Hell of a Guy
Adventure is worthwhile - Aesop

Wednesday, August 08, 2007



Saturday, Aug. 18, is “Someday Day.”  A day when you can do all those things you planned to do Someday.

My good buddy Dale sent this to me.  I just love it!  Someday Day: A day set aside for all those folks who like to use “Someday” as a reason for not doing what should be done “Now.”  I am a big Somedayer.  I’d like to think it is my only fault.

Someday, I am going to visit my sister.

Someday, I am going to go back to school.

Someday I an going to complete all those little jobs at home that I keep putting off.

Someday, I am going to get a better job.

Someday, I am going to get a better husband.  Hmmm?  (I through that in for The Nancy.)

My Someday list is all prepared and ready for the day.  I had no idea it was so close.

Someday Day is just around the corner.

Maybe I should begin saying One day?

And that is all I have to say about that… 

Friday, August 03, 2007

Spelling Albuquerque


It’s a hell of a lot easier to say Albuquerque than it is to spell it.  I took a crash course in spelling it before The Nancy and I traveled there this past weekend, so now I have it down pat.  Dale, aka my New Mexican lover, and his gracious wife Judy live in Albuquerque.  I have known them for a little more than two and half years, and in that time I have come to love and cherish them more each time we speak or see one another.  They are just about the nicest people anyone could call friends.  And, they host a hell of a great weekend getaway, where they serve as drivers, guides, cooks, bartenders and entertainment.


A week ago Thursday evening The Nancy and I boarded a big bird and flew to A-l-b-q-u-e-r-q-u-e (kind of just rolls off the tongue) and arrived there rather late in the evening.  By the time we got a quick tour of this growing city and made it to our hosts’ home, we were pretty pooped.  After a quick snack this Hell-of-a-Guy was half asleep and dragging ass, so I trotted off to bed and slept like a baby.  I don’t think I stirred or even rolled over until the sun was well above the horizon Friday morning.  That, alone, does not happen very often…a morning where the sun is up before me.

Dale and Judy had our day’s excursions mapped out, and Friday’s sortie involved a trip to the Gallery Capital of the Free World, Santa Fe.  We must have traipsed through fifteen or more galleries looking at piece after piece of art we could neither afford or would fit into farmhouse decor, though some of it was truly spectacular.  Santa Fe must have at least a couple of hundred art eclectic galleries, restaurants, and loads Indian artisans selling their handiwork and crafts at street markets right off a tablecloth lying on the sidewalk.  We saw beautiful churches and very old buildings, some dating 300 to 400 years old.  The town is incredible.

We made it to Taos, New Mexico, on Saturday.  Another incredible town full of history, good food, and more shops and galleries, and a place that’s fascination was only diminished by a visit to the Taos Pueblo just up the road.

The closest I ever came to an authentic Indian village prior to this one was in the Great Smokey Mountains of North Carolina.  The Pueblo is so different.  Here some Indians still live year-round, about twenty families we’re told.  There is no electricity or running water (save a stream running through the middle of the pueblo grounds) in the small confines of pueblo dwellings.  The massive buildings have been here and occupied for about 400 years.  We were told the same Indian tribe has inhabited the area for well over 1000 years.  It is one of the most spectacular places I have ever been.  The Pueblo is on a very large mesa and is bordered on two sides by some rocky, pine covered mountains. 
The air is thin and filled with spirits you cannot help but feel in the breeze and whisper of the rustling leaves.  I was overwhelmed with the sense of them, so much so it was palpable.  It was tough to hold back the tears.  The Pueblo itself is made of adobe bricks covered with a mixture of mud and straw.  In its heyday it may have provided small dwellings for three to four hundred people.  It is a dirty, dusty existence very much not suited for this guy, but beautiful nonetheless, in an earthy sort of way.

The drive to Santa Fe and Taos took us through a landscape equally incredible to anything I have ever seen, all under the bluest sky I have ever seen.  New Mexico is so very different than my beloved West Virginia.  Where we have thick forests loaded with all kinds of flora and fauna, New Mexico is open, rock covered and rolling country littered with piñón trees (pine nuts) and long stretches of open land that seemingly allow you to see forever.
In the mountains, along the “High Road” from Taos back to Santa Fe the landscape is completely different.  This is where the woods are thick and lush and stretch up into the high mountains and down into shadowed valleys.

Two things really struck me besides the scenery we got to enjoy…well; maybe three if you count the wonderful people who shared their home with us.  One is the delicious, mouth watering, sumptuous food we enjoyed there at every meal.  I loved it.  “Red or green?” has taken on a new meaning.  And the other thing is the poverty of the Indians.  Seems as though everywhere we drove outside of Albuquerque we saw dwellings that were barely inhabitable, yet they were.  It was not unusual to see a very nice house not too far from another where the house appeared to be moments from collapsing onto a lot littered with old cars, appliances and trash.  Some of the Native Americans there lead very hard lives, no doubt. 

All and all, it was a really great place to spend a long weekend.  Our friends there have invited us back.  They didn’t give a hint of reluctance when they did it, and one day we will definitely go back.

Albuquerque (named after a French Mexican – or something like that) is easy to spell, especially, when you write it on the palm of your hand and look at it several times a day.

And that is all I have to say about that…

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