fonder still

Blog Post 24.

Yeah, yeah, I’m talking about distance and the heart. If you didn’t know already, for a few months I’ve been pretty far from everything that has ever been familiar to me.

Being so far has introduced to me what of those familiarities are fondest to my heart. This has proven interesting research.

I largely find that it is the little things: Arlo’s worm-dog body asleep by my right thigh on a cold night; carrying wood in for the fire; posole; noticing through white puffs of breath the setting sun shine golden off the undersides of birds flying over a crispy, winterized bosque; stealing my mom’s chopos to wear around the house; getting yelled at for stealing my moms chopos to wear around the house; slipping on ice at least once a week while attempting to run through a Colorado winter; procrastinating homework with Jack in Bean’s Coffee Shop (or Stella’s or the library- really we can procrastinate anyplace, it’s our special joint talent); stealing my mom’s chopos again knowing full well what’s coming; the smell of the barn on a winter morning. The list goes on.

Home defines itself in a few ways for me. In New Mexico it is, of course, my family and childhood friends who are part of what makes the Rio Grande Valley home. But there it is also the lifetime of memories- many devoid of other people- that continue to enchant me and call me back home (a good example is the weirdly strong pride I recently discovered I have about the Balloon Fiesta). It’s like this: if all of my family left New Mexico, I would still need to return de vez en cuando, for the sake of the place.

Living in Denver has taught me that sometimes it can be primarily the people who define a place as home. Almost every memory I have in Colorado is beside this handful of people- so perfectly suited to be friends of mine and visa-versa- who I never imagined existed. If I never returned to Denver, I would be content knowing that they would remain present in my life. They are why Denver is home.

I’m curious to see if and how Cádiz defines itself as a home for me. In some small ways, I know it has (after a weekend away, I now get the tiniest sensation of coming home as the train speeds along la Cortadura into town). Still, I find that the fondness of the heart will be best measured from a distance.

Glad I can continue to prove that I’m not a nostalgic person…