The Hana Chronicles, Month 7, Day 25

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August 15, 2026- Hana marches to her own drummer. Her father, for reasons of his own, is rather prescriptive. He is learning, though, to let her do her own thing. I feel that she knows what she is doing, in the macro sense. Her mission is to master standing up and then set to learning to walk. Hana’s mother also has her notions of what is needed by her child, but she is less authoritative and is more concerned with Hana’s health and hygiene, than with how Hana spends her time.

Along those lines, Hana had her first breakfast this morning-a small bowl of oatmeal, followed by apple in yogurt. We explained to her that breakfast is most often a lighter meal than are lunch or dinner. She was fairly content with what was served. It was enough, that she was in her high chair for breakfast, rather than down in a bouncy seat, looking up at us.

Much of my afternoon was spent going through a box or two-lots of bungee cords; Aram’s second grade drawings and his “Story of Me”, from third grade; Penny’s graduation cap, from her third and final Master’s Graduation-the only one she ever attended, because I was there and wanted to make a big deal of it; her Tae Kwon Do certificate, which I want to show to Hana, when she is old enough to know waht the martial art is. Hana’s afternoon was divided between pushing herself to stand and crawl with her torso lifted, and napping.

HANA’S NOTE- I am going to do things my own way, as much as I can.

YEAR IN REMEMBRANCE-1998 Although I still enjoyed being a counselor, I had invested a fair amount of time and energy into getting my Administrative Certificate. I had covered for the Principal and Assistant Principal at Jeddito, often enough, that even with contrived situations that one of my rivals had set up to try and embarrass me, my management of the school had basically gone well. Penny believed in me, and so, when I was told of an opening in a Community School, at Chilchinbeto, I put in my application. I was hired by the Athletic Director, who, oddly enough, became my Assistant Principal.

I left Jeddito in August, though Penny stayed there for another year. We were therefore a weekend couple, something that oour coworkers in Jeddito understood, but which raised the hackles of several people in Chilchinbeto. I was Principal, in a school of 200 students, with an Executive Director above me, in the same office. There was a core of influential people in the small community,who wanted to see a Dineh person in the Principalship. They tolerated me, with the quiet belief that I would be gone in a year. On Halloween, I had taken Aram, who lived with me and was in Fifth Grade, to Jeddito. When we came back, i was told that one of the Paraprofessionals, a leader of the skeptics, had died in a one car accident. There were those who believed I had something to do with her death, even though I was 150 miles away at the time. God knows, I would never have brought harm to anyone, regardless of political differences. Still, this was a superstitious community at that time, and there was an undercurrent of suspicion, for the rest of the academic year. The teachers and I were united, though, and we carried on our best, on behalf of the students.

Penny’s year at Jeddito, under an unstable administration, was not much better. We were in contact by phone, and I spent weekends with her, so our marriage didn’t suffer.At the end of the year, however, while we were in Prescott, visiting her parents, she tripped and fell over their large family dog, hitting her head against a door.

The last year of the Twentieth Century would see us facing a serious health matter.


The Road to Diamond, Day 236: Doughnuts

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July 22, 2025- Strawberry Shortcake is a nice name for one of the offerings at Parlor Doughnuts, the pleasant current occupant of a two-tiered restaurant on the north side of Montezuma Street. The place has been a rough and tumble Mexican restaurant; an Italian restaurant with great food, but somewhat snobbish management; and a fine dining establishment that couldn’t quite get its act together. The Mexican place and this coffee shop are actually my favourites of the four.

I used to indulge quite heavily in doughnuts, sometimes mistaking them for a good breakfast. Some years back, a casual acquaintance pointed out that they are properly a dessert. Over the past four years, my consumption of the pastry has been limited. Even with the high quality of Parlor’s fare, that will remain the case. I’ve had two, in the last three weeks; so, seeing them as a specialty dessert is still the case. Besides, Parlor’s doughnuts are bigger than those in other shops around town.

All in all, my once heavy food consumption has been largely reduced. I am still a faithful member of the Clean Plate Club, though. It’s another feather in my mother’s cap.

Two-Hour Delay

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January 24, 2017, Prescott-

School started at 10,

instead of 8.

Ice clogged the streets,

many pick-up drivers feared being late.

So, as I drove carefully along,

there were several who swung around me.

Arriving safely at work,

I was glad to, rid of traffic, be.

Shortened schedules bother our students,

a lack of mid-morning breakfast,

also an unwelcome surprise-

how imprudent.

We made it safely through, with no bumps and bruises.

A fair amount of learning,

even a short day infuses.

 

Lunch Pail People

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November 5, 2016, Prescott-  I sat down for breakfast with friends at the local lodge of the Veterans of Foreign Wars (VFW), enjoying pancakes, with scrambled eggs, bacon and a sausage link- for less than what Denny’s would charge for same.  It was my first visit to the lodge, which sits a scant 1,000 yards from my house.

A disparate crowd comes to breakfast here- a retired district court judge, a diesel mechanic, the city’s mayor (once in a blue moon), a retired Army major and a former jet pilot, for starters.  The organization draws more female veterans than does the American Legion.  It is also meeting some success in attracting younger men, who have served in our recent wars.

When I checked my social media feeds, after breakfast, I spotted a photo of my second eldest paternal uncle, proudly giving his younger daughter’s hand in marriage, some thirty   years ago.  He passed away, not long afterward, but the  expression of pride on his face is timeless.  He was an electrician and  carpenter, most of his adult life.My parents, as well as  uncles and aunts, on both sides of the family, were , by and large, members of the lunch pail crowd- people who played by the rules, mostly worked the same jobs for decades, and took a lot of heartache in stride, because there seemed little other choice.

The people with whom I took breakfast this morning are, likewise, those who are trying their best, every day, to live life as they always have, and are seeing a multitude of changes, some good and some not so beneficial.  The lives of lunch pail people are turning upside down.  Many of them are buying into the hype, offered by one candidate or accepting, as truth, the white noise and innuendo regarding both main candidates.

I trust that, as the election fades into the background, those who work hard for a living will remember that it is only by standing firm, together, that the people of this nation have ever made any real progress.