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…

Jupiter Retrograde, my assonino.

Evidently, it’s affecting my relationship with my truck.  And here I was worried some friend, family member, or co-worker and I were going to have it out.  Oh… No…  Uh-uh.

• Beginning of June: big ol’ rock, tossed by a freakin’ Toyota Tercel, hits my windshield and now I have a huge crack slinking across my sightline.  *sigh*
• Father’s Day: late getting out into the world but decide to go to Father’s Day festivities at the Rio Grande Zoo, anyway.  Spend two hours in the heat with a million half-drunk people; feeling for the poor animals ’cause the music was awful, sauntered back to the truck to go to dinner.  Found a “parking” ticket on my windshield.  I forgot my registration was due (I didn’t get a notice in the and later found out they don’t do that anymore ’cause it costs too much!) and got a “ticket” for it.  On Freakin’ Father’s Day!  *sigh*
• Monday: Checked the mail and found, not one but two speeding tickets!  I got hit by one of those roving, camera equipped cop cars, off the I-40.  I was going 57 in a 45 and 61 in a 45.  Hello!  I was going with the flow of traffic which was actually at least 10-20 miles an hour faster than what I got busted for.
• Went to MVD and found out I had to get an emissions test before I could register.  I got all of that taken care of (and, people, that takes time…) only to find out the stupid, g-d’d, ticket had gone to warrant and I have to go downtown to take care of it. Like I’ve got that kind of time.

In the meantime, people are murdering, kidnapping, raping, stealing, speeding (it chaps my ass when everyone is speeding past me and I’m doing the g-d’d speed limit!), driving drunk, etc…

What a B… I…O…. TCH!

D-man has had an incredible amount of energy lately and it seems we are constantly yelling, “STOP RUNNING IN THE HOUSE!” at him every fifteen minutes. This morning, amidst the dogs pooping and peeing on the floor (I just let them in from outside; the bastards!), my not feeling well, laundry everywhere, D-man was, once again running only, this time, before we could yell, we heard, “BOOM!”

Both of us went running into the livingroom where we found him on the floor, next to the wall and an incredible CSI-like-blood-splatter on the carpet. He kept saying, over and over, “Much too much bwood! Much too much bwood! Much too much bwood!”

And there was much too much blood gushing everywhere from two big ol’ splits in his bottom lip. Angela cupped his face and took him into the kitchen. She ran cold water over his mouth while he cried, complained, stared in amazement, and kept saying, “Bwood! Bwood!” He hit his nose and has a weird looking bruise on his right nostril. I cleaned the splatter, put him in the shower, and then retired to the couch. It was all very gross.

Despite all of this, he continued to run in the house and chatter like a freakin’ magpie all day. Here’s just a snippet:

D: “Tan I pway DS, pwease?”

Me: “No.”

D: “Pwease? Pwease? Pwease? I diyah chowes. I cweaned room.”

Me: “You did not. Gabriel did. No. You didn’t do any of the chores I asked of you.”

D: “Uh-uh. I cweaned someping. DS… pweeeeease!”

Me: “No. And you did not ‘cwean someping’ today.”

D: “Yes I diyah, pwease? Oh, I din’t care.”

Me: “What? Tsk… Stop. No.”

D: “Otay, I count. Tomowow Monday an I can’d pway Monday I can pway Sunday and today is Sunday. Pweeeease! Pwease pway DS? I dun know… I cwean yesterday. Pwease Mommy. Pwease pway DS.”

Me: “Nope.”

D: “Pwwwweeease… DeMommy. PWEASE!”

Me: “No.”

D: “Okay then…. One………. Two……. dun may me get to fwee….”

(At this point Angela and I are IM’ing back and forth and just cracking up. He’s counting at me! He’s actually being very cute when he’s doing this and charming us both…. to death.)

Me: “Tsk… Okay. You can play the Gameboy but not the DS.”

D: “Gameboy? You sure?”

Me: “Hahahaha… Get out of here you bugger!”

Just a pile of laughs. I’ve been under the weather all day today and a bit crabby but he just cracked me up. Gabriel, on the other hand, began that crying/yelling thing when I asked him to clean his room. He. Would. Not. Shut. Up. Finally, I turned on the timer and told him he had two minutes to get his act together or he would be spending the rest of the day on his bed. Worked like a charm. Wish I’d said “one minute” though.

Angela and I played Mob Wars on Facebook, killing, attacking, and doing fake muggings and drug deals for hours. We both felt better after beating anonymous internet people to death. God. What has become of my world?

Angela has been obsessed with the idea of moving to India. Yeah, THAT India; Kerala to be exact. She’s been reading all about it since yesterday and trying to persuade me to think about it. That is, until she read that you should always turn on the light in the bathroom before you go in to do your business because many, many people have been hit in the bum by pipe-lurking cobras.

Later in the day, we went to Walmart (because we are out of milk and gluttons for punishment) and, I kid you not, stood in line for an HOUR to check out. The place was swarming with (ghetto-ass) people. As we were sauntering through the parking lot, weary of sounds and children (especially the grape-throwing baby in front of us and his Crown Royal-smelling anorexic mother) and people who’ve never uttered the words, “Excuse me.” in their lives, Angela says to me, “I don’t know what I was thinking in wanting to move to India. I can’t even deal with Walmart for an hour!”

Yeah, well, today I (and I’m sure Angela, too) feel exactly like that about all ya’ll. Walmart was simply the icing on the cake. There were two former NFL players signing autographs at a table in front of the ladies department (bad placement, if you ask me) in Walmart. The boys went up and shook their hands even though they were on teams we can’t stand; the Raiders and the Cowboys. These guys were very nice to the boys but we had to wonder; what must it be like to be Superbowl champions and have to do autograph signings in a Walmart in Albuquerque, New Mexico?

As we were standing in line, I looked at D-man and noticed he had blood and puss dripping off his lip so I grabbed the inside of his shirt and dabbed it carefully. I realized that, considering the environment we were in, no one even noticed. Well, I noticed it and I’m pretty sure I’d notice a pipe-lurking cobra about to bite me in the bum.

Unless I was distracted by magpies which, considering, is wholly possible.

By the time we got home we said the heck with it all and let the kids eat cereal for dinner. Not so sure that would even be a choice if we lived in India. I don’t know what Angela was thinking: she hates rice, hates coconut milk, hates bugs and snakes, and hates lots of people.

Me… I opt for just another day in paradise where I just this very moment yelled,

“STOP RUNNING IN THE HOUSE!”

…and a giggling, pussy-lipped child just ran away into the night…

…Is being spent eating Toaster Strudel (Boston Creme and Raspberry!) and Fig Newton’s, watching “Australia” (for the second time), waiting for the second season premier of “Breaking Bad”, and having hilarious conversations with D-man.

D-man: “DeMommy? Yo birtday tomowoh?”

Me: “Mhmmm…”

D-man: “How owd you be? Fitty?”

Me: (cracking up) “Who told you that?”

D-man: “I dunno. Wan me sing to you?”

Me: (still laughing) “Okay. That would be great…”

He sings the entire birthday song and then says, “Fitty is owd.”

I scowl at him and then burst out laughing. He’s talking so well now. He said all of this without any prompts. Still, I’d like to know who gave him the number ’cause now he’s repeating it constantly.

Still… cracks… me… up…

Mojo is stuck to me like glue because he’s so happy he had a (four freakin’ hour) Day of Beauty yesterday. He looks adorable and smells great. And… I’m pretty sure he’s snuggling because he’s cold. Me? I’m feelin’ my fitty.

I worked today then came home and watched “Religulous” which I found completely entertaining, thought provoking, and scary as hell. S and I decided our position is that we have our doubts; humility is, evidently, important to our survival. Booyah! Loved the scene with the ex-gay. Puhlease, buddy… You is so, so gay!

I share my birthday with Barbie. I think it’s hilarious that they’ve just come out with “Totally Stylin’ Tattoos Barbie.” Yeah, me and Barbie are having a midlife crisis. I’m thinkin’ of getting more ink myself. Yo, Barbie; you go girl! Only difference between you and me is that, in 20 years, your ink will fade but at least it won’t stretch and fall. Gah!

So, yeah; four more hours of the first half of my life. My mom told me that 50 is the new 30. I told her I relate to 34 so, for me, it’s the new 34. Not that it matters; I’ll be asleep by 9, up by 4, out the door by 6, and home by 5. It’s a grind now matter how old you are.

Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of my 100 years of lack of solitude.

Ain’t life grand?

Fitty is sooooo not owd!

What I see:

A turquoise necklace, two bottles of pink nail polish(each a different shade and manufacturer), a bottle of Bufferin aspirin, a green calculator, a cylindrical, meshed-metal pen holder holding no less than fifteen “special“ pens/pencils, three rulers, a pair of wire cutters, a metal ball with chimes inside, Pablo Neruda’s “The Captain Verses”, Hampton Sides’ “Blood and Thunder, Jeffrey Kacirk’s “The Word Museum”, two blank journals, a plaque from APS thanking me for volunteering, 10 Starbucks Vivanno coupons, a purple pen, two silver rings, one silver and tiger eye ring, a pair of turquoise earrings, four watches, a photo of G-Man, a dream catcher, a pelican feather in an odd shaped, glass vessel, an owl feather on a leather string hanging from the top shelf and held in place by a crystal owl figurine, an incense burner, a Keva Juice gift certificate, my Certified Food Safety Manager card, a silver chain with St. Anthony AND St. Christopher medals, two white dots from the hole-punch, a Guns n’ Roses CD and the soundtrack for Coyote Ugly, a bill from Comcast, a metal “Hillary” button, a metal Certified Barista button, three small screwdrivers, a grease pencil, a pad of handmade paper, a black Bic lighter, a pack of cigarettes, a Pepsi, an ashtray, a white, plastic lid that formerly went to a container for bread and it looks just like a piece of bread, one leg stabilizer-thingy for a box fan, a bottle of patchouli, three very small sand dollars, four small Moleskin books, a Moleskin address book, a checkbook, the mouse and mouse pad for my desktop, 80+ blank CD’s, 16 collectible Starbucks gift cards, three lip glosses, cable router, wireless router, two small speakers and a sub-woofer, a dolphin figurine-thingy filled with patchouli, a cedar box that has Lucille Ball adorning its cover, a pair of prescription, “Transitions” sunglasses in a hard case, a three drawer, two shelf, mesh-metal letter/stuff holder (upon which many of these other items reside), a sticker of an orange, sparkly goldfish.

What I hear:

A small autistic child, sniffling, sneezing, talking (incessantly) to himself and to the dogs, the swamp cooler fan, a door slamming, the news on the boob-tube talking about Obama, Biden, and McCain, typing (my own), a snoring dog, small, autistic child singing to himself (sounds like Miley Cyrus).

What I smell:

Something smells *wet* but I’m not sure if it’s the swamp cooler or rain outside.

What I feel:

Tired, sore, soft puppy fur on my left foot, stiff neck, tingling in my right hand, warmth on my wrists as they rest upon the laptop, slightly annoyed, hungry for something savory, to be followed by something sweet, even more annoyed as I resist, not quite happy, not quite sad, not quite sure, soft puppy fur on both of my feet as Mojo has just shifted, a paw on my leg from the snoring dog, ready to burst (blame the Pepsi), a little hot and sweaty ’cause the swamp cooler doesn’t seem to be cooling anymore(must be fixin‘ to rain), sorry for my neighbor who is, for pity’s sake, on a bender this weekend, annoyed at drunk neighbor, wanting to get up and close the front door…

What I am sure of:

Trash. Taxes. Death.

Everything else is, quite simply, a Moveable Feast.

I can’t believe how far we’ve come since our first Christmas together.  The boys seem to have grown-up so much!  This is a post from our first Christmas together and it still cracks me up.  We were still in Chicago when this took place.

Enjoy!

Kidisms; it’s a Yiddish term.
Last night we were sitting at the dinner table and talking about Christmas. We found out that the kids have been learning about the different ways people celebrate as well as all about Kwanza and Hanukkah. Now, we are a family of diversity and like the fact that they are getting such a well-rounded education. However, it seems the holidays aren’t just a blur for us ‘old folk.’ Things are blurred and melded for the little ones, too. Here are some examples:

“So, what is Hanukkah all about, you guys?”, I ask.
(They all break into song!)
“Dreidel, Dreidel, spin, spin, spin…”, they sing automatically.
(S turns to me and says, “If they start speaking Yiddish, I’ll…”)
” Chaaaggg…simchaaaaa…”
(We both crack up.)
“Mommy, are we Jewish?”, middle child asks.
“No, honey, we aren’t Jewish but we can still appreciate how other people celebrate holidays.”, I say.

“Okay, what’s Kwanza all about, you guys?”, I ask.
They look at us both and sing, “Dreidel, Dreidel, Dreidel…”
(laughing)
“No, now wait a minute, that’s for Hanukkah. What’s up with Kwanza?”, I continue.
(They are all yelling now; in competition with each other to be heard.)
“Oh, OH!!! I KNOW!! I KNOW!! IT’S ABOUT EIGHT DAYS!!”, yells middle child.
(S and I look at each other.)
“Eight days of what, honey?”, S says.
“Traditions.”, middle child says.
“Traditions of what, honey?”, S says.
(They look at each other, smile and break into song.)
“Dreidel, Dreidel, Dreidel…”

Okay, okay… I’m not even going to THINK about what they are learning in math and history. It seems they’ve been learning about these different traditions, languages, and celebrations but they are all melding into one Santa-Pot.

“Okay, so boys, what is Christmas all about?”, I ask.
“JESUS!!”, they both yell at once.

A few seconds pass and the oldest adds, “CHRIST!!”

He’s already said he was just doing this for the “halibut” and we’d given a stern look. He’s really into finding and using potential swear words in creative ways. We all look at him and he giggles and looks at us to see how we are going to react.
“Honey, let’s just use the word “Messiah”, okay?”, I say while giving him a look.
(We give him a gentle reminder to settle down.)

“Okay, boys, what about Jesus? What was going on? What’s the story?”, I say as I’m waving my hands about.
(One of them gets up declaring he is going to go get his bible.)
Both of us: “SIT DOWN.”
The answers are coming fast and furious now:
“He was born!” “It’s his birthday!” “A star was shining!” “A star was born!!”

I look at S and say, “Mommy, what really happened?”

She tells of the star that guided the wise men, the stable, the manger, Joseph (gets interrupted with, “Who’s Joseph?” which starts a completely different confusion of “father” until finally she just says, “Oh, well, he was there, too.”) Mary, the farm animals surrounding the manger…

“Mommy, what’s a manger?”
“It’s a place where animals eat their food.”
“Were they gonna eat the baby Jesus?”

Now you can see how confusing this all is to small children. Everything is so literal.

S continues, “… and the wise men brought frankincense, myrrh, and gold.”
“What’s that?”, they ask.
I pipe in with, “Gold. You know. Bling.” (laughing)
I don’t know how we got through the rest of that conversation because we were all laughing so hard.
We explained the rest of the story to them and they seemed satisfied with that with the exception of the oldest piping in with, “Was there an Ass in the stable?” (Both of them break out into a snickering laughter.) “Yes, honey…”, and I was so tempted to say, “…and one sitting at this table, too.” But, of course, I didn’t.

The oldest then yells out, “JESUS WAS A BLACK MAN!”
He goes on and on about how Jesus isn’t white and how he’s the same color as him and he points to his arms. He’s very adamant about this point.

“Well, honey, yes, Jesus was a man of color. Do you know where he was born? What town?”, I ask.

They both yell out, “GEORGIA?!”

We aren’t really sure how they managed to meld this into the conversation but it seems to stem from learning about Martin Luther King at school. Somehow, they have come to believe that all black people are from Georgia. We think this comes from King having been from Georgia. Despite our best efforts to correct this… they continue to believe it.

S breaks into song, “Oh, little town of…”
They both yell out, “BETHLEHEM!”
“Where’s Bethlehem?”, middle child asks.

“It’s in Israel.”, S continues.
“Where’s that?”, oldest chimes in.
“Just south of Georgia.”, I say.
S now gives me a stern look.
“Wha…?” (laughing)

After much conversation about the diversities of religions, different cultures, and the color of Jesus, we move on to Santa Claus.

“Do you know Santa’s real name?”, I ask.
“Frankie!”, yells the oldest. We look at him and tilt our heads.
“Teddy! Teddy Bear!!”, yells middle child. We tilt, once again.
“How about Kris, as in Kris Kringle?”, I naively say.
“I thought it was Nicholas?”, S says.
“Only if you are Swedish.”, middle child says.
“Are you Swedish?”, I ask.
“No, we are Jewish!”, he explains and begins singing, “Dreidel, Dreidel, Dreidel…”

We are back to being Jewish.

We concluded this conversation with the “meaning” of Christmas and how it’s not all about getting presents. Yeah, trying telling that to an eight and nine year old. To them, it’s ALL about getting presents. This, despite the fact that we have suddenly become Jewish, speak (sing) Yiddish, celebrate for eight days, with an Ass and bling, and some of us are the color of Jesus.

I’m not sure how much we cleared up for them but I do know one thing: the diversity, in this house alone, is enough to confuse anyone. Thankfully, we’ve got books on all of the subjects and can refer to them. No doubt, both boys will be dutifully reading their bibles while wearing colorful Kwanza clothing, singing, “Dreidel, Dreidel, Dreidel…”, and pondering the population of Georgia.

Happy Whatever You Celebrate

I’ve only ever been arrested once in my life. I know; hard to believe, right? HA! I was 19-20 years old and belonged to a group named, “Abalone Alliance.” It was an anti-nuke group and we were protesting the building and opening of Diablo Canyon Nuclear Power Plant in San Luis Obispo (technically in Avila Beach), California. We were protesting at the gates of the plant when several hundred of us were rounded-up and arrested. We were then taken to the local community college and held in the gym. I remember it well… it’s a story akin to, “This one time, at Band Camp…” because there was a concert the day before put on by Jackson Browne and Bonnie Raitt, bonfires on the beach, and lots of partyin’ goin’ on. The charges were eventually dropped and we were set free. That, at the time, pissed me off because I really wanted to be arrested for protesting. Having the charges dropped felt like it invalidated everything we were doing. I mean, c’mon, they built the second reactor backwards!

I continued to work with Abalone Alliance for a short time until I finally figured out that they were like any other group and would implode at some point. I learned about group dynamics, politics, divisiveness, and a whole bunch of hanky-panky, from a disheveled group of patchouli wearin’, dreadlock-sportin’, surfer-dude/dudettes. It was fun while it lasted.

These days, my mantra isn’t so much “No Nukes!” as it is “No Knickknacks!” Having a bunch of knickknacks cluttering the bookshelves, mantel, baker’s rack, counters, desks, cubbies, night stands, or any other available surface, is a crazy and time consuming work detail. Hello! I live in the southwest and every surface is covered n dust; daily.

If I were to dust today, you wouldn’t know I’d dusted by this same time tomorrow. It’s kind of like the argument of, “Why make the bed? I’m just going to sleep in it again.” However, if I don’t dust, it piles-up until the cobwebs, wiggling across the surface from the heater fan; begin making their own (Kenner’s!) Spirograph designs. The thought of that seems kind of cool but, really, it’s not. It’s just dusty.

The TV will have strange shadows across Gil Grissom’s face, depth were there isn’t any, and dark, soon to become 3D images, pop out at you in a very fuzzy way. That is, until one of the kids runs his finger across the screen and then you absolutely have to dust it. Here in the southwest, you have to dust the entire entertainment center including the inside walls, under the cubbies, along the perimeters. Kitty Q has climbed into the bottom cubbies, now empty because I took my stereo out, and has helped us dust a few times. Mojo will chase him into cubby, Q will sit in the far back out of Mojo’s reach (’cause his little sausage body is too big to follow), and whisk his tail, up and down, back and forth, until, Voila! Dusting is complete. At least Q is doin’ chores and helping with the housework. I can’t say the same about the other two poopers. Then Q sneezes and shakes and all of the cubby-dust is redistributed. It’s a never ending cycle.

Ah… Back in the Day! I’ve gone from “No Nukes!” to “No Knickknacks!” What, exactly, does that say about me? Well, it’s a certainty that I don’t want to be arrested, anymore. I’m sure glad I out-grew that little notion. I am, yes I am, a law abiding citizen. Unless you count the fact that I still, at times, drive and talk on my cell phone. And sometimes I drive over the speed limit but never, ever, while I’m talking on my cell phone. I still subscribe to the motto, “Safety First!”

The knickknacks I do have are of the natural variety; I have lots and lots of rocks. These dust quite easily because, well, you know, they are of the earth. However, in a few places in our house, like the kitchen and the office, the dust accumulated is definitely not “of the earth.” It’s more like, “of pork chops ‘n applesauce” or “of coffee, smokes, cat/dog dander” or “of human bondage.” Yes, we all shed; this is a fact and truth.

But, when it turns up on my TV screen, well, that’s just gross.

It is my day off and, yes, I will dust The Piggies, the rocks, and all shelves but I will not go anywhere near that Creepy Barbie. She is accumulating cobwebs, as I type, but I refuse to vacuum her. Speaking of vacuums; we have a Dyson. I love that Dyson (although we paid much more for it, at the time. Gah!) It is really amazing. I could vacuum all day and all night, over ever surface in the house, two or three or ten times, and it would still have a compartment full of… Dust.

I live in the southwest. It is now my personal mission to eradicate all dust from the house. This is a futile mission but one that does not cause me to be arrested; yet. You’ve heard of “The Twinkie Defense”, right? Well, I’m workin’ on “The Dust Defense” because all this dusting is making me crazy, and so much more. You see, I’m working on the house while S works from home and all the while I’m having to listen to her tell me all about her geeky, code-stuff. She proofed this post for me and I had to “humor” her and take a look at her code. Again, way too much (Kenner’s!) Spirograph stuff for me!

The words of the day are, “Bless You!” Because, all of this dust, also makes you sneeze. Envision, if you will, me, still in my robe and yesterday’s clothes, sporting an unusually spiked bed-head, listening to Bonnie Raitt, smelling slightly of patchouli and mocha mix, running around the house with a rag and Windex (‘cause Windex cures all), sneezing, dusting, and swearing.

Oh! How far I’ve come! Methinks I protest too much!

“Bless You!”

I switched over the swamp coolers today. That’s plural because I did my mom’s and then did ours. Hers was a cinch but ours is proving a bit more problematic. First of all, I fell off the damned ladder. Not exactly fall-fall, more like slipped, slid, fell, scrambled, scraped, lunged, jumped… scraping myself along the shed… all the way down to the ground. I’d stepped on the roof-edge of our plastic shed and a piece popped off causing my foot to dangle and the need for a quick grab of the ladder. I then fell, just a little at a time, along the torn and jagged side of the shed. Scraped my entire right side, I did, and now have a funky-lookin’ “road-rash” along my right elbow. Stings like the Dickens! I guess it could have been worse and I should be thanking my lucky stars that I didn’t actually fall… but, sheesh! This ooouie hurts!

Then the pilot on the furnace wouldn’t light. It’s electronic and I can’t figure it out. Everything is on… but it’s not firing-up. Bother! I am currently airing out the garage in an attempt to get all of the errant gas to fly away. I’ll try again later and hope I don’t blow myself up in the process. I’m not EVEN going to attempt to light the fireplace pilot light. I mean, really, I’m not that blonde!

Lulu has figured out how to open doors. She can open any internal door (jumps up and grabs it with her paws) and can push the sliding doors and come and go, inside/outside, as she pleases. Usually it’s more her letting herself in when we have purposely put her out. S and I couldn’t figure out what was going on, at first, until we saw her do it. This, of course, means we will occasionally find doors that are wide-open and every half-alive-hanger-on fly has come into the house. The place is abuzz. Mojo thinks this is just wonderful while I think I’d like to kill our smarty-farty dog. You know, when I first got Lulu, she was such a ding-dong-spazz-puppy. She’s still a ding-dong-spazz-dog but she’s smartened-up just a bit too much for my liking. Although she is a great judge of people… that comes in handy sometimes. Now we are chasing after both dogs and kids to SHUT THE DAMNED DOOR! Born in a barn; all of ‘em.

Our street will be closed tomorrow and we won’t be able to get in or out with our cars. I’m thinking this is a good enough reason to call in “busy” to work. I actually had an employee call in busy once. The next time he tried to come in to work his shift, I suggested he start making money at being “busy” ’cause he no longer worked for me. Now, why did that make him mad? Because, well, he was a dumbass and thought his life business/busy-ness was more important than anyone else’s and we should have accommodated him. I did accommodate him; I showed him to the door.

When I lived/worked in California, I had a young man tell me that he skipped coming in to work because there was a hurricane in Hawaii. I couldn’t figure out what he was talking about until he said he just “had to get out on the waves, dude!” I told him I hoped he was a great surfer and could make money at it because, yep, you guessed it; he no longer worked for me. Harsh? Oh, hell no! Just another simple Life Choice. Glad I could accommodate those with a lack of Life Choice skills but why do I even have to do that? Everything is my fault. Pffttt… I don’t think so. But, then, I’m not a professional surfer. Wish I was…

Methinks I best figure out where I can park my truck and make sure S is on shoe patrol after school tomorrow. I wonder what the bus driver will do when she attempts to pick-up/drop off the kids. How much you wanna bet she simply drives over it, anyway? Ten bucks says she does. The warning notice told us that tar and asphalt will not come out of clothing or carpet. They went to great lengths to tell us this information which I’m guessing covers their butts if someone is actually dumb enough to walk on the wet asphalt and then walk into their home. I’m more worried about my shoes. Hey! I paid big bucks for these Docs!

It’s dry-sneezing season in Albuquerque. I sneezed 32 times this morning. I counted… I blew my nose as many times. What’s up with that? And then I went to my mom’s house and sneezed some more. We are also back to zapping each other any time we kiss, touch, or grab a doorknob. If only the electric ignition in the furnace was so prolific…

Time for Mojo’s bath… he’s been a terrific lil’ Swiffer but it’s time to shake out the mop. Remind me again… why did we get a white dog?

It is green chile’ season. The air, dry though it is, smells wonderful.

It’s also Balloon Fiesta. A woman died yesterday when the balloon she was riding in got caught in some electrical wires and tore the basket… causing her to fall 60 feet to her death. The other three women in the gondola were injured and, wow, what an awful thing to have your friend die, right in front of your eyes, while you are wondering if you are about to suffer the same fate. My condolences to everyone… there were lots of witnesses and everyone was totally freaked out. Very tragic… These women were in their late fifties, early sixties, and on vacation from California. Geez.

This morning there were four, count ‘em, FOUR balloon accidents. I really don’t understand why we have the Balloon Fiesta in the first part of October. It’s a traditionally windy time of year and wind is not a balloonist’s friend. Accidents aside, it has been wonderful to see all of the balloons filling the skies. The traffic from this event is horrid. They expect over 900, 000 people to attend the Balloon Fiesta this year. They are all on the roads, gawking/looking-up, at the same time I’m trying to drive to work. Usually, it only takes me 15 minutes to get to work at 4:30 in the morning. Not so, this time of year. Eh. I guess you take the good with the bad.

The trees are starting to turn on the Bosque. It’s goigeous!

The kids are acting up. I just got a call from D-Man’s teacher. He refused to get on the bus after school and, during P.E., called another little boy a “Bitch.” Now, this is not a word we use in our house (but we do, I ashamedly admit, use lots of others!) and when he says the word, “Fish”, it sometimes sounds like, “Bitch.” However, his teacher told me it was said in anger. *sigh* Fish Bitch, whatever, it was said in anger so it all has the same meaning. And… He snuck his cars to school again. I had to go pick him up. When we got home I made him throw all of his cars in the trash. It was most traumatic. If this was the first time… well, it wasn’t. It was the umpteenth time and today he learned the real consequences. Oddly, I’m his new BFF… I think it’s because he had to sit on his bed and watch his older brothers get in trouble for their antics.

The other two boys have been on a lying jag. We found candy wrappers in their room. We found wet toilet paper blobs slogged to the ceiling (aka spitballs.) Oldest took his “bling” to school today. That’s against the rules. He had it taken from him on the bus. One boy threw his pencil at him as they were fighting over the bling. Oldest took the pencil and poked it into the bus seat and tried to blame it on the other kid. They wrestled, oldest got his bling back, and then everyone on the bus told on him for puncturing the seat. The bus driver told us we would have to pay for the seat to be fixed.

I could kill them all. However, I know why they are doing this. They just found out that Mr. Patrick and Miss Veronica (our neighbors with their BFF neighbor kids and too many dogs) are going to get a divorce. They’ve been freaking out about it since Saturday. I had to have long talks about why people don’t stay in relationships and why they do stay in relationships. I also had to go back over all of that crap about their dad which still hurts and haunts them. Ergo yon stupefactions of acting-out processes. I really hate that I have to, in some ways, defend their dad. But I want them to know there is such a thing as a healthy relationship. Also, I refuse to run someone down when that person does this through their own actions quite well.

So, we’ve got bling, spitballs, Fish-Bitches, cars in trash, blistered-for-lying-butts, and a vinyl bus seat that will need to be repaired for, I don’t know how much money. Yeah; all in a day’s work.

Kids, I love ‘em.

Charbroiled.

By the way… I got the furnace to light. Just in time for a BBQ… Muahahahaha!

I woke up and immediately asked for coffee. Then I was told that I was a blanket-hog all night. Yes, there is a chill in the air… it was only 53 degrees when I woke up this morning. This caused the boys to sleep longer than usual. Each of them was wrapped tight in their little blanket-burritos and didn’t want to greet the morning air. They all complained of being “cold.”

How far we’ve come from our definition of cold and haughty, nanner-nanner‘s back at our Midwestern friends. If we’d still been in Chicago, we would have described the morning as “balmy” or “lovely” in comparison. However, I checked my favorite weather website and saw that it was 67 degrees in Chicago. What’s up with THAT?

This weather definitely energizes the dogs. They are up and at ‘em in the morning and itchin’ to get out of the house. Maybe that’s because the neighbor’s dogs have been up and at ‘em since 4 in the morning, braying and baying at anything that moves. This includes the wind, a leaf on a tree, and each other’s wagging tails. That cute little puppy that my neighbor got a couple of months ago is now a huge, lanky, howling-hound-dog. I know exactly what time they get up, get home, go to bed, and leave for the day. There’s no order to that; I know. That’s because I’m annoyed no matter what time it is.

I’m calling the city today. You know, I hate to be the asshole neighbor and call about the stench of too many dogs and someone not bothering to clean their yard, take out their garbage, feeding and watering (They are back to using the huge, half barrel, mosquito incubator for water and it‘s green and gross and, oh, those poor dogs!) their dogs… but I’ve had enough. There are also the people across the street that park their boat on the street and then park in front of my house. I can barely get out of my own driveway.

Yeah, like I’m the asshole neighbor… But I’m sick of it and will now stand up for my legal rights ’cause talking to them in a civil manner hasn’t done a damned thing. *sigh*

Otherwise, S and I are planning our escape. We have most of the day to ourselves and, if we can decide where to go, we are GOING! We haven’t had any time to ourselves because of our schedules and the kids and the dogs and our work and the house and the cars and the non-existent-grass-in-both-the-front-and-back-yards. (‘Cause grass is such a concern… don’t ya know!)

I’m thinking we should head north (and never look back) and see if the Aspens are turning yet. It’s been cool enough and, well, it is breathtaking in New Mexico this time of year. I’d be happy with a carne adovada burrito, some papitas y frijoles, a hot, sticky, honey-filled sopapilla, and a nice cuppa coffee. So, S is going to have to drive… hahahaha! But that defeats the purpose of time alone together because then she can’t take photos out the window while I scream along the back roads at 75 MPH. Hands must always be in the 10-2 position when she’s shooting out the window.

Maybe we should just pack up some PB&J sammiches and hit the road, sans camera, sans kids, sans dogs, sans sanity.

Spontaneity is the burrito of life. Unless it’s a blanket-burrito and then we call that a “JammyDay.”

Whatever works.

Man, that title is almost a full sentence!

 But, really, do you ever catch someone doing something and stand there, gawking, wondering why they are doing what they are doing?  I do.

I saw a guy today… he’s a construction worker at the mall/strip center where I work… and there he was, hangin’ out behind the bushes, waitin’ for his buddy’s to turn the truck around and drive the little front-loader-dealio through the rocks, and he decides to have a pee.  I’m standing right there lookin’ at him and he decides it’s just too much to walk around the corner and go into any of the 30, or so stores, and use the restroom.  Nope; not him. He then turned around, zipped-up, wiped his hands on his pants, and… smiled at me.  ::shiver::  ::shudder:: 

I gave him a dirty look and blew smoke outta my nose like I was some kind of fire breathing, judgmental, middle-aged, creeped out woman.  He just went about his day as if none of that had any effect on him, whatsoever.

God, if it was me, I’d want to go use the bathroom just because of the air conditioning.  And I’d wash my hands. 

 For.  God’s.  Sake.

Then there was this woman…

I was watching her through the window while I was at work.  She was sitting at an outside table, feet up on her chair, all curled up under herself, and leaning over while picking at her food.  She was carefully picking out the tomatoes and would then wag the slippery, mayo-covered veggie (I guess it’s technically a fruit.) in front of her dog’s nose.  She never once let the dog have a bite.  If that isn’t animal cruelty, I don’t know what is!  Why in the world would you sit there and entertain yourself by teasing your dog?  Gah!  Someday that Chihuahau is gonna turn on you, lady, and it ain’t gonna be pretty!

So… I’m sittin’ there tryin’ to eat my lunch…

At a small restaurant today, one of the other customers was sitting at a table, by himself, having a cuppa and reading the paper.  He was so absorbed in what he was reading that I guess he forgot where he was for a minute there.  He started picking his nose and… okay, it makes me gulp and erp to think about it so, I’ll just let you use your imagination as to what he was doing with his nose and whatnot… and then he looked up and saw me see him… and his face got really red and I suddenly had something else to do and somewhere else to go.  And twenty minutes later… he was my customer.  I know he saw something in my eyes… that said… “Geez, buddy.”  How embarrasskin!  But, you know, I think to myself; hey, what are ya doin’ that kinda thing out in public for, anyway?  Yack!

On my drive home today…

Some guy pulled off I-25 onto westbound I-40 and then pulled right in front of me.  There were no other cars in sight.  Then… he flipped me off.  WTF?  I was going 70 MPH and the guy decided to pull in front of me… doing about 55… and then he flipped me off.  What is up with that, people?

So, this afternoon…

I was mad at myself because I left my APS stuff at work which means I have to get up early, go to work, get my stuff, come back home, and then finish making a bunch of phone calls.  Doh!  Idioto!  Anyway… my neighbor decided to stop by because she needed my help with some APS thing she was dealing with and had no idea what to do.  Okay; I can do that even though I’m pretty annoyed at myself and not getting over it anytime soon.  So, she starts out by telling me that she’s going to yank her 8th grader daughter out of her middle school and put her into a charter school and what can I recommend?  Well, hell if I know… So, I asked her why she was yanking her out.  She said that her daughter was failing and needed a smaller school.  Well, I went through a series of questions with her and it went something like this:

“Have you spoken to her teachers?”

“No, I don’t like that school.”

“How did you find out that your daughter is ‘failing’ and when did this all happen?”

“Her teachers called me today.  She hasn’t made up any of her work from when she was sick.  My daughter won’t talk to me.”

“Well, I suggest you speak with her teachers, maybe even the school counselor and the assistant principal, to try to get to the bottom of what’s really going on.  If she’s not talking to you, something is up.”

“I know what’s going on… she’s hormonal and having a hard time and we didn’t have this problem when we lived in Santa Fe.  I think we should just pack it up and move back to Santa Fe.”

So, I’m getting to the bottom of it and finding that the real problem is that my neighbor doesn’t want to be here anymore, doesn’t like the school, doesn’t make her daughter (who is 14, by the way) actually go to school, and… well, now she doesn’t want to listen to me either.

Why do people do that?  I guess they just want you to go along with them because, inside, they know they are doing something wonky and want someone to validate their decision/choice.  Why me, people?  Why do they ask me these rhetorical questions and then get mad at me when I give them an answer?  Sheesh!  I realize that I’ve been doing a lot of APS stuff and she probably thought I would just magically pull the name of a faboo Charter school outta my kazoo but, really, that wasn’t the real bottom line, was it?  Nope.

Sometimes I just cannot figure out why people do the things they do.  What’s really weird is… I always notice the weird, wonky stuff.  I’m always the one who says, “OMG!  Did you SEE that?”  And, of course, it is rare when anyone else notices this weird stuff.  Except S.  She gets it, too.  But she never says anything about it because, unlike me, she just can’t be bothered.

I guess that’s the price you pay for being nosey.

Today was a bothersome day.  My own fault, I guess.  I. Just. Can’t. Bring. Myself. To. Look. Away.

*sigh*

I have to admit that I laughed about all of this… once I got over myself.

Do ya ever just have that kind of day?  I’m havin’ that kind of life…