Taos Writer Finds a Home

by Sandy Penny, Taos Writer

When I first arrived in Taos, I had no real intention of staying. It was just a convenient stop on my journey to wherever I would live. I didn’t have a destination in mind, I just kind of knew what it felt like and looked like from a dream I had before leaving Houston.

My friend Madeline, whom I had know for years in Houston, had recently been inspired to buy a house in Taos. She said if I made it to Taos, I could stay there, even though she would not be there when I arrived. I took her up on her offer and spent about six weeks in her home.

After the “stuck in a snow storm” scenario, I made a commitment to stay in Taos. The mountain had bewitched me. I had started dating a man who also wanted to move to Taos, and we decided to share a place for a while, until we both got settled.

I was looking for a sign that the location was the right one to inspire me while writing the angel book with Dr. Johnnie. I called him Johnnie Angel after the old song from my childhood. As I drove around searching for a sign, I saw a “for rent” sign right next to an etched metal angel. I knew immediately that this was the right place.

I followed the arrows leading me to an old hacienda. The place radiated a Catholic monastery vibe. I later found that, indeed, it had belonged to the St. Francis monastery at one time. The door to my little one bedroom casita even had bars and a tiny door in it so you could see who was there. It was a very sweet place.

The portal, covered outdoor patio space, was even equipped with a phone line and electricity, so I could sit outside and work on my book. The beautiful flowers bloomed all around the inner sanctum yard. A short walk down the driveway provided a spectacular view of the swirling multi-layered sunset. What better place to write about angels than a former monk’s residence?

However, that was temporary as the building had been sold and was to change hands in about six weeks. So, I would have to find a more permanent place to live.

The one thing the hacienda lacked was good cell phone reception. Inside or out, you had to hold the phone just right to get any reception, and it might not hold for long. One day, as I was driving around, I discovered a little church on Cruz Alta. My phone rang, and I pulled into their parking lot to answer it. What a beautiful view it was. And, wonder of wonders, the cell reception was great. Thereafter, I began using the little church as a peaceful place to sit and talk to Dr. Johnnie or friends from Houston.

After a few weeks of this, I thought, "Wow, I wish I could live on Cruz Alta. It’s a lovely view with cell reception." I asked the angels to make it happen. Just a couple of days later, I was driving down Cruz Alta after a phone stint, and a little “for rent” sign hanging on a fence jumped out at me. I immediately called the number, and asked what they were renting, expecting it to be a nice big house that I could not afford. But, it was just a one-room casita attached to a house that rented separately.

I began to get excited as this felt like a response from the angels. When I went to see the place, I noticed the distinctive smell of skunk. I learned that a skunk had recently been removed from under the casita, and that the smell would dissipate shortly. Because of the skunky smell, they reduced the rent to a very low amount, lower than I could have expected to pay. I was thrilled.

It took a few weeks for the skunk smell to completely go away, but lots of incense and sage covered it up and kept my clothes from absorbing the odor. That was almost three years ago, and I’m still in my little writer’s cottage, still paying the same low rent, and I’m thrilled to be here.

(Contact Sandy Penny at sandypenny@live.com for help with your writing, editing, or small business marketing needs. Sandy manages the ButterFly section of the Horse Fly newspaper in Taos, NM and will be working with the P.R. for the Horse Fly Summer of Love Events. She also coaches local writers.)

Taos Writer Gets Cold Shoulder

The White Out
by Sandy Penny

I  left Houston, Texas on a spiritual quest in the balmy fall of 2005 and, after much wandering, found myself in Taos, New Mexico in the cold white month of January 2006. I was working on an intriguing spiritual writing project with hospice doctor, John Lerma about people who see angels when they're dying.

Several times I tried to leave Taos, but the Taos Mountain had decided I was staying, and the weather cooperated with the mountain to keep me here.
At the end of March, I took a little jaunt up to Valley View in Colorado, having always wanted to be at the hot springs when it was snowing. It was a lovely place to work on my angel book. After a few days, the weather seemed to be worsening, with five or six inches of snow on the roof of my car every morning, so I decided it was time to go south.

I intended to go down to Albuquerque and re-evaluate staying in Taos. I just really was not used to the cold weather and the snow after 35 years in Houston. As I headed down 285 south, a huge black raven-like cloud appeared in the distance, flying directly toward me. It was kind of mesmerizing. It seemed as if it touched the ground and flew back into the air. I suddenly feared there was a tornado in that cloud formation, and recorded a quick message to my kids about how much I loved them, just in case.

As I headed toward the giant raven cloud, it headed toward me, and suddenly I was under it, and although there was no tornado, the snow surrounded me and whitened my entire existence as if I had died and was in the midst of the clouds before the light appears. I could no longer see the road, and I could barely distinguish where the side of the road dropped off. A mighty wind hurled me across the road, and when I tried to steer into it, relented and I skidded perilously toward the drop-off. I quickly corrected and slowed down even more. It was the closest thing to a blizzard I had ever seen.

I was alone. I slowly dialed the radio and found only scratchy blankness. I set the automatic search and forgot about trying to get a station. I flipped open my cell phone. Nothing there either. I was deeply alone and did not know what I should do in this case. I could not pull over because I could not tell where the drop-offs were, and I was afraid my car would run out of gas while I ran the heater, and I would be found frozen in a hill of snow. So I inched my way forward at about five miles per hour. I could not see what lay ahead of me, and I prayed no one was stalled on the road because I could not have stopped by the time I saw them. I just kept moving forward even though I had no idea where I was headed.

After hours of inching toward my impossible destination and battling with bouts of wind, I had not made much headway, and my only company was an occasional raven clinging to a fence post or walking along the ground, their ominous blackness directly contrasting with the pure white surroundings. I was so scared that I began to cry and plead with whatever power there is to help me get somewhere safe. The silence was truly deafening. I recorded a few more goodbyes on my digital recorder. Finally, the radio blared, and I was blessed by the sound of a human voice. The announcer read off the road closings, and the road I was on, in my little red Mazda Protege, was closed to all but those with chains. I barely had decent tires. Oh well, how could I have known, with no radio and no cell phone?

For the life of me, I couldn't figure out what to do. I knew the altitude before I got to Espanola was higher than where I was now, and likely more snowy and frozen. At long last, I saw a turnoff. I was at Tres Piedres, the point where they were telling people not to continue south. The only turnoff was left and it headed directly to Taos. I wondered if I could even make it there as the road was deep with snow. The radio announcer said 32 inches had fallen in the last few hours. Wow, what was I doing out here?

I noted a few tire tracks heading toward Taos on Hwy 64, so I ventured forward. I knew my friend Madeline would let me stay at her house again. I at least had shelter there. I drove in the tracks of trucks that had gone before me and safely crossed the slippery Rio Grande Gorge bridge. I knew I could probably make it the rest of the way into town, and my mood lightened a bit. After OBL, the old blinking light, I picked up cell phone reception again and called Madeline. When she answered, the stress finally let go and I blubbered my plight to her.
Although she was currently in balmy Houston, she called her realtor who delivered a key to me while I enjoyed a very belated breakfast burrito smothered in Christmas chile, red and green mixed, at Michael's Kitchen. I told my story to a few strangers who had also just completed their harrowing drives. Coffee sure does taste good when you come in from the cold.

After that, I stopped struggling to leave and just accepted my fate. Like many others, the Taos Mountain had claimed me for its own for now. I had no choice; I might as well enjoy the view and light the fireplace.

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