MisPriced

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February 27, 2017, Prescott-

A little observation about the Academy Awards:

Seems there was confusion about envelopes.

Perhaps colour-coding is in order.

Colour was, in itself, not an issue tonight.

The ceremony was bathed in full Moonlight.

The auditors, though, remained in LaLa Land,

jarred only by the stunned expression

on the face of Warren Beatty,

and the concern for justice,

in the eyes of Emma Stone.

Mahershala Ali calmly waited his turn,

knowing, in his heart of hearts,

that the prize was his own.

The gauntlet has now been run,

and the people have won.

Oscar is no longer a grouch,

the voice of reason has spoken out.

Facing reality has trumped sweet escape.

Several notions of beauty,

now leave the beholder agape.

Sea of Trees

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January 30, 2017, Prescott-

Saturday evening, after my hike, I headed for a friend’s house, in Phoenix, where I spent the night.  I had experienced a fair amount of spiritual resonance, whilst on the trail, particularly in the alluvial stone deposits, just north of the New River. As I’m reading “The Standing Stones Speak”, which some of my more jaded friends regard as New Age hokum, I found a bit of a connection, through my meditation, between the book and the spiritual climate.

It was not a coincidence, in my view, that “The Sea of Trees”, a 2015 film that was slammed by hipster critics, was my friend’s Netflix choice for viewing, that evening.  Like the central character in the film, I was caretaker for a deathly-ill spouse.  The wife in the film was not ill for very long, though, and ended up being killed by a distracted driver, while riding in an ambulance (the one plot twist I had a hard time accepting, as I have never seen anyone T-bone an emergency vehicle, especially at a high rate of speed).

The protagonist and his wife struggled, at times, just as many couples do, when differences of life energy become personalized.  Penny and I worked through our issues, and ended strong.

When the protagonist chose to travel to a forest, east of Japan’s Mount Fuji, with the intent of committing suicide, he encountered another suicidal man, who was struggling to get out of the forest, as he had changed his mind.  Through trying to help the other man, he realizes his own suicidal impulses were not all that deep.  It turns out that his late wife’s spirit was working, through the presence of the other man, to help the protagonist work through his grief.

Again, this was no coincidence that we viewed this particular film.  I reflected that there have been so many times, in which Penny’s spirit has helped me, through one difficulty or another. This, it is apparent, is what loving spirits do for those they leave behind, here in the physical realm. Indeed, are there really any coincidences, at all?

One Less Smile

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August 29, 2016, Prescott- 

Far from here, in an historic colonial house,

a funny man breathed his last, today.

There is so much,

and there are so many roles,

by which to remember him.

Like all comics, he was complex.

Like anyone who knew joy,

and then lost it,

he felt anger at that loss.

Like anyone who became known

for a particular role,

he longed for the next project,

the one which would give him his due.

Like anyone who learned to love again,

he held on to that love,

and gave it back,

in spades.

Frederick Frankenstein,

Willy Wonka,

The Waco Kid,

Max Bloom,

Gene Wilder.

Jerome Silberman gave us all a long run,

of both laughs and tears.

Shalom, Jerome.

Festivals

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May 13, 2016, Prescott- Yesterday was a very tightly-packed day.  Work was routine, at the small school where I spent one last, pre-arranged day,punctuated only by a snafu involving our paychecks.  This was nicely counterbalanced by a timely check from another district, where I spent another “final” day, late last month.

Dashing hither and yon, after work, I voted in an American Legion election, facilitated a Baha’i study session and finally settled in for the evening, at 7:30 P.M.  Someone remarked to me, earlier in the evening, that perhaps those with hyper-busy schedules are covering up something.  Maybe, but in my case,  there is more of a sense of responsibility.  Trust me, I do like my unwind-time, and am comfortable in my own skin.

Now, I am back at Prescott High School, for the last ten days of the academic year, with a very strong possibility of returning in the Fall.  It’s Spring Festival time, so a school end-of-year assembly was held this morning, and Carnival is now being held, somewhere on campus.  I am with a few of my kids who just need a place to sit and feel safe.  That’s always been my wont- in too many places in the world, there are marginalized people.  In any high school, most find a niche.  Some end up in niche like mine, a good-sized, comfortable classroom, with a few computers, three round tables and an air of “you matter”.

Festivals, like surfable waves, hiking trails and 5 P.M., are always to be found, somewhere in the world.  Most are modest affairs, appealing only to locals. Yet,  each of them makes a big difference in the lives of several people.  So, great and small, they sustain us.  I have felt sustenance from many festivals, from the annual Ridvan gatherings, Thanksgiving Dinners and the camaraderie of St. Patrick’s, Fourth of July and Hallowe’en to the  every-so-many-years that I might make it to Mardi Gras, Chusok or Diwali.

Mostly, though, it’s what you make of every single day, that constitutes a festival.

Patty Duke

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April 1, 2016, Prescott-  I close my eyes and see her adorable face, times two, engaged in banter- with itself.  Such was the life of “identical cousins”, with whom, the snappy theme song promised, “You could lose your mind”.  Patty Duke, Hayley Mills, Debbie Watson, and Ann Jillian had my adolescent brain quite engaged, in the days when my female contemporaries were screaming about the Beatles.  I enjoyed the lads’ music, along with that of just about every one of their fellow British invaders, and American/Canadian imitators.  Until the likes of Marianne Faithfull and Mary Hopkin, though, I found my  thrills more on the TV and movie screens, than on vinyl.

Patty Duke had substance, as well, playing one of  recent history’s most complicated characters:  Helen Keller, in her breakout role.  Her range allowed a redo of “The Miracle Worker”, on television, and she made playing Anne Sullivan look easy.  I was not allowed to go to see “Valley of the Dolls”, but even at 17, I was discerning enough a movie goer, that I would have passed on it-Patty or no.

Teens grow up, and so Patty became, for a time, Mrs. John Astin- and gave us Sean, of the Rings, and dozens of other film roles. She continued herself, in television, periodically and never quite left our generation’s collective psyche.  Now, she is at rest and it is for the boy of long ago to look back, and say “Thanks, my beautiful screen friend.  You played your part in a magnificent youth, very, very well.  I’m only sorry there was pain attached.”

 

No Foolin’

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April 1, 2016, Prescott-

In honour of the launch of the annual Poetry Month:

Jesters gather, on the street curb,

Prepared to mimic, mock, perturb.

A small child gets away again,

with pointing out his grandpa’s  shirt’s imaginary stain.

Even the family cat, it seems,

Gets a rise out of her lady,

by feigning screams.

A cynic once proclaimed April

to be the Cruelest Month.

With such ubiquitous mirth,

is his judgment debunked,

or is it a wise, prescient verse?

 

Prescott Circle Trail: Tales of Two Segments

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March 13, 2016, Prescott- “It is not yours to keep, this ever-changing trail”- Laura and the Killed Men, “The Ever-Changing Trail” (All rights reserved, Laura Kepner- Adney and Sam Golden, 2015).

I sat, joyfully, in one of my favourite evening live music venues, The Raven Cafe, and listened to this Tucson country-folk band’s first set.  The line above is from their a capella set closer.

They excel with instruments, also.

Include the video, as it happened that the evening was a fine counterpoint to two hikes I took this weekend, on Prescott Circle Trail.  Yesterday afternoon, the spontaneity of which I wrote, a few posts ago, kicked in.  I accepted the urge to do a “fill-in-the blank” hike, to the top of Badger Peak, which is circumnavigated by Section 7 of the Circle.  The peak is also called “P” Mountain, owing to the large white first letter of my adopted town’s name.

Here are some scenes.  The first two were taken from the access road, to which I transferred from Prescott Circle, at the half-way mark to the summit.

The third photo shows a communications station, atop the peak.  The white circular arrangement is the top of the P.  There is no access to the arrangement, in its entirety, without permission of the Yavapai Nation, which owns the mountain.  The final photo shows Watson Lake and the Granite Dells, from the summit.  This hike was four miles, round trip.

This afternoon, a friend, who had wanted my help with a remodeling project, postponed it until next week.  This gave rise to spontaneous hike # 2:  Segment 5 of the Circle.  It is a ten-mile round trip, something I’ve not done during the Fast.until today.  I was inspired in this by another friend, who is both older and physically smaller than I am, and who hikes and runs during this time period.  So, out of my comfort zone I went- with enough water on which to fall back, in the event I felt weak.  As it happened, that was not a problem, as the air was cool this afternoon, and the Sun was hidden by clouds, most of the time.

This segment goes from a point south of Upper Goldwater Lake, around the south and west shores of that body of water, above the west shore of Lower Goldwater Lake, which is closed to the public and through Prescott National Forest, to White Spar Campground. This hike was ten miles, round trip.  Sitting here tonight, I feel refreshed and focused.

Here are some scenes of Segment 5.

Note the “Tree-Pod”, on the right.

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Gray granite boulders, south of Goldwater Lake

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South shore, Upper Goldwater Lake

On the left are a pair of daisies, seen along the way, above Lower Goldwater Lake.  The heart-shaped stone memorial, on the right, is dedicated to the 19 firefighters who died at Yarnell Hill, in June, 2013.  It is atop a ridge, 1 1/4 miles southeast of White Spar campground.

The Sierra Prieta range can be seen from Monument Ridge.  On the right, is the trailhead at White Spar Campground.  I spent only ten minutes, resting, at this very full facility.  There were 2 hours’ back journey left.

On the way back, I stopped for several minutes at this lovely nook, Banning Creek.

 

There had been a fair crowd here, when I was headed towards White Spar.  When I returned, only one lone bicyclist and I had the place to ourselves- and he was about to leave.  I saw very few other people, the rest of the way, until I got back to Upper Goldwater.

Now, with the next two weekends booked, I will wait until April to take on the next segments of Prescott Circle- unless things get canceled and spontaneity calls.

The Road to 65, Mile 337: Such Is Halloween

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October 31, 2015, Phoenix- This day was the first Halloween I have spent away from home, since 1991. The current generation of children are more likely to be confined to one narrow space, or another-either a prescribed street, populated by well-heeled folks, who put up elaborate decorations, or a carefully-arranged event, often (ironically) faith-based.  The turnout on my street, last year, was exactly eight trick-or-treaters.

I had business here yesterday, and elected to stay down in the city, especially after getting invited to a large house party.  The day proceeded as a drive around several Memory Lanes, starting with breakfast at a family restaurant, close to our old house.  It was called Fast Eddie’s, for several years.  Now, it goes by The Cracked Egg.  The Irish Omelet was hot and well-prepared, and the servers congenial.  I like the former name better, but everything else is just fine.  I drove by our former home, finding it occupied by a family who seem to be doing well.  Then, came a visit to Penny’s grave site, where I placed a dozen roses, and reflected on all that we managed to accomplish together, often in spite of ourselves.

After a couple of hours in Sunnyslope’s Acacia Branch Library, and a bit of shopping, I took a couple of strolls around Steele Indian School Park, named for the former Bureau of Indian Affairs residential school, whose vacant buildings are preserved at the site and for Horace C. Steele, a businessman, whose charitable foundation made the park possible.  Several families were enjoying the bright late afternoon, including a few who were fishing the small pond.

After a second stroll, this one at Park Central Mall, which was once managed by my late friend, Mike.  The place was mostly closed for the evening, lending an eerie, but not disconcerting, aura to my time.  It reminded me of a similar walk, last year, at the huge, but silent Frankfurt Messe.

Upon arriving at the aforementioned party, I found myself being greeted by Gomez and Morticia Addams (aka my friends, Jens and Maggie).  There were nearly a hundred people on site, but I seemed to be the only one with a plastic mask (Chewbacca, from “Star Wars”), which precipitated a lot of good-natured chuckles, from the older guests, and eye-rolls from the hipsters.  The food was nice, though, and Maggie’s intense decorations were, as usual, phenomenal.  Three small outbuildings, and the grounds in between, contained theme-park quality displays.  After a few lengthy conversations with some old friends, and new acquaintances, it was time to watch, as Gomez and Morticia offered their signature tango.    We were not disappointed.

I had to head back to Prescott, shortly after 10, but I will recall this much-needed time, reconnecting with old haunts (no pun intended) as a time for grounding.  The coming, very busy two weeks will go much smoother, for the break that was taken.

The Road to 65, Mile 283: Grillin’

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September 6, 2015, Prescott- One of the benefits of being semi-settled is, invitations to gatherings start to pile up.  The three-day weekend has brought me to two enormous, well-stocked and well-attended barbecues, yesterday and today, with a third slated for tomorrow.

Last night’s gathering was a birthday party for a long-time friend, belated by two days, for the sake of holding it on the weekend.

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                               Seasoned musicians kept the energy flowing, for nearly four hours.

This afternoon, after performing a spur-of-the-moment errand, I joined a much larger, community-wide barbecue, aimed at bringing in a wealth of non-perishable food for our county Food Bank.  I noticed a sizable amount of provisions in the barrels, in addition to what i brought in.

Despite the threat of rain, we only got a few drops, and I had a pleasant visit with a few other New England “ex-pats”.

An article in today’s paper talked about somebody’s 1,000 Places to See Before You Die”.  I’m peripatetic, but I can’t see going to that extent.  Give me a plate of ” ‘cue” and pleasant company, and I’m set for a while.

Tomorrow will see me at yet another gathering.  Yes, I had a TrimShake in the evening, then went to Planet Fitness and made room for the next round.

The Road to 65, Mile 274: I Wonder….

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August 28, 2015, Prescott- Two things didn’t happen today:  Work, for me, and letting myself get pushed around by a self-appointed overseer of this blog.

K says I’m lazy, for not putting forth “fresh material” on this site, day by day.

I wonder if he blogs.

I wonder how many hairs he will pull out, day by day, as I continue to write my blog, my way. Oh, wait, I blocked and deleted him.

I wonder how many peas can fit in a pod.

“I wonder, wonder  who wrote the Book of Love.”

“I wonder where she will stay-ay, my little runaway.”

I wonder about people I love dearly, who have stopped responding to my occasional messages.

I wonder who were Adam’s parents, since He sent his sons to another country to get married.

I wonder how the Earth cooled enough, for life to get started here in the first place.

I wonder what the songbirds are saying to one another, as their calls vary, in tone and in pitch.

I wonder how much more crap the common people of Syria will take, from those who variously want to use them as fodder, or as bait.

I wonder what’s REALLY in “Nuggets”, now that “chicken” is seldom used in advertising them.

I wonder what my beloved does, when she is not busy helping me extricate myself from mischief.