Our city has a little neighboring village to the south, Mesilla, or as we say here, "Old Mesilla." It actually butts up against Las Cruces, but has its own governance, post office, police force, and so on. Mesilla is what I like to call a "mixed" area. It has a few million-dollar homes, many expensive homes, a wonderful tourist square anchored by San Albino Basilica (shown in an earlier post) and then what could be called shacks on a good day.
Now, that has made me think of the song "Once in a Lifetime" by the Talking Heads. One line goes, "And you may find youself living in a shotgun shack." Well, I'd LOVE to live in a little shotgun house, but a nicely finished one, thank you, not a shack.
One problem is that since most structures are very old, the place is a historic district, with strict and crazy rules. It's hard to improve homes for those on a budget, so they fall more and more into disrepair as they are passed down generation from generation. As that song then says, "Same as it ever was, same as it ever was."
The building where I worked before COVID hit has been everything from a jail to a tortilla factory and was built in the 1830's. Now it's a snotty "media" company. I had no idea, when I interviewed, that the structure DID NOT CONTAIN A BATHROOM OR ANY RUNNING WATER. Nor did it have cooling or heating, because the systems broke and the owners would not pay to repair them.
Adobes have thick, thick walls, but thick walls are not enough when it is 105 degrees out or 30 degrees out. It was miserable, winter and summer.
Inside, the ceiling was palm fronds held in by vigas -- big pine beams. The fronds rained down stuff all the time. Dry rot, I guess. And roaches. Cockroaches. The walls were whitewashed adobe, and the floor was bricks, no mortar, just old bricks on dirt. The floor was like a topographical map, with hills and valleys, a couple of cliffs, and was very difficult to walk on. Windows were old glass beginning to sag, etched with the memories of hundreds of strong dust storms. I couldn't find what, but something was eating the adobe inside, by the corners of the windows. They would eat it, and leave tiny round balls of adobe mud. I mean tiny, tiny spheres, like non-pariels you find on candy, but even smaller. Adobe is reinforced mud, if you've forgotten.
It was haunted, of course. The first thing I felt when I arrived there was that a back portion of the building had an unusual presence, an unhappy presence. And I'll say no more lest someone get scared. Seriously. I will save that tale for autumn.
Some old, old structures I would love to redo as a home, but not that one. It was just too far gone inside.
Here are a couple of pictures I took of the building. I hung the ristras up when I worked there (long ropes of dried chiles). I so dreaded the outhouse, the second picture. It was just awful. Yet sometimes I would take pity on tourists, ladies of a certain age, who most urgently asked me if they could go in...even an outhouse is better than nothing! They'd often shriek, however, when a denizen of the foul room would scurry out within their line of vision. And the awful windows, very nerve-wracking in a bathroom.
And speaking of jobs, today was the first day of my new job, once again as a legal secretary, and I will say no more at this time! Except that I am grateful to have a job.
Anyone else ever work in a weird or haunted structure?
Kind regards,
Holly, The Merry Olde Dame
