Tales of Tesuque

By Susan Gibson-Grafe and John Grafe

1996, San Francisco, CA
I reached up and grabbed my boss's boney little shoulders and shook him trying to make my point. He looked at his secretary, who was standing nearby, and said "You're a witness. I've just been harassed." I didn't realize at that moment that this would be the end of my career with El Paso Natural Gas and that I would soon be on my way to exciting new adventures in New Mexico. Or that these adventures would include a booth at the Tesuque Flea Market and a log cabin with a curse.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Apr 18, 2013
• ISBN: 9781481733922

Susan Gibson-Grafe

Today, Susan Gibson-Grafe designs jewelry and writes things in Mansfield, Texas where she lives with her husband, John Grafe, and their two Japanese Chins, Bubba and Billy-Bob, and an orange tabby, Walter II. Susan has a M.S. in Chemical Engineering and worked in the oil and gas industry for 35 years. Just for fun, she earned her private pilot's license. (She’s not piloting anymore, so no need to run for cover.) She’s a member of Mensa but doesn’t go to meetings any more for fear they’ll ask her to take the test again.

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© 2013 by Susan Gibson-Grafe. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

I have tried to recreate events, locales and conversations from my memories of them. In order to maintain their anonymity in some instances I have changed the names of individuals and places, I may have changed some identifying characteristics and details such as physical properties, occupations and places of residence.

Cover photograph by Carolyn Rhea Drapes

(2013 Used with permission)

Published by AuthorHouse 04/13/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4817-3394-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4817-3393-9 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4817-3392-2 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013905560

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Table of Contents

Prologue

More Prologue

Chapter One:   Rusty Pipeliner: July 2002

Chapter Two:   Rusty Pipeliner: August 2002

Chapter Three:   Rusty Pipeliner: September 2002

Chapter Four:   Rusty Pipeliner: October 2002

Chapter Five:   Rusty Pipeliner: November 2002

Chapter Six:   Rusty Pipeliner: February 2003

Chapter Seven:   Rusty Pipeliner: March 2003

Chapter Eight:   Rusty Pipeliner: April 2003

Chapter Nine:   Rusty Pipeliner: May 2003

Chapter Ten:   Rusty Pipeliner: June 2003

Chapter Eleven:   Rusty Pipeliner: July 2003

Chapter Twelve:   Rusty Pipeliner: August 2003

Chapter Thirteen:   Rusty Pipeliner: September 2003

Chapter Fourteen:   Rusty Pipeliner: The End of the Market

To John

for believing in me

Thanks to my husband, John, for his delightful illustrations and for encouraging me to write this. As mentioned in the book, he’s a unique combination of engineer, computer expert, and artist. A big hug for my son, Rhodes, who has been my BFF since the day he was born and who makes me so very proud and happy every day. Special thanks to Jo Rebeka, a true friend since our flea market days, for proof-reading and offering so many invaluable ideas and suggestions. Thanks to the many Rusty Pipeliner readers who read my stories every month and encouraged me to continue. And finally, thanks to AuthorHouse for helping me make this book a reality.

Prologue

(or How I ended up in Santa Fe, New Mexico)

1996, San Francisco, California

I reached up and grabbed my boss’s bony little shoulders and shook him, trying to make my point. He looked at his secretary, who was standing nearby, and said You’re a witness. I’ve just been harassed. I didn’t realize at that moment that this would be the end of my career with El Paso Natural Gas and that I would soon be on my way to exciting new adventures in New Mexico.

Not long after our little episode, I was contacted by Human Resources in El Paso to tell me that a new early retirement package was about to be released. Since I had turned 55 in the past year, I would be eligible, and they said I could just use up my vacation and I didn’t even need to come into the office any more—they would just send out all the paper work. I think they were afraid of the damage I might inflict if I returned to the office. Deciding discretion was indeed the better part of valor, I took the package.

This was really the first time in my life that I was making such an important decision all on my own. Growing up, my parents had dictated any decisions, then once I was out of college, it was my job. Then when I was married, it was my husband. Then after the divorce, it was the job again. So here I was with an enormous decision to make on my own: where should I move and live?

Santa Fe, New Mexico had always exerted a pull on me ever since I went there with friends in the late 1960s. It’s been a haven for artists for decades and there’s something about the undulating edges of the old adobe structures that I always found appealing. Indian Market, an enormous art show showcasing Native American art, is held every year in August and was always a wonderful time to visit. Staying at the La Fonda, a Santa Fe landmark right in the center of town just off the plaza, always made for a stimulating and inspiring visit. The whole place just seemed magical. What better place to run away to?

The first thing I needed was a car. One advantage to living in a city like San Francisco is the public transportation. I lived close enough to the office that I would either walk to work or ride the cable car. I had gotten the wild and crazy car out of my system when I was living in Midland, Texas when I bought a red Porsche 911. It was a spur of the moment decision to buy the thing and I loved every minute I had it. The payments were astronomical and there was an enormous balloon payment due at the end of five years which would have had a very serious economic impact on my budget. But the real decision-maker was driving a $50K car with a 5-speed transmission on the hills of San Francisco. I was a nervous wreck! So much for the image—I was sure I was going to seriously demolish this wonderful little car, so I bit the bullet and sold it. End of an era. My son, Rhodes, had a ‘93 Jeep Wrangler from his days in Austin at UT and was just about to move from San Francisco to Portland to enter graduate school. I think he was transitioning to a more adult phase and I was transitioning to an I don’t know what phase, so I bought his Jeep. For some reason, I decided that I wanted to get it painted yellow. Not taxi cab yellow, just a nice bright yellow. Rhodes was a bit horrified at my choice of color and reacted in that vastly superior way that members of the next generation have when they think their parents are doing something really strange and/or stupid.

Leaving San Francisco was hard because I had made some wonderful friends and it’s an absolutely gorgeous place to live. I hated to leave the little carriage house on Lombard Street on Russian Hill just a block below the crooked street where I had lived happily for the past five years. I did manage to sell most of my furniture that I had brought with me from El Paso and what was left I had shipped to Santa Fe and put into storage. Somehow, I managed to load everything else I thought I needed into the Jeep and I took off for Santa Fe. I had never been that good at backing up anyway, but in the excitement of actually leaving for my big adventure, backing up the driveway from my little carriage house, I managed to back into and tear off the whole set of flower boxes on the wall along the driveway. My landlords had become wonderful friends over the years, and they were so gracious and kind in saying that they were planning on replacing the flowerboxes anyway. Not an entirely auspicious way to start my new adventure!

Rhodes drove out with me as far as the Albuquerque airport where he caught a flight to Portland. It had started snowing in Flagstaff, Arizona and when I was driving to Santa Fe from Albuquerque, it was starting to really snow. It seemed so appropriate for the start of my new adventure—the excitement of starting on a new adventure was really settling in. My friend, Nancy, had retired a few months earlier from her job in San Francisco and was house-sitting in Santa Fe. She had offered to let me stay with her until I got settled. We had agreed to meet in the gift shop of the La Fonda Hotel. This was a favorite spot for both of us so we knew if we didn’t both get there at the same time, we could just settle in and peruse all the books and magazines. Another wonderful pastime is just sitting and watching the people in the La Fonda lobby. There’s always a fascinating, eclectic assortment of people in a remarkably small space. Nancy and I arrived within five minutes of each other, which was good because she was a little worried about the fact that it was snowing pretty heavily by then and we needed to get out of town and up into the mountains.

Her house-sitting home was a one-room berm house that had been cut out of the side of a hill during one of the back to nature periods that regularly affect life in New Mexico. It was one big room and the only privacy consisted of a curtain drawn across the bathroom in the corner of the room. A bit constipatory to say the least. The heat was provided by a wood stove in the center of the room that had to be re-stocked in the morning by the first person up and about. And it was cold! Snow covered the ground. I was sleeping on the top layer of a bunk bed which looked right out a window at ground level so you looked right into the snow. It was a delightfully warm and cozy place once you got the fire going. But when the fire was out, it got REALLY COLD in a hurry. When we first talked about my coming to stay with her, she had told me to just think of the house as my own. Apparently I took her word for it—to an extreme—especially when the computer that I had ordered arrived, combined with a computer desk, and I started getting settled. Nancy was quite gracious and tolerated it for as long as she could until she threw my suitcase across the room in a fit of pique and I figured I’d better find someplace else to live. The house gods were looking out for me and the very next day I found a little casita to rent in Santa Fe, from two wonderful gay guys who took me in under their wing when I mentioned that my son was also gay. Joel and Sam were both originally from New York and had recently moved back to Santa Fe after spending several years in Italy. Joel is an amazing artist and Sam was teaching English in the local high school. Joel had built the casita next door to their house for his parents to live in, but unfortunately his dad had died just before the casita was finished. Plans changed. Joel’s mom, Anita, moved into the main house with them and they fixed up the casita to rent. The inside was decorated like something out of Architectural Digest. Joel’s paintings made it seem like living in an amazing gallery. It was small but it had everything you needed. Which was just what I needed after hauling all my stuff across the country for so many years. All my belongings fit in the Jeep