Missing Their Water

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There was an old country song that went “You don’t miss your water ’til your well runs dry.”  This was a reference to the end of a love affair, but it is now being experienced in a literal sense.

I learned, while having breakfast at Eagle Guest Ranch, Datil, NM, last Tuesday morning, that the village of Magdalena, twenty miles or so further east, had indeed used the last of the water in its well.  Emergency rations were being trucked in from Socorro, by the New Mexico National Guard.

This will threaten the old village’s very existence, so I went there to have a look at Magdalena, and say prayers for the resolution of this matter.  Magdalena is the harbinger of what could become a widespread phenomenon, throughout the arid West, and Plains region.

Here are some scenes of the small town itself.  On the left, is the old train depot and on the right is the Ilfeld General Store, now used as residential and office space.

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These, and some thriving motels and restaurants, will be the immediate victims of the impending dry-out.  The schools and medical clinic will be next, impacting both Magdalena and the Alamo Navajo Community, twenty miles north.

All New Mexico is embracing this small community, and nowhere is the action more intense, though quiet, than at New Mexico Mining and Technical Institute, in nearby Socorro.  The biggest issue, immediately, is to find a drill which can penetrate the unique rock of the Magdalena area.  It is apparently just the right mix of igneous and sedimentary rock that has defied conventional well-drilling equipment, up to now.  The greater issue, long-term, is a water replenishment plan that will require drastic rethinking of settlement patterns and conservation strategies.  The main center for this research, then, is here:

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Magdalena, then, is Ground Zero for the Quiet Crisis that faces us all in the arid regions, the world over. (Think the Middle East is unsettled now?  Wait until the battle for the Euphrates and Tigris heats up.)

Here is the latest on the situation in Magdalena.  Stay tuned.

“APD collects water for dry Magdalena, NM

Water shortage in small town has prompted drive

Updated: Friday, 21 Jun 2013, 7:59 AM MDT
Published : Friday, 21 Jun 2013, 7:59 AM MDT

ALBUQUERQUE (KRQE) – Operation Hope, the water collection drive headed up by the Albuquerque Police Department has collected six moving trucks worth of water which will be shipped to Magdalena, New Mexico.

Water in the town of Magdalena started running dry in the wells a few weeks ago. Since then, tanker trucks have been bringing in water from nearby towns.

As a result of the water shortage, the town has also had to resort to using port-a-pottys in some places as an alternative to toilets.

APD says they will continue to collect bottled water to take to Magdalena in the coming weeks.”- Courtesy of KOAT-TV,Albuquerque, June 21, 2013.

Releasing the Kraken

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In the remake of “Clash of the Titans”, Zeus (Liam Neeson) bellows, “Release the Kraken”, in his fit of rage against those who would dare challenge his authority.

Over the past week, Mother Nature has released her Krakens, taking a spark of yet undetermined origin and sending raging fire across Prescott’s iconic Granite Mountain.  Due north of here, folks in Calgary are facing a flowing monster- the rampant, overflowing Bow River, swamping a fine city’s downtown.  East, northeast, people in Magdalena, NM face a non-Kraken- dust, where water once was, in the village wells.

Nature is not the only force unleashing a monster, or two.  Bloodshed continues apace, daily, in places like Syria, DR Congo, Afghanistan, Iraq.  People beat each other senseless in cities and towns, across the globe- domestic violence is a world-wide plague, and is relatively under-reported.  The horrors of human trafficking, poaching of animals (both wild and domesticated), and the sullen, wanton disenfranchising of individuals, by people on whom they ought to be able to depend, go on each day.

I live a fairly fortunate life.  Being alone, it’s easy to drive into the garage, lower the door, come inside and shut the world out.  Like Eddy Arnold, I can “Make the world go away, and get it off my shoulder”, with relative ease.

This does not stop any of the above from finding its way into my conscience, and prompting action.  I do get out, do make an effort to better the lives of those around me- as most of us do.  Yesterday, though, seemed to be a day of rage building around my quiet existence.  In the span of ten hours:

  • A Red Cross supervisor, from Phoenix, glared at me, while I was going about setting out lunch for the crew, helping to break down the soon-to-be-closed shelter and ending my shift- with a stare that all but said “What are YOU doing here?”
  • Upon driving into my HOA compound, and stopping to get the mail, I was approached aggressively by a man whom I had not seen before, throwing his arms in the air in an “It’s on” gesture.  I said nothing and ignored him.  I was far too tired; just wanted to get my mail and go home.
  • At an otherwise pleasant gathering last night, a long-time friend got up and left in a huff, because I was a good deal less than sympathetic, regarding a man who had abandoned his  Faith in an apparent fit of pique, a few years ago.

So it goes.  I will continue to exercise my privilege of volunteering my services, to the Red Cross, and other organizations, whether the paid staff of those organizations like it or not.  I break no rules and hurt no people or animals.  I will enter and exit my own neighborhood, as I see fit, with or without the permission of self-appointed authority figures.  Only the police, in times of emergency, will alter that.  I will continue to speak my mind on matters of Faith, or anything else, without first checking to see if “it’s alright with ________”.  Since they may do the same, I see no problem with it.

There is a quiet, eerie calm, this morning,  Later today, I will get on my socks and shoes, and go downtown for the rest of Prescott Bluegrass Festival.  Most likely, the crowd will be happy and congenial.   I will attend a Nineteen-Day Spiritual Feast at another Baha’i’s home, this evening.  Most likely, the people in attendance will be glad to see one another, will share prayers and Scriptural readings, and ideas about issues facing our Faith community, and socialize for a while at the end.  I will, during the course of the day, check this and other sites, to see if any correspondence has accrued.

In light of the tumult of which I have written recently, I sense a building of anger at me, a low growling in the background, that may appear as comments, here, in G-mail and on Facebook.  My small, loyal group of friends from Xanga will offer their support, though, and that will sustain me until this black cloud, if there is one, dissipates.

Life will go on, as I keep saying of late, and the various Krakens will be brought back to tether.

My Achilles Heal

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  • First off, I apologize to my faithful friends on Xanga, Facebook and WordPress, as what I wrote in my last post was the result of serious misconstruances and misperceptions on my part.  I will not be in the sort of relationship I had thought, with the exciting, creative and highly intelligent woman I last mentioned.  She is very well attended, in that department, and that is all I will say.

    I met the gentleman in her life, some years ago.  I did not connect the two of them until tonight, but they are very much together, albeit laid-back and comfortable with one another’s independent leisure pursuits.  She did not come on to me, or in any way act unfaithfully to him, during our recent introduction.  The lady is just that awesome and just that full of so many wonderful qualities, including being gentle, vivacious and affirming of others, that I found myself totally smitten.  Thankfully, I never let her know just how much so.

    Women, and before them, girls, have always been my Achilles tendon.  This is just a wake-up call for me to be in touch with my own longing and vulnerability.  The upsides are that I am fine, that there is no heartbreak involved, no hurt feelings and no victim.  I still have a friend, in fact probably two.  He’s a nice guy with excellent taste.  I am around, to love another day.  You just won’t see me braying about being in love again, quite so quickly, no matter how awesome the woman is.  That’s a promise, and I fulfill my promises.

    Life goes on, and tomorrow, a very bright sun will shine.  I am still full-on, and all in- with life itself.happy

Heirlooms, Presidia and The Oneness of Us All

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Some of my finest adventures happen “close to home”.  This past watershed weekend was a prime example.  One of the organizations that has drawn me into itself is Slow Food Prescott.  This is part of a larger organization, founded in Italy in 1989, which seeks to revitalize the interplay between nutrition and socialization- a counterpoint to the phenomenon of eating in one’s car, or otherwise taking a meal “on the fly”.

This past weekend, several things happened.  Friday night, I attended a gathering at the American Legion Post, in Prescott, enjoying a well-prepared meal in a relaxed atmosphere, which we do several times each month at the Post.  This set the stage for the weekend of food that was to come.

Bright and early Saturday morning, I headed to Prescott Farmers Market, purchasing enough food to get me through the coming week, before heading out on my two-weeker, either to Colorado or Oklahoma/Texas, or both.  Prescott’s Farmers Market is balanced between produce and freshly-prepared foods, such as baked goods and artisan tamales.

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After getting the food home and into the fridge, it was time to head to Bill’s Grill for the lunch which launched the 2013 meeting of Slow Food USA’s Southwest Region (Arizona and New Mexico).  Bill’s features organic beef, much of it from locally-raised cattle.

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The Slow-Food group was well-nourished, and ready for an afternoon of agricultural tourism, by 12;30.

We first headed to Whipstone Farm, in the hamlet of Paulden, about 20 miles north of Prescott. This establishment raises a variety of vegetables, fruit and livestock,  from arugula and asparagus to raspberries and tomatoes,using organic methods.

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There are many theories as to how we ought approach the task of feeding our numbers.  Genetic modification of crops is advanced, by industry, as the most efficient way to do this.    The organic methods, which I witnessed here at Whipstone, represent another, less-intrusive method.  Certainly, it’s more work to farm organically.  I have to say, though, that there seem to be fewer health issues arising from organic farming, than from other methods.  It’s noteworthy that the group with whom I spent much of the weekend look, almost to a one, about ten-twenty years younger than their chronological age-mates in the generality of society.

I don’t partake of alcoholic beverages, but I tagged along to Granite Creek Vineyards, on the north side of Chino Valley.  Here, several of the group members enjoyed six varieties of fruit of the vine, attended by a well- versed sommelier.   Afterwards, we retired to the lawn, enjoying live music and the company of a peacock.

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Now, it was time for the main event.  We bundled into various cars, around 3:30, and headed to the hosts’ residence, just east of the vineyard.

This is another of the homes which have been carefully, lovingly refurbished and made resplendent by astonishingly handy owners, across the country.                  SAM_4989  SAM_4990

So here, we enjoyed an Ark of Taste dinner. Arc of Taste alludes to Noah’s efforts at animal husbandry, and directly speaks to the effort to preserve and foster many local ingredients, which would otherwise risk being squeezed out, for the sake of monoculture.  Thus, we have the term Presidia, Italian for “fortress”.  A Presidia item, such as the Churro sheep being raised in the Four Corners region, on the Navajo Nation,   is one of the major focal points of Slow Food International.  Variety in our diet improves digestion, diet and overall health.  Many might differ, but may I say their sentiments are along the lines of “Been down so long, it looks like up to me.”

We thoroughly enjoyed a well-balanced and varied bill of fare, both on Saturday night and at the buffet-style breakfast, the next morning.  All was prepared from scratch.

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On Sunday morning, after breakfast, we were honoured by a traditional Navajo blessing. I have missed this, for some time.

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Richard McCarthy, the new director of Slow Food USA, is an accomplished gastronome, from New Orleans.  His efforts are creating sure order out of chaos and he has built a highly-functioning team at the New York headquarters.  Richard was honoured by our Dine (Navajo) friend.

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Sunday, June 9, was Race Unity Day, so this blessing was particularly auspicious.  The Baha’i Faith has the Oneness of Mankind as its basic tenet.  Several of us gathered in mid-day, at Goldwater Lake.  I briefly took leave of my fellows at the Slow Food gathering, for this equally worthy event.  Spirit and body must surely work as one.

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It was here that I learned a steadfast friend of 32 years had passed on, two days earlier.  This was a saddening, yet also comforting backdrop to the events of the weekend.  We now have one more angel pulling for us in the Divine Light.  Meanwhile, here in the Earthly frame, I can take comfort in have made several more friends:  Richard and his assistant, Aimee; the spirited Slow Food team of Santa Fe; and engaging, creative members of the Phoenix, Tucson and Flagstaff  Slow Food groups.

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I look forward to so much that is good in life and to working through the challenges that lie ahead of us all.

Prescott Folk Arts Fair and Street Concert, 2013

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This past weekend began a three-weekends-in-a-row series of downtown festivals in our fair city.  The emphasis on June 1-2 was on Folk Arts of the Mountain Southwest, with various scenes like these at Sharlot Hall Historical Museum.  A few thousand visitors came for chance to learn crafts from the 19th Century, like shearing, quiltmaking and woodcarving.

                                                

A goat is being shorn,and not altogether willingly.

                                                

A few blocks east, in Courthouse Square, a Block Party music fest was taking place.  The Centennial Tree, planted on February 14, 2012, is tall enough to co-host the festivities.

When I was there, the Pistoleros were doing some 80’s hits.

They were followed by Zero Zero, serving up tunes of the ’90’s.

Events like these get me out of my shell, during a rare time of emotional stress, and are prime examples of what makes Prescott a special place in which to live.

My Earth Day Saturday

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Yesterday was something of a day of service.  I sat much of the day at a Red Cross table during the Prescott Wild Fire Expo, explaining to as many people as would listen, how to  prevent fire in their homes, what to do if they had to evacuate and how to pick up the pieces afterwards.

When it was time to pack up the display, I decided to walk around the Expo one last time,

then headed over to the Prescott Chalk Art Festival- three blocks away.  This is an outgrowth of a Sixteenth Century Italian art form.  Here, the mind can wander and see many things other than what is obvious- just as it can while gazing at clouds, or rock formations.

Here are several of the chalk artworks I saw yesterday afternoon.

                                            

 

                                              

 

 

                                                

 

                                                  

 

                                                  

 

                                                   

As you can see in a couple of the frames, there was work yet to be done.  Lady Liberty is always a work in progress, and that’s a good thing!

 

Amity, Andy and Azadee

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I spent the past three days in Phoenix, attending a gathering of Baha’is and friends of our Faith, billed as Grand Canyon Baha’i Conference.  This has nothing to do with the great geologic symbol of Arizona; rather, it has everything to do with bridging the chasms that often exist between people.  The Baha’i Faith’s essential purpose is unity among all peoples and nations.

A hundred years ago, the eldest son of our Faith’s Founder, Baha’ullah, ‘Abdu’l-Baha, traveled throughout North America and Europe.  We have spent the past nine months commemorating the North American portion of His journey. (This was largely the impetus for my own travels of this past year, but enough of that).  He came here primarily to engender and nourish the seeds of social unity in the United States and Canada.  Amity was His message- love for one another.  Racial equality, the rights of women and justice in labour were all themes of His talks, as was the true meaning of Christ’s Message, which ‘Abdu’l-Baha saw as the primacy of love as a propelling force in the Universe.

We spent these days contemplating and discussing the legacy of ‘Abdu’l-Baha’s visit.  From His encouragement, the Baha’i Faith has grown, a House of Worship has been built, and is in full flourish, in Wilmette, IL, north of Chicago.  Other such edifices have followed, with at least one Baha’i House of Worship on each inhabited continent, and several more in progress.  Our communities are also works in progress.  We go forward, in amity and in honest communication.

Among those in attendance was one of our brightest young lights.  He came unannounced, sang his delightful, light-hearted tunes and made several young girls scream.  He’s Andy Grammer and he has many more years of artistic life ahead of him.  I’ve known Andy since he was five, and he is now a Facebook friend, so I wish him love, prosperity and continued growth as an artist.  Rainn Wilson, of The Officeand Soul Pancake was also in attendance, and was a prominent presence.  I have met Rainn’s father, and appreciate the offbeat humour of both of them.

Rainn was MC on Sunday night, and introduced a drama troupe, who performed one of the most moving performances I’ve seen in many years.  It is Azadee (Persian for “Freedom”).  As many know, Iran is not exactly a Poster Child for human rights- especially for the rights of women and religious minorities.  Four beautiful young ladies, aged 11 to 17, portrayed women who have been imprisoned in Iran, for various reasons. One photographed a women’s soccer match.  Another was an attorney, representing others who were accused of crimes.  A third was a Kurdish human rights activist. (She has since been executed, and the moments leading up to her execution were referenced in this portrayal).  The fourth was a woman imprisoned for being on the Baha’i Administrative Council in Iran, known as Yaran.  A  poem by this woman, Mrs. Mahvash Sabet, follows.

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An English Translation of a Poem by Mrs. Mahvash Sabet

No Boundaries[1]
No boundaries:
     face to face,
         knee to knee,
                eye to eye,
away from all that was and is.
We gaze at the water in dingy sinks,
     at water-smeared mirrors,
          looking for a reflection,
                looking for the Light of the world,
                     that eternal glimmer of Light,
                          the spot where there is sun –
                                   a jeweled crown at the Apex of the world –
                                        a bride on the Mountain of love
                                            enthralled by the Mountain of love,
                                                 transported by the scent of red geraniums and green meadows.
And those women:
just letters —
each separate from one another,
sitting around us all, their faces . . . ghastly . . .
no sign of connection,
merely letters,
not sentences,
not even
words.
And yet it is together
          that we achieve that two-letter meaningful word “BE”:
              and become transported by the scent of red geraniums and green meadows.
No boundaries,
     knee to knee,
         eye to eye.
We didn’t know it,
          yet we unleashed
                chaos into the clamor
                         through our silence.
We didn’t know it,
           and the reflection of
                  the Light of the world,
                      in the water-smeared mirrors and dingy water –
We disturbed the silence.
We didn’t know it,
          and yet we would smile
                in the interstices of pain.
We would smile at those women –
           their feet swollen,
          mad ones with cold eyes,
          sick ones with yellow faces.
          no longer women, not even  men,
          old ones in death’s grasp, no matter the age
          and icy hungry ones
          hair shaved and faces razed
          and the ones with missing teeth
          and the young ones with yellow, swollen wounds
          and rotten thoughts
          with the paralyzing tang of decay,
          rusty voices
          and innocent women with entreating glances
          with hands like ivy
                   seeking love,
and there we were, shedding love
         in that limbo of tribulation
              speaking of sacredness
                     of Humanity,
and those isolated letters glorified us
for some time in secret
and then openly.
When that one dear woman
         flipped through the pages of a book
                for the first time
                     and saw the letters of text
                           in the simple association of meaning
                                her eyes began to glitter
                                    her smile radiated with connection
                                        and her words radiated herself.
We didn’t know it
     and those lost delusory souls —
         unaware of love —
         unaware of us —
         unaware of Plus – addition and connection
         tending toward Minus — subtraction and division–
         tried to remove us from the glossary of words.
And so,
       everyone saw the connectedness of letters
            in the simple association of meaning
                 flipping through pages
                     no boundaries
                          between one another
                              knee to knee
                                   eye to eye.

___________________________

([1] This is an English translation of a poem by Mrs. Mahvash Sabet, one of the seven members of the Baha’i leadership group in Iran, now serving their 20 year prison sentences. The poem is the story of why Mrs Sabet and Mrs Kamalabadi were transferred within the notorious Gohardasht prison. The original Farsi poem can be found here.

With special thanks to dear Ms Roxana Saberi and a beloved Baha’i friend for their comments on the translation draft.)

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Other than the course and outcome of my late wife’s physical suffering, there is no event that has moved me more, emotionally, than this dramatic performance.  Seeing an eleven-year-old girl portraying a brave woman who is about to be executed threw me back, in full emotional ricochet, to the events of December 14 and was only amplified tenfold by the singing of the words to the poem, by the girl’s mother.  The further link to the rape victims of India, and the brave girls of Afghanistan, Pakistan and the DR-Congo was not far from anyone’s mind or heart.
On this Christmas Day, commemorating the day, actually in Spring, when another brave young girl brought Light in to the world, two days after a fine young man paid tribute to his own late mother on the stage of our conference, might we not dedicate the coming year- the next DECADE- to bringing womankind to her rightful place as the EQUAL of   the males of our species.  The well-being of women and girls is the saving grace of men and boys.
No boundaries………knee to knee, eye to eye” , shoulder to shoulder, heart to heart.

The Flip-Flop, Days 10 & 11: Glenwood Springs and Reflections on Baha’i Events Past

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The gathering at Glenwood Springs Community Center, yesterday and this morning, was the most emotionally intense of the three Commemorative events I’ve attended, marking Abdu’l-Baha’s visit to North America in 1912.  The events in San Francisco and in Salt Lake City were exquisite, spiritually uplifting events, as was this one.  They were brief, where this weekend’s event was spread out, time-wise.

San Francisco was the largest Baha’i event I’ve ever attended.  That I had a great time there tells me I am making strides in socializing, even where I am a shrimp in the ocean.  There were over 2,000 people, but, probably because I have friends in the Bay Area already and because we had the “ice-breaker” of a walk around Lake Merritt in Oakland, the day before, I felt more at home than I did at my last huge gathering in 1985. (I don’t count the Grand Canyon Baha’i Conferences, in Phoenix, because I always feel comfortable at “home” events.)

Salt Lake City was a small gathering, but I also enjoyed it greatly.  This, too, is progress on the “me” front, because I did something spontaneous.

This weekend, though, was a riveting amalgam of high-level scholarship, reunion with long-lost friends and the fading, but still inspiring colours of a Colorado High Country autumn.  The intimacy with which I was able to connect with Abdu’l-Baha and His life brought tears of joy to my eyes, which is not something for which I’m noted.

Photo time:

Here is the venue, Glenwood Springs Community Center.

The mountain backdrop is showing the rust-colours of iron-rich soil.

Session in Glenwood Springs Commemoration of Abdu’l-Baha’s Visit, in 1912- on Sept. 29, 2012.  Mrs. Bushra Bruss presented on the topic of Abdu’l-Baha’s sojourn in Egypt, in 1910-11.

I drove to Glenwood Springs from Salt Lake City, in tandem with these two ladies.  Carol is a long-time friend of Penny’s and mine.  Jill is her friend from Washington State.

This morning’s presentations featured period-piece drama and a scholarly talk, both continued from yesterday’s session.

The two ladies above are playing the roles of two fin-de-siecle women in California, who knew Abdu’l-Baha.  This dramatization is excerpted from a film in progress, entitled “The Luminous Journey”, by Tim and Anne Perry. Below, Kathryn Hogenson speaks on the topic of  Phoebe Hearst and the Baha’i Faith, which she has thoroughly researched and on which she has written a fascinating, well-ordered book, entitled  “Lighting the Western Skies”.

Today would have been Penny’s 58th birthday.  That, and the intensity of seeing so many old friends from our days on the Navajo Nation, heightened the emotional intensity of this weekend, for me.

I will always hold the encounters and experiences of this past month, very high among the journeys of my life- right up with our pilgrimage to the Baha’i Holy Places in Israel and in London (1982), our teaching trips to Guyana and to South Dakota/Nebraska (1984) and our years in Korea (1986-92).  Spirituality will be much more a part of my work and my travels, going forward.

As I left Glenwood Springs, headed for the Denver suburb of Northglenn, for a visit with my sister-in-law and brother-in-law, the foliage in Glenwood Canyon was still bright, though it has peaked.

The Denver area will be my venue tomorrow, feeling like a home away from home.

Labor Day of Love

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No, I’m not about to imitate Suggestive Tongue.  This Labor Day weekend was  platonic, and a fair amount spiritual.    Eros is on vacation elsewhere, as yet.

No matter, though; I spent Saturday cleaning up the front yard of my Phoenix property and making sure all was well with the house itself.  I also went around the Valley in pursuit of an item needed by  a friend.  It took until Monday morning, but the search ended successfully, online.  I also had lunch at one of my favourite spots en route to/from Phoenix- Rock Springs Cafe.  Like many restaurants, they were getting jammed up big time, with holiday travelers so abundant.  I took my spot at the counter, placed my order, drank my coffee from a disposable cup-it WAS that crowded, had my first order on burnt toast delivered by the food runner.   It was promptly taken back by the waitress, and a suitable sandwich came my way moments later.

Sunday started out, well and good.  I got to Mingus Mountain picnic area ten minutes  after the appointed meeting time.  This irritated the self-appointed time keeper, but everyone else was laid back.  We drove further in, about five miles on a rutted, four-wheel drive worthy road, to the trailhead for Jeronimo’s Cabin Trail.

A half hour later, up a moderately steep incline, we arrived at the abandoned gem.

We poked around the cabin for about twenty minutes, before heading back down.

The three dogs who were along also made the most of the occasion.

After this outing, we found the cool and restful patio of Alice’s Restaurant, in Jerome, AZ.  The celebrated Ms. Brock doesn’t own this one, but the owner IS named Alice, and the food is well worth the drive.

Here are the entrance, and the patio.

After a delicate and satisfying shrimp and crab flatbread, and a slice of chocolate cake, the latter shared by nine of us, I bid farewell to my hiking and dining friends, and took a three-hour break.

Sunday evening saw a birthday barbecue and jam session, in honour of a long- time friend, Marcia.

Her husband, Carl, is the consummate grill-master and a top-notch musician.  His band kept our feet tapping, and some of us accompanying on drums, for over an hour.

Today capped the weekend with relish, as I went to a noon barbecue at my American Legion Post, in Prescott, then cast a critical eye at the documentary, “2016:  Obama’s America”.  I march to my own drummer, politically, as in much else, so I came away not exactly overwhelmed by the film’s message.

Labor Day weekend’s most important events were those where we were able to bring joy to one another’s hearts.

* NOTE:  Photos of Alice’s Restaurant are from http://www.aliceinjerome.com.

Who Rules Us?

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This is a pictureless post, because the images of terror that we see, every time a self-appointed social regulator takes to the streets or buildings, to kill and maim innocent people, are vivid enough.  I leave it to qualified psychiatrists to judge whether a miscreant is psychotic.

When I was in graduate school, one of our professors gave a lecture on “Neurotic Means to Power”.  The usual suspects, from Napoleon to Nixon, were examined briefly, but the crux of her message was that a neurotic person seeks power at various levels of the social structure.  Friendships, families, work relationships, and politics are all subject to the neurotic in search of meaning in his/her life.  Most likely, we all have a need to influence the behavior of those around us, so as to ensure personal safety.  Neurosis kicks in, however, when a person’s identity depends on the number of people who listen and obey one’s dictates and demands, as well as the extent to which those people listen and obey.

Some obedience is necessary to the survival of the obedient.  Laws are sent to us by God, the Creator, the Universe, Unknowable Essence, Great Wave of Energy, or whatever you wish to call That which put us here.  We follow along, willingly or not, because the alternative, chaos, is way out of most people’s comfort zones.  Children obey their parents and other adults, because they only have their own will power to guide them, otherwise, and it gets sketchy not having all the answers.  Most people obey the police and courts, because without a system,  it could be they who are hurt or killed next.

Those who know me know that I am a law-abiding person.  I’ve never been arrested, and have paid willingly for the occasional excesses of my right foot, when behind the wheel.  I have never, and won’t, however, kowtow to those who insert themselves into my affairs, with no more authority than “This is how I expect you to act.”

Back to the shooting in Aurora.  James Holmes, as far as we know, acted alone.  That makes him the same as the shooter at Virginia Tech, Andrew Kunanan and Ted Bundy.  He could not dominate or control those with whom he was intimate, if indeed there were any such people, so he chose to thrash and flail at strangers.  We don’t know if he had been bullied as a child, spanked on his birthday or spurned by a woman.  We do know however that two wrongs don’t make a right, two stupids don’t make a smart, fourteen deaths don’t make a life.

What does neurotic seeking of power get a person, in the end?  My guess is that it earns the person a label of toxic, among his/her peers.  It earns annoyance, followed by anger, followed by avoidance and isolation.  These may or may not lead the power-seeker to lash out in further anger- at self or at others.

James Holmes ended up controlling no one.  The historical figures cited by my professor, except for Nixon, ended their lives in defeat and disgrace.  My final point is this:  There is a system, throughout the Universe, which follows the laws of physics and their subordinate man-made laws.  This system is understood by most, and all are subject to it.  This system makes no provision for those without authority to dictate, demand, cajole, ridicule or browbeat those around them into submission.

When someone who is not my mother, family elder, work supervisor or officer of the legal system tells me “You will!”, that’s when I won’t- unless it makes sense to ME.  When that same person says “You can’t”, that’s when I will- if it would benefit me or others.

The lesson of the film which James Holmes disrupted is that ad hoc, casual, unsanctioned exercise of authority will never succeed, in the end, because the human spirit is   answerable only to the Higher Power.  This applies equally to the  power usurper with arms and ammunition, and to those whose weapon is their tongue.