It Takes Courage to Be Maria

I am not generally a fan of reality shows. To me, they are designed only to provide a forum for people to be unspeakably mean to each other. It is not something I care to watch. Makes me cringe actually.

However, I stumbled upon a show the other night on CBC TV called “How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria?”. The premise of this show was to invite young women to audition for the role of Maria in an upcoming Toronto production of The Sound of Music. It was a grueling process for each of the 40 young women who appeared at the beginning of the show. And, by the end, there were 10 left standing.

The process of elimination was no less direct than in other shows. There were winners and losers in this game of pick-the-best-Maria. The thing about this show though, in comparison to others, is that it took a respectful, encouraging and objectively critical approach. And so, although there were tears and highly nervous moments, the emphasis was not on this so much, as it was on the relentless pursuit of a goal. And the “losers” were all so talented that you could just tell that this failure only represented a small obstacle in their eventual road to success.

This show is not about making people feel stupid. It is a demonstration of the courage it takes to pursue something that is believed to be beyond our reach, but nonetheless in our dreams. It is about striving for a big life and being brave enough to keep going even though the pathway is littered with disappointment, .

I read something recently that suggests it is not our inadequacies that we fear, but our potential to be very powerful indeed. It was written by Marianne Williamson in her Book, A Return to Love published in 1992. This passage is often attributed incorrectly to Nelson Mandela who used it in his inaugural speech in 1994. Click here to read the entire passage.

I am not a particularly brave person but I’ve lived long enough to recognize the times in my life when I have “stepped up” and dared to do something different. Each time it was hard and even painful. Each time, after I had moved through it, I was glad for having done it. Each time there were people in my corner encouraging me. And, each time, the quality of my life improved.

As for the Maria Show, no doubt there will be other tense and scary moments for the remaining nine young women. Only one will be chosen in the end. In the meantime, each of them will have experienced something unique, exciting and worthy enough to tell their grandchildren…because they found their courage and tried.

I believe too, that each of these young women will raise themselves up, perhaps beyond their own imaginings, because they welcomed a difficult challenge into their lives and embraced it even knowing that they might fail.

Good for you Marias. Here’s a clip of forty Marias performing at the Palladium in London. Enjoy

Dad

I was thinking about my father today. Dad died a few years ago and yet, I don’t think a day goes by without my thinking about him and, as father’s day approaches, I reflect on the impact he had on both the quality of my life and many of the perspectives I hold about it.

I was born in 1948, three years after the end of WWII. It was a time when men and women were readjusting to peace time. During the war, men were away in Europe or in the Pacific Region, fighting ,and women, by necessity, were doing “male” jobs at home. When the men returned, everything went back to “normal”. Men tended not to do household chores or look after children (womens’ work you know). And women did, well, everything else including raising the children.

In our house though, things were a little different. For as long as I can remember, at least until she retired, my mother worked outside the home. It was unusual, given the culture of the time, but for my mother and father it was a necessity and that was all there was to that. They were a team.

Of course when I was little, I didn’t know, understand or care about any of that. All I knew is that it was my daddy who put me to bed every night. It was he who gave me my bath and allowed me to splash water all over him in the process. It was my Dad who sang “Three Little Fishes” to me while I was being bathed. And it was he who ran up the stairs several times a night just to give me another kiss goodnight.

When I grew a little, it was also my Dad, (a person who really did not like shopping), who drove me from one mall to the other when I was sad and needed cheering up. And even when I was being a complete brat, and at odds with my parents, it was Dad who forgave me first. It was he who offered the first conciliatory hug and the reassurance that in spite of our differences, we would still be all right. He would still love me.

Now, many years later, I am so grateful that he was in my life. And every now and then, I catch a glimpse of him in my son, Rob. Rob loves and cares for his daughter as much as my Dad loved and cared for me. He is a fine Dad and one that Maya, my granddaughter can only be proud of.

Happy Father’s Day Rob. And thanks Dad.

I love you

Cleaning the Barbeque

When it comes to jobs around the house, I used to think that the worst of them was cleaning the oven. Not so any more. In this age of modern convenience, ovens more or less clean themselves. Yep, we have cast off this miserable chore and replaced it….with cleaning the barbeque.

The barbecue used to be a simple structure that held lumps of charcoal, newspaper and small sticks for kindling. All summer, we would cook hamburgers and hot dogs on it, sometimes getting a little more ambitious and throwing a chicken leg or breast into the mix but, you know, mostly simple meals that were wholly satisfying, especially if eaten outside.

At the end of the summer, having worn itself out, or at least a hole in its bottom (s’cuse the language), the barbeque would find a place at the foot of the driveway, along with copious bags of autumn leaves, and stay there until the garbage collectors came to take it to barbeque heaven. The following spring, we would replace it with a new, shinier (and just as cheap) version and, apart from clearing out the ashes after each use, it required little in the way of concentrated attention.

Enter the gas barbeque. It started simply enough, with carcinogen carrying charcoal being replaced by clean, propane powered grills. The environment benefited from not having to accommodate so many burnt out barbeques in its landfill every year and the gas barbeque became yet another symbol of status and prosperity among people in the neighbourhood…and something else to clean.

We bought our new barbeque a couple of years ago. The old one was gasping its last toxic breath and so off we went in search of a new version with more cooking space, bigger knobs and maybe a burner on the side because well, I liked the notion of cooking whole meals outside.

It is a beautiful thing to behold, gleaming stainless steel on the outside with four, count them, four ceramic grills, a state of the art rotisserie, and along with the requisite burner, a retractable light over the cooking surface so that we can cook at night if the spirit moves us. Very fancy. We can really hold our heads high in the community now. We have arrived - well, on the patio anyway.

Before leaving the store, we were given explicit instruction on the care and feeding of this new toy. We were to be sure to clean out the drip pan and some other thingy that catches the grease and debris. I remember that we nodded respectfully as the salesman covered a litany of other jobs too that must be done to preserve the pristine condition of this superfragilistic thing. And then of course we promptly forgot it all, doing only what was necessary to keep us from contracting a case of ptomaine or inflicting similar intestinal turmoil on our loved ones.

This year, however, with conscience pricking , we decided to be more diligent and give our outdoor cooker a good old clean before launching it full tilt into the barbeque season.

First, we took it apart. Everything movable was moved. We neglected however, to take note of how to return these parts back to the safety of their rightful places. Hmmm. I guess that should have been rule number one.

When disassembling, ensure that you take note of the correct position of all movable parts. Otherwise you may find yourself much in the same position as one who is trying to solve the mysteries of a Rubik’s Cube.

Nonetheless, once disassembled, there was no going back and so we sallied forth in the faith that once cleaned, the various parts would be so grateful, they would find their own way home.

And homeless or not, the various bits and pieces that made up the whole surely needed some attention. The remnants of last year’s summer meals clung defiantly to just about every hard surface, having been generously fused with the ravages of winter weather and used as a safe haven for some very enterprising spiders. Yuck.

So, we soaked it and scrubbed it until we ourselves required soaking and scrubbing. Like us, some of its parts needed replacing but, on the whole, it weathered our ministrations with great tolerance. Unlike us, its worn out parts will be discarded and replaced with new bits and pieces so as to completely restore it to its former glory. I’m slightly jealous.

The job itself took the better part of a day to complete and at the end, the barbeque stood proudly on the patio, gleaming in the sun and ready to rise to whatever culinary challenge we cared to give it. We, on the other hand, stood exhausted and dirty and wondering what on earth we were thinking about when we signed onto to this outdoor cooking gig. Somehow, cleaning the oven, paled in comparison. Nonetheless, it was a job well done and we can now look forward to a summer suffused with the aroma of barbequing foodstuffs.

Now, If it would only stop raining.

P.S. I should mention that in my experience, the oven has yet to produce a good burger. So here, just for fun, is a clip by The BBQ Boys that will show you how to barbeque a perfect burger. Enjoy!

Jerome, Jerome, where the Tourists Roam

Jerome is a Ghost town in Arizona, or nearly a ghost town since it currently embraces about four hundred and fifty permanent residents. We decided to pass through there on our way to Prescott where we hoped to get some retail therapy.

The town itself is an interesting piece of engineering with many of the old buildings clinging precariously to the edge of cliffs. In fact it has the distinction of being called “America’s most vertical city”. That it is. And old too. Basically, the town was built around a copper mine in the late 1800s. Check here for the full story. One of the stories of note, at least for me, is the one that recounts the time that a number of buildings in Jerome were destroyed by fire some actually sliding down the side of a cliff. One of those buildings was the town jail, much to the delight of the ne’er-do-wells of the the community. Being a closet larcenist, this notion sort of appealed to me.

There are a lot of quaint shops in Jerome and some very decent galleries displaying a variety of art pieces for both interior and exterior decoration. To be honest though, once you’ve seen one old building, well, you know the rest.

Perhaps it was that I was not in the mood for browsing or appreciating the historical value of Jerome, but I felt less than excited about it than about other excursions we have taken on this trip. I have no doubt missed something important so if you have an opportunity, it’s probably worth checking out for yourself.

Interestingly, Jerome is apparently also known for its ghosts. I overheard one retailer telling a customer that her boss leaves a light on for the ghost every night before leaving the shop. There are some creepy stories going about that no doubt keep the mystique of Jerome going too And for the people who make their living from this, I am glad.

I can’t help thinking though that Jerome lacks something as a tourist spot. But, hey, it might be just me.

In any case, if you are interested in knowing something about the hauntings of Jerome Hotels, click here. Do you believe in ghosts?

The Grand, Grand Canyon

How does one describe the Grand Canyon? I have been trying to come up with something original to say about it but the only thing that comes to mind is the well used (sometimes nauseatingly so) word, awesome. Yes, the Grand Canyon is AWESOME!

We arrived at the South Rim of the Park just before noon. It was crowded and I began to wonder if this was not just another Niagara Falls except with a giant hole in the ground instead of a giant waterfall. To me, Niagara Falls has become a bit cheesy with touristy venues overshadowing the wonder of the falls themselves. And so, I entered the Grand Canyon National Park with a trifle of skepticism. Nonetheless, we found a place to park in the Market village, grabbed a small cooler containing our sandwiches and, for me, the requisite hot tea, and headed out to walk the one kilometre to the edge of the canyon.

It came upon us all of a sudden. One second it wasn’t there and the next, it was, a huge chasm of rock, sparse vegetation and leafless gnarled trees that opened up before us, a crater of purple, pink, blue-gray, soft green, rich brown and rust. It contained all of the colours of Arizona collected and distilled in one place and yes, it is awesome.

We walked another kilometre to get to the Yavapai viewpoint and it was well worth the effort. We even ventured outside the rock perimeter of the pathway and crept closer to the edge to get a better look. This, for me at least, was a quite a concession given my fear of high places. But it had to be done. One cannot go to the Grand Canyon and not expand beyond one’s own boundaries to meet it half way. It just wouldn’t be polite.

We had lunch sitting on a bench looking out at the expanse of rock and watching the ravens riding the air currents over the centre of the canyon, swooping down and then coming back up just as suddenly and making me wish, at least for a moment, that I could do that too.

After lunch, we took a drive along Desert view which leads to the east entrance to the park. It is 25 miles long with viewpoints along the way. This was the best way to see the canyon . It was less crowded and the views were spectacular. And along this drive, we could see the Colorado river snaking its way around the rocks disappearing and appearing at will it seemed, brown and uninviting but at the same time, compelling.

The Grand Canyon, a wondrous place indeed. Click here to see more images and enjoy. Better yet, plan to go!

Going Uptown

Okay, so I’ve told you about Sedona the Beautiful. Now, I’m going to let you in on the seamier side of this picturesque city, known to the locals as Uptown Sedona. This is where we tourists gather in search of tangible proof that we were here. And this is where local sightseeing operators, shop keepers and restaurateurs alike seek to separate us from our money.

To be fair, I think I should start with the more positive aspects of this area.

The other night, my husband and I went to the Silver Saddle Restaurant for dinner. This place is right next door to the Cowboy club. Both are decked out in typical cowboy fashion with the wait people (wait people?) okay, the waiters and waitresses then, dressed in jeans, white shirts and charming howdy ma’am demeanors. While there were things like fish and chicken on the menu, we wanted to stay with the western theme and so, ordered ribs. They were delicious, a little pricey but delicious nonetheless. There were also some more exotic items on the menu, like Buffalo and snake but not being the adventurous type, I stuck with the ribs, although to be honest, I can’t be sure whose ribs they were. Our waiter, Tony, said it was ordinary domesticated pig but, maybe not. Tony also brought us some samples of other fare on the menu, both before and after our main meal, a nice touch I thought and a good marketing strategy as well.

Along this strip of highway 89A, called Uptown, there are very few galleries that sell items actually made in Sedona by local artists. One that comes to mind is The Clay Pigeon, a small shop with a variety of original art pieces that are unique and interesting.

And that’s it for the good news, at least as it pertains to Upper Sedona.

The rest, well, what can I say. “Want to buy a Timeshare?” These guys are all over the place. And you don’t see them coming. They hide out in places that one wouldn’t expect. For instance, a shop called Sedona Golf and Tennis called to us from the street. We thought perhaps there might be some interesting golf clothing or accessories there. But no. They had a few hats; some photographs of famous golfers and celebrities, most of whom are long gone; a smattering of golf shirts; a practice putting green; and a guy selling Timeshares.

I realize that everyone has to make a living doing something, but these guys remind me of people who lurk in dark corners of big cities, leap out at you and surreptitiously ask, “Wanna buy a watch?”

No thank you.

If you want to take a tour of Red Rock Country, you can go in a pink jeep. Pink Jeep Tours begin here in Uptown Sedona and they take you, I understand, where mere mortals fear to drive. I noticed that there were not too many old people bouncing around in the back of any of these babies. For the elderly, and there are many, there is the option of the Trolley bus. I’m not sure where it goes except maybe to the Chapel of the Holy Cross, maybe to the Cemetery at the local Synagogue, or the Assisted living facility in the Village of Oak Creek where they no doubt also sell timeshares (just kidding). All right, I am being facetious here, and more than a little pompous, I suspect. Shame on me. The Trolley Buses actually go to all the natural attractions that Sedona has to offer. I’m quite sure they leave out the cemetery.

So yes, back to Uptown Sedona. The ones that were not booby trapped with Timeshare folks, had the usual fare for sale, T-shirts, “genuine” native artifacts made in Mexico or Guatemala and other trinkets big and small. Something for everyone.I admit that it was fun to wander around there at least once. And I even bought a couple of things so my nose was not up in the air for the entire time.

Afterward, we went to the Wildflower Bread Company for lunch. It was great. The bread there is excellent and they make a particularly delicious chicken salad sandwich. This Restaurant lies at the beginning of the Uptown Sedona Strip in a small mall owned by the Hilton folks, who are, you guessed it, selling timeshares.

On that note, I offer you time of a different sort, Time in a Bottle with Jim Croce. No snake oil in sight. Enjoy

House Rules

This Sedona house has, (like most houses I expect), its own personality. It is quirky, possibly like its owner who is an artist I believe. I only know her from brief conversations we have had on the phone but she sounds quirky too, a little vague perhaps, a little scattered but I suspect underneath all of that there is a very clever and astute business person. After all, we are renting from her.

So yes, the house. It is blessed with an abundance of on/off switches, more than most I think. There are switches for lights, inside and outside , switches for overhead fans, a switch for the garburator, garage door opener and switches for the outside decks both upper and lower. And then there are the switches that appear not to be connected to anything, although I suspect that when I flip them on and off, they are illuminating somewhere or activating something. Perhaps, over the course of the past week, I have been unknowingly sending coded messages to alien beings although I haven’t seen anything out of the ordinary showing up at the door. Could happen. This is Sedona you know.

The washing machine in this house has a healthy appetite. It chews on the clothes and unceremoniously spits them out a short time later. The dryer does nothing to smooth out the wrinkles that develop in what is left of the clothes and the iron either doesn’t get hot enough or doesn’t make enough steam to render them respectable again. I can hear the house laughing. It is a smug little laugh that reminds me just who is in charge around here.

The temperature in Sedona is mild but becomes downright cold in the evening and early morning, hence the need for a furnace. The thingy that controls the temperature is also working on its own timetable. While we are told that we can take charge of the setting, by pushing the arrows on the thermostat either up or down, it clearly has a mind of its own. At most times I am cold. When I put the heat up, it becomes too hot for my husband. There appears to be no happy medium. The house rules.

There are two smoke detectors in this house. One is in the kitchen very near the stove. Each time we make toast or put anything under the broiler it goes off unless we put on the very noisy oven fan or flail away with a tea towel in an attempt to divert even the smallest wisp of smoke away from the dreaded sensor. The other smoke policeman is in the living room, very near the fireplace. We have not attempted to make a fire in the fireplace. I’m not sure the house would like it. The smoke detector is daring us to do it, but no, don’t think so. Something tells me that maybe the flue is not quite right, or something else, and is just waiting for us to try and build a fire so that it can blow smoke out into the room and set both smoke detectors off into a duet of screeching proportions. Besides, the wind loves to blow down the chimney and rattle the fireplace doors. It would not appreciate being squelched by smoke going the other way, I’m sure, and so I expect that the result might just be the same, smoke in the room, smoke detector duet, frazzled nerves.

This house has a hot tub. I’m not a fan of hot tubs generally because, well, you never know who’s been in them. This one keeps calling me though and a gentle peek under it’s cover shows that it looks very clean. I know it gets cleaned once a week because I saw the pool man come. He climbed over the railing of the lower deck, did his job and climb back. He does this every Wednesday. The master bathroom has a door that leads out to the lower deck and the hot tub. It has large windows that aren’t always covered because it’s nice to let the sun shine in. The pool man comes to do his job unannounced. I’m wondering what he sees as he goes about his business. I only hope it is not someone else in the bathroom going about theirs. I can hear the house laugh.

In spite of the fact that I very much feel this house is in charge, it is a generous host in the overall scheme of things. The beds are comfortable. There are enough bathrooms to accommodate us and some visitors too. There are plenty of places to sit and be comfortable and places to sit and be quiet. It is a lovely house really.

I just know who’s in charge and as long as I remember that, we will all get along fine together, me, my husband and the house in Red Rock country. Whatever its quirks, it is still a home as long as we are here together. Burt Bacharach and Dusty Springfield say so. Click on this link and check it out.

Red Rocks Really do Rock!

Today we spent our time exploring our immediate surroundings here in beautiful Sedona. For those of you who are sick of winter, I’m going to rub it in a little and say that the skies are clear and the temperatures mild and so it was pleasant to walk around, listen and observe the landscape. I should mention that we have not ventured on any ambitious hikes as yet, although there are plenty of people here who do. Our walk was less boots, hat and backpack and more an easy, and possibly lazy, stroll.

The houses around here are quite impressive, many adobe style, some with inner courtyards meant to provide respite from the summer heat I imagine. Most have rooftop decks for evening star-gazing and all are painted to blend well into the environment. Even the local McDonald’s in town has forfeited its golden arches for something a little more in keeping with the red rock theme. I suppose it is a city ordinance that those who are building must adhere to a very strict code so that Sedona does not degenerate into just another garish tourist town. People here are proud of their surroundings and keen to have us revere them as they do. No one can blame them. And what’s not to revere?

What strikes me as I walk up and down the streets of this neighbourhood is the cacophony of sound that comes from every bush and tree. Everywhere, there are birds of vast varieties gossiping in the safety of dense and brittle foliage, gossiping and singing and arguing and generally going about their lives.

Every now and again I will see a rabbit hopping out from behind a tree. The rabbits look fat and happy. And the roadrunners are as comical to see as in the cartoons. Haven’t seen any coyotes yet, Wile E.  or otherwise, and no sign of an Acme anvil either, which is probably a good thing.  Just for fun, check this link and you can get a reminder of your childhood Saturday morning cartoon days.

This afternoon, we played a little Golf at the Canyon Mesa Country Club. It sounds grander than it really is but it is a perfect course for me, challenging enough to keep me interested but not so difficult as to reduce me to fits of bad language or other unseemly behaviour. And it provides a good opportunity for cardio exercise as well, since there are a few quite steep hills involved. Anyway, my score notwithstanding, it was a very pleasant way to spend an afternoon.

Tomorrow is Saturday and we will have been here for a week, having spent the first few days with some good friends and the latter part of the week settling in. I think tomorrow we will likely get more serious about scouting out the many hiking trails around here and planning our next adventure, a day trip to the Grand Canyon.

More to come. Catch you later.

Magical Mystical Sedona

Sedona, quite a magical place all in all. We arrived on March 1st to begin our month long stay. The house that we have rented is quite special too. There are windows everywhere, each one offering a different angle and view of the red rock topography. There is a solarium and many places to sit inside and be quiet or outside on a multitude of decks, the best of these being the roof-top deck that provides a vista of all of the views that people come from miles away to see. The stars at night are polka-dotted over a pitch black canvas that blankets the area every night and winks down at we lesser mortals. Perhaps this is the time for me to take up astronomy. Who knows?

Here in Sedona there are lots of opportunities to go all mystical. The place abounds with Psychics hoping to cast light on all of our unanswered questions. And too, it is definitely a community for the artist, and for those of us who are less artistic, to feast our eyes and empty our pockets. There is a lot to learn as well about the acclaimed vortexes that provide we humans with great surges of energy and even greater senses of well being. Gotta get me some of that.

There are many trails to follow and wildlife that I have not seen up close before. Yesterday, we saw a family of Quail bustling by our window, likely in search of lunch. I expect that at some time the Quail also become lunch, as we hear tell there are bobcats about. Yikes. A bobcat is one form of wildlife that I would prefer not to see up close. There are also many deer and while that is a wonderful thing to see, I note that the neighbours who are trying to cultivate some greenery in their otherwise arid gardens have protected their precious shrubs with wire fencing. Deer are notorious for dining out on one’s garden.

This morning I took a walk to the Chapel of the Holy Cross designed by Marguerite Brunswig Staude, a pupil of Frank Lloyd Wright. It is a beautiful and simple structure that is embedded in the red rock. The walk up is a challenge and provides a good cardio workout for me but my reward for doing the walk is the few minutes of quiet contemplation I take as I sit on the front pew (actually it’s a bench) and look out on the landscape. It is a lovely place.

Tomorrow, we do something a little less spiritual in nature, golf. In fact it could be said, given my penchant for less than polite language while golfing, that tomorrow’s experience will provide a stark contrast to today’s more mellow and reverent activities. Oh well, variety is the spice and all that.

In the meantime, so as not to completely ruin the mood of the day, here is The Song of Sedona. Woo Woo to you too.

California Dreamin’

Aaah! Laguna Beach. We have been here now for a day and a half. My husband arranged for us to stay at the Inn at Laguna Beach. It’s expensive, this one, and certainly beats the Motel 6’s I stayed in during my last trip down the California coast. But oh, it is so worth it! Our room has a balcony looking right out into the ocean. The sound of the waves crashing onto the shore fills every corner of our room making everything right with the world, at least for today.

I don’t know what it is about the ocean. I’ve never been able to swim very well. I get seasick if I go out in a boat. But I love the sound of it and I love watching people walking up and down the beach with shoes in hand soaking up the warm rays of the sun and probably forgetting, like me, that it is still February.

We did little else today but walk along the shore appreciating our surroundings and sitting on the balcony reading and watching the world go by. This afternoon, I took off my own shoes and walked along the beach dipping my feet in the ocean as I went. The water was cold. Another reminder that it is, after all, still winter. The water that covered my feet made my legs ache but still I could see many people, mostly young, out in the surf playing among the waves in spite of the cold, hoping to get a good ride and mostly wiping out.

Last night, we went to the Cottage Restaurant across the street from our hotel. It boasts home cooking and was very good but the portion sizes were fit for more people than the number sitting at our table. Much of the food went to waste I fear. Shame.

Today for lunch, we picked up some sandwiches and tea from the Starbucks across the street from our hotel. We ate happily on our balcony and continued to drink in the view that will soon be only a memory, but a good one. Tonight, we are doing the same. Our dinner is being delivered to our room so that we can wring the last drop of pleasure from the ocean vista now available to us.

My husband hopes that we can eat out on the balcony but the temperature is dropping rapidly with the sun and I suspect our attempts to preserve the mood of this afternoon will diminish by each degree Fahrenheit. Nonetheless it is a valiant try. My husband even went to buy candles for our balcony table and of course we have a bottle of Robert Mondavi Chardonnay to help ward off the chills. We’ll see.

Tomorrow, we are off to Palm Desert, stopping off at Riverside to have lunch with friends who spend the winter there. In Palm Desert there will be golf and shopping and socializing with friends who also travel from Vancouver to avoid the dreariness of the winter there. I know I will enjoy it, but I expect my mind will often drift to today, a perfect day spent simply appreciating my life and surroundings without thought of anything but the wonder of being alive.

So here are the Beach Boys , just for fun. Enjoy