We're in Santa Fe, New Mexico, the home of Georgia O'Keefe's museum, a small brown adobe building near the central Plaza. We spent 2-1/2 hours here in this little museum, admiring once again the purity of her lines, the vibrant colors, the passionate love of nature in her paintings. Wikipedia has images and an overview of her life well worth pursuing as her images remain copywritten. Then we walked down to Shohko Cafe for exquisite Japanese salmon, miso soup, and green tea. Allen still hasn't mastered chopsticks.

Santa Fe requires all buildings to follow a code: adobe. Everywhere you look, it's a glimpse to the past. We sat in the Central Plaza and watched the division of spaces: Native American traders wrapped in Southwest blankets sat in the sun along the President's Palace, their turquoise jewelry glinting in the sun. The homeless had pretty much commandeered the central park, their dogs companionably napping beside them. Everyone seemed to have a cell phone. Santa Fe is definitely upscale: Young women passed by wearing knee-high leather boots, very tight dark blue jeans, layers of turquoise jewelry, make-up, perfume, cowboy hats with long blonde or brown hair streaming behind.

I don't know what Georgia O'Keefe would have thought of Santa Fe today. We're staying at the rustic Sage Inn, with lovely native blankets on the walls, red, and black and white crosses and trees of life, sacred colors for peace and sleep.