We were celebrating your 60th birthday with this 1989 hike in Colorado, but the photos will do for Father’s Day. My late father, Bob Robertson, 1929-1995.
8:07 p.m. May 22, 2020. 8:22 p.m. May 22, 2020.
I’m trying to be a good New Mexican during the COVID crisis. I am not hoarding ammo or TP. I do not gather with more than one neighbor and another dog. But I draw the line at long hair. I am afraid to check in with my longtime hair cutter in Bernalillo. She’s shut down …
So far during this stay-at-home month, I have had a Zoomed water board meeting and a long-scheduled but ultimately Zoomed medical appointment. Cowboy attended both.
Moonrise over the Cuchilla de San Francisco, near Placitas, New Mexico. Friday night. Saturday night.
I’ll never be fully comfortable calling these wee Placitas souls — this one photobombing my bluebird session this morning — Texas antelope squirrels. My trusty “Field Guide to the Sandia Mountains (edited by Julyan and Stuever) notes, “The Rio Grande serves as a barrier between the Texas antelope occurring east of the river and the …
Dentistry has come a long way and even a root canal is no sweat, but it’s still nice to have a sympathetic soul waiting for you at home. Though we both know I warrant only short-term care. I’m not saying he’s fickle, but having made sure I am OK, or bored with my self-pity, Cowboy’s …
Winter solstice and morning after. Sequence of mundane events. The evening … This morning …
I woke with only a sore knee and realized as I sorted dreams from feet on the ground that I started too many of the past 1800 mornings thinking about the next. Cancer can do that to you, if you are lucky enough to live and not hurt too bad. I have had it twice …
dream ranch 