Self-expression – Cre8-Space

Caroline Kwas, Painter

Caroline Kwas lives in her RV full-time and pursues her art wherever she lands, connecting with her little families everywhere.

Feisty & Focused

With her high intelligence and private school education, Caroline’s family expected her to be a medical doctor. However, while working on her bio-chem major, she added an elective drawing class and, soon, med school dropped from her horizon.

Caroline’s father didn’t respond favorably to her new artistic aspirations. She was feisty, though, and found a work-around; moving in with her sister and sticking to her vision of pursuing art.

Three decades later, Caroline is still just as feisty and still sticking to her vision.

Back then, the father of her childhood friend, Nancy, talked with Caroline’s father and helped him see his way to supporting Caroline’s art studies. She then went to the Fashion Institute of Technology and earned an undergraduate degree in Illustration. She went on to earn a graduate degree in Literacy Education.

For a while on Long Island, Caroline catered food for fishing boats that would go out for weeks at a time. With four or five boats to cook for, she was gainfully employed and poured her creativity into food preparation.

Eventually, she put her degrees to use teaching Reading and English in New York before moving to Florida to teach corrective reading to seventh and eighth graders.

“They ate me alive,” Caroline says of the middle schoolers. She was an excellent guide and champion for the students who appreciated her attention and encouragement. Otherwise, she hated the job. Hated it. And she was terribly homesick, so she went back home to Montauk, New York, to teach.

“Unfortunately, I never took any time off,” Caroline says, “and, basically, was committing psychological suicide.” Even painting and exhibiting in weekend art shows wasn’t enough to compensate for the stress. Something had to change.

IMG_3126 (1) — Caroline painting in her booth at the Arizona Fine Art Expo

In 2010, while she was still teaching, Caroline researched art shows for the following spring and found the Arizona Fine Art Expo, an annual juried artist show held in Scottsdale, Arizona, from mid-January through March. She applied, was accepted and resigned from her teaching job around Christmas 2010. The next month, Caroline was in Scottsdale exhibiting in the 2011 Arizona Fine Art Expo.

By the time she returned to the show in 2012, Caroline had bought a fifth wheel toy-hauler RV pulled by a Chevy diesel dually.

“My boyfriend at the time said I needed a big rig,” Caroline says, making it clear the RV and truck were too much for her handle. In fact, her partner never allowed her to drive her own rig.

When she got rid of the boyfriend, she got rid of the big rig and bought a 29-foot C class Winnebago and a cargo trailer. Now comfortable and perfectly mobile, Caroline began crafting a nomadic lifestyle, spending winters in Arizona and then heading to wherever she chose for the summer.

Caroline & Bubbles — Caroline and Bubbles

For six years, Caroline has lived out of her RV and pursued art.

In 2012 and 2013, she returned east to work out of her own gallery in the Rocky Neck Art Colony located in Gloucester, Massachusetts. Rocky Neck is the oldest working art colony in the country, having brought artists together for more than 150 years. Her photorealism paintings from that time were influenced by the rocky shores, shells and fallen leaves of New England.

OnTheRocks-8x11-72dpi-web — *On the Rocks*, a photorealism painting by Caroline

“The gallery had a loft and that’s where I slept,” Caroline says. “Three times a year we had very high tides and the water would come up to within a foot of my gallery door.”

Every winter, she returned to Scottsdale and the Expo.

Caroline’s nomadic life allows her to be where she wants to be, when she wants to be there and with the people of her choosing.

“I have little families everywhere,” Caroline smiles.

Her blog posts show her mastery of living full-time in Bubbles, her RV. Friends tease Caroline for only washing her hair in rain water. But why wouldn’t she? It’s free. Yet rain is scarce in the desert. When it does rain, Caroline has her 5-gallon buckets ready. She sets them against the big white tent that covers the Expo and catches the silty water. When the dirt settles, Caroline has rain-fresh hair.

Beyond posting about her life as an RVer, Caroline writes poignant blog posts about her perceptions, seen through the eyes of an artist. A perfect example is her blog post titled Why is the Sky Purple? where she answers the question asked by a bored male patron:

Because when I stood at the base of this giant saguaro two weeks ago and it was lit up by the rising orange full moon, there was more to that scene than a blue-black night sky and a dimly lit cactus. There was a gentle majestic giant in front of me, soaring into a velvet sky, and he deserved to be lit up in gold and crimson like the king of the Sonoran Desert that he is. He needed that deep royal violet sky to complement him, to surround him, and most of all, he deserved a lot of color.

Be sure to read her post about Harry, a magnificent saguaro friend. I won’t give away Harry’s fate, but will share the post’s opening:

Like many people, the saguaro cactus was always the first thing I thought of when I thought about the desert. It’s the epitome of the desert, proud, distinct, and vaguely humanoid. But have you ever thought about the life of a cactus? Go up to a big one around midnight in the desert, and the hair on your arm just might rise a little. They loom there, stark dark silhouettes against a speckled sky, full of silent stories. Consider: for almost a century, it huddled in the shade of an ironwood nurse against the harsh desert summers as it began its life. An inch a year. It began growing arms; it grew into its role as the giver of life in the desert. Quiet centuries are spent keeping sentry over a forbidding landscape, the long shadows of its arms the last to unfold its embrace each sunset. Spend some time walking in the Arizona sun, and you’ll appreciate water. Spend some time walking in the Arizona moonlight, and you’ll understand mysticism.

“Little Girl” is the van Caroline pulls to drive on local errands. Recently, she launched a Facebook page and Instagram account for Little Girl, who narrates the blog and describes life on the road with Caroline from her unique vehicular perspective. Little Girl’s popularity is growing fast.

14322314_10208761270882576_775431505315879823_n (1) — Caroline and Little Girl

Leaving photorealism behind, Caroline has been painting cacti in a contemporary abstract style for a few years. She’s still an avid art student and laments not learning about color patterns and paint mixing when in college.

Caroline took matters into her own hands (as usual) and sought out a mentor. At the Expo, she approached Sam Thiewes, a fellow artist who lives in Prescott Valley and also exhibits his western paintings at the Arizona Fine Art Expo. He readily agreed to be Caroline’s coach and guide.

Caroline with Sam, her mentor, in his booth at the Expo

Each day during the Expo, they would regularly check in with each other. Sam would study Caroline’s latest painting to advise on composition, perspective or color. She listened to his wise counsel.

“I’ve learned so much from Sam,” Caroline says. “And from watching other artists for the last two months at this show.” This temporary artist colony in the desert grows into a tight community of creatives who naturally learn from each other, whether by observation or conversations.

Not having a house or apartment payment eases financial burdens. With her catering background and enjoyment of cooking, Caroline also works at the Expo Cafe while in Scottsdale and at the Great American Fish Company while in California, her usual summer place.

I’ve seen Caroline hustling during lunch at the Expo Cafe, running between the indoor counter and outdoor patio where she grills burgers and cooks soup on a two-burner gas-powered stove. Between preparing wholesome, locally-sourced breakfasts and lunches in the cafe and manning her Expo booth during the show, Caroline’s tenacity kept her going until she could finally put brush to canvas in the afternoons.

In 2016, Caroline received a much-needed validation for her artistic aspirations when she was selected as Artist-in-Residence at the Mojave National Preserve. Along with a boost to her national reputation, she also found a spiritual home in the vast, silent expanses of the Mojave Desert and takes every opportunity to return there for a few days and recharge.

“There’s nothing like the absolute silence of the desert at night,” Caroline says. “Feels like the universe is close at hand when viewing more stars than I ever knew existed. I unplug from civilization and am forced to live in the moment. It’s utterly head cleaning.”

During the Expo, in her spare time, Caroline would paint, paint, paint on her mission to get better and better, whether in her booth or in Bubbles. She’s completed plenty of paintings sitting at her compact dining table and admits to being at peace living with paints smears on her counter, table and even bed sheets.

When Caroline moves her RV to a new place, she’ll wake-up in her familiar, paint-dappled home, but often temporarily forgets where she is. But that’s okay. She figures it out quickly.

Waiting-for-the-Monsoon — *Waiting for the Monsoon*

“Change has always been my life,” Caroline says.

That’s true. The view from her front door changes, her painting style may change and the people she’s surrounded by change with the seasons, but Caroline will always find time to paint, paint, paint. Nothing gets in the way of her artistic vision.

She’s feisty and tenaciously focused that way.

Resources

Website – https://www.carolinekwas.com

Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/caroline.kwas

Instagram – https://www.instagram.com/carokwas/

Little Girl Instagram – https://www.instagram.com/littlegirlvan/

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Shawna Scarpitti, Collagist/Sculptress

She’s Wild at Art

When I first saw Shawna’s large, bright canvases from a distance, I had to get down there… and fast… even if it meant passing up many other artists’ booths. Up close, her bold, singing work did not disappoint and when Shawna came around the corner with her wild hair barely contained and her stride full of joy, I instantly knew her natural glee perfectly matched her art. And who wouldn’t be drawn to both!

As an undergraduate at Auburn, Shawna was a nude model for painters at the nearby Columbus Museum of Art in Georgia.

“It took some getting used to,” Shawna says, “ but I made $20 an hour, the most I’d ever made.”

Her body isn’t the only thing she’s bared for art.

This past December, Shawna quit her job as an art therapist, packed a van with art supplies and home furnishings, and drove from Jensen Beach, Florida, to Scottsdale, Arizona, to exhibit her tissue paper pieces at the Arizona Fine Art Expo, a 10-week show housed in a giant white, u-shaped tent.

Shawna in her Expo booth, shared with her partner Gregory, a glassblower.

Every year from January to March, more than 100 artists occupy booths at the show and paint, sculpt, make jewelry, etc., in their spaces, sharing their work and techniques with guests seven days a week.

Shawna took a leap of faith to try her hand at being a full-time artist, encouraged by her boyfriend Greg Tomb, a masterful glass blower who has made a living from his art for years by traveling to shows around the country.

So, newish relationship, new “job,” new city, new condo… all at once. Hello, Overwhelm.

“January was a stinker of a month,” Shawna says, laughing. “Setting up a booth with a partner for the first time was stressful as we got used to each other. And traffic at the show was slow, so we naturally worried about money.”

By February, Shawna had made friends throughout the giant tent and she and Greg were grooving as a couple.

“I’m the type who has to be connected with people,” Shawna says. “If I’m making art, I must also be doing something to make a difference in other people’s lives.”

She’s a cheerful and kind spirit who gives and gives of herself. Her artwork, created by gluing colorful tissue paper onto canvases, is an outward sign of her inward joy. Full of happy, bright colors, her pieces cause continuous smiles.

After getting a Master’s degree in art therapy, Shawna has been a nationally board-certified art therapist for 20 years. She honed her skills working with tissue paper while showing clients how to express their emotions through their hands; even if it meant they used only black. The simple act of wanting to switch to a color other than black could signal a big breakthrough for a client.

How does someone help traumatized people day after day without succumbing to trauma themselves? Especially someone like Shawna who is sensitive and attuned to others’ feelings and energy.

“I’ve been lucky to work for companies that offer insurance with mental health benefits for employees, and really good self-care is a must,” Shawna says, with a chuckle. “Plus, helping people freely express in 2- and 3-dimensions while encouraging them to connect to their imaginations and innate creativity is very rewarding.”

Shawna was born in Alliance, Ohio, but grew up in Jensen Beach, Florida, influencing the definite coastal feel in some of her work. From the age of 2, Shawna chose crayons and paint over dolls and TV. Her mother knew, even then, that Shawna was an artist.

Shawna used her therapy training to acclimate to her new nomadic life and the self-contained art community that pops up each winter in the Sonoran desert.

When people show interest in her work, she delights in telling them how she does it. Oftentimes, they want to learn to do it.

“After several women expressed interest in doing tissue paper art, I put up a class sign-up sheet in my booth and it filled up in less than a week!”

Shawna has given several classes during the show in a classroom available to artists for just such activities, and she’s an excellent teacher/coach/cheerleader. I was lucky enough to take her “Tissue Paper Art 101” class and admired how she put everyone at ease about being creative.

“First thing we’re going to do is take off our judgement hat and throw it out of this room,” Shawna says.

Animated, she tosses her imaginary hat like a frisbee and smiles big. Her long hair, extra curly and full, moves when she does, accentuating her vibrant personality.

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The room we’re in has walls but no ceiling, except for the big white tent overhead. We can hear cars on Scottsdale Road, but Shawna can easily be heard telling us about the nature of Bleeding Art tissue paper, the medium for her artwork. When the paper gets wet, colors bleed onto adjacent papers, creating unpredictable patterns.

Shawna then uses a sponge brush to gently apply a mixture of Elmer’s glue and water, adhering the paper to a canvas. Or she might use a bristle brush to smooth it into place. In this beginner’s class, our only objective is to experiment.

In class with Shawna, fellow student Annie and a big mound of tissue paper!

“Cut it or tear,” she says, “there is no wrong way. You’re learning about the paper’s qualities with every piece of tissue you add.”

After working with tissue paper for decades, Shawna has mastered composing images, although she admits controlling how the colors bleed is nearly impossible. Coat hangers hold folds of tissue paper already splashed with water and fully dried. Working when the paper is wet can be difficult, so Shawna always has lots of dried, prepared paper on hand.

Greg’s talent isn’t limited to blowing remarkably beautiful glass bowls. He’s a good carpenter, too, and built Shawna a rolling cart to hold her art supplies, including glitter glue, paints, tiny canvases on wooden easels and all sorts of tiny sparkly notions to add to a completed piece of art. The cart even has a handy rail on one side for displaying her many coat hangers of inspiring papers.

In class, we get very quiet as we experiment with collages of tissue on a thick piece of paper, to get a feel for how to handle the glue, paper and active colors. The moistened foundation papers tend to warp or curl.

“No worries about curling papers,” Shawna assures us. “Once it’s dry, simply put it inside a large coffee table book overnight and it will emerge flat.”

After experimenting, we tackle covering a canvas with tissue. Shawna has several canvas sizes available. I grab a 10-inch square and spot some prepared papers with orange, white, pink and yellow. The brighter the better is my motto. Plus, I have visions of Shawna’s art in my head. Using her prepared paper means my piece of artwork is a collaboration with her.

The piece I made in Shawna’s class using her prepared paper.

Two hours fly by. Shawna finishes our partially-dried artwork with a spray acrylic in either mat or gloss. It also provides UV protection.

I enjoy the class so much, I’m hoping to be able to take her Intermediate course before she packs up and goes back to Florida.

IMG_3087 (1) — One wall of Shawna’s booth holds the smaller items she collages and paints.

Canvases aren’t the only surfaces Shawna covers in tissue paper and paint. She makes one-of-a-kind notecards and decorates the covers on planning calendars and bound journals, turning them into useful works of art. I bought one of her journals to use in a writing workshop my daughter Jaime and I are taking in Paris this June.

“Art is integral to who I am,” Shawna says. “I find a natural flow between creating therapeutic space for the art-making process for others and for myself. I’m in constant connection to my creative core, even when addressing an envelope, cooking or starting a new art project.”

Sculpture is another 3-D art form Shawna relishes as she uses organic materials to evoke the Divine Feminine. “Nature is rarely linear and my sculptures are a celebration of all that is feminine, soulful and passionate,” Shawna says.

As an undergraduate, she dove into sculpting with wood, clay and stone, and sometimes using found objects to create assemblage pieces. In fact, her senior thesis was based on a theme for nine large-scale assemblage sculptures. But when she started working, sculpting took a back seat, even to her collage work.

Two years ago, Shawna’s best friend, Susannah, fell in love with the carved wood, alabaster and marble pieces Shawna had created in early 90s. “Susannah asked me who had done the carvings and she couldn’t stop touching them,” Shawna says. “When I described how I carved them, she nearly flipped because she’s only known my tissue paper collages. She emphatically told me I must, must, must get back into sculpture as soon as possible. In fact, she made me promise I would.”

The Expo, a creative place to the max, is the perfect spot for Shawna to sculpt, paint, and, most importantly, make good on her promise to Susannah.

Shawna is wise to acknowledge her need for being emotionally connected with the people around her. We all have that need to some extent, yet some of us don’t always honor it… and we’re the poorer for it.

A giver, Shawna has created a new life and a new relationship that gives back. She credits Greg with evoking the courage she needed to embark on this current desert adventure. In fact, he convinced her to see the possibility of taking a two-month hiatus from her job last summer and travel to New York where he would rent an apartment, giving Shawna the freedom to produce her large-scale pieces for two art shows in which she and Greg would participate.

Shawna’s employer did not offer anything like a hiatus and she expected a big fat “no.” But when she asked, they said yes!

Greg believed in her work enough to know she could pursue it, and they could share a life on the road as partners in every sense of the word. He also believed in her talent enough to hand-build the large canvases for her work.

“It was amazing and scary to wake up each day and only have to make art,” Shawna says. During those two months, she learned a lot about art, about Greg, about herself and about the public’s reaction to art.

When Greg suggested they both apply to exhibit at the Arizona Fine Art Expo, Shawna saw the stars aligning. That’s when she made the decision to leave her job of nearly four years and dive head first into being a professional artist. These last four months have been eye-opening, frightening and a catalyst for her next stage.

Recently, Shawna scheduled an art therapist job interview for early April back home. “I’m hopeful to go back to work full-time in South Florida,” Shawna says. “I will definitely continue to do my art on the side, and exhibit at shows.”

Greg has a few shows lined up for the remainder of 2018, giving them an opportunity to flex and strengthen their intermittent long-distance relationship with FaceTime and other technological wonders to stay connected.

Shawna sounds at peace with their future. “We have plans to join forces down the road,” she says.

I’ll miss Shawna when she’s back in Florida, but I have no doubts she’ll brighten the lives of her clients through art therapy and retail art therapy.

Shawna’s extraordinary parents, Jim and Melody, taught her to always be kind. She takes kindness one step further and is always loving, even with people she doesn’t know.

On a daily basis, Shawna bares her soul to those who are lucky enough to be near her, and she gives us permission to open our souls and be creative, be vulnerable, be colorful, be loved and see the joy in life.

Shawna shows us how to throw our judgement hats out the window, and we’re the richer for it.

DragonflyDetail — Detail of the dragonfly above.

Education

Bachelor of Fine Arts with a concentration in sculpture from Auburn University.

Master of Arts in Art Therapy from Ursuline College, Cleveland, Ohio.

Resources

http://www.shawnscarpitti.com

Facebook – http://www.facebook.com/ShawnaScarpittiFineArt

Pixels – http://pixels.com/profiles/shawna-scarpitti.html

Instagram – @shawnamariescarpitti

Twitter – @seascarp

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Word by Word

A Writing a Day

Susan, a friend and damn good writer, agreed to attend Natalie Goldberg’s writing workshop in 2015. Susan traveled from Portland and I flew from Phoenix to Albuquerque, where we joined eight other women in a van headed to the Upaya Zen Center in Santa Fe. That van ride with intelligent, interesting women was a precursor to what we’d experience during the upcoming writer’s retreat. Ultimately, there were more than 50 of us, mostly women, enjoying vegetarian meals, meditating, writing, being silent during daylight hours and sharing our work for four days.

Like most people who dream of being “writers,” I’ve been a huge Natalie Goldberg fan since reading Writing Down the Bones when it was published in 1986. Then she followed up with Wild Mind: Living the Writer’s Life in 1990. I formed a writer’s group with friend’s Kate and Richard, who both happened to be from upstate New York but somehow chose Atlanta as their home in the late 80s. We’d meet weekly at each other’s houses, on a rotating basis, and perform 10- and 20-minute writing practices about any old topic. We stuck to Natalie’s writing practice rules: Keep writing, don’t stop, don’t lift your pen off the paper, don’t edit, and be specific – Cadillac, not car.

Kate and Richard are both excellent writers, but we all suffered from the typical writer’s milieu; we had no central area of interest on which to focus our writing. We’d write and write between timer bells on topics that didn’t really matter, on short stories that would never go anywhere. It was a lot of fun, though, and hopefully we honed our writer’s craft even if we weren’t churning out bestsellers.

Writing has always been central to my life, even when I wasn’t doing it as a living. Please know, I’m writing for a living now as the Sr. Communications Specialist for an insurance company. I’m not making a living by being a published author or journalist or columnist, but writing about insurance is also not as boring as it might sound. I started a company magazine for our customers and enjoy researching and writing articles on many interesting topics, particularly people. So that’s this writer’s lemonade!

When I say writing has always been central to my life, it’s because I’ve written for my own pleasure these many years, even when doing a good bit of writing in my marketing jobs. Writing is a compulsion. I wrote my first “chapter book” when I was 9. Putting down words is as necessary for me to live as air. When I don’t write, I become moody. Tense. Back then, I simply didn’t know what to write about, so I fooled around with essays and short stories.

I found out writing fiction isn’t my thang, though I grew up reading fiction by famous Southern women writers like Flannery O’Connor, Eudora Welty and Carson McCullers… and wanted to be just like them. McCullers The Member of the Wedding blew my young mind; O’Connor’s A Good Man is Hard to Find shocked my teenage sensibilities and yet resonated with macabre inner stirrings that felt like a birthright; and Welty’s One Writer’s Beginning was published in 1984, the time I was seeking a writer-guru… a path to self-expression.

Eudora Welty from MS

Carson McCullers from GA

Flannery O’Connor from GA

When I went to Kenya in 2005 as a marketing advisor to the Great Lakes University of Kisumu, I found plenty to write about. Plenty of life or death topics. Topics that mattered. And after a year of posting to a blog in Kenya, I came home and compiled a portion of those blogs into Poverty & Promise: One Volunteer’s Experience of Kenya, a book that won several awards and was published by an independent press.

Since then, I’ve searched for topics that mattered as much as the lives of Kenyans (without having to move to another country). It’s not easy.

Back at the writer’s retreat, when all of the women writers (and the four or five men who attended) were gathered in the Zendo for one of Natalie’s talks, a participant shared with the group that she and one of the guys in attendance wrote emails to each other every day. They had done if for years. Committing to write to each other made it more likely they would send something, anything, as a way to stay on track, stay in the habit, and get the writing practice they needed. Receiving guidance from another writer was a plus!!

This struck me as an excellent idea and when I proposed it to Susan, she agreed. Of course, it was more than a year after the retreat that I asked Susan about being daily pen pals. After the retreat, we had agreed to share our writing pieces with each other for feedback, but we didn’t set deadlines. It wasn’t until March of 2017 when we began writing our daily practice emails.

Today, I set out to capture the content from all my practice-writing emails to Susan, and put them into one document. I dreaded it, even procrastinated for several weeks. As I went through the Sent folder and copied and pasted each email, I was surprised by some topics and astounded by others, both mine and Susan’s. Several were really good. And extremely interesting. And heartbreaking and funny. As I meticulously pulled my content and re-read hers, I didn’t want it to end!

We agreed no pressure about writing every single day; no reprimands, no guilt. We didn’t email every day, although we tried. We were compassionate about life happening, and days when we were exhausted, or if we were traveling. But I didn’t want to lose momentum, so I made myself write on some days even when I was brain-dead.

If I didn’t feel like writing on my computer in my studio (because it’s also where I work from home for my job and I sometimes get sick of being in front of a computer), I’d write to Susan from my iPhone while propped up in bed, very late at night, but not past midnight or I would have missed writing that day. Susan and I were both shocked at how much coherent writing can be accomplished on such a tiny keyboard.

Although we’ve only been doing daily writing-practice emails for seven months, when placed into the word doc, my writings filled 157 pages in Arial, 11 font size, single-spaced lines with a space between paragraphs. It was nearly 100,000 words (99,944 to be precise, including this blog post).

Just like with the Kenyan blog, words add up. And before you know it, you have a book. And a detailed record of your life and thoughts that would otherwise disappear into the ether.

Susan says, “Our partnership has inspired me to start looking at my writing as a thing of value, not simply an indulgence.” Just another bonus of this practice!

I’m so grateful to Susan for being my writing practice partner and my muse. She’s my ideal reader (something Natalie instructed us to find). She’s uncommonly wise and a knock-out voice the world needs to hear from. I’m the luckiest person on the planet to get to read Susan’s eloquent, life-affirming and charming writings (nearly) every single day!

Such an honor.

Puerto Penasco, Mexico

Rocky Point

A beach destination for Arizonians, Puerto Pensaco (aka Rocky Point) has much to offer: sun, beach, good food, drinks with generous amounts of alcohol and only a mere 4-hour drive from Phoenix. My husband Brent had visited Rocky Point with his family (and later with college roommates) since the age of 5. On our second day there, we decided to explore the town and document the excellent graffiti and murals we had spotted on our drive in.

Entering the Old Port, we see men sitting under makeshift shelters with large coolers and bright signs touting shrimp and fish. It’s early, around 8:30, and we’re the only folks around. We follow the road along the Sea of Cortez and notice shops loaded with souvenirs: t-shirts; traditional Mexican dresses for women, girls and babies; beach cover-ups; cowboys boots; brightly-painted pottery; Cuban cigars; pretty straw sun hats with bands of floral cloth; headbands with funny sayings; fidget spinners in all colors; clackers (remember those acrylic balls on string that clacked together from the 70s?); and refrigerator magnets of cactus, sombreros, and chili peppers.

Men stand in the middle of the road pointing to open parking spaces. But we’re just seeing what’s down here, we don’t want to walk around just yet. Murals catch our eye in various places, and we determine to re-visit and photograph them.

Onward to Sandy Beach, where Brent remembers parking in the sand and tying a 22-foot parachute between his truck and Glenn’s jeep 30 years ago, during spring break from college. This was their base camp for a week and they defied anyone to park between them and the water.

We turn at a large Marlin statue and roll past a few open-air restaurants and several kiosks renting 3-wheel scooters, 4-wheelers and rail cars. The main road that runs by Sandy Beach is unpaved, but wide, and trucks moving in both directions spray water to pack the dirt. The sea is to our left and along Sandy Beach several high-rise condo complexes block access to the shore. The Reef, a restaurant/bar that’s been in Rocky Point as long as anyone can remember, sits by itself away from the condos, and nearby is the beginning of a long pier, built up with massive boulders, the future site where folks will disembark from cruise ships.

The dirt road continues to Choya Bay. It’s low tide, so the entire massive bay is empty, except for a few folks walking out there, and a couple of dogs playing and sniffing. We follow the narrow dirt path into the business district, which consists of Oxchitl’s cafe (pronounced So Cheese) and J.J.’s Cantina, another party-station staple of Rocky Point.

Little houses in various stages of repair and disrepair are crowded together along the bumpy dirt road for two blocks. We circle back to Oxchitl’s for breakfast. It’s a busy place. Sally is the owner. Her mother owned a restaurant in Choya Bay, so Sally continued the tradition and now serves breakfast with an attitude. That’s what the menu says. Sally is a little salty. We opt to sit on the roof under a loosely woven straw cover, with a view of the empty bay. The weather is perfect, the food is worth the drive.

Because we saw everything there was to see in Choya Bay during our 4-minute loop, after breakfast we head back to the Old Port, to do a little Christmas shopping. This time, people crowd the sidewalks and music comes from every restaurant and bar. Vendors peddle carts loaded with frozen fruit bars, fruit drinks of every conceivable combination (Pina Coladas are especially popular), brightly-colored candy and fried snacks.

Men step from the shadows and ask Brent if he needs to visit the Pharmacia. Viagra and Cialis can be bought over-the-country, as well as antibiotics, such as Z-packs and amoxycillin.

We stroll along the shaded sidewalk looking at all the goodies, taking our time, stepping into some of the shops. Attendants are, well, quite attentive. I touch a little dress that my 2-year-old granddaughter Ella would look cute in and a man instantly says, “What size would you like to see? We have all sizes, even for you.” At one stall, we spend quite awhile carefully selecting gifts.

We turn up a side street to look for murals. Some buildings are empty. One lacks a roof and doors. I take a photograph and then Brent sees something and he takes the camera. We continue like this for the rest of the weekend, passing the camera to get shots of graffiti and murals.

A building covered in metal decorative pieces and colorful pottery sits in a triangular intersection. Every exterior wall of the building is adorned. Within the building, a labyrinth of ceiling-high shelves, additional floors, roof decks and balconies are stuffed with curios. Sensation overload. Again, we pass the camera back and forth, having a ball exploring every nook and cranny.

“This place must be 30-years old at least,” Brent says.

We pass shelves of painted sinks, and planters, and old banks shaped like Winnie the Pooh and Mickey Mouse, tons of plates, bowls, hand-blown drinking glasses and hearts. Brent finds a red glass heart with white stripes looking like a heart with veins. I select a Grecian-urn shaped planter. A practical souvenir. The woman who checks us out says the store has been there 28 years. We don’t really want to leave, it’s a magical funhouse where our inner artists come out to play.

As we walk back to the car, the Old Port is in full swing. Parched, I buy a tooty-fruity iced drink and Brent buys a beer. More music blares, and not just from restaurants and bars. The strip is a place to cruise, and many people drive their pimped-out 4-wheelers. I’m so mesmerized by the vehicles coming onto the strip, I can’t move. Just stand with the fruity drink and watch one crazy vehicle after another slowly roll past, each with its own sound system blaring, competing with music from the restaurants and bars.

One couple has speakers mounted directly behind their heads. They’ll go deaf! Another rail car is hoisted six feet off the ground, with giant knobby tires, and a two-foot speaker mounted on the front, covered in faux fur, pulsing with the bass. The four people talk as though they can hear each other.

Brent stops and walks back to where I stand, tooty fruity drink straw in my mouth. I can’t move. “Let’s get a seat in that restaurant upstairs and watch the show,” I say. But I only half mean it. Still, I could stand watching the sights and the people, listening to music, American and Mexican, for hours.

We drive back to Las Conchas, to the casita we rented through Airbnb, and put on our swimming gear, ready to kayak!

I’ve never launched a kayak into the sea, with waves coming at us. Plus, a couple of folks sitting on the patio next door are watching. “I’m a little nervous,” I say, thinking it’ll help dispel my anxiety a little by talking about it.

Of course, I’m exaggerating the sea’s ferocity. This is the Sea of Cortez (Gulf of California), and Puerto Penasco is tucked way, way up into the crook of Mexico as it extends over and down into the Baja peninsula.

We wade out thigh-deep and Brent yells, “Get in, get in,” and I do and he does and he says “paddle, paddle,” and I do and he does and soon we’re past the breaking waves and slipping into the sea… and we’re free. The water is calm and I feel an exhilaration that’s hard to describe. Brent saw an estuary behind the casita and wonders if there’s a way to get to it from the sea, so we’re looking for a Southeast passage. We row and stop and glide and watch the Pelicans dive for fish. We sometimes hit a swell just right and the tip of the kayak goes underwater. Cold water rushes over me, and I love it, even shout “Whoohooo” with the bounce and the splash.

Once the passage into the estuary is confirmed, we turn north to where we put in. The tide is still coming in and we fight it, along with the wind. It’s fun. No one else is around. Does that mean they’re smart enough to NOT be in the water at high tide?

We row hard toward the beach, determined to shove up far enough to stick in the sand. Goal accomplished. We drain the kayak, shove in the wheels and pull it up the cement drive and onto the dirt road. Our casita is the second house down, so we drop the kayak and rinse off under the outdoor shower.

We’re hungry and it’s time to find Chef Mickey’s Place, recommended by two locals we met the night before. Chef Mickey was on the TV show “Iron Chef” and one of his appetizers won first place. Without a reservation, we’re placed at a 4-top next to the door. I slide around next to Brent to get out of the way. More romantic that way anyway. We must order the prize-winning appetizer of dates stuffed with Gorgonzola and served with shrimp in a light cream sauce. Yum!!!

We both order a giant Margarita, though I’m not much of a drinker. I can’t taste the Margarita mix. With a drink this strong, I just sip it and gulp water. Within a few minutes, Brent looks very relaxed. Even his hair looks relaxed. He puts his arm on the back of my chair and says, “What a perfect day.” I agree.

We’ve had a beautiful, fun day driving and exploring.

A mariachi comes by and Brent requests “Sositas en Chihauhua.” Even though it’s a very old song, the singer knows it. Brent recalls a dinner in Mexico when he was young and Marco, the captain of his dad’s boat, requested the song. Three mariachi’s joined in and Brent never forgot it.

When the Mariachi finishes playing for us, he says, “I haven’t played that song in 25 years. Thank you for reminding me about it.” We tell him it seemed as though he plays it all the time. He even used his fingers to drum on the guitar, making us laugh.

Brent has bacon-wrapped shrimp with mushroom marsala sauce and I dine on shrimp in garlic butter with vegetables. Both are excellent!

“What a great day,” Brent says again after drinking his Margarita (and half of mine), smiling lazily.

‘I’m driving home,’ I think.

Stuffed and content, we head back to the casita and dream of how perfect tomorrow will be in Puerto Penasco.