Impersonal

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August 8, 2022- The masked man snapped, “Don’t be smiling at ME, mister!”, as I went to pass him and his friend, the Feeding Coordinator at a local church, while cleaning up after helping serve a meal for the homeless. The hapless woman introduced us, in hope of de-escalating the matter, then scrunched her face and walked away. Masked Man then got his walking stick and left without another word. My smile was because I felt happy, nothing more.

I am reading Don Miguel Ruiz’s “The Four Agreements”, before passing it on to a family member, who I think could also benefit from his premises. The agreements discussed are those we make with society, which cloud our judgment and limit our thinking.

The one I read today was regarding taking things personally. Don Miguel correctly, in my view, points out that taking offense at someone’s adverse comments or actions is rooted in self-centeredness. If someone calls me “stupid”, it only works its dark magic if I already doubt my own intelligence. What a person says, or does to, another is really reflective of her/himself, and own issues, rather than of the recipient.

I am quite steady, anymore, through either sunshine or rain. It wasn’t always that way. I could easily come unglued, if someone made negative comments about me or acted as if I were a lesser being. That all gradually came to an end, over the past four years, with the realization of exactly what Don Miguel discusses in this book. What is about me, is how I view myself, independently of anyone else’s input. The crucible was the intrusion into my life of a viciously judgmental individual, for whom the smallest error was grounds for a screaming dressing-down. After being physically injured by the individual,albeit through psychic energy, it came to me that only completely cutting off all contact-which I was so quick to advise others to do, over the course of my career, would guarantee my safety.

That was an extreme case, and my cutting off contact with the individual did not meet with the approval of a few friends, but no matter. My greater task, indeed the greater task of all of us, is to work towards full potential, to develop those attributes that will sustain the soul in the world beyond.

The woman at the church tersely thanked me for having helped, this once, and said “See you…around”. My efforts were at the behest of another friend, who asked me to help there once before. That appearance also ended on a sour note-but that’s another story. I may go back and help, next Monday, just because I believe in the effort being made. If I get the same response as this evening’s, maybe it’ll be better to leave the group to themselves-but at least I will know, it’s not me who has the problem.

Fatherhood Does Not End

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July 31, 2022- The teen boy was moaning and complaining that he could not take it anymore. The “it’ in question was the pain from an injury he had sustained the previous night, and which he was trying to tough-out. That was not working, and I asked a team mate to help me find a First Aid kit, which she brought me from the kitchen at Bellemont Baha’i School. I got out the appropriate materials and handed them to the boy’s stepfather, who was standing nearby. He gladly applied the dressing to the injured area, and the boy had a much better day.

I observed this man taking his parental responsibilities seriously, with all four of his stepchildren and the daughter he himself sired, a toddler who was delightful. Seeing him play with her, and be constantly guiding her to show good manners and respect for others, was a treasure. The girl already knows to share and to say please and thank you. She will also grow up strong and forthright, under his watchful eyes.

Fathering is more than a figurehead position and, like motherhood, never ends. My son is facing a plethora of challenges right now, and my place is to offer encouragement, support and belief in his ability to rise to them. If he falters, I will at least, as my own father once said, be there to catch him-even from a physical distance. One cannot deprive another of dignity, nor make decisions for that person-even one’s own child, after a certain age. Support, however, is the due of every soul who is facing own life with honour and effort.

Parenthood never really ends.

Deep Breaths

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July 30, 2022, Bellemont, AZ- The toddler was fascinated with the stenciled bear on my hand drum. She periodically got to strike the drum with its stick, before handing it back to me and watching how I was keeping rhythm, during a series of chants.

Most of the chants were devotional in nature, including one that many people who are familiar with Dineh culture would recognize: “I Walk In Beauty”. Two Dineh elders who live in Flagstaff, about 20 miles from here, came to spend time with us this evening, as their daughter and grandchildren were among the camp attendees. The husband is a Medicine Man (He dislikes the term “Shaman”), and spoke of the holistic nature of healing that is his concern, in his practice. The wife is also well-versed in holistic healing, and spoke of the nature of Dineh philosophy and spiritual practice. She stressed the value of maintaining balance and of unity with all peoples.

In the traditional way, one is told to begin the day, turning to each of the four main directions, breathing deeply and offering thanks to the Creator and asking blessings upon the people in each direction. I make special sense to focus on one’s breath. At the very least, I notice that my heart rate is within healthy range, when I take 3-10 slow, deep breaths each morning, This works well, no matter the altitude at which I find myself. (Here, it is 7000 ft. above sea level, as opposed to 5000 ft., in Prescott or 200 feet in my childhood home of Saugus, MA.).

So, mindfulness and breathing go hand in hand, in keeping a person focused and purposeful.

Under A Gentle Mist

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July 26, 2022- I woke this morning, to a router/modem combo that was struggling to even fully load, and a candle pot that had somehow crashed to the floor and shattered, overnight. After cleaning up the pieces of ceramic and vacuuming the shards, I looked carefully at the device, and found its power supply was running very hot. So, the whole thing was unplugged and will remain so, until a technician from Sparklight comes over, tomorrow at some point. Thus do I write from the pleasant surroundings of Wild Iris Coffee House and will communicate with others, this evening, from Raven Cafe.

There is a misty rain in Prescott, this morning, a gentle reminder that, no matter how difficult things may seem at times, there is always a Guiding Hand that will help keep things on an even keel. Last night, as I walked from Bill’s Pizza, following a pleasant dinner served by a precious soul, I was approached by a longtime friend, who is a Youth Pastor. He asked my opinion on the political events of the past two years, then stated his disaffection with a certain defeated candidate for the presidency. My contention that any one of us can be dumb at times, but few are stupid, was reinforced by our conversation. My conservative friend has a good heart and a discerning mind.

I got a reasonable estimate from the auto body shop that I use here, so Saturn should be repaired, relatively easily, sometime in August, courtesy of the culpable party’s insurance company. In the meantime, it’s roadworthy and will get its welcome back oil & lube on Thursday.

Late August and early September will find me in Colorado and northern New Mexico, with a Baha’i school in Colorado Springs as the centerpiece. The second half of October will bring a visit to northern Nevada and eastern Idaho. I had considered a train ride to Sacramento, and renting a car from there, but the time and money required to drive up there is actually less than a train/rental car combination. So, once again, it’ll be Saturn and me going forth together. Thanksgiving will, most likely, be a Texas affair, with Christmas right here at Home Base, but more on those, later.

This is a community of very finely-tuned synchronicity. I left the coffee house, momentarily, to change parking spots, as there is a two-hour limit. Spotting an empty space in Iris’s lot, I went to the car, turned around and, lo and behold, the car in front of me got the empty space. Having been raised with a mindset of abundance, I pulled around the corner and found several spaces available. There is, most often, room for everyone in this world.

Not A Hard Dog Day

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July 23, 2022- Beauty thought she would like to go out and smell the rain. So, I put on her harness and attached her leash, then got on my shoes and cap. We walked a short distance, up to a patio near where some kids live and she stood still, waiting for someone to come out. A nice lady came out and greeted the little dog. A boy came out, but not to greet Beauty. He had a household chore to do. We headed back towards the apartment where I am minding her. Then, the skies opened up. She got wet, and tried to shake it off, as is customary for dogs, but her curly hair just held the water. I dried her off with a towel and put a comfort shirt over her upper torso, which calmed her down. She was done smelling the rain.

Beauty is a friend’s dog, and has been acquainted with me for several months now. So, when friend wanted to go on a brief visit out of town, I was asked to stay with her for a day or so. This did not really conflict with anything, so I was glad to oblige. All in all, she is an easy animal to “pet-sit”. We went on three walks, including the wet one. She ate voraciously, then went back to gazing out the window. She fell asleep awhile ago, so here I am, contemplating what dogs dream. I sense that the process includes which of their people are kind to them and which ones are better off out of their lives. There are, no doubt, smells that get remembered, just as humans recall sights and sounds. There may even be a hope or two, who knows?

I was asked, this morning, whether I would be sticking around here for a while. Yes, in fact, I am, barring any family emergencies. There is work to be done, for most of August until Thanksgiving, with a few days in Colorado and northern New Mexico at some point in August or September and a trip up to St. Anthony, Idaho (long story), with a possible stop to visit friends en route (have yet to hear back from them), in mid-October, also in the mix. There are other matters, elsewhere in Arizona, to honour as well. Basically, though, the next few months look, right now, to be on a fairly even keel.

Work to be done? I keep hearing that I am supposed to be retired. Well, there are substitute assignments for which I will make myself available; Red Cross activities, here and there; Hope Fest, on September 10 and, most likely, Farm-to-Table Dinner on September 11. Then, there is always work on behalf of my Faith. Those who wish to see me cease and desist are free to stop working themselves, when the time comes-no pressure from this end.

It may be a dog’s life, for Beauty et al, but I’m glad for that which I’ve been given.

A Day of Tapas

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July 20, 2022- The titular culinary art form was indeed the basis for lunch, with friend A, as we returned to El Gato Azul, Prescott’s Spanish restaurant. Our waiter brought another fine set of small bite delights, and the shaded patio was much more comfortable than on our first visit.

The day, as a whole, invoked tapas in a way-as many days do, during the school breaks. I made a return visit to Zeke’s, for breakfast, finding that nothing has changed-same great food, in a spot where I can be gone a month and am greeted as if I had been here yesterday. This is part of what makes a great Home Base.

After a quick and soothing chiropractic adjustment, I made a dry run through my upcoming dog-sitting stint, which went just fine. I have owned a number of dogs, over the years, so the twenty-four hours this weekend will be fun.

Finishing up reviews of lodging, eateries and activity sites from my recent journey and an administrative meeting this evening were the last “tapas” of the day. Somehow, it seems that most days are tapas days- with small activities complementing one another.

Golden Wrap-up

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July 17, 2022- Upon the conclusion of each journey I’ve taken, since 2011, at least one family member asks “What was the highlight of your trip?” I can most often rattle off something that stands out, yet there is, truth be known, more than one highlight-especially when I’ve been away from Home Base for a month.

The two anchors, as it stands, were the first stop, Homolovi State Park, where I returned an arrowhead to its guardians, the ancestors of the Hopi people, and L’Anse aux Meadows, where the first Europeans of record met the Indigenous people of the Americas. It would seem an ironic twist to have laid the artifact back in sacred soil, when so much of the San Francisco Peaks, an area holy to many First Nations people, was under siege from a fire, apparently ignited by a random camper trying to burn his refuse. It was my first instruction from my spirit guides.

From there, the road presented a mix of family and friend visits, with stops at places of historical, social, natural and spiritual significance. The historical gems included Marland Mansion, in Ponca City, OK; Prescott, ON Riverwalk; St,. Joseph’s Oratory, Montreal; Provincial Assembly Building, Fredericton, NB; Shediac, NB; the villages and towns along the Cabot Trail, NS-especially Cheticamp and Ingonish; L’Anse aux Meadows, NL; St. Croix Island International Peace Monument, ME; State Capitol, Nashville TN. These, of course, each have natural features that add luster to the historical aspects of the place. This is especially true of L’Anse aux Meadows, with its stark subarctic and maritime beauty.

The natural treasures also included Lake Ontario Park, Kingston, ON; Moosehead Lake, Greenville, ME; Wilmot Park, Fredericton; Bras d’Or Lake and Cape Breton Highlands, NS; Gros Morne and Terra Nova National Parks, NL; Pippy Park, St; John’s, NL; Deer Lake Park, NL; Fundy National Park, NB; anywhere along the coast of Maine; Natchez Trace Parkway, TN. and of course, the open Atlantic Ocean.

Spiritually, I felt especially at ease in and around the Baha’i House of Worship, Wilmette, IL ; Lake Ontario Park; St. Lawrence Riverwalk, Prescott, ON; Waterfront Park, Shediac; looking out anywhere along Bras d’Or Lake; Grand Faillante, French Mountain and Green Cove, Cape Breton Highlands; Matthew Head, Fundy National Park; Green Acre Baha’i School, Eliot, ME; Natchez Trace; and Centennial Park, Nashville.

Socially, my family and I were there for one another, in Sarcoxie, MO; Boothbay Harbor, ME; Saugus and Lynnfield, MA; Exton, PA and Grapevine, TX. Likewise, long-time friends in Enid, OK; Mishawaka, IN; Oley, PA; Crossville, TN; Amarillo, TX and Moriarty, NM made travel a lot lighter. I also feel like lasting new friendships were made in Montreal; McAdam, NB; Wycocomagh, Bras d’Or Village and Eskasoni, NS; Doyles, St.Lunaire-Griquet and Grand Bank, NL; Jonesboro and Perry, ME (the last, as long as the cranky restaurant owner isn’t around); Hohenwald, TN and Tallulah, LA. I missed friends in Wilkes-Barre and Bedford, PA; Harrisonburg, VA; Wildersville, TN; other family members in Maine, Massachusetts and Pennsylvania- and I will see them again. The purpose in all this journeying is indeed to “make new friends and keep the old”, as the old children’s tune goes.

For the time being, I will quickly get back into life here at Home Base. Baha’i camp, near Flagstaff, a day of dog-sitting and whatever else surfaces will keep me in peace and harmony for the rest of July. We’ll talk about August and September, a little later.

The Rains Came-and Stayed

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July 8, 2022, Crossville, TN- Breakfast came, not long after the little girl had poked her head in the downstairs kitchen and hinted that she’d like some hot chocolate. “It’s there for your enjoyment, my love.”, I thought, and simply nodded, with a smile, towards the box of K-pods that had plenty of the delicious beverage. She helped herself, zip-zip, with the usual energy of an eleven-year-old, and was back out the door and up to her Sleepover room, in no time. Her aunt then brought my breakfast of avocado toast, granola and Bing cherries and mused about the challenges of raising three girls who had come from a challenging environment. Right now, they are in probably one of the safest environments they could ever want, looked after, nurtured and protected by a wealth of grounded, caring adults. I was, for a fleeting moment, one more.

I left the salubrious Oley Valley around 10:30, enjoyed the rolling hills and valleys of south central Pennsylvania for another two hours or so, before rolling down through the snippets of similar countryside in Maryland and West Virginia, before the long spine of Appalachian Virginia, itself a Heaven on Earth. The rain was with me, off and on, from Strasburg to just west of Knoxville, a series of gully washers that variously slowed traffic to a crawl or only mildly perturbed the stream of drivers, most of whom, it seemed, were headed from points along the Megalopolis to the Great Smokies. That perception was reinforced by seeing 90 % of my fellow travelers veer off onto I-77 South, at the fork in the highway, some fifteen miles north of Knoxville.

This trip has not seen me stop at three of my favourite eateries. D’s Diner and Rte. 220 (formerly Bedford) Diner, both in Pennsylvania, were simply not on the itinerary this time, with family meals being a priority. Neither, as it happened, was Dukes Bar and Grill, in Harrisonburg. That little spot will be a place for future visits, but today was a move-along steadily day. It was important to be in Crosstown, before my hosts were dead-to-the-world asleep, which would have led to my sleeping in the Saturn, in their driveway. (Complex situation short: Their schedule is full, from tomorrow morning until Sunday noon, and any sleep they get is golden.)

So, move-along it was, with gas-ups in Leesport, PA, Winchester and Wytheville, VA and a crispy chicken wrap as my second meal- enough to sustain this still ample frame. After a few knocks, my startled host opened the door, and here I sit, inside another cozy house. This is home, until sometime on Sunday, when we all head out the door, in two separate directions.

Freedom of Choice

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July 3, 2022, Saugus- A spirited discussion took place, on social media today, involving several members of a family in another part of the country, all of whom I love very much-regardless of their varying political views. It was said that things got out of hand, in private messages going back and forth, and I will leave that as it is. Private is private.

We are, in fits and starts, coming out of the Coronavirusdisease 2019 pandemic. Some, including friends of mine, are still getting the scourge, and hopefully their experience will be brief. Some have reported that it is horrific, and I pray for their swift recovery. My point here is, though, that after nearly two years of restriction, a sense of oppression and all manner of obfuscation, smoke and mirrors and the like, we, the People, are gingerly getting out and about. I took 2020 off from the road, and may have done so last year as well, but for the necessity of getting our family home ready to transfer to another family. (Who seem to be well-settled in, by the way.) My family and friends hereabouts are also finally getting to enjoy life again. One set of cousins is busy with cookouts, all weekend. Another couple are going off on a long-delayed journey to somewhere special. Yet a third cousin is kayaking, on a lake up yonder.

That we are exercising our freedom to travel is not a bad thing at all. There are benefits and drawbacks to travel, and one must accept both. We also have choices to make in many other areas of life. There are benefits and drawbacks to those as well. The right to do with one’s own body what you will, is sacrosanct-so long as it does not impinge on the rights of others. It is a matter of debate, at times fierce, as to whether a fetus is a human being. Some religious scholars say it is; others say humanity begins with birth. Some lay people take the first view; others, the opposite. I say, as a man, that the final, hopefully informed and measured, decision, rests with the mother-not with the courts, including that of Public Opinion, or with the Legislatures of different states, or of the nation at large.

The right to defend oneself is also sacrosanct. The Creator put us here, and it is up to the Creator as to when we leave. There is, however, nothing that says anyone has the right to end the life of another, in a random and capricious, or even intentional and malicious, spate of violence. So, I do not subscribe to the credo that says possession and use of assault weapons is a God-given right. (As I write this, six more people died at the hands of an out-of-control lunatic, in Highland Park, IL and an indeterminate number of police officers used what looks like excessive force, to end the life of a gunman, who had thrown his weapon into a car, before attempting to flee, in Akron, OH). Violence begets violence.

Every act we do in this life has benefits, and has consequences. I have learned to accept both.

Down East Meander

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July 1, 2022, Boothbay Harbor- A “just-in-case” phone call to a cousin and his wife, in this salubrious bay view town resulted in a dinner and accommodations invitation, which came at just the right time. I had enjoyed the drive down the Maine coast from Jonesboro, and had deposited my rent check at a B of A branch. The search for my cousin’s gravesite, in Augusta, was futile, though, and a brief visit to his parent’s tombstones at the same cemetery at least gave me a sense of purpose and a chance to regain focus.

I chose to mostly bypass the numerous idyllic scenes that dot this magnificent state’s coast. Despite how it may appear to some, this is not a journey that is focused on scenery. It is more one focused on spirit. There are family connections, especially in and around my hometown-though holiday plans will no doubt affect how many people I actually see. So, visiting cousin Tom and his wife, Jamie, will likely prove more the exception than the rule.

Around lunchtime, I found a delightful spot, Warren’s Waterfront, overlooking the Penobscot River, and Fort Knox-the Maine version, where no gold is known to have been kept. Like its Kentucky namesake, though, it is named for General Henry Knox, who was the first Secretary of War, and who lived in nearby Thomaston, after his public service was over. It was a key post during the War of 1812.

After a light lunch at Warren’s, I took a stroll on Bucksport’s Riverwalk, which features a series of Alphabet Exercise cues.

After this, I headed directly to Bank of America, some ninety miles south, via backroads. Doubling back to Augusta’s Blue Star Cemetery was, at first, a bit nerve-wracking, as Google Maps has the place close to downtown (It is not) and involving the city’s busiest roundabout. (Yes, but not in the direction indicated.) It took a trip to Augusta City Hall to get things straight. A helpful pair of workers gave me the right directions and before long, I paid my respects to Aunt and Uncle-and by extension, to their son.

The grilled salmon and fixings, served by Tom and Jamie, were followed by a discussion of an interesting extended family member, and reminiscences about our branches of the family. Now, as with all days-serene and hectic alike, it is time to enjoy the comfort of the Guesthouse.