Tag Archives: Memphis

The Hana Chronicles: Month 8, Day 14

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Posted by on in children, collaborating, Community, Education, Family, Hiking and Nature, Historical, Inspiration, Personal Values, Service Activities, Slow Food Prescott, Social, Spiritual, Striving, Travel

September 4, 2026- Hana listened, with rapt attention, as a home foundation specialist was explaining his observations to her mother and me. How much she retains from this sort of discourse is anyone’s guess. but it would seem to bode well for when she sits in a classroom and expected to pay attention.

My granddaughter has a very strong sense of place and is finding her way into participating in various situations. There is a canister, in which Yunhee stores yellow beans. Hana used it as a hand drum, this evening after dinner. I played a drum given me by a friend in Arizona, about eight years ago. She stopped her own drumming and started to dance a little bit.

Between her increasing vocalizations and keen awareness, I sense this Autumn is going to find a very active little girl keeping everyone busy.

HANA’S NOTE- I like drums and I am sure Papa will let me play his drum, as long as I don’t try to chew the stick.

YEAR IN REMEMBRANCE-2018 When one reaches a certain level, in personal growth, the Universe is there to put that growth to the test. This was a year for me to be tested

The first several months were quiet and peaceful enough. The Spring semester went well in the Autism Program and I made a visit to southern California, focused on Orange County alone-as Aram had been transferred to Busan, South Korea and was thus back to his roots. In June, I headed off on another lengthy cross-continental journey. Carson City was my first stop, for a three-day visit with one of my soul families. Then came places like Pioche, NV; Salida, UT; Limon, CO. Sedalia, MO; Carthsge. Il and my customary stops in Wilmette and Mishawaka.

I felt comfortable about driving in Canada, and so explored a bit of London, ON and Toronto, before stopping in Montreal for a weekend. As it happened, it was Formula 1 Racing Weekend, and the town was a madhouse. I still found a hostel in which to spend Friday night and Sunday night. Saturday would be at an Air BNB, I took in a great deal of Montreal on Saturday, and when it came time for an afternoon walkabout near McGill University, I parked Elantra on a quiet stretch of road, west of the University. 40 minutes later, I returned. My belongings, a suit to be worn at a family wedding and an anniversary gift were all in the back seat. That turned out to be a dumb arrangement. The back left window of the car had been smashed and my laptop, with my passport, was gone. Everything else was left. Once the insurance company had been called and the police had come along and processed the scene, I took Elantra to a parking garage, taped a plastic bag over the window frame and went with my bag to the Air Bnb. I was the only guest, amazingly, so the owner said I could take turns sleeping in each of the the three bedrooms. I found one to be more than sufficient. After a Sunday of exploring more of downtown, I was treated like royalty at the same hostel where I had spent Friday night. On Monday morning, I reported my lost passport to the U.S. Consulate, which alerted the border station in Champlain, NY, that I was cleared to re-enter the U.S. After getting my window replaced, I bid farewell to Montreal and drove to Plattsburgh, NY-my maternal grandmother’s hometown. Grama watched over me the rest of the way. I took in Ausable Chasm, historic sites in Scranton, and Valley Forge, over the next few days, followed by an evening visit to Oley.

Next came Philadelphia, and the wedding of my youngest niece. Aram and Yunhee, seriously dating, flew all the way from Korea for the wedding. It was an exquisite affair, and my family wholeheartedly welcomed Yunhee. The next day was Father’s Day. We all enjoyed the post-wedding brunch at the hotel where the wedding party was staying. Then the three of us bid farewell to the family and went off to explore more of Philadelphia. After an early dinner, I bid bon voyage to Aram and Yunhee, who had to head clear back to Korea on Monday morning. My destination for the evening was Baltimore. I spent the day there, including a visit to Fort McHenry-one of the places we didn’t get to visit on our journey in 2007.

The road then took me southward, with a three-day visit to eastern Virginia’s historic sites- Williamsburg, Jamestown and Yorktown. A short visit with a dear Xanga friend, in Virginia Beach, preceded the historical jaunt. I made what would be my last visit with my mother-in-law, in Spring Hill, FL, afterward, and bought a new laptop there, thus not having to depend on my phone for all communication. Driving back across the South, I visited another Xanga friend in Crossville, TN, then drove westward, taking in the Civil Rights Museum, in Memphis, as well as Beale Street. Three days later, I was back in Prescott.

Passing the test of losing a couple of important possessions was not all that hard. In the Fall, a well-meaning friend thought I needed female companionship. I had a good lady friend in Prescott, already, but he had “a better idea”. The person with whom he connected me was unsettled, had been abused in childhood and was quietly seething-looking for a target. She saw fit to question my very worth as a human being, essentially. After two weeks of turbulence, we agreed it was not a good idea for either of us, to continue our friendship.

2018 ended with my self-concept and equilibrium in balance. The Red Cross was calling on me more often, I was involved in Slow Food Prescott and was becoming a regular volunteer at Prescott Farmers Market. I was almost out of harm’s way.

July Road Notes, Day 9: Windy Road Out of Town

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Posted by on in Assistance, Community, Personal Values, Social, Travel

July 13, 2021, Crossville, TN- Some places are easy to get in, and rather a stretch to exit. I-40, in the Memphis area is one such.

I woke fairly early, at the Super 8, near the National Museum of Metal and the Old French Fort, in Memphis’ Riverside District. Despite the rough and tumble veneer of the area, the place was actually quite safe. I had managed to get to this crowded and lively motel, last night, by taking the circuitous I-55 south-Riverside Drive detour, made necessary by the collapse of I-40’s bridge over the Mississippi River, between Memphis and West Memphis, earlier this year. The bridge is due to re-open around July 30, but here we are. The view of Old French Fort, from my balcony, was at least rather enchanting.

Old French Fort, near President’s Island, Memphis

Wanting to locate a comfortable coffee house in Memphis, to get at least a small bite of breakfast and some good java, I came upon a place listed as Bluff City Coffee and Bakery, diagonally across from the National Civil Rights Museum. It turns out to now be called Hustle & Dough– on the first floor of ARRIVE Boutique Hotel, serving Vice and Virtue Coffee. The vice is the delectable coffee-and maybe one or two of the shop’s richer pastries. The virtue is its line of teas, or so the story goes. “Hustle & Dough” is a play on the name of the 2005 film on Memphis life: Hustle and Flow.

Entrance to Hustle & Dough Coffee House/ARRIVE Hotel, Memphis

After breakfast came the fun part: Getting to I-40, headed east. It took about 45 minutes, through not-unreasonable traffic, to find an entry ramp to the eastbound 240, via U.S. Routes 78 and 72, and the business district of Memphis’ east side. The long and winding road set me eastward, finally and along with a front of storm clouds, producing a healthy amount of rain, I drove over to Wildersville, and Patty’s Southern Eatery. Ginger tried to get me to go with their mixed plate of the day which, as scrumptious as it looked, would have been much more than my capacity allowed-so Classic Southern Burger, it was. The lovely lady knew better than to even breathe the word “Cobbler”, and after a leisurely hour at Patty’s, I was headed back towards my friends’ place in this Appalachian foothills town, almost equidistant from Nashville, Knoxville and Chattanooga.

It is not a hard route, though, with I-840 as a wide by-pass of Nashville, or the main road through the state capital, with all of Music City’s diversions. I got in to Crossville, shot past the driveway to R and C’s place, opted not to try and turn around at a horseshoe drive, a bit further-as a sign said “No Trespassing” and the look on the face of the teenaged girl watching me underscored that warning. Rather than incur the mouthful of sass and vinegar that would surely have followed, I simply turned around in a nearby cul-de-sac. My friends, their three cats, rooster and Muscovy duck were waiting. Homemade pizza was not far behind. (I will take Miss Ginger up on the Plate of the Day, another time.)

The 2018 Road: Honours, Learnings and Observations- Part 1

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Posted by on in Assistance, collaborating, Family, Social, Spiritual, Striving, Travel

September 2, 2018, Prescott-

The forty-day journey, whose chronicle I have just completed, is now well-past the reflection stage.  The longest trip I have undertaken, since 2015, has passed without controversy, among those of my family and friends who have viewed my travels in the past, with some consternation.

There were mostly good things that happened, this summer that is nearly passed.  I want to first note those who have honoured me with their presence, in the deepest of ways.  Then, I shall note the learnings I picked up from the trek. Finally, some observations are in order.

Honours-

The first of these always goes to my family: Being in Christ Church, Philadelphia, for the wedding of my beloved youngest niece; having my son, Aram, and his girlfriend next to me during the service, throughout the reception and for much of Father’s Day.  I’m grateful to her, for having given him much happiness; being with all of my siblings, nieces and nephews and nearly all of my extended family.

My northern Nevada family has always been there for me, as well.  This year, over Memorial Day weekend, was no different.

My sister in spirit, Corina, drove an hour each way to visit with me a bit-once I got to Wilmette, but to no avail.  My arrival was way too late, so back she went, to spend Sunday afternoon with her beloved. I feel honoured, nevertheless.  Just being in the embrace of the Baha’i House of Worship is a singular honour, in itself.

Having dinner with friends in Mishawaka, IN, was a sublime blessing.  Thanks, Val and Sparky.

I cannot say enough, for the staff and fellow hostelers at Auberge Bishop, Montreal, for confirming my worth as a human being, in the aftermath of a serious loss.  I am also grateful to the agents at USAA, for mitigating that loss.  It was a joy to take lunch at one of  the restaurants of a friend’s establishment:  La Panthere Verte.  I would feel similarly honoured, again, at hostels in Baltimore and in Memphis.

One of the greatest honours is to connect with the spiritual energy of one’s ancestors. My maternal grandmother’s hometown, Plattsburgh, NY first welcomed me, and a few weeks later, my sister and a maternal cousin connected with some of Grama’s grandnieces and great grandnephews.

Penny’s family will always be my own, as well.  They helped me greatly, in the wake of Montreal.  A few days’ respite, in the family home, in Spring Hill, FL helped me rest before the home stretch, and reaffirmed our bond.  Paying my respects to her departed cousin, a few days before, in Maryland, was essential.

There are many, across the nation and world, who I regard as spiritual family. They are of all Faiths and of no Faith.  Connecting with a woman who is like a daughter to me, in Virginia Beach; an immigrant friend who is like a brother, in Salisbury, NC; and my Tennessee brother and sister of the heart, in Crossville, have made all the difference in healing a part of me that still grieves, somehow.

Being in Memphis, and feeling the pain that all of us who are of good heart experienced, the day Martin Luther King, Jr. died, was cathartic.  I had not cried in a good long while, and this overwhelming sadness brought out a lot.  Later in the day, walking along the banks of the Mississippi and along Beale Street, felt like a dirge was playing.  Dr. King honoured us all.

NEXT:  Learnings