Impersonal

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November 17, 2022- I am honest; I would have preferred to stay at Home Base and rest. The issue is, though, that other people on the crew are very sick. Those who have a gift of mindfulness. and a level of health that is above walking wounded status, needed to be on deck today. There will be a reserve group covering for me and another regular paraprofessional, tomorrow, when I have a regular meeting in the morning and teammate has a family event.

The children, whether sick or not, are here. This is not just true of high maintenance or difficult to manage children. Parents have their own schedules and the kids themselves don’t want to stay home. That speaks well of the school as a whole, and of the program in which I am presently working, even in the throes of rebuilding.

Kids have always been devious at times, unruly at other times and appreciative, tender-hearted at still other times. Perhaps this is all part of learning which path is the right one. In any case, it is always best to take the worst behaviours impersonally, though certainly an aspect of that learning is being called to account for transgressions!

One child, given a basketball, shot a few baskets and then decided to let the ball roll down, across the parking lot and into the small clump of trees. Once the ball rolled to a stop at the fence that separates the property from a mobile home park, he decided he had seen what we wanted to see and came back to where I was waiting, with one of his classmates. This time, he figured it was a good idea to go back inside. Indeed it was!

We have come far, from the bad old teacher days of corporal punishment; from the bad old administrator days of using two Behaviour Modification Programs that conflict with one another and the bad old student & parent days of claiming that “just about anything goes” is enshrined in the First Amendment. There are still vestiges of each of these miserable philosophies, but they have lost cachet here. A student who throws a meal tray will face parent or grandparent, at days end-and there are, thankfully, no defensive parents in this group. They expect the children to follow instruction.

Misbehaviour is impersonal, usually, vis-a-vis the victims. These kids are impulsive and in-the-moment. So, we go on, looking for clues as to the hook behind misbehaviour.

A Whirlwind Is Still A Force of Nature

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November 16, 2022- There are two competing children in the class where I am working today, tomorrow and Monday. They don’t particularly like one another, the one being fun-loving, feisty and given to salty language and the other grasping, yet surly at the same time, and given to thought-salads, asking for one activity, then going on to another, and another, within a span of two minutes. Both are capable of mayhem, yet the first child will explode, execute the mischief and calm down within a 2-3 minute timeout. The other, in my opinion dangerously over-age for the classroom, does not struggle much, fortunately, but stores his insolence, taking it out on the teachers and classmates-at random moments.

We have a protocol that has one staff member sitting close to the second student and gently bringing him back to his seat when he gets up to see what mischief he can cause. The first child basically just wants to dance, fairly gracefully, and do the assignments given-but in her own way, Both could be nurtured in good work habits, if a 1:1 could be arranged for them. A whirlwind, as destructive as it tends to be, is still a force of nature, energy that could conceivably be turned into a beneficial power source-though admittedly, the technology that would make that feasible is a long way off. We are closer to harnessing the strengths of even the most unruly student, but we need to overcome a paralysis of will in education, especially in public education. It will take a massive amount of energy, from parents, educators and community-at-large, especially the business community, to replace the drive towards homogeneity with a culture that once again values innovation and individual initiative.

I will have more to say, after tomorrow’s events. Yet, a whirlwind is still a force of nature.

An Off-road Caravan

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November 14, 2022, Cortez, CO- As I approached the small community of Tonalea, AZ, en route to Monument Valley, a man in an orange vest held up a sign that said “Emergency ahead”. I came to a line of stopped traffic, and waited patiently for about twenty minutes, as it slowly inched forward, every so often.

Then, I noticed more and more people were taking an alternative, rough dirt route, which I figured would take us past the stalled traffic. So, once close enough to the entry to that of-road track, I joined the somewhat more steadily-moving queue. This brought back memories of visiting various traditional Dineh families, by taking similar tracks, up mesas or through sage-laden deserts.

Every so often,as the caravan inched along, a Navajo policeman or local volunteer would reassure us that we were on the right path. At one point, we encountered people coming the other way. Some of the caravaners opted to go up a somewhat steep bank of soft sand. That did not work for Sportage, so the oncoming vehicles backed up, until the five vehicles behind me, and I, had passed through.

When we got to a gravel church access road, 5 miles along and an hour later, the emergency had cleared and we were all back on the highway. Sportage was no worse for the wear, and I got to Monument Valley around 3:15, which allowed for a short, but satisfying stop near The Mittens, and other nearby formations. It was still a bit nippy, so a short visit was all that I was up for, anyway.

Here are some scenes from that stop.

Sentinel Mesa, west of The Mittens
West Mitten
East Mitten and Elephant Butte
Spearhead Mesa
The Mittens and Elephant Butte

The upshot is that I will surely return at some point in the relatively near future, to hike Navajo Trail, which goes near various of the formations.

Duty called, though, and as the saying goes “Responsibility never takes a vacation.” I delivered a box of Baha’i materials to a Dineh friend, in Aneth, about an hour east of Monument Valley, then stopped for the night at Tomahawk Inn, in this Four Corners hub, so as to have the WiFi needed to host a Zoom meeting. Life, even with challenges such as the off-road experience is very sweet.

Healing Energy

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November 13, 2022- I felt some change-of-seasonsitis coming on, last night, so I did what I always do in such cases. I took a spoonful of elderberry syrup and crawled underneath a bundle of covers. The covers helped me sweat whatever it was out. In turn, this allowed me to attend breakfast at the Legion Post, host a Zoom call and join another, work out at Planet Fitness and enjoy a fine meal with my Hiking Buddy.

It’s been worse, in the past. Some years, change-of-seasonitis kept me in bed, for 24 hours. If it were COVID, I’d probably be in bed for a week to ten days. So far, though, that hasn’t happened. Having O+ Blood may be responsible for that good fortune, though that immunity may be an old wives’ tale.

Mostly, though, I credit healing energy for the relatively good track record. Part of it comes from doing devotions every day and the other part comes from acting on those devotions. We talked about that in the first Zoom meeting, this morning. Thanksgiving, gratitude, has to be sincere-not perfunctory, if one wishes to genuinely partake of what is good in life. This sincerity should be in place for everything from answering a daily “Good morning, have a nice day”, on social media to paying one’s fair share of taxes, when the time comes.

It also involves being patient and flexible-things which have attached themselves to me, over the past three decades or so. After all, everyone, in their own space, is facing challenges that have nothing to do with what anyone else is facing. So, we can all send out healing energy and adjust our schedules to help others, when the occasion merits.

I’m grateful for each person in my life, even if I can’t give certain people what they seem to want of me. I am appreciative of what they give to me.

Perhaps That’s Why….

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November 12, 2022- “What we’ve got here is failure to communicate….”-Strother Martin, as Captain, in “Cool Hand Luke”.

I was raised to be clear in my communication with others, to not be ambiguous. As long as I have been faithful to that childhood teaching, things have gone quite well. I have, in all honesty, only been deeply, viscerally hated by someone, three times in my life. All three came from lapses of communication-either failure to listen, from stubbornness despite getting the message or from not being direct in my messaging.

I thought of this, while having lunch at a local diner, and hearing a familiar litany of complaints about our state’s leadership. It occurs to me that, while the goal of many is to increase inclusivity in the life of the community, the process is missing its target-either because the reformers are still playing the same zero sum game that got us into trouble in the first place or because they have something to hide. I am not much for conspiracy theories, so my money is on the former.

The zero sum gambit, in this case, is that conservatives have to give up something so that the historically marginalized, the cast-offs, can get what’s theirs. Zero sum games, whether played by the Right or by the Left, generate push back from those left out.

What if there is actually enough to go around? What if the problem is one of distribution, and not one of supply? The answers to these questions do not fall on the descendants of the enslaved, the small farmers, the overseers or the middle class townspeople. They do not fall to the First Nations people who were driven before the homesteaders, nor to the homesteaders themselves. They do not fall to the immigrants and their descendants. They fall instead to those who devised the system based on zero sum philosophy. Was their goal, is their goal still, to build a society that will primarily benefit the few? There are those who will freely admit that is the case, while chortling at how good their lot in life is, as a result. There are still others who nervously, even heatedly, deny any ill intent. Yet, those who are hearing them are not fooled. Some feel powerless; others feel a need to lash out and attack-even physically. Yet, there are those of us who see through all of it and know who the wire pullers are.

What we have here is failure to honestly communicate. The time when that tactic stops working is close at hand. People across the spectrum are learning to speak with one another, civilly and honestly. They are comparing notes and building plans that will benefit one and all, not just a few.

Perhaps that’s why we can trust in an optimistic view.

No Isolation

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November 10, 2022- The sometimes rambunctious child sat by himself, without anything to occupy him, while a couple of other staff members were called to tend to an emergency, elsewhere on campus. I went over and sat with him for twenty minutes, drilling him on colour and shape flashcards, until his regular paraprofessional returned. No one deserves isolation, save for a limited period of “reflect and correct”. He did well on the cards and was grateful for the attention.

In thinking about prisoners, it was noteworthy that in Tuesday’s election, clauses to the State Constitutions of Alabama, Tennessee and Oregon, which acquiesced to slavery, were removed by a wide majority of the voters. A similar, but poorly-worded, proposition in Louisiana was defeated, but with the understanding that a much-clearer proposition would be put before the voters, as part of the gubernatorial and legislative election, next Fall. Groups don’t deserve extended isolation, any more than individuals do. Incarceration is frequently necessary, yet solitary confinement should be a rarity.

Pariahs have been a feature of the human condition, and some say the animal condition, as far back as observation itself began. Many, myself included, have experienced a limited, short-term shunning, for violating group norms at one time or another. Other times, it’s not even the group which was offended, but an influential person or two. In the latter cases, the isolation has not lasted long at all, as others got under the influencers’ skin and members of the group began to see who was at fault. In time, the shunning usually wears out, in any case, and a new group of friends and associates takes the place of the former group. Even Napoleon had an entourage, when he was sent to St. Helena.

I am grateful, these days, that any seclusion I am put into is of my own volition.

Reversals

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November 9, 2022- At 9 a.m., Mountain Standard Time, the rain was coming down in buckets, outside my workplace, and it was 40 degrees F. At the same time, across the continent, in New England, the temperature was in the mid-60s. Such temperature reversals have been rather common, over the past ten years. I wonder if this might be tied to an axial turn of the planet.

Yesterday’s election seemed to favour those who had campaigned with a keen sense of the public mood. Those who were tone deaf, in that regard, or who simply regurgitated old shibboleths, were largely sent packing. This is a reversal of the old adage that all one has to be is of a different party from the sitting President. A good many citizens expect more of their leadership. There is less difference between the lower middle class Whites and People of Colour than conventional wisdom would have us believe. Thus, conventional wisdom itself is facing a reversal.

In my workspace today, things are stabilizing. The long-delayed strengthening of the classroom and increase in staff began in earnest, yesterday. When I returned from my Election Day stint, it was a pleasure to be able to actually offer focused instruction to a smaller group of students. This is a positive reversal of the trend towards larger class sizes, though there is much left to be done, in restoring confidence in public schools-or schools in general, for that matter.

Sometimes, reversals can be revitalizing and bring about the opposite of what it was feared they would bring.

The Robust Lines

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November 8, 2022, El Mirage- The quiet, unassuming woman took her place in line, outside the polling station, in this thriving western suburb of Phoenix. One thing distinguished her from the rest of the voters: She sported a sweatshirt, with a logo that several people have found threatening. The lady was not intimidating; she just wanted to cast a ballot-and so it transpired.

I was here as a Poll Chaplain, from 3 p.m. until closing. My role, as I explained to the site manager, was simply to sit outside-just past the 75-foot barrier prescribed by law, and be there to provide reassurance to anyone who might be upset or anxious about the atmosphere at the site. I reassured several voters, a few of whom were first-timers, and mostly presented a calm demeanour to the nearly 200 voters who passed along in line, over that four-hour period.

The participation of voters was heartwarming, and the decorum exhibited by all in the lines was even more so. No one saw any point in being less than gracious to those around them. For that, I have never been prouder to be a citizen of this country. There are those who have commented that the concept of the United States is outmoded, and that conservative areas should be split from progressive areas. Such a ridiculous proposition ignores the fact that there are conservatives and progressives in every state, community and, often, within families. Showing respect and regard for another human being should not take a whole lot of energy-yet the wire-pullers have convinced far to many that it is impossible. The fact remains that the majority of people in my life, regardless of ideology, are loving individuals, who mainly want to be heard and understood. If that sounds like the former president talking, after the Charlottesville incident of 2017, so be it-but I will never excuse acts of violence committed by anyone in my ever-widening circle. It does the perpetrator’s soul no good, whatsoever, to not be called to account.

The day itself was full, beginning with a drive from Prescott to the small city of Avondale, about ten miles west of Phoenix and equally south of El Mirage. There, I paid a visit to some old friends’ coffee shop and bakery-enjoying a light lunch. Coldwater Coffee House and Bakery is also a community gathering place. The Martinez de Aragon family is committed to strengthening the civic pride that their neighbours feel in Avondale, and in its subcommunities. After lunch, I got my bearings, and did a week’s worth of laundry at a shop near the school, in El Mirage, where Penny and I both worked for several years, in the 2000s.

The chance to serve as Poll Chaplain was the icing on the cake of a very fine day. Even the forecast rain and wind held off, though we are told it will definitely take place tomorrow.

Forging Ahead

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November 7, 2022- The otherwise kind and polite gentleman wore a sweatshirt that clearly stated how he saw himself. The message could have been interpreted as menacing. I saw it more as of the pre-emptive, “Don’t mess with Texas” variety of commentary. He ate his meal, conversed pleasantly with table mates and carefully placed his dinner tray, like anyone else. His politics are not mine, but I sense that we’d get along quite well, as time goes on.

About forty minutes later, after I had finished my assumed duties at the Monday evening soup kitchen, the strains of Laura Branigan’s “Gloria” could be heard, from a conservative political rally, on the grounds of our courthouse. I drove past, just as Laura’s recorded voice was serving up “all those voices in your head, calling GLORIA!!”, and I wondered, to whom might the person who added that song to the playlist be directing it.

Earlier today, the first of five days working as part of a makeshift crew that is tending to a small group of Special Needs children passed slowly, but in concentrated fashion. Only two of the team have any substantial long-term experience working with such children, and my own experience is scattershot, though I know how to tailor instruction to meet their needs. The school’s Principal is tending to the ambiguous promise of a properly trained full-time teacher, who has yet to make an appearance, as best she can. Since I have no knowledge of exactly what the hold-up is, I will leave it at that. The next two weeks, or so, I will devote four more days: This coming Wednesday, two days next week and the Monday before Thanksgiving, to this endeavour.

There is a full moon tomorrow and a full lunar eclipse will take place, as I sleep. That usually means I will be woken up by one or two strange dreams, and will lie awake for a half hour or so, before falling into another weird scenario. The knowledge that I am in my own bed, in my own room, will let the scenarios fade away. Tomorrow’s agenda includes a drive down to El Mirage, in the western suburbs of Phoenix, and a shift as Poll Chaplain, at City Hall.

Election Day will come and go, as all days do. We will forge ahead.

The Red Bear

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November 4, 2022- A small red ceramic bear, with a salmon wrapped around its neck, stands on my computer table. It’s kept me company for eleven years, along with a small praying angel figurine. Overlooking us, from the vantage point of the work desk, left me by my late father-in-law, are a red-haired cloth doll, in a full-length, felt Christmas green gown with white ruffle and a red cape in back. It bears a resemblance to Penny. To its left is a hand-made Nutcracker soldier, bearing a staff and given me by a beloved child, in 2015. Next left is a ceramic Buddha, which Norm got in Paris, in 1945, and is a family heirloom. The figurines are flanked by a framed photo of ‘Abdu’l-Baha, on the right and one of Aram, in Navy seaman garb, on the left.

My parents are in a framed photo, atop a white book shelf to the right of the desk. A small wedding photo of Aram and Yunhee sits next to that photo, and in between them is a paving stone from Boston’s Scollay Square renovation project, of the 1950s, given me by my late Uncle George. The U.S. flag is mounted on the left of that bookshelf. On the shelves underneath are a couple of gourds, a green decorative plate, with a Nine-pointed star in the middle, photos of Aram and his male cousins, and of my brother, Dave, his wife, Deb and their adult children. On the lower shelves are a painted rock, a dreamcatcher, a photo of Aram with Yunhee, in a lighter moment on their wedding day and another of the Shrine of al-Bab. A picture of a lotus flower and a hanging Peace flag round out the second shelf. Finally, a wooden water buffalo, from my VietNam days stands to the left of a small photo of Lori Ann Piestewa, a soldier killed in Iraq, who I knew as a child on the Hopi Reservation. A small piece of basalt sits on the far right corner of that third shelf.

Directly across from where I sit, on the surface of the desk, are a pair of silver dolphins, which I painted for Penny, when she was in hospital, in 2010; an incense bowl; a singing bowl and pestle; and a small metal baleen whale next to a miniature Hopi ceramic bowl.

These are what keep me company, when I choose to sit at Home Base, conserving energy and money for the activities that lie ahead, over the next three weeks.