The computer is still blocked; I keep on trying and end up asking Cedric. Problem quickly solved. I continue to work on the photos. Don’t have the courage to go out. It’s freezing out there.
George knocks on the door:
– “Would you go with me to the post office?”
Seeing the look on my face, he adds:
– “Let’s go for a coffee together!”
– “Your timing is really good, I need a break “
We go to the post office to get his parcels; I ask for information about sending some boxes to France. Yes, it’s D-Day minus, um, I was counting on my fingers, D-Day -11.
Time is flying, so I slow down.
The World Cup is George’s favorite coffee shop. According to him, it’s where everything happens, and the coffee is good. The two waitresses are very nice.
The Best Little Coffee Shop in Taos
Great spot to people watch – located on Taos Plaza – local hangout for artists and other eccentric hipsters and a must for anyone passing through. The coffee is great, the barristas are both pretty and friendly and although the space itself is tiny, the outside balcony is the best place in town for a shady seat and an eye on Taos. Sunday mornings are especially busy and at any time you might be suprised by who is waiting in line behind you. Could be Julia Roberts in that hat pulled down low. Prices are comparable to Starbucks and other espresso bars.
A dad and his daughter are sitting next to us at the bar. Her name is Uma, and she’s wearing a very pretty small pouch around her neck that she made and painted. We compliment her, then everyone in the bar comes to see the pouch, admires it, exclaims… While chatting with her father and the waitresses, looking at the Italian coffee makers for sale, asking their price, we didn’t see her leave.
She comes back with five or six pouches, all different. I say to her:
– “What a great idea! How much are you selling them for?”
– “Two dollars.”
In the space of five minutes, they are all signed by the artist and sold.
– “May I take a picture of you, as a souvenir of this moment?”
It’s my turn to use the shared laundry room. Pamela arrives to pick up her own laundry from the dryer. I am reading while my clothes are in the washing cycle.
We discuss painting. Pamela would like to depict war in her collages, her prints, and her paintings. But she doesn’t know where to start. There are too many ways to tackle it. How can she best reach people so that they start to object to the ongoing American armed interventions…?
She tells me about Romare Bearden, an African-American who made beautiful collages and inspired her to try the technique.
I really like Pamela’s work.
I come home with the dry laundry and get back to the computer.
Around 6 PM, the end of the day is too beautiful to miss, and I decide to go out. I want to have a look at the Rio Pueblo to see at what time the sun disappears at the bottom of the canyon. I take the road to the south. The thin clouds will disintegrate at nightfall.
Here too, this curious impression that the river retains the daylight. Silvery phosphorescence.