Begun in 2014, Scotttreks is a rolladex of Scott’s time travels for those who remember what a rolladex looks like, what it was used for, how it was used, until computers sent them to antique auctions.
Hot on Scotttrek’s trail, I flip back to 2014, to Uruguay, to the beginning. Usually, things that make trips worth remembering and posting about, makes them look even better when I relive them.
In Scotttreks, little moments are everything.There is no crew to blame for screw ups, and, in President Truman’s famous words, ” The buck stops here. ”
Flipping through the last five years, like a kid eating cotton candy, it isn’t hard to see how travel,writing, and picture taking grabbed me.
Somewhere down this travel pipeline, I’ll get past putting things down on paper, leave my phone and computer at home, sip pina colada’s on a far away beach close to my little room in a modest local guesthouse feeding the landladies cats as the sun goes down into the ocean.
At my most favorite local cafe a dark skinned waitress will smile as she fills my coffee cup and suggests that I get back to writing and taking pretty pictures.
I will smile back and sweetly say, ” Tomorrow is the day. ”
Some sculptures exhibited are behind glass, others are open to visitors to peer at closely, peek at the small shadows in the creases of the faces. Some of the work is utilitarian, made to ornament balustrades and pillars. Other works stood in temples before kneeling worshipers and burning incense.
Antiquity never quite leaves us, though we try to leave it.
Conserving the past, especially if it is someone else’s, is precious.
The Amarillo College Museum has several floors and this Friday, after Thanksgiving, Alan, Cousin Jim and Scott ,visit both floors.
On the second floor, one of the museum’s permanent exhibits features sculptures carved from sandstone dating from the 1st century in Thailand, Cambodia, and India.The sculptures have been donated to the college by local Dr. William T. Price and his wife, Jimmie Dell Price. The exhibit seems an anomaly in Texas cow country with windmills, barbed wire fences and branding irons crossed over gateways the usual West Texas artistic themes.
When these sculptures were begun, the craftsman/artist started with a simple block of sandstone and then carved away sand till they reached what was in their mind’s eye. There is no going back with this art, no pasting sand back. If you make an error the entire sculpture is ruined and months and months of work are annihilated.
These sculptor’s, like brain surgeon Dr. Price, work slowly and meticulously with sharp instruments, good eyes, and patience.
These artifacts are safe here from the bumpy unknowable future.
The past is like a fine piece of china riding in the back seat of a car, with bad shocks, going down an unpaved mountain road.
This museum is that same car, safely parked in its garage, and the fine china purring in the back seat like a contented cat.
Pots and pans are on the stove, the table has been set for three, a Butterball Turkey browns in the oven. It took four hours for this bird to cook and slicing it up on the kitchen counter means dinner is close.
Alan, Sherrie, and I have Thanksgiving this year at Alan’s.
At the White House, a Trump turkey is pardoned but White House chefs are in their sparkling kitchens preparing a big feast of beef, ham, salmon fit for a King and Queen. Dignitaries visit America’s White House throughout the year, and, while discussing policy, like to wine and dine as befits their diplomatic positions.
On a turkey’s calendar, November 22 is marked with a huge X and circled for emphasis.
On Thanksgiving, they load their families into their SUV’s, tuck in their feathers, and go to the beach, out of harm’s way.
Next year I’m planning on being there with them.
Seeing turkeys, in bikini’s, is something I just don’t want to miss.
Palo Duro canyon isn’t far from Amarillo.
If you head east from Amarillo you hit the Texas Palo Duro State Park where you can drive down into the canyon and access its visitor center and exhibits. On road cuts in the canyon below Alan’s home we look for Indian arrow points lost in ancient hunting miscues. When we drive into the deep canyon to fish we take his 1950’s Willy’s jeep so we don’t get stuck.
From this bench, the new morning is quiet spectacular.
Light comes to our side of the planet as the other side turns dark. This switch from dark to light comes quickly. Within thirty minutes sunrise goes from a point where I can’t see the creek in the bottom of the canyon to a point I can see the entire creek, as well as homes and houses on the rim of the far side of the canyon.
I hunker down in my light jacket waiting for the sun to start warming the planet.
On Thanksgivings, when I visit, I always fall asleep in my chair while football players try to kick a pigskin through goalposts.
Having just one day a year where we are thankful and celebrate just doesn’t seem enough.
Texas, where my dad was born and raised, not far from here, feels like home right now.
On some bench, just now,around the world from me, someone is watching our sun go down.
I hope they are content too, to live,and let live.
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