Peace

It's the basis of most belief systems found throughout the world. It's what we sing about and pray for. Yet it's elusive still, as hard to hold on to as a whisper.

That's my wish for the New Year. For those fighting on foreign shores, peace. For all who lost their jobs and search for new ones, peace. For those who grieve, for the bitter and unhappy, for the hungry and cold, for the sick and the healthy, for those who have plenty and those who have little.

For all.

Peace.

Memories of El Salvador

In 2005 I was invited to join a medical mission to El Salvador as their photojournalist. It was, without exaggeration, a life changing event.

Clinic was held in an abandoned hacienda in the rural region of El Paisnal; it was estimated that in five days the doctors treated over 10,000 patients. The medical team also received a lesson in Salvadoran politics -El Paisnal was the center of insurgency and rebellion during the long and bloody civil war of the 1970's and 80's, and patients suffered from deep depression and had lost many members of their families. A poor region in a poor country, El Paisnal was infused with a lingering sense of sadness accentuated by its notoriety; this was the parish of Father Rutilio Grande, an activist priest and ardent supporter for the poor who was murdered by the military less than five miles from the clinic site. His brutal murder so enraged his friend, Archbishop Romero, that the Archbishop became a leading activist for the poor. He, too, was assassinated by the military, in church while saying mass.

This Friday I will be exhibiting a few of my El Salvador photos in a small photography show in downtown Tucson. Among the photos will be the face of Father Grande, along with the faces of Salvadorans whose eyes reflect the sadness, determination and resilience of their beautiful, battered and proud country

Search for Lost Relatives

Recently went for a routine doctor's visit, and once again was reminded of the gaping holes in my family history. I'm asked the usual questions, about family history of such and such or this and that, and I always have to remind them that, on my mother's side, I have little family to give a history of. My mother, her three brothers and her parents came to this country just before Poland was invaded by Germany at the onset of World War II.

They were the Rand family of Stryj. They were Jewish. As far as we know, those 6 people were the only members of the Rand family of Stryj, Poland that survived the holocaust.

My cousins and I have discussed this, and it seems to be true. No one has ever met anyone else from that family; no cousins, second cousins, cousins once removed, great aunts or great uncles. My grandmother and grandfather, their three sons and one daughter, they were the only ones who made it. They are all deceased now, so we 8 cousins and our children, now we are it. We are the only descendants of the Rand family of Stryj, Poland.

Or are we? That is the story of holocaust survivors. There's always that question in the air; did anyone else make it? You always hope to hear of a long lost cousin in a remote town in another country. My cousin Martha grew up hearing two rumors: one, that we were originally English (Rand is indeed an odd name for a Jewish Polish family), and two, that relatives of my grandmother made it out of Poland and ended up in Argentina.

We've never had any way of checking the truth of these rumors until now.

Right here in Tucson there exists an organization called the DNA Shoah Project. Their goal: to collect DNA samples form holocaust survivors and their children from all over the world and form a DNA databank. The staff of the project will keep information on file: names, family histories, etc. The DNA samples themselves are bar coded so the databank will see them only as a bar code, keeping individual identities anonymous. A computer will look for a match based not on names or pedigree but simply on DNA. If a match is found, the staff will inform the participants.

Wow!

I called the project and told them the story of the Rand family. The staff said, yes, we are exactly the kind of story they are looking for. I immediately sent an email to my cousin Martha in New York, daughter of my mother's brother Arthur. She was as enthusiastic as I was, and agreed to take a sample and talk to our other cousins (the more samples the better).

That's where we stand right now. I'm hoping to get at least 3 of the Rand cousins' DNA into the database immediately, with more to follow as we try and contact the other cousins (our family is not close and some members are estranged, which is oddly typical of families who survived the holocaust).

I hope one day I'll be writing a post about meeting another descendant of the Rand family of Stryj, Poland. That would be a lovely, lovely gift.

It's a new day

One week ago today was the greatest election day of my life. I partied all night and I've been partying ever since.

I started working for Barack Obama almost a year ago. My two sons were among those who convinced me to consider him as a serious candidate. The more I read about him (and by him, especially his first book) the more I realized that this was the leader our country so desperately needed. About 6 months ago I decided to concentrate my efforts where I thought they'd do the most good: I became a contributing writer for Huffington Post, reporting on the election and particularly on how the presidential campaign was going here in John McCain's state (I refuse to say 'home state;' he's not from here, and with upward of 10 houses I honestly don't know what state the guy calls home). Writing for Huff Post is one of the most intense, interesting and crazy things I've ever done, mostly because of the outrageously fast news cycle of this campaign. News changed hourly, and as a political blogger the onus falls on you to keep up or get swept aside. I kept up the best I could. First I wrote weekly, then twice a week, then once a day, and finally in the last weeks of the campaign I was submitting stories twice a day, all the while taking photos to accompany my blog posts. I interviewed professional pollsters, local politicians (including Arizona's governor, which was very cool I've got to admit), Obama for America staff, countless volunteers and Obama supporters, and even a few Republicans. I was gratified, humbled, and most of all shocked at the response: my blog received thousands of comments and hundreds of thousands of hits, my posts were picked up by websites of newspapers all over the world. It was astonishing. I wish I could send a thank you to everyone who agreed to be interviewed, and everyone who read my pieces, left a comment, or forwarded it to friends and family. It meant the world to me.

Now I'm taking a much needed break. Being a lifelong political junkie I'm still following the news but at a much more relaxed pace. I muse over a glass of wine every evening, quite happily wondering who Obama will pick for his cabinet, what his first decisions will be, and what kind of puppy those little girls will be getting. And for the first time in a long, long time I'm thinking about our country's future and I'm smiling. I'm thinking of my sons and their future, and I'm feeling optimistic. I'm feeling just what I felt nearly a year ago: Barack Obama is the leader our country so desperately needs in this very desperate time.

Hurray for Barack Obama! Hurray for us!

Wistful visit to an old home

We love Seattle. We lived there for 21 years, raised both our sons there, and we love to visit them and our old friends. But there's a bittersweet element to these visits. As we get caught up with our old friends we hear news of lives changing, and because we only visit every 4 months or so, we hear a lot all at once. It can be overwhelming, and this time in particular it hit me with a strong wave of emotion. One old friend is now a grandmother, her teenage daughter - who my son used to babysit - is now a mother. Another old friend just got fired. A dear friend is reaching the end of a long and full life. Two long-married couples are going through painful divorces. One disowned a daughter after she came out of the closet. Another's life has become taken over by a religious obsession.

Wow.

At times during the trip I had to find quiet moments to just sit and take all these changes in. Some of these were friends who's lives seemed as solid as Mt. Rainier. The one who was fired seemed on the perfect career track; respected, admired, and happy. Some were friends who seemed to have it all; I would never have imagined a religious obsession overtaking what I thought was such a collected person with the perfect family and home. I would never have predicted any of these twists and turns in the lives of people I thought I knew so well. But, really, that says more about me and my perceptions than about them. That old saying, that you never know what goes on behind closed doors, that's what I found myself thinking. We show our friends the face we want them to see but everyone has other faces, the ones kept in the jar by the door.

I sat outside one day and just took a break, absorbing all the news I had heard. I listened to the wind humming through the trees. Seattle in the fall is so lovely; every tree is a rainbow of fluttering leaves, making a crunchy red, gold and orange carpet below your feet. The clouds are moving in and the rain is just starting. There's a bittersweet element in the air, of summer leaving and the long grey wet winter beginning, and it matched my bittersweet feelings perfectly.

And of course, all this news was a good reminder to me, to count my blessings and appreciate the good and bad in my own life. Seeing my two sons is what I thought about the most; each time I spend time with them I love them more and more. I am so proud of those two young men, but they also make me laugh and it is so merry being with them. And I reflect on how lucky my husband and I are to have them, and to still have each other to have and to hold, to hug and to laugh with, after all these years. Right before we left for Seattle we attended the wedding of a dear friend, who was a radiant and elegant bride. We were younger than my friend and her new husband when we married and there is no way I can impart-to them or to anyone-what a long strange trip our marriage had been. I wish I had the words to tell them, oh, how it's worth it.

I love my visits to Seattle but I am so happy to come back to the beautiful desert. This is the place I call home. I've lived in states on both U.S. coasts and in between, and in two other countries, and I could never have predicted that I would have ended up in this wild and beautiful land with giant saguaros and bobcats on my roof. And then it hit me: of course I couldn't have predicted the dramatic changes in my friends lives - I couldn't even predict my own! Life is what it is, this roller coaster ride. You get in and hang on. And if you can remember to enjoy the ride, it's a wonderful, wonderful thing.

I love baseball!

Ah, baseball. This is a subject I could rhapsodize about all day; the beauty of the stadiums, the minutia of the game, the site of a perfectly arching home run flying through the air on a sunny summer day as the crowd goes yeaaaaaaaaaa!!

But today I love baseball because of today's game, a one-game, winner goes to the playoffs, loser goes on vacation game between the White Sox and Twins. If you love sports, how could you not love that? How could you not love a sport that plays 162 games and still ends up with a tie? So much drama, so many side-stories...here's the White Sox, with a manager (Mr. Anything But Quiet Ozzie Guillen) who put himself under the microscope on day one by saying that if his team doesn't go to the playoffs he should be fired. There's the Twins, a talented team with a young pitching staff sending a rookie to the mound in what will definitely be a very fired-up Chicago ballpark (reports are the game sold out in less than an hour).

Who am I rooting for? Well, nobody. I'm in it for the drama, and the love of the game. About the only horse I've got in this race is one of my all-time favorite players, Ken Griffey Jr., who was traded to the White Sox this year by the Reds. I'd love to see that sweet swing shine in the playoffs once again. Actually, if you think about it, Jr. may be the only guy on the field who knows what a one-day playoff is like. He was in the last one held in the American League, back in 1995. I was living in Seattle then and that game is legend there. I haven't checked the rosters to see if anyone else took part in that game (Angels vs. Mariners) or in last year's National League playoff game (Rockies and the Padres), but at least I know that Jr. can stand up in the White Sox dugout and tell his team 'Listen, this is what it's like.'

And what must it be like? Every play is magnified, whether it's an error or a game-saver. You've got to play every at-bat like its your last. Wow. The tension on that field must be palpable. But I bet it's also a heck of a lot of fun, because you're still in it. You've still got one more chance to win.



I've always loved October. Up until recently I lived in places where the leaves gave an eye-feast of color every October. I looked forward to that smell in the air and that crisp hint of cool that had you reaching for a sweater. I can't separate the start of football season from the feel of raking leaves. But most of all I've always loved October because it's baseball at its finest. Every year the post season brings me an unexpected memory, a moment that I will never forget, often at the hands of a new hero I've never heard of before. And while here in the desert I no longer rake the leaves, I still love October because of baseball, and that bittersweet feeling of watching the best the game can offer while knowing you're about to be without it for the long winter months.

I love this game. Bring it on.

The Unexpected Moments

Can't stop thinking about travel. That's probably because I'm spending quite a bit of time logistical planning one of the biggest (maybe the biggest) trip I've taken or planned. I don't mind, not at all; I find the planning a large part of the fun. The background makes the arrival that much sweeter. But sometimes I overdo it in the planning department. My wise husband and two wise sons caution me about this, with varying degrees of success. During the planning for this big trip, youngest wise son resorted to Star Wars talk (the journey vs. the destination, very Yoda) to drive the point home. They're right of course. It's often the unexpected, unscripted travel moments that are indelibly marked in my memory; it's when I recall those that I get the strongest sense for the place and people, which is why I travel to begin with. Last night I found myself remembering some of them.

Like the market in Kusadasi Turkey; after touring Ephesus we had time to spare before boarding the boat back to Samos, Greece, and I had in mind that I wanted to buy a carpet bag, one of those old fashioned woven bags I never see anymore. Walking down the market lane was like running a gauntlet, with merchants literally blocking our way exclaiming the delights of their wares (our favorite: the guy who proudly told us he had 'authentic fake watches'). I settled on one booth with a great looking bag on display, when I asked the price I was naturally quoted something ridiculous. I countered with half and was met with a great sigh. Why do you insult me so? the merchant said. I am not a rich person, I replied. I came all the way here from America, and I am putting two sons through university. At the word 'university' the old merchant's demeanor changed dramatically. Two sons in university?! he asked incredulously. My son, he said, wants to go to American university. I know how much they cost. Then he took my arm, led me graciously into the back of his booth, and said effusively, come! Now I will bargain with you!

Or that trip to England years ago, when I confused the booking date for our last b&b and there was no room at the inn when we arrived. We went instead to the nearest town, an unheard of place named East Grinstead, and found a room at a nice little hotel. The next morning was our last in England and with time before our flight we visited East Grinstead in search of a bookstore; oldest son was very fond of a series written by an English author, and the latest installment was available only in England. We found a delightful town full of history; the church had a memorial to those 'martyred in the name of religion,' and the downtown had a classic High Street with what appeared to be an original Tudor building. We were also most definitely the only tourists, a big plus for us. The Tudor building was, as luck would have it, the bookstore - a delightful, rambling crooked-floored bookstore run by two lovely ladies who seemed quite pleased to have our little family as their one and only customers. They confirmed it was an original Tudor building, and then asked if we'd ever heard of Anne Boleyn. We exchanged a four-way look; we'd just spent a week in England, and after visiting the Tower and National Portrait Gallery even youngest son at age 7 knew that name. The lovely lady motioned us to follow her; behind the cash register she pointed to an original wooden support beam. There on the beam was a charming carving of a young woman in silhouette. This was once the home of some of the Boleyn family, she said. Legend says that this is Anne. We were stunned. We'd been caught up in history for the last three weeks and on this our last day we were given this totally unexpected little history gift, like a send off. Oh, and yes, they also had my son's much-wanted book.

One last travel gift, this one courtesy of Todos Santos, Mexico, a pretty little town on the Baja peninsula northwest of Cabo San Lucas. A very small arts town in something of a state of disrepair, Todos Santos is the kind of place where you've got to pay attention while walking the crooked and wobbly cobblestone streets or risk twisting an ankle. But it's very pretty in its shambly little way, and the arts community is thriving, supported by daytrippers from Cabo and by a goodly number of ex-pat Americans who've adopted the town as home. My husband and I were strolling the main street and had reached a spot where the sidewalk was pretty much non-existant; the building beside it was boarded up and morning glory vines swept across the boards and onto the path. This was one-way foot traffic only, and an elderly Mexican gentleman was approaching. I remember thinking he was a man who had worked with his hands his whole life - I must have seen something I no longer can recall, like calloused hands or gnarled fingers. I stepped aside and motioned for him to take the narrow path first. As he did, he broke off one of the full white morning glory flowers, and when he stood before me the old man bowed, kissed my hand, and presented it to me with a giant smile (almost no teeth), exclaiming something to me in Spanish with great passion. And then he walked on, still toothlessly smiling, a debonair old Mexican gentleman. I was speechless. What a charmer he must have been in his youth, and boy could he still deliver. Although bent and toothless, he presented that flower to me with flourish and flair, like he was Errol Flynn and I was Olivia de Haviland.

That's why I travel.

Travel To Do List: The Ancient Sites Call Me

Friends read my last post, and said, "be more specific! Where do you REALLY want to go before you can't go anymore?" OK, I agree, my last post was general, but that was the point; I wanted to leave it more open-ended versus the 1,000 places.

But like every other traveler, I, too, have a list. And like most people who really love traveling, it's kind of a long list. Honestly, I really would like to travel until I can't anymore.

I'm kind of a list person anyway; it helps me stay focused. So making a list involving one of my favorite things, travelling, well that's a piece of cake.

So here's my first specific list: the top historic sites of the world that I really would love to see before I kick the bucket, in no particular order:

• Egypt. Yea, I know, that covers a whole country. But there are three countries that to me are historical nirvana and this is A #1. I've been fascinated by Egyptian art and ancient history since I can remember. I'm currently making plans to visit next year. I can't wait. I want to touch a column in Karnak, see the Egyptian sun light up Abu Simbel, marvel at the tomb paintings in the Valley of the Kings. I want to run my fingers through the waters of the Nile. I absolutely can't wait.


• Greece. Country #2 that's history personified. I've been once and I loved everything I saw. I want to go back and see more islands, more ruins, great cities that are no more. And the food's freaking great, too.


• Italy. The last of my ancient site trifecta. I've been to Italy 4 times and that's not enough. I haven't been to Sienna yet! I definitely want to go back to Italy. Besides the historic sites, there's the gelato. Reason enough to go right there.


• Angkor Wat. Cambodia fascinates me and saddens me, and I would love to see this most beautiful and haunting place. As much as I've studied art, Asian art has never captured my heart. But the photos of this spectacular temple take my breath away.


• Machu Picchu. Another place that's excited my imagination forever. My biggest concern? I get altitude sickness. But even if I'm huffing and puffing I'm going to make it to this amazing complex.


• Easter Island. 'Nuff said.

And here's my top ten historic sites that I've been fortunate enough to visit so far:

• Chaco Canyon. By far the most extraordinary Native American site in this country. The enormity of the site blows everything else out of the water. It was built to impress, and boy howdy does it ever. The level of sophistication in engineering and design is startling.


• Teotihuacan. Just like Chaco, it was built to impress, and when it was at its peak it must have been mind-blowing. If I lived in that time I would have entered the site and fallen on my knees. I loved this place. And I loved the fact that when I left the much-trodden path, I found bits of broken pottery in the dirt. Wow.


• The Parthenon. It took me a long time to get there, and I had seen other Greek ruins already that were in better shape. But I just about cried when I topped that hill and saw that building. It's sublime. And at night, well, it makes you want to write bad poetry.


• Herculaneum. Everyone goes to Pompeii, I did too. But a lot of people miss the other town that got buried in ash, and that's a shame, because Herculaneum feels more personal. It was a smaller town than Pompeii, maybe that's part of its appeal, also it was buried a lot longer and the archeology wasn't hashed as much as Pompeii. I liked the quiet, and I loved the Italian guard who showed us around; I don't speak any Italian but somehow picked up enough to understand what he was telling us, and it was so lovely of him to make the effort.


• Bullet Canyon, Utah. You're saying...wha? But really, there's a wonderful ruin in this extremely remote place. The only way to see it is to backpack to it, but if you're strong enough to attempt it, what a treat awaits you...your own private cliff dwelling. Pottery shards were everywhere, so were bones and bits of corn cobs. The midden (ancient garbage heap) was undisturbed. I didn't think sites like this existed anymore.


• San Gimigniano. This is a walled city in Tuscany, as pretty as a picture. The bad news (for the poor inhabitants of San Gimigniano): basically the whole town died during the Plague. The good news (for us tourists): this town was virtually untouched for the next 600 years. This is a time travelling kind of town; the walls seem to speak. And the people are so sweet. And there's a great gelato place smack in the middle of the town square (look, I love gelato, it definitely enhances the historic experience).


• The Tower of London. Sure, it's touristy. But come on, it's The Tower of London. Prisoners carved their names in the walls. Anne Boleyn and Lady Jane Grey got beheaded here. The Crown Jewels are here. The Tower is fabulously awesome. Even better? Go during the day and see the sites, then get tickets and come back for the ceremony at night. You'll feel like the ghosts of the poor Little Princes are watching you.


• Ephesus. Greece does not have the best Greek ruins. Turkey does. In Ephesus you understand just how glorious ancient Athens must have looked because you can still see the mosaics lining the sidewalks, the statues covering the facades. And only a third of it has been excavated. And Marc Anthony lived here. And you can visit a brothel. That should convince you.


• Avesbury. I loved Stonehenge when I first visited it; back then you could walk among the stones and it was a powerful experience. But now you have to be content to view them from afar and it loses some of its punch. Avesbury, however, has no such restrictions (yet). And the site is huge; there's more than just a stone circle there, albeit in worse shape than Stonehenge. Part of the fun is the lack of tourist info; there's not a lot of explaining going on so you're free to interpret it however you want. Some of it looks like an ancient landing strip. It's also in a pretty little English village, and the locals picnic among the stones while sheep graze in the tall grass. I liked that a lot, that integration of the old with the new. Nice sense of continuity.


• Catacombs of Rome. Hard to pick just one place in Rome, it's a city full of wonder. But these catacombs, under the city, they combine the history with the mystery. It was dark and damp and if you're imagination doesn't ignite, well, shame on you.

So that's my first list; ancient sites I love, ancient sites I can't wait to visit. I feel so lucky to have seen what I've seen already. And each of these places has left me with something indelible...the sense of being part of a long human story, I guess.

The Incomplete Travel Guide to Things to Do Before You Die

I was pretty shocked to read of the recent death of Dave Freeman. I didn't know the man but I knew what he wrote, as did a lot of other people; Freeman co-authored '100 Things To Do Before You Die,' a travel guide to famous events and weird adventures around the world. As an avid traveler I read it, and I liked some of it. But some of it seemed, to me, to be trying too hard: do I really need to attend the Academy Awards to consider my life complete? And some of it seemed too touristy: sorry, running with the bulls in Pamplona, Spain doesn't sound like an authentic experience. But that's fine; travellers aren't supposed to be the same, we look for different things to take away from our travel experiences, both literally and figuratively. I liked the book's enthusiasm and good-natured way of looking at life as one big adventure.

But what really got me thinking was an interview with Freeman's co-author Neil Teplica, in which he said Freeman had not completed all 100 things before his untimely death. Since the goal of the book was to prioritize adventures and trips that you really don't want to miss, I thought it was sad that the author didn't get to complete them all.

So, since life is indeed short and you never know what tomorrow will bring, I'm going to give it a try. I'm going to start my own personal, strange, unique list of things to do before I die. It's easy to see why Freeman and Teplica limited their list to travel and adventure; if I tried to include everything I thought a person should experience it could go on forever and be, excuse the pun, all over the map...plant a garden, own a pet, make a piece of art, read poetry out loud. But travel, that's do-able. i'm calling it my Incomplete Guide; as I explore life I change too much, what was important at 20 isn't as important at 50. No definitive number like 100 either because, being the optimist that I am, I fully expect to keep adding to this list.

So here we go, Marlene's first few entries on the Incomplete Travel Guide To Things To Do Before You Die (in no particular order):

Be alone in a national park. I've never been disappointed by a national park, in this or any other country, but my most memorable moments invariably happen when it's just me or me and my companion or family. They're often small moments - us and a deer at Mount Rainier in Washington State, watching the sunset in Canyonlands in Utah, holding our breath as a jaguar crossed our path in Manuel Antonio in Costa Rica. But there's something about being the only ones witnessing a moment that sticks with you forever. If all you do when you visit Yellowstone is stop at Old Faithful, it ain't gonna happen. Sure, go visit Old Faithful. Old Faithful is awesome. Then at sunset go visit one of the small geysers and enjoy something alone.

Touch the walls of an ancient building. If the sign says 'don't touch' then don't touch; the oils in your hand will cause harm. But it's OK to touch the walls of most buildings, and there's something very human and connecting about running your hands along a wall that was hewn by hand long ago. The craftsman touched it, now you touch it, 500 or 1,000 years later. It makes you feel very human. Whenever I consciously do this one tiny thing, it makes me smile.

Visit a piece of art you recognize. Any piece of art that you'd recognize instantly, go see it in person. It's a whole new experience and I guarantee, you won't look at that art piece the same way again. Mount Rushmore, the Pieta, Starry Night, The Last Supper, the Eiffel Tower...take your pick. It'll stick with you, it really will. I've got a long list still to see. I hope I never run out.

Shop in a local market at least once in your life. If you're in a town and there's a market you should always go, but at least do it once. You'll learn more about the community and the people than you will anywhere else. Even if you can't speak the language, even if you don't buy anything, go anyway. Soak it in. The market in Geneva Switzerland was sure different than my local market here in Arizona, which is nothing like the one in Suchitoto El Salvador. If you're not there on market day the next best thing is to visit the local supermarket. When I'm in another country I love going to a supermarket; no matter how big or small, I could spend hours in there.

Pretend to be a time traveller. Go to Independence Hall, look down at your shoes and say to yourself, "Thomas Jefferson walked right here, right where I'm walking." Step into the still-visible tracks of the Oregon Trail outside of Boise, Idaho and be the woman who has left everything behind for a new life in the unknown west. Walk the worn steps up to your seat in Fenway Park and be the guy hoping Ted Williams will hit a home run. Stand on the windswept Salisbury Plain in England in front of Stonehenge and wonder what the heck was going through the minds of those that built it. It doesn't have to be an exotic or famous place; sometimes it's more powerful in a small town.

That's a start. No wonder those guys wrote a whole book, this is fun. But maybe the first thing on the list shouldn't have been a place to go but a place to be, something everyone (and particularly every traveler) should remember: take life as it comes. It's hard to do but worth remembering, and it sure makes life, and travelling, much sweeter.

Travelin' thoughts

I am a traveller by choice. I love everything about it, even the hassles. Travel is like taking a sensory-enhancement drug; sounds seem cacophonous, smells are intoxicating, colors demand attention. When I travel I come home a little different, I like that too, I like thinking I brought home something less quantifiable than a woven rug, a little something smuggled home deep inside that no one else can see. It doesn't matter where I go, when I travel I think differently about where I live and it challenges my perception of how I live. A trip never fails to put matters in better perspective, and it's a good solid reminder of how fortunate is my lot in life, that travelling is a such a big part of it.

I know a lot of people who hate to travel; some have travelled professionally so much they hate everything about it, some are supremely content in the enjoyment of their own backyard. Travel is nothing but a pain, a disruption in the good and fulfilling life they've created. I understand that, because as much as I love to travel I also love to come home. But then I start thinking about the next trip and the bug bites all over again.

All this was rummaging around in my head during a recent trip to Colorado. I didn't even plan this trip, a rarity since I enjoy being the family travel agent; this trip was planned by my brother in law in New York (as avid a traveller as I am). I basically went along for the ride. And what an interesting and fun trip it turned out to be, taking us from jaw dropping Alpine scenery to unexpectedly imposing giant sand dunes. Crumbling gold mines poked holes in the mountain scenery and we stayed in towns the miners created; the thriving ones reborn as chic ski villages or offbeat artist communities, the less fortunate crumbling under the weight of long lost prosperity. Our trip to Colorado reminded me yet again of how diverse is the massive country we live in. Here's a state easily within a day's drive of my home state of Arizona and yet how different! The Catalina Mountains out my window seem a world away from the Rockies. Here tough tenacious cacti flower in the dusty soil and saguaros start their long life beneath the protection of thorny mesquite trees. There I walked in fields of wildflowers, colors exploding into a pointillist carpet beneath aspen that quiver with the slightest breeze. Up there the air was thin of oxygen, here we're just as lacking in moisture. I ate a buffalo burger in Manitou Springs; tonight in Tucson I might treat myself to a prickly pear margarita.

There are a whole lot of trips I'd like to take, a long mental list of amazing sites and cultures that I'd love to see and experience. But this quick close to home trip was invigorating. I'm not sure I can really explain why.

“Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines, sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.” Mark Twain.

Sonoran Sunrise Beauty

If you visit this blog often you'll see a recurring theme in our personal posts. As newbies to the Sonoran Desert we're still learning about life in this rich and unique ecosystem, and each new- found discovery brings out the kid in me. The more I see, the more I want to know.

My last post was a tale of desert wildlife, as we literally played host to a mother bobcat and two kittens residing in our attic and romping on our roof. The experience was part wonder, part 'what the heck have we gotten ourselves into;' we helped mom fend off an aggressive young male bobcat (who came after the kittens at 3:30 a.m.), gathered branches from the desert to build 'ramps' to give mom and babies a safe exit, and handled the human element in the form of worried neighbors and concerned HOA folks, plus a parade of game and fish officers, police, and wildlife experts who gave us a crash course in bobcat behaviour. But this is an ending the Bard would have loved because all's well that end's well: mom and babies headed off into the wild via the ramps, my husband bobcat-proofed the attic (surprisingly clean, they're cats after all), and we spotted one of the babies in our arroyo last week, looking strong, confident and healthy. We high-fived each other like proud parents.

This post is about a more benign but just as wondrous desert encounter. This beautiful plant is a Cereus repandus, known as a Peruvian Apple for the apple-like fruit left behind after flowering. Like many cereus cacti, the Peruvian Apple grows well here in the Sonoran Desert but unlike some of its cousins, which blend into the desert with their resemblance to sticks, this one's both attractive and imposing; it stands over 6 feet tall and demands notice and respect thanks to inch-long thorns.

As with other cereus varieties, it's the flowers that make the Peruvian Apple magnificent. The Peruvian Apple produces big beautiful flowers, bright, white and showy, but they're the Vegas Showgirls of the Sonoran Desert...if you want to see them in all their glory you'd better like the nightlife because the Peruvian Apple is a night bloomer, you can only catch the show in the evening and early morning. They're lustrous and lovely in the glow of the moon but like the all-night partier they are, the flowers start to fade with the rising sun, and by mid morning they begin to transform from flower to apple.

This morning I could see that last night was a good one for flower-gazing, there were four giant new blooms on the larger of my two Peruvian Apples. So like any member of the paparazzi I rushed for my camera to capture the exotic beauty before it disappeared again. But the show's not over; I spotted at least a dozen unopened buds still waiting to make their grand entrance so I've scribble myself a reminder to stake it out tonight. That's one reason I'm so fond of this plant: unlike some cereus cacti that bloom once a year, the Peruvian Apple generously flowers for three months!

And when the showgirl flowers are gone we still get one last piece of entertainment; the big red apple-like fruit left by the flowers are full of sap and loved by birds. Finches, mockingbirds and cactus wrens stick their whole heads in and pop out with dripping beaks. They're happy birds and I'm a happy spectator, enjoying one more unique element of the beautiful place I call home.

I'm a New Yorker in the Desert, and There's a Bobcat On My Roof

A quiet morning here in the Sonoran Desert. Temperature will reach 100, pretty normal for June. I'm enjoying a cup of coffee and looking out at the desert. A hummingbird is feasting on a cactus flower.

And above my head, right now, two baby bobcats are snoozing the day away.

If you picture a desert as devoid of life, think again: living in the Sonoran Desert is like living in a wildlife sanctuary. I watch a never-ending nature show through my window; cardinals on the backyard fence, hawks circling overhead, coyotes howling in the night. But our most frequent visitor, and the one that sets the hair on the back of my neck to upright, are bobcats. Beautiful elegant wild bobcats, they leap over my fence and stroll through my yard with such nonchalant ease that I think of Fred Astaire. Not as big as mountain lions, for the most part they ignore humans and we see them often, each visit the same few-minute thrill; solitary bobcat leaps the backyard fence effortlessly, wanders through our yard, departs.

Yesterday was different. Our neighbor reported he'd seen a bobcat sleeping on our roof, so when one appeared and then left our backyard yesterday afternoon we decided to look around our property. The bobcat was indeed on our roof, nestled in a shady spot.

This bobcat is a she. With her were two babies. And as they say around here, 'mi casa, su casa' - mom and babies have made our house their house. They've moved in.

For over an hour we watched an unforgettable montage unfold on our roof: mother nursing, babies wrestling, babies scampering, one baby playing with mom's twitching tail, mom giving one a bath while the other nuzzled for a little loving too. Then at sunset, to our astonishment and slight dismay, mom and babies turned in for the night, right into the attic of our house.

I was born and raised in New York City. A neighborhood wildlife encounter was a backyard bird feeder. This isn't a complaint, I LOVE it here, I'm kid-like in my delight. But I'm also way out of my element. A phone call with a wildlife expert told us more: the family will stay about four more weeks before departing for a life in the wild, once they leave they will not return. Then we can clean out the attic, repair the roof and our own episode of Wild Kingdom will be behind us.

But until then, I am loving this. Of course I'm mindful that these aren't tabbies we're hosting; they're wild animals, and I'll give her and the babies all the room and respect they need and deserve. I'll take photos from a distance, keep the noise to a minimum, and if she looks at me sideways I'll cede my front yard and give them privacy.

And I'll smile and smile and smile some more at the wonder of it all.

Donor 101: When times get tough, remember your ABC's

You're the executive director of a not-for-profit organization, just getting home after a long day. You turn on the evening news and hear the latest economic report, saying Americans are spending 55% of their income on basic necessities. More than half of the income of an average American, now being spent on food, gas, mortgage, utilities. That leaves 45% to cover everything else - entertainment, vacations, kids activities, household items...and donations to charities and causes.

For you this isn't just another news story. They're talking about your donors, the backbone of your organization. And you know full well that executive directors of every other not-for-profit organization are hearing the same news and thinking the same thing; I've got to make sure my group is at the top of the list when my donors are carefully budgeting that remaining 45%.

Economic hardship should be looked at not just as a challenge but as an opportunity, a chance to hone your organization. Often the best way to get and keep donors, especially when times are tough, is to go back to basics. Literally. I call it the ABC's of non-profit fundraising, three basic rules for not-for-profit organizations:
Appreciate your donors
Believe in your mission
Cultivate your community

Like I said, very basic stuff. But when everyone is competing for the same dwindling resources, the organization that executes the basics will come out ahead every time.

So take out your primers, and let's practice our ABC's:

A = Appreciate your donors.
They aren't just walking wallets. They're the reason you exist.
Your supporters are faced with a myriad of ways to spend their hard-earned money, and they chose to give it to your organization. Every day, in every way, you and everyone on your staff should remember what an honor and responsibility that is. And what do your supporters ask for in return? Having spent most of my professional life working with and volunteering for not-for-profits, I can tell you the answer: surprisingly little. Above and beyond all else, supporters want to feel like they are appreciated. What will make them feel appreciated? Don't ask me, ask them. Drill down through your donor database and find those friends who have stuck with you through good times and bad. Ask them what you're doing, or what you can do, to make them feel their support is appreciated. And when you're picking and choosing who to ask, remember: don't just stop in the top tier. It's very likely that your $50 supporter is giving you a larger chunk of that 45% disposable income than the $5,000 supporter.
The answers you get will vary, of course, depending on the nature of your organization. But there are some things you can count on hearing. Yes, all non-profits have supporters who want their name displayed for all to see. But many of your donors will ask for a less-ostentatious (and certainly less expensive) way to show your appreciation. For a large percentage of donors, appreciation means information. They want to be the first to hear exciting news or be invited to pre-opening events. For other donors, appreciation means consultation. They want to be asked for their opinion, their concerns, their hopes and wishes. But there is one universal for all donors, large and small, aappreciation means respect. They've chosen to support you, they deserve nothing less than your complete and sincere respect. And to respect them, you have to respect yourself, which leads us from A to B:

B = Believe in your mission.
You just can't get more basic than this one, right? Of course we all believe in our organization's mission, don't we?
Every business, for profit or not-for-profit, is going to face times of challenge, when morale is low, image tarnished, and enthusiasm is lagging. An extended period of difficult belt tightening can leave even the most ardent employee or long-time supporter feeling doubtful.
It's time to get back to the basic element that brought you all together to begin with, and that is a belief in your mission. Ask employees of a not-for-profit why they're there, and mixed in with the reasons sited by satisfied employees at most companies (decent pay, fair benefits, good work environment) eventually they'll say something that distinguishes the not-for-profit world: people choose to work there because they believe in the mission of the organization. Ask your donors why they give of their time and money and you'll hear it again, it's because they believe in your mission. Remember that. Your mission should be an active, living, breathing part of your not-for-profit organization, for supporters and employees alike. The greatest outreach tool you have are people who avidly believe in your mission.
During challenging economic times it's important live your mission. Everything you do, every action you take needs to reinforce that mission. It's also a good time to take your organization's mission and place it front and center, to remind everyone why they support you. Have it posted on the wall. Repeat it during donor gatherings. Quote it to the press. It's why your supporters were drawn to you. Show them, in words and in deeds, that you remember.
There isn't a not-for-profit in this country that exists in a vacuum, and that brings us to the third and final back-to-basics lesson:

C = Cultivate your community.
Not-for-profit people are, by their very nature, community people. They believe the organizations they support contribute greatly to the quality of life in their community. Sometimes it's a direct contribution, such as restaurants and bars who depend on traffic from their local performing arts center. Sometimes it's indirect, such as the pride everyone feels in having that same theatre call their community home.
When the economy is tough, every not-for-profit organization is looking for help, and no matter where you live, no matter how big your community, no matter how deep run the pockets, I can guarantee you this: the caring, giving people in your community who support your not-for-profit are on the list of every other not-for-profit. Almost anyone in this country who supports non-profit causes or organizations can tell a story similar to mine: every day I am bombarded with email, snail mail and phone calls, from organizations big and small, from groups all over the country, asking for my support. If you're a small local organization it might seem the other guys have the advantage; they've got bigger budgets and cross-country outreach. But you've got something they haven't got: you foster a sense of community. Take advantage of that. Remind your supporters that they get to see the value of their support up close and personal. Make yourself a visible presence; be a part of community celebrations, participate in town events, contribute in some way to worthwhile local causes. Cultivate your community by being an active part of it. We all want the best for the place we call home, and donors like me are likely to consider that when we allocate our precious discretionary spending.

As we all ride the ups and downs of a difficult economy, it pays to remember the basics. Your organization has a mission that people believe in, donors that care, and a community that offers support. Appreciate those gifts! And remember, now more than ever, to thank all those who continue to offer you their generous support.

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