It’s been 32 days and no more hours
Since we drove our car away
I stay in every day and sleep each night
In a brand new king-size bed
Since we’ve been gone, we can walk wherever we want
We can wear whatever old shoes

I can fix my dinner in a fancy appliance
And nothing
I said nothing can take away this view
And nothing compares
Nothing compares to warm

It’s been so goopy with kennel cough
It’s two dogs without their smell
Nothing can start these eager feet to hiking
Tell me Rollo, when will you be well?
I could cook that chicken breast and rice for you
But we’d only wait and wipe your nose

I went to the day spa, guess what what I found there
Guess what I found there
There were bubbles, sunshine, long smooth strokes and flow’ry oils and I was goo
And here’s the thing

‘Cause nothing compares, nothing compares to “is”

All the camas that I planted, Betty
In the south yard
All greened when the spri-ing came
I know that dreamin’ up what’s next is strangely hard
But I’m willing to give it another month …

Guess what song I’ve been working on, with my ukulele?

Apologies. The above is, well, awful, but it’s been a useful exercise, today. I’m working through events and feelings of the last 4+ weeks in Albuquerque.

We had plans to hike a lot on weekends, visit Santa Fe again, maybe also check out White Sands National Park. And barely a week into our visit, the dogs got kennel cough. Foiling our fun plans was the least of our worries: we needed to get a lethargic and non-eating Cooper to the vet for medicine and fluid, and as he improved, Rollo came down with his own goopy but mostly less critical-seeming reaction to, probably, the same bug.

And yet it doesn’t feel fair to blame the dogs.

With family, I drove to what we’ve been starting to call our vacation home – our “cabin” in the Southwest – for a month, planning to take a maximum of 1.5 days “off” as vacation. The rest: working, from home cabin.

As far as desks go, it’s got a better one that the others I’ve used in the last several years: it’s not in the basement, nor in a room close to a wailing neighbor child, nor does it involve much of a commute and getting a healthy, home-cooked lunch has been so much easier than in any other paying job I’ve ever had.

The mountainous desert views at sunrise are a salve, if not a drug. It’s been lovely to not have to lace up boots with metal studs, before leaving the house: we escaped the last 3+ weeks of the long, icy Minnesota winterspring.

And yet – spending a few 40-hour work weeks here is kind of de-vacationing the scene. I’m cooking up a different plan, for our next visit.

Yesterday morning, I was doing what I normally do on most normal, or “at home” Saturdays: working out. Not an exciting, new, possibly long, probably scenic hike. Nor was it a day at a cup-filling food or music festival, nor was it the checking-off in Sharpie pen of a bucket-list item. I was looking around the gym full of others, probably doing same, and it made me smile. The moment made me feel okay, maybe even content.

Makes sense. I had a birthday a few weeks ago. With my closest family, some cake, a nice soak in a tub and massage a few days later. I’ve been enjoying my ukulele practice and lessons, and the last few books I’ve read have been very good. The dogs are feeling better and the bulbs from mom’s memorial, which we planted here in Albuquerque, are looking like they may bloom soon.

Walking Rollo this afternoon, as he ambled along, sniffing most things and eyes peeled for the next lizard, I was struck by how in the moment dogs are. Such a sweet life.

I’m grateful and I hope others have had some comfort in their days, this past month, as well.