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Pastimes : Don't Ask Rambi -- Ignore unavailable to you. Want to Upgrade?

To: Jacques Chitte who wrote (15810)	12/24/1998 12:31:00 PM
From: Gauguin	Read Replies (1) \| Respond to of 71178

A finned testicle. Hmmmm. Ish was asking why mine are freezing - groin injury five weeks ago in Seattle. Don't know how I did it, but it hurts. Ice pack and frozen ornament feels better than the thawed ones. Did I miss this, or do you have a tank too? Fish tank.

To: Jacques Chitte who wrote (15810)	12/24/1998 1:35:00 PM
From: Gauguin	Read Replies (2) \| Respond to of 71178

New Mexican ~ Today, soon, Quinn, like a dad or brother, is taking me out to get sand or dirt for the farolitos. ("We're going for about a gross.") The sand goes in the little brown grocery bags to hold them down, and the white candle sits in the sand. Last year, they made a most ethereal and enlivened flickering arc along the driveway curves through the orchard. My, my my. They are really something. Pleasant. Beyond pleasant, to bliss. Glowing furnaces celeste; in the clear mountain air. They're lighted Christmas eve, and will burn all night. You can watch them til four or so; with all the lights out. People put all their farm lights out. They're supposed to guide the baby Jesus. They are all over here. Everywhere. It is the night of nights. Over to the right about five hundred feet, is a small road along the base of the hills. These are Georgia O'Keefe-ish hills; Abiquiu is right over there. She is nice, but insignificant, added to this road. It's an old road, and is imho an ancient road. As the road moves from here near the river bridge, on the right or west are rocky hills, and these rocks are milestones. Not of distance; but also. I want to guess three hundred to a thousand petroglyphs, rising within a hundred feet of the shoulder, along it's eight mile length. You can walk up and touch them. Do. Scientists guess they range up to five thousand years. On a tiny rise is an un-named village, with a countryside church at the most prominent. Farolitos will line the road here, both sides, for hundreds of yards. Maybe five hundred lights for each village dweller. The church is smaller than these house rooms, with a steeple. An unattended bonfire lights the front wall and doors, built right up to the street. Gee, I hope the wind doesn't come up. I like being a tourist, maybe even a pilgrim de vicarioso, but no firefighting, or tragedies, please. Within the five thousand years, the six hundred year old pueblo ~ the San Juan Pueblo across the bridge at the other end of the road ~ is nothing. This land, this valley, may be the oldest farmed land in America. Your feet Know. They're very sensitive, ya know. Your eyes begin in a realm they've never known before. Hee hee. Let's not overdo it, Paul. Pablito. Pa.