We can survive here

I sent the manuscript off this morning for a few first reads. Even now, if only in two directions, it’s going places I’ve never been. I’m thinking about eating an entire sleeve of ritz crackers – don’t tempt me – I’ve done it before easily and after the yogurt I just ate that was 3 or 4 hours sans refrigeration, I’m pretty sure I’m immune to whatever the world wants to throw at me. I’ll test my theory in a few hours.
Saturday, I had an amazing day in the desert. I went hiking on Pinnacle Peak with my work friend and her sister, which took us about 2 hours. Down and up and down and up through giant Medusa Saguaro pointing up in the hot sky like a big “FUCK YOU – we CAN survive here.” I touched all the spikes.

Being in North Scottsdale, when we reached the top of the mountain, we looked around us at million dollar homes with their private putting greens and infinity pools and guest houses the size of our apartments and said “Let’s get a PBR. And a burger.”
I don’t drink PBR because I’m a beer snob and like my ambers, bochs, pales, IPAs, stouts, but scarfed the Bacon, green chili, cheese burger in about 3 minutes at a place the Food Network named “one of American’s top destinations” – Greasewood Flat. It reminded me of Texas, when I lived there, the open air, patio cowboy/biker bbq joints where old cowboys sang Johnny Cash and Willie Nelson with a guitar and an automatic drum machine that played the same beat for every song. It was magnificent.

And then we went to a vintage, flea, antique show and if I had cash with me, I would have bought everything! Old marquee letters, earrings made from vintage book covers, old library card catalogues, old maps, christmas ornaments, glassware, quirky art – I wanted all of it!
I settled on the earrings. Went home. Had a beer. Fell asleep exhausted and had horrible dreams which ruined me Sunday.

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2 Responses to We can survive here

  1. I have lustful fantasies about owning just one authentic silver-and-turquoise pawn bracelet, old school and of such a rich patina that its subdued shine becomes a beacon. The sound of your discovered flea market would be the kind of place I expect magic would appear. I would have wanted it all, too.

    Apropos of the desert, as location or home or metaphor, my son just bought the new transfer of LAWRENCE OF ARABIA, a favorite of our through its many incarnations. If nothing else, it reminds us through its several hours that what appears empty and uninhabitable is anything but. We may have to become lost before we can recognize home. Reading Larry McMurtry right now, who finds the southern border states to be kinder places than Cormac McCarthy. There is pretty much nothing we absolutely HAVE to know today, for which I am grateful. What we get to ask ourselves is are we willing to live with the mystery? xo

    • rachvb says:

      I love this – “are we willing to live with the mystery?” I think the desert holds a lot of mystery. Nothing here is out in the open – it can’t be otherwise it would die. There’s a lot that’s hidden here. My favorite place to camp when I was younger was in the desert – Joshua Tree, Anza Borrego. You arrive and there seems to be nothing there, but a little work, a little digging and scrambling around boulders and all these beautiful things are revealed.

      I’ll look for your bracelet =) Maybe, someday, I’ll find one for you. There are a billion antique shops here I’m dying to check out. xoxo

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