Eastbound and Back, Day 13: Newfoundland Notes, Part I

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May 11, 2024, Corner Brook-

I was able to add this photo, of sunrise on our approach to Channel-Port aux Basques, earlier today. Then, the WP editor kicked in, and announced that “You have no posts”. That was with regard to the app on my i-Phone. That app will remain unused, until I can get that nonsense straightened out. This is one example of why AI will never replace the human mind. AI is quirky, rigid, inflexible. Humans are quirky, too, and can be inflexible, but can be made to see reason. AI is an eternal toddler. Only an adult can guide it to a place of equanimity.

Anyway, upon getting off the ferry, Sportage and I headed to Alma’s Family Restaurant, in a shopping strip mall, east of downtown. A nice young lady, who appeared to be the owner’s daughter, took my order, in business-like but kind fashion. The breakfast was a bit bland, but filling.

Today was a picture postcard Blue Sky day. The storm that folks on Cape Breton warned about, yesterday, has not reached here, yet. So, I headed east, towards Corner Brook which, as you see above, was my destination, after the inadequate sleep I got on the ride over. There was an added concern: Son had a bout of dehydration and is in hospital. I am prepared to cut this trip short, return to Cape Breton and then make my way to Texas, but so far, Aram and Yunhee are not in need of my presence. I will, nonetheless, be in touch with them each day, until he is recovered. While I was sitting still and dealing with that, a young woman, who had been at the gas pumps at the same time as me, was dealing with what sounded like a serious interpersonal issue. She pulled her car behind mine, and stayed close to me, until she felt better enough to drive off. No words were exchanged between us, she just needed someone who felt trustworthy, for about twenty minutes.

After driving around the Stephenville and Gallants areas (Gallant being my Nana’s family name, that of the ancestors who came from France to the Maritimes, by way of Quebec.), I pulled into Corner Brook.

Lake George, east of Gallants.
North Brook, Gallants

A couple of aborted attempts at finding lodging-“We are waiting for our cleaning crew”; no one in the office ended with my taking a room at the majestic Glynmill Inn.

I also took in a couple of Corner Brook’s finer natural areas: The Bay of Islands is bordered by a heartfelt Rock Art Wall, where people have left mementos of what is in their hearts.

Parents’ worst nightmare.
Bay of Islands

There is also a trail, from Glynmill to downtown. Passing by a small pond, it leads to Corner Brook’s unique City Hall.

So, having managed to reach an understanding with AI, I present you, once again, with photos taken on my i-Phone. Hope all is well on your end.

Eastbound and Back, Day 8: The Coast Cleared

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May 6, 2024, Calais, ME- At the roundabout, turning off towards Boothbay Harbor, I found myself waiting for a street sweeper in what was little more than a Bobcat, heading across the first exit and headed southbound, which I was also doing. Fortunately, he next turned right, towards the Post Office, and I was on track to be punctual.

I got to the rendezvous point that I thought was right-Dunkin’Donuts, on the south end of Wells. Turns out, there is another Dunkin’, more in the center of town. The still-recognizable figure from my childhood got my text and came to where I was, three minutes later.


The clouds that had hung on earlier started clearing, as we bantered for the next ninety minutes, giving a good many caffeinating residents of Wells and environs a bit more about growing up in Saugus, in the ’50s and ’60s than they may have ever anticipated. A Frenchman and an Italian get going on stuff from the past, and who knows what will be divulged. I may stop on the way back, and catch his piano magic.

Catharsis just happens, though both of us did our best to not give TMI. It was time to move on, around 11, which gave me just enough time to go up the coast towards Boothbay Harbor, where a cousin and his wife were waiting for our annual, or biennial, meeting. Stopping at Wilbur’s of Maine, for gift items, took five minutes and the minor wait for the street sweeper took another five. I was at their house at exactly 11 a.m. Why that is suddenly so important, as I write this, is a mystery. Maybe I am just compensating for some time in the distant past, when I let people down, due to dawdling. At any rate, it didn’t matter at all to my hosts. Our conversation, over lunch, was centered on our Irish paternal great-grandmother’s proactivity, in purchasing what would become the Boivin family home, for over 100 years. So many gatherings took place, in the three storeys of that house, in the backyard, up the street at another aunt & uncle’s house and two blocks north, at another uncle & aunt’s house. Then, there were the pool tournaments, at Frank’s Bar & Grill, across the main street from Perley.

I left the cousins behind, with a promise to return, later this month. The sky was alternately foggy (inland) and clear (along the coast). I found relatively scant traffic, which was not surprising as it’s still fairly early in May. Many cabins and seasonal restaurants are still closed, awaiting Memorial Day. It also being a Monday, several others were taking their weekly day off. Joe’s Diner, just shy of the Canadian border, was open, for a modest plate of spaghetti, and a generous helping of meatballs. International Motel, a riverside establishment, has provided me with another comfortable place for a fine night’s rest.

Tomorrow will see a return visit to the Gallant family’s North American entry point: Shediac, NB. It was there that my paternal grandmother’s father’s forebears brought their roofing skills to bear among the Basque and Breton fisherfolk of 17th Century New Brunswick.

Eastbound and Back, Day 4: Making the Time

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May 2, 2024, Clarion, PA- The housekeeper rapped on the door, ever so lightly. “Mister, it is time. You must check out!” Yes, it was indeed 11 a.m., and she probably had fifteen rooms to clean, in four hours, or something along those lines. I did want to get going, as well, so the last post I was writing, before this one, was set aside, until I could get to a coffee house, in downtown Goshen, and everything was put carefully in the right bags and brought to Sportage- in three minutes’ time. The Super 8 was in good repair and she gave me a clean room, last night, so I’ll not quibble.

As I drove along Main Street, Goshen, looking for a parking spot-Voila, there it was, on the other side of the street-and right in front of the recommended coffee house. As I signaled a left turn, into the space went the oncoming vehicle. Hmmm- no sense getting annoyed, so I turned left onto the next side street-and, there was Electric Brew, which bills itself as “Goshen’s original coffee house”. I found a spot, right in front of it, so grace given was grace returned. I don’t know about the other place, but Electric Brew is an excellent coffee house/deli, with a most congenial and helpful team of baristas and servers. I was able to easily finish and post about the Twelfth Day of Ridvan.

The day continued, into and across Ohio, with plenty of opportunities to make people feel seen and heard. Mostly, it was a matter of holding doors open for those coming through, or coming in behind me. I thrive on not being anonymous or invisible, so I am sure other people are largely the same.

There wasn’t much else going on, in this very familiar portion of the trip, but I changed the route just a little-going on I-80, in stead of the Pennsylvania Turnpike. That led me to another Motel 6, this one a bit more upscale, in amenities, though not in price. I had the pleasure of dining at Cozumel Authentic Mexican Restaurant-and found it as good as many such places in the Southwest. It isn’t often that Motel 6 even has an eatery in the same building-but there we are. The room I scored is huge-spare, but with a fine bed, and HUGE.

I find it always pays to make the time for doing things carefully-big or small.

The Myth of Finality

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April 28, 2024, Gallup- As I was walking to breakfast, at Post 6, this morning, one of the dogs who customarily run up to their owners’ fence and barks his head off, was true to form. A raven began flying in circles, above the dog, and cawed loudly, mimicking the dog’s bark. Animals can hassle each other like that.

So, too, do we humans seem to think it is our due, to hassle one another. I give you the current version of “Forward, into the past!”-Right-wing students, mixing with peaceful protesters and yelling for a renewal of “The Final Solution”. There is no real concern about the Palestinians who have suffered, no desire to see justice for Gaza, just a re-hash of Nazi propaganda-blaming Jews in this country and around the world for the destruction that has come from two groups of extremists fighting one another. Palestinians, in Gaza, have asked that the hatred against ordinary Jews be stopped. It is, they note, not helping their search for justice.

I have relatives who are at least a quarter, or half, and in a few cases full-blooded Jewish. I have many more, both Arab and Jew, who I count as friends. None of them hate the others. Growing up, my parents counted both Arabs and Jews as friends. It is thus second nature.

In Creation, there is no permission given by the Divine, for one group of people to slaughter another. The deluded young man who called for the deaths of all Jews can quote Mein Kampf all he wants, but if he follows through, he deserves full punishment, under the law. I say the same applies to anyone calling for the deaths of all Arabs. Enough is enough! If someone, or a group, attacks a Jew, or an Arab, in my presence, I will stand for the intended victim-nonviolently, mind you, but I will stand in defense of the one being attacked.

Today is the anniversary of Baha’u’llah’s Declaration of His Mission, to unite mankind, both spiritually and materially. We Baha’is celebrated, worldwide. There are fellows in Faith who are of Jewish descent, as Penny was and there are fellows in Faith who are of Arab descent-in fact, there are Baha’is in virtually every ethnicity, across the planet. We stand for the oneness of mankind. There is no room for anyone to act on genocidal thoughts, of any kind. There is no such “final solution”.

In a few days, I will be at the Baha’i House of Worship, in Wilmette, Illinois, north of Chicago. I try to visit there, each time I head east, for family visits. The magnificent Temple helps me ground self spiritually. This time, I hope to see both Jewish and Arabic visitors, among the multitude that is there, on any given day.

The only finality should be love.

Degrees of Separation

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April 23, 2024- The individual, always congenial and engaging in the past, did a complete 180 today, glaring at all but a few chosen co-workers, and tersely responding to well-wishes. Fortunately, this turnabout did not get directed towards children, but was rather puzzling to the rest of us. It was hopefully just the result of a random bad day.

Things like this put me on guard, though, as there were many mercurial and unpredictable people in my childhood, mostly teenagers, but several adults as well. I learned to be very guarded, a tactic my mother also stressed was essential for my safety and well-being. That mantra has played in my background ever since. It was playing today, though fortunately the children with whom I worked were co-operative and appreciative.

This brings me to the matter of the separation, the barriers people put up, even against those who clearly mean no harm. Groups do this also, and with a vengeance. In the worst cases, there are laws, ad hoc groups and social customs that enforce separation. More commonly, language speaks to the barriers: Prefixes, like “anti”, “un” and “non”, meant to enforce “Us vs. Them”; Nouns and adjectives, like “alien”, “illegal”, “filthy”, “degenerate”, even “homeless” are employed to suggest that someone’s presence is an impediment to the well-being of the dominant society.

Arguably, none of us can be sweetly all-accepting of all behaviours. Yet, I can’t get past the notion that, in the Divine Creation, there is no other-unless the construct that Jesus the Christ called “Satan” or “the devil” is somehow to be maintained as a competitor to the Creator. The lower nature of the human mind, which is what was really meant by that construct, is also behind the us vs. them mindset. Without fear, hate and envy, there is no “other”; there is only us, only we.

When the out-of-sorts individual gets past whatever caused the anger shown today, perhaps there will be one less person towards which my guard will need to be maintained. That is the joy of not seeing anyone as “the other”.

Power Language

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April 19, 2024- When I was a child, the concept that every blow delivered would be followed by an equal and opposite retaliatory strike was alien to me. I thought, naively, that a simple exchange of blows was enough for each boy to express his annoyance at the situation. My opponents uniformly believed that there had to be a winner and a loser.

There has been much discussion, over the past five years, about Love Language-the way in which an individual gives and receives love. My love language, for example, is acts of service. Words of affirmation, quality time and physical touch are secondary love languages-expressed only to a certain few.

Power is also a concept that is expressed in “languages” of sorts. (These are only my thoughts on the matter.) The power languages I have ascertained are persuasion, coercion, diminution, guilt-mongering and inclusion. The first and last are positive means to power. The second, third and fourth are negative, if not neurotic, power languages.


Both persuasion and inclusion involve patience, flexibility and a regard for others that is equal to one’s self-regard. Persuasion entails a commitment to a lengthy engagement with those whose agreement and co-operation are desired. Inclusion entails an inherent regard for the other person’s, or group’s, sense of self-worth. Inclusion is a longer game, in which the perception of power, coming from within the self, is large enough a reservoir that the individual sees others as being of the same worth as self. The two power languages do not entail a lesser view of either oneself or any other human being. They may even extend to non-human animals, plants, funga and spirits.

Coercion, often involving physical force, but also including bribery, co-opting, blackmail and obfuscation, is the most common historical power language. Even in modern times, the cynic’s Golden Rule, “He who has the gold makes the rules”, has silenced those whose financial or time-management skills are sufficiently wanting, that a keen observer who is hungry for power can leverage the person’s weakness and buy or intimidate them into giving up their agency.

Diminution, the convincing of social groups of their own unworthiness and of the superiority of others, is a second very common historical power language. It is the modus operandi of the plantation, of the colonial system and of patriarchy. Diminution depends on a top-down decision-making apparatus. It goes beyond the sensible system of parenthood, infantilizes women, disempowers adolescents, and instills a sense of superiority in members of a dominant culture. This is most obvious in the notions of White Supremacy and Male Superiority, but is also true of any culture where a dominant group trivializes the contributions of marginalized communities.

Guilt-mongering is the “when all else fails” power language of dominance. It features self-as-victim, gaslighting, false equivalence and an “after all I’ve done for you” pitch, each of which is like a rock in a shoe, designed to nettle and disrupt the other’s concentration and sense of well-being. It manifests itself in endless legal appeals and slow-walking of valid processes, just enough to create doubt and suspicion. It is a favoured tool of those among the well-connected who lack a moral compass. It is also a favoured tool of those in the media whose primary concern is generating revenue, at the expense of morality.

We are seeing a slow, but inexorable, move towards persuasion and inclusion as preferred power languages. The futility of coercion, diminution and guilt-mongering is being seen by more and more people around the world, as their perceived value is recognized, more and more, as impermanent, ephemeral and of scant overall value. The language of power will, in time, become linked to the language of love.

One Person’s Whimsy….

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March 25, 2024- The last step in any prayer is always taking action.

Burying objects in the earth, immersing them in bodies of water or placing them in caves, has long been a spiritual practice of those seeking connection with the Divine, or with forces of Nature. Its effects tend to be slow, usually too slow for the liking of the movers and shakers among us, who want to see quick results.

This evening, I had time available to join a full moon meditation which, after the customary full body relaxation exercise, referenced various treasure vases that have been placed in dozens of locations around the world. Many of these are places of spiritual or environmental significance, to one group of people or another. They range from the Lawrence Laboratories, in Berkeley, CA to a forest in rural Liberia. A sacred site in Israel/Palestine is the location of another such vase. Its mention led someone to protest (in Chat) that the vase was pointless, since things have gotten worse in that part of the world.

“So”, I mused to self, “this means that the vases on the border between North and South Korea, in the Cloisters of Manhattan, a cave in Bosnia-Hercegovina, and others in Iraq, Mexico, the Georgian Federation, South Kivu Province of DR Congo a hill overlooking Fukushima and nuclear energy facilities in New York and Washington State are pointless as well. Let’s all just throw up our hands and let the Big Dogs have their bones!”

After the session was over, I was glad to have not given abrupt voice to that rebuttal. It would have jettisoned the peaceful sentiments of the call’s organizers and made me as much of a problem as the troll was. Then, I started to think further-maybe she was not trying to disrupt, or be a troll. Maybe her Type A brain has no more patience for the slow path of spiritual healing. More’s the pity. Those who seek quick solutions, but who have no game plan that brings reconciliation and justice, are essentially chasing their tails. Their insinuation, that others of us are chasing rainbows, thus rings hollow.

Martin Luther King, Jr had a dream. He also had specific, tangible plans to bring that dream to fruition. I, too, have both, and will pursue them-albeit in a far less prominent manner.

Ad Hominem

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March 23, 2024- “What about the thousands of Vietnamese and Cambodians who have been killed?” So asks Henry Wyeth, an unseen character in Jon Robin Baitz’s “Other Desert Cities”, in response to his father’s admonition to turn himself in, after a bombing, in which he was involved, results in the death of a janitor. Father slaps Henry across the face, and the disheveled young man runs away.

This incident, and its aftermath, are the plot of Baitz’s 2011 play, about family dysfunction, the effect it has on the Wyeths, their two younger children and their doting, but feckless, aunt. It deals head-on with the overemphasis on political differences and how artificial those turn out to be, at the very basic human level. It is, at its core, a horror story. The catalyst is Henry’s sister’s writing a memoir, centered around his disappearance.

I went to a production of the play, this evening, at Prescott Center for the Arts. A fairly new studio theater affords an intimate, “in the square” presentation, almost like watching a play in one’s own living room. This makes the interaction, the tension, that much more relevant to the audience. It also increases the impact of various ad hominem attacks that the family members foist on one another, and no one is spared.

My family, even on an extended level, never fell into such holes of judgment. When we argued, things were resolved by nightfall, or by the problem person apologizing, whichever came first. The same was true in our marriage. Neither of us went to bed angry at the other. None of us let political differences trump familial love. So it remains today. People choose their political and social stances based on their personality, view of the world and experiences. No one else can really judge them, for those things alone.

In the beginning, and in the end, there is only love.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1AIOkrxMPEQ&t=38s

Lunar Water, and Other Things Overlooked

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March 19,2024- “The test guide says there is no water on the Moon, so that’s what we need to go by, for now.” So I was told by a colleague, not long ago, when I pointed out that water had been discovered on Luna, in small amounts. Oh, how we deal with the cognitive dissonance that fact often brings our way, when it clashes with previously-held concepts and shibboleths. After all, it wasn’t that long ago that Celene Dion had a minor hit song called “Water from the Moon”.

The late, great Harry Nilsson once did a spoken word piece on his album, “The Point!”, in which his message was “You see what you want to see, and you hear what you want to hear.” This has never been truer, for many people, than now. Those who have particularly strong convictions are apt to discount, and in many cases vehemently disparage, alternative points of view, even when presented with factual information that is at variance with their own deeply-held beliefs. One Congressman, during the Watergate hearings, actually blurted out the famous quote from Plato: “I’m trying to think; don’t confuse me with facts.” The philosopher, at the time, was not discounting the facts. He was simply trying to see where they fit into his line of reasoning. That may have been true of the Congressman, during that heated time in American life, but it appeared ludicrous back then.

This is true of many of us, even among those who are known for an open mind and open heart. We each have at least a few beliefs that are unshakable-usually with regard to personal Faith or concerning our views of human nature, or individualism vs. collective action. My late maternal grandfather was a stalwart believer in individual responsibility. He imparted this to each of his nine children, who in turn passed it on to us-and we, to our own children-and so on. My paternal grandfather also believed in living up to one’s duties, but also took time for joie de vivre. He passed both on to his eleven children, and on down the line. Papa was not a dour man, and Grampy was not frivolous. They each had their core beliefs, which our grandmothers more or less shared, though the dear women seldom spoke of their own convictions.

We were raised to work hard, but also to think for ourselves, and when we were able to present facts to back up our statements, we had the respect, sometimes grudging, of our elders. I miss that environment.

Farewell, and Hail

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February 22,2024- From the dour expressions on a few faces, both in San Diego and back in Prescott, it seems like winter is getting on several people’s nerves. I felt great, though, even as leaving San Diego is never easy. A sweet and affirming conversation with a fellow hosteler got the day off to a good start, and my checkout was methodical-something I’ve only mastered, in the past three years. Once again, nothing was left behind. From Ocean Beach, I headed over to an old favourite: Harbor Breakfast. Friend Maria was not working today, but the fare was still top of the line. I handled a bit of business, as calls came in during this late breakfast. It’s all good.

Before the King Fire, before Yarnell Hill, there was Inaja. The 1956 wildfire in Cleveland National Forest, just south of Julian, CA, resulted in the deaths of 11 firefighters. I made a brief stop at the Memorial Park, as it was time for morning prayers.

Inaja Memorial Park, Santa Ysabel, CA
View towards the Laguna Mountains, from Inja Memorial Park.
Inaja Memorial Park, Santa Ysabel, CA

The stop reminded me of the fragility, and of the endurance, of the forest.

The rest of my drive back to Home Base I was smooth, and though I arrived in the middle of the devotional which prompted the straight homeward route, all ended up well. The focus was on peace, and tranquility starts within. So, winter or summer, cold or hot, it is ever worthwhile to focus one’s energies on keeping a positive outlook, even while dealing with the changes and chances that come our way.

All in all, this weekday break was a reminder of the value of refreshing one’s energy.