August 11, 2025- After 46 years in education, I am still somewhat thrown off by questions about very technical issues. Nitpicky matters have just never really interested me, so my tendency has been to give them short shrift. There are times, though, when it’s necessary to get out the notebook and take careful stock of the particulars of things. Today was such a day.
Last night, I went through an online class on Red Cross pedagogy, of all things. Even though it’s better to look at anything academic in the light of day, I pursued it anyway. When it came time for assessment, the technical issues had not registered, and I decided to re-take the class-in the light of day.
So today, after Coffee Klatsch and some checking on the status of fires on the White Mountain Apache Nation, I went through the pedagogy class again, being more careful to take notes on the Course Manual segment. What is covered, and where, became more clear and I cleared the assessment with ease.
Since childhood, I have been hard-wired to primarily go forward, with goals and tasks. Letting self get stymied by technical issues or physical challenges has been an issue at times, but mostly it’s been “Forward, ho!” What is different now is that I am more inclined to plan things out more carefully; chalk that up to Hard Knocks University-and the grace of God. Ten or fifteen years ago, I might have put the re-take off for six months to a year-and it probably would have ended up on the Island of Lost Goals.
Now, I am getting satisfaction from each challenge met, no matter how great or small. Forward motion, more tempered by careful planning, remains among my greatest impetus.
August 7, 2025- In a well-appointed room, at a resort along a prosperous coast, a young man stretches and prepares to enjoy a summer’s day, on his break from University. He didn’t ask for good fortune, but it follows him. Perhaps he will someday go through equally unrequested heartbreak and suffering, but for now, all is well.
In a rock-strewn, hollowed out gulch, along a desolate, impoverished coast, a young girl tends to her two younger siblings, feeding them biscuits and a few leaves of spinach. They didn’t ask for this ill fortune, but it follows them. Perhaps they will someday see prosperity, as a now elusive peace settles on their homeland, but for now, survival is all that lies in front of them.
In a small Midwestern town, a father shops around for enough food to bring to his wife and four children. He stretches his dollars, as his father did before him, and Grandpa before that. None have asked for ongoing ups and downs of the local economy, but it has long settled among them. Perhaps someday there will be a return to locally grown food as a standard, rather than as a set of anomalies, but for now, he and they push forward, day to day.
On the roof of an apartment, in a hardscrabble Caribbean neighbourhood, three young men sit and discuss how they might respond to news of a wealthy man taking charge of their country. They didn’t choose him, and though he offers hope of stability, they have heard it all before-as have their parents and grandparents, going back eight generations. Perhaps someday, there will be a true and honest consultation among the people, but for now, the young men will follow whoever seems to have the power on the streets of their city.
I think of these people, and others, as I sit in an apartment which I chose, in the city where I gladly chose to live, eating food that I prepared myself, from ingredients also freely chosen. It hasn’t always been a life of choice, at least outwardly. Yet, the changes that have taken place in my life have been influenced by my preferences-even when those choices are small, limited and not the most optimal.
I hope and pray, for each person finding self in harrowing conditions, or in debilitatingly privileged states, to ponder the options that may be available-and take the ones that will bring beneficence, even if it starts out as a few more morsels, or a bit more conscientious self-restraint.
August 6, 2025- I’ve largely stayed in, the past two days, both because of heat and because my schedule is not that busy, this week. I have focused on things like culling my e-mails (2011-2020) and household things-and reading. It almost feels like a throwback to summer in Phoenix, but this is only for few days. The weekend, and next week, will be back to busy-ness.
I have thrived, the past fourteen years, on empathy and commitment to communities, near and far. Some who are in the ascendancy have said that empathy is a weakness of our society. Hope is seen as for suckers. These tenets might work for them in accomplishing short term goals, but I think, deep down, they know that the gig will be up, sooner rather than later.
Empathy and hope are what drive communities. They are what keep families and larger social units together. They are what make even time alone feel less than empty, knowing that humanity is just outside, waiting. They are strengths, not flaws.
August 5,2025- I watched a remarkable 2015 Canadian miniseries, “The Book of Negroes”, based on novel by Lawrence Hill, which in turn was based on an actual British Naval record of 3000 freed African slaves who were brought to Nova Scotia and New Brunswick, after the American Revolution.
The story is told through the eyes of an African woman who is also a polymath, at a time when most Africans were seen as illiterate savages, worthy of no treatment better than brutality or manipulation. Aminata Diallo is a fictional character, somewhat inspired by Phillis Wheatly, who was an actual African-American poet of about the time Aminata’s story unfolded. Phillis lived in colonial Massachusetts, while Aminata’s story unfolds in what is now Guinea, then to South Carolina, moving by turns to New York, Nova Scotia, Sierra Leone and London. Actual historical characters General Guy Carleton, Samuel Fraunces and George Washington appear in the New York segment of the story, with Fraunces presented as a mentor and protector of Aminata.
Aminata tells her adult daughter that every story is a treasure, and that even the losses (of which she had several) are worthy of gratitude. Her story does not spare any of the principal forces in the slave trade, yet she faces them all with a life force born in honour. Her fortitude is showcased throughout, and most clearly when she humbles a young slavery advocate during a meeting of the British House of Commons, leading up to the vote to end the slave trade.
A childhood friend remarked to me, about ten years ago, that everyone our age has been through a fair amount of hardship. This is a man who has known quite a bit of success in life, so for him to come forward about the rough patches is quite a revelation. It underscores what Lawrence Hill addresses in his novel, and puts my own highs and lows into perspective. I stopped wallowing in self-pity some time back and can see exactly what Hill’s protagonist is saying.
Those of us who are fully alive have amassed many treasures.
August 4, 2025- Another cancer patient of long-suffering winged his flight to the Spirit Realm, this morning, as I was preparing for a day of service. Like my friend who died yesterday, this man had been receiving the emotional, spiritual and material support of many, who were hoping against hope for a cure. Like my friend, he was simply suffering too much and called to the Divine for release.
Each day brings a passage of sorts to each of us. One either gets stronger, or weaker, or holds the line, in the course of the passage. Each change in body, mind and spirit happens according to which life lessons have been absorbed by the soul. Sometimes, as the body has earned its rest, the spirit goes on to a higher realm. Other times, as there are still life lessons to be absorbed and actions that must be taken by the individual, physical life continues. This is my limited understanding of the process.
I, like Robert Frost’s protagonist, in “Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening”, “have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep”. The promises kept today were serving as Blood Donor Ambassador at a Red Cross drive in Prescott Valley and serving at the Monday evening Soup Kitchen. There will be several others, locally, that encompass this month. September and October’s promises go further afield; November’s will be fulfilled back here; December’s will be a mix; next year’s fall between the Philippines, Texas and Arizona. “Promise not that which ye don’t fulfill”.
We essentially engage in passages, so that those who paved the way for us might feel fulfilled and those who are following after us might see an illumined path. If I can do both, this life will continue to be well worth each day. My forebears watch from the next world and my progeny look on expectantly. I feel a lot of encouraging energy.
August 3, 2025- A friend, who was a First Responder, passed on today, after a lengthy bout with cancer. The circumstances of his job most likely led to a build-up, of toxic materials, over time. This may very well have led to his untimely passing.
Many don’t think of the sacrifices that police officers, firefighters and emergency medical technicians give, each day. Their loved ones know, first hand, of both the long hours on the job, and the uncertainty of their return home at end of shift. We, the public, experience these realities on occasions such as the collapse of the World Trade Center, in September, 2001 and the wildfires in Yarnell, AZ and in El Dorado County, CA. (2013 and 2014, respectively).
For so many other First Responders, death is not immediate, but happens as it did with my friend, with a painful slowness. Over a thousand firefighters and police officers involved in the response to September 11, 2001’s horrific carnage have died from the after effects of that incident.
Their loved ones carry their pain as well, and suffer themselves, both along with the victim and long after his/her passing. It is worthwhile, for their sakes, and in honour of the services made, for each of us to be discerning, in our own dealings with First Responders, especially at the local level.
August 2, 2025- Half of the large and amazing farm family were gathered under the little tent, enjoying the artificial, but soft, “grass” and managing to stay out of the heat, whilst enjoying the afternoon breeze. They stayed long after the crowds had departed the Market, but none of us on staff were eager to displace them while there was other work to be done. They are avid supporters of the Prescott Farmers Market and themselves run a family farm, about twenty-five miles north of here. They were, therefore, allowed to stay and relax, until “their” tent was the only thing left to put away.
I am one who will gladly give people the courtesy of lingering, so long as my teammates and I are not taken for granted. The family mentioned above would be mortified if they felt that they were being inconsiderate. (I have visited their homestead several times, and they are most gracious.) Conversely, on Monday evenings, I wait long enough so as not to rush Soup Kitchen guests through their meals-but 5:30 p.m. is the limit set by those on the team who have worked since 10 a.m. So, sometimes it means things might get a bit tense, with those who have little sense of time. It is important to show them that courtesy goes both ways.
We have reached a point where those whose primary value is self-reliance and those who cherish achievements as a group have somehow separated from one another. There is what I consider an artificial division between the two, largely fueled by our culture of anonymity, the overvaluing of personal opinion and of course, the wirepullers- opportunists who alternately whisper and harangue. When I go about tasks of service, working with some at various points along the political spectrum, I find that when the goal is understood, the results are the same.
When profit, a worthy pursuit to the extent that it provides for the well-being of many people, is allowed to exceed the public weal in importance, there is an imbalance. When one’s stated opinions, valuable to the aggregate of the community, are given more importance than the views of others, there begins a process of stagnation. I believe that, once views are stated, they belong to the group to which they are directed. They become part of what is hopefully a healthy conversation and ideally contribute to a solution.
I believe that, big tent or small, there is room for many.
July 31, 2025- Every so often, in places I’ve lived or in jobs I’ve held, there was a feeling of being fully occupied and my presence was justified, but there was no real connection. This is an actual emotion, called Mal de Coucou. It was most common for me in the early ’70s, when many groups engaged in performative camaraderie- and in the marketing “clubs” of the 2000s, where people engaged in similar pretense of teamwork.
Paro, the sense that I am not getting anything right, has hit more times than I can count. The inner nagging stopped, when I came to the realization that more good things were happening on my watch than their opposites.
Jouska, the playing out of imaginary conversations, was a bugbear of my autism, in adolescence and even into young adulthood. The key to getting past this was making actual connections, making Jouska an outflow of Mal de Coucou.
Ecstatic shock is a sudden jolt coming from even so much as a brief glance, from someone you have not seen before. For me, this has happened a half dozen or so times, exclusively from women. One was with me for 29 years afterward. One still connects with me by Instant Messaging, once a week or so, until I can see her again.
There are ten other emotions with names not commonly used in American culture. They may be seen below. All make perfect sense, in their context. How many have you felt?
July 27, 2025- Looking at the “Jumble” on a place mat at our weekly Post 6 Breakfast, this morning, I was able to solve the four words within a minute. Word puzzles have typically been easy for me, over the years. A few months back, I noticed that there were some simple recalls escaping me, though, and it appeared that the normal vagaries of aging were showing their faces.
I also noticed the spots on my hands getting brighter, and so first invested in Liver Cleanse capsules, which helped some. When those ran out, I started in with Liver/Kidney Cleanse capsules. These have been even m ore effective, and with noticeable improvement in both organs’ functioning. The spots are faded even more.
Somehow, both my energy level, which has been good, has improved even more and the brain fog is also a lot less. The “Mnemonic Plague” is seemingly connected to liver and/or kidney health. Short naps are still needed, when I have a heavy activity schedule, although more so when the schedule is full of sedentary meetings than when physical activity is involved.
I will take the ongoing improvements, from top to bottom, as long as the Divine sees fit to grant them.
July 24, 2025- There are days when a common thread wiggles its way through the ether, and draws in other threads, which become fastened to it, through a process not immediately comprehensible. Today was such a day. The common thread was my task of getting documentation for possible shelter venues for the American Red Cross.
I had completed the first visit, to Page Unified School District, yesterday, and had made it back to Flagstaff, after a stop at Cameron Trading Post for a Navajo Taco meal. Saving about half of it for a second meal, later today, involved some positioning of the container in what is arguably the world’s smallest refrigerator. American Motor Hotel, where I spent last night, is a space-themed gem, looking somewhat like the brightly- painted lodging establishments now fairly common in the Los Angeles area. The in-room refrigerator is, well, unique and “interesting”. It is designed to hold maybe one or two cold beverages, and a couple of sandwiches. I got the meal container in there, by temporarily removing the shelf and inserting the container vertically.
All in all, though, Americana is a great place to spend a night or two, or even make a vacation of it, as there is an outdoor pool, a funky Mexican restaurant on site, a large outdoor patio area with shaded round tables and room decor that is both amusing (a blue orb that shines and rotates, when plugged in) and thought-provoking (framed posters). The congenial desk staff seals the deal, with cheerful attention to every guest and offering reusable metal water bottles as welcome gifts. Thus, my overnight in Flagstaff became a mini-break from the business at hand. Breakfast at an old East Flagstaff favourite, Miz Zip’s, was a further delight, with homemade corned beef hash as a well-enjoyed choice. Sedona, the lone server when I first came in, was cheerful and attentive to all, even as nearly twenty people showed up after I came in and sat down. Mz. Zip’s has lost none of the ambiance it had when I lived here in 1980-81.
East Flagstaff has its share of fun places, but it was time to head out towards Native American Baha’i Institute, a three-hour drive eastward. The ride was smooth, and traffic moderate, especially once I got past Winslow. I got there, greeted those present, in the Navajo way, with a handshake and “Yaa’tey” (Good day), and went over the requisite forms for a Shelter Survey. Then, it was time for a mini-birthday celebration for one of the elders, with cake. A discussion followed, about non-Navajos hunting elk on the Reservation, by using helicopters. It doesn’t surprise me that this is being done, but I expressed my view that the Navajo Nation Council should be the arbiter of such practices. The elders agreed, and one of them has already filed a complaint with his councilman.
Wanting to get back to Home Base by early evening, I bid farewell to the Dineh friends and drove back towards I-40. Close to the entry point, I encountered a lady who said that a car was on fire up ahead. Lo and behold, a Navajo Police officer had parked near the vehicle that was indeed on fire. Saying a silent prayer for the safety of all concerned, I thanked the lady and turned around, being able to warn another driver about the situation, before taking the detour to the highway. A fire truck and water tanker came by, just before I hit the road.
That brings me to the next unanticipated thread. I gave a ride to a Dineh man who was heading, via circuitous route, to his granddaughter’s birthday party, far to the south. Turns out, he has been working for a modular home manufacturing company, which closed its factory in Page, just this week. The situation is complex, but here is a man, one of many, who is being left high and dry. This is the first I had heard of the situation, but it would not be the last. I heard him out, and got him to a location, south of Holbrook, from where he could catch a further ride. The rest of the drive home, via Winslow, Clints Well and Camp Verde, was serene and in fairly light traffic. I enjoyed the rest of the Navajo Taco in the comfort of Home Base I.
Thus did the thread of my main effort, getting the process going for Red Cross shelters in two more localities, find itself interwoven with wildlife conservation and protection, the housing industry’s woes and their effect on workers and their families and the pleasurable lodging and dining options on Flagstaff’s east side. It was a good 48 hours.
A Sagittarian Seeker 