December 2, 2019-
When cleaning,
do you look beyond the margins?
When examining the conscience,
do you make sure to
check for clutter
that might have been overlooked?
When calling self,
a champion of the People,
are there some,
whom you leave out?
When saying you only have
unconditional love,
are there some whom you’ve
cut loose,
and are you certain,
as to why?
Are you defined
by what lies
within your margins?
November 30, 2019-
The question was posed to me, earlier this evening: “Why do some people not acknowledge texts for a week and a half, or a month?” I can’t speak for any of those who do this as, if I can’t respond to someone’s messages in a timely manner, I’ll let them know at least that much- “Will get back to you by (thus and such day or time).” If the person’s messages become offensive, I will say so, and free myself of her/his company, as I’ve done exactly twice, permanently, and once, temporarily.
I did a bit of thinking, though, about the phenomenon known as ghosting. People seem to remove themselves from someone’s life, without notifying the individual, because:
Ghosting, as a means to restoring one’s sense of inner harmony, is a falsehood. The person, whom one is avoiding, has not disappeared from the Universe, and unless one summons the fortitude to let her/him know that ties are being cut, for whatever reason, then there is no closure-and the same challenge, from which one is running, will present itself, in the form of another troubled person, at some point either shortly thereafter, or a few years down the road.
November 29, 2019-
I read, a few days ago, about a homeless man in the Phoenix area, who had committed a heinous crime, whilst suffering psychiatric illness. The story stated that this man had been passed through the Arizona mental health system, for over a decade. He had enough of an understanding of his own condition to ask for a shower and a follow-up appointment with one of the original counselors who had first met with him, when he was brought into a facility, by the police. These requests were denied, according to the newspaper account, and he was back on the street, largely against his wishes.
In Maricopa County, there are at least a dozen agencies, which purport to address mental health issues. I once worked, briefly, for the agency that, also briefly, worked with the man in question. I was not successful in my endeavours with that agency, partly because of my also serving as Penny’s caretaker and partly because the ego feathers of the agency branch’s leadership were ruffled by my personality and manner of talking with my clients. The agency, in the case cited above, was one of several which dealt with that man, and somehow they all dropped the ball, not knowing of each others’ presence in his life. He remains a person whose only security comes when he is incarcerated.
I mention this, because in dealing with the mentally ill, each of us finds self in a bind, of sorts. When someone dear to me faced a severe mental illness, many years ago, I chose to address the matter head-on, but not address it alone. There was a team of professionals, who helped solve many of the problems and it was left to me and others close to this person, to resolve the rest. We were, however, not left alone and the person has gone on to lead a masterful life.
I have had a few people present their issues to me, over the years, both in Phoenix and here in Prescott. Two of these people stayed with my family and me, during the last two years of Penny’s life. We were able to help one of them orient his life, but the other was a work in progress, when I moved to Prescott. At that time, my own grief was still raw and I was the one who needed compassion.
Time passed, I was able to help one homeless man get situated and centered, albeit with some difficulty. Once he trusted in the agencies with whom I put him in contact, things went better. The second person I tried to help, at the behest of a mutual friend, turned out to be someone who had already tried all the resources I recommended, and was irritated by my personality and foibles, to the point where we are no longer in contact.
The beat goes on, and I am open to those who have difficulties, who don’t know to whom else to turn. I will maintain, to anyone who is suffering mental or emotional health difficulties, to not rely on social media for resolution, nor to rely on any one person for same. I am a loving soul, but I am also far from perfect and the last thing I want is for my own lifestyle, activity level or personal mental state (mild Asperger’s/autism) to waylay the progress of a person whose viewpoint, regarding that progress, is at variance with how I see things. I had a brief online conversation, this evening, with such a person. Besides, each of us is marvelous complex.
That individual is right about something, though. Mental illness is anything but a laughing matter. You will not find me including someone else’s affliction as a punchline, in my repertoire of jokes. He’s also right about people paying attention to his problems. That attention, first and foremost, needs to start with family and one, committed team of professionals, of the individual’s choosing, in consultation with family. Random people, no matter how compassionate they are, can’t direct a suffering soul towards the light, in the way that family can.
The voices of the suffering will not be silenced and they will not “go quietly into that good night.”
November 28, 2019-
A year ago, my shoulder was getting better and my left knee, injured by what seemed to be a psychic attack, as I walked down a short, routine set of stairs, was also well on the mend. The “woo-woo” aside, my health has been fabulous this year. I am grateful to do Terra essential oils, hemp-based CBD cream, a team of physical therapists, my dental team in Phoenix, Planet Fitness and my chiropractor for helping me maintain that fabulous.
My family has been extraordinarily gracious and generous this year, as always. Being with Aram, Yunhee and the Shin family, on the occasion of their Baha’i wedding, and the travels around southern South Korea that followed, remains the greatest of blessings.
My Baha’i community and other dear friends, around Prescott, continue to keep me grounded. Those whose aim was to bring me down also had a role to play. Rearranging my priorities this year, has only made my life richer and more satisfying.
Prescott, and Arizona as a whole, continue to be inspiring, good hosts. I never tire of the view of Thumb Butte, from my front window or of any of the exquisite scenes that unfold, no matter which direction I go.
My many friends and family, across the United States, and beyond, are ever present and encouraging, even if we rarely, or never, see one another in person. I am grateful to have spent time with some, from California to Massachusetts and in-between, over the past twelve months.
Being ever expansive in my view of the world, visiting new places and making new friends is always a plus. I found new perspectives on Albuquerque, Memphis, Charleston, Raleigh, the Eastern Shore and Delaware, West Point, Pittsburgh, Chicago/Wilmette, Kansas City and Los Angeles, over the past twelve months. Youth hostels, Airbnb and the comfort of friends’ and family homes made all the difference.
Time in nature is always huge, in my life. The Centenary of Grand Canyon National Park saw me visit both North and South Rims. The Navajo Nation’s Coal Mine Canyon, Canyon de Chelly, Window Rock and Monument Valley ever warm my heart. Being in New Mexico’s El Malpais was a comfort, after a case of food poisoning upended my Father’s Day. There were meanders along the banks of the Mississippi and above the Goosenecks of the San Juan River; focused exploration of Utah’s Natural Bridges and Hovenweep National Monuments, Lake Powell’s Wahweap area and the urban solace of Los Angeles’ Venice Canals re-affirmed who I am,at my core.
The greatest gratitudes are reserved for what is ongoing: My mother’s continued presence in our lives, my little family returning to the United States, having three of the finest people as my siblings, my Faith in God being reaffirmed, each day, and my physical, financial and mental health remaining optimal.
Thank you, 2019, for having been, and remaining, a space of strength and comfort.
November 24, 2019-
For the longest time, I went through life being purposeful, and regarding taking time with non-essentials as a waste of time. Even time in nature had to be for the purpose of reaching a goal.
Penny got me to slow down, just a bit, and to not look at life as just a thing to be accomplished. Since I wasn’t really all that ambitious, in the conventional sense, learning to relax and not be time-driven was actually refreshing.
Jordan Peterson’s twelfth rule for life is “If You See A Cat on The Road, Pet It.”. Although many of the cats I’ve encountered in life are hardly willing to be petted, the sentiment is a charming one.
Being semi-retired, I now take more time for the gentle pleasures of life. Most of the people in my life understand this, and many say it’s high time. I have encountered a few who take umbrage at my pastimes, and their words sometimes trigger memories of my past. This leads me to lash out, as I did in the earlier version of this post. Time away, reading “Abby Wize”, brought me back down to the level at which I am in a better frame of mind. Nobody likes being triggered, yet I need to keep above it.
That is the thing. I have worked hard, at a number of endeavours, both professionally and socially. I have earned a measure of taking time to smell the roses. Lest anyone think I was playing the victim card earlier- think again. Lest anyone think I am dodging social responsibility, think twice. I continue to be very much involved in community activities. That, to me, is part of taking time for what is beautiful in life. Towards that end, I enjoy walking in our lovely town, spending much time in leisurely walks through nature. I will continue to enjoy time with non-judgmental people. I will pet animals, especially dogs, which enjoy that kind of attention. As you may have guessed, I will also continue to travel widely, especially towards the late spring and summer months of next year. As Dr. Peterson says, taking time for what is meaningful is what keeps us in good health, and even helps the sick to recover.
This concludes my first set of commentaries on the Twelve Rules for Life.
November 23, 2019-
The practice of chivalry has long taken a bad rap. For this, I blame the degeneration of the once noble art into infantilization, then misogyny. What was a system for honouring all that women did for the good of the world, became a means to dominance.
As the old saw goes, “When the worm turns, we all turn.” It’s been masculinity’s time to take some hits, in the name of a level playing field. The point of overkill appears to have been reached, about ten years ago.
Both genders can claim a plethora of contributions to the well-being and advancement of society, and of civilization. There are men and women of distinction, in just about every field of endeavour that comes to mind. Due to a long-standing system of such things as the disparity in salary between men and women, for the same work and the false equivalence, “whataboutism”, that gets raised, every time lingering issues of misogyny are raised, the temptation to take even more away from men is understandable.
Gender, itself, owing to both the frequent imbalance of gender-determining hormones, in all too many people, has been under a degree of attack. This is not the fault of anyone who has a greater degree of testosterone compared to estrogen, or vice versa. There are likely a good many causes of the imbalance, from genetic modification of food and drink to pollutants in the air and water.
However, I digress. The fact that I was born male, am very happy to remain male and am physically attracted only to women does not need to be renegotiated. I can be, and am, friends with a fair number of gay men and transgender people. That, and the fact that I once cried easily, has never had anything to do with my gender identity.
Jordan Peterson’s eleventh rule for life is, essentially, “don’t throw the baby out with the bath water.” The legitimate achievements of men, those on which a man did NOT piggy-back on the work of a woman, need not be minimized. (There are certainly plenty of the piggy-backed cases.)
Indeed, there is often a tendency for people to not know where to stop, when correcting a past wrong. The misunderstood term, microaggression,, has been offered as a reason for excess revisionism in history and for an overage of caution in determining a proper course of action. Microaggression is essentially between individuals, and is best sorted out, at that level.
Dr. Peterson carries this to the achievements of Western European/North American society. Certainly, there is much about the “Western civilization” to admire, which is a large part of why it has been so universally emulated. There is also much that needs correction, and some of the answers to our issues may be found in examining other societies.
In essence, then, no community can long exist, successfully, without equal contributions by BOTH women and men. In addition, no society can thrive on one set of social practices alone.
November 22, 2019-
I am reading the updated version of a young adult novel, “Abbie Wize: AWAKE”. It is the story of a misunderstood, isolated and battered young girl, who experiences a unique spiritual awakening. Her main nemesis is her own mother, who appears at this point in the novel as a brutal and controlling menace.
Jordan Peterson’s Rule 10 is ” Don’t Knock A Teenager Off A Skateboard”. Basically, our task as members of society is to not be so up in other people’s business, that we quash their legitimate joys, experiences and efforts. This is even true, to an extent, of parents, so long as a child is not harming self or others.
I tend to concur with that sentiment. My own parents were not brutes and I can count on one hand the number of times I was physically chastised, as a child and teen. I was not too different, as a father, in that respect.
As adults, many tend to think it is within their boundaries to prescribe to others, exactly how they should be handling their business. There is a story about an old man, a young boy and a donkey. As they went on their journey to a town that was ten kilometers away, the old man walked, while the boy rode the donkey. Some objected, saying the robust boy should let his elder ride. They switched places and kept going. Others appeared, berating the old man for making such a small child walk. The boy joined the old man, riding the donkey. Animal rights activists chided the pair, for putting the poor donkey under such a strain. The man and boy decided the activists were right, and began carrying the donkey! A group of rowdy men gathered, and began mocking the two, for being so stupid as to carry an animal. The old man and the boy decided to take turns riding the donkey, and so they went the rest of the way in peace.
Dr. Peterson’s point here is not that we should be apathetic towards our fellows, but that we should adopt a posture of seeing each other as they see themselves, and taking steps to encourage right behaviour-rather than aiming our arrows solely at what is being done wrong.
This, combined with his earlier point about listening to one’s critics, calls for a balance in our interactions with one another. I have learned to measure my criticism carefully, as well as to sift my own naysayers’ words, with a view towards continuous self-improvement.
November 12, 2019, Indio-
Among my circle of family and friends, a half dozen or so live in and work around Hollywood, with a view towards making it in the film industry. I have a sense that each of them will make their mark; some being steady and modest successes and others rising to considerable fame. This is a harsh environment, both in terms of the level of competition and in the amount of stress that striving to entertain others produces. Then, there is all that comes with living in Los Angeles- Knowing how to adapt to high volumes of vehicular traffic and living among a lot of people with intense schedules and lifestyles. The same could be said of New York, Chicago, San Francisco, Atlanta or Seattle; in fact, of any large city. Los Angeles, though, has The Allure; a generally mild climate and a goodly number of laid-back people, scattered among the intense crowd.
Penny and I visited Hollywood, in the Spring of 1986, heading straight for the Walk of Fame, after having spent a day in Disneyland and the following evening at Knotts Berry Farm. This was our only trip to LA. All other California visits focused on San Diego, Santa Cruz and, once, Santa Barbara. Since she’s been gone, I’ve been in the LA area a few times, but today was my first visit back to Hollywood. This time, the Walk of Fame was not on the agenda. My purpose was a visit with one of the above-mentioned aspirants in my circle, who is one of my son’s best friends, and the venue was a small eatery on Hollywood Boulevard: Division 3.
As you can see, Hollywood, as it exists for many people who live there, is rather densely built, with parking at a high premium. All manner of people are out and about. I initially parked about a half-mile away, near a Catholic school, well off the main drag. When I.P. arrived, we walked up to my parking spot and he told me of better, closer spaces. So, Elantra ended up about two blocks south of Hollywood and Bronson.
Back at Division 3, we enjoyed about 2 1/2 hours of conversation, catching up on all that transpired since Aram had last visited Phoenix, about four years ago. As it happened, that was the length of time that the harried restaurant chef needed to fill our order. Hollywood establishments frequently get slammed with large, spur-of-the-moment orders, especially at lunch time. The fare was worth it, as neither of us happened to be in much of a rush. One touching moment was a homeless man, seemingly a bit confused, asking me where Michael J. Fox was. I told him Mr. Fox was off working for Parkinson’s research, which made him feel better. IP and I got in our Hollywood, 2019 photos. (That’s my camera case, on my right hip, BTW.)
The meet-up ended all too soon, and I was off on the last part of this LA adventure: The Slog. Hollywood-to-Rossmore-to-Wilshire-to-Crenshaw-to- I-10 was pretty much a breeze. LA to Palm Desert was far less so. It was 3:15, when I merged onto my moving home, for the next four hours. What is comforting about The Slog is that, as in Chicago and New York, people have worked it out. Public Enemy # One would be anyone who causes an accident; things are hard enough as it is. We were family in anonymity, keeping watch for those who were moving slower or faster than the majority. No one, in my scrum, was injured or inconvenienced, and by 7:15, I was in Palm Desert, stopping to visit Bill Tracey’s crew at the third branch of Bill’s Pizza. It is a large, spacious and very welcoming edifice, off Highway 111.
The Slog is hardly something in which I will be partaking, frequently. It is an ungainly use of energy, time and space, necessary, for the foreseeable future-but crying out for alternatives. Surface roads help out some; yet mass transit and more regional urban villages need to be a greater part of the mix.
I am stopped for the night, at Western Sands Motel, in this easternmost edge of LA’s Metro Extension. Tomorrow, I head back to Home Base and preparations for what may turn into an early winter-snow is part of the forecast, next week and the week after.
November 12, 2019, Santa Monica-
There are any number of iconic streets across the country, and in the Los Angeles area, in particular. U.S. Route 66 ends (or begins) here, a scant few blocks from where I stood just moments ago. Several of the streets around this quadrant are enshrined in my childhood memory, albeit from TV ( Sunset Boulevard and Strip remain in the Long-Term Bank, thanks to Edd “Kookie” Byrnes, who was the king of smooth). Route 66 itself was the province of George Maharis (“Buzz Murdock”, Kookie’s heir apparent).
It is Wilshire Boulevard, though, which has the most cachet- It starts here, overlooking the beach and hosts some of LA’s great museums. Wilshire leads the visitor to UCLA’s turnoff, to Hollywood and, eventually, to Koreatown.
At its western terminus, St. Monica herself is the traffic icon, standing between Wilshire and the long drop down a steep cliff.
I chose to walk, from the far end of Third Avenue’s Promenade, to this overlook.
So, the true glory of Santa Monica, these days, lies in how the city is making itself pedestrian-friendly. Third Street Promenade, like other urban pioneering efforts, is a well-planned and relaxing venue for people, of all walks of life, to re-center themselves. My first order of business, after checking out of Rest Haven, was to find breakfast. That matter was resolved by Santa Monica’s branch of LA’s Le Pain Quotidien. Mini-pancakes and cafe au lait sufficed, as there will be a lunch meet-up with a family friend later on, in Hollywood. LPQ is my kind of spot, though, with a long communal table that goes against the “keep away from my turf” ethic that is so prevalent in many American establishments. Strangers here are truly “friends you haven’t met.”
These are just a few of what LPQ offers.
The long row does have its share of kitsch, in the form of dinosauria. At least, it’s imaginative kitsch.
Bella, another signature cafe, would have been my breakfast choice, had not LPQ stared me in the face, when I first left the parking garage.
Walking towards the beach overlook, I was captivated by a small boy, who was re-arranging these chess pieces, under his mother’s watchful eyes. I sat a few rows away and pondered his “strategy”. For a four-year-old, the little guy was doing quite well.
Such is life, in one of Los Angeles’ most eclectic satellite communities. Now, it is time for me to head to yet another of those: Hollywood.
November 11, 2019, Venice, CA-
As I set out to walk alongside the canals of this down-to-earth beach community, I noted that its namesake, in Italy, is at serious risk of sinking into its swampland underpinnings. California’s Venice has its own concerns: Earthquakes and a large homeless population being two very different such points of focus. This is a part of Los Angeles where it is not unusual for people to set up impromptu “shops” along South Venice Boulevard, across from the north entrance to the Canal Walking Path. There are many who sleep where they can, around the village.
The canals themselves are lined by eclectic houses, which seem to have many students and artists, in residence. The quirkiness of the district is as much of a draw as the serenity that radiates from an early morning, canalside.
I chose to walk mainly along Grand Canal, which is the western boundary of the District. My route took in the bridges of Carroll, Linnie, Howland and Sherman Canals, at their juncture with Dell Street.
Here is a long view of Grand Canal.
I turned left at Carroll Canal, looking to cross the bridge in the foreground.
From the Dell Street Bridge, here is a view towards the Eastern Canal.
A couple of Little Egrets were on hand. Here is one, grooming herself, along the Grand Canal.
There is plenty of kitsch here, as well, including a Pink Flamingo paddle boat.
Linnie Canal is the next feeder to Grand Canal, going north to south.
As is seen in a previous paragraph, Halloween has a lingering presence, in the Canal District.
Howland Canal came next, on my southward jaunt.
These peace-infusing homes are at the junction of Grand Canal and Howland.
This Gingko Tree nearly overwhelms the towpath.
An upside-down dinghy strikes a pensive mood.
Various messages appear, along Grand Canal, between Howland and Sherman.
Canalside gardens also tend to be polychromatic.
Here is a view of Grand Canal, as it bends towards Sherman.
As I crossed Sherman Canal Bridge, and was walking northward again, I caught this Little Egret on its way to “safer” perches.
This mural, outside the Canal District, depicts some whimsical creatures out of Dr. Seuss’s lesser known tales.
With a peaceful counterpoint to the noise and energy of Venice Beach, I felt ready to take a look at Santa Monica’s vibrant Third Street Promenade.
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