Manton's Test

Well, it’s here, 2025. It seems like Y2K was just yesterday and we all the world was going to end, wasn’t that a laugh. To be honest, I don’t have much planned for 2025. We just moved to Texas, and hopefully we are done with moving for some time. 

Career, work, or just being productive wise, I have two more SANS certs to complete in the next five months. Hopefully I will be back in the gainfully employed world not long after that. 

Other than that, though, I don’t have a lot planned.  I would like to read more, which I say every year. Get healthier is also on the list. But I don’t have any grand plans. Take care of the home and the kids are the main priorities. Oh, and as stated above, become gainfully employed again. 

I hope everyone out there in ole’ internet land has a fruitful and peaceful year ahead. Here is to making it to 2026!

So back in 2019 at peak covid our family moved from Dallas Texas to Staten Island, New York, where we stayed three years. I’m not the biggest fan of NYC, but it was a pleasant stint in the Big Apple. From there we moved to Huntington, West Virginia. This was one of the most beautiful places I have ever lived. Unfortunately, it doesn’t offer much beyond its looks, and we lasted there for six months. I still miss the place a little.

We ended up in Beloit, Wisconsin where we have been exactly a year. It’s ten minutes from where I grew up, and I have a few wonderful friends here that I hadn’t seen in ages. Though I did see them some, I quickly realized that now we’re in our fifties and the days of loitering at each other’s homes and showing up unannounced are over. We all have kids, jobs, and many other responsibilities. They were the only reason to possibly stick around, but it really wasn’t happening. The four times we hung out in a year wasn’t really worth staying in the area, better to visit. 

So now, two days before Christmas, we will be moving back to Texas, the place that is really more our home. Neither my wife nor I were born there, but our children were. So the natives out number us. We’ve finally dropped the renter life after thirteen years and bought ourselves a house, hoping to dig in some roots for the kids; who, if it all goes smooth, will get to spend Christmas and Christmas Eve in their new home. Bonus, they don’t have to share a room anymore. So everyone, have a Merry Christmas! Here’s to new beginnings. 

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It may sound silly, but about once a week, sometimes more, I find myself wishing I were a cowboy.  The freedom that would come from the total disconnect from the rest of the world. The peaceful feeling of open spaces and working with animals. And let’s not forget a tinge of adventure. 

At 52, I find myself wishing this still. There was a time in my early thirties I seriously considered it, then came marriage and kids and it slipped away. These days, I still find it nice to think about. 

Today I sit attached to my desk, living in a semi suburban world. The only animals I tend to are my two dogs. Sometimes I sit alone and listen to old cowboy songs from the likes of Chris Ledoux. I guess it helps that I live in Texas, giving me default western status, though nowhere near that reality. 

I work in cybersecurity and hang out in more undeveloped parts of the web where outlaws may dwell, I guess that is as close as I get. It’s nice to daydream. 

And the trial of new blogging products continues. I recently just heard of Pika and figured I would give it a peek. It seems to hold to the original ideals of Ghost when it first came out. Just a simple place to write and post from. 

Playing around with the interface so far, I like it. It’s simple and clean. I will have to play around with it a lot more to see if it truly fits my needs. I was going to use ghost, but in all reality it’s pretty expensive, and I’m not going to be having a ton of people paying to read what I write, so why bother. 

Well this post is mainly an experiment and will be deleted sooner than later, so let’s see what happens. 

Cheers

I joined the Baha’i Faith in 2010. After a childhood growing up Catholic, my stint in high school as a proclaimed atheist, to a seeker after my time in the army, finally finding and falling in love with the Baha’i Faith. As I now read the history of the faith and its writings, I think back to being a soldier.

On March 20th, 2003, I crossed over the border from Kuwait to Iraq for the first time. I was a ball of fear, excitement, and wonder all rolled up in one. I spent most of the first few days in the back of a Bradley fighting vehicle. I remember seeing a sign telling us that we were atop Babylon, which all I could see was sand and some old brick walls scattered about in the region. With the occasional view of MLRS rocket systems sending volleys and feeling sorry for those on the receiving end. Other than knowing the name Babylon, it held no significance to me on that day.

One of the subsequent significant events I remember from the invasion is doing a feint to make the enemy think we would cross a particular bridge over the Euphrates. Of course, there was quite a lot happening there, and at no time did I put too much thought into the river’s name. But I remember artillery hitting buildings, lots of gunfire, and having my first opportunity to engage the enemy. That day is very much ingrained in my mind.

I saw the Tigris river for the first time a couple of days later. I didn’t give it too much thought beyond recognizing the name from various holy writings of the many faiths. I must have crossed that river a dozen times after that. It sat in my memory banks as that place I’ve heard of in the Bible, but the history never came to mind.

I then left Iraq to return yet again, not long after. I was wounded ten miles from the Tigris as I and many others fought for their lives on the bloodiest day I had ever witnessed. Again, I used lethal force against other men.

Now all these years later, I sit and read holy writings and see Babylon, Euphrates, and Tigris repeated all the time. Bah’u’llah, the figurehead of the Baha’i Faith Himself, was exiled to Bahgdad and declared his message in the Ridvan garden along the Tigris river; I was wounded around six miles from that holy and historic location. Let alone, after some investigation, I discovered I was less than two miles from His home in Bahgdad, which was destroyed in 2013; I could of, or may have even seen it, chances are pretty high for that matter. I have pictures of buildings not far from its historical location.

Now that I am a Baha’i, I cannot help but think of these facts as somewhat mystical coincidences. I did more praying in Iraq than I had in the previous decade. Was I spared in battle to later become a member of the Baha’i faith? Is there some link that I won’t ever know until I move on to the next world? It’s exciting to dwell on. The entire idea I was so close to something I believe so strongly in now but had no clue then fascinates me.

Did my fighting in Iraq in consequently have any effect on my being in the Baha’i faith today? I have to wonder.

This photo shows the building I lived in for some time in relation to Karkh which is the are Baha’u’llah’s home was located

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This evening, I listened to the song I Believe by Andrea Bocelli and Katherine Jenkins. I am always so moved when I listen to this song—the blend of those fantastic vocals and the lyrics that touch my heart so profoundly. The entire piece makes me melt. I’m not sure if you have heard the song, but I just wanted to share some of those lyrics.

One day I’ll hear The laugh of children In a world where war has been banned

One day I’ll see Men of all colors Sharing words of love and devotion

and

Open your heart To those who need you In the name of love and devotion

Yes, I believe

I believe in the people Of all nations To join and to care For love

I believe in a world Where light will guide us And giving our love We’ll make heaven on earth

Someday when you have the time, put the song on and meditate on those lyrics if we could all make something so beautiful manifest, truly making heaven on earth.

I just finished the series Afterlife about a widower who is having trouble getting beyond the loss of his wife. It has to be one of the greatest love stories I have ever watched, even with the ridiculous amount of foul language it contains. It’s funny how Ricky Gervais can offend yet still break my heart. I just found it to be such a moving little series that it is definitely worth the watch. But I’m sad it is over. I really recommend it. If you’re offended by foul language, you may want to avoid it.

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Today I stumbled upon a great little movie I didn’t know existed. The story of a young Pakistani boy in England whose life is inspired by Bruce Springsteen. I really did enjoy it. If you are a Springsteen fan or like stories about immigrant families, you will really enjoy it, I think.

Blinded by the Light

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For those of you who are curious about other faiths or religions, I wanted to share a nine-episode podcast series I recently finished called Ambassador to Humanity. It’s available on Spotify, Apple, and most other popular podcatchers. It recounts the life and work of Abdu’l-Baha, the son of Baha’u’llah, the founder of the Baha’i Faith, and the authorized interpreter of His teachings.

He was loved by Muslims, Jews, Christians, and many more. He lived a life of service to humanity. As I sat and listened to each episode, each one made me cry to myself silently as I would think what it would be like to have been in his presence, or if I could live up to his example, and very much reminded me that I haven’t. I really cannot express the amount of love I felt just from stories of people who had encountered Him.

I’m not trying to push a sales pitch for the Baha’i faith; It is a chance to hear what kind of people we can strive to be, no matter our faith or even lack of it. Honestly, it is worth listening to and a significant part of our history. I hope you enjoy it.

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I’ve never really owned land, in the big sense. Nothing more than a backyard for me. But I do know people who have some, and they have been kind enough to let me pretend it was mine for short periods. Well, maybe they didn’t know I was pretending it was mine. But nonetheless they let me make use of it freely. I believe there is nothing better than being free to experience a place with no limits. To have free rein to do what you wish.

There is one piece, in particular, that is close to my heart. I’ve spent a lot of years exploring it, chasing one of my true loves (trout), and even teaching myself to hunt and skin small game. I spent day after day there, summer, fall, winter, and spring again.

It was around my early twenties when I first encountered it. This piece of land is back where I call home. It was owned by someone I considered a great man and now it’s in the hands of another. Both of them have the skill, patience, and ingenuity to make use of it. When I speak of making use of it, I don’t mean leveling it for the greater good. It’s something more intricate. It’s keeping it as it is yet making a few adjustments for the people who live there to learn, grow, and commune with that which is their home.

When you pull up, there is what appears to be an average little brown split-level ranch house. It looks to be only one story, but it’s sunk into the side of a small hill it sits upon. I rarely, if ever, walked through the front door of that house. I would usually park my car in the driveway. Sometimes I would throw on waders and grab a fly-rod, sometimes not. I then would immediately set forth down the slope off to the side of the house.

Right away I remember the fire pit surrounded by some stumps and chairs. Sometimes with a big cast iron cauldron sitting nearby. All of this is under a large, robust tree. I feel that tree had seen so much. A young man providing for his family and building their home. The laughter of a young girl running around the garden and the woods nearby. The same young girl raising children of her own. Let alone all the stories it has heard from neighbors, wandering fishermen, and my mouth even.

There are times I would visit and never made it beyond that fire pit. I sat there and shared brews and stories with the best friends a guy could have. Good times and bad, before the war and after. I am so blessed some of my children have even been lucky enough to visit and sit by that fire also, at least when they weren’t running around or playing with Red, one of the nicer chickens at the time. I do so pray the rest of my children to make it there at some point also.

Next to the fire pit were the chicken coops and orchard. Alongside the multiple cords of wood, some from this property and some from others in the area, all local. A couple of buildings sitting next to them. One filled with motorcycles from other eras. The other is a place for industrious work. Giant machines from decades past created all kinds of contraptions and doohickeys with wood and steel. Now and then one would hear gunshots from within even. For those brave enough to blow out their eardrums, there was a short shooting range inside. This was a place men would hang out or boys who thought they were men at the time.

Back outside the workshop was a large fenced yard behind the main house. Here you could see the lower floor and the large porch coming off the top floor. Towards the end of the fenced yard was the beginning of a nicely mowed trail that was the width of what I think your standard urban bike path would be, but to be exact was actually exactly the width of the blades the tractor that cut it pulled about. At this point and beyond it really gave the feeling of a developed park. The trails all wide went off in various loops. If I remember correctly, there were at least a couple of strategically placed benches to rest on also.

Not long after you start meandering down the trail you encounter a ‘T’ with the top being a pool. Not a swimming pool, well it could have been. But the corner in a stream with a big stump hanging into it. At the top of it was a narrow, fast-flowing channel that had a deeply undercut bank. It has been home to some of the larger small stream trout I’ve ever caught. The pool itself is nice and round, maybe ten to fifteen feet across. When you approach it you are on a high bank looking down into it. I used to spend multiple days on my belly gazing into the water watching the trout feed. To this day, I believe it is my favorite place on earth. If I could just lay on my belly there again on a nice cool spring day.

The stream itself was the most picturesque little stream you could ever imagine, especially for this location. It was a beautiful beacon of the natural world, hidden not very far from one of the highest crime rates in the country. It crossed the entire property and many others. It ran all the way to a Forest Preserve down the road. Where we had hangouts with names like “Magic Rock” and at times may have partaken in certain liberties and tried to follow that stream to its end. We never would make it. Not that I remember, at least.

Back to the property. I told you there was a ‘T’. If you went to the right, you would loop back towards the start. The trail was lined with tall grasses and insects buzzing about. If you went to the left, which was the longer path, you would walk along the creek which was lined with young trees and the tall grasses and before mentioned buzzing on the right. But not long after you would be flanked by trees on both sides. As you walked, the trail had a couple of branches and loops you could go off on. But you continue straight ahead and a large meadow opens up before you. The meadow was surrounded by trees on three sides. The fourth side was open to the stream and another large corner pool. Not as deep as the other, but it was a tad larger with a wider shallow riffle feeding it.

The landowner always kept the meadow mowed, just like the paths we used to walk in on. This is a place for festivities of all kinds, whether it was the Fourth of July or just a weekend. Friends would picnic, camp, and just commune with each other and the meadow. The property was just so amazing, for some time I would describe it as Disney Land for guys. I could go on and on with stories about shooting skeet, hunting chicken murdering raccoons, and various other shenanigans, but I think I will keep some of those memories to myself for now.

The land is a beautiful thing, whether public or private. I think we all need a little of it in our lives to keep sanity in these times where it seems hustle culture reigns supreme. I can only pray that I will be able to provide a similar experience for my kids before they are too old to want to give it a shot. I also hope others get to embark on their own adventures with the land. If only to entice them to care for it and protect it. It’s such a treasure, and I long for the day I myself will get to return to wander it again.

This post was on my blog before I redid things and I just wanted it back.