ABOUT TWENTY YEARS ago, while living in Arizona, I read a good number of the mystery novels by Tony Hillerman.  They centered on the exploits of a Navajo detective who used his senses of harmony and balance to solve crimes on the enormous reservation that covers parts of  Arizona, New Mexico, Utah and Colorado.  It includes Hopi and other tribal sections.  Robert Redford bought the rights to some of the material and co-produced this with George R. R. Martin and others. One of the benefits of the “whodunnits” here is the look into the Navajo culture. It’s matriarchal and mystical, holistic and animist; it’s beautiful, noble and vulnerable. [There’s currently a Ken Burns’ documentary on the American Bison and the effect is the same:

[Authors Note–Please Read: This piece is for education and entertainment only. ] I am not the boy who cried “Wolf!” –Besides, one wolf does not a disaster make. Actually, I like wolves; they are beautiful, intelligent and have complex social structures. They work together hunting and caring for the pups. Many of the First Peoples’ cosmologies depict the wolf as an important fellow traveler  who has suffered a fate not unlike their own: misunderstood, removed, contained, and demonized (as exhibited by the folktale in the case of the wolf). [By the way, I am reviewing a series about the Navajo  called “Dark Winds” in the Movies section of this blog.] In this early phase of AI, this age of robo-advisors, and investment professionals who only

  [This is a seasonal piece from Unit Three Writings] MY SEASON APPROACHES and with it arrive my best prospects for redemption. I refer to September, both as the ninth month and as a stage of Life–the ripeness of being that precedes the bitter cold. I refer to the September I was born to and those sweet, sad days that invite surrender to Melancholy’s caress. This belief takes shape in me only now, at fifty. It formed in increments by way of three separate and eclectic experiences. The first came while I was away at college, that blissful period when my future was indiminishable by doubt or skepticism, and a writing pad stuck out of my back pocket that I might recognize and record rare

    [This piece, taken from the writing collection of the same title, is re-posted as an anniversary tribute. Dad died on August 12, 2013. ]       The Eighth Day by Thornton Wilder is my favorite book. It is probably also the most underrated novel of the last century. I never merely re-read it; every few years it summons me, and like a somnambulist I turn to the bookshelf and reach for my copy. A novel such as that is a conjurer’s orb: your hands surround and caress it, your eyes peer into its depths and… a voice sounds. The voice wields the kind of authority that dismisses fiction. The images, the characters—the story chronicles a series of events so rife with Truth

THERE ARE THREE FILMS either just out or opening soon that I am very anxious to see.   Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny I have come to appreciate Harrison Ford more and more through his role in the Star Wars franchise but more so because of his starring role in Bladerunner and its sequel. I expect the quality of the production to be top-notch and the plot to be compelling. Cast includes Antonio Banderas, Phoebe Waller-Bridge, and Mads Mikkelsen.   Asteroid City I would probably watch anything Wes Anderson makes. I never watched the Darjeeling Limited, but he has made several incredible and artful films, like Moonrise Kingdom, The Royal Tannenbaums, Grand Budapest Hotel, etc. One testament to the success of his work