is a cap that features a wraparound shield, covering the sides of my face, my ears and neck. Of course, some find it amusing, but I am pleased with what it does for my dermatological health. Whoever designed this cap has done fair-skinned (and a goodly number of swarthy people) a huge favour, in this time of approaching Solar Maximum.
We will each have moments when we may be called upon to devise a novel solution to a problem, large or small. Let it then be a time when one’s own dance of ten crayons comes to fruition. May that dance be a peaceful, regenerative one.
August 25, 2023- The little boy greeted me, in late morning, with a warm hug. The angry woman, later in the evening, with much the opposite.
Like so many days, this one began light and airy-and ended with a thud. I woke, sensing that the energy around me was shifting in a positive direction and that, in advance of the journey that begins at the end of next week, my path in what remains to be done here in the meantime would be free of obstacles. The work day reflected that, with the children energetic and cooperative, and my colleagues just happy to see another Friday, though they do enjoy their work. Everyone likes a rest, or change of pace, after a week at a job well done.
I visited Rafter Eleven, and was treated like a king-an extra mocha java was delivered to my table, as a token of appreciation for consistent support of this marvelous enterprise, over the bottom of the past eight years. A little bee was also attracted to my light meal, and to the drink, eventually finding its way to the bottom of the glass. Unfortunately, the poor animal perished from the still icy condition of the vessel-or maybe from the caffeine.
After leaving my friend’s establishment, I chose to join an in-person meeting, instead of going back to Home Base and signing onto Zoom. The hosts and the presenter were congenial, and the information quite illuminating. Not everyone was glad to see me however, and after a fashion, I found it best to excuse myself and head out-easy enough to do, as it had been a long, if lovely, day up to that point-and I needed rest.
There have been, every so often, people in my life who do not take kindly to my manner of speech or style of explanation. I try to learn what I can from such a person, for a time, and if it makes me more well-rounded or expands my knowledge, so much the better. Style, however, tends to reflect the substance of a soul. An angry, wounded soul will be abrupt, castigating and intolerant. I have not done well, in the presence of such people and this evening was no exception.
For my part, I know that I do not think well on my feet at the end of the day-and frequently, I do not engage well in debate, even when rested. This means nothing to the disquiet person, and is often viewed by them as an excuse. The whole trigger this evening was my statement that I like to back up my comments with the words of Baha’u’llah or ‘Abdu’l-Baha, not as a proselytizing mechanism or as a substitute for good deeds, but as the glue that holds my own words and deeds together. That led to an outburst of anger, and I chose to leave, rather than exacerbate the situation.
For a time, once back in the apartment, I pondered whether this is an indication that my time here in this community is getting short, that maybe the bloom is off the rose and I need to move on. The counter to that, I know, is that the part of myself that triggers anger in disquiet people will only spark the same, at the next place, if I move along. It’s better to keep this Home Base for now, get my journeys done in September and October, and resume work here from November through mid-May.
With that, I am headed to sleep, and hope for a peaceful weekend.
August 24, 2023- While working out on a stationary bicycle, this evening, I caught an episode of “Shark Tank”, a program in which would-be entrepreneurs approach Mark Cuban, and four other judges, and pitch a proposal, which is to garner the proponents a cash advance, for which, in return, the judges each get a percentage of ownership in the start-up.
Watching one of the pitches, in particular, I had to say, with Mark Cuban, who knows a thing or two about start-ups and expansion, that selling the initial unit of the business, for half of what was originally paid, and asking the “Tank” to fund three units of a nationwide expansion of the concept, was a non-starter. I say this, knowing next to nothing about business, yet having this idea in my head that, if I did have a start-up, based on an appealing concept and backed by a solid business model, I would want to have twice what I paid for the first unit, in the bank-before even thinking about a second unit, much less a third or fourth. I would want to have a track record of quality-and I would not sell off my initial unit. Had the entrepreneurs known the process of thinking things through, they’d have not made that mistake.
In a competitive world, quality is king. Not so long ago, if I had been offered a Marvel comic book persona, I would have been The Veneer. While I had, and still have, lots of heart, my understanding of what made for a quality offering was rather stilted. In teaching, and in making group presentations as a counselor, I was big on content-facts and figures. People- students, colleagues and interviewers-wanted depth, hooks, gravitas, a sense of what mattered.
Thank the Divine for the Internet: For Google, Bing, Safari, Siri and Alexa. Not feeling the need to be a walking encyclopedia is a fine thing. My focus, for the past decade or so, has been on encouraging thought, and showing how to ask the right questions. Quality of focus and of what will be important, fifty years from now, is essential in education, in business and in public discourse. Students need to be guided in that area, far more than they need to be passive recipients of things they could find on their own.
Independent investigation of truth is the wave of the future. Having learning be a quality experience mandates that that process be encouraged now.
August 12, 2023, Lake Havasu City- The ebullient young man practically burst through the front door, carrying his crock pot full of macaroni with three cheeses-his contribution to the festive birthday gathering. I took a spoonful and can attest that it is among the best “mac and cheese” I’ve ever had, and told him so, which made his effusiveness that much keener.
I came to this city that exists almost in isolation from the rest of Arizona, with wilderness as its California neighbour, to attend a friend’s 31st birthday. Arriving at 6 p.m. made the most sense, given the two activities to which I needed to attend earlier, back in Prescott. It also made sense, temperature wise: Lake Havasu City sits squarely in the western sector of the Sonoran Desert, and temperatures here have hit close to 120 F-as recently as last month. It was 102, when I arrived at the party site, where I am also spending the night.
I knew only three people, the birthday celebrant and his father, who live at the party location, and a friend from Bullhead City, 1 1/2 hours north northwest of here, when I first arrived. I still would characterize most of the rest of the crowd as pleasant acquaintances, as I came to know very little about them, but this does rank among the most convivial of gatherings, in recent memory. The conversations ranged from Lahaina- on nearly everyone’s mind, these days, to a guest’s unusual medical condition and another guest’s recent loss of a loved one. The common thread, though, was the deep concern people have for one another. No one who expressed a personal issue or health concern had it glossed over, by the group.
Here were several workers from the local hospice, stay-at-home mothers, teachers, gym attendants, an architect, two high school students, a retired surfer, a deep sea fisherman (also retired, given the fact that the water here is in a fresh-water lake, and it’s a long way to his former haunts in Sitka, AK) and a couple of ten-year old boys, who were mostly focused on the video game that was on the wide screen in front of them. The high schoolers were the mac and cheese chef and his girlfriend, who served delectable soft chocolate chip cookies. “She’s a fabulous baker!”, boyfriend proudly crowed. I would agree that that the two of them have a fine future ahead, in the culinary arts.
So went the evening, and one of my rare summer forays into the Sonoran realm. With reliable air conditioning, in both Sportage and this house, being out in the warm desert evening air was actually pleasant. Tomorrow, I will stay here long enough to host a late-morning Zoom call, then head back towards Home Base, and stay tuned for what the week shall bring.
A Sagittarian Seeker 