A Rare White Bat

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November 3, 2023- One of the members of our luncheon, on behalf of the Red Cross Blood Ambassadors, was most insistent that we all go and look at the rare white bat, that was in a cage, near the south end of the parking lot. She said it was the one thing she has all her out-of-state family check out, when they come to visit.

Hmmmmm- A bat, in a cage, by itself, in the heat of the day. There had to be a catch-but we continued with our lunch-time banter, enjoying the fare of Rock Springs Cafe, a major eatery in Black Canyon City, about midway between Prescott and Phoenix. There were a few photos, in the cafe’s garden, after the meal, and those who did not have Blood Ambassador swag, (I have a small pile of it, collected over the years), got a few pins.

With all that, it was time to go see the bat. I must say, the paint job is nice, but I would not try to hit a ball with it.

Expanding Home, Day 23: 25 Hours

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November 1, 2023, Banning (CA)- Momentarily forgetting that I had checked my Cotopaxi backpack, through from LAX to San Diego, I went back in and asked an agent about the process for finding misplaced items. Her generic answer, and showing me where to head, in order to locate it, gave enough space for my reality to set in. The bag was actually in good hands, and I could head to the domestic TSA inspection, then to the last leg of my return flight.

I got a decent amount of sleep last night, but “last night” in the Philippines ended at 5 a.m., this morning, when it was 8 p.m., Tuesday night, in California. So, by the time I landed in San Diego, it was 5:30 p.m. here and 8:30 a.m., Thursday morning, in Manila. By the time I had caught the shuttle to long-term parking, retrieved Sportage and driven here, to Sunset Motel, it was 8:15 here-and…you get the picture.

I had a nice breakfast at Cherry Selections, in the lobby of Manila Airport Hotel, then bid farewell to my friends in Airlane Village and walked over to Terminal 1-again gently guided by a series of gatekeepers, to the proper queue and the China Air block of service booths. Philippine TSA provides a quick inspection, so that part took only three minutes or so.

Once on board, it was my turn to take one of the middle seats-only fair, as the flight over was spent in aisle seats only. Everyone has to take an aisle seat, or two, once in a while. The seats on China Air vessels are roomy and ergonomically sound, which is not the case with some North American carriers. We were served a late breakfast, which in my case served as lunch. Arriving in T’aipei, we had to undergo Taiwan TSA inspection, before boarding the trans-Pacific leg of the jaunt. There was then a three-hour wait, as the plane had technical issues, that were addressed in orderly fashion.

One of you asked about changes in air , with those on either side of me. I found the Taiwanese seatmates on the first leg, quiet and pensive. They also spoke little English. The American man, to my left, on the longer flight, was aloof and wary; the Brazilian gentleman to my right was exhausted, but cordial. I was just grateful for the leg room, and the service. Truth be known, I probably would have faded out, on chattier seatmates. All told, five or six hours of sleep transpired on the three legs-with the short hop from LA to San Diego actually finding me in the deepest sleep-albeit a thirty-five minute cat nap.

Gaffes were few, and no one-except you, the readers, are aware of my brain fart, concerning the checked-in backpack. There was a bit of comedy-as I tried to open a cosmetic bin door, which had no latch, and the officious lead flight attendant rolled her eyes and told me to look to the overhead bin on my left. Thus did this groggy one leave the T’aipei-LA plane and make his way to the immigration queue.

Once re-united with the backpack, in San Diego, it took fifteen minutes for the shuttle driver from Fox Auto Parks to arrive, and ten minutes for him to get five of us to our waiting vehicles. Reunited with Sportage, I drove up to Escondido for gas, and coffee, then over to this pleasant little high desert city, and the clean, comfortable Sunset Motel. It’s been twenty-five hours, or so it seems. G’night, all!

Expanding Home, Day 16: The Gatekeepers, The Bay and The Green Belt

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October 25, 2023, Manila- The clerk smiled wanly, as he told my friend that the matter she is seeking to resolve can only be tended through making an appointment, and that appointment can only be made over the phone-on a Tuesday or on a Thursday. This is the legacy of the “State Department streamlining” that was in vogue, until a few years ago. While I can understand the reasoning behind it, there remain those, like my friend, whose anomalous issues merit rather urgent consideration, and thus are discomfited by what they can reasonably view as just another roadblock.

I will fortunately be around until Tuesday, so if she misses making the call tomorrow, there is always Hallowe’en morning, before I have to Alley-oop back to Airplane Village. This is one of the tasks that was before me, when I first arrived at the South Luzon Baha’i Center, so it is important to keep on top of it, at leas to the point that she feels encouraged and empowered. (It has nothing to do with immigration, just so we’re clear.)

The gatekeepers at the Embassy do have their work cut out for them, with many people who are looking to immigrate to the U.S., or at least obtain short-term work visas. The Filipinos who I have encountered in the U. S. are amazing workers and have a gentleness about how they go about their work. They keep their cool and try to work through any bureaucratic nonsense that arises, whether it is governmental or corporate. I noticed that the very people assigned to enforce bureaucratic rules-including the clerks at the Embassy gate, have a sense of humour about the scheduling and other small details. This does tend to set the visitors at ease.

She took her copy of the reminder to call, tomorrow, and we walked down the steps, past the vendors, touts and beggars, to the seaside park that was renovated and upgraded, during the last Presidential administration. That president, I recall, was all about the Philippines-and its people, being respected by the rest of the world. The current state of Manila Bay was one of his pet projects, and was done well.

View of Manila Bayside Park (Dolomite Beach) , from the overpass to U.S. Embassy
Section of former sea wall, Dolomite Beach, Manila Bay

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A human, for scale, at sea wall section, Dolomite Beach

After returning from the seaside, we switched gears, and with a second friend, we headed towards the Scottsdale of the Philippines, aka Makati. Here, we met a third friend, for an afternoon and evening of pretend shopping and art appreciation.

It’s not just WalMart that is full on Christmas.

We met K, at Cash and Carry Mall (shown above), then went to Greenbelt, also known as Makati Glorietta Mall. Here, our first stop was Ayala Museum, where an exhibit of abstract art by young people from around the Philippines is on view.

Here is an example:

Vision from the eyes of the future.
Avant garde art abounds at Glorietta.
There are five Green Belts in Makati Glorietta. This is a scene from # 5.

We were all drawn to a loud presentation, which turned out to be an interpretive dance roll-up to the opening of a photography exhibition, also by young Manilenos, curated by Maria Ylona.

Interpretive Dancers leading up to a photography exhibit’s opening

This opening was a class act, with a dignified set of coccktails, softails and delectable hors my d’oeuvres. This was own first time eating caviar-not bad at all. Here is an example of the photographs which won awards from Ms. Ylona.

Team work, Filipino-style
Cats earn their keep, at Makati’s malls. One does not see rats, anywhere.
Is there any doubt, as to who’s boss?
Green Belt #4’s “moat”
Three fashionistas

As it was, after this last photograph, we looked upon the crowd that was queued up to head to the suburbs, and took it upon ourselves to sit in the garden’s twilight. An hour of nibbling on Starbucks flatbreads and enjoying the cooling air was a far more reasonable way to wait out the masses than standing on a curb and breathing fumes, though there was some of that, later.

There is ever something interesting, when one’s hosts are three amigas.

Expanding Home, Day 14, Part 2: Rizal

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October 23, 2023, Manila- My hat came off, as soon as I came upon the jarring scene: A sculpted depiction of the execution of a nation’s hero.

As my hosts looked over at the edge of the park named in honour of the Philippines’ national hero, they somehow did not recognize the boundary with Intramuros and hailed a taxi to take us around to the west side of the park. I have made it my business not be the leader of the band, but in matters of scant consequence, to follow along.

Few matters are as consequential, however, as the attempt to silence those who love their country, their land, their fellow citizens. Jose A. Rizal, a polymath and patriot, gave his very life for the independence of the Philippine nation. He was accused-of treason to Spain, tried, found guilty, and executed, under duress, by a firing squad-of his countrymen, on December 30, 1896. Two years later, Spain lost possession of the Philippines to the United States. The American leadership, under Admiral George Dewey, assented to the proper burial of Dr. Rizal and his family was able to obtain closure.

The Philippine nation got its closure, fifty years later, when July 4, 1946 saw the birth of a unified and free archipelago. All this is commemorated, and the outcome celebrated, at Rizal Park. The sacrifice of Dr. Rizal, and countless members of his associates-both and after his killing, have brought about the ongoing emergence of a fine nation, which is the best anyone can say about any collective society of human beings.

Here are scenes of Rizal Park.

West entrance to Rizal Park, once known as Luneta.
Memorial to Dr. Jose A. Rizal
Facts in the matter of Dr. Rizal’s execution
Depiction of the execution of Dr. Rizal
The Chinese and Japanese residents of Manila each have built a garden, in their traditional styles. Here is the gateway to the Chinese Garden.
Central platform of Chinese Garden
Serenity in the Chinese Garden

The light was getting too low, by the time we came to the Japanese Garden. It made a visit impractical. That was not so, with regard to the Dancing Waters, the celebratory element of Rizal Park. For them, darkness only made things better.

Dancing Waters, sans luminee.
The show begins!
Joy rises, along with expectations.
All the players have taken the field!

This bustling day was a fine introduction to Manila proper and to the hearts of my three hosts. Most of all, it gave me an opportunity to honour Dr. Rizal. Long may his spirit guide the Filipino people forward!

Expanding Home, Day 14, Part 1: Intramuros

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October 23, 2023, Manila- The four of us arrived in “Old Manila”, by taxi, and by vote of 3-0, with this one abstaining, out of being totally at a loss, we headed to Manila Cathedral. En route, we were stopped, briefly, by an elderly beggar, who ended up going on to a group of men, who gave him two boiled eggs. That is something I will always gladly do, if I have food to share. Money? Nah.

Manila Cathedral has been visited by several Popes, most recently Francis I. We found it sparsely occupied, and in need of some repairs, but worth visiting, nonetheless, because of its historical value.

The Manila Cathedral, from the east.
History of Manila Cathedral, officially the Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception
Friezes of the Passion of Jesus the Christ, fronted by a sculpture of Mother Mary
Interior of Manila Cathedral

Chinese merchants were allowed into Intramuros, during daylight hours. Spanish law required them to leave at sunset. One merchant left this inscription, just outside the gated heart of Intramuros.

Partial inscription at north door to Intramuros
The guided tour to the interior rooms of Intramuros is not offered on Mondays. The scene above does show the substance of this magnificent complex.
Wrought iron gate, to inner garden of Intramuros.
Peak inside a “closed” room of Intramuros
Inner garden of Intramuros
Function room at White Knight Hotel, Intramuros
Hallway of White Knight Hotel
Fern and orchid garden, Intramuros
My three kind guides, and the moss-covered well
The rainbow-stone interior of the well at Intramuros
Silver Grand Mirror, outside Barbara’s Heritage Restaurant, Intramuros
After innumerable selfies of my friends, we continued to San Agustin Church. Here is the patron of the church.
Interior of San Agustin Church, Intramuros
Sanctuary and lectern, San Agustin Church
Here are some views of the wall itself (above and following)
Atop the wall around Old Manila
The long rampart
Outside the wall
Set cannons, in wall portals
The full tableau of Spanish defenses, atop the wall.

Once we left the wall’s ramparts, it was time to pay respects to the Philippine national hero.

Expanding Home, Day 11: Observations On A Tight Neighbourhood

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October 20, 2023, Paranaque- The lady busily puttered about the courtyard and small garden, seemingly unaware of anything other than what was in front of her. To me, watching from a third story window, with appreciation of her diligent work in the afternoon heat, it was reassuring. The people of this largely commercial neighbourhood still had residences scattered among the businesses, and they took care of these, with dignity and a goodly amount of pride. A humble, dignified, graceful woman was, at that point in time, the most beautiful person on Earth.

Four small boys scampered about, in and out of the parking lot, around the four restaurants, three car rental agencies, a bar and the hotel where I am staying. They split themselves up, each one stationed in front of a restaurant, steering clear of the hotel-and of the bar, where the bouncer would have gladly given them a forceful heave-ho. Some realities are understood, intuitively, even by the desperate- especially by the desperate. I sat in Pablo’s, enjoying the pipes of a group of four men who were engaged in karaoke. I was invited to join in, on the English-language songs, but spared them my croaking voice. Listening to their many tunes, in English and in Tagalog, was a splendid way to while away the evening-for me, and for the little one outside, whose nose was pressed to the window. The food was also good.

I do not give money to beggars, no matter how old or young. A few years ago, as you may recall, I tried supporting a man who I thought was an honest entrepreneur, only to have him rebuff my suggestions and up his monetary demands. Lesson learned, and cord cut. The kids are engaging, and appealing-but I know where the money ends up, and it’s not in their pockets. The minder, if he or she could even be called that, waits at a gathering point, collection bag in hand.

Here in the Manila Airport Hotel, there is a constant buzz of guests, hotel staff, cafe workers, travel agents, masseuses and car rental agents. Lines form at the hotel desk and at the cafe counter-and are diligently honoured. No one in the Philippines seems to vaunt self over those in front of the line. I have been in places where that is not the case, but in this country, there is a fair amount of decorum-even on the busy streets, few are they who throw their weight around in traffic-and they are put in their places very quickly, either by the police or by other drivers.

I like this tight little neighbourhood, and will miss it, at least a bit, when I transfer to Santa Ana, nearer to Manila Proper, next week.

Three Bruces and Two Jerrys

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October 6, 2023- As the band bantered, this evening at Rafter Eleven, a hand drummer joined and was promptly christened “Jerry, from a band of one two many Bruces”. The context was never explained, but it gave rise to this little story, in my head.

There were once two musically-inclined cousins, Bruce and Jerry. They grew up, close to one another, in Swarthmore, PA, home of a “Little Ivy League” college-which gave the town its name. Bruce wasn’t much of a student, in the usual sense, but he could read music from the age of 3. Jerry, on the other hand, couldn’t tell a G clef from an B sharp, but he could make his guitar sing-from the time he got it, at the age of 5. He was also a book worm, and would make up song lyrics from the things he read-having been first inspired by “Zippity doo dah”, from Walt Disney’s “Song of The South”. He kind of hit a brick wall, when trying to make songs about the Periodic Table of The Elements. That’s where a second Bruce came in. Bruce A. was a classmate of Jerry’s, having moved to Swarthmore with his family, from a small town in Alabama, called Eutaw. Coming from a family of Blues musicians, Bruce A. would sit in on the cousins’ jamming and lend his vocal talents to Jerry’s lyrics. B. A. made up his own songs about hydrogen, oxygen, and neon-and krypton, where his Blues aria about Superman had the Man of Steel tossin’ whole planets around. That brought in Bruce # 3, who was actually a girl.

Brucella Mantooth was a Choctaw girl,from “somewhere in Oklahoma; I think it starts with a T.” That turned out to be Tahlequah, where most everyone else was Cherokee. The reason the Mantooths came to Swarthmore was that B’s mom was a Professor of Native American Studies, at a time when everyone referred to the First Americans simply as “Indians”. Work opportunities for First Nations scholars were few and far between, even in Oklahoma, which used to be called Indian Territory. Swarthmore wanted to make a mark for itself, so the N.A.S. Baccalaureate and Master of Arts programs were started.

Bruce M. could play seven types of drums, from a big “powwow-type” drum to little bongos. She added a dramatic flair to the Superman songs that came from Bruce A.’s head. There were regular jams, in the back yard or garage, of one cousin or another, from the time they were all seven, until they were ten.

One day, Jerry came to a realization: There were one too many Bruces- and only one Jerry. He quietly fussed and fumed about the situation, not letting it get in the way of the band’s activities. Brucella, though, was intuitive-and determined she would find a solution to the problem, without making a big fuss. So, one day, she walked in with a new friend.

Geraldine Spector came from the city-Philly, and not just from anywhere, but from Old City. She was from an old time rock and roll/rhythm and blues family-her uncle invented the “Wall of Sound”, but Jerry was into country music, of all things. It started when she was learning to ride horses, first English style, then Western. With the latter style came a fascination with cowboys, and their music. When Jerry met Bruce M., at a mini-rodeo, the tapes played by Brucella’s Dad in his truck, left the slightly older girl hooked on the genre. The two girls, a year apart in age, became inseparable, and so, the band got its second singer, who could also play a mean keyboard.

As ten and eleven became thirteen and fourteen, the kids’ voices changed, there was a hiatus for that sort of discomfort to pass, and then the group took off again-being a staple at local high school dances-and small music festivals around Philadelphia. They came up with a dance, “Philly Dog”, which got cachet when mentioned in the hit song, “Land of A Thousand Dances”. They did soaring, rock-opera type songs, twangy country tunes about love and loss-and to placate Jerry S’s family, some covers of her aunt’s girl band classics.

There was still one little burr in the saddle: One two many Bruces.

(DISCLAIMER: Any relationship between the characters in this story and real people is purely coincidental.)

Fourth Quarter- Frost, Frolics and Fastidiousness

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October 1, 2023- The air is supposed to be chill, tonight and tomorrow, followed, later in the week, by a few days of AUG-tober. Then the silly weather will subside, and we may expect that Home Base-Prescott, and hereabouts, will have a more conventional tenth month.

I will be at work, all week, helping two special needs children at a nearby elementary school. There will be other events awaiting in the evenings: Ecstatic dance (online), which I can join for an hour or so; a Healing Devotional; a Red Cross meeting; the tail-end of a Study Circle that I have been facilitating; and another early evening devotional. Saturday will see a Harvest Festival, as well as regular service activities.

Then comes the fourth journey of 2023- The Philippines, by way of California and Taiwan. More details will be shared, as the sojourn unfolds. Long story short, it will dominate October, and take me away from service activities here. This bothers some people, but my life has been about following messages from my spirit guides. Sometimes, that has meant staying in one place and being fastidious in meeting the needs of a few. Since 2011, though, it has meant being willing to go to certain places, connect with specific people and perform designated functions, from running Red Cross shelters here and there, to keeping children safe on Halloween, serving dinner to homeless people and sponsoring a child or two, in disadvantaged communities.

One such youth will be a focus of my time in the Philippines. Faith-based activities will take up much of the rest of my time there. My biggest hope is that a bond between Prescott and those blessed islands may be forged.

November and December will bring more work around here, holidays spent with family(Thanksgiving) and friends (Christmas and New Year’s) and another trip around the Sun completed. The Fourth Quarter is never dull-stay tuned.

Wildness and Woolery

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September 30, 2023- The duo paid no mind to the wind that, off and on, gusted through the patio and blew a paper, a napkin or a ball cap away from its owner. The Bourbon Knights, at least the two remaining members, were too busy cranking out solid, vintage rock, to pay attention to such a mundane phenom as wind.

Their preference was playing the classic tunes of The Who, and when they got into the late riffs on “Baba O’Riley”, I half expected to see one of them break into an imitation of Pete Townshend’s Kazotsky kick. Alas, too much of their signature drink had found its way down their gullets, and they were content with their musical offerings, which remained solid. They also ranged from Stevie Nicks to Tom Petty.

This was the wild part of the evening at Rafter Eleven, where I went to close out the bittersweet month of September. Today would have been Penny’s 69th birthday, and true to form, not only one, but two Baha’i events got my attention, back to back. The Worldwide Celebration of Unity, of which I have written before, has taken its place in my Saturday morning routine. Only when I am not in a place where WiFi is accessible, do I beg off the task of co-hosting. The other event, which followed straightaway, was the annual Unit Convention, where Baha’is living in a designated area meet to elect a delegate to the National Convention, set for the following Spring, and consult about issues of import to the region and to the national community. I feel fortunate that the first event was able to be held at the Convention site, courtesy of the electoral tellers, who let me use their meeting room. Penny’s spirit, and my other ethereal guides, see to it that what needs to be done, finds a way.

A woolery is a place where the heavy cloth may be spun, carded and woven into the heavy cloth that is so comforting in cold weather. Our spiritual woolery is the Source of the guidance that comes from following those Spiritual Teachings that afford us protection, in the cold of challenges, tests and setbacks that are so commonly experienced in this life. So it was, both physically and emotionally chilly, at different times today, giving me reason to wear a woolen jacket, given me as a thank-you, by a once homeless man, who I helped for a time, nine years ago-and to seek solace in the Teachings of Baha’u’llah, when feeling the annoyance of people I normally help on Saturdays, who were left on their own today.

The day, and the month, ended well though. Even the country got a breather, from the political clashes that have played out, these past several weeks.

Here, for the curious, are The Who, and “Baba O’Riley”, though sans Kazotsky.