What I have learned so far:
1) There
is a narrow range of temperature ideal for living in Beagle;
2) There
are two unexpected pleasures about being in an RV park full of retired people
in their giant fifth-wheels;
3) I
should be more careful with my wishes; and,
4) Sometimes
you have to make your own fun.
I am sitting outside Beagle, it is 78 and the sun is
pouring down, it is only 11 AM, the temperature today will be mid-80’s as it
has been for a few days. I live for 2 PM
when the shade from the tree at the back of my pitch begins to cover Beagle and
the shadow from my neighbor’s giant fifth-wheel provides twenty feet of shade. In the meantime, I don’t bother taking a
morning shower.
Despite the abundance of golf and tennis near me, I have
not played either. Apparently, for all
of the tennis and most of the golf, you have to be a member of the various
developments—I am not even old enough to buy into most of them. Being quite a bit younger than most, this is
the first place I garner more attention than Beagle; I am like a spring chicken
around here—often scowled at by the ladies and chatted up by the men. I think everyone should just count their
blessings that I manage to keep on a semblance of clothing during this heat.
The RV park has a dog wash—a first for me—and it is
delightful. On our first day here, right
when the sun was the hottest, I took the Noses over and gave them a cool
bath. The tub is outside and I
contemplated running the shower nozzle over my head as I stood there but
decided too many of the people around might flash back to Flash Dance.
At one point during my time in Prescott, I wished I had
more time to write. So here I am with my
wish granted. No tennis, not any golf
yet, and probably too hot for River to do the one hike I could find in the
area, although I will try that tomorrow.
I have been entertaining myself with people: The usual Beagle Bottleneck began
immediately; people walking around the RV park (they do this—they just walk in
circles, never venturing outside the park despite the lovely road just around
the corner with shade trees and long views across to the mountains—pictured above) slowing as they come to my pitch.
(It should be noted that the Beagle Bottleneck has an entirely different
meaning at 5:01 PM.) Yesterday a man
walked up as I was enjoying my coffee outside.
We chatted, as one does, both of us surprised
that we appeared to be the same age. He
and his wife are from Vancouver although he had a thick accent which I pegged
for middle-eastern despite his rather pale appearance. Of course he loved Beagle and asked some good
questions; they are thinking of getting out of their Sprinter Van. As usual the conversation turned to “what
brings you down here”, “how long are you staying”, etc. I still have trouble with these questions, it
seems the only thing I can answer is, “My husband died a year ago and I am
still putting my life together.”
This is usually a conversation killer; most people do not
know how to respond other than, “I’m sorry.”
But this gentleman looked me in the eye and said, “You have a strong,
beautiful soul, you are doing very well.” My eyes filled with
tears for the first time that day.
I had yet to discover the town of Tubac so I loaded the
Noses into Beagle, turned on the A/C and left for two hours. There was an Arts & Crafts Show in town
and, although that is not my thing, I thought it a perfect excuse to see what
there is to see.
And as far as I could
see, Tubac is a town built solely for the purpose of decorating the surrounding
homes and feeding those occupants as they shop.
Much to my surprise, I enjoyed the Arts Fair,
particularly after making my first purchase, a Sea Grass hat (crushable as is a
requirement for all clothing in Beagle.)
The art was often quite unique; Wheat Weavings, Mosaics with gorgeous
stones and tiles, and, my favorite, WeirWud Worx where they make beautiful wooden
table tops inlaid with turquoise.
Despite the fact that the tables were all too large for
me, I couldn’t help but walk into their booth.
Once there, the father/son duo educated me on the various types of wood
and, seeing my eye constantly drawn to a particular burled piece made into a
small Lazy Susan, mentioned that they can custom make anything. “We can even turn this Lazy Susan into a side
table.” The deal was done. (A picture of the table is in the Beagle Photo Album.)
Yep, I only have twenty or so possessions in the Beagle,
and now one of them is a stunningly beautiful, small side table. Decidedly uncrushable. I have a simple rule
for possessions in the Beagle: They
cannot be a single purpose item, even the corkscrew can open a bottle of beer. This table does two things: It brings me joy every time I look at it and holds
my coffee or gin. I might name it 501.
I told the father/son duo about living in Beagle right
now and of my few possessions in general, saying, “This is huge for me”, as
tears filled my eyes for the second time that day. The son, the artist, looked me in the eye and
said, “That is so cool." Later, back at Beagle, I wrote him an email thanking him for using part of his life to enhance the world around us.
Arriving back at Beagle during the hottest time of the
day I quickly became grumpy. Then the
Seahawks lost and I was even more grumpy.
I decided that I was in no mood to argue with Sam about Free Will but
would rather be entertained by Ira Glass and turned on Episode #528 of This American Life, “The Radio Drama,Part 5.”
Having met Ira a couple of years ago, it is a delight to
listen to his voice knowing the smile reflected in his tone is also aglow in
his eyes. It turns out that this
particular episode was recorded on a stage and you can watch the performances
on video. I chose to stick to audio
only. I listened to the entire
broadcast—an unusually long one due to the live audience and staging—laughed,
cried and laughed some more. If you only
have thirty minutes, listen to the first part; it is about a woman who, in an
attempt to make an audio recording free of disturbances, accidentally locks
herself into her hotel closet. It is
priceless. Be sure to listen through the
point where they make an opera of it. Listening to that and eating an entire (yep)
box of Kraft Mac & Cheese, improved my mood immensely.
And so my wish was granted, I have all kinds of time to
write between mopping the sweat from my forehead and lower back. To give you an idea, it is so hot that Opus
has opted to go back inside Beagle; leaving River and I alone outside. Truth be told, I think the bugs bug the Bug
more than the heat, reminding me that you often hate most in others what you
refuse to see in yourself. He’s a bug,
but a sweet bug.
Finally, I woke this morning knowing that if I had been
at home I would have quickly walked the dogs and then returned to bed with a
hot water bottle. Feminine issues—half
of you know of what I speak (and in all likelihood got there already with the tears and Mac & Cheese) the other half only think you know. But I loaded the Noses into the car and drove
ten miles to the dog park where they raced around in the cool early morning
air. Then it was my turn: To my utter joy, I pulled up behind a 911
Turbo at, oh hallelujah, the on-ramp of the highway.
It took me a bit of teasing but I managed to get him to race. When both lanes of the freeway opened up, so
did we. An obvious gentleman, he let me
get to 120 before he flew by, his hand a white blur as it waved out of his sunroof.
Sometimes you have to find your own fun.
-K
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