Whiffs and Tiddles of Flotsum on a Sea of Sandy Dreams

Tags

journalism, life in New Mexico, main stream media, New Mexico

We  began to wonder the other day just exactly what this symbol on the flag of New Mexico stands for. As is often the case, there is a story behind the emblem which is interesting.

One thing leads to another and I became immersed in the history of this state.

As you may or may not know, New Mexico was settled first by Native peoples, mostly Navajo, Apache and Ute. It was claimed as part of the Spanish Empire. It was not named New Mexico after the country of Mexico, but by early Spanish Conquistadors who, coming north from Mexica (the Aztec Empire) thought to find gold there, and called it such meaning the New Aztec Empire. This was back in 1563, long before the English had entered upon the Eastern Coast of North America

Later, it was claimed by the new country of Mexico, in the 1860’s, then a US territory, and finally a state in 1912.

Our state has the highest percentage of Hispanics of any state in the Union, and the second highest native population.

All of this bears intimately on our flag.

The colors red and yellow are in honor of Queen Isabella of Castile, the colors brought to this continent by the conquistadors. The symbol in the center is a sun symbol, and relates to the Zia pueblo where such insignias were found on pottery by archeologists.

It’s rays reaching out in four directions refer to the four directions on the compass, the four seasons of the year, by the four divisions of the 24-hour day, sunrise, noon, evening, night, and in the four seasons of life,  childhood, youth, adulthood and old age.

The Zia believed that life contained four obligations:

1. The development of a strong body,
2. The development of a strong mind.
3. The development of a pure spirit.
4. The devotion to family and people.

The pledge to the flag of New Mexico is telling of how we are as a people here:

“I salute the flag of the state of New Mexico, the Zia symbol of perfect friendship among united cultures.”

“Saludo la bandera del estado de Nuevo Mejico, el simbolo zia de amistad perfecta, entre culturas unidas.”

You see, of all of the American Southwest, only New Mexico was not found to be “valuable” from an Anglo point of view. Thus New Mexico escaped much of the animosity and warring that occurred as Anglos sought to take away lands from Hispanics who had held these lands for generations in places like California, Arizona and Texas.

We have always been a place where a melding of cultures has been accepted as being right and proper. While not officially bilingual, the state did adopt the English Plus approach which encourages the teaching of other languages. A Navajo textbook is used in the state. Jurors are not disqualified by speaking Spanish only.

While border problems have not been unknown historically, it is seldom if never that one reads of any problem in the local Las Cruces newspaper or hears about problems on the local news. Being only 40 miles from the border, surely we would be hearing about it if such issues were occurring regularly.

Given that the two cultures are so incredibly intertwined and have been for ever, I think the average New Mexican looks upon all the craziness of places like Alabama and Iowa and their screaming about “border security” with a bit of bemusement and no little anger.

Well, enough of that. This is not a history lesson on the State of New Mexico. It’s just interesting to see how one similarly-placed state sees the whole issue of amnesty and immigration in an entirely different way than do significant portions of the Republican party at least.

I’d sure like to hear about interesting factoids about your state or country. Please do tell.

On the other hand, we’ve decided we are through with most media news. We started with ABC, gave up in disgust, went to NBC, then CBS and then remained with PBS. Now we are through with it too. For some reason journalists think their job is to “give both sides” and leave it at that. No investigation as to undeniable facts, no push back on broad but unsupported allegations, just a nod and on to the next question on the list.

The trouble is, we are living in a time of stark differences. There are not often “two sides” rather there is a side supported by evidence and a side supported by wishful thinking. Some of this permeates both sides of the spectrum of left-right, but more often than not, the wild-eyed incredulous nonsense emanates from one side only.

Fox has successfully ranted about the “liberal” media (which is not supported by facts) and the mainstream media has out of fear of the label, decided the best course is to simply let both sides spout as they wish. Yes the mainstream media is probably composed of more liberals than conservatives, but it remains the case that the overarching ownership of most mainstream media remains in corporate hands who by and large are essentially conservative. The fact is that the journalism (if you can call it that) is not at liberty to do as they wish, but are supervised by larger corporate interests.

So the mainstream has caved to a charge not born out, and is essentially worthless in my opinion. To the vast majority of citizens, giving them both sides is akin to giving them nothing at all. They are not, like myself and those who are passionate, going to investigate and research to find if one side is vastly better in truth-telling than the other. So they do whatever they do in choosing between what they see as two  equal sides. This is what you hear when people claim that the “entire Congress” is useless. They see both sides the same.

So, we have moved to BBC-America, which gives no more than one item on the US and the rest international. Since we don’t get Al Jazeerra in our cable package, this is the best we can do. Frankly both the Contrarian and I read all the national news over the Internet already, so we aren’t missing much.

Oh, and if anybody has forsworn cable in favor of other options, Amazon, Netflix, Hulu, please do tell. We lost ABC for 3 weeks over some dispute, picked up our favorite shows online, and with a cable moved them to our TV, so we got the idea we might be able to find almost all of what we watch and save a bundle. Most prices for non-cable are around $80 a year vs. $80/month for a barebones cable package. Weigh in on any info you can offer please.

That’s it for me today. Happy Boo day.

 

 

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I Admit It. I’m Truly a Jinx

Tags

Humor, life in the foothills, New Mexico, Sports

I was a child of merely seven. I can’t tell you that I KNOW I watched the Lions beat the Bears that fateful day, December 29, 1957, but I KNOW I did.

Of course Lions “fans”, that rarefied animal that looks a bit like this,

may be something that is hard to find anymore. Most, I suspect have given up. Patience is one thing, but fifty-six years?

When I married the Contrarian, he was aware of course that I came from the land of pussy cats. Being a Packer fan, he took pity on me and mine. Whereas he saved his best invectives (and they were some doozies I gotta say) for the Bears and he Vikings, he smiled softly upon the hapless Felines and referred to them as the “little brothers”. He dutifully cheered on their lackluster performances again and again as they attempted to bloody the nose of various teams, and gave a loving pat on the head to me when they were trounced by the Gods, otherwise known as Green Bay.

We were neither of us baseball fans. You may remember that the Detroit Tigers were not quite so hapless, scoring victories in 1968 and in 1984. The last, I celebrated in the very city of Detroit after watching each of the games.

I had been at one time a Detroit Piston fan, and attended a fair number of those games through the years, especially during the Thomas, years, when they repeated to our delight and the streets were full of cheering fans. But upon leaving Detroit, and that team disbanding as all teams must, I lost interest.

I had as well been a  hockey fan, first with the Boston Bruins and that magnificent team under the leadership of Bobby Orr. I had of course seen a number of local RedWing games at the Arenas, but old and new. I had finally come around to enjoying a RedWing game, now and then, especially during the playoffs.

The Contrarian was neither a basketball fan (preferring college hoops) nor a hockey fan, likening a hockey score to the likelihood of spotting a blue footed boobie on the outskirts of Troy during hunting season. Scoring was rare and all that skating back and forth seemed only for the purpose of hurling into another human being at breakneck speed, all of which induced anger and a fist fight.

It took a long time for it to sink in however, that I had committed some terrible sin when it came to Detroit teams by leaving the state. For I did you see, back in 1996, first to Connecticut, then to Iowa and now to New Mexico.  Leave that is. While I have experienced a great deal in living in other parts of the country, places were I learned so much about history and culture from very different perspectives that what I had gown up with, I was plagued it seemed by always landing in states without professional sports teams.

So, I adopted sometimes another, or I ignored the sport more or less. I was a Houston Oiler fan long ago, before being a Texas fan of anything seemed slightly off-putting. I was a Denver fan for a bit. But nothing much settled in, and I was okay with that. I preferred Tennis and Soccer to professional baseball or basketball in any case. All that scandal and money seemed to take the fun from the sport and make it into an “entertainment” spectacle replete with too many characters acting too badly.

So, back to the jinx thing.

Well, even though one has fairly “given” up on being a true fan, doesn’t mean that one never wants to see said sport played ever again. So if there was a place to watch, it did seem it should be at the end of the season when everyone gets excited about who will win the big enchilada.

And that’s when it started happening.

You see, last year, when the Redwings, I lately learned were in the playoffs, we decided to take a look. They were up 3-1 in the series and still at home, a fitting place to win out the fourth game and the divisional championship. So we watched, and they scored and all was well until the third period when the other team scored (who? can’t remember, doesn’t really matter). And then they went into overtime, and they lost. And then they went on and never won another game. And that was that for that season.

And I realized that the MSU Spartans had a very bad habit of losing whenever I watched them. And March Madness never went too well for them either when I watched. Nor for that matter the UCONN Huskies, my second favorite college team. And the most hated team in the entire universe, The FREAKIN’ UNIVERSITY OF CRAP MICHIGAN did seem to win when I watched, which was watched by the way, ONLY to root for the other team. And if you don’t understand that, well I can only say you have never attended a major university that has an intense interstate rivalry that will stay with you in the form of abject hatred for the rest of your very long and otherwise coherent life.

But I figured, hey just a coincidence.

Oh, and I never thought anything of the fact that NMSU our very local university here in Las Cruces, has the WORST teams on the face of mother earth. I mean the AGGIES stink up the entire foothills with their pretense of playing football or basketball, and it really seems doubtful that few of the players know which one they are playing at any given time. As far as I can tell, they have always sucked, so it’s not on me for sure.

Yeah, so last night we watched the Detroit Tigers play the Boston Red Sox, because hey, it seemed like a good thing as the ONLY game I had seen all season, since the season was rapidly ending. So the Tigers won the first game, which is hey, really cool, since they were in Boston, and everyone knows that’s great. So we watch as I said, and low and behold we see another incredible pitching exposition, even though that can be boring as watching the proverbial paint dry. And the Tigers score, and then in the 6th score FOUR more, and they are cruising to victory and the pitcher is relieved to rest, having done his job. Well, before you can say, I DON’T FREAKIN’ BELIEVE IT, in the eighth, the coach which for some idiotic reason is called a manager, can’t manage to find a single solitary reliever who can throw a strike that the other team can’t hit, and after three tries MANAGES them five runs, and the score is tied.

And then in the 9th, there is a single, then a continuation of screwups that make it clear that the mafia fix was in, and they were throwing the game, because NOBODY could play that freakin’ bad so suddenly, and the Bostonians score again and win the game.

So of course it’s really really clear I am a jinx.

Obviously.

And I guess I’m responsible for the Detroit Lions too. Even though, mostly I blame that idiot Ford for owning them. Which is another whole story best left unsaid at this point.

So I wish the Tigers well, but I won’t watch in the hopes that they can snatch victory from those incredibly hairy men. Who told them that it would look really cool to grow scraggly beards anyhow?

 

 

Adventures in Coyotes

Tags

Diego, life in the foothills, New Mexico

Here in the high desert of New Mexico, it’s not uncommon to see coyotes. They come down from the mountains in search of water and food.

Since they will eat almost anything, if you come upon places with small holes dug, just a few inches by a few inches, you can be pretty sure it was a coyote digging up some large bug, scorpions perhaps.

I don’t know how they fare with jack rabbits who to my mind are rather quick fellows, so much so that Diego pretty much gives them a passing glance and plods on, oblivious to their enticing “eyes” as they bound away.

In any event, we’ve seen a few, coyotes that is,  in our travels through the Chihuahuan desert on our morning jaunts. Usually one vision of Diego, and they skedaddle. Coyotes are fairly small, tall but quite thin, no match for the hulk that has become Diego the Dog.

We were on leg two of our trip (there are six in all), heading due south along a dirt “road” fenced to our left. The mountains loom east along that line north to south and a scattered housing area peppers the area. All manner of houses, from manufactured, to double wides, and everything between dot the landscape at intervals about two to three times the size of the average urban lot.

One can see a horse, a goat, and certainly hear a lot of roosters along that southerly walk, as well as plenty of dogs barking. As Diego and I moved along our trail, I heard an unusual sound, a woman yelling quite aggressively: “Get out of here!” I smiled and looked up the winding dirt expecting to see a coyote pop forth momentarily.

Such never happened, though the woman repeated her order a good six more times. This led me to believe it was probably a dog searching a garbage can, since coyotes fairly move on when they see a human. I’ve had the creepy experience of finding a “body” bag (read rolled up tarp) along our western edge walk some months ago. Inside were the rather odoriferous remains of a coyote. Such animals are not appreciated around the rabbit and hen coops that litter those makeshift neighborhoods. Coyotes are wary of humans as a result.

Diego and I completed leg three and then four of our sojourn, turning on the “diagonal road” that takes us north and west back, back to our own subdivision. We were still a good three-quarters of a mile from home, and I was, as is my usual bent, engrossed in the magnificence of my own mind. Read, thinking about something or other.

Periodically, I look up to find Diego, who likes to wander off-road, following his nose. It’s enjoyable to watch as he gets further and further west, and sometimes goes back south, only to stop suddenly, and in a panic search the horizon for me. Sometimes a good block away and with the sun just breaking over the Organs, he cannot see me even though I wave my arms in the universal sign of “here I am” all the while saying those very words.  He follows his ears, in a slow meandering sort of way, and by the time we complete leg five, he usually has popped out on the service road a bit in front of me.

Well, this time was a bit different. I looked up to find the boy and saw him straight away, but I saw something else! Not a hundred feet to the west of him was a coyote, stopped and watching him. I’m not sure if Diego saw it at that moment, but when I yelled, it saw me, let out a low growl, and Diego saw it.

Diego trotted forth toward it, it trotted away. Diego trotted more, and I yelled more. No amount of “Diego, COME” seemed to register, and finally I was left with an authoritative “NO!” which did seem to get his attention. The coyote stopped as well. Diego barked several times, and the coyote uncharacteristically did not high-tail it for Arizona. Instead it held it’s ground.

The boy returned to me and I clipped on a lead, while the coyote eyed us both. “tough morning old man?” I queried. Oddly, he did not answer, but continued to stare. I stood there, some perhaps 50 yards or so away, and chatted on. “It’s really not a good idea to mess with people and their pets. A friend of yours paid the price, a bit yonder over there, you know.” He turned, and walked a few paces.

He seemed somewhat curious, not particularly fearful, and fairly subdued. I thought perhaps he was just tired of avoiding that woman with her broom. We walked on, and eventually I saw him sauntering west. As soon as I couldn’t see him any longer among the mesquite, I let the boy off his lead and he continued his interesting game of “follow my nose”.

A few weeks earlier, a neighbor was out walking her dog, her dog being a good friend of Diego’s but a very small dog, more like a Jack Terrier. She asked if I had seen any coyotes and I replied that I had seen several. She mentioned that one had “followed her and Poquito quite a ways the day before.

I didn’t point out that it was eyeing Poquito as a potential lunch undoubtedly and hoping for the degree of separation between her and the dog to get a good running shot. It’s a very good reason to keep a small dog leashed in the desert.

Such a thought never crosses my mind with the boy. He more resembles a small black bear than a dog. No coyote would be dumb enough to try.

It’s funny though. Diego was respectfully interested in the coyote. Not afraid, just cautious. He seemed downright silly scared of the turtle we encountered earlier this week.

Go figure.

Tales from the desert, signing off.

PS: if you were expecting some sage wisdom from all this, none was intended. Just a story.

Scrambled Brains

Tags

life in the foothills, lifestyle, New Mexico, psychology

Sooooo, whatcha reading?

I have a good reason for asking.

Reading could be dangerous.

It could scramble your brains.

I know.

I happened to me.

Yes, yes, you always want me to explain.

So, I used to be a one-book person. One at a time that is. I picked up a book, I read it, I moved on.

Sometime a decade or so ago, I became a multiple reader. I read several books at one time. It’s a thing I share with my love, Johnny Depp.

Sometimes I read three books, sometimes only two. At the moment I’m reading two seriously–Autobiography of a Yogi and The Righteous Mind. Now, you may ask, so what? And I would too, but for the fact that suddenly it occurred to me that my subconscious was at work here.

A subconscious is a terrible thing to waste, as plenty of people have learned to their eternal damnation, so I began to think about what my subconscious was trying to impart to me, conscious me, consciously thinking of me.

Hence, the scrambling of brains, which is almost sure to ensue during such an examination. So I can but caution you to make sure you are drinking a cup of coffee and have your ankles crossed when you proceed to such an undertaking.

If you are now thoroughly confused, well you should be, since my subconscious is a place only those with the strongest constitutions should venture into without fireproof clothing at a minimum.

So the Autobiography of a Yogi is what is known as a “spiritual classic” detailing the life and journey of Paramahansa Yogananda and his adventures in God-realization. Without going into any detail, one can know that Eastern religious traditions are very big on the idea of discarding the emotional ties to the here and now in favor of joining with the Oneness of God, however that is defined. In other words, one avoids emotional elements such as hatred, sadness, fear, worry, and so forth, and recognizes that “good” emotions are also to be kept in context, i.e., temporary and arbitrary.

These ideas are not unknown in the Western world either of course. Plenty of Christian saints did in fact testify to the “emptying of self” as the means of joining with God. Meditation, often called centering prayer, attempts to do this in much the same way that Eastern meditation does, most often by concentration on the breath and a cessation of “thinking” in the normal sense.

I finally broke down and ordered Jonathan Haidt’s latest book, The Righteous Mind. A social psychologist, Professor Haidt got interested in why we remain such a divided people and discovered some rather amazing things along the way. Basically he determined that the human mind is not a logic center, nor is it dedicated to the pursuit of ultimate truth. This holds true, by the way, whether one is above average in IQ or highly educated. We are essentially creatures of intuition. We make “gut” decisions constantly, and use our brains to justify those decisions to others, and of course ourselves. We all like to think we are smart.

To a fairly equal degree, liberals and conservatives, deciding on little information, decide what we want to be true, and then assimilate to a greater or lesser degree, the evidence to support that conclusion. This is not to say that the rational brain can’t change our mind, or that others can’t either, but it is damn hard to accomplish and works only under similarly arbitrary circumstances; liking the bearer of different news encourages us to accept it for instance.

We all know this to a degree. It is the basis of Madison Avenue. Humans are malleable creatures given to emotional whim. The Republican Party became expert at this sort of thing. Here’s an example:

1. The Democrats’ solution to the problem is more taxes.
2. The Democratic solution to the problem is more taxes.
3. The Democrat solution to the problem is more taxes.

Which of these sounds “better” to you. More fair? More pejorative? Which one makes you uneasy, or uncharitable?

The word Democrat, used as a singular word for a group, sounds harsh, and emphasizes the harsh T sound and also emphasizes “rat”.  The Democrats’ solution, sounds normal, and proper plural for a group position. Democratic, sounds, of course “fair”. The GOP has schooled itself into using number three as its normal course of speech, because they know how it affects the subliminal mind. Pure marketing trick.

The book about Paramahansa Yogananda is soothing and joyful. It is amazing to look at a culture who take “miracles” for granted, and boldly claim that Yogis commonly read minds, can see the future, cure illness, and can affect the material world as easily as breathing. They defy gravity, make things appear and disappear, and all manner of things that the Western mind does not see as possible certainly today.

It’s hard not to conclude that such a life, devoid of pesky human emotions, especially those that inhibit us is bad. It’s so good. Material desires vanish, as do worries and concerns about our lives. We live in bliss, aware that this life is a vehicle to use, not a destination.

The other, informs me, much to my dismay, that I am not a rational creature, motivated by a desire for truth, but rather, just a step above the average animal to which I am related–making a snap judgment–go toward it, back away–and only having the added ability to “justify” my choice to others. How depressing is that?

I’m not sure where all this leads. I’m just relating the strangeness of these two ways of looking at the human mind. It’s all quite scrambled to me at the moment. It suggests however, that if you are a multiple reader, you might from time to time, ask yourself–what is my subconscious mind asking me to address?

Mine has something in mind about my wandering in the desert–I’m searching for some meaning no doubt, some oasis of security. Or maybe I’m just weird.

Weigh in. If you dare. If you can make heads or tails of all this.

Related articles

• How to Develop Inner Certainty (meboucherblog.wordpress.com)
• Your Mind Utilizes the Placebo Effect (meboucherblog.wordpress.com)
• Scientists identify emotions based on brain activity (scooprocket.com)
• Overcoming Your Negativity Bias (dealbook.nytimes.com)
• The Righteous Mind: Why Good People are Divided by Politics and Religion ~ Jonathan Haidt [updated May 28, 2013] (planetizen1network.wordpress.com)

The Cutlery Wars

Tags

Humor, life in the foothills, New Mexico, The Contrarian

I really need your help.

Seriously.

I trust you.

I am married to the Contrarian, and that places a special burden upon me as a woman, nay, as a human. I am stressed daily, nay, minute by minute with entanglement in a world that is simply not normal.

This is a world where up can sometimes be sideways, and out is almost always inside out. I have adapted over the years, and can carry off this feat quite well now, few strangers would ever guess that my mind is so twisted with incongruity.

So, why I need you?

Well how do you deal with the cutlery wars in your house? I’m utterly stymied by this family dilemma and look as I may, have been unable to find a good self-help book on the subject. I can but assume that there is some childhood training that I totally missed. I’m the only one on the planet who seems unable to fathom how to deal with this obvious problem.

You have no idea what I’m talking about?

Surely you jest.

You seriously don’t?

Ahhh, well it’s not me then?

Let me explain then.

Our happy home is utterly disturbed on a regular basis by the digging about in the drawer reserved for all things called “eating utensils.” I mean digging. As in pushing aside, throwing spoons into the knives, pawing to the bottom, cursing, growling, and pointed periodical statements such as “where are all the decent spoons in this house?”

Let me back up a bit.

I did not learn of this issue during the early time of our courtship. All those e-mails, phone conversations, leading up to our meeting in February of 1999, gave no clue that forks would come to divide us. Even during the whirlwind weeks of co-habiting, nary a clue could be garnered by the romantic food interludes we enjoyed.

As with all secret nut cases, my husband kept all these things hidden until the ring was squarely implanted on the third finger left hand.

And then it began.

The complaints.

The whining.

“Why don’t we have any decent forks?” he mewed.

“These spoons are the wrong shape!” he exclaimed.

I looked at them each time. Fork = longish rod with four tines. Spoon = longish rod with ovalate shape at the end depressed in the middle for holding liquids.

They seemed fine to me.

But they were not.

No, not by a long shot.

They were “bad” forks and spoons.

Knives, well we don’t even bother with knives. Knives are either sharp or to be tossed. They are either large, or useless. This man takes my biggest chefs knife of some twelve inches to cut a piece of pie. Moreover he doesn’t like knives much. He used to bone hams in a past life, yet he is terrified of them.

“You’re walking!” he screams.

“Yes, I am, I learned that around age one.” I intone.

“You have a knife in your hand–the blade is up. TURN IT DOWN!”, his face turning shades of red I’ve only dreamed of seeing on paint chips.

“Parker, I’m 63 years old. So far I’ve never stabbed myself.”

“THERE’S ALWAYS A FIRST TIME”, he snorts.

But at the table where we consume victuals, he doesn’t have much to say about knives, other than the obvious, “I think we need the steak knives babe, since WE ARE EATING STEAK.” He usually grins broadly following such an exclamation and you can see how proud his mother was when he smiled like that. Time to take the kid off the pot. He’d done his poop.

No, at the table, we reflect on the limitations of our forks and spoons.

And there is no good reason for this.

When we moved from the meadow and I was engaged in the endless task of sorting and packing, I omitted some of the worst offenders from the “stuff going south.” The near round spoon? Out it went. “Ridiculous shape” it was called. “Who can get their mouth around that?” it was taunted.

When we arrived in Las Cruces I planned on a new set of regular stainless steel. We shopped. He picked.

Did you hear me?

HE PICKED.

Has the complaining stopped?

Hell no.

Case in point.

Salad fork.

An innocent piece of cutlery. It sits first in line for forks. To be used for salads, and desserts. Perhaps for appetizers if necessary.

We have some. They come with the “set”.

But the Contrarian cannot use a salad fork.

Why you ask?

Because the handle is too short.

Did you hear that?

THE HANDLE IS TOO SHORT.

That IS what defines it as a salad fork Mr. Contrarian. If the handle were longer it would be a FORK as in DINNER FORK.

“But it makes the food too close to my hand. I don’t like that.” he moans.

How exactly does one answer such a statement?

The soup spoon.

It has a lovely place in the line of cutlery, for using for soup. It allows the slurping of liquids not drunk with enough speed that the entrée doesn’t get cold/burn up awaiting the finishing of the soup course. It is larger than a regular spoon but smaller than a serving spoon.

What’s the matter?

“It’s too large for my mouth!” he laments.

This delicate mouth that I love to kiss is frightened that the one-quarter of an inch increase in width will harm the corners of his delicate lips.

Short of giving this man his food through a feeding tube just what am I to do here?

Signed: desperately seeking food moving tools.

PS: Diego still disdains the use of stainless steel, preferring silver plate or his tongue. I live with a couple of heathens I tell ya!

Sooo, I’m Waiting for the Big Celebration!

Tags

Diego, Humor, life in the foothills, lifestyle, New Mexico, The Contrarian

Yeah, I’m waiting for the doorbell to ring, and the balloons to fall, and the gaily wrapped presents to tumble into my lap. Just to keep me busy, while I’m waiting, I walked the dog, cleaned the house, did a load of laundry, and got groceries.  I was pretty sure everyone was hiding in the bedroom when Diego and I returned from our desert jaunt.

I was even more sure that the backyard would be stacked with friends and relatives when I got back with bags of groceries. I even changed my top to look extra nice.

The guys are here to paint the rest of the new fence out front. I’m waiting, because no doubt they brought all the presents with them. Along with the paint.

Speaking of which, Diego loves his new fence. He runs out his back door and speeds around the house to check out what the neighbors are doing. He has a water dish in case he gets thirsty. He has plenty of shade. He likes it all. He’s thinking of what he wants for his birthday, and we haven’t yet even picked a date for his “birthday” yet. He seems unconcerned about it all.

Actually, I don’t pay much attention to birthdays. Other people’s? Yes, I pay attention to that because that’s polite. My own? Naw. The Contrarian managed to remember before the morning was over. That’s saying a lot. Heck we often talk about our anniversary and then get so caught up in living, that we forget when it actually hits.

Having a birthday now is sorta of a badge of survival anyway. I’m not sure that makes me feel a lot better about being 63 years of age. I’m smarter than I was at 36. But what to do with all that stuff stuffed in there? I have no clue. I figure when you get to heaven you get to put all that stuff in a box. I’m not sure how to make enchilada sauce is a useful thing in heaven.

We are going out to eat today. That’s what we usually do on Monday, so I don’t even get an EXTRA “out to eat” day. That seems wrong, and somehow doesn’t make today’s out-to-eat day all that special. I noted that on google search they had cupcakes and candles? Was that for me?

I got the usual number of “X posted on your wall” in Facebook. It took me a minute to realize it was the “happy birthday” obligatory if you can remember, stop by to type happy birthday. Or Have a great day! Or Hope you have a super birthday!  Or words to that effect. Do you try to come up with something a bit different to make it appear that you actual care? I do. But I confess I don’t think of the person’s “happy day” much past the click of the mouse to the next page.

I haven’ really thought about anything I “want” for my birthday. I pretty much buy what I want anyway. When you can afford to buy most things, nothing much seems very special does it? Unlike Tiny Tim and his wonder at the goose for Christmas in A Christmas Story. Or all those stories about pioneer life in the olden days when an orange and gum drop were major delights to be swooned over and enjoyed slowly and to the last drop on Christmas morning.

I got a number of “gifts” from some stores. JCP sent me a $5 dollar gift certificate. Pier One gave me a 25% off ticket. I got a bunch of tickets from JoAnn Fabrics. My broker sent a card, my dentist a $5 coupon at some ice cream palace over on RoadRunner Rd. I’m sure they all are thinking about me today. That makes me feel warm inside.

I noted that the wind stopped blowing as Diego and I walked into the desert. I’m sure it was homage to me and my desire not to walk into a head wind. I thought that was nice of Mother Nature, aka, God.

The housework went nicely, all the dust cooperated and clung to my dust cloths. Some people call their dust cloths rags, but I think that’s just mean. How do you expect a slip of cloth to do its job well when it’s referred to as a rag? I mean really. These things are important folks.

The car cooperated in my drive into town for groceries. That was a nice gift I thought. It’s been a thoroughly nice car for some time, although the engine light does like to come up a lot. That’s got to do with the catalytic converter according to the computer code at Auto Somethingorother place, which hooked her up and said she was only unhappy with her fuel mixture. It goes on and off. We can disconnect the battery and let her sit and stew in her unelectrified self for a bit and then plug her back up, and the light stays off—until it doesn’t again. She’s just petulant.

Actually I think the car is not a she. But I haven’t gotten under her to check for sure.

If you are in your twenties and reading this, boy are you in the wrong place. Unless you are studying to become a geriatric nurse. Then you can screw OFF. I’m being polite, and not using the F word. If you are in your 30-50’s, then the above is a preview of the state of mind you too will attain upon reaching your 60’s. It’s got to do with social security. It’s not very social, and not very secure by the way. And Medicare doesn’t care one whit I suspect either. You’re just another warm body until you are a cold body. And then it’s on to someone else.

So hey, if you get lucky and get to be 63, you too can be the happy person you’re reading right now! Aren’t you excited?

Yeah, well screw off then too!

Just kidding.

Sorta.

 

 

 

Can You Stand the Excitement?

Tags

Congress, gay rights, genetically modified foods, GOP, life in the foothills, New Mexico, North Korea, racism

It’s been another long week. It’s been a productive one. All the usual stuff and lots of home improvement stuff going on.

We have the fence around the front nearly done. The guy will be back this weekend to finish off the last side with the gate. He’ll weld on site. And then paint and we will be done.

Ernest, our great handy man is going to tile the “front porch”. He’s looking for some tiling to make some patterns with. Turquoise is our favorite color, or mine at least.

The Contrarian finished two L-shaped flower boxes to rim the walk leading to the front door. And he plans two more, a long box underneath the bedroom window which will be a about 6 feet in length and a triangle one that will sit in the corner of the fencing. It’s a nice beginning to our jazzing up the front. We actually like to sit out there, and Diego will soon be able to keep track of everyone in the neighborhood without wandering down to see “how everybody’s doing.”

In the back, I have a few more planters to do. The flowers are lined up and ready to go. We’ve got our vegetables and plenty of top soil to fill the planters. That’s tomorrow’s job. We’re planning one more long planter for the back south wall yet.

All in all, we’ve been adding a lot to the place. Ernest has another couple french doors that we may just cut down and install as long windows to frame out the patio area. That would leave it enclosed on three sides and open just at the end. That makes at very cozy, while we can open two of the french doors and get additional breezes when needed. A flat screen will be put in the corner, and we should be having ourselves basically another room to enjoy.

I signed up at Santa Rosa yesterday. Such a forlorn little church, but the new one, should it ever be finished, will be wonderful. It’s styled as an old adobe mission church. They were well on the way to finishing when the economic bottom fell out of the economy, and bank loans dried up. It’s been on hold for a few years now. Hopefully our new bishop will see fit to steer some funding toward finishing the building. I don’t know a lot about parish financing, but I think each is required to stand on its own feet financially. The people there are so warm and loving, that I cannot but think that good things will happen.

Just to keep you up on things. The 5/2 “diet” plan, of fasting two days and eating normally is working very well. I barely notice the fasting days, starting and ending at 1 pm on Tuesday-Wednesday, an Thursday-Friday. I’ve lost five pounds over the first month, which is slow, but steady, and like I said, I barely notice I’m “dieting”. I’m looking at this as the normal way for me to eat and live from now on. I know Larry had done fabulously well on his vegetarian diet. I salute his bravery and commitment.

Hey if you see that little twit, Kim Jong Un around anywhere, grab him. What that kid needs is a good spanking. Did anybody ever tell him that you can’t sabre rattle without a sabre? Or is he simply seeking to declare war on American for the foreign aid once defeated? 🙂

If you want to know what is so very wrong with Congress, you need look no further than Senator Roy Blunt. He’s the (in the hip pocket of agribusiness) jackass who with the help of Monsanto, added a rider to an unrelated bill, which protects Monsanto from being sued over it’s genetically altered foods. Monsanto of course contributes big to Blunt’s war chest. The rider is specific to Monsanto. Blunt added it “anonymously” as Senators are allowed to do, but word finally got out that he was the culprit. Blunt is known as one of the worst “bought and paid for” politicians around and was a favorite of criminal Tom DeLay during his House years.

You know, I sometimes wonder if Republicans think of anything else but butt sex and bestiality. I mean Louis Gollllly Gohmert said that opening the door to marriage equality would lead to “animal love.” As Jon Stewart put it, “do they really think that people are going around thinking. . . .”God that goat looks good, but dang, it’s illegal!”. Now the Attorney General of Virginia and probably candidate for governor, Ken Cuccinelli,  is just not gonna let the state sodomy law go down the tubes without a fight. He’s petitioning the Federal court to reconsider its conclusion that the law was unconstitutional on its face. I mean dude, do you have nothing better to do? I’m beginning to think that Republicans are some sick mothers.

If any of you have ever heard of Wilcox County High School, well you are doing better than me. You have no doubt heard of those Japanese soldiers who have lived for 60 years on South Pacific islands, never knowing that WWII ended? Well, At Wilcox County High, they never heard of the civil rights movement. That’s in Georgia of you weren’t aware?

Seems that the school holds and HAS ALWAYS held two proms. . . .one integrated, and the other “whites only”. And it’s just not in name only either. In 2012, a biracial student was turned away by police for trying to attend the Whitie prom. The school has no intention of changing things either.

There is no longer any racism in America. Let’s make that very clear.

See ya Saturday–It’s the FINAL FOUR! GO ANYBODY BUT MICHIGAN CUZ I HATE THAT SCHOOL!

Related articles

• Sen. Roy Blunt: Monsanto’s Congressional Judas (amresolution.com)
• Surprised? Monsanto Openly Wrote Own Monsanto Protection Act (12160.info)
• Top Senator Apologizes for Monsanto Protection Act (blacklistednews.com)