Missing invitees, I set the table for an imaginary dinner party. My best French linens, Imari china, the good silver, right down to the butter spreaders, fresh tulips and candles.
Read MoreEntire families approach the graves, their arms overflowing with flowers: roses, chrysanthemums, cockscomb, marigolds, marigolds and more marigolds—cempasuchil, the flower of the dead.
Read MorePilgrims, petitioners, the pious arrived before us. The wooden crosses they carried, sometimes barefoot, sometimes hundreds of miles across New Mexico, litter the path from parking lot. Others have transformed the chain link fence leading up to the sanctuary, attaching their offerings.
Read MoreLate August in Santa Fe, New Mexico, the monsoon rains held off until early evening so we could take in the wonders of Indian Market. In its 95th year and billed as the preeminent Native arts market in the world, it is nearly overwhelming. As the Southwest Association for Indian Arts says, "There is simply no other time and place in the Native arts world where the impact and influence of Native culture and identity is reinforced, reestablished and reinvented." I cannot judge meaning of the market in the wider world, but I know that every time we visit, the experience brings me circling back on my personal history with Native American culture, and with my pre-occupation with culture as force in our lives.
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