We need a little Christmas, We need a little Christmas now!

December 14, 2012.  

The Pootatuck River in Sandy Hook

The first inkling I had that something was wrong was when I saw an entry on Facebook posted by my niece that read "Many prayers are needed in Newtown."  Then the sketchy reports of online news services, confirming the mass shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary School, ushered in a week that I think is the saddest I have ever spent.  

I don't know if our family's connection to Sandy Hook in Newtown made the events of December 14th more horrible in my mind than it may have been in the minds of others.  Or, maybe the savagery of the attack at the school was so horrendous that, around the nation, we all felt equally sickened and unable to adequately process our feelings.  All I do know is that I spent the better part of a week drawn to the daily news of frustrating and unbearable heartbreak.  I spent the week trying to will strength and love and mental health to the families of those affected.  I spent the week thinking about my family, friends, all those close to me who mean so much to me.  

I spent time thinking about my own teachers over the years, and thinking about friends who have been teachers themselves and who have helped to raise thousands of schoolchildren in their careers.  Debby Palmer, Pat White, Joe Somok, we owe you big time for the dedication you gave day after day to the little ones entrusted to your care.  Thank the Lord that you and your children remained safe.
 
With the last funerals in Newtown taking place on Saturday, I was able to begin to change my obsession with the tragedy to something closer to a resolve.  A resolve that I will be be pro-active in the discussion of guns and mental health.  

I need a Christmas, a Christmas to get me out of the past week's funk of shock, horror, and sadness.  I need a little Christmas now!

From The Newtown Bee -- Editorial Ink Drops:

First Steps To The Future

It is difficult to think about the future when the crucible of the present moment is still too hot to touch.  But we do know that when Newtown emerges from this awful and intense chapter of its continuing  story, things will be different. The trauma of this time, the sorrow it has stitched into our hearts,  and this new enduring suspicion that security is a mirage, will frame the future we construct for ourselves. It is gratifying to know our first steps away from this painful present will be taken in honor of those we  have lost: a detailed and thorough police investigation of why so many good people had to die at  Sandy Hook Elementary School on December 14; an outpouring of material support for those  most grievously hurt by the crime that took those lives; and tributes and memorials now under  consideration or soon-to-be-proposed so that we never forget this time. This is where we need  to start so that we do not keep circling back around to unresolved questions about what this tragedy  means to us as a town. All we know for sure is that this is the season when we defy the darkness with celebrations of coming  birth and renewal. And with those celebrations, light creeps back into the world.  While its return may  be slow at first, it is as certain and as unstoppable as the sun.  (Copyright © 1999-2012 Bee Publishing Company)

December 22, 2012 - a week later --
MY ESCAPE TO OREGON

The joy of living near a small commercial airport, Charles Schultz Airport in Santa Rosa (home of Peanuts, Linus, Schroeder, Margaret, etal), was experienced on Sunday, the 23rd of December, when I climbed aboard a flight to Portland where I would catch a flight to Bend, Oregon.  Counting the 10 minute drive to the airport, the entire journey took just over 3 hours.  Less time than a Harry Potter movie!

Arriving in Bend and seeing that it was covered in new-fallen snow, I realized it's been many years since this New Englander has had a White Christmas.  The family sent a driver with studded snow tires to get me at the airport.  Twenty minutes later I was surrounded by Brother Dick and his Wife Fran, Nephew Brandon and his Wife Jodi, and new Grand Niece, Stella Nicole, who is 10 weeks old.  We were gathered in a cozy and warm house on the side of a snow-covered mountain.  

Wonderland

Dick and Fran have come up from San Diego to spend time with their first granddaughter.  This opportunity to meet Stella was extended to me, her Grand Uncle, and to Fran's sister Nicole, her Grand Aunt.  Sadly however, Nicole and her family had to cancel the trip due to an emergency surgery.  Stella is a healthy, happy little girl.  Hardly any crying, and lots of inquisitiveness in the big blue eyes.

Stella and her Gram

Wonderful food and togetherness.  Food like families have.  Not food like a single getting-older man has.  Pork chops and a board game on the 23rd.  Cioppino and snowfall on Christmas Eve.  And prime rib and Yorkshire pudding on Christmas Day.  

While unwrapping our gifts, a small package from our Sister in Connecticut had a gift card that read, "this gift is for all of you!"  For as long as I can remember, our family at holiday dinners always had celery stuffed with something Kraft Foods called "Roka Blue Cheese" that came in a little glass jar   At our house it was as honored a tradition as was canned jellied cranberry sauce from Ocean Spray.  But, for several years now the product hasn't been on the shelves at the market.  Can't find it anywhere.  It's been gone so long that a new generation of store personnel doesn't know what I'm talking about.  And it's been missed so much by Brother Dick (and the rest of us) that enterprising Sister-in-law Fran made her own version last year by mixing cream cheese with a hunk of real blue cheese.  Not the same, however.  So, getting back to this Christmas morning.  Maureen had sent us a jar of original "Roka Blue Cheese!"  I understand she found a source online, bought herself several jars, and shared one with us.  Each jar cost 10 times what it normally would, but it's worth it to get stuffed celery back on the menu!  

Stayed another day and night and came back to Charles Schultz Airport on the 27th.  The airport recently moved it's luggage retrieval off the tarmac and has built a carousel inside.  They've also enlarged the waiting room, but it is still an easy friendly place.  It's about the size that SFO was back in the 1970's when I started those bi-coastal years.  Used to be able to leave The City and 20 minutes later park my car and run across the road to the terminal.  No longer.  But that's the way it is now at Charles Schultz.  Hope is stays that way for a long long time.  

Picked up the pooch from the "pet resort" (not that he was anxious to leave his friends there) and was home in no time.  Sandy Hook continues to cope with its tragedy.  The reality is that it will never be far from my/our consciousness.  But, thanks Brandon and Jodi for a nice warm, yet snowy, Christmas in Oregon.  And best wishes for lots of happy warm Christmases to come for you and my Grand Niece, Stella Nicole!   

When in Rome - (Lunedi -- il terzo giorno)

A beautiful, clear, blue-sky Monday morning on the Via di San Martino ai Monti! 

The Hotel Tirreno (in the distance)

After breakfast, I pull out the tourist book and decide how to spend my Monday morning.  I've got the afternoon planned at the Vatican, but my morning is free.  I decide on the Spanish Steps and the Fountain of Trevi, so I hop in a cab and head out.  

Okay, fine, I get to the Spanish Steps, get out of the cab, and take a look.  I see steps... I see tourists... I think Spanish... and that's all very nice!  But I get back in the cab and go on to Trevi.  

Maybe the "Three Coins in a Fountain" place will grab me differently.  I know once it gets in my head, that song grabs me (almost as much as does "It's a Small World" at Disneyland).  As I hum along with Dinah Shore -- "  ...which one will the fountain bless...which one..."  , we seem to be driving forever.  This Fontana di Trevi is pretty well off the beaten path; not in some big public square.  We twist and turn our way down some fairly small streets eventually finding it tucked into a clearing where a bunch of little streets come together.  

Fontana di Trevi

And it's jam-packed with tourists (like me!).  " ...make it mine...make it mine..."    I find it's difficult to back up far enough to take a full photograph.   But alas, there's the little Church of Saints Vincenzo and Anastasio nearby whose steps afford a vantage point for some photos -- and a place to sit, out of the sun for a bit.  After taking a quick look around the pretty church and viewing the fountain from every angle (all while paying tribute repeatedly to Jule Steyn, Sammy Cahn, and Frank Sinatra), I'm off on foot down one of the small streets, heading out of 1954 Hollywood and back into the present-day wonder of this Eternal City.

I find a cab and make a fairly long trip across Rome to Vatican City.  I'm greeted with the sight of several long lines -- ticket-holders, non-ticket-holders, those with reservations, those without reservations, etc.   Since I've got my ticket, I'll wait 'til closer to my scheduled 1 p.m. admission time to get into a line.  I find a place right across the street for lunch.  The cheese plate is perfect and the obligatory after-lunch-gelato comes with a memorable scolding from the Gelato Lady.  You see, I pointed to what I wanted and spoke the word "limon."  Shamefully, it seems the gelato to which I pointed was not "limon" but was "crema."  Thank you dear Gelato Lady, I've learned my lesson:  I shall not ever forget what "crema" looks like.  Actually everyone within earshot around me will probably never forget what "crema" looks like!

Time to go across the street and be within the walls of the smallest country in the world -- the Vatican.

The Vatican Museum

With all the people standing in lines outside, I'm amazed how speedy the entry to the museum is.  I just walk up to the door since everyone else with 1 p.m. tickets is already inside and I am left to start my wandering in these endless rooms unimpeded.  

Before I embark on my artwalk, I visit the gift shop, looking for something small yet meaningful for Laura and a gift for Dana and Tom who are having me to their home for dinner this evening.  While in the shop, Emma pops up in front of me and says hello.  She, Debbie, and Charlie were about to begin their guided tour of the museum.  It's the last time I will see them as tomorrow they leave for home and I go on to Vienna and Frankfurt.

I start out with paintings -- lots of paintings...of Madonnas, of the Deposition, of various saints.  My mind is a blur after an hour or so.  And I later learn my flash shows up in each and every photo of a painting.

Madonna and Bambino c. 1500 by Mariano di Austerio da Perugia

I then come upon the fantastic Faberge eggs and other Russian miniature things.  The egg below, with tiny family portraits and important events, was presented by Emperor Nicholas II to his wife Empress Alexandra in St. Petersburg on their 15th Wedding Anniversary in 1911.

The Anniversary Egg

I now enter many rooms of sculptures -- gods, saints, popes, Jesus, noblemen...

  Then we have a couple of rooms of animal sculptures.

Outside in this courtyard there is the beginning of a spring shower.  I'm following signs for the Sistine Chapel so I enter the long low building pictured below where I find this very long, very busy ceiling.  Here, thankfully, there are open windows along the way.  The thick humid air here is unlike what we have in northern California and I need air.

Then, after many left hand turns, right hand turns, up many stairs and down many other stairs, I reach the Sistine Chapel...along with, it seems, 5000 others.  Down some final steps I join this HUGE crowd, all standing shoulder to shoulder, and all looking upward. 

The ceiling of the Sistine Chapel

It's dark and hot and humid in there.  I notice that the recently restored colors are quite bold and the ceiling is jam-packed with scenes, and that surprises me.  But I'm about to freak out.  I manage to snap just 3 pictures and then make a beeline towards the opposite end of the space and begin to look for exits.  I'm close to having my first-ever anxiety attack.  My mind is racing, conjuring up all the danger inherent in being in this small overcrowded, unventilated space with no easily identifiable exits.  After I do find a small exit, I follow the path to get out.  It twists and turns, up and down really narrow passageways for several minutes, until I'm finally deposited at the door to the outside.  People are huddled around the door, blocking egress because it is raining very heavily now.  I squeeze my way past everyone, get out, buy an umbrella from a street vendor, and look for a cab.  Since I'm just not in the mood for more walking, either in the rainy gardens or in St. Peter's, I get a cab and go back to the hotel.  St. Peter's will have to be seen on another trip to Rome.  Right now it's time for this aging tourist to rest some hips a bit before heading down to Dana and Tom's for dinner, the account of which will appear in the next chapter of this blog.

Fall 2010

Today, the ancient peach tree lit up the back yard, and...
the four year-old persimmon tree lit up the front yard.

While On the Front Porch

This afternoon, after 3 days of drippy rain, Topper and I enjoyed some autumn sunshine and watched the world go by from the front porch.  At around 3 p.m., seeing the kids walking home from school reminded me of something from my childhood.  I wrote about this memory in 2007 when I was retiring from Old First in San Francisco.  I'll use this opportunity to get that farewell essay into my blog.

A FEW WORDS IN PARTING

September 2007

I was raised in Connecticut, where I lived near a pond with polliwogs and skunk cabbage, where I played in Mr. Peck's orchard and Mr. Davis's pasture, where I walked past Mr. Davis's big foursquare stone house every day on my way to and from school. Up a long sidewalk with tall hedges on each side, most days on the broad front porch there sat 90-year old Mr. Davis.  Sometimes we just waved as we went by.  But frequently we stopped to visit and most often he was in the midst of putting together a jigsaw puzzle, stabbing and lifting each piece with a dental tool because his fingers were frozen stiff with painful arthritis. We kids sat with him for a while and he often entertained us with adventures of his growing up in the mid-1800's!

Then off I went to a Jesuit prep school and college, where I ingested the lifelong fruits of the Spiritual Exercises of Ignatius of Loyola and closely followed the conjugate-able and decline-able exploits of J. Caesar, Marcus T. Cicero, Publius Virgil, and others.

After college I moved to New York City, where for 15 years I played a lot, lived a lot, drank a lot, and found a Higher Power, who saved my life.

In the mid 70’s, a New York management consulting firm sent me to San Francisco to assist Levi Strauss & Co. in managing their phenomenal growth. Levi's was my client for five years; I traveled all over the world coordinating the way they moved their piles of paper from place to place.

Levi's wanted me to work longer in the Far East, but I decided to stay in San Francisco and open a dessert bakery. I supplied restaurants like the Carnelian Room and hotels like The Clift with desserts and made wedding cakes and mail-order cheesecakes. After six years, though, the work was more accounting and personnel than bringing joy to people's palates, so I sold the business and started looking for something else to do.

That was October of 1988, and my partner, Don Briggs, was leaving the Administrator’s job here at Old First. Interim Pastor Bob Vogt (the second in a line of four successive interims) offered me the job, and I took it.

The church was very quiet during those "interim years."  I spent long lunch hours soaking up the sun in Lafayette Park. I had planned to work here for only a short time while I searched for a "real" job. But days turned to weeks, and months to years, and I found that this congregation had a hold on me. I learned this was my real job.

During this time at Old First, most of my good friends died of AIDS. I am very fortunate to have been here. I have relied on the friendships established here probably a lot more than I would have if my personal support group had not dwindled. How lucky I’ve been to be part of the Old First family.

It has also been a privilege to work here. The examples of faith put before me have been awesome. It's going to be hard to break the daily ties, but in some ways I will take a piece of you all with me. So now, 14 pastors, 369 new members, and more than 1,000 Sundays later, it's time again to start looking for something else to do.

I am not going off to O'Malley's Home for Wretched Aging ex-Catholics. I have plans to finish restoring my old house in Healdsburg and take some classes in Botany. I hope to get seriously into sculpture. Maybe during the rainy winters I can finish the quilt I started during a gray 1979 winter in Brussels. Maybe I'll bake a cheesecake.

Each spring and fall, maybe I'll sit on my front porch, watching the kids walk home from school while I put together a jigsaw puzzle that has little holes pricked in all the pieces. Half a century ago, old Mr. Davis gave each of us kids a puzzle after he worked it. This puzzle and I have traveled hither and yon; we've made it this far.

I wonder if the puzzle still has all its pieces. I know some of mine are missing! I’m leaving them at Old First!

Say “Goodnight,” Gracie.

The First Rain

We had our first rain today.  Started before dawn and continued through mid-day. 

During a lull in the rain, I noticed this line of fast-moving, soft, smooth clouds stretching from north to south in the eastern sky. 

I've never before seen clouds like these. 

Like huge gray grapefruits or gray bubbles in a black and white photo.

A Week in New Mexico

A week ago Saturday, I traveled to New Mexico to meet up with Carleen who was finishing up a Habitat for Humanity project in Santa Fe. We spent the next week on the road. Looking back, it was, in addition to validating a lifelong friendship, a week full of great sightseeing and fabulous food. Our itinerary took us to Albuquerque, Santa Fe, Taos, Ghost Ranch, and back to Albuquerque.

The first couple of days were spent in Albuquerque. Our initial plans were to ride the tram up Sandia Peak -- the longest tram in the world. However, dressed for 5000 feet above sea level (and not for a colder 10,000 feet above sea level), kept us on the ground. The snow and frigid temps up above deterred our going up and we decided to return the next day more suitably dressed. So, we headed for a visit with Rosemary Bledsoe, a friend from San Francisco, who had recently moved to Albuquerque to be nearer to her daughter and family. We had a nice visit with R.B. and her beautiful granddaughter, Aeryn. She gave us some good leads of what to do in the area. Lunch that day was at The Frontier and was followed by a walk around the campus of UNM and its wonderful contemporary sculptures. This one that Carleen photographed raised many questions -- not least of which was -- were these actually 2 men?


Later that day we headed to Old Town and were treated to an enactment of a Wild West skit with drunk men and unhappy wives and loud guns loaded with blanks. And we headed for a restaurant suggested by my friend Duane Garrett and found it closed. Ended up picking another restaurant nearby, managing to get in before it too closed (at 6:30 pm!).

In the morning we ventured forth to Petroglyph National Monument http://www.nps.gov/petr/ where there are more than 20,000 images of people, animals, insects, and geometric designs created in the rock centuries ago. In 1986 the entire 17-mile escarpment was placed on the National Register of Historic Places and in 1990 it was designated a National Monument. To the American Indians the entire monument is a sacred landscape and stories are passed on from generation to generation. In addition to the rocks and the geology of the place, it was where we first began to notice the native plants of the area. The shades of green go from richly verdant to almost tan. This spectrum was omnipresent throughout our trip. All week long we were bombarded by colors of these plants and the freshness of the Spring greens in the new leafing on the aspens and cottonwoods...plus the stupifying cloud formations. Cameras do not do any of it justice, so we tried to commit to memory each hue and form for later replica-tion (in our artwork -- each of us likes to think (s)he is an artist! -- ahem!).

Leaving Petroglyph, we headed for the Turquoise Trail, a national scenic byway between Albuquerque and Santa Fe. http://www.turquoisetrail.org/ It proved to be a jaw-dropping incredulous 62 mile-long drive that wended its way through spectacular wide-open country. Each winding turn along the 2 lane road brought us to yet more stunning vistas. Small towns along the way seemed forgotten in time. That is... until we reached ...Madrid. http://www.turquoisetrail.org/stops/category/madrid/ We soon learned it's "Mad' rid" and found many local artists in their shops and galleries. One shop, http://www.colorlightarts.com/ was particularly wonderful with its artists' offerings and its equally wonderful proprietor named Suzie who hippily moved west from Albany NY in the 70's. Needless to say, we used some of our spending money there. We lunched at "The Hollar" where the outside world had already met up with Madrid. http://thehollarrestaurant.com/index.html We each had a salad with goat cheese and roasted peppers among the greens and veggies, al fresco. It was perfect!

In Santa Fe, our accomodations at the Villas de Santa Fe (on Griffin St. which is near to impossible to find) turned out to be small condos. (Priceline was good to us, folks!) We each had a living room and a kitchen in addition to a large bedroom. We each had two TV's too (I guess one was for video games!). That evening, we went off to find a local grocery to stock our refrigerators with yoghurts, salsas, juices, etc. Also that evening I began a serious bout with altitude "sickness." Lightheadedness to the point of falling over and what seemed like extra pressure on my chest kept me inside the next morning, while Carleen went out walking. But that afternoon I joined her and we spent time at the Georgia Okeeffe Museum on Johnson St. With short documentaries and docent-lead tours, Miss O'Keeffe's place in the art world came to life (as did I).

That evening we had dinner at the gorgeous Santa Fe home of Car's friend, Susie Chapin, and her partner Doug Smith. Small world that it is, it took no time to find out that Susie has a sister here in Healdsburg and that Doug and I both worked for Avon 3 floors apart at 9 W 57th St in NYC during the same years in the 1970's. Dinner was wonderful with a roasted chicken as the star. As a "high-altitude roasted chicken," it required a higher temp to cook and took twice as long as down here near sea level. So the lively evening went on a bit longer than usual.

The next morning, we enjoyed The Santa Fe Plaza, the Cathedral and Basilica of St. Francis of Assisi (patron saint of Santa Fe), and world famous Canyon Road full of art galleries. Do you know that Santa Fe is the third largest market for art in the US behind NYC and LA? One amazing artist we both liked is Nigel Conway, who exhibits at the gallery called gf contemporary, http://www.gfcontemporary.com/. Click on "artists" and then on "Nigel Conway." His lovely wife, Sabine - in her "thrift shop" Prada skirt, spent a goodly amount of time with us. (their home is in Mad'-rid on the Turquoise Trail). Nigel says his art comes from the stripping of masks and societal roles. Take a look, you might concur!

We then hopped in our car and started the drive to Taos. We took the "high road" so we could visit Santuario de Chimayo, the place everyone tells us to get the "holy dirt." It is located in a Spanish Colonial settlement established in 1740. http://chimayo.us/ Upon entering the town, we first visited the Chimayo Museum, a small 3 room adobe, with typical viga style roof and dirt floors, down a gravel path and across a snow-melt ice-cold rushing stream. http://www.chimayomuseum.org/ On exhibit were high school students' artwork -- from paintings and sculptures to jewelry, woven cloth and rugs. We voted for our favorites and then proceeded in our quest of the holy dirt.

We soon arrived at the Santuario, which is a very old church on a large tract of land alongside a river swollen with spring run-off from the nearby mountains. In small dark rooms off the sanctuary we found walls lined with forsaken crutches and walkers, and then we spied the holy dirt. There was a hole approximately a foot in diameter in the middle of the floor of a small room. It was filled with sandy dirt. I don't know if the dirt automatically multiplies occasionally to keep the hole filled or if someone brings some in periodically, but it was full at the moment I was there. As I filled a small plastic container with some, we broke with the solemnity of the place and wondered together what the result would be if we mixed the holy dirt with holy water! Dear Lord, forgive me, please!

Back on the high road we stopped at a small restaurant called Rancho de Chimayo for lunch. http://www.ranchodechimayo.com/restaurante/restaurante.htm A wonderful chicken fajita salad and another notch in our unbroken string of good eateries (don't you just love mixed metaphors?)!

Most of the week, there was so much sky visible from horizon to horizon that we could see several distinct weather systems all around us, yet miles away. Towards our arrival in Taos, we knew we were in for an afternoon thunderstorm. The rains came and were severe but they also left very quickly. We were soon able to poke around the Plaza de Taos and made reservations for dinner at Doc Martins at the venerable Taos Inn near the Plaza http://www.taosinn.com/restaurant.html.

I think Doc Martins might be the place to be when one is in Taos. In any case, not being in the know, nothing else in town looked appealing. This place, with a lively jazz band in one room, was jumping with life. And the menu was lively as well. Carleen ordered rattlesnake and rabbit sausage as a first course and my main dish was wild boar spare ribs. After waiting a long while to be served, we heard a loud crash and saw our ready-to-serve dishes fall off a service table. After sweeping up the broken china mixed with bits of rattlesnake, rabbit, and wild boar, our poor waiter asked if we could be patient as the chef would have to start over. In the end, our meals were worth waiting for. I did decline, however, an offer "to taste" the sausage!

After a good night's sleep punctuated by another amazing hail and thunder storm with wind howling outside the rooms' windows, we enjoyed our complimentary full breakfast and then headed off to the Pueblo de Taos http://www.taospueblo.com/.

We arrived at the pueblo after a rainy night so the unpaved streets of the pueblo were almost ankle deep in mud -- a mud unlike any I've seen back east or in California. This mud's consistency is quite thick (and very slippery). It caked our shoes until the next day. It is, indeed, a perfect building material.

Upon first entering the pueblo we came across the ruins of an ancient church and a cemetery still in use. With just simple wooden crosses, it had a striking beauty.

We walked around the pueblo for a few hours. No running water, no electricity, and all cooking is done in wood fire ovens. While some of the buildings are fairly new, others are over 1000 years old. Most receive an annual repair coat of new adobe. Many of them have ladders leading to the roofs. I found out that in olden days there were no doors to the buildings. To gain entry one climbed the ladder to a roof where there was an opening for entry and for sunlight. This served as protection as well. They just pulled up the ladders and foes were held at bay. The Red Willow River runs through the center of the pueblo and provides all the water for the residents. In addition to the flat land where the structures are located, the pueblo lands include many square miles of land up the sides of the nearby mountains.












Slipping, sliding, and squishing our way back to our car, we took off our adobified shoes (which could have kept each of us at the bottom of the East River for weeks) and started our journey west to Abiquiu and Ghost Ranch http://www.ghostranch.org/.

Ghost Ranch was given to the Presbyterian Church in the 1955 by the Pack family. For the 19 years I worked at Old First Church, pastoral staff and congregants would flock to Ghost Ranch each summer for a couple of weeks of rest, relaxation, and stimulating educational courses. I never seemed to get there. So, If there was one place I wanted to be on this trip to New Mexico, it was Ghost Ranch – if only to see what all the fuss was about!

The drive from Taos to Abiquiu was spectacular. Several times as we rounded a bend, we had a “Holy Cow” or “OMIGOD” moment and had to pull over to be part of what was in front of us. The geology of the region and the colors of the hills and cliffs were awe inspiring.

As we got closer to the Ranch, the level of spectacular-ness increased. By the time we arrived at the Ranch it seemed we had just been through a live travelogue.


We checked in at the office, got directions to our cabin, and got our meal tickets for dinner. We had a small cabin with 2 bedrooms and a living room. Adobe with the Southwestern architectural highlights, including viga ceilings. Quietness prevailed – except for a few minutes of sudden hail. Our 24 hours there were not filled with Southwestern Sunshine. Clouds and showers were the name of the game.

Carleen found (yet another) labyrinth and a hiking trail that afternoon, and off she went to add to her miles of steps she was giving to a charity. (She did at least 5 miles each day that week (some going in circles) to accumulate more than the 100 miles pledged for the month of April!).

I was able to hook up with a docent-led tour of the private acres and acres of the vistas made famous by Georgia O’Keeffe in her paintings.













http://www.ghostranch.org/museums--activities/georgia-okeeffe--tours.html
Miss O’Keeffe in 1940 talked Arthur Pack into selling her his own residence, called Rancho de los Burros, and 7 acres surrounding the house, and he built himself another home on the Ranch. After her husband, Alfred Steiglitz, died in 1946 she left the east coast and moved to her houses in Abiquiu and Ghost Ranch full-time.

We spent about an hour and a half stopping at various places around the Ranch where she painted a particular picture. We were able to drive down some private Ranch roads to see her home (now owned by a Foundation set up to preserve her legacy). http://www.nps.gov/history/nr/feature/wom/1999/o

Dinner was early (i.e. 5 pm early!). We managed not to show up until 5:45 pm and then enjoyed our cafeteria-style excellent tacos. After dinner, we spent some time in the 24/7 Ranch Library, catching up with a week’s supply of newspapers. Carleen did some more walking and I turned in early.

After a very peaceful cozy night’s sleep at the Ranch's Cedar Cabin we finished our breakfast, did some catching up with emails on the computers, and departed. We were heading back to Albuquerque where we had tickets to The Gathering of Nations. But not before we stopped at Bode’s, the general store in Abiquiu. (Abiquiu constists of this store and the Post Office, I think). http://bodes.com/. Take a look!

We got to Albuquerque early and were able to check in at The Hampton Inn. Of all the Priceline lodgings we were at this week, this was by far the most plush and one of the least expensive. Wonderful beds with many down pillows and duvet, soft thick towels, and refrigerator and microwave in each room. And a “Business Center” open to guests with internet and fax service, free copier, paper, desk supplies, etc.

The Gathering of Nations is the getting-together of more than 100 Native American tribes for their annual pow-wow. This year it was held outdoors at the stadium of the University of New Mexico. http://www.gatheringofnations.com/.

On Friday we were able to attend the contests held for the various nations to present their dances. The dancers were judged and prizes were awarded. We were overwhelmed by the beauty of the native outfits – hundreds of them. I’ve never seen so many feathers and beads and so much doeskin. Most of the outfits made noise as well – like the rustle of beads or the jangle of bells. It was truly festive – and organized as well.

This is a photo of the young girls' dance of the shawls.  But who would have thought that sitting in a stadium in April in New Mexico that we would be freezing our tushes off. Well we were, so we left the stadium after a couple of hours and headed into town for dinner.

We had stopped for drinks earlier in the week at a very nice place (also recommended by Duane) called Seasons.  See website.  We weren’t hungry that first night so we didn’t eat there, but were impressed by the menu. So we headed back there this night. What a providential decision! Carleen ordered artichoke raviolis and the best margarita she says has ever had. I ordered pan-seared sea scallops with bulgar & wild rice and chanterelles. The scallops literally melted in my mouth. The meal was the best meal of the week for each of us.

I’ll remember Albuquerque as the place where my last activities as a visitor were dining on perfect sea scallops and sleeping with clouds of down pillows.  Soon it was 6:00 am on Saturday and we had to get to the airport for our trips home – Carleen to Connecticut and I to California. What a fabulous week!

Thanks Car for the great number of your photographs I swiped for this blog!