Tag: A Writer’s Life

Under the Eaves

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Flying under the eaves, serene and steady. Zooming in for nearby nectar. Aiming to adapt. Cautious cousins coexist. Skitter across pebbled paths. Nest atop spiky saguaros. Hoot through dusty darkness. Advocate organic order. Sustaining life in the Sonoran Desert.

The Voice Inside

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Water is a precious commodity. Especially on days like this in the Sonoran Desert. It’s 111 degrees outside. Perfect for a little heat-related sci fi.

***

Your throat is parched. All of your water jugs are empty. But all is not lost. You’re less than five minutes away from a water station in a strip mall.

You step in your car and prepare to drive there. You grip the wheel. It feels as if it’s been baking in an oven. But you persevere and crank up the AC.

Five minutes later, you’ve arrived. You exit your sedan with two empty gallon jugs. One in each hand. A magnificent blue oasis is looming on the near horizon. It’s calling your name. It’s glowing and quivering like a mirage in a dusty old western.

You walk to the water station entrance. You fumble in your pocket for twenty-five cents. Still in a stupor from the pulsating heat, you slide two dimes and a nickel into the slot to fill the first jug. The water begins to bubble out of the machine into your first container. A gasping-and-grateful female voice startles you. It calls out from inside the machine. It utters two words … “Thank You.”

You don’t believe your ears. You tighten the blue cap on the first jug and place the second empty one where it had been. You slide two more dimes and another nickel into the same slot in the Glacier water machine. Again, the voice inside repeats her weary declaration … “Thank You.” 

You wonder.

“Have I entered the Twilight Zone?”

“Is this a new Stephen King novel about an automated creature dying of thirst, who can only survive and get more water when patrons visit her and deposit their coins?”

“Or perhaps the frail voice inside is simply thanking me for bottling my own water and reusing my plastic containers.”

You decide.

 

 

A Better Day, a Better View, a Better Path

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We all experience ghastly days that shake us to the core. Days when our inner monologue runs on a defiant loop: “Oh, if I can just get through this … if I can just beat the odds … maybe one day the light will return.”

At least, that’s how it felt for me on July 6, 2017 … my sixtieth birthday … when I suffered a mild heart attack in St. Louis on the way west from our old home in Illinois to our new home in Arizona.

With a little luck and a lot of perseverance, two years have passed. Last Saturday–on July 6, 2019–my husband and I traveled two hours north from sizzling Scottsdale into Sedona’s red rock country for a hike to celebrate our shared sixty-second birthday (yes … it’s sweet, surreal and serendipitous) and (serendipity squared) the second anniversary of me (actually, us) surviving heart trauma.

Given the multi-layered significance of July 6 in our lives, it was only fitting that we chart a new course for the day in this geological wonderland. So, we packed plenty of water, slathered on the sunscreen, and stepped out on the trail toward one of Sedona’s gems: Bell Rock.

On the course of our hour-long journey, we stopped frequently to marvel at the spectacular scenery in our new home state … to acknowledge just how far we’d come in twenty-four months. From a familiar-and-comfortable suburban-Chicago life … to a frightening hospital stay in the city where I was born … to our 112-degree arrival in Arizona when our air conditioning faltered … to a well-earned, grateful life of wide open spaces, majestic sunsets and creative possibilities that have since bloomed.

At one point on our final approach to Bell Rock, I snapped this photo to capture the flight and magnitude of the moment. Just like this young mountain biker who wheeled past us, we’ve rounded the corner and transcended the story of An Unobstructed View. We’ve begun a new chapter in our journey here in the Grand Canyon State. We’ve welcomed the passage of time. We’ve found the gift of reflection in Arizona’s rejuvenating red rocks.

 

 

 

The Boxer and the Theatre of the Mind

Normally, I feature a photo to illustrate the gist of my story. But, for reasons you’ll soon discover, I’m going to ask you to maximize your imagination, explore the theatre of the mind, and form your own visual conclusions.

***

Another warm Wednesday. Another morning at the gym. Another forty-five minute cardio workout–a climb on the treadmill, a circuit of light weights, and a ringside seat on a stationary bike.

I say ringside, because at Club SAR in Scottsdale the bikes are all clustered around a boxing ring in the center of the gym … with a few punching bags positioned on the floor just outside the ring.

Today, there was nothing happening in the ring, but something remarkable outside it captured my attention. Something heart-warming and inspiring too. Two gray-haired gentlemen–one likely in his sixties, the other in his eighties–entered the space. Conceivably, the younger man may have been a coach, a son, a younger brother, a partner to the older man. I’ll never know. I simply observed him helping his older cohort slip on a pair of boxing gloves.

He carefully guided the frail older man and positioned him in front of one of the punching bags. That’s when the older man–wearing an American-flag T-shirt, shin-length compression socks and black athletic shoes–proceeded to pound at the bag for the next minute or so. After he was through, he rested against the side of the ring for a minute or two. Then, his friend guided him back for round two.

Maybe you’ve already figured out the punch line (pun intended). The old, patriotic boxer is blind. I don’t know what he remembers seeing earlier in his life … or for that matter if he’s ever seen at all. But what I saw today–on the day before Independence Day in Scottsdale, Arizona–was love, strength, courage and tenacity. And I was grateful to have witnessed all of it.

As you were reading this story, what did you see?

 

 

 

July in Arizona’s Sonoran Desert

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It was about 90 degrees at 7 o’clock when I grabbed my broad-brimmed hat, a tall bottle of water, and a cool, damp towel to cover the back of my neck. My husband and I were heading to Vista del Camino Park for our early morning walk before the temperatures escalated past 100. Such is life in July in Arizona’s Sonoran Desert.

The elephant foot succulents on the north side of our condo don’t seem to mind. They are coping just fine. Under the eaves. Resting in the shade most of the day. We decided to move our container of gladiolas next to them. They were getting torched on the south side in the all-day sun. Maybe the American flags will help boost their spirits as Independence Day approaches.

I’ve learned to accept and adapt to July’s torrid temperatures here … since that day nearly two years ago when I survived to tell the story of An Unobstructed View. As long as you keep a ready supply of water nearby and stay indoors during the spike in the afternoon heat, it’s manageable.

This year we’ve planned a few strategic July escapes, as well.  One to the stunning red rocks of Sedona a few hours north. Another further up Interstate 17 into the fragrant, tall pines and mountains of Flagstaff, where the air is thinner and the temperatures are twenty-five degrees cooler.

Truly, life in Arizona is a story of extremes … and remarkable beauty.

 

A Trip Beyond a Sliver of the Moon

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A look skyward this morning carried me back. In an instant, I jettisoned one freshly trimmed Scottsdale palm and a barely-detectable sliver of the moon for an unscheduled trip to my 1969 St. Louis summer crew cut and pubescent, eleven-year-old body.

When I landed in a black-and-white TV world, it was three weeks before two men walked on the moon. To gather my wits, I twirled the knobs of my transistor radio. Past the dollar bleacher seats of my Cardinals’ baseball childhood. I searched frantically up and down the dial for an empty channel in the frequency.  For coverage of Dorothy’s fond farewell before she clicked her heels. For a flashpoint on Christopher Street that took us from Stonewall to somewhere over the rainbow. But it wasn’t meant to be. I left without finding them there.

Now, fifty years have passed. I’m nearly sixty two. I’m living in the Sonoran heat with a fresh summer haircut. I lead a full and open life with my husband. Together we share all the scars and joys of being gay. Every omission. Every discovery. Every hurt. Every realization. Every victory. Every monsoon. Every full moon. It’s as it should be. They are all a part of our journey.

Pride and Recognition

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A week ago, Julie Krupp, a kind and collaborative cohort in the blogosphere, sent me a note that made my heart skip. She surprised me with a Blogger Recognition Award for the efforts I put into my site.

Many thanks to Julie for this honor! I appreciate how frequently she stops by to read and comment on my latest posts. By the way, I also make it a regular practice to read and comment on what she has to say on her site. If you aren’t familiar with her site, https://juliekrupp.com/, I encourage you to check out Enhanced Perspective for meditation and mindfulness techniques.

In addition to thanking Julie, the award rules call for me to provide a brief story about how my blog started, offer two pieces of advice for new bloggers, and nominate 10-15 other bloggers for this award. (Honestly, 10-15 is way beyond my comfort zone. So I’m going to bend the rules and will nominate three bloggers at the end of this post.)

Here’s my brief (or not-so-brief) story. After writing and publishing three memoirs in the past five years, I wanted to try my hand at storytelling in real time. I also felt the need to share a mix of my more immediate observations about life with my husband in Arizona with vivid longer-term memories from my past in North Carolina, Missouri and Illinois. Occasionally, I’ve included my poetry here and stories about what it feels like to be gay in the United States in 2019 … living in a country that is deeply divided. That’s where the Pride button above enters the picture. Even as we commemorate the 50th anniversary of the Stonewall riots–and acknowledge the tremendous social strides and greater equality for LGBTQ people in the United States since 1969–we still live in a world where families, governments and communities don’t always recognize the rights of gay citizens to live full and open lives. The negative impact of that can leave people feeling undervalued and invisible. I find that disturbing and will continue to write about it.

That leads me to advice for new bloggers. Write about what you know and feel. Write about what you love. Write about what you’re passionate about. Also, don’t be afraid to try something new once in a while. (For instance, how my poetry began to seep onto these pages.) That may include a topic or format that doesn’t fit neatly into what you intended your blog to be. In my book, that’s okay.  After all, it is your blog. Not everyone will love that, but those who look forward to what you have to say will follow you.

Here are my three blogger recognition nominees. Each of these individuals has something important, creative or interesting to say on a regular basis on their sites. For that reason, they deserve a little recognition. Oh, and as selfish as it may sound, I also appreciate how frequently they visit my site and like what I write. That has to count for something.

https://kimmccrea.com/

https://purplestarastrology.home.blog/

https://mitchteemley.com/

Meanwhile, as we approach the midpoint in 2019, I’ll continue to take pride in the stories I share here. I also appreciate any recognition I can get for all three of my books: From Fertile Ground, Tales of a Rollercoaster Operator, and An Unobstructed View. If you have a little free time this summer, I hope you’ll check them out.

Happy blogging and reading everyone!