The people who run La Posada are pretty smart. Getting into or out of the restaurant requires a trip through the gift shop; fortunately, it's a very nice gift shop. One day I'm going to break down and get something here, but so far I've been strong. Plus, I owe Uncle Sam money in the four digit amount. We didn't stop on our way in (what?! and postpone a meal?) but we did on the way out. They are accommodating about photography, which some museums I will not mention, OK, the Seattle Art Museum is one, should take a lesson from. I go off on a tangent here, but if the Met in New York allows it, puleeze, Seattle, can you loosen up? When they told me no photography because the work is under copyright, I asked if they considered themselves the copyright police, and please give me my $20 admission back. Now I'm done with this silly issue for a while.
Back to the gift shop. Look at these two cute birdhouses. Tiny little travel trailers from the '50s and '60s that have been refurbished are all the rage according to Pinterest, so it must be true, and this first one is so appealing because of that, and because I'm a vagabond myself.
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Spanish influence in the area is shown in the one below, complete with the little wooden cross on top.
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Now this I really want. I like the punched tin work that abounds in the shop, and this is the most extravagant piece. It stands about three feet high.
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I've seen these dioramas every time I've been there. The box folds closed and the whole thing looks handmade. I'm sure they are. They're maybe 10 inches across.
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How do you like the bosoms on the figure on the right? They're figures from Dia del Muerto, Day of the Dead.
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This is such a small view of what's for sale. Indian jewelry, pottery, katsinas, and fetishes; Navajo blankets; Mexican punched tin mirror frames, lanterns, and religious icons (that's where I know I'm going to fall into spending sin) - cases and cases of temptation, and filling every wall.
I escaped with my credit card unscathed this time, though, and we strolled through a courtyard before heading home. The courtyard is paved with Mexican pavers, but they're separated with this pretty design. You can't buy these things ready-made, you know, someone spent hours on hands and knees placing each stone individually.
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Another pretty touch are these tiled pedestals. Behind the first one you can see people in a cozy seating area, but it was a little chilly for me. They must be from up north.
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It's the little things that make a difference, like the wrought iron on the windows and balconies, and the deep turquoise doors against the terra cotta stuccoed walls. Blue of the sky, red of the earth. It's a common theme around here.
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I've photographed this gate before but never had the sense to frame it evenly against the pale green wooden door at the far end of the walkway.
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On the same side of the courtyard as the pedestals is this railing on a bridge that spans the pond below. Pretty, pretty, pretty, and so graceful.
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Winslow is a Route 66 town and is another victim of the Interstate. I sometimes think if you close your eyes and just listen, you can hear the Bel Airs, the Corvettes, the Fairlanes, and the Edsels, like this one I found in Holbrook, Arizona last weekend, purring and roaring down the streets of small-town America.
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But that's not what's happening now. This is what's become of those bustling places of 50 and 60 years ago. The first two below are right across the street from La Posada.
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A motel down the street, taking advantage of being in Winslow, Arizona. Instead of Standin' on the Corner, this one boasts of Sleeping on the Corner - the sign at far left.
I don't know the history of this, but couldn't pass it up.
That was it for Winslow this week but I'll be back. I'm good for several more meals at La Posada before heading out to places near and far.
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Thought of the day:
Alas! Where is human nature so weak as in the
