The Road to Diamond, Day 134: Twin Greetings and A Little Victory

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April 11, 2025- Macy’s European Coffee Shop, a cornerstone of Flagstaff’s Near South Side, was quieter than usual, in late morning. I was pleased that the shop’s owner, Tim Macy, was present and able to meet Bobot and Thelma. They enjoyed-we enjoyed-a light breakfast and fine coffee. Under ‘Abdu’l-Baha’s watchful gaze, a spiritual bond between America and the Philippines extended to Flagstaff.

Eyes of the Master
Bobot, Thelma and the Master
Macy's European Coffee House 2
Bobot and Thelma in front of Macy’s

The next stop was a persistent and generous pool: Montezuma Well remains the repository of a spring-fed stream, holding its own, despite an infusion of algae, along its rim. A limestone sinkhole that receives 1,500,000 gallons of water a day from the spring, it was a source of sustenance for the Southern Sinagua people, in the first millennium A.D./C.E., and is a source of inspiration for the people of the Upper Verde Valley today.

Montezuma's Well
Rim of Montezuma’s Well

What was sweetest about this visit is that, for the second day in a row, Thelma overcame her acrophobia and approached the rim, then walked down a flight of stone steps to the closest approach still available to the source spring. The counselor in me still celebrates people overcoming their fears.

MZW 2
Thelma and Bobot near the source of Montezuma Well

Our small celebration of this step forward came at another of my favourite spots: Rafter Eleven. I have been going there, pretty much since Dawn Wasowicz opened the establishment. Dawn has developed the restaurant and tasting room, as a venue for local artists and a community gathering place, over the past eleven years. She was also pleased to meet my two friends and they found the ambiance-and their scones, quite pleasing as well.

A brief shopping trip (for Bobot) ended their last full day in northern Arizona. Tomorrow, we will stop at Farmers Market and Zeke’s, then head south, to Desert Rose Baha’i Institute, and back up to Phoenix, where I will bid my friends farewell, and they will enjoy some extended family time, before leaving for other parts of the U.S.

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For Each One…

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August 17, 2024- As I entered the patio at Rafter Eleven, to sit and enjoy the repertoire of a singer-guitarist named Dwayne, a woman invited me to sit at her table, making mention of having seen me sitting alone, a few weeks ago. Mom didn’t raise any snobs, so I gladly joined her at table, exchanging names and broader life stories. The lady asked about the Baha’i Faith, and I gave her a brief synopsis-in between interruptions by wait staff and others needing the attention of one or both of us. (The website, http://www.bahai.org, was part of the information given.)

I was mildly cognizant of being guarded as to her interest, but one of her first questions, after our mutual talk of widowhood, was “Is there someone in your life now?” My answer in the affirmative prompted her to offer that she, too, had recently met a gentleman, a budding friend.

Our conversation continued, for nearly ninety minutes, in between offering applause for Dwayne, showing appreciation for his family being there to encourage him and enjoying Rafter’s delectable food. We encouraged one another, in the growth of our respective friendships and parted with a respectful handclasp.

There is someone, I believe, for every person in the world; for every being in the Universe. It is not necessarily upon the expression of desire, and, as in a maze, there are many mistaken paths that end in a roadblock. Even those of us, like the lady above and yours truly, who have lost a true love, can find another who may have him/herself been through a loss. When this happens, there is surety and it never feels like a chore, or something that is contrived. Believe me, I have been through several false starts, that fortunately did not end in irreparable harm to either party. Several of those women are still good friends of mine.

One day at a time, sweet Lord.

Centenary, and Remembrance

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January 27,2024- The grief-stricken woman told me, and bar staff, what had happened to a beloved family member, and relayed the seemingly nonchalant reaction of someone who had once told her that he was dependable. I shared with her about my own experiences, and the current state of my life. She was heartened by both what I had experienced taking care of my late wife, Penny, and by the present state of a new love in my life. As she broke down, and needed reassurance, I hugged her, and she wished me well with the rest of my life. When she left, we briefly discussed our own reactions to her story; D’s daughter agreeing with me that an undependable friend is no friend at all. I paid for my meal, and coffee, then headed back to Home Base 1.

I thought of Penny, and how no matter the level of difficulty with her condition, I would never have left her alone, or dismissed her pain. I stayed with her, until the end of her life, and would do so again and again. I think of the new love that has appeared in my life, and know that if she needed me to be by her side, post haste, I would be there, across the ocean, as quickly as humanly possible-and stay with her, for the duration.

Today, one of the most influential men I’ve ever had the honour of knowing would have turned 100 years of age. That he was the father of my first true love as an adult, and the treasured grandfather of our son was a bonus. Norman David Fellman was, more than these, much more. He was the living symbol of the Holocaust survivors-a Jewish soldier in the U.S. Army, in the final year of World War II. He was captured by the German Army, in the southern flank of the Battle of the Bulge, kept prisoner in Berga, in a special POW unit of Jewish-, Mexican- and Romani-Americans. He survived, and when found by the U.S. Army, 97 pounds clung to his 6’1″ frame. He thrived, attended college, decided to open his own shoe business, married his life-long sweetheart, sired Penny and adopted twin girls-raising all three to be strong women. He and my mother-in-law, Ruth, were married for 65 years, until his death in 2014. (Ruth survived him by four years.) They owned and ran a farm, which tided them over, when he sold his shoe business. They raised and rode Arabian horses, teaching all three girls-and me, how to ride, and care for, those wondrous beasts. Norm was a fixture in Veterans organizations, and even made a video of his experiences, which at one point aired on national television. It must have come very hard, but he made it his mission, to ensure that the experiences of those who kept freedom alive were not forgotten.

Likewise, International Holocaust Remembrance Day was established, in 1996, on this, the day of Norm’s birth. It was a fact that gave him great satisfaction, though like the gentleman he was, IHRD became more important to the day, than his own birthday. That this remembrance has continued, despite the noise and hasty judgement heaped upon all Jews, for the actions of a relative few among them, would be a point of pride, for Norm, Ruth and Penny, were they here among us still. He would fulminate, as only he could, against all those he saw as perpetrators of injustice.

I was all too glad to have been able to help a stranger in distress, to help finish a good friend’s move, earlier in the day and to give due homage to a great man. Let us never forget the Shoah!

Rain and Heartshine

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December 23, 2023- Whilst drumming under a canopy, last night, our little circle felt drips, then trickles and after a bit, the maintenance volunteer announced that water was pooling on the canopy. Mindful of the safety hazard, as well as the discomfort of being showered, we moved under the wooden-roofed porch of the small ”omnivore’s” restaurant, at Kelly’s Cottage Ranch. (The other eatery here is a vegan establishment.) I thought of the old Three Dog Night song, “Never Been to Spain”, written by Hoyt Axton,and added my own lyric to its musing: ”Well, I’ve never been to Woodstock, but I’m here at Kelly’s Cottage…”

Drum and Didge circle, “Reconnecting the Soul”, at Kelly’s Cottage Ranch, Tolleson

Some of us then adjourned to the basement of the Main House, for a Cacao Ceremony, which I described in the last post. Here is a photo of that scene.

“(Hu)Man Cave”, Main House at Kelly’s Cottage Ranch, Tolleson

I turned in, upstairs in Main House, making a little sleeping space for myself, behind a couch in the living room. The lights stayed on, as a gamer was in his element, on the couch, and the vegan chef was prepping his breakfast fare. Being me means going with the flow, so with a blanket covering head to toe, I drifted off.

This morning came, quietly, as non-work mornings do. I found that the ranch is close to the foot of South Mountain, Phoenix’s great southern boundary of old. (It’s been circumvented, and surrounded, by the spreading community), still retaining its majesty.

South Mountain, from Kelly’s Cottage Ranch, Tolleson
South Mountain, from Kelly’s Cottage Ranch, Tolleson
Kelly’s Cottage Ranch, in daylight.

After helping the “Man Cave” ( I call it Human Cave.) crew move some furniture around, I headed back up to Prescott, so as to stop in at Zeke’s, for an early lunch and to wish the ladies a Merry Christmas. Then, it was over to Farmers Market, for quick grocery shopping and helping to put the tents, weights and furniture away. Lots of hugs came today, including from a couple I hadn’t seen in over a year. I found out why they had been distant: Child # 6 was in Mama’s arms, serene and already cautious about strangers-at four months. Wishing one and all a Merry Christmas, we finished breakdown at 2:10, and I promised to be back for the New Year’s Eve day market.

This evening was spent at Rafter Eleven, listening to renditions of several meaningful tunes, including back-to-back love songs- Lonestar’s “Baby, I’m Amazed by You” and Garth Brooks’ “The Dance”. The first reflects how I feel towards someone now and the second, always evocative of Penny and our time together. Of course, back when the first song was released, I was definitely amazed by her. It was 1999, and we had every reason to think our time together had years to go. Once the music was done, I wished Dawn, her daughters and the baristas Merry Christmas, and a safe holiday week and back to Home Base it was.

It’s foggy tonight, and very dark. Coming out of a store, after picking up my last holiday gift, it took a while to find my car, in the fog and darkness. The Google Maps application was no help, just going around in a circle-upon which the spirits took over , and guided me to Sportage, in seconds flat. All ends well with their assistance.

Perspectives

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December 16, 2023- From where I was sitting, the painted scene could have been either looking downwards, towards the ocean, with a maelstrom in the middle or looking upwards, towards the cloudy sky, with a swirling snow cloud in its midst. When I got closer, it was the latter that was being portrayed. 

This was my first visit back to Raven Cafe at night, since the kerfuffle with a pair of disquiet people, in mid-November. Tonight, there was a sparse crowd, though Jillian Bessett and Chris Callahan, from Tucson, gave spirited and engaging renditions of both their original songs and covers of tunes by Johnny Cash, Kris Kristofferson and Big Joe Williams. It was peaceful. Before that, I had been in Rafter Eleven, enjoying Mike Lopez, of local favourites The Bourbon Knights, doing a solo set of covers. This was also delivered to a small audience. It’s always peaceful at Rafter.

I pondered, in the relative calm, how my own perspectives on life have changed, in the past decade. The clouds in the painting brought to mind how I was in fog, ten years ago-especially in the summer. A pair of voices of reason brought me gently down to terra firma. One of those voices was that of my spirit guide, who had departed this life two years prior. The other was that of the object of my misguided attention. After bouncing around a few more times, over the ensuing twelve months, I came back to Earth, by way of western Europe and Hawai’i, then strode a path alone-but with dozens, nay hundreds, of new friends.

My view has changed again, and with the encouragement of both human and spirit friends, the path to connecting with a precious and beautiful soul has begun. This time, there is no fog and my perspective is clear. This time, I go one step at a time.

The Blue-Leafed Vase

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December 9, 2023- “Now, it seems to me some fine things have been laid upon your table, but you only want the things you can’t get.”-Don Henley and Glenn Frey, “Desperado“.

Two ladies, looking like twins, focused their attention on the titular vessel, and the fresh-cut flowers within. The crystalline surface, and the shimmering blue leaves, take up a small space on the bar at Rafter 11, yet for those ten minutes, the vase dominated the room. A fine singer, named Duane, was belting out covers of songs from the ’50s (Fly Me to The Moon) to the 2000s (Nothing Compares 2 U), yet for that brief time, his efforts were background noise.

The ladies, who were sitting at the bar with my friend, Harry, said they had adopted the older gentleman-a fine thing, as he thrives on the friendships the rest of us regulars offer him at Rafter. Turns out, they themselves have been best friends for 35 years, which they said in response to my observing that they looked like twins. Proximity can rub similarity off on people- something Penny noted, years ago, when we started to ape one another’s habits and proclivities. These ladies were both bleach blondes and about the same height. They dressed just differently enough from one another to be distinctive, and there was enough difference in their facial features to hint at fraternal, rather than identical, twinship. As it happened, though, they were each from a different coast.

When they left, my attention went back to Duane’s music, especially as his vocals pretty much drowned out anything Harry was trying to convey. My older friend left, as he was feeling the day was spent. Duane sang several songs that brought thoughts of my new friend, far away, but ever in my heart and mind. Desperado was among them.

That raised the thoughts of gratitude-or its opposite. I am very much immersed in the former: I have been blessed, a thousand times or more, by all the friends who have come into my life, especially since 2011, and before that, by the woman who gave the best years of her life to me, and whose spirit still spurs me on. There are women and men fifty and older, who are like siblings. There are younger adults, from older teens to forty-somethings, who are like my beloved children. One and all, no one is going to hurt or impugn any of them, in my presence, without a swift rejoinder. A few women from the first group have expressed romantic love for me, and while I haven’t felt the same towards them, their well-being is of high importance.

I am grateful for all the fine things that have been laid upon my table-daily experiences, far and wide as well as local; vivid and exciting, as well as quiet and mundane. I am grateful for the challenges, which have led to refinement of some rough edges. I am grateful for the first that was laid upon my table-the deep love of supremely committed parents and the sibling love that has branched from that. I am grateful that the child we raised is a full-grown, clear-headed man, and happily-married. Now, I am grateful for the friendship of a lady far away, and all the encouragement I feel from the small coterie to which she belongs.

We’ll see where it leads.

No Time to Be Idle

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December 2, 2023- It was disconcerting to get news of an earthquake, off the Philippine island of Mindanao, when I arrived back at HB, from a long day of service activities and visits with friends. There are one or two people for whom I care deeply, who are originally from Mindanao, the southernmost large island of the archipelago, and who now live in the Manila area. Hopefully, their family members, and everyone else, are safe.

I admit to a certain restlessness of spirit, mainly because as I look about me, there is so much that needs doing. At Farmers Market, this afternoon, two market administrators and the compost project worker, all friends of mine, were left to break down the apparati, at closing. I was able to free them of this, so they could do their primary tasks. I give thanks to the Creator, for continued strength-for as long as that strength lasts, and I can continue to be physically -as well as mentally,useful.

It was also a good day for visiting-one of my best friends, who has a market stall; the Slow Food-Prescott group, for part of a planning session, and sharing a box of Medjool dates that I had been given; and another friend, whose small restaurant, Rafter Eleven, has been one of the music venues I frequent on Friday or Saturday evenings.


Now I can wind down, and chalk the day up as successful.

Wildness and Woolery

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September 30, 2023- The duo paid no mind to the wind that, off and on, gusted through the patio and blew a paper, a napkin or a ball cap away from its owner. The Bourbon Knights, at least the two remaining members, were too busy cranking out solid, vintage rock, to pay attention to such a mundane phenom as wind.

Their preference was playing the classic tunes of The Who, and when they got into the late riffs on “Baba O’Riley”, I half expected to see one of them break into an imitation of Pete Townshend’s Kazotsky kick. Alas, too much of their signature drink had found its way down their gullets, and they were content with their musical offerings, which remained solid. They also ranged from Stevie Nicks to Tom Petty.

This was the wild part of the evening at Rafter Eleven, where I went to close out the bittersweet month of September. Today would have been Penny’s 69th birthday, and true to form, not only one, but two Baha’i events got my attention, back to back. The Worldwide Celebration of Unity, of which I have written before, has taken its place in my Saturday morning routine. Only when I am not in a place where WiFi is accessible, do I beg off the task of co-hosting. The other event, which followed straightaway, was the annual Unit Convention, where Baha’is living in a designated area meet to elect a delegate to the National Convention, set for the following Spring, and consult about issues of import to the region and to the national community. I feel fortunate that the first event was able to be held at the Convention site, courtesy of the electoral tellers, who let me use their meeting room. Penny’s spirit, and my other ethereal guides, see to it that what needs to be done, finds a way.

A woolery is a place where the heavy cloth may be spun, carded and woven into the heavy cloth that is so comforting in cold weather. Our spiritual woolery is the Source of the guidance that comes from following those Spiritual Teachings that afford us protection, in the cold of challenges, tests and setbacks that are so commonly experienced in this life. So it was, both physically and emotionally chilly, at different times today, giving me reason to wear a woolen jacket, given me as a thank-you, by a once homeless man, who I helped for a time, nine years ago-and to seek solace in the Teachings of Baha’u’llah, when feeling the annoyance of people I normally help on Saturdays, who were left on their own today.

The day, and the month, ended well though. Even the country got a breather, from the political clashes that have played out, these past several weeks.

Here, for the curious, are The Who, and “Baba O’Riley”, though sans Kazotsky.

Style and Substance

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August 25, 2023- The little boy greeted me, in late morning, with a warm hug. The angry woman, later in the evening, with much the opposite.

Like so many days, this one began light and airy-and ended with a thud. I woke, sensing that the energy around me was shifting in a positive direction and that, in advance of the journey that begins at the end of next week, my path in what remains to be done here in the meantime would be free of obstacles. The work day reflected that, with the children energetic and cooperative, and my colleagues just happy to see another Friday, though they do enjoy their work. Everyone likes a rest, or change of pace, after a week at a job well done.

I visited Rafter Eleven, and was treated like a king-an extra mocha java was delivered to my table, as a token of appreciation for consistent support of this marvelous enterprise, over the bottom of the past eight years. A little bee was also attracted to my light meal, and to the drink, eventually finding its way to the bottom of the glass. Unfortunately, the poor animal perished from the still icy condition of the vessel-or maybe from the caffeine.

After leaving my friend’s establishment, I chose to join an in-person meeting, instead of going back to Home Base and signing onto Zoom. The hosts and the presenter were congenial, and the information quite illuminating. Not everyone was glad to see me however, and after a fashion, I found it best to excuse myself and head out-easy enough to do, as it had been a long, if lovely, day up to that point-and I needed rest.

There have been, every so often, people in my life who do not take kindly to my manner of speech or style of explanation. I try to learn what I can from such a person, for a time, and if it makes me more well-rounded or expands my knowledge, so much the better. Style, however, tends to reflect the substance of a soul. An angry, wounded soul will be abrupt, castigating and intolerant. I have not done well, in the presence of such people and this evening was no exception.

For my part, I know that I do not think well on my feet at the end of the day-and frequently, I do not engage well in debate, even when rested. This means nothing to the disquiet person, and is often viewed by them as an excuse. The whole trigger this evening was my statement that I like to back up my comments with the words of Baha’u’llah or ‘Abdu’l-Baha, not as a proselytizing mechanism or as a substitute for good deeds, but as the glue that holds my own words and deeds together. That led to an outburst of anger, and I chose to leave, rather than exacerbate the situation.

For a time, once back in the apartment, I pondered whether this is an indication that my time here in this community is getting short, that maybe the bloom is off the rose and I need to move on. The counter to that, I know, is that the part of myself that triggers anger in disquiet people will only spark the same, at the next place, if I move along. It’s better to keep this Home Base for now, get my journeys done in September and October, and resume work here from November through mid-May.

With that, I am headed to sleep, and hope for a peaceful weekend.

True Unity

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July 14, 2023- As my dinner companions and I were standing at the register, preparing to pay for our respective meals, the man in front of us lost his equilibrium and fell, face down, on the floor. The wait staff, chef and the three of us focused on him, immediately, and between three of us, were able to get him up slowly and safely, onto a low chair. Chef called the emergency operator and EMTs were on site within five minutes. Our nonagenarian friend was still a bit woozy from the heat, and likely was dehydrated. Thankfully, he didn’t appear to have any broken bones, but only x-rays and a night’s observation at hospital will determine for sure. I will check with Rafter Eleven tomorrow, and get an update. Unity of action likely kept things from getting worse.

Earlier today, as I was preparing to go downtown and purchase gifts for the three children whose families I will see, during the upcoming journey to the Northwest and western Nevada, I noticed my landlord had a trunk filled with bags of cement. As my upper body strength is robust, so long as I also lift with my legs, I offered to help him get them into his wheelbarrow. Although we are the same age, he told me it would not be right, that I was too old and would get hurt. So, he wanted to do it all himself and would not let me so much as lift one bag. I have not seen him this evening and so alerted his family. That makes a second matter to update, tomorrow. Unity of action could have avoided whatever trouble he might have caused himself.

A father/daughter team presented this evening, via Zoom, on the subject of True Unity. It was defined as that unity of purpose and action that takes place despite differences of opinion and temperament. It was noted that various groups of like-minded people have gathered together, from time immemorial, only to fall apart or fade away, once differences of opinion led to estrangement. Countering this phenomenon takes unity of heart, as well as detachment from opinion and temperament.

My father taught that everyone deserves respect, inherently, regardless of outward opinions expressed. If they hurt others or committed mayhem, they deserved punishment, but that was for society, through the government, to exercise. We, as individuals, were never to take justice into our own hands. Baha’i teachings say the same thing. True Unity, then, leaves justice to the institutions set aside for that purpose, and focuses on building the moral and social foundations that will, in time, obviate the inclination towards criminal behaviour.

No one, in the Golden Age of mankind, will be left out.