The Dark Days of Winter

In between trips around AZ and NM, I am grateful to finally settle into my new desert home, which I have named the Sanctuary. I am reveling in my solitude at last, not the least bit lonely, as I become acquainted with the house's uniqueness and little quirks.   When you first enter the yard, there is a cloister-like doorway that draws me to the house every time I arrive. The front yard is like a convent courtyard, with a dry fountain that I hope to revive at some point to keep the birds happy.                                                    The house is furnished throughout with elegant Native American and Mexican art.  There is pottery that I would love to identify, as I'm certain some are of Pueblo or other southwestern tribal origin.  There are several Talavera tile and porcelain pots from Mexico as well.       ...

Tw o days after the closing of my new house, I headed off for Santa Fe, NM with my friend Kathy.  Though I might have been better off staying put, I'd arranged a home exchange about a year ago, and the price was right (free) so off we went.  It was snowing when we left, and I was glad Kathy drove her zippy little Subaru, rather than me taking the big honking Nomad Moon. We travelled through some beautiful canyon lands, but didn't actually see the view (due to snow and fog) till the return trip 5 days later.  We stayed in a rustic but roomy house in the desert, about 20 miles outside of Santa Fe. While it had a lovely fireplace, we set off the smoke alarm while trying to make a fire and the entire house smelled like smoke for 2 days. No matter; during the day the strong sunlight warmed the house like a greenhouse through its many windows.  But at night it was poorly lit, making it hard to read. No internet, cell service or games to play, it was a bit more retreat...

                                            The flurry of activity has reached a crescendo.  Closing on the new house is either today or tomorrow.  I still have to pinch myself every morning, which is followed by a wave of vertigo.  Am I really doing this crazy thing?  As I bop from friends' house to friends' house, in order to not have to park my van in anyone's driveway for very long, I sometimes forget where I am.  Last weekend I had a sweet reunion with some of my Africa volunteer pals.  I was nervous about hanging out with a bunch of millennials, with whom I bonded while in Kenya, but now it was a year later, here in the US. It was bittersweet, proof that while "necessity makes strange bedfellows", it is still possible to befriend people across generations and have a lasting relationship.  We hiked in the Arizona desert, ate Mexican food, ...

There are 2 kinds of migrants these days.  There are those who make the perilous journey through open holes in the border wall, crossing the desert at night braving the elements and every manner of danger. And there are those who legally present themselves to U.S Customs and Border Patrol, requesting to seek asylum.  The thousands we hear about in the news are the latter group, but there are still the intrepid ones who make the journey on their own or with the help of a "coyote".                                         I am currently reading a book called "Solito" by Javier Zamora, which is about a 9 year old Salvadoran boy who made the journey unaccompanied by his family.  It is incredibly eye-opening to hear the details of the crossing from the perspective of a child. I went on a couple of trips this week with Humane Borders, the nonprofit organization that supplies water...