El Rancho Gitano Del Desierto

Wow – it's been three months since I've took the time to blog. A lot has happened in three short months. To catch up would require a medium more towards the novel end of writing as opposed to a quick blog. Thus – I shall attempt to summarize the previous three months according to the short notes I jotted down in a diary of sorts.

The following notes were those I felt blog worthy at a future time. It's a lot like trying to explain something that was really funny at the time but loses most of it's appeal as you recount it later to your friends. Kind of had to be there...but here goes:

Sometime in October: Quick trip to Home Depot for cones to use as target stands. Trying to find help at the Home Depot in Surprise is like trying to capture a clear picture of Bigfoot. It ain't happening. Shopping wears me out. Home Depot does not sell Fireball. It should.

October 24^th was an eclectic day. I spent the morning plumbing the shed for the washer. Plenty of swearing and three trips to Adolfo's for various parts needed. Later that morning, a nice ride up the Harquahala trail towards the observatory. Afterwards, I spent the afternoon digging a drain for the washer until dark. That project only took 1 trip to Adolfo's and less swearing. Adolfo's doesn't sell Fireball either. They should.

The next day I installed the pipe for the washer machine drain and ran into Adolfo's for clothing line and eye hooks. Back at the ranch, I washed my first load of clothes! Watching the rinse water flow successfully down the drain pipe was like reaching a state of Nirvana - if I was Buddhist...which I'm not. I would have celebrated but Adolfo's still does not sell fireball. I doubt Buddhist drink Fireball. Maybe they should. 

It appears I did nothing for the months of November and December as my notes ended on October 31st with finding several cans of Beanee Weenee's on a shelf at the Dollar Store. They don't, however, sell Fireball. They should.

Me, Dave, Cindy, Teri

I spent Thanksgiving week in Tombstone for the Tombstone Ghost Riders shoot. The club puts on an outstanding shoot and serves up Thanksgiving dinner for the shooters. Jack and I took second on the first day and won first place on the second day. They do sell Fireball just about anywhere in Tombstone but I'm there for the Prickly Pear Margarita's. As I should be.

December: I don't like to travel for the Holiday's so opted to stay put and watch Dan and Teri's critters so they could spend time with family. Before they left, Cindy and Dave threw together a neighborhood Christmas party. We ate, played corn-hole, drank various adult beverages and howled at the moon. Literally. I've said it before – if I'd have known being old was this much fun, I would have done it a long time ago.

Throw in some balloon killing, riding, hiking...fixing stuff and becoming an official, card carrying Arizonian and that's it in a nutshell. It's been a mental, physical and emotional roller-coaster for sure. Nights often find me wondering: “What the hell have I done?” It's dark and oh-so quiet. Eerily quiet. The only sound breaking that silence is the yipping, howling call of the coyote pack trying to lure my dog astray. Hank hates coyotes. My usually mild, passive dogs turns immediately into 30 pounds of snarling, black and white hackles. His sole purpose at this moment is to protect his pack from the demonic desert jackal. Where there is one...there are many. A dog is no match for a pack. I keep him close.

It is an adjustment....this life I am leading. Living off the grid – a thousand miles from family. No house to speak of, yet oddly, I somehow feel more at home in this 30 foot RV than I ever felt in a 2600 square foot log house. I am supposed to be here. I have no idea why.