live. work. dream.

I’ll never forget doing chile shots with Charles. But I’ll kick myself for not capturing him on film, or CompactFlash media for that matter. Ouch.

By the time we got to El Santuario Chimayó we were starving. We were either lightheaded from hunger, respectful of his culture, or merely too mesmerized by Señor Charles Medina to take out the camera.

A pity really, because words cannot describe this enchanting character.

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You can’t go anywhere in New Mexico without running into another miraculous historical building or energy vortex. It’s a challenge to pick which ones to visit, but checking out this church was a must for me (the last one for a while, I swear!). Because this church isn’t just any old church, it’s a church built on miraculous dirt.

I first heard about Chimayo through a family friend, who made a pilgrimage there in the 1980s, when she was diagnosed with breast cancer. She headed there like so many others, in search of the holy spirit that would receive her prayers and aid in her recovery. The magic worked. She beat the cancer, and swears that the reason she’s made it into her 80s is because of her pilgrimage and the miraculous dirt she took home from Chimayo.

Last week, my friend took a bad fall and is now in a rehab hospital. When I heard this news, I decided to make my own pilgrimage to Chimayo, just north of Santa Fe, to get some more of that magic dirt to send to her.

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I must say, I never really thought much of the whole “living history museum” thing. Heck, I didn’t even know what one was until we discovered Shelburne Farms when we stayed at the city campground in Burlington, VT last year. But we didn’t even pay that one a visit.

I have to thank our new friend Roger for opening my eyes to how cool it would be to work as a docent or interpreter at one of these living history museums. Roger volunteers as the 18th century miller at Rancho de las Golandrinas.

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As real estate prices drop, we keep thinking about where and when we want to buy. As much as we like this mobile lifestyle, we do want a piece of land where we can park the rig for a while and not have to pay rent. And we’ll need something to leverage when we’re old. So there are two ways we’re thinking of approaching a purchase whenever experts say prices are at rock bottom:

Property Idea 1: Buy two separate, smaller cheaper pieces of land (around 5 acres) in different regions of the country. Say, one piece in Colorado, and one near Luckenbach. Winter in Texas, summer in Colorado.

• The advantage: Staying mobile, and keep on living an internet-based self employment lifestyle.
• The disadvantage: Fuel prices. Moving around won’t be cheap. How long can we sustain a lifestyle like this?

Property Idea 2: Throw all our eggs into one larger piece of land, say an old ranch, that backs up to BLM or Forest Service property. Park the rig, settle down for a while, and utilize that land for some kind of outdoors-based business.

• The advantage: We would have a larger piece of real estate that we could sell off little by little as we get older.
• The disadvantage: Getting tied down again. Property taxes. Ugh!

I like to get other people’s ideas about situations like this. What would you do?

When you visit New Mexico, whatever you do, don’t get New Mexican culture confused with Mexican culture. The two are very different, and the locals will let you know it. For starters, the Mexicans I know never eat Sopapillas like this one I had in Albuquerque.

But it goes deeper than the culinary differences. As a California Mexican, I always heard about New Mexicans who insisted they weren’t “Mexican,” they were “Spanish.” Even in my own neighborhood, some fair-skinned kids came from families who preferred this label. I don’t know if their parents came from New Mexico or what, but it didn’t matter; we insisted that by preferring to call themselves “Spanish,” they were in denial about their ethnicity, ashamed to be linked to the Mexican Indian blood that many western Latinos share.

It’s a complicated issue, but ultimately, whatever label we Latinos choose to use, the fact is, we all have our unique ancestral histories, some that we relate to more than others.

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Our workamping gig at Riverbend gave us the opportunity to meet so many interesting people from all over the world. Two regulars were Ann and Roger, a couple from Santa Fe.

As longtime volunteers at El Rancho de las Golondrinas, a living history museum, Ann and Roger graciously invited us to the museum’s annual “Civil War Days.”

Did you know, the Civil War was fought in New Mexico?

“On July 23, 1861, Confederate soldiers mobilized out of Texas invading the New Mexico Territory… so began the American Civil War in New Mexico, a battle lasting 12 months, leaving 1300 dead, with no territorial gains for the Confederate Army.”

Every May, the museum holds Civil War Days, when hundreds of volunteers dress in costume and hold battle re-enactments, life and culture demonstrations and more.

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I never thought living history could be so much fun. Thank you Ann and Roger, for your kind invitation and friendship.

You might have guessed by now, that I’m not the churchiest person. Spiritual, yes, churchy, no. But, as anyone born into Catholicism can tell you, once you’re in, you’re in for life. You can run away from it, but it never leaves you. Just when you least expect it, you’ll put up a velvet Last Supper painting above the TV, and stick a dashboard Jesus in your SUV.

As a recovering Catholic, I love checking out old churches. Maybe I’m subconsciously facing my fears, but the more realistic Saint statues and lit up candles they have inside, the better.

In Santa Fe, I had no shortage of Catholic churches to choose from, but the Loretto Chapel was first on my list. Briefly, the story about the Chapel’s Miraculous Staircase goes:

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There are two big events that happen in Truth or Consequences every year. One is the annual New Mexico State Fiddler’s Festival, and the other, is the Fiesta. Last week, the fiddler’s came to town for three days..

It wasn’t the usual alt-country scene that we’re used to, with hippies, rednecks or cool cats from Austin. No, it was more like a retirement village dance. These old folks were dancing to bluegrass and western swing music long before it ever became cool again. And most of them still have their moves down.

Just as the music got swingin’, the oldest folks in the room started to leave. Then, at 9:00 PM, the announcer came out to tell us remaining kids that everyone was tired and they were ending the show early, because they had a long weekend ahead!

We went outside, got on our bikes to ride home, and prayed that none of these old people would run us down on the dark streets of T or C.

The solo performance by classical cellist Brian Patrick Bromberg was the saving grace of our dinner at Bellaluca in Truth or Consequences.

And it made us wonder what on earth brought him to T or C after having been classically trained in Chicago and New Zealand.

But there I go digressing again. About that restaurant review …

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Time for another reality check.

Ten years ago, Jim and I moved to Eureka on a whim. I knew it was rainy there, but I thought I could tolerate it, because I’d lived in San Francisco. But after a while, the rain forest was getting to me. The endless cold gray days, coastal winds and thick fog was wearing down my psyche. I constantly griped about what I knew I could not change; the weather.

So I started to have these fantasies about living in the desert. I wanted to feel the warm sun. Munch on chips and hot salsa and wash it down with cold beer. Sit next to a saguaro cactus and play my guitar. Go out at night wearing a summer dress, flip flops and a tan.

I thought that workamping here in T or C would convince Jim that living in the desert was a good idea. But after just one month, I’ve discovered that I’m too much of a wuss for this kind of environment.

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