I
don’t want to croon this, but “I left my heart in Albuquerque.” At least I feel
that way from time to time. The place was my home for several years, the scene
of important work and changes, and the romantic geographical focus of my
dreams.
In
1990 I left woeful central Missouri with its extreme weather, stressful job,
and joyless culture and headed west on the train to my destination in the high
mountain steppes of New Mexico. The train pulled in five hours late, but my
family was waiting and took me to our new home in the Northeast Heights at the
beautiful Mesa del Oso townhome community. The furniture was already in place set
up by my family who had arrived several days earlier. Folk from the church had
supplied food for the first few days. Their hospitality marked the beginning of
a rich relationship with a congregation and community.
The
church was fine, the first congregation I had ever loved as so many clergy
claim about their churches. Its buildings were Mission and Pueblo Revival styles,
its program diverse, its music-making an important focus, its involvement in
the larger community significant, and its theology and attitude more liberal
than any congregation with which I had worked. I liked the folk who at a
welcoming reception greeted me and my family with Southwestern fare and stood
around talking to us and each other with such intensity and animation as to
seem like the gathering was a cocktail party. These people liked one another. I
liked them, a gathering of professionals from diverse fields. I easily fit in
since, like most of them, I too came from the middle part of the country. Their
liberality seemed to spring from the fact that they had left the Midwest and
set roots far away from the small towns of their origins. They were affable,
tolerant, generous, and inventive. And I liked them and was pleased for years to
work with them in various capacities.
The
city had a different look when contrasted with Kansas, Texas, or Missouri where
I had lived. The look, arising largely from the preponderance of flat-roofed
adobe-style houses, appealed to me. This unusual city sat in the morning shadow
of the Sandia Mountains, sprawling from the edge of the alpine wilderness across
the flats of the Rio Grande River. One of America’s oldest cities, the place enjoyed
a rich history, the diversity of which was reflected in the names of city
streets, last names in the phone directory, and lots of Hispanic and Native
American people living there. My Indian fantasies were constantly fed by
western clothing, Native American jewelry, and tribal pottery. The Arts figure
large in Albuquerque, and I loved living in such an atmosphere. Working just a
couple of blocks from the University of New Mexico, I was surrounded with
creative and bright people in a multi-cultural atmosphere with overtones of
being progressive.
There
weren’t any little cable cars but a huge tram scaled the side of the tallest Sandia
peak. At the top, over 10,000 feet above sea level, I certainly felt halfway to
the stars. From there the city views impressed and the far stretch of mountains
and desert thrilled me. I especially loved the fact that even down below in the
town when one drove the major thoroughfares always there were mountains. To the
west one saw in the mid-ground five cinder cones of ancient volcanoes and in
the distance the snowcapped Mt. Taylor. Driving south one viewed desert
mountains that defined the flow of the Rio Grande. To the north lay high mesas
and distant peaks, including the Sangre de Christos and the northwestern end of
the Sandias. The eastern view featured the massive barrier of the Sandia and
Manzano Mountain ranges.
Old
Town always called to me, especially when I felt frustrated with work or just
plain lazy. I enjoyed walking its unusual streets, looking at its architectural
mix that included the 17th century San Felipe de Neri church, and
strolling through its shops full of curios and artwork, clothing and furniture.
I liked sitting on its plaza and patios sipping a Coke or coffee while watching
the crowds, hearing the variety of languages, and wondering what curiosities
brought people there. In some ways, going to Old Town was like leaving the
country.
My
five years in Albuquerque were rich with relationships. My children enjoyed the
place for several months before they went on their ways into adulthood. Eventually
one returned with his new family! More distant family members visited along
with friends from several states. We kept a very busy house almost like hosts
in a bed and breakfast. We made new friends there among co-workers,
congregational members, and neighbors. Among our closest were white, black,
brown, and red folk (if you will excuse this racial shorthand) who each brought
special gifts of culture and love into our home. We entertained rich and poor,
single and married, troubled and calm, funny and dour. We lived it up with an
array of writers, musicians, dancers, artists, actors, engineers, lawyers,
professors, athletes, teachers, doctors, clergy, plumbers, opera fans, office
managers, and food service providers. We ate a mixed cuisine and danced to a
variety of music. Albuquerque had a lot to offer and we took advantage of its
special blend of entertainments.
In
addition to these qualities and folk, I had my own personal adventures with
friendships, a couple of which became sexualized. They transformed me and
taught me more about myself than I had up to that time realized. They also put a
strain on my marriage. My activities and loves were not overlooked by my wife. We
both learned a lot about me in Albuquerque, and we both have abiding
friendships from there to add to our own continuing post-divorce friendship.
Eventually
we moved, my wife and I, to her family farm to help out with her folks. Then I
applied for another church job, my final one, in another state. I hated leaving
Albuquerque and strongly considered returning there after my marital
separation. Eventually though I realized while the city was wonderful and had
been in some ways the location of my great changes, I needed another even larger
place. So I followed my heart to Denver, Colorado, the place I plan to live out
my years and eventually leave my ashes.
I don’t know if Albuquerque could ever again be my home, but some winter
days when my knees ache I think I might be more comfortable down there where
the winters are even milder than here.
© 5 January 2012
About
the Author
Phillip Hoyle
lives in Denver and spends his time writing, painting, and socializing. In
general he keeps busy with groups of writers and artists. Following thirty-two
years in church work and fifteen in a therapeutic massage practice, he now
focuses on creating beauty. He volunteers at The Center leading the SAGE
program “Telling Your Story.”
He also blogs at artandmorebyphilhoyle.blogspot.com
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