Rain wakes me at 7 a.m., the day before Christmas. I decide to read Joan Didion with coffee. She died yesterday. Later I will read Slouching Toward Bethlehem . This morning I choose her essay on Ernest Hemingway, Last Words. There will be fried potatoes and green chile for breakfast. Cowboy ate his kibble and …
Well scare turned out to be just a bad pump. Some hope for snow in the forecast later this week. Most of the rest of the news not good but we took a day off.
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When you live alone with a dog, in my case an alert blue heeler, they learn all the what’s-next signals, from teeth-brushing and sock-tugging, to garbage-can rustling and cookie-jar rattling, to text messaging from a walk friend and inhaler-puffing by the alleged walk supervisor. Dinnertime delay prompts a visit and a stare. After five years …
This morning’s wildfire smoke started me thinking about our last big snow. It was December 2006 and it was a big one for the upper Middle Rio Grande valley. A record-setting 11.3 inches landed on the airport in Albuquerque. We got close to a couple of feet up here in Placitas. That is my late …
I started thinking about the weather when sister Hope sent me photos of life in Montana. We started sensing what was coming here in Placitas on Friday. The wind picked up from the west and it was time to brave the construction-clogged traffic in Bernalillo and stock up on food and allergy medicine: Climate change …
dream ranch 