Spring snuck up today, like a dream I can’t quite remember or completely forget.

Temperature over 60 degrees, stiff wind, blowing dust, but warm enough to drive with the window all the way down. It’s wild to be cruising down the Paseo like that and see the northern faces of the mountains packed with snow. Adds an extra crackle to being alive, that kind of contrast. Motorcycles. A trashed-out ‘64 Impala convertible full of hoodlums. Colorado tourists in spotless SUVs that have never seen a lick of mud.

Yesterday was hell. We went to a house hat I knew my wife would love, the same one I hated at first sight when we saw it from the road three days ago. When we finally gained entry, I hated it even more. The very capable woman showing it to us didn’t know what to make of Mr. Reckless and retreated into niceness while my wife pretended I was a potted plant. A very evil potted plant, but potted nonetheless. I can report that paranoid emotional abuse saved the day, but also cost me my soul for the next 20 hours. [shudder] Don’t try that at home, or you might not have one.

Today was much better. We saw a different house and nothing bothered me at all, probably because I knew we wouldn’t take it and I wasn’t threatened. This is how it ought to be. All you need to do is to set things up so you never have any challenges.

The sun kept streaming down. We drove on into down and I bought my honey coffee and dessert in a gallery cafe. It was like recess or vacation. Later she looked around in a fancy fabric store while I took a little walk. I felt like a tourist, and Taos looked like other places: wherever I turned, people 30 years younger than me were getting out of fancy cars and talking on cell phones saying important things I couldn’t understand. (“I dunno, where do you wanna eat?”) A mob of ravens was raiding an open dumpster in the parking lot, so I closed it. The responsibility was bracing.

Later when we got back home, my wife went down to the acequia where we had the laundry drying in a little clearing. From there, you can look out across the Talpa Valley and see an actual river winding through the trees and pastures. Cows moo, horses graze, and the Sangre de Cristos loom in the distance. When she came back into the house, she reported having taken in the view and said, “I realized it’s vital…” The beauty, she meant. Not that we aren’t going to move, but if we do, we have to get ourselves a natural spot. None of this looking at the window at a latilla fence bullshit. I’d say she’s seen the light, but I’m still on karma death watch after killing the house deal yesterday. But that’s my girl, all right: if you push her, she gets all uppity, unnatural, and FIRM! — but if you let her float like a butterfly and buy her fancy decaf coffee, she’ll gaze out over the vista and do the right thing, every time. Right before my eyes, she turns into the kind of woman she’d be if I had a chance to order one up.

Try to force an issue, and it blows up in my face. Lay back and do “nothing,” and the universe falls into my lap. Aagghhh!

This is hard for me. Free sun, free love. Jesus, what’s next, effortless right action?? I need more angst! Oh yeah, the house hunt. But wait! The mud’s dried up. It’s pretty here now, or will be. Sixty-three degrees again tomorrow under clear blue skies. Fine, have it your way. God is on a roll and I’m the bowling lane.

And everyone, but everyone, is washing cars…