#SANTA #FE Diary: Chapter One:

#Santa #Fe Diary:

Nearly Paradise 

By

Norman Mark 

Chapter One: #Hell Begins at #120 #Degrees

  

It is said that the first conquistadores arrived in New Mexico some 500 years ago because they were looking for a handyman, who would arrive on time on the day specified and complete the job.  To this day, that tradesman has never been found.

Yes, this diary is about our frustration in dealing with Santa Fe tradesmen.  It is also about finding and loving a living paradise of endless skies, beautiful vistas, music, dance, romance, food, art and friends in a small American state with a big heart.

I should also swiftly add that my observations about people who do not show up on time (or on the correct day or week) and who seldom complete a job within a month of their self-imposed deadlines apply worldwide.   In Portugal, we met a lawyer who slept with his huge dogs by a hole in the ground for a week to prevent a well digger and his crew from sneaking in the middle of the night, putting in water in the hole, arriving the next day and declaring that the job was done because they had struck water, so pay us. 

In Spain, we met German residents who wanted the addition to their home built to their exact specifications.  Their contractor said it wasn’t the Spanish way and put up the walls for the structure.  After a serious argument about style and building methods and after leaving a direct order to build it their way, the couple left for a visit to their hometown in Germany.  When they returned, they discovered that the contractor had bulldozed the walls he built and they were being sued for the full price of the addition.  It was a court case they would probably lose.

           In America, in Oak Park, IL, Frank Lloyd Wright was told by one would-be owner that the guy liked English homes.  But Wright was smitten by Japanese style and, being difficult and determined in the extreme, included the Oriental elements along with the Gothic, English half-timber design.  The result at 333 Forest Av. is a humorous botch that’s a fine example of a tradesman (albeit one with genius) running amuck.

Which leads us directly to why we decided to buy a home in Santa Fe, NM.  It must be noted that problems with local tradesmen arriving at the appointed time were unknown to us when we first explored this New Mexican haven for artists, liberals, musicians, Native Americans and a guy with a trained dog, cat and mouse to sit on top of one another for pictures.

After the temperature reached 120 degrees in Palm Desert, CA, one July Fourth and it appeared it would get that hot on every  July Fourth, we bought a second home in Santa Fe, NM.  This is the story of that home and our somewhat qualified love for Santa Fe. 

How hot is it in #Palm Desert?

Santa Fe Diary:  how hot is is in Palm Desert, CA?

Our garden, our mountains

In the southern California desert, everyone agrees that 100 degrees is livable because, we say, “It’s dry heat.” But remember “dry heat” also comes from an oven.

By any measure, 120 degrees is a tad uncomfortable.  If you leave your car out in the sun for more than ten minutes and then attempt to open a door without gloves, your skin may weld to the door.   

At 120 degrees, it’s possible to fry an egg on the asphalt, but I strongly suggest not eating it.  At 120 degrees, only mad dogs and fanatic golfers go out in the noonday sun, and most golfers think twice before doing that.

That 120-degree day meant, if we were inside our home, the air conditioners and fans were constantly going, with little discernable effect.  If we went outside, we needed to prepare by taking enough water to satisfy a thirsty elephant, slather on the maximum sun screen while avoiding the ultra-violet rays by skulking in the shade for as long as possible. 

We could also enjoy our swimming pool, unless our feet touched any concrete on the way to the water.   We would high step to the pool as if we were walking on hot coals, which we were.  We could stay in the pool until our shoulders baked and our noses were redder than a clown’s proboscis. 

Our area, called the Coachella Valley, which includes Palm Springs, Rancho Mirage, Palm Desert, LaQuinta and points east, can be seen as beautiful, a haunt for the rich and a haven for some truly strange civic achievements.

 For instance, many people visit or buy homes there because it is possible to play golf as many as 363 days a year (subtracting only two rainy days, or fewer if global warming runs amuck).   Our area is so golf-centric that the road in front of our development has a dedicated lane for golf carts. 

The “but it’s dry heat” defensive response to weather criticism is less true today after our entire region has finally achieved its long-term goal of creating one golf course for every man, woman and child who lives here.   

The watering of hundreds of greens actually changes the local humidity.

The local industries of Palm Springs include golf, tennis and the adoration of celebrities.  We have major streets named after Frank Sinatra, Dinah Shore, Fred Waring, Gene Autry and Buddy Rogers.  When giving directions, it is possible (and even accurate) to say, “…then you go down on Bob Hope,” and the person listening to you will simply nod, agree and never indicate that there is anything remotely funny or obscene about that statement.

Coming from Chicago, it seemed to me that this was that rare American area which did not name a single street after a famous, powerful Irish or Polish politician.

During the summer, the Coachella Valley is under-populated.   Beginning in May, the Valley loses celebrities, Canadians and anyone fearing death by terminal heat rash.   

The Canadians, who could be more than a third of the Valley’s temporary residents during the winter, must return home before the end of a six-month stay in America or they could lose their health benefits.   Despite many complaints about their health system, few Canadians would choose to be at the mercy of the American health services, which efficiently kills over 100,000 patients each year without even trying. 

The vanishing Coachella  Valley population means that, in the summer, it takes much less time to go from one end of the valley to the other.  However, once you get to where you’re going, there isn’t much to do because so many businesses, restaurants and theaters close for the summer.  But then, parking is never a problem in the summer.