I spent a fair amount of time today thinking about how I view various things.
When I look in the mirror, sometimes I see my father and his older brother. Other times, I see my oldest maternal uncle or Grandma’s family. Mainly, I see a unique personage.
When I look through my front window, I see the golds, reds and yellows of autumn, with the residual green of a summer that has shed its heat, but not its life. I see Thumb Butte, rising majestically, five miles to the west, and not in the least compromised by the power lines across the street.
When I look at the landlord, outside in our backyard that has become his workspace, I see a driven, uncompromising workhorse, most at home with the tools that could have been consigned to a bygone era, but which still find a use, as they did when we collaborated on upgrading and cleaning my apartment’s furnace. I see the value in not throwing some things away.
When I look at my once and future hiking buddy, still on the mend, I see a determined, sometimes flustered woman-in-full, concentrating on her healing arts, occasionally needing a change in scene, and always grateful for a hand up.
When we looked at the green mountains, and the granite boulders, with their polyglot shapes, to the west of Prescott, we saw the majestic aftermath of all the upheavals that have riven this still very active planet.
I look at life, and see no end to the possibilities for fullness, growth and joy. I see that we must not give up on our efforts, whether individual or collective.
Who is more uncomfortable teaching math to a group? The question was on both my mind and that of my co-teacher, earlier today. The kids were not too concerned. My group seemed to understand the lesson, and took my fat-fingering the Smart Board graphics in stride. The other group loves their teacher too much, to not cut her some slack, in the one-day absence of her regular co-teacher.
Besides, these two classes are perfect examples of what keeps me connected to education, even after official retirement. They are typical, robust, sometimes devious 11-year-olds, but when it comes to learning, to paying attention, their concept of their role is spot-on. Like the native speakers of Parisian French or Mandarin Chinese, all they ask is that you try.
Trying to explain a concept that is a bit rusty, from decades of scant use, is a temptation for shyness or self-doubt to set in. I said “No”, to that temptation, and took the fat-fingering in stride. It was made all the easier by the students’ assumption that Boomers know nothing of Smart Boards, and their inherent patience. (Disclosure: Penny was in the first group of teachers in Arizona to use a Smart Board, in 2002. I got to try the tool out, several times, on visits to her classroom.) The kids were amazed, at how quickly I learned to use the tool.
There is joy, and power, in extending oneself. That is the most important lesson I hope the students picked up today.
October 24, 2021- The earnest, committed statements of the polished man gave the young ladies a feeling of relief, and over the ensuing year, they gave him their trust. Little by little, he played on their insecurities, while feigning admiration for their accomplishments. Little by little, he turned them into his personal playthings. Little by little, his baser nature took over, and their self-esteem plummeted.
Many people, over the centuries, have claimed to be advocates and standard bearers for the rights of the less fortunate, while pursuing a far more hideous agenda. This has been true of fields as varied as religion, education, social work and law enforcement. What has fueled the pernicious appetites of judges and politicians has done the same for teachers, police officers, and clergy. It is the person inside, not the uniform or the title, that has led to so much betrayal.
The road to clarity and integrity in this, and other matters of trust, is not always a smooth one. The thing I noticed, long ago, is that those who indulge in surreptitious seduction always get caught. The minute the focus becomes personal gratification, and not helping a client or associate realize her/his dreams, the slope has been greased and the downfall begins.
I think of these scenarios, as I learn of the successes, and struggles, of young women whose personal growth and self-actualization was a huge part of my professional focus, from 1981-2011-and which still is a significant part of my work. My work was to provide very clearly-defined safe havens-and there were no strings attached. I guess the saving grace was that I was in a committed marriage-and since Penny’s death, the primary commitment to helping people-women and men alike- to become their strongest and most secure selves- has remained unshakeable.
Strong women cannot be groomed-and strong men don’t need to try.
October 23, 2021- I spent close to eight hours, this afternoon and evening, at a small gathering in the front patio and fire pit area of the forested home of two long-time friends. We were joined by twin sisters, Libertarians with interesting ideas about the near future of this country-and of mankind. The conversation alone was probably one of the more interesting, and lengthy, dialogues I’ve experienced in some time. The ladies’ positions were not rooted in religious doctrine, as some other people have based their stances, but on their given, and deep-rooted notions about personal freedom.
My own views range from “conservative” (While women have the ultimate decision to make, re: abortion, the right to life of every human being is an at times inconvenient, but essential, factor in what is finally decided.) to “progressive” ( I don’t have a high regard for efforts to limit methods of voting by confirmed citizens of this country, though I have no problem with people being asked to verify their identity and address-at the time of their registration to vote.) Rights of citizenship, in sum, belong to all citizens. Rights to humane treatment belong to everyone.
We readily agreed on one basic principle: People who are sure of themselves can manage to be friends with all people of good will- and be more discerning, as to the inner goodness of a person’s heart. The ladies maintained that money is what makes the world go around. Granted, it’s an essential tool of physical human life. I hold that love is the basis of human life- period. It’s not always a given, that being loving is a ticket to material fortune-but it makes the presence of wealth more fulfilling, and the absence of wealth far more tolerable, as well as probably of shorter duration.
I signed up for whatever is sent me, by the Creator and by Universal Energy. I believe in the efficacy of the Law of Attraction, having received both positive and negative vibrations, in fair abundance. These days, my bent is more on the positive-despite a brief period of doubt and self-criticism, after a hard decision I made, five weeks ago. Yes, I am sticking with “Love is the secret”, to a life of well-considered choices.
October 22, 2021- I looked up a student, from long ago, and she had some searing things to say, on her social media page. All of it is true-and is unfortunate. We ignore these messages, to our peril. She was one of Penny’s favourite people, and I link her messages to what my dearly beloved wife told me, when we first met, forty-one years ago in December.
Penny said, “Hit me, just once, and we’re done.” I wouldn’t have hit her, anyway, but the message stayed in my heart.
Penny said, “Cheat on me, just once, and I’m gone.” I wouldn’t have cheated on her, anyway, but the message took.
Penny said, “Go and get those girls, and bring them home to their parents.” She did not have to say it twice. I got in my car, found the girls and brought them home, where they belonged. No Native child disappeared on my watch.
“N” said, “Treat all children like they are your children.” This was in reference to the hundreds, nay thousands, of Native women and girls, gone missing and unaccounted.
“N” said, “Where is the concern for all my missing sisters?” It is a continentaldisgrace, the epidemic loss of sheer human talent that is in a state of limbo, or loss, or suspended animation-maybe just left to rot, by others who took their own lack of self-worth out on women, girls-and male humans, cutting their lives short, then just walking back into the community, as if nothing has ever happened.
The case of Gabby Petito has brought renewed attention to the missing Indigenous women-and countless other people of colour whose fate is unknown. Ms. Petito’s family has it right: Every missing person, every abused soul, deserves the same energy and attention that has been directed towards justice for their daughter and cousin. Her likely abductor is himself dead. Other perpetrators are living in shame.
What of a young man, whom I knew as a boy, and who has been missing for over a year? What of the three dozen or so Dineh teenaged girls, whose posters one may see in any trading post, convenience store, post office or truck stop on the Navajo and Hopi Nations, or in any border community? What of Latinas, missing from even the smallest barrios, across Arizona and New Mexico?
I know that every child matters. That is precisely why it’s imperative to listen, when a fierce woman like N, or J, or T-or my ferocious late wife, comes forward, puts up a straight-ahead message: “PAY SOME *#@!! ATTENTION!” I would have paid attention, anyway-but the work still lies ahead.
If you see, or hear, something, say something. Better yet, DO SOMETHING!
There are days when one is asked to spend small amounts of time with a fair cross section of humanity. Age levels, a wide range of personalities and interest levels are both mixed together and present, one after another, in a span of six or seven hours.
I lived and thrived on such a reality, for nearly forty years, though not always in the span of a day. A classroom rover, which is what I was today and will be again tomorrow, gets a snapshot of different-aged students, mostly focused on one task, with a few variations-like the short-term, and quickly changing, needs of Kindergartners.
Some kids asked me about the bandage I sported and accepted the real explanation, without any drama. It is something that can happen to anyone, over time, from too much of something that is healthful, in small doses. I am a survivor, and want them to be survivors, too. Needless to say, every short session was a success-and enough people had their needs met, that this format can be used on any occasion in which teachers are called to brief committee meetings, in the course of a regular school day.
I also got to notice a few things about people who have been difficult for me to understand, in times past. I saw one man’s physical pain, and how it impacts his interactions with just about everyone. There are others, who are emotionally on a knife edge, having phone interactions with those who are making their lives difficult. Not facing them in the midst of an exceptionally busy school day reveals the sources of their angst and their vulnerabilities. That alone makes someone like me more useful, than would otherwise be the case.
A potpourri of humanity, in a fairly small space, is always enlightening. That’s why I travel-and also why I work.
Here we are, rooted in a garden planet. The urge to see what’s beyond calls to many, nevertheless, especially to the young.
My charges today spent their time devising spacecrafts, working in teams, mostly, with a few intrepid souls working alone.
There were lunar modules, satellites, probes, landers and rovers. It all depended upon the team’s focus and level of ambition. Best of all, the projects were gender-independent. Like the great rocket scientists and astronomers who came before them, the kids offered ideas based on mind. Unlike many who preceded them, they embraced the ideas that were best for the project, without concerning themselves as to whether the notions came from boys or girls.
It’s past time for this to be, and the heirs to space will look back at Sally Ride, Christa McAuliffe, Mae Jemison, Ellen Ochoa and nearly a hundred other women, who led as much as followed, but mainly served side by side with the men pioneers.
It was a noisy, at times messy, but fruitful day of discovery.
It was more quotidian than I thought, this transfer, this purchase of an SUV. The dream of a silver warrior tooling down the TransCanada, next Spring turned out to be a fairy tale. In this realm, there are no fairy tales, and if there are any fairies, they know to make themselves scarce.
It was more quotidian than I thought, this exchange of cash, for a sound vehicle that will do its part, and sans rocket science, but plenty of regular maintenance, will see me safely from one place to another.
It was more quotidian than I thought, driving to the Motor Vehicle Department, sans license plate, with only the transferred title, to prove any validity, with regard to my presence behind the wheel. It mattered none, as in less than thirty minutes, I had accomplished what thousands of people do each year.
It was more quotidian than I thought, this putting a car legally on the road. That says more about my state of mind, than about how the world is working.
October 17, 2021- Jupiter moves direct, with relation to Earth, tomorrow, followed by Mercury. This means something to astrologers, yet also affects those to whom it means little. Everything in the Universe is connected, which goes double for everything in our solar system. Planetary energies can, and do, make us go back over old ground-both social and emotional, until we clear the baggage away and handle our old challenges well.
I feel a shift, more of a balance between duty to self and duty to others.
The loud klaxon that calls me to give all I have to those who will not do for themselves is growing fainter, and just maybe, that means they are beginning to pull themselves up by their own bootstraps.
They may not find it easy. I did not, when the temptation arose, to place the blame for my failures, anywhere but here.
It never brought satisfaction, only tears and discomfort. With suffering, though, comes strength.
I am grateful for the shift. It is the gift that invariably arrives when autumn summons fruition, followed by reward and rest-before a renewed season of greater effort and achievement.
May success come to those who are awakened! (“Woke” is a euphemism, not a real state of being.)
October 14, 2021, Albuquerque- The themes expressed in the New Mexico History Museum are common, in their presentation of the call for rectification of all that has been done wrong, between one group of people towards another, over the centuries. Simply put, there is no person, group of people, ethnicity or nation that has a corner on purity, kindness, love for the Earth, etc. Any time people feel backed into a corner, they lash out.
This is true, no matter how privileged and well-off people are, in actuality. “The reality of man is his thought”, said ‘Abdu’l-Baha, on His visit to Paris, in 1911. If a person feels that he is a victim, then no amount of explaining from someone else, even grounded in real time, will change the afflicted one’s perspective. it has to come from within. Before Europeans came to the Americas, there were times when the various Indigenous nations would quarrel and wage war. Usually, this was sparked by natural disaster, combined with population growth, resulting in scarcity. The influx of large numbers of people who came from other parts of the world, and who had different values and practices, did not exactly ease the situation.
The solution, though, is never to deny another person’s reality, as some intellectuals are trying to do with regard to social justice movements. The conservative who refers to the claims of a progressive as “that hoax”, and vice versa, brings no peace. Everyone has a piece of the truth, and deserves to at least be heard, so that the feeling of being backed into a corner does not arise. I came to this realization, again, after visiting the section of the New Mexico History Museum that deals with the Pueblo Revolt of 1680. The rebellion succeeded, initially, because there was unity of purpose across the various Indigenous nations. It failed, in the end, both because that unity did not hold and because the victors did not see fit to treat Spanish civilians, especially women and children, in a humane manner. It was the generating of extreme negativity that sucked the energy out of the otherwise worthy campaign for relief and equanimity for maltreated Indigenous people.
The songwriter Pete Townshend warned, after experiencing callous behaviour from some attendees at the Woodstock Music Festival, in 1969, that “parting on the Left” could change to “parting on the Right”, in his song “We Won’t Get Fooled Again”. It happens when, as the initially victorious have so often found, their views on holding power turn out to be unimaginative, merely copying the practices of their former oppressors-and thus either paving the way for the return of those oppressors, as happened in the late Seventeenth Century, or worse, hard-wiring the succeeding generations in patterns of socially maladaptive behaviour.
I have paid close attention, especially lately, to the interactions of people, across ages and ethnicities, in the latest stages of COVID19. I have heard of incidents of line jumping and people flailing at each other, over masks vs. no masks. I saw nothing of the sort, anywhere in mask-mandated New Mexico, these past four days. People appear to be making an effort to get along, on a very basic level. even when, as one conservative friend said, they regard the mask mandate as inane.
Everyone’s struggle is real, and though that struggle does not become everyone else’s God-given burden, we can at least wish the bedraggled soul the best, and not actively make the onus heavier, by denying that it exists.
I left Santa Fe, around noon, after the museum visit, making brief stops in the artistic havens of Galisteo and Madrid, before settling in at the avant-garde, minimalist Monterey Motel, near Old Town, in this sprawling, but still rather charming metropolis on the Rio Grande.
Here are a few scenes of the day.
Henry and the Fish, near Santa Fe’s Lensic Theater, has upped the game on oatmeal-making the winter comfort food into a staple that lasts all day.
Learning, with some satisfaction, that the Georgia O’Keeffe Museum has sufficient rock star status as to require a fair amount of advance planning, before a visit, I made a note to wait until next time.
Affirmation Sculpture, near Georgia O’Keeffe Museum, Santa Fe
After leaving Santa Fe, a drive to quiet, artistic Galisteo introduced this adobe church: Our Lady of the Cures.
Nuestra Senora de Los Remedios, Galisteo, NM
This stone wall is similar to one that a former colleague mentioned, after his 1979 visit to a ranch owned by the late Burl Ives, who called Galisteo home.
En route from Galisteo to the artist community of Madrid, I drove past some badlands.
Sandstone outcroppings, north of Cerrillos, NM
Outcroppings, north of Cerrillos, NM
Once in Madrid, I found this little gem, in the Gypsy Plaza. Mr. Shugarman carefully packaged two of his signature chocolate bark squares, for my gradual enjoyment. He also ships his wares, so some beloved friends may expect an occasional surprise, direct from Madrid.
Shugarman’s Little Chocolate Shop, Madrid, NM
Madrid may look like it’s falling down, but thriving it is. The old coal mining town reminds me of Jerome, only not perched on a hillside.
Java Junction’s apple cream muffin also is coming home with me, for a possible Saturday (or Monday) breakfast.
JJ was somewhat busy, this afternoon, but it hasn’t always been thus.
Madrid, on the east side of Sandia Crest, is another reason for me to return to northern New Mexico, soon. After tending to a critical business matter in uptown Albuquerque, I settled into Monterey Motel, about two blocks west of Old Town. The avant-garde ambiance was welcome this evening.
A Sagittarian Seeker 