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 …
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 …
Who knows when we’ll get more? I wanted to wait and look for more photos, but I’ll do this today: yesterday’s storm. I Thunder:
I am reminded that blue birds do fly, now and then.
The weather technicians say it is the start of the monsoon, but I still balk at the New Mexico use of the term. It works when I’m reading Joseph Conrad, but it seems out of place as I gaze at the Pajarito Plateau. Against the grain of my newspaper training, reluctantly using two words instead …
I was down in the dumps for a while but then realized I was reading only about Trump, Custer and the newspaper business. My spirits are lifting now. I know there is no saving of the newspaper business as I knew it, but I remain hopeful about journalism and journalists. I foresee Trump following in …
Head kept getting lost in the clouds.
Today: First rain since a trace on Feb. 23. And here is a cautionary post from @jfleck on Twitter.
dream ranch 