Living In A Daze

The world outside my door.

"A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread--and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness--"
-- Omar Khayyam


It may not be a wilderness, but it's sure a whole 'nother world up here than down in Torrid Texas.  I'm now above Taos, on NM 518.  On the road to Mora.  Just your typical paradise, without a thou but with plenty of bread and wine.  By a babbling brook.  Or maybe I'm the one babbling.

The river is more of a low roar, but easy to sleep to.  Last night I got up about 3 AM and stuck my head and the IR thermometer out the door.  39 degrees F.  Man, that moon was bright.  It bleached out the stones till they looked like soft snow, and veiled the ghostly conifers in silver and black.

Mirkwood with a motorhome.  NOW you're tolkien!

The weather cooled off the moment I entered New Mexico, but I was dead set on COLD, so I didn't stop except briefly at Las Vegas, where I turned in at the Spic n Span Bakery for a sopapilla stuffed with carne adovada.  Mmmmm.

When I came out, I looked up and down the street and got a case of deja voodoo.  My memory could be playing tricks on me.  Or maybe it was the psychedelic effect of New Mexican cooking.  Yeah, I used to come this way with the kids years ago on the way to Taos for skiing, but that wasn't it.  Wasn't this street once filled with Russian tanks?  In the movies?  In "Red Dawn"?  The high school heroes were looking down on the invasion from a hill that doesn't actually exist.

Well, I can't prove it.  But S&S had some fresh beef empanadas in the bakery case, so I picked up three with a side of red chile for later.  That's a memory you can count on.  In fact, I can share:

I cooked them myself.  Yeah, right.

There's leftovers, and then there's LEFTOVERS!

After several days, I'm gradually getting adjusted to living in the Daze.  The way you adjust a pillow by punching it into shape.  Try this, try that, until you get it right.

For a couple of nights I slept in the overhead.  The bed was made.  It seemed like the logical thing.

But to heck with crawling up into that crevice, and to heck with not being able to sit up without bonking my head, and begone to risking a broken ankle climbing up and down in the night.  I've now settled permanently on a low bed made from one of the couches.  Not every couch you find may be comfortable, but these are about 8 inches thick and made from three pieces of variable density foam.

I sleep the sleep of the just.  Which is surprising.

The couch bed is not quite as long as up top, but long enough, and offers a splendid view of the stars out the surrounding windows at night, as well as the slow shock of sunlight rolling liquid down the trees at dawn.  That alone is more than worth the move.  I thought it would be a lot of trouble to make up the bed every night, but it only takes about 5 minutes, and maybe less to roll up the bedding in the morning and stash it in the overhead.  That's really what the overhead is good for.  That and discouraging visitors.

I also sort of like not having to get out of bed to turn on the heater.

Here again is a picture of the Low Bed from that last warm night in Texas.  I guess I could leave it down all the time, since I have the other couch for sitting.  But it just seems so much more virtuous and moral to make it up every day.  I don't know why.  Can't be the amount of effort involved.

It's just more civilized.  Hoo hoo hah hah hah hah.  I'm not a young monkey anymore.

I really appreciate whoever installed the faux wood flooring in this thing.  A quick sweep in the morning keeps it clean.  I did put in a couple of throw rugs, but they are also easy to remove and shake out.  In case of mud, which hasn't happened yet, I think I could wipe down the entire visible floor with Windex and paper towels in about 2 minutes.  I don't know why people put in carpet.

To collect the sacred dirt of all 50 states, I suppose.

Well, that's all for now.  I'm going out by the river and read.

Uh oh.  Not much reading getting done here...

Bob