Santa Fe – it brings out the dead animal in me

My sister and I took the train to Santa Fe yesterday. After my last excursion there, I vowed to skip the shopping and focus on the city's historical and cultural offerings. Let's just say I was never very good at that vow thing.

We began our day with breakfast at a sidewalk cafe in Burro Alley and a visit to the Cathedral Basilica of St. Francis of Assisi. Not surprisingly, I've always appreciated St. Francis of Assisi, him being the patron saint of animals and all. He also happens to be the patron saint of Santa Fe.



We also toured the Georgia O'Keefe Museum. Not surprisingly, I've always appreciated her, too, seeing as how she was a loner living in New Mexico who appreciated nature and said things like: When I got to New Mexico, that was mine. As soon as I saw it, that was my country. I had never seen anything like it before but it fitted to me exactly. It's something that's in the air. It's just different. The sky is different, the stars are different, the wind is different. I shouldn't say too much about this because other people may get interested and I don't want them interested. Her painting of a cow pelvis against the New Mexico blue sky is one of my favorites, and I got to see it up close at the museum. It just speaks to me.

Sort of like how everything at my favorite store in Santa Fe speaks to me. And how this sculpture called Truffles spoke to me. Something in the picture below spoke loudly enough to jump into my shopping bag.


All that culture, followed by all that shopping, made us parched and ravenous, so we headed to the Cowgirl Bar and Grill on the way home. The shrimp tamales with a chipotle sauce, the quesadilla de la casa, and the mojito and margarita shouted out from the menu. We had to order them all just to shut them up.


Remember how last time I went to Santa Fe, I lugged around a lamb pelt all day? This time I lugged around a cow hide. I even took it to lunch. It looked so stylish in this Georgia O'Keefe Museum recycled tote bag. What is it about Santa Fe that brings out the dead animal in me? I don't think St. Francis of Assisi would approve.  

Smooch, however, does seem to approve of the new hide. And she likes the new ponytail bling, too. 

Note to self: you're running out of room to put animal hides. Stop going to Santa Fe.



But I haven't run out of wall space yet, and this painted canvas of a pistol-packing cowgirl found its way into my shopping bag.



It seemed only fitting.