Choosing 1 of 3 Cities to Live In
And the winner was…
It was sometime during the 1960s. I think I was maybe in the fifth grade. The family had been living in Maryland for the two previous years. That is all it took for me to become a Maryland freak. Like any kid can, I thoroughly loved where I lived.
But change was in the air.
It was during this year that my father was faced with a huge decision. For over a quarter of a century he had been a career soldier in the United States Army. He had been in Europe during and after the “big one.” He had also spent a year in Korea. He was aiming to be a 30-year soldier.
But then the Army gave him a choice. He could either re-enlist and immediately be sent to Vietnam or he could retire.
It was a painful yet easy decision to make. My father chose to retire.
While the official retirement was still a few months away, the family dove head-long into making a decision as to where to retire. According to our mother there was no way the family would retire on the East Coast. She HATED the East Coast. Our father, who was born and raised on the East Coast — a place that always felt like home to him — had developed a deep fondness for the Great American Southwest Desert. As for me, I really did not want to move AGAIN. But for Army brats moving was a way of life.
Before the two years we lived in Maryland the family lived on a remote army base in the middle of the desert in southern New Mexico. We lived there for four years, which was more than enough time for me to develop an undying attachment to the area.
A consensus was quickly formed among the family that we should move back to the Great American Southwest Desert. Two years on the East Coast was a whole lot of fun but it was time to return ‘home.’
But what city should we move to? This was the big question. We finally narrowed it down to three cities; Las Cruces, New Mexico, El Paso, Texas, or Tucson, Arizona.
Back when we lived on that army base in southern New Mexico the closest cities to go shopping in were Las Cruces and El Paso. El Paso was a little further away but it was a big city and had everything we might need. Las Cruces was only about a fifth as large as El Paso but it was closer. But we had to drive over a mountain pass to get there. Our mother did not like driving over mountain passes.
And I never felt comfortable being a passenger in a car that my mother was driving.
Our mother had sent off letters to the Chamber of Commerce of each city and we got back all sorts of literature and brochures espousing the virtues of each city. As a fifth grader (I think) I read every single word of all that information. It was important to me. I was helping to decide where I would spend the remaining formative years of my youth.
Considering that our mother was a bit of a fascist, it came as quite a surprise to myself and my three siblings when our parents handed each of us a slip of paper one evening. They told us that each of us were going to be allowed to vote. It was the first time I ever voted in my life.
They wanted us to vote on our favorite city destination. Perhaps my parents were leaning in opposite directions and they decided to take a poll of us youngsters to maybe break a tie between themselves. I don’t know. Anyway, we were told to list the three cities in order of our preference.
The first city we listed would get three votes, the second two votes and the third one vote. Our youngest baby sister just drew a picture of a kitty cat or something on her slip of paper so her vote didn’t really count. Our parents then added that it really did not matter what our vote results were because they retained the almighty power of veto. Among the other three siblings the winner of most votes was El Paso, Texas — just barely beating out Tucson, Arizona. Las Cruces, New Mexico only got one vote.
And, apparently, that one vote was mine — although I still don’t understand to this day how, if every city got at least one vote, then how come Las Cruces only got one vote? (Sadly, this experience was the beginning of my education in American politics.)
El Paso had a long ‘pro’ column. It was in the desert we loved so much but it was also a modern American city that had attached to it one of the largest army bases in the world. My father retired with full benefits so we would have close access to military medical and dental care as well as access to the base PX and commissary. (All horrible and frightful experiences.)
Plus the old neighbor couple who lived next-door to us on that remote military base in southern New Mexico had retired just the year before and they had retired to… El Paso. And my father knew of several old army buddies who were either stationed there or who had retired there. We actually knew people in El Paso. (It is always good to move somewhere where you know someone.) We did not know anyone in Tucson. We only knew one person in Las Cruces and our mother didn’t like her.
We ended up retiring to El Paso and, just like everything, it turned out to be perfect.
I recently viewed some digital photographs of the desert near Tucson. I immediately felt homesick — not homesick for any city in the Great American Southwest Desert but rather for the Great American Southwest Desert itself. I can no longer tolerate urban vibrations. I just can’t do it anymore.
There are two great and large geophysical areas that impinge on my heart and my soul. One is the Colorado Plateau which covers a large part of Colorado, northern New Mexico, northern Arizona, and east and southeast Utah. The other is the Great American Southwest dessert to the south of the Colorado Plateau.
I love both places with all the fiber of my being and I want both. The only perfect place would be along the narrow line that separates these two different topographical zones. My ultimate home would be a blending of both regions. It would be the best, a composite of, my two favorite places.
So here I am in the year 2019 thinking about where I want to retire to. This year I will be as old as my father was when he kicked the bucket. He was horribly ill for the last year or so of his life. At his age now, I am fit as a fiddle and as strong as a weak ox. I am now finally considering retirement while, at this age, my father had already been retired for a very long time.
Of course, he really wasn’t retired. He kept working and working and working — sometimes as much as three jobs at a time — until he was finally too sick to work anymore. During twelve years of retirement he never stopped working. He never experienced anything close to retirement until he was finally sitting in his Easy-Boy recliner with oxygen tubes stuck up his nose — and that was only for a very short time.
Sorry, but that is not the kind of retirement I have in mind for myself. Like I said, I am a thousand times healthier than my dad was at this age but it is only now that I am preoccupied with thoughts of retirement. With me, it is not a matter of Vietnam versus continuing to live. It may be equally as profound but, for me, it goes way beyond that.
It is all about HOW I want to keep on living.
And also, to where I want to retire.
I want to be able to get down on my knees and touch Mother Gaia and know that I am in just the right perfect place. I want her to take me in her arms and love me like the son I’ve always wanted to be. I want the lines between time and space to dissolve, revealing my true home. It is a place not found on any contemporary maps. It is the hidden place that is there for everyone to see and feel. It exists when we surrender.
I wonder how different my life would be if I grew up in one of those other two cities. I have a feeling that it might not be so different. One thing is for certain and that is that the desert would have attached itself to my soul just as it did.
(I’d like to give a special shout out to Ann Litts who recently visited the Great American Southwest Desert. See her article here. She inspired me to remember that family vote on Southwest cities from so long ago. I had forgotten all about it.)
Copyright by White Feather. All Rights Reserved. Writings of White Feather
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