The Road to Diamond, Day 360: Love and Mercy

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November 22, 2025- His voice cracking, and eyes starting to well, R stopped and recovered himself, then continued on with his account of the past five months, since I saw him last. R is one of the friends I will miss after leaving Prescott. He and his wife were among the first to welcome me, in 2011. Their restaurant is one of the mainstays of my life here, once a week, for breakfast or lunch. The shenanigans of the staff or of the locals that sit at the counter are always a hoot. I listened with rapt attention and reflective comments, as R filled me in on his so far successful fight for life. I want to see people win those kinds of battles.

Getting back to Home Base I, I arranged for the delivery of a piece of furniture that I have had re-upholstered. It had been in almost too sorry a condition to even invite people over. Now, it is in beautiful shape and I will be proud to hand it off to someone who needs a nice piece of furniture for their living room. As it happened, the delivery man’s schedule conflicted with my usual stint at Farmers Market, but as my cosmic advisor said of today-“It is a day to go with the flow, when life interrupts routine.” Delivery man and his helper were meticulous in bringing the piece in and getting it in place. They took their time folding their blankets and putting everything back in place.

I went to Farmers Market, anyway, and finding the crew dealing with a long line of vendors, I took care of cleaning and putting away the folding chairs and tables, then made headway in taking down at least some of the tents. It was then time for Baha’i Feast, so I left the nonetheless grateful crew, who by that time were finished with the vendors.

Feast was a cozy affair. We had our devotions and talked of community matters, then planned next month’s activities and enjoyed refreshments. This little community is also a group of people I will miss, having collaborated with them continuously for fourteen years, and having known many of them from our residence here in 1992 and 2000-01. The Baha’i Faith has only been an impetus for my positive growth as a human being.

Finally, I spent the evening at Raven Cafe, enjoying a light dinner and the music of a favourite local band, The Cheektones. Don and the boys have a knack for getting people up an dancing. I occupied an old wooden chair and had the company of a few friends of the band. After about 1 1/2 hours of bouncing in my seat, I got up and joined the dancing to the last two songs. Before I did so, the guys played a song that summed up today, and many days in my life: “Love and Mercy”, the Brian Wilson song from 1988. Here is an earlier performance by The Cheektones, from Prescott’s Summer Music on the Square series.

This is the last of my “two posts a day”, game of catch-up on this blog site. It has been sometimes a challenge, to find a theme for a given day, but from my readership, it seems there are plenty of you who identified with at least some of what has happened here, since my return from Europe.

Life is sweet.

The Road to Diamond, Day 45: Seniorhood

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January 12, 2025- Two men, about my age hung around me last night, at The Raven, as a diverse crowd of us took in a concert by CheekTones, one of Prescott’s premier bands. Don Cheek and three or four bandmates have been rocking various houses for about twelve years now. They invariably pack whatever establishment they’re in, to a great measure because they can hold a tune for six or seven minutes-sometimes longer.

At any rate, one of my age mates is given to want to have conversations, while the band is playing. That doesn’t work too well at a CheekTones gig, and he was visibly frustrated, both with me and with the couple whose table he was sharing. in a mild bit of projection, he asked me if I was having fun. I was, actually, especially when the band was in full roar. The other gentleman, who lives just up the street from Raven, comes in and either stands with other people his age or takes the wooden chair by the house piano. He rarely speaks to anyone, but likes to hear CheekTones and one or two other bands. If I manage to get a table, I am glad to share it with whoever needs a seat. Life is too short for anything less. It’s hard on a night like that, to actually get a seat, but I did, when a wary, guarded woman who had been sitting by herself got up and left. By then, the silent man had also left, otherwise, he could have joined me.

I mention all this, in consideration of my being in the middle third of my eighth decade on this blue planet. Years ago, a long-time acquaintance, then in his early nineties, sported a bumper sticker on his SUV: “Aging-if it’s not your issue now, it will be.” At the time, aging was my issue only in regard to my in-laws, who were in their mid-eighties and my mother, in her late seventies. My primary issue then was adult care of a middle-aged disabled person, my wife. Children’s issues were important, too, but secondary.

I have, however, always recognized the import of the matter. Being the oldest of four surviving siblings, every year I live is also a beacon of hope for my sister and brothers. Besides, I agree with someone who remarked this morning at breakfast: “I love getting older.” Before the brickbats start flying, let me say that I enjoyed being a child and a teenager, and being in my 30s and 40s; 20s and 50s, not so much, but much of that was on me.

It helps that I have feelings for someone, who I will see again soon. It helps that I have a strong network of friends and a loving family. Mostly, though, I have come to be a self-contained unit, comfortable in my own skin. Mom taught us that, by her own example. She liked being with people, but when alone, she was quite happy. Love from others cannot really mean anything, without a healthy self-love.

So, despite the aches and pains which I see around me, and which may someday hit closer to home, I am good with seniorhood.

The Road to Diamond, Day 15: Hats and Antlers

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December 13, 2024- It was Acker Night, tonight, in downtown Prescott. This is an annual fund drive for Music Education, supporting programs in everything from dance to choral singing and a jazz quartet. The second Friday in December is thus an especially heartwarming night, the chill air aside.

I walked around downtown, stopping first at American Legion Post 6, to listen to a few songs by a couple of Post members and starting my “rounds” of contributions to the fund. After being admonished that “downtown is a long way”(It is a half mile from the Post to Courthouse Square), I walked down the hill. As long as I still can manage, walking is a joy. I feel for those who no longer can, though.

In a small alcove, at Lifeways Book Store, a bilingual singer offered several tunes with a Southwest flavour. In his rendition of Ray Charles’ “Seven Spanish Angels”, he sang both the English and Spanish lyrics. The singer told of his having studied the songs in his repertoire, and having “corrected” Mr. Charles’s Spanish translation-to make it flow better. Since he lived and worked for a time in Veracruz, I figured he knew what he was doing.

I walked the south side of the Square for a bit, listening to a choral group doing Christmas carols, then walking around to the north side, where a dance ensemble was doing a “Rockette-style line dance, to Kay Starr’s “The Man With The Bag”. A couple of beginner dance groups followed with “Silent Night” and “White Christmas”.

Finally, it was off to Raven Cafe and a bowl of cream of mushroom soup, which soothed whatever remnants I had of Wednesday night’s stomach flu. The featured artist for the evening, Kendra Vonderheide, gave a solid hour of mostly original tunes, saying that these were her way of releasing pent-up energy, after a three-hour drive from her hometown of Bisbee. Kendra complimented those who wore Santa hats and reindeer antlers. Arizona’s “Christmas City” would offer no less. It was another fabulous step forward for music education in our area.

Here is Ray Charles, with Willie Nelson, performing “Seven Spanish Angels”.

Little Bubbles Burst

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November 15, 2024- The young boy was at the end of his rope, sitting with an otherwise all-adult crowd, listening to songs not intended for his ears, because his mother had no choice other than to bring him along. Chairs were strung together, he laid down on them and managed to sleep for 30 minutes or so. The singer of ribald tunes noticed and sheepishly apologized, after his collaborator in the artists’ nook gave him The Look. The fare was noticeably more family friendly afterward. One little bubble got burst.

Not long ago, a woman frantically berated her co-worker for having stated that she voted a conservative slate, up and down ballot, almost two weeks ago. “You’re Mexican! Don’t you care that these guys are going to throw us all in private prison!!” The chastised one looked up and said, “Remember Vicente Fox? Adolfo Lopez Mateos? Besides, you and I are native born U.S. citizens. We need to be safe from the sicarios. The tough guys will do that for us.” Neither bubble was burst, by this conversation, but at least it happened.

The doctors, in a small urban hospital, on an island far to the northeast, routinely dismissed women who came to them with chronic pain. The issues presented seemed too “intractable”. Problems are supposed to just go away, when one is overburdened by being part of a short staff. That all stopped, when one of the “frequent flyers” up and died-from the cancer that was missed. The bubble of preconceived notions was burst, and loudly.

Our mental bubbles seem to keep us safe; until they don’t.

Pause, and Reflect

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November 8, 2024- The ice in her words was palpable and almost debilitating. They seemed to have come out of nowhere, but the message was unmistakable. So I told her that her wishes will always be respected.

I have fallen deeply in love with only two women who were not responsible for my birth and upbringing. One gave me the best years of her life, and I gave back, to the best of my ability. It was hard to let her go, at the end, and for two years afterward, I even saw her in people I barely knew-leaving temporary wreckage in my wake. We all survived and recovered, and I thank dear Penny’s spirit for my survival.

I did not see the second one coming, but little more than a year ago, there she was. I had not gone to that place on the far side of the Pacific to find a wife, but I was smitten from the moment she walked in the room. A year’s worth of messages followed and I at least got to take her on a couple of daytime dates, on my last visit. I was prepared to move to that place, and relinquish all that I had gathered here-Home Base, vehicle and other possessions, and to bid farewell to so many friends. I only wanted to be with her, not out of fantasy or obsession, but out of a deep love.

I did not see the end coming, until the messages came this morning-First, a disembodied asexual voice: “It’s over”; then the words, discouraging me from continuing with my move and someone else’s message: “You’d only be in her way”. Family and friends here have warned me not to get too wrapped up in my feelings. They know that there are too many things that can go wrong-in a relationship that is hobbled by time, distance and cultural differences. I know that, too, and it takes some of the sting out of what happened this morning.

In the end, I had four different obligations-each relatively minor, but needing attention, nonetheless. So, I got myself together, went to Bellemont Baha’i School and checked the winterization process-completed; went to two different VA offices and called a third, regarding the discrepancy with one of my health care provider’s records; returned a call from one of the potential movers to the intended country and will get a quote from them next week, for good measure and took care of a bill that I had spaced out, last week. This evening, friends hugged me and said it was too bad. Music, at a small house party and at the Raven Cafe, helped to further lighten my mood.

It was a nice run, though, and it restored my self-confidence, even if it turned out too good to be true. I will love K forever, and life will go on.

The Raven Head Cloud

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August 9, 2024- It placed, almost majestically, peaking out from a bank of stratocumulus this evening, as I drove towards Home Base I, after a visit to Rafter Eleven. Clouds that seem to rise out of others or to rest upon them, are essentially floating on air currents, the way people and animals can float on a large body of water. The Raven Head had a dark, cumulonimbus colour, while the cloud bank, as stated, was stratocumulus.

Ravens are a symbol of connection between material and spiritual, and are somewhat revered by those of us who appreciate intelligent animals with strong recall abilities. The Raven is also the name of one of our most popular live music locations, here in Prescott. So, I took the sight as a sign that the next few days will be safe and productive, as well as spiritually sound. That is well and good, as I will be headed to Scottsdale, early tomorrow morning and could use a problem-free I-17, as far as New River, where I could take a shortcut over to Scottsdale Baha’i Center.

Today was a good day for organizing thoughts and papers, in advance of tomorrow’s facilitation of a breakout session that is centered on advanced applications of spiritual knowledge to social issues. That is not as daunting as it sounds, and we only have 2 sessions of 90-minutes each. Thus, we will be just scratching the surface, as a raven scratches the surface of the soil, looking for hidden nuggets of carrion, or other sustenance.

I was encouraged by the signs that a friend here is recovering from a serious bout of illness. It was also a good day for me, exercise-wise. The local raven quoth “Evermore”. I enjoy being positive.

Much Ado at the Raven

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August 4, 2024- The troupe spent a refreshing amount of time on stage dancing to an acoustic rendering of William Shakespeare’s ditty from “Much Ado About Nothing”. They sang it, while dancing, and the audience joined in. Such was the production of the comedy, by the troupe calling themselves, Halfwit Shakespeare. They were hardly half-witted, and absolutely delightful. Admission was free, with gratuities asked for the players as a group.

“Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more.

    Men were deceivers ever,

One foot in sea, and one on shore,

    To one thing constant never.

Then sigh not so, but let them go,

    And be you blithe and bonny,

Converting all your sounds of woe

    Into hey nonny, nonny.

Sing no more ditties, sing no more

    Of dumps so dull and heavy.

The fraud of men was ever so

    Since summer first was leafy.

Then sigh not so, but let them go,

    And be you blithe and bonny,

Converting all your sounds of woe

    Into hey, nonny, nonny.”-William Shakespeare

The play, for those unfamiliar with it, is a comedy that accents the ridiculous, and avoidable, damage to a person’s reputation from backbiting and gossip. These flaws are an almost ingrained part of the human psyche and, as with many flaws, derive from insecurity. The character assassins are called out, and given one chance to redeem themselves-which they do. Would that all such incidents of assault on character be so easily resolved and reversed.

We are probably due for another round of negative back-and-forth, in the ongoing election cycle-and there is a lot of angst about who is doing what, to wreak havoc on the economy. Backbiting, however, does next to nothing to actually solve matters of concern, and is actually worse than kicking the can down the road. As in the play, however, all that is dark will be brought to light.

It may be a nice temporary fix to stop, take a few deep breaths and, if it helps any, sing a song similar to Shakespeare’s ditty. Then, we can get back up, dust ourselves off and start all over again, as Nat King Cole once advised.

Eric Came Home

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July 30, 2024- The intrepid bicyclist said he’d taken eight days to make the trip from Tucson, to his former residence. He happens to be a paraplegic, with pretty solid looking steel prostheses. He told me a few stories about the stately eight room home, with two stone “horse quarters” on the property (which are rented out as apartments). He lived in one of the horse quarters, but was now just waiting for the property’s owner to show up, that he might spend a few days there. Eric had come home.

I am ever in awe of people who don’t let life’s mishaps deter them from going on. Most of us plan carefully and are having to make a modicum of adjustments in our daily and long-term activities. As long as we are careful with our health, things go on as normal. The presence of those who are “differently abled”, then , can be initially jarring, but also can serve to affirm the greater goodness of all that is here for us in this life. So, we watch the Paralympics and encourage those with artificial limbs, developmental challenges and loss of sight or hearing, to the best of our abilities.

Having lived with a woman who could no longer walk, and eventually, no longer move a muscle, I can say that the inherent worth of human beings never diminishes. The love we have for each other does not depend on physical presence, or even, as I am finding out, on proximity. Our souls are ever present, until the day they are carried by our spirits to a place just on the other side of a thin veil. Baha’u’llah said that the departed souls are “closer to you than your life vein.”. Penny was always able to communicate, to the time of her departure. So, in a more limited way, was my mother. They still do, from the other side.

When I came back along, after stopping in at Raven Cafe, Eric was settled in for the night. I wished him a safe evening. He replied that he was where he needed to be, and would stay right there. Indeed, we are each, at any given moment, where we need to be.

Camp Notes, Day 8

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June 14, 2024- The little girl ruled the room, as soon as she entered, a smile from ear to ear, dancing with her mother and an aunt, as her surrogate grandfather was rambunctiously playing the keyboards and singing “God Bless The Whole World”, to the tune of “God Bless America”. This was the reason I pulled self together and walked down to the Raven Cafe, this evening, after an exhausting final day of camp. It is seldom, if ever, that I miss a Jonathan Best concert, when I am at Home Base. The man is energizing and affirms every loving soul-like his soul daughter’s child, his former neighbour and me.

Earlier, the campers got themselves together and were out of Bellemont, by 12:30. The kitchen clean-up, including the refrigerator’s sort-out, took another 2 hours. It was done, though, and I was out of the camp by 3. A few hours later, the mail had been picked up and Sportage washed. A Zoom devotional boosted me into the evening and I was okay to go to Raven and focus my attention mostly on a friend who has been suffering, of late.

By 10:30, the energy supply was fading and I bid my younger friend adieu, having drawn out from her a hopeful game plan that involves her connecting with a kindred spirit, in another part of the world, next year. I walked back to Home Base, in peace. Thoughts of my own kindred spirit, in another part of the world, also get me to the end of a day.

Tomorrow will be busy, with some fence-mending, but without the burden of manning a Red Cross shelter, as the problem fire has been put out. I will be glad to man a booth, put away equipment at Farmers Market and reconnect with people from whom I have been estranged, these past two years.

The Lion Roars Elsewhere

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March 1, 2024- The sweet older lady carried her box filled with Bell jars out of the small health food convenience market, as I held the door. A few minutes later, as I approached the register with my small purchase, she burst back through the door, still holding her box of jars. As I hung back from the register, the lady told the cashier about her morning. She had encountered a couple, in her gated community, who were going about the neighbourhood, visiting shut-ins and offering Holy Communion wafers to them. When she encountered the couple again, at a local fast food restaurant, she bought them lunch. That was a story worth waiting for!

The old saw states: “March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb.” Lamb-like weather is here for a few days, whilst in the Panhandle region of north Texas and northwest Oklahoma, a furious spate of wildfires, tempered briefly by a wimpy snow squall, has sundered about five communities, leaving wreckage reminiscent of Paradise, CA and Lahaina, HI in their wake. Whether we look at this still extant destruction and blame climate change or over-development- or a mix of the two, the scenes are heartbreaking. No amount of blame can restore what has been lost. Only resolve, and united action, can bring about recovery.

The same is true, for entirely different reasons, as a lion of a different sort roars in Gaza. No matter one’s politics, or religious persuasion, the slaughter of innocents arising from the wanton disregard, by two armies, for human life cannot pass without condemnation. Both armies should stand down-and let both Jewish and Arab people find a common path to resilience. At this point, it doesn’t matter who started it. No community on Earth deserves to be destroyed by the rapacity of others.

This evening, I made my way down to Raven Cafe, for another great performance by local favourites, Scandalous Hands. There was no room to sit, initially, yet as luck would have it, a couple vacated their table, just as I was getting a cup of coffee from the self-service urn. I moved towards the table and spotted another couple who seemed to want to sit. We agreed to share the table, and it turned out they were first time visitors to Prescott. I would have gladly shared the table, anyway, but first impressions matter. They greatly enjoyed Scandalous’ music, and even got up to dance a few times. I gave them a few pointers for activities and music venues, over the next two days they are here, and some other information about the Southwest, as this is their first time in the region.

March is off to a benign start here, though it would only take an errant spark and a gust of wind, to turn the tables. My prayers and positive thoughts, for Texas, Oklahoma, Gaza and so many other places which don’t have the calmness, the serenity or even the festive mood that Prescott enjoys, as March begins.