Bedrock

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February 5, 2019-

The past couple of days have brought the kind of semi-wintry weather, not the least bit warm, but not cold enough for snow, for which our area is known, this time of year.

Prescott’s winter allows for business to be conducted as usual, for all but 3-4 days during the season- and then it is only interrupted in the morning.  Noon usually brings melting.

The whole reason for my continuing to work is based on the love that forms  the bedrock of my view of the world.  I have health that is good enough to keep me getting up, going in, paying attention to my charges and co-workers, and living the full life of a committed professional, until the day comes, most likely in May, 2021, that  it’s time for me to change direction.

I am finding that, with each passing day, my family, in the real sense of the word, is getting larger and stronger.  Being able to travel the length and breadth of the North American continent, and a good many places beyond, and never feel like a stranger, is a feeling that I would not have imagined for myself, even ten years ago.  Feeling that I am never really alone, even in the outwardly darkest of times, is a blessing that has only come with facing the tests and trials of what is never promised to be a charmed life.

I feel this, after an afternoon of learning more about handling job challenges in a different way and an evening of contemplating this bedrock of love that the Infinite, the Universe, has set for us.

Sixty-Six, for Sixty Six, Part LXIII: My Dream Pack

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September 18, 2017, Prescott-

A writer whom I recently began to follow has written, of late, about the concept of the Dream Pack- essentially, a way of life, place, group of close people which, collectively help each being realize the fullness of his/her particular dream.

The outpouring of love I have felt today, in person and online, brings me to reiterate what I have said on occasion, in the past.  People have come, gone and, in a few instances, returned.  I have found places, near and far, which bring me inspiration, for a time, and while some have lost their allure- others have drawn me close.  My way of life remains pretty much the same, though the accent, of late, has been on service, rather than a trail-side regimen.

My Dreampack , then, is large and varied:  My son, in Korea, is a phone call and an ocean away.  My siblings are a mere continent apart from me.  I have a nephew, in Los Angeles, who is a full schedule, or two, distant.  Mother is East Coast-bound, but will get a letter a week from me, and will respond, when she can, with reassurance that she is just fine, and inspirational comments.  My solid network of friends, in the Prescott area, and across Arizona, make it certain that, if I feel lonesome, it’s my own doing.  The same is true, all over North America.  I am never far, when in my car, from someone who at least has time for a cup of “joe”, or tea, or Jamba Juice.

There is a teen boy, who I am sponsoring, across the Pacific.  Someday, I will visit him.   My Dream Pack is large and varied, and includes kindred souls in the Philippines, South Korea, Australia, India, Zimbabwe, South Africa, Tanzania, Iran, Russia, Romania, Italy, Spain, Germany, Luxembourg, Belgium, Netherlands, Scotland and beloved France.  Yes, that’s a lot of turf, for one who lives on a shoestring, but since when has that been an impediment?

My Dream Pack has been a series of Chinese boxes, opening up to yet another, and a series of amazements, (yes, I just made up a word), which will continue.  The Universe is endless in its provision of many kinds of wealth.

The Road to 65, Mile 131: Typhoons

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April 8, 2015, Prescott-  It was cold all over the place today.  Snow was reported on the East Coast, and we shivered a bit, here in northern Arizona. North America is past being ready for warm weather.

It’s time to consider that warm weather has its price:  Storms happen, as anyone in New Orleans or Miami can attest.  Tornadoes have already swiped Oklahoma and Arkansas, this spring.  Even Dubai had a wicked dust storm, last week.

Typhoons, though, are in a league of their own.  Being cyclonic in nature is bad enough, when the storm is an Atlantic or eastern Pacific hurricane.  In the islands of the western Pacific, from Borneo and New Guinea to New Zealand, and on up to Japan, the deadliness of a Category 5 Typhoon, hitting a low-lying island community, seemingly from three directions at once, defies the imagination.  The Philippines have had two such killer storms, this year alone. Vanuatu, which used to be called New Hebrides, is slowly inching forward in recovery from a massive typhoon, a few long weeks ago.  Small countries nearby, named Kiribati and Tuvalu, also got hammered by the monster.  These are not places with an unlimited store of resilience, but they will come back from that one.

Word has reached us, this evening, of yet another Category 5.  This one is hitting Micronesia, a vast federation of atolls, stretching nearly 1,000 miles from east to west.  There was a civilization in western Micronesia, when Europe was shaking from the Dark Ages. The villagers of the  low-lying islands had much to impart to the Spanish and Dutch, who came seeking a quick route from China to the Americas, in the Sixteenth Century.

We used to have an image of Pacific Islanders, as happy, carefree dancers and singers, who were always glad to see boatloads of tourists.  There was a warrior segment, also, of course, but they got reduced to an entertainment contingent as well- savagely tattooed and grimacing, to the delight of the squealing audience.

It was never thus.  South Sea islands, to my mind, are harsh places, in terms of having enough fresh water; in terms of surviving monster waves, tides and gale-force winds; in terms of not being forgotten by the wider world.  We who are concerned with rising seas, point to places like Kiribati, Tuvalu and Nauru, in the Pacific, Anguilla in the Caribbean, and the Maldives and Seychelles, in the Indian Ocean, as victims of climate change, “in the not-to-distant future”.  This year’s experience, though, suggests that the world had better keep an eye on nature’s “dry runs”- the three Category 5 typhoons that have leveled the homes of good-hearted and long-struggling human beings.  Mankind is one, after all.