December 9, 2022- As I walked about downtown Prescott, there were several things apparent: The town was alive with music, in each of over five dozen businesses; there were healthy crowds in each one; downtown banks had shut their ATMs, or had run out of cash. This last was significant, because one of the ideas of Acker Night is for patrons to leave a cash tip, in each of the shops they visit, as part of the evening’s fund raiser for arts programs in the area. The less cash there is available, the less that is contributed to the effort. There needs to be better communication between banks, the arts community and the public-at-large.
I wrote, a week ago, about being more comfortable in groups. I am ready for groups, but this evening, they were not ready for me. It’s not altogether easy for close-knit people to accept those deemed outsiders. So, after chatting for a few minutes with a member of one such group, and listening to a men’s choir, I wandered back to Home Base; not sad or even lonely, but calm in realizing that good people sometimes just need time and space to consider expanding their circle.
I sense that an immature part of me has fallen away, or has grown up, at long last. Some of the people in my life seemed to like that flirtatiousness, light-heartedness that occasionally surfaced. My energy field, though, has become more concerned with the complete human beings in my life, with what is in their dreamscape and their life plan. It is just time for that unity between heart and mind to rise to the surface.
Tomorrow evening will find me in two more group situations: An American Legion Christmas Party and another concert evening at Raven Cafe, with hopefully another seat at a table which can draw four-six people together.
December 4, 2022- This will go down in history as the first time I won at “Candyland”, since 1959. The other players then were my sister, younger brother and a neighbour kid. Today, there were a friend up the road and two of her young neighbours. “Candyland”, the game, but not the fictional plantation in Tarantino’s “Django Unchained”, is the stuff of soft landings. Kids of any age can win or lose, because there is no strategy, no give and take-just pure dice rolling and advance or retreat, as the card pulled says to do. Of course, whoever shuffles the cards can pull a fast one, but why bother? Texas Hold ’em, it isn’t.
Speaking of poker, I haven’t played the game since 1974, before the heyday of Texas Hold’em. Back then, we preferred Seven Card Stud, and my own skills in the game were hit and miss. The particular logic of poker is often the sort of winner takes all thinking that routinely stoked anger in some of my friends at the time, with ridicule coming from those well-versed in ante-based card games in general, and Seven Card Stud in particular. Three guesses, as to how anger inter-playing with ridicule turned out. Poker is not the stuff of soft landings.
Some people see romance as a game of hit and miss. That is missing the point, both about love and about gamesmanship. A game, in the classical sense, has winners and losers. Love, in the true sense, has only winners. Of course, if romance-or any other by-product of love, becomes viewed as needful, then naturally there is a sense of loss. I have been in that state of mind, several times. Now, after an intense, but basically sound, marriage that physically ended nearly twelve years ago, and an equally intense, occasionally tortuous, effort to shed stored old pre-marital baggage regarding friendships with women, I have made the soft landing. Friendships with both men and women occupy two levels: A large number of people who I care about, but don’t see in the flesh all that often and a core group of people who I see on a regular basis. There is a third group, of 2-3 women, who are my closest confidantes, rating with my middle brother and my son, in that regard.
It is a world that some see as getting worse, a harder place in which to live. I don’t have their woes, but have come close at times. The parachute of the social network helps greatly, in lowering the impact, in softening the landing.
December 3, 2022- Hiking Buddy found me, as I was texting her, asking where she was. There was a large table of casseroles and snacks, from which I was welcome to nibble, while we waited for the Christmas Parade to start. It was good to meet several of her other friends, who are the organizers of this parade day “tailgate picnic”.
The parade itself was 1 1/2 hours in length, and with the chill afternoon wind, I was glad to no longer be standing around outside-even with one of my best friends. Nonetheless, this mini-gathering, if it continues, will be a fine Season Launch day tradition. I can even bring a crock pot full of Christmas run-up staples from my adolescence-cocktail franks or mini-meatballs.
Two hours later, the annual Tree Lighting found Courthouse Square and the surrounding area wall-to-wall, with the anticipatory crowd. The Christmas story was narrated, as it has been for thirty years, by our area’s State Senator. As he spoke the final words of the Nativity, the switch was flipped, the lights came on and fireworks were set off.
Parades and fireworks happen with regularity here in Prescott, but not (as yet) so much so as to lose the dignity and honour befitting the occasions. More important to me is that I am finding, once again, the joy of being part of groups, in a regular, meaningful way. COVID, which I have personally not contracted, has wrought havoc on group activities. When it is confused with influenza, or a severe cold, as happens more often of late, than is sometimes supposed, the fear factor keeps us apart ad infinitum.
The last gathering of the day was a concert at Raven Cafe,by an area Bluegrass band, opened by twin brothers who have added luster to the Prescott music scene for nearly ten years. They are barely twenty, but show the spirit and talent that can put a town on the map of musicality. I took a seat at a table for four, as the high tops were all in use. As I had hoped, two people, one of whom I knew from a few substituting assignments, asked to sit at the table and were followed by two more-easily re-working the spot into a table for five. The surrounding tables were likewise filled to capacity, and a few intrepid souls were up and dancing. Stephy Leigh and Lullaby League, the main band, preceded-and accompanied a bit, by Cross-Eyed Possum, were the perfect voices and instruments to end this day.
I am grateful to be moving into a renewed sense of enjoying life in group settings.
The New Parade Day hangoutGrinchmasLlamas and alpacas
December 1, 2022- As the wedding reception of my sister and brother-in-law was winding down, in June, 1978, the catchy neo-disco vibes, from a new version of a band I’d heard many years back, filled the air and were quite familiar to many others in the reception hall. It was Fleetwood Mac, a British band which had relocated to California, and added Arizona’s own Stevie Nicks and her Texas-born on-again, off-again partner, Lindsey Buckingham, to the front line. Lindsey led the group in that particular song, “Monday Morning”, for some reason reminding me of The Monkees, though I kept that thought to myself.
His vocals stuck with me, over the years, and any resemblance to the tv band faded with time. More melifluous, and equally withstanding the test of time, however, were the vocals of one of the band’s founders: Christine McVie, who died yesterday. She was born into a family with the surname Perfect, and her voice made that family name a quite apt one. Marrying, and later divorcing, her bandmate John McVie, she kept his family name, throughout her time with Fleetwood Mac and through her solo career.
It’s hard to imagine FM without her, though other bands-The Who, Steely Dan and The Beach Boys have soldiered on, after the loss of one or more of their signature members. The group most recently has seemingly devolved into a cover band, particularly following Lindsey Buckingham’s departure a few years back. Christine was both muse and bard for much of the group’s repertoire, telling the tales of her own adventures and misadventures, in the world of romance.
Perhaps nowhere does her view of life play out more clearly than in the 1987 classic, “Everywhere”. Its period piece video is a scene of persistence. Rest in perfection, Christine.
November 26, 2022, Grapevine- We walked through the mist, which reminded me more of Honolulu than Dallas. After three days of more or less being housebound, we set out for Re:defined Coffee House, a popular hangout, at the edge of downtown Grapevine. There, we sat for nearly an hour, and discussed a game plan for the rest of the day, over coffee and small donuts.
The next stage was to go and watch the film, “Spirited”, a sit was a musical comedy, which appealed more to Yunhee. Basically, it is loosely-based on “A Christmas Carol”, by way of “Scrooged” and “Oliver!”,with a bit of time travel thrown in-because, spirits can do that. It was entertaining, but alas, would have been more meaningful to DIL, had there been Korean subtitles. In time, that will be available via streaming.
Next, was a rare mid-afternoon meal-this one at Mom’s Cafe, a Korean restaurant, in Carrollton. This was a throwback to days in the motherland, Hankook. Here were Bibimbap: Chicken and egg, with sliced spinach, carrot and mushroom, on a bed of steamed rice, served in a hot stone bowl and dressed with gochujang (hot pepper sauce); a Korean pancake, with scallion, squid meat and garlic; side dishes, such as cabbage and scallion kimchi, steamed broccoli and cauliflower, sliced fishcake;and bori cha (hot barley water). My meal came with miso, the wondrous Japanese soup that serves as a soothing digestive aid.
Finally, on the way back to Home Base II, we happened by Rockledge Park, Grapevine’s taste of the Great Lakes. It had stopped raining, so we headed out along North Shore Trail, being careful to steer clear of the slippery caliche. We walked past a small, intrepid wedding party, up along short, but well-defined sandstone ledges, reminiscent of some of the shore front I encountered, years ago, on the north side of Lake Superior. (Photos by Aram will be available for a later post, and we may return there tomorrow, in which case I will have my own camera at the ready.)
Nonetheless, Lake Grapevine, impressive when approaching DFW International Airport from the northwest, is equally fascinating on the ground. The rain did not keep us housebound.
November 20, 2022- As I sat with two young siblings, in a friend’s apartment, they began drawing and then painting, images on cloth canvas squares. The kids did marvelous depictions of Pokemon characters and yin/yang symbols. My friend asked if I wanted to do a canvas of my own, which sounded like fun. I did a free-style depiction of a prehistoric bird, using a few colours: Red torso, black beak and legs, yellow tuft and green head. I would be surprised if any actual bird looked like that, but it was a nice, light activity.
It did get me thinking about the thunderbird, a common mythological creature of North America, ascribed by Algonquian-speaking peoples in the Pacific Northwest, eastern Canada, the northeast United States and the Great Lakes region, with thunderous wing-flapping and the ability to hurl lightning at giant serpents and other underwater creatures. It was said that thunderbirds ruled the land and sky, whilst serpents and underwater panthers shared the underworld. I heard about thunderbirds, growing up, and while they remain fanciful, the colour scheme has a polyglot, rainbow quality (Northwest) or has blue-black feathers.
The mythological nature of the beast, in turn, reminded me of the superhuman powers that we sometimes ascribe to actual creatures-even to the microbial level. I have fought a hard, but somewhat manageable, cold, over the past four days. It is at the point now, where it is subsiding and there is only a smidgen of mucous, itself clear. This is what I refer to as change-of-seasonitis, and it has usually showed up, around late October. My ailment has none of the symptoms attributed to COVID-19, and does remind me, pure and simple , of other bad colds I’ve had this time of year. The thunder is subsiding now,thankfully, and with a good rest and hydration, I will be fine for Tuesday’s flight.
October 23, 2022, Carson City- The would-be hostess apologized for being too ill to let us enter. The devotional, scheduled for this afternoon, would also have fit the definition of community conference, which is an integral part of the Baha’i plan for the nine years 2022-2031. We can focus on building community, strengthening relationships, with all people.
Leaving that residence, the four of us, two children, their grandmother and me, headed instead to a Mexican-style ice cream parlour: Michoacan A Pedir de Boca. It was cold outside, but no matter- I was more than glad to treat my hosts to some of the best confections to come out of the Mexican state of Michoacan.
They next decided to head to a nearby WalMart, usually not my idea of a good time, but with kids, anything can become fun. Most of the time was spent in the crafts section, with a bit of food shopping at the end. The 3.8 year-old is into clocks and bells. He spotted a red numerical analog clock, and was able to tell the time. So, it became his, along with a Pre-Kindergarten activity book, covering a variety of learning skills. His older sister, who has been like a grandniece to me, from the day she was born, and whose birthday is tomorrow, will get a few books to pique her interest. For V, though, the main thing she wants from anyone in her life is connection, and the knowledge that she means a lot to those around her. That is a given, and will remain so, as long as I draw breath.
It has only been a huge life-affirming element for me to have been connected to this family, since the mid-1980s. Penny felt the same way. They are, collectively, among three such clans, besides my own biological extended family, to whom I have an ineradicable tie. I can see, because of the strength this has given me, that the number of such families will only grow, as time goes on.
October 20, 2022, Winnemucca, NV- The flustered housekeeper felt she was behind schedule and would be on the outs with her motel’s exacting owner. She had mopped the floor in the room, and had moved a large table “temporarily” over the HVAC unit. She then moved on to the next room, leaving table over HVAC.
Evening guest is delighted with the large table, but can only see the cooling part of the unit. Since many motels have separate heating and cooling units, guest thinks that maybe the owner will seek to save money, by putting a space heater in, but just hasn’t put it in yet, as it’s not that cold.
The desk clerk, making the rounds to get a morning check-out count, explains the situation to the guest, who is no worse for the wear, after a mild night. Guest checks out and housekeeper sheepishly goes in to move the table to its rightful place.
So started a day that brought me to downtown Boise, including a welcoming State Capitol and very pleasant pedestrian mall. Security in the Capitol building is adequate and not overbearing. There were few other visitors today, so my walk around and visits to all five floors were unhurried and allowed for focused reading of the various panels on Idaho’s history and its governmental organization-which is similar to that of most states.
All public building tours start with the garden.
The gardens here are touted as being low maintenance. The flower beds are small, but varied in colour- if understatedlly so.
The building itself is majestic, if smaller than some state capitols.
Idaho State Capitol, north viewIdaho State Capitol, south viewStatue of Nike, Idaho State CapitolGeorge Washington, Idaho State CapitolInterior dome, Idaho State Capitol
This is only the third state capitol I’ve ever toured on the inside. The other two were Massachusetts’-in 1964, and Texas’, in 2012. It was reassuring that there was not a wall of security regarded as necessary.
Boise’s 8th Street pedestrian mall features dozens of shops and restaurants, along two long blocks.
It was lunchtime, and I opted for a couple of slices, from the indelicately-named Pie Hole, which nonetheless turned out innovative, but tasty, vegetarian pizza. A nice touch is that kids, having the week off, for Fall Break, were safely walking around and enjoying the mall-much as we did as children. After pizza, I opted for a cup of sheep’s milk ice cream, from Negranti Creamery, which is actually a California import. The fare is not as creamy as cow’s milk, but does please the palate.
It is a nice touch that the most impressive large building in downtown Boise, after the government facilities, is an innovative apartment building: Idanha. It used to be the rail station area’s hotel.
Moderate housing in downtown Boise
Once out of the urban precincts, it was time to look, however briefly, at the Owyhee region’s stark beauty. Thus, as the title of this post indicates, I followed a dirt road to the Pillars of Rome. Settlers named it so, as the canyon walls reminded them of Roman temple architecture. It was too hot when I got to Jordan Valley, and so I passed on a climb up Pharmacy Hill. A brief view of the impressive canyon walls, north of Rome, OR, 20 miles further west,was a fine surprise stand-in.
Here are a couple of shots of the eastern section of the Pillars.
East Rim of the Pillars of RomeEast Rim, Pillars of Rome
Others have posted more detailed accounts of this area, so I would be glad to spend more time here, on a future journey this way.
October 1, 2022- He once held court, while sitting up in the fold-out bed at our home in Jeddito, Arizona. It was the mid-1990s, and things were fairly good. Tokaya Inajin, better known as Kevin Locke, was succeeding in popularizing hoop dancing, and making the meaning behind the art form clear to all who attended his performances.
He was also a fine singer, a true champion of the Lakota Sioux people, from whom he emerged. Yet, he eschewed violence and saw fit to reach out to all people, reminding everyone that the four colours of humanity were equal before the Creator. His take, like mine, was that no one be excluded, even if they themselves sought to exclude. It was a learning process, which involved a fair amount of unlearning.
Tokaya Inajin, “The First to Arise”, in Lakota, was as proud of his mainstream name and activities, as he was of being part of a First Nation. He embraced a variety of musical styles, following in the footsteps of other First Nations musicians whom he admired, but staying true to the message that his mother’s people had a central part to play in stewardship of the Earth. To that end, illustrating the Hoop of Life was his central muse.
Kevin left us, yesterday, to join the spirits who watch over those still engaged in the work of that stewardship. His presence here was a blessing, from start to finish.
Here is an example of his work, from a visit he made to the Miccosukee Nation.
September 24, 2022- The little girl, no more than two, came up to me while I was sitting in my “director’s chair”, at the large music festival. She tried to climb on my lap, which, as I knew neither her nor her mother, I gently declined. Her mother came over and led her back to the spot where she was preparing the child’s stroller. With mother so occupied, the girl came right back, and tried again. This time, both mother and I explained that this was not something she should be doing. There was no yelling or finger-wagging, just gentle dissuasion. Conversely, while the mother said I should have ignored her daughter, that, too, is something one doesn’t do to a person who is experiencing so much, for the first time in her life. I feel that I have a duty before the Creator to lovingly assist other people, especially children, to the best of my ability.
Earlier today, a small group of us honoured a revered community leader and beekeeper, on the first anniversary of his passing. There was a man who embodied loving assistance to all he met. Even the bank manager, who oversaw his mortgage, was given instructions on what to do with his house-upon the occasion of said passage. Hopefully, those instructions were followed and the home sold to the certain type of family who would honour its feng shui. The bees themselves were carefully dispersed to various other apiaries, prior to GK’s passing.
I went from the memorial service to VortiFest, in Sedona, particularly to meet up with a friend I had not seen in 2 1/2 years and to possibly see other friends from the Synergy/Apotheca complex. The centerpiece, for me, of the music festival, was an appearance by Camille Sledge, the scion of Sister Sledge, and her band, Phoenix Afrobeat Orchestra. Camille, as it turned out, was off, touring with her mother and aunts, so PAO’s superbly talented instrumentalists managed a delightful and rousing 45 minutes of non-vocal ear candy, and got many of us, up and jumping around, much as they and Camille did, when I first heard them, four years ago.
That set was what brought about a brief encounter with a Sedona friend, that puzzles me, even as I write this. She greeted me, danced around for a bit, then spent the rest of the set alternately acting like she was scared to death of me and that I no longer existed. I will refrain from trying to explain that, other than I am aware of certain threats to her safety, from someone other than myself. He could have been around and have made his presence known to her. For a good part of the rest of the Festival, she was escorted by other men, including one of the security detail members, so who knows? For my part, I would not harm a hair of anyone’s head, much less a dearly loved friend of three years.
My newly re-connected friend served as a reality check on the whole matter, cautioning against personalizing the incident, in any way, shape or form. I followed her advice, knowing that forming a narrative, based on incomplete information, is worse than a fool’s errand. So, I headed homeward, ahead of the mass exodus that was sure to happen after the last set of the festival. Even having parked in a smaller lot, across the highway, I would have been stuck in the scrum of traffic, had I stayed to hear the last, excellent band.
Besides Afrobeat, there were two other fabulous bands that I did encounter: One was the festival founder’s group, simply named “Decker”. The other was a group called “G-Love”, which offered several peace-themed tunes, that were nonetheless rousing, and which had what seemed to be 2/3 of the audience standing and bouncing, in front of the stage. I chose to sit for most of that set, getting up mainly to take video of three friends who were wearing lighted costumes and were engaged in performance art. There was a third band, which performed well, but their vibe was a bit on the angry side. Turns out, they had a shortened set, due to some misunderstanding with the festival organizers. The final band, Arrested Development, a hip-hop group, also performed well, though I heard their offerings only as I walked back towards my vehicle.
So, that was Vorti-Fest, and my Saturday. This is also my 3000th post, on this platform. Goodness and ill abound in this life, and I do not hesitate to bring you both, in the right measure. My feelings right now are well-covered, if obliquely so, by Paul Simon’s “America”.
A Sagittarian Seeker 