Recently, I was in Santa Fe for the annual conference of a regional aesthetics group I've been involved with for about 10 years. Let's just say, it ain't easy being green. Ongoing hotel renovations; strong personalities; relentless heat; missing furniture; missing black-out curtains; last-minute cancellations; bored preschoolers; and unfortunate encounters with mental illness make for a challenging time.
Of course, there are also all the reasons why I keep coming back to this meeting, year after year: good friends; fabulous meals; secret courtyards, strung with little white Christmas lights and blooming with pink hollyhocks; music on the plaza; Georgia O'Keefe; the holy dirt of Santuario de Chimayo; intellectually challenging talks; and deep glasses of dark wine on the loggia.
This year, I did a reading of my poetry, and I had books to sell afterwards. I actually made some money on my writing.
And windows. I love the windows of Santa Fe. I like that we know they have depths behind them, even though they're all about surface.
Liminal spaces are the best. That's what I call living at the edge.