Tag: escapes

Flag

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If you read this on August 18, 19, or 20, it is likely I will be here, hiking with my husband at Buffalo Park in Flagstaff, Arizona. (I captured this photo in late July 2023.) Or relaxing elsewhere at approximately 7,000 feet.

When we moved to Arizona eight years ago, I noticed most residents of the Grand Canyon State shorten the name of this town to Flag … an affectionate term, which locals (that now includes me) drop into conversation, before or after they come to escape Phoenix summer heat and inhale pine-scented mountain air (when there are no wildfires nearby).

In the winter, the town attracts a different crowd … skiers. Nearby Snow Bowl ascends to 11,500 feet at the top of Arizona. It is a winter wonderland from December through April or whenever there is snow.

Year-round, Flag is home to Northern Arizona University. So this dog-friendly town has a young, diverse, energetic vibe that includes a fascinating mix of bohemian free spirits, western practicality, and picturesque views of the San Francisco Peaks.

Best of all, it’s accessible from Phoenix via a dramatic climb along I-17 that normally takes just over two hours by car.

You pass thousands of saguaros that stand guard over jaw-dropping landscapes.

They suddenly vanish near a town called Bumblebee to reveal high desert plants and ponderosa pines.

Up in Flag, storms roll in, over, and around the San Francisco Peaks in every season. Unannounced. That natural spontaneity appeals to me, too.

If it didn’t snow in Flag, I could see us living here. Instead, we opt to visit for a few days each summer.

However, if the summers keep getting hotter in Phoenix, we may find ourselves spending larger blocks of time here.

Whenever Tom and I visit Flag, it ignites my sense of artistry. So much so that I have written previous essays here, as well as two or three short pieces of unpublished fiction (that include Flag characters).

They exist on my laptop in various stages of development, waiting for additional inspiration.

Maybe being “up” here again in the thinner air (Flag’s altitude is 6,910 feet as compared with Phoenix at 1,086 feet) will captivate my creativity once again.

If it does, you will be among the first to know.

Deep Caress

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I’ve missed our beneath-the-surface trysts.

You and your buoyant love, deep caress, soothing sparkle.

You are my quiet cove, splashing symphony, ever-gliding channel.

With every stroke, you steal me away from the din of demands.

Your flow–lapping up and racing by with no questions–surrounds me.

With each passing whoosh, you lead me by the hand and whisper.

“Float with me now in these reassuring moments.

This is where peace, promise, and repetition reside.”

On February 5, 2023–after nearly a three-month hiatus due to cooler-than-normal weather in the Valley of the Sun and a litany of other interruptions–I swam laps outdoors once again in our community pool at Polynesian Paradise in Scottsdale, Arizona.

Light-hearted Escape

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It’s been another challenging year for many. We won’t soon forget the previous twelve months … brimming with health concerns, natural disasters, social upheaval, global traumas, political shenanigans, and inflationary woes.

Why not end 2022–or start 2023–on a positive note with a light-hearted escape? From now until January 2, for only ninety-nine cents, you can download a copy of my book Tales of a Rollercoaster Operator on Amazon.

It’s a universal collection of tales that focuses on my love of family and pop culture. A nostalgic series of twenty-six funny and poignant essays about growing up in St. Louis in the 1960s and 1970s.

The final story in the book, A New Year Resolution, fills me with hope and the warm, comforting possibilities of life even after seemingly awful things happen.

I wrote it as a testament to the good citizenship of my father and mother, who did the right thing on a cold January morning more than sixty years ago.

Happy reading and Happy New Year!

Western Warmth, Eastern Oasis

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Warmer, brighter, and dryer than my midwestern memories, the arrival of April in the Sonoran Desert means we are a step closer to the oven.

I’ve come to welcome the regularity of the sun and heat. They define who we are: slimmer survivors, comfortable in shorts and sandals minus the cloud cover and weighty coats of our past lives.

No matter the month, if you’re willing to dig beneath the palms that frame the burgeoning Phoenix skyline, you’ll find the Japanese Friendship Garden (named RoHoEn) coexisting with concrete in an urban setting.

Planted at 1125 N. 3rd Avenue (just west of Central Avenue and south of I-10 on the way to L.A.), this hidden Phoenix gem is an unexpected eastern oasis deposited amidst the flurry of western civilization.

Protected by the shade of a high-rise apartment building, colorful koi dance beneath the surface of a shallow lake, a canopy of pines, sculpted shrubs, gentle waterfalls, and peaceful pagodas.

Of course, many come to the Valley of the Sun to relax by the pool. But if you prefer a different kind of escape, the garden is an ideal place to stroll in the shade, pause on a weekday, feed the fish, and nourish your soul.

Note: Located in the heart of Phoenix, the 3.5-acre Japanese Friendship Garden is a joint project of the City of Phoenix and its Sister City, Himeji, Japan. I captured these photos during an afternoon visit with Tom on Wednesday, March 30, 2022.

Retooling My Engine

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I’ve been feeling murky lately–grumpy too. It’s been one of those uncertain periods in life. We all have them.

Two weeks ago, the engine in our nine-year-old Sonata seized. It went kaput as Tom was returning from the gym, initiating a domino effect of frustrating phone calls and texts, AAA tows, car rentals, dealer discussions, loaner agreements, missed connections, and moving deadlines.

Fortunately, Tom is okay and our car is still under warranty … barely. (Ten years or 100,000 miles.) Our odometer read 98,500 when everything shut down. The engine was replaced and paid for by Hyundai. We picked up our rejuvenated car yesterday. It’s now running smoothly.

Despite the relatively fortunate personal and financial outcome, my patience has worn thin. My creativity is scattered. It’s as if a Sonoran wind blew in, swept my disparate ideas (literal and figurative scraps of paper on my desk) into the sky, and scorched them into a cloud of embers, precipitated by a drought-induced Arizona fire. (Yes, it’s fire season here again.)

As a result, my writing schedule is off. My temper is short. The temperature outside is rising fast in the Phoenix area (110 degrees here we come).

Oh, book sales have fallen off the map. Do people read anymore? This is one of those moments when I need to remind myself of the joy I felt in March when I was basking in the publishing afterglow (not the flames of a hillside fire) of reading passages from I Think I’ll Prune the Lemon Tree before a group of thirty-five friends and neighbors.

Through it all, I’m aware I am living in the undefined space between writing projects. If you are also a writer, you know what that feels like. It feels like crap. Why? Because writing (for us, at least) serves as a personal compass, a guiding light, an organizing principle that keeps us feeling passionate, centered, connected, relevant, and whole.

Now that I’ve had a chance to whine a little, I should also tell you that a new possible creative project has begun to surface. It may materialize this fall. At this point, I don’t want to jinx it by describing it any further.

Instead, I’m better served by resting my brain a little, praying for monsoon rains in Arizona, and focusing on a much-needed, ten-day vacation/road trip to and from Montana, which Tom and I will embark on in a few weeks.

Of course, we couldn’t go anywhere a year ago. But, because we are fully vaccinated, we’ll be able to explore and absorb the majestic scenery of Arizona, Utah, and Idaho with a clear conscience and visit friends in Bozeman, Montana.

What more could I ask for to retool my engine?