It’s Sunday night. I’m at a motel in Las Cruces, New Mexico. It’s been 4 days and I’m already way behind schedule and a bit pooped. I’m beginning to wonder if and when I will make it to Portland. But in the meantime, I’m enjoying myself thoroughly.
I left Lafayette Thursday afternoon and drove to Monroe. My cousin and I had a very pleasant dinner at a lovely place on the river. We talked smack about family and caught up. I broke a wine glass on my way out. I stopped off to see my Aunt Wilma before getting on the road and was inspired as usual by the prolific collection of work in her apartment. She had a large piece of paper tacked across a wall with a rough sketch on it. Every time she had extra paint from another painting, she added a bit to the piece. It reminded me a little of my daughter’s work.
Friday I went to Dallas to the 6th Floor Museum. Being a history buff, I didn’t learn anything knew exactly, but it was eerie to look down at the x on the road from the window of the sixth floor. I had just finished listening to Alexandra Zapruder’s book “26 seconds,” that detailed the history of her grandfather’s film. His camera was on display. The story is an interesting prism through which to view that horrible day. I wonder if we will ever really know or even collectively agree on, what really happened that day.