One definition for the word colony is “a body of people living in a new territory but retaining ties with a parent state.” Wow, that’s sounds like us. I was pondering this recently and began categorizing our little society here in Rocky Point. We have the one-timers, the once-in-a-while folks, weekend warriors, snowbirds and of course the mentally disturbed regulars here year round. These observations produced some fun if not slanted thoughts about our community.
The one-timers are those brave souls that have ventured for the first time into a war torn land with rebels and banditos behind every cactus. They’ll have a lifetime of stories to tell about the dangers encountered while traveling thru such a perilous combat zone.
Our once-in-a-whilers enjoy it here, but the four hour drive from Tucson or Phoenix is too difficult for regular visits. They’re drawn to the Applebees down the street. With an innate fear of DUIs and after only two glasses of beer they’re forced to keep a vigilant watch for the law.
Weekend warriors are normally couples that use this place as a getaway, similar to a family cabin at the lake only the dude that owns the convenience store doesn’t understand a word of English and mastery of simple sign language becomes essential for survival. Additionally, the lake doesn’t offer a bevy of 13th street debutantes plying their wares in front of Irv’s Beer & Tackle Store.
Our snowbirds are by and large a good bunch, but let’s get serious-minded you spend six months playing the role of a toughened expatriate living in a far-off land then skedaddle back to the States at the first signs of warm winds. We describe these sorts as fair weather individuals only interested in attending the first half of a big game.
The full-timers are a different class altogether. These folks are on a journey and embark on their quests using a variety of lifestyles. You’ve got your students of Spanish & history, boozers, artistic types, midnight tokers, adventurers, religious–types, fishermen & boat owners, party girl mongers, old hippies, story tellers, lost souls, happy-go-lucky types and a few that stay miserably irritated with the entire world.
I’m in there someplace. I know the culture is different, the language can sometimes be difficult, potholes are bottomless and a nice car wash lasts about 2 hours, but when I wake-up in the morning and look in the mirror I see an old guy staring back with a ridiculous wry smile on his face. Yeah, baby, Dan McWhitis…