before the sun sets

go look at the mountains. It's a striking view east from 19th avenue. Clear impressions of rock and snow meeting all along the range.

Less clear? Why I ever agreed to work weekends.

S to the 4th power

Snow
Samarya
Show
Sea


Before live model Father Frost, a santa-type- regal in blue, took his pose at the drawing jam, the snow began. The pirates and nudes and musicians held series of short poses, we observed or exited quickly, quietly. We weren't official event photographers, so didn't document Ukiah's charcoal sketched wings or Aslin's print making process. Soap-making filled the multi-media studio with evergreen then chocolate, a combination inspiring to the camera. Snap shots out the window only.



We missed the snowballs but had plenty of time in the slush. Ukiah, Aslin and Brad hiked through the dark to meet me at Samarya's holiday party/fundraiser where sparkling cider ran short but the chocolates lasted all night. I tried to look nonchalant when Aslin pulled first one, then two of my raffle tickets. We haven't been to the Volunteer Park Cafe and will happily add it to our next conservatory visit.

"Can new people join next quarter?" Aslin asked, no doubt hoping another girl or two will join her drama class. Of course that would mean Queen Aslin would have to share the female roles in the end-of the-season performance showcase. I especially appreciated the inventive use of character props in the kids' adaptation of the picture book, My Lucky Day.

Snow turned to rain and eventually, a little water in the basement. The kids and I braved the elements again, bussing to the aquarium where the diver in the Washington Waters exhibit assured us she, swimming in 120,000 gallons of water, was drier in her suit than those of us waiting to watch the octopus feeding. The speech for school groups included discussion of the territorial disputes between the wolf eel and the octopus. Behind us, away from the preschool ears, other aquarium folk described the method the octopus uses to stun his prey. I shuttered at the eye removal and joined the kids at the touch tank.

Priorities

The homecoming "to do" list is lengthy, growing daily. We have managed to pay the house insurance, sort toys and go for Vietnamese food. Visiting our parents was fantastic, Ukaih's adjusting to the library construction- requesting holds at another branch, and we spent the afternoon with a man who left Sudan at age 5, spent 16 years in a refugee camp in Kenya, and on his fourth day in the US, joined us for a walk to the lake. Buttercup is about 75% unpacked. We adults each have a job interview this week. The kids have a new cat-sitting gig. We love having our own washing machine.

Between visiting with friends and sorting clothes now too small for the kids, we've seen a play, been wowed by examples of New Zealand's early childhood education practices and harvested enough tomatoes for a decent taco salad. In other words, we're thriving in the midst of uncertainty. It could be that yoga, television, soccer and cocktail parties are helping us through...

We weren't here to experience the unusual weather patterns this winter. No flooding or extended power outages for us in the southwest. Are atypical patterns the new norm, or have we forgotten- does it usually rain for multiple days in August? Does the temperature generally top out in the mid-70's? I'm a little worried that it's already sweater-season for me, but it means great blueberries into late August!


We spent about two hours at Mercer Slough Blueberry Farm, sampling high and low bush varieties, limiting our interactions with spiders. Assuming we can find a kitchen scale, we'd like to do a little math project. What's your best guess on the number of blueberries in 18.25 pounds? Cost per berry at $1.25/pound? Inquiring minds want to know. And not just because we're jobless and working with a tight budget.

The plan is to make freezer jam in the morning, before haircuts or a trip to Value Village. We won't be following the recipe that calls for a can of blueberry pie filling and box of raspberry Jello. We're going the old fashioned route, pectin and lemon juice. Unless someone has a more inspired suggestion?

A favorite come pumpkin season, South 47 Farm has organic, u-pick, thornless blackberries. Between resume writing, filing tax returns and thanking our long list of travel hosts, we hope to pick at least 10 pounds next week.

home is where the fog lives

Yesterday, on one of the Oregon coast's last remaining quiet beaches, we stumbled across the ruins of an elaborate sand village. Today, we plan to build our own along the Washington coast.

the best part of waking up

is the sound of rain filtering through the deck floor and splashing to the patio outside my window. Real rain. Not the warm drops that evaporate as soon as the sun considers dismissing the clouds. Real rain. Enough to wash the scent of heat from the asphalt and form pools in the joints where tree branches meet their trunks. Two hours of real rain.

"Isn't it great?!" the rest of us nod in agreement with Ukaih, carry the camera to the neighbor's garden and feel a little home-sick.


It's been a double apricot season for us- Tucson in May and here in Orem a couple weeks ago. If we're lucky, we'll have peaches before our Saturday departure. Unless of course the city's chemical defense against the Japanese beetles has poisoned the fruit. Add to the list...

• Advising against vegetable gardening until 2010 because pesticide use has contaminated soil and ground water while endangering beneficial insects - crazy

• Horticulture and gardening programs for inmates and their communities- not crazy

touring new mexico

North of Ruidoso Downs, we made a quick stop in Capitan, home of Smokey the Bear. I thought this fire or the carbon of a similar forest incident was behind the Valley of Fire. Nope, lava flow dates to well over a thousand years before the little cub was rescued.





Driving into a thunderstorm towards an unknown destination can cause clenched fists. Which was all for the best as gale force winds aimed to transform Buttercup into the hot air balloon she's always dreamed of becoming.



Two personal recommendations, a listing in the tourist book and it's the Owl Bar and Cafe. We had to stop. It's a diner of another era, small-boothed, wood and dollar paneled with an eight item menu. The green chili burgers are the attraction. The grilled cheese, not available with the home stewed chillies, are not. Our waitress unloaded a week's worth of stories. The credit card machine is down. Last time this happened, they lost power and the boss made them stay 3 hours past closing. The same boss who just earlier today called her "stupid"- you see what she has to put up with?







Kenny warned that the house was dirty, that the place was a mess. First in an email, next over the phone. This fact wasn't mentioned a couple weeks ago when we were initially arranging to visit. Over the historic rail tracks, across the Rio Grande, a few miles down a distressing dirt road, past the remains of ranches long divided, along a pile of trash not burned, and into the Saltcedar. Kenny says they were brought in for erosion control, maybe in the late teens? The wispy flowers require more water than the Bureau of Land Management would like to share with the first welcome immigrant, now invasive species. The first official letters came years ago, when Kenny and his 7 acres were still housing an old ranch hand who at 85, had been turned off the land he worked for half a century by the heirs of a long established estate. These are pueblita lands. In an empty Folgers plastic-gallon, Kenny's collected shards. Concave bits of pottery, decorated in black and white. The ghosts of the silver and turquoise mining days are alive and well, booms carry over the sands. Letters from the BLM spell an alternate plan for the area. No more amature archeology or small scale farming. The Rio will flood someday, and it'd be in everyone's best interest to guide the flood waters away from the city. With the cedars removed, the land should return to it's swamp form, closer resembling it's pre-dam state. So maybe this threat of removal contributes to Kenny's allowance of the "mess".

The government hasn't moved in yet. This spot just north of Socorro is still home to chickens, a small garden, budding orchard, an old bottle-filled Blazer perfect for target practice, and free-range peacocks. One loud peacock who calls in the night, lonely for his mate and/or the egg his neighbor duck is fostering. Insects hold a collective memory of this former wetland and after decades in the desert, continue to refuse relocation.


Old Route 66 runs through downtown Albuquerque. We fed the meter $2.05 and took a few hours to explore. At the downtown library Aslin read Oddly Normal and we found that high speed internet does not mean the same thing to all people. JC's NY Pizza offers a "Joey's bag of doughnuts" calzone, ricotta, mozzarella, pepperoni and mushrooms or, as we selected, a double slice lunch special.

Last night we settled just outside Santa Fe where Friday nights offer free museum hours. Two words. Georgia O'keeffe. Assuming we survive another night of New Mexico winds searching for their long lost ocean, we'll head into town tomorrow.

white sands

If you're looking to film a snow/desert segment for your upcoming feature film, we suggest White Sands National Monument. In the Tulorosa Basin, low between the San Andres and Sacrament mountains, Lake Lucero collects spring run-off and monsoon tides. No rivers run from the lake. Slow evaporation and ground absorption allow for an unusual mineral concentration. Seasonally the lake recedes, exposing selenite crystals to substantial southwest winds. Gypsym sands blow through the basin, moving the 275 square miles (largest white sand dune int he world!) of dunes up to 30 feet annually.

Near the end of the eight mile park drive, a recreation area is dedicated to sledding, trampling, rolling, writing and angel making.

In the nature study area, where no sleds are allowed, a few plant-types have adapted to life in the sands. A rosemary-mint does wonders to counter the sand's slight urine scent. The soaptree yucca works to out pace the ever moving sands, elongating its leaves by more than a foot per year. The desert cottonwood can survive if even a few of its leaves remain above ground. These plants may thrive even when their first 30 feet are buried. As the parabolic and transverse dunes move on, the newly exposed yucca will collapse while the fibrous roots of other plants will hold a mound of sand, creating a landscape of green-topped mushrooms.

Racing up and down the dunes, self-generating breezes were a great relief from the mid-day heat.

King of the hill, Ukiah practices handstands and wonders why we only get one day in this magical kingdom. Off trail hiking and back "woods" camping are allowed. Another for our must return list.

Brad watched the clouds on the horizon, wondered if it might rain. Aslin, studying for her junior ranger badge, quoted the safety procedures. "If you see lightening, get off the dunes. If you can't, curl into a ball, not touching anything, keeping your knees to your chest." At the first marker, we heard thunder. Half-way through our short hike, Ukiah finally saw lightening first hand. Laughing, running, fearing, mesmerized, the end of the hike found us surrounded by storm clouds on three sides.

Observations on the missile range surrounding the sands, the noticeable decrease in road-kill along that section of hwy 70, the blinding yellow Oklahoma Hummer heavy with drycleaning, the unremarkable Rio
Grande at Los Cruces, the dramatic increase in southern accents- another time.

Off to Ruidoso Downs...

sunscreen

The dinner dishes are long done, ice cream has been served. The bunnies are out for the night, parakeets resting. At 10:00pm and 86 degrees, it's a good news/bad news situation, the Tucson temperature.



On the plus side, apricots are ripe. Marscapone tart perfect. Apples, figs, grapes and the citrus family are making strides, led by rapidly maturing pomegranates. Laundry on the line dries faster than a pizza can be delivered.






Bad news is, herbs a half-day with out water wilt beyond recognition. Harmless, burn-free, radiant floor sidewalk hours are limited from 10p-8:30am.

Teaming up to help us walk the fine line- sandals and sunscreen. This week's challenges include finding a perfect sunscreen for my face and distracting Aslin from her summer-shoe quest.

Another Goodwill visit had me considering an "atrocious shoe" post. I took this photo as Aslin tried on a pair of shorts. They fit, I hung the rejects on the rack and Aslin described her need for new sandals. One of her pairs is dirty, the sole wearing down. From all the cast-off shoes in Tucson, she picked up the metallic mock-instocks, suggesting they would make good replacement shoes. No. "I love these," she rubbed the patriotic slip-ons, leaving me to wonder/shudder. Continuing down the aisle, she made multiple attempts to show me that heels really are sandals. Repeat after me, no. No heels with with real fur, zippers, fake fur, beads, or orange Muppet fur. No.

We have a date to shop for funky shoes on our return home. I promised.


Last week ended with a rude awakening. Zia's Daily Moisture Screen, SPF 15, contains parabens. So off to Wild Oats for an afternoon of label reading.

Until now, I've been a huge fan of Aubry products. Given their long history and commitment to organic sourcing, I assumed. I'd have preferred to sample. It wasn't an option but the HABA clerk encouraged me to give it a try. WO does offer a satisfaction guarantee, she assured. For the record, Green Tea & Ginkgo Moisturizer, SPF 15 , is more heavily scented than a new issue of Vogue Magazine. On many key points, the lotion scored well- light and creamy, easily absorbed, did not melt into my eyes. It's unwelcome floral notes have a longer life-span than its UV protection. My feelings of guilt for returning it were quite short lived.

Next up, Alba Botanica's new mineral suncreen, chemical-free, SPF 10. Relatively inexpensive, fragrance free, now if only it would blend into your skin. Another long time favorite, Alba, needs to understand that not everyone looks their best with milky bluish-hue. (Alba Sport, SPF 30 and Daily Moisture, SPF 16 are Owlhouse staples, but do not meet the standard of a facial sunscreen.)

Turning to MyChelle. On the shelf, Sun Shield, SPF 28 looked especially attractive under a sale sticker. We have a winner. Unscented, blends well, and following an afternoon of swimming and monkey-in-the-middle, MyChelle's eye irritation was slight. Plus, any company making a honeydew cleanser deserves our support.


Need more info on sunscreen and ingredients?

if you have an opinion on wyoming,

please share with the group.

We dug out the maps today, an attempt to make our departure plans a little more concrete. After sketching a rough travel route, circling possible stops and refering to my calender for some semblance of a time-line, I sent emails to New Mexico, Colorado, Utah and one in Oregon. Feeling quite accomplished, I turned my attention to cooking dinner, internet fishing and an attempt at a game of xeri complicated by a lack of complete instructions.

A touch more white wine, pinch of salt and I pulled the beans from the heat. Today's 97 degrees were no match for my lifetime of conditioning. I cleared the atlas, notebooks and earphones (our day's sprawl) from the living room, upstairs to the bedroom, convinced I'd need a sweater for our potluck picnic. The ceiling fan ushered reality my way. Plenty warm, even in the evening. So I skipped the sweater search and dedicated the two bonus-minutes to reviewing our freshly charted course through the southwest.

That's when it hit me. I've never been to Wyoming. Aside from Yellowstone, there appear to be rivers and the possibility of mouse-free camping. Plus, this could give Ukiah and Aslin some context for my seemingly inexplicable Yogi bear impressions. "Hey there BooBoo, what's in the pic-a-nic basket today?" Of course from there, it's really just a hop, skip and jump to the Dakotas. Next thing you know, my superb plan 'o the afternoon is facing more significant questioning than Alberto Gonzalez on his 437th day of testimony before congress.

Rain

Heavy drops. Falling anywhere but the desert, they'd form the kind of puddles that invite stomping. Today from Catalina Park, we watched the clouds roll in. Reunited with the van, we took our wonder lust just outside of town to walk the birding trail. Through desert scrub and riparian terrain, we listened to the birds prepare for the weather. The air of the mesquite bosque shifted as birds took cover and the lightning flared in the distance.





A short second trail took us through the Romero Ruins, remains of a Hohokam village dating back to about 500AD. Archaeologists have identified dwellings, the remains of irrigation systems, a ball court, and just beyond the settlement walls- trash mounds.
(If a fully organic landfill is discernible 500 years after it's abandon, how long will ours plastics, metals, and asbestos tell our story?)




With windshield wipers set to high, we took a quick tour of the campground. Among those roughing it was this fine example of RV craftsmanship, accomponied by a Hummer, for day trips I suspect.

Feels a lot like home

Except when the wind kicks up, the sky changes color and the scent of dew hangs in the afternoon air, we've can't expect any actual rain to follow. Weather differences aside, we've settled in quite nicely.


This week in Tucson...


-Dinner with new friends who gave us a tour of their incredible gardens and lessons on many specimens in their mineral collection.

-Hand tossed pizza and margarita night.

-A fantastic student production of The Good Doctor, a Neil Simon adaptation of Chekhov shorts.

-Time with the cats- walking Mochi, wondering if Diane will strike and relaxing with Sid.

- Chicago jazz at a local club.

-A couple games at Spunky Shooters, the resident dining room/pool hall here in the.

-The continuation of the stairwell project- testing colors and aiming to paint poorly hung drywall.

-A walk to Trader Joe's. With the van back in the shop awaiting fuel-pump transplant, Ukiah and I went as much for root beer as to get out of the house. The thing is, once you're at Trader Joe's, you realize that you might also need some gnocchi, frozen blueberries, kalamata olives and sparkling water. Sure seemed like home when we ran into a neighbor who offered to drive us and our two bags of snack food- home.


If it were time to retire, we'd stay for a round of musical-houses that seems to come up here in the community. For now, we're just enjoying spring in Arizona.

Spring

Sun tea season is here. Back in January at the Cambria Farmer's Market, I bought some Yunnan Dian Hong tea from the Swan Sisters. "Spicy with a touch of citrus," it's outstanding as iced tea. An important discovery, as the past few days we've seen temperatures in the 80s. The locals are bracing themselves for summer. I heard it explained that it's difficult to appreciate the moderate weather of early spring. A sunny day, even one in the mid-70's with a mild breeze, is a reminder that June is on the way. And June is unbearable because there is still September to endure. With the monsoons, July and August aren't so bad; at least there are interesting weather patterns to watch.

Warmer weather=flowers in bloom=bees=Aslin got stung. The bees here are huge, the wasps even bigger. Her finger swelled and she comforted herself with a reminder that it wasn't as bad as the time she got stung on the eye lid. Swimming went a long way towards soothing the pain and itching.


Have Cracker Jacks prizes always been such a let down? Last week, we split a bag and watched the Arizona Diamondbacks beat the Chicago White Sox 9-3 at Tucson Electric Park, the spring training field they share. There was no arguing over the paper pencil-top decoration we found in the popcorn crumbs. No disputes on the field either. Where the game was slow, the vendors picked up the slack. "lem.ade" "Fresh squeezed, you know you want some" "World's finest, factory fresh" Song birds of the stadium. In an hour, we could identify them by their calls- mullet man, missing tooth guy, SuperVendor with the ability to balance cotton candy and blue raspberry lemonade.

The Colorado farming season is not yet underway. And it seems as though Roswell, Santa Fe, Carlsbad Caverns and the rest of New Mexico isn't going anywhere any time soon. So we've been putting our energies into leisurely tourist outings, wondering when we'll wear out our welcome here in Tucson. Undertaking a little construction project on the basement stairs was our way of being helpful, of saying "thanks" to the family who's shared so much with us. 160 pounds of mortor later, it could be interpreted as something else entirely. Turns out working with stucco is a skill we have yet to acquire. Maybe a lime wash in a nice spring color. Periwinkle or coral...

Aid, not crime

Blue is not a color found naturally in the dessert. That’s why members of Humane Borders paint their water stations blue. Each station, a 55 gal. barrel of water, is announced with a 30 ft. high blue flag. They are designed to save the lives of immigrants attempting to cross the U.S./Mexico border into Arizona. So says Paul, a resident of the co-housing community that has taken us in (thanks David, Chris, and Griff!). With a 350 gal water tank trailer, Paul and other volunteer members make periodic trips into the dessert to refill the water stations.



Crossing the border illegally into Arizona is an extremely dangerous operation. While illegal border crossing remains a misdemeanor, summer ground temperatures here can reach 140 deg. In the past three years, some 900 people died while trying to cross the desert. If caught, most would-be immigrants are released on the Mexican side of the border the next day, often with no money, food, or place to stay. It is likely they will try again. Humane Borders mission is not in helping Mexicans cross the border, but ensuring those choosing to cross don’t die in the desert. “Humanitarian aid is never a crime.” Their message is repeated from yards and windows across the city.
-Brad

Here's looking at you, kid!

With two bottles of sparkling cider, we rang in the New Year on the dunes of Morro Bay beach, where the people watching was fantastic. Some kids built castles, others drove remote-control cars and some took running leaps before belly-flopping in to the sand. The wind encouraged one man to attempt flying. In a wetsuit, he harnessed himself to a gigantic kite contraption. We squinted into the sun, watching him skim the sand for about 10 feet before rolling tripping back to ground. Birders with clipboards directed their binoculars at Morro Rock and we set our attentions on rock scrambling.

Atop the rock barrier, the crush of waves retreated to a tranquil sunlit aquamarine, only to cap white again. One lone duck went along for the ride. We tempted the spray to tag us, edging out until a swell prompted our common sense.



We'll close the first day of our New Year back at Camp Ocean Pines. From our deck, we watch the sea lions wake as the sun sets.

Health and Happiness,
Love and Laughter,
Peace and Prosperity,
and a dozen additional pairs of blessing for your New Year!