July 8, 2021, Grapevine– The birthday festivities having finished, Aram and I eased into our mornings, whilst Yunhee went to work. We did our part, later, with a Costco trip that garnered items we each needed-and a few belated birthday gifts.
I got word that another, equally important, event across the country had gone roughly at times, but ended well. So, too, did the final installment of an investment that has taken me three years of due diligence and getting past my own overthinking, to complete.
Aram and I went out to Terrawood’s relatively small, but comfortable pool area. There were about six other people in and around the pools, at the time we were there. The water is not deep- 4′ 6″, maximum. Nonetheless, I sat with my lower body in the water-taking care to not go in, as usual, because of the growth on my face being covered, both for protection and for the peace of mind of those around me.
There has been a tendency in me, all throughout adulthood, to be very watchful of children around water. It was a major area of my service to the Red Cross, when we lived in Phoenix, to help with Swim Safe events. Pool safety, in particular, is a huge concern-and not just in summer. So, here I was, being encouraging to the little ones, with their flotation devices attached, but not taking my eyes off them, for a second. A young girl, of about twelve, was equally vigilant, apparently being babysitter to at least two of the kids. As Aram did his laps and cardio, I was content to be a second pair of eyes.
It can’t be said enough: “Watch your kids around water!”
July 4, 2021- The fireworks came back tonight, with a vengeance! The program, which last year almost seemed as if the PYROTECHNICS had Covid19, was full on this evening, with the widest variety of geometric figures I’ve seen in many a year. It is a wondrous thing that fractals have been mainstream high school fare, for nearly twenty-five years, That realm has thoroughly enriched the overall graphic experience- and nowhere more so than with fireworks displays.
The venue I use, an overlook just north of the Prescott Resort, was as packed as ever. There were close to 150 people, scattered around the “overflow parking area”, in a joyous, impromptu party atmosphere-with a fair amount of physical distancing still being practiced. The display organizers, three miles away at Watson Lake, did not let us down. Where there was a truncated program last year, with a muted finale, the present offering was a full 30 minutes-with two finales. It was, very much, what so many of us needed.
The person to my right happened to be a satisfied patient of the same dermatology group which will perform the corrective surgery on me, in four weeks’ time. He showed scant signs of having been a carcinoma patient. This is a confirmation that I am in good hands.
The group sitting behind me and to my left was as entertaining as the display-with raucous commentary from some and the enthusiasm of a three-year-old, seeing her first full fireworks display. With the distance from the staging area eliminating the sound, it is conceivable that people could have brought their dogs here. Speaking of which, I am very grateful to those who spend their Fourth of July night at the local Animal Shelter, comforting the dogs and putting muffling blankets over their ears. This has become a more widespread practice in Humane Societies across the country.
The day started with a brief, but crucial, act of assistance to a friend who was having a special event. It involved helping with moving furniture around, and was much appreciated. Just before that, I had another learning experience-that it is not sufficient to pay attention to cars going every which way, in gas station parking lots. There are also pedestrians, not paying attention, who think nothing of walking up to a vehicle and banging on the window, demanding that the driver get out of THEIR way. In this morning’s instance, I simply sat where I was and let him conclude it was best to go around.
I had a full day’s worth of being the beneficiary of our nation’s work-in-progress social experiment. It feels like we will make it through, if we can be mindful and appreciative of the full range of responsible thought and civic action.
Happy Independence Day, to all who call the United States home. Let the crescendo of what it means to be free in mind and spirit ring out for all to hear.
July 3, 2021- The comely young woman set down her blanket, just six feet from where I sat in my foldable studio chair, and proceeded to writhe and shift herself back and forth, finally finding a relatively comfortable position. As she was wearing a fairly short skirt, I felt it seemly to look straight ahead and not make her obvious discomfort even worse. Her two children were off and running, to other parts of the park, so she had that, too, to handle-and was constantly sitting up and looking past me, until finally spotting the kids. Poor soul was definitely stressed and barely able to relax, so after the family had watched five minutes or so of “Grease”, on the outdoor screen, and mother had wrapped herself in the blanket, they stood up and left. Hopefully, she got the rest that was so obviously in order.
Men, especially of my age group, were raised, mostly by the wider society, to hold the opposite sex in a sort of special status-not quite looking at girls and women we didn’t know very well, in a less than whole human perspective. I can say, truthfully, that this was also true of how we viewed ANY stranger, but was especially so in male-female interactions. It has been a hallmark of my married life, and widowhood, that coming to view every human being in a holistic manner has replaced the old “meat market ethic”. Misogyny, and its derivatives, were quite frankly the bane of my existence-and I don’t miss them at all.
My friends, women and men alike, are people I can hug (pandemic protocol permitting) or at l least fist bump, and with whom I can share just about any insights. This, to me, is the feeling of true liberation. I look forward to the day when ANYONE can feel the same about traveling alone as I do, about being where they like to be and not feeling awkward or at risk, and being seen as complete human beings-from childhood onward.
July 1, 2021- The first six months of this year have produced some rather significant changes in my world. Chief among them was Mother’s changing her residence-thankfully of her own accord-after 66 years in the same house. With all of us pitching in, the gargantuan task was broken into a hundred fairly manageable pieces. Now, Mom is happily ensconced in a small, comfortable apartment, with her basic security set.
The other changes are more internal. I have jettisoned a few personal demons that, while not interfering in my life very much, did cause a certain tension to arise, unnecessarily, between me and certain people in the wider community. I have already noticed how much more relaxed things are, when I am in my favourite places around town.
There were, as always, journeys during the period January-June. One was not planned-but going to Massachusetts in May was never in question. Going to Carson City was a year overdue- one of my best friends, and her blessed children and grandchildren are like family to me.
The second half of 2021 will be similar, with most of July being on the road-again largely making up for the lost contacts of the pandemic year. I’m not worried about a variant-the masks and hand sanitizer will be with me, and I have been fully vaccinated. Variants will be around for decades to come, as they are with Ebola-and influenza. Life cannot and should not stop. August and September will mostly find me here in Prescott, save for a memorial hike on the Navajo Nation, on August 16 and a four-day visit to southern California, September 17-21.
In mid-August, I will determine the prudence of going to Europe, for four weeks in October, and plan accordingly, Much depends on any lingering quarantines at that time. November and December will again be Southwest-centric, with my serving as host, around Thanksgiving, hopefully attending a resumed Grand Canyon Baha’i Conference, around Christmas, and making a journey to southern New Mexico for a few days thereafter.
There will also be visits, at least once a month, to the Baha’i friends living along the Colorado River, in western Arizona, and always an eye towards getting up to Navajo and Hopi, as those areas open back up. The Red Cross is also opening its programs and services to in-person situations and meetings, starting within a few weeks, and I will remain open to helping in the schools, for special substituting activities.
Thus, the second half of this year will mirror, and expand upon, the first.
June 29, 2021- Getting back to Home base, for a short period that is centered on the anniversary of the Yarnell Hill/Granite Mountain Hot Shots disaster (June 30, 2013) and on Independence Day, I found myself scheduling the July road trip and reaching back, to the past. While thinking about my Carson City family, the image of me as a toddler came into focus-almost in a hypnotic manner. I saw the source of certain behaviours and mindsets that have dogged my path, for so many years now. I also saw that I could let those behaviours and mindsets go, fall away. It is sublimely liberating.
Many of you know that I have given some help to someone in another country, whose society has much to re-learn about co-operating with one another, to achieve a greater goal. The people involved have, thus far, rejected such talk of co-operative farming, out of hand. “That is not the way we do things here!” This, essentially, translates into “Fork over the bucks, white man!” You can readily understand what my response is to such rubbish. Fortunately, the primary recipient of my aid is a bit more enlightened than many of his countrymen, and is at least trying to do things on his own. It is heartening to see someone who is walking the path of personal growth.
My own growth has been a strange enough road- complicated by being on the autism spectrum. I was a fairly strong, supportive husband and am a fairly strong, nurturing father. I am better at being a son, and sibling, than I was in the past. Ditto, for being a community member. The pattern of widespread travel will eventually subside, but not for the next five or six years. In the interim periods between journeys, though, I am committed to making a difference in my adopted community and state.
Learning makes this a great life, and it will only get greater.
June 27, 2021, Carson City- Among other matters that occupied the three of us (my spiritual sister, my surrogate grandniece and me) were the little one’s umpteenth visit to Carson City Railroad Museum, a comparison of Three-Story Park with Mills Park, in terms of the playground’s quality and cleaning out “Mema’s” car. We also returned some items to her cousin, enjoyed smoothies from Keva Juice, Italian dishes at the local Olive Garden and ice cream treats from Chocolate Nugget (near Virginia City).
Right alongside my biological family, this energetic bunch has my heart and soul. I have visited them, each year since 2012 (except 2020). Before that I knew the family in Arizona and bonded with them, even during the time that they had moved to Nevada, while Penny, Aram and I were busy in various parts of Arizona. B was born in 2011, and has since been joined by a sibling, who is every bit as delightful.
There is a separate group of cousins, not far from B and K. This group would also occupy a lot of my time, were I to be in this part of the country more often. They are a blended bunch, with every one of them treasured by Grandma, who does her level best to give them an actual home.
Surrogacy is a relative term-no pun intended. I am seeing just how strong a bond there is, blood or no blood, when the application of love is made. Oh, and this very busy day was capped, by one of the longest series of UNO hands, that I have ever joined. The last hand took over an hour to complete.
June 25, 2021, Carson City- Even in mild heat, there is no finer place for children to meet and play together than in a park space, where they can be free to explore and exercise, while at the same time be monitored by parents or loved ones who are (hopefully) not distracted by the other duties and vagaries of adult life. There is, most definitely, no responsibility more imperative than the safe and nurturing rearing of a human being to own adulthood. So, we of adult age find ourselves accompanying our young ones to parks, playgrounds, swimming pools, nature preserves and each other’s houses, that humanity may long continue to thrive.
Much of this vigilance still falls to mothers and grandmothers. There are also men, like yours truly, who see every child as worthy of safeguarding-and are thus constantly mindful of where those immediately in our care are and what they are doing. The public space where I went with friends, yesterday, I will call Three-Story Park, the name by which the kids themselves identify the space, owing to its three-decker climbing tower, is almost ideal. The odious wood chips of the 80s and 90s have been replaced by a soft, rubbery padding. Metal slides have been replaced by large plastic ones and monkey bars, by mini-climbing walls. There is no place in the park that is not subject to line-of-sight vigilance, though my friend told her grand daughter, for good measure, to be within an area where I could reach her, in fifteen seconds or less. Thus, we planted ourselves in a shaded spot, proximate to the aforementioned tower and its accompanying slides and climbing wall.
This is the reality of this nation, and indeed this planet, in a world where too many adults view children as extensions of themselves, or who wish for a child to reflect even the most arcane attitudes and fancies of their elders. It is from the worst of such people, that I remain vigilant, on behalf of children-and teenagers, for that matter.
June 20, 2021- My Dad will have been gone 37 years, this Tuesday. His smiling countenance beams down at me from two locations, in the living room: One with my Mom, when they were in their early forties; the other, in his early fifties sitting in his office at the General Electric Riverworks plant, in Lynn,
Mom & Dad, dressed to rule.
Ferdinand Joseph Boivin had the gift of gab, loved to make the rounds and visit others, and was always holding court on the front porch, before dinner-with various men showing up to discuss what was troubling them, and either my brother Dave or I dispatched to grab some beer for Dad and the visitor. He always had a corny joke or two at the ready, would sing little love songs to our mother and would hold her close, in the kitchen, when he first came home from work-or from anywhere where he had gone on an errand. They’d kiss, as if no one else was around, while perfectly mindful that one or more of us was close by. The most important thing was that we knew how secure our home was-even in lean times, which came often.
Dad worked graveyard shifts, when I was very small, so our bonding was somewhat interrupted-and we both had to make a conscious effort at remaining close. He never took sides, in our sibling squabbles, but his watchwords were “Now lookit! Yiz need to look at each other from the other’s perspective.” His silent look of disapproval could speak volumes. He only had one hard-and-fast rule for us: “Never refer to me as your Old Man.” I know I disappointed him, by not going into the business field, but there was always my resentment of Riverworks’ management, for how he was treated-cast into a middle management role, seldom given credit and often receiving blame, if others caused missteps. “Freddy” was a trade school graduate, and a creature of habit, who did not particularly get along, at least at first, with fresh-out-of-university MBAs and Engineers, who were elbowing their way to the top. A man about ten years my senior, Peter St. Clair, befriended Dad and served as a bridge figure between him and the new up-and -comers. I hold Pete in the highest regard, for everything he did to help my father.
Dad slowed down, in his last four or five years, cutting back on his smoking, whilst enjoying a round or two of Scotch every evening. He and Mom flew out to San Diego, when Penny and I were married, in 1982. They loved their visit to southern California, taking several days after the nuptials to enjoy San Diego and Orange County-even going up to Knotts Berry Farm-as close as they got to Los Angeles. They stopped in Denver, on the way back and checked out the U.S. Mint there. A few years later (1985), they visited us in Arizona, being awestruck by the Grand Canyon, Sedona, and the vastness of the Navajo Nation-as well as being charmed by the Dineh and Hopi people. A year later, Dad made his flight to his Lord. Mom would return to the West, with her younger brother and sister-in-law, in 1990, to make the one trip that she and Dad had wanted, but never got to do together: Yellowstone, San Francisco and southeast Alaska.
The years since have seen me do my level best to raise a son into manhood. The times I struggled, or stumbled, were always covered well by Aram’s maternal grandfather and by Dave-sometimes in their visits or sometimes over the phone. Father-in-law Norm told me, though, “If I didn’t think you were doing well by Aram, overall, I’d have taken him from you.” That gave me a lot of confidence, going forward.
Being a father, these days, is a matter of checking in with Aram and Yunhee, now and then-just to see how things are going-or to offer counsel, when they are in a quandary about some curveball that life has served. This will long continue, into the years when starting a family, buying a house and/or making career moves present themselves. What I mainly need to do now, for them and for the rest of my family, is maintain self-care and be healthy, for whatever arises.
God knows, I had the full measure of a role model.
June 17, 2021- In the autumn of 1987, President Chun Doo-hwan, the autocratic leader of South Korea, came out with an amazing edict: Parliament was to investigate, and curb, the use of toxic chemicals in women’s cosmetics. The members of Parliament were appalled that this was going on, and swiftly complied with the President’s directive-not something that regularly happened, in the slowly changing South Korea of the late 1980s.
As newly arrived temporary residents of Jeju, where we were involved in teaching English to university students, Penny and I were also appalled at the toxicity of such a basic product, and gratified that the macho President had placed priority on women’s health. She was able to get non-toxic cosmetics, fairly regularly, from late 1987, onward.
Penny preferred a natural line of cosmetics, from a company called The Body Shop, which she regularly used, after we returned to Arizona, in 1992. She had enough of a struggle, with the hand she was dealt by heredity, without buying into the culture of toxicity.
It was with a considerable sense of outrage, then, that I read today’s report from Notre Dame University, which “found that 56% of foundations and eye products and 47% of mascaras contained high levels of fluorine- an indicator of PFAS, so-called ‘Forever chemicals’ that are used in nonstick frying pans, rugs and countless other consumer products.” (Matthew Daly, Associated Press, June 17, 2021, taken from the journal Environmental Science & Technology Letters, June 15, 2021) . The study also reports that the highest PFAS levels were found in waterproof mascara (82%) and in long-lasting lipstick (62%). Of all the products tested, only ONE listed PFAS as an ingredient on the label.
Fortunately, both the EPA and Congress are moving on this issue, albeit belatedly. One Congresswoman remarked that she could not identify PFAS, in her own makeup, as the products were not properly labeled. That is likely true, across the board.
Here is the wider issue: Besides poisoning and endangering the lives of so many who are near and dear to us, Dr. Graham Peaslee, the principal researcher into this issue, at Notre Dame, states that “PFAS is a persistent chemical. When it gets into the bloodstream, it stays there and accumulates.” This has implications for babies in the womb or who are being breastfed. Then, there is the environmental contamination, which surely results from manufacturing and disposal. What effects does PFAS have on our water and soil?
A wake-up call for the cosmetics industry? That is the understatement of the year!
June 7, 2021- I read an article, in the current issue of National Geographic Magazine, about a sizable number of Old Colony Mennonites, settling in rural, forested areas of Mexico, and clearing huge swaths of the forest, so that they could plant Transgenic (GMO) soybeans. The process includes aerial spraying of glysophate-a poison that has been shown to lead to metastasized cancer, when ingested through air and water. There has been conflict with the indigenous people of the region, the Maya, who have used the land for small farming and to raise bees. The Mayan bees have been dying off, since aerial spraying of glysophate began. The Mennonites say they have bees that can thrive, despite the presence of glysophate.
I have friends in Pennsylvania who are Mennonites, and who are committed to keeping the Earth both productive and in a relatively pristine condition. They are horticulturists, and much of their produce is raised in greenhouses. I am not aware of any widespread use of glysophate in their operation. So, the NGS account set me to thinking: Why are the settlers in Mexico so adamant about their mission?
People being creatures of habit, with deeply engrained genetic memory, it helps to trace the residential patterns of a group. The Old Colony Mennonites came from grasslands of central Europe and Russia, via Germany, and settled in the prairies of central and western Canada. They are accustomed to large farming operations, worked by large families. They are also given to hard work, relying on Biblical Scripture for guidance and practicing prudent business. A treeless prairie is turned into productive cropland, with relative ease, compared with the forest-which, whether tropical or temperate, is alien land. Thus, with no regard for any value the rainforest may have, the trees are cleared. The land becomes grassland, or cropland.
This has been repeated since the first nomads emerged from the steppes of Central Asia, millennia ago. The treeless land of their origins formed both their mindset, as to the status of the environment and as to the approach that should be taken towards any environment that differed from their native grasslands. Forests were meant to be cleared; deserts were meant to be irrigated; mountains were meant to be either terraced or laid low. The Old Colony Mennonites are no different, in that respect, from all who migrated before them.
That said, there remains the one thing that could lay both them, and their neighbours, low: The poison, that their interpretation of Scripture says is essential to maintaining their way of life. Glysophate has been shown to lead to several cancers, most commonly Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma. While only a longitudinal study, of the people of Campeche and Tabasco, will likely convince the leadership of Old Colony that this practice is dangerous, such intransigence is going to cause harm to the very people for whom the leaders say they are engaging in large-scale farming: Their children and grandchildren. Even if the leaders can claim to be unconcerned about their neighbours, an unlikely scenario, for them to be blithely placing crop yield, profit and Manifest Destiny over their own families’ lives, proceeds from sublime to ridiculous.
We can debate the merits and pitfalls of transgenic farming for days on end, but the use of pesticides that are deadly to all life should no longer be up for discussion: Mexico, along with most other civilized nations, has banned the use of glysophate. Predisposition to dominance aside, it is time for the Old Colony members to stop its use, and seek to use methods of crop protection that are not lethal to humans, or bees.
A Sagittarian Seeker 