Notes from Almost Below Zero and Almost 2008

Well, not really below 0 but close enough to have to cancel driving lessons! But of course the skier can go have oodles of fun (cold fun, though), which she totally deserves. And up on the top of the Ski Basin it was -45 today with the wind chill. How can you people do that??
In honor of the end of 2007, a year of events for us and ours, I present here the first parking ticket of Santa Fe origin to grace our checkbook. It is a lovely design --- see how the faint print is obscured by the noble seal of the City of Santa Fe? One can hardly read the fine amount! ($16.00--$16)And there is the little ribbon within the seal with the dates of the three (post-conquest)countries of Santa Fe's government history: Spain - 1610, Mexico - 1821, and U.S. - 1846.
We received this for neglecting to put in the ha'pennies required for several hours parking starting at 8 am. Well, the 8 am part is true; you actually need a couple quarters.
Of course we ring in the New Year with Gruet. Also black-eyed peas (the comestible, not the band)for that southern touch of good luck. Please eat yours, too. We love you all.

The Devil Did It

Tonight is the 100+ yr.-old festival here in SFe called Las Posadas. Our first trip here, oh so many years ago, we just happened upon it one evening around 5 in the plaza. Absolutely captivating -- a mix of Old Word Catholicism and All World paganism.
The devil roams the rooftops of the plaza(assorted civic worthies in costume) spewing vileness and lack of hospitality to poor Mary & Joseph. So that was why there was no room at the inn --- the bad guys got there first! Finally, after visiting all four corners of the plaza in search of lodging (and an obstetrics unit, obviously) the Palace of the Governors relents and gives them shelter from evil and the cold. History is made and all is topped off with cookies, hot chocolate, pinon fires and carols in Spanish.

Cold Morning

Well, we've finally -inevitably-reached the point of insanity we swore we wouldn't achieve again: two cats have been added to the mixola here. Tom & Ducky are currently living in the little bedroom while we convince the dogs (well, Folly & Twist; Bodkin doesn't really care) that Satan did not send them to lead us all into Hell.
The shelters here are overflowing with cats (can we blame George W. Bush?) and it was just time to make good on our re-surfacing laments, "Gee, I miss having a cat..." Should be an interesting winter.
It's Friday, which means I'm off work, for we have winter hours at my job! Fireplace blazing, jammies still on --- a Friday off is pretty much heaven. Not that I have nothing to do, mind you. It occurs to me that most of you have no idea what this publishing job I've landed is. Next year we'll have 6 million issues of 60+ slow food, local & sustainable agriculture magazines around the US and Canada. I get to be "Director of Operations" --- sounds a little like the CIA, huh? It really just means I have lots of things to do and occasionally a small fire to extinguish. Here's a photo of Edible San Francisco to give you all an idea. Check it out. Also on the web! for you modernists.

Santa Fe Time

Here's a good little story of our time & place. M. comes home and says "Squash your inner Scrooge tonight because we're going to watch the Santa Fe Christmas Tree lit at 5:30 at the statehouse. No arguments. I'll make it worth your while." She had it on Good Authority (a flexible term, apparently) that the tree would be lit between 5:30 and 5:45 pm. There would be charming schoolchildren there (from Waldorf, actually) singing charming carols. So I roused my inner Norman Rockwell, bundled up, and inquired, "Where are our flasks?" Perhaps a bit obvious, so we settled for a large coffee mug from El Indio in San Diego and a discreet stainless steel mug from nowhere. The "coffee" was actually Gruet champagne; staying local, as always.
As we pull up to the statehouse at 5:25 I gestured and said, "Is that the tree there, the all-lit-up one with many colors??" Sadly, yes. Our local source got the time wrong. I, however, was in a more celebratory mood than I thought possible because the flask and the lack of carols (people were fading away at this point) meant we could make our way to the tree without a tiresome crowd and enjoy the prettiness as one slightly modified curmudgeon and her chastened wife. It was fun! Let's do it that way next year!

Winter Activities

Here we are back in Santa Fe after a whirlwind weekend (movie title?) in San Francisco. Good whirlwind but bittersweet as always. Contrasts, contrasts. Eat, drink, be merry, fly away.
I took Margarita carriage driving last week. Well, it was actually a little marathon cart. A pair pulls that cart, and we had sleigh bells on Lady because the weather is cold enough. We trip-trapped, jingle-belled down the road and back for a mile or two in the open country northeast-ish of Santa Fe. Happy ponies in the cold were quite frisky. I'm more competent at driving just a single now, so my very wonderful instructor sits with me when I drive the pair. See photos.

Tipperary, PSAT, & Truffle Oil

What are you reading? I so much prefer that question at a cocktail party to "So what do you do?" Well, I'm reading lots of stuff: Blood & Thunder, The Origins of the First World War (surprise), and about to start reading a certain person's thesis, titled "Syntactic Strictures: Errors of Grammar, Style and Usage on the PSAT". How fun is that?
Blood & Thunder tells me that New Mexico was violent and dangerous to live in even before the Cerrillos Road corridor was built. But pretty darn fascinating and beautifully written. Finally I read it, after 825 people told me to. Thank you, Elizabeth.
And what are you cooking? Made a fun little pizza last night with truffle oil and arugula and sheep's milk cheese. Oh, and an egg on top for me.
And what are you listening to? A new favorite around here is Architecture in Helsinki (of course just the name is hard to resist), and I have a newly compiled CD of World War I favorites, quite good sound quality, in case anyone needs a stocking stuffer. It's bound to be this year's Cool Gift. And reasonably priced.

On the Road Again

Clearly I'm not gifted in the dailiness of journal writing. Tried, can't. So here I am close to 4 weeks after my last post, again in Chicago. Not in the library today, since the laptop accompanied us here. It's a conference, and I got to tag along. Well, I needed some new shoes, and Akira in Chicago is just the Best Place Ever for such projects. Yes, already went there and found much but bought only one pair. Such restraint.
Last night we dined with dear old friend Shane and his fabulous child Hayden, all of us (except H.) transplants from San Francisco. Tonight it's the free night at the Art Institute, so we'll be roaming around there for some time. This being in places so very different from San Francisco is something I think I appreciate so much more now that I'm older and not the roving college student. Is it about confidence or experience? For some reason I'm just more accepting of getting "lost", which I think is a good way of truly feeling one's way round a place. I like the challenge of getting out of the lostness. I guess it's another puzzle, like figuring out irregular verbs.

Abiquiu

Abiquiu in fall is dramatic in a different way. Very sharp light variations & all the sunflowers lining the roads have gone dry and brown, soon to collapse and return to the earth. And when the clouds obscured the sun it was really quite cold. Twist had to be on a long lead, because of his twice disappearing to hunt critters and not returning for Some Time. But Folly and Bodkin were happy adventurers. Folly goes off in one direction for a while and returns from the opposite direction. Magic. The water level is substantially higher than in the summer --- perhaps some volumes of rain since then from way upstream? The shoreline we occupied over the summer is under water now, so we pitched camp farther up the hill and tied Twisty to a log. Miraculously, he did not yip and complain. The water was tested by MCR with several strokes and two dunks under water. That was it. Even compared to SF Bay it was Way Too Cold. Welcome to the change in season. So we finished our picnic, packed up and climbed back up the hill. Really a perfect Sunday in Abiquiu.

Addendum: No Sazeracs

Plans changed, somewhat. Drinks and dinner were at Harry's Roadhouse, then a quest for a tattoo parlor ensued (not for me, truly), which was fruitless (tattoo parlor closed at 9 on a Friday night ---- good sign or bad sign?), so we regrouped and had to go to the Dragon for a manhattan, a cosmo, and the Yellow Pages. Lo, we found another tattoo parlor, which I thought I could nose our way to. Well, it's pretty dark here, especially on the fringes of town, and I didn't get actually lost, but let's just say I was misplaced for a few miles. Mind you, the friend I was "leading" has lived here for only a year, so we were pretty much living the blind parable. Eventually (with the calm telephone support of MCR who was in New York last night), I found my way back to civilization, whereupon my friend and I decided her tattoo wasn't meant to be last night, and we both took a rain check. We had fun, though. But I want to retrace my steps in the daylight and find out just where I went astray....

Is the Sun Over the Yardarm Yet?

It's Friday here in Santa Fe, too. I have plans to go to a cool watering hole, in honor of Friday afternoons in SFo. It's called the Dragon Room Lounge--- come on, what better name? And since it's an hour later here than in SFo, I'll be there, effectively, at 3 pm! Here's a photo of the Pink Adobe, wherein you'll find the Dragon. Hard to resist. Wait till you see the multiple tin and glass lanterns hanging from the ceiling inside.

I'll check tonight to see if they have Fernet. But my new drink of choice is a Sazerac, known as the father of all cocktails. Of course it's from New Orleans. Let's go there next.

Another October Red

Today I babysit the office since the others are off on busyness trips. Thank goodness for iTunes radio. I can listen to PlayClassicalUK with Mr. Lambourn while I update databases and other bits and pieces. Phone and email are quiet.
It's time now to find a ristra wreath for the car. The chiles are harvested and being roasted all over the place in various store parking lots. Big black barrels rotate over flame while people stand in line with enormous burlap bags of fresh green chiles waiting their turn for roasting. You see this all over town. The aroma is beyond belief. The ristra chiles are red, however, usually, traditionally, and when you see them hanging in quantity, some 2-3 feet in length, the effect is a magnificent experience of red.

Escape No More

The birds are eating us out of house and home in their October efforts to bulk up for the winter. They empty the feeders at least twice a day. At any given time there can be 20+ birds active around the 3 feeders. Big blue jays of various types tend to push everyone around, and the aspens are changing raiment from green to yellow. Something unfamiliar is a wonderful rusty red now. Last weekend we had to reinforce the back stretch of fence to keep Steve McQueen from escaping yet again. It was accomplished thus: we dug a trench along the base of the fence, about 5 inches deep. Then we unrolled a 2-ft. wide length of chicken wire the whole stretch of the fence, 1/2 of the wire upright along the fencing and 1/2 flat on dirt at a right angle to the fence. One of us staple-gunned the chicken wire to the fence posts, and the other hammered the chicken wire onto the dirt with large spikey things. Then we shoveled the dirt back over the chicken wire. Very very sore hands after all this. And of course McQueen found a spot on the other side of the yard to start digging a new tunnel in. It's time to call in the professionals and just line the rest of the fence with railroad ties and call it a day. Thank goodness our Steve has no motorcycle.

Birthday Presents

I now very nearly know my way around, and I'm graduating to finding Back Roads. Everything is circuitous here, few right angles, pretty much Old Word. I like that. It is a good exercise for delaying Alzheimer's, as well as reminding one that predictability isn't always a good thing. Oh, and I have a new bike. Well, a bike. Didn't really have an old one. It is a gift. I do love it. My first excursion was down the road to the oldest restaurant in Santa Fe, which we rather like. Alas, the road back was a slight uphill grade, and my unpracticed, sea-level constitution just didn't like all that on a bicycle at 7000 ft. So I now have bicycle homework.

Re-entry

Our firewood arrived one day after we returned from SFo. A cord of pinon and a mixed cord of oak and cedar. Stacked and ready (could that be a dubious film title?). Part of it had to be stacked near the property-line fence, so of course Twist decided it was a perfect climbing structure from which to launch himself next door and visit and neighbor's dog. So my assignment today, Saturday, among other important things, is to lower the height of that particular stack. I think bringing inside a fair amount of it will do the trick, as well as make the house redolent of pinon & cedar even before we light a fire.

I started this post about a week ago. Clearly, re-entry takes up one's time. For instance, we had a fabulous visit from 2 special SFo friends last weekend, and now we are back in the thick of regular existence, if it can be called that. Tonight is Back-to-School Night ---- you all know what that means!! The air has been deliciously cold & crisp in the mornings. And then it can be quite warm during the day. So now we get to shop online for "winter boots!" I have my eye on a few possibilities. Maybe 3 or 4. Could be a long winter.

My driving lesson on Thursday, yesterday, was completely enthralling, as usual. There is room for Nothing Else in my head when I'm driving a horse & cart --- just think about controlling a horse while also maneuvering a vehicle. Nothing automatic about this transmission. Maybe I'll take a photo of where I am next time and post it. Interestingly, my instructor is a pilot for his day job, and he loved my WW1 aviation calendar. When worlds collide. Maybe I should lend him my copy of the book Horses Don't Fly. I'll leave it to you to guess the Venn Diagram of that one.

September Thoughts

It feels a very long time since we left San Francisco and yet no time at all. So it appears that all this while we have 2 homes, both SFs. If we continue in this pattern, though, yet another home would logically be....San Fernando? Not going to happen. We're happy with 2. Especially these 2 because they're The Best.
So the birthday week wanes but peaks with seeing amazing, sweet, affectionate friends who could not be more interesting, funny, fun, and true blue.
You all give us the depth and length of real sustained friendship that both consoles and inspires. Haven't cried yet, but here it comes.

Fickle Muse

Yesterday, I swear, I had a brilliant inspiration for this post. The muse was there, but I did not write it down (Where was I? Not the car -- I'd write it down there.), and the fickle thing deserted me. I know the kernel was floating round my mind with the banner "Really Really Good Idea". Now it seems all I have left is the unoriginal musing on the muse.
In 2 days we revisit SFo, for the first time, with excitement, nostalgia, and affection waxing.

From the Road

In the big city now, in the very beautiful Harold Washington Library in downtown Chicago. Rather a switch from charming little SFe. But I've always loved the big cities as well as the little towns. Bookends, really. Walking along I noticed a sign for FLAX ---Flax! Drawn to it like a magnet I anticipated stocking up on all the lovely papery/inky things I think I need, but, alas, although it is the same as the one in SFo, it had shut and presumably moved to a more salubrious location. Well, just the sign alone was a tonic. Who knows what else I'll stumble on to bring back to the hinterland? Should I be stocking up for the winter, bringing back sacks of flour on the buckboard? Perhaps that's what the Internet is for now.
I go back home tomorrow; I miss it, however much I may enjoy the city for a while.

Sad Update

Alas, our friend Flicker died within 24 hours after arrival at the Wildlife Center. We received a letter with the news. Birds often do not do well when traumatized by large, well-meaning (?) creatures. Few of us do. So, farewell, very pretty bird. We have several of your feathers --- quite striking things --- saved in your remembrance.

License to Be New Mexican

We have finally received our NM license plate, long after getting library cards and driver's licenses, let alone the other accoutrements of citizenship. (We have voter ID cards here --- remember the flap about how Americans are too something to stoop to national IDs?? Obviously some Americans are more American than others, right Mr. Orwell?)
The plates here are in this pattern: ### ABC. Just like the California plate of yore, except in reverse. (Nostalgia for those old black/orange plates without commentary on them.) And here one can also get plates that 1)support the Lobos 2)sport one's combat veteran status 3)have hot-air balloons on them 4)have a simple green-on-yellow motif. We chose the 4th one. Maybe someday we'll be Lobos supporters, but most likely we will not acquire NM combat veteran status, and the balloon just isn't us.

Our Friend Flicker

In honor of the scarlet flash on either cheek of our latest wildlife friend, I write this in bright red. He/she is a Red-Shafted Flicker (a songbird), whom I found today being used as an unwilling toy by Folly-dog. Presumably the bird was wounded before (although no blood evident)because I can't imagine how else Folly could've gotten to her other than on the ground. Folly was most intrigued: is it a rodent with feathers that feel weird in my mouth? Fortunately, she's pretty gentle and obedient, so she left it when I told her to, and I could then pick it up. Flicker then was gently boxed and taken to the Wildlife Center about 20 minutes north, where they were most grateful and promised to do their best to heal her/him.
And just yesterday Twist had a little adventure next door, where he managed to squeeze his determined little self under a spot in the fence we weren't aware existed and proceed to ignore our calls for 45 minutes while he worried some poor creature deep in the neighbors' woodpile. Darn terriers. Once we located him (I'm considering belling him.), we extricated him with a firm grip on his tail, which is exactly what Patterdale tails are designed for. Finally put one part of him to good use.
The fence has been reccyed but good today and all even theoretical escape hatches plugged solidly.

Back In Time

Today I drove a horse for the first time ever. She is a sorrel mustang with excellent manners, who was rescued as a yearling from the abbatoir. Of course her name is Lady. (Just like one of Almanzo Wilder's pair: Prince & Lady) My teacher is named Mike and is quite elegant. We drove down a dirt road, then onto the macadam, in a little two-seat cart. The harnessing is elaborate --- I have homework to do before my next lesson a week from tomorrow.
It's so odd using only nuanced hands and gentle taps of the whip to send signals to the horse. For obvious reasons, there is no leg or one's own weight to communicate with. I also have to remember that it is indeed a vehicle with the original horsepower and that I have to watch where I position it on the road. It's almost like I'm 15 again and learning to coordinate a car. Learning this, however, completes my personal concept of a horsewoman: the ability to harness and drive a horse as well as ride astride. Yes, I wore a helmet. Even in NM we're careful. And I have to go buy my requisite brown driving gloves. Have to be brown.

Parallel Play

Here's a snapshot of a typical Sunday evening here in New House in SFe. One person is tucked into a large armchair in the living room, surrounded by dogs in various stages of repose. She has her laptop out, her earphones in, a 1/2-empty bottle of Gruet by her side, and is laughing & crying to multiple episodes of "Mad TV." The other person is in the kitchen making cauliflower soup. Her entertainment is a CD of Jane Eyre, read by Emma Fielding in a perfect Midlands accent. During occasional lulls in preparation she also pulls out her knitting while listening closely to Jane's thoughts on Mr. Rochester.
The soup is praised during dinner. One person is admonished for settling for an ordinary Chardonnay when she could be drinking tequila. Then there is post-prandial dog exercise in the front yard. The equipment consists of a tennis racket & pink tennis ball as well as a practice polo mallet. An overly enthusiastic dog narrowly misses being brained by the mallet. Polo ponies have a lot to put up with.
So the sun descends on a satisfactory Sunday in Santa Fe. Monday looms, but it will have its moments, too.

Living Well

Hints of fall today, both in light and in air movement and temperature. I started re-reading, again, Sara & Gerald, about my favorite Americans abroad in the '20s. Perhaps I feel something like a San Franciscan abroad these days. Sara and Gerald lived in Europe for quite some time, yet always remained Americans, in the best sense. I hope I remain a San Franciscan in the best sense, wherever we live.
Gerald talked about the invented part of life being the only part of real lasting value. He meant the creative part, the part one has jurisdiction over, not the parts of life that bowl one over, haunt and disappoint. Active creation and invention for not just oneself but for those one loves and respects is the lasting satisfaction in our brief existence.
Invention, however, is not an escape. It is taking the power and transcending.
Remember I jokingly threatened philosophizing in the last posting?

Yet More Storms

We're into August now, with some pretty bang-up storms. Yesterday, Sunday, we drove back from a day north swimming in the Chama River and headed directly -- quite visibly -- into a massive downpour, replete with lightning that looked to be just yards in front of us. Twice we had to pull over to the roadside. This was perhaps a good 20 min. of storm, then -- nothing. Dry. Blue sky with a few white clouds. Driving out a storm --- pretty exciting for the girls from California.

Lest you think that all I do is report on weather that is bowling over the newbies, there is also lots of philosophizing, recipes, fortune-telling, and travel tips headed your way. Just kidding.

In and out of storms, literally and figuratively. Here's the figurative part:
I do think we are now in the Storm of Transition from parents with children who live with us to parents of children who are off in the world, somewhere. And we have compounded this storm by moving to another place, another state, another world. Transition in Spades for the whole family. But of course this transition was destined, no matter where we lived or stayed. They grow up and they go away, and then you especially realize you're mortal because little people don't need you every minute. And it's not just the needing; it's also the wanting and loving and tolerating. Not to mention the bathing and transporting.
But I'm happy to ride out the current storm into the next dry spell. It's a ride we love & appreciate, no matter what.

Bataan

I thought of this topic because of the Bataan Memorial here in Santa Fe. Why here, you ask? Well, a large portion of the soldiers on that march (May 1942 -- more homework)were from a New Mexico National Guard division [200th Coast Artillery--
http://www.globalsecurity.org/military/agency/army/arng-nm.htm]

And Margarita and I have always had the Bataan Death March in mind whenever we think there is something unbearable in our path. Perspective dictates the mantra "It's not the Bataan Death March". Last August we were in Chicago taking Malcolm to his first year in college there, with the attendant sadness, nostalgia, pride, and worry. She and I took a walk over the river there on a handsome iron bridge, mulling over the emotions in all of us during that milestone 5 days in Chicago. It was one of our "not the Bataan Death March" discussions. Yes, it's wrenching to take your youngest to college and leave him in a strange city; contrary to all natural parental feelings. But there are also good, important aspects to such a transition, for all concerned. Hence, not the Bataan Death March. And, as we reached the opposite side of the river we read the bronze plaque naming this bridge(bronze plaques are so often worthwhile). I know you know the name of the bridge: The Bataan Memorial Bridge. Revelation & confirmation.

Territory

The reference to territory is a hark to history, when New Mexico was a territory, not a state. It became a territory, just after the Mexican-American War, in 1850, interestingly enough on 9 September, the same day when California became a state in 1957. New Mexico, however, remained a territory till 1912. Also interesting is that my favorite architectural style here in NM is called territorial (your homework is to research that --- I can't provide all the education here). And does anyone remember the old TV show "Tombstone Territory"? That was pretty enthralling to a small child. Territory has the cachet of a bit of wilderness, something still out of bounds but with degrees of civilization, not too much. And just look at this cool old map.

Astounding

Tonight, just a very short while ago, we had an astounding thunder/lightning/rain storm. I have never seen the dogs so stressed. Poor Folly was panting and shaking beyond belief. The lightning came so close that Marg made us go away from the windows and turn off electrical things. Spooky. And then there was the torrent of rain. While I consoled the dogs with my reassuring presence in one room, Marg had to buffer the door to the annex with towels to prevent water surging under the door and into the room. I made her wait till the storm passed to go outside and sweep the excess water down the drain. The only other time we had to do such things was, actually, in SFo some years ago, before we built the extension off our kitchen. The decking outside the kitchen was clogged between the planks with dirt, etc. and a powerful rainstorm came in that built up enough water on our deck to threaten coming into the kitchen. What to do?? Grab barbeque skewers and go out there in the pouring rain (no lightning, fortunately) and get soaked while sawing away at the grooves between the planks to create a place for the rain to go other than our kitchen. A memorable event. It sure bent the ^&$**#* out of our skewers. Good thing we don't barbeque much.

The Chic Life

So many things are just eternal, wherever one lives, apparently. Here I sit waiting now for 5 hours for the stove repair person, who phoned 2 hours ago saying he'd be here in 1 hour. This would be the first day since I started working here in SFe that there are crucial things I have to accomplish today. But I'm not there; I'm here. I've already: folded clothes, put them away; emailed more than I care to admit; done some obscure searching online for a cooktop to replace the one allegedly being repaired today, just in case; moved my things from one handbag to another; put off lunch because nothing here is interesting and I truly thought I would be gone by now (1 pm)....He's here.

The Iron Grip

I think I have spoken with at least 3 people in San Francisco today and left messages for several others. Everyone says how beautiful the weather has been, but I know they're exaggerating, right?
This seems to be one of the Harder Times: the consuming drama of buying, selling, moving, unpacking, establishing & tidying is now winding down, and the Missing of People has set in with a worrying tenacity. I knew it would come -- I wonder now, how long does it keep its iron grip? Funny how the "To Sir With Love" theme song is now playing on my iTunes. Friends and change and love.

City & Country

We live in town, but our house is on a dirt road. There are chic, high-heeled-shoe boutiques and western boot outlets. Some of our recycling is picked up at the house; the rest we drive way out of town (farther than Tunnel Road?). In theory it's permissible to ride one's horse downtown around the plaza. Posh restaurants abound. The museums attract aficionadi from around the world, and international art fairs draw gallery curators of note. The food is both on the cutting edge of culinary modernism and solid, traditional corn, beans, squash. And there are no fines at the public library.
It's a funny mix: excitement and melancholy.
Still haven't found a horse to ride.

Time Flies

Yes, it's been well over a month since I wrote anything. During that time there has been a brief visit by a disgruntled 20-yr. old (guess who?) and daily invasions by wonderful tilers who are getting the guest annex smartened up a bit so it can welcome our friends and family in the near future. The big coyote fence in the back is nearly finished, so the dogs can run free up to a point. It's called a coyote fence not only because it deters coyotes (although we do live in town) but also because the bark is left on the narrow cedar logs and it looks like coyote fur. A very beautiful fence.
I am officially working at Edible Communities --- we publish all the Edible magazines around the country. Can't believe my good fortune. Such nice people doing interesting good things around food & sustainability & local growers. There's an Edible Santa Fe somewhere around Tognetti's desk for you to check out.....
And I'll bring some samples when we're back for the Tiburon Mile in September. Save the date: Hukilau 14 September. I have to see where to get Frenet here in SFe so we can entice a few of you out here. There is tequila, you know, oodles of it, practically for sale on street corners. Not really.
Today I made 2 trips to the recycling center WAY out of town in a rather beautiful area, among other errands. We have recycling pickup here only every other week, and I'm sorry to say we have too many cardboard boxes around here to be attractive, so I like to get them out of here pdq.
Picnic on the Plaza tonight with some sort of live music on the bandstand. We'll scooter down, since Plaza parking, especially in summer, is just as bad as certain SFo areas.
More photos to come.

Church Bells

At 6 in the evening I hear church bells in the distance. I know they're real, not electronic, because this is New Mexico, with some of the oldest churches and belfries in the country. Sitting in the warmth with church bells ringing vespers calls to mind Italy or old Mexico, perhaps Spain or Portugal(where I've never been), even San Francisco in our old neighborhood. What a lovely, calming ancient sound to hear in the summer. And since it's high desert, we have aspens rustling in the evening breeze as well. Time to make dinner.

3 Coats

Three coats, two cookbooks, a caulking gun, and a Willoware bowl describes the contents of a pretty typical box unloaded in the last week. Who packed that one?? Most likely one of us, because no Devoted Friend would pack so haphazardly. Only we who were on the verge of Just Not Giving A Damn Anymore would go there.

Since a week ago today we've been wearing our little selves to the bone unpacking. It's been wonderful re-connecting with Precious Things, even discovering things we had no idea had been packed or even kept. Of course, several boxes designated as give-aways in SFo stowed away on the moving truck and are now to be give-aways in SFe. Since arriving here we've had most of a coyote fence built to keep the dogs in their own yard, one backed-up sewer line, divine warm weather with several thunder + lightning rainstorms, a mani-pedi, 2 massages, some tequila, a visit from a sister, dinners, and lots of fun figuring things out. And the USPS managed to forward a piece of mail here addressed not to us but to a neighbor on Magellan Ave. in SFo! Oh, dear. Hardly a good sign.

On the way down SE we listened to Sissy Spacek read To Kill A Mockingbird on CD. Since we didn't finish it on the road, we've been listening in the evenings after dinner and in the mornings with tea. Not a word is extraneous in that book. And now we'll have it as a memory of our first days here, knowing that there are good things and good people in a world that too often seems only full of bad.

Capers and More Capers

This has so far been a Memorial Day Weekend full of memories. Saturday the 26th saw the final disassembling of a home of 15 years, down to the milk from the refridgerator and the last bobby pins from the bathroom. We had a stalwart group of dear dear friends show up throughout the day to help/participate/visit. The rations consumed included: coffee, yesterday's pizza, beer, wine, champagne, tequila, sushi (of a vast and colorful assortment---such a welcome donation). The pantry yielded 2 or 3 large boxes of foodstuffs that friends took home with them to remember us by. But the mochi came with us, again. When we moved 15 years ago into that house, we brought the mochi in the fridge from Noe Valley. We speculated that Doug or Malcolm might take it to college with them and that, if not, we'd end up taking it with us should we ever move. So truth is stranger than fiction. This is the mochi from 1992. We will never open it, for that will disempower it as a talisman.

Some friends came away with really good door prizes ---- like a pedestal sink. Various boxes of shoes were given new homes. We kept, however, the dogs. There were, I think, several offers to take Twist, but he is one of our 3 favorites, so we declined. The day moved into the evening, when a little phone call from Doug added a novel spin to moving day. He and 4 friends had decided to walk from Palo Alto to the southern end of the GG Bridge on just that Saturday. We had updates on their progress throughout the day. The little phone call from Doug came at perhaps 6 pm: "We're in Daly City on Skyline Blvd., and my friend has had an allergic reaction---can you come take him to the hospital?" Of course. Two mintues later: "We've called an ambulance instead" . (Better idea.) "Can you come get the rest of us so we can go to the hospital with him?" Again, of course. So off I go with one of the Dear Friends to rescue the college boys stranded in extremely fog-bound Daly City and reunite them with their comrade. Reunion completed, we made sure the comrade was stable and treated, then returned home to stuff the remaining sushi into our v. hungry selves. We then turned round, drove 2 cars (one belonging to a Dear Friend) back to the hospital in Daly C., left one with Doug to ferry his friends back to school with, then went back home yet again. We were very tired. This adventure was described as yet another "caper" by one Dear Friend. It was time to say "See you Tuesday" to all and to all a good night.

Off to Sleep & Dream of Horses

Not I --- our niece, Jade. We will not see her often now, and up to now we've seen her very very often, lots of sleepovers in her plaid sleeping bag on the floor with the flowered lantern for reading. All the dogs wanted to join her there, either burrowed down into the bag with her or, in the case of the dog that weighs more than Jade does, draped across her, pinning her to the floor with love and body mass. Last night on the phone just before her bedtime she mentioned she'd been reading about caribou ("Do caribou lay eggs?"), so I said that there may not be caribou in New Mexico, but there certainly are horses. We'll go riding together in New Mexico, I told her, now off to sleep and dream of horses.

Acquisition

The more I bustle around this Big City getting things done and just getting things, the more I think about the lack of opportunity for acquisition, for nearly instant gratification, that will be in the forefront of living in the Littler City (much littler). Here all is available --- food, drink, clothing, oddities, desirables, temptations, experiences --- and often within a small period of time. And is this a good thing? It certainly is gratifying, and, without slouching toward puritanism, I do wonder if perhaps a bit of deprivation (relatively speaking) isn't such a bad thing. To have to wait just a bit, to reflect on what you think you've decided to do or get. There will, of course, be concomitant frustration, especially for those of us so accustomed to Big City speed and satisfaction.

The Last Pastry

A friend wrote a note recently, a line of which I take liberty in quoting: ".....the countdown begun and every last pastry could be your last for quite some time from that place, whichever one it is." That place. Yes, indeed. It's interesting to contemplate the last meal, the last cigarette, the last kiss. How do we really know (unless we're on the scaffold) that it is the last? And last can be okay: the last lap, the last question on the SAT, last call. I'm not sure I want to get caught up in lasts. I'd like to function more on a continuum, ebbing & flowing, having experiences merge and complement each other. The older I get the less I see sharp distinctions in life; the influences show their inherent relativity and are, to me, somehow more comforting that way. But I've always been an asymmetrical kind of person.

Driving Into Town

This will most likely not be a poetic post. Exhaustion has set in, and coherence may suffer. Our latest adventure was the misguided attempt to trade in 2 cars for 1 at a dealership! Fools rush in.....A tiresome hour later we pulled back out of the lot in our 2 cars, resolving, yet again, never to go near a car dealership. We have now resorted to carsdirect.com. At least there's some distance and the prospect of a car being delivered to one's own house. Amazing. There must be a catch somewhere, right? Ah, cars ---- a bane and a curse, but, oh, so useful! I am more than ever commited to my plan to learn to drive a horse & wagon in SFe, something I've wanted to learn for a long time. Romantic folly, perhaps, but also such fun. Whatever happened to fun?

More Than A House

How do you leave a house that's more than a house? The sounds are salient: specific doors close in ways pertinent to each child; stairs creak idiosyncratically; water flows differently in each bathroom; the hum of the dryer floats up and around from the garage. Occasionally the fridge beeps because it is left open while rummaging happens.
The sounds seem the strongest. Especially at night when there is little to compete with them. The exhalation of breath when the front door softly closes at 2 am, and you know someone you love is home safe, yet again.

We came here a long time ago. To leave is hard for us all in our own ways. But it is inevitable, whether now or later, however later. Home is a House in our Hearts that floats, drifts, settling when the venue and time are right, and becoming a physical presence.

May Day

This is the first day of the last month. It is also the last day of the staging of our house, the tarting-up into "generic hip" that was to have helped sell it. The tray of blue martinis in the back room (non-alcoholic, to be sure) is a dead giveaway on the hipness. Won't miss those. What we will be left with after the removal will be:

1. three beds
2. 3 sofas
3. a desk, a chair, a lamp, this computer (thank goodness), a printer, a fax
4. some kitchen things
5. a dining table and chairs (but not for long because we're selling them--check for the flyer)
6. oh, and some clothes and oddments of towels and sheets

This is perilously close to camping. Only the indoor plumbing and modern electricals lie between me and That Existence. I cling to my duvet for reassurance.

The dogs, too, will welcome the departure of the staging. They will now be able to rocket around on bare floors, hardly a stick in their way, their shrieks echoing, damn loudly, all over the house. We won't have to keep them away from the blue martinis, either. The poor things have been bewildered long enough with their very non-regular last few months. All in all, though, they have been troupers and serve as examples of pluckiness that we humans ought to follow.

Margarita is back tonight from a whirlwind 36-hour trip to Santa Fe. She has lots of lovely photos of the house, so I now remember how much I like it. And since we only ever saw it with a foot of snow on the ground, the revelation of a wonderful rambling 1/3-acre yard is even more uplifting. I feel quite lucky and know I should rise above the crabbiness about the staging since it will soon be Of the Past. So, you see, the title of this entry is not a call for help but a celebration of the coming of Spring & Newness (with a nod to the IWW and Rainbow Grocery).

Distressing Lack of Books

Books in our house are now at a premium. Everything is in storage somewhere in Hayward. Everything. We are so used to saying, "Oh, yeah, let's look that up" or "I know we have a photo of that in X book". Then you turn to the shelf where that book has stood for years, and it's not there. But you see it in your sad, deluded mind. They're like friends with very big vocabularies, just waiting to be consulted and visited from time to time. I tend to re-read books, specific ones in cycles. How nice it will be to see them all again, out of boxes, breathing, looking around at their new shelves, waiting for new friends from New Mexico funky book stores to take up residence as well.
In the meantime it is fun, though, to return to the public library, like when the children were young, and find books you weren't even looking for. Santa Fe has just opened a new library, it's second (at least, I think)---pretty good for a town of about 65K people. Hope it's open on Sunday.

Phone Number Challenge

If you could have the Pefect Phone Number what would it be? A new version of your childhood number? Something very symmetrical? For those of us who have esoteric opinions about things like address numbers, this dilemma is indeed burning. Our new prefix will be 98something. From there I come up with pleasing, lyrical combinations, check with the phone company and have my hopes dashed every time. Other people have commandeered my phone number creativity! Or maybe they don't even know what a good number they have. Margarita suggests contacting those with the best numbers and persuading them--gently--that it is in their best interest to surrender the number they clearly do not appreciate. I think I'll just go with the flow on this one. I shall accept the number the phone company has bestowed. At least it's not too horrible.

The Big Fight

No, not something lucrative on pay-per-view. This is the probably inevitable meltdown when two devoted and committed adults leap over the cliff called "Selling a House". Don't worry--no dirty laundry here, just the admission that the lows in this process come to us all, sneak in at unsuspected moments, and ultimately remind us to look on the bright side!
What did I say earlier about rut-ville? It's now more like traversing a mine-field. Where are those darn sappers anyway?

A Restless Native?

The native is from San Francisco. Now there's a place to leave after 20+ years. Born there. Educated there till college. Ten years away in higher education. What will become of me when I no longer have the cachet of nativity, detailed knowledge, and an elaborate history? I guess there's something to be said for re-invention. Or maybe just a little re-arrangement of the pieces I like best and casting off those I regret. It's all a good obstacle to scale, though, and keeps me (with luck) out of rut-ville for the next few years.
I am happy with the move to a place that is inland but also desirable. Those of us who relate to the New Yorker cover of the northeast coast and the California coast as the only two bastions of civilization girdling a wide swath of hinterland and barbarity can, I hope, see that I am striving here to move beyond the provincial and look for value and depth outside my comfortable, (smug?) position as the San Franciscan.

In the Light of Day

I hope the various mental challenges of this process will preclude my ever succumbing to senile dementia (Remember when Alzheimer's was called that? Is it better or worse when we have some researcher's surname to define a general term?).

A few words to the wise:
1. Do not collect Too Much Stuff. Stuff just becomes a burden when it comes time to dispose of it. Very few things are worth carrying through one's life. Very few. Even books---and I revere books.
2. Never let lag any paperwork about your rental or house purchase. It's not fun to have to scamper to finish things up before moving/selling.
3. Remember that all-in-all one is very lucky to have a roof over one's head, indoor plumbing, people you love who love you, and health. Easy to say but hard to synthesize.

I guess that's it. When one lies awake at 3:32 am with these things in mind it helps to make complete sentences of them in the light of day.

Friends

Strange to think about living in a place where everyone will be of new and short acquaintance. We're leaving a place with friends of nearly 20 years. That is a history of fun, mistakes, forgivings, understandings, some dramas, and many layers of knowledge of one another. A creation of texture and time. Of course, that won't disappear; it just won't be as accessible as before. So the challenge is to look inward and rely on that history as a way of moving forward. And in the meantime I shall miss everyone very much.

In Limbo

Now that our house in SF appears to be sold, gone, spoken for, we look east/southeast- ward to our hew house in SFe, whose signature artwork is on the front page of this site. The horsemen of something----I think they're soldiers of the Peninsular War era. What was happening in New Mexico in 1800? Have to check on that.
At any rate, they grace the entry wall to the house and have a jolly "we're off to something" air, so they seem an appropriate talisman. The horses look pretty fun. Maybe I can find something similar in SFe.