No Reindeer on This Ride

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December 24, 2022- The father took his teenage daughters to pick out a Christmas tree for their home. He was used to going alone, and picking out a huge spruce, that only fit inside the house after a struggle and some sawing off of limbs. Not this time: The girls saw a scrawny, mini-tree, no more than three feet tall. They fell in love with it, and wanted to take it home and care for it-“Looks so lonely, Daddy!”. Yes, the result was a foregone conclusion, and the tree is said to be sitting in the family’s front room, decorated by Dad and his eldest angel.

With this story under my belt, I headed off to deliver a gift which had inadvertently been mailed to me, by a rehabilitation worker who was confused by a patient sending “too many gifts to too many places.” Spoiler alert: There were four gifts going to two places. No reindeer were over-exercised on this delivery. It was me and my Sportage doing the honours.

After a stop in Flagstaff, to pick up a small gift for a family in the same area, who have been suffering a most untimely loss, I headed to Hopiland. Going to delivery stop # 1, I got Reservation-style directions from a woman who barely knew the recipients, and, combining her comments with the description I got from the sender, I was able to deliver the gift easily, and get the t-shirt that was intended for me and had been mailed to the other party.

The other small gift was then brought to the matriarch of the grieving family, and after a brief offer of condolences, I headed back off the Hopi Reservation, a place that has never stopped feeling like home. “Visiting” Hopi families, during periods of mourning or when the people are preparing for a holiday, is a necessarily brief occasion-unless one is of blood family. Then again, the same has been true of late, with other friends- visits pertain to the matter at hand, and vague promises of “getting together again soon” precede the farewell.

Holidays just are not easy for many.

The Ridge

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December 23, 2022-

Ocotillo cactus, late blooming and in autumn fade, Ridge Trail, Sedona

Akuura, my Hiking Buddy, and I chose the Ridge Trail as a pre-Christmas route, following a wide loop path, which ended being close to three miles-a fairly easy but vigorous workout. The Ridge in question would have taken us another forty minutes to get to the top-and thus remains a goal for future efforts.

As it was, we got at least one fine view of the great formations to the east and north.

View of Sugarloaf Mountain and Brins Mesa, from first ridge, Ridge Trail, Sedona
Sugarloaf is in the background.
The remnants of last week’s cold snap remain along the washes which drain Carroll Canyon, along which the Ridge Trail runs. Every ice formation tells its own story.
Some juniper trees tell of hard times.

After our loop, Airport Mesa called-with its Mesa Grill providing a fine repast, as always, and the views from the Mesa top offering a different sort of dessert.

Thunder Mountain and Sugarloaf, from Airport Mesa
Sugarloaf and Brins Mesa, from Airport Mesa viewpoint

Ridges, loop trails and sweeping viewpoints also happen in other aspects of life. The afternoon came and went, with no word on the work situation for next semester. Since I have a Plan B, there is not a whole lot of upset on this end. The main thing is that the students get the best possible teacher, given the circumstances.

More immediately, tomorrow will find me on a relatively brief visit to Hopi, to deliver a gift from a hospitalized former student to his wife. The spirit of Christmas will allow for no less.

Surviving The Crush

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December 22, 2022- On the Pine Ridge and Rosebud Oglala Sioux Reservations, in west central South Dakota, people are faced with piles of snow, thirty inches deep in some places, made even more impassible by the deep freeze that has followed Winter Storm Diaz, and has impacted an area from central Alberta to Orlando, Florida. There are people stranded, far from home, along the Missouri River, in both Dakotas and into Nebraska and Iowa. Drones are dropping infant formula and other necessities, as best they can, in rural areas where other transport is presently impossible.

I will be sending some money to help, through whatever avenue that will help the people of the worst-affected region, who are nearly destitute in the best of times. I have been to Pine Ridge, Wanblee, Martin and Rosebud. I have seen suffering and seen the joy that shines in the eyes of the people, when their humanity is acknowledged by those with no agenda. The warrior spirit of the First Nations people, like that of the people of Ukraine, will carry them through this, and the assistance of those fortunate enough to live in an area not as affected by the crushing cold and snow is more than warranted. Thankfully, also, there is an outreach by the State of South Dakota to the Tribal lands. This is an earnest recognition that there is no longer any daylight between the two entities. The Governor is a rancher, whose family has seen this type of horror before, albeit not to this degree. She has had her differences with the tribes, in the past, but weather has erased ideology as a basis for deciding who gets what.

Leave it to calamity to show humans that banding together is the only way any of us can survive.

Possibilities

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December 21, 2022- On a lark, I spent a little time this evening, watching a show about the misadventures of a young woman in a place for which she was ill-prepared. It had a bit of an “I Love Lucy” meets “Anna and The King” air about it. She was, though, making it work, day to day, when I signed off and went on to other activities for the evening. The gist was that, though she seemed a bit flighty, there was a very strong sense of self-and a pluckiness that brought her eventual success. She was nobody’s fool.

We each face similar situations, even when we stay in place and try to adhere to a certain basic routine. I’ve heard from friends whose lives are rather cut and dried, who have recently been facing challenges they had only vaguely expected. These range from weather that is so cold, that even an Alaska-style battery-warmer would be hard put to keep a vehicle working, to health challenges facing multiple members of a family, at once, and I’m not talking about viruses.

Thus do we find ourselves exploring possibilities. In this little corner, I will be talking with a couple of educators, tomorrow, about filling in at a position for the coming semester. This would make my own routine fairly basic, for the first time in four years. On the other hand, I could keep my present plan, which would have me covering different positions, for 3-5 days each, at certain points in the coming semester. If that plays out, I would still be available for some Red Cross activities and would head to the Northwest and Alaska, in late April, for 3 weeks or so. The other option would be none of the above, a misty, foggy scenario about which I haven’t a clue as to how things would play out. (2020 was THAT sort of year, and things got rather intense-but all ended fairly well.)

Even in “retirement”, the plight of the world, and all those I care about, settles deeply into my consciousness. The possibilities for responsible action remain endless.

Means of Support

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December 16, 2022- After a few days of making tentative bonds with some hostelers from Quebec and central Europe, and encountering a bridal party whose central member was chilled to the bone, I returned to find some of my dearest friends alternately encountering an almost Job-like series of difficulties and others finding disappointment and canceled plans at their door.

December can be a cruel month, perhaps rivaling T.S. Eliot’s April. Largely because so many have worked hard all year, and suffered so much from disease, to have a reasonable wish for a break of some kind is a small expectation. The Universe, though, does not always honour small expectations-perhaps because larger issues are at stake, or there are caveats attached to the wish, or maybe someone is in the reward queue ahead of the supplicant. I have had wishes that I secretly wanted to be fulfilled-in the company of _________, but not _________. That has been the undoing of the request.

The last two weeks of this year will prioritize helping those mentioned above-if they feel the need for my assistance and support. It’s vital for me to go over this in my heart, every day, and make sure that there are no agendas or caveats of my own involved. Life has been, on balance, good for me in 2022, and honestly, I want to share that fortune with those who have meant so much around here. At the same time, everyone faces life in their own way, and solitude is sometimes the only way a person, or family, can cope.

So it will play out as it is meant to-and I will stand by, with eyes and ears open, as we take one step at a time through the perils placed in the path trod by humanity. I am honoured to even be in a position to offer support, even if it is mostly emotional.

Stewarding the Beach

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December 13, 2022, San Clemente- I was briefly considering heading down to Little Italy, and dropping into Harbor Breakfast, when the call came over the loudspeaker at Samesun Ocean Beach. I had had a wondrous time playing an impromptu card game, last night, with five young hostelers, and had been getting to know some of them better, over coffee and toaster waffles. This ended when the announcement was made to be at the front desk at 10 a.m,, if interested in joining a beach clean-up. The ladies had other plans, but I am always interested in giving back to a host community. So, I got all my stuff out of the room, put it in storage and met with three other hostelers and a community member, and headed to the beach front.

The organizer, a sometime airline pilot named Joe, does these kinds of clean-ups in various locations around the world, in his free time. He has led several clean-ups of Ocean Beach, and other locations along the California coast. The community member who joined us is a barista at the coffee shop next door to Samesun and is a clothing designer, as well. We covered about a two -mile area, netting four bags of trash, a crab trap and an old half piece of luggage. Surfers and unhoused people thanked us, as did several dog owners-as one of the areas was OB’s Dog Beach.

This gives me the inspiration to spend some time tomorrow, cleaning up Trestles Beach, before or after meeting a friend in Dana Point. Stewarding our environment is something that needs doing on a regular basis, and I can certainly get back to doing this around Home Base, as well.

Joe treated us all to brunch, at OB Surf Lodge, one of the several magnificent eateries in this lovely little community. The fare was excellent, and I was able to help Joe avoid losing out on a job-thus paying back in a different way.

We steward the environment, and have each other’s back, because that is the way the world needs us to be.

Urban Farms Are Essential

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December 11, 2022, Gila Bend, AZ- The unruly young mare tried to nip her owner and got a slap on the nose and a sharp rebuke, from the no-nonsense mistress. There was not a bit of weakness in this woman, who has built a solid foundation for Maya’s Farm, based on what she learned up the road, at The Farm on South Mountain. I am always amused by an enterprise which begins with “The”, as if it is the only such enterprise of its kind, in a given area. Maya has done the leg work, networked with government, landowners and insurance companies, to create a second urban farm in south Phoenix. She is not done, and showed us a barren tract, nearby, which would fit nicely into her endeavour- largely backed by a Land Trust. She has little use for those who suggest cultivating a friendship with land developers, noting that all she has seen so far is fast-track housing, and nothing will change her viewpoint, anytime soon.

People go with what they experience. A child who gets a regular diet of whoop-ass is going to be either mean or skittish. A person raised to be heard, and affirmed, will grow to be confident, sassy at times, but quite solid. Maya, I think, has seen duplicity and underhandedness. Thus, she is wary of the buildings going up, just two blocks north, and of anyone who does not show “TLC” to the land.
The world needs a lot more Mayas.

Our tour, this afternoon, was called “Let’s Legume”, and featured tepary beans, Hopi Red Dye Amaranth, elephant garlic and various shade trees. The property is helped, through being bordered on the north by a grove featuring various palms. I can’t imagine living through the heat of May-October, and constantly working, but the farm crew does it. I met a few men and women who pledged their energy for the coming year. Maya does not take much time off, in terms of growing her crops, while also teaching full time, so such volunteers are a godsend.

The meal, of a grain “burger”, was one of the spiciest sandwiches I’ve had, in quite awhile, and was delectable. The fire was put out by a cup of well water, and a cookie that seemed to have nutmeg and cinnamon helped as well. Who says vegans have a bland diet?

After an hour or so at the salubrious farm, I headed west, then south, to this small farming community, at the southwest edge of Metro Phoenix. People here, where the summer temps get up to nearly 118 at times, would do well to plant shade trees and desert-hardy crops, at the level of the urban farms of south Phoenix. The Tohono O’odham, who live not far from here, are descended from people who did just that, for over a century.

Urban farms, run by serious entrepreneurs with intense energy, are essential to our survival in this period of climate change.

Acker Night Reflections

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December 9, 2022- As I walked about downtown Prescott, there were several things apparent: The town was alive with music, in each of over five dozen businesses; there were healthy crowds in each one; downtown banks had shut their ATMs, or had run out of cash. This last was significant, because one of the ideas of Acker Night is for patrons to leave a cash tip, in each of the shops they visit, as part of the evening’s fund raiser for arts programs in the area. The less cash there is available, the less that is contributed to the effort. There needs to be better communication between banks, the arts community and the public-at-large.

I wrote, a week ago, about being more comfortable in groups. I am ready for groups, but this evening, they were not ready for me. It’s not altogether easy for close-knit people to accept those deemed outsiders. So, after chatting for a few minutes with a member of one such group, and listening to a men’s choir, I wandered back to Home Base; not sad or even lonely, but calm in realizing that good people sometimes just need time and space to consider expanding their circle.

I sense that an immature part of me has fallen away, or has grown up, at long last. Some of the people in my life seemed to like that flirtatiousness, light-heartedness that occasionally surfaced. My energy field, though, has become more concerned with the complete human beings in my life, with what is in their dreamscape and their life plan. It is just time for that unity between heart and mind to rise to the surface.

Tomorrow evening will find me in two more group situations: An American Legion Christmas Party and another concert evening at Raven Cafe, with hopefully another seat at a table which can draw four-six people together.

Life moves forward in stages.

Safeguarding

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December 8, 2022- A chirpy voice uttered a “complimentary” greeting to me, as I was leaving the building. I looked down to see a very short person, looking up at me with a radiant smile. This was either a ruse or a slightly disturbed individual, given the nature of the words-which I will not repeat here. Suffice it to say, a person my age is NOT someone who is usually the recipient of such comments. We both kept walking in opposite directions, and I did not look back; there was no reason to, unless I myself was disturbed. Making a big deal of it would have been evidence of the latter.

My charges and I had just had a good, honest talk, in which I reassured them, especially a young man, that they could opt out of a reportedly graphic information presentation on matters which used to be handled between father and son, or mother and daughter. Both the boy and his female classmates seemed relieved that they did not have to sit through someone else’s idea of valid information. (The individual mentioned above was not part of that class, and was not anyone I had ever seen before.)

We live in an age when there is both honesty about matters of the flesh and gross overkill as to how soon in life someone should make a determination about his/her gender identity and as to who is to help make that determination. (My own position is that no gender change should be made, until a person is at least 18, and then, only when armed with full information on all aspects of such a change,) We live in an age when entire generations have grown up with adulterated food, air and, in many cases, water. We have no clear idea what specific effects the substances, from GMOs to microplastics to heavy metals, have had on human beings and other living things. Hormonal imbalances, along with mental disorders and early onset diseases, may very well be a result of these substances being present.

We also live in an age when there is both free flowing commentary about once private matters and anonymity, in speech, and between even people living in close proximity to one another; sometimes, between people living in the same house. One by-product of these is a plethora of confused and frightened individuals. Thus, the highly intelligent young man who was all too vocal about what he regarded as institutional overkill, in trying to influence his decision-making, which he preferred be a matter between his father and himself,

It is no secret, in this community, and on the pages of this blog, that I love young people very deeply, in the true sense of the word. I recently watched a program, in which one of the characters said, “We safeguard those we love. We keep them from harm, coming from any source.” That has been my modus vivendi, since I was probably 9 years of age. Maybe being the oldest of five children had something to do with it; maybe realizing that life is tough, no matter what age one is, had its influence. In any case, I long ago decided my life’s work would be helping young people safely realize their dreams and to the extent possible, on their own terms. That is how our son was raised, and that is how I advise anyone else.

If I again encounter the child mentioned at the top of this post, my words will be the same as with others: “Walk carefully; speak thoughtfully; live authentically; dream fearlessly.”

Celebrations and Stress Tests

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December 7, 2022- The 13-year-old pulled the hood of his coat tightly over his head, keeping that head down, as much as possible, while making it clear that he was trying to follow instructions, as best he could. Such is the daily life of a recent refugee from a place where conflict rages. The reactions of people, especially young people, who are in an outwardly safe place while inwardly reeling from all they have seen and heard, smelled and felt, over the past months and years of their lives, run the gamut from manic energy to gross task avoidance to abject terror. The stress they must feel is extreme, palpable and is with them 24/7.

This is the rough part of December, for many: Pearl Harbor was attacked 71 years ago; the best friend of a good friend died two years ago; the finances of many are being hammered, as the December Doldrums, the worst time of year for investors, play out and the days inch shorter.

Of course, in short order, celebrations will pick up, as will the stock market- in mid-month. Solstice will come and the days will get imperceptibly longer. The victims of war, however, will need all manner of understanding and support. As conflicts rage, young people are living with grandparents, aunts and uncles-while their parents are back in the conflict zone-enduring God knows what. The children know, the children fear and the children tremble.

In another city, a 14-year-old stabbed herself, was rushed to hospital and thankfully was saved from physical death. Only unconditional love, which has poured out on social media and, hopefully, will pour out from her family, will restore her emotional and mental health. I saw that girl’s face in my mind, though I have never seen her image anywhere else. I heard her shaky voice, pleading to be loved.

As the First World’s and ten-percenters’ financial doldrums subside, and as the the celebrations of various holidays pick up, let us make a special effort to envelop those under stress with an uncommon love and unstoppable efforts at understanding. No child, indeed, no person, should be left behind.