No, it's not outer space, or even the depths of the ocean. The final Frontier is the last meal of the college year at the legendary Albuquerque restaurant on old Route 66 across the street from the University of New Mexico. After loading the van with the dorm room contents, we chose to boldly go where the Lobos go. My son had just realized that his exchange semester in Massachusetts will be in a galaxy far, far away, without Hatch green chiles at every meal.
The departing Lobo made sure we were introduced to Frontier Restaurant's fresh squeezed orange juice, which is truly the nectar of the gods. One glass and you will wish you could just sit in the Frontier drinking OJ for the rest of the day. We tried the breakfast burrito, the Western hashbrowns, tasted the green chile stew, and the famous Frontier cinnamon roll. We watched our tortillas being made in the semi-automatic tortilla oven. Roadfood.com reviewer Michael Stern writes, "Breakfast at The Frontier in Albuquerque is a gas, especially if you haven't been to bed the night before. Located on old Route 66 across from the University of New Mexico, this landmark eatery has been open round the clock for forty years..." I'm sorry I wasted so much of the last forty years not being there!
To aid the Lobo during this difficult Dallas reentry period, I'm trying to brew up a passable version of Frontier's green chile stew. The Lobo says it needs more chiles and fewer potatoes. I'll keep trying. And being a sympathetic mom, I'll probably mail an emergency green chile supply to Massachusetts.
Showing posts with label Albuquerque. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Albuquerque. Show all posts
5/16/06
5/14/06
Climate Readjustment Issues
"It's ten p.m. Why is it soooo HOT!?," asks the returned Lobo while unloading the van. "What's up with all these mosquitoes?"
Welcome back to Plano, O ye sunshine-spoiled boy. Your reentry into the swampy humidity of the DFW metroplex was at 81 degrees with 61% humidity. At ten p.m. the night before we were sitting on the patio of the Outback Restaurant on I25 and Jefferson in Albuquerque where it was 79 degrees with only 9% humidity.
We asked the Lobo if the weather in Albuquerque is always so perfect. The Lobo son explained that it is only perfect from late August to Thanksgiving, and from early February through May (he hasn't been there in the summertime). In December and January it gets a little chilly. The sky is always blue. There are no mosquitoes, so it is fun to be outside. If it rains it's a fluke, and doesn't last five minutes. If it snows, the flakes evaporate before they hit the ground. Nearly every night of the school year he could sleep with the window open under his heavy blanket.
Welcome back to Plano, O ye sunshine-spoiled boy. Your reentry into the swampy humidity of the DFW metroplex was at 81 degrees with 61% humidity. At ten p.m. the night before we were sitting on the patio of the Outback Restaurant on I25 and Jefferson in Albuquerque where it was 79 degrees with only 9% humidity.
We asked the Lobo if the weather in Albuquerque is always so perfect. The Lobo son explained that it is only perfect from late August to Thanksgiving, and from early February through May (he hasn't been there in the summertime). In December and January it gets a little chilly. The sky is always blue. There are no mosquitoes, so it is fun to be outside. If it rains it's a fluke, and doesn't last five minutes. If it snows, the flakes evaporate before they hit the ground. Nearly every night of the school year he could sleep with the window open under his heavy blanket.
9/13/05
Time Zoned
I am sitting on my empty nest in Mama Meridian Time. It's nine p.m. CDT. Do you know where your kids are? Well, yes, but I'm vague on what time it is there. They are equally vague on what time it is here.
My youngest is in Mountain Daylight Time, but he is also in eighteen year-old internal clock warp zone. His day gets going about the time I crash. After two days of frustrating phone tag, he finally reached me at 11:22 p.m. last night as I was drifting off to sleep. We are negotiating a pact whereby I don't call him before 10 a.m. his time, and he doesn't call me after 10 p.m. my time.*
My oldest lives in Indiana, a weirdly time-challenged state. Hoosiers start to back out of their garages in one time zone, and by the time they reach the street they have to reset their Timex watches. I was delighted that he called to tell me about attending the exciting UT-OSU game in Columbus, Ohio at 7:22 Sunday morning, but I needed two more mugs of coffee before I could comprehend his report.
Did you ever see Robert Goulet in that 1966 black and white t.v. broadcast of "Brigadoon"? My middle son is studying and exploring Europe this year. He passes in and out of the fog and the idyllic villages of an over-the-top Broadway musical. He's swirling around the globe while I try to get a fix on the time. Swirling and mirrors are my weakest spatial link. That is why I flunked Curling Iron 101, and remedial Home Perming.
Is this a flashback to Sixties backyard games, like "What Time Is It, Mr. Fox?" Maybe it's just an incentive program for communication by email?
*
Now it is night.
Night is not a time for play.
It is time for sleep.
The dogs go to sleep.
They will sleep all night.
Now it is day.
The sun is up.
Now is the time for all dogs to get up.
"Get up!"
It is day.
Time to get going.
Go, dogs. Go!
My youngest is in Mountain Daylight Time, but he is also in eighteen year-old internal clock warp zone. His day gets going about the time I crash. After two days of frustrating phone tag, he finally reached me at 11:22 p.m. last night as I was drifting off to sleep. We are negotiating a pact whereby I don't call him before 10 a.m. his time, and he doesn't call me after 10 p.m. my time.*
My oldest lives in Indiana, a weirdly time-challenged state. Hoosiers start to back out of their garages in one time zone, and by the time they reach the street they have to reset their Timex watches. I was delighted that he called to tell me about attending the exciting UT-OSU game in Columbus, Ohio at 7:22 Sunday morning, but I needed two more mugs of coffee before I could comprehend his report.
Did you ever see Robert Goulet in that 1966 black and white t.v. broadcast of "Brigadoon"? My middle son is studying and exploring Europe this year. He passes in and out of the fog and the idyllic villages of an over-the-top Broadway musical. He's swirling around the globe while I try to get a fix on the time. Swirling and mirrors are my weakest spatial link. That is why I flunked Curling Iron 101, and remedial Home Perming.
Is this a flashback to Sixties backyard games, like "What Time Is It, Mr. Fox?" Maybe it's just an incentive program for communication by email?
*
Now it is night.
Night is not a time for play.
It is time for sleep.
The dogs go to sleep.
They will sleep all night.
Now it is day.
The sun is up.
Now is the time for all dogs to get up.
"Get up!"
It is day.
Time to get going.
Go, dogs. Go!
P. D. Eastman sets my clock!
8/30/05
Marco Polo
Got a Mikey Dog Travel Log update. He's reached the high top of the Italy boot, in the Cinque Terre region of Italy, east of Monaco, south of Genoa. On my map puzzle, Italy is orange. Britain is pink. France is green. Monterossa is a beautiful small town by the sea, he says. Tomorrow he'll hike a trail connecting five small towns along the sea. Monterossa is a "bit touristy", he says. I smile reading his email.
I should have known Mikey Dog would be a world traveler. In kindergarten he was fascinated by maps and aerial perspectives, making drawings of the streets from a hotel window in San Antonio, and of the terrain below his airplane window near Albuquerque. In first grade he wrote that if he won the lottery he would go back to Washington, D.C. to see more of the museums and play with Linky the cocker spaniel. A few years later, he was so fascinated with Marco Polo he convinced a children's theatre director to create a play about Marco Polo. Genghis Khan was another of his fascinations. Soon he will study international business in Italy. Maybe he will travel the Silk Road.
I should have known Mikey Dog would be a world traveler. In kindergarten he was fascinated by maps and aerial perspectives, making drawings of the streets from a hotel window in San Antonio, and of the terrain below his airplane window near Albuquerque. In first grade he wrote that if he won the lottery he would go back to Washington, D.C. to see more of the museums and play with Linky the cocker spaniel. A few years later, he was so fascinated with Marco Polo he convinced a children's theatre director to create a play about Marco Polo. Genghis Khan was another of his fascinations. Soon he will study international business in Italy. Maybe he will travel the Silk Road.
8/19/04
Sandia Crest Tramway
Thanks to a middle-aged friend for explaining that neither of us have "crested" yet. That's reassuring to know, but I do like the crested crane hairdo. When I reached the Sandia Crest Tramway in Albuquerque a storm was brewing. Two storms, actually, both approaching the Sandia mountains from the west. To the northwest I watched a group of dust devils traveling parallel to county roads. Slightly south, I watched a rain storm cloud darken from blue gray to rich, velvety, swirling CHARCOAL BLUE. Amazingly, I am transported to memories of our neighbors' long-haired blue-gray cat forty years ago.
8/18/04
Superhuman AND Nonexistent
The only for sure thing at the Santa Fe Opera's performance of "Don Giovanni" is the elevation of the tailgate picnic to a fine art form. Forget Wimbledon's strawberries and the Derby's mint juleps. I have a friend who should quit her day job and become an opera tailgate banquet consultant.
Got to the opera early enough to attend the first "prelude" lecture. What fun! The old ladies with their wheely oxygen tanks and I grooved on the insights of the handsome young tenorish lecturer. I am beginning to understand the comparison of "Don Giovanni" to "Hamlet". There are so many ways to interpret the opera. Is it a conflict between lust and respectability? Is it about revenge vs. forgiveness? Is it about the mystery of what women really want? Our lecturer indicated that we might be added to the Don's list as we became fascinated with the questions.
After the lecture I had time to loiter around the box office waiting for our wonderful Noelle and her young man. What splendid people-watching! What cloud and mountain watching!
On the way to the opera I saw this wonderfully effective sign in a construction zone:
Please slow down. My daddy works here.
The opera, art museum, and chamber music gift shops were all about fancy shawls of velour and lace or beads. Back on Saturday when I went to the Albuquerque Museum of Art I saw an afghan crocheted of cassette recording tape. Maybe there's a market for something in the middle!
Got to the opera early enough to attend the first "prelude" lecture. What fun! The old ladies with their wheely oxygen tanks and I grooved on the insights of the handsome young tenorish lecturer. I am beginning to understand the comparison of "Don Giovanni" to "Hamlet". There are so many ways to interpret the opera. Is it a conflict between lust and respectability? Is it about revenge vs. forgiveness? Is it about the mystery of what women really want? Our lecturer indicated that we might be added to the Don's list as we became fascinated with the questions.
After the lecture I had time to loiter around the box office waiting for our wonderful Noelle and her young man. What splendid people-watching! What cloud and mountain watching!
On the way to the opera I saw this wonderfully effective sign in a construction zone:
Please slow down. My daddy works here.
The opera, art museum, and chamber music gift shops were all about fancy shawls of velour and lace or beads. Back on Saturday when I went to the Albuquerque Museum of Art I saw an afghan crocheted of cassette recording tape. Maybe there's a market for something in the middle!
8/16/04
Millipede Spirals
Rinconado Canyon Petroglyph Trail is in the southern part of Petroglyph National Monument, and is administered by the National Park Service. Last time I visited the Albuquerque city-administered north part of the Monument. During my ninety minute hike I only saw two other people, both jogging. One guy even had that hose contraption for drinks of water that made him look like a scuba diver out of water. I was reminded of stories of Anasazi messengers running through this country to deliver news to other settlements.
I'm not Hawk Eye when it comes to spotting petroglyphs on the escarpment unless they are smack dab in front of me. I could blame this on my bifocals, but it is more often because I get distracted by lizards, birds, wild flowers, cloud formations, and millipedes as I walk along.
The millipedes are everywhere! They are five to six inches long. They make delicate curving tracks in the sand that look like the sketches of sleep-walking highway engineers. Sometimes the millipedes curl themselves into tight spirals. Are they resting? Sick? Dying? Warding off enemies like the wagons in a circle? Clearly, I don't know beans about millipedes. I will have a new challenge when I get home, as this is one of the first trips I've made without a backseat full of field guides and reference materials.
It is fun to look at the spirals pecked into the stone faces as I hike. The spiral is one of mankinds oldest symbols. My $1.50 kiddie pamphlet that I got for teaching art indicates that the spiral can mean the migration of a clan or tribe. What if it just means, "Look at all those bizarre millipedes, ladies and gentlemen!"?
When I was driving in El Malpais yesterday there were signs warning of elk crossings. We've all heard stories of the damage caused to a minivan that hits a deer. Imagine what hitting a big daddy elk could do to my little rent-a-car. Just in case the spiral petroglyph is a millipede crossing sign, I am careful not to step on any.
I'm not Hawk Eye when it comes to spotting petroglyphs on the escarpment unless they are smack dab in front of me. I could blame this on my bifocals, but it is more often because I get distracted by lizards, birds, wild flowers, cloud formations, and millipedes as I walk along.
The millipedes are everywhere! They are five to six inches long. They make delicate curving tracks in the sand that look like the sketches of sleep-walking highway engineers. Sometimes the millipedes curl themselves into tight spirals. Are they resting? Sick? Dying? Warding off enemies like the wagons in a circle? Clearly, I don't know beans about millipedes. I will have a new challenge when I get home, as this is one of the first trips I've made without a backseat full of field guides and reference materials.
It is fun to look at the spirals pecked into the stone faces as I hike. The spiral is one of mankinds oldest symbols. My $1.50 kiddie pamphlet that I got for teaching art indicates that the spiral can mean the migration of a clan or tribe. What if it just means, "Look at all those bizarre millipedes, ladies and gentlemen!"?
When I was driving in El Malpais yesterday there were signs warning of elk crossings. We've all heard stories of the damage caused to a minivan that hits a deer. Imagine what hitting a big daddy elk could do to my little rent-a-car. Just in case the spiral petroglyph is a millipede crossing sign, I am careful not to step on any.
Quoth the Raven
Mike called me about 10 p.m. The condo smoke detector was going flop bot and cracker dog. I wasn't very with it since I had been sound asleep. My best guess was a spider was doing the bossanova inside the detector. I had fallen asleep during a PBS show about ravens.
Ravens are amazingly smart and aerodynamic. They hang out in great groups of adolescents waiting for some mom to offer them chips and salsa with Dr. Pepper. Bernd Heinrich wrote a fascinating book about ravens called Ravens In Winter.
Woke up about 5:15 Monday, so I just got up and got dressed. When the motel was ready for its continental breakfast I consumed more grape jelly. I was excited to head east watching the sunrise over the mesas. Feeling rosy pink down to my very core!
Arrived well before the visitor center opened at the Petroglyph National Monument west of Albuquerque. Watched gambrel quail mutter-puttering around, lava colored lizard, and hot air balloons above the Rio Grande. Breathe in. Breathe out. The ranger was glad to chat with me about ravens since he watched the show, too.
A dozen years ago I awakened to Texas music during the drive to Petroglyph Park. We drove up Coors Blvd. listening to Mary Chapin Carpenter singing, "I Feel Lucky". It was such a surprising song to me. This time I truly feel lucky on the drive.
Ravens are amazingly smart and aerodynamic. They hang out in great groups of adolescents waiting for some mom to offer them chips and salsa with Dr. Pepper. Bernd Heinrich wrote a fascinating book about ravens called Ravens In Winter.
Woke up about 5:15 Monday, so I just got up and got dressed. When the motel was ready for its continental breakfast I consumed more grape jelly. I was excited to head east watching the sunrise over the mesas. Feeling rosy pink down to my very core!
Arrived well before the visitor center opened at the Petroglyph National Monument west of Albuquerque. Watched gambrel quail mutter-puttering around, lava colored lizard, and hot air balloons above the Rio Grande. Breathe in. Breathe out. The ranger was glad to chat with me about ravens since he watched the show, too.
A dozen years ago I awakened to Texas music during the drive to Petroglyph Park. We drove up Coors Blvd. listening to Mary Chapin Carpenter singing, "I Feel Lucky". It was such a surprising song to me. This time I truly feel lucky on the drive.
8/15/04
Turquoise Toenail Trail
Woke up too early for the motel's continental breakfast, so I watched CNN Headline News and painted my toenails. Used my charm to convince the desk clerk to upgrade my Thursday reservation to a King with a view of the Sandia Crest at the price of a Queen with a view of the interstate interchange.
After my requisite meal of grape jelly I headed back to the UNM campus with my camera. Wandered all through the art department and performing arts center, and around the residence halls. Then headed west out of Albuquerque on Central, which is both the campus drag and the historic Route 66. Wish I had brought the 66 travel guide from Janie! Anyway, I grooved on the old neon motel signs. Stunned to find a Stuckeys still operating at exit 89 from I-40 just east of Grants.
Checked in with my folks. Howie had lost an inlay. This is on top of Fritzi's root canal nightmare. I would have loved sharing this vacation with them, but am so relieved that this latest complication occurred back home.
After my requisite meal of grape jelly I headed back to the UNM campus with my camera. Wandered all through the art department and performing arts center, and around the residence halls. Then headed west out of Albuquerque on Central, which is both the campus drag and the historic Route 66. Wish I had brought the 66 travel guide from Janie! Anyway, I grooved on the old neon motel signs. Stunned to find a Stuckeys still operating at exit 89 from I-40 just east of Grants.
Checked in with my folks. Howie had lost an inlay. This is on top of Fritzi's root canal nightmare. I would have loved sharing this vacation with them, but am so relieved that this latest complication occurred back home.
8/14/04
Uncharted Culinary Wilderness
After my Walmart safari it was time for food. Bumbled into the Range Cafe on Menaul. Alice does Wonderland! I just wanted food that wasn't real fast. What I found was a papier mache decor, a collection of toy ranges (think burners!) from the Fifties and Sixties, and a yummy "Hoosier sandwich" of chicken-fried pork tenderloin. I'll have to put Jeff on the case researching the history of Hoosier pork tenderloin sandwiches.
Jeff reports a tornado warning in Bloomington this week. His dorm, next to the Hoosier basketball coliseum, is made of solid limestone. He also wrote that he remembered watching a show about the Range Cafe on the Food Network. (This is a mind-boggling concept.) I am inspired to visit the original Range Cafe on Route 66 in Bernalillo. I had no idea I had wandered into culinary and cultural sacred ground!
Jeff reports a tornado warning in Bloomington this week. His dorm, next to the Hoosier basketball coliseum, is made of solid limestone. He also wrote that he remembered watching a show about the Range Cafe on the Food Network. (This is a mind-boggling concept.) I am inspired to visit the original Range Cafe on Route 66 in Bernalillo. I had no idea I had wandered into culinary and cultural sacred ground!
Ultralight Flight
Amazingly, it is still the same day that I departed DFW. The Albuquerque Museum in Old Town has an exhibit of aerial photographs by Adriel Heisey. He takes his photos while flying a one-seat plane slightly larger than an ultra-light. The photos show prehistoric sites, archaeological sites, and modern human impact on the land. I'll try to put in a link, but you can check the web at www.cdarc.org. I particularly liked this quote from the exhibit:
Querencia is that love of place--ensouling. The land ensouls you...I think you're born with that in your genes when you're born on this type of landscape. When you're young you don't see it that way, but the older you get the more attached you become to the landscape. Juan Estevan Arellano, journalist and descendant of sixteenth century Spanish settlers of Embudo, New Mexico
The New Mexico landscape is ensouling for me. So is the South Dakota Badlands/Black Hills area. Nebraska and Oklahoma landscapes also form my taproot to Mother Earth. "Ensouling" is the perfect word. I feel New Mexico in my molten vertical core, and in my horizontal, branching airy limbs.
Querencia is that love of place--ensouling. The land ensouls you...I think you're born with that in your genes when you're born on this type of landscape. When you're young you don't see it that way, but the older you get the more attached you become to the landscape. Juan Estevan Arellano, journalist and descendant of sixteenth century Spanish settlers of Embudo, New Mexico
The New Mexico landscape is ensouling for me. So is the South Dakota Badlands/Black Hills area. Nebraska and Oklahoma landscapes also form my taproot to Mother Earth. "Ensouling" is the perfect word. I feel New Mexico in my molten vertical core, and in my horizontal, branching airy limbs.
5/31/04
Conquistadorette
It's really going to happen! I am going to meet my parents in Santa Fe in August. We have talked about this for a long time, and we are really going to do it. They will drive there in a leisurely fashion, and I will fly there with the wonderful free ticket I received for my birthday.
Once we meet up, we will take it slow. That's the Santa Fe way, right? We will go to the O'Keeffe Museum, the International Folk Art Museum, maybe Petroglyph National Monument in Albuquerque, and Taos. My dad wants to see some of the acequias. The engineer is still curious at eighty-one. I am hoping to go to the Santa Fe Opera, perhaps for a performance of Don Giovanni. I have been curious about the opera in Santa Fe ever since my aesthetics professor, Nelson Potter, first talked about it in 1975.
We have the whole summer to fine tune the plan. For now I need to figure out the plane ticket. What a delightful gift for all of us!
Once we meet up, we will take it slow. That's the Santa Fe way, right? We will go to the O'Keeffe Museum, the International Folk Art Museum, maybe Petroglyph National Monument in Albuquerque, and Taos. My dad wants to see some of the acequias. The engineer is still curious at eighty-one. I am hoping to go to the Santa Fe Opera, perhaps for a performance of Don Giovanni. I have been curious about the opera in Santa Fe ever since my aesthetics professor, Nelson Potter, first talked about it in 1975.
We have the whole summer to fine tune the plan. For now I need to figure out the plane ticket. What a delightful gift for all of us!
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