What a tumble of weeks I’ve had. It’s handy that I flew home at almost the exact turn of the New Year, so I can know easily how long I’ve been here, alone. Eleven days. I miss the cats and boys, of course, but I can’t stand Midwestern winters; I stay in Tucson at this time of year, or find someplace warmer. Any one of my family who wants to join me is free to to so. I am constantly encouraging people to come to Tucson, hang out in the garden.
Along those lines, I’ll be in Florida this weekend, not a place I generally penetrate except for rocket launches. I have strong motivation, though; I’m going to scope out Key West, which I’ve heard so much about.
My pleasant excuse for the visit is that I’m going down to lead a weekend workshop, which is unusual for me these days. I love teaching and would do it more, but even at this point in the game, people want so many specifics.
It’s against my nature to be disingenuous (or I should say more accurately that I do not enjoy being so) and predicting what I will do with a room full of people I have not yet met can be nothing else. Like so many people, with so many things, I’m comfortable with the work but find the structure an impediment.
Bri gave me a BlendTec blender for Christmas, and I’ve been freaking out on it in exactly the same way as with a first crock pot. I’ve never had a food processor and so suddenly being able to make silky soups and put things like spinach or hunks of fresh ginger in my smoothies is a giant step up.
This one in the cup has a whole orange, an apple, peeled and cored, spinach, kale, avocado, cashews, almond milk and pineapple. It tastes like fruit and ginger, beautiful. And I love the fresh bright spring green colour, so different from green juice in the jug.
It’s one of those gifts that just changes life.
The weather has been lovely here, mostly 60s and sunny, with some cooler rainy days in the mix. Last week, going to buy a carload of fresh fruits and veggies to play with in my Blendtec, the Miata had a parking lot romance in the always-reliable Safeway parking lot. It was brief but intense, as most grocery store romances are.
If I were in the market for a lover, I’d go find one at the Safeway; you can see everything about people in there. The food they are buying, the way they are being… no one can hide who they are at the market unless they hide for a living. The light is brutal, too, that high fluorescent nightmare, people are revealed to be simply who they are. I like to think I come off well in the market, or at least that I come off as who I actually am.
This location (Broadway and Campbell) is frequented by a wide variety of interesting people; they come from the varied downtown and mid-town neighborhoods; the barrios, the Victorians, the University, the mid-century zones like mine. I love it not only for the neighborhood peoples, but for the fire trucks, which are always full of handsome firemen.
Firemen love to cook. I think at least two fire stations shop at this Safeway. (Just as I typed that, amusingly, I heard morning reveille from the fire station down by the Doubletree.)
In the parking lot, there is always at least one vintage muscle car to die for; this one, a Ford Torino from the mid-60s was in perfect, original condition outside. I got lucky and met the owner. For whatever reason (I was just tired, I think) I didn’t ask his name. But I did learn that he bought it in ’67, when it was still a baby.
Check him out, he’s as groovy as his car. If I see him again, I’ll find out more.
When I posted the photo on Facebook, my friends asked, ooh, what would their babies look like? I was like, maybe a pale blue 240Z?
I like being here right now. I don’t wish that I was somewhere else. I don’t wish I was someone else.
I think that by the time everyone arrives for the February fun (book launch party, Tucson shows, photoshoot with Kyle Cassidy) I will be more than ready.
In so many ways.