Dreambox: a Visit to Tinkertown

“I did this while you were watching television.” —Ross Ward, creator of Tinkertown.

A room added on to another room. And another. And another. Until I lose count of how many rooms (the website says 22) and porches and connections make up this ramshackle mountain home. Some rooms have walls of wood. Some are composites of concrete and empty glass bottles — the open ends left pointing out so we can tuck messages and wishes inside as we pass by. Some floors are also concrete. Some are hard-packed dirt. Old license plates have been hammered down to cover gaps or jagged bits where two seams of the floor don’t line up quite right. Every room is filled with something. Collections of oddball Americana or dolls or a dry-docked boat. Here and there are mechanical contraptions that move and sing when you drop in a quarter.

The most impressive collection is made up of hundreds of hand-carved and painted wooden figurines, all made by the same man over forty-odd years. A whole town and a circus, filled with characters. Like a Mordillo soccer scene made into little wooden people. I could look all day and still not see every individual carving in the scenes. I make do by trying to see everything that moves when I press a button. The jump-roping girl, the flying Mary Poppins, the hammering blacksmith, the slowly opening coffin lid.

The people visiting this quirky place are mixed. A businessman, middle-class tourists from Texas and Japan, a handful of Mennonites, among many others. We all find the place strange. It’s dusty. Piled in a garage, we might call it junk. Laid out with love on the counters and in boxes and every nook and cranny, it’s not so much a museum as it is the fertile imagination of one man. Imagination given a form that continues on in his memory.

An Intersection in the Middle of Nowhere

US285 and TX FM 1776 cross in the middle of the desert. The only sign of civilization within sight of the road is an idle pump jack.

From a distance the brown of the grass is distinguishable from the brown of the rocky soil below by a yellowish tint and the movement made by the hot wind. The taller mesquite and sagebrush bushes make a thin layer of green, a pale imitation of years past. The lower bushes are crumbly brown where they haven’t been burnt away in the slashing pockets of a grass fire.

A dust devil points a crooked finger high into the sky as if it wants to snatch a hawk from the air. But there is no hawk today. The flat road shimmers and undulates, the mirage shaken up into splashes by the waves of heat off the pavement.

I see no sign of the tarantulas that covered the pavement a few summers ago. Today there is no thunderstorm rolling across the ridges to make gullywashers in the erstwhile arroyos, to drive to the roadbed the desert spiders, safer from the flash flood even if more vulnerable to the odd car tire.

On the next rise, the green of a heavily irrigated alfalfa field jumps out of nowhere, surpising me with its garish obscenity against the landscape drowning in dryness.

Home Again

We packed up the van (not OUR van, a rental, because our van had a double-whammy, pre-trip hissy fit) and drove to Albuquerque and back for the Christmas holidays. The traveling was lovely, the Sonars had a great time, the visit with family was rich, and I am very happy.

We left Coastal Texas in the afternoon on December 20th, with stories about the eclipse looping on the radio. That night, we were too tired to stay awake or to wake up for the eclipse, but as we stopped for the night in Sonora, Texas, I wrote, “Sonora under a solstice eclipse.” The moon was so big, a dusky color, like it was preparing for its big scene later that night.  

The next morning I was moved again by the windmills near Fort Stockton. Longtime readers here might remember that I wrote about the windmills last time we drove through. They line up like wanderers along the front edges of the mesas, soaring and spinning, roaring with the updrafts charging up the ridges.

At lunch that day we ate at Farley’s in Roswell, New Mexico and soaked up the delicious alien kitsch. The smart woman tending the bar there enhanced our lunch with a little Gaga, and the menu reminded us that “It’s better to live and learn than die stupid.”

Just around sunset on our second day of driving, we pulled through the mountain pass and into east Albuquerque to see that city dressed up in her winter jewels, the city lights twinkling on all around us. 

We visited with family that I hadn’t seen for decades. I managed to finish some last-minute knitting and felting (in the bathtub!) for Christmas gifts. We ate posole and chicken stuffed sopaipillas with green chile, and homemade marshmallows (Everyone should make marshmallows at least once in their life. We make them each year around the holidays.). I learned how to properly make our family’s fruit salad (yep, I’d been doing it wrong and I’m so glad to be enlightened).  We drove up into the mountains east of the city and found mud puddles and sledding-snow in the same spot. We slid and slid and slid and managed to get only our shoes muddy. 

I hope your holidays had some marshmallows and mud and a lot of love in them.

Memorable notes from the not-a-journal:

Did you say Deli Bean?

Deep Sand Beyond Shoulder

Pump jacks and the miasma of H2S every two skips (“Do Not Stop in Low Places”)

Me and Billy the Kid never got along, and outgoing D-Gov Bill Richardson should not pardon him. Dad reminds me that without clever writers, no one would even know about Billy the Kid. Or Jesus, I add in my head, winking and taking the hug.

Red or Green? Hot or Mild? Corn or Flour?

From am radio: Rupert Parish Disposal, Our Business Stinks but it’s Picking Up

Best railroad car graffitti: “snow” dripping from the “eaves” of a cargo box

Sympathetic Ignition

At Frog Pond Creek, somewhere in Texas, in the early morning fog, the Sonars inform me that this is good D&D fog, to cloak early morning travelers across the plains.

There IS a Garden of Eden in Eden, Texas.

Upon our return to the coastal plains: the land is so flat I feel like I can see the curve of the Earth.

A Paper-Tweet Vacation

We recently drove from sunny Coastal Texas to chilly-snowy North-Central New Mexico.  We do this sometimes.  Usually in a Eurovan with three children and enough stuff to keep us busy for three months.  The drive both ways was absolutely beautiful.  The Sonars wanted to see snow in New Mexico and they were not disappointed.  The snow season in New Mexico has been spectacular (it’s snowed once more since we left).  We had flurries at Papa and Nana’s house on the northwest side of Albuquerque, and we spent a glorious slippery afternoon tobogganing on the east side of the Sandias. 

I resisted the urge to tweet away the vacation with my phone.  At more leisurely moments though, I could not resist the urge to jot down (on actual paper!) things I might have tweeted at those moments.  And just to make it look like I have nothing to do right now, I thought I’d share them with you. 

 The stunning sunset view from my parents’ porch. North Albuquerque and a portion of the Sandia Mountains at sunset. Please click this thumbnail to make it bigger. It’s worth it.

March 13, 2010

*On the road from Calvert, Texas to Corrales, New Mexico.

*Lost in Waco, home of Dr Pepper. Baylor buildings are pretty. Don’t see any bears.

*Dublin, TX. Heard a rumor they make DP w/cane sugar here. Knights of Pithius sign in the Rotary bldg window. Big shudder.

*Gorman Mills. Peanut elevator!

*Abilene is long and skinny w/ few food choices on the interstate besides truck stops.

*Sweetwater, TX, Sonic. Rattlesnake Roundup this weekend. Apparently we are the only people here not attending.

*Roscoe, TX. Wind turbines on the edge of the highway. Huge and ready to march across the plains. They are crankin!

*Farm the wind from the air and cotton from the soil. Road Radio: Def Leppard.

*Price Daniel Unit TDJC. What does this mean? Road Radio: Bad girlfriend.

*Snyder, TX. Bathroom break. 

*Knitting. Finished a sock at Justiceburg, TX.

*Texas is pretty big. 11 hours on the road and we haven’t left the state yet. #understatement

*Pride Runs Deep in Shallowwater. #roadsigns

*Anton, TX. Pronunciation tips anyone? Ant’n? Ann-tahn?

*Looks like dinner in Clovis, NM. Anyone have a favorite place?

*Prairie dogs are watching cars go by from the edge of the freeway.

*Sudan.

*Tumbleweed!

*Ack!  (Someone nearly ran us off the road there. Happily, a state trooper was there to catch the dangerous passing and the speeding)

*Was that a pull-camper decorated like a dog?

*Ah. We made it to our destination in good time.  To bed now. 

 Sunday March 14

*Someone who shall remain nameless, in an overtired state, might have tried to pee on the ceiling in his sleep.

*Cold front moves in. Sky turns gloomy. Will it snow?

*It’s snowing! We’re bundling up the kids to go look for enough snow to slide in.

*Snow rain sun snow rain sun snow rain sun

*Toboggan at Sandia moutains. Slushy cold snowballs silding mud fluffy snowflakes fun leading to happy tired.

*Altitude change and dry air playing havoc with sinuses.

Monday March 15

*Snow-covered mountain view in the morning sunshine.  Sonar X9 wants to do more sliding. Brisk walk.

*The kids are bringing sand from the driveway to the patio on sock-load at a time.

Tuesday March 16

*Albuquerque has a lot of billboards. #understatement

*Explora! An amazing museum where we can play with everything! Sciencey, puzzley, educationey, geeky.

*Explora! We could come back every day and neither get bored nor play with it all. 

*Explora! There are many things in this museum I’d love to imitate at home. Ex: the stretchy sail room dividers that are adjustibly attached to walls with old stereo jacks. (ok, that one’s too long to be a tweet. Cut me some slack.  I was on vacation.)

*Explora! Gift shop is as awesome as the rest of the museum. I bought brain-teaser puzzles for the drive home.

*Dream food: Little Anita’s chicken tacos or enchiladas.

*A common New Mexico question: red or green?  Come on.  No contest.  Green all the way baby. 

*Dry sinus misery. If I don’t drink till my eyeballs float I can hardly breathe. I might be turning into a mummy.

Wednesday March 17

*Happy St. Patrick’s day. Brisk morning walk. Chewy dark beer in the afternoon. Home-cooked corned beef and cabbage by Nana.

*New running shoes and sport sandals for Sonar X9 (he’s training for a team marathon). Shiny shoes are always faster.

*Didn’t get a chance to call bro to wish him a happy birthday until it was late in the evening. I suspect he’s already on a pub crawl.

Thursday March 18

*Another brisk morning walk. Convinced Sonar X5 to come. Sonar X9 ran most of the way.

*New sport sandals for Sonar X5. Not so shiny but easier to shake out the sand than tennies.

*Dan, Sonars X7 and X9 return to the mountain for more sliding. Here on the mesa it’s nearly 70F.

*Sonar X5 and I hang with Nana on the patio and try not to get a sunburn. Only partly successful.

*Delicious pizza dinner and more of that growly dark beer. Love the molassesy undertones. 

Friday March 19

*Rough night w/much sneezing, coughing, and flopping. We are all histy. Time to head home. New Mexico we will miss you!

*On the road by 6am MDT. Hoping to hit our southerly turn at Cline’s Corners before sunrise breaks the horizon.

*Made the turn moments before daybreak, saving us some eyeball splitting.

*Beautiful sunrise over the desert. Orange yellow pink purple blue grey.

*Everyone’s skin feels like paper.

*Snow remains in many shady nooks and crannies along the road.

*Encino, NM is not quite a modern day ghost town, but very very close. Not much more than a speed trap w/ many dilapidated buildings.

*Breakfast in Vaughn, NM. The Conoco store or Penny’s Diner?

*Penny’s was nice. It will fill you up, but don’t expect it to be fast. 

*Eastern New Mexico: big ranches, wide open spaces, cows, easy driving on 285S to Roswell.

*Speed limit: 70mph. My speed: 74mph. The driver who just passed me rapidly: reading a book. #crazy

*Vaughn to Roswell: not much. A few startlingly green alfalfa fields, fewer than a dozen buildings visible from highway, handful of bus stops.

*Subtle shift around mile marker 114. Less cow. More drilling.

*Roswell’s alien kitsch is always fun. Town seems very vibrant compared to many communities.

*Let the tantrums commence. Nearly 1/3 home, three tantrums so far. Good news though, I can mostly breathe through my nose again. 

*Almost halfway. Trying to delay lunch another half hour. Should I bribe them with jellybeans?

*Stop sign in middle of nowhere. Intersection between US Hwy 285 and TX Farm to Market Rd 1776. No traffic. Weird.

*Ft. Stockton one of my fave parts of this drive. Halfway and the wind turbines.

*The turbines stand at the head of the mesas and ridges like forward scouts or sentinels. Sneak up in valleys to ambush unsuspecting passersby.

*A beautiful sand- and chocolate-colored paint horse near the road.

*The scrubby bushes at Ft. Stockton grow steadily on the road to San Antonio, gradually becoming trees.

*A goat standing on the side of the road.  Some dogs on the roof of a building. Not in the same towns.

*Darkness falls as we hit San Antonio. We stop to eat and load up an audio book for the kids. Hoot by Carl Hiassen.

*Kids drop off to sleep one at a time. We do not drop off to sleep. 

*Amazingly, we make it home way before midnight. One more brief tantrum of waking confusion, and we all land in our beds, happy to be home.

*We’ve had a lovely time. Thanks for sharing snippets with me. #love

Off We Go, A Vacation Preparation Checklist

In my pre-vacation procrastination I apparently forgot to post this.  Just pretend that you don’t know we’ve already returned.  

1.  Do not leave behind anything that will be gross when we return.  Trash, food, laundry, science fair experiments. 

a. Take out trash. 

b. Cook, freeze, or give away food that can’t be taken with us. Eat the last four brownies with an enormous glass of milk in an effort to use up the milk.

c. Nibble at everything and begin ingesting absurd amounts of caffeine.

e. Wash and put away clothes.

f. Freshen the aquatic habitats and ask someone to feed the animals while we’re gone.

g. Get distracted cleaning something that hasn’t been cleaned for a while but has no relevance to the trip or the empty house. For example, the toaster.  Stop and clean out the toaster crumbs even if the toaster won’t be used while we’re gone.  Then panic about how little time is left before the children come home from school and we leave. 

2.  Prepare for the return.

a. Make beds ready for sleep, in case we return late.

b. Resist taking a nap in a freshly made bed.

c. Check cupboards for some kind of nonperishable food that the children are willing to eat in case we return late and/or hungry.

3.  Pack.

a. Clothes appropriate for travel and destination. (Snow clothes!!)

b. Convince the children that even though they have worn shorts to school all week, there is no way that they will need shorts where we are going, especially since there is a reasonable expectation of some snow.

c. Ignore the nine year old’s well-reasoned argument that while the high desert does get cold at night at this time of year, the daytime temperatures can often be as much as forty or fifty degrees higher, thus opening up a narrow possibility of short-need. 

d. Travel snacks, drinks, and entertainment.  Be sure there are enough snacks for ten people for ten days even though we are five people traveling to see grandparents with a well-stocked pantry for one week in a place that has stores.

e. Enough knitting and books to keep us busy for five months even though we’re only leaving for one week.

f. Gifts for people we will visit.

g. The cell phone and iPod chargers.

h. Lovies or lap blankets for children who might have to sleep in their seats while we drive over highways that expect snowstorms during our travel.  

4. In the middle of everything, stop and procrastinate for a while. Spend some time reading blogs that I couldn’t care less about.  Googlemap the trip 500 different ways.  Print out four of them even though we know exactly how to get where we’re going and we always go the same way. 

5. Panic about absurd contingencies. 

6. Calm down and plan for more reasonable contingencies.

a. Tell a trusted neighbor that we’ll be gone.

c. Make sure to have emergency contacts on the cell phone AND scribbled on a piece of paper and tucked inside the novel or knitting bag I’m bringing.

7. Spend an hour writing a blog post about getting ready for a trip, even though I haven’t actually done anything on the list.  

8. When the kids come home from school, and while one is finishing the science experiment that involves milk and juices sitting on the counter for a week, convince them that that we do not need to bring an entire drawer full of markers and toys that they cannot play with inside the car.

9. Have a plan to feed everyone a dinner composed of perfectly good food that needs to be eaten, but cave to picking up sandwiches on the way out of town.

10. At the last minute, after the suitcases are in the car, remember that I needed to pack some extra clothes for the youngest child, who is at Grandma’s and will be picked up along the way.  Cram some clothes into a grocery bag, intending to put them in his overnight bag when we get him.  Keep the clothes in this grocery bag all week, and tell him it’s a new kind of disposable suitcase.  [I forgot to do this one, so he wore the same two shirts all week.]

11. Collapse into the driver/passenger seat an hour later than we intended to leave, turn the radio up, roll the windows down, and appreciate the warm sea breeze for a few miles as we drive off to Northern New Mexico.  

 Off we go to grandparents, green chile, (maybe) snow, and fun.  Have a great Spring Break everyone!