Cultural Collision

Keeping a blog has played an important role in motivating me to pay attention and live in the moment. "Live each day as a writer," I used to urge my students. Writers find ways to make sense of, organize, and utilize the details of the world they see. We went on an outing shortly after our arrival in Tucson this year that has been replaying itself in my head, urging me to explore it.

It took place on a day before the sadness of January 8th had hit. We were hosting 4 dear longtime friends from out of town, deciding what sites to visit to get a sense of Tucson and environs. First stop: the Saguaro National Forest West. To get there we rode through gorgeous Gates Pass along switchback roads up high into the mountains. Breathtaking views energized us to continue to the Visitors' Center at the park. (Not before we had them pose spelling out OHIO in tribute to the OSU connection they share with Michael!) At the welcome center we watched a video, narrated in the familiar slow cadence of the native American, that introduced the relationship of the Tohono O'odhams to saquaro cactus. You can't visit Tucson without becoming enthralled by these "gumby" cacti. They are unlike anything we midwesterners can imagine. I wrote about them last year, but want to shift the focus a bit this time.

The Tohono O'odham, a native American culture group whose name means "people of the desert," make up a nation that currently includes 25,000, living mainly in southern Arizona, but also in Sonora, Mexico. For the Tohono O'odham the saguaro cactus is an honored relative, as they explain in the video we watched. When you hike through a "forest" of saguaros they do actually look like a community of people, some huddled together, some with arms outstretched, some with arms uplifted, some larger ones sheltering smaller ones like individual family sculptures. As we learned, the saguaros don't sprout "arms" until they are at least 70 years old. Many, then, that we see daily have been around for centuries. I find myself thinking of trips to Italy, France, and Greece and the feeling there of being immersed in a timeless history. Well, here is a similarly timeless history, only it's nature-made as opposed to man-made.

The cactus provides for both the physical and spiritual sustenance of the Tohono O'odham. Saguaros produce fruit at the top that is harvested in the spring by these natives. They make saguaro wine, jam, jellies, candy (tastes like those Passover sugar-coated jellied fruit slices!) and then celebrate a rain feast in honor of the coming monsoon season. Rain and water play such an important role in the lives of Tohono O'odham because of the very arid region in which they live. We left there immersed in the cultural significance of our surroundings.

And then...lunch at In N Out Burgers! Now that's a whole different culture, for sure. We watched the 'regulars' order their burgers "animal style," an option not shown on the menu but available to those in the know. We Chicagoans proudly tout our Chicago dogs, served "through the garden." Westerners are gaga for In N Out and it's easy to see why. We thank David, who spent several years in California, for turning us on to them.

The afternoon brought us to the Stone Avenue Temple, now home to the Tucson Jewish History Museum. Our visit there highlighted the historical journey of Jews in southern Arizona, a topic we knew little about. This temple, established in 1910, was the first Jewish house of worship in the Arizona Territory before Arizona achieved statehood. It served as an important center of Jewish community for the entire southwest. Originally advertised as "the Jewish church" and then Temple Emanu-el, the building had subsequently been used as a church, a theatre, and a Mexican radio station before going vacant and providing shelter for the homeless. It has since been lovingly and painstakingly restored as a fascinating museum. A friend of a friend had been closely involved in the renovations and he came to talk to us and give us the inside scoop. Fascinating. Culture and history bloom there with such pride after so much effort and community involvement. There is a wonderful slide show showing the renovations on their website. http://www.jewishhistorymuseum.org/

While we were there waiting for our tour to begin, a gentleman came in behind us. He announced to the tour guide that he was a Yaqui and asked permission to tour the exhibit. He meant no disrespect, he explained, and we were drawn into his increasingly louder discussion with the docent, who was busy assuring him that all were welcome there. The gentleman, very knowledgeable in history of all kinds, insisted on pointing out the connections between the Yaquis and the Jews. He bordered, at times, on belligerence, but we soon came to understand that he was not deranged, just very passionate about history and his culture's experience.

When we came home I looked up some information on the Yaquis. Originating in the northern Mexican state of Sonora, Yaquis struggled for independence from Mexico and the wars between the two brought many Yaquis to Arizona. Porfirio Diaz, during his regime in Mexico, began a policy of ethnic transfer of the Yaquis, removing them from Sonora to the Yucatan peninsula where they were persecuted and enslaved. I could understand why 'our Yaqui' felt a kinship with the Jews, and I wondered if he was disappointed or heartened when he discovered that this Jewish museum, unlike the Holocaust museums, focused solely on the gains and vibrancy of a culture rather than on its destruction.

The collision of cultures was not part of our expectation on that day we set out to explore Tucson. Yet, there it was, knocking on my writer's brain, encouraging me to pay attention. Glad I did. Cultural pride blooms everywhere it is planted.

National is Local

I hadn't planned to be blogging about national disaster when we came to Tucson. I had planned to write about adventures, the desert, fun restaurants and hiking trails we'd discovered. Once again I'm reminded that we aren't always (are we ever?!) in charge of our plans. We have friends who lived in DC for years and years. When we'd visit them they'd always point out to us that our national news was their local news. How well I understand that now.

It's Friday morning, almost a week since the shootings took place. Michael is off with his golf instructor and I've thrown in a few loads of laundry and taken some quiet time to catch up on my reading, emails, and blog. (We've discovered that when we take some time apart it's a more interesting reunion when we each come back "to the party" with something new to talk about.) We're not "on vacation" here. We live here, albeit temporarily. That means that we go to the grocery and the drycleaner, we work out at the JCC (where we joined for 3 months), we go to the library (which kindly issued us cards when we showed our forwarded mail. I love libraries!) We take walks in our neighborhood and speak to the neighbors and the service people. (While shooting hoops in our driveway...stop laughing!...we struck up a conversation with a local realtor who represents a seller across the street. We ended up on a tour of the house.) We hike in the local canyon. All this is to say that we feel like we are part of a community, and this community is positively reeling from the events of last weekend. My Zumba instructor at the J had gone to the memorial service at the U of A. Two local friends live near that Safeway and shop there regularly. Both know Gabby and and one knew Judge Roll well. The morning and evening local news shows lead daily (and frequently commit the entire show) with "Tragedy in Tucson." Kudos to the one station that changed its banner to "Tucson, Together we Thrive." (Much more comforting. And this community has come together in quite an admirable way. I love learning about all the unseen gestures being made daily.)

Each morning at 10 there is an update on the hospitalized victims. And that doesn't take into account the national morning and evening news shows that feature updates and reactions. I've always been an AM and PM news viewer. Now, as with any televised disaster since JFK's assassination, I find myself addictively glued to the TV. I seriously need to hide the TV remote (and the potato chips and chocolate covered pomegranates. Thanks, ESB!) However, at 5:30 PM each day, just as local news gives way to Brian or Diane or Katie, I step outside and take a quiet moment with the mountains. At this time of year ( and it will shift as the days lengthen during our stay here) at precisely 5:30, the sun hits the Catalinas so that they blaze a burnished burgundy. It only lasts a minute or two and it's a sight I try not to miss. Spectacular.

National and local coincide all the time these days. We're pretty comfortable with our understanding of the layout of the city, but we were caught offguard one evening on the way home from dinner when traffic slowed on Swan at Pima. We didn't know that Gabby Giffords' office is on that corner until we were upon the many memorials crowding the front walkway. The same thing happened as we drove up Campbell on our way back from a downtown excursion. There we were across from the news cameras and trucks that vied for space at the UMC with the hundreds of people who were there with candles and flowers to pay tribute to the victims who were hospitalized. On Wednesday we headed north and west of our home to go to a practice golf driving range and putting green (I had my book handy and the bright sunshine to keep me company. Don't cry for me, Argentina!) Before we realized it we were crossing the intersection of Ina and Oracle and there was the Safeway, still cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape. There are reminders everywhere...and it sobers us.

Despite the sobering aftermath of this unspeakable violence, we are here in beautiful Tucson in unseasonably warm weather. The sun shines daily, the light shifts over the mountains and works its colorific magic. We're active and healthy and grateful for the opportunity to savor our experiences here and anticipate months of adventures ahead. Thanks to all who have inquired about our wellbeing. We miss you. Let's keep in touch!

Bad Things Happen to Good People

I had started to title this post "Stop the World; I Want to Get Off," but I've decided that that is not the attitude I'm going to choose. It implies 'checking out,' and I will not do that. None of us should do that. Rather, we need to rededicate ourselves to examining what we can each do to make our society a better place. I'm going with Ghandhi who believed that we must "be the change we wish to see in the world."



My worlds, private and public, collided this past weekend. On Friday morning intruders broke into Chris and Carrie's condo, kicking through the front door of their building while they were at work. They then kicked through the front metal door of their unit, breaking the door frame before making off with a tv and camera.

Fortunately, they did not harm our granddog, Weldon, and they did not take computers or other personal items. The neighbors have been helpful and supportive; police and insurance company reps have done their job. An alarm system will be installed, doors and frames replaced and reinforced, tv has already been replaced...and eventually they will move on. I found myself struggling to move beyond platitudes and cliches and help C and C make sense of their feelings of violation. Here are 2 good people who work hard, save their money, pay insurance and taxes; they live a lawful life. How dare someone break into their home! How dare someone carry off their personal property! How dare some lawless individuals violate their sense of security in the sanctuary of their home! No fair! How do they regain their sense of safety and trust? What can I tell them about the world we live in? Will a run-in with a few bad people change their world view?



And against this backdrop, the events of Saturday unfolded here in Tucson. We watched in horror as the local scene here became national and international news. A deranged young gunman opened fire on Arizona Congresswoman Gabby Giffords and 18 other innocent bystanders, critically wounding Gabby and killing 6. How can we make sense of this? I was so moved as I watched Pima County Sheriff Dupnik speak so eloquently about the role of the media in spreading vitriol on a 24/7 cycle. While some will argue that he jumped to conclusions and spoke out of turn, I found him to be courageous and honest in his assessment. Of course the shooter is mentally unstable. Why else would he have fired so randomly around him? What sane individual goes on an attack like that? There's no question of his derangement. However, no one will know what role the media plays in inciting individuals like this to act. I'm haunted by the news clip that is played over and over in which Gabby responds to the posting on Tea Party websites in which her district, among others, is shown in the crosshairs of a rifle scope. What have we come to as a society where we are fueled by such hatred, where violence is seen as a solution?



How do we make sense of the loss of life of a 9-year -old girl in a random shooting like this? Newly elected to her elementary school student council, Christina-Taylor Green came to 'Congress on your corner' to learn more about government and democracy. The irony of her 9/11/01 birth and her violent death sits on my chest like a weight. I have to keep reminding myself to breathe through it. How do we make sense of the death of a judge like John Roll? A campaign worker like Gabe Zimmerman? The irony of retirees like the Stoddards who traveled around the world, visiting 28 countries and all 50 states, only to be gunned down just one mile from home at their local Safeway store? How do we make sense of the attack on Giffords, who was out there doing the thing that we would urge our representatives to do, to represent us by listening to our opinions, by interacting with us constituents? She is one of the shining lights in government. How do we make sense of it?



I don't have the answers. I'm filled with questions. How do we address the gun laws that enable someone like the shooter (I am purposely avoiding using his name. He's gotten enough attention. I don't want to honor him.) to walk in and purchase a Glock and ammunition to commit such an atrocity? How do we expect those in public office to continue to put themselves out there in the line of fire? (I'm reliving the Kennedy assassinations as I sit paralyzed in front of the tv.) How do we convince government to put a halt to budget cuts that limit mental health care? How do we make those in the media aware of their impact on our society? The bar of integrity is set so low. (Keith Olberman on MSNBC Saturday made a most eloquent final commentary in which he encouraged all of those in the media to apologize to the public for any role they may have played in establishing a climate of hatred and vitriol. He led by example and offered his apology. I wonder if any others will take his lead.)



This is clearly such an all-encompassing topic. I'm trying to grapple with it all, as I'm sure you are, too. Let's find a way, individually and collectively, to support those who are looking for ways to make a possitive difference in the way we function as a society. Let's be kind to one another. Let's not dwell in hatred. Let's use this as an incentive to do better. Here in Tucson there are so many who have been affected by this violence. It's like a big small town. Everyone knows someone who was hurt or killed. Local groups are coming together to bring donations of food and offer other support to the media, police, fire department, hospital workers, and families who hold vigil at the University Medical Center. Young children are bringing balloons and stuffed animals and speaking in mature ways about honoring the dead and wounded, about ending the cycle of violence. Let's continue to be good people, even as we understand that sometimes bad things will happen. I've always admired Anne Frank for her ability to continue to believe in the basic goodness of humanity. As hard as it is, I'm going to try to keep the faith. That feels better to me than to smolder in the alternative...

Full Disclosure

I'm a bit of a stickler for detail in design. Those of you who spoke with me when we first arrived know that I was not exactly thrilled with the 'appointments' in the house. It's a rental. The owners don't live here anymore and they've filled it with their cast-offs. I get it. I even expected it. Last year was exceptional in that our hosts, Eddy and Mary, actually lived in their house for several seasons each year. Add to that the fact that our tastes were in perfect harmony. Each day I delighted in the art, the textures and the delicious little touches that made their home unique, warm and inviting.

So, here we found ourselves surrounded by dated decor that wouldn't have suited us in the 80's and definitely doesn't suit us today. What to do? I quickly and firmly stashed many artificial flower arrangements into closets, cleared surfaces of inspirational quotes and reminders that 'Jesus is life.' (Sorry, no offense to anyone.) I raided cupboards and cabinets to ferret out potential "cute" stuff that may have been stowed away. I shoved all plasticware in the kitchen into one cabinet and grouped dishes into a useful arrangement, taking stock of what we had to work with (lots of mismatched silverware and glassware.) I repurposed a navy blue sheet as a bedspread in one room, doing away with the shiny polyester floral bedspread that screamed "toxic energy" at me. I flipped the sparkly purple bedspread in one bedroom to its less sparkly side (a slight improvement) and I flipped the bedspread in our bedroom to the neutral off-white lining. I re-arranged the couches by moving them just a few inches this way and that. Somehow the room seemed more settled to my eye when things were aligned just slightly differently. (Feng shui or BS? You decide. I just know what looks right to me.) When our landlord realized that a former tenant had broken the window blinds that covered the terrace door to one of the bathrooms, he offered to bring over a flat sheet to hang on it for privacy until the replacement could be made. Instead, I took 6 sheets of computer paper and cut snowflake designs into them and taped them to 6 panes of the glass in the door. Voila! Cuteness and privacy!

And then came the time for hunting and gathering. I hit TJ Maxx (my mecca) and for just a few bucks I was able to get several interesting serving pieces, a sweet little vase, an attractive napkin holder and bowl for fruit and a basket for bread to grace the granite counter. At Trader Joe's I bought several bunches of fresh flowers that I arranged in different spots of our living space. At Big Lots we found a dozen matching glasses for $7.00. You see, it's not about the money. It's about an attention to detail that soothes my sensibilities.

I've always counseled my kids to focus on something positive. The positive is always there, waiting to be recognized. We can train ourselves to see it. There is so much beauty here in the natural surroundings and in the layout of the house. So I wasn't being disingenuous when I wrote the previous blog. You see, I had already supplied the "Rhoda touches" that make me feel perfectly (temporarily) at home!

Home Away

It's January and I'm sitting outside on the back terrace in my pajamas. I'm nibbling at sections of an orange picked from the tree in our backyard, so I need to wipe my sticky fingers before continuing to type on the laptop. Let me stop and pinch myself. OK. It's not a dream. The sun is dazzling, although the weather is only inching up into the 60's. (No problem. My PJs are flannel. Yes, I look lovely. )Fronds from the coco palm under which I'm seated are rustling. Their swish swish is interrupted only by a riotous birdsong from the noisy winged critter that chirps daily from the top of the saguaro cactus in the front yard.

We've settled into our rental house. Let me tell you about it. Perched atop a high ridge, we have 360 views that take our breath away. To the north we see the Catalina Mountain Range. Those mountains that I fell in love with last year are even more present in our daily life this year. I never cease marveling at their moods as the light shifts over them. Tans and browns segue to purples and pinks...and there's an occasional dusting of powdered sugar snow that tops them after a rainfall. That's our view from the terrace, pool, and giant picture window over the sink in the kitchen. Never has washing dishes been so panoramic! To the south and west we overlook the city of Tucson with the Tucson Mountain Range as a backdrop. That's our view from our giant bedroom window and the living and dining room windows, as well as from the shaded portico and waterfall in the front courtyard. The sunsets are technicolor wonders; streaks of bright red and orange over darkening mountains give way to myriad twinkling lights as the city electrifies itself for the evening. No blinds on our bedroom window (it's very secluded here) allow us to fall asleep each night watching Tucson twinkling below us. Magical.

Yes, we lucked out again with our house selection. This year's house is in a more suburban neighborhood which was developed in the 80's. (Unfortunately, some of the decor is stuck in the 80's as well. Burgundy, hunter green, mauve, aqua...you know what I mean.) Our 4 bedroom, 3 bath home is a sprawling ranch. The master suite is obscenely large Michael practices golf in there. (Don't tell the landlord.) He thinks it's his own fairway. Or maybe it's a giant putting green. I will aim for accuracy. The other bedrooms are clear across the house in a separate wing, so there's wonderful privacy for all when we have houseguests. The kitchen is spacious with more than enough counter space and cabinetry.

We are 2 miles from any main roads, and getting here involves uphill driving on roads that snake up the foothills. Since there is an observatory somewhere nearby there are no streetlights allowed. I fully expect to find ourselves sleeping in the car some evening when we come home from a late dinner/drink night and can't find our street!

Our landlord, who built a new house 3 years ago so his kids could attend a different school, lives just 3 miles away, and he is most attentive and accommodating, while not being intrusive. From time to time he'll text me and announce that he's dropping off a blender, extra towels, an inflated basketball (yes, we shoot hoops in the driveway!), hand weights, a Scrabble game. He's eager to make us comfortable. (I'd be eager to help him redecorate!! More on that later.) In fact, he confessed that he purchases the paint that's used on football field grass to spruce up the small sections of dormant grass in our backyard. Now that's service!

So, here we are. Feeling lucky. Looking forward to new adventures. Perched high up on our ridge, we really do feel like we're on top of the world.

On The Road Again...

Why is it that leaving town presents so many challenges? Last year David had a severe reaction to an antibiotic and we delayed our departure to make sure he'd be ok. This year we found ourselves torn as we prepared to take off from Chicago. Carrie, 4 months pregnant (woohoo!!) had a raging sinus infection that had crippled her winter break. Already conflicted about being gone for such a large chunk of the gestation of our first grandchild, we re-convinced ourselves that Skype, regular phone calls, and a February visit from the kids would make our absence acceptable. As for Carrie's wellbeing, we knew that she was in good hands with her trusted OB, the ever-loving and ever-patient Chris, and "nurse Weldon", their cuddlicious dog. OK. We could leave.

And then several very very dear friends were diagnosed with critical medical conditions: one with lymphoma, one with heart disease requiring triple bypass and a valve replacement, and another with an aortic aneurysm requiring surgical repair. All treatments would unfold in January...and we'd be almost 2000 miles away. We felt that we were abandoning everyone who had always been there for us.

A difficult departure? We were scaling a mountain before we even left the midwest. Our hearts ache with those who have so much to deal with in the coming weeks and months.

On D-Day we awoke to 8 inches of newly fallen snow to remind us why we decided to 'get out of Dodge' in the first place. Once again, Michael packed the car with the precision of a puzzle maker. Every spare inch of space was filled, despite the fact that we had vowed to bring less "stuff" this year. One of us has a greater desire to anticipate every eventuality; the other is content to just go shopping and get what we need. I'll let you figure out who's who. Off we slogged toward the great West.

Who was it who spoke about never being able to step into the same river twice? Whoever it was had it right. This year's cross-country drive had more of a 'been-there, done-that' quality to it. We were eager to just be there. The road trip left us weary. Frankly, we were exhausted before we started. We felt concerned about having committed to a 3-month absence; it had taken Michael an inordinate amount of psychic and physical energy to pull together his paperwork, tax prep documents, organize his Board activities for his various charitable involvements, prep the house for an extended winter absence, etc. Our day-after-Christmas departure had me scrambling to prioritize holiday celebration and packing responsibilities, all the while fighting a respiratory virus that had hung on tenaciously since Halloween. The road trip did not relax us one bit. Unspoken tension provided the backbeat to our journey.

And then...fate stepped in. As we crossed into New Mexico on day 3, we stopped in at the Visitor Information Center. I browsed the brochures and grabbed a few for road entertainment (I'm the eternal passenger on these trips. That's our dynamic; like it or not. I load the front seat with every manner of personal entertainment.) Paging through one of the pamphlets, I came across information about mineral hot springs in Truth or Consequences, New Mexico. Googling some information on my iPhone, I discovered that there were a number of funky little 'spa resorts' tucked away in what had looked like a ghost town to us when we paused for a photo op there last year. We decided that we would be flexible (for those who know us well, this is unheard of!) and see if we could book a room for our last night on the road. This would require adjusting the tail end of our travel schedule, but we agreed that it was absolutely do-able.

Through the miracle of iPhone technology and some really good karma, we were able to book ourselves into the Blackstone Hotsprings Lodging and Baths for that same evening. The website promised geothermal mineral baths in each lodging room and incredible bedding. What more could we ask for? We were prepared to soak away our road weariness.

Driving down Austin Rd in Truth or Consequences, we were sure we had the address wrong. Where was the spa in this blah residential neighborhood of scruffy-looking ranch houses. We turned into a tiny gravel parking strip edged by corrugated aluminum fencing. Our hearts sank. Michael was prepared to drive on, but I insisted we at least check it out. We parked and got out of the car. Sitting in 2 motel chairs on the gravel were a man and wife, reading novels in the patch of sunlight they had found. They looked normal; well-dressed, reading, smiling, relaxed. It was a good omen. They directed us to the office.

When we turned the corner we discovered a beautifully restored 1930s motor court. The courtyard was inviting and cozy, filled with flowering plants. A giant, life-sized metal coco palm sculpture stood in the center of the court. Funky! It was ringed by 7 motel rooms, each door of which was painted a different color and flanked by cute metal motel chairs. The office girl showed us to our room, The Golden Girls Suite. Since Truth or Consequences itself is named after a TV show, the owners who renovated the motel named each suite or room after a TV show. There's the Jetsons Suite, The Twilight Zone, As the World Turns, and others.

Our suite could not have been cuter! The king-sized bed was new and, as promised, incredibly comfy. The large flat-screen TV on the wall swiveled in several directions. Every other bit of the suite was filled with fabulous vintage furnishings and accessories, including an adorable kitchen with melamine dishes and groovy cocktail stirrers, and a cozy sitting area, an adjacent patio with table and chairs, and the wonderful hotsprings bathroom with giant soaking tub. Black and white photos of Rue McClanahan and Betty White adorned the walls, and a vintage Truth or Consequences board game graced a little side table. With an eye for detail and authenticity, the two guys who had renovated the motel had created a hidden gem. It was just what we needed!

We settled in and signed up to use the "wet room", what the brochure described as "a large soaking pool with steps, ledges and benches so you can be in whatever depth of hotspring water you prefer. There is also a geothermal steam room, with thin sheets of water trickling down each wall, and a drenching waterfall that massages your back, neck and shoulders..." Because it was our anniversary month (40 years on Dec. 19!!) we got to waive the $25 fee for use of this special feature. Private and delicious, this room offered us the ability to immediately unwind, and we floated back to our room in the fluffy white robes they provided. We were wishing someone would deliver dinner.

The tub in our room had a valve that hooked it up to the underground hotsprings. It was deep, accommodating, and filled surprisingly quickly, hot water gushing over an assemblage of rocks built into the corner. Ahhhh. I feel my shoulders relax just describing it! Several soaks in our in-room tub that evening and the following morning left us relaxed, renewed, and ready for our Tucson adventure. It was really the perfect end to our cross-country drive.

I've been told that I should resist the urge to moralize at the end of each piece that I write. (Can I undo all of those years of teaching the 8th grade essay? Dunno) I guess, though, that I'm reminded of the value of flexibility and the need to keep an open mind. So glad we found this little oasis in the desert. See, you can teach 2 old dogs new tricks. Arf arf.