kstreetjournal | A pony a day keeps the money away —

~:: News! ::~

Posted on February 21, 2011 by K

#1.

This is my baby boy.

He came home from Pixar last week, ostensibly to go to his cousin’s wedding and see his aging parents.

But really, to ask his heart’s love to marry him.

This is an announcement: my baby is engaged.

(See what happens when enough years go by??? Do NOT be in too big a hurry.)

In honor of this lovey-dovey occasion, I have decided to do a giveaway:

I will make one of these hearts for one of you.

(You have to scroll to the bottom of the page.)

I haven’t made it yet, so you get to choose the color, and maybe even make suggestions about flowers. Now, you know the drill. If you’d like to be considered (this is fun for me because I really want to make one for every person I love), leave a comment on this entry, and – say – on Thursday evening, we will draw for the heart recipient.

YAY!!!

Posted in Family, Fun Stuff, Making Things, The kids | Tagged hearts, marriage, Murphy | 44 Comments

~:: How I Have Felt About Things ::~

Posted on February 18, 2011 by K

Long ago, somewhere just around the dawn of time, my mother gave me McCall’s Golden Do-it Book. It was this huge book of kids’ projects, and the very first chapter was “create with cast-offs.” You were supposed to gather wooden spoons and match boxes and candles and broken crayons and canceled stamps, leaves and twigs – the kind of overlooked things you have just lying around the house. And then make things with them.

There were also chapters on printing, sculpting, toys, weaving, stitchery of all kinds, knitting, dolls, music, puppets and gifts. I thumbed through that thing time after time – and I wanted to make this thing. No, that thing. No, I wanted to do that. But I never really ended up doing any of it. I was just a kid, and it all seemed very hard and complicated. But I think my mom thought of this stuff as something I could do why she was doing her own stuff. She was a nurturer and an organizer and a launcher and a manager. All really good and productive things. But she wasn’t really a maker.

It wasn’t that she never made anything, because she did – she made us dresses, and even doll dresses, and was ace at custard and chocolate chip cookies and managing money. She was doing all the time. And she liked it that I made things. I just don’t remember her sitting down and making things with me.

I guess the point is this: the fact that Mom bought that book for for a seven year old in the first place tells me I must already have been a Maker. And exposure to the book over time must have exacerbated what was already there to begin with.

But this is about felt.

I discovered the charms of felt early on, but my first memory of actually making stuff with it was in New York. We had this Christmas issue of Better Homes that featured a collection of felt Christmas ornament birds – exotic, made of felt and embellished with sequins and bugle beads and tiny felt shapes. I made a ton of these things. But now, I only have one – which is pretty good, still, considering how many decades ago that was.

There were a couple of patterns. This one and a more horizontal in-flight one.

From that time on, felt was a medium of choice. In high school, I made a series of little cats, my own tiny design, and that’s when I began embroidering my little things. (And I think I only have one of these, left, too.)

In college I got interested in folk embroidery and ended up doing a little placket I’d designed for a fairly horrible muslin dress I’d made. The embroidery wasn’t wonderful, but it’s proof that there was at least some hippie in my conservative little sixties soul.

Also in college, the year I finally bought my own Christmas tree, I made a series of small birds as gifts. I’d long ago improved on the shape of the original New York birds, making them smoother and sweeter. This shape was all over the margins of my college notebooks—little birds escaping lecture halls. I made a rainbow of these Christmas birds, each one with a carefully embroidered design on its wings, my interpretation of the friend the bird was meant for.

I wonder if any of those guys still have their birds? Why do I doubt it. I kinda wish I’d kept them myself. College kids. Sigh.

Later, I turned the bird into glass. From line on paper to felt to glass.

Over time, the shape morphed a little. I borrowed someone else’s single piece tail for the glass and came up with the present, simpler glass design, based on the original body.

When I was a grown up, I was still in love with felt Christmas ornaments.

I made a herd of these the first year we lived in our house. I made a red one for the very first Christmas ornament party, about thirty one years ago.

There’s just something about flannel and blanket stitch. This was a prototype I did a couple of years ago.

The flip side.

Lately, I’ve developed a taste for buttons and felt. I’ve never been much of embellisher, but Sue Spargo woke a taste in my hands there. And somewhere, I saw a cute felt pouch embellished with a button-anchored flower. Then Real Bad Kitty’s work really grabbed me by the face. So I started making these – just little joyful tokens. They took several evenings each, but they made nice valentines for my daughters.

Playing with placement.

The finished guy. These little things are so happy looking – and they look best in a pile:

But the thing is, you end up giving them all away – and you don’t even have a reference if you wanna make another one. So I took these pictures of them as references – and figured I’d share them here. I hope that’s okay.

You can get die-cut flower bits and use them to do stuff like this. But I think I prefer to cut my own. It’s not like I’m mass producing these things. And it feels more personal when you cut the bits yourself. So About 98% of this felt is hand cut. I’m not great at it, but I think that these turned out to be pretty sweet.

So, anyway. There’s my creative offering for the month. I could do a tutorial on these if anybody is interested, but really – it’s all pretty self-explanatory. I wish I could make one for every person I feel kin to. I wish I could just stop making things and read a book. Or dust. Or write something. But there you are. Felt hearts.

Posted in A little history, Christmas, Making Things, Memories and Ruminations, Pics of Made Things | Tagged birds, buttons, embroidery, felt, hearts, Horses | 40 Comments

~:: Valentines! ::~

Posted on February 14, 2011 by K

First of all:

HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY!!

In my life, this has been more a day of making things for people and leaving secrets here and there than getting stuff. Which is not the case today – *blush*. So I have made a handmade offering of a Valentine:

And you have to know how I mean this. You guys have more important things to do than coming here to say hi to me. But this connection – it’s really important to me. Some of you I only see once a year. And I know there are kindred spirits who visit – and I’ve never even seen your faces. So thank you.

AND #2 – A story. A sad, sad story. In a nutshell, it’s only this: two days ago I fell off my horse. But I had to wait to tell the story until I had some really good charts and stuff, because I didn’t actually exactly fall off – but it’s complicated. Now I am ready to present the facts. Which are – first, it was really really cold.

So I was wearing this stuff: my heavy denim, lined LLBean barn coat. You can see from the illustration that it only has two buttons left on it that work. And my heavy canvas, heavily lined with therma-whatever over alls. Several scarves and hats. My big muck boots. When I am dressed like this, I feel roughly the way a toddler stuffed into a snowsuit feels. On the right, you see my usual lighter, more winsome self. Flexible and fit and shapely.

This illustration shows you the basic situation from the side. This is Hickory, which I’m sure you can tell already, and he’s standing on the far side of a steel panel (which is not black in real life. But then, neither is Hickory). There are panels between each feeding station – two of them, actually, dividing the open side of the barn into three open twelve foot stalls (are you following? Please don’t look ahead.) Hickory and Zion share the one you are looking at.

From the back: the panel, which is thin, is the big black line on the right. Hickory is there eating out of that blobby horse trough. And Zion is the horse – ummm – butt to the left. I think he stands that way when he eats to discourage Hickory from trying to share Zion’s own trough.

So on the day in question, I just got the urge to sit on Hickory while he eats. I often do this. Well, not often, but sometimes. And it’s really fun. He doesn’t move much because he is a very focused eater. And I just sit there and annoy him, which is fun for me.

The way I usually do this is, I climb up the panel like it’s a ladder, balance, and then sort of leap sideways from panel to horseback along that line up there. Or, more clearly:

Can you see it more clearly?

And I land thus. His ears are back in this frame because that’s what they do when he realizes I’m up there, which is pretty much the moment I land.

I am very good at doing this. Like I say, I often do it. Sometimes. And it feels great – like I’m Tarzan, swinging through the jungle on a vine, or like one of those cowboys from the westerns those of us who are still alive remember – the way they used to grab mane on a horse that happened to be passing at a dead gallop and swing themselves onboard.

The thing that happened that morning was this: I forgot I was wearing all my winter gear. In the winter gear, my hips lose rotation. So do my shoulders. In fact, I basically move like a Macy’s balloon with pretty much poky-out arms and legs. I should have factored this in. Because my leap didn’t take me over the top.

I kind of hit absolutely broadside. Which did not work out for either me or Hickory. In fact, he was way past annoyed about it. So I sort of politely flipped over and banged myself on the panel and ended up basically like this:

which was not at all what I had envisioned.

You will note the absence of horses. Zion didn’t so much absent himself as simply move over, probably without breaking the rhythm of his jaws. But Hickory absconded to another country.

In the end, I made him come back. But he refused to stand close to the panel. And when I started to climb it, he moved even farther away. So I had to get a really tall bucket and climb on that, then on him. And I still said, “Ooof,” trying to get my leg up high enough to get over. I had to talk him into eating after that. And his ears stayed back, like he couldn’t trust me not to do something else weird and annoying, even when he did eat, which he would only do in snatches.

I don’t know why I’m telling you this other than maybe because I was looking around for a present I could give you and this is all I could come up with.

Next year, I’ll buy you candy.

love,
K

Posted in dumb stuff, Explanations, Horses | Tagged accident, horse, Valentine's | 30 Comments

~:: Tales of Santa Fe: Pt.9 ::~

Posted on February 12, 2011 by K

This is the last of it.

This is the picture from which the header was drawn. Every time I walk into that guest room and look out the window I see something striking. I have lightened this so you can see it more clearly. This was a heavy winter day, the beginning of the blizzard we had to fight going to the airport the next day. Accidents all over the freeway in Albuquerque.

I left this one a little closer to the darkness I saw. It’s still lightened and this is the broad afternoon. You can see the snow spots against the sky.

Gin found this little seat in a second hand store (NOT like DI. This place put big price tags on its “vintage” stuff). This seat allows a baby who can just hold his head up to sit upright, supporting him in the back. When I walked in and saw him sitting there it was weird. Like seeing the dog walk upright or something. “Yes. Hello. I’m the baby. May I help you?”

Gin’s Birthday, a photo essay. With some words. Just in case.

Someone got up early and with Grandpa’s help, made birthday breakfast for his mother.

“You have to wait just a moment longer before you see the surprise.”

“I don’t care if you’re hungry. You have to wait.”

“Whoa!”

The grandfather gives the camera a glimpse of what is under the cover. The mother is not allowed to look. Note the red “You are special today” plate.

AND –

The REVEAL!!

Except the camera didn’t catch the very moment. So it had to be re-enacted.

Better. Except for one thing. The first shot shows you the secret smile by which you can tell that this boy is actually pleased and excited to have done this great thing. In the second shot, he has swallowed that hint to what’s going on in his head.

“Come my little hero. Let me give you a mother’s loving kiss.”

“Got you.”

“Maaaaahhhh!!!

“Aw, Mom.”

There is just something in the male wiring . . .

And so we draw to the end of our southwestern adventure.

Y’all come back now, y’hear?

Posted in Family, Gin, The g-kids, The kids, Visits | Tagged birthday, breakfast, Gin, Max | 22 Comments

kinetic history

Posted on February 11, 2011 by K

What I just heard about Egypt, a reporter on the street level repeating what he had heard in the celebration: the people simply want their basic freedoms. He quoted a person saying, “We want our own America.” (I wish I’d heard that myself.) The people are dancing in the streets. How long can people yell and sing at the top of their lungs, because as I write this, I have been listening to them for almost an hour! When I heard that Mubarak had stepped down, I thought, this is their fourth of July, a day they will talk about for the next hundreds of years. And I was filled with joy.

But I’m afraid I don’t really understand what’s happening there. All I know I hear through the media, so I don’t know whose interpretation of the events is meaningful. Myself? I strongly suspect that the military allowed all of this—because I’m pretty sure they could have ended the protest abruptly and violently if the outgoing president had ordered it, or if the military had simply taken action. I am very relieved that the president stepped down without coup. This is all very hopeful stuff.

There are always powers waiting in the shadows. There are always people who raise the alarm about that. And there are always people who consider an alarm nothing but paranoia. Again, all of this plays out on a global stage, and feel very small and kind of stupid about it all.

What I hope comes of this is that the people will realize that they do have power, that they can step up and curtail the power of bully governments – if they hold together. That people all over the world see this and take heart, and take their fates in their own hands, peacefully and with strength, rejecting men who would take control of their lives by coercion and force. In terms of religion, I do not believe there is any true religion where there governments of any kind can compel the practice of it. So the Islam that will come out of this may be stronger and more in the heart than influenced by fear and force.

But what happens next will, I’m thinking, be a precursor to history, predicting a future that can change the lives of every person on every part of the planet. Certainly, events triggered by the choices of religious extremists have already slammed into the way we have to live some of the once mundane parts of our lives. I hope, I pray that there will be a real free election now, that the people will understand the responsibility that power has just handed them—that Egypt will not now fall into far uglier hands than those they have knocked away.

A few days ago, I heard a person who has been called a radical imam say that the hope of his brotherhood is to have the entire world living under sharia law so that women “will have the freedom to wear the berka.” Every woman. Everywhere. He made the statement very simply, with a supremely reasonable look on his face. It chilled me. How prevalent is this kind of intention? How can we in the West know? For so many of us, our only brush with Islam has been 9/11 and the hair-raising tales that sell the news.

So, we wait to see. We wait to see what happens. Some things were said by Iran in the last hour that are anything but peaceful and civilized. The hole in the ozone that people have stressed over for decades is nothing next to the great open hole now opened by people who have lately dreamed of freedom. How will they fill it?

I want to add to what I read this morning. A good friend of ours who teaches Arabic and has spent a lot of time in the middle east wrote this:

Greetings from Qatar, friends and family! I’ve got just a few minutes before I get on a plane. Got to share something of this day with you.

What a day! An amazing day. Two months ago no one was close to dreaming that the Arab world’s largest nation would stand up to its dictator. And educated youth who dared to dream led the way! They’ve inspired so many people here in the Arab world. Plenty of challenges ahead, no doubt about it, but exciting stuff.

I hope you won’t buy the boogeyman stuff that some are trying to sell (and I mean SELL–the fear-mongering does indeed sell papers, agendas…). Mubarak’s been peddling that line quite successfully to Washington for 30 yrs.. Is Islamist extremism a concern? Sure, just as Neo-nazis in Germany are. But hardline Islamists are definitely on the fringe–and they’ve lost ground in the past 15 years (unlike Neo-nazis in Germany). People have seen their fruits and are wary. Your ordinary Egyptian is about as interested in an Iran-style theocracy as your ordinary Latter-day Saint wants to see Mitt Romney elected and force everyone to get baptized and carry a temple recommend.

Please don’t confuse conservative Muslims who distrust what the West is selling and thinks that living by Islamic Law is better with a Wahabi jihadist. You can think of how our own faith tradition all too often gets lumped with wackos.

You should see the elation here for Egyptians. The HOPE for a better world. People are sick and tired of oppressive regimes. If you’re not, I invite you to celebrate with these good folks who’ve shown great strength, vision. Read some of their blogs. And pray for them. They’re going to need a lot of help. Just as our own nation and others did as they matured.

The people of Egypt have spoken and chosen freedom. What a day!

All the best!

Kirk

So maybe I’ll stop watching the news now.

Posted in Epiphanies and Meditations, The outside world | Tagged Egypt, freedom, religion, responsibility | 16 Comments

~:: Tales of Santa Fe: Pt. 8

Posted on February 10, 2011 by K

Just for fun. We’re almost finished here.

One of my greatest delights is shopping for handmade things. One of the things that left me feeling a little unfinished when I went to England and to Paris was that these are not places where the native population still practices traditional crafts and arts – at least, not the kind that tends to charm the brass out of my wallet.

I’m certain, sort of, that this guy is a Zuni guy. He’s too beautiful to be anything else.

In Santa Fe, I learned this about the Navajo: in the middle sad history of their people, (I am remembering only on the fly here) – that would be the time when they mixed with the invading aliens from Europe – the conquerers, hoping to do away with the peoples’ culture and dilute them out of recognition, killed all their sheep. The entire breed and the life that sheep had meant – all gone. And so went away also the practical art of garment and blanket weaving.

This little seal, I bought on the Governor’s Palace portal. He was made by LChinana of Jemez Pueblo. Artists come in from all over the countryside and draw for “booth” space there, along the sidewalk. They lay out blankets, and on the blankets, they put their wares. We were hanging over this blanket a lot time, the things were so beautiful.

When the Navajos were past the concentration camp part of that history, then, they turned to doing other things. No longer did they have the old way of feeding and clothing themselves. Now, what they fell back on was the craft in their hands. They found that making the things they had always made – jewelry, baskets, small weavings – put them in a good position to trade. And so they have done to this day.

A deer, by the same artist. Here is the thing that wiped me out: his simple sculptures had a quiet I’ve rare seen. The shapes are as fluid as you’d imagine the animal’s spirit must be. There is a touch possible flight in this little deer, but at the same time, a wholeness, a peace, a loveliness I wish that I had the gift to fashion visually. I have always hoped to find this artist again. He will be much older now, and have moved on to other things. But I will always love this work of his, and be drawn deeply into it every time I look at his creatures.

This Navajo story was told to me by a woman who deals in blankets. I don’t know any of this of myself. The Navaho people don’t make blankets anymore. In that old day, they started trading for what they could no longer make. And along came the Pendleton woolen mills, who sent agents out to learn the traditional designs of the people, made wool blankets out of those and traded for the things the people made. Baskets once a practical necessity became art. Jewelry took the place of sheeping.

This crazy little horse was made by Jerry Nelson of the Black Sheep Clan.

This even crazier horse was made by an old man who was selling a belt full of them at the Portal last summer. I lost the slip of paper with his name on it. I’m sorry.

The Zuni have another story all together, but i don’t know it. I wish I did. And I will, sooner or later. Zuni arts are my favorites. They work in stone and feather and leather. You’ve heard of Native American fetishes – in the beginning, there was an animal spirit for each direction of the compass, as well as for up (the eagle) and down (mole). When you found stones that looked like one of these spirit animals, you picked it up, gave it a medicine bundle, and you fed it each day on corn meal, hoping to be blessed with the virtues that spirit commands.

The stones weren’t carved in the beginning. The shapes needed to be found already there. Nowadays, fetishes have become a huge trade item. I know, because I love to buy them. Some are made in China – and they are fine, if you only count them as chinese rock carving. But the ones I love are made by indigenous Americans – people of plain and pueblo and mountain.

This little guy is a found stone. Gently shaped. I bought him at Keshi, a tiny little store by one of our all time favorite restaurants in Santa Fe. They deal directly with Zuni artists and have some stuff that could knock your eyes out of your head.

This guy is more deliberately shaped, obviously. He’s not my favorite guy, but he’s a good example of what less traditional artists are doing with the stone. I was seduced by the black stone (onyx?) and the tiny turquoise inlay. He’s a little fat, poor thing.

This guy is even less traditional. Way more of a sculpture than a fetish. But I love him. Picasso marble and a grand little face. I don’t know if he’s zuni or if someone else did him. Not signed.

You can still get the fetishes that are found rocks, gifted with natural animal shape. But the artisans have gone beyond that – some bringing in elements from their own complex heritage – mixing tradition with art and producing things that are beautiful beyond reason.

I can’t afford those.

Here is the thing I wanted on this last visit to Keshi. No. Not just wanted. WANTED. WANTED. WANTED. But he’s art in a big way and cost $240.00 You can buy a lot of yarn for that kind of brass. Or food for that matter, or trimmed hooves. Still, I think he’s amazing and cheap at the cost for what he turned out to be. This artist was brought up in a Crow village, but I think his father is Zuni, and his mother from Laplander stock. I could have this all wrong. But you can see the Laplander influence on the lines and embellishments.

This is an awful photograph. Everything I shot there was back lit (as was this one – so I lightened it till the colors were dead), and the light in the place was that same rich amber I get at Gin’s house = the combination of Santa Fe light, light colored woods, dark stones. This – what is he? A loon, maybe? Can you see that Peter really works with the stone – its shape and its directionality? The motion in the lines is, again, peacefully true. Looking at this bird, you’d imagine him to weigh almost nothing.

This quail just killed me. Again, you can see the simple stone under the artist’s vision. Fat, silly, and I don’t know what he made those head plumes out of, but every piece of it is right.

More birds. All Peter’s. Why don’t I have a last name like Sohappy? (It’s a Crow name.) My last name means “man with the brown hair,” or “man who lives below the little hill” in Gaelic. G’s means “shield wolf.” G’s meaning is cooler. Now I’m thinking about this. If you were going to give yourself a real name like these, what would you name yourself? I’m thinking. I’m thinking.

Meanwhile, that owl is just so settled, and yet you imagine you’d feel feathers if you lifted him. And that black quail – is he a quail? The lines are wonderful. So joyful. As though he’s – or she’s all hunkered down in the dry desert forage, and the sun is just warm enough on her head –

I want to make them myself. I want to make everything myself. But I can’t make these. I don’t have any gift for this kind of line and shape. It’s like watching someone make a quick sketch, a few fluid lines – and suddenly, without the need to reproduce all the detail, or even every piece of the shape – the thing being drawn is right there in front of you – its spirit, its movement – its truth.

Makes my heart ache.

Speaking of speaking lines, I am going to give you a link. I know most of you never follow them, but this is so beautiful. So amazing. Utterly amazing. And I hope you try it, and see – because it’s part of what I’m talking about.

Thinking of You

I think there is only one part left.

Posted in Fun Stuff, Pics of Made Things, Visits | Tagged crafts, fetishes, Santa Fe, shopping | 12 Comments

~:: Tales of Santa Fe: Pt. 7 ::~

Posted on February 8, 2011 by K

And here is what you get if you wait long enough:

Your baby (who has a better camera than you do – not just the lens, either), shooting pictures of her father holding her little son. In her very house. I could do the same sort of study in my son’s very house. I know I keep writing about stuff like this, but it just never gets old. Never loses its strangely normal fascination.

I loved this little moment. The light, odd as it is, has a character all its own. And in this moment, it bathed us all with a sort of gold approbation. Wonderful. And the kindly toy-maker-really-musician is caught in the act of being the kindly grandpapa.

Nothing makes a man more manly than this – gentle love.

there’s not much left to tell now – just a little . . .

Posted in Family, Gin, Journeys, The g-kids, The kids, Visits | Tagged Gin, Guy, Sandy, Santa Fe | 22 Comments

~:: Tales of Santa Fe Pt. 6 ::~

Posted on February 7, 2011 by K

And now, since you’ve made it this far, I will treat you to another hair-raising story, this one in pictures.

Here, we have Max and Emily.

Emily is visiting after church. I had been sitting in the children’s Primary room earlier in the day when Emily came in with her mother. Emily caught sight of Max and her face immediately blazed up with joy. “MAX!” she shouted gleefully, arms open. Max, silent as ever, managed a weak smile. “Can I sit with Max?” Emily asked, whirling to locate her mother. But no, poor Emily had to sit with her own class. That brilliant face, once such a flame of passionate joy, began to sag. The light went out of it. The eyes got huge and began to shine around the bottom. Little capillaries around her nose began to swell, and then the torrent came.

“Be reasonable,” I told her. “He’s too old for you. Look – he’s almost seven.”

But here they are now, together at Max’s house. Max has some weird graphics program up on the computer (this is why they wouldn’t let him into the Santa Fe Waldorf school). The program uses the computer camera to take your image, then splits it into mirror parts so you become your own Rorschach test. Emily, captivated, thinks this is the coolest idea ever.

Max’s mother, who only appears to be asking Emily’s mother to call her later.

Emily, still it mirror-me mode, goes airborne. I wish I’d seen the rorschach version of this, but as you can see, I was too busy trying to catch her before gravity did.

The truth I have to share with you here is that the rest of this story has nothing to do with Emily. But with other friends who came to visit on the lovely day before the ice and snow came and the natural gas leaked out of Santa Fe and left all the people there to freeze nearly to death. So ironic, the warm before the storm.

See? What a nice day. This is what xeri (xeno works, too) landscaping looks like in dead winter through a triple glazed French door.

This is the hair raising part. I don’t think I’ve ever seen hair do this on a trampoline before. But then, I forbad my children ever to jump on one. Of course, Gin bought one when she grew up. Cam did too. This must mean something. I haven’t seen Gin jump on it yet, herself –

The little guy is cute as they come, and I can say this even though the first thing he did when we met was spit at me. Not actually “at” me. He was pretty far away – at least six feet. But I know the gesture was meant for me, because a moment later, beaming, he said, “I spit at you!” I can prove this. I was video taping at the time.

His father is a real dyed in the wool mountain-man-forest service-archeologist. And charming. He did not spit when we met.

And no, Max is not under the influence. Much as it might appear otherwise.

The End (of part 6)

The rest of this will raise no hair.

Posted in Family, Gin, Journeys, Light, The g-kids, The kids, Visits | Tagged Gin, hair, light, Max | 22 Comments

~:: Tales of Santa Fe: Pt. 5 ::~

Posted on February 6, 2011 by K

Here is the terrifying story of great courage:

In the nice little house the Dentists are renting, there is a pretty fab guest bathroom. (Max has his own, and the master bedroom has its own.) Like the rest of the house, it has a herringbone pattern bricked floor, light wood cabinets and is lined with bright, bird-festooned Mexican tile. It also has a cool porcelain sink. The bathtub itself is nothing spectacular, and it wears the usual coupla shower curtains. The shower head is lousy – you have to run around between the drops of the water to get any kind of water pressure at all.

That is part one.

This is part two: do you know the difference between a Hobo spider and a house spider? Don’t say yes, because I’ll know you’re faking. They look almost exactly alike. I think the house spider is the faster one – a house spider, usually anywhere between the circumference of a quarter and a half dollar (put the tip of your thumb against the tip of the middle finger of the same hand), can cover a floor at about five miles an hour. Or twenty. I forget.

The real difference is that house spiders are good, mostly because they eat hobo spiders. And hobo spiders are bad, because they can make you incredibly sick.

And, of course, there is this: both species are – well – spiders.

I don’t remember which day it was, and frankly, it doesn’t matter (other than as a traditional story start), but it was one of those days I was down there when I started the day (after the treadmill – they have one, too) with a shower. (Which could have been every day, which renders this whole beginning just stupid). I opened the curtain, stepped into the tub, ran around catching water on my head until I counted as shampooably wet, lathered up a bit, looked down – and saw the spider. The pretty big brown, striped spider.

He wasn’t paying any attention to me. He was preoccupied with not drowning. Still, it gave me a start.

I considered my situation. I was totally wet, without clothing, down a long hallway from my room, and in the house with my son-in-law – along with everybody else. If I decided to freak out and leap out of the tub, there was NO WAY I was going to try to pick up a spider that size in a little wad of toilet tissue. The idea of doing it unclothed somehow made the matter so much more icky. So I’d have to call for help, then stand there dripping in a towel, with hair care products running down my face in generous rivulets.

It just didn’t seem worth the effort, then, to freak out.

So I didn’t. I watched the spider, who by now had begun to turn into a pinched leg, dying ball. He wasn’t showing a whole lot of life. And I felt bad about that. Dying in a pool of diluted medium-priced fine-hair conditioner seemed so sad. Still –

When it seemed that there was no more to be worried about, I closed my eyes and began messaging my scalp, as happy as a person in a weak spray of hot water can be on a chilly winter morning.

Till I felt something brush by my toe.

When I looked down, the ball of spider was gone. But the living spider was scooting past my foot as fast as his many legs could take him.

Here’s the great courage part: I STILL did not freak out.

I was pretty much finished anyway, and the spider had gone back into “I’m going to die” mode. So I took another minute to rinse (they have soft water, and you can NEVER tell if there’s still soap slathered all over you), and then I got out of there.

I don’t know if someone else ever went in to do away with him, or if maybe he figured out a way to boost himself out of there, but I never did see that spider again. And I was glad. Thinking about it now, I’m pretty sure he must have been a house spider. We’ve got hobo spiders in the barn, (size: make a fist) and I’m pretty sure they smoke cigars and gamble for money under the hay pallets. I don’t think they would be the least bit interested in taking a shower.

post script: G informs me that he rescued the spider. Took him outside and tried to put him up off the ground in a really sunny spot. This was, of course, just before the subzero temps dropped like bricks on our heads. That spider’d had a really, really bad day –

Posted in dumb stuff, Fun Stuff, Gin, Journeys, Visits | Tagged Santa Fe, scary stuff | 30 Comments

~:: Tales of Santa Fe: Pt.4 ::~

Posted on February 5, 2011 by K

You know how on the news they say, “Coming up: an armed zebra makes a statement at the State Department. After the break.” And then they don’t show you the story for another forty-five minutes? Yeah, well, this isn’t the terrifying story of great courage. Yet. Instead, because I spent a couple of hours processing these happy shots, here they are:

This was our first dinner. A newsie was setting the table. I am going to point out here that he has Old Fashioned root beer in one hand and diet in the other. I point this out because we are tea-totallers and that bottle is confusing. The salsa was too hot.

Not so good of G, but plenty good of Max. Take a look at that face; it will tell you reams.

And so will this one. Lots going on in that head. And when it comes out, you’ve only got about 15 seconds to figure out what to do about it.

My Experienced Mom mantra includes this: if you give a kid a metal bowl and a wooden spoon, he can very happily drive you nuts for hours. The more detailed the toy, the less scope for wild imagination. That said, I found this cool tube and gave it to Max for Christmas, and it was a total hit. It used to be attached to a tent. The tent didn’t live very long.