July 28, 2023, Carson City– The cast was set to dancing and jumping about, in this version of the spell cast by a cheekier version of the Wicked Witch of the West. W3 did not feel like even hinting at opium being an acceptable diversion and so came the Jitterbug, whose weapon was getting everyone to dance until they dropped from exhaustion. The classic dance marathon, instead of deadly poison, was a tad more family friendly-but W3 still asked Scarecrow if he wanted to play ball.
“The Wizard of Oz” first came into my consciousness when I was about nine, and we started watching it, as a family, once a year. When I hit my mid-teens, the watch party shifted to a gathering of friends-still a time for laughs and feigned fright. Seeing that it has not lost its appeal is re-assuring. There is much that is not ersatz about our culture, and these are the totems that I hope will remain.
Children and teens are almost universally dear to my heart. One of the dearest was on stage as a Munchkin, her time under the klieg lights about five minutes of play time and a few minutes at the end. In our pre-play conversation, I re-assured her that this is how just about everything starts. The first jobs are almost always the equivalent of a small role, with few lines. It is approaching the task with aplomb, with the confidence that one is going to do the small stuff well and move up the ladder, to a place that is deserved, that makes the dream become reality.
So she did her small role well, being visible and audible from where I was sitting, with her grandmother, in the second row. Afterward, the three of us went to a fast food place and each got an orange cream shake. We talked of the importance of agency, which she has already stood for, as she described an incident in which she asked that officials remove a poster she finds offensive. She heard us say: “Good on you and keep standing for justice, even when-especially when, it’s hard.”
I will always stand beside her, her brother, cousins and any other young person who is looking at being hazed or subjected to injustice.
July 24, 2023, Surrey, BC- Rain came to Vancouver Island, as promised, early this morning, and stayed the day. The precipitation was mostly gentle, but after checking out of Painted Turtle, I opted to spend much of the day in the Public Library. There were also forays into nearby coffee shops. The first was to Serious Coffee-where a barista at first greeted me cheerfully, later showing a rather serious face, after another patron made a snide comment to her, while himself wearing a sly grin. I thought to myself, while scowling at him, that there is no call for lording it over another person, especially when they are trying to work. The people I have observed here, young and elder alike, do work hard-and deserve appreciation.
After 4 p.m., the rain tapered off, affording me a chance to visit Petroglyph Provincial Park and Bowen Park, both south of town.
An elk, fleeing a hunterA flounder, or a crab?A seal looks up.A bear, enjoying its killTwo wolves, on the attack.Western White Pines, Bowen ParkNanaimo River, Bowen ParkStairstep Falls, Bowen Park
A perfectly prepared and portioned chicken cutlet with chow mein awaited me, at Sun’s Noodle Bar, virtually across the highway from the turn-off to Duke Point. The congenial server made all of the patrons feel like guests in her own parlor. Thus did my visit to the island draw to a close.
Leaving Duke Point, south of Nanaimo Dyke Point, up close
The ferry, as it happened, was late leaving Tsawwassen, and so was also late leaving Duke Point. We got back to Tsawwassen around 11:10 p.m., and I arrived at Sun Suite, here in Surrey, around midnight, initially somewhat to the consternation of my Korean host-who reminded himself that I was, after all, not piloting the ship and that I had made good time, once off the vessel and driving around a strange city in the dark and rain.
Sun Suite is a very fine place, in which to rest from three frenetic days, with more to come.
July 20, 2023, Salem, OR- The table was set in a way that would have done my maternal grandmother proud: A wide dinner under plate, with a salad plate on top of it and a place setting of sterling silverware, wrapped in a cloth napkin, at each seat. There was a water glass, and empty cup and saucer, at each seat, also. The fare was placed in the middle of the dining table, and we passed the food around, using our best table manners. Such was our host’s first meal gathering, since COVID.
I woke this morning, in Medford, ten miles from the site of the lunch time gathering, to a message from a childhood friend, saying that he was en route to Medford, from a town an hour away. I went to Mellelo Coffee Roasters, enjoyed a light breakfast and coffee, and waited, writing a blog post in the meantime. The meet-up never occurred, due to a variety of small details, but I found Mellelo to be another supremely welcoming place. I didn’t take photos of the spot, as there were people sitting in front, enjoying their breakfasts, but you may find Mellelo at https://mellelo.com/
East of Ashland, there is a place called Equamore-a facility for rescued horses. https://equamore.org/ It is here that my friends, Jody and Philip Weah, have lived, for many years, and until a recent drought, had a garden that was second to none. I know the place will flourish, outwardly, again. It flourishes inwardly, still, as evidenced by the delightful repast that Jody put together, using products that Philip provided from his employer, Harry & David. There were several cheeses and jams, fresh bagels, and even fresher fruit. They do not have horses, per se, but they do have a large dog who may as well be a horse, given his size. He’s a guard dog, though, which meets their needs. I enjoyed discussions with my hosts, and their other two guests-on topics ranging from Baha’i subjects to the state of table decorum, in this day and age.
After an hour or two, it was time for this one to go on up the road, so with a fond hug and farewell to the Weahs, I drove on, in the heat that was somewhat tempered from yesterday’s infernal temperatures. Oregon did not approach the 100-degree mark, at least today.
Salem– Oregon’s capital city is one of several towns in the state that are named for counterparts in New England. I stopped here for the night, planting myself in a room at one of the two Motel 6s that are found here. First order of business, though, was a light supper. Valiant, The Sandwich, a name inspired by video game culture, if there ever was one, proved quite valiant, indeed. An ample, but not overpowering ham, pineapple and grilled onion combination, filling a ciabatta bun, with roasted tomato soup on the side, restored my fading energy-and for the second state capital tour in a row, I found myself walking around Oregon’s seat of government-in early evening and with a ring of construction fence around it, just as had been the case when I visited the capitol at Sacramento, in early May. Salem’s fence, though, goes down to the edge of a busy parkway, on the north side, making circumnambulation a death sentence. I made do with walking on three sides of the structure.
Here are a few scenes of the day.
Equamore, east of Ashland, ORThe Beaver State’s homage to the GI GenerationAn homage to childhood, as well: ” A Parade of Animals”, by Peter Helzer, graces the west lawn of Oregon’s Capitol.The “Parade”, up close.Oregon Capitol’s crown, from north side.
The cityscape had its share of those suffering, in the wake of high rents and social dislocation. A forlorn woman sat, alone, on a bench, not far from the sculpture of the animals. Maybe she was reminded of a happier time in her life-or maybe it, too, was a nightmare. A disheveled man passed me, as I was checking in to Motel 6. A short time later, a security guard told the desk clerk that “the problem was solved”. Seeing another human being as a “problem” is a problem in itself. She told me that the man had been in the motel’s dumpster-seeking to sleep there. Now, that would have been a problem, had the trash truck shown up to empty the bin, with him still inside. The conversation shifted, to human trafficking, when a man showed up, to pay extra for a young lady, who wasn’t related to him. The clerk wisely asked for the young woman’s papers-which fortunately, they were able to produce. I did not get a sense that there was anything amiss-and after forty years in the field, I pick up on stuff like that.
So, with a good day under my belt, I tumbled into bed. The homeless man went across the street, where there is an organized shelter-and slept in its lobby.
July 18, 2023, Sacramento- The day spent getting here had a potpourri of interesting stops, at least through the morning.
Ludlow– Holly B. served up a nice plate of scrambled eggs, Polish sausage, home fries and an English muffin, with a caveat: The eggs-and much chicken meat, no longer taste like much, when they come from a large factory farm. She has her own chickens at the small desert farm that she shares with her husband. They roam at will-as any chickens that taste good, and produce delicious eggs, are wont to do.
The others workers at Ludlow Cafe concurred. They, too, are farm folk. We spoke of health issues and I heard them out, about the health scares that have recently troubled their revered chef and their own family members. There is an alkaline taste in the local tap water, likely adding to those issues. Ludlow is at the eastern edge of California’s midsection-which starts at Calexico, on the southern border and zips on through, past Barstow, Bakersfield, Fresno and the ‘M’ cities- Madera, Merced and Modesto, to this bustling capital city, and on up to Redding and Chico, thence to the Oregon line.
Barstow- I decided that the triple digit heat was not going to factor, in making a drive through this often overlooked, but essential, part of the Golden State. In Barstow, where I stopped after checking out of Ludlow Motel, there is a Harvey House, which serves as the city’s Amtrak Station. A Harvey House, of which there are still a few in the West, was a hotel built by Fred Harvey, in the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries. Barstow was seen as a vital link between Los Angeles and the great National Parks of central California-as well as with Death Valley, Joshua Tree and the Grand Canyon.
Today, the town soldiers on and keeps this superb building in mint condition. The two ballrooms can be rented for events, and look as if they are waiting for those who can still “trip the light fantastic”.
Railroad Museum, Barstow- at the Harvey House complex.Harvey House,BarstowEast Ballroom, Harvey House, BarstowUpstairs, there is a small NASA Museum, focusing on the Sun and planets of “our” Solar System. This montage of Neptune includes a drawing of the outermost planet, (it is actually farther from the Sun than is Pluto), by a young visitor named Paul. I like how he depicted Neptune’s North Pole. Barstow, and the western Mojave, have no shortage of creative talent.
Boron- My last photo-oriented stop of the day was the resurgent home of Twenty Mule Team Borax. I recall, in middle school, that a sometime bully chortled, about yours truly, “He is a low-grade moron, who thinks he lives on boron.” No one laughed at his quip, and I pondered how, besides the two rhyming words, he ever saw himself as clever. We became friends as older teens, though, and he went on to live an exemplary life, before dying just prior to the COVID outbreak. So, I stopped here and took shots of the two active borax mines. Here, for Sean-and in honour of Mr. Reagan, when he hosted “Death Valley Days”, are those sites, from a distance.
West side mine, BoronEast side mine, Boron
Roadside observations- There was much that was unphotographed, but registered in my mind’s camera: The lava beds outside Newberry Springs, extending almost to Daggett, were blocked off by road construction at Newberry. Joshua Trees, the standout feature of the Mojave Desert, are plentiful in some areas and scarce in others. There is a huge stand of them, just north of the City of Mojave, west of Bakersfield. The latter-mentioned city pays proper homage to two of its great musical talents: Buck Owens and Merle Haggard, with streets named for both gentlemen and centers that showcase their respective life’s work. Fresno, and the three ‘Ms’, focus a fair amount of their agricultural wealth on education. Fresno is as much worthy of mention for its health care system, as for its farming.
A horrid accident, on the opposite side of road from us, stopped south bound traffic from the north side of Turlock, clear to the south end of Modesto. Our side of Highway 99 experienced a slowing, but mostly because of the need to position emergency vehicles opposite the crash site. Two vehicles were mangled, one of them lying upside down in the middle of the road.
I got to HI Sacramento around 6 p.m. and after struggling to get the parking lot gate open, due to solar flares interfering with the radio frequency of the gate’s system, enjoyed a lovely carnitas and black bean salad at La Cosecha, three blocks south of the hostel.
No assessment of life anywhere can fail to include its midsection-and California’s Central Valley is second to none.
July 12, 2023- She was, in her youth, the sort of girl with whom I might have fallen madly in love . That long brown hair, those soulful eyes, and that longing for someone, anyone, who would see her as more than that beautiful outward appearance, made her ‘ripe for rescue’, my mates would’ve said. That was my teenage self’s ideal-a girl who needed me.
That night, though, when her pseudo-rescuer, one Tex Watson, told her to “do something” to their captive, Rosemary LaBianca, an innocent small businesswoman, in the wrong place at the wrong time-on that hot August night, she gave up that humanity, that beauty became a facade-as Leslie the Lost stabbed the frantic woman, who had just become a widow, at the hands of another Manson girl.
That night, I was a continent away, in the initial stages of becoming a man-a trainee in Echo Company, 3rd Battalion, 1st Brigade-at Fort Jackson, SC. A few of my fellows spoke of hearing something about a crazy-eyed “lunatic”, named Charles Manson, who had gone on a killing spree-and that maybe he had some “hot chicks” doing his dirty work. No one was certain, though, and the talk dried up-to turn, a few days later, to an event we were all missing: The Woodstock Festival, ten hours away, in the Hudson Valley of New York. It was around then that the Drill Instructors began bantering among themselves about what they would do, if they had five minutes alone with Manson-and what they would like to do to some of those girls. Of course, they also said, Woodstock, and its women, were a whole lot closer.
Then we got back to the business of training, qualifying with our rifles and bayonets, passing our Physical Fitness tests and General Knowledge exams, marching on the parade ground-and going on with our Advanced Individual Training.
I mostly forgot about Manson, and his dastardly crew-though every so often, I would be reminded of those horrible acts of savagery-and just how shallow a person’s physical appearance can render her or him, by movies like “Helter Skelter”, and, much later, “Once Upon A Time in Hollywood”. Manson got what he deserved. Leslie Van Houten is now out of one prison, but will never get of the other. The prison of public opinion will never see the long-gone pretty teenager. It will forever see the drug-crazed monster, stabbing away at someone presented to her as “the enemy”. The most charitable among us will see an aging lost soul, who has to learn fifty years’ worth of life skills-from driving a car to installing apps on a cellular phone-and good luck in finding a job, college degrees aside. The most astute among young people will see exactly what not to become. I see an indictment of self-centered, abdicating parents, who failed their daughter, terribly.
There, but for a loving family and a decent set of opportunities, might have gone I.
July 10, 2023- A few days ago, the social media site, Threads, was established as an alternative to other sites that have grown increasingly capricious in their pronouncements on the state of society. I have left one such site and joined Threads, in order to remain in the company of truth-seeking and open-minded people.
Today was the 173rd anniversary of the execution of al-Bab (The Gate), Who was the Herald of Baha’u’llah’s coming, and thus a monumental figure, and a Messenger of God, in His own right, to us Baha’is. We seek the truth in all matters, and are asked to do so independently. Many times, that goes up against orthodoxy-both of the Right and the Left. Al-Bab’s, and Baha’u’llah’s, Mission transcends the limited views of the political classes, though, and is concerned with establishing the oneness of mankind.
Many of us gathered in observances around the world, at Noon-the hour when al-Bab was executed by firing squad, all those years ago-for challenging the power of the orthodox. There, in July, 1850, was a mirror of the Crucifixion of Jesus the Christ, itself a reflection of the murder of Krishna-and so it has been, from time immemorial. The Messenger of the Divine challenges shopworn Orthodoxy, is pursued and punished by that Orthodoxy’s beneficiaries, and eventually the Messenger’s Teachings are adopted by the masses of humanity.
Progress in the human world always takes time. Everything from teaching a child the essentials of life to establishing friendships, is done one thread at a time. It’s not been easy for this servant of the Creator and many times, it has felt like the threads have been snipped. I know I am not alone-and one of the two new friends I made today, said as much, about her own experiences. Things are getting better, though, and strength comes from endurance, both for individuals and for communities.
All the Messengers of the Divine tell us that this is so, and that it will ever be part of a physical life, until such time as we are united as a Human Race. That day is coming. The threads are getting stronger.
July 6, 2023- Brandi waxed effusive, about her blood connections with various First Nations communities-Cherokee, Ojibway, Dineh,Mayan- as well as African-Americans. As we each looked at a chart, showing the ties between various groups, in the Museum of Indigenous Peoples, a block or two from Home Base, talk turned to crafts, such as Navajo rugs and Apache baskets. It turns out she had recently visited Hubbell Trading Post, a Dineh-run National Historic Site in Ganado, north of the Painted Desert. One of the main features of Hubbell is the demonstration spinning, carding and weaving of the great rugs. This sparked her interest in coming over from the Verde Valley with her children, who were enthused about using a mano and metate to grind blue corn and to check out the bones of a smilodon and Columbian mammoth-as well as read about the various Hopi and Zuni kachina dolls.
This fifteen-minute exchange, on my second visit to MIP, showed how relatively easy it is to break through the much-vaunted wall of anonymity, a barrier that is physically reinforced by garage door openers-when the garage is attached to the house, by excessive pride (not the kind that LGBTQ people and before them, Jesse Jackson, Sr., talk about-but the kind that comes before the fall) and by the fear-based focus on self-preservation, that sees monsters under every bed, or in every closet.
It has taken a while, but I am not overly concerned with bogeymen-not with people from other countries taking away my job; not with homeless people walking into my apartment and taking up residence; not with the market whittling away at my savings-and not with fascists forcing one ideology or another on me and mine. Each of those groups is operating, as it were, out of self-preservation, also based on fear. Each wants to be seen, heard, believed and treated with dignity. The rub comes when they are asked to treat everyone else in like manner.
I made a commitment, long ago, to not base friendships on ideology, physical traits, class, faith (or lack thereof)-but on character. There was a time when my own mannerisms were rough and attention to the needs of others was buried under some thick fog. It’s taken time, yet here I am, concerned with well-being of others-not as the abstract concept of my youth, but as a moment to moment, day-to-day modus vivendi.
July 5, 2023- I woke at the usual time today, and after pondering whether to head up to the Grand Canyon’s South Rim, for a walk towards Hermit’s Rest-on the west end of the rim, decided to stay put. There were a few uncertainties, with regard to cherished friends and a needy family. No news is okay news, with regard to said friends, and clarification about the family’s needs came, this evening, for settlement tomorrow. The other good thing is that my bear drum has been repaired and is back with me.
A question has arisen, as to why people seem so widely uncaring. I have to note two things:
1. Humanity, and the planet, are in a state of transition. It is pretty much established that a physical being does not take well to change. Bears hate being woken during hibernation; birds dive bomb anyone who disturbs their nest; humans grouse and complain, or worse, when a sudden, inexplicable change takes place. We often lash out at the messenger- nobody around here much likes the National Weather Service telling us that there will be no monsoon until August, if then, and don’t get retirees around here started on the Federal Reserve Board- “Stealing our money!”, is a not uncommon, if oversimplified, refrain.
2. This sort of off-track thinking, and the uncaring attitude that is noticed by people around me, stem more often than not, from either shallow spirituality, or a dearth thereof . Faith, of course, does not prevent challenges and setbacks from coming along, but it does put things into clearer perspective, and, at least for me, makes things easier to bear. If that annoys you, sorry-but not sorry. I am hard-wired to bull my way through things, anymore-having found that the victim mentality into which I was drawn, in the 2000s, and a few times since, resolved nothing and put me in with some nefarious company. I give credit for transformation largely to those I feel are my spirit guides, a concept in which not everyone believes, but here we are.
The difficulties we, and the planet, are facing largely stem from a wide-scale turning away from spirituality-which may not be true of all the individuals who cry “Foul!”, but which has been, and is, occurring for quite some time now, on a fairly grand scale.
I daresay this befogged life is not that for which we are destined. Only turning to the Divine, in what ever way one perceives It, and by banding together to face difficulties,can we hope to overcome any of the challenges that are thrown at us.
July 3, 2023- He was arguably one of the finest chefs I ever knew, although my own knowledge of him was fleeting. His wife of forty years was not far behind, in the culinary field. They were, aside from their mastery of the kitchen, a handsome couple, as far back as I can remember. They were both athletic, and highly personable. Rod would tease the heck out of a number of people, including yours truly-but I never got the sense he was putting us down. He and Kathy were never elitists. Rodney P. Lavoie, Senior was a coach, a craftsman and a master of so much that he took on. He was just one of those people whom it was not necessary to know well, in order to admire. It was a shock to learn of his passing, early last week. He was a genuine hero to many young people, in and around the town of my youth.
I’ve had occasion to ponder who the heroic figures in my life have been. What determines that status? It’s not age. I have seen heroic acts by people as young as six. It’s not gender. Many of my heroes, even role models in certain respects, have been women and girls. It’s not familial. Though my parents and relatives are high on the list, there are many, even sometime adversaries, who are there as well. I don’t even have to know them personally. Public figures, and occasional strangers, who don’t shy from tending to the well-being of those around them,
Two men in a nearby community took four relative strangers into their homes, despite their both being fairly ill. One of them has had cancer turn for the worse, and reluctantly asked his boarder to move on, as room had to be made for a live-in caretaker. Another kind soul quickly stepped up and provided living space for the young man. These acts of loving kindness are also the stuff of heroism.
As a community, we have taken time to honour the brave nineteen men who died on Yarnell Hill, ten years ago. Over a dozen First Responders have died in the line of duty, since that harrowing day. That they exhibited heroism and sacrifice goes without saying. The most heartening aspect of this is that their children, and others who learn of them, are drawing the right lessons. Herosim will continue.
David Bowie’s depiction of two brave souls standing by the Berlin Wall, in the dark days of Soviet rule, says it all.
June 24, 2023- The day started in earnest, right around 8 a.m., with a quick visit to Farmer’s Market-stocking up on microgreens for the week and getting two bulbs of garlic and some flowers for a friend’s birthday dinner, later in the day. Running out of cash and tokens, I gave one bulb back to the farmer, then went back to HB, catching a half hour or so of the Celebration of Unity Zoom call.
Next, it was off to a Red Cross Blood Drive, where my role was to staff the registration table-checking people in and making sure they had completed all preliminaries, prior to their donation. This was a fairly busy five hours, and I felt successful and bushed at the end.
After changing clothes and leaving my Red Cross “uniform” at the apartment, it was off to a Farmer’s Market volunteer appreciation gathering, at a salubrious Willow Lake ramada. I was still a bit tired, heading up there, and briefly inconvenienced a tow truck driver, at an intersection. He got in his protest, and that was all. I do my level best, most of the time, on the road, but never will claim perfection. The gathering was exactly what I needed, after an intense work shift, and the company of young mothers and children afforded a unique and most essential take on our collective life.
Finally, after a run to Costco, to replenish the supply of flavoured water for upcoming gatherings of children and adolescents, it was time for the aforementioned birthday party. Four of us enjoyed fresh salad, vegan chili and fresh cherries, covering a wide range of topics in conversation. Wild animals in our midst, the right and responsibility of adults to conduct their own affairs and associating with people with whom we disagree were all covered amiably.
After the intensity of the day, I gladly relaxed at HB, viewing a light episode of a streamed program, then turned out the lights. Tomorrow could be just as intense, if I let it be. I think, though, that won’t be how it turns out.
A Sagittarian Seeker 