the girls are young, 5 and 8, and i think they're grateful to finally have a home to call their own. they remember a bit about their foster homes and their original home, but not much, and that will recede as time goes on, probably. fortunately they like swimming, and they get along pretty well with the two boys. one of the girls is eight and a little competitive with the eight-year-old boy, but that girl plays with the older boy, while the younger boy has taken on the five-year-old as an ally. you could call that taking sides, but i think there's a bit of that anyway, no matter what you do, and it's a way of easing into the new situation, i hope, rather than a permanent alignment.
the road southwest toward the mountain goes through texas cotton fields and some ranching territory before it comes to a large oilfield at a place called maljamar, new mexico. there you come around over this large hill and look out over thousands of oil derricks; on thursday the valley had a light-colored haze probably caused by dust. of course the smell of oil weighs heavily on the whole region. in two towns, maljamar and loco hills, new white trucks crowded the place as if it was some kind of auction of oil equipment. closer to artesia, the drillers' town, there was a traffic jam. right through there you see the pecos, one of the west's great rivers, but it's just a creek crawling through the plains, with oil drills in sight wherever you look.
the girls have never been out of the area, really. they've been living in a trailer that has a number of other foster children, a kind of way station for kids on their way to places like ours, more permanent. it's amazing, really, that they survived, can still be happy, have hope, go forward. their school is not as rigorous as ours; they may end up behind. we are not to put their names out there on facebook, or on the web, because they don't want people tracking them down. it's an odd kind of limbo.
out west of artesia, the road starts climbing up into the mountains around a place called penasco creek. this is the sign that the vast plain, which goes on infinitely it seems, has turned into dry rocky mountain foothills. a ways farther is the vulgar store where they have racial slur signs; then, you're in the mountains. for a brief five or ten minutes you're in an area that gets enough rain. i open my windows, take pictures of the snow on the mountains. the boys don't want to stop. for them, it's onward to grandma's where there's cookies and the driving will finally be over. that's two more hours, crashing down into the hot desert, across the white sands, and up over the organs to las cruces. my sister is there as well; she has started boiling down red chilis, playing mexican music, and shopping at the farmers' market but she is worried that the summer will be too hot, which it might be. it's too hot in texas too. that high mountain hideaway is possibly the only place where it's not too hot.
the girls will be #9 and #10 in our family, already full, five granddaughters now, and they will bring us summers of noise and things to do, force us to provide options besides the endless media circus where the boys either play videogames that have caught their fancy, or watch television. the boys are eager to show them the corners of the media that they've found. i'm eager to get the whole pack off the media, for a change, but here i am, typing as usual, it looks to them like i'm playing computer just like them. it seems like it's all just a game. inevitably they find stuff i don't really want them watching. i pull them into ping pong, or to the park; i'm already scrambling for alternatives. and i'm tired. i haven't set up the trains, or built a tree house. i haven't even bought enough bicycles. i'm just barely cleaning out the garage.
and that's only because my wife is out of town, visiting granddaughter #5 in peoria, and the place is unusually quiet. it could be, that when all is said and done, the dogs are settled, some sleep will settle in - our room is over flint avenue, a rather busy street, but the busy sounds are actually reassuring, the dogs don't mind, all they mind is the occasional cat, or maybe the people who walk by, with their dogs, right in front of the window. they feel that, as long as they're free, it must be time to do their job, which is to bark relentlessly to let anyone know who is occupying the house, and who is where.
the boys were in a hurry coming back; the girls and their nephew were waiting for them. they have an important role now, and they know it; it'll be time for all of us to get outside more, and get some of this spring air. it's supposed to rain on wednesday, first rain since maybe august. yet it rains too much, some places, most notably washington state, or california, or maybe the north where it's still coming down as snow, endlessly, on into april. we all have to walk a weather tightrope for a few scores, while the poles and glaciers melt, and everyone adjusts to the results. don't know what place will turn out to be habitable, or where you might find just the right amount of water. that one little mountain town seems like a good candidate, but that guy with his hateful signs keeps coming to mind. maybe it's time for some civilized people to just crowd him out of business, and set up some other kind of enterprise right nearby. it's like fred phelps' death: if the crown kind of vulgar free speech passes on, then the world can sigh in relief, as it will finally cool off just a little.