A Thin Line of Defense

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November 30, 2015, Chino Valley- A couple of things happened yesterday, which made me realize, again, that life and fortune are fleeting things- if for no other reason than that we might come to value them.

The New England Patriots lost their first game of this season, which was not surprising, given that most of their marquee players are injured.  I hear and read so many sports commentators rail about injuries, and how they “cheat” good teams of victories- as if there is some sort of injury puppet master out there, just waiting to mess up everyone’s good time.

The fact remains, professional sports, especially  American football, and ice hockey, are intensely physical sports, given to the sorts of injuries that derail golden dreams.  The film, “Concussion”, which enters theaters on Christmas, will outline some aspects of the nature, and impact, of injury on the practice and business of professional sports.  The recent revelations about the injuries suffered by the late, legendary Frank Gifford underscore the media’s spotlight on the matter.

The second reminder came as I was driving.  A mobile home, pulling a flatbed trailer, with a motorcycle on it, was about 500 feet in front of me, on a lonely stretch of road, between the small towns of Aguila and Congress, in west central AZ.  The driver either was nodding off, or misjudged the width of the road, because the trailer’s front right rim hit a signpost, and bounced a bit.  Shards of metal flew back, but fell to the road in front of my safely braking Nissan.  The driver of the mobile home slowly, but steadily, brought the vehicle to a stop on the shoulder of the road.  Two vehicles behind me were able to more safely pull in behind the RV, and render assistance.  Everyone must have been okay, as I didn’t see any fire trucks or police cars headed from Congress, which has the nearest First Responders.  My cell phone had no service, in that area, so the best thing I could have done was to keep on going, which I did.

I thought of how narrow a skin of life we have, and of how close I was, being saved from harm only by staying a safe number of car lengths back.  Time must have more in store, for all concerned.

The Road to 65, Mile 345: Best Laid Plans

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November 8, 2015, Prescott- I started today by attending breakfast at the American Legion Post, a standard for me on Sunday mornings, over the past four years.  My usual table mate and conversation buddy was not there, due to illness, but there were several others at table, who were fine company.  Many people are ill, at present.  My phone had several messages, pertaining to a paternal aunt who is chronically ill.  Fortunately, she is bouncing back.

Afterwards, I joined a reflection and planning meeting of our local Baha’i community, and made some solid plans for the next three months.  Several people made their needs and wishes known, and we will do our best, as a wider community, to go forward together.  The coordinator plans well, so the meeting kept flowing.  Our next three months ought to be full, and fulfilling.

My energy level was a bit down, after yesterday, so I chose to do laundry, and little else, after the meeting.  Change of seasons, and of temperature, zaps me for a day or two, and early to bed- for a few nights- will make things right again.  My plan to hike Segment 7, of the Prescott Circle Trail, will be brought to fruition next Saturday- if the weather holds.

The best laid plans have to be as flexible as all else in the universe.

The Road to 65, Mile 344: Small Circles

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November 7, 2015, Flagstaff- I rose early, for a Saturday, so as to get up  here to Northern Arizona University, and take two of the three exams I must take, in order to obtain certification as an elementary teacher (1-8), in Arizona.  I have several other certificates:  Secondary Teacher, Guidance Counselor and Principal.  The position I am now filling, as a substitute teacher, however, is not something I can continue to do, long term, without credentials.

I also think it is high time I moved through the self-doubt cloud, and showed my true abilities, both to myself and to the world at large.  My spirit guides keep saying, “This day of yours will not be followed by night.”  I know this means that the present opportunity will not be taken from me, by shallow politics or my own tendency to trip myself up.

This time, I will be okay, work-wise.  This time, I know how to navigate the small circle which runs the school.  In the past, I gave too much energy to my being an outsider.  That status might still be extant, but the children are who matter most.  I will be standing, at the end of the term, and at the end of the academic year.

The Road to 65, Mile 338: Saints and Mortals

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November 1, 2015, Prescott- 

Day of All Saints

Time to reflect

Transgressions sometimes taint

If one is not circumspect

Day by day,

hour by hour,

Make amends

No matter how much adulation

Showers.

An ephemeral presence am I

in this mortal frame.

Daily circumspection

shall this inner beast

Tame.

The Road to 65, Mile 334: Independence

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October 28, 2015, Chino Valley- We have reached the point where whatever might have passed for a “honeymoon”, between my present school and me, has dissipated.  This is not a bad thing.  It means only that my stated mission, to safeguard the well-being of twenty-one children, while challenging them, academically and socially, is more on my shoulders than it is prescribed by those above me.

Administration has its place, and it is a vital place, indeed.  Teamwork is also vital.  Yet, at the end of the day, it is what a teacher can accomplish, when everyone else around him or her is either indisposed or overwhelmed, that makes the difference in the life of a learner.  It is easy for a child to love and admire a teacher who is ever congenial and accommodating.  The rub comes when the docent holds the bar higher.

I have to raise my bar a bit higher, day by day.  I see things coming, that must be faced, and solved, by the now mostly adult Millennials, and by the emerging Generation Z, who include all the children I have taught for the last five years, and all whom I will teach, for the next five.  They have a lot of innate wisdom, but they also face many of the same conflicts and growth challenges that we all faced in childhood and adolescence.  In addition, all the failures of those of us before them will lie at their feet- just as those of our forebears  cast shadows on our tenure as the generation of leadership.

I seek to foster independence, but not swagger, bravado and insolence, about which more tomorrow.

The Road to 65, Mile 329: Headlong

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October 23, 2015- After two weeks with my third graders, eight and nine-year-old beings, I am drawing some very definite conclusions about how their world is treating them, and how they are reacting.  I have said, countless times, that adults, especially young adults, tend to look at children as being mini-adults themselves.  The American media persists in addressing children as young as three by their last names, especially in cases of children of colour, and oddly enough, when the child is a victim of tragedy.  There was a tendency, a few years back, to sexualize teens and pre-teens. Fortunately, the media have dialed back on that hideous format, significantly.

I am not so sure,though, about the public-at-large. Kids are still picking up on that message, and our task, as teachers-and as parents, is to guide them away from talk of “relationships” and “romance”, just as we will guide them through it, later on.  There is something, though, in the lives of all too many people, that prompts them to live through others.  There is an impediment, called vicariousity, that lets one off the hook, with regard to owning one’s life and facing up to the comfort zone.

When this impediment involves children, it gets problematic, to say the least.  There has always been “puppy love”, worship from afar, as it were.  When it involves adults cooing in the corner, exchange of phone numbers, social media and spammed “love letters”,however, it can be injurious- to both parties.

So, I discourage the ardent swains, and reassure both them and the targets of their affection that life is not meant to be lived in one fell swoop, that there will be a time in life- in fact, much of life, that friendship can and does entail romance.

The headlong rush, after all, too frequently ends in a crash.

The Road to 65, Mile 323: Extra

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October 16, 2015, Prescott- 

It was a day off, of sorts, and I recouped some energy. This is directed at a person, in a school, who looks at people like me, and shows only disdain.

Early morning invitation,

to increase my aggravation.

A polite decline,

no extra time,

to spend on one

who talks a line

of superiority and

shuns,

those like me

whose love is free

and time-tested.

You, who walk with upturned nose

will soon realize aloneness,

I suppose.

As you sit in your seat,

sequestered.

Remember, those of us

who give, the extra.

The Road to 65, Mile 314: Synergy

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October 7, 2015, Prescott- 

Here’s a bit of verse, to bring life to a slow day.  This is inspired by two friends, each leery of being hurt, yet again.

Conversation lags,

When tethered to the phone.

I’d be far more animated,

Seeing your face,

Even across a room.

No one has to face the dark alone,

despite the myth to which we cling, in an air of gloom.

I am a friend who would take a bullet,

Not a passer-by, who regards your plight as my gauntlet.

What seems insurmountable,

with synergy, becomes infinitesimal.

The Road to 65, Mile 302: Pontification

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September 25, 2015, Prescott-  I spent the day with groups of students, in a couple of Band Rooms- one at Prescott High School, the other at Mile High Middle School.  Supervising band, for someone who can barely read notes, is an interesting stretch of my exchequer.  Two or three students lead the class, actually, and I am there mostly to maintain order.  There are always a few who challenge the authority of whoever is leading the class.  Today, however, I needed only remind the assemblage that it is the upcoming concert that matters, and not the whims of the moment.  The young people set back to work.

Challenges to authority have always been the lot of the common man.  They most always result from a disconnect between the aspirations of the worker and the “Big Picture” agenda of the overlord.  So it is with our current crop of candidates for President, with their immediate predecessor and with the Pope of Rome.  Seven billion souls are each going to see things differently from their neighbours, from their family members, and even from their former selves-or later selves, for that matter.  Baha’u’llah states, with regard to a married couple, “Between them is a barrier, that they overpass not.”  By this, He is referring to the DNA-rooted individuality of every soul who ever lived on this planet, and of every soul who will ever live.

I think of this, while pondering the current visit to the United States, by the philosopher king formerly known as Jorge Bergoglio.  Pope Francis I is astride two worlds, and receives advice and criticism from those in each world, and from those who regard themselves as living in neither.  On the one hand, he seeks to define humaneness as ‘seeing each and every person as a true human being, an individual worthy of respect.’  On the other hand, he, along with every other man who is in a position of sectarian authority- with the possible exception of the Archbishop of Canterbury, sets limits on 50 % of the populace.  Women are given only a certain place in the papal firmament- and there is, to his mind, to be no deviation.

Everyone of us has a duality about us.  We have higher aspirations, most of which have to do with doing right by other people, and by the environment in which we live.  Then, there is the “Me” factor.  Self-preservation is a constant weight on our upwardly-springing feet.  From time immemorial, this self-centeredness has been given a countenance:  The demon.  Putting a face on something, especially on a vile something, separates it from us.  We go to great lengths to lengthen this distance- with talk of Satan walking the Earth and infesting the minds of the wayward.

In the end, though, it falls to the individual to rescue him/herself.  The only one who can take me out of my lower nature is yours truly.  The only one who can overcome the deeply-ingrained senses of racism, sexism, class prejudice and nativism that infest so many, is the person who is weighed down by them.  Others can only stand aside and criticize, point fingers, or turn their faces away in disgust.  They may also offer constructive criticism, which is welcomed by any sincere soul.  The change, however, comes from within.

As Krishna is credited with saying:  “Point a finger at another, and, behold three fingers pointing back at you!”  Godspeed to Senor Bergoglio, and to all who seek a better world.  Let them continue to push away the weight that ties them down.

The Road to 65, Mile 301: I Hear the Rolling Thunder

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September 24, 2015, Phoenix- I drove a friend down here, this quiet and subdued evening, that she could pay homage to a woman for whom she cared, in the last throes of the lady’s battle with Alzheimer’s.  I did not, of course, know the woman, yet seeing the story of her life, on video, and listening to my friend’s account of her interactions, I was as moved to tears as I would have been, had I known her.

We all have our differences of opinion, and for some, that is the be all and end all of relationships.  Sitting in the chapel, though, and listening to the words of the immortal hymn, “How Great Thou Art”, as sung by Carrie Underwood, I can honestly say there was a total unity, that I have only rarely felt, when in a group of people previously unknown to me.

There are those who anticipate a cataclysmic occurrence, this very weekend, or not long afterward.  I am a skeptic, along those lines.  I believe that something such will happen, but on God’s timetable, not on Man’s.  The truth is, each of us experiences our own personal calamity, from time to time.  The Alzheimer’s and its aftermath were catastrophic to the departed woman and to her family and friends.  Penny’s illness , of nearly eight years, was heart-wrenching to me, to our son and to our families-and how much worse it must have been to her, a woman of high intelligence, drive and achievement.  Every day, people endure natural and man-devised crises and acts of destruction, such as few onlookers can appreciate.

Our strength, as a species, lies in our resilience.  I am entering a phase, in my own recovery, that I could not have anticipated, even three months ago.  This is how it has been, for the last four years and eight months:  One step after another, relying mostly on faith, doing things that are humdrum and ordinary for  many, but for which a person like me, come only with struggle.

I will surely thrive, even through the worst of whatever may lie ahead- so my spirit guide tells me, and I believe her.