Posts in Category: Column


By Susan Dahle
In mid-March 2020, life as we knew it became “life in the new normal.” It didn’t happen overnight, but gradually our lives began to change in ways we could have never imagined. For many volunteer organizations, including our own Village in the Village (ViV), new ways to operate became essential —not just to maintain, but to survive.

Considering that our members are seniors, and many are in the high-risk category, taking the most conservative approach to minimize risk became our highest priority. Prior to COVID, our calendar of activities was filled with activities such as: driving members to appointments, socializing together at coffees, lunches and “happy hours,” visiting members in their homes to help with chores or simply visit to offer companionship and conversation.

The ViV board quickly realized that changes needed to be made, and soon. We kept in close contact with our local leadership, especially Tanya Lattin, our intrepid Village emergency manager, and monitored the situation and decisions made at the state level by our governor and her team. We immediately communicated to our membership that in-home visits were suspended and driving to appointments would be limited to medically necessary ones.

Getting ready to do business in the new normal involved some research. superstar, Sarah Pastore, led this effort. Thanks to the work of many, we complied a new handbook with updated protocol for all members to follow, whether providing or receiving services. From wiping down car door handles, leaving car windows open a crack and making sure the member was seated in the back seat, every important aspect of safety was researched, verified and implemented. Masks, sanitizer, wipes —all were located and made available to members in need. That led us to wonder: with all this extra work, will volunteers still be willing to offer in-person services? Thankfully, the answer was yes.

A few volunteers share their thoughts on what it’s been like for them during these challenging times:
• Joseph Henderson (with spouse Caroline Koons): “It’s our way of expressing gratitude for all we have been given. My thought is to let my service be like sunshine. Makes no difference who it shines on.”
• Meg Chapman: “Helping our Corrales seniors get to their doctors, dental and other important appointments during the pandemic feels like a neighborly thing to do. We are all feeling isolated and a little lonely. These visits make the important connections we need.”

Companionship visits changed from in-person to check-in phone calls. We paired up the member in need with a consistent volunteer ambassador, so that the relationship could develop into a comfortable one. This worked out even better than hoped for, because the ViV volunteers assigned to these “buddy checks” nurtured these relationships into true friendships.

One of our ambassadors, David Davenport, shared this thought: “I always try to be more of an old friend…. I know more about the lives and feelings of my contacts than I know about most of my own relatives. I keep them in my heart and thoughts every day. I want them to feel reassured that someone is always there for them.”
One of my favorite service recaps came from ambassador Pat Lattin. In her weekly phone call, she and her member friend were reminiscing about music they had enjoyed years ago —and ended up singing a song together! In her words “I have found that reaching out to make another person feel less isolated is also a boost for me. It is empowering. When the call is over, I always feel more joyful than before the call began.”

Susan Dahle is President of Village in the Village. ViV’s mission is to help Corrales seniors stay in their cherished homes, connected to the community, for as long as possible. For more information: or call 505-274-6206. Inquiries from prospective new members are welcome.


By Chris Allen
Fishing with a Knight
“How would you like to go fishing tomorrow?” The question came from Paul Knight, a fellow graduate student at the University of New Mexico. It was the spring of 1973.

“I’m not sure,” I answered. “I’m heading for Europe this summer, and I have to get some inoculations in the morning.”

“Come on. We need a break from studying.”

I assented, and the next afternoon, after my appointment, we drove to the Jemez Mountains to land some trout. His dog, Moonhaki, a slender shepherd mix he had rescued from the local animal shelter, sat in the backseat.

We drove west on State Highway 550, turning north at the village of San Ysidro. We rose steadily in elevation surrounded first by deep red sandstone outcrops and then by towering cliffs of granitic strata and volcanic tuff, passing popular touring points like the Soda Dam, a formation of travertine, and Battleship Rock, a towering wedge of a cliff which looked like the prow of a ship gliding through the canyon.
Paul cut off the main highway and headed up the Guadalupe River, a tributary of the Jemez. The small dirt road skirted the edge of the cliffs on one side and skimmed the top of the riverbank on the other. He parked along a narrow shoulder and unloaded our gear.

We grabbed our rods, and Paul slung a backpack with the tackle box and bait around his shoulders. Then he, Moonhaki and I slipped off the edge of the roadway and tumbled down through thick shrubbery of Apache plume and mountain mahogany. Occasionally, through the thick leaves, we glimpsed our goal, Paul’s favorite pool where the rushing water of the river, encumbered by jumbled rocks, slowed to a gentle pace.

Reaching the bottom of the slope, we settled in to spend a few hours casting for trout in the warm spring sunshine. Early mountain flowers were just beginning to awaken, and the scent of the pines and junipers was soothing.

We had successfully caught several trout when suddenly I felt weak and dizzy. “Hey, Paul?” I shouted. He was 20 yards south concentrating heavily on casting into a small, quiet eddy behind a large boulder of granite.

“Shh!” he called back in a stage whisper. “I can see this guy. He’s hiding right next to the rock.”

“I don’t feel well. I feel achy, nauseous.”

“Um,” he muttered, glancing in my direction. “He’s such a beauty. He’s right here! How bad do you feel? Do you want to go home?”

I sat down heavily and cupped my forehead. The pulsing in my head was rapidly getting worse. “Wow, it just hit me. All of a sudden.”

He took a careful look at me again and sighed. “Yep, looks like it’s time to go home.” He reeled in his line and trudged back along the bank. Setting his rod down, he felt my cheek. “You’re warm. I’d better get you back right away.”

He stowed the gear in the backpack and tied the shoelaces of his boots together, slinging them around his neck. Cradling the rods under one arm, and gripping the backpack, he said, “Climb on and I’ll carry you across the stream.”

While I was slender at the time, I was no lightweight. “Are you crazy? I can make it across by myself.”

“No, I insist.”

“Really?” I was skeptical. The bottom of the stream was strewn with river cobbles. Hardly a smooth passage.

“I can do this!” he said, irritated I would question his abilities.

“Ok,” I stifled my concern. It was unseemly for me to rob this chivalrous Knight of his grand gesture, so I clambered onto his back. After shifting my weight, he picked up the backpack, and urging Moonhaki to follow, he forged into the stream.

The piggy-back ride was bumpy and jerky as he searched for easier footing. We were at the mid-point just upstream of some rapids, when Moonhaki lost her footing and slipped toward the protruding rocks.

Paul lunged for her, tipping me off balance. I tightened my grip around his neck. “Ease up!” he gurgled, as he stooped to wrap his one unburdened arm around the dog, pulling her tightly against his leg to stabilize her. Then he guided her to the riverbank.

When Moonhaki regained her footing, she scrambled up the bank, and Paul climbed up after her, bending slightly to enable me to gently slip to the ground as he reached the top.

“Wow, that was amazing!” I gushed, in complete awe of his gallantry. I gazed at this man of medium height and medium build with a full bushy brown beard. At that moment he was every bit the classic heroic mountain man from the early days of western exploration. He was without a doubt a handy fellow to have in a crisis and a romantic to boot. “You are incredible! You did all that to save the dog and me. You have my heart forever.”

“Happy to do it,” Paul demurred. He dropped the backpack and removing his boots from around his neck, he bent over to slip them on. I turned to pick up the backpack and at that moment, I heard a loud thud followed by a muffled, “Damn!”

I spun around. Paul was stretched out on the ground, face buried so deeply in the mud of the riverbank it appeared as though his hat was lying on the surface. Bewildered, I asked, “What on earth happened?”

He lay still for a moment. Then rolling onto his side, he used one hand to wipe mud from his face. Turning slowly to look at me, he said with a grim smile, “I forgot my boots were still tied together.”

Moonhaki rushed over to wash his face, and as he reached up to pat his dog, I knew right then this Knight was the man I was going to marry.

This piece is an adapted excerpt from A Knight to Remember, published in Currents, the Corrales Writing Group 2015 Anthology.


By Sandy Farley
“Help, I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!” When I was younger, I thought this was a funny commercial. Now it is one of my fears as I become older and less stable on my feet. But luckily, thanks to the foresight of Chief Anthony Martinez and Commander Tanya Lattin of the Corrales Fire Department (CFD), falling at home is now less of a concern. CFD reports that, in 2019, 67 percent of all calls were from people over the age of 50, with 47 percent from people between 70-79 years of age and 24 percent of all calls over the age of 80. Mechanical falls represented 15 percent of calls; and this is in a community where you cannot hear the cries of a fallen neighbor.

Village in the Village collaborated with CFD to purchase 12 Knox Homebox™ for senior Corraleños who live by themselves and are unsteady on their feet. ViV applied for, and received an Intel Community Grant to purchase lock boxes because safety and response time can be greatly enhanced with the use of lock boxes in emergencies. These boxes provide seniors with a safe and secure rapid access system that can only be accessed by CFD. The boxes also allow emergency responders to enter the home quickly with less damage to property, and less risk of injury to responding personnel. (CFD currently supports multiple Knox Boxes in our commercial properties.) The box hangs over a door (front or back) and the Corrales Fire Department has a master key to unlock it, and retrieve the home key inside.

Recipients were identified and Chief Martinez recently installed the boxes. The CFD staff are also willing to perform a safety inspection of your home and surrounding property (can also be scheduled at a later date when the COVID-19 risk subsides) by a Certified Community Paramedic. ViV will track distribution and, as boxes become available, offer this benefit to other interested, vulnerable Corrales villagers.

We have a few boxes remaining, and if you are interested in having one installed at your home we ask that you meet the following conditions. To qualify for the lock box, you should answer yes to at least four of the following five questions:

Do you live alone, or are often at home alone?
Do you have general mobility issues?
Are you a fall risk or do you have balance issues?
Do you have problems hearing or seeing?
Do you have worries or concerns about emergency access to your home?

If you are qualified and would like to request a lock box, please contact our Call Managers at: (505) 274-6206. Lock boxes will be distributed on a first come, first served basis.

Sandy Farley is a board member of Village in the Village. ViV’s mission is to help Corrales seniors stay in their cherished homes, connected to the community, for as long as possible. For more information: or call 505-274-6206. We welcome new member inquiries!


Stockholm, Sweden. January 2019

The Swedish Ministry of Foreign Affairs was closed when I tried to delve into the 1969 assassination of my former professor at Syracuse University. The commander of Mozambique’s war for independence from Portuguese colonial rule, Eduardo Chivambo Mondlane, was blown up when he opened a mailed book bomb at a home outside Dar es Salaam, Tanzania  February 3, 1969.

The assassin or assassins were never brought to justice or even definitively identified. Primary suspects were the government of Portugal, the apartheid regimes in South Africa or Rhodesia, the U.S. government or the Chinese government. Or possibly all of the above, since each had motive and opportunity. Portugal, a NATO ally of the United States, was determined to hold onto its impoverished East African colony. It mounted an armed force of an estimated 60,000 to counter Mondlane’s 7,000 troops.

After the grievously exploited colony gained independence in­­­­ 1975, his widow, Janet Mondlane, a white, American woman, told me in her office in the liberated capital, Maputo, she did not know who had sent the bomb, and did not care to speculate.

I wondered whether the government of Sweden might know. Sweden had been an essential supporter of Mondlane’s Frente da Liberaçao do Moçambique (FRELIMO), and a persistent and generous backer of national liberation movements in Southern Africa. But the ministry was closed when I tried to visit with my inquiry, first because the country’s prime minister was scheduled to spend the day there and then due to unspecified other security matters.

When I explained my dilemma to the receptionist at my hotel a short distance away, she suggested a friend of hers,  Birgitta Karlstrom Dorph, might be able to help. She gave me contact information for her friend and neighbor. Dorph had gained national celebrity when it was eventually disclosed that she had been Sweden’s main spy operating from Pretoria, the capital of the Republic of South Africa at the peak of anti-colonial wars of national liberation. But that, too, was a dead-end in my search for the assassin or assassins. I was told Dorph was out of the country, and I was unable to leave a message.

So the primary purpose of my trip to Sweden was fruitless. But my own experience with Professor Mondlane in Dar es Salaam just two months before he was killed offers some real, but unsettling insight about his death. In late 1968, he agreed to meet with me for an interview about Mozambique’s war for independence and said he would pick me up in front of Hotel Kilimanjaro. He drove up in a military jeep with no escort, no armored vest and no weapon that I could see. He headed out to the suburbs, while we chatted about our time at Syracuse. When we passed wooded areas along the road, the commander of the largest rebel army in sub-Saharan Africa at that time seemed unconcerned about the possibility of an ambush.

Inside a supporter’s home in the plush   Oyster Bay neighborhood, the Northwestern University anthropology PhD talked of threats to his life but said it was not something he dwelled upon. Assassination was a risk he accepted. Perhaps he knew martyrdom would consolidate the divisive elements arising within the independence movement he founded. Radicals within FRELIMO were increasingly confrontational about his white American wife; his affinity for American values rankled Communist governments in Beijing and Moscow which supported him with weapons and training as the Cold War raged.

Today Mozambique’s main institution of  higher learning is the Universidade Eduardo Mondlane.

—Jeff Radford


By Steve Komadina
November 3!
Man… I can hardly wait for November third. For 75 years it has been a day I have anticipated with great joy and celebration. I have made it a special day for my horses. We have had a tradition of carrot cake and bran muffins. Apple crunch ice cream and a special salad of alfalfa sprouts and Neat’s foot oil. Wow… It is always a feast and enjoyed by all.

This year we invite all of Corrales to join in the celebration. I would invite you over but there are no public gatherings allowed. I also have a feeling that there may be other things gathering the attention of Corrales (read that America) on November 3. We will just quietly celebrate at the north end of Corrales by switching our tails and nuzzling our pasture mates’ polls.

There is a new horse training style called “TRUST” that we have been working on at our farm, and this will be a good time to do that where we all just lie down in the pasture and relax together. See an incredible video called “I Have A Dream” at watch?v=jDioO6-Trdg produced by James French from England. You can also just search YouTube for James French I Have A Dream. Fascinating! Even non-horse owners will be amazed.

Maybe this will make November 4 a cool, calm and collected day in the pasture and the America that made my ancestors leave all, to chase their dreams. See you on the trail or “trusting” in the pasture.

Column: Corrales Writers Group

Dog Paws or Kale?

By Patricia Walkow

The other day I was playing with my dog, Magic, on the living room sofa. He splayed his underside to me, ready for nuzzles, smooches, baby talk and a belly rub. I obliged him and, in the process, kissed his paws. These are big paws —German Shepherd-Husky-God-knows-what else paws. And for those who have never kissed a dog’s paw, I can tell you it has a gritty texture, tastes like dirt, and emits a unique scent. Some might call it repulsive.
Not me.
Magic’s paws taste better than kale. Okay, I’ll admit that if kale is minced and disguised, I will tolerate it, but if it looks like kale, or bears a rubbery texture and its trademark bitterness, please … give me a smelly, dirty dog’s paw to kiss.
But which is worse: eating kale or kissing dog paws?
I did some research and found it enlightening.
Kale might be dirtier than my dog’s feet. In 2019 it was listed as one of the grubbiest vegetables, with a significant amount of multi-pesticidal residue spread across and ingested within its leaves. And, as you know, kale is almost all leaf. Besides being contaminated with chemicals, kale is likely to contain animal urine or excrement. It’s dirty. Very dirty. Sure, I’d wash it before I eat it, but… yuck!
On the other hand, dogs get into everything. Pesticides, feces, urine and things a dog owner would rather not know. But it’s easy to clean your dog’s paws. Dip them in a bucket of warm water, wipe them with anti-bacterial wipes, make your pooch wear booties. From the perspective of dirtiness, my dog’s paws are as odious as kale leaves. However, they emit the savory scent of corn chips. Think Fritos®. The aroma comes from normal dog bacteria and sweat. It is more satisfying to sniff dirty corn chips than ingest kale.
So, I will continue to enjoy kissing my dog’s paws, but I’d better keep myself healthy to combat anything my lips might touch on Magic’s feet. To do that, I think I have to consider eating some nutrient-rich kale —thoroughly washed, completely disguised in some sauce, and preferably invisible.

Column: Reflections From a Country Store

Spring Without Burpee Seeds

Every spring I take stock.
I look around my village to see what we might have lost since this time last year.  The feed store still sells baby chicks.  Someone plowed the fields at the north end, and buds are swelling on the apple trees.
At the Frontier Mart we still sell asparagus gathered from along the irrigation ditch, and children still buy jacks, marbles, jump ropes and kites, but near the door between the Popsicle freezer and the 50-pound dog food, the garden seeds are gone.
Last year I received a letter from Mr. Burpee saying we hadn’t sold enough seeds to warrant sending more.  I miss getting the big parcel where tab A slid into slot B and all that cardboard folded magically into a panoply of snapdragons and four-o-clocks, zucchini, carrots and lima beans.
No sooner would I assemble the display and arrange the seeds than men in coveralls would come to read the seed packets, to contemplate the sunlight, soil and water requirements, and to count the days until maturity.  They fingered the envelopes like kids in the candy aisle, then carried their selections away like little packets of promise.
Three of my seed customers were Ramón and Julio Tenorio and Walter Atkerson.  Maybe a storekeeper shouldn’t play favorites, but in 18 years of business, Ramón, Julio and Walter are at the top of my list.
The three of them grew corn and cabbage and they raised pigs.  Ramón and Julio were brothers from one of Corrales’s old  families.  On spring mornings Julio and his horse, Smokey, plowed the field at the corner of Tenorio and Corrales Roads.
Walter was a true cowboy who had come down from Colorado (pronounced Colo-ray-do) in the 1940s. He’s the only 82 year-old I’ve known who rode his horse every day.
Ramón and Walter were best friends who traveled together.  When Walter’s car wouldn’t start, they rode to my store on a tractor with Ramón in the driver’s seat and Walter standing alongside.  They bought Jimmy Dean sausage, single-edge razor blades, and shaving cream in a cup with a bristle brush.  Heading home, the old tractor crept along the two-lane road at fifteen miles per hour, and cars moved into the left lane to pass.  Traffic was light then, tractors commonplace.
On Friday nights when I saw Ramón and Walter’s tractor parked at the Territorial House, I’d stop and find them in the bar.  Ramón talked about family and farming.  Walter told about his days as a cowboy on the Black Ranch.  After a while I’d say, “I have to go.  You guys behave.”
Ramón would look offended.  “I always behave,” he’d say.  “I work hard and go to church every day.”
Walter rolled his eyes and mumbled something about blowing smoke.
Julio, Ramón, and Walter haven’t been in the store for a long time now.  We didn’t mark their last visit or say goodbye.  One day we just realized they hadn’t come in.
I’m told Julio and Ramón died more than a year ago, and Walter’s gone now, too.  I think of them whenever I think of spring and farming and Burpee seeds.  It makes me look around to see what’s missing.  Then I memorize what we have left in case it comes up missing next year.  What I’m trying to say is, if I’d known it was my last Burpee seed display, I would have paid more attention.
Editor’s note: This column was first published in Corrales Comment 26 years ago, but readers said it was one of their favorites. Jean Waszak agreed to have it published again in this special Garden and Landscape issue. Other columns of hers may re-appear from time to time.


Even though movie theaters are closed during this pandemic there are other ways to see films, such as via Netflix and many streaming options. For those who would like to see first-run films which would be in theaters now, Albuquerque’s own independent Guild Cinema is offering a home viewing option. You can find a wide list of films at, and a portion of the screening fee goes to support the Guild.

Unless otherwise noted, all films reviewed here are available at that link. This is a time to support each other and local businesses (including newspapers), if you can! The Guardian of Memory HHHHH Written and directed by Marcela Arteaga. Starring Carlos Spector. Plugs: None. Available via for a limited time. The Guardian of Memory is a bleak but beautiful Spanish-language documentary on the consequences of violence at the U.S./Mexico border, where brutality has taken an inestimable toll on innocent citizens, not only in Juarez but also in small towns nearby.

The film’s testimonials are powerful, with stories of people being harassed, threatened and murdered by police. Journalists, civil rights activists, teachers and others fear for their lives, often justifiably. The main subject in the film is Carlos Spector, a Jewish Mexican immigration lawyer now living in Texas who helps immigrants escape the violence in Mexico.

He traces the problem to 2008 when the Mexican army was ostensibly brought to the border to fight drug cartels. Instead the action led to rashes of kidnappings, arsons, murders, extortion and beheadings as it became clear that the police were in league with the criminals.

Spector argues that by international law Mexicans fleeing violence in their homeland are eligible for political asylum, since their government can’t or won’t protect them. He calls this a form of “authorized crime” since most of the violent crime is conducted with impunity; those charged with enforcing laws and protecting citizens are indifferent at best (and complicit at worst) in the plague. His success is decidedly mixed, but a literal lifeline for many. He suggests that the violence is tacitly encouraged by powerful (if shadowy and vaguely defined) political and economic interests on both sides of the border. This intriguing idea is raised and quickly dropped, leaving the audience to wonder if it’s a half-baked quasi-conspiracy or a serious underlying issue; if the former, it should have been edited out; if the latter, it should have been further explored and explained.

Like its subjects, The Guardian of Memory is caught between two worlds, that of art piece and documentary. These motivations are not necessarily at odds, of course, and many excellent films find a way to express beauty and artistry within the confines of a documentary format. The film is partly, as the title suggests, a visual representation of lives left behind, an attempt to guard or preserve the memories of those lost.

Sweeping shots of personal items —shoes, cups, luggage, photos, CDs and so on— presumably left behind by those killed (or abandoned by those fleeing) are artfully placed on the Samalayuca sand dunes of the Chihuahua desert, in images that might be found in an art museum. A small house out in the desert (clearly and somewhat jarringly artificially constructed for the film) reinforces the feeling of desolation and abandonment, later burning dramatically in the night sky while a small model of the same house appears in the foreground as the camera pulls back. There are many slow-motion shots of vecinos and neighborhoods: honest, hardworking Mexicans just trying to earn a living and raise families.

It’s all beautifully shot by cinematographer Axel Pedraza but has the unfortunate effect of at times drawing attention away from the victims’ stories to the film itself, inviting us to admire how creative and artistic it is, interspersed with terrible accounts of personal tragedy.

The rampant violence in Mexico has been the subject of many recent documentaries. The September 2014 abduction and massacre of 43 students in Iguala, Mexico, allegedly by local police working with the drug cartels, was examined in the 2019 Netflix documentary series titled The 43 —not to be confused with the 2015 documentary on the same subject titled 43, by former Albuquerque sportscaster Charlie Minn.

The 2020 Netflix documentary The Three Deaths of Marisela Escobedo examines the life and death of Marisela Escobedo, who became a relentless activist and investigator following the 2008 killing of her 16-year-old daughter, Rubi, in Juarez. Other documentaries have focused on the drug cartel angle, including The Last Narc, about the 1985 slaying of DEA agent Kiki Camerena and how it sparked waves of violence across Mexico that continue to this day; it’s available on Amazon Prime, and a fictionalized version of the story appeared in the Netflix series Narcos.

The Guardian of Memory, though not a fully-realized art project nor a fully-realized documentary —nor, certainly, a film that offers real answers— puts a personal face on the border violence in Mexico.
Benjamin Radford


By Meredith Hughes
We made it through both “falling back” and voting. (Didn’t we ?) Now we can concentrate on creamed onions —or not— for our absent family-and-absent friends-filled Thanksgiving. Sigh. Pandemically, things always are in flux. And given a surge, what is open now may be closed soon. Email further suggestions to Published the first issue of the month, What’s ( Maybe Not) On? invites ideas one week before the publication date.

First, this: “In accordance with revised public health directives, the New Mexico Department of Cultural Affairs (DCA) has closed its museums and historic sites to the public until further notice.”

These include: New Mexico Historic Sites, Statewide; New Mexico History Museum/Palace of the Governors, Santa Fe; New Mexico Museum of Art, Santa Fe; Museum of International Folk Art, Santa Fe; Museum of Indian Arts and Culture, Santa Fe; New Mexico Museum of Space History, Alamogordo; New Mexico Museum of Natural History and Science, Albuquerque; New Mexico Farm & Ranch Heritage Museum, Las Cruces; National Hispanic Cultural Center, Albuquerque.

• The New Mexico Museum of Art, though closed, is showing WordPlay, an exhibit involving, yes, words, letters, and such, online in 3D.
• Georgia O’Keeffe Museum in Santa Fe is closed again, too—thank you, pandemic surge—but the museum’s collections of art, and materials, as well as O’Keeffe’s books and other personal items, are available online.
• But you may still visit the following Albuquerque venues, wearing masks, albeit with some drawbacks. Effective since October 26, the Albuquerque BioPark Zoo and Botanic Garden, Albuquerque Museum, and Anderson Abruzzo Albuquerque Balloon Museum will restrict online ticket sales to New Mexico residents only, as an additional COVID-19 precaution.Timed ticketing to the four venues has been in place to limit the number of guests at a venue at any given time and to ensure social distancing. New Mexico guests can continue choosing the day and time of their visit at Guests will be asked to verify that they are New Mexico residents.
• The Albuquerque Biopark Zoo and Botanic Garden now are open 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. daily except Monday. The Aquarium remains closed. New at the Zoo? A baby Klipspringer, native of southern Africa, whom you won’t see unless temps are above 60 degrees. The Klipspringer is an agile small antelope whose name derives from Afrikaans, meaning rock leaper, more or less. Zoo, 903 10th St. Botanic Garden, 2601 Central. Call 877-466-3404.
• Albuquerque Museum, also open 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. except Mondays, is featuring the exhibit 30 Americans, which presents “compelling art from three generations of African-American artists collected by the Rubell Museum in Miami, Florida.” The exhibit runs through January 3, 2021. The museum eatery remains closed, but the museum store is open. 2000 Mountain Road.
• The National Museum of Nuclear Science, remains open daily, from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m., but at 25 percent capacity. An affiliate of the Smithsonian, the museum offers a range of exhibits, including one about FDR that might be inviting right now. You can visit virtually as well, one exhibit on “Atomic Advertising,” and one on “Nuclear Energy.” 601 Eubank Blvd SE. 245-2137
• Indian Pueblo Cultural Center, while temporarily shut down, offers a range of events during what some places note as National Native American Heritage Month. Tuesdays, enjoy a free video tour of the Center. All day, November 15, check in on Rock Your Mocks online, and on the same day from 11 a.m. to 1 p.m. take a look at Seasons of Growth, a Zoom event about growing veg and plants.
• The National Museum of the American Indian in DC is featuring several online events this month, including, from November 18-27, Native Cinema showcase. This is an annual celebration of the best in Native film. This year, for the 20th-anniversary showcase, the museum presents the full program online, streaming new films, fan favorite classics, and conversations with filmmakers. Watch via SmithsonianNMAI.
• Deborah Madison, New Mexico-based foodie and writer, November 28, 3 p.m., talks about her new memoir, An Onion in my Pocket. Via Bookworks. Register for the virtual event.

Did You Know?
“Created in 1978 by the New Mexico Legislature, the Department of Cultural Affairs represents New Mexico's dedication to preserving and celebrating the cultural integrity and diversity of our state. Among its primary functions is the management of the largest state-sponsored museum system in the country.
The department oversees a broad range of New Mexico's arts and cultural heritage agencies which comprise 15 divisions representing a variety of programs and services.”

In Corrales
• Music in Corrales has cancelled its 2020 season, with a decision supposedly still coming as to whether it will undertake a series of concerts in 2021. As stated on its website, “In the meantime, we are actively exploring other options—such as special events at local venues as well as virtual concerts—to fulfill our mission of bringing great music to enhance the quality of life in our community and in our schools, and to do it safely.  We look forward to bringing you good news in the fall, and we thank you for your patience, understanding, and continuing support for Music in Corrales.”
Village Council meeting. Via teleconference. Only one this month, November 10, 6:30 p.m. Consult the Village website for up to date info on these remote gatherings.
• Casa San Ysidro, the historic Corrales property part of the Albuquerque Museum, is scheduling tours via online tickets only. It’s also featuring a Zoom lecture about Diaries of Women Pioneers, with Norma Libman, November 14, from 1:10 to 2:10 p.m. Email to register. You will be provided with the link to the Zoom meeting. 973 Old Church Road.
• Corrales Library: Open for “curbside” book pickup, between 12 and 3 p.m., Tuesday through Saturday. Reserve items online as you usually do. Confirm they are in, then pick them up. 897-0733. The following programs all are via Zoom. Café a las seis, November 5, 12, and 19, 6-7 p.m. Saturday Stitch Club, November 14, from 10:30 - 11:30 a.m. Author series, November 24, Nasario Garcia’s, "Hoe, Heaven and Hell,” about his rural New Mexico boyhood. 7-8 p.m. Book club, November 30, ”The Giver of Stars" by Jojo Moyes, is a work of historical fiction about the Kentucky Pack Horse Librarians. 2:30 p.m. Story time? It's all via YouTube, hence no time or date.
• Corrales Animal Services now has an Amazon wishlist, for animal supplies. Says CAS, “Take a look! We really appreciate each and every one of you!” Especially if you buy stuff for Corrales critters. 
• Corrales Historical Society, Old Church long closed, would not mind at all, speaking of Amazon, if you went to Amazon/Smile before shopping, and chose CHS as a recipient of a percentage of your purchases. You also can use your Smith’s Rewards Card in similar fashion.
• Corrales Growers’ Market. The regular season is over, as are the Wednesday markets. But a Holiday Market is set for November 22, 11 a.m. to 1 p.m. Masks, no dogs. Check for updates.
• Corrales Arts Center presents its second Arts and Wellness play, November 8, at 3 p.m. The 45 minute production about single seniors coping with the pandemic is called Hunker Down, and will be available via Zoom. Tickets are $8 for members, $10 for non, via this link: www.CorralesArtsCenter.og. Its first Zoom Arts Tour, November 15 at 3 p.m., features the native American art collection of Joann and Scott MacKenzie, and is a ticketed event. Check out upcoming virtual activities at www.CorralesArtsCenter.og. You may reach CAC at
• Village in the Village, ViV, continues its services to members, within COVID-19 guidelines, and also is offering Zoom events, including coffee meet-ups, Fridays from 10 to 11 a.m. Its book club this month, November 16 from 3 to 4 p.m., looks at Rachel Kadish’s “The Weight of Ink,” about “two women of remarkable intellect.” To learn more, email Sarah at Or call 274-6206.

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