Questa, New Mexico

Kachina Motel in Questa , New Mexico
This is where we stayed on our road trip to northern New Mexico....

And this is the river that runs behind the motel where they dump the bodies...ha ha!
Just kidding - I mean it wasn't a Hilton Hotel but it had the character and charm you only read about in books...good books. I loved it!

Because I'm homesick!

I am posting my reason for creating each of my four blogs. This one will be short and sweet. Its because I'm homesick and because there is so much beauty in the state of New Mexico and the people who live there that I just had to share it.

Nuestra Senora de Refugio in Puerto de Luna, New Mexico

May the sky be the limit for 2009!

Christmas in New Mexico

The photo above comes from a bulk email I got from Robert Mirabal's website. I thought this illustrates this time of year in New Mexico perfectly.

If you aren't familiar with Robert Mirabal, he is a contemporary Native American recording artist who is doing unbelievably wonderful music. Check out his websites as well as YouTube videos of his performances.

I first discovered him when I ran across a PBS telethon where they were showing his "Songs From A Painted Cave" performance. I wished then as I still do that I had a copy of this video...some day I will. At that time all my budget would allow was for me to purchase the CD which I almost wore out.

When we were in New Mexico in the fall of 2007 we visited the Taos Pueblo where I met his brother (I think) and member of his group. Dana bought be a flute and a copy of the newest CD called "In The Blood". I am listening to that CD even as I write.

After my heart attack I was given a plastic meter to blow in several times a day to help my lungs heal. After a few days of that I put it away and picked up the flute Dana had bought me. I hadn't had time to learn to use it and now during my recovery I had nothing but time. I wouldn't dare say that I can play it but with lots of practice I eventually learned to stop making it sound like a animal caught in a trap. I even learned to play "Amazing Grace"on it. I spent so much time in bed and the flute became a good companion as I spent many hours each day playing it.

And I will tell you in all honesty that I credit it with its part in my recovery. Unlike the sterile plastic meter that shouted "illness" my flute was made from a rich wood (the kinds escapes me now) with a beautiful glow to it. I learned to position the beautiful carved horse fetish on top for just the right sound and was surprised at what it took to train my fingers to cover the holes to get the right notes. My flute and my use of it is a living creative thing...like me.

I love my flute and am looking forward to purchasing another one on our next trip to the Pueblo.

As long as I'm talking about the Taos Pueblo I'll share a wish from my wish list with you. It is my wish that one day before I leave this good earth that I am able to be at the Taos Pueblo on Christmas Day as the sun sets to witness the Matachines Dance or Deer Dance. I have read about this for years, especially when reading biographies of other artist or writers who have seen this performance and I long to join their ranks.

Below is a beautiful oil painting by Valerie Graves of her interpetation of the
festival.

Something really cool - literally!

On our trip to Red River we were riding behind my brother-in-law Harold Sexton and my sister Vicki. The road we traveled in that mountainous area was full of twists and turns. We rounded a curve and Dana throttled up the bike for the straight way which lay ahead when all of a sudden my brother-in -law made a very sudden stop followed my a u-turn and headed back passing us in the process. After a few chosen cuss words Dana followed suit. By the time we got turned around Harold and Vicki had pulled over to the side of the road and had hopped off their bike.

My sister Vicki was excited as she told us why we had made such a sudden stop. You will remember from my last post that although my father leased a small cafe in Red River for many summers I had not officially visited there until this trip. Prior to my birth my entire family spent many wonderful summers in Red River and all of my life I would sit and listen to them tell stories about those same summers. One of Vicki's memories was making the car trip from our home in Clayton, New Mexico up to Red River. She said that just before reaching Red River our father would always stop the car and let her and my big sister, La Vonne, get out of the car and get a drink of water from this trough made from a tall tree that had fallen and the mountain stream ran in such a way that the water came running down the length of the tree before dropping back into a stream. Whether natural or man made I can't say but Vicki told us that Daddy always stopped there for as far back as she could remember.

Now suddenly, going down the road Vicki spotted this old "rest stop" that she had not visited in 51 years.



We all bent down and drank from this ice cold fountain and marveled that it was still here after all this time. It was bittersweet - the occasion not the water - to think of our father and mother and our grandparents who had been such a large part of our association with Red River and to be here now without them. So much time has passed and so much has changed but the water, the water is still flowing...

Something kind of fun...

My father was in the restaurant business all of his life. His father owned The Nuway Cafe in Clayton NM where my father worked. Then when he joined the Airforce he was a mess hall sergeant. After WW2 he returned home to the cafe again. He eventually bought Red's Cafe in Clayton and then in 1959 he moved the family to Santa Rosa where he bought and ran Medley's Cafe in the middle of town right on good ole' Route 66. He eventually built two more restaurants - Sun and Sands and Tiffins. He also took a turn running (probably a lease deal) three other eateries in town. Yep my dad was in the food service business.

Back before I came along my family lived in Clayton and had Red's Cafe but each summer my dad would lease a little Cafe in Red River, NM called Tillie's. He and various relatives would run it through the summer and then return to Clayton after Labor Day. (Think "Vacationing Tourist/ Dirty Dancing like...sort of) you get the idea, a summer gig.

Now from what I have always been told, I despite the fact that I had never visited Red River until fall of 2007 (At the age of 50 years old), I was conceived in Red River...at the end of summer ...my dad had been there all summer and my mother had remained in Clayton to run Red's...get the picture?

When Dana and I went home on vacation in 2007 we (Dana, me , my big sister Vicki and her husband Harold) went on a long two day ride through Northern New Mexico and I got to go to Red River for the first time in my life (post conception of course). And I was on a mission.

I wanted to see all the places I had heard about all of my life, especially "Tillie's". Both of my sisters have wonderful memories of Tillie's and Red River and I always felt very left out of that part of our family history.

I have several old photo's, which I'll share with you another time, but this one is really cool. It's of my grandfather standing on the steps of Tillie's Cafe. I knew from the beginning I wanted my picture taken in the exact same spot.

How cool is that? And the Jack Daniel's Banner was just a bonus -

Unfortunately the place was closed so we couldn't go inside but still I was thrill that the place hadn't been torn down or remodeled (in fifty years).

Esteban by Leroy V. Quintana

ESTEBAN
para Esteban de Bernalillo N.M.

Esteban is sixty-five, on Social Security
Two weeks ago he bought a motorcycle.
su caballo, a Suzuki GS550L.
"I don't know what all those numbers mean,"
he says, "but its got lots of soup."
He wears tennis shoes and carries a slingshot
in his back pocket. "Pa los perros."

When he glued a jar lid on top of his helmet
everybody said he looked like a spaceman.
Nobody could figure out why he had done that
until he walked into the bar, removed his helmet
placing the end with the jar lid on the counter;
now he didn't have to worry about it
rolling around and crashing to the floor.

Every 5 or 10 minutes Esteban gets off the bar stool
walks to the door to see if his bike is O.K.
It's parked across the street
and Tony has parked his pick-up next to it.
Tony has only one good eye and a lot of traffic tickets.
This bothers Esteban.

When he returns, Esteban talks about the time
he was a young kid working in the bakery and
The owner sent him to deliver bread
to the nuns at the Catholic school.
Esteban didn't know how to ride a bike
and he fell, scattering the loaves all over the street;
an incident he'll never forget, he says,
then goes to the door and checks his bike again.

Another time he was riding his bike, heading home
from the grocery store with a package of meat
and a large dog attacked him.
Not knowing what to do, Esteban threw the package
at the dog in self defense, miss him
but the dog smelled the meat and ran away with it.

He gets off the bar stool again, this time goes outside
and cranks up his caballo, getting it as far away
from Tony's pick-up as possible.
While he's gone everybody at the bar wonders out loud
how long Esteban is going to last on his Suzuki
when he couldn't even ride a bike
"Se va a matar," everybody agrees.

This has to be one of my favorite poems. Written by Leroy V. Quintana is embodies the essence of life in a small New Mexico town. You can immediately feel the slow pace that allows Esteban to ride his motorcycle to the bar and sit around swapping old stories with the other men who are more than likely there every afternoon. Mr. Quintana is a Master at endearing Esteban to us from the very beginning. You can see yourself at the grocery store, laughing with the cashier about the jar lid glued to the top of his helmet. You can image the children playing in the street and teasing the old man as he passes. I love this poem.

I first read this poem in 1985 in a book called Ceremony of Brotherhood co-edited by Rudolfo A. Anaya and Simon J. Ortiz. It's a wonderful collection of works by writers from the southwest.