Loving

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Hey!

Hey! It’s the handsome hubster! He and I were assembling a box spring for a new mattress in the guest room, which is not super large, hence the trail of cardboard.

I’ve started sleeping here most nights, but before you fret about it, know that we don’t AT ALL. It became necessary, as we both want decent rest on the regular, and it just wasn’t happening. Last year, we learned Greg has sleep apnea, generally stopping breathing about 200 times a night, which he was pretty devil may care about while it scared the shit out of me. I mean, seriously, 200 times a night!

He got a C-PAP machine, and it was pretty great, at least initially, because I wasn’t waking up with his crazy loud snores (even with earplugs), and he was consistently breathing. But then, his mask was causing his teeth to hurt, which is super common, so he switched to a small one that fit strictly over his nose. Great for him, but if he opened his mouth, even a little, it was this loud mini-hurricane blasting and waking me up, and I needed the earplugs again. After a while, it became clear this was unsustainable, because my ears were getting more and more irritated after years of nightly usage, and we really didn’t want his teeth to hurt.

So, I tried a night in the guest room and woke up ridiculously refreshed, despite the bed not being as firm as our ours. The deal was sealed, and we replaced the mattress. Save the nights when my hormones aren’t interrupting, my sleep is very, very good. His, too. As a sweet compromise for that old time feeling, we sleep together on the weekend. Hooray!

Sometimes we feel sad about it because, you know, we’ve been together for 33 years and kind of like each other and cuddling and our ritual chatting and hand-holding while drifting off to sleep routine. There is great consolation in Greg being my personal alarm, coming down for a morning cuddle before we start our collective day. It’s pretty perfect, all things considered.

Us, in summer, it is early morning, on a weekday after exercise and a dog walk. Weekends, upon waking, Greg a little sleepy-eyed and Juniper on the hunt for movement, my voice, and a coffee cup delicately placed on the ground for her to lick. The fountain is creek-like, the garden alive with bees and birds and a host of fliers. Our little sanctuary of green and calm. I love it!

And now, as the Monty Python boys would say, for something completely different. Last Thursday, we trekked up to Fiddlers Green for a little bit of ROCK. Not sure I have ever mentioned this here – Greg and I are rather big fans of Alice in Chains, and their amazing lyricist and Riff Lord guitarist Jerry Cantrell is out promoting his latest album, I Want Blood, with the slightly creepy cover just above. He’s also touring with Bush, whose 90s album Sixteen Stone is pretty spectacular, and two other bands we scarcely heard of.

Cue a hot-hot to trot day on the Front Range and a delightfully high energy crowd. Everyone brought it! Highlights: The drummer from Tim Montana clad solely in his underpants. The large number of fine folk that knew every word to every Candlebox song. Jerry belting solo tunes, like his latest, Vilified; Alice in Chains greatest hits, including Would?, my absolute favorite of theirs, to which I sang my heart out and cried, maybe just a little bit, too. But, but , but, that wasn’t all! Bush was also quite stellar, and Gavin Rossdale especially philosophical AND electric. The final photo has Jerry jamming with them to Comedown, which was really, quite a perfect end. Oh, happy day!

Unless the weather is wretched with cold or wind, we walk Juniper, and stroll the high path, with the best views of Pike’s Peak. Nature’s balm and wonder, we never never ever tire of the majestic beauty. These are a weekday’s walk worth at nearly the same time. I love how the sky changes!

Last week, Monday to be precise, I took a solo excursion to New Mexico, firstly in search of places to celebrate my Native Mexican heritage, with that dash of Comanche. My ancestral lines go back to Peru and the Maya of the Yucatan, and who knows how long they journeyed the thousands of miles to New Mexico or where they lived in between. Life is full of mysteries.

My primary concern was finding where long departed grandparents were married or baptized. Sadly, for the first stop, my camera, likely in an act of inattention, got out of setting and took the weirdest, mostly unsalvageable photos (save one – you’ll know it when you see it). Perhaps in an effort to cement my return, I wondered, because I definitely will be back.

Santa Cruz de la Canada, where three grandfathers (Jose Candelario Garcia, Jose Antonio Maes, and Jose Joaquin Garcia de Noriega) were baptized, and two sets of great-grandparents were married, (Jose Joaquin to Maria de la Concepcion), and most exciting, Antonia Olaya Xiron (such a beautiful name!) to Francisco de la Cerda on March 4, 1743. Isn’t it amazing to think this happened thirty-three years before before America was even a country?

The above two photos are in and around Espanola, the land of Ohkay Owingeh, where my Grandma Esquipula was baptized in 1827. This eastward view is one she took in, too. If you’ve done any similar traveling, I’ll bet you experienced that crushing sense of wonder and home. I come from this place. My soul lies in this soil.

My next stop was Abiquiu, the place Georgia O’Keefe made famous, and where a handful of my grandfathers were baptized at Santo Tomas Church: Juan Rafael Serna, Valentin Serna (born on Valentine’s Day!), Jose Felipe de Neri Cisneros, Florencio Casillas, and Marcos Antonio Alire.

You may be wondering where the church photos are, as I definitely have them, but I decided on painting watercolors and sharing them at a later date. Stay tuned…

And again, I was struck by the familiarity and awe of this landscape, a warm embrace of my ancestors welcoming me home.

Rio Ojo Caliente, here and a few below

My final stop was Ojo Caliente! I hadn’t been there since 2016 and had never gone without Greg, so it was an especially meditative time of very little speaking and much listening, to the fall and splash of water, wind over naked branches, and the early quiet of day.

I ate a few delicious meals at the Artesian, walked in the chill of morning (after the wild creatures in the labyrinth!), practiced yoga, and scrubbed and soaked and steamed, over and over again, fully aware of my great privilege to do so in a place my ancestors received similar respite.

Ute Mountain and the freshly capped Sangre de Cristos

All is revered, all is home…

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One of my favorite fellas! And I’m feeling sentimental…

Jeff and I on our most recent weekend extravaganza, playing Terraforming Mars. A digression – I am wearing the sweater vest Mary knit for me!

We met on my first day of college, in September 1989 (almost 35 years!). We were fast friends, sharing interests in geography and geology (the classes that brought us together), music, movies, food, and humor (we still quote Seinfeld!). As much Greg’s friend as mine, once we started dating (1991), the three of us have hiked, biked, and walked mile upon mile, attended each other’s weddings, mourned the death of his mother, and later, his own marriage. He was one of a few friends to make the trip to Portland to visit.

When he stared gaming, we found another shared love. Because it’s always taken me a while to process information, I remain grateful and truly amazed by his ability to memorize rule books from the hundreds he owns and make it as simple as possible for me to grasp the gist. It is never not a fun time. I can think of few activities I’d rather do late into the night.

He is a member of my chosen family, positive and encouraging, whose presence always feels like home, whose hugs and laughter fill my heart with joy. He is all the best of everything. I love you, Jeffie…

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