Category Archives: Photos

Arizona’s SB 1070

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In a week Arizona’s Senate Bill 1070 will go into effect. That’s the bill that’s come to national attention, requiring police officers to ask people they’ve stopped for some other offense to show proof of US citizenship, given, of course, that said officers have sufficient justification for suspecting they might not be citizens. Another Arizona law forbids officers from ever using profiling, so that’s really not the issue here, even though SB 1070 also guards against profiling being used.

 (I have my own issues with the whole ban on profiling thing because frankly it doesn’t make sense. If you have a flood of illegal Mexican nationals pouring over the border, why would you stop a car full of blue-eyed, blond-haired Scandinavians? If the overwhelming preponderance of terrorist acts have been committed by those of middle eastern descent, why would  you not look first to people of middle eastern descent for your suspects? Why would you deliberately turn aside from those of the same ethnicity, just because you don’t want to “profile”. It’s ludicrous.)

But back to AZ SP 1070, and the ridiculous circus that has erupted around it. Do we need it? I think we do. Everyone I talk to here thinks we do. I have friends who work in the hospitals who can testify to the resources diverted to people who are not here legally (and hence pay no taxes, but do get free services).   Emergency rooms are overwhelmed with people who cannot pay for their treatment but must, by law be treated anyway. Physicians, if they wish to use the hospital to treat their paying patients, must donate a particular amount of their time to working basically for free in order to service people who have entered the state illegally. Many of them leave the state, altogether. One group banded together to build a new, private hospital to avoid the forced free service the other hospitals demand. One trauma unit closed because it could not afford to keep operating, drained by the influx of non-paying, illegal alien patients.

My husband has encountered illegals hiding out in the bushes on his hunting trips. He has friends who tell alarming stories of their own encounters in the wilds. One was in his a tree stand, bow hunting in one of Stu’s favorite areas south of Tucson, when a group of drug runners came by, armed with AK-47s. They walked right under his tree, while he held dead still, All too aware that with only his compound bow to protect him against AK-47’s he had the very short end of the stick.

Thankfully the drug runners appeared to ignore him until the guy who followed up the rear stopped right under his tree to look up at him, deliberately making eye contact. He held gaze with the hunter for a bit, then moved on. As soon as they were completely gone, my husband’s friend lit out as fast as he could back to his vehicle. He won’t hunt down there any more. Neither will my husband.

We have friends who have illegals walking through their property on a regular basis. Recently a rancher was killed by illegals down in Douglas. Across the street in our middle class neighborhood, about ten years ago, the man of the house was murdered by Mexican hit men. He was subsequently found to be involved in the drug trade. Our crime rate is pretty high and much of it involves the same drug trade from south of the border.

A couple of years ago, the local news ran a story about the way illegals were coming up through the San Pedro Riparian Conservation area east and south of Tucson, and trashing it up horribly — plastic milk bottles, soiled diapers, feces, etc. Recently an email went around about it, which I didn’t save, and then when I wanted to find it for this post, though I searched the web… I failed to locate it. I did find some photos from another site, not far south of Tucson.

The caption accompanying the photo at left said it is estimated that over 5,000 discarded backpacks are in this wash, as well as countless water containers, food wrappers, clothing, feces, and “thousands” of soiled baby diapers.

I understand the need these people feel to escape their own desperately dysfunctional country. But resorting to illegal entry just isn’t the answer. We don’t have the resources to provide for all of them (schools, buses, medical, welfare in some cases), they take jobs that US citizens would otherwise have, especially in the difficult economic times we are in, they take money but pay no taxes and send much of it back to Mexico, instead of contributing to our economy. Some would argue that others come up from Mexico to shop, but I’m not sure it evens out, and regardless, it’s still illegal.

It’s also not fair to those who have entered this country legally — paid the fees, jumped through all the hoops, waited patiently, learned English, learned about the government… And many of them are no happier about our porous borders than the rest of us.

If you can’t secure your borders, if you let whoever across who wants to come, even aside from issues of allowing criminals and terrorists in unhindered, the fact is that in practice you have no borders. And without borders, you can’t have a nation. Especially if you are a nation that provides a lot of “free” services for people “in need.”

Jesus said “The poor you will have with you always,” and though He performed miracles of healing, and fed thousands of people with free bread and fish… He didn’t do much of anything to alleviate poverty. And however many He healed, there were many more He didn’t heal. He didn’t come to perform physical healings, those where just a metaphor for what He did come to do: die for the sins of the world. The miracles also got people’s attention and testified that He really was from God.

Sometimes, as with the Prodigal Son, people need to suffer lack, to be brought to the end of themselves to “come to their senses” and realize their need for God. That’s not to say we don’t help when we can and when the situation warrants, but the situation doesn’t always warrant and we are simply not responsible for the rest of the world. If you kill the goose that lays the golden eggs, you get no more golden eggs…

A Christmas Tradition

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When I was growing up, and to this day, my family had a Christmas tradition that was unusual. I say that because when asked what we did “on Christmas” there was always a degree of shock in the asker when the answer was, “we spent all day opening packages.”

Maybe people thought we had SOOO many gifts it took us all day to get through them, but that wasn’t/isn’t the case. We didn’t have a big family — mother, stepdad, sister and me — we had a ritual. A couple of them actually.

The first was Christmas eve where we had lasagne for dinner and then arranged packages around the tree. When all was in the most “artistic” arrangement, we turned off the lights except for candles and tree lights, got some egg nog and sat listening to Christmas music and looking at the beautiful tree. Mormon Tabernacle Choir, Andy Williams’s Christmas album and more recently, Narada’s Medieval type music created a delicious “Christmasy” feeling. Mostly we just looked and sipped and listened and didn’t do too much talking.

All of that, I understand now, are typically introverted pleasures. We were soaking up all the stimuli — tastes, smells, colors, lights, the glory of the tree in the darkness, each individual ornament (and most were unique), the music, the holly berry scent of the candles, maybe a warm blanket…

Next morning we came out, looked at it all and then began our second ritual. One person would be designated the package distributor and each person would receive a gift to open. Then one by one we went around the circle, each opening in turn, noting the paper, ribbon tag, carefully unwrapping the gift in almost the same order it had been wrapped and finally opening the box to reveal the gift within. At which point considerable conversation would ensue, regarding the story of acquiring the gift, or why it was wanted, or other such things, some related and some not… This was not forced on any of our parts. We liked to draw it out and drink it in. To savor and enjoy all aspects of the process.

After a couple of “rounds” we’d go make breakfast and eat it. Then back to finish up the remainder of the packages. By then it was early afternoon and time to start dinner.

Given what I’ve seen in movies as well as what seems to have been the holiday modus operandi for most people who I’ve come in contact with is to rip into the gifts in a wild frenzy all at once, the whole thing over in half an hour.

That seemed so terribly unsatisfying to us, but our way certainly did seem to be “weird.” We’ve continued a reduced version of it into adulthood, though my husband being one of those who, growing up in a family with 8 kids, came from the ripping frenzy tradition had some adjusting to do. He has been tremendously gracious in adapting and taking part in the full spirit of the thing (though at times he does grow drowsy!). Anyway, he reported similar responses from people when they asked and he told them how we did it — weird!

Then, a few weeks ago I opened a book call Introvert Power by Laurie Helgoe, the same day I’d received it from Amazon to read this in the Introduction:

“I was number nine out of ten bright, creative, and mostly LOUD kids. My dad, an eccentric genius, had wall-sized speakers in the living room that blared out classical music. When the family sang together, we sang five-part harmonies of the uncompromising Handel’s Messiah. On Christmas Eve, we had a talent show and family service, and later tore into our presents all at once, paper and ribbons flying everywhere and voices crisscrossing the room shouting out “thank you!” and “just what I wanted!” These are happy memories, because there was a part for each of us. But instead of ripping paper and shouting, I sat in my corner with my pile of gifts and handled each as a treasure, slowly and carefully opening them, preserving the paper and lingering in the delight of discovery…..”

Whoa! I was absolutely astounded. There it was. Just what we did, without all the flying paper and yelling!

She went on…

“However, when there were no gifts to open and everyone was competing for airtime, I felt invisible and became overstimulated and anxious. My anxiety was not about the pressure to socialize; there were more than enough bodies to take care of that. I became anxious because I couldn’t think, and, without my own mind, I felt like I was disintegrating. My solution was to retreat to my room and write. In my solitude I could regain contact with myself and become solid again.”

Thankfully I didn’t grow up with nine siblings, but I have certainly felt this sense of being unable to think, especially recently where I’ve had so many things demanding my attention. But the retreating to my room to write and imagine stories… Yes! I couldn’t wait to get home from school and do that. She goes on to say she wrote science fiction (ditto) and developed secret codes (ditto) to share with her sister (I shared with a friend)… the entire introduction continued in this vein, highlighting things about myself I knew existed but had never really recognized as part of introversion. Nor had it ever occurred to me that there were reasons why I was always exhausted after social interactions, even those I enjoyed,  and that it wasn’t because I was bad, or defective or just plain ornery, but part of how God made me to be.

I have been so excited to read both this book and the other one I ordered, The Introvert Advantage, and I hope to share a bit of what I’ve learned from them both this week. The challenge will be to distill the most important bits from the wealth of things I could say about it all.

A Dog Who Crosses His Legs

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Well, I did ten more pages today, not writing from scratch but working through a sort of dump document, where I took elements from several different drafts of the Prologue (as in, entirely different scenarios) and cobbled them together with only the vaguest consideration of how the pieces might fit together. Now I’m going through and giving it all much closer consideration. It’s kind of slow going and… after all the problems I have with my hands already, can you believe that last night, just after I started working I started developing a pain on the outer edge of my right wrist?  Hmph. I’ve never had that pain before.

Another distraction. Too bad. I have a wrist brace. And Advil.

And since this is another very brief post I will show a picture of Quigley. He cracks me up the way when we go out into the yard in the morning, and I’m hanging out the clothes, he’ll do a round of the premises, then plop himself down in the grass not far from me and immediately cross his front legs. Almost always. Thus:

A Quick Trip to Las Vegas

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Colorado River Bridge almost completed

Last Saturday we piled into the Jeep with Quigley and headed up to Las Vegas, a seven hour drive that turned into eight hours, arriving barely in time for the wedding reception of my husband’s niece. That went from 4 to about 8 or so. We had a good time, got to talk to another of his nieces we hadn’t seen in years and who we had not expected to be there. Afterward we walked Quigley around a mostly deserted city park where we discovered a sign on an empty dog run informing us that it is illegal in Clark County, Nevada, to own or harbor a non-spayed or -neutered dog. On pain of a big fine and possible imprisonment.

Whoa! For years Stu and I have decried the trend toward mandatory spay and neuter laws that is rising in this country. One more erosion of our freedoms that, like so many things, punishes the law-abiding for what the law breaking commit. Quigley is our seventh male dog. None of them were neutered. Of them, only Bear sired any pups and that was deliberate. He was papered, and sprang from champion bloodlines as does Quigley. We have never let our dogs run about, scaring the neighbors, getting into the trash, getting into fights with other dogs, running amok in the cactus… or making puppies with whatever random bitch in heat they might encounter.  Yet there are those who do not think we should have the right to make the decision ourselves about whether our pet is to be neutered… because other people don’t control their animals. 

And the creepy part? In Las Vegas it’s okay for prostitutes to hawk their services in newspaper like directories freely available on the street, and even for prostitutes to walk about pretty blatantly… but you better not have a dog that’s not been spayed or neutered…

Anyway, I’ll step back from that soapbox and go on. We left the park hurriedly, and returned to our hotel room, eager to leave the state as quickly as we could… which was fairly early the next morning…  (Had to get back in time for LOST, you know.  😉 )

One of the fun parts of the trip was seeing the new bridge that’s being built to bypass Hoover Dam.  I’d seen pictures of it in progress, the two arms reaching out from their respective cliff walls with a space still in the middle. (If you’re interested you can see photos here, including one from space of the canyon before contruction began) Last weekend, we saw that the two sides had been joined and the bridge now spans the gap. It’s still not open, and is obviously still under construction, but it will certainly make getting to Las Vegas faster if you don’t have to creep across the dam in bumper to bumper traffic on the winding, two-lane road that is constantly being crossed by the mass of pedestrians that bustle along either side. Nor be stopped at the security checkpoints on either side of the dam while federal officers peer into your vehicle. (Are they afraid someone will try to blow up the dam? We didn’t know)

Another fun part of the trip, besides stopping at Subway, was Quigley. See how relaxed he was in his bed at the back of the Jeep?

Quigley relaxed in the car

Sometimes he’d get up and come forward to rest his head on my shoulder. Then when he got tired of that he would back up into his bed and lie down again. Reminded me of a crab returning to its shell…

New Things

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I’ve taught Quigley how to take something into his mouth and hold it long enough for me to take his picture! Isn’t he cute?

Yes, I know I’ve not posted for almost eleven days now. I’ve been feeling overwhelmed, having so much to process and do that I’ve not hardly been able to think. My brain has felt empty, fragmented, blitzed. I’ve had no words to offer the world, no words, at least that would make any sense.  In fact, today in my journal I wrote that I felt like a character pulled out of a story. Someone with no back story, no objective, no narrative of events in which to fit, just a character doing things that seem to have lost all relation to each other. Then, a couple of hours later I read almost that exact description in a book I’ve been reading called The Introvert Advantage,  part of their description of an introvert who is suffering from an “energy crisis” as a result of not having “enough downtime.”

And certainly over the last three weeks or so my downtime has been severely limited and/or compromised. I thought of 2 Corinthians 4 and how there’ll be times we will be afflicted, perplexed, persecuted and struck down. One of those words — I think it’s “perplexed” — means to lack resources, at least temporarily. Like the resource of internal energy, and the time to be able to process everything so you can actually think straight…

But, since I see that it’s almost time for me to take my mother to get her shot, I’ll have to save my elaboration for another day (and notice I didn’t say “tomorrow” since I have no idea what the rest of today will bring, much less tomorrow).  I do, however, have a new Jeep, and it is without question an upgrade!  I love it:

Downtime

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Well, I’ve been really tired today, manifested by the fact that I couldn’t make myself do anything and didn’t really even try. I’ve been thinking about things, sort of, and noticing the way my thoughts are so fragmented. I have so many things to remember to do, to deal with, to finish, to start… I’ve gotten so that I don’t even want to hear any music, just silence. I think it’s a form of overload. Drowning in details.

I did make Orange Cranberry scones this morning. 🙂  And did some Bible Study. Talked to a friend, made a card, pulled some weeds, renewed a library book… walked Quigley. Watched 24… Whoo! That is really taking some weird turns. I couldn’t believe that President Taylor went over the dark side. Lost her brain, as my husband commented.  But wasn’t that scene cool where Logan’s on one side plying her with all these self-serving reasons why she should go against her better judgement to pursue the peace process and Ethan’s on the other trying to get her to see the light? Logan is such a snake!

Anyway, obviously I don’t have any significant musings to share, so I’ll share a couple of pics instead. Here is Jethro, Quigley’s younger brother. I think he’s six or seven weeks old here.

Isn’t he cute?  I love the long ears, the wrinkly face, the big paws.

Here’s a shot of him and another of his littermates, also Quig’s sibling:

The above photo shows the breeder’s place in Litchfield Park. This is the same field where we first met Quigley and his littermates — all of whom were completely obsessed with chewing shoelaces. I just love the pups when they’re at this stage. At least, I love the way they look. Soooo cute. The needle teeth and scalpel claws I could do without.

(No, we’re not getting another pup — Heaven Forbid! — one of Stu’s friends is. We sent him pics of Quigley as an adult and he contracted the breeder about a pup. He’s been sending us regular photo updates.)

Another Speck

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Some of you may recall that two years ago in April, when Quigley was about 4 months old, he had a speck blown into his eye that required eye surgery and two weeks of recovery wearing an e-collar. (Which disintegrated the morning of the last day he had to wear it.)

Well, it’s April again, and it has been very, very windy. Sunday Stu and I were discussing whether the way Quigley was sort of closing his left eye while he watched us eat, and pretended to doze, meant anything. Monday evening, as I was preparing to go out for our walk, the light was just right as Quig came up to me and I saw a bump on his cornea with a little blood vessel-looking thing snaking out to it. Later, Stu examined him with a strong light and said it looked like some sort of reddish covering.

So this morning I called the Vet Specialists, with visions of surgery, a two-week recovery, and an e-collar dancing in my head. I took him in at 9:15 and… as usual, my speculations were wrong. I don’t know why I bother with speculations. They are ALWAYS wrong. Anyway, I sat in a chair in the corner of the examining room and held him with the help of two veterinary technicians while the doctor numbed his cornea, turned out the lights and examined his eyes. Quig was pretty good about letting her do it, too. Eventually she determined that the speck of plant matter had probably been in there for over ten days. Thankfully it had not penetrated his cornea and she was able to brush it away with one of those little paper spears. After the administration of a few more drops and a treat for Quigley, we were on our way.

We brought home a bag of three different types of eye-drops that we’re to continue administering multiple times a day. After he got home, before the numbing wore off, I went out and bought a new e-collar in case he started rubbing his eye later on when the numbness wore off. Well, day’s end is here and he’s not rubbed it once that I’ve seen.

I love it. Nothing is ever what I expect it to be, it seems. And God knows that so well. Forget about expectations, He seems to be saying to me. And just trust me for however it’s going to turn out.

Spring Flowers

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Everything seems to be in bloom and our desert is so beautiful now, I decided to share a bit of it through some pictures I took when my husband and I went on a hike to Picacho Peak, a little north of Tucson. This was a number of years ago, during another fantastic wildflower season, and since I never seem to remember to take the camera when I’m out (not that I’ve been out all that much!) I thought I’d share these, since they are similar. Also, they are of places we can no longer visit, since, given the state of Arizona’s economy, they have closed the park to visitors.

 

Skydivers and Book Stuff

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 Last Thursday I drove up to Eloy to meet my BHP editor at Skydive Arizona. No, we were not going skydiving, it was just a place she’d recently discovered that was about midway between where each of us was: me in Tucson, she in Florence. She and her husband recently bought a house here in AZ and seem to be setting themselves up to becoming snowbirds. She was down for a couple of weeks and so we planned to touch base.

Skydive AZ is apparently one of the most popular places for skydivers in the country, even if it’s not the largest. It has fabulous weather, which I’m sure is the primary draw. Also a restaurant, a wind tunnel where you can practice learning how to control your body while “falling” through the air, and an area for spectators where we watched the planes go out full of divers, saw them disappear into the clear blue sky, and later watched the parachutists appear seemingly out of nothing.

It was a lot of fun to watch them, and amazingly, even seemed like something that might be fun to do. I’m not sure I could actually get myself to jump out of a plane, even tandem, but maybe if I’d paid the $183 fee, I would have added motivation.

We walked around, observed the incoming parachutists, went out to watch the people float and flail about in the wind tunnel and ate lunch on the restaurant’s deck, catching up and talking about The Business. Given I’d just read some pretty grim articles about The Business the night before, I was heartened by a lot of what she had to say.

The drive home was amazing… with the sun coming from the west, the light was perfect to set off the orange and yellow poppies spilling along the shoulders of the freeway and filled the easement in the middle. Unfortunately, I didn’t get any pictures. Nevertheless, it was a wonderful day. And Friday, I went into my office and actually worked for several hours on Sky. Did the same on Saturday…

I’ll not jinx it by hoping for more of that tomorrow, just recall to mind that I’m living one day at a time, and trying to follow moment by moment what the Lord would have me do. Right now… I think that’s go to bed!

Three Pictures From the Wedding

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Well, I thought I’d share a few pics from my son’s wedding, over a week ago, now. None are pics I took, but taken mostly from Adam and Kim’s friend AnnMarie off her Facebook page…

First up, the chairs arrayed on the beach in readiness, the Hotel del Coronado in the background.

Next, the entrance of the parents of the groom. This wedding procedure was a bit different from those I am familiar with. First the groomsmen entered from the walkway back by the hotel and took up position near the archway/altar, whose shadow shows in the lower right corner of the above picture. Then the mother of the bride entered with her husband and son on either side. Next, Adam and Stu escorted me on either side.

This is the picture where I look like I’m in a trance, being pulled up the aisle by my escorts. Stu thinks he  looks like he works for the FBI. 🙂

Lastly, again from AnnMarie’s cell phone, a picture of the ceremony itself, the arch, the groomsmen, the ocean in the background. That’s Stu and I in the front row. Beautiful view!

It looked pretty much like this from my seat — particularly the groomsmen being in silhouette. Add in the breeze, the ever-crashing surf, far enough away it didn’t intrude, and the occasional helicopter passing overhead to land at the Naval base and you have a good sense of what it was like. Her dress was beautiful, as I think I’ve said, though it doesn’t show up really at all in this shot…

Tomorrow I plan to get up early and get to work on Sky. Been reading about the Dome of the Rock and the Six-Days-War as research…