the wild side

someone else's junk clutter
I'm beginning to feel that the months and months of obsessive on and off decluttering is actually paying off. The house feels more open. There's a sense of space seeping in. Yesterday I loaded up the car, drove to the recycle center and got rid of an enormous amount of bottles, cans, newspapers, catalogues. Happily donned my work gloves and emptied the car. Then drove to Pieces, a huge consignment shop, with boxes of clothes, handbags, shoes. Friday is the day they receive stuff and while they looked through it all, I wandered around the place -- and nearly had cardiac arrest! It's the most cluttered place on earth! (I didn't even attempt to take pictures of the racks and racks of clothing, or the wall of handbags six deep).

it ain't me babe (anymore)
Being in there actually made me nervous. We're such a fickle culture, aren't we? By the standards of most of the world's population, all Americans are rich - even the poor have plumbing, indoor toilets, electricity, televisions, cars and cellphones. We certainly have a short attention span and given that Taos, overall, is not a wealthy place (New Mexico is listed 47th economy-wise in the whole country), the sheer volume of stuff in Pieces is astonishing. It was so crowded in there that I couldn't see past the multiples of everything imaginable and, in a daze, made my way back, empty-handed, to the desk where they'd finished and made their choices. About 5 items were handed back (and a surprise check from the last load several months ago). I took the leftovers (perfectly good) to the Boys and Girls Club donation box in town and felt light (and virtuous). I did like the prince's purple satin crown though.

Now to the Farmer's Market this morning and then back to my desk to organize and sort through what exactly I am taking to CA with me next Sunday. The point of the trip is to actually return with publishable pages, follow the muse and maybe even start something new. Many writers feel they can't produce in their everyday environment and we're always looking for the place, "the triggering town," (as Richard Hughes so famously said), whereby we can actually think original thoughts and receive inspiration -- (a challenging thought in itself!).

White Horse Bulletin

She hasn't given birth yet. And I was disappointed when I returned home yesterday to find that she was moved into a corral where we couldn't see her. As White gets closer to foaling (is that a word?), we figured they wanted to keep her isolated and safe. Then in the evening Floyd called to say they're putting her on our land and would like to dig a small pond to divert water. Hooray! All three horses were released at dusk and the two other mares (brown and unpregnant) galloped around like wild things, raising dust, braking at the fence, sharp turnings, running back again.  It was an amazing sight to see and hear. The last of the light faded and only White was visible in the dark. She ambled around slowly and calmly the way a hugely pregnant female should and seemed quite uninterested in the wild spirit all around her. This morning she (and her companion) come close to the adobe wall to visit.