Our US Tour Week 13: AZ CA

2006-12-16

Thursday, Nov 30 toward Phoenix AZ:
When we last left our travellers, they had split - temporarily. Patrick and Nicole had been invited by Doris - bless her - to have a sleep-over at her motel in Sedona. This little town is the epicentre of a towering circle of Red Rock mountains, and to look at the blazing brick colour of the surroundings would give you the impression you were in a great bake oven. But we were not. It was the coldest cold snap in 3 years, and the little hotel room, with its charming but rickety glass patio doors, had the heat cranked all night.

Still, David and Isaac and I had braved an overnight at the Page Springs campground, a few miles away - Isaac and I in the pop-top with 2 sleeping bags and all our clothes on, and David below with all remaining blankets, pillows, tuques, hats - and with a borrowed heater blaring all night long. The temperature plunged to 19 degrees F (-7C). I actually saw the Elephant Ears die in the night. The tropical looking plants with their long, slender stalks and huge triangular leaves stand as high as Isaac and line the entire length of the creek that loudly passes through the campground. On the little guy's last trip to the bathroom, I noticed them leaning gracefully by the water's edge. In a half hour, I was back to the restrooms. All the stalks had sunk to the ground, their leaves crumpled and lifeless.

Was I afraid? Well, yes. But, if you ever need a heater at night, sleep with a 4-year-old! We joined the other half of the crew by the time the sun had crested the mountains, and had breakfast. Now, Doris has never got over the shock of the cold in this great sun vacation part of the US, and didn't manage to take her Peruvian woollen hat off her head until we had driven 30 miles and descended a few thousand more feet.

Through forested mountain passes with surging red towers overhead, we made our way to a state park called Montezuma Castle. Nestled high in a curve of baked white limestone sits a partially reconstructed "castle" or mountain home for people who began to live in it around the year 1200. Its 4 storeys of square masonry and adobe walls housed people for almost 300 years - when they suddenly, inexplicably disappeared. When the Spanish explorers arrived, they believed it was a stronghold of Montezuma (who had fled Mexico City), and named it thus. But, even the name of those who lived there, farming, hunting and trading, is a made up description of mystery people: the Sinagua (Spanish for "without water"). So much of visiting and being a tourist is a journey of the imagination - trying to picture how others live or lived. Patrick wished aloud that there might be a Pueblo Camp, where people could come and live for awhile as these people did.

In the last slanting sunlight of the afternoon, we made it to the Painted Desert and Petrified Forest - another wonder invisible to the highway. It is a drive through the state park, with stops to gaze out at huge brick-coloured buttes or mountainous hoodoos. If only this hour of the day could last forever! The liquid amber of the sun sends a changing silhouette of shadows across the canyon. And down near the end of the circuitous drive lies an ancient forest where logs frozen in time lie cast in stone for almost ever. I sat down beside one, whose great base showed the circles of years it lived in life. But, what are 100 years of rings when their stone forms are now more than 200 million years old..?!

We drove out of the valley, emerging out into yellow plains with sparse mesquite and ironwood trees and finally the tall Saguaro (pronounced SA-WAR-O) cacti we had all been waiting for - the kind that stand straight and tall, holding out their arms in welcome to the desert. In front of the state buildings in Phoenix, we paused to view the full orange trees and gaze up at what I think were date trees overhead. Seeing both of these was a first for me. Then, with just the perfect amount of time to have a little celebratory dinner and take Doris to the airport, we were halted in our tracks. The temperature light on the dash was jumping up and off the scale, indicating a strange and sudden overheat problem.

It was confusing, really, with Doris needing to get to the airport, and with my having already, days ago, made a VW appointment for the next day anyway. We decided to make food the first priority - and drove in at an almost deserted Mexican restaurant along Van Buren Ave. There, between incessant calls to AAA (can't tow ya with a trailer) and attempts at contacting the local VW guys (just past closing time), we had a meal of tamales and tacos and stayed calm. It was actually the best Mexican meal I have ever had. The jukebox was blaring Mexican pop songs, Isaac danced like a jive fool in front of it, Nicole looked up from her beans and rice and happily piped, "Mommy, I think we know this one!", Patrick lobbied us for a luxury hotel stay, and it wasn't an emergency.

So, I called our tomorrow night's hosts in the valley suburb of Sun City West to see what we could do with no transportation. Before I could even ask, Don Gerboth said, "Well, your room is ready for you. We'll come and get you." A 45-minute ride later, and Don and Judy arrived at the same time as the tow-truck (that couldn't move a trailer). The tow truck left, so we loaded all our valuables from the Little Guy into Don and Judy's 7-seater and attempted to lead the van the 15 minute drive to the VW place, to leave it overnight. We made it halfway. David shrugged as we stared at Susannah Wesley in JJ's Gas Bar driveway. We would probably have to leave it and come back tomorrow. Don said, "Your time is my time," and with great relief, we parked it along the edge of JJ's, driving our now very weary children through the busy desert to their home.

Friday, Dec 1/06 Sun City West AZ:
OH MY GOSH, it's December! I could hardly believe we were ON this tour, let alone that we are near the end. I can look ahead and know that a week from this Sunday, we will be singing our last in the US - except for perhaps singing grace through the snows on the way back home...!

David was up at the crack of dawn with our host, who shall evermore be known as Saint Don, driving through early morning traffic back in to Phoenix. Having never managed to contact the VW place to make arrangements for us to be their most important customer of the day, he wanted to see if he could manage to get the vehicle in immediately. He called back to give updates: Yes, they did manage to limp the remainder of the drive to the repair shop. Yes, the shop would see the van in an hour. Yes, it looks like a hand-rigged clamp on the cooling system had popped off (losing the coolant). Yes, it appeared fixed. No, it heated on the drive out. Yes, it's been re-examined and it's fine. David would meet us at the church.

I managed to convince Isaac to temporarily take leave of Bogey, the home's feisty little white poodle, and the children and I drove Judy and Don's van full of our equipment out to the church. Don, who had returned, and Judy, had taken their golf cart down the long, palm-lined streets before us, to get to afternoon choir practice.

Shepherd of the Hills United Methodist Church shall win a prize on our tour for the most evocative name. Its large and modern sanctuary is crowned by a most beautiful round stained glass window of a shepherd with a sheep upon her shoulder, with both shepherd and sheep becoming the land all around as the lines radiate outward. At least that's what I see. We met our host, Ken Goodenberger, and his hard-working choir and proceeded to load in as David arrived to join us. Ken has made me right at home with his good humour for a number of weeks now, as we have exchanged e-mails across the miles.

Saint Judy played with our young ones while we set up our sound and drums and lights. However, Isaac graced us with his presence for a little bit of that time. David reports that he saw him sitting studiously in a pew with the hymnbook open on his lap. There, he sang quietly as he ran a finger along line after line of the hymn. David, his heart curiously warmed, approached to hear what sound was coming out of our young prodigy's mouth. The song he was contentedly singing was from one of our children's compilation CDs: "Highway to hell... Highway to hell..."

There was only time for us grown-ups to have a snack before our concert - which was a 6pm start-time.

Judy tells me that the great tall cactus that stands straight and single on the desert and the cactus that stands with its arms raised like a giant embrace are one and the same. They are the Saguaro, and those arms only appear when the cactus is mature. The image is a strong one for me for human life. When we are old enough, we develop the arms that can embrace the world, care for it and offer a sign of welcome - even when times are dry. Because my first passion in life is enabling all ages to sing their faith together, and because I believe so passionately that it takes a whole village to raise one human of any age, I do not understand how a gated community manages to do this. All I know is that Don and Judy dropped everything to embrace us, care for us and be that welcome.

Saturday, Dec 2/06 to California:
We left our little "casita" - the small bath and bedroom house off Judy and Don's which had been our home for 2 nights - to head west across the state. We passed by the town of Surprise, whose population had reportedly grown from 8100 to 81,000 in 7 years! We wound through golf courses, palm trees and manicured yards, until the town ran out and the scrub began again. Sudden oases of towns sprang up from time to time, mostly attributed to Del Webb, as if sculptures or paintings in a bare gallery.

Later, we stopped for gas at a Travel Center on the way to the California border. David reported to me that the woman inside had snapped at Isaac as he "browsed" the candy section, and demanded repeatedly in loud tones that the parent remove him. I walked back in to inform her that we wouldn't be buying gas from them that day, because we felt abused by her tone, her words and her attitude. I said I could understand her frustration with kids handling merchandise, but that there was a way of getting parents to step in and that wasn't it. "You should control your child!" she snapped as I turned to leave. (If only she knew). "You should control your tongue," I replied. It is absolutely my luck that, 15 minutes down the road at a rest stop, we discovered our gas cap missing and had to return to the very place. Hooboy, it's not nice to have to go back to where you have been self-righteous. Luckily the darn thing was sitting on top of the gas pump.

David muttered under his breath that fully 100 miles out of Los Angeles the traffic was already speeding up. Cars darted in front of and around us - even when we were at an intersection. On and off ramps criss-crossed and dove about one another. The road sangs a repeated "thugga" as we sailed over its exposed concrete plates, while debris wafted along the road-side. Decorated lots of absolutely perfect and identical Christmas trees had taken up areas along main streets. It was dark when we made it in to Chino and chugged in to the home of John Forney.

John Forney was given to us by Jim and Jean Strathdee the previous week. One morning, I had woken up and thought to myself: Shoot, this is dumb; we are going to be in Pasadena area on a Sunday and nowhere to sing in worship. Maybe I'll send out a letter to all my Log friends and ask who they know in the area. That day, I got a phone call from Jim and Jean asking if I might stand in for them at the gathering of Progressive Christians Uniting in Pasadena the very day we were already to be there..! I was floored. Not only were we available, it was a special anniversary for the group - 10 years as the social justice wing of the Process Theology movement based in Claremont. We were invited to a party! John said he would find us a church to sing in, that morning, to boot.

John Forney used to work with Jim and Jean years ago, and if you ever sing the Strathdee song: "Come Let Us Sing", you might notice that the tune name is "Forney" - dedicated to him. He describes himself as "now under Episcopal management" and that should tell you something about his wit. He showed us how he and his sons had rebuilt their very modern and beautiful Pasadena home, so it shouldn't have been a surprise when he described how he and a partner owned a sewage treatment plant locally, whose proceeds were funding a community project in Africa. Sewage! Any friend of garbage is a friend of mine! It was an altogether too short conversation, coupled with an altogether too short sleep that night.

Sunday, Dec 3/06 Garden Grove and Pasadena CA:
John cooked us a full breakfast before we all raced, taking turns passing each other on the highway, to the LA suburb of Garden Grove (or do they hate it if I call them that?). "Welcome home!" said pastor David Alicea, when we drove up to the First Church of Christ (Disciples of Christ). And certainly we did. The Christian Church is a new name to me, although some of our singers backing up the Edwina Pig Stories in Chapel Hill, NC (Week 9), were members of the local Disciples church. When they thanked me for writing music that spoke to them, I knew we must be somewhat on the same wave-length..! Their booklet says, "In frontier America, the desire for freedom that led to the American Revolution was also felt in religion" so the church began by stressing individual freedom of interpretation, lay leadership, revelation as coming from many places and mainly through Jesus and no "dogma". They see the whole Christian church as one and it is their aim to unite the scattered parts of the body throughout the world.

Folks have told me that, in California, the season of Advent raises the curtain on full-blown Christmas, so it was no surprise that our first Sunday in Advent included "O Come All Ye Faithful" to open and "Joy to the World" to send us out. I guess in Canada, because there is a perceptible difference in the winter's weather between Advent I and IV, we are more apt to consider it a progression toward Christmas day! In any case, it fit because I chose to tell one of my favourite stories of the season - the story of how John the Baptist's father, Zechariah, was struck dumb after meeting (and talking logic to) the Holy.

You know, there is something of a conflict of interest to be a travelling evangelist selling her own wares. I have always felt it as I move from singing songs of faith in a concert to inviting people to buy my CDs. But, it was never more obvious than this morning when I exhorted people to take the opportunity to start Christmas anew. "We still have the time! We can have a different kind of season," I said, inviting them to either 1) put nothing on credit for Christmas (the holidays' most dangerous practice) 2) buy from or give to charities such as our family is doing by collectively buying a stable of animals at nativity time or 3) spend no money at all. Then I stood by my table of CDs and hoped people would buy in droves. I've never been known for my hotshot marketing practices...

Now, the Progressive Christians practice what they preach. Months ago, a friend of mine inexplicably sent me a sermon that came from All Saints Episcopal Church, in which the preacher, a George Regas, responded to a threat by the IRS to have them philosophically "audited" and possibly have their tax exempt status revoked. This threat came as a result of the church's preaching against the US-Iraq War. I was impressed by this and, at that time, dropped them an e-mail to say that I was interested in joining them for worship on December 3, 2006. Well: George Regas and John Cobb are co-founders of Progressive Christians Uniting, and they both spoke at this event on the story of the organization, and its historic stances against war, for equality, food and shelter. An incredible coinci-dios.

Our singing began with a spirited song of praise - "I am the Light of the World" - that also served as a prayer for Jim Strathdee, who was about to go into surgery the day following. John and George both spoke about great and small things accomplished with incredible support of Providence and dedicated people. The movement was founded with the goal of giving Christianity a new profile and new voice in the US. "For awhile," John said, "it began to be embarrassing to say you were a Christian. This was because people associated the Christian church with pro-war and anti-equality." The afternoon was very exciting, ending with a presentation by young adults pointing toward a dynamic and high-powered future.

It wasn't that late when we turned into San Clemente State Beach Park, but it was complete night. As we cautiously drove in and chose a spot to park, the full moon made the white sand and driftwood-like shrubs glow with a supernatural white that is only seen by shepherds and angels by starlight - on nights of special importance.

Monday, Dec 4/06 Legoland..!:
Boy, in a few days, we have made it down from 8000 foot elevation, through deserts and arroyos, to the oceanside. We awoke to a warm and sunny morning, tugged on shorts and spread our breakfast out on the picnic table like we hadn't done in a couple of weeks. The smooth white trunks of small trees blended still with the white beach sand and white parking curbs. Just over the ridge was the ocean, curling in upon the shore with less of a roar than the nearby freeway. It was a California morning. A little note under our windshield invited us to proceed to register for our campsite. Another glossy little card invited us to proceed - in the event of an Onofre Nuclear Plant situation - to a safe site, We were to remain calm, as enough advance notice would assuredly have been given for us to make our way in a timely manner. We passed the site on the way out - 2 space alien helmets sitting on the seashore, padlocks on top.

The traffic eased once we made it out of the Los Angeles perimeter, and the energy slowed a bit. Marshes and lagoons reappeared, "mobile" homes sat crushed together with full-grown palms growing tall above - "Mobile Estates" David said the last one was called.

It was the day we had promised - nay bribed - the children with for months on end. Come what might on this tour, we would go to Legoland on December 4th. Suffice to say the sun truly shone on us this day. We wore shorts as we walked through the gates (dropping $200 for the family's admittance, I feel compelled to add) and explored many "Lands" on our day. Our first stop was to the traditional Lego miniature US city replicas - Washington DC, New York City, New Orleans, San Francisco. My gosh, could there be any more fun a way of our having an end-of-tour quiz on the places we have visited..?

We took Isaac over to the Central Park Zoo so we could relive the exhilaration of finding him when lost. When i lay on the ground to get a shot of Patrick and Nicole in the NYC exhibit, the city looked practically like the real thing behind them! We took a boat ride to see world sites (the Eiffel Tower, Taj Mahal, etc), including Mt Rushmore, where it appears tiny workers are cleaning the first president's ear with a Q-tip, trips through fairytale scenes - each made of hundreds of thousands of lego pieces.

It was a bit of a dream, really, for one who does not aspire to go to Disneyland and such. The day was perfectly beautiful and the crowd so sparse that kids could get off the Mini-Cars, run around to the beginning and hop on the next ride - or lazily say to the operator: "Can we go again..?" After five times on the Dino coaster, the kids were just about cross-eyed. After a full day, the sun dropped below the Pirates' Waterplay Ship and the air cooled abruptly. We found Isaac, who had beamed himself from the Build a Race-car building to the computer station in a blink, did a side-swipe through the gift shop and ran for the van and our long pants. A full moon shone behind a proud palm tree, declaring the day well spent.

An hour's drive through Ramona Canyon (east) to our campground in time for David to prepare us a dinner. Up in their bunk, with teeth brushed, the kids fell asleep practically mid-sentence.

Oh yes they call it the beach!

Tuesday, Dec 5/06 to Altadena CA:
It was silly, really, to drive all the way to the beach instead of driving smartly up the I-5 to our work later in the day, but I knew that the rest of the week was going to be intense - the home stretch of the tour. It deserved an hour on the beach. So, we drove straight back along the Ramona Canyon, flanked by scrub and orange groves, and into the nearest town. The name was promising: Oceanside. We could hardly have gone wrong; long stretches of light sand sweep the entire coastline, and with every foaming wave comes a flung handful of gold flecks eddying upon the beach. Little homes sit snugly along a slow-moving little street - almost all for rent or lease. I see... this is how people REALLY vacation...

Honestly, I should have simply let the children get their bathing suits when they asked, but I thought we were only there for a short time and that we shouldn't "commit" ourselves - but only wade in the water. (Well, I guess I hadn't heard whether there was an undertow, sharks, man o' war, land mines, rattlers, black widows or other dangers that only an adult can think up) So, the kids waded until either they dispensed with clothing altogether (Isaac) or became completely soaked anyway (Rest of Kids). And that's what you get for thinking like a grown-up.

On my way back up the beach stairs with wet clothing in hand, I met the man who actually lived on the corner. After a brief conversation, it was revealed that he was the just-former mayor of the town. He was enjoying his retirement, especially since, as he said, Oceanside had grown exponentially between the years '92 and 2000 during which he served. Much like Surprise, Arizona; what extraordinary adjusting everyone must have to do.

Really, it was Mapquest's fault that we arrived so late at Altadena Community Church - even if you have read every other entry in our Logs and noticed a curious pattern of late arrivals at every concert. And it wasn't a good idea to arrive late, because the host was Marcia Hoffman.

Marcia began writing to me something like 17 years ago when she was a student at Claremont College and had been introduced to my music by her pastor, Jim Manley. I was so thrilled to be in contact with her and her enthusiasm, and it was all the more exciting because she actually led an entirely Linnea-music worship service once, called "Turnstiles and Crooked Miles" and then sent me the video of it. I vowed to come to California really soon.

Seventeen years later and I'm late. Lost in Altadena. Marcia is the only person in Borealis history to ever have organized TWO Linnea-concerts for different groups in succession and I'm sure she was seeing her life pass before her eyes. She guided us in the last few turns by cellphone and after we had exchanged the quickest of hugs, the bunch of us and her cohort, Joe Shore, got to running about with set-up and stuff hunting. Marcia herself ran out and bought an extension cord for us, which shall henceforth be called "The Marcia Connection".

Fajitas on warmed corn tortillas were a make-it-yourself dinner. The kids recorded singing with caregiver Jennifer Raymond on her cellphone. Folks arrived with lots of energy and our concert followed suit. Marcia had made sure that we sang a local "favourite" - Ha Ha (serves me right for taking so long to get here that the local favourite is the FIRST SONG I ever wrote!) We also sang our way through a medley of Christmas carols, with wonderful harmonies all round.

Marcia then tempted fate by hosting us overnight at her own home. Marcia's partner, John, is a wine-connoisseur, so we sat up into the evening, catching up on 17 years or so of missing history.

Wednesday, Dec 6/06 Claremont CA:
Marcia and John's house turned out to be in a winding neighbourhood of stone walls and sunny, tree-caped yards. David and I sneaked out for a walk under the pretense of finding wireless at a coffee shop, while the kids played with Marcia's grandson, Taylor. I'm not a hundred percent sure she's going to thank me for all the computer games PJ spotted on her hard drive for Taylor's future reference..! Isaac tried to cajole the house's feline tenant to run and play pick-up-by-the-guts, with little success, and the laundry machine ran full tilt all day until we left the house flattened, on our way to Claremont.

The first thing we had to ask MaryAnne Parrott when we saw her at the Disciples Seminary Foundation was if she was a relative. David's mom, Vera, was one of the infamous Newfoundland Parrotts (well - ALL Newfies are infamous), and even my mentioning the possible genealogical connection across 5000 kilometres is the most Maritime thing in the world to do. MaryAnne said there weren't a lot of them around, so there was some chance they were family.

With this important business behind us, we could carry on with the peripherals - loading drums and sound into a small meeting room in the building and preparing for an intimate evening of song. To throw the students and straight-thinkers off, we turned the room on its diagonal end, where a palm-like potted tree sat behind us, decked with tinsel and Christmas balls. The audience sat in the formation of a fan or perhaps a California wave.

MaryAnne was on her feet and walking, I think, for all the 7 hours that I saw her - moving furniture, serving us food, looking for lost lego pieces with kids, setting up refreshment areas. I asked her in a pause, what her role at the college was. She is the president. I think when people see our family arrive in our camper van and with all our set up and junk, they feel weary just thinking about the work. For my part, when I think of the effort that Marcia and MaryAnne clearly put into the two nights we sang in their towns, I know where the real work lies. The lime juice originated on MaryAnne's own front yard tree.

The children got Jennifer again, to their delight, so Patrick took the unprecedented step of asking for the night off concert duty. Marcia got the chance to develop her skills as a Mac operator (a skill she has possibly never aspired to) and an LCD projectionist (a skill she will be forced to develop). She coped excellently. This time I tested out the California Full-Christmas regalia theory by inviting the audience to vote: should we sing a Christmas carol medley or an Old Tyme Gospel Medley? Vote was clearly in favour of the Gospel.

Two of the loudly singing audience members in our line of vision turned out to be Jeanyne and John Slettom - our hosts for the night and the following day's visit to the Center for Process Theology. Stepping into THEIR house was like walking into a page from 1950s Better Homes. Not only that, but there was already a stocking on the hearth with MY name on it! Well, actually, it turned out these folks have a daughter by the same spelling - except that SHE pronounces it correctly: Lin-NAY-a (not mine). First thing I'm going to do when I get some time is put a button on the main page of my web site that is the Pronunciation Check: Push the button and hear a voice say the correct pronunciation of my name. Wouldn't that be funny? It would certainly end what seems to be pretty endless debates about who's coming to sing at the church..!

Press this button here to end this week's Tour Log and hear a big thank-you for reading through yet another installment: THANK-YOU.

Just kidding. Join us next week for our ascent back into north country and the beginning of the end. I'm giving prizes to anyone who has read THE WHOLE THING. Blessings!
Linnea

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