Good Stones

The trip was almost over when I stumbled into a small Navaho jewelry store on the square in Santa Fe.  I thought I’d check for rings, but what I really hoped to find was a natural turquoise necklace that wasn’t too extravagant that I could take apart to use the stones in my art studio.  I saw a clearance sign and headed back there.  The necklace I picked up was marked $270. and the shop owner quickly came to my side.  “The least I can let that go for is $90.” he said.

I smiled, “I just wanted something I could take apart.”  His eyes opened rather largely and his smile said “fruitcake.”

He held up a necklace with small cut stones from the clearance rack.  “I would let you have this for $29.” he offered.  I smiled and shook my head.  He nodded and went back to his seat behind the counter. 

On my way out I spied a necklace.  It was also rough stones, but they were quite nice and similar in size, texture and color to one of the pieces in my friend’s find.  The tag said $498. 

The man behind the counter commented amiably,  “You have an eye for good stones.”  I smiled and took my hand from the necklace I knew I wouldn’t buy, thinking I learn quickly and I’ve learned from the best. 

I turned and saw a man’s bracelet in the display case.  I thought, “If it’s not too expensive, it might make a good Christmas present.”  It was an old piece with one very large natural stone flanked by two small stones in a chunky silver setting.  The price tag was turned downward.

The man handed it to me.  It felt awesome in my hand but knew as soon as I spied the price that it would wipe out my bank account.  I handed it back and said it was beautiful and that I loved the one beside it as well.  No it was not necessary to take it out.  Another man had come in from the back: a younger man who stopped and looked at my choices.  “She knows good stones,” he observed. 

“Yes, she does,” offered the other.

Yes, I do, I thought.  Now why didn’t I look at jewelry in the canyon?

A Rock and A new Album

   I am an odd sort.  Always was; probably always will be.  I get along okay in crowds.  When I’m asked to be a speaker or feel lead to do so, it goes well.  Otherwise, I talk too much, find things interesting that no one else does and see value in a completely different, sometimes socially unacceptable way.

I’ve accepted myself, but I usually feel out of place and a little disconnected.  Louis says all artists probably do.  If so, we’re all good at faking it.  Perhaps it’s artistic thinking and not egotism that makes us so enthralled with our own ideas and discoveries.

On the recent trip, several of our group decided to take a day long ride into the bottom of Canyon De Chelly.  During our time in the canyon, little children would come out and the tour busses would stop to let us peruse the wares the children carried.  Some of them were better than others at sales, but they were all wide eyes sweethearts that were being exploited –in my opinion. 

I kept that reasoning for much of the ride and cringed as the children ran toward the huge lumbering tires of the vehicles.  Others would buy their wares: a “hand made” bracelet, necklace or ruglet.  And we’d jostle on our way again until another group of “vendors” was spotted.  Sometime after lunch, we stopped by a cliff dwelling that had restrooms, trashcans, and a multitude of vendors.  As I walked toward the women’s room, I saw a young boy, somewhere in the age group of the home schooled students I teach.  He was sitting beside a display of painted sandstone slabs.  I smiled blindly and walked on, yet I knew.

After meeting up with a friend who hiked down the only public trail in the very controlled canyon, I began to make my way back to the truck/bus.  As I passed the young boy again, I looked directly into his eyes, knowing I would buy a painted rock.  Determined, he spoke  “Would you like me to explain the symbols on my rock paintings?”

“Sure” I answered, squatting down to the level where he sat.

Carefully he pointed out each symbol on a nearby rock and explained its significance in relationship to the Navaho culture.  I had noticed one particular rock and it was the one I would buy.

“So, explain the difference between a pictograph and a petroglyph,”  I said, slipping mindlessly into my teacher mode.

The boy’s face lit up.  He reached down to the rock I had mentally chosen.  “This is a petroglyph,” he announced.  “See it’s painted in layers and then the top layer is scratched away and the symbol is carved into the rock’s surface.  These others are pictographs.  The paint is only applied to the top layer and it’s not carved.”

“That’s a nice one,” I said smiling into the boys enlivened eyes.  “I’ll buy it.”

“It’s my favorite.  I did them all, but I like it best.” he announced.

Perhaps I gave him a questioning look, for he smiled broadly.  “I’m glad your buying it.”

I gave him the money and he wrapped my rock in newspaper carefully.  As I started to leave, a thought occurred to me.  “I’m an art teacher and when I get back to Arkansas I will show your rock to my students and tell them about you.”

He gave me a distracted smile as his eyes scanned the milling crowd.  Then a look of surprised recognition came to his face.  He gave me a big smile “Thanks!” he said with proud excitement and I felt him watch me go.

In my seat, a member of the group saw my newspaper wrapped package.  “What did you get?”  she asked expectantly.

I loosed the paper carefully and revealed my treasure.  “I bought a rock.”

Her wan smile and averted eyes were predictable.  Among the jewelry, pottery and weavings, I found a rock.  A simple piece of sandstone painted by a young Navaho boy. 

There is a new installment in my photo albums from the Southwest: Canyon d Chelly

 

   

          

    

    

    

The Balloon Fiesta (New Album)

 

   

  

On Saturday morning October 7, our artist group planned to go to the dawn patrol  at the Fiesta Park in Albuquerque.  We planned to leave the hotel by 5 AM.  It was my fault, you know.  I'm the one who told the people there was a good choice of stuff in the breakfast room.  I had no idea they'd make themselves hot oatmeal and toast and poached eggs and stuff like that.  I was thinking a cheese croissant for the road.  It was past 5:30 when we got them into the van after Louis and I had watched countless numbers of balloons and vanloads of people leave our parking lot.  We were glad that our hotel was at least on the north side of Albuquerque and not too far from the park.  There was a light mist in the air.

We were off!  After a few funny U-turns and some off roading with the 15 passenger van, we made it onto the interstate.  It was a parking lot!  We may have gone 20 mph a few times, but maybe not.  Forget the dawn patrol.  The mass ascention was set for 7AM.  We were beginning to think we would be watching it from the interstate.  Thankfully, there was a gorgeous sunrise to watch and photograph.

We were quite excited when we finally got off the interstate, until we saw the service road and began our crawl down that.  It began to rain seriously.  Artsy people can get a little strange when pinned in a van for 2 hours in traffic.  People began getting out and taking pictures and running to catch the van when it moved a little long before we got to the actual entrance road. 

It was well after 7:30, the drizzle had let up considerably and showed signs of stopping entirely, but we were all nursing the fear that the trip was wasted.  Sunrise had given way to a heavy grey dingy morning.  We had only one recourse for now: to go forward.  If the other drivers were annoyed by our chinese fire drills, they were really annoyed by the singing.  Some were amused, but most were annoyed.  We didn't really care.  We'd been in vehicles for the greater part of  a day and a half.  We'd had very little sleep - especially the driver.

When the first balloon soared into the air before us one hour and 45 minutes late, several of the group could no longer stand it.  We got out and took low light pictures we knew might not come out.  We giggled and ran like children.  The driver -my sweet Louis- didn't have that choice, or didn't make that choice, anyway.  He and Lilly crept along in the big green van while we played and giggled like children at recess.  Other vehicles were experiencing the same loss.  Thankfully the drivers all stayed.

Eventually the merging and managing came to an end and those of us on foot watched as our van disappeared quickly into the distance with all our stuff.  We did find it eventually, but one at a time.  Our group leader has a saying "Traveling with artists is like herding cats."  Many of us did not see each other again until we made it back to the van after the last balloon had flown away.  Once in the park, I soon found two members of our group and stayed withing eye range of them both for the duration.

Being on the ground in the park with all those incredible, huge balloons was quite an experience.  Some of them were aired and tethered for a time then brought down because the wind was too strong for their size and complexity.  One such that I loved was the big sea creature in the photo album.  Also among those not flying was a huge eagle, a breast cancer awareness ribbon, and a fairy tale coach .

There were many mounted police in the park and they were letting people pet the horses for a donation to their program.  One lady reached up to give the officer some money and her horse took a bite out of the lady's arm.  I've never seen a horse bite that bad.  One of our number was a nurse and she used some antibacterial wipes I had along and a cloth she had in her camera bag.  We rinsed it with bottled water and wrapped it and waited for the promised courtesy ride.  The officers continued their amiable quest for donations leaving us to tend the uncomfortable stranger. 

Finally one of her friends found her and waited with us.  After the ride didn't come within several more minutes, we walked the elderly lady across the park to the information station where they took her and her friend immediately to First aid.  We didn't give a donation.  We were busy.

Reaching the van, we found only one other person there, but via cell phone we finally rounded up our cats and made a quick uneventful trip back to the hotel to begin the next leg of our journey.

(To be continued!)  Oh yeah, look at the Balloon Fiesta album.

New Album: Albuquerque Old Town

   

   

   

I've been writing stories and poems and planning all sorts of artworks since the trip to Arizona, Colorado, New Mexico.  I'll be posting, but I decided to post some new albums and let you know about them as I do.

The first is a collection of  our pictures from Albuquerque.  Most of these were taken in Old Town.  I'm not real sure why they call it that, but it's sort of a celebration of the southwest spirit.  It has some very modern structures.  Everything is adobe or stucco made to look like adobe. 

We spent several hours there looking at art and shopping.  We window shopped for the most part.  We did have a good reuben sandwich in the coffee shop by the whirlie gigs and flute player.  We saw lots of neat stuff that we didn't buy and I overloaded on art ideas.

So to see these, go back to my top page, choose Albuquerque from the album menu and enjoy.  If you're not familiar, double clicking on the top picture will enlarge them.  I'd love your comments.

Cat from the past

I saw the big yellow cat laying in the sun beside a fence post at the Hubble Trading Post.  I’d had a cat like that as a child.  My grandpa gave Honey to me when I was two years old and he lived until just before I turned seventeen. 

He was old, crippled, his sinuses bled, and he could barely see or hear.  But he was my cat.  My dad, a kind, compassionate man who loved animals said it was cruel to leave him in that state.  He mentioned having him put to sleep.  But daddy couldn’t do that.  Finally another relative offered to do it and it was done.  I felt guilty, treacherous.  I got another cat.

As I walked across the street toward the visitor’s center that day, the cat looked up at me and meowed softly.  I said “Hi, yellow cat.”  and curiously acknowledged that I’d had to change it from “Hi, Honey.”  The cat got up and followed me toward the door.  I noticed how closely his markings resembled the cat of my youth: a white chin, neck and tip of the tail.  I went inside, where I found treasures and tidbits of information about Navaho rugs.  I bought a couple of books and headed outside to use the restrooms before they closed them. 

Coming out of the restroom I sat down on a large well placed rock to relocate all my stuff.  As soon as I sat down the yellow cat was at my feet.  He lay down and began grooming himself.  Another traveler came by looking for the restroom.  True to my know-it-all nature, I supplied her with information abundant after walking over to guide her in.  The cat followed me.  I returned to my stuff; the cat settled in at my feet.

“You remind me of my cat Honey,” I said to the animal.  He smiled just like Honey used to before he got so old.

“He was a good cat and faithful to me.”  I reminisced.  “But he got so old that he had to be put to sleep.  I always felt bad about that.  It didn’t seem right.”  The cat stood up and rubbed against my dangling hand.  I scratched his head and neck familiarly.  He stretched, yawned and curled up at my feet again.  When I finally left, he left as well and that was the last I saw of him.

No, I don’t think it was my old cat reincarnate, but it was good to say it.

Premonition

As a post-added precurser to the story, the picture was taken in the morning close to where my friend was photographing the storm that same night.  The spot where this photograph was taken is similar in structure to the opposite canyon wall.  

Unrelated, but interesting, if you look about halfway down there is a cliff dwelling.  You may have to enlarge it to see it.

Riding through Canyon DeChelle on a huge high wheeled open air bus, I had a strange premonition that a friend would fall on the canyon edge.  The premonition was dark and disturbing.  I shook myself apart from the constant jostling of the vehicle and said “It doesn’t have to be that way.”  It may have been a plea or a defiant statement.  I’m not really sure.  Then in silence, respecting the others around me, I prayed, pleading for my friends protection.

On the trip from Albuquerque to Laguna I’d had a similar but unspecific premonition.  This friend is an up and coming photographer who has finally broken into the professional world after years of work and poverty.  He is a kind quiet man of faith and vision. 

The moment passed; the bus jostled on.  I put the incident out of my mind.

We laughed and screamed and were in awe as we had been for hours.  We ran into this friend later at a canyon ruin.  He and another member of our artists group had hiked down from the top to do some photography.  My heart was overjoyed to see him well and busy, though I knew he still had to hike out.  Two members of our group, one his daughter, left the tour to join them on the hike up.  I felt good about that and thought no more of my premonition.

We returned to the Lodge, laughing, reminiscing and cold.  A hot supper mellowed us all and after checking our e-mail, etc. in the lobby, I was headed to my room.  The other friend of the two ran up to me and ask where the men were.  Steven had fallen and they needed to get him to a hospital quick.  My blood ran cold; my heart raced and shut off my throat.  I ran to get the guys who had the van key.  After taking care of a couple other things, I made my way back to their room where I saw my friend covered in blood sitting on my husband’s bed.  He didn’t fall from the cliff, but on the edge he had stepped into a hole and fell backwards hurting his neck and busting his head open.  He has a back injury which ended his former carreer.  I was both relieved and concerned.  We gave them one of our cell phones and sent 4 of them off.  With him was the group leader, a nurse and his daughter.

The rest of us waited nervously for some word.  We learned he had 11 staples and no broken bones but some concerns over balance and speech required a ct scan.  We waited again.  As a group, as individuals, we had many fears and questions.

Together we prayed for our friend; openly we pleaded for his health.  I prayed for answers secretly.  Had I neglected to warn him 2 times?  Was that only for me?  I had shared the premonition with my husband and told him about begging God to alter it.  Had God done that for me?  I was wired with insecurity and questions.  Why me?  Why Steven?  My husband seemed very shaken also, maybe by my premonition, maybe just by our friend’s injury.  Finally, we learned that he had a small tear in his inner ear which would heal itself in time.  He was given pain medication and would be coming back to the lodge.  He could go on, but was to take it easy for a couple of days.  Though relieved, we all felt a sense of urgency about our need to watch out for each other and to consider the group.  He had been alone in a storm on a cliff in the dark.  Our leader was adamant that no one was to go off alone.  Our friend had put himself and the group at risk.  It was a stern, but needed admonition.  Steven took it well.  The incident was over but it left me with many inner questions.  Earlier that night, I’d read an email sent to an intercessors group I participate in.  It simply stated “If the people of God do not speak what they know, who will?”

The picture was taken from the rim of Canyon DeChelly Sunday Oct. 9, just before my camera died.

Waiting on the process

I have much to rethink and put into place.  My experiences of the past week+ have been too many to decipher yet.  The trip was full of beauty, learning, compassion, adrenaline, conflict, disappointment, hurt feelings, embarrassment and all the things that go with sharing that much time with people you know casually at best.

I call you friend.  Well, that's semantics unless you know what my sock drawer looks like!  Of course that's a figure of speech, but I spent a week with my socks hanging out.  I also spent a week peering into the drawer of 10 other people.  Now I'm wondering if I like what I've seen on all counts.

I know it doesn't really matter what others think, even if that "other" includes me.  But still, my sleep habits, organization skills, personal hygene and patience or lack thereof has been too public for my reasoning.  I'm ready for the respite.  Here are some observations though.

"My socks are prettier than yours, even if mine are a mess."

"My socks are neater than yours and socks don't have to be pretty if your pants are an appropriate length."

"Socks?" . . . "Who cares?"

"Socks are utilitarian necesseties and are easily replaced."

"Bring that lonely sock along, someone will claim it later."

"Throw it away."  "Seriously!"

"If  anyone cared about that sock, it would be in a suitcase or laundry bag."

"If it doesn't have any holes, I can probably match it at home."

"It's just a sock!"

"If we can't care about each others socks, who are we, really?"

"It's not my sock, but you don't know me well enough to know that."

"Why wasn't I asked about the sock? Huh? Doesn't my opinion matter?"

"The bottom half of a margarita makes the sock issue silly."

Laguna, NM

I took the picture at Laguna, NM last Saturday.  I have a few pictures, but my camera quit on me at Canyon De Chelly.  I am coming home with so much mental stuff as well as some cool physical stuff.

Riding with people we don't know, sleeping with people we don't know, eating with people we don't really know.  Its been interesting and two sided.  I've loved lots of it, but am excited to get back to my real world.  Later