Early morning light on Seawall Road

Posted on July 1, 2012 by sheilawill

Wonderland down Seawall Road a bit

I’m not an early riser. But at 4:30 a.m. the birds start singing, lobster boats hum past my bedroom window as they leave the harbor, and the dark night sky awakens. I can’t help myself; it’s too beautiful for my eyes to stay closed.

For the first time I can remember, I want to know more about these birds talking. They’re different from Tucson birds. They have more to say.

In the two days I’ve been back in my Southwest Harbor home, I find myself reading in bed as the sun goes down. Last night, I discovered in the SWH Chamber of Commerce summer mag, of all places to actually learn something, that Maine “retains more naturally dark skies than any state east of the Mississippi…The island’s central granite peaks shield the southwestern ‘quietside’ of the island from the city lights of the mainland and Bar Harbor.”

Star-filled nights, northern lights and fireworks over the ocean that you can see for miles.

In the two days  I’ve been back I’ve walked Wonderland, where Martha and I lingered  on the rocks before our annual dinner at Beal’s Lobster Pound, where the lobsters are carried in traps from boat to dock to a holding tank where summer visitors get to choose their own dinner. The green speckled creatures are lively,  They’re not logy like those waiting in foggy supermarket tanks for their demise.

I had crab for my first dinner back.

My friend Judith stopped by yesterday morning when she saw a snazzy white car in my driveway with a strange license plate — New York. “Can’t I have a car with a New England license plate?” I asked Enterprise. Only if you’ll take a black one, I was told. Oh well, at least it’s not New Jersey (sorry Brook!).

I’ve walked Ship Harbor, seen around six friends (who’ve marveled at the purple streaks in my hair. One blurted, “It doesn’t look weird at all!”), went to an artist friend’s reception and started to get my house back in order. And I’ve been told at least three times how much people still miss Oz Books.

Full light: Time to go back to Wonderland — the first walk I took on the island 33 years ago. It’s always time to go back.

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Definitely not an Arizonan

Posted on June 24, 2012 by sheilawill

Our last night on the road of a 3,500 mile two-week road trip. That’s right folks, 3,500 miles! Hip Flagstaff was the spot for the most expensive motel of the entire trip, $100. We yelped (don’t laugh, I’m learning how to do this stuff!) and consulted Trip Advisor for the last time on this long haul. Flagstaff’s Budget Inn, where we stayed, was rated #1.

Across the street was the sign below:

So who’s a real Arizonan?

Were the owners of this motel Navajo? I doubt it. Yet their sign prominently displayed an American flag and “Arizonan” at the top.

Just who is an “Arizonan?”

The plot thickens. The owners of the Budget Motel were either Indian (not Navajo) or Pakistani — most likely Muslim! Oh no!

Why would the owner of “America’s Best Inn” put “Arizonan” on their sign? I didn’t appreciate all it implied.

But even with the not so subtle right-wingedness I enjoyed being in Flagstaff. It was cool both in temperature and hipness.

See, it says “Revolution” in red on the white door below, to the right of the bike store entrance.

Yay Revolution!

Today we’re glad to be home in Tucson. We even have air conditioning. I’ll send the map of our route if you’re interested, but suffice it to say we saw all of eastern Oregon, the non-winding road by the Snake River in Idaho, some of the best parts of Utah including a strenuous hike to the Delicate Arch in Arches National Park. We drank lightweight beer (3.2 percent alcohol) at the local Moab Brewery. We opted for a Monument Valley route back to Arizona.

We avoided Nevada, a state I’ve had enough of.

In Flagstaff, I actually had a crab/artichoke/jack omelette at the fabulous La Bellavia restaurant directly across the street from the bike store. I’ve never eaten crab in a landlocked place before. The street was overrun with espresso bars and the kind serving alcoholic concoctions. No lightweight drinks here!

We’re thinking about returning to Flagstaff for a cool weekend in August, staying in one of the historic Anglo hotels downtown.

Home, even though I’ll never be a true Arizonan, Navajo or any other native type.

 

Posted in Food/happy hours, Nature Girl, politics, The Rest of the World | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Driving Home: Bend, Burns, Boise and Bountiful

Posted on June 21, 2012 by sheilawill

We’re finished with two days of driving through the B places on our way back to Tucson from Eugene. Downtown Bend, Oregon, was very touristy, kinda like Bar Harbor. But Bend had the Deschutes Brewery, home of Black Butte and other unique tasty beers.

Dan enjoying two beers. Wait, he nabbed mine!

Having a beer at lunchtime made me a bit sleepy. All the better for our mostly flat, lazy drive to Burns — abiding by the 55 mile-an-hour speed limit.

Then came a surprise. The winding, nearly empty road from Burns to Ontario, Oregon, close to the Idaho border, was lush with soft green grasses dancing alongside the Malheur River. Mountains rose bearing Native American angular designs,  carved out of red rock and pine trees by wind and weather.

I’ve never seen anything like it, wish I had taken photos.

Another pleasant surprise was Boise. Bike paths everywhere. We rode 14 miles after breakfast at Goldy’s Breakfast Bistro. The salmon hash with hollandaise was yummy but the most expensive breakfast ever.

A photograph of an African woman nicknamed “Mama Goldy” used to hang at Goldy’s, according to Bon Appetit, naming the establishment one of the top ten breakfast joints in America five years ago. Underneath the photo was a Swahili inscription that meant “she gives us food.” (Don’t all mothers relate?)

But Boise, a hip place? Seemed that way. Correct me if I’m wrong.

So far I’m not thrilled with Utah. Today we yelped, consulted Trip Advisor, got stuck in Salt Lake City commuter traffic and drove around forever to find a decent place to stay. Bountiful didn’t cut it. Done with the B places. Grueling.

Finally finding an Econo-Lodge in Provo was a relief.

Ah, but tomorrow comes Moab, and the B place I enjoy most: natural beauty. Then back into Arizona, to Flagstaff. And we just got the word; our new air conditioner was installed yesterday. Home Saturday.

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Seals snoozing, eagle soaring, nibbling on Moonstruck chocolate

Posted on June 14, 2012 by sheilawill

Seals hanging out on our beach

Wind’s howling but the sun’s shining as a bright red kite whooshes by our window. Perched high above the Pacific in our cozy cottage on the Oregon coast nothing happens and enough. Yachats — pronounced Yahaats not the Yiddish YaCHats — is called the “gem of the Oregon coast.” I’d call it the capital of the emerald green state.

Wait. There’s lots more good stuff on this coast (and the weather isn’t one). Moonstruck chocolates. I just enjoyed my third, a raspberry dark chocolate truffle. What’s a birthday week without the best? This was the silkiest, most sublime “handcrafted artisan chocolate” ever. My ingenious, wonderful daughter, Brook, ordered a tiny box of four to be delivered to this coastal gem from Portland, with elegant packaging rivaling that of Apple computers.

“Meet the Truffles,” the note inside said. Sure, I’m all for it.

Today I also met the seal family hanging out on their craggy rock homes down the beach. You can see their upstairs and downstairs locations in my little photo (I’m hooked on the iPhone camera!). Staring at each other for around 15 minutes, I realized that seals may be my favorite creatures. 

This morning we awoke to unusual sunshine and a bluer than blue sea. I took my coffee cup outside to the cabin’s tiny porch, standing above the Pacific, the beach, the seal family rocks. There, at the perfect moment, an eagle soared by.

         

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Hello ocean my old friend

Posted on June 12, 2012 by sheilawill

It’s always been this way. The ocean has always been magical for me. First Hammonasset State Park on the Connecticut shore, then Revere beach north of Boston as a young professional in my 20s, and the one time we visited St. John’s in the Virgin Islands when the kids were little. It looked like Mt. Desert Island but without harsh winters. It felt like home.

Today I turned 66. The ocean still enthralls me. Sitting in our getaway cottage, “The Shag’s Nest,” outside of Yachats, Oregon, overlooking the massive Pacific, the sea shimmers. Waves roll in sporadically. As always. Maybe that’s why I love the sea; it changes yet it’s so dependable.

From childhood through 25 years of living in Southwest Harbor, Maine, the Atlantic sometimes roils up or freezes over in the coldest winters. But its behavior isn’t in anger or jealousy or because of any nasty habits. As Omar, my favorite character in “The Wire,” always said, “It’s how I do.” That’s what the ocean does.

Every year, if I’m anywhere near either coast, I have crabmeat for my birthday dinner. It’s how I do.

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Staycation/pre-vacation at Lodge in the Desert

Posted on June 7, 2012 by sheilawill

A week without air conditioning in 105 degree weather was enough for me (“I’m mad as hell and I won’t take it anymore!). We’re leaving on our road trip out west (further) at 4 a.m. in the morning.

But first two nights at the Lodge on the Desert, just a few blocks from home. Not being one who usually likes extreme AC, the first thing I did upon entering the room yesterday evening was blast it. Why not, it was 92 degrees at home. A stroll down to the pool came next, including lounging in the hot tub. Why not?

Today was my usual Thursday morning Zumba, followed by packing and a lovely lunch here with Dan’s folks. Easing into vacation…yes, it’ll help if the Boston Celtics pull off an NBA eastern championship tonight on the giant flat-screen hi-def TV in our room. I love it when minyans of New Englanders are happy, including my Celtics season-ticketholder brother, Joel, and my niece Alison. I’ll be looking for Joel in his dark blue polo shirt four rows behind the Celtics bench — I always look but am pretty sure I haven’t seen him in more than 30 years watching. (Let me know if you see him!)

I’m ready for vacation. Thinking about all sorts of exotic trips to Havana and Turkey, walking the gardens of England and viewing Italy’s art, lounging on the Greek islands or in Hawaii. But when it comes right down to it it’s intimate traveling adventures with Dan and being a summer person in Southwest Harbor, Maine, with my grown-up kids and lifetime friends, which matter most.

And if you come to Tucson may I recommend staying at the Lodge on the Desert? When I called yesterday, lamenting our extremely hot household, piling it on saying  we’re neighbors, the kind manager lowered the room rate by $30 per night. Not that we’re paying for it, but still, I appreciate his generosity.

Maybe we’ll meander down to the bar for happy hour before the big game, indulging in half-price yummy shrimp cocktails with spicy salsa and a dark and stormy night. Doesn’t that sound like real vacation?

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Sweet dog

Posted on June 3, 2012 by sheilawill

How quickly everything changes. After four days in the hospital with a blood clot in his lung, Dan came home yesterday. It’s Sunday morning. We drove to Rincon Market for breakfast and for me to pick up my Sunday New York Times. (The real draw is Jamaican Me Crazy or Snoodledoodle coffee). It’s only a short walk but it was too far this week.

Sitting around in a hospital, where I’ve been before, puts a hold on life. The patient has his own experience, but I can attest that the loved one becomes a cottonhead. Stand up, sit down, play Whirly Word, be present, but no reading or writing or anything that takes much energy.

Walking the halls, we saw old, pale people, even one man that had an “English Patient” face, or lack thereof.

Rincon Market this morning was a different scene. Young couples, a pregnant woman, cyclists loading up on croissants and omelettes, two old men chatting and checking in with each other, four spritely kids wearing colorful MIT t-shirts (grandparents must have just arrived from Boston).

And there was the sweetest dog, with a shiny black coat and a white diamond throat,  calmly waiting outside for her people. A well-loved, healthy dog, ready for whatever life would bring.

In my blog post last week, I wasn’t mad at the dogs. It was the dogs’ ornery woman. I still plan to go back to Frank’s and tell the owner about the nastiness that transpired on their patio. It couldn’t have been good for business. I won’t have breakfast there again until they change their policy about dogs in such a tight spot.

Rincon Market this morning was different. A young woman was playing the violin by the coffee counter. “Happy Together,” “Raindrops Keep Falling on my Head,” then she moved into “Maria” and a “West Side Story” medley. Refreshing our coffee, I looked over at her and smiled. She smiled back. Dan dropped a donation in her violin case.

The sweet young family with their sweet dog sat close to each other at their outdoor table, plates full of scrambled eggs, cinnamon rolls and grilled potatoes sparkling in the sun. The dark-haired little daughter sat on the ground next to her dark-haired little dog.

All was right with the world. For now.

 

 

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Nasty dog people

Posted on May 28, 2012 by sheilawill

Holiday morning, a pleasant time to ride bikes through near-empty Tucson streets. Iced coffee at Frank’s and my favorite spinach-mushroom-swiss omelette. What could go wrong?

A truckload of people, or dogs, pulled in. I couldn’t tell which. We were sitting at a small two-top on the patio facing Pima Street. Three people, three dogs took their places at two little tables. Hey, dogs are people too; they got rights.

The regular, tiny Mexican-American waitress stepped onto the patio from inside the restaurant. One of the dogs pulled on her leash, jumping up from a quiet spot under the table. “Oh don’t worry, she won’t hurt you,” nasty owner said, as the waitress jumped back, replying, “I’m petrified of dogs!” She scurried back inside.

Okay, so I butt in, maybe sometimes when I shouldn’t. I’m a blurter and a butter-inner. “Maybe some people don’t want to be around dogs,” I said, or something similar.

“If  two people didn’t take a table for four it would be okay,” nastiness said, or something like that. That wasn’t enough for her. “I don’t know you and you don’t know me so shut your fucking mouth,” she continued, along with other stuff that upset me.

“Nice human being,” I said, trying to maintain my cool. But she had daggers in her eyes. Luckily, we were done. I wanted to get away from the bad vibes, the first I recalled receiving from strangers since 1978, when a truckload of guys whistled at me on a deserted side street in Norfolk, Va. I gave them the finger. The truck turned around and followed me down the street. I made it to our apartment and hid in the bathroom, too afraid to even look out the window.

I was so young. I haven’t given the finger to strangers since. Seems like a wise move.

Here’s the thing: I like dogs, but I don’t think they need to go out to breakfast with their people, crammed into a tiny narrow space where waitpeople are carrying dishes. Besides, the fearful waitress had to be there; it was her job. Dogs didn’t.

I like babies too. Nowadays, people often take their babies to concerts or lectures that require everyone being able to hear. And those parents stay with crying babies. They have rights, you know.

Public space. Private space. When my kids were babies — back in the olden days before we heard everybody’s business on cell phones — if one of them cried, out to the car we went. As they got older we discussed when it was appropriate to use “public voices or private voices.”

Feels like a new libertarian way of life to me. I want to do something, so I do it. Who gives a damn about anyone else. Is this the new “American Way”: I don’t have to listen to those fucking socialists. You know, I got rights.

Ick.

 

 

Posted in Bopping Around Tucson, politics | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Gemini Art Date/Tres Amigas

Posted on May 27, 2012 by sheilawill

Let the wild Gemini celebrations begin! My friend Julie and I share a June 11 birthday; we headed to Cafe a la C’Arte for lunch on Thursday since I’ll be away on our actual birthday. And here’s something worthwhile: Tucked into our yummy salads with grilled salmon were crisp, delicious pieces of lavash. Don’t know what that is? Neither did I, but Judy, the cafe’s friendly owner told us how to make it.

Get a package of lavash (Middle Eastern flatbread) at Trader Joe’s. Spread the lavash on cookie sheet. Sprinkle your favorite herbs on top, followed by your favorite cheese(s).  Place the cookie sheet in the oven for around 20 minutes at 350 degrees or until the lavash is crisp. Cool the lavash and “break it into funky pieces,” says Judy. Voila, or he’nay (“here” in Hebrew, not sure about the spelling but the word just came to me after about 55 years).

After lunch we drank more caffeinated mango iced tea, which probably helped us rein in each of our renegade projects. Yes, we will both make more progress next year!

About two hours of revving each other up — Geminis are good at that — then it was time for art. Penny, our July 3/Cancer birthday friend was invited to join us. I’d never walked around downtown Tucson checking out galleries before. The Obsidian Gallery was our first stop and it blew me away. High quality jewelry, fine craftsmanship, imaginative ceramic pieces like the woman with a raven on her back in a boat. (Please don’t go by their website image of a woman in a bathtub whose left breast looks like a continuation of her arm.)

Next was the Drawing Studio with a show of fun Hoopleville cartoons by David Kish, then the Atlas Gallery, which had on exhibit of very precise grids made from rusty somethings. Not appealing to me. But Penny loved it. Got me thinking about how different we are but still wonderful friends.

The Etherton Gallery was the only one I had previously visited. I wanted to see the “This Land, This Sea” exhibit that was about to end. It wasn’t enough to bring to life my home by the ocean in Maine, where I’ll spend the month of July. I’ll have to wait for that.

It’s taken me a week to get around to last Sunday’s NYT Week in Review. Arizona’s finger-pointing, mean-spirited governor Jan Brewer has a lead part in “The Campaign Against Women” editorial. That nasty Brewer recently signed a bill eliminating funding for Planned Parenthood. Forget about abortion; cancer screening and family planning will be no more (that is, if you’re poor and have nowhere else to go).

Great women friends, art, beauty…I’m lucky enough to have all that in my life. And much more. I wish all women the same for their birthdays.

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Entering a portal to the West

Posted on May 19, 2012 by sheilawill

I’ve lived in Tucson for nearly 10 years but I’ll never be of the West. Back East, specifically as a New Englander, it’s always about us. American history is about the Pilgrims, Ben Franklin, the Adams boys, Crispus Attucks and Molly Pitcher thrown in for a little diversity.

Oh yeah, we were taught about, and I brought up in my classes, the purchase of Seward’s Icebox/our acquisition of Alaska, the Lewis and Clark expedition and the Mexican-American War of 1848. But I always added the story of Henry David Thoreau’s protest of said war. He refused to pay taxes to support it. Thoreau was thrown into prison in Concord, Mass. When his pal Ralph Waldo Emerson visited, asking, “Henry, what are you doing in there?” Thoreau, replied, “Ralph, what are you doing out there?” I always liked that.

Sure, we’re all more connected to where we’re from; I’ve clearly been New England-centric my whole life. Yesterday provided me with a bit of historical mind-expansion, for which I’m grateful.

I discovered the Juan Bautista de Anza National Historic Trail in Noglaes, Arizona, or rather, my friends Arlyn and Cate, led our book group on a field trip to water.

Natural wetlands in Arizona? Yup. Imagine life in Arizona 250 years ago (as crazy as Arizona is today at least we have indoor plumbing).

It was 1775. “Everyone mount up!” Anza called out every morning for nine months to nearly 300 men, women and mostly children (119!), a walking village herding 1,000 head of cattle to San Francisco.

At the same time that easterners were rabble-rousing, preparing for the American Revolution, Anza was leading this “traveling Safeway” — as Cate said yesterday — across the west.

The Nogales campsite, Las Laguna de Anza wetlands — said to be the first campsite north of the border for Anza’s treksters — sits between a major road and a giant industrial warehouse.  

Thanks to the clean-up efforts of high-school students and many other volunteers, the dedication of Arlyn Johnson (Santa Fe Ranch Foundation) and Cate Bradley (National Park Service),  the campsite is now a haven for birds and modern-day nature-lovers.  Arlyn recently traveled to Washington, D.C., to receive a national award for making it possible to enter this Arizona portal of history. Thank you, Arlyn, for taking us to the water and encouraging us to drink.

Posted in Bopping Around Tucson, For Love of History | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments