Desert Dreams

Smell of the desert after a rainstorm ... sage, pinon, wet rock.

Azure sky ... red earth ... brilliant green of the palo verde.

Vistas so high and wide you can see forever.

Canyons so deep only the noonday sun reaches the bottom.

Gurgle and splash of a hidden desert wellspring.

Sharp jagged purple mountains against a pink sky at sunrise.

Black silhouette of a palm tree against a tangerine sky at sunset.

Incense of a mesquite campfire.

Midnight blue sky sprinkled with millions of tiny winking lights.

Moon so bright it throws shadows.

Violent show of lightning.

Bite of desert frost.

Sweetness of palm dates born of a blazing sun.

A land of harsh and spare beauty.
Some days I miss it so much ... it hurts.

Mizpah

A few of you have noticed that I haven't been blogging lately. I've left a few comments on various blogs, but I haven't been posting at my own. So I thought I'd break my blog silence and update you.

It was a long summer between work and four separate out of state trips. I'd like to say that we had a lot of vacation fun, but our trips out of state didn't have much to do with fun. Let's just say they were purposeful and unforgettable. The main reason you haven't seen me "blogging about" is my inability to find words to say much of anything. I've had a lot of emotional processing and the emotions and words have gotten so tangled up that ... well ... it's better to just wait until things have sorted themselves out a bit.

In June we went to Arizona to see my Grandmother for her 90th birthday. (I've written about my Grandma here in the past ... after reading through her diaries from the 30s and 40s.) It was a bittersweet visit since she was in the end stages of Alzheimer's, but it was so good to just hold her hand and give her hugs and kisses. In July we had just arrived in Colorado when I received a phone call that my Grandmother had passed away. I could do nothing by dropping everything and running back to Arizona, so we remained where we were for the week and tried to stay focused on our reasons for being in Colorado. After a quick trip home to wash clothes and re-pack, we headed back to Arizona for my Grandmother's funeral. It was a beautiful service that paid tribute to a beautiful woman who was loved and lived a long life.

One of my many memories of Grandma is a word that she would write at the bottom of every letter and at the top of every card ... Mizpah. The writing of this word was shorthand for a verse from the Bible: "The LORD watch between me and thee, when we are absent one from another" Genesis 31:49. I believe the original biblical meaning was meant more as a warning to "behave," but many have viewed this verse as a blessing. My Grandmother saw this verse as a blessing and used it as such in all of her notes to family and friends. You see, she hated being separated from those she loved. Now that she is gone, and we are separated for an unknown period of time, I hold that blessing close to my heart.

Mizpah.

Flashback Friday: Disco Baby

Imagine. It's 1978. It's Saturday night and you're not yet old enough to think that tucking in with a glass of wine and a good book is the equivalent of a party. Saturday nights are for going where the action is and in 1978 the action is at the disco. Yes, mirror balls and "I Will Survive" by Gloria Gaynor; clubs that never ask to see ID if you're a young cute female; tequila sunrises until sunrise. Yes ... I remember 1978 well.

I still remember the purple dress with black polka dots in these photos. The skirt of the dress was just right for all the swirling around on the dance floor. And the purple glitter eye shadow that you can't see in the picture? Perfect for catching all of the flashing lights from the strobes and the mirror ball. I loved the black patent platforms. They were surprisingly easy to move around in ... though it wouldn't have mattered since I was 17 and it was all about fashion, not comfort.

These pictures were taken by my Dad before I went out one Saturday night. I'm not sure where he thought I was going or what I would be doing, but he never let on that he was worried. He was either blissfully oblivious to the ways of 70s youth or he was scared to death and determined not to let it show; maybe a little of both. I have to remind myself that he spied on people for a living, so he probably wasn't as clueless as I imagined. Oh the arrogance of youth!

Well, the disco days are in the past but I do occasionally go along with Mr. Distortion when he plays the clubs, and as I look around I can't help thinking, "Do their parents know where they are"?

I must be getting old.

Tribute of Tears

The tears rolled silently down her cheeks where they fell onto the front of her black sweater. They did not soak into the fabric as you would expect. Instead, they floated atop the silk fibers and glittered like diamonds in the candlelight ... a most unusual necklace. The tears, so like those hard-pressed and precious jewels, were a testimony of the love she still felt for the man who had cherished her from the day she was born. In a whisper that could be heard all the way to Heaven, she said, "I miss you Dad."

In Loving Memory
Jack R. Burdo, Jr.
June 21, 1936 - November 10, 2003

Remembering 9/11

This is a piece I posted in June on my other blog, Mimorian. I wrote this after seeing United 93 and thought it would be appropriate to post here as a 9/11 remembrance, albeit a day late.

Many of us remember exactly where we were and precisely what we were doing when the reports started hitting the news, though I have talked to a few that do not. I remember those moments and I'm struck by the irony of the situation in which I found myself that day. You see, my father was in the critical care unit after having quadruple bypass surgery. I arrived at the hospital on 9/11 around 6am Arizona time, 9am New York time. As I walked into the CCU I noted that the only sounds were the click of respirators, IV machines ... and the sound of many televisions all tuned to the same news channel. Every television in the unit was on, even those in rooms with unconcious patients and no visitors. Doctors and nurses were going about their duties caring for the critically ill while watching the unfolding horror. We were all stunned by the apparent accident at Tower #1. A second plane tunneled into the remaining Tower as a nurse tended to Dad's multiple lifesaving tubes. This was no accident.

When the second plane hit, I remember a word appearing, almost visually, in capital letters across my brain ... INTENTIONAL. That one word stayed right with me for a moment that seemed timeless. I don't know how long I stood there staring and not really seeing or hearing anything more than INTENTIONAL. I pulled back to reality as an alarm went off in another CCU room signaling a life-threatening crisis. Doctors and nurses ran. There was frantic activity to save the life of the one in distress. I stepped out of my Dad's room and took a good look at the men and women working the CCU. I looked back at the television screen showing the death and destruction wrought by a few upon many, but my eyes and ears and entire being were drawn to the many near me that were working hard to save the lives of a few. I can't get that juxtaposed image out of my mind ... nor do I want to. That image keeps me from a bitterness and pessimism that could so easily take over. No matter how dark the world may be sometimes, this image I carry with me is a reminder of a light and goodness that just can't be extinguished.

The Grandma Diaries

10/29/2005
My Grandmother is losing her mind. Quite literally. I'm angry. Angry at a disease that is stealing away, bit-by-bit, someone I love dearly. I'm sad. Sad that I can no longer sit with my Grandmother and look at pictures, ask questions, hear stories, get wise advice.

Her home is filled with a lifetime of things. Things that have special meaning. Grandma no longer lives among her tangible memories. They sit alone in her house. It is no longer a home ... it is now simply a house. The person who made it a home and brought meaning to the things in it can no longer do so.

11/09/2005
The decision is made to sort through the things and sell the house. Grandma can not enjoy the things and the house needs to be "cashed in" to help with care and medical expenses.

11/11/2005
The sorting is done. I found the process of going through Grandma's "life" disconcerting, to say the least. I felt like I was prying. I felt like I was saying goodbye to Grandma before she was gone. Here but not here.

I took some of my Grandmother's costume jewelry from the 40s and 50s. I will find occasions to wear this jewelry. I want it to "live" again. I also took a few items that my Father brought back from Japan in the 50s. Most intriguing are my Grandma's diaries from the 30s and 40s. Maybe these diaries will help me see Grandma more completely.

11/21/2005
Grandma's diaries sit on my bookshelf. I'm curious to read them yet hesitant to pry.

12/24/2005
I will read Grandma's diaries during the Christmas and New Year Holiday. They will be a last gift to me from my Grandmother.

12/26/2005 - 1/2/2006
I'm swept back to 1937, just two years after Grandma and Grandpa marry and one year after the birth of my Father. Grandma is a young woman just beginning her life as a wife and mother. Through the diaries I meet a charming and winsome young woman who is often baffled by the behavior of men (namely Grandpa), works hard to run a household during the Depression and WWII, spends a lot of time with her extended family, and ... goes to the movies OFTEN. I'm surprised to find Grandma going to the movie theater sometimes two and three times per week. I have never in my lifetime known her to go to the theater to see a movie nor have I heard her talk about movies. I keep a list of the movies she sees between 1937 and 1947; there are hundreds. Not only does she note the movies she watches, but she often comments on what she thinks about them. When I'm not reading Grandma's diaries, I rent and watch the movies Grandma saw when they were new. I have found out where my Grandmother gets many of her affectations and why she has always dressed in a rather glamorous Hollywood fashion.

Grandma's diaries have also become a personal connection to history. Grandma notes the day Hitler invades Poland -- she makes no other notations for that day. She writes about the family and friends that join the military ... the family and friends that never come home from the war. I detect an unspoken fear and intense loyalty as I read. Grandma tends to her Victory Garden and deals with rations. I am drawn close to an era I never saw. I cry as the radio announces the bombings of Nagasaki and Hiroshima. I want to know what will become of the grief stricken wife and infant son of a friend named Walt who dies and is buried in France, Thanksgiving 1944.

07/14/2006
There is so much more to this woman than what I've known during my lifetime. This is a woman at the end of her life who was once a girl, once a young woman, once my age. A woman with deep feelings and intense experiences. A woman with a different history but yet very much like myself. When I see her next I will look into her blue eyes and see so much more than I've ever seen before.