Sequester. Not Confinement.

When I used the word sequester recently to define my reason for holing up in Santa Fe, I never imagined it would mean confinement.  Albeit temporary, I did experience a panicky moment this morning when the French doors of the casita wouldn't open!  I turned the latch to open the door.  Not budging.  I turned it the other way.  No dice.  My heart started racing and I thought 'Good God!'  I am locked in this casita and I'll have no choice but to read and write all day.  I calmed down, took a few deep breaths, and gave the latch another try.  With a bit of shoulder action, I was free.

I can only imagine how true incarceration would feel.  Actually I know that feeling.  One evening,  about 17 years ago, I was a guest of the El Paso County Sheriff.  That story is best kept for another blog post.  I will say this; not having control of my environment and personal freedom was very frightening.  My record was expunged and I went on to lead a Girl Scout Troop, so it couldn't have been too terrible - right?

Back to today and how I fared the Chavez Rec Center.  A nice place but quite pricy for a public facility.  If I want to swim and do yoga, there are two separate charges that total $15.00!  This is the Rec Center,  people of New Mexico.  In South Suburban Denver I can do all that, and steam, for less than four bucks.  Then the front desk lady gave me a wink and said - pay for the class, sneak into the pool - so I did just that.  Eight bucks later and I'm ready to sweat and swim.

Yoga was delightful, not too crowded, that didn't surprise me at these prices.  (I'm only half serious here)  Next it was pool time.  Down the steps into a very utilitarian changing room with itty, bitty lockers.  I wish I'd had two locks on me.

Out to the pool and whoa!  It is set for 50 meters.  I am used to 25 meters or 25 yards.  This is twice as long of a stretch at an altitude about 1000 feet higher than I'm used to.  The pool is also deep.  Over 13 ft. at one end and 4 ft. at the other.  I have been swimming for years in pools where I can stand.  Swimmers know that deeper water is a different workout.  Combine the inevitable drift and a lane that seemed to extend into Texas; I could only muster 8 full laps.  That's a half mile after a good, long yoga class.  Did I mention that I picked a lane by the side of the pool to avoid water rescues?  I felt like I needed a place to hang on to in case I couldn't make it to the end.  I wanted to avoid the embarrassment of hanging on the lane dividers; that always elicits a whistle and a head shake from the lifeguards.

Then it was time to write.  Through Meet-Up I found a Thursday afternoon writers group that convened in an interesting locale. A combination of spa, yoga and Nia studio, vegan café, boutique and juice bar.  Very lovely.  I purchased a collard green wrap and hot, fresh pressed ginger tea, and sat down with a nice group of ladies, plus a guy named Charlie.  We wrote to five separate prompts in various time frames.  My confessional style of writing came through.  I am not a fiction kind of gal.  I write from my heart, and experiences.  I just can't make shit up.  Which is kind of funny, because I'm witty and use all sorts of imagination in my poetry.

I'm in the casita for the night.  I hope I can escape if I need to, but for right now, I'm in and ready to push pen to paper for a while.  In savasana an idea presented itself to me for a poem.  I think it will be titled Criminal Minds.   Partly a play off the TV show title, partly because it will be about an addict who is not a criminal, and partly because we normies think all addicts are criminals.  Which is not even remotely true.

Have I covered all the bases here?  Incarceration, arrest, thievery, addiction...

Time to write,

Jane