Our Blue Door

 

The blue door closes behind us. We're in our front yard. After four years in the city, we have a yard, a backyard too, large enough for two chairs, a little round table and a garden. And a hummingbird feeder. And a trellis with what I think is trumpet vine. And a dusty patch of grass. And a hose. 

 

The front yard is even smaller. Just a stone walk between the blue door and the little adobe wall that separates the yard from the street. The stone walkway divides the yard about equally into two dusty patches of grass, just like the backyard. I can't quite believe we have a yard. Two yards. I'm ecstatic. 

 

The house is adobe with vigas supporting the roof. Vigas are pine poles. The house has two bedrooms and bath, a little living room, a little kitchen, a little dining area. It is a little house. The owners call it the Cowboy House because they decorated with a cowboy theme, and it's pretty darn cute, ma'am. 

 

My employer said we would be working from home for at least another six months, more likely a year. We sublet our apartment, packed up, rented a U-Haul, and saddled-up. I drove the truck, Marketa drove the Honda. And, if we ain't the happiest two greenhorns then I don't know what. 

 

I know Santa Fe like the back of somebody else's hand. That is, it's familiar, but not overly so. It will be so much fun exploring, driving into the mountains, hiking the mesas, the canyons, getting to know the best places to buy veggies and supplies, and meet new people—and be out of the city!

 

We don't know a soul here, but Marketa will be teaching music at a private school while I work from home. We'll meet people. There are a lot of  rich and sophisticated people in this town. We won't meet them. We'll meet people like us. If we can't find friends here then we're not trying hard enough.

 

As well as teaching, Marketa is going to give private voice and piano and guitar lessons. With covid it's tricky, but the school's are opened and masked, and there is interest.  We'll see. I can work from home, or, ta da, the backyard. Before we rented I made sure the internet connection was good, and it seems to be. 

 

I'll miss Colin and Colin's grandfather like mad, but we hadn't seen them since March, anyway. We can Zoom and Skype and write and call. I won't miss California. We've been warned that Santa Fe . . . that it isn't what we think. We have no expectations. Whatever comes our way, we'll sort it out. 

 

I'm excited about the night sky. I remember it from previous visits. It's often described as velvety. I remember it that way. And, I'm excited about the food. And the culture. And the grit. We've already found a garage for car maintenance and markets for food. We know everyone is into yoga and Zen Buddhism.

 

We're not, but when I say, "everyone," I don't mean everyone. This is a city of galleries and restaurants that we can't afford, and, fortunately, don't want. We couldn't afford San Francisco, and we made do. We'll be fine. I am so excited to be here. It's like our honeymoon in so many ways. 

 

As I said, "high hopes, no expectations." The reality of this place may disappoint. It may. It may not. I expect nothing, ask for nothing, except a place to work and love and thrive. Now, we close our blue door, leave our little yard, close the little gate, venture into the street, begin our new life. 

 

 

 

 

 





Poetry by one trick pony The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 174 times
Written on 2020-08-30 at 05:15

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Ann Wood The PoetBay support member heart!
Well done Jim, good luck in your new home. I love it so a lovely story.
2020-08-31