Morning walk in Tucson . . .

We've been in Tucson about a month now and still haven't adjusted to the temperatures, though it's wonderful to be close to my sis. Yesterday morning we strolled out for our morning walk (you have to go early, otherwise it's truly just too hot, a high of 106, and in the upper 90s by 9-ish). There before us on the sidewalk, we spied this tarantula. He was out and about as well, and he was huge. It turns out he was a unique variety. A Blonde Tarantula. Too bad the females tend to eat after mating, that is, they eat the male. But still, both Allen and I broke out in a sweat. Just a few moments later, a couple warned us of a rattler up ahead.

We've been playing around with how to feed a hummingbird and finally have a family (I think) of cactus wrens dropping in throughout the day for bread crumbs (upgraded to bird seed today). The hummingbirds zoom and hover; the cactus wrens hop around and peek in the window, their little beaks open for water.

Our apartment is close to the Santa Catalina mountains, so we go down the hill to my sister's and are treated to views of these magnificent peaks. Monsoon rains bring thunderheads in the late afternoon. Que vista, baby! We're birding a little at local parks. Here's a view of Agua Caliente, a nearby desert oasis. We left the house at 6 am to meet up with local birders and beat the heat. I'm hoping for cooler weather in October. May the rest of your summer be reasonably free of wild weather.

On hot and cold in Tucson . . .

Last week, I was innocently making breakfast in this mansion above the Tucson valley, happily scrambling eggs and burning toast. Yes, there was a little smidgen of bread stuck down in the toaster that I forgot about. I could smell it burning and was just about to get it out after the toast popped up when the klaxons went off.

I'm not talking about a smoke alarm. I'm talking about a three-klaxon-deafening blast. A fire alarm. Which went directly to the security company and (unbeknownst to us) the fire department. The security company called the owner. Meanwhile we are running around this multi-level house, trying to find the fire alarm which continued emitting its ear-piercing blasts when far away, we heard the tinkle of my cell phone.

"We'll get it after we stop the noise," said hubby. And so we did. A few, very few minutes later, he's on the cell talking to the owner, when the front door bell goes off. The firemen had arrived. There are no words for how embarrassed I felt. Rich people don't burn toast.

We go down the hill to help take care of my sister.

Record lows hit Tucson. Tuesday night dips into the teens, breaking low temperatures for 106 years here in Tucson and freezing the lovely desert plants just beginning to bloom.

Wednesday, again after breakfast, we're sitting in the little breakfast nook, when I hear rushing water. Not the sweet sound of rain, but the horrible the-side-of-the house-is-going-to-be-washed-out-by-a-torrent sound. Again, we frantically run around the outside of the house to discover where we shut off the water (after I grab the coffee pot and fill it with fresh water, 10 cups).

The water gushes. We can't find anything. Hubby is on the cell again with the owner. We finally find one shut off (but it's not the right one). While we're standing there studying how to turn the darn thing off, a foot long PCV pipe splits right next to us, full of popsicle ice. Meanwhile, the torrent on the side of the house continues, soaking under the house. The owner contacts the previous owner and finally, the water is shut off. We go down the hill to take care of my sister, unwashed but happy. Disaster has been avoided.

The next morning, I'm up early and starting to make breakfast when I can't turn the stove on. The gas is at a low ebb. We go online. Southwest Gas posts an alert. Record low temperatures everywhere in the country has affected the flow of gas to Arizona. Everyone is supposed to ration and our neighborhood (along with 14,000 other households, I kid you not), has no gas. That means no stove, no hot water, no heat. That was yesterday.

This morning, the sun is shining. It's a cool 51 degrees inside this beautiful home. The city has set up warming shelters, and the gas should be restored within the next 3-5 days. I'm thinking we'll go down the hill to my sister's after a nice hot breakfast at McDonald's. And Super Bowl Sunday, I don't care if the Packers or the Steelers win. My sister has heat.

Tucson morning . . .

As I struggle with my writing, every morning begins anew. The words don't come, so I walk out on the patio high above Tucson, the sun just lifting over the mountain, blue sky above, birds calling, bright morning everywhere.

And then she comes, as if I were invisible, a small green hummingbird. I stand still. She flits from branch to branch, then settles for long moments, tiny green in the brush. She stares at me, through me. Only her small brown head moves, checking everywhere. She stares at me again, and then she is gone.



Around me, the arroyo teems with life. Other birds fly by: a male Anna's Hummingbird preens nearby; a House Finch brown and blush-red balances atop a bare-limbed tree. Several Saguaro stand sentinel nearby, their limbs punctuated by holes, little nests for burrowing birds, an occasional owl, a cactus wren. Down in the valley, cars stream along ribbon roads. Back to the den I go, all enclosed, the outside world fades, invisible, and I write.

Today's prompt comes from Sunday Scribblings, prompt number 250! An amazing writer's blog. Visit to write or read on . . .

At Tohono Chul Park . . .

Yesterday we walked through Tohono Chul Park, rather small at under 50 acres, but a delightful meandering through desert plantings, particularly the Saguaro cactus, pronounced Sa-hwa-ro), considered a person by the O'Odham tribe. It's a little early for the wild flowers, but the sun was warm enough that we didn't need sweaters. I was buzzed by a bright green hummingbird, maybe because my hat had flowers on it.



Tucson, Arizona

We saw Monarch butterflies, and delighted in pincushion cactus, barrel cactus (their buds just coming on), and bunny ear cactus (more like Mickey Mouse). We were fascinated by the history and interplay between the native peoples and the Saguaro cactus, which is very slow growing, often living up to 150-200 years. Not only a source of water (in a single rainstorm, it can absorb up to 200 gallons of water), the Saguaro can weigh up to 8 tons fully grown (90% water!). The O'Odham tribe, before modern times, were nomadic and their calendar was organized around the flowering and fruiting of the Saguaro. The seeds of the Saguaro are very small and thrive best near the protective branches of the palo verdes (green stick trees), seen everywhere in the desert here.

Also at the park, I was drawn to the vivid prints of Gerald Dawavendewa, who works with symbols from the Hopi and Cherokee tradition, especially his print of four bright green circling hummingbirds. Much to see here in sunny Tucson that is good.