Category: New Mexico

Getting to know you, er, me

Hey, contrary to popular opinion, I haven’t run off screaming into the sunset (a la Daffy Duck). Nope, I only managed to contract a vile form of stomach flu or maybe food poisoning that knocked me down for about five days last week.

It was the worst stomach ailment I’ve ever experienced in a life that’s crossed paths with plenty of gastroenteritis over the years.

It was bad. Real bad.

And you know, a year and a half into this marriage thing, I’m still learning how to handle things like living in a house with another person and only one bathroom.

Good times. We made it through the crisis with compassion and humor. Lots of humor.

The good news is, I’m back up and around and able to eat solids again.

Over the past week, I noted a few new commenters on the blog and so I have to stop a moment and say “hi!” and a big thanks to new readers.

I’m coming up on a three year anniversary of this crazy blog (March 17), and slowly but surely the number of visitors is increasing.

Which is amazing. I have much gratitude, thank you!

There was a perplexing comment made on a post from last week, and it got me thinking. Since I was doing a lot of lying around whining most of last week, I had some time to think.

In light of some new folks hanging around, a pending three year blogaversary, and my wading back into blogging after a tough week, I decided a “getting to know me” post might be in order.

My longtime readers may find most of this stuff a retread of what they’ve already learned over the years. But for new readers, this might be a good sort of background to kick things off.

Here we go, some fun facts:

As my bio says, I’m a New Mexico girl who is now living in California. I’ve been in California for about thirteen years now, but still, New Mexico is where I lived the longest. For better or worse, that’s shaped my outlook on life.

I was raised in Albuquerque back in the 70’s and 80’s when Albuquerque was growing, but still had a lot of dirt roads running through town.

Being homesick for New Mexico was the genesis of this blog. That is where it started, but I’ve managed to veer off course quite a bit over the past three years. And I like it!

My favorite color is red. Unless it is purple. Then there is my love affair with orange. And cobalt blue. Man, I love cobalt blue. And black. Can’t go wrong with black. I like bold colors. It’s hard to pick just one.

I’m the youngest child of three, which has definitely skewed my worldview, whether for better or for worse is in the eye of the beholder.

My dad was an engineer, which definitely skewed my worldview.

Growing up, I was deeply and positively affected by the prevailing Hispanic and Native American cultures (my ethnicity was the minority on the playground) of New Mexico. I identify more with the cultures in which I was raised then my own genetic lineage. It makes me happy.

I also grew up “a little bit country,” a fact that makes me proud, and sort of perplexes the people I live and work with in the urban Bay Area (I dropped a “this ain’t my first rodeo” on a conference room full of people, including a VP of manufacturing, in my first year working here. It brought the room to a screeching halt. I rather enjoyed that.)

The mid-2000’s were tough years for me. 2005 was a landmark year.

In 2005:

A long-term relationship had ended badly the year before and being alone again after all that time was disorienting.

After a close call in 2004, in February of 2005 (yesterday, to be exact) my father finally passed away after a valiant fight with a terrible lung disease. My relationship with my dad had been complicated…so this was also disorienting.

Four months later, my best friend from high school died of cancer that had started in her ovaries and ended in her brain. She left an adorable young daughter and a grieving husband behind.

In 2005 I was morbidly obese. Not much more to say on that topic.

However, that summer, after a long talk from a doctor after a regular physical in which the words “you will die” came up a lot, I began to eat better, smaller, healthier, and I exercised as much as my aching joints would allow. Funny what watching someone die will do for your motivation.

The weight started coming off fast. I lost over 100lbs in a year.

In November 2005, I met this guy. A really charming fellow. I may have even chased him around a little bit. Thankfully he let me catch him, and we married in 2008.

2005 made me realize that in order to know great joy, I also had to know great sorrow.

The kind of sorrow that rips your guts out, makes you afraid to leave your home, and makes you wonder if you can ever be happy again. Then I learned that surviving it can manage to produce this amazing guy who actually gets your sense of humor and will put up with your sh*t.

Ain’t that a kick?

By the by, I refer to my husband as The Good Man on this blog.

I have a cat. She’s a pain in the ass. She also has one of the best personalities I’ve ever known (human or animal). I try not to be “the cat lady” and blog too much about my pet. Sometimes it can’t be helped.

When I let myself dream, what I most want to be when I grow up is a published writer. I write fiction mostly, but non-fiction too. I have six completed but unpublished novels. I self-published a seventh just to see how the process works. Yes, I have a book on Amazon. It’s actually not that hard to do.

This blog makes me sit down and write every weekday, and has improved my writing skills exponentially over the past three years.

I also love to craft. I make mostly Mexican inspired pieces and I’m not bashful in my love and admiration for The Crafty Chica. It was one of her books that kicked me in the butt and gave me a voice for all the artistic ideas that I had rolling around in my head. A link to my Etsy store is on the left side of the page.

I’m also a very, very amateur photographer. I’ve been taking classes and my technique is improving, but there is a long way to go. I tend to believe more in getting a great shot from the camera and less Photoshop, so that means I’ll likely always languish as an amateur. I weary of all the over corrected and over Photoshopped photos in the world, but that’s just me.

I like pie. Sour cherry mostly, though a good tart key lime runs a close second. Blueberry is nice too.

I’m a brunette. My eyes are a greenish-brown.

This photograph scares me more than you know. (NM’s Governor Richardson)

My favorite author is Larry McMurtry. But my favorite book of all time is “Red Sky at Morning” by Richard Bradford. I read it through again two days ago in my stomachache haze. I love that book. It’s very New Mexico.

At the request of The Good Man, I’m now reading “A Moveable Feast” by Hemingway. I love to read but I’m not much on classic authors. The Good Man is working on my literary education. He even got me to read another Steinbeck. After “The Grapes of Wrath” I swore I’d never read another Steinbeck.

In return, he’s read “Bless Me Ultima” by Rudolpho Anaya and he’s currently working on “Red Sky at Morning” (it was a deal, I’d read “Cannery Row” and he had to read “Red Sky at Morning.”)

I’m very fond of my Fat Baby boots. They make me ridiculously happy.

I am blessed to have a very small selection of very, very good friends. I met my best friend back in 1988. We can never part ways. We know too much dirt about each other. We are the Butch Cassidy and Sundance Kid of New Mexico, only with a lot more green chile.

I like to eat. A lot. Lately, I also like to cook, so that works out nicely.

I am a rabid San Francisco Giants baseball fan, no matter how many times they break my heart. Which has been a lot over the course of a lifetime…..

I like to sing off key and loudly in the confines of my car. I’m not ashamed. Not even when I forget that I left the windows open.

I believe laughter the antidote to most of what ails the world. Sometimes I laugh inappropriately. But I always say, “excuse me” when I do.

I will always laugh at a fart joke. I don’t know why. It’s juvenile and uncouth. I don’t care. Fart jokes are funny. There may have been a few over the past week as a stomach ailment provides a lot of…er…fodder.

I have jury duty this week. I wonder if I’ll get called into service? Sometimes, I secretly wish that I get to be on a jury. I’m wildly fascinated by the justice system.

Did I mention I like pie?

Ok, well, there’s obviously a lot more to know, but that’s probably more than enough for now. Stick around for a while, if you want. I’m sure I’ll blurt out more embarrassing facts about myself soon.

If you’ve managed to read all the way through this, well, I thank you.

If you have been reading the blog for a while, good to see you again.

If you are new to my brand of writing, welcome. I look forward to getting to know you.

And now, back to acting like Daffy Duck…

Stages of Grief

Found in my internet wanderings, a selection of letters from grade school aged kids expressing their anxiety, grief, and eventual acceptance of the fact that Pluto is no longer classified as a planet. They have been compiled together as part of a new book, The Pluto Files.

The kids are rather adamant and articulate about the whole Pluto situation.

And they go through the seven stages of grief:

Shock and Denial – Will says, “You are missing planet Pluto. Please make a model of it.” Then follows up with an illustration in case the scientists don’t remember what it looks like.

Bargaining – John took a poll of eleven people, all of whom thought Pluto is a planet. “I had a half day off from school yesterday so my mom brought me to the Museum of Natural History and the Hayden Planetarium. I wanted to see you so I could tell you this in person.”

Guilt – Madeline works the guilt aspect well….”What do you call Pluto if its not a planet anymore? If you make it a planet again all the science books will be right…Some people like Pluto.”

Anger – Emerson says, “I do not like your answer!!! Pluto is my favorite planet!!! You are going to have to take all of the books away and change them.”

Depression – Taylor is starting to feel the loss. “We’re sorry about giving you mean letters saying we love Pluto but not you.”

Acceptance – Finally, Siddiq brings it all together. “I know how you feel…we just have to get over it – that’s science.”

See images of the letters here.

By the by, our Fair New Mexico has already passed legislation recognizing Pluto’s full planet status. Where I come from, we do “do” lesser galactic structures. Planet or nuthin’ baybee! Mr. Clyde Tombaugh, a kind gentle man (yes, I once met him) would be pleased.

Wow, New Mexico, really?

I’m late to this party, but just have to write a few words of huffiness regarding the New Mexico Senate’s vote to start taxing tortillas.

I got wind of this from former Albuquerque mayor Jim Baca‘s blog and have read up a bit more this morning.

This article from New Mexico Independent told me all I need to know.

The vote has already passed the Senate. Ugh.

So look. I get it, ok? In the best of boomtown heydays, New Mexico has never been a rich state. How does a state make money? Taxes.

A few years back, New Mexico made the move to end taxes on groceries.

When I moved to California over a decade ago, I was shocked to discover that grocery food items here aren’t taxed. Holy jeebus, California will certainly tax everything else! But food, no.

Then California decided to add in a tax on junk food items.

Ok, fine. I disagree with it, but I get it.

So, in theory, I understand what New Mexico is doing. They need money. Lots of it, and so adding in a junk food tax is not totally unprecedented.

However…when the “junk food” term applies to cultural food staple items like tortillas and chile pods, now I have to ask myself just what the sam hell is going on in my home state?

I tend to shy away from the “tax the rich!” debates, but I have to say, on the face of it, taxing flour and also taxing tortillas made from flour really sounds like punishing the less financially well to do.

I’m left a bit perplexed at this whole thing.

For New Mexico, a state that has always sought to maintain the ethnic heritage of the multi-cultures that call the Land of Enchantment home, this seems to be a strange and rather elitist move.

To quote Joe Monahan, this whole debacle “will surely be remembered as an example of the utter disconnect in our time between the elected and voting classes.”

It seems not really very fair, Oh Fair New Mexico.

(You’d think the guv, no stranger to a tortilla, might have more to say?)

In search of The Perfect Bite

I knew this guy, back in the hazy college days, who really, really loved to eat.

It was a whole fantastic sensory experience for him to have a good meal.

He’d dropped out of college and was doing some freelance cowboying at the time, so he could eat big heavy meals and work it off the next day.

So, obviously, we were fast friends. I also love a good meal (but am less adept at working it off).

This friend introduced me to the concept of “The Perfect Bite.”

Say, for example, you are sitting at Thanksgiving dinner. On your plate is a slab of hot turkey, mashed taters, gravy, stuffing, corn (if you’re into that sort of thing) and cranberries (also a pass for me, but this is for example’s sake).

The Perfect Bite means you take your fork and you get a piece of turkey, some stuffing, a swoop of mashed taters (with gravy on it), some corn and then seal the end with a bit of cranberry.

The Perfect Bite encompasses all that is good on your plate. All the wonderful tastes together to make a forkful of delicious.

The Perfect Bite generally happens during what you consider to be a really, really good meal. It is sort of a way to savor the delicious.

The friend and I, we used to compete on The Perfect Bite. “Look, looky here…I got the perfect bite, look….yuuuuumm…..” as the fork would slide home and the yummy face would come on.

The best time for The Perfect Bite is really as you are getting to the end of your plate of food. Most stuff on there has already managed to mingle over the course of your eating along, so it’s super easy to make a Perfect Bite.

For whatever reason, this concept has stuck with me and I’ve managed to introduce it to The Good Man.

I recently made some kick ass green chile chicken enchiladas. As I ate, from the other side of the table I heard, “hey, look at this! The Perfect Bite!” He had a good piece of enchilada with plenty sauce, beans, salad and capped the fork with BOTH sour cream and guacamole.

It really was a perfect bite and his yummy face proved it was true. I was envious because I no longer had on my plate the resources to make a Perfect Bite. I’d already devoured the guac and sour cream so I had no horse in that race.

Ah well.

I thought about this concept again last night. We splurged on a rib eye steak dinner. We so rarely eat beef anymore, hence the “splurge” part of the deal. Lovely steak, baked tater and steamed asparagus made up the plate.

I kept trying for a Perfect Bite but couldn’t quite get there. Either the potato wouldn’t cooperate and would fall off the fork. Once I lost the meat bite in my puddle of steak sauce. And those dang slidy asparagus spears were too recalcitrant to be the sealing factor on the fork.

So no true Perfect Bite. But I sure had a whole lotta fun trying!

Didja ever have a really bad day at work?

So there you are, doing your job. A job that you are actually really darn good at.

I mean, people *know* you are good. You’ve been recognized for your accomplishments.

And so you’ve been called again to take on that big project, that big customer, that big case.

You go about your business like a professional. You rally your support team. You create strategy. You execute on that strategy.

And then, for whatever reasons, the stars weren’t aligned right or someone failed to do their part or just gall durn bad luck, you make a mistake.

Not a huge mistake, but a mistake. It’s the kind of mistake you’ve made before on other deals, and this is a particular mistake you really hate to make. But ok.

This mistake feels worse because it is made on a really high profile project. Meaning more people know you goofed up and the effects have a lot more impact.

But it’s still a mistake.

You’ve made this mistake before and you and your group have recovered from it. It’s a mistake made by all of your peers in other companies at one time or another.

Everybody doing this job has made this mistake.

It is inevitable.

Mistakes happen.

We all make them.

Sometimes they have unintended consequences.

So this is what I was thinking, yesterday, as I listed to local sports radio station KNBR with their wrap up from the Super Bowl.

If you didn’t watch the game, I’ll fill you in. Peyton Manning threw for an interception in the fourth quarter that was returned over 70 yards for a touchdown by the New Orleans Saints.

Most say this was the nail in the coffin for football’s biggest game. That one play.

Callers to the radio station came pouring in to cry foul. To state, for the umpteenth time, that “Peyton choked!”

That he’s not the great quarterback that everyone thinks he is. That he blew it. That it’s all Peyton’s fault!

In a game that lasts four quarters at 15 minutes apiece with who knows how many individual plays, that one play was it, huh? That was the deciding moment?

I’d personally say it was the onside kick recovered by the Saints after the half that was the game changer. The momentum shifter.

There seem to be only a few comments about Colts Hank Baskett’s inexcusable case of brick hands in that moment. (Baskett, born and raised in Clovis, New Mexico. Our proud NM tradition continues on!)

But Hank isn’t the superstar. Hank isn’t the guy we built up to near god status so we can tear him down. His mistake is “just another day on the job.” But Peyton, oh Peyton.

He’s the villain.

Then when a dejected Manning walked off the field at the end of the game and didn’t shake anyone’s hands, now he’s a poor sport.

And apparently a loser and a jerk

And then there is this bit of conspiracy theory, that Peyton helped the NFL fix the game.

Hoo boy.

I guess I come down on the same side as the author of this article.

“One lousy throw is one lousy throw. It’s not a career-ender.”

Those of you who have never made a mistake on the job, raise your hands?

Didn’t think so.

(I figured a little Billy Joel imagery might be keeping in theme with The Who halftime show…you know, old dudes still rockin’? Plus there’s that whole “people who live in glass houses” thing….)