I am 57. I say it's not getting to me. I was thinking the words "I am 57" for a while before my birthday in October just to become accustomed to the sound of it. Yet there are issues. I realize more then a few people I know or work with are half my age, some well less than half. My mental Rolodex (for those under a certain age look up the word "Rolodex") keeps getting loaded with more and more cards. It occasionally takes me longer than it used to to flip through them to locate a particular name, phrase or title. On surveys I now check the box "55 and over", there is no longer and end date, I find this a little disturbing. I don't think I look 57, many people have commented as such. I find this comforting. I work out regularly, eat fairly decently and try to get an adequate amount of sleep. I am not nor have I ever been an angel or a monk. I still indulge in vices, just in more moderation than I once did. Some of this moderation I mark up to ennui. I began to realize that there are only so many variations to some themes.
I was fortunate to experience my youth during a special time. In my early 20s AIDS was unknown, the dance floors of gay clubs and bars were packed, boisterous and bawdy and drug use did not carry the stigma that it does today. Drug use, and yes, in some cases abuse, among my social set was routine. San Francisco contained a plethora of rambling victorian flats. The split parlors, fainting rooms and service porches allowed for large and ever changing households full of club kids like myself. We had no worries about student loans, we had none, they were not available during those years. We had jobs, some reputable, some menial, we went to during the day. We had clubs we frequented at night. The future seemed far off and, we figured, would somehow figure itself out. We rode a wave of youthful exuberance, energy and naivete.
AIDS began to do some of the scene in. Scores, than hundreds, then thousands died leaving a new generation without mentors or a sense of history. The rise of the internet dealt a virtual death blow. One could hook up online. There was no longer a need to "go out". In my youth feeding a sexual hunger may have been, for some, the impetus to leave one's home but doing so, gathering in one place, fed a social hunger as well. We met sexual partners but we also laughed, we danced, we enjoyed the company of others. Some we knew, some we did not. It didn't matter, we were all one with a single goal, having fun.
Today the future for young people is uncertain and for some, at times, unforgiving. It can be difficult to find employment even with the degree one has paid thousands of dollars for. The joyful and carefree scene of my youth has disappeared. It will not return, young people feel a need to be more serious now. I do not miss my old life. I have developed, through years of searching and experimenting, a new one. I have the memories and stories of those times that will be with me so long as my mental faculties will allow me to retain them.
I am 57. The age does not concern me. I have had adventures. I have lived fully. I regret nothing. I have lived for 57 years. I look forward eagerly to more.
Sunday, May 10, 2015
Wednesday, April 22, 2015
Phoenix 2015 - Coming Home
At the beginning of this trip I was weary. Winter weary and as I was saying before I left, retail weary. Our Christmas season, due in part to my profession, was busy. A treasured friend had been in the process of moving to Chicago. I have been attempting to assist him in getting settled. I welcome his return to my day to day life. Our February was record breaking in it's level of cold and snow requiring extensive preparations for even the most limited of outdoor excursions. I had been fighting a resilient cold for three weeks. I was weary. I was ready, in fact in dire need of, a break from work, a break from the cold and a break from my everyday responsibilities. Still, the responsibilities, work, my home, my family and friends, provide my life with structure. They keep it from becoming a formless mass.
Speaking to my husband briefly before boarding the plane he told me that it had been temperate enough for him to open the balcony door that morning, albeit only for a short time. Looking ahead at the weather it appeared that winter may have loosened it's icy grasp. This also help at work as people would begin to venture out from their winter seclusion. Now that my friend is in town permanently I would be able to enjoy showing him the sights and sounds of the city I adopted 30 years ago and love more each day.
I got the break I needed but I felt an equal need to return to the normal rhythm of my life. To return to the familiar. To return home.
Speaking to my husband briefly before boarding the plane he told me that it had been temperate enough for him to open the balcony door that morning, albeit only for a short time. Looking ahead at the weather it appeared that winter may have loosened it's icy grasp. This also help at work as people would begin to venture out from their winter seclusion. Now that my friend is in town permanently I would be able to enjoy showing him the sights and sounds of the city I adopted 30 years ago and love more each day.
I got the break I needed but I felt an equal need to return to the normal rhythm of my life. To return to the familiar. To return home.
Phoenix 2015 - Old Tucson and The Forest For Free
There is a restaurant in Tucson my friends have eaten at in the past. They entered the address into their car's GPS system and we began to follow the instructions of the voice which emanates from the device, something I find slightly unsettling and eerie. It led us out of the parking lot and to a road heading away from the museum grounds. We soon found ourselves surrounded by extraordinary natural beauty. Saguaros, in some spots standing as close together as the trees in a pine forest, swept up the hills on a blanket of green sage grasses and yellow wildflowers. The red rock formations associated with this area of the country jutted up from the hillsides, capping their summits, their hue providing a brilliant contrast to the bright blue sky above. We pulled into a scenic overlook to gaze at this spectacular sight. My friends commented that it was just like going to the national forest we had eschewed, sans the $10 per car charge collected by the park service. From the overlook we could see the road ahead. As it neared a pass in the mountains it narrowed as it winded it's way to the top. Going through the pass we began our descent into Tucson. The hills were dotted with beautiful, and presumably pricey, homes. Set a good distance from one another they would offer the inhabitants sweeping views of the desert during the day as well as the twinkling lights of the city below at night.
Unlike the sprawl that almost defines Phoenix, Tucson seemed compact and manageable. A college town, even on a Sunday afternoon buses were evident. Proof of true public transit as opposed to a commuter transportation system found in many other cities. After lunch we took a brief drive through a historic section of the city. Early 20th century homes lined the streets. On a few corners stood the imposing yet graceful mansions of the wealthy early inhabitants of the city. Above the rooftops the venerable dome of the courthouse could be seen.
As we left Tucson we stopped briefly at one of the ubiquitous convenience store/gas station complexes that punctuate the American highway system. On a siding sat an idle freight train, it's boxcar's sides spray painted with bold graffiti tags reminiscent of the 1980's. As the train later ran along it's tracks parallel to the highway it lent a certain hip hop urban sensibility to the surrounding desert landscape.
Unlike the sprawl that almost defines Phoenix, Tucson seemed compact and manageable. A college town, even on a Sunday afternoon buses were evident. Proof of true public transit as opposed to a commuter transportation system found in many other cities. After lunch we took a brief drive through a historic section of the city. Early 20th century homes lined the streets. On a few corners stood the imposing yet graceful mansions of the wealthy early inhabitants of the city. Above the rooftops the venerable dome of the courthouse could be seen.
As we left Tucson we stopped briefly at one of the ubiquitous convenience store/gas station complexes that punctuate the American highway system. On a siding sat an idle freight train, it's boxcar's sides spray painted with bold graffiti tags reminiscent of the 1980's. As the train later ran along it's tracks parallel to the highway it lent a certain hip hop urban sensibility to the surrounding desert landscape.
Phoenix 2015 - The Sonora Desert Museum
We left Phoenix bound for the Sonora Desert Museum located outside of Tucson. Yellow, orange and pale rose flowers, as well as small subdivisions, punctuated the vast expanse of desert on each side of the road. On the horizon silhouettes of mountains, their twisted shapes created by almost unimaginable ages of wind and rain began to appear. The farms that came into view along the road were evidence of man's ability to tame the hot, arid surroundings. As we continued on the mountain silhouettes began to take on definition. I was told they were more verdant than usual due to the recent rains. In the Arizona desert, it seems, green appears quickly, then, just as rapidly, returns to dusty brown accentuated by the other worldly shapes and hues of the ancient stone monoliths and mountainsides.
The museum is part zoo. Desert animals are in glass walled enclosures or outdoors behind wire mesh. A puma paced back and forth, seemingly annoyed by the people lining up to see it. Ocelots and bobcats groomed each other on ledges. A small fox napped in the sun.
Although there are some areas planted to illustrate different types of flora, much like a botanical garden, most of the outdoor park, although manicured, is natural, indigenous growth. The museum blends with the desert, it's location offering beautiful vistas of it's the surroundings.
There is a man made cavern with exhibits focused on life underground. Glass cases contain spiders. Bats hung from the ceiling in one section. In one alcove a recreation of stalagmites and stalactites has been constructed. In one area is a gem collection displaying the minerals and stones that have been mined from the Arizona earth. As I sell jewelry I am extremely familiar with many of the colorful geodes shown. Still, it is wonderful to me to retain the ability to be surprised, to learn or see something I have not before known or experienced. The opal is my birthstone. In one place in the gem room a polished opal sits as a counterpoint to an example of it's raw self. From within a chunk of chalky white rock the brilliant interplay of colors, the trademark of the semi precious stone, peeks out. Azurite, I have two rings featuring this lapis blue like stone, is also on display. I learned that as this stone nears the earths surface it becomes unstable. In one example malachite's green pigment covered with it's black swirls is growing over the underlying azurite. This accounts for the bits of green in the blue stones in my rings.
In another indoor section are the reptiles, creatures almost synonymous with the desert. I have an overwhelming fear of snakes but since these were behind glass my phobia was kept under control allowing me to observe them. Some bear the dull, dusty tones of their surrounding arid landscape allowing them to hide from both predators and prey. Some, like the coral snake, are brightly colored, a warning to predators of their highly toxic venom. One, although relatively harmless, resembles the deadly coral snake, tricking predators into leaving it alone. Amazing creatures they crush or poison their prey, their elastic jaws and bodies allowing them to swallow and digest animals larger than themselves, a process that can sometimes take several days. Occasionally a bulge will appear in their slender bodies, evidence of the fate of some unwary bird or small mammal. My friends have told me of hearing the tell tell warning clatter of a rattlesnakes tail while walking the dog in their neighborhood. To me this makes living in the desert seem strangely exotic, in Chicago the most I ever see is a squirrel.
It was early afternoon. Hot and hungry we decide to skip hiking the Saguaro National Forest and head into Tuscon for lunch.
The museum is part zoo. Desert animals are in glass walled enclosures or outdoors behind wire mesh. A puma paced back and forth, seemingly annoyed by the people lining up to see it. Ocelots and bobcats groomed each other on ledges. A small fox napped in the sun.
Although there are some areas planted to illustrate different types of flora, much like a botanical garden, most of the outdoor park, although manicured, is natural, indigenous growth. The museum blends with the desert, it's location offering beautiful vistas of it's the surroundings.
There is a man made cavern with exhibits focused on life underground. Glass cases contain spiders. Bats hung from the ceiling in one section. In one alcove a recreation of stalagmites and stalactites has been constructed. In one area is a gem collection displaying the minerals and stones that have been mined from the Arizona earth. As I sell jewelry I am extremely familiar with many of the colorful geodes shown. Still, it is wonderful to me to retain the ability to be surprised, to learn or see something I have not before known or experienced. The opal is my birthstone. In one place in the gem room a polished opal sits as a counterpoint to an example of it's raw self. From within a chunk of chalky white rock the brilliant interplay of colors, the trademark of the semi precious stone, peeks out. Azurite, I have two rings featuring this lapis blue like stone, is also on display. I learned that as this stone nears the earths surface it becomes unstable. In one example malachite's green pigment covered with it's black swirls is growing over the underlying azurite. This accounts for the bits of green in the blue stones in my rings.
In another indoor section are the reptiles, creatures almost synonymous with the desert. I have an overwhelming fear of snakes but since these were behind glass my phobia was kept under control allowing me to observe them. Some bear the dull, dusty tones of their surrounding arid landscape allowing them to hide from both predators and prey. Some, like the coral snake, are brightly colored, a warning to predators of their highly toxic venom. One, although relatively harmless, resembles the deadly coral snake, tricking predators into leaving it alone. Amazing creatures they crush or poison their prey, their elastic jaws and bodies allowing them to swallow and digest animals larger than themselves, a process that can sometimes take several days. Occasionally a bulge will appear in their slender bodies, evidence of the fate of some unwary bird or small mammal. My friends have told me of hearing the tell tell warning clatter of a rattlesnakes tail while walking the dog in their neighborhood. To me this makes living in the desert seem strangely exotic, in Chicago the most I ever see is a squirrel.
It was early afternoon. Hot and hungry we decide to skip hiking the Saguaro National Forest and head into Tuscon for lunch.
Tuesday, April 21, 2015
Phoenix 2015 - The Phoenix Symphony
One of my friends was ushering the performance of the symphony that evening, a recent volunteer activity he has taken up which he enjoys. The payoff is seeing the performances he works at. I have to admit a tinge of envy regarding the Diane Krall concert he would experience later this year. As the houselights dimmed a young, rather adorable viola player came onstage to give us a welcoming speech providing us with information on what we would be hearing that evening. After the viola player took his seat the first violin player entered. He is huge, tall, and it appears under his tails, broad as well. My friend whispered as he came onstage "Here comes the tall guy". I referred to him as Lurch., He apparently has been playing first violin since my friends first moved to Phoenix a number of years ago. Then the conductor, also extremely tall yet thin, entered. As the performance progressed I had to admit to being unimpressed with him. He appeared to my eye competent yet uninspired.
The first piece was by a Mexican composer neither I nor my friend was familiar with. I enjoyed the slightly atonal piece. Both of us mentioned afterward that we definitely discerned a Mexican influence. The next piece by 20th century composer Samuel Barber was a cello concerto even more atonal that the first piece. Using an instrument that we were told during the introduction was 300 years old the remarkable guest musician, using a combination of techniques including plucking, strumming as well as working with the traditional bow, created sounds with the venerable, virtually irreplaceable treasure that left me slackjawed. He received a well deserved standing ovation at the end of his performance. The age of the cello gifted it with a rich warm sound which could only have been born slowly over time. As I listened to it's tones I pondered the almost countless number of people that have heard it played over it's long life. The previous evening the musician had performed an encore. Since this apparently sent the entire orchestra into overtime, so, despite our thunderous applause, on this night the encore was eschewed.
The second half of the program was a Shubert piece. The romantic composers work provided a sharp contrast to the modern sounds of the first half.
We enjoyed a late supper at a bar and restaurant nearby. Once a men's clothing store it has been imaginatively repurposed. It references it's original life by it's retention of it's street showcase windows as well as the names of the brands it formerly carried still being emblazoned on it's walls. Convenient to several entertainment venues it is often quite busy when there is more than one event taking place in the area on a given evening. This night it seemed to be attracting a young, hipster crowd. A portion of the population of my Chicago neighborhood has a similar, although perhaps slightly less well heeled, aesthetic. In my day we shopped in thrift stores, today's fashion is culled from H&M. The existence of these crowds suggest that while times and fashions change, youthful innocence and exuberance does not.
As we neared the house Bobbie Gentry's "Ode to Billie Jo" played on the radio. I hadn't heard the wonderfully ambiguous song in a long time. It was a welcome epilogue to a lovely evening.
The first piece was by a Mexican composer neither I nor my friend was familiar with. I enjoyed the slightly atonal piece. Both of us mentioned afterward that we definitely discerned a Mexican influence. The next piece by 20th century composer Samuel Barber was a cello concerto even more atonal that the first piece. Using an instrument that we were told during the introduction was 300 years old the remarkable guest musician, using a combination of techniques including plucking, strumming as well as working with the traditional bow, created sounds with the venerable, virtually irreplaceable treasure that left me slackjawed. He received a well deserved standing ovation at the end of his performance. The age of the cello gifted it with a rich warm sound which could only have been born slowly over time. As I listened to it's tones I pondered the almost countless number of people that have heard it played over it's long life. The previous evening the musician had performed an encore. Since this apparently sent the entire orchestra into overtime, so, despite our thunderous applause, on this night the encore was eschewed.
The second half of the program was a Shubert piece. The romantic composers work provided a sharp contrast to the modern sounds of the first half.
We enjoyed a late supper at a bar and restaurant nearby. Once a men's clothing store it has been imaginatively repurposed. It references it's original life by it's retention of it's street showcase windows as well as the names of the brands it formerly carried still being emblazoned on it's walls. Convenient to several entertainment venues it is often quite busy when there is more than one event taking place in the area on a given evening. This night it seemed to be attracting a young, hipster crowd. A portion of the population of my Chicago neighborhood has a similar, although perhaps slightly less well heeled, aesthetic. In my day we shopped in thrift stores, today's fashion is culled from H&M. The existence of these crowds suggest that while times and fashions change, youthful innocence and exuberance does not.
As we neared the house Bobbie Gentry's "Ode to Billie Jo" played on the radio. I hadn't heard the wonderfully ambiguous song in a long time. It was a welcome epilogue to a lovely evening.
Sunday, April 12, 2015
Phoenix 2015 - Scotch Before the Symphony
My friends have season tickets to the Phoenix symphony, and the opera and the ballet and the, well anyway. My visits have previously coincided with dates when they have these tickets. So on Saturday night we prepared to go to the symphony by showering, dressing, I in symphony appropriate clothing I had packed for that evening, and sampling my friends finest scotch and whiskey.Several years ago my friend had begun to take an interest in brown liquors. I am not ashamed to recognize and admit that his pallet is quite a bit more refined and sophisticated than mine. First up was an 18 year old rich smoky brew purchased with an unexpected Holiday bonus. Even my trailer park tastebuds could sense it's excellence. Next was a whisky touted by a liquor aficionado's magazine as the years best. This sample proved the review accurate, however you must take into account my extreme lack of experience and knowledge in this area. My friend noted that once a whiskey is touted as "the best" it becomes next to impossible to obtain. He had resorted to asking a friend in Canada to get it for him since it was a Canadian product and more widely available there. He had me taste them freshly poured, then after breathing a few minutes and then with a teaspoon of water to experience the different flavors each modification produced.
We, to quote the rock classic "comfortably numb", headed out.
We, to quote the rock classic "comfortably numb", headed out.
Phoenix 2015 - Think Like a Dog
Saturday, being in retail the word means little to me. At one time it was the day one wanted to work as good sales were almost guaranteed, but those days, alas, are behind us. To me, in my world, it is generally just another day. To much of the rest of the world, however, it is the beginning of those 2 days of freedom from the responsibilities of a job that having the responsibilities of a job allows them to earn. Chores are accomplished, hobbies are indulged in, small out of town trips are planed. And so I found myself on a Saturday mid morning out in the bright desert sun chatting with my friend as he walks their dog.
As we stroll through the neighborhood streets I recalled an authority on dog training on a talk show discussing, appropriately, how to train a dog. His advise was that the owner think like one. This dog, on a retractable leash, is ahead of us, my friend second, I am lagging further behind enjoying the March warmth, as well as the varieties of plants and birds I rarely get to experience. Earlier that morning I watched as a line of quail, their distinctive head feathers bobbing, walked in a line along the garden wall looking as if they were participating in a parade. The dog sniffs plants and rocks, on occasion the curb or sidewalk. I attempt to think like a dog. It is to no avail. I cannot, for the life of me, ascertain what it is that intrigues her. She seems to inhabit a world of perpetual surprise. At home our cat appears to plot her moves, each of her activities and actions requiring extensive amounts of planning. By contrast the dog seems to live in the moment.
Arriving at a small park she is allowed off her leash. She takes off running in large circles at a breakneck pace. She lopes over to us, as if saying "Look what I can do" then takes off again. She exhibits a carefree, childlike glee. As we get to the house she is allowed off her leash again. Eschewing the more direct route to the house along the small arroyo like tumble of rocks in the front yard she opts for a more indirect, civilized route. She trots up the driveway then up the path from the driveway the leads to the front door.
I try to think like a dog. I achieve little success.
As we stroll through the neighborhood streets I recalled an authority on dog training on a talk show discussing, appropriately, how to train a dog. His advise was that the owner think like one. This dog, on a retractable leash, is ahead of us, my friend second, I am lagging further behind enjoying the March warmth, as well as the varieties of plants and birds I rarely get to experience. Earlier that morning I watched as a line of quail, their distinctive head feathers bobbing, walked in a line along the garden wall looking as if they were participating in a parade. The dog sniffs plants and rocks, on occasion the curb or sidewalk. I attempt to think like a dog. It is to no avail. I cannot, for the life of me, ascertain what it is that intrigues her. She seems to inhabit a world of perpetual surprise. At home our cat appears to plot her moves, each of her activities and actions requiring extensive amounts of planning. By contrast the dog seems to live in the moment.
Arriving at a small park she is allowed off her leash. She takes off running in large circles at a breakneck pace. She lopes over to us, as if saying "Look what I can do" then takes off again. She exhibits a carefree, childlike glee. As we get to the house she is allowed off her leash again. Eschewing the more direct route to the house along the small arroyo like tumble of rocks in the front yard she opts for a more indirect, civilized route. She trots up the driveway then up the path from the driveway the leads to the front door.
I try to think like a dog. I achieve little success.
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