kicking up our heels
My friend Kristy had a workshop in Taos and I had wanderlust. So when the forces combined to take us south-by-southwest this past weekend, much was accomplished.
She learned the intricacies of a sewing specialty called Alabama Chanin from the creator, herself; I had two deadline-free days to walk, read, meditate, walk some more and visit the coffee shop of the old LaFonda Hotel for still another Starbucks and a great conversation. The barista had seen my Denver Dumb Friends League Furry Scurry T-shirt on my first trip and shared with me photos and stories of her second-hand dogs. I always love how we creature peeps find each other.
Taos also handed us a next-door pass to Solar Fest, a two-day concert/festival that filled Kit Carson Park. And while we never got closer to Lyle Lovett than hearing She’s No Lady, She’s My Wife over the sound system, he still made us laugh. Probably because, at this point in our lives, Kristy and I are more conscious about when we are ladies and when we are simply ourselves.
We had reconfirmed it in Santa Fe on our way through, calling our mutual friend Susan in Florida from in front of the glorious St. Francis Hotel–the site of Susan’s first wedding–and harassing her with highly insensitive marriage/divorce comments. All three of us have been wives and not during the time we’ve known each other, so there are few secrets. And the sadness is gone. So we can laugh.
And we did.