Patience Rising

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November 16, 2023- The soloist momentarily forgot a line, or a note, and uttered “Oops, I forgot…”, then got his memory jog and continued his tune-all within a span of three seconds. He ended his turn on stage by noting the atmosphere of patience in the room.

Since we were at a Community Celebration of Thanks, the attitude of gratitude was a given, and the gentleman, a Sufi, as it were, would have been unlikely to have incurred anyone’s annoyance. There was applause after each performance-even after each short reading of Scripture. The accent was totally on the positive.

I am noticing, in the face of much ballyhooed implosions of public manners, particularly in Washington, D.C. and among the frustrated few, that the average Joe and Jane are showing more patience with one another. I see this around town, and I saw it in southern California, when I was en route back here from a visit to the Philippines. Road rage is still a thing, but it seems less common, of late. The angry person, or persons, who set fire to the underpinnings of the freeways in downtown Los Angeles are outliers, even more than would usually be the case.

Perhaps it is a natural reaction to the horrors we are witnessing, in other parts of the world. It may well be that we are growing up, as a species, slowly but surely, and that peace in our time will become more than a buzz phrase. It starts with talking with those who have differences of opinion, and focusing on our common humanity. The leaders of the United States and China did so, yesterday. The leaders of the two parties in the House of Representatives did so, yesterday, as well-and they will do so again-of necessity. Sooner or later, the leaders of Israel and Palestine, Ukraine and Russia, the warring factions in Sudan, Yemen and perhaps a dozen or so less intense conflicts, will have to sit face to face-and patience will win out, of necessity.

Nuclear obliteration, Mr. Putin’s view of it aside, is not an option.

Death of A Culture?

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November 15, 2023- The scene, in a National Geographic Magazine article on orcas of the Southern Ocean, showed three or four females in an orca family systematically using wave action to upend a small ice floe, on which their prey, a Weddell seal, was sheltering. The maneuver was ultimately successful and the dolphins took their food home.

It was then pointed out, that the decline in sea ice has led the seals to find a new home, inland on a rocky landscape. Orcas, and other cetaceans, have no such recourse. Thus, the author concluded, we may be witnessing the death of a culture.

Cetaceans may, over eons, return to the land-dwelling practices of their very distant ancestors. Living things are almost always able to adapt to the Earth’s changes, if given plenty of time. Aspects of culture, though, will rise and fall, with the onset of those changes.

I pondered what this has meant, in a human context, just in my own lifetime. When I was four, a child could not get on a phone and call a beloved relative, without two or three unfamiliar female voices telling him to get off the phone. I used to wonder, even back then, how nice it would be it we could speak to family and friends on a phone that could be used in a car-or while walking along a sidewalk.

In moments of self-pity, in my early adolescence, I wondered what it would be like to live in a society where it was severely frowned-upon, or even illegal, to ridicule others. I quickly concluded that the scenario would be untenable- since nobody’s perfect, and not being held to account for things would end in the person falling victim to own ego.

The narrowness of my contacts, growing up in a community where people of colour lived on the periphery of town, or came to work from the two larger cities to our northeast and southwest, respectively, allowed subliminal and stereotypical views of other ethnicities to settle in my psyche. Still, I wondered from an early age as to how long it would take for people of colour to be able to live freely, wherever they wanted-with no harassment from those around them. I guess we’re still working on that one-though we’ve certainly come a long way. The house, where my mother and her siblings were raised, has been owned for several years by an African-American attorney, of distinguished bearing and considerable accomplishment. I think my maternal grandfather, who prided himself on his work, would have approved.

Culture, our collective, shared set of beliefs, practices and implements, may always change. To say it is subject to death, though, is rather presumptuous.

Little Deep Breathing Victories

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November 14,2023- There it was, mocking my best efforts to control its forays into my small coffers: Yet another unauthorized deduction from my account- with no goods or services offered in return. This time, though, yet another call went to the Fraud Department-and got a swift response. Essentially, the bank is tired of the elusive thief’s cat and mouse, no contact number, e-mail or website. The gig is up and the small, but irritating charges have been blocked and will not be allowed henceforth. Whoever it is, never bothered to even try to snooker me. He/she/they just glommed onto a legitimate start-up, which has since gone under-and stopped charging me, since she can’t provide her promised service. Not so the ghost outfit, who soldiered on, in the shadows, oblivious to my protests to the bank-until today. Deep breathing and thought won out.

Later in the day, a hurriedly prepared task was handed me, and its author headed out the door to a meeting. Predictably, when a key detail was left out, the program omitted any links to the next elements of the program. Those of us in the room were left using marker and white board to complete the tasks. I am fairly well-versed in technology, but navigation of a Chrome Book, with no mouse, still gives me fits-especially when a link just up and disappears-not even locatable on the bottom of the screen-which is the first place I look for an errant link. Somehow, with deep breathing, we got through a good part of the task, before an apologetic task writer came back in.

When all else fails, inhale, count to ten and exhale. Repeat 10x-no rinsing necessary.

What’s Missing?

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November 13, 2023- Today is one of two days this week with no outside schedule, per se. So, of course I went down to Century Lounge, to sit and chat with my friend, Marianne, the barista. While we had a few minutes, before the upstairs tenants and streetside regulars came in, M asked me if I was homesick for Prescott, whilst in the Philippines.

I have not given that notion much thought. I do not miss one place, when I am in another-largely because there has been so much that is comforting and wondrous, wherever I happen to be. Certainly, I’d be “homesick” were I in a war zone or in some other captive situation-but, as it occurred to me, in another situation today, there would be scant comfort and wonder, in such a place.

That said, I certainly miss friends here, when elsewhere and am glad to see them, once back in Home Base. Likewise, there are people I miss in many other places of the heart, when here-and thank the Lord for the digital connections we now have, to augment the telephone and the mails. (I thought of someone from whom no one has heard in a while, and thus sent her a message. I will be very much concerned with the response.)

We each can only be in one place at a time-and my loci do not depend on permission, per se, from anyone who interposes self in other people’s lives, my own included. This has caused a rift with someone I’ve known for many years-and is discomfiting to a few others. To equate availability on demand, however, with trustworthiness, is a false equivalency.

I have three key work assignments, this week, followed by a day helping to install smoke detectors, in a town three hours west of here. Then there will be ten days spent with family. All else remains in the realm of prayer.

Seat of Honour

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November 12, 2023- The full chocolate cake, with frosting to match, fit the recipient’s taste to a tee. I recall this, as her choice of cake for my birthday gathering, six years ago, was this exact recipe. She got to keep the greater part of that cake, since there was only so much that I wanted to stick in my freezer for parceling out, over the subsequent days.

It had to be carefully choreographed, as this gathering in her birthday honour was following a business meeting, and was a follow-up to the surprise birthday party she had staged for her husband, a few weeks ago. He, of course, turned the tables, saying nothing about today’s surprise. It was a nice ending to a well-organized meeting.

There should be a place of honour for each soul, at the right time. Many go through life without so much as a stale crust of bread. They don’t complain, mostly because they have little strength. They deserve a place of honour, and will someday get it. Others go through life, squawking about every little slight-and letting the rest of us know just how much we have let them down. They deserve a place of honour, too, just not to the extent they tell themselves so. People like today’s birthday lady, though, have endured a fair amount of physical and emotional pain-and have walked through it, with little fanfare. Only when her loved ones’ safety is at risk, do the rest of us get put on notice about being extra careful.

Today was her time in the sun-and she got to keep the bulk of the cake this time, as well!

Hours of Power

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November 11, 2023- Settling in, to enjoy ninety minutes of pulsating, original rock songs, by one of Prescott’s most pulsating, original bands-The CheekTones, I was pleasantly surprised when two young ladies I had not seen before sat themselves at the table, joined, for good measure,a few minutes later by two of their male classmates, then by a shyer, more reticent girl.

The first two asked me general questions about my day, and how I enjoyed The Raven-and the CheekTones. It turned out they were mostly there to support one of the boys who was playing a song with Don Cheek and his band. The kid can play! His parents were there, for the moment-as were these classmates. The girls spoke a bit about their after school jobs-shopping cart jockey, beverage pourer at a local burger joint and juice bar attendant. The boys had nothing to say. Then we all turned our full attention to the band.

Don has had a band presence here, at least since I moved up from Phoenix, in 2011. He has been mentoring young musicians for probably twice that long. He inspired, and supports, another local band, Scandalous Hands, who appear regularly at The Raven, as well. The two bands do 95% of their performances in Prescott clubs and outdoor venues-going, every so often, to Sedona or to Parker, on the Colorado River. Such energy conservation has its benefits-and is rather common, to local bands. It’s a huge reason why their performances here tend towards the intense, the explosive and are so inspirational to young artists.

The kids excused themselves, after forty minutes or so, to go do teen-specific activities. They popped back in one more time, towards the end of the concert, just so I wouldn’t think it was because of me that they left the first time. Nah-I was there once, long ago. It was good they stopped back in, though. I had the young guitarist’s finger warmers on the table and would not have been able to return them, save through Don-who has enough to concern himself.

There was a lot of power in the air today. It is categorized, by astrologers and cosmic advisers, as an Eleven Master Day-meaning that its digits, 1+1+1+1+2+2+3, add up to eleven. A pair of ones, written side by side, are also seen by the mystics as being pillars of both male and female energy.

Today was Veterans Day, and there was a long parade, part of which I watched, before heading to Farmers Market, to tend to the only service day I could offer there, this month. In early evening, I sat in on a Healing Devotional, hosted by someone who was attacked last month. She is on the mend, though, and is still working with police in her community, to try and locate her assailant, before another attack happens.

Each of these events had a power of its own, as did the initial responses to my joining subgroups of nextdoor.com. It has never been easy for me to accept compliments and positive views from others, but that is changing-at long last. It does not have to conflict with personal modesty-and is good for building the energy flow that I need, in order to accomplish what lies ahead, both here and further afield. One friend says my travel is foolish, but deep down inside, I think she is only masking her own wish for a more expansive life, something that those who controlled her life for so long would never allow.

Each of us can move ahead, and as long as we support one another, in our struggles with our own egos and with those who would try to stifle us, for their own ends.

Frank Borman

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November 9, 2023- The young man was unwilling to put all his eggs in one basket, as it were-and so, despite there being three other candidates ahead of him, he filled out and submitted an application for West Point Military Academy, in 1945. A year later, the three candidates ahead of him had fallen away, and the future Apollo astronaut entered the Academy. He graduated 8th, in a class of 670, in 1950.

The crackerjack test pilot had what Tom Wolfe would call “the right stuff”, in spades, and so qualified for training as an astronaut-first in the Project Gemini tandem Earth orbit activities, then as pilot of the Apollo 8 circumambulation of the Moon, in December, 1968. Later, as NASA White House liaison, he watched the landing of Apollo 11, on the lunar surface, and Neil Armstrong’s famous steps and speech, from the West Wing.

The sharp-eyed airline executive had built his company’s fortunes and took a leap of faith, purchasing new planes and equipment, keeping Eastern Airlines in the forefront of what was then state-of-the-art technology. He did not shy from the trade-offs, and trimmed costs at the expense of salaries and wages. Deregulation of the industry was not something he foresaw, though, and the perfect storm of decline in profits and uptick in costs, including debt management, led him to resign as CEO, in 1986.

Through it all, Frank Frederick Borman was a doer. He kept on with building his own vehicles, from the engine to the exhaust pipe; selling cars in Las Cruces, then running cattle in Montana. He was a faithful husband to his wife, Susan, for 71 years. He was a good father to two sons. He was a hard-nosed Chief Executive Officer, who did not dodge the tough questions, though it cost his employees, especially the women, mightily when he faced the fire.

Colonel Borman lived to the age of 95, passing on, two days ago, near his beloved ranch. His life, replete with success yet riddled with errors in judgment, was nonetheless in many ways worthy of admiration.

The Sum of Ignorance

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November 7, 2023- As the short video played out, some of those who may well find themselves in harm’s way, eight years from now, should the penchant for war as a solution to global ills continue, were busy in denial- choosing to play around and insult each other, rather than show respect for those who have served.

I know it is the fear of death that spurs adolescent boys to act out, when conflict and war are mentioned, however respectfully. Yet, I’ve seen too much and lost too many friends, men and women alike, to abide their antics without comment. Disinterest, or even the appearance of same, is what leads to the rise of tyranny. Autocrats can smell apathy, the way bears can smell food, clearly and from a distance. I left that particular coterie to answer to their regular teacher.

This evening, with only a few exceptions, people turned away from ignorance. The right to life is universal, and it also cannot be a pretext for eliminating the growth of conscience among one’s neighbours. The solution to feeling the need to end another’s life is not statute, but careful use of the sex drive- which, to me, lies within marital union, however two people see that union. As long as that concept seems antiquated or somehow patriarchal, there will remain “unwanted” pregnancies. (Parents should NOT be arranging marriages, in this day of spreading universal education; they should certainly approve or disapprove their child’s choice of mate, but not make the choice for the child.) There remains, as we are seeing, a rising reverence for a human being’s right and duty to choose mindfully, as to what happens with his/her own body.

People also turned away from ignorance, in general. They did not turn away from traditional values, but from the notion that only a small group of elders can decide what’s best for the people. In the run-up to today’s vote, ignorant and ill -advised statements, by those who claim to represent conservatism, even about intimate details of their personal lives, did not do the movement of preservation any favours.

” For the wages of sin is death…..”- St.Paul’s Letter to the Romans, 6:23. The sum of ignorance, whether on the Right or on the Left, is zero.

Fever, Pitched

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November 6, 2023- Penny’s graduation photo, circa 2006, appeared on one of my social media pages, a few days ago. I keep going back to it, as comments have come in. So, it was no surprise when I got the message “This stubborn fever is going to break, tonight.” When I awoke, this morning, the fever was indeed gone and a residue of sweat confirmed the break.

I am now relieved of the need to call off my two work assignments, tomorrow and Wednesday. Today proceeded, slowly on my part, but with a number of small tasks, from writing my mother to locating a couple of missing purchase cards, being accomplished. The lesson remains, though, that jumping right back into community life after a long journey is not a good idea. It stemmed more from guilt, on my part, and I see that no friends have fallen away, after I had to spend the weekend largely sequestered. So, as I said earlier, any future travels will be followed by a day or two of rest, whether “needed” or not.

Penny’s photo with me is also a lovely reminder of the eternity of our tie. I did not retain her social media presence, once the anniversary of her passing had come and gone. Those who believe in maintaining tribute pages will likely offer push back on this, but a tribute page is mainly for the solace of loved ones left behind. We know she is in a good place and does not need tugs on this side of the veil. That,at least for me, is solace enough.

Achers Away

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November 4, 2023- At first, my thought was “At long last, COVID”. Nope-the aches and flash fever were too familiar. It was that change of season flu, one more time. Someone, somewhere will shake their head and say, “There IS a flu shot, ya know”. Yes, there is-for the dominant strain(s) of influenza that the CDC has projected will be in the elements, for this particular season. It’s a crap shoot, and one that shortened the life of my father’s older brother, by maybe five years. The wrong strain of vaccine put Uncle George on oxygen and sidelined a vibrant, energetic soul. Science is most often inexact.

I have been selective about getting vaccinated, over the decades. COVID-19 was too vicious and too novel, so two injections went in my left arm, and I have not felt any change in my functioning or my behaviour, from either one. Tetanus and tuberculosis are two on which I stay current. The rest are, in my case, pretty much cash cows for Big Pharma, though I do recognize that others may need them. Being nearly 73, I don’t, as long as I keep up the daily doses of Lifelong Vitality supplements and maintain an active lifestyle.

That brings me to the Achilles heal: Keeping too tight a schedule. It caused headaches twice, on my recent trip to the Philippines. Having it to do over again, either there or on any long journey, I would allow more time, if taking a bus or train and would not schedule a flight the day after a long bus trip. Too many times, buses are slowed down by other traffic or by large numbers of passengers showing up, in a country town.

The second thing is: I will politely decline an invitation here at Home Base, the day after landing in Los Angeles or San Francisco. That is an element of people pleasing, which only ends up disappointing still other people-because I got sick from running on empty. We know to go slow, on the other end, and don’t overbook after landing in the foreign destination, but falling for the “friends and family are so excited to see you back” (mostly in my head), does nothing for either of us.

There are those who refer to every trip out of town as “vacation”, even if it happens once a month. They book no appointments, the day before leaving or the day after returning, even if it’s a road trip. Maybe they’re on to something.