The roots of my raising run deep…

Ok, well, maybe a taste of the holiday spirit came and got me this weekend.

The tree went up.

And the kitchen got cookin’.

It ain’t Christmas without a batch of biscochitos. (Recipe here from the PNM cookbook.) It’s a family tradition.

Here are the little beauties, just before going in the oven….deelish already:

And then, fully cooked, fulfilling their destiny. So lightly baked, so flaky, so anise-y. Oh yeah. New Mexico comes to visit.

Many of these bad boys will be going with me to work. These Californians need a taste of where I come from!

Time Marches On

I noted with some sadness today the passing of Bettie Page. She was 85 and passed after suffering a heart attack.

I’ve always been rather fascinated by her, first, of course, for her vibrant beauty and unabashed nature. But there is something else there for me…this might sound horribly vain, but I loved that, like me, she was a brunette.

I grew up in New Mexico where almost all the girls are brunette, and a blond girl was always the “ooh and aaahs” of the school ground. The boys didn’t care about another brunette girl. We were a dime a dozen. But a blond, aaaaooooohhhhga!

So I’ve always loved seeing a hot brunette make it work. After the Marilyn Monroe and Jayne Mansfield media barrage, I *loved* seeing Bettie’s dark locks…and that she took her overt sensuality to new levels. She made people uncomfortable.

And she was just…stunning.

Like the many girls who burst on the scene the way she did, she had a troubled life both before and after her explosive fame. But I don’t want to remember her for the hard times, the mental frailty, the reclusiveness and regret.

I want to remember her as a plain, open, fun kinda gal.

From today’s SFGate article: “…she told Playboy in 1998: ‘I never thought it was shameful. I felt normal. It’s just that it was much better than pounding a typewriter eight hours a day, which gets monotonous.'”

Right!

I know the “behind the scenes” wasn’t always pretty, and the uptight folks hounded her. But to me she is truly an icon. And supportive evidence that brunettes can be just as va-va-voom as our fair-haired counterparts!

I’m posting a fairly well known photo, fully clothed, but brimming with HOOOOOT.

Go easy, now, Bettie. Have fun shaking your money-maker on the other side!

Haaawhoof!

That approximates the exact sound I made at about 10:55 this morning.

I had a “meet and greet” with the boss of my boss, a high ranking and incredibly powerful woman.

I mean, she’s brilliant. Has a degree in chemistry and another in finance. Worked for an oil company in Houston for many years and then made her way west. The continuing upward steps in her career are admirable.

Her background is deep, diverse and amazing.

Let’s just say this: She is a force to be reckoned with.

And as a new employee in her organization, I got the chance to have an hour of her time so she could get to know me and so I could get to know her too.

I was told by my mentor that I should, “come with an agenda, don’t leave open air”. Her time if valuable, to be sure. And so I did. I came to the table with a print out of questions I jotted down and I noticed she took note that I had.

I asked her about her background, her management philosophy and what I can do to be effective here at the company. And she answered very candidly.

I even asked her what is her nitpick so that I can manage to that. She told me two.

That’s some managerial self-awareness!

So it was an intense hour, but good, meaningful and filled with useful information.

When it was over, I came out of her office pitted out (meaning, I needed a Right Guard moment, raise your hands if you’re Sure, etc).

So, for me, the life moments that cause me to get pitted out all get measured on the scale of completing the orals for my Master’s degree.

Wearing a suit, in front of my professor committee, at the marker board, explaining economic theory. Yeah, despite two coats of D.O., I was WAY pitted out that day. That was the worst.

So if we call “Master’s Orals” a 10, today’s moisture was about a three. So low, but still…

I musta been more nervous that I even thought going in.

When all was done, I came out of the boss lady’s office, went up two floors to my office, ripped off my cardigan, and uttered a long drawn out “haaawhoof!”

You know the sound. The one you make when you’ve finished your laborious taxes. The one you make when your shaky team is up by one with three seconds on the clock in a playoff game and they manage to win.

The one you make when you want very much to make a good impression on someone who could literally make or break you and your career.

Haaaaawhoooooof!