Category Archives: Personal goals

Dystopia

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I have a propensity for watching TV shows and films which have a dystopian theme:  Revolution, The Black List, Person of Interest, Game of Thrones, Hunger Games, Divergent, Ender’s Game.  I mainly like to see how the protagonists solve their dilemmas, though in too many cases, the choice is “Blam, Blam”.  Revolution got old, and formulaic, so it’ll be consigned to Hulu after one last episode.

Dystopia, the collapse of all we know and either love or hate, the primal turn to either a Lord of the Flies mentality, a Glengarry, Glenross or 1984 mindset, or both, seems to be much on everyone’s mind.  Despite my fascination with these shows, however, I don’t see an actual, full-blown dystopia as the long-term wave of the future.  Yes, we may very well endure a stretch of trials and tribulations, which won’t lend themselves to a quick return to “Business as Usual”, but I believe there will emerge something far better.

People are bound to notice that there are those who are building a better, more organized and less officious civilization from whatever ashes to which the old systems lead.  Some won’t want anything to do with it, but most will, over a period of decades.  I have had several iterations of my own life, in which, as Baha’u’llah, Founder of the Baha’i Faith wrote “Poverty is followed by riches, and riches are followed by poverty…” His meaning is that material possessions come and go, but He is emphatic in saying that we will always have what we need.

With Paul Simon, in “Peace Like a River”,  I see a glorious Day.

Connectedness

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In the various stretches of downtime which I was given these past several days, I read the book, “Proof of Heaven”, by Eben Alexander, a psychiatrist who experienced a particularly acute Near Death Experience, a few years ago.  It is notable that he saw the intense interconnectedness of subatomic particles during his time in coma.  This very phenomenon has been documented, in the past few years, by Quantum Physicists.  It underscores the absolute relatedness of all things, both moving and inert.

I had lots of time to think about this aspect of our life.  Indeed, it is the most basic feature of all life in the Universe, at all levels.  This brings me to a confirmation:  All life seeks connection to all other life.  Let’s stick to how this might apply to human beings, for the present.

I drew a few conclusions about our relations with one another.  First, when people seek connection with others, we are persistent in various ways.  It is the longing for connection that spurs criticism, clinginess, flirting, awkward approach, the furtive glance, officiousness and lack of boundaries.  These behaviours represent our sense that we are connected, while remaining uncertain as to just how this is so.  Thus, we engage in trial and error.

Second, although each of us may indulge in one or another of these behaviours, we are put off by those who exhibit them towards us.  This is perhaps because, as one child once said, “We GET it!”  Each of us has the basic spiritual sense that we are one with all else.  We don’t need, or want, someone to overwhelm us with more than the natural flow of contact.  We don’t like to have insecurity, either our own, or another’s, interrupt the flow.

Third, perhaps the overriding purpose of this life, which is to know and love God (or the Creative Force, Om, or whatever you wish to call the One Who generated all things), is indeed a series of trials and errors- from which each of us needs to draw lessons which will serve us well, throughout the course of our own eternities.

Finally, as to why some people seek separation- perhaps this is a natural, if counterproductive, reaction to being repeatedly hurt by those with whom we have interacted, and who, for reasons of their own, have failed to understand what we need.

I came away from this read and meditation far more at peace with those around me, and far less inclined to feel put off by, or exhibit, behaviours such as those I mentioned in the first paragraph.  Life remains a glorious set of challenges and growth spurts.

Boys and Men

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“Grama died”, the little girl said to her older brother.  Even though the bacon and scrambled eggs their father had whipped up was scrumptiously inviting, the ten-year-old boy knew what he had to do.  He went back upstairs, into his parents’ bedroom and wrapped his arms around his sobbing mother.  The human spirit is ever-prescient.

Some twenty years earlier, in another town, far to the south, a 16-year-old boy had just received his driver’s license.  His father’s brand-new car had the detached bumper that was in fashion back then.  He proudly headed “around the block”, to run an errand for his Dad, while showing his friends his good fortune.  One of his buddies talked him into going for a short spin, so he took the kid along to the store.  When the friend was dropped off, the new driver got too close to the curb, and managed to snag the bumper, ripping it from the frame.  Six months and dozens of chores later, his father gave him back the license.  The human spirit can be very easily clouded.

I’ve always been glad to be male.  My boyhood was somewhat coloured by having been alternately blessed and cursed with an independent worldview, a forgiving soul and an autistic brain- which was tempered by my thirst for learning and by being part of a large, loving family.  My affliction is mild enough that I have never needed a special program or altered scheduling.  It has brought perceptual problems, every so often, but life, overall has been just fine.

My mother once said no male is a real man until he hits 40.  Boys tend to lay their difficulties on someone else’s doorstep.  Men, like my late father and father-in-law, are not thrilled by life’s difficulties, but take the burden of their resolution onto their considerably broad shoulders.  By that standard, I have flipped back and forth between manhood and boyhood at least twenty-dozen times, since I turned 18.  To my great relief, though, boyhood has been a thing of the past, for at least five years.  In my case, my Mom was about  18 years off.  Life has a way of burning the rough edges off anyone, or anything.

The great men in my life, though, have always shown a puckish spirit.  Norm Fellman, my father-in-law, who left us on Wednesday, had a sense of fun that was second to none.  It probably kept his father from clobbering him when the car got mangled, and certainly kept him alive when the Nazis captured him, in the fog of the Battle of the Bulge, in 1944.  By all accounts, he ended up largely getting the better of them, in the end- despite the harrowing, horrific circumstances of his 100 days of Hell, in Berga, Germany.

I learned a lot from Norm, from my Dad, and from so many in the GI Generation.  The boy who comforted his mother, on the death of his beloved Grama, is now in the grandparent range himself.  So, no matter what pleasures present themselves, and what difficulties appear, to be resolved, it’s on this man to take the bull by the horns.

God bless you, Norm, and we’ll keep the faith for ya.

The Others

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Later this evening, I will post about the Prescott Historic House Tour, part of our city’s Sesquicentennial Celebration, and Chalk It Up, an annual chalk-art festival.  Both took place this past weekend, as did a Cinco de Mayo Block Party, in Courthouse Square.

First, though, a bit of seriousness.  Let me go further with what I wrote yesterday about the journeys on which each of us is embarked.

Human beings, alone among species, sort those they see as strangers into categories of “race”, skin tone, ethnicity, Faith, gender and sexual orientation( of course, we are the only species which experiences the latter as a life condition).  To be sure, other animals, from ants to prairie dogs to wolves and dolphins, sort by family group and/or territory.  This is all part of territoriality and population control.

Our extra selection processes, really, don’t make much sense.  There is no qualitative difference between me and any of my friends who happen to be Black, but in the 1960’s, there was no way any of them would have been able to live in a family home in the town where I came of age, outside of a small designated area on the south side of town.  That’s changed now, of course, and it was with great personal satisfaction that I learned, in 1996, that my maternal grandmother’s house was purchased by an accomplished attorney of African-American descent.

I thought of all this, while taking in the various events of Cinco de Mayo weekend, in downtown Prescott.   People of all backgrounds are welcome here.  Although Prescott has a tendency towards political conservatism, there seems little bigotry.  Those of us who indulge in politics at all, tend to be of Libertarian bent.

I’ve always had a hard time understanding prejudice, and while working to rid myself of my own pre-conceived notions, which I found confusing, the whole concept of “Other” had to be allowed to surface, and float away.  Young Black men, when I was in my twenties, did me the honour of challenging me to show that I was recognizing, and casting aside, the subtleties which I had picked up in childhood.  I was hurt and angered by my white peers’ callous reaction to the killing of  Martin Luther King, Jr., in 1968.  He hurt no one, and helped as many of us as would listen to what he had to say.

Still and all, I have had to recognize my own sense of  “Other”.  This separation is a worldwide thing, though.   Many East Asians have trouble with Whites and Blacks being in their midst.  Africans separate by tribe; West Asians, by Faith; Russians, by language.  Some of this “otherness” is rooted in hurt; some of it stems from fear.

The fact remains, however, that we are all connected.  I see this sense of connectedness increasing, incrementally, among Millennials and the current generation of children.  It’s definitely a process, not an event.  Racist teens and twenty-somethings, though, are regarded by the majority of their peers as having mental problems.  This cuts across all racial and ethnic groups, and political affiliations.

The kids are onto something.  “Otherness” is a learned paradigm.  Then again, so is helplessness.

Inward, Outward and Onward

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We are each on a journey of some sort.

I’ve had a lot of thoughts and a few conversations, over the past month or so, as to what sort of person always seems to be on the move, and what exactly is it that such a person is seeking.  I can only speak for myself.  I have been peripatetic from Day 1, it seems, and not just in the sense of exploring new physical locations or different scenes.  My nose has been in a book, far more often than my feet have been moving forward.  Ironically, though I love to be walking here and there, when the occasion requires, I can sit still for hours on end, patiently reading, watching the most inane TV shows or just letting my mind wander.  This last characteristic served me well during my Penny’s final year- much of which I spent at her bedside- because there was no place I wanted to be more.

Whether one is engaged in a building project, sitting at dockside with a fishing pole in hand, coaching a soccer team, designing jewelry, doing one’s taxes or climbing Sagarmatha, a journey is a journey.  There may be miscalculations and setbacks along the way, and re-dos are the task of the lucky.  The rest end up in one abyss or another.

This brings me to relationships.  I was more fortunate than I can ever express outwardly, that I had the companionship of a blithe spirit and keen intellect for thirty years.  I will have a spiritual bond with Penny for all eternity, and there will never be a time when I don’t feel her presence.  I am fortunate to be surrounded by family, in an ever-distant outward ring, which is nevertheless always pulsating.  I am fortunate, too, to have friends both near and far- those who understand me, and still refrain from judging.

Some ask, why do you not want another companion?  The quick answer is, I am a self-contained unit, and always have been.  Penny drew me out and aided me to build on what my parents instilled in each of us- to be urgently aware of our surroundings, and BE HELPFUL.   I’m far from dead, emotionally, and see women I consider attractive, in one way or another, every day.  The most important thing, though, is that I have finally learned that it is the friendship, not the attraction, that sets us free.  I would rather have a hundred good friends, or a thousand, than be in any relationship where one of us is feeling like “Damn it, I can do better.”

So, I am happy to have the friends in my life, female and male, young and old, on whom I can count and who can count on me, with no ulterior motives.  We are each on a journey, every minute of every day, and it is a fine thing to see a traveler smile along the way.

The Mists of Jindo

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Park Jee-yung dropped out of college, and went to work on a Korean domestic ferry, when her father passed on, two years ago.  It’s what Korean children do for their families, in the Confucian tradition of filial piety. Two weeks ago,  Miss Park found herself, along with nearly 400 other young people and 75 elders, on an ill-fated journey to Jeju, Korea’s holiday mecca, some 60 miles off the southwest tip of the Korean Peninsula.  This journey entailed sailing from a port in the Seoul area, and thus a potentially treacherous voyage through countless areas of rock and reef.  The story of how the journey ended is gradually unfolding:  Essentially, an inexperienced and unconfident helmsman, scarcely more than a child herself, lost her way and the ship foundered into a mess of rocks.  It’s not certain where the ship’s captain was during this time, but it is notable that he left the ship while most of his passengers remained aboard, and the ship was going inexorably down.

Park Jee-yung stayed with the teenagers, going as many places on board as time allowed, finding life vests for her younger charges and trying to get as many on board life rafts as she could.  Survivors reported that Miss Park repeatedly refused to leave the ship, saying it was the crew’s duty, and thus hers, to be the last to leave. So it went- for her, and possibly other crewmates, though not for the senior ship officials.  This has become de rigeur, in recent years, for the crews of troubled vessels, but I digress.

I lived in Korea, on Jeju, for 5 1/2 years.  The vast majority of the people I met were like Park Jee-yung- bright, organized, and self-effacing.  I can only imagine the horror that has engulfed this blessed nation, whose traditions dictate that a people move forward together, that the needs of the whole trump the whims of the parts, that children mind their elders, without question.

So it went, that horrific day.  The aging ship’s captain issued an order to the students on board to stay in their cabins.  A few rowdy boys chose to challenge that order and went on deck, saw what was happening and, rallying some of their schoolmates, managed to get on board the life vessels and to safety.  One of them was the first to issue a distress call to the mainland.  These were among the people helped by Park Jee-yun.

There is much to admire about Korean society.  Few nations could have risen out of the ashes of war, largely on their own, as South Korea has.  Shoulder to shoulder, Koreans have seen what was needed, and brought it about.  Now it is time to take stock of the price of fragmentation- nearly 160 dead, as I write this, and hundreds more still missing.  I sit here, in the comfort of an American home, and feel only grief and sorrow.  So many beautiful souls, who could have only elevated life in their city of Ansan, and beyond, now sit at the Throne of the God of us all, and wait to see just how they might comfort those who miss them so grievously.

Let Korea continue to move forward as an entity, with the caveat that sometimes, many times, the voices of the rambunctious need to be heard. The gadflies among us frequently see things the masses overlook, and their warnings, however irritating at the get-go, turn out to be what save the day.  Cassandra was not altogether insane.

Rest in peace, beautiful friends, and  may the nation you left too soon regroup, restore its sense of balance and move forward, in unison.

Trailheads and Paths, Issue 4: Bon Voyage, My Sailor

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Posted by on in Personal goals, Travel

A week ago, on March 20, my only child set out on his longest and most challenging rite of passage.  I can’t tell anyone where his ship is headed, or how long the vessel and crew will be in any one place.  I only know that they are in good hands:  One another’s, and the Creator’s.

I set out for San Diego, on the evening of March 18, having just had the bounty of a Baha’i study circle on working with adolescents.  Young sailors aren’t middle-schoolers, though, like any other group of unattached people who are looking for answers, they do have their moments.  I got as far as the small Colorado Desert city of Blythe, just over the river from Arizona, on that still, starry night.  Relax Inn is a spare, but comfortable place, staffed by a shy Tamil man from south India and his exuberant, chatty wife, who seems to be more likely from the north of the subcontinent.

Blythe has a few more decent eateries than one might expect.  Steaks and Cakes is near the motel, and serves up modest, but well-prepared breakfast fare.  The waitresses are all lovely, which speaks well of the clean desert air.

I rolled into San Diego about 11:30 on March 19.  As I was traveling longer that day, the Baha’i Fast, just about finished anyway, was suspended for me.  So, I met Aram and a couple of his crewmates at his apartment, set my bag down by the couch where I would sleep that night, and three of us went over to Sushiya, in the Point Loma area.  This was my third time there, and the same young lady who served us the last time was our waitress again.  She was in a much better mood than last Easter, so the meal was likewise more pleasant.

Being the day before departure, the guys mostly wanted to kick back.  We went over to the Nex (Navy Exchange) and everyone ,including me, picked up last-minute necessities. Mine was an eight-pack of shaving cartridges.  The sailors stocked up on necessaries that would be more expensive in the ports to which they are headed first.  We then had supper in the Nex Food Court.

Sleep came early, and so did the morning rise-and-shine of Departure Day.  I drove the three sailors to their dock area, parked and joined everyone onboard ship, for a few hours.  At 8 AM sharp, family and friends bid farewell to their  men and women in uniform, and we stood vigil for about an hour, dockside, until the access ramps, guy ropes and tethers were lifted, the Base Commander and his entourage left ship and the vessel set sail- for Coronado, where there would be more prep for the long journey.  From there, it was for the captain and crew to know, and for us to find out later, as to where they were headed.

Here is the view of San Diego, from Aram’s apartment (9th floor).

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It’s a bit fuzzier at night.

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Still, not much fazes my boy.

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Here is the ship, as it was getting underway.

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Then, it was off, across the Bay.

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A journey of many thousands of miles had begun, with a single push.  No parent has ever been prouder, and I know his mother is watching and helping.

NEXT UP:  Revisiting Old Town and Balboa Park

Trailheads and Paths, Issue 3: The Moving Chronicles

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From March 13-18, my world was all about moving out of my in-laws’ former house and into my one-bedroom apartment.  It’s closer to downtown Prescott, which suits me awesomely.  At 63, it’s way past time for me to be on my own, and live accordingly.  The folks are safely in an Assisted Living quarters of their own, and don’t need the weight of property ownership.

Anyway, here is a day-by-day recap of the proceedings:

March 13-  The focus today was on furniture.  With help from one friend, I got the big stuff across town, in 5 trips.  The biggest deal was getting the sofa part of the rollaway bed into my new living room.  It helped to take the feet off the sofa and the front door off its hinges.  All went back on very nicely, though.  I was fortunate to have energy for two evening meetings.

March 14- I was focused on getting most of the remaining items out, and needed help from two other friends, to make it happen.  At the end of the day, my new place was piled high with stuff, about 20 % of which found its way to Steppingstones and the DAV Thrift store.  Big furniture items went to Habitat for Humanity, and the new owners of the house bought other items.  After a rejuvenating fish fry and salad/soup bar dinner, I was able to put all of my clothes away properly.

March 15- This was a hiatus.  I spent the day, with a friend and mentor, attending a gathering in Phoenix, for purveyors of  Essential Oils.  If you need certified organic natural oils and products made with them, this is the place to go.  I can get anyone who wants these items, pointed in the right direction.  Anyway, it was a diversion, and time well spent, except for a poorly-served meal at Steve’s Greenhouse Grill, where the server threw some forks into a utensil vase at our table and sullenly tossed extra napkins on the table.  Seriously, it’s not even hot yet.

March 16- Back to business, I got the cleaning done in the house, and all remaining items out of the house proper, or so I thought.  The afternoon was focused on two previously-scheduled meetings, one for the American Legion and another for a wellness presentation.  Good thing I attended the latter, as a feisty and well-read man who attended was grateful for my presence.   The cleaning at the old house resumed at 6 PM, and I carried on until 11 PM.

March 17- I moved the rest of my stuff out of the garage, tidied it up,  filled the nail and tack holes in the walls,pulled the weeds in the back yard and made several trips to the thrift store drop-offs.  I was feeling a sense of accomplishment at dropping off the keys to the old house, at the Realty office.

March 18- The carpet cleaner came and spent several hours making the old look like new.  It was the most expensive part of the move, but the place finally looked presentable, in toto.  I also took two cabinets worth of kitchen items, which I had overlooked, to the thrift store.  NOW, everything was done!  I have downsized, and will live more simply, at least when I’m in Prescott.

NEXT UP:  Seeing son off

Trailheads and Paths, Issue 2: An Homage, and An Errand of Closure

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Posted by on in Personal goals, Travel

March 6- saw me abruptly pause in my preparations for this local act of closure- my move out of the family’s last property in Prescott, to a more centrally-located apartment.  More on that later.  I drove to Phoenix, parked my vehicle in the airport economy lot, and caught a shuttle, Light Rail train and a local bus to the U-Haul lot on 19th and Hatcher.  There, I placed my weekend bag and a parcel containing Blue Agave in the cab of the truck I had rented, and headed over to the home where the rest of my cargo awaited.

I knew Beverly for 32 years.  As a friend of both Penny and me, she had encouraged us both in our spiritual quest and kept us in a practical mode, as best she knew how.  When she passed on, last year, I set my heart on doing whatever was needed for her family to get closure, whenever they were ready.  That time came two weeks ago.

I picked up a couch, with a rollaway bed, an English garden bench and some cushions, at Beverly’s grandchild’s house, after a few rounds in the dark, in the ‘burbs of north Glendale, AZ.  Dinner came a bit later, at the Chili’s on Carefree Highway.  I was burned-out, after a day of traveling while fasting- so burned-out that the waitresses probably were glad to see my backside head out the door.  There were two of them: One very gracious, the other, rather brusque and inattentive.  The meal was good, though, and I felt rejuvenated afterward, so I made it to Winslow, and the Delta Motel, around 11:30 PM.

March 7- I had a small, but satisfying breakfast at the Delta, after a beautiful sleep in the Arizona Room.  Last time I visited Winslow, in July, 2012, I experienced the Delta’s Elvis Room.  There were no AZ musicians, like Marty Robbins, Stevie Nicks or Michelle Branch, to be seen in the room where I stayed last night.  It was cacti, Gila monsters and the Grand Canyon which were celebrated.

Heading east, I was back in territory very familiar to me:  Dinetah, the land of the Navajo.   The people of Manuelito, the first community off I-40 in New Mexico’s western edge, have a fine Visitor’s Center under their belt now.

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This is a fine testament to the gorgeous Red Rock country, on either side of Gallup, a vastly underrated gateway to the Land of Enchantment.  I have many friends in this area.  All of them were busy Friday morning, but then again, so was I;  miles to go, before I would sleep.

Here’s another view of the area around Manuelito, which is named for one of the Navajos’ more robust chiefs, during the 19th Century.

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Tooling along, past Bluewater Lake, Continental Divide, Grants (with its awesome lava beds), otherwordly Acoma and Laguna, and on to Albuquerque, the memories came flooding back.  Each of these will be the subject of a visit and a post, or three, in the next couple of years.  Yet, even Albuquerque, the magical Duke City, could not slow me down.  Gas and a snack at Bernalillo, ten miles north, on I-25, was my pit stop.  Yes, I had lunch today- Baha’is are not required to fast while traveling more than 8 hours.

At this rest stop, outside Santa Fe, three wise women are celebrated.  I offer this testimony to two of them here.  All are, of course, in my Flickr pages.

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The other aspect of this rest stop, though, showed me what I was to face, in the hours ahead.  In Santa Fe, it was raining.  The Spanish Peaks of Colorado, though, would serve up snow- and and lots of it.

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I stopped in Walsenburg, CO, and had a lovely visit with some relatives of one of my Prescott neighbours, whilst dropping off the Blue Agave, safe and sound.  After a nice cup of hot green tea and some cookies, I gassed up and headed into the Colorado greeting. Snow started in earnest, just three miles north of Walsenburg.

About ten of us snaked through the steadily deepening snow, until we reached the first motel available- a Days Inn, in Colorado City, twenty-eight miles south of Pueblo.  We were all graciously received by both the hotelier, Bob Patel, and the proprietors of  Los Cuervos Mexican Grill, across the snow-packed road, which was fun for me to cross, feeling like a kid again.  Los Cuervos provided a roaring fireplace, which added awesomely to the mood- as did the many convivial patrons.  We had all survived the ten miles in one hour pace.  Sleep, needless to say, came easy tonight- for me, for the forty others who joined me in leaving the road, and for the menagerie of six dogs, two cats and four birds, who were welcomed by the Patels.

March 8-  I love my family, both the biological members and the members in faith.  It was an easy ride to Westminster, CO on this clearing and warm Saturday.  Of course, Colorado being what it is, there were snowscapes aplenty in Colorado City.

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From Pueblo on north, though, the snow was visible only from a distance.  This suited me fine.  I greeted K and E, my hosts for the weekend, dropped off my bag at their condo and the furniture at K’s office, turned in the U-Haul at a facility on the edge of Northglenn, where my Colorado family members live, and turned my attention to matters of Faith.

Here is Northglenn Senior Center, where the local Baha’is hosted a superb potluck supper, attended by many local friends, to break the Fast this evening.

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The facility has a few items of sculpture, and the park across the street features a Peace Pole, made of wood and inscribed in several languages, with a Braille inscription as well.

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The resident Canadian geese survived being harassed by an adolescent girl and her siblings, and resumed their own peaceful gathering on the park’s pond.

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Back in the hall, we ate splendidly and enjoyed real camaraderie.

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The joy would be repeated the next morning, just before sunrise, at a Village Inn on the other side of Westminster.

March 9- No trip to Colorado is complete without a visit to my in-laws, the Kosaks.  We had a delightful get-together, of course shopping at their favourite WalMart, then catching up on the six months since my last visit.  Dinner was delectable, as always- this time with lean pork chops and kale salad.  After a few hours of British TV mysteries, I headed back to K & E’s, and turned in early.

March 10- Daylight Savings Time had arrived yesterday, so my wake-up time of 2 AM was actually 1 AM to my body.  Arizona does not, outside of the Navajo Nation, observe the Spring Forward.  I made it to the airport, thanks to Denver’s marvelous transport system, and by 6:15, Arizona Standard Time (Pacific Daylight, to most people), I was back in Phoenix.  At 7 AM, I wandered into Park Central Deli and had a bracing, hot breakfast burrito, with fine chorizo.  After a short nap at Sunset Point Rest Area, en route, I made it safely home.  The task had been completed, with much help from my spirit friends and family.

NEXT:  The Moving Chronicles

Trailheads and Paths: Volume 1, Issue 1

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Posted by on in Personal goals

All my life, I’ve been a nomad of sorts.  I have preferred walking to just about any form of transport.  Nothing wrong with bikes, cars and planes, mind you, but I’ve never been in much of an all-fire hurry, and prefer intimacy to the furtive glance.

I’ve had to wait on this, as my laptop needed a new hard drive and I still, after getting it back yesterday, had to research how to remove pesky virus-mongers, like Conduit, from my Google page.  SUCCESS!  I just went into the settings on Google and removed each specific page by clicking an X.

Now, back to the concept of trailheads and paths.  Every endeavour we embrace involves a path, of one kind or another.  Our mental processes, our prayers, all our work and leisure- entail planning and effort, the stuff of any journey.

So, as I have to make this entry brief, embarking shortly for Phoenix, picking up a U-Haul, loading some furniture, and heading for the Denver area, I will make one promise:  All my journeys henceforth will be shared under this title, with some throwbacks to sojourns gone by, every now and then.

Have a safe Thursday.

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