*crickets chirping*

Wow. Sure is quiet around here.

World Series is over. Key to the city handed out. Parade is finished. Streets swept.

Good. Excellent.

So. What else is going on?

Football? Hmm. The 49'ers. Played in London. Beat Denver. Brought their record to 2-6.

*yawn*

Basketball? Not my thing.

Hockey? Meh. Maybe.

Nope. This begins the long offseason.

As Bart Giamatti once opined, baseball is designed to break your heart. "The game begins in the spring, when everything is new...and leaves you to face the fall alone.”

Alone.

Quiet.

Bored.

Pitcher and catchers report in 102 days. (Feb. 13, 2011)

Meanwhile. All the fun is gone. The good times are over. The party has walked away.

Funny what totally appropriate image the "randomizer" button will net you on stock.xchng.

"Cow's Behind" by Alix Morse provided royalty free via stock.xchng

When the Veil Thins

Tomorrow Dia de los Muertos or Day of the Dead is here again.

When all the plastic spiders and smashed pumpkins of Halloween have passed, I turn to this well known Latin American holiday to celebrate my friends and family who have passed on to the next journey.

Other cultures have similar holidays and traditions, the Bon Festival in Japan, All Saints Day in Europe, but it's the Mexican version of Dia de los Muertos that resonates with me.

The belief, loosely, is that on this day the veil between the living and the dead is thin, and so offerings of favorite food, booze, decorations and memorabilia will be seen, enjoyed and appreciated by our deceased.

I think Dia de los Muertos appeals to me because it brings a sense of humor and fun to a painful, somber thing. It's a chance for a community to come together and remember. To feel close to those we have lost.

Personally, just this past August, I withstood a very deep loss. Tomorrow I will remember my friend who died way too young.

I will remember my father who passed away almost six years ago. My mom will certainly remember her husband. Together, we keep his memory alive.

Grandparents, friends, family, people I hardly knew, famous people. We all deserve to be remembered by those we've left behind.

My grief is a slippery thing. Sometimes so overwhelming, I don't know how I can sit up and walk through the world. Other days, it's like a dull noise in the background. Remembering on a day like tomorrow helps keep me grounded. Keeps me sane.

The Power of a Good PR Rep

Here in the Halloween season, it's hard not to have one's mind turn to thoughts of monsters.

Goolish, creepy, scary monsters.

We all have the cast of characters from our childhood (or even adulthood) that can still send a chill down the ol' spine.

For me, it's La Llorona. Just saying her name aloud creeps me out.

But didja ever stop and think a bit about the positive characters in our folklore that are more than a little creepy?

Maybe our beloved heroes are really the biggest monsters.

Think about it.

Let me give you an example, without the positive PR spin.

Kids, guess what!? There is this lady, see? She's something called a fairy and that means she's pretty tiny and probably has wings on her back.

Do you know what this lady likes (and by like I mean is obsessed with)?

Your teeth.

Yes, she loves little kids teeth SO much she will even pay for them!

Be careful when you go to sleep at night because this wacked out winged lady is going to break into your house and steal your teeth! Sure, she might leave you a quarter or for lucky kids, a dollar.

Keep your mouth closed while you sleep, kids! She may steal the rest right out of your maw while you sleep!

Or, try this one on:

How does Santa Claus look to a kid growing up in Brazil?

So, December 25th is the dead of summer to you. You're wearing shorts and tank tops and hoping for a break in the heat.

On that one special night, some fat Nordic man in a snowsuit (you gotta be crazy to wear a snow suit in summer!) is going to show up, break into your house, and leave you toys. All your favorite toys.

Wait? How does Kris The Fat Man know exactly what toys you wanted?

Because he sees you when you are sleeping. He knows when you are awake.

The fat Nordic man is a stalker, kids. Can you say stalker?

I suggest you take out a restraining order now.

Ok, are you starting to see what I'm saying here?

Wanna try one more?

There is this rabbit, see? And in April, as a way to celebrate Spring, the rabbit will come to your house and leave you eggs.

But kids, you learned in your science class that a rabbit is something called a mammal, and mammals don't lay eggs!

Whoops! Where does this strange bunny get all these eggs and why does he hide them?

And...bunnies don’t have opposable thumbs, so how is he getting these eggs dyed in bright colors?

And why is he trying to lure all the little kids outside with promises of jellybeans and chocolate? Didn't your parents tell you not to take candy from strangers?

What kid of sick, twisted, walks on two feet kind of rabbit is this?

Though in this horror story, the kids get the final revenge.

They are presented with a chocolate effigy of the offending monster and are encouraged to bite the head off.

So wait a minute.

Maybe that means....just maybe...we are all the monster.

Hmmm..........

Gimme Air! *gasp*

Someone explain to me why, exactly, these beautiful large windows in my office don't open?

When I look outside I see a warm fall breeze rustling the trees that grow near the building. I'm only a few floors up, at a perfect height to take FULL advantage of a lovely breeze off the nearby water.

But like some Bubble Boy, I can only look. And yearn.

Recently, the Facilities team made the decision to switch the HVAC system over to heat. This decision was made despite the fact that this "crisp" October day is currently a balmy 65 degrees outside.

So today it's stuffy in here. Very, very stuffy.

To me, this is a perfect day to turn off all heating and cooling devices, throw open the windows and invite Indian Summer to come inside. We can have a glass of iced tea and talk over the affairs of the world in slow and languid tones.

But noooo. I have super double thick unbreakable can't get through 'em even if you throw a chair at them bird-poop-covered glass windows.

I mean...I'm glad that at least I get to see the outside. I could be in the center of the building with no view to the outside world.

But still. I yearn.

After lunch, when I was a bit hotted up after taking a walk, I switched on the fan in my office. It's under my desk.

I'm not going to lie to ya, the way that fan is pointed? It's blowing up my skirt.

Rather refreshing, but it's no substitute for a nice Fall breeze coming through an open window.

Photo by Lea Csontos from Stock Xchng free stock photo site.

Roast, My Pretties! Roast!

Can't think of a better smell.

Oh...wow...speaking of Fall....great photo of the burning of Zozobra from the ABQJournal. (you are right, NewMexiKen, my gloom might have been in the Zozobra. I'm feeling better just looking at that photo.)

It's getting to be that time of year

This morning, I heard my talking combo smoke and carbon monoxide detector talking to me.

Which caused both me and the cat to jump a mile high.

And then I yelled at it, "WHAT DID YOU SAY!?!?"

The lady inside the detector was kind enough to repeat herself.

"Battery low!"

Ah, whew. Ok. Easily fixed.

But my talking smoke/carbon monoxide detector reminded me of a post from January of this year.

I believe it's time for me to pull a rerun.

Here's a link to the original post.

Here are the contents repeated in full. Thanks for (re)reading!

Near and Dear to my Heart

Sit back, I'm about to go on a bit of a rant, inspired by a story I read today in the SFGate.

About six or eight years ago, I was living in a small apartment in the South Bay, in a small eight unit building. The building dated back to at least the 1930's, if not earlier, and featured this breathing dragon of a wall heater as its only source to take the chill of cold rainy evenings.

I had gone home to New Mexico for Christmas, and my mom, ever the practical one, had given me a carbon monoxide alarm as a gift.

Fine. Whatever. I took it back to California with me where it sat, unused, in the box for quite a while. A year or more, if truth be told.

One day, I was cleaning up the place when I found that thing and figured, "oh well". I put in the batteries and hung it from my ceiling. Fine. Look at me. Miss Practical.

A couple months later, the damn thing started going off.

I was frustrated. Surely this was defective. Busted. Whatever.

I unscrewed it from the ceiling and moved it farther back.

And the damn thing kept going off.

Weird.

Fine. So after dealing with the piercing noise for, again, if I’m telling the truth here, several months, I finally called PG&E. I knew it would take them *forever* to fit me in, but whatever.

I told them that my carbon monoxide alarm kept going off and could I get an appointment for someone to come out check.

Anticipating at least 30 days before I got an appointment, I was surprised when, instead, the call dispatcher said, "someone will be there immediately" and further, "open all the doors and windows until someone arrives."

Uh. Ok. Much ado about nothing, right? But at least I'd get quick attention.

Good for their word, a guy showed up within about ten minutes.

He took a reading in the center of the room and said, "I'm going to cap off your gas, you have fatal levels of carbon monoxide in here."

Well blow me over.

Turns out there was a center tube of metal inside the heater that had slid down when the house settled or from age, and it left a crack about an inch wide that was venting the heater right into my apartment.

The next day, I absentmindedly told this story to a friend at work, and she started crying. One of her dearest friends had died from carbon monoxide poisoning. Her life could have been saved with the simple installation of a carbon monoxide alarm, but it was, instead, lost.

When The Good Man moved into our place, I told him this story and said I will never live in a place that does not have a working carbon monoxide alarm.

I refuse.

I was reminded about all of this today when I saw the headline in the local paper say:

Two Bay Area families survive carbon monoxide poisoning

"The mother said the family started feeling sick around midnight...When their symptoms failed to improve in the morning, they headed for the emergency room."

That woman's good thinking saved her family, her kids, her own life.

It scares the crap out of me. Apartments are required to have a smoke alarm, but not a carbon monoxide alarm. They even make dual alarms these days, both fire and carbon monoxide. Easy peasy!

So please, anyone who is reading this, don't hesitate, don't call it "some remote possibility". Don't put it off.

Get thee to a Wal-Mart or a Target or a Home Depot and BUY a carbon monoxide alarm and install it where you will spend most of your time.

Buy two, one for the living room and one for your bedroom. Just do it, okay?

Thanks. Your life matters to me.

A different idea for a Fall decoration

It was long strange series of clicks that landed me on a particular page, written in Russian, but with a really wonderful series of how-to photos on making roses from maple leaves.

Maple leaves?

Yes!

I was sort of suspicious at first. Was this going to be hard?

And to make it worse, I don't have a Maple tree anywhere nearby. By looking at the photos, it was clear that for this project, you'd need big leaves.

As I gazed out my window, pondering, my eyes landed on the changing leaves of my fig tree.

And so...I carefully collected flexible leaves, brought them inside, followed the photographs...and produced:

Pretty cool, huh?

The fig leaves sort of ooze a fluid when they break, so they may not be the best choice, but they worked!

Oh, and as an afterthought, I tried Google translation...heh a TOTAL afterthought.

Here's the page again, in English.

But honestly, the crafter has done such a fabulous job of step by step photos, who needs words!

And so...what exactly is this creature?

There is a whole tree of these encroaching on my back yard. The tree isn't *in* my yard, it has roots next door, but seems to favor drooping its heavy laden boughs over our fence and dropping its hard skinned orangey fruits on our ground to rot.

I'm told these bad boys are persimmons. Okay, I wasn't told. I eavesdropped on a conversation my neighbor had with a guest. The guest said "Oh! You have persimmons!"

So. There you go.

I have no idea what a persimmon is. Or what to DO with a persimmon. Or what might be good about having a persimmon tree.

I was overwhelmed with joy at the summertime bounty from the apricot tree in our side yard.

But this...this Fall persimmony crop leaves me...unsure.

They sure do make purty pictures tho!

I'm taking a photography class, so be prepared, blog readers. You may have to look at some stuff.

In other news, may the bird of paradise fly up your nose.

That is all from my Sunday backyard wanderings.

I'm just an ol' fashioned girl

Sort of, anyway.

I mean, over the weekend, in fact, last night, I had occasion to make dinner for my husband. I admit, there is something so *deeply* satisfying to cook for my man, and even more so when he took a first bite and made a yummy noise. Gets right to the heart of me!

Ok, so here's another way I may be a bit stodgy. Ladies, listen in here... The weekend just past was Labor Day.

And we all know what that means, right?

Of course, no wearing white after Labor Day. We can wear it again come Easter.

There, I said it. I know, I know, that rule is out of date and there is such a thing as "winter white" and so on.

To me, this rule really applies to two items of clothing...pants and shoes.

A nice crisp white blouse with darker pants is fine.

But pair that with white shoes? *gasp*

My mother, who was, in her day, quite fashionable (don't scoff dear mum, I have the photos to prove it!), taught me the no white after Labor Day rule.

But then she also gave me the handy carve out that, since we lived in New Mexico and the weather stayed warmer in New Mexico than, say, eastern climates, wearing white a little bit longer was acceptable.

But no, I took the rule entirely to heart. Nope, nada, ain't gonna do it! Back in my college days living in the sorority house, I was one of *those* girls who would point and gasp in horror when one of my sisters dared to sport a pair of white heels in the month of September.

Really rude, I know.

Then again...who wears white heels? Seriously.

I seem to have zero trouble following my own rule because...I don't own a pair of white pants. Really, there are only a very select group of women in this world who should be allowed to wear white pants. The rest of us can sit out this fashion, trust me.

And I'm pretty sure I don't own any white shoes either, if you don't count athletic shoes, which I don't. (and mine aren't white anyway)

Pretty much, in my middle years, I'm less and less inclined to get uptight about this rule.

And what kicked off this whole train of thought was an article in Time discussing the origin of the rule. Turns out the history is a bit fuzzy.

Ah well.

Really, in fashion, to each their own, right?

(I'm looking at you, Lady Gaga)

"My life is like watching the Three Stooges in Spanish"

A fave quote from the movie Untamed Heart. A now *coff* sixteen year old movie.

Gad.

Ok, so maybe my life isn't like The Three Stooges in Spanish. Maybe more like The Three Stooges with the sound off.

Lot's of running and jumping. Quite a few people getting smacked around. Zany faces. Screwball circumstances.

But without the volume, it's hard to understand why all the commotion.

That's me. Sometimes I don't understand why all the commotion.

I think the answer is, simply, "that's life."

This week, I watched an episode of "No Reservations." You know, the show with Anthony Bourdain? It was a rerun from last season, I think.

It was a "lost episode" from when they were filming in Beirut in 2006. There they were, clubbing, eating, sunning, and within the blink of an eye, things went bad. The country became unstable, they were surrounded by gunfire and air strikes. They had a terrible time getting out, eventually, they were rescued by US Marines.

Now that's a hell of a commotion.

Look, I'm just fighting the forces of corporate confusion, middle age weary-induced crisis, and changing seasons.

You know, I have it pretty good.

Sometimes The Three Stooges in Spanish is a lot of fun. Despite all the commotion.

(That's me in the center)

As the world keeps tilting and turning

And there is nothing you or I can do about it.

Today heralds the incoming month of September.

Labor Day, the "official" end of summer, is nigh.

And, if you are perceptive, over the next days, you can sense a change in the atmosphere. The earth has moved in her orbit a tiny bit, and the angle of the rays from the sun are a little less direct, a bit less overhead, more muted.

The days get moment by moment shorter.

When the breeze blows by on a warm day, you catch the faintest bit of chill in the air. Almost imperceptible, but it is there.

And Fall starts to move in, unpack its red and gold and yellow hued bags, and set up residence.

September is the month of still summer warm days but cooler nights. Of State Fairs and rodeos and roasting chiles. In the Bay Area, the crab fishermen start patching nets and negotiating rates, getting ready for the Fall harvest.

An extra blanket may find its way onto my bed. The Feline will sleep a little closer to her humans.

There is talk of Halloween in the air. "What are you going to be" and bags of miniature chocolate bars for sale.

Soon pumpkins will be lit with candles and ghouls will rule the night.

But today, oh today. Today is still baseball and flip flops and cinnamon flavored churros. In small towns, talk of "will that steer take the blue ribbon this year" and kids are back in school and the public pools grow quieter.

The day is still warm and I still grip, and grip *hard*, to the last, butter slippery straws of summer.

Thar she votes!

Time to stop waffling and fence sitting and get to voting.

What a strange election year.

Wow, a lot to be sad about these days

In short order, we've lot a lot of great voices.

As noted yesterday, Jerry Reed passed.

Also over the long weekend, Don LaFontaine passed away at the age of 68. LaFontaine was that great deep voice you'd hear in most movie trailers, "In a world…"

He was also featured in a Geico ad recently, which always gave me a chuckle.

And now today's ABQjournal reports that Harold Gans has died at the age of 85. Gans was the moaning, groaning voice of Zozobra for over forty years (retiring from the gig in '94), missing his turn at the mike only once, due to a heart attack in '82.

This year's burning of Zozobra will honor him.

That's a lot of feeling speechless in just a few days.

I'll keep my keening about the fact that Zozobra is already right around the corner to myself. : whimper :

Memories, dancing demons and lost fragments of thoughts

There's a lot going on in my head. None of it related to work. But here I sit at my pressed wood cubicle shelf desk-like device absorbing EMF's from my monitor…and pondering.

If I tip my head up a bit, I can look over the top of my monitor and see the actual outside.

Here it is:

That photo doesn't tell the tale. There is an oppressive haze hanging over tree tops.

I say haze, it's really smoke. The heavy winds have brought a taste of the fires up this way.

Taste, as in literally. If you go outside your eyes and nose sting and you get that campfire flavor in the back of your throat.

It was weird, when I arrived at work this morning, I opened my car door and took in the first inhale of this dirty air, you know what it reminded me of?

New Mexico.

Yeah. Odd huh? But for the people who live(d) there, you'll be able to relate.

You know how when the first cold of fall sets in and people start using their fireplaces and wood burning stoves? The smell of burning cedar and piñon is distinctive. You can taste it. The cold crisp to the air and that smell permeates.

So odd, that the smell of burning forest made me homesick.

I'm reading "Curse of the Chupacabra" by Rudolfo Anaya right now. Last night as I was reading, the main character was back home in Santa Fe and talking about being outside and smelling that distinct wood smoke.

Must have been in my brain then, this morning.

Me and Rudolofo, same page today.

That's the magic of a really good author. You and he are there together, touching across space and time in that moment you read the words. You find a common ground. Anaya is one of my favorite authors, so that synchronicity is cool.

Inspired by something really tough, a raging fire.

Memorial Weekend lies ahead. Memories. I know this weekend is about remembering military veterans, and I do.

Maybe it's also about airing out old memories of all sorts. Spring cleaning for the closets of the soul.

Been thinking a lot about old things. Old hurts. Old scars.

The woo-woo minded among us would suggest that this is due to Mercury going retrograde on Monday.

I'd say it's because I'm the kind of girl who likes to shake up her thoughts like specks in a snow globe just to see where they land.

The Good Man said I might be entering the water hazard known as "middle life crisis".

Whatever.

Either way, I'm thoughtful.

Ah well, off to a holiday weekend. Three days off sounds like a little slice of heaven to me today.

To all, Happy Memorial Day. Enjoy the weekend, be safe and remember those you love!

Giving Thanks

Yep, I will join in with many of my fellow bloated-tum bloggers and give thanks for the bounty that was in my home yesterday. I have much to be thankful for. I actually try to get some gratitude in my day every day, but this feasting holiday is always a good time to go over the list again.

I had something of a rough upbringing and holidays were always a touchy topic. My dad didn't see why my mom had to go through the bother and expense of buying up a bunch of presents and hassling with a tree and all of that. Birthdays were just another reason to spend too much money. But Thanksgiving, an eatin' holiday, that was one my dad could get behind. Plus, his birthday was right around T'giving (and sometimes on the day) and he'd get an apple pie made just for him, so I guess that was a'okay in his book.

When I moved to California ten years ago, it was as much about getting away from the oppression as making a new start. I'm glad I did it, made my own life on my own terms. But that comes at a cost. For as much as my family makes me crazy, I love them. A lot. Probably more than they deserve. Anyhow, since I moved away, I rarely go back for the holidays, so that makes me a bit of an orphan this time of year. (Which, honestly, is probably better for all involved.)

So enter The Cute Boy™ into my life. This is good. I have a "date" on holidays. And what's weirder, his parents live here. Close by. And even odder, he gets along with them. I mean, they have a healthy relationship. What the &^%$ is that!?!? Needless to say I both envy and admire the way he and his folks get along.

In the past several years for Thanksgiving I've gone to visit my sister who lives in Seattle. She's the only family I'll claim (and I'm the only one she claims). She has twin boys and they are adorable and a complete pain in the arse. But it's been great. This year, The Cute Boy™ asked if we could spend Thanksgiving together since in the past years we'd gone separate directions for the holiday. At first, it pained me, a lot. I yearned to see my sister and brother-in-law (who I adore and is more family than my actual brother) and my twin nephews who light up my world. I was mad, pouty, pain in the ass about it until I "got over it" and got into having the holiday in my home. Hadn't done that in a while.

So today, in my post feast hangover, I'm thankful that The Cute Boy™ is so wise. He was right. And look at me publicly acknowledging it! It was right for us to spend the holiday in this home we are making together.

Mother of The Cute Boy™ came over. We had big eats. We all cooked together in a companionable way. We ate together with big bites and laughter. It was easy. And comfortable. And no one yelled at anyone. And everyone had a nice time. And it was a holiday in which I felt (somewhat) part of "family", and didn't come out of "family" time with excruciatingly lowered self-esteem.

Even the feline had a nice time. She horked down a bunch of turkey and some wet food (a special treat for the holiday) and then sacked out on the couch like she was comatose, paws up.

And so today I'm thankful that family doesn't always mean pain. It can mean peace.

I'm also thankful that when I spoke to my mom on Wednesday she was in good spirits. The holidays are tough for her since my dad passed, but her outlook is good. She planned to cook a small turkey and have my aunt and uncle over. My sister and her family are fine. My brother and his family as well. Everyone is fine.

I have a good life. I'm thankful for the blessings that are in it. Despite all my complaints and whinging about things (it's just my way) I really am blessed.

And it's just more proof that family isn't what you are born with, it is what you make it. I have a rag tag bunch that I call family, but they are mine, and for each and every one, I give thanks.

Belated Dia de los Muertos

Yes, I know it passed me by last week. I usually at least TRY to think of those who have passed on, but didn't. See, November 2 marks the anniversary of the day The Cute Boy™ and I met. And it's a day so filled with joy and happiness that it's hard to be sorrowful.

Yet, feeling that sorrow every year is important. Circle of life, no joy without pain and all that.

I was too caught up in NaNoWriMo and celebrating love that I forgot to think about death. Not so bad a trade off, I suppose, in the long run.

My NaNoWriMo progress limps along. I wrote nary a word for the first four days (yikes) and am now some 8,000 words off the pace. But I calculated 50,000 words over 25 days and that's 2,000 words a day. Still do-able. I've got 1500 so far today, so progress has (finally!) begun.

But back to those muertos.

Today I remember the lives of those I've lost. All four of my grandparents, my father, and my best friend from high school. Of them, my high school friend is the one I can say truly didn't get a chance to live her life. My grandparents and my father lived good long lives, saw their children into adulthood and were ok when the time came to pass. The loss of my friend still gives me pain. She was too young. Such is the nature of life.

But here, when the veil between our world and theirs is thinner, easier to access, I think of those I've lost with a heart full of love.

I remember.

*cramp* Oh the pain!

So. Today is November 1. Yep. First of November.

What does that mean?

The start of National Novel Writing Month.

Yeppers. Fifty THOUSAND words. Thirty days.

I've done it twice now, in 2004 and in 2006. Made it across the finish line both times.

So. I'm trying it again this year.

Worried.

Don't have the focus. Don't have that pinpoint freak out, holy-crap-nothing-will-stand-in-my-way-to-get-this-done kind of laser beam lock on. The two years I succeeded, I was sharp, on top of it, wrote plenty of words on day one to launch me into it.

It's almost noon. Nary a word. Hoo boy. This might be a tough year.

No shame in not making it, really. But my Type A overachiever is YELLING at me inside my brain.

Oy.

Like I needed to add stress to this wacked out life!

So, pull for me. Send me the gods of the written word. Despite the crampy writer's block I'm suffering, I'm jumping in!

Tis the Season

Halloween is nigh, only a couple days away. I do love Halloween, it's all sorts of fun. Halloween has always been the San Francisco version of Mardi Gras. Not this year, I guess. SF has decided the fun in the Castro is too dangerous and have clamped down. The Mayor cancelled Halloween! Oh well, SF will find a way to party, I’m certain.

Meanwhile, The Cute Boy™ is something of a Halloween grinch. We've made plans to be out on the 31st (shades of my folks…their wedding anniversary is the 31st and every year I had to *wait* until they came back from anniversary dinner to go trick-or-treating. It was agony.) But that's ok, I'll get a nice dinner out of the night so I can't complain. Plus I'd eat all that candy I would have bought…so maybe this is saving my waistline.

But we did have Halloween fun this weekend. A friend threw a pumpkin carving party with great eats.

Here's our creation, I'm pretty proud of it:

Same planet, different world

Today I'm shamelessly ripping off something found over at the awesome blog Duke City Fix.

Read a brief story today 'bout them crazy Londoners…..road closures and evacuations because a Thai restaurant was cooking up some spicy chiles. Called out the fire brigade and the chemical response team, they did.

Best line in the story: "firefighters smashed down the door of the Thai Cottage restaurant and seized extra-hot bird's eye chilies"

Here's hoping they didn't seize them barehanded then later seize something while in the loo. Ouch.

Heh. They'd think Sept/Oct in New Mexico was all out warfare! Don't go to the grocery store, mate. You'll be a goner for sure! :)

Oh Fair New Mexico, 5000 miles away from London, and yet a world apart.

Happy Friday!

The times, they are a changin'

Just because it's time, almost over due, doesn't mean there isn't some sense of disbelief that an era is over.

According to the ABQjournal, Senator Pete Domenici will announce his retirement later today. He has been Senator for 36 years, just a few years less than my lifetime. Growing up in New Mexico, Domenici's name was always in the news. He went from a "who is that" to a fairly powerful guy on Capitol Hill. I was always happy for a New Mexico guy to make good, make a name, so people knew we had smart folks from New Mexico over there.

I know lately he's fallen out of favor for a variety of misdeeds. I'm not much of a political person, honestly. I can't talk articulately about Domenici's career, the high points, the low points. I'll leave more of that to my friends Avelino at his Live From Silver City blog and of course former Mayor of Albuquerque Jim Baca at his Only in New Mexico blog.

My lament today is how much things in my world seem to be changing. Today we have a lunch to see off one of my best and favorite employees. She's moving on to a great job and we're all really happy for her. It's a big blow to our team. But change must happen.

There are a lot of huge changes going on in my personal life too, most changes for the better, but changes nonetheless.

My "woo woo" teachers would say that's the hallmark of Fall. The days shorten up, the ground goes cold. Circle of life. Death and rebirth. All of that.

Give me time, I'll be philosophical later. For today I'm just sad. Ok, not that I'm all broke up about Domenici leaving office, just the huge change it brings (just skeered as hell that Wilson might get that seat).

I remember my days working at Sandia where we called him "Saint Pete" because he was always able to finagle funds to keep Sandia rolling, despite all the protests to reduce funding to the nuclear labs. How far he's fallen…

Anyhow, I guess it's owing to my sign of Taurus that change is troublesome. I'll follow my family tradition and worry myself sick about it. Then, I'll rebound, get perspective, and be fine.

I'm always fine, eventually.

*sigh*

Well…off to the going away lunch…..