Snow falling and night falling fast, oh, fast
In a field I looked into going past,
And the ground almost covered smooth in snow,
But a few weeds and stubble showing last.

The woods around it have it–it is theirs.
All animals are smothered in their lairs.
I am too absent-spirited to count;
The loneliness includes me unawares.

And lonely as it is that loneliness
Will be more lonely ere it will be less–
A blanker whiteness of benighted snow
With no expression, nothing to express.

They cannot scare me with their empty spaces
Between stars–on stars where no human race is.
I have it in me so much nearer home
To scare myself with my own desert places.

-Robert Frost

We are approaching a strange transition of sorts; in just a few months, we will have lived in Albuquerque longer than any other place since we got married. This both shocks and confuses us, after all, in so many situations we are still considered to be newcomers to this state. "How are you liking New Mexico," people ask us at social gatherings. "Are you adjusting to Albuquerque?" Clearly, we have not completely become locals, or such questions wouldn't arise. No one asked how we liked Boston and I don't think the absence of that question was due to New England reserve. No, for all our adjustments to life in the desert, there must be still ways we seem to be foreigners.

I am still accused of having East Coast values when I wonder out loud why this passage or that phrase couldn't be played better. (No, they are musical values, I want to shout, not limited to a geographical location!) Serious music students are harder to find here, but I have a full studio of hard workers now. I am impatient with other teachers who whine how none of their students practice. The landscape is less crowded with good musicians out here, true enough, but there are plenty of opportunities for those who seek them out and plenty of room for new musicians to come share this wide-open space.

But still. I miss living in a place with good music schools on every corner and how easy it was to build a career in conjunction with and alongside such departments. I miss the sheer abundance of good students and the casual acceptance of high standards of practicing and music making. I don't lack for work, but I wonder sometimes if this scene will be enough for the rest of my life.

I wonder not only for myself, but also for Matt–who provides the backbone of our security. Without him, we would have no health insurance or retirement, and his work at the church gives us an extended community and family of people who watch over us and care for us. Matt's job is engaging and challenging at this point, but will it still be 15 years from now? I wonder.

And yet we continue in big and small ways to put down roots in this dry land. Our little house is full of art, books, and plants. There is no returning to the 300 square-foot existence of our city days. The shelves in the garage are lined with luminaria ready to line the courtyard and sidewalks on Christmas Eve. We own a wet vacuum. Our annual St. Cecelia day party filled our house with friends and fellow musicians. My grand piano can never be crammed into the small spaces of our past.

This week I am going to NYC to visit my two sisters and to step back, if only for a few days, into city living. I have no doubt that such visit will make me sad, that I will once again be reminded how grand it is to live in a city with art and music at one's doorstep, that I will wish for the simplicity of a cozy city apartment and the forced necessity to simplify one's possessions, that I will long for the life that allows for all the exercise one needs by just getting out and living, sans automobile.

It's a strange place to be in–to be moving into the time when this, this, is the place we have lived the longest. To realize in spite of the turquoise in my jewelry box, I may never completely fit in, and, in spite of this, to choose to live out our lives in such a space. Sometimes I wish the concept of home didn't haunt me so or the need to find a perfect fit didn't obsess me like it does.

Recently, Godiva was climbed on the kitchen counter to hunt for food and stuck her nose in a container of green chile sauce. She shook her head a few times and tried to wipe off the sting with her paw, but then casually hopped down to race through the house with Yun-Sun. While I can hardly believe I am living in New Mexico, I am reminded, that strange as it is, I am raising two cats that clearly are green-chile snorting Southwestern felines.

They cannot scare me with their empty spaces.
Between star-on stars where no human race is.
I have it in me so much nearer home
To scare myself with my own desert places.