I opened the sliding glass door to the third floor balcony. It was a tiny balcony, maybe 3 feet deep if you counted the 6” stuccoed railing. Just enough to step out on. No furniture was there, there wasn’t room. Yesterday I had pulled back the curtains in time to see the setting sun turn the Sandia Mountains the red color that caused exploring Spaniards to name the range after a watermelon. It only lasted a couple of minutes, you had to be right there at the right time.
The hotel I was staying at in Albuquerque had a nice big courtyard, landscaped with trees and plants native to the area. Tables to sit and enjoy the space were placed all around it and there was a nice outdoor fireplace area. The evening before I had wandered out there to sit a while at a table. A man, close to my age, sat by the fireplace alone. I wondered if he was waiting for someone, maybe killing time until the bar opened, or waiting on his wife to come down so they could go someplace good to eat. I had thoughts of my favorite place to eat there, the High Noon Saloon in Old Town. Maybe, like me, he was there alone, not for a getaway but with a purpose.
There were balconies overlooking the courtyard. However my room was on the opposite side of the hallway from these rooms. The balcony off my room overlooked the busy I-25. It runs from Las Cruces in the south to Wyoming in the north, right through Denver and the more populated areas of Colorado. The traffic noise was unbearably loud for this small town girl. On the opposite side of the highway I could see a Target and next door a Cabela’s.
It was early morning and the sun was up. I’d finished my mission the day before. A torn rotator cuff diagnosed with the upright MRI I had driven over 4 hours to have. Because I was claustrophobic and that was the closest one. In a few minutes I would finish packing and head back home, surgery to repair the tendon in my future.
There was no logical reason to open the sliding door that morning. The traffic noise had already reached rush hour proportions. It wasn’t soothing.
But 35 years of traveling to New Mexico from the hot and humid Gulf Coast had conditioned in me to always open the doors and feel the cool dry breeze. Even though I now live where I can feel that most of the year, it’s just second nature to me. It brings back all the memories of trips there with Rickie, and sometimes with Sarah.
We’d get off the plane, or out of the car, and that’s the first thing we’d notice, the air. We’d take a deep breath and smile at each other. And wish we could always breathe that kind of air.
So without even giving it a thought I opened the balcony door and finished packing. A smell, a coolness in the air, and the memories came back. Happy memories. As I drive out of town headed toward Santa Fe, then north on small two lane backroads, heading home, Selena came up on my playlist, singing Pensando en Ti. I don’t speak Spanish but I knew she was singing my song.
These memories weren’t sad for me. I was in a peaceful place in my mind. Even the 45 minute road construction delay didn’t distress me. I look forward to returning when the weather is warmer and staying in Old Town Albuquerque. Maybe return to Santa Fe on the Turquoise Trail and stop in Madrid for a little break. Take my time. As New Mexico, in its sense of timelessness, beckons you to do.
