The Road to 65, Mile 69: The East Parking Lot

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February 5, 2015, Prescott-  I read something in the paper today about a major Men’s Overflow Shelter in Phoenix, which is closing.  It will be replaced by a new shelter, “later this year”.  In the meantime, people affected by this closure- all individuals with various social ills- will be “housed” in the parking lot adjacent to the condemned building.  It has Port-a- Potties, and lots of space, but no shade.

I had a brief experience, helping a transient man, during January.  He has a vehicle now, and so he has moved on.  Few such people get out of their dire straits so easily.The people in the situation mentioned above will likely find their ways to various city parks, libraries (a good place to get out of the heat, during regular library hours) and shopping malls.  Some even go to Indian casinos, where they can chow down on bar food, provided they’ve cleaned up a bit.

Homelessness does generate resourcefulness.  I had a brief experience with it in 1977, in the dead of a Bangor, ME winter, but there were a few couches on which to surf, and my car was large enough to hold all my possessions, at the time.  As luck would have it, I rented a room within three days of being evicted.  Said eviction, I found out later, was on false pretenses, but no matter.  I had a great experience with my new landlady and her family.

Every town has its homeless.  What is done with, and to, the unfortunates is a mirror of what the given community thinks of itself.  Utah, and some places in Idaho, offer mini-houses, rather than forcing people to congregate on the streets.  Portland has people sleeping in doorways of businesses.  Many merchants seem to regard the door minders as part of their business family, and let them use the restroom to sponge bathe and groom themselves, before the normal business hours begin.  In Arizona, we have shelters, which are often dependent on how cold the nights are, or how hot the days, as to when they are actually open.  Some Florida communities give their transients one-way bus tickets, out of town.  Hawaii has a few beaches which seem to be reserved for the homeless.  I read that Fairbanks had a major power outage at the University of Alaska, in -40 weather, so I shudder to think how people down on their luck would fare up there, with so many students needing in out of the Deep Freeze.

Parking lots, bridge undergirding, caves, forests, back alleys- it seems Utah has the better solution.

The Road to 65, Mile 68: Healing A Hole

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February 4, 2015, Prescott-  I spent several hours with restless twelve and thirteen-year-olds, during the course of this morning.  Some of that time was spent guiding them through the worksheets which are the bane of an adolescent student’s existence. Another segment was spent addressing the illogical consequence of unimaginative lesson planning:  The paper wad, shot by a rubber band. I was able to get the artillery brigades to stop, by pointing out that a hard-shot paper wad, in a classmate’s eye, has severe illogical consequences of its own.  The regular teacher will have to change out the whole worksheet aspect.  I had to learn that hard fact, in my own teaching, such as it was.

I visited a friend this evening, intending to only take an hour of her time, as she is even more insanely busy than I am.  The visit extended to a light supper, two cups of coffee, and a fuller emptying of her languid  cup, than I have been privy to in some time.  Most of the details are irrelevant to a public post.  One topic, however, to which I keep returning, out of my own personal ache on the matter, was a fair concern tonight.

Children who are discounted, or marginalized, by one or both parents- or worse, yet, not even acknowledged by one of their parents, are receiving one of the cruelest, most unusual punishments known to humanity.  My friend has devoted everything to each of her children, as the best among us are wont to do, and consistently. I ache for  a child who is discounted or unacknowledged by either parent.  There is only so much I, a relative acquaintance, can do for such a child, but that little gets done, in making clear her value as a human being.  She will survive and thrive, because her mother takes her seriously.  The shame of an absent parent, however, lasts a lifetime.

I’m proud of my son, and see that he is made well aware of it, consistently.  My friend does likewise, and a very special, multifaceted young woman is arising.  The hole in her heart will heal, because she will not have to feel left out, or on the outskirts, of any occasion in which her devoted parent takes part.  Once again, a child needs both parents.

The Road to 65, Mile 67: Deferred Attention

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February 3, 2015, Prescott- Television stayed off today.  I did not go to morning prayers, nor did I even get out of bed until 10 AM.  Of course, getting home at 3:30 AM had everything to do with that.  My respite at home will be brief.  Some here in Prescott will wonder, again, why on Earth I even bother coming back here.  There were three key elements at play:  I took part in the commemoration of the deaths of four Navy Chaplains, in the sinking of the USS Dorchester, off the coast of Greenland,on February 3, 1943.  This is an emotional time for those who served in World War II, and many who served later, in the Korean Conflict.  It is significant in that four noncombatants gave the ultimate sacrifice, choosing to die, alongside 653 others, rather than mount a lifeboat.  They set their own hopes and dreams aside.

The other two tasks that need doing here are left for tomorrow and Thursday.  They involve quality attention to dear friends.  So here is a key aspect of the changes that became apparent to me, as I drove home last night:  I am leaving isolation behind.  That’s the scary part, but it’s also the satisfying element.  When I focus on a person, or a task, I am all in.  It may not suit the people who are on the sidelines, and have to wait until a later time for me to attend to THEIR needs, but that attention is only deferred, not cast aside.

I am also getting better at deferring, not casting aside, my own needs for rest and rejuventation.  So, I got up at 10, not 6 or 7.  Early rising will return tomorrow.

The Road to 65, Mile 66: Totems

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February 2, 2015, Prescott- From the time I was small, there has been something about bears that has set in my heart, far beyond the Teddy Bear connection that has led some to dismiss that fascination.  I have learned that my Penobscot ancestors regarded the bear as a sacred being, as many Indigenous Americans do.  So, it was a particular honour when a longtime friend gave me an eagle feather, my name slightly misspelled, and with four bears lovingly placed along the bottom edge.

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It sits now, at the edge of a heart, created by my wife, from mesquite sticks around 2002.  That was a symbol of all we had, and its ruggedness foreshadowed what we were to endure.  The eagle and the bears are symbols of keenness and strength, two qualities which I’ve known, erratically, most of my life.  During all her suffering, though, I could not let go of either quality.

Now, I’m coming into another phase of my life, its specifics still unclear, but in which sharpness of mind and strength of character will need to flow, uninterrupted.  It will entail a lot of flexibility, energy-wise and time-wise, and could very well include going back to work full time, though that is a matter now in the hands of others.  The totems will impart a certain energy to the process.  Stay tuned.

The Road to 65, Mile 65: Weirdness Finds Us

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February 1, 2015, Longmont, CO-  Katy Perry has done one or two songs that resonate with me, and several others with which some of the girls, with whom I’ve worked over the past few years, have sung along.  Her videos, though, are mostly flamboyant and of the “all about MEEE” genre.  When I visited my paternal uncle on Sunday, after the  Winter Summit had finished, he was glad that I had come along- all the more so, as he could turn from the tv, which he had muted during her performance.

We talked of several things- my visit to our ancestral neighbourhood in Rouen, my having gone across the Pacific, from Honolulu to San Diego, and my son’s wise choice in doing four more years in the Navy and Uncle’s dealing with the gradual effects of nearing 90.  He is a practical man, who plans things out and addresses issues creatively.  So, as Super Bowl play resumed, and the sound was turned back on accordingly, he was a bit perturbed to see the various blunders which took up the second half.  It’ll be a while before the question, “What kind of coach orders a PASS at the goal line?” is addressed to Uncle’s satisfaction.  As New Englanders, we were pleased with the outcome, but we both have had good experiences in the Northwest, so there were condolence thoughts expressed, as well.

It was, he and I agreed, a surreal game.  For the Seattle wide receiver to catch the ball, while sprawled aground, as if it were a greased pig, was  kind of like eating bacon ice cream- a bizarre treat that would be an acquired taste.  The Patriots’ rookie defenseman’s finding the ball coming right into his hands, behind the goal line, was equally bizarre, but felt more  like a triple chocolate, dripped caramel, with peppermint, triple shake-albeit in the dead of winter.  Weirdness brings the most delectable surprises, and never when or where one might expect.

The Road to 65, Mile 64: Roommates

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January 31, 2015, Boulder- I am sharing a hotel room with someone I had never met before yesterday.  He is congenial and considerate, as  I am in return.  It is a rare occasion when I have a roommate, anymore.  I last did so in the dark days of Summer, 2011, when I was at  a week-long Baha’i school, following Penny’s passing and my abrupt cancellation of home renovation plans, which messed up the contractor’s schedule and added to my emotional meandering.  The gentleman who shared my room then was quiet and scholarly, and had some fine tales of his days with the Canadian Air Force, serving in the far northern edge of Ellesmere Island.

Since then, I have lived alone- first in a two-bedroom house and now in a one-bedroom apartment.  It seems to fit, especially as I have been in and out of town so much.  Likewise, having a roommate this weekend also fits- for the task in front of each of us is to be more social.  I am feeling a lot more talkative, though my roommate is spending his first time away from his wife of five years, and is on the phone with her constantly, during free time.

I know the feeling well.  The few times that Penny and I were apart, during our years together, we were constantly on the phone with each other, or connecting online.  Spouses are the ultimate roommates, after all.

The Road to 65, Mile 63: Special Touch

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January 30, 2015-  Today was spent learning how to apply a variety of  essential oils to another person’s body, in a therapeutic and respectful manner.  Couples can have lots of fun with this, as well.  For me, though, it was a focused and elegant exercise.  The purpose of this is to address the sacrocranial column and the feet, with 5-8 oils.  Each of these oils has a specific property and affects the body in a particular way.  Lavender, which starts the process, relaxes the body. Peppermint, which ends it, brings the body back to a state of alertness.  The whole process, for each of us, took 40 minutes.

I am now certified to OFFER this treatment to people, but I will not CHARGE for it, at least not for the time being. I may not teach others how, without a rigourous training process. The most important thing is that, once one learns the process, it is a good idea to let people know that it works.  When it was done on me, this morning, I felt wondrously relaxed and spiritually nourished.  Oh, and the Thai curried chicken added to those feelings.

If you have the opportunity to learn this process, take it.

The Road to 65, Mile 62: No Snow

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January 29, 2015, Boulder-  I came to Boulder, this evening, after a long day of driving through an unusually dry series of Colorado roads.  There was a modest amount of snow, well off the roads, in the mountain passes, and a hardy quartet of young men buzzed around the base of Wolf Creek Summit, on their Skidoos.  Down in Del Norte, however, it was mild and the grounds of Piece of Art complex, at the west end of town, were muddy.  I had a hearty bowl of split pea soup there, one of my favourite cafes along Hwy. 160.  I found the complex is up for sale, for $699,000.  I certainly hope it falls into caring hands.  Piece of Art is one of a kind, especially in that area of Colorado.

It was a smooth ride further, up I-25, past Denver, and up to Hwy. 36, which was narrow, due to construction, and very dark, due to the Dark Sky Ordinance that seems to have been adopted by Boulder- both City and County.  I made it to a comfortable motel, though, and got a fine night’s sleep, after the six hour drive from Cortez.

I would like to see more snow hereabouts, though.  If it slows my return to Arizona, that’s okay.  My main concern is seeing our rivers enjoy the fruits of a good snowpack, and the mountains are the key to that.  Wherever the good snow falls, the chances of fire in the coming Spring and Summer become less.  That would do my heart good.

The Road to 65, Mile 61: Vintage

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January 28, 2015, Prescott-  This afternoon, as I was readying for my drive up to Colorado, I got a call from my street-smart buddy, wanting me to look at something.  I met him at a used car lot, mentally preparing for yet another misadventure.  What I found, though, was that he had found, and arranged to buy, a treasure.  A 1995 Ford van, complete with solid wood consoles, and a small 8-cylinder engine, was his, for a bargain price.  He started it up, and I did my usual in such matters- kicking the tires (good tread and solid wheels), checking the exhaust pipe, manifold, belts and hoses (all good) and the fluids (topped off and clean).  He seems to have done well.

This set me to thinking.  Many of us complain that there is little made to last, any more.  Here is a prime example, though, of a vintage model that has held up well, after nearly twenty years. I am of the opinion that young people will revive the notion of building things in a solid manner.  We already see artisan products- foods, beverages, and various crafts, all being made with pride.  I think that artisan products will expand, in number and in scope, as the need to ditch the concept of planned obsolescence gains momentum.

Relationships, too, will increase in the number of “vintage” long-lasting bonds.  We may not see traditional marriages increase in number, but I have observed a larger number of couples who are committed to one another.  I don’t think it’s just old Bruin wearing rose-coloured glasses.  Young folks want security, and where better to find such, in the days of the scaredy-cats on Wall Street selling other people’s funds at the drop of a hat, or of the proverbial sky, than with a long-term partner.

As some things fall apart, other things will emerge and be the foundation of the future True Vintage.

The Road to 65, Mile 60: A Father and His Daughters

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January 27, 2015, Prescott- Pop would have been 91 today.  That he made it to 90 years, 4 months and 10 days, before returning to the Spirit Realm, last year, was the prime force of his indomitable will.  He showed his Nazi captors, various other bullies throughout his life, and all of us who came to be his trusted circle of family and friends just how adversity ought to be handled.

The Universe gave that man’s man three girls to raise.  He gave that task his all, as any father worthy of the name, would have.  All three, two of whom are twins, were unique individuals, and Pop played to their strengths, challenged their weaknesses and gave them a secure framework for growing into women of achievement.  His eldest, my late wife, Penny, achieved three Master’s Degrees, a thirty-year career as a classroom teacher and showed her own triumph in dealing with a lifelong illness, which only brought her down after she had made her mark and touched the lives of hundreds of young people, across the globe.  Her sisters have worked hard and proven themselves indispensable in their respective businesses- which have run the gamut from telecommunications to equestrian training.

Horses were, in fact, central to the Fellman family’s life.  Riding, both English and Western, was a family trademark, and was one of the endeavours that brought Norm back from his end-of-war near-death status.  That, and the equally indomitable will of his wife of 65 years, gave him the lease on life that made his influence on so many of us, such a force of nature.  He was a pilot and a motorcyclist, which the ladies respectfully declined to take up for themselves.  Horses, dogs and cats, though, remain essential- and Pop was never without at least one of the three within calling distance.  He imparted that love of animals to his daughters, and none of their houses have been without pets.

Men are indispensable to their girls.  Both parents are indispensable to all of their children.  I never had the honour of raising a daughter, but as a proud parent of a an American sailor, I would be fully engaged in the lives of any grandchildren he may sire, in the future.  Norman David Fellman set that mold, both as a father and grandfather.  His pride in each of his girls was infectious, in the best of ways.  The mold will not be broken.