Short trip to Taos

This past Friday dh and I decided to take a trip to Taos. We intended on doing a morning hike along the rim of the Rio Grande Gorge and then looking at Mexican tile for our old dining room table and also looking at a back cushion for a living room chair. As Taos is an hour away and the highway to Taos is twisty and very dark at night, we decided to book a b & b overnight. After reviewing various comments on TripAdvisor--SO helpful nowadays--we decided on the American Artists B & B.

On our way to Taos, we remembered that there was another tile place just past Espanola so we turned in there. Although they had plenty of Talavera tile, the patterns seemed too busy to me for a dining room table. But we DID find a really nice buffet that will complete our small dining area in the condo. We put a deposit on it and said that we would be back for it next Saturday as we will need to have the back of the Escape completely empty to fit it in. Back in the car, we realized we had taken over an hour at the store and it was now almost 11 o’clock. Rather late to be starting off on the 7.5 mile hike I had originally planned. So we found a different trail that was only 2.5 miles round trip. It was indeed quite hot and dry. About 90º but there was at least a lovely breeze. And it was fairly flat as well. Here are some photos:

This is the usual warning on trails in our area--don’t leave valuables in the car. We were the only car in the parking area when we first came. I unzipped my hiking pants so that they became shorts and was just starting off when dh reminded me that we were in rattlesnake country. Ulp. But I decided not to zip back up again, relying on my poles and watching carefully where I was stepping. The only reptile we saw during the hike, however, was a lizard.

The cliffs around the gorge are mainly basalt as you can see from the lizard photo and the photo below.

I am not a geologist so I can’t tell you much more about basalt than that it is a volcanic rock. Besides, this isn’t an essay on geology anyway. After about .75 mile traipsing along the rocky trail and avoiding the cacti, we came up to the rim and were able to look down on the Rio Grande (big river in Spanish in case you didn’t know.) We were so hot and it looked sooo inviting that if the gorge hadn’t been so steep we might have clambered down and stuck our feet (or more) into the water.

We continued on for another .75 mile, this time passing through masses of chamisa. It is getting ready to flower in another month. It’s beautiful when it does but also unfortunately one of the many New Mexico plants I am allergic too. Pass the Claritin please next month because I am not going to stop hiking.

When we arrived at the end of the trail, we had a fantastic view of the Rio Grande winding its way through the gorge. It flows through Colorado, New Mexico, Texas and Mexico before it empties into the Gulf of Mexico. As with many waterways, it isn’t as “mighty” as it once was because of dams and diversions, but it is still beautiful.

We sat on the edge of the gorge for as long as we could stand the heat. There was a nice bench there but it was made of some kind of composite material--black--that felt like a frying pan. So we retraced our steps and I was very glad to see the car because (1) the clouds were building toward another monsoon and (2) there were four hawks (or maybe vultures) circling above us. I wondered what they were so interested in--us or something else. I really didn’t care to find out.

We headed into Taos and went to the other tile place. What a selection!! It took us over an hour to agree on the tile pattern. I have taken a photo of it laid out on a table there; quite anxious to see what it will look like when dh glues and grouts it.

After our selection, we celebrated with a late lunch at The Trading Post, our favorite restaurant in Taos. Then we hit Starr Interiors, a lovely shop that sells weavings from the Zapotec Indians. After another long consultation with each other and with the store owner, we chose two pillows. One is a simple bear design and the other is a long red pillow that looks beautiful on our guest bed. Now all we need are guests :)

Very tired by now, we headed for our b & b. We discovered that we had actually stayed there before many years ago. Just as we got our things inside and were relaxing on the portal, thunder boomed and forks of lightning lit the early evening sky. We sat out and watched the rain come down, the cooling of the air very welcome. Then we went inside and while dh did one of his quick sketches, I finished off an English mystery, fighting to stay awake to read the resolution. The rain drummed on the roof, as good as any lullabye.

The next morning, I awoke to George, the peacock cum alarm clock.

The storm had passed, the air was fresh and clear. In the distance, the mountain was still hidden behind low lying cloud but by the time we'd had breakfast the clouds had dissipated.

We drove north from Taos to the ski area and hiked a little way along Manzanita Canyon.

It was all uphill though so we didn’t go very far on it, only about 1.5 miles or so. The trail itself was going to be 6 miles and once again we just didn’t feel up to it. But we WILL return because the views from the top are supposed to be magnificent.

The wildflowers were beautiful.

On the way back home we stopped at the small, quaint village of Arroyo Seco. Took a photo of the “historic” church of La Santisima Trinidad, built in 1834. Old for the United States but compared to the churches I saw in England, “modern.”

A bright entrance to one of the shops in Arroyo Seco:

And so we returned home to Santa Fe with our purchases--except for the buffet which we will be picking up next Saturday. Saturday night we had another huge storm at home. It almost sounded like it was hailing and the thunder and lightning were extraordinary. But Sunday dawned clear and bright again. The clouds are gathering once again though so I wouldn’t be surprised if we didn’t have another storm tonight. It really has greened up the desert!

Easy as falling off a log

One of the worst things about gym when I was in high school--apart from those ugly bloomers we had to wear--was the balance beam. I hated the balance beam. I feared the balance beam. Even the one that was only 6 inches off the floor. We had this gym teacher who thought we should all be part of an Olympics gymnastics team. And sneered at me when I would jump off the beam after just a few inches. She quickly relegated me to the sidelines while she focused on the girls who were nimbler and more confident than I. Thankfully, I wasn't alone on the sidelines and after high school I didn't take any other kind of exercise class until i was in my 20s. (Exercise classes in the early 1970s weren't as popular as they are now.) I did attempt a ballet class, fulfilling a childhood wish of taking ballet. But when a friend of mine called me a dancing pear because the only ballet costume available in the store was yellow I lost confidence once again. And then there was yoga, which was so relaxing that I kept falling asleep. But that's a whole other story.

Today, my subject is logs. Specifically, logs and stream crossings. Many of our weekly hikes take us across streams. Remembering my balance beam trauma, I was very hesitant about stream crossings. I would look to find the narrowest part, the one that avoided logs and rocks and where I could just leap across (leaping is also not my forte but preferable to balancing.) Once I acquired hiking poles however I began to be more confident about the crossings. Still cautious, but learning. So when this past Monday's hike promised 12 stream crossings, I wasn't overly worried. We hiked what is called Tesuque Creek, about 7.5 miles round trip. Our leader, Ann, had mapped out a moderate hike, not as steep as Dave's hike the Wednesday before (pictured below.)


And, although it rained a fine mist, the hike was thoroughly enjoyable. I was reminded of hiking at this time last year in Scotland except this time I wasn't hiking alone, I was with a group of very congenial people. All in our 50s--well, actually, the guys were in their 60s--all comfortable with the pace and the company. Yep, I was feeling pretty darned good about my fitness level. After the 9th stream, the woman ahead of me said "We're really getting the hang of this." And, realizing in the back of my mind that I could jinx myself, I still said "Yeah, it's great."

Then came crossing #10, pictured below.


We had actually crossed it before. We were on our way back. We'd stopped to take photos by the rock face. Here I am, not exactly elegant (don't you love the chin strap?) but happy.


I started across the log. Kay was close behind me which Ann and I agreed afterward probably wasn't a good idea. It's best to cross one at a time across a log. I was at the end of the long log, transferring my weight to the short one when the log shifted under my feet and I overbalanced. And fell backward into the shallow stream. Hat and poles went flying. Luckily my backpack broke most of the impact and I only ended up with a bruise on my arm and a slightly sore and wet bottom. We still had another half hour left on the hike so by the time I returned to the car I was pretty well dry thanks to the thin hiking pants I wear. And my pride was bruised a bit too. I always seem to fall or trip on hikes. Never hurt myself but every time it happens I once again feel like that ungainly "dancing pear." Which of course I am not--ungainly that is. I do a LOT of hiking and walking. I may not be tall (I am 5'3") and willowy but I am strong. And I can be elegant too--here's another photo of me in my hiking hat, dressed up this time.


I guess my point is that we are all multi faceted. How we appear can and will change depending on circumstances and we create those circumstances. I laughed off my fall and finished the hike. 7.5 miles in 4 hours is pretty darned good. It certainly felt great. I hiked again the next day--just a short 1 hour--and yesterday I walked along the Arroyos trail for 45 minutes. I love walking, I really do. I feel so happy after I am done. I don't necessarily feel happy when I look at myself critically and self consciously. I mean, I look at that first photo of me and think that the chin strap looks like a double chin and do I look fat and my face looks tired....

Stinking thinking as someone once called it! Did any of my fellow hikers look at me like that?? NO! So I think I need to stop being so darned self conscious. A woman on my hike on Tuesday--a beautiful woman in her mid 60s--said she's stopped looking in the mirror because she can't believe the old woman she sees in there is her. What IS it with us?? I look at her and see a beautiful woman. She looks at me and sees the same. Enough picking ourselves apart already! And enough with obsessing over the scale too. Less obsessing and more focusing on being healthy, eating healthy. And with that, I am off out for another walk....

The Important Things in Life

I am sitting at Tucson Airport waiting for a plane back to Albuqueque for the second time this month. I flew in on Friday night, went to dgd's ballet recital last night. And we are coming back next weekend--driving this time--for dsil's 30th birthday celebration. Several friends think I am insane but then those who have gc and who know about those "Kodak moments" understand. Especially when I look at these photos:





And someday when my dd is attending her dgd's ballet recital, I hope that she nudges M and says "Remember when Grandma came to YOUR ballet recitals?" And, who knows, I might still be around in body (a healthy one I hope!)

How I spent St. Patrick's Day

As we met at our hiking rendezvous this morning, Dave confirmed that it would be a snowshoe hike. The idea of snowshoeing had put several people off so in the end there were only three of us, me, Dave and David. Here we are starting off. The snow in the valley is quite deep, over 4'. You get an idea of it from the snow on the fallen log.


At first Dave said we were going to snowshoe in the valley but, as always seems to happen on Dave's hikes, within a few minutes of nice, leisurely shoeing, he said "Hey, would you like to try going up this hill to get into the sunshine? Val, you said you'd like the sun." Ummm, yeah I said I'd like the sun but I didn't realize that meant climbing a nearly vertical 200' slope covered with 4' of fluffy, cottony snow that had little stability. I didn't want to be a wet blanket though so I said I would try it. And try it I did. Digging my shoes into the snow, feeling my feet slide back, my poles sink deep, it was exhausting.

Finally after about 10 minutes even Dave admitted that perhaps it was a bit much. So I slid back to the valley again and we resumed the nice, leisurely, swish, swish pace. The valley was in shadow for the first 30 minutes and then we saw patches of sunlight filtering through the Ponderosa pines.

Dave mistook my eagerness to take a photo of the sun to mean that I wanted to climb again. He and David were chatting away in front while I was mindfully walking in the back, meditating on how wonderful it was to be in this place, to have my body responding to the movement. Then all of a sudden up they started. Once again I struggled to find purchase with my feet. I was worried about doing a Beckham--tearing my Achilles tendon or something as my feet strained to push upward--but Dave blithely said "Relax your feet, feel your weight sink through them into the snow, into the earth." Dave, the tai chi aficianado. But, you know, he was right. When I could get the rhythm--unfortunately I often lost it--it made a huge difference and I did feel a part of the earth.

We made it up to where I took this final photo

We were actually looking at four different slopes with valleys between each and then finally the wide valley and far in the distance one of the Sandia peaks. (I think--my sense of direction is still lousy and I didn't have my compass.)

I was worried about going down but Dave reminded me to "feel" my feet and the weight shifting from foot to foot. Made it most of the way down with only three tumbles. Another 20 minutes of level snowshoeing and we were back at the car. Started at 8:30, finished a little shy of 11:00 a.m. Perfect.

My feet and backside were soaking wet so I made a quick stop at WholeFoods for thinly sliced corned beef--tasted almost like Montreal smoked meat without the fat--and colcannon. Colcannon is a mixture of creamed potatoes, cabbage (WholeFoods used kale) and is SO yummy. Not so great for my IBS but on St. Patrick's Day I didn't give a darn.

By the time I got home though I was chilled and my left foot was hurting. A hot bath helped the chill and the IBS but an hour later, my foot was hurting more. I still had to go out to visit someone and to the bank but as I made my rounds the pain grew worse and it was hard not to limp. When I got home I knew it was time to spend the rest of the evening with the foot elevated, the gas fire burning in the kiva, Celtic Woman playing on the stereo. Physically, between my painful foot, painful gums (still hurt from the dentist "stuff" last Friday), and painful cold sore, I feel, as my mother would say in a mell of a hess. But spiritually I feel terrific. I kept up with Dave, I did the climb and nothing is actually broken. I will be fine tomorrow!

Being a child again

This morning's hike was such fun! Eight of us piled into three cars and drove up Big Tesuque. Some of us (me included) didn't have our snowshoes with us but we had yaktrax (cramp-ons) so Dave decided that those with the snowshoes would go ahead and pack down the trail and the yaktrax folks would follow.

As usual, the first half hour was tough; I always have difficulty starting. Thoughts go through my head of turning back and waiting in the car. But I continued on and was grateful that one of the fellows was quite slow too; it gave me plenty of time to stop and breathe. But after the half hour I got my rhythm and the hike became its usual wonderful experience. It was a bit cold--30º--and it started to snow but we were sheltered from the wind in the trees. And I had enough layers on that I was very comfortable. We climbed about 500', up to 10800' and then we went off trail--as Dave likes to do--and that's when it became more difficult. These photos show us at that point.





First, it started snowing harder and those of us without snowshoes started punching through the snow. The snow was about 4' deep in places so when we sank, we sank up to our hips. Although it was difficult, it was still so much fun. We became like kids again, rolling in the snow and laughing as we sank. Even one of the snowshoers slipped and fell in a spray of snow.

But it eventually became too difficult and we turned around and started heading back down. By the time we arrived at the cars, about 5 inches of snow had accumulated and the temps had dropped to 25º. It normally takes us about 30 minutes to drive down the mountains to Santa Fe but because of the slick, windy roads, it took us an hour. The drive home was even worse. My car almost did a 360º turning left on one of the side streets and 15 minutes later a truck almost plowed into the back of my car at a stoplight. I was SO relieved to get home!

I've spent the afternoon relaxing by the gas fire, reading a book and feeling VERY happy to have had 2 hours of fun in the snow!

Don't eat standing up

I have a vivid memory of a Friday night when I was 16 years old. My mother had died a short while before and dad and I had started a routine of going grocery shopping on Friday night, after he came home from work. Sometimes we would go out to dinner afterward, sometimes we would buy t-bone steaks to cook at home or bring home a BBQ'd chicken. Now, BBQ'd chickens in Montreal are wonderful. You can get a bit of an idea if you buy one of those hot roasted chickens at Smiths or Albertsons but they still don't quite compare with Montreal BBQ'd chickens. You could also order BBQ'd chickens to be delivered to your home, rather like pizza. The most famous was St. Hubert BBQ--but I digress.

Anyway, this particular Friday night we'd bought a chicken. And as I was standing in the kitchen, ripping open the foil bag and smelling the delicious aroma, I started tearing pieces of it off. Dad, coming into the kitchen, said in that sharp censorious voice he often had "For goodness' sake, don't eat standing up!" Now, this wasn't the first time I'd eaten standing up nor would it be the last. I had a habit of eating that way, as well as eating sitting down. Which is why I was the "chubby" one in my family. But I did and do most of my comfort/mindless eating standing up. Often in front of an open refrigerator. When the rest of my family was sitting around the dining room table talking adult talk, my adolescent self would sneak into the kitchen, open the fridge door and filch leftover desserts, sometimes squirt some whipped cream into my mouth. Occasionally mom would call "Are you in the fridge?" So you can see that my sneaky eating was hardly a secret. Shameful, but not a secret. And I find myself sometimes doing the same now, after dh has gone to bed. Except that I'm not chubby anymore. But if I start eating standing up too much more, I could be on my way again.

I write this because yesterday was a particular case in point. I was feeling sentimental, feeling like I wanted to get in touch with my "motherly" self. So I decided to make a chocolate cake from my stepmother's favorite recipe. Chocolate oatmeal actually. I went to the grocery store, bought the ingredients and came home and got started. Now prior to this I'd had a pretty good eating/exercise day. Except for the two chocolate chip cookies I had eaten at breakfast. Standing up, just after I'd wandered into the kitchen from bed. But I'd resolved to put that behind me. Somehow my mind didn't compute that putting chocolate chip cookies behind me and making chocolate cake later in the day didn't quite match up.

Anyway, I put the cake in the oven and forgot that I live at high altitude--7200' to be exact. High altitude baking apparently requires some adjustment and, true to the warnings on the website that I read afterward, my cake fell a bit in the middle, leaving a cookie type crust around the edges. As it sat cooling on the counter, I nibbled the edges off. Standing because I was making dinner. And then, as I beat the buttercream icing--another requirement for my stepmum's cake--I started "tasting" it. And then scraped the bowl. When I think about it, I probably consumed about 200 calories standing there. At least. Who knows because it wasn't a "portion" it was just a finger full here and there, here and there. A spoon full. And later in the night when I was up far too late, I went and had a rather large piece of the cake. I ate it as I walked toward the chair I was flopped in, watching an old Law & Order.

My point is that eating standing up doesn't USE more calories. Not appreciably. So there is no advantage to eating standing up as opposed to sitting down. And the advantage to eating sitting down is that it takes more effort. You have to find a bowl or a plate, you have to put the food in/on. You can SEE what you are eating, you have that space between stimulus and response as Covey would say. You have that extra time to say "Wait a minute, do I want this? How much am I eating here?" And if you want to go ahead, you have the opportunity to sit down and savor what you are eating rather than shoving it furtively into your mouth, hoping that no one will notice.

Don't eat standing up. It's a habit that's worth breaking.

Love of reading continued

Well I have now finished the fourth book of the mystery series that has recently hooked me. I only have one left although, luckily the author is still very much alive and hopefully working hard at her next one. It will be a long wait and I am almost reluctant to finish this last.

I so wish I could write like that! What satisfaction there must be in being able to immerse one's self into a whole other world when you want to, a world where you can control the characters, the action. I have heard though that some authors say that occasionally the action runs away from them and they end up writing something they never intended to. But that too would be part of the excitement; not knowing where an idea is going to take you.

Every time I read a good book I think "Why can't I do that?" The main reason is that I can't sit myself down for long enough to create a story line, characters, etc. And I admit to being intimidated by reading books that have so much richness to them, so much depth. Is that part of this modern world where so many of us have become observers instead of participants? At least I have a toehold in this "writer's world" though by posting to this blog every so often. Maybe all of these posts will eventually become a novel....