January 15, 2024- I woke up a bit later than usual, which was okay, despite the looming Monday morning coffee klatch, the march from Prescott College and the presentation of speeches in honour of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr, on what would have been his 95th birthday. I missed them all, arriving in Prescott, from Winslow, at 12 Noon.
That’s okay. My priority was getting back safely, and given the fair amount of homeward bound traffic, that’s what I did. There was also the promise I made to a special friend, that I would visit La Posada Hotel, for about 10-15 minutes and take selected photos of the last hotel built by Fred Harvey and Mary Colter, his primary architect. She did not request this, mind you, but anything I can share with her about Arizona, the Southwest, and my meanderings in general, has a fair importance.
Backing up, just a bit, my room last night, at Delta Motel, had a military veteran motif. That was gratifying, as I did my time in the Army, 1969-72. The soldier’s camouflage uniform, boots and canteen were on display. It was as if his spirit watches over those who take the room. At any rate, I enjoyed a restful sleep.
Sipp Shoppe, my favourite eatery in Winslow, is about two blocks from La Posada, which has its own establishment, the Turquoise Room. The latter is a place where reservations are required, and I would go, for a special occasion-say, if my above-mentioned friend visits, and wants to see the Winslow area. So, this morning, one of Sipp’s smooth breakfast burritos and a large coffee sufficed.
Along those lines, and because I have had a curiosity about La Posada, here are several of the features of this classic hotel, still in the process of restoration.
In the late 19th and early 20th Centuries, some enterprising immigrants from west Asia brought dromedary camels with them, to the Southwest. This copper model greets everyone who enters La Posada’s grounds.La Posada occupies the site of Winslow’s Union Station, and still serves as an Amtrak station. Here is the northwest entrance.Allan Affeldt and Tina Mion, a Winslow couple, bought the hotel in 1997, and restored it to its former splendour. Ms. Mion is an accomplished portrait artist, who also paints with a sense of humour. Here are three of her public offerings, on permanent display at La Posada. Jimmy and Rosalyn Carter are among several recent American political figures who have been captured by Tina Mion, on canvas.Her post-9/11 portraying of the Bush II Administration figures as the principals in “The Wizard of Oz” raised a few eyebrows, but as you can see, it passed muster, in the end.A gathering of La Posada’s more famous guests, over the years, is featured at the foot of the main staircase. Harry Truman, Liberace and Simon & Garfunkel stand out,even from a distance.
The structure that houses Tina’s many works is marvel, in itself. There is varied use of light-and un-light.
The southeast main hall.An intimate spot for conversation.Ample use is also made of the spacious patios.
So went my first visit to this splendid structure. I should like to return at some point, during the warmer months, when the gardens are in full bloom. For today, I headed back to Home Base 1, and later went to serve dinner at Solid Rock, as per a regular Monday evening-but with the twist that it is a national Day of Service.
January 7, 2024, Ghost Ranch, NM- The knock came on my door, at 10 a.m. sharp, as the snow was still coming down, in Gallup. ”Housekeeping!”, so I opened the door, and the young lady assured me that, with the snow, she was taking everything casually and I needn’t rush out the door-checkout time notwithstanding. After finishing my prayers, I started up Sportage, cleaned all the snow off and loaded up, for the drive here. Poor kid was speaking to her supply cart, encouraging its spirit to keep going. Dineh people sense that everything, even a machine or wheeled tool, is animated by a spirit. It worked for her, as the cart did not get stuck in the snow.
Likewise, Sportage did not get stuck in the snow, which was fairly deep on the road out of Gallup, tapering off when I turned onto McKinley County Road 9, headed towards Crownpoint, the seat of the Eastern Navajo Agency. I drove steadily to Cuba, NM, and stopped for a breathtaking cup of hot green chili. This was real New Mexico chili, served up proudly, at Cuban Cafe, by Tia Sonya (not her real name)-who says “None of that foo-foo meat, beans and onions! You want chili here, you get the peppers in their own juice!” It is a fiery treat, especially on such a winter’s day. A BLT and hot coffee balanced out the fire.
After gassing up, I left Cuba and encountered about fifteen miles of snow-packed road, on NM Route 96. Sportage took the challenge very easily, and by the time I came to the small village of Gallina, the road was covered with red mud and cinders, being dropped by a snowplow, with its blade up and the cinder bin open. I stayed behind the plow, which left the road once it was bare. Fortunately, the twists and turns near Abiquiu Lake were on the bare stretch of road.
Now, I am at Ghost Ranch, which I briefly visited, two years ago. The team on which I will be working is made up of a wiry, well-seasoned gentleman, a few years my senior, who reminds me of my buddy Wes Hardin; a reticent, but pleasant, lady from Kansas; and a friendly couple from Kansas City, MO, who have served on the Winter Workforce a few times, already. It looks to be a light schedule, yet I am glad to be here and tap into the spiritual energy from the surrounding area. I am also glad there is WiFi, so as to let me share this week with all of you.
December 17,2023- As I sit here, writing, I am watching a film, entitled “Awaken“. In this, First Nations people, from across British Columbia are talking about their memories, and impressions of their current lives. There is talk of how the elders have given them the tools they need to sustain their lives, of how they seek reconciliation and the ability to forgive their oppressors. There is a revelation of how connected they remain, to nature, to animals.
I will, as ever, be connected, in this coming 8 Universal Year- a year of action, both individual and collective, with the Indigenous people across North America, in the Philippines and in other countries that I will visit in September and October. Dineh and Hopi figure in this next year. So do Tohono O’Odham, Maya and Shoshone (in Nevada), Tewa, Towa and Keresan (northern Puebloan), Yakima, the various nations of Vancouver Island, Sunshine Coast,and southern inland British Columbia and the Miqmaq, of Atlantic Canada.
I will be connected to children, youth and adults of all ages. I will be connected to women and men alike. Voices are getting stronger, and the people are awakening-a higher level of consciousness than the insipid term “woke” can ever signify. Where as the latter is a slogan, a cliche and a diversion, being used to distract people, by inflaming passions, the former-the rising, the increased understanding, will be deemed dangerous, by those who regard themselves as powers that be.
The people rising is not a threat to those who sincerely want to help raise the standard of living, who truly value the input of those they serve, of those with whom they live. The people rising is only a threat to those who seek to dominate, to eliminate, to exterminate. Most of these are individuals and claques, whose consciousness is several steps removed from the lives of those they want to quash and destroy. The truly great leaders of history, and of our own time, have warned us, repeatedly, of this: Chief Joseph, of the Nez Perce, Frederick Douglass, Jose Rizal, Mohandas Gandhi, Martin Luther King, Julius Nyerere, Kwame Nkrumah, John Hume, Rabbi Judah Magnes and Ali Abu Awwad, Tanya Tagaq and Autumn Peltier, Neville Bonner and Adam Goodes, Xanana Gusmao, Marcos Terena, Milagro Sala, Feliciano Valencia, Miriam Miranda, Wilma Mankiller. Many are the names you may not recognize. Search for them; learn of their efforts for humanity.
My small path will be concerned with the well-being of my friends and family (wherever they may live), Home Base community, state and nation-and across Planet Earth. Some self-care is always in play and my mahal na isa (dear one) is ever on my mind and deep in my heart. For all of us, though, the primary need is to stay awake, and look out for one another.
November 30,2023- Ernest A. Love, a decorated Army pilot, who died in the line of duty, during the final months of World War I, is honoured in his hometown of Prescott with his name being given to our regional airport and to the local American Legion Post. He was further honoured tonight, on the occasion of his birthday-128, and counting. A squad of ROTC cadets from Embry-Riddle Aeronautical University posted the colours, and the youngest of these, an 18-year-old woman, stood proudly, next to our oldest veteran Post member, who is nearly 88, and the youngest veteran Post member, a wet-behind-the-ears 48.
Each of these people has a compelling story, and each is a complex human being-just like everyone else. The difference is, each of them has done something with her/his life and has either a lifetime of giving back to the community, or is embarking on such a life. Not everyone else is so inclined, which is a shame, in a way. We all have gifts that can help bring light to the world, rather than the darkness that some see fit to cast into it.
I am truthful, in saying that I love so many in the world, even at different levels and displayed through different means. When that was not so apparent, it was largely because my self-love was lacking, and thus, I didn’t know how to communicate how I really felt. I have learned from several of those closest to me, how to grow my self-love, and therefore, how to more clearly honour the fullness and complexity of each person I meet. In turn, I can’t be all things to all people, and that may ruffle a few feathers.
May they learn to smooth those feathers and find a way to obtain what I can’t give them, whether it is a romantic relationship or taking a call at midnight. There are, conversely, things they cannot give to others. I am drawn to someone, far from here, and if she is drawn to me, then so much the better. If not, then I will honour her complexity, and full humanity, and carry on.
That, my friends, is how peace can happen, human to human-even when it’s hard to do.
November 27. 2023, Grapevine- The dream was all too vivid, and all-too ridiculous: I was at a seminar for teachers, wearing white chinos, of all things, and spilled salsa from the provided breakfast burrito. I went to clean my pants, and for some reason, grabbed a push broom to carry with me (never did figure that part out). Walking to find a restroom, I happened by an African English-language academy, and an old-style trattoria, where there were many people gathered, and as I wandered aimlessly back and forth, looking for a restroom, a teenaged girl told me my meandering was getting tiresome. A staffer came out of a back room and started randomly filling recessed open concrete hollows, with rose petals. I began to think the girl was right and I was being a tiresome distraction. Then, I woke up and realized that none of this was happening, nor did it have to.
My reality was that of a slightly chilly, but sun-filled day. I spent the day on a small service project, to be continued on free moments Wednesday, to hopefully generate a just conclusion to a long-standing matter, for a Filipino family. Otherwise, it was a quiet day of relaxation, with Aram focusing on his remaining school projects and Yunhee back at work.
The final three months of my being 72 were no less fulfilling than the other nine. I began September with a drive across southern Colorado, then three days at Eastern Colorado Baha’i Summer School,which as last year was largely a family affair-and I was a bit more included this time. Once the school had adjourned, I made my way east, as detailed in earlier posts. Mom’s 95th birthday, and the arrival of grandniece Adeline Bryan, were the milestone events. Paying respects to a fallen police officer, in Minnesota, and a beloved cousin, in Pennsylvania, were also high points.
October saw my first visit to the Philippines, via San Diego, San Francisco and T’aipei. Getting to meet a sponsored teen, and helping him get a wardrobe item he very much needed, was a wondrous start to this visit. Being guided and watched over by three fellow Baha’is, whilst in Manila, was a magnificent follow-up. Respects were paid to two of the great figures of Filipino history: Dr. Jose Rizal, regarded as the country’s national hero, and Lapulapu- who ranks similar to Cochise or Black Elk, in terms of standing up for the rights of First Nations people. I made more friends for the rest of my life, which is the main purpose of going anywhere.
November has seen a productive month at Home Base, and a salubrious week at HB2. Red Cross work was intense, but compressed into one 12-hour day. School assignments were uniformly pleasant. The flu came and went-courtesy of a crowded reception area at LAX. I had one of the finest meals of my life, at 1845 Taste of Texas.
Adi’s birth was a happy milestone. Transitions in the other direction saw the departures of an old high school friend and a cousin-in-law. Steve Finnegan and Caleb Jayne were both humble tradesmen, but neither man was anybody’s fool. Both will be long-missed. Jimmy Buffett, Terry Kirkman, David McCallum and Suzanne Somers all entertained us and engaged our social awareness, as the best of their caliber do. Rosalynn Carter and Ady Barkan raised the bar for true public service.
Now comes another early morning commemoration of the Ascension of ‘Abdu’l-Baha, and with it my re-set, to the age of 73-as of 1:30 p.m. EST, officially. It has been lovely, being 72.
November 26, 2023, Grapevine- “1845 was the year that the Union joined Texas”, the young waiter intoned, tongue firmly in cheek. With that, my advance birthday dinner began, with what turned out to be endless lemonade (from Rio Grande Valley lemons), followed by Fort Worth filet mignon and oven baked Brussels sprouts, poblano meatballs and, for Son, a Game Combo of venison and quail drums (breasts and a leg). We can safely say that the plates, while not Texas-sized, were more than ample. The desserts were Texas-sized, and we’ll leave it at “Goodness, gracious, great balls of fire! I did have a sparkling candle in my pumpkin crispy, as word got out that my birthday is forthcoming. 1845: Taste Texas is top of the line, in fare and in style-no corners cut. It was a meal for the ages.
Before that, though, we took in the wild side of Dallas, and I don’t mean riding a mechanical bull. Cedar Ridge Preserve sits on the south side of Big D, and is intended to offer safe space for butterflies, birds large and small, and the small carnivores that keep other species in check. As the name implies, cedars are the dominant trees. There are a few ponds, here and there, but what sets this stretch of prairie apart from elsewhere in DFW Metro is the ups and downs offered by the 10-mile trail system. This park could be at home in Prescott. Needless to say, it was a good workout.
My little family on the move, Cedar Ridge PreserveOne of four stream crossings along the trailAram and Yunhee headed upstairs.
It was a fine cap to the Thanksgiving weekend, and a prelude to the end of my 73rd trip around the Sun-which comes on Tuesday. I also fly back to AZ on Tuesday evening, so this dinner fell nicely into place.
Now it’s time to look back at June, July and August. As with other months, people left. Some had checkered public records-Pat Robertson and James Watt left us, a day apart. Ted Kaszynski had a scary public record, finally taking his own life, in early June. Leslie Van Houten didn’t take her own life, but certainly took those of others, so many years ago. Cormac McCarthy wrote, tellingly, of other people’s checkered lives. Daniel Ellsberg warned us of same. Sinead O’Connor hollered about injustice, and sounded melodious. Dame Glenda Jackson astonished us, on stage and Paul Reubens made us chuckle, with his puckish wit. Robbie Robertson made us think, while honouring his First Nations family. Lahaina, Hawaii practically perished as a community, in a freakish wildfire.
Closer to my circle, the queenly countenance of Wilma Ellis left us Baha’is behind, for the spirit realm. Childhood friends Rodney Lavoie and Robert Ritchie passed their batons to their beloved children. A cousin, David Wonoski, passed suddenly and my last living uncle-by-marriage, Dave Dufour, saw the end of a long, varied and colourful life. JR Cline, with whom I visited twice on cross-country journeys, saw his long and valiant fight come to an end.
My path went to three camps, all carefully managed to the best of my ability. WiFi did not fade out this time, thanks to my iPhone. Other local homages were to a good friend who turned 60; to the Granite Mountain Hotshots, who perished ten years ago, at Yarnell Hill; and to the summer solstice, on, where better, Solstice Mesa, in north Prescott. I sat with a dog, later with cats, and tended to people’s needs at Hope Fest, which came early this year.
Travels were both long and short: A hike in honour of the departed Hotshots, at the State Park established in their names, preceded the 10th Commemoration, in downtown Prescott. A return to Bell Rock, near Sedona, brought variations in light into focus. A Grand Canyon visit, to the west side of South Rim, had to be cut short, when a deluge closed the main road heading south. I made a detour, through the Navajo Nation and Flagstaff, as I had an appointment in Prescott, the next day. July 17-29 took me through the Mojave Desert, Central Valley, Oregon and Washington, to British Columbia. There were visits with Baha’i friends in Ashland, OR, Victoria, BC-and, sweetest of all, a performance in “The Wizard of Oz”, by a girl I look upon as a grandniece, in Carson City. In each case, my visit seemed to have an outsized effect on the host’s sense of well-being. That’s actually the hope, wherever I go. New friends were also made in Ludlow, CA; Medford and Salem, OR; Centralia and Chehalis, WA.Richmond and Nanaimo, BC. That’s also the idea. Zipping down to a dental appointment, on two hours’ notice and zipping back up to get my trusty vehicle serviced, after a long trip-that’s also the idea.
As August ended, I headed out to a Baha’i school, the House of Worship in Wilmette, and mother’s milestone celebration. Many are those who fill my heart; she is first among them. The people I specifically visited, these three months, are also in that category.
November 25, 2023, Grapevine- Today was a day for bringing my wardrobe more into line with my reduced girth-so to Grapevine Mills, it was, after hosting a sumptuous brunch for my little family, at Egg Farm Cafe. I acceded to Yunhee’s request that I take clothes shopping a bit more slowly-and try stuff on. Three pairs of better-fitting pants and a smaller belt later, we left the folks at Old Navy and Nautica a bit happier.
Every year seems to get its sea legs, with the beginning of terrestrial (as opposed to astronomical) Spring. This year was no exception. The weight reduction program picked up steam, from March through May. I was down to 174, and still keeping with the program.
Other transitions happened. We lost an extended family member on March 3. Marion Fusi’s life was one of passionate love and concern for those around her. Two old lions of the Dineh Nation, Peterson Zah and Jack Jackson,Sr., left to be with the Holy People,at about the same time. Baha’is Lee Panek, III, Lisa Janti, Helen Kiely, Nancy Jordan, Jack McCants and Brianna Mowzoon joined the ranks of the Supreme Concourse. An old Xanga friend, Michel Fauquet, turned off his keyboard, for the last time. A fixture in my childhood, Hazel Stocker, went to join her steadfast husband. Celebrities who affected my life, at one point or another also went to the ether: Harry Belafonte, George Maharis, Astrud Gilberto, Amitai Etzioni, Jim Brown and Tina Turner.
A New Mexico jaunt, in mid-March, started at the home of old Baha’i friends, in Tonalea, AZ, at the foot of Black Mesa, a worthy destination in itself. The historical site of Aztec Ruins, in northwest New Mexico, followed, with an edifying walk in the rain. Then came a brief Santa Fe overnight, with calls on friends at Henry & The Fish and the Pantry Restaurant.
My Red Cross service was both local-in flooded Camp Verde, and further afield, in equally flooded Watsonville, CA. Taking a leadership role, especially at the latter site, was new, but I held my own. My team respected me, and immediate supervisors were approving of what we did.
California would see me again, in May, as a train took me from Flagstaff to Los Angeles, and between other trains and charter buses, the route continued through the Central Valley-with enjoyable stays at a hostel in Sacramento, on either end of a trip over to Reno and Carson City. Between those two cities, a RAV4 proved a delightful mode of transport. Being with Michele and the kids is always a pleasure. There was a loss of keepsake, on the way back-somehow, at either Bakersfield or Los Angeles, my jacket was taken from the luggage well and with it, the locket that contained a fading photo of Penny and Aram, when he was a baby-along with Penny and her mother, when Penny was a baby. Life went on.
The year was indeed coming to fruition and I was prepared for the camps at Bellemont-even putting in a day of solo service, raking a fair amount of pine needles, before having to head back to Prescott. There would also be a northbound trip, through the Central Valley, and beyond. Next up: June-August.
November 24, 2023, Grapevine- Turkey Day leftovers made for a nice lunch, as they tend to do on “Black Friday”, and for days afterward. The day is crisp and clear, and many are headed to shopping malls/centers for Deals on Wheels-and on just about everything else. Son and I are not among them. He is taking a short break from the academic grind, and I am just taking a break, in general.
The Universe has not taken a break, of course. I learned, to my sadness, that an extended family member lost her spouse, a few weeks ago. They were a tightly-bonded couple, yet thankfully the family branch from which she comes is equally tightly-bonded, and will help her take one day at a time. Having been in similar shoes, a dozen years ago, I will keep them both in my heart.
The Force gives, as well as takes- 24 people who were kidnapped on October 7 have been released by their captors, in a prisoner exchange. Those freed by Hamas will go back to their homes and families, for a bittersweet Passover. Those freed by Israel will go home to their families, and face more uncertainty, at the conflict may well continue.
As is my wont, it is that time of year to look back at the past twelve months. This time, let us consider them, a quarter at a time. December, ’22-February, ’23- saw several leave our midst: Three stalwart Legionnaires, Gene Smylie (whose wife had passed a few weeks prior), Corky Hintz and Dwight Peters each had an outsized influence on the affairs of Post 6. Theirs will not be easy shoes to fill, but it looks like people are stepping up nicely. An old Baha’i mentor and friend, Bob Riggs, went to join his wife, in the spirit world. Celebrities, who influenced me in oblique ways, also left: Christine McVie, Barbara Walters, Jeff Beck, David Crosby, Raquel Welch, Gina Lollobrigida.
December-February provided many substitute opportunities, some of them for multiple days. Anything I can do to help children thrive is worth waking in the dark. Community service slots, at Solid Rock’s Monday night dinners, helping break down the Saturday Farmers Market, serving as co-host for Saturday morning Zoom calls and whatever the Red Cross needed, filled several days. Hikes and meals with friend Akuura also kept me physically on an even keel.
What made the biggest difference though, was going into an intensive weight reduction program-with heavy duty exercise, a strict meal plan and more resolve-courtesy of Ben Filer and True North Nutrition. As of February 28, I was well under 200 lbs. Dental health remained good, as did the skin scene.
Journeys always take their places in my world- a three-day California visit, in December, reconnected me with Ocean Beach and I found my spot there: Samesun Hostel. I also accomplished a hike down to Trestles Beach, San Clemente. House of Trestles was nearly deserted, but Harpoon Henry’s, in Dana Point, was delightful as ever.
February took me to southern Arizona, for a few days. Return visits to Boyce Thompson Arboretum and to Bisbee were coupled with introductions to Biosphere II, San Pedro House, the town of Patagonia and Nogales’ Pimeria Alta Museum.
November 20, 2023, Grapevine- As I started to make myself a grilled cheese sandwich, around Noon, son intervened. It means a lot to him to be a good host, so he took over the making of lunch. My true vacation, time with no service or work responsibility, has begun.
Yes, most often, when I leave Home Base, there are elements of the greater good involved. This time, I will just focus on being a good family member, with no Zoom calls or other activities-emergencies aside. Yet, being a good family member is the greatest good, as I think about it.
Up early this morning-2 a.m. early, I found smooth sailing and was off to the shuttle by 3:05. The ride to Phoenix was not crowded, and after a pleasant conversation with one of the other passengers, we arrived at 5:10. From there, TSA was a breeze and our flight to Dallas-Fort Worth arrived ten minutes early. Aram was at the airport shortly thereafter. I accompanied him to an appointment, then got to enjoy the grilled cheese lunch and sprawl out for a snooze.
This evening, after a light dinner, the three of us took in Grapevine’s charming Christmas Festival-with plenty of lights and a modest fireworks display. There was even Fair-type street food, so we each tried a deep-fried Oreo. Not as bad as I thought it might be, and we walked enough to keep the pounds from sticking.
Here are some scenes from the Festival.
Holiday Lights, at Grapevine Recreation CenterSculptures in the Peace Circle, Grapevine Main StreetSam Houston, offering peace to First Nations of Texas.View of the Peace Circle sculpturesAll around the Clock Tower (Above and below)Some fireworks scenes (Above and below)The Glass ReindeerMore lights in Grapevine’s Main Square (Above and below)
As in Manila’s Rizal Park, and back in Prescott-at Courthouse Square, there is nothing like bright lights to raise spirits and the people’s mood. Sometimes, just a little encouragement is all the incentive people need to make a commitment to the betterment of their lives.
November 9, 2023- The young man was unwilling to put all his eggs in one basket, as it were-and so, despite there being three other candidates ahead of him, he filled out and submitted an application for West Point Military Academy, in 1945. A year later, the three candidates ahead of him had fallen away, and the future Apollo astronaut entered the Academy. He graduated 8th, in a class of 670, in 1950.
The crackerjack test pilot had what Tom Wolfe would call “the right stuff”, in spades, and so qualified for training as an astronaut-first in the Project Gemini tandem Earth orbit activities, then as pilot of the Apollo 8 circumambulation of the Moon, in December, 1968. Later, as NASA White House liaison, he watched the landing of Apollo 11, on the lunar surface, and Neil Armstrong’s famous steps and speech, from the West Wing.
The sharp-eyed airline executive had built his company’s fortunes and took a leap of faith, purchasing new planes and equipment, keeping Eastern Airlines in the forefront of what was then state-of-the-art technology. He did not shy from the trade-offs, and trimmed costs at the expense of salaries and wages. Deregulation of the industry was not something he foresaw, though, and the perfect storm of decline in profits and uptick in costs, including debt management, led him to resign as CEO, in 1986.
Through it all, Frank Frederick Borman was a doer. He kept on with building his own vehicles, from the engine to the exhaust pipe; selling cars in Las Cruces, then running cattle in Montana. He was a faithful husband to his wife, Susan, for 71 years. He was a good father to two sons. He was a hard-nosed Chief Executive Officer, who did not dodge the tough questions, though it cost his employees, especially the women, mightily when he faced the fire.
Colonel Borman lived to the age of 95, passing on, two days ago, near his beloved ranch. His life, replete with success yet riddled with errors in judgment, was nonetheless in many ways worthy of admiration.
A Sagittarian Seeker 