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.