"Yeah, but will I ever ride a horse again?"

Full day, full week, more than full. August is a whirlwind of things to do or get done. And then there's September.

We've been on the road a lot lately, always within New Mexico, Northern New Mexico at that, but still, much driving, yesterday especially.

There was a stop in ABQ to start the day, then it was out to Cochiti Pueblo for some chili and potato salad and oven bread at the Virgil Ortiz open house, the first time he'd opened his studio to the public. Interesting. Well, his studio had been turned into a showroom for his own works and those of family members.

I mentioned in a post last year that we attended the gallery opening for Virgil's Venutian Soldiers works -- photos, costumes, pottery -- in Santa Fe; yesterday was the debut of his "Evolution" series, which includes some of the Venutian Soldiers material and carries the story further.

The Pueblo Revolt of 1680 is the source point for the whole series and has served as the focus of Virgil's considerable output since he returned to the Pueblo from his whirlwinds among the rich and famous as a Big Time New York Designer, etc. Now the Pueblos have another one, Patricia Michaels, who was also having an event yesterday at Pojoaque, but she doesn't get so much into the Revolt as Virgil has.

There are many things I like about Virgil's stuff, and among them is that Anglos (who are the bulk of his customers and supporters) may have little or no conception of what he is doing or how ultimately subversive it is. Dude is on a mission.

Missing the Old Guy At Chimayó; Then Up to Dixon for the Recuerdos of Another Old Guy

El Santuario de Chimayó from Wikimedia Commons

Old.

I'll say.

We don't often travel very far from home base here in the Estancia Valley, partly because we only have one vehicle, and it's old, and if it breaks down out in the middle of nowhere, we're screwed. Well, someone will help of course, but still.

[A note on that "someone will help" line. When we got back to our little neck of the woods late last night, we noticed sheriff with its lights flashing and a police car were at the park in town, and as we got closer, we noticed an ambulance with its back door open and someone being treated inside. Just barely visible in the dark -- and it is dark out here in the country -- nearby was the silhouette of a helicopter, the kind that chopper patients to the hospitals Albuquerque throughout the day and night.  Emergency services at the ready. When I had a flat tire outside of Socorro one time the people who helped were AMAZING, and when I offered some money for their assistance, they absolutely refused. They said they were just doing what had to be done and didn't expect to profit from it. "Angels," my wife calls them.]

Sometimes we go off on adventures far from home, out to the Bosque del Apache, or to Los Alamos, or wherever, and yesterday we went off on a junket to Chimayó, and then way up the road to Dixon, which truthfully we didn't even remember existed based on the one time we'd been up to Taos decades ago.

We haven't been to Chimayó in at least fifteen years, probably closer to twenty, but because it is sort of on the way, and we really did want to see The Old Guy (Father Roca) at least once more before he passes on to his reward, we thought it wise to visit the Santuario on the way to Dixon where we planned to attend a staged reading of a new play based on the works of another Old Guy we've come to know and enjoy, Nasario Garcia.

Father Roca greeted us at the door to the Santuario when we visited that time before, and he was so warm and welcoming and helpful and open that he made it seem like we had (finally) arrived at the place we were meant to be. There weren't a lot of people at the pilgrimage site that day, so he walked us around and showed us some of the features of the little chapel and the graveyard in front, encouraged us to take a little vial of holy water with us and visit the sanctuary of the Holy Dirt. Take some if we wanted. If we had any questions, he would be available. We were welcome to look around, to pray, or simply to observe. God's home was our home. The only restriction was that we were not to take any pictures inside the chapel. "Take all the pictures you want outside!"