Albuquerque, NM

And don’t miss out on the Desert Chorale: www.desertchorale.org

Back to an evening in Santa Fe. I got a ticket to the Chamber Music Concert, and left my house in a wind electric storm which blue away any chance of rain. It was “rush hour traffic”, I waited in line, for the city parking lot as the street parking was already full. There was no time for dinner first. I bought 2 snacks in the Lensic. My ticket was waiting for me. I had a good seat, in row M. After a long wait: a man introduces the evening. Henceforth music. Fabulous. It seemed to go on forever. However there was still light outside so I slowly hobbled up San Francisco St to the plaza. No one was playing at Evanelgos. Onward past closed galleries and stores. On the Plaza there was lively music. But I went on to the private party at the Bank. Food, too many people, I found a seat and watched. I was an invisible mostly white hair woman in her mid fifties. I weren’t a notable famous person and was ignored except by some older women who were well known. Gracious women of Santa Fe. Satisfied by the food, I stepped up and stood by Eric Kim, and interrupted before he took off. I could have talked for hours, but was polite and spent a few minutes.

I left adding thanks to a banker for inviting (and buying tickets for the young musicians). Such a great community where so many help the arts and help the young artists all three create our legacy.

The night grew cooler and darker. A fantastic band was playing on the Plaza. I wanted to dance, tried but my knee protested. WAGOGO: from memphis to Mozambique to Mexico. World music. Beyond the dance crowd, and listeners the benches were full. Two lovers in their sixities were making out. Other couples lounged. A mother with two childen sat on the grass. A boy with a mohawk sat under a tree with what looked like juggling sticks. Tourists and locals strolled along the sidewalks. Ortega’s Restaurant was lit brightly and was busy. Imagine an impressionistic painting of a park with 21st century icons. Hues darker and soft with evening light. Humorously the two lovers shone bright under a nearby streetlight.

I walked slowly back toward the parking garage. The street is now crowded with families and couples. They don’t like my slow pace. Sometimes I move out of the way so a crowd can pass. Near the garage are two men who say hello to each of a six group of adults, who don’t want to interact but say hello in stiff cold voices. I decide to stop. These are homeless men. I ask why they aren’t at the plaza with the life music. I forget the answer. Michael who is from Texas, and is listening to a tiny sounding silver radio, tells me some of his story. We laugh. He’d like to be a treetop cutter but he is an alcoholic and can’t get work. He missses the top of the trees. We talk more. We say good night. He has a great white beard and blue eyes. We repeat our names. We shake hands. He is hungry for more. He is a human being. It is good that we talked. Beneath the city’s lights, among all the talented and entitled, he sits on the side of the street, in the shadows, listening to his silver radio.