I've moved four times since I was 18. Big Deal.
I've had friends who have relocated three times as much in half the time, so I don't consider myself overly-nomadic.
Nevertheless, I still get the same question when I show up in a new place: "Why are you here?"
I never have a good answer. Twice the answer has been "school." That works. Once it was "for the money." Anyone who has ever lived in Atlanta should have the same answer, even if they're in denial.
This last move was "just because I wanted to." Admittedly, I do feel like a smart-ass if I give that response. So I usually say something like, "a lot of my family is here." Or, "a lot of my friends are here." Though these statements are true, they just don't seem to legitimize my presence. I was thinking about making my new answer 100% weather-related. That one seems to sit well with people; folks can relate.
This entry is about how a little thing like weather prevented me from loving and living in Arizona back in July of 2000 when we found ourselves contemplating yet another move. I have a feeling that you readers will deduce that I have an aggravating need to question the obvious.
I had recently completed my graduate program and knew that remaining in Santa Fe and practicing acupuncture there was unacceptable. I felt that way based on the advice of former graduates from the program who had stayed and were working multiple jobs in order to make ends meet. The area was crawling with these acupuncturists and herbalists, and I needed to strike out on my own into a new territory.
Bisq and I had grown very comfortable in the desert Southwest. We liked the weather: dry, bright, cool in the mornings and evenings, heart-breaking sunsets, double-rainbows, good weed. It never got too hot up there at 7,000 feet in Santa Fe. Maybe Arizona would be a place we'd like... I had an old friend who loved living in Tuscon when she went to U. of Arizona. Another friend raved about Flagstaff. Plus, there were supposedly great business opportunities there in the alternative medicine field. Lots of rich old white people like John McCain!
Arizona was, in our minds, the next best thing to New Mexico, so we set out to spend a week there in July. "Might as well see it at it's worst" was our philosophy, so that we don't fall in love with it's abnormal season. Just to reiterate, I know that it gets hotter there than anywhere in the country, but I thought that 22 years in the Deep South would've prepared me. But, Arizona is a different type of place.
The drive was endless. We were in Bisq's 4Runner, "Heather," crossing the desert at a conservative pace. We stopped at the Cracker Barrel in order to check out a few books-on-tape. We scored with Jackie Collins' American Star. Our first night en route to AZ was spent in Silver City, NM, which is fairly funky. It's a desert college town that is surprisingly full of trees and shady areas. We were in good humor and still hadn't gotten overheated.
The next day, we headed towards Tucson. The landscape was something out of a Road-Runner cartoon - the combination of a blistering hot bright day, no trees and saguaro cactus along the I-10. The AC in Heather roared to keep up with the demand. It was quickly turning into a Peak Oil nightmare, as we realized that we had arrived in FireWorld.
Tuscon, when you get off of the busy traffic-filled boulevards, is a cute college town. It's just a shame that one couldn't casually step outside of one's air-conditioned car to experience it. Everything is done in haste when it is 120 degrees. We checked into a neat hotel, the Smuggler's Inn, which had a pira
te/hacienda theme going on. It was kept nice and dark and, most importantly, cool. It really felt like a safe-haven from the colorless fire that loomed on the other side of the windows. We managed to make it outdoors once the sun went down and the cement cooled to about 100 degrees. We purchased sandwiches at a world class kosher deli called Feig's and sped back to the hotel. We ate the sandwiches (in haste) in our underwear, in the dark, next to the AC unit in our hotel room. With the absence of the sunlight, our heads cleared, the panic retreated and we concluded that the week in which we had intended on spending between Arizona's 2 major cities of Tuscon and Phoenix was going to be greatly abbreviated. Afterwards, we had plans to check out Prescott and Sedona in the north.We didn't see the point in singeing the soles of our shoes, guzzling gas, and putting ourselves in danger of sizzling to death. How in the hell was I going to have an acupuncture practice in this town when I was afraid to get out of my car? We knew that Phoenix was supposedly hotter than Tuscon and way less charming, so we decided that we'd quickly drive there, not get out of the car and - mission accomplished! - we'd been to Phoenix. With Jackie Collins' help, we drove through FireWorld along the I-10. From the sky above, we must have looked like an ant crawling in the desert sand - like that cartoon strip B.C.
Phoenix, Tempe and Scottsdale turned out to be a three-headed, soul-less desert mega-city peppered with golf courses. We nearly tried to enjoy some of its culture by attending a tour of the Frank Lloyd Wright House (Taliesin West) in Scottsdale. However, when we arrived, we were told that the tour would begin in an hour, and we couldn't bear the idea of waiting in the car - or anywhere that wasn't a dark freezer - for 60 minutes. We'd have to check out Frank Lloyd Wright's places outside of FireWorld. What was Frank doing there, anyway?
And so, we steered Heather north and stopped in Prescott. The temperature became civilized, and we slowly regained our sanity. Prescott was a nice town to ride bikes and see other white people (many of whom are pleased to grow old in an R-V.) I think that Prescott might also be famous for it's candied apples.
Then, we headed to an old favorite spot of ours: Sedona. We had visited and camped there the previous year and had good memories of the crystal cool waters of the Oak Creek, which flows down from the Grand Canyon. As had become a tradition, we found ourselves at Sedona's Center For the New Age. The previous year, we had our astrological charts read there, as well as our auras photographed. In 1999, Bisq's aura was in big trouble:
Note the black hole at 1:00. Several sessions of art therapy and playing bass in Santa Fe's most famous reggae band, I-Life, must have remedied the situation. How else can this Irie aura featured from trip #2 to Sedona be explained?
We arrived back in New Mexico realizing how scary life could be in Arizona. We never again took air conditioning for granted, though we still don't have it and lust after it during the summer months. "How did y'all like Arizona?" friends inquired after we arrived home several days earlier than projected. "Oh, it was too hot." That response never failed me. People would nod once in agreement and move on to the next topic. They were kind enough never to chide me for doing such an obviously stupid thing.
So, revisiting the old question as to why I am here - my answer is: the weather is usually pleasant.
