Today I'm thankful that the check-in person in security at Miami International Airport is a joyous black woman who calls everyone "sweetie', "honey" and "baby". She says "That's YOUR birthday? You lookin' GOOD!" when she checks the I.D. of an elderly gentleman, and "That's what I'M talkin' about!" when she checks out an impossibly luscious young Latina. Only the most cynical can keep from smiling... and we all forget, just for a moment, that we're snaking through a security line at a snail's pace, heading for a pat-down.
Possibly this makes us remember that zooming across the country in a plane is a miracle and a privilege, not a hassle. And that we should respect our fellow humans, not suspect them. And that we should meet every day with gratitude - not just one autumnal Thursday per year.
I read a recent review of Armistead Maupin's latest book, where I found this quote:
“It all goes so fast,” Mary Ann thinks. “We dole out our lives in dinner parties and plane flights, and it’s over before we know it. We lose everyone we love, if they don’t lose us first, and every single thing we do is intended to distract us from that reality.”
Yes - that's reality. So we give thanks for every one of our wonderful crowd of family and friends, and for every experience that comes our way. We love you - pass it on.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Sunday, November 14, 2010
My Schizophrenic Life
So we went through a year and a half of being either "homeless and jobless" (my husband's version) or "nomadic and free" (my version), depending on who you ask. In May, we settled in Bisbee (no longer homeless) and in October, I was awarded a consulting contract with my former employer in Florida (no longer jobless). Yay - money in the bank! Yay - I get to work with people I really like!
This very positive development has me feeling a bit schizophrenic, though. No two places in the world could be more opposite than Bisbee, Arizona and Boca Raton, Florida. Dick has always called Bisbee "the anti-Boca"... and now I am splitting my life between the two.
One day I'm listening to tropical birds and enjoying the lush blanket of hot humid air at sea level - the next day I'm in the high and dry desert, feeling an autumnal nip in the air.
One day I'm sitting in a board room reviewing multi-million dollar budgets, the next day I'm at the Bisbee Woman's Club, where we have to vote on whether it's more cost-effective to let the power company pay us $30 for the Club's used refrigerator or try to sell it on craigslist.
One day I'm debating the virtues of various creative agencies for our 2011 TV spot, the next I'm reviewing the steps to take to get the USTA to give us a grant to re-surface the Vista Park tennis courts.
One day I'm forced to eat airport food and room service, the next day I'm perusing the fresh goat cheese (directly from our favorite goat, Bambi) at the Bisbee Farmer's Market.
One day I'm idling my rental car among Ferraris and Lamborghinis as palm trees wave in the scented breeze, the next I'm feeling very small in my Mini Cooper amongst the 4x4s and giant pickup trucks on the rutted, dusty roads of Cochise County.
What to do? For the moment, just sit back and enjoy the ride...
This very positive development has me feeling a bit schizophrenic, though. No two places in the world could be more opposite than Bisbee, Arizona and Boca Raton, Florida. Dick has always called Bisbee "the anti-Boca"... and now I am splitting my life between the two.
One day I'm listening to tropical birds and enjoying the lush blanket of hot humid air at sea level - the next day I'm in the high and dry desert, feeling an autumnal nip in the air.
One day I'm sitting in a board room reviewing multi-million dollar budgets, the next day I'm at the Bisbee Woman's Club, where we have to vote on whether it's more cost-effective to let the power company pay us $30 for the Club's used refrigerator or try to sell it on craigslist.
One day I'm debating the virtues of various creative agencies for our 2011 TV spot, the next I'm reviewing the steps to take to get the USTA to give us a grant to re-surface the Vista Park tennis courts.
One day I'm forced to eat airport food and room service, the next day I'm perusing the fresh goat cheese (directly from our favorite goat, Bambi) at the Bisbee Farmer's Market.
One day I'm idling my rental car among Ferraris and Lamborghinis as palm trees wave in the scented breeze, the next I'm feeling very small in my Mini Cooper amongst the 4x4s and giant pickup trucks on the rutted, dusty roads of Cochise County.
What to do? For the moment, just sit back and enjoy the ride...
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Trial By Fire
Okay, I'm getting a bit dramatic here, but it was a dramatic event! We attended the Pit Fire Festival out at Cochise College on Wednesday night with our friends Jeff and Liz. As usual for Bisbee, the crowd was an interesting mix of cowboy hats and body piercings... the ceramics department from the college built a huge (I mean football field huge)bonfire of pallettes over their ceramics, and then the object of the evening was to set this monster on fire, to fire their pots and provide a spectacular blazing headache for the Bisbee Fire Department.
There was a silent auction of some remarkable ceramic works - I bought a piece of Mata Ortiz pottery from Mexico - and the culinary arts students fed the entire crowd with free food! As you can imagine, there was quite a line, and we feasted on truly delicious chili, clam and shrimp chowder, sandwiches, fruit veggies and out of this galaxy delicious chocolate mint cookies. There was a festive show with local bands and ethnic dances - then as the sun was setting, the college rodeo team galloped around the fire pit bearing the American and Arizona flags - an enormous cloud of dust turning pink and purple in the sunset as they tore down the field... goose bumps, for sure.
Before they started the fire, a pyrotechnic dance troop did an amazing fire dance featuring scantily clad girls and giant devil dogs on stilts, all juggling fire batons to feverish drumming... and then - at the signal -pit fire was set alight with a whoosh - the sparks flew in the air, the wood crackled and the whole world took on an orange glow, under the midnight blue, cloud streaked sky... a full moon looked like the glowing end of a cosmic cigarette, dropping sparks and ashes all around.
Imagine what this looked like the following morning... billowing clouds of taupe colored ash on the ground, colorful pots sticking out of the ash like newly sprouted plants. The whole evening was either an amazing tribal ritual, or proof that people will go to great lengths to entertain themselves in a small town. I prefer to think the former.
There was a silent auction of some remarkable ceramic works - I bought a piece of Mata Ortiz pottery from Mexico - and the culinary arts students fed the entire crowd with free food! As you can imagine, there was quite a line, and we feasted on truly delicious chili, clam and shrimp chowder, sandwiches, fruit veggies and out of this galaxy delicious chocolate mint cookies. There was a festive show with local bands and ethnic dances - then as the sun was setting, the college rodeo team galloped around the fire pit bearing the American and Arizona flags - an enormous cloud of dust turning pink and purple in the sunset as they tore down the field... goose bumps, for sure.
Before they started the fire, a pyrotechnic dance troop did an amazing fire dance featuring scantily clad girls and giant devil dogs on stilts, all juggling fire batons to feverish drumming... and then - at the signal -pit fire was set alight with a whoosh - the sparks flew in the air, the wood crackled and the whole world took on an orange glow, under the midnight blue, cloud streaked sky... a full moon looked like the glowing end of a cosmic cigarette, dropping sparks and ashes all around.
Imagine what this looked like the following morning... billowing clouds of taupe colored ash on the ground, colorful pots sticking out of the ash like newly sprouted plants. The whole evening was either an amazing tribal ritual, or proof that people will go to great lengths to entertain themselves in a small town. I prefer to think the former.
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Torture by Mariachi
Oh, it's been a long, long three weeks since I last posted. Our landlords are having the house painted, which originally brought a comment of, "Oh, how cool!" from us. Three weeks, hundreds of hours of droning compressors, grinding sanders and blaring mariachi music later, not so great. I would recommend to anyone who's having a house re-painted on the outside to put drop cloths over all your furniture, bring everything that needs to remain in one piece inside your house (plants, animals, outdoor furniture) and go away for several weeks. When you return, it will all be shiny and new, and you'll never know the hell that occurred while you were away... definitely not conducive to blogging, or any other kind of writing, for that matter. Unfortunately, I write for a living, which is a problem...
In an attempt to turn "lemons into lemonade", we went away last week, thinking the painting would be over when we returned... alas, this was not the case, but we are having a quiet Saturday, so here I am! The trip took us first to Phoenix, where I interviewed for some project work at The Global Institute of Sustainability (GIOS) at ASU, which is headed, happily for me, by my old friend Rob Melnick. He and I had a delightful lunch in the lovely shaded patio of House of Tricks (great name!)with his communication director, Karen Leland, who is also lovely, though not shaded.
Then I spent the weekend getting very revved up at the USTA's Community Tennis Development Workshop in Scottsdale. I'm determined to get some kids out on these public courts of ours, and I went to Scottsdale to learn how other people do it. The byword these days at USTA is Under Ten Tennis - with a format called "QuickStart", which is tennis for kids with smaller racquets, a large foam ball, and a small court. We learned fun games that teach skills to children without boring and pressure-filled drills - we can't wait to get started on this... stay tuned! Had plenty of fun with the adults at the conference, too - serious tennis players are generally very geeky and nice.
Sunday evening was the surprise 65th birthday of our old friend Marc Cavness, and his daughters were kind enough to invite us when they found out from my wonderful pal Linda Stuckey that we'd be in town. Marc and his wife, as well as most of the attendees, are from families who have been in Arizona for several generations, and it might surprise you to learn that they are all pretty liberal folk. Marc, who's a lawyer, had created thousands of campaign-style buttons that say "I could be illegal", which we all wore in his honor at the party. And I brought home lots of them to share with my radical Bisbonian buddies. Marc was genuinely surprised and touched by the crowd, many of whom had flown in from a distance... so good to connect with old friends.
Next it was on to Cottonwood, where Jim and Sara were housesitting for their daughter, Penny. We had the perfect 48 hours in the Red Rock Country - a hike up Mingus Mountain the first day, leafy and beautiful, which ended with a sunset view dinner at the Haunted Hamburger in wacky old Jerome - another copper mining town that's been revived by artists and tourists. The next day a visit to the ruins of the pueblos of the Sinagua people, who built their homes into a mountain cavern that allowed warm sun in winter, shade in summer... ingenious architecture; on to Boynton Canyon, where we hiked with the multitudes and admired the brilliant colors of Sedona's red rocks - which display more than just red: orange, purple, blue, grey, turquoise, and umber against green trees and blue sky.
Now we're back in the construction zone - but today is the Bisbee 1000 Stair Climb, a 5K race that was written up in the Wall Street Journal as one of the country's best. We're not running - in fact, we're not even walking - but we're sure to have some fun!
In an attempt to turn "lemons into lemonade", we went away last week, thinking the painting would be over when we returned... alas, this was not the case, but we are having a quiet Saturday, so here I am! The trip took us first to Phoenix, where I interviewed for some project work at The Global Institute of Sustainability (GIOS) at ASU, which is headed, happily for me, by my old friend Rob Melnick. He and I had a delightful lunch in the lovely shaded patio of House of Tricks (great name!)with his communication director, Karen Leland, who is also lovely, though not shaded.
Then I spent the weekend getting very revved up at the USTA's Community Tennis Development Workshop in Scottsdale. I'm determined to get some kids out on these public courts of ours, and I went to Scottsdale to learn how other people do it. The byword these days at USTA is Under Ten Tennis - with a format called "QuickStart", which is tennis for kids with smaller racquets, a large foam ball, and a small court. We learned fun games that teach skills to children without boring and pressure-filled drills - we can't wait to get started on this... stay tuned! Had plenty of fun with the adults at the conference, too - serious tennis players are generally very geeky and nice.
Sunday evening was the surprise 65th birthday of our old friend Marc Cavness, and his daughters were kind enough to invite us when they found out from my wonderful pal Linda Stuckey that we'd be in town. Marc and his wife, as well as most of the attendees, are from families who have been in Arizona for several generations, and it might surprise you to learn that they are all pretty liberal folk. Marc, who's a lawyer, had created thousands of campaign-style buttons that say "I could be illegal", which we all wore in his honor at the party. And I brought home lots of them to share with my radical Bisbonian buddies. Marc was genuinely surprised and touched by the crowd, many of whom had flown in from a distance... so good to connect with old friends.
Next it was on to Cottonwood, where Jim and Sara were housesitting for their daughter, Penny. We had the perfect 48 hours in the Red Rock Country - a hike up Mingus Mountain the first day, leafy and beautiful, which ended with a sunset view dinner at the Haunted Hamburger in wacky old Jerome - another copper mining town that's been revived by artists and tourists. The next day a visit to the ruins of the pueblos of the Sinagua people, who built their homes into a mountain cavern that allowed warm sun in winter, shade in summer... ingenious architecture; on to Boynton Canyon, where we hiked with the multitudes and admired the brilliant colors of Sedona's red rocks - which display more than just red: orange, purple, blue, grey, turquoise, and umber against green trees and blue sky.
Now we're back in the construction zone - but today is the Bisbee 1000 Stair Climb, a 5K race that was written up in the Wall Street Journal as one of the country's best. We're not running - in fact, we're not even walking - but we're sure to have some fun!
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
I Guess That's Why They Call It The Blues...
Blue is my favorite color, The Blues are my favorite tunes...and this past weekend we heard remarkable Blues under amazing blue skies... with temperatures cooler than the Bay Area. What can I say? Perfection cannot be improved upon.
Joined by Jim and Sara, their visiting grandson Zach and our visiting friend Melanie, we put up our tent about 10:30 AM and just let 'er rip! The Festival was held at Warren Ball Park - the oldest operating baseball stadium in the U.S. We sat just below the scoreboard, which still held the scores of the last Copper Kings game of summer. Local bands The Hounds and Train Wreck both did memorable sets - it's astounding how much talent there is in this little town. We even went up to the stage to shake our tail feathers, though there are few more feathers back there than we remembered from back in the day. Zach has to be the coolest 16-year-old on earth, too, because he wasn't even embarrassed by our antics, er, dancing. Plus he's a Beatles scholar, so how cool is that?
The serious visiting Blues stars came on after lunch, and lunch was a highlight for us. Nathan's hot dogs, Navajo fry bread, grilled corn, chiles rellenos, Kick Ass BBQ, and buffalo burgers were among the fare offered - but best of all, they were serving Stella Artois and some very nice wine... not that we noticed. Next thing I knew we were visiting my friend Vanessa's clothing booth and trying not to purchase that little off-the-shoulder number - escaped just in the nick.
The first post-prandial delight was The Rhythm Room All-Stars, playing Chicago Blues, which really got the crowd on their feet. And speaking of crowds, there were 3,000 people in attendance - this in a town of fewer than 5,000 people. I'm thinking we had lots of tourists in from Tucson, Phoenix, New Mexico, and parts unknown, which is definitely good for the local economy. And judging by the contents of the motorcycle parking area, every Harley club in the greater Southwest made an appearance. Even I, a committed motorcycle-phobic, was impressed by that shining horde of macho wheels... and the fact that the riders were all well-behaved once they got inside. A couple of them stumbled on our tent-pegs and fell over, but they picked themselves up and apologized as nice as can be, never using the F word - impressive.
The grand finale came with the two big name, world class acts - Shemekia Copeland (Shemekia: "How you ladies feel about me bein' the only girl singin' up here today???" Crowd: "Booooo")and Tab Benoit (Tab: "This is the first time I've been here, but I'll be back - I love you, Bisbee!" Crowd: "Yaaaaay"). More dancing, more drinking... then on to Cafe Roka, Bisbee's only fine dining restaurant, for a very excellent meal - the proverbial perfect ending to a perfect day.
The sounds of The Blues have stayed with me all week. That insistent, sexy, rolling rhythm, those mellow black voices... my writing teacher even apologized for stopping me at the Festival and telling me I was dancing slutty. He claimed he was just teasing, but for me it was no problem at all - at 62, I consider that a compliment!
Joined by Jim and Sara, their visiting grandson Zach and our visiting friend Melanie, we put up our tent about 10:30 AM and just let 'er rip! The Festival was held at Warren Ball Park - the oldest operating baseball stadium in the U.S. We sat just below the scoreboard, which still held the scores of the last Copper Kings game of summer. Local bands The Hounds and Train Wreck both did memorable sets - it's astounding how much talent there is in this little town. We even went up to the stage to shake our tail feathers, though there are few more feathers back there than we remembered from back in the day. Zach has to be the coolest 16-year-old on earth, too, because he wasn't even embarrassed by our antics, er, dancing. Plus he's a Beatles scholar, so how cool is that?
The serious visiting Blues stars came on after lunch, and lunch was a highlight for us. Nathan's hot dogs, Navajo fry bread, grilled corn, chiles rellenos, Kick Ass BBQ, and buffalo burgers were among the fare offered - but best of all, they were serving Stella Artois and some very nice wine... not that we noticed. Next thing I knew we were visiting my friend Vanessa's clothing booth and trying not to purchase that little off-the-shoulder number - escaped just in the nick.
The first post-prandial delight was The Rhythm Room All-Stars, playing Chicago Blues, which really got the crowd on their feet. And speaking of crowds, there were 3,000 people in attendance - this in a town of fewer than 5,000 people. I'm thinking we had lots of tourists in from Tucson, Phoenix, New Mexico, and parts unknown, which is definitely good for the local economy. And judging by the contents of the motorcycle parking area, every Harley club in the greater Southwest made an appearance. Even I, a committed motorcycle-phobic, was impressed by that shining horde of macho wheels... and the fact that the riders were all well-behaved once they got inside. A couple of them stumbled on our tent-pegs and fell over, but they picked themselves up and apologized as nice as can be, never using the F word - impressive.
The grand finale came with the two big name, world class acts - Shemekia Copeland (Shemekia: "How you ladies feel about me bein' the only girl singin' up here today???" Crowd: "Booooo")and Tab Benoit (Tab: "This is the first time I've been here, but I'll be back - I love you, Bisbee!" Crowd: "Yaaaaay"). More dancing, more drinking... then on to Cafe Roka, Bisbee's only fine dining restaurant, for a very excellent meal - the proverbial perfect ending to a perfect day.
The sounds of The Blues have stayed with me all week. That insistent, sexy, rolling rhythm, those mellow black voices... my writing teacher even apologized for stopping me at the Festival and telling me I was dancing slutty. He claimed he was just teasing, but for me it was no problem at all - at 62, I consider that a compliment!
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Birthday Travels
As noted in the previous post, I was a little unsure about our birthday travels, but all hard feelings dissipated as we pulled into the parking lot of Si Senor restaurant in Deming, New Mexico, where we always stop to stuff ourselves with fresh home-cooked Mexican food. Tender fresh-roasted chicken, light as a feather flour tortillas just off the grill, locally grown chiles and homemade salsa... it bears no resemblance to the greasy corporate hack food served in the widely known Mexican chains(which shall remain nameless - they know who they are).
Arrived at Jerri's charming 1840's adobe in Santa Fe's East Side neighborhood, just a block from Canyon Road, at about 5:00, and that's when they party really began! Good food, good wine and good talk, and excellent companionship from Margie, as usual - and then a night of dancing at El Farol, Santa Fe's oldest restaurant, which is now a tapas restaurant with a lively bar scene and live music. Tuesday night is "open mike" night, so it's essentially free to dance to some of the best old time rock'n roll ever. Lots of retired rockers in Santa Fe, who come to El Farol for a little Tuesday jam - lucky us! On this particular night, Ron Ellison, formerly of the Delfonics, was there, and we danced the night away to "Just My 'Magination" and "Papa Was a Rollin' Stone" packed tight against artists, native Americans, gold diggers and other Santa Feans.
The next morning, a drive on Highway 84 to Durango, through what must surely be the world's most beautiful scenery. I've driven the Amalfi Coast, the roads around Capetown, seen meadows of lupine stretching on forever in the mountains of New Zealand's South Island... but this road equals it all. First Abiquiu and Ghost Ranch, with the otherworldly pink and green Georgia O'Keefe rock formations ("Haven't I seen this before?" you ask yourself, and then realize that you own an O'Keefe print of this very spot). Then you climb upward toward the bright blue sky, with the flat-bottom New Mexico clouds puffing along, aspens turning gold but wildflowers still blooming pink, purple and yellow in the fields.
Before you know it, you're in Pagosa Springs, one of America's great small towns, and a few miles on to Ben and Birgitta's ranch, where they live with five horses, three dogs, two cats and a fascinating 15-year-old genius son named Sam. Chess games, conversation on endlessly diverse topics, a brisket to die for, mind-blowingly beautiful hikes, and child-like sleep through the chilly mountain nights, tucked snugly under the downy comforter.
But the greatest thing about staying at Rancho Kater is the communion with animals. My fantasy as a child was to live on a ranch with horses and dogs, and I get to live this fantasy whenever we visit. Birgitta has endless patience and calm, which is helpful with animals and even moreso with greenhorns like me, and the two of us took an exciting ride over the steep ups and downs of the nearby mountains. My friend Bilbo took excellent care of me, as he promised he would - did everything I asked and more. We gave the horses a nice hose-down and curry after the ride because they had worked so hard and were so sweaty, so of course they immediately flopped down on their backs and rolled around in the dirt - apparently that's much better than a bath!
Back to Santa Fe on Saturday, the countryside even more spectacular after two days of fall-like weather. Did some gallery-hopping and spent a wonderful birthday dinner with Jerri, who was having her big 6-0 last week. I learned that Santa Fe is the second-largest art market in the U.S. (after NYC) and could see why - although my favorite gallery was the Community Gallery where local folk showed art made from recycled materials - so creative and surprising.
On the way home to BZB, we went through Hatch, New Mexico, and had a World Famous Green Chile Cheeseburger at Sparky's - if you're ever in Hatch, don't miss it! The local green chile harvest was just in, and a lovely man roasted ten pounds of the spicy little devils for us to take back with us - my car smelled amazing, and still does, a little. We cleaned and bagged them when we got home, and Dick, who had looked askance at me when I told the gentleman that we wanted "medium", ate a whole roasted chile, seeds and all, then had to race to the kitchen for water, milk, sour cream, etc. to put out the fire. He has accused me (joking, I hope) of using this blog just to humiliate him, which I wouldn't do, did he not give me so many opportunities...
Now we're busy making chiles rellenos, green chile omelettes, green chile salsa, green chile soup, even a jalapeno apple pie, so must get cookin'!
Arrived at Jerri's charming 1840's adobe in Santa Fe's East Side neighborhood, just a block from Canyon Road, at about 5:00, and that's when they party really began! Good food, good wine and good talk, and excellent companionship from Margie, as usual - and then a night of dancing at El Farol, Santa Fe's oldest restaurant, which is now a tapas restaurant with a lively bar scene and live music. Tuesday night is "open mike" night, so it's essentially free to dance to some of the best old time rock'n roll ever. Lots of retired rockers in Santa Fe, who come to El Farol for a little Tuesday jam - lucky us! On this particular night, Ron Ellison, formerly of the Delfonics, was there, and we danced the night away to "Just My 'Magination" and "Papa Was a Rollin' Stone" packed tight against artists, native Americans, gold diggers and other Santa Feans.
The next morning, a drive on Highway 84 to Durango, through what must surely be the world's most beautiful scenery. I've driven the Amalfi Coast, the roads around Capetown, seen meadows of lupine stretching on forever in the mountains of New Zealand's South Island... but this road equals it all. First Abiquiu and Ghost Ranch, with the otherworldly pink and green Georgia O'Keefe rock formations ("Haven't I seen this before?" you ask yourself, and then realize that you own an O'Keefe print of this very spot). Then you climb upward toward the bright blue sky, with the flat-bottom New Mexico clouds puffing along, aspens turning gold but wildflowers still blooming pink, purple and yellow in the fields.
Before you know it, you're in Pagosa Springs, one of America's great small towns, and a few miles on to Ben and Birgitta's ranch, where they live with five horses, three dogs, two cats and a fascinating 15-year-old genius son named Sam. Chess games, conversation on endlessly diverse topics, a brisket to die for, mind-blowingly beautiful hikes, and child-like sleep through the chilly mountain nights, tucked snugly under the downy comforter.
But the greatest thing about staying at Rancho Kater is the communion with animals. My fantasy as a child was to live on a ranch with horses and dogs, and I get to live this fantasy whenever we visit. Birgitta has endless patience and calm, which is helpful with animals and even moreso with greenhorns like me, and the two of us took an exciting ride over the steep ups and downs of the nearby mountains. My friend Bilbo took excellent care of me, as he promised he would - did everything I asked and more. We gave the horses a nice hose-down and curry after the ride because they had worked so hard and were so sweaty, so of course they immediately flopped down on their backs and rolled around in the dirt - apparently that's much better than a bath!
Back to Santa Fe on Saturday, the countryside even more spectacular after two days of fall-like weather. Did some gallery-hopping and spent a wonderful birthday dinner with Jerri, who was having her big 6-0 last week. I learned that Santa Fe is the second-largest art market in the U.S. (after NYC) and could see why - although my favorite gallery was the Community Gallery where local folk showed art made from recycled materials - so creative and surprising.
On the way home to BZB, we went through Hatch, New Mexico, and had a World Famous Green Chile Cheeseburger at Sparky's - if you're ever in Hatch, don't miss it! The local green chile harvest was just in, and a lovely man roasted ten pounds of the spicy little devils for us to take back with us - my car smelled amazing, and still does, a little. We cleaned and bagged them when we got home, and Dick, who had looked askance at me when I told the gentleman that we wanted "medium", ate a whole roasted chile, seeds and all, then had to race to the kitchen for water, milk, sour cream, etc. to put out the fire. He has accused me (joking, I hope) of using this blog just to humiliate him, which I wouldn't do, did he not give me so many opportunities...
Now we're busy making chiles rellenos, green chile omelettes, green chile salsa, green chile soup, even a jalapeno apple pie, so must get cookin'!
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Busy in Bisbee!
I was very cranky last week because we had made plans to go away and I was going to miss two writing classes, two USTA league matches, a lunch in Naco with friends and the Pie Baking Contest at the Farmer's Market. As it turned out, the week's birthday trip was absolutely wonderful and the best thing we could have done, but the fact remains... we are busy here! When my far away friends ask, "But what do you DO there?" - I hardly know where to begin...
So I'll begin on the weekend before vacation, which was the weekend of the Bisbee Bloomers Garden Tour. Sara and I had volunteered to be Suzi's slaves for the Bisbee Bloomers party at her house on Friday night, the evening soiree before the weekend's garden tours. All the ladies in the Bloomers, as well as people whose gardens were on the tour were invited. Since I was the bartender, I had the primo spot in the carport, next to the new desert mural Suzi had just painted on her carport wall... between the lovely wine I was pouring and the high level of interest in the mural, I got to meet just about everybody!
On Saturday's tour, the gardens we saw were astonishing... most of them tucked back behind unassuming walls and fences, so that walking into these hidden edens literally could make you gasp in surprise - so much beauty, so much care lavished on these lush islands of color, sound and aroma... I wanted to live in every one of them! Several of the garden owners offered refreshments, and some even employed musicians, including our friend Jack, who played his guitar in his very own shady bower.
This weekend was also the Plein Aire Painting weekend, so many of the painters went to the gardens for inspiration... I suspect their work will show up in local galleries shortly.
The best thing about the Garden Tour is that the money raised goes to supply Doggie Poop Bags at stations all around town, which probably explains why, although everyone in Bisbee seems to own at least two dogs, you very seldom see the unlovely evidence of their well-fed existence on the local streets and sidewalks. Thanks, ladies!
As for last week's vacation... that's worth a whole 'nother story... stay tuned!
So I'll begin on the weekend before vacation, which was the weekend of the Bisbee Bloomers Garden Tour. Sara and I had volunteered to be Suzi's slaves for the Bisbee Bloomers party at her house on Friday night, the evening soiree before the weekend's garden tours. All the ladies in the Bloomers, as well as people whose gardens were on the tour were invited. Since I was the bartender, I had the primo spot in the carport, next to the new desert mural Suzi had just painted on her carport wall... between the lovely wine I was pouring and the high level of interest in the mural, I got to meet just about everybody!
On Saturday's tour, the gardens we saw were astonishing... most of them tucked back behind unassuming walls and fences, so that walking into these hidden edens literally could make you gasp in surprise - so much beauty, so much care lavished on these lush islands of color, sound and aroma... I wanted to live in every one of them! Several of the garden owners offered refreshments, and some even employed musicians, including our friend Jack, who played his guitar in his very own shady bower.
This weekend was also the Plein Aire Painting weekend, so many of the painters went to the gardens for inspiration... I suspect their work will show up in local galleries shortly.
The best thing about the Garden Tour is that the money raised goes to supply Doggie Poop Bags at stations all around town, which probably explains why, although everyone in Bisbee seems to own at least two dogs, you very seldom see the unlovely evidence of their well-fed existence on the local streets and sidewalks. Thanks, ladies!
As for last week's vacation... that's worth a whole 'nother story... stay tuned!
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Labor Day Labors
Labor Day has always been one of my favorite holidays, because I never, ever, ever labor on that day. It's a lazy, end-of-summer, don't-do-anything-unless-you-want-to kind of holiday - with my apologies to the American workforce, who definitely deserve some recognition, especially in light of the great reduction in their number. However, there are cool drinks, warm friends and the US Open to consider - makes LD second only to Thanksgiving in the pantheon of excellent holidays.
This year's Labor Day weekend started with a vintage car show on the Vista. Hundreds of (well, at least a hundred) vintage cars in cherry condition, proud owners sitting in folding chairs in the shade, accepting accolades from passers-by. Our favorites, of course, were the 1964 Mini Cooper woody station wagon, made in Italy (who knew?) and lovingly restored by our friend Bill, pictured here with his wife Shari and their pug, Maude - as well as Jim's awesome Triumph motorcycle, on which Dick has spent some happy hours.
Sunday's Brewery Gulch Daze celebration was, as expected, weird, Bisbee-esque and great fun. Brewery Gulch is named for - how clever of you to guess it - the old Brewery, which still stands proudly as the site of the Stock Exchange bar. There was a pet parade, which we shouldn't have missed but did (it was at the hour appointed for tennis at the park), an art car parade (which we didn't miss - check out the photos), lots of great grub, from BBQ to chiles rellenos, henna-painting booths, a kids' art show, and much much more. Dick narrowly escaped being run down by a hot-dog shaped car - what a way to go...
The final event was a meeting of The Breakfast Club - a breakfast potluck with a group of friends who were our first introduction to Bisbee, when we joined them at Jim and Sara's back in January. Little did we know how our lives would become entwined, all because we're suckers for a homemade breakfast buffet. Yes, the universe is random, as we always suspected.
This year's Labor Day weekend started with a vintage car show on the Vista. Hundreds of (well, at least a hundred) vintage cars in cherry condition, proud owners sitting in folding chairs in the shade, accepting accolades from passers-by. Our favorites, of course, were the 1964 Mini Cooper woody station wagon, made in Italy (who knew?) and lovingly restored by our friend Bill, pictured here with his wife Shari and their pug, Maude - as well as Jim's awesome Triumph motorcycle, on which Dick has spent some happy hours.
Sunday's Brewery Gulch Daze celebration was, as expected, weird, Bisbee-esque and great fun. Brewery Gulch is named for - how clever of you to guess it - the old Brewery, which still stands proudly as the site of the Stock Exchange bar. There was a pet parade, which we shouldn't have missed but did (it was at the hour appointed for tennis at the park), an art car parade (which we didn't miss - check out the photos), lots of great grub, from BBQ to chiles rellenos, henna-painting booths, a kids' art show, and much much more. Dick narrowly escaped being run down by a hot-dog shaped car - what a way to go...
The final event was a meeting of The Breakfast Club - a breakfast potluck with a group of friends who were our first introduction to Bisbee, when we joined them at Jim and Sara's back in January. Little did we know how our lives would become entwined, all because we're suckers for a homemade breakfast buffet. Yes, the universe is random, as we always suspected.
Friday, September 3, 2010
Shootout at the OK Corral
In order to get to Bisbee on Highway 80, you drive directly through Tombstone, Arizona, which bills itself as "the town too tough to die" and features some pretty weird stuff, like the Comedy Gunfights that happen every day at the historic OK Corral. I always think, "What would that be like? Making your living as a pretend Wyatt Earp or Doc Holliday in a comedy gunfight? What the hell is funny about a gunfight?" Only in America, right? Between the comedy gunfights and the Mad Miner's Mini-Golf, I've pretty much avoided spending much time in Tombstone.
However, guns are part of the culture here. At the tennis club in Sierra Vista where I play my league matches, the sign on the door to the clubhouse bar reads "Absolutely No Weapons Allowed". I always thought my forehand was my weapon, but I think they mean the cold, hard, metal kind with bullets. And, every Sunday morning when we play on our local Bisbee courts, we can hear the guys at the shooting range blasting away up on the mountain, which causes our friend Steve to mutter "fuckin' Mexicans.."
Last Friday night about 10:30, Dick and I were reading in bed (oh, the wild life of the semi-retired...)when we heard gunshots, five or six in rapid succession, coming from the direction of the road to Douglas. After an interval of about five minutes, we heard police sirens and car horns honking and what seemed to be a high speed chase around the town, sirens and horns blaring. This went on for at least 15 horrifying minutes before it faded off into the distance. "Man, somebody must have done something really bad," we said, and had a little trouble getting to sleep.
The next morning our friend Jim, the Bisbee High tennis coach, came out to watch us play. Since he's lived here most of his life, and coached at Bisbee High for 28 years, I figured he might have a clue as to what went on the night before with the guns, sirens, car horns, etc. "Oh, yeah," he said. "That was so cool - our football team beat Douglas last night for the first time in 20 years - we have a 140-year rivalry, the second-longest in American high school football history! What a celebration we had!"
I didn't ask him which rivalry was the first-longest... still a city girl.
However, guns are part of the culture here. At the tennis club in Sierra Vista where I play my league matches, the sign on the door to the clubhouse bar reads "Absolutely No Weapons Allowed". I always thought my forehand was my weapon, but I think they mean the cold, hard, metal kind with bullets. And, every Sunday morning when we play on our local Bisbee courts, we can hear the guys at the shooting range blasting away up on the mountain, which causes our friend Steve to mutter "fuckin' Mexicans.."
Last Friday night about 10:30, Dick and I were reading in bed (oh, the wild life of the semi-retired...)when we heard gunshots, five or six in rapid succession, coming from the direction of the road to Douglas. After an interval of about five minutes, we heard police sirens and car horns honking and what seemed to be a high speed chase around the town, sirens and horns blaring. This went on for at least 15 horrifying minutes before it faded off into the distance. "Man, somebody must have done something really bad," we said, and had a little trouble getting to sleep.
The next morning our friend Jim, the Bisbee High tennis coach, came out to watch us play. Since he's lived here most of his life, and coached at Bisbee High for 28 years, I figured he might have a clue as to what went on the night before with the guns, sirens, car horns, etc. "Oh, yeah," he said. "That was so cool - our football team beat Douglas last night for the first time in 20 years - we have a 140-year rivalry, the second-longest in American high school football history! What a celebration we had!"
I didn't ask him which rivalry was the first-longest... still a city girl.
Friday, August 27, 2010
The Story of Mr. Stripey... with a Spicy Ending
Our high desert climate is uniquely great... cool and dry in the winter and absolutely glorious in the summer. Summer temperatures are moderate by Arizona standards, and daily rains keep our little oasis green and blooming all summer long. At night we snooze with the windows open and comforters up; by day, intense sun is moderated by the storms that race across the desert, showing off huge cotton ball thunderheads, booming with thunder and lightning.
Because of this upside-down climatic state, we got away with not planting tomatoes until mid-June this year. The last thing I did during my shopping frenzy at the nursery was to pick up little tomato seedling with the whimsical tag "Mr. Stripey" - who could resist? And as the other tomato plants burst forth with a flurry of yellow blossoms and verdant leafiness throughout June and July, Mr. Stripey was stubborn - he would bloom and then give up, bloom and then give up. We even googled Mr. Stripey and got some disappointing news - "very little fruit - not much flavor" said the reviews from other disgruntled gardeners. So we didn't pay much attention when one blossom finally turned into a tiny green Mr. Stripey - "very little fruit, not much flavor" we'd say, with a fatalistic shake of our heads.
Then one day we noticed that he was growing, got a little bigger, and then grew, and grew, and grew, and GREW into the giant orange and green striped Godzilla of all heirloom tomatoes. Even more astonishing, several other potential Mr. Stripeys have popped out, while the more normal fruit on the other vines has ripened and been gobbled up in pasta sauce, sandwiches, salads. Wouldn't you know it - Mr. Stripey turned out to be the King Tomato of the lot - now we say things like "I remember him when he was just a little guy..." Just goes to show you - sometimes you need to pay some extra attention to the quiet ones, and don't believe everything you google... they just might turn out to be big winners! I'd show you a pic of Mr. Stripey but he was sliced up last night and served with just a dash of aged balsamic. Delicious.
Now for the spicy part: Dick and I both created entries for the Salsa Competition last Saturday at the Farmer's Market. We tested our creations on Jim and Sara, who suggested some astute flavor enhancements. We perfected the recipes and made up the final batches for the Big Day. Mine - Crazy Cathy's Wild & Wacky Watermelon Salsa - was a refreshing and unusual mix - very tasty, but I didn't expect to win with a "non-traditional" entry - not in this very Mexican town! But Dick's recipe - Screamin' Dick's Hellfire Roasted Tomato Salsa - was as good as it gets. Tomatoes and chiles, roasted on the grill, lots of garlic and onion, with just enough lime to make your taste buds tingle... in my book, it was salsa perfection.
We were on the tennis courts on Farmer's Market day when the smell of fresh chiles being roasted at the market wafted across the courts. We could see people walking, zombie-like, toward that intoxicating smell - as if we were in Guyana and Jim had just mixed up a new batch of Kool-Aid. We finished our set and ran home to grab our entries and take them to the market... then we whiled away time chatting with friends and political candidates doing their last bit of glad-handing before Tuesday's election, all the while looking nervously toward the salsa booth, where the judges were tasting salsas with grim and critical expressions, clipboards in hand. Dick was so anxious that he stood behind the judges, trying to hear what they were saying. A photo of this showed up (embarrassingly) in the Monday paper. "Who's that guy in the baseball cap and Cuba tee-shirt, looking over the judge's shoulders in that photo on the front page?" "Um... never saw him before in my life..."
Long story short - the winner was a standard salsa that could have come off the shelves at Safeway - not that we're bitter. When you fall off the horse, you have to climb right back on - so we're working on our recipes for the Chili Competition.
Because of this upside-down climatic state, we got away with not planting tomatoes until mid-June this year. The last thing I did during my shopping frenzy at the nursery was to pick up little tomato seedling with the whimsical tag "Mr. Stripey" - who could resist? And as the other tomato plants burst forth with a flurry of yellow blossoms and verdant leafiness throughout June and July, Mr. Stripey was stubborn - he would bloom and then give up, bloom and then give up. We even googled Mr. Stripey and got some disappointing news - "very little fruit - not much flavor" said the reviews from other disgruntled gardeners. So we didn't pay much attention when one blossom finally turned into a tiny green Mr. Stripey - "very little fruit, not much flavor" we'd say, with a fatalistic shake of our heads.
Then one day we noticed that he was growing, got a little bigger, and then grew, and grew, and grew, and GREW into the giant orange and green striped Godzilla of all heirloom tomatoes. Even more astonishing, several other potential Mr. Stripeys have popped out, while the more normal fruit on the other vines has ripened and been gobbled up in pasta sauce, sandwiches, salads. Wouldn't you know it - Mr. Stripey turned out to be the King Tomato of the lot - now we say things like "I remember him when he was just a little guy..." Just goes to show you - sometimes you need to pay some extra attention to the quiet ones, and don't believe everything you google... they just might turn out to be big winners! I'd show you a pic of Mr. Stripey but he was sliced up last night and served with just a dash of aged balsamic. Delicious.
Now for the spicy part: Dick and I both created entries for the Salsa Competition last Saturday at the Farmer's Market. We tested our creations on Jim and Sara, who suggested some astute flavor enhancements. We perfected the recipes and made up the final batches for the Big Day. Mine - Crazy Cathy's Wild & Wacky Watermelon Salsa - was a refreshing and unusual mix - very tasty, but I didn't expect to win with a "non-traditional" entry - not in this very Mexican town! But Dick's recipe - Screamin' Dick's Hellfire Roasted Tomato Salsa - was as good as it gets. Tomatoes and chiles, roasted on the grill, lots of garlic and onion, with just enough lime to make your taste buds tingle... in my book, it was salsa perfection.
We were on the tennis courts on Farmer's Market day when the smell of fresh chiles being roasted at the market wafted across the courts. We could see people walking, zombie-like, toward that intoxicating smell - as if we were in Guyana and Jim had just mixed up a new batch of Kool-Aid. We finished our set and ran home to grab our entries and take them to the market... then we whiled away time chatting with friends and political candidates doing their last bit of glad-handing before Tuesday's election, all the while looking nervously toward the salsa booth, where the judges were tasting salsas with grim and critical expressions, clipboards in hand. Dick was so anxious that he stood behind the judges, trying to hear what they were saying. A photo of this showed up (embarrassingly) in the Monday paper. "Who's that guy in the baseball cap and Cuba tee-shirt, looking over the judge's shoulders in that photo on the front page?" "Um... never saw him before in my life..."
Long story short - the winner was a standard salsa that could have come off the shelves at Safeway - not that we're bitter. When you fall off the horse, you have to climb right back on - so we're working on our recipes for the Chili Competition.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Animal Dreams
As any of you who are patient enough to have read this blog for a while may remember, we fell in love with a goat that we named "Gaston" last winter. We were in France with our friends the Fabians, walking around the village in the crisp, frosty air, when we came upon Gaston, with his sweet little yellow eyes, bleating "Why am I the only creature stuck out in this arctic freeze besides the American idiots?"... or some French equivalent. We fed him, took his picture, talked to him, and generally made asses of ourselves - I'm sure the village ladies were peeking out behind their curtains, shaking their heads and rolling their eyes in Gallic amusement.
As if that wasn't exciting enough - there's an update! When the Fabians returned to Le Gue de la Chaine this summer, they went to visit Gaston and - voila - the farmer who owns Gaston was cleaning up the pen. They struck up a conversation and found out that Gaston's real name is "Popeye" - very macho, don't you think? While deep in conversation, Margaret (Madame Fabian) had a brilliant idea - could she lease Gaston from the farmer for a few days to mow down some weeds? Of course, said the farmer, secretly thinking how he couldn't wait to tell his wife how many euros he charged this lady from California so Gaston, er, Popeye could eat some lovely new cuisine.
Well... everybody was pleased with this plan, except Gaston/Popeye, who refused to eat the long grass, and instead bleated his head off and ate a hole in the neighbor's hedge, which now has to be paid for. Can't help but think something was lost in translation.
On a more somber note, we lost a wonderful friend this week. Jim and Sara's bulldog, Omar, was not what you'd call handsome - unless you were a lady bulldog, I guess. But he had an excess of charisma... extreme life force... especially when he catapulted all 65 muscular pounds of himself onto your lap when you were distracted by something else. Dick likened this leap to a fire hydrant being thrown onto his balls, not a good thing for a guy. Omie used to try to get my attention by doing what he perceived as bounding around playfully, which was more like a canine version of "white men can't jump"... but he tried, he really did. Then if I still didn't pay attention to him, he'd steal his brother Dylan's tennis ball and run off with it, shaking his head and growling... and if that still didn't get me, he'd eat a few rocks... got a rise out of me every time.
When we waved goodbye as Jim and Sara drove off on vacation in June, we never dreamed that we wouldn't see Omie again. When we got the news that he'd been run over and killed, the whole neighborhood mourned. "I need my Omie fix!" said our tennis friend Mike. "He was such a funny little fart..." sniffed Suzi. The only non-mourner was Vicky the cat, who showed her face in the back yard for the first time in several months. All in all, it's very sad - we'll miss him - but we know there are probably plenty of warm laps, slobbery tennis balls and really tasty rocks in doggie heaven.
As if that wasn't exciting enough - there's an update! When the Fabians returned to Le Gue de la Chaine this summer, they went to visit Gaston and - voila - the farmer who owns Gaston was cleaning up the pen. They struck up a conversation and found out that Gaston's real name is "Popeye" - very macho, don't you think? While deep in conversation, Margaret (Madame Fabian) had a brilliant idea - could she lease Gaston from the farmer for a few days to mow down some weeds? Of course, said the farmer, secretly thinking how he couldn't wait to tell his wife how many euros he charged this lady from California so Gaston, er, Popeye could eat some lovely new cuisine.
Well... everybody was pleased with this plan, except Gaston/Popeye, who refused to eat the long grass, and instead bleated his head off and ate a hole in the neighbor's hedge, which now has to be paid for. Can't help but think something was lost in translation.
On a more somber note, we lost a wonderful friend this week. Jim and Sara's bulldog, Omar, was not what you'd call handsome - unless you were a lady bulldog, I guess. But he had an excess of charisma... extreme life force... especially when he catapulted all 65 muscular pounds of himself onto your lap when you were distracted by something else. Dick likened this leap to a fire hydrant being thrown onto his balls, not a good thing for a guy. Omie used to try to get my attention by doing what he perceived as bounding around playfully, which was more like a canine version of "white men can't jump"... but he tried, he really did. Then if I still didn't pay attention to him, he'd steal his brother Dylan's tennis ball and run off with it, shaking his head and growling... and if that still didn't get me, he'd eat a few rocks... got a rise out of me every time.
When we waved goodbye as Jim and Sara drove off on vacation in June, we never dreamed that we wouldn't see Omie again. When we got the news that he'd been run over and killed, the whole neighborhood mourned. "I need my Omie fix!" said our tennis friend Mike. "He was such a funny little fart..." sniffed Suzi. The only non-mourner was Vicky the cat, who showed her face in the back yard for the first time in several months. All in all, it's very sad - we'll miss him - but we know there are probably plenty of warm laps, slobbery tennis balls and really tasty rocks in doggie heaven.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
High Desert Summer
As I sit here, the cool breezes waft out of the canyons, raising the window curtains and softly shaking the perfume from the jasmine just outside. My friend Sara told me that Bisbee was paradise in the summer, but having spent my high school and college years in Arizona, I was dubious to say the least. Summer? In Arizona? Paradise? Growing up in the Phoenix area, summer was closer to that other final destination... the really really hot one. But it's true - we have glorious, sunny tennis mornings here, and then, just when the A/C is about to kick in - the perfumed breezes start, and they bring the rain.
Local legends add to the color, too... at my writing class the other day I learned about Marge, the former Phelps-Dodge secretary who was awarded a job as librarian at the Copper Queen Library when the mine closed. She was a cranky old curmudgeon who knew nothing about libraries, hated hippies, and would come knocking on your door in person if you had an overdue book. Luckily for us, Marge finally retired and my lovely friend Donna, of the sweet smile and Library Science degree, has brought the library into the 21st century... book groups, writing classes, kids' programs - all free to us lucky Bisbonians.
Dick's friend Mel came for a visit last week, and we took him on a tour of the mine and other historical venues, while catching up on his latest adventures. The wackiest moment of the week came when he and Dick were accosted during their photo safari to Old Bisbee by two traveling rabbis. These Lubavitcher proselytizers proceeded to give each of the guys a second Bar Mitzvah, right there on the street. Only in Bisbee...maybe the Republicans are right, this IS a dangerous place!
Speaking of dangerous, our tennis friend Naco George (so named because he lives right on the border in Naco, Arizona, just a few miles away) was awakened by a loud, repetitive twanging sound a few nights ago. He looked out his window and discovered that some enterprising Mejicanos were sling-shotting packages of dope across the border, right over his back yard... he went back to bed, hoping this was just a bad dream... when the local gang that couldn't shoot straight came to the rescue, guns blazing, they succeeded only in making noise... the hombres, armed with slingshots, ran giggling off into the night.
Fantasyland? Adventureland? Tomorrowland? Or Frontierland? You decide. I'm having a margarita.
Local legends add to the color, too... at my writing class the other day I learned about Marge, the former Phelps-Dodge secretary who was awarded a job as librarian at the Copper Queen Library when the mine closed. She was a cranky old curmudgeon who knew nothing about libraries, hated hippies, and would come knocking on your door in person if you had an overdue book. Luckily for us, Marge finally retired and my lovely friend Donna, of the sweet smile and Library Science degree, has brought the library into the 21st century... book groups, writing classes, kids' programs - all free to us lucky Bisbonians.
Dick's friend Mel came for a visit last week, and we took him on a tour of the mine and other historical venues, while catching up on his latest adventures. The wackiest moment of the week came when he and Dick were accosted during their photo safari to Old Bisbee by two traveling rabbis. These Lubavitcher proselytizers proceeded to give each of the guys a second Bar Mitzvah, right there on the street. Only in Bisbee...maybe the Republicans are right, this IS a dangerous place!
Speaking of dangerous, our tennis friend Naco George (so named because he lives right on the border in Naco, Arizona, just a few miles away) was awakened by a loud, repetitive twanging sound a few nights ago. He looked out his window and discovered that some enterprising Mejicanos were sling-shotting packages of dope across the border, right over his back yard... he went back to bed, hoping this was just a bad dream... when the local gang that couldn't shoot straight came to the rescue, guns blazing, they succeeded only in making noise... the hombres, armed with slingshots, ran giggling off into the night.
Fantasyland? Adventureland? Tomorrowland? Or Frontierland? You decide. I'm having a margarita.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
An All American Celebration!
A celebration is pretty much just what the doctor ordered these days - a cure for what ails us... for the malaise, the fretting over the future, the sinking feeling as we watch economic indicators continue going down, down, down... and yet. And yet, there's so much to celebrate about this country - and the world.
Right smack in the middle of the American Independence Day festivities, we have two international sporting events that lift us up: at Wimbledon, Rafael Nadal once again proves that grace is a physical, mental and spiritual attribute, and the footballers from even the tiniest countries are transcendant in the World Cup, vuvuzelas and all!
Here in our little town of Bisbee, this is one of the biggest weekends of the year. The sense of community, ever present, is even more obvious now. Pride in our history, appreciation of the natural beauty that surrounds us, and joy that comes from our art and our kids - all are featured in the weekend's events.
Our friend Kathy came from the Bay Area to spend the weekend, and from the minute she met us down in Old Bisbee, it was a non-stop Bisbonian adventure. The kids have a Soap Box Derby on the morning of the 4th, so on the 3rd the local art community, not to be out-done, had a showing of "art cars" that were soap box racers of a different stripe (and polka dot, and plaid)... one car shaped like a sardine can, one a cupcake, a Coke can, a statue, a boat... all displayed downtown while serving bratwurst and beer, the first of many potentially lethal but sinfully delicious feasts of the weekend.
On our Saturday hike in Ramsey Canyon, a Nature Conservancy project, we experienced wild turkeys, leopard frogs, trogans and never-ending views. That night, we walked to a baseball game at Warren Stadium - the oldest continuously operating ball park in the U.S. What could be more American? Well, maybe the fact that in addition to watching the Bisbee Copper Kings annihilate their opponents, we got an autograph from Babe Ruth's grand-daughter, who was here to celebrate the 4th, in a park where her grand-dad once played his powerful game.
Sunday's parade included, once again, the soap box derby cars and the Copper Kings, but also the "Peace is Patriotic" ladies - god bless them - Veterans, Boy Scouts, candidates for office, marching bands, floats, and even a special mini-parade of old farm and mining equipment. In the afternoon, we went back to an era when men were men and they all worked in the copper mines - we attended Bisbee's 110th Annual Mucking and Drilling Competition, where the miners demonstrate their skills. As we watched in awe, Big Matt drilled a 13" deep hole in solid rock by pounding a hand drill with a hammer... this is what the drillers used to do all day - drill holes for the dynamite that was used to blast out the rock. To give some perspective on how hard this is, an amateur tried to do it and managed to make a 1/2" hole in the same amount of time.
Our friend Suzi (or Her Grace, as she preferred to be called this weekend) gave a wonderful 4th of July party in her garden, which is just below the hill where the firemen stand to send off the fireworks. We sat in lawn chairs, open-mouthed, staring straight up at the sky until we got stiff necks, watching the bombs bursting in air, ooh-ing and ah-ing on cue - red, white, blue, purple, orange, green, and NOISY! The citizens of the town (including us) raised the money for the fireworks, since the City announced that they were too broke to pony up - and it was so worth it. Since fireworks are legal in our neighboring states of Sonora and New Mexico, many amateur pyromaniacs were at it as well... most of the dogs in town were close to a nervous breakdown by the time it was over. Many people had picnics out in our park, called the Vista, and had been there since morning when they hunkered down for the parade, so by 10 PM the town was on the edge of chaos...
Monday morning, while it seemed the entire town was asleep, we walked through silent Old Bisbee, listening to the ghosts of the tough old miners, madames and ranchers, who seemed to say, "Great party! Now buck up and get back to work... times are hard, but we've seen harder...git goin'!"
Right smack in the middle of the American Independence Day festivities, we have two international sporting events that lift us up: at Wimbledon, Rafael Nadal once again proves that grace is a physical, mental and spiritual attribute, and the footballers from even the tiniest countries are transcendant in the World Cup, vuvuzelas and all!
Here in our little town of Bisbee, this is one of the biggest weekends of the year. The sense of community, ever present, is even more obvious now. Pride in our history, appreciation of the natural beauty that surrounds us, and joy that comes from our art and our kids - all are featured in the weekend's events.
Our friend Kathy came from the Bay Area to spend the weekend, and from the minute she met us down in Old Bisbee, it was a non-stop Bisbonian adventure. The kids have a Soap Box Derby on the morning of the 4th, so on the 3rd the local art community, not to be out-done, had a showing of "art cars" that were soap box racers of a different stripe (and polka dot, and plaid)... one car shaped like a sardine can, one a cupcake, a Coke can, a statue, a boat... all displayed downtown while serving bratwurst and beer, the first of many potentially lethal but sinfully delicious feasts of the weekend.
On our Saturday hike in Ramsey Canyon, a Nature Conservancy project, we experienced wild turkeys, leopard frogs, trogans and never-ending views. That night, we walked to a baseball game at Warren Stadium - the oldest continuously operating ball park in the U.S. What could be more American? Well, maybe the fact that in addition to watching the Bisbee Copper Kings annihilate their opponents, we got an autograph from Babe Ruth's grand-daughter, who was here to celebrate the 4th, in a park where her grand-dad once played his powerful game.
Sunday's parade included, once again, the soap box derby cars and the Copper Kings, but also the "Peace is Patriotic" ladies - god bless them - Veterans, Boy Scouts, candidates for office, marching bands, floats, and even a special mini-parade of old farm and mining equipment. In the afternoon, we went back to an era when men were men and they all worked in the copper mines - we attended Bisbee's 110th Annual Mucking and Drilling Competition, where the miners demonstrate their skills. As we watched in awe, Big Matt drilled a 13" deep hole in solid rock by pounding a hand drill with a hammer... this is what the drillers used to do all day - drill holes for the dynamite that was used to blast out the rock. To give some perspective on how hard this is, an amateur tried to do it and managed to make a 1/2" hole in the same amount of time.
Our friend Suzi (or Her Grace, as she preferred to be called this weekend) gave a wonderful 4th of July party in her garden, which is just below the hill where the firemen stand to send off the fireworks. We sat in lawn chairs, open-mouthed, staring straight up at the sky until we got stiff necks, watching the bombs bursting in air, ooh-ing and ah-ing on cue - red, white, blue, purple, orange, green, and NOISY! The citizens of the town (including us) raised the money for the fireworks, since the City announced that they were too broke to pony up - and it was so worth it. Since fireworks are legal in our neighboring states of Sonora and New Mexico, many amateur pyromaniacs were at it as well... most of the dogs in town were close to a nervous breakdown by the time it was over. Many people had picnics out in our park, called the Vista, and had been there since morning when they hunkered down for the parade, so by 10 PM the town was on the edge of chaos...
Monday morning, while it seemed the entire town was asleep, we walked through silent Old Bisbee, listening to the ghosts of the tough old miners, madames and ranchers, who seemed to say, "Great party! Now buck up and get back to work... times are hard, but we've seen harder...git goin'!"
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Connections
The debate rages on about the internet: Is it de-humanizing? Does it devalue good writing? And worst of all, will it make us fat? To my mind, the answer to all three questions is "yes and no".
Perhaps good writing is being devalued, because being online allows everyone to participate in the conversation, whether or not they understand grammar and syntax. The bad news: nobody wants to pay writers for web work ($20 an article? You cannot be serious!). The good news: everyone can participate in the conversation. How can that be bad?
And sure it can make us fat, if we choose to do nothing but sit around and type and eat nachos (not easy to do at the same time). But it also allows us to work quickly and efficiently, so we have time to go out and play and move our bodies around. Besides, it's probably replaced passively watching TV and eating nachos - at least the Web encourages active participation.
De-humanizing? In the sense that we may have less face to face communication on a daily basis, yes. But in the greater sense, the internet has dramatically increased the ability to connect with other people. Through email and social media last week, I was able to a)chat with high school friends from St. Johns, Michigan b)arrange a visit to Santa Fe with our dear friend Jerri from Texas c)gossip with colleagues in Florida d) get instant information on everything from World Cup to Wimbledon to the oil spill e)pay bills f)send congratulations to children in Nepal. It's a goddam miracle, that's what it is!
Speaking of miracles, our visit with Jerri and her dog Margie in Santa Fe was definitely "un milagro". Nostalgia, meaningful conversation, spicy Santa Fe cooking, terrific live R&B, exciting art galleries, and an eyeful of the Land of Enchantment was balm for the soul. Let's raise a glass of tequila to "staying connected."
Perhaps good writing is being devalued, because being online allows everyone to participate in the conversation, whether or not they understand grammar and syntax. The bad news: nobody wants to pay writers for web work ($20 an article? You cannot be serious!). The good news: everyone can participate in the conversation. How can that be bad?
And sure it can make us fat, if we choose to do nothing but sit around and type and eat nachos (not easy to do at the same time). But it also allows us to work quickly and efficiently, so we have time to go out and play and move our bodies around. Besides, it's probably replaced passively watching TV and eating nachos - at least the Web encourages active participation.
De-humanizing? In the sense that we may have less face to face communication on a daily basis, yes. But in the greater sense, the internet has dramatically increased the ability to connect with other people. Through email and social media last week, I was able to a)chat with high school friends from St. Johns, Michigan b)arrange a visit to Santa Fe with our dear friend Jerri from Texas c)gossip with colleagues in Florida d) get instant information on everything from World Cup to Wimbledon to the oil spill e)pay bills f)send congratulations to children in Nepal. It's a goddam miracle, that's what it is!
Speaking of miracles, our visit with Jerri and her dog Margie in Santa Fe was definitely "un milagro". Nostalgia, meaningful conversation, spicy Santa Fe cooking, terrific live R&B, exciting art galleries, and an eyeful of the Land of Enchantment was balm for the soul. Let's raise a glass of tequila to "staying connected."
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
A reason for hope...
All right, my liberal friends - any of you who think that Arizona should be boycotted because it's the domain of only the small-minded, non-inclusive and mean-spirited (that's three hyphens - wow)should have been with us last weekend at my niece Kelsey's graduation from Flagstaff High School, high in the green, cool mountains of Coconino County. It was an experience that proved that no matter how idiotic our elected officials might be, the regular folk in Arizona, in particular those who actually live close to the border and the rez, are inclined to love their neighbors, no matter who they are.
The sense of excitement as we entered the venue for the graduation ceremony was palpable - families holding signs saying "We Did It!", "Go Chelsea!" and "Class of 2010" were armed with air horns and ready to scream their loudest at the mention of their graduate's name. Audience dress ranged from casual (jeans and tees) to flowery dresses and heels, to Native American families in velvet jackets and wrap boots, wearing thousands of dollars in huge, chunky turquoise. Speeches were brief and articulate, and introductory remarks were given in English, Spanish, Navajo and Hopi.
Two of the graduates, who have musical ambitions, performed original works that were inspiring in their intensity and surprising in their professionalism. One of the teachers who was asked to speak at the ceremony had a wonderful line that summed up the crowd perfectly: "You know you're from Flagstaff when you hunt, your kids are vegans, and you recycle."
When the Class of 2010 - all 400 of them, one at a time - crossed the stage to receive their diplomas, it was anything but boring. The spectacular combination of fresh young faces, beautiful costumes not quite hidden under robes, and fanciful names kept me entertained: Roxxi Dawn Begay, Omar Buenaventura Gomez, Skylan Sunjong Lew, and Infinity Rose Martin were among the best.
As the last names were called, the mortar boards flew into the air, the confetti was thrown, and it seemed that everyone in the class hugged everyone else - man hugs and high fives were in evidence, too. And none but the coldest could leave that auditorium without a glimmer of hope - maybe this generation will manage to clean up our messes and be kind to each other. I believe.
The sense of excitement as we entered the venue for the graduation ceremony was palpable - families holding signs saying "We Did It!", "Go Chelsea!" and "Class of 2010" were armed with air horns and ready to scream their loudest at the mention of their graduate's name. Audience dress ranged from casual (jeans and tees) to flowery dresses and heels, to Native American families in velvet jackets and wrap boots, wearing thousands of dollars in huge, chunky turquoise. Speeches were brief and articulate, and introductory remarks were given in English, Spanish, Navajo and Hopi.
Two of the graduates, who have musical ambitions, performed original works that were inspiring in their intensity and surprising in their professionalism. One of the teachers who was asked to speak at the ceremony had a wonderful line that summed up the crowd perfectly: "You know you're from Flagstaff when you hunt, your kids are vegans, and you recycle."
When the Class of 2010 - all 400 of them, one at a time - crossed the stage to receive their diplomas, it was anything but boring. The spectacular combination of fresh young faces, beautiful costumes not quite hidden under robes, and fanciful names kept me entertained: Roxxi Dawn Begay, Omar Buenaventura Gomez, Skylan Sunjong Lew, and Infinity Rose Martin were among the best.
As the last names were called, the mortar boards flew into the air, the confetti was thrown, and it seemed that everyone in the class hugged everyone else - man hugs and high fives were in evidence, too. And none but the coldest could leave that auditorium without a glimmer of hope - maybe this generation will manage to clean up our messes and be kind to each other. I believe.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Domestic Adventures
Domestic adventures... after spending 14 months "walking the earth", as they say in Pulp Fiction, we are bona fide citizens of Bisbee, Arizona. Some have queried our decision-making process, but we have a quiet and comfortable life here - cool mornings and evenings on the front porch, enjoying the garden and the little black neighbor cat who always comes by for head scratching, purring... cooking my way through my friend Barbara Fenzl's "Southwest The Beautiful" cookbook, in my sweet new kitchen - I've always wanted an herb window! Reading and watching the French Open, me luxuriating on my beloved purple couch and Dick, of course, in his leather recliner.
Best of all is tennis at public courts in the Vista, the local park a block from our house. Tennis has enriched our lives by keeping our elderly bodies on the run, but even more importantly it has been a common denominator that we've been able to use time and time again, on almost every continent, to forge new friendships, to challenge our concept of ourselves, to teach us about gritting it out through difficult situations. We recently lost a dear friend who was an early tennis mentor, which made me stop to think about the magnificent gift she gave me when she encouraged me to play. Thanks, Brenda - wish you could visit us in our new town and see how tennis, once again, has made us feel at home.
Best of all is tennis at public courts in the Vista, the local park a block from our house. Tennis has enriched our lives by keeping our elderly bodies on the run, but even more importantly it has been a common denominator that we've been able to use time and time again, on almost every continent, to forge new friendships, to challenge our concept of ourselves, to teach us about gritting it out through difficult situations. We recently lost a dear friend who was an early tennis mentor, which made me stop to think about the magnificent gift she gave me when she encouraged me to play. Thanks, Brenda - wish you could visit us in our new town and see how tennis, once again, has made us feel at home.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Back to the Future in BZB
Our friends in the San Francisco Bay area and South Florida are probably thinking that Dick and Cathy have finally lost it... living in a tiny, funky little town on the Mexican border on a barely paved street... what could anyone possibly do there? This weekend was a rousing example of how to make your own fun - and it was a rip-snorter! (God - we've only been here a month and I sound like Gabby Hayes... oy.)
On Saturday morning, we walked over to the Farmer's Market - past the charming houses on the Vista, which is our main drag in this area of Bisbee, called Warren. Houses were built for the executives of the Phelps Dodge copper mine that once thrived here, and all originated from the first 20 years of the 20th century - they're all bungalows of varying sizes and styles. It was Fiber Weekend at the Farmer's Market - and no, this isn't about eating your bran - it was about how to make things from yarn, starting with shearing an animal and moving on from there. We saw angora rabbits, alpacas, and even a live sheep shearing exhibition - fun for us, less so for the sheep - and then we watched local ladies spin the yarn and knit it into totally cool stuff. Other highlights of the market are the tamale guy, who summers in Palo Alto and makes tamales that would be the pride of any Mexican abuela... and the produce farmers who come here on Saturdays from Patagonia, a short drive away, and bring corn, tomatos, lettuces and herbs that are definitely ready for prime time, though it's only May.
But the BIG moment of the weekend came on Saturday night at "Bisbee Idol" - a fundraiser for the local homeless shelter that's modeled after "American Idol". The locals came out in droves to perform and to vote for their faves. The winner of the best Male Performer was a tubby, grey-haired guy who called himself "Fish Rap" - performing an original rap number that left the audience rolling in the aisles. Best Female performer was not a surprise, as she's a standout from local musicals and dramas who sang "Don't Rain on My Parade" - if you closed your eyes, you'd swear it was Barbra herself on the stage. And our favorite was the female cross-dresser who sang "New York New York" dressed as Frank Sinatra, but voting was unfortunately hindered by the fact that no one knew whether to vote for her/him as Best Female or Male... bummer. My heart went out to Bobo, an adorable pixie-like 60-something woman who sang "Memories" from the musical Cats... the emcee said (sotto voce), "please vote for Bobo because her cat just died..." and people hooted from the audience at 90-year-old judge Millicent, who was a bit fermischt from time to time... people were yelling "Turn your mike up, Millie, we can't hear a thing you're saying!"
So real, so small town, so funny - it makes me believe in humanity again, at least for a night...
On Saturday morning, we walked over to the Farmer's Market - past the charming houses on the Vista, which is our main drag in this area of Bisbee, called Warren. Houses were built for the executives of the Phelps Dodge copper mine that once thrived here, and all originated from the first 20 years of the 20th century - they're all bungalows of varying sizes and styles. It was Fiber Weekend at the Farmer's Market - and no, this isn't about eating your bran - it was about how to make things from yarn, starting with shearing an animal and moving on from there. We saw angora rabbits, alpacas, and even a live sheep shearing exhibition - fun for us, less so for the sheep - and then we watched local ladies spin the yarn and knit it into totally cool stuff. Other highlights of the market are the tamale guy, who summers in Palo Alto and makes tamales that would be the pride of any Mexican abuela... and the produce farmers who come here on Saturdays from Patagonia, a short drive away, and bring corn, tomatos, lettuces and herbs that are definitely ready for prime time, though it's only May.
But the BIG moment of the weekend came on Saturday night at "Bisbee Idol" - a fundraiser for the local homeless shelter that's modeled after "American Idol". The locals came out in droves to perform and to vote for their faves. The winner of the best Male Performer was a tubby, grey-haired guy who called himself "Fish Rap" - performing an original rap number that left the audience rolling in the aisles. Best Female performer was not a surprise, as she's a standout from local musicals and dramas who sang "Don't Rain on My Parade" - if you closed your eyes, you'd swear it was Barbra herself on the stage. And our favorite was the female cross-dresser who sang "New York New York" dressed as Frank Sinatra, but voting was unfortunately hindered by the fact that no one knew whether to vote for her/him as Best Female or Male... bummer. My heart went out to Bobo, an adorable pixie-like 60-something woman who sang "Memories" from the musical Cats... the emcee said (sotto voce), "please vote for Bobo because her cat just died..." and people hooted from the audience at 90-year-old judge Millicent, who was a bit fermischt from time to time... people were yelling "Turn your mike up, Millie, we can't hear a thing you're saying!"
So real, so small town, so funny - it makes me believe in humanity again, at least for a night...
Friday, April 30, 2010
Viva Mexico!
Mexico was the second foreign country, and first truly foreign place, that I ever entered; childhood trips from Detroit to Toronto were too tame to count. When I left for college at the University of Arizona in Tucson, my mother specifically said, "Now I don't want you going down to Mexico with your friends!" So of course, my first real excursion after I got settled in was to Nogales, Mexico to a bullfight. Though the animal cruelty was difficult to stomach, I was thrilled by the color, the spectacle, the raw emotion of the country. In those days you could stroll across the border, showing no papers at all... and it's a good thing that we were afoot, because we were young, dumb and in love with tequila, lime, salt and each other.
Last week a considerably older but only slightly wiser group (Jim, Sara, Dick and I) took a spontaneous journey to central Mexico - destination was Copper Canyon (Barranca del Cobre), home to the Tarahumara Indian tribe and some of the most awe-inspiring scenery in the country. We threw clothes, hiking boots, board games, medication and snacks into the back of Jim's red truck and we were off - down Mexico's Highway 15 to San Carlos, where we arrived in mid-afternoon for beachcombing, beers and mariscos. The next, slightly longer, day's drive took us to El Fuerte, a blessedly unspoiled colonial town that is a jumping off point for the Chepe (Chihuahua Pacific Railroad) - the scenic railway to Barranca del Cobre Parque Nacional, 405 miles of bridges and tunnels through breathtaking canyons.
Our hotel, the Rio Vista, provided us with one of those serendipitous experiences that only happens on a really great trip. As we arrived at the hotel - hungry, cranky, and still vibrating slightly from the road - we walked out onto a bouganvillea-covered balcony set with a table for four overlooking the river, shining golden in the late afternoon light. Our host, Nacho, said that if it was OK with us he could serve us dinner - but all he had was tortilla soup, grilled lagostines and white wine. Oh, no, really, we couldn't... it was magical.
The next morning we hopped the train for Copper Canyon, drinking margaritas and playing cards while enjoying the panoramic canyon views. Home was a rustic cabin in Creel, where we engaged a guide for a trip down into the canyon to spend some time with the Tarahumara. A handsome and self-sufficient people, they have refused to leave their homelands or become Catholics, which I find admirable. They raise crops and cattle down in the canyonlands, and sell their baskets and pottery to the hardy tourists who pass through. They live in caves and cook over open fires, they worship the sun and the moon, and they're among the most serene people we've met.
Back in El Fuerte a few days later, we took a raft trip to view 200-year-old trees full of nesting egrets, cranes and herons; then we hiked into the jungle to view petroglyphs with ancient drawings of sacred coyotes and jaguars. A world apart from the image of Mexican narco-traffickers and gangsters portrayed in the American media...
As always, the memories that linger longest are of the people who treated us so kindly and patiently - their warmth and genuine sweetness will carry us through to the next adventure. We will be moving into our new home on Monday, so in the immediate future, our adventures will be of the domestic type!
Last week a considerably older but only slightly wiser group (Jim, Sara, Dick and I) took a spontaneous journey to central Mexico - destination was Copper Canyon (Barranca del Cobre), home to the Tarahumara Indian tribe and some of the most awe-inspiring scenery in the country. We threw clothes, hiking boots, board games, medication and snacks into the back of Jim's red truck and we were off - down Mexico's Highway 15 to San Carlos, where we arrived in mid-afternoon for beachcombing, beers and mariscos. The next, slightly longer, day's drive took us to El Fuerte, a blessedly unspoiled colonial town that is a jumping off point for the Chepe (Chihuahua Pacific Railroad) - the scenic railway to Barranca del Cobre Parque Nacional, 405 miles of bridges and tunnels through breathtaking canyons.
Our hotel, the Rio Vista, provided us with one of those serendipitous experiences that only happens on a really great trip. As we arrived at the hotel - hungry, cranky, and still vibrating slightly from the road - we walked out onto a bouganvillea-covered balcony set with a table for four overlooking the river, shining golden in the late afternoon light. Our host, Nacho, said that if it was OK with us he could serve us dinner - but all he had was tortilla soup, grilled lagostines and white wine. Oh, no, really, we couldn't... it was magical.
The next morning we hopped the train for Copper Canyon, drinking margaritas and playing cards while enjoying the panoramic canyon views. Home was a rustic cabin in Creel, where we engaged a guide for a trip down into the canyon to spend some time with the Tarahumara. A handsome and self-sufficient people, they have refused to leave their homelands or become Catholics, which I find admirable. They raise crops and cattle down in the canyonlands, and sell their baskets and pottery to the hardy tourists who pass through. They live in caves and cook over open fires, they worship the sun and the moon, and they're among the most serene people we've met.
Back in El Fuerte a few days later, we took a raft trip to view 200-year-old trees full of nesting egrets, cranes and herons; then we hiked into the jungle to view petroglyphs with ancient drawings of sacred coyotes and jaguars. A world apart from the image of Mexican narco-traffickers and gangsters portrayed in the American media...
As always, the memories that linger longest are of the people who treated us so kindly and patiently - their warmth and genuine sweetness will carry us through to the next adventure. We will be moving into our new home on Monday, so in the immediate future, our adventures will be of the domestic type!
Monday, April 19, 2010
Mexico Lindo
It's sad that most Americans know Mexico from visits to border towns or tourist beaches... the interior of the country, rural Mexico, is full of quiet villages that are reminiscent of idyllic rural areas anywhere. Of course, they're not as aesthetically pleasing as the small villages in France - few places are - but they're similar in so many ways - the roses, the kitchen gardens, the impeccably maintained cottages, the healthy animals, the smiling children... but with a vibrance and charm all their own.
We drove last Friday from Bisbee with our friends Jim and Sara, following our other friends Karen and Adam on their motorcycle (they're obviously younger and braver than the 4 of us)to Banamichi, a Mexican village 135 miles south of the border. After a few wrong turns and misbegotten "short cuts", we arrived at the Hotel Los Arcos in the late afternoon. The horrors of the road were soon forgotten after a few cold Mexican beers and a taste of bacanora, the local agave brew, sipped in the flower-filled courtyard on a balmy, velvety evening.
And then - best of all - our hosts, Tom and Lynne, sent us to the tacqueria around the corner, which has no name...it's just Martin's place. Since it was Dick's birthday, we filed into Martin's with a bag of beer and ice. He looked up fearfully when we entered - (Ah, chingada! Seis gringos!) but threw several large slabs of marinated meat on the glowing charcoal grill. While we drank our first round, he grilled it, chopped it (loudly - on the chopping block by the grill) and put the resulting manna from heaven on homemade tortillas, which the waitress brought to our table... along with watercress, cucumbers, sweet onions, salsa fresca and a creamy avocado-green chili sauce. Oh, the bliss! Oh, the happy groans from the gringos as we stuffed ourselves... and all for the magnificent sum of $5 per person.
Yes, life was good - and got even better the next morning as we sat in the plaza on white wrought iron benches, by the gazebo and the 17th century church, watching as village life went on around us. In the early morning light, housewives stood sweeping their already gleaming porches. Handsome vaqueros on horseback rode out to herd their cattle, little girls rode by on bicycles, smiling young men in ball caps drove by in trucks, old ladies in black promenaded around the square, and the handsome old men sat in the shade just like us. And every one of them smiled and waved and welcomed us to their beautiful town.
Why we left I don't know - but we drove way too far to Magdalena del Kino, where we saw the reliquary (code for skeleton) of Father Kino and bought milagros. Milagros (means "miracle") are silver charms of various body parts - you can buy arms, legs, breasts, heads - that you buy if you have an ailment in particular part of your body - if you use the milagro charm and pray hard enough, you'll be healed. I was ambivalent about the Father Kino thing - he was, after all, the leader of the rapacious Spaniards who plundered Mexico and forced Catholocism on these handsome indigenous people. But the sun was shining, and families wandered the park that sheltered the reliquary in a festive mood, buying balloons and cotton candy - history forgotten in the happy present.
We were not ready to leave on Sunday, but leave we did. We entertained ourselves on the way home by counting the roadside shrines, usually created to memorialize someone who died in a traffic accident on that particular spot on the road... but often just to give thanks for some everyday miracle. We're at 94 shrines and counting...
The result of all this fun is that we're going back! We're leaving on Wednesday for Copper Canyon Parque Nacional... taking the train through the canyon and hiking through colonial villages. So we'll file our next post when we return. Hasta luego!
We drove last Friday from Bisbee with our friends Jim and Sara, following our other friends Karen and Adam on their motorcycle (they're obviously younger and braver than the 4 of us)to Banamichi, a Mexican village 135 miles south of the border. After a few wrong turns and misbegotten "short cuts", we arrived at the Hotel Los Arcos in the late afternoon. The horrors of the road were soon forgotten after a few cold Mexican beers and a taste of bacanora, the local agave brew, sipped in the flower-filled courtyard on a balmy, velvety evening.
And then - best of all - our hosts, Tom and Lynne, sent us to the tacqueria around the corner, which has no name...it's just Martin's place. Since it was Dick's birthday, we filed into Martin's with a bag of beer and ice. He looked up fearfully when we entered - (Ah, chingada! Seis gringos!) but threw several large slabs of marinated meat on the glowing charcoal grill. While we drank our first round, he grilled it, chopped it (loudly - on the chopping block by the grill) and put the resulting manna from heaven on homemade tortillas, which the waitress brought to our table... along with watercress, cucumbers, sweet onions, salsa fresca and a creamy avocado-green chili sauce. Oh, the bliss! Oh, the happy groans from the gringos as we stuffed ourselves... and all for the magnificent sum of $5 per person.
Yes, life was good - and got even better the next morning as we sat in the plaza on white wrought iron benches, by the gazebo and the 17th century church, watching as village life went on around us. In the early morning light, housewives stood sweeping their already gleaming porches. Handsome vaqueros on horseback rode out to herd their cattle, little girls rode by on bicycles, smiling young men in ball caps drove by in trucks, old ladies in black promenaded around the square, and the handsome old men sat in the shade just like us. And every one of them smiled and waved and welcomed us to their beautiful town.
Why we left I don't know - but we drove way too far to Magdalena del Kino, where we saw the reliquary (code for skeleton) of Father Kino and bought milagros. Milagros (means "miracle") are silver charms of various body parts - you can buy arms, legs, breasts, heads - that you buy if you have an ailment in particular part of your body - if you use the milagro charm and pray hard enough, you'll be healed. I was ambivalent about the Father Kino thing - he was, after all, the leader of the rapacious Spaniards who plundered Mexico and forced Catholocism on these handsome indigenous people. But the sun was shining, and families wandered the park that sheltered the reliquary in a festive mood, buying balloons and cotton candy - history forgotten in the happy present.
We were not ready to leave on Sunday, but leave we did. We entertained ourselves on the way home by counting the roadside shrines, usually created to memorialize someone who died in a traffic accident on that particular spot on the road... but often just to give thanks for some everyday miracle. We're at 94 shrines and counting...
The result of all this fun is that we're going back! We're leaving on Wednesday for Copper Canyon Parque Nacional... taking the train through the canyon and hiking through colonial villages. So we'll file our next post when we return. Hasta luego!
Monday, April 5, 2010
The end of the rainbow?
You know what they say - "life is what happens when you're busy making other plans"... and we're proving that daily with our adventures. We've arrived in Bisbee, Arizona, and are staying with our friends, Jim and Sarah - and though there are jobs pending in Boston, Georgia and Florida, we've decided to take a stand here in this wacky, funky, historic former copper mining town and artist's colony. We're assuming, of course, that once we finally move here, something else will come up... but meanwhile we'd like to see if we can supplement our retirement income with photography and writing - it's a dream for us, and I'm thinking that you're never too old or broke to follow your bliss!
Bisbee is in Southern Arizona, almost to the Mexico border, at 5,000 feet in elevation. Listed in the National Register of Historic Places, it was founded as a copper, gold, and silver mining town in 1880, and named in honor of Judge DeWitt Bisbee, one of the financial backers of the adjacent Copper Queen Mine. During World War I, demand for copper made Bisbee a boom town, and in 1929, the county seat was moved here from Tombstone (home of the famous OK Corral!) Bisbee is still the county seat of Cochise County... Is anybody out there old enough to remember the TV series "Sheriff of Cochise"? That was one of my favorite programs as a child (when my life's ambition was to be a cowgirl - go figure) and it was filmed right here in Bisbee.
Phelps Dodge Corporation closed the mines in the 70's, but not before developing Bisbee as a company town. Thanks to P-D there are some nice parks and public areas in Bisbee, in addition to the historic downtown area, which is lined with galleries, shops and restaurants, addition to the wonderful public Library and minor league baseball field.
Bisbee is currently best-known as a tourist attraction and a community of artists and eccentrics, with a year-round climate that's probably the best in Arizona - not too hot in the summer, not too cold in the winter. And of course, there's the famous Bisbee Blue turquoise, one of the more palatable byproducts of copper mining.
We found a great rental house in which to enjoy our experiment - roomy, completely renovated by two gay guys (which is always good)...room for a vegetable garden, and tennis courts a block away - what more could we ask for? We move in on May 1, so as they used to say on "Sheriff of Cochise" - stay tuned for the next exciting episode! Happy Trails...
Bisbee is in Southern Arizona, almost to the Mexico border, at 5,000 feet in elevation. Listed in the National Register of Historic Places, it was founded as a copper, gold, and silver mining town in 1880, and named in honor of Judge DeWitt Bisbee, one of the financial backers of the adjacent Copper Queen Mine. During World War I, demand for copper made Bisbee a boom town, and in 1929, the county seat was moved here from Tombstone (home of the famous OK Corral!) Bisbee is still the county seat of Cochise County... Is anybody out there old enough to remember the TV series "Sheriff of Cochise"? That was one of my favorite programs as a child (when my life's ambition was to be a cowgirl - go figure) and it was filmed right here in Bisbee.
Phelps Dodge Corporation closed the mines in the 70's, but not before developing Bisbee as a company town. Thanks to P-D there are some nice parks and public areas in Bisbee, in addition to the historic downtown area, which is lined with galleries, shops and restaurants, addition to the wonderful public Library and minor league baseball field.
Bisbee is currently best-known as a tourist attraction and a community of artists and eccentrics, with a year-round climate that's probably the best in Arizona - not too hot in the summer, not too cold in the winter. And of course, there's the famous Bisbee Blue turquoise, one of the more palatable byproducts of copper mining.
We found a great rental house in which to enjoy our experiment - roomy, completely renovated by two gay guys (which is always good)...room for a vegetable garden, and tennis courts a block away - what more could we ask for? We move in on May 1, so as they used to say on "Sheriff of Cochise" - stay tuned for the next exciting episode! Happy Trails...
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Americana
We're on another coast to coast drive, and it's glorious! I love being on the road again... can't help myself. Every time I look out the car window and see a little road off in the distance, or a river winding its way along, I ask myself "I wonder where that goes? What's at the end of that?" There's no such thing as the middle of nowhere to me - the middle of nowhere is where all the good stuff is!
Once again, we started in South Florida, where our kind and generous friends have been taking care of our car and our mail... and last week they took care of us, with food, drink, shelter, tennis, friendship and laughter.
Traveling up the Florida Turnpike - sunny rest stops where they sell fresh mangoes (I love love love this!), through the Florida Panhandle to surprisingly handsome Mobile, Alabama; then side stepping NOLA, my favorite city, in favor of Biloxi and Gulfport, Mississippi. Breakfast in Gulfport, birthplace of our friend John Fabian, is an all-American treat - cheese omelette, ham, grits and biscuits at the Palace Grill, which I'm sure was there before John and will be there long after. Just a few blocks from the shrimp boats bobbing in the Gulf, Palace Grill boasts one of the best bulletin boards ever, including a sign that reads, "Drink some coffee - then you can do really stupid stuff faster and with more energy!"
While in the bayous and Cajun country along the Gulf, known as the "Redneck Riviera", we enjoy boiled shrimp, gumbo and an oyster PoBoy before we even get over the border into Texas. Driving through Texas is a career in itself... I've spent so much time involved in that activity, I should put it on my resume. We obey the law and stick with the 80 MPH speed limit, but despite the signs reminding us to "Drive Friendly - the Texas Way", people blaze past us as if we're standing still. Kind of like the Autobahn, only with gigantic black pickups and gun racks.
We stop to Remember the Alamo and eat chiles rellenos in San Antonio - a green and shady, charming, historic and friendly city; then continue through the surprisingly beautiful Texas hill country around Kerrville. (Quiz Question: what famous American has a ranch near Kerrville? Hint: His initials are GWB and he looks like Howdy Doody.)
Last night we were in Ozona, Texas, home of the Davy Crockett Memorial and the Hitching Post Steak House, where we were only allowed to have a cocktail if we purchased a membership - which was OK with me. I like the idea that if we're ever back in Ozona, we will feel right at home. We can flash our membership card at the Hitching Post and that nice waitress will smile and say, "Hey, Hon - how y'all doin'?"
Once again, we started in South Florida, where our kind and generous friends have been taking care of our car and our mail... and last week they took care of us, with food, drink, shelter, tennis, friendship and laughter.
Traveling up the Florida Turnpike - sunny rest stops where they sell fresh mangoes (I love love love this!), through the Florida Panhandle to surprisingly handsome Mobile, Alabama; then side stepping NOLA, my favorite city, in favor of Biloxi and Gulfport, Mississippi. Breakfast in Gulfport, birthplace of our friend John Fabian, is an all-American treat - cheese omelette, ham, grits and biscuits at the Palace Grill, which I'm sure was there before John and will be there long after. Just a few blocks from the shrimp boats bobbing in the Gulf, Palace Grill boasts one of the best bulletin boards ever, including a sign that reads, "Drink some coffee - then you can do really stupid stuff faster and with more energy!"
While in the bayous and Cajun country along the Gulf, known as the "Redneck Riviera", we enjoy boiled shrimp, gumbo and an oyster PoBoy before we even get over the border into Texas. Driving through Texas is a career in itself... I've spent so much time involved in that activity, I should put it on my resume. We obey the law and stick with the 80 MPH speed limit, but despite the signs reminding us to "Drive Friendly - the Texas Way", people blaze past us as if we're standing still. Kind of like the Autobahn, only with gigantic black pickups and gun racks.
We stop to Remember the Alamo and eat chiles rellenos in San Antonio - a green and shady, charming, historic and friendly city; then continue through the surprisingly beautiful Texas hill country around Kerrville. (Quiz Question: what famous American has a ranch near Kerrville? Hint: His initials are GWB and he looks like Howdy Doody.)
Last night we were in Ozona, Texas, home of the Davy Crockett Memorial and the Hitching Post Steak House, where we were only allowed to have a cocktail if we purchased a membership - which was OK with me. I like the idea that if we're ever back in Ozona, we will feel right at home. We can flash our membership card at the Hitching Post and that nice waitress will smile and say, "Hey, Hon - how y'all doin'?"
Friday, March 26, 2010
Biloxi Babies
It all started with a photograph of my beautiful mother on her honeymoon. She sat on a seawall in Biloxi, Mississippi, dressed in an off the shoulder blouse and flouncy skirt, gazing coquettishly at my adoring father as he snapped the photograph. The seawall was patterned brick, the Gulf frothing with whitecaps... as a child, it was one of my favorite photographs.
So as we breezed along I-10 West on a beautiful spring morning this week, I saw an exit for Biloxi and said, "Hey - let's spend the night here!" I had a fantasy about finding that sea wall and having my picture taken, for old time's sake.
Of course I should have realized that Hurricane Katrina had done away with pretty much everything on the beach in Biloxi. Except for the casinos, of course, which lurk along the beachfront like gaudy predators ready to pounce on the unsuspecting geriatrics who enter their doors with a few bucks in their plaid pants pockets.
Undaunted, we reserved a bargain casino hotel room and ventured out onto the beach. As Dick prepared to take a photo of me on the new and unlovely sea wall, we noticed in the background an architectural wonder under construction that could have been created by no one other than Frank Gehry. We investigated and discovered that it was, in fact, a Gehry building which will house the Ohr-O'Keefe Art Museum. The museum was intended to open in 2006, but of course, Katrina destroyed the early construction - now the Museum should open in Fall 2010.
Why is it called Ohr-O'Keefe? The O'Keefe part is easy - he was a former mayor of Biloxi and local philanthropist who donated most of the money for the museum. The Ohr part is a wonderful story - about George E. Ohr, the "Mad Potter of Biloxi", whose collection of eccentric pottery will be housed in the museum. According to Smithsonian Magazine, Ohr was born in Biloxi in 1857, went to school in New Orleans, then apprenticed as a file cutter, a tinker, an assistant in his father’s blacksmith shop, and even put out to sea before chancing upon his life's work at 22, when he became a potter in New Orleans.
The rest, apparently, is history. He came back to Biloxi, built a pottery shop next door to his parent's house, and used clay from the Tchoutacabouffa River to make some of the wildest pottery the locals had ever seen. His humorous signs promoting his “Pot-Ohr-E” gave Ohr a reputation as an eccentric whose shop was worth a visit mainly for a laugh. As you can see in the photograph, he was a 19th century version of Salvador Dali - taking wacky photos of himself, letting his beard grow long, racing a motorcycle on the beach and walking the streets of Biloxi in a flowing robe, dressed as Father Time.
He often spoke and wrote in a disjointed stream of consciousness: “We are living in an Age of Wheels—more wheels, and wheels within Wheels—And MACHINE ART Works—is A fake and Fraud of the deepest die.” Right, George - I think.
At any rate, his work was discovered and became famous when Jasper Johns used images of Ohr pots in some of his paintings, and now, of course, Ohr's works of art sell for up to $60,000 each - although he sold very few while he was alive. 7,000 pots were rescued from his son's auto repair shop in Biloxi in order to build the Museum's collection. I have set up this true story as an inspiration to my husband - and other eccentrics we know - it's not too late to be a successful artist!
To our friends who are wondering what the heck we were doing in Biloxi in the first place: we've picked up Dick's car in Florida and are on our way back to pick up my car in Marin County... more to come soon. Cheers - we'll drink a toast tonight to George E. Ohr - my new hero.
So as we breezed along I-10 West on a beautiful spring morning this week, I saw an exit for Biloxi and said, "Hey - let's spend the night here!" I had a fantasy about finding that sea wall and having my picture taken, for old time's sake.
Of course I should have realized that Hurricane Katrina had done away with pretty much everything on the beach in Biloxi. Except for the casinos, of course, which lurk along the beachfront like gaudy predators ready to pounce on the unsuspecting geriatrics who enter their doors with a few bucks in their plaid pants pockets.
Undaunted, we reserved a bargain casino hotel room and ventured out onto the beach. As Dick prepared to take a photo of me on the new and unlovely sea wall, we noticed in the background an architectural wonder under construction that could have been created by no one other than Frank Gehry. We investigated and discovered that it was, in fact, a Gehry building which will house the Ohr-O'Keefe Art Museum. The museum was intended to open in 2006, but of course, Katrina destroyed the early construction - now the Museum should open in Fall 2010.
Why is it called Ohr-O'Keefe? The O'Keefe part is easy - he was a former mayor of Biloxi and local philanthropist who donated most of the money for the museum. The Ohr part is a wonderful story - about George E. Ohr, the "Mad Potter of Biloxi", whose collection of eccentric pottery will be housed in the museum. According to Smithsonian Magazine, Ohr was born in Biloxi in 1857, went to school in New Orleans, then apprenticed as a file cutter, a tinker, an assistant in his father’s blacksmith shop, and even put out to sea before chancing upon his life's work at 22, when he became a potter in New Orleans.
The rest, apparently, is history. He came back to Biloxi, built a pottery shop next door to his parent's house, and used clay from the Tchoutacabouffa River to make some of the wildest pottery the locals had ever seen. His humorous signs promoting his “Pot-Ohr-E” gave Ohr a reputation as an eccentric whose shop was worth a visit mainly for a laugh. As you can see in the photograph, he was a 19th century version of Salvador Dali - taking wacky photos of himself, letting his beard grow long, racing a motorcycle on the beach and walking the streets of Biloxi in a flowing robe, dressed as Father Time.
He often spoke and wrote in a disjointed stream of consciousness: “We are living in an Age of Wheels—more wheels, and wheels within Wheels—And MACHINE ART Works—is A fake and Fraud of the deepest die.” Right, George - I think.
At any rate, his work was discovered and became famous when Jasper Johns used images of Ohr pots in some of his paintings, and now, of course, Ohr's works of art sell for up to $60,000 each - although he sold very few while he was alive. 7,000 pots were rescued from his son's auto repair shop in Biloxi in order to build the Museum's collection. I have set up this true story as an inspiration to my husband - and other eccentrics we know - it's not too late to be a successful artist!
To our friends who are wondering what the heck we were doing in Biloxi in the first place: we've picked up Dick's car in Florida and are on our way back to pick up my car in Marin County... more to come soon. Cheers - we'll drink a toast tonight to George E. Ohr - my new hero.
Monday, March 8, 2010
A Perfect Place
"... to be or not to be..." that is the question that Hamlet asks every night during his performance at the Shakespeare Festival here in Ashland, Oregon - and that is our quandary once again. Ashland is certainly a perfect place if we go down our checklist: mountain scenery, flowering fruit trees, rows of grapevines marching up to rolling green hills, quaint neighborhoods of Victorians and Craftsman bungalows lining a downtown area that features a university, a 9-month theatrical festival at three venues, an independent film festival and a burgeoning food culture - even covered tennis courts to feed our shared addiction to hitting that little yellow ball.
When we moved to the Bay Area in 1981, I remember crossing the Golden Gate Bridge into Marin County and having the perfectly formed thought, "This is the landscape of my heart." The poetry of the thought surprised me, but it was true - the white capped Bay, ships silently steaming under the Bridge, the green Marin Headlands with their rocky outcrops - and the City side was Oz, the shining city of hills which never failed to thrill me. Many happy years and dear friends later, it's still true.
But there's a price to pay for Paradise - a price too steep for two potential retirees.
In our travels we've learned that there's no such thing as a perfect place - but that there are many, many places to love in the world. Places, like people, have their flaws, and, as with people, we often fall in love because and not in spite of them.
"My heart, being hungry
Feeds on food the fat of heart despise
Beauty where beauty never stood
And sweet where no sweet lies
I gather to my querulous need
Having a growing heart to feed..."
-- Edna St. Vincent Millay
So what's next? Maybe a perfect place, maybe not - but a place to call home... wherever that might be. We'll keep you posted.
When we moved to the Bay Area in 1981, I remember crossing the Golden Gate Bridge into Marin County and having the perfectly formed thought, "This is the landscape of my heart." The poetry of the thought surprised me, but it was true - the white capped Bay, ships silently steaming under the Bridge, the green Marin Headlands with their rocky outcrops - and the City side was Oz, the shining city of hills which never failed to thrill me. Many happy years and dear friends later, it's still true.
But there's a price to pay for Paradise - a price too steep for two potential retirees.
In our travels we've learned that there's no such thing as a perfect place - but that there are many, many places to love in the world. Places, like people, have their flaws, and, as with people, we often fall in love because and not in spite of them.
"My heart, being hungry
Feeds on food the fat of heart despise
Beauty where beauty never stood
And sweet where no sweet lies
I gather to my querulous need
Having a growing heart to feed..."
-- Edna St. Vincent Millay
So what's next? Maybe a perfect place, maybe not - but a place to call home... wherever that might be. We'll keep you posted.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Arizona Highways
We've been lost in America - having such a wonderful time with old friends that we haven't had the opportunity to post. Since we last wrote, we've had two weeks of memories - remembering the past and creating memories for the future.
We flew in from Chicago and were picked up at the airport by our old friend Linda Stuckey, who was my neighbor, excellent friend and soulmate in the Encanto area of Phoenix back in the 70's. She and her husband Larry had been babysitting the Mini while we were in Nepal - and the Mini was lucky enough to share quarters with Larry's cherry 1932 (I think I have the date right) Model A... pictured at left. Larry got this car when in high school (no, we weren't in high school in 1931 - very funny). As he tells it, he asked his dad for a Corvette and got a Model A! But now that Larry has grown up (kinda) he's finished his Model A to perfection. We enjoyed fabulous food at Pizzeria Bianco and at the Stuckey household... I'm so lucky that all my friends are fabulous cooks! There's nothing more fun for me than cooking with Linda...
Then on to Tempe to visit our friends Rob and Roni Melnick. Rob is my former business partner and BFF, (that's Dr. Melnick to you!) who is Executive Dean and Chief Operating Officer of the Global Institute of Sustainability at Arizona State University. But to me he's my sweet friend and hiking buddy - married to the incredible Roni, who's also a fabulous cook (how did we get so lucky?). We spent much too short a time - Rob is still working, and working hard - but we spent it hiking, laughing, drinking, laughing, playing board games, laughing, hiking with their sheepdogs, Angel and Cheyenne, laughing... eating great food, drinking great wine. I look at Roni and I see the adorable 20-something that I picked up from the airport the first time she came to visit Rob in Arizona...
Southward we drove to Bisbee, Arizona - a former copper mining town just this side of the Mexican border, often described as "Mayberry on acid". Bisbee is home to Jim Eubanks (that's Dr. Eubanks to you!) my former business partner and BFF - sound familiar? Jim and Sara spent a week introducing us to their friends and helping us to gather information about Bisbee as a potential home... we visited Karchner Caverns (one of the most geologically important caves in the US - discovered by my former UA classmate and friend, the late Randy Tufts), played tennis, went wine-tasting in Patagonia (Arizona wines are pretty damn good - surprised the hell out of us), saw a community production of Urinetown: The Musical(!), enjoyed the Bisbee Breakfast Club, and hiked the amazing mountains and deserts of Cochise County with Jim, Sara and their doggie sons, Lucky Mo, Dylan and Omar. And - surprise, surprise -Sara is an incredible cook!
We're heading to Marin County to housesit for Jerry and Pam while they vacation in sunny Mexico... adios y vaya con dios...
We flew in from Chicago and were picked up at the airport by our old friend Linda Stuckey, who was my neighbor, excellent friend and soulmate in the Encanto area of Phoenix back in the 70's. She and her husband Larry had been babysitting the Mini while we were in Nepal - and the Mini was lucky enough to share quarters with Larry's cherry 1932 (I think I have the date right) Model A... pictured at left. Larry got this car when in high school (no, we weren't in high school in 1931 - very funny). As he tells it, he asked his dad for a Corvette and got a Model A! But now that Larry has grown up (kinda) he's finished his Model A to perfection. We enjoyed fabulous food at Pizzeria Bianco and at the Stuckey household... I'm so lucky that all my friends are fabulous cooks! There's nothing more fun for me than cooking with Linda...
Then on to Tempe to visit our friends Rob and Roni Melnick. Rob is my former business partner and BFF, (that's Dr. Melnick to you!) who is Executive Dean and Chief Operating Officer of the Global Institute of Sustainability at Arizona State University. But to me he's my sweet friend and hiking buddy - married to the incredible Roni, who's also a fabulous cook (how did we get so lucky?). We spent much too short a time - Rob is still working, and working hard - but we spent it hiking, laughing, drinking, laughing, playing board games, laughing, hiking with their sheepdogs, Angel and Cheyenne, laughing... eating great food, drinking great wine. I look at Roni and I see the adorable 20-something that I picked up from the airport the first time she came to visit Rob in Arizona...
Southward we drove to Bisbee, Arizona - a former copper mining town just this side of the Mexican border, often described as "Mayberry on acid". Bisbee is home to Jim Eubanks (that's Dr. Eubanks to you!) my former business partner and BFF - sound familiar? Jim and Sara spent a week introducing us to their friends and helping us to gather information about Bisbee as a potential home... we visited Karchner Caverns (one of the most geologically important caves in the US - discovered by my former UA classmate and friend, the late Randy Tufts), played tennis, went wine-tasting in Patagonia (Arizona wines are pretty damn good - surprised the hell out of us), saw a community production of Urinetown: The Musical(!), enjoyed the Bisbee Breakfast Club, and hiked the amazing mountains and deserts of Cochise County with Jim, Sara and their doggie sons, Lucky Mo, Dylan and Omar. And - surprise, surprise -Sara is an incredible cook!
We're heading to Marin County to housesit for Jerry and Pam while they vacation in sunny Mexico... adios y vaya con dios...
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
There's No Place Like Home
...and home is where your family is, after all. We left La Gue de la Chaine at 2:00 on a Tuesday afternoon, took the train to Paris, then the shuttle to Charles de Gaulle, spent the night at an airport hotel, got up for our early morning flight... which was cancelled. After a few frantic hours of racing around the airport with our bags (so convenient) we ended up on a United flight direct to Chicago - and arrived at my sister's office at McCormick Place an hour earlier than planned... how do these things work out? It's magic!
Spent six wonderful days with my sis, her husband Roland and my glorious 12-year-old niece, Morgan, in Naperville, IL. I know all proud aunties probably think this way, but Morgan really is a spectacular kid - smart, beautiful, funny, talented and always good-natured... she was performing in a community production of Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, which was amazingly professional - and so inspiring.
We spent some girlie bonding time getting mani-pedis and haircuts, and we celebrated my sister's Big 5-0 birthday in style. You may think that last Monday was MLK Day, but it was also Melissa Matthews Day - her wish was our command for the entire 24 hours. Since she's one of those people who's always doing for everyone else, it was a great turn of events.
We flew off from the midwestern snowscapes to sunny Scottsdale, where our Mini was luxuriating in our friends elegant garage while we were in Nepal taking bucket baths... we're visiting the Stuckeys, picking up the car, and going on to the next adventure. Stay tuned!
Spent six wonderful days with my sis, her husband Roland and my glorious 12-year-old niece, Morgan, in Naperville, IL. I know all proud aunties probably think this way, but Morgan really is a spectacular kid - smart, beautiful, funny, talented and always good-natured... she was performing in a community production of Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, which was amazingly professional - and so inspiring.
We spent some girlie bonding time getting mani-pedis and haircuts, and we celebrated my sister's Big 5-0 birthday in style. You may think that last Monday was MLK Day, but it was also Melissa Matthews Day - her wish was our command for the entire 24 hours. Since she's one of those people who's always doing for everyone else, it was a great turn of events.
We flew off from the midwestern snowscapes to sunny Scottsdale, where our Mini was luxuriating in our friends elegant garage while we were in Nepal taking bucket baths... we're visiting the Stuckeys, picking up the car, and going on to the next adventure. Stay tuned!
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Winter Wonderland
Wow! And we thought there was snow here last week - the Arctic blast that has frozen the East Coast of the US is doing the same here... we have two feet of snow on the ground! Marg and John got out just in time. We dropped them at the train station on Thursday, with the poor old Ford (we call her The Brute) alternately plodding and fishtailing along the icy roads. They arrived safely in freezing Paris and then home... we're left here to miss them and enjoy a little Cabin Fever! Days filled with writing, PhotoShop, beautiful walks, reading (I highly recommend Wolf Hall, last year's Booker Prize winner), RummiKub, and of course, cooking, food and wine.
The absolute silence of the countryside in the snow is awe-inspiring - as if we're the only people in the world... a perfect atmosphere in which to reflect on the year just past. We are firmer than ever in our convictions that our actions are our only true possessions - but also that our friends and family are what makes our life meaningful.
Having been unemployed and wandering for almost a year, it's clear to me that we are not what we do (in the sense of employment) and that (to quote a poet of my youth, Jackson Brown) - "whatever it is you might think you have, you have nothing to lose." And everything to gain... sending oceans of love to all of you who make our lives worthwhile.
The absolute silence of the countryside in the snow is awe-inspiring - as if we're the only people in the world... a perfect atmosphere in which to reflect on the year just past. We are firmer than ever in our convictions that our actions are our only true possessions - but also that our friends and family are what makes our life meaningful.
Having been unemployed and wandering for almost a year, it's clear to me that we are not what we do (in the sense of employment) and that (to quote a poet of my youth, Jackson Brown) - "whatever it is you might think you have, you have nothing to lose." And everything to gain... sending oceans of love to all of you who make our lives worthwhile.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
I'm Dreaming of a White... January?
After spending a warm and sunny June and July in Normandy, we were curious as to what it would be like to live here year-'round... luckily for us, our generous friends John (known as Jean-Michel in these parts - or Jean Le Fermier, as we like to call him) and Margaret invited us to spend the New Year holiday.
What did we discover? That this place is magical no matter what the weather. The countryside is beautiful in a different way now - this morning it's glistening with new snow, which looks a little surreal as it sits lightly on the green, green grass and leaves. When I grew up in the Midwest, snow meant SNOW - either 10 foot high drifts or a grey, slushy springtime mess... here it's a little like a delicate meringue that melts off when the sun comes out - a little mini-spring every day!
Of course, we've been keeping warm with food and wine - in addition to the fact that Marg and I have enjoyed cooking together, friends and neighbors have invited us to share. Yesterday was very social - we had lunch with Madame et Monsieur Vaudron, the caretakers who watch M&J's place when they're gone, and then cocktails with their neighbors, the Pelletier family. Luckily, Margaret's French is very good - and I can understand most of the conversation - so a lively time is had by all, especially when the Champagne keeps flowing!
We have adopted some of the local animals, as well. I'm sure these French farmers think we're absolutely nuts, because we talk to our local goat (whom we've nicknamed Gaston) and a beautiful white mare (named Mistletoe, after the gorgeous ball of mistletoe that we cut out of a tree and hung in the cottage - tres jolie).
Until we return to the US next week, we'll continue to amuse the locals - if you're interested in larger images of the photos on the blog, they can be found on Dick's Flickr site - Google dixpix2009. Au revoir!
What did we discover? That this place is magical no matter what the weather. The countryside is beautiful in a different way now - this morning it's glistening with new snow, which looks a little surreal as it sits lightly on the green, green grass and leaves. When I grew up in the Midwest, snow meant SNOW - either 10 foot high drifts or a grey, slushy springtime mess... here it's a little like a delicate meringue that melts off when the sun comes out - a little mini-spring every day!
Of course, we've been keeping warm with food and wine - in addition to the fact that Marg and I have enjoyed cooking together, friends and neighbors have invited us to share. Yesterday was very social - we had lunch with Madame et Monsieur Vaudron, the caretakers who watch M&J's place when they're gone, and then cocktails with their neighbors, the Pelletier family. Luckily, Margaret's French is very good - and I can understand most of the conversation - so a lively time is had by all, especially when the Champagne keeps flowing!
We have adopted some of the local animals, as well. I'm sure these French farmers think we're absolutely nuts, because we talk to our local goat (whom we've nicknamed Gaston) and a beautiful white mare (named Mistletoe, after the gorgeous ball of mistletoe that we cut out of a tree and hung in the cottage - tres jolie).
Until we return to the US next week, we'll continue to amuse the locals - if you're interested in larger images of the photos on the blog, they can be found on Dick's Flickr site - Google dixpix2009. Au revoir!
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