party – Page 3 – Oh Fair New Mexico

House Has Got Da Blues

Posted on May 31, 2012
by Karen Fayeth
2 Comments

For my music loving readers, let me ask you this…

Have you ever been to a live music show that simply left you speechless?

I have. It happened to me Tuesday night.

The Good Man and I took a couple extra vacation days after the Monday holiday so we could road trip up to the beautiful Napa Valley.

Our destination was the historic Uptown Theatre.

The journey took us to see one Mr. Hugh Laurie, who many might know from the American television show “House” but who The Good Man and I know better from BBC shows such as “A Bit of Fry and Laurie,” “Jeeves and Wooster” and “Black Adder.”

Turns out the venerable Mr. Laurie isn’t just an incredibly talented actor, but he’s one hell of a musician, and a consummate entertainer. Apparently the guy is good at everything he tries. I’d have to hate him if I didn’t admire him so much.

His deep love of very old New Orleans style American blues, jazz and spiritual music prompted the release of his album “Let Them Talk.

I’m a fan of blues music and was happy to give the album a listen. To be honest, it’s more jazz than blues but it’s so well arranged and so well produced that I dug the album from first cut to last note.

And then the live show. So incredibly engaging. The crowd was totally in it all along. Mr. Laurie knows how to entertain and his backing band is solid (except for the guitar player).

Whew. My arms hurt from clapping so hard.

What an amazing show. If it comes near your hometown, I can’t recommend it enough!

Here’s a couple shots I took at the show (we had amazing seats).

Photos Copyright 2012, Karen Fayeth, and subject to the Creative Commons license found in the far right column of this page. Photos taken with an iPhone4s, an iPhone telephoto lens and the Camera+ app.

Plane Spotting

Posted on May 23, 2012May 23, 2012
by Karen Fayeth
14 Comments

Today I have another story from my Costa Rica travels. Forgive me, longtime readers, but I have to get all these stories out and written down.

_____

While I was visiting San Jose, I had a chance to meet not only with coworkers at my own company, but some fairly high level representatives from local suppliers.

Which is to say, I was treated to some really expensive dinners by some fairly wealthy people by Costa Rican standards.

These were city folks from San Jose. The more advanced and sophisticated type.

In all of those conversations, it always became clear how proud Costa Ricans are of their heritage, and the talk would lead to stories about Costa Rica, both personal and historical.

And multiple times, over a cold glass of Cas, I heard a similar tale.

These business people in expensive suits would laughingly tell me how, on the weekends, people will pile their kids in the car and drive out to the airport. Cars park along the runways, just outside the chain link fence, and Costa Ricans spend the afternoon watching airplanes land and take off.

“They even sell ice cream!” they would say with a shade of embarrassment, and then say “well, it’s mostly the people from Alajuela that watch the planes.”

By the standards of San Jose, Alajuela is seen as farm country and the people from Alajuela are considered bumpkins.

So the implication is that only the rural folks watch planes.

But then, to a person, every time I heard this story, the speaker would finally admit “so, yeah…my dad used to take me out there too. We’d be out there with all of our family and neighbors. I used to love it, it’s a great memory.”

Then they’d also admit they had taken their own kids out to watch planes too.

Because it turns out watching airplanes is really less about being a bumpkin versus being a city sophisticate, and more about the spirit of community. It is families spending time together. It is friends and neighbors taking a break from working hard to simply feel the joy of watching modern airplanes landing and taking off.

“In Mexico, they’ve even built seats like football stands,” one guy told me, as if to say that while Costa Ricans enjoy the show, they don’t make it a permanent thing.

I smiled. Such a simple joy I heard as these stories were told. To me this is a prime example of how Costa Ricans look at life.

They may not have a lot of money.

They may work very hard.

They may have seen a lot of hardship in their lives.

They may have to ride a bus belching diesel for several hours to get to their job.

They may lament too much or too little rain.

But they never forget the simple joy of ice cream and airplanes.

That, my friends, is the heart of the Costa Rican philosophy of pura vida.

And that’s what I take home with me in my heart.

I told my coworker that after a week, I’m a little bit Tico now, too.

I’ll never watch an airplane again without remembering their kindness.

Photo caption by photographer: “Douglas DC-8-63(AF)…San Jose Juan Santamaria International airport”

Image from jetphotos.net

Today’s Theme Thursday is: community

Ethically Correct, but Way Less Fun

Posted on February 16, 2012February 16, 2012
by Karen Fayeth
10 Comments

I got an advance peek at the agenda for the wedding I’m going to this weekend. There’s all the usual stuff you’d expect, including the part where the bride and groom leave the reception to go start their new life together. Bubbles will be handed out to attendees to herald their departure.

It used to be rice, but rice proved to be unhealthy for the birds who ate it and got bad tummy aches.

Then it moved to birdseed, which was awesome for the birds, but not so good for the wedding venues who had to try to shoo a million fat pigeons away. And then power wash all that poop. Ugh.

So now, we’re at bubbles. Water based. Ethically correct. Fun in their own way, but not really as fun as rice or birdseed.

I remember well when I was just a young’un back in high school and I attended by brother’s wedding. When the time came for the bride and groom to head out, a bag of birdseed was dropped into my palm. I opened it and dumped the contents into my hand. As my brother walked by with his beautiful bride, I’d intended to sort of toss it and shower the happy couple.

Somehow in my over zealousness, I overhanded the batch and power drove a pile of birdseed into my sibling.

At first I was horrified.

Then I laughed my ass off. Um. Whoops.

And now, some 26 years later (has it really been 26 years? Wow. Happy Anniversary you crazy kids) the memory still kind of makes me laugh.

A lot. Out loud. Not because I powerblasted my brother, that was rude. Because I often crack myself up at what a complete wackadoodle I can be.

For the couple marrying this weekend, I probably would have given them a nice gentle rice toss and avoided any grievous harm, as I’m both older and wiser. Suffice to day I won’t be causing any physical harm with a bubble this weekend. Really, it’s better this way.

Except for my dress (as yet to be purchased) because I always end up spilling soapy bubble water down my front in my over zealousness. See? Whackadoodle.

Really, what this all means is that I need to cool my jets a little better and keep myself in low gear. I intend to try (some but not too much) wine, maybe beer, to suit this purpose. (Too much = exponential wackadoodle)

Perhaps a couple glasses of bubbly? Hmm……

Today’s Theme Thursday is: bubbles

In the Box

Posted on February 7, 2012February 7, 2012
by Karen Fayeth
6 Comments

Despite the fact that The Good Man and I actually moved two weeks ago, we didn’t fully depart the old place until this past weekend.

That last mile is a sonofabitch.

I guess we just wanted to save the best for last? Or something. Basically, the last stuff to exit the old place was the stuff from deep in the dark recesses of storage under the house.

Let’s be honest, this stuff it wasn’t “our” stuff, it was my stuff. Lots and lots of boxes, some of which hadn’t been opened since they made the 1,200 mile ride from Albuquerque to the Bay Area.

The goal this weekend was to open those deteriorating boxes, get rid of what I could, and what was left, repack into fresh boxes and move on.

This proved to be a more difficult task than I had expected.

There were some surprises in those ol’ boxes. Especially the one I’d jauntily labeled “Karen’s Childhood.”

What a doozy that one was.

Sunday morning, there I sat on the cold floor of my now former garage, used my Buck knife to slice open the “childhood” box and dug around in there. I extracted a now almost fourteen year old gallon size Ziploc bag containing a bunch of papers and stuff I clearly didn’t know what to do with when I left Albuquerque.

I unzipped the bag, pulled out the contents and went through it piece by piece. I turned over photos, old love notes, and a ticket stub.

I gasped and my eyes got a little watery from both joy and memory.

The Wayback Machine gobbled me whole.

Here’s what I found:

The year was…um….yeah. 1990? Maybe 1989? Oh jumping jehosophat! I don’t know. A long time ago when my skin was elastic and my pants were not.

It was Ag Week at NMSU. An annual celebration that was a week full of fun, games, and dancing for all us kids in and around the Ag College. It culminated in a big concert and dance at the Pan Am center on the last day of the week.

This was a special year. My best good friend excitedly told me that her Uncle Bax would be performing at that year’s Ag Week. And by Uncle Bax, she meant Cowboy Poet and legendary New Mexican, Baxter Black.

That year there was another yahoolio on the bill with Bax. Some nobody named Vince Gill.

Yeah. That Vince Gill. Before anyone knew who he was.

Friday morning we were invited to come to the Ag Lobby to meet and greet. Bax was there holding court and signing autographs, and gave my best friend a huge hug when she walked up. We talked and laughed with Bax a while and then we went over to check out this Vince Gill character. He was wearing a pair of NMSU sweatpants, a three day old scruffy beard, and hair that hadn’t been washed in a good long while.

He was nice enough. Looked totally exhausted. He signed a glossy black and white promo photo (I found that in the bag too) and we walked away wondering who that rube was.

He put on a hell of a show that night. And so did Uncle Bax.

Let’s just say this, it was a hell of a party.

One for the history books. Sure would be fun to live that one again.

When the trash went out at the end of Sunday, the Bax and Vince ticket didn’t go with it. It went back into the Ziploc bag, then into a new box.

Maybe in another fourteen years I’ll slice open that box and discover it again.

And gasp.

And well up.

And remember.

Those were salad days, indeed.