Las Vegas is about as opposite as you can get from Graceland, the five acres of raw land without water or electricity in Colorado’s San Luis Valley (see picture above on blog headliner) where stands perched my 25 foot, thirty-five year old trailer. Both places are in high deserts, a landscape that always speaks to my soul. So I’m all ears now, listening intently while strangely nestled here in the luxurious lap of Vegas, straining to grasp the meaning of it all.
The road that led me here, via my current home in Texas (Whitesboro to be exact), is, of course, as unpredictable and challenging as ever. This latest journey began when Bill and I decided late last summer to make room for drastic changes in our lives. We’ve practiced flexibility like never before, but it’s proving to be a much harder quality to achieve than we could have possibly imagined. Neither of us, however, is ready to give up.
One part of that journey has continued to be looking for work that we can both do along side the elder care we assumed responsibility for on this move south. When a close friend from Vegas called and offered me an immediate position being a puppy-nanny/house-sitter for th
e next two and a half weeks, flying me out (and even Bill for a visit while I’m here) and compensating me well, as you might guess, I accepted.
The decision wasn’t as easy as you might expect. Spring is Texas’ most lovely season, and I only just finished putting in a brand new garden. Watching all the babies sprout and spread is a joy I’ve been anticipating as an attempt to assuage my grief over leaving my well-worked Denver gardens. Bill agreed to assume care for not just the gardens, but more importantly for my mom. Add to that three dogs, and the honey-do list was soon two pages long.
So here I am in Vegas, doing my best to tame and tire a three-month-old pure white German shepherd puppy and comfortably relax in what to me must be a gazillion-dollar residence, securely ensconced within a double-gated community. Neighbors are entertainers, casino owners, attorneys, docs and other business owners/entrepreneurs, the latter two being the work of my friend-employers. Even the homes often look like casinos; only here sprightly green golf courses wend their ways through the high price community with tanned, demure golfers leisurely scooting around in carts instead of flip-flopped, partying tourists goggling a Disneyland-like world. I keep thinking I’ll snap some pics on a dog walk, but I’m afraid of being punched like a paparazzi photographer or dragged off when unaware by my canine prodigy chasing a bumblebee.
I double-checked on the authenticity of the bumblebees this morning, having already plopped on some grass earlier with a very tired puppy only to discover the lawn was Astroturf. This clearly makes more sense to me than trying to maintain a lush green environment in the desert. However I remember when on a trip to Vegas in the nineties for the 40th birthday of this same beloved friend for whom I’m now house sitting, I took a walk outside of the Bellagio where festivities were being held only to discover that the cricket sounds I was hearing were being piped in and played through discreet speakers around the walk-way. On this trip I’ve hesitated to use one of the two pairs of binoculars I schlepped with me, for the same reasons as I won’t snap pictures, and also because I’m afraid to discover the birdsong enticing me to look won’t be real.
Most of my explorations thus far have been inside the house, the first out of necessity: the bathroom. While on the throne, I noticed an enticing panel of multiple buttons off to one side. Let’s see, seat temperature, water temperature, water pressure, angle of nozzle, wash rinse, and dry, and of course desired dry temperature. Well, that’s more than I’ve ever been offered in a similar environment and even more than I’ve ever imagined. After availing myself to all the possibilities I find myself challenged to remember to flush. Bet the dogs around here are not even tempted to develop the annoying habit of sticking their noses in people’s crotches.
Again in the bathroom, desperate for a shower late one night, exhausted, no glasses, staring at a wall of nozzles and gadgets, I clumsily ventured forth and started twisting and turning one shiny knob after the other, hoping for a waterfall of hot water from somewhere. At least the stones I was standing on were wonderfully heated, and even the seat behind me if I wearied of my exploration. Soon I had a variety of spraying happening from multiple nozzles and angles and a shower like none other in full progress. I considered sleeping there.
Sometimes I peruse fancy home decorator magazines when my choices are few in a doctor’s waiting room. I flip through them, often wondering how inviting the kitchens would actually be for a team of messy cooks like Bill and me. Cleared, shiny granite kitchen counters appear cold, hard and uninviting. What is it exactly that makes a kitchen environment warm, savory and appetizing? I remember Bill’s and my kitchen in Denver and the huge amount of time we spent there preparing dinners straight from the garden, regularly having sweet candlelight suppers alone and frequently sharing dinners with friends. Ahhh, more tender memories of the home and community we left behind. 
Homes like this seem to yearn for a mess here and there, though not the kind that a puppy can create by chewing up her world in a flash. My friends’ home is absolutely stunning, right out of the finest decorator magazine, including the exquisite chandeliers that project and reflect colors beautifully through various arrays of crystals that appear to drip from the lights, and the majestic shiny, black grand piano that plays itself (since no one here actually plays), and a fireplace for all seasons (for view only, if you choose, with no heat produced) with flames that flick at the push of a button dancing above a long, narrow bed of gorgeous crystals. I hardly know where to kick back, relax and munch some granola.
Speaking of granola, I made it to a Whole Foods yesterday out on a ‘hunt and gather’ trip, parking the Hummer I have been left to drive far enough away so no one would see me. I try not to look at this enormous machine upon approach, preferring to open the door and climb in pretending it’s just an ordinary vehicle. Even then, I’m up so high and take up so much of the road I definitely feel like an intimidating military commando. I haven’t had to fill the tank up yet, and worry I’ll faint at the ticket price, or how I’ll manage any stares at the pump. I’m pretty sure I look like an unlikely candidate as either a Hummer driver or owner. This being the vehicle at my disposal, I suppose I shall just look at it as yet another opportunity for practicing flexibility.
But figuring out the meaning of it all while perched in this glittery high desert? Well, I haven’t arrived there yet. This much I do know: every day I find something meaningful to ponder or experience, whether in Vegas, Whitesboro, or Denver. I know that doesn’t sound particularly deep, and I like to think I’m a
pretty reflective, deep person, but there it is, stark and true in it’s buck-naked simplicity. The more I learn to amble thoughtfully without becoming burdened with judgments, anxiety, or grief, the more life unfurls with ease and grace.
(inside pics snapped in last 2 days by pe)
