May 7, 2010

Arrived in Winslow, AZ, my father’s boyhood home, after an incredibly long, straight, windy, hot, monotonous, laborious drive along what used to be Route 66, but is now I-40. I hardly recognized Main Street (Historic US 66) when I pulled into town. Many “improvements”, such as street widenings, building face lifts, new commerce, and a sense of  energy, compared to 7 years ago when the entire town seemed under a sleeping spell. The historic hotel, La Posada, which was completed when my dad was about 6 years old, has been undergoing renovations inside and out. That, at least, TRULY IS an improvement—very much in keeping with the 1930’s period. La Posada was a big ol’ deal back then, catering to such famies as Clark Gable and Errol Flynn, as they arrived in style on the Southern Pacific Railroad, which  unloaded its passengers right at the front door!

My dad, my son Hans, and I made a pilgrimage, of sorts, to this unholy yet legendary land in 2003, just before Alzheimers claimed Dad’s memory and wit. He walked us step by step and word for word through the town of his youth, recalling every detail, and bringing alive for us, once again, his stories of growing up in a one-paved-road town during the depression. Oh, if only a movie could be made!

 

Later, I made my way to Clear Creek, Dad’s favorite hangout as a kid. He spent many summer days splashing in the cold, clear waters with his brother and cousin, rinsing off a week’s worth of grime and grit, only to re-grit on the 5-mile bike ride back to home.

I played with Jubie for a long time, tossing sticks into the creek and watching her leap into the water and retrieve. When we were alone, I gathered 86 stones for my dad’s 86 years and arranged them on an altar. I placed sprigs of new growth in the center, then placed a rock that I stole from his old home on top of that, to commemorate his beginnings as a 5yr old in Winslow. I arranged the rest of the 85 rocks in a vortex to create an energy field to beckon in the help and love of God and our ancestors. I said a long prayer, then I just sat there in utter gratitude for the enormous gift my dad is to me and the rest of the family. I imagined him splashing and playing in the perfectly clear, cold water of Clear Creak, which is not really that clear anymore due to damming. I so loved imagining him as a young boy, so sweet and full of life and creativity and wonder and whimsy. I just know my Grandma loved him like I love my own boy. I prayed for my dad’s spirit to leave when it's ready, and fall into the arms of  his beloveds beyond this realm.