Category: memories

Ok, so go with me on this…

You ever have those moments where your monkey brain isn’t working on anything in particular, and when given free rein, it jumps around from topic to topic? There it hops along and suddenly you end up in some crazy neighborhood in your mind, and you are unsure how you got there.

And at that point, it’s best to just back out sloooowly.

Yeah. This happened to me the other night.

I was really, really tired. I hadn’t been sleeping well and my fatigued brain wasn’t making coherent thoughts. I oh so needed to get some work done at home, but couldn’t get my head into the game.

Instead, I lay down in my bed figuring hell, I’ll just sleep. Things will look better in the morning.

As I lay there trying to get to the REM’s, I thought “man, wouldn’t it be great to have one of those oxygen tents like Michael Jackson? I understand that a boost of oxygen can help you be more alert and think more clearly. That would be so rad.”

So *then*, my untethered mind, thinking of oxygen tents, remembered that episode of Seinfeld where George and The Bubble Boy got into a big fight.

And so of course I laughed.

But THEN, The Bubble Boy reference made me think of that TOTAL made-for-TV movie, The Boy in the Plastic Bubble which oh yes I totally watched after school.

Which then made me think to myself, damn, who was that actor who played the boy in the bubble? Dark hair, kind of cute.

So then the other side of my brain hollered in response, “Robby Benson!”

And ta daaa! My brain was now stuck on, “So whatever happened to that guy?”

So there I am, trying to sleep but instead thinking about Robby Benson. You know, circa “Ice Castles” and “Ode To Billy Joe“?

Young, cute, all soft focused and baby faced? Quiet voice and acting chops suited for made-for-TV?

Yeah! That guy! Where the hell is he now?

And that’s how I went to sleep.

Only trouble is…in the light of day, I realized. The Boy in the Plastic Bubble wasn’t Robby Benson, it was John Travolta. You know, circa “Welcome Back, Kotter” and right before “Saturday Night Fever.”

So I spent all that time pondering Robby when I should have been pondering John.

Damn. What a brain. Ain’t worth the price of headcheese with mayo on marble rye from Molinari (a deli in North Beach, for my out of town friends).

I really gotta learn how to do Sudoku or something…..

Ah, Spring

In the spring a young man’s fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.

– Alfred Lord Tennyson

Yes, yes, it’s inevitable that the famous Tennyson quote will be trotted out when the weather turns warm. Especially after the winter we’ve had.

But is that true? Does a young man’s fancy lightly turn to thoughts of love?

Is it love? Or more like “damn, baby, it’s been a long cold winter.”

And if young men turn to thoughts of love, what about the thoughts of young ladies?

Well, I may not be young and I’m no lady, so what do my thoughts lightly turn to?

Well. Those cute little strappy sandals. You know the ones, with the heel, not to high, but high enough to make my legs look nice?

Oh, and if I’m wearing those, then I totally need a mani-pedi.

*ahem* Excuse me. Totally girled out there for a minute. Bringing it back to center….

My thoughts lightly turn to…

Margaritas on the patio of my favorite restaurant while nomming guacamole and hearing light mariachi music in the background.

Iced tea. Preferably made by the sun.

Liberating my legs from the tyranny of pants. (oops, better shave ’em. It *has* been a long winter!)

Apricots ripening in the side yard.

Farmer’s Markets with all of the rest of the produce that arrives with spring including nectarines, peaches and artichokes.

Daffodils on the dining room table. Followed by tulips. Followed by a cacophony of all the flowers of Spring and Summer.

Achoo! Sneezes. Because god knows all those fabulous flowers bring not so fabulous pollen.

Longer days and fabulous sunsets.

Riding my bike! (getting it tuned up today!)

Stepping outside and turning my face to the sun like an over ripened sunflower because oh-my-am-I happy to have that big fireball back in the sky where it’s visible. My vitamin D-cell batteries are running low!

Photo from: Kimberly Clark… time out, tired of Flickr!‘s photo stream.

It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like Evaporation!

Everywhere you turn….

Ok, I suppose some things are hard coded into my system. Cellular level and all.

Today promises to be a very warm day where I live. I woke up this morning and it was already getting hot, and so my mind thought, “hmm, wonder if it is too early to think about getting the swamp cooler set up.”

And then I remembered…I don’t live in the desert anymore.

Oh and by the way, evaporative cooling doesn’t work worth a damn where it’s humid.

Oh yeah. Whoops.

This all reminded me of when I looked for my first apartment in Northern California.

In Albuquerque I’d lived in a very large one-bedroom apartment up on the east end of Menaul. I was on the fourth floor and had a rocking view of the Sandias. Many of my utilities were taken care of, and I paid $550.

I was now looking at spending $1200 a month on a teeny tiny dark apartment in a crap neighborhood. And pay for it out of a salary that was only $5k more than I was making in Albuquerque.

Yeah. That was bad. But what I remember most was touring a pretty nice place that was in my price range (less than $1000 a month). It was clean, smallish, but suitable. It was a warm day down in the South Bay, and I inquired, “where is the air conditioner?”

The landlord responded that there wasn’t one.

NO AIR CONDITIONER!?!?! WHAT!?!?!?

I mean, to a girl from New Mexico, this is certain death! You don’t NOT have an air conditioner!!!

The landlord further explained that really, it’s not necessary. The really hot days are few and the wind off the Bay and the ocean keeps it cool.

I was skeptical.

Thirteen years later, I’ve still never lived in a place that had an air conditioner. Admittedly, there have been some still, hot days where I yearned for the simple beauty of a swamp cooler. On those days, I stay longer at work to soak up their climate control.

So while my home is a/c free, my car does have cooling. I won’t own a car that doesn’t, though I have friends who saved a few bucks by leaving that off. No way.

I have a vague feeling this is going to be a long, hot summer in the Bay Area where the tunnel of fans The Good Man sets up won’t quite be enough.

But then, when it gets that hot, the next day the fog rolls in over the hills and dampens the whole day and you freeze your tukhus off.

Ah…summer in the Bay Area. Swamp Coolers not required.

Come tip a glass with me!

Yes, tis time to celebrate St. Paddy’s Day again. The wearin’ of the green. The drinking, and the pinching (not necessarily in that order).

But St. Paddy’s Day means something different here on ol’ Oh Fair New Mexico.

Twas St. Paddy’s Day 2007 that my little blog was begun.

Three years and 860 posts later, it’s still going strong.

Look, three years ago, I didn’t know if I had a year’s worth of content in me, but I was willing to try. It was The Good Man’s idea to start a blog and damnit, I guess I have to admit he was right.

He really is, you know, a good man. Smart too. Dashing, handsome…but I digress.

My meager three years don’t come anywhere near the longevity and volume of blog friend, NewMexiKen. He just celebrated six years at his own url and is closer to seven years blogging and still getting ten to fifteen posts a day. I am humbled in his sheer blogging presence.

But my three years still beats the heck out of a lot of blogs I’ve seen rise and fall since I got my start.

Cheers! To Oh Fair New Mexico and another year of random acts of bloggery.

And Happy St. Patrick’s Day! To celebrate I took my new (to me) camera and snapped the prolific clover in the backyard.

I think it’s beautiful. My landlord curses at it.

And so goes the ways of my world.

(I don’t see any four leafers in there, do you?)

Heartbroke no more

There’s this famous quote from this guy named Bart Giamatti. He was a baseball commissioner and had a bit of character.

Ol’ Bart was also a writer. He liked to put down in words what he felt about the game of baseball.

He was a true fan and had a lot to say.

At the end of every baseball season, one of his quotes from a work entitled “The Green Fields of the Mind” is trotted out and poured over by the faithful, including me.

The piece begins “It breaks your heart. It’s designed to break your heart.”

Bart’s talking about how baseball begins all fresh and new and sparkly, stays with you over the course of 162 games, and gives you a story arc that includes Spring, Summer, AND Fall and then goes away abruptly.

Finds you when it is warm, leaves you when it is wet and cold.

Sort of a fair weather friend, that.

And every October, I get a little down. The World Series ends, baseball isn’t on the radio anymore and I have to actually decide what to watch on TV instead of having it decided for me.

No longer do I worry over a pitcher’s arm or that catcher’s bum knee or why the hell that guy took that bad route to get to a routine fly ball.

Baseball leaves a big empty that cannot be refilled.

Like a whirlwind romance that fills my days with daydreams and my nights with passion and I get to thinking I could never live without it.

And then it leaves me.

But weirdly, baseball is a fickle lover.

Because come March, baseball finds it’s way back to my arms.

Yesterday, because I could feel the return on the wind, I engaged in my annual viewing of “Bull Durham.” It’s a preparatory event. An ablution. A ritual cleansing to prepare me for the return.

This morning I will have either “61*” or “The Natural” playing in the background while I work, to continue my readiness.

And then, today, at noon, or 12:05 actually, I will once again hear Duane Kuiper say “Giants baseball is on the radio.”

While it may only be a Spring Training game, some harmless flirtation and not the real thing yet, I will listen. I might even cry when I hear Jon Miller‘s voice (it’s happened before).

I will hear how Bengie Molina may or may not have lost weight. I will hear how our multi-million dollar Cy Young winning, dope smoking kid has fared in the off season. I will listen for details on the new kids and assessments on the old kids and I will find that yawning chasm inside of me will begin to quiet again.

Because today, my love has returned to me.

It broke my heart, but I will forgive and forget. I will give myself with reckless abandon, not caring that October looms somewhere out there. No, today I will pretend that it will never leave me again.

God I love baseball.