Beyond Cuckoo

Remember the old days (or should I say, young days) when all worldly possessions fit in whatever size car (or backpack) you had at the time? See somewhere else to go? —quit the job, call the landlord, pack up and you were on your way.
 
Well times, at least for me, have changed. Somewhere around my 45th birthday, I got a mortgage—the American dream, right? —sometimes. Mortgages, in my life, equal a place to accumulate people, places and things. I’ve been lucky that both real estate investments have appreciated enabling us (me and my husband, Blake) to roll the equity forward into a new place. That’s where we’re at, now—real estate limbo.
However, I don’t use the Jimmy Cliff lyrics lightly. Instead I identify with the feeling that we have very little control over our lives. Sure, we plan, connive, and take steps to spiritually move up, but the bottom line is that help is mostly invisible to us, except by our feelings. 

“Sitting here in limbo
But I know it won’t be long
Sitting here in limbo
Like a bird without a song
Well, they’re
Putting up resistance
But I know that my faith
Will lead me on
Sitting here in limbo
Waiting for the dice to roll
Sitting here in limbo
Got some time to search my soul”
 
So, the idea is to make a complete turnaround—tweak the view from Redwood trees to the spikey Organ Mountains. The love of my life, California, has lost its appeal—an invisible casting line has hooked me; reeling me in to the ‘Land of Enchantment”, New Mexico.

I’ve never spent much time in high desert, that is, until recently. The mountain peaks and desert washes hold something indescribable, vague and unique. I surmise that the appeal is karmic–some destiny or influence that I can’t explain. In any case, if you’re looking for a house in California Wine Country—have I got a deal for you!