Nineteen

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I have refrained from speaking on this recent, horrible event in our area, because the tragedy has drawn a lot of commentary already, and while I am an open book, it’s imperative that less attention be drawn to any one person who is outside the circle of those suffering.

On June 30, 2013, twenty men went into harm’s way, with no thought of themselves.  One came out alive, only because he was trying to get the others out as well, and did all he could to get his crew members to follow suit.

Yet, the fire had other plans.  The fire was too quick, and the wind moved with vengeance, pushing infernal flames in the direction of the living, the unselfish.  That’s the way of fire.  It is supposed to cleanse, the way vermin are supposed to cleanse, when so often, they spread disease and death from the very germs they seek to clean up.  So often, fire overdoes it.

Thus it was, on that Sunday afternoon.  A gentle, welcoming small village, at the cusp of mountains and desert, found itself fleeing a behemoth.    Neighbours to the northeast were largely spared, when the wind shifted, backwards, but their protectors fell.

The guardians died; their families are now on their knees, wondering who will guard and resuscitate them.  Some of us offer answers of reassurance.  I have learned, though, that the best offers of love and support mean nothing, unless and until they are fulfilled.  In some cases, this fulfillment will take years, and may occasionally be deferred by other concerns or be battered by the anger, the despair, the palpable hurt that accompanies any and all grief.

Nineteen souls have joined the pantheon of the hereafter, what we in the American Legion call Post Everlasting.  Nineteen families have joined the assembled multitude of those for whom the public cares, for a time.  Their true friends, though, will be those who do not stop caring, who will accept them and love them through all the pain, the sorrow and the occasional lashing-out.  These friends will be there until the end, and I pray God that end is not a bitter one.

Family Day On A Navy Destroyer

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On July 3, 2013, I joined several other families of Navy personnel on a destroyer in San Diego Harbor, for Family Day.  My son is stationed on this vessel, and the ship and crew will be underway, on various assignments, throughout the summer and fall, so this was my best opportunity to visit him for the foreseeable future.

Here are some scenes from that day, occurring as it did as a respite from a rather tumultuous time here at home.

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Cherish family.  Sometimes, they are all you have in this world.

Fifty Things I Like

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Every so often, I am in the mood to make a list.  Favorite people would be a dicey thing here, lest I inadvertently leave someone out, and he/she gets all butt-hurt, which would not be my intention.  I have found the same to be true when I make a list of favourite places- someone will come on and say:  “Hey, YOU LEFT OUT ……..!!!”

I will go with things, and if I left out your fave, make your own list. LOL

Here goes, in no particular order:

1.Sunrise

2. Blueberries in summer

3. Apple cider in autumn

4. Mountains

5. Smiles

6. The sound of children playing happily

7.  The ocean

8. Snow at Christmas

9. Hiking

10. Lean meat

11. Hummus

12. Nose rings or nose studs, on young women

13.  Dachshunds

14.  Joyous laughter

15.  Historical sites

16. Dreams

17. Sunsets

18. Bright moons

19. Magical fantasies

20. Restful sleep

21. Songs sung well

22. The Baha’i Faith

23. Fireworks, on a country’s National Day

24.  Thanksgiving Dinner

25. Gatherings of good friends

26. 15-minute mid-day naps

27.  Healthy-looking human forms

28.  Rottweilers

29.  Horses

30.  Rain forests

31.  Well-arranged art

32.  Historical fiction

33.  Lasagna

34.  Pandora (the music channel)

35.  Revolution (the television program)

36.  Blogs

37.  Lush deserts

38.  Beaches

39.  Gentle rain

40.  Hugs

41.  Cliff dwellings (to view from a distance)

42.  Well-crafted pizza

43. Kimchi

44. Late-night discussions

45.  Road trips

46.  Well-played sporting events

47. Friendship

48. Families

49. Curiosity

50. Happy couples

My Women Friends

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I came back, about two hours ago, from an absolutely delightful evening, where 45 people celebrated the successful career, and retirement (transition into second career) of the woman who is the driving force behind Slow Food Prescott.  Her whirling dervish approach to life is very closely approached by the energy and drive of her husband of over 30 years.

I have many women friends.  Most of them are in committed relationships with fine people, who treat them the way I treated my late darling Penny. Those who are “unattached” know that I care for them as people.  Romance is a dicey thing, though, and can’t be forced.

My best women friends are affectionate in their speech, using terms like “Baby”,”Sweetie”, “Honey”, the way a lot of waitresses use such terms- in coquetry, and with genuine, nonsexual love for the person whom they are addressing.  They are people on whom I can depend in time of need, but I am not their lover.  I, too, use terms like “Sweetheart”, “Angel”, and “Precious”, in addressing women I have known for at least six months- not as a patronizing and demeaning term, but as a sign that I value them.

My women friends are, mostly, huggers and touchers.  A few prefer the handshake, and that’s just fine.  I can trust them every bit as much as the rest of my friends.

Women make good friends, to me, because they are essentially kind, honest and take a sisterly or daughterly interest in my world.  I  get along fine with men, but our relationships, other than those with my son, brothers and nephews, are MOSTLY professional and businesslike.  I can’t envision a world in which I have no women friends.

Millennials and Me

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Over the past crazy two weeks, with the funeral of an old friend, two tragic wildfires and their resulting Red Cross shelters, a trip to San Diego and a major Fourth of July parade under my belt, I have found one recurring strand:  I feel most comfortable around people between the ages of 14-30.

Millennials, like all rising generations, get a bad rap from those older than themselves.  They are not as tradition-bound as Baby Boomers, nor are they as acquisitive as members of Generation X.  They actually most resemble- the GI Generation!  Why?  Both generations are about recovery from hardship and disaster.  The current rising generation has not seen their world hit rock-bottom, yet.  There is, however, a cosmic sense that “It’s coming”, hence the plethora of media about vampires, zombies and extra-terrestrial invaders.

It’s not without precedent.  The 1930’s and ’40’s had Buck Rogers films, the original Dracula and Frankenstein series and a later concern, in the ’50’s, with nuclear holocaust.

The Millennials can relate to the plausibility of a reversion to survival instincts and the tribal life.  Witness television of recent times:  “Survivor”, “Lost”, “Siberia”, “The Walking Dead”, “Revolution”, “Under the Dome”, “True Blood”- all concerned with dystopia and its aftermath.  “Breaking Bad” explores decent into dystopia in the lives of one man and his circle of family and friends.  The same theme reverberates in film and other media.

I grew up wondering how I would deal with dystopia.  I focused greatly on the affairs of the wider world, which put me largely outside the loop with my Baby Boomer peers, especially with other boys and men, who were more concerned with the parochial and day-to-day that was right in front of them.  Like Robert F. Kennedy, I paraphrased G.B. Shaw:  “I think of things that never were and say, ‘Why not?'”

Another reason, closer to home, binds me to the Millennial Generation:  My son is a member of it.  His friends are mostly Millennials. His future wife will most likely be from within his generation.  In my own wife’s last years, I found my home was a refuge of sorts, for the people in Aram’s social circle who were either homeless or strangers within their own family.  This brought me into e-culture, the unique and very subtle humor which that culture has spawned, the colourful slang expressions that come from it and the post-racial, post-sexist worldview that is slowly taking root among Millennials.    Racists and sexists walk among the Millennials and reproduce, but they are seen by their peers, increasingly, as anachronistic embarrassments, appendages of a fading generation.

Two things, though, bind me to Aram’s generation and to the one which is coming after it (which I will call Generation AA, born since 2001.).  First, there is a global, unified, holistic sense of things.  People know what I’m talking about when I mention a particular situation in a country far from where we happen to be speaking.  The tendency to redirect back to “around here”, so prevalent among those over the age of 40, is not so evident among Millennials, though they are quite adept at being present in the now.

The second tie that binds is I am accepted as a friend, an equal, by the vast majority of young people whom I encounter.  Maybe it’s the fact that I respect them for their strengths and gifts, and try not to dominate, but I feel their acceptance is genuine.  They neither refrain from correcting what they feel I might be doing wrong, in a loving way, nor do they hold back appreciation of what I do on their behalf.  The honesty permeates our relationships, and I don’t think it is just a feature of naivete or idealism.  Millennials have not had the luxury of idealism, without attendant action.  Every dream they have ever entertained has had to be followed up with intense action.  There will be no “Flower Power” phase on this watch.

Besides Aram, I count four particular people of the Millennial Generation as friends who have my back, no matter what.  Three of them are women.  While I begrudge nothing of older men who have taken Millennial women as mates, such an arrangement is not my purpose.  I love them as friends, and encourage their romantic life to be with their age-mates.

It is also true that I have many friends among all generations, including my own.  They, too, invariably relate well to “the kids”.  This is what sustains us, and will bring us along, through what ever calamities and troubles that will occur, as the world is cleansed.

 

Missing Their Water

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There was an old country song that went “You don’t miss your water ’til your well runs dry.”  This was a reference to the end of a love affair, but it is now being experienced in a literal sense.

I learned, while having breakfast at Eagle Guest Ranch, Datil, NM, last Tuesday morning, that the village of Magdalena, twenty miles or so further east, had indeed used the last of the water in its well.  Emergency rations were being trucked in from Socorro, by the New Mexico National Guard.

This will threaten the old village’s very existence, so I went there to have a look at Magdalena, and say prayers for the resolution of this matter.  Magdalena is the harbinger of what could become a widespread phenomenon, throughout the arid West, and Plains region.

Here are some scenes of the small town itself.  On the left, is the old train depot and on the right is the Ilfeld General Store, now used as residential and office space.

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These, and some thriving motels and restaurants, will be the immediate victims of the impending dry-out.  The schools and medical clinic will be next, impacting both Magdalena and the Alamo Navajo Community, twenty miles north.

All New Mexico is embracing this small community, and nowhere is the action more intense, though quiet, than at New Mexico Mining and Technical Institute, in nearby Socorro.  The biggest issue, immediately, is to find a drill which can penetrate the unique rock of the Magdalena area.  It is apparently just the right mix of igneous and sedimentary rock that has defied conventional well-drilling equipment, up to now.  The greater issue, long-term, is a water replenishment plan that will require drastic rethinking of settlement patterns and conservation strategies.  The main center for this research, then, is here:

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Magdalena, then, is Ground Zero for the Quiet Crisis that faces us all in the arid regions, the world over. (Think the Middle East is unsettled now?  Wait until the battle for the Euphrates and Tigris heats up.)

Here is the latest on the situation in Magdalena.  Stay tuned.

“APD collects water for dry Magdalena, NM

Water shortage in small town has prompted drive

Updated: Friday, 21 Jun 2013, 7:59 AM MDT
Published : Friday, 21 Jun 2013, 7:59 AM MDT

ALBUQUERQUE (KRQE) – Operation Hope, the water collection drive headed up by the Albuquerque Police Department has collected six moving trucks worth of water which will be shipped to Magdalena, New Mexico.

Water in the town of Magdalena started running dry in the wells a few weeks ago. Since then, tanker trucks have been bringing in water from nearby towns.

As a result of the water shortage, the town has also had to resort to using port-a-pottys in some places as an alternative to toilets.

APD says they will continue to collect bottled water to take to Magdalena in the coming weeks.”- Courtesy of KOAT-TV,Albuquerque, June 21, 2013.

The Land of Elfego Baca

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Those of us who grew up in the ’60’s and watched The Wonderful World of Walt Disney will remember Elfego Baca, a legend in New Mexico history, who resisted the outlaws and cattle rustlers of the late 19th Century.  He was equal parts famous and infamous, though the latter has come to be in question.

In 1885, what is now Reserve, NM, the seat of Catron County, was the scene of a massive gunbattle.  Over 4,000 shots were fired by a posse that had been sent by John Slaughter to arrest Elfego for allegedly killing “Texas John’s” ranch foreman.  Elfego was taken into custody, then acquitted when the door which shielded him from the posse’s bullets was presented as evidence, and there was nothing tying Elfego to the death of the foreman.

His fame came from serving as sheriff of Socorro County, NM, about 60 miles northeast of Reserve.  When I stopped for a while in Socorro, last Tuesday, while en route to Palo Duro Canyon, TX, these pleasant sites caught my eye.  My first stop on a walking tour was San Miguel Catholic Church, the main parish in Socorro.

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Elfego Baca is honoured by Socorrenos at this Heritage Park, on the north end of the Central Plaza.

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Across from Baca Park is one of Socorro’s largest remaining structures from the land-grant period:  Juan Nepomucero Garcia House, now a real estate office.

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South of Baca Park lies another small public space, L.W. Kittrel Park, named for a civic leader who worked to establish it, in the early 20th Century.  It  also serves today as a Memorial to those from Socorro County who served in our nation’s Armed Forces.

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Socorro County Courthouse is the city’s largest building, of soothing creme-colored adobe.

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West of the Central Plaza, and a bit to the south, lies El Torreon, a home built, in the style of the Spanish torreon fortresses, around 1816.  A  Navajo man, who lives in the area, happened by as I was taking the photo, chuckled to himself and remarked that maybe I wasn’t busy enough, taking photos of old shacks.  It’s universal how we often overlook what is right in front of us.  No problem, shi ki’is (Navajo for “my friend”).

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Lastly, my self-guided walk went past Jesus Maria Torres House (1914), built with an amalgam of materials.

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Socorro is a business hub for west-central New Mexico, drawing its life from the Rio Grande.  In my next post, we look at the case of Socorro’s neighbour to the west:  Magdalena, and how closely-tied are the fates of these two communities.

I Hear You, Do You Hear Me?

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One of the things I mentioned on these pages, the other day was that “I harbor no secrets”.  This sort of thing has boomeranged on me at times- cost me a job, cost me money.  Now, it seems, it may have cost me several friends.

I hear, through the ether, that having been honest about having had feelings for a certain person was not good, that it was proof I was inappropriate towards her and thus no longer welcome in certain circles.  Another long-time friend, bothered by something else I said, two nights ago, has similarly pulled up stakes from my circle.

I haven’t heard any complaints from the woman in the first instance, nor from her significant other, so I will regard the swirling tales as conjecture, which they probably are.  The man, as I recall him, is not one to hold his tongue, when he feels wronged.  Besides, I had next to no contact with either of them, save being in the same room as she at a recent gathering, anda few blog posts in which I said nothing but good about her.

Nonetheless, I tend to listen, when even the most egregious people speak, at least long enough to get the gist of what they are saying.  One of the reasons for adversity in this life, as I understand it, is that we need challenges in order to build our spiritual qualities. Otherwise, in the next life, we will be rehashing the same conflicts, over and over.

Now, here’s the deal.  I lost the love of my life, two years ago.  I have heard some women find me attractive, which is sweet, flattering, very nice.  My needs at this point, however, preclude being involved with any but the strongest and most self-assured of women.  The person to whom I felt attracted was such a lady.  She is also in a relationship- so the discussion has ended.  I pray for their continued happiness and growth, as a unit.

So, to those who are offended, some of whom may read this post- know that I am not a renegade, a snob, a rake, or a lost soul in need of pity.  I am just a person making his way in the world, with honest intentions, preferences in different aspects of life and an earnest desire to serve others.

If you cut yourself out of my life, or me out of yours, I will miss you, but I will not pander to anyone.  My feelings and thoughts are my own.  I hear you, do you hear me?

 

Catron County, NM

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For the past several years, the area between the Arizona/New Mexico state line and the small, struggling village of Magdalena, NM has seen me and mine pass through about four times.  Catron County is one of the Land of Enchantment’s sparsely populated areas, at least in terms of humans.  I seem to encounter more mule deer, elk, raccoons and coyotes here than anywhere else I’ve been in New Mexico.  Then again, most of my journeys there have been in Navajo country, Albuquerque or eastward along I-40 or I-10.

Catron is known for its embrace of the Sagebrush Rebellion, not so many years back, but I’ve yet to meet an ignorant, unmannerly or hot-tempered soul here.  I can camp at Jackson Park, in Pie Town, sleep in at Largo Motel, and get a wholesome meal either at the Largo Cafe, both in Quemado, or at Eagle Guest Ranch, about twenty miles further east, in Datil.

The Eagle is shown above.  For equity’s sake, let’s look at the Largo and at Jackson Park.

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Excuse the small cameos of Largo, I extrapolated them from flickr, which does not lend itself to exporting photos very well, to other media .

One other vignette about Catron folks.  On my way back down to Arizona, coming as I was to help with the Prescott Red Cross Evacuation Shelter, I needed gas, and badly.  With only loose change and trusted plastic in my pocket, it was rather disconcerting to find all electronic services were out of commission, county-wide, due to some problem or another with an accident in Red Hill, Catron’s westernmost town along US 60.

After several attempts at jump-starting her computer, the lady at Rico of Quemado let me gas up, in return for which I was to mail her a check from Prescott.  Of course, the sheriffs of Catron and Yavapai would have seen to it that I kept my word, but it wasn’t necessary.  That’s not who I am, and the check went out two days later.

The point is, one doesn’t come across a more civilized place than the next door neighbour to our White Mountain region, itself quite a neighbourly area.  I will always feel there are friends in Catron.

Releasing the Kraken

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In the remake of “Clash of the Titans”, Zeus (Liam Neeson) bellows, “Release the Kraken”, in his fit of rage against those who would dare challenge his authority.

Over the past week, Mother Nature has released her Krakens, taking a spark of yet undetermined origin and sending raging fire across Prescott’s iconic Granite Mountain.  Due north of here, folks in Calgary are facing a flowing monster- the rampant, overflowing Bow River, swamping a fine city’s downtown.  East, northeast, people in Magdalena, NM face a non-Kraken- dust, where water once was, in the village wells.

Nature is not the only force unleashing a monster, or two.  Bloodshed continues apace, daily, in places like Syria, DR Congo, Afghanistan, Iraq.  People beat each other senseless in cities and towns, across the globe- domestic violence is a world-wide plague, and is relatively under-reported.  The horrors of human trafficking, poaching of animals (both wild and domesticated), and the sullen, wanton disenfranchising of individuals, by people on whom they ought to be able to depend, go on each day.

I live a fairly fortunate life.  Being alone, it’s easy to drive into the garage, lower the door, come inside and shut the world out.  Like Eddy Arnold, I can “Make the world go away, and get it off my shoulder”, with relative ease.

This does not stop any of the above from finding its way into my conscience, and prompting action.  I do get out, do make an effort to better the lives of those around me- as most of us do.  Yesterday, though, seemed to be a day of rage building around my quiet existence.  In the span of ten hours:

  • A Red Cross supervisor, from Phoenix, glared at me, while I was going about setting out lunch for the crew, helping to break down the soon-to-be-closed shelter and ending my shift- with a stare that all but said “What are YOU doing here?”
  • Upon driving into my HOA compound, and stopping to get the mail, I was approached aggressively by a man whom I had not seen before, throwing his arms in the air in an “It’s on” gesture.  I said nothing and ignored him.  I was far too tired; just wanted to get my mail and go home.
  • At an otherwise pleasant gathering last night, a long-time friend got up and left in a huff, because I was a good deal less than sympathetic, regarding a man who had abandoned his  Faith in an apparent fit of pique, a few years ago.

So it goes.  I will continue to exercise my privilege of volunteering my services, to the Red Cross, and other organizations, whether the paid staff of those organizations like it or not.  I break no rules and hurt no people or animals.  I will enter and exit my own neighborhood, as I see fit, with or without the permission of self-appointed authority figures.  Only the police, in times of emergency, will alter that.  I will continue to speak my mind on matters of Faith, or anything else, without first checking to see if “it’s alright with ________”.  Since they may do the same, I see no problem with it.

There is a quiet, eerie calm, this morning,  Later today, I will get on my socks and shoes, and go downtown for the rest of Prescott Bluegrass Festival.  Most likely, the crowd will be happy and congenial.   I will attend a Nineteen-Day Spiritual Feast at another Baha’i’s home, this evening.  Most likely, the people in attendance will be glad to see one another, will share prayers and Scriptural readings, and ideas about issues facing our Faith community, and socialize for a while at the end.  I will, during the course of the day, check this and other sites, to see if any correspondence has accrued.

In light of the tumult of which I have written recently, I sense a building of anger at me, a low growling in the background, that may appear as comments, here, in G-mail and on Facebook.  My small, loyal group of friends from Xanga will offer their support, though, and that will sustain me until this black cloud, if there is one, dissipates.

Life will go on, as I keep saying of late, and the various Krakens will be brought back to tether.