Mastering Heat

2

August 5, 2023- With a “desert fox” cap, replete with neck and face shield, and plenty of sunscreen on my arms and legs, getting around in this hottest-and now largely dry-month has not been as much a game of Russian roultette for my person.

It actually felt more brutally hot this morning, with no breeze, than it did when outdoor chores presented themselves at Noon. By then, the slightly cool breeze tempered our version of solar heat-93F-and the team was able to get its work done, in less than two hours.

Other kinds of heat are not as easily mastered:

The greed that is leading to slow-walking of a legal procedure that involves a dear friend-and the circumstances of which pretty much require non-response from said friend. Passion that involves desire for money is as bad, or worse, than passion involving misplaced physical attraction or even desire for power.

The sense of righteousness that leads to falsifying records, spreading of lies and convincing oneself that the false narrative must never be surrendered or changed, lest one’s whole life be upended.

The demand for personal justice, when the injury to the aggrieved is non-existent, physically, and only a passing emotional slight. I haven’t had this happen to me, recently-thank the Divine, but I know how it feels to be in the crosshairs of someone, whose real grievances were towards someone from long ago-and I just happened to be the “low-hanging fruit”.

The physical heat was less of an issue, once our work was done. I gathered with a group of friends for a consideration of local Baha’i concerns, then later went to check on a friend who had fallen, several weeks ago. He’s doing very well and is much steadier on his feet. Not to self: One lesson from the heat-and from said friend’s experience, is that water much go down the throat, at least once an hour in this aridity. So, I am making that happen.

“Shake It, Don’t Break It”

2

August 4, 2023- So sang the irrepressible, ever-engaging keyboardist and social activist, as several of us were up and dancing to the rhythmic flow. There is no better way to get in some hyperactivity, around here at least, than at a Jonathan Best concert. There he was, on the Raven’s sound stage, with members of the Lisa Mitts Band. Jon even wore Lisa’s dress, because she couldn’t be present, this evening. You never know what to expect from Jonathan, but it’s always memorable-and relevant. He is at once an outlier-and a mover/shaker.

I have always been an outlier. At the same time, it has always been important to me to support the legitimate efforts of others, even those who were in a clique of some kind. The elites of my teen years, to the extent they were even elites, were generally friendly and while I was not in any “inner circle”, I was never shut out by them, either. The outlier part was largely in my own head.

Self-fulfilling prophecies tend to perpetuate themselves, though. In the Army, rank and file soldiers, especially in stateside posts, were very clear about who was part of an “in-crowd” and who was a cast off. It had nothing to do with job performance, and everything to do with whether the self-styled group leader liked someone or not. I played right into that scenario. The same pattern would repeat itself, now and then, throughout my working life.

That outlier stigma arises in my head, every so often, still. There are certain people whose presence and energy tend to trigger the feeling that I need to get to the sideline and stay there. One such individual, this evening, had me wanting to keep away from the group that was dancing, initially. Getting a vibe that was both elitist and fearful, it was easy to just bounce and sway, in a corner. My buddy, Ken, a few years older than me, has no such compunction. He went right up to the apparent snob, engaging in banter and dancing in his own style. Ken is everyone’s friend.

Before long, Jonathan’s grooves and beats had me forget about who might have wanted me to stay out of the group. Once Ken saw that I was relaxed and no longer keeping to myself, he went back to his conversations at the bar, and elsewhere, occasionally coming back up to the dance area and speaking with a few of the ladies.

The upshot of all this is that, after all this time on Earth, I am finally casting the burden that not even Penny’s love, or the acceptance I’ve felt from so many friends, could completely remove. I don’t know where my feelings of being an outcast even came from, but I know they need to be gone.

Shake it, don’t break it, indeed.

On Agency

2

August 3, 2023- The former President of the United States faced a Federal Magistrate today, for the second time in a month. He heard the charges against him, pleaded Not Guilty and thanked the Magistrate, before being released in his own recognizance. He maintains innocence, until proven guilty. He maintains agency, regardless.

The topic of agency arose, this evening, during a study session on the matter of public discourse. While the discussion ended up a bit off the rails, largely due to my being a bit tired, after a long day, and thus, not moderating matters as well as I might have, the agency of both those who were carried away in dialogue and those who felt left out, were addressed by the end of the session. Ground rules were established, going forward.

Ironically, the whole kerfuffle came about when the subject of the agency held by children was brought up-by yours truly. That led to discussion about gratuitous spanking of toddlers, and the umbrage taken by some people of our, and our parents’, generations when objections to such “punishment” are raised. Those who got carried away are of the opinion,as am I, that striking people just perpetuates violence. The others in the group, themselves hardly people who believe in corporal punishment, felt “point taken, now let’s move on.”

I have evolved in my thinking on the matters of both agency for children and of corporal punishment. I once believed in the pecking order, that children should serve adults. That went out the window, when I caught some adults using that notion of “service” as a pretext for abusive behaviour.

I have never given our son anything less than respect for who he is, nor have I, save one or two unfortunate lapses of judgement, as a teacher and counselor, seen fit to belittle a child’s soul. My own experience of corporal punishment, as a child, was sparing. Mom and Dad regarded it as tool, to be used judiciously. I followed suit as a parent, until it became obvious to me that there is a conflict between using force as a parent and communicating responsible behaviour to one’s child.

My overall sense, for the longest time now, is that each person, regardless of age, has personal agency. The child needs guidance and reinforcement. The elder needs reassurance of continued relevance. All of us in-between, likewise, need consistent respect, regardless of our positions on matters being discussed or positions in a community.

Trade-offs

6

August 2, 2023- A photo has gone viral today, of a stern-faced man, in Niamey, Niger, holding up a sign that says, in French, “Long live Putin”. There appeared to be about five hundred people around him, in the photograph, at a rally organized by the new self-appointed leader of that impoverished West African nation. How many were there of their own volition is debatable, but if they were brought there under duress, or with the promise of perquisites/rewards, the adulation for the autocratic leader of the Russian Federation will soon fade. It would not surprise me to learn that the man mentioned above was put up to holding the sign, by soldiers of the Wagner Group, who are ubiquitous in the Sahel region. He certainly did not look very happy to be there.

In a nutshell, I attribute the ease with which demagogues can rise to power, in impoverished nations, to the legacy of colonialism. When personal agency or a sense of community is cut off, by interlopers, for the sake of satisfying the greed of those invaders, the resentment simmers. This will prove as true for the Russians, as it has for the western European colonizers of yore. The only path to overcoming poverty among the masses is unity-under a democratic system, not under the yoke of a tyrant-be he home-grown or foreign-born.

This brings me to Florida-and the notion that slavery was beneficial to the enslaved. That this trope was first advanced by a professor of history, who is himself African-American, does not impress me in the least. Anyone can excuse abusive or oppressive conditions, and offer up a silver lining. More convincing is the umbrage taken to this cockamamie nonsense, by several Black Conservatives. They may ascribe to the noble concept of self-reliance, but attach to it anything that says their ancestors benefitted from having been enslaved, and the cord, rightfully, is cut.

Everything, as Dr.Thomas Sowell once wrote, is a trade-off. If you enslave a people, you break their self-reliance. If you steal agency from another person, then they learn dependency, and you now have an albatross around the neck. If, on the other hand, a person is empowered, honoured and granted agency for life, then society has one more individual who can actually contribute the gifts given by the Divine-on her/his own.

Box? What Box?

2

August 1, 2023- “There is a cancellation for today, at Noon.”, was the response of the manager at my dentist’s office, when I called to inquire on the matter. My plans for a leisurely day, around downtown Prescott, quickly evaporated, and I was on the road to Phoenix, by 9:40. It wasn’t a hard ride, and the desert was not that hot.

A one-hour slot took forty minutes for the hygienist to clean my teeth , followed by a quick handling of a small issue she found, during the routine. There was some discussion of the vagaries of aging, relative to the human mouth, and I resolved to look into natural, as opposed to fluoridic, means to deal with the matter. For her part, the hygienist did recommend a non-fluoridic toothpaste as an alternative.

I did not follow my usual post-dental visit routine, so no visit to the cemetery or to Local Jonny’s, but straight back to Home Base, giving KIA an hour to cool down-then it was over to the dealer’s, for some TLC. The dealership also had a slot open for today, at 4 p.m. Sportage did a lot of work, going to Nanaimo and back, so an oil & lube, tire rotation and car wash was in order. All is “green” with the vehicle, and it will have a fairly routine month of August, staying within state, before a cross-country jaunt next month, and a San Diego drive, to park near Lindbergh, for my flight to the Philippines in October.

These were just the beginnings of indications that this month is going to be strictly “out of the box”, in terms of what I must do, day to day. A friend will need a ride to an appointment, just before my own, in a few days. The two are in the same part of town, so I agreed to help and can juggle my time a bit.

Others (people I know and trust, BTW) are reaching out for financial help, but that will need to stay in the box for now, as work doesn’t kick back in until next week, and with the Federal credit rating snafu, who knows what our collective nest eggs will look like in a week? Probably, all will be well; I’ve just learned to hedge my bets, over the years.

From all indications thus far, though, it’ll be a fascinating month of serendipity.

The Blessing of Colour

4

July 31, 2023- Everyone appreciated the readings, music and the spread on my friend’s table. Organizing and moderating an event that honours “perfection” was an all-day affair, but as the name itself implies, was well worth the day.

Costco was a good place to be guided by the unseen, in picking out refreshment items that would both appeal to the eyes and palate, while offering nutritional balance. I try to avoid “junk food”, when planning a set table, and it worked out quite nicely, unless one considers fresh-baked frosted pound cake as junk-admittedly a relative term, anyway. It was a festive occasion, this Spiritual Feast of Perfection, so why not a (guilty) pleasure. All else was light and nutritious.

The devotional program also was varied, and songs that honour the concept of perfection were interspersed between readings, and carried the evening. It is noteworthy that each of us has an element of perfection within us. Some, like yours truly, hide it better than others, but we all have such a seed inside. I see it in those, like the unhoused people I helped feed this evening, before the Spiritual Feast and in those who work at jobs that they may sometimes view as thankless. I see it in the faces of my Baha’i friends and in those of each human who I encounter every day, both here in the Prescott area and when I am on the road.

So, if you so wish, click on this song and ponder how the Divine sends us Perfect Guides, from time to time and to each part of the planet.

An Untiring Servant

2

July 30, 2023- A small group of organic farmers and food security activists gathered, among the young families, street musicians and urban campers, for the purpose of honouring a man who has spent much of his time here ensuring that food security is real in this community and that the unhoused, as well as those sheltering because of abuse and neglect, get access to their daily nutritional needs.

John A. and his wife are moving to a homestead, in eastern Tennessee. There, they will have a good opportunity to continue what they have done here. A Slow Food chapter thrives in that area, as ours does here. There is substantial interest in school gardens, as there is here. The growing season is comparable to ours, as is the elevation. There is a somewhat wetter climate, so more might conceivably be accomplished.

John’s energy puts me to shame, but he is twenty years my junior, so no need to feel remorse. He will, though, be very hard to replace. It may well be that a team will form to tend to the matter of delivering food to the shelters, once or twice a week. That was John’s initial suggestion, in any case.

I have been fortunate to have worked with him, on several small projects, and to learn some building and mechanical skills that had eluded me, for many years. The saving grace, though, is that Athens, TN is not that far from Knoxville or Crossville, where I also have friends. When en route back to Home Base, from the Northeast in September, I will be sure to try and connect, at their new place.

A Not-So-Lonely Highway

2

July 29, 2023- A solitary man, either befuddled by the heat or determined to stand his ground, stood squarely in the path of my slowly-moving Kia, as I approached a rest room, at the more aptly named than usual Area 51 Alien Center. The heat, and an approaching full moon, seemed to have brought more unusual behaviour than I’ve seen, over the past eleven years, in that little settlement of Amargosa Springs. I felt badly for the two ladies who were staffing the Alien Center’s store.

The man in question moved along, when I simply turned right and found a parking spot away from the rest room. When I drove across the street, to the Alien Center’s parking lot, he blocked my way with his car, so once more, I turned right and simply found a space that was not in “his zone”. He drove off without any further ado.

The drive down from Carson City was itself quite smooth. I left a bit later than planned, as my help was needed with an online Zoom call, which was best done from the motel room. Breakfast to go sufficed my LA Bakery fix, for this visit. (That establishment, and Red Hut, are my must stops in Carson.) Stopping briefly in Yerington, an hour to the south, I found another favourite, Blanhir’s Bakery, was closed-odd for a Saturday noon. Oh, well, down through Schurz, Hawthorne and Mina, towards Tonopah, it was. A brief rest stop at Luning, just north of Mina, provided an opportunity for service and let’s just say, I fixed a problem that had been left to sit , by earlier visitors. I’m sure the trucker who came by, just as I was leaving, appreciated the problem-free rest room.

Beans and Brews, in Tonopah, is mostly staffed by local teens, so it has been a must-stop, when going to and from Carson City or Reno. As usual, the counter person was energetic and quick to fill my small order. The lady at the adjacent convenience counter, on the other hand, looked like she was melting in the heat. I wished them both a fine afternoon, and went on-past Goldfield, which still does not have the truck stop that’s been in the works for over a year. I think the earth-moving equipment is in the same place it was, last November. Passing through Beatty, and stopping for a quick supper in Amargosa Springs, I encountered the above-mentioned individual-and a worker from the brothel next door, who didn’t bother me, but looked like she needed a good long rest.

What happens in Las Vegas is best left there-but I found reasonable gas, at a station that had been sending patrons to the nearby Wendy’s, for restroom use. Wendy’s, unbeknownst to the station attendants, has closed. I let them know that state of affairs. Fortunately there is a huge shopping mall across the road. An iced coffee from Panera Bread addressed two needs, and I was again on my way, in short order.

Four hours and twenty minutes later, another journey was in the books. It helped me confront a few remaining personal baggage items, without any faux pas, which leaves me with a nice feeling. Thank you, to all in California, Oregon, Washington, British Columbia and Nevada. This was a truly nice two weeks-even through the heat.

Jitterbug, with The Munchkins

0

July 28, 2023, Carson City– The cast was set to dancing and jumping about, in this version of the spell cast by a cheekier version of the Wicked Witch of the West. W3 did not feel like even hinting at opium being an acceptable diversion and so came the Jitterbug, whose weapon was getting everyone to dance until they dropped from exhaustion. The classic dance marathon, instead of deadly poison, was a tad more family friendly-but W3 still asked Scarecrow if he wanted to play ball.

“The Wizard of Oz” first came into my consciousness when I was about nine, and we started watching it, as a family, once a year. When I hit my mid-teens, the watch party shifted to a gathering of friends-still a time for laughs and feigned fright. Seeing that it has not lost its appeal is re-assuring. There is much that is not ersatz about our culture, and these are the totems that I hope will remain.

Children and teens are almost universally dear to my heart. One of the dearest was on stage as a Munchkin, her time under the klieg lights about five minutes of play time and a few minutes at the end. In our pre-play conversation, I re-assured her that this is how just about everything starts. The first jobs are almost always the equivalent of a small role, with few lines. It is approaching the task with aplomb, with the confidence that one is going to do the small stuff well and move up the ladder, to a place that is deserved, that makes the dream become reality.

So she did her small role well, being visible and audible from where I was sitting, with her grandmother, in the second row. Afterward, the three of us went to a fast food place and each got an orange cream shake. We talked of the importance of agency, which she has already stood for, as she described an incident in which she asked that officials remove a poster she finds offensive. She heard us say: “Good on you and keep standing for justice, even when-especially when, it’s hard.”

I will always stand beside her, her brother, cousins and any other young person who is looking at being hazed or subjected to injustice.

A Mountain Route Towards Second Home

4

July 27, 2023, Carson City- One of my favourite chain eateries, of which there are few, is Black Bear Diner, which started in the city of Mount Shasta, CA, in 1995, and has now expanded throughout the western half of the U.S.

It was at Grants Pass’s Black Bear that my day got revved up. The counter crew, like crews in most restaurants, are a well-working team. A lovely, perky young lady at the register told me it was her first day-and I noticed that the rest of the crew was solicitous and helpful towards her. She is likely to have a good run there. The food was excellent, as always.

Mount Shasta itself was prominent during the first part of my drive towards Carson City. A first time visitor to the area stopped at the western vista point, off I-5, just after I got there and asked what mountain that was. She proceeded to take several snaps of the peak, from different vantage points. I was happy taking one, from there.

About an hour later, heading towards Reno, on the Lassen Highway, I stopped at another “Vista Point”, to find that Mount Shasta was pretty much hidden from view by the tall pines. Lifting a bit of litter from the stop, because Mount Shasta is just majestic and doesn’t need our trash in view, even from thirty miles away.

Mount Shasta peeks through the pines, taken from the south.

There was no time to make a stop at Lassen peak that would have done it any justice, so I turned left towards Susanville and Reno. The damage done to the forests on Mount Lassen’s northern and western flanks, and in the mountains near Susanville, is heart-wrenching to see. Thankfully, fire has spared this area so far this year, but it’s unfortunately very early yet. In the intermediate future, one of my sojourns will entail a three-day stay in one of the cabins at Lassen Volcanic National Park.

In my heart, with Prescott my primary Home Base, there are several others-Carson City chief among them, that very much feel like home. That’s as it should be. I settled into the small America’s Best Value here, and spent about two hours visiting with Michele, very much like a sister, at Betsy’s Big Kitchen, a rather nice in-casino establishment, serving sizable portions of fine comfort food.

My main reason for being here will happen tomorrow, as a Munchkin takes the stage.