Discretion

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March 10, 2024- The talk show host listened, incredulously, as a woman insisted that her son should be treated by a veterinarian, because he identifies as a cat. I would recommend a different type of medical professional-for the mother. Children engage in imaginary play and fantasy-all the time. When an adult buys into the child’s mental exercises and verifies the imaginary as real-the child is, naturally, confused.

Just because one can do something, even under the law, doesn’t mean one should engage the whim. I have heard that a man is insisting on his right to use the woman’s restroom, at a place I visit frequently. This establishment has two restrooms-one for each sex. The clientele is older, and more traditional in their view of such matters. In other establishments, most transgender people I know are perfectly okay with using a “Unisex” restroom. In fact, there are several places where ALL the restrooms are unisex. They have stalls, and there are provisions for parents with children, disabled people and their caretakers, and other special cases. Common sense is not on vacation.

At a Women’s March, yesterday, a trio of men showed up and counter-protested. There is no problem there, but the men decided that the March itself deserved to be broken up. I seem to recall this happened fifty-nine years ago, in Alabama, with deadly results. A woman, who was with the counter-protesters, decided to use a bullhorn, to keep the Marchers from speaking their peace. The March had official sanction. The woman with the bullhorn did not. This matter will be taken up by the proper officials. There was no one injured today, but as Justice Barrett said the other day, the temperature needs to be lowered. Just because one can do something, doesn’t mean one should.

Common sense is not on vacation.

In large and small cities across the country, people have indulged themselves with ignoring traffic rules, weaving in and out of the traffic pattern, in small electric vehicles. Others have ignored the rules of commerce, and helped themselves to significant quantities of clothing, jewelry and other items, with the understanding that, as long as the value of the pilfered items is less than $1000, it will not matter. Just because one can do something, doesn’t mean one should.

Common sense is not on vacation.

No Backward Pivot

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March 8, 2024- My mother was a stay-at-home housewife, who also had a marketable skill: Hairdresser/cosmetologist. Our kitchen was her workspace, and I was honoured to make runs on a bus, to downtown Lynn, MA, from our home in Saugus, to purchase items that she needed for her trade. She is well-read, well-spoken and has kept up with current events, even in her 90s. Mother is nobody’s fool, and the four of us, her adult children, are all the better for it.

Today is International Women’s Day. Besides the maudlin truth that I would not be here today, were it not for a woman, it stands that I would not have had any kind of a life worth living, were it not for the life lessons imparted by Mom, by the six women who taught in our Elementary School, by several of the teachers in Junior High and High School (most notably Mrs. Katherine Vande and Miss Gladys Fox) and the devotion of my late wife, Penny. I would not be living as full a life as I have now, without the friendship of at least two dozen women, including someone I adore the most., but ALL of whom I love dearly.

There are those, both male and female, who harbor a thinly-veiled desire to put women “back in their place”, harkening back to the time when Mick Jagger could sing an abysmal tune, like “Under My Thumb”, or John Lennon croon a wretched song like “Little Girl”, and get away with it, even making a fair amount of money in the process. Maybe they want to go even further back, to the time when women were legally their husband’s, or father’s, chattel.

The genie cannot be put back in the bottle. It is ironic that many of the women who spout “traditonalist” views are self-made professionals, who have even told me that they are perfectly fine without a male mate in their lives. In that last pronouncement, they are right, in my humble opinion. Going back to the time when I was first contemplating proposing marriage to Penny, I weighed, very carefully, just how much I would add to the already distinguished and successful life she had made for herself. I am glad to have fully supported her further achievements, of two more Master’s Degrees and the implementation of three innovative programs, in schools where she subsequently worked. The woman was a genius. She was a fine wife and mother, but she would never thrived in a stay-at-home role.

In the Baha’i writings, it is stated that, given a choice of only educating one of two children, a son or a daughter, it is preferable to send the daughter to school, as the first teacher of a child is the mother. Cases in point: It was my mother who taught me to read, and to write in cursive letters. She was professional and exacting, and the lessons stuck. It was Penny who taught our son, Aram, to read, and to be careful in researching various aspects of life, before making a decision. Every one of the mothers among my female friends has had an outsized influence on the achievements of those of their children who have reached adulthood. That includes my sister, who has raised four strong and successful professionals.

The clock cannot be turned back. Thank God.

All Sacred, Holy

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March 7, 2024- The veteran teacher was barely able to stand up, at day’s end, admitting that she was completely exhausted-and would take her time driving home this afternoon. I was able to help with a few of the remaining tasks this afternoon, during her meeting elsewhere, and the children were both helpful and well-mannered. My tie with teacher and students is sacred.

This evening, the President of the United States delivered an address that was, by turns, feisty, celebratory, and accusatory. A senator, from the opposing party, gave a response that was measured, questioning and accusatory in kind. Both recognize that their relative positions are somewhat rooted in fact, but missed the recognition that their opposite’s positions are also, to some extent, rooted in fact. The truth is bigger than the sum of its parts. Confusion comes from ambition, from the stance that only oneself can resolve the issues facing our time. Confusion comes from a totalitarian mindset. Both liberalism and conservatism are necessary. Each has a piece of the truth, and that piece is sacred. The truth is bigger than the sum of its parts. The truth cannot be fabricated, or deep-faked. It will come out, regardless. Truth is sacred.

While all that was going on, a few friends and I were in devotions, and were talking of communications with the next world. When I was at Penny’s grave site, on Tuesday, I noticed an inscription that had not been there, previously. It was not in any script that I recognize, and I know of the essential forms of Arabic, Hebrew, Mandarin, Korean, Japanese, Burmese, Thai and Cyrillic scripts, as well as the Phoenician/Roman alphabet. It was not in any of those, and I got a message that this was a sign of her spiritual progress. One of the more “practical” friends in the group said it was probably just gang graffiti. Not everything that happens in this life, however, has a quotidian cause. All communication that comes from the heart, or from spirit, is holy.

I have, as has been said often, a large number of friends, across the continent and across the planet. All of these relationships are sacred, as all life is sacred, holy. This is true, from the moment of conception, though we must somehow ascertain exactly when conception takes place. This is true through infancy and childhood, even when those stages are difficult. It is true throughout adolescence and adulthood, and into the senior years. It is true, whether a person presents self as a liberal, conservative, moderate; as Christian, Muslim, Jew, Hindu, Buddhist, agnostic, atheist or Baha’i; is male, female or uncertain as to sex. All people, indeed all living beings, are, at their core, sacred, holy.

It behooves those, who are quick to cast aspersions on others, to remember that. Yes, I include myself in that admonition.

Cycles of Thirteen

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March 5, 2024- I sat at Penny’s gravesite, early this afternoon, reciting a special Tablet written by Baha’u’llah, and several other prayers that I customarily say each day. The place was quiet and the air calm, with only a few other people around, either paying their respects or working.

She was in declining health, and I was her mainstay, for thirteen years (1998-2011), from her first head trauma to the day of her passing. It has now been thirteen years since she went to the afterlife, which Baha’is know as the Abha Realm (Abha means Heaven, or Most Glorious). In that time, I have shed much lack of confidence, honed social skills-some of them the hard way and become more patient with myself. None of that would have been possible, I believe, without the support of my strongest spirit guide. What gave her fits, in this life, has largely been overcome by her patient admonitions and way-showing.

The next thirteen years, if indeed such a cycle has started to succeed the last two, will likely find me even farther afield than the one just ended. I will possibly be occupied with remaining international journeys, may be building another relationship-or both. Regardless of the substance of this life, I know it will have the support of the soul with whom I became a strong Baha’i and raised a fine young man to adulthood. Any and all bumps along the way were just part of the growth process.

May her soul ever shine its light on any dark path I encounter.

Placeless

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February 27, 2024- I wondered again, this morning, what would be, if everyone I love and everything that matters to me, were to completely change-maybe even disappear. Maybe I would be the one disappearing. Then, what?

It’s happened, to a limited extent, before. Nearly thirteen years ago, my wife of twenty-nine years passed to the next life. Almost thirty years ago, my youngest brother winged his flight, and in early summer, thirty-eight years ago, my father entered Paradise. The changes these brought were jarring, but not seismic. They did, however, prepare me for what may come, possibly in waves.

The changes, though, have not been altogether negative. With the departed souls taking their place as spirits, looking out for those they love, here in the physical realm, some great things have come our way. Our childhood home was sold, that Mother could live a simpler and more carefree life. It was thrust into being a mansion, of sorts. Each of us has been able to achieve at least a few of our dreams. Each of us is also looking to take better care of ourselves, physically and spiritually.

Were I to lose everyone and everything, tomorrow (not likely to happen, BTW), there would be other people and other things-friends, a place to lay my head and a means to live, that would take their places. That is the lesson I draw from all that has gone on, these past thirteen years, certainly, and more recently, with a few setbacks, most of which have proven temporary.

In a vast world, and an even greater Universe, we are never really placeless.

Rising Tides

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February 20, 2024, San Diego- The small group of European youths spoke of their concern for their countries, should certain political and military forces hold sway. I stayed out of the conversation, and an older man in the group urged them to not jump to conclusions. Nonetheless, a rising tide of personal ambition and disdain for the changes that society is undergoing is having a disconcerting effect on a good many, in the generations of young adults. There is a renewed commitment to freedom of choice and group cohesion, across the range of political opinion, among a good many in the two emerging generations of young adults. From what I’ve seen, the Alpha Generation, those born since 2010, is showing the same collaborative spirit.

There was another sort of rising tide, at Ocean Beach and at Mission Bay, throughout the day. The oceanic tide kept coming in, from early this morning, until about 4 p.m., with roiling waves propelled by the storm that dumped about an inch of rain on OB. Here are a few scenes of both morning and afternoon.

Ocean Beach Pier, at 9 a.m.
Ocean Beach, at 9 a.m.
Dog Beach, 3:30 p.m.
Dog Beach, at 3:40 p.m.
Egrets and ducks were unperturbed.

My energy tide was raised by a message, from someone I love dearly, as I woke up. It was capped by the news that my little family has successfully relocated to an apartment they like better, this evening. In between, I managed a two-mile walk, to Mission Bay and back to Rainbow House, cooked up some lobster ravioli and hosted a Zoom call, one of two meetings that punctuate this visit.

The rain has stopped and the oceanic tide, at least, has ebbed. It will be interesting to see how these other tides rise and fall.

Moving Parts, in the Land of Lincoln

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February 12, 2024- Lincoln’s Tomb is closed on Mondays. That gives the spirit of the nation’s 16th President a break from the mostly reverent, but sometimes excited visitors, to the extent that spirits need a break from mortals. Today was a day, for those who do such things, to recite the Gettysburg Address. Time was, when memorizing that speech was required in school. For some reason, that went away, before I got to the grades where it was in the curriculum. My late godmother, and eldest maternal aunt, taught me what she remembered:

Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.

But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate — we can not consecrate — we can not hallow — this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us — that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion — that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain — that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom — and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.“ 

The middle of the speech was missing from her remembrance. One reason might be that her father, a native of St. Louis, who had moved to Saugus, MA to raise his family, was quite opinionated against anything Southern. So, it fell to me to later learn that missing part: ”Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.“ 

Papa, from what I heard, felt that the two-tiered system that was segregation had made of the Black man a dissolute and shiftless burden. He remonstrated with men of colour whom he encountered, to quit standing around and follow him into work. He blamed everything on the Jim Crow laws, but thought the Blacks should stand up for themselves-and not seek handouts. I wonder what he’d have made of the Civil Rights movement, had he lived to old age. (He died in 1935, at age 53). 

Abraham Lincoln was well-regarded, by both sides of my family. In 1979, I visited his boyhood home, in Knob Creek, KY. In 1997, the three of us, Penny, Aram and I, saw what was free of the National Historic Site dedicated to him, in Springfield, IL. In 2011, I went back to Springfield and visited the National Historic Site, and New Salem State Park,, more extensively. The Tomb, though, was closed that day.

We have, as a nation, gone through several spurts of revisionist thinking, in which Lincoln’s flaws have been advanced by some, as a reason to topple him from the pedestal. He made a grave error, in sanctioning the execution of 30 Dakota men, in Mankato, MN-as the Civil War was at its zenith. He may have been influenced by lingering memories of his time in the Army, during the Black Hawk War of 1832. That would be ironic, though, as the Dakota people supported the United States, in its dispute with the Sauk. It is true that he reduced the number of people to be executed, commuting the sentences of over 60 people, but the thirty who were killed constitute the largest number ever put to death in the United States, by Presidential fiat, outside of a declared war.

It is also true that Lincoln once expressed the view that an enslaved Black person was legally 3/5 of a white man. He wrestled with that, especially after meeting and holding conversation, at length, with Frederick Douglass, a freed slave who had made good of his life. Ultimately, as we see, he determined that freeing enslaved people, first and foremost in the Confederate States, and a bit later, in the border states that were still loyal to the Union, was both the moral and the practical economic right thing. He lived to see the first, but the second occurred not long after his assassination.

I thought of both my maternal grandfather, and Mr. Lincoln, while contemplating the movement of people across national boundaries. There is, no doubt, an order to be followed, in admitting people to a nation. The common people who already live in the country need to feel that their needs are not being sacrificed for the sake of newcomers-and yet, those newcomers should not have their needs sacrificed for the comfort of the wealthy or of large corporations. This is as true of the United States as it is of any European nation, of Japan, of Canada, or of Australia, to say nothing of emerging economies.

It is, in fact, most important to help those economies to continue to emerge, if a real solution is to be found to the mass migration issue. Most people I’ve met, over the years, in countries like Mexico, Guyana, the West Bank and the Philippines, want to stay where they were raised, where their roots are-just as people in developed nations do. Most who move are fleeing lack of opportunity or lack of safety. So, the true solution, as my grandfather would probably have said, is to provide meaningful work and a safe environment, in every part of the world. THAT, rather than investment in guns, bombs and deadly chemicals, would serve to reduce the numbers of people on the move from country to country. There is much to be done, and it will likely far outlast my lifetime, but it is worth starting the process.   

Yes, I Can See

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February 3, 2024-“Can’t you see, oh, can’t you see, what that woman, Lord, been doin’ to me”– Toy Caldwell, for The Marshall Tucker Band, 1973.

Women have not been doing things to me, ever. They have either done things with me, or, in a very few instances, against me-but not to me. Likewise, I can’t say I have ever done things to anyone, female or male. My mother has only offered love, guidance (sometimes harsh) and support (often masked as a hands-off approach, giving me room to grow). My sister by blood was my first friend, and is still one of my most fervent cheerleaders. My late wife, Penny, loved me with a passion, even through times when my ego was finding its footing, and I loved her back, even through-especially through-her fading last years. 

A vast army of female friends, some as sisters, others as daughters and nieces, have arisen to support me and walk by my side, in the years since I found myself on my own. Sisters, both older and younger, with names like Janet, Valerie, Vicki, Jean, Ylona, Norlie, Tammy,Jennifer, Leah, Christina, Jacque, JayLene, Melissa, Judy, Michele, Graciela, Ks, Susan, Pam, Debra, Akuura, Kathy McF, Laureen and Marcia; daughters and nieces, both of blood and of spirit, with names like Christy, Mariela, Jackie, Brittney, Christina, Annie, Yunhee, Melanie, Rebecca, Dawne, Marina and Casey-each have been steadfast friends. 

Walking with them, and with me, is my Beloved, someone who seems to have understood me from the day we met, four months ago, and with whom I feel a preternatural fit, much like I felt with Penny. I can’t express in words alone, how grateful I am for her presence in my life. I will love her, deeply, as long as I live on this Earth-and beyond.

So, with all due respect to Toy and the guys, women have only been a blessing in my world. Those few who have given me grief, and who are never going to be mentioned by name, on this blog site, have at least taught me to tighten up on my own behaviour.

Yes, I can see, and I love you all.

Centenary, and Remembrance

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January 27,2024- The grief-stricken woman told me, and bar staff, what had happened to a beloved family member, and relayed the seemingly nonchalant reaction of someone who had once told her that he was dependable. I shared with her about my own experiences, and the current state of my life. She was heartened by both what I had experienced taking care of my late wife, Penny, and by the present state of a new love in my life. As she broke down, and needed reassurance, I hugged her, and she wished me well with the rest of my life. When she left, we briefly discussed our own reactions to her story; D’s daughter agreeing with me that an undependable friend is no friend at all. I paid for my meal, and coffee, then headed back to Home Base 1.

I thought of Penny, and how no matter the level of difficulty with her condition, I would never have left her alone, or dismissed her pain. I stayed with her, until the end of her life, and would do so again and again. I think of the new love that has appeared in my life, and know that if she needed me to be by her side, post haste, I would be there, across the ocean, as quickly as humanly possible-and stay with her, for the duration.

Today, one of the most influential men I’ve ever had the honour of knowing would have turned 100 years of age. That he was the father of my first true love as an adult, and the treasured grandfather of our son was a bonus. Norman David Fellman was, more than these, much more. He was the living symbol of the Holocaust survivors-a Jewish soldier in the U.S. Army, in the final year of World War II. He was captured by the German Army, in the southern flank of the Battle of the Bulge, kept prisoner in Berga, in a special POW unit of Jewish-, Mexican- and Romani-Americans. He survived, and when found by the U.S. Army, 97 pounds clung to his 6’1″ frame. He thrived, attended college, decided to open his own shoe business, married his life-long sweetheart, sired Penny and adopted twin girls-raising all three to be strong women. He and my mother-in-law, Ruth, were married for 65 years, until his death in 2014. (Ruth survived him by four years.) They owned and ran a farm, which tided them over, when he sold his shoe business. They raised and rode Arabian horses, teaching all three girls-and me, how to ride, and care for, those wondrous beasts. Norm was a fixture in Veterans organizations, and even made a video of his experiences, which at one point aired on national television. It must have come very hard, but he made it his mission, to ensure that the experiences of those who kept freedom alive were not forgotten.

Likewise, International Holocaust Remembrance Day was established, in 1996, on this, the day of Norm’s birth. It was a fact that gave him great satisfaction, though like the gentleman he was, IHRD became more important to the day, than his own birthday. That this remembrance has continued, despite the noise and hasty judgement heaped upon all Jews, for the actions of a relative few among them, would be a point of pride, for Norm, Ruth and Penny, were they here among us still. He would fulminate, as only he could, against all those he saw as perpetrators of injustice.

I was all too glad to have been able to help a stranger in distress, to help finish a good friend’s move, earlier in the day and to give due homage to a great man. Let us never forget the Shoah!

Restoration

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January 23, 2024- Sportage came back, this afternoon, good as new.           The black Corolla did its job, over the past four days, and has gone back to Rental Land.   My bathroom is far more spacious, relatively speaking, with excess items ready to go to the Thrift Store, or to the PASS collection point, tomorrow.                   My Nana’s family-parents and siblings-are shown with her as a 17-year-old, and Great-Nana, who was 1/4 Penobscot, in her 40s. It’s the first time I’ve seen the thirteen Gallant children with their parents. The restoration of our family tree is a long work in progress.         A friend is concerned about the course of life, once career is over and family has been raised. There needn’t be any worry. Once retirement has been announced, the community finds things for one to do, and if they don’t, then family will certainly have some ideas on the matter.

We are ever in a cycle of progress, stasis, decline and restoration. Refinement of attributes is a lifelong process and while we are readying ourselves for a spiritual journey, part of that is a big chunk of energy, spent living in Earth time. It doesn’t necessarily end with retirement-and definitely doesn’t end when the children become adults.

Progress, stasis, decline, restoration.