Category: memories

Near and Dear to my Heart

Sit back, I’m about to go on a bit of a rant, inspired by a story I read today in the SFGate.

About six or eight years ago, I was living in a small apartment in the South Bay, in a small eight unit building. The building dated back to at least the 1930’s, if not earlier, and featured this breathing dragon of a wall heater as its only source to take the chill of cold rainy evenings.

I had gone home to New Mexico for Christmas, and my mom, ever the practical one, had given me a carbon monoxide alarm as a gift.

Fine. Whatever. I took it back to California with me where it sat, unused, in the box for quite a while. A year or more, if truth be told.

One day, I was cleaning up the place when I found that thing and figured, “oh well”. I put in the batteries and hung it from my ceiling. Fine. Look at me. Miss Practical.

A couple months later, the damn thing started going off.

I was frustrated. Surely this was defective. Busted. Whatever.

I unscrewed it from the ceiling and moved it farther back.

And the damn thing kept going off.

Weird.

Fine. So after dealing with the piercing noise for, again, if I’m telling the truth here, several months, I finally called PG&E. I knew it would take them *forever* to fit me in, but whatever.

I told them that my carbon monoxide alarm kept going off and could I get an appointment for someone to come out check.

Anticipating at least 30 days before I got an appointment, I was surprised when, instead, the call dispatcher said, “someone will be there immediately” and further, “open all the doors and windows until someone arrives.”

Uh. Ok. Much ado about nothing, right? But at least I’d get quick attention.

Good for their word, a guy showed up within about ten minutes.

He took a reading in the center of the room and said, “I’m going to cap off your gas, you have fatal levels of carbon monoxide in here.”

Well blow me over.

Turns out there was a center tube of metal inside the heater that had slid down when the house settled or from age, and it left a crack about an inch wide that was venting the heater right into my apartment.

The next day, I absentmindedly told this story to a friend at work, and she started crying. One of her dearest friends had died from carbon monoxide poisoning. Her life could have been saved with the simple installation of a carbon monoxide alarm, but it was, instead, lost.

When The Good Man moved into our place, I told him this story and said I will never live in a place that does not have a working carbon monoxide alarm.

I refuse.

I was reminded about all of this today when I saw the headline in the local paper say:

Two Bay Area families survive carbon monoxide poisoning

“The mother said the family started feeling sick around midnight…When their symptoms failed to improve in the morning, they headed for the emergency room.”

That woman’s good thinking saved her family, her kids, her own life.

It scares the crap out of me. Apartments are required to have a smoke alarm, but not a carbon monoxide alarm. They even make dual alarms these days, both fire and carbon monoxide. Easy peasy!

So please, anyone who is reading this, don’t hesitate, don’t call it “some remote possibility”. Don’t put it off.

Get thee to a Wal-Mart or a Target or a Home Depot and BUY a carbon monoxide alarm and install it where you will spend most of your time.

Buy two, one for the living room and one for your bedroom. Just do it, okay?

Thanks. Your life matters to me.

Time, she is a cruel mistress…

Was listening to the radio on the way to work yesterday and the two deejays, one man, one woman, were discussing the work holiday party they had just attended.

The man told the woman how nice she looked. He said it with a bit of surprise. This was chalked up to the fact that since they work the morning show and go to work so early in the morning, she rarely “does it up”, opting for easy and comfortable.

The female deejay, who is teetering on the edge of forty, launched into a hilarious diatribe about everything it takes for a woman to get it together to go out to a nice event.

She said something to all the ladies listening about “remember how back in the day all you needed was a bottle of Love’s Baby Soft and a Bonnie Bell lip smacker to get started on your day. Oh, and maybe some mascara.”

And this, of course, hit a nerve with me.

Hit a nerve hard, actually, as yesterday evening I had a way overdue appointment with my hairdresser to get all the grays covered. And they are many.

I remember when a box of color had never touched this head.

I remember when I never even had to wash my face at the end of the day. Zits? They were not a problem.

How is it that I have more acne in my late thirties than I did in my teens? Does that seem right to you? Don’t answer that.

The lady dj went on to talk about how in order to go out to the party, she had to spackle over all the skin issues, then cover up the cover up cream.

And the hair, oh the hair is a whole other project.

I remember back in the day when I would brush my hair, and it would lay nice. I put no spray, gel, mousse, shaping wax, pomade, or anything else into it.

And I rarely ever wore makeup. I didn’t need it. My dewy fresh skin and peaches and cream cheeks were enough.

When, exactly, did the skin around my eyes get…crepe-ish? This I do not enjoy.

Ah well, I won’t go silently into that good night.

I’ll fight with the help of my color goddess of a hairdresser, a wand of cover up crème, skin renewing lotion and the help of darn good lighting!

I won’t begin to talk about the “foundation” garments I have to sling shot into to be able to put on a nice dress. It isn’t pretty.

That’s another post for another day. Or was another post on another day.

Meanwhile, wishing all out there a Happy Turkey Day! I’m going to attend a pot luck at work, get fattened up like a Butterball, and leave work early.

All in, not a bad day.

Great Googelly Moogelly!

I paid two dollars and thirty-three cents a gallon for gas today!

I almost wept! Given that gas was touching five dolla’ a gallon not that long ago, this was AMAZING!

Ok, to be fair, there was a forty-five cent surcharge for using my debit card at the pump. But that’s ok. On twelve total gallons, that brings my price to two dolla’ and thirty-six cents a gallon!

Look!

Unbelievable.

I procured this petrol while out running errands. I have enjoyed going out to stores on quiet weekdays rather than busy weekends.

I’m actually not seeing a slow up in spending. I’m guessing the economy might be doing ok, people are still spending with reckless abandon.

I personally provided my own “stimulus package” to the economy by spending WAY too much money over the past couple days.

Retail therapy always cheers me up!

In other news….from the retail front lines…why are leg warmers back? I was at Target and they had a full rack of leg warmers. They also had also neon colored baby doll socks (perfect for wearing with your patent leather stiletto heels).

When exactly did my HIGH SCHOOL years return to fashion? Look, I wore the rhinestones and vintage clothes and armfulls of black rubber bracelets back in the day. Sure, I was into it.

But looking back on my own personal fashion…well. It is best left in the past.

But no, Target sees fit to return it to me.

Just. Ugh.

Feliz Dia de los Muertos!

A personal high holy day for me.

I think I got deeply into the spirit last night dressed up as Frida.

It is a thoughtful day, remembering my loved ones who have moved on to the next journey.

I’m in a hotel room in Hawaii, so hard to celebrate properly, but I’ll make do.

I’m working on a make-shift ofrenda. If it comes out I’ll post a photo.

Mostly, just a reminder to remember those closest to you, both here and beyond.

Going to Carlsbad in my mind

Yeah, I just said that. Okay, maybe not actually Carlsbad, but near Carlsbad.

For a while back in the day (also called “the college years”) my folks lived in Carlsbad. Meaning I spent holidays and summers there.

Have ya’ll been to Carlsbad? No, not the caverns, those aren’t actually in town. Actual Carlsbad. Where are my southeastern New Mexico people? You know what I’m talkin’ about.

Yeah. Carlsbad.

So with those dull days in mind, while my mom resided in fabulous downtown Carlsbad, she sought to find ways to get OUT of Carlsbad.

One of the places she took me, one hot summer day, was a location called Sitting Bull Falls. Yes, in the middle of the desert, a glorious oasis with an 130 foot waterfall.

Gorgeous!

What got me waxing about such a wonderful (cooooool) place?

Well, first, it’s been a hard day. Bleary eyed I scanned the Las Cruces Sun News and followed *this* link.

To my surprise, I found a nice write up about Sitting Bull Falls! Nestled deep in the Lincoln National Forest, it’s a beautiful and surprising destination in the, uh, middle of no-frickin’-where.

(When you are a NM kinda person, the corner of no-frickin’-where and BFE is a party destination!).

So on this bleary, sad, hard day, I went to Sitting Bull Falls in my mind.

I remembered a really good day. A break from the oppressive heat. Natural beauty. And relaxing. It was a nice mental vacation.

I sort of doubt I’ll ever be back that way again in person…so the best I can do is go to Sitting Bull Falls in my mind.

Ahhhh.

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