Greetings From the Land of Enchantment and Higher Elevation

While I’ve been otherwise occupied and sometimes overwhelmed getting settled into my New Mexico adobe abode, there’s been a lot going on nationally that can be equally overwhelming—partially because of uncanny connections to unnervingly nefarious bits of it. More on that in a moment.

First, it’s been so long since I’ve posted on this blog that I almost feel as out of my element writing as I have been learning about the mechanics and needs of a backyard swimming pool, as well as exterior and interior adobe surfaces (concrete as opposed to drywall) and brick walls. Hanging pictures and quilts will present a special challenge all its own, because nails and hooks I’ve reused for years are now useless. Ah, well…I do still love stucco.

As for the pool, keeping it filled in a somewhat arid climate in higher altitudes (more than 4k ft above sea level) is not only a constant evaporation-plagued battle, but I am also easily rendered depleted and woozy by reduced oxygen levels. And did you know that all a pool covering does is turn your supposed oasis into an algae-clogged swamp?

I refer to the current climate here as somewhat arid because the one thing I was not at all prepared was for humidity, and a multitude of mosquitos, which have always feasted on me like my legs and ankles are a tasty buffet. I’m now wearing citronella-coated ankle bracelets reminiscent of old timey spiraling telephone cords. At least they come in bright, happy colors.

Now, about those uncanny connections. When it comes to the subject of my Other Worldly novels, I have yet to see any actual extraterrestrial aliens or UFOs in New Mexico, but I am both disgusted and derisively amused by the utter lack of irony inherent in a recent online post by U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement otherwise known as ICE (or ignorant thugs): “Contact us if you were harmed by an alien.”

Way to use social media to perpetuate thuggery and violence. This gal is more likely to contact an alien if she’s harmed by an American federal agent, or at least my protagonist Rowan Layne is. As she would say, boy howdy.

These unidentifiable so-called ICE monsters—supposedly affiliated with the US government but who can tell?—have been busy snatching folks they deem “aliens” in violation of the Fourth Amendment and due process clauses of our actual US Constitution. A nightmare I’ve already written about in my second OW novel, Feeling Alienated, during the first fascist administration of this unmitigated moron of a president and his corrupt cronies of criminal bent.

But now I’ll have something new to weave into the final story—when I finally return to drafting Alien Origins—and not just because there’s a nearby mountain town called Cloudcroft, perhaps the perfect headquarters for a certain alien species known as Red Orbiters who are quite fond of cumulus clouds. Something with ominous overtones that can also be seen in a humorous light. Sort of.

Several days after arriving in New Mexico—two weeks ago tomorrow—I had to take my dear friend, who flew from Virginia to Nevada to help me move, to the airport. The closest of which is across the “border” in El Paso, TX.

It’s an hour-and-a-half drive, most of which is in New Mexico. But about fifteen miles out of nearby Alamogordo, I noticed traffic stopped in the other direction as it approached what looked like a truck weigh station.

“I bet that’s a border patrol checkpoint,” I said to my friend. “And, holy crap, I have a large trash bin lying suspiciously on its side in the back of my car. What if I get stopped on my way home because they think there’s someone from Mexico hiding inside of it?”

Both of us kind of laughed, as we’d visited the Walmart Supercenter that morning to buy said trash bin for my new place. What else could we do but laugh? I was exhausted,  mentally and  physically, from weeks of house selling and buying as well as packing before moving 710 miles with my critters.

You know what else has exhausted me? Correcting too many folks in Nevada who thought I was moving to Mexico, not New Mexico, one of whom was an American living in my community that didn’t realize it’s an actual US state. Sheesh. But sure, let’s get rid of the Department of Education and post the Ten Commandments in schools. How about thou shall not be gobsmackingly stupid, instead?

It’s ultimately a good thing I was too tired to react with alarm or derision to what occurred on my way home. I was right about it being a truck weigh station, and also correct that it was instead being used by US Border Patrol as a checkpoint, though at least it wasn’t occupied by ICE Neanderthals.

As soon as my vehicle stopped at the end of a long line of vehicles approaching the unidentified checkpoint, I noticed the row of cameras alongside the road to my right, looking like some sort of bizarre paparazzi gathering sans people. The first camera appeared to be aimed at my rear license plate, but as I crawled along, the remaining dozen or so cameras were aimed inside my car and ultimately at me in the driver’s seat.

You can imagine what went through my mind and what I had to tell myself not to do while looking in the direction of those diabolical lenses. After about three minutes of barely moving along, cars began to steadily moved forward at a reassuring pace—until me and my lonesome eventually arrived underneath the drive-through structure of the truck weigh station (never once officially identified as now being used by US federal agents as a border checkpoint).

Several uniformed agents stood to my left, one Latino male snapping to attention and moving toward my car, albeit not snarling or glaring. I immediately hit my breaks and began rolling down my window, so tired I could barely hold my head up, but nonetheless attempting a wan smile.

“All by yourself? All the way from Nevada?” I recall him asking, not unpleasantly yet delivered with a decided tinge of skepticism.

Ah ha! I was stopped specifically for my Nevada license plate, which would look out of place driving from Texas into New Mexico. The “All by yourself?” inquest I later learned from a local was likely because of husband-and-wife drug-smuggling teams often traveling in separate vehicles.

I felt slightly brilliant for my highly specific answer as I kept smiling. “I just moved to La Luz, New Mexico.” Because who else but a new resident who know where in the heck that was? I added, “And I just took my friend who helped me move there to the airport.”

He smiled and I think told me to have a nice day. He didn’t notice the trash can in the back and waved me on, the only damned vehicle that was stopped among dozens, as far as I could tell. I now have an appointment with the DMV to get New Mexico license plates later this month.

The funny part came when I texted my friend about what happened. Her response? “They stopped you because you smuggled me out of New Mexico.”

On that note, I’ll end this post with determined intentions to once again get blogging on a weekly basis. Because I’ve got pistachios, petroglyphs, and prickly pear cactus to write about. And so much more. Ever heard of SETI?