Evers, and Nevers

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August 19, 2021- The woman I trust as Cosmic Advisor correctly stated that this week would bring events, fast and furious, which would underscore the powerlessness of those who hold stature. The forces of nature, of baseness and of frenzy have combined to show us that the only real power is that of the Spirit.

I have made a good effort to keep order and help advance learning, in a place I’ve long felt at home. I have not sought, nor have I held, power at an official level. No matter; in any school, the real power is held by those who lead their students to believe in themselves and in one another. Tomorrow, I will spend the day with First Graders, fulfilling a promise made at the beginning of this academic year, and imparting self-confidence to people who are at a very basic level.

I left the high school today, reviewing those things I will ever do, consistently and those things I will NEVER do. One might say, “Never say never”, but I have held, for seventy years, that:

I will ever strive to stand behind anyone acting from a place of truth-so long as that truth is not twisted or distorted, in a way that hurts others.

I will ever trust in the Spirit, that which speaks to me in moments of quiet solitude, and at times when I must decide a course of action.

I will ever hold that there is no nation or ethnicity that is inherently inferior to any other, and that the strength of Woman, however different in the way it is manifested from that of Man, is equal to that masculinity.

I will ever hold to the sanctity of life and that to oppose abortion, but then readily abandon the right to life of people, at any of its later stages, is a false narrative.

I will never join in an attack on a person or group of people who are different from me, in countenance, thought, or mode of living.

I will never seek to deceive even the meanest of creatures. My big mouth will always speak with integrity.

I will never again walk past a person who is injured or fallen, without seeking to offer or obtain help. (This last was a lesson I learned fifty years ago, and my shame stayed with me for a long time.)

Many years ago, I was told never to marry a person of a different race, as society would make life miserable for any children who came from such a union. When it was my turn to take a stance on that matter, approving the marriage was the easiest decision I ever had to make, and the happiness of my child and his wife is an eternal reward. Their offspring, when they come into this life, will be blessed beyond measure.

I have learned that embracing others of varying belief systems does nothing to weaken my own dearly-held tenets.

Hot Spots

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August 16, 2021- I was originally supposed to spend today hiking along a road, to commemorate a friend’s passing, 37 years ago, Wednesday. The person who proposed this originally backed out, over the weekend, citing other obligations. It worked out fine for me, as I got to be with the groups of students with whom I will be working, for the most part, probably well into September.

The weekend brought hard news: There is a new Taliban government in Afghanistan, boding God knows what for women and girls; Haiti was clobbered by yet another severe earthquake, to be followed by a Tropical Storm, of as yet indeterminate strength; Delta continued on its merry path of death and destruction; the Sierra Nevada foothills continue to face the rapacious Dixie Fire. Here at Home Base, I can only continue to do what I’ve been doing- small charity here and there; safe hygiene and honouring the requests of businesses and institutions; promoting fire-safe spaces here and being ready, in case the call comes to go on Red Cross deployment.

We choose what hot spots in which we offer our services. With 7.6 billion people on the planet, there is no reason for any one person to have to do the lion’s share of relief work. I am constantly on the move, as it is, and have no feelings of regret for what I do. Learning to set boundaries, however, has been a most gratifying result of the struggles of the past three years.

First Class

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August 13, 2021- I finished reading “Caste”, by Isabel Wilkerson, this evening: A magnificent work, by a stellar human being. For the first time in my adult life, if not the entirety of my life span, I felt that here is someone who understands my point of view-that there is, simply put, no group of people, anywhere, who deserve to be cast aside (pun intended) or downtrodden, so that others may rise to the top-either through privilege or through through benefitting from the efforts of those held lower than themselves.

It is human nature to want to pull the wagons in a circle; to exclude those one dislikes or whom one sees as a threat. It is spiritual nature, more reflective of the higher self, what Abraham Lincoln called “the better angels of our nature”, to at some level, at least, regard others as equanimical to oneself; to keep the wagon secure, but somewhat ready to receive the visitor.

Let me take stock, of just who could be a second class citizen, given what is apparent in the Divine Teachings, and in the common origins of humanity. No European person is a second class citizen; no person of East Asian or South Asian ancestry can reasonably be seen as such; no person of Indigenous American (North or South) or Pacific Islander descent, nor any person of African or Caribbean ancestry; no Jews, Arabs, Turks, Persians, Afghans, Australian Aboriginals, Central Asians, Saami, Finns, Estonians, or their cousins, the Magyars (Hungarians) who even claim to “whiteness”. None warrant second (or lesser) class status.

There are other classes of people, sometimes regarded as children of a lesser god. People who are unable to walk, speak, hear, see, think clearly; men who are attracted to other men, women who are drawn to other women, people who are drawn to both sexes; people who have undergone gender transition, or who just like to wear the clothing of their opposite gender; people who are mentally ill; those who prefer to live in tents or those who feel the need to live in mansions; one-time law breakers who have served their time and are making a bona fide effort at living a righteous life; ectomorphs or endomorphs; conservatives, liberals, reactionaries or progressives; Christians, Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, Hindus, Wiccans, Sikhs, atheists, agnostics, Naturists, Baha’is; NONE of these deserve to be placed in the “also ran” category.

So, it appears that there is, in the end, no one who warrants less than first class status- in terms of citizenship and access to opportunity. We can’t all be financially wealthy or all be in charge of the community. We can’t all do the same work.

We do, however, deserve a shot at realizing our dreams.

The Tenth Anniversary Torrent

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August 11, 2021- The nimble little girl danced in the rain, barefoot, to the music inside her head, carefully prancing and pirouetting, along a fairly narrow wall between her alley and the parking lot of a nearby restaurant. S captured my heart several years ago, as a shy, grinning toddler, who proudly showed me how well she could ride her tricycle. She and her family are essential to our neighbourhood, alternately taking a leading role in keeping a sense of balance between an “Over 55” mentality and a street overrun with kids, and being, for a short period, the only child-centered family on the block. I don’t mind the street full of kids part at all, as that was the way it was in my childhood-we children were everywhere. I watched S dance, from my living room window, lest she had slipped and fallen-in which case, I’d have been across the street like a shot. Every child who lives in this block has my heart. As it is, they also have my admiration, especially when living out their dreams.

The afternoon had brought a torrent of rain, on top of yesterday’s deluge. As I watched the sheets of precipitation pour down, I was reminded that it was ten years ago, today, that I wrote my first post on Word Press, after my previous blogsite, Xanga, became monetized. There are people I miss from Xanga, that I have not heard from since 2011. There are also those who turned on me, some for good reason, and others in fits of pique. For the most part, I am still in contact, either here or via other social media, with the Xanga friends who have stuck by me.

Many other changes have enveloped me, in this past ten years. Rage stemming form personal affronts now seems cheap and a waste of energy. I no longer harbour thoughts of long-distance thru-hikes of the Appalachian or Pacific Crest Trails, at least for the time being. There is simply too much to be done, with other people around, both here in Home Base and further afield. I am more contemplative, before speaking or acting. A Basal cell has been removed and my immune system has been largely built up.

is There are other ways in which life is the same. My best friends, locally, are for the most part almost a decade or more, younger than me. My contemporaries don’t understand me any better than they ever did. That’s fine; being someone who is humoured and sent on his way has been my lot, among my age-mates, for a very long time. The “kids”, from Gen X to the Alpha Generation, have come to know me better, as I worked with them day-to-day. I can talk with many of them for a long time, without their passing judgement or getting their socks in a knot over some real or imagined slight. There are exceptions, among the Baby Boomers-like my hiking buddy, but it is with those my junior that I am most in my element.

Ten year into Word Press, self-assuredness and recognition that I am a person of worth have grown-and all the journeys of mind and body have only gotten richer.

Firewalls

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August 7, 2021- A firewall guards me, from mayhem both inside and out .

The above verse is a Lune, or “American haiku”. I have thought of several firewalls, which keep my once fearful self in safety.

There is the firewall of respect. It extends to all life, to the healthy relationships people have with one another, to the sanctity of marriage, of parent and child bonds, and to the right of human beings to make their own choices. It also extends to the hope that this respect will be a two-way street-that parents will respect their children, even those in the womb; that children respect their parents and grandparents-as well as one another; that people respect those whose opinions differ from their own, while measuring their own opinions, so that the resulting actions don’t hurt others.

There is the firewall of unconditional love. It, too, extends to all life, and starts with my unconditional love for self, as a child of the Creator. It does not mean I will give someone everything that is requested-especially if I can see that such giving will weaken either me, or the recipient, or both of us. It means that I love each person, where he/she is now. It means I care equally for the people around the beloved, as they are essential to the loved one’s well-being.

There is the firewall of logic and reason. It is dependent on rest, on proactive health and on inner peace, so that the mindfulness which brings it to the fore can flow untrammeled. Logic and reason allow for flexibility, for movement through changing circumstances. They allow for a climate of peace.

There is the firewall of obedience to natural law. It forewarns me of consequences for acting on untoward thoughts and makes me learn from my mistakes. It shows how to get through unexpected turns of events and how to plan for the next time a calamity may strike.

Firewalls have, all in all, kept me on track for what I must do in the short term, and how I might plan for further out. They also remind me that what I did wrongfully, in the past, simply present lessons, from which hopefully I will have learned.

Odds and Ends

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August 5, 2021- August, around here, is both the hottest month of the year-and the month when evenings start to get cooler-at least, after the 15th, or so. Today is a bit on the stifling side, with a fair debate between the National Weather Service and more independent climatologists, as to whether we will get rain again tomorrow, or have to wait until next week. NWS’ default prognosis for our area is always “Mostly Sunny”-which is right, about 60% of the time. The monsoon, thus far, has been a lot more active than NWS predicted, so we’re not badly off.

I will talk more about life with Delta, tomorrow. I haven’t had the boomerang disease, yet, and am fully-vaccinated, so masks are still clean and handy, but not needed all that often. I read a fair amount about kids of friends having COVID, and being kids, after 4 hours of sleep-are ready for a day of fun and games. I miss the days of being on autopilot, NOT!!

I had Elantra serviced once more, after the journey back from New England. In 2022, she will have one long drive ahead-late February to mid-March, across the South. The May & June sojourn to the Northwest, Canada and northern tier of states will be a hybrid train and rental car workout. The Grizzled Gray One will get ample rest, here at Home Base.

For some reason, as I watch the Day Care van pull up, three houses south, I was reminded of the time that, as I was coming back from an errand, late one afternoon in May, a man who seemed to be impaired was crossing the street and stopping in the middle, trying to figure out which way he wanted to walk. Up behind me comes the Day Care van, with a little boy looking like he was doing the potty dance, in the second row of seats, for which the driver passed me on my left, even though this is a two-lane road and my left turn signal was on. Pedestrian was all the more confused, and started doing his own dance, in the middle of the street-looking at me and grinning. Once van had passed, and pedestrian had figured out where the curb was, my sense of “Don’t mind me, I just live here” also went away and I pulled into the driveway.

One can never be too sure of routines staying routine.

Fits and Starts

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August 1, 2021- This is normally the hottest month of the year, even here in Arizona, where people expect heat, much of the time. This year’s monsoon, though, is more active than those of the last three years and there has been rain reported here in Prescott, just about every day since Independence Day-so Mother Nature heeded the fireworks. I will go tomorrow, with my hiking buddy, to Watson Lake and see how much the water levels have been affected by the rather generous precipitation.

Rain often comes during this time, in fits and starts. It could be dry for as long as two weeks, then rainy for almost as many days, and back to dry. My energy level tends to be the same, varying with the heat index, as one would expect. With the added vigilance about sun exposure, especially safeguarding the “little bit of heaven” on the left side of my face, I will limit the hike and other outside activity to an hour or less at a time-and be well protected.

August is saddled with the sobriquet, “Dog Days”, as this is the time of year when dogs are especially either enervated or aggravated by the heat and humidity. School starts up tomorrow, but as I have said earlier, my presence there this year will be limited somewhat-with more of an emphasis on Red Cross activities-if the powers that be in the local organization see fit to have me along to help out.

What Gives?

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July 31, 2021- Stopping by one of my favourite local eateries, this morning, I received the jarring news that the owner of the establishment had come close to death, while I was away. He has recovered somewhat, but was still in an upset frame of mind when I saw him briefly.

There is a shortage of those willing to work, in our community, as elsewhere across the country. Some blame the recovery checks sent out earlier this year. Others point to the continued unemployment benefits being distributed. Having had to collect such benefits, on a few occasions in the past, I find that hard to fathom. Besides, the satisfaction of a job well done far outweighs the dubious bliss of lazing about in bed all day-but maybe that’s just my upbringing talking.

July, and the second journey back East this year, have come to an end. I won’t be leaving the Southwest again this year, barring a family emergency. The cost of the unexpected, but necessary, first trip, in May, and a freely-made investment in an enterprise that has turned out to be a money sink, have used the amount that I budgeted for a European visit, slated for this Fall. I don’t begrudge the entrepreneurs who asked for my contribution, but it is obvious that they did not think the whole thing through, thus their requests for continued donations-which I am refusing. Sometimes, the best thing one can do for another is to let him/her hit rock bottom.

I will make shorter journeys, in the months ahead: A memorial hike, on the Navajo Nation, is tentatively slated for mid-August; a visit to southern California is in the works for mid-September and I plan to spend 1-2 weeks in New Mexico, in mid-October, visiting and re-visiting some favourite parts of the Land of Enchantment. As COVID has pushed everything backward, 2022 looks to be busy enough: Spending time with friends and family in the Deep South, in February-early March; Trans-Canada and across the northern tier of the U.S., in May-early June and the postponed European visit, in October- mid-November. 2023-25 will bring other peregrinations, as well.

One of the most overused cliches in our culture is: “The more you give, the more you get.” I’ve found that usually comes from those who sit back and watch others get taken for a ride. At any rate, I am not buying into the cynicism and the chortling. No one person can be expected to raise others up, in perpetuity, It takes a community tide to lift all boats.

The Trafficked

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July 30, 2021– Ella Mae Begay has been missing nearly two months, with both law enforcement and family/community members looking for her, high and low, since her disappearance. She is a rug weaver, an artist whose traditional Navajo rugs have won her a lot of admiration. It is important to keep referring to her, in the present tense. An abducted or trafficked person should never be cast aside to the public’s opaque memory, as we learned when Elizabeth Smart was rescued, in March, 2003, nine months after her abduction. White women and girls, no less precious than anyone, nevertheless make up a far smaller percentage of the missing and exploited than do people of colour, especially Indigenous Americans.

The number of missing Native Americans is estimated at over 10,000-with 7,700 youth reported missing, as of 2018. Any such estimate is bound to be far lower than the actual number, with such factors as suspicion of outsiders among the families of the missing and family involvement in the disappearance, contributing to non-reporting. It is not just women who disappear, either. A young man, who I knew as a neighbour and student, in the 1990s, has been missing for over a year. His family continues to search and hold out hope-as they should. In the meantime, these families-especially the missing person’s children and spouses, live as if in a hollow shell.

Today is World Day Against Trafficking in Persons, sponsored by the United Nations, whose own record in the matter has been spotty, in the past. That there is recognition of this issue, on a macrolevel, though, is huge progress. While the primary impetus for continued trafficking is easy money, the base for its widespread nature has been the sense that no one will really miss the abducted ones.

Everyone of conscience should miss them-and not give up searching, hounding the traffickers and demanding official action against “the Heads of the Snakes”, and finding as many of the victims as is humanly possible. A large organization, dedicated to this very achievement, is Shared Hope International. I urge those who are sincerely concerned about this issue to support Shared Hope, and any local organization which takes children off the street or otherwise points them towards a life away from exploitation.

https://www.un.org/en/observances/end-human-trafficking-day

July Road Notes, Day 17: Long Trails Winding

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July 21, 2021, Concord, NH- Sam sensed my solemn mood, and honoured my relative silence. It was partly due to where I had just been, and partly due to being a bit worn, by the full day I had just enjoyed. The effervescent young lady continued to make sure I was well-served, while engaging more cheerful patrons in banter and laughter. Thus went my third meal, in five days, at a Ninety-Nine Restaurant. This one was in Augusta, Maine’s capital city, where I had just visited the gravesites of a paternal aunt and uncle, along with the as yet unmarked grave of their eldest son, in Central Maine Veterans Memorial Cemetery.

I left Saugus, the town of my formative years, around 8 in the morning, heading up towards Maine, via I-95. It was a smooth enough drive, near the coastal regions of New Hampshire and southern Maine. I first stopped at Stonewall Kitchen, in York, to pick up gifts for the cousins I would visit first and for friends I will see on Friday evening. Next came the drive, past Portland and its exquisite Casco Bay, to Boothbay Harbor, home to a paternal cousin and his family. I hadn’t seen Tom in nearly 35 years, but had communicated with him recently, about a matter of mutual interest.

Tom and Jamie seem to be doing well, have wonderful children and grandchildren, and a lovely home.

View of one of Boothbay Harbor’s many coves

We talked of each other’s families, for about 1 1/2 hours, over lunch and photo albums. Both of our family branches have had their share of triumphs and tragedies. Both have had wondrous people enter their lives and share all they have-and then some. Tom and Jamie are solid people, who have served children, over the years, on paths similar to those that Penny and I took.

Extended family, Boothbay Harbor, ME

I left the family to their afternoon, which included a well-crafted blanket fort, that the little boys had made, as part of their imaginative use of the living room, and headed towards Augusta, where I would pay my respects to our departed aunt, uncle and cousin. A brief stop in Boothbay Harbor’s west side was in order, for ice cream and a few photos.

Boothbay Harbor
View of Harbormaster’s House, Boothbay Harbor

The drive to Augusta was fairly short, but it took stopping at two places to get directions to the cemetery, as my GPS was pulling its “You’re offline!” tantrum. Once there, I found a well-tended expanse of lawn, with year-by-year indicators of who is laid to rest, and where. I spent about twenty minutes at the gravesites of my family members.

Central Maine Veterans Memorial Cemetery, Augusta

Almost on cue, after twenty minutes, a cold wind whipped up and the dark clouds gathered. I got into the Ninety-Nine, just outside the cemetery gates, just before the rain started. Samantha, the server, kept watch on the skies, as well as on us patrons, and noted after fifteen minutes that the sun was coming back out. She seemed quite intently watching over us all, which I like in a public servant.

I spent about an hour after dinner, walking about downtown Augusta. The city has made great strides in celebrating the Kennebec River and its own heritage, since I was last here, in the late 1970s. Here are some of the scenes, therein.

Olde Federal Building, Augusta, ME
Kennebec Riverwalk, Augusta
Old Fort Western, Augusta

Old Fort Western tells the story of early Augusta and its environs. https://www.augustamaine.gov/old_fort_western/292_years_of_maine___new_england_history.php.

It was closed, and I needed to make further progress westward, so as to not overload myself tomorrow, so after a brief visit to the grounds of Maine’s State Capitol, where I took a few photos, under the watchful eyes of the Capitol Police, onward it was.

Maine State House, Augusta
West entrance, Maine State House, Augusta

Along US 202, I passed through the fields and cities of central and southwest Maine: Winthrop, Lewiston, Auburn, Gray and Sanford, before crossing into New Hampshire, at Rochester, then over to this fair place- New Hampshire’s capital city, which has two motels, cityside. Thus, I stopped into my first Holiday Inn, in over thirty-five years. (I am usually one for the Mom & Pop establishments, but in New Hampshire, those are limited to resort areas.)

After looking around Concord a bit, tomorrow, the itinerary is to cross western New Hampshire, southern Vermont and New York’s southern tier.