Tag: Desert Dreams

Today and Tomorrow

July 4, 2026July 4, 2026 · 6 Comments ·

Uncertainty exists in every day, in every life. I try not to dwell on it, but on this day–the 250th anniversary of the United States adopting our Declaration of Independence–uncertainty is our next-door neighbor.

I certainly remember our 200th anniversary, our bi-centennial celebration, in 1976. I was a bright-eyed, long-haired, eighteen-year-old, idealistic American.

Living in suburban St. Louis, I recall seeing the tall ships grace New York Harbor on our console TV on July 4, 1976.

That summer I worked at Six Flags Over Mid-America near St. Louis. As a tribute to the bicentennial, the Screamin’ Eagle rollercoaster roared across the sky. It was the newest, tallest, fastest ride in the park. Teens rode it again and again just for the thrill of it.

Even though the corruption of Watergate and the devastation of the Vietnam War were still fresh in the American psyche, in 1976 it felt like all Americans lived under and abided by one set of rules. That we aspired to one vision.

That the United States of America–the collective red, white and blue–was one nation and indivisible. A beacon of hope and freedom. That we believed, honored, and protected the notion of life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness, and justice. For all.

Over the past several years, like a rollercoaster that has jumped the tracks, we have been derailed by a malicious force. I don’t need to–or want to–speak their names. They have fostered twenty-four-hour-a-day uncertainty and anxiety in this nation I still love.

What I choose to celebrate today are the American citizens who still hold fast to the principle our nation was founded under: freedom and justice for all Americans, no matter your skin color, ethnicity, religious beliefs, sexual orientation, gender, social or economic status.

That is the memory of the United States of America I am proud of.

That is the country my father and thousands of other true patriots have bravely fought for and defended.

That is the country I knew and lived in yesterday.

That is the country I still dream of and worry over.

That is the country I cling to and pray for on July 4, 2026.

That is the country I want to live in today and tomorrow.

Home

June 23, 2025June 23, 2025 · 9 Comments ·

On June 2, 2025–as Tom and I returned to Arizona on an American Airlines flight after a blissful five days with family in the Chicago area–I closed my eyes in the semi-comfort of my aisle seat.

I leaned into my husband and said, “It feels good to be heading home.” I was referring to Scottsdale, Arizona. That is where we live … in a kitschy, mid-century condo community. It has been our home now for nearly eight years.

I’m not sure this is the life I dreamed of as a youngster in St. Louis. Or a middle-aged-man in the Chicago suburbs, who earned a good wage, raised two sons, and was fortunate enough to meet a man I would love and one day marry.

Let’s just say it is a warmer, lighter, literary life, which I had hoped for but didn’t imagine I would realize.

***

On June 30, 2017, we had just sold our three-bedroom home in Mount Prospect, Illinois. Handed over the keys to a pleasant couple and their young son.

As Tom and I approached our sixtieth birthday, we were excited about the prospects of creating a new life in the Grand Canyon State. But Illinois still felt like home.

Looking back, I suppose I underestimated the significance of this change … the loss of familiarity even when it wasn’t necessarily positive and growth producing.

If you follow me, you know how difficult our shared sixtieth birthday would be. If not, you should read about our harrowing journey and personal detour in St. Louis. It was great fodder for my third book, An Unobstructed View.

Once we finally arrived in Scottsdale, Arizona, on July 12, 2017, we both needed time to recuperate.

Our two-bedroom condo (which had once been Tom’s grandparents’ home starting in the early 1970s) was comfortable enough … especially after our new air conditioning unit, windows, and exterior doors were installed.

But we decided not to make too many dramatic interior changes right away. That really wasn’t a conscious decision as much as a reasonable one.

Soon we made new friends in our community: through our yoga class in Scottsdale and my chorus connections in Phoenix. With time there were other creative ripples before, during and after Covid.

We each wrote and published books. I wrote three librettos for the Phoenix Gay Men’s Chorus. Tom’s film classes materialized and compounded magically. Spurred by his passion for classic cinema and a library contact from our friend Glenn, that seed has grown into a legitimate, bountiful following.

Somewhere in that mix, we crossed over the tipping point of flux … knowing that we had truly found our new home. Feeling that we had become full-fledged, full-time Arizona residents and advocates.

And now–in June 2025, eight years after we said goodbye to our first home together and spent the past three months painting and remodeling–the interior of our Arizona home is finally a reflection of the color, comfort, and humanity we imagined.

It is–like we are–fully transformed. It is our desert lodge with a decent splash of soft apricot, western warmth, and comfy chairs.

It is our refuge with and without family and friends. It is our nesting place away from triple-digit heat and authoritarian regimes.

It is our home.

Remembering and Refreshing

April 1, 2025 · 9 Comments ·

When Tom and I landed permanently in our Scottsdale condo, it was an odd year.

Odd in a meteorological sense; when we pulled into our carport, it was 112 degrees outside on July 12.

Odd in a traumatic sense; I had suffered a minor heart attack six days before on our 60th birthday.

Odd in a serendipitous sense; the cardiac trauma happened in St. Louis (where I was born) in the middle of our move.

Odd in a numerical sense; it was 2017.

That year, we did our best to settle into our new life. We focused on the most essential items: buying a new air conditioning unit and creating a new healthcare regimen to rehab my heart and restore some sense of normalcy to our lives.

We were two mid-century guys, doing our best to settle into our mid-century condo, happy to have survived a scary personal experience, grateful for the chance to write a new chapter in a space that had been home to Tom’s grandparents (and, in a more limited sense, his parents) years before.

Sadly, by 2017, they were all gone. Even so, we had an important remnant of their lives to keep us grounded. It was our turn to–slowly–make it our own.

Under more normal circumstances (i.e., not enduring a heart attack in the middle of our move), we might have pushed more aggressively to transform our condo. But surviving together superseded remodeling and refreshing.

With time, I regained my strength. Tom and I both began to breathe more easily. When a little thing called Covid arrived in 2020, it prompted us to rethink our space, because–of course–we had more time to stare at our condo walls.

In 2021– it was odd again — we hired a paint crew to turn both bedrooms green and serene. We replaced the carpeting there. Later that year, we remodeled our bathroom.

Now it’s another odd year: 2025. Odd (as well as disturbing) in more ways than I care to enumerate in this essay. Let’s just say it’s the perfect time to wave goodbye to dingy off-white walls and adorn our living room and sunroom with a splash of two new colors.

With all of that as my preamble, I’m in the mood to tease you a little. Guess which two colors on this palette will appear inside our home beginning next week.

When the work is done (and we have replaced the tired grey/blue carpeting in our living room and sun room, too), I think it will feel like we have finally created the Arizona space Tom and I imagined eight years ago in April.

That’s when we put our suburban Chicago home on the market as the daffodils bloomed on another chilly midwestern day.

That’s when we began to pack up our most important possessions in Illinois for a chance to create a new life of unforeseen friends, books, blogs, stories, movies, and memories in the Valley of the Sun.

Hang On

March 28, 2025 · 7 Comments ·

In the course of any life–whether you are a woodpecker, hummingbird or a species without wings–sometimes the best you can do is to find nourishment where you can … and just hang on.