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Yes, friends, that mountain is 12,835 ft high. The trail up to the summit is allegedly suitable for beginners, other than the altitude sickness thing if you just drove in from the the flatlands or the coast. I knew what a coast was once. If you consider this scene, it’s a conceptually close facsimile.

May I hopefully be forgiven for photographing the camposanto. It’s not quite that close to the trailers. This is a telephoto shot, and objects in the background appear closer than they are. I have some older photos of Jicarita taken from a closer vantage point on the south face of Picuris Peak. I’ll have to locate them and find the one that shows the secret valley.

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Oh my God, it works! This photo upload was just an experiment, but we’ll leave it for now. HUGE, innit? Anyway, here’s where I was around noon today. T-shirt, shorts, air temp about 65 °F, dry and breezy. Just stunning, really. Every peak you see on the horizon is volcanic. The Rio Grande Gorge in the center drops down 800 ft to the river. Humans have wandered this valley for thousands of years. Now I’m here, and today I walked four miles.

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“You need a major book project,” she growled, staring past me over the top of her wine glass. (Black humor becomes her so.)

This was true. It would certainly keep me off the streets, if I ever went into them. I tell myself I don’t know what to write about. People yell at me and say, “Just WRITE!”—which is what I’m doing now, of course. But it isn’t a book. I have half a dozen minor projects, but no major one. There are only limited works of mine for you to buy, and I am less than rich. What a goddamned nuisance.

Just when I’d figured out the meat of being “blocked,” too. The sustenance. The joy. Blocked, hell, these days are like gold! The extended tension is exquisite. Libido in the toilet, hanging by my thumbs? Awriiight! Hard liquor before noon? Shut up! Wear the same clothes every day? Oh, baby! Put butter on Ritz crackers, get mugged at the dentist, see if the new bread knife fits between my ribs? This is living it, my brothers.

It’s the ultimate validation!

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Yesterday around the time I took this shot, there was a phone call from someone at my brother’s bank in Tucson. He was standing there in front of her, unable to cash the $100 check I’d just sent him so he could get the tire on his motor scooter fixed and drive to the grocery store. Evidently he’d gotten through last month by overdrawing his account by $251.00—how is that even possible with a debit card?—and now the question was, would I “cover the account” and pay his debt, or would she throw him out and sic the dogs on him?

He turns 62 next month and starts his Social Security. Except that as far as I know, he hasn’t signed up yet. If he ever does, he’ll need a bank account, so I sighed and said I’d pay. The money comes from an old account of my mother’s at the same bank, soon to be closed out. Relatively easy to finesse, then, and the bank officer cut up his debit card while I was on the line. Since the poor guy paid for his expenses last month by stealing from the bank and ultimately me, who knows how he’ll get by for April? As soon as I pay our late mother’s 2012 tax bill, all remaining accounts of hers go “poof” and I can’t help him any more. My wife and I sit here in a crumbling old adobe rental, wondering how a grown man can blow thousands of dollars in inheritance while living in a paid-for mobile home and then expect the world to bail him out. The answer must be [cough] stimulants, and maybe something else.

This morning I remembered my poor old white German shepherd, Lady the Wonder Dog, on the afternoon I took her to the vet to put her down. She looked at me through cataract-clouded eyes, wagged her tail, and shit the biggest dump you ever saw, right there on the living room rug, without a whimper or a grunt. Just plopped it down right there, the final straw. I cried all the way to the vet and all the way home. Went there with a dog, my faithful companion for so many years, and came home with a collar and a leash. Hardly anything hurts worse than that, unless we’re dealing with a person.

My brother doesn’t have a collar, none of us can grab him. He hasn’t taken any steps to improve his situation that I know of. His Social Security is in limbo. There could be a V.A. disability pension waiting for him if he’d just apply, but he hasn’t even asked about it. I put him in touch with a reputable charity for financial coaching and assistance, and he never followed through. I saved his ass this one last time, and now the money’s gone. How long before he augers in, no matter what? I’m dealing with a force of nature here, just at a time when we need our shelter. Uh-oh.

“Johnny” will adjust.

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