November 11, 2025- We were in the middle of the Veterans Day Parade, three vehicles representing the American Red Cross, in this largest such parade west of the Mississippi River. I chose to ride in the cab of the second truck, having felt slightly enervated when it came time to decide who walked and who rode. Coffee took care of that, so no worries-but I stayed in the truck. We were greeted by a slightly smaller group than I’ve seen before, but the cheers were no less fervent. It occurs to me that this is my penultimate Prescott parade, the last one will be the Christmas Parade on December 6. I will be a spectator for that one, which has its share of Santas, elves and Grinches. Rumour has it that there may even be a Krampus or two in the mix. Such fol de rol does not detract from the true meaning of Christmas, which is rightly focused on Jesus the Christ’s Message of peace. We do well to keep that message first in our hearts and minds, even in tough times like the one we are in now.
I didn’t partake of any of the freebies that are offered to military veterans on this day. Breakfast was at home; I didn’t really need lunch and I joined a regular group for Taco Tuesday, at El Gordo, which doesn’t offer any veterans’ discounts. My reasoning is simple-give the breaks to the homeless veterans-who shouldn’t be homeless. Use the resources available to help them get shelter and stabilize their lives.
I’m just glad to have been of service, and to have had my life stabilized by learning discipline.
November 10, 2025- I was thirty-five minutes out from Bellemont, when I got the message that the plumber was “on his way”. Knowing that two other people were already on site, I continued on towards the property. Once on the access road, I spotted the plumber’s truck and one other car ahead of me. Plumber turned onto a neighbouring development, so I followed the second car to Bellemont and four of us waited for the plumber to get his bearings.
The winterization process, for a property that will see minimal use during the off-season, involves draining the water tanks, pipes and hoses. Plumber had to “blow out” the tanks and pipes, to prevent against freezing that would lead to rupture. This property is in an area that gets more snow than even Flagstaff, a scant fifteen miles to the east, so no precaution is too extreme.
I will need to “winterize” my friendships with people in Home Base I, and in the Philippines, given that my life plans have changed. Immediate family has to come first, so whatever is necessary to avoid rupture, by way of transparency and honest, direct interest in what is going on in friends’ lives will have to suffice-until the day when I can spend time with them again. Making the most of remaining time here, and possibly going to “the Phils”, between the time of my grandchild’s birth and the day that I am needed permanently in Texas, will alleviate things somewhat.
November 7, 2025- I went to a quiet place, this morning, instead of dropping in at the crowded, delightful and noisy jam fest that takes place each Friday morning.. As time moves on, I am finding that where I go, on a given day, matters little to anyone outside a small group. That’s probably how it’s always been, as in the verse of an old song, “Most folks just go their way, don’t pay me any mind.”
Sitting in Century Lounge, I drew cursory attention from a couple of small children. I smiled at each and went back to my writing, which was the main reason I wanted relative quiet this morning. The rest of the patrons were busily involved with business, politics or affairs of the heart.
As the day progressed, there were signs that the situation on the national level might be resolved, sort of, sometime next week. For now, though, the transportation piece of that situation leaves me little choice but to drive out and back, over Thanksgiving. I generally think that the right thing will happen. It just takes time to sort out all the egoism and perceived “need” that emanates from the human psyche.
Tonight, I spent some time on a Zoom call, from which I have been absent for several weeks. My presence was briefly acknowledged, then the regulars went about their business and I stayed on as an observer. It was a nice hour, though, as three wonderful children came on as participants, getting the support they deserved from the regulars.
Things that matter most in life are what usually end up transpiring.
November 6, 2025- The talk, other than about Blood Drives, trailer reorganizations and the entry in Prescott’s upcoming Veterans’ Day Parade, was regarding my pending move to Texas. My Red Cross associates are, in a pleasant surprise, fully on board with it. I have been with the local RC organization since 2012, so ties to the group are strong. Nonetheless, the most important thing to most Red Cross staffers and volunteers is family. To a one, those meeting in Prescott today expressed happiness at the upcoming arrival of my grandchild.
These next eight weeks or so will therefore be very much concerned with letting go of household furniture, a good many books and some other items that have accumulated over the past fourteen years. Another family member who made a similar move, a few years back, has,by example, given me a roadmap ( no pun intended) for this move to be done efficiently and successfully.
In the middle of it all comes Thanksgiving, and we will celebrate it in Grapevine, while looking ahead to spending next year in a house, instead of an apartment. I will drive out there and back, largely because of the uncertainty that still hangs over the airline industry, due to the government shutdown. My diamond jubilee will be the day after Thanksgiving, and besides, the three of us have so much for which to be grateful. Not the least of it is the arrival of family member # 4. I already feel a very deep love, not explicable to anyone who is not themselves a grandparent.
So, my plan is to spend 2-3 days each way on the road, and repeat the process just before Christmas, weather permitting.
November 4, 2025- The scene in the large room was one of purposeful and laser-focused organization. My entry into the room was almost seen as an intrusion, but I was there as an ambassador. The Red Cross has a program in which volunteers greet prospective blood donors, sign them in and usually offer them water or juice and healthy snacks. This is called the Blood Ambassador program.
Once the equipment was set up, my tools and name tags were brought over. I was informed that the nursing staff would be responsible for the snacks and water. This seemed to be more a function of the layout of the room than any systemic change, so I didn’t worry much about it.
The event was an outreach to the Yavapai-Apache people near Camp Verde, and was held at a lodge near Cliff Castle Casino. The facility is basic, but comfortable, and the day proceeded with little trouble. Those who had signed up, but were no shows, due to today being their day off, were outweighed by those who were walk-ins. Thus, the day was deemed a success. The First Nations people were appreciative that the phlebotomists and nurses had come from Phoenix and I, from Prescott.
Our area Red Cross has made considerable efforts to reach out to communities that have historically been marginalized. The small First Nations bands, like the various Yavapai-Apache communities and other rural areas, such as villages on the remote Arizona Strip, between the Grand Canyon and southern Utah, have been a more conscious focus of our Northern Arizona District. This has partially been a silver lining to the horrific Dragon Bravo Fire of this past summer and early autumn and partially due to a stronger local organization, that is not dependent mainly on resources from larger cities, such as Phoenix or Albuquerque.
One of my greatest joys in life is seeing ties built and made stronger. I hope, in the time I have left here, that this will only accelerate.
September 26, 2025, Berlin- “Well now, that is certainly a rude awakening”, the burly leader of a group of German tourists huffed, as the news came over the loudspeaker that one of the cars on our train to Hamburg, from Kolding, DK, had broken down and that those of us (including me) who were scheduled to be on that train would now either have to ride in Standage or wait for a replacement car. He gathered the group, and held a brief consultation, while looking at me. A minute later, he told me that, as one of their group had dropped out of the trip, there was a seat in their cabin, and I was welcome to take it.
It turned out to be a most pleasant two hours. I even was offered, and accepted the no-show’s sandwich, which had been purchased, freshly made, from a delicatessen in the Aarhus area, earlier in the morning. Chicken salad with bacon is a favourite in Denmark and Germany. It was divine.
The day had started with my walking the .9 mile from Roberta’s Society Hostel to Aarhus Train Station. The challenge came onboard, when I had to remember how to call up the Rail Planner application on my phone, which contained my actual ticket to Berlin, with the seat reservations only supplementary. The conductor, at one point, wanted to see a QR code on the RP page, but was overruled by her supervisor, who saw that as a waste of time. Good thing, as Rail Planner doesn’t provide QR Codes for its Rail Pass system.
With that behind me, one of my seat mates on the first leg (Aarhus to Kolding) opined that she had never heard of a QR code for a train ticket. She was Gen Z, so that pretty much settled the matter. Kids can pretty much do any transaction on a phone that can be done.
Once in Hamburg, I bid farewell to the German tour group and settled in for a smooth, non-eventful final leg to Berlin Hauptbanhof (Central Station). It took my usual fussing at Spectrum’s stingy Internet service (non-existent outside North America) and scrambling to find a shop or cafe whose WiFi I could use to get directions to St. Christopher’s Hostel from Central Station, over a period of thirty-five minutes, before I settled on the S-bahn (Streetcars). I ended up at Alexanderplatz, where a Tourist Office worker gave me directions for walking the rest of the way. I found the hostel, which has a bar and grill attached, in short order (no pun intended, especially as John Belushi would have either groaned or thrown something at me). St,. Christopher’s and Belushi’s are teamed up in various cities around Europe. Chain hostels, including Generator (my Copenhagen digs), are quite the rage.
The Berlin hostel is in an old building, so it has its challenges, but I like the vibe here. The Rugby championships and various soccer matches are on the TV screens, so it wouldn’t be a dull 1 1/2 days, even if I opted to sit in the hostel all day. That is not happening. I will be out and about, exploring Berlin’s oldest neighbourhood and possibly seeking out remnants of the Berlin Wall-a reminder of what happens to attempts to separate people on artificial grounds.
September 14, 2025, Stockholm- Between Nomad Cave and Stockholm Palace are several interesting churches, Stockholm City Hall and the salubrious greenspace on both sides of Stockholm Strom. There are the two houses of Sweden’s Parliament and the northern end of the pedestrian mall that leads to Central Station.
So, here are ten scenes of Kungsholmen (King’s Home), the neighbourhood where I am staying, and of Gamla Stan-the island which houses the Palace, Parliament and Stockholm’s Old Town.
The stairs are just beyond the door. Be mindful!So much of Kungsholmen is stately and well-appointed.. Anna Whitlock was a Swedish social reformer and educator, at the turn of the 20th Century. Her Gymnasium continues to offer five academic preparatory programs, with the philosophy of total mind-body engagement.Kungsholms Kyrka’s Rector ordered a group of tourists out, just as I entered the foyer. I didn’t need to know Swedish to get his meaning!The upper reaches of Stockholm Stadshuis (City Hall)This is Gamla Stan, in a nutshellNear the southern dock along Stockholm StromHouseboaters like bright coloursA more complete view of Stockholm StadshuisThe two Houses of Parliament, viewed from the south.!2 Blocks of non-stop eating and shopping- Regeringsgatan is one of two long pedestrian malls in Central Stockholm.
Stockholm is a never-a-dull-moment kind of place. I noted some parents interacting with their children, around Stadshuis. Two boys were testing their mothers, by dawdling on their bicycles, while the mothers walked on ahead. One of the boys got the hint and “showed” how fast he could catch up to Mom. The other had to be retrieved, and got to hold his mother’s hand while slowly peddling towards home. Other young parents were dealing gently, but masterfully, with tired, squawking toddlers, as I purchased two bottles of Fortified Water, at the neighbourhood market, in Kungsholmen.
NEXT UP: The ill-fated Vasa and some hard-luck Vikings
September 11, 2025, Reykjavik- The transit policeman was not moved by the story that a ticket jumper told, of suffering cell phone glitches. After allowing him four free stops on the westbound bus, he gently but firmly sent the miscreant on his way. (On Icelandic buses, one pays by phone app or by debit card. The young scofflaw could not do so, because he had neither phone app nor card.)
I was headed to the Baha’i National Centre of Iceland, on the far eastern edge of the Capital Region. Somehow, the instructions had me heading south, a mistake that the transit officer helped me correct, with little trouble other than about an hour was spent on the bus that more accurate information in the first place would have been helpful. I got on the bus to which the officer referred me, finding that the new driver had minimal command of English. He did, however, understand the bus route to which I needed to connect, and let me off at the right place. From there, I took Bus #5, found a supermarket near my stop and got directions to the Centre.
The Baha’i National Centre of Iceland is on the second floor of a modest office building, but seeing it from across the road, it felt like I was approaching a palace. The soft-spoken office manager, Badi, was alone and had work left to do, before day’s end, but took forty minutes or so to share the community’s activities and plans, over tea and a Danish croissant. He went through the history of the Faith in Iceland (first established here in 1972) and outlined plans to one day build a House of Worship in a salubrious location that is now known as “the Temple Site”.
The temporary seat of our work in Reykjavik.Badi is a soft-spoken, but genial host.
After this visit, I walked to the spot which Badi had outlined for me on a map, and found the bus driver was headed to downtown Reykjavik. He had an empty bus, so I was a “guest of honour”. This chauffeurage took me steadily westward, past the entry to the Ring Road, which posted “Vik, 177km”. (Vik is a market town in southern Iceland, well to the east of Reykjavik.) He got me as far as the main bus terminal in downtown, and I bid him the best of evenings. From there, it was a six-minute walk to Hi Loft, a short breather and on to a fine dinner of fish soup (more like a thick chowder, but still delectable), at Reykjavik Fish Company.
Despite the rather terse mood in which I found myself, given the two horrible incidents of gun violence in the U.S. yesterday and the commemoration of the tragedy that took place 24 years ago today, the day ended up being well-spent. No intense exploration of scenic wonders, but spiritual sustenance became the order of the day.
September 7,2025- There is much that I will miss about Home Base I, during the next seven weeks.
“It’s raining!”, the lady said, as she passed me on the sidewalk, this morning. It was not raining, so maybe her comment was sparked by my bush hat, which was meant (along with sunscreen) to guard my face and neck from UV rays. Such silliness is rare in Prescott, these days. Most people with whom I am even mildly acquainted have wished me safe travels, on the journey that starts tomorrow and will end the last week of October. There is much to be done, in those seven weeks. There are those who see it as an extended vacation-even though I am no longer working for wages, save a few chosen gigs in the schools. There are others who are confused when I say I will see them in two months, probably because they themselves just returned from a long trip. Most, though, have encouraging comments to offer.
I had a pleasant conversation with several fellow American Legionnaires at our usual breakfast this morning. Some are planning their own trips, across the U.S. and down to Mexico. Most will keep the home fires burning.
Another visit, to a couple who had recently gone on a night photography trip to the Navajo Nation, gave me an opportunity to see just how striking the Milky Way is, relative to the great monadnock ( single monolith rising from a surrounding plain) called Ship Rock. I have observed that sacred place many times, and photographed it from a fair distance. Our galaxy’s stars are most visible at night, from a southwest angle. In order to view it, one must be accompanied by a Dineh (Navajo) guide. This is what my friends did, and they had a great time. They were not among the recent travelers who seemed confused by my farewell. They have been to many of the places on my itinerary and wished me well.
A sizable group came to the last event of the day- a Spiritual Feast, which I was honoured to host, at the home of other friends. We had a lengthy and fruitful consultation about several matters. Then, most of the friends also wished bon voyage. The spiritual feast, a Baha’i institution, is always more special when a large group takes part. It is even more special when the assemblage takes on the nature of changes that are engulfing society, and works at discerning those events and processes that proffer good from those that bring ill. Our mission is to promulgate the good in individuals and in communities.
So, after all that, I have readied my backpack, and will have enough time tomorrow to pack my carry-on, by rising early. There will plenty of time to doze off, on the shuttle to Phoenix.
There is much that I will miss about Home Base I, and much that I will treasure about the places that lie ahead.
September 6, 2025- “Get up and dance!”, said the guest of honour, at the second of today’s three important events. As I like dancing,I did so, fairly loosely and in rhythm with the music, just not to her liking, so when she turned and walked away, I sat back down. I learned, a long time ago, that life cannot be well-lived on someone else’s terms.
What, exactly, does it mean to flow on the river of love? I have been told, in recent weeks, that if I really loved someone, I’d give them the money I set aside for their well-being. Instead, I gave it to someone who will expend it on the other person’s behalf, in a judicious manner.
I have, conversely, been advised that living according to what is best for my own well-being is an act of love. Certainly, minding my health needs and keeping active is good, by extension, for my little family and for the good of those aspects of the community to which I am of the most help.
I think the the truth is more in balance. Too much emphasis on my own needs and wants can be distracting and take away from the genuine needs of the community. On the other hand, no one can meet the needs of all comers, without oneself becoming a ward of society. I do agree that love comes first, and material matter is no more than a tool, by which love for self and others can be manifested.
On Mondays, when I am here at Home Base I, I help serve a meal to destitute people. This evening, I helped tend to the needs of more well-to-do people, who are patrons of Prescott Farmers Market. My approach to both groups has been the same-just helping others enjoy a meal, in a safe and relaxed atmosphere. That, to me, is traveling on the river of love.
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A Sagittarian Seeker 