So. Thursday we called Lefty back to the car and were away into the glare,

briefly stopping for air and fuel north of Walsenburg,

past Maxwell

with a pause to enjoy the balmy plainness of the plains

and made La Choza  by one for a spicy lunch and potent coffee where a nice mostly original ’33 Chev sat perkily in the parking lot.

Thus fed it was downtown to the echoing halls of the New Mexico History Museum’s new wing [apparently the money went into the architecture with little left over for collections or decor] to see “Voices of the Counter Culture” [photos not allowed], which came highly recommended and not without reason.    Well-curated and replete with visions, surrealistic vitrines, audio [I do hope they found room for Terry Allen in among the noises], a small dome and an actual [if inauthentically pristine] VW bus the show was far too encompassing to take in in the time allotted so we were delighted when the bookshop claimed to have a catalog.  Unfortunately

they were either sadly ignorant as to what a ‘catalog’ of an exhibition might comprise or lied and we ended up with a not inexpensive but nearly unreadable publication of counter-cultural musings compiled by one of those ubiquitous fullaself hipster dudes from the sixties which was tangential at best to what was so brilliantly presented in the galleries.  Ah, well; with a picture on the cover of a tipi with a rainbow over it we shoulda known.  Subsequently detouring to Gerald Peters’ Palace of Hubris so Linda could meet the “Projects Space” director and obliged to witness Works of Cringeworthy Mastery while waiting I fled the Inevitable Despair

such Affluent Effluence and the Very Idea of Santa Fe Art forever inspires in me

to take refuge in the parking lot, the better to amuse the dogs under painfully blue winter skies.

Leaving town we dropped in on the David Richard Gallery, where Richard showed off their new space as well as, having grown up there, enlightened us as to where to locate lunch in Trinidad.

The day’s adventures wrapped up with sixty miles of eighty mile-an-hour rush hour traffic rushing precipitously into the lowering sun to Albuquerque for the usual quirky stay

at John and Roberta’s, replete with mole, Italian Reds, mezcal, orange peel fights and more.

The next chill morn, after the dogs were walked

and

John went off downtown

we stopped for provisions [not shown], traded driving at the same plain plains reststop

and continued

to Richard’s Trinidadian lunch recommendation, Nana and Nono’s Italian deli and restaurant, which made us both most happy though the food was so soporific I could have napped at least

as far as Walsenburg.  Errands there [also not shown] and home in time for a sunset

completed the deal.  We transitioned to waiting for snow

which came, tentatively, early Sunday

and continued fitfully through the day.

But Monday morning, chill bright and windy…

sun melting snow, sun-warmed studio,

last paintings of dust, last week [this week’s the last week, get it?], last days…last walks

T’anks a lot, Libre…

After a dreaming evening by the fire

and a last trip to the Lopine with Mary Ann’s fast dog, Kiku,

End.

End.