luck – Page 14 – Oh Fair New Mexico

Seeing myself in a new way

Posted on May 19, 2010
by Karen Fayeth
7 Comments

You know, looking at a photograph of myself is always an interesting and somewhat humbling experience.

In a photo, I never quite look the way that I imagine I look.

Where did those lines around the eyes come from? Do my hips really look like that?

Ah well.

The other day, I received an interesting photograph that surely has me pondering some things.

Here, I’ll share the photo with you, my fabulous readers, so you can see what I’m talking about.

It is a fun photo of me driving! Isn’t that neat! A perspective one doesn’t often get.

Look at me…intense expression on my face. Hands firmly at ten and two. Or maybe more like eleven and one, but no matter.

That’s a concentrated and skillful driver, no?

Yup, that photo was kindly mailed to me by the Superior Court of the county where I live.

Wasn’t that sweet?

It appears they are of the belief that I didn’t stop fully before making a right turn at a red light into a very busy intersection.

And so for the luxury of a faboo photo of me behind the wheel, I was charged $500.

I’m *ever* so pleased about that. Tickled pink. And other euphemisms I can’t think of right now to sarcastically convey that I’m not very pleased AT ALL!

Next step: onward to driving school. Yay me.

Have I ever mentioned how much I hate red light cameras? Oh I really hate them.

All for the love of sump pump

Posted on January 22, 2010
by Karen Fayeth
1 Comment

Today, an ode to a small, slimy, oft overlooked device that is a cornerstone of storm survival.

The Sump Pump

ALL HAIL THE SUMP PUMP!

As has been plenty reported in the news, the American west is getting one hell of a series of storms.

And as I’ve mentioned here on the blog plenty times, I live near the bottom of a hill.

What that means is the rainwater doesn’t stop here, but it all has to pass me by on the way down.

Occasionally it can get trapped on its journey wending downward toward storm drains and ultimately, the Bay.

The evening of the first big storm, I said to The Good Man, “you know, I want to get under the house to check to be sure we’re not getting water.”

See? My spidey senses were going off. Something told me something wasn’t right.

But I thought, “nah, it’s probably fine” and went on about my life. The thought of strapping on the wellies and going outside didn’t sound as good as a nice hot cuppa in the warm house.

So another day rolled by, and then another. Yesterday I was out bringing in the garbage cans when I said to myself, “well, the wellies are already strapped on and I’m half damp. Let’s check under the house.”

Well, sure enough, there was water. Not so much as to cause damage, but it was getting there.

If left alone, it surely would have risen enough to cause harm to my carefully curated collection of bridesmaids dresses (I believe there are ten, at last count) and my can’t quite part with it Ikea furniture that didn’t make the cut after The Good Man and I shacked up together.

Ok, fine, I don’t have much in the way of treasures stored, but it’s *my* junk and I’d like to keep it dry!

I looked at the sump pump wondered, “why isn’t this doing the job it was hired to do?”

Then I noticed. It wasn’t plugged in.

Well there you have it.

I remembered sometime during the summer the landlord and his son were over here working. They’d unplugged the pump because they needed the outlet for the power tools they were using to re-do the unit next door (duplex house, dontchaknow).

And hell, back in July, there was no real rush to plug it back in.

In January, I leapt upon the cord and shoved it in the socket but quick.

And….

Nothing.

What? Nothing? Is the pump broken? Holy crap, this is chaos! Whatever am I going to do!?!?!

Then my brain, finely hewn by my land grant education, got around to mentioning to me that I might wish to take the pump off the concrete and place it ever so gently into the pool of water.

So I did.

Oh sweet mystery of sump pumping at laaaaast I found you!

That little pump worked non-stop to get all of that water out. Oh sigh of contentment.

Now my heart warms as I hear it kick on every ten to fifteen minutes to remove more water.

Oh happy slimy sump pump, how my satin and sequined and overly bowed dresses love you so.

Here it is, my actual fabulous device! I heart it!

Do you ever…?

Posted on March 30, 2009
by Karen Fayeth
3 Comments

So there you are, say, commuting to work, and you are in a mellow mood. Talk radio doesn’t sound good. Local stations mostly suck, and besides, your nerves don’t want to be jangled today.

So you, you know, put the local light rock station on your car radio.

There you are, driving and thinking and listening to easy listening music that dates back a few years. Ok, more than a few years. A few decades, really. And you know all the words. You remember when that song was top ten. You recall when you heard it coming through your all in one turntable/radio unit with the dial drift and the scratchy single speaker.

So there you are, listening. Then, say, maybe a schlocky 1970’s love song comes on. One you haven’t heard in a really long time. And so you think “wow…what ever happened to THIS embarrassing song…” but then you listen to it a bit more, and you hear the words. And you are touched.

You think, “Well, but for some totally seventies arrangements, this is a really beautiful song.”

So you’re driving along, hearing the words, and thinking of the one you love most. Say, your fantastic spouse…and you hear these syrupy love words and you think to yourself “yes! Yes that too! Oh! And that other sentiment is *totally* my sweetie.”

And then maybe you cry a little bit. Not sadness, but because you’ve just heard words that totally encapsulate how powerfully you feel for that person who agreed to share their life with you.

It gets you right in the chest, and you let some tears roll down your cheeks and smile because you know you are the luckiest person in the whole wide world because you somehow found this amazing person who sees past your flaws and loves you anyway.

And you feel humble and unworthy but powerfully fortunate, like you won the lottery and the World Series all in one.

So then the song ends, and is followed by some more recent bit of clanky 90’s attempt at music, and the tears dry up and you take your exit to get to work, and a knobsack in a green Honda cuts you off. And so you call Honda boy a name worse than knobsack and drive on and you sniffle and you laugh at yourself for being such a sappy old fool.

Then you get to work and go upstairs and lose yourself in email, but that humble and lottery winning feeling prevails. And you think about writing your fantastic spouse the love letter of the century, but you can’t quite make the words sound anything other than schlocky.

So you just dwell in that quiet, humble, post-cry space and tell people that your allergies are acting up when they ask what is wrong with you.

But it’s not the allergies…it’s that damn 1970’s song that got a hold of you…

.
.
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Does this ever happen to you? Or is this just me? (And perhaps some helpful female hormones)

Or should I just give up and get fitted for a leisure suit now?

Unity brought about by food

Posted on February 13, 2009
by Karen Fayeth
1 Comment

Upon starting my new job, it was perplexing to me how often they feed us at this place. I mean, I’m not complaining. But seriously, I get at least two meals a week provided, sometimes more.

Good food too, full meals, like chicken and potatoes, cheese tortellini with salad, lavish Mexican buffet, a full course Vietnamese meal, and more.

This was especially peculiar to me, since, at my former employer, I usually ate my lunch by myself at my desk. A friend and I would walk over to the cafeteria, get food, walk back and go our separate ways. Clean. Sterile. Boring.

Now that I’ve been at the new gig 90 days, and having just stuffed myself silly at the potluck to end all potlucks (yum), I realized that this habit of sharing meals together is a bit of brilliance.

Really, how more primal can you get than breaking bread with other people? It creates connections.

Earlier today, I looked around the room at all these people I’ve come to know. Over a plate of homemade food (that’s our pot luck rule, it must be actually homemade), I found an easy camaraderie.

I know that one lady’s young daughter loves red velvet cake, and when she heard another lady at work was making it for our potluck, begged her mom to bring some home.

I know that the lady who sits right next to me was raised in the Philippines, and her homemade lumpia is worth weeping over. (I had three)

I discovered that the guy on the next row who identifies himself as Asian actually has a Mexican mother, who was kind enough to make flan for our potluck. Really, really good flan, too.

The reason for our potluck was to “Share the Love” for Valentine’s Day. As we all ate and complimented each other and asked for recipes, yes, there was love, and connection and a diligence to work together and believe in each other and do our best to get through the obstacles.

All because we got out some paper plates and plastic forks and brought out food that represents a little of ourselves. We’re all taking in a bit of each other and blending into something that much better.

I think that kind of connection is rarely found at work, and has to be part of the reason why this group I work with and for manages to get along so damn well. That’s the kind of “corporate goodwill” you just can’t force.

By the way, the contribution that represented me was a kickin’ bowl of guacamole. I make *really* good guac and today I earned some new fans.

Bet you never knew that guacamole tastes really good on lumpia!

Bringing cultures and oddball coworkers together, one delicious meal at a time…

On this same topic, I am fortunate enough to be able to make a trip to Southern New Mexico this weekend. I’ll be with my best friend of twenty years, and when we settled the date for a visit, one of the first things she said was, “we have to plan the menu”.

Food, for us, is family, is bonding, is life, is earth, is the heart of who we are. Nourishing both body and soul.

I can hardly wait for her homemade rellenos. Right then, I just did a little jump and clicked my heels.

New Mexico, here I come!