Shelley Armitage | Author
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Shelley’s Blog

My neighbor, Jim, here in Picacho Hills in Las Cruces, just hailed me over his wall.  "Hey, saw your book reviewed in the Albuquerque Journal last Friday," he said. "Great," I called back.  "Glad to know someone still reads the newspapers!" I was starting my midday walk, already sweating in the intense New Mexico sun. Apparently, someone else saw the article as well.  All the seats were full at the local Albuquerque Bookworks store on Sunday, June 26th when I gave my scheduled talk and reading. It's humbling, to say the...

[caption id="attachment_840" align="alignnone" width="956"] Bob Armitage, South Place, 1929[/caption] He didn't have a jump hook.  Far from it.  And he often sliced the ball when we played golf.  Still this didn't keep my dad from joyously trying.  At 60, he learned to snow ski just because he wanted to take my friends and I skiing and to the mountains. "Seen Daddy?" (on the slope) I asked a friend.  "Nope, but I saw something that looked suspiciously like his ski outfit sticking out of a drift up there." He put up a...

Out west of Vega, on one of the private ranches, there's a slight dip in a landscape, summer arid, red soil, scrub mesquite.  You've meandered along in an almost hypnotic state, land and sky stretching interminably ahead, but your yellow note pad says it's here somewhere. The subtle incline, the modest sandstone formation. If you're alone, the stillness and space may inhabit you.  With friends, voices echo a bit, then disappear.  Either way, this seems an unlikely place for water and for the giant cisterns, likely water catchers, which...