The First Snow

Just finished the self Portrait seen above . It is really cold here. Last night it was 19'. We got snow on Saturday night and it has froze every night since. We are buckling down and trying to make our home more efficient. In a since I fell like characters in La Boehm, all scarfed up from the time I get out of bed tell I return. But as Nietzsche said what does not kill you makes you stronger. I keep reminding myself of the great poets who wrote by candlelight and a small Cole fire in the cold of Paris... it make me feel better some how. As if we could worm ourselves in the warmth of their poetic genus. Always a romantic I guess? The last picture was taken Sat. night at 1:00. It is our Ice Palace; I only hope that Father Christmas will make it through this year.
That is it for now----The Hamners

Just found this guy in the back of the house. Just had to share it, I mean his or aah her! Is not creation amazing! more later

And she writes! Finally.

Well, it’s about time I got my write-on and created a post. The Missus here. Garret is at work, and I just returned from this great teahouse on Canyon Rd. (the art gallery district of Santa Fe) where I graded up a storm. I still have more to do. I’ve found that grading truly is—as I’ve heard all along—the lowest of teaching lows. Outside, the neighbor girls are laughing and playing with their dogs Oink and Telulah. Great dog names.

We are adjusting to life here. It has been a lonely week, though. The newness (but not the novelty) of Santa Fe has worn off a bit, and we find ourselves deeply missing friends and family. The highlight of the week was a brief visit with Keith and Matt Hendron, who made an over-night stop in Santa Fe on Tuesday night. They were finishing up a 4-week-ish motorcycle trip around the country. We had a great visit. It was wonderful to see familiar faces. No one had entered our casita since my parents left (after moving our belongings and me out here). That was almost two months ago; as most of you know, our place in San Luis Obispo saw the faces of friends almost daily, so this lack of friends’ presence in our little home has been weird and lonely. I know that we will build relationships here, but the waiting is foreign and causes me to feel restless.

In the mean time, we busy ourselves with work and exploration. We have done some fun stuff out here so far. Last weekend, we went to an alpaca farm. That was great. They are the cutest animals ever, and I can’t wait to own a few someday. And goats and chickens, of course. Three weeks ago, I found a black widow in my school bag… reached right into the web to pull out a book. Eek! We’ve been to some great little restaurants, explored the neighboring towns of Pecos, Lamy, Tesuque and Eldorado. The Peanut Gallery (the art gallery where Garret works) had a successful opening last weekend. And, we joined NetFlix (finally), so we’ve seen some good movies, too.

Following are some pics of Cerrillos Rd. It’s the part of Santa Fe that some snobby locals pretend doesn’t exist. So we like to visit. It’s comparable to LA on a not-so-crazy day. Lots of cars and strip malls and traffic and stop lights. It’s not beautiful, but the “beauty” of Cerrillos is that it’s where normal people are and go. The whole Santa Fe Plaza scene is lovely, rich, & historic, but it’s not real life. Cerrillos is. Enjoy! And please write and call us because we’re (I should speak for myself now) very sad and lonely sometimes!

Three pics of Cerrillos and one hail storm

Dog

“Like everything metaphysical the harmony between thought and reality is to be found in the grammar of the language. “ -----Ludwig Wittgenstein

There is a dog lying on the café floor
If it could be called a café, adobe walled
Haven of tobacco and sweet scented smoke.
More like a den.

The dog curled up on the ground tied to
A café table with electrical cord.
He waits pouting. This is the land of
Do it your self, of makeshift creations.
The similarities between a rope and electrical-
Cord far out weigh their dissimilarities

This is a place of confusion, mixes up identities
A place were things aren’t themselves
And nepotism poisons the relations of language.

la Casa (the casa)

Here are some pictures of our new casa. Its small and did I say its small. Actually it look a little like one of those old Disney cartoons about the life of a house, the one were all the world grows up around it until finally there is a little house lodged between two sky-scrapers, with a frown and tears streaming down its window pains. Our Casa is not sad, but it is tiny. We really like it, it is real cozy and close to down town. This makes for great evening strolls.

Sarah wrote a little exercise about our new home for her creative writing class she is teaching at the Jr high. It should be posted soon.

Santa Fe

I am sitting here in a cafe' trying to think of the best way to describe the past week in Santa Fe. It’s akin to another world. The man sitting across from me is wearing a dress and muttering to himself. There is a man here also who is carving a cane on the patio. I said that I was sitting in a cafe, well it is a cafe of sorts, nothing close to the idea of a Parisian Cafe'. It’s more a coffee den. The adobe walls covered with a bright yellow paint that seems to radiate its own heat. The air is different here, not just in the 'den" but all of here. Most often it resembles the smell of burning leaves, like fall in the Midwest but not quite. It makes me think of racku, for those of you who have done pottery. Aside from the smell the air undetectable, its absence of moisture and virtual non-being is it most memorable quality.

There is a lacksidasicalness that surrounds this place. At times it seems like apathy often it seems like this. Not just the people but also the buildings themselves seem to sag in a tiredness and laziness that could care less that you see them, that you walk through them. They have long given up on appearance excepting their cracks and dust. Embracing now the dilapidated beams that jet out of them and the overgrown piles of junk and rubble that in the name of "art" adorn their font walks.

September is bringing with her a wind that whispers words like "chill" and "freeze" if you listen carefully. It is pleasant for the time being. At night it punishes the buildings for there apathy, they seem unmoved that next morning. I have thought that perhaps it is the sky that has brought this town to be as it is, with its huge expanses and crimson and gold settings. What could compare when God paints such a canvas as this? Everything is smaller here. Even the Sangre de Cristo Mountains seem dwarfed in the grandeur of the sky.

How is it that this town has such spiritual darkness? With such bright skies? They think they are so spiritual with their festivals and the effigies they offer up in the name of who knows what... Whom? Who? We sit, all of us under the Sangre de Cristo (the Blood of Christ) unaware of the healing sav of a mountains namesake. There is so much to point to here, to say see this points, this is a sign to the real. But most will not hear of it.