Searching for the Sun

A sunspot searcher would say that not knowing when their loved one was coming home could be a reason to be hopeful and eager everyday. They would say it's like knowing you'll win the lottery but you just don't know exactly when that day will be. It could be tomorrow.

Tomorrow could be a day of news you've been hoping to hear.

Or the next day.

Or the next. You try. Grace tries.

But the air feels so heavy. It suffocates you. It weighs you down. You can barely lift your head to seek out that sunshine that you know is there. It's there. You know it is...

Arizona Beauties (Part 2)

How about some nice slices of sunshine from this populous apartment pie here in Arizona?

I'll start with two special people I dubbed the "Resident DJs" in my own head within our first days here because one or the other of them can be counted on to share their voluminous music with our neighborhood at least once a week. Also, they were two who introduced themselves and welcomed us (on separate occasions) during our first week here. They are Ron and Andy.

Beginning with Ron, because in all honesty, he (and Miss Claire, but I'll get to her later...) was the first person I took note of because of his pleasant, carrying voice, so easily heard from atop our balcony or indoors. I can see him now, with his hands on his hips, in mock indignance, "Are you saying I have a big mouth, Gina?" No, Ron, I'm only saying that your merry and audible voice was a sign of your encompassing friendly heart before I even knew you!


Ron, with his boom box, playing dance party and pop-rock music like Crazytown, Black Eyed Peas, Lady Antebellum--for the neighborhood to enjoy from his front patio or at the pool. Ron who is so good with all kids of any age; out of the blue bearing gifts of popscicles or bitty tubes of bubbles so attractively nestled in tiny gift bags that my daughter, for one, loved as much as the bubbles themselves. The necklace, she loved it, Ron. Thank you. Ron who can be counted on to play catch or tag at the pool; who has no problem telling it like it is; and who I would've loved to have as my math teacher in high school. I think your students are lucky to have you, Ron.

Andy: our other Resident DJ, who plays heavy metal, alternative, and classic rock, like the Scorpions, Nirvana, and Frampton for our patch of neighborhood.

Hey, Andy, did you ever think that some other person in your life would write publicly about you again? Of course, this isn't Readers' Digest. You introduced yourself and welcomed us, and then you asked if your music was too loud (and you asked again on another day, "Are you sure it's not too loud?") and I told you that your music was fine and that I liked your music. But maybe you thought I was just being nice. I wasn't. My first concert was Dio with Metallica opening, back in 1985; I was fourteen. Then Ozzy the next year. Led Zeppelin and Pink Floyd were my favorite bands in high school. I've expanded my repertoire since then; I like all music (except maybe the mega-mega-headbanging music of today--a sign of my age?).

Andy, who lives kitty-corner from our apartment on the ground level, who I often noticed sitting quietly observant on his patio just like me up on my stoop. (I only guessed the observant part, but found out later I was right when he'd told me that he'd thought we were smuggling family members into our 600 sq. ft. apartment to secretly live, after a misunderstanding when he'd spoken to Joel our first day here, and later seeing my family come to visit for a week...)

Andy who mostly keeps to himself except when he has invited the neighborhood to partake of his grand and glorious grilled feasts. Andy who when we first became friends only a month ago, was dismayed when I revealed to him that I was a vegetarian and could not eat the delectable smoked chicken he was offering to my family and me for dinner that night. Andy, who then prepared a platter half filled with various grilled meats and half with chopped cabbage, cukes, carrots, celery, tomatoes...along with sticky rice, grilled corn on the cobb, homemade salsa, real Hawaiian soy sauce and corn chips to boot! Andy who has fed my family dinner on numerous occasions since that first plentiful platter; who opened his home to all on Labor Day for intermingling and feasting and fun among his family and friends. His mom, Rita a mini ball of energy, who is so warm and gracious and friendly and whom I loved talking to that day. Thanks for inviting us, Andy. And I'm so happy for you to have your boys back.

--How about Andy's Convivial Concoctions for your Food Network TV show name? Or just The Desert Chef like Joel suggested? Andy the Taciturn Grill Master?

Trish and Brett, parents of the loveable toddling Tucker, who just moved into the place diagonally below us a month ago from their old apartment across the street. The new location is so much better for Tucker who gets to play with all the other kids on our patch of grass out front. Gracie loves having Tucker so near and she loves the lemonade slushies and popscicles that Trish so generously hands out to the neighborhood kids; so refreshing on these hot Arizona days. And Brett, I've appreciated our talks about meteorites and life, and the way you swooped right in with your first aid kit (and band-aid) when Gracie hurt her knee that one "block-party" night. She told me before bed, "That was so nice of Brett to help me fix my knee tonight, wasn't it, Mom?" Yes, it was, Grace. Thanks, Brett.

And how about the boisterously spirited Miss Claire from Jamaica who lives on the flourishing second storey across the street? Our whole family noticed, on our first day here, not only the lush plant life up there, but also the luscious livelihood of Miss Claire, who like Ron, has a knack for being heard by many when she speaks. (She's probably more gifted than Ron, I must say.) Miss Claire who enjoys our barking Beagle, Daisy, and whom I've spoken to from ground level while walking Daisy as she calls down to us from her perch, sometimes while we are still across the street on our side. Miss Claire whom I finally had the privilege of shaking hands with and learning her name only last weekend. It's been an honor, Miss Claire.

Dan and Patricia, parents to Dom and Kaydence; our downstairs friends. They know when Grace gets too ranbunctious at night when she plays with our cat, Tonky (sorry); they know when we are walking to the kitchen for a snack; and they know when we are up in the night using the shower or toilet. Somehow hearing their movements (we only know when they're in the bathroom or going outside) and knowing that they hear ours has made me feel completely safe despite the scary stories of this area, when it's just Gracie and me at night (with only our big, bad cat and dog to protect us).

Dan and Trish who welcome Gracie into their home daily and take her frisbee-golfing weekly. Dan and Trish who so generously offered their time and energy to watch Grace and Daisy so Joel and I could have an overnight date, which we never took them up on, time went by too quickly, but we are so touched and grateful to have had the option where before we had none. And of course, they did take care of Tonky while we went to the Grand Canyon for a few days, thanks again, guys.

Trish, with her salty sass and tough-girl 'tude who really does have a big heart and a soft spot for strays...not just the four legged kind. Trish with her frisbee-golfing get-up of shorty-shorts, bikini top, bandanna head gear, and hot pink tube socks to balance it all out--it's all perfectly Patricia.

And Dan, mellow and warmhearted who also once "rescued" Gracie when she wiped out on a scooter one day (he also got her down from a tree when she was afraid and stuck, just like a kitten). The Hello Kitty ice-pack that he procured had the power to put a smile on her crying face. Dan who talks doggie-talk to our Daisy; they share a reciprocal love. (I think Dom shares that same love.) Dan, who can be counted on for long and easy genial conversations about nothing and everything. I will miss our evening talks outside while watching our kids play.

I will miss having Dom and Kaydence up to our apartment to help Grace and Daisy wreak havoc and have a blast while doing it. I will miss listening to the hilarities that spill from Dom and Kaydence's mouths. I will miss those rare glimpses of that same saltiness in Kaydence that I see in Trish; she's tenaciously adorable. I miss already that we didn't get to do more together with the kids; I loved watching Dom and Grace dazzle the ladies at the Desert Museum with their vast knowledge of rocks and fossils and carnivores and herbivores and omnivores. Maybe they would've been offered Saturday jobs at the planetarium, too.

I will miss our impromtu weekend evening "block parties" with 10 adults chillin' out and 15 kiddies running around our grassy area for hours, stopping only to gaze up at the stars and moon and Saturn for a two minute break before they're off and running again. I will miss little Tucker's one-armed furious flapping as he races back and forth across the lawn. I will miss Andy's excellent salads and beans and rice with homemade salsa and grilled corn. I will miss each and every one of your benevolent faces. Ron, Andy, Miss Claire, Trish, Brett, Tucker, Patricia, Dan, Dom, and Kaydence. And there are more that I've not mentioned who were nothing but nice during our stay here...Jeff and his wife, who also welcomed us our first day, but who live a bit further down so we didn't get to know each other as well, but we always share a friendly greeting when we do see each other. And there are some of whom I don't even know their names but I know their smiles well as they pass by our apartment.

Thank you all for showing us kindness and love while we were your neighbors here in Arizona.

Arizona Beauties (Part One)

The massive moon and the clarity of the stars. Some cities/towns here even encourage their residents to keep the curtains or blinds closed at night, to maintain the purity of the night skies for the astonomers who come from all over the world to view our universe from this auspicious area of our country.


Adorning the road sides, the store and library fronts, and the parking lots, are dollops of lavender forget-me-not bushes. There are bushes (?) of bright orange flowers that spill into a brilliant red at their centers, I still haven't figured out their names, possibly the Arizona Poppy? But when my mom visited she fell in love with them...it's hard not to, they really are everywhere--a favorite of Grace's and mine, too. And there are green trees. All green: the trunk, the branches, and the leaves, that seem to have come straight out of a monochromatic or a French Impressionist painting because of their uniquely singular color and their numerous teeny-tiny leaves that appear curiously fuzzy and blurry when viewed from afar; they are the state trees of Arizona: Palo Verde. And what about those Saguaros? The famous cacti with the arms number in the millions here in the Sonoran Desert of Arizona and Mexico. But on a worldly scale, they are actually rare. And besides Arizona, California is the only other state where Saguaros grow (and they only have about a hundred; they're smaller and skinnier). That's right, there are millions here and in Mexico, but there are zero in other states in the surrounding area like Texas, Nevada, and New Mexico!


It's the average rain fall of eight inches per year that allows them to flourish here compared to other deserts around the world that are too dry. Cacti do need some water and Saguaros need more than most because of their size. I could go on and on about the interesting facts I've learned about how the Saguaro thrives here and the details of their life-cylce, but I only have 30 minutes on this computer. (But feel free to ask questions in the comments section if you have any; I'd love to share. I see I have five followers now, thanks Kristen!)

I think most people that are not from this area (and maybe some that are) associate all of the southwestern part of our country with the immediately recognizable silhouette of that sentient Saguaro standing tall, as guardian of its surrounding land. And here, in Arizona, that is exactly what they are: sentinels on the hills and mountains of this beautiful Sonoran Desert land. On the way up to the Grand Canyon a few weeks ago, Grace and I relished in ogling at the prominent personalities of this state. We saw a "Grandpa" with his 10-12 large arms (it takes at least 50 years before they grow their first arm), a "ballerina" with two of her arms raised over her "head", a "mama" bending down slightly with arms curled in toward two smaller Saguaros, and literally thousands more.

The Saguaros, like the Palo Verde and the orange-red flowers and the forget-me-nots are all over town, too. We see them during our daily drives. But to see a "forest" of them, and there are many forests of Saguros surrounding this city once you get away from all the buildings and surface roads, just helps to remind me of how awesomely different Arizona is, for the Saguaros alone, compared to any other US state. And I'm happy to have had the chance to live here, if only for three months of my nearly 40 year life.

There is Always a Reason

***
Yes, there's always a reason...


We came here for Joel. We came here knowing we would only see him for 2-3 hours on the days that he worked because 2-3 hours each day is much more than zero hours. We came here mostly for Gracie because as anyone knows two years is a great deal more unfathomable to a six year old than it is to a teenager or adult. And really, a six year old needs her dad just as much as a dad needs his six year old. (Think of all the changes and growth between five and seven years of age!)


As I've said, we are grateful for time spent with our significantly missed member of our family; but in an interesting twist of fate, it turns out that since Nate has been gone, Grace is not spending nearly as much time with Joel as we had planned. When Nathan left we were all initially devastated, and Gracie expressed it the most. Happily, she also bounced back the quickest because of her rapidly developing friendship with her newfound chums downstairs, nine year old, Domonic and his three year old sister, Kaydence. Nathan's departure was the catalyst for our six year old Gracie to plop herself comfortably right into their lives and they've been nearly inseparable ever since.


Accepting that Grace, being a mature child, loves Kaydence in more of a little-sisterly way, even though they are almost always, all three, together after school, it is Domonic who is truly Gracie's best bud here in Arizona. It is Dom whom she consideres her equal, and in most ways, I think he feels the same way about Grace.


Dom and Gracie. Gracie and Dom.


And here's the sweet irony:


On some nights that Joel works, Grace may only see her dad for maybe 20 minutes out of a whole day. On those days, she is with Dom and Kaydence either outside, or in their apartment, or frisbee golfing with their family down the road. On other days they are at our place, but do you think they're interested in playing with Joel when they're together? Nope. It's still Dom and Gracie/Gracie and Dom. (Kaydence tends to hang out with Joel and me when she's at our place; she cracks us up with the words that come out of her teeny-tiny mouth. {She is an itty-Bitty girl with an itty-Bitty voice!})

This is all good because besides the obvious similarities that Dom and Grace share: a love for learning but not of sitting still to learn, their love of talking, their love of talking and telling each other and everyone everything they know, and (unique from his sister, Kaydence) Dom and Gracie have loss in common. They've repeatedly had to deal with it at an early age; but whereas we know Grace's feelings of loss will mostly be temporary, Dom's have so far been more lasting. We hope to make our leaving less traumatic for him by exchanging full names and addresses so that they can continue their friendship as pen-pals, but until then, Joel and I are happy for this ironic twist in the tale of our Arizona adventure together. Our daughter's friendship is shining light through, and filling up some of the holes in Dom's young heart and he is doing the same for her. I'm so glad life doesn't always turn out as we'd planned.
***

For My Brother

I love you, Tony. We will all help to watch over your beautiful Elizabeth until you return to her next year.

Sunny Spots In...

ARIZONA MICHIGAN

*Silhouettes of peaceful, purpled mountains *The way a blanket of freshly fallen snow

and the towering ink palm trees against the dusts the top of previously fallen snow so

backdrop of rose-blush and tangerine sunsets that all the sharp lines of the footprints &

that never disappoint. snow angels are softened. And how snow

can appear white or ochre or a serene,

sparkling perewinkle, depending on the

time of day and the mood of the sky.


The above was saved so I could move to a computer that would allow me an hour of use, but it's all jumbled. I read it over and thought it was kind of cool. It was supposed to be side-by-side columns listing the sunny spots in both Arizona and Michigan, but it didn't save the way I formatted it (by hand, not using the tools because none of the tools allow 2 lists next to each other). So here they are; separated: (grrrr)

ARIZONA

*Silhouettes of peaceful, purpled mountains and towering, inked palms and cypress trees against the backdrop of rose-blush and tangerine sunsets that never disappoint.

*Nearly scalding hot water straight from the tap--no wait time. (Good for washing dishes and boiling water for hot tea or noodles in a jiffy!)

*Which brings me to the curiousity of: Butt facials...buttials? Even the toilets have hot water! A steam bath for the butt.

*Our neighbor, Heather, who out of the grandness of her heart simply handed Grace and me a stack of books she thought we'd like to borrow--three of which were SARK books (five of which were doggie books and kid craft books that Grace loves...we've started a dried apple head person already...). I've finally read a SARK book! (Eat Mangoes Naked) Could SARK be my long-lost aunt?

*Sedona (I haven't actually been there yet, but I know I'll love the red rock vistas and the energy vortexes.)

*No matter how short or involved the errand, I am always driving toward magical magnetic mountains. We are surrounded. I marvel at them in front of me, through the windshield, and behind me through the rearview mirror as I drive. My eyes gobble up a feast no matter where they look.

*Bigger bugs (so I can qucikly spot them to escort them back outside).

*DRY heat.

*The shiny glint of palm leaves dancing with the warm breezes in the ubiquitous light of the sun that make you stare in wonder: surely someone placed polished, plastic, paper up there for fun? But no, this is one of Mother Nature's quirky delights!

*The abundance of freshly baked (and cheap!) corn and flour tortillas available at any store that sells groceries.

*Any spot on the rim of the Grand Canyon.

*Sizzling sepias!

*Our second storey stoop where I can observe everything--the mountains, the trees, the 20 people that will most certainly walk by our apartment within an hour's time.

*The way Arizonians share their roads with bikers.

*Joel.


MICHIGAN

*The way a blanket of freshly fallen snow is like fairy dust on previously fallen snow; all the sharp lines of the footprints and snow angels are softened. And how snow can appear white or ochre or a serene, sparkling perewinkle, depending on the time of day and the mood of the sky.

*Crisp, cold water straight from the tap--no wait time. (Good for drinking and cooling down a freshly brewed batch of iced-tea.)

*Together, two hands serve as an instant map of Michigan's upper and lower peninsulas (right hand upright, facing you, left hand perpendicular, to left of and above right-voila!). Those of us born and raised get quite a bit of use out of our hand maps when discussing locations with others.

*Our neighbor, Phyllis, who is 93 years young; she always has an interesting story or local history tid-bit to tell.

*Saugatuck.

*Apple orchards and Cider Mills in the fall (hot cake donuts, hay rides, pumpkin patches...).

*Smaller bugs (so as not to startle me so easily).

*Cool breezes.

*That maple tree on our street that turns to a fiery red-orange while the other trees still sit with their greens.

*The bounty of fresh (and cheap!) locally grown produce.

*Any beach on Lake Michigan.

*Gorgeous greens!

*Our front porch swing where I can sit and be solitary with our sheltering Oak; or share it with my family and attend to tales of their day's events.

*Plentiful parks perfectly plunged into nature's oasis, complete with running and biking trails.

*Nathan

* * *

Water...Or Lack Thereof

During our first week here, we drove on an overpass on the way to the library and Nate said, "It's funny, in Michigan we have overpasses for going over water; here, they're for going over a little canyon of desert area."

Yes, as it turns out those "little canyons of desert" become washes for the rivers of rain to flow through during this, Arizona's monsoon season. ( I've read that it is improper grammar to use the word "season" with the word "monsoon" because monsoon is a season; we do tend to say the "fall season" or the "winter season" and it didn't sound right to just say "it is monsoon in Arizona"...) These monsoon thunderstorms are akin to spring and summer thunderstorms in Michigan. As in Michigan, they can be violent and sudden, knocking power lines down and causing floods. But, the glaring difference is that because they get rain so infrequently here throughout the entire year (they don't have images of a cacti on their state license plates for nothing), the ground is considerably harder so when it does rain, the parched earth can't imbibe that gift from the sky as zestfully or as willingly as it does in Michigan. (Also, as my husband's buddy pointed out, they don't have nearly as many drains here as they do back east--he's from Rhode Island.)

Bottom line: Water easily overwhelms here in Arizona.

Tantamount to how the exceptional temperatures of Arizona can easily overwhelm a native Michigander like me.

On our first day at our new apartment, I had gone out to purchase necessities such as food staples, contact paper, and a shower curtain. It was 112 degrees Fahrenheit. Nathan aptly compared the feeling of walking outside to that of when you feel the blast of heat when opening a hot oven, "only it never goes away and it's all around your body and face...all the time". Or, he said, it's like standing next to a hot car engine but again, he addded,"all the time, all over your body, and in your face". As if I could forget. Yes, perfect analogies, I told him.

As I trekked across the vast black-top parking lot toward the store, I took a deep breath and embraced that oven-like quality of the intense Arizona heat. Rather than complain to myself, "Man, it's hot out here!"--I was actually smiling at what an intriguingly different sensation walking outside could be. Not bad; just different.

I promise you, I am not a heat person. My favorite season is autumn in Michigan, with an Indian Summer or two thrown in. Sixty to seventy-eight degrees Fahernheit---ahhhhh. Bliss. I can keep my windows open to feel the cool breezes or let the whispering leaves of the great Oak in my front yard lull me to sleep each night.

Honestly, I truly was embracing Arizona's delightfully distinct desert climate. Though it's consistantly hotter here, it's lighter, not so heavy, and amazingly, on that 112 degree day, I barely broke into a sweat. It's discombobulating, really. In Michigan when it reaches the 90s as it often does in the summer, you can count on a massive side of heavy, humid air to go with it. Hot humidity goes hand in hand with sweat, more sweat, and mosquitos!

Not an issue here in Arizona. Hallelujah!

On the flip side, during that shopping trip on that first day here, as I roamed through the store I thought, Boy, I need to drink some more water when I get home.

Then, ten minutes later: Whew! I wish there was a water fountain right here where I'm standing.

And finally, just: Water...water...Oh, I need to grab a silverware tray...water...water...Oh yeah, and a trash container...and where are those shower curtains?...water-water-water...I better buy a water bottle at the check-out to drink on the way home...cool, cool water...Mmmm-can't wait for that waterwaterwaterwater...

But by the time I had reached the cashier, I realized I couldn't wait until I was at the car to drink. I cracked the cap open right there in front of the cashier, waiting (smiling, but actually impatient) for her to hand me the receipt, and immediately thereafter--I drank.

And drank. And drank some more.

It was only a regular 20 ounce bottle, but I'm not much of a drinker in general. Yeah, yeah, I'm a nurse in another life and I know how important water is and that I was already dehydrated when I felt that thirst, but I can't guzzle it and I rarely drink 64 ounces daily. Not even when I overhydrate myself three or four days before giving blood. More like 30-40 ounces in Michigan; about 50 ounces here in Arizona (and I feel great and my urine is clear...on a day of hiking or other such activity, of course, it's much more). But when I get busy, as I was on that day of moving and all...well, I tried to be conscious of my fluid intake (and I love water--it's my number one beverage choice) but I'm sure I slacked.

So that July first day, when I guzzled 15 ounces of H2O before heading back out in that arid Arizona air, I could actually feel the individual cells of my body expanding their withered, semipermeable plasma membranes in joyful appreciation.

I've worked out my whole life. I've done lots of runs for charity--lots of training for those runs--long runs, too; I trained for and completed a marathon (held here in Arizona--but in January), but the thirst I felt that day was definately a different animal. It stayed with me for days--the memory of that feeling, that full-body, parched feeling. Later that week, the kids and I watched the movie, "Holes". Though I've always empathized with strong movie characters, this time I was sure that when I'd seen it years earlier, I'd only thought I could understand how thirsty and hot and dry those kids felt in that desperate desert doom. But now...now I felt like we were kindred spirits. Now I felt I knew exactly how thirsty they really were!

Or so I told myself.

Hooray for water!
Hooray for Michigan's abundance of it!
Hooray for Arizona (for teaching me a much deeper appreciation for it)!