November 5, 2025- Some things never seem to change. Two little girls decided to shut out their more officious row-mate, after she called attention to something they supposedly said. I have two thoughts on reporting vs. tattling. On the one hand, I thoroughly believe that children should be seen, heard and believed. The days when only adults were allowed to speak are, mercifully, long gone. On the other hand, not being naive, I know that children, being human, can also be wrong-in their assessment or even in their intentions. A child’s frame of reference is most likely limited by the brevity of their life experiences. Nevertheless, I listened carefully to her report, and equally carefully heard their side, not assessing blame or credit to either.
As it happened, we were starting what is called “Centers”, where students rotate among different activities in the classroom. So, the two girls went to one area and the third occupied herself in drawing and reading. They later were all collaborating on another activity, the earlier dispute seemingly set aside. The regular teacher returned shortly afterward, and I was on my merry way.
We can be very funny about hanging onto bad exchanges with others. I learned a long time ago that grudges are like dead weights. The kids who came across as bullies, in my younger days, were all different. Early on, I decided to look at them individually. The good-hearted boy who was always on my case about one thing or another became the man who was earnestly interested in my well-being. The troubled kid who was constantly trying to beat up others was, as I later witnessed, terrified by others who were stronger and meaner than he. The duo who harassed other kids, by riding up to them on their bikes and taking things, later became men who found themselves being targeted by more nefarious grifters. Holding grudges would have weighed me down. I’m glad to have moved on.
Hopefully, the very competent regular teacher will handle any ongoing tension between the three girls and their different personalities will find a way to mesh, over the years.
November 2, 2025- The meeting, held unusually on a Sunday, was going like clockwork. Out of the blue came a rash of cursing and threatening language. Those involved knew fully well that they were disrupting the meeting next door. They made it clear that they didn’t care-and further, that no one was going to tell them to stop arguing and leave the building.
The right to use foul language and disrupt business, however, seems to end three feet from one’s neighbour’s face. In a privately-owned facility, moreover, a person may be compelled to leave, at the discretion of the building’s owner, or her/his lawful representatives. This is what ended up happening today. The person responsible for keeping order in the meeting, aided by two other officers, escorted the four disquiet people out of the building. There was some discussion outside, but the four went their separate ways, apparently understanding that attracting the attention of the police was not in their best interests.
This is my own main argument for not letting alcohol, or any mind-altering substance, affect one’s ability to carry on with life. I was, at one time, a terrible drunk, and I will leave it at that. I seldom, if ever, though, threw my weight around. On the few occasions that I did so, I was readily called to account, and there are those in my past who are all too happy to remind me of that time when…. So be it. Life is a series of mishaps and, hopefully, of lessons learned.
As a society, though, we still have drug allusions that are used to extol the virtues of a legitimate food or beverage-i.e. “It’s better than crack”. Oh? How do you know about crack? The fact that such a horrible substance is seen in a positive light gives me the willies. Disquietude can be found in any nook and cranny of society. Dealing with it, rooting it out, takes fortitude-and persistent effort-the kind that does not allow for a positive view of an addicting substance.
October 1, 2025, Vienna- Up early enough, I got to Oscwiecim’s small train station and caught the train back to Krakow, only to boomerang right back past the station, as we made our way down to Vienna. I had a seat, clear to the Austrian capital, going through southern Poland and the Czech Republic. It was a long ride, though, as you can imagine, and I was ready for the mattress by the time we crossed the Danube and got into town. Somehow, I read, and re-read, the message from my lodging, and saw one too many codes for that hour of night. It also indicated that it was past time for check-in (“Office closes at 8 p.m.”, and it was 10:15.)
These things happen a lot, and yes, the train was delayed for about forty minutes. Still, I was frustrated at not getting to the Baha’i National Centre in Vienna, this evening, and at what seemed to be one too many Internet-centric snags, in connecting with the lodging. Besides, they didn’t answer their phone, which is supposedly on 24/7. End of rant.
I got a briefing on Vienna’s excellent public transportation system and found my way to Radisson Red Vienna. I am usually not partial to high-end hotels, but I was exhausted and besides, this was Vienna. So, the welcoming desk clerks got a guest with no reservation, and I got a very refreshing place at which to not have to enter codes.
A gowned angel watched over me, at Radisson Red, Vienna
September 30, 2025, Oswiecim, Poland– Today would have been Penny’s 71st birthday. Each year since I first met her, including the fourteen years since her passing, the day always brings a special event, either Baha’i teaching or a visit of significance.
Entrance to Auschwitz-Birkenau Museum
Today, I had the opportunity to visit the sites of one of the darkest chapters in human history. Auschwitz and Birkenau were concentration camps, separated by 3 kilometers, but under the same commander: The infamous Rudolf Hoss (not to be confused with Deputy Fuhrer Rudolf Hess), implemented the use of Zyklon B, a pesticide that became the nerve agent which alone killed a million people. Hoss was tried, convicted and executed in Poland, in 1947. (Rudolf Hess, as is well-known, flew to Scotland, believing he could convince Scottish “opponents” of the War to hasten British withdrawal from World War II. The Scots were not amused, Hess was imprisoned and then transferred to Germany’s Spandau Prison, in 1947. He was the sole remaining prisoner there, when he committed suicide, in 1987, at age 93.)
My late father-in-law was a Jewish-American, served as a soldier in the final months of World War II, during which he was captured during the tail-end of the Battle of the Bulge, and was held in the POW camp at Berga, in eastern Germany. I have been to Berga and seen the V-2 Rocket Factory’s remains. Pop was sent to work the salt mines. When he was rescued by a unit of American soldiers, in June, 1945, he was nearly skeletal.
That was the fate of many, if not most, of the survivors of Auschwitz and Birkenau, as well. They numbered about 6200, out of over 1,100,000 who had been held in at the Auschwitz Complex. Jews, who Hitler and his henchmen wanted above all to exterminate, were the preponderance of victims. Men between the ages of 17-60 were made to work, usually until they were broken, physically and mentally. They were then executed. Women, children, the elderly and the infirm, including the mentally ill, were summarily gassed to death.
Besides the Jews, Romany, Russians, Poles, Czechs, Freemasons and the occasional Afro-Germans, were also sent to concentration camps, and executed by poison gas. Auschwitz and Birkenau were the two largest facilities for such hideous practices. in time, even Christian critics of Hitler found themselves in the gas chambers. Birkenau, being the larger camp, had 30 gas chambers. Auschwitz, with four sectors, had ten. As the Soviet forces closed in on Auschwitz, the fleeing German Army forced most of the remaining prisoners west, on a Death March to Germany and Austria. Thus did many die on their feet, though not as many as were gassed.
Here are five scenes that are here to remind us that the Holocaust was no Hologram.
“Barracks” # 1, AuschwitzTorture House,, AuschwitzWomen and children victims, on their way to the gas chambers. (They had been told they were on their way to a glorious new life.)Discarded children’s shoes and a father’s suitcase, with his son’s name written on it.Hana Reiner would not let herself be forgotten. https://www.writeoutloud.net/public/blogentry.php?blogentryid=139212The Nazis themselves destroyed this barracks, rather than allow it to be preserved by the Soviets and Poles,for what it had been,
I thought back to the early morning, when I boarded a train in Krakow, bound for the city of Oswiecim, (the Polish name which was translated into German as Auschwitz). A mentally disabled man chose to sit across from me. He was an Italian, who had little vocabulary, in any language. He knew “English” and “Deutsch”, as well as a few words in Italian and Spanish. While he was annoying to the young man sitting by the window and the well-dressed Italian man who sat across the aisle, I let him show me the soccer games on his phone. At the end of the one-hour trip, he cheerfully said “Grazie!” and went on his way.
That gentle man would not have had a chance to ride the rails, in Hitler’s Germany. He’d have ended up in the pile of corpses found by the Russians, or in one of the piles of ashes that were dumped in the Vistula River or behind the Subcommandant’s House at Birkenau. He can ride the rails, as he pleases, in today’s Europe, not being harmed and harming no one,
Auschwitz-Birkenau, and all places like it, are needed reminders of exactly what levels of depravity can come from a deluded pursuit of false perfection.
September 28, 2025, Krakow– “Where do I get the train to Krakow?”, I asked a conductor, after getting off the train that had brought me from Berlin to Poznan, in western Poland. “Go downstairs to Platform 10.”, was all she said. Many European train platforms have two tracks, which go in directions opposite each other. This reduces the need for multiple platforms, each with a track that only goes one way. I knew this, but looking at my watch, seeing it was close to departure for the Krakow train and seeing a train that lots of people were getting off and on, I put two and two together and got…five.
When I got to the cabin which had my seat number, I found it was occupied by a family of four, with the younger son in “my” seat. I went out of the cabin and was met by an older Polish woman, who “knew” that was my seat “by rights”. We got underway, with me in standage, where I was chatted up by a couple, who were happy that someone from Arizona was visiting Poland. The husband asked to look at my ticket, and gasped. “You go north now, instead of south! You must get off at next station, and catch train back to Poznan, then good luck getting to Krakow!” That explained the young boy sitting in his rightful seat.
I got off at the next station, reversed course, got on a Krakow-bound train from Poznan, and took my place among university students and poorer older adults, in Standage, all the way to Krakow, five hours south. Of course, I didn’t stand the whole way. I had my rolling suitcase, and a relatively clean section of floor on which to sit. When people needed to get on or off, at the ensuing stations, we in Standage had to make room for them. This made a few of the students quite surly-but surely they know this is part of the deal. Most, though, seemed concerned for one another, on a couple of occasions consoling those who were openly distraught. Not speaking Polish,I kept my mouth shut, the whole way, and was “welcomed” by the conductors, none of whom were concerned with why I was there.
I got to Krakow around 11 p.m. and caught a taxi to Meininger Hostel, part of a chain of hotels and hostels across central Europe. It is a lovely establishment, and while the city itself is rather tired of mass tourism, I was cheerfully welcomed by those I encountered on the street and at the hostel. I had the room to myself for the night, as the young man who was to be my roommate had his own tale of train woe and would not be arriving until early tomorrow morning. Thus, another decent end was found, to a strange day.
September 26, 2025, Berlin- “Well now, that is certainly a rude awakening”, the burly leader of a group of German tourists huffed, as the news came over the loudspeaker that one of the cars on our train to Hamburg, from Kolding, DK, had broken down and that those of us (including me) who were scheduled to be on that train would now either have to ride in Standage or wait for a replacement car. He gathered the group, and held a brief consultation, while looking at me. A minute later, he told me that, as one of their group had dropped out of the trip, there was a seat in their cabin, and I was welcome to take it.
It turned out to be a most pleasant two hours. I even was offered, and accepted the no-show’s sandwich, which had been purchased, freshly made, from a delicatessen in the Aarhus area, earlier in the morning. Chicken salad with bacon is a favourite in Denmark and Germany. It was divine.
The day had started with my walking the .9 mile from Roberta’s Society Hostel to Aarhus Train Station. The challenge came onboard, when I had to remember how to call up the Rail Planner application on my phone, which contained my actual ticket to Berlin, with the seat reservations only supplementary. The conductor, at one point, wanted to see a QR code on the RP page, but was overruled by her supervisor, who saw that as a waste of time. Good thing, as Rail Planner doesn’t provide QR Codes for its Rail Pass system.
With that behind me, one of my seat mates on the first leg (Aarhus to Kolding) opined that she had never heard of a QR code for a train ticket. She was Gen Z, so that pretty much settled the matter. Kids can pretty much do any transaction on a phone that can be done.
Once in Hamburg, I bid farewell to the German tour group and settled in for a smooth, non-eventful final leg to Berlin Hauptbanhof (Central Station). It took my usual fussing at Spectrum’s stingy Internet service (non-existent outside North America) and scrambling to find a shop or cafe whose WiFi I could use to get directions to St. Christopher’s Hostel from Central Station, over a period of thirty-five minutes, before I settled on the S-bahn (Streetcars). I ended up at Alexanderplatz, where a Tourist Office worker gave me directions for walking the rest of the way. I found the hostel, which has a bar and grill attached, in short order (no pun intended, especially as John Belushi would have either groaned or thrown something at me). St,. Christopher’s and Belushi’s are teamed up in various cities around Europe. Chain hostels, including Generator (my Copenhagen digs), are quite the rage.
The Berlin hostel is in an old building, so it has its challenges, but I like the vibe here. The Rugby championships and various soccer matches are on the TV screens, so it wouldn’t be a dull 1 1/2 days, even if I opted to sit in the hostel all day. That is not happening. I will be out and about, exploring Berlin’s oldest neighbourhood and possibly seeking out remnants of the Berlin Wall-a reminder of what happens to attempts to separate people on artificial grounds.
September 11, 2025, Reykjavik- The transit policeman was not moved by the story that a ticket jumper told, of suffering cell phone glitches. After allowing him four free stops on the westbound bus, he gently but firmly sent the miscreant on his way. (On Icelandic buses, one pays by phone app or by debit card. The young scofflaw could not do so, because he had neither phone app nor card.)
I was headed to the Baha’i National Centre of Iceland, on the far eastern edge of the Capital Region. Somehow, the instructions had me heading south, a mistake that the transit officer helped me correct, with little trouble other than about an hour was spent on the bus that more accurate information in the first place would have been helpful. I got on the bus to which the officer referred me, finding that the new driver had minimal command of English. He did, however, understand the bus route to which I needed to connect, and let me off at the right place. From there, I took Bus #5, found a supermarket near my stop and got directions to the Centre.
The Baha’i National Centre of Iceland is on the second floor of a modest office building, but seeing it from across the road, it felt like I was approaching a palace. The soft-spoken office manager, Badi, was alone and had work left to do, before day’s end, but took forty minutes or so to share the community’s activities and plans, over tea and a Danish croissant. He went through the history of the Faith in Iceland (first established here in 1972) and outlined plans to one day build a House of Worship in a salubrious location that is now known as “the Temple Site”.
The temporary seat of our work in Reykjavik.Badi is a soft-spoken, but genial host.
After this visit, I walked to the spot which Badi had outlined for me on a map, and found the bus driver was headed to downtown Reykjavik. He had an empty bus, so I was a “guest of honour”. This chauffeurage took me steadily westward, past the entry to the Ring Road, which posted “Vik, 177km”. (Vik is a market town in southern Iceland, well to the east of Reykjavik.) He got me as far as the main bus terminal in downtown, and I bid him the best of evenings. From there, it was a six-minute walk to Hi Loft, a short breather and on to a fine dinner of fish soup (more like a thick chowder, but still delectable), at Reykjavik Fish Company.
Despite the rather terse mood in which I found myself, given the two horrible incidents of gun violence in the U.S. yesterday and the commemoration of the tragedy that took place 24 years ago today, the day ended up being well-spent. No intense exploration of scenic wonders, but spiritual sustenance became the order of the day.
August 31, 2025- A young man set out to break the cycle of gratuitous and retributive violence, especially between nations. His idea was to establish an international day of ceasefire/commitment to peace, on September 21 of each year. The equinox, signifying harvest in the northern hemisphere and planting in the south, was seen as a fine date for getting nations to focus on the well-being of the masses.
It turned out to be a hard sell. One country, whose prior leaders had initiated a proclamation calling for A United Nations Day of Peace, decided to back away from the commitment. The young man continued his mission, visiting dislocated and suffering people in Somalia, Palestine and Burundi. He used his leverage as a British citizen to persuade the government of the United Kingdom to become primary sponsor of the International Day of Ceasefire and Peace. The other nation, which had backed away, agreed to join the U.K. as a co-sponsor of the resolution.
We see that the forces of discord and nationalism can act against this movement. Indeed, minutes before then-United Nations Secretary-General Kofi Annan was to ring a Peace Bell, at UN Headquarters, al-Qaeda terrorists flew airplanes into the World Trade Center’s Twin Towers, on September 11, 2001. Several documents, and testimony from terrorist sympathizers, indicate that the timing was not coincidental.
The arc of history, however, is aimed towards an eventual peace and unity. Even the most nationalistic of governments are beginning to see that the way of warfare is a dead end. The actual course of resolving conflict is a lingering source of disagreement. As with any matter that seems intractable, however, the secret to resolution lies in not ever giving up. This was the real message of “Peace One Day”.
August 30, 2025- Waiting until the row of traffic, in the lane I was about to enter, had cleared, I then pulled onto the road. Lo and behold, I heard a horn blare, from a few cars back and to the left. It was from someone honking and yelling at the pick-up driver who had moved into the “empty” lane and who was now having to brake, because of yours truly. Nothing further happened, we all went on our merry ways, but it goes to show, one never can be too careful.
I have learned to “read the road” quite well, and often will wait until the light up the road turns red, before going onto AZ 69, which many drivers treat as their personal race track. It seems there are many such roads, across the country, and even across the continent. (Canada has its share of oblivious motorists and the lands south of the border are even more chaotic, in many places.) Across the Pacific, I don’t think I’d want to drive in the Philippines, mostly due to the many motorcyclists who dart in and out, everywhere. I have learned to read the road there, too, as in many spots, there are no crosswalks and one must inch forward to cross a road, when traffic slows just a bit.
My father thought I was a bit too cautious, when I first learned to drive. There was a reason: I was more of a menace, with a short attention span and tendency to daydream. It took a few months to learn to focus, and I did manage to go nearly 48 years without an accident. There have been a few rough patches, since 2014, for different reasons- Sabotage, an overzealous driver zipping over a blind hill and a driver on medication who fell asleep. The first two saw me get cited for “partial culpability”, which is more a statutory requirement than actual proof of wrongdoing.
Nonetheless, I am determined to get through the next week or so without any mishaps. For seven weeks thereafter, my mode of transport will be the airplane, the train, the bus and a friend’s vehicle. Reading the road will be more as a pedestrian, in the countries I will find myself. Tonight, though, was a caution-there is never a break from driving defensively.
August 25, 2025- As we made our rounds at a gathering, this morning, a newcomer to the group asked each of us how we came to our present spiritual path. Each of the members briefly did so, with me being last. As I mentioned my story, one of the other members launched into a loud sidebar. I stopped speaking until she was finished, then explained to the new member that this happens a fair amount of the time. If a member is not interested in what another member is saying, then there is interruption. She wondered whether it is due to so many being hard of hearing. Perhaps. I still adhere to Mother’s Rule # 1: Never interrupt!
I used to shrink in the face of louder, more forceful people. Now, I have learned that, without descending to that level, it is okay to gently, but firmly, speak my truth. There is no need to be boorish, but generally what I share with others is fairly well thought out. I have the right to operate on a two-way street of communication.
I pondered this further, this evening, after watching a woman explain in a TED Talk about her experience with three good friends, in which she was steamrolled by the the three, who got carried away with their own experiences and left her out of the conversation. She at first processed her annoyance with them, while alone in her car afterward. Then, the light bulb went on and she realized that the two-way street applied to her also. She could have asserted herself-and they probably would have given her their attention.
I think about nature, and vacuums, and personal responsibility. In a different vein, from the time I woke this morning, there were messages, questions and calls to duty. I put my social group slightly first, with the Red Cross call and my job interspersed with the time spent in the group. You guessed it: The phone rang, twice, and I took the calls, getting back to the group with a brief description of the situation, so they knew it was somewhat urgent.
In the end, the emergency fizzled, the crew I had assembled went home and I was able to answer the unrelated texted question very simply and concisely, which made the questioner happy. Most times, life is a two-way street. Other times, it can seem like a three-branched artery.
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A Sagittarian Seeker 