A Not-So-Lonely Highway

2

July 29, 2023- A solitary man, either befuddled by the heat or determined to stand his ground, stood squarely in the path of my slowly-moving Kia, as I approached a rest room, at the more aptly named than usual Area 51 Alien Center. The heat, and an approaching full moon, seemed to have brought more unusual behaviour than I’ve seen, over the past eleven years, in that little settlement of Amargosa Springs. I felt badly for the two ladies who were staffing the Alien Center’s store.

The man in question moved along, when I simply turned right and found a parking spot away from the rest room. When I drove across the street, to the Alien Center’s parking lot, he blocked my way with his car, so once more, I turned right and simply found a space that was not in “his zone”. He drove off without any further ado.

The drive down from Carson City was itself quite smooth. I left a bit later than planned, as my help was needed with an online Zoom call, which was best done from the motel room. Breakfast to go sufficed my LA Bakery fix, for this visit. (That establishment, and Red Hut, are my must stops in Carson.) Stopping briefly in Yerington, an hour to the south, I found another favourite, Blanhir’s Bakery, was closed-odd for a Saturday noon. Oh, well, down through Schurz, Hawthorne and Mina, towards Tonopah, it was. A brief rest stop at Luning, just north of Mina, provided an opportunity for service and let’s just say, I fixed a problem that had been left to sit , by earlier visitors. I’m sure the trucker who came by, just as I was leaving, appreciated the problem-free rest room.

Beans and Brews, in Tonopah, is mostly staffed by local teens, so it has been a must-stop, when going to and from Carson City or Reno. As usual, the counter person was energetic and quick to fill my small order. The lady at the adjacent convenience counter, on the other hand, looked like she was melting in the heat. I wished them both a fine afternoon, and went on-past Goldfield, which still does not have the truck stop that’s been in the works for over a year. I think the earth-moving equipment is in the same place it was, last November. Passing through Beatty, and stopping for a quick supper in Amargosa Springs, I encountered the above-mentioned individual-and a worker from the brothel next door, who didn’t bother me, but looked like she needed a good long rest.

What happens in Las Vegas is best left there-but I found reasonable gas, at a station that had been sending patrons to the nearby Wendy’s, for restroom use. Wendy’s, unbeknownst to the station attendants, has closed. I let them know that state of affairs. Fortunately there is a huge shopping mall across the road. An iced coffee from Panera Bread addressed two needs, and I was again on my way, in short order.

Four hours and twenty minutes later, another journey was in the books. It helped me confront a few remaining personal baggage items, without any faux pas, which leaves me with a nice feeling. Thank you, to all in California, Oregon, Washington, British Columbia and Nevada. This was a truly nice two weeks-even through the heat.

Denial Gets A Comeuppance

4

July 26, 2023, Grants Pass, OR-

I was told, some time ago, that the homeless community along Washington State’s southern tier had been removed, by sending the lot across the Columbia River, to Portland. Being skeptical that this is even something that could be pulled off, without a whimper from a city that was already choking with a large unhoused community in its downtown and other neighbourhoods, the last time I visited (2015), I went to Vancouver (WA) this morning, after checking out of the motel in Kelso.

Vancouver, not to be confused with the much-larger city in British Columbia, has a lovely park along the Columbia River, and pleasant, clean downtown and uptown sections. It also has the manicured Fort Vancouver, a well-maintained National Park site, whose historic homes are leased to residents and businesses. Living wherever they can put up tents, usually in nooks and crannies along the Columbia, are the remnants of the unhoused community, admittedly smaller than those of Portland, Seattle or Tacoma, but in Vancouver, nonetheless. Denial of a problem will never make it go away. Whoever passed that information along to people down at my Home Base, in Prescott had probably not been to Vancouver.

I took a walking loop to the banks of the Columbia, then around to Esther Short Park, after first enjoying a vanilla latte at Brewed, a small, but efficient coffee shop, combined with a bar and small bakery, on Main Street. Not far from Brewed, there is a parking lot with murals on two of the walls.

The Skagit, Yamhill, and other nations, have not lost their dignity.
Nor, for that matter, have the Hispanics who come here for agricultural work.
The African-American community here seems small, but holds its own.
Columbia River, at I-5 Bridge, Vancouver.
“Boat of Discovery”, commemorating the visit here, by Captain George Vancouver’s fleet.
A long wall emanates from this plaza, honouring veterans of all “foreign” conflicts, from the War of 1812 to Iraq and Afghanistan.
Clock Tower, Esther Short Park. The park was being readied for a special event, when I happened by.

Having a couple of errands to do, across the river, I gave myself an hour to explore Fort Vancouver. The post was established to safeguard U.S. control of the mouth of the Columbia River-with .British, Russian and Spanish claims not fully resolved.

Here is the flag staff, in the midst of the parade ground.
This was a serious parade ground!
Grant House, intended for use by Ulysses S. Grant, when he was stationed here, in the 1850s. He never lived in this mansion, on Officers’ Row.
Here is a view of the Enlisted Barracks, south of the Parade Grounds.
These cannons were replicated, from descriptions of the originals, by local high school students, from 1990-92. They are owned by the City of Vancouver, which supplied the materials.
This was the residence of General O.O. Howard, the post commander from 1874-80.
The Artillery Barracks-It struck me that this could house a lot of people.
Non-commissioned Officer’s Housing
Marshall House, home to General George C. Marshall, during his duty here, prior to World War II.

This pavilion honours the Chinese diaspora to Oregon and Washington. Chinese immigrants faced horrific treatment in the Pacific Northwest, during the late Nineteenth, and much of the Twentieth, Centuries.

After leaving Vancouver, I made my way across the bridge to Portland, getting my Pastini fix, with a late lunch at the Italian food chain’s Northeast Portland branch. Then, it was time to locate and purchase a new adapter, to house my photo SIM card and post these and other scenes. It took me all over North Portland. At one point, I stopped in front of a crosswalk, so that a young lady could cross. One would have thought I had held up the President, for the insistent beeping from behind me. The lady shot a dignified, but definitely disapproving, glance at the impatient motorist and gave me a gentle smile.

The shop I eventually found was a Best Buy, on the far northeast side. Its location afforded a fairly lightly-trafficked way out of Portland, so I missed all but a small amount of rush hour. Still ahead, however, was the large influx of participants, family members and spectators at the Junior Olympics, which I learned was being held in Eugene, Springfield, Albany, Corvallis and Roseburg. All of those cities’ accommodations were either occupied or were priced exorbitantly by the Law of Supply and Demand. After gassing up in Eugene, I made my way down to Grants Pass, and got a reasonably-priced overflow room. My last thoughts of the day, though, are wishes for the kids to be successful at their sport-and more importantly, to have a good experience.

No Contraband, but A Bit of A Chuckle

6

July 25, 2023, Kelso, WA- The two Border Patrol agents saw the large amount of stuff in Sportage’s back area, naturally wanted to have a closer look. They found nothing in the cooler, but a freezer bar that is badly in need of refreezing. They found nothing of interest among the camping equipment, but my personal digital scale, which I have wrapped in a Red Cross blanket. “How does one use a bath scale in the woods?”, asked the senior agent. “One doesn’t”, I replied. “It’s for use when I am in a room with tile or wooden floors”.

That satisfied them, and I was kindheartedly welcomed back, as they chuckled and shook their heads. Shakespeare said it best: “A bit of nonsense now and then is relished by the best of men.” I continued on my way, to the town of Blaine and Peace Arch State Park.

Pine grove, Peace Arch State Park, Blaine, WA
The border meets the sea, Peace Arch State Park
Riot of colours, Peace Arch State Park
Apropos of our time, here is a description of the great Paul Robeson’s calling out to the world, from a flatbed truck, at this very park, in the 1950s.
Peace Arch, from south side (Blaine).
Peace Arch, from north side (White Rock)
Totem Pole raised to correct historic wrongs, Peace Arch Provincial Park, White Rock
Maple Leaf Garden, White Rock, BC
Peace Arch Park is one of the only places to go between the U.S. and Canada, without showing documents. The authorities are close by, though.
A bit of humour, at Railway Cafe, Blaine

Once I had visited both sides of the Peace Arch complex, it was time for lunch. Railway Cafe is a tiny boxcar that has converted to a cozy, friendly restaurant. Whilst waiting for a made-from-scratch BLT, I took in the homespun humour, such as that above-and below.

This speaks for itself.
Railway Cafe’s Exterior
Across Blaine Inlet, a view of Point Roberts, part of the U.S. but only accessible by road through White Rock, BC. Otherwise, folks go back and forth to Blaine, by boat.

From Blaine, I drove on to Everett, a major U.S. The city is also a commercial port, which at one time was headquarters for Weyerhauser Corporation’s Northwest timberworks. Shingles were made here, en masse, and there is acknowledgement, in the city’s Boxcar Park, of the risks taken by shingle makers-operating sawing equipment, at a very fast pace. Fingers and hands were lost, more often than one might care to think.

Appreciating the risks taken by those who provide building materials.

Weyerhauser House is now a coffee shop and meeting place, close to the waterfront.

Weyerhauser House, Boxcar Park, Everett, WA
Everett Harbor
The Heart of Everett

Once rejuvenated by a macchiato, from The Muse, in the above mentioned house, I took on Seattle’s, and Tacoma’s, rush hours, calmly navigating down to Kelso, on the Cowlitz River. It’s very peaceful here.

Justice at Hand, and July Fry Continues

2

July 17, 2023, Ludlow, CA- The sidewalks here, or the reasonable facsimile of same, roll up at 6 p.m., but only on the south side of the street. The cafe is closed, in other words. Across the street, the gas station/convenience store is open 24/7.

My first order of business, this morning, after packing for the I-5 adventure, was to show support for my friend, whose birthday was yesterday. The court session turned out to be relatively brief, mostly five minutes for a member of the opposite party (legal, not political), to speak her opinion, and to be gently admonished by the presiding judge, as to why that opinion has limited recourse. It appears the matter will be settled, for good, within the next few weeks.

After a slight bit of back and forth, on my part, I headed out in earnest, around 2:30, and passed the edge of our first monsoon shower, which seemed to mainly hit Prescott Valley and Chino. I encountered about 5 drops, whilst passing through Ash Fork, and entering I-40. Upon fueling up in Kingman, I found that extreme heat was going to be with me, for a while: 105-117. Sportage’s AC is equal to the task, and I was most comfortable. So it happened-clear across the Mojave Desert, to this small desert village, which has a modest level of services.

The motel is comfortable and clean. Light bulbs are something of a problem, but I was given a room with lights that work nicely. There is no WiFi, but I have that covered, having worked through the Hot Spot scene, last month at Bellemont. So here I am, close to Barstow, from whence the drive through Central Valley will begin.

Ludlow, at least for tonight, is King of the Mojave.

Cosmetics, Patronization and Curbing My Tongue

2

July 11, 2023- Kia Sportage went into the shop this morning, to repair an unsightly set of scratches that were caused a while back, by my bugaboo-not being able to back up straight, for much more than six feet. It’ll be two or three days before the cosmetic fix is done. Speaking of cosmetics, I will purchase a scented oil from one friend, to give to another in a few days.

Gifting has never been an act of patronization, or done out of a sense of obligation. I am happy to offer a gift in acknowledging someone’s special day or personal achievement. My one blind spot, it seems, is giving to panhandlers. The louder and more forceful they are, the less they are absolutely going to get from me. A self-styled Buddhist monk is on the street, day and night, sometimes yelling at those of us who pass him by. Anything I would give him would only be encouraging this behaviour. The police, under Arizona law, cannot detain him unless he puts hands on people or blocks their way. So, he sits on a bench and yells about needing support for his “mission”. We are, in this day and age, quite sensitive about singling out the mentally ill, so I have quietly just moved along.

That brings up my own challenge, of talking out of turn or jumping into other people’s conversations-both features of my residual autism. Having had this happen, twice of late-last night and this morning, I know that there is still a bit of work to be done, at looking before I leap-conversation wise. At tonight’s meeting, I was able to just speak my peace and click the mute button. Zoom is a good way to correct conversational faux pas.

The Sticking Points

2

July 5, 2023- I woke at the usual time today, and after pondering whether to head up to the Grand Canyon’s South Rim, for a walk towards Hermit’s Rest-on the west end of the rim, decided to stay put. There were a few uncertainties, with regard to cherished friends and a needy family. No news is okay news, with regard to said friends, and clarification about the family’s needs came, this evening, for settlement tomorrow. The other good thing is that my bear drum has been repaired and is back with me.

A question has arisen, as to why people seem so widely uncaring. I have to note two things:

1. Humanity, and the planet, are in a state of transition. It is pretty much established that a physical being does not take well to change. Bears hate being woken during hibernation; birds dive bomb anyone who disturbs their nest; humans grouse and complain, or worse, when a sudden, inexplicable change takes place. We often lash out at the messenger- nobody around here much likes the National Weather Service telling us that there will be no monsoon until August, if then, and don’t get retirees around here started on the Federal Reserve Board- “Stealing our money!”, is a not uncommon, if oversimplified, refrain.

2. This sort of off-track thinking, and the uncaring attitude that is noticed by people around me, stem more often than not, from either shallow spirituality, or a dearth thereof . Faith, of course, does not prevent challenges and setbacks from coming along, but it does put things into clearer perspective, and, at least for me, makes things easier to bear. If that annoys you, sorry-but not sorry. I am hard-wired to bull my way through things, anymore-having found that the victim mentality into which I was drawn, in the 2000s, and a few times since, resolved nothing and put me in with some nefarious company. I give credit for transformation largely to those I feel are my spirit guides, a concept in which not everyone believes, but here we are.

The difficulties we, and the planet, are facing largely stem from a wide-scale turning away from spirituality-which may not be true of all the individuals who cry “Foul!”, but which has been, and is, occurring for quite some time now, on a fairly grand scale.

I daresay this befogged life is not that for which we are destined. Only turning to the Divine, in what ever way one perceives It, and by banding together to face difficulties,can we hope to overcome any of the challenges that are thrown at us.

Intensity

2

June 24, 2023- The day started in earnest, right around 8 a.m., with a quick visit to Farmer’s Market-stocking up on microgreens for the week and getting two bulbs of garlic and some flowers for a friend’s birthday dinner, later in the day. Running out of cash and tokens, I gave one bulb back to the farmer, then went back to HB, catching a half hour or so of the Celebration of Unity Zoom call.

Next, it was off to a Red Cross Blood Drive, where my role was to staff the registration table-checking people in and making sure they had completed all preliminaries, prior to their donation. This was a fairly busy five hours, and I felt successful and bushed at the end.

After changing clothes and leaving my Red Cross “uniform” at the apartment, it was off to a Farmer’s Market volunteer appreciation gathering, at a salubrious Willow Lake ramada. I was still a bit tired, heading up there, and briefly inconvenienced a tow truck driver, at an intersection. He got in his protest, and that was all. I do my level best, most of the time, on the road, but never will claim perfection. The gathering was exactly what I needed, after an intense work shift, and the company of young mothers and children afforded a unique and most essential take on our collective life.

Finally, after a run to Costco, to replenish the supply of flavoured water for upcoming gatherings of children and adolescents, it was time for the aforementioned birthday party. Four of us enjoyed fresh salad, vegan chili and fresh cherries, covering a wide range of topics in conversation. Wild animals in our midst, the right and responsibility of adults to conduct their own affairs and associating with people with whom we disagree were all covered amiably.

After the intensity of the day, I gladly relaxed at HB, viewing a light episode of a streamed program, then turned out the lights. Tomorrow could be just as intense, if I let it be. I think, though, that won’t be how it turns out.

,

“What Would They Want For You Now?”

4

June 23, 2023- A group of about two dozen young men walked into a Los Angeles session that offered poetry and meditation, to address social dysfunction. One by one, the men spoke to the three “experts”, saying that all this philosophy was good on its face, but that the reality they faced each day was far more ominous- 9 mm weapons pointed at them, suspicious police tailing and stopping them, food deserts, joblessness, and so on. Besides, the men said, they knew too many of their peers who had been slain on the streets, in the past year.

The experts wisely acknowledged that there were too many souls who hadn’t been honoured, so they asked each of the men to go outside and gather up a stone, for each person they knew, who had been killed in the last year. After several minutes, the men came back inside, each carrying many rocks. They sat down, a candle was lit and placed in the center of the circle, and each person was asked to give a name to each of the stones. He was then to say the name of the victim, and place the stone next to the candle. This continued, until all the stones were set around the candle, honouring each of the murder victims.

Jack Kornfield, a social psychologist, and author of “A Path With Heart”, which helped me so much, in the early stages of grief, in 2011, was one of the “experts”. He posed a question to the men: “What would they want for you now?” One by one, the members addressed that question, in a pensive and serious manner.

As I listened to this presentation, I thought of Dad, Penny, Brian, my in-laws, grandparents, aunts and uncles, even the most rambunctious of my cousins. I think they would want me to know peace, to have arrived at self-acceptance and to keep on in the path of service. Each of them sacrificed, in one way or another, that the world they left behind might be a better place. Friends, like John H., Deedee B., Donna G., Sean W., Mario M., even Frankie Q., would want me to be doubly sure that the person inside this frame was jettisoning the baggage that held me back, for so long.

I have to want the same for myself-and believe me, it is happening-slowly, but steadily.

Solstice Notes

2

June 21, 2023- The woman I briefly encountered, yesterday, insisted that solstice was another form of equinox-and that there were four days per year, in which the amount of light was equal to that of darkness. Unable to convince her otherwise, I went about my other business. I hope she figures it out by December.

For the rest of us, Solstice was a day of fair celebration. Atop Solstice Mesa, many were gathered, with three barbecue parties going on, when I reached the top carrying my drum. I quietly tapped on old Bear, while gazing at the sunset.

Of course, the conversation among the group members was about the bear which mauled and killed a man, south of town, last Friday. I had met the gentleman once,about two years ago, whilst helping his neighbours, who have since moved into town. This was not the case of a rabid animal, and it appeared to have been otherwise healthy-just somehow deranged. Witnesses say the man was minding his own business and the bear caught him from behind.

Another conversation took place earlier, on the topic of intentional communities. These have been cropping up, all over the country, somewhat in reaction to the proliferation of housing units owned by Private Equity firms, which have no compunction about pricing housing out of reach of a good many people-singles and families alike. Intentional communities exist in Arizona. I know one small IC, whose residents were once friends of mine, but have seemingly closed themselves off from many of us. There are larger ICs, with one of the most famous being in the far northeast corner of Washington State. They have some similarity to the communes of the ’60s and ’70s, but there is a structure and purpose to their operation, thus the “Intentional” part of the name. See http://www.ic.org.

My chiropractor has found that spine and musculature are in vastly improved condition. He credits my activity-and the lost weight. I know how to maintain both now, so the check-ups will be every six weeks, rather than monthly. A set of medical lab tests, tomorrow, will hopefully offer further affirmation.

We now all await the monsoon season-with the forecast calling for two more weeks of dry heat, followed by a build-up of humidity and moisture, starting July 5. That is quite standard. I will be around, at any rate.

What Spring Sprung

4

June 20, 2023- I had lunch with a good friend, in a restaurant run by another good friend. This was the high point of a day that was intentionally low key. I needed to regroup, after the intensity of the camps and yesterday’s clean-up, and spending an hour or so with Akuura was a good way to relax. It’s been a while, due to my being busy with camp, so we covered a lot of ground. Emileigh, as always, was solicitous, while being low key-just a delightful young lady.

That brings me to the whole matter of “friend” vs. “acquaintance”. In tonight’s Zoom call, a session of the ongoing “Copper 2 Gold” series on Race Unity, a few people made a strong case for being discerning, in using the term “friend”. I have a different take. I consider people friends, even if we barely know one another, if I sense that they have my best interests at heart, and are kind, overall, to other people as well. “Acquaintance” is a term with which I have a hard time, mainly because people I trusted, in the past, have referred to me as such, in a standoffish and negative way. Having felt like an outsider, too often in the past, I use the term in my own speech to refer to those I meet once or twice, like a clerk in a store that I don’t frequent.

Spring has come to an end, and with it, the academic year of 2022-23; the Bellemont camp season; my tenure as Study Circle Coordinator, in Prescott Cluster (area)- a Baha’i volunteer position, which rotates every five or six years; and the intense phase of my weight reduction program (202-38= 164). What Spring sprung was a keener sense of self-worth and a better ability to help others, without putting myself behind the Eight Ball.

Now comes summer-much of it to be spent here at Home Base, or within a day’s drive. It’ll be refreshing to be around for the Fourth of July and another friend’s milestone birthday. Of course, a drive up north will take up two weeks in the latter part of July and the end of summer will find me back east, for Mom’s latest milestone. In between, barring Red Cross emergencies, I will be here in the place that the gracious Divine has set aside for my well-being.