Our Christmas Card to You

We moved to New Mexico when I was about 13 years old.  My mom, God bless her, was a single mom with three little girls, working and struggling to make ends meet without any help from my father or family.  We three girls spent a lot of time alone waiting for mom to get home from work.  I am the oldest and usually took charge; hence my bossy nature, managerial tendencies, and wild imagination.

One year, as the story goes, we had begged and begged to be able to go caroling over the Christmas holiday.  We were on Christmas break, bored, and taking care of ourselves during the day while my mom worked.  In the morning, she said we could go caroling that night but by the time she got home, it had snowed buckets and it was too cold and snowy to go out.  It was with tremendous disappointment that we gave in to the weather and stayed home.  My mom went to bed early… and that’s when the scheming began.

We had been practicing our Christmas carols all day.  Our favorite album was The Partridge Family Christmas Album and our favorite song was all about “instead of letting the postman bring it; we decided we’d rather sing it; especially for you… for you.”  We danced and sang that song all day long; giggling and fighting and getting into scraps and predicaments typical of homebound kids on school vacation.  All the while it snowed and snowed and as the white stuff grew on the ground, we watched out the window and knew our hopes of caroling would be dashed.

After mom went to bed, we got out the phone book and devised a little game called, “Dial-a-Carol”, which was a variation on the theme of “Crank-Calling-Anonymous-Numbers” that we used to play all the time.  We would randomly choose someone’s name in the phone book and, as soon as someone picked up, I would wish them a Merry Christmas, cue my little sister to put the needle on the record, and we sang our hearts out!  (This was way before cell phones and caller ID.)

Not one person ever hung up on us or gave us a hard time.  Without exception, they would listen and then thank us for the lovely gesture.  Score!  We may not have been able to go out caroling that evening but it started a tradition that held over the years of us calling each other on Christmas and singing that Partridge Family song.  Things change and people drift and shit happens so we haven’t all participated over the last several years but I have tried to keep the tradition within my own little family unit.

We were supposed to put up the tree last night but it just didn’t happen.  We were so involved in making this Christmas card for everyone and had such a great time doing it that the poor little tree got stuck in a bucket and is still awaiting its adornment.  We’ll probably get to that tonight (after I go shopping and brave the holiday world a week before Christmas) and will watch this video, over and over, and laugh and laugh and laugh…

So, there you have it; our Christmas card to you:

 

Starring:

Jordan: niece and über cool dancer and back-up, “bom-bomp” singer.

Juju: niece and whisk-mic-percussionist-extraordinaire.

DeMarcus: youngest and spoon-mic-goofball.

Gabriel: evil genius guitar-hero-slingin’-frontman.

Me: the only one who actually knows all the words to the song.

Mojo, Lulu, and Bo: clearly unaffected dogs.

Angela: cinematographer and director.

Merry Christmas, everyone!

Thanks~Giving

 Gratitudes and giving thanks for everyone in my life.  A little (true) story from Mi Vida Loca:

The man in the uniform waved us through the first set of barriers.  We pulled slowly forward as the second set of men in uniforms waved us to our spot.  We sat perched precariously atop boxes filled with dried goods, coolers filled with ice, butter, and milk, and finally cushioned in sleeping bags. We carefully navigated around bread, potato chips and other breakables packed on top with us. We were packed to the gills in that van and sat nervously as we realize we were going to be questioned about our reasons for visiting Mexico.

 The dog began barking furiously as the uniformed man approached.  I grabbed her by her collar and told her to stop.  She continued a low growl of warning as the man leaned into the window surveying our inventory while watching each of our hands.  He began speaking with the person in the front passenger seat.  I was sitting in the back and couldn’t hear everything that was being said.  I don’t speak Spanish very well and all I could understand was, “papeles”, “perro”, “muy mal”, “no.”  From what I gathered, this man was asking for the dog’s papers and saying that she was a bad dog and that she wouldn’t be allowed into Mexico. 

We had just driven, cramped and stuffed for four hours, from Tucson to Lukeville Port of Entry and there was no way I was going to drive back to take the dog home. 

I climbed down from my perch and got out of the van.  The man was tall, at least 6’4”, and imposing in stature.  I tried to speak to him, in my broken Spanish, and explain she was not a bad dog.  She had all of her shots, her papers were in order, and she was a family member.  He let me get all the way through it… shooting questions at me in Spanish and then looking at me and smiling as I struggled to tell him in my own special Spanglish, the answers to his questions.  I had tears in my eyes as I struggled to understand if he was saying he was going to take my dog. 

The man looked directly at me and said, “Okay, Ma’am.  You can go.  Have a nice day.” in the most perfect English accent.  I looked into his eyes and saw the play of power.  He smiled and waved us along.  I turned and said, “Let’s get out of here.”  My first thought was to run him over but then, I was in Mexico and anything could happen, so I just pushed the dog to the back and climbed back up onto my perch.  We talked about it all the way to Rocky Point.

I’d lived in Arizona for years and, other than the occasional shopping trip into Nogales, this was my first real trip into Mexico.  I was going with my girlfriend, her co-workers, and our dog for a weekend getaway.  We were staying at someone’s beach house in Puerto Penasco, otherwise known as Rocky Point, a very “Americanized” area in the Sea of Cortez.  I was excited to be going to the beach despite the fact that I didn’t really know anyone and they seemed to be a group of partiers.  I was there on my own agenda and that’s why I had taken the dog along.  I wouldn’t be part of their “work retreat” and could do whatever I wanted.  It all sounded so good when it was pitched to me up until we got to Lukeville.

 I realized that my blond-haired, blue-eyed, Anglo-self, was going into a foreign country where I barely spoke the language and stood out like the gringa that I am.  It brought back memories of being at a new high school in New Mexico and all of the discrimination I felt in being the “pelo amarillo” girl with thick glasses, a terrible case of shyness, and no friends.  I got the crap beat out of me a couple of times just for being the only white girl walking home on the same route as some very tough Hispanic girls.  For all of the things I love about New Mexico and the Hispanic culture, this was a very difficult time in my life. 

Adolescence and my parents divorcing were bad enough.  The culture was new to me and I loved it.  I’d been accepted by many but those who didn’t… were very harsh.  The experience with the border policeman was just like that… he was messing with us.  I hadn’t experienced discrimination prior to this in my white, middle-class, Catholic school existence.  I really didn’t know what to make of it but I did know that I didn’t like it.  As I got older, it colored my world, both figuratively and specifically in how I felt about my rainbow of friends.  I was and am intolerant of ignorance, meanness, and discrimination.  I don’t care what color you are if that is who you are; you ain’t in my world!

It was hot and muggy in the house.  The windows had been closed for over two months making the rooms smell musty with a slight scent of rotting fish.  I immediately pulled out my sage, lit the end, and walked around smudging every room.  Once I’d cleared the energies and smells of the house, we settled into making it our own.  There was a beautiful, covered patio with three chimineas, plants, comfortable chairs and tables, all facing the sea.  I plopped myself into one of the cozy chairs and waited for the coffee to be done. 

The dog was very excited and ran around checking everything out.  She ran out to the surf, jumped into the water, shook, turned, looked at me and then ran back up and shook on me.   She thought it was very funny and kept nosing under my arm to get me up and out of that chair.  I got up, took my shoes off and walked out onto the hot sand.  Feeling the scorch, I ran for the cool of the surf!

The sand was very different from the soft, silky sands of California.  It was not soft on my feet.  It cut into me like little broken pieces of glass.  In actuality, it was little broken pieces of shells that had been tumbled over and over into a small fineness.  It still hurt to walk on so I scurried back up to the house and slipped on my Vans. The dog was lapping and jumping at me to get back out onto the beach!  Now that I could walk comfortably, I began my “beach routine” of scouring the sands for shells. 

This was a very strange beach, indeed. There were very few shells that weren’t broken or chipped.  I noticed the surf was very choppy and short and there was very little seaweed.  There was, however, quite a lot of trash on the beach and in the surf.  I noticed several dead fish, a couple of gooey looking things, something that was squishy when I poked it, and a pile something really smelly that the dog tried to roll in.  It was a dead sea lion.  So far, my trip into Mexico wasn’t going so well.  I decided to just make the best of it because I certainly couldn’t take the bus home with the dog.

I sat down on the warm sand and called the dog over.  She sat next to me and we watched the little birds scurry in and out with the surf looking for something to eat.  Suddenly, I thought I heard, “Hola.”  I turned around looked up into the sun.  There I saw the silhouette of a man holding a bag in his hand.

  “Hola.”, I said hesitantly. 

“Would you like to buy?” he said, in slightly broken English. 

He opened his bag and had all kinds of silver jewelry, toys, trinkets, belts, wallets, and other “Hecho en Mexico” items.  He smiled at me, took off his floppy hat,  and crouched down to give me a closer look. 

I had no idea where he came from or how he was able to sneak up on me and the dog so quickly.  I guess we were so engrossed in the activity of the birds and the sounds of the surf that we didn’t hear him walk up.  Neither of us felt particularly threatened but I was alone and this made me hesitate slightly.

He had a kind smile and soft brown eyes and I could tell from what he was wearing that he was a local who worked these beaches regularly.  I patted the sand and invited him to sit with me.  He spoke English fairly well and I occasionally peppered mine with Spanish words which probably amused him. 

His name was Miguel and he lived in a small village about three miles away.  He was a very nice man and explained that he made his living by working the shrimp boats and selling souvenirs to the touristas.  He had a wife and two children and three cousins living in his house.  He had been on his daily walk home when he saw me and decided to stop.  He told me that we were there during the off season.  When I asked why it was the off season, he told me it was because it was too hot, too many flies, and shrimping was at a minimum for most American touristas.  I hadn’t really noticed but it was my first time visiting that area.

Miguel was very gracious as he told me the better places to buy souvenirs, where to eat (and where not to), and where not to go after dark.  His face was a deep cinnamon-brown color with dark creases along his mouth, cheeks, and eyes.  His forehead had one long,  crinkled line from squinting in the sun.  His fingers were short with dried, white calluses running along the edges to the nubs of his fingertips.  He spread his fingers slightly as he pointed and then drew the Sea of Cortez in the sand.  His hands looked strong as the veins poke out creating mountains and valleys of skin over bone.  He gestured elegantly as he spoke about the Sea and its many riches.  He lost me when he began talking about the de-salinization plant they were going to build and how it would hurt the shrimping industry.  His caramelly accent was slathered over his articulate blend of Spanish and English words, mesmerizing me in its texture. 

I heard my name being called.  The dog jumped up as if it were her own and ran back to the house.  I turned and pointed to where we were staying and invited him to come up after we ate as I was sure everyone would buy something.  We both stood and I extended my hand to him.  He took it and smiled at me warmly while saying my name in Spanish, “Natalia.” followed with, “Gracias, Senora.”

As I walked away, I glanced back and saw him sling his bag over his shoulder, pick up his shoes and walk barefoot along the surf.  I imagined his feet are as rough as his hands and savored a romantic thought of how wonderful it must be to walk along this beach enough to not have to wear shoes.  His clothes were clean but worn and his shoes were hand-me-down golf shoes without the spikes.  I thought to myself that he was probably more comfortable barefoot than in those shoes.  My romantic thoughts faded into the reality of his situation.  I didn’t feel sorry for him.  He seemed content yet hard-working.

The beach looked differently to me now.  I slipped off my Vans and carefully walked along on the sea-glass-sand.  The house we were staying in looked opulent from this view considering where my mind just wandered in from.  Everyone was waving handfuls of beers at me.  “Cerveza!” they yelled!  I smiled and continued on my way while thinking of Miguel and his life.  He did come back later and ended up pocketing quite a few American dollars from all of us.  Life and vacation carried on in a symbiotic dance of what’s good for mine is good for yours.  To a degree.

Everything that I experienced in Mexico was both beautiful and ugly.  There were two sides to everything from the beautiful resort grandly guarding the entrance of the beach, to the shacks just two streets over that housed the workers.  Two sides; from the fact that I could have my dog sit with me at the restaurant to the fact that I could have my dog even BE in the restaurant were both beautiful and scary.

I came home from that trip with a bad case of dysenteric problems.  I hadn’t drunk any water but didn’t even think about it when I drank my Coca Cola in a glass with ice.  I needed that coke considering how yummy the fish tacos were and how the chilé left a lingering burning on the roof of my mouth.

I was thankful to finally be home and in my own bed.  I was grateful for the little pills that made me feel better.  I was filled with gratitude in being able to join the group and yet have my own peace on the beach every day.  I was glad to have met Miguel whom I saw every day I was there and would wave and say, “Hola, Miguel.  Como estas?” and feel so proud of myself that I could simply ask how he was without really being able to understand the entire answer to that question.  I’m not sure I really wanted to know, fully, but I liked how he made me feel welcome in his country.

I got to thinking about how things are both beautiful and ugly in my own country.  I realized there was no difference between Mexico and the United States because, really, it was all relative to that which we call home and those whom we call family.  Sure, Mexico has a lot more poverty and difficult situations than the U.S. but when it comes to the human factor, we all have one thing in common: how we treat each other.  Whether it is a power-filled policeman or a hard working Joe/Jose’ or a woman walking along the beach with her dog; how we connect is the most important thing for all of us.

I guess, gratitude is relative to the realities in our lives.  Things and people come and go with only the memories to garnish our lives in either gratitude or resentments.  This, to me, is how we build our lives and learn to love and forgive and appreciate and let go…  Family, whatever you make of it, is all that matters.  My “family” consists of everyone in my life.  Everyone.  And it’s hard and easy and fun and painful and all of those things that make up mis/ustedes vida loca.

¡por vida mía!

Happy Thanksgiving, Everyone.

I cherish all of you.

The Blushing Bride

I am one of those people who sees everything going on around me in both the mundane and extraordinary.  I don’t miss a thing.  Every little detail is noticed and those very details submerge my thoughts into “what if’s” or “what about” or “hmmm”.  It is both a curse and a blessing.  Most of the time, I don’t know what to do with the information and simply file it away.  It clogs my senses and, truth be told, I can’t find my keys or remember my zip code or forget to do something really important like, I don’t know, payroll because of it.  *sigh*

Today it has become, yet again, blog-fodder or stories from the archives and perennials of, “Truth is Stranger than Fiction.”

I’ve been to the grocery store three times within the last 8 days and have bought over $250 worth of food.  All three times I went in for something like, eggs, milk, bread, but ended up buying a bunch of other stuff because the deals were just too much to pass up.  As a result, I need to go back to the grocery store to buy things like, eggs, milk, and bread because, evidently, my Spidey-Powers don’t keep me on track in this mundane chore.  All of those bright yellow “SALE!” signs were just too distracting.

 Too bad we can’t make a meal out of cake mix (1 dollar a box!), grind-yer-own-spices (usually 7 bucks, now only 2 bucks!!), and Vintage-boxed Raisin Bran (1.49 a box!!  Regular, same size: 4.79 a box!!).  The good news is that I spent over $100 and got a free turkey.  I wasn’t going to cook for Thanksgiving but I guess I will now that I have a bird.  I dread going back to the grocery store for Thanksgiving dinner fixin’s ‘because I’ll probably come home with just eggs, milk, and bread.

I was talking to a person the other day that needed their Affidavit for Release from Ignition Interlock License notarized.  It was just after 7:00AM and, this person who’d had an ignition interlock for three years, was trying to get their regular driver’s license back.  The interlock license expired three years ago!  I mentioned that I needed a valid ID and this person whips out a regular but illegal license that expires in 2014.  Somehow, this person had circumvented the system but had been caught again and had to fix it.  This person smelled of alcohol and their hands were shaking terribly.  This person shares the roads with you and me and is still drinking, despite the legal causes out to prevent drinking and driving.  Yes, I noticed it but I didn’t/couldn’t say a thing.  Oh, but I wanted to but what good would it have done?  None, I suppose; it pissed me off.

I had to take a detour while driving to work the other morning and I noticed a boy, about 12-13, running down the sidewalk as if he’d missed his school bus.  I had to stop at the major intersection but I noticed the kid wasn’t stopping at all.  He ran right in front of a truck.  The truck driver quickly slammed on his brakes, spilled obviously hot coffee down the front of him, and began swearing and jumping around in his seat all hotcha-ChaCha-like.  The kid stopped for a second, looked at the driver, flailed his arms, and took off.  Luckily, there wasn’t a car in the far lane and the kid made it all the way across the intersection.  He never looked back.  That poor guy in the truck sat there, pulling his steaming, hot, coffee-covered shirt off his chest while shaking his head and banging on his steering wheel.  He looked up and saw me, got embarrassed, and drove off.  I really felt bad for him.  What the hell, kid?!

Yesterday, around lunchtime, we had a store full of people and all five of us were helping customers.  I was helping two people at a cash register close to the front door.  I was multitasking, greeting customers as they came in, directing them, handling the two transactions at the register, and the rest of my staff were helping multiple customers, as well.  It was just that busy!  An older man was standing at our shipping counter for all of two minutes and yelled out over the din of busy copiers, conversations, and computer’s whizzing, “DOES ANYONE WORK HERE?  I.  NEED.  HELP!” 

It suddenly got quiet (He yelled VERY loudly.) as everyone stopped what they were doing and glanced in his direction.

I raised my hand and yelled, very, very loudly (too loudly, really), “YES SIR AND WHEN WE ARE FINISHED HELPING OUR CUSTOMERS, SOMEONE WILL BE OVER TO HELP YOU DIRECTLY!!” 

I knew I said it too loudly but, really, buddy, do you not have eyes?  Everyone and I mean everyone, chuckled quietly, and the din returned.  A moment later, my shipping-dude went over and tried to help the old guy.  He didn’t want my shipping-dude to help him; he wanted me.  So, we traded places and I went over to help him.  I was ready to be given a hard time when the old codger started flirting with me.

“You must be the one in charge.  I really like how you just took charge of that situation and answered my question.  I saw you from across the room.  Are you married?”

Gah!  Yes, I am, you freak…!  I wanted to say it but I didn’t.  (I never describe myself as being married except for in emergencies.  lol!) I just smiled at him, winked, wiggled my adorned ring finger at him, finished the transaction, and said with a smile (that said ‘Push off!’), “Okay.  You are all taken care of and can be on your way.  I’ve got to help someone else. You have a great day, now.”  I toddled off and helped a little old lady with her calendar project.

I never looked back.

Later, my staff told me that all of their customers were laughing and commenting on the old codger and how funny I was for yelling back at him.  They were watching me with him and, evidently, as he was speaking to me, I blushed.  Damn that I didn’t realize I’d blushed but they all got a big kick out of it.  This time people were more observant of me than I of them.  I just rolled my eyes and… blushed again.  They were all merciless and teased me the rest of the day.  It was all in good fun but, geez, people!!

I hate it when I blush uncontrollably.  I usually know when I blush; I get hot and feel flushed, red in the face, and my head tingles a little.  A cranky, demanding, loud old man made me blush.  Criminy!  So much for Spidey-Senses.

This morning I had my game face on.  No, not my football game face… And, yes, we are going to our first NFL game tomorrow. 

It’s Gabriel’s 12^th birthday on Monday and I bought tickets to go to Denver and see the Broncos (his favorite team) and the Chargers (Angela’s favorite team) play for the number one spot in the AFC West divisional, or something like that.  Very exciting! 

No, I had my game face on because Angela and the kids made me breakfast (supposed to be in bed but I don’t like to eat in bed) and I had to look happy about cold waffles (DeMarcus made ‘em.), burnt sausages (Gabriel’s first attempt at making, you know, “raw meat… cooked”), and banana bread (Angela made it and it was delicious.) 

I didn’t blush once and I’m pretty sure they didn’t notice a thing.  Even when I choked a little on the waffles when I heard that DeMarcus made them without first washing his dirty little hands.  Of course, I noticed the look on their faces (beaming with pride and adoration) and the sly little look from Angela as we do share a brain and she knew exactly what I was doing.

Gabriel was particularly proud of himself.  Angela told him it was good for him to learn how to cook so he could cook us meals and be able to cook for himself.  Now, see, this scared the crap out of me because the kid is already eating us out of house and home.  He was just so glad to have been able to, “…do something for Miss Natalie ‘cause she’s just SO awesome.”  He smiled at me so sweetly and so charmingly that I smiled back and thanked him, for the umpteenth time, for making me Breakfast in Bed but Not in Bed.  My smile did not betray the fact that I knew he was buttering me up to be able to play his Nintendo DS and the fact that he’s just so freakin’ excited to be going to a Broncos game AND that I know that he knows that he’s playing me but he’s still being Mr. Bee Charmer about it.  I winked at him and he blew me a kiss.

And that… is when I KNOW I blushed.

Dog Psychology

(Not an homage to my secret boyfriend, Cesar Milan.  In case you were wondering…)

Okay, so, the M-F’ing dentist thing is still going on and driving me batshit.  I went to the dentist (endodontic stuff is completed) to get my new crown and, thinking I would just hop in the chair, pop off the old crown and pop on the new one didn’t happen.  The office manager told me she would order and have the crown before the appointment but, ohhhhhhh…. Noooooo…. She di’n’t.  So, instead of being there for, oh, I don’t know, twenty minutes, I was there for an hour and forty five minutes while the dentist took off the old crown, cleaned up the nubby tooth, and put on a temporary crown.  I go back a week from tomorrow for the new, permanent crown.  Supposedly.

I just tried eating dinner: pasta with spinach and cheese.  The M-F’ing temporary crown came off in my mouth and I almost swallowed it.  The spinach was acting like dental floss, all wrapped up under it and, POP!  WTF. I swear to God. M-F’r.  Holy Christ.  I immediately emailed the office manager and asked her  to squeeze me in tomorrow so I could, once again, take time off from work to go take care of some M-F’ing BS work not done correctly (or thoroughly or appropriately or exactly) by this dental office.

*sigh*

Anywho…

Bo is doing well.  He’s just the sweetest, most well-mannered little pooter… ever.  I can’t understand why those people would even think about putting him down just because he kept trying to escape from their house.  I mean, I’ve seen crazy and he just ain’t crazy, man.  He’s a darling and has really gotten along well with everyone in the household.  He’s even doing well with the cat and, well, let’s face it; no one really gets along well with that cat except Mojo.  Bo seems to round out this menagerie quite nicely.  He is, however, slightly arthritic and, every night he asks (Yes, he actually asks…) to get up on the couch and promptly goes to sleep.  He has a fairly strict schedule and just drops once he’s tired.  He is kind of old-man-ish like that but he keeps up with the other dogs during the day and tolerates the boys’ antics and has plenty of energy and personality to trick me into giving him a cookie.

Of course, I am his personal Jesus and that suits me just fine. He follows me like a little shadow and always wants to go everywhere with me.  He rides well in the truck and loves to go to PetSmart.  He doesn’t cause trouble and if there’s trouble to be had, he slinks and cringes and hides.  Poor little soul… He acts like someone is going to kick the crap out of him if you look at him sideways.  I believe someone(s) did just that and, each time he acts scared (scarred), I go out of my way to comfort and soothe him.

I truly believe the reason he fits in so well is because Lulu is a healer dog.  I got her from the pound after I had to put my little cattle dog, Osita, to sleep because she went crazy and tried to kill herself by jumping through a closed window.  Osita was a horrendous ordeal and I finally had had enough.  So, when I heard that neighbor woman say she was going to put Bo down, I somewhat understand her angst but I do not believe she gave him the chance he deserved.  I tried everything, and I mean, almost go to the break the bank place of EVERYTHING, to help Osita.  The vet recommended I put her down.  It was awful.

My heart was broken and Lulu, goofy little puppy that she was/is, helped in the healing.  Then Angela and I got together and Lulu was perfect with the boys.  Then, Lulu got DeMarcus talking and it was almost as if she’d performed a miracle.  Then she peed on the back porch and in the basement a bunch of times and I realized she wasn’t a saint and I got mad at her but forgave her, just the same.  God knows… If I had to pee outside in the Chicago cold I might consider it better to pee in the basement…

Criminy.  What in the hell am I talking about?  I digress…

Lulu wouldn’t put up with Bo’s territorialism over the food bowl and gently told him it wasn’t okay.  He responded positively because she wasn’t going to fight him but she wasn’t going to put up with his crap, either.  I love the simplicity of dog relationships.  It just is what it is and… Hey, Man… Deal with it.  Yesterday, I caught the cat rubbing up against Lulu in a totally, “I love you” kind of way.  When he saw me see him, he flipped his tail and strutted off as if nothing had happened.  Uh huh.  We all feel that way, Kitty Q, and it’s nothing to be all-cat-ashamed-I-just-loved-on-the-dog-like.  Lulu is our healing heart pup.

 Bo now sleeps next to Lulu and actually lets Mr. Spazz-o, Mojo, lay almost on top of him.  He has short hair and knows Mojo is a curly little heater.  I bought him a sweater and he tolerates it but would prefer to wear Mojo especially when they are outside.  Lulu lets him eat out of her bowl.  He picks out the soft bits (the best part) and then goes back to eating out of his bowl.  It’s really sweet.  I think she knows he’s an old guy who had a rough first part of his life.

We are all willing to cut him some slack.  It’s easy.  Love him up, let him sleep on the couch, give him the soft bits, and the rewards are definitely worth it.  He looks at Lulu with adoring eyes.  He leans into me and almost hugs me with his paws.  He licks the boys gently.  He squishes in with Angela and snuggles with her.  He walks by the cat really fast and averts eye contact.  (He’s a smart, smart dog.)  If he has to go out in the middle of the night, he is the only soul brave enough to attempt to awaken me.  He will gently put his paws up, lifts my hand or arm with his nose, and then carefully stands back with ears alert.  He’s been doing this all week, around 3 (formerly 4) in the morning because of Daylight Savings time.  He’s so sweet about it that I automatically get up and let him out.

Life is good. Dog psychology is fascinating.  Bo is happy.  TDC (The Damn Cat) is happy (and right now is messing with Mojo under my desk.)  Lulu is happy all the time.  I love that about her.  The boys are having trouble adjusting to this weirdness with bedtime and Daylight Savings.  Two meltdowns each this week is enough!  I think Angela and I are experiencing some sleep deprivation from all of it.  We’ll be okay… If we can just get a few minutes, hours, days (God have Mercy!) ALONE!

Now, if I can just get this dental thingy done and over with, all will be well.  ‘Cause, you know, the holidays are right around the corner.  I cannot believe that it is November already.  Where did this year go and, wow, a lot has happened.  It’s all good.  Every morning I click my heels together and tell myself there’s no place like home.  Then Lulu, Mojo, and Bo come bounding into the office and shower me with love as if they haven’t seen me in a week.

I really love that.

Fire

“The fire.  The odor of burning juniper is the sweetest fragrance on the face of the earth, in my honest judgment; I doubt if all the smoking censers of Dante’s paradise could equal it.  One breath of juniper smoke, like the perfume of sagebrush after rain, evokes in magical catalysis, like certain music, the space and light and clarity, and piercing strangeness of the American West.  Long may it burn.”

Edward Abbey, “Desert Solitaire.”

Mmmmm… Yes, juniper smells wonderful but in my honest judgment, piñon smells even better.  I long to be able to burn my own wood but I don’t have a real fireplace. Mine is a gas fireplace and it does nothing to add heat and only supplies a kind of fake ambiance.  It screams “70’s” Ugh. I don’t have a chiminea, yet, but today might have to be the day. 

These olfactory sensations, and that of cooking fresh tortillas and green chilé, are the smells of home and comfort.  They evoke strong memories that weigh on my heart like First Love.  Someone in this neighborhood regularly burns piñon.  At night, or the early, ever-darkening evenings (Daylight Savings is tonight, people!), as I walk along the path to my door, I will stop and take notice of the fall scents in the air.  When piñon is detected, I waffle in my sense of direction; no matter how cold or hungry or tired I might be, and stand in the sweet scented air and breathe deeply.  Kids and dogs, waiting by the door, cannot entice me out of my trance; I linger in it.

One time, when I lived in Tucson, I brought home some piñon from New Mexico and gave it as a Christmas present to my roommate.  I wrapped it in Saran Wrap (to hold in the powerful scent) and colorful holiday paper and put it under the tree.  It was heavy and awkward and my roommate thought she was getting an expensive electronics gift, or something of that nature.   As soon as the paper seal was broken, I could smell the sweet, piney-scent and drank in a huge breath of it.  I’ll never forget the look of, “What the hell?!” on her face as she opened her gift of wood.  She tossed it aside, ripped open another present, and thanked me for the ‘whatever’ I bought for her.

I used that much unappreciated gift one evening in her chiminea on the patio.  My friend, Jeff, brought his guitar and we drank coffee, jammed, and completely and totally enjoyed the warmth of the fire and the scents of New Mexico on a cool, Tucson winter’s evening.  We played, “Rocky Mountain High” and laughed because neither of us wanted to admit we knew and played John Denver songs but it was perfect.  Great memory.  My roommate joined us and asked what that wonderful incense was that we were burning.  When I told her it was the wood I’d given to her for Christmas that she had so casually discarded, she opened her eyes wide and then got mad at me for burning it.  Finders Keepers…

Today is Halloween and we have many activities planned for the boys.  First there’s homework, and Gabriel is sitting in the kitchen, crying that he has to do it now instead of at the last minute Sunday night.  Then there is Zoo Boo at the Rio Grande Zoo.  And then there is trick or treating tonight… None of which Gabriel will be a part of if he doesn’t get his act together.  *sigh*

Tomorrow, however, tomorrow is for the mountains; a long drive to Taos, hopefully, as it has snowed quite a lot in northern New Mexico.  I’ll stop at some corner outpost along the way and buy some piñon, which will cost an arm and a leg, and possibly some juniper and oak.  I want to have a roaring fire, somewhere in the nestling forest, high upon the mountains.  I want to roast marshmallows, drink hot chocolate, warm my frozen hands over the fire while trying to not burn the soles of my boots, have a snowball fight, watch the dogs run with wild abandon in the snow, snuggle with my honeys and wipe drippy noses while having conversations about the Denver Broncos, photography, and Sponge Bob, “right?”.  (DeMarcus now ends each sentence with, “right?” and it drives us bonkers but is cute, at the same time.)

I want the memories of my childhood, complete with scents and tastes and sounds, to infiltrate the memories of our family and become a part of their traditions, too.

But only if Gabriel gets his GD’d homework done!  What a buzz kill that kid is sometimes. 

 

Colorful Moments

I just read something somewhere that reminded me of a particular time in my life that always makes me feel good.  The timing was perfect because I’ve been feeling inspired by little things like, the weather, a song, the light of the day, colors on the ground and in the sky, the turn of a phrase from random strangers, and the like.  It’s all very oogly-boogly and pulling from inner-extensions.  It’s the reason I have that look upon my face that seemingly no one can figure out.

“Are you angry?”

No, why?  Do I look angry? I am the farthest thing from angry… I can sometimes look angry because of the furrow on my brow while deep in thought.  I have the same look when I wear contact lenses because I don’t see as well in them.  I guess that’s my modern day version of rose colored glasses.  Blurry images and trying to focus and make sense of it all when it doesn’t seem to make sense; it just is what it is.

“Is something wrong?”

No, nothing is wrong.  I’m just thinking and remembering and trying to either figure something out or figure something in.  The turnings in my life are interesting and, within my thoughts, I look at how the circles come together. 

Fall is such a beautiful time of year here in New Mexico.  The colors are stunning and, yet, are the foreboding of death or dormancy; one last hurrah before the issuance of cold finalities.  It is also the time of year when I think back to the loss of two very good friends who died in the same month/year; nineteen years ago.  Was it really that long ago?  This time of year, the smells, the sights, the warmth of the day and cool of the night, the spot between seat warmers in the morning and air conditioning in the afternoon, remind me of the beauty and the pain of love and death.

It is a Full Circle.  Sometimes the depth is deeply sad.  Sometimes the arc is achingly high.  And, no, I’m not talking about bi-polar tendencies; I’m talking about remembering and allowing all of the senses to feel and honor and apply to the heart in the moment of today.

This brings me to a place of profound thankfulness for the relationships in my life.  I know it is that time of year to celebrate “thankfulness” but, for me, it always comes a little earlier than the national holiday.  Having had these losses in my life reminds me of a promise I made to be grateful, every day, for the gifts bestowed upon me.  At the time, in dealing with the deaths of two close friends, I came to the realization that their deaths were a gift to live a life that is known and felt and carried on in their memory.  I’m not going to get all Kubler-Ross on anyone but having these reminders helps when I want to reach through my windshield and strangle the driver next to me or I lose my patience with the boys or I want to throttle a customer, etc…

All of those impatient moments, lack of grace/compassion, intolerance, or simply my unwillingness to engage, fade away as I remember the look on Kevin’s face as he accepted that he would not “get over” AIDS and came to terms with his life and death.  The look on my face told him I was having a really hard time seeing him in such an incapacitated state.  So he smiled and flicked back the sheet from his body and said, “I know, right?  I look shriveled beyond recognition.  But look at how big my penis looks!!” He wheezed that snickering, devilish laugh and I couldn’t help but burst out laughing.  And that is the epitome of who he was… my devilish friend with a wicked sense of humor.

Negative thoughts dissipate when I close my eyes and see Patty, at four in the morning, sitting on a stool next to the wood burning furnace in her dirt-floored basement, with a cup of tea in one hand and a dastardly, hand-rolled cigarette in the other, looking at me and saying in a quietly poetic, raspy voice, “No one’s life is wasted.  We all affect each other.  You’ve made my impending death more about living… and I thank you.”

She had been unable to sleep because of the steroids so I kept her occupied by making her explain all of the weird stuff in the tiny drawers of her workbench.  She was a collector of oddities, in both friends (of which she had many) and things, always stopping at abandoned buildings or a seemingly benign pile of dirt on the side of the road or a garage sale in a far-flung place; taking a funny looking nut and bolt, a switch plate cover, a pipe from an old radiator, and other eclectic items.  Each time I picked something out of a drawer, she could remember in detail exactly where she got it and why she took it but never explained the potential purpose for it in her life.  Her answer was always “Just in case.” to my question of, “Yeah, but why?”

Kevin was an artist.  He made jewelry and over-sized oil paintings of desert landscapes.  He knew color and we would sit and muse over the colors in the sky of a New Mexico fall day.  He made me appreciate the color yellow, as it was never one of my favorites, in a way that, to his day makes me see everything in a shade of sunlight.

Patty, too, was an artist with her collection of things, strewn about her yard in purposeful meanings, long after they’d worn out their actual reason for being.  She collected friends in much the same way.  She saw the extended potential in everything/everyone and loved them beyond their flaws, brokenness, and disappointments.  She focused the blurred and had a place in her heart for all of us.

And so, in coming full circle, I find it is not hard to refocus the joys in my life.  Here they are… boogers and all… Found on a fall day… Somewhere in the mountains of New Mexico:

 

Just for the record: Angela won’t let me post a photo of her face… some of these photos were taken by the boys (Great job!).  Colorful moments…

Balloon Fiesta!

We were up and dressed very early this morning.  The boys were most anxious for hot chocolate, donuts, and breakfast burritos.  Angela was anxious to get a good spot to photograph from and I was anxious driving on the wrong side of the street amidst all the orange cones.  It was all very organized if just a little disorienting.

Here are some of the photos I and the boys took:

 

These are just a few of the 75+ photos we took.  We were absolutely surrounded by people and balloons and EVERYONE had at least one camera.

Yes, we had coffee, hot chocolate, and one donut ($17 buckaroos) and had breakfast burritos on the way out (4@ $5 buckaroos each.  God!) and then went to breakfast.  Getting up at 4 and waiting around until almost 7 will do that to you.  They cancelled the early morning program (Dawn Patrol) due to strong winds aloft.  Only about one third of the balloons actually went up for the Mass Ascension.  (That was about 200+ out of a possible 600-700.)  All in all, it was still great fun.  It wasn’t too cold but cold enough for runny noses and a need to run in place.  I had the boys doing jumping jacks, at one point.

I wasn’t sure we would be able to go this morning because the wind came in so strong last night and it did rain just a little bit.  I kept waking up and checking the weather which, at this point, means I really, really need a nap!!  We ran into a friend of mine from work and it was fun to hang out and wait for the balloons to go up.  I texted him a little while ago and he said his little boy was already fast asleep… as I wish ours were… from having been up and in excitement so early.  Ahhhh…. the Balloon Fiesta.  I like it.  I like it not.  Us locals aren’t as charmed by it because of the increased traffic, increased amount of people (everywhere: restaurants, stores, grocery stores, etc…), and all the hoopla in the sky.

Still… I got all choked up when the balloons finally started inflating.

It was worth it just to see the magnificent full moon.  The balloons were great.  But, really, it was the look on the boys faces (their actual first time at dawn) that made it really special.  We ditched Angela and just did our own thing and they were thrilled to be able to take pictures with my camera.

Gabriel took the G-Daddy and DeMarcus took the one of the beer mug.  Pretty darned good, if you ask me!

Well, Shut My GollDanged Mouth!

For the last two and a half months I’ve been dealing with a very bad Dental Experience.  Currently, I am still on heavy doses of antibiotics while the Dental Experience tries to figure out how they are going to deal with their botched work.  Of course, I’ve had to consult with a (couple of) lawyer(s).  Pain.  In. The. Arse.  Um… mouth.

Adding insult to injury is the fact that both of the pain killers made me toss.  Violently.  So, I took Advil PM and knocked myself out.  That’s a wicked hangover, folks.  Wicked.

Let’s recap:  Violent and Wicked.

Adding further insult to injury is the fact that it was so stressful that I was yanked out of (the only pleasant side effect of) menopause and got my “Little Friend.”  (Now, why in the hell did they used to call it that, hmmm?  It is neither friendly, or in my case, “little” and seems a very strange euphemism.)

It got so bad I had to call my mom.  Thanks mom.  I totally couldn’t think straight to make any decisions from all that adding insult to injuries.  And I couldn’t drive because I was stoned.  I missed four days of work (sick time but I also had the previous weekend and holiday off) and am woefully behind.

And still… I am swollen and in pain.  Still!  WTF?!  At one point, the swelling was so bad that I was having trouble swallowing and breathing.  It was then I asked Angela if she thought she was any good with a box cutter and a Bic pen.  Hey, I’ve watched enough E.R., House, and Criminal Minds to know a good tracheotomy when I see one.

Otherwise, I have some new favorite reads and thought I would share them with you.  I just love funny, witty, snarky, totally SMART blogs.  And I’m going to admit that I think Dooce is funny.  Mostly this is because she takes on the haters with such FUMF’r panache that she’s kind of my new hero.  Sorta.  She’s still a Mommy Blogger and that’s not really my thing.  But I don’t care how long her dog’s nails are… the photos are funny as hell and I always wonder how long it takes for her to get the dog to pose, hold still, and get the desired shot.  I’m thinkin’ somewhere in the 60-70 range.  Hellafunny.

So, here they are and I hope you like them (I’m also going to sprinkle in some of my regular fav’s):

 mimi smartypants

SinPantalones

Emails From Crazy People

Overheard in New York

Duke City Fix

NewMexiKen

Dooce

Grammarphobia

Oh Fair New Mexico

 Anthony Bourdain

And, we got a new (old) dog.  Bo, resident neighbor Houdini dog, has found a permanent home with us.  Our neighbor was going to “put him down” because she couldn’t deal with his “crazy” anymore.  He’s not crazy, lady, he just can’t stand living in your “home” anymore.  He’s very happy here, is completely attached to us, and, yes, he has a problem with loud thunder, the garbage man, and hot air balloons.  See the theme?  LOUD noises bother him.  We just put him on the leash to keep him from going batshit and he’s fine. 

Tsk… People are so stupid sometimes.

Ahhhh…

Ahhhh…. The end of summer is near and fall is just around the corner.  It’s the most… wonderful… time… of the year!!

I finally got a haircut/color courtesy of Ms. Angela today.  Looks Faboo Dahlink!  I bought some Aveda Volumizing (evidently this is not a real word) Tonic.  After I paid for it… I read the ingredients.  It has something called “Bladderwrack” in it. Straight out of Wikipedia:  It was the original source of iodine, discovered in 1811, and was used extensively to treat Goiter, a swelling of the thyroid gland related to iodine deficiency. In the 1860s, it was claimed that bladder wrack, as a thyroid stimulant, could counter obesity by increasing the metabolic rate and, since then, it has been featured in numerous weight-loss remedies. 

Huh.  And I’m using it on my hair?  Maybe I should drink the stuff.

Today was the first day of five days off of getting my life together.  Why is it that the Universe always wants to mess with that?  Bo, neighbor dog Houdini, always seems to show up on these days and then I spend the next several hours trying to get in touch with his people to come get him.  Usually he only shows up when there is a thunderstorm.  Today it was blue skies and Miss Natalie in scary bed-head pre-Faboo-haircut and pj’s, lookin’ just loverly.  *sigh*

We are avoiding our very messy, really needs to be cleaned and organized house.  I had the filet mignon; Angela had the ribeye.  There’s always tomorrow…Scarlett!

And in other exciting news: it rained.  Again.  It was loverly.  I could go for days like this and I just might ‘cause I’m avoiding my really needs to be cleaned and organized house.

Happy long weekend, everyone.  I will be retiring to the couch.  If’n you need something, get it yourself.

I’m off duty.

Pièce de résistance

I have so much Random Stuff floating through my head that it kind of hurts to have a new thought.  Just when it seems as if I might be able to pull it all together into some sort of blog post, I remember something that needs to get done or something I need to tell someone or the dog barks or the wind blows and it all melts away into,

“What in the hell was I just talking about?”

So, I don’t even care if this makes sense, or not; I’m just going to purge.  I’m done bingeing.

I finally finished my book.  I thought I loved this writer but now find that he is slow in the beginning, filling in the scenes and landscapes, and then rushes through the rest of the book.  So far, the two books I’ve read by him have felt like he was enjoying the writing in the beginning, rushed by his publisher about half-way through, and then just sorta made some shit up to finally finish the thing. Strong out of the gate; weak around the turn; totally lost at the post. 

Horsey Metaphor.

Bathroom reading has been spectacularly weird.  Got a parenting magazine in the mail and just set it with the other magazines in The Sanctuary.  I’ve never read a parenting magazine and, while the articles are actually about parenting, the advertisements are a bizarre collection of vaginal/urinal/beauty/garbage bag/pet /food ads.

For example: Vagisil Satin for all day comfort, Midol Menstrual Complete, Biore’ Dual Fusion Moisturizer (Too old for acne but too young for wrinkles…), Glad ForceFlex/OxiClean, Iams Smart Puppy with PreBiotics and DHA, Bologna has just 4 grams of sugar (PB&J has 16.  Like I’m gonna care about the sugar in bologna.), and in the Parenting Top Ten Summer Head-Scratchers: There exists a flavor of Popsicle known only as “blue.”  Duh!  I’m pretty sure “purple” is a flavor, as well, ‘cause it sure ain’t grape!

The pièce de résistance comes from a “Mom Debate” article/advertisement (hard to tell the difference) entitled, “Vaginal-rejuvenation surgery: Would you do it?”  Having never actually birthed children, this made my hiney (versus other parts) twinge (considering I was in The Sanctuary.) Later, (Much later, NOT in The Sanctuary.  I do have some rules.) this started a conversation with Angela that I wish I’d never had about Gabriel’s big ol’ head, ripping, tearing, and searing pain while pee’ing.  The poll results were 35% Yes to 65% No.  Sometimes I thank my Lucky Stars I don’t know nuthin’ ‘bout birthin’ no babies and now, when Angela tries to tell me the details, I stick my fingers in my ears and yell, “LALALALALALALALA!”

I’ve since tossed the “parenting” magazine in the trash. Ignorance is truly bliss.  I prefer the Indiana Jones Method and just make this shit up as I go along.  It’s bad enough that I can’t get them to use their placements for every meal much less deal with searing, pee’ing pain.  The only thing I wanna “sear” is nice ribeye steak.  Thank. You. Very. Much.  However, I now understand the placement for that Vagisil Satin advertisement.

Angela had a family emergency and we had to go to Virginia.  I’ve never been east of Oklahoma and I’ve never met a member of her family.  We loaded up the truck and moved the family… all the way across New Mexico, Texas, Oklahoma, Arkansas, (Where we stopped at a Starbucks and finally met an online friend and it was the highlight of the trip!  Hey Angei!), Tennessee, and, finally, Virginia.  It took us three days to get there, stayed for three days, and took three days to get home.  Secret Agent 39 did not appreciate those numbers for once in her life.

It was a trip and I have lots of stories but this is a long-ass post so, for now, that’s all I’m gonna say about that.

Well, no, wait; traveling does something to a person and I will say that I’m eternally grateful to be home, sitting on my own throne, and basking in The Sanctuary.

It’s so good to be back to regular despite my twinges through the reading material.