As the title of this blog and the content of my posts reflect, I’ve been around quite a few blocks — above and below water. When I get homesick, it’s for more than one X on the globe, and I’m more wealthier (soulwise — financially not so much) for it.

Arizona, however, is where I go back to every summer (Good God Phoenix and, now, Yuma you kill me with that heat) and sometimes Christmas. It is where my children and grandchildren live. It is most probably where I will live my final years (helloooo retirement).

Around this time 24 years ago, I packed up my kids, our cat Bunny, and our belongings into a 24-foot Ryder truck with an old BMW attached. It took us five days to drive cross country, making it to our never-seen-in-person Phoenix condo in the middle of the night. The trip was stressful and magical at the same time. Our first glimpse of Arizona was the San Francisco peaks way, way, way ahead of us on a long, flat highway. It was early evening during monsoon season, so what we saw was jagged triangles of purple haloed by horizontal lighting.

Quite a few hours later, the kids and I slept on our new living room floor with all of the windows open. The main breaker for the apartment was, for whatever reason, downstairs in the back of someone else’s condo, so we couldn’t turn on our power. Instead, we snuggled and listened to the thunder and rain brought down from that same storm that graced Flagstaff’s mountains. We didn’t know it at the time, but we were so lucky that Arizona decided to welcome us with her rain and wind, tucking us in with her scent of wet sage and blissfully cool air, so that we could face the morning’s heat well rested. And, believe you me, the day’s heat was definitely a rude awakening.

That night was the first night my children or I had been through any of these parts of Arizona. Prior to that, many years before, I spent a night in Tucson while 5 months pregnant with my daughter. Long story short, I was with my mother and brother on our way to visit my sister in California. We took a side trip to the Desert Museum (a park with lots of saguaro and animals). It was hot, so my brother and mother hid inside a cafe while I walked around. I kid you not (I swear I’m not making this up), I got to a deer area where I watched a mother give birth to her fawn. The whole time she looked at me while I looked at her. The birth didn’t take long at all, and I didn’t notice the heat or whether anyone else was around. I was just so taken aback that I got to witness this most amazing thing, and I thought to myself “I’m going to live in Arizona.” I wished the new mom and her baby well, joined my family, and then got on with my life completely forgetting about this vow to live so far away from my-then life on the east coast.

It took about 13 years for me to remember that day and get serious about my inner promise. The story that led us to the big move, or the story of our living there, isn’t important to this post. What is important is the magic of Arizona’s deserts (and desserts), mountains, vortexes, canyons and all that goes with it.

The state is one irony or juxtaposition after another, and yet it all manages to blend (I wouldn’t say it always works) together. For those of you wanting to visit, please do fit in time to hike our low desert trails (in winter — avoid at all cost in summer; being athletic means nothing to that heat) and our high desert forests (winter might be too cold for some). Up north, in the woods, just stop and listen to the pine. They are always singing you their song. Down in the valley, watch the cracked earth. It’s busy with life.

It saddens me that so much of it is on fire right now. I believe there are currently 26 wildfires tearing through the state. The Dragon Bravo megafire, which began early July, in the Grand Canyon has made international headlines — mainly because tourists from around the world come here to take in its grandeur (kudos to them because photos or video will never do it justice). It is still devouring acres upon acres. The damaging impact of this fire will live on longer than we like.

Near Sedona, where my son Kyle lives, there is another fire. It looks like recent rains might stop this beast from growing. I cannot even describe what a loss it would be if fire tore through Oak Creek Canyon and destroyed all in its wake. There are a lot of woo-woo spiritual places in Sedona — in part, probably, because of marketing, but mostly because its beauty really is that moving. The echos of ancestors are embedded in its cliffs.

When we first moved to Arizona, Sedona tourism wasn’t as crazy there as it is now. It was always a place to see and inhale, but we’ve instagramed the hell out of it, so now there are also just about as many cars as red rocks. I gripe about this, but I also get it. Northern Arizona, as a whole, is ahhhhmazing. Sedona adds more color and flair to it.

Fire is and always has been part of Arizona’s story. Phoenix, its capital, is named after a creature that is reborn from the ashes. I don’t doubt that Arizona will survive and regrow whatever man or Mother Nature throws its way. BUT, I do hope we find a way to cut down on any of the man-made harm, while at the same time telling you that Arizona is special and definitely worth the visit (Arizona isn’t the only one with its juxtapositions).

Mostly, though, I want its beauty protected so that my grandchildren can have more than the family snapshots we share. The best magic the state holds for me are these amazing folk who I’d travel for days to see.

Today, while in my other lovely corner of the world, my heart is full of love and gratitude for my home in Arizona. Hugs and margarita cheers to all!