Bad Photos...Bad, Bad Photos! No Treats for You!

Evidence that, in the wrong hands, photos are NOT worth 1,000 words.

Back in the U.S.A.

I'm home from my astonishingly short trip to Moscow. I'll report on it in my own good time and in my own good way...or I'll ignore it...or I might simply do a bad job of describing what was almost too short to be describable.

A 3-day trip to Moscow is not really worthy of writing about, but that's never stopped me before so write about it I shall.

I'm not sure I ever adapted to the 9-hour time differential, so this homecoming might not be as tough as it might otherwise have been. On the other hand, last night's 8-hour stayover in a London Heathrow hotel during my 2-part return trip witnessed me sleeping deeply until the alarm went off, usually a sign that I've adapted.

For now, I'm busily planning to stay up for several more hours to re-adjust to Central Time.

Food and Vodka

Last night, my group went to a fabulous place, Praga, for an evening of dinner and entertainment. We were ushered upstairs to a private room that had four very long tables with chairs on both sides. There was seating for about 90, I'd guess. The tables were absolutely packed with all sorts of Russian food and drink. Immediately upon being seated, a very attentive waitstaff decended on us, speaking very little but communicating very well.

The evening was almost beyond description...but within the next few days, I'll post descriptions and, if I can get my camera to cooperate, a very few photos.

I consumed vast quantities of exceptionally good vodka, but my consumption was dwarfed by that of some of my hardier colleagues. Some of the foods included a beetroot concoction with horseradish, dozens of kinds of pickled and unpickled fish, beef, sausage, garlic...just too much to even try to wrap my brain around this 'morning after.'

And the dancing....the singing...the gypsies...it was a mind-boggling experience!

Blogging in Russia

I got to Moscow late yesterday afternoon after an uneventful flight. I was supposed to go from Dallas to New York to London to Moscow. But I got to the airport and they informed me that I was not going to New York, at all, but to Chicago. No big deal, I said, but it would have been nice if they'd told me before I got to the airport (turns out they had, but we hadn't checked the machine at home after we got up in the morning, after their late night call).

Heathrow airport, I have to say, has the world's most horrendously long, burdensome, maddening imigration lines for people who simply want to change planes and fly off to another country. It took me 2 hours in line to finally get on board my flight. Others had the same problem, of course, so they delayed my flight to Moscow for an hour.

I was greeted in Moscow at the arrival hall by a guy carrying a sign with my name and my hotel name on it. He was one of probably 100 others who were waiting to greet guests. My guy spoke not a word of English. I speak not a word of Russian. My gasps and white knuckles gripping the dash board probably conveyed to him, though, that I was frightened by his driving. He drove a Ford Focus at 160 km/hour down highways littered with broken-down cars along both sides and with traffic congestion like none I've seen anywhere. We were either going at breakneck speed or were at a dead stop...just before pulling in front of someone on the right or left, scooting along the shoulder (both sides). It took us 1-3/4 hours to get from Domodedovo airport to the Golden Ring hotel. I have no idea the distance, but suspect it would have taken 20 minutes on clear roads.

I've only been here for about 18 hours now and have not been outside the hotel since arriving, so have no real-world experiences to report. But when I opened Blogger to begin to record this message, I was intrigued by what it looked like:

Off to Moscow

I'm off to Moscow tomorrow morning, via New York JFK and London Heathrow, arriving in Moscow on Wednesday afternoon. Long trip. Wedneday evening through Saturday morning, I have meetings...with 2 evenings of organized dinners scheduled in the mix. At the moment, I have Friday night free...maybe. After a meeting Saturday morning, I may have a short time to do sightseeing. Then, later in the day, it's off to the airport for an evening flight to London, where I'll stay overnight at a Holiday Inn near Heathrow and jump on a flight back to the US on Sunday morning. From London, I fly to Chicago, change planes, and arrive back in Dallas late afternoon. If anyone who reads this has been to Moscow, please tell me what I'm going to miss seeing with this schedule.

If computers and internet connections cooperate, I may post a message or two while I'm there. Otherwise, posting will commence again shortly after I return next Sunday.

Random Ten and Then Some

OK. I've encountered enough "random ten" posts that I've decided to do my own. So, here's my random ten from my iPod on this Saturday. Here's my random top ten, plus a few. Bear in mind, they are random pieces from my iTunes directory. I may do this more later...I think I like it.

1) Tell Me Why: Leo Kottke (Ice Water)
2) Memory Lane: Elliot Smith (from A Basement on the Hill)
3) Shiny: The Decemberists (5 Songs)
4) Donations: Loudon Wainwright III (Last Man on Earth)
5) Alice: Tom Waits (Alice)
6) When I Go Out With Artists: Crash Test Dummies (God Shuffled Feet)
7) I Don't Want to Be the One: Greg Brown (Dream Cafe)
8) Graveyard: Loudon Wainwright III (Loudon Wainwright III)
9) Train From Kansas City: Neko Case (The Tigers Have Spoken)
10) On the Bank Generation: Little Jack Melody (KERA 90.1 Sound Sessions)
11) Un Aeroplano a vela: Gianmaria Testa (Il valzer di un giorno)
12) A Thousand Kisses Deep: Leonard Cohen (Ten New Songs)

New Mexico Experience II

After staying overnight in Truth or Consequences, NM, we arose and went to the rental car, only to discover its left rear tire extremely low on air. I had noticed an odd warning light on the dash late the previous afternoon...it looked like the shape of the lower half of a tire, with the bottom bulging slightly. My wife went to the owners manual and discovered it was a warnding for a low tire. We aired up the tire and headed a short distance up the road to Elephant Butte, a community that sits on the banks of a reservoir (Caballo Lake) created by damming the Rio Grande.

Elephant Butte is a pretty little place. It has the look of desert oasis about it, a place with an expansive sky and red rocks and dry sand, all next to a pocket of refreshing water. This picture is one of the few I took there; obviously, it is a recreational area, as evidenced by the gargantuan size of the boat ramp. It must not have been 'in season' yet, because the lake was rather placid and there were few boats out in it...and it may have been too early, too, on a Friday morning. In any event, it was a pretty spot. We talked a bit about exploring more, on another trip, to see if this is the sort of place to which we might consider retiring one day, if Mexico isn't within our grasp.

Just as we were heading toward the other side of the town to get another perspective, the damn little warning light came on again. So, we trotted back to Truth or Consequences to the only tire repair place we had encountered and had the tire fixed. It had a screw lodged in its tread. I had called Dollar Car Rental at Albuquerque airport to confirm that we should have it fixed (versus having them send their own service or whatever)...yes, get it fixed, they said, and we will reimburse you. Not so. When we returned the car, they said we did not buy the hazard coverage, so no reimbursement. Moreover, they charged $7.50 per day for my wife being an extra driver, though she did not drive the vehicle a single foot. When I told them to add her as an extra driver, it never occurred to me they would charge me...nor did they volunteer. So, all of you who might consider renting from Dollar; my advice is, don't. I felt like I was ripped off. OK, enough ranting about the ethics of rental car agencies.

As we were leaving Truth or Consequences to catch the highway south toward Hatch, I was intrigued by the view as we looked west. We were on a very broad, divided highway that has a mix of gas stations, athletic fields, entries to subdivisions whose glory days are long-since past, and a scattering of tired old buildings whose purposes are hard to discern from a passing car. In the background, the mountains to the west seemed at once welcoming and forbidding. Something about the scene made me feel like this was the physical embodiment of loneliness. I took a few photos, hoping to capture that sense, but the photos do not begin to convey the sensation I had that morning. But, I'll post one anyway.

We took the main highway south for short distance, then veered west and got on a highway that parallels the main road, but has a more pleasant vista. Alongside the road on both sides were mile upon mile of orchards and fields of one kind or another...pecan orchards, fields that held the remnants of chile plants that produce the reknowned Hatch Chiles, and lots of other crops we could not distinguish. The drive brought back memories of my very early childhood, when I lived in Brownsville, Texas or would return there from Corpus Christi while riding along with my father on his business trips. There's something soothing about being in the middle of agricultural communities where the crops grow right up to the roadside. I suppose it makes me feel closer to nature than walking through an artificially green neighborhood whose last days of growing food passed many, many years ago. These rural 'wide spots in the road' are gathering places in the early morning, where people come together to talk, plan their days, and enjoy some communal conversations before they embard on long, hard, lonely days in the fields or orchards. I enjoy being in rural areas like that, where people wave at people in passing cars. My sense of human goodness is reinforced when people I don't know and won't talk to because I'm in a passing car express friendliness that's not obligatory, it's just a genuine acknowledgement of another person.

It's not far from Truth or Consequences to Hatch, but we succeeded in making it a much longer drive than would have been required by diverting along side roads and taking our own sweet time. We arrived in Hatch in time for an early lunch. We stopped at a place called the Valley Cafe, a tiny little spot on the main road. We ordered a lunch consisting of guacamole and a meat stew with green chile sauce. The menu also had and items called tacos de buche. I did not know what buche was; my wife asked and was told it is pig stomach fried in lard. I'm always ready to try something new, but I decided to pass that one. Maybe one day.

Our trip continued as we headed back north, with Santa Fe being our destination. We took back roads all the way to Albuquerque, making the day's drive very, very long, but wonderfully satisfying. The roads we travelled had remarkably little traffic, so we could stop on the highway and listen to the sound of the wind on the prairies (or in the mountain passes, whichever the case may have been at any given stop), or just stop and ponder the scenery. I tend to forget to take pictures when I am completely enamored of a place, so there were few pictures from our drive north to Santa Fe. This one is one of my favorites, as it speaks to the desolation of the places we visited. Suffice it to say that the backroads of New Mexico put me in a place that I like to be. Getting back into the Albuquerque area at rush hour on Friday, though, took me out of that place, fast. I could not believe the traffic on Interstate 25 just north of downtown Albuquerque. It was bumper-to-bumper in both directions for miles. I don't know if that's normal or not, but I do know it's grinding on the nerves of a geezer who has just decompressed in the desolation of rural roads.

We got to Santa Fe about 6 pm and drove directly to our hotel, La Fonda. It's an old but very nice hotel right on the square. After putting our stuff away, we went for a walk around the square and then ventured off some nearby streets, looking at leather and jewelry and knives and baskets and clothing...and buying none of it. By the time we got back to the square, we thought it was time for a margarita, so we went to the Ore House, where my wife ordered what the restaurant called the cutsie name of La Plaza Platarita, made with Cuervo 1800 Silver and Cointreau. I got their 'Sandyrita,' made with Sauza Commemnorativo Añejo and Cointreau. Next time around, my wife got the Chacharita (Sauza Silver and Cointreau) and I got the Horny Toad (Hornitos Reposado and Gran Marnier). All were good, but I still prefer my recipe, personally. Then came dinner: sopa de lima for my wife and a Hatch burger with bacon and bleu cheese for me. Obviously, we were being very careful about our diets.

Most of our Santa Fe visit was about food. Sure, we walked, we viewed "stuff," and we even bought some things, but mostly it was about food. I did take pictures from our room, but once outside, I tended not to take many. You see, it snowed while we were there! Yes, early May, snow. It didn't stick, but the snow flakes were huge and heavy and tended to clump together on the way down, turning instantly to large drops of water when they hit the ground (or me). I was not prepared for snow. I was not prepared for temperature in the 30s. But I lived. Below are a few pictures I took...the first one is looking our our hotel window at the mariachis leading the wedding party from the chapel across the street to...who knows where? It happened about six times while we were there.


I was talking about food. For breakfast our first morning in Santa Fe, we walked across the street to a little coffe shop and ordered a breakfast taco that turned out to be large enough to feed a family of six. Good smells, good food. Very wierd clientele, including two young women who used the place as their bedrooms, curled up comfortably in some beanbag chairs, and some surly old bastard who was annoyed with the waitress at the counter when she took our order before embarking on building his elaborate combinagtion of cream and sugar and cookies and whatever else with a splash of coffee. I ordered an espresso that turned out to be wonderful. I wish I'd written down the name of the place.

After breakfast, we wandered along the plaza, viewing artworks and handicrafts and finally make our way to the Georgia O'Keefe Museum. We viewed all the pieces in the museum; while we enjoyed it, we felt like the Kimbell in Fort Worth had done a better job of displaying her works. I'm a huge fan of her work, though, and the short video about her life made the $8/person fee well worth it.

For lunch, we did something very odd (seems to me); we ate in a place called Rooftop Pizzeria, in a newer-looking mini shopping mall on the plaza. As it turned out, it was an exceptional place for lunch. I got a glass of Saint Clair 2006 Sauvignon Blanc (New Zealand) and my wife got a glass of Osborne Cabernet Sauvignon (Spain), both of which were excellent and very reasonably priced. We ordered a thin-crust pizza topped with grilled eggplant, squash, sundried tomatoes, artichoke heart, roast garlic, kalamata olives, basil pesto, and goat cheese (on my half). It was out of this world.

As we walked off lunch and tried to avoid being soaked by snow flakes, we came upon a tasting room for Santa Fe Vineyards, a winery located in Española, New Mexico. The place had some interesting art on the walls, so we went in and browsed and were persuaded to do the $5 tasting. That, too, was a good thing. Despite tasting a few much-too-sweet-for-our-taste wines, there were some that were incredibly inexpensive and very good. The guy who orchestrated the tasting was young but knowledgeable and he convinced me to try some of what I would have normally avoided, some 'known' sweet wines that, as it turns out, are a bit sweeter than most I would enjoy but were good, after all. It turns out he is waiter in his other life. He works at La Boca, a tapas bar that has been getting rave reviews from the Santa Fe media and, we're told, the Albuquerque media and beyond. He urged us to try it, saying the chef/owner was responsible for other restaurants in town getting a reputation for serving fabulous tapas. We succumbed to his persuasion; when we got back to the hotel, we asked the consierge to make a reservation for us at 8:00 pm.

La Boca did not disappoint. Here is a sampling of what we shared: marinated catalan olives; alcaparonnes (Spanish caperberries); coriander spiced grilled eggplant w/ red onion chermoula; cantimpalitos: grilled mini chorizo w/ membrillo glaze. I think we had more...but looking at the menu, I cannot remember. I'd like to go back to try the other tapas but also to try their larger-portion meals, including paella which sounded incredibly good.

After sleeping off dinner, we went to the Plaza Cafe for breakfast. It's a place that pleases me as much for its lack of pretension as for its food. Everyone from old Indian street vendors to local publishers (and everyone in between) seemed to be there for breakfast. My guess is that we were among the few tourists. I found a reference to it on Roadfood.com, which reinforced my thoughts that it was a great place to eat and learn.

Not long after breakfast, we were back on the road to Albuquerque. We got off the freeway a bit north of town and went west for a ways until we got to a road that parallels the Rio Grande. It was on that road that we saw the house in this picture. I hope the lizard wrapping around the place is easily visable...if not, click on the photo to enlarge it.

I had promised myself that I would try to find the Flying Star, a place recommended to me by a blogger friend. We did not eat there, but we did, indeed, find two of them...one at 4026 Rio Grande NW and one at 3416 Central SE (the original). We had planned on eating at the original, but it was very crowded and, upon entering, we could not find the Buddha Bowl on the menu, which was the primary reason for going in, and the crowds were a bit more than I wanted on our last day in New Mexico, so we went wandering. We ended up having lunch at Las Cuates, the sister restaurant of the one at which we had lunch our first day. It was a much larger place, but had a similar menu...and I had a similar menu to my first time in.

By the time we headed to the airport to return our car and fly back home, I thought how astounding it was that we had covered so much ground in such a short period of time and how the physical presence of the more desolate areas of New Mexico had really captured my imagination. I'm already thinking about the next trip.

In My Mood

I leave for Moscow one week from today. Short trip. I fly to New York, London, on to Moscow, arriving on Wednesday. I leave Moscow on the following Saturday night for a short overnight in London, then back home, changing planes in Chicago. Home late Sunday. There's no value in a trip that short, only annoyance. It's likely to be my last international trip for the client for quite awhile, too, since revenue is on a severe downward slump. Not that I want any more trips like this...solo, short, and no time for experience.

While I'm gone, I'm afraid that one client in particular will suffer and it could hurt our company. I'm the only one to answer questions, now that I've fired the contractor who wasn't performing. I'm not good at it, but better than the staff, who have had no training whatsoever on responding to client calls.

I need more staff. I want fewer staff. Am I going through a mid-life crisis? What the hell is it with me?

Some blogger friends are going through odd situations. I hope they work out well. I will stay out of the picture. My suggestions are irrelevant. Good luck.

At least I don't have to worry what Jerry Falwell will say tomorrow. That's a bad joke, but the best I can do in my mood.

Introducing...The Sprockets!

OK, I'm interrupting my report about our New Mexico trip, but I promise I will return to that. For now, let me tell you about my very brief visit to Falba, Texas this weekend and show you some pictures.

My brother who lives there met the people who make up The Sprockets when he spent time in Mexico last Fall. They visited him last year and, just recently, again. My brother called me and invited me to come down to see The Sprockets perform...they had agreed to do a circus performance right there on his little acreage out in the middle of nowhere...Falba, Texas! So, last Friday afternoon, I left the office and drove the few hours to Falba. My brother had invited a number of his friends and neighbors, as well, so there was quite a crowd at his little place in the country by the time the show began.

But let me back up a bit. The Sprockets are a husband (Scott Harrison) and wife (Izzy Feraud) team who, along with their young son (Theo, pronounced Tay-oh) and their assistant (Joe, who is also their son's teacher), are in the midst of a world-tour that started in 1997. They are financing their world tour by presenting their unique form of circus comedy, including some pretty amazing acrobatics. Since 1997, they have traveled with their double-decker British-made bus to Iran, Nepal, India, Chile, Australia, New Zealand, France, Italy, Greece, Turkey, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Thailand, Malaysia, Singapore, Brunei, Japan, Australia, Peru, Equador, Brazil, Uruguay, Argentina, Columbia and Venezuela, Guatemala, El Salvador, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, Mexico and, finally, the United States.

During the course of their 10 years on their world tour, they have had a son (Theo has been with them during the tour, learning to speak English, French [his mother's native tongue], and Spanish), and have met many, many people the world over who have helped them sustain their tour and helped them through the inevitable wierdness that accompanies such an undertaking.

I took the photos before and during the performance. The photos do not do them justice! I may post more background on the Sprockets and their tour later...in the interim, you can see more at their website.

New Mexico Experience I

Our trip to New Mexico did not follow our original plan. When we arrived, we went directly to the rental car counter, got fixed up with an AWD vehicle, and immediately went to have lunch at one of two Las Cuates restaurants that are just blocks from one another. Ours was very much a place for locals: a few business people whose suits and ties looked oddly out of place; air-conditioning repairmen wearing dark-as-night sunglasses and elaborate tatoos; a young Hispanic family with charming kids who mezmerized me with their smiles as they ate their ice cream cones; and a few other assorted folks who, combined, represented a melting pot of cultures, languages, and, I suspect, attitudes and ideas. I like places like that, where I am one of a very few middle-aged white people. I learn a lot when I'm in places with diverse clienteles. Here, I learned that (at least from appearances), no one there cared that others were different. No one seemed jittery about large tatooed men sharing the restaurant. No one objected to the overly-loud conversation between three men who were talking about the perils of ignoring religion (though I have to admit that I felt like challenging them, but thought better of it). No one seemed to care that some people ordered in Spanish and some in English. There seemed to be an attitude that should be pervasive in restaurants: we're hungry and we came here for the food, not the culture. For me, though, that in itself is 'the culture.'

Our original plan had been to visit Alburquerque the first day; wander the neighborhoods, visit some museums, just get accustomed to a city environment that's utterly different from Dallas. But my wife suggested we head south, instead, since we'd rarely explored south of Albuquerque. So, off we went, in search of something south. The sign is an example of many we saw during our wanderings.

A few miles north of Socorro, we decided to explore a bit, so we got off the highway and headed east. Almost immediately, we came upon a small collection of houses, spaced hundreds of yards apart, and small canals. The roadsides were green and lush, a beautiful respite from the deadly dullness of the interstate. As we drove down a dusty road along a canal, we came upon a for-sale sign on a pretty little adobe house. On a lark, we called the number and found that the place had a contract pending. That was too bad. The place was situated on two-plus acres and had a small fruit tree orchard along the side. The canals, we learned, led from the Rio Grande, just a few hundred yards away. It was a place where I could have envisioned living and growing fruits and vegetables and hiking over to the Rio Grande and sitting for hours on the banks, just watching the river flow by and waiting to catch a glimpse of birds and fish and all manner of creatures that rely on the water for sustenance and security. I spoke to the realtor for quite awhile as she tried to convince me there were other places close by (all with much more acreage) that I'd like to see, but finally said goodbye and promised to call her if we wanted to see some of her other properties.

We jumped back on the interstate and headed south to Socorro. My wife had read about an old church building there; it sparked her interest, so we got off the freeway and explored, albeit briefly.

A quick stop at the local chamber of commerce office, doubling as a visitors' bureau, gave us access to literature about another attraction that interested us. That attraction is the Very Large Array radio telescope on the plains of San Agustin fifty miles west of Socorro. As we made the fifty-mile drive west from Socorro, we watched the topography change from mountainous and green to flat and beige. The change was stark as we neared the location of the VLA; the mountains seemed to just disappear into a vast plain of tall grass. We were't quite sure what to expect to see as we neared the VLA, but we knew that each of the huge radio telescope dishes is 82 feet in diameter, so we assumed they would loom large from the landscape. As we drew close, they did, but the vastness of the landscape was so overwhelming that the dishes did not look imposing until we were almost upon them. Each of the dishes is imposing; collectively, they are almost overwhelming. Understand that this place is in the middle of nowhere (I mean that in the most positive way, really), so finding it was only the first task. Next, we had to try to understand it. Fortunately, there is a small display and a film inside the visitors' building. We took in all the information they could give us and the proceeded to take the self-guided walking tour. Considering the distance of the VLA from any city of town of any size, I was surprised to see three or four other couples there, taking in the sights. One couple struck up a conversation with us and the woman remarked that they travel by the VLA twice a year on US Highway 60 and said "we've been driving by here for so long we thought we ought to stop and see it up close."

After visiting the VLA for a couple of hours, we continued south, but this time we took a state highway, 52 I think. As we left the VLA area, we spotted a herd of pronghorn grazing not far off the side of the road. My wife noted that the road was a dirt/gravel road and that it should be that sort of road for about 10 miles. It seemed OK, though, and I said it should not be a problem for just a few miles. We drove about 50 miles south on that short gravel road...and it got progressively worse the farther south we got. It had not taken many miles on the road to leave the level plain behind us and to reach fairly rugged hills.

The upside was the fact that, for about 40 of those miles, we were the only vehicle on the road. It was utterly desolate and void of signs of people, for the most part. There weren't even any telephone poles for the majority of the trip south. At some point, after the quality of the road took a turn for the worse, I commented that I hoped the car would not break down...it would take years for "them" to find us. I checked my cell phone and, sure enough, no signal.

Occasionally, we'd stop the car and I'd turn off the engine and get out, just to listen and take in the solitude. It was extraordinary. Nothing but wind and an occasional bird call. The sky seemed larger than I'd ever noticed it to be. Everything seemed small. The car, the two of us, even the mountains, seemed tiny against the sky. Somewhere along the way, I saw a snake slithering across the road. I decided to stop and get a photo, but I didn't want to get too close in case it turned out to be a rattlesnake...so this photo is not very clear.

When we finally got off the gravel road onto black top, we were at a pretty high altitude. The drive southeast toward Truth or Consequences, NM was a series of switchbacks at very slow speeds. We'd talked earlier about going to White Sands, but being slowed down by the gravel road and aproaching dusk made us decide to stay the night in the town named after a game show (prior to 1950, it was known as Hot Springs, so called because it had a number of hot springs and the obligatory spas that accompany such natural riches). Truth or Consequences is not a bustling metropolis. Its population is about 7,400. There are a few motels, a number of small restaurants, and assorted attractions. Probably the most attractive of the attractions is Elephant Butte, a community that is directly on Caballo Lake, a reservoir created by damming the Rio Grande. We did not know anything about Elephant Butte, though, until we left Truth or Consequences after staying overnight in the Comfort Inn.

I've spent enough time on this for today, so rather than wait any longer, I'll post is now. More about our New Mexico adventures, and my more recent adventures with The Sprockets travelling circus, later.

Under the rubric of protocol

As I was driving to work today, I heard the title phrase on the radio. In my mind, I extended it by a layer or two: "Under the rubric of protocol, I established procedures to distinguish the processes created by the other group from my own methods."

Hmmmm.

Not New Mexico...Not Yet

First, thank you to those who have visited, commented, and noticed that my posts have been a bit sparse. I needed more time away, but I didn't take as much as I needed. Thanks for pointing that out, some of you...you're so right, and I will try to heed your implicit advice. Now, though, I need to start my story. My warning to you: it won't be very interesting, it won't be very moving, it won't be much more than a few random recollections. If you stick it out to read this, and more later, I thank you. And I have to wonder, are you tugging at the edge of meaning, too?

My wife is in possession of the formal written notes from the first day or two, and my private notes are hidden in my portfolio, which may be in my car's trunk or, more likely, is tucked beneath meaningless papers in my car. The important thing: it doesn't matter.

I made a friend over the internet, not too many months ago, who interests me and who feels passionately about many things, some of which are not as meaningful to me. I learned, during my recent respite in New Mexico, that her mother died. This affected me deeply, though I've never met either one of them. One day, I'll try to explain the reasons I believe my emotions made this happen. Not now, though. Back to the issue. I read that my friend's mother had died and my eyes instantly filled with tears. I do tend to cry, or at least tear up, much too easily. It's embarrassing. But this emotion didn't feel wrong. It felt like the appropriate reaction to the loss of a loved one by a friend I've never met. Another Internet friend writes sometime about her 89 year-old mother and how they, the two of them, deal with the vagaries of encroaching age.

Those experiences, when I read about them, have similar effects. My eyes well up, my mind skips an age, and I wish I could turn back the clock so all of us could better share and understand our parents. Sadly, this will not happen.

Tonight, I'm just unable to twist my intellect to get it aligned with the world around me. I want to express myself, tell a long, interesting story about how my wife and I roamed New Mexico and saw pronghorn sheep and foxes and birds. But my mood, tonight, just isn't cooperative. My fingers are complaining, as well. Listen, though, and you'll hear me sighing, thinking about what I'll share next, and what I need to experience to make it all worth sharing.

I'm being obtuse. It's not intentional. I just don't have the mental stamina tonight to tell you what we saw and what we thought and what we felt. It was powerful, but more than that.

John

Roads

We're back from our short trip to New Mexico. I'm not going to write much about it now. Instead, I'll savor the experience for a day or a few days and then will write about it.

I want to compare the way I am thinking about our little trip now with the way I will write about it later. I've always been one to try hard to avoid embellishing my writing, especially the descriptions of places I've been...unless, of course, I'm doing it deliberately and unabashedly and reporting it all the while. If I were to write it now, though, I think it would read like I embellished.

Four days is too few to allow me to fully decompress from the ravages of running our business. I tried to leave the office in the office, but I just had to take my Blackberry with me and found myself responding to email far too much. That's the sign of an idiot. I knew I should have simply turned off the email capability and used it as a phone in a pinch, but I behaved differently. I let my office intrude too much. I took one very long phone call from a website broker who tried for 20 minutes to convince me to negotiate a purchase of a hijacked website URL instead of pursuing trademark infringement against its publisher. I finally told her that my decision was final, the owner could expect to hear from someone besides me on trademark infringement, and goodbye, I am hanging up now to enjoy my 4-day vacation. I bet I spent 24 of 48 hours thinking about work. I need a lobotomy.

When I write about the real trip, the real experience, time that cleared my head--albeit briefly--my thoughts will be very different. My record will be about people I saw, places I experienced, thoughts that may have shaped my way of thinking for some time to come.

If anyone here who reads What Do I Know?, and does not know it already, I'll share the sad news that Kathy's mother, Patricia Anne Varnell Archibald, died on May 5.

Off to Albuquerque & Santa Fe

Horrifically strong storms clobbered the Dallas/Fort Worth area this evening. It was a nightmare driving home through blinding rain, flooded streets, and wind that, according to the local meteorologists, gusted from 80-100 miles per hours all over the area. Fortunately, no damage for us.

Tomorrow morning, we're off for a 4-day visit to Albuquerque and Santa Fe; no business, just rest and relaxation. We'll explore, eat what we want, experience comfortable temperatures, and forget the office...and maybe this blog.

I'm hoping to go to the Flying Star while we're in Albuquerque and try the Buddha Bowl. Kathy at What Do I Know? recommended it.

We'll be back Sunday night. Oh, I am soooo looking forward to this...

Insinuations

My advice: never leave tongue-in-cheek comments on others' blogs, particularly others who do not know you well. Your comments can be misconstrued and you can become the subject of barbed comments and insinuations. Don't say I didn't warn you.