I came here to do two things. First was to deliver a box of books and some food, to a loving, struggling young couple. An entry error on WAZE put me in central Phoenix, whilst their home was in a town several miles to the west. A phone call, a corrected entry and some help from the staff of the apartment complex’s leasing office helped get the job done. Husband is a mechanical innovator, and a true survivor. Wife is a sweet lady, and works tirelessly, as well. I am glad to see how far they have come, as a unit.
My second task was easier: Getting a document for my son. Since that included stopping at Romanelli’s Deli, not far from his alma mater, I was in the best of graces. A delectable sausage and peppers submarine sandwich and purified water set the rest of my afternoon on a good footing. Promise to self: Spinach and baby kale for dinner, tonight! The document was in hand, ten minutes after I filed my request, and the very professional Registrar gave me her business card, so that the process will be even more streamlined, still.
While tooling about my home city of ten years (2001-11), I felt a still aching pull on my spirit. The area in which I spent most of my time was where most of the day-to-day heartache occurred, and the west side was where Penny spent her final days. I know I have to root these feelings out, and not be shy about being in these parts of our blessed Home. There are many good people in the Phoenix area, people who loved us, and were hurt that I moved away. The pain, to me, comes from the anonymity of living in a large city, with so many people who came here to be anonymous.
Anonymity brings out the worst in many. The mentality seems to be: ” I don’t know anyone here, so why remember my manners?” This mindset is hardly limited to Phoenix, or to the Southwest. I’ve seen it elsewhere, wherever there are large numbers of “move-ins”. I tend to think of others, just because it gives meaning to my life. I’d sooner let a headstrong, overwrought person have a small “victory”, or two, if it: a) doesn’t cost me much, in terms of dignity and b) doesn’t give him/her a false sense of entitlement. There are many things in one’s day which are best let happen, rather than having an equally entitled “arbiter” step in and unilaterally make things worse. I trust in the conscience to kick into gear, more often than we give it credit for doing.
So, I feel pretty good about having come here, today, and it wasn’t all that hot outside.
May 27, 2017, Superior- I adore strong couples. I was surrounded, in childhood, by husbands and wives whom none of us could imagine being without one another. Of course, there were the ones who just could not get along, and who went their separate ways; they were three, out of thirty six, or so.
I spent the afternoon at SunFlour Market, with two dear women friends, whose combined spirit could brighten the gloomiest of days. Both are happily married, and in fact, I met the husband of SunFlour’s owner, and saw that he is very much involved with his wife’s success. The younger couple could be my own children, and in fact, I feel like I’ve known the wife forever. A musician was also present, playing a truncated guitar, produced by Go Guitars, of California. His wife later came in, having just enjoyed a special health-related treat.
Four of us got onto the subject of keeping oneself healthy, in the face of aging. Three of us are in our sixties and my young friend is forty-something, looking mid-thirty-ish. We agreed that it is the blitheness of one’s spirit that keeps us going, as well as using the purest of foods and personal cleansing products. I fully intend to keep on with that, for decades to come. I want the same for everyone else, as long as their quality of life is intact. No one should suffer, years on end.
I want to see married couples enjoy one another, also for decades to come, and to grow ever closer, not apart. Someone dear to my heart will marry next year. Someone else dear to me has found a person with whom to build a relationship. As I write this, I see the face of my departed love, smiling brightly. I may be a lone wolf, right now, but I know the full joy of being in a strong bond.
There was no obligatory Mother’s Day post here, this year. The Second Sunday itself was largely taken up with funerary rites. Mom got a call from me in the evening, though two earlier attempts were made. She’s on the move yet, during the day, so evening always seems to work best.
She loves the roses, and will hopefully have some idea of what I can do, come July, regarding helping to renovate our family home of 62 years. Those are more welcome gifts than tying up the phone, which she finds tiresome, after ten minutes or so. Perhaps the best gift I can give her, though, is maintaining a positive attitude. It’s gotten her through nearly nine decades, and keeps her on top of what goes on, day by day.
My second brother, also a model of positivity, came through today’s medical procedure, ready as ever to get back to taking on the world. He helps guide the company that produces some of Boston’s finest frankfurters (“hot dogs” is not the term of choice there).
That news is indicative of this month: Warm and cool days intermingle. Death and suffering are dovetailed with love and recovery. Years ago, my over-correcting, on a California surface road, almost derailed our pending marriage, but warmer hearts and cooler heads prevailed. Fifteen years later, I had walking pneumonia, which took well into June to disappear. Now, twenty years further on, I am in the penultimate week of a challenging, but largely successful, academic year, and my first full-time stint since 2004. ( A brief internship with a rather mercenary “social service” agency, in 2009, hardly counts.)
May, 2017 has met its Ides, and the year as a whole is moving along, much faster than the previous two. I wonder what Quantum Physics has to say about such things.
There was a magnificent scrum of motor vehicles, and drivers, when I arrived at the parking lot of Taco Don’s, and took my place in the rapidly forming motorcade. The hearse and family cars were followed by the motorcycles, then the classic cars (Jayme was a car buff, being from eastern LA County) and us friends and admirers, taking up the caboose end.
We set out ahead of time, and had cleared Prescott, by the time we were originally supposed to leave. Some stragglers caught up with us, on Highway 89A, and passed ahead, to get to their designated spots. By the time we reached Jerome, and wended our way through the “ghost town’s” streets, everything was in perfect order. Jerome, like much of the Central Highlands, is in full bloom. Here are some lupines, that graced our view.
We reached Immaculate Conception Catholic Church, on the northwest side of Cottonwood, with 30 minutes to spare. I was pleasantly surprised to see that the church’s cross-street neighbour had set up two golden Dol Harubangul (Korean “stone grandfathers”, the symbol of Jeju, where we lived from 1986-92). This was very much something that Jayme would have found wildly amusing. As the statues are usually black volcanic rock, this was definitely a nod to the area’s mining culture.
Immaculate Conception is a spacious, majestic parish church- almost cathedralesque, in size and airiness. The celebrant priest, also a friend of Jayme’s, noted that the man “felt at home here”, making frequent trips over the mountain, on Sunday mornings, perhaps because of the exhilaration one feels, when going through the pines, and along Jerome’s streets. The church felt quite homelike for us, this morning, with a robust celebration of Jayme’s relationship with his Lord and an outpouring of love, from his family and closest friends.
The exquisite service left me chastened, as funerals so often do. I thought, once more, of my own ongoing mission, knowing that being there for others, something that Jayme Salazar did so well, and at which I am improving, is imperative. We will all gather again, in his memory, on May 20, for a Fiesta Grande, at Prescott’s Watson Lake Park. I promised his dearest friend that I would be there early and leave late.
One other nice touch- when I stopped for lunch, at Colt Grill, in Old Cottonwood, the soundtrack featured Mike and The Mechanics’ “The Living Years” and REM’s “Everybody Hurts”. The Universe always speaks clearly.
“If you don’t give up and don’t give in, you may just be okay.” – Mike Rutherford
I am freshly returned from a visitation for one of Prescott’s genuine champions.The concept of waking, a seemingly odd term for remembering a departed soul, prior to burial or often, in these days, cremation, is perhaps in hopes that death is not a real thing.
I don’t know if that’s accurate or not, but the life of Jayme Salazar (he pronounced his name alternately in English and in Spanish), came back before those listening to the eulogies.His childhood and adolescent antics, presented by his older sister, were reassuring to all, that a full life proceeded from that awkward time. A lifelong friend of his recounted the man’s intense work ethic, combined with a genuine love of people, which established his Taco Don’s Restaurant as one of the city’s premier lunch venues, and a true gathering place.
He came came here from California, by way of Las Vegas, as so many of us have come here from farther afield. Jayme found that the mountains, lakes, dells and grasslands of the area, but above all, the earthiness of the people, were a capturing force. That he gave his life here, in the shadow of Granite Mountain, was the ultimate giving back.
Some six years ago, I saw my beloved wife go homeward, to the Light, in a more prolonged way, but not dissimilar period of service to the children and general citizenry of a western suburb of Phoenix. Any home in which we ever lived together was open to countless people. Any school in which she ever worked was the center of our married life, with work and love likewise moving in tandem.
So, I understood, fully, standing in the anteroom of the funeral home, this evening, that priceless spirit, that brings casual customers and acquaintances of a loving soul to a sense that here moved a lifelong friend; here lived a steadfast pillar.
To each one to whom I’ve bid farewell, these many years, let me close with the voice of Enya.
Jayme, Penny, Norm, Dad, Brian, Colonel Mortimer, Uncle George, Aunt Adeline, Margaret, Mike C. and so many standing beside you, in the Legions of Light, thank you, for having lit my way and for lighting the night.
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A Sagittarian Seeker 