Category: Celebration

$2 and a Moment

Yeah, ok. I caved to the masses.

I’m quite suggestible you know.

I come from a family that enjoys trips to Vegas and the occasional Indian casino. My family loves to gamble (responsibly) and I do too.

So today I threw two one dollar bills into the toilet and bought Mega Millions tickets.

Every news outlet, radio talk show, and coworker is talking about the half billion potential payoff.

Yesterday on All Things Considered, they had some whiz bang mathematician guy who chastised all of us in describing the impossible odds.

I think that’s when I decided to throw my hard won dollars in the ring.

I know the odds are ridiculous. I know it’s a waste of money. I know, I know.

But for a moment, a little moment, it’s fun to think about what if?

I think the concept of what if is a powerful one.

There are those in the ranks of woo-woo and esoteric who would say that what if is a good thing. It’s an order placed to the universe.

I think what if gives you a chance to see what you can accomplish.

When you pull out a road map, you look at where you are today. You look at where you want to go (what if) and then you map the highways, byways and dirt roads that it will take to get there.

Do you get lost sometimes? Sure.

Take a wrong road because it looks interesting? Of course.

Run out of gas? Absolutely.

And then, sometimes, with a little luck and a little diligence, you arrive at your destination.

So for me, the what if daydreaming is simply me being the cartographer of my life.

What if’ing about half a billion dollars might be ridiculous to some. To me, it’s a nice way to end a crazy busy day at work. My mind is too tired to parse this spreadsheet in front of me. Instead I’ll gaze out the window and daydream. For just a few moments.

And then, because it’s the last work day of the month, I’ll collect my regular paycheck, pay my rent and then go home to The Good Man (my odds of finding him were pretty sparse too, but I must have drawn that map pretty gosh darn well).

So ok. That’s worth at least $2





This week’s Theme Thursday is: moment.



I Missed My Own Anniversary?

Wow, that’s a sure sign I’m overworked and under rested.

Anyhoo….

I first started my own little blog at the suggestion of The Good Man. I never expected it would become such an essential part of my every day.

Oh Fair New Mexico sprang to life on March 17, 2007.

Five years, two hosting models, 444,000 words and I’m still blogging.

Rock on!








Image via Blogography



It’s Hard Being a Nina (godmother)

My oldest godchild is now eleven years old and she’s a smart, beautiful, inquisitive child.

She and I have a pretty strong relationship. She trusts me enough to talk about some things she won’t talk to her parents about. I’ve worked very hard to be a safe place for her to talk to a grownup without worries of getting in trouble.

She also likes to challenge me. Since she was old enough to talk and form opinions, she has often hit me with the query….

“Nina Karen, what if….”

The question that follows is some scenario straight from the depths of her powerful child’s brain. Then she waits patiently to hear my thoughts.

Sometimes the questions are pretty easy, like:

“Nina Karen, what if I ate ALL the cookies and not just some?”

I explained that while it would be awesome for a little while, she would probably get a tummy ache. And then she would likely throw up. And then she probably wouldn’t like cookies any more.

The thought of not liking cookies any longer was enough to dissuade her from eating ALL the cookies. Whew, one point for the Nina.

Sometimes the questions are a lot more difficult and challenge my powers of Nina-dom.

“Nina Karen, what if I didn’t want to go to special math class anymore?”

At school, she was placed in an advanced math program and had to leave her classroom to go to math class every day. The other kids teased and bullied her about it.

That one was a bit tougher to work through.

But I did ok.

So now I know when that little voice says, “Nina Karen…what if…” I should brace myself.

I was unprepared, however, on Saturday evening.

A dear friend was getting married, and I sat in the venue with a goddaughter on each side of me.

The wedding was just about to begin. We could see the bride and her attendants coming down the hallway to line up for the service to start.

And my oldest godkid turned to me and said:

“Nina Karen? What if right when the minister says ‘you may kiss the bride,’ she farted?”

I’m quoting that word for word. No embellishments.

I looked at the cherubic child. I looked away. I looked back into her earnest blue eyes.

And started laughing.

Since I’m suffering under a powerful case of the flu, the laughing caused me to dissolve into a massive coughing fit that echoed off the walls and high ceilings and the other guests gave me dirty looks.

Thankfully, I was, quite literally, saved by the music. The cello quartet started and the wedding began and the beauty of the bride stole the attention of the room.

Which is good, because I have no idea how I was going to answer that question.






Image from Zazzle


Ethically Correct, but Way Less Fun

I got an advance peek at the agenda for the wedding I’m going to this weekend. There’s all the usual stuff you’d expect, including the part where the bride and groom leave the reception to go start their new life together. Bubbles will be handed out to attendees to herald their departure.

It used to be rice, but rice proved to be unhealthy for the birds who ate it and got bad tummy aches.

Then it moved to birdseed, which was awesome for the birds, but not so good for the wedding venues who had to try to shoo a million fat pigeons away. And then power wash all that poop. Ugh.

So now, we’re at bubbles. Water based. Ethically correct. Fun in their own way, but not really as fun as rice or birdseed.

I remember well when I was just a young’un back in high school and I attended by brother’s wedding. When the time came for the bride and groom to head out, a bag of birdseed was dropped into my palm. I opened it and dumped the contents into my hand. As my brother walked by with his beautiful bride, I’d intended to sort of toss it and shower the happy couple.

Somehow in my over zealousness, I overhanded the batch and power drove a pile of birdseed into my sibling.

At first I was horrified.

Then I laughed my ass off. Um. Whoops.

And now, some 26 years later (has it really been 26 years? Wow. Happy Anniversary you crazy kids) the memory still kind of makes me laugh.

A lot. Out loud. Not because I powerblasted my brother, that was rude. Because I often crack myself up at what a complete wackadoodle I can be.

For the couple marrying this weekend, I probably would have given them a nice gentle rice toss and avoided any grievous harm, as I’m both older and wiser. Suffice to day I won’t be causing any physical harm with a bubble this weekend. Really, it’s better this way.

Except for my dress (as yet to be purchased) because I always end up spilling soapy bubble water down my front in my over zealousness. See? Whackadoodle.

Really, what this all means is that I need to cool my jets a little better and keep myself in low gear. I intend to try (some but not too much) wine, maybe beer, to suit this purpose. (Too much = exponential wackadoodle)

Perhaps a couple glasses of bubbly? Hmm……






Today’s Theme Thursday is: bubbles


In the Box

Despite the fact that The Good Man and I actually moved two weeks ago, we didn’t fully depart the old place until this past weekend.

That last mile is a sonofabitch.

I guess we just wanted to save the best for last? Or something. Basically, the last stuff to exit the old place was the stuff from deep in the dark recesses of storage under the house.

Let’s be honest, this stuff it wasn’t “our” stuff, it was my stuff. Lots and lots of boxes, some of which hadn’t been opened since they made the 1,200 mile ride from Albuquerque to the Bay Area.

The goal this weekend was to open those deteriorating boxes, get rid of what I could, and what was left, repack into fresh boxes and move on.

This proved to be a more difficult task than I had expected.

There were some surprises in those ol’ boxes. Especially the one I’d jauntily labeled “Karen’s Childhood.”

What a doozy that one was.

Sunday morning, there I sat on the cold floor of my now former garage, used my Buck knife to slice open the “childhood” box and dug around in there. I extracted a now almost fourteen year old gallon size Ziploc bag containing a bunch of papers and stuff I clearly didn’t know what to do with when I left Albuquerque.

I unzipped the bag, pulled out the contents and went through it piece by piece. I turned over photos, old love notes, and a ticket stub.

I gasped and my eyes got a little watery from both joy and memory.

The Wayback Machine gobbled me whole.

Here’s what I found:




The year was…um….yeah. 1990? Maybe 1989? Oh jumping jehosophat! I don’t know. A long time ago when my skin was elastic and my pants were not.

It was Ag Week at NMSU. An annual celebration that was a week full of fun, games, and dancing for all us kids in and around the Ag College. It culminated in a big concert and dance at the Pan Am center on the last day of the week.

This was a special year. My best good friend excitedly told me that her Uncle Bax would be performing at that year’s Ag Week. And by Uncle Bax, she meant Cowboy Poet and legendary New Mexican, Baxter Black.

That year there was another yahoolio on the bill with Bax. Some nobody named Vince Gill.

Yeah. That Vince Gill. Before anyone knew who he was.

Friday morning we were invited to come to the Ag Lobby to meet and greet. Bax was there holding court and signing autographs, and gave my best friend a huge hug when she walked up. We talked and laughed with Bax a while and then we went over to check out this Vince Gill character. He was wearing a pair of NMSU sweatpants, a three day old scruffy beard, and hair that hadn’t been washed in a good long while.

He was nice enough. Looked totally exhausted. He signed a glossy black and white promo photo (I found that in the bag too) and we walked away wondering who that rube was.

He put on a hell of a show that night. And so did Uncle Bax.

Let’s just say this, it was a hell of a party.

One for the history books. Sure would be fun to live that one again.

When the trash went out at the end of Sunday, the Bax and Vince ticket didn’t go with it. It went back into the Ziploc bag, then into a new box.

Maybe in another fourteen years I’ll slice open that box and discover it again.

And gasp.

And well up.

And remember.

Those were salad days, indeed.