Unexpected wonders

It's the greatest thing to discover something new when you're not expecting it.  That happened just last week.

Granddaughter Heidi and husband, Chris, came from Las Vegas to Mesa for their annual President's Day weekend visit. Besides loving to be with them for three wonderful days, we try to experience some new adventure each time.

One year it was Saguaro National Park and the Sonora Desert Museum in Tucson; last year Tortilla Flats, nestled in the Tonto National Forest/Superstition Mountain Range and from there, Goldfield Ghost Town. Heidi memorialized our adventures with photo albums for us, and we frequently re-live them through the colorful pages.

Two years ago, it rained all weekend so our "adventure" consisted of discovering new places to shop. Gallant Chris dropped us off at the store's doorway as he braved the elements to park the car and sprint inside dripping wet. Once inside, we explored everything there was to see, then ventured to the next indoor place.

But we've been rewarded with perfect weather weekends ever since. This year was the best and even allowed us to eat a steak dinner out on our new deck.

This year's "adventure" was a drive to Globe, a town in a higher elevation about 45 miles east of Mesa. The drive itself was the adventure since the highway is bordered by shimmering rock and steep mountain hills.

Just outside Globe, we saw a roadside sign, Tonto National Monument. Our curiosity aroused, we decided to check it out.

Turning left and up the mountain road about 17 miles, we came to the site. Looking down, you could see the valley; looking up, the beautiful mountainous hills. And there in the hills were two cave dwellings, an upper one and a lower one. As we later learned, the caves were home to the ancient Hohokam (550 A.D.) and later the Salado Indians (1150) who built small villages in the hills.

Both dwellings, upper and lower, can be toured today. Three of us (admittedly, I stayed behind) toured the lower dwelling. It was a steep half-mile walk to get there, but worth the effort, reported my fellow travelers.

Photo by Chris Tertipes

Inside you could see various rooms. Though primitive, they contained doorways and wooden beams protruding through stone openings. The walls still miraculously contain markings. Touching a marking leads to an instant reprimand by a nearby guide, as my husband can attest.

The caves were carefully chosen so the morning sun warmed it in the winter and the shade offered cool protection from the summer sun.

Aside from the surprise discovery of the monument itself and the beautiful scenery, it was fascinating to learn more about the lives of the Salado (meaning salty) and their everyday lives. Men would hunt in the pre-dawn hours, bringing home a rabbit, perhaps even a wood rat, to skin and cook. Later they would set quartzite stones in mortars of clay and desert soil to construct a new room. Women would don sandals of woven yucca leaves and go the desert hillside where, carrying a gathering basket and a crude pole, they would harvest fruit from the saguaro.



Saguaro cactus in bloom

Later, during midday, this would be boiled to make jams or syrup.

I was most fascinated by the arts and crafts of the Salado. Beautiful decorated clay pots, pottery bowls, woven goods (woven primarily by men) and baskets, as well as inlaid turquoise jewelry, reaffirmed my belief that all peoples have an appreciation for artforms and creativity. Some of the preserved artifacts were displayed in the Visitor's Center and included an exquisite piece of lace.

Grandpa and Heidi return from the lower cave.
Saguaro cactus plants in background.

So next time you see a road sign that gives you even a twinge of curiosity....go explore! We were glad we did.

Nothing better

As I write this, I am watching the most beautiful Arizona sunset outside our living room window with palm trees in the foreground. We hear the news reports of frigid, sub-zero temps back home and are grateful to be in the warmth and beauty of the Southwest where we can be active and enjoy our retirement life. There is nothing better.

 Cactus in bloom (2012)

But I am lonesome for my children and family back home in Minnesota. While we enjoy being here in the sun, we often wish we could jump in the car and just drive across town to see them. There would be nothing better.

We had a voice memo from our five year old granddaughter this morning. I didn't even know there was such a thing as a voice memo, but there it was, appearing on the phone. So I pressed on the message bar, and voile---on came her sweet little voice.

"Hi, Grandma and Grandpa. I'm selling Girl Scout cookies. How many would you like?"

Now, wait a minute. How did she know we'd be such an easy mark and buy some in the first place? Well, of course, we would. This is her first year in Daisies, the beginner group of Girl Scouts.

We called her back and placed our order. Forty dollars worth. Never mind that we're easy targets, this little girl is a super-sales professional. When we were done ordering, or so we thought, she asked if we would consider buying some cookies to send to soldiers overseas.

Think about it for a moment.

Who, I ask you....WHO would say no to that? Certainly not us.  Turns out for every box of cookies sold to U.S. troops serving our country overseas, the Girl Scout association will arrange for shipping them. It warmed my heart to order two boxes, honoring our brave troops in the tiniest way. Nothing better than that patriotic feeling.

Then I find out our order of two boxes for the soldiers put our granddaughter at the level of sales needed for this mission to earn a badge. So it was a win-win: we felt good and she was excited and proud to have accomplished the requirement needed for her badge. Boy, there's nothing better.

How often have you experienced a "nothing better" moment?

A "nothing better" moment for Granddaughter Jessica.

My "nothing better" moment comes each time I am together with my children and their wonderful spouses, my granddaughters three and great-granddaughter one. I want the time to stand still as I take in the pure joy of being with them. The time will pass too quickly and the occasion will always come to an ultimate end, as I suppose it must.

But my heart will be overflowing. Love, pride, gratitude and joy will fill it to the brim.

Above everything else, there is nothing better.

Freezing in Arizona

Now I know I will not get any sympathy from my fellow Minnesotans; that is, unless you planned a winter get-away week in sunny Phoenix, paying a premium for your airline tickets.

But here I go anyway: It is freezing in Arizona.

No amount of whining can get an ounce of sympathy from my brother-in-law. But we are setting records here in Arizona, a state totally unprepared for freezing water pipes and outdoor pools, and homes lacking cold-weather insulation. People just don't have down jackets and ear muffs at the ready in their closets.

This is an area where over 2,000 jailed inmates are housed in a tent sans heat and air conditioning. It is literally, a tent. It's called Tent City, set up back in 1993 after Maricopa County's infamous Sheriff Joe Arpaio refused to release any incarcerated inmates due to jail overcrowding. Tent City has stun fences around the perimeter, facial recognition computer software for inmate identification. K-9 units and patrol deputies.

Tent City


Sheriff Arpaio thinks if our troops in Afghanistan have rough and meager accommodations, well, then so should our law-breakers, by gosh. It was reported on last night's news broadcast that Sheriff Arpaio, a seemingly heartless guy, softened and ordered hot chicken soup for the fellows for dinner. He tried to arrange for hot cocoa as well but wasn't able to. Not sure I get that, but there you are.

So here on our block, plants and varieties of cacti are covered in blankets and sheets.

Our neighbor's cactus plants covered for protection.

On a morning drive, my husband and I saw huge bougainvillea trees covered as well. Their beautiful red blooms grace even our freeway landscape. The covered ones were, of course, at a private home, not the freeway.

This freeze has great cause for concern for local citrus groves and peach growers who are in danger of losing their entire harvest. They are busy around the clock trying to save the fruits (pun intended) of their labor by watering the ground around the trees first, some even resorting to spraying from a helicopter.

 

Well, the good news is, as my friend Evie in Minnesota pointed out, this abrupt climate change will last only several more days - not months, as Minnesota is accustomed to enduring.

 

But that is the whole point: Arizona is definitely NOT accustomed!

 

Holidazzle, Arizona style

Every year since 1992, over 300,000 spectators converge on downtown Minneapolis' Nicollet Mall to celebrate the Holidazzle Parade. It's an annual event that's not to be missed. Sponsored by local businesses, participants are all locals. It brings community together year after year, delighting young and old alike.

 

 

 

Adults, kiddies and tiny tots come bundled in jackets with furry hoods, warm knitted mittens and scarves, carrying blankets to sit on or wrap around themselves as they are delighted by one float after another.

Beautiful light displays slowly advance down the mall, marchers warming heart and soul with smiles, waves and laughter. It is a winter tradition bringing folks from miles around to enjoy the hour-long festive event.

 

Well, here in the Arizona desert, we have our own Holidazzle. Okay, a bit smaller in scale, but the lights, decorations, waves and laughter are all there, not to mention the holiday spirit.

 

That is white rock on the ground, not snow!

Yes, folks, it's a golf cart parade!

Sixteen golf carts joined in this year, weaving in and around every street in the resort park. Some had lighted Christmas trees on top, and all were decorated with lights, wreaths, jingle bells and garlands.

Christmas music played from a few of the carts and if you were lucky, one would pass by throwing Christmas candies. Why, even Santa himself was there, riding in a cart alongside Mrs. Claus.

No Parkas found here; no folks bundled in blankets, no frosty breaths. No snow, no rubbing hands together, no stomping feet. Arizona's answer to winter.

Although I miss the Holidazzle parades at home in Minnesota, this one warmed my heart all the same.

Hope you are enjoying the holiday season and taking time to participate in a few festive events.

 

Too much to endure

Boy, it's really an affront to humankind.

As we grow older, we are expected to endure the loss of parents, aunts and uncles, and even friends. We grieve their passing and realize there is nothing we can do to stop these inevitable losses that are as much a part of life as death.

We grieve things and places, too: St. Paul's own Dayton's Department Store, A&W root beer stands, IBM Selectric typewriters, the local paper boy.

We somehow seem to go on. We buck up. Keep a stiff upper lip.

But now we are told we will lose the 80-year old Hostess Bakeries.

What???

No more Twinkies? Ding Dongs? Squiggle-topped chocolate cupcakes?

And what about Wonder bread? With its eight added nutrients, my childhood was made up of Wonder bread sandwiches: P-B-J, bologna-peanut butter-Miracle Whip; crushed potato chips; sliced radishes. You name it, if it fit between two slices, it was a Wonder bread sandwich.

The loss is almost too much to endure.

Have you ever  had the pure joy of shopping in a Hostess thrift shop? Nothing beats the satisfaction of getting your favorite snacks at a bargain price.

I bet there are a million stories of the memories people have of Hostess's assorted products. One of my favorites is from my second-cousin, Barbara. Her husband, Mort, brought dinner guests from work home for dinner; unexpectedly, of course.  A gourmet cook, she kept her cool and quickly put dinner together.

When it came time for dessert, she simply grabbed some Hostess Twinkies, opened a can of cherry pie filling, spooned it over the Twinkies, and topped it off with a squirt of Reddi-Whip. As I recall, she received great praise for her invention.

I unashamedly recall dashing into a gas station with an intense craving for a Hostess cupcake, salivating as I ripped open the cellophane and stuffed one in my mouth.  Then the second one. 

And that was just last year.

Nope, I really don't know how we'll do it. I certainly feel sorry for the generations to come, having to go through life without the simple pleasure of a Ding Dong.  Thank you, Hostess Bakeries.

Sigh..................

Me day

I haven't had a Me Day for a long time. So yesterday I declared one for myself.

A Me Day is a day I set aside to have a little adventure and try something new, by myself and just for me. The glow I have at the end of a Me Day day is worth it and lasts quite some time. Well, until the itch comes again.

Starting with the Ojiketa Art Blitz (the second annual) in nearby Chisago City at 10:30 (yes, I even skipped church), I was one of the first hundred attendees and therefore received two wine glasses and a great burlap bag, which was the real reason for being there at 10:30 and skipping church. I have two glasses from last year's festival so it's, by default, the start of a collection.

My good friend, Barb, was there displaying and selling her exquisite gemstone art.

It was a cool, brisk morning for walking around the park, a former Camp Fire Girls summer camp, but a great place to greet familiar faces along the paths in the crunchy leaves to the various cabins where art was displayed. The hot cider took the chill off the body while the friendly atmosphere warmed the spirit.

The sun came out as I drove into the cities to the Mall of America. It's my annual visit to the MOA to the American Girl store for Christmas gifts for my two little girls, ages 5 and 6. As toddlers, I bought them Bitty Baby; so each year I buy them accessories. Since they both started kindergarden this fall, I bought them a Bitty Baby backpack and rolling suitcase, a fleece coat, mittens and pink beret for the coming season. Checked that off my list.

Strolled along the Mall with no other purpose, enjoying the store displays and stopping to watch the cake decorating contest. Picked up a few tips for frosting a cake and decided I must have a pedestal turntable and a cloth pastry bag for best results.

Mid-afternoon hunger set in, so off to Nordstrom to the top floor for lunch. My mother and I used to have lunch there when we were at the Mall together and it has fond memories. The bleu cheese, pear and candied walnut salad was wonderful, but I was conscious of the empty chair across from mine and held an imaginary conversation with Mom.

On the way out of the Mall, I was tempted by the cosmetics counter and all the beautiful fragrances. Years ago, I wore a fragrance by Estee Lauder called Aliage.  I hadn't thought of it in over twenty years, but asked if it was still available. The first salesperson said, no, sorry, it had been discontinued. Another salesperson said, oh, no it hadn't and she had some in a drawer behind the counter. Apparently, it's not in high demand.

As I sampled it on my wrist, a flood of memories came back of my first real job in my professional career, wearing Jones of New York suits and expensive shoes. Truth be told, I probably couldn't afford either, but Aliage brought it all back, reminding me that I was once 40 and somebody.

That did it. I had to have it. Wasn't this a Me Day, after all?

I left the MOA, smelling very good, I might add.  Now headed to the Danish American Center for my first visit to their Reading Circle. I had dutifully read Per Petterson's book, I Curse the River of Time, and was prepared for a good discussion.

The group didn't disappoint. Far exceeding my expectations, there were fifteen women and two men gathered for what turned out to be a most enlightening review of a good book and background of the author with his unique writing style. I was glad I came.

Again I thought of my mother, who I try to model by jumping in and trying something new, for better or worse, whether it be a successful venture or a total flop. This one was the former and I intend to return. A cup of good Danish coffee and a slice of American apple pie topped off the discussion, allowing me the opportunity of visiting with some of the people there.

As usual, a glow went home with me, the sun starting to set but still illuminating the reds, golds and oranges of this beautiful Minnesota autumn.

You've never had a Me Day?  What are you waiting for?

Belgian lace

This lovely piece of lace from Belgium was given to me as a wedding gift in 1965.

Its gracious giver was a long-time friend of my mothers, and was sent to me from New York City.

My mother and her friend, Leonia, had become the best of friends while both were working at National City Bank on Wall Street in New York City. From their training days to their various promotions, they, along with another co-worker, Margie, became a close threesome.

Many stories were recalled  by my mother of those happy days as a young woman in her first professional job. When my mother married and moved to Minnesota for a business opportunity for Dad, she and Lee, as Mom called her, remained in touch.

Never losing contact, they called each other often, right up until Mom's passing. They enjoyed sharing various clippings, bulletins, announcements, or snippets of news from their corners of the world. Mom especially loved getting articles or human interest stories from the New York Times that Lee would send from time to time.

And on any special occasion, be it Mother's Day, Easter, Mom's birthday and so on, I knew Mom would be telling me she had talked to Lee. They had a very special bond and both had sealed this wonderful friendship long ago.

I have tried to stay in contact with Lee since Mom's passing since I realize how difficult it must be to lose a dear friend. Lee also helps me to keep a piece of my mother's past.

I called her recently to ask about this piece of lace. I never knew its history.

Lee was happy to talk about it and was a bit surprised, but pleased, that I had kept it all these years. She told me my gift of long ago was among the pieces brought by Lee's mother and brothers when they came to America from Belgium in 1958.

Belgium is renowned as the leading maker of fine lace, still practiced to this day exclusively by hand. You won't find any lace factories in Belgium.

Belgian lace making, like many other needle arts, shares the story of European winters that were cold and dark. Days were long; folks were indoors. Working with bobbins and a pillow, hooks and needles, fabric and threads, they passed the time creating fine things. These were things that could adorn their homes but could never be bought.

Her brothers, Lee noted, also did lace making. I shouldn't have been surprised by this. The dexterity required to work with wooden bobbins might better fit a man's hand than perhaps stitching using a fine needle. And so my piece could have been made by any one of her family members.

Lee still has a collection of pieces with such cherished memories attached to each one.

Many fiber art forms have made a comeback. People are turning to simple things, perhaps with the changing economy. Yarns, fabrics and threads do not need to be expensive and beautiful creations result in people just sitting still and allowing their creative instincts to blossom.

Classes in knitting, stitching, weaving, bobbin lace making and other techniques are thriving, many offered through a community education program for a low cost. Knitting stores are happy to have you come and sit while you knit, and learn some new stitches.

The satisfaction gained from a finished piece is worth the time the effort. And who knows what piece you create today might be a cherished heirloom in years to come?