The Road to 65, Mile 272: Solitude

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August 27, 2015, Prescott- I am a work in progress.  A lot of baggage has been tossed aside, over the past three decades, and, more intensively, over the past six years.  Blaming others, capriciousness, confusing silence, and sloppiness in my affairs have largely gone away.  I find taking responsibility, being actively engaged with others and carefully planning things are far more satisfying.

 After finishing a four-day stint as a substitute teacher, in Chino Valley, this afternoon, came home and had a twenty-minute power nap.  Two things happened this evening:  I enjoyed a fairly good Beef Stroganoff dinner, at the Legion Post and I got an upgrade to Windows 10, on my PC.  The meal was a fund-raiser, to expand our deck, so as to make it more of a place to relax.  The upgrade was free, and I’m told that will be for a year, then the hand will be outstretched.  I will see how well Windows 10 performs.

I am in more of a solitary mood right now, finding my own space to be a source of solace.  There have been a few buzzsaws of hostility, all over social media sites, though not directed at me, per se, but towards my Faith, and towards other entities and people towards whom I feel close.  Such is life, and those whose hearts are dark will always try to squash the truth, obfuscate and confuse.  I need a break, of sorts, so as to figure out how to rationally and effectively stand up to such as those.

It will be a quiet weekend, with a fair degree of solitude.  Then, I need to get back to work, at whatever place to which I’m called, and the cycle will continue.  I feel more at peace, having stated my concerns.

The Road to 65, Mile 271: Hostels

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August 26, 2015, Prescott- Our city has a small youth hostel, located on a quiet west side street.  I’ve not had reason to go by there, but as I had positive experiences  with youth, and other, hostels, this past June, I would help anyone wanting to visit here, who also enjoys the hostel life, to get reservations.

The hostels in which I stayed, in southeast Alaska, were varied in terms of gender separation vs. “coed” floors.  Juneau had a very strict separation of sleeping facilities.  Sitka gave the adult hostelers a choice.  Ketchikan’s hostelers were all men, so the matter didn’t come up, when I was there. I usually opt for a “coed” bay, when it is permitted, as I don’t have any hidden agenda, and being with mature women, or a strong couple, just seems more normal to me.

The common rooms were in varied states of decor.  Juneau had a spacious area in which to relax, and a sizable adjoining kitchen.  Sitka had two small kitchens, and a very pleasant enclosed veranda, which offered a view of an eagle’s nest, in a spruce tree nearby.  Ketchikan had a small kitchenette, and a TV room, which was modest but comfortable.

Going back to the hostels, for the first time since I stayed in one in San Diego, in 1980, gave me a good chance to make a number of new friends.  I hope that anyone traveling either alone, or with a best friend, will consider this option.  It’s not as “rough” as it sometimes sounds.

The Road to 65, Mile 270: Esperanza

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August 25, 2015, Chino Valley- This part of August has often hung heavy on me, both weather-wise and emotionally.  This year, things are a tad different.  I have taken sage advice, from three of the people I trust the most in this world, and have set aside my own apprehension about one of the two most important people in my life.  She will be fine.

Today was the second of four days, working with a varied and somewhat troubled group of youth.  Time was, when I thought I had NO IDEA how to reach out to adolescents, and hung back, accordingly.  The time I spent as a counselor, on the Navajo and Hopi Nations, helped mightily in that regard.  Both the bonds I developed, and the criticism I got from others, worked to help my sense of proactivity, in helping all young folks.  Then, too, raising a child through turbulence smoothed many of my own rough edges.

The past two days have gone well enough, for me, and a fair amount of meaningful work has been accomplished.  Towards the end of the day, a student came in, sat down, and wept, in as private a manner as possible.  This is the human face of the whole immigration imbroglio.  It is too easy for those who “have theirs” to demand:  The Fence; the Military Force; No Dream; No Daylight.  There are those who are struggling, among the people who were born and raised among a long line of “True Americans”.  They are, quite often, being duped by the puppetmasters, who call for whatever it is they sense the public wants.  Demagogues have done this, across the globe and down the centuries, and so it goes.

The Fence will not end the struggles of those who look like me.  The young person who was surrounded by love in our classroom, this afternoon, has more than just immigration with which to contend.  There are the normal day-to-day matters of adolescence, which know no frontiers.  There are the hopes, the trust, and, yes, the dreams, which short-sighted people would squash.  Make no mistake:  This nation is not alone, in keeping up an “Us vs. Them” mentality.  The very nations, from which many new arrivals come, are themselves keepers of a draconian mindset, when it comes to “The Other”.  It is wrong, no matter where it is promulgated.

The young person left class today with some hope, esperanza.  I wish the same for any child or teen, anywhere.  There is so much to be done.

The Road to 65, Mile 269: Honour

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August 24, 2015, Chino Valley- I will be working here, in a small Middle School class, from now to Thursday.  Today, a school-wide assembly focused on self-worth and standing up to bullying and intimidation.

I spent some time, in each class, aside from the assembly, getting kids to talk about their individual talents.  Some have “none”- a sublime fallacy.  I must say, though, that when I was their age, I would have said the same thing.  Honouring oneself is a long-term process, but need it be so?

I have a soft place in my heart for teens who feel downtrodden, or beaten down.  This is the time of life when people need special encouragement to stand up for themselves, albeit in a way that is not embarrassing or ostentatious.  There are no uglies in this forest.

The Assembly did a good job of explaining this to the students- and further making the point that a person who follows his or her finer passions, can never be bowled over by the vicissitudes of life.  Several proactive and hard-working teens were shown as examples of how to rise above some very challenging life situations, none of which were of their own making.

One young lady became an archer; another overcame a “lack of talent” in running, and has mastered that skill; a young man, who is very short, became a fine golfer; another young man established several community efforts to help homeless teens.

The students who watched all this, can each overcome their own challenges.  This, as much as anything else, keeps me working in the schools, rather than in retail or in an office, somewhere.  I have a drive, to build honour in yet another rising generation.

UPDATE:  My place, for the foreseeable future, is here in the West.  I spoke with a family member who has his finger on the pulse of things back in Massachusetts.  He reassured me that visiting Mom is a good thing; but it is not necessary for me to move back there, on her behalf.  So, in the interests of being helpful, in the real sense of the word, I stay the course.  I appreciate all the support that various friends and family have offered.  I’ll still visit there, over the holidays, but then it will be right back here to AZ.

The Road to 65, Miles 267-8: Tears

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August 22-23, 2015, Prescott- I have read a few posts online, and pondered some situations in real time, this rather busy weekend, and have shed very real tears.  Mostly, they come from regarding the genuine kindness shown to suffering, frightened children, or from reading of the very real emotions felt by those who have lost loved ones, so far this year, and there are so many such friends.  My tears come when I am alone, and can focus on things like the pain of other human beings.

Saturday was largely celebratory, in my Prescott circle:  A mesquite flour pancake breakfast reminded me of how we would function, if the stock market crashed and took many people’s jobs, and life savings, with it.  We would learn to forage, and we would have to get along better than many of us have chosen to get along with others.  Mostly, though, my breakfast companion and I enjoyed the delicious repast and talked of a plan she has to start a sustainable community in east Texas, somewhere.

I left her to take her first tour of Arcosanti, and went to an American Legion picnic, where lunch, mercifully, was not served until nearly 1:30 PM.  I had to contrast the atmosphere with the earlier event.  Legion folks tend to welcome one another to sit down, talk and pass the time convivially.  (The mostly upper class folks who attend Slow Food events tend to frown on anyone they don’t know sitting anywhere near their table.  Fortunately, my friend and I had a section of the long table, where we would be far enough away from the well-dressed woman who recoiled in annoyance, as we took our seats.)

Anyway, I got up and danced with a few of the ladies, during the live music portions of the picnic, both before and after the meal.  I am a passable dancer, when it comes to the steps we all learned as teens and young adults.  The easy conversations we had also made the event more worthwhile.

Sunday morning, after the customary Legion breakfast, our area Baha’is gathered, and discussed matters of living and sharing our Faith, and serving the larger community.  As we talked, a heavy downpour, which not everyone had expected, blessed our consultations.  The sky cleared later, long enough for us to get to our after-meeting lunch.  Then, during lunch, there was a second downpour.  I think the spirits cried tears of joy.

My mood right now is pensive, because the whole matter of my mother’s safety, this coming winter, remains unresolved.  It’ll get figured out, soon, and either I will do my filial labour of love, or actually stay in the Southwest, for the bulk of the next twelve to sixteen months.  I am grateful, though, for my varied and widening circle of friends.

The Road to 65, Mile 266: Derailing

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August 21, 2015, Prescott- 

I sat and completed Alice Walker’s book of verse,

While, on Wall Street, the kids played, “Let’s Make Bad, Worse.”

I got more pleas for financial aid,

“Yet the udder is dry”,

Cried out the milk maid.

The name of my game right now is “Wait”,

While the derailing train lumbers past my gate.

This little verse popped into my head, with the full knowledge that life is seldom either as grim, or as spiffy, as we tend to project.  I am currently reading “The Book Thief” and “Dragon and Phoenix”, both somewhat emotionally-challenging accounts of hard times, one based in history and the other, in science fantasy.  Both Christian and New Age accounts of what might happen, in the near future, are making the rounds, these days.  My take is, whatever gets thrown at us, the majority of us will be able to handle it, somehow and survive.  We might have to make some fundamental changes in how we do things, with, and to, one another, but we will be okay, as a planet.

The Road to 65, Mile 265: Pesky Testing

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August 20, 2015, Chino Valley- I stood outside Mingus Springs Charter School, this morning, and again at lunch recess, and marveled at how sweeping a view there is, in three directions.  Bill Williams Mountain is visible to the north, and Granite Mountain, to the south.  Eastward, the brown hills of the St. Matthews Range are interspersed with the greenery spreading out from the Verde River watershed.   The kids get to see this, four days a week, and, like a child who experienced the green hills and riverbanks of Saugus, MA, some fifty-five to sixty years ago, they probably feel comforted with the scenes, while taking them pretty much for granted.mandatory

My primary task, today, was to oversee another thing that people have come to take for granted, in today’s schools:  Mandatory testing.  This round of tests, for the latest educational fad:  Common Core, is to determine students’ present level of competence, relative to The New Standards.  It’s a pre-test, in other words, and has two parts, reading and math.  There will be a post-test, in April and May, and the two will, of course, be used to determine a student’s progress, and the school’s efficacy.

I’ve seen a lot of arcane material, and circumlocution, in the presentations of some Common Core advocates.  Like any educational flavour-of-the-year, or decade, it has its good points and its drawbacks.  Some claim it is pushing a socialist agenda.  Others see it more as fascism, a brazen move by the Feds to implement mind control.  I wouldn’t go anywhere near that far:  It’s a fad, much like No Child Left Behind, and before that, The First Days of School, and before that, A Nation at Risk.  Core Learning, Discovery Learning, New Math, Character Counts, Responsible Thinking, Immersion Learning- all have had their time in the sun, and some have managed to stick around, here and there, and do a measure of good.

When I first started working as a school counselor, in the 1980’s, my job partly entailed supporting the Principal’s pet project:  Score High on CAT (California Achievement Tests).  In the early 2000’s, the heyday of Harry Wong’s “The First Days of School”, there were no fewer than FOUR standardized tests being thrown at the students, in April alone, as part of the build-up to No Child Left Behind.

I was left behind, after that, and fortuitously, as I would spend 2005-11 as Penny’s primary caretaker.  More insidiously, though, I feel the children were, and are, being left behind, as their natural curiosity and sense of self- worth are getting squished by the pell-mell Race to The Top (Oops, that is so 2010!)  Try as the Big Boys and Girls might, they don’t get it.  I had to come down hard on the normally co-operative students, just to get this Assigned Task accomplished.  It’s a money game, and we all know it.  Without the testing, Federal dollars are withheld.  Without the testing, the students would focus on more intensive study of things that actually interest them, and which could be more practical in their lives.

So, how will the trade-off settle? It’ll be another fascinating year, no matter which school(s) in which I find myself.

The Road to 65, Mile 262: Safe Havens

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August 17, 2015, Prescott- Yes, today was better than yesterday, and, as an online friend pointed out, it might be a good idea to stay in one place for more than a fortnight, if I want it to feel like home.  I got everything accomplished today that had to be kicked down the road, yesterday.

I want to make another A-Z post.  This time, it’s about places where I actually do feel at home, and safe.

A- Amarillo, because I know right where to head, to “sit a spell”; Anacortes, which is on the short list of places I’d consider, if I need to leave my present community; Albuquerque, where I’ve had some of the most enjoyable vacations, back in the day.

B- Bellingham, a most pleasant spot in which to wait for a ferry; Bisbee, the second-most relaxing place in Arizona; Boston, because it is truly a Hub of Learning and cultural explosion.

C- Carlsbad(CA), where I can always find a welcome, no matter how late it is at night; Claytor Lake, the Virginia spot where two rangers took me in, at 11 PM, on a Sunday night, when I was beside myself with emotional pain; Chicago, because it is majestic and amazing, and I feel safe, actually, no matter what part of town I’m in.

D- Denver, always a place for a good time and connecting with the salt of the Earth; Durango (CO), and may the blessed Animas be healed;

E- Enid, as fine a place to rest and connect with a friend, as I’ve ever known; El Paso, I can sit around here, too, and jabberjaw for quite a while.

F- Fort Worth, one of the friendliest big cities I’ve visited; Flagstaff, because it’s just my second home.

G- Glendale (AZ), four months a year, one of the most relaxing and walkable downtowns in AZ; Glenwood Springs, a comforting steam bath always awaits.

H- Honolulu, misty and ever magical; Hagerstown, a must-stop respite, from the pell-mell rush of BosWash; Hermosillo, the first place I ever visited in Mexico.

I- Inglewood, the resting place of the first Baha’i in the U.S., where I was greeted by a red-tailed hawk.

J- Jasper, one of the loveliest spots in Canada; Juneau, because of the hostel, and Mendenhall; Jeju, my first real Asian home.

K- Ketchikan, frenetic, by Alaskan standards, but still filled with good-hearted people; Keams Canyon, because I got to know Penny there.

L- Lille, working-class and down-home France; Lynn, because so many family members are still there, and it’s the Beach; Luxembourg, the most welcoming party place, ever.

M- Moscow (ID), because people begged me to hang out there a while longer; Manitou Springs, for the same reason; Memphis, because, St. Jude’s, and Beale.

N- New Orleans, nothing more need be said;  Nashville, homey and loving.

O- Oceanside, the Rock Walk rocks; Oklahoma City, the only place where I was invited to a County Employees’ Picnic; Ocean Springs, just a calm and homey place to meet a friend.

P- Prescott, more of a home than I sometimes acknowledge; Phoenix, because so much of me is still there; Philadelphia, because of Germantown, the river, and my extended family; Portland, because it’s ever in bloom.

Q- Quincy (IL), the trees, the river, and the Ali family.

R- Reno, because my soul family is there; Rouen, my roots run deep.

S- San Diego, my California home; Saugus (MA), the core of my family; Strasbourg, my Alsatian brothers and sisters; Sedona, the most relaxing place in Arizona; Sitka, because it is a place truly apart.

T- Tallahassee- a surprise around every corner; ; Tucson, because my friends are always glad for my presence; Tuba City, where I first connected with Native Americans, on a deep level, and where we first had a married home.

U- Utah Beach, always a place of honour and reverence.

V- Versailles, both excessive resplendence and down-to-Earth goodness; Vicksburg, a reminder of how things can go wrong, and be made right again, over time; Victoria, an honest and well-balanced little city.

W- Washington, despite all the bluster and phoniness, underneath it’s an exquisite city; Wenatchee- the consummate survivor town; Wrangell, because it felt like home, before I left the boat.

X- Xenia, an Ohio town with enormous heart.

Y- Yellowstone, no more magical place exists, anywhere.

Z- Zion, a different side of Illinois.

Of course, I could list more such places, like Bruges and Bastogne, but you get the point, if you’ve read this far.

The Road to 65, Mile 260: P.C.

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August 15, 2015, Prescott- The Chaplain giving a benediction, at today’s “Spirit of 45” remembrance of World War II veterans, referenced political correctness as a threat to freedom, while noting how the GI Generation accomplished their goals without a systematic enforcement of unwritten social code.

That got me thinking about “P.C.”  I was raised to look at people, strictly as individuals.  Pejoratives were not allowed in our house, pure and simple.  My parents were people of their time, and it took Mom years to accept the idea of “mixed marriages”.  Yet, every person with whom we came in contact was to be respected.

Being unusual, in my own right, made it actually easier to accept and embrace differences. I have since had the bounty of having a wide variety of friends, from all backgrounds.  Political correctness has had little or nothing to do with this.

I see how P.C.has had some great benefits, as it brought people out of their “business as usual” comfort zones.  The Civil Rights movements, which have brought codified assurance of equality under the law, to women,  people of colour and to the LGBT community, were a vital necessity in a society that was too immersed in a comfort level that thrived on separation.

I need to say this, though:  The only thing that really will result in a truly inclusive society, which will not discriminate against ANY of its members, is a change of the human heart.  We are reaching a saturation point, in terms of the amount of criticism being directed at those whose opinions or lifestyles might not mesh with those of the critics.  The over-dependence on political correctness, as a guide to personal and community choices, will likely result in a confused generation, alienated from its legacy- as no historical figure could possibly clear the bar that overuse of political correctness is foisting upon our education system.  Yes, it is good, and necessary, to know that several of the Founding Fathers owned slaves, hated Native Americans and were condescending towards women.  It is good, and necessary, to know the truth about Abraham Lincoln’s view of people of colour, or Franklin D. Roosevelt’s anti-Semitism.   That should not blind us to the good that those men did. It should only remind us that no one is perfect, save the Founders of the Great Faiths.  It should show us where we were, as a people, at various points in time, and that we are making progress, steadily.  WITHOUT EXCUSING the wrongheadedness of our forebears, let us remind ourselves that the march of history is forward, upward, towards enlightenment.

Consigning all historical figures to the dust bin is a mistake, for then we will, at some point, revert to the same practices we claim to abhor, albeit in a different form.  Banning those of different, sometimes archaic, OPINIONS from speaking, will only lead to clandestine and terror-oriented groups, such as IS, the Rakhine Buddhists, the Ku Klux Klan and Opus Dei,  to openly hostile congregations like Westboro Baptist Church, or, worst of all, to criminal cartels, which profit from the dregs of human suffering.

Only attention to one’s heart and soul can bring about the peace and inclusiveness that we all seek.  How this is done, should be solely up to the individual, so long as it does not bring harm to another.  Violence, intimidation, or codified pressure from without cannot work to our advantage, in the long run.

The only correctness that can bring lasting peace, is personal correctness.  It is a huge responsibility, and it is given to each and every one of us.  No government, or social medium, can tend to it in our stead.

The Road to 65, Mile 259: Grateful

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August 14, 2015, Prescott- Today is slower than slow, and that’s okay, as it gives me a chance to focus on people in my life, for whom I’m grateful.  In another post, I will focus on places that give me the same feeling.  This post was inspired by a similar one, done a few weeks ago by one of the people mentioned here:  My next-eldest brother.  It, in turn, was originated by one Alex Lucado,in an inspirational book he wrote, entitled “Before Amen”.  Suffice it to say, we can never feel, or express, enough gratitude for what those close to us have done, said, or been, in our lives.

This is an A to Z format:

A– Aram, my son, whose very existence has defined the greater part of my adulthood, and whose achievements make me proud, every single day.  “Art Wolfen”, my fellow writer and free spirit, whose stories put me in touch with so many other dimensions. Al Sinquah, who taught me so much of Native American culture and etiquette.  ‘Abdu’l-Baha, for being the Perfect Exemplar of all to which one ought strive.

B- My late brother, Brian, who first taught me compassion.  Bob Duncomb, one of my many consciences and a Keeper of the Flame, always walking his talk. Barbara Boivin, my sister-in-law, for being the rock of the family.  Most of all, Baha’u’llah, my Lord and Guide to all that is good.

C– Cheryl, my sister and first friend, for being there, and for never giving up on anything that matters.  Chris Boivin, my eldest nephew, who cemented my love of children, before I had a child of my own.  Curtis Salt, my youngest nephew, one of the most creative people I’ve ever known.  Then, there are about five Christ(i)ys- Every one a friend and inspiration.

D- I know many Davids, but  my brother rises above the rest .  Few have taken it upon themselves to tell me what I needed to hear, when I least wanted to listen, and time has borne him out.  No one I know has worked harder.  His rock, Deb, has been at his right-hand side through all of it.

E– Emily Atticus, another of my steadfast friends and consciences, who will also tell me what I need to hear, and pull my fingers away from my ears.  My late uncle, John “Ellie” Reilly, always good with a story, and moral support.

F– My father, Fred, who never gave up on me, though he had a devil of a time understanding what made me tick.  He’s still guiding me from the other side of the curtain.

G– Glenn, my youngest living brother, and ten shades of amazing.  If I accomplish a tenth of what he has achieved, I will consider myself fortunate.

H– Helen Hamilton, my surrogate mother, never letting an untucked shirt go unnoticed.  “Happy Oasis”, my primary teacher in all that is natural and sustainable.  Most of all, my late aunt, Hazel Reilly, the best surrogate mother one could ever have.

I-  Irene Mullins, without whom the American Legion Post would be a far emptier place.

J– Here is where I run the table:  John E. Glaze, Johnny Light, my nephew, Jeff Boivin, Jerry Bathke, Janet Waters, Jenn Winters,Jack Ray- I could write a tome on how much each has given to my life and sense of well-being.

K– My niece, Kim, one of the most loving souls in this plane of existence.  Kyrsten Sinema, keeping fighting the good fight and marching to your own drummer.

L– Mom’s the word.  The most meaningful, and hardest-earned, words of approval I ever hear come from my mother, Lila.   She has been about love and devotion, for over six decades.  When the time comes to give back to her, I am ready.

M– Another gold mine of inspiring people:  My nieces, Marcy and Melanie, tirelessly raising solid families; my friend and collaborator, Melissa Monahan; Mark Bradley, another conscience;  my spiritual guide, Marcia Brehmer; my soul sister, Michele Smith; my nephew, Matt Boivin, building the good life, almost from scratch.

N- My late father-in-law, Norm Fellman, by far the most influential man in my adult life, and a national hero for the ages.  My nephew, Nick Boivin, a master of wise choices and solid goals.

O- The O’Neil family, who had our backs, when we were kids.

P– There is only one, my late wife, and best friend ever, Penny.  Every morning and night, hers is the first and last face I see.  Her thoughts constantly guide me, even through an occasional bout of darkness.

Q– The late John Quinlan, the first person ever to get me to make sense of mathematics.

R– My youngest niece, Rebecca, following us into teaching and making a difference in another rising generation.

S–  Sheryl Colstock, a true angel; Steve Salt, my brother-in-law and quiet well-wisher; Sara Davis, my niece, who matters far more than she may think.

T- Tom Belmonte, my best friend in high school and early adulthood.  Terry McWade, another inspiration and personal hero.

U– Uncle George Boivin, still thriving, at close to 90 years of age, and so creative in a wide range of artisanship.

V- Van Gilmer, one of the most talented singers and choirmasters I’ve ever known.

W- My late Uncle Walter Boivin, who gave me the courage to stand up for myself. Wes Hardin, always ready with a tale of the Texas Panhandle.

X– Anyone not mentioned here, who has had an impact on my life.  You are in my mind and heart- never ignored.

Z- Zakiah Sayeed, physican, artiste and author.  She is a model of what I might achieve, when I grow up.