I’d been thinking, before I start traveling again, that I should go ahead and change over my New York driver’s license to New Mexico.
I was hesitant to do it because (A) my NY license was good for one more year, (B) it was hard to get, and (C) I’m pretty certain that I don’t want to live in New Mexico. But it’s where I am at the moment, so I decided to do it.
Today is the celebration of Fiestas Patrias in my adopted country, Chile. I found this article by blogger, Yeni Oyanedel, which explains why and how Chileans celebrate the holiday, Why Chile Shuts Down on 18 September.
I’m missing out on some of my favorite things, choripanes, asados, Pisco Sours, luscious Chilean red wine, and my beloved Chilean friends.
Here in New Mexico, it’s State Fair time. I didn’t make it there this year, but I’ve heard the announcement of the winners of the Best Green Chile Cheeseburger competition.
Today, I got an email notice that a package had been delivered for me. Not yesterday or Friday, but this morning. Something from Amazon.
I went down to the concierge to pick it up. It wasn’t an important package, just some vitamins that I’d ordered, but since I’ve joined Amazon Prime, I get two-day delivery on many items, whether I need it or not.
Before I even went downstairs, I had a fleeting thought. We should hire Amazon to deliver the US mail.
Out here, green chile can be, and often is, put onto or in almost everything you eat. There is even an official “state question,” which is “Red, green, or Christmas?” If you choose “Christmas,” that’s a combination of both red and green chile.
This time of year is green chile harvest time. At grocery stores, farmer’s markets, and roadside stalls around New Mexico, the air is full of the pungent smell of green chile roasting in big wire drums.
On May 11, back in the Santiago, I was reading before going to sleep. There was a little gnat-like creature buzzing around my backlit Kindle. I shooed him away and didn’t give it another thought.
That is, until the next morning, when I woke up with two bug bites on my right eyelid. They itched like crazy, but I tried to be good and not scratch at them.
One went away within a day or two, but the other, the one nearer my eyelashes, got infected. My eyelid swelled up and turned red. The area of the bite pooched out like a wart.
Just look at that face! Yesterday, Casper’s photo came across my newsfeed on Facebook. He, his mother, and his eight siblings had been found abandoned in New Mexico.
The weird thing is that the story I saw wasn’t posted in New Mexico. It was posted by a woman on the East Coast. She and I are both members of a dog-lovers group.
When I saw that photo and then read his story (see below), I had to share it on my page, but first I looked up the original poster and discovered that she lives in a small town about 30 minutes away from me. Even more surprising, we have a “mutual friend.”
The clouds are gathering again tonight. It’s monsoon season here in New Mexico, the season when the rains come. That’s not to say that it never rains at other times, but New Mexico gets most of its annual rainfall in late July and August.
Here at my condo complex, summer means food trucks. The Powers-That-Be have contracted with food trucks to come a couple of times a week. There are a variety of trucks. One sells Mexican food. One, burgers. Another, barbeque.
Last night, I dreamed about my son, Phillip. If you’re new to my blog, I should tell you that my son passed away on May 4. In the past, I’d often dreamed about him as a young boy.
I am a vivid dreamer. My dreams, always in color, tend to be wild and crazy. Sometimes, they star strangers. Usually, they’re centered around people I know. I’ve been dreaming about Phillip a lot since returning to the US three weeks ago.
In this dream, Phillip was an adult. He was helping me garden. With the best of intentions, he dug up most of my plants. There was one in particular that I felt sad about losing. It was a hearty plant, a succulent. He had chopped off the flowering top and left the roots planted in the ground.
Back in the US for precisely two weeks now, the one question everyone asks me is “How long are you here for?”
Some people seem to expect a concrete answer to that question, but they don’t know me very well. What I’d originally planned as a visit to the US has now turned into a full repatriation. But it feels temporary.
Those who know me best are not surprised by the real answer, which is “I don’t know.” I can’t imagine not going back overseas.