Category Archives: Personal goals

The Road to 65, Mile 269: Honour

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August 24, 2015, Chino Valley- I will be working here, in a small Middle School class, from now to Thursday.  Today, a school-wide assembly focused on self-worth and standing up to bullying and intimidation.

I spent some time, in each class, aside from the assembly, getting kids to talk about their individual talents.  Some have “none”- a sublime fallacy.  I must say, though, that when I was their age, I would have said the same thing.  Honouring oneself is a long-term process, but need it be so?

I have a soft place in my heart for teens who feel downtrodden, or beaten down.  This is the time of life when people need special encouragement to stand up for themselves, albeit in a way that is not embarrassing or ostentatious.  There are no uglies in this forest.

The Assembly did a good job of explaining this to the students- and further making the point that a person who follows his or her finer passions, can never be bowled over by the vicissitudes of life.  Several proactive and hard-working teens were shown as examples of how to rise above some very challenging life situations, none of which were of their own making.

One young lady became an archer; another overcame a “lack of talent” in running, and has mastered that skill; a young man, who is very short, became a fine golfer; another young man established several community efforts to help homeless teens.

The students who watched all this, can each overcome their own challenges.  This, as much as anything else, keeps me working in the schools, rather than in retail or in an office, somewhere.  I have a drive, to build honour in yet another rising generation.

UPDATE:  My place, for the foreseeable future, is here in the West.  I spoke with a family member who has his finger on the pulse of things back in Massachusetts.  He reassured me that visiting Mom is a good thing; but it is not necessary for me to move back there, on her behalf.  So, in the interests of being helpful, in the real sense of the word, I stay the course.  I appreciate all the support that various friends and family have offered.  I’ll still visit there, over the holidays, but then it will be right back here to AZ.

The Road to 65, Mile 266: Derailing

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August 21, 2015, Prescott- 

I sat and completed Alice Walker’s book of verse,

While, on Wall Street, the kids played, “Let’s Make Bad, Worse.”

I got more pleas for financial aid,

“Yet the udder is dry”,

Cried out the milk maid.

The name of my game right now is “Wait”,

While the derailing train lumbers past my gate.

This little verse popped into my head, with the full knowledge that life is seldom either as grim, or as spiffy, as we tend to project.  I am currently reading “The Book Thief” and “Dragon and Phoenix”, both somewhat emotionally-challenging accounts of hard times, one based in history and the other, in science fantasy.  Both Christian and New Age accounts of what might happen, in the near future, are making the rounds, these days.  My take is, whatever gets thrown at us, the majority of us will be able to handle it, somehow and survive.  We might have to make some fundamental changes in how we do things, with, and to, one another, but we will be okay, as a planet.

The Road to 65, Mile 261: Trusting the Journey

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August 16, 2915, Prescott-  It is coming down to a very telling choice.  Perhaps as early as November, maybe not until January, 2017, or at some point in between the two, my intuition is telling me it’s time to move on.

I say November, because by then, my pledges to the Yavapai County Angels and Hope Fest will have been honoured, the snows will be gathering in Massachusetts, and I don’t want to leave my mother alone, in that house where we grew up, while the rest of my family is facing stresses of their own.

I say it’s time to move on, because all my friends in this town of Prescott are doing just fine, and will continue to be fine whether I’m here or not.  Truth is, I am spending more, in a modestly expensive apartment, with minimal day-to-day work, then I have in any given month on the road, these past few years. I am not a salesman, yet I have looked to help people with a product in which I believe, but without seed money, one cannot do much in establishing an essential oils trade, and I am NOT going to go the “Fund Me” route.  I have been offered a minimum wage position as an apartment complex manager, but would still have to pay my own full rent- so that’s out.

I have had some places come into my head, in quiet moments.  I could settle in a more economical living space, live in a place where  I could pretty much walk to a school, where I could substitute teach, and a few such places have entered my consciousness.  I could also go somewhere where people live in community, not in semi-anonymity.  Places where my presence would be discomfiting to people I know online or in real time, and there are a few such people, would not be on my list of options.

These are all rather petty-sounding, I know, and many have it far worse than me.  The issue for me, though, is more existential.  It’s more a matter of no place having really felt like home, since Penny passed.  It’s more a matter of people having their own priorities and life patterns, in which someone like me does not belong.  I know, that will be the same, no matter where I go, and that will be something I have to face.  My welcome here, though, is wearing thin, and so it’s time to trust the journey and start planning ahead.

UPDATE:  I will be removing a couple of photos from a post I did on Santa Monica, a few weeks ago, and hopefully the post will be less discomfiting to those concerned.

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.