Category Archives: Personal Values

No Flight of Fancy

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Posted by on in Assistance, collaborating, Community, distraction issues, Family, impediments, Inspiration, Matters of Faith, Personal Values, Social, Spiritual, Striving, Travel

June 26, 2024, Bedford, MA- The young lady looked both embarrassed and crestfallen, upon learning that her oversized luggage would not fit in an overhead bin. Apparently, it had fit on previous flights, but on this full flight, it was a no-go. She asked if the middle seat was taken, and hearing a “No”, dropped her carry-on item on the seat, brought the offending bag to the jet way, for check-in, and came back to take her seat. No further words were exchanged with anyone, until the end of the flight, when she joined another young woman (maybe a sister) and an older man (maybe her father). I heard her tell the man that “that woman just growled at me, when I was bringing the bag out.” Sad that, even when people do inconvenient things, that we can’t summon at least a modicum of grace.

My day began at 1 a.m., proceeding to the shuttle down to Phoenix at 2:30, a somewhat chaotic scene at TSA, which led to a group of us being sent to another TSA check-point, on the other side of the terminal-and an only slightly less chaotic scene. I have rather mastered the art of removing items that need to be placed in separate tubs, ahead of time, thus not being obtrusive to other passengers or to the officers. It worked nicely, this morning.

Once in St. Louis, I got brunch at Bagel Bakery, directly across from our gate. A message came, around Noon, saying the flight to Boston was delayed, so I just settled into Joseph Campbell’s “Myths of Light”, that much deeper. It turned out, though, that the message was in error, so I informed the gate clerk, who checked and found that the flight crew had made up for the late departure from San Diego and would be on time, after all.

We got into Boston, as scheduled, waited at baggage claim for about thirty minutes, and upon finding that Mom was still with us, I proceeded to the rental car center, via a suitably crowded mega bus. Budget’s office, inside the garage itself, was not crowded, and I was in my vehicle in short order. Then came getting out of the Airport. I had almost navigated the Logan Labyrinth, when the driver in front of me stopped, got out and threw away some trash, then got back in her vehicle and- just sat, looking over at me like she was at wit’s end. A MassPort officer came over, and directed me as to how to get the rest of the way towards Revere, then removed some cones that were between me and the actual road. I was out of Boston, five minutes later.

When I was a teenager, being able to navigate Bell Circle, in Revere, at rush hour was deemed a rite of passage by every older man who ever mentored a kid on the near North Shore. I managed, back then. Nowadays, Bell is a shadow of its former self, thanks to properly placed traffic lights and yield signs that are actually obeyed by those approaching them. I was at my Mom’s place of residence, twenty minutes after leaving Logan International Airport. The once terrifying Near North Shore traffic had lost its menace.

Mom was silent, but she opened her eyes, just a bit, and grasped my hand, as I spoke to her and kissed her forehead. Her breath and pulse are still discernible and I know she was able to hear us singing along to James Taylor’s and Carole King’s performances of timeless songs, like “You’ve Got A Friend”. Dave and Deb left, after about an hour, and I stayed on until the night nurse got there. She had her own struggles to get to work, in the rain, but in the end, all was well. I bid Mom good night, promising to come back tomorrow morning.

The elevator to the first floor found me stuck inside, due to a brief power outage, then everything came back on. I was “rescued” by another night nurse who was waiting on the first floor. The drive from Lynnfield to Bedford was made in the rain, and of course once near the motel, GPS got bollixed up and sent me to the next lot over. As I backed up in that lot, to turn around, a random guy wandered from behind my vehicle, because that’s what happens, when it’s dark, rainy and late at night. We are always expected to be on game. He was a security guard for the lot’s owner, it turned out, and was not unpleasant.

Now, I’m in my comfortable room and rest will come easy.

Comely

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Posted by on in collaborating, Family, Inspiration, Matters of Faith, Personal Values, Social, Spiritual, Striving

June 25, 2024- Mother has been unequivocal, all these years, about us sons not dwelling upon the physical appearance of this young lady or that woman. We were taught, early on, not to stare at people, or to make untoward remarks or comments on anyone’s appearance. “You will get your mouth washed out with soap!” That applied equally as much to cussing, in general, but she and Dad both stressed that our job, as boys and as men, was to safeguard the rights of women and girls.

She has been the comeliest of women, so that admonition had valid roots. No one in my circle ever said anything remotely disrespectful about her; we were hard-wired in that way. My memories of her, growing up, were centered though, not on appearance, except as a marker of self-esteem and of respect for those around us. We were taught to dress nicely for school, for medical and dental appointments and for formal social occasions. Mostly, though, how we looked was an indicator of how we regarded the people around us.

When it came time for me to choose a mate, I valued Penny’s intellect, spirituality and musical bent, even more than her beauty. We had the old Amish adage: “Good cookin’ lasts; good lookin’ don’t” on our stove, for a good period of the time we were together. She looked lovely anyway, but that was a bonus. The same is true now, with someone who has drawn me in, with her spirituality, vibrant air, common sense and gentle demeanor. That K is comely is also a bonus.

All the souls gone on will no doubt be glad for those of us who have reached that point in our lives, where we treasure that old Amish adage.

Transitory

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Posted by on in Assistance, Family, Inspiration, Matters of Faith, Personal Values, Social, Spiritual, Striving

June 24, 2024- As I spoke with friends at a coffee klatsch, this morning, and at the Soup Kitchen, this evening, it occurred to me that little about the next six weeks is even remotely cut and dried. Routine stuff, like tomorrow’s bloodwork at the VA, could reveal things that are life-altering, or they could give me a clean bill of health, in two weeks. Wednesday’s flight to Boston is most likely to be uneventful, even given the early Phoenix-St. Louis leg and the long layover at Lambert. Traffic from Logan Airport to Bedford should not be all that bad, given the after rush hour driving time.

From there, everything about the time with, or about, my mother is a cypher, up to God alone. The right thing, by everyone, will happen. It may well, however, have a domino effect. Doing right by her comes first, though, before jumping back on a plane, July 1; before being at Bellemont from the 7th to the 10th; conceivably, even before having my annual physical exam on the 11th or going up towards Carson City and the Northwest, a day later. Those affected by any change in plans need to understand that, and not be bothered by it.

This is all about a woman who gave of herself, unfailingly, for the twenty-nine years of her youngest son’s life; for the duration of recovery from the tragedy that nearly killed another of her children; for the effort it took to get her eldest, me, to find the right spiritual path and moral compass point-and turn away from a destructive road.

She will have all she needs, of my time and energy, for the duration of her transition. It’s just that simple, and just that complex.

Anticipatory Memories III

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Posted by on in Assistance, Family, Inspiration, Matters of Faith, Personal Values, Social, Spiritual, Striving

June 22, 2024- I was sitting on my bed, in a room for married students, at Northern Arizona University, Flagstaff. It was a Sunday morning, in 1986, and the two of us were planning our respective study days. We were both Graduate Students, I seeking my initial Master’s Degree and Penny, her second.

The analog phone rang and Penny answered. Mom was on the line and asked to speak to me. “Are you sitting down, Honey? Dad died this morning.” Just like that, my world joined hers, in collapse and disarray. I was, however, 35 years old and had to make some quick decisions with my wife of four years. After telling Mom that I would be in Saugus as quickly as possible, I made flight arrangements and packed. Penny would be unable to join me on the flight, as she had a major language exam, the following weekend. We went shopping for all that she would need while on her own, without a car. I then set out for Phoenix, and by midnight, EDT, I was across the country, in my childhood home, embracing my dear mother, then sleeping in my old bed.

The next morning, she told me that she had just been covered by a cold touch. She thought it was Dad. Having been visited by my maternal grandmother, shortly after her death, in 1960, I made sense of that. (I would later, as Penny was transitioning in 2011-, feel a full ectoplasmic presence in our bedroom, though she was in a hospice room, 20 miles to the northwest.) The departing reach out to their loved ones. (This afternoon, I heard two distinct whispers, while I was helping someone put a long folding table into a truck. The co-worker wasn’t whispering, and no one else was around. I have heard nothing further about Mom’s condition, but I am sure she is trying to communicate with me.)

Mom has always been direct with people; no mystery has ever existed, as to where one stands with Lila Mae. I could never even so much as fib to her, without her knowing exactly where the truth was being told and what part of my story was pure Blarney, or as she put it: “Bushwah”. At some very primitive level, that remains in her psyche, even in these last days. I would probably still be bopped upside the head, if I entertained an untoward thought.

When she thought we were being absurd, out came the Irish oath: “Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” She would later say that she was merely praying,but there was no mistaking the message. Each of us was always expected to do better-and excuses were given no quarter, in my mother’s court. At the same time, when one of us did well, or had a hopeful development, there was no more exuberant cheerleader.

Anticipatory Memories-II

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Posted by on in Assistance, children, Family, Inspiration, Matters of Faith, Personal Values, Social, Spiritual, Striving

June 21, 2024- All of my arrangements are now in place, for what may well be my last visit with Mom, on this Earth. I will fly to Boston, stay at a motel in Bedford, driving from the airport to the motel and to wherever I need to be, the following four days- Lynnfield, Saugus, and any number of surrounding towns where friends and family may want to gather. I will either fly back to Phoenix, on July 1, or adjust my plans as Mom needs me to.

Her macaroni and cheese, baked haddock, meatloaf, lasagna, velvet crumb cake, tomato soup cake, toll house cookies, cinnamon rolls-all are embedded in my culinary treasure chest. Even her salmon casserole, an acquired taste, would not any longer pass from my plate into the compost. Mom made as much from scratch as her schedule, increasingly complex over the years, allowed, as one became two, then three-four-and five.

Sis and I walked our siblings, leading to good-natured ribbing from neighbourhood boys, who swore they wouldn’t be caught dead pushing a baby in a carriage. Every last one of them married strong women, and sired at least two kids apiece. I have to wonder.

Mom never coddled us boys, when we were knocked around by guys stronger than us. She and Dad got me a set of barbells, and like the bicycle that came before, I “tried” them for about six days and lost interest. My next brother inherited what interested him, and they became less than a total loss. She listened to my tales of woe, but her mantra, on a good many occasions, was “poor baby”. When she did see that one of us was being unjustly treated, though, she was like her favourite hockey player, Bobby “Katie Bar the Door” Orr.

My seventh grade home room teacher, a large and very loud man, thought it funny to lampoon my family name, until 128 pounds of fury was standing in front of him and letting it be known that his job could very well be at risk. The better angels of Mr. Anzalone were ever present, from that day forward.

She was also no holds barred, when it came to defending her youngest child. B could scarcely catch a break, in his short life, but he did get lucky when it came to parentage. She did the right thing by him, every step of the way.

She has done the right thing, by all of us, every step of the way.

Anticipatory Memories

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Posted by on in Family, Inspiration, Matters of Faith, Personal Values, Social, Spiritual

June 20, 2024- Mother always said that the time to honour someone is while they are still alive. So I am sharing some stories of her life, over the next several days.

When I was around 4, Mom got into an argument with someone, who got a bit physical with her. She shoved back and got the better of that person. He never bothered her again. Mom was of medium height, but she was robust.

After my father passed, Mom took up golf. She would go to the links, usually Nine Holes, with a good friend, or sometimes with one or more of my siblings. Even after she was no longer able to do the course, she enjoyed watching golf on tv.

Once, during the summer, when we were about to go to one of my favourite theme parks, called Pleasure Island, a neighbour woman came over and told her that another neighbour had died. She told the woman that she would go to the funeral. Having no concept of time, I thought, for a few moments that the trip to the park was going to be canceled. I knew better than to grouse and complain, but my face fell, just a bit. Mom explained that a funeral was seldom, if ever, the same day that a person dies. We went to Pleasure Island and had a great time.

When I was eight, I read the package of one of my Christmas gifts, and saw “Made in West Germany”, on the label. Sister started to wince a little-so we asked Mom, “Why doesn’t this say ‘Made in North Pole’?” She leveled with us about Santa Claus, and went on to say that the important thing is that there is a God. That was small comfort to me at the time, but I kept the Santa Claus business under my hat and we never told our younger brothers-just let them find out for themselves.

Anticipatory grief is unpredictable, and in this case, I handle it best by remembering stories like these. I hope to share a few more, while she is still with us.

Palmito Ranch

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Posted by on in Assistance, collaborating, Community, Historical, impediments, Inspiration, Personal Values, Social, Spiritual, Striving

June 19, 2024- Today, we commemorated the date, in 1865, when enslaved people on Galveston Island, TX learned that they had, in fact, been freed from slavery by President Abraham Lincoln, 2 1/2 years earlier. Juneteenth has been a Federal holiday since 2021, so a good many people had the day off.

I have visited Palmito Ranch, the site of the last battle of the Civil War, fought in June, 1865, after the surrender of Robert E. Lee’s forces, which had taken place in April. There is much made of the fact that it was a nominal Confederate victory, yet it also was followed by the surrender of the “victorious” forces, a few days later. Colonel John S. Ford, CSA, escaped to Mexico, then returned to help process the paroles of the captured Confederates and to guarantee the humane treatment and release of remaining enslaved people in south Texas. He also, interestingly, campaigned for the suffrage of newly freed African-Americans.

It was not the cotton farmers who put up the last fights, on behalf of the Confederacy. That effort was made by the Mexican cotton merchants, and by a force sent by French Emperor Napoleon III to protect French mercantile interests in Tamaulipas and Nuevo Leon. These merchants spurred Col. Ford and his troops on, and took in many of the Confederates who had eluded capture. Pro-Confederate, but not necessarily pro-slavery, sentiment remained in the Rio Grande Valley for decades afterward.

One hundred fifty-nine years later, there has been much progress in race amity, but the long struggle continues-as humanity works out just what is meant by that term. A blessed Juneteenth to all who have worked so hard to bring its legacy to bear.

Frizzle-Frazzle

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Posted by on in collaborating, Community, distraction issues, impediments, Inner Struggles, Inspiration, Personal goals, Personal Values, Social, Spiritual, Striving

June 18, 2024- I saw the word ‘paradise’ on someone’s post, this afternoon, and was moved to play Bruce Springsteen’s “Paradise”, from his album, “The Rising”, his 2002 response to the attacks on September 11, 2001. He sings three verses, depicting three different souls. Yet, when I first listened to the song, I thought of my wife, Penny, even then living under a cloud. Somehow, we’d have one another, for another nine years. She died in 2011.

I have not been triggered by this song, or anything else-not even anniversaries, until today. This afternoon, hearing those words hit me hard. Part of it is the aloneness that I choose, so I can’t point fingers. Yet, it is made harder by the silence.

Silence has always bothered me, after a week or so, from those to whom I feel especially close and after a month or two, from everyone else I love. I guess that’s why I am online so much, especially since Penny passed. It is also why I treasure living in a town where I can walk to where there are people whose companionship I value. Today, it was Planet Fitness and Wildflower Bakery. Other times, it is Raven Cafe, , or Zeke’s,or the Farmers Market -or Rafter Eleven, if I feel like a short drive.

When I was a teen, there was a cartoon about a time traveling wizard who sent his protege to distant places. When it was time for the episode to end, the wizard’s mantra was “Frizzle-Frazzle, Frizzle, Frome, time for this one to come home”. So often, I have faced the “frizzle-frazzle” of grandiose plans falling apart, and have “come home” to reality, with a straight face. I am sensing that my latest grand, feelings-based plans may be “frizzling” and “frazzling”. It’s that silence again. We’ll see, in a few days, or a few weeks.

The Biggest Picture

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Posted by on in Assistance, collaborating, Community, Family, Inner Struggles, Inspiration, Personal goals, Personal Values, Service Activities, Social, Spiritual, Striving, Travel

June 17, 2024- The first question from friends’ mouths, here in Home Base 1, is not “When’s your next trip?” It is more like “What was your favourite part?” There are several, to which I have alluded here, and am glad to recount again, for those who don’t read this blog. Certainly. time with Mom was priceless. So, too, were visits with siblings and cousins, New England and my little family in Texas. The two visits with the Miqmaq elders in Eskasoni are up there. Making a connection with Kathy’s friends in Newfoundland is huge. Food- in St. Pierre, Twillingate, Botwood, Margaree (NL), Whycocomagh, Shediac, Middleton (MA), Nahant, Downingtown, Ruleville and Grapevine will stay sweetly on my palate.

I was asked further questions about the deeper gratitude. The changes that have been wrought within me, surfacing in the past year or so, are grist for those. I can think more clearly, have more attention to detail, show more methodical work habits and have a better Body Mass Index. What gives? I can’t say enough about the strengthening, deepening of my Faith. Improvement of a diet and exercise regimen has its place. Feeling deeply in love, after thirteen years of widowhood, can’t but help. Deepest of all, however, is self-acceptance, the realization, at long last, that no matter what happens in any of the above areas, I will be okay-or more than okay.

The biggest picture takes me forward, doing the work that I was meant to do, all the way from infancy. Stay around, if you would.

Gratitude, ’24

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Posted by on in Assistance, collaborating, Community, Family, Inner Struggles, Inspiration, Matters of Faith, Personal goals, Personal Values, Service Activities, Social, Spiritual, Striving

June 16, 2024-It was a fine pancake, sausage and scrambled eggs breakfast, this morning. Thank you, American legion Post 6. My gratitude list, though, is both more basic and more complex than a simple meal.

My most essential and enduring gratitude is for my parents-the father I honoured today, and have tried, with varying degrees of success, to live up to; the mother who clings to life, knowing at some level that she is still very much needed. My three siblings, each a testament to their legacy, embody the best of what Mom and Dad have tried to instill in us. Son is a reflection of the best of his late mother, and of myself.

Penny’s spirit, along with my Dad’s-and of her parents, still are my blessed guides, steering me towards the Light, even when fatigue and self-doubt have taken over. I am ever grateful that she led me to the Baha’i Faith, the Teachings of which will continue to sustain me-for all eternity.

I am grateful for all the people I have met, both in the Prescott area, across the continent of North America and across the globe. The lessons learned in the course of both work and travel have helped, at long last, to make me feel the inner strength that was probably inside me all along, and to become a person of value to community and humanity as a whole. All this has brought me to a place of sublime love, which I also suspect has been welling inside me all along. It has made me realize how important friends are; how much I need to show grace, even to those who I might think have turned away; it has made me value a new special person in my life and not want to shy away from , or bury, my feelings towards her.

So, I am grateful for Prescott, for the wider Arizona, the Southwest, the United States as a whole, for North America. I am grateful for Europe and east Asia-particularly for Brittany and Normandy, for Alsace, and Luxembourg, for the Belgian Flanders, for a swath of central Germany, for South Korea and for the Philippines. I am grateful for all I have not seen of this world, and for the friends there, who faithfully read my posts and show their love in different ways. I am grateful for opportunities to serve- and for those who serve me.

May this sense of gratitude continue to grow, in this special year of getting away from comfort zones, and in the years yet to come.