A few affirmations, on this basically quiet day in Home Base:
When the choice is between a power structure and children/teens, I stand with the young ones.
When confronted with a disquiet, menacing presence, I will walk past him/her/it, not crossing the street in avoidance-but not giving in to any demands, either.
When people start to talk over one another, I will stand to one side, in silence, and not support either speaker.
When a public servant blathers about ideological purity, instead of tending to the public weal, I will look elsewhere for someone to act in public service.
When I am asked to complete documents, and submit them in a timely manner, I will regard “timely” as immediate and focus accordingly.
My condolences to the family of Senator Feinstein, who served until the end.
When I am excessively quiet, don’t mistake that for contentment. I may be simply figuring out how best to express my annoyance.
September 27, 2023- The scientist looked earnestly at the veteran politician, and bared his soul. He fretted about the destruction to which his work had contributed. For this, he was castigated, and thrown out of the politician’s office.
Historically accurate or not, this was the depiction of the interchange between J. Robert Oppenheimer and Harry S. Truman, in the film “Oppenheimer”. I came away from the film, which was in its final showing this evening, thinking “Well, that was certainly vintage Truman; ‘The buck stops here’ and all that.” It may have been typical of Oppenheimer, as well. He held a dim view of “Give ‘Em Hell Harry”, largely for the difference in worldview between the two of them.
There was, however, a firsthand view of the first atomic explosion that occurred in White Sands, that Oppenheimer had and Truman did not. The President had to weigh a lot of factors, in deciding to attack Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Chief among them was ‘saving American lives’, with the damage to Japan being secondary. There were calculations, though, that far more Japanese lives would be lost in a conventional war, than from one or two nuclear strikes. It was, in my 20/20 hindsight (I was born in 1950), a Hobson’s choice.
War, and conflict in general, brings out the worst in people. Its “solution” certainly caused no end of heartache and grief to the people of Kyushu and western Honshu. It left Oppenheimer, a reluctant recipient of both civic honour and political humiliation, a veritable wreck of a man. The subsequent research into the hydrogen bomb left “downwinders” in southern Nevada and Utah, northern Arizona and much of New Mexico, poisoned, debilitated shells of their more robust selves. Neutron bombs, which “kill people, but leave buildings intact” are perhaps the most cynical extension of this element of modern warfare, save the use of armed drones, launched a long distance away from the target.
The events that were fictionalized in “Oppenheimer” only reinforced my revulsion. Harry Truman probably would have wanted to kick my buttocks.
September 26, 2023- Seven groups of students, some duos, trios and quartets, cheerfully performed what they knew, of the beginning chords to “Good King Wenceslaus” (It’s not too soon to start practicing!), “Mary Had A Little Lamb”, “Seven Nation Army”, “Toboggan Run” and “Two Bach Psalms”; even “Happy Birthday” had its opening notes offered by a soloist.
I am one of those advocates who hold that there is no bad music, painting, pottery or poetry-when offered by a child. Other adults, whose only frame of reference is their own grown-up experience, may beg to differ-or say that not criticizing mistakes is a form of enabling. Rubbish! A person learns by doing, especially in the arts.
This was one of the most enjoyable school days I’ve had in some time, which is saying a lot. We were given a work packet, on musical math, but that took scant time to complete. Then, it was time to go forward and practice-the one thing that builds strength in artistry. Being one who, to this day, is illiterate musically, I will do all I can to encourage young people to learn to read music-and stretch their skills in its expression.
I look forward to attending their Christmas concert-and its Spring equivalent.
September 25, 2023- A co-worker on the serving line, this evening, was unequivocal about my sun shield cap. “I’m sorry, but I just can’t believe you’re wearing that, around here”, he chortled, as I put the cap on, just before leaving. He pointed out that it did not cover my face, which was dabbed with sunscreen. The whole outburst was rather pointless, only signifying the need of so many, who style themselves as “normal” and anyone who acts differently as somehow off the mark, to reinforce their own, narrow perceptions. Fact is, though, my skin is safer from cancer with the cap and shield. Nothing else matters.
Earlier today, I had a good day covering mathematics classes at a nearby Middle School. The packet and subsequent online activity kept most students busy, through each class period. I was able to explain matters to those who wanted my help, and pair others with their peers,if they found that more comfortable. One boy was so busy trying to impress his pretty classmate, by goading me and trying to say that he thought I was stupid, that the predictable thing happened: After several minutes of abiding his shenanigans, she got up and moved to another part of the room. Most kids are more interested in bettering themselves and aren’t as invested in proving their “normality” as so many of us were, at their age.
Neurotypical and neurodivergent are actually traps, false dichotomies. I was raised to not try to either feed my autism-which wasn’t even recognized by that name, when I was a child nor to make excuses, based on having the condition. Those who claimed to be “totally normal” almost always found themselves at a breaking point. Those who just went through life, not bothering with judging others, most often were the most successful, at whatever they tried. In that sense, the secular mantra “You do you” makes a great deal of sense-as long as it doesn’t lead to total disengagement from one’s surroundings.
I, doing me, have a lot of social interaction and reasonable attention to others’ needs.
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 21, 2023- I relaxed in Century Lounge, this morning, being greeted by another of the angelic presences who make life, both here and abroad, so affirming. It has been a rather carefree day-despite the presence of an angry panhandler, downtown, who has so far confined himself to making surly comments and thrusting his hand out to passersby. The authorities don’t seem to know quite what to do about him; after spending ten days in the County Jail, on unpublicized charges, he came right back here and resumed his demands. I am all for helping homeless people, and am in the serving line, each Monday evening. I am also hardwired to not kowtow to ad hoc authority figures or randomly demanding people. I recently lost a friend of over fifty years, for not loaning money. The stranger on the street is not going to be treated any differently.
There is an attitude of oppression in the wind-both in Congress and with the minders of our nation’s economic system. The mood seems to be “You will all make do with less-and like it.” That has been tried so many times in the past fifty-five years, and we, the common people, are still here. It will end the same, this time. We will hang together and the Big Dogs will get tired, go back to their scheming and hoarding, and the majority of us will survive, in place if need be. I want to be clear: This has nothing to do with ideology- the elite of all stripes are culpable. I, personally, leave them to themselves just follow the promptings of my spirit guides, as best as I know how.
I believe that downturns are mostly manufactured, contrived. There is way too much wealth that is either being horded or wasted; the same is true of nearly all resources. The only meaningful answer is taking the time to distribute resources equitably. That has never been very well understood, but is close to becoming an imperative.
September 20, 2023- Several tree branches graced the highway, between Winslow and Strawberry, leading us to stop and wait for fifteen minutes at a stretch, as one lane was open, and we took turns with oncoming traffic. At least this time, no one jumped the gun and refused to wait-unlike last year on Cape Breton, when a pick-up coming towards our traffic line challenged the lead vehicle-a semi-trailer. Guess who backed up five hundred yards?
Today’s episode led to a pushed -back chiropractic adjustment-which was no big deal. The evening Zoom meeting, which was the other reason for making sure I was back at Home Base-Prescott by this evening, was lengthy, but well-organized. These next three weeks need to be similarly focused, on my end at least. A fair amount of work is on tap and renewed attention to weight reduction, though this journey has not been as hard on that part of my life as it might have been. Connecting a few more dots on the Philippines trip needs to happen-so long as the plug is not pulled on TSA and the air traffic controllers, come October 1.
Recapping, the four-day Colorado East Baha’i Summer School provided spiritual grounding before I headed north and east. Laying a wreath at the grave of a fallen police officer was the other side of the coin from George Floyd World Square, where I stopped in 2021. A corollary visit to Oheyaw Ahi, land sacred to the Dakota people, was an added blessing. Visiting the Baha’i House of Worship, Wilmette is essential to me, personally, in ensuring both physical and spiritual well-being on any cross-country jaunt. My mother’s 95th birthday, though rather low-key, was the centerpiece of the drive. The birth of a grand niece, though I did not hang around and witness it, was as good a reason as any to stop in the beloved climes of southeast Pennsylvania, spend time with my newly relocated brother and sister-in-law, and of course stop in at Glick’s Greenhouse. It was also a reason to make homage to a much-loved cousin, who spent her final years in York, a place of considerable historical importance-as is its namesake in England. Visits with old friends in Crossville, TN and Amarillo topped off this year’s cross-country.
Other old friends were welcoming, in Wilmette, IL; Saugus, Bedford and Wilkes-Barre, PA; and Moriarty, NM. There were new friends made-in Luverne, MN; Toledo; Kittery, ME; Harrisburg; Marion, VA; Atoka, OK-and Amarillo. The most important, enduring feature of any journey, though, is the connection with family. At journey’s end, I can say that it, almost alone, determines the success or failure of the effort.
September 19, 2023, Moriarty- The clerk in the spanking new service station regarded me curiously, as I was putting a lid on the soup bowl I had just filled-“You’re in the right place. If you’re ready, this way please.” She is one of the archetypal personages who show up, whenever I am starting to feel befuddled. There are the cheerful Irish girl or woman with long black hair and a crinkled smile, the concerned Black man or woman who sets me straight-often without saying a word, and the slender, no-nonsense woman or girl with an air of self-confidence. The clerk was one of the latter, her understated message being”You need not doubt yourself. Go forward with confidence”. These archetypal persons are all souls that I seem to have met before.
After checking out of Palace Motel, I crossed the state line into Oklahoma, and saw “Welcome to the Choctaw Nation”. As many are aware, the record of the Federal government, with regard to what is now Oklahoma, is rather shoddy. Native Americans were forcibly removed from their lands in the Southeast, brought to this area and given small segments of what was then viewed as marginal land. Once oil was discovered, there was a land rush and races were held, to see who would grab “newly-opened” parcels of land. The Oklahoma Territory took the western 2/3 of Indian Territory, and the two were again joined, to become the State of Oklahoma, in 1907. It was from the days of the land rush that the term “Sooners”, or claim jumpers, was bestowed upon the citizens of Oklahoma.
I entered the Sooner State fairly early, and drove through Broken Bow, Idabel, Hugo and Durant, before heading northward, towards Atoka. These towns are all in Choctaw jurisdiction, and variously show signs of prosperity and sections that could use some love. The Choctaw seem to have used their resources rather well: Oil and casino resorts draw other enterprises. Atoka, in particular, is making strides to increase its draw as a business location. Along with Durant, it has established the commercial strips common to most regional hubs in North America.
As I began to feel like I was aimlessly meandering, a check of the GPS revealed that I was not all that far from Oklahoma City. It was lunch time, and the Pilot station offered comforting hot soup, along with a chicken sandwich-plenty good enough for a road meal. The above-mentioned clerk summoned me to her station, and conveyed a message of confidence. From there, I spotted a sign directing me towards Ada, a town where Penny and I stayed with friends, while she was recuperating from an illness incurred while traveling, in 1984. I knew that from Ada, it would be an hour or so to Oklahoma City, and relaxed enough to just pull into Atoka City Park, enjoying lunch, while admiring the lake that the city has constructed.
Atoka Lake (above and below)
The sky looked a bit ominous, and I would later hear from a friend elsewhere in Oklahoma, that her area had experienced severe downpours, with thunder and lightning. My drive was briefly interrupted, near Shawnee, when I drove into a speed trap-55 down to 40, in a matter of seconds. I was given an oral warning and sent on my way, no worse for the wear. The officer did not seem to even agree with the posting, but was just another soul-dispatched to make sure I was in a good frame of mind. The weather, save a few sprinkles, near Weatherford (no pun, cosmic, or otherwise), was rather tame.
By dinner time, I was in Amarillo, and so headed to the Fun Zone, Georgia Street to 6th-9th Avenues. There was my pal, Wes, in his convertible, hood down and ready to make anew friend or two. At Smokey Joe’s, we were treated like royalty by a comely young woman named Ella, who brought out a fine basket of Southern style catfish-no hush puppies, but a modest portion of fries and a generous helping of cole slaw. Wes, being shy and retiring, was more concerned with speaking of his business’s progress and sharing pictures of his surrogate grand-niece than with eating. He did make a new friend, so the stop was a success.
I promised both of them that I would drive safely-and kept that promise, arriving here to a rather crowded town, many here for a Gun Show. There was a room for me, at a friend’s establishment, so I am happily ensconced at Lariat Motel.
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 17, 2023, Corinth, MS- A small boy asked his father- “Daddy, which one is harder for you, Needle’s Eye or Fat Man’s Squeeze?” The man was not all that “Dad Bod”, but gamely replied “the Squeeze”. I found neither one to be problematic, while remembering that, had I visited Rock City a year ago, both would have been difficult.
The late J.R.Cline recommended Lookout Mountain in general, and Rock City in particular, a few years back, when I was visiting friends in east Tennessee. He and his family loved the place. After spending a couple of hours there, I can readily see why. Rock City was opened to the public in 1932, when Garnet and Frieda Carter first wanted to share their unique property with the world. The place gives Disney World a run for its money-and at a fraction of the price.
It’s all about imagination, with the rocks-and folkloric art, fueling the whimsy for kids of all ages.
Here are seven photographs, out of the several dozen taken today, that offer a sense of what the Cline family, and thousands of others from across the globe, have come to treasure.
Grand CorridorNo camel could get through this one.High Falls (Above and below)Hall of the Mountain KingIn Fairyland Caverns, many creatures await.Everything is just right.
After this, I found it enjoyable to tool around, along the byways of the southern Cumberland Plateau-not stopping to photograph, as the camera needed a rest and a charge, but seeing J.R.’s “Golden Loop”, as he might have. The area between Childersburg, Alabama and Knoxville was his paradise.
Come sleepy time, I found this northeast corner of Mississippi, and the Southern Motel. For the first time in many years, all the rooms have ashtrays-but my room is not bad, scent-wise, so one night will be okay.
A Sagittarian Seeker 