VirusHead - Mutating bits of contagious discourse, because language is a virus.

We had revisited the D.H. Lawrence Ranch that we had so enjoyed on our honeymoon. (I think those photos might be on Ben’s camera, so I’ll post them later. We have a history of problems with photos of the place.)

This time, we also had a horrible event. Ben was bitten on the head by an old dog that lives on the property. When we were in the house, Ben sat down on the floor with the dog. When he lifted up his arm to pet him, the dog was spooked. John intervened immediately, and the woman who works there was horrified. It was our fault - we all should have known better, including Ben himself. Ben was quite frightened, and the dog really did get a pretty good bite in, but luckily it was on the forehead (not his nose or any other fleshly part). The dog was healthy, which we reminded ourselves when Ben got sick.

I think we picked up the virus in Chimayo - maybe even from the holy water at the Sanctuary (wouldn’t that be something) although we also ate at the nearby Rancho de Chimayo Restaurant. Everyone there was sick or had been sick, and the surrounding towns were all infected too, according to anecdotal gas station testimony. I wonder whether anyone was tracking this thing. It was unusually contagious - possibly an experiment?

John had already had a difficult night and morning at Taos Ski Valley. Austing Haus, the hand-built hotel where we had stayed on our honeymoon, was closed. We were really hoping to see Paul, the owner, but he is fighting cancer. We stayed next door at the Columbine Hotel - which he also built - instead. We ended up having hamburgers at a sort of bar, and going to sleep.

We camped out at the Georgia O’Keefe Ghost Ranch. It wasn’t what I had imagined - who would have thought that a ghost ranch would be a religious retreat? We managed to get the tent up, at least.

We were vomiting and having some frighteningly liquid diarrhea for a couple of days. I spent several hours with Ben at the camp rest room - before it hit me too.

Then the thunderstorms came. John, who was almost recovered, went hiking as the storm approached, and got these great photos.

It cleared up in time for us to go to the July 4th fireworks at the Pueblo, but Ben was still pretty rough, and I was starting to feel bad too. We built a fire. Ben watched a movie on his DVD player in the tent. John and I listened to songs on my iPod. There were people all around us, including a paleontologist at the next site. We never saw her, but it looked like she was planted there for the summer.

This is Lake Abiquiu, near the Ghost Ranch.

John climbed globular cliffs on a side trip from the ranch (you can see him as that tiny point of orange at the top). This was next to a big amphitheater in the rock cliffs.

I’m not sure where this monument was now - I just like it.

We finally gave up, and headed back to Taos to have a night at a hotel. I was ambivalent about the nightly “tribal dancers.” The hotel promoted it as though they were paying, but it turned out that they were funded through donations.

The dancers were very talented, especially this young boy and the drummer-chanters. I have purposely not chosen a clear image here. Among other things, the spirit of his movement is better captured with this.

On our honeymoon, we had been invited to the Taos Pueblo after John encountered a teenager and his grandfather on a mountain path near Taos Ski Valley. It was to be the first real occasion to honor the Vietnam vets - this was nine years ago. What we witnessed at that event bears little comparison to this “hotel performance.” However, they perform the basic styles of some of the dances, and each dancer had designed their own costume. Still, the whole performance held a creepy sort of Lawrence Walk air that really depressed me.