Yesterday a dear friend told me that her father tracks the weather around the world, and New Mexico is apparently quite hot. Er, yes. This is going to be a record-breaking drought year, following several drought years. Behaviors align with this fact. People get pruny-mouthed about lawns and sidewalk watering. They track broken public sprinklers and call 311 at the drop of a water leak. The Rio Grande is a braid of thin curving water slivers, surrounded by cottonwoods with tightly furled leaves. Cacti are not flowering, and bears are coming out of the trees to raid hummingbird feeders. Texas water rights are suing Albuquerque for over-consumption. The forests are closed due to fire danger. People go around saying, "We might as well be in Arizona." (Arizona is the New Mexico's standard for hell.) Customers refuse to leave the library at closing time.
But, it's not uncomfortable to me. I have a noisy swamp cooler that kicks in at 80 degrees, and that's sufficient for me. When I am standing at the door, unlocking it, I feel a cool breeze coming out of the bathroom window, which is cracked just enough to allow the cooler to work. I'm not totally sure of the principles, but apparently the fan in the ceiling draws air past the water, which removes the heat from the air, and the air is drawn into and through the house by the draft/negative pressure of the open window. Apparently, it's also possible to have a portable swamp cooler. If it were humid, this process would apparently not work, and the most it cools is 10 degrees, so when we reach triple digits, it can be a problem. Still, everything cools down at night (we are in a desert after all), which gives me a chance to keep the windows open and listen to the cats fighting with the cockroaches that roam the yard by night.
Having already lived through a New Mexico June, I thought the weather held no surprises for me. I have listened to people whinge about wind storms and dusty houses and thought to myself, meh. Until last night. I got off work at 6. The skies had been darkening with clouds for the last hour, so I was thinking, yay, much needed rain. However, the clouds were not filled with water, but dust. I walked out into a whirlwind that got under my shirt and blew it upwards and whipped my hair around my face. I looked towards the western horizon, and the sun was blotted out in a surreal bronze-white haze. I looked east towards the Sandias, and they were a shadowy, barely visible outline, seen through an opaque screen of dust. They looked like a denser cloud within a cloud. Dirt whirled at my feet, and the trees were tossing, Katrina-like. All that was missing was the rain. As I drove to my date, I felt the wind pushing the car. I saw dirt blowing across the road like snow on the Illinois prairie. There is something very frightening about a storm that has no water, just wind. It's intangibly powerful.
Today, all is calm, with twittering birds, hot sun, and a light breeze. The Sandias are again visible, a hard slate-blue line marking the hot blue-white sky. And there's still no rain.
Showing posts with label New Mexico. Show all posts
Showing posts with label New Mexico. Show all posts
Sunday, June 30, 2013
Monday, May 6, 2013
Measuring my life 17 syllables at a time
Every day, as I go through the routines, feel the feelings, see the sights, walk the walk and talk the talk, I find myself creating sound bite descriptions of the experience. A new friend asked me if all my Facebook posts are haiku, and I said, well, some are pictures. But, yes. I decided long ago that my life was not worth posting, but maybe I could turn the banality into an exercise in creativity. And, I have such a need to let people know I'm alive and kicking. I get such validation from the little comments and "likes." Ah yes, I think, even my boring life means something to someone. They care enough to say, yeah, I read that. I know you're alive, and that knowledge makes me happy.
And, when I gather together a few weeks' worth of pix and haiku, I realize, yes, I did do something besides eat, sleep, wash dishes, and schlep books.
Many of my posts talk about the beauties of New Mexico. Before I moved here, I knew I loved the high desert, with the big skies, amazing clouds, and fascinating rock formations. But I didn't realize that this dusty old city, full of strip malls and chain link fences, would also be beautiful. It's true that some neighborhoods are depressing, with the garbage and cars and dogs lurking behind fences, scattered on yards of orange-brown dirt. But most feature southwest architecture and xeriscaping, cats and dogs, and friendly people.
The Sandias daily draw my eyes to the east. I walk around the neighborhood and watch the sun rising behind them, etching them against the lightening sky and staining the clouds pink and yellow. Driving home from work, I watch them change colour from magenta to blue-green-grey-brown. In the winter, I look for snowfall. In the summer monsoons, I look for grey clouds and rainbows. Recently, I have found a hiking buddy, so I am walking into them, getting up close and personal. But they are always part of my day, whether I'm exploring them with my feet or my eyes.
To the west, I see the varying colors of the Bosque. Right now, it's becoming greener and greener. Earlier in the year, it was a hazy greyish white: the cottonwoods without clothes. In the fall it was lacy and golden. But it's always a strip of wildness in the middle of the city. A brown house-covered grassland rises beyond it, with an abrupt line where the houses end and the mesa begins, the dark rocks of extinct volcanoes punctuating the horizon, the sky above filled with clouds, or empty blue, the sunsets glowing with the pinks and goldens of a desert sky.
So here are the haiku that chronicle my environment....
Driving in to work....
View to the west: stripes!
Blue on top, then brown, then green.
Spring in the Bosque.
Driving home from rehearsal.....
My now-weekly hike with G....
Then there are the mishaps, frustrations, and joys of the day....
On my way to a meeting, in front of an intersection full of people.....
Stepping back, I fall,
Winded and supine. What will
The third mishap be?
Driving in to work......
Misuse of car roof:
I pick up coffee mug shards.
Will they cause flat tires?
Listening to Allclassical.org in my office....
Dancing inside and
Smiling outside, regardless.
The Royal Fireworks.
Starting my day.....
No fresh coffee left,
So I used yesterday's dregs.
Shopping avoidance.
Adrenalin rush....
Black coffee bean in the sink,
Looks like a cockroach.
I got up early
For a doctor appointment.
Now he's running late. :(
I juggle morning
Ablutions, housework, email:
Burnt toast smells so good.
Waiting for the next bulletin from E (yes, all is well)....
Does it help at all
To worry about others?
Healing thoughts to Don.
The job is a continuing struggle. My coworkers are passive aggressive when they are not downright hostile, and my manager wants me to assert myself. Not an unreasonable expectation, and I'm actually bewildered as to why it's so difficult to just say: sorry that's the way it is. Do it and stop kvetching. But there are good days, and I tend to chronicle those
I spent 2 hours learning about this year's summer reading program, culminating in a 15 minute session learning how to make duct tape sheets. Our teacher is the duct tape queen. She was wearing a pocketed apron with ties, multi-colored and multi-patterned, very flexible and sturdy. But all I could think was, does it breathe?
What I learned this week:
Cardinal rule of duct tape...
Do not rescue it.
(I doubt I'll ever
Have the patience to create
Things out of duct tape.)
In lieu of reference work (there is very little of that), I have started doing the other fun part of the job: outreach and story times. My co-workers are unimpressed and make sure to let me know it, but the kids and the teachers give me full props.
Sharing pop up books
With attentive third graders:
Focusing on joy.
I love my job, but
I'd really like to trade in
My coworkers. Now.
En route to work but
Contemplating an escape.
Adventure beckons!
Then, there is orchestra and music in general: I am beginning to take advantage of the myriad concerts and opportunities, and I'm loving it. Sometimes I go along, and sometimes I bring a friend. Always, it's a joy.
Our conductor is endlessly amusing: he loves the music and tries to convey it, but he also gets that we're amateurs, and he does so with grace.
Humane conducting:
"Strings, adapt....they need to breathe."
Sounds reasonable.
My stand partner wrote
"Terror!" at the beginning
Of the last movement.
I ushered at a fabulous concert by Vasen and met some of the local folkies, one of whom works at the co-op which I did not know was so near to my house:
Got the sheet music.
Now I just need to find me
Some Swedish fiddlers.
Three years ago I attended the VdGSA West Coast Conclave (and I hope to pull together time and money to do it again this year.) One of the classes was about singing and playing at the same time. Being a beginner, I needed a break from the intense concentration of learning where to put the bow, how to translate a new clef to a new string arrangement. So, I just sang. The instructor was a fun and talented man from NYC, a member of the group Parthenia. I've been receiving their news-mails ever since, and was delighted to discover that they would be in ABQ, performing Renaissance songs and dances, along with the poetry of John Donne and W Shakespeare. I could not find a companion to join me, but it was so not necessary. The church was a beautiful echoing Episcopalian edifice, with a center patio space, stone walls, marble floors, glowing glass. I felt at peace, and once the music started I was transported.
I arrive early,
And go into the cloister
To walk the labyrinth.
I listen to hushed
Conversations, swallowed by
The echoing hall.
Renaissance poems,
Songs, and dances make a most
Excellent mixture.
Driving home, I watch
The music made visible:
Clouds above mountains
Finally, there are the intangible moods. I have become more serene lately. I am depending more on myself for my happiness, and, while I miss my friends and grieve over loss, I am content to plot my own course without reference to other people. Connections are still important to me: I am human. But the despair seems to be going away. At any rate, I now seem able to save up the tears for my weekly therapy session. Which is now imminent.
Visiting a new friend, sitting on his deck looking at the mountains....
To walk or to lounge?
Inertia is powerful.
I watch the hawk soar.
The occasional moodiness and insomnia: I try mediation but it doesn't always work.......
Rhythmic ocean waves
Cannot drown insistent thoughts.
Cursed insomnia.
Weary, flat, and stale...
No! I am not Prince Hamlet!
But I am quite tired.
Chaos in the world (Boston Marathon)......
What are my fellow
Commuters thinking about?
A town in lockdown..
Psychic disconnect:
Appalling things happen, but
I wake up happy.
And so it goes. One haiku at a time, I'm chronicling my life.
.
And, when I gather together a few weeks' worth of pix and haiku, I realize, yes, I did do something besides eat, sleep, wash dishes, and schlep books.
Many of my posts talk about the beauties of New Mexico. Before I moved here, I knew I loved the high desert, with the big skies, amazing clouds, and fascinating rock formations. But I didn't realize that this dusty old city, full of strip malls and chain link fences, would also be beautiful. It's true that some neighborhoods are depressing, with the garbage and cars and dogs lurking behind fences, scattered on yards of orange-brown dirt. But most feature southwest architecture and xeriscaping, cats and dogs, and friendly people.
The Sandias daily draw my eyes to the east. I walk around the neighborhood and watch the sun rising behind them, etching them against the lightening sky and staining the clouds pink and yellow. Driving home from work, I watch them change colour from magenta to blue-green-grey-brown. In the winter, I look for snowfall. In the summer monsoons, I look for grey clouds and rainbows. Recently, I have found a hiking buddy, so I am walking into them, getting up close and personal. But they are always part of my day, whether I'm exploring them with my feet or my eyes.
To the west, I see the varying colors of the Bosque. Right now, it's becoming greener and greener. Earlier in the year, it was a hazy greyish white: the cottonwoods without clothes. In the fall it was lacy and golden. But it's always a strip of wildness in the middle of the city. A brown house-covered grassland rises beyond it, with an abrupt line where the houses end and the mesa begins, the dark rocks of extinct volcanoes punctuating the horizon, the sky above filled with clouds, or empty blue, the sunsets glowing with the pinks and goldens of a desert sky.
So here are the haiku that chronicle my environment....
Driving in to work....
View to the west: stripes!
Blue on top, then brown, then green.
Spring in the Bosque.
Driving home from rehearsal.....
The moon casts its glow.
I share it virtually
And feel so alone.
Going for my bi-weekly walk with J and E.....
In the time it takes
To find my camera phone
The clouds change colour.
Taking a picture of a cat on a stoop......
Oblivious (or
Indifferent) to humans,
Watching the sunrise.
My now-weekly hike with G....
Today's hike: boulders!
And juniper and cactus.
And just enough wind.
Doing laundry at a friend's house, sunset time, I take a picture of a delicate lacy tree shadow:
Pic from a freezing
Cold evening. Even walls
Are beautiful here.
Doing laundry at a friend's house, sunset time, I take a picture of a delicate lacy tree shadow:
Pic from a freezing
Cold evening. Even walls
Are beautiful here.
On my way to a meeting, in front of an intersection full of people.....
Stepping back, I fall,
Winded and supine. What will
The third mishap be?
Driving in to work......
Misuse of car roof:
I pick up coffee mug shards.
Will they cause flat tires?
Listening to Allclassical.org in my office....
Dancing inside and
Smiling outside, regardless.
The Royal Fireworks.
Starting my day.....
No fresh coffee left,
So I used yesterday's dregs.
Shopping avoidance.
Adrenalin rush....
Black coffee bean in the sink,
Looks like a cockroach.
I got up early
For a doctor appointment.
Now he's running late. :(
I juggle morning
Ablutions, housework, email:
Burnt toast smells so good.
Waiting for the next bulletin from E (yes, all is well)....
Does it help at all
To worry about others?
Healing thoughts to Don.
The job is a continuing struggle. My coworkers are passive aggressive when they are not downright hostile, and my manager wants me to assert myself. Not an unreasonable expectation, and I'm actually bewildered as to why it's so difficult to just say: sorry that's the way it is. Do it and stop kvetching. But there are good days, and I tend to chronicle those
I spent 2 hours learning about this year's summer reading program, culminating in a 15 minute session learning how to make duct tape sheets. Our teacher is the duct tape queen. She was wearing a pocketed apron with ties, multi-colored and multi-patterned, very flexible and sturdy. But all I could think was, does it breathe?
What I learned this week:
Cardinal rule of duct tape...
Do not rescue it.
(I doubt I'll ever
Have the patience to create
Things out of duct tape.)
In lieu of reference work (there is very little of that), I have started doing the other fun part of the job: outreach and story times. My co-workers are unimpressed and make sure to let me know it, but the kids and the teachers give me full props.
Sharing pop up books
With attentive third graders:
Focusing on joy.
I love my job, but
I'd really like to trade in
My coworkers. Now.
En route to work but
Contemplating an escape.
Adventure beckons!
Then, there is orchestra and music in general: I am beginning to take advantage of the myriad concerts and opportunities, and I'm loving it. Sometimes I go along, and sometimes I bring a friend. Always, it's a joy.
Our conductor is endlessly amusing: he loves the music and tries to convey it, but he also gets that we're amateurs, and he does so with grace.
Humane conducting:
"Strings, adapt....they need to breathe."
Sounds reasonable.
My stand partner wrote
"Terror!" at the beginning
Of the last movement.
I ushered at a fabulous concert by Vasen and met some of the local folkies, one of whom works at the co-op which I did not know was so near to my house:
Got the sheet music.
Now I just need to find me
Some Swedish fiddlers.
Three years ago I attended the VdGSA West Coast Conclave (and I hope to pull together time and money to do it again this year.) One of the classes was about singing and playing at the same time. Being a beginner, I needed a break from the intense concentration of learning where to put the bow, how to translate a new clef to a new string arrangement. So, I just sang. The instructor was a fun and talented man from NYC, a member of the group Parthenia. I've been receiving their news-mails ever since, and was delighted to discover that they would be in ABQ, performing Renaissance songs and dances, along with the poetry of John Donne and W Shakespeare. I could not find a companion to join me, but it was so not necessary. The church was a beautiful echoing Episcopalian edifice, with a center patio space, stone walls, marble floors, glowing glass. I felt at peace, and once the music started I was transported.
I arrive early,
And go into the cloister
To walk the labyrinth.
I listen to hushed
Conversations, swallowed by
The echoing hall.
Renaissance poems,
Songs, and dances make a most
Excellent mixture.
Driving home, I watch
The music made visible:
Clouds above mountains
Finally, there are the intangible moods. I have become more serene lately. I am depending more on myself for my happiness, and, while I miss my friends and grieve over loss, I am content to plot my own course without reference to other people. Connections are still important to me: I am human. But the despair seems to be going away. At any rate, I now seem able to save up the tears for my weekly therapy session. Which is now imminent.
Visiting a new friend, sitting on his deck looking at the mountains....
To walk or to lounge?
Inertia is powerful.
I watch the hawk soar.
The occasional moodiness and insomnia: I try mediation but it doesn't always work.......
Rhythmic ocean waves
Cannot drown insistent thoughts.
Cursed insomnia.
Weary, flat, and stale...
No! I am not Prince Hamlet!
But I am quite tired.
Chaos in the world (Boston Marathon)......
What are my fellow
Commuters thinking about?
A town in lockdown..
Psychic disconnect:
Appalling things happen, but
I wake up happy.
And so it goes. One haiku at a time, I'm chronicling my life.
.
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Our Sweet Puppy Dog
Our last days in Portland, Carbon followed us from room to room, looking up at us with anxious eyes. Her breathing was raspy, as it has been for the last few months, an indication that the laryngeal paralysis was getting worse. She could still jump up to the bed and curl next to me with a doggy sigh. Contentment or resignation? I was never sure which, but when I reached down to pet her, she would stretch alongside me and rub her head against my hand, demanding more of that ear action, please. Simone would join us, sometimes purring on my chest, sometimes sitting in her library lion pose on my feet, sometimes rubbing her head against Carbon's.
They both knew something was up.
The car and truck were packed and M, our 3rd driver, was ready and waiting. I sat with Carbon in front of me, as I stroked her ears, rubbed her chest, scratched her back. D joined me, and we said goodbye, tears rolling down our cheeks.
Simone followed us to the cars and I picked her up for a final hug. She purred and then leapt down and started rolling on the sidewalk. I got in the car, and she sat up and watched me with slanted green eyes and pointed ears. She has lived with us since she was 4 weeks old...now she is over 7, still kittenish in size, feisty and street smart.
We had a nice drive east through the Gorge, fetching up at Baker City for the night. The next day we made it as far as Spanish Forks, just south of Provo UT. As I checked my e-mail, I came across one from our upstairs renter. Carbon had apparently collapsed outside the woodpile on Saturday after we left. Her breathing was labored and she was foaming at the mouth. J got her inside and lay with her at the foot of the stairs, stroking her, calming her. The next morning Carbon was upstairs, sleeping on the rug in the big common room outside J's bedroom, back to normal.
I sent a thank you note.
Monday was Day 3 of the drive, and my 53rd birthday. We had a long drive ahead of us: through mountains of SE Utah, on into southern Colorado and then angling through New Mexico, our new home. Lots of amazing rock formations and wild lonely country.
Outside of Moab, we stopped for gas and a bathroom break, and that's when the torture began. I checked my phone: a message from Mom wishing me a happy birthday, and a message from C, our Portland neighbor. She had found Carbon collapsed in the street, foaming at the mouth, vulnerable to passing cars. She carried Carbon inside the gate, got her some water, settled her on the porch, gave her some water, and put the large flower pot in front of the gate to keep her inside.
Apparently our renter, who is a professional dog sitter and dog walker, decided to lock Carbon out of the house, and Carbon started looking for us.
Over the next several hours, we called people all over Portland, trying to find someone with keys to the house to get Carbon back into safety. J had confiscated the key we had left under the pot for our friends. Our other renter and key-holder was not moving in until the next day. H and S were still in Colorado with the spare keys and the CareCredit card. We reached voice mails galore, and when we actually reached a person, the mountains started interfering with reception. We dropped calls. We called again. Voices faded in and out. It was agony.
We reach KJR, D's son. His car was unavailable, so he walked several miles and sat with Carbon until our renter returned. He got Carbon into the studio, which the b&b renters had just vacated. Constant calls over the evening and next day, as Carbon's condition waxed and waned. A trip to Dove Lewis emergency vet. A call to the regular vet. Discussions of medication and treatment.
Tuesday morning we arrange for M to help KJR sit with Carbon for the rest of the week, until Saturday, when H and S return to take over.
Early Wednesday morning, our son calls. Carbon had gone outside, gone to the front gate, and then returned to the house. Wearily, painfully, she walked back up the stairs, her arthritic legs laboring. She walked into the house, lay down, and...passed.
There are no words to express our grief, guilt and gratitude. We know we rescued her, gave her 5 years of love, received the same back. We know we couldn't take her with us. We know she was old and seriously ill. We know that our son and our dog had a hellish 3 days. We know that our careful plans did not cover this eventuality. We know that Carbon was looking for us, missing us. We know that we did the best we could. We know that we have family we can count on. We know that our sweet puppy dog spent her last hours with someone who loved her as much as we did.
Today our son sent this message:
Thank you.
They both knew something was up.
The car and truck were packed and M, our 3rd driver, was ready and waiting. I sat with Carbon in front of me, as I stroked her ears, rubbed her chest, scratched her back. D joined me, and we said goodbye, tears rolling down our cheeks.
Simone followed us to the cars and I picked her up for a final hug. She purred and then leapt down and started rolling on the sidewalk. I got in the car, and she sat up and watched me with slanted green eyes and pointed ears. She has lived with us since she was 4 weeks old...now she is over 7, still kittenish in size, feisty and street smart.
We had a nice drive east through the Gorge, fetching up at Baker City for the night. The next day we made it as far as Spanish Forks, just south of Provo UT. As I checked my e-mail, I came across one from our upstairs renter. Carbon had apparently collapsed outside the woodpile on Saturday after we left. Her breathing was labored and she was foaming at the mouth. J got her inside and lay with her at the foot of the stairs, stroking her, calming her. The next morning Carbon was upstairs, sleeping on the rug in the big common room outside J's bedroom, back to normal.
I sent a thank you note.
Monday was Day 3 of the drive, and my 53rd birthday. We had a long drive ahead of us: through mountains of SE Utah, on into southern Colorado and then angling through New Mexico, our new home. Lots of amazing rock formations and wild lonely country.
Outside of Moab, we stopped for gas and a bathroom break, and that's when the torture began. I checked my phone: a message from Mom wishing me a happy birthday, and a message from C, our Portland neighbor. She had found Carbon collapsed in the street, foaming at the mouth, vulnerable to passing cars. She carried Carbon inside the gate, got her some water, settled her on the porch, gave her some water, and put the large flower pot in front of the gate to keep her inside.
Apparently our renter, who is a professional dog sitter and dog walker, decided to lock Carbon out of the house, and Carbon started looking for us.
Over the next several hours, we called people all over Portland, trying to find someone with keys to the house to get Carbon back into safety. J had confiscated the key we had left under the pot for our friends. Our other renter and key-holder was not moving in until the next day. H and S were still in Colorado with the spare keys and the CareCredit card. We reached voice mails galore, and when we actually reached a person, the mountains started interfering with reception. We dropped calls. We called again. Voices faded in and out. It was agony.
We reach KJR, D's son. His car was unavailable, so he walked several miles and sat with Carbon until our renter returned. He got Carbon into the studio, which the b&b renters had just vacated. Constant calls over the evening and next day, as Carbon's condition waxed and waned. A trip to Dove Lewis emergency vet. A call to the regular vet. Discussions of medication and treatment.
Tuesday morning we arrange for M to help KJR sit with Carbon for the rest of the week, until Saturday, when H and S return to take over.
Early Wednesday morning, our son calls. Carbon had gone outside, gone to the front gate, and then returned to the house. Wearily, painfully, she walked back up the stairs, her arthritic legs laboring. She walked into the house, lay down, and...passed.
There are no words to express our grief, guilt and gratitude. We know we rescued her, gave her 5 years of love, received the same back. We know we couldn't take her with us. We know she was old and seriously ill. We know that our son and our dog had a hellish 3 days. We know that our careful plans did not cover this eventuality. We know that Carbon was looking for us, missing us. We know that we did the best we could. We know that we have family we can count on. We know that our sweet puppy dog spent her last hours with someone who loved her as much as we did.
Today our son sent this message:
 |
| She loved the porch. I love you guys. |
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