Technically it was the wee hours of the morning on July 5th but I still thought the loud crash at 2:07 A.M. was part of a random neighbor’s 4th of July home firework show.
As I registered the sound it occurred to me that what I heard was a loud THUMP followed glass breaking. G was already out of bed standing next to the door looking confused and adorable at the same time. We must have been a sight as I hunched down behind him, both of us scantly clad with bed head and slit eyes. He doesn’t question that my position hiding behind him ensures he will encounter the bad guy first but I still fell kind of guilty. 
We creep down the hall as graceful as cat burglars to the kitchen. It is at this time I suddenly realize if there IS an intruder we are barefoot and have no weapon. My heart starts pounding but is soon relieved to see this:
Somehow a blue vase has crashed to the ground. I am amp-ed up on adrenaline as grab a broom and start sweeping into the dustpan. Still in the doorway and groggy, G is watching me……so I say “here, make yourself useful” and hand him the dustpan handle. 
For SOME reason I get the giggles. Mostly because I realize I NEVER talk to him like that, and also because he does it on command. Note to self, if one ever decides to order G about take a chance at 2:08 A.M.
“Where did the painting go!?” I exclaim.
We look around the kitchen and G replies “Ghosts” which is the first word he has said so far. I keep sweeping and looking around for the painting.
“Maybe it was stolen.” I say and then we look at each other and BURST OUT LAUGHING. Perhaps I should explain our hysterics:
The missing painting was created by me at a recent Wine and Paint party at a gallery. To those who haven’t heard of Wine and Paint party here is the description: A group of friends attend a “class” hosted by a local gallery. Bring snacks & plenty of your favorite wine (oh, and an extra bottle to share with everyone else, wink). The instructor takes her happy artists on a step by step journey to paint the exact same thing. Blue background, oval, another oval, (mine is looking like a green vagina at this stage), swipe some color, blob here, dot there…
Soon the wine kicks in and jokes about giving each other the painting for Christmas and other such shenanigans ensue.
We are amazed at the different versions we have created and notice someone (far right bottom row) paints it perfectly (DEBBIE) complete with glitter. Next step, sign our masterpieces with sharpie and go home. Well ONE of us in the picture below (hint, the one with big earrings) looks a little TOO happy. (Wine remember?)
Soooo- back to what is now 2:09 A.M., and the absurdity of someone breaking in to steal my paining hits us hard. Giggling uncontrollably now while we look around, under, through for the painting. Really though, where is it? WHERE IS IT?? G finally realizes it fell behind the desk trapped perfectly so that it doesn’t hit the ground which is quite anticlimactic to my wildly imagined scenarios. I think the WALL JUST REJECTED MY ART
So we hang it back up, turn off the light and head back to bed. G is back asleep by 2:13 A.M. (How does he DO that?) I however am now fully awake writing this post. Sigh.
Way at the west end of the street on the north side we found a shop owned by a delightful couple. 
Salvador is showing the secure backing his wife uses on her designs.
Some of the shells are local, some are purchased, but all the work is hers.
He explained they live behind the shop and TODAY he was watching the shop and the kids while his wife was at a political luncheon for women.
Salvador’s pride in his wife’s work & her participation in the luncheon was delightful. We learned a lot about this couple in a short time from his story. They are part of the old traditions, and they are shaping in the future of their town. This is such a terrific mom and pop business. Please stop in the next time you are in Rocky Point. I know we always will.
By today’s standards the boys would be considered too young to be making a fire, climbing trails, staying on a mountain all day, shooting 22’s at an imaginary enemy. It is their experience to share and their memories together.
When someone shares a piece of their artistic soul, their art, you just KNOW that you are holding a piece of their heart in your hand.
Thank you Uncle O for such a memorable gift.
I told G “I can’t remember ever having been here before”. He tells me how he used to call on the Ajo when he was in sales in the 70″s. He held up his arm, pointed to his armpit, and says “here’s Ajo”. NOT true today! 
Expecting the worst, I was surprised at the cute renovations on the rows of old mining bungalows, restoration of Municipal buildings, and churches. 
Perhaps the most impressive is the tremendous amount of street art.
Not just art, each piece was meaningful and moving. Spent so much time here studying them, wondering about the artist, feeling the pain expressed through this beauty. Viewing them I felt overwhelming sadness, pain, anger, happiness, beauty. I touched the hot brick gently perhaps trying to connect with the artist to hug them and thank them for sharing their soul. A few examples below. 
Unfortunately there was not a fast food establishment and our tummies are protesting noisily. Perhaps lack of a modern drive thru fast food establishment is how it should be in this antique town. We stopped at the a local spot, 
MORAL OF THE STORY; Don’t judge a town by the 70’s , OR- G’s armpit is more artistic and lovely than previously thought.
the 51 is his retirement project that began with a rusted out old Ford. This picture is after he had done the first layer of body work.
So here it is just before paint, after hours and hours of patient body work. Lots of hours of hand sanding to get the angles right and the windows cut.
On to the engine which he kept on a stick covered with a Toys R Us bag. (Which I found appropriate).
shenaniganswithleannagainwebdotme 