Summer Update in Photos

This latest blogging hiatus has been far too long. At this point, a detailed narrative of each adventure would take a long time to write, so I'll rely instead on photographs.

Graduation

The summer began with a milestone in Harper's life, graduation from puppy kindergarten. The ceremony was complete with cap and gown . . . this is as close as we could get to capturing a picture of Harper in his. I wonder if he was benefited by social promotion.



Bonnaroo!

Four sweaty days in Tennessee. The first night brought an intense storm with driving rain, leaving the fields full of ankle-deep mud. Fortunately the storm hit, for the most part, after camp had been constructed, so we had shelter (but missed great acts like Low Anthem, Alberta Cross, and Passion Pit). The rest of the weekend went much better, from the surprise show by Jimmy Buffet to Ben Harper's remarkable new iteration, the Relentless 7. Other highlights included MGMT, Zach Deputy's Shakedown Alley performances, and the local brewery tent. Oh, and someone was allegedly stabbed in our campsite this year. Oh yeah, and we witnessed heroin usage. Otherwise, great Bonnaroo.













Shakerag

From Bonnaroo, I dropped Megan off in Sewanee, Tennesee, for a week-long pottery workshop called Shakerag. The workshop featured gourmet meals consisting of locally-grown produce prepared by accomplished chefs. She returned with roughly a dozen beautiful pieces and culinary bragging rights for life. The last bowl was Megan's masterpiece, unfortunately completed too late to fire. The blue building below is a place called Shenanigans, where Megan and I enjoyed the blessed post-Bonnaroo first meal.









Fourth of July

Floated the river . . . two-stepped while Gary P Nunn played "London Homesick Blues" at Gruene Hall. Enough said.





Harper

Of course, the most significant event of the summer has been keeping Harper from destroying the planet. (As I type this, he is removing the leather casing from a baseball. Most exotic thing consumed, that we know of, was half a mole during a visit to Brenham.) He's a friendly guy, chock-full of mischief and energy. He's also growing with remarkable speed. Here are some summer highlights. The white dog is Harper's long-time lover and best friend, Emma.

Opposite Day

I finally decided that living with a puppy is like living in opposite day, a very popular day in elementary school where every word took on its opposite meaning. "Release," a command often given when the puppy is trying to make a meal out of the couch, is interpreted as "bite harder, and maybe add a touch of growl." "No," shouted loudly as he begins to chew a plant that we so carefully added to the garden just weeks before, means "this plant must be the best thing to chew on . . . ever." "Come" means "keep doing whatever I'm doing and definitely ignore that guy over there." "Down" means "rip Megan's pants off and then go for the shoelaces."

It's been tough, but tonight the tables turn. We begin "puppy kindergarten" at a place near our home that actually sells a product called "Happy Tail Ale", a beer designed for dogs. I'm not sure how much discipline can be learned at the only purveyor of dog beer I've ever seen, but we'll give it a shot.

Harper

Just before six this morning, I knew my weekend routine was forever changed. I heard pawing and a bit of crying coming from inside the crate at the foot of our bed. We had been through this drill: Harper needed to take care of some business. Megan had taken the 3 AM shift, so it was clearly my turn. If we have any hope of housebreaking the little guy, I needed to get in gear quickly. Day Two of dog ownership had begun, and, as I noticed the remnants of last night's margaritas trouncing around my skull, I felt it had begun far too early.

But, it turns out, this was a great way to start a day. Harper reminded me immediately that there is so much to do that I was missing just laying in bed. There are noises to investigate, bushes to pounce, and, most importantly, a whole world of objects just waiting to be gnawed. We played hard until sunrise, at which point I grabbed a guitar and he grabbed a nap. This may just work out.

Mountain Road Trip: Shredding the Nar, Loving the Pow Pow, Encountering UFOs

1889 miles. 30 runs. 5 nights. 3 states. 1 UFO watchtower. It was a heck of a road trip.

Megan's job offers one benefit that few other "grownups" get to enjoy--Spring Break. Around the time her Spring Break was getting started, I noted a lull in my litigation calendar, a brief window free of briefing deadlines and discovery due dates. So we capitalized in a big way.

We left on a Thursday morning for Amarillo. Thursday night offered the theater as two of my siblings, EmElise and Barrett, were starring in Peter Pan. The play was a tale of daring and danger (literally, as it turns out). The set included a gigantic pirate ship, and sword fights were plentiful. All in all it was a good stop.

We left Friday morning for the long drive to Denver. The towns fell by quickly as the elevation increased. The drive was noteworthy for a tasty stop at Tequila's in Trinidad, but perhaps more noteworthy for Trinidad's one-stop shopping, including this store that peddles antiques, jewelry, and liquor. Notice the dreamcatchers on the roofline . . . just great.



After nearly 8 hours on the road, we made a sling-shot around Denver and headed up a canyon near the Red Rocks concert venue. Megan's conversation gave way to a repetitive mantra: "I can't believe they live here." "They" were friends from college, Megan's roommate Erica and her husband, Spencer. "Here" was just past Morrison near the lovely, bustling town of Conifer. Their gorgeous house sat on a hillside with great views of nearby mountains. They had arrived, and fortunately, so had we.

Shredding (Shifting) the Nar



Well rested and very well fed, we skied like champs, like the kind of champs who flawlessly pose for cheesy ski shots like the one above. Megan's progress throughout the weekend was incredible. She began the first morning expressing her growing nervousness at having to dismount from the chairlift, a mundane task, for sure, but really the first test of one's ability to stay upright while sliding downhill. She got on and off the lift flawlessly, and we knew it would be a good day.



The snow was falling quickly, and the air was cold. None of this stopped Megan from perfecting a gorgeous parallel turn . . . as long as she was turning left. The right turns were lacking, but, after a couple of afternoon beers and some coaching from Erica and me, things started coming together. Finally, by the close of day two, Megan was turning left and right like a pro and selecting blue runs over greens. She had graduated from shifting to shredding the nar.



Alien Encounters

The drive to New Mexico was incredible. We left Erica and Spencer's retreat, turned right on 285, and drifted by the Collegiate Peaks, 14,000 foot giants that took our breath away. We were immediately thankful that we drove instead of flew.



As 285 took a hard turn south, I struggled as I drove through Poncha Springs without turning toward Monarch Pass, the cite of a legendary ski trip that Tom and I took several years before.



Fortunately, the San Luis Valley opened up before us, and we soon found ourselves distracted by the UFO Watchtower in Hooper, Colorado--a research facility, museum, and energy vortex dedicated to the extraterrestrial. It was a unique visit, and the owner of the property invited us to leave objects in one of the vortexes to contribute to the positive flow of energy. I noticed one person who ditched their smart phone--while I felt a similar inclination at the moment, I settled on a rubber band. Megan contributed a pen cap. If the universe seems more harmonious this week, you now know the cause. Below are some snapshots of our stay.











We left Hooper and headed to Taos where we enjoyed enchiladas and avocado pie at Orlando's. From there, it was onto Santa Fe and the familiar comforts of Ten Thousand Waves and the Compound. The trip, it seemed, was coming to a comfortable conclusion.

Heading Home

But an unexpected thing happened--Santa Fe ski area got 3 fresh inches of the white stuff. Never one to neglect a fresh batch of the pow pow, I found my dear wife convincing me that we had time for one more morning on the slopes. While I knew we had a roughly 650 mile ahead, I also knew the end of that drive would present zero inches of delicious powder. So, we donned our ski garb one more time, pointed the car up-valley, and prepared for another gorgeous morning.

The snow fell softly as Megan skied blue after blue--each run with increasing confidence and increasingly beautiful right turns. I bombed Muerte once, for tradition's sake. Just less than three hours and eight beautiful runs later, we were back in the parking lot saluting ourselves on a job well done.

While rational people would have then pointed the car east and worked their way home, we had one more stop to make--Pasqual's where Megan chose the huevos motulenos. This was another tradition that couldn't be avoided. And, while we were at it, we picked up an art gallery here and there, and finally, yes finally, we headed toward Texas around 2:30 Mountain time.

The drive back went quickly at first as we chattered with the last remnants of the morning rush. As we cleared Clines Corners, we knew we were in for a long haul. By Amarillo, we were thankful to stop at Mom's house for some food and conversation. By Claude, we had begun the longest road-sign alphabet game ever. That came to a close with the "z" in "fertilizer" as we passed through Memphis. In Childress, we started picking out hotels that seemed inviting. By Wichita Falls, I was doubting whether we would make it Dallas alive. At 3 AM on the spot, we pulled into the driveway with 1889 miles on the odometer. We had arrived.

Catching Up

The caretakers of the Knapp Adventure Blog are in desperate need of some adventure. Since the fun in Southern California, our wanderings have been much more local in nature, keeping us in and around Dallas with occasional trips to Hill Country. We plan to ski Colorado (all of it) in early March. June will find us in Bonnaroo and back to Red River for a family wedding. Otherwise, we'll be staying close. In the absence of embarrassing stories about African adventures, I decided I would post some pictures to catch our readers up on what we were up to as 2008 came to a close.

Southern California

As my plane descended into Palm Springs, I noted a stunning but bleak natural environment that eventually gave way to a small island of development with vibrant green golf courses. The city just did not seem to belong there. The plane landed, and I soon found myself roaming through a city without much history beyond the California celebrities who used to visit, evidenced by streets with names like "Frank Sinatra" and "Gene Autry." Palm Springs seemed to be a creature of a previous time that had perhaps had a glory day now seemingly eclipsed by summer heat and economic slowdown. I was not impressed.

So, I cruised the streets to kill some time before meeting Megan and high-tailing it to San Diego. Both of us were exhausted--Megan from a week of emotionally-exhausting training, and me from an excellent but very late night watching the Dedringers rock Dan's Silverleaf in Denton. Thus, when we cruised through San Diego's Gas Lamp District through throngs of elaborately costumed party-goers, we wondered if we'd made a smart decision. The lobby of our hotel, The Keating, offered a surreal scene. A man with a Mohawk sat down at the piano playing some jazz while his companion, also sporting a radical mane, danced frantically. Fairly certain that we had inadvertently wandered into party central, we stumbled upstairs and crashed.

The next day we wandered. We ate a beast of a breakfast at the rural Indiana-themed Hash House A Go Go. We strolled La Jolla's beaches, saw an stimulating Bruce Nauman exhibit, and received validation from a gallery owner that, yes, the Brandon Maldonado painting we purchased in Santa Fe was an excellent choice. We visited a wine bar at Ocean Beach before checking out its nightlife and then wandered back to the Gas Lamp District where we saw Common in concert for free.





Sunday offered the hipster neighborhood of Mission Hills where I purchased the so cool in SoCal hat pictured below. We visited Balboa Park to see an organ concert, where I jammed to Bach while rocking my trendy lid and holding a colorful umbrella. Word.



That evening we stumbled upon a last-second, cash only sale of tickets for the smash Broadway hit "Spring Awakening," which landed us on the front row of the balcony at the Balboa Theater. Fortunately we had just enough time beforehand to devour a California burrito (a steak burrito that someone brilliantly decided to augment with french fries).



Monday morning, we made a final visit to the Hash House before heading back through the desert and on toward home. I have yet to introduce my hat to Dallas, but I'm sure it will make an appearance . . . but maybe this town just isn't quite ready for it yet.



Okay, so let's get Megan with that crazy sculpture from La Jolla just one last time . . .

Spanish Market: Santa Fe, New Mexico

Occasionally New Mexico lives up to its state motto, "Land of Enchantment." Maybe it didn't the time I found myself wandering through waste-deep snow somewhere vaguely below Wheeler Peak. It did not feel too enchanting the time I was running down a mountainside and tripped, sending hunks of high iron-content rock deep into my knee. And it was not so enchanting to be stuck on the highway for hours while waiting for the department of transportation to clear a mudslide.

But last weekend in Santa Fe, the state certainly provided enchantment. Megan and I joined Dad and Toni to head to Santa Fe on what has become a bi-annual pilgrimage to the city of art and artists, spas and ski slopes, meals and meanderings. In the winter time, we visit to shred the nar. This weekend we visited the Spanish Market.

Art and Artifact



The Spanish Market is a juried art event consisting of entries primarily from New Mexico. As the name suggests, most of the artists paint in styles reflecting the original Spanish settlement of the area with a heavy focus on statuary and retablos, small paintings of saints. The artists are often known as "santeros," or saint painters, and the work transports the viewer to another time. Other artists create furniture or jewelry in a similar vein. Many were kind enough to let me photograph their work.







Accompanying the traditional work are more innovative, contemporary works that celebrate the Spanish roots but often adapt the representation to the culture that emerged in the Southwest. The work featured at the top, by Arthur Lopez, shows the result of that cultural transformation by taking a traditional Spanish method of representation and transforming it into something mystical.

Naturally, Megan and I could not leave the market without a few treasures. Our first find was by Michael Vargas, a supermarket manager turned santero. Megan was initially drawn to his booth by a painting of the holy trinity. I entered the booth to give my opinion, but, as we both turned to our right, we found ourselves mesmerized by a painting called "Santo Nino," a portrayal of Christ as a boy. The work was in pastels on clayboard. Below Megan and Michael Vargas show off the work.



Our second purchase came shortly before departure. We had spotted the work of Brandon Maldonado from a distance, but his booth was always too crowded. Finally, we found an empty booth Sunday morning and wandered inside. We looked at his more shocking works, works portraying deep pain in a unique, surreal style. We pined over some of the works and eventually settled on a book of his paintings themed loosely on the Dia De Los Muertos. The book was a consolation, we thought, until Megan dropped her coffee. This forced us to apologize for the mess and take a longer look at a painting we had barely noticed on our way in. Inspired directly by an Ingres painting of the same name, "The Bather" revealed Maldonado's historical inspiration while transforming that work with his unique style. The painting took Ingres' bather and warped her for a dynamic world while removing her from a comfortable setting, replacing it with a vague void. Below, Megan and I pose for a picture with the painting and the artist. He has a blindingly bright future ahead of him.



Food, Clothing, Shelter



The trip to Santa Fe was not entirely about art . . . it was also about getting some much needed rest while celebrating Dad and Toni's anniversary (just look at the celebration occurring above . . . merriment abounds). We stayed at a cozy bed and breakfast with an excellent daily happy hour called the Water Street Inn. An attentive owner made our stay a delight.



Beyond sleeping, we ate, and we ate well. Tradition sent us to Pasqual's for brunch upon arrival, but we also tried some new spots. Aqua Santa offers sumptuous dishes with some of the more complicated but impressive flavors I have ever tried. These dishes were complemented by an excellent brew, Monk's Ale, from a monastery in Abiquiu. The beer was modeled after Belgian Trappist ales, but surpasses its Belgian cousins. The second night we gnoshed on a smattering of exquisite seafood dishes at Geronimo's on Canyon Road.

All in all, it was a great trip . . . interesting sights, delicious food, and just enough time sitting on a balcony with a glass of wine. Now we are back in Dallas wondering if ski season could come just a bit earlier this year.