From Where I Sit

The green mother-in-law tongue stands out against the yellow adobe wall, the terra cotta tiled floor, and the enormous picture window that lays before us the Santa Fe mountainous desert. We have arrived. Our road only slightly bumpy both metaphorically and in reality. All connections to cabs, planes, and the loaner car went well, only a bit of a hitch when the tiny plane that was to take us from Denver to Santa Fe locked up its emergency breaks and would not move. We all got off the plane, waited in the tiny corner of the huge airport until the crew brought another tiny little plane after deeming the first to be officially broken.

And the bumps down the road to Kasha and Rob's house chattered my teeth as much as the ride through the storm clouds in the little plane.

But we're here and we're the only ones as Kasha is offer on a mini-retreat and Rob is off hiking with his buddies in Arizona and we are left in this desert home listening to the rain pattering on the crooked juniper just outside the window. Kasha has left us homemade squash soup with just enough spicy kick to rattle my clogged sinuses. The freezer is packed with homemade goodies -- enchiladas, tamales, pesto -- that if we chose, we would not have to leave the confines of these four walls. When I turned on my computer to write, wireless popped up allowing me to contact the world if I so desire. Vivaldi and Eva Cassidy and music I've never heard of lines the shelves of a beautiful Mexican armoire with delicate hammered copper fronts. The floors are heated. The bed is lush and firm and inviting. Our room spacious and clean and perched at the highest point so from bed, we can see the park behind us and the mountain in front of us just by lifted our heads.

This is good. After all we've been through, it feels good to just sit next to each other and do relatively nothing with no one else around. Ann's emotions have run a marathon. We are both sleep deprived and exhausted. I have a nasty cold stuck where my colds always get stuck right in my throat. I've lost my voice.

But this is still good. We are finally here, where the world seems to have stopped, if only for a short while. I am no longer spinning. Ann is finally off a plane (she's been on 12 in the last two weeks with two more to go before we land home). And the desert surrounding us is beautiful. Georgia O'Keefe beautiful.

We don't even mind the rain.