GW: Day 4: Free, Free...

It was gruesome, as on Christmas Eve in an old house a strange tale should essentially be. --Henry James

Last year during the free day, I retreated into my room and the library, and did little but listen to Over the Rhine's Ohio. The previous year, I accompanied Cindy and Laura out to Chimayo and Canyon Road. This year, Dad and I decided to go to Museum Hill and then into the city for lunch and possible shopping. We woke late (7:15) and ate a leisurely breakfast. Because the museums don't open until 10, Dad chooses to do some watercoloring; I return to the room and read some stories for tomorrow's workshop.


We make our way to Museum Hill and elect the Museum of Indian Arts and Culture which is featuring an exhibit entitled "Iconoclash"--an exploration of the use of Indians as icons in American culture. The first piece that you see is a giant butter container emblazoned with "Land O' Fakes". Upon entering we are immediately folded into a guided tour of the museum. After spending 15 minutes hearing a description of 3 or 4 pottery jars (and with the prospect of 12,000 more) we peel away from the tour and set out on our own. A large part of the museum is devoted to a tracing of Indian culture that shows the past and present incarnations of Indian culture. For instance, there's a wikiup in cutaway that shows a traditional Indian home and a kitchen from a modern reservation ranch-style home. There's an actual school room from one of the Indian Schools. There, I read an account of an Indian boy who was told to pick a religion. Since it was popular, he decides on the Southern Baptists. After a year, he changes as soon as he can to the Methodists because they go on picnics, get dunked in water, and all sorts of the other fun stuff.

We spend two hours in the museum, and by that time we're hungry and Dad's sciatic is acting up. We go into downtown where Dad wishes to have a steak. After getting some vague directions that don't pan out, we stumble into the Sleeping Dog, a hole in the wall bar. Their menu promises steak for $10.95. Dad orders the steak, and I get a burger with bleu cheese, grilled onions, and avocado. (No, we're not in the southwest...) Everything is excellent. We spend the hour watching surfing vidoes on the TV, eating well prepared red meat, and finding out that our waitress is from the east end of London.

While we'd like to do some shopping, our two hours parking is almost up, and Dad's leg is really hurting. So, we wend our way back to St. John's. Dad goes to work on his angel fish, and I run some errands, spending some lovely time in library. After an hour, I notice that the clouds are building and the wind is starting to pick up. I've been waiting all week to try out the disc golf course, so I hurry over to get a round in before the weather goes.

While I can say that I've thrown plastic in NM, I cannot say that I've thrown a complete course. The helpful gent at the gym gives me a very nicely done map that unfortunately seems to have little to do with reality. The thin air causes my throws to rather long and almost perfectly straight. This wouldn't be a problem except that I wasn't throwing long flying discs and they were supposed to turn left. After muddling through the first three holes, I absolutely can't find the tee for 4 although I do find the basket. I almost lose a disc on 5 when a wind gust practically turns the disc upside down and carries over a fence. After a 10 minute search, I shoot at what seems to be basket 6, but which turns out to be 8, at which I point I pack it in. The terrain is very rugged and while there is a map, the reality on the ground makes it very difficult to find anything. Besides, I thought I might have maybe felt a drop of rain.

When I get back to the dorm I look out the window to see a double rainbow carving across the mountain. By now the wind has really picked up and is driving the misty rain sideways. I venture out onto a balcony and snap some shots of the rainbow--hoping they turn out even with the rain getting on the lens. The wind grows stronger throught the rest of the evening.

At 9, I head over to the apartment of the Overstreets who are hosting a little soiree. They've asked us all to bring something to read. Given my recent bout with the insanely dense desert brush and my new experience with weeding the community garden, my mind has turned to Annie Dillard's discussion of "fecundity" in Pilgrim at Tinker's Creek. Of course, my copy is at home, so I've made copies from the library. There's a good crowd on hand, and we spend a nice evening sharing words and why they're close to us right now.