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 …

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I almost forgot June was upon us until wildfires started breaking out like popcorn and a friend had to pass on coming out to Placitas for a bowl of beans. These would seem to be predictable misadventures in what is often New Mexico’s most troublesome month. When my weather app reported an 80 percent chance …

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