Chalk up another life-saving chunk of advice to the helpful SDMB community.
We got back yesterday, and after two days of vegging out and recovering, I think I’m ready to relate the events of the trip.
It began with a minor disaster; right before a four-hour trip (which includes the amazing Salt River Canyon drive), my car lost all power steering. A quick diagnosis by the local mechanic indicates that, without me knowing anything about it, my power steering pump has become deceased. No way to get it fixed in time.
Panic sets in. B’s car won’t make it, a rental car is expensive, and then Mom comes to the rescue. Sure, we can borrow her car.
So we load up and head out, a stack of CDs at the ready, and drive past the apocalyptic fire going on just north of Tucson at sunset. Gorgeous and terrible, huge columns of smoke, glowing red at the bases, eating the forest all over the mountain.
And then we drive, and talk, and sing along to Jonathan Richman, and laugh a lot. About midnight, just north of Show Low, we stop to watch the moon rise, huge and ember orange, in a vast vista between distant horizons, full of stars. Just after it’s risen, coyotes all around us begin to howl.
A night in a cheesy motel room later, and we head to B’s parent’s house. Where we immediately start running errands. Ice, beverages, coolers, roasting pans, they all ride to the church in my mom’s car, and we help set everything up. I get some interesting looks. I also get introduced to everyone, and by everyone I mean the big mass of names swarming about in my head, totally disassociated with the images I have of people that I met. Someday I’ll learn all the aunts and uncles and cousins, but it may take a while. There were over seventy people there, and I think I could name about five.
A few speeches, and we ate, mutton stew and salad and roast and blue corn mush, all excellent. I helped B’s nellie (grandmother) by getting silverware and salt, though she simply looked at me appraisingly, and silently, as she only speaks Navajo. And then, it was off to the graduation ceremony.
Two, actually. Junior high and high school. For the high school graduation, for a class of 200, this little town of 5000 citizens filled up a football stadium. There must have been 2500 people at the ceremony, cheering for the graduates, and flooding onto the field at the end, thronging about the students, laughing and crying and taking pictures and shooting silly string and hugging.
And then, it was back to the reception hall. From there, all I recall is fragments. Tearful, proud speeches by parents of graduates, switching between English and Navajo, reciting the kids’ achievements. Beautiful, graceful old women, dressed in rich purple, and flowing skirts, and lots and lots of turquoise and silver jewelry. Rousing games of Foosball with some rowdy kids, and B beating up to three of them at once. B’s sister’s reaction to our carefully chosen present. (“Oh. Art stuff.”) B’s aunt and his grandmother wanting to take pictures of the two of us together. B crying as his cousing graduated as a member of the National Honor Society.
Then, the cleanup. Lugging loads of cooking utensils and coolers and watermelons back up to the house, cleaning the floors, taking out the trash. And late-night goodbyes. Being hugged by B’s mom and his aunts, shaking hands with his nellie. And last, his nellie speaking to me in Navajo, making a motion as if she was rocking a baby in her arms, and smiling at me. As we drove off, B told me that she’d asked me to take care of him.
This is a woman in her 90s, who’s never learned English, who for years has been the heart of her clan. I can’t tell you how much awe she inspired in me; she was so quiet, so confident, so joyous when hugging and talking with family. And she’s charged me with taking care of her grandson. Nothing could make me happier.
And now we’re back in Tucson. Having spent the past two days goofing around, watching TV, loving each other, we’re getting ready to get back to work. B’s mom called earlier, to make sure we got back all right. Apparently, his nellie may be having some health problems; they’ve arranged with the medicine man to have a week-long ceremony for her. I hope she’s all right.
So, once again, I owe the SDMB my thanks. Thanks for reminding me of my manners, of the fact that courtesy and consideration are always welcome, and in giving me the confidence to go into a whole new situation with an open heart.
