Tent Rocks, Pueblo Village, Albuquerque, Taos and Aunt Sylvia

Last week I accumulated some wonderful memories from a visit to New Mexico and Arizona.  I took along my blogging password so that I could post a new blog from there but somehow I never seemed to find the time. 

It's good for me to "step out of myself" from time to time and see how other people live in other places and build some new memories to revisit later.  Between my Albuquerque friend Bonnie and me, we captured over 200 images on our digital cameras.  My husband, who stayed home in Franklin, joked that he's seen every rock in New Mexico.  Other lasting memories, though, are those that can't be captured in photographs.  I'll share just a few of them here before I step back into my "at home again" role.

1)  Helping to feed the homeless at a United Methodist Church in downtown Albuquerque. On my first day visiting Bonnie (an old friend from college) we spent the morning at her volunteer job, dispensing bagged lunches and bus tokens to the dozens of people who lined up outside the door.  It was a reminder to me that the homeless are everywhere in this land of opportunity.  Some of my freshman college students, who have never seen a homeless person, like to argue that homeless people are homeless by choice.  Not true.

2) Later that day we drove to Tent Rocks National Monument, about 80 miles of Albuquerque, where we hiked among these beautiful teepee-shaped rocks, until the snow-covered path between the rocks became a bit too slippery to safely advance to the top.  If you'd like to see some stunning views of this park, visit this website:  http://images.google.com/images?hl=en&source=hp&q=tent+rocks+new+mexico&um=1&ie=UTF-8&ei=0zKRS560D4qyNrGlgPMM&sa=X&oi=image_result_group&ct=title&resnum=4&ved=0CBwQsAQwAw

3)  On Ash Wednesday we visited an old mission church in Chimayo, between Santa Fe and Taos.  We weren't allowed to take photographs inside the sanctuary though I did purchase a postcard at the gift shop.  After an excellent lunch in a nearby restaurant, we saw many people emerging from the church, their foreheads marked with ashes.  I had forgotten it was Ash Wednesday, but the memory of these Christians worshipping in the small mission church has left a lasting impression.

On the Chimayo.org website I learned: "Shortly after the Pueblo Revolt,1680-1692, several groups of Spanish colonists settled in the northwestern section of the fertile Chimayó Valley. The colonists were hard working, independent farmers and artisans whose occupations included weaving, day labor and stock raising. They came to the area in hopes of receiving the title hidalgo (nobleman) if they stayed. Frequently they were granted land, building lots, subsidies and farming implements for their new life of hardship on the frontier.

Some of those artisans are still hard at work in Chimayo; I purchased a few items of weaving and pottery.  There were hundreds of others on display -- beautiful work.

4) Among the many other memories of my travels around New Mexico, with Bonnie as my guide, are Santa Fe, Taos, and Acomo Pueblo Village, 60 miles west of Albuquerque.  It's constructed on a mesa.  Our Native American guide was filled with pride as he showed us around the village, which has been named a National Historic Trust Site.  All the buildings are still occupied, even though there is no electricity or running water.  That is the choice of his people, as they want to keep it as it  has been through the years. Too many people forget that this wonderful land of ours was originally theirs.  It is a humbling thought.

To take your own virtual tour of this beautiful area, visit http://www.discovernewmexico.com/articles/acoma_sky_city_national_trust/index.htm

5) In the caption above I mention my 96-year-old Aunt Sylvia, because I flew from Albuquerque to Phoenix so that I could stop and visit her.  She is still sharp -- beat me several games of cribbage -- and still has that girlish twinkle in her eyes that I remember from every previous visit with her.  I'm holding her in my thoughts now as well.

One day soon I will organize a scrapbook of my trip to the Southwest.  For now, I'm just letting images and shared experiences weave themselves in and out of my memory.  It's time to step back into my real life, here on Scherrei Drive in Franklin, Wisconsin.