Today we awakened earlier that we usually do on vacation in order to get to the train station in downtown Albuquerque to take the Rail Runner to Santa Fe. Apparently, we worried too much about missing it because we arrived really too early and sat around for more than 45 minutes waiting and watching. I walked around and took several photos of my grandson waiting and of one of the numerous murals one sees in downtown.
I was surprised by the number of people using this train. It takes one and one half hours to get from downtown Albuquerque to Santa Fe depot because there are quite a few stops on the way including one at Sandia Pueblo and another at Kewa Pueblo. Photos are forbidden while traveling through Kewa. The route basically follows the Rio Grande Valley.
I took a few photos from the train and several in Santa Fe. Good friends, Dino and Zuriash, were already in Santa Fe and picked us up at the depot. We went to the Chocolate Maven for brunch–my daughter totally loves this restaurant because they have crepes. We walked around the art exhibits by the church near the square, stopped in a few shops, and just before the return trip on the train, went to Jalapeños for drinks. A wonderful day with family and friends and a little train trip, my grandson’s first.
This afternoon, my daughter, grandson, and I headed toward Albuquerque on our first family road trip since last summer when we went to California. We started late due to the rain causing a leak in a hallway in my house, not just any leak, a very large leak. Whenever it rained–and it kept raining off and on, so much water accumulated that rapid drips fell to the floor from a dime sized hole in the ceiling. Now a big black bucket resides on the floor underneath it. Finally, I found someone to come out and take a look so he at least has some idea what the problem may be. Nothing toward fixing it will occur until next week. This will be no tiny project; first the facia has to come off part of the roof so they can locate the cause. Then, well, it depends on what they find. The young lady watching the house and caring for Isabella and Rosie can empty a bucket as well as I can so we decided to go ahead and take our weekend road trip.
This storm system covers a wide swath. Rain signs all the way here, hail enough in one place to cover the sides of Interstate 40 like a light snow, and a deluge coming down from the pass into Albuquerque. I hate driving in a hard rain; thankfully, my daughter was driving.
We went to dinner about 6:30 at our favorite Italian restaurant, Cabo’s. I know it seems strange that any visitor to Albuquerque would eat Italian food here. We discovered this restaurant years ago and always return every time we visit. We even have certain memories of happenings there–like the time an amusing guy at another table “hit on” one of my handsome exchange students. Our other favorite restaurant here is only slightly off the square in Old Towne; I have no idea its name. I go there for the fry bread/sopapillas. I order other things, but that is really what I want. Theirs seem different in a subtle, indescribable way.
Now I sit here writing at the hotel swimming pool. I cannot imagine what my grandson would do in a hotel without a swimming pool. It remains his first desire anywhere we stay. He did survive a recent trip to Austin when it was too cold for the pool outside.–perhaps because he discovered the Dragon’s Lair, a little bit of heaven for gamers who love Magic. His ten year old self is now on the third Harry Potter book. He informed us at dinner how he deals with life when he is “grounded” from all electronics–he goes into the magic of his imagination.
At the Italian restaurant a couple of years ago during Christmas holidays.
Sitting in the Children’s Museum,
trying to make time fly faster,
waiting on my daughter and grandson.
Still shocked and excessively annoyed:
This is New Mexico and
Laguna Pueblo is just down the road
more or less
and I can’t find a single Silko
book except Ceremony which
I already own and have
What’s the matter with people?
They don’t know a thing about
their own heritage except maybe
turquoise and Kachina dolls
probably made in China.
Then there’s me:
not a drop of Indian blood I know of,
Indian fry bread
The xeroscape garden between me and
the dinosaurs beckons.
If I leave this seat and
my grandson’s and daughter’s
stuff gets stolen…
I photograph myself in the distortion mirrors,
I read Yo, a book about family truth
if there is such a thing,
and think about how much
my sister hates me.