Category: New Mexico

Second verse, same as the first….

Back on the road. Mom’s better but not up and around. My brother was here for a week so I’m the “changing of the guard”. Brought my PowerBook this time and am working and keeping up with stuff.

So. Bah.

On to today’s rant.

File this under: I don’t get it. (There is a lot I don’t get, shall I make a list?)

1) The iPhone. Mein gott the press on this thing. And the ads. And the articles. And the blogs.

For a phone.

I know, I know, it is a phone that does *cool things*….but…in the end…it’s a phone.

I’ve actually seen the thing up close (albeit through glass) at MacWorld. It is, truly, lickably well designed, but still.

It’s a phone. For $500.

They are speculating people will line up around the block to get their hands on one….

: shrug :

2) Paris Hilton. What exactly has she done to be famous? Oh yeah, she’s rich and skinny and beautiful? Good lard, the woman got a DUI then got another one while on a suspended license. Go to jail already you spoiled brat!

You know, I read how when the judge decided to send her back to jail, she cried and called out “Mom!”

You know what my mom would have done? Thumped my head with a wooden spoon and told me to suck it up and do my jail time.

Why is this woman and her problems in the headlines of magazines and newspapers across the country?

So much so that even the ABQjournal’s venerable Jim Belshaw name checks her in his June 10th column.

: shrug :

3) Fred Thompson’s alleged thoughts of running for President. Dude, do or do not, there is no trying an exploratory committee.

I like the guy…as an actor.

Is the race so lacking a good candidate from either party that ANY person who even “thinks about” running is suddenly big news?

Oh, yeah, I guess that’s true. Sorry Bill.

: shrug :

4) The need people have to be assh*les at the airport. Ok, sure, this isn’t “national” news, but damn people, when a nice girl such as me *politely* asks “Is this the A line” it is COMMON $%#@ing courtesy to 1) acknowledge that person actually exists, and 2) answer the question….a simple NOD OR SHAKE OF THE HEAD WILL DO!

Oh, and I won’t EVEN get started on the chippy who, yes literally, ROLLED HER EYES when I ordered my coffee beverage. Yes, I want it decaf…and soy….and sugar free vanilla. I don’t think this is a big deal. You are a coffee peddler for $%#@’s sake! Just take my money and make my beverage and DON’T GIVE ME ATTITUDE!

I was actually happy to enter the old folks community where my mom lives. A nod and a wave from an elderly person is *quite* appreciated on this crap day.

Ok, now I’m all fired up again. Going to go make a cool beverage and think about happier things……

Like horses, and cute boys, and boat drinks…..

Max Evans

If you don’t know who Max Evans (the writer, not the “Roswell” character) is, you should.

If you are a New Mexican and you don’t know who Max Evans is…for *shame*.

Max is truly one of ours and in behind the deeply furrowed face of that crazy man beats the heart of New Mexico.

If you don’t know about him, get thee to the nearest receptacle of books, be it library or retailer and take a look. He’s a writer of cowboy stories. He’s an artist. He’s a funnyman and a raconteur extraordinaire. No one puts a spin on a story like ol’ Max.

And so I was happy to read this interview with him in the Albuquerque Tribune.

He’s got a new book out, “For The Love of A Horse” that I will probably burst into flames moving so fast to acquire. (Amazon reports only two in stock so this may be harder to come by than I first imagined….)

I, too, have been influenced by the horses I’ve known in my life. I remember them better than I do most former boyfriends. And I remember them more fondly too.

I’m fired up to read his stories. I expect alternating pangs of homesickness and heartbroke over the steeds that have come and gone. Should be awesome!

By the by, as an update to my last post, my mom is improved, but not out of the woods. My brother is there with her now and we are waiting on some test results. I may have to head back out there next week and am NOT looking forward to it. Work is insane and family life is insane and I want to escape into the relatively un-insane home I share with my incredibly sane man and hide…for a long time….

Day at a time.




AP Photo/Jake Schoellkopf

Misty Soot and Cinder Colored Memories

Yesterday I talked a bit about sort of growing up in “rough” circumstances. Today, over this memorial weekend, I find myself lost in a few memories.

Perusing the ABQjournal today, I came across an article titled “Cumbres & Toltec Railroad Ready to Roll This Weekend”.

And it brought a smile of memory to my face.

This is one of those “good” times from childhood, one of those places I can go and touch in my mind when things get tough. When I need a place to escape.

My dad, type A until his body couldn’t support it anymore, did love to take his family out on trips. He loved to go camping, road trips, up in the mountains, and to go see cool things that appealed to his engineering sensibilities.

One of the many trips we went on was to ride the Cumbres &Toltec Railroad. I don’t have a lot of memories from childhood, but tatters show up here and there.

One clear memory I have is being in Chama. We’d driven up there the day before, found some campground somewhere (this part is fuzzy). Dad set up our Apache Pop Up Trailer (that link shows a photo of one *exactly* like the one we had, tho ours was in better condition), the kind with the hand crank, and we spent the night. (I always had to sleep with my sister (bah!) on one end, my folks on the other, my brother in the table-converts-to-a-bed in the middle)

Then of course, we had to get up at the buttcrack of dawn to go catch the train. Dad would roust us out with his old fashioned values which included that sleeping in was a sin.

I recall drinking warm Carnation Instant Breakfast from a Styrofoam cup while we stood around in the freezing cold outside the ticket office in Chama, tickets in hand ready to take the ride.

I checked the schedule page and the earliest train now leaves at 10:00am, but I’m pretty sure we took off way earlier than that. We did the Chama to Antonito and back route.

It was one of those grumblies in the morning, but once we got going on the narrow gauge rail, I was INTO it. Great quote from a Jetsetters Magazine article “Aspen leaves dance in the glittering afternoon sunlight and the train makes a rhythmic, confident, ca-chunk, ca-chunk, ca-chunk sound, as if to say, I’m a train that knows what I’m doing.” Perfect description.

This ancient train chugging up a hill. Beautiful scenery all around, mountains, trees, green. I’d lean my head out the glassless window to take it all in and get a face full of soot for my trouble.

As the rails curve and turn up the climb, you can look back at the caboose or forward and see the engine chugging along.

About halfway through, I begged my mom for money for snacks and purchased some awful junk foodie treat. Beef jerky and Funyuns I believe.

We arrived in Antonito, Colorado grimy but happy. Antonito itself is little more than a touristy place high in the mountains. We shopped while my dad and brother explored. I’m sure my lifelong love of tchochkies overtook me and I spent hard earned allowance on items imprinted with names and places. I know that I did but couldn’t tell you what. The clearest memories are the morning, the cold, and being on the train. All the rest is a haze.

But I do remember it was one of those trips where my family acted like a family. We all enjoyed each other’s company. My parents aired out their three children, exposed them to the outdoors and gave them something to learn about.

And a happy memory, one that makes me smile. It’s what I’ll choose to hold onto this Memorial Day weekend.

***Many thanks to Jetsetters Magazine for providing me photos and memories. Many of the shots linked on this page look pretty much like the ones still stuck in a photo album that I took with my Kodak Flip Flash Camera.

Update: I pulled out the old photo album with the FlipFlash photos….August 1978 *coff*. That’s when this went down…nearly twenty *coff* years ago…..*coff*

Paging my mother…..

Dear ol’ Mom.

Ten years ago I moved to the Bay Area. In fact, almost ten years exactly. It was Memorial Day 1997.

When I told my mom I was moving, like most good moms, she was *none* too pleased that her youngest was heading to far flung places. And like the good New Mexican woman that she is, she spat the word “California” as if it tasted bad.

Mom is a natural born worrier. Her dad was a worrier. She’s a worrier. I *might* have to own up to a bit of the worry myself, but not to that level. I’m a rank amateur in the field of worry compared to her.

So of course, two things just *killed* her about me moving to the San Francisco Bay Area.

Bridges and Earthquakes.

“Why would you move somewhere so dangerous,” she asked, tartly and with conviction.

I reminded her that New Mexico has tornados.

She was not swayed.

“Look what happened when that bridge collapsed!” she reasoned.

I reminded her that New Mexico has flooding.

She was not amused.

“I can’t understand why anyone would want to live where there are so many people!” she shouted.

I reminded here that where she lived in Belen, they had Bosque fires every year.

She glared at me.

Should I send her this link to this blog in the ABQjournal entitled “The Big One”?

Seems a 3.3 earthquake hit Soccoro.

As a now veteran of the Bay Area, I can say that a 3.3 is a “teacup rattler” and not much more.

“A Socorro city councilor told 770 KKOB Radio this morning that it was enough to knock him out of bed”

I highly doubt that. I was in a 3.5. It rattled the front door in its frame like someone was struggling to get in, and gave me a good jiggle, but my heinie stayed firmly planted on the couch. The good councilor must sleep on the edge of the bed…that’s all I’ve got to say.

So shall I remind Moms that they have earthquakes in New Mexico, too? Or is it still too close to Mom’s Day to “go there”???

*smirk*

Requiem for an Artist

Funny how my heart has softened regarding the injury and subsequent death of Aaron Vigil.

When I first set out to blog about the severe electric shock he received while tagging a PNM substation, I was mad. Indignant. Felt the kid got what he deserved. Wondered how he could be so stupid.

But even as I typed, my thoughts softened. I wondered about this kid. Hoped he would recover and become something better, smarter.

Sadly that’s not to be. Young Aaron died Friday morning.

And still I’m left wondering.

Today’s ABQjournal article “Tagger Called Quiet, Artistic” tells us a bit more about this young man.

Contrary to the profile that I assumed must be the case, both mom and dad are in his life, still married, care a whole lot about their son, and are devastated at the loss.

His parents describe him as “artistic” and that artistry runs in the family. They describe him as saying “yes ma’am” and “yes sir” to hospital staff. They describe him as a wildly creative kid who would draw and paint and sketch.

By all accounts from this profile, he was a good kid.

So what leads a good kid to climb a fence to tag a power station thus ending a short life?

This story troubles me. I don’t know why, but I’ve taken it probably a little too much to heart.

I know a little about being tortured by my art. By being plagued by thoughts and ideas until I *had* to get them out on canvas, on watercolor paper, on film, or most often, in a fresh new Word document.

And I’ve done unconventional things in my art. Used unconventional media. I get that.

“Family members say they weren’t aware of Aaron’s tagging, which they prefer to call art.”

I can’t. I know that many taggers are amazing artists, but maybe it’s my too conservative upbringing. I can’t call vandalism art. Or maybe I can in some cases, but he climbed up there to write his nickname. A classic tagger gang-style thing to do. The article doesn’t mention any gang ties. Maybe he wasn’t affiliated. The article says he was with two other people who haven’t been identified and haven’t come forward. Maybe they pushed him into it?

I don’t know. I’m troubled. And saddened.

Somehow we let this kid down. I can’t chalk it up to “a dumb mistake”. I’ve made lots of dumb mistakes. There is more there, more to know.

If this kid had been given more room to channel his art, would that have changed things?

Somehow I doubt it. There is some piece of this story I’m missing. Some reason I may never know.

For now, I’m saddened for this child, saddened for the parents who lost their child, and hoping someday this makes sense.

And I need to go deep inside to better understand why this troubles me so……

In memoriam….