Nobody is From Here

One of the many unique things about living in Palm Springs is that nobody is ‘from’ Palm Springs. We/they all come from someplace else. While not unique to other American outposts like Key West, Las Vegas and Taos, New Mexico, it’s certainly different than most rural and many urban communities.

Historically, the many ‘faces/facades of Palm Springs’ seems to congeal into this melting pot of divergent personalities through many different pathways. It might be as a tourist destination or a weekend getaway. Many folks have second homes in the desert and seek a different kind of life style out here.

This ‘not from here’ phenomena continues in the many diverse neighborhoods of Palm Springs. Each seems to attract an eclectic collection of personalities from ‘other places.’ Like a mountain man rendezvous, the folks come from many different directions to gather and socialize and share in like-minded attitudes towards life.

Festivals like Coachella and Stagecoach bring in the masses from all over the country. Local Palm Springs specific events like the International Palm Springs Film Festival and Modernism Week also bring in a plethora of attendees from around the country. You get an even more intimate peek into these phenomena when the locals cross paths with one another.

It might be at an early morning Starbucks run or around poolside or on top of a local mountain hiking trail. Wherever folks gather, the conversation usually circles around to where they came from and how they got here.

This is not surprising, since in the past, the average population of Palm Springs had usually hovered around 47,000 year round. Early on, the demographics were usually heavy in the blue collar, working class ranks. Since the mid-forties and forward, more and more folks have moved to the area on a permanent basis. Thus ‘born and raised here’ started to become the rarity it is today.

I experienced this through my involvement with the Palm Springs Writers Guild. Even after ten years of engagement, I have yet to meet a ‘native Palm Springs person.’ My fellow writers come from across the country with a large percentage from the West Coast area. Sharon found the same thing with her fellow early morning swim class participants.

None of our neighbors are from the area. They come from Texas, the Midwest, the East Coast, the Deep South and the Southwest. The single thread that seems to connect all of them is their disdain for winter weather as well as the inclusive nature of our community.

Our bi-annual Indian Canyon Neighborhood Organization parties are another example of this on a much larger scale. Of the four hundred and fifty homes in our neighborhood, very few are passed down generational abodes. The vast majority are permanent retirement homes or second homes for folks from someplace else.

Living with an Artist: Part Two

Retirement can be a funny state-of-mind. Everyone approaches it a little differently. Some folks embrace the concept with enthusiasm for their measured time ahead; for however long that may be. Others take a more cautious approach, judging time and money spent in return for what?  I found my post-retirement calling pretty quickly and have settled into a routine that satisfies my soul as well as my curious mind.

Sharon followed a bit of a circuitous route but has finally found her focus. I blogged about this some time ago and it just continues to grow over the years. Sharon has become an artist.

In the beginning, it meant creating metal art through welding various forms and shapes. Gradually those endeavors evolved into alcohol ink and acrylics. Then Sharon’s art became a full blown exploration and examination of various painting mediums, methods and techniques. In that process of experimentation, my wife began mixing and matching a plethora of textures, patterns and applications to see the results. She also learned the disciplines associated with the many different approaches to her art.

I’m living with an artist now. Her lifestyle has changed and evolved over the past couple of years. The changes were subtle at first then grew more focused as an interest in the arts became her new-found passion.

The residue of her artistic endeavors continue to be seen everywhere; on the kitchen table, in corners, the basement and even Brian’s old bedroom. There is evidence of her art projects all over the place. Picture frames and paints are stacked everywhere.

Sharon can no longer chide me for stacking papers on the floor of my writing room (Melanie’s old bedroom). The artist’s ammunition has come to rest and now even Sharon understands it has to go somewhere.

Over the years, Sharon has taken art classes at the Northrup King Building in Norde East Minneapolis and at the Palm Springs Art Center. Her work is being displayed in a design store at International Market Square and soon will be represented in the desert.

Sharon recently had an art sale in our backyard.

It was a fund-raiser for her Apple Valley Rotary group and Sharon raised over $10,000 dollars for a local food shelf. Sharon had 93 pieces of art for sale and sold 87 of them.

Sharon’s venture into painting is less impressive than her embracing the true spirit of her craft. She is experimenting, succeeding at times and failing at others and trying again. There is a sense of urgency and a crusade that she is on. She is finding her voice, her comfort level and self-expression in her art. Sharon’s art is the story of her thoughts and feelings and moods and ambitions.

Sharon’s paintings energize her and give her a reason to care. It is carrying her beyond past academic success to newfound pleasures of the soul. Now she is passing on that knowledge to her grandchildren.

It means fulfillment for Sharon as an artist, an explorer and a person. It now defines who she is and what she has become. It is a life filled with purpose and meaning.

Been there, done that, doing it.  I know what it’s like. I couldn’t be more proud of everything she’s accomplished thus far and will in the future.

B & C Come to Visit

One of the many undiscovered joys of life for me was to become a grandparent. Growing up, I had no idea what a grandparent was supposed to do or be. The kind of influence a grandparent can have on a grandchild is phenomenal. I’m not talking about material things which don’t mean Jack in the greater scheme of life. I’m talking about the little things, the little day-to-day incidents that can mold and shape the kind of person a child becomes. I can only hope that Sharon and I have been that kind of influence on our five kiddos.

Sharon and I with the five grandchildren

Aside from a couple of visits early on in my life, there were no grandparents from either family ever present as I was growing up. Fast forward many years and Sharon and I have been blessed with five wonderful grandchildren. Unfortunately three of them live in Denver and, aside from their Palm Springs visits and our (pre-pandemic) trips to Colorado); we only get to see them once or twice a year.

Fortunately each year, both Brian’s and Melanie’s families are able to join us in Palm Springs for either Thanksgiving or Christmas. Each visit is a wonderful memory-collector for the entire  LaComb/McMahon family tree.

Since they were infants, Brennan and Charlotte have stayed with us in Apple Valley for visits, playdates and sleepovers.  They stayed with us for two weeks a couple of years ago when Melanie and Scott did an anniversary trip, traveling through Europe.

Unfortunately this summer, with the pandemic in full bloom, it was different story. We only had the kids for a week sans sleepovers. That was too bad because Sharon and I have created quite a tradition with their Chocolate Chip pancakes for breakfast, a fast game of either bumper cars or radio-controlled cars.

Usually we would end each evening at bedtime with a new story of their favorite made-up character called ‘Copper the Hopper.’ This long held tradition of ‘Copper the Hopper’ bedtime stories usually included a heavy dose of tickling, finger-snaps on the head (simulating getting hit by golf balls) rolling off the bed and more tickling. By stories end, the bed covers were in shambles, both kids over-activated and ‘time out’ needed to calm down before we kissed their foreheads and put them to bed.

Sharon and I know that we can never pinpoint just what experiences are being stored in our grandchildren’s collective memory banks. Scooters in the desert. Dress up at the St. Paul Grill. Nana’s pool. Cupcakes?

Closer to home, it could be B & C’s favorite climbing tree, garage sales, ‘Copper the Hopper’ bedtime stories, Culvers restaurant, dress up dinners with Nana and Papa, beadwork on the porch or cooking classes.

With their abbreviated one-week stay this summer, we managed to get in the Minnesota Zoo, a lot of porch fun, working in the mulch garden and of course, their favorite climbing tree.

Sharon and I agree that one of the first things we’re going to do once the pandemic is over is fly to Denver to spoil, entice, and spoil some more the Denver trio of Maya, Samantha, and Spencer. Closer to home, we’re going to stage another weekend blast at Nana and Papa’s house for B & C.

If they’re not too old, we’ll invite ‘Copper the Hopper’ along for the romp, ride, and joyful reunion.