July 23, 2023, Nanaimo- It was a cheerful face and voice that greeted me, as I rounded the corner for a second time, whilst looking for the driveway to a friend’s home, on the east side of Victoria. Debra, and one of her neighbours, saw to my parking Sportage and entering her humble abode.
For the second straight visit to a long-time friend, (the other being a few days ago, in Ashland), I was told I am the first out-of-towner to visit since COVID. It is an honour to be so designated. Debra and I spoke at length about her family, and mine; about the joy and challenge of being Baha’i in a distracted world and about the guidance we have each received from unseen hosts.
Debra and me at her home
One of the great joys of visiting the Pacific Northwest is to dine on wild caught salmon. So it was, that I was treated to that succulent fish, along with fresh salad and a piece of freshly baked British Columbia blueberry pie. The feast has been anticipated since 2015, when I was not able to stay on V.I. long enough to make this connection. The main reason for visiting V.I. druthis time, is a fait accompli. Debra became the first to use my Bear Drum in a chant, since it was repaired, a few weeks ago. I was thus doubly honoured.
After about three hours, I bid Debra farewell and headed back towards Painted Turtle Hostel. The appeal of Malahat Skywalk, about halfway between Victoria and Nanaimo, was irresistible. A lovely and winsome attendant greeted me and explained the process of navigating the boardwalk and spirals . I then set out, joining several families and couples, on the route, which proved quite easy. The views of eastern Van couver Island-and of the mainland Sunshine Coast, are unparalleled, on a sunny day like today.
Here are some scenes from Malahat. Presenting the Skywalk and its surrounds.
A sundered old trunk, Malahat Skywalk, Vancouver IslandWood sculpture of a cougar.Malahat Inlet, from midway up the Skywalk’s spiralsView of Vancouver’s North Shore Range, from Malahat SkywalkJet skier, in Malahat Inlet, seen form top of Malahat SkywalkMalahat Skywalk’s spirals
This auspicious day thus was a banner time, well-spent in every way.
July 21, 2023, Richmond, BC- Madame Pinky was livid. She and her two assistants had finished work in her salon, and were about to pull out of the dirt parking lot, behind the shop. Who should arrive and go in to the hostel next door, to inquire about a room and a parking space for an SUV, than yours truly. The desk clerk at the hostel said that her friend’s car was in the space reserved for me, and that in a minute or so, she would vacate. That was not good enough for Madame Pinky, who proceeded to excoriate the three of us, in both Mandarin and English. I was, in her view, just “another bossy white guy”, even though I had said next to nothing. The two young ladies were “stupid toadies”. Even the old gentleman who needed to move his car, before I could move mine, and so on, was ” a worthless old snake”. Such was the farce that played out, briefly, until the old man had his nephew move his car, I moved mine, a young hot shot investment banker moved his car from an adjacent lot (and had to get us all to move aside, because “Status, man!” and then, only then, did Madame Pinky still red-faced and fuming, pull her car out of the lot. It was a lot more peaceful, in Panda Pods Hostel, after all that.
My drive from Salem, OR proceeded quite peacefully, through Portland, Washington State, and across the border. Traffic was like frozen molasses, from south of Tacoma to north of Everett. I did not stop in any of those places-except to get lunch, at Berryfields, in downtown Centralia. THAT was a stop that made sense. If in the Centralia/Chehalis area of west central Washington, you can’t go wrong at Berryfields. When I return to the U.S., on Tuesday, three days will allow me to stop more readily, along the way in Washington and Oregon, before the performance of the year-V, in “The Wizard of Oz”, on Friday.
For now, though, my focus is on getting to Vancouver Island and visiting a long-time, online friend, a visit that was supposed to happen eleven years ago, then two years later-and will finally transpire this weekend. That is the joyful, sometimes bittersweet, factor of having many friends, far afield. Each of us, in the end, does what we can-and…. choices, choices.
My choice, now, having supped on prawns from Malaysian Delights, in the heart of mostly East Asian Richmond, is to log off, brush my teeth and put down the shade at the foot of my pod bunk.
Good night, Madame Pinky, wherever you are-and thank you, Tony Bennett, for all those years of singing to our hearts.
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 16, 2023- The infant boy responded, calmly and contentedly , to being passed into the arms of his grandparents, aunts and adult cousins. All he wanted was to occasionally check in with his loving mother. He seemed to sense that this was no regular gathering. It was, in fact, his grandmother’s birthday.
As a friend of hers, for the past ten years, I was the only guest not officially part of the family, but no matter. I regard each of them as if we were familial. Her introduction to me, of essential oil supplements was the start of my return to physical and mental health, after nearly three years of treading water, after Penny’s passing. I watched her youngest daughter, the little boy’s mother, grow into a strong, forward-thinking woman. I have been present at each of the family’s milestones, since the Fall of 2013, and helped with each of my friend’s three moves since offering to help with the first one. They, in turn, have made a place for me at several holiday tables.
I will be present at an important family event, tomorrow morning, prior to leaving on a twelve-day visit to the Northwest and Carson City. The family unit will be standing by my friend, as one, at the proceeding that will set the course for the next phase of her life. She has strong, fine children, siblings, nieces and nephews and a man who cares deeply for her-and then, there’s I, who also holds her, and the family, close to my heart.
The family arc is solidly anchored-and it is one of many, including my own biological family, that imparts strength and surety to my life. The little boy has a strong framework for his growth into manhood.
July 15, 2023- Barbie’s “mommy” gave her mother’s friend a gift bag, with a nice tall candle and a decorated card. Then, Barbie got to dance, do somersaults and yoga poses, all without complaint-as dolls are wont to do. Barbie finally got a rest, when her mommy got thirsty. Barbie’s mommy is on her way to being a strong, independent, thoughtful adult human.
That was how the evening started. Beforehand, I learned that my landlord was perfectly okay, as was the gentleman who fell, last night. As I suspected, heat prostration was at play, in both cases. I know how that works, having had my more rotund self experience it in 2012, whilst passing through Uvalde.
We did have a rather toasty day here, which didn’t get in the way of our team’s breakdown of the Farmers’ Market, thanks to sunscreen, proper desert headgear, plenty of water and our truck. Tomorrow will be another dose of July Fry, possibly reaching 119 in Phoenix, higher elsewhere in the Sonoran Desert and 102 here.
Getting back to the evening, I went to Raven Cafe for a Songwriters in the Round, set of performances by four engaging musicians, two of whom I’ve heard several times before. The tone was set, in the crowded room, by my thoroughly enjoying a new item: Basque Stew-which is tomato bisque with chunks of tuna, nicely stewed. I admit to being a bit apprehensive, as tuna has been either in a sandwich or in rolls of rice, as sushi, in my long experience with the meat. It was actually nicely spiced-and the fish was not overpowering.
I will let the Raven’s promo introduce Songwriters in the Round:
“Nashville-style songwriter rounds consist of 3 or 4 musicians trading songs and stories for an engaged audience of song lovers and supporters. This is our first one! Join us this Saturday as we see songwriters Tyller Gummersall, Stephy Leigh Griffin, Rachael Plays Guitar and Kevin Rueb step away from their bands to give you a raw and intimate glance into what it takes to be a songwriter.”
Stephy Leigh and Tyller have played, with their bands, at the Raven in the recent past. So, some of their songs were familiar-but done acoustically, sans bandmates, gave the tunes an entirely different, more intimate feel. Kevin, with a tongue-in-cheek, irreverent view of sexist behaviour by men-and its back-at-ya reaction from women, got rousing laughter from many of us, including his wife, who played along joyfully, during his hilarious take-down of the “Magic Mike” phenomenon. Rachael was the most soulful, directly-sharing of her experiences, and made no apologies for doing so. I look forward to her “Album Launch” concert, at the end of next month. I would gladly go to see any of these folks, time and again.
Time goes on, whether days are hot, cold or the great in-between; whether spent hither or yon; whether productive or laconic. Each day brings its gifts and each day exacts its costs. So do I take the best of what life brings, along with its expectations for recompense. On balance, I’d say this life is a bounty.
July 14, 2023- As my dinner companions and I were standing at the register, preparing to pay for our respective meals, the man in front of us lost his equilibrium and fell, face down, on the floor. The wait staff, chef and the three of us focused on him, immediately, and between three of us, were able to get him up slowly and safely, onto a low chair. Chef called the emergency operator and EMTs were on site within five minutes. Our nonagenarian friend was still a bit woozy from the heat, and likely was dehydrated. Thankfully, he didn’t appear to have any broken bones, but only x-rays and a night’s observation at hospital will determine for sure. I will check with Rafter Eleven tomorrow, and get an update. Unity of action likely kept things from getting worse.
Earlier today, as I was preparing to go downtown and purchase gifts for the three children whose families I will see, during the upcoming journey to the Northwest and western Nevada, I noticed my landlord had a trunk filled with bags of cement. As my upper body strength is robust, so long as I also lift with my legs, I offered to help him get them into his wheelbarrow. Although we are the same age, he told me it would not be right, that I was too old and would get hurt. So, he wanted to do it all himself and would not let me so much as lift one bag. I have not seen him this evening and so alerted his family. That makes a second matter to update, tomorrow. Unity of action could have avoided whatever trouble he might have caused himself.
A father/daughter team presented this evening, via Zoom, on the subject of True Unity. It was defined as that unity of purpose and action that takes place despite differences of opinion and temperament. It was noted that various groups of like-minded people have gathered together, from time immemorial, only to fall apart or fade away, once differences of opinion led to estrangement. Countering this phenomenon takes unity of heart, as well as detachment from opinion and temperament.
My father taught that everyone deserves respect, inherently, regardless of outward opinions expressed. If they hurt others or committed mayhem, they deserved punishment, but that was for society, through the government, to exercise. We, as individuals, were never to take justice into our own hands. Baha’i teachings say the same thing. True Unity, then, leaves justice to the institutions set aside for that purpose, and focuses on building the moral and social foundations that will, in time, obviate the inclination towards criminal behaviour.
No one, in the Golden Age of mankind, will be left out.
July 13, 2023- Milan Kundera, born and having cut his literary teeth in the place then known as Czechoslovakia, passed to the ethereal realm yesterday, at the age of 94. Best known for his 1984 novel “The Unbearable Lightness of Being”, a unique take on the Butterfly Effect, if you will, examining a world in which conflicting needs-as well as seemingly unrelated events, intertwine.
Kundera’s works, including the 1979 anthology, “The Book of Laughter and Forgetting”, both revel in and bemoan the conflicts that arise between even the most tightly-connected people. It looks at the origins of laughter-which Kundera hints may have been demonic-then was used by angels to mock the devil. In its seven tales, this theme of using something dear to a being, in order to cut him/her down to size, circles and swirls through the plot threads.
Kundera himself started out as an idealist, who saw communism as the great leveler. Once the Soviet behemoth stomped out the reforms of Alexander Dubcek, in 1968, Milan began to openly question his own orthodoxy-even while stubbornly holding to the ethos of grassroots reform. After having lived for a time in France, and seeing that there was much dissatisfaction among the youth there, he began to adopt a far broader perspective on reform, one that transcended any given system that depended on an authoritarian bent, in order to maintain control.
Often in life, we take what offends us, often about ourselves, and project the blemish onto those who challenge us or who have other ways of looking at life, methods which we don’t understand. Kundera tried to hang on to communism, the way some here in America hang on to a view of class or racial dominance and others, a view of a nation that has forcibly overcome its practices that have engendered such domination.
In the end, as I began to note in a conversation which has just started, with a slightly older friend, we can only address the conflict that presents itself in the mirror, and like Milan Kundera, decide which is the best recourse for dealing with it-laughter, or forgetting. Which of these, best melds with atoning for, or changing, those of our thoughts and actions that have caused pain to self and others?
July 11, 2023- Kia Sportage went into the shop this morning, to repair an unsightly set of scratches that were caused a while back, by my bugaboo-not being able to back up straight, for much more than six feet. It’ll be two or three days before the cosmetic fix is done. Speaking of cosmetics, I will purchase a scented oil from one friend, to give to another in a few days.
Gifting has never been an act of patronization, or done out of a sense of obligation. I am happy to offer a gift in acknowledging someone’s special day or personal achievement. My one blind spot, it seems, is giving to panhandlers. The louder and more forceful they are, the less they are absolutely going to get from me. A self-styled Buddhist monk is on the street, day and night, sometimes yelling at those of us who pass him by. Anything I would give him would only be encouraging this behaviour. The police, under Arizona law, cannot detain him unless he puts hands on people or blocks their way. So, he sits on a bench and yells about needing support for his “mission”. We are, in this day and age, quite sensitive about singling out the mentally ill, so I have quietly just moved along.
That brings up my own challenge, of talking out of turn or jumping into other people’s conversations-both features of my residual autism. Having had this happen, twice of late-last night and this morning, I know that there is still a bit of work to be done, at looking before I leap-conversation wise. At tonight’s meeting, I was able to just speak my peace and click the mute button. Zoom is a good way to correct conversational faux pas.
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.
A Sagittarian Seeker 