It's been seven years and eleven months since we last visited Sarah's cousin Joyce here at 7000 feet, just east of Zuzax. Sarah got mad at me when I tried to play Partridge Family for her as we walked through ABQ "sunport" from arrival gate to baggage claim. I didn't realize David Cassidy was so triggering for her, though I can kind of see her point. It was foggy and drizzly, the first rain they've seen in months. Guess we brought a little of that Seattle magic. Joyce's house is quite the showplace after a lifetime of careful collecting; it resembles a natural history museum--bones, antlers, potsherds, fossils, fabrics, all kinds of artifacts. She doesn't have a computer and the TV is sequestered in a side room, so we spend a lot of time in conversation, ranging from current events (the horror, the horror...) to old days tales of growing up in mid-century small town Ohio. She cracked us up with stories of her as a snotty four-year-old smoking gutter butts on the sidewalk who quickly learned that there was no such thing as keeping a low profile when everyone knows who your father is. Funny how we've come full circle. Marshall McLuhan predicted an electronic global village, so it follows that we're back to square one where everyone knows everyone else's business, reminder that privacy might not be a right but a privilege.