Sand blows across the desert floor in this valley spreading to the edges of barren, rocky mountain ridges—in all directions. Cutting the valley lengthwise, east/west, Interstate 8 bisects Yuma’s geography. South towards Mexico and north into the body of Arizona. Traffic flows, RVers arrive and settle into RV parks and resorts. Northern Americans and Canadians arrive by plane and settle into condos, and subdivision houses. Traffic accumulates along frontage roads paralleling the highway. Planted palms rise high into the blue sky like flag poles.
“This is really trippy,” I said to my VT friend M/E upon my arrival here in the RV park on December 11.
“It really is!” She had replied. “Who knew I would ever do this….practicing being ‘trailer trash’ in my new tuna-can trailer.”
But she is not that. Her $4500-priced trailer is not a tiny "tuna can", it is maybe forty feet long. Other winter residents who arrived in the Fall ask her often how life is going... “living in a hallway”.
She would say it is her astrological Virgo leanings wanting to fix this place up…renovate it into a comfy winter nest. We have both built straw bale houses in Vermont, and had she had the space to create a small apartment like I did with mine during the pandemic lockdown, she would still own the house. But, being an opportunist, she offered her home out in the country up for sale at the height of what she could receive for it on the market.
There is a punch list of small projects needing a second hand here at the trailer, a need for someone with cabinetmaker knowledge and sensibilities (me). But the trailer is not a house….and seems to mostly be stapled together with a metal skin around some kind of frame...or maybe it is bubble gum, duct tape, and a whole of hope holding it all together.
Grinch-like
A neighbor informs M/E that she has not attended any of the social activities lately (or, knowing my friend, probably not at all), and M/E makes renovation excuses. But, her “grinch-like” hermit personality surfaces and she just rolls her eyes, so only I can see.
“While I am here, let’s go to one…pick one….any one. I will offer moral support,” I say. “How about beading? Cards? But...even I won’t go as far as shuffleboard…unless we smoke a joint first…then it could be fun.”
At the end of Row H,park resident Bill sets up chairs and tables, readying for evening cocktail hour. As we drive by, M/E opens the passenger window and asks about the evening party time. She met Bill at some event or other early on in her time here at the park (proof she has been to at least one social event).
“Tonight is the Christmas parade…going through the park. We have good seats here on the corner,” he says.
“Tonight?” She turns to me and says, “We can do this event. We’ll park at the front office and watch from there.” Why not….it is a start.
“Everyone refers to this place as ‘God’s waiting room’,” she tells me. “Just the other day, a woman on the other side of the park was found dead in her trailer. This is why I know I need to meet people here. If I am not seen for awhile, someone will check in on me….find me if I keel over suddenly." She sighs. "I get it….I’ll have to become more social.”
Waiting Room
The morning clouds dissolve into yet another blue-sky day, and the early wind settles down. Aging hippies, long white hair flowing down their backs, stand in line at the local Starbucks where I sit and write and sip on my chai latte with almond milk. I guess this is what happens if we don’t die an early death. We find our way past the middle of the arc. We stop caring and start living each moment. We want life to be comfortable and warm and easier. Yuma is one of those places that has become a winter snowbird vortex. I cannot imagine myself ever being in a place like this. But, my friend never thought she would either. One just never knows what might seem possible....for the sake of living life fully with some degree of financial freedom. Compromises abound.
I don’t know how many years my friend will come to Yuma in the winter. She doesn’t even know. For now, this is a place that is cheap enough to allow her some freedom to travel in the summer months.
Will Arizona run out of water, though?
She feels Arizona will work it out.
Will she get used to all the desert sand?
Maybe.
And when she visits the Northeast to see family and friends in the summers, she will have to indulge in the color green…all that moisture…..the lush topography....the cooler temperatures.
But for now, we celebrate our friendship, and renovate... in God’s Waiting Room!
A neighbor informs M/E that she has not attended any of the social activities lately (or, knowing my friend, probably not at all), and M/E makes renovation excuses. But, her “grinch-like” hermit personality surfaces and she just rolls her eyes, so only I can see.
“While I am here, let’s go to one…pick one….any one. I will offer moral support,” I say. “How about beading? Cards? But...even I won’t go as far as shuffleboard…unless we smoke a joint first…then it could be fun.”
At the end of Row H,park resident Bill sets up chairs and tables, readying for evening cocktail hour. As we drive by, M/E opens the passenger window and asks about the evening party time. She met Bill at some event or other early on in her time here at the park (proof she has been to at least one social event).
“Tonight is the Christmas parade…going through the park. We have good seats here on the corner,” he says.
“Tonight?” She turns to me and says, “We can do this event. We’ll park at the front office and watch from there.” Why not….it is a start.
“Everyone refers to this place as ‘God’s waiting room’,” she tells me. “Just the other day, a woman on the other side of the park was found dead in her trailer. This is why I know I need to meet people here. If I am not seen for awhile, someone will check in on me….find me if I keel over suddenly." She sighs. "I get it….I’ll have to become more social.”
Waiting Room
The morning clouds dissolve into yet another blue-sky day, and the early wind settles down. Aging hippies, long white hair flowing down their backs, stand in line at the local Starbucks where I sit and write and sip on my chai latte with almond milk. I guess this is what happens if we don’t die an early death. We find our way past the middle of the arc. We stop caring and start living each moment. We want life to be comfortable and warm and easier. Yuma is one of those places that has become a winter snowbird vortex. I cannot imagine myself ever being in a place like this. But, my friend never thought she would either. One just never knows what might seem possible....for the sake of living life fully with some degree of financial freedom. Compromises abound.
I don’t know how many years my friend will come to Yuma in the winter. She doesn’t even know. For now, this is a place that is cheap enough to allow her some freedom to travel in the summer months.
Will Arizona run out of water, though?
She feels Arizona will work it out.
Will she get used to all the desert sand?
Maybe.
And when she visits the Northeast to see family and friends in the summers, she will have to indulge in the color green…all that moisture…..the lush topography....the cooler temperatures.
But for now, we celebrate our friendship, and renovate... in God’s Waiting Room!
ICM
Who knew this was a photographic "thing"! Years ago, on my first trip around the US by bus, listening to an outside concert in San Marcos, Texas, I admired the lights hanging in the trees, the darkness enveloping the whole stage area...except the glow from a nearby bonfire.
As I aimed my camera at the lights, someone bumped me as they passed by. What came of the shot was a surreal canvas of light swatches. Very cool. BUT....come to find out...ICM stands for "intentional camera movement".
Who knew this was a photographic "thing"! Years ago, on my first trip around the US by bus, listening to an outside concert in San Marcos, Texas, I admired the lights hanging in the trees, the darkness enveloping the whole stage area...except the glow from a nearby bonfire.
As I aimed my camera at the lights, someone bumped me as they passed by. What came of the shot was a surreal canvas of light swatches. Very cool. BUT....come to find out...ICM stands for "intentional camera movement".
You Tube instructional videos are a hoot: techniques for "moving" the camera to intentionally blur the scene. Most of the technical prowess is in the digital editing. Studying other's ICM shots on Instagram, I find inspiration to play with this approach....to see if I can find surreal images, watercolor-like compositions, and who-knows-what-else results. I will keep experimenting. Since there is darkness and lights, with camera in hand, I shoot in a circular movement as the shutter clicks. Or, left to right. Maybe up and down. Shooting is not rocket science! The digital editing might be....:)
I am not a fan of commercial holidays. The winter solstice is more interesting to me, on a pagan level. M/E and I take out our tarot cards for the occasion. I do a "shortest day of the year" reading for myself. Nothing new to learn. I just need to keep plugging away at living fully. It is the first of the four stage celebratory season: Solstice, Christmas, New Year, and mid-January birthday. In the midst of all that is going on in this country, and in the world, every cause for celebration is a rebellion against inner and outer, real and metaphysical, terrorism. I raise a glass as often as I can.