Category Archives: Personal goals

The Road to 65, Mile 259: Grateful

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August 14, 2015, Prescott- Today is slower than slow, and that’s okay, as it gives me a chance to focus on people in my life, for whom I’m grateful.  In another post, I will focus on places that give me the same feeling.  This post was inspired by a similar one, done a few weeks ago by one of the people mentioned here:  My next-eldest brother.  It, in turn, was originated by one Alex Lucado,in an inspirational book he wrote, entitled “Before Amen”.  Suffice it to say, we can never feel, or express, enough gratitude for what those close to us have done, said, or been, in our lives.

This is an A to Z format:

A– Aram, my son, whose very existence has defined the greater part of my adulthood, and whose achievements make me proud, every single day.  “Art Wolfen”, my fellow writer and free spirit, whose stories put me in touch with so many other dimensions. Al Sinquah, who taught me so much of Native American culture and etiquette.  ‘Abdu’l-Baha, for being the Perfect Exemplar of all to which one ought strive.

B- My late brother, Brian, who first taught me compassion.  Bob Duncomb, one of my many consciences and a Keeper of the Flame, always walking his talk. Barbara Boivin, my sister-in-law, for being the rock of the family.  Most of all, Baha’u’llah, my Lord and Guide to all that is good.

C– Cheryl, my sister and first friend, for being there, and for never giving up on anything that matters.  Chris Boivin, my eldest nephew, who cemented my love of children, before I had a child of my own.  Curtis Salt, my youngest nephew, one of the most creative people I’ve ever known.  Then, there are about five Christ(i)ys- Every one a friend and inspiration.

D- I know many Davids, but  my brother rises above the rest .  Few have taken it upon themselves to tell me what I needed to hear, when I least wanted to listen, and time has borne him out.  No one I know has worked harder.  His rock, Deb, has been at his right-hand side through all of it.

E– Emily Atticus, another of my steadfast friends and consciences, who will also tell me what I need to hear, and pull my fingers away from my ears.  My late uncle, John “Ellie” Reilly, always good with a story, and moral support.

F– My father, Fred, who never gave up on me, though he had a devil of a time understanding what made me tick.  He’s still guiding me from the other side of the curtain.

G– Glenn, my youngest living brother, and ten shades of amazing.  If I accomplish a tenth of what he has achieved, I will consider myself fortunate.

H– Helen Hamilton, my surrogate mother, never letting an untucked shirt go unnoticed.  “Happy Oasis”, my primary teacher in all that is natural and sustainable.  Most of all, my late aunt, Hazel Reilly, the best surrogate mother one could ever have.

I-  Irene Mullins, without whom the American Legion Post would be a far emptier place.

J– Here is where I run the table:  John E. Glaze, Johnny Light, my nephew, Jeff Boivin, Jerry Bathke, Janet Waters, Jenn Winters,Jack Ray- I could write a tome on how much each has given to my life and sense of well-being.

K– My niece, Kim, one of the most loving souls in this plane of existence.  Kyrsten Sinema, keeping fighting the good fight and marching to your own drummer.

L– Mom’s the word.  The most meaningful, and hardest-earned, words of approval I ever hear come from my mother, Lila.   She has been about love and devotion, for over six decades.  When the time comes to give back to her, I am ready.

M– Another gold mine of inspiring people:  My nieces, Marcy and Melanie, tirelessly raising solid families; my friend and collaborator, Melissa Monahan; Mark Bradley, another conscience;  my spiritual guide, Marcia Brehmer; my soul sister, Michele Smith; my nephew, Matt Boivin, building the good life, almost from scratch.

N- My late father-in-law, Norm Fellman, by far the most influential man in my adult life, and a national hero for the ages.  My nephew, Nick Boivin, a master of wise choices and solid goals.

O- The O’Neil family, who had our backs, when we were kids.

P– There is only one, my late wife, and best friend ever, Penny.  Every morning and night, hers is the first and last face I see.  Her thoughts constantly guide me, even through an occasional bout of darkness.

Q– The late John Quinlan, the first person ever to get me to make sense of mathematics.

R– My youngest niece, Rebecca, following us into teaching and making a difference in another rising generation.

S–  Sheryl Colstock, a true angel; Steve Salt, my brother-in-law and quiet well-wisher; Sara Davis, my niece, who matters far more than she may think.

T- Tom Belmonte, my best friend in high school and early adulthood.  Terry McWade, another inspiration and personal hero.

U– Uncle George Boivin, still thriving, at close to 90 years of age, and so creative in a wide range of artisanship.

V- Van Gilmer, one of the most talented singers and choirmasters I’ve ever known.

W- My late Uncle Walter Boivin, who gave me the courage to stand up for myself. Wes Hardin, always ready with a tale of the Texas Panhandle.

X– Anyone not mentioned here, who has had an impact on my life.  You are in my mind and heart- never ignored.

Z- Zakiah Sayeed, physican, artiste and author.  She is a model of what I might achieve, when I grow up.

The Road to 65, Mile 253: Auspicious Days

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August 8, 2015, Granite Dells- I spent the greater part of this afternoon at Heaven on Earth B & B, in this lushest area of greater Prescott.  Friends Happy and John had their first event since the Illumine Film Festival, in May (which I missed, having been in Reno at the time.)  It was the first of three Launch Parties, by Green Living Magazine, a monthly eco-friendly living publication, out of Phoenix.  I went over, after two different friends mentioned it to me, independently; the second having followed me through Prescott Public Library, specifically to let me know of the event.

So, always glad to head out to the Dells, I drove over, after first checking out the Mountain Arts and Crafts Fair and a performance by a quintet of young ladies, playing violins and fiddles. The afternoon was then spent with presentations by various advocates of healthy living, from GMO-Free Prescott and Slow Food, to which I belong, to an essential oils distributor.  John sang, gently and sincerely, of “The Golden Age” and the powerful local artist, Celia, lent her rousing voice to the mood of the day- with three amazing songs.

One of the points which Happy made, during her emcee moments, was that today is  a triple treat:  8 8 8. This is how it has worked, since 2010:  March 3, of that year, was 3 3 3,  because if one adds 2+1, one gets 3, so 2+0++1+0 = 3.  April 4, 2011, thus sums up as 4 4 4, and so on, through December 12, 2019, which will be 12 12 12.

I have felt the “double dates” to be auspicious enough, from January 1 to December 12.  New Year’s Day is special for many people, just because of the sense of a new beginning.  We will dispense with 2/2, as some sort of prognosticatory event and note that some thawing starts, in some places, around that time. 10/10 is a National Day for Taiwan, commemorating the day when the revolt of the Chinese people against the corrupt Regent of the Realm, and his underlings, first got traction, resulting in the abdication, four months later, of the pre-teenaged Emperor, Pu Yi, in favour of Gen. Yuan Shi Kai. Yuan’s Nationalist Party eventually established what is now the Republic of China, on Taiwan. (Yes, Dr. Sun Yat-sen was the first elected President of China, but politics is complicated, and the Army stood in Dr. Sun’s way.)

The double dates most special to me are 6/6, the day that Penny and I were married (eighteen months, to the day, after we first met), and 7/7, the day that Aram was born.  I’ve often speculated as to whether some other double date will be special in my life, but now I think that might be rather gluttonous on my part. I will always treasure the two days, in mid-year, which have defined my adulthood.

Now I look to the task of viewing every day as auspicious.

The Road to 65,Mile 252: Frugal

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August 7, 2915, Prescott- Having been generous towards myself and others,                                                                                             I am going through August with a bit more caution.                                                                                             If you don’t see me out and about, sisters and brothers,                                                                                     Don’t assume I’m sitting around, noshin’.                                                                                                           My main goal right now is to not be a bother,                                                                                                     So I’m hanging around home, not here and there,rushin’.

The Road to 65, Mile 251: Dimensions

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August 6, 2015, Prescott- In the course of seeking permission from Four Worlds International Institute, to a) become a member and b) offer comment on its 16 Principles, I came upon a blog offering some discussion of a reported international effort to fend off an electromagnetic force, which some believe is approaching Earth.  Those who believe in the possible event point to various happenings, over the past several years, from the Indian Ocean tsunami of 2004, to the Japanese earthquake of 2011, to the increase in seemingly random acts of inane behaviour, such as movie theater shootings, or deliberately driving the wrong way, on a superhighway, then loudly shouting that this is a constitutional right.

There are many ways to deal with the outlandish.  One way is summon fear and devise various means of fending off catastrophe.  Supposedly, this is the intention behind the Cern Supercollider, housed somewhere in the Alps.  It also explains the various Doomsday cults and sects that make themselves known, from time to time.

There is also a “business-as-usual” approach, of denial. Those who adhere to this point to the historical ability of human beings to rise from wreckage, and to restore what is, essentially, a society built on commerce, relationships and routine.  Catastrophic weather or geological events are followed by recovery and rebuilding, with varying degrees of success.  After all, no one has rebuilt Pompeii, as it was, nor, definitively, found Noah’s Ark, nor has the country of Haiti fully recovered from its earthquake of 2010.

Others, including myself, take more of a zen approach to the whole affair.  Suppose there is an electromagnetic force, and it hits Earth in, say, 2020.  I have no idea where I would be then, no notion of who among my widening circle of family and friends will be with me at that point, and no idea how the various geophysical consequences of such a magnificent and terrifying envelopment of our planet would be.  I know that I have survived several challenging events, some tragic, up to now.  I know that my business is not anywhere near “as usual” as it was in 1994, or even in 2002. I know that some quite astonishing things have happened to, and around, me- so that taking a mundane approach to life does not work, for me.  Nor, however, does an apocalyptic mindset.  Both presume that change is something to be dreaded.

All the Divine Messengers, and a good many humanistic philosophers, point to both the eternal nature of the Universe, and to the existence of several dimensions.  We tend to think of four such measures:  Length, width, height and time.  These, we can experience on a daily basis.  I know something of the fifth dimension, which is most commonly experienced through mental communication with others, “body language”, and even communication with departed souls- though the last one is something I choose to approach with caution.  I have felt Penny’s presence, many times, since her passing.  Others, including my father, her father, my grandparents and my late youngest brother, have also communicated with me, on several occasions.  They know what I am experiencing, and have helped, when needed.  I, however, cannot know what they are experiencing, anymore than a fetus can know what a person outside his/her mother’s womb is enduring.

There are other dimensions, which some call parallel worlds, past lives, future choice paths and even “Other Universes.”  Such speculation, I chalk up more to the finite minds of those using such terms.  I believe that, in restricting the number of possible dimensions to ten, we are simply reflecting the limits of our intellect- as it is now.  Those of our descendants who look back on all this, a millennium or two from now, may well chuckle at String Theory, as we now view it,having built on it and transcended the false parts, much as we look back on the theories of the Classical Greeks, or Sir Isaac Newton.

I only know that I have today with which to work, to appreciate and enjoy and from which to learn.  Planning for tomorrow, next week, Christmas-time, and the year 2020 will help make those times fruitful; yet, whatever transpires, I adjust and move on.

The Road to 65,Mile 249: Repression and Resilience

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August 4, 2015, Prescott-   One of the features of life on Earth that most sticks in my craw is the mistreatment of children.  This morning, I spent about ninety minutes, listening to one of the people I most admire in this world:  Philip N. Lane, Jr., an hereditary chief of the White Swan band of the Dakota Nation.  Chief Phil has been working with indigenous people, in various parts of the world, for over thirty-five years.  His focus has been the creation of a culture of dignity and positive self-regard, aspects of life that were long repressed among Native Peoples, by the dominant culture, in the name of “assimilation”.

Indigenous North Americans, Andeans, Amazonians, Siberians, Saami, Hawaiians, Maori,Native Australians, Ainu, Hill Tribesmen of northeast India, Dravidians, Native Saharans, and the nomadic peoples of the Kalahari and Namib deserts have long been told their cultures and ways of life do not jibe with “reality”, as identified by the powers that be, in their lands of residence.

One of the most effective ways that conquerors have found, in creating a culture of self-loathing, and hence submission, is to remove the children of the repressed ones from their home communities, place them in compulsory residential schools, and systematically quash all traces of the native culture within the psyches and personas of the child-residents.  This was done in the United States, Canada and the Soviet Union, throughout much of the Twentieth Century, with an actual view towards “turning savages into human beings.”

I grew up seeing, and sometimes receiving, corporal punishment in a regular public school in Massachusetts, in the late 1950’s and early 1960’s.  I have been grabbed and shaken by an angry teacher, seen a friend in another class thrown violently against a wall and witnessed other unnecessary acts, harmful acts, by teachers, administrators, and, later, by a Catholic priest, who was ultimately found guilty, defrocked and disgraced.

As a new teacher, I found myself initially subscribing to forceful techniques, though thankfully not to the extent that a child suffered lasting damage.  I owned up to it,made amends, and was able to move on to more humane and effective ways of correcting misbehaviour.  It was a long road, but I was then able to focus on helping the abused children to recognize that they were not at fault, that the beatings I witnessed at a private boarding school, in the late 1970’s were the true aberration, and that no one should have to suffer in silence, or alone.

Getting back to the Native American boarding schools, and many of the Federal and state day schools:  The schools which “served” Indian, Native Alaskan, and Native Hawaiian children, like the Black and Hispanic schools, under Jim Crow laws, were hotbeds of cultural repression, language extinction and harrowing punishment, which included acts of sexual violence against children and teenagers.  The most casual and innocent use of a Native tongue was punished, severely, by school staff ( I will not use the term, “teacher”, here. These individuals negated the definition of the word.).  These individuals were both secular and clergy, and had no other goal than the advancement of the national economy.  Money trumped all else, as it often still does.

Chief Phil Lane, Jr. was a recipient of this kind of miseducation and ,to this day, has had to continuously re-educate, and re-train himself, which he is doing admirably.  I have met many people, in the indigenous communities, and in the wider world, who have expressed hatred for who they think I am, based on my light skin, brown hair and blue eyes.  The only remedy for this, given what these people have endured, is patience, and staying the course of building a healing environment.

We still have a long way to go, and I am grateful to Phil Lane, and others who have arisen to outline what needs to be done.  I will introduce his 16 Principles of creating a nurturing culture, in a series of posts, very soon.

The Road to 65, Mile 248: Dog Days

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August 3, 2015, Prescott- This is the week that school resumes in Yavapai County, so this morning, I went over to Prescott High School and made an appearance at the Faculty and Staff Convocation Breakfast, loading up on light pastries and fruit, saying hello to a few teachers I recognized and just observing the overall mood of the group, from my solo seat at an empty table.  Most everyone was chirpy and cheerful, within their little groups, though a few of those whom I know to be loners, who live for their kids and their jobs, looked wan and drained from the heat.

I went from there to a weekly coffee klatsch at a Seniors Apartment Complex, in Prescott Valley.  There were more goodies and coffee, of which I took a small portion.  The conversation was quickly dominated by a wheelchair-bound man, of about 80, who complains there is little for him to do, since he can no longer drive.  This is a considerable problem for those who choose to live in such places, or have such places chosen for them, by “loved ones”.  I sat and let him pontificate, nonstop, for about 45 minutes.  Then it was time for him to go pay his rent, so I also went about my business, which today consisted of trying to contact a friend who doesn’t want to be contacted, but is at risk, and of shuffling some money around, so as to pay a person who needed his balance due, a day early.

Dog Days are handled, one day at a time.  It is hot here (91), though nowhere near as hot as in Phoenix (110, at Sky Harbor Airport) or southeast Iran (135).  I took a  conference call, at 6 PM.  By 7, it had cooled down enough, so that I went to Planet Fitness, and gave my physical frame a 45-minute workout. As I exercised,  Castle was trying to find out whether, and how, James Brolin’s character was being framed for a murder that it looked like he committed, but maybe didn’t.  When I got home, I tried to find an old episode of Criminal Minds, in which Tim Curry plays a serial killer, who abducts a 9-year-old girl, after killing her father in cold blood.  The girl gives Curry’s character the slip, after a fashion, and he is killed by the police, while pursuing her.  Nasty stuff, this, and it turns out that CBS doesn’t want us watching old episodes of its shows, unless we pay up front.  This is odd, since I can view current shows online, the day after they are aired.

Dog Days are slow, but they are still full.  Tomorrow, I will be busy with a conference call about Native American Boarding Schools in the morning, Red Cross stuff in the afternoon, and get ready for whatever job assignments come my way, later this week, when school resumes.

The Road to 65, Mile 245: Fragmentation

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July 31, 2015, Prescott- I had a lot of time to think, today, about the recent controversy over whether it is possible to care about animals, when so many people are suffering.  This is the dream of the charlatan:  Get people fighting over compassion, like toddlers over toys.  Then, with everyone screaming at one another, ad nauseam, achieve the power-building agenda, sight unseen.

For the record, I care, equally, about wild animals, fetuses, children, teenagers, women’s sense of well-being and dignity, men’s sense of being relevant, maintaining a healthy environment and a healthy diet, and  my own personal growth.  It is called living a full and balanced life.

No one, not the advocates of one cause or another, nor their opponents, nor least of all the wirepullers, who would be thrilled to see total confusion and lack of progress, lest their seats of power become upended, will get me to favour one of the above, to the detriment of the others.  We can’t care about everything, simultaneously, but we can take time for each – just as we eat at certain times, then do our jobs, then rest, then exercise, then play with our children or pets, then read,  then sleep.  What parent worthy of the name exclusively attends to one of their children, and ignores the others?  It is the same with the various aspects that present themselves to us.

I care, intensely, that whales  and lions are being slaughtered for sport; that people are videotaped making glib comments about dead fetuses (though the authenticity of these videos is suspect); that armed criminals can blend in with mothers and children, cross an international border (for a second time, after having been deported) and kill innocent people at point-blank range; that religious zealots can oppress people, at will; that many women, and more than a few men, feel disempowered by capriciously-applied rules and regulations.

I was born caring, and will stay that way.

The Road to 65, Mile 242: Friends Are Us

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Posted by on in "sibling-ish", collaborating, distraction issues, impediments, Personal goals, Social

July 28, 2015, Prescott- Get used to this byline; most of my posts, especially during the week, will be “Prescott”.  I tend to get more free-wheeling with these, as my travel blog readers disappear.

More about the topic of friendships:  A friend in another state recently said same-gender friendships are very important (partly in response to my comment about having a large number of women friends).  The choice is not apples or oranges.  It’s a healthy mix of the two.  When I socialize with groups of people, there are men, with whom I discuss some aspects of life; women with whom I discuss other aspects of life; and “mixed” groups, where the conversation is general. None of these are confined to “safe” topics.

My best friend, for thirty years, was my late wife.  We had no secrets, kept no grudges and worked together on just about everything.  My next-best friend was a man, with whom I could also discuss just about anything, over the 31 years we knew one another.  He was also very honest, in a loving way and guided me through some very rough patches after Penny’s passing.  Mike could say “No, you don’t!”, when acquiescence would have easier, but less authentic.

I have many friends, around the continent, and a few in Europe, Australasia and southeast Asia, with whom I can discuss a variety of topics, get honest feedback and correct things as I need to.  I am also here for them, in that way.  This list is not a gender-heavy or age-heavy roster.

There is one woman friend, here, with whom I am collaborating on a venture.  Our friendship is more “sibling-ish” than anything else, with plenty of free-wheeling discussion and any illusions either of us had of romance were dispelled early-on.  Were she to meet a good man, tomorrow, and at long last have a life relationship, I’d be the first to congratulate.  There was a time in my life when I had to deal with distraction issues.  Over the past year or so, especially since having visited Europe, I see these issues for what they are:  Impediments to real friendship.

I guess it’s largely a matter of maturing, and clearing one’s inner eye.

The Road to 65, Mile 241: Unbound

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July 27, 2015, Prescott- As I sat in my living room recliner, this morning, my upstairs neighbour assumed his usual stance, midway up the stairs, and stared at me through the window, for a few minutes, then went on his way, when I nodded at him, with a slight smile.

A bit later, I checked e-mail and found a rather officious note from a friend in another community, instructing me as to how I was to do a certain task, with which he is loosely involved.  I also noticed some people getting on another friend’s case, for the way she was dealing with a recent loss.

One of the odd things about being in a relatively unstratified society is that many of us create our own stratification, with ourselves atop the fray.  I am uncomfortable, any more, with coming across as a Know-It-All, or as some sort of ad hoc authority figure sitting on an imaginary Ivory Throne.  There have been times when I was inclined to stick my nose in others’ business, and none of those has ever ended well.  Likewise, I am very much disinclined to accept adjudication from anyone other than the police, the administration of the Baha’i Faith, my landlord or a legitimate supervisor on a job in which I’m engaged.

Years ago, we left South Korea, rather than submit to the supervision of a self-styled “CIA agent”, who turned out to have no ties to the Central Intelligence Agency, which was not at all pleased with his ruse.  He had cultivated friends in high places in the Korean hierarchy, though, which made things rather uncomfortable for us. I have had run-ins, a few times since then, with self-appointed authority figures.

Our son has described Penny and me as “free spirits”, and to some extent, I still am, even with her being in the Spirit Realm.  I don’t have much, other than my own well-being, with which to tend, though a situation is looming in the background, later this year and into next, which could be a game-changer.  I will have more to say about that, as time goes on.  For the present, though, I feel unbound, free to accept any task or opportunity that comes my way, so long as it is not impoverishing or leads me to become a burden to others.

The Road to 65, Miles 239-40: Random Thoughts On A Lazy Weekend

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July 25-26, 2015, Prescott- There was, on purpose, little on my agenda this weekend.  I went to a devotional gathering on Friday night, and caught up with my Chino Valley friends.  The meal is always great.  Actually, I end up with two meals, as the Veterans’ Potluck, where informal attendance is taken, happens the same night as the devotional.  I have the heart, and a discretional-enough eating habit to attend both events.

Saturday gave me time to think, long and hard, about friends.  I know who the true ones are, here, online and in other parts of the country.  Those who have come and gone, at least meant well, initially-but fear, personality differences and age gaps can put a damper on any number of friendships. I was glad to have spent time with my faithful friends in California, Nevada, and Oregon and to have made a few new friends here and there in Alaska.

I have an outside chance to work for the Red Cross, though the word is that the folks in Washington already have someone picked out for the vacancy.  We will carry on, regardless.

This morning, (Sunday), I sat and bantered with the Old Major for a bit, then joined my Baha’i friends at Goldwater Lake.  It’s a fine, wooded, fishing reservoir, south of town, and we have gathered there, once a year, for a Cowboy Breakfast.  I don’t have leather boots or a Stetson, but I did bring the sausages for grilling.  One time, a couple of years back, I brought my solar oven along.  We tried toasting bread in it and ended up with sliced hard tack.  Heck, that’s part of a chuck wagon, right?

Book wise,this summer, I have finished Mr. Penumbra’s 24-Hour Bookstore, Crota, Death and White Diamonds, The Fortune Cookie Chronicles, and Looking for Alaska, and am a bit more than halfway through Seven Years in Tibet.  I‘ve mentioned most of these before, but making a total list looks a bit better.

I have developed a habit of deleting most e-mailed requests for money.  Along the same lines, I am getting rid of my land line phones, soon, since the only calls I get on them are from solicitors.  My true friends and family all have my cell # number.

It was a nice weekend- little noise and the Second Wild Woman of the West, who frequents the bar & grill next door, wasn’t throwing any temper tantrums.