Filed under: awesome!, backyard, beautiful, Celebration, cookies, family, friends, gratitude, growing up, in my 'hood, Las Cruces, latent childhood, life, Love, New Mexico, Opinions, Rio Grande, sensitive girl, show and tell, simpatico, where I come from, woo hoo!, zia
In what has now become an annual tradition in my almost six years of this little ol’ blog, it’s time to bring out something that was first published back in 2007.
It’s as true today as it was back then.
Without further ado:
Originally published December 11, 2007
1) An annual shopping trip to Old Town in Albuquerque. This was a longtime mom and me tradition. Every year I’d get to pick out my own ornament that would eventually be mine when I became an adult. I have every one of those ornaments stored in a Thom McAnn shoebox and they go on my tree every year. They are a glitter and glass history of my life. I remember buying each of them and it gives me a beautiful sense of continuity to have them on my tree.
2) Luminarias. I always was the one to make them for the family. Someone would drive me to an empty lot and I’d dig out two buckets worth of good New Mexico dirt, then I’d go home and fold down the tops on brown lunch bags. Each would get a candle inside and then at night I’d light them. It was my holiday job and I loved every folded bag and every bulk buy candle (and every small emergency when a bag caught on fire in the wind). I miss real luminarias.
3) The Bugg House, which, sadly, is no more. My sister lived over on Prospect and we’d go for a walk in the dark on Christmas Eve to take a look at the outstanding display of holiday spirit. On the way to Christmas shop at Winrock Mall, I’d take a detour to the Bugg house to take a look. No one does lights like the Buggs did.
4) Neighbors bringing over a plate of freshly made tamales as a Christmas gift. When there are three generations of Hispanic women in a kitchen with some masa and shredded pork, magic happens. Yum! I also miss that people would bring tamales to work in a battered Igloo cooler and sell them to coworkers. I was always good for a dozen or more.
5) A ristra makes a good Christmas gift. I’ve given. I’ve received. I love ’em. They’d become a moldy mess here, and that makes me sad, cuz I’d love to have one.
6) Biscochitos. My love for these is well documented.
7) Sixty-five degrees and warm on Christmas Day. Growin’ up, I think one year there was actually snow on the ground for the 25th, but it was melted by the end of the day. Oh Fair New Mexico, how I love your weather.
8) Christmas Eve midnight Mass in Spanish with the overpowering scent of frankincense filling up the overly warm church. Pure torture for a small child, but oh how I’d belt out the carols. And when we came home after, we could pick one present and open it. Gah! The torture of choosing just one!
9) A New Mexico piñon, gappy, scrawny Christmas tree that cost $15 at the Flea Market and was cut from the top of a larger tree just that morning. Look, to my mind, it ain’t a tree unless you are using a few low hanging ornaments to fill the obvious empty spots. These overly fluffy trees just ain’t my bag. If you aren’t turning the bad spot toward the wall, you paid too much for your tree.
10) Green chile stew for Christmas Eve dinner and posole for New Year’s, both served with homemade tortillas. My mouth waters. It’s weep worthy. I can taste the nice soft potatoes in the stew, the broth flavored just right. And posole to bring you luck with red chile flakes and soft hunks of pork. Yeah……
*sigh* Now I’m homesick.
Which is not to say I don’t have happy holidays where I live now…but sometimes I feel melancholy. And in a weird way, that’s what the holidays are for, right?
Finally, in order to just really drive a homesick knife into my heart, I give you this, the beauty of Old Town Albuquerque:
Image via New Mexico Magazine
Filed under: Albuquerque, awkward, balloon fiesta, Bay Area, big weather, California, cha-cha-changes, cursing, green chile, growing up, grumptacular, Hatch, I ain't as good as I once was, in my 'hood, kids these days, Las Cruces, learning, life, make it work, memories, New Mexico, Opinions, overwhelmed, pecans, play through, pondering, rantish, Rio Grande, time, truth is stranger than..., wayback machine, weekending, where I come from, worried
In the wake of my most recent (and fabulous) visit to my home state of New Mexico, I find I’m getting my old crone on.
New Mexico has both grown and grown up over the last twenty years. I suppose change is inevitable.
But sometimes I still lament the way it used to be.
So here’s a top of my mind list of how New Mexico used to be. This just happens to be what I’m thinking about on my first day back in California on a stormy Bay Area day.
Grumpy McGrumperson’s List of “That was my New Mexico”
- It rained in summer. It snowed in winter. The Rio Grande bulged with water in July. Farmers irrigated their land. Sure, it was still a desert, but water didn’t cost $300 a cubic meter. Cotton plants grew tall. Pecans grew large. It worked. Now New Mexico is in the midst of a terrifying descent into serious drought and a mismanaged water conservancy.
- If you went to the Balloon Fiesta, there was never, not for one moment, a thought that you’d just sit there and watch. You were expected to pitch in, even if you were a small child. “Safety” and “insurance” didn’t ever come into mind. We just helped, because getting those hot air balloons off the ground was what we did in Albuquerque.
- Breakfast burritos at the Balloon Fiesta were cheap, incredibly delicious, and you bought them out of a battered ice chest and didn’t think twice about it. Same with tamales at Christmas.
- Pinto beans were made with pork. No one ever wondered about or protested this fact. Ever.
- If you ate a Biscochito, you didn’t question if it was made from lard. OF COURSE it was made with lard. And no one thought that was weird, bad or worried that it would make them fat. Anything but lard was unfathomable.
- Luminarias used a real candle. None of this electric hogwash.
- If it said Hatch green chile, you knew it was actually from Hatch. It seemed strange to even question.
- When you looked into a bucket of ice at a bar, and pulled out a bottle, it was beer. Just beer. None of these foofy malt-based sugared up drinks. Just beer. And decent beer. What’s with the light, light, oh so lite you can breathe it like air. Just drink a damn beer! Or don’t. (this comes straight from the events of this weekend. I grabbed what I thought was a beer. It wasn’t. *sigh*)
- While on a two lane highway, when someone passed the other direction, you gave ’em a wave. Be it whole hand, the pointer finger, two finger Boy Scout style or whatever acknowledgement you like, you did it. And the other driver waved and smiled back. (in some places this still happens, but I got an awful lot of unreturned waves this weekend.)
- We didn’t call a tortilla a wrap. It was a tortilla. They weren’t made of spinich or tomato, and if mom made ’em from scratch they were thick and oh so very good.
There’s more, I think, but that’s enough of what’s bothering me today.
I suppose time marches on whether I march in step or not. New Mexico can’t stay the same forever and neither can I.
Must be the dark clouds I have, both mentally and meteorologically, that’s got me all stirred up.
Wish I could find a way to send you some of this wet weather, my Fair New Mexico.
Filed under: Albuquerque, Bay Area, birfday, Celebration, gratitude, latent childhood, Opinions, photography, pondering, Rio Grande, road trip, summer, sunshine, The Good Man, travel, w00t, weekending
Had a mindblower of a weekend.
In celebration of the birth of The Good Man, we had a (much necessary) weekend away.
Somewhere where cell phones don’t work and television, p-feh…who needs ’em anyway?
We got a little wild. :)
We went to a place called Safari West. It’s located north of the Bay Area, just outside of Santa Rosa.
It’s an over 400-acre ranch that houses exotic animals of all kinds.
The owners have been working this place since the late 1980’s and it’s amazing.
I’m still processing it all…and the over 700 photos I took. (Yes, I said 700).
Highlights of the trip:
On the first night we were there, a baby Giraffe was born. It was a bit of a surprise to the Safari West folks. They knew mama Marla was pregnant, just didn’t know she was ready to go.
Here’s a photo of our as yet unnamed hero. This is about seven hours after his birth. Sssh, he’s sleepin’.
Is a hard thing getting born. Especially for a baby giraffe who plummets some six feet to the ground with a whump then is up on his wobbly pins about an hour later.
Here he is a bit knock kneed but doin’ it.
But that was not the only fascinating new thing…
That same night, Safari West took delivery of 38 flamingos and installed them in their new enclosure. I have always been a HUGE fan of flamingos. The Rio Grande Zoo used to have quite a few. Don’t know if they still do. But as a kid, they made a big impact on me.
These are “greater” Flamingos (their “lesser” and more colorful cousins will be arriving soon).
From there, it’s hard to pin down all the amazing things!
Cape Buffalo (that’s some scary sh– right there….)
And on and on and on. That’s not even scratching the surface.
OH! And Zebra. I adore Zebra.
And Watusi cattle!
And! And! And!
It was amazing. A photographer’s dream (though tough too. Animals don’t, you know, pose).
We also slept in genuine tent cabins constructed by South African craftsmen and modeled on safari tents, including wood floors and open space. They were actually really nice and quite comfortable, though a bit cold at night.
In the dark we could hear all the animals of the safari calling and howling and, you know, doing what wild animals do.
I can’t even begin to write out how utterly geeked out I still am from the weekend…
We’ll be talking about this for weeks.
Filed under: CalTrain, commuting, Las Cruces, NMSU, Opinions, pondering, progress, Rasquache, Rio Grande, wayback machine, weirdity, where I come from, work
Today as I meandered my way over to the shuttle bus to take me to the train, I picked my way through the parking lot at work. “Picked my way” because there is heavy construction going on at the building next door to mine.
Sitting there, by itself, in the lot, was an empty wooden wire spool. You know the type. Found at most construction areas.
Wanna know my first thought? “Man, should I take that?”
You know, it’s been some fifteen years since I graduated college. While I personally never had a wooden spool table, many friends did. I dated a few guys who did. I think the wooden spool furniture sensation is mainly a guy thing. Along with bookshelves made of cinder blocks and plywood.
It’s the same feeling I get when I see empty milk crates. I used many a purloined milk crate in my collegiate career. Good bookshelves, storage devices, and even a bedside table.
I think I still have some of those indestructible blue plastic things in my basement (all apologies to Price’s Dairy from, you know, fifteen years ago. What is the statute of limitations on absconding with a milk crate?).
Oh, is also happens when I see wooden pallets. Back then they were made from a pretty dense wood and if, say, a friend filled up the back of his pickup with a bunch of stolen pallets, piled them up by the river, poured diesel fuel on them and lit a match, you’d not only have a nice roaring fire, you’d have a long lasting warm, bright fire by which to socialize with friends.
For some reason, this old scrounging habit dies hard. The “making it work” when you have no money, and what little you do have must be saved to buy beer phenomenon still lives deep within me on a cellular level.
Despite the fact that I have a real job now and can buy beer, you know, pretty much whenever, I still have that moment of “I could take that…” and think about how it could be made useful.
I seriously considered how to get that spool out of there.
Then remembered a) I don’t need a table. I have one. A nice one. And 2) even if I didn’t have one, I could go to Ikea and buy a nice one. I don’t have to settle for a splintery wood spool.
So I’m still a scrounger from way back. But I refuse to eat Ramen noodles anymore.
Some habits you just gotta leave behind.
Filed under: Bay Area, homesick, Lake Valley, Las Cruces, Love, New Mexico, Rio Grande, where I come from
Kenny’s appearance, being a good country boy and all, meant I pulled on my fave pair of Fat Babies and hit the show to sing along with the crowd and Mr. Chesney. (you know him, he’s the guy that married Renee Zellweger for like, a minute….)
Being a good New Mexico girl, I’m a pretty good fan of country music. I’m always utterly surprised at how many fans there are out here in the Bay Area. Now, the friend I went with bummed a cigarette off a guy who had come over from Modesto. Ah, Modesto, good farm country, that makes sense. But there are a lot of “city folk” who love them some country music as much as anyone from the outskirts. And that always makes me a little happy. (and yes, I know today’s country acts are hardly country anymore…more like rock ‘n roll in a straw hat with a Bell Ranch crease)
I saw young kids that I *know* have been raised here in the Bay Area, raised among the people and the concrete and the hustle and bustle and they were singing along word for word to “Back Where I Come From”, Chesney’s ode to small town livin’.
I smiled. Because I knew these kids, though they loved the song, and sang with gusto, in a lot of ways, couldn’t possibly understand.
And it made me thankful, again, for the multi-millionth time about where *I* come from.
Oh, the simple pleasure of knowing a place where a grain elevator and a gas station/Snappy Mart are the only the only things in town (like here or here or here. Kids are homeschooled, folks live in wide open spaces where they run cattle or horses or corn or cotton or whatever comes from the land.
Or knowing how fun it is to dance a two-step on a hardwood floor with a boy you like. Or even a boy you don’t like but is a good dancer.
Or cramming the cab of a pickup with as many friends as will fit and riding to the river to have a little fun while the swirling water rushes by.
And knowing what it means to “live simple”.
Oh Fair New Mexico, how I miss you……