Well, yall.. this.. this has been a wild ride. As I’m getting closer to completion, and all the editing fun that comes with it, the first major chunk of the book is ready for a looksee.

That is, if anyone cares to look and see, I guess. I know it’s been a very long time coming, and the story grew so and so and so in my mind that I kept wanting to do right by it, and I guess you could say I caught a tiger by the tail. The hydra kept growing heads… and sometimes, you know when to let them grow.

Till is one of those heads, and I’ll be damned if she didn’t grow into a whole book (almost) on her own. This is the beginning of that book, and it’s yours, free. You don’t have to have read anything before this.. that was one of the surprising bits, she’s a standalone story all on her own (thankyouverymuch! as she’d undoubtedly say).

Happy reading, and if you enjoy it, I hope you’ll drop me a line and tell me so at thesmithstale@gmail.com. This is an actual work by an actual person and I reserve all rights, blah blah blah blah. I’d say no animals have been harmed in the creation of this work, but I’m pretty sure the corg’s feelings are hurt due to all the times I refused to get up and give her treats.

Download links-

Kindle- https://drive.google.com/file/d/1OztdY7iMRxVzrJiXkY_hdNl-0Uupcwcg/view?usp=drive_link

ePub- https://drive.google.com/file/d/16ffKQBLSv-lXyGruxaEgUPJiR2AksrIP/view?usp=drive_link

Word doc- https://docs.google.com/document/d/1u5JsBTD2kpvmXzmVHK7F5896r1AccyLE/edit?usp=sharing&ouid=101822216495413659230&rtpof=true&sd=true

The thing about wandering is that you never know where it’ll take you.

I grew up, as I like to joke, where the Oakies and Aarkies decided to stop wandering and put down roots… farm country, California, in a little town that butts right up against the Sequoia National Forest. It’s a nice enough place, a summer town with a sizeable lake that draws tourists to boat and fish and swim and leave a huge mess as American tourists do. By August, the valley’s slopes are golden with all the dried vegetation that makes for a picturesque sunset.. and raging wildfires.

My dad took off the whole month of July, and from time to time would decide that we should travel. Road trips on Goldwings were his preference, and that’s how I got to see Canada and all the states between there and California, with a loop through Idaho, Colorado, and New Mexico. We stayed a few days in Farmington before pushing on to get back home before August arrived. Other trips included the deep south, from Oklahoma to Louisiana with a few days in New Orleans, which cemented my deep seated desire to never, ever live east of the Mississippi if it could be avoided. (Mostly due to racism, poverty, and humidity, if you were wondering.)

The funny thing is, I never really considered leaving California, and even when my then boyfriend and I discussed it, it was always ‘well, we’ll stay in X for a few years, then see about coming back home to settle in’. What settling in entailed was living close to our families, with a huge question mark over starting one of our own… which was already asked and answered in my own mind, if not his.

So when the top dollar job offer came from Albuquerque, New Mexico, we loaded up like modern day Joads heading the wrong direction, with no serious intent of staying beyond a few years.

Growing up in the high desert did not prepare us well for the much higher desert. Winters back home were fairly mild, with a decent dusting of snow every two to three years, but temperatures remaining mostly above freezing.

Snow before Halloween was a huge shock to the system. And SERIOUS snow, that lingered beyond noon, was downright insulting. But there were friendly mountains that shaded purple in the distance, a wide river utterly unlike the Killer Kern I’d grown up on, and a huge small town where everyone knew someone, it seemed.

It was homelike enough, and far away enough from the various familial influences that we settled in. And grew up. And realized that as a pair, we were perfectly awful for one another and decided to part ways. That was a tipping point in life, where I could have made different decisions and chosen to set down roots almost anywhere. Starting over at any age is a little scary, I think, but the power in just having that choice, maybe for the first time in your whole life… I truly think it helped me redefine if not who I was, at least who I wanted to be.

After ten years living here, I feel like that’s the first time I chose to be here.

Twenty years later, and life has taken so very many twists and turns I never could have foreseen, and most of them stem from that road trip and the choices that were made since. Of the folk that made that trip with me, two have passed on, and two I don’t feel a need to speak to, and while I’m sad for that, that’s also a piece that has made up where I am now.

Thirty years ago today, I first set eyes on the Rio Grande Valley, knowing it was going to be home for awhile. I’m not sure that I’m done figuring out who I want to be, but I feel like I’ve made a pretty decent start. I have folk around me that are good to me, sometimes for reasons I don’t really understand, but just try to be grateful for. I have a home that me and the new mister have poured our hearts and souls into, and it’s ours in a way that nowhere else in the world has ever been to me.

It’s funny where life can take you… and funny the choices that you make that shape you. Here’s to thirty years in the Land of Entrapment that snuck it’s way into my heart when I wasn’t looking.

More years ago than I really care to put a number to, the mister and I bought a house with a courtyard.

Without trying to sound deprived, I’d never had a place with a courtyard before, and I was charmed by the idea of it while be daunted at what the heck to DO with it. We put up various sunshades over the years, installed a container garden, and eventually put a roof on the whole darn area.

But it still wasn’t quite right. I came back to the bareness of the sand colored stucco walls over and over again making the space feel colorless and barren… and then I had an idea.

We put faux grass down instead of carpet, and faux leaves on the ceiling to give a nice, leaf dappled light effect.. and that was good. Wouldn’t it be interesting, I asked the mister, if we had tree trunks painted on the walls to have a foresty/glade kind of a feel?

We agreed it was an interesting idea, and let it simmer for a bit. To be fair, there’s been a large number of small projects we’ve been working on since covid kept us more in our house than out of it. But as spring started to roll around this year, I started getting more serious about putting the finishing touches on the courtyard.

Reddit to the rescue! I posted in my local subreddit to see if anyone knew of anyone that would be tempted by such a project. That guided me to two different muralists that both offered free quotes.. so I figured what the hell and set up two meetings for a Saturday.

This is where stuff got wild.

First we met with Don from Things on a Wall.. and, not to spoil anything, but you did read the title of the post, right? We walked around the space and talked about what I was looking for. We chatted for about an hour, and he said he’d come back with a proposal in a couple of days. Fair enough.

Next we met with muralist #2. They seemingly forgot what day we’d set the appointment for, showed up late, and frankly spent more time pumping me for networking information than talking about the project itself. They took measurements and informed me what the base cost would be, but that there probably wouldn’t be full paint coverage in the proposal anyway. I kind of shrugged and said if it was what I was looking for, I expected to pay a price for that and that was that. They promised the proposal same day and I was the one that suggested they may want to take a little time with it. Fairish enough.

The proposals came in… and what was immediately clear was that Don had listened, heard what I was saying, and created something that embodied exactly what I wanted as though he’d seen into my mind. He was able to start within a week, and that was more than good enough for me.

The other proposal came in.. and I’m genuinely not trying to be mean, I honestly don’t understand how anyone that was listening could have created such a thing thinking it was something I wanted. And though only about half to two thirds of the wall were to be painted, it had been costed out at the maximum possible price. Which, frankly, would have been reasonable if I was buying a used car, but not so much for this project.

So yeah, we went with Don’s proposal and waited with excitement to see what was next.

Yall, I know what it is to work with folks on home improvements, and I was steeled for it.. and I didn’t have to be. Don was extremely gracious, made friends with 2 out of the 3 pups in minutes, sought feedback regularly, and really made the entire experience fun. Within a week, my walls ran riot with trees of all kinds, from fall to spring to summer and my dream forest came to life.

There’s still a bit of work to go here.. those boxes you see are the sectional couch I ordered for the ‘reading nook’ side of the courtyard.. though you’ll noticed the writing nook is already quite operational.

I can’t tell you how glad I am that we did this- how much more welcoming, unique, and enjoyable the space is. With the weather warming up, I know I’ll be spending a lot more time here, daydreaming in the enchanted forest Don has created for me.

If you’re local to Albuquerque and you like what you’re seeing, check out thingsonthewall.com. I cannot recommend Don highly enough as both a professional and a person, and heaven knows we all have a bunch of blank walls to stare at. And if you’re thinking your stucco is too rough for this kind of thing.. I’m going to ask you to zoom in closer on the first, unpainted picture… I honestly expected to be told that I was going to be spending some time on a sander to prep the space… that didn’t happen, and I could not be more pleased with the results.

However, I also feel I would be remiss if I didn’t give a brief warning.. this is addictive. I’m already looking at other blank walls and thinking about what Don may be able to do next!

I definitely owe an update on this.. and I wanted to be sure that I can give a full picture, cause this done went wild.

Its taken a lot of time and a lot of discussion in my own head, but I finally reached a place I’m comfortable with, so I’m ready to share.

This is a big, big story. As of right now, the wholeness of it is over 130k words… it’s the individual stories of 6 different character points of view, and not one of their stories has been fully told yet. Worse, the story that is the closest to being told is already over 60k words, and it ain’t done yet. Frankly, getting to this point has felt a lot like being the Sorcerer’s Apprentice and seeing no end to the brooms with their buckets. Blending all of these timelines and viewpoints has felt downright dauntingly impossible… and then, doncha know it, I hit on the answer.

Instead of trying to weave all of this into a single massive volume, I’m going to release each character’s tale individually. Maybe, when they are all done, I’ll feel like I want to do that.. but for now, I want to do something a little different.

That’s the long way ’round of telling you that you can expect the first of these books to be available this spring.

Happy reading!

Have you ever tried a grilled cheese on croissant bread?

If the answer is no, then please stop reading this post and go find this magical stuff. And after you’ve had a grilled cheese and french toast with it, make Cheese Dreams. And try not to get the Heart song These Dreams stuck in your head. Cause, you know, Cheese Dreams go on when I close my eyes… every second of the night, I need another slice….

/cough Annnnyhooosies…

For the three people in North America that have already discovered this and kept it a secret so we could always find it at Kroger’s/Smiths/wherever your bread hookup is… you understand when I say I spoiled the mister this evening with a fine meal of croissant bread grilled cheese and Humpty Dumpty all dressed chips.

Yes, thanks to friends in Maine that love me, I know about those too. (You can get them on Amazon, if you dare.)

Most of the time I spoil my mister just to spoil him…. but not today. Today we took delivery of a big box containing a freestanding evaporative cooler.. you may know them as swamp coolers. It needed to be unpacked and set up in the courtyard so me and my plants can go on living in it.

Rick, pushes back his chair and carries the plates to the kitchen, grabs a soda, and prepares to settle into the comfy chair where Mouse awaits, ensuring that there will be no escape.

Me- Before you do that….

Rick- What?

Me- There’s a very large box in the courtyard that needs seen to.

Rick- okay….

Me- Now I’m not saying you have to do anything about it, I’m certainly not demanding that you deal with it..

Rick- oh good /begins to head to his chair again

Me- BUT.

Rick pauses, and sighs- But what?

Me- if you do not deal with it, I will ensure it becomes problematic for you

Rick- So I’ll step around it in the morning, no big deal

Me. No, I don’t think you understand me… remember the game of hiding Knut the Bear? (aside- when I completely messed up my foot and had to be in a walking boot for two months, Rick bought me a giant teddy bear when we lived in a teensy crackerbox of an apartment.. we took turns hiding it weird places for the other to find when they got home. We were young(er) and in love and it was fucking adorable, trust me.)

Rick- yeah…

Me- I will find a place you can’t step around it. It will be early, and it will cause you problems.

Rick- You can’t hide it anywhere Mouse wouldn’t get to it first.

Me, with dawning realization- Shit. Checkmate.

Luckily, Rick’s a good guy, and he went out to the courtyard to deal with the swamp cooler while I came into my office to write this. Cheers yall. I hope there’s a good sammich and person for you tonight.

Well, damn. In no world did I ever expect to be here..

But, hey, that’s epic fantasy for you.. it grows and sprawls and there’s all these characters bringing new insights to a vast, complex world. It’s. Gonna. Be. Long… at least, if you’re doing the story justice.

And I’m very keen to do just that.

So yeah, Before the End will be, in fact, over 100k words long. I think it’s very likely it may be close to 200k once it’s ready to go, and I’m already sniffling a bit about how expensive it’s going to be to convert to paperback and audio, but that’s a me problem.

For my ever so patient readers, I’m hoping this update is an exciting one- not only is work moving forward again at a good pace, but when you finally get Before the End on your kindle or in your hands or in your ears, there’s a lot to enjoy. And, just going to point out this nugget… you can technically read Before the End before you read After the End… crazy, right?

Book 3, tentatively ‘The End’, will bring together the timelines in what I hope is an interesting and especially fulfilling way. No, I don’t know how long it will be… but I’m very much looking forward to getting to that point.

The biggest question (at least, I imagine) is when will Before the End be done?

Currently I’ve got a goal set for myself of 1000 words per day… and that’s in addition to holding down that pesky full time job. The Most Wonderfullest Housekeeper in the World has returned to Casa de Wellman recently, so I’m not having to spend time on chores (or more likely frowning at chores that aren’t getting done while I want to write). I think I may be particularly odd in a way… I need a structured, comfortable place to write that has a reasonable level of tidy about it. Otherwise instead of taking a trip to Myskaria, I end up frowning at clutter that doesn’t really bother me at any other time (my mother in law having passed on is no longer a visitor to my home that I am aware of to criticize it. On the other hand, perhaps she’s just waiting til I join her plane of existence).

I digress. I feel good about the progress, and I hope to have writing and editing done this fall. I would like to release on my usual 12.21 date, but we’ll have to wait and see how that goes.

Either way, it’s a good day in the casa, folks. Thank you to everyone has asks how it’s going and offers support.. especially Rick, who is very graceful about Doordash for dinner 3/5 nights a week cause I got too caught up in my after work writing session to remember that he likes to eat occasionally.

We’re getting there, yall. I. Will. Finish. This. Book.

I hate these posts. I don’t even know what I hate the most about them, that there had to be a terrible experience or that I have to document it somewhere it can’t be taken down or erased so that if someone searches any of the identifying information, they can be found before someone else gets screwed over. I’ve gone back and forth over whether or not to put this up, but since we’ve been ghosted after requesting the voiced contract, you could say I’m over this crap and want the information out there in case folks are doing due diligence before hiring.

Really long story as short as possible- we wanted to have a custom gate made for our weird little archway that leads into the courtyard. We wanted to be able to lock up the house basically at that archway. This wasn’t a small amount of prep work; we had to remove brick planters, have new concrete poured, easily about $2k spent just getting to the point that we were READY for a gate. We also added a roof over the courtyard so it could be a fully enclosed structure.

The original courtyard plan, with a little tiny gate that might deter… well, a corgi, shown.

We had started working with Daniel Amezcua in January to discuss the overall plan, let him get measurements, and put down 1600$. 2-3 weeks, he said, and he’d be ready to install. Great, we thought, we’re on our way to the courtyard/sunroom of our dreams by February 10th or so.

February went by, then March. One day, he installed two black panels, so we’re on our way, right? WRONG. We’d asked for a gap to be left at the bottom to let water and debris out while we were pressure washing… that didn’t happen. The panels also bow outward in a weird way, not solidly connected, but we thought it was an unfinished product, let’s wait and see what he has in mind. All stuff we figured we could talk over during the next phase of the project. Well, that’s never happened, Daniel has never been back.

The plywood we supplied on our own not too sturdy, though.

Months go by… no gate, no timeline, a lot of sorry guys, stuff’s happening. But… while I’m sitting here looking at plywood instead of a gate, he’s posting on Facebook and Threads trying to drum up MORE work. And he was using a pic of our half finished project to do it. Meanwhile, we’re having to reach out over and over again to try and find out when our work would be done… the answer was always ‘next weekend’ or ‘by the end of the month’.

He didn’t appreciate my comment on his ad, it has now been deleted. He did manage to respond to my text message pretty quickly, though.

We have done our best to be gracious and patient. All along, we asked for invoices, costs, and progress pictures that we have not received- just pics that are to give more excuses (the plasma cutter messed up and this is really jagged, so don’t think you want to use that, etc). We gave options… $1k back to us, he can remove the materials.. meaning he’d have all the materials and $600 in his pocket for his time.. or.. bring us the gate and we’d have someone else install it.

Radio silence.

So, long story short (too late, I know), make your own decisions about who you want to work with. This has been our experience with Daniel, and I’m sure it’s not universal, but at the same time… I wouldn’t if I were you.

isn’t it interesting how all costs were in perfectly round numbers, and no taxes are mentioned anywhere?

Hate these posts, but before a Google review goes missing, figure I’d best share it in a place it can’t be deleted.

So.. just a few minutes ago, we have ANOTHER phone call (it’s after 8pm, so the only business I’m willing to talk at this hour is if folks want to pay ME. The caller left a voicemail identifying himself as Art, stating he did not feel they deserved a one star review on Google… he repeated that a few times before stating that he would be calling back to touch base.

Let’s sum it up here-

1. Way high quote with zero due diligence to back it up, we declined the quote and cancelled the appointment.
2. Sent someone to our home hours after the cancelled appointment time after we’d stated that we were not going to continue to work with them. We reiterated that this was not going to work for us.
3. Called during our workday (7 to 4) to try to push the hard sell again.
4. Replied with about the laziest response to a review.
5. Called AGAIN when it’s pretty clear that we’re not that into them… and when we sent them to voicemail, made it clear this conversation isn’t over.

So why do they deserve more than one star again? I’m finding it hard to figure out.

Feeling a little some kinda way, and sometimes when I’m feeling this way, I like to spend more time in the kitchen. This morning I woke up craving maple sausage breakfast burritos.. the sweet with the savory, you know. I even sacrificed a wedge of my Prominitory Seahive cheese to the effort when it was belatedly discovered we were out of Tillamook cheddar. (If you know, you know.)

We were sitting down to our very late brunch, and I remembered making breakfast burritos for Jake (our more or less adopted kid, when he was all grown up). At the time, I didn’t bother to stock chile in the house for them; I know this is blasphemous to many folks, but Rick and I don’t necessarily have to have green chile on our breakfast. Or lunch. Or dinner. It’s one of those things that we are perfectly fine to enjoy when eating out.

Well. While Jake very much approved of my habit of mixing the cooked bacon in with the eggs, the better to ensure every bite had bacon in it, he was much disapproved of the lack of green chile. I gave him leave to rummage in the fridge and apply any condiment that took his fancy.

He went for the Dave’s Insanity Hot Sauce. A raised a brow and (feebly, because you know, sometimes you gotta give the kid a penny to stick in a light socket) warned him that it was some seriously kicky shit. Like, might wanna go easy on it.

“Nahhh,” Jake said, splashing a quarter of the bottle onto his breakfast. “I like it spicy.”

I’ll say this. He ate it with gusto, praising the cooking and drinking, well, enough fluids. The revenge came within a few hours, as his guts apparently were not as asbestos lined as his mouth.

Luckily, we have a guest bathroom that we were able to dedicate to his sole use/abuse. The lamentations were frequently and, dare I say, fiery? Rick and I mostly didn’t laugh directly to his face, and I quietly saw to it that there was green chile on hand when he next stayed over.

Rick and I were having today’s burritos and shaking our heads ruefully when I remembered cooking for his mom.

Rick’s mom was one of those people for whom any visible spice was immediately suspicious. A peanut butter pie on the Thanksgiving dessert table received several confused questions one year until I sweetly pointed out the sugar free lemon meringue I’d picked up just for her (diabetic).

Since my tolerance of endless, vague questions about what and how I cook dinner is pretty low, we tended to dine out whenever Rick’s mom was with us. Texas Roadhouse was always an acceptable venue, and one Mother’s Day after my mom and stepdad moved to town, we decided what the hell, let’s kill two birds with one stone and have the parents finally (Rick and I had been together for over a decade at this point) meet.

My late mother in law wasn’t an evil person; I truly believe that. She just had some seriously questionable ideas about what topics are appropriate for interrogation. That was her only method of carrying on a conversation- to ask endlessly pointless questions to which she would not bother to retain the answers to for more than seven to ten minutes. But, we figured, Roadhouse is a pretty loud venue, should be super crowded, maybe that’ll help cut down on the sheer volume of questions.

Oh, we were such optimists.

Question one, while we were still waiting to be seated- “How is your dad?”

Understand, like a lot of folks with divorced parentals, it was a tad bitter between my mom and dad. At that point, I hadn’t spoken to my father in several years (of which my mother in law had been informed on several occasions, but, you know, failed to retain the information), and suffice to say no one joining the lunch party that day was overly concerned with or interested in dad’s welfare. I smiled (or at least bared my teeth) and let her know we were still not in touch.

She seemed a tiny bit cowed, responding just with “Oh.” so I had hope that this was the one and only awkward question. Rick and I exchanged one of those meaningful glances in which an entire silent conversation takes place-

Me- What the absolute fuck, dude? What is her malfunction?

Rick, with an half shoulder shrug- It’s my mom, gonna be a bumpy ride

Me- Is it too late to run away screaming?

Rick, placing a hand on my back with brows slightly raised in alarm- Don’t you fucking dare leave me to deal with this on my own.

Rick, out loud- I think our table is ready..

We were seated, and I strongly considered ordering a very large beer, but no terrible topics were introduced, so I went for iced tea instead. It was just past noon, and I guess I was trying NOT to look like a degen… or experience a moment of in vino veritas that would create an actual problem.

Drinks arrive, talk is all about the recent relocation of my folks to our city, all’s going a bit better. I lean up against Rick and enjoy a moment of relief.

And then.

AND THEN.

Rick’s mom asked the question that will haunt me all my days because of the mental image it spawned.

To my stepdad- “So how long have you been in a wheelchair?”

Now, my stepdad was an amazingly chill guy. Very private, extremely capable, and realistically, had been dealing with clueless idiots and their rude questions about his disability for pretty much his whole fucking life. So he very nonchalantly said, “Since birth,” and went on buttering his roll.

Cue Ari’s Utterly Inappropriate Mental Theater- one birthing suite, circa 1968. Instead of the typical scenario, there is a long wheelchair ramp from the stirrups, and out comes Michigan J Newborn/my stepdad, top hat, cane, and tiny to scale wheelchair and my stepdad singing Hello my baby, Hello my honey, Hello my ragtime gal….

It was a long lunch after that. I really shoulda had the beer.

What’s the point here? Really isn’t one, just feeling some kinda way about the imminent holiday and thinking of the folk that aren’t here to share them anymore. Glad I have some memories that are funny…. now.