August 9, 2023- With slumped shoulders and a downcast expression, she handed me a pink tardy slip, apologizing as if the entirety of her lateness was her doing, alone. I suspected otherwise, and asked for a few more details, which the child was relieved to be able to share.
All too many children, it seems, are caught between dependence on those who are barely able to care for themselves-and actually having to raise themselves. The little girl has good judgment, so in the long term, I’d say her prospects for a solid adulthood are quite good. She does not suffer fools gladly-a good thing in my book, nor does she sneer at people who see things a bit differently than she. She also has strong, clear boundaries-which I have advised children to inculcate, as long as I have been advising in general.
D was tired, and felt shame at that fatigue. “I went to bed early enough”, she offered, “It seems the morning comes too soon.” No one, to my reckoning, should have to feel shame at physical states-and I communicated as much. There are too many variables involved in the matter of sleep, as with other health matters-and pre-adolescence, a swell as the change that follows it, are filled with interruptions, expansions and contractions that are bound to try anyone’s patience. How well I remember my own years of transition from childhood to youth!
I left her alone, with her close friend, and being a responsible soul, she pulled herself together enough to complete an assignment and launch into the next activity. When it came time to leave, though, she was first on the way to the bus line.
D, and about a dozen of her peers, have joined the community that lives in my heart. I will look out for her, whenever I can.
August 8, 2023- The pile of self-assigned “homework” has been put to bed. I graded about 65 papers, this evening, using the Answer Keys that were left me, with Bold Tags that said “ANSWER KEY”. Wink, wink, nudge, nudge, but not necessary. Projecting ahead to the regular teacher’s return on Thursday, I foresee a tired soul, enervated by a flightbj across country and drive up from Phoenix-and not needing three days’ worth of student work in front of her. So, it was the right thing to do.
Lion’s Gate comes from the perceived leonine energy derived from this point on the Zodiac: Leo. It is a fairly productive period, for anyone who is not a house dog, or otherwise subject to heat-induced sluggishness. I have to be on game, with three classes of self-absorbed ten-year-olds.
It’s been a fairly good two days, as evidenced by the size of the pile that was dispatched this evening. Tomorrow will be a bit shorter in length, but no less intense, in terms of my expectations of both myself and the children. The material, designed to be diagnostic, is definitely that- and is rather challenging, at this point in the year. The teacher will definitely know who is in need of what skill-building activities, when this is done.
Leonine energy, taken as such, is viewed as proactive. A lion, or any big cat, needs to be diligent, merely in order to feed itself and its progeny. It has to be wary of competitors-such as hyenas (also viewed these days as “feline”), and humans-who, in the case of Maasai and other hunter-gatherer nations, may view the big cat as both a threat to be culled, and even a food source-though I don’t see the value in eating the flesh of a carnivore.
We don’t face the daily threat of starvation, for the most part, but there is the daily set of activities, choices and expectations that require a lion-like focus. It is this that leads me to not focus so much on the heat-as on accomplishing what is in front of me for the given day-and week.
This is a simple verse, marking an ordinary day, in which so many affirmations came.
With the urge to turn off the alarm, before it had a chance to bray : “FIVE A.M!”, the left leg moved off the bed, followed by the right hand reaching over and switching the lever off.
A half hour later, grooming and dressing , done in the mirror’s honouring gaze, was in rear view, followed in short order by devotions-and a check of what transpired overnight.
A mention of the trials impending, in D.C. and Florida; another mention of tribulations, across the Great Plains, and headed towards D.C. Cloud cover, here though, tempering the heat.
Plenty of food on hand, for breakfast and lunch. Plenty to be shared with my colleagues of the next three days-a bit of pound cake here; a box of cookies there. Treats go fast, in that school’s lounge.
Children, vibrant and caring, yet struggling with transition from the days of everything and nothing, to these days of something substantial. I recall these same beings as little more than toddlers, now gingerly entering their second decade of life. There is the pretense of not knowing, a facade covering the real questions: Are we loved? Do we matter?
They always matter; are ever loved, at least in these brightly lit and climate-controlled rooms. I treasure this time spent-today, and will tomorrow, and the next day.
The next stop, almost directly after school, is the serving line. Loaves of bread are contributed, along with a couple of Care Kits. I am the soup ladler, not a hint of the “Nazi”, of television fame, just gladness at being able to help those of scant luck feel positive energy. That luck, scant and fleeting as it may seem to the unhoused, is here each Monday night. They love the onion soup tonight. I love that there is a full crew to do clean-up, and I get to leave early.
Each day brings its blessings, with challenges met and surmounted. My luck is holding, rather nicely.
August 3, 2023- The former President of the United States faced a Federal Magistrate today, for the second time in a month. He heard the charges against him, pleaded Not Guilty and thanked the Magistrate, before being released in his own recognizance. He maintains innocence, until proven guilty. He maintains agency, regardless.
The topic of agency arose, this evening, during a study session on the matter of public discourse. While the discussion ended up a bit off the rails, largely due to my being a bit tired, after a long day, and thus, not moderating matters as well as I might have, the agency of both those who were carried away in dialogue and those who felt left out, were addressed by the end of the session. Ground rules were established, going forward.
Ironically, the whole kerfuffle came about when the subject of the agency held by children was brought up-by yours truly. That led to discussion about gratuitous spanking of toddlers, and the umbrage taken by some people of our, and our parents’, generations when objections to such “punishment” are raised. Those who got carried away are of the opinion,as am I, that striking people just perpetuates violence. The others in the group, themselves hardly people who believe in corporal punishment, felt “point taken, now let’s move on.”
I have evolved in my thinking on the matters of both agency for children and of corporal punishment. I once believed in the pecking order, that children should serve adults. That went out the window, when I caught some adults using that notion of “service” as a pretext for abusive behaviour.
I have never given our son anything less than respect for who he is, nor have I, save one or two unfortunate lapses of judgement, as a teacher and counselor, seen fit to belittle a child’s soul. My own experience of corporal punishment, as a child, was sparing. Mom and Dad regarded it as tool, to be used judiciously. I followed suit as a parent, until it became obvious to me that there is a conflict between using force as a parent and communicating responsible behaviour to one’s child.
My overall sense, for the longest time now, is that each person, regardless of age, has personal agency. The child needs guidance and reinforcement. The elder needs reassurance of continued relevance. All of us in-between, likewise, need consistent respect, regardless of our positions on matters being discussed or positions in a community.
July 29, 2023- A solitary man, either befuddled by the heat or determined to stand his ground, stood squarely in the path of my slowly-moving Kia, as I approached a rest room, at the more aptly named than usual Area 51 Alien Center. The heat, and an approaching full moon, seemed to have brought more unusual behaviour than I’ve seen, over the past eleven years, in that little settlement of Amargosa Springs. I felt badly for the two ladies who were staffing the Alien Center’s store.
The man in question moved along, when I simply turned right and found a parking spot away from the rest room. When I drove across the street, to the Alien Center’s parking lot, he blocked my way with his car, so once more, I turned right and simply found a space that was not in “his zone”. He drove off without any further ado.
The drive down from Carson City was itself quite smooth. I left a bit later than planned, as my help was needed with an online Zoom call, which was best done from the motel room. Breakfast to go sufficed my LA Bakery fix, for this visit. (That establishment, and Red Hut, are my must stops in Carson.) Stopping briefly in Yerington, an hour to the south, I found another favourite, Blanhir’s Bakery, was closed-odd for a Saturday noon. Oh, well, down through Schurz, Hawthorne and Mina, towards Tonopah, it was. A brief rest stop at Luning, just north of Mina, provided an opportunity for service and let’s just say, I fixed a problem that had been left to sit , by earlier visitors. I’m sure the trucker who came by, just as I was leaving, appreciated the problem-free rest room.
Beans and Brews, in Tonopah, is mostly staffed by local teens, so it has been a must-stop, when going to and from Carson City or Reno. As usual, the counter person was energetic and quick to fill my small order. The lady at the adjacent convenience counter, on the other hand, looked like she was melting in the heat. I wished them both a fine afternoon, and went on-past Goldfield, which still does not have the truck stop that’s been in the works for over a year. I think the earth-moving equipment is in the same place it was, last November. Passing through Beatty, and stopping for a quick supper in Amargosa Springs, I encountered the above-mentioned individual-and a worker from the brothel next door, who didn’t bother me, but looked like she needed a good long rest.
What happens in Las Vegas is best left there-but I found reasonable gas, at a station that had been sending patrons to the nearby Wendy’s, for restroom use. Wendy’s, unbeknownst to the station attendants, has closed. I let them know that state of affairs. Fortunately there is a huge shopping mall across the road. An iced coffee from Panera Bread addressed two needs, and I was again on my way, in short order.
Four hours and twenty minutes later, another journey was in the books. It helped me confront a few remaining personal baggage items, without any faux pas, which leaves me with a nice feeling. Thank you, to all in California, Oregon, Washington, British Columbia and Nevada. This was a truly nice two weeks-even through the heat.
July 28, 2023, Carson City– The cast was set to dancing and jumping about, in this version of the spell cast by a cheekier version of the Wicked Witch of the West. W3 did not feel like even hinting at opium being an acceptable diversion and so came the Jitterbug, whose weapon was getting everyone to dance until they dropped from exhaustion. The classic dance marathon, instead of deadly poison, was a tad more family friendly-but W3 still asked Scarecrow if he wanted to play ball.
“The Wizard of Oz” first came into my consciousness when I was about nine, and we started watching it, as a family, once a year. When I hit my mid-teens, the watch party shifted to a gathering of friends-still a time for laughs and feigned fright. Seeing that it has not lost its appeal is re-assuring. There is much that is not ersatz about our culture, and these are the totems that I hope will remain.
Children and teens are almost universally dear to my heart. One of the dearest was on stage as a Munchkin, her time under the klieg lights about five minutes of play time and a few minutes at the end. In our pre-play conversation, I re-assured her that this is how just about everything starts. The first jobs are almost always the equivalent of a small role, with few lines. It is approaching the task with aplomb, with the confidence that one is going to do the small stuff well and move up the ladder, to a place that is deserved, that makes the dream become reality.
So she did her small role well, being visible and audible from where I was sitting, with her grandmother, in the second row. Afterward, the three of us went to a fast food place and each got an orange cream shake. We talked of the importance of agency, which she has already stood for, as she described an incident in which she asked that officials remove a poster she finds offensive. She heard us say: “Good on you and keep standing for justice, even when-especially when, it’s hard.”
I will always stand beside her, her brother, cousins and any other young person who is looking at being hazed or subjected to injustice.
I was told, some time ago, that the homeless community along Washington State’s southern tier had been removed, by sending the lot across the Columbia River, to Portland. Being skeptical that this is even something that could be pulled off, without a whimper from a city that was already choking with a large unhoused community in its downtown and other neighbourhoods, the last time I visited (2015), I went to Vancouver (WA) this morning, after checking out of the motel in Kelso.
Vancouver, not to be confused with the much-larger city in British Columbia, has a lovely park along the Columbia River, and pleasant, clean downtown and uptown sections. It also has the manicured Fort Vancouver, a well-maintained National Park site, whose historic homes are leased to residents and businesses. Living wherever they can put up tents, usually in nooks and crannies along the Columbia, are the remnants of the unhoused community, admittedly smaller than those of Portland, Seattle or Tacoma, but in Vancouver, nonetheless. Denial of a problem will never make it go away. Whoever passed that information along to people down at my Home Base, in Prescott had probably not been to Vancouver.
I took a walking loop to the banks of the Columbia, then around to Esther Short Park, after first enjoying a vanilla latte at Brewed, a small, but efficient coffee shop, combined with a bar and small bakery, on Main Street. Not far from Brewed, there is a parking lot with murals on two of the walls.
The Skagit, Yamhill, and other nations, have not lost their dignity.Nor, for that matter, have the Hispanics who come here for agricultural work.The African-American community here seems small, but holds its own.Columbia River, at I-5 Bridge, Vancouver. “Boat of Discovery”, commemorating the visit here, by Captain George Vancouver’s fleet.A long wall emanates from this plaza, honouring veterans of all “foreign” conflicts, from the War of 1812 to Iraq and Afghanistan.Clock Tower, Esther Short Park. The park was being readied for a special event, when I happened by.
Having a couple of errands to do, across the river, I gave myself an hour to explore Fort Vancouver. The post was established to safeguard U.S. control of the mouth of the Columbia River-with .British, Russian and Spanish claims not fully resolved.
Here is the flag staff, in the midst of the parade ground. This was a serious parade ground!Grant House, intended for use by Ulysses S. Grant, when he was stationed here, in the 1850s. He never lived in this mansion, on Officers’ Row.Here is a view of the Enlisted Barracks, south of the Parade Grounds.These cannons were replicated, from descriptions of the originals, by local high school students, from 1990-92. They are owned by the City of Vancouver, which supplied the materials.This was the residence of General O.O. Howard, the post commander from 1874-80.The Artillery Barracks-It struck me that this could house a lot of people.Non-commissioned Officer’s HousingMarshall House, home to General George C. Marshall, during his duty here, prior to World War II.This pavilion honours the Chinese diaspora to Oregon and Washington. Chinese immigrants faced horrific treatment in the Pacific Northwest, during the late Nineteenth, and much of the Twentieth, Centuries.
After leaving Vancouver, I made my way across the bridge to Portland, getting my Pastini fix, with a late lunch at the Italian food chain’s Northeast Portland branch. Then, it was time to locate and purchase a new adapter, to house my photo SIM card and post these and other scenes. It took me all over North Portland. At one point, I stopped in front of a crosswalk, so that a young lady could cross. One would have thought I had held up the President, for the insistent beeping from behind me. The lady shot a dignified, but definitely disapproving, glance at the impatient motorist and gave me a gentle smile.
The shop I eventually found was a Best Buy, on the far northeast side. Its location afforded a fairly lightly-trafficked way out of Portland, so I missed all but a small amount of rush hour. Still ahead, however, was the large influx of participants, family members and spectators at the Junior Olympics, which I learned was being held in Eugene, Springfield, Albany, Corvallis and Roseburg. All of those cities’ accommodations were either occupied or were priced exorbitantly by the Law of Supply and Demand. After gassing up in Eugene, I made my way down to Grants Pass, and got a reasonably-priced overflow room. My last thoughts of the day, though, are wishes for the kids to be successful at their sport-and more importantly, to have a good experience.
July 16, 2023- The infant boy responded, calmly and contentedly , to being passed into the arms of his grandparents, aunts and adult cousins. All he wanted was to occasionally check in with his loving mother. He seemed to sense that this was no regular gathering. It was, in fact, his grandmother’s birthday.
As a friend of hers, for the past ten years, I was the only guest not officially part of the family, but no matter. I regard each of them as if we were familial. Her introduction to me, of essential oil supplements was the start of my return to physical and mental health, after nearly three years of treading water, after Penny’s passing. I watched her youngest daughter, the little boy’s mother, grow into a strong, forward-thinking woman. I have been present at each of the family’s milestones, since the Fall of 2013, and helped with each of my friend’s three moves since offering to help with the first one. They, in turn, have made a place for me at several holiday tables.
I will be present at an important family event, tomorrow morning, prior to leaving on a twelve-day visit to the Northwest and Carson City. The family unit will be standing by my friend, as one, at the proceeding that will set the course for the next phase of her life. She has strong, fine children, siblings, nieces and nephews and a man who cares deeply for her-and then, there’s I, who also holds her, and the family, close to my heart.
The family arc is solidly anchored-and it is one of many, including my own biological family, that imparts strength and surety to my life. The little boy has a strong framework for his growth into manhood.
July 15, 2023- Barbie’s “mommy” gave her mother’s friend a gift bag, with a nice tall candle and a decorated card. Then, Barbie got to dance, do somersaults and yoga poses, all without complaint-as dolls are wont to do. Barbie finally got a rest, when her mommy got thirsty. Barbie’s mommy is on her way to being a strong, independent, thoughtful adult human.
That was how the evening started. Beforehand, I learned that my landlord was perfectly okay, as was the gentleman who fell, last night. As I suspected, heat prostration was at play, in both cases. I know how that works, having had my more rotund self experience it in 2012, whilst passing through Uvalde.
We did have a rather toasty day here, which didn’t get in the way of our team’s breakdown of the Farmers’ Market, thanks to sunscreen, proper desert headgear, plenty of water and our truck. Tomorrow will be another dose of July Fry, possibly reaching 119 in Phoenix, higher elsewhere in the Sonoran Desert and 102 here.
Getting back to the evening, I went to Raven Cafe for a Songwriters in the Round, set of performances by four engaging musicians, two of whom I’ve heard several times before. The tone was set, in the crowded room, by my thoroughly enjoying a new item: Basque Stew-which is tomato bisque with chunks of tuna, nicely stewed. I admit to being a bit apprehensive, as tuna has been either in a sandwich or in rolls of rice, as sushi, in my long experience with the meat. It was actually nicely spiced-and the fish was not overpowering.
I will let the Raven’s promo introduce Songwriters in the Round:
“Nashville-style songwriter rounds consist of 3 or 4 musicians trading songs and stories for an engaged audience of song lovers and supporters. This is our first one! Join us this Saturday as we see songwriters Tyller Gummersall, Stephy Leigh Griffin, Rachael Plays Guitar and Kevin Rueb step away from their bands to give you a raw and intimate glance into what it takes to be a songwriter.”
Stephy Leigh and Tyller have played, with their bands, at the Raven in the recent past. So, some of their songs were familiar-but done acoustically, sans bandmates, gave the tunes an entirely different, more intimate feel. Kevin, with a tongue-in-cheek, irreverent view of sexist behaviour by men-and its back-at-ya reaction from women, got rousing laughter from many of us, including his wife, who played along joyfully, during his hilarious take-down of the “Magic Mike” phenomenon. Rachael was the most soulful, directly-sharing of her experiences, and made no apologies for doing so. I look forward to her “Album Launch” concert, at the end of next month. I would gladly go to see any of these folks, time and again.
Time goes on, whether days are hot, cold or the great in-between; whether spent hither or yon; whether productive or laconic. Each day brings its gifts and each day exacts its costs. So do I take the best of what life brings, along with its expectations for recompense. On balance, I’d say this life is a bounty.
July 7, 2023- “When a thought of war comes, oppose it by a stronger thought of peace. A thought of hatred must be destroyed by a more powerful thought of love.” – ‘Abdu’l-Bahá, 1911. I have had competing impulses today, and the stronger message from my spirit guides is to focus on gratitude. I have a lot of angst and self-criticism going on today, but not much can be done to rectify the causes of all that-without pondering and listing all the reasons for being grateful.
Today, my son turned 35, and so I feel it useful to list thirty-five things, places and people for which/whom I am grateful.
35. Grand Canyon National Park-both North and South; . 34. San Diego; 33. Dietary protein shakes that have worked; 32. The core group of readers of this blog site; 31. Those who are committed to peace, through dialogue; 30. My large extended family; 29. Newfoundland; 28. My childhood home town- Saugus, MA; 27. My variegated playlist; 26. My book collection; 25. Planet Fitness; 24. The movement towards inclusion and equality; 23. Horses; 22. Historical sites-both domestic and worldwide; 21.Century Lounge and the Raven Cafe; 20. Cape Breton Island; 19. My comfortable Home Base (apartment); 18. Prescott Farmers Market; 16. Brittany (the region); 15. Santa Fe; 14. Butterflies; 13. The ocean; 12. Whales and dolphins; 11. Reusable bags; 10. Mountains; 9. Sunrises and sunsets; 8. Colorado; 7. Arizona as a whole; 6. My closest friends; 5. Children and teenagers; 4. My siblings; 3. My parents; 2. My little family; 1. Spirit guides (and the Baha’i teachings).
This list is not written in order of importance, though the top five are certainly on my mind and in my heart 24/7.
A Sagittarian Seeker 