What to do when they come to the Land of Enchantment: Enchant them!

We had the pleasure of hosting sister Maria for a week and showing off our new home environment. It also gave us an opportunity to see some things we had not yet explored.

City of Rocks is a little south of us and located on the high desert.

The geology is fascinating, but I won’t take your time here to describe it, other than to say that it’s a large group of huge boulders standing on end out of the ground with little pathways and lanes between the boulders – hence the name, City of Rocks. This is the volcanically-formed natural version of Stonehenge. It has been visited for millennia, as long as there have been two-footeds in this place. We talked at some length with the volunteer staff member in the Visitor Center, and he showed us photos of the pictographs and petroglyphs.

After looking us over carefully, he gave us a map of the locations of the several extant petroglyps and pictographs and wished us, "Happy Treasure Hunting!" Apparently they don’t give the maps out to everyone, because the legend at the top said, to the effect, "Be careful about distributing this map. Don’t give to unwashed long-haired prospectors with picks or people with rolls of wax paper sticking out of their backpack and muttering about rubbing stuff." Well, it didn’t say the parts about prospectors or wax paper, but it really did caution about distributing.

Once we started looking for the artworks, it became obvious that, if you didn’t know what to look for, and where, you’d never find anything. And even with a map, it was a real challenge.
After crisscrossing the site, trudging off in wrong directions, and starting over a number of times, we finally found two pictographs of kokopelli. What a thrill to finally look at these little images painted (pictographs are painted, where petroglyphs are etched or pecked into the stone) so many centuries ago by the Mimbrenos. I’ve attached images of the two kokopellis that we found: one is painted inside a shallow hole in the rock face, and the other painted on the side of the rock about 20 feet off the ground. When you visit us, have your hair cut, a recent shower and leave the pick and backpack in the car, then you too can go on a hunt for ancient treasure.

Gomez Peak is a volcanic cone on the edge of the Gila Nat’l Forest, about 15 minutes away from the house.

It is part of the Little Walnut/Gomez Peak trail system, which intersects with the CDT. That stands for Continental Divide Trail to the locals in the know ;-D Nick, Maria and I, and Nutmeg, of course, went for a walk one day with no clear goal other than to enjoy the scenery, get some exercise and spend another gloriously blue and sunny day outside. It was, however, windier than it had been, with projected gusts above 20 mph.

We dressed, or in my case, overdressed for the possibility that it would be pretty chill on the trail. I think I had 5 layers from the skin out and ended up shedding 2. But that’s what backpacks are for, right?

We started by following instructions Steph had given us to get onto a particular trail head, and then chose a new direction at each intersection. The intersections were well marked with numbers and lines representing various trails. Maybe because it’s tough to illustrate up and down on a trail map, or maybe it’s just that we are mapdicapped, but there were times we were going in directions counter to where we thought the map pointed us. Given some of our experiences following the treasure hunt map at the City of Rocks, I tend to think we suffer from a slight mapdicap.

Anyway, without any real intentions, we ended up following the trail that went up to the peak. I suspect the elevation at the full peak is well over 7000, but we didn’t quite make it. The trail narrowed to a slender foot path – rather I should say, a path for a slender foot. And the drop off grew steeper. Don’t even imagine that there might be barriers or handrails on the forest trails. And I had Nutmeg on a lead. The combination of my fear of heights and the dog having no such hesitation, pulling as heartily on the little trail as she did when we could walk 3 abreast, brought me to a stop and a request to turn back.

Maria, as it turns out, was of similar mind based on a similar wariness of heights without edges. So we made our way back down. I’m not sure how short of the summit we were. But Nick and nephew Dave have gone back this afternoon to attain the top of Gomez peak and I’m sure they’ll report back on how close we came. The views from the higher trail were incredible, especially of the Monastery secluded on the next range and the wilderness beyond.

When Maria and I visited the Monastery the next day, Maria pointed out Gomez peak, looking much smaller and less impressive from the perspective of higher ground. As Arnaud would say, "Ah’ll be bahck" and climb Gomez when I don’t have the dog and can take my sweet time.

Mimbres pottery designs are elegant black and white geometrics, sometimes with figures.

We visited the Western New Mexico University’s museum which had a very large selection of the pottery made by the Mimbrenos people from perhaps 500 AD through 13-1500 AD.

And I was inspired! I have inherited my father’s leather-working tools and have wondered what I’d ever do with them. A few days ago, in the New Mexico magazine, there was a little "make your own valentine" article, using tin. I have always loved the perforated tin in old pie safes, and have seen tin inserts in the fronts of cabinet doors, in place of glass. And of course, worked tin is a classic Mexican art form that you’ve seen around mirrors and frames. So I was interested by the apparent ease of working with tin as demonstrated in the article, and thought it might be possible to work tin using the leather-working tools of my father. But it wasn’t until I was in the museum admiring the designs on the pottery that I was struck that I might be able to create an interpretation of those designs in tin. I bought two books in the gift shop and will, as I have time, begin to explore where to find tin, how to work it, and how to create Mimbres-like geometrics; I’m sure there’s a way, and if I figure it out, prepare to receive tin gifts for every occasion. After all, every famous artist had to start somewhere. And somehow, the concentration of artists in this region can bring the artist out in anyone. If you’re curious, google mimbres pottery and you’ll find a number of informative and attractive sites; here’s a good place to start -- http://www.princetonol.com/groups/iad/Files/mimbres.htm

Maria left yesterday, and within 15 minutes of her take-off out of El Paso, our nephew Dave landed. We managed to change and wash the sheets, and make a new pot of spaghetti between one visitor to the next. He’ll be with us until Tuesday. We will most likely spend our time outside.

Where Maria wanted to split her time between the galleries in town and the trails beyond, Dave claims not to be the "gallery type." Which is fine with me – I used up all of my self-control not to buy anything while with Maria. I’m telling you, I can’t go through these galleries too often because I’m just too tempted. If I bought everything I liked – even if I limited myself to just those things I liked A LOT, we’d need another job and a 5,000 square foot house, all walls and no windows!

Searching for bread, walking the land, and celebrating history

I know you expect me to extol the Inauguration experience in Silver City – and I will – but first, the small stories of daily life here.

Searching for bread…

• Our friend, Ann, sent us a present of a Lebanese spice mix called Zaatar, which is added to good olive oil for dipping bread. Ann suggested that the spice was wonderful with Arabic bread. I don’t know if she anticipated that she would raise in my mind’s eye, the images of young men running trays of bread straight from the ovens, pillow-puffed, steaming and fragrant, carrying the trays on their heads down the streets of Istanbul or Jerusalem or Cairo. I’ve seen those boys in all those places, indelibly imprinted in my memory. But when I protested that we couldn’t get Arabic bread here, she said, no, she meant PITA bread. This is, after all, America. She must not have read the evidence that Mexico and New Mexico are indistinguishable to those who are east of Texas and north of Colorado. So I looked for pita bread. Nope. None. I settled for tortillas – flour, of course – which I toasted in a lightly oiled iron skillet and served hot with the oil sprinkled liberally with Zaatar. Mmmmmm, the Zaatar. And, Ann, I finally found pita bread in one of our three grocery stores, on the very bottom shelf of the specialty bread isle – one brand, 3 packages, but fresh.
• We volunteered to bring breakfast pastries to our friend, Skee’s, to eat watching the inaugural celebrations; remember that with the time difference, the inauguration began for us just about breakfast time. The afternoon before, we went to Diane’s in town, and noticed a single chocolate éclair in the case. Since Nicky loves éclairs and my blood sugar was slightly low, I suggested that we rescue that éclair from its solitary future on the day-old shelf and split it. OMG! I have never had such an éclair. I remember éclairs being intact round things of varying toughness with a hole where the machine poked the icing nozzle in and squirted a little stiff and dry cream. And Nicky, the true lover of éclairs from his history with NY and Brooklyn bakeries, swore he hadn’t had an éclair like this in years. Rather than tough, it was tenderly flaky and without weight. It was split and slathered with light, sweet real whipped cream. OMG! I can’t even drive down the main street now – I just know my steering wheel will wheel straight for Diane’s and another one of those éclairs.
  
  Red Paint PowWow or walk?
  
• The Annual Red Paint PowWow was in town last weekend, and I had really looked forward to attending. This area is the historic and genetic home of the Chiricahua Apache Indians and is also the more recent home of a number of other tribes. Every year in January, the PowWow is held at the university; this was actually one of the draws for me to move here! I was attracted to the wide-ranging cultures that co-exist here and was looking forward to attending the PowWow. It was here Friday, Saturday and Sunday. I work on Friday. We had other things that needed doing on Saturday, so had agreed to go on Sunday. But Sunday dawned, like the several days before it, bright and sunny with a promise of 60+ degrees. I just couldn’t stay inside a gymnasium and made (I hope not the mistaken) choice of passing up the PowWow assuming I’ll be here next year and so too will it.
• So we called our friend Steph and met her and her ‘boys’ (dogs) Gray and Fen for a walk up one of her favorite canyons just north of Pinos Altos. We’ve been there before, and know it to be gorgeous and un-peopled so that the dogs can run off-lead. We got about ¼ of a mile up the canyon and found ourselves on an iced track. The last snow and resulting melts had frozen onto the track, making walking more an adventure in ice skating than hiking. At about the one-mile point, Steph suggested we turn around because we had to go downhill on the ice to get back to our vehicles. If it was slickery to get UP the canyon, it was one long slide getting DOWN. It being early afternoon once we, still vertical, reached our cars, we decided to find somewhere else to walk. We followed Steph to another favorite spot less than ½ hour away, but in the next valley. This park was on the valley floor, an expanse of prairie covered with grass and a few trees. Now keep in mind: we were in the same general area, no more than 15 miles apart, but where before we were in a shaded canyon, not cold but cool enough to appreciate hat, gloves and a zipped fleecy while we ice-danced, now we were on a flat prairie, shedding clothes at 65 degrees. Reinforcing the lesson: dress in layers and be prepared to don and shed according to the sun, the breeze, and the time of day.
  
  Inaugurating a vision wrapped in a dream set on a hope, personified by a man.
• I cried most of the way through the ceremonies. This is a rare turning point in our national history and individual consciousness, and I don’t think our children can truly appreciate the experience of this; that’s probably a blessing. As a native Washingtonian and a southerner by family ties, I know the truth of Obama’s statement, “…a father who, less than 60 years ago, wouldn’t get served in a restaurant…” DC was Jim Crow in my memory and I saw ‘colored water fountains.’ My mother never stopped using the word, ‘colored.’ I was speechless and unprepared when, in my last visit to mom’s So Carolina home – I was in high school and this was 1966! – my cousins and their high school friends stopped patronizing the better restaurant in town and went to the Dairy Queen for terrible hamburgers, because the other restaurant had hired a ‘colored’ cook and food runner. And this is only one small piece of a long and complicated story of human relations that began so long ago.
• In our memory, we saw people beaten for the color of their skin. We saw Dr Rev MLK stand on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial in 1963 and dream of his children being seen for the content of their character rather than the color of their skin. And now we have elected and inaugurated a man truly on the basis of the content of his character.
• So Nick and I decided to celebrate by attending the Inaugural Ball at the Buffalo Dance Hall! We stopped first at Javalena’s Coffee House, and then strolled down to The Buff as it’s fondly known hereabouts. You should know that, aside from significant occasions, The Buffalo is a beer and pool hall dive of poor repute! The guys who hang on the sidewalk outside most days and evening – the regulars – are a scruffy lot, but not ill-mannered when you need to get by. But on special occasions like fund raisers, New Year’s Eve and, certainly, the Inaugural Ball, the regulars retreat to the pool room or just don’t show up, The Buff’s main room is cleaned up, and the dance floor is cleared. And everyone in town shows up to party to live music. At $5 a head!! Unless, of course, you want to make an additional donation because all net proceeds go to the Community Food Bank.
• It is at gatherings like this, and at the Javalina’s own inaugural coffee where the String Beans played live and people brought pot-luck – yes, pot luck dishes to a coffee house that turned into a community room – that you really see the diversity and character that is Silver City. We have a lot of gray heads in town, and many of those gray heads have long pony tails – I’m talking about males here. And many of those gray pony tails still know how to jump to the beat. We were dressed to the nines! Dressed up included the man in 1890s styled black hat, white shirt with little turned collar and black string tie, tied in a bow, all suited in a ¾ length black coat. Dressed up included the man and woman in exuberantly beaded, fringed jackets over black pegged pants. And dressed up included the Viet Nam veteran wearing a leather bomber jacket with his unit and other insignia, plus a patch that read: “If you weren’t there, shut your mouth.” Women wore everything from tube pleated skirts, to peasant dresses, jeans with Concho belts over white shirts, to semi-dressy dresses. We didn’t hold a candle to Michelle in her one-shoulder white gown, but we were comfortable and having fun. During the band’s break, the jumbo tv replayed Obama’s inaugural speech which drew enthusiastic cheers as though the viewers had not yet seen this version of a miracle.
  
  Our sister Maria is coming to visit tomorrow and staying a week, and nephew Dave is coming for a few days following Maria. We’re thrilled that family is beginning to take us up on our invitation to come visit our corner of the Southwest. Someone has to come attest to the veracity of my stories here. I just love this place. Sonnie

Bit by the Land Bug

We’ve been bit and now have the fever for a bit of land.

It all started when our dinner guests mentioned that a piece of land was available on their lane, half-way between Silver City and Pinos Altos: 5 acres with south and southeast views. On a hillside, but not too steep. A sad history to go with it, but why not come out and take a look.

So we did go out that next day, a Sunday. And we went out again with our realtor on Monday. And we went again on Friday, and then again today.

The first trip, we admired the view; 270degrees and on a clear day, which is most days here, you can see, due south, the mountains just over into Mexico. In the shorter distance, you can see down into a lovely valley with two ranches, a large pond, a stream that you know is there because of the line of cottonwoods that cross the valley. To the north you see the twin sisters mountain peaks and the Gila beyond.

On Monday with the realtor, we talked about the price, the background of the property (too long and sad a story to relate here), and drove over to look at another similar sized piece nearby.

Friday, we went to see the sunset. We couldn’t see the actual sunset because it’s behind us in that 90 degrees that’s blocked from view. But there was a ghost moon, full and rising out of the mountains to the east. The skies from southwest around to the east flushed magenta to rose to peach, blue at the horizon, over which was suspended the huge, bright full moon. We didn’t want to tear ourselves away, but the breeze stiffened and was getting pretty raw. Today, we took tape measure and notepad to measure the existing house pad, and spent some time thinking about how we’d design a house to take advantage of the natural contours and the setting.

Now, for all of that, the piece of property hasn’t quite “grabbed us by the neck” as yet, so we’re neither of us absolutely committed. But each time we go, we find more to like. We have to “washboard” in, of course, but the road is good for all that. There’s a drop from the road to the house pad, with a relatively long drive. We’d have to put a good driveway in or no-one would be able to visit us without a 4 wheel drive. And it’s a day’s workout to walk up the drive to the road. But most newer properties are scraped onto the sides of hills, steep or not. In California, you’d worry about landsliding onto the freeway below in the first rain. Not so much a problem here, but indicative of the fact that old real estate here is on usable ground, and newcomers are buying for views, which are only to be found from vertical land.

We have some research to do – septic systems, water, relocating the electric line that goes overhead and the electric pole that sits about where the kitchen should be. And the listing price, like so much here and elsewhere these days, is way high. We know what we’d be willing to pay, depending upon the answers to some infrastructure questions. What we don’t know, is whether the owner would be willing to sell at that price.

Nutmeg loves it there. She scouts the property, getting braver each time we’re there, ranging farther and farther away from us. On the first visit, she slipped under the fence into the horse paddock which is part of the neighboring property, and discovered the gourmet delight of nibbling horse kernels. On the next visit, she discovered cats claw. Cats claw is a low growing bush that has thorns like claws, hence the (very appropriate) name for a painful encounter. She got herself into the midst of several cats claw and couldn’t extricate herself. I had to go in to untangle her and lead her out, which meant I was also picking cats claw out of my jacket and pants. Tonight, she nosed something in a den in the roots of an old oak tree and the rocks piled at the base of the tree. We could NOT get her to abandon the crevices between the rocks. We don’t know what she was after, but thankfully whatever it was stayed well hidden. Finally we retrieved the leash from the car and put it on her. She was smart enough to know what that meant, and so followed us around or just flopped in the middle of the cleared pad when we weren’t holding her on short lead.

We’re still also interested in the community in which we’re currently living, which Nick calls The Park. There isn’t much land left here, just a couple of one-acre pieces which are definitely downhill, so much so that they would take some creative engineering to perch a house on the side. There is one 5-acre piece but we hear that is $33,000 per acre, a little rich for us, although it has both a southern exposure and a nice little elevation. We are confounded that, here in NM with 350 days of sunshine a year, plus some very attractive tax incentives, people / builders just are not building passive solar, south-facing houses.

New Mexico does things differently: On New Years Eve, we went to MVA to get our NM drivers licenses and NM title and tags for the Volvo. We were told by the staff, “You’ll need an inspection to get your title and tags.” So we said ok, and because we needed to go back to the house anyway to pick up something we forgot, we left the window and the building. On the way back to the MVA with the forgotten paperwork, we stopped in at R&L Auto Repair to ask about scheduling an inspection.

They looked at us oddly, and said they knew nothing about inspections.

We explained that we were trying to get NM tags for our car and were told by the MVA staff we’d need an inspection. They said, sure, a vehicle id inspection, but no mechanical inspection. Oh. No check of the lights and brakes and turn signals and all the other stuff that is part of an inspection in MD. Well, we asked, where do we get an id inspection. Why, at the MVA, they said – the staff just goes out and checks that the vehicle id is the same on the vehicle as on the title.
We went back to the MVA, and after another 20 minute wait, we ended up at a different window. We concluded the drivers license part of our business, and then asked about a vehicle id inspection. She asked if we had our paperwork and the car and when we produced both – or at least pointed through the window at the car – she put on her jacket, took our title and went out to the car to read the VIN on the car compared to the VIN on the title. We now sport the newest NM plate – rear only – with the image of a classic hot-air balloon, a sight for which NM is famous.

And lastly, in addition to cats claw, other flora and fauna in the news:

• Nutmeg and I found a small lizard or gecko in the house a couple of days ago. After she chased it across the floor, I was able to capture it on a large sheet of paper and take it outside. I hope I didn’t do it more harm by "saving" it to the outdoors than if I’d just ignored it.
• I’m paying more attention to the bird life around this house. This morning I saw a spotted tohee and two curved bill thrashers under the silver oak outside the dining room window.
• And a raptor of some sort has flown, or should I say, swooped by my office window on the hunt twice, but too fast to figure out what I was seeing. I burst out with a "whatzat" each time, confusing and startling the individuals I was talking to on the phone.
• There is a vibrant and active mixed flock of bluebirds and finches, with something else thrown in that I haven’t figured out, that hangs around the wires on the side of the house, where I can see them from my office.
• I may have found myself in the midst of a flock of bushtits moving through the yard, but they were realllly small and were moving too fast for me to really id. Nutmeg started barking at someone knocking on the door the other day, but when I went to investigate, discovered it was two or three scrub jays that were vocalizing the knocking sound. And when I take her out the first time in the morning, about dawn, I can hear the wind brush through the fingers of the ravens’ wings as they fly just overhead.

A Whisper of Resolutions, the Trail of the Mountain Spirit and Washboarding

New Year’s Greetings,

2008 closed without flair, more like the lamb of March. It whispered goodbye to us this year with a bowl of soup, a glass of wine, a blessing and thanks raised to the night sky full of constellations, and bedtime at 9. Surely that was midnight and thus New Year 2009 in some time zone; just not this one. 2009 will bring its own blessings, opportunities, challenges, transitions and expectations met and missed and next December 31 will find us somewhere, once again standing under the stars with a glass full of thanks.

Resolutions for 2009:

• I’ll learn enough Spanish to decipher the music on what is quicly becoming a favorite radio program: the bilingual program from 7 to 9 pm on the local public radio stations I mentioned in an earlier note. Who knows, I could be tapping my toes to a song that is really advocating New Mexico should secede from the Union and rejoin Mexico, and I’d never know; all I would recognize with my current language skill would be Nuevo México. Mi espanol no es mui bien.
• I’ll read more Southwestern authors – not just Tony Hillerman, who it must be said has contributed to a fascination with Navajo culture, or Barbara Kingsolver’s earlier works. I just finished Bless Me, Ultima by Rudolfo Anaya, a chicano writer whose roots are in Albuquerque. If you’re one who has traded books and titles with me over the years, this is a moving and wonderfully-written story of a boy in New Mexico toward the end of WWII and you’d enjoy it. I will keep this resolution by finding more of his work, and move on from there.
• I’ll learn to cook properly at altitude. You may know that altitude affects how things cook, how long, at what temps; all of which in turn, affects the results. We “entertained” for the first time last weekend – just one other couple whom Nick has met through the Habitat for Humanity Board. I roasted a rib-roast. Roasting to some degree of done-ness was at least the intent. Having lost my meat thermometer in the move, I had to judge done-ness based time per pound. I was appalled to cut into the roast as our guests were sitting at the table with dishes of vegetables and sweet potatoes cooling in front of them, and find a ‘tartar’ center. Thank heaven I had also cooked the heck out of a chicken in the krock pot to give Nicky the option of a recovering flu-suffer’s dinner. We all ate stewed chicken, although she was brave enough, or gracious enough, to claim that she liked really rare beef and ate a slice.
• I’ll give Nutmeg a gallon of water before we go off-roading in the new year so she won’t need a drink for two days, or at a minimum the duration of the walk. For the second time, she got into the local water on a hike, and two days later I was cleaning up…well, suffice it to say that we made another trip to the vet and returned with another week’s worth of bug-killing puppy-medicine. Her transition to the Southwest has been hard on her tummy and gut.

We went the wrong way!

On New Years day, it was beautiful—sunny and about 60. Since we’d both been sick, we decided to take a drive, instead of a hike. We decided to drive the Trail of the Mountain Spirit, which is a triangle with one point in Silver City. We went counterclockwise on the triangle, starting our drive up the leg of the triangle through the Mimbres valley which is ranchland and truly representative of the Old West in this region. That leg went very quickly, with straight roads and speeds of 40-50. We found Bear Canyon Lake, no problem. Walked around a little, while Nutmeg waded in the water and, omg, took several long drinks. (No problems yet!) Then, we found Lake Roberts, larger, more picturesque. Many water fowl, which made me wish I’d brought my spotting scope. Who knew – this is after all the dry Southwest. By now it was about 3 pm. We had the 3rd leg of the triangle to go, and it was only about 10-12 miles, BUT and that’s a very big BUT, that 12 miles was over the mountains down to Pinos Altos, which is just above Silver City. Put yourself in the car with us for these last 12 miles. Picture in your mind, a road not wide enough for a center stripe. This road goes through the National Forest, so the scenery is beautiful: deep valleys with classic image ranches-paddocks-pastures, meadows and creeks lined with cottonwood trees, rocky canyons with hoodoos galore, and dark ponderosa pine forests. Snow still on the ground on the north slopes. But also picture the road going upupupupup and oooooover the mountains on little squiggle roads and hairpin turns. In most places, there is no guard rail. The entire 12 miles, there are no shoulders. And for stretches at a time, beyond the edge of the road, there is no there, there. And you are driving into the setting sun so you can’t see where you are going. At one point, the only thing that kept me from driving off the road was that I saw at the last minute the very large red and white stripped warning sign. The road went hard left; straight ahead was the sign while beyond that and straight down, the great Gila River gorge. Even Nutmeg was biting her nails! I had not one but TWO glasses of wine when we got home. Next time, we’ll drive clockwise and in the middle of the day. By the way, if you ever travel this way, and the mileage sign says: “xxx 26 miles; 2 hours” believe it – they aren’t lying. If you drive faster than 15 miles an hour, you better have a parachute because you’re going airborne.

Washboarding…

…is our new term for driving on the local roads that are county maintained gravel or otherwise unpaved surfaces. Once outside of Silver City, many of the roads that lead into the communities are unpaved after the first ½ mile or so. We’ve been exploring some of the communities to learn more about the greater SC area and also to begin to think about where we might want to consider buying. We know we like Indian Hills, where we are now, but it’s higher end and we probably won’t be able to afford to buy here. So we have been going washboarding lately. This is not what Volvos were designed for, and this Volvo protests mightily. The dashboard squeaks and rattles and jigs like a 1947 truck. The squeaking isn’t new, it did that back home, but its voice is much louder and more complaining of its treatment.

I think I had made another resolution that I’m now forgetting, in addition to those I’ve declaimed here. Which means that there’s no hope it will be fulfilled this year. I hope your resolutions are more memorable and thus, achievable. We can’t wait to see what 2009 has to offer us transplants. Whatever, we’ll make the best of it. Complain a little, maybe. Gripe grouse and then just get down and do it. I’m sure you’ll do the same. Because that’s how we get through the days, weeks and months with love and a smile. I have this piece of wall-sculpture that hung in my office in DC and now is installed over my desk here, called a ‘story-person.’ It says that “Anyone can slay a dragon…but try waking up every morning and loving the world all over again. That’s what takes a real hero.” To each of you heroes in our lives, the very best that 2009 can offer. Love, Sonnie & Nicky