Made It Home Safely

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Once the critter sitters were briefed on the quirks of our off-the-grid arrangements, getting ready to leave the canyon by myself for the first time was the hardest part of my journey. It seemed foreign and completely unnatural. And in the back of my mind, I fretted about the Dakota's acceleration once I reached pavement. That pack rat's nest episode in the engine compartment coincided with my gut feel that I had been robbed of genuine speed and I thought that maybe some obstruction was restricting the gas pedal movement. These dirt roads don't allow for an acceleration test beyond 35 miles an hour and only briefly at that unless you want to slam down hard and then launch yourself aloft in one of the many deep key-ways in these dirt roads. Both of us had incurred headliner bruises and nearly worn the heavy Ranch Hand bumper grill like braces from previous feats of bravado and brain farts out here on these weather-pocked roads. And I had only vague recollections of the directions to get out of the canyons when heading south.

I loaded up all the documents, clothes and gas cans that I needed and just hoped that I wasn't forgetting something ... which I did anyway. Turning the ignition key was one of the hardest things I had ever forced myself to do; I felt like I was abandoning Terry (Mark), our dreams and our fur friends in horribly callous ways. Concentrating on the rough roads for the next 25 miles helped soften that tension and remorse. I eventually eased up beside the old Indian trading post and hit it out on to the highway. "Hitting it" brought forth disappointing results. For the next couple of hours, I was mortified at being passed going up hill by semis at 45 mph. It was going to be a long drive so I poked the radio seek button and found but one station, a country western venue, and the miles droned by. And I felt so alone. Then a song called "Remember When" came on. It is a bittersweet, lilting, slow lovers' waltz and gentle kind of piece with lines like "... we won't be sad, we'll be glad, for all the times we had ... remember when ..." And for the first time since Terry died, I started to sob quite uncontrollably; no one but me in the truck, no critters and friends to be strong and stoic for, just me alone on this quiet four lane highway. I looked over through my dappled vision to my right and reached out to pat and grasp Terry's leg affectionately, just as he had done so many times before when I was riding shotgun. But in reality, I now knew that I was truly alone in this stark and beautiful desert, that landscape which we both fell in love with not that long ago. It still held its rugged but scarred beauty proudly; it's defiant cliffs bleeding from exposed slashes of incredible colors. I would have to be like those cliffs we loved so much now - stubborn and defiant. I was suddenly snapped out of my lost thoughts when I noticed traffic overtaking me and wiped blindly at my clouded eyes lest they somehow see my heartbreak and I repeatedly stabbed my soft-moccasined foot hard into the gas pedal to no avail.

I survived the drive through Albuquerque on the interstates without acceleration capabilities quite nicely. In any other major city, I might have been slaughtered in the rush of commuters going 30 mph faster but not here. Perhaps that is why we loved this place; it wasn't unnecessarily frantic and fast 'just because'. After climbing their mountain highway at an eye-burning 35 mph, I pulled into Red and Sally's just before supper and it was like joyously arriving home again from a very tough trek.

With their help and encouragement, we got a lot of necessary things done that week and we had some fun as well. And when they retired each night, I would remove to the guest apartment on the second floor of the building next door. I guess I needed that time alone and away from the ranch and the rest of the world to sit out on the deck, to look up at the skies, to pretend that Terry was seated beside me on that rough bench and to talk with him about many things unsaid up until then. And to cry, to cry deeply when there was no one else around - neither friends or creatures to hear and be further disturbed and hurt by my laments. As I gazed up into the skies, I would sometimes be pelted by sporadic rains crying down to join my tears, sometimes see shooting stars etch short but dazzling paths across the firmament, just as Terry had done. I had so desperately needed that quiet time of reconciliation, of putting this horrendous but unavoidable new reality into some sort of perspective.

The days flew by far too fast but we accomplished many things and the three of us found a couple of new and special friends in the process as a delightful bonus. It looks like I will be taking over their small farmstead in September if all goes as planned. Better still, Wayne was a professional mover for years and I can hire him to help pack and load up our belongings at the ranch. Since they are both of the same breed as Terry and I were for collecting odd-ball and sometimes heavy funky stuff, I doubt I could have found a better person to orchestrate the move. Yes, a small light has started to shine on what needs to be done before winter sets in and more pegs are falling into place now. I am so thankful, not only for this break in that onslaught of disasters but for your thoughts and prayers in getting me this far. We are starting to get somewhere now ... finally!
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I'll Be Back!

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Just a heads up to let you know that I, God willing and the creek don't rise, will be heading into the big city this week to look at possible alternative homes a little closer to civilization for the remainder of our Rat pack. It still has to be rural, no half acre lot will do now that we have lived out here in solitude and loved it so completely. Hopefully many necessary things will be accomplished during this, my second trip out of our canyon this year. It would appear that the 2nd nearest neighbors have come to the rescue by finding me a critter sitter (including the guy's ex!?) for this event. This still may beat having to battle Ms. Daisy (the extreme travel barfer) to get her into the truck and drop her off elsewhere. Please wish me luck in every way on this venture ... I am SO severely jaded on melodrama.

Red will just have to wait a little longer to find out just what he said and did during our unplanned but most excellent wake for Terry up at Slim's Cowboy Hotel. You bet, we did it up in the most fine of Irish traditions possible all right.

Remember; I may be off-line for a while so your comments may not show up for a bit.
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First Cavalry Arrives Again

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Reality Warning: Philosophical material to follow
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As I watched their taillights disappear over the last visible far away stretch of our canyon road at dusk, I realized that I had never taken their photograph and I sighed heavily in regret. Now I could only hope that Virgil and Jen's return trip home was safe and uneventful. They had brought me desperately needed supplies without hesitation and even though I still have no means of paying them. This was their second trip into our far boonies. They had already come to the rescue within two days of Terry's passing, being there as both family and friends to quietly share in trying to make sense of this unfathomable turn of fate.

This post is for Connie, Virgil's mom. In her many caring and encouraging e-mails, and like so many of you, she has worried about my predicament alone out here and she lamented not being able to help, wondering what she might be able to offer in this very challenging time. Connie, you have helped in more ways than you could ever imagine; you have shared your son with me - so I thank you, deeply and from the heart.

Virgil came to us from the gas field. He came to us via their good neighbor policy but stayed to become our loyal friend throughout this and so many toughest of times. He did not abandon us when fate transferred him so far away from us either. So many people who cross your path in brilliant comet-like colors will fade away quickly when circumstance and convenience change; he did not. Nor did his equally sincere wife, Jenny. If you can count such people as friends on even one hand at the very end of your life, you have been extraordinarily blessed. I feel as though my two hands are full and am now running out of toes to tabulate such blessings. This is what keeps me going when unseen influences do their best to beat me down to my knees and shove my face into the dirt as they have tried so many times before. And as long as I can feel even a small amount of a goodness and love in mankind, I will keep fighting that good but often discouraging fight. I may retreat into the solitude of my aerie when the sum of events become too burdensome but I bring your caring with me as a balm for heart wounds which might otherwise prove fatal. We all bear the responsibility for mankind's future by caring for others in genuine and selfless ways ... don't drop the ball and then point a lamenting finger at the rest of the world. For all we know, there may be a scale of planetary proportions with a preset point waiting for the day when just one good soul dying away will be enough to set the cogs of our fate into reverse.

That was my big philosophical rant; thank you for indulging me. With any luck and blessing, I will be back to the utterly mundane shortly. In the meantime, get defiant and fight your own good fight; never let them get you down for long because rising from your knees to victory is the finest of life's wines that you will ever taste and remember. If I can do it, so can you - don't ever, EVER forget that.
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