Saturday, November 12 was the happiest day yet in the 10-year history of Ama Ghar! We celebrated both our 10th anniversary and the Grand Opening of our beautiful new home in the meadows of Godavari.
Dick and I came at this time specifically to help our friend Bonnie get ready for the event - and it was a logistical miracle to pull this off, particularly in a Third World Country... the intention was that this was a day to celebrate our children, their friends, and all the Nepali people, from dignitaries to local brick carriers, who helped to make our new home possible.
There was a children's tent, featuring face painting, Legos, Play Doh and lots of silly games and prizes, so the children invited their school friends and children from other homes around the Valley. The program itself was short on speeches and long on fun - the children sang, danced and entertained while they honored Ama Tika Basnet, our inspiration, as well as Bonnie Auntie and the Ama Ghar staff.
There were 400 people in attendance, laughing and clapping along with the program and then enjoying a generous buffet of Nepali foods and chai. After the luncheon, some people drifted off to their homes while others stayed late into the date, dancing, drumming and singing in the beautiful tent.
A special thanks to our friends who helped to fund the building of the suttal, the traditional Nepali stage which was the background for the festivities. Plaques with their names have been affixed to the suttal, and we'll send photos to each of you when we get home.
I, of course, was teary-eyed much of the time, as it's astonishing to see these beautiful children perform with poise and grace - their joy and pride on their home was palpable. At the end of the day, I watched in amazement as the teenagers danced - a mixture of every caste and class of Nepali... dark, light, boys, girls, Brahmins and untouchables... the new Nepal, the new world...
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Back Home in Kathmandu
After an 8-month hiatus, I’m back to my blog… because we want to communicate with our friends about our current stay at Ama Ghar. Such an exciting time here, as it’s the 10th anniversary of Ama Ghar and the grand opening celebration of our new Ama Ghar home. Not to mention the fact that we have six new children – which changes the dynamic of our family, but always in positive ways.
Our two new little ones, Pooja and Ang Maya, make everyone smile constantly – little bundles of energy and love. Pooja is 5-1/2 – her father was killed while working in Dubai and her mother, as a widow, has no rights. She lives in a remote village and is a virtual slave to her mother-in-law; she has three children and cannot feed them, so they’re malnourished… they go to school in rags and are teased and tormented by the other children. So she made the painful decision to give Pooja, her youngest, a chance at a better life by turning her in to Social Welfare, who placed her with us.
Ang Maya, who is 4-1/2, was found on a trail high in the Himalayas by trekkers – she had been abandoned by her family, probably because they couldn’t feed her. A Sherpa family took her in for a while, but she, too, was given to Social Welfare – and then to Ama Ghar.
These two beautiful little girls have changed within weeks from malnourished and terrified to silly, lively bundles of energy. It never fails to amaze me what food and love can do for a child – these girls are snuggled and hugged by everyone in the house, and they eat incessantly – which is amazing because they only weight 30-40 pounds each. But they are adorable, beautiful and smart – they’re already speaking some English, and going to school in kindergarten and first grade respectively.
Since we arrived here, in addition to spending quality time with the kids, we have helped with preparations for our big opening program on Saturday. I had a terrific work crew of 10-11 year old girls (and Dick Uncle) painting directional signs and welcome signs for the party – we’ve also cleaned, dusted, made name tags, weeded and watered – and managed to have plenty of fun as well… the kids love to play “long tennis” (why they call it this is a mystery) and card games with us. So far, Dick has lost heavily in Black Jack to Jenuka, a 12-year-old… I think he’s plotting his revenge.
Yesterday afternoon, Dick and I were sitting in the sun, taking our chai break and looking at the snowy Himalayas against the blue sky – talking about what a miracle it is that you can get on a plane in one place and get off again half way around the world. It’s a privilege, but also a necessity for us, as these people have become our family over the last 8 years… what a wonderful thing that a place can be at once so exotic and so familiar.
Our two new little ones, Pooja and Ang Maya, make everyone smile constantly – little bundles of energy and love. Pooja is 5-1/2 – her father was killed while working in Dubai and her mother, as a widow, has no rights. She lives in a remote village and is a virtual slave to her mother-in-law; she has three children and cannot feed them, so they’re malnourished… they go to school in rags and are teased and tormented by the other children. So she made the painful decision to give Pooja, her youngest, a chance at a better life by turning her in to Social Welfare, who placed her with us.
Ang Maya, who is 4-1/2, was found on a trail high in the Himalayas by trekkers – she had been abandoned by her family, probably because they couldn’t feed her. A Sherpa family took her in for a while, but she, too, was given to Social Welfare – and then to Ama Ghar.
These two beautiful little girls have changed within weeks from malnourished and terrified to silly, lively bundles of energy. It never fails to amaze me what food and love can do for a child – these girls are snuggled and hugged by everyone in the house, and they eat incessantly – which is amazing because they only weight 30-40 pounds each. But they are adorable, beautiful and smart – they’re already speaking some English, and going to school in kindergarten and first grade respectively.
Since we arrived here, in addition to spending quality time with the kids, we have helped with preparations for our big opening program on Saturday. I had a terrific work crew of 10-11 year old girls (and Dick Uncle) painting directional signs and welcome signs for the party – we’ve also cleaned, dusted, made name tags, weeded and watered – and managed to have plenty of fun as well… the kids love to play “long tennis” (why they call it this is a mystery) and card games with us. So far, Dick has lost heavily in Black Jack to Jenuka, a 12-year-old… I think he’s plotting his revenge.
Yesterday afternoon, Dick and I were sitting in the sun, taking our chai break and looking at the snowy Himalayas against the blue sky – talking about what a miracle it is that you can get on a plane in one place and get off again half way around the world. It’s a privilege, but also a necessity for us, as these people have become our family over the last 8 years… what a wonderful thing that a place can be at once so exotic and so familiar.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
It's all about how you play the game...
It's spring - which means it's time for the Bisbee H.S. Tennis Season! I have been recruited to do some volunteer coaching for the girls' team, and it's been a revelation. I have so much respect now for the patience of the brilliant coaches I've had in my life - and giving back to this town and to the game I love has been a thrill. Three hours a day of hitting balls and yelling "keep your head down, Haley!", "swing low to high, Megan!" and "move your feet!" has been a reminder of just how difficult this game is... it has all the elements of an addiction - frustration, risk, excitement, glory... and just the sheer thrill of hitting that little yellow ball...
This past Saturday was the Jim Thursby Invitational HS Tennis Tournament, named for the man who has been the Bisbee HS Tennis Coach for 28 years. Our buddies who comprise the Bisbee Community Tennis Association, a ragtag group of ex-judges and politicians, rock and rollers, artists and lady hackers like me, came out in force to support the kids and provide some refreshment. At the end of the day, we handed out medals and trophies, but the real prize was just being there.
We went home happy, and the next day the snow came... drifting down like feathers from some ethereal bird, blanketing the brown grass like a blessing.
This past Saturday was the Jim Thursby Invitational HS Tennis Tournament, named for the man who has been the Bisbee HS Tennis Coach for 28 years. Our buddies who comprise the Bisbee Community Tennis Association, a ragtag group of ex-judges and politicians, rock and rollers, artists and lady hackers like me, came out in force to support the kids and provide some refreshment. At the end of the day, we handed out medals and trophies, but the real prize was just being there.
We went home happy, and the next day the snow came... drifting down like feathers from some ethereal bird, blanketing the brown grass like a blessing.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Tempus Fugit
One minute we were celebrating New Year's Eve with beloved friends, the next minute it was Valentine's Day! If the level of action during the first month of 2011 is any indication, we're heading for an exciting year.
My brilliant nieces never cease to amaze me - I went to Chicago in mid-January to witness the great work of the Magical Starlight Theater team, when my talented niece Morgan danced, sang and beamed her beautiful way through six (count 'em, six - all in one weekend!) performances of the stage version of Disney's Aladdin. It was enchanting, full of beautiful voices and astonishing stagecraft. But sweetest of all to witness was the closeness of the troupe of actors and the excitement of the congratulatory crowds after the show. Morgan even got to give autographs! Weather was 25 degrees and sunny, though my little sis did have to shovel some snow. Luckily, I missed the blizzard that devastated the city the following week.
Devastating, though, was the news I got when I got home. Dick and I drove in to Tucson Medical Center for what we thought was a routine test for some heart flutters he'd been having. As I sat reading a travel book in the waiting room, Dick's doctor called me to the phone, said he had discovered a "nasty arrhythmia" and that if it was his heart, he'd have a defibrillator/pacemaker implanted. I gulped and said, "OK" - Dick was under anaesthesia - and that was that. This amazing little device keeps his heart from going too fast, or too slow - so we now call him the Bionic Man. He spent only one night in the hospital and is now playing tennis again. He's serving really great all of a sudden - maybe I need to get one of those things, too!
Then there was a trip to Boca, a meeting of the Bisbee Community Tennis Association at our house... and yesterday was pretty much a perfect day.
In the morning, we drove out to Whitewater Wildlife Preserve to witness the migration of the Sand Hill Cranes. Each year between January and March they pause their migration in this area, eating rice and corn left in the fields near Elfrida and Willcox, and enjoying the beautiful wetlands at Whitewater. The birds are very punctual - we had learned when Jim and Sara took us out here last year that they show up exactly at 11:30 AM each day.
Arriving early, we enjoyed sharing the beautiful weather with the friendly group of people gathered - from the serious birders making notes in their books and muttering to each other to voyeurs like us who enjoy the occasional reminder of nature's power and beauty. At approximately 11:29, we began to see tiny black dots in the distant sky... the dots grew and grew, as did the noise level, as thousands of cranes descended in flocks, their giant wings making "whoosh-whoosh" sounds in the crystal air, the birds gracefully landing among the hundreds already assembled, fluttering and squawking almost as excitedly as our little group of humans. These photos cannot capture the enormity of the sight, or the magic of the moment... but it's in our hearts (even bionic ones) forever.
We finally tore ourselves away from the birds and got home in time to prepare ourselves for the evening's festivities. Becaue I am devoted to the Bisbee Library, and especially to James, my writing teacher, I volunteered to serve at last night's Bisbee Chocolate Festival - our annual Library fundraiser. Local restaurants, as well as most of the culinarily-gifted ladies of Bisbee, have been dipping berries, baking brownies, mixing up ganache and whipping up truffles for the past week, and the results were overwhelming - and tasty!
My fellow servers and I handed out the goodies from giant Valentine-strewn tables on two floors of our handsome old Copper Queen Library, and I barely noticed that I was on my feet for two hours. Age and gender had no bearing on the enjoyment - everyone from kids to young couples on a valentine date to elderly gentlemen were in a kind of chocolate induced trance while trying to decide how to use the five (only five?!) Chocolate Tickets they received with their admission, while a lively Irish band played downstairs. And I didn't eat a thing - my heart was busy feasting on all those sweet faces.
Dick and his pals, who had been shooting pool and doing guy stuff, picked me up at festival's end, and we enjoyed the perfect ending to a perfect day... the West Texas Millionaires playing an impromptu concert after a wedding downtown... don't try to top this - can't be done!
My brilliant nieces never cease to amaze me - I went to Chicago in mid-January to witness the great work of the Magical Starlight Theater team, when my talented niece Morgan danced, sang and beamed her beautiful way through six (count 'em, six - all in one weekend!) performances of the stage version of Disney's Aladdin. It was enchanting, full of beautiful voices and astonishing stagecraft. But sweetest of all to witness was the closeness of the troupe of actors and the excitement of the congratulatory crowds after the show. Morgan even got to give autographs! Weather was 25 degrees and sunny, though my little sis did have to shovel some snow. Luckily, I missed the blizzard that devastated the city the following week.
Devastating, though, was the news I got when I got home. Dick and I drove in to Tucson Medical Center for what we thought was a routine test for some heart flutters he'd been having. As I sat reading a travel book in the waiting room, Dick's doctor called me to the phone, said he had discovered a "nasty arrhythmia" and that if it was his heart, he'd have a defibrillator/pacemaker implanted. I gulped and said, "OK" - Dick was under anaesthesia - and that was that. This amazing little device keeps his heart from going too fast, or too slow - so we now call him the Bionic Man. He spent only one night in the hospital and is now playing tennis again. He's serving really great all of a sudden - maybe I need to get one of those things, too!
Then there was a trip to Boca, a meeting of the Bisbee Community Tennis Association at our house... and yesterday was pretty much a perfect day.
In the morning, we drove out to Whitewater Wildlife Preserve to witness the migration of the Sand Hill Cranes. Each year between January and March they pause their migration in this area, eating rice and corn left in the fields near Elfrida and Willcox, and enjoying the beautiful wetlands at Whitewater. The birds are very punctual - we had learned when Jim and Sara took us out here last year that they show up exactly at 11:30 AM each day.
Arriving early, we enjoyed sharing the beautiful weather with the friendly group of people gathered - from the serious birders making notes in their books and muttering to each other to voyeurs like us who enjoy the occasional reminder of nature's power and beauty. At approximately 11:29, we began to see tiny black dots in the distant sky... the dots grew and grew, as did the noise level, as thousands of cranes descended in flocks, their giant wings making "whoosh-whoosh" sounds in the crystal air, the birds gracefully landing among the hundreds already assembled, fluttering and squawking almost as excitedly as our little group of humans. These photos cannot capture the enormity of the sight, or the magic of the moment... but it's in our hearts (even bionic ones) forever.
We finally tore ourselves away from the birds and got home in time to prepare ourselves for the evening's festivities. Becaue I am devoted to the Bisbee Library, and especially to James, my writing teacher, I volunteered to serve at last night's Bisbee Chocolate Festival - our annual Library fundraiser. Local restaurants, as well as most of the culinarily-gifted ladies of Bisbee, have been dipping berries, baking brownies, mixing up ganache and whipping up truffles for the past week, and the results were overwhelming - and tasty!
My fellow servers and I handed out the goodies from giant Valentine-strewn tables on two floors of our handsome old Copper Queen Library, and I barely noticed that I was on my feet for two hours. Age and gender had no bearing on the enjoyment - everyone from kids to young couples on a valentine date to elderly gentlemen were in a kind of chocolate induced trance while trying to decide how to use the five (only five?!) Chocolate Tickets they received with their admission, while a lively Irish band played downstairs. And I didn't eat a thing - my heart was busy feasting on all those sweet faces.
Dick and his pals, who had been shooting pool and doing guy stuff, picked me up at festival's end, and we enjoyed the perfect ending to a perfect day... the West Texas Millionaires playing an impromptu concert after a wedding downtown... don't try to top this - can't be done!
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Yes
I'm not going to write this particular blog post, I'm going to turn it over to someone who speaks much better than I... our brilliant and admirable President:
"What matters is how well we have loved...and how, in some small way, we have made life better for other people... we should do everything we can to make sure that this country lives up to our children's expectations... what we can't do is use this tragedy as one more occasion to turn on each other."
"What matters is how well we have loved...and how, in some small way, we have made life better for other people... we should do everything we can to make sure that this country lives up to our children's expectations... what we can't do is use this tragedy as one more occasion to turn on each other."
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Taking Down the Tree
The holidays are officially over - I took down the Christmas tree today. That warm evening in early December, when I draped it with lights and tinsel and hung my favorite ornaments, drinking wine and singing along to my Frank Sinatra Christmas album, seems like eons ago. Yet as I perform the whole ceremony in reverse, I marvel at the ornaments that we've accumulated over the years, almost all of them made or given to us by family and friends... we don't have a designer tree, that's for sure - but we have a tree that tells a story.
Although I admire what Jesus taught, I'm not a formal Christian - I've studied Buddhism for about 20 years now. So why do the rituals of Christmas mean so much? Some say it's a primal urge to celebrate the Winter Solstice, to share warmth and comfort during the days of dark and cold. Childhood memories are invoked - the pungeance of evergreen, the brightness of cinnamon, the crackling fire all create visions - no, not of sugarplums - but of my siblings and I with Mom and Dad, Grandma and Grandpa, all gone now. It's about honoring the ones we love - even though I did call my brother a bad name while playing a board game at Christmas - I love him anyway.
So nostalgia plays a part, but it's also a basic human need to huddle together in the dark of winter, light candles and remind ourselves that spring will come again, that we hope to enjoy another year of human foolishness and frailty. Another year to find just one brilliant piece of writing that will float about our consciousness forever, one more embrace to warm us against the inevitable future, one more adventure to keep our hearts racing... one more chance to be alive.
Although I admire what Jesus taught, I'm not a formal Christian - I've studied Buddhism for about 20 years now. So why do the rituals of Christmas mean so much? Some say it's a primal urge to celebrate the Winter Solstice, to share warmth and comfort during the days of dark and cold. Childhood memories are invoked - the pungeance of evergreen, the brightness of cinnamon, the crackling fire all create visions - no, not of sugarplums - but of my siblings and I with Mom and Dad, Grandma and Grandpa, all gone now. It's about honoring the ones we love - even though I did call my brother a bad name while playing a board game at Christmas - I love him anyway.
So nostalgia plays a part, but it's also a basic human need to huddle together in the dark of winter, light candles and remind ourselves that spring will come again, that we hope to enjoy another year of human foolishness and frailty. Another year to find just one brilliant piece of writing that will float about our consciousness forever, one more embrace to warm us against the inevitable future, one more adventure to keep our hearts racing... one more chance to be alive.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Show me some Thanksgiving ATTITUDE, people!
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.
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 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."
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