Hello hello,
Long time no see, friend! I am writing to you from the kitchen counter of an Airbnb in Tucson, AZ. On a whim, I agreed to a short trip with my pal Lily to visit their family in the Catalina Foothills. Around me, the house is abuzz with the ambient sounds of a family reconnecting. Both foreign and familiar to my ear.
I have popped back into your inbox because I’ve been in a bit of a slump this fine winter and need an outlet for creativity. February holds little joy for me with it’s chilly weather and dry skin. That said, February carries a slower pace that facilitates writing, reading, and soup-eating. We can do at least one of those three things together, if you’d like. Please feel free to unsubscribe if this newsletter no longer suits your interests. You won’t hurt my feelings, promise.
Dad is in the dining room taking an online Spanish lesson "¡si, claro!"; Mom - sweet waif of a thing - lounges in her cardigan on the Miami-Vice-meets-Southwestern aesthetic living room (complete with a bejeweled panther statue guarding the adobe hearth); Lily, Zoe, and baby Freya babble around in the kitchen peeling lychee; Richard, husband to Zoe and father to Freya is tucked away from the frenzy somewhere upstairs on a Zoom call.
Yesterday, at 0500 hours I packed up the car to embark on the journey from Austin to Tucson. Runtime: 13 hours and 35 minutes. Lily and I took their Mercedes Sprinter van which allowed - nay, encouraged - a leisurely voyage as opposed to a time-crunched sprint of which I am ever so fond. The heavy-weight champ of a camper van made for adhering to speed limits and admonishing those who chose to zoom around us. Now what’s all the rush about Mister, eh?!
Six hours in, we stopped over at Balmorhea State Park for a light lunch in the kitchenette and a dip in the spring-fed pool. Lily, ever the adventurer, with exaggerated hesitation, jumped into the blue abyss from the tallest diving board. Myself, landlubber that I am, dunked my booty and called it a success. I've always been a bit self-conscious of my hydrophobic tendencies, but Lily didn't seem to mind me wandering the edges of the pool with my camera toeing the water, instead of submerging. The township of Balmorhea looks like one giant roadside motel, all sun-bleached cloudless sky with a few stout dwellings. More cacti than people; more rocks than cacti. I would not have been surprised to be bowled over by a tumbleweed in such a place. However, Balmorhea State Park is home to a spring-fed pool teeming with underwater life. It seems like an accidental placement amidst the parched, whitewashed landscape with its vibrant colors and, well, uh, water.
Cannonball!
C