November 24, 2025, Moriarty, NM- I left Home Base I , around 8 a.m,, bound for Texas, with a few stops along the way. The first was the Monday morning Coffee Klatsch, where we each gave a rundown of Thanksgiving plans. I then set out for Winslow, encountering almost no traffic between Camp Verde and the famous corner from the Eagles’ tune. After a nice lunch at Relic Road (aka Sipp Shoppe), I found I-40 also relatively tame, even through Albuquerque, to this old ranching town that has become a favourite stopover of mine, being close to the Duke City and therefore halfway across New Mexico.
I did not focus on taking photos, having taken lots of the I-4- corridor, over the years. It is noteworthy, though, that late November is foliage season-for the cottonwood trees and shrubs along High Desert river banks. So, golds, bright yellows and rust-colours are a frequent site, across north central Arizona and New Mexico.
My attention was more drawn to a Sirius XM channel of ’70s Rock. A few songs conjured memories of people who figured in my life in that decade of dissolute behaviour. “Papa Was a Rolling Stone”, by the Temptations concerns the sons of a reckless, irresponsible man trying to determine the truth about him. The lyrics say he died on the Third of September. I knew a man who did pass away on that day, in 1971. That gentleman was the antithesis of the subject of the psychedelic soul tune. He was a man who never took a dime he hadn’t earned and who worked almost to the day he died.
“Seasons in the Sun, by Terry Jacks, brought the memory of four young men from my hometown, who were killed during the Vietnam Era, two in the war itself and two others, due to accidents in nearby countries. The notion of people dying young is voiced by Jacks, saying goodbye to his best friend, his father and his beloved. It struck many of us, at the time, as sappy and unrealistic. Yet, there were our contemporaries dying around us-and not just the four guys in the military. Disease and automobile accidents took their toll on our generation. One of my best friends in high school dies in a crash, not long after his graduation.
I switched to a folk song channel, just east of Gallup, being guided by less evocative tunes until arriving at Lariat Motel, where I am for the night. Still, the songs that came up on the ’70s “show” helped me that much more, in confronting lingering baggage.
November 16, 2025- The American bison has long been the stuff of both reverence and legend. It was also, following the late Pleistocene die-off of other Megafauna ( Cave bears, American camels, giant ground sloths, American rhinoceroses and giant beavers), the largest source of protein for First Nations people.
It is true that First Nations people offered thanks to each animal they killed for food and sustenance. It is true that many tribes, especially in the Plains region, used as many parts of the animal as they could salvage, for food or for tool-making. It is also true that many tribes employed the technique of the Bison Jump, forcing large numbers of a given herd off fairly shallow cliffs, to their deaths or to severe injury that incapacitated many animals, who then could be slaughtered. This was mainly a late autumn/early winter practice, done for the express purpose of ensuring a food supply in winter. The practice is explained here:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qDjUHPzLn5E.
I learned these facts from the film “Singing Back the Buffalo”, which was shown this afternoon, at Sacred Heart Roman Catholic Church, in downtown Prescott. The film, by Tasha Hubbard and Jason Ryle, explores efforts by First Nations people, in Canada, Mexico and the United States, to restore healthy bison herds, primarily in plains and prairie regions. Ceremonies are held, often within hearing distance of bison herds. (The name “buffalo” is used by some First Nations groups, interchangeably with the more correct term, bison.) There is much singing and dancing at these ceremonies, which both thank the bison for their sacrifice and appeal to them to gather and procreate. It is said that, when a specific group of five juvenile male bison were the focus of a dance, and were too far away to hear the songs, another group of five juvenile male bison came to the site and presented themselves to the assembled Band. This is documented by the film-makers.
It is gratifying that these efforts to promulgate healthy bison herds are gaining traction. Sustainable hunting is also going on, in areas where the bison herds are large and healthy. There are, however, no more “buffalo jumps”. Discussion afterward extended to efforts at promulgating other species, “rewilding” in both North America and Europe. Indeed, I noticed that efforts at protecting and re-introducing the beaver and the lynx are well underway in Scotland. British wildcats are a focus of re-wilding efforts in England and Wales. The lynx is also a focus of re-introduction in Spain and Portugal.
As we learn how to co-exist with wild animals, there is hope for a mutually beneficial solution to the problems of conflict between species. (Of course, we also need to devote a great deal of energy to solving conflicts between humans!)
November 13, 2025- It may well have been the last time I work in Chino Valley High School, but everyone made it count. The Career Exploration students took up the bulk of the day, researching and applying concepts like job descriptions and the expectations that go into their creation. The Drama students were more involved with a production that they are staging, in a few days.
“Twelve Angry Jurors” is an updated version of “Twelve Angry Men”, a film that was done, in 1957 and again in 1997, and which graphically illustrates the intensity of jury deliberations, especially in ambiguous cases. It is more than just a mixed-gender version of the film. Being audience-facing, the play thus appeals to the sensibilities of those watching, as well as acting out the viewpoints of any given juror. There are other, more subtle differences, briefly discussed here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q58Wxi20Frk&t=152s.
I haven’t attended nearly as many plays, over the years, as I might have liked. Small efforts, done in the round, have been my favourites among those I have experienced. A performance of “King Lear”, earlier this year is probably my favourite, if only because it stayed truest to the play as I remember having read it, in my senior year of high school. The themes of mistrust of a loving critic and the clouds of madness, followed by rage at being deceived are most cautionary. The human tendency to reward even the most transparent sycophancy also hits home.
The most appealing thing about live theater, though, is that the efforts of the performers-and of the stage crew may be seen close up. Human effort, at changing the scenery and moving about the room, even having to navigate the audience at times, also makes the play more intimate than even the most exhilarating IMAX presentation of a motion picture.
Movies can be fabulous, but for intimacy and connection, yet, “the play’s the thing”. Long may high school and college drama programs endure. Shakespeare may have used the term as a vehicle for Hamlet to trap his father’s killer, but it certainly sums up, in general, the appeal of the medium.
November 5, 2025- Some things never seem to change. Two little girls decided to shut out their more officious row-mate, after she called attention to something they supposedly said. I have two thoughts on reporting vs. tattling. On the one hand, I thoroughly believe that children should be seen, heard and believed. The days when only adults were allowed to speak are, mercifully, long gone. On the other hand, not being naive, I know that children, being human, can also be wrong-in their assessment or even in their intentions. A child’s frame of reference is most likely limited by the brevity of their life experiences. Nevertheless, I listened carefully to her report, and equally carefully heard their side, not assessing blame or credit to either.
As it happened, we were starting what is called “Centers”, where students rotate among different activities in the classroom. So, the two girls went to one area and the third occupied herself in drawing and reading. They later were all collaborating on another activity, the earlier dispute seemingly set aside. The regular teacher returned shortly afterward, and I was on my merry way.
We can be very funny about hanging onto bad exchanges with others. I learned a long time ago that grudges are like dead weights. The kids who came across as bullies, in my younger days, were all different. Early on, I decided to look at them individually. The good-hearted boy who was always on my case about one thing or another became the man who was earnestly interested in my well-being. The troubled kid who was constantly trying to beat up others was, as I later witnessed, terrified by others who were stronger and meaner than he. The duo who harassed other kids, by riding up to them on their bikes and taking things, later became men who found themselves being targeted by more nefarious grifters. Holding grudges would have weighed me down. I’m glad to have moved on.
Hopefully, the very competent regular teacher will handle any ongoing tension between the three girls and their different personalities will find a way to mesh, over the years.
November 3, 2025- I revisited a small regular gathering today. One usually consistent attendee was conspicuously absent. It was explained to me that this person is on an inward journey and does not wish to be with anyone, for the time being. While this news is a bit disconcerting, I have to wish friend well.
I have rarely, if ever, ensconced myself in seclusion for very long. There was a period of time, after Penny passed (2011), when I kept a lot to myself, but there were always other people in the house and I never really felt like I was cocooning. In truth, though, old habits and ways of viewing the world, some of which I had held since adolescence, were being shed. Wrapped up in contemplation, I came out of that period, towards the end of 2014. During those three years, there were a few adventures and a couple of colossal missteps, that might have wrecked my life, and those of a few other people, but for the Grace of the Almighty.
We are each ever in a state of flux, with changing circumstances that could either propel us forward, or upend everything we know and cherish. Sometimes, life brings us a little of both. I see that this might be happening to said friend, and can only be a well-wisher. My own life, in the next six weeks, will see the conclusion of one great chapter and the beginning of another, perhaps grander. I will not be cocooning, though.
November 2, 2025- The meeting, held unusually on a Sunday, was going like clockwork. Out of the blue came a rash of cursing and threatening language. Those involved knew fully well that they were disrupting the meeting next door. They made it clear that they didn’t care-and further, that no one was going to tell them to stop arguing and leave the building.
The right to use foul language and disrupt business, however, seems to end three feet from one’s neighbour’s face. In a privately-owned facility, moreover, a person may be compelled to leave, at the discretion of the building’s owner, or her/his lawful representatives. This is what ended up happening today. The person responsible for keeping order in the meeting, aided by two other officers, escorted the four disquiet people out of the building. There was some discussion outside, but the four went their separate ways, apparently understanding that attracting the attention of the police was not in their best interests.
This is my own main argument for not letting alcohol, or any mind-altering substance, affect one’s ability to carry on with life. I was, at one time, a terrible drunk, and I will leave it at that. I seldom, if ever, though, threw my weight around. On the few occasions that I did so, I was readily called to account, and there are those in my past who are all too happy to remind me of that time when…. So be it. Life is a series of mishaps and, hopefully, of lessons learned.
As a society, though, we still have drug allusions that are used to extol the virtues of a legitimate food or beverage-i.e. “It’s better than crack”. Oh? How do you know about crack? The fact that such a horrible substance is seen in a positive light gives me the willies. Disquietude can be found in any nook and cranny of society. Dealing with it, rooting it out, takes fortitude-and persistent effort-the kind that does not allow for a positive view of an addicting substance.
October 14, 2025, Strasbourg- I took no photos of Strasbourg this time. Hotel Strasbourg-Monatagne Verte is lovely and the area around it is serene, almost bucolic. The quiet paths that lead, safely, across the bustling highway into older neighbourhoods of this economic hub of northeastern France are worthy of several shots.
I simply was not in the photographic frame of mind, no pun intended. My camera has a day to charge and I am giving myself time to sit and reflect. Tomorrow morning, I will go across to Laverie Valiwash and take care of my wardrobe. This evening, I will rest, as my message to friends here received no reply. A nice French dinner was my solace. The staff at Hotel Strasbourg are superb.
The trains from Frankfurt were a standard car to Offenburg, then a commuter train the rest of the way. Most of the people on the second leg were university students heading to one of the small German border towns that serve as suburbs to Strasbourg: Places like Kehl, where a team of German and French border police checked tickets and passports. Once the kids were gone, there were only a few of us going the rest of the way to Strasbourg. The trams and buses at Centre Gare (railway station) go towards the Cathedral, to the European Union facilities and other areas that are in the direction opposite where I was headed. Montagne-Verte is a fairly new area of town, and as was said earlier, has a rustic air to it, even with the apartment buildings and tourist hotels that are carefully interspersed within its greenery.
One of these years, I will set aside three days or so, to give justice to a visit to this bustling town. Tonight, though, I am just regrouping, getting ready for the last week or so of a fascinating journey that has had many aspects of whirlwind to it.
October 6, 2025, Sarajevo- Once again, I found myself looking at piles of children’s shoes, mounds of abandoned luggage, faces of frightened families being herded onto to trucks-instead of train cars, with the same promise of “a better life”. I looked into hundreds of pairs of eyes, of men of various ages; indeed, some of the “men” were only 14 or 15. Every last one of the more than 8,000 male human beings killed in July, 1995, in and around Srebrenica, Bosnia& Hercegovina was “guilty” of only one thing-being a Muslim in what their captors conceived to be a pure, Christian, Serbian nation of Yugoslavia.
The Srebrenica Memorial Center sits in what is styled the Republic of Srpska (Serp-ska), its existence and its mission protected by the overarching government of Bosnia i Hercegovina, under the Dayton Accords, which ended the war in Bosnia, in 1996. The Bosnian Serbs make no pretense of liking the message the Museum offers, but they abide its presence. In that sense, it is no different from, say, the Civil Rights Museum in Montgomery, AL or the Sand Creek Massacre National Monument, in southern Colorado. Those who view things only one way cannot easily accept even established fact, when it disrupts their world view.
Three of us were taken to this Museum, by a man named Adis. He is a veteran of the Bosnian War for Independence. He is also an accomplished de-mining technician, and has helped remove mines in over two dozen countries, since 1998. Adis is a Bosnian Muslim. He told us of the background of the horrors that nearly tore his country apart, in the years 1992-96. He told us, as did staff members at the Museum, of the unreliability of United Nations Peacekeepers, held back by the envoy of the U.N. to Yugoslavia and by their own commanders. These men told us what was the result of overemphasis on preserving the status quo. The Big Picture fell on top of the people who only wanted to live their lives in peace.
Here are some of the scenes presented us at the Museum, in Srebrenica itself and at the Memorial Cemetery, down the street from this powerful institution.
Srebrenica Memorial Center, Polocari, Bosnia i HercegovinaRijad Fejzic’s story
Riki was 18 when he died, probably alongside his father and most likely not when engaged in combat. He had no training, no weapon, only his faith and love for his family. Riki’s story is a recurring presence in the 26 rooms, in which the story of this conflict unfolds in the Memorial Center. His remains were only identified after the war had ended. His father’s have never been found. Riki was beaten to death.
Presentation at Memorial Center, Polocari
This man’s father was a Bosnian Army soldier. He himself has been a presenter at the Memorial Center, for almost fifteen years. He is showing the course of the attacks on Srebrenica, which had been deemed a protected zone of the United Nations. Bosnian Serb forces, aided by the Serbian regulars, decided to ignore the UN’s presence in the area, and marched on the town, on July 11, 1995. The UN’s troops, a Dutch battalion, were under-equipped and outnumbered. It could have been different, but those in control of the situation simply had other priorities.
A relative few of the abandoned shoes left by fleeing children, in July, 2011.A mother’s sorrowTaking a page from Nazi Germany, the Bosnian Serb and Serbian commanders overruled even the misgivings of their own rank and file soldiers, many of whom had known the Bosnian Muslims as neighbours- for decades.Some of the 8,000 men and boys killed in July, 2011.Survivors gathered at the site of a mass grave, in 1996.The city of Srebrenica is a shell of its old self, but its young people still hold it close.The city from a former healing spa, high above. The spires are those of two mosques.Peace Monument in the central square of Srebrenica.An estimate of the total number of Bosnian men and boys killed in July, 1995. Posted at Memorial Cemetery.Row upon row of Muslim graves, all from that fateful day in July, 1995.
No one should condemn the Serbian people for what happened, any more than one could condemn the German nation for the Nazi reign of terror or the average Southern white male for the horrors of slavery and Jim Crow, or the majority of Hutu farmers for the slaughter of the Tutsi, in Rwanda. Adis put it clearly: “Most people just want to live their lives in peace and provide for their families. It’s as true of the Serbs around us as it is of we Bosniaks.”
The lesson of Srebrenica, of Auschwitz-Birkenau, of Rwanda, of Cambodia, of the oppression of Indigenous peoples the world over, is that the people of any given community cannot just leave the affairs of a community, state/province or nation to the ambitious and those with an agenda. Each of us has a say in what goes on around us. This is one of the keys to peace-It starts within and radiates outward, lest it die on its own vine.
October 1, 2025, Vienna- Up early enough, I got to Oscwiecim’s small train station and caught the train back to Krakow, only to boomerang right back past the station, as we made our way down to Vienna. I had a seat, clear to the Austrian capital, going through southern Poland and the Czech Republic. It was a long ride, though, as you can imagine, and I was ready for the mattress by the time we crossed the Danube and got into town. Somehow, I read, and re-read, the message from my lodging, and saw one too many codes for that hour of night. It also indicated that it was past time for check-in (“Office closes at 8 p.m.”, and it was 10:15.)
These things happen a lot, and yes, the train was delayed for about forty minutes. Still, I was frustrated at not getting to the Baha’i National Centre in Vienna, this evening, and at what seemed to be one too many Internet-centric snags, in connecting with the lodging. Besides, they didn’t answer their phone, which is supposedly on 24/7. End of rant.
I got a briefing on Vienna’s excellent public transportation system and found my way to Radisson Red Vienna. I am usually not partial to high-end hotels, but I was exhausted and besides, this was Vienna. So, the welcoming desk clerks got a guest with no reservation, and I got a very refreshing place at which to not have to enter codes.
A gowned angel watched over me, at Radisson Red, Vienna
September 18, 2025, Visby, Gotland- When I was in sixth grade, in 1961-62, our Social Studies focus was on “The Old World”. The class studied certain aspects of each time period, from the beginning of civilization to the Medieval Period. Somehow, the walled city of Visby, on the Swedish island of Gotland, has always stayed in my mind.
When the time came to plan a visit with a long-time friend, who lives in the port of Nynashamn, near Stockholm, I noted that Nynashamn is the mainland ferry connection to Visby, and Gotland. So, a short visit to the walled city was in order. In between days spent with my friend, her husband and children, here I am in the walled, old section of Visby, which is also a modern port and the site of a Swedish military facility.
It took three hours and ten minutes to get here, on generally calm waters-not bad at all for the Baltic Sea, this time of year. A further bonus was that once I got into my room and got organized, the sun came out and the sky pretty much cleared. It was time to check out the walled sections of town.
Boende BnB is around the corner. (It is actually pronounced Bo-EN-dee.)
In the process, I came upon Wisby Hof, an elegant place built into the wall, and which had Schnitzel-“Gotland-style”, so having indulged in other faves, like pizza, tacos and baked fish already this week, Wisby Hof it was, for dinner.
Wisby Hof
After dinner, I looked to see whether there were any places at which one might walk along the top of the roof-as there are on similar structures in places like Old Manila, Luxembourg Ville, or Rennes, the capital if Brittany. The answer is “No”. Looking at the stone that is used to build the wall, I can understand why. It would be problematic to allow the numbers of tourists who come here each year to scale the wall. It also accents the purpose of the wall as a formidable defense, against both seaborne attackers and against Swedish opponents of the Duke of Gotland.
My after-dinner walk went back to the closest church to Boende.
Vardklockans KyrkaThe village that lay protectedEvery narrow street has its story.So does every other narrow street.
Let’s look at the wall itself!
Section of wall being refurbishedTwo of four towers on the wall’s east flankLarge section of wall, between eastern towersRuins of the Churches of St, Hans and St. Per. The towers of these churches were pulled down, in the 1530s, so that their stones could not be used as fodder to bombard Viborg Castle, in Russia. The destruction, however, only got so far. The site is now considered part of Swedish national heritage.Section of wall that protected the Churches of St. Hans and St. Per.
A Sagittarian Seeker 