We went for a walk the other morning — 53 degrees at 10 a.m. Sunny, no wind. Did I mention we were wearing shorts?
Yes, I guess it’s true, we’ve become true snowbirds. Blood that used to run through our veins like Kool-Aid now resembles the viscosity of 30-weight motor oil.
I know in time the blood will thin as we once again adjust to life in the desert. Heck, we might even have to put on a sweater. But for now, boy is it nice to be home.
And Tucson, you see, will always be home to me, no matter how many summers we spend in the pines.
Home, after all, is where you were born. Where you grew up. Where you got your first real kiss on the mouth. Where you graduated. Where you learned all the words to “Bear Down, Arizona.” Where you married and raised your kids. Where your grandparents are buried. Where you scattered the ashes of your parents.
Nowhere else are the sunsets so vivid, the moonlight so bright, the tamales, the burros, the chile rellenos so delicioso.
Every fall as we drive down from the Rim, heading toward Winkleman, I look for the sentinel that tells me I’m back in the desert: the first saguaro. Welcome back, its outstretched arms seem to say.
Not that all the signs are so welcoming. Last year, we came back to find half our landscape plants withered or dead, thanks to a malfunctioning drip system.
This year we came back to termites — two 3-foot-long tubes snaking down a kitchen wall. Two days later the exterminators arrived, necessitating a removal of half the kitchenware in our bottom cabinets.
Luckily, the tubes were old, the termites gone, at least for now. Still, holes were bored, poison applied, and we were told to keep on the lookout for any new signs. Luckier still, the tubes washed off without damaging the paint on the wall.
Sigh. As Gilda Radner used to say, “It’s always something.”
One fun thing about switching from a climate that’s going into dormancy to one that’s reviving after the summer heat is that I get to replenish my flower pots with pansies, lots and lots of pansies.
Forget about that derogatory term equating pansies with a certain lack of toughness. I’ve learned they’re one of the few flowers that can shrug off a hard freeze. Sure, they’ll wilt in the summer, but for winter color, they’re hard to beat.
After the pansies were potted, I boiled sugar water and put out my hummingbird feeder. Within hours I was rewarded with my first bejeweled little flier. Perhaps it flew down from colder climes as well — a true snowbird.
We get Tucson TV news programs up north — as well as the online edition of the Star. So we are up-to-date as to what’s happening locally. Getting up to speed with the traffic takes a tad longer — especially the interminable wait at major intersections.
Still, it’s a small price to pay for big-town living — and shopping. First stop: Trader Joe’s, then Costco. Next stop: Anita’s Street Market for flour tortillas. It’s so nice to eat a warm, fresh tortilla — one that hasn’t been thawed out after reposing in the freezer for months on end.
Yep, it’s good to be home. And for me, Tucson will always be home.
