My New Mexico childhood was magical… kivas, Zozobra (the burning man), Kearney Elementary Bilingual School, Blake’s Lota Burger, Blue Birds, my Santa Fe best friend, Mary Ann Varela and her lovely Mom’s delicious pots of beans, posole, green chile stew and plenty of tortillas to scoop up any remains, crawdad hunting and ghost stories, Wolfman Jack and raw chocolate chip cookie dough and ramen with my Tucumcari best friend, Connie Weaver (Cook), State Championships, Gods (Rod David) and Queens, football games and cruising…
What happens when nary a whisp of what once was remains? A melancholy takes hold. While hotels are bought up by out-of-towners, who manage to see the possibility beyond the dwindling population and broken down buildings, opportunity seems to slip through one small town after another.
While the phrase, “you can never go home again” isn’t quite true, the meaning behind Thomas Wolfe’s famous adage, (meant to infer how nostalgia causes us to view the past in an overly-positive light, and how humans tend to remember people and places from our upbringing in static terms.) sadly true.
here’s to the memories-