Notes, Horses, Highways

  The Dopamine Diaries: Dispatches from Home   It’s a quiet morning—if you don’t count the crows in the woods hosting what sounds like a bitter custody battle, the hummingbirds dive-bombing each other like sugar-fueled fighter jets, and the finches chirping around my garden like it’s the opening act of a Disney flick. Mercifully, the backyard corgi breeders’ canine choir next door (five strong, all soprano) haven’t found their voices yet. Beamer, noble loaf that he is, is curled up beside me for his post-breakfast nap. My coffee cup is half full (I’m feeling generous), and my back is delivering a vivid report on yesterday’s overambitious gardening, shopping, and cooking. There are dishes in the sink muttering about abandonment, laundry that dreams of being folded, a camper still trailing breadcrumbs from the road, and a thousand other chores lobbying for attention. And yet—here I sit. I miss being on the road. I don’t miss dragging the swaying blue bubble behind me like a relu...

June 11, 2025 – Buffalo, WY I pulled into Buffalo after a 12-hour drive from Gunnison. No frills. No detours. Just highway miles, alone with my thoughts and a deep ache to stop moving. Once across the Colorado state line it was mile after mile of bright green rolling hills, a few oil wells, and antelope dotting the in-between. I set up camp in a fog of fatigue. Fed Beamer. Collapsed for a while, then tried to find something decent to eat. All I came up with was a dry chicken sandwich from Hardee’s. Something that looked as if the maker had tossed it against a wall before throwing it into the bag.  I haven’t cooked in the trailer yet—just nuked a few things in the microwave. I haven’t been anywhere long enough without friends, restaurants, or fatigue to feel like building a fire and pretending I’m “camping.” June 12, 2025 – Buffalo, WY My birthday. No cake. No streamers. Just me, Beamer, and the Big Horn Mountains. Plenty of well wishes from friends, thanks to Facebook and texts. A ...

  June 8, 2025    Somewhere between Prescott margaritas, Santa Fe massage tables, and my camper fridge possibly growing a new life form, I lost track of the blog. But here I am — in Gunnison, in bed with Beamer and a hot cup of good intentions.  Sorry for the silence. I’ve been caught up in the social swirl of this leg of the trip. That’s no small feat for a reclusive animal like me. Beamer, however? He’s thriving. O! M! G! I wish I had a video of the afternoon we arrived at my friends’ beautiful home here in Gunnison, surrounded by lush, mowed grass, perched along the ninth hole at the country club. He was lit up — full-body zoomies across the yard, diving into the grass, rolling, stretching, popping back up with that signature Beamer grin that says, “Did you SEE that?!”  Even indoors, he’s been running laps in their big house, rounding up people like golf carts before a tournament. The Sheriff of the High Desert has been temporarily promoted to Club Pro o...

Horsepower, Hangovers & Hummingbirds June 1, 2025 – evening Hooooboy. It’s been too many days since I last sat down to string thoughts into sentences. The social whirlwinds in Prescott spun me sideways, followed by a long, lonesome haul to Santa Fe on the 29th. The night I arrived? A minor apocalypse of my own making—low blood sugar, no dinner, and camper setup shenanigans that tested every last molecule of my patience. Can you spell H-A-N-G-R-Y? I could. Loudly. But let’s rewind. The visit to Cottonwood and Prescott stretched into a week of people, plans, and very little time for introspection. My dance card overflowed with lovely, fast-talking, wine-loving friends who operate at a much higher RPM than I do. I adore them, truly. But between the altitude jump from sea level to 5,400 feet and my apparent belief that hydration is for chumps, my body turned into a bag of wet cement. A couple of times, my heart staged a protest drum solo in my chest. Not a heart attack—just a reminder ...