Thirty-Seven Gone By

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December 6, 2017, Prescott- 

Each day brings choices.

That cold, wet night in Zuni,

thirty-seven years ago,

I chose to meet your eyes,

share your chair,

embrace your being.

We knew, pretty much

from that point on,

that this was a defining moment.

The charades of other people,

taking my place with you,

or your place with me,

never panned out.

Our time,

briefer than either of us expected,

was still a time of tight fit,

unbreakable solidity,

sweet and sour unity.

Family knew we would never break,

our child was glad that we,

never,

went to bed angry,

and so were you and I.

The neighbour across Solar Drive,

seeing me go out the door,

and come back,

less than five minutes later,

was never quite so sure.

The Dineh could have told her,

we never raised unkind hands

at one another.

Peace was always our only solution,

to all the storms that raged

in our hearts.

Thirty-seven years later,

nearly seven years after

you flew homeward,

I recall that peace.

It sustains me, yet.

 

Boulders on Shoulders

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December 5, 2017, Prescott- 

A young girl told an advice columnist that pressure, “from society”, for her to have sex with her boyfriend, felt like “a boulder on my shoulder”.

There is infinitely more to any given human being, of any age, than titillating, tintinnabulating, appealing to the weary and shopworn sensibilities of the jaded and the restless.

I’ve mentioned earlier that I work with two strikingly pretty women- one happily wed, one contentedly single- both young enough to be my daughters.  There is not a moment of the day when untoward thoughts cross my mind about either lady.

There are, on the edges of my life, a gorgeous mother and daughter, whom I treasure as friends.  The mother could become more than a friend- maybe, someday.  I keep our friendship in full perspective.  Moreover, nobody will ever, with impunity, lay an unkind hand on daughter- God has my word on that.  That young woman is the salt of the earth.

I suppose that could mean kudos to yours truly, but I will take a pass.  The above sentiments ought to be de rigeur, for each of us,male and female, who see all manner of  people, to whom we might be attracted, on a daily basis.

Yet, to me, the joy of living, what keeps me young, is in seeing a human being as a complete entity- in knowing and supporting his or her dreams, so long as those dreams don’t entail crushing the souls of others.

Boulders crush, when they are dislodged, and roll downhill.

The Next Thirty-three

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December 3, 2017, Prescott-

My readership is fairly tired of me right now, so maybe this outlandish title will be a coup de gras.  Let me explain further, though.

Last weekend, my best friend and I were discussing the concept of aging.  I am a Baker’s Dozen years her senior, so the notion she raised- that humans could live to, let’s just say for now, well over 100, as a matter of course, is mentioned in the Bible.

I lost another friend, early this morning, who was 83.  By the same token, I have lost friends  who were 13, 18, 22, 37, 38 and 62, among many others.  My Mom’s first employer was 105, when the Call came.  It’s a most individual state of affairs.

I have a few, perhaps presumptuous, notions about my own future.  So, I am quietly formulating plans for the next 33 years, putting me exactly at 100, when those plans are up.  It’d be nice to share a lot of that time with BF, even given that we are both highly independent creatures, and are not co-dependent.  It’d also be nice to be absolutely of service to my family and to the wider community, again not being on top of either.  I am a human, not a drone or helicopter.

You know it, readership!  Trails and travel will always beckon, whether with my dear friend, with others in a group or alone.  Health and harmonious living, whether in my own place or in an intentional community, is the foundation of these plans.  Earning my way will never be taken for granted- as the eldest of five, I am hard-wired to do my share, and to look out for those I love.  That number has grown, drastically, since the days when we happily lived in a relatively small house.  It was cozy and it was loving.

So, 67 is with me, for slightly less than a year.  It will take me back east, twice (Late December and June), to BF’s, and other friends’ homes, whenever they need me and to various places around this beloved Southwest and thereabouts, when the call comes.  It will take me to work, and hopefully, not to task.  I will seek its aid, in making certain that I grow in love and that no one gets short shrift.

The “next thirty-three” doesn’t feel like such an outlandish theme, after all- if one year at a time.

The Lessons Over Time

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December 1, 2017Prescott-

Another writer on this network, having just also celebrated a birthday, detailed a lesson learned for each year of her life.  Her post showed me that the adage, “Youth is wasted on the young”, is largely a fallacy.  Youth may be at a disadvantage, regarding total life lessons, but working under a supervisor who is half my age, I find that the lessons she has absorbed are being put to full use. She is arguably the most competent, save one other, of the many under whom I have worked, over the past 40 years. Son has risen in rank, an average of once a year, for every year of his military service.  Nieces and nephews, and their spouses, have each made themselves highly valuable in their chosen work.

It also follows that there is truth to :  “There’s no fool like an old fool”.  To be old AND foolish has nothing to do with dementia.  It has to do with arrogance and an odd form of narcissism.  So, now, we are seeing high and low alike being taken to the Village Woodshed, for being so arrogant as to build a lifestyle around deception, indiscipline and disrespect for others, based on their own proclivities.

I have not been free of transgressions against others, but when they have occurred, I have chosen the path of humility, submission to chastisement and atonement.  It’s just been better this way.  I can live, today, concerned about today’s tasks and planning for tomorrow, as needed.  From each faux pas, a lesson has been derived, that has just made me a better human being.

I am grateful that the lessons learned have import for the times in which we live, and will continue to apply in days and years to come.

Sixty-Six for Sixty Six, Part LXVI: Days of Earnestness

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November 22-26, 2017, across Arizona-

I cannot not serve others, even on holiday.  I am hard-wired to look for how best to relieve another’s pain and ennui, while finally having learned, thanks to my blessed departed wife, how to involve the other person in the solution to that suffering and ennui.

It comes to me, as to where I should go, on a given day, and who I should visit.  On Wednesday, with no prior schedule, I went out to Superior, to see my friends at Sun Flour Market.  I learned that my friend, whom I felt as if I’ve known forever, had left, to pursue other ventures.  I learned that my friend, who owns the enterprise, is facing a great personal challenge and that my unexpected visit, along with those of a few other friends, was most comforting.  No journey is ever wasted.

Thursday, Thanksgiving Day, was spent with my best friend and several of her family members.  It’s always a blessing to be with this woman, and my favourite holiday was no exception.  One of the other men carved the turkey, but I got the best job- trimming all the meat off the carcass, after dinner.  That, to me, has always been the most satisfying task- guaranteeing that there is plenty of meat for many a meal to come.

Friday morning, I went down to Phoenix, and visited a long-time friend who is entering the vacation rental business.  Here is a photo of the house in question.SAMSUNG CAMERA PICTURES

If interested in a Phoenix getaway, check this one out: https://evolvevacationrental.com/387677.

After looking over the house and yard, I headed up to Cave Creek, lunch at Local Jonny’s and a couple of hours of hiking at Spur Cross Ranch Preserve.  I will have more to say, and show, about this lovely expanse, in a few posts from now, but here are a couple of scenes of Spur Cross Trail and its offshoots.

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Above is an oasis, built along Cottonwood Wash.

This is A’s stone ruin, which he built with his mom and grandma.

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Here is a Huhugam mano and metate, from the 11th Century.

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Spur Cross will see me again, soon.

Saturday morning found me up early and headed out the door by 6:30. A stop fro breakfast at Verde Cafe, Camp Verde, got me well-set for the rest of the drive to Native American Baha’i Institute, at Burntwater, on the Navajo Nation.  The occasion was the Light of Unity Art and Music Festival.  I bought a few things, and took several photos, mostly in low light.  The power was in the music and in the accompanying dance.  Here are a few scenes of the power that radiated outward.  Diversio,  The Treasure Crew and the venerable Benally family laid down that power.

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There is unstoppable power in unity.  I haven’t been up to visit the Dineh as often as I might.  My role is increasingly cast in Prescott and vicinity, but as another friend remarked, this afternoon, distance to a friend’s house is ever small.  I will support these great efforts as best I can.

Sunday, I happened over to my best friend’s sister’s house, and ordered a Christmas gift, as she is a rep for a nationally-known cosmetics firm.  This took a couple of hours, well-spent, discussing a variety of subjects, around the display table.

Now, it’s back to work and a satisfying routine.  When I wake up, I will be 67, and a whole new set of expectations come with that seemingly artificial renewal.

 

Friends Never Leave

4

November 26, 2017, Prescott- 

I admit it, I am behind the 8-ball on posts about this weekend, as far as my trips to Cave Creek, Phoenix and the Festival of Light and Unity at Native American Baha’i Institute are concerned.

It’s late, and I had a ton of stuff with which to deal today.  So, let me briefly deal with the most important item.

Lest a couple of my dearest friends get the feeling that I am trying to join them at the hip- rest assured:  You will see a bit less of me, over the next several days, except for when you WANT me to be around.  Those whom I haven’t seen, for a few days, weeks or months:  Well, if you are at the weekend events that Prescott is having, over the next three fins de semaine, we may well find each other close at hand.

My take is that friends are ever in one another’s heart, and so even if the physical or verbal contact doesn’t happen for a good long while, there are hundreds of people who go through my mind and heart, in the course of a day.

Now, I must sleep- as the work week begins in earnest, faster than one might think.

Smacked Down, Rebound

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November 21, 2017, Prescott-

I was told that I am unqualified to work with international students.

This, after 5 years of working with Korean students, albeit 25-30 years ago, at the university level.

I have to remember, there are two types of unqualified:  Under, and over.

The people running the corporation that minds these students prefer housewives and unemployed retirees, so I am underqualified, in those respects.  They also prefer people who speak Mandarin, and I am definitely not filling that bill.

Getting smacked down by people of other points of view stings only as long as you let it.

My rebound is my writing, so I need to stop making excuses and set the time aside to put one or two books together.  Even if sales are initially spotty, the money that comes in will equal whatever might have come from this other position.  Besides, who knows?  Circumstances in my life show signs of changing.  Life might well have gotten in the way of working for the corporation.  Everything happens for a reason.

Blessed Intentions

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November 19, 2017, Paulden, AZ-

I spent the better part of today at a small intentional community, in this mostly agricultural, unincorporated town, in northern Yavapai County.  Paulden is due west of Sedona, and despite being sans Red Rocks, it has a good deal of its eastern neighbour’s vibes.  These have drawn many people whose goal is to live as close to the land as possible.

Dharma Family Farm is made up of six adults and several children, living in conscious connection with the tall grass prairie that is found between the various small mountain ranges of western and southern Yavapai County and the Verde and Agua Fria Rivers to the east.

I met most of them last week, at Convergence, and had the pleasure of taking breakfast with them, last Sunday.  This led to an invitation to visit their farm and join them at table.  So, I took up that offer, this afternoon and evening.

Conversation with three of the farmers ranged on several matters, from not tilling the soil and understanding the nature of weeds, to the worth of intentional communities.  The recognition that rent and mortgage derive from the European manorial system, and earlier, from imperial mindsets in places as far afield as China and Egypt, led to one person’s opinion that having a roof over one’s head should not require half, or more, of one’s income.

It’d be really nice if that were not my reality, or that of millions of others, around the world.  The alternative, gift or trade economy as a means by which to live, is the basis for many intentional communities.  At Dharma, everyone has a set of responsibilities, which they undertake, daily and heartily, in good faith, in exchange for simple but comfortable housing.  Each adult accepts responsibility for the well-being of the children.  There is a group meeting,  in advance of any major event, and a planning board, with an interesting beehive motif, sits behind the common dining table.

If some of this sounds like the communes of the 1960’s and ’70’s, there are features of those entities, such as vegetarianism and natural healing. Fidelity between marriage partners is very definite at Dharma, however, and modesty in dress is practiced by all adults, and children of school age.  Hygiene is excellent.

Here are a few scenes of Dharma Family Farm, bearing in mind that this is the time when preparations are being made for the winter months.

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This is a bottle wall.  Glass bottles help prevent cement from cracking.20171119_154703[1]

Artwork is random and eclectic.  I like the creativity of the residents in this secondary house.

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Here’s the supply yard. EVERYTHING in this lot will be put to good use, especially during the winter and spring repair and planting seasons.

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This is Holly, her youngest daughter, Lunaya, and two of their four dogs.  Holly  and her mate, Landen, were the first of the current group of residents to come to Dharma.

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I came away with renewed respect for people in intentional communities.  Their work ethic is as good  as, if not better than, that of many wage and salaried workers, in the wider world.  Their children are well-fed, feel emotionally secure and, from infancy, are not held back from doing tasks that their bodies and motor skills can handle.   There is full equality between the genders, and nobody divides labour, of any kind, by stereotype.   Home schooling is the preferred vehicle for education.  This last would give me a skill to offer, if I pursue a period of itinerant service, following my retirement from my current work, three years hence, as I am sure that other intentional communities may have such needs. Indeed, I spent thirty minutes with a very meticulous two-year-old, assembling a tower from the plastic blocks I had brought as a gift to the children.

I will be back at Dharma, several times, over the next three years, at least.  Life is good, where there is love and devotion.

 

Stirring

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November 16, 2017, Prescott-

Today marks the fortieth anniversary of my first day as a full-time educator.  The two-year stint, in a rural area of central Maine, was far from my finest tour of duty, but it was a start.  People there would not remember me fondly, but they may as well know that most of my demons have been cast.

On another note, I have been in touch with my son, regarding the earthquake in P’ohang, South Korea, about two hours drive from his city of Busan.  He’s fine, as is his girlfriend.  I follow such things with alacrity, however, as any parent would.

I am feeling stirrings of outrage, at the ruling allowing imports of elephant parts from Zimbabwe and Zambia, by trophy hunters.  This is too obvious a ploy to let well-connected slaughter tourists have their way.  There should be no more pretense that this helps conserve species.

Then, there is the “accidental” spill of thousands of gallons of crude oil, from the Keystone Pipeline, in northeastern South Dakota.  Wow, who saw that coming?

Both parties, and all points on the political spectrum, have personages who have abused women;  no surprise here either.  Ego knows no ideology.  At least, a few people, Sen. Franken and Louis CK, are willing to take their lickings.  Many more, myself included, have had to undergo a considerable measure of emotional growth, in this regard.  In my case, it’s been a very lengthy process, though I have not, once, forced my attentions on anyone or sought to avoid responsibility for making anyone uncomfortable.  We have made some progress as a society, but not treating people as objects is an area of several segments and one in which each of us must take a measure of responsibility-whether it means changing our attitudes, or encouraging others to change theirs.

So, it’s been a full day, of wide-ranging stirrings in my psyche.

Yes and No

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November 15, 2017, Prescott-

A fellow blogger posted, this afternoon, that no one is entitled to rights, by decree.  Yes, and no:  Yes, a child has the right to a healthy diet, a safe and warm place to live, a solid, fundamental education and above all, loving adults by whom to be raised.  No, one does not have the automatic right to a mate, a good paying job, a full refrigerator and pantry or a large contingent of friends.  Those are things one earns by dint of character and hard work.

I was raised to know that my parents were  there for me, that I had responsibilities that went with being part of a family, that boys and girls were equal in the sight of God, and that didn’t go away when we reached adulthood.  As much as my immature, flawed self disliked it, I had to wait, a long time, to meet the love of my life.  My mature, flawed self does not regret the wait.

Sometimes, the price of the good in our lives is paid up front- through suffering and seemingly innumerable setbacks  Other times, the good comes first, and, as with the Biblical Job, torments and sorrows follow.  I have learned, especially from my Native American ancestors, that hard times make one stronger and good times make one secure enough to withstand the next set of hard times.  After 600-800 years of collective difficulty, Native Americans are still here.  After 500 years of oppression and distrust, African-Americans are still here.  Woman, collectively, has endured millennia of being regarded as a subordinate being.  She is more present than ever.

Those who say each individual must earn certain rights and prerogatives are correct, to a point.  Let them also, however, consider what rights each man, woman and child has already earned, by dint of character, suffering and, yes, hard work.  To dismiss this, is to affirm the claim of the tyrant, the supremacist.