This and That
January 18, 2012
In retrospect and anticipation—a few words—okay, maybe more than a few…
I’m usually the one early to the party, at the doctor’s office before my appointment, and already in my seat and waiting for the meeting to begin. But when it comes to 2012 resolutions and thoughts, I’m feeling like the last one to the party.
So, albeit rather late, what started me thinking, and subsequently prompted me to write this blog—which I consider both a homage to 2011 and salutation to 2012—was a short conversation I recently had with a Las Vegas resident. It went something like:
“Where do you live?”
“In California in the Mojave between Baker and Barstow.”
A look of disbelief followed.
I then offered my usual wisecrack, “If you blink, you’ll miss our exit.”
Okay, I do live out in the middle of nowhere. And indeed, it’s not the Bay Area, nor the lush forests of Washington, nor the scenic shores of Lake Michigan—a few of the other places I’ve lived in and loved. And from that conversation to this blog—I am at last, reassessing where I live, why I remain, and most importantly, my writing. The stuff of New Years contemplations…
Before starting writing this blog, one of my dogs, Tempe (not named after Tempe, AZ, but because we thought he was temporary seven years ago), insisted on a walk. Where I live the sand is a dry tan with hues of old-dishwater-gray, the natural vegetation is comprised of Palos Verde, mesquite, and sage brush—ranging in color from pale unsaturated and faded lime, to deep dirty green; all framed against backdrops of several rolling and sometimes craggy ranges of nondescript hills.
Doesn’t initially sound appealing. BUT, this morning, like so many mornings, as Tempe and I headed down the road in morning light, the hills were kissed with a diffused hint of orange, the uninhabited and spacious terrain reflected back a golden glow that accentuated multitudinous shades of green from the rugged and tenacious vegetation claiming their place in the Mojave. This morning, two Ravens watched and commented from utility poles–with a line of sparrows on the wire as audience. Several rabbits took our presence as a threat, and scurried to hidey-holes of security. And in the alfalfa field down down the road, a huge circular-irrigation bar had appeared overnight—as if by magic–and a great plot idea, also seemingly by magic, took root in a corner of my imagination.
For a few glorious moments, Tempe and I were walking in a world of wonder.
Thank you to everyone who has read my “blog thing” since I started it in 2009. May we all have a wondrous 2012!
(Coming in 2012 “Lies of Convenience” and “Pronouncements of Ravens.”)