Dreams, Moments, Travels
In getting situated in our new apartment we went and bought some flowers to brighten our balcony. Locking up the condo a little more than a week ago was a bittersweet moment, but with the money we’ll be saving, we should be able to afford even more travel. Matter of fact this Saturday, we are planning a drive north on the eastern side of Arizona. I’ll report back then.
If it’s the new year, it must be time to visit the Renaissance Festival, and if it’s 2003, it could be the sixth or seventh time we’ve driven out this way just past Mesa to spend the day getting sunburned, fatter, and poorer.
Ah, the Ded Bob Show. A crowd favorite every time.
Besides the turkey legs, blazing sun, and great entertainment, we are out here for the artists and craftspeople who make all manner of really cool, often expensive, stuff. Many of the decorations in our apartment are from right here, including art pieces from Bungled Jungle, a metal smith who makes some great dragon mirrors, a broom maker, our didgeridoo, some jewelry, and then there’s this weaver.
Caroline has been eyeballing master weaver Margaret Fischer’s work every time we come to the Ren Fest. While Greentree Weaving holds a special place in Caroline’s heart, the cost of these works is not cheap, and at about $250 for the Ruana above, she debates with herself and ultimately talks herself out of buying one. Someday, she’ll give in.
Goodbye condo. You ultimately proved too expensive and incompatible with our desire to travel more. The thousand dollars a month we can save by renting a smaller apartment feels well worth the downsizing at this time. It does come with a bit of ego-bruising for me as this is America, and we are measured by our material wealth more than any other aspect of who we are. Success implies we must drive the right car and have the right address.
Oh well, that’s not ultimately very important. How much we laugh, cry at profound beauty, hold hands when walking into a forest we are enchanted with, buy a fridge magnet of a lighthouse we visited, or cringe at the worst, saggiest bed we’ve ever slept in, these things are important as they are our experiences and not our belongings or material objects to put on display to impress others. With a bittersweet look back at Unit 1089, we depart and move on to new adventures.
Yadell Perez is turning 15 years old today. She’s being helped out of the car by her father, Roberto Perez. Today is her La Quinceanera.
Her mom is Socorro Perez, and with this special event, the family and friends will be celebrating Yadell’s coming of age.
Caroline and I are here because of Arturo and Guadalupe Silva, who invited us along. They are Yadell’s godparents. Prior to this Caroline nor I had any idea what a Quinceanera is.
Arturo and Guadalupe’s daughters Melissa and Sophia were already having fun at the church before everyone headed to the resort for the festivities, but first, Yadell received blessings from the priest. With the proceedings finished, Yadell and her closest friends piled into the white stretch limousine for the ride to the party.
I could be mistaken, but I believe this is Yadell’s grandfather; if he’s not, he looks like a great guy to have as one.
Roberto and his brothers.
Yadell had a short dance with all of the guests of honor, including my friend Arturo.
Food, dancing, music, and about 100 guests kept the place jumping into the late night. Thanks to everyone for welcoming Caroline and me into this beautiful event. Congratulations to Yadell on her entry to womanhood.
We sold our condo last month and have agreed to turn over the keys on Sunday, February 23rd, so the new owner can take possession the following day. We had a deposit on another place and a contract signed up in Scottsdale, but Sonal asked if we couldn’t move closer to her and the girls, so I found this loft at Union Hills and Cave Creek Road in Phoenix.
Caroline’s initial response when I told her of the place was, “Absolutely NOT!” So I took photos and drew out a floor plan, and she softened a bit. After bringing her by, she started realizing that we were going to be in an apartment with nobody living above us, below us, or side-to-side, and we only shared one common wall that had two full bathrooms dividing the living spaces; she started to warm up even more. We signed the contract.
We have about two weeks to slowly drag stuff out of our condo and over here to the loft. Another stage in our life gets underway.
This is my father, John Wise Sr., on September 23, 2000, after having his left leg amputated; the right had been taken off somewhere before 1995. Before they’d take his leg, they needed to bring his blood sugar down, which, from what I understood, was estimated to be somewhere in the 600’s. For a minute, he was a calm and focused man, relieved even that the pain of a rotting leg might disappear. But of course, the nerve damage brought on by raging diabetes was going to play its role in tormenting him for unrelenting belligerence my father knew how to own. For the next couple of years, he’d be in and out of hospitals. Dad is 56 years old in this photo. He was born on March 16, 1944, in Buffalo, New York.
Fast forward to June 2002 and my father is a shadow of the man I knew him as. He’s now 58, which will also be the end of his birthdays. By this time, he’d slipped into a diabetic coma and nearly died, but as he didn’t have a DNR (Do Not Resuscitate) order, he was kept alive. When he came to he’d lost a good chunk of his memory and lost the ability to understand what came after the number 5, both value or conceptually. When he learned of our visit, he felt he needed to clean up and had his wife Diana give him a haircut, and he shaved so he could look nice for us. In his last year of life, he’d finally mellowed and stopped with the anger and fatalism; he was actually kind of sweet. No matter his mood or pain, he was mostly happy to see us, though he always complained that it was never enough.
Today, February 1, 2003, the Space Shuttle Columbia disintegrated during re-entry after 16 days in space, with all those aboard losing their lives. My father, age 58, also gave up his life today.
Well, I hope the Patels like this place because Caroline and I will easily be entertained, with our inner six-year-old selves giddy with excitement to be here again.
We can stand in any line as many times as anyone else would like to, as there’s nothing in Disneyland that we don’t like, including those sold-out days when it’s jam-packed in here. How many times have we been on the Raiders of the Lost Ark? Who knows, who cares? We’re ready to do it again, and so is Kushbu.
Of course, we had to have a selfie of us with the kind of smiles only Disneyland can create.
The awkwardness of Hemu, who’s a teenager, has us wondering if she’s having fun, would rather be out with friends, or is intensely too aware that she’s not getting homework done. To be fair, she’s a bit quieter and reserved than her more rambunctious sister Kushbu, who seems more assertive.
We need to get this family to practice their on-camera skills at showing some emotion, smiling, and keeping their eyes open when there are cameras around. Everyone had fun today and enthusiastically went along everywhere Caroline and I wanted to take them. Time for the long drive home before it gets too late.