A few good friends going for a hike on a Saturday afternoon

There’s something about sunshine, the Sangre de Cristo mountains, and a few good friends going for a hike on a Saturday afternoon that brings the muerte out in me.

‘Long distance runner, what you standing there for?  Get up, get up, get out the door.’

Plus, Jerry is my long lost cousin.

I went to everybody’s favorite Santa Fe artist-in-residence’s art opening last night over at 222 Shelby Street.  She’s got mad skills and some pretty nutty tattoos.  Here’s a glimpse of some of her projects:

Stranded and Suspended

Stranded and Suspended

All Tangled Up IV

All Tangled Up IV

All Tangled Up VI

All Tangled Up VI

Trey’s not actually too far off from the King Ad Rock!

I said it all adds up to not a whole lot.

We were like throwing rocks at the moon

We threw rocks at the moon and the neighbor’s wooden posts of the fence that separated our yards.  And a year ago my best friend took off to war so now I throw twice as many rocks.  I’ve learned to think in terms of round rocks, gray rocks, skippers, and petrified wood.  She doesn’t tell me much about how she thinks of things anymore.  In that the desert the rocks are different and the targets are harder to hit.

She came back for a week of rest and I doubt she got any.  I told her to call me if she found the time and she said she would.  She did and we were together.  We didn’t talk about rocks or the moon or fences.  We really didn’t have that much to say so we changed channels and turned on the radio and went out to bars and played pool and took drives and said goodbye.

She’s back in the desert again and I’m in mine.  I tossed a few around today and didn’t hit much, maybe one or two.  I figure this way she doesn’t have to worry about things like that.  Doing this makes it easier on me and I can’t find the courage to explain why, at least not to her when she’s half a world away.

It was windy here today and the dust was blowing in the leaves across town and out in front of my window.  It’s a shallow wind here, breezy as it is.  I can barely taste it and the fact disappoints me.  No matter how hard I try, the grit of waking up tomorrow and picking up another rock just doesn’t seem as magical as it used to.

She’s coming back tonight, I know it and things will be different this time around.  This time around we’ll throw every single last one of them regardless of size and shape until our arms are rubber and we have to oil them up just to make the hug goodbye as smooth as it can possibly be.  The dirt will stick of course, but we can always brush it off.  Maybe some of mine will mix with hers and make it all the way to her desert or even to her taste buds.  When she sleeps at night she will feel our past scraping against her mouth and face and she will turn over opening her eyes to fix whatever it is that needs fixing.

Yeah, so talk about hopscotch.  Anyway, I’m headin up to 13,000 feet in t-minus one hour.  Take it away.

Happy early Mom’s Day to all you progenitor’s out there!

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~ by garcialoca on May 9, 2009.

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