Fierce

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August 6, 2024, Holbrook, AZ- The little girl peeked out, from behind the screen door, as I was speaking with her grandmother, on the family’s porch. She quickly figured I was no threat and came outside smiling, with a hint of mischief on her face. Her t-shirt said “Fierce”, and that is how I remember her mother, who is away on personal business, when she was a child. The present child began to emulate a tiger kitten and paw at the air, with a mini-hiss. In time, and with her family’s continued guidance, she will be fierce-in a good way, the way her mother, at her best, has been.

This was a day spent under a sometimes ferocious sun, looking for gravesites that were not catalogued or mapped-and dependent only on the memory of a mutual friend to me and the decedents. In the end, I did not find either resting place, leaving one flower vase at the lonely, unattended grave of a combat veteran (Afghanistan, 2015) and keeping the other for placement tomorrow, at the tomb of a friend who died nearly forty years ago. It was hot and dusty, at both cemeteries, and I noted both well-kept, love-saturated gravesites and untended, often unmarked, plots, often next to one another. Wind and wild animals have taken their tolls.

I see ferocity as something that is rising, in the life of the world-both good (self-affirmation and love for others) and ill (self-aggrandizement and disdain for those who are different). I see once good-hearted and loving people turn sour and hateful, and I wonder what happened in their lives to make bitterness so appealing. My own life has had its share of trouble an disappointment- but much of that came from my own doing, and the part that wasn’t my fault was shared with a good many other people. I am fortunate to have been raised by sensible and loving parents, in a large extended family and in a close-knot neighbourhood, where any given child was “raised by the village”.

I drove across the Navajo and Hopi Reservations, as the ferocious sun was supplanted by monsoon rain. It was raining, as I left the second cemetery, stopped by the house mentioned above and while I stopped for dinner, at Keams Canyon Cafe, where I had many a meal during my residence in the area, in the mid and late ’90s. It was raining again, when I got here to the Motel 6, chosen after I noted that Keams Canyon Motel had been razed, since I was there last.

The world is fierce, in nature and in everyday life. Let us be equal in ferocity, in the best sense of that word.

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The Light That Beckons

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August 5, 2024, Flagstaff- The ample supply of food, that I brought to the Soup Kitchen this evening, was distributed by the kitchen staff and the diners themselves, in short order. It always turns out that way. When there is a gathering on Saturday or Sunday, with lots of food left over, there is ever a place for it, on Monday evening. The unhoused can always divide it into portions for the week, and most of them have coolers, keeping the food safe from contamination. Some have access to hotplates that they can plug into their vehicles, or random locations that give grace to people who want to warm up their meals.

Much was made, in some circles, of the summer swoon that the global financial markets experienced, Thursday through today. I have learned to let the traders do their thing, and that the nest egg will recover, usually in short order. It’s best to do what I have to do, day to day, being frugal when necessary (which is much of the time) and being gracious to the people in my heart, whenever possible.

Today started with a short hike, truncated by the presence of mosquitos and by our respective schedules. The heat was not a factor, as early morning sprinkles and cloud cover kept things mild. Fain Park is fairly muddy in spots, but has some interesting connections between neighbourhoods, a pleasant fishing pond and a display of mining equipment from the 1900s-30s. One can get a good workout there, with a proper time allotment.

The Light of the Divine beckoned me all day, and after the hike, I headed to a coffee group, enjoying the company of the group of seniors who gather each Monday, to kibbitz and weigh in on affairs, local and global, large and small. From there, I checked in with the crew at Wildflower, for a late breakfast. All is well in that “Happy Place”, to which all are welcome. Back at Home Base, I got as good a set of directions as can be expected, to two places where I will make stops tomorrow: Gravesites of two long-time friends, whose funerals found me elsewhere, and so still deserve honour and gratitude for all the friendship and advice they gave, over four decades.

This evening, after my soup kitchen duties were done, a drive to Bellemont let me drop off a couple of items for the good of the order, and ascertain that all is well on the property. No animals being encountered, I was a half hour, there and out.

Thus do I find myself at Relax Inn, in the midst of Old Route 66, reveling in the fading light, writing a message to my most beloved on Earth and showing grace to the Internet that keeps going on and off. (Such is the way, in days of monsoon activity.) The light of the four sacred peaks beckons, for the next few days, so I will rest well tonight.

Much Ado at the Raven

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August 4, 2024- The troupe spent a refreshing amount of time on stage dancing to an acoustic rendering of William Shakespeare’s ditty from “Much Ado About Nothing”. They sang it, while dancing, and the audience joined in. Such was the production of the comedy, by the troupe calling themselves, Halfwit Shakespeare. They were hardly half-witted, and absolutely delightful. Admission was free, with gratuities asked for the players as a group.

“Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more.

    Men were deceivers ever,

One foot in sea, and one on shore,

    To one thing constant never.

Then sigh not so, but let them go,

    And be you blithe and bonny,

Converting all your sounds of woe

    Into hey nonny, nonny.

Sing no more ditties, sing no more

    Of dumps so dull and heavy.

The fraud of men was ever so

    Since summer first was leafy.

Then sigh not so, but let them go,

    And be you blithe and bonny,

Converting all your sounds of woe

    Into hey, nonny, nonny.”-William Shakespeare

The play, for those unfamiliar with it, is a comedy that accents the ridiculous, and avoidable, damage to a person’s reputation from backbiting and gossip. These flaws are an almost ingrained part of the human psyche and, as with many flaws, derive from insecurity. The character assassins are called out, and given one chance to redeem themselves-which they do. Would that all such incidents of assault on character be so easily resolved and reversed.

We are probably due for another round of negative back-and-forth, in the ongoing election cycle-and there is a lot of angst about who is doing what, to wreak havoc on the economy. Backbiting, however, does next to nothing to actually solve matters of concern, and is actually worse than kicking the can down the road. As in the play, however, all that is dark will be brought to light.

It may be a nice temporary fix to stop, take a few deep breaths and, if it helps any, sing a song similar to Shakespeare’s ditty. Then, we can get back up, dust ourselves off and start all over again, as Nat King Cole once advised.

Showers

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August 3, 2024- In the process of taking down a tent this afternoon , at the Farmers Market, I got a nice, warm shower. Water collects atop nylon tents, when there is a downpour. I was reminded of that, in the process of collapsing the device. This being the desert Southwest, I was dry enough to move about again, in short order.

There have been many showers, throughout my life, but especially lately. Most prominent has been the shower of love. It hasn’t come from someone I myself love most-not yet. It has come from those here, to whom I feel close. It has come from family and friends, further afield. It has come from those I have met only recently, and from those I’ve known forever. It comes from those who know my heart.

There has been the shower of good fortune-not immense monetary wealth, but sufficient for my needs. The good fortune of having things work out as planned has been amply in evidence. The good fortune of being able to maintain my health and a schedule of meaningful activities, has come from continuing to be active and getting sufficient sleep. The good fortune of having a roof over my head and having trustworthy neighbours, who gather my mail, as needed and keep watch on Home Base, when I’m away, is priceless.

There has been the shower of mindfulness, something that was always in the shadows of my life, in bygone times, but is now front and center. Whatever I am doing is part of a plan that is fully understood, down to its smallest steps. Whatever I am doing is not interrupted by flights of fancy. Whatever I am doing is from being grounded.

Showers give me the satisfaction of knowing that whatever direction my life takes, over the next several months, I will be in a good place.

Rude, Weird and All That

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August 1, 2024- Years ago, a little girl in one of my classes protested: “Mister Gary, him being wude (sic)!” There actually was a basis in fact for her complaint, but for one thing: The boy’s rudeness was directly in response to her rude behaviour towards him. The problem was only resolved over time, by the staff modeling politeness towards one another and towards the students, sometimes despite the kids’ impolitic.

We have had a spate of public commentary, lately, pointing fingers at certain figures for “being rude”, when they are merely being blunt or direct, in their criticism or questioning. Others are enjoying poking fun at what they see as “weird” behaviour, even if the behaviour in question has not been substantiated, and is reported as “rumour has it that……”.

I remember watching a cartoon, when I was about ten years old. Bandleader Don Redman did a short cartoon, featuring his song,”I Heard”, which obliquely dealt with conjecture among coal miners eating lunch in a cafe. Mom was no fan of jazz, back then, especially on a children’s cartoon, but she said that Redman had a point-People should not make assumptions about anything, based on rumour. Her mantra was ” ‘I thought’ once got a man killed”. We were always encouraged to think things through and get the facts, before heading down the wrong path.

I get the temptation to take the low road, sometimes just because of fatigue or insecurity. The higher ground is, however, the only place where we are unlikely to be flooded by the dirty rivers of misinformation and character assassination. Truthfulness can keep us on the right path. Falsehood, even with the best intentions, can only be a destructo beam.

Diamonds in the Sky

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July 31, 2024- Today would have been my parents’ 75th wedding anniversary-their Diamond Jubilee. As always, I took time to recall so many life lessons and watchwords they each imparted, over the years. They both were fond of singing. Mom had a most melodious voice; Dad’s was pleasant and joyful. He would come down the stairs singing “You call everybody darlin’, and everybody calls you darlin’, too”. The verse was from a jaunty song by Al Trace and his band (1948), and the full message was aimed at those who toss out loving words without meaning them. Dad meant his words-both approving and disapproving. He was a man of principle.

They gave us roadmaps- for financial security, for stability in a relationship and for recovering from hardship. Much of this came from their having been raised in a time of deprivation and war. In my younger, more dissolute days, I admit to downplaying their admonitions. Once I was no longer “young and naive”, and had to face my own set of difficulties, all those watchwords came flooding back. My parents knew when to help out and when it was best to stand back and let us sort through our own problems. I try to do the same, both for my little family and for all those who share their problems.

Now, Mom and Dad are among the stars, so to speak, “diamonds in the sky”. Their spirits, along with many others, are watching through the thin veil that separates us. Their guidance will never be lost, as long as I remain lucid. That, I pray, will be for some years to come.

Eric Came Home

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July 30, 2024- The intrepid bicyclist said he’d taken eight days to make the trip from Tucson, to his former residence. He happens to be a paraplegic, with pretty solid looking steel prostheses. He told me a few stories about the stately eight room home, with two stone “horse quarters” on the property (which are rented out as apartments). He lived in one of the horse quarters, but was now just waiting for the property’s owner to show up, that he might spend a few days there. Eric had come home.

I am ever in awe of people who don’t let life’s mishaps deter them from going on. Most of us plan carefully and are having to make a modicum of adjustments in our daily and long-term activities. As long as we are careful with our health, things go on as normal. The presence of those who are “differently abled”, then , can be initially jarring, but also can serve to affirm the greater goodness of all that is here for us in this life. So, we watch the Paralympics and encourage those with artificial limbs, developmental challenges and loss of sight or hearing, to the best of our abilities.

Having lived with a woman who could no longer walk, and eventually, no longer move a muscle, I can say that the inherent worth of human beings never diminishes. The love we have for each other does not depend on physical presence, or even, as I am finding out, on proximity. Our souls are ever present, until the day they are carried by our spirits to a place just on the other side of a thin veil. Baha’u’llah said that the departed souls are “closer to you than your life vein.”. Penny was always able to communicate, to the time of her departure. So, in a more limited way, was my mother. They still do, from the other side.

When I came back along, after stopping in at Raven Cafe, Eric was settled in for the night. I wished him a safe evening. He replied that he was where he needed to be, and would stay right there. Indeed, we are each, at any given moment, where we need to be.

Safety First

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July 29,2024- It was once known as the “Loneliest Highway in America”; not any more.

Several times today, an “intrepid” driver would attempt to pass several vehicles, along Nevada’s long section of U.S. 95. Most had to be let back in, either a third or half-way through the queue, usually with an approaching semi-trailer truck as the impetus. At least the drivers had two things going for them: 1. They weren’t trying to pass on a a double yellow; 2. There was no ad-hoc scold trying to block them from re-entering the line.

Back in the day, we were taught not to try and pass anyone on a two-lane highway, unless there was at least a half-mile of visible clearance: No approaching vehicles on a straight shot; no curves or hills; no animals or road debris. That was still mostly in evidence, yesterday, but there were also the heat (not everyone has quality AC), schedules (“I need to be in Las Vegas by 5 p.m.!”) and cranky family members, who couldn’t be necessarily counted on to be patient until Eddie World, or Circus Circus, was reached. There was also the detour effect: Many travelers were on this route because I-5 and I-84 (the major north-south routes in the West) were closed in spots, due to raging wildfires. So, too was US 395, essentially from Mono Lake northward, due to the smoke from the Park Fire.

My route between Prescott and Carson City has usually followed U.S. 95, with several favoured stops in the routine. They were made today; Breakfast at Red Hut, on Carson’s south side; lunch (which doubled as supper) from Beans & Brews ( a small cafe run by students and staff from Tonopah High School), an ice cream break at Eddie World (Beatty’s answer to Buccee’s) and a gas pit stop at one of three stations in Metro Las Vegas. Others, like wildlife viewing at Walker Lake, checking in at the Alien Store, Amargosa and a meal at Westside Lilo’s, Seligman were foregone.

It has been a rewarding and affirming series of visits, even if not all problems were resolved to the satisfaction of everyone I visited, but life is a process, not an event, and I, albeit an eternal optimist, saw positivity.

Now my focus is largely on Home State matters, on downsizing at Home Base I and making sure all is ready for my 1-2 months across the Pacific.

Coming Together

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July 28, 2024, Carson City- Little Man wanted to learn the simple game, which other members of the family were playing. So, he was given a seat at the table and the process was explained very simply. He’s a bright child, so it didn’t take long, and he was fully participating in the game-actually doing quite well at it. Allowances were made for his attention span, so he came and went-taking care of other things that had his interest.

His older sister was involved in the game, and played more consistently. A household chore took her away from the table, and that was more than okay. Peace in any house depends upon respect, across the board. When it later came time for her to spend quality time with her father, as well, that took priority.

There was a calm and very civil air in the house today. I sense it has much to do with the departure of some rather troubled and uncivil neighbours. Toxicity can spread, almost unannounced, insidiously. It was the first time, in quite a while, that the head of the household felt comfortable working in his own back yard, and the relief was palpable. These are good people, who have much love to give to their children and to extended family.

We are each individuals and will always have a sense of separation from even those closest to us. At the same time, we need one another, and pretending otherwise just leads to an unnatural divide. Coming together requires respect, in both directions. Miscreants can be brought into the fold, but on the terms of those who are practicing virtuous behaviour, not the other way around. There is a story that an early Baha’i told, of a saintly man and a ruffian. The saintly one told the ne’er do well that he could help him turn into a respected member of society, “in a month’s time”. The thug replied, ” I can corrupt you, in less than a day.” Both were right, underscoring the need for virtues to be instilled in children, and modeled in a consistent manner, by all significant adult role models in their view. Fortitude and self-discipline are needed, in withstanding the temptations thrown out by such as the miscreant in the story.

I am relieved that the two children, who I love very much, will no longer have to endure the nefariousness next door-and that everyone will be able to show the love for one another that has never been far below the surface, even in times of tension. This has been a wondrous cap to a very fruitful journey. Tomorrow, I head back to Home Base I.

Flamed Out

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July 27, 2024, Susanville, CA- The river that was named for Susan Roop is flowing nicely. The town that was named for the daughter of the area’s first settler is thriving, despite the fires that plague its surroundings. It is a sprawling, but comfortable town; auto-centered, but fairly easy to walk, as long as one doesn’t mind the 3/4 mile that exists between cross walks, along U.S. Highway 395, in the downtown sector.

I am comfortably ensconced in Apple Motel, with an appropriate scene outside my back window.

Chinese apple tree, Apple Inn, Susanville

The reserved, but kindly, couple were almost apologetic, but requested a cash payment for tonight’s lodging. A fire, started several days ago, by a deranged man who wanted to destroy the forest, is still far from here, but its smoke has limited visibility and activity, from just east of here, southwest to Quincy, and north to Bartle. It has rattled the residents of Paradise, which burned to the ground six years ago. It has closed Lassen Volcanic National Park and is threatening some iconic structures in that national treasure.

I was intending to re-visit Lassen today, along with several dozen other people, but a lunatic had other plans, and so we adjust. I was born under the fire sign, but have spent my life determined to use fire properly, as a tool and not as a weapon. The Wabenaki, from whom I am partially descended, employed fire carefully, to keep forests in order and in a state of health. I have taken that lesson seriously and have acted accordingly, in my own dealings with the element.

This area, from Mount Shasta to Pyramid Lake, strikes me as being sacred ground. It ought to be a place of reverence. Many of the people here in Susanville certainly feel this way-including the owners of this motel, the operators and wait staff at Kopper Kettle, the family restaurant where I got enough food to last me for three meals and the young people who were out and about, making the best of the slightly smoky downtown air. The sense of reverence was clear, in downtown Weed, from which Shasta may be seen, in its glory.

Mount Shasta, viewed from the north.

Reverence was ubiquitous in Old Station, a spot along the Pacific Crest Trail, where through hikers can get a good meal, shower and do laundry (I took advantage of that last one). It even showed in the confusion that a solitary driver expressed, when I signaled to him to turn back on the road to Lassen. It was most evident in the five wildland fire units that headed towards the national park, with the aim of defending places like Manzanita Lake and the Mineral Museum.

Lassen, Chico, Bartle and all threatened points in between, will rebuild from any fire damage-as communities most often do. Paradise has, and will again, if the Park Fire finds its way there. Lahaina is making steady progress, and so are the communities around the Mediterranean that have suffered great loss, in the wildfires of 2022-23. I am an eternal optimist and I am not alone.