TUMBLING TUMBLEWEEDS MEET THE FENCE

I have not written much lately. PQ and I have been busy preparing for a new art showing at 15.Quince, a wonderful Mexican restaurant in Jerome Arizona. However, spring is a changeable time, and today owner/chef Vladimir Costa informed us that the restaurant is moving to a new building in Cottonwood.  Here we were trying to get everything together for a show the first week in May and now the date of the show is open-ended.   Actually, our life has been moving unpredictably in other ways as well. It is the essence of spring for events to be up-in-the-air like the tumbleweeds blown from who knows where and stopped in their tumble only by our coyote fence.  Maybe we are the same way.  We tumble for a while until some obstacle halts us and that is the beginning of the next focus in life.

My feline friends have been an interesting lesson.  A few mornings ago, I opened the door to see who was coming to breakfast and the yellow cat, white cat and little feral black cat were there but so was a large longhaired yellow cat with the same face as the adolescent yellow.  I’ve never seen this cat before and she hasn’t been back since. However, what followed left me wondering just how the cat people communicate.  The new adult yellow cat acted as if she knew all about this morning ritual. There was nothing shy or surprised in her behavior.  But, the really interesting part was the way her presence influenced the others. The little black cat that never allowed me very near, and ran for cover if I looked at her directly, suddenly was at ease and rubbing against my leg.  I reached down and stroked her back and she arched it rubbing against my leg like a house cat. This was very strange. The other cats were also at ease with each other. The black cat has continued to be far more sociable and friendly. It seemed that the older yellow cat had communicated to the others the belief that we were all family and then went back to wherever she came from. She was wearing a silver collar, so she is somebody’s treasured pet.

The more I watch animals the more I realize that we seriously underestimate them.  The Starlings that live in our bathroom vent have a very complex language that includes wing flapping and shaking as well as an incredible verbal repertoire.  These creatures may not have a language of words but they certainly communicate some complex messages among themselves and even with us if we pay attention.  We humans are very homocentric. Humans may have to face this prejudice soon.

We took the drop cloth out of the dining area and enjoyed a few days of living in the whole house. But, I’ve changed during the past three weeks.  I actually miss the clutter of brushes, paint and drop cloth in the middle of the house, while PQ works intensely with flying colors (literally). In fact, something is definitely shifting in my mind and heart.  Not only am I OK with the dining room studio, I’m letting go of the fear of driving over the edge into the unknown without any foreseeable income.  Much to my surprise, I'm feeling a new calm expectancy about what I might find at the bottom of the drop.

I put together this slide show of some of PQ’s new work with his song, “Among the Stars” in the background.  

Unusually large amounts of allergens in the air are challenging PQ’s lungs, and he finds our Taos’ altitude another obstacle but stays positive. We hope someday to live in Cottonwood again but are rolling with the spring winds right now.  Like the tumbleweeds, we cannot know just which fence will stop us.  Sometimes at night after the lights go out I think we are doomed to run out of resources and luck and all the possible awful outcomes attack me in the dark. PQ is not inclined to these attacks.  He assumes that there is always an opportunity around the corner.  I once read that the sign of Cancer needs to emotionally binge on dreadful possibilities now and then.  After we explore the worst, we have that covered and can move on with life. Cancer isn't my sun sign, Gemini is but, with Cancer rising and Moon conjunct Jupiter in Cancer it starts everything I do. After I go through one of these dark night confrontations with doom, my upbeat Gemini sun rises ready to go out to lunch and window shopping since I don't have to come up with the mortgage until the end of the month.  

Yes, change is in the air and in the earth too.  I can feel it like melting ice beneath my feet.  It doesn’t provide a steady foothold but the thaw is encouraging.

WAITING FOR SPRING

The wind is blowing outside and the sky is grey.  The previous three mornings we enjoyed coffee outside in the sun, I got some tan on my bare feet, listened to dueling ravens and watched the local cats fight over their territorial rights to our back yard. March is such a transitional month.  It is too early to garden, but the trees are getting buds at the tips of their branches. The snow is gone except on the mountains and we would be happy to have some more. The paradoxes of this time of year also fit my state of mind. Raising my anticipation are the undecided temperatures mingled with grey boredom while looking for tangible signs of green. I have always found it incongruous that spring seems to be as much about endings as beginnings. Maybe that is why it is not easy. Yet, change by principle is never comfortable.

I used to get depressed each spring. I also noticed that in the news, obituaries are abundant in spring. According to researchers, this is statistically normal. Maybe spring is about turning things over as much as it is about starting a new cycle. Farmers traditionally turn over the soil each spring in readiness for planting new crops. Birth and death are just the up side and down side of the same material. 

Still too Shy to Get Close, But Hopeful!

I’m staying inside today except for about 20 minutes guarding the little black stray so that one of the local fat cats doesn’t chase him away from a dish of leftover treats. I also bought several books on Amazon this afternoon. During the past three months, I’ve purchased and read more books than in the previous 20 years. Life in Taos, for years has been about immediate experience and survival, now the urge is to cook a new mental stew and adjust the flavoring. The use of this analogy probably comes from renewed interest in cooking.  I’m in the mood to sharpen some old skills and take others out of the closet. 

PQ is painting every day except Saturday and Sunday.  He has about six paintings finished and started working on another one. It’s interesting to observe his working pattern. Because I worked in retail, I painted mostly nights and weekends, he was a welder so takes weekends off. Interesting isn’t it how these patterns stay with us after there is no longer a reason to keep them. I guess people are creatures of habit and pattern like all other animals. 

UPDATE TWO DAYS LATER

We have new snow beginning yesterday. Weather is always changing. Maybe that’s one of the reasons we all like predictability and habit. It helps us feel that when we put one foot in front of the other there will be something under it, but sometimes there isn’t anything under us but our habits. I’m thinking that somehow I’m walking on air in anticipation of the next turnover. It’s that in between space that leaves me blank. Thus, I don’t have much to say.

DENVER AGAIN BUT DIFFERENT

We were in Denver for three days last week. The fact that I haven’t been in contact very much with my Denver family since mom passed began to gnaw on me about a month ago.  I’ve noticed that when something like this comes to mind there is a reason and some event is likely to put it up front.  That something was an email message from my cousin Dan that my aunt Ruth had passed on.  I felt immediately that this was something I must honor even though we are trying to be more frugal lately and avoid traveling unnecessarily.

Although my aunt had been gradually leaving this dimension for several years due to Alzheimer’s, I believe we are all connected in ways that don’t fit within any orthodox religious or scientific model. There is a definite association between her passing and my recent thoughts.  Although we were settled in after the last trip to Arizona and PQ was focused on painting for his upcoming show in Jerome Arizona in May, I’ve learned that if I don’t follow my intuition I will certainly regret it later and it will become an obstacle in the natural flow of life.

Rachel and PQ, Coffee Before Heading Home

 The drive to Denver was surprisingly easy. There was snow on the ground, and threatening clouds swirling in four directions around us, but there wasn’t any snow on the highway as if a shield surrounded us.  Our friend Rachel invited us to stay with her and the offer was gratefully accepted.  We were saved from hunting down a motel and it definitely aided the budget. Besides, being in her home gave us good catch up time, since we’ve been out of touch since our crazy and somewhat magical shared adventure in search of the Denver train station last summer. 

As long as I can remember when something comes to mind as “I wonder why I’m thinking about this”, it will soon be up front in the space/time world. Aunt Ruth and uncle Bob may be the reason I ended up living in New Mexico and traveling to Arizona whenever possible. My parents traveled primarily for family emergencies and weddings. Dad never had a paid vacation and anyway he leaned toward the utilitarian. Whenever we went more than fifty miles from home, there was a specific reason and we drove straight through without stopping for “points of interest.” 

When I was twelve, my Uncle Bob and Aunt Ruth took me on a road trip through the Southwest.  It truly was the land of enchantment for me.  I remember climbing the hill to see Camel Rock near Santa Fe, eating fiery hot enchiladas for breakfast in Albuquerque, then off to Arizona for the Petrified Forest and Painted Desert. We camped at the Grand Canyon, and on the way to Monument Valley, we picked up three Navajo men and took them to their horses about fifteen miles down the road.  Only one of them spoke a little English. 

I remember back then, there were still many hogans (traditional Navajo dwellings) made in the old style.  Each hogan sat alone almost blending into the desert except for the inevitable late model Buick parked nearby that appeared larger than the house. It was my first awareness that comparative proportions were a cultural value. I found it fascinating.  This was on the way to Mesa Verde.  I loved everything about the Southwest.  Cedar, Pinon, cactus, red dirt and the unlimited sky unchained me from dreadful things like school, church and unhappy parents. In the Petrified Forest, I felt that I was walking on jewels, in Monument Valley, earth and sky were in love with each other as Mother Earth and Father Sky should be. Inspirited magical items such as Hopi Katsinas, Navajo Sand Paintings, rugs and Pueblo Pottery, inhabited each trading post and curio shop.

Although I traveled the next year with Uncle Bob and Aunt Ruth to the Northwest and into Canada and enjoyed it enormously, the Southwest distinctly changed my soul. Mesa Verde reset my life direction in several ways. I still recall sitting on the stone and adobe wall surrounding Spruce Tree House while imagining life there 600 hundred years earlier. It held something primal and essential missing in the present.  Perhaps it was the clarity of the sky, the powdery red dirt, strangely familiar Juniper and Pinon and the idea of actually belonging to a people whose way of life directly connected them to a place and its creatures.  Perhaps this is the reason for a lifelong fascination with history, archaeology and tribal peoples including my own Celtic ancestors. There is this deep desire to go back to the essence and source, hopefully for a vision of that stage in time before things began to fall into disconnected pieces as if this discovery would reveal the place where the fabric of human life was torn.

Approaching Blanca from the East

My Uncle Bob is the last family member of his generation as close as a days drive.  This brings to my awareness how quickly time passes. PQ and I have discovered ourselves with surprise in the shift that accompanies membership in the oldest generation of our immediate families. What is being an elder all about? It seems that our homogeneous contemporary culture has no place for this stage of life beyond decrepitude and the nursing home. Sometimes I wonder if that is the real reason that so many people succumb to Alzheimer’s and other degenerative diseases. The medical priesthood suggests that the cause is that people are living longer now.  But, this isn’t necessarily true.  One of my husband’s ancestors lived to age 120, and his close friend lived even longer. There is a well-known picture of him and another of a Taos Pueblo woman who was also well over a hundred when photographed. They had deep wrinkles and history in their eyes but they were not senile.

Blanca west of San Luis

Our trip back to Taos was awesome.  For the first time in years, I could feel and see the landscape as I first saw it.  Well, not exactly the first impression, but as I experienced it in those first years after moving to Taos with clear eyes. It is comparable to seeing through the window of a long neglected house after years of scum are removed. The way to the future seems to come by mending broken roads from the past.

The Sangre de Christos were strikingly accoutred in white robes as we headed west from Walsenburg. I had to take a few shots from my iPhone as we approached and passed Mount Blanca. The trip home was surprisingly short but rich in sites and memories. As I write, PQ is painting with Kiowa Gourd Dance music playing in the background. This reminds me of several trips to Denver with his parents, Joe J. and Frances Suazo. Joe J. would bring his hand drum and the two of them would sing to me all the way home.  I suppose I’m feeling nostalgic.

AT HOME ON THE ISLE OF TAOS

Winter is keeping us inside a lot causing time to lose its sequential nature: days seem scrambled at random, but I think we have been back in Taos for two weeks after two weeks in Cottonwood, give or take a few days. As I was mentally comparing the features of my two favorite places over coffee this morning I realized Taos seems to exist on a different dimension than the rest of the world, probably why it seems like home to those of us who lack a sense of membership in the “real world?”

Occasionally I feel claustrophobic here. In the early days, this place was miraculous. I could hardly believe that I was living in a place quirky enough to eliminate the cultural, economic and professional stereotypes of that other world that I came from. This was planet Taos.  I mentioned the claustrophobia thing to a friend who has lived in many parts of the world including Taos and she suggested that what I was experiencing reminded her of life on an Island. I suppose this means a small island since we all live on North America, i.e., Turtle Island. Although I’ve never lived on a small Island I’ve often wondered if it wouldn’t feel like entrapment after a while.

Taos changes on you. Sometimes it feels safe, cozy and magically protected from the impersonal demands of the outside world and then one morning you wake up to Shangri la over taken by a black magician with a sense of humor. It’s either a trickster or that egregious Spirit of the Mountain. However, I’ve noticed that small mountain towns all have some of this “crazy kinfolk” feeling. However, here It’s different than just a normal dysfunctional family, because there is also an element of witchy glamour. I mean glamour in the old sense of enchantment.

When I was a teenager in Denver, I got a first glimpse of the outrageous side of the Taos spirit. A couple moved next door to us. The man was from Chihuahua and the woman from Taos. She was a great cook and shared fresh tortillas, beans, and occasionally green chili, but she was also tottering on a narrow ledge. We gave her privacy and never said anything when she shared (frequently) that some relative was witching her, and often witnessed her doing counter witching ceremonies in the back yard.  I suppose it was her way of staying in touch with home.

Encouraging Mid-winter View

For some reason this brings to mind the distinctiveness of Taos houses.  Something about them resembles Hobbit Houses. There is more going on than merely the characteristic combination of Spanish, Moorish and Indian architecture. Of course, I’m talking about the old ones. However, there is more involved here than mere passage of years. Time for these houses is architecturally compressed, and sometimes it’s impossible to know if a house is 20 years old or 200 years old. To be fair, this is true of all of northern New Mexico, even in Santa Fe’s old neighborhoods.

Taos houses are often cute like Hobbit Houses with irregular walls, wavy floors, meandering rooms that roam here and there, probably each added to an original one-room structure as the family grew. Doorways between rooms can be any number of shapes in the same house and the walls may be white wash or various bright colors such as blue, purple and yellow. The furniture is generally an offbeat mixture of the local folk version of Spanish Colonial, Mexican, second hand store American, and contemporary WalMart. Heating is often an adobe horno (called a kiva fireplace by relators) or a wood stove. Water and plumbing are usually dependent on crossed fingers and wiring is something you’d rather not know about. 

Our house in town is a newish adobe (only seven years old) Habitat for Humanity house in an area that was sagebrush and chamisa ten years ago. I look around the house and notice that Taos style is already setting in.  This house contains personal history through the Taos filter. There are drums, rattles and fans on the walls now along with our paintings and pieces dating back to my Denver life.  Furniture from my childhood home, mom’s last apartment and things brought back from Arizona. The oriental rugs came from mom’s house, my last Denver house and PQ’s dining room. I look around and realize that I purchased very few pieces, mostly from WalMart, yard sales and second hand stores. The house is personal history but it would never blend the same way anywhere else. The Taos house spirit gives its own abiding personality to each house. There is something endearing about Taos houses even when the roof leaks, the electricity goes out and the cesspool overflows.

The Dining Room Table

Despite all this, Taos homes don’t look poor or ugly. Oh no, I don’t want to give that impression. Even the pell-mell but organic architecture and furnishings are not ugly just as the natural landscape is never ugly even though rugged and sculpted by the elements.  I think that is the key. Nature is the designer and arranges everything, inside and out. The superficial poverty and rough clad individuality is just a mirror image of nature trying to hold its own and make a statement against the lopsided rule of technology and money. Maybe we are helping to balance the bigger world. Yet, its serious work and now and then we need to retreat to Arizona for rest and realignment. 

Magical things happen to us in both Taos and Cottonwood/Sedona. It seems that it is more intense as we move back and forth between them, and the magic is still teasing us with tempting promises of more, at least for now.  Here in Taos it is snowing again. We are spending most of our time indoors and PQ has turned our dining room into a studio.  He has a lot of painting to do for an upcoming show in Jerome Arizona in May.