The Eisendrath House

It's really quite terrible that I've never been to the Peterson House, which is basically the only Victorian house left in the Phoenix area besides the Rosson House in Downtown. So I was looking up to see when they're doing holiday tours this year, and what do I find on Tempe's website? The Eisendrath House. Tour days were only listed at a few a year--with one coming up that weekend. So I betook myself to the Eisendrath House posthaste to see what I could see. (The next tour day is coming up this Saturday 11/12/22.)

The home is a little newer, built in 1930 in the Pueblo Revival style. It's also passed through many hands over the decades. Unlike the Rosson House, which received quite the impression restoration, the Eisendrath House has simply been rehabilitated. The house that you enter now is, then, not entirely like the house you would have entered in 1930; it's simply been put back on its feet, not brought back to its original state. What I didn't know is that the city has recently taken over the house; the day that I went was the first day of their tours. So they're still fairly fluid as they settle in on a tour structure and learn what we want to know about--and learn more about the house.

While I generally consider myself a Victorian at heart (so even the Rosson House leans more towards the 20th century), lately more things have been drawing me towards that general 1930's era. While the wild 20's rocked away the last vestiges of the Victorian era, the 30's did have a certain classiness to them. And what was still considered a little wild in the 30's is considered classy today--like music, or even clothing. So I enjoyed sitting (figuratively) in the era of this house for a bit. 

There isn't much furniture in the house at the moment and, of course, nothing that was originally there. But what is there is enough to give that impression of the types of things that would have been in it in 1930. And that, too, I enjoyed. It's a Pueblo Revival style home, but Rose Eisendrath didn't furnish it in "Santa Fe style" or "western" furniture like we have today. She seems to have furnished it in the type of furnishings she would have used for any of her other houses. I do like that concept. If I were to move into a pueblo/western/Santa Fe style house, I could still put my Victorian-esque furniture and decor inside. If I were to move into a really modern, clean lines, lots of glass sort of house, I could still decorate it with my Victorian trinkets. I like the idea of keeping the style of what furnishings and decor you have for as long as you can--and fitting them into whatever style of house you are in. It doesn't detract from the style of the house itself (necessarily--I know that's a broad statement), so long as you're not actually altering the structure of the house. If there are beautiful wooden vigas/beams, for instance, don't paint them or cover them just because they're not your style; let them be and put your style in the furnishings. You can work in some details to connect it all--like, in this case, maybe some pottery. But I like the idea of bringing styles together (okay, which is also why I like the Victorian era--they loved juxtaposition). 

I ramble. But my point (rather than to tell you exactly what I saw or learned from visiting the Eisendrath House) is that visiting these places makes both for a wonderful way to spend an hour and for a great conversation starting point. It's always intriguing what speaks to each of us, what inspiration we gained from visiting the same little spot.

Mystery Castle's Freedom of Creativity

Castles represent our dreams and our imaginations, and so Mystery Castle is aptly named. This house at the base of South Mountain was built by Boyce Gully when he responded to his terminal illness diagnosis by moving to Arizona. He built the house with his daughter, Mary Lou, in mind, and after he died she came and lived in it for the rest of her life. 

South Mountain has never been my favorite section of the greater Phoenix area. The landscape is very scrubby, with both dirt and rock having not so much color as you'll find in other areas. It's all quite pale. And yet it's this scrubby paleness that makes Mystery Castle seem to fit so well into the surrounding scape. If the inspiration behind the house was sand castles, then this is indeed a desert sand castle, formed up out of the desert sand. 

The castle just closed for the summer, but beginning in October the tours will begin again. The tour in itself makes visiting the castle a fun and quirky experience. Your story is honestly admitted to be part fact and part fiction. You hear a bit about the history and the construction, but you also hear silly jokes and puns and tangents. 

Frank Lloyd Flight instead of Frank Lloyd Wright

And of course along the way you get to observe the inside and outside of the structure. There are so many details in the materials and the art that you could spend hours just taking it all in. The rocks here, the tile there, the painted snake in this spot, the pun written here, the prayer written there. Something of this style, something of that. Art from this culture, art from that. 

What you end up walking away with, besides the hour of diversion, is inspiration to be free. Mystery Castle is creativity run loose without any rules and without trying to please anyone. That's what makes it captivating. So that in turn becomes inspiring for all the little things we might do in our daily lives, whether making art, decorating our homes, planting a garden, or getting dressed. Adding in a little creativity brings an element of play into the everyday.

Step in Time

On the edge of Downtown Phoenix is a place that rightfully calls itself "Arizona's most unique live entertainment venue." It's called The Duce, and it's a warehouse speakeasy, a vintage-style eatery, and a true step back in time. Well, that last part is specifically in regards to their Wednesday night swing dancing, which is our focus for today.

You know when you watch videos of the Star Wars droid-builders? That's what it felt like stepping into this space; it was like finding a niche community brought into real life. One might go swing dancing just for the fun of getting out and being active and being around people, but generally this specific type of dance attracts those with a flair for the vintage. Especially given the venue's atmosphere, the evening is an escape from the twenty-first century. There is classiness (from the modern perspective) in swing dancing, and yet there is also this loose, rebellious type of freedom about it (which you can see when you look at what people thought about it a century ago when it was new). 

Whether you come semi-dressed-up or in plain clothes, with a vintage flourish or without, you'll fit into the space. Deciding on what shoes to wear, I almost forgot that I already own the perfect pair. My Rockport old lady comfort shoes (which you can apparently still buy, even though I've had them for years) fit in perfectly with that 1930's vibe--and being comfort shoes, they are, well, comfortable. Comfort's a must; lace-ups look just as good with a dress as anything else. Being, though, that I like going vintage, I was glad to know that I fit in just as I was. (Technically speaking, of course, the 19th century is more my era, so was going into the 20th century stepping backwards or forwards in time?)

If you go, the first part of the evening is the lesson. That's great of course if you've never been swing dancing before--though it's still a lot to pick up your first time. They rotate partners, so it really doesn't matter if you go with a partner or not. Dancing with different people ends up being a chance to learn something different with each person. You realize more about how you move when it's placed in contrast to different people. Even after the lesson, most people were dancing with multiple people throughout the night. 

That in itself is quite a classy, old world vibe. During the lesson, they gave a joking-toned admonition to let them know if anyone was creepy and they'll kick them out. In contrast to being a place where you have to watch your back, it's a safe space. It's like you really have gone back nearly a century to a time in which basic manners and respect are the norm. You can step on and off the dance floor with people you've just met and it feels natural. And might I add, too, that it's nice to (as a female) feel feminine with partners leading you in different steps. (Well, I guess it wasn't all traditional roles--I also danced with a fellow lady at one point, which was fun, too.)

I've been contemplating that concept of leading and following to make my obligatory metaphor. One of the things I learned (as someone who really hasn't danced at all) was that you have to maintain your frame (which, what do you know, also means your arms and not just your back/shoulders) in order for your partner to be able to lead you. That is, if you keep losing frame in your arms, it's harder for them to indicate which way they want you to go. So you have to be solid in yourself in order to be led. Are you sensing the metaphor yet?

It would seem like too much contrast. You might ask, isn't following the passive role, whereas leading is the active role? But the truth is passivity doesn't get you anywhere, even if someone's trying to lead you. And allowing yourself to be led isn't being passive; it's partnership. So in order to be part of a partnership, each person has to be active and whole. And in order to be active in one's own life, one must be stable and poised in order to react to whatever may come. (I could also keep the metaphor going to describe what it means to submit to God's leadership in life, but maybe that's enough rambling for now.)

So there we have it. Step into new spaces and you never know what you might find. Maybe it'll be a swinging, vintage speakeasy.

Let It Stay

Normally I don't post anything about the Images of America books. Usually they're not well-suited towards the typical reaction-to-a-book post, though I do quite like them. You can find one on whatever city or town you're interested in--and probably on your favorite state park or historic bridge, too. In fact, the sub-topics are so many now that I wonder how many total Images of America books there are about the greater Phoenix area.

I did have something to say about the Downtown Phoenix book: it was rather depressing. Phoenix history is fascinating because it's in many ways the history of the effects of industrialization. People had been settling in Arizona for decades, but Phoenix didn't really take off as this massive, constantly growing thing until it had a good water supply and a connection to the railroad. So the start of the boom for Phoenix was the turn of the century, when electricity and motor cars and refrigeration were on the rise.

It was quite a "cultural" place. You turn the pages of this book and find all sorts of beautiful or fascinating buildings. But then you get to the end of the caption and read "no longer standing" or "demolished in ___" and it's really quite sad. Like a lot of cities, Phoenix became quite awkward as people started settling more in the suburbs and focusing their attention into those places.

Think about even today. You'll go downtown if you're going to see a game or a show or if you work in one of the office buildings. But for a cute old town district, you go into the surrounding cities. For restaurants, probably the same, unless you're catching something right before the show or game starts--even if you are going to Phoenix, it's probably higher up than the downtown area.

Granted, the entertainment area is there in Phoenix (I miss you, Symphony Hall). Even some of the historical has been saved (looking at you, Heritage Square). And there is art, too, with First Fridays and the art galleries. But when you look at the pictures of great brick buildings that were smothered and then torn down, it's regretful that things didn't happen differently.

The hope is that when we build things, we build things for permanence. And when we look at a place, we also look at it with permanence. Instead of saying, what can we demolish, to say what is already here that we can continue to use? I don't like the idea of a place where buildings are torn down and rebuilt every few decades. How wasteful is that? Instead I hope that we can more often build things to stay and maintain the things that we have.

The Mountains Around Me

I used to find South Mountain strange. A long and skinny range below Phoenix that looked so much shorter than the mountains I was used to higher up north. The little peaks seemed sad somehow.

Maybe I just wasn't familiar enough with them. Now I quite like that little mountain range, now that I see it more regularly.

At dusk, the peaks take on an ethereal look in the fading light; they become little shadows of mist. And when the Phoenix sunrise comes right around them, the colors blossom. During the day, I've realized that South Mountain is notable not for the mountain itself but for the profile it makes against the sky. A jagged outline creates not a sad shape but an active one.

Years ago, the Papago Buttes used to disturb me slightly. Huge, rounded apertures in these sandstone formations looked to me like mouths crying out. The land seemed to literally express the pain of the world. Now, though, the perspective has changed. Now I don't look and see the crying mouths; now I look and see the outline of the buttes themselves. Lumps of rock with circles inside them like dents made in clay. Instead of seeing pain I see something sculpted.

And Camelback Mountain? Well, Camelback was never hard on the eyes, but now I see it so often from so many different points of view that I enjoy it especially. I've learned that you get the best view of it from the intersection at Scottsdale Road and Indian Bend, facing south. A distinctive camel shape, again often lit up from behind with the explosive Phoenix sunlight.

Then there are the Superstition Mountains, looking closer than they are and yet somehow also so far away that you can't quite see all of their details and splendor from the city. Sometimes they are foggy; other days they look clear. Often they are majestic, standing off there in the distance.

The city is flatter than what I realize I am used to. But still, if you look, there are plenty of shapes to follow. They are mainly on the edges, off on the outskirts, though some are right in the middle, as well. Maybe none of them are very tall, but they are all distinctive, such singular shapes that they take on the look of friends as you pass by them day after day. Such shapes, always appearing different throughout the day or with various types of lighting, always keep your eyes drawn in. Always there is plenty to see.