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.