Hometowns

I was born in Savannah, Georgia. 

Savannah, Georgia



Tucson, Arizona



But my hometown is Tucson, Arizona.





You see, my family moved to Tucson when I was just six months old; and I called Tucson my home for the next 22 years.  So, it's a safe bet that while I can (and do, when it's convenient) claim the "Georgia Peach" or "Southern Belle" status, it's more accurate to say that I fit more appropriately into the "Desert Rat" or "Sun Goddess" category. 

And you know what?  I wouldn't have it any other way.

I've been thinking now for the past few weeks about the idea of "hometowns" and what sort of significance a hometown has in a person's life. 

Naturally, I thought with blissful whimsy of Tucson and my twenty-two years of mostly sheer happiness living in the "Biggest Small Town on Earth." 

I thought of how, even when we vacationed in Bermuda or Cabo San Lucas, two utterly beautiful places, how I would long for the view of the Catalina Mountains from the kitchen window, or the cool, clear waters of Sabino Canyon. 

I remembered how during the hot, hot summers when most people would complain of the heat, I spent my days sunbathing by the family swimming pool and jumping in with all my clothes on after returning home from a long morning at the ranch. 

And the monsoons...



Tucson monsoon

 There is nothing more dazzlingly captivating than a Tucson summer monsoon storm.  If you have never had the pleasure of experiencing one, here is a photo.  But do yourself a favor and travel to Tucson in July or August and sit outside during one of these babies. 

I know, that may sound crazy, but native Tucsonans welcome lightening and thunder and sheets of warm rain.  In fact, some of my fondest memories of home, both as a child and a young adult living on my own down by the U, are sitting outside during a thunderstorm.  Mind you, Tucsonans don't literally sit in the downpour (well, maybe we do for a minute) but we can normally be found sitting on the porch just to catch the smell of the creosote, listen to the slow roll of thunder, watch that magnificent lightening, and feel a downpour that usually lasts no more than twenty minutes... I say, what a show the desert can put on! 

During the hot and humid summers here in Yucaipa, California, I long for the relief of a monsoon, only to be teased by large thunderheads that creep over the mountain behind us (a mountain, that for me, bears no name) only to dissipate or retreat into the desert (a.k.a. Palm Springs) and cruelly pick back up again and deliver the goods to my beloved hometown.

And during what I consider to be frigid California winters, I long for the crisp sunshine of Tucson, as I wade in cold wet slop and fog.  You could say we get our "monsoon season" in the winter here, and I, frankly hate it.

Next to the Catalina's, summertime desert monsoons are what I absolutely miss the most about home.

But that's not all I miss. 

There is so much I miss about my hometown. 

I miss the lack of freeways, I miss how the entire town supported the University of Arizona, I miss all the unique local restaurants known only to native Tucsonans (Eegee's, anyone?), I miss my friends, I miss my childhood home, I miss being carefree and "young." 

Yes, yes, I know, I'm still just a pup, but I have so much love for my hometown and my time spent growing up there, that I'm literally getting teary-eyed while writing this.

Just this morning, I read a friend of mine's blog (sorry Brittany!) who (and I could be wrong) doesn't seem to share the same sentiment that I do about growing up in Tucson.  And I can't help but theorize that those who grew up in Tucson and still live there (like dear ol' Britt) can't possibly realize (like those of us who moved away do) what a unique and worthwhile experience growing up in the Old Pueblo was-- because they have never had to experience what it's like not to live there.

I don't know if any of this makes much sense and I'm sure I will catch the wrath of some fellow Tucsonans who do, in fact, still reside there, who will say: "How dare you Chenay!  We love Tucson!  That's why we're still here!  You're the one that left!"

But that's exactly my point: I'm starting to feel that in order to truly love and appreciate something, you have to leave it. 

Like the old saying: If you love something let it go, if it comes back then it's truly yours.

Yeah... something like that.

Since I left Tucson in 2006, I have been back exactly four times... all for friends' nuptials.  Once in September 2006, then July 2008, April 2009, and finally October 2011.  Two of the four times that I have returned home the events were located on the Northwest/Central sides of town, sides of town that are of course lovely because it's Tucson, but still are not areas of town that necessarily "excite me."  When I returned in July 2008, the events were closer to "my side of town," but the trip was quick, I was part of the wedding party, and I didn't get a chance to really "experience" Tucson the way I wanted.



Me, before the ceremony in
St. Michael's parking lot



Jeff and I at the Mountain Oyster
Club during the reception



Two weeks ago it was different.  The friend's wedding we were attending couldn't have been more of a "welcome home" than if I had just decided to pick up and drive to good ol' T-Town for a simple visit.  We stayed at the same hotel I stayed in on my Senior Prom night, my bud got hitched in our childhood church; St. Michael's, the reception was at the Mountain Oyster Club, which brings back some fond memories, and Jeff and I got to hang out with old friends, eat Eegee's till our heart's content, and drive around my old stomping grounds for a trip down memory lane.  

It was seriously perfect.

On Sunday, we decided to drive up to Phoenix to visit some more friends and get some time in with Jeff's family, but leaving Tucson this time was seriously hard (getting teary eyed again...).  Before we left, I decided to show Jeff a couple places that were very near and dear to me as a child.

So, first I took him to my elementary school, Fruchthendler Elementary.  Yes, you read that right, and before you go making jokes, know this.  Alumnus of this place know them all, so don't waste your time.  What you should know, however, is that what made Fruchthendler so special was that it was truly your neighborhood school.  It had good teachers, a fantastic principal, good staff, good families, and subsequently, good kids that went there. 



Yup, that's me in front of the school!



It was here that I met my very dear friend, Katy.  Katy and I met in third grade, hated each other, but somehow started becoming friends by the fourth grade and by the fifth grade we were besties.  Katy and I left our middle school together to attend St. Michael's, then went back to our middle school, finished high school together, and even attended the UofA together, although our colleges were different. 

It was her wedding that brought me back to Tucson for the first time after we left, and she was the only "old friend" of mine that took the time to drive to our hotel and visit with us on Friday night.  And even with all we've been through, I will never forget that it was Fruchthendler that brought us together. 

As we were leaving, I noticed a sign that announced the "Fall Carnival" (when I went there it was the "Halloween Carnival," so I guess this is just another new "P.C." thing) and it brought tears to my eyes.  Anyone who ever went to Fruchthendler knows the majesty that was the "Halloween Carnival" and I will always remember how involved not only my parents were in that event, but pretty much every parent of every one of my little friends.  We always had an awesome haunted house, beyond amazing raffle, great food, games, the whole nine.  And I know other schools do this "exact same thing" every year, but trust me, it was nothing like Fruchthendler's Halloween Carnival.  The parents and faculty really put a lot of effort into it, effort that unfortunately one doesn't see much of in this day and age, and I can only hope that other kids who are now all grown up like me, realize how special that was for all of us. 

Just a short drive from Fruchthendler lies this place...



 

The house that built me.

And I don't think Jeff, nor I, was fully prepared for the wave of emotions that befell me when we arrived.  I had every intention of knocking on the door, seeing if someone was home, asking to go inside and look around, but the mascara running down my face and the snot coming out my nose was hardly the condition I wanted the latest homeowners to see me in. 

Perhaps, this place is why I am so drawn to Tucson. 

Well, it's at least another part of it. 

The bulk of my childhood was spent in this house, from the time I was four or five till the time I was sixteen or seventeen.  This is where I spent my summers, had birthday parties, rode my bike, played Barbies, watched my dad tease whatever poor soul I had over, and where my mom would cook our family meals. 

This is where I learned to drive, where I did my homework, and negotiated curfews. 

In short, this was my HOME.

And why it is no longer my home is not simply because I grew up and my parents no longer needed such a big place. 

The reason it is no longer my home boils down to the painful realization that my parents are now divorced, my dad lives across the country, and my mom (thankfully) lives down the street from me in Yucaipa. 

And that fact makes me sad.  It makes me sad that even though I can go home to my hometown, I can never go back home. 

As we sat there looking at what once was, something totally unexpected happened.  Two hawks appeared and one flew right into the tree that sits in what was once my front yard.  I didn't know what it meant two weeks ago and I sure as heck don't know what it means now, but it made me smile and gave me enough solace to take one final picture (including a mental one) before driving off. 

In closing, I think the significance of one's "hometown" varies from person to person.  Some people (sadly, to me) don't even have the luxury of identifying with a specific place as their hometown because for whatever reason, they moved around a lot as a child or had a series of bad experiences or whatever the case may be.  But for me, my hometown of Tucson, Arizona is an incredibly significant part of my life.  When Jeff and I were there two weeks ago, for me, it was like I had never left. (Jeff is originally from Phoenix and lived in Tucson for just a short time)  It just felt like, well... it felt like I was home. 

And if you care to ask why we just don't go back, well, the answer is really quite simple (beyond the fact that the economy has been hit doubly hard there): You can't go back.  It will never be the same.  We've all scattered, we've all grown up. 

So I have to let the cards lie where they may and accept and love it for what it is and what it always will be: my hometown.