afternoon beer

Many years ago, I was part of a survey team researching New Mexico quilts. The project was the brainchild of Dorothy Zopf, quilter and retired art teacher, who discovered that there was no data on an extremely important element in Hispanic New Mexican life: handmade quilts. The survey was conducted over several years, spread to Anglo quilts as well, and the result was Dorothy's book, Surviving the Winter. I was one of five women who helped with the research. My job was scribe and backup photographer and I loved toting notebook and compact 35mm camera on each trip.

Last evening Dorothy and I were invited to speak to an audience at the Taos Retirement Village Center about our adventures along the highways, byways and rural areas of NM. It had been snowing in Taos all day but I was able to navigate the roads into town from my perch in Des Montes at 7500 feet (Dorothy lives in the village and just walked over). The invitation prompted me to search through personal notes, photos, articles and poems I'd written at that time. A favorite experience was afternoon beer at The Rosebud Saloon in Mountainair. Although written long ago, it still resonates.

The Rosebud Saloon

Thursday afternoon
southwestern New Mexico
early summer beer
at the Rosebud Saloon
pool table fluorescent lights
guys in big hats at the bar.
I think about danger
something I read once
men and bars in afternoons
in remote towns. Here
it's only a TV rerun of
This Old House.

They take no notice
of five old girls who want to
carve their initials into the table
laughing in their beer
laughing with each other.

Maybe the sun's shining outside
maybe not, in the Rosebud Saloon
bright light illuminates fading hair
wrinkles, someone has arthritis
a guy at the bar tips his hat
red light blinks Budweiser's Best
and I wonder whose dream I'm in.

seeing more directly what is true

Beware of that determined slide to the worst possible, barely imaginable scenario. You don't have to go there. Let's just see what happens now.        (Sharon Salzberg) 

(facsimile of Emily Dickinson's handwriting with ED mittz)

Good advice, since I just spent the last half hour or more writing and whining about waking up at 3 am to impossibly strong winds blowing in a snowstorm that turned my mind to typical wee hours thoughts of disaster, loss, old age, disease, joy, worry and doubt. When I'd finished writing, all my too many words and photos disappeared. So that's what happened then. This is now. It's snowing. It's pretty. It's winter. The dark time is coming.

Now that I've gotten that out of my system (without any wi-fi connectivity issues), I sit at my kitchen table writing in mid-morning as the snow comes and goes and have faith that in a day or so the sun will return in a Taos blue sky. There is food in the house, my cup of tea nearby, a notebook, camera (just in case), and wool. Wool. Wool.

Completed this cheerful pair of socks that reminds me of alpine ski lodges, mountains and snow that is actually fun to romp in if one is so inclined (I'm not, although I live in the environment described). I immediately began another sock with colors that simply feel good. Joyous socks, flower garden yarn, faith-in-the-future socks....

We face the darkest time of the year and I admit to often having low feelings around the holidays that include losses and gains, memories and longings. I know others do, too. My antidote is wool, color, the act of hands busily moving to create something pretty while the mind goes off on its alpha journey and diminishes some of the darkness. It is my version of hibernating into the tactile pleasure of mostly silent knitting (and writing -- they go together).

Since I no longer do an annual craft fair, I am not compelled to create "inventory" and now only knit what I love and am in the mood for. Yet I am almost always working on something and once finished I can easily let go. It seems to be about the act rather than acquisition. Since I don't need as many pairs of socks (or sweaters or scarves or hand warmers) as I turn out, they generally disappear onto other feet, hands, necks, heads...because other people love these things, too. Strangers, friends, family. It gives me great pleasure when I see or hear of someone wearing socks or hand warmers I knitted, a granddaughter wearing the felted bag, a poet using the teapot cosy as she writes and sips hot tea.

readjusting

Away from this blog for a long long time, I will try to catch up. Back in Taos now after six weeks or so in the east with friends, family, and a writing retreat. Ron was informed that he is "cancer-free" and although he has to build up his strength and gain some weight, he managed to take care of himself in my absence. Actually, I think he was pleased to be free of my nagging him to eat! I walked a lot, knitted some, wrote a lot and did some shopping in the tri-state area. I found a couple of cool yarn shops and indulged in some Malabrigo Finito yarn for handwarmers and a shawlette (kettle dyed in Uruguay).

I (and my eager assistants) had fun "researching" the ubiquitous New York black and white cookie (the one shown is not the traditional version, but it will do). We had to give up the profject when our jeans got a bit too tight. But we will eventually resume for the cause!

I will post about this fun "project" soon. Back east I got to hang out with some new friends.  One friend, today, sent a photo of a Christmas tree trimmed with balls of cashmere yarn! So you see, besides cookies, they got to know me pretty well! Since my granddaughter and great grandson are planning to visit again in early December I may have to trim a Christmas tree this year -- and while it may not be all about cashmere, it could easily be about yarn balls. If they come though, I suspect I might be forced to open those boxes of old old Xmas ornaments stashed in the garage. We are a sentimental lot -- and I haven't seen those contents in many years. Which reminds me that a high point of my visit was being with my older brother Frank (and his beautiful wife Rita) for a whole day. He cooked for me and we reminisced and laughed a lot (also drank Scotch at 4 pm -- his daily prescription for good health (he's going to be 87 in January so manybe he's on to something).

Walking wooded paths, I encountered more dramatic huge mushrooms I still couldn't identify, colorful spiders, deer and cheerful graffiti.

The weather was generally warm and pleasant, but now "...winter circles and moves in..." (Charles Wright) and I need to wrap myself in wool.

At this time, on a dark night in November, I write, sip chilled Pinot Grigio and eat too many Pirouette Chocolate Hazelnut wafers. Not necessarily a good idea, but life is short and you only live once.