becky haycox

Month: February 2015

  • mid-crisis calm – or: ROAD TRIP!

    As promised, here is a brief travelogue in between the two shitstorms that have defined mid to late February 2015. Before I start, I want to mention that the siege (to be discussed in the last part) has ended, hopefully forever, and that I can properly eulogize my friend without the fear of getting attacked by, truly, the worst of the internet. But no more of that talk right now. I went away!

    I have no idea why my four-day jaunt seemed to appear to be some kind of multi-week vacation to so many, but quite a few people have approached me (in person and online) saying a version of “oh! you’re back from all your travels!” I love this and I don’t know how I pulled it off — to seem like a traveling, experience-having fool without actually spending the money and taking unpaid time off!

    So, my dear Molly has jumped from a non-profit to a for-profit life in the hotel industry. So when she suggested a mini Southwest vacation with sweet and discounted boutique hotel action — over Valentine’s weekend, no less — I said “yes, darling, a thousand times yes!” So we got engaged. In the business of eating, drinking, relaxing, and driving the open roads. A little throwback to our fantastic 10-day road trip, almost exactly 5 years ago.

    First stop, Sedona. A bit of irony here, as we blew past this town as fast as we could the last time. My drive from my town to Sedona was insanely long; though I was in the right zombie state of mind to endure the travel (having lost my friend a couple days before), it did not afford me a lot of time there. I got at night in just enough time to have a surprisingly delicious bite to eat in the only restaurant open past 10pm. In the AM, we had some good hipster artisan resort breakfast then hit the road. Though this was a resort, I was not in the frame of mind to dawdle in the pool area and do some resort-ing, while red rocks towered above, though it looked very nice. Fortunately M had already had a couple relaxing days there (including a massage I am not allowed to talk about), so I could scoop her up and we could head due south.

    February 2015 February 2015 February 2015 February 2015

    First stop, Arcosanti, “focused on innovative design, community, and environmental accountability. Our goal is to actively pursue lean alternatives to urban sprawl based on Paolo Soleri’s theory of compact city design, Arcology (architecture + ecology).

    This project was planned in the mid-60s and started being built in 1970, so it is the best of the best of retro-modern utopian hippie excellence. People live in the complexes, and the whole Arcosanti/Cosanti (another area closer to Phoenix) empire makes serious bank from their silt-cast ceramics and their bronze wind chimes (the ceramics studio is the second picture above). It’s beautiful, it’s crumbling, it’s sort of forgotten, it’s a little spooky. In other words: it’s perfect.

    I can’t wait to see Cosanti next time I’m over there. I have vague memories of going to Arcosanti as a child and I’m wondering if Cosanti was also a stop.

    I am dying, dying to purchase a 1964 silkscreen print of Soleri’s original drawn plans, which are groovy, colorful and organic. Hot undeniable desire. While I was wrestling with myself about this, Molly and I developed a new grading system for my object lust. The yardstick by which all other objects are measured is the Navajo crown, spotted by me at a Trading Post in NM on our last SW road trip:

    [A] sterling silver, turquoise-studded crown that was inscribed “Navajo Queen.” I wanted it so badly I got a little dizzy.

    That thing is, even 5 years later, is a shiny, quivering, expensive, beautiful/weird ultimate symbol of pure desire — desire to own the living daylights out of it. Which I do not.

    Working the complicated equation of desirability, usability, attainability, and jenesaisquoisbility, the Soleri print ranks 50% on the Navajo Queen grading scale. This is a high number, trust me. The percentage may actually rise soon, as the sustained desire is not flagging and is in fact increasing. This is thanks to the attainability (it’s a decent price and mine with a credit card number and a quick call to the gift shop). However, framing, wall space, and thriftiness are keeping the print at bay. For the time being.

    Woof, I went on a tangent! Anyway! After tromping around in the noble experiment, we continued to Phoenix and had a glass of wine with my family friend Jo Ann, who is a delight and who is recovering from some health problems and who is dearer to me than any damn Navajo Queen crown.

    We had plans to see improv that night but my demeanor crumbled a bit and Molly developed a cold so we found some delicious Italian food in downtown PHX that wasn’t too romantic-couply (this was Feb 14, a Saturday, yuk) then headed to our deluxe hotel, which was outfitted with wine, snacks and valentines from M’s hotel colleague. I’m never allowing Molly to quit this job.

    I’m going to have to break this account in two, since there is so much more mystical hippie fantasticness yet to come. And jerky, lots of jerky.

    More Arcosanti:

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    February 2015 February 2015 February 2015

     

    Go to part two-point-five of this saga: road trip part 2

     

  • sad week

    This has been a hell of a week (right, Kyle?) I’ll break it into three parts — the first one sad, the second one happy, the third infuriating.

    My town is not a small town (100k and some change, citizens-wise) but the community within my town is tiny. And so shock waves from a big event within our ranks travel deep and strong.

    I had a friend, who was also a work colleague, who was also a fellow theatre performer. He died last week, horribly. I don’t want to give any more details here because I don’t want to attract attention to this post. More on that in part three.

    But this I can share: I am sad. Everyone else is sad. On one hand, I take comfort knowing that pretty much everyone I know here is feeling the same way I am, and that we’re taking time to be kind with one another, feeling free to have ugly-cries together, and helping each other out.

    On the other hand, I can’t get away from it. I can’t find solace in the discipline of work, I can’t fully escape into the magic of the stage. The big fat hairy paws of grief are grabbing at me wherever I turn. (I did manage to find a few days of sort-of escape — part two of this series.)

    When I’ve experienced loss of people who my local friends did not know (my father, my stepfather, etc.) I was hideously alone in my grief, and had to try hard to point out to others the pain I was in. There was much less tolerance for it, and full expectations that I was to be over it in an acceptable time frame. So that sucked too.

    Grief/loss is sure a lose-lose situation. And if the mechanics of humans are any hint, I shall continue to experience grief within a whole lot of scenarios, until my own mechanics inform me that it’s my turn. And that is a part of life, sure. Okay.

    And, as for the inability to properly eulogize my friend here: If you know my theatre, or the non-profit at which I work, you can go to the websites and see words I’ve written there.

    And let’s celebrate the small victory of being showered and dressed!

     Go to part two of this saga: the happy part

  • shut up, face.

    I had a freak accident last night that had a mildly humorous outcome. I posted a picture and the story to Facebook, then deleted it immediately. Why? Because

    A. I didn’t want the well-meaning but fun-squashing comments along the lines of “OH NO WHAT HAPPENED?!?!?!” and “Tea Tree Oil, trust me.”

    B. I didn’t want the pure snark, which these days is along the lines of “LOL senior moment!!”

    Basically I wanted people to appreciate my story in the exact way that I intended and to post only insightful comments with the appropriate level and kind of humor that aligns with my tastes.

    So yeah, the blog seems to be the place for me to dump stuff like this. And since no one comments I can pretend that thousands of people are reading and appreciating in a hambox-approved, non-snarky way.

    Can I tell the story now? (I’m fully aware of my total crabbiness today. My active sleeplife is exhausting. Last night, sleep-me decided to remove the toilet paper from its holder and tuck it into my bed. I awoke with TP wound around my arms. There’s another story I won’t share with FB.)

    I was about to cross my street last night, mid-block. I was clutching a stack of bills and reaching for my car keys in my purse when my body misjudged the curb somehow. I stumbled and started to fall between two parked cars. I tried to catch myself with my left arm and managed to jam my fingers into a truck’s grille. That was the mail-holding hand, so the paper provided a buffer, otherwise I’d be all cut up. As it is, startling hand bruises are appearing. I’m a little sore all over but it could’ve been a disaster!

    Maybe that TP story was more worth the detailed telling. Thanks for “listening,” blog.