Sol y Sonbrisas

It is dream time. This week since Winter's Solstice has been packed with images I can't ignore. The sub-conscious does this. Just try to snub dreams and they flip you one with flying cats or syringes. And this time of long nights? It's the dream's handmaiden. I sit with my latest: I am reading an article that sizzles with beauty and realize it is MY article and the author is another woman. Someone has stolen my words. So I fight like mad; contact the magazine and they send me the appropriate forms to make it right. I have only to fill them out. Do what I must, but take back my writing.

I journeyed at dawn on the first day of winter to the high-lonesome desert valley of Whitewater Draw.  I have been there many times but this dawn, intended to greet the new sun, was as spectacular as it gets. The eastern sky turned neon tangerine as thousands of wading, waking sand hill cranes roused and exploded into Rorschach lines of wing. Their prehistoric calls were deafening. The metaphor of birth gets no more powerful than this. Who needs a static nativity scene?

On Christmas Day, Emilie, her Kansas City friend Cece, Ron (as in Alaska Ron), Teak and I formed a caravan in Nogales, USA and headed for Kino Bay in Mexico. Three vehicles and La Perla, we breezed through the border and all check points. It was my usual easy entry into Mexico, although it's no longer typically as simple. There are more border checks; and I keep to the new rules for safety...stick to the toll roads and travel from 9:00 a.m. until 4:00 p.m. when the most traffic is on the road.

Kino Beach at Sunrise

Destination: Islandia RV Park. Emilie's trailer is parked permanently here; Cece rented a casita (as I have always done until now) while Ron and I looked for a place to park La Perla, my truck and his van. And, a place large enough to put up the 10 X 10 tent he gifted me...a separate space for my study or whatever purpose might appear. We are just a few feet from the ocean; the sound of gentle waves is a constant; and the beach scene of Mexican fishermen and children fills my heart. It's Kino Viejo (Old Kino), the original Mexican town; as opposed to Kino Nuevo (New Kino), the blinding white line of gringo condos that lines the beach a few miles to the north. 

Whale Bone Skull on Isla Alcatraz

I seek a rhythm. I walk the beach every morning for several miles and stop somewhere along the way to do my stretches. I listen to one or two language tapes a day. And, I gear up to write daily. But that hasn't happened yet. Yesterday morning Ron stepped onto the ancient stone boat ramp, cast his fishing line and came up with two beautiful flounder within twenty minutes. And so we had fish and eggs for breakfast (which followed a dinner the night before with Em and Cece of shrimp, calvina fish and chocolate). Then we boarded a panga and Mexican fisherman Saul took us to Alcatraz  Island, across the bay to a shipwreck and to a beach with sand dunes several stories high. I collected exquisite shiny reddish brown snail shells, two ribs from a sea turtle shell and a bleached breast bone from a pelican. I await inspiration. I have long wanted to make a shell and bone wind chime.

Dawn's first light lays gently upon the water. I see the silhouette of neighbor Russell who sits in wait. He and Larry are a couple I've come to to love. On the other side is Dave from Durango/Tucson, sweet man, albeit more subdued. He and I share memories of beaches in Baja and other points south, including the Bay of Concepcion.

Teak Swims for the Fishermen

I am humbled by the richness of it all. Excited to be here on the cusp of many writing days. Sun and beach and a dog who draws a crowd. Teak takes her ball to one and all who walk down the beach. She drops it in front of them and beams her brown expectant eyes into theirs. Her entire body says, "Throw it! PLEASE." Kids thrill. Yesterday the ball dropped in front of a short, sweet Mexican man with a cane. He looked at me as if to ask, "Okay?" "Si, si," I smiled. The man's grin filled his face. Sonbrisa grande!

Teak brings joy to one and all. And that is the point of our time on this earth, is it not? I am smack dab where I need to be.

Migration Maximus

So here I am in Naco, a teeny town on the border south of Bisbee. It's the home of one of my dearest friends, Emilie. We're making fun forays across the border and enjoying fires outside at night. (Carrying around my fire pit is one of the smartest things I have ever done...everyone thirsts for a fire!) I've been preparing for the Winter Solstice, which is my celebration of the season...a distant second to Christmas. This year solstice is joined by a full moon. And as if that weren't intense enough, there is a full moon eclipse tonight shortly after midnight. Eclipses signal huge change. The last one to occur at 29 degrees Gemini was 18.5 years ago. If you want to get some idea of what tonight's has in store go back to that point in time. I was on my land at Dancing Raven, finishing my cabin in the midst of my five year retreat.Clearing away trash.

I digress. My solstice ritual began last night with a trip to Whitewater Draw to view thousands of wintering sand hill cranes. Em and I took cameras and binoculars and immersed ourselves in the primal calls of the prehistoric birds. There were shovelers and pintails and songbirds and owls as this place served up one orgasmic, sunset-tangerine scene after another. I came home so full I bypassed another fire in favor of a shower and my head upon the pillow. Before I slumbered, however, I read a piece on the upcoming eclipse. Note, I am not an astrologer. I probably know enough to be dangerous. But I do enjoy reading the wisdom of those in the know. Thus the information on the 29 degrees; and the clarification that change may come suddenly or gradually over the next few days or weeks.

I went to sleep and woke up with one of the most mind-blowing, spirit-rousing dreams of my life. Short version: I injected myself with a clear liquid from a vial and said goodbye to this world. I was serene, confident and fully ready to leave this reality and cross over into another. I awoke with a jolt, intrigued and edgy. Context: I've been asking for a sign...clarification of my next work as I enter my 60's, open to new opportunities and portals. Reality: be careful what you ask for.

The eclipse is tonight. I'm set to leave for Mexico on Saturday to winter on the beach. My friend Carole just sent me an article on the weather intensities of 2010. http://www.nytimes.com/aponline/2010/12/19/science/AP-YE-SCI-Disastrous-Year.html?_r=1&hp
My friend Ron, as in Alaska Ron who introduced me wild SE Alaska this past summer, is due to arrive in a couple of days to join the caravan of friends to Kino Bay. And every chance she gets my dog Teak jumps up on the bed to sleep and she KNOWS she's not supposed to be there. Birds tweet. Coyotes yip. Another friend has cancer. And I repeat, the eclipse is tonight.

I think I'll find the darkest solstice long shadow and hide there for awhile. But the dreams, they always find us, don't they?

Migration, Con't.

It was a quick dip into Black Meadow Landing to pick up my kayak. I'd canceled my winter reservation a few months prior when points further south beckoned. I made the rounds from camper to camper to visit friends; shared laughs, dog swims and a yummy steak dinner with Johanna. (Yep, as in Boise-Johanna, where I spent my 60th b-day upon my return from Alaska)...world adventurer Johanna, who kisses everyone on the lips. Deal with it! 


I eventually made my way up the hill to the cliffside stone circle I'd constructed 3 years hence; where I had stood daily at dawn and said hello to the day. This is where I placed some of dad's ashes. The Iowa farmer had an Arizona kick-ass view overlooking Lake Havasu.  I sat on a small boulder and we talked the afternoon away. Mostly, he talked, I listened.

It was only a couple hour's drive south to Palm Canyon, north of Yuma. I'd wanted to go in there for years to explore and photograph. Now I had another intention: to write about it. This was the seven-mile stutter bump stretch that sent my recipe cards flying like snow flakes across the inside of La Perla. It also wiggled one cupboard door right off the hinges. Worth every dusty washboard to be back in the Sonoran Desert, in the company of stately, mind-blowing saguaros. I parked at the mouth of the canyon overlooking the valley below, positioned for the sunset to come. The palms were dramatic, tucked in a narrow canyon crevasse amidst steep cliffs. I went off trail to explore and quickly re-learned the ferocious flesh-grab and tear of cats claw acacia. Long cuts and streaks of blood criss-crossed my legs, nothing that a little peroxide didn't handle. I sat in my chair back at camp, ate my favorite quick dinner of popcorn and cheese and waited. Absolutely nothing could have prepared me for the spectacular colors to come as the sun bade farewell to the day.

The following two nights I parked on my old friend Frank's land that borders the Sonoran National Monument west of Tucson. Frank and I had started the Salida Audubon Society back in the early 80's. We'd climbed Kit Carson and Challenger Peaks (2 of Colorado's 14,000-foot peaks) in the '90's. Nothing compared, however, to one memorable Thanksgiving backpack to the bottom of the Grand Canyon with friends. When---exhausted, blistered and totally spent, Frank and the guys pulled a cooked turkey and all the trimmings out of their packs. Even cranberries!

Panther Peak

I had the first night to myself, immersed in the lush forest of saguaros in the magnificent shadow of Panther Peak. Coyotes yipped and howled through the darkness; javelina brushed by La Perla and up the arroyo. The next morn I was awash in birdsong~~thrashers, cactus wrens, doves, gila woodpeckers, mockingbirds. Too much to resist, I pulled my fire pit from the back of truck and commenced to light a morning fire. It was flame, espresso and a sit with the desert spirits.

Frank made it out later that day and we commenced to catch up on a friendship too long ignored. He commented that care his land and the straw bale house he's building were the most important things he'd ever done. A big statement, given the children's books and photographs he'd contributed to the world. It was December 12th, Our Lady of Guadalupe's birthday. I had this sense that all of this beauty and special feeling was a direct blessing from her. Indeed, if I couldn't be in Mexico on this celebratory day, being here was as perfect as it got.

Maverick Migration

"I want to sleep with you in the desert tonite, with a million stars all around..."

I'm having a series of Eagle's moments now that I've hit the road headed south. That's good. Because if  I learned anything from five weeks back in Mancos it's that living in a travel trailer with the night-temp hovering around zero sooo sucks. No running water, ditto. Only a pot to piss in, so to speak. Still and all, departing Mancos was wrenching. The time with Hope was a gift. The chance to drop in on one another with "just walking by with the dog" smile. To watch 'Dexter' and drink wine. Travel to one Thanksgiving with dearest friends and then whip up our own TG recipes and a ritual meal that brimmed with family flavors. Speaking of recipes...my tin file of recipe cards took wing as I scurried down a stutter-bump gravel road a few days ago...which sent me on an unplanned meditation into sorting years worth of taste-bud, hand scribbled cards. I culled the cards with dishes I could easily get off the internet, and kept the gems in Aunt Clara's or Inga's swirling handwriting. Mom's sheath cake and holiday brisket. Aunt Dollie's oatmeal rocks. Good to revisit those index cards and remember the 3-layer lemon bars I'd forgotten.


It was good, very good, to work again. To give that talk at the Mancos library and get down and detailed with women in a workshop. "Life in the Spiritual Crosshairs," indeed. It's happening. It's intense. Beware of  dead zones and drama. Mine hovered around Tom-the-Ex, who seemed convinced that I had returned to Mancos to burglar and pillage, right down to the 2-inch dowel in the sliding glass door that happened to be on the second floor of a deck with no stairs. Did he really think I'd gone to Spiderman school? My girlfriend's Ex, on the other hand, died his gray chest hair before meeting his young girlfriend's parents on Turkey day. See what I mean? Drama and dead zones. (More to come on that dowel.)

The remainder of Mancos time was house sits at stunning ranches that included a parrot who laughed like me by the time my five days were up. He also lovingly asked "Is everything alright?" when I walked in the door. Who needs a man? Or a therapist? Whoops, strike that. I loved working with folks one-on-one again. And o my, I cherished laughing until I cried, hiking, hot-tubbing, drumming and sharing meals with sisters. Champagne and cigar nights. Sweet and raucous.

A few days before I left Hope and I grabbed the saw and sojourned into the La Plata's to cut her a Solstice tree. Snow had melted in Mancos but was knee-deep-beautiful at 10,000 feet amidst the spare, silver aspen trunks. A lovely, prickly blue spruce now tickles her ceiling...the gift of ever-green and new life in the dead of winter.

Goodbye to all that.
Hello warm-lands.

I was surprised at what an easy half-day drive Natural Bridges National Monument was to Mancos. We were the only visitors on the one-way loop on a shirt sleeve-warmth day. I passed on the campground in the park in favor of a cottonwood-studded wash I'd spied on the drive in. Parked and intent on capturing the final minutes of sun, I jumped on the bike and headed up the dirt 2-track as Teak ran along side. No birds or wildlife, rock was the awe of the day as sandstone turned blood red with sunset. As usual in the inner-mtn west...it got cold once the sun went down. Read: we didn't dally the next morning. I fired up the pick-up and continued south through Monument Valley.

 
It was into Flagstaff for the final, cold night camp. Unbeknownst to me, my destination ended up a sublime Ponderosa forest, where I followed up on an invitation of a sorta-stranger. Thanks to the magic of Facebook, I now count my magazine editor among good friends. DRUM ROLLLLL....once beyond Flag I de-winterized the trailer. YAZZA! Hot and cold running water. Warm sun against the flesh. Sleeveless tops. And more than a little wonder to where this is all leads. Besides south and 'peaceful easy feelings.'  Time to start playing those Spanish language Cd's.

(You can see more pics on my Facebook page)