We had a pile of snow early in the week, and right now the poor East coast is getting pounded. Friends write and call to say their homes are without heat or electricity, sometimes water as well. My great friend Juliet was supposed to fly out here for a visit on Wednesday- cancelled. Disappointing.
My pal Laurie reminded me of the April 1st storm many years ago- about 16 years I think- when we all lost power for a week or more. My then-husband and I heated with wood, and had a gas stove- so Laurie’s family moved in with us. My husband went into NYC for most of the week, as his mother was in the hospital, and he deposited his 90 year old aunt with us, as she was a bit forgetful, and leaving her alone at the shared apartment wasn’t a good idea.
Both Laurie and I, her husband, and all 4 kids remember the week with a big smile. We put 6 garbage cans with big garbage bag liners on the deck, and the kids daily job was to fill them with snow. Laurie’s husband’s new identity was Vlad, the water bearer. His job was to take grey water from the cans (it was above freezing) and bring it in to the toilets for flushing. We all had our jobs, and our little community thrived. Even Aunt Rosie, with her inch thick glasses, had a job; to ask in her thick New York Jewish accent “So when do ya think they’ll turn the power back on?” every half hour or so. The kids could play outside for hours, as it was in the high 40’s. No TV : Legos. Charades. We were very happy in our little cocoon.
After about 6 days, Poughkeepsie, to the south of us, had power. Laurie called a big motel and got us a room for the day, and a dozen extra towels. We hauled everyone down there, including Rosie, and we scrubbed the boys clean, then the girls, then Rosie got a turn, then the 3 parents. The TV entertained the clan with I love Lucy and other benign shows. Clean and refreshed, we had a meal out and returned to the commune.
When the power was restored, there was a not so secret desire to pretend it WASN’T. Maybe it’ll go off again! We were warm, happy, clean-ish , but the real world beckoned. Refrigerators and freezers of rotting food needed to be cleaned out, school was back in session, and work called. None of us can remember anything remotely terrible about that adventure.
I hope my friends back East find some fun in the snow- although Juliet and I are feeling thwarted and disappointed.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
I’m getting in the groove.
I’m getting in the groove.
Growing up a Yankee in New England, I think there must have been an unspoken understanding that life was tough, you don’t usually get what you want (at least don’t count on it) and so you should just clench your teeth and push on. Conversely- life actually was pretty good, compared to what 95% of the world’s population suffer. So in comes the guilt when life is good.
However….I don’t think there’s a person here in Santa Fe who feels that way. Every person I have talked to so far is a transplant: no one grew up here. Every one of them chose to be here because they love it; the lifestyle, the pace, the landscape, the food, the arts, the music, the culture, the friendliness- and the great mix of people. No one has said this is just where they ended up- so they make the best of it. I do know people who visit and are glad to go home. The vast space, the dramatic contrast of desert and mountains, the muted but rich color, and the seemingly scrappy foliage are too severe for many. The horizon might be over a hundred miles away. You’ll see a snow squall to the north, blue sky to the south, and a rainbow in the east. All at the same time. Nothing cozy about this state. Unless, of course, your heart and soul just fill up and warm everything around you. I have yet to see any evidence of Botox or cosmetic surgery. Dressing up means clean jeans, pointier boots, and some fun jewelry. Everyone seems to be content with things just as they are- the whole range. Besides, the sun will be out tomorrow, the mountains are beautiful, and there are many good hiking trails right there….
So this girl is getting her groove on! All the things I love to do are right here, and when I don’t feel like ‘doing’, it is a spectacular place to just breathe and look around.
I finally called one of the people on my “to call” list. This woman was brought out here after a messy divorce by some friends of mine, who had planned a trip to Santa Fe. After the vacation- my friends went home- and she stayed. Still here 30 years later.
Am I lonely- not knowing much of anyone here? Nope. I like my own company, but I know I can get kind of hermit-y. So I am cultivating a new m.o.- bolder, friendlier, more outgoing. I found a great yoga center and go 3 times a week. I found a great wool/knitting shop, started a sweater, and go to the knitting group on Sunday afternoons. One day last week, I went in to buy some stitch holders and got into a really nice conversation with the woman who was manning the store that day. I boldly handed her my card and said “If you’re ever up for a cup of tea- give me a call”. She looked at my card and said…”My sister used to live next to a poet…Chase Twichell.” My sister.
That same night, I went to see the Ballet Trockadero, and was chatting with the couple on one side of me during intermission. We decided to exchange phone numbers, and the wife looked at my card and said ”Are you any relation to David and Smoke Twichell?” My aunt and uncle. I mean- come on!
Growing up a Yankee in New England, I think there must have been an unspoken understanding that life was tough, you don’t usually get what you want (at least don’t count on it) and so you should just clench your teeth and push on. Conversely- life actually was pretty good, compared to what 95% of the world’s population suffer. So in comes the guilt when life is good.
However….I don’t think there’s a person here in Santa Fe who feels that way. Every person I have talked to so far is a transplant: no one grew up here. Every one of them chose to be here because they love it; the lifestyle, the pace, the landscape, the food, the arts, the music, the culture, the friendliness- and the great mix of people. No one has said this is just where they ended up- so they make the best of it. I do know people who visit and are glad to go home. The vast space, the dramatic contrast of desert and mountains, the muted but rich color, and the seemingly scrappy foliage are too severe for many. The horizon might be over a hundred miles away. You’ll see a snow squall to the north, blue sky to the south, and a rainbow in the east. All at the same time. Nothing cozy about this state. Unless, of course, your heart and soul just fill up and warm everything around you. I have yet to see any evidence of Botox or cosmetic surgery. Dressing up means clean jeans, pointier boots, and some fun jewelry. Everyone seems to be content with things just as they are- the whole range. Besides, the sun will be out tomorrow, the mountains are beautiful, and there are many good hiking trails right there….
So this girl is getting her groove on! All the things I love to do are right here, and when I don’t feel like ‘doing’, it is a spectacular place to just breathe and look around.
I finally called one of the people on my “to call” list. This woman was brought out here after a messy divorce by some friends of mine, who had planned a trip to Santa Fe. After the vacation- my friends went home- and she stayed. Still here 30 years later.
Am I lonely- not knowing much of anyone here? Nope. I like my own company, but I know I can get kind of hermit-y. So I am cultivating a new m.o.- bolder, friendlier, more outgoing. I found a great yoga center and go 3 times a week. I found a great wool/knitting shop, started a sweater, and go to the knitting group on Sunday afternoons. One day last week, I went in to buy some stitch holders and got into a really nice conversation with the woman who was manning the store that day. I boldly handed her my card and said “If you’re ever up for a cup of tea- give me a call”. She looked at my card and said…”My sister used to live next to a poet…Chase Twichell.” My sister.
That same night, I went to see the Ballet Trockadero, and was chatting with the couple on one side of me during intermission. We decided to exchange phone numbers, and the wife looked at my card and said ”Are you any relation to David and Smoke Twichell?” My aunt and uncle. I mean- come on!
Monday, February 8, 2010
Sliding to a stop!
Landing and sliding to a stop.
In Oklahoma we stopped at the Cowpoke Café- a tiny diner in the middle of nowhere, just off Interstate 40. It was the only building within view…and out there the “view” covers a lot of territory- hundreds of miles. A wiry waitress made us a fresh pot of coffee, and while we waited, we spent five bucks in one of those machines that delivers a little plastic toy- and never the one you want. The contents of this machine were a variety of “Trailer Park” people- the fat guy in the Barca lounger with a remote in his hand, a boy with a banjo, a teenage girl pumping gas (the prize we didn’t get), a scrappy man with a mullet, and a wiry waitress with an apron, among others.
“My daughter says that’s me NOW, and the fat lady with the broom is me in 10 years! HA!” our waitress said with a cigarette-y laugh. “NEVER!” we said, laughing with her. She loved the little people too. My friend Bill Georgenes is an artist, here in Santa Fe, and creates these incredible wall hangings that look like little Hindu shrines. He takes all kinds of small found objects, wire, fake flowers, plastic soldiers, animals, superheroes, dinosaurs, etc. and makes these intricate 3D constructions with them- then spray paints them gold, or silver. They are roughly 12”x12” but are also a foot deep. He will love these little guys.
Cary and I get our coffee and head back out on the road with a big thank you to the waitress for the fresh java, and we head west. About 2 hours east of Amarillo we pull into a motel, where the dog stretches every muscle in his body, in all directions, and examines our quarters for the night. So far every “pet approved” room we’ve had has been clean, odor free, and with the exception of one bedspread covered in white dog hair, very nice. Traveling with a dog has improved in this country. It’s been a long day with over 7 hours on the road so we feed the hound, and kick back to watch the evening news and the weather forecast. Ahhhhh…the weather forecast. Cary and I look at each other. Apparently, at the New Mexico/Texas border the incoming blizzard will turn to freezing rain and ice. We compare notes: in 4 hours we could be at the border…getting stuck in Texas/Oklahoma means we’ll be stuck here for days and days. So we check out, pack up the car, and the dog dolefully climbs back in. Westward ho! Around 11 pm we pull into what turns out to be our home away from home for the next few days: The Quality Inn of Tucumcari, New Mexico. 3 Hours from Santa Fe.
By dawn the snow is flying sideways and the Interstate is a total mess. Along with a dozed Fed Ex drivers who’ve parked their big rigs out back, a young army family with a 10 day old baby, and an odd assortment of other travelers, we settle in for the wait. Luckily the motel has a restaurant and bar, and one snow shovel. Only about 3 employees and the cook make it to work- so everyone pitches in. It’s kind of like Gilligan’s Island! Everyone gives up trying to figure out when to leave, because now the Interstate is closed in both directions. A motel employee shovels the front steps, one shovel width wide, and out 2’ from the bottom step. After that it is a complete white out: Siberia. Hilarious!
There’s heat, food, WiFi, a bar, and a lot of fun people. There are 2 decks of cards that we know about…and there’s always charades…..
In Oklahoma we stopped at the Cowpoke Café- a tiny diner in the middle of nowhere, just off Interstate 40. It was the only building within view…and out there the “view” covers a lot of territory- hundreds of miles. A wiry waitress made us a fresh pot of coffee, and while we waited, we spent five bucks in one of those machines that delivers a little plastic toy- and never the one you want. The contents of this machine were a variety of “Trailer Park” people- the fat guy in the Barca lounger with a remote in his hand, a boy with a banjo, a teenage girl pumping gas (the prize we didn’t get), a scrappy man with a mullet, and a wiry waitress with an apron, among others.
“My daughter says that’s me NOW, and the fat lady with the broom is me in 10 years! HA!” our waitress said with a cigarette-y laugh. “NEVER!” we said, laughing with her. She loved the little people too. My friend Bill Georgenes is an artist, here in Santa Fe, and creates these incredible wall hangings that look like little Hindu shrines. He takes all kinds of small found objects, wire, fake flowers, plastic soldiers, animals, superheroes, dinosaurs, etc. and makes these intricate 3D constructions with them- then spray paints them gold, or silver. They are roughly 12”x12” but are also a foot deep. He will love these little guys.
Cary and I get our coffee and head back out on the road with a big thank you to the waitress for the fresh java, and we head west. About 2 hours east of Amarillo we pull into a motel, where the dog stretches every muscle in his body, in all directions, and examines our quarters for the night. So far every “pet approved” room we’ve had has been clean, odor free, and with the exception of one bedspread covered in white dog hair, very nice. Traveling with a dog has improved in this country. It’s been a long day with over 7 hours on the road so we feed the hound, and kick back to watch the evening news and the weather forecast. Ahhhhh…the weather forecast. Cary and I look at each other. Apparently, at the New Mexico/Texas border the incoming blizzard will turn to freezing rain and ice. We compare notes: in 4 hours we could be at the border…getting stuck in Texas/Oklahoma means we’ll be stuck here for days and days. So we check out, pack up the car, and the dog dolefully climbs back in. Westward ho! Around 11 pm we pull into what turns out to be our home away from home for the next few days: The Quality Inn of Tucumcari, New Mexico. 3 Hours from Santa Fe.
By dawn the snow is flying sideways and the Interstate is a total mess. Along with a dozed Fed Ex drivers who’ve parked their big rigs out back, a young army family with a 10 day old baby, and an odd assortment of other travelers, we settle in for the wait. Luckily the motel has a restaurant and bar, and one snow shovel. Only about 3 employees and the cook make it to work- so everyone pitches in. It’s kind of like Gilligan’s Island! Everyone gives up trying to figure out when to leave, because now the Interstate is closed in both directions. A motel employee shovels the front steps, one shovel width wide, and out 2’ from the bottom step. After that it is a complete white out: Siberia. Hilarious!
There’s heat, food, WiFi, a bar, and a lot of fun people. There are 2 decks of cards that we know about…and there’s always charades…..
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
"Fear is a natural reaction to moving closer to the truth" P.C.
There is a Pema Chodron story I love. Before she became a Buddhist monk, when she was married, her husband told her she was the bravest person he had ever met. "ME?" she said. "I'm afraid of EVERYTHING!" He replied "Yes- but you do it anyway."
Deirdre Blomfield-Brown (aka Pema Chodron) went to my boarding school. Being a Miss Porter's girl, I like to think her ability to reconcile fear with forward movement had to do with experiences at our alma mater. Maybe something in our shared training will come in handy during the next few months. I've been too caught up in cleaning up/re-painting the house inside for Christmas, and planning meals for masses to spend any time at all pondering my upcoming adventure. Good. Maybe I won't go through the fear and panic part.
Nah. Today my son Dave told me he's going back to college tomorrow. Tomorrow??!!! He wasn't supposed to leave til the 8th! I tell myself that the best thing a mother can hope for is that her children love their lives- and are eager to engage, and that for Dave to be itching to get "home" to his apartment a week or two before his classes start up is a great thing! I practice telling myself this as I phone my pal Laurie, wipe my nose and eyes, and try to stop gasping. For weeks I've had a house full of laughter, cooking smells, dirty dishes, overflowing recyclables (beer bottles and Xmas paper debris) and other signs of family life. This week it goes back to just me and the animals, and the list of things to do before I leave on the 21st.
I warned Laurie last week while we were making latkas for our kids (who grew up together) that a tidal wave of panic might set in after the holidays- and she'd better be ready to calm me down. She- whose darling son is home for a few weeks from a year-long stint in Indonesia - understands. What have I gotten myself into with this "adventure" out west??? What was I thinking- going to some town where I have 2 acquaintances,and a list of people to ring up- friends of friends. Cold calls. ARGH. Where I will be far from all 4 children, sisters, mother. I remind myself I have a list of yoga classes to sign up for, knitting circles, a dog park to visit, jazz venues, Sierra Club hikes with dogs, galleries to explore, and projects to do. I remind myself I am going for 3 months- not 3 years. There is an airport, telephones, e-mail. I love Santa Fe. I think. That's what I'm going to find out.
What's so scary? Loneliness? No. Been there, done that. Being far from the familiar? From my reliable resources? Getting closer. I remind myself that 'familiar' doesn't necessarily mean 'good'. Been there, too. I play the "name the monster" game: What is the WORST thing that could happen? Most of what I come up with is not that terrible or unresolvable. The few doozies I come up with could happen whether or not I'm here- and I just refuse to live in an incapacitating state of fear. Pema's talking to me.
Ok, I'm breathing again. I'm chuckling at myself and shaking my head. I go online and look at the pictures of the casita I'm renting. There are walking trails right out the back door, and it looks like the kitchen windows face East- nice. I wonder if that door in the larger bedroom leads out into the garden?
Deirdre Blomfield-Brown (aka Pema Chodron) went to my boarding school. Being a Miss Porter's girl, I like to think her ability to reconcile fear with forward movement had to do with experiences at our alma mater. Maybe something in our shared training will come in handy during the next few months. I've been too caught up in cleaning up/re-painting the house inside for Christmas, and planning meals for masses to spend any time at all pondering my upcoming adventure. Good. Maybe I won't go through the fear and panic part.
Nah. Today my son Dave told me he's going back to college tomorrow. Tomorrow??!!! He wasn't supposed to leave til the 8th! I tell myself that the best thing a mother can hope for is that her children love their lives- and are eager to engage, and that for Dave to be itching to get "home" to his apartment a week or two before his classes start up is a great thing! I practice telling myself this as I phone my pal Laurie, wipe my nose and eyes, and try to stop gasping. For weeks I've had a house full of laughter, cooking smells, dirty dishes, overflowing recyclables (beer bottles and Xmas paper debris) and other signs of family life. This week it goes back to just me and the animals, and the list of things to do before I leave on the 21st.
I warned Laurie last week while we were making latkas for our kids (who grew up together) that a tidal wave of panic might set in after the holidays- and she'd better be ready to calm me down. She- whose darling son is home for a few weeks from a year-long stint in Indonesia - understands. What have I gotten myself into with this "adventure" out west??? What was I thinking- going to some town where I have 2 acquaintances,and a list of people to ring up- friends of friends. Cold calls. ARGH. Where I will be far from all 4 children, sisters, mother. I remind myself I have a list of yoga classes to sign up for, knitting circles, a dog park to visit, jazz venues, Sierra Club hikes with dogs, galleries to explore, and projects to do. I remind myself I am going for 3 months- not 3 years. There is an airport, telephones, e-mail. I love Santa Fe. I think. That's what I'm going to find out.
What's so scary? Loneliness? No. Been there, done that. Being far from the familiar? From my reliable resources? Getting closer. I remind myself that 'familiar' doesn't necessarily mean 'good'. Been there, too. I play the "name the monster" game: What is the WORST thing that could happen? Most of what I come up with is not that terrible or unresolvable. The few doozies I come up with could happen whether or not I'm here- and I just refuse to live in an incapacitating state of fear. Pema's talking to me.
Ok, I'm breathing again. I'm chuckling at myself and shaking my head. I go online and look at the pictures of the casita I'm renting. There are walking trails right out the back door, and it looks like the kitchen windows face East- nice. I wonder if that door in the larger bedroom leads out into the garden?
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