On Thursday, I returned to Yuma. As I drove through the familiar streets, on the way to a meeting with our farmworker clients in San Luis, it seemed so strange that I lived in this city just two months ago. It seems like years. My life is so good now- so good. Not perfect by any means, but I am free from the loneliness that will always mark my Yuma memories. I was kind of excited to be there- look, there's where I lived. There's my favorite taco stand! There's the wine store with the friendly owners where Melissa and I went every Friday afternoon after work!
And then drove on, down the highway to San Luis, passing company buses full of workers returning from the fields, fields full of people bent over harvesting the food that mysteriously ends up in my big shiny grocery store every week. Look, what name is on that bus? The names of the employers we are suing became real, the faceless clients we represent became flesh and blood. We entered the dusty brown and bright green world of migrant agriculture. We drove into San Luis, Arizona, passed Del Sol market and Food City and endless run down shops advertising in Spanish on the windows- llanterias and supermercados and Venta! hoy! and I was struck by the reality of it all, how these names I have pored over in depositition transcripts and pleadings are real places. For the first time, I met the quiet, brown men whose names I know by heart from reading their stories. Thrilled by the realization that I have not forgotten how to speak Spanish in these two months, I greeted them and translated the other attorney's explanation of trial and settlement possibilities. For 6 hours, we talked with these weathered men, and then exhausted, drained, we headed back to Phoenix. We left the fields and Spanish-saturated air and returned to manicured lawns and skyscrapers and English. It was a good day- it made the sterile monotony of my day to day work a bit more bearable, to know there are real people on the other side of it. I was left awed by our ability, in this time, to change worlds so quickly, in the space of a day.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Friday, March 28, 2008
a mystery gift
Amid the routine of daily life, sometimes strange things happen that make me pause. This is one of them:
On Monday, I had a group of new friends over for a Mexican cookout. Great people all; we laughed and told stories and played the Ungame. At some point there was a mention of my lack of four wheels... which is why the next day, when I came home from work and found a model Harley Davidson motorcycle, complete in original packaging, by the back door, I thought it had to be someone from the FFH group. But after a few phone calls, I realized I was either being very convincingly lied to, or none of my visitors had any clue what I was talking about. Chalk it up as one of life's little mysteries...
The next day, 10 minutes after getting home, I had a visitor. At the front door was an ancient little man seated on one of those golf-cart like contraptions for the feeble, complete with wire basket on the front. "Can I help you?" - I was thoroughly confused. "Did you find that motorcycle I left by your door?" he asked. Well yes, I did. Meet Mr. Morris. As he explained to me from his seat a foot off the ground, a while back he ordered one Harley model for one of his grandkids, and they sent him six. So when he saw that I rode a "motorcycle", he thought he'd give me one. "I realized that I should have left a note or something so you would know who left it." He lives in the Pepto-pink house across the street. His wife died 5 years ago. His son comes to visit every week or so, but he lives all alone. He turned 90 in February. He has a pacemaker, the battery died a while back and he had to have surgery. "Are you a doctor too?" No, I'm a lawyer, my housemate's a doctor. "Oh, well I sure hope you don't sue doctors or nurses. I've been in the hospital a lot, and they always take real good care of me. Please don't sue any doctors. No one should sue doctors. You know, there was one nurse who took good care of me. She went to Germany and died in a train accident. I found out later that she was single. Such a nice woman, if I had known she was single I would have asked her to marry me. You know, I'm 90 years old. I lived through the Depression. My dad died when I was 15. I shouldn't still be alive, but I am. Sometimes I wish I weren't, I'm ready to go. I shouldn't say that though, I'm sorry."
Mr. Morris and I (well, mostly him) talked for a good half hour, him seated on his little scooter on the porch. I was so touched by this sweet slightly sad man who is remarkably alert for being 90 years old. I picture him sitting inside his pink house watching the neighborhood go by through his living room windows, the kids every day on their bikes, the guys next door with their paint business truck, the people out walking in the evenings. And I resolved to make some time to go visit him sometimes. To return his simple, inexplicable and slightly bizarre offering of friendship.
On Monday, I had a group of new friends over for a Mexican cookout. Great people all; we laughed and told stories and played the Ungame. At some point there was a mention of my lack of four wheels... which is why the next day, when I came home from work and found a model Harley Davidson motorcycle, complete in original packaging, by the back door, I thought it had to be someone from the FFH group. But after a few phone calls, I realized I was either being very convincingly lied to, or none of my visitors had any clue what I was talking about. Chalk it up as one of life's little mysteries...
The next day, 10 minutes after getting home, I had a visitor. At the front door was an ancient little man seated on one of those golf-cart like contraptions for the feeble, complete with wire basket on the front. "Can I help you?" - I was thoroughly confused. "Did you find that motorcycle I left by your door?" he asked. Well yes, I did. Meet Mr. Morris. As he explained to me from his seat a foot off the ground, a while back he ordered one Harley model for one of his grandkids, and they sent him six. So when he saw that I rode a "motorcycle", he thought he'd give me one. "I realized that I should have left a note or something so you would know who left it." He lives in the Pepto-pink house across the street. His wife died 5 years ago. His son comes to visit every week or so, but he lives all alone. He turned 90 in February. He has a pacemaker, the battery died a while back and he had to have surgery. "Are you a doctor too?" No, I'm a lawyer, my housemate's a doctor. "Oh, well I sure hope you don't sue doctors or nurses. I've been in the hospital a lot, and they always take real good care of me. Please don't sue any doctors. No one should sue doctors. You know, there was one nurse who took good care of me. She went to Germany and died in a train accident. I found out later that she was single. Such a nice woman, if I had known she was single I would have asked her to marry me. You know, I'm 90 years old. I lived through the Depression. My dad died when I was 15. I shouldn't still be alive, but I am. Sometimes I wish I weren't, I'm ready to go. I shouldn't say that though, I'm sorry."
Mr. Morris and I (well, mostly him) talked for a good half hour, him seated on his little scooter on the porch. I was so touched by this sweet slightly sad man who is remarkably alert for being 90 years old. I picture him sitting inside his pink house watching the neighborhood go by through his living room windows, the kids every day on their bikes, the guys next door with their paint business truck, the people out walking in the evenings. And I resolved to make some time to go visit him sometimes. To return his simple, inexplicable and slightly bizarre offering of friendship.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
ode to Phoenix
I am loving life. And by life, I mean all of my living breathing daily existence except for my job, which I am not going to talk about here. Change-- all in time.
Phoenix has seriously grown on me in the past month. Sure, it's a sprawling car-driven suburban disaster with no coherent growth plan, pathetic public transit, scary numbers of immigrant-hating bigots and a sheriff to lead them (anybody heard of Joe Arpaio?), but at the same time it's got a lot going for it.
I feel the potential in this city- and I do wildly and irrationally love potential. First, LOCATION. Within the city limits are at least 4 mountain preserves with hiking trails, unspoiled wilderness areas of sahuaro and orange wildflowers, and stunning views. The snowy mountains (skiing and snowboarding!) of Flagstaff are a 2.5 hour drive away. Beautiful red rock hippy town Sedona is an hour and a half. Actually, a million beautiful outdoor areas, from waterfalls to canyons to desert mountains, are within easy reach. Arizona is so much more than desert- come see for yourself! And then, there's the city itself. Turns out Phoenix is not all shiny new soul-less subdivisions. Central Phoenix is a fascinating maze of historic neighborhoods, great swathes of them undiscovered and neglected. Then there's a scattering of little restaurants, bars, coffee shops, and music venues housed in beautifully restored Craftsman style houses tucked away in corners of neighborhoods, hidden from the intrusion of uninitiated suburbanites. There's 16th street, little Mexico, strewn with mariscos shacks and taco stands and quincenera dress shops and a fantastically huge Mexican market. Downtown is inexplicably scarred by huge vacant lots, prime real estate destined to become condo skyscrapers once the economy turns around. And there are stirrings of life. There's a light rail line going in down Central, due to open in December. Classical music concerts take place in a fantastic venue that was an old icehouse by the railroad tracks. The city is really trying to reinvigorate the downtown area, long neglected. And rising gas prices are only going to speed the migration back to the center of the city.
I'm excited to be in a place where the first green tips of a daffodil emergence are poking through the snows of city-flight neglect. (is that an inappropriate analogy for a desert city?) I want to stick around to see what happens. I want to buy a big old house in a sketchy neighborhood in the heart of downtown and fill it with kindred spirits and the smells of homemade food and plant bouganvilla and basil and rosemary in pots and watch the city transform itself around me.
I also want to kick Joe Arpaio and his legions to the curb, but hey- change comes slowly sometimes. But I think I'm willing to wait for it here, for a while.
Phoenix has seriously grown on me in the past month. Sure, it's a sprawling car-driven suburban disaster with no coherent growth plan, pathetic public transit, scary numbers of immigrant-hating bigots and a sheriff to lead them (anybody heard of Joe Arpaio?), but at the same time it's got a lot going for it.
I feel the potential in this city- and I do wildly and irrationally love potential. First, LOCATION. Within the city limits are at least 4 mountain preserves with hiking trails, unspoiled wilderness areas of sahuaro and orange wildflowers, and stunning views. The snowy mountains (skiing and snowboarding!) of Flagstaff are a 2.5 hour drive away. Beautiful red rock hippy town Sedona is an hour and a half. Actually, a million beautiful outdoor areas, from waterfalls to canyons to desert mountains, are within easy reach. Arizona is so much more than desert- come see for yourself! And then, there's the city itself. Turns out Phoenix is not all shiny new soul-less subdivisions. Central Phoenix is a fascinating maze of historic neighborhoods, great swathes of them undiscovered and neglected. Then there's a scattering of little restaurants, bars, coffee shops, and music venues housed in beautifully restored Craftsman style houses tucked away in corners of neighborhoods, hidden from the intrusion of uninitiated suburbanites. There's 16th street, little Mexico, strewn with mariscos shacks and taco stands and quincenera dress shops and a fantastically huge Mexican market. Downtown is inexplicably scarred by huge vacant lots, prime real estate destined to become condo skyscrapers once the economy turns around. And there are stirrings of life. There's a light rail line going in down Central, due to open in December. Classical music concerts take place in a fantastic venue that was an old icehouse by the railroad tracks. The city is really trying to reinvigorate the downtown area, long neglected. And rising gas prices are only going to speed the migration back to the center of the city.
I'm excited to be in a place where the first green tips of a daffodil emergence are poking through the snows of city-flight neglect. (is that an inappropriate analogy for a desert city?) I want to stick around to see what happens. I want to buy a big old house in a sketchy neighborhood in the heart of downtown and fill it with kindred spirits and the smells of homemade food and plant bouganvilla and basil and rosemary in pots and watch the city transform itself around me.
I also want to kick Joe Arpaio and his legions to the curb, but hey- change comes slowly sometimes. But I think I'm willing to wait for it here, for a while.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Reflections on arranged marriage
I had the most fascinating conversation today on commitment, the meaning of love, and arranged marriages. It all started when I met Gauri at a dinner hosted by Maryam's supervising doctor (there is a more technical name for his position, but I can't remember). We instantly hit it off as she described her job as a criminal defense attorney for the poor. Turns out she works just down the street from me, so we had lunch today. Standing outside my warehouse/office in the blinding sun of an unusually warm February day, I finally got up the nerve to ask her about her arranged marriage to her husband. Here is an American raised and educated woman, an attorney, confident and outspoken and articulate, funny and sarcastic. Yet she chose- she asked- for an arranged marriage. She met her future husband for 2 minutes, and 3 days later was married in India in the traditional way. She epitomizes everything that fascinates me about India.
"Are you and he very different?" I asked. Of course we are, everyone is, she said. Think about your parents, she said. Do you love them? Are they the same people they were 20 years ago? Haven't they changed? And yet you still love them, nothing could make you stop loving them, no matter how different you are, right? Love is a choice, a commitment. I love my parents, and I love my husband. Neither of us is going anywhere.
In so many ways, I think her idea of marriage, of love, is so much more realistic and healthy than the Western ideal. I cannot fathom marrying someone who I do not know well, who I do not feel that spark of romantic love for. And that is my culture, what I have been socialized to demand and expect. But--- with all this focus on romantic love, finding someone who is a "soulmate", we often overlook the commitment part. Maybe Indian ideas of love are all commitment, while ours are too often all feelings. Given those extremes, the Indian version is so much healthier.
The Indian marriage is also much more communal. By that, I mean that you aren't just marrying that person. Gauri told me that the most important thing to her was how her future husband got along with her family, and how she got along with his family. Because she knew what a critical role their families would have in their lives. I think Western marriage is so self-centered- or couple centered, really. How many times do I hear people talk about not being able to stand their in-laws? Or that "my parents don't like him, but screw them, it's my marriage"? This individualism is unthinkable for Gauri's culture. It just doesn't work. The very nature of the match-making process, which is run by family networks, depends on children who trust their parents enough to make this crucial decision for them. As Gauri put it: My parents have done so much for me. They didn't take vacations without my sister and I until I was 21. They have sheltered and cared for me. So I knew there was no way they were going to choose a husband for me who would make me unhappy.
Part of me thinks- wow- this whole arranged marriage thing is brilliant. Your parents, who know you better and care more deeply about you than anyone else, who have a lifetime's worth of wisdom and connections, find someone who they think will make you (and them) happy. No making mistakes dating stupid people, no broken hearts, leave behind the stress and agony and frustration of trying to find that perfect person who really isn't perfect after all. Leave marriage to the experts, not the novices. Doesn't that make sense? It's so rational, so logical.
Of course it makes sense. But am I ready for an arranged marriage? Not quite. No matter how much I love and respect my parents, I cannot imagine the kind of blind trust it takes to completely commit a choice that huge to them. And I don't think they would want that responsiblity, honestly. Our culture is just not set up that way.
I love the commitment that the arranged marriage system engenders, the clear-eyed approach to marriage, stripped of the gloppy romanticism we wrap it in. But that kind of sheer commitment takes my breath away. Because while I intend to commit completely- because I understand that love without commitment is not love at all- it terrifies me to think of committing to someone who I do not really deeply know. And yet Gauri is right- no matter how well you know someone, we all change. The person she married two years ago is not the same person she will be married to in five years. And that is just as true for a Western "love" marriage as for an arranged one.
So these are my thoughts. I'm not quite ready for my parents (or anyone else) to arrange my marriage. But sometimes I wish I weren't too American to make an arranged marriage work. I wonder: is our Western idea of "love" worth all the drama we go through to find it?
"Are you and he very different?" I asked. Of course we are, everyone is, she said. Think about your parents, she said. Do you love them? Are they the same people they were 20 years ago? Haven't they changed? And yet you still love them, nothing could make you stop loving them, no matter how different you are, right? Love is a choice, a commitment. I love my parents, and I love my husband. Neither of us is going anywhere.
In so many ways, I think her idea of marriage, of love, is so much more realistic and healthy than the Western ideal. I cannot fathom marrying someone who I do not know well, who I do not feel that spark of romantic love for. And that is my culture, what I have been socialized to demand and expect. But--- with all this focus on romantic love, finding someone who is a "soulmate", we often overlook the commitment part. Maybe Indian ideas of love are all commitment, while ours are too often all feelings. Given those extremes, the Indian version is so much healthier.
The Indian marriage is also much more communal. By that, I mean that you aren't just marrying that person. Gauri told me that the most important thing to her was how her future husband got along with her family, and how she got along with his family. Because she knew what a critical role their families would have in their lives. I think Western marriage is so self-centered- or couple centered, really. How many times do I hear people talk about not being able to stand their in-laws? Or that "my parents don't like him, but screw them, it's my marriage"? This individualism is unthinkable for Gauri's culture. It just doesn't work. The very nature of the match-making process, which is run by family networks, depends on children who trust their parents enough to make this crucial decision for them. As Gauri put it: My parents have done so much for me. They didn't take vacations without my sister and I until I was 21. They have sheltered and cared for me. So I knew there was no way they were going to choose a husband for me who would make me unhappy.
Part of me thinks- wow- this whole arranged marriage thing is brilliant. Your parents, who know you better and care more deeply about you than anyone else, who have a lifetime's worth of wisdom and connections, find someone who they think will make you (and them) happy. No making mistakes dating stupid people, no broken hearts, leave behind the stress and agony and frustration of trying to find that perfect person who really isn't perfect after all. Leave marriage to the experts, not the novices. Doesn't that make sense? It's so rational, so logical.
Of course it makes sense. But am I ready for an arranged marriage? Not quite. No matter how much I love and respect my parents, I cannot imagine the kind of blind trust it takes to completely commit a choice that huge to them. And I don't think they would want that responsiblity, honestly. Our culture is just not set up that way.
I love the commitment that the arranged marriage system engenders, the clear-eyed approach to marriage, stripped of the gloppy romanticism we wrap it in. But that kind of sheer commitment takes my breath away. Because while I intend to commit completely- because I understand that love without commitment is not love at all- it terrifies me to think of committing to someone who I do not really deeply know. And yet Gauri is right- no matter how well you know someone, we all change. The person she married two years ago is not the same person she will be married to in five years. And that is just as true for a Western "love" marriage as for an arranged one.
So these are my thoughts. I'm not quite ready for my parents (or anyone else) to arrange my marriage. But sometimes I wish I weren't too American to make an arranged marriage work. I wonder: is our Western idea of "love" worth all the drama we go through to find it?
Monday, February 18, 2008
On being a consumer
Phoenix is sorely testing my penny-pinching heart.
Since I don't know anyone, I accept any invitation to go out- lunch, movie, happy hour, rock gym- because that is how you get to know people. And because there is so much to experience here! But it also gets costly quick, especially for someone who has had just about no social life for the past 6 months. Which brings me to the question I wrestle with: When is it OK to splurge? To silence my inner piggy bank in the name of socializing or indulging in organic flax seed?
I like to say that it is better to find ways to spend time with people that don't involve money, that those activities are always better. But that doesn't always work in the very beginning stages. Especially in this busy, rather yuppie, city, with so many things to do and see and explore (most of which cost money). I think I'm coming to realize that there's going to have to be some initial investment- dinners out, rock climbing shoes, gas money- to get to that point where I know people well enough to say: "let's just grill out over at my house". Or throw frisbee in the park. Or watch my Netflix movie at home.
And aside from social spending, there are the costs that come with the expanded options for "the good life" in a big city. Mostly here I'm talking about food (of course, it's me). See below.
Spending money is exhausting. I don't know if everyone feels this way. If it is because I am such a penny-pincher, or because consumerism is exhausting in general. But today I spent:
-$30 (and an hour) on lamps and plants for my office at IKEA
-$2.75 on gas for my scooter
-$100 to get my scooter tuned up and the oil changed (yes, I feel ripped off, but with few alternatives...)
-$1.18 at Walgreens for clearance nail polish
-$40 at just one of the unbelievable number of organic/natural foods/expensive yuppie grocery stores within 2 miles of my house. (The sheer quantity and breadth of grocery stores within a 2 mile radius of my house is nothing short of stunning: 2 Fry's, Safeway, Trader Joe's, Food City, Sprouts, Walmart, and a handful of other small specialty grocery stores)
-$5 for roasted red peppers and sesame oil (for making hummus) at another grocery store
-$31 for gas in my housemate's car (who, in a very generous and characteristic act, loaned me her car while she was out of town this weekend)
This is not a normal day, thank God. (for one, I'm not going grocery shopping again anytime soon!). But a day like this gets me thinking- how many places in the world can you blow over $200 in a matter of hours just on basic necessities of life (plus some lamps and nail polish)? I get a little nauseated when I think about how I just spent the equivalent of a year's salary for someone in Africa or Haiti. I think about just the food I bought: quinoa, organic garbanzo beans, sesame oil, asparagus, brown rice. Fancy (yuppie? no, I prefer hipster, thanks...) food, things that I like, but definitely not the bare essentials. Is it greedy, extravagant, to venture into Trader Joes, rather than stick to my (still, beloved) Food City .60 cent/pound tomatoes and .33 cilantro and .40 canned black beans?
I'm not sure what the point is of this whole play-by-play of my President's Day shopping. Except that it brought to a head my anxiety about how much money I have been spending, and my guilt and conflicted feelings about "discretionary income" spending in general.
Since I don't know anyone, I accept any invitation to go out- lunch, movie, happy hour, rock gym- because that is how you get to know people. And because there is so much to experience here! But it also gets costly quick, especially for someone who has had just about no social life for the past 6 months. Which brings me to the question I wrestle with: When is it OK to splurge? To silence my inner piggy bank in the name of socializing or indulging in organic flax seed?
I like to say that it is better to find ways to spend time with people that don't involve money, that those activities are always better. But that doesn't always work in the very beginning stages. Especially in this busy, rather yuppie, city, with so many things to do and see and explore (most of which cost money). I think I'm coming to realize that there's going to have to be some initial investment- dinners out, rock climbing shoes, gas money- to get to that point where I know people well enough to say: "let's just grill out over at my house". Or throw frisbee in the park. Or watch my Netflix movie at home.
And aside from social spending, there are the costs that come with the expanded options for "the good life" in a big city. Mostly here I'm talking about food (of course, it's me). See below.
Spending money is exhausting. I don't know if everyone feels this way. If it is because I am such a penny-pincher, or because consumerism is exhausting in general. But today I spent:
-$30 (and an hour) on lamps and plants for my office at IKEA
-$2.75 on gas for my scooter
-$100 to get my scooter tuned up and the oil changed (yes, I feel ripped off, but with few alternatives...)
-$1.18 at Walgreens for clearance nail polish
-$40 at just one of the unbelievable number of organic/natural foods/expensive yuppie grocery stores within 2 miles of my house. (The sheer quantity and breadth of grocery stores within a 2 mile radius of my house is nothing short of stunning: 2 Fry's, Safeway, Trader Joe's, Food City, Sprouts, Walmart, and a handful of other small specialty grocery stores)
-$5 for roasted red peppers and sesame oil (for making hummus) at another grocery store
-$31 for gas in my housemate's car (who, in a very generous and characteristic act, loaned me her car while she was out of town this weekend)
This is not a normal day, thank God. (for one, I'm not going grocery shopping again anytime soon!). But a day like this gets me thinking- how many places in the world can you blow over $200 in a matter of hours just on basic necessities of life (plus some lamps and nail polish)? I get a little nauseated when I think about how I just spent the equivalent of a year's salary for someone in Africa or Haiti. I think about just the food I bought: quinoa, organic garbanzo beans, sesame oil, asparagus, brown rice. Fancy (yuppie? no, I prefer hipster, thanks...) food, things that I like, but definitely not the bare essentials. Is it greedy, extravagant, to venture into Trader Joes, rather than stick to my (still, beloved) Food City .60 cent/pound tomatoes and .33 cilantro and .40 canned black beans?
I'm not sure what the point is of this whole play-by-play of my President's Day shopping. Except that it brought to a head my anxiety about how much money I have been spending, and my guilt and conflicted feelings about "discretionary income" spending in general.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
first week in Phoenix
I'll post pictures soon of my new life here. But for now, because I am lazy, I will write instead.
My move to Phoenix was so much more than a three hour drive- I have moved to a different reality, so much so that my Yuma life seems fuzzy and far away. There is so much to do and see, so many people to meet! I am realizing I need to make some serious decisions about how to budget my time (and discretionary income). So here's a few more snapshots of my life this week:
-driving 45 minutes (17 miles, but when you're on a scooter and can only use surface roads things take longer...) to play frisbee with a wonderful group in Tempe. I dove for a frisbee, got my shorts full of dry grass, scraped my legs, but it's a great way to get instant respect. This girl may be a little fuzzy on offensive strategy, but she's intense.... I'm going to join a league!!
-screaming in frustration at the ever-mutating road closures/construction. Once this light rail goes in, it will be a beautiful thing, but when roads close, or change direction, on an hourly basis, getting anywhere sometimes makes me absolutely and hysterically crazy. The daily commute is the worst part of my day.
- finding out how much in common I have with my uber-cool housemate, Maryam. We had lots of together time this weekend: going out dancing, to a cool Asian restaurant, watching movies, hiking Squaw peak while having great conversations. I am so blessed.
- complaining about my horrible horrible windowless office which leaves me bleary-eyed and sun-starved by 3pm. I have got to figure out how to make it workable somehow because otherwise I will not last at this job. And that would be a stupid reason to leave. So I'm looking into painting and getting some lamps with those sun-simulating light bulbs.
- marveling at how many young people are in this city... everywhere!
- being surrounded by white young professionals all the time is disconcerting. I need to find some more diversity. It's great to hang out with people like me, but I need do be challenged. I miss Yuma's scruffy taco stands and hearing Spanish everywhere.
- discovering that this city is built around mountains- so you are never far from a great hike. Amazing!
- doing yoga for the first time in my life. I thoroughly enjoyed it. Does that make me a yuppie?
- Spending two hours on ropes, clinging to the walls for dear life, in Tempe's rock climbing gym. It smells like pee, but it is a great workout when you can't do the real thing (rock climbing outside).
That's about it for now. I am still a little bewildered by this place I have landed in. In a good way. But still bewildered.
My move to Phoenix was so much more than a three hour drive- I have moved to a different reality, so much so that my Yuma life seems fuzzy and far away. There is so much to do and see, so many people to meet! I am realizing I need to make some serious decisions about how to budget my time (and discretionary income). So here's a few more snapshots of my life this week:
-driving 45 minutes (17 miles, but when you're on a scooter and can only use surface roads things take longer...) to play frisbee with a wonderful group in Tempe. I dove for a frisbee, got my shorts full of dry grass, scraped my legs, but it's a great way to get instant respect. This girl may be a little fuzzy on offensive strategy, but she's intense.... I'm going to join a league!!
-screaming in frustration at the ever-mutating road closures/construction. Once this light rail goes in, it will be a beautiful thing, but when roads close, or change direction, on an hourly basis, getting anywhere sometimes makes me absolutely and hysterically crazy. The daily commute is the worst part of my day.
- finding out how much in common I have with my uber-cool housemate, Maryam. We had lots of together time this weekend: going out dancing, to a cool Asian restaurant, watching movies, hiking Squaw peak while having great conversations. I am so blessed.
- complaining about my horrible horrible windowless office which leaves me bleary-eyed and sun-starved by 3pm. I have got to figure out how to make it workable somehow because otherwise I will not last at this job. And that would be a stupid reason to leave. So I'm looking into painting and getting some lamps with those sun-simulating light bulbs.
- marveling at how many young people are in this city... everywhere!
- being surrounded by white young professionals all the time is disconcerting. I need to find some more diversity. It's great to hang out with people like me, but I need do be challenged. I miss Yuma's scruffy taco stands and hearing Spanish everywhere.
- discovering that this city is built around mountains- so you are never far from a great hike. Amazing!
- doing yoga for the first time in my life. I thoroughly enjoyed it. Does that make me a yuppie?
- Spending two hours on ropes, clinging to the walls for dear life, in Tempe's rock climbing gym. It smells like pee, but it is a great workout when you can't do the real thing (rock climbing outside).
That's about it for now. I am still a little bewildered by this place I have landed in. In a good way. But still bewildered.
Monday, February 4, 2008
another new start
Those of you who talk to me on a regular basis know that I wasn't real happy in Yuma. That I didn't fit there and didn't want to. But you also probably thought that my next step was Tucson. As did I, until less than a month ago. That's when the opportunity to work in the farmworker division of CLS in Phoenix opened up, and I thought, why not. Turns out Phoenix is not too bad, and things have fallen into place in such an amazing way that I have no doubt that this is where I'm supposed to be right now.
So just a quick synopsis: I live in central Phoenix, in a beautiful, fully furnished, and centrally located house with a very cool housemate who is a third year medical resident. I drive the four miles to work on a newly acquired Vino scooter, which I am very fond of already. I work in the farmworker division of the same organization I worked with in Yuma. Instead of handing out brief advice on security deposits and slum lords and child custody battles, I will be spending my time on wage and employment litigation on behalf of agricultural workers, nearly all of which are (legal) immigrants.
This is my first experience living IN a big city. Not in a suburb, not in a quaint little town- this is the CITY. It's a breath of fresh air- so many people! so much to do! coffee shops and foreign films and skyscrapers! All under Arizona's gorgeous big sunny sky.
Some memorable moments so far:
-Finding that although I have left Yuma, Mexico remains. Food City, my favorite Mexican grocery store, with a whole tortilla aisle and the most beautiful startling cheap veggies around, parking lot hazy with delicious chicken-infused smoke from the barbeque stall out front, is just a few miles away. AND- Trader Joe's, my guilty yuppie pleasure where I can buy fair trade coffee and organic milk and whole wheat pasta, is just a few miles the other way. I have the best of both worlds right here!
-Watching the Super Bowl with Maryam (my housemate)'s friends, most of them also medical residents. I didn't know who was playing until the game started, but the Giants won my respect. I know I rag on football for being a game played by dumb fat guys with necks the size of tree trunks, but after watching Eli Manning magically escape 3 defenders to throw a pass to the receiver who then catches the ball by holding it against his helmet with one hand while falling to the ground- WOW. I was impressed. Go Giants.
-My first day at work, in a very unfortunate office with no windows in a very ugly building right by the train tracks (yes, still a non-profit), it rained all day. Which is fairly unheard of in Arizona so it's always exciting. Being splattered by cars sloshing through giant puddles on the way home wasn't so fun, but like I said, this is uncommon.
-Not-so-small luxuries- internet and washer/dryer (look, no quarters!) in my house, nice living room furniture that I didn't pay for, a TV, dishwasher (only for when company comes over of course), curbside recycling. I am living the high life- so incredibly blessed.
-Finding out that Maryam and I share a love of foreign and independent films, rock climbing, and hiking! An instant "in" to this new world.
So my new life starts. Look for more frequent blogging to come...
So just a quick synopsis: I live in central Phoenix, in a beautiful, fully furnished, and centrally located house with a very cool housemate who is a third year medical resident. I drive the four miles to work on a newly acquired Vino scooter, which I am very fond of already. I work in the farmworker division of the same organization I worked with in Yuma. Instead of handing out brief advice on security deposits and slum lords and child custody battles, I will be spending my time on wage and employment litigation on behalf of agricultural workers, nearly all of which are (legal) immigrants.
This is my first experience living IN a big city. Not in a suburb, not in a quaint little town- this is the CITY. It's a breath of fresh air- so many people! so much to do! coffee shops and foreign films and skyscrapers! All under Arizona's gorgeous big sunny sky.
Some memorable moments so far:
-Finding that although I have left Yuma, Mexico remains. Food City, my favorite Mexican grocery store, with a whole tortilla aisle and the most beautiful startling cheap veggies around, parking lot hazy with delicious chicken-infused smoke from the barbeque stall out front, is just a few miles away. AND- Trader Joe's, my guilty yuppie pleasure where I can buy fair trade coffee and organic milk and whole wheat pasta, is just a few miles the other way. I have the best of both worlds right here!
-Watching the Super Bowl with Maryam (my housemate)'s friends, most of them also medical residents. I didn't know who was playing until the game started, but the Giants won my respect. I know I rag on football for being a game played by dumb fat guys with necks the size of tree trunks, but after watching Eli Manning magically escape 3 defenders to throw a pass to the receiver who then catches the ball by holding it against his helmet with one hand while falling to the ground- WOW. I was impressed. Go Giants.
-My first day at work, in a very unfortunate office with no windows in a very ugly building right by the train tracks (yes, still a non-profit), it rained all day. Which is fairly unheard of in Arizona so it's always exciting. Being splattered by cars sloshing through giant puddles on the way home wasn't so fun, but like I said, this is uncommon.
-Not-so-small luxuries- internet and washer/dryer (look, no quarters!) in my house, nice living room furniture that I didn't pay for, a TV, dishwasher (only for when company comes over of course), curbside recycling. I am living the high life- so incredibly blessed.
-Finding out that Maryam and I share a love of foreign and independent films, rock climbing, and hiking! An instant "in" to this new world.
So my new life starts. Look for more frequent blogging to come...
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