Foolish Thrills Memoir

Here's a quickie version of my early time in New Mexico: I was born here. When I was five years old we moved to Texas, but my oldest sister had graduated from High School and decided to stay. Oh, how I missed Sister, who was very much my second mother. So, as strange as it may sound, I flew back to live with her and her new husband in Santa Fe for a year, then went back to Texas for a year, then moved back to live with them in Santa Fe for another couple of years. This city is very special to me as it represents some of the best years of my childhood.

Our first apartment was downtown on E. Alameda, a prime location in today's real estate market. I was dying to show the kids where I used to play in the river. Of course, I was regularly in trouble for playing down there -- flash floods are quick in the desert and a dry river one minute is death the next -- or so I was lectured. Hunting for horny toads was the main goal, along with the excitement of being unseen. Occasionally my brother-in-law would come down and play army guys with me. This really got Sister heated.

The complex still has the same narrow, rickety bridge, which we drove over for my token picture. Hard as I tried to leave, I just couldn't. Too many memories. Ignoring the sign: "NO TRESPASSING! WE MEAN IT! TRY US!", I leaned in the car and whispered, "Hey, you guys want to go down in the river?" There were shouts of delight from the rear and a skeptical look from rule-following Grandma. The small river is walled and I hadn't realized how far I'd had to jump in those days. I helped the kids down and they were fascinated, "Why weren't you allowed to play down here? Well, why did you play down here?" I looked at them with a twinkle and said, "Well, doesn't it look like a great place to play?" Huge affirmative nods. We walked around a bit and then it was time to get out. How in the world did I ever climb the stone wall? Geez. There isn't much in the world I prefer less than lugging my ass vertical. It certainly wasn't graceful but the mission was eventually accomplished.

Now in 2nd grade I walked .7 miles to/from school and hung out at home for a couple of hours before Sister got home. I had my usual route, but sometimes (especially if I could show off for a friend), I'd take a short-cut through the back. The weeds were up to my hips and there was a run-down house with a creepy someone living there. The best part was behind their house -- an old shed loaded with coffins. Seriously! Standing up, lying down, old coffins. And don't think for a second that I wasn't scared out of my wits looking for pieces of corpse.

I've always wanted to check this out for size as an adult, and this was the first return trip to Santa Fe where I actually located the spot. Behind the apartments, on Canyon Road, lies a most restorative and beautiful art complex called Project Tibet. There are so many wind operated yard statues, that you absolutely must sit and reflect. Some force pulls you in and does its best to calm you.

The owner was also a very peaceful, quiet woman, and I unintentionally disrupted her calm with my spooky coffin tale. Apparently in 1980 she transformed several lots and created this sanctuary/gallery. However, she doesn't own the property and said that it's the same owner as when I lived there. At first she claimed there was never any shed and I just stared at her, trying hard not to be the know-it-all that comes so naturally to me. I just sent her a silent mental message, "Listen lady, I'm the kid who lived here, and I know what I saw...and I saw coffins in a shed!" Suddenly, she remembered an old well on the property I was talking about, that couldn't be used anymore, so someone had actually built a shed around it. Voila! My shed. She was sorry but had no idea about coffins or creepy neighbors and her silent mental message back to me was, "Please, lady with children in tow, who is not appropriately dressed for Canyon Road, kindly, go away". We did. I guess I'll just have to store this in the mystery memories section of my mind and be done with it.

Driving around, I found my other house, and Kearny Elementary. By the way, Grandma is very uncomfortable trespassing, but I let the kids play at the playground anyway. Peanut had a great time until we went searching for desert critters and she got nailed by a fire ant. Doodle with all her newly acquired class, left another deposit out on the same playground I'd enjoyed as a 4th and 5th grader.

Behind this 2nd house, were train tracks. They were our alarm clock even on the weekends and naturally, I was forbidden to play on them. Of course, I played there often. One summer when I was 10 or 11 my uncle stayed with us for a stint. He was a questionable character and one day he said if I'd go buy him some cigarettes, I could keep the change for candy. I took off, hopped the back fence, walked about a mile to the Ice House, bought our loot, and on the way back found the most beautiful objet d'art I'd ever seen. It was a snail-like statue made of colored glass in deep indigo and reds. I couldn't wait to show it to Sister. Shortly after, house guest uncle got thrown out along with my huge, artsy bong.

Since someone was currently living in my old house, and there was a Beware of Dog sign, I opted not to trespass. But I wanted to see the forbidden train tracks again! I got the idea to drive around back until I found the arroyo (a dry creek) where I used to play and meet friends who lived literally, on the other side of the tracks. Somehow I found myself leaning in the car window again, "Hey, you two want to go check out the train tracks?" An irritated Grandma looked over at me and goes, "Is this trip for the kids or for you?" I have to say this was my best day in Santa Fe!

Anyway, we climbed over the chain link fence which was weighted down from generations of kids doing the same thing. We had to hold onto another fence that ran parallel to the arroyo while we scooted along, dust, sand and rocks giving way with each step. The kids were appropriately scared and exhillerated. Unfortunately, we couldn't actually get all the way to the tracks because there was an enormous sink hole, boarded over with rotten wood. Little Man was heart-broken. "Why can't we just walk across it? Why can't we put pennies on the train tracks like you used to?" All I could say, after we'd made it safely back was, "Because your mom isn't quite as foolish as she once was."