I’ve spent the past five days in Eureka, California with my best friend. We flew from San Francisco to Eureka in a small, 40-seater airplane. The engine roared as it came to life, rattling the body of the plane, warning me that I was about to shoot into the sky. Traveling in a small aircraft always reminds me of the feat of flying. Soaring above the clouds always reminds me of the wonder.
Eureka lies about five hours north of San Francisco, nestled in the redwoods alongside the Pacific. The air is cool and clean, the trees are lush. Pink, red and white flowers decorate the streets, which are lined with historic Victorian homes. It’s a quaint, laid-back little town. There isn’t much to do, but then again there isn’t much pressure to do anything.
One day, my best friend and I got some hot chocolate and drove over to the beach. We left our shoes in the car and walked in the sand. The wind and the sun beat against our faces. The hot sand caved in upon every step we took, wrapping around our feet. As we walked I wanted to lie down and bury myself in the beach, envelop myself in its warmth.
An abandoned tractor sits dormant near my best friend’s parents’ house. Berry bushes have grown around and within the tractor. Their vines have woven themselves into the crevices of the engine. Not far off there are two decrepit Volkswagen Beetles, also nearly consumed by the surrounding foliage. The last time I was here I climbed through the vines, conquered the thorns and sap, and stood atop one of the cars. This summer, we took my endeavor to a new extreme:
My time in Eureka was short, but it was better than no time at all.
I hope you spend some time with people you love this week.
The way I remember it, I spent every summer afternoon of my childhood lying with my mother on her bed, soaking up the dying light that poured in from her bedroom window. We would exchange back scratches, resume the endless tickle war, talk. Most importantly, we would play “the funny face game,” my favorite. The premise of this game is simple: You make the funniest face possible, changing your expression if necessary, until your opponent laughs. Then it’s her turn to make you chuckle. The game goes back and forth like this until it’s dinner time.
As a child, I grew obsessed with the funny face game. Not because I was good at it, but because I loved making my momma laugh, and I loved laughing with her. She always crafted the most creative faces, contorting her brows, crossing her eyes, twisting her lips. My faces… lacked her versatility. So much so, in fact, that no matter how hard I tried to be original, I made the same expression every single turn. My trademark? Flaring my nostrils, widening my eyes, and hinging my top row of teeth over my bottom lip. I imagine I looked like a caricature of a horse.
Regardless of how many times I made this face, my mother broke down and laughed. She laughed because she’s my mom and she bears the blessing of unconditional love. She knew it would’ve hurt my feelings to hear that my funny face wasn’t funny at all; that it was, in reality, redundant. My mom let me go on believing that I ruled the funny face arena, and we continued like this for years, scowling, puckering, and in my case, horsing at one another in the soft glow of the summer sun.
These are the memories of my mother that I treasure the most. The small moments. The moments we seem to repeat in new ways over and over. Walks around the block at night. Debates at the dinner table. Silent mornings spent sipping coffee side by side. Over the years, my mom and I and have transcended the typical mother-daughter dynamic and grown to be best friends. Yes, we have hurt each other. But forgiveness finds us, usually in these moments when we’re doing familiar things together. For these moments, which remind us of our indivisible bond, have the most room for healing and reconciliation.
Looking ahead, I know we will create new routines as we adapt to the different directions our lives have taken. Separated by distance, those long walks may come less frequently, and the mornings upon which we wake together will be few. But luckily, the memory of those routines and the love they fostered will instill even more love into the future. The new traditions will take meaning and inspiration from the old. Continuing our life adventure together as mother and daughter, as two friends, we can only grow, learn, and laugh. It is an adventure that I look forward to with all my heart.
Eventually, years after the last funny face tournament, my mom told me the truth: I was terrible at the funny face game. She had let me win time and time again. Laughing, I asked her why she kept playing, why she didn’t tell me sooner. I don’t remember what she said.
But I think she kept playing for the same reason I did– love.
When my roommate and I moved into our apartment nearly nine months ago, we couldn’t wait to start decorating. We scoured stores of all kinds in search of the perfect decor like two chipmunks gathering nuts for winter. Slowly but surely, we acquired many of the necessary trimmings: color-coordinated pillows, pig-shaped salt and pepper shakers, refrigerator magnets. But several months into our home-making, we found ourselves saddled with one last decorating challenge: the nook. Carved out of our white plaster wall, inconveniently placed just to the right of the couch, is a three-by-four sort of cubby. We weren’t quite sure what to do with it. Perhaps we could get a bird cage and adopt a monkey? Or turn the nook into a theatre and host a flea circus? A shrine?
While these ideas were appealing, none were quite what we wanted. We abandoned the nook until Christmas, when we stuffed it with a miniature tree.
However, Christmas brought inspiration, and thanks to one of my favorite blogs, A Beautiful Mess, I was able to fill the three-by-four void.
Using this DIY design, I crafted a fabric chandelier out of Christmas lights, old scarves and a wire cooling rack. Now, the nook houses some of our favorite books, cute photos and a one-of-a-kind chandelier.
Thank you so much to Rachel, who designed this project! If you’re going to try it for yourself, here are some adaptations I made to her design that you might want to try:
Rachel uses texture, like lace, in her design to make the chandelier more exciting. I decided to use color instead. I varied between two shades of blue and white, and both of my blue scarves were patterned.
If you have limited fabric, craft your chandelier into an inverted pyramid shape. Just lay the scarves out like diamonds and cut from the outside in. This way, you’ll have an even assortment of short-to-long strands of fabric.
If your fabric is thin, or your chandelier is smaller, use some of the fabric to sew a cylinder for your lights to fit into. Sew or tie it to the wire rack just like the other garlands, and slip the lights inside. This will keep your lights from peeking out from between the strips of fabric.
Thanks again to the ladies at A Beautiful Mess for helping me add a special touch to our home!
I hope you enjoy the soft glow of your new chandelier!
“The word of the day is ‘will,’ meaning ‘the faculty of conscious choice and deliberate action,” my yoga instructor said last night to a room full of aspiring yogis who sat with eyes closed, legs crossed, backs straight, pulses steady.
I sat front and center on my blue mat, listening to her voice and letting her words sink in. She has a way of saying exactly what my spirit needs to hear, always, and this moment was no exception. I hadn’t been to yoga in months, and as I laid down to rest at the end of our practice, I asked myself, “Why? Why did I stop doing this?” Somehow, I’d lost the will to continue the practice, the work of turning inward, connecting to my body and my spirit. I stumbled and wavered, but today, after months of struggle, I think I’m back on the path.
Outside Yoga Oasis Central, Tucson, Ariz.; May 6, 2012
It is easy to stray, to let old patterns work their way back into our lives, to forget where we were headed and get distracted along the way. Sometimes, we lose the will to continue toward, through, within our vision. Yet we can always unearth and renew that will inside of us, if we make the conscious choice to do so.
I wrote this piece for one of my journalism classes. I could only scratch the surface of the issues here, and I’d like to follow up with more stories that explore the ideas I encountered on my trip. Until then, enjoy, and please, as always, tell me what you think!
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Tubac, Ariz. is a catalyst for reinvention, a kernel of creativity, an oasis in the midst of chaos.
Nestled in the desert just 45 minutes south of Tucson, it attracts artists, retirees, tourists and small-business owners from around the world who keep its small community of about 1,200 thriving year-round.
In the summer, fauna and flora paint the surrounding landscape green and pepper it with yellow blossoms. The sun is relentless, but the dusty pink earth keeps the town cool. Shop-owners, neighbors and visitors mingle in the shade between galleries and boutiques. Ceramic pots, larger-than life sculptures and trickling fountains decorate the streets.
However, this laid-back historic town lies within the Sonoran desert, which, according to some, is becoming more and more like the Wild West everyday.
“In certain places it’s nice and peaceful and lovely,” said Zack Taylor, vice chairman of the National Association of Former Border Patrol Officers, “but in other places it’s lawless.”
Taylor, who retired from his position as a U.S. Border Patrol Supervisor in 2003, said while those in Tubac keep an “out of sight, out of mind” attitude, illegal activity thrives just beyond their community.
That is why he supported a bill proposed by Rep. Peggy Judd that would have required the Department of Homeland Security to disseminate safety warnings about illegal activity it deemed potentially dangerous to the public.
“What we see on TV, we see in our own backyards,” Judd said. “People say nothing is happening, but things really are.”
Fearing Judd’s bill would deter tourists and hurt businesses, the residents of Tubac and other border towns voiced their dissent, and the bill was dropped.
“Everybody recognizes that that bill was an absolutely foolish thing to do,” said Shaw Kinsley, director of the Tubac Presidio State Park and president of the Tubac Historical Society. “This area is perfectly safe, and, in fact, the area across the border is as well.”
While Judd’s bill died, the conversation surrounding security and illegal activity in Southern Arizona is fresh as ever. As a native Arizonan who’d never traveled south of Tucson, I decided the best way to weed through the controversy would be to find out for myself what the region has to offer.
A day-trip to Tubac gave me only a taste of Southern Arizona living, but it was just enough to feed my curiosity.
All About Lifestyle
Most businesses in Tubac don’t open their doors until 10:30 or 11:00, so arrive a little ahead of lunch-time with an appetite.
Before your meal, head over to the K. Newby Galleries and Sculpture Garden on the south side of the village, past Tubac Road. In the garden, which features sculptures of all kinds, I found elegant copper figures, a cartoonish dairy cow peering over a blue metallic horse and kinetic pinwheels that stood together like groves of trees.
A path leads to the gallery, where you’re likely to meet Leroy Doyle, one of the “old-timers.” Doyle came to Tubac in 1989 to be an abstract artist only to fall in love with the other side of art– retail. He’s been working at the K. Newby Gallery for 23 years.
“Tubac’s got to embrace you, you can’t embrace it,” he told me.
For Doyle, Tubac is about a lifestyle.
“I like everything about it,” he said. “I like meeting the same people everyday at the post office. I like going out to dinner and knowing people sitting in the dining room.”
From the gallery, walk over to Shelby’s Bistro for Southwest flavor and a diverse menu of salads, wraps, pizzas and burgers. If you’re in the mood for salad, try the “Wine Country,” $11.99. For a heartier, spicier lunch, try the “Tequila-Lime Chicken Wrap,” also $11.99.
Make sure to save room for dessert. While exploring the plaza next door, Mercado de Baca, I stumbled upon The Chile Pepper Coffee Cup. This cafe is home to the “Iced Choffee,” a Tubac original. It’s a glass of cooled Mexican hot chocolate and frozen coffee cubes topped with whipped cream, $3.50.
See Some, Shop Some
For a dose of history, visit the Tubac Presidio State Historic Park, the first state park in Arizona. It exists to maintain the ruins of the San Ignacio de Tubac, a Spanish Presidio that was established in 1752. Admission is $4 for adults, $2 for youth 7 to 13 and free for kids 6 and under.
Fashionistas will enjoy Jane’s Attic, a thrift shop where both vintage and contemporary styles fill the racks. All of the merchandise comes from Tubac residents, according to Jane Lowder, the shop’s owner.
Lowder moved to Tubac from the Bay Area, leaving a career in finance behind. She didn’t know what she would do when she settled in the village, but she soon discovered it needed a retail boutique.
“I just decided I was tired of the rat race,” Lowder said. “So I thought, what the heck I’ll throw in the towel and see what happens.”
Outside of her shop, my newly purchased purse and jacket in a bag by my side, I asked her how she perceived Tubac’s relationship with Mexico and the border.
“I think we both feel that we need each other,” she replied. “It’s a relationship that I think really needs to be helped somehow.”
Meet the Artist
From Jane’s Attic, walk across the street and pay a visit to Purcell Galleries, where you might even meet the artist himself.
When I stepped through the door, Roy Purcell, the man behind the famous murals of Chloride, Ariz., sat painting golden cactus blossoms. Vibrant images of nature burst from the wall behind him. In the next room hung etchings of mythological goddesses, said to be the largest etchings in the world.
Purcell left a 35-year career in Las Vegas to “reinvent” in Tubac. He’s always been drawn to nature and the Sonoran desert never bores him.
“I came for the beauty,” he told me. “I wanted a place to put roots and further develop my career.”
As I began to explain to Purcell why I had come to Tubac in the first place, his director, Brent Land chimed in.
“Are you talking about the travel warning bill?” he asked. Land lives in Tubac proper and served on the town’s chamber of commerce.
“As a merchant, I think that really hurts us,” he said. “That bill would’ve made us a ghost town.”
Heading Home
If you plan to stay for dinner, try the Italian Peasants Pizzeria, next to Tubac Market. Every person I spoke to recommended it. You’ll find everything from New York Knish, $4.99, to a 10 oz. Peasant Burger, $10.99, to Shrimp Scampi, $19.99.
Remember that you’ll have to pass through a Border Patrol checkpoint on your way north. The checkpoint was south of Tubac until the government moved it further up I-19 several years ago.
As I approached the uniformed officers and the frantic drug dogs, I remembered my conversation with Lowder:
“It’s scary for a lot of people who aren’t living with it,” she told me. “You know, we’re living with it everyday now so we don’t even think about it anymore.”
“What are you living with?” I asked.
“We’re living with the reality that we have a checkpoint north of us, that anytime we travel north we’re going to have to go through this checkpoint and answer questions. ‘Are you a U.S. citizen? Where are you going?’”
When I pulled up next to the Border Patrol officer, who still wore impenetrable, black glasses despite the setting sun, I rolled down my window, waiting for questions. Yet all he said was, “How you doin’, ma’am.” I replied, then he waved me through.
On the other side of the line, I recalled Lowder’s voice once again:
“Why do they believe me if I say I’m a U.S. citizen? And why do they not believe other people?”
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