A sense of play should last a lifetime
By S. Derrickson Moore
Sun-News reporter
LAS CRUCES — He’s back! Or almost ... and for a little while, at least.
Grandson Alexander the Great is going to spend a big chunk of the summer with me prior to a family move from the Pacific Northwest to Phoenix.
And just in time. I’ve been musing a lot lately about the need for a sense of play to help us get through tough times.
Soulmate Dr. Roger and I discussed it during a recent vacation, when we frolicked through several elevations, three kinds of margaritas and some Type A side bets. I won one by making it through almost five days without checking my e-mail ... I think his best effort was three days. But he picked up some extra points by patiently and amusingly explaining the rules of ice hockey during the playoffs to sports-dyslexic moi.
We both learned some playful pointers by watching the mallards at Inn of the Mountain Gods. I’ve always believed that ducks are proof that God has a great sense of humor, which is crucial to creative play.
In fact, I believe that a fair sense of playfulness — and a sense of fair play — are as All-American as life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, vital to all we cherish and hold dear.
And if you find your will to play has ebbed with the years, or never fully developed in childhood, there’s no remedy like spending time with a kid or a grandkids.
I remembered a Michigan State professor who informed students in a child psych class that play is a child’s work, which kind of daunted the whole concept for me.
But as I watched my son Ryan and later young Alex and his small amigos in various playgrounds around the country, I finally got the professor’s point. Play is the way a child learns best, about himself, others and the world.
If you watch a crayon-clutching, tongue-thrusting kid in the act of full-tilt creativity, it’s clear that he or she is engaged in some serious business. But I think a lot of that business takes place in the magical right brain realm that transcends time, space and stress.
It’s a place we try to return to as grownups, through whatever forms our playful impulses may take us: art, gardening, dancing, nature adventures, extreme sports, a night out with the girls or the boys, a vacation or fun getaway with a loved one.
True play is a strange, wonderful and mystical combination of intense concentration and utter casual abandon.
For some fortunate souls, play can even extend to dreamtime. I have happy memories of hearing my son, then a toddler, giggling in his sleep.
“I was dreaming of swimming with whales who laugh,” explained young Ry, who grew up to compose for, and play and sing with, some very amusing musical groups.
The best playtimes may be a kind of work, but it’s fun and fulfilling work, the kind those of us lucky enough to have jobs we love can experience with a sense of play and adventure all our lives.
Grandson Alex was born with a creative sense of play he’s shared with me, from blocks and babyhood fountain splashing through his early childhood and on into sophisticated cyberspace quests.
He was a Las Cruces resident from ages 3 through 10 and happily agreed to a series of goofy adventures that ranged from swing dancing with me on the Downtown Mall, to sampling strange hors d’oeuvres at art openings, engaging in avant-garde art projects and a variety of extreme fiesta activities.
He was never too cool to hang out with his Gram, or let me share tales of our escapades in print. In fact, he would often introduce himself like a politician running for a position as potentate of play: “I’m Alexander the Great. You may know me from such Las Cruces Style columns as ...”
The lad who first shook Cinco de Mayo maracas with me when he was a tiny babe in a stroller turns 13 this August. He’s a baritone now, and taller than me.
I expect it's time for more playtime with his peers these days. But I also hope our playmate-soulmate bonds are forever and we’ll remain boon companions in good-time cahoots.
S. Derrickson Moore can be reached at dmoore@lcsun-news.com
Friday, June 19, 2009
The heart and soul of our city
By S. Derrickson Moore
Sun-News reporter
LAS CRUCES — We’ve come a long way in resurrecting the corazon y alma (heart and soul) of our city.
While working on a recent issue of PULSE devoted to Las Cruces’ historic downtown area, I thought back to my first days as a resident of Las Cruces, back in 1994.
I remember that I loved the Las Cruces Farmers & Crafts Market, the Branigan Cultural Center, Branigan Library and Coas My Bookstore, which reminded me of the rambling, whole-block Powell’s Bookstore in my longtime home in Portland, Ore.
Otherwise, the Downtown Mall, as we called it then, and still do, despite noble efforts to rechristen it, was kind of, well, challenging. Others would refer to it in bleaker terms: a home for derelicts, a “graveyard of high hopes.”
I remembered the motto of Oregon activists and then-fledgling neighborhood organizations who vowed to “make the city a delight.”
They did. Portland became a wonderland of revitalized waterfronts, dramatic fountains and more park and wilderness land within city limits than any urban area of the country. It’s been a long time since I’ve been back, but my son keeps me posted on the progress of everything from light rail to their art and music scenes.
Las Cruces is much smaller, but we’ve also managed some major milagos in the “delight” department.
I walked the length of the Downtown Mall during a recent Saturday, reflecting on the changes.
The famous block between Las Cruces Avenue and Griggs has undergone a couple of major transformations in the 15 years I’ve lived here, and there’s no question that it’s looking better. The Rio Grande has gone from a quiet, dingy little second-run movie theater to an intriguing venue for live performances, with gallery areas and a nice suite of offices for the Doña Ana Arts Council. It’s joined an already impressive-for-our-size theater community that offers world premieres of original plays, ensemble pieces and local and traveling acts. The Las Cruces Community Theater was active when I arrived, and has been joined by Ceil and Peter Herman’s Black Box Theatre. Other regional venues have undergone enhancements or transformations. The Mastery in Life Center has started the twice-monthly Howling Coyote Coffeehouse open mic and jam sessions.
Court Junior High was then a crumbling mess, and hopeful plans were mere gleams in the eyes of Irene Oliver-Lewis and then-Mayor Ruben Smith. Today, it’s a restored Pueblo Revival showplace that houses Court Youth Center and its theater and Alma d’arte, a charter high school for the arts.
But it’s the block north of Las Cruces Avenue that’s still my favorite and everyone else’s, retro arches and all. It borders the Branigan Library, the new city hall and the entertaining CAPA art wall, which is attracting sticky-fingered art thieves, kind of a recessionary tribute, I suppose.
That best block, at least for now, still has the Las Cruces Farmers & Crafts Market, Coas and Branigan Cultural Center. It has since added the Las Cruces Museum of Art, part of a burgeoning downtown museum complex that now includes the Las Cruces Railroad Museum and, if all goes well, before too long will add the Las Cruces Natural History Museum, relocated from the Mesilla Valley Mall.
With luck and financing, we’ll also soon have a history museum in the historic Amador Hotel.
Despite tough economic times, galleries have made impressive inroads in the Downtown area, especially on that best block, where The Main Street Gallery, Blue Gate Gallery, M. Phillips Gallery and Unravel Gallery continue to offer venues for leading regional artists and specialties that range from Russian and European painting to fine art textiles.
We have some entertaining hybrids too: Savor art and coffee at Ocotillo Roasters Evergreen Gallery and custom tailoring and impressive international art at Art of Life Gallery.
We’re even developing a kind of downtown “Off Broadway” gallery tradition, with colonies of artists who have homes or studios in the region hosting periodic gallery tours and open houses, and the establishment of Mesquite Street gems like UnSettled Gallery. On Griggs, we’ve lost White Raven, and Paula Van Overbeke Voris now confines Griggs and Reymond to special events and classes, but In Effect, Dennis Lujan’s Griggs Street gallery, still showcases some of our most cutting-edge artists.
We can now enjoy art and cultural exhibits at the city museums, theaters, libraries, schools and nonprofit institutions like Southwest Environmental Center. We can see art during an outdoor amble, on the CAPA fence and as part of the Viva Ventanas project to add curb appeal by decorating windows in downtown buildings. Restaurants like Ono Grindz have art exhibits, too.
Coas and the Rio Grande Theatre host story hours for kids and join several downtown sites which take advantage of our status as a mecca for authors and poets by hosting booksignings , lectures and readings and regular story hours for kids.
In recent years, I’ve enjoyed everything from chamber music, dance and performance art to black tie galas and a magical winter festival on the Downtown Mall.
We are making our city —and its downtown corazon y alma— a delight.
S. Derrickson Moore can be reached at dmoore@lcsun-news.com
Sun-News reporter
LAS CRUCES — We’ve come a long way in resurrecting the corazon y alma (heart and soul) of our city.
While working on a recent issue of PULSE devoted to Las Cruces’ historic downtown area, I thought back to my first days as a resident of Las Cruces, back in 1994.
I remember that I loved the Las Cruces Farmers & Crafts Market, the Branigan Cultural Center, Branigan Library and Coas My Bookstore, which reminded me of the rambling, whole-block Powell’s Bookstore in my longtime home in Portland, Ore.
Otherwise, the Downtown Mall, as we called it then, and still do, despite noble efforts to rechristen it, was kind of, well, challenging. Others would refer to it in bleaker terms: a home for derelicts, a “graveyard of high hopes.”
I remembered the motto of Oregon activists and then-fledgling neighborhood organizations who vowed to “make the city a delight.”
They did. Portland became a wonderland of revitalized waterfronts, dramatic fountains and more park and wilderness land within city limits than any urban area of the country. It’s been a long time since I’ve been back, but my son keeps me posted on the progress of everything from light rail to their art and music scenes.
Las Cruces is much smaller, but we’ve also managed some major milagos in the “delight” department.
I walked the length of the Downtown Mall during a recent Saturday, reflecting on the changes.
The famous block between Las Cruces Avenue and Griggs has undergone a couple of major transformations in the 15 years I’ve lived here, and there’s no question that it’s looking better. The Rio Grande has gone from a quiet, dingy little second-run movie theater to an intriguing venue for live performances, with gallery areas and a nice suite of offices for the Doña Ana Arts Council. It’s joined an already impressive-for-our-size theater community that offers world premieres of original plays, ensemble pieces and local and traveling acts. The Las Cruces Community Theater was active when I arrived, and has been joined by Ceil and Peter Herman’s Black Box Theatre. Other regional venues have undergone enhancements or transformations. The Mastery in Life Center has started the twice-monthly Howling Coyote Coffeehouse open mic and jam sessions.
Court Junior High was then a crumbling mess, and hopeful plans were mere gleams in the eyes of Irene Oliver-Lewis and then-Mayor Ruben Smith. Today, it’s a restored Pueblo Revival showplace that houses Court Youth Center and its theater and Alma d’arte, a charter high school for the arts.
But it’s the block north of Las Cruces Avenue that’s still my favorite and everyone else’s, retro arches and all. It borders the Branigan Library, the new city hall and the entertaining CAPA art wall, which is attracting sticky-fingered art thieves, kind of a recessionary tribute, I suppose.
That best block, at least for now, still has the Las Cruces Farmers & Crafts Market, Coas and Branigan Cultural Center. It has since added the Las Cruces Museum of Art, part of a burgeoning downtown museum complex that now includes the Las Cruces Railroad Museum and, if all goes well, before too long will add the Las Cruces Natural History Museum, relocated from the Mesilla Valley Mall.
With luck and financing, we’ll also soon have a history museum in the historic Amador Hotel.
Despite tough economic times, galleries have made impressive inroads in the Downtown area, especially on that best block, where The Main Street Gallery, Blue Gate Gallery, M. Phillips Gallery and Unravel Gallery continue to offer venues for leading regional artists and specialties that range from Russian and European painting to fine art textiles.
We have some entertaining hybrids too: Savor art and coffee at Ocotillo Roasters Evergreen Gallery and custom tailoring and impressive international art at Art of Life Gallery.
We’re even developing a kind of downtown “Off Broadway” gallery tradition, with colonies of artists who have homes or studios in the region hosting periodic gallery tours and open houses, and the establishment of Mesquite Street gems like UnSettled Gallery. On Griggs, we’ve lost White Raven, and Paula Van Overbeke Voris now confines Griggs and Reymond to special events and classes, but In Effect, Dennis Lujan’s Griggs Street gallery, still showcases some of our most cutting-edge artists.
We can now enjoy art and cultural exhibits at the city museums, theaters, libraries, schools and nonprofit institutions like Southwest Environmental Center. We can see art during an outdoor amble, on the CAPA fence and as part of the Viva Ventanas project to add curb appeal by decorating windows in downtown buildings. Restaurants like Ono Grindz have art exhibits, too.
Coas and the Rio Grande Theatre host story hours for kids and join several downtown sites which take advantage of our status as a mecca for authors and poets by hosting booksignings , lectures and readings and regular story hours for kids.
In recent years, I’ve enjoyed everything from chamber music, dance and performance art to black tie galas and a magical winter festival on the Downtown Mall.
We are making our city —and its downtown corazon y alma— a delight.
S. Derrickson Moore can be reached at dmoore@lcsun-news.com
Friday, June 5, 2009
Tired of being scared? Me, too.
By S. Derrickson Moore
Sun-News reporter
LAS CRUCES — What are you scared about today? The economic crisis? Rising unemployment? Plagues and famines? Earth changes and global warming?
How about terrorists? And if so, where? At home or abroad? In Europe? Asia? Iran? Iraq? Pakistan? In the air? On the ground? On the high seas?
And when you were making your plans for the new millennium, did you really think the world would be concerned with pirates ... the real kind, not those portrayed by Johnny Depp on the silver screen?
Actually, it hardly surprised me at all. I’m a Baby Boomer and it seems like someone has been trying to scare me all of my life.
It’s kind of strange, when you think of it, since we were born to parents who tried so hard to make the world a safer, happier place for us, who survived the Great Depression and World War II, who took to heart President Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s proclamation that “the only thing we have to is fear itself.”
When I hear that, I always think of a dinner in Santa Fe during the 1980s with British-born members of the “Greatest Generation,” who had survived some very scary things, including numerous German air raids bombing London, dangerous missions behind enemy lines, and searches for surviving friends and family in ravaged war zones and concentration camps.
“Somehow, I don’t ever remember the climate of fear being as great as it is now, in times of peace,” one of my dinner companions said. “There is this aura of free-floating angst, fear and anxiety that hangs over everything.”
And those were the golden days, comparatively speaking.
I think back to my childhood and the Cold War. The atom bomb drills when we were periodically asked to crouch under our elementary school desks and put our little hands over our heads, as if that could protect us from the force which ravished Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Of course, those were also the days when we routinely and repeatedly stuck our tootsies into the Buster Brown x-ray machine at the shoe store to make sure each pair or shoes we were considering did not cramp our little toes.
There was a lot of confusion about what we should and shouldn’t fear and how to deal with it all.
Don’t be a litterbug. Save the environment. And that jingle I still find myself singing some days: “Buy soft drinks in throw-away cans. Start today!”
The war to end all wars. The Korean War. The Vietnam War. The Gulf War. The War on Terror. The Iraqi War. And those are just a few of the more-or-less official ones. Let’s not get into the border wars, the war on drugs, the immigration wars, religious conflicts and ethnic “cleansings” and the numerous international struggles and skirmishes of recent decades.
The Hong Kong Flu. The Bird Flu. Swine Flu. AIDS. Rabies. The Plague, again. Microbes from outer space, and while we’re out there: Comets. Killer Meteorites. UFOs and ETs with bad attitudes.
Had enough? Me, too.
This summer, why don’t we all take a little break from free-floating, mindless, soul-less fear? Consider the old maxim: Why worry when you can pray? Assess the situation, get whatever information we can and take constructive action when possible. Helping others always makes you feel a little better. If you can’t give money, volunteer. Or clean out your closets and donate what you don’t need to charity.
As Tenny Hale advised: When you feel like giving out, give outward. Take a deep breath and relax and rejoice that we are living in one of the most beautiful corners of the planet, populated with lots of sweet souls who care for one another and respect each other’s differences.
And maybe, ponder the full “fear” quote from FDR’s 1933 Inaugural address (find the whole speech at http://historymatters.gmu.edu/d/5057/) delivered during our first Great Depression: “So, first of all, let me assert my firm belief that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself — nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror which paralyzes needed efforts to convert retreat into advance. In every dark hour of our national life a leadership of frankness and vigor has met with that understanding and support of the people themselves which is essential to victory.”
S. Derrickson Moore can be reached at dmoore@lcsun-news.com
Sun-News reporter
LAS CRUCES — What are you scared about today? The economic crisis? Rising unemployment? Plagues and famines? Earth changes and global warming?
How about terrorists? And if so, where? At home or abroad? In Europe? Asia? Iran? Iraq? Pakistan? In the air? On the ground? On the high seas?
And when you were making your plans for the new millennium, did you really think the world would be concerned with pirates ... the real kind, not those portrayed by Johnny Depp on the silver screen?
Actually, it hardly surprised me at all. I’m a Baby Boomer and it seems like someone has been trying to scare me all of my life.
It’s kind of strange, when you think of it, since we were born to parents who tried so hard to make the world a safer, happier place for us, who survived the Great Depression and World War II, who took to heart President Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s proclamation that “the only thing we have to is fear itself.”
When I hear that, I always think of a dinner in Santa Fe during the 1980s with British-born members of the “Greatest Generation,” who had survived some very scary things, including numerous German air raids bombing London, dangerous missions behind enemy lines, and searches for surviving friends and family in ravaged war zones and concentration camps.
“Somehow, I don’t ever remember the climate of fear being as great as it is now, in times of peace,” one of my dinner companions said. “There is this aura of free-floating angst, fear and anxiety that hangs over everything.”
And those were the golden days, comparatively speaking.
I think back to my childhood and the Cold War. The atom bomb drills when we were periodically asked to crouch under our elementary school desks and put our little hands over our heads, as if that could protect us from the force which ravished Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Of course, those were also the days when we routinely and repeatedly stuck our tootsies into the Buster Brown x-ray machine at the shoe store to make sure each pair or shoes we were considering did not cramp our little toes.
There was a lot of confusion about what we should and shouldn’t fear and how to deal with it all.
Don’t be a litterbug. Save the environment. And that jingle I still find myself singing some days: “Buy soft drinks in throw-away cans. Start today!”
The war to end all wars. The Korean War. The Vietnam War. The Gulf War. The War on Terror. The Iraqi War. And those are just a few of the more-or-less official ones. Let’s not get into the border wars, the war on drugs, the immigration wars, religious conflicts and ethnic “cleansings” and the numerous international struggles and skirmishes of recent decades.
The Hong Kong Flu. The Bird Flu. Swine Flu. AIDS. Rabies. The Plague, again. Microbes from outer space, and while we’re out there: Comets. Killer Meteorites. UFOs and ETs with bad attitudes.
Had enough? Me, too.
This summer, why don’t we all take a little break from free-floating, mindless, soul-less fear? Consider the old maxim: Why worry when you can pray? Assess the situation, get whatever information we can and take constructive action when possible. Helping others always makes you feel a little better. If you can’t give money, volunteer. Or clean out your closets and donate what you don’t need to charity.
As Tenny Hale advised: When you feel like giving out, give outward. Take a deep breath and relax and rejoice that we are living in one of the most beautiful corners of the planet, populated with lots of sweet souls who care for one another and respect each other’s differences.
And maybe, ponder the full “fear” quote from FDR’s 1933 Inaugural address (find the whole speech at http://historymatters.gmu.edu/d/5057/) delivered during our first Great Depression: “So, first of all, let me assert my firm belief that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself — nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror which paralyzes needed efforts to convert retreat into advance. In every dark hour of our national life a leadership of frankness and vigor has met with that understanding and support of the people themselves which is essential to victory.”
S. Derrickson Moore can be reached at dmoore@lcsun-news.com
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Summer reading fun
By S. Derrickson Moore
Sun-News reporter
LAS CRUCES — Ah, summer.
I was thinking back to the golden days of yesteryear and what was on the agenda as soon as we heard those magical words: “Schools out!”
For me, the big four were spending time with friends, swimming (in nearby Lake Michigan, the Pere Marquette River at our place up north or at my grandparents’ resort at Lake Margrethe in Grayling, Mich.), staying up late and reading.
My friends and I would lounge on the almost-as-white-as-White-Sands sandy dunes of the Lake Michigan shore and devour all the Baby Boomer classics: Trixie Belden, Nancy Drew, Bobbsie Twins and Hardy Boys mysteries, and even some of the classics: “Heidi,” “Little Women,” “Treasure Island,” and “Tom Sawyer.” We shared vast stacks of comic books (now referred to as graphic novels in some circles). There was the popular line of “classics” comic books based on great literature, which mom and dad approved of because they correctly figured they would whet our appetites for the real thing, and my cousins’ sleazy romance comics, which did not delight our parents.
Not that there was any kind of censorship in our tribe. By the time I was a sixth-grader, I’d zipped through “Gone With the Wind,” James Michener’s “Tales of the South Pacific,” and potboilers like “Peyote Place” and “My Wicked, Wicked Ways,” Errol Flynn’s “uncensored autobiography.”
My parents’ attitude was that anything I was old enough to want to read and ask them questions about was okay. When I wanted to read “Rise and Fall of the Third Reich” and “Brave New World,” they helped me change the rules so that an 11-year-old could check out books from the “adult” sections of public and school libraries. This was back in a more innocent era, when an “adult” label was not synonymous with porn, but was meant to helpfully wrangle little kids to subjects more compatible with their interests and reading levels.
But as soon as I learned to read, I was unwilling to be wrangled. I still remember my profound sorrow when I realized that I could not possibly read every book in the world.
Those pangs have since been assuaged by years as a book reviewer, slogging through eight to 10 books a week in my prime, some of which I could’ve happily lived without encountering.
But I’ve never quite forgotten that summertime joy of discovering a great new author, hopefully a prolific one, who invites you into rich new worlds that you can revisit at many stages of your life.
I am thankful that the fanatic reading gene seems to be dominant in our family DNA.
Son Ryan and grandson Alexander the Great have shared — and sometimes introduced me to— some of the best summertime reading ever.
Ryan and I shared the enduringly entertaining and surprisingly spiritual fantasy novels loved of Madeleine L’Engle, whose “Wrinkle in Time” and other books have offered us clues for living in strange times. ( “You have to write the book that wants to be written. And if the book will be too difficult for grown-ups, then you write it for children,” she once noted.)
During vacations, I’ve shared Las Cruces Harry Potter marathons with Alex, who also got me hooked on the Stephenie Meyer “Twilight” series, long before the first movie hit the screen.
During our last vacation, we did all the things you would do in the outdoor summer paradise that is the Pacific Northwest. We communed with horses and wildlife, hiked, swam and fished. But we also packed books.
Ryan always has some exotic contribution — rocker biographies, maybe, or laugh-out-loud humorists, from Dave Barry to Graham Roumier’s definitive Sasquatch profile: “In Me Own Words: The Autobiography of Bigfoot,” a haunting account of the ravages of fame.
Summer reading is still my fave vacation activity, accessble to us all. What are you reading this summer?
S. Derrickson Moore can be reached at dmoore@lcsun-news.com
Sun-News reporter
LAS CRUCES — Ah, summer.
I was thinking back to the golden days of yesteryear and what was on the agenda as soon as we heard those magical words: “Schools out!”
For me, the big four were spending time with friends, swimming (in nearby Lake Michigan, the Pere Marquette River at our place up north or at my grandparents’ resort at Lake Margrethe in Grayling, Mich.), staying up late and reading.
My friends and I would lounge on the almost-as-white-as-White-Sands sandy dunes of the Lake Michigan shore and devour all the Baby Boomer classics: Trixie Belden, Nancy Drew, Bobbsie Twins and Hardy Boys mysteries, and even some of the classics: “Heidi,” “Little Women,” “Treasure Island,” and “Tom Sawyer.” We shared vast stacks of comic books (now referred to as graphic novels in some circles). There was the popular line of “classics” comic books based on great literature, which mom and dad approved of because they correctly figured they would whet our appetites for the real thing, and my cousins’ sleazy romance comics, which did not delight our parents.
Not that there was any kind of censorship in our tribe. By the time I was a sixth-grader, I’d zipped through “Gone With the Wind,” James Michener’s “Tales of the South Pacific,” and potboilers like “Peyote Place” and “My Wicked, Wicked Ways,” Errol Flynn’s “uncensored autobiography.”
My parents’ attitude was that anything I was old enough to want to read and ask them questions about was okay. When I wanted to read “Rise and Fall of the Third Reich” and “Brave New World,” they helped me change the rules so that an 11-year-old could check out books from the “adult” sections of public and school libraries. This was back in a more innocent era, when an “adult” label was not synonymous with porn, but was meant to helpfully wrangle little kids to subjects more compatible with their interests and reading levels.
But as soon as I learned to read, I was unwilling to be wrangled. I still remember my profound sorrow when I realized that I could not possibly read every book in the world.
Those pangs have since been assuaged by years as a book reviewer, slogging through eight to 10 books a week in my prime, some of which I could’ve happily lived without encountering.
But I’ve never quite forgotten that summertime joy of discovering a great new author, hopefully a prolific one, who invites you into rich new worlds that you can revisit at many stages of your life.
I am thankful that the fanatic reading gene seems to be dominant in our family DNA.
Son Ryan and grandson Alexander the Great have shared — and sometimes introduced me to— some of the best summertime reading ever.
Ryan and I shared the enduringly entertaining and surprisingly spiritual fantasy novels loved of Madeleine L’Engle, whose “Wrinkle in Time” and other books have offered us clues for living in strange times. ( “You have to write the book that wants to be written. And if the book will be too difficult for grown-ups, then you write it for children,” she once noted.)
During vacations, I’ve shared Las Cruces Harry Potter marathons with Alex, who also got me hooked on the Stephenie Meyer “Twilight” series, long before the first movie hit the screen.
During our last vacation, we did all the things you would do in the outdoor summer paradise that is the Pacific Northwest. We communed with horses and wildlife, hiked, swam and fished. But we also packed books.
Ryan always has some exotic contribution — rocker biographies, maybe, or laugh-out-loud humorists, from Dave Barry to Graham Roumier’s definitive Sasquatch profile: “In Me Own Words: The Autobiography of Bigfoot,” a haunting account of the ravages of fame.
Summer reading is still my fave vacation activity, accessble to us all. What are you reading this summer?
S. Derrickson Moore can be reached at dmoore@lcsun-news.com
Friday, May 15, 2009
Star in the Ultimate Reality Show
By S. Derrickson Moore
Sun-News reporter
LAS CRUCES — This may very well surprise you, even if you consider yourself a cutting-edge tech geek.
I’m happy to announce we now have the technology for the ultimate, multimedia, multisensory, cradle-to-grave reality show experience.
That’s right. You can not only see and hear (assuming you have normal sight and hearing) virtually every lifetime experience, but you can also smell, taste and feel every sensation as you enjoy the URS (Ultimate Reality Show).
Imagine. You can experience the world with the zest and wonder of a child, learning new skills and enjoying all the sensory miracles of nature. Imagine the sensation of raindrops, warm sun, cool snow and summer breezes on your skin. The taste of juicy fresh fruit, the fire of a chile pepper, the smooth chill of peppermint ice cream.
For those brave enough, we can also now experience the emotions and thought processes as well as the full range of sensations that are part of the URS.
There are risks, of course. No matter how well you think you can control the technology, there is always the danger of experiencing fear, pain, jealousy, hatred, greed and other unpleasant sensations. But willingness to encounter these things will enhance your skill set and mastery of the URS experiences that will allow you to get to higher levels and MURS (master level URS) experiences that include opportunities to savor things like love, compassion, faith, hope and joy.
If your tastes run to adventure and you have the will, stamina and determination, you can customize the URS to experience the thrill of swimming in a rejuvenating stream or lake. Or skiing or hiking or running through a beautiful landscape, with the wind actually rippling through your hair, the aroma of evergreens and wildflowers surrounding you.
Again, imagine: Experiencing the full spectrum of emotions, thoughts and sensations as you live through a range of “firsts:” first day of school, first friendships, first kiss, first loves, first child of your own, first job, fun vacations ... and all the rites of passage and ceremonies of life: births, graduations, marriages, anniversaries, funerals, honors and triumphs, quiet accomplishments, obstacles triumphantly overcome.
Some feel the URS can be enhanced by texting, sexting, Twittering, YouTube, Skype, My Space, Facebook and iTunes and gadgets ranging from Blackberrys to iPhones, PCs and laptops, Wii or any other state-of-the-art video games. Others think such things are useless distractions in the full enjoyment and appreciation of the URS.
The choice is up to you. You may interface your Ultimate Reality Show with any or all of these things, or even with more primitive technologies and systems, from TV, books and magazines to movies and snailmail. (And, to the surprise of many, even very young tech geeks have reported amazing thrills from interfaces with books and snailmail letters during URS.)
And there’s more: You can also interface your URS with the URS of others. No special attachments are necessary to begin, though I personally feel your URS will be enhanced by interfacing with loving family and friends, especially in the beginning.
Some feel you should proceed with great caution and carefully plan and negotiate terms of endearment before you contemplate any URS interfaces with others.
But I’ve found that some of the most rewarding and exciting URS interfaces can result from spontaneous and serendipitous links with a URS based in a different land and culture.
Again imagine: these interfaces will enable you to expand and enhance your own URS to experience and identify with the adventures of others.
All it takes to successfully navigate such interfaces is a bit of compassion, empathy, and for best possible results, faith, hope, charity, love, imagination, courage and a sense of adventure and humor.
If you haven’t guessed by now, the Ultimate Reality Show is you, your life.
It’s yours to experience, in surround sound, Technicolor, and sensory full-tilt open throttle.
Right here, right now.
Pay careful attention or you could miss the best parts.
S. Derrickson Moore can be reached at dmoore@lcsun-news.com
Sun-News reporter
LAS CRUCES — This may very well surprise you, even if you consider yourself a cutting-edge tech geek.
I’m happy to announce we now have the technology for the ultimate, multimedia, multisensory, cradle-to-grave reality show experience.
That’s right. You can not only see and hear (assuming you have normal sight and hearing) virtually every lifetime experience, but you can also smell, taste and feel every sensation as you enjoy the URS (Ultimate Reality Show).
Imagine. You can experience the world with the zest and wonder of a child, learning new skills and enjoying all the sensory miracles of nature. Imagine the sensation of raindrops, warm sun, cool snow and summer breezes on your skin. The taste of juicy fresh fruit, the fire of a chile pepper, the smooth chill of peppermint ice cream.
For those brave enough, we can also now experience the emotions and thought processes as well as the full range of sensations that are part of the URS.
There are risks, of course. No matter how well you think you can control the technology, there is always the danger of experiencing fear, pain, jealousy, hatred, greed and other unpleasant sensations. But willingness to encounter these things will enhance your skill set and mastery of the URS experiences that will allow you to get to higher levels and MURS (master level URS) experiences that include opportunities to savor things like love, compassion, faith, hope and joy.
If your tastes run to adventure and you have the will, stamina and determination, you can customize the URS to experience the thrill of swimming in a rejuvenating stream or lake. Or skiing or hiking or running through a beautiful landscape, with the wind actually rippling through your hair, the aroma of evergreens and wildflowers surrounding you.
Again, imagine: Experiencing the full spectrum of emotions, thoughts and sensations as you live through a range of “firsts:” first day of school, first friendships, first kiss, first loves, first child of your own, first job, fun vacations ... and all the rites of passage and ceremonies of life: births, graduations, marriages, anniversaries, funerals, honors and triumphs, quiet accomplishments, obstacles triumphantly overcome.
Some feel the URS can be enhanced by texting, sexting, Twittering, YouTube, Skype, My Space, Facebook and iTunes and gadgets ranging from Blackberrys to iPhones, PCs and laptops, Wii or any other state-of-the-art video games. Others think such things are useless distractions in the full enjoyment and appreciation of the URS.
The choice is up to you. You may interface your Ultimate Reality Show with any or all of these things, or even with more primitive technologies and systems, from TV, books and magazines to movies and snailmail. (And, to the surprise of many, even very young tech geeks have reported amazing thrills from interfaces with books and snailmail letters during URS.)
And there’s more: You can also interface your URS with the URS of others. No special attachments are necessary to begin, though I personally feel your URS will be enhanced by interfacing with loving family and friends, especially in the beginning.
Some feel you should proceed with great caution and carefully plan and negotiate terms of endearment before you contemplate any URS interfaces with others.
But I’ve found that some of the most rewarding and exciting URS interfaces can result from spontaneous and serendipitous links with a URS based in a different land and culture.
Again imagine: these interfaces will enable you to expand and enhance your own URS to experience and identify with the adventures of others.
All it takes to successfully navigate such interfaces is a bit of compassion, empathy, and for best possible results, faith, hope, charity, love, imagination, courage and a sense of adventure and humor.
If you haven’t guessed by now, the Ultimate Reality Show is you, your life.
It’s yours to experience, in surround sound, Technicolor, and sensory full-tilt open throttle.
Right here, right now.
Pay careful attention or you could miss the best parts.
S. Derrickson Moore can be reached at dmoore@lcsun-news.com
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Doggy adventures
By S. Derrickson Moore
Sun-News reporter
LAS CRUCES —I dedicated most of a recent Saturday to something I’d never done before: a Star Wars marathon in official order of episodes I through VI.
So maybe I had some lingering Darth Vader-Evil Empire vibes to walk off when I headed out for my usual Sunday hike. I don’t know how else to account for my first dog bite.
I love dogs and they love me. Just about every dog I’ve ever met seems to sense that I am a person who was pretty much born with a cookie bone in my outstretched hand, who grew up thinking of dogs as my brothers ... and later, as my children, grandchildren, nieces and nephews, all an integral part of my tribe.
I’ve made friends with strange dogs in strange lands all over the planet. I’ve befriended feral dogs in Jamaica trained to attack intruders on site ... at night, in a jungle, no less. In Germany, I rushed in where angels fear to tread, with members of a host family that included a quaking survivor of a brutal dog attack that so traumatized him that even humans could smell his fear at the sight of a tiny terrier. I made it my mission to show his kids that dogs could be your friends.
And all went well, for more than half a century.
It was a bright spring Sunday, as I prepared to cross the street and saw a couple walking their two dogs. One was a friendly-looking blue heeler who strained at her leash and came toward me, I thought, to greet me. I stopped, stood still, and held out my hand for her to sniff. She decided to bite me instead.
The desperado dog’s vet confirmed that the dog has had all her shots.
The Blue Cross hotline nurse said I should be able to get by with antibiotic ointments and bandages, if all goes well from here. As we traversed her diagnostic Web site together, we learned that if it had been a cat, monkey or alligator bite, I could have been in real trouble. I haven’t encountered any alligator victims since my days in Florida, but I’ve known cat bite victims who dealt with arms swelling to double size and even a lengthy hospitalization.
I’m crabby from a week without swimming to wait for the wound to heal. But otherwise, the major injury could be to my confidence in what has been dubbed “the family St. Francis of Assisi genes,” by my son, whose friendly animal magnetism vibes are so compelling that hummingbirds have been known to light and linger on his chest.
What motivated the chomp? The dog’s “mom,” who was very upset by the incident, said her dog had never bitten anyone before.
I was wearing a black hat, sunglasses and camouflage pants that day. Could I have conjured memories of someone who was once mean to the dog?
I did a little research and learned from Dogster.com that “Australian George Elliott developed the blue heeler in 1840, mixing native Dingoes with Collies and other herding dogs.”
Did I somehow trigger that doggy’s inner Dingo? Or maybe she was trying to include me in a herd?
As people spotted my black-and-blue-forearm and word got around, I heard some interesting stories from other dog lovers.
“My experience with that breed is that they can be aggressive and will bite,” said Michael Lambright, who told a tale of a 40-pound blue heeler who attacked Michael’s then-150 pound English Mastiff ... and the heeler then bit his own owner who tried to break up the fight.
You never know. Michael said he was once nailed by his beloved Brutus, a Rhodesian Ridgeback, in what he called a “jealousy-pack demotion” issue involving a new human member of the pack in his household.
“It's the only time in my life that I’ve been bitten by a dog with bad intentions. Puppy nips don’t count,” Michael noted.
I know how he feels. And I am determined not to let one incident daunt my lifelong habit of meeting and greeting man’s best friends.
I got a warm reception from the next dog I met, a darling pup on the patio at Milagro, and plan to continue my policy of offering cookie bones to new and old doggy amigos at the Saturday Las Cruces Farmers & Crafts Market and whenever else I get the chance.
In an ideal world, I could even dream of a peaceful, companionable walk through our ‘hood with that little blue heeler. I would like to be able to someday say that I patted the hair of the dog who bit me.
S. Derrickson Moore can be reached at dmoore@lcsun-news.com
Sun-News reporter
LAS CRUCES —I dedicated most of a recent Saturday to something I’d never done before: a Star Wars marathon in official order of episodes I through VI.
So maybe I had some lingering Darth Vader-Evil Empire vibes to walk off when I headed out for my usual Sunday hike. I don’t know how else to account for my first dog bite.
I love dogs and they love me. Just about every dog I’ve ever met seems to sense that I am a person who was pretty much born with a cookie bone in my outstretched hand, who grew up thinking of dogs as my brothers ... and later, as my children, grandchildren, nieces and nephews, all an integral part of my tribe.
I’ve made friends with strange dogs in strange lands all over the planet. I’ve befriended feral dogs in Jamaica trained to attack intruders on site ... at night, in a jungle, no less. In Germany, I rushed in where angels fear to tread, with members of a host family that included a quaking survivor of a brutal dog attack that so traumatized him that even humans could smell his fear at the sight of a tiny terrier. I made it my mission to show his kids that dogs could be your friends.
And all went well, for more than half a century.
It was a bright spring Sunday, as I prepared to cross the street and saw a couple walking their two dogs. One was a friendly-looking blue heeler who strained at her leash and came toward me, I thought, to greet me. I stopped, stood still, and held out my hand for her to sniff. She decided to bite me instead.
The desperado dog’s vet confirmed that the dog has had all her shots.
The Blue Cross hotline nurse said I should be able to get by with antibiotic ointments and bandages, if all goes well from here. As we traversed her diagnostic Web site together, we learned that if it had been a cat, monkey or alligator bite, I could have been in real trouble. I haven’t encountered any alligator victims since my days in Florida, but I’ve known cat bite victims who dealt with arms swelling to double size and even a lengthy hospitalization.
I’m crabby from a week without swimming to wait for the wound to heal. But otherwise, the major injury could be to my confidence in what has been dubbed “the family St. Francis of Assisi genes,” by my son, whose friendly animal magnetism vibes are so compelling that hummingbirds have been known to light and linger on his chest.
What motivated the chomp? The dog’s “mom,” who was very upset by the incident, said her dog had never bitten anyone before.
I was wearing a black hat, sunglasses and camouflage pants that day. Could I have conjured memories of someone who was once mean to the dog?
I did a little research and learned from Dogster.com that “Australian George Elliott developed the blue heeler in 1840, mixing native Dingoes with Collies and other herding dogs.”
Did I somehow trigger that doggy’s inner Dingo? Or maybe she was trying to include me in a herd?
As people spotted my black-and-blue-forearm and word got around, I heard some interesting stories from other dog lovers.
“My experience with that breed is that they can be aggressive and will bite,” said Michael Lambright, who told a tale of a 40-pound blue heeler who attacked Michael’s then-150 pound English Mastiff ... and the heeler then bit his own owner who tried to break up the fight.
You never know. Michael said he was once nailed by his beloved Brutus, a Rhodesian Ridgeback, in what he called a “jealousy-pack demotion” issue involving a new human member of the pack in his household.
“It's the only time in my life that I’ve been bitten by a dog with bad intentions. Puppy nips don’t count,” Michael noted.
I know how he feels. And I am determined not to let one incident daunt my lifelong habit of meeting and greeting man’s best friends.
I got a warm reception from the next dog I met, a darling pup on the patio at Milagro, and plan to continue my policy of offering cookie bones to new and old doggy amigos at the Saturday Las Cruces Farmers & Crafts Market and whenever else I get the chance.
In an ideal world, I could even dream of a peaceful, companionable walk through our ‘hood with that little blue heeler. I would like to be able to someday say that I patted the hair of the dog who bit me.
S. Derrickson Moore can be reached at dmoore@lcsun-news.com
Friday, April 24, 2009
You ought to be in movies...and probably will be, sooner or later, if you live in Las Crucess
By S. Derrickson Moore
Sun-News reporter
LAS CRUCES — Wags have christened us Cruceswood and Hollywood on the Rio Grande, or included us in New Mexico’s statewide designation as Tamalewood.
Maybe we should just stick to Las Cruces ... our own name is becoming synonymous with moviemaking.
It seems like the last couple of years have brought us hot premieres of films full of local spots we all recognize.
Last year’s summer blockbuster with familiar locations was “Indian Jones: Kingdom of the Crystal Skull” and this year’s, if the trailers are any indication, will be the new “Transformers” movie ... and a little later, the U.S. premiere of “The Burning Plain.”
While perusing movie trailers online, I’m already catching glimpses of White Sands and Organ Mountains in the distance and there will soon be more where those came from.
There are rumors about possible productions with budgets in the $20 million range whose producers are expressing interest in filming here. No names have been divulged, but we’ll keep you posted.
And as you’ll learn in today’s feature on this page, another three independent films are committed and firming up plans for productions here this summer.
I used to say that just about everyone in Doña Ana County has written a book and many people are working on their second or third. That holds true, and some days, it seems like we’ll soon be able to make similar claims for multi-movie makers.
In fact, if a film crew hasn’t already come to a neighborhood, mall, ranch, national park, military base of scenic mountain vista near you, I’d say it’s just a matter of time.
And don’t worry about dressing seductively and hanging out at whatever the contemporary version of a soda fountain might be, waiting to be discovered. And frankly, I wouldn’t invest a lot of money sprucing up your car or property in hopes your pimped out ride or palatial home will be tapped by movie scouts.
In my experience those movies dudes like us just the way we are: they’re looking for authenticity and often, the more weathered the better. Shabby adobe chic is hot now.
While I was doing interviews on a location shoot for “Traffic,” filmmakers confessed they had chosen Las Cruces International Airport because they couldn’t find any actual Mexican airports that looked battered and “Third World enough” until they discovered our charming, sandblasted, potholed runways.
My son’s band was once tapped for a two-day cameo in a Madonna movie, but what really bought him extended on-set access time was the producers’ choice of his old car, which rated a couple of weeks of on-camera shots, along with access to gourmet craft services meals for all the boys in the band.
Soon, I may have some stories of my own to add to the family filmography.
While I was checking out summer movies being filmed here, Mark Vasconcellos shared the plot for “Beyond,” Rob Walker’s tale about “a down-and-out reporter in a small college town,” looking for a big story. The reporter uncovers a plot to take over the planet by “aliens who cannot take life shape in our atmosphere and have infiltrated the city and have been impregnating local women to produce hybrids.”
Then he made us an offer that we, being bullish on Tamalewood, just couldn’t refuse.
He asked if the Las Cruces Sun-News building could be used as the movie’s newspaper.
I told him the offer couldn’t have come at a better time, and if he’s interested in local extras, he might be able to save some money on makeup, costuming and even special effects, since newsroom staffers Shari Vialpando, Amanda Husson and Brook Stockberger are all expecting babies — all human, rather than alien or hybrid, as far as we know — around the time of the shoot this summer.
Producer Vasconcellos shot back an enthusiastic e-mail:
“Wow! Coikeeedink!”
Now we’re looking forward to our 15 minutes of fame ... or, at least, our building’s moment of glory.
Soon, stardom could come to you, or someone or something close to you. Mark Medoff is seeking an “older RV” to be the “hero car” for his new film “Refuge,” for instance, and you may have just the star vehicle he’s looking for.
You ought to be in movies ... and chances are you will be, if you live in Las Cruces.
It’s just a matter of time. Stick with us, kid, we’ll make you a star.
S. Derrickson Moore can be reached at dmoore@lcsun-news.com
Sun-News reporter
LAS CRUCES — Wags have christened us Cruceswood and Hollywood on the Rio Grande, or included us in New Mexico’s statewide designation as Tamalewood.
Maybe we should just stick to Las Cruces ... our own name is becoming synonymous with moviemaking.
It seems like the last couple of years have brought us hot premieres of films full of local spots we all recognize.
Last year’s summer blockbuster with familiar locations was “Indian Jones: Kingdom of the Crystal Skull” and this year’s, if the trailers are any indication, will be the new “Transformers” movie ... and a little later, the U.S. premiere of “The Burning Plain.”
While perusing movie trailers online, I’m already catching glimpses of White Sands and Organ Mountains in the distance and there will soon be more where those came from.
There are rumors about possible productions with budgets in the $20 million range whose producers are expressing interest in filming here. No names have been divulged, but we’ll keep you posted.
And as you’ll learn in today’s feature on this page, another three independent films are committed and firming up plans for productions here this summer.
I used to say that just about everyone in Doña Ana County has written a book and many people are working on their second or third. That holds true, and some days, it seems like we’ll soon be able to make similar claims for multi-movie makers.
In fact, if a film crew hasn’t already come to a neighborhood, mall, ranch, national park, military base of scenic mountain vista near you, I’d say it’s just a matter of time.
And don’t worry about dressing seductively and hanging out at whatever the contemporary version of a soda fountain might be, waiting to be discovered. And frankly, I wouldn’t invest a lot of money sprucing up your car or property in hopes your pimped out ride or palatial home will be tapped by movie scouts.
In my experience those movies dudes like us just the way we are: they’re looking for authenticity and often, the more weathered the better. Shabby adobe chic is hot now.
While I was doing interviews on a location shoot for “Traffic,” filmmakers confessed they had chosen Las Cruces International Airport because they couldn’t find any actual Mexican airports that looked battered and “Third World enough” until they discovered our charming, sandblasted, potholed runways.
My son’s band was once tapped for a two-day cameo in a Madonna movie, but what really bought him extended on-set access time was the producers’ choice of his old car, which rated a couple of weeks of on-camera shots, along with access to gourmet craft services meals for all the boys in the band.
Soon, I may have some stories of my own to add to the family filmography.
While I was checking out summer movies being filmed here, Mark Vasconcellos shared the plot for “Beyond,” Rob Walker’s tale about “a down-and-out reporter in a small college town,” looking for a big story. The reporter uncovers a plot to take over the planet by “aliens who cannot take life shape in our atmosphere and have infiltrated the city and have been impregnating local women to produce hybrids.”
Then he made us an offer that we, being bullish on Tamalewood, just couldn’t refuse.
He asked if the Las Cruces Sun-News building could be used as the movie’s newspaper.
I told him the offer couldn’t have come at a better time, and if he’s interested in local extras, he might be able to save some money on makeup, costuming and even special effects, since newsroom staffers Shari Vialpando, Amanda Husson and Brook Stockberger are all expecting babies — all human, rather than alien or hybrid, as far as we know — around the time of the shoot this summer.
Producer Vasconcellos shot back an enthusiastic e-mail:
“Wow! Coikeeedink!”
Now we’re looking forward to our 15 minutes of fame ... or, at least, our building’s moment of glory.
Soon, stardom could come to you, or someone or something close to you. Mark Medoff is seeking an “older RV” to be the “hero car” for his new film “Refuge,” for instance, and you may have just the star vehicle he’s looking for.
You ought to be in movies ... and chances are you will be, if you live in Las Cruces.
It’s just a matter of time. Stick with us, kid, we’ll make you a star.
S. Derrickson Moore can be reached at dmoore@lcsun-news.com
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