When I was a little girl I thought my Aunt Jenny and Uncle Joe lived a wonderfully worldly life. They were the first folks I knew who had a tape recorder and they were the first folks I knew who had a magazine subscription.
One of those subscriptions resulted in Uncle Joe's copies of "New Mexico" magazine. When I visited their house I loved looking through the magazines. Adobes, Indians, tourquoise, and farolitos. Red soil, grey-green sage and the sky of New Mexico. Just in case you've not yet had a chance to visit - the sky and the land is so beautiful the Santa Fe Opera is one of the few opera companies that perform in an open-air theater. To be in New Mexico after a thunderstorm is to understand why this is so.
The magazines connected Uncle Joe with his ancestry and with times past. For me it was a window to places I might visit.
And visit I have. As a child New Mexico was part of the Southwest Pilgrimage that my family made - from Los Angeles to Las Animas. From California to Colorado. Almost always including a stop in New Mexico.
When I breath the air of New Mexico I breath in the dreams of my youth and the vista brings out the memories of my family from deep in my heart. I am surrounded by a wonderful chaotic recollection that mixes ages, thoughts and times. Memories from childhood, youth and adulthood dovetailing and producing elaborate recollections of the senses and the heart.
As young elder I add other colors to the memories: the colors seem to roam free in New Mexico.
Colors found on a comfortably kitschy coach
or in the patterns on a Chapel in the Cathedral Basilica of St. Francis of Assisi.
Colors that emboldened the potties at the Jackalope Market.
Shoot, even those on the bench outside the Chuck Jones Gallery.
Don't lose that opening paragraph, it's brilliant.
ReplyDeleteThanks.
ReplyDelete