Perthpective

What's that old platitude, something like "you're not the best judge of your own work?"

The more I give over to my creative side, I keep learning that lesson over and over. I think I have a good eye for editing my own work, and of course I'm usually wrong.

I've also learned that the best way to really see something objectively is to give it time.

Time is the great mediator.

(wow, I'm chock full to brimming with platitudes today!)

Anyhow, I got to thinking about this recently while sorting through my iPhoto library. As an amateur photographer, I take *a lot* of photographs. This is the advice of my friend, mentor and teacher, Marty Springer, so I follow her advice.

But this means my iPhoto library fills up fast with fair to middling to downright awful shots. Since all of this dreck was slowing down my iMac, I decided to save the photos elsewhere and start again.

Oh, and also...my New Year's resolution is to get better about tagging all of my photos as I download them so I can search more quickly.

So in cleaning out my old photos, sifting through the pile, I came across the shot at the end of this post.

The Feline had climbed into the laundry basket that was lying on the ground, so I grabbed my camera and took a few snaps. I considered them throwaway photos. Less than throwaway. I downloaded them to my iMac and never looked back.

But something about this photo...it really works. It was taken probably two or more years ago when I was just learning my camera and had no idea about depth of field. And yet, the depth of field is what makes this photo interesting. It's not a perfect photo but it's also not bad. A little imperfect Photoshop adjustments and I'll be damned...not too bad at all.

Because not only with time comes perspective, but also...I can learn some lessons from three years ago me. The one just learning about photography. The one who just snapped and didn't think.

A careless shot can be magic.

I guess that's why my photography teacher tells us never to delete photos. "You never know" she says.

click photo if interested in seeing a larger size

Photo by Karen Fayeth and subject to Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 License.

Auspicious, Sort Of

Last year, in the holiday season, I saw a Christmas tree that was decorated with white origami cranes. It was so simple and beautiful, and was located, of all places, in my local Ace Hardware store.

The idea stuck with me, and so this year, I decided to do something similar.

I bought real Japanese imported origami paper and I chose to decorate our holiday tree with origami cranes this year.

In the tradition, cranes are said to be a special gift or a very auspicious thing. So heck, The Good Man and I could use a little auspiciousness (<-- not a word) in the new year.

So I folded and folded and soon, I had a pile of 100 cranes I then placed on the tree. We’d intended to add more decorations, but found that the colorful cranes were simple and elegant and more than enough to make our Christmas tree really beautiful.

They are quite pretty and a nice alternative to the regular ornaments.

When I look at my tree, it just all feels very auspicious and good luckish (<--also not a word) and makes me happy.

But I have a question. What is the impact on the auspicious meter when The Feline callously rips a crane from a low branch, bats it around (playing a game of cat and mouse), then leaves the crane for dead on the train tracks that encircle the tree?

That can't be good.

Rather inauspicious (<- actually a word!)

All photos by Karen Fayeth, taken with my iPhone 4

Never Underestimate

Here in my home, I have this cat that I managed to acquire by marriage, and is now part of my family. I'd had cats before so I knew what to expect going in.

But this cat is something different. Something special. Something about half a bubble off plumb.

Despite rightly being called a "special needs" cat, owing to suffering an especially high fever during her kittenhood, sometimes the wisdom of this not-always-so-smart pet just blows me away.

This cat has no patience for anyone. She wants to sit on your lap, but you're not allowed to actually touch her. Give her a skritching and you'll face the grip of her steely jaws.

Food must be delivered on time, or preferably early, or a string of thuggish behavior will ensue that begins with knocking things over and culminates in all out attacks on appendages.

She likes to fight before settling down for sleep at night, often leaving The Good Man with red marks on his arms.

She's rasty, moody and rather obsessive compulsive.

And, may I mention again, she has no patience for anyone. Or really...anyone who lives in the same house with her.

Guests? Oh, guests are great. She mews coquettishly and rubs legs and climbs up in laps and accepts chin scratches with chirrups and purrs and loving eyes.

In short, the cat is a tart. She'll give it away to anyone who visits, but for the folks at home...nothing. But here's where my heart grows soft. This silly, rasty, bitey cat is especially kind to kids.

Yesterday evening, a dear friend brought her eighteen-month-old daughter over to my place to watch Game 2 of the World Series. Her husband is on business travel and she wanted company.

Many cats I know will run hide under the bed when a toddler enters the room.

Not this cat. She adores children. The moment that toddler's toes hit the ground, we heard "kitty!" and it was off to the races.

The toddler pulled The Feline's tail, poked her ears and repeatedly hugged the kitty rather roughly. Did the cat run, bite or get nasty?

Nope. She went right back in for more, letting the child maul her while she head butted and purred.

Later, the cat was asleep up on top of her favorite perch, a stack of blankets on an old steamer truck. The toddler noticed the cat again, as though she'd never seen her before, squealed "kitty!" and went racing over.

I kept a close eye on things as I feared The Feline's patience was running thin. Toddler got a hold of tail and pulled hard. "No, no," I said, "We don't pull the kitty's tail." The toddler looked at me like I'd lost my mind, but let go.

At that moment, The Feline extended her paw out and I thought, "uh oh."

Then my rasty, tacky, bitey cat laid her paw (claws very much retracted) very gently on the baby's forehead. It was sort of like a "that's ok kid, you can pull my tail. We're all good."

And the baby giggled.

It was one of the most gentle and sweet gestures I've ever seen between two beings. They found a simpatico.

Again I'm amazed at the...well, I'd use the word humanity, but that wouldn't apply to a cat...the felinity?...that this little animal displayed.

I'm not much of an animal rights activist type person, but I will say this...never underestimate the soul of an animal. There is personality and spirit that is much to be respected.

Even a wacky, not quite right, bites my toes when I sleep kind of animal like mine.

Taken with my iPhone 4 using the Hipstamatic iPhone app

Daily Agenda

Sleep.

Wake to alarm.

Curse.

Rise. Eat. Dress. Leave.

Work.

Meeting.

Work.

Meeting.

Meeting.

"Karen, take the action to..."

Meeting.

Work.

Email. Lots of email.

Work.

Late Lunch (if lucky).

Manage someone's complaint.

Work.

Meeting.

Deal with someone's mess up.

Work.

Sleepy. Yawn.

Two hours left.

Email.

Meeting.

Work.

Leave work.

Home. Food. Scritch chins of boy and Feline.

Sleep.

And then.....

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

These are the days they never told you about when you were twelve and wanted nothing more than to be a grownup.

Sometimes Words Just Don't Get It

This morning, I sat quietly at my desk thinking about an appropriate blog post for this warm Friday.

A post that would wrap up all that went down this week, the highs, the lows, the heat, the headaches.

I found that I just didn't have all the words to put together in a nice clean way that would properly explain it all.

So I had a bright idea. I would get my camera out and I would take a photo.

One photo that would explain it all. A visual metaphor for the week.

So I got my gear and I polished up the lens, checked battery levels, and figured I'd go outside to take the snap.

As I worked, I thought about potential shots in my head...

A wilted red rose on a drooping bush, weary in the heat?

A great macro photo of the beat up stop sign at the end of the road?

You know...something arty like that.

With camera ready, I turned and aimed the lens out my window to be sure it was working.

That's when I saw the perfect image.

The image that properly describes everything that went by this week. A week that a former coworker would refer to as "being pulled through the knothole."

Yup.

Here it is. I had to go no further than the table in front of the window to find my muse.

Yes, she's awake. No, I don't know why she's laying there like that. She held that position for quite some time.

Right before rolling over and falling off the table, then getting stuck behind it.

If that's not a metaphor, I don't know what is.

Flash Fiction & Fables Finale - New Mexico Folklore

And so it is that we've come to the last day of this fun and different sort of week on the blog.

What a ride it's been!

My goal was to shake up my brain a little bit so I could get some fresh blog posts out of the ol' noodle.

Well, it worked. I already have a list of about ten fresh topics that will start coming your way next week.

For today, I have what I consider to be the grand prize for coming along with me on this ride.

Today is the Fables part of the week.

After scouring both books and the internet, I've selected an item from a book called Cuentos de Cuanto Hay. The subtitle is "Tales from Spanish New Mexico."

This story collection is published by University of New Mexico Press, and was edited and translated by Joe Hayes.

The stories were originally collected by J. Manuel Espinosa in the 1930's. He traveled around Northern New Mexico collecting verbal tales from the Spanish speaking residents, then transcribed and published them. That first published book was called Spanish Folk Tales from New Mexico.

Joe Hayes found a copy of the book and had loved it through the years, so in 1998 he worked with Dr. Espinosa to clean up many of the stories, added in a few more, and republished the collection.

It is charming, odd, and packed full of deep rooted stories from the Hispanic culture.

Just like New Mexico itself, many of the stories are a bit quirky.

Even the title of the book reflects the beautiful slow moving, "Land of Mañana" charm. Joe Hayes translates the phrase Cuentos de Cuanto Hay as "tales of olden times." Literally translated, it means "stories of whatever it is."

Which seems sort of New Mexico to me. "Eh, tales of whatever!" with a dismissive wave of the hand.

The story I've selected, "Juan Pelotero" also brings a lot of that New Mexico mischievous sense of humor. There is a line in the story where two characters agree to meet at "such and such a place." Details, feh, who needs 'em!

The name, Pelotero, is also symbolic. In today's vernacular, a pelotero is a ball player, usually baseball, but pelotero can also refer to futbol. The first line of the story gives you the clue to the more archaic use of the word: "Juanito Pelotero was a gambler." Pelotero back then meant a player, a rogue, a roustabout.

You'll also find the story tends to move fast in some parts, skipping over details. At just a few pages long, it packs a lot of story in there.

Since these tales were originally an oral legacy passed down from family member to family member, I'm going to bring "Juan Pelotero" (and maybe others) back to the verbal tradition.

Today, I've made a recording of the story and it's posted below for your listening pleasure. I suggest putting the story on in the background while you go about your work checking email or what have you.

As I converted the file to MP3 format, feel free to download the audio file and put it on your iTunes or iPod to listen later if you would like.

I recorded this using a podcast microphone and Garageband software.

Do not expect recording studio quality, please. The quality reflects my gear and my room. I've done my best to keep the sounds of The Feline and my iPhone out of the recording, but I live in a creaky house and it's windy today. You get the idea.

If listening to a story isn't your thing, but you'd still like to read it, I've posted a .pdf. Click here for that. (remember, this edition of the story is copyright the University of New Mexico Press, so don't run off doing anything naughty with it, you hear?)

______________________

The story of "Juan Pelotero" was told to Dr. Espinosa by Bonifacio Mestas of Chamita, NM.

Run time is just over nine minutes. File is just over 4MB, so it may take a few moments to load. Player opens in a new window.

Enjoy!

Karen Fayeth reading "Juan Pelotero"

Footnotes:

1. Sorry about the high-pitched whine behind the audio. I think it's from the internet router on my desk.

2. In case you are wondering what a sacristan is, click here. I had to look it up too.

3. Yes, I think the part about the talking spit is weird.

4. The dove sounds I'm making are read as written in the story. Cucurucú is how it's written. I did my best....:)

I love having new toys!

Especially photographic type toys.

Yay plastic cameras!

After lusting and longing for a while, I finally broke down and spent some money on a Fuji Instax instant film camera.

It's like a Polaroid, only a Fuji brand. You know, *coff coff* a financially solvent company?

Anyhow, this fabulous little Instax makes very small instant photographs, they are 2 x 3.25 inches in size.

I LOVE that I have an instant photo camera again!

It hearkens me back to my youth. One Christmas holiday, I got a Polaroid under the tree. Oh what a fabulous present!

I could spend my allowance on buying Polaroid film, which was fairly cheap back then, and then run around snapping photos of whatever I saw with *instant* gratification!

Ok, sure, these days digital cameras provide that instant look at the photo you just took, but there sure is nothing like the sound an instant camera makes after snapping a photo. The motor engages and it shoves out the cloudy photograph. Oh the sweet agony while you wait excitedly for it to develop.

Gah! I love it!

So as I do with every new camera I buy, I take it out of the box, ooh and ah over the features, load up the film or memory disk, and then turn it on and point it at the Feline.

She's my test model for all new photo and video devices in the house.

Ah, the long suffering Feline....

(scanned photo, not actual size)

And yet, she always manages to strike a pose. I really do think she's getting better at this job of supermodel.

"I won't get out of bed for less than two scoops of kibble."

Such a Diva.

Harumph!

And yet...she sure knows how to work the camera.

As for me, I'm still giddy with the fabulous gadgety goodness of it all!!

I know a Zen Master

Uh huh! Yes I do!

The Master knows how to simplify life.

Food, brief exercise, then long periods of, er, meditation.

At least I think that's meditation.

Yesterday I had an anxious day. Lots of reasons, my own mental weirdness, no need to detail it all here. But really rather hyped up and I could find no way to calm down.

At the end of the day, I sat on the couch, still fretting, trying to let go. That's when the Zen master came and sat on me.

And did this:

(Turn up your sound...about a 500k file, runs 14 seconds)*


Suddenly I was listening to the sound of contentment. Pure, simplicity of peace.

And I exhaled that tense breath that had been pent up inside my chest all day.

The muscles started to relax.

And I felt...calm.

Damn Feline might be on to something. She should charge for this kind of therapy!

Here, the master holds a yoga pose...and holds it...and holds it.....

*If the embedded player doesn't work in your browser, you can click here instead.

Cheating my way to a daily blog post

Cranky. Oh so very cranky. Crakasaurus kind of cranky.

And so, may as well channel my snark for the good of my daily blog post goal.

Today I'm retreating to an old trick used before on this blog, a conversation with the Imagination Prompt Generator.

It spits out a thought provoking prompt. I reply with the first thing that comes to mind.

Herewith, no cheating, taking the prompts exactly as they show up.

IPG: What keeps me going?

Me: A finely balanced concoction of sugar, fat and salt (not necessarily in that order) combined with various quantities of coffee, beer and margaritas, (not necessarily in that order).

IPG: Generalizations are...

Me: Generally useful in a generic sort of way.

IPG: Define kindness.

Me: Refraining from ramming my automobile into the $#&*head who cut me off, and when I honked to notify him of the pending collision, flipped me off, then called me an unflattering name.

I did not sway into his lane. I did not nearly remove the driver's side fender of HIS sh**ty work truck. I was minding my own business when he came swerving into me.

I could have retaliated when he pulled over and stopped at the mobile taco truck.

I refrained.

THAT is digging deep for kindness.

IPG: If your best friend was right here, what would you say?

Me: They built a new Sonic Drive-In twenty miles from here. Load up, I'll drive.

IPG: Five books that changed your life are...

Me: Ooh, this is going to be a tough one.

Gonna go with:

Red Sky at Morning by Richard Bradford

Lonesome Dove by Larry McMurtry

The Boys of Summer by Roger Kahn

Johathan Livingston Seagull by Richard Bach

and

Bless Me Ultima by Rudolfo Anaya

This is in no way a comprehensive list because so many books have changed my life.

If you were to ask me again tomorrow, the list might change. Also, I only picked fiction...there is a whole other list for non-fiction.

IPG: Describe a favorite childhood friend and something you did with her or him.

The visible ones? Juuuust kidding...sort of.

I'd have to say going to the rollerskating rink with my childhood best friend Kathy, wearing bell-bottom jeans and shaking it to the Bee Gees.

Kathy rocked. Wonder what she's up to these days....

IPG: ____ was my favorite cartoon because...

Looney Tunes. Because they are all oh so very sarcastic.

That's always appealed to me, ya big maroon!

If I had 15 minutes to evacuate my home before it was to be destroyed by a hurricane, what 10 things would I grab (not including people or pets)?

Oh geez. That presupposes that I have a presence of mind about these things. I imagine if someone said "15 minutes! Go!" I'd spend about fourteen and a half running around in circles howling and freaking out.

Assuming my husband and pets are safe and I have the luxury of grabbing stuff....

Hmm. Hard to say, really, as I don't get bound up in material things.

The few things that matter most are my wedding ring and some of my folk's old photo albums.

I'd say my camera gear, but honestly, that can be replaced. My clothes and shoes can also be replaced.

Maybe some vintage family items my mom gave me. And my backup drives with years of my writing stored safely.

Other than that....

Honestly, it is hard for me to come up with a solid 10 items off the top of my head. My family and my pets are everything and most of the rest is replaceable.

But this one has me thinking. A lot.

Maybe this is the question to end on. It's at least distracted me from my oh so very grumpy state of mind.

Better get back to it.

As the poem goes, Thursdays child has far to go.....

With that, onward to the rest of the day!

Mine is a *special* alarm clock

I'm a bit sleepy today.

You see, there is this rather large male blue jay that has decided to make our backyard its home territory.

It is a rather beautiful bird, nice to look at. But the jay does not have the prettiest of all the birdsong.

You can hear the sounds here (at about :08 is the beginning of what my jay sounds like), though I'm not sure that clip entirely does the volume and rastyness of the jay in my backyard any justice.

There is a power line that runs through the yard, and he perches on that, stares into the windows of my home, and squawks. Loudly. It can only be described as a squawk. And Mr. Jay makes this unpleasant sound at about...oh, I don't know...a half hour to an hour before my actual alarm clock goes off.

So I'm nice and awake well before I ever wanted to be awake.

Ah, but if only I could fit the blue jay with a timing mechanism so that it would raise up its blue jay raucous at *exactly* the time my alarm goes off...well that would be nice.

Because ya can't sleep through the racket.

And he ain't got no snooze button either.

The good news is, in case the jay decides not to show up on a certain day, I have a backup alarm.

Another rasty animal who is all to happy to put up a hungry racket well before the alarm clock:

It's a wonder we can get any sort of sleep around here at all.

New Additions to Our Family

So, out of nowhere about a month ago, I decided I wanted to get a new pet.

I've no idea where this impulse came from. It just did. Considering that we can't have any more fuzzy pets in the rental place where we live, it became clear that I had to go small.

Like fish sized.

Hmm. Trouble is, the only fish I've ever owned in my life was a goldfish from the New Mexico State Fair.

That one lived quite a while, by the by.

So this quest required some research. I looked for a fish that was easy to get set up and easy to care for. The answer was simple, a betta.

I spent hours going through the pages on bettatalk.com and I learned a lot. I made lists. I fretted. I thought about it a lot. And then yesterday, the waiting was over.

The Good Man and I went to the pet store.

And we came home with not one but two new fish friends!

Without further ado, may I introduce you to:

Margaret The Fish

She is actually The Good Man's fish. When we set out on our journey, we were just going to get one fish. But once we got to the store, The Good Man was so charmed by this inquisitive little girl, she had to come home with us.

I'm charmed by her too, actually.

So heck, easy solution. We decided to get two fishes and let them live in their own tanks side-by-side.

It's a good solution.

Margaret is a pretty little fish and she's happy to have interaction and already recognizes us. She's not eating a whole lot yet so we're hoping she's still just a little shocky from the move and will be feeling right soon.

So now that you've met Margaret...please meet:

Frank The Fish

So named because of his vibrant blue eyes. He has all of the looks and none of the charm of Sinatra.

As you can see in his photo, Frank is a bit of a stalker. He stares at Margaret.

A lot.

In a creepy mouth breathing way.

He'd totally send her inappropriate messages on Facebook if he was a human. Instead he just stares. A lot.

Margaret mostly ignores him.

So we've got them set up in their respective tanks and they are doing (*coff-coff*) swimmingly.

As for the existing member of our pet family....

Well, the word indignant comes to mind.

The feline is sort of not amused by these new items taking our attention.

Thankfully, she doesn't try to attack them. She just watches, shrugs, and walks away.

I suppose all will settle down in the house soon.

And The Good Man and I are learning a lot about how to care for these new friends.

I never thought I'd be a fish person, but here I am, all enamored of my fish.

Tis a crazy, wonderful, mixed up life.

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...

XLIV

Oh fine. I did it. I watched the Super Bowl.

I'm not really a football fan. Baseball is where my heart is at.

But hey, there we were at football's big show, the best of the season, right? So why not watch.

I'd only intended to watch the commercials, and to be honest, it started out that way. I was working in the back room, ignoring the game. I'd listen for the break and trot out there to see what was doing with the commercials.

Damn it all if those Saints didn't pull me into the game. I started watching a few minutes here and there. But then Peyton and the Colts would dominate again, and I would wander to the back room.

Then there was halftime. That Who abomination. Ugh. I watched all of that. I mean, the Twitterverse was lit up with comments about the quite elderly rockers, so I paid attention. Time I won't ever get back in my life...

Disgusted, I gave up once more and went back to my little office and back to writing.

Much better back there.

But then there was that onside kick after halftime. That did it.

I was in.

That, and The Good Man suggested we get some Amici's delivered. Pizza does always make me docile and want to sit low on the couch. So I gave in.

Belly full of pizza and disinclined to move around much, I watched both game and commercials for the entire second half.

Then there was the interception heard 'round the world. I'll be damned. This was actually a really good Super Bowl. Well ok!

In the final analysis, I suppose it was worth my time to give XLIV my attention.

However, the game was way, way better than the commercials this year.

Check out hulu.com if you missed 'em. (Trust me, you didn't miss anything.)

My brief commercial round up...

1. Too slappy (What is this NCIS show and *why* do they hit each other so much?)

2. Weird and unflattering use of little people (And isn't Kiss even more aged than The Who?)

3. Too many tighty whities. Really, boys, if you aren't going to wear pants, have the good grace to wear boxer briefs. I'm asking nicely.

Or is the emasculation of men the new "in" thing?

Rude, I say.

And so there you have it. My Sunday in a nutshell.

Onward to Monday, a day that began with stumbling out of bed and stepping into a puddle of a cat barf. Yay.

But thankfully, no tighty whities in sight.

(um, no)

A few views of old Vegas

So finally I'm back on a plane headed westward to San Francisco which means home and my cranky Feline (who has been wreaking havoc in my mom-in-law's home).

The trip to Vegas was a good one. The Good Man's business was conducted, we ate some great food and even took in a Penn & Teller show at the Rio.

But as with every trip I take to Vegas, I'm done. Yup. She wears me weary and it's time to get back to the place and get to where I can live normally without the ching-ching of a slot machine as my background music.

I did get a chance while visiting to take a look at the old Vegas that I remember (and sometimes yearn for).

While the Neon Museum's boneyard is closed for construction, they do have a few beautifully restored signs installed down on Fremont street that you can visit.

Here are a few photos I took on my trip. I haven't sorted out all 350 photos I shot, but these are a couple of my faves so far. (click image to see full size)

Vegas Vic, an icon of early Las Vegas history when he was the image often used by the Las Vegas Chamber of Commerce.

This comes from high atop the Nevada Hotel Sign.

The orginal lamp from the Aladdin Hotel and Casino. I remember this one well. It was like seeing an old friend.

And finally, the Hacienda horse and rider from the original Hacienda Hotel and Casino. I also remember this one. It's been beautifully redone!

There may be more to come as I sift through what I got.

For now, I'm ready to be home.

Oh, and as a final thought...how cool am I? I'm blogging from thirty thousand feet in the air. WiFi on airplanes, what a cool concept! (Go Virgin America!)

Keeping that eye sharp

I had a phone call recently with my photography teacher. She's invited me on a photo field trip with some of her more advanced students (more details to come) and I'm oh so very honored and excited!

So, in preparation, I gotta keep that ol' eye and technique sharp.

Lacking for much inspiration yesterday, I went for a walk around my yard.

You know, I don't usually look at what is going on in my own yard unless there is something blooming or very unusual.

But even in winter there is some beauty to be had.

Here's a few shots from yesterday (click on photo to see large version):

Our gnarled, unkempt rose bushes that still manage to put on beautiful roses all year round.

Remember my persimmons? They are still hanging in there long after the leaves are gone. That is a persistent fruit!

The neighborhood wild animals really like that the persimmons are ripe. This keeps them thriving so they can continue to knock over my trashcans every night. *sigh*

Lemon tree in my neighbor's yard. Freakishly large lemon!

My landlord *hates* the clover, and yet every year, the clover defeats the landlord. I understand why he hates the clover, it chokes out everything...but it is kind of pretty too...

Our next door neighbor was so happy when he moved in and saw the yard. He was fired up to plant a garden. Then he got crazy busy at work and the poor tomatoes languished.

(the light was so interesting that you can actually see my reflected outline in the tomato skins if you look close at the large photo)

And finally, there is this. My insane muse, my hungry observer, the cranked up feline sitting in the window yowling at me while I worked. Nice background music....not.

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.

The why post

I have questions. Lots of them.

Some of those "unexplained issues of the universe."

I'm sure there are people far smarter than me with very good answers.

But for now, I'm just going to go with a pondering "why?" about the many things I don't understand.

For example...

Why, when The Feline has finished relieving her bowels and carefully covering it up in the litter box, does she then LEAP from the box and do a couple laps around the house?

I mean at full speed, ears down for less wind resistance, ka-thunka thunk around the place?

Is it because after using the box she feels lighter?

Hmmm.

Why does my next-door neighbor put his trash out a day early every week? Our trash day is Thursday and every Wednesday morning he drags out all his cans and recycling. He's lived over there about three years. He's a retired guy at home all day, so this isn't planning ahead. He knows trash day is Thursday, we've even talked about it!

And yet, Wednesday morning, there are his trashcans.

Not that it is hurting anything, but WHY?

Hmmm.

Why is the mailman so cranky everyday? The man never says hi back.

And further, why do I keep trying to say hello when I know he won't reply in kind?

Hmmm?

Why does my landlord insist on landscaping the yard at my place with only a small hatchet and a chain saw?

No tree, plant or other living thing is immune to his blunt blade approach to landscaping.

Should I send him to bonsai tree school?

Hmmm?

(Then again, the fights he and his son have, in both Italian and English, make for much laughter in my house. The son also doesn't understand his dad's landscaping philosophy.)

Why can't I purchase hotdogs and hotdog buns in the same quantities?

Why are Trader Joe's Joe-Joe peppermint cookies so gall durn delicious?

Why can't people figure out four way stops?

Why do the manhole covers in my town blast back water when it rains?

Why do I love coffee so much when it is so hard on my tummy?

Why can't I win the lottery?

And finally...(thought not the complete list by a long shot)

Why can't that [curse word] woman in Texas realize that her email address is NOT my email address. She has an underscore in her email address. Mine does not. All the same letters, but she uses an underscore. Big, huge difference.

WHY WHY WHY after about two year's time has she not figured this out?

Last week I shut down her kid's account on Disney.com (needed parental verification to open the account). Poor kid.

Why can't she figure this out!?! WHY?!?!?!?

Grrrrrr!

Oh, I mean...

Hmmm.

So many unanswered questions. So little time.

Uphill challenge of the week

*Breathe*

*Stretch*

*Limber up*

I have a challenge ahead of me today.

A challenge that is not for the weak at heart, mind or body.

I must prepare my body with deep warming up exercises.

I must focus and prepare my mind for the calm.

Ooooooohmmmmmmmm.

Yes. I must be steady. Balanced. Yet, with catlike reflexes.

This will be my greatest challenge in some time.

Later today...for three hours, I am babysitting a one-month-old baby.

: Cue scary music! :

One of my dearest friends, who is very grateful to have finally given birth to that watermelon sitting on her bladder, has been able to quickly get her little one onto a nice schedule.

And so da mama is going to get her hair cut and colored today. Yes, she's *ever* so happy to be able to color her hair again (as you know, you're not supposed to do that when pregnant).

So I was all too happy to say yes when asked to come sit with the tiny princess.

But I'm no stranger to this game. I've got godkids and twin nephews and lots and lots of friends with kids.

I know what deep waters I'm wading into.

While I’m confident I know what to do...I'm also pretty sure I can't plop kibble in the bowl then walk away to go read a book like I do with The Feline.

And so...wish me godspeed on this very dangerous yet important mission!

Spring forward? Yes, please! Fall back? Bah!

Have I ever mentioned that I *love* daylight savings time? Love it. Looooove it.

I can hardly wait each year for the time to change, for the days to grow longer, for it to be warm and sunny and I get to wear cute sandals and short dresses and the feeling of optimism pervades.

Every year, I dread with equal force when time changes back. It's a concession to fall-turns-into-winter. The days grow shorter. I have to wear a freaking jacket. In the Bay Area it's probably raining and pessimism, Seasonal Affective Disorder and endless gray skies pervade.

Last night, at ten minutes to six in the evening, it was pitch-black dark outside.

It won't be long before it's pitch-black dark outside by 5:30.

Ugh.

Everyone chirrups about how "we get that hour back!" and "it's an extra hour of sleep!"

Yeah, even the promise of more sleep can't warm me up to this time change.

At all.

I may be a human, but I'm basically just an animal. The Feline can't tell time. She doesn't really understand why the kibble isn't dropping into the blue bowl at the same time it did two days ago. I mean, she *really* can't understand.

She's yowling at me as I write this. She'd like you to call Kitty Protective Services and report an abuse. Indignant is the adjective that best describes her demeanor.

And really, I can't blame her! I'm hungry too! My internal clock is all off. Sleep isn't happening right. Food is out of whack.

All of my external clocks are a mess too! Some of them fix themselves automatically. Some of them fix automatically, but we wired to make the change a couple weeks ago. Some I have to manually adjust.

What the $%#@ time is it anymore? I need a little precision, people!

Don't even get me started on the people who will lecture that time is but an illusion, a made up method of marking events. Bah! That makes it worse. We made up this measurement device, and then we fiddle with it.

The Feline has it right, I think. She wakes up, she's hungry. Bam. Done. Why we gotta make it harder than that?

While we're on the topic, I'd like to ban alarm clocks. I think it's unnatural to wake your body out of a perfectly nice sleep with a jangling device. I think we should all get to sleep until we're done sleeping, and then get up and face the world.

It would be a much more civilized place if we did.

If only The Feline had email

Look, I've managed people as part of my job for quite some time now. It's a rollercoaster experience every day.

And yes, I've resorted to that weenie method of managing the hard conversations...email.

Hey, oftentimes, it actually works. You can disseminate the issue to a large audience with the click of a button. You don't actually have to, you know, talk to anyone.

Plus, it gives you a trail. Proof that you told people something!

Anyhow, I've been wrestling with The Feline lately. Damn employee of the household has a mind of her own! Feh!

Herewith, the email I'd write to that damn cat if only she had opposable thumbs...and the ability to get online.

_________________

From: TheGirlHuman@thisoldhouse.net
Subject: Recent Issues for discussion
Date: October 22, 2009 8:35 AM PDT
To: CrankyCat@meow.net

Feline - As you and I have been sharing domicile for some time now, I feel we've both settled into our routines and know what we're about.

Things have been slipping a bit lately, and we have some issues we need to discuss. Please bring a copy of this email to our next one-on-one (aka the next time you are standing on my head, sniffing my dinner while I try to eat). We'll sort out a corrective action plan at that time.

First things first, as you know, you are fed at 8am, 5pm (snack) and 10pm. This has been in effect for some time. You were notified of these changes before they took effect.

Yes, we are giving you diet food. Remember when the vet explained why, Ms Fourteen Pounder?

As such, the yowling for feeding well in advance of any of the set times is unacceptable and this behavior must be curtailed.

This is especially true of the 4am yowlings. This only causes the boy human to throw pillows at you, and usually leads to your banishment from the room, which then produces hurt feelings and sad looks on your part for an entire day.

Please implement these process improvements immediately.

While on the topic of the sleeping situation, we must also address a space issue. As you know, the Boy Human and the Girl Human are soft hearted and allow you to sleep in the bed.

It's also agreeable that you take certain liberties, like sleeping up ON me while I snooze. Fine.

Here's the issue. Being as that I was graced with a bladder the size of a small walnut, it's inevitable that I must rise at least once a night to use the human version of the litter box.

When nature calls, I carefully extract from around you so as not to disturb your slumber. Then when I return, I find you have streeeetched out to fill up the space allotted me in the bed. Sometimes, you even have a proprietary paw placed on the Boy Human.

I then have to push and shove you so I can get back into the bed and next to the boy. You respond by meowing testily at me.

This is uncool, cat. Way uncool.

Finally, while on the topic of usage of the litter box, human or otherwise, I'd like to mention that I can and am able to use the human litter box on my own.

I don't need your company.

When you use YOUR box, do I run in there to stare at you and then get on the counter and sniff at your head and face while you do your business?

No, I do not.

Please cease and desist.

Immediately.

That said, your work in the sitting on the lap department has improved dramatically lately (coinciding, I'm sure, with the turn toward the cold the weather has taken, but fine).

Also, since you've been able to lose some weight, your playful kittenish-ness is rather enjoyable.

Keep it up!

Thanks in advance for your attention to these matters.

Best regards,

The Girl Human

(Execu-Kitty ignores your emails)