FINALLY…

…Hell has frozen over.  Hell, of course, being located in Phoenix, AZ, and frozen, this time, is not metaphorical at all.  

When you live in the Sonoran Desert, you tend to take an “I’ll believe it when I see it” attitude toward the weather.  Even someone like me, a self-proclaimed weather nerd, doesn’t have a lot of faith in weather forecasting, unless the 6-o’clock news says “Sunny and Hot.”  This one, unfortunately, is nearly never wrong between the months of May and October.

For days now, I’ve been hearing of temperatures in the 40’s forecasted for today.  In February?  In Phoenix??  I’ll believe it when I see it…  See, I told you!  Alas, the forecasters were FINALLY right - we actually saw it today.  I woke up this morning at about 4:30, put on my robe and stepped onto my patio to smoke (for all ye of little faith, I have yet to smoke in my house some 19 months after I bought it and moved in.  So there ;P).  I was met with a wind that may as well have been throwing a thousand knives at me, howling through my neighbor’s pine tree.  Shiver, shiver…and I pull up the Weather Channel app on my phone.  32 degrees…feels like 22!!   High temperature for the day?  Forecasted at 47.  Whoa, serious stuff.

Fast-forward about two-and-a-half hours later, and I’m walking into my building at work.  The wind is blowing so hard, I can’t even open the door.  Eventually the wind caused such a problem opening the doors that security stood there to open them every time someone felt the whim to walk through them.  Fast-forward yet another hour-and-a-half, and I’m standing outside yet again.  I’m wearing a sweater, a jacket, and gloves, and yet I’m shivering uncontrollably.  No. Way.  

It went on like this all day.  The talk of the town today, in social media and on the news, was the plethora of frozen fountains dotting the city.  I’ve lived in Phoenix for 32 years and I have never seen an icicle here…until today:

 Photo courtesy of Marybeth Gardner

 Photo courtesy of Kara Lonati

 

At the end of it all, 44 degrees was recorded as the official high temperature, breaking a record that has stood since the early 1900’s.  The official temperature is recorded at the airport, only a few scant miles from where I work.  Where I live, though, it never topped 41.

Global warming?  You sure about that??

Some may say that this is nothing compared to what those in the Midwest survived today.  I would agree.  The difference is that those who live in the Midwest are used to it.  Those of us who live where it’s 115 in the shade in July, not so much.  Maybe remembering this day in the middle of July will knock that scorcher down a few degrees :)

Perspective

I must disclaim something right up front...I intend no offense to anyone, or to any class of handicap, in this blog entry.  So, please...don't send the PC-police after me, I am simply recounting an experience I had today and how I felt about it.  I hope that it is taken in the spirit in which it is offered, no more and no less.

I was driving to church tonight, for the typical Wednesday night Presbyterian activities with some atypical Presbyterian choir singers who are just about the most fun group of people you'll ever want to hang with.  Hard to believe, but true...but that's another blog entry :).  As I was stopped at a red light, I saw a woman walking on the sidewalk on the other side of the intersection.  She was blonde, wearing a nice pair of black shoes, black slacks, a black and white top with some sequin-action going on, a long silver necklace, carrying a bag that might have been something of an attache case.  And she was handicapped.  It appeared as though she had been afflicted with some sort of paralysis, the right side of her body not quite moving in sync with her left.  

My immediate thought was one of compassion for her.  Being an incredibly independent person, I can't even imagine living life with a handicap that would slow me down and my having no recourse to correct it.  Then my mind flitted to others I have seen throughout my life, also afflicted with a variety of physical handicaps, who don't carry themselves anywhere near as well as this woman did.  I can imagine it would be very easy to fall into a rut of feeling sorry for yourself, and I hate to say it, but this is what I tend to see more often than not...people who live everyday with similar physical burdens who seem to have just given up.  On themselves, and on life.

My next thought was how extraordinary this woman must be.  Living life with a physical burden such as hers, and yet she has the desire to carry herself as beautifully as she possibly can.  It was so evident to me that, despite her handicap, she was doing the absolute best she could with the situation God had given her, and that was awe inspiring.  As odd as it sounds, it was a pretty amazing thing to see, and I was humbled by it.  While I would like to think that I could, I don't know that I could handle myself anywhere near as well if I were to ever find myself in a similar situation.  

I know there are tons of inspiring stories of people with physical challenges doing remarkable things, many things even more remarkable than those of us who don't have such challenges.  Inspiration happens every day, all over the world; I'm just glad I was lucky enough to observe it first-hand.

Wonderfully Adventurous and Fun!

Well maybe.  Certainly not the same ol' same ol', that's for sure!

Took a few vacation days last week, and in an effort to satiate my enormous hunger for fall color, the maternal, offspring, and canine units and I packed into the Cruiser and headed for a drive up north.  We logged approximately 10 hours and a little over 500 miles driving through the great state of Arizona in search of the elusive RED TREE!  You see, the red trees are my favorite of all the fall colors, so vibrant and more beautiful than any other.  Lots of trees turn red in the fall: oaks, maples, sourwood, some ash trees.  I'm not an arborist, I'm sure there are others; regardless, there aren't a whole lot of them in Arizona.

 The lone maple tree between Phoenix and Greer

One of the things I miss more than any other about my young years living in the Midwest is the change of seasons, particularly the change from summer to fall.  There is something magical to me about watching the green lushness of summer, monotonous as it is, transform into a cacophony of color every October.  Those of you who come from other places know exactly what I'm talking about, and I can bet that each of you miss it, too.  To be frank, it makes my heart hurt.

One tree: lush green to blazing red

An 18th floor view: Cincinnati, Ohio

Even though we didn't find a lot of red leaves on our drive, we had a great time.  We girls always have a great time hanging out together, and I have an adventurous streak that loves to see places I've never seen before.  We saw rain, snow, sunshine, a little red, a little orange, and a lot of yellow.  Boring as yellow is, it sure was a striking thing to behold. 

It's almost too bad we left most of the red trees back in Ohio :) 

 

Conjured Memories

Have you ever walked into a room, taken a big whiff, and said to yourself, “This room smells just like my grandma’s house used to smell?”  Isn’t it interesting how something like that can transport you back to a different time?  Perhaps you were a young child, hanging out at Grandma’s house for the day, or maybe visiting for a week, where you were fawned over and spoiled in a way that your parents would never dream.  A simpler, more innocent time, when you didn’t have a care in the world and you were the greatest thing around for miles.  Ahhh…the memories.

Anything can conjure a memory.  A smell, a taste, a color on the wall.  For me, the biggest conjurer is music.  I was driving around yesterday afternoon, minding my own business, when Photograph by Nickelback came up on my iPod.  Not an old song, but the things that were going on in my life when I first heard it mean that today I am in tears before the first bar is over.  The first time I heard this song was at my daughter’s high school graduation party.  Not the “7-going-on-34” type I always was, I knew Jessie was having a tough time accepting this transition in her life, when she and most of her friends were parting ways.  She had made a video of some of the pictures she had taken of her peeps during their four years together, and Photograph was the song running in the background.  I looked over at her, with the marvel that only a Mom can possess, and I saw tears in her eyes.  At the sight of that, I, of course, started bawling like a baby.  I had to leave the room I was crying so hard, sad for her and the pain she was feeling at the time.  “Look at this photograph/Everytime I do it makes me laugh…” reminds me of the feelings she must have had looking through all of those pictures, remembering the old times, and deciding which ones were the ones to go in a video that would showcase “high school” for her for years to come.

Jessie and Krystal

Photo Courtesy of Chris Paxman, Paxman Photography

May 2008 was also still a raw time for me, having unexpectedly lost my Dad the previous November.  A song like this, about reminiscing, leads me to memories of him that are still painful to me today almost three years after his passing.  So, “Look at this photograph/Everytime I do it makes me laugh…” has a dual meaning to me.  Not only does it make me think of Jess, it also reminds me of looking through boxes upon boxes of pictures, trying to find just the right ones to play in a montage at Pop’s memorial service.  Then, of course, the pictures remind me of all the things we did together, all the great times we had, and then the brutal realization that I will never do those things with him again.  And the tears come again.  Some laughter, too, but mostly it makes me incredibly sad.

 Mom and Dad in Pompeii, Italy

There are others, too.  “And this is where I grew up/I think the present owner fixed it up…” always takes me back to Cincinnati, Ohio, and all the places that were important to me when I lived there as a young child.  Our house, which still looks much the same but is a more rundown version of what I remember; our street, which due to the urban lifecycle isn’t quite as nice as it was back in the day; the fact that the detached garage has been taken down, and Mom and Dad’s first Christmas tree, which had been planted in the backyard, has been taken down, too.  Then there’s Grandma and Grandpa’s house, still standing in all its well-cared-for glory, through which we had a chance to walk in 2006 when it was up for sale.  Funny the things that stand the test of time, and all the things that were still there from my childhood some 30 years prior: wallpaper in the upstairs hall, the fireplace tile, the original kitchen cabinets.

 Grandma and Grandpa's House

“And this is where I went to school/Most of the time had better things to do…”  Well, the second half of that line’s not true, nor is the rest of the verse, but this one reminds me that the school I went to still looks exactly the same as it did when I attended there in the mid-70’s.  Red brick, smokestack in the back, four floors, typical Midwest elementary school.  When we were back in 2006, Dad’s elementary school had been torn down; when we went back in 2009 it had been replaced by a modern monstrosity that probably doesn’t invoke education anywhere near as well.  Mom’s elementary school and high school are left mostly unchanged, and thank goodness – Mom’s high school campus is the most beautiful I have ever seen.

 Withrow High School, Mom's Alma Mater
Photo Courtesy of the Withrow High School Alumni Association

While hearing this song immediately puts me into a tailspin, I am at the same time very grateful that it does.  There’s something very comforting about smiling through tears – you have the sadness that those times will probably never be relived, but the thankfulness that the memories are there to be had.  Thank goodness the chorus of this song doesn’t have to be true:

Every memory of looking out the back door
I had the photo album spread out on my bedroom floor
It's hard to say it, time to say it
Goodbye, goodbye.
Every memory of walking out the front door
I found the photo of the friend that I was looking for
It's hard to say it, time to say it
Goodbye, goodbye.

A Blog? What??

The blog.  And why would I want to write one.  I am, of course, brilliant, witty, and a pretty big deal, so why wouldn't the world want to hear what I have to say?  Right?  Okay, I agree - not so much.  As the title of this blog indicates, life for me can be classified as deadly dull and boring, at least in the vernacular of my Mom, whose life, I might add, can be classified as deadly dull and boring, too.

So why the blog?  There are thousands, millions of bloggers in the world, all writing about things more interesting (...or not) and more important (...or not) than the types of things I would have to offer.  I don't know any of these bloggers, and I don't read the things they have to share with the world, so why the attraction?  I have exactly three bloggers whom I follow with anything that could be considered continued interest, and one of those was a short-lived enterprise meant to document and share a cruise around the world.  So that leaves two generally long-lived endeavors that excite me enough to read.  One is written by someone I worked with closely for a couple of years, who made the life-changing and profound decision to simplify life and move abroad for awhile, and her blog is essentially the diary of that experience.  The other is written by someone whom I don't know well, but admire greatly, and her blog represents the various musings that hit her at different times of life.  Both of these blogs are inspiring to me, because they document the existence of greatness in every day life.  As the reader, it almost seems that these two leave themselves open for excitement in the mundane, seeing things through different colored lenses than the rest of us.  Pretty cool stuff, if you have the presence and awareness to catch them when they flit in front of you for the briefest period of time.  No deadly dull and boring there, I assure you.

So this is my challenge to myself, to be more aware of the great things I am convinced I overlook each and every day.  And to write about them publicly is my way of holding myself accountable to that challenge.  You may choose to read, or not, but if you do I hope you begin to open up and start seeing the things that are going on right in front of you, too.  As for the two ladies who inspired this in me?  I don't need to name names, they know who they are.  I hope, also, that they know how grateful I am for them and how profoundly their stories impacted me.  I hope to be honored enough to do the same for someone else one day.