I just woke up for the second time today.
My wife was scheduled to fly to Atlanta to visit family. We got up at 2:30 a.m. in order to leave Taos by 3:15 a.m., so we could get to the airport in Albuquerque by 5:30 a.m. to check in for her 7:15 a.m. flight. Madness, all is madness. But it was a pleasant journey through the canyon in the dark, and how lucky we are to live at 7,000 feet, where we needed to have the heat on in the car on the morning of the Summer Solstice…
The Albuquerque Sunport (as the airport is named), for those of you not familiar with the place, is a wonder of humaneness and ease of access. Located on a mesa just south of the center of the city, it’s just a single exit off the freeway. Once there, we walked through a quiet parking garage directly to the terminal — no jostling crowds, no muss, no fuss. Not, at least, until we came to the inevitable security area, where hundreds of travelers snaked back and forth in a giant cattleyard of a pen, segregated from their dangerous loved ones. I hate that scene so much for the obvious symbol of our squandered dignity and freedom — and to think I hated flying before 9/11! But she was game and lovely going in, and before she headed off, we stood a moment as she held both my hands and stretched up to my face to kiss me goodbye. How many other times had I taken her to this airport and left fighting tears, sending her away for who knew how long? May we never have to face those times again. How different it is to be there like I was today, guiltless and fearless, happy for her joy in going to meet her kin and glad that I was staying in New Mexico.
This time of year is when our old adobe shines, as the days are finally warm enough for open doors and windows but the air inside stays cool and dry. The very substance of an ordinary day is almost too good to bear: yesterday it hit 90 degrees in town, but out here on the hillside it was only 80 in the shade, and 66 inside the house! On the drive back north to Taos from the airport, I had the driver’s side window all the down and heat pouring in from the dash vents. God, I love that — almost as much as stopping at the San Felipe Pueblo casino to fill up on discount gasoline. The station was probably the most crowded scene of the entire trip, but even then, it comforts me somehow. I love buying anything from Indians: gas, sausage biscuit, fake cappucino, it doesn’t matter. “Paying for the sins of my fathers,” I call it sometimes, but honestly, I just like Indians. I like living where there ARE Indians. It lifts me out of America.
When I pulled up to the house around 8:30 a.m., I just sat there for a minute to savor the quiet while a hummingbird drank from a nearby feeder. My sandals scrunched on the sandy soil as I walked to unlock the old front door. I could hear every step. The tattered screen door slammed behind me, and then all was still again. I immediately laid down on the unmade bed to take a nap but had to pull the covers over me in the morning breeze. What a delicious feeling to rest in perfect comfort when one most deserves it.
I’m now, though, and soon it’s back to work. But the loudest sound around is the slurping of the cat drinking from his water bowl. The sun is streaming in. The doors and windows are all open, and it’s 65 degrees inside at noon. The humidity is 11 percent. I am loved and in love with my sweetie, my musical instruments, my fabulous Macintosh computers, and the glorious air and scenery of New Mexico. I’m 61 years old and don’t give a damn.
THIS is heaven, no matter what anyone says.
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{ 5 comments… read them below or add one }
Good for you….and you deserve to rub it in on those of us too scared to get out of our own personal insanity and do something just like it!
ENJOY ! Steve………..(I can almost smell the air!!)
Just remember that complacency is under-rated.
We had to go through hell just to get to this point, and only now, after EIGHT YEARS, are we finally (maybe) living within our means. The money and tears that flowed under the bridge, oh man… enough emotional energy to build a dozen new lives and cash to buy a home outright, I expect. Ah, well.
What’s most important now is just appreciating being alive, and that’s the point of the post. That, and I don’t have to go to freaking Atlanta and spend five days in an air-conditioned cocoon.
When I was growing up in West Texas in the 50′s all the boys I knew would have liked to claim (and some did claim) that they “had Indian blood” in them. I suppose this had something to do with a lingering historical consciousness of the Commanches as fierce adversaries and emblems of ultimate manliness. It probably also had a lot to do with the virtual absence of reservations in the state, so that there was precious little present-day contact.
When I came to Canada I found things quite different. Though many people say the right things and have good intentions about the native peoples, no one without actual native blood would try to claim it (except perhaps to benefit from government programs). And the state of the reservations is always spoken of as a national disgrace, though no one really has much of a clue about how the lives of the native peoples on them (or off them) could be improved.
The Indians of the southwest seem to fall into a different category in that they sound like they’ve got their act together and figured out how to live their own way without troubling themselves much about whether we Euro-Americans notice them either to admire or pity…. I’d still love to have the bragging rights of being “part Indian”.
Yeah, me too.
Although the greatest sin in these parts is to be a wannabe.
I can’t speak for the Pueblo tribes, obviously, but what’s always struck me is that they aren’t really on “reservations,” the way I understand the term. The pueblos are where they’ve always been, and that has to effect some heavy-duty spiritual grounding. They also put up some ferocious fights against the Spaniards and later us, had a gory successful regional revolt or two, and generally don’t take shit from anyone. All of which just increases my respect, and I’m privileged to share the same sky.
The Taos Pow-wow is next month. It’s quite a show, you oughta come on down.
John,
After the first time I met Paula, I cried all the way home, from Abilene to Austin. Then for the next year, after our weekends together camping or what not, before she moved to Austin, I would sob like a baby all the way home. Alot of that was letting go of the saddness I had experienced with my previous partner mixed with an “Attitude of Gratitude” to the universe for allowing us to find eachother in this chaotic world.
Today, after reading your “So Grateful”, I heard a song by Snow Patrol on Radio Paradise that, for me, fits the moment. The name of the song is “Run” and here are links to their video and AOL session (accoustic). While watching the accoustic version, I thought of you and your bouzouki. I bet this song would sound great thundering from your “Hubcap” guitar. When you see your sweety again, give eachother a hug from us.
http://www.onetimesone.com/download-mp3s/snow-patrol.php
http://music.aol.com/video/run-aol-sessions/snow-patrol/1134775