in which my housesitter earns a purple heart

So the first day, it was the chickens.

I’d put the iPhone down, stepped away from my technology to improvise with Linda in her studio, which she built herself (with a little help). When the phone rang at the house during dinner, we ignored it, thinking it was a telemarketer.

Finally, the second call made the rounds. We heard Scott’s cell phone go off, then the house phone again.

“Did you get my texts?” she asked, her voice quivery.

It was a disaster. She’d chased the chickens around the yard for 40 minutes, unable to get them into the coop before she left for work. She’d gotten one inside, and locked the coop. And now it was after sundown.

I reminded her that the chickens roost on their own at sundown, and that they were probably sitting on top of the nest box, at that moment, waiting to get in.

So she left work to let the chickens in. I got the final all-clear text half an hour later.

But the next day…

I’m still getting used to this phone, as I’ve made more than a small point of noting here. One of the things I haven’t gotten the hang of is setting the ringer loud enough so I can hear it.

I was in Smith’s in Socorro (today is the day we traveled from Albuquerque to Magdalena) when the text sound whistled.

Flat tire.

Really? I called her back. I was kind of in shock. How can these things be happening? She asked me what to do. My spare was flat. I gave her the triple A card number (why didn’t I leave the card WITH her?). She asked where to take it. I’m not sure what I said. I couldn’t get my brain to function. Why was this happening to her? Couldn’t this just go smoothly?

At this moment, I actually don’t know the outcome. She was with our mutual friend when it happened, as well as the mechanic who sold us the tires. So I have to assume that they stuck with her and made sure she got to wherever one should go to get the tire fixed.

And now, thank you to AT&T, I have no cell phone service. I hope to get another all-clear text at some point. I hope everything is okay. Everything is probably okay, right?

I feel terribly guilty that house sitting for us has turned into such a gauntlet. Scott told her that she has earned a purple heart.

+ + +

This morning we had tamales for breakfast. Amy has a supply in the freezer. It’s what she did with the leftovers after roasting a whole pork shoulder one time in the clay oven on the porch. She poached eggs to put on top, and served them with homemade green tomato salsa which was so good it was crazy. And she gave me a jar to bring home. Insert happy face here.

Linda and I took the opportunity to do one more improvisation session in the studio while Scott and Jonah played with Linda’s collection of vintage-y ray guns and looked at astronomy map books.

Linda drove us and all our suitcases and travel flotsam to Belen where we met up with Grandpa Roger and Grandma Judy in the rail station parking lot for the hand-off.

We had lunch in Belen, where they are apparently filming a Schwarzenegger movie, with fake old-town facades and everything. Given that we’d had Mexican food for breakfast, they were hesitant to suggest but I didn’t even need to hear the words “The best Mexican dive food around;” I shall consume as much red and green chile as possible this week.

So we went to Pete’s. Given a wide range of options, Jonah chose enchiladas. And he ate them heartily. The green chile sauce was mild today. He also enjoyed the sopapillas which were probably the best I’ve ever eaten, heavenly light pillows of fried dough with thick dark honey drizzled inside.

And then the next leg of the drive, with the exciting stop in Socorro described above, on the way to the house in Magdalena. A house on a huge hill with nothing all around. The Bureau of Land Management owns the mountain in the backyard.

We took a long walk to the barn to feed the cat. So long, it made one question why they would have a cat if it lives so far away. But apparently the cat is a great mouser. The barn houses bales of hay and a big orange tractor.

A goat named Havoc lives in a pen attached to one side.

We took the even longer way back because Jonah wanted to do more exploring. I was looking down a lot because I was, once again, wearing the wrong shoes. On this trip, I brought comfortable mary janes that, while sensible for walking, have a bit of a platform on them, and hiking boots. So far, I am NEVER wearing the hiking boots when I should be. The platforms make me wobble on the rocks. So, as I was saying, looking down… I spotted a fossilized sea shell. A real gem of a find.

And that led to a rock collecting frenzy of sorts. I told Jonah he could only take home what fit in his pockets. “What about if I put rocks in your pockets?” he cleverly suggested. But I kept him to the original deal.

He weighed about five pounds more on the walk back.

Dinner was more Mexican food. Tamales again. (So awesome.) These ones were purchased from a family that makes and sells them out of a big unmarked white catering truck outside of Smith’s. Wandering the parking lot carrying plastic bags. $10 for 12, cash only. Everyone buys from them, my in-laws inform us. True locivore food truck culture.

And tonight, we were finally far enough from the city lights that Jonah got to see stars, and even the Milky Way.

And grandpa did songs with banjo accompaniement. Which was too exciting to knock him out so daddy had to pinch hit with “City of New Orleans.”

(Last night, it took Linda and Amy six songs to get the boy down. Arguably the first several were too exciting also, but their harmonizing on Frere Jacques finally did the job.)