The Fruits of Glasgow’s Flowering

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December 28, 2021, Santa Fe- In any meanderings, one never can be quite sure as to what will be encountered-especially in a quality museum. The greater part of this morning brought a new appreciation for the creativity of the Scottish Lowlands, a place I’ve yet to see.

After sleeping as if on a cloud, at Albuquerque’s Monterey Inn, I headed back to Old Town, and Blackbird Coffee House. Breakfast was put off a bit, as I grappled, along with a nice family from Texas, with the parking registration machine-which was out of paper. Fortunately, neither of us were visited by a parking warden, in the time spent enjoying a meal. Blackbird delivered nicely, as it always has.

Following quiche and coffee, I headed over to the Albuquerque Museum. As it happens, the headlining exhibit is showcasing The Four, a pair of related married couples whose heyday was Glasgow’s fin-de-siecle, when the great British port and industrial giant was in full ferment-followed by full flowering, from the 1890s until World War I. Charles Rennie Mackintosh, his wife, Margaret Macdonald, her sister, Frances Macdonald and brother-in-law, James Herbert McNair were the prime movers behind the neo-Renaissance of the Scottish Lowlands at the turn of the Twentieth Century, thus becoming known as The Four. They drew their influences from previous groups of Glasgow artists, notably the “Glasgow Boys” of the mid-Nineteenth Century, but also the Celtic Revival and Japonisme artistic movements, which emerged in Gilded Age Britain. The Four were also called Spook School, by more conventional art critics, due to their distortions of the human form. As an architectural designer, however, Charles Mackintosh relied largely on rectangular sketches. His great buildings, including Hill House and the Willow Tearooms, of late Victorian Glasgow, chartered by the entrepreneur Catherine Cranston, as well as The Lighthouse, now the site of Scotland’s Centre for Design and Architecture.

The Four were completely-rounded artists, producing not only buildings, but ornate and solidly-constructed furniture, a variety of paintings, fabric art and metallurgy. One of their prime acolytes, Anne Macbeth, was largely responsible for bringing embroidery into its own, as an art form that became a staple in secondary school arts curricula.

The Mackintoshes eventually relocated to London, while the McNairs, remaining in Glasgow, found their fortunes fading. Frances died in 1921, after which her disconsolate husband destroyed nearly all of her work. Charles and Margaret kept their body of work in trust, and it remains curated by various art galleries in Glasgow and in London.

Those of us who have the fortune to visit the Albuquerque Museum, until January 22, are thus treated to an appreciation of Glasgow’s fin-de-siecle flowering.

There is furniture:

Gesso (pronounced JE-so) is a hard plaster of Paris compound, usually applicable to sculpture or painted wood.

Repousse’ is the process of hammering a metal piece into relief, from the back side.

While the Glasgow Style itself faded, after World War I, the influence of The Four was long felt, as far afield as Vienna and Dresden, as well as here in the United States. Art Nouveau developed alongside Glasgow Style, and was profoundly influenced by the work of The Four, and any of the more than 70 other adherents of the Style.

After ninety minutes of immersion in the work of the Mackintoshes, McNairs and their colleagues, I spent an hour or so with New Mexico’s own avant garde. There are provocative depictions of religious themes and modernistic expressions of Native American spirituality. Young Indigenous people love science fiction as much as any of their contemporaries. I leave you with a depiction, by Tony Price-not a Native himself, but one inspired by Indigenous lore.

The Colours of Winter

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December 27, 2021, Albuquerque- There was plenty of mud in the foreground, which did not stop some of the younger members of the crowd from finding their way down a short trail, to the first overlook, in the northern, Painted Desert section of Petrified Forest National Park.

I left 66 Motel, to the cheerful strains of “Come back again”, around 9 a.m. It is always good to have doors remain open and bridges intact. Twenty minutes later, I got a similarly cheerful greeting from the gate guard at Petrified Forest’s north entrance. Whether it is because they are just cheerful, positive-thinking young women, or because of something in my own aura, these types of exchanges are what help brighten even the dreariest of skies.

Nature also provides relief from the grayness that precedes a winter storm. Here are scenes from each of the Painted Desert’s viewpoints.

These scenes are composed of Chinle Sandstone layers, first formed 227 million years ago and making up the bottom layers of the formations, with Bidahochi Sandstone, formed as recently as 4 million years ago, comprising the top layers-including Pilot Rock and Blue Mesa (in the southern area of the park). I have seen other colour blends, at the Grand Canyon, Canyon de Chelly, the Paint Pots of Yellowstone and Bumpas Hell, in Lassen Volcanic National Park. Like each of those, Painted Desert is unique.

Some vocabulary: Tiponi is a Hopi word, signifying a badge of authority-usually a sacred ear of corn, given to a priest or matriarch;

Tawa is the Hopi word for Sun Creator.

Chinde is the Dineh word for ghost or remnant spirit.

Pintado is Spanish for “painted”.

Nizhoni is the Dineh word for “beauty”, especially that found in nature.

Whipple Point is named for Lt. Amiel Whipple, a military surveyor who passed through this area. Fort Whipple, in Prescott, now a Veterans Administration Hospital, is also named for him.

Lacey Point is named for Congressman John Fletcher Lacey, of Iowa, who successfully worked to protect the Petrified Forest, which he termed “Petrified Forest of the World”.

The Painted Desert section of the park could easily take up a whole day, in periods of mild weather. I was there for a bit more than two hours. After a quick lunch at the Visitor Center Cafe, the drive across New Mexico was broken only by gassing up at a Flying J, in the small settlement of Jamestown. I was berated by a homeless man who wanted me to take him and his cart to God knows where. There probably wasn’t enough room in the Vue for that cart, so not being a saint, I kept on going.

Once here , in Duke City, a welcome nap evened my keel and a short walk around Old Town brought a soothing smooth jazz performance by a lone saxophonist and a lovely dinner at Little Anita’s, on the north edge of OT. As my mother told me yesterday, life is good.

His Fierce Love

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December 25, 2021-

The Carpenter did not skimp, on building His House of Love. Only the finest of materials, albeit obtained in an economical and judicious manner, were used in this endeavour. Those who demeaned His efforts were still welcome to enter, but they first had to wash themselves of the stains of doubtfulness and error.

The Fisherman did not refuse anyone who was hungry, offering His catch to all who showed up at His weir. Those who turned their noses up at His offering were free to change their minds and hearts, so long as they abluted their hands before partaking.

The Worshipper did not suffer those who turned the House of the Lord into a bazaar. He cast them out of the Temple, with the message that true Love is like a sword. It cleaves away the darkness of those sins which impair the soul and divide the people.

The Cross Bearer did not take umbrage at those who had been duped into believing He was a menace to the established order. He asked forgiveness for them, not out of weakness, but out of the strength that only comes with knowing of the true nature of Eternity.

The Messenger knew only compassion for the sick, the homeless, the destitute and the wayward. He cried for the errors of His followers, who conflated Faith in God with loyalty to the earthly powers. He appreciated the grand cathedrals, the sincere efforts to grow His flock and the devotion of even the most grievously ill among adherents to His Message. He also reminded one and all, that they must take stock of their thoughts and actions, day to day.

Such was the fierce love of the Son of the Creator.

The Cave and The Silo

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December 24, 2021-

In the season of accountability, circa 4 B.C., a Child infused with extraordinary spiritual power began moving down His mother’s birth canal, whilst His parents were seeking lodging, in a town where all comfortable rooms were long claimed by more well-healed travelers, most of whom were in town on taxpayer business.

By dint of necessity, the Child’s father secured a spot in a manger, with the land owner’s livestock as the family’s companions for the evening. The Child was born in the early morning hours, with the family huddled among the animals for warmth, the landowner having also given them a few hide blankets out of concern for mother and baby.

The veritable cave where Jesus, son of Joseph, was born has a superstructure built over it: The Church of the Nativity. Within that house of worship are three distinct chapels: One, Roman Catholic; one, Greek Orthodox and one, Armenian Apostolic. The territory of each is clearly demarked, and very closely guarded by the adherents of each denomination. It is now, however, a UNESCO World Heritage Site , requiring co-operation between the three, as well as between the State of Israel and the Palestinian Authority.

Prior to this status being conferred, in 2012, the three shrines were like silos, unto themselves, despite a 250-year-old agreement between three denominations’ leaders, for the preservation of the edifice. The point of agreement that made any co-operation possible was the recognition that the grotto, over which the church was built, was the site of the birthplace of Jesus the Christ. Like any agreement made in perpetuity between leaders of a given time, its meaning’s understanding has ebbed and flowed, fluctuating with successive generations, and newcomers to the area, adding their own interpretations.

Thus, the silos rise and contain the adherents to these philosophies, who eschew any fellowship with those of different viewpoints. Thus has even the most sacred of places become a focal point of human narcissism, whether individual or collective.

May the 2021st Celebration of Christ’s Birth be a day when such fellowship be given honour. We have seen the futility of its opposite number.

Free Speech

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December 21, 2021- Speakers at a Right-wing convention, in Phoenix, have offered both plausible and ridiculous points of view, over the past two days. I did not attend the gathering, but do find it a good idea to keep an eye on the proceedings. An informed citizen keeps abreast of what all fellow countrymen are thinking and saying.

I concur with Voltaire, and Evelyn Beatrice Hall , in defending the right of a person to say whatever is in mind-with the caveat that threats representing a danger to self and others require the notification of public authority. Said authority should keep watch on those who advocate violence and act to prevent such violence.

Thankfully, thus far, Charlie Kirk and company have not used this particular forum to encourage hateful acts against their opposite numbers. There have been calls for avoiding university-level education ( a questionable appeal to self-education, at best), which I view as an excessive reaction to the real and imagined “speech codes” that some have intellectuals on the Left have either suggested or instituted. IMHO, it is education, enlightenment, that will eliminate microaggressions and untoward speech aimed at People of Colour, immigrants and sexual minorities. Codified speech only lends credence to otherwise bogus claims of “reverse” racism, sexism, etc., by those on the Far Right. Patience remains a virtue, to some degree.

Similarly, I defend the right of Christians to wish others a Merry Christmas, and of those others to say “Happy Holidays”, or to offer no seasonal greetings at all. No set of words, or lack thereof, should be taken personally by the hearer.

Freedom of speech is sacrosanct. Liberty of action is an entirely separate matter, and one whose contents pre-suppose acceptance of logical consequences. May the Turning Point USA convocation end peacefully, with the knowledge that the best will win the ongoing contest of ideas.

A Small Fix

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December 20, 2021, Sedona- The bright-faced young people remembered me, though it’s been a while since I stopped in at Synergy Cafe. A minor tiff with one of the other workers led to extended absence, but as with all minor tiffs, it’s over.

Hiking Buddy is gradually on the mend, so we came to Sedona today, for a brief spiritual and aesthetic fix, First stop was Airport Mesa, with a sumptuous lunch at Mesa Grill, Once a brief whiff of jet fuel had passed through the dining area (swiftly addressed by the floor manager’s closing a random slightly-opened vent), we were in good form and enjoyed ample and well-cooked Aviation Classic Burgers, with an appetizer of Eggplant Meatballs. Sorry, I don’t do “food porn”- besides, some of my minders think even mentioning what I eat is a bit much.

After a brief walk around the grounds of the Grill , the overlook and a small botanical garden, we drove down to Tlaquepaque. This is still outdoor mask country, for about half of the visitors. We checked out several courtyards, my personal favourite being the terra cotta area (Patio Azul). HB was not quite up to clambering up and down the stairs, as yet, so we contented ourselves with the still considerable surface area of the arts and entertainment village.

Next up was a brief stop in Uptown Sedona, so she could photograph a few sculptures by James Muir, an allegorical sculptor active in Sedona. Most prominent of these is “Caduceus”, which features Iris carrying the legendary medical staff. Here is the piece, with the artist himself next to it, in a stock photo.

It was after this, that we stopped in at Synergy, for a brief refreshment break. Drumming and casual visits here will resume for me, soon, and it’s likely that Hiking Buddy will join in some of those excursions, at least.

In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this short video on Tlaquepaque of Sedona.

Touching Bases

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December 18, 2021- I frequently refer to Prescott, AZ, where I live, as Home Base. There are several other “bases” that mean the world to me: Grapevine, TX, where my son and daughter-in-law live; Dineh Bikeya (Navajo land) and Hopi, where I came of age, spiritually; Flagstaff, where I was “birthed” (my term) as a Baha’i; Saugus, MA, where I learned basic life lessons; Arlington, VA, where I learned intermediate life lessons; Rouen, FR, from whence several of my paternal ancestors came and Jeju, Korea, where I learned patience, fortitude and the right way to face adversaries.

There are whole regions where I feel at home- virtually all of Arizona; northern New Mexico; southern and central Colorado; northwest Nevada; coastal California; the entirety of Oregon and Washington; southeast Alaska; the western and eastern areas of Canada; New England and the Appalachian Crest. Then, too, there is no place where I’ve been that seems truly foreign or hostile. In that sense, Mother Earth is a Base unto herself.

So, as this calendar year fades, slowly but surely, I feel a deeper connectedness with each of the elements that make life not only possible, but meaningful: Air, water, fire and mineral, on the physical side; Reverence, emotion, intellect, curiosity and proactivity, on the spiritual side. A great spiritual plan is in process, from the Universal House of Justice, and spanning nine years (2022-2031). With that, my own bases will become both deeper and more numerous.

May the coming Solstice, Christmas and Kwanzaa be fruitful and fulfilling to all who cherish them.

Who Adds Meaning?

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December 16,2021- Every so often, someone has tried to insert self-or someone else- into my life, with the expectation that I will meet the part of themselves that is somehow lacking. The part of myself that felt I owed a measure to those less fortunate has made an effort to fulfill that expectation.

Guess what? Three very different people have tried to take over my life, with various tactics-including playing the “Family Card”-even though that person and I have never met. That each time ended in a crash and burn did not surprise my heart of hearts. I am the sort who loves easily, but becomes intimate only with time.

Conversely, there are those whom I genuinely love, and from whom I want nothing, who just can’t bring themselves to accept a person like me, for whatever reason within themselves. Some are biological family and others in my adopted community, who are vociferous about loving mankind, yet have odd boundaries-which I must respect and from whom I keep a certain distance.

I have long felt that the “Flower Power” movement of the ’60s and ’70s, and all it subsequent offshoots, are a collective chimera. No one can wave a magic wand and love everyone unconditionally-without first loving self, unconditionally. No one can really reach fulfillment by pursuing a cause, unless the seeds of fulfillment within oneself are being assiduously watered and nourished.

Likewise, no one who looks to someone else to meet their needs, abandonment in childhood aside, can possibly expect to not accept the brunt of that fulfillment themselves. Baha’u’llah tells us not to support beggars, and to cast a discerning eye on grifters and liars.

It is my task, first and foremost, to add value (not necessarily monetary) to my life and to as many lives as I encounter. In these days of darkness before the Light of Solstice, Christmas and New Year’s Day; days of natural disasters, stubborn disease, feckless financial sectors and benighted politicians who work to deprive the citizenry of its due-for the sake of upholding enshrined privilege, I ask each reader-who adds value to your life? You should be at the top of that list. Those who suck the life out of you should be at the bottom-if they even remain in your life at all.

Please give this song by Rachael Schroeder a listen.

Who Decides?

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December 8, 2021-

Every weekend, at an intersection near our city’s main hospital, there gathers a fairly raucous crowd of individuals, protesting a vaccine mandate that itself currently does not exist-per a judicial order. It seems that many people extrapolate meanings from the expressed wishes of the President, or another public official-or even a tenuous Executive Order, which only holds as long as neither the judicial or legislative branches challenges it.

I see a greatly heightened sensitivity to both public and private statements or images of public officials. The stock market may rise or fall on the basis of a few cryptic comments by the Chair of the Federal Reserve Board-which may have nothing to do with the price of stocks and bonds. People may go out into the streets or flood social media, based on a private photo of a public figure, expressing that individual’s opinion on a social issue or lifestyle of their family. Thus, we have two sitting congresspeople posing with their children, holding firearms. Since I learned marksmanship and firearms safety at the age of eleven, this strikes me as much ado over nothing-but for the teen daughter of one, who appears to be pointing her rifle at her mother’s neck and for the association with Christmas, which will no doubt be batted around the cyberverse for a few weeks. I think the main issue is that these images are appearing, at an uncomfortably close time, following two school shootings, the Waukesha automobile terror and the verdict on Kyle Rittenhouse.

People can, and should, make their own decisions, regarding introducing their children to responsible use of any given weapon-whether barreled or bladed. A long ago friend, at a dinner table conversation one evening, told his older son, in no uncertain terms, to respect the power of a hunting knife, not to mention any firearms he may handle. This came from a man who had all manner of hunting equipment, which he absolutely would not put in the hands of a lackadaisical family member.

With regard to personal health, I have heard from several people who insist: “My body, my choice!”, when it comes to getting a vaccine or even wearing a mask in public. Some, but not all, of these same people will take umbrage at the thought of a woman consulting with her physician about aborting her fetal child. My take is: If you choose a course of action, then be prepared to accept all that comes with it. If tragedy results, then the individual should be enveloped in love, not opprobrium, to the extent he or she is suffering post-traumatic stress.

Most certainly, no one should be permanently made a pariah, for even a severe error in judgement, though justice must be meted out, properly, when one causes the needless death or injury to others. That justice should, hopefully, result in the miscreant’s remorse and rehabilitation, but let’s face it, some will go to their graves in an unapologetic mien.

For most matters, we ought to have input, at least, over our lives, while processing the input of others.

The Quiet Sunday, Long Ago

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December 7, 2021- People were worshipping, others were fishing, on the vast expanse of Pearl Harbor.

The churchgoers would think of picnicking, the fishers, of cleaning and grilling their catch.

Sailors, Marines and soldiers were lolling about their bunks, or maybe going out for a morning jog.

Approaching from the west, aviators, operating in stealth, let loose with a steady barrage of firepower.

Everyone who was aboard ship became a gunner. The targets did their level best to turn the tables. The attackers carried the day, but the victory was Pyrrhic.

Imperial Japan had awakened a giant, whose ferocity and tenacity would rain far worse devastation on the people who could not look their Emperor in the eye.

The experience of Japan should be a cautionary tale, to all who dream of worldwide hegemony.

Will the ones who now dream of such an empire take heed?