As usual, things don’t always turn out as you plan. I’m back from the Sierra Nevada a couple days early. The plan was to dive into the Sierra over Lamarck Col. Then head out of Darwin Canyon, up the vast granite bowl of the Evolution Basin, over Muir Pass, down LeConte Canyon, up to Dusy Basin, over Knapsack Pass, through the Palisade Basin, down to the Palisade lakes to rejoin the John Muir Trail, up over Mather Pass to Upper Basin and then out via Taboose Pass. But Keir’s feet aren’t up to the task. Totally my fault. The route I had chosen happens to be one of the more brutal sections of the John Muir Trail, and without proper conditioning and pre-punishment to the feet and legs, it can destroy one’s spirit. So we cut the trip short by a couple days and come out over Bishop Pass.

If you have even the slightest idea of where I’m talking about you get a medal (immediate members of my Sierra-obsessed family, of course, excluded.)

I’m now sitting in Burbank Airport. On Monday we learn upon coming out of the Sierra, exhausted and sunburned, that my grandmother, mother of my mother, has died. I’m going out to New Mexico for some family time.

So the return trip drags. Way too much time is spent waiting in terminals and on tarmacs. The Doctor Pepper beverage service on the return trip is no where near as tasty as it was on the way out. And after a week of high-altitude, clear-sky serenity it’s almost a relief to be picked up by Mandy and Maury in a Burbank drizzle. We promptly traipse over to Toi on Sunset and shout funny stories to each other over the Nine Inch Nails and the Jesus And Mary Chain howling in the background.

Ah, Hollywood.

Still, I have returned here a changed boy. No longer will this blog point out the ridiculous and the inane moments in life and internet. No longer will I waste your time with nonsense and weirdness. Because I realize now that there’s a lot we take for granted in this world. There’s a lot we assume will last forever. Years roll on. Times change. People grow. And we don’t realize that . . .

. . . we don’t realize . . .

. . . um. I think, er… What was I–?

Wait a second . . .

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Hey, check this out! It’s a hamster! With it’s tongue out! Ha-ha-ha! Wheee! Looky here!

Glad to be back. And special thanks to cuteoverload.com for this pic.

If this is the top post when you’re reading this, I’m probably on a plane to L.A.

I’m on my way back today folks. So hide the silverware and all that. It’s been the longest week I’ve had in some time. It’s the key to eternal life, I think. Keeping busy. Don’t slow down. Avoid ruts. You’ll live three or four lifetimes.

This is the sky from the driveway of my parents’ home. The sky was clear and cold and the moon was the most slender ship of silver I’ve ever seen in the sky.

By coincidence, my brother calls me when we’re downtown Santa Fe this afternoon, so he checks the plaza webcam. There we are (I’m the one on the right doing the weird dance.)

Damn. I just lost my ride back from the airport. Anyone in the vicinity of Burbank Friday at nine PM? Pick me up! Thanks, Mandy!

This is Dorothy Keightley. She gave birth first to my dad, then to his three brothers and two sisters. She lives in Montezuma, which is a few miles north of Las Vegas, which is about sixty miles east of Santa Fe. She’s the one I always brag about to others over drinks at parties and at bars. She’s the one who, at eighty-two, still paints and hikes and laughs and tells stories and scraps with the locals and carries a hefty opinion about live and love and politics. And dogs.

This is Annie:

As I mentioned, Keir and Joy and I visit Dorothy yesterday. I haven’t seen her in four years. It has been way too long. For as long as I’ve known her (perhaps even as long as I’ve been alive) she’s lived in a house just up a dirt road from an old seminary (now the United World College.) Things have changed over the years. The spacious, illuminated room where we shared many, many important family dinners has become her studio. She has always been an artist, but it’s only recently that we’ve come to really appreciate her considerable talents. And at eighty-two, she shows no signs of slowing down.

Last Thursday she had her gall bladder out. Three Band-Aids is all she has to show for it. She feels kinda funky, but she’s on her feet and itching to get out of the house and merge with her normal life again.

While Keir and Joy chat with her, I step out of the house to snap a few pictures. Rural New Mexico is a dry and woodsy place. Especially lately, with the crippling lack of rain. But it still has a rich, lush look about it. In back of her house I find an old treehouse that never ceases to amaze me. It was a two story affair, built in a bit of a hurry with little thought to the future. Not much is left of it now, but I distinctly rememeber the amount of pure chutzpah it took to clamber up to the second story.

As you can see, the first floor is completely gone. In a couple more decades, I suspect all that will remain will be a few nails and a scrap or two of wood. But once upon a time, believe me, there were a couple kids playing on this thing. Here’s how those kids look today.

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Well, sort of.

And for the record, a couple more shots of her studio:

I love that one of the pencils is colored “turquoise.” How very New Mexico.

If you’re ever in doubt as to whether you’re in New Mexico or not, just check the local grocery store shelves. The tortillas are all locally made, with the exception of a teeny tiny stack of one particular Texas Brand. Choices are good.

This is in a Lowe’s market in Las Vegas, New Mexico. My brother and his wife and I have stopped off here to buy some lunch to take up to Montezuma, NM, where our grandmother lives.

I love small town grocery stores. They tend to be a nice blend of the perfectly mundane and the perfectly bizarre. Witness, the creepiest, loneliest teddy bear of all time, which I spot in one of those claw-grabber machines:

(Notice me in the background? I’m staring at the poor thing in shock and awe.)

On Sunday I leave Joy and Denver behind and head back down to Santa Fe. This is the playlist for the drive:

• William Orbit: Hello Waveforms (mellow, contemplative, somewhat depressing, which is appropriate for one leaving Joy behind.)
• Dane Cook: Harmful If Swallowed (a bit of sparkly comedy to make me giggle.)
• Earlimart: Treble and Tremble (one of my all-time faves - I’m not breaking new ground here; I need the familiar.)
• Nick Warren: Global Underground 28: Shanghai (excerpts, especially from disc 2)
• Mary Lorson & Saint Low: Realistic (Lauren calls me later that night to tell me how much she likes this album.)
• White Stripes: De Stijl (their bluesy stomp hits my sweet spot. … like a ballpeen hammer.)

One more photo from Boulder. This guy’s making fun balloon animals. He has just asked the girl what she wants. I don’t know what she answers. But I would have asked him to make me Ebola.