Sunday morning; the hummingbirds are beginning their annual infiltration and the pollen has turned the motorcycles the shade of unwashed underwear, but all in all, it’s all good at the Casa.
In the last year, I’ve had to do things that in a previous life I would have never considered possible to stay afloat: ridden motorcycle funeral escorts with a broken leg, hauled cars cross country with a broken collarbone and ribs, driven Uber and Lyft, laid concrete, landscaped, done construction labor and clean up, raided my 401k…
I’ve even cut hair.
But as menial and distasteful as this might be to some, it has been MUCH better than the alternative; the cell sucking cancer of a corporate sales job, with it’s omnipresent check ups known as CRM, or Customer Relations Management, or Salesforce.com. I fully believe that the only reason that it is called this is because that “anal probe” was already being utilized by alien beings out in New Mexico, and they sued as to not be confused with the lower species of corporate management.: “The floggings will continue until morale improves”.
I call this condition “sales apnea”, as much like sleep apnea, the damage comes from your body and mind never fully resting, always gasping for that next breath of unobstructed air. Ask anyone in this position what is the worst night of the week for them, and they will invariably say Sunday, as this is when the panic starts to build as the emails start to hit like hail…
Uh oh… mom has released the inmates, and they have discoverd that I had a microsecond of “me” time. Now I’m in danger of drowning in a torrent of canines, with my soft white underbelly and tender vegetation in danger of being trampled into oblivion by a horde of horny hooves. Then Toby and Victor get wind of the bloodbath and come charging over from across the street, and my humiliation is complete.
So where was I? Oh yeah…
But being released from this crate constructed of a fat salary, company car and three weeks “vacation”, as you never really rest when attached to an electronic tether, was the best thing that could have happened. It allowed me not one but two cross country trips with Charlie, one in the Minivan Gogh and the biggie on the Honda CB. Then, 1500 miles camping across the back country trails of New Mexico with Zach and Craig. A chance to be present in the moment for the debut of the Jude Bear and to make the trips to North Carolina to move Oba back to the Casa without being hounded by worries of work back home. And the opportunity to start a new career as a Home Inspector, and a chance to work to live and not just live to work.
Sometimes it’s hard to believe that any time could be the last time, but things happen; kids, jobs, sickness, division, the cares of life… Then it dawns on you, when was the last time I climbed that mountain, kissed that spouse, kicked that pig, played that song, called that guy, worshipped like no one was watching… Before you know it the years have went under your wheels like a fast approaching pothole, a quick bump and it’s gone, for better or worse, never to jar your spine again. It’s not the destination that matters, but the journey.
So here we are now, together in the midst of this pandemic; I refuse to capitalize the word and thus give it more credit than it’s due. Because, like Charlie’s crate, it must be acknowledged and dealt with, but I refuse to let it define who I am. In my opinion, a far more insidious virus than any other is the virus of fear; why worry about maintaining the proper social distance when your diaphragm is too constricted by fear to take a proper breath in the first place?
Charlie and I are already planning our next trip; when can we go? We have no idea. Where? Well, there’s this little cinderblock restaurant known as Fina’s in Chama, NM, that makes the best Mexican breakfast known to mankind; 996 miles from the Casa is not too far to ride for huevos rancheros and breakfast burritos smothered in enough green chile to make your butt burn for a week. And if the chiles aren’t hot enough for you, Fina’s temper can finish the job, a burn that can only be remedied by a dip in the icy headwaters of the Rio Grande just across the mountains. Then there’s that freshwater spring in Gateway, Colorado, those red rock formation and slot canyons in Utah… I know, I know, it’s a sickness, but at least I know the antidote:
See you on the road.
