Category Archives: Striving

Ongoing

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Posted by on in Education, Family, Inner Struggles, Poetry, Social, Striving

September 12, 2016, Prescott-

Meetings tire me,

more than the antics of children.

So, as I sat through the proceedings

in a stuffy second-floor room,

I took in all I needed,

through careful listening.

Then came afternoon.

Cool outside,

stale and debilitating, within.

My thoughts wandered

to the school district clerks,

who will occupy these rooms,

after a renovation next year.

The process is ongoing.

I had a nice time,

at a birthday party last night.

It was a good transition,

from the dark memories of

that day, fifteen years ago.

New friends, and old,

drummed, sang and ate

delectable barbecued meats

and all manner of side dishes.

Friendship and camaraderie are ongoing.

Today is my brother’s birthday.

Far off, in Atlanta, or

somewhere else on business,

he keeps setting the bar high

and setting his employees straight.

Communication is ongoing.

On Juniper Mesa

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Posted by on in Hiking and Nature, impediments, Inspiration, Striving

 

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Juniper Mesa, from George Wood Canyon

September 4, 2016, Walnut Creek, AZ-  This settlement is only intermittently populated, when researchers from Arizona’s public universities, and Prescott College, show up to conduct their monitoring of the high desert’s overall health, in an area far from any permanent, sizable human community.  A few ranches break the landscape and, indeed, one of those ranches, just west of Juniper Mesa’s main trailhead, is sealed off from anyone not associated with its operation.

I came out here, in mid-afternoon, to explore the sky island known as Juniper Mesa.  The place was, in the 1870’s and 80’s, a military encampment, an extension of Prescott’s Fort Whipple.  It was, to the cavalrymen of the time, the perfect spot for a railway station, with the route commencing in Prescott, going through Del Rio (now Chino Valley) and pushing clear to the Colorado River, at Hardyville (now Bullhead City) and, from there, to San Pedro, one of the ports serving Los Angeles.  The railroad was built, but it went north, to Ash Fork, then to Seligman and Kingman, connecting with a much larger, transcontinental track, the Santa Fe.

 

So, Juniper Mesa has reverted to a lonesomeness.  I was the only person on the trail today.  Fortunately, I have come to expect that, even in areas closer to Prescott.  The large pack, with an ample water supply, a first aid kit, two knives, a detailed topographic map and a sturdy flashlight, along with one of my trusty walking sticks, has been an integral part of my communes with nature.  What has occasionally caused chuckles, from the smug hipsters doing lakeside botanical and entomological research in Prescott’s city parks, is, to me, a must on any hike lasting more than an hour.  Besides, it wasn’t too long ago, that one of those individuals had to be rescued from Watson Lake Park, a ten-minute walk from a North Prescott business district, because she was dehydrated and delirious.

I saw fairly fresh horse-hoof prints, along the way and smelled fresh bobcat urine, trail side, closer to evening, but it was the insects and I who had the place to ourselves, from all outward seeming.  Juniper Mesa could be for lovers, but so far, it is for the soloists.

I used three trails, in the course of my loop hike:  Oaks and Willows; Juniper Mesa (rim)  and the steep Bull Spring Trail.  Oaks and Willows meets Walnut Creek Road (County Road 125), proceeds through the lush George Wood Canyon to the top of Juniper Mesa, then branches off to the northeast.

Here are some scenes of Oaks and Willows.

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Broad trail, along the Oaks and Willows, Juniper Mesa

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Thick scrub, George Wood Canyon, Juniper Mesa Wilderness

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View across George Wood Canyon

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Sign, gnawed by black bears, over several years

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Heart of George Wood Canyon, Juniper Mesa Wilderness

Once atop the mesa, I basically followed Juniper Mesa Rim Trail, though finding it rather sparse, in several places.  Horse trails, though, are easy to identify by their indentation into the ground.

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Alligator Juniper, top of Juniper Mesa.  I almost see a parrot’s face, in the branch stump.

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Bear image, small sandstone, Juniper Mesa Rim Trail

Bears are reported to be common here, but I saw no sign of them- not even old scat.  They are probably further north, or in areas more sheltered from the lightning that hits Juniper Mesa frequently, during the monsoon season, that is in hiatus for several days.

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Lightning-struck tree, Juniper Mesa Rim Trail

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Lightning-struck piece of limestone, and heart rock, Juniper Mesa Rim Trail

The rock above was given a fierce countenance, by a recent lightning strike.

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Cairn, Juniper Mesa Rim Trail

Large cairns mark Juniper Mesa Rim Trail, at several points, especially after Oaks and Willows Trail branches off to the north.  A half-mile further east, I bid farewell to the benign rout along the rim, and began the descent, on steep Bull Springs Trail.

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View of Walnut Creek settlement and the Santa Maria Range, from Bull Spring Trail

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Hazy view of Walnut Creek settlement, from Bull Spring Trail

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Limestone cliff, east end of Juniper Mesa

The cliffs seen above, and in the next photo, were redoubts for Yavapai and Hualapai warriors, who resisted the U.S. Cavalry in the 1870’s.

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Limestone cliffs, east end of Juniper Mesa

After climbing down from the mesa top, I followed Bull Spring Trail, into the darkness.  Although it was along this trail, that I smelled the bobcat’s markings, the animal itself stayed out of sight, and only small insects, attracted by the flashlight’s beam, showed me any interest.  It took careful attention for me to find the last trail sign, returning to the nub of Oaks and Willows Trail that led me to the car, but I enjoyed a very deep sleep tonight- far from Juniper Mesa.

This is one of several places, in the middle of Arizona’s “nowhere”, that have been on my hiker’s list, in the wake of having completed Prescott Circle.  Stay tuned for others.

 

The Thick Accent

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Posted by on in impediments, Poetry, Social, Striving

September 2, 2016, Prescott-

(A brief thought, on a sultry night, in which I am lying low.)

You cannot understand, why I take up for men in blue.

Do  you not see, that the worst among them represent what will happen,

should the best among them feel abandoned.

You say, “But you don’t understand, that WE don’t understand

their tendency to rush to judgment, and juryhood.

The police speak a language that is indecipherable, in these parts.

This is a language of both words and gestures, often simultaneous with one another.

Their speech and body language, are hard to understand.”

Hmm.  I see the problem of dealing with snap decisions.

The police officer weighs in on the young men gathered up ahead.

“I think I’ll need backup- and have a bus ready.

You never know what tricks some of THEM may have up their sleeves,” he opines,

as the air feels thick with words and gestures, from one and foreign to the other.

I, the translator and peacemaker, get weary- as well as wary.

They Wish

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Posted by on in Personal Values, Poetry, Social, Striving

September 1, 2016, Prescott- 

There are those who view me only as a perpetual motion machine,

and only stop by here, when I’m on the road.

They wish for a byline other than Prescott.

There are those outside the chain of command at my school,

who insert themselves, loudly,

into every step, or misstep, they see my co-workers and I making.

They wish for more people to be under their thumbs.

There are those who would turn back the clock of society,

and stir the pot of public ignorance, at every turn.

They wish for a world that no longer exists,

and which did not really serve its inhabitants all that well.

There are those, the children and young adults,

who will inherit any mess that comes about,

as a result of reckless meddling and mindless ignorance.

They wish to be respected and heard.

There are those who work, diligently, for a better tomorrow,

and who don’t let the clamour of the nonsensical deter them.

They wish for a world that attains its fruition.

There are we, who see each soul as more valuable,

than even he or she might see, in the midst of darkness.

We wish for all to see the Universe, in its true splendour.

Whose Truth?

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Posted by on in Community, Matters of Faith, Service Activities, Spiritual, Striving

August 28, 2016, Prescott- I attended a couple of spiritual gatherings, this weekend. Last night, several faith leaders and community activists gathered at Scottsdale Baha’i Center.  The purpose was a delayed Race Unity Day.  The weather has cooled, just a tad, from June’s more extreme temperatures, thus making a late August version of “Juneteenth” more palatable to many.

The array of speakers was far more concerned with solving the ongoing problem of race relations, than in any semblance of showmanship or exclusive claim to truth.  The gathering of about 100 people were able to engage in well-balanced discourse, without resorting to recrimination.

This evening, I joined a much smaller group, at an observance of  Janmashtami,(Krishna’s Birthday), one of the key Hindu religious observances.  It had been 32 years since I last attended any kind of Hindu gathering.  Prescott’s small community is made up of white Americans- an anomaly, with the South Asian community here seeming to be mainly Christian and Muslim.  They are no less fervent, though, than the multitudes of India and Nepal.

The swami, who hails from Sedona, is, like me, a child of the 1960’s.  His inspiration to become Hindu came from the Beatles and others who flocked to the feet of Maharishi Mahesh Yogi.  I must say, he has done a fair amount of homework on the body of Hindu  Scripture. Anyone who can cite the data of the created Universe that is listed in such detail ,as it is in the Bhagavad Gita, is worthy of profound respect.

There is, though, a common thread woven through all the religious traditions, from time immemorial.  Each does build on those before it, as Man becomes more conscious of, and in tune with, his unique station on this Earthly plane. Truth, to me, did not stop with Hinduism, Christianity or Islam.  It has not stopped with the Baha’i Faith.  There will be other Spiritual Teachers, Avatars, Buddhas or whichever name one sees fit to apply to a Divine Messenger, and They will come when mankind needs them.

Truth, though, remains One- and none can claim a corner on its entirety. I was gratified to see that the swami and his community has sensed this, and dispelled some misgivings I was about to have, about their faith and its possible trend towards fundamentalism.  I will be able to maintain the same dialogue with the Hindu community that I am still working to establish with devout Christians.

It was a fine, useful weekend.

A Cup O’ Kindness

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Posted by on in Historical, Inspiration, Striving

August 27, 2016, Prescott- Last Sunday, I spent some time with a World War II veteran, retired from the U.S.Army, as a colonel, who commanded a battalion on Utah Beach, during the D-Day invasion, in 1944.  He was fading, when I saw him, so I knew it was a matter of time, before his departure from our midst.

That passing came this evening, and John A. Mortimer, “only 96”, found himself looking down upon many friends who will miss his presence.  His widow, a native of Britain, called him her “Laddie”.  Certainly, during his years of service to his country, including time in the Battle of the Bulge, when he pushed his unit into Germany, with General Patton’s blessing, he moved with the swagger of youth- and made it count for something.

John was still on active duty during the Korean War, but stayed stateside, to monitor the testing of atomic weapons.  It was a decent turn of events, that he did not suffer any ill effects from those unfortunate days.

He served, at our American Legion Post, as a member of the Honour Guard, and was its flag presenter at funerals and memorial services, for several years.  John was also the first person one saw, on Sunday mornings, when breakfast was being served, as he was the cashier.  All that ended, about 1 1/2 years ago, when he became confined to the VA Hospital here in town, and to a wheelchair.

His wit, and keenness for Turner Classic Movies, remained, though, until a couple of weeks ago, when the Good Lord let him know that it was time to start packing up for the journey homeward.  That journey became complete, around 9:30 this evening.

We, his comrades at the Post, will honour John on Labour Day- looking back on his extraordinary life, and taking a cup o’kindness, for his service, and all those long ago days.

Ever Evolving

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Posted by on in Community, Family, Poetry, Striving

August 26, 2016, Prescott- 

I saw the face of our Prescott hero.

She was looking out on us,

from the lead photo of a USA Today piece,

on a series of interviews with those who saw her there,

in that place of desolation, where she was the only source of love.

She loves her people, still.

I wear a message T-shirt,

honouring the fallen men of that day,

three years and two months ago.

They look out upon us,

from a crew photo taken after the Doce Fire,

two weeks before the Death Storm.

They love their families, still.

I look at the woman who loved me,

more than anyone.

She gazes out, with confidence,

from a photo of her teen life.

She gave us the best years of her life.

She loves me still.

I look upon my little ones,

imperfect, works in progress,

sometimes exhausting, at times frightful.

There are those times, though,

when they finish work, when they listen,

when they just know

that I love them still.

 

(To obviate the drumbeat of “Where’s The Book of Poetry?”, know that I will start compiling what I’ve written here and organizing it into a volume, during the next seven days. That volume of verse will hopefully be ready for self-publication by January, 2017.)

 

Aloneness at the Top

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Posted by on in collaborating, Social, Striving

August 23, 2016, Prescott- It’s time to take a break from the day-to-day, and think about our leaders, or those who purport to be such.  In a conversation this afternoon, the three of us noted that the school principal has an intense burden, not going out among the staff as often as people seem to want.  When she has shown up, her demeanor is pleasant enough, though the message I get is “Don’t make my work any harder, please.”

I remember having the sense, particularly in my first principalship, of being very much without friends.  My wife was forty miles away, at another school and son was only 10, and trying to juggle going back and forth between two schools, so as not to miss either of us too much.  The staff at my school was cordial, but after work, I went home to the dreariness of DirecTV and a diet of VH1.  The community, egged on by a local racist, was rather on the hostile side.

I reflected on these notions this afternoon, whilst listening to the author of a new book on Donald Trump.  He views his subject as pretty much a loner- a gladhander, yes, but one who tends to prefer his own company- outside of the work day.  Hillary Clinton seems equally a duck out of water, when in the company of strangers, after a certain amount of time.  Barack Obama is engrossed in his family unit, and the company of a small circle of friends.  Indeed, we have to go back to Bill Clinton to see a leader who relishes the crowd, and before him, all the way to John F. Kennedy.

I feel for our leaders, whether local or national.  The late Shah of Iran once remarked, in an interview with the journalist Oriana Fallaci, that, were he to have it all to do over again, he would want to be anything other than a king.  The crush upon a mere mortal has to be both deafening and suffocating.  Most people appreciate, and expect, a leader who will put him/herself aside, as it were, and rush to the side of the suffering.  Many, from George Washington on, wished to do just that- until, in modern times, the combination of security concerns, open calls for harm to be done to said leader, and the seeming ingratitude of some local communities, have led to a pullback by the Comforter-in-Chief, as we have seen in the second Obama term.

Could it be that we, the people, need to reassess our attitudes towards those whom we elect to manage our civic affairs?

 

The Sumo Wrestler Cat

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Posted by on in Education, Personal Values, Striving

August 22, 2016, Prescott-  My primary goal, in my present position, is to build trust with my students, while adhering to the guidelines of the program now being used by the school district.

Hearing their stories, with both ears and heart open, is a major component of building trust with anyone.  There is far too much, of people sticking fingers in their ears and mouthing the equivalent of “Nyah, naah, can’t hear you!”  One way of doing this is “That’s not what the program says!”

While I encourage students to follow the program, being in their world is major.  This morning, one of the boys, whom I met at the bus, told me of his weekend, and his mother getting a new kitten, to add to their feline family.  The patriarch, as it happens, is called the Sumo Wrestler Cat, owing to his girth.  SWC tends to keep his distance from the others, and, true to form, is the first one at the food dish.  The kitten will need to learn this pecking order- in which she is last.  The two juvenile female cats have ideas of their own.

Others have less amusing domestic tales, and as kids do, they bring the troubles of home with them into the classroom.  The task of changing mindsets, and letting even the most woebegone know they are loved beyond measure, falls to yours truly.  I think most adults here WANT to be able to show caring for these children, but not getting it returned in kind, wears on those who are themselves needy. On we go, however, and my eternal optimist middle manager sees “incremental progress” being made, already.

The Balm that Simmers

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Posted by on in children, Inner Struggles, Personal goals, Personal Values, Spiritual, Striving

August 19, 2016, Prescott- For two weekends in a row, going to a “free” concert by a local band, named The Cheektones, has been a fine way to unwind from a work position that requires every ounce of my energy and commitment.  More about them, later.

Simply put, most people have little or no understanding of the troubled.  I have listened to, and worked with and around,  two conflicting agendas, both of whose proponents purport to want what’s best for the kids in our care.  I have operated, for forty years of work with children and youth, on a gradually-established, and continually fine-tuned, intuition and sensibility.  I made all manner of errors, my first three years of teaching, and learned from every one of them, while being remorseful over those who fell behind, or fell through the cracks.  Those of my early students who are still living are in their mid-fifties now.  Chances are, most of them have gone on and lived fairly complete lives.

Nothing remains in stasis, for very long.  My current small group of children are, more than even the average child, all about the moment- and it could be the polar opposite of the moment before- or that which lies straight ahead.  Some adult observers “recognize” chemical imbalance; others see “parental spoiling”; still others just know the pain- and want to heal.

I tend to be in the last category.  Most of you know, by now, of my own having grown up autistic, somewhere on the Asperger’s spectrum.  “Emotionally-handicapped” people are, therefore, special to me.  I want nothing more than to win their trust and help them grow into, at least, a position of functionality.

I have thus tended to find myself in classrooms where such children are placed, in a group.  This grouping is not ideal, either for the students, or for the (usually small) team of adults who work with said grouping.  Adults of a certain age also tend to bicker, openly, then are astounded at the insolence of the children.  This happens between spouses, ex-spouses, co-workers and supervisors/subordinates.  I, admittedly, have done my share of bickering, in various settings, over the years.

I got out of the circular chase by stopping myself, and just listening.  Being now in a workplace where I am allowed to say very little, in the presence of my immediate supervisor, albeit enjoying freer speech at school-wide meetings, I have grown ever more comfortable with just being still.  With the children, though, as I get to know them better, I can, and will, impart to them  a code of decency and respect, which many of them have not known, other than intuitively, in their all-too-brief lives.

It is this year’s primary task to bring balm to the sore,  to heal the simmering wound.