Category: growing up

Revised Sentiments

Since I’m still in that obnoxious happy Holiday mood, I’ve been listening to my own mix tape of fave Christmas tunes in my car to and from work.

I don’t play them much at home. Not sure The Good Man would go for piping all my insane Xmas cheer into the house.

Aaaaanyhow, this morning I was listening to the George Strait song, “Christmastime in Texas” and the line “it might look just like a summer day” which, of course, made me think of Christmas in New Mexico. I think there was snow on Christmas just once when I was growing up, and that was all melted off by noon.

Christmas in New Mexico was more like sixty-five degrees and shorts and a tshirt to play with my new toys outside.

I’ve always loved all the standard Christmas tunes, but hey, to a New Mexico kid, they don’t really apply.

So I decided to tinker with some of the classics to give them more of a New Mexico vibe.

Here just a few, feel free to add your own!

______

“Up on a Housetop”

Up on a rooftop, stick stick stick, tar paper roof laid on too thick

“Walking in a Winter Wonderland”

Walking in a surprisingly summerlike wonderland

“Silent Night”

Silent night, holy HELL my neighbor’s yard decorations are bright

“White Christmas”

I’m dreaming of a red or green Christmas. Green please, with a fried egg on top. Pass the tamales. (whoops, lost the natural rhythm of the song there….thoughts of Christmas tamales will do that to me)

“Let it Snow”

Oh the weather outside is windy, and the weeds are very tumbly, and since we’ve no place to go, let it blow, let it blow, let it blow

“The Christmas Song”

Calf’s nuts roasting on an open fire, branding iron nipping at your flanks
(yeah, ok, so winter isn’t exactly branding season, but go with me here!)

“Jingle Bells”

Paper bags, paper bags, burning in my yard

“Frosty the Snowman”

Nobby the mud tires, on a very four wheel truck,
with a four on the floor and a headache rack,
and two headlights made out of halogen

__________

Ah, mud tires and a headache rack. Now that’s what Christmas means to me.

Your Definition and My Definition Differ Greatly

So every once in a while, I’ll read something in the daily news that grabs my attention.

Occasionally, something really makes my eyes open wide.

And then every once in a while, I’ll read something that makes my eyes open wide, leap out of my head, fall down on the floor and roll around a while.

The following headline in yesterday’s news had just this effect on me.

El Paso named safest US city

Uhhh.

Errr.

“…El Paso has taken the top spot for having the lowest crime rate among cities of more than 500,000 population in the annual rankings by CQ Press, a publishing firm based in Washington, D.C.”

So, yeah, I’m gonna guess that those people at CQ Press haven’t paid a personal visit to El Paso lately.

Look, I’m not going to bag on El Paso. It is the birth place of my best friend, and that itself recommends it highly.

It’s also the birthplace of Sam Donaldson and Gene Roddenbury. So ok. Some decent talent comes from the town that Texas forgot.

Having spent a lot of time in El Paso, I could use a lot of adjectives to describe the city. I’m not sure that the word “safe” would burble up to the top ten.

I’ll be fair here. I’ll even take out the obvious concerns about El Paso sharing a border with arguably the most dangerous city in Mexico.

In the past year, approximately 50,000 additional troops were located to Fort Bliss, an army installation in El Paso. Those 50,000 include both returning troops and soldiers left after bases closed in other states. That 50,000 is soldiers only. Add in spouses, kids, other family and the number of new residents rises.

Then add in the high number of people who are fleeing the violence in Juarez and the numbers climb even higher.

Put it together and you’ll find a city bursting at the seams. You can feel it when you visit, the town is growing so fast that infrastructure is having a hard time keeping pace.

That means busy police, fire and emt forces are being overextended during a period of economic downturn and government cost cutting. Sure, all of the new city residents will pay taxes into the economy which will help shore up infrastructure, but that kind of growth takes time.

And then let’s talk about the ongoing immigration flow through a border town like El Paso. My best friend’s folks live within visual distance of the border highway’s Zaragoza bridge. They have bars on their windows. In their some forty years of living there, they’ve found desperate illegals hiding in their yard. Neighbors have been robbed. Violence occurs (but isn’t often reported). I’ve been sitting in the back yard and heard shots fired.

El Paso is a fine town with a rich history. There is a lot to offer the residents who live in that city. Reasonable real estate costs. The Franklin Mountains are beautiful. UTEP is a fine university. Great weather. Even lots of job opportunities. It may even be a relatively safe city. But safest in the US? I have to question that assertion.

Evidently, I’m not the only one.

Some Call El Paso’s Safest City Ranking ‘Bogus’

Weeee Represent the Lollipop Guild

I’m what they call a robust gal. Hardy. Big boned. The word “petite” doesn’t apply to any of the assets I embody. I’m broad of shoulder and sturdy in the hips and thanks to a mom who told me to stand up straight, I own every one of my five feet and almost eight inches.

I had to stand in the back row for class photos. I long ago gave over to the knowledge that with these thighs, corduroy was not an option.

Back in college, I danced with short cowboys and took many a brim of a cowboy hat to the bridge of my nose.

After I moved to California, I wore flat shoes for years because I dated a guy not much taller than me. He once cooed over a friend who is teeny tiny, “you’re like a little doll!” he gushed. I never felt more elephantine than I did at that moment.

This is the hand I’ve got to play, dealt by my genetics. Honestly, I’ve become more sanguine about it over the years.

This brings us to the events of yesterday. I’d been invited to a status update meeting with a VP from my company and the CEO of a large multinational corporation.

In the morning, I dug around in my closet and put together a pretty nice outfit. A meeting like this is big doings, so I knew I had to up my game.

I got dressed and put on my favorite pair of three inch heels. The outfit looked great. Before leaving the house, I asked The Good Man if I was committing a work faux pas.

See…my boss is about 5’9″ on a good day, and his boss is maybe 5’6″ if the wind is right and he’s on the uphill side of an incline.

Is it bad form to tower over the people who pay my paycheck? The Good Man considered the question and decided the outfit worked, and thus all would be ok.

Off I went to work feeling pretty good. The meeting time rolled around and I stepped into the conference room. As I was the only woman in a roomful of nine men, they all rose and walked over to greet me.

Ok, so flatfooted I’m 5’8″ and now wearing three inch heels I’m 5’11”

There was only one person in the room who was taller than me. Just one. The rest of these #$%^ing Lilliputians scrambled around somewhere about my kneecaps.

*sigh*

At the end of the day, I was very glad to go home, kick off my tall shoes, stand on tippy toes, and kiss my 6’2″ husband.

Because that’s the best way to navigate through a day chock full of Oopma Loompa-ish men.

(I might also add that I was only one of two Americans in the room. We had a gent from Hong Kong, a Dutchman, an Aussie, a Swede, a Scotsman, a Russian, an Irishman, a Spaniard, an American from Phoenix…and me.)

Time Has A Funny Way…

There is an episode of Futurama (oh god, I’m going to quote Futurama) called “How Hermes Requisitioned His Groove Back.” It happens to be my favorite Futurama episode ever.

The episode is an homage to the bureaucrat, which appeals to me in a weird and sadistic way. At one point, the head bureaucrat is inspecting the locker of Fry, the show’s ne’er do well.

The bureaucrat extracts a baseball cap from Fry’s locker, and says, “Why is there yogurt in this hat?”

Fry replies, “I can explain. See it used to be milk, and…well, time makes fools of us all!”

This quote, “time makes fools of us all” has become a fave with The Good Man and me. Oft quoted and certainly true, time does make fools of us all.

And here’s what’s got me thinking this way…

After being sick both in October and for the first two weeks of November, I have been unable to shake a powerful and chronic cough. The gasping, almost retching, cannot-catch-my-breath sort of cough.

After being commanded by both The Good Man and my coworkers, on Friday I went to see a doctor. She was convinced I had Whooping Cough until she noted on my chart that I’d had a tetanus shot earlier this year. These days a Whooping Cough booster comes along with a tetanus shot.

So, after ruling out Whooping Cough and giving my non-stop cough a good listen, my doctor has determined that I have developed “hypersensitive airways.”

In laymen’s terms this means I now have asthma. I’ve never had asthma a day in my life, but evidently you can develop this problem at any time. It’s not expected to become a permanent condition, and with medication, I should be able to recover.

My medication takes the form of an inhaler used four times a day, a regimen I’m not enjoying in the least, but I’m sticking to quite adamantly.

You see, this health issue comes with a heavy load of baggage. Like back the truck up, get a U-Haul, step aside, “damn that’s a lot of baggage” sort of heavy.

Almost six years ago, my father passed away from complications of pulmonary fibrosis. It is believed he obtained this condition from the inhalation of beryllium in the course of his career at Sandia Labs.

In the years before he passed away, I watched my father struggle to simply breathe. Just bringing enough oxygen to his scarred and battered lungs was a battle. It was heartrending.

I thought then, “your breath is nothing to take for granted.” But then time moved on. I went on about the matters of living my life. The lesson became less important.

This year when I got a winter cold, I got the resulting cough but I ignored it. I coughed my way through it and it went away, mostly.

Then I got sick again and it went right to my chest and set up home.

Right now, typing this, I breathe with a wheeze. I’m able to get air into my lungs, but it’s hard to breathe deep without dissolving into a coughing fit.

What my father had was a disease of the lungs. What I have is a temporary inflammation of my airways. It’s not the same, I know. But right now I kind of feel like time has made a fool of me.

I know better. Perhaps the lesson needed to be learned again.

Professor Time comes with a reminder: Breathing is nothing to take for granted.

Photo by Maria Herrera and provided royalty free from stock.xchng.

The Power of a Good PR Rep

Here in the Halloween season, it’s hard not to have one’s mind turn to thoughts of monsters.

Goolish, creepy, scary monsters.

We all have the cast of characters from our childhood (or even adulthood) that can still send a chill down the ol’ spine.

For me, it’s La Llorona. Just saying her name aloud creeps me out.

But didja ever stop and think a bit about the positive characters in our folklore that are more than a little creepy?

Maybe our beloved heroes are really the biggest monsters.

Think about it.

Let me give you an example, without the positive PR spin.

Kids, guess what!? There is this lady, see? She’s something called a fairy and that means she’s pretty tiny and probably has wings on her back.

Do you know what this lady likes (and by like I mean is obsessed with)?

Your teeth.

Yes, she loves little kids teeth SO much she will even pay for them!

Be careful when you go to sleep at night because this wacked out winged lady is going to break into your house and steal your teeth! Sure, she might leave you a quarter or for lucky kids, a dollar.

Keep your mouth closed while you sleep, kids! She may steal the rest right out of your maw while you sleep!

Or, try this one on:

How does Santa Claus look to a kid growing up in Brazil?

So, December 25th is the dead of summer to you. You’re wearing shorts and tank tops and hoping for a break in the heat.

On that one special night, some fat Nordic man in a snowsuit (you gotta be crazy to wear a snow suit in summer!) is going to show up, break into your house, and leave you toys. All your favorite toys.

Wait? How does Kris The Fat Man know exactly what toys you wanted?

Because he sees you when you are sleeping. He knows when you are awake.

The fat Nordic man is a stalker, kids. Can you say stalker?

I suggest you take out a restraining order now.

Ok, are you starting to see what I’m saying here?

Wanna try one more?

There is this rabbit, see? And in April, as a way to celebrate Spring, the rabbit will come to your house and leave you eggs.

But kids, you learned in your science class that a rabbit is something called a mammal, and mammals don’t lay eggs!

Whoops! Where does this strange bunny get all these eggs and why does he hide them?

And…bunnies don’t have opposable thumbs, so how is he getting these eggs dyed in bright colors?

And why is he trying to lure all the little kids outside with promises of jellybeans and chocolate? Didn’t your parents tell you not to take candy from strangers?

What kid of sick, twisted, walks on two feet kind of rabbit is this?

Though in this horror story, the kids get the final revenge.

They are presented with a chocolate effigy of the offending monster and are encouraged to bite the head off.

So wait a minute.

Maybe that means….just maybe…we are all the monster.

Hmmm……….