The Road to 65, Mile 269: Honour

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Posted by on in Assistance, Personal goals, Service Activities, Social

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Road to 65, Miles 267-8: Tears

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Posted by on in American Legion, Arcosanti, Slow Food, Social

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Road to 65, Mile 266: Derailing

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Posted by on in Assistance, Personal goals, Social, Spiritual

August 21, 2015, Prescott- 

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

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

I got more pleas for financial aid,

“Yet the udder is dry”,

Cried out the milk maid.

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

While the derailing train lumbers past my gate.

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

The Road to 65, Mile 265: Pesky Testing

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Posted by on in distraction issues, Education, Social

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Road to 65, Mile 264: Ferry Life

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Posted by on in Alternative Careers, Seafaring

August 19, 2015, Prescott- No, I am not embarking on another far-flung adventure.  Today, I am ruminating about the process of getting from one place to another, by boat.  Ferries have been around since before Egypt or Sumer were kingdoms.  Probably, as soon as a Neanderthal or Peking Man was able to fashion a log large enough to hold one or two other people, he or she would have had the bright idea to charge them a fee, in the currency of the day, in order to get across the river or lake.

My own experience with ferries goes back to 1966, when my parents took us to Martha’s Vineyard for a day.  I remember the salt air and the rather smooth ride from Woods Hole to Vineyard Haven, across Vineyard Sound.  We visited some Wampanoag people, in Gay Head, on the western end of the island, and being 15, I wandered off for a bit, by myself, to try and meet up with some local kids and hang out to see how life was there, day to day.

Since then, life has taken me across many bodies of water, either by watercraft or by plane.  I’ve tried my hand at rowing, and paddling canoes, with varying degrees of success.  There was one time, when I worked for Villa-Oasis School, now defunct, when one of the students and I slept on opposite ends of the Headmaster’s boat, while at Cholla Bay, in Sonora.  When we woke up, the next morning, the boat had drifted about a half-mile out to sea.  We rowed it back in, but I was never invited to go back to the hacienda.

Large ferry operations, like those in Alaska, Washington State and British Columbia, are staffed by young and old alike, working twelve-hour shifts.  Alaska’s ferry crews are state employees, and no tipping is allowed.  My tendency is to tip, fairly generously, for good service, so this was a new experience.  Then again, the prices of their fare make not needing to tip, a blessing.

Having spent 6 1/2 days aboard a U.S. Navy vessel, last Fall, I wondered how the crew members on various ferries regard their lives.  I listened to people talk back and forth, during the four Alaska Ferry rides, and the trip to and from Victoria, aboard a Washington ferry.  The dining staff and purser’s office folks seem to work the hardest, never seeming to catch a break, with several hundred, and sometimes over a thousand, people to keep fed, and secure.  As with any vessel, the engineering people, in the hottest part of the ship, have the most thankless working conditions; even if they are sitting, they are doing so in a heat capsule.

The sleeping quarters for the Alaska crew, are below decks, under the engine room and car deck, which, for safety reasons, is off-limits to passengers, for most of the journey.  Four scheduled and supervised car deck calls, per day, are allowed the passengers, mostly to check on caged pets which are secured in vehicles, with the windows rolled down for ventilation.  The crew members did tell me it was sometimes hard to sleep, with the dogs barking, off and on.  It’s definitely a life that one would have to choose out of love for people and for the sea.

Many of my fellow passengers chose state rooms as accommodation.  Being me, I rolled out a pad and a sleeping bag, though on top of a cot, so as to not have to get soaked, lest a wave came up over the bow or, as happened a few times, rain water leaked through the canopy.  I have mentioned, in one of the Alaska posts, how a woman sleeping to my left did get an unwelcome bath, from just such rain water.

One of these days, I will be on a ferry again.  I might do the state room experience, or just remain myself, and exult in the canopy of stars.  Either way, the sea and I will remain friends, as will the crew.

The Road to 65, Mile 263: Gordon

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Posted by on in Spiritual

August 18, 2015,Prescott- Each year, on this date, my mind goes back to an area called Burntwater, about an hour’s travel west of Gallup, NM.  Here is the Native American Baha’i Institute, where many gather to discuss the growing ties between our Faith and traditional Navajo teachings.

On August 18, 1984, I set out with a Baha’i friend and neighbour, Gordon Tong, three of his children and several Navajo elders.  We were headed to the Institute, to attend a meeting that was designed to address concerns of the traditional Navajos, as to how some visitors from the cities to the south could be more aware of customs and etiquette, when among the Dine people.

As is customary in that area, in August, it was raining heavily and the roads were thick with mud.  We got stuck in some of that mud.  Gordon got his shovel and a couple of young men got boards, to put under the tires. My task was to man the wheel and follow Gordon’s instructions on which way to steer and when to give it gas.  At some point, as we were making slow progress, one of his sons decided to “go for more help”.  I left the truck, for one of the young men to drive, and headed after the boy.  Five minutes into my pursuit, a truck came in the opposite direction, with the boy inside, and the driver explaining that he had received a radio report that Gordon had collapsed and died.  I got in, rode back to the Institute, then to the sheriff’s substation, where Gordon’s body was brought, twenty minutes later.

The meeting became a time of mourning, and two days later, Gordon was laid to rest, under a torrential rain. People came from as far afield as Seattle and the Pine Ridge Lakota Nation. Gordon was Native Hawaiian and Chinese, so his family came from Hilo, to honour their brother and son.  He was 38 years of age, at the time of his passing, and his still young family left to carry on.  They have done so, by and large.  There is no overcoming a deeply-entrenched spirit.

As I write this, the scent of rose oil wafts through the air.  I have no such oil, but I know how much Gordon loved it.  He loved all such fragrances, having grown up with hibiscus, coconut  and all manner of tropical fruit trees, with their own blossoms.  After 31 years, he is telling me that all is well.

I can only marvel at the way the Creator has seen fit to let such as myself remain on Earth, for so many years after the passing of a very worthy man.  All I can think is that there is so much more to do.  Gordon, and all my departed loved ones, are in the next plane of existence, or perhaps higher, lending their support.  I cannot let them down.

The Road to 65, Mile 262: Safe Havens

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Posted by on in Social, Spiritual, Travel

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

X- Xenia, an Ohio town with enormous heart.

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

Z- Zion, a different side of Illinois.

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

The Road to 65, Mile 261: Trusting the Journey

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Posted by on in Personal goals, Spiritual

August 16, 2915, Prescott-  It is coming down to a very telling choice.  Perhaps as early as November, maybe not until January, 2017, or at some point in between the two, my intuition is telling me it’s time to move on.

I say November, because by then, my pledges to the Yavapai County Angels and Hope Fest will have been honoured, the snows will be gathering in Massachusetts, and I don’t want to leave my mother alone, in that house where we grew up, while the rest of my family is facing stresses of their own.

I say it’s time to move on, because all my friends in this town of Prescott are doing just fine, and will continue to be fine whether I’m here or not.  Truth is, I am spending more, in a modestly expensive apartment, with minimal day-to-day work, then I have in any given month on the road, these past few years. I am not a salesman, yet I have looked to help people with a product in which I believe, but without seed money, one cannot do much in establishing an essential oils trade, and I am NOT going to go the “Fund Me” route.  I have been offered a minimum wage position as an apartment complex manager, but would still have to pay my own full rent- so that’s out.

I have had some places come into my head, in quiet moments.  I could settle in a more economical living space, live in a place where  I could pretty much walk to a school, where I could substitute teach, and a few such places have entered my consciousness.  I could also go somewhere where people live in community, not in semi-anonymity.  Places where my presence would be discomfiting to people I know online or in real time, and there are a few such people, would not be on my list of options.

These are all rather petty-sounding, I know, and many have it far worse than me.  The issue for me, though, is more existential.  It’s more a matter of no place having really felt like home, since Penny passed.  It’s more a matter of people having their own priorities and life patterns, in which someone like me does not belong.  I know, that will be the same, no matter where I go, and that will be something I have to face.  My welcome here, though, is wearing thin, and so it’s time to trust the journey and start planning ahead.

UPDATE:  I will be removing a couple of photos from a post I did on Santa Monica, a few weeks ago, and hopefully the post will be less discomfiting to those concerned.

The Road to 65, Mile 260: P.C.

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Posted by on in Historical, Social

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Road to 65, Mile 259: Grateful

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Posted by on in Personal goals, Social

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

This is an A to Z format:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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