The Aztecs believe they started up in what’s now New Mexico and wandered for 10,000 years before they got down into where they are now, in Mexico City. ~Jerry Pournelle
The Ranger Station
“Are the glyphs here similar to the ones down South?” I asked the uniformed Park Ranger at the Petroglyph Visitor Center as he directed us on the map to a few readily accessible trails featuring a variety of petroglyphs. He wasn’t wearing the light tan Smokey the Boar hat, I guess because he is indoors. I like the iconic hat. He speaks the monologue I had already heard him spin through a few times to other inquiring visitors, a monologue I imagine he spits out hundreds of times a day, thousands a week.
The Quality of Light
Elsewhere the sky is the roof of the world; but here the earth was the floor of the sky. ~Willa Cather
Picture crystalline waters at the source of a frigid mountain stream formed when snow cries during the first warm rays of spring. Picture a turquoise ocean offering a warmth as welcoming as an amniotic bath birthing a blue as succulent as the first kiss with a person who perfectly fills the void in your soul. Mix them together with curls of airy bird down and you will begin to understand the near perfect light and wispy cloud sky engulfing you when stepping off the plane into Northern New Mexico. Continue reading
Awakened by a Demon
The demon screeched as if being tortured in the pits of hell where every last inch of its flesh was flayed and the writhing, skinless, oozing body was dipped in rock salt and set on a slow-burning flame.
“Uh-Ooooooo, Oh-Noooooo, Tu-Qoooooo, Fu-Quuuuu, Quuuu-Quu-uuu-uu-u”
It’s screeching shattered the still of the night. Not just once. Over and over for the better part of an hour. It screeched. Then the lull during which my heart settled and I felt sleep crawling from between the sheets, my eyes growing heavy. Until it screeched again. Four screams in a sequence with the last sputtering words decaying like a loosely mounted motor running out of gas forcing every cell in my body to high alert. Danger, Will Robison.
There are few situations more frightening than sitting comfortably with your back against a smooth rock on a gloriously hot, dry, and sunny day breathing pristine mountain air without a worry until hearing an agitated buzzing and realizing you are face to face and within striking distance of a rattlesnake. A rattlesnake with a body thicker than your flexed bicep. A rattlesnake in a tight coil, neck cocked in a tense ’S’ where the slightest breeze would release the hair trigger, and the only escape route is through or over the snake. One should be afraid. One should be terrified. But I was not. Perhaps it is because I, a self-avowed Desert Rat, have a strange affinity for snakes. Perhaps the flicking black tongue hypnotized me. I’m not sure. All I remember from the moment at Petroglyph National Monument was feeling mesmerized.
The past is a place of reference, not a place of residence. ~Roy T. Bennett
With the sale of the family Summer Estate in Central Wisconsin in March of 2018, the second to last vestige of my childhood goes the way of the final Dodo bird clubbed over the head by a sailor for food. Death. Extinction. The last vestige is my childhood home, a red brick bungalow still housing my Mother. It is the saving grace connecting me to my personal history. A place I can visit and feel connected to a youth characterized by reckless stupidity, a youth experiencing more joy than any one person deserves.
I close my eyes, only for a moment, and the moment’s gone
All my dreams pass before my eyes, a curiosity
Dust in the wind
All they are is dust in the wind…
Street Food Fit for a Queen or Two US Travelers
Mussels & Clams
At the San Pedro port, there is a Hispanic Mujer, a street vendor who makes out of this world chicken or pork with a healthy serving of arroz y frijoles. Her English is not great so she has bilingual helpers to ease transactions. She sets up her stand beneath a blue, Tyvek tarp. We stumbled upon her by accident (is there really such a thing as accidents or is the universe conspiring to give us what we need?) upon arrival last Thursday. We purchased three meals, two chicken one pork, with mine liberally doused in a locally sourced, habañero based hot sauce.
We took the water taxi from the dock at the end of the next door pier to the ferry in San Pedro then ferried to Caye Caulker. We are not a big fan of the ferry system mainly because we are always be stuck in the lower section which does not provide a vantage point where the shades of turquoise are easily studied, where the wind can rub its fingers through my ever whiter hair. Most seats are in the belly of the beast where there are few windows. And because we are shoehorned sardines, there is little space to maneuver for a better view. It feels claustrophobic.