Revised Sentiments

Since I'm still in that obnoxious happy Holiday mood, I've been listening to my own mix tape of fave Christmas tunes in my car to and from work.

I don't play them much at home. Not sure The Good Man would go for piping all my insane Xmas cheer into the house.

Aaaaanyhow, this morning I was listening to the George Strait song, "Christmastime in Texas" and the line "it might look just like a summer day" which, of course, made me think of Christmas in New Mexico. I think there was snow on Christmas just once when I was growing up, and that was all melted off by noon.

Christmas in New Mexico was more like sixty-five degrees and shorts and a tshirt to play with my new toys outside.

I've always loved all the standard Christmas tunes, but hey, to a New Mexico kid, they don't really apply.

So I decided to tinker with some of the classics to give them more of a New Mexico vibe.

Here just a few, feel free to add your own!

______

"Up on a Housetop"

Up on a rooftop, stick stick stick, tar paper roof laid on too thick

"Walking in a Winter Wonderland"

Walking in a surprisingly summerlike wonderland

"Silent Night"

Silent night, holy HELL my neighbor's yard decorations are bright

"White Christmas"

I'm dreaming of a red or green Christmas. Green please, with a fried egg on top. Pass the tamales. (whoops, lost the natural rhythm of the song there....thoughts of Christmas tamales will do that to me)

"Let it Snow"

Oh the weather outside is windy, and the weeds are very tumbly, and since we've no place to go, let it blow, let it blow, let it blow

"The Christmas Song"

Calf's nuts roasting on an open fire, branding iron nipping at your flanks
(yeah, ok, so winter isn't exactly branding season, but go with me here!)

"Jingle Bells"

Paper bags, paper bags, burning in my yard

"Frosty the Snowman"

Nobby the mud tires, on a very four wheel truck,
with a four on the floor and a headache rack,
and two headlights made out of halogen

__________

Ah, mud tires and a headache rack. Now that's what Christmas means to me.

Let's Have A Brainstorming Session

I just finished reading a book called "Riding Rockets: The Outrageous Tales of a Space Shuttle Astronaut."

It is the biography of NASA Astronaut Mike Mullane, and it's a pretty damn good book, not just because it's about a kid who was raised in New Mexico (though many, many bonus points for that!), but because Mullane gets down to the nitty gritty details about what it was like to ride NASA's Space Shuttle on three separate occasions.

Add to all of that, I personally think "Riding Rockets" is a fantastic title.

Which got me thinking...if I was going to write up the story of my life so far, what in the blazes would I call such a tome?

Tell you what...let's brainstorm together, shall we?

Here we go...let me clear my mind...remember no idea is too outrageous, all have merit.

If Loving Cheese is Wrong, I Don't Want to Be Right: My Life from Velveeta to Camembert

Fart Jokes Are Always Funny: A Retrospective

Decision Points: Red or Green? (<== honestly, doesn't that truly sum up my life?)

Ain't Got Sense Enough To Come In Out of The Rain: My life, and other things my father said

It's 10:00am and I Already Ate My Lunch: The trials and tribulations of a perpetually hungry girl

Nina Karen: Wisdom of the Ages (<== I can include the time I let my toddler aged goddaughter grab onto an electric fence. Great moments of godparenting...)

I'm From New Mexico: You don't look like you're Mexican, so Find A Map @#$&hole

Mommy, Why Does California Act That Way: A New Mexican's tales of living in the craziest state in the union

Whoops!: One woman's life of "excuse me" for inappropriate bodily noises

The Audacity of Taking the Last Piece of Pie: One woman's quest to become a better wife, except when there's pie involved

I'll keep working on it....

Cartoon from Noise to Signal by Rob Cottingham

Round and Round

The past couple weeks I've participated in the Theme Thursday challenge. A fresh topic is presented each Thursday and over the next week, bloggers interpret the theme.

Cool, right? I sure think so.

The first couple weeks were pretty easy. The words were game and knot and I happily interpreted them in my own way.

This week, the theme word is wheel.

It's one of those deceptive words. It seems so easy. Simple. Complete. Because it's so simple and ubiquitous, it actually becomes hard to narrow down a single interpretation of the word wheel and go with that.

So I won't.

Here's a real time brainstorming session. All the ways wheel speaks to me:

Ferris wheel. Uncle Cliff's in Albuquerque. I'm kid, waiting in line. That incredible view of the lights of the city when I'm up there at the top and it pauses a moment just to let you sit. Yeah. The smell of cotton candy and corn dogs wafting up. That's summer.

The Wheel of Fortune Tarot card. Round and round.

The Wheel of Fortune television show. Vanna, pick me a letter.

The wheels on a car. Man are tires expensive. Yesterday it rained like it meant it here in the Bay Area. The first big rain of the season. We drove up to San Francisco, and it became very clear that The Good Man's car needs tires soon.

The steering wheel. Remembering gripping that big wheel when I learned to drive in my dad's 1972 Chevy Blazer. Blue. Four wheel drive. I loved that truck.

"Wheel in the sky keeps on turning..." Who did that song? Gonna have to Google it. Oh yeah. Journey. Weirdly, Steve Perry has been in the ballpark during the San Francisco Giants baseball playoffs. The park has been playing "Don't Stop Believing" and Perry has been leading the singalong. Hell, if Steve Perry is the Lucky Stuff that got us to the World Series, I'll take it.

Wheels, as used in baseball. Referring to the feet, especially of a fast runner. "Man, that Andres Torres has some wheels! Did you see how fast he got to first base?"

If you say the word wheel to yourself long enough, it starts to sound weird. Wheeeel. Wheeeeeeeeel. Have you seen that Geico commercial with the little piggy going wheee wheee wheee all the way home?

Asleep At The Wheel, what a great band. Saw 'em play live at the Pan Am Center in Las Cruces. Danced my booty off. Fun!

Business lingo: "Let's not reinvent the wheel." Though lately that's been replaced by the equally lame phrase, "Let's not try to boil the ocean." Argh! Take your low hanging, wheel inventing, consensus building, suit wearing phrases and stick them in your.... *curse words redacted* for the sake of my mom, who reads my blog.

Ok, I think that's enough. There's more where that came from, but ten interpretations of the word wheel is plenty.

And there you have it.

Photo by Tamás Schauermann and provided royalty free via stock.xchng

Where I come from....

....that's a damn fine donation!

"ALBUQUERQUE - Albuquerque police briefly evacuated a Goodwill store after someone left a pistol, ammunition, a grenade and some marijuana in a collection box.

Police spokeswoman Nadine Hamby says the items turned up in the box Thursday.

She says the Albuquerque police bomb squad determined the grenade was a World War II-style inert - or inactive - grenade.

Hamby says the bomb squad took it away to be destroyed.

The police report did not list what type of guns were in the box or the quantity of marijuana."

Source: Las Cruces Sun News

Can't I Just Have Something Nice!?!

That title must be said in an Edith Bunker sort of voice.

Come with me to the Wayback Machine...

I remember back in the day, grade school era in Albuquerque, when I used to spend time over at my best friend Kathy's house. It was small, white with pink trim, located over by Montgomery park, across from the public swimming pool.

That little house had this front room, right as you came in the door, that featured these really nice blue velour couches. Very cushiony.

However, those pretty couches were covered with thick plastic wrap. Her mother explained that was "to protect" the couches.

In Albuquerque on a hot summer day, those dang couches were miserable.

There were also plastic runners on the floor. This was "to protect" the carpet.

I once stepped outside the line, as is my way, and got my ear chewed off by Kathy's mom.

That tiny Hispanic lady also drove a metallic blue Oldsmobile. Kathy and I used to take gymnastics lessons at the YMCA. Kathy's mom would take that Olds to the car wash every single week during the hour we had our lessons.

She wouldn't pay to have it dried, just washed, so she'd roll up with water droplets hanging off the sides. (You can get away with that in the 7% humidity of New Mexico.)

Why am I telling you this?

I got to thinking about Kathy's mom today as I was looking at my brand spanking new iPhone 4.

It's a beauty of a new phone. A bit heaver than the last model. The screen is amazingly clear. The black and chrome styling. Haaawt!

So here I am with this beautiful phone that isn't cheap. It's something really, really nice. And what did I do? I put an ugly plastic case around this marvel of industrial engineering.

You know, "to protect" it.

I tried to find the coolest case I could, but really, there's not much out there that enhances the beauty and design of the iPhone.

I'm just "keeping it for nice."

I know you know what I mean.

Word of the day: Obdurate

ob·du·rate   [ob-doo-rit, -dyoo-] –adjective

1. unmoved by persuasion, pity, or tender feelings; stubborn; unyielding.
2. stubbornly resistant to moral influence; persistently impenitent: an obdurate sinner.

Ah obdurate. How I embody you so.

This word crossed my path again yesterday while watching an episode of Jeeves & Wooster, a fun British show that dates back to the early 90's. The PG Wodehouse books date back much farther than that, some written in the early 1900's and now in public domain (thus all loaded up on my Kindle!).

The Good Man introduced me to Jeeves & Wooster and I'm now hopelessly in love.

I love language and words, and Wodehouse certainly had a way with the Queen's English.

So I sort of chuckled this morning when I turned to my blog idea generator, and this was the suggestion:

"When other people tell me what to do...."

Answer: I become obdurate.

I'm not proud of it. It's just in my nature.

As the third of three kids born to a very smart and very in control family, I was "the baby" and thus everyone just, you know, told me what to do.

This certainly got me past many a hazard in my infancy, but there came a time, I don't know what age, when damnit, I was tired of being told what to do!

So much so, that being told what to do made me act out.

It's a trait that's carried through to adulthood. In fact, it only became more deeply entrenched an increased in velocity.

One would think that this would make me a very bad employee. Actually, when it comes to managers I like and respect, I have no trouble being told what to do in the workplace.

No, Madame Obdurate is more of a home life kind of gal.

Which makes friends, family and loved ones *ever* so happy.

I find my tendency to dig in when someone tells me what to do really isn't all that unique. It's pretty much a go-to for most of us.

Because we're all special little snowflakes, we want to do things our own damn way and I don't care what you say and pa-tooey!

Yeah.

As I often say to my friends, you don't have to be free of your emotional baggage, you just have to be self-aware about it.

See how I reel 'em in? Look at that face? Would she harm a fly? No, I don't think so. But tell her what to do and WHAMMO! Obdurate all up in your grille!

Whoa! Fair New Mexico

Looking for news from the homeland, I hit up the news tab on Google and put in New Mexico as my search term.

And what did I get back from that big omnipotent search engine?

New Mexico man set on fire after losing drinking game

3 dead in New Mexico business shooting...

and

Police search for two after finding missing boy (in New Mexico)*

My oh my former home state. Very busy in the news today. But not, you know, in a good way.

Clearly, Bill disapproves....

* text in parentheses is mine.

An Unexpected Convergence of the Universe

Had a weird day yesterday.

Well, most of my days are weird. Yesterday was especially so.

I was working in the studio and painting up a storm. Since The Good Man was out and about, I took the opportunity to turn on the oldies country station I like. 104.7 out of Albuquerque does an internet stream.

It's a great station for classic country stuff. I try to spare The Good Man from my country music as much as I can. All for the sake of the marriage and things like that....

So as I painted, on the radio came Merle Haggard, and George Strait, a little Ray Price and even a stab at some Garth Brooks (the old stuff).

Well, it didn't take but a minute, and I was vacuumed up into the Wayback Machine. I found myself struggling with heart pangs that were hard to ignore.

It doesn't help that I'm also reading a Max Evan's book right now. In it, he describes horses and New Mexico plains and mountains...

Well, it's more than a girl can take.

I tried to fight off the homesick but it started to hurt deep inside.

So I called up my best friend.

"You either gotta come get me out of this wayback machine or you gotta get in here with me," I left on her voicemail.

She called back quick. "Open the hatch, I'm coming in!" she said.

So being the kind of friend that you keep around for some twenty plus years, she talked me down and reminded me that I'm just a couple weeks from actually *being* in New Mexico again. So could I just hold out a bit?

Feeling a lot better, I hung up the phone and turned off the radio.

Then the Good Man came home and all was right in my world again.

About an hour later, I heard my iPhone buzz.

I picked it up to see that my old boss from Sandia Labs was pinging me. She is a dear friend and the best boss I've ever had. She told me that she and her boss (who was my first manager at Sandia and is also a good friend and a fine Aggie alum) were having drinks while out on a business trip.
Their conversation had turned to stories about, well, me.

She was recounting a few of them via text messages (we had a lot of fun back in those days...the mid-90's) and she said, "That was the best time I've ever had at work. We should never have let you go to the Bay Area."

And damnit all if that sharp pang didn't come right back to my heart.

Now I keep in touch with my former amazing Boss Lady, but we haven't spoken a lot in the past year (other than to congratulate her on a recent marriage).

Sort of out of nowhere, on a day when I’m homesick anyway, there she was relating stories of a great time in my life back when I lived in Albuquerque.

And I seized up a little.

It was weird how all these events came together on one day.

So I talked it over with The Good Man. I told him I'm afraid of forgetting who I am and where I come from. He suggested that just that fear alone may keep it from being so.

He asked, "Do you want to move back?"

And I said, "No, because I think I'd yearn for San Francisco if I left!"

Over the weekend, we went to see a theater show, "The Tosca Project," that was so San Francisco and the heart of North Beach that I love profoundly, that it was moving and deeply gratifying to my soul.

The thought of being far away from the soul of that City is a sad thought.

Sometimes I’m a girl caught between all the Karens that make up who I am.

I don't have any answers. I figure I'm just going to have a very high electrical bill this month, what with all this constant use of the Wayback Machine (it's not Energy Star rated.....)

Things They Didn't Teach Me

I've been a proud holder of a driver's license for, oh say, about twenty-five years.

I first learned to drive our automatic transmission, four-wheel drive, 1972 Chevy Blazer on the hard packed dirt roads around Logan, New Mexico. Population 1,002.

Those roads were wide, empty of other cars, and easy to navigate.

Ya wanna park? Sure. Pull up somewhere near the house. That'll work.

Then I got a more formal education from the ubiquitous McGinnis School of Driving. Don't know if it is still the same now, but back then, every high school kid in Albuquerque learned to drive from McGinnis.

We got the usual lessons. Hands and 10 and 2. Back up in a straight line. Parallel park between the orange cones.

That parallel parking one...I didn't need that much in Albuquerque.

I needed it A LOT more once I moved to the Bay Area.

Parallel parking in San Francisco is like a sport. People will actually spectate the event. Comment on your technique. And point and laugh as you make six runs at that freaking small spot that you've just spent over an hour searching for.

These are things that Mr. McGinnis didn't teach.

That "spent an hour looking for a spot" is what got me thinking. Last night, The Good Man and I had an event up in the great City of San Francisco. It was to be held in the part of the City they call the Marina.

Now...we were feeling pretty good about our odds of parking (another thing McGinnis didn't teach, thinking ahead to where you'll park) because where we were headed has a pretty ample parking area. It's a big wide street with a line of parking spaces down the middle (Fillmore, for my SF readers). Plus, it was a Tuesday night.

Lots of spaces and a weeknight? High potential! Score!

However....

Luck was not on our side. An accident on 280 and backed up traffic for a hometown baseball game left us running late as it was. And when we got to the Marina...there wasn't a spot to be had.

So we did what we had to do. We began the slow circle around and around and around. Trolling for a spot.

McGinnis didn't teach me that.

Then the consideration of an ever so slightly empty spot at the curb. Can I fit my car in that? What are the odds the people living there will call the cops because my bumper is hanging in their driveway? Am I leaking over into the red zone? What are the odds I'll get a ticket?

Mr. McGinnis also did not teach me that.

And then, while panic growing and growing as we are now a half hour late for our event, the sheer ecstasy of actually FINALLY finding a spot. A big spot! A good spot! A spot we didn't even have to fend off other drivers to get into!

Yes! Sweet mystery of life at last I've found you!

Oh the relief. The weeping. The joy.

McGinnis School of Driving definitely did *not* teach me that.

I had to learn that all on my own.

I'm pretty lucky these days because The Good Man, a longtime San Francisco dweller by way of a Brooklyn upbringing isn't a'feared of these sorts of things. He'll plunge into the wackiest of driving, parking and navigating situations with ease and aplomb. Most of the time, like last night, he's got the wheel and I don't have to worry about it.

Because me, I learned to drive on empty dirt roads.

What the hell are all these cars doing around here!?!?!

(Don't think I haven't TOTALLY whipped in front of a Trolley Car to get to a good parking spot. Because I have.)

Happy Awkward Easter!

Because you didn't ask, I decided to provide a blast from the past.

Easter, April 8, 1976 from our backyard in Albuquerque:

I'm only sorry I had to drag my siblings into this.

I'm the shortest one. You know, the one with a deathgrip on my Easter basket.

Man, I loved that dress. It had a sash and everything.

We'd been to Easter Mass that morning.

Mom had sung "Jeeeesus Chriiiiist is riiiiiisen todaaaaaay!" loudly along with the congregation and the church organ (man, she loved that song. Something about all the allelujahs.)

Ham was in the oven and the backyard Easter egg hunt was soon to begin.

I always did love Easter. A new dress. New white sandals. A basket full of candy. Yeah baby!

Anyhow, Happy Easter to all who celebrate it!

.
.
.

Oh, also, because no one asked, on the next page of that same photo album....

Here's what the 1976 Albuquerque International Balloon Fiesta looked like:

It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Evaporation!

Everywhere you turn....

Ok, I suppose some things are hard coded into my system. Cellular level and all.

Today promises to be a very warm day where I live. I woke up this morning and it was already getting hot, and so my mind thought, "hmm, wonder if it is too early to think about getting the swamp cooler set up."

And then I remembered...I don't live in the desert anymore.

Oh and by the way, evaporative cooling doesn't work worth a damn where it's humid.

Oh yeah. Whoops.

This all reminded me of when I looked for my first apartment in Northern California.

In Albuquerque I'd lived in a very large one-bedroom apartment up on the east end of Menaul. I was on the fourth floor and had a rocking view of the Sandias. Many of my utilities were taken care of, and I paid $550.

I was now looking at spending $1200 a month on a teeny tiny dark apartment in a crap neighborhood. And pay for it out of a salary that was only $5k more than I was making in Albuquerque.

Yeah. That was bad. But what I remember most was touring a pretty nice place that was in my price range (less than $1000 a month). It was clean, smallish, but suitable. It was a warm day down in the South Bay, and I inquired, "where is the air conditioner?"

The landlord responded that there wasn't one.

NO AIR CONDITIONER!?!?! WHAT!?!?!?

I mean, to a girl from New Mexico, this is certain death! You don't NOT have an air conditioner!!!

The landlord further explained that really, it's not necessary. The really hot days are few and the wind off the Bay and the ocean keeps it cool.

I was skeptical.

Thirteen years later, I've still never lived in a place that had an air conditioner. Admittedly, there have been some still, hot days where I yearned for the simple beauty of a swamp cooler. On those days, I stay longer at work to soak up their climate control.

So while my home is a/c free, my car does have cooling. I won't own a car that doesn't, though I have friends who saved a few bucks by leaving that off. No way.

I have a vague feeling this is going to be a long, hot summer in the Bay Area where the tunnel of fans The Good Man sets up won't quite be enough.

But then, when it gets that hot, the next day the fog rolls in over the hills and dampens the whole day and you freeze your tukhus off.

Ah...summer in the Bay Area. Swamp Coolers not required.

The Awards they Coulda Given Out

So I actually watched the Oscars last night.

I never watch the Oscars. I almost never watch the Super Bowl, and I watched that this year too.

What's going on with me?

Ah well, another blog post for another time.

I don't usually watch the Oscars because I believe they represent an overblown, poorly scripted Hollywood wank fest.

And I wasn't disappointed this year.

I only saw three of the ten movies that were nominated, that being "Up," "Up in the Air" and then yesterday afternoon, The Good Man and I took in "Crazy Heart."

Based on those three films, here are the awards I can hand out:

Best Use of Talking Dogs - Nod goes to "Up." Squirrel!

Best Bay Area Reference - Fenton's Creamery gets a place of honor in "Up" and I like it. An homage to a tasty place. Good eats deserve their own award!

Best Smuggy-Smug-Smugerson Face - Well the award seriously goes to George Clooney.

Best Really Incredibly Hot Chick Who Is Dancing Around the Age of 40 and Still Looks Amazing - Vera Farmiga. Hooooot in the movie "Up in the Air." Massively HOOOOT in that red dress at the Oscars. And age appropriate for her leading man too, how 'bout them apples?

Best Pretty Young Girl Who is a Solid Talent - those crappy vampire movies notwithstanding, I think Anna Kendrick is pretty damn good. She stole the show from Clooney and made that movie worth watching, IMHO.

Best "Hey, I Can See Your Acting Skills Growing By Leaps and Bounds and I Like It" Performance - Maggie Gyllenhaal in Crazy Heart. I've always been a fan of hers and I think this movie shows a huge maturity in her talent. She's amazing.

Best Realistic Repeated Barfing by an Old Guy On Film - gotta go to Jeff Bridges on that. Ew. And yet, so well done!

And the big award of the night. The one we've all been waiting for:

Best Use of Downtown Albuquerque as a fill in for Houston - and the award goes to...."Crazy Heart."

I laughed pretty hard at the scene where Bad is extolling the virtues of Houston as very familiar downtown Albuquerque landmarks roll past the car windows. They didn't even try to obfuscate the Rio Grande Credit Union sign in a key scene.

Folks, come on up and get your trophy!

Getting to know you, er, me

Hey, contrary to popular opinion, I haven't run off screaming into the sunset (a la Daffy Duck). Nope, I only managed to contract a vile form of stomach flu or maybe food poisoning that knocked me down for about five days last week.

It was the worst stomach ailment I've ever experienced in a life that's crossed paths with plenty of gastroenteritis over the years.

It was bad. Real bad.

And you know, a year and a half into this marriage thing, I'm still learning how to handle things like living in a house with another person and only one bathroom.

Good times. We made it through the crisis with compassion and humor. Lots of humor.

The good news is, I'm back up and around and able to eat solids again.

Over the past week, I noted a few new commenters on the blog and so I have to stop a moment and say "hi!" and a big thanks to new readers.

I'm coming up on a three year anniversary of this crazy blog (March 17), and slowly but surely the number of visitors is increasing.

Which is amazing. I have much gratitude, thank you!

There was a perplexing comment made on a post from last week, and it got me thinking. Since I was doing a lot of lying around whining most of last week, I had some time to think.

In light of some new folks hanging around, a pending three year blogaversary, and my wading back into blogging after a tough week, I decided a "getting to know me" post might be in order.

My longtime readers may find most of this stuff a retread of what they've already learned over the years. But for new readers, this might be a good sort of background to kick things off.

Here we go, some fun facts:

As my bio says, I'm a New Mexico girl who is now living in California. I've been in California for about thirteen years now, but still, New Mexico is where I lived the longest. For better or worse, that's shaped my outlook on life.

I was raised in Albuquerque back in the 70's and 80's when Albuquerque was growing, but still had a lot of dirt roads running through town.

Being homesick for New Mexico was the genesis of this blog. That is where it started, but I've managed to veer off course quite a bit over the past three years. And I like it!

My favorite color is red. Unless it is purple. Then there is my love affair with orange. And cobalt blue. Man, I love cobalt blue. And black. Can't go wrong with black. I like bold colors. It's hard to pick just one.

I'm the youngest child of three, which has definitely skewed my worldview, whether for better or for worse is in the eye of the beholder.

My dad was an engineer, which definitely skewed my worldview.

Growing up, I was deeply and positively affected by the prevailing Hispanic and Native American cultures (my ethnicity was the minority on the playground) of New Mexico. I identify more with the cultures in which I was raised then my own genetic lineage. It makes me happy.

I also grew up "a little bit country," a fact that makes me proud, and sort of perplexes the people I live and work with in the urban Bay Area (I dropped a "this ain't my first rodeo" on a conference room full of people, including a VP of manufacturing, in my first year working here. It brought the room to a screeching halt. I rather enjoyed that.)

The mid-2000's were tough years for me. 2005 was a landmark year.

In 2005:

A long-term relationship had ended badly the year before and being alone again after all that time was disorienting.

After a close call in 2004, in February of 2005 (yesterday, to be exact) my father finally passed away after a valiant fight with a terrible lung disease. My relationship with my dad had been complicated...so this was also disorienting.

Four months later, my best friend from high school died of cancer that had started in her ovaries and ended in her brain. She left an adorable young daughter and a grieving husband behind.

In 2005 I was morbidly obese. Not much more to say on that topic.

However, that summer, after a long talk from a doctor after a regular physical in which the words "you will die" came up a lot, I began to eat better, smaller, healthier, and I exercised as much as my aching joints would allow. Funny what watching someone die will do for your motivation.

The weight started coming off fast. I lost over 100lbs in a year.

In November 2005, I met this guy. A really charming fellow. I may have even chased him around a little bit. Thankfully he let me catch him, and we married in 2008.

2005 made me realize that in order to know great joy, I also had to know great sorrow.

The kind of sorrow that rips your guts out, makes you afraid to leave your home, and makes you wonder if you can ever be happy again. Then I learned that surviving it can manage to produce this amazing guy who actually gets your sense of humor and will put up with your sh*t.

Ain't that a kick?

By the by, I refer to my husband as The Good Man on this blog.

I have a cat. She's a pain in the ass. She also has one of the best personalities I've ever known (human or animal). I try not to be "the cat lady" and blog too much about my pet. Sometimes it can't be helped.

When I let myself dream, what I most want to be when I grow up is a published writer. I write fiction mostly, but non-fiction too. I have six completed but unpublished novels. I self-published a seventh just to see how the process works. Yes, I have a book on Amazon. It's actually not that hard to do.

This blog makes me sit down and write every weekday, and has improved my writing skills exponentially over the past three years.

I also love to craft. I make mostly Mexican inspired pieces and I'm not bashful in my love and admiration for The Crafty Chica. It was one of her books that kicked me in the butt and gave me a voice for all the artistic ideas that I had rolling around in my head. A link to my Etsy store is on the left side of the page.

I'm also a very, very amateur photographer. I've been taking classes and my technique is improving, but there is a long way to go. I tend to believe more in getting a great shot from the camera and less Photoshop, so that means I'll likely always languish as an amateur. I weary of all the over corrected and over Photoshopped photos in the world, but that's just me.

I like pie. Sour cherry mostly, though a good tart key lime runs a close second. Blueberry is nice too.

I'm a brunette. My eyes are a greenish-brown.

This photograph scares me more than you know. (NM's Governor Richardson)

My favorite author is Larry McMurtry. But my favorite book of all time is "Red Sky at Morning" by Richard Bradford. I read it through again two days ago in my stomachache haze. I love that book. It's very New Mexico.

At the request of The Good Man, I'm now reading "A Moveable Feast" by Hemingway. I love to read but I'm not much on classic authors. The Good Man is working on my literary education. He even got me to read another Steinbeck. After "The Grapes of Wrath" I swore I'd never read another Steinbeck.

In return, he's read "Bless Me Ultima" by Rudolpho Anaya and he's currently working on "Red Sky at Morning" (it was a deal, I'd read "Cannery Row" and he had to read "Red Sky at Morning.")

I'm very fond of my Fat Baby boots. They make me ridiculously happy.

I am blessed to have a very small selection of very, very good friends. I met my best friend back in 1988. We can never part ways. We know too much dirt about each other. We are the Butch Cassidy and Sundance Kid of New Mexico, only with a lot more green chile.

I like to eat. A lot. Lately, I also like to cook, so that works out nicely.

I am a rabid San Francisco Giants baseball fan, no matter how many times they break my heart. Which has been a lot over the course of a lifetime.....

I like to sing off key and loudly in the confines of my car. I'm not ashamed. Not even when I forget that I left the windows open.

I believe laughter the antidote to most of what ails the world. Sometimes I laugh inappropriately. But I always say, "excuse me" when I do.

I will always laugh at a fart joke. I don't know why. It's juvenile and uncouth. I don't care. Fart jokes are funny. There may have been a few over the past week as a stomach ailment provides a lot of...er...fodder.

I have jury duty this week. I wonder if I'll get called into service? Sometimes, I secretly wish that I get to be on a jury. I'm wildly fascinated by the justice system.

Did I mention I like pie?

Ok, well, there's obviously a lot more to know, but that's probably more than enough for now. Stick around for a while, if you want. I'm sure I'll blurt out more embarrassing facts about myself soon.

If you've managed to read all the way through this, well, I thank you.

If you have been reading the blog for a while, good to see you again.

If you are new to my brand of writing, welcome. I look forward to getting to know you.

And now, back to acting like Daffy Duck...

Keep it to yourself, grandma

I remember back when I was about 25 or 26, living in Albuquerque and working at Sandia Labs. Single. Searching. Doing ok.

My older sister was also single and in her twenties, and we grew pretty close back then.

There was one day when I was staying over at her house that she and I went for a walk. We were each other's support group, so we'd walk along and talk. We'd engage in walking therapy.

This was a chilly winter day. We walked with pink cheeks and a scarf 'round the neck.

We talked about how we both tend to have this internal dialog of snarky comments as we go through our days.

Both of us copped to it. Then my sister said something that sticks with me.

"I just worry that as I age, my ability to keep those thoughts inside will become more difficult."

I laughed. And I agreed.

See, in our family, we have this relative. My mom's aunt. She's a bit infamous among the family as possessing a rather acid tongue. She didn't even need to grow old to splat out hateful, spiteful and just plan snarky comments.

Oh, she was loyal to her family, especially her beloved brother (my grandfather) and made no bones about letting my grandmother know she wasn't good enough. I believe she also let my dad know he wasn't good enough for my mom.

So my sister and I both know that the genes of Aunty Snarky run deep within our DNA. We know how to turn on that frosty chill and say something cuttingly acerbic.

But as my sister pointed out, back then, we did okay keeping it inside.

Now, looking at the world through 40 years old eyes (that need vision correction), I find that my sister was entirely prophetic.

I *am* having trouble keeping that Aunty Snarky side to myself.

It's such a push-pull of being "the nice girl" vs "oh hell, let's just be honest."

I recall reading one of my grandmother's journals (after she had passed away). In it, she discussed how people always think she's so nice, "but," she wrote, "if they only knew."

Well, I'm afraid I've surpassed "if they only knew." They know.

Because I've become that cranky old broad. Only I'm not quite old enough yet to get away with it.

I say things. Out loud. (For example, the "What the f--- is your problem?!?!" incident from about a month ago.)

I've always ranted about man's inhumanity to man and tried to rise above it. I really have. But I guess I've been worn down. I guess "everybody is doing it" and so I'm no longer rising, I'm wallowing down in it.

Hoo boy. I'm not proud of it.

When I was in Las Vegas, I got busted for it too. I was standing in the narrow median of a quiet street taking a photograph. A pickup rolled by and the driver slowed and said, "I thought you were crossing the street..."

And I thought he was being an a'hole about me being in the median. I'd gotten hassled so much that day while taking photos so my hackles may have been a bit up.

I whirled on him. "Oh nice!" I yelled, "Thank you VERY much. No really, thanks for being such a nice guy!!!" I yelled sarcastically as he drove off.

Ten minutes later the guy walked up to me. "Hey, I just meant, I couldn't tell if you were crossing the street. But then I saw your camera and I figured it out. That's all."

Whoooooo did I feel like a jerk. I ended up apologizing to him and we had a pretty nice conversation about photography.

You'd think that would have capped my fat mouth.

It did, only somewhat.

I'm trying.

I really am. Hard to get that horse back in the barn after all the frolicking in the fields.

It's just...I don't always want to be "the nice girl."

Sometimes I think I just want to be Aunty Snarky when I grow up.

I'm so conflicted.

Viva Las Vegas. Las Vegas, Mi Vida.

Ah Las Vegas, I return home to you once more.

That sparkling town, Las Vegas, has been an integral part of pretty much all of my life.

Yes, Vegas and I are irrevocably entwined.

Sure, everyone likes Vegas, right? Well...right?

For me, it's a lot different than it might be for you.

Let's flip the toggle switch on the WayBack Machine. Let's go back, oh, say a bit over forty years.

It was the swinging sixties, baybee, and my dad, a hardcore engineer, was working at the Nevada Test Site.

That's the place you might of heard of...you know, where they blow up nuclear devices underground?

Yup.

Oh, also...waaaaaay over in the back corner of the Nevada Test Site is a little place called Area 54. (In later years I asked the old man about it, but got no answers)

So while Dad went to work out in the middle of the freaking Nevada desert, mom stayed home at their place in Las Vegas and tended to her three kids.

Yes folks, I have actually lived in Las Vegas.

It was only for only a brief time and I have only vague memories, like that you could see the Landmark Casino from where we lived. I used to love to stand in the backyard and watch the lighted elevators go up and down.

My folks really liked living in Las Vegas. And they liked visiting the town too. They made an at least once a year visit, seeing friends and family, a couple shows and they would gamble a bit. It was their favorite vacation destination.

Sometimes they would go just the two of them. Sometimes we kids got to go along for the fun.

It sucked to be a kid in Vegas prior to the construction of Circus Circus. There was little to do other than swim in the hotel pool and follow mom around when she hit the slots.

By law I had to stand at least six feet away from any gaming device. Stand there. With nothing to do other than whine at my mother that I wanted to go swimming.

But all of those years spent in Las Vegas and I find I have a deep history with this town that not many people have. I can remember, "oh that used to be the ____" when I pass the current kitschy themed hotels and casinos.

I am kind of ticked off at Las Vegas for demolishing all of the old and rather fabulous casinos and replacing them with these new garish harpies.

It's just not the same.

Coming to Vegas is, for me, like coming home. I was remarking to The Good Man on the plane ride over that for me, going to Vegas is a bit like going to Albuquerque. It's a get away, but it's also a going home. A nice trip but also so comfortable and easy.

I don’t know Vegas quite as well as I do Albuquerque, as I lived in Vegas only a couple years and I lived a lifetime in ABQ.

But it's a part of me. And it is an even deeper part of the history of my parents.

Vegas and me, we belong together. And it's not about the casinos or the neon or the obnoxious part of it.

I see this painted showgirl for what she is. Behind the mask of makeup and face paint, she's a thirsty and tired old desert town that has grown too fast, aching from the growing pains.

You get two blocks off the strip, and you see behind the curtain. The streets are dirty and grim people look both tired and sad. There is an ugly dark side to all that glitz and show.

There are real people with real jobs trying to make a living. The casinos are but one facet of Vegas.

It's been a couple years since I came to see this charming old lady of a town. On my last trip, I got into an intense conversation with the cab driver who had been raised here in Vegas. He was so happy to find someone who knew, who remembered, and that made me happy too.

Today, I'm looking out over the Spring Mountains to the west and plotting how to spend my day. The Neon Museum is closed for construction, so that will have to be another time.

I'll probably find myself downtown where places like the Four Queens and the Golden Gate harken back to another time. My time.

Maybe I'll pull the handle of a one armed jack and I'll remember....

Why so glum, chum?

I spent most of the day yesterday feeling blue.

No, not from the frosty wind chilling my face.

Blue as in full out, deep down, all the way to the soles of my feet holiday depression.

This happens every year.

What I can't seem to work out is why.

I started thinking, sifting through the memories, trying to figure out when the shift occurred.

As a kid, I loved Christmas. Even after I knew the truth about Santa, I still loved the holidays. To me, they were always filled with magic and a quiet happy peace.

My mom loved the Christmas holiday and always did her best to make it a nice time. Dad was always a cranky pants about any holiday, but crankiness aside, he would let the holiday be what it was.

He was never depressed about it, more like uptight over money and not much of a "ho ho ho" kind of guy.

So I can't say it started as a kid.

In fact, I was all about the holidays all through childhood, into my teen years and through college.

I think, based on my not very scientific analysis of a jumbled brain full of memories, that the holiday blues came on in my twenties.

When I was out of school, living alone in a really wonderful apartment in Albuquerque with a knockout view of the Sandias.

I had a good job with a good check and really, a pretty good life. But I was alone, and the season, for some reason, made me really blue.

I recall, that year, drinking a bottle of not very good wine and laying *under* my Christmas tree. A night spent looking at the lights and trying to muster up some joy.

Sad. It was a great drunk, but it was an alone drunk. And I was depressed again and hungover in the morning. Ugh!

So, ok. One might understand how a lonely twenty something making her way in the world might feel a little down at the holidays.

But that doesn't explain yesterday.

I then thought about all the bad holidays over the years. The Christmas seasons that weren't so happy.

Like the December my dad's lung disease took a turn for the worst, and Mom and I spent Christmas day in the hospital, having to make some really difficult choices.

But The Lazarus Dad recovered that year. Really, it was something of a Christmas miracle.

So, while yes, December often makes me think of that difficult time, I don't think that is the root of the blues I'm feeling today.

All is well in my little world. I have a wonderful husband who is the best holiday gift I could ever ask for. I have great friends and family. A place to lay my head at night and food to eat. And a rasty feline who makes me laugh.

So what's the boggle, then?

Maybe now, at age forty, I feel a little blue because December isn't just the holiday season, but it ushers in the end of another year.

Another year ending where I wonder to myself where all the rest of the days have gone. I wonder what did I do to make the days count?

The end of December has become a time, I suppose, for assessing myself over the year. For grading my performance.

And sadly, every year, I seem to only be able to see where I was lacking. Missed opportunities. Places where if I'd tried a little harder I might have made something really great happen.

Oh, I know, there are a lot of things I did right this year. There are successes that I don't actually see when I let the dark cloud take over.

This post isn't a plea for reminders that I'm ok.

This post is more a letter to myself. A report card.

That reminds me all on my own that I'm ok.

Because I am.

But for some reason, every year about this time I have to take the tiger by the tail and ride the very dark ride for a while.

Here we go: whooooooa!

One thing that always cheers me is pictured below. It's an ornament made by my kindergarten teacher. I couldn't tell you her name, but I remember the day when she placed a personalized ornament into my grubby little hands.

There was my name! In glitter!

I still have it. It's looking a little tattered these days, but it holds a place of honor on the tree.

I look at this silky blue ornament with silver glitter and try to remember that kindergarten Karen who still believed that reindeer would bring Santa to my roof.

That somehow he'd slip down the very narrow chimney on our free standing fireplace (remember these babies from the 1970's?) and leave us lots of toys and goodies.

That the day would start with the smell of mom's homemade cinnamon rolls on Christmas morning.

That we could open the gifts in our stockings first, but had to wait a while on presents under the tree.

That Christmas day was full of surprise and wonder and laughter.

If I can remember that kindergarten Karen, I might just be able to pull myself up and out of these blues.

Please have what and mistletoe?

I'm a confirmed child of the West. I've lived all my years well to the left of the state of Texas.

As such, that means that these concepts of "winter" and "Christmas" mean a little something different than they do in all the songs I've been listening to today.

Yes, I admit, I succumbed to Christmas music today.

Ever since I was a kid, while I did like the ol' Christmas tunes, I pondered about how many of them didn't apply. And it's not just about the weather.

Let's take a look:

"I'm dreaming of a white Christmas." Yes. But not here.

It was over 60 degrees today.

"Dashing through the snow, in a one horse open sleigh..."

Well. Again. No snow.

No horses dashing around much either.

"Frosty the Snowman." Nope.

However, there used to be a house in Albuquerque that had a flocked tumbleweed snowman in their yard every year, so this is a maybe...

"Chestnuts roasting on an open fire."

I don't even know what the hell that means.

Marshmallows roasting on an open fire? Yes please! With chocolate and graham cracker.

As an aside...to celebrate the anniversary of the day we met, The Good Man took me to stay in a Ritz Carlton Hotel at the beach. It is a beautiful and very high class establishment. One of the features of our room was a fire pit on the back porch, intended, I'm sure, to sit by, stay warm, and gaze romantically at the ocean.

To show just how classy we are, we cooked marshmallows over that fire pit.... One of the best nights of my life!

But I digress.

"Tis the season to be jolly...fa la la la, la la la la..."

Um. Huh? Cuz I'm looking around at all my fellow mankind and I can tell you that "jolly" is *not* what people are feeling this season.

"Fa la la la bite me" is more the mood out there.

"We three king of Orient are, sharing gifts we travel so far..." Well. Ahem. "Orient" isn't really politically correct these days.

"We three kings of the Pacific Rim" or "We three kings of AsiaPac" is probably more appropriate.

"Silent night, holy night" Hmph. Silent, eh?

Not after I've had a couple glasses of holiday cheer. Nope, then it's snoring night, drooling night. I sure can't handle the booze anymore...

But when it comes to good old fashioned spiked egg nog, I'm helpless.

So for The Good Man, ain't no silent.

"Silver bells, it's Christmastime in the city."

Ok. Sure. Those Salvation Army guys and gals are working the bells. I'll give you that one. Check.

We got one.

I won't EVEN go down the list from the Twelve Days of Christmas.

But if my true love gave me swans, French hens, partridges, milk maids, leaping lords and pretty much any of the items other than the five gold rings, we might have to have a little conversation about "did you keep the receipt."

And that little drummer boy can take his pah-rumpa-pum-pum up with the judge because I'm calling in a noise complaint!

Which pretty much leaves us with "You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch."

Fair enough!

Rock on, APD!

Today, in need of wasting a little time, I found myself surfing the Fail Blog.

This is a blog, brought to us by the same good folks who publish I Can Haz Cheeseburger, with the same sense of humor.

It is a freaking hilarious blog. They post photos and videos of, well, the big and little failures that occur in the world.

So as I was catching up on what I've missed over the past several weeks, I was ever so proud to see that my ol' hometown has shown up strong.

Congratulations, APD, on an epic police fail.

Good stuff!

Source.

Civility is not dead, merely on life support

I believe I've had occasion to rant here regarding my feelings toward airplane travel.

In as few words as I can muster, I believe that flying brings out the worst in people.

Especially on those "open seating" type of airlines. Ya'll know which one I'm talking about. People will knock over little old ladies and run their too large roller bag over toddlers in order to get to that perfect aisle/window seat.

Very rude.

And then the folks who are unable to entertain themselves for the time they will spend on the plane require YOU to entertain them.

"So, you going to Albuquerque? You from there? What's it like? Have you ever been to Santa Fe? Is it anything like Phoenix? How come I can't fly into Santa Fe? What's that you are reading? Why are you ordering tomato juice?"

You know the type.

When I fly, I usually bring a book, wait patiently, take the first acceptable seat and crack that book open right away. Then I hunker down for the duration, and hope for the best.

So imagine the the peace I found on the final leg of my trip home from New Mexico.

Everyone seemed on their best behavior. "Oh, it looks like your boarding pass number is ahead of mine. I'll just slip behind you."

And "Excuse me, I'd like to sit there" and "Oh sure, let me hop up for you"

In my own row, I found a good spot, had a brief interaction with the guy on the aisle, and took my window seat. Soon a very polite lady arrived and said, "Do you mind if I sit there in the middle" and we made room.

She got settled quickly and pulled out a magazine. The guy on the aisle pulled out a book. I was already immersed in mine.

The duration of the flight from LAX to SFO was quite calm and really very civil.

Upon landing and when at the gate, the guy on the aisle stood up and said, in a jokey way "Well, I hope I wasn't too much trouble on this flight."

The lady in the middle said (to both the guy on the aisle, and to me), "You know, I'd just like to say thank you, this was one of the nicest flights I've been on in a while. This was a great row to sit in."

And I smiled and agreed, "Thank you" I said to both of my fellow travelers.

Wow. People do still know how to be considerate. And polite!

Those sort of folks sure are getting harder to find!

Do ya'll remember Goofus and Gallant from the Highlights magazines for kids? I *loved* Highlights magazine! My mom was cool enough to get me a subscription!

Geez! Well finally!

Yes, yes your intrepid blogger returned from her road trip and got immersed in catching up.

It's taken me a week to sort through the over 300 photos I took at the 38th Annual Albuquerque Balloon Fiesta.

But sort through I have, and if you click here you can see about 60 of them.

I've not done any retouching, Photoshopping, or editing of any kind. These are straight off the camera, complete with the smudge on my lens, visible in the upper right corner of many of the shots.

I'm a real pro at this! Yay. Thankfully in most shots the smudge can be easily edited out.

*sigh*

Here's a few to whet your appetite!! (click image for bigger size)