That's how I'll remember. If I start to call you Basil, we need to talk.
I'm going, I'm pretty sure. Although I think it would be cheaper (at the moment) to do it the other way around, I'm going. Because I already turned down one trip and I've regretted it ever since. And I dropped the ball with this particular friend, I think. She needed me and I wasn't there. Literally or figuratively. I need to be there. And. I miss New Mexico. Really, really miss it. Or, our people there.
I forget how long the adjustment process takes when you make a major life change. The humidity doesn't help. When you find the place you want to live, do you just know? Like you do when you fall in love with "the one"? Love at first sight? Or does it grow slowly? Is it a contentment that grows into love? It's always exciting and new at first. Then it gets a little bewildering as you find your niche. And eventually it starts to feel like home. But when do you really know that you aren't "home-less" even though you have a home? Or do people just settle for what they think is a pretty good option? It may be in part that we have gypsy souls, but we're not thinking that this is "it" for us. We're here for years, don't get me wrong. The option to move isn't in the near future. However, someday I'd like to find "it". Whatever "it" is.
Pound!

