tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25665368606905555042024-03-14T01:42:43.993-07:00On the Road AgainDr Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00841141808556194649noreply@blogger.comBlogger68125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2566536860690555504.post-39174220697115133742021-02-02T17:43:00.000-08:002021-02-02T17:43:06.519-08:00Expanding – Moving – Changing<p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"> Friends and Readers.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">We - the proverbial we - trying to collate and organize things better, have copied all of our blogs from several years to our personal website at </span><a href="http://theportableschool.com/Blogs/DrBobsWalkBlogs.html" style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">http://theportableschool.com/Blogs/DrBobsWalkBlogs.html</a><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"> </span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">We accomplished this early in 2021. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Centralizing things makes for ease of the writer and hopefully for the reader. Perusing the page noted above will better explain the context and flow of blog-essays over the past years.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">We will return to blogging here when next <i>On the Road Again.</i> We cannot predict for sure when that will occur especially with the pandemic lingering on.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">We are always open to comments here or via email at <i>theportableschool dot gmail dot com.</i></span></p><p><i><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Good Day to you, </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Dr. Bob and Friends</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p>Dr Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00841141808556194649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2566536860690555504.post-12771763597193718792019-02-14T11:57:00.000-08:002019-02-14T11:57:21.801-08:00Play It Again, Spear Shaker
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">The idea that, “All the world is a stage,” is attributed to Wm. Shakespeare.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">But, you might be interested to know that Shakespeare was the pen name of Sir Francis Bacon. The stage was for centuries looked down upon by many, often the upper class. While holding a number of positions in the government of Elizabeth I, Bacon had to be careful about how and where he exposed himself to the public.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">At the same time, he had early in life decided to take on “all knowledge as my province.” Numerous works flowed from his pen while he helped shape the English language along the way. But, writing dozens of plays and sonnets in the name of Shakespeare may have contributed more to posterity than most of his other explorations.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Yes, there was a William Shakespeare. An actor who had traveled little in his life and died penniless with a handful of books in his home. How and if Bacon ever interacted with him in real life is not known? We do know that many thinkers believe that that William Shakespeare was for many reasons incapable of producing the works put out in his name. Even upon modest research, it appears that Francis Bacon is the Real Shakespeare.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The works attributed to the name of the “Bard of Avon” cover broad arenas of life in England and the Continent even back to the days of Julius Caesar. That stage was wide and spacious touching on the lives of numerous real and imagined kings and commoners in tragedies and comedies. What “Shakespeare” has put before theater for four hundred years mimics much of our own lives.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">How can that be? Ah, because “All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances. And one may in his time play many parts. His acts being seven ages.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">For the audiences of his day and ours, the author wrote of those ages being infant, schoolboy, lover, soldier, justice, elder, and dotard.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">But, much more can be inferred from this quote from <i>As You Like It</i> than you might think. It may be viewed from beyond the perspective of one lifetime, if we dare. Dare we?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Seven ages refer in a broader sense to the rounds of life through which humanity passes in the course of evolution. Humanity as a whole passes through great stages like those from infant to dotard. The Ageless Wisdom teaches that we are in the fourth round of the seven which all cover eons of time. Within this fourth round, humans presently compose what is called the Aryan Race [not to be confused with the Aryans which the Nazis considered themselves]. This fifth race – which is intended to perfect the principle of mind – of our round was preceded by the Atlantean fourth race. It will be superseded in coming millennia by a sixth Race which will be advanced as far beyond our own as we have passed the Atlanteans. Can you imagine that?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Heady stuff, you might say. There is more.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">In between the ages of one human lifetime and passages for whole races stand those individual lives through which each of us are obliged to pass. We all have our own seven ages and rounds stretched out over vast periods of history. This one lifetime spent largely in one land for sixty, seventy, eighty years in one body is like a pearl on a great chain. Yet, it makes for a wondrous and awesome aperture through which to look for those with the eyes to see or the hearts to imagine.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Many are led to believe that we will pass from this one life – however imperfect our expression has been in it – to sit in heaven on a cloud for eternity. Such is hardly the case. We are told, even in Christian scripture, that “ye are gods” and enjoined to “be perfect as the Father in heaven.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Well, that sounds like a tall order for all of us and especially for those who can barely balance a checkbook or even hold a job in order to pay a bill. But, such is the case as in the larger scheme of things each soul living through one [or part of one] of those ages in his/her present lifetime: infant, schoolboy, lover, soldier, justice, elder, and dotard.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Let us dare to look, at least for moments, beyond this embodiment. And then, look forward to those ages which lie ahead. Along the way, let us also begin to do the “greater works” which we must eventually accomplish.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">PS. For readers with astrological inclinations, the horoscope of Sir Francis Bacon shows quite clearly that he was a “Spear Shaker.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">For another angle on the Spear Shaker, visit <a href="http://www.redicecreations.com/specialreports/2006/05may/spearshaker.html">http://www.redicecreations.com/specialreports/2006/05may/spearshaker.html</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><i>append comments below or send to theportableschool at gmail dot com</i></span></div>
<br />Dr Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00841141808556194649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2566536860690555504.post-5191560315264563262018-12-04T14:20:00.002-08:002018-12-06T13:08:42.554-08:00Law and Love - The Long and Winding Road<style type="text/css">
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">There are a whole lot of roads to travel in a lifetime as well as many attitudes we can carry along the way. Fortunate for all, even when we screw up miserably, there always seems to be a way out, an escape hatch, or a phone friend to lend a hand.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">These three <i>outs</i> have other names which will help to develop the premise of this post On the Road Again.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Believe it or not, Life is directed under the rule of Law. Every thing and every being is under close attention and care through this Law. Actually, many laws direct the flow of the Universe as they join together to satisfy the Great Law. Every jot and tittle must be fulfilled. What we sow, we must reap. Justice must be served. Karma must be met.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">If you are either unfamiliar or uncomfortable with the word Karma, replace it with a more western one like Cause and Effect, Divine Justice, Providence, Fate, Destiny. We all have to “pay the piper,” one way or another to arrive at the finish line - Heaven, Nirvana, Devachan.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Let’s be clear. The finish line for practically the whole of the human race is a long way off. Eons. These few years as John Doe or Joan Smith are just a link in the chain, a drop in the bucket, a step upon an almost endless journey. Even if we believe ourselves to be “saved.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I am reminded of a good friend named Rose Wise, an artist and do-gooder, who passed to the other side several years ago. Rose carried heavy loads in her life. Which she managed outwardly through her talents and energies, love and concerns.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">On one occasion, she bemoaned the burdens she carried. Rose went on to remark that she believed she had fulfilled her obligations and would not need to reincarnate again. I had to throw in. “Now, Rose. I don’t like to spoil the party. But, you said the same thing last time around. You will surely be back. Your work is not done. There is no end in sight and much work left to do.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">There is work to be done for ourselves and also to the fulfill the Law. God – the Creator – the Universal Force – has provided three over-arching means for all of us who need help to get to that finish line. Do remember, that destination is the same for us as for those who have “become perfect as the Father in Heaven.” We will all get there eventually, however advanced the goal may be.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Fortunately, we can look to Grace which balances and fulfills the Great Law of Love. Grace is achieved by three wonderful means for us to right wrongs, clear highways in the desert, and prepare the way. Our part in Grace varies from one means to the other.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-converted-space">George Michael sings The Beatles'</span></span><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;"> </span><i style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">The Long and Winding Road</i><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">• Grace through Giving.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Giving and Forgiving build good Karma. They represent the Law of Love which can do so much day-to-day in this dark world. Remembering that “God is Love,” we should realize that Love is all-inclusive and works in extraordinary ways. When we act through true Love, as exemplified in the Great Ones, we at the same time do ourselves favors.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Since we are part of a Great Self, doing unto others amounts to doing unto our own self. Good deeds help to neutralize, overcome many of the faults, misdeeds and “sins” we have done in our few decades walking the Earth. The more treasures we share, the more we lighten the weight even of karma created in past lives.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">When we share Love, especially to those who would misuse us, we are fulfilling the Greatest Commandment of all. To Love One Another. What wonders the world will express when we all express that simple but exalted state.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">In the meantime, each of us can at least try to live up to the Golden Rule. Let us be assured that when we do make such effort we will receive aid here and there and everywhere.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">• Grace through the overshadowing of the Holy Spirit.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Even though every human being is capable at times of giving that kind of Love, its source is beyond our little selves. In those moments, we seem to tune in to Things Greater Than Ourselves. We become channels for the ever-present Goodness seeking expression in the outer world.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">That experience can be made more frequent and magnified through conscious attempts to attune to God, the Higher Self, the Light Within. In other words, meditation.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Meditation is listening to God. Prayer to be talking to God. Would that we spend more time listening and less time making noise. We pass so much time in doing and experiencing, thinking and feeling, that most of us give little more than an hour a week on Sunday for aught else. Some, not even that much time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I am reminded of an experience from my days long ago when I pastored two small country churches in South Dakota. Early in my job, the chairman of the churches’ board called me aside. He said something like, “Robert, everybody is very pleased with your work and attitude, your preaching and visitations. But, one concern has arisen. That is the length of the Moments of Silence. Could you minimize them? The people don’t know what to do with themselves.” Silence seems to be relatively unknown and unwelcome in the modern age. Even in a church.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">But, silence and meditation – which are almost synonymous – are key to opening the gates to the Higher Self, the Inner World, the Kingdom. And to the wider world of Truth and Love. When we learn to quiet our own human beast, we can call forth the gift/s of the Spirit for the betterment of all – as well as for our selves.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">• Grace through reincarnation.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The third means to Grace is the great and wondrous gift of reincarnation. However short we fall from the goal, there is always another round. God gives us more opportunities than we may deserve. But, Forgiveness is one of Divinity’s greatest gifts and one of our most precious benefits.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">An old friend used to remind me that, “It’s all Practice.” Fortunately, we have endless chances to get things right. If we succeed in any moment, we can practice humility. If we fail, we get to try, try again.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">We are told to forgive our brother “seventy times seven,” which is surely a means to practice love. Just think how many times we have received that gift from Above. That seems to fit nicely with the idea that most of us require hundreds of lifetimes to achieve.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Let’s be cheered to realize that the way is open to all, regardless of our track records. We will all make it to the finish line. However long it takes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">• As we practice the Law of Love: “We are put on earth for a little space to learn to bear the beams of love.” (William Blake)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">• As we learn to be silent, meditate and listen for the still small voice: “Seek first the kingdom, and all these things will be added.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">• As we struggle along the pathways of life, there are always more opportunities: “In patience possess ye your soul.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>Share comments below or send to theportableschool at gmail dot com.</i></span>Dr Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00841141808556194649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2566536860690555504.post-26214594993092864772018-11-01T14:50:00.001-07:002018-11-01T14:50:14.736-07:00On the Road Again with Richard Dreyfuss and You
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<span style="font-size: large;">We all travel varied roads in our lifetimes. Some we enjoy, others we dread. Hopefully, we learn from them all.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">This writer has had the good fortune to cover thousands of miles on roads on foot during Cross Country Walks in recent history. Then he took a year off to walk Silently. He is still learning from the latter experience, in particular, and maybe more valuable lessons than his times Walking and Talking.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">For sundry reasons, he has decided to focus future posts on even more subtle ways to be On the Road Again. While thinking in that direction, he ran across an article originally published in RealClearPolitics.com about the actor Richard Dreyfuss.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">By the 1980s, Dreyfuss has had numerous successes in his career. But, success also brought him painful experiences. The actor was playing in real life the part of a “crazy man” and at times “low-down dirty dog” in the midst a bipolar life. Then, he flipped his Mercedes convertible while high on drugs. He believes that he survived the wreck thanks to a safety belt that he did not remember buckling.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Dreyfuss woke up in the hospital with the image of a young girl in his head. A year later, his daughter Emily was born. It was the child of the dream. He came to consider the whole extended episode as a “mystical experience.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Now closing on the age of 70, Dreyfuss admits to warming to the idea of reincarnation. “Isn’t it funny that God takes you and puts your through the unendurable, and then at the moment you have just begun to understand it and have some wisdom, it ends? I have this inner life which is vast and as large a the universe. I really like me. I hope I have another life. I hope I get another shot.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I want to assure Richard Dreyfuss and others that we “all get another shot.” I cannot prove my contention. For, I know next to nothing. But if there is anything of which I am convinced, that I KNOW, it is that I have been here before. Much of this lifetime has been “deja vu all over again.” The same for you, I suspect.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It is very hard to put such things into words. Maybe it is a bit like writing an obituary for someone. How can we synopsize a person’s lifetime in a few sentences? Even the best of obituaries are pale and paltry compared to the wonders of a human’s life.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">So too, to bring LIFETIMES to mind, to put them into words – intelligible to others – is quite a task. That I believe is because we humans, however advanced and intellectual we believe ourselves to be, have rather small brains, limited memories, and circumscribed minds. We often, very often, only see what we want to see. But, how great is the Universe? How large is our God?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Then, dare we to open to other lifetimes? Past and future?<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I have encountered people who fear the idea fiercely. Well, that could be the subject of a whole post.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">But for the moment, let us just settle on the evident Truth that all of life is cyclic: day and night, dark and light, good and ill, peace and turmoil, triumph and loss, coming and going. Ah, and coming again.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The rhythms of life are endless. And we are all part and parcel of them. Nothing is wasted in those cycles. The Universe is the Greatest Recycler of all. And, the GRU brings us back and back and back toward some Awesome Aim. I swear to it. It is one of the few things upon which I would bet my life.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">As Groucho Marx used to say, “You bet your life.” You can bet mine too. Here today, gone tomorrow, and back again down the road.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">You and me and Richard Dreyfuss.</span></div>
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<i>I invite you to return from time to time - On the Road Again - for brief vignettes on the second most wonderful gift of the Creator. That of Reincarnation. The first being Life itself.</i></div>
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<i>Direct comments to theportableschool at gmail dot com.</i></div>
<br />Dr Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00841141808556194649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2566536860690555504.post-11024361583812705532018-07-12T19:54:00.000-07:002018-07-12T19:54:40.971-07:00Life is Like a River<div class="p1">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Last post, I mentioned a couple ways to look at our existence. Ways which had been brought home to me by spending time rollin’ on the river. This time, the post is especially entwined with the rivers and oceans of the world and of life. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">• We humans are part of something greater than ourselves. The planet, the solar system, and greater. We are, know it or not, cells living within unimaginably greater beings. Gaia – The Earth and the Solar system for which we have no name and beyond.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">• Then, we have our own system of which we are “god” to trillions of cells and atoms. These cells and atoms are living beings, like ourselves at another turn of the spiral of life.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">If we dare imagine, every thing – all things – are alive. That may be a stretch for some. It is paradoxical since we have been so ingrained with the either/or of life and death.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Trying to put our worlds into perspective, I have come up with another way to look at things. I have borrowed the angle in part from modern physics.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">You see, the physicists have been debating for decades whether light is a wave or a particle. I don’t think they have come to a conclusion. Because sometimes light acts as a wave and other times as particle.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Well, Robert has concluded that human beings are similar. Sometimes, we act and appear as particles. And other times, as waves.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">This idea grew in my thinking while watching the Musselshell River roll by last summer as I sat on its banks most every day.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">We can think of the river, any river, or an ocean as a collection of drops or a flow of waves. Humans are like those drops and humanity like those waves.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">And within our form nature, we have all sorts of drops and particles and cells. And, they move in wave upon wave to maintain our existence.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">At the deepest level of our beingness, those particles and cells are simply energy. While all these appear like matter to our eyes, all of us – atoms to cells to tissues to humans to planets and beyond – are really simply energy. Einstein and the quantum physicists established or re-established that truth decades ago.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">If we could see the worlds as the Great Ones do, we would be thrilled to experience the intricacy, wonder and beauty of this universe in which we live. Even when we are standing still, we are – to those with eyes to see –<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>living, moving and changing constantly. Waves and particles of light within greater and greater ones.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Then, we can all the wonder of it all to other great experiences On the Road Again and Again. Go God!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Leave comments below or send to theportableschool at gmail dot com.</i></span><br />
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Dr Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00841141808556194649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2566536860690555504.post-2230056985108634422018-05-18T11:46:00.001-07:002018-05-18T11:46:47.051-07:00Rollin' on the River<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">During my Year of Silence, some of my best company was supplied at the banks of the Musselshell River. When weather permitted, I walked daily to the stream to sit at the foot of nearby trees. Thence, I watched the river run through. When it was warm enough, I even sat in the current and enjoyed the soak.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Previously, my cross-country walks taught me that access to water in most any form can be a real luxury. Furthermore, the breadth of nature began to unfold before me. We are sometimes amazed with man-made feats, but the wonders of nature can leave us speechless.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">A natural wonder I would like to comment on today is simply that we humans are vital parts of vast universes. For the moment, I will just suggest two universes now for your consideration drawing upon the benefit of analogies in line with the ancient dictum of As Above, So Below. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">• There is the one in which we are particles of much greater beings. Little do we recognize it as we separate and compartmentalize things, often distancing our selves - in daily focus - from those greater beings. It has been said that we are "Cells in the body of God." How true.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">We often think our selves alone and unconnected simply because of our limited vision. If we only had better "eye sight," we would be both reassured and astonished at how we are united through light (subtle energies) with the whole of creation</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">• Then, there are the worlds in which we are the greater beings. That to our own cells, tissues and organs. To the cells in our little fingers, we are like gods.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Unfortunately, we often don't even recognize such a relationship. Thus, we mistreat and abuse our own subjects of which we are the royal overlord.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Sitting next to a rollin' river can provide time and opportunity to help put such things in perspective.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Next time, we can consider the greater River of Life.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Best regards to you. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Comments welcomed here or to theportableschool at gmail dot com.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Robert</span></div>
Dr Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00841141808556194649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2566536860690555504.post-1118491851302721392018-03-05T17:35:00.002-08:002018-03-06T12:17:43.121-08:00Robert the Robot<style type="text/css">
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<span style="font-size: large;">In my last post, I commented about experiences with people following on my Year of Silence. I found them doing and saying the same things as they were many months, even years past. As if they were singing the same old song.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">On further reflection, I have to admit that I have found Robert “singing” the same old song. I have told myself repeatedly, “You didn’t learn your lesson.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Not long ago, I had made a vow to “Argue no more forever,” and find that I have in a few months broken it at least three times, depending on ...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Still, I will persist at trying to learn my lessons and some day be fully able to sing a new song.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Another reflection upon myself and others brings me to this point: I firmly believe that over the course of this lifetime - and also as the result of others - we create our own robots. They are our very selves. Our bodies, our actions, our feelings, and our thoughts have been programmed according to our past behaviors and involvements. We have been the programmers. Sometimes with the input of others - like family, friends, teachers, media, etc.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We act like computers and robots during much of our existence. We run on automatic far too often. At least, Robert the Robot does.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Stimulus applied. Response sent out.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Deprogramming and reprogramming are difficult tasks. It is hard to change the patterns we have set. Not impossible, but quite difficult.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I have been teaching myself to play the piano for over thirty years. A slow learner there, to be sure. But, I have found that very slowly, my practice has programmed into my body and being the ability to produce music. Sometimes quite sonorously.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The same sort of process, I believe, is involved in reprogramming our actions, feelings and thoughts.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> "Slow but sure wins the race."</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Robert may be a Robot. But one day, he will be and express himself more clearly, cordially, and correctly. For his own good and for the betterment of all. I wish you the same in your days and lifetimes ahead.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Comments are always welcome. Leave below or send to theportableschool@gmail.com</span></div>
<br />Dr Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00841141808556194649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2566536860690555504.post-39596581490233223582018-01-05T12:37:00.000-08:002018-01-05T12:37:32.909-08:00Old Dogs, New Tricks, and Lots of Cats<div class="zw-paragraph" data-doc-rid="4xwcw72a03fd96cea4362acf35e40c7d47090" data-tab-info="[{"leader":"0","id":"0","align":"0","point":"0.5in"},{"leader":"0","id":"1","align":"0","point":"1.0in"},{"leader":"0","id":"2","align":"0","point":"1.5in"},{"leader":"0","id":"3","align":"0","point":"2.0in"},{"leader":"0","id":"4","align":"0","point":"2.5in"},{"leader":"0","id":"5","align":"0","point":"3.0in"},{"leader":"0","id":"6","align":"0","point":"3.5in"},{"leader":"0","id":"7","align":"0","point":"4.0in"},{"leader":"0","id":"8","align":"0","point":"4.5in"},{"leader":"0","id":"9","align":"0","point":"5.0in"},{"leader":"0","id":"10","align":"0","point":"5.5in"},{"leader":"0","id":"11","align":"0","point":"6.0in"}]" data-tabpoints="[{"leader":"0","id":"0","align":"0","point":"0.5in"},{"leader":"0","id":"1","align":"0","point":"1.0in"},{"leader":"0","id":"2","align":"0","point":"1.5in"},{"leader":"0","id":"3","align":"0","point":"2.0in"},{"leader":"0","id":"4","align":"0","point":"2.5in"},{"leader":"0","id":"5","align":"0","point":"3.0in"},{"leader":"0","id":"6","align":"0","point":"3.5in"},{"leader":"0","id":"7","align":"0","point":"4.0in"},{"leader":"0","id":"8","align":"0","point":"4.5in"},{"leader":"0","id":"9","align":"0","point":"5.0in"},{"leader":"0","id":"10","align":"0","point":"5.5in"},{"leader":"0","id":"11","align":"0","point":"6.0in"}]" data-textformat="{"ff":"Helvetica","fgc":"rgb(0,0,0)","size":"12.0"}" data-window-control-info="true" data_styles="{"ff":"Helvetica","fgc":"rgb(0,0,0)","size":"12.0"}" style="line-height: 1;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt;">Years ago, I had the good fortune to act for nearly a year as interim pastor for two Congregational churches north of my hometown of Mitchell, SD. During that period, my companion was a dog named Henry on loan from my younger brother. Henry had gotten in trouble with the dogcatcher in Mitchell and I bailed the two out by bringing Henry to Letcher.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt;">The dog and I became good friends and were seen regularly navigating in and around the small town. Inevitably, I decided that Henry needed to learn a few things my brother had never taken the time to teach the aging fellow. He was nearing 13 at the time. So, I the perennial teacher set to work on a regular basis to give Henry some lessons. At the same time, he taught me a few. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt;">Although it was not an easy task, my canine friend succeeded in learning to shake, crawl, and roll over with inducements of food and treats. His triumphs inclined me to consider a special sermon and bring Henry to church one Sunday and demonstrate that "Old dogs can learn new tricks."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt;">For various reasons, the sermon never eventuated. But, I can definitely confirm that old dogs can learn. My Year of Silence reminded me of that experience. At the same time, it showed me that learning can be a chore at any age. But, I believe, we ought to be learning until our very last embodied days. Waste not, want not. There should be plenty of time to rest and recuperate on the other side.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt;">Since taking up speaking again, a number of things have come to my attention of which I will now mention two. Firstly, when I have a conversation, I watch myself talking too much. Which will hopefully push me all the more to attend my words. Secondly, I have decided that people are saying the same things as they were a year or two or three ago. I admit I have done some of that myself.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt;">That has suggested to me that we may be too often involved with old stories and "old tricks." One fellow I visited with in the grocery store is still dealing with a problem from 2 1/2 years past. He claims to be trying to find homes for the cats which belonged to his woman friend and neighbor. He is having little success, it seems. He now has around 60 cats. Surely, there were not that many when she died.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt;">I think we should be dealing with new problems and opportunities, new tricks and new possibilities. As much as possible. Though we age, we do have some choices and options. Why not spend our time growing into the new instead of worrying about the old?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt;">A later blog will continue in this vein in coming weeks. Hopefully sharing new ideas. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt;">Happy New Year.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica;">Robert</span></div>
Dr Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00841141808556194649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2566536860690555504.post-30779592413989460562017-10-12T17:47:00.001-07:002017-10-12T17:47:33.244-07:00Moments of Silence<span style="font-size: large;">As my 13 Months of Silence nears its end, I am reminded of my several months doing interim minister duties at the United Churches of Christ in Letcher and Loomis SD 30 years ago. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">That was a great experience. I only got one complaint during my stint as pastor. A few weeks into my time there, Harvey Fouberg representing the church council, buttonholed me and said something like, "Robert, you are doing well. The people like you and appreciate all your efforts. There is one problem, though. They don't like the Moments of Silence during the Sunday Service. They are too long. Can you do something about that?" </span><span style="font-size: large;">Well, I did. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Silence seemed to be a problem then in the world. And maybe is more so now. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">But for me, the Year of Silence has been a good thing. I have learned a lot from my experience. I probably won't repeat it. But if I do, I will proceed a bit differently.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">In any case, I will carry lessons of Silence with me. Working beyond just holding the tongue, but toward stilling other parts of myself.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Some people have antsy bodies - can't sit still. Others have feelings which go every which direction. Still others have minds which never quit.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The latter is my case to a lesser or greater degree. And, I intend to work more and more at Silencing the Mind. Then one day, I may be able to recognize that Voice of the Silence which is trying to get in touch with me. That small still Voice may be endeavoring to do the same with you.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Richard Hobday, author of <i>The Healing Sun</i> and a new internet friend, shared the following quote from Paramahansa Yogananda. He did so not knowing of my Silent Year. I pass it on to you.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Through the portals of silence the healing sun of wisdom and peace will shine upon you."</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Moments of Peace and Silence to You, Robert</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Leave comments below or send to theportableschool at gmail dot com.</span>Dr Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00841141808556194649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2566536860690555504.post-84749059000772116782017-08-14T17:28:00.000-07:002017-08-14T17:28:04.727-07:00On the Road with Chief Joseph and JFK<div class="zw-paragraph" data-doc-rid="3srml1da48c966c144ae4a03e579fea3aaa39" style="line-height: 1.2;">
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">If you know who Chief Joseph is, you might wonder about the combination of names in the title. But, maybe you don't know Chief Joseph. And, maybe you don't even know JFK.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">You say, "Well, sure I know JFK. Everyone knows our 35th president."</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Sorry, but that's not the one I have in mind. And, Chief Joseph was the now-famous Nez Perce who marched his tribe 1200 miles from Oregon territory to the border with Canada in 1877 hoping to escape wars and fighting and removal from ancestral lands. Sadly, his effort failed. His people were turned back to US property.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Fortunately for his tears and trouble, he left us with famous words of which my personal friend JFK reminded me many times over the years. His reminders came in his own stand to "Work no more, forever."</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Which followed on Chief Joseph's immortal statement: "I will fight no more, forever."</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I think Joseph lived up to his decree. JFK - James Francis Kinerk - failed. He went back to work at different times for a brother-in-law to pay bills until Social Security arrived. He, however, never returned to a regular insurance job.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">All of this leads up to my own pronouncement coming on ten months of silence and contemplation: "To argue no more forever."</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I hope I can live up to this stand like Chief Joseph. One of my reflections on the value of silence is that I have had only one argument since closing my mouth. That one occurred because people thought I was shunning them, jeopardizing them by my silence. It was a very brief moment which caused me to leave and "discuss" the situation by email. </span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">My Year of Silence was about me. Not about anybody else. It has taught me the value of less talk.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Saying less, valuing silence more, and that speaking if possible only to improve the silence should at least help to limit my ability and (some think) talent to get into arguments.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">My cogitations have also reminded me that there is not much worth arguing about. That people believe what they believe because of who they are, where they have been, and the years of their experience. Argument rarely, rarely changes anyone. If anything it adds fuel to the fire. </span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">As a friend in Lavina used to say, "A woman convinced against her will is of the same opinion still." That truism fits men as well.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">So, hold me to it. And, watch me hold my tongue - even though I will be speaking again soon. I will be much less verbal than in the past. And ...</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">"I will argue no more forever." </span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Chief Joseph and James Francis Kinerk can be heard in the ethers saying, "AMEN."</span></span><br />
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Leave comment below or send to theportableschool at gmail dot com. Thanks</span></span>Dr Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00841141808556194649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2566536860690555504.post-5983037821026280002017-07-05T17:25:00.003-07:002017-07-05T17:25:49.891-07:00Silent Reading<div class="zw-paragraph" data-doc-rid="3ctvde1ba5178cc58417da94a3b5775a9d17b" data-tab-info="[{"leader":"0","id":"0","align":"0","point":"0.5in"},{"leader":"0","id":"1","align":"0","point":"1.0in"},{"leader":"0","id":"2","align":"0","point":"1.5in"},{"leader":"0","id":"3","align":"0","point":"2.0in"},{"leader":"0","id":"4","align":"0","point":"2.5in"},{"leader":"0","id":"5","align":"0","point":"3.0in"},{"leader":"0","id":"6","align":"0","point":"3.5in"},{"leader":"0","id":"7","align":"0","point":"4.0in"},{"leader":"0","id":"8","align":"0","point":"4.5in"},{"leader":"0","id":"9","align":"0","point":"5.0in"},{"leader":"0","id":"10","align":"0","point":"5.5in"},{"leader":"0","id":"11","align":"0","point":"6.0in"}]" data-tabpoints="[{"leader":"0","id":"0","align":"0","point":"0.5in"},{"leader":"0","id":"1","align":"0","point":"1.0in"},{"leader":"0","id":"2","align":"0","point":"1.5in"},{"leader":"0","id":"3","align":"0","point":"2.0in"},{"leader":"0","id":"4","align":"0","point":"2.5in"},{"leader":"0","id":"5","align":"0","point":"3.0in"},{"leader":"0","id":"6","align":"0","point":"3.5in"},{"leader":"0","id":"7","align":"0","point":"4.0in"},{"leader":"0","id":"8","align":"0","point":"4.5in"},{"leader":"0","id":"9","align":"0","point":"5.0in"},{"leader":"0","id":"10","align":"0","point":"5.5in"},{"leader":"0","id":"11","align":"0","point":"6.0in"}]" data-textformat="{"ff":"Helvetica","fgc":"rgb(0,0,0)","size":"12.0"}" data-window-control-info="true" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1; position: relative;">
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<span class="zw-portion" style="box-sizing: border-box; unicode-bidi: bidi-override;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Silent Teaching</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="box-sizing: border-box; unicode-bidi: bidi-override;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The idea of a Year of Silence was hardly new to me when I began thinking to take it up, last year. The practice, although uncommon, is very old and widespread. Many monks and fakirs and yogis have gone through extended periods of silence over the ages. Layperson have spontaneously taken to the process. In recent times, Meher Baba, an Indian mystic of Persian descent, gave up talking for 44 years and became a leader and teacher of thousands in the second half of the last century. Some consider Meher Baba an avatar.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="box-sizing: border-box; unicode-bidi: bidi-override;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">But what tripped the switch for me, besides gradually spending more time in meditation in recent years, was to read a book on the life of Apollonius of Tyana (first century AD). Following in a pattern set by the even greater sage, Pythagoras (c 570-500 BC), Apollonius eventually became a renowned teacher.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="box-sizing: border-box; unicode-bidi: bidi-override;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Students committed to the teachings of Pythagoras were expected to spend two to five years practicing silence. Philostratus says that Apollonius completed five years completely mute while learning “to maintain a conversation by the expression of his eyes, by gestures of hand and nodding his head.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="box-sizing: border-box; unicode-bidi: bidi-override;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Through his disciplines, he was also able to say, “I understand all languages, though I never learnt one.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="box-sizing: border-box; unicode-bidi: bidi-override;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Apollonius traveled Asia Minor and studied and taught with the elite of the times in many countries as far as India. Some thought he would die at the hands of Nero and others whom he threatened by his mere presence in a country. All that even though he never offered a political message, but rather taught truth as he had discovered it.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="box-sizing: border-box; unicode-bidi: bidi-override;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The passage of years in silence at an early age surely helped set the stage for his entry into deeper awareness and knowledge. Apollonius has been favorably compared with Jesus of Nazareth many times over the ages for his feats of casting out demons, healing the sick and performing so-called miracles. Apollonius is reputed to have lived past the age of 100 on a diet largely of vegetables, fruit and honey.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="box-sizing: border-box; unicode-bidi: bidi-override;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Silent Reading</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="box-sizing: border-box; unicode-bidi: bidi-override;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The following books read during my Year of Silence come from more modern times than the ancient Greeks. You will see that they all are related to silence.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="box-sizing: border-box; unicode-bidi: bidi-override;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Planetwalker was written and lived by John Francis. Francis is a one-of-a-kind American who took to walking to make a statement about fossil fuels, oil spills and the like. Eventually, he added silence to his curriculum vitae as he began a long, long trek across the USA. Before returning to speech and using automotive transportation, Francis kept silence for 17 years and walked for 22 years. His tale is very engaging. But, he never explains how he paid his bills.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="zw-portion" style="box-sizing: border-box; unicode-bidi: bidi-override;">The Mountain of Silence is one of several books I have read by Kyriacos Markides, a sociology professor who teaches in the USA but hails from Cyprus. This book tells about the rejuvenation of Greek Orthodox religion through the work of Father Maximos in building monasteries and church communities on the island. Orthodox spirituality came to life for Markides and did for me as well. I recommend this book along with two others by the author: </span><span class="zw-portion" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-style: italic; unicode-bidi: bidi-override;">The Magus of Stravolos </span><span class="zw-portion" style="box-sizing: border-box; unicode-bidi: bidi-override;">and</span><span class="zw-portion" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-style: italic; unicode-bidi: bidi-override;"> Fire in the Heart. </span><span class="zw-portion" style="box-sizing: border-box; unicode-bidi: bidi-override;">The latter are narratives on works of a modern-day Cypriot magician.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="box-sizing: border-box; unicode-bidi: bidi-override;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The Voice of the Silence by Oonagh Shanly-Toffolo attracted me because of the title and the subtitle: The Remarkable Story of Princess Diana’s Spiritual Guide. The author led a fine life and wrote a worthy book. But, the focus of Silence faded quickly as she left her work as a sister and nurse to marry and live in the ordinary world. She counseled Lady Diana after caring for the Duke of Windsor in his latter days. Oonagh revealed more about the latter than the former royal. The titling was a little misleading.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="box-sizing: border-box; unicode-bidi: bidi-override;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The Voice of the Silence by Helena Blavatsky is a wonderful little book translated from an ancient east Indian tongue. Though small, it is a book of great depth and reveals layers of meaning when read and re-read over the years. I highly recommend it for all who consider themselves on a spiritual path.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="box-sizing: border-box; unicode-bidi: bidi-override;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Spiritual Reading</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="box-sizing: border-box; unicode-bidi: bidi-override;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Spiritual Reading relates to the work of meditation of which I have increasingly involved myself. I started forty-some years ago and now regularly spend two to three hours a day silently practicing meditation. I do not say I meditate. I am still practicing, but am making some progress.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="box-sizing: border-box; unicode-bidi: bidi-override;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">One way to look at meditation is as listening for the small, still voice and/or endeavoring to perceive the “thoughts of God - the Higher Self.” Spiritual Reading is one of three aspects of inner work which I understand we all will be called to do one day. I thereby suggest that we all live many, many lifetimes.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="box-sizing: border-box; unicode-bidi: bidi-override;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Besides Spiritual Reading, we are also called to devotion to the Christ/Buddhic principle (called Ishvara in the East) and fiery aspiration which includes the call to serve others.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="box-sizing: border-box; unicode-bidi: bidi-override;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Thus:</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="box-sizing: border-box; unicode-bidi: bidi-override;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">1) Spiritual Reading or Meditation.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="box-sizing: border-box; unicode-bidi: bidi-override;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">2) Devotion to the Higher Self.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="box-sizing: border-box; unicode-bidi: bidi-override;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">3) Fiery Aspiration which manifests in Service.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="box-sizing: border-box; unicode-bidi: bidi-override;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="box-sizing: border-box; unicode-bidi: bidi-override;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Leave comments below or send to theportableschool at gmail dot com.</span></span></div>
Dr Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00841141808556194649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2566536860690555504.post-28502979657876470602017-05-17T13:19:00.003-07:002017-05-17T13:19:22.828-07:00Seven Months of Silence<div class="p1">
It has been over seven months now since I have uttered a word to another human being. I have to admit I mutter to myself on occasion, to the landlord’s cat who visits from time to time, and to my resident Pooh bears. But, I have been speechless around human beings.</div>
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<div class="p1">
In some ways, this project has been relatively easy. The way life runs lately, there are only a few people I run into on a regular basis. Workers at the grocery, post office and credit union. They have gotten used to my silence once I presented my “Mum is the word card” to them. </div>
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I have somewhat unknowingly found two pretty effective ways to distance people. One by going silent. Few people want to deal with my scribbling on a pad of paper while they talk and have to wait when I am writing. I must also admit that I find it a difficult way to communicate and that I don’t go looking for “conversations.”</div>
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[My time of silence has caused me to reflect on “conversations” in general. I have to say that it seems that we are all caught up in our own worlds and that many conversations are empty of content.]</div>
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The other way I have found to distance people is to ask for them to do a book review. Most of those I have asked, after readily agreeing to write a review, have become invisible as well as non-communicating. </div>
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I was asked by a 90+ year-old friend in a letter – remember those – a few days ago about my silence project. One thought I shared with her was that silence is another language we all might want to learn. I don’t expect television, telephone or the internet on the other side - heaven or whatever it is. Nor do I think we will be talking. To communicate, we will use telepathy or thought projection or something similar. Some people can do it now. Maybe we all can communicate telepathically when we have great need or desire.</div>
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So then, learning silence should have “long-term” value. When we silence our mouths and settle our minds – which is even harder, we will surely have better potential for “speaking silently” and with meaning.</div>
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Sound and speech have much greater power and value than we give them. Part of a simple and useful life might well include speaking less and sharing more. When we do speak, our words will have more value and force.</div>
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What do we presently create when we often speak without thinking and just say whatever comes out of our mouths? We would like to suppose that “Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks,” but that may often be the case.</div>
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May we think, speak and act with goodwill to all.</div>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Post comments below or send them to theportableschool at gmail dot com.</span></i></div>
Dr Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00841141808556194649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2566536860690555504.post-47744332919498768392016-12-07T18:25:00.001-08:002016-12-07T18:25:23.299-08:00Seven Weeks of Silence<div class="m_-8855397682441772792gmail-p1" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
<b><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /></b>A Year of Silence? Ah, the idea is a bit unusual to people when they first hear of it or encounter it. Most people shrug or give me a positive sign or say, "Right on." Still, I suspect most of them really don't know what to think.<br />
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Why be silent, when you have vocal apparatus? Was one response.</div>
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<div class="m_-8855397682441772792gmail-p1" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
Isn’t being silent then disrespectful to people who talk? Or wasteful? Or who knows, unnatural? </div>
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<div class="m_-8855397682441772792gmail-p1" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
I will admit that not speaking in the modern “civilized” world is rather unusual. Unless one is deaf and dumb, or has a really bad case of laryngitis. But, I think the other responses are off the mark.</div>
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<div class="m_-8855397682441772792gmail-p1" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
• Disrespectful? </div>
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<div class="m_-8855397682441772792gmail-p1" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
Actually, silence opens the possibility of greater respect, better listening. Refraining from idle talk and gossip and negative words which all of us are prone to express. Often without even realizing our intent or effect.</div>
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<div class="m_-8855397682441772792gmail-p1" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
Silence allows us time and space from so much mind to open to more heart. Maybe the Year will bring more heart to bear in my interactions with others. I already realize that once people recognize I am being Silent by choice, I don’t have to come up with conversation. I potentially can be more present. </div>
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On the other hand, I am still getting used to the situation and so are others I meet. Time will tell. </div>
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<div class="m_-8855397682441772792gmail-p1" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
• Wasteful? </div>
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<div class="m_-8855397682441772792gmail-p1" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
Well, I believe firmly that we waste lots and lots of energy with words. </div>
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It has been suggested to me that I may lose my voice during a Year of Silence. That suggestion holds little concern for me. I have talked for 68 years, I am not likely to forget how to talk. Nor is the body going lose the ability. Besides, I chant three times a day with my meditations. </div>
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<div class="m_-8855397682441772792gmail-p1" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
But, that aside, I do think that my voice and words will be more valuable and potent at the end of a Year of Silence than before. My old friend Jim Kinerk used to call me Boomer. I have not the slightest concern about “losing my voice.” I think it more likely that I will come closer to expressing my Real Voice after the Year.</div>
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<div class="m_-8855397682441772792gmail-p1" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
I will learn a bit from having listened better to my fellow beings, from observing the nature of words and sounds, and maybe even from developing the ability to hear the Inner Voice. Besides, Actions speak louder than Words. If we talked less, maybe we would have more time to do positive things. We can then exemplify rather than tout ourselves and our beliefs.</div>
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<div class="m_-8855397682441772792gmail-p1" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
• Unnatural? I think not. Maybe unhabitual, if there is such a word. How often do we speak without thinking, just pouring words out by habit, unconsciously, with little or no awareness sometimes of what is rolling off our lips? </div>
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I believe Nature and God speak with deliberation and power. Rhythmically, sonorously, and healthfully. They know what They are "talking" about. Humans - including myself - too often do the opposite. How often have we wished to take back vain words and comments and complaints and mouthings dribbled from our lips? </div>
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I might add that I have, in recent times, communicated with a number of people from my past - sometimes distant past. I have tendered several of them apologies - sometimes making amends - for the wrong words or words wrongly spoken. My former wife used to say, “It’s not what you say, but how you say it.” </div>
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I am still learning that lesson, maybe a Year of Silence will help me come closer to completing that rather difficult learning.<br />
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There is another version of my ex-wife's adage: "It's not what you do, but how you do it." Just being silent is only part of the process. The other part - an more important - I am learning is how to be silent.</div>
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Every moment, past present and future is an opportunity for learning. Hopefully I eventually will learn to emulate Mahatma Gandhi who is said to have mouthed these words wonderful words: </div>
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<div class="m_-8855397682441772792gmail-p1" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
“SPEAK only to improve the SILENCE.”<br />
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Comments are welcome below or by email at theportableschool at gmail dot com.<br />
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If you are a mind, take a look my other blog called The Healing Post.<br />
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Have Jolly Holiday, silent or otherwise.<br />
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Robert</div>
Dr Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00841141808556194649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2566536860690555504.post-75387010946654860042016-10-23T10:58:00.000-07:002016-10-23T10:58:32.593-07:00A Silent Path<div class="p1">
During the past four summers 2012-15, I have done Cross-Country Walks. More accurately, they might be called Cross-Parts-of-the-Country Walks. During and after them, I have blogged here On the Road Again. </div>
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While I attempted no Walk this summer, I did decide in the past couple of months to set out on a year of Silence. The next calendar year might be considered one of No Walk, No Talk. </div>
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But, that might not be totally true as I will continue walking the countryside, mostly along highways and the Musselshell River, near my current residence in Harlowton MT. It was only a few weeks ago that I discovered a wonderful place to walk to the northeast of town. Taking one route or the other by way of Highway 191 North, I get glorious views of a number of mountain ranges of which the Crazies are the most absorbing. The distant mountains backgrounding the Big Sky Montana prairies makes for some breathtaking moments.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>A photo of the Crazies - south of Harlowton - from 2012 Walk</i></span></div>
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Well, walking is secondary this year especially as I have determined to do a </div>
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Year of Silence. </div>
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“What? You don’t mean it. Maybe a week or a month. But, not a year! You must be crazy!”</div>
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Those remarks were not all from the same person. I ran a few together, leaving out a few others, some of which were more worrisome.</div>
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The idea of silence seems to be offensive to some and scary to others. Some might think it unusual for a friendly, conversational sort as I can be. While I grew up a shy introvert, the last time I took the Meyers-Briggs Personality Test I came out 50-50 Introvert vs Extrovert.</div>
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Sometimes, I find myself too out-there, verbal and mouthy. A good share of the times I have gotten myself in trouble, my mouth has been a prime contributor.</div>
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There are numbers of contributing forces to this silent venture of which I will certainly mention in later posts. But, there are also numerous potential benefits which I may gather:</div>
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• Listening better. Rather than getting ready to jump into a conversation with comment.</div>
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• Being present and positive in presence only.</div>
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• Silencing the mouth tends eventually to silence the mind.</div>
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• Slowing down the pace of things in general.</div>
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• Developing the capacity to hear the still, small voice.</div>
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A year from now I will have some sense as to whether I have accomplished any of these aspirations and possibilities.</div>
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In the meantime, I will put up a post every month or so to share reflections on my Silent Path.</div>
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Share comments below or send to theportableschool at gmail dot com.</div>
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Many good wishes along the way, Robert</div>
Dr Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00841141808556194649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2566536860690555504.post-29303655975269307132016-05-17T13:51:00.002-07:002020-05-27T19:59:56.353-07:00Map for the 2015 Walk<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Dr Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00841141808556194649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2566536860690555504.post-972944025915831222016-04-01T12:29:00.000-07:002016-04-07T13:14:49.131-07:00Presidential Politics - The Great Perennials: Guess Who Is Next?<div class="zw-paragraph" style="font-family: Cochin; line-height: 1; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; position: relative;">
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-size: large;">The Presidential campaign has been ongoing for many months and has several more to run. The choices are slimming down it seems to two - maybe more. Then, what?</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-size: large;">What will we have? A new president. But we may well have much of the same circling, squabbling chicane (the French might say) in Washington DC. Much as legislators and lawyers seem to do most everywhere.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-size: large;">Not, that we have not had choices. I can’t help but wonder if maybe we have allowed to pass by too many choices, some of whom might have been much better than the nominated and elected ones over the generations.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-size: large;">Think for a moment with me about the also-rans and the perennials at the ballot box?</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-size: large;">Consider if you wish -</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-size: large;">William Jennings Bryan (1860 to 1925) was a regular on the stump in his day. He began as a Congressman from Nebraska, but had a great taste for the Presidency. He ran three times as the nominee of the Democratic and Populist parties in 1896, 1900, and 1908. WJB was a man of the people without doubt. A Populist, Popocrat, a Fundamentalist Pope (said HL Mencken), the Great Commoner, a Social Gospeler. Eventually, he settled for Secretary of State under Woodrow Wilson.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-size: large;">William Jennings Bryan is renowned for so many things. From developing the first semblance of a modern presidential campaign to holding a vision of hope for the common and forgotten man to speaking and traveling the country unceasingly. As The Christian Liberal, Bryan mixed and re-mixed God and politics in over the course of 40 years of his public life. He is remembered by some for his Cross of Gold and Crown of Thorns speech at the Democratic National Convention of 1896. But, Bryan is possibly best known for his participation in the Scopes Monkey Trial which was immortalized in the movie <i>Inherit the Wind </i>starring Spencer Tracy. </span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-size: large;">Eugene Debs (1855 to 1926) was a union leader and founder of the Industrial Workers of the World (Wobblies). He ran five times for the Socialist Party as its candidate for President. He never got close to the White House but he did become the best known socialist in America.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-size: large;">Debs helped to motivate the left wing of American society in opposition to corporations and to World War I. He has been honored for his work in the labor movements and for his compassion to average workers toward socialistic improvements without large government interventions.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-size: large;">Harold Stassen (1907 to 2001) beats all candidates over the years for desire, persistence and effort towards the US Presidency. He is best known as THE Perennial Candidate. After being Governor of Minnesota and President of the University of Pennsylvania, he put his sights on Pennsylvania Avenue, Washington, DC.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-size: large;">Stassen sought the nomination of the Republican Party on nine different occasions: 1944, 1948, 1952, 1964, 1968, 1980, 1984, 1988, and 1992. He supposedly was still campaigning seriously for President in the year 2000 when he was in his nineties and within a year of his death. [Interestingly, I find no mention of what he was promoting in his candidacies, other than himself.]</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-size: large;">Ron Paul (born 1935) has been the latest perennial candidate, running twice as a Republican and once as the nominee of the Libertarian Party in the 1988 presidential election.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-size: large;">Paul is known as a physician, author and politician. The Texan represented two different districts for 24 years in the US House of Representatives. He has been a firm critic of the Federal Reserve, tax policies, the military-industrial complex, and the War on Drugs among other governmental interventions. Less Government has been Dr. No's continuing theme. Nearing the age of 80, he has backed away from presidential campaigning to allow his son Rand Paul to carry on some of his efforts.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-size: large;">On the lighter side of things, you must remember:</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 1;">Pat Paulsen (1927 to 1997) campaigned frequently for the Presidency. Paulsen was a comedian, not a politician. But many in Washington seem to</span><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 1;"> fit that description.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-size: large;">Paulsen was a regular on the Smothers Brothers television show in the 70s. But his taste for the Presidency persisted in campaigns of 1968, 1972, 1980, 1988, 1992, and 1996. His message may have been garbled, but he got plenty of laughs along the way as well as some protest votes.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-family: "cochin";"><span style="font-size: large;">In a likewise light, but wholesome vein Winston Pooh assures us that he will be a persistent and perennial candidate for the US Presidency and American hearts and minds.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 24px;">The photo above was taken on our first campaign trip from Arizona to Montana. Mr. Pooh collected a modest number of committed, many of them will only be legal many years from now as the younger folks grow up.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 24px;">His platform is about friends and family taking care rather than relying on government and grants. Take time - not money - to be your Brother's Keeper and help yourself along the way.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 24px;">Winston (as in Churchill) Pooh looks for the sweeter simpler life.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 24px;">HONEY IN EVER POT</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 24px;">How about you?</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 24px;">Append Comments below or Contact theportableschool@gmail.com.</span></span></div>
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Dr Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00841141808556194649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2566536860690555504.post-67008025017230717052016-02-26T10:50:00.002-08:002016-02-26T10:50:44.797-08:00Photoblog 2015 - Part 1<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I met this impressive young man working at a convenience mart in Blanding.</div>
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He had left Fort Defiance and was working,</div>
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raising a family and going to school.</div>
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He impressed me with his work ethic. I wish he had impressed me with his name.</div>
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I salute him nonetheless.</div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gcPpVz_GDMw/Vs9tcshv76I/AAAAAAAACv8/6jRvVyGScgE/s1600/Mark.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gcPpVz_GDMw/Vs9tcshv76I/AAAAAAAACv8/6jRvVyGScgE/s640/Mark.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Mark Bradford found me swept up with just a little rain the next morning.</div>
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He stopped and lifted me to Monticello.</div>
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It was a Saturday, but he was still working two jobs</div>
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one for the county, and the other for himself.</div>
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Thanks Mark.</div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ITRnT9ea1fY/Vs9tZyHmReI/AAAAAAAACv8/CzzxWoEsphE/s1600/Anthony.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ITRnT9ea1fY/Vs9tZyHmReI/AAAAAAAACv8/CzzxWoEsphE/s640/Anthony.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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I was walking down a highway grade toward Moab</div>
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when Anthony - once from the East, presently from Salt Lake -</div>
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stopped to visit and share some treats for the road.</div>
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I hear from Anthony every once in a while.</div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_er2V_EbExY/Vs9tZ1bIFXI/AAAAAAAACv8/SctKdB7PM3c/s1600/Albertans.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_er2V_EbExY/Vs9tZ1bIFXI/AAAAAAAACv8/SctKdB7PM3c/s320/Albertans.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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I forgot their names as soon as I got out of their car.</div>
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Smiling, friendly teachers from Alberta</div>
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accidentally "ran into me" while turning back to Moab.</div>
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We had a great visit on the way to town, said goodbye,</div>
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and I lost their names.</div>
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Forgive me and thank you.</div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5YV8oU0B3Yk/Vs9tdGg2cEI/AAAAAAAACv8/9QrPGVktqho/s1600/Moabite.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5YV8oU0B3Yk/Vs9tdGg2cEI/AAAAAAAACv8/9QrPGVktqho/s640/Moabite.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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No, it isn't Demi Moore.</div>
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But, a young woman who works at a bike shop,</div>
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saw me passing by and asked about my endeavor.</div>
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Then, I asked for a photo.</div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ngIg68XBkWE/Vs9texshsjI/AAAAAAAACv8/sTi-svqAZhQ/s1600/Principal.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ngIg68XBkWE/Vs9texshsjI/AAAAAAAACv8/sTi-svqAZhQ/s640/Principal.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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I had a friendly visit with John Ryan, high school principal in Connecticut,</div>
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while he waited in a parking lot in Moab for his family to appear.</div>
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Good looking bunch.</div>
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Wish we had teachers like when I was a youngster.</div>
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Consult earlier blogs for more photos.</div>
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Email theportableschool at gmail dot com with comments or post below.</div>
Dr Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00841141808556194649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2566536860690555504.post-43919723074542525232016-02-25T13:29:00.001-08:002016-03-01T13:04:34.192-08:00Photoblog 2015 - Part 2<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wsp3xPpPOGA/Vs9tbPTlGrI/AAAAAAAACvA/eNTsuys6YPM/s1600/Flag.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wsp3xPpPOGA/Vs9tbPTlGrI/AAAAAAAACvA/eNTsuys6YPM/s640/Flag.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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This photo was taken early on my walk around Round Rock in Arizona.</div>
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A beautiful but dry and daunting place. </div>
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Great pictures to be taken in the area.</div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Tpj6UtAm4fY/Vs9tcDCm1gI/AAAAAAAACv8/1xPCSoH48ng/s1600/JJ.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Tpj6UtAm4fY/Vs9tcDCm1gI/AAAAAAAACv8/1xPCSoH48ng/s640/JJ.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Jeramey and Jason picked me up on the north side of Vernal Utah.</div>
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They were heading for a little vacation in Flaming Gorge -</div>
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as they kindly gave me a ride up the road.</div>
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One was an insurance man, the other a real estate agent.</div>
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Thanks for the lift, fellow.</div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7JOIPd9FL3E/Vs9tbsQqMlI/AAAAAAAACv8/2HNOeUPdBEg/s1600/Gorge.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7JOIPd9FL3E/Vs9tbsQqMlI/AAAAAAAACv8/2HNOeUPdBEg/s640/Gorge.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Here is the Flaming Gorge Canyon, a beautiful spot on the route.</div>
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I spent the previous night under pine trees beside the road.</div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pbvSNEudWLA/Vs9tdTlpfnI/AAAAAAAACv8/4PGURa5KOXQ/s1600/Morgan.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pbvSNEudWLA/Vs9tdTlpfnI/AAAAAAAACv8/4PGURa5KOXQ/s640/Morgan.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Morgan Beal and wife, Nicole. </div>
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They and children and ranch hands were moving cattle to graze around the Canyon.</div>
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I got my first ride in a horse trailer thanks to the Beals</div>
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and few more miles up the road closer to Wyoming.</div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HVjtAg7BdIk/Vs9tcImu91I/AAAAAAAACv8/FJOAYW1HYPw/s1600/Manila.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HVjtAg7BdIk/Vs9tcImu91I/AAAAAAAACv8/FJOAYW1HYPw/s640/Manila.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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The Brownings - prior residents of Salt Lake - own and run </div>
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the <a href="http://www.fgmotel.com/">Flaming Gorge Motel and Restaurant.</a></div>
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They were kind and helpful to a traveler like me.</div>
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The food was good and modestly priced,</div>
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the motel room was very inexpensive.</div>
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I highly recommend this place and their service. </div>
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Thank you very much.</div>
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Consult earlier blogs for more photos.</div>
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Email theportableschool at gmail dot com with comments or post below.</div>
Dr Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00841141808556194649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2566536860690555504.post-80282133165114696392016-02-17T12:58:00.000-08:002016-02-17T12:58:30.265-08:00At The Junction<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Cochin; font-size: large; line-height: 1; text-align: center;">I wandered into the “Junction” around noon one day. It was after a wet, rainy night and a long walk with much of it in the dark.</span><br />
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-size: large;">The map gave little clue what might be found at the junction. The only person I encountered en route wasn’t sure what I might find there. He apparently didn’t pay much attention when he passed through hitchhiking to the south. There was an establishment at the junction but he wasn’t sure if it was open.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-size: large;">Well, praise be! The one and only business was open after all. Crossing under the Interstate, Pooh and I found a place to get watered and rested for an hour or two. Or so we thought.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-size: large;">Pooh began the rest while I entered the convenience mart looking for some refreshment. I quickly noticed that a good portion of the merchandise was not priced. I also noticed that customers didn’t seem to pay much attention. They just seemed to buy what they needed or wanted. Credit cards seem to induce people to act that way. I bought a few items which had prices marked at the same time I took up conversation with Gary, the manager.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion EOP" style="display: inline-block; width: 10px;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-P5nB0S_zc54/VsTeMEZoi2I/AAAAAAAACug/PVTQL8C76PE/s1600/GAry.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: Tinos; line-height: normal; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-P5nB0S_zc54/VsTeMEZoi2I/AAAAAAAACug/PVTQL8C76PE/s640/GAry.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-size: large;">In his fifties, Gary is a bespectacled man wearing a ball cap and orange shirt as well as a graying beard and an occasional smile. He told me he was dealing with a neuropathy - nerve problem - which affected his legs. He seemed a little gruff and testy at time. But, his story eventually explained some of the exterior.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-size: large;">Nonetheless, Gary took a bit of getting used to, especially for a fellow who asks questions. Still he responded to most of my queries and engaged more and more in conversation. I got to know Gary slowly over the coming hours.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-size: large;">To begin, I discovered he was from Detroit, had been a housepainter (some commonality), and had taken his present job at Papa Joe’s a couple years back. A big change and maybe a relief from his recent endeavors. Gary worked long hours and more than full time, but there wasn’t much else to do at the crossing which didn’t even have a post office. </span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-size: large;">There wasn’t a house in sight, just a couple commercial buildings and parking lots. The building next door had been a restaurant off and on. On fairly recently, then off both during Gary’s tenure. The food was apparently good enough. But, the owner and the manager didn’t see eye to eye and the venture closed within months. I have to suspect that, like lots of places these days, getting reliable and persistent help may have added to the problem.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-size: large;">Then too, it seemed that the owner had unusual ideas about running his businesses. Besides not marking much of his merchandise, there was another sign of his commercial attitudes. Gary eventually pointed out to me - since I was walking I would not likely have noticed - that gas at the tanks in front of the convenience were priced at nigh on to $5.00 a gallon. The junction was in the middle of nowhere with many miles to the next stop in most directions. So, travelers had to pay the freight to get to the next gas pump.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion EOP" style="display: inline-block; width: 10px;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OA9owlD0SiY/VsTeMJqKprI/AAAAAAAACuc/BhdDifc8b_k/s1600/PJ.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: Tinos; line-height: normal; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OA9owlD0SiY/VsTeMJqKprI/AAAAAAAACuc/BhdDifc8b_k/s640/PJ.JPG" width="640" /></a> </span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-size: large;">My intentions were to break at the corner until late afternoon when things cooled before heading on with the trek. So, I went outside and leaned in the shade next to Pooh against the wall of the former restaurant.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-size: large;">That did not last long. I returned to Gary with the idea to clean up his parking lots a bit. He didn’t think much of that idea, but asked if I would mind clearing out the area around the dumpster in back of the mart.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-size: large;">I said, “Sure.” I took some plastic bags proffered by Gary and went to work.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-size: large;">I could have had job security if Gary had let me have charge. But, I contented myself with tidying mostly as he suggested. I filled several bags with trash and threw larger items directly into the dumpster. There was much more that might have been done, but Gary was happy with my contribution.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-size: large;">It seems that I hadn’t even finished the trash duty before my new friend said, “I will give you a ride to the next town, if you are still here at closing.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-size: large;">Well, I was happy to accept such an offer. So, we would be staying until closing. I assumed that would be around 10, but it turned out to be quite a bit later.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-size: large;">I can’t quite remember where all the time went, since the stay at the Junction was for well over 12 hours. I do believe I returned to trash duty and tidied up some more. There was nothing for scenery or places to visit. Just the desert and highways in all directions. Oh, there were railroad tracks behind the shop, but I don’t remember any traffic.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-size: large;">By evening, Gary announced that he would drive me to the next town after the next town when the day was done. Well, there was further inducement to stay on at the Junction.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-size: large;">As the darkness came on, I spent more time inside the mart. Business seemed fairly steady. People came and went. Put gas in their tanks and bought food for their stomachs.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-size: large;">I found more jobs in the shop as Gary slowly prepared to close. While he did paperwork, etc, I volunteered to mop the floors, clean the bathrooms and fill the pop machines with ice. Gary showed me what to do, and I did it acceptably well.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-size: large;">The little jobs continued and the night moved into the next morning. Gary was to be off duty for a day or two and needed to take care of extra chores.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-size: large;">It was almost 2:00 in the morning when we lit out. By that time, Gary seemed so happy for the company and the help he said he would drive to a distant town on my route and then turn east, then make a loop back to the Junction as an outing for himself.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-size: large;">The vehicle was an old van parked in front. Weather-beaten and aged, but apparently - and hopefully - trustworthy. The passenger seat was loaded, so Gary told me to get in back where I reclined on a mattress. Maybe the van was Gary’s home after work hours. I never thought to ask about his residence.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-size: large;">Ensconced - so to speak - in the rear of the van on the mattress, I asked questions and listened Gary’s stories for the next few hours.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-size: large;">And, I got an earful. Much of which I quickly forgot. Gary’s story was a harsh one of growing up in Detroit with two brothers. Gary’s mother died when he was young and his relationship with his father went from bad to worse over the years. I know not on what side of town he was raised, but he soon enough fell in with ask tough crowd and got on the wrong side of the law.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-size: large;">Somehow, he managed an out by joining the US Army. But, that hardly worked and Gary was absent without leave for a long time for which he had to make recompense. (I have lost much of the story from its telling in the dark of night on the highway as he talked and I cranked my head to listen while wanting to sleep.)</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-size: large;">My fellow traveler lost both of his brothers as the result of violence in their early adult years. Fortunately, Gary pulled himself up and out of trouble over time. Took on respectable jobs and gravitated to the West.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-size: large;">Along the way, he had many experiences hitchhiking into the Rocky Mountains and the Far West many years ago. He told me of thumbing with boxes and boxes at his side. People picked him up and got him up - or down - the road. Just like he was doing for me.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-size: large;">I have been fortunate for numbers of former hitchhikers of the past who have seen me on the road and spontaneously volunteered to assist my venture or adventure. “It takes one to know one.” Or at least it helps.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-size: large;">Anyway, the early morning excursion passed on. Halfway up the road, we stopped for gas and refreshments at a relatively new, almost sparkling convenience station. Gary paid for the gas, I paid for breakfast. Then, we hit the road again as conversation waned and I eventually took a nap.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-size: large;">Gary persisted at the wheel no worse for the wear and dropped me off 200+ miles toward Montana. I began the next leg of the journey in one of the larger towns in that part of the desert while Gary turned to the east on a little excursion. Pooh and I stepped out to the north after but a few minutes to get oriented to the town and the map. Almost of a sudden, we had covered a large chunk of our trek and Wyoming was then not too far up the road.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-size: large;">I have been in touch with Gary three times. I sent him a postcard and later a copy of my Montana book. Then, we had a brief face-to-face visit on a quick car trip back to Arizona in September.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-size: large;">I never know whom I will encounter on my travels. Almost without fail, I have met the best of people and they have treated with kindness and respect and generosity.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-size: large;">Gary is one of those friendly Americans. My hat is off to Gary and the millions like him.</span></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion"><span style="font-size: large;">Comment below or send a note to theportableschool@gmail.com</span></span></div>
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Dr Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00841141808556194649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2566536860690555504.post-18525451391036283882016-01-26T13:31:00.002-08:002016-02-18T12:23:58.340-08:00Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head <div class="zw-paragraph" style="font-family: Cochin; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 1; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; position: relative;">
<span style="font-size: 18pt; line-height: 1;">My original plan for the 2015 Walk was to cover some of old Route 66 on the way to Las Vegas. At the time, I was imagining that I might be giving up my abode in northeastern Arizona for a spot in or around Nevada’s biggest city.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">So, I did a little study and map research for the imagined trip through the desert to Sin City. Once I made Vegas, I thought I would take a bus up to Montana and visit friends while planning a return trip.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">My researches led me to call a friend of a friend in Las Vegas asking for thoughts about a possible move there. Michelene suggested Henderson as one town to consider for my next residence. She also took pains to tell me how hot it is in Las Vegas in August. I just replied, “Well if gets too tough, I will just walk at night.”</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">Nonetheless, my conversation got me to thinking and checking the Internet for Las Vegas area temperatures in the summer. Highs turned out to be consistently between 100 and 110 in August. Wow!</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">I can do 100 for a couple days on the road. But, I thought, “Even walking at night, those numbers might be beyond my abilities.”</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">So, I thought some more. I came up with the idea to route to the East and inspect Las Vegas on my return in September. I had no illusions that traveling through the desert into Utah would be a lot easier than going up into Nevada. But, historical temperatures suggested that that route might be 10 or so degrees cooler on average.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">So, I expected. What I had not taken the time to consider was precipitation. I simply figured the summer in the desert in the southwest would be hot and dry. Hot and dry.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">Well, I got some pleasant and sometimes not so pleasant surprises on the trek to the Northland.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">I should say that the Weather Gods were really pretty kind and helpful on the route. I was very lucky and so was Pooh. As we shall see.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">The temperatures were moderate from those latter days in July when we started our travels. 80s and 90s. I think maybe it got into the mid 90s on a couple occasions.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">The few days we spent in Arizona were warm and dry. Not Hot and Dry, thankfully.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">My earlier looks at weather forecasts and past average temperatures suggested that southeastern Utah - namely the Moab area - would be warmer - maybe hotter - than other spots along the trail.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">But, I was surprised when the skies began to clouded up as we passed through Moab.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">Moab was old uranium mining country until a few decades ago. Recent years have seen it become a busy and sometimes expensive recreational area with access for tourists to a number of nearby national parks, scenic deserts, and man-made attractions.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">We made a rest stop of sorts in Moab, picking up a couple Palisades Peaches for the road. They were consumed before I got to the edge of the city.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">It was a bit of a climb trudging along the highway past a resort or two and on up from the valley through a stout rocky canyon. I waved the flag and Pooh gave me a few chuckles to get us up the hill.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">It was toward evening before we found a spot on the side of the road to rest - 11 miles north of Moab. A trailhead on the west side of the highway called </span><span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">7-mile Rim Trailhead.</span><span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;"> It was all the cloudier by the time we took over the rest stop all to ourselves.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">There wasn’t much to take over. A parking lot, a dumpster, a portable toilet and a pavilion made of four posts and a flat roof. There was one long thick and split log on one side of the pavilion meant for resting. I pulled out my sleeping bag and tried to rest.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">It wasn’t long and a rain took up my interest. I didn’t expect much, but it came down with a good kick and wet the sleeping bag before I realized that the flat roof above was meant to keep the sun out and not the rain. There was daylight between each board and the next one.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">Still, I was hoping that the rain would pass over as quickly as it came. But it didn’t. I had no tent, just the bag, the flag, the bear and a poncho.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">So when another round of rain picked up where the last left off, Pooh (who had been tucked in the backpack) and I retreated to the portable toilet. It was hardly comfortable, but we squished in. Gear and all. Thinking to wait out the rain.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">No such luck.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">It was way past dark as the rain persisted while abating a bit. I decided that the portable john had done its good deed and left a deposit in the donation box. We would do just as well walking the bike trail next to the highway. The rain was sure to stop eventually. And, the warmish air would dry us out some.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">The clouds were parting just a bit when we returned to the road. We walked the bike trail and highway most of the night, stopping here and there when possible. The morning brought sunshine and an opportunity to dry the gear at a turnout on the highway.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">We had been lucky to find some shelter, modest though it was. I should have taken a photo of our “toilet tent.”</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">Pooh and I made Crescent Junction before noon the next day. The highlight of that walk was a visit with and a photo of a man who calls himself Baboon.</span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TkuDTDmMoSI/Vqfju5huxpI/AAAAAAAACuE/pfkuo7pIVv4/s1600/Baboon.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TkuDTDmMoSI/Vqfju5huxpI/AAAAAAAACuE/pfkuo7pIVv4/s400/Baboon.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">The Junction is a story in itself which I will have to save for another time. It is THE spot on the highway north of Moab, most of 40 miles away. Thereafter, Utah went by quickly thanks to a meeting in Crescent Junction.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">Before I knew what had happened, I was not in southern Utah, but in the northern and not far from Wyoming and Idaho. Two hundred miles can go quickly - especially for someone used to walking.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">I cut to the northwest for a time skirting Flaming Gorge Canyon. Passing into Wyoming, the rains came down again. The poncho came out in the morning trudge until we found a little bit of a country store run by an older woman named Nyla. It was one of those places which needed some signage. “A business without a sign is a sign of no business.”</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">For the half hour or so I was in her establishment, I was The Business. I stayed long enough to dry off a bit, get a few things for the road and have a Cup of Soup. Actually, I bought two and decided that Nyla needed the soup more than I did. So, I asked her to take the extra Cup off my hands.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">Then, back to the trail. We covered territory that day until darkness came and eventually the rains. They weren’t overwhelming. Just persistent.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">And, we had no tent. I could only find a modest-sized evergreen tree on the side of the road to cozy under or into.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">Pooh and I huddled under that dripping tree with the poncho covering our backpack and everything else for a few hours. Eventually, it got rather boring stationed there. So, we lit out again at about 3:00 am and let the coming day dry us out a little at a time.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">Rain was threatening again a few days later when we had passed into southeastern Idaho. Actually, it was drizzling when Officer Larkin picked us up on the western edge of Soda Springs and gave us a quick ride to the Marina.</span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-i4O-HOtmRAk/VqfjnsigPiI/AAAAAAAACts/hI2g_eL9O7A/s1600/Officer.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; font-family: Tinos; font-size: medium; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-i4O-HOtmRAk/VqfjnsigPiI/AAAAAAAACts/hI2g_eL9O7A/s320/Officer.JPG" width="240" /></a><span class="zw-portion EOP" style="display: inline-block; font-size: 18pt; width: 10px;"></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">He said the forecast was for real rain, and I believed him. So, we “camped” for the night on the concrete slab under a pavilion near the water.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">I was more concerned about mosquitoes than rain then. Neither eventuated. The policeman got his forecast wrong. But, we were glad for DRY and thankful for the young man’s stopping to help us find a reasonable spot to park after it was already dark.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">The raindrops had not stopped falling in August in the desert southwest. We were nearing the end of the planned journey as things were tentatively scheduled when we got some unexpected lifts through the Pocatello area.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">I had been in touch with Duane and Audrey Kolman who were planning a run down into Idaho to lift me back up into Montana by mid August. The farther Pooh and I traveled to the north, the fewer miles the Kolmans would have to drive to the south to rescue us.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">The pace picked up thanks to a number of unsolicited rides. Several happening in lower Idaho.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">We were aiming for Rexburg as we passed through Pocatello, Idaho Falls and Blackfoot. We had some fun experiences with young folk the last few days and were running into our last laps of the present journey.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">Two jeep rides in a row, one from a potato farmer, and a brief - very brief - newspaper interview in Blackfoot made the day interesting. But as it wore on, the clouds appeared and the rains came down.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">They weren’t terrible. Even though the wind made getting the poncho on a bit of a task as I have often found it.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">We were some miles north of Blackfoot and thinking we had some more moments of weather to deal with when a car pulled over. A woman asked what we were doing and where we going. It was a tough time to campaign. But, I basically said, “We are just trying to get up the road toward Montana.”</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">Before we knew it, we were invited to Arlene’s house a couple miles off the road. Arlene made it clear, “I have never done this before and sure don’t know what my husband will say.”</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">Nonetheless, we got packed into Arlene’s small car and drove to her home. There to meet husband Ron who didn’t know what to think at first. But being a talkative bus driver for the Salt Lake Express, he soon got to know me a bit and I them.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">The Mechams have a large property and grown children. Rod has changed jobs a few times and Arlene has held the family together while running a title company and a Lutheran bible study. I got a few hints that Arlene might have the talents to be a pulpit minister. I passed them on.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">In any case, I was treated royally. Dinner and breakfast with Mechams, TV and conversation. A room to myself, sleeping on my decision on the cushy rug. Why mess up a bed for one night.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion EOP" style="display: inline-block; font-size: 18pt; width: 10px;"> </span><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-u22nWABInWk/VqfjmwKBw6I/AAAAAAAACtk/mT6c84Q41WI/s1600/Mechams.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-u22nWABInWk/VqfjmwKBw6I/AAAAAAAACtk/mT6c84Q41WI/s400/Mechams.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">Arlene drove me a couple miles down the road next morning. Rod said they would look for me on their way to Rigby later in the day. They had a party with an old RV court group to join that evening.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">So, we walked for several hours. Tiring a bit, I put out my flag and took a nap on the side of the road on the edge of a little town along the way.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">The Mechams appeared late afternoon and lifted me further up the road to Rigby which turned out to allow me to make our last stop on the road at the Country Club Golf Course on the far north side of town.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">While the Raindrops Kept Falling on My Head, they were surely beneficial in a number of ways. Like keeping the weather cool for August, getting to experience unusual shelters, and meeting grand people like the Mechams.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">I am always pondering the way things turn out. The Mechams had things to share with me, hopefully I with them. I sent a copy of my Montana book to them some weeks ago. I hope Arlene thinks more about ministerial work.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">And, then there is Rod -</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">Rod Mecham - Rob McNary</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">Rodney Mecham - Robert McNary</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">Interesting, Pooh and I started our journey out with Ronald McDonald and finished - more or less - with Rodney Mecham.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">Thanks to Ronald and to Rodney and especially to Arlene.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">I am reminded that Pooh and I have to visit another Arlene - 94 years old - at the nursing home in Harlowton in the next few days. Arlene read my Montana book when it came out. Said she would read it again when she had time.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">I will ask her if she ever found time and then Pooh and I will do some politicking with her.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 18pt;">Share your comments below or via theportableschool@gmail.com</span></div>
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Dr Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00841141808556194649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2566536860690555504.post-90839310610467381732015-12-09T13:00:00.003-08:002016-02-19T12:53:13.981-08:00The Mormon Trail + Addendum<div class="zw-paragraph" style="font-family: Didot; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 1; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; position: relative; text-align: center;">
<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 14pt;">The Mormon Trail</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 14pt;">I have had the very good fortune to be treated as friend and neighbor by complete strangers on many occasions during my five cross-country walks. Episodes of kindness and generosity have come from the hands of a variety of folks. I am sure there is some commonality behind it all, but I have only gotten a few glimpses. Former hitchhikers, sometimes backpackers, occasional trekkers, and just plain friendly humans seem to make up a good share of the people who have helped me down the road.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 14pt;">I also have notice one particular recurring thread in my last years of walking. I have decided to call it the Mormon Trail. I seem more and more to run into and be helped along the way by Mormons, often called Latter Day Saints. In 2014, my travels criss-crossed the literal and historical Mormon Trail in Wyoming and Nebraska.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 14pt;">On other occasions, I have experienced a modern version of the Mormon Trail. In 2012, I received a lift up the road to Rexburg, Idaho, a tour of the city, and a night at the Super 8 thanks to Mayor of Rexburg, Richard Woodland. On the following day, I visited the Mayor at his City Hall, took pictures and was sent over to the Rexburg Standard for long and engaging newspaper interview.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 14pt;">Rexburg is the home of Brigham Young University - Idaho and overflows with Mormons and their churches and lives. But, Mormonism spreads out all over and especially in the western states. I received gifts - sometimes unknowingly, I suspect - from Mormons a number of times on the 2012-trip.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 14pt;">Near the end of the trek, I stopped in Rogerson, Idaho, before heading towards Jackpot, Nevada, and the real desert. Anita Robinson, who runs the convenience mart and restaurant - the only business in town, cooked me breakfast“on the house”and put me on the road with a remembrance of Captain Moroni (a figure from the Book of Mormon).</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 14pt;">* Find the Trail of these stories at the blog called <i>Photogobia.</i></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 14pt;">In 2013, I was bailed out by Mormons in Coulson, Montana, when the front wheel of the Buggy I was pushing fell off. A Mormon woman, Joann Kofford, eventually took me under her wing, brought me to her home, made me part of her family, and got a young Mormon mechanic to repair my rig, which he did without charge. How lucky can a guy be?</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 14pt;">One might wonder about getting stuck on the road? What luck is that? But then, people like Joann step up and lend a hand like we are all supposed to do. And, new opportunities develop.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 14pt;">Farther down the road short of Ashland, I got caught in a hailstorm. I was drying out a bit when I made the town, but was still pretty weathered. Another Mormon, Koyatu Jorden, took charge. She packed the buggy in the back of her van and drove me on to Broadus where I camped in the park for the night. She even left me with a blanket worrying about me keeping warm. Koyatu was heading off to do road construction in the morning.</span></div>
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* See blog <i>Rescues & Rescuers.</i><br />
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 14pt;">It is interesting that the end of this trip in Nebraska found me being befriended in different ways by Seventh Day Adventists.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 14pt;">* See blog entitled <i>Natural Healing.</i></span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 14pt;">In 2014 during my sojourn in Wyoming, I was befriended by a Mormon helper on the second day out. For a time, I had found myself stuck in the heat of the day in a ghost town named Moneta (although the highway map suggested a regular spot in the road). The one family, a couple, in “town” kept me out of the sun during the day. But by 5:00, I was heading east with a few hours of sunlight to spare.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 14pt;">Before long, a man with a small child in the back seat of his car stopped and invited me to ride to Casper. I was glad to accept as it was really a long way from nowhere. The Good Samaritan turned out to be a Mormon podiatrist who worked and lived up the road. Dr. Marshall evangelized me a bit during the road trip, but did not push too hard. He dropped me off in front of a McDonald's and tried to put money in my pocket. But, I refused and thanked him for his preceding generosity. I sent him a copy of one of my books later on.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 14pt;">I don't remember any more Mormons on the road that year, but suspect I had rides or offers or helps from others along the way. One of my favorite moments that year occurred when I got picked up by Kathryn Wempen and dropped off in Kearney, Nebraska. We had met a couple days earlier at the Methodist Church in Overton. I have told quite a bit about the Wempen story in other blogs. </span><br />
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* This story still sits on the front page of <a href="http://theportableschool.com/">The Portable School Website.</a></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 14pt;">As for 2015, I should begin by telling that I lived most of this past year in Snowflake, Arizona. Snowflake is a Mormon pioneer town named for two men responsible for starting the small community of 5,000 people (10,000 counting adjoining Taylor). Mr. Snow and Mr. Flake put their heads and names together in 1876 to found Snowflake. It really could be called Noflakes because the snow is pretty sparse there even though the elevation is around 5500 feet.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 14pt;">On the other hand, there are lots of Mormons named Flake in the town. I met five of them during my stay, including Joseph who is a brother to US Senator, Jake Flake. I didn't meet any Snows.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 14pt;">In any case, I spent most of the year in real Mormon country. The Mormons were all around, but I mostly encountered them in the grocery store near the RV Park where I stayed. I had been settled for six months before I got a knock on the door from two female Mormon missionaries. The moment was a little surprising since I was unaware that young women could be missionaries and had to wonder why a Mormon pioneer town with a dozen Mormon wards might need missionaries.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 14pt;">I had already encountered a number of Jehovah Witnesses and Seventh Day Adventists in the Trailer Park. Both of those sets of people were keen to interest me in their way.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 14pt;">I made but three good and potentially lasting friends in Snowflake. The first two were my landlord and landlady. I decided to call the Gibsons the Landbarons for a number of reasons. I don't believe Kevin and Debbie would mind.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 14pt;">My other friend is Jeff Hunt whom I met at the supermarket working one of his three jobs there. Jeff is descended from pioneer stock and invited me to his family picnic after the annual Pioneer Day Parade. Jeff did a large share of the cooking that day which featured chili and homemade bread. Jeff also did the honors in making 13 gallons of ice cream.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 14pt;">A few days after I had set a route and a starting date for my 2015 Walk to the Northland and Campaign Outing for Mr. Pooh, Jeff told me that he would look for us on his upcoming family trip through Salt Lake City into Idaho.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 14pt;">So, we kept in touch for a few days via text messages. When it happened that the family car was overheating and their trip was canceled, Jeff sent me a message wishing me luck on my travels and told me that he would pray that some of his Mormon kin would help me out along the road.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 14pt;">I tucked that notion in the back of my mind and continued on through Navajo Land. Pooh and I passed on by way of Utah and Wyoming. One morning as we had Montpelier, Idaho in our sites, a reddish late-model car (I don't know one from the other) made a U-turn on the highway and pulled up behind me. A woman approaching my age got out and asked me about our project and destination.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 14pt;">Before long, Pooh and I were ensconced in the backseat of the Mitchells' car. They were heading home to Boise and were quite interested to find out that we had started our journey in Snowflake, Arizona.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 14pt;">Carol Mitchell grew up in Snowflake, was born of Mormon stock, and knew the Hunt family quite well. How do you like those apples?</span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 1; text-align: center;"> </span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 14pt;">Well, the Mitchells drove us 40-50 miles to Montpelier and headed onward for the rest of their journey home. So, did Jeff Hunt's prayer materialize? Or, how did that episode come about?</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 14pt;">I had a couple other "Mormon experiences" on this recent trip in Idaho. Climbing a hill one morning in Potato Country, I was greeted by a group of young men up an incline on my side of the road. As I carried my flag, they were standing at attention and saluting. Well, I couldn't let that moment pass. So, I stopped. Walked up to where they were standing with eyes wide open. We had a short conversation and I took photos. I didn't ask, but knew quite surely that the boys were Mormons.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 14pt;">A day or two later in Chubbuck, I was sitting outside an ice cream shop having a treat. Some littler people appeared and asked about my adventure. They had seen me on the road earlier in the day. I had another conversation, campaign moment, and photo op.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 14pt;">On my last full day on the road, Terry and his daughter Raquel stopped to visit. Shortly thereafter, I got a motorcycle ride on the last mile or so into Rigby Idaho.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 14pt;">Some day, I will "figure" out the Mormon connection. When I do, I will relate the Rest of the Story.</span></div>
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<span class="zw-portion" style="font-size: 14pt;">Send comments or insights to theportableschool at gmail dot com.</span><br />
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Brief Addendum:<br />
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Two Mormon friends have recently suggested that because I have this affinity for Mormons, I should become one. My first response was 'not in this lifetime.'<br />
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After some thought I have come to the tentative conclusion that I must have traveled across the American continent with the Mormons in the 19th century - previous incarnation. That has got me thinking on another book with a title something like American Odyssey: From the Left Bank to the Golden Gate.<br />
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More later.</div>
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Dr Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00841141808556194649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2566536860690555504.post-58523494171613215342015-11-03T12:48:00.002-08:002019-03-11T13:29:17.418-07:00Telephone Power<span style="font-size: large;">Let me take a break from the Walk Blog and tell a story from my nine-month sojourn in Snowflake Arizona.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The "most exciting" week of my time there came when my landlords, the Gibsons, asked me to feed their dogs and cat while they did a horse training in Phoenix. They loaned me one of their cars while they were away, but I hiked back and forth six miles (10 times) in the roundtrip during their absence. I figured the exercise would help me get ready for my summer trek to the North land.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Practically every day, something out of the ordinary occurred during my hike to check on the animals. I, however, will just tell one story from those treks which occurred one evening.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">While heading out about a half-mile from my destination, I got a beep on my cellphone. Since I "talk to wrong numbers," I stopped to check on the missed call from Ginger Arnold back on the East Coast. I decided I would return her call after I finished my chore.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">On the return trip, I moved a few yards away from the shoulder of Old Woodruff Road and placed myself on top of big sandstone rock. I was at the top of the hill and as high as I could get in the area. I thought, "If there was a signal, I am sure to get it."</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I punched through the numbers to make the call. And, I got through. Ginger said she was wondering about me. "Are you all right?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I thought I was and said so. We talked just a few minutes and I returned to the road heading back to Snowflake.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I was just a few blocks down the hill reading a book as I walked, </span><span style="font-size: large;">when TWO police cars with flashing lights came speeding in my direction. I was a bit surprised when they pulled off right in front of me. An officer jumped out of his car and asked, "Are you Phillips?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"No."</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Well, you answer to the description of Phillips. Do you have a gun?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"No. I haven't touched one in 40 years."</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Have you seen a man with a gun on the road?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"No."</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I was asked for my ID and I obediently handed it over. I didn't say much. I have learned to follow police orders and requests without question or wonderment.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">After a couple minutes, the young officer returned my driver's license and the two headed off up the hill in their two police cars. I continued down the road on my wondering way, "What was that all about?" I thought.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">By the time I turned the corner onto Concho Highway, the policemen were returning from their chase. They stopped just a block or so behind me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Two or three evenings later, I traveled the same route without encountering police. (My first night out I had been offered and accepted a ride from Sank Flake, a former Snowflake Police Chief.) I was picking up trash as I wandered the road at that time. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I had a plastic bagful when I saw a man emptying his own garbage into a big dumpster at the corner where I last saw the police. I went over, said Hello, and asked if I could dump my gleanings along with his.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">He was accommodating and we started a conversation about a number of things. Before long, I had to ask, "Were you here the other night when the police stopped?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I told him what had happened to me. The gentleman said, "Oh, I know what that was all about. Phillips used to live in the apartment next door. He was a little wacky, but now lives in Taylor. We haven't seen him for some time. I can almost guess who it was who called 911. Whoever it was was driving up Woodruff Road and saw a man standing on top of a rock next with what she imagined was a gun pointed to his head. Thus, the phone call to the police."</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The moral of the story must be something like: "Do be careful where and when you make telephone calls and where you point your cellphone. It could be dangerous from one angle or another."</span><br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-s-5qXeIKyqQ/Vjkdh7L0e7I/AAAAAAAACq4/5sDqOA3n0s4/s1600/suicide_400025.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="242" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-s-5qXeIKyqQ/Vjkdh7L0e7I/AAAAAAAACq4/5sDqOA3n0s4/s320/suicide_400025.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Image thanks to http://www.toonpool.com/cartoons/suicide_40002</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Send comments to theportableschool@gmail.com.</span>Dr Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00841141808556194649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2566536860690555504.post-70570959609123462312015-09-30T13:07:00.002-07:002016-02-18T12:20:51.826-08:00Navajo Nation<span style="font-size: large;">This summer's excursion began on July 29 early in the morning. As opposed to past years, I had company every day in the form of my good friend, Mr. Pooh, who is running for President. He tells me to announce that he has over 16 votes committed as the result of our cross-country walk. I think he has a few more than that but ... who is really counting now? Visit </span><a href="http://poohforpresident.com/" style="font-size: x-large;">http://poohforpresident.com</a><span style="font-size: large;">.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Pooh and I had some interesting conversations along the way. And, you should have heard us singing "Side by Side" as we walked down the highway.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">A new friend, Laura Schubert, offered us a ride to Chambers from Snowflake Arizona one day when the two of us were helping to get the Huethers ready to move from the Shady Corners RV Park. It was an 80-mile lift up the road and I could not pass up saving 3 days of walking and a visit with an energetic school teacher and good-deed doer.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Laura let us off at the Navajo exit. Mr. Pooh and I spent a couple hours on the south side of the Interstate at the gas station and convenience mart there. </span><span style="font-size: large;">I decided we should start the walk - for astrological purposes - at 10:15. So, I visited with the cashier Teresa and got her to supply me with garbage bags to help clean up the truck parking lot. Interestingly, the dumpster was already overflowing when I tried to deposit extra bags full of trash. I have come to realize that there is job security in highway cleanup.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">A little after 10, we passed through Chambers which is little more than a few houses and an abandoned gas station north of Interstate 40 on US Highway 191. It was just a bit eerie starting out in such territory.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I also must say that when I walk through an Indian reservation I have some trepidation. People have told me to beware and I have had my own wonderments. But like most every place I have walked, I have only had the best of experiences in traveling through the Cheyenne Reservation two years ago and this year marching across the Navajo Reservation.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">People are people everywhere. And my experience of the Navajo Nation was overwhelmingly positive. There was one minor exception I will relate in another blog.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">We passed a few miles along the highway. Skies were partly cloudy, the road clear and the scenery was desert with only a very rare tree to complement the sparse grass and sagebrush. Before long a young Indian woman and brother stopped and then carried us to a turn in the road at Many Ruins. The young man was returning from an AA meeting and seemed to want to do a good deed. We happily accepted.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The walk continued on to Klagetoh where we were greeted on the edge of town by a radiant woman named Dorothy who jumped out of her van and took up conversation. Dorothy grew up on the reservation but lives in Minnesota and was visiting her parents - the Begays. She had to know what we were up to while bestowing a number of treats and water upon us.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I made a photo-op out of the occasion and got Sam the Flag and Pooh the President into the picture with Dorothy and her family. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Later on while I was visiting with LaMonte Smith at the nearby convenience mart, Dorothy reappeared with an offering of spaghetti and garlic bread. Dorothy was one of the brightest light so the whole trip. (If you ever read this, Dorothy, send me a note.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Mr. Smith was a real talker and bent my ear for quite a while before we walked on. Pooh and I had again gone but a few miles when offered a ride of several miles to Ganado. A family of five with Montana connections who lived in Klagetoh (they were also part of the Begay clan) lifted us up the road and then turned back to drive home. I assumed they lived in Ganado and was much surprised when they turned to retrace miles to their home. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">This happened another time when a young woman spotted us early in the morning when rising from night's rest on the side of the highway between Mountain View and Kemmerer Wyoming. Trittany had just gotten off work on a 13-hour shift as nurse at the medical facility in Kemmerer. She was returning to Robertson - an hour away - but stopped to invite us for a ride back to Kemmerer for which she retraced her travels 30 or so miles. Then she turned again to the south. Trittany would be back on duty in just a few hours. She told me that she only needed three hours of sleep each day. That makes her extraordinary in a number of ways.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Back to my Navajo Nation sojourn: The Begays pointed out a park near the highway where we could rest for the night. Well, it wasn't much of park. A few trees standing next to a "wash." There are a lot washes in that country. A wash being an area which spurts and floods a bit when rain collects and has no river or stream to run into. Otherwise washes are patches of sand and dirt with maybe some trees and bushes making for some extra greenery.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Pooh and I rested next to the few trees and walked on when the sun came up in the morning. We marched with the flag until reaching an intersection a few miles up the road. There we met Wilbur Smith, a "cousin" of LaMonte who works for the Highway Department and offered a ride to take us a few miles up the road.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Wilbur did most of the talking and we surveyed the desert heading northward. Fifteen or twenty miles later, Wilbur turned off the main highway and bid us Good Travels.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">We walked on to and through Chinle. I was hoping to find a stream or gully, or somewhere do cool my feet. Just a shade tree amidst the buildings in the desert town. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I eventually noticed the Liberty Fellowship on the way out of town. I thought, "At least I can rest on the shadow side of this little church."</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Eventually, Terry Jones appeared and slowly opened to a conversation. Before long, he brought out a bucket of water for my feet. And later, a couple of hot dogs. </span><br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wR8iXfXRmQk/Vg3QaS0GFnI/AAAAAAAACo8/dJ5skr9nJ24/s1600/IMG_0014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wR8iXfXRmQk/Vg3QaS0GFnI/AAAAAAAACo8/dJ5skr9nJ24/s400/IMG_0014.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Terry is not the Fellowship minister but rather caretaker. I learned a bit about him and the Fellowship he has helped put together. He also told me about a Revival which was to be held up the road. I didn't get the details, but said I would be on the lookout as I traveled northward.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Before the day was out, other Revivalers found me resting again on the side of the road. Paulette and Albert drove me to their Revival (a different one - it seems they are fairly common on the Navajo Reservation). Sorry, no Revival photos.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I had never been to a Revival of any kind before. It was a Navajo Christian long, loud episode under a large tent. Maybe 60 people participated in what was apparently a common occurrence. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Christian Rock from a three-man group began the affair which was followed by one speaker after another as well as testimonials. I even got up and shared a few words about my march through Navajoland. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I kept hearing that food would be coming before long. But, it seemed to get put off and put off because of the order and length of service.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I was at a disadvantage - not knowing a word of Navajo. Some of the service was translated intermittently. But, the final hurrahs did not occur until 11:30 pm after starting around 7:00.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I was not very hungry by then, but decided to have a few beans and start walking again. By the time I passed through the line, all the beans were gone. So, ate a bit of rice and had a cookie.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Then, I made my Adieus. I was invited to rest on the property. But, I figured one spot on the desert was as good as any. The night was young and needed quiet and space.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">We hiked on - laden with food and bottled drinks given by new friends - for a few miles along a dirt track next to highway. The moon was full and it was good to be back with Pooh on the road.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">What did I learn from the Revival? </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">* There are good people everywhere - or at least trying to be good.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">We have opportunities to practice. And, I get to be on the receiving end of things when I go walking. That was not my intention, but it has been my good fortune along the way.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">* Church people - whoever they are - like to carry on about God wanting this and that and having a special place for them. But, we all have a place now and always will. Old friend, Bill Modes, used to say, "We are living in eternal life right now!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The next day, I woke up near Many Farms and walked slowly around Round Rock. It was a long stretch but I got to see many sides of the natural monument and walk through a bit of the Black Mesa. I had imagined hiking through part of Monument Valley. Round Rock turned out to be a good substitute.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I had a number of helpers that day. Carissa and Whistle stopped (photo) in mid-afternoon and gifted me with water and a sandwich. A little later, I was "shocked" when ice water in a bottle was handed to me by a couple of women in a local taxi for medical services. What a deal!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">After walking most of the day, I made it to the town of Round Rock AZ. It barely deserves the name compared to the earlier spots on the road in the Navajo Reservation. After a short ride which I will tell in another installment, I walked past the small enclave of little more than houses with a school. I passed another tent set up for a Revival which was about to begin.</span><br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ucCBlnIIkkA/Vg3Qb-ISOII/AAAAAAAACpM/PjpvWtPyrjw/s1600/IMG_0026.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ucCBlnIIkkA/Vg3Qb-ISOII/AAAAAAAACpM/PjpvWtPyrjw/s640/IMG_0026.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I decided one Revival might last me for years and walked onward. Of a sudden, a small pickup stopped. A woman named Adella invited me to sit in the back of her vehicle as she drove toward Blanding Utah with her two grandchildren in front. </span><br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zXQwLmeSNJs/Vg3QcND7eEI/AAAAAAAACpQ/nsBmg0XTxtI/s1600/IMG_0031.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zXQwLmeSNJs/Vg3QcND7eEI/AAAAAAAACpQ/nsBmg0XTxtI/s640/IMG_0031.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">From walking three miles an hours, all of a sudden Pooh and I were watching Round Rock, the desert floor, and the rest of the world race past us. My appreciation - at least for the moment - for vehicular travel was increased. It was also grand to see the desert and rock formations pass by in full relief.</span><br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DiGW3ioAwN4/Vg3QcoXMZtI/AAAAAAAACpo/Rk9YIPkgAAU/s1600/IMG_0034.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DiGW3ioAwN4/Vg3QcoXMZtI/AAAAAAAACpo/Rk9YIPkgAAU/s640/IMG_0034.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">It seems Pooh and I swept through the Navajo Reservation in a flash. Time is one of those variable affairs.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">What does not change in my experience - is people ready and wanting to lend a hand. Would that we recognized that and knew better how to make use of all those helping hands.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Thanks to all my friends here and there and especially in Navajo Nation.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Send comments to theportableschool@gmail.com.</span>Dr Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00841141808556194649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2566536860690555504.post-89048847638202701762015-08-29T19:56:00.002-07:002015-08-29T19:56:37.257-07:00Back in Montana Again<span style="font-size: large;">Friends, Neighbors and Fellow Travelers.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I made it to Montana after 19 days on the road. My partner Pooh and I are not much worse for the wear.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">We met many fine people along the route from Snowflake Arizona to Harlowton Montana. I will try to share highlights of the journey in coming days and post pictures once I am re-settled.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Returning to Harlowton has been a bit of a surprise. Practically every day, an old friend or acquaintance appears wearing a big smile, asking about me and my travels and my future.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">My good friends Duane and Audrey Kolman drove 300 miles to Rexburg Idaho to relieve me from road duty after already covering about 800. Now, I am occupied with helping them with house improvements. Duane is tending to refurbishing and painting window frames. I am in charge of the eaves and soffits.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The painting has been an irregular process in part because of social occasions. There has been family company, the 100th anniversary of the Masonic Lodge in Lavina, a dowsing excursion north of Shawmut, and an evening of guitar serenades thanks to Lorenzo Haarr. It has also been slow by heat, smoke from forest fires here and there, and the tempered movements of aging painters.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">But, persistence pays off in painting just as in walking the highway. More about the latter in the next post. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Send comments to theportableschool@gmail.com.</span></div>
Dr Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00841141808556194649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2566536860690555504.post-45124087016702755392015-07-26T20:26:00.001-07:002015-07-27T16:48:49.129-07:00A Sweet Alternative to Politics as Usual<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Friends and Neighbors.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">My friend Charlotte has suggested a number of times that Robert should campaign for President. All else failing he might sell some books like Hillary Clinton, Newt Gingrich, and Ron Paul and several others.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Well, that would be a less than honest way to campaign. And, we need more truth, honesty, and other things in politics in the rest of life. And, Robert is not very political anyway.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Enter Pooh the Bear. Pooh is a friend to many and recently a regular companion for me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">I told Charlotte that Pooh should run for President as the Sweet Alternative. Several people have responded positively to the idea and concur that Americans need another choice.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I asked Pooh if he was interested. He said, "If the Donald can run, Then, Pooh can be President."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Pooh and I will be campaigning in the coming days as we take a summer trip from Arizona to Montana and back.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">We invite your interest and support. Pooh has a new website at <a href="http://poohforpresident.com/" style="color: #1155cc;" target="_blank">http://PoohForPresident.com</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">We will blog from <a href="http://theportableschool.blogspot.com/" style="color: #1155cc;" target="_blank">http://theportableschool.<wbr></wbr>blogspot.com</a> as opportunities allow.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Contact us through email at theportableschool@gmail.com</span><br />
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Dr Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00841141808556194649noreply@blogger.com0