Know what I found in Deming? Death and terror.
That sounds worse than it was. I started the day in Mountain View Cemetery, which has to be better than ending it there. (Ba da bum.) I love cemeteries, all those lives memorialized, so much history to wonder about – babies and old people and everyone in between.
Plus, my God, I needed to get off my ass and walk. And walk I did, past headstones:
And memorial benches:
I would have stayed longer, but I had to pee. And there was a winery on the agenda. Someone’s flowerpots had tipped over, so I righted them, then walking back to the car I was joined by this guy:
And that this wasn’t either:
Seeking more comforting environs, I moved on to the Luna Rossa Winery. (I’d like to point out it was 12:06 p.m. when I arrived, so no need to send me an AA brochure.)
I was the only customer there, so I had the staff – a fun, smart woman named April – and the between-tasting crackers to myself.
I asked what else I should do while I was in town. April said, “Well, there’s nothing in Deming.” She was the first of three people to say that exact same thing, but I disagree. First off – a cemetery! And tarantulas! And free wine! (Okay, not exactly free, since I bought a very nice gewürztraminer and Shiraz. But still.)
But the day got even better when I found the odd and delightful Deming Luna Mimbres Museum (admission by donation). It’s at the armory, but don’t let the heavy artillery discourage you from going in:
There was much to see, with all kinds of collections including Indian artifacts, old photos, antique furnishings and art, geodes, a ceramic shoe collection, button hooks, old TVs and radios. (Button hooks!) They even recreated an old Deming street, with a row of dioramas and old cars.
There was apparently a sale on mannequins when the museum was putting the exhibits together, because they stuck one in every chance they got. Usually they were fun, in a goofy way:
The medical room was a highlight:
Here’s a charming recreation of a child in an iron lung, complete with a nurse with her fingers and glove torn off, presumably by the unhappy child as she was being stuffed into the contraption:
But here’s where the mannequins started getting creepy:
Or, quite simply, terrifying:
Thank God I had wine in the car.