Fortnight of Transition, Day 6: Teaching in a Hybrid Manner

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September 14, 2020-

I returned to substitute teaching today, for the first time since COVID burst through the door and took over. Being with eighth grade students has been fairly easy for me, over theyears,and today was no exception. One difference is, though, that Hybrid Scheduling has been adopted. This means, essentially, that students whose family names begin with A-K attend in person classes, on Monday and Wednesday; those whose family names begin with L-Z attend on Tuesday and Thursday. Thus, on any given day, the classroom is, essentially, half full.

Masks were no problem for any of us. I had plenty of training in wearing a mask for twelve hours at a stretch, during my Red Cross deployment for Hurricane Laura. The kids have, in most cases, chosen their own masks, and I wore my Planets and Stars pattern, which got a few compliments. One boy broke a strap on his, and I sent him to the School nurse, to get a replacement. He came back, wearing a rodeo pattern mask, which made his day.

It was also nice to be among a group of educators again. The bantering and discussion of a wide variety of topics, in the Teachers’ Lounge, is something I’ve missed, more than I thought.

Needless to say, this sort of day is likely to be rare, this coming Autumn, if the call to service comes as early as next Tuesday-and I go back out on deployment. That has its own rewards, though, as we’ve seen recently. In any case, even with all that is creating mayhem this year, I am glad to be in a position to help, in more than one way.

Fortnight of Transition, Day 5: Whose Children Matter?

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September 13, 2020-

In some of my response to reports of abused and neglected children, it has come back at me that these particular campaigns are cherry-picked, Right-Wing trope activities. Maybe so, but I personally don’t cherry-pick, as to which children get attention and which go without.

Early in my counseling career, a severe sexual assault case was brought to me and the Response Team was in the midst of getting the victim to safety, when a call came about another child threatening suicide. I asked my senior partner to take that case and get back to me, once the child had been evaluated. This was unusual, for the particular community to have two victims at the same time, but there was no daylight, no distinction, between one child and the other.

One red flag, which discomfits many, is a child who gets too close, who hugs too tightly or even wants to sit on a non-related adult’s lap. I’ve dealt, gently, but firmly, with several such children, almost always girls-and who were either being totally ignored, shunned by their father or were being grommed by an adult either in, or known to, their immediate family. Getting the father to acknowledge, and spend quality time with, his daughter was relatively easy. The girls being taught sexual behaviours had, however, to be removed from the home and placed in group homes, where experienced professionals were able to give them the advanced therapy they needed.

I think of these children, a few of whom have kept in touch, as adults and are doing quite well, considering the ordeals that came their way. I think of them all the more, in light of the current Netflix film, “Cuties”, which uses exhibitionism as a vehicle to “combat sexual exploitation of children”. Counterintuitive, at best, and exploitative in itself, at worst, I see the showing of the film as a serious error in judgement. There was a period, from the mid-1990s to the late 2000s, when young European and South American girls were featured in some rather lurid websites-with the sites’ owners and photographers claiming their work was “art”. Fortunately, Interpol, the FBI, the government of Chancellor Angela Merkel, of Germany, and, wondrously, the Russian FSB, at the direction of Vladimir Putin, took these sites down and the long process of finding and rehabilitating the child victims was initiated. I would not want to see anything close to that horrific state of affairs be repeated.

That said, the vast majority of sexual and physical abuse of children takes place in situations familiar to them, at the hands of people whom they ought to be able to trust. This makes it both simple and complex, for the helping professional- Simple, in that the child is easy to locate and remove from the home; complex, in that there is often a culture of denial in place, largely based on fear of disruption and dislocation of the family unit.

Getting co-operation from the other family members is completely dependent on their degree of self-assurance and cohesiveness, independent of the perpetrator(s). In a close-knit community, even law enforcement officers. medical staff and social services workers, if they are related to the perpetrator, can be a hindrance to justice for the victim.

All these factors come into play with regard to obtaining justice, and if the matter involves a child, or multiple children, being groomed in sexual behaviour, there needs to be both a swift separation of perpetrator(s) and victim(s) and active therapeutic measures initiated as quickly as possible.

No child, anywhere, is less important than any other.

Fortnight of Transition, Day 4: Legalese

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September 12, 2020-

Good things happened today. My middle brother turned 65, surrounded by the Georgia branch of his family. It was good to speak with him and to hear the vibrant voices of nephew, SIL and the little ones.

I am reaching an understanding with someone who thought I could be the brains behind his operation. There are legal points, like “Conflict of Interest” and Federal tax laws that would present problems for my being the Great White Hope. I think he gets it now.

“Cuties”, the well-intentioned, but misguided, film has run into a buzz-saw of valid criticism, for its reported perseverating on the physiques of pre-adolescent girls. I haven’t seen the film, nor will I-since Creeper Status is not something with which I identify, as well as the fact that my primary role with young people, male or female, is to encourage them to avoid being objectified and to follow dreams of their own choosing. Hopefully, there will arise a sense of propriety and like misguided projects before it, “Cuties” will disappear from the media.

Our Baha’i group had its tri-monthly consultative meeting and planned out the overall course of activities, over the next three months.

That brings me to the Red Cross-and that I was already asked when I could resume Disaster Response activities. A look at the map shows why-Fire to the left of us, Storms to the right-and I will be stuck in the middle, for at least another week, as I have personal business on the last day of summer and will focus on other matters here at Home Base, in the interim.

The Farmers Market is a bustling place, with a new venue. I was happy to visit there this morning, seeing some of my better friends, locally. Next weekend will bring me to Dharma Farm, in advance of Equinox, and the Weekend of Peace will see some events, both on Zoom and in the park across the street from me.

With that, let’s all take a deep breath, to the extent possible, in a climate of widespread smoke.

Fortnight of Transition, Day 3: Keeping the Door Ajar

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September 11, 2020-

Much, rightfully, has been said today about the attacks of 19 years ago, and how eerily similar things feel-as cities are continuing to feel the effects of discord and an entire region of the country is reeling from fire.

We, in northern Arizona, are seeing climatic effects of the fires to the west, as smoky air has kept temperatures down and those with breathing issues indoors. Stories of people struggling, of those who have lost loved ones and of others who have lost everything, keep multiplying. COVID is practically an afterthought, though it could burst through and cause additional mayhem, as it did during the ship fire in San Diego, earlier this summer.

Now, the Pacific Coast is seeing something unprecedented-an early fire season, with no indication that it can be brought to heel. People in the large cities are even on a fair alert. Those of us to the east must get ready, then, for an influx of refugees-much as we would if the great faults were to buckle, or the Cascades erupt in fury.

It’s not quite that bad, yet, but mental preparedness is best begun, weeks ahead of a potential mass evacuation. In the meantime, let us also direct our positive energy towards an end to the firestorm and form a plan for bringing our western neighbours to a safe haven.

I say this, having seen a minor version of chaos, when people fled the Louisiana coast, during Hurricane Laura, and safe havens became overwhelmed, within a few hours.

Fortnight of Transition, Day 2: Personal Responsibility

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September 10, 2020-

My mother turned 92 today. In our conversation this afternoon, she sounded well and had enjoyed a birthday lunch. She expressed pride in my having gone to help hurricane victims in Louisiana, a reflection of the stress she always placed on accepting responsibility and assisting the less fortunate.

I woke this morning, feeling a drag on my psyche. Knowing that one of the people, to whom I was alluding in the last post, would likely be the first to want my attention, I was slow to open my phone. Fortunately, I was able to hold the line on his accepting responsibility for his own success, while still offering help in a few areas that he could not have known how to handle . I must always try to be discerning.

Neither patronize, nor disparage. This is a tough row to hoe, as I’ve become quite used to doing things on my own and not wanting to have random people show up, wanting me to solve all their problems. At the same time, I have no problem pitching in to a group effort at dealing with social issues, dealing with an emergency that happens in my presence or doing a helpful activity that is scheduled. I guess it’s randomness that I find irritating.

This is also a heavy cosmic energy period. For the astrologically-inclined, seven planets are in retrograde, relative to Earth. This tends to throw us back, going over old ground. I have done well this year, at clearing out old, counterproductive habits and energies. There is still a bit left to tidy up, though, so maybe this retrograde season will help along those lines.

Fortnight of Transition, Day 1: Overcoming Learned Helplessness

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September 9, 2020-

A fortnight is a period of two weeks. There are about that many days until the September Equinox (Autumnal/Vernal). In this time, I wish to look at several themes that have impacted or are impacting my life and those around me.

As I edge closer to retirement and to making my own determination, as to which activities to which I devote time and energy, I have had to begin to find positive and helpful ways to address those who come to me with outstretched hands. Deflecting requests for money is easy enough. I have to budget what I have, in the way of financial resources, so as to both support myself and to fulfill some plans which I feel I have earned.

Time and energy are more problematic. No one can, in good conscience, refuse the legitimate requests for assistance with finding resources that come, sometimes randomly, from those who believe themselves to be at the end of their ropes. If one agrees to offer limited assistance, and uses the Internet to connect start-ups with potential benefactors, the result is usually win-win-and does not end up being a time and energy pit.

The key is to use the correct search terms, so as to not waste time on dead ends. For example, in linking an entrepreneur, in one of several African countries, to an entity that can provide seed money grants, the best search term is “Organizations that help marginalized communities in Africa”. I used this yesterday, and was able to forward a link to three appreciative entrepreneurs, who have imagined themselves to be in dire straits.

My message to such entrepreneurs is this: You have the skills and intelligence to make your dreams happen. Europeans and North Americans have done a bad job, in many cases, of giving the impression that our resources can lift all boats. That is seldom true, on an individual basis. It is by pooling resources, while simultaneously reminding the individuals seeking assistance that they can and should establish their own contacts with helpful organizations, that the most meaningful change can happen.

I am always glad to guide people to the proper resources, but I will no encourage and foster the sense of helplessness that only drags down both entrepreneur and advocate.

The Summer of the Rising Tides, Day 100: Water, Water, “Neverywhere”

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September 8, 2020-

I have been back from a very wet area, for three days. I have back in a very dry area, for the same amount of time. I hear a voice saying- “No rain until at least October, and if La Nina like it here, not until November.

La Nina refers to the weather pattern that keeps moisture stuck off the southern third of the North American west coast, thus guaranteeing that California, Arizona, and everywhere due to their north, will remain dry as the Sahara.

It usually breaks up around the first part of Autumn. This is, however, a year which regards “usually” as an extended four-letter word. La Nina may well like it here enough to wait around until people start following the pronghorn and the deer, to see where they are getting moisture. She may then dry that up, as well.

There is no value in dryness, unless one is trying to kill mold or get a respite from life in the swamp. I was in the Bayou Country for two weeks, so the aridity has not quite gotten to me, yet. It has long since gotten to my friends here-and doubly gotten to people who live between Vancouver, BC and Ensenada, BCN.

It did cool way down today, as we caught the lower end of the storm that is leaving snow in the Rockies. Not to worry, though, it’ll be close to 90 here, by Sunday, as the remnants of summer hang on, into October.

In the meantime, summer ends-for this series of posts, while people all down the West Coast wish it would end for real.

The Summer of the Rising Tides, Day 99: Looking Back at Baton Rouge, Part 2

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September 7, 2020-

Another summer nearing its end (Summer, for me, ends on the day after Labor Day, the equinox notwithstanding); another languid Labor Day with extreme heat dissipating-at least for a week.

My “free day”, last Friday, allowed time to check out a few areas of Baton Rouge. These included two restaurants, offering two distinct styles of Louisiana cooking. Pastime Restaurant, under the Interstate 10 overpass, south of downtown, offers Po’ Boy sandwiches, usually made with a seafood filling and served on New Orleans-style French bread. In honour of BR’s riparian richness, mine had catfish.

Pastime Restaurant

From there, the road led to Magnolia Mound Plantation, which I described in the last post. Having had time to look at and learn about the artifacts of Creole plantation agriculture and enslavement, I headed to Louisiana’s ornate, well-decorated State Capitol and its beautiful surrounding garden park.

A lake has been formed, north of the building, by diverting some water from the Mississippi River.

Capitol Lake, Baton Rouge
Indian Mound, Capitol Park, Baton Rouge. This mound was built by people of the Coles Creek culture, around 1000 A.D. It was used by the chiefs of that period as a speaking platform and to conduct sacred ceremonies.
Louisiana State Capitol Building, from the southeast
Tiger Lily, Capitol Park
Newly-planted palmetto trees, Capitol Park
Artillery Mount, Indian Mound. As this was the highest point overlooking the Mississippi River, in the Capitol District, it was used by the U.S. Army, during the War of 1812 and by both sides during the Civil War, as the Union Army ousted the Confederates from Baton Rouge, early in the conflict.
George Rogers Clark would have taken exception to this claim, as the forces he led defeated the British at Vincennes and at Kaskaskia, both outside the original Thirteen Colonies. Nonetheless, it is true that a battle was fought here, in 1779-but by the Spanish against the British. American privateers helped in the effort, resulting in Spanish control of the Mississippi River Delta and of all Florida, of which Baton Rouge was then a part.
Exterior View of Baton Rouge Arsenal
Horizontal view of Baton Rouge Arsenal. This facility was established in 1826, to help guard the mouth o fthe Mississippi River. It fell briefly into Confederate hands in 1861, but was recaptured by Union forces, the following year.
Lawgivers, both ancient and more contemporary, have adorned the present Louisiana State Capitol’s exterior, since it was built in 1931.
Depictoion of ancient Greek lawgivers
Builders and judges are depicted in the bas relief. The three watchwords: Union, Justice and Confidence are enscribed here as guiding goals for the State.
Louisiana is nicknamed “The Pelican State”. Three fat pelicans are perched atop the three facia columns above.
There has never been a Louisiana politician, before or since, quite like Huey Pierce Long. A fiery and effective populist, “The Kingfish” served as Governor from 1928-32 and as U.S. Senator from 1932-35, when he was assassinated. Senator Long was a driving force behind many of the social welfare programs which became part of the New Deal, in its second stage. He was an authoritarian and clever leader, yet saw the public weal as his bounden duty.

Elegant Clarkia mix with True Lavender, in this flower bed, on the south side of Capitol Park.

Full view of State Capitol, from the south.
“The Ole War Skule” refers to a corps of cadets at Louisiana State Seminary of Learning and Military Academy, established in 1853, at Pineville, in central Louisiana. In 1869, it was moved to Baton Rouge and in 1877, the school merged with Louisiana State University. in 1955, a group of retired military men, who had studied on a prior campus of LSU, formed this curiously-named organization, to continue the rich military traditions of the University.
The Pentagon Barracks were used to house American forces in Baton Rouge, with their completion in 1825. The barracks occupy the site of an old British fort, named New Richmond, which had also been used by the Spanish, prior to 1816.
Archway, connecting the east and west sides of Pentagon Barracks.
The pleasant Courtyard of Pentagon Barracks was a mini-parade ground and resting spot for the troops.
This is the story of Pentagon Barracks, in a nutshell.
Here is a view of the columns and beamed outside ceiling of Pentagon Barracks.
Peilcan inlays are common, throughout the Capitol’s exterior and its grounds.
Walking back to my borrowed vehicle, I enjoyed this view of the Governor’s Mansion.

So, there is a lengthy, but concise introduction to the three segments of the Louisiana Capitol District: The east, with Indian Mound and the Old Arsenal; the center, with the Capitol itself and the statue of Huey P. Long; the west, with Pentagon Barracks and the Capitol Museum (not shown here).

My day ended with a cold brew coffee, at this engaging establishment, on the east side of Baton Rouge:

City Roots is part of a dining and shopping area, called Electric Depot.

Finally, it was dinner time, and Cajun was on the menu. There is no finer place for jambalaya, gumbo and crawfish pie than this south side spot:

As I enjoyed a goodly part of my meal, the engaging strains of zydeco filled the room. Another bonus-There was enough left for Saturdays’ lunch!

This mural, at Electric Depot, captures the energy of an emergent new Louisiana.

The Summer of the Rising Tides, Day 98: Looking Back At Baton Rouge- Part 1

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September 6, 2020-

Today presented itself, back at Home Base, with a few responsibilities right off the bat- two Zoom calls and two loads of laundry. Mostly, though, I had plenty of time to ease back into the routine that occupies me here.

It’s apropos to note a couple of subjects that derive from the day or so that I spent in Baton Rouge. Louisiana’s capital ha,s at times, languished in the shadow of its Big Easy sister to the southeast. New Orleans was, in fact, offered me as a place from which to fly homeward, yet, with a guaranteed ride to BR and none to NOLA, I politely declined the offer.

The free day, that resulted from my catching a ride to Baton Rouge, provided a chance to get a look at a preserved plantation property: Magnolia Mound. It was medium-sized, even its heyday-with 80 enslaved people working the property, at maximum, primarily for sugar cane production. There were a series of thirteen owners, between 1797 and 1905, the latter owner running the place as a sharecropping enterprise, after a brief period (1863-7) in which the freedmen remained on the property and ran it as their own business, in a time of confusion as to the whereabouts of the owner. In the mid-1960’s, the property was purchased by the City of Baton Rouge, as a park, in order to preserve the French Creole architecture and artifacts.

I was fortunate to get a personal tour of the Historic House (manor) from a delightful young lady, named Cat, with encyclopedic knowledge of the various aspects of the grounds and buildings. No photography is allowed INSIDE the Historic House, but here are some scenes of other parts of the park.

Magnolia Mound Visitors Center
Hart House, the home of a post-Emancipation owner of Magnolia Mound, who had his mother live in the mansion, though without running water. Nice guy, Mr. Hart.
The magnolia is one of two dominant trees on the property.
La Grange Pavilion is a former barn, now used as an event center.
The Live Oak is the other dominant tree on the property.
This is an external view of a Slave Cabin. Each cabin housed five people. There were at least sixteen such cabins on the property, at the height of its operation. The cabins were destroyed by a tornado in 1871. This structure is similar to those destroyed, but was itself brought from another plantation.
This shows the sleeping area of an enslaved person’s cabin. There were likely two or three other beds in the room, as well.
Looms were a critical tool of the enslaved women who worked in the Main House. They tended to all matters involving the property owner’s family, as well as making their own clothes.
This is the Overseer’s House. Overseers were, generally, just a notch above the enslaved- and could have been anyone from a poor Scotch-Irish farmer to a freed African-American. They were, however, not enslaved.
Here is the open hearth of the outdoor kitchen for the Plantation House. Enslaved women prepared all the meals here.
Here is a view of the front to the Plantation (Historic) House. The construction is a blend of Spanish, Creole and Caribbean archtiecture.

Enslavement has always bothered me, especially as an institution. That it was deemed necessary to build our nation’s economy is particularly odious. The story, though, ought not be erased or canceled. It needs to remain as part of the larger cautionary tale, lest it ever happen again.

Next: Louisiana’s State Capitol

The Summer of the Rising Tides, Day 97: Cramped, but Not Squished

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September 5, 2020, Phoenix-

America’s hottest (temperature-wise) metropolitan area welcomed me back, this evening-with an air temperature of 113F-at 8 p.m. This is just another reminder of why I left this city, nine years ago. It could, of course, be worse- I could always find myself, at some point, on the plains of northern India, in the Arabian Desert or in Baghdad. I will wait, though, and not be in any hurry along those lines. Thankfully, it was a short walk from the air-conditioned terminal to the air-conditioned van that will bring me back to Prescott (Air temperature, a balmy 81F).

The day started in Baton Rouge, with a relaxing morning and a lunch of left-over jambalaya and crawfish pie, from the delightful Rice & Roux. The business manager of Spring Hill Suites drove me over to the airport, as she has NO desk or transport staff, at the moment. Such is life, in the sneering face of COVID-19.

Baton Rouge Regional Airport is a small enterprise, and was rather languid, even somnolent in places. TSA, though, was alert, and I found that I had not been thorough enough, in sorting stuff out of my carry-on. A nearly-full bottle of water and some plastic cutlery bit the dust.

The puddle-jumper to Dallas-Fort Worth left on-time. With the two seats in front of us remaining empty, my young row mate got his own row-giving both of us some sorely-needed space. The other good thing was that the tiny plane was in the air for barely an hour.

A snack and a vitamin water, at DFW, sufficed before I boarded the somewhat larger plane to Phoenix. We were told that the plane would be “quite full”, leading a different young row mate to take her seat in the middle of the row, with me in the window seat. Fortunately, she was able to take the aisle seat. Given that there was a large backlog of planes waiting to take off, and the seat space is much smaller than I even remember from two years ago, I can’t imagine how it would have gone, had a third row mate shown up.

Two hours later, the still restless and anxious young lady, facing God-knows-what, in the hours and days ahead, was off the plane and out the terminal door like a shot. She said nothing, only glancing at my copy of “The New Jim Crow” and taking note of the title and author, then going back to availing herself of what little comfort the seat allowed. I felt nothing but empathy.

Another friend had suggested ditching the plane in Dallas, taking a train to OKC and from there, going to Flagstaff, via Amtrak. Two things- I flew on the Red Cross’s dime and there is no direct transport from Flagstaff to Prescott. The train is always an option for the future, but I do like the freedom offered by driving.

So, off we go, up to Prescott, and at least two weeks of respite from disaster response.