Re-entering Taos always feels to me like re-entering Earth’s atmosphere from outer space in a rocket that might burst at the seams from all the heat, shaking, and pressure.
I could blame it on the thin air at this altitude which, after a summer at sea level, reduces my ability to think, sleep, and eat. I could attribute it to the August heat, dry as a sauna, which leaves my brain, and seemingly everyone else’s, in a general state of afternoon siesta. I could chalk it up to good old jet lag or on the interminably long three hour drive home from the airport with restless six year old boys after two flights and a layover.
Or I could just accept what I know to be true. For all of its raw beauty and its spirituality, Taos has a special way, upon returning to it, of kicking one’s butt.
After a couple of weeks back home in Taos, when I was certain I had endured the brunt of the transition (thankfully without any serious illness, missing pets, or car damage,) I mustered up the energy and courage to venture into our local Wal-Mart, a true litmus test of my acclimatization.
I went to buy a facial moisturizer, an anti-wrinkle cream to be exact, to make myself feel better about what the strong sun and unquenchable dryness was doing to my Irish skin. The glass cabinet where the facial moisturizers are kept was locked. I asked an employee at the pharmacy if she could open it for me. She directed me to find the “lady at Health and Beauty.” I pushed my cart through Health and Beauty where I discovered no sign of human life. I ventured into Lawn and Garden and found five women clad in blue Wal-Mart vests chatting with each other.
“Excuse me. Could anyone please unlock the moisturizer cabinet for me?”
The women discussed the issue amongst themselves for a while, wondering where that key could have gone now. When they had determined that none of them knew who had it, one of the women pulled a walkie-talkie from her vest pocket, put it up to her mouth and shouted over the intercom, “ We need a customer service representative to the Oil of Olay counter!”
Oil of Olay counter? Never mind the fact that the ten dollar moisturizer I was hoping to purchase was made by Neutrogena, the way she said Oil of Olay reminded me of roaming around the cosmetic booths at Macy’s in New York when I was a kid, where overly made-up and perfumed beauty specialists lured women to their counters by spraying fragrances at them and offering cosmetic “bonuses” from Clinique, Chanel, Dior, Estee Lauder, Lancome… Here, in Wal-Mart, the glass cabinet is apparently the Oil of Olay counter, and it is special enough to be kept locked up.
I wandered back to the cabinet, feeling silly since I was nearly positive no one would appear to unlock it, and pondering how a Target would at that moment feel like a Saks Fifth Avenue. I waited near the case for five minutes, watching the old, weathered men at the Subway counter talk and eat lunch. I considered giving up, but I had already invested so much time and energy into my quest that I decided to persevere. As soon as I made up my mind to walk back over to the ladies in Lawn and Garden, the woman from the pharmacy approached. “You’re still waiting for that key? I’ll get one from the register.”
She disappeared and reappeared surprisingly quickly. “Which one do you want?” she asked while looking in the cabinet. I pointed to a 1.3 ounce tube. She removed it with a regal formality but she didn’t hand it to me. Instead, she said, “I’ll take you to register nine with it.” I was not done with my shopping, but I realized I couldn’t let the opportunity pass. I was personally escorted through Wal-Mart, not allowed to hold my precious moisturizer until I was officially handed off to the employee at the cash register.
“I guess people steal these,” the lady at the register said, without looking up.
“Oh,” I said, unloading my cart, “ but this laundry detergent cost more.”
“This is smaller,” she replied.
“Right,” I said, while a voice in my head, as clear as the one over the intercom, told me, “Houston, the Eagle has landed.”