Strategy.

Yes, planning session. Must have.

Approach. Direction. Map out the route. Implement. Execute.

Yup. Vital.

Necessary.

What’s that? Work? No, no, I’m not talking about work.

Food. At the baseball game. Tonight. Yup. The Good Man and I are currently engaged in a lengthy instant message conversation planning this out.

What needs to be consumed. Where it’s located. How to obtain efficiently.

Nice.

BTW, I learned this blitz strategy from my Mom. Attending the NM State Fair.

“Ok, we start out in the Spanish Village for a burrito…then across the way to the Native American Village for fry bread and honey…Mom needs a corndog…Karen wants funnel cake…”

You know the drill.

Hey, I learned from the best.

Dreaming of a Cha-Cha bowl now (bless you Orlando Cepeda!)…

Photo source.

It should be a National Holiday*

(with all due deference to NewMexiKen’s decision that today *isn’t* a candidate for National Holiday. Damn Domenici for busting up my day!)

And on this day, a Karen was born, and it was good.

Until she grew up a little and her family would beg to differ…

So when I was little, my mom was always willing to make whatever cake or pie the birthday kid wanted. I usually chose a cake, a chocolate chip cake. My mom would whip it up out of a box and it was oh so yuuuum. It felt special to have the cake made just for me.

In honor of the kindness my mother showed me all those years, I decided to make my own cake for myself this year.

Mom, you’ll note my layer cake is about as even as all the ones you and I made over the years.

Though in my defense, The Good Man and I have discovered our home on a hill built in the early 1940’s isn’t exactly level anymore. Doors don’t stay open (or closed, depending) and my two layer of cake came out of the oven looking less like a square and more like a right-angled triangle. Can one work a Pythagorean theorem on a cake?

But as I’ve learned over the years, frosting can make up for a multitude of sins. And add a few too.

Last night on Birthday Eve, I endulged in a slab of cake. Not a piece, a slab. And it was gooooooood. Chocolate with vanilla frosting. Yes please!

And I am planning to celebrate even more. I’ve shaken off the birthday blues and enjoying the day. I even scored a few presents at work. How ’bout that!

Looking forward to the surprises The Good Man has in store.

¡Feliz Cumpleaños para ME!

_______________________________

Oh, an update for the folks who have asked about the progress of Plastic Surgery Kitty.

She’s healing really well.

Here’s a photo from this morning:

The last of the scab came off last night and the wound has healed nicely, is pink and healthy. Looks like she’s come through it just fine! Much better photo than the last one I posted, huh?

The Good Child

I used to be that. I was the one that didn’t get into trouble. And when I did get into trouble, it *pained* me. I worked long and hard my whole life to “go along to get along”.

But not always. And not as much lately.

Been doing a lot of “head work”. You know the kind where you go sit on a couch and talk about your feelings? It’s hard work, but as I work at it, I find, I don’t always like sitting there being a good girl anymore.

And that’s ok. What’s not ok is the guilt I still have about it.

Tonight I went to the book club at my local library. For this month, we read “Three Cups of Tea” by Greg Mortenson and David Relin.

The book, roughly, is about a guy who tried to scale K2 in Pakistan, but didn’t make it to the summit. While wandering around, hungry, disoriented and lost, he finds himself in the tiny village of Korphe, where the villagers care for him. While there he sees the sad state of schools in the village, children study outside and share a teacher with another village, and vows to build them a school. This sets off a long journey around building a series of schools in a fairly hostile country.

It’s a wonderful story. But in my opinion, the writing in the book is truly awful. And this is a book club, right?

So the discussion group I attend, it’s mostly elderly folks. They are really wonderful and I enjoy them. But I get tired of the need for everyone to agree. Every time the book club starts, the librarian asks, “how did everyone like the book.” Everyone always likes the book. Everyone but one. Me.

I have become, in the bounds of this book club, the proverbial turd in the punchbowl.

And the cheese stands alone.

I don’t *try* to be disagreeable. I just like a lively discussion. But I think these fine folks think I’m a rabble-rouser.

Which, if you know me, is pretty funny. I’m feisty, sure, but there is that whole ingrained “go along to get along” thing.

Maybe this therapy thing is working? Because tonight I’m ALL fired up. I do feel a little guilty for not being the good girl, but I’m working through it. I am not sure the people enjoyed my point of view, but I thought I made some darn good points.

We don’t *always* have to agree in order to get along. Right?

Or is that just me……………

Bill! Don’t make me like you!

The Cute Boy™ is very into politics. He can speak about them intelligently. Profoundly. And he knows what he is talking about.

After being harangued by dear old dad in my formative years regarding politics (papa leaned so hard to the right it’s a wonder he didn’t flop over. Daughter tends to be more than a skosh toward moderate). And when I say harangued, I mean dash from the room at a dead run to avoid the inevitable lectures.

That being said, I’m trying. But I find I can’t tolerate listening to any of the current candidates speak. None. Right. Left. In the middle. Out in left field. I just can’t. It is just so false. I get the same tense-in-my-chest feeling that I get when a sales-weasel puts the full court press on me at work. I find it distasteful. Disingenuous. And just not ok.

I have been following the trail of Oh Fair New Mexico’s own Governor with mild interest, mainly because I’m curious to see how this all goes.

When I first heard he was running, I made barfing sounds and stamped my little feet.

See, when I was living in my home state, I didn’t like ol’ Bill all that much. It’s ok. I own it. (Don’t tell Jim Baca, ok? I like Jim a lot and don’t want to get on his fighting side.)

It started with that g’damn cheesy billboard on I-25 between Albuquerque and Santa Fe. If you lived there long enough, you remember it too. “Bill Richardson welcomes you to Northern New Mexico”. Bill leaned across his desk, fixing you, the driver with that jowly stare.

AAAAAAGH!

Then I came to dislike him more because both my folks worked for Sandia Labs and for a while were located at the WIPP Site in Carlsbad.

If you are unfamiliar…in a quick nutshell…the Waste Isolation Pilot Plant or WIPP is an experiment in the disposal of low-level nuclear waste. The WIPP site is located way down in some ancient salt beds. The theory (this is me, a layperson and not a scientist, so give me wide berth) is that a properly sealed container could be placed into a hole made in the salt. And over time, due to some fluids in the salt, it will migrate. Meaning the salt will close in around the container, encapsulating it, thus keeping it safe and sound and away from contaminating anything else.

Obviously, this plan has met with a lot of opposition over the years. The moving brine water means that folks are concerned with contaminating water supplies. And other such (legitimate) concerns.

So my folks worked there back in the early 1990’s and the site was dug out, ready to go, but faced massive political opposition to opening. Or even *trying* out the storage of some low level nuclear waste (like gloves, jumpsuits, etc from workers in nuclear plants).

One of the biggest voices of opposition was our own Bill Richardson, congressman from the northern part of New Mexico. Vehemently.

Except when he became the Secretary of Energy under Bill Clinton.

Yeah. El Flippo Floppo.

I guess after hearing my dad rave on about the evils of Richardson, much of it took hold in my head. Again, for the folks following along at home…dear old dad was a staunch Republican. In hindsight, that *may* have colored his view…just a skosh. But to be fair to my pops, those were frustrating years at WIPP because they were fairly *begging* to be given the chance to at least TRY their theories and see if they worked. And Richardson issued a firm “nyerhe, no, nada, nope”. Didn’t make my folks big Richardson fans.

And well, after all of this time….I’m not a fan of Bill either. Just not. Or was not, I should say.

As this campaign progresses, my mind might be changing.

I’ve listened to some speechifying over the past week. I thought I was an Obama girl, but I really listened to a speech he gave in Iowa and was sort of turned off when it was done. For a variety of reasons. I think Jim actually put it best in yesterday’s post about worrying that he’s all hat and no cattle.

As a woman, I’d like to like Clinton. I just…can’t.

Edwards is sort of blah to me. And I think he’s putting on that accent a bit. I know it’s natural, but he seems to Hee Haw it up a bit, in my opinion. But so far I’m ok with him. Not sure I’m Team Edwards yet…I’m team no one yet, really.

And forget all the Republican candidates. I listened to their first debate and was like, uh, no.

So. Sunday night I watched the Democratic candidates debate with each other. Well, I watched the end. Listened to much of it while working in the other room then came and sat down and watched. It was the last question that intrigued me.

Moderator Charlie Gibson asked the question, “Of all the debates that have been held so far what have you said that you wish you could take back?”

Clinton went first. And didn’t answer the question. Blathered on about how the real thing to concentrate on was the difference between the Democrat and Republican debates. I kept yelling at the TV “ANSWER THE QUESTION!!!”

Richardson went next. He told a funny, charming story about one of the early debates where he was asked who was his favorite Supreme Court Justice. It was endearing, self-deprecating, and got a laugh from the audience and candidates (and me).

Edwards said his was when he made fun of Hillary’s jacket early on. Ok, at least he answered the question.

Obama said he agreed with Clinton and blathered about the differences between the two parties. He also didn’t answer the damn question.

So at the end I was like “oh my god…Richardson *may* have just made me like him.”

Wow.

I don’t know what to do with that.

It may be for the best that dear old dad has (sadly) passed on from this mortal coil. Because I think if I voted for Richardson it would send him into convulsions…

I have until February 5 to figure out exactly which name I’ll put the mark next to on the ballot. I may have to do like I did in that whacked out election for California Governor…pick the most outlandish candidate and give them my nod. Not very mature, but it made me feel better when I left the polling place.

Ok. All this talk of politics is making me twitchy. Wonder what Britney is up to today?

Guilt.

I have it.

What is it, exactly, about the holidays that makes guilt so possible?

True, I’m an easily guilted child. A fact my folks used to great advantage when raising me. And yet, the month of December seems to be the guilt month, no doubt.

Owing to my Catholic upbringing (I’m no longer practicing), guilt was sort of woven into my early life. And in the good Catholic tradition, confession is good for the soul…

I feel guilty that my mom is alone for the holidays. I mean, she’s not *really* alone, my aunt and uncle are nearby and look after her, but since my dad passed, she’s had a tough time of it. I shouldn’t feel guilty. My folks weren’t very people oriented, so they had few friends. In my mom’s waning years, she doesn’t have that many people to rely on and she’s honestly burned a few bridges with her children. She keeps wanting me to move closer to her. I just can’t (for many reasons). And years of hard mental work have told me that taking care of myself is important (and isn’t selfish). And so despite the fact that it’s the right thing for me to be here and live my life, I still feel guilty.

I feel guilty that I’ve been so involved in work and trying to finish up that I haven’t paid enough attention to my home life. The Cute Boy™ and The Feline are fine, they love me, support me, are happy I made it through. I guess I want to be all things to all people (and pets). I tend to take on all this guilt when I can’t be “perfect”. Ugh, what’s with that?

I feel guilty that I’ve eaten too many holiday cookies. :)

I feel guilty that I got my Christmas cards out late. I know, not a crime, but damnit! How hard is it to send out a few cards? (Hard enough when you are working too much and are exhausted….there goes that perfectionist thing again.)

I feel guilty that my job is a decent job and pays reasonably well but I actually don’t like it and want more than anything to flee. I should be more grateful for everything that place has done for me, and yet I just cringe going in there every day. I’ll spend the next two weeks pondering this one. I’ve reached critical mass. Time to you-know-what or get off the pot about this topic.

And of course, I feel guilty that I haven’t managed to update my blog most of this past week and so here it is, 7:40am on my first day off and I’m writing up a guilt post.

Good lord my brain is a complex place.

So as of this moment, I grant myself absolution. I don’t even have to do an act of contrition, I’m pretty contrite already.

My penance is to love myself a little more today. To ease up a bit. To hug my man and cat a bit more and to enjoy the hell out of my Christmas holidays.

Now I shall go out and make it so.