My Dream Life

I wake up with the sun streaming insistently through the gaps in the shades. It's a little after nine o'clock--time for yoga in the guest bedroom. I follow Rodney Yee through his gentle series of exercises, then dress for my daily walk. It's still cool outside, about forty-five degrees. Steve comes with me, and we walk down the driveway, marveling at the lovely contrast of the snow-capped mountains against the crisp blue sky. We stroll along our horribly rutted road, trying to find some level ground. First we wave to Ginger who's on her deck, drinking her morning coffee. Then we walk past the funky homes of Mesa Sea: folksinger Jenny Bird's eponymous Birdland, the older adobe with the round window, the two-story home of the reclusive Minnesotans, the hippie shack with the friendly dogs, the manufactured home on its sadly barren lot, Jo's elegant straw bale, and finally, about a mile down the road, we come to Karl and Maria's place. Their dog, Roy, greets us on the driveway, and we find Maria working in the garden. She invites us in for coffee, and we chat with her and Karl for an hour or so. The sunroom of their huge rammed earth house is comfortable and warm.

We return home for a late breakfast on the deck.

Then we head into town for a round of errands: grocery shopping at Cid's, checking email at Wired, getting caulk and mouse bait at Ace Hardware. By now it's two o'clock--time for the Happy Hour lunch special at Taco Bell. We order two soft tacos and a medium drink for $2.49, which we share. There are a few late-afternoon chores to do when we get home: laundry (me), window caulking (Steve), and weeding (both). We consider having our own happy hour, but decide to save our drinking for the Adobe Bar, where we'll be spending the evening. Our neighbor and dear friend, Deonne, has suggested we go there together tonight, as this is not only Open Mic night, but the best of Open Mic. As the music critic for the arts magazine of the Taos News, she's familiar with many of the musicians and is sure we'll enjoy it. Also, she needs to make a major decision and wants our input.

We arrive at the Adobe Bar at six o'clock, find a great table, and order margaritas and dinner. Soon the drinks begin to have the desired effect, and Deonne tells us that she needs to decide by tomorrow morning which MFA writing program to attend--Vermont College or Queens College in New York. She outlines the pros and cons of each, but it seems she's leaning slightly in favor of Queens. (She has just launched a new blog today, announcing her intention to go to Vermont, but that was before she was notified later this morning of her acceptance at Queens). We think Queens sounds like the better choice, but we'll have to wait until tomorrow to hear her final decision. Meanwhile, the music has begun. As it turns out, this is not the Best of Open Mic (that will be next month), but, with the exception of a few clunkers, the musicians are pretty darn good. A woman named Lisa, whom we'd met at Maria's New Year's Eve party, is doing her first open mic performance tonight, and she's a little nervous. She joins us at our table and suddenly realizes that she's left her music stand in her car. She runs out to get it, and while she's gone our next-door neighbor, Ginger, takes her place. We listen as a toothpick-thin punk guy bangs on the piano singing "Trash yard, trash yard, come and see my trash yard," followed by Mike Hogan, a Taos legend, doing amazing things with his guitar. A young man builds layers of rhythm with some sort of electronic playback device, and a much older gentleman does a fair job of singing while playing a beautiful handmade guitar built by a local resident who's sitting in the front row. Somewhere during this musical free-for-all, I realize that I'm supremely happy; life just doesn't get any better than this. Then Lisa takes the stage, having retrieved her music stand, and sings three songs, including an original composition, with a lovely, confident voice. We applaud loudly and offer our congratulations with handshakes and hugs. She seems both elated and relieved, and goes off with two friends for a late dinner.

We stay at the bar, talking with Ginger and Deonne, until closing time. Ginger wonders aloud if Taos will always seem this wonderful when she and her husband Kris move here semi-permanently. Steve and I believe, and Ginger agrees, that adjusting to small-town life will be a challenge, but the beauty of our surroundings and the friendliness of the community will compensate for the loss of urban diversions (besides, there's always Santa Fe). The three of us note the irony of being impatient to settle here while our friend Deonne can't wait to leave! In any case, we've shared a wonderful evening, and we can't imagine a time when our dream life wouldn't include watching the sunrise over the mountains or the moonrise on the mesa.

Pilgrims

We are very fortunate to be in northern New Mexico during Holy Week, and doubly blessed to be in Chimayo on the Thursday before Easter. This is the time when thousands of people make a pilgrimage to El Santuario de Chimayo, either on foot or on horseback. They come from communities as far away as Albuquerque, traveling alone or with friends and family. Most make the journey without any motorized assistance, although some older folks travel part of the way by bus. They are helped by others at roadside stands who offer water, food, or a shady spot to rest. As we drive by groups of pilgrims, we are moved by their devotion.

The church, built in 1815, is believed to be a place of healing. The room beside the altar has a small hole in the floor filled with holy dirt, a spoonful of which can be taken and used to cure any sort of ailment. There are other pilgrimage sites in this part of the country, but none have the beauty and serenity of Chimayo.