We took my sister to the Tucson airport where she hoped to get on the plane stand by.The traffic control cop joked with us as we told my sister goodbye and I saw him hauling luggage for people in wheel chairs and mothers with little children. Wow. Nice guy. What a novel experience with airport traffic control.
We ended up chatting with the same traffic control cop and learned that, in the middle of summer when the temperatures are 110-115 degrees, people get off planes stressed and dehydrated, especially if they have been drinking alcohol on the plane. They hit the heat as they leave the airport terminal. Bam! Down they go. Airport emergency rescue has to be called four or five times per day.
Eventually we left the airport, waving to our good buddy in airport traffic control as we left. Such a Tucson experience. Traffic got controlled, but there was a gracious, friendly quality to it that spread good feelings all around.
Another time we were in the post office on a Saturday before Christmas and it was very crowded, of course. The postal employees were busy, often dealing with more than one person at a time. An elderly gentleman came in and said he wanted to exchange his stamps. His wife sent him to get stamps for their Christmas cards, but he got the wrong kind. She wanted Christmas stamps. The postal clerk explained that stamps were not refundable. “You don’t want to help me?” the man asked, looking disappointed and worried. “It’s not that I don’t want to help you. I’m not allowed to help you. It’s against postal regulations,” explained the harried clerk.
A woman in line spoke up, “I’ll buy your stamps,” she said cheerfully. “Just get in line with me and we will sort this out. I'll buy some Christmas stamps and we can swap. We don’t want your wife upset.” The older gentleman joined her in line and said laughingly, “I’ve been married 64 years and I didn’t realize that the kind of stamps I get would be a problem. But I guess you always have something to learn.” As we left the post office, they were still in line, laughing and chatting. I was sure he went home with some lovely Christmas stamps and his wife was happy.
This photo is of a neighbor who stands her small dog on the backyard wall so that he can see into the arroyo that runs behind our houses. It is not safe to let your dog run around in the arroyo, so she lets him explore this desert jungle at a distance. Every few days we see her standing him on the wall, letting him sniff the scent of rabbits, quail, road runners, javalinas, ground squirrels, coyote, bobcats and occasionally, we are told, mountain lions. 
Service and sales people stop and chat. They seem genuinely concerned about helping you and also share something about themselves. The shuttle driver earnestly gives us restaurant recommendations. We've learned how to create Christmas displays complete with music and computer-driven lighting displays from the young man installing our computer, learned about raising horses from the maintenance guy, and heard many stories about their children and grandchildren. For example, when we stopped to buy a chili wreath, we learned all about the owner's son in Seattle.
As I mentioned in another post, my husband and I were disagreeing about whether a snake mug was an appropriate Christmas gift. Gradually everyone in the shop got involved in the debate.
When we first arrived in the gated community where we are living, I was a bit unnerved. It is more upscale than I'm used to, all the houses are tan with tile roofs; there’s hardly a leaf out of place. It is unnervingly neat and organized.
In Seattle, with working at the University of Washington for so many years, having an art studio in an industrial neighborhood, Georgetown, among crazy artists, and working out at boxing studio in a less than fancy part of town, I’ve gotten pretty comfortable with fuchsia-colored hair, tattoos, and nose rings. I don’t indulge in all that myself, but I appreciate the creativity of the artistic and the alternative. A certain amount of grunge has an appeal. I’m happiest in paint-smattered clothing with my hair tied back any old way.
This gated community is about 180 degrees away from an art studio in the industrial Georgetown. It is another universe. But I thought, “Who’s being judgmental here?" Certainly not the folks in this community, who have been nothing but welcoming and friendly. Every Friday night, anyone in the community can join in a two-hour gathering. The first hour is for food, drinks, and conversation. The second hour is for telling jokes. Some of them are really, really bad jokes, but who cares?
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