Nuff said.
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That's my dad's truck in my driveway during the
NJ Blizzard of 1996. I missed this storm by 2 months.
Nuff said. |
I chose Arizona as my new home state after an awesome experience teaching music on the Hopi Reservation in January, 1994. I was picked, along with 2 other music education students from Montclair State U, to venture up to north-eastern Arizona and live on the Hopi Reservation to design and launch a music program in their school system. I was placed in Hotevilla-Bacavi Elementary and Junior High, which had about 100 students. I was responsible for the 4th-7th graders.
The Hopi people are quiet and reserved, and they take a while to get used to outsiders, especially white ones with big voices. It took a few days for the students to warm up to us, but soon they were comfortable and took musical and educational risks without much problem at all (uh-oh, teacher lingo... look out!). Because these students never had a music program before, I decided that my personal teaching goals would be to get these kids to read musical notation, and then write and perform their own compositions using simple percussion instruments and their voices. I knew it was a huge goal, and I feared it might be too unrealistic, but they actually accomplished those tasks so quickly that I had to think of other stuff for them to do! I chose to let them explore concert band instruments, since the school had a few fermenting in some storage closet. I tracked down the instruments and had them cleaned up, and then brought them into class the next day. The students were so excited to actually see and touch the instruments; and when I asked them if they wanted to try to play them, they almost burst with excitement. Now, I can't really say I had them playing anything remotely pleasant-sounding, but just seeing them get so excited over the possibility of taking up an instrument was music to my ears.
I found it very interesting that while these students had never encountered a simple band instrument before, they knew who Snoop Doggy Dogg was, and knew every word the guy wrote. Western culture had definietly made its way there; half the kids wore Phoenix Suns jackets and Air Jordans. Some students have typical American names, but the majority have unpronounceable names without vowels. The only name I can remember is Hunga which is kind of cruel nickname for this one big, wonky kid. Hunga apparently means caveman. I guess every school has a Hunga...
(An aside: We were hanging out with these Hopi musician guys and one said, "What do all Hopi men have that are long and hard? Last names!")
The Hopi culture is so rich; with practically every aspect of their lives, whether it be art, agriculture, foods, religion, festivals, etc. have to do with nature and the seasons; but specifically rain. They worship sprirts and ancestors, which take various forms called Kachinas. I couldn't possibly explain the Kachinas to you on one measly web page, but here are some links. Trust me on this: it's some really interesting reading. Check it out!
Anyway, it seems that half the population is dying for change, and wants to be hip and technologically current like the rest of the country. The other half, the purists (or fundamentalists), are trying desperately to keep these influences out. Some of these purists live in Walpi, which is a section of the Hopi Reservation with no running water or electricity.
The Navajo-Hopi Land Dispute is not just something you read about in history books; it is most definitely alive and kicking there. Geographically, the Hopi Reservation sits directly inside the Navajo Nation (kind of like a fried egg, where Hopi would be the yolk). Way up on the high mesas, some of the ancient Hopi petroglyphs have been drawn over with swastikas and graffiti by the Navajo. In fact, in my classroom one day, a kid got a bit ticked at another one, and hissed "Shut up, you Navajo!" It was a pretty tense moment, there...
Our schedule was very full. We were only on the reservation for about
two weeks, as the internship took place between fall and spring semesters.
After a full day of teaching, we would spend the rest of the daylight hours
seeing as much as we could. One day we'd go for a hike, the next day a
revered (and cool as hell) Hopi man, Clark, took us rock climbing to see
the ancient Hopi petrpglyphs (sandstone rock drawings). One weekend day
we helped excavate the Homolovi Ruins; a site contaning remarkably intact
kivas and houses. The picture below is just a stock picture from the AZ
Dept of Tourism, but the others were all taken by me.
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ANYWAY, after our teaching stint was over, we drove down to Tempe to Arizona State University, which was in winter recess at the time. We talked to the music department heads about our experiences, and were given a tour of the school. It's a huge university, which I happen to like better without all the students. :-) The things that really grabbed me were the general friendliness of everyone we encountered, the outstanding weather, the palm trees and the architecture of Frank Lloyd Wright.
It was at that time that I decided Arizona would be my new home. Jersey was stinky and crowded with no room to breathe, but Arizona still had some frontier left! As soon as I got back to NJ, I started making plans for the move. In June of 1995, Jeremy, his college buddy Elizabeth and I hopped a plane for Phoenix to begin the apartment hunt. Jeremy and I found two apartments we liked, and we made our final decisions based on the cuteness of the leasing managers. Upon my return to NJ, I hit the county library and began the job hunt. My folks thought I was nuts and didn't think I'd go through with it; but when I put my deposit down on an apartment, it finally dawned on them that I meant business.
So, to make a long story short, I kissed my mom goodbye in my driveway in East Hanover, and hopped in my packed car with my Dad and began the drive out west (we made it in three days!). Saying goodbye to my Dad as I dropped him off at the Phoenix airport was the hardest thing I have ever done in my life, and I still get misty when I think about that day. That was October 1995, and in November, Jeremy arrived in AZ and moved in across the street; and in January 1996, Danielle and Stefan schlepped out as well, and moved into an apartment in north Phoenix, which is about 30 minutes away.
In the first few months, Jeremy and I were overwhelmed and excited about how great our new state was. There was nightlife abound, coffee in mass quantities, youngish people, theater, music, art, culture, restaurants, glorious sunsets, bike paths, and 80 degree weather in January. What more could we want?
However, now that I've been living here a while, the novelty has worn off. Mill Ave (the main street of Tempe; goes right past the college) after 6pm nauseates me because of the billions of trendy college idiots, drunken fratboys and faux-homeless kids panhandling for money and leftover food, even though daddy is sending them to a swanky university. For hanging out on the hot weekend nights, Tucson is more my style... has all of the great things I mentioned in the above paragraph, but with 1/3 the people, and a real funky feel. You should check it out.
To escape the summer heat, we like to go camping in Prescott (pronounced
PRES-kit) National Forest, which is in the AZ mountains about 90 minutes
north and west of here. Up there it's about 75 or 80 during the day, and
there's tons of hiking to be done. Camping for us is basically an excuse
to sleep outside and eat lots of turkey jerky. Besides, there's nothing
better than the sound of wind through the trees to lull you to sleep. (well,
maybe the sound of the inbreds in the Winnebago two sites down cranking
Metallica; that's always soothing...)
(Don't you just love this cactus background?)