time in Phoenix

What started out as a mini vaca to see Cezanne and a Dbacks baseball game, ended up as a time to yes, see, Cezanne, but also to see old friends. My ankle was part of the reason for the shift in focus: even though I think I can handle walks and crowds, when I get close to making a decision about "entering the fray", I choose to be cautious and wait. Even standing in line for the Sea Life Aquarium proved to be too much pushing and shoving, so a choice to savor a brownies ala mode Haagen Daz while watching children grin on the Arizona Mills Mall carousel proved to be a better option.

The Phoenix Art Museum's Cezanna and modernist show was fantastic. It's there until late September so I encourage others to see it. Barnes and Noble offers a 2 for 2 admission and even a regular admission is well worth it. I discoverd Maurice Pendergast as one of my new favorites ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maurice_Prendergast ) and appreciated anew Cezanne's influence on paiting, photography and sculpture. What if his father had succeeded in convincing Cezanne to become a banker or a lawyer? How many artists have we lost to such mundane but economically secure career choices? How many young ones are sitting at desks right now and turning aside from their creative pursuits to favor those paths which "promise" security?

In Cezanne's case, he was fortunate to have the means, finally, to pursue his passions. The idea of perspective that he turned forward (rather than backward) was new to me, rather its explanation was new to me, as so I learned a great deal at the exhibit as well as savoring the joy of art.

Visiting friends is another joyful experience. When I turn 85, if I get there, will I have the courage to travel solo for a month in Brazil, as my friend and mentor, SK, has done? If I am, when I get there, and I find myself facing isolation in a condo 10 miles from the promised beach ($34 dollars round trip by taxi), my only companion a Portuguese speaking caregiver, will I have the presence of mind, the fortitude of the soul to become an ethnographer and take daily notes of my social and political experiences?

If I am 78 and need three knee operations, will I suit up each morning for rehab so that I can reclaim my daily routine on the softball field?

Such are questions my friends' recent life adventures pose to my mealytoast ego. My anxieties seem to be produced by bad dreams (two featured drownings last night), family (or my) medical appointments, or the anticipation of a new project. I don't belittle my own life's challenges, really, but I can see that life has more twists and turns than even my imagination can conjure.

Cezanne painted almost 30 portraits of his wife. He did over a hundred scetches and paintings of "The Bathers". Such focus, like the courage of my friends, spins me into awe.

And then there is this group of nine women I met yesterday, part of the new project I am doing with Kore Press (www.korepress.org). Appreciating the breadth and depth of experiences of this collective group gave me the feeling that I had just entered Star Trek's holideck--a place where I could only imagine being in a salon with such talent. Each woman spoke with her unique voice of identity and that harkened up the spirit of my Grandmother Dice for me. She was "formidable" (use the French accent, please). I think my mother was intimidated by her mother and had to find her own spiderweb like path to womanhood, but Grandmother showed me the strong spine of a female and I am ever grateful to her for it.

So I am so thankful we took time in Phoenix. It's definitely not a place where I want to live but it offers resources that, from time to time, expand my horizons.