Bare Naked Me

Six months of silence

2012-01-01T17:23:00.001-08:00

Dana and me waiting in line for Albuquerque's Christmas Eve Luminaria Tour.

What if I told you that I took a six month nap? Would you believe me? I did...sort of.
When my position was terminated and I found myself unemployed I spent the next 6 to 8 weeks remodeling my kitchen. Then I sat down for a nap and didn't wake up for a couple of months. I think in reality I might have been disoriented or depressed or at least and most assuredly undisciplined. I found myself resting....a lot....and I think I needed it.

Then at the end of September Dana became ill. He hadn't had a heart attack but was suddenly in need of a quadruple heart bypass. He needed it immediately but had to wait two weeks because of a medication he was on and the need to have it out of his system. Now that it's over with I can tell you that I didn't think he would live long enough to have the surgery. He now admits that he didn't believe he would either.

But in the middle of October he had the surgery and recovered very well. During this time I took over all of our regular duties which took its toll on me. So then I once again felt exhausted and in need of rest.

After everything was said and done we decided to go to New Mexico for Christmas. We were fortunate enough to be able to stay for over a week. Got to spend time with my sisters and their husbands. Got to spend time having my soul nourished by the Sprite of New Mexico.

Now I'm home in Missouri and ready to begin 2012 equipped with the desire / motivation to make this the year I "break out". It's my intention to write and paint like my life depends on it....and maybe it does.

Another turning point a fork stuck inthe road....

2011-06-30T21:50:00.000-07:00

I have spent so much time feeling sorry for myself because I have to work for a living and saying how stressful my job is and that since my heart attack I am so weak that all I can manage is to go to work - crawl home - eat supper and go to bed. Weekends were for errands , laundry and housework as well as a small part time job. No time to paint or write or do anything that resembles creativity.

BLAH BLAH BLAH - I was not only depressed but also boring.

Well - to quote the Green Day lyrics - "time takes you by the wrist directs you where to go."

Last Friday at 4pm the president of the company I worked for (for over 5 years) met with us to let us know that our program had been de-funded in Washington - one quarter of the staff lost their jobs effective immediately. Guess which group I fell into?

But here's the strange thing. It was totally unexpected but immediately recognizable for the opportunity of a lifetime. While everyone else was wandering around wiping tears from their eyes I was busy packing up my office and thanking my director - no sarcasm here - I appreciate the opportunity I had to work for that company and will miss the job and coworkers but.....

It was all I could do to contain my excitement.

With my severance and unemployment I will for the first time in my life have the chance to see what I'm made of. To paint and write and market myself...and still pay my mortgage - WOW!
How lucky am I?

I spent this first week wrapping up loose ends - taking advantage of insurance before it ran out (which it did June 30th) I painted my bathroom and got new carpet, met with a contractor about a small remodeling job in the kitchen. I have company coming for the 4th of July but when they leave it will be time to launch my new career as a full time painter and writer.

Did you hear what I said? Forgive me while I say it again for my own enjoyment....I'm self employed as a painter and writer...... full time....ah, I love the sound of that.

"So make the best of this test and don't ask why...it's something unpredictable but in the end is right....I hope to have the time of my life."

2011-04-15T18:16:00.000-07:00

Heard this on the radio last night and instantly I was 16 years old and parked at the Dairy Bar drinking a coke and checking out the other cars lined up full of friends. Remember those days? Before seat belt laws when you would have as many people in one car as you could possible fit in?

Marilyn and Dee Dee

That was what Friday and Saturday nights were all about back then. Riding around checking out who was riding around with who - pretending to be "not interested" but all of the time hoping to get noticed. As hard as it was to be a teen back then it really was the very best of times in a lot of ways.

To all of you cruising up and down old 66 - I loved you all and still do -

Dee Dee

2011-02-06T07:44:00.000-08:00

When I was 16 I had a friend named Dee Dee. I loved this girl. She was smart and funny and a perfect fit. She and I and our other friend Marilyn were all best friends that summer of 1973.

You've heard me refer to that summer as one of the best times of my life and my friends were the reason why. The three of us had a very special relationship. At an age when girls squabble and fight for the attention of young men we were somewhat uncommon. For that moment in our lives we were all very grounded in our relationships both with the opposite sex and with each other.

Not that life was perfect - it wasn't. When I think back on the turmoil in each of our lives at that moment in time its a miracle any of us survived but due to the love and unconditional support we gave each other we made it through.

Then one day she was gone from Santa Rosa- just like that - gone. Marilyn had moved away the summer before the trio that once felt like they could rule the world had dispersed. It was an incredably lonely time in my life. I had other friends - good friends but there was something special about the three of us.

Then just after I graduated from high school she reappeared in Santa Rosa. I was at a Lion's basketball game and she walked into the gym with James Dodge. I was sitting on the opposite side of the gym where all the "cool kids" always sat and I jumped up and ran down to the door. I was so happy to see her. She moved in with me for several months before I moved to Santa Fe. Then I was the one who was gone -

I never saw her again. I have no idea where she is or how her life turned out. She was from Denver originally and I've thought about trying to find her many times but I don't even remember her a last name. When I knew her it was Encinias but I that was a fleeting name for a fleeting time.

But where ever your are Dee Dee - I think about you often and I miss you.

Christmas 2010

2011-01-10T18:48:00.000-08:00

LaVonne, Vicki and me

Surprise! In a spontaneous move Dana and I decided to go home (my home) for Christmas. I wanted to surprise everyone but ended up only being able to keep it a secret from my sister Vicki.

We had a great time. Got to see some special old friends while home.. Buster and Ellen Dudrey. Beek and Sap and Stella. Joe Sisneros and my first art teacher Vera Sanchez. Stopped by Lupita and Dan Flores' home where I picked up a copy of Dan's book "Santa Rosa, A Route 66 Gem".

I was a little saddened to see that there weren't very many luminarias. I had bragged to Dana about them so much and how they were soooooo traditional and how everyone put them out and then....zilch......

It was a wonderful trip and we had great weather. Dana and I enjoyed every aspect of the trip. I took a lot of photos and wrote a lot about the trip as we drove along. Sort of a written narrative of the drive. Since it was just Dana and I we could stop anywhere and everywhere we wanted to along the way. We stopped outside of Amarillo to see the Cadillacs standing upright like they are buried in the ground. I was surprised to find that they aren't buried but in fact just half a car and that they are coated with layer upon layer of spray paint. BUMMER! The whole place reeked like a huffers paradise.

Dana

But still, we had a great time and it was like a shot in the arm for Dana and I. We are hoping to find a way to schedule in more of these trips this year -

Dreams are strange....

2010-10-22T18:15:00.001-07:00

This is a picture of my grandmother taken sometime in the 1960's. She lived in El Monte California and had this unbelievable flower garden in her back yard. I was very young, maybe 7 or 8 years old, maybe younger, but as small as I was it seemed like her back yard was a fairyland. I would play for hours and make believe that I was a princess or a gypsy or some other storybook character and her flower garden was my kingdom.....

My grandmother passed away in the early 1990's at the age of 87 and to this day when I am sick or scared or sad I want my "Nonnie".

Last week I had a strange dream. I dreamed I returned to this yard. In my dream I seemed to know my grandmother wasn't there and hadn't been there for a long time. I returned however with the intention of digging up some of her prized rose bushes to plant in my yard. When I got there the roses were all dead, no one had watered them or taken care of them at all. But what made the dream strange was that on the other side of the chain link fence, on all sides of her yard, were graves and tombstones for as far as I could see.

I know exactly what this dream meant....it meant that the things she planted in my heart had not been nurtured. They were dead and the ground was dry and barren and that all around me are the dead....

I hate October, have I mentioned that to you before....my grandmother died in October - so did my son.

And yet....for the first time since moving to this place my own roses that I have tried unsuccessfully to grow for seven years are growing like weeds and still full of rose buds and gorgeous blossoms...and as for me, just like my roses I refuse to yeild to the changing seasons.

Cigar Biker Guy

2010-10-06T18:29:00.000-07:00

Sometimes Sundays make me sad...

2010-09-12T14:37:00.000-07:00

Today is one of the most beautiful days I have experienced in a long time...but I am sad. I've had a good day - I'm in the middle of a painting....and then this song came on the radio and knocked the wind out of me.

....you are the love of my life...you are my inspiration...just you and me...simple and free....

Nope - none of it applies to me...not anymore.....

I sat and wondered about all of this. My son Andrew was my chief inspiration. After he was conceived everything I did was measured by how it pertained to him. Yes, everything, even the wrong choices.

And now.... for the last four years I have had pseudo motivation. Its almost like feeling inspired by something now is an act of betrayal. Oh I know, that's silly and I know Andrew would be the first to tell me so but...

So many people have come and gone - and sometimes I get very sad. The song on the radio took me back - way back - to those I knew before there was an Andrew and you know what? Their all gone too..even me.

I'm lonesome for the family members who used to call my name. I'm lonesome for the friends who used to make me laugh. I'm lonesome for the lovers who used to make me sigh. I'm lonesome for the husband who knew me when I was younger. I'm lonesome for a place where I was in fact younger. I'm lonesome for a part of me that will never be again. Most especially I'm lonesome for that voice that started every sentence with "Hey Mom"....

And that's why this perfect day seems to hurt like a ill fitting pair of jeans...because it doesn't fit anymore...not the way it used to...

This Sunday doesn't fit.

Many rock concerts were performed in my bedroom..

2010-08-01T09:18:00.000-07:00

Glenda Crow, me and Suzi Brazil - Senior Trip 1974

....and even a few rock operas and tons of choreography.......

This morning I was in the kitchen on my computer when a blast from the past came pouring out of the computer speakers. Dancing In The Moonlight by ....was it King Harvest....can't remember. But with the first notes I was out of my chair and dancing around the kitchen table.

This set me to thinking about the role music played in my life. Its always been a part of my life. My father installed speakers in the ceilings of each room of our house and hooked them up to my mother's stereo in the den. In the mornings we would wake up to the local radio station blasting down from the ceiling. On the weekends if we were cleaning house you would be bombarded with Perry Como, Floyd Cramer, Andy Williams or movie theme songs. To this day I can see in my mind the cover of my mother's album that had the theme to The Magnificent Seven and Lawrence of Arabia on it. And oh my gosh - how could I forget to mention the track from West Side Story.... its all engraved on my soul...

Then as I got older there was the radio that played all night long as I lay in my bed dreaming the dreams of a teen age girl who thought the excitement of life would never end. KOMA Oklahoma City fading in and out....

But what I'm thinking about today after my embarrassing sock hop in a thankfully empty kitchen is all the time I spent listening to my records in my bedroom. Playing them as loud as I could get away with. Holding the hairbrush up to my face as I sang into it while performing for that solo fan in the mirror. Oh the hours I spent perfecting my performance, I who cannot carry a note in a bucket.

Oh for the imaginary boys I sang the love songs to. Oh for the filled stadiums I passionately sang my protest songs to. Oh for the number of time sin my bedroom sanctuary that James Taylor or Jim Croce asked me to come on stage and join them in a song that they wrote...just for me.

Oh the horror when I was in the middle of one of my best performances of the rock opera "Jesus Christ Super Star" and looked up only to see my dad standing in the door watching me with a smile on his face. I was so humiliated and angry at his intrusion ....but never forgot the smile to this day.

I smile now when I think of the hours that I and my friends would practice our dancing to make sure we would look really cool at the next school dance.

When I was in Junior High School Glenda and Carol Crow and I would make up routines to perform at the monthly Talent Show held in the local theater. Once we won third place and not knowing how to divide the trophy we hit on a plan - Glenda and Carol kept the trophy itself but I got the engraved plate that said "Third Place". Its all too funny to me now.

In high school I danced with James Dodge almost exclusively. Without really trying we developed a kind of routine for different songs that were always played. I tell you what - if I had the chance I could still dance with James to Tull's Aqualung and never miss a step of how we used to do it.

Last but not least are my most fond memories of the one and only year Santa Rosa High School had a drill team and all the fun we had making up routines and performing at the games .... again with Glenda, Carol and Lynne Brazil , JoAnn Garcia, Madaline Aragon and so many others.

...we like our fun and we never fight...you can't dance and stay uptight...its a supernatural delight...everybody was dancing in the moonlight.....

Final Chapter - mystery ends

2010-06-25T18:23:00.000-07:00

Typical day at Hidden Lake

In November of 2008 I posted several photos and ended by using the following phrase:

"By the way, one of the guys in the photographs turned out to be the unexpected romance of my life - the one I never stopped loving. We never ended up together but we should have. Can you guess which one?"

Little did I know when I wrote that phrase that it would give way to speculation and cause the problem that it did. I thought for a while that I''d ignore it but then it made me angry and moved me to clear the air. And now? Now I'm not sure I care.

But it is what it is and it was what it was. And it was a good thing so I'll write about it. Those who don't like it don't have to read about it. Besides, for Pete's sake, it was thirty seven years ago. Do you really care after all this time?

But on with my story, sans apologies...I'm done with that.

Marilyn, Dee Dee and me drove to Hidden Lake like we did every afternoon that summer. I don't remember where Dee Dee headed off to but I know Marilyn went straight up to the top of the cliffs (not visible in the photo above). I stopped on my way up to visit with Sammy who was floating in an innertube next to the large slanted rock that everyone used to get in and out of the water. In the photo above you will notice a guy reclining on this rock. You will notice others sitting on the large rocks directly behind that rock.
Sammy, Marilyn and Tutor at the top of the cliffs.

When Sammy called out to me I went and sat myself down on the slanted rock next to Albert Tapia (I think, its been too long ago). Anyway as I sat there visiting with the guys there was a good looking young man leaning against the rock behind us. He inserted himself into the conversation in such a charming way that no offense was taken. He made very polite small talk with us and I can distinctly remember looking over my shoulder at him when he spoke. As I rose to join Marilyn at the top of the cliffs he asked me if I'd be at The Ranch later. I said I would and made my way on up the rise.

When I got to the top I asked who he was and Tutor told me it was a friend of his that had recently gotten out of the army and returned home. I am certain that I was at The Ranch that night because we were always at The Ranch but I can't tell you if I remember seeing him there although I know I must have. But I do know how things progressed.

He became Tutor's best friend that summer. He had a car, Tutor didn't. They were always together in his car. Tutor was dating Marilyn and she was always with me in my car. (Can you see this coming?) So it was only natural that with Tutor and Marilyn together constantly he and I were also thrown together in the same vehicle and situations.

He was so different from anyone I had ever known. He was charming and quiet and wise beyond his years but not beyond his experiences. In a time full of young egos he was shy and unassuming. He was Tutor's straight man just as I had always been Marilyn's.

We had plenty of time to talk..and talk...and talk .... while he readjusted to being home and I lamented my absent solider. He told me stories and made me laugh. He fed my mind and my spirit. It was all so innocent and wholesome and that's probably why neither of us saw it coming.

Then suddenly one day we just knew what was happening to us. In a time when sex was our generation's to use as freely as we wanted, we didn't. He and I had accidentally done what my dear grandmother had talked to me about all my life. We had taken the time to get to know each other and become friends. We found ourselves caring about each other on a level that had nothing to do with sex. We were falling in love -

Then after realizing we had strong feelings for each other we immediately knew we had a bigger problem. I was Kenny's girl and everyone knew it. He was best friends with Kenny's brother. It was so complicated and we knew it. We both had our own immature sense of loyalty so we did what we thought was right, we called it off.

We fell in love but never used the word. We didn't view ourselves as free to use it. But here's what that taught me. Just because you don't say it doesn't mean it's not real.

Which leads me to smile at the pettiness of most people, including me, and wondering just who we think we're kidding. We go around making declarations as though stating them made them instantly true. She is my girl. He is my husband. This place would have to close its doors without me. My child would never do that. And conversely we don't say things in hopes that they aren't true. I'm hurting, I'm scared, I'm lost....I love you...

But TRUTH is its own force. It doesn't give a damn if we voice it or hide it. It is unmoved by our ego. It exists with or without us. It doesn't fade away or soften its blows. Its faithful to its intended design. It whispers our name in the dark and makes us look in the mirror.

I can't help but wonder how my life might have been changed if I had practiced TRUTH without fear. By the way, his name was David and he's the guy with the guitar in the photograph.

It started lke this... (part 2 of 3)

2010-06-07T18:56:00.000-07:00

The photo above was taken at Hidden lake. A small deep sapphire blue lake hidden (hence the name) from public view but surprisingly close to town. I'm sure all of our parent knew where it was but at the time we felt a cocky confidence that we were hidden from any and all figures of authority and that made it one of the favorite spots to hang out.

The lake was surrounded by rock walls in various stages of collapse. This gave the lake the appearance of a water filled sink hole - heck maybe that's what it really was, I don't know. All I do know is that this lake gave me the creeps and I seldom got in the water. But that didn't stop me from spending a good deal of my time out there.

The summer this photo was taken was the summer of 1973, the perfect summer, the one in which I felt the happiest as well as the saddest. The summer I thought I was grown and still as lost as a child. The summer I knew I would always be okay...no matter what...the summer I began to get to know myself.

I had just turned 16 years old and had just gotten my driver's license. My dad had bought my mother a car at an auto auction and she hated it so they gave it to me to drive. A 1971 Mustang Mach One...poor me.....yeah right!

My two best friends in the world (the world as I knew it ) were Marilyn and Dee Dee. We spent almost every minute of that summer together and we used that car like a magic carpet to transport ourselves daily to magical places and events. It was pretty simple actually. The three of us were either at Hidden Lake or Park Lake or The Ranch or just in that car cruising and listening to the radio and laughing...always laughing.

As I mentioned before, I had fallen in love with my first real boyfriend the previous winter. This is back in the day when we all spouted "Free Love" but still kept it secret from our parents. Back when I was defiant but still a coward. Back when I assumed control of my body and my reproductive capabilities but still secretly harboured the contradictory notion that if I eventually married my love it wouldn't matter that we had "done it". Back when I was....sixteen....

Then summer came and with it came changes and challenges. My guy went into the service. Boot camp was only two months long but it was the two months of summer. It might as well have been two million months. I'm not going to pretend that I was mature beyond my years. I'm not going to pretend that I above reproach when it came to my commitment to my solider. But I will tell you this. I tried, I really tried.

I lay in my bed and cried each night. I played record albums over and over and fantasied about the time I spent with him and the times to come. I wrote perfume scented letters each day and rushed each morning to the post office to retrieve the mail before my parents picked it up. Sorting through it feverishly for signs of that envelope with the blue and red striping. I read and reread each letter a million times.

But I was sixteen....

I'd like to say that I had the discipline to wait for my soldier. I'd like to say that my endurance and faithfulness is legendary but I'd be lying.

It didn't take long before I realized that one of my best friends had a husband and one had a lover and when we all got together....I had no one. It was okay for a while but soon the loneliness I experienced within my own home, the same loneliness that drove me out into the streets, was now joined by its identical twin. The two of them together were too much for me ...I was only sixteen.....

And then one day, one day that was a regular as every day before it, Marilyn, Dee Dee and I drove out to Hidden Lake.....I was still sixteen but this day, I was one day older.....and he was there.

History repeats itself....at least it does in my mind.. (part1 of 3).

2010-06-01T16:35:00.000-07:00

Over a year ago I posted this photo along with several others in a post I wrote (November 2009 if your curious) about a perfect summer from my past.

In that post I talked about spending the entire summer with a group of friends who will forever be a part of me. I ended the post by saying that one of the boys in the photos ended up being my most surprising romance ever. Since that photo I have had a handful of comments from various sources speculating on just which one of the guys from that summer was "that guy".

All guesses were wrong which made me wonder just how it was that we stayed so far under the radar - we didn't try to, I think it might have been that just no one could have imagined what was going on let alone just how strong it was.

I have waited all this time to follow up on that post so as to not to feel like I was pressured into explaining myself - far from it - something like this needs no explanation. It was what it was.

Extremely brief, extremely proper (considering it was 1973) and extremely touching.

Maybe if things had been different and it had been given a chance to play itself out it might have come and gone like many teen romances. Then again, I've always wondered if it had been given its chance whether or not I'd be living at home with a dozen kids and two dozen grandchildren. Maybe...maybe not. Life has its own agenda.

A little back story. It was the summer between my junior and senior year of high school. It had the makings for the worst chapter of my life. My first real love had left for the army. My very best friend in the whole world was moving several hundred miles away and wouldn't be there for our senior year. My mother, with whom I had a very difficult relationship, was moving back to town and back into our home after being gone for most of my junior year and finally I had just turned 16 years old. That (being 16) in itself should be reason enough to forgive me for being a very mixed up kid.

That's enough for now....I will post the second part of the story in a couple of days. But until I do, I will sit on my porch as the sun goes down and think of all of the wonderful people and remember the laughter...its a good memory....

Happy Valentine's Day

2010-02-14T10:25:00.000-08:00

This morning I saw something on television bout how expensive Valentine's Day can be. I have had all kinds of Valentine's Days in my 52 years.

My first memory was my father giving all of us girls what seemed like a huge heart shaped red velvet box with a huge (and somewhat tacky) plastic rose perched on top. This would have been purchased from Dale Bartz at the Drug Store. Inside was an assortment of chocolates of every kind. My favorite was always the flavored cream filled. You know the kind, cherry creme, orange cream, lemon....I still love those. There were the chocolate covered toffee which was usually thin and placed two in one compartment. Then there were the ones with nuts in them. Chocolate covered coconut candy, and the much dreaded chocolate covered caramels that stuck in your teeth. Yech!

I would avoid the paper "key" in the inside of the box that identified the candy - part of the fun was in not knowing what you would bite into next.

But the very best part was that after the candy was gone you still had this stunning red velvet heart shaped container adorned with the most beautiful plastic flower you had ever seen. This box now became the place of honor for all your most treasured keepsakes.

What was in the box? Well that depended on how old you were. As a young child it contained the booklets that came inside the packages of Barbie Doll outfits. Later it held notes passed in class from my best girlfriends. Still later it contained notes passed in class from my best boyfriends. There was always an assortment of pictures and movie ticket stubs, maybe some ribbon, maybe some jewelry purchase at a dime store. Nothing of any real monetary value but priceless all the same.

The candy eventually disappeared and was replaced by cards. Cards came from everyone in the beginning, your parents, grandparents, school teachers and classmates (even the ones you didn't like because it was a class rule to give everyone a card).

Then as a teen you waited for that card from that someone special. I remember some of the girls in school would have a whole handful from all of their someones special. Some would have candy, some stuffed animals and occasionally someone would get a rose. Now I'm not being a whiner but my Valentine's Day card from my special someone, whoever it was at the time, never arrived. Isn't that funny, after all these years I still feel that twinge of sadness over that? I can't say why I didn't get anything except to say the crowd I ran with just wasn't the type of people to do that kind of thing.

As a young adult I remember getting a very generic "glad to have a friend like you" card from a guy I was crazy about - now that stung! But I survived. Then for many years I got the obligatory cards, flowers, jewelry (but never candy -my ex was a fanatic about how I didn't need to have and candy because of the calories - sometimes I remember why I divorced him....). Those gift were nice but irritating at the same time because of the spirit in which they were given.

Soon my precious son came along and he would make me the most beautiful little cards and gifts. The are the most precious and priceless things I every received from my truest love.

Then almost a half century into my life I came across this old broke down biker...and on Valentine's Day he gave me a red velvet heart shaped box of chocolates and said he remembered me mentioning my dad had always given me candy ..... God I love this man....

Snowed in

2010-01-08T19:10:00.000-08:00

Sun and Sands Restaurant - snow storm - late 60's maybe even early 70's Here in the upper part of Missouri where I live we have had one heck of a cold spell. It started snowing Wednesday evening and kept it up all day Thursday and into this morning. We got about 4 inches but the real issue was the wind. We had terrible wind, which is unusual for us, and that brought the temperature with the wind chill to about -10 degrees below zero.

I stayed home from work yesterday and thank goodness I did - about 11 o'clock in the morning my heater went out. Luckily I got a repairman to the house in short time and the repair was both easy and inexpensive. I would hate to think what it would have been like to have come home from work to a cold house and possibly frozen pipes.

By this afternoon the sun was out and it seemed like I would make it through all of this nasty weather after all.

But all this caused me to think about what it was like when we got our big snow storms in Santa Rosa. I can remember being in school and the minute I opened my eyes in the morning I would would jump up to see if it snowed and then turn on the radio to listen for the announcement that every kid prays for - NO SCHOOL TODAY! YEA!!!!

Because of its location on Route 66, the highway would often be closed at Santa Rosa in order to give the winter traveler some options before proceeding toward Cline's Corners where they would certainly get stuck in the snow. My father had owned several restaurants and one of them, Sun and Sands Restaurant, was on the east side of town. (Just at the bottom of Sunshine Hill for those of you who know what I'm talking about). At that time my dad had the only restaurant with gas grills instead of electric. This was important because the first thing to go back then in a snow storm was the electricity. This was back in the times of streets lined with poles and wires. During the heavy snows the lines would become heavy with wet snow that turned to ice that they would eventually snap.

Since my dad had gas grills he could open his restaurant and offer gallons and gallons of coffee and a very limited menu. I clearly remember him serving breakfast and grilling the bread since the toaster, being electric, didn't work. This rare type of toast was such a treat to me and I can taste it even now. I am amused at my current age to realize that what he was serving was what is now served at every steakhouse across America - good ol' Texas Toast. Just the same, I thought my dad was the most clever man on the face of the earth.

Since we were the only game in town, as far as eateries go, our place would be packed with tourist. Businessmen, families, college students, truck drivers, all strangers caught in a snow storm waiting for the highway to reopen, trying hard not to look scared,

My dad charged 15 cents for a cup of coffee and refills were free. I would bet my life that each man, woman and child drank ten gallons of coffee for 15 cents while waiting out the storm. If day turned into night calls would be made to find lodging for the stranded. Motels were filled with those who could pay - preachers would be called for those who couldn't.

Frozen, scared, frustrated and more times than not, irritated travelers were taken in, treated like family and cared for. Times were different then...better....

I am so screwed!

2010-01-01T12:03:00.000-08:00

I find myself in a terrible position. You have heard me whine so many times before that I am home sick and want to move back to New Mexico, and I do. I was raised in the Land of Enchantment and dearly love the area, the people the traditions...I love it all.

The small town I grew up in is and always will be the thread that runs through my lifetime tapestry. Without it I would come unraveled.

I still have my family back there and my friends. Both groups are so important to me. Not an hour goes by that my love and thoughts aren't back there with them. I miss them so much and long for their company.

My family left to right (Michelle and Joel, my nephew. Me holding their baby Levi, My sister Vicki and her husband Harold and my sister LaVonne).

And I have my friends who mean just as much to me as family.

Me, David, Tommy, Beak, Shirley and JoAnn

But I left home and moved to Missouri and now I have family (Dana's) ...

(Dana and the grand kids left to right- back row: Tyler, Dana and Dylan. Front row L-R: Jayce and Zach)

...and friends up here that mean the world to me also.
(Left to right: Tammy, me and my best friend Jody)

(The greatest group of people in the world - the "Club under the Club" ha ha! Left to right: Melissa, Terrie, Lyndia, me and Christy. Behind us is Leonard, JR and Dido - Not pictured but very much loved is Alan and Dana)

So as you can see...I am totally screwed. No matter where I go I will be missing people I love. I want to go home because I'm homesick but I can't stand the thought of not seeing these people up here in Missouri .... totally screwed.....

Happy Sunday!

2009-11-08T07:30:00.000-08:00

The Texaco Warehouse and things that may or may not go bump in the night

2009-10-30T16:34:00.000-07:00

(On the right side of the building you will see a green wood addition, this was a screened in porch with a door that opened to a long staircase up to our apartment.)

Tomorrow night is Halloween so I thought I’d post a fun little story from about 1963. I would have been six years old at this time and as I have previously mentioned we lived in an apartment located in the rafters of the old Ilfeld / Johnson’s Texaco Warehouse. Great setting for a spooky story don’t you think?

(This is the staircase but at the time of this story the windows on the left were covered so no natural light came in except from behind as you walked up the stairs.)

(This is a view of the warehouse from the top of the stairs. Now its empty but it was filled with barrels and various other oily grimey "stuff")

(This is a view of the kitchen taken from the living area,)

Grab a cup of hot chocolate and pull your grandmother’s quilt up to the tip of your nose and settle yourself in front of the fire while I tell you one of my memories of a dark night long ago.

Campy Cara..very campy. Ok, I’ll get on with it…

As I mentioned in earlier postings my family lived in (as we call it) the Texaco Warehouse apartment for several years. It was built possibly as early as 1917 next to the railroad track. Nights in the apartment were filled with noises. Both local and tourist traffic going up and down Route 66 during the day and the lonely rumble of the trains rolling along in the inky black darkness of the nighttime.

To the south of the warehouse was the Midland Hotel, a scary place on its own, then turning back to the east a small vacant lot kept safe from trespassers by an old rusty wire fence. You know the kind, heavy wire twisted and crimped into a pleasing design with arches running along the top. It looked great until the first boy came along and pressed his hand down on the top in order to jump over it and then the fencing was permanently bent out of shape for the rest of eternity. Every now and then you run across a piece of the tetanus laced fencing close to a long abandoned house or a forgotten cemetery.

My dad’s business was next to that vacant lot. Medley’s Café with it’s curios shop packed full of real Mexican Jumping Beans, heavily tooled leather wallets and purses, cedar jewelry boxes laminated on the top with colorful pictures of Jesus, post card racks and comic books, with the every present trays and baskets of authentic handmade Indian jewelry made by that some Japanese tribe my father ran across on one of his buying trips … south of the border no doubt…typical tourist trappings.

Next to the restaurant was Medley’s lounge and after that was a service garage. The name of the garage is not available to me at the writing but a funny story is. Around this same time my sister La Vonne had a best friend named Loretta Sanchez. Now anyone who ever knew Loretta could tell you as easily as me that she was a little spitfire. She always reminded me or a young Rita Moreno. Now Loretta had a crush on a mechanic that happened to work at this garage, a handsome guy named Larry Cockrell. She has apparently made quite a study of Larry and his comings and going because she knew that it was Larry’s habit to take a break at a certain time and he would step out onto the sidewalk and smoke a cigarette on his break. One day Loretta with LaVonne as her accessory in crime climbed up on the roof of the garage and waited for Larry to take his smoke break…waited with a bucket of water. Before long Larry did just what she expected and stepped out on the sidewalk to have a smoke. He had just lit his cigarette when the girls poured the bucket down on his head. With no drama or emotion he simply looked up at the girls and said “You put my cigarette out”.
You already know my father was in the restaurant business and everyone had their place in the business. My father cooked and ran the whole show, my mother would cashier and wait on tables and my sisters waitressed also. I was too small to be any help and La Vonne, not liking to wait tables, eventually decided she would rather take care of me than work at Medley’s. She and I would stay home alone in the Texaco Warehouse until the restaurant closed which was usually about eleven o’clock by the time everything was cleaned up and made ready for the next morning.

We were so close to the heart of town, just steps away from the corner of Main Street and Route 66. There was always something happening that we could see from our apartment high up in the ware house. My mother had her couch pushed up against a line of west facing windows. Many nights I sat and watched out of those windows at the people coming and going.

On this particular night my sister had her radio on as she studied and I played. Of course it was tuned into KOMA- Oklahoma City. What a great station. As the saying goes, it provided the sound track to the movie of my life. Man I miss that station, but back to my story. That night the disc jockey interrupted the music to make an announcement that an unidentified flying object had been spotted and that he would make more announcements as news came in.

Without considering the hundreds of miles between Oklahoma City and Santa Rosa I was instantly terrified. Every episode of Outer Limits I had ever seen came rushing to mind as I envisioned bug eyed silver men in spaceships landing their craft on Route 66, ducking into the Del Rey café (visible to the west from the apartment window) for a quick cheeseburger (man I miss those cheeseburgers) before shooting all of us down with their ray guns and taking over the planet.

My sister LaVonne on the other hand was instantly obsessed with the possibility of space travel, UFOs and aliens. Despite my tears and fears we turned off all the lights and spent the rest of the night kneeling on the couch with our elbows perched on the window sills (the same ones pictured above) watching the sky for signs of movement. KOMA played on the table next to us and we waited breathlessly in between Beatle tunes for updates.

I don’t remember whether there were any updates or much else about that night except the life lesson of how I was so terrified by something my sister found so fascinating and exciting. Perspective…isn’t that the word I’m looking for?

Unbelievable wonderful performance - enjoy

2009-09-21T17:50:00.000-07:00

What's in my suitcase?

2009-09-17T17:55:00.000-07:00

Have I ever told you that I can’t stay mad? I can stay hurt, I can stay insulted, heck I can even stay with the opinion that someone is a damn fool but I can’t stay mad. I just can’t. I’ve tried but it’s impossible for me to stay mad.

Grossed out, impatient, upset, scared of, full of pity…those aren’t a problem. Outrage…yes for a perceived injustice or slight but I’m unable to hang on to the momentum for very long when it comes to a person. Mad? Oh don’t kid yourself, I can get there I just can’t stay there.

I can blow up so quick you’d swear you’d lit a match in a fireworks factory but I can’t hold on to it. It’s almost like once I speak it its gone. Once I take the emotion and put legs under it …it strolls off somewhere never to be seen or worse, it comes back all starry eyes and in love. Many, many times I have decided someone is a total waste of my time and that I won’t devote one more second putting up with their crap. Then later I find out something about them that forces me to like them again. I hate it when that happens…no, not really, I’m thankful.

I’m thankful that I can feel things or understand things in a totally separate part of my brain…heart..er, maybe my gut, who knows. But it’s true, I can be so mad and then my wheels start turning and I start thinking about why this thing was done, why it seemed important to them and why it seemed important to me. I can choose to express myself or remove myself knowing that in the final analysis the world will keep turning no matter what.

There are a small handful of people, very small, that I choose to not interact with. I choose to not let them influence me any more, or hurt me, or suck the life out of me but that doesn’t mean that I hate them. I don’t. I have tried to think whether or not I could say I hate anyone. I honestly don’t think so.

This has been interpreted by some as being wishy-washy or disloyal because I couldn’t make their enemy my enemy but it really isn’t that. It’s a choice to not hold on to venom. That’s what anger and hatred are you know, poison.

And I have mentioned before that even those I do not embrace have played their role in my life. They have been a part of my growth and education and I like who I have come to be so I owe them a debt also, right?

So with the passing of Patrick Swazye this week and all of the talk about his now famous line from the movie “Ghost” I count myself so blessed to have never been able to hang on to the anger, because if there’s a shred of truth in the line…that the love you have inside goes with you…then I am very happy to pay the extra baggage fee at the final terminal.

Peace and Love - Cara

I remembered my promise...

2009-09-17T08:19:00.000-07:00

I'm at work now but I'll post a piece tonight. See you then -

The beginning....

2009-09-01T18:00:00.000-07:00

Charlie, Lindia, Alan, me and Dana

At the end of the work day on August 5th I locked my office door and hurriedly changed from my uniform to my comfy clothes to head out on our 20 hour drive to New Mexico. By early afternoon the next day I was home.

We had a great time. The weather was perfect, the state was beautiful and the people...my people...were warm and welcoming as always. But most important, I was home.

I think I over did it while I was there though, I spent the last few days of vacation doing a lot of sleeping. Still we managed to put about 2000 miles on the bikes while we were there.

I've had a hard time bouncing back since my return. I honestly can't tell if its a physical thing from pushing too hard or if its an emotional/spiritual thing from having to leave the place I love.

I will be getting back to posting but I have made a decision. This blog and "The Zen of Paco" are the two blogs that take the most out of me. They are more reflective of my spirit. "The Capricious Painter"' is taxing in that its my art work and that is consuming but in a totally different way. That blog will set its own pace for that very reason.

So after some consideration I have decided to both slow down and at the same time put some pressure on myself. I have decided to limit my postings to Bare Naked Me and The Zen to once a month for a little while. What I write on these two blogs is very important to me so I want to make sure I am giving you, my dear reader, the best I have.

I will post a real article later this month...no I'll go one better, I'll give you and me a deadline. I will post to this blog again on the 17th.

Until then -

Do you remember where you were on July 20th, 1969?

2009-07-19T19:46:00.001-07:00

On July 20th, 1969 my family was in Taos, NM visiting my mother's brother and his family. This photo was taken during this visit. My sister Lavonne is sitting on her new husband's (Kit) lap, my mother is next, me (age 12) and my father. My sister Vicki is sitting on the floor. The was the home of my Uncle Ted and Aunt Peggy and my three wonderful cousins, Kenna, Kerrie and Teddie Lu (Not 100% sure Teddie had been born yet). I seem to believe that my grandparents were there also. It was moon landing day and everyone was huddled around the one television in the living room. It seemed to be taking forever and my cousins and I played and ran in and out of the house.

My mom scolded us and said we should sit down and watch this historic event and my dad laughed and said, "Oh hell, man's been walking on the moon since they were young." That's confused me back then but now 40 years later I can see the humor in what he said.

This same day my father took my mother to a gallery to purchase a painting she had admired. I am lucky enough to be the current owner of that painting. I thought I'd share it with you as my way of celebrating this incredible anniversary.

"In The Swamp" 8x10 inch oil by Thomas Lewis

Job's Friends

2009-06-10T11:34:00.000-07:00

Corrine Duran's first grade class. I'm first on the top row next to Miss Duran. Patty Cowden is the pretty little blond at then end of that same row.

On my 45 minute commute to work each day I listen to Christian Radio and the ministry of Chuck Swindoll (Insight For Living). Lately he has been preaching from the Book of Job. This is the very first Book I read from the Bible as a young child. It was full of lessons that have stayed with me my entire life. Many aptly apply but what I want to write about now is the topic of friendship.

Those of you familiar with the Book of Job know that story, through a series of events Job losses his children and his means of making a living and is afflicted with boils...the true example of "if it weren't for bad luck he's have no luck at all".

When all of these things happen to him he is left to nothing. He grieved in a way that is totally foreign to most of us today. He ripped his clothes, shaved his head fell to the ground where he stayed.

Now in the second chapter of Job we are told that three of his friends came to him..These guys get a real bums rap in the story because of the advice they give him. Although they are 100% wrong in their counsel I have to admit to admiring Job for having these friends to start with.

The Bible tells us that when these guys heard about Job's troubles they "came from their countries". These weren't guys who lived down the block, these guys put their lives on the back burner and came to their buddy. This would have cost them money and time but they came anyway.

The story goes on to say that they were shocked by what they found but instead of being put off they tore their own clothes, poured dirt on their heads as a sign of grieving and sat down on the ground next to their friend and (here's the important part) said nothing...nothing...for seven days.

Now I agree that when they did talk they gave bad advice and all I will say about that is that Job was an independent man capable of thinking for himself and therefore not influenced by his friends but...they were his friends all the same. In the end he interceded for them before God..because they were his friends right or wrong,

I have no doubt that Job knew many, many people and had many relatives but these friends came to him in his darkest hour. It makes me wonder, if he had good fortune, lots of money and cattle, if he had arranged a feast with food and music how many people would have been there? How many friends ate at his table one month and then steered clear of him the next? True friendship can be uncomfortable at times but we go on in love.

The friends may have been foolish in their counsel but they were truly friends. I have heard some say that this is a reference to people who come around during a tragedy saying "well you should do this or you should do that". I don't agree with that interpretation because they sat on the ground in silence for seven days. They were there to show support, not to counsel. They loved this man enough to let him grieve. When the conversations finally began I believe their motivation was still concern for Job.

I bring all this up because I am fiercely passionate about my friendships. They are all important to me. I have been blessed to have wonderfully supportive sisters and brother-in-laws as well as two great nephews but we're family and they have to love me (ha ha)

But my friends, I love my friends, all of them. I can remember my very first best friend in 1st grade, Patty Cowden. I lived close to the elementary school and at lunch she would hide in the alley while I ran into the house and asked if she could come over for lunch. My mom would say yes and and I run outside and get her. Once in 2nd grade we got in trouble with Miss Tipton because we would color our pictures the same colors.

*Oh, oh, oh, side note. Once in 2nd grade I asked Miss Tipton if I could go to the restroom. She said yes but was not happy about it. She scolded me and said I should have gone at recess. As I turned to walk away from her she swatted me on the butt just to emphasis her displeasure. I never forgot that. Then in 1993 - I would have been 36 years old - I was working for Dr. Silva when her sister brought her in to see the doctor. Now she seemed old to me when I was in 2nd.grade but at this time she seemed ancient and frail. I took her vital signs and recorded her complaint in preparation for the doctor's exam. After completing these tasks I crossed in front of Miss Tipton as I exited the exam room. As I did I'll be damned if she didn't reach out and swat me on the butt....again! True story!

But over the next several postings I intend to tell stories about valuable friendships under the heading "Job's Friends". When you see that you will know immediately that its a tribute to someone I dearly love.

2009-04-19T16:02:00.000-07:00

When I was young I fell in love. I was very young, only fifteen. He was in college. At the time I thought he was a grown man. Looking back I realize that at nineteen he was still a boy and every bit as lost as I.

But in that moment we thought we were something else entirely. Being deceived by youth, we naively believed that we possessed the maturity to make decisions, choices, promises...that were impossible.

But why they were impossible has always alluded me. I have no doubt that we were in love. It was a desperate love, almost cannibalistic in its desire to be. A strong drink of emotion that burned my throat and my soul.

It makes me wonder why we didn't make it? Too young. Maybe. Probably. But the fact remains, it was what it was. It was a part of my destiny. It was a treasured thread in my tapestry without which I would have become unraveled at fifteen and not be the creation I am at fifty one.

Two days ago with no definable reason I picked up the phone and dialed his number. With the first words he spoke I laughed out loud. His voice was still true after all these many many years. We laughed and talked as we did so many nights back when we were young. A time far away when he had only the light from a candle to guide us..and only his grandmother's quilt to shield us from the world.

A time when I was so afraid that my only choice was to be brave or die...he was there for that part of it.

We ended the call by affirming the importance we had each played in each other's lives, a role that served its purpose well then and continues to do so in so many ways. I love and appreciate so many people who have journeyed through my life, but this one is special. This one was willing to be lost with me for a while, willing to try to take care of me, willing to .......love me.

Who is this girl...

2009-04-05T18:11:00.000-07:00

And does she look like she has a clue about what life will hold for her?
I was 18 years old, living in Santa Fe and completely lost when this picture was taken.

Graduation Night 1974

2009-03-16T18:58:00.000-07:00

I always liked being with the boys. Always! Speaking strictly from my perspective I always liked sitting with, and hanging out with guys. Now that I'm older and wiser I realize why the guys had me around but that's beside the point. I liked being one of the guys whether they saw me that way or not.
Maybe it was because I had no brothers of my own. Maybe it was because I was such a late bloomer (translation: Flat chest and goofy glasses) and none of the guys took me serious until I well after my friends were all dating. I don't know and I don't care - I loved these guys - all of them.

Left to right: Mannie Maestas, Carlos "Garduno" Padilla, me, James Dodge (I was always with Dodge back then) Paul Yearly, Richard "Lib" Montano, Andy Urban and James "Beak" Quintana.

Do you remember HOT PANTS?

2009-02-27T17:04:00.000-08:00

Dang if I didn't think I was dressed to kill! This was a set, hot pants and matching vest (you wouldn't want me to get cold now would you?) They were cranberry colored crushed velvet. And of course I had boots to finish off the outfit.

But the frosting on the cake was that classic modeling pose! Oh yeah, I'd seen it done a million times in the magazines and catalogs...you know, the hand on the hip and the far away stare as though having my picture taken had caught me off guard. Geez! How corny!!!

This would have been 1972 or 73. And I shudder think I actually wore this but the truth is I also went out in public in this get up. I hope this took you back ... way back, and I hope you won't hold it against me!

I've been really mad at Yusuf Islam for a long time...

2009-02-05T16:23:00.000-08:00

...as though it matters...

I can easily name the first "serious" albums I ever bought. These were my albums - my music - my time. Before this any records I had and played were my sisters or maybe even my mothers. (She had this really cool album that I wish I still had - it was hit tunes from various movies like The Magnificant Seven and Lawrence of Arabia).

But my sophomore year in high school I began to build my own collection. Amoung the initial purchases was a Three Dog Night - Greatest Hits, Carol King - Tapestry (remember how innovative "Its Too Late" seemed at the time?), Stephen Stills - Stephen Stills II where I found Singing Call and of course Cat Stevens - Teaser and the FireCat.

Teaser and the FireCat. I must have played this album a million times. I loved all of his work - Morning Has Broken, Moonshadow, Wild World, Two Fine People and all the others. But the one song that knocked the breath out of me even at 14 or 15 years of age was "The Wind".

There is something about this song that identified me then and identifies me now.

Fast forward several years and suddenly the news reports that Cat Stevens had embraced a new religion, taken a new name and was vowing to withdraw from public life never to sing for the masses again. Forget about singing for the masses, I needed him to sing for me!

So for years I've been mad at him for abandoning me. Then a couple of days ago I ran across this video on YouTube. As I watched the video I heard the same true voice and when he started the second verse the camera came in close and I looked at those familiar gentle eyes and it all fell away.

Yusuf did what we all do, he traveled down his own road. We all do. Some of us do it with caution, some with zeal. To some it flows seamlessly and for some its a series of false starts and stops. But the truth is we each have a jouney that is uniquly our own.

There was a time when I thought I knew where I was going and how it was going to play out. I was wrong. I thought I had a plan for my life but as it turned out life had a plan for me. And in realizing that it all comes full circle doesn't it? The same verse that my soul recognised as a youth is still true...maybe even more true than the day I first heard it...

Cat Stevens sang and Yusuf sings..."where I'll end up well I think only God really knows"...

Why am I bare naked...

2009-01-15T13:41:00.000-08:00

with total strangers? Well, I guess the truth is because my head is so full.

The best place in the whole world to be was at my Grandmother's house. Family meals at her house were the very best in the world. After we would finish eating supper instead of watching TV we would all sit in the living room and talk. My grandmother had four or five rocking chairs in her living room so we would stake out our favorite chair. She loved to look at the Sandia mountains (even at night) so she would draw her curtains open and sit in front of the picture window and look out as we talked and as a result of this (and a condition with her eye) she never turned on any lights in the living room. So there we would all be, sitting in the dark rocking and talking.

My grandmother "Nonnie" sitting in one of her many rocking chairs - photo taken in the late 70's.

These were truly wonderful times. She would tell us all about the old folks that came before us. Her stories were wonderful and I am very fortunate that my sister recorded them and we each have a book made up of her stories. We would laugh and cry and get mad at mean old relatives that had been dead for 50 years...it was the very best part of my family life.

And of course I have my own experiences and stories to add to the family collection. What I don't have is my own future generations to tell them to. So I sit and rock and write and tell them to you...whoever you are...I tell them so they are shared and remembered.

And I have made some "cyber friends" that are quickly becoming very dear to me. I know its a certain kind of person that blogs and I feel like so many of you are kindred spirits...familiar spirits...

And to be even more honest - I'm a gabber. I love talking and telling stories. So it brings me a vast amount of pleasure to write this blog.

10th grade - 1972

2009-01-09T18:51:00.000-08:00

If you've been reading this blog you've heard me mention the fact that my mother separated from my father and moved us to Albuquerque my sophomore year of high school. Coming from Santa Rosa with a four year high school where the student population (for all four years) was about 350, I was enrolled in Sandia High School where the student population for this three year high school was somewhere around 2500. Talk about culture shock.

Several things in this photo tell a story. One, you can see the door to the downstairs bathroom where in a time before cordless phones, let alone cell phones, I would take the phone into the bathroom and lock the door and call Marilyn back in Santa Rosa and we'd cry together for hours. This regularly got me in trouble not only for the phone bill but also because the telephone cord would be stretched across the short hall from the kitchen to the bathroom making it almost impossible to walk down the hall.

Notice the attire. First of all - the glasses...oh my gosh, I can't believe how "in style" I felt in these frames. After all, they were a drastic improvement over the cat frames I had previously. Then there was the red paisley bandanna, typical hippie attire for that day and time. I always wore a either a blue or red bandanna, my mother hated it. The tank top was as daring as I got back then - I felt very exposed in this top...ha ha! On my right arm was my POW bracelet and on my left arm was a very nice turquoise and silver bracelet. This bracelet was stolen from me in 1980 and I still scan eBay in hopes that I'll see it up for auction - I loved this bracelet.

And of course, the Levis. I loved my Levis. I wore them all the time. Like most of my friends I had several pairs. Some had patches I had sown on to imply "holes". Some had been embroidered with little flowers and some had been intentionally vandalized to make them look worn out. It was not uncommon to have things written on my jeans. Lots of things. Names of would-be boyfriends, peace symbols, slogans (Make love not war) gossip and on and on. My mother detested Levis but I loved them and still wear them.

During this time there were always some very brave and shapely girls in school that wore midriff tops and hiphuggers, showing off their belly buttons. I always admired their bravado but knew my mother wouldn't go for that.

And of course the pants had to be bell bottoms...had to be...and maybe if you could find them or get someone to make them you might even have what we used to call elephant bells where the bottom edge of the jean's seam had been spit open and a triangular piece of fabric inserted to make a wider bell bottom. Oh yeah - now you're talking...

But the last thing I want to draw your attention to is the "far out" portable radio sitting on the floor behind me. My grandfather got me that radio for Christmas and it was the best gift ever. It had a long plastic strap and I could carry it like a purse over my shoulder as I walked to and from school each day. I know it looks big enough to park a Hybrid car in but back in those days it was really cool.

Oh yeah, and in case you're wondering...it was totally AM Radio! Ha ha! Casey Kasems' top 40 all the way.

This is a picture of my friend from Sandia High School, Denise, and me. I can almost bet you we were headed to hang out at the small strip mall across the street from our apartment. We met in my Biology class and she frequently visited Santa Rosa with me when I went back for a visit. She even dated several guys from my hometown over the years. Denise remained a close friend for many years, even after I returned to Santa Rosa. Somehow over the years we lost track of each other in the 80's. Isn't that odd? I would have never thought that I'd lose touch with her.

It amazes me how young I was in these pictures..was I really ever that young?

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

2009-01-02T16:36:00.000-08:00

(Me in pin curls 1959)

Hope you had a great New Year's Eve and have fully recovered. As for me, my head still hurts just a little.

Muy Feliz Navidad mis queridos amigos

2008-12-23T10:34:00.000-08:00

I have many memories of Christmas but tonight I'll tell you my favorite

It was Christmas Eve of 1972 and I was 15 years old. At this time my mother, sister, nephew and I were living in an apartment in Albuquerque but my mother wanted to have a big Christmas with relatives in her big house that she had left behind when she left my father. So in her own typical fashion she packed us all up and moved us home just for Christmas. Her brother and his family came along with her father and we all played nice for a couple of weeks. I don't know how my father put up with her sometimes.

This was the beginning of what she would have called my rebellious stage but in reality it was more of a pulling away for self survival. I was out of my head deliriously happy to be with my best friend Marilyn for Christmas. Since we lived 120 miles part now we relished every moment we could spend together. The moment I got back home to Santa Rosa I was out the door to spend all of my time with her. However, my mother made it very clear that Christmas Eve would be spent with the family. Bah humbug!

This particular Christmas Eve day was unseasonably warm so Marilyn and I talked my uncle into driving us to town to a little store across from the junior high school called Bill's Place. This was a mini mart long before there was such a thing as mini marts. Just a tiny little store with one or two of anything you could possibly need. Besides having bottled Cokes and Red Seal Chili (Potato) Chips, Bill kept a huge assortment of penny candy. Each type of candy sat in its box on top of the counter behind which Bill sat with his flyswatter in hand ready to slap your hand if he thought you were handling the candy too much without buying it.

(Table Top Mountain)

Marilyn and I each purchased a bag full of cokes, chips and candy and had my uncle drive us to the edge of town. He pulled his car over by the old abandoned St. Rose of Lima Catholic Church and Cemetery and from there we proceeded to hike to Table Table Top Mountain. Not really a mountain, mind you, more like a fair sized mesa with a very cool cave up at the top where you could enter from an opening above and sit (protected from the environment) in front of a large opening that looked west over the Pecos River and beyond. Marilyn and I spent the entire afternoon up there laughing and dreaming and talking about everything from boys and sex to what we wanted to be after high school.

By late afternoon with our paper bags full of empty calorie snacks depleted we headed home. The walk back was cold but not unbearable and took us longer than we thought putting our arrival on the corner between her house and mine at sundown. I remember we stood there and talked for a long time, neither of us wanting to go home. We both dreaded the whole family scene but had a plan for our escape later that evening. Just as we were forcing ourselves to say goodbye Sammy (was his last name Chavez? I can't believe it has faded from my memory) came screeching around the corner in his little blue LUV pickup truck and yelled out the window "Mis Christmas - see you at the ranch". To which we responded in unison "See you at the ranch". (It really was the rallying cry of our time.)

Our family opens presents on Christmas Eve so I dressed for dinner (my mother insisted we all dress up) and after supper we all opened gifts and smiled and acted as though all was right with the world even though my mother was watching my father's alcohol consumption like a hawk and giving him those "I already talked to you about this once" looks.

As soon as the festivities were over I told my mother that Marilyn had invited me to attend Midnight Mass with her. Although we weren't Catholic she allowed me to go but told me to come right home afterwards. Yeah, right..you bet...

We went to mass and all of the teens sat up in the balcony. Looking back I am ashamed of how we all misbehaved during the service, it was inexcusable, but at the time it was just funny. Once mass was over and we had filed out under the glares of all the grown up who were making mental noted of who the hoodlums in the balcony were we jumped in cars and headed for "the ranch".

Much to our parents chagrin we stayed out at the ranch for hours. This was an old adobe house abut a mile from town with no electricity, no running water and no heating system. In the middle of the living room (if you want to call it that)was a big pot belly style wood stove. The fire was roaring, the oil lamps were lit and the guys had their guitars out and were jamming. Marilyn was with Tutor and Kenny was courting me in his "interested but not interested" style and every thing and every one was alive and full of joy and laughter.

To this day I can see each of their faces crowded into that one room around the fire. The light dancing on the ceiling from the oil lamps. ( The flames would jump in time to the beat of the music..really they would. ) It was one of the most enchanting Christmas's I ever knew. There would never be another Christmas like that one, when we were all together, when we all loved each other without reservation, we all believed the world was ours and ours alone. A time when the things in our lives we had no control over seemed powerless against us. A true moment of immortality...

Here's wishing you just such a moment - Merry Christmas my friends -

* Late addition to the above story: After printing the original post a precious friend and kindred spirit reminded me that Sammy's last name was Chavez. Of course it was, I remember now - how could I have forgotten. He was the sweetest guy I ever met. Such a gentle spirit - I can still see his smile perfectly in my mind.

Part 2 of "A Terrible Little Story..."

2008-12-15T17:49:00.001-08:00

(This picture was taken the night of my high school graduation in May of 1974. About 10 months before this story began.)

Part 2

There was this very upscale formal dance held each May at The New Mexico Military Institute (NMMI) in Roswell. Somehow Jimmy had a connection and he had often mentioned the dance to me and suggested that we might attend. It was done in such a way that it was almost like a carrot held dangling on a string. It would not surprise me to find out that he had semi invited a half dozen girls to this same dance, that was just Jimmy. Still, I would have liked to have attended that event if only to show off my more polished refined side.

Yes, I had one. Believe it or not I attended finishing/modeling school my sophomore year of high school. In fact did a little modeling every now and then. So I was very excited to have a venue where I could exhibit my father's well spent tuition money. To be totally honest, I really wanted to go to this dance.

Now you will remember from my last posting that I suddenly packed my belongings into my 1971 Mustang Mach 1 and moved to Santa Fe, New Mexico with a friend I had graduated with from high school. Glenda had moved there right after graduation and was home on a visit when she told me that there was a job available where she was working and twin beds in her apartment so she had plenty of room for me. I was restless, tired of Santa Rosa and very tired of Jimmy's games so I took her up on her offer.

Once I got to Santa Fe and got settled I began doing what everyone else from home did when they left home...I went home, to Santa Rosa, every weekend. Good grief! It's true, we all couldn't wait to leave but then we'd spend every day off and extra dollar going back home. But now something interesting was happening.

I became the "girl from out of town" which elevated me to an unexpected position in the scheme of things. Now Jimmy was dying to see me, to spend every moment of the entire weekend with me. No Friday night break-up and Sunday morning reconciliations separated by a variety of contenders for the coveted invite to the NMMI spring dance. Suddenly taking me to the dance was all he could talk about. We even discussed what he would be wearing so I could purchase a gown that would compliment his suit.

I recklessly allowed myself to become very excited about the dance. I began the long process of shopping for the perfect gown. Money was something I didn't have much of but I would find a way to pay for this dress I would never wear again. Yep - I was like Cinderella and I was headed for the ball. This lasted about a month or so.

Then I stopped hearing from him. This was a time before cell phones or affordable long distance calling so I couldn't call him. I'd go home but he wasn't around. He had stopped going back to Santa Rosa on the weekends and , as rumor had it, was making new friends in Albuquerque.

Whether he ever went to the dance I don't know. All I do know is that if he did, he didn't take me. Luckily I hadn't spent the money on the dress but I have to say I was confused and very disappointed. Then one day Glenda came back from her trip home with news of Jimmy... apparently one of his young Saturday night dates was late and I'm not talking about exceeding a curfew!

Okay - that did it! So some time passed and I began to meet guys from Santa Fe. As a matter of a fact I developed a little roster of my own. Beginning with my very first date in Santa Fe, a date for dinner, with a priest...yes, an interesting young priest who thought it was okay because I was a Baptist and it was just a dinner.....a local night club singer and former boxer, a sheriff's deputy, a few other assorted acquaintances and finally a disc jockey, Jose Ortiz y Pino, from the local rock station who had a side business playing for dances using his "disco machine". (Are you dying of laughter yet?) I ended up becoming engaged to the latter and moved to Galisteo with him for what would be a truly wonderful and equally depressing phase of my life. But just prior to moving in with him I was still living with Glenda and another girl when I had a surprise visit from Jimmy.

Glenda, LuAnna and I all lived together. LuAnna had her own bedroom and Glenda and I share a room with twin beds. One by one we all ended up working at the same hotel as desk clerks. LuAnna always worked the graveyard shift since she was the night auditor. This particular night in August I had told Jose that I wouldn't be seeing him that night because Glenda and I were going to supper, then shopping, planned to dye our hair, polish our nails and do a bunch of girly stuff. After supper and shopping we stopped by the hotel where we all worked to visit with LuAnna. She said she had a surprise for us. A couple of guys from Santa Rosa that were in town working construction had come in looking for a room for the night and she told them they could stay at our place.

Gee thanks LuAnna!

So Glenda and I went home and when we opened the door there, on the couch, sat Jimmy and some guy we had never seen before drinking beer, watching TV and resting their feet on our coffee table. Oh crap!

We were very cool toward them but they didn't pick up on the cue. Jimmy jumped up from the couch and greeted me with a hug, smiling that dazzling smile that had always gotten him just what he wanted. He asked me to step out on the balcony with him and once outside he wrapped his arms, his muscular tanned arms from working highway construction all summer, around my waist and tried to kiss me. I pulled away and made some kind of excuse like I was really surprised to see him after all this time. Without missing a beat he launched into how much he had missed me and how there was no one like me...blah blah blah. Never once did he mention the dance we never went to or his impending fatherhood. Finally he got around to the fact that we would be under the same roof for the entire night.

I can still see his gorgeous eyes sparkling when he asked "So Cara, where am I gonna sleep?"

I live for moments like this...

"Why Jimbo...." (yes I really did call him that) "...you're going to sleep in my bed of course." His smile widened and he asked "what about my buddy?" I stepped closer to him and cooed "He'll be in Glenda's bed."

Visibly shaken at the thought of this good ole' Jimbo was almost panting when he asked "are you sure she won't mind?"

Moving in for the kill I came as close as I could without touching him. "Oh, she won't mind a bit...." I whispered and then, like I had seen in so many movies, I leaned close and kissed him on the lips. A moist seductive kiss that hints of things to come and then continued. "...because she's staying the night with me at my boyfriend's house."

I left Jimbo standing on that balcony looking both bewildered and pissed. Glenda and I jumped in the car and headed over to Jose's apartment. She and I each put on one of his shirts to sleep in and sat on the couch all night watching old movies and laughing about Jimmy's audacity.

A terrible little story I can't believe I'm telling...

2008-12-10T18:01:00.000-08:00

A little mood music from the era

Preface: I can't believe I'm going to share this little story with you. I should probably be ashamed of myself. But I'm not. There are two parts of this story but tonight you only get the first one.

As you read this story please keep the "times" in mind. This was 1975. The sexual revolution was in full swing. The only thing lethal about sex was if you got pregnant and your parents killed you. Aside from that it was a free for all. So with this in mind I will tell you a little story about a fella I dated for a short period of time.

...it was a dark and stormy night...well, it was dark...but I'm getting way ahead of myself.

(Part 1)

January 1975. Seven months after graduation. Small and dying town of 2000 or so. It didn't take long before I realized that there was no one left to date. All the guys in my social circle had left town, joined the service or gotten married (to avoid having the mothers of their impending children be killed by her parents).

So there is a serious man shortage.

Due to this dreadful situation I found myself dating a guy outside of my social circle. As it goes in nature there were various clicks. Two of these at the time were the "jocks" and the "heads". You have heard me refer to myself and my friends as "heads". Jimmy was a "jock". Mind you, he had been out of high school for almost two years but he was still a "jock". Sworn enemies in school...now we were merely mobile incubators of bored and raging adolescent hormones.

I couldn't stand Jimmy and his friends and he hated me and mine. (I know hate is a strong word but I want you to know I am quoting him when I use it.)One Friday night my friend Charlene and I were cruising and we happened to pull up next to Jimmy. Charlene was an anomaly - she could float effortlessly between the clicks so it was no surprise that Jimmy would speak to her.

There was a joke going around town about a couple that broke up and when the guy spent the money he was saving for the wedding on a new Trans Am his girl suddenly liked him again. So the joke was "buy a new car and I'll go out with you". Charlene rolled down her window and greeted Jimmy with that line and I leaned forward and jokingly said, "Hey Jimmy, you don't even have to buy a new car and I'll go out with you." He laughed and that's how it began.

Jimmy and I dated off and on for about three or four months. He worked construction was was gone each week from Sunday evening until Friday afternoon and was only home for the weekends. During this time it was generally accepted around town that I was Jimmy's girl. He ran with a group of friends and would regularly tell them "to keep an eye on his chick" during the week while he was away working. At first I detested this but somewhere along the way something weird happened. I developed a very deep friendship with two of the guys that Jimmy left in charge of me. But that's another story for another time (but trust me its a great one).

But Jimmy was Jimmy and operated in a way that best suited him. He was a very good looking and popular young man. He had a good job and a nice car. (I know, it all sounds very shallow but keep in mind we are talking about teens here)Jimmy had his pick of the town when it came to girlfriends. All of the girls he dated were young and adoring. I was very different. I was a little older than his other girlfriends (at 18 years old I was the older woman - ha ha)and lived by myself in my own little house. I enjoyed his company but he didn't really make my knees buckle so I didn't fawn over him the way he was accustomed to. Consequently, he kept a roster of eligible players to keep his game interesting. And this is what caused him to develop a bizarre but predictable routine.

He would come into town on Friday and we'd go out. We'd go to a basketball game, a movie or just cruising around town. We would have a great time and then by the end of the evening he would begin to appear troubled. As he dropped me off at my house he would always give me the same speech. It went like this: "Cara, we're getting too serious. I think we need to give it a break for a while," To which I would say "Okay - no problem". And it wasn't a problem because I just wasn't really that into him. Then on Saturday he would take out one of his two other girlfriends. Now these were younger girls who had to be home by a certain time. Inevitably I would be asleep in my bed and my phone would ring just after curfew and it would be Jimmy. He would be full of remorse and tell me that he didn't know why he treated me that way, that he didn't have as good a time with ____________ as he did with me and could he please spend Sunday with me before he left. I would say "Okay - no problem." and go back to sleep. Then we'd spend a great Sunday together laughing and having fun. As he would prepare to leave for the week to go back to work he'd make me promise to "be good to him while he was gone" (yikes - I'm nauseated even as I type)and that he was looking forward to seeing me the next weekend.

This same scenario happened week after week. Until....

Until I moved out of town without telling him I was going. How's that for "giving it break" Jimmy?

Something while you wait..

2008-12-02T18:24:00.000-08:00

Please be patient with me. I've been working a lot of hours and on top of that I'm not feeling 100% these days. I spent Thanksgiving wired to a heart monitor. I haven't gotten the results of that 24 hour monitor yet but I really think that I was just totally overwhelmed with sadness. For some odd reason Thanksgiving is harder on me than Christmas.

But soon I'll be rested up and I'll post a nice long story about something ridicules. Until then I'm put up a wonderful song by Crosby, Stills and Nash called "Wasted on the Way". So relevant these days....

Happy Thanksgiving...

2008-11-27T12:56:00.000-08:00

It's five minutes til 3:00 pm and everyone is gone, Dana has left for work and I'm exhausted. The house is so quiet.....I love it

I didn't sleep worth a darn last night. Yesterday they put a 24 hour halter monitor on me to record my heart. I have been having a lot of racing heartbeats lately and they bother me so the doctor wants to check them out. You know, it will be my luck that nothing out of the ordinary will happen while the recording is being made...any way, the point is that I have wires running all over my chest and a monitor strapped to my waist so trying to sleep last night was a problem.

The 24 hours ends in about twenty minutes and then I'll get to take all this crap off and head for bed. Just kidding (no, I'm not).

We had a wonderful Thanksgiving. There were seven of us this year. Dana's sister Cheryl, his daughter Cheryl Lynn, her husband Phil and the two grandsons (Dylan and Zachary) plus Dana and I. Dana's sister Cheryl brought over her Asparagus Au gratin and Cheryl Lynn brought a wonderful Strawberry Pizza dessert. Aside from that I did all the cooking. I'm very funny about having guests in my home. I don't like for them to bring anything, or help in the kitchen or try to clean up afterwards. I feel my guest should be treated like guests from beginning to end so I tend to be stubborn and do it all myself.

Today we had Turkey, Dressing, Ham, Sweet Potatoes with marshmallows, home made mashed potatoes, Giblet gravy (made by sister Cheryl because I won't touch the stuff) green beans, cranberry sauce, deviled eggs, olives, radishes, individual mini loaves of bread, carrot salad, Homemade pies - one pecan and one pumpkin with strussel walnut topping. And lots and lots of iced tea. I spent all morning cooking and I love it...but I am tired.

I miss my son and my family terribly during the holidays but Dana's family is mine now too and we have a wonderful time when we're together. I love listening to them tell stories about the old days just as much as I love my families old stories.

Below is a photo of me preparing my very first Thanksgiving dinner as a new bride in 1977. My husband and I lived in a one bedroom apartment and I made dinner for my grandmother, my dad, Robert and I. Both my grandmother and my dad were great cooks in their own right so I was being really brave...looking back I imagine my grandmother did a lot of the cooking. The next year I had Thanksgiving at our house again only this time I included Robert's family, my in-laws, and I didn't cook the turkey long enough. My dad went to slice it and it was still raw. I fell apart. With all those people there for dinner and my turkey was raw. My daddy came to my rescue. He sliced the raw turkey up and finished it off in the micro wave (a remedy only a restaurateur would have thought off). I have always put on a Thanksgiving Day meal no matter what including doing it four weeks after my son passed away. That was absolutely the hardest thing I ever did in my life. Oddly enough, even harder than the funeral.

Next are a couple of pictures of our annual Thanksgiving Dinner that we (staff) put on for our students. For many of them this will be their only holiday dinner and also the first time they have eaten anything real in a while. They are so poor and live on Ramen noodles or McDonalds so this is a real treat for them and they are so appreciative.

And finally - this is a photo of the celebration at our house today. From left to right is Dylan, Sister Cheryl, Zachary (singing a song for everyone) , Phil and Cheryl Lynn.

I intend to clean up the kitchen and then settle in on the couch for the afternoon. I'll watch old movies including two of my favorite movies shot in New Mexico, Red Sky at Morning and Milagro Beanfield War. I will drift in and out of sleep and dream of Holidays gone by, of family and friends that no longer sit at my table. I love them all so dearly.

I hope you had a wonderful Thanksgiving and that you walked away full, both physically and spiritually.

See you at the lake!

2008-11-19T17:59:00.001-08:00

You've heard me mention that golden summer of 1973. This was a huge part of it. In the center of town of Santa Rosa, NM is the city park. Park Lake is a spring fed lake where all the kids go to swim. On The west side there were (and still are in some form) various amenities. Restrooms, kiddie pool (which was were the spring emerged and consequently too damn cold to swim in.. did I mention this was also in under a canopy of huge cottonwood trees where the sun never shown...brrrrrr! Good planning here city hall!). There was also a rusty old slide guaranteed to give you tetanus before the summer was over, a pier with a diving board where you could dive in and count the glass beer bottles on the bottom and a life guard. Ah..the life guard (its not what you think).

(Left to right: Dee Dee Encinias, behind her is Archie "Arch" Montano, Rudy "Roots" Salazar and in the foreground with the guitar is David "Sprew" Flores)

I will refrain from naming the life guard, we all know who he was but trust me, he wasn't a Bay Watch extra. He was big and mean and hated those of us who camped out on the east side of the lake with a passion.

I wish I could tell you how big this lake is but I don't know off hand. But its big enough that the city ran a rope with floats half way across the lake and made a rule that no one was to swim on the other side because it was unsafe do to the fact that the lifeguard could get to you in an emergency.

Now the life guard is an interesting character. I can't ever remember seeing him in the water. Never, not once. He was just big and mean and scared the hell out of all the little kids so in this manner he kept the horse play down to a minimum and theoretically made the lake safe.
And then there was us...

(The sweet little boy is my nephew Ted who was with me a lot that summer. He's talking to Arthur "Tutor" Baca. Next to him is the girl Tutor married, Anastacia "The little fox" and in the background is "Arch" and Darell.)

Back then the term was "heads". We were the "heads" as in "pot heads". We were the group of kids you mother warned you about. The riff raff, the boys who all live over there at the ranch, have that rock and roll band and grow dope and the promiscuous girls who sneak out of their bedroom windows at night to join them. (Pssst, I heard some of them take birth control pills.......)

We were young and defiant and daring the world to do something about it.

(Taking the plunge: Tutor. Dee Dee, Anastacia, Arch standing and Tommy "Hokey" Quintana sitting beyond him. I can't tell who the last person is but I bet its JG Baca)

Anyway, many of us worked that summer and the trick was to land a job as a waitress or cook on a morning shift in one of the many local tourist traps so you would be free all afternoon to go to the lake. By 2:00pm everybody who was anybody would end up on the "back side" of the lake. Those where wonderful days. Full of sun, friends, laughter, music, romance...ah romance...

Sooner or later we'd decide to take a dip to cool off and this brings me back to the life guard. It was always the same ritual. We'd dive in. The lifeguard would run (if you could call it that) to the end of the pier and blow his whistle at us and scream "Hey, you guys can't be swimming over there - get out." The girls would laugh and the guys would flip him the bird. He'd go back to his stand and we'd swim around until we cooled down enough to begin the sun tanning all over again. This cycle would continue over and over until the bells from the Catholic Church up the road would ring out 6:oopm. Then everyone would rush home to shower and pull on their best ragged jeans, grab a bite to eat, take to the street for some cruising and then head (no pun intended) out to the ranch to listen to the guys jam and practice for the next dance they had been hired to play for, drink endless cases of beer, smoke a little smoke, tell stories and flirt. The sound of music and laughter were a constant. The mating rituals were predictable and fun. The friendships were important and the the memories are precious.

By the way, one of the guys in the photographs turned out to be the unexpected romance of my life - the one I never stopped loving. We never ended up together but we should have. Can you guess which one?

My parents

2008-11-17T17:34:00.000-08:00

Here is picture of my parents taken at The Restaurant Association Convention the year my dad was President.

My father was of German decent. A very big man, equally gentle with a little girls skinned knee and frighteningly hot tempered when he was provoked. My mother was elegant, beautiful, talented beyond belief and very very "Judy Garland" dark and tragic. Jeez...what a pair...
But, for all of their oddities I can honestly say I always knew I was loved very very much by both of them.

These poor two people should have never married each other. Each so good and loving in their own way and yet so toxic together. I could bore you with all the details but lets make it quick and say daddy liked to drink and momma collected tranquilizer prescriptions for a hobby.

But I have to cut them some slack. It was a time when people didn't divorce easily. They took their vows seriously so for them the only way out was by "death doing them part" ...and they worked very hard at that loophole. Daddy worked and drank himself through each day and mother took her pills and pretended like it was all okay. Sometimes when I would hear Carly Simon's song "The Way I Always Heard It Should Be". (or some title like that) I would freak out thinking she knew my family. They were so 1960ish!

I laugh now as I recall the home I grew up in. Aside from the house being haunted (another story for another time) my parents were crazy. My oldest sister was off to college and the next sister was married for a time and raising a son. And I was me..struggling to find my place and fiercely determined to survive.

There are eight and ten years difference between myself and my two sisters. To say that the house I grew up in was very different from the house they grew up in is probably true. Looking back I think my mother, who wasn't planning a third child, might have had post-partum depression. Back then the doctors didn't understand about chemical imbalances or the value of exercise and nutrition. All they knew about was paper prescriptions that caused their patients to quit complaining and guaranteed to return frequently enough to help them put a kid or two through college. I have often thought about how much better their lives, and ours, would have been if medicine had been twenty five years ahead of its time.

Does this sound like I'm complaining or worse, feeling sorry for myself. NO WAY! Yes, things could have been better, but I survived and grew and learned to be strong and see things for what they are and not let that dictate what I could have in life. And there were many good times...every now and then....no seriously, there were. Wonderful grandparents and aunts and uncles, cousins I love more than they will ever know and my network of friends who kept me sane.

I learned to discern at a very early age that there is a big difference between what people say and what they mean. What they want to do and what they are able to do. What they dream of and what they settle for. Consequently I learned that you can usually find something to love in everyone, even someone who seems unlovable. I learned to balance the injustices they commit against the injustices they endure. I learned that even mistakes, huge mistakes, can be accommodated if there is love, huge love.

My mother died when I was nineteen years old and my father passed away when I was in my late thirties. Both times I alternately cried and breathed a sigh of relief.

A letter to myself

2008-11-05T15:20:00.000-08:00

November 5th, 2008

Today, 203 days after I died I woke up to a new world. How is this going to be my new world I asked?
I have squandered the last 203 days. I spent so much time trying to recover physically, and then trying to recover financially that I neglected to give full attention to what life is telling me.
How obvious are the messages? I was unaware of just how much my identity had depended on my son. His death has drawn the spotlight on how void of purpose my life is. So much loss and illness have been woven into the last 24 months that any fool could see what its saying.
It’s saying that life here is so short and time is promised to no one.
It’s saying that you can work as hard as your can and will still leave things undone in the end.
It’s saying that no matter what you are intent upon you will be called away without notice, without consultation or consideration.
It’s saying my legacy is my own responsibility.
My son left us in the prime of his life. The unfairness of the fact that he was experiencing success and health for the first time in his adult life is life’s way of telling me that success on this earth means nothing to my creator.
My own death was so subtle that that it frightens me how easy it was. I was laughing and talking and then in the blink of an eye I was gone. And you know what? I didn’t care. There was no fight to survive due to the fact that my death was not a function I was able to impact. The best way to describe my experience is to say that death is not of this world, its something totally removed from my human intelligence. It was the ultimate demonstration of my lack of power to control anything.
I am very well aware that my time is limited, more aware than most. I know that what is done on earth for the most part will be burned up like hay and stubble. I also know what it takes to have gold that passes through the fire but this isn’t about that.
The world outside me is changing and I am frozen in time. Struggling to return to my desk a full forty hours a week in order to meet obligations that neither feed my soul nor have an end in sight. The mundaneness (is this a real word?) of traditional existence is too horrible to accept. Knowing fully well that I am meant for so much more and that I will be the saddest person that ever lived if I die “employed”. I don’t mind if I die working but not employed, there’s a difference.
So how do I switch roads on my journey to my final designation? Where is the exit ramp to that road less traveled? Can I take that detour if I have a passenger? Do I have the right to make the left turn and cross the median? Do I pose a bigger threat if I stay here on the freeway and end up stalling or running out of gas? These questions are ever present these days.
So what direction is that “Road less traveled” headed? For me its got the following destinations. I want to:
1. Paint
2. Write
3. Create
4. Teach
5. Be in the company of worthwhile minds

It’s that simple and that complex. I suppose the first step is to make a plan. This is my weak point. My lack of discipline is a thing to be ashamed of. How does one develop discipline? I have no discipline to develop discipline.
But here’s what I think. As backwards as this may sound, I think I need to build confidence in my ability to develop discipline. The only way I can think of to do this is to set small (read: tiny- miniscule) goals and try my hardest to meet them. Maybe a small goal of two small painting per week? Maybe a goal of three edited pages per week from that book of 80,000 plus words that I finished almost three years ago but never got around to editing? Maybe three pages of writing on the second book I have completely outlined and the first chapter finished on. Maybe a piece of beaded jewelry each week? Maybe less time blogging and more time working (no, say it isn’t so).
I will take this approach first and see if I begin to sense movement in my journey. I’ll stop merging. I’ll start actively looking for an opening in the passing lane. Hell, I’ll use my turn signal to let the world know I’m getting ready to go in a different direction – ready or not.

My very best friends from the magical summer of 1973

2008-10-31T18:58:00.000-07:00

Summer of 1973. It was that time of life where you know it won't ever be this good again. It will be good in other ways but never quite like this again. I had two best friends. Marilyn Romo (on the left) and Dee Dee Encinias (on the right). The three of us were always together. We never went anywhere without each other. I was the only one who had a car (1971 Mustang Mach 1) so I would hurry to get ready each night and then pick up Marilyn and Dee Dee. We would generally go out to eat and then go cruising.
That was back in the day when cruising was an art form. You would ride around with the windows rolled all the way down (in case someone hollered at you) and your radio...AM RADIO...would be tuned into KOMA 1520 - Oklahoma City and turned up full blast so you could sing along with your favorite song. Actually in Santa Rosa you had to listen to the local radio station (KSRX 1420) until the sun went down and they signed off before you could pick up KOMA. The records they played on the local station were always hopelessly out of date so we would wait impatiently for the sun to go down so we could hear the top 40. That was back when DJ were really stars. They had their own persona and gimmicks, they would actually announce the record and tell you who the artist was. And the best part - the dedications. Man o' man was that not the best?

We would ride around for several hours, laughing and talking. Flirting with the guys and bad mouthing our sworn enemies. Gossiping and giggling. This teenage mating ritual would culminate in couples piling into cars together for more cruising and then inevitably we'd all end up at the lake or on some dark road doing all the things our butch gym teacher had warned us to never ever do....

(Marilyn, Mark Walker and me at Tiffins Restaurant)

So where did these people go? That summer we all swore we'd be friends for life. But we were young and didn't have a clue about what it meant to grow older. Marilyn moved out of town by the end of that summer. She went on to college, moved to Florida and then settled in Houston. We still keep in touch and she can make me laugh just as hard as she did in high school but too many miles and years have passed between us. Still, she was quick to provide love and comfort when I lost my son and again when I had my heart attack. She will be one of my best friend to the end of time.

(Dee Dee, Albert Kluss and me at Dairy Queen Drive Inn)

Dee Dee and I remained constant companions for the remainder of the summer after Marilyn moved. Then Dee Dee went back to Denver and I faced my senior year alone. It was one of the hardest and loneliest times of my life. My first love had joined the army and my most intense love who came along unexpectedly during that summer agreed with me to end the relationship out of respect for the guy in the service. But everything in life is about transition and I survived and made new friends and had new experiences. Dee Dee returned to Santa Rosa about a year later and we lived together for several months after graduation. Then I moved to Santa Fe and never saw her again....how did that happen?

I still talk to Marilyn on the phone and hear from Mark Walker every now and then. But I never heard from Dee Dee or heard anything about her. I think of her though, I think of her often and fondly remember the three of us, talking and laughing and dreaming as we cruised through that endless summer...that came to an end...

Is there ever a good time to die?

2008-09-29T18:39:00.000-07:00

Okay guys - this is a real conversation about dieing. I'm not being scary or depressed or anything else - I'm just talking to you like I would if you were sitting here in my kitchen. These days I find myself compelled to think about my possible departure. Ideally one would like to die at the ripe old age of 99 sleeping peacefully in our beds after a full rewarding pain free life. My Dana says he wants to die going down the highway on his bike at 90 miles an hour having sex. (For the record, this is the one time he has my permission to cheat on me.) But the point is everyone has an idea of where and when they'd like to go. The the reality is...you seldom get to vote on it. You unexpectedly check out on your way to the ballot box.

Last Friday I went to see the cardiologist for an echo and afterwards he said that I had recovered very well all things considered and that I seem to be doing fine. (But......)
He went on to say that although no one could say for sure, he felt I had come as far as I was going to and that the rest of my life I will have to work hard to maintain where I am.
THUD! I have to admit I was expecting better news than that.

Don't get me wrong - I know how lucky I am and I don't take away from my progress one bit but the truth is, I still feel sick. Granted, not like I did five months ago but I'm still exhausted and I keep having these premature heartbeats. (There's a fancy word for them but I have forgotten it).

The exhaustion is bad enough but these heartbeats are very disturbing. I have been assured they are non life threatening but that doesn't help to be honest. The only way I can describe them is to compare them to that uncomfortable feeling that shoots through your chest when you've had a bad scare. You know the one, the feeling you get when the phone rings at 3am or when a car swerves into your lane head on. The feeling that you later describe by saying "I thought I was going to have a heart attack".

So here's the interesting thing...

Some days life seems bleak. I have to be honest with you. There are times when I think about the fact that I am the youngest in my family and there is a good chance under normal conditions I would out live my sisters and my Dana. That combined with the fact that now I have no child or grandchildren makes me despair over my aging process. The very real possibility that I would go away to a nursing home with no family left to watch out for me is not very appealing to me.
And the funny thing is, I obsess about what my death would do to Dana and my sisters. I don't want to bring any more pain into Dana's life but its exhausting staying alive for other people.
So consequently there are times when I "think" I don't care if I live or not. But....
...during this weekend I had lots and lots of those irregular heartbeats and I found myself saying over and over and over..."don't die, don't die, not yet..."

Today I went to work and drug myself through the day and thought "This is a bullshit way to live - its too hard and too unrewarding." And then I got home and there on the kitchen table was a "Biker Bouquet" if ever I saw one. Three carnations, one red, one yellow and one deep pink and a red rose stuck unceremoniously in a milk bottle.

And I smiled and decided I'd go ahead and live a while longer.

2008-09-27T09:13:00.000-07:00

This is how every day feels ...

2008-09-19T16:56:00.000-07:00

I have several blogs, and if you've been with me a while you know about "The Zen of Paco". Its my blog dedicated to my son who passed away October 23, 2006 from an asthma attack, he was 26 years old. For the most part that blog celebrates his life and chronicles my journey of grief and healing based on my faith.

But...this blog is about me...

At this risk of sounding like I need to try on one of those little white coats with the extra long arms I'm going to be very open and tell you that since Andrew died there are portions of each day when I walk in that valley. You know the one. That valley of shadows where nothing makes sense anymore.

For the most part I strive moment by moment to be strong and not let anything get me completely but I would be lying to you if I didn't go ahead and admit that each day has its dark moments. It moves in like a mist and I am always unprepared for its arrival. Last night it crept in and it stayed with me a long time. I had been in bed resting and watching TV when it crawled right in bed with me and I cried uncontrollably for a long time. Okay, here's the truth of the matter. I keep his baby blanket, his ducky blanket, under my pillow where its been since he died. Last night I pulled it out and covered myself with it as I cried.

And today wasn't a big improvement on last night. I got up and went to work - ran some errands, came home and read the mail, went to cardio rehab, then to Walmart, the Farmer Market for tomatoes and then to drop off something for Dana where he works. Blah blah blah blah....

Each day for the last year, 10 months and some odd days I have been like the faceless figure in the illustration by the great M.C.Escher coming and going, up and down, and nothing changes, I go and go but never get anywhere. And whats more, everything is confusing, nothing makes sense when the darkness comes.

Now thankfully I don't live like this all the time. As a matter of fact for the most part I am able to enjoy life, laugh more than most and exercise creativity with some satisfaction. But with each passing moment I am aware of this shadowy place where many of us climb endless stairs to nowhere...I can see it clearer and clearer each day. I am beginning to see recognisable features on the faces of those on the staircase.

I want to yell and say "I am escaping! I am leaving this corridor of assembly line mentality and leaving through those arches into the sunlight...come with me...don't stay behind on the stairs - " But I am part of the system. I have a job with insurance, a mortgage, an address where monthly bills arrive...and I have the fear of stepping through the arch and into the sunlight. But...

...it won't always be this way. I can feel it. I am not suited for this corridor with its limited passages. I believe this is what the heart attack was saying to me. I feel, I have always felt, I was destined for something different. I can feel a strong pull on me and the gravitational force that is pulling me forward is not here, it there...just over there...its home.

Its home and it feels like dry air and the sun shine through the rain drops. The the air smells like wet dirt, sickly sweet cottonwood leaves lying gold and spotted on the ground, roasted green chile, pinon woodsmoke. It tastes like strong coffee boiled on a wood stove, red chile enchiladas, Indian fry bread with honey. It sounds like the creek flowing through the Taos Pueblo, the wind in the aspens, a Friday night high school football game, the roar of the UNM Pit, an old song sung in Spanish, a priest saying mass, Mariachis, the sound of fuel burning off to lift a hot air balloon. It looks like mountains, desert, plains. City and village. Fiestas and festivals. Lakes and rivers and creeks, windmills and ditches. Galleries and tourist traps. I see first americans and left over conquistadors, black and white, lost and found. Professors and homeless women, artists and teachers, curanderas and health clinics. Ranchers and farmers. I see...

I see what is out there, in the sunlight, beyond the dark corridor and I know, I know I have to find my escape...

James Dodge and the black prom dress

2008-09-09T18:08:00.000-07:00

Prom Night 1974

In my last post I mentioned James Dodge. That set me to thinking about James. It is such a mystery to me how two people could be such close friends that they finish each other's sentences and then drift so far apart.

I met James when I was in Junior High School and he was in Catholic School. We had what I would call a crush back then - harmless crush - the kind where you say he's your boyfriend and sit by him at the show but that was the extent of it. The school combined at freshman year and although I don't remember it now, I'm sure we went to high school together that first year. Then my parents separated and I moved from Santa Rosa to Albuquerque with my mother, sister and nephew.

I would return to Santa Rosa to visit my dad quite often. My father had two restaurants there on Highway 66, now called I-40. He was busy running between the two businesses and I was left on my own for the most part. I didn't mind at all because I spent all my spare time with my best friend Marilyn. (Now there's a story, another time my friends, another time - ).

We were at that whirl wind age where the world is in full bloom. All you can think about is boys and hanging out.

Being too young to drive we often ended up with other friends who did have transportation. It must have been this factor that brought James Dodge..."Dodge" ... back into my life. Marilyn and I hung out with Dodge and Matt Encinias at every chance. The four of us never paired up - just good friends having the time of their lives. Then suddenly the winds shifted.

After spending the summer in Santa Rosa with my dad (really with my friends, my dad was just a cover) I returned to Albuquerque to go to school. Marilyn found a boyfriend and a new best friend (out with the old, in with the new). Matt went to visit family in Denver and returned with a wife and James was just someone I would occasionally see around town when I ventured back for a visit.

Then the winds shifted again. Out of the blue my mother decided to send me home to live with my father. Actually there is a story there too but one at a time...okay? I was a junior in high school and living with a father who barely knew I was there and consequently I began running the streets like a well fed orphan. Marilyn and I picked up where we had left off in being best friends and step by step James and I once again became buddies. James drove Marilyn and I around constantly. The only odd change was that Matt was no longer in the picture but his soon to be ex wife (Dee Dee)was - the four of us were as tight as a group could be. Those were good people - valuable people in my life.

At that time there would be a dance almost every weekend in the Jr. High School gym. The local band made up of the "it" guys of our time would play and we'd file in and sit on the bleachers waiting for some guy to get up the nerve to walk across the gym floor and ask a girl to dance. Once the ice was broken the party was in full swing but I bet we'd be there almost an hour before anyone would dance.

A thing began to happen. Not planned, just a natural thing that sprouted wings on its own. I would be sitting there with my friends dying to dance and James and Harold (who is now my brother in law - isn't life funny?) would walk in about six inches off the ground and feeling no pain. He would walk straight from the door, across the floor and over to me. He'd always say the same thing, "Let's get this dance started". and there we'd go. Beginning the summer between my junior and senior year I dance exclusively with James Dodge.

Marilyn moved away that summer and my first real boyfriend went off to the army. If it hadn't been for Dodge I'm not sure I could have faced my senior year. He was a wonderful friend to me. We continued hanging out and dancing together at the dances but as the year wore on we each eventually fell into other relationships. No hard feelings, at least none that were allowed to surface at the time. I think the last dance we attended together was the Snowball Dance at Christmas. That last semester he was dating Susie and I was dating Robert. However James and I made an art out of truancy. During the school day we were inseparable - in and out of school.

I can remember like it was yesterday that Prom was rolling around and it was assumed that each of us would go to prom with our partners. James and I were ditching school (as usual)and at one point we were driving south on 3rd street, passing Andy Baca's house to be precise, when James said to me "It just doesn't seem right not dancing with you the last dance of high school".

Back then the teachers and administrators would dictate what was the appropriate dress code for this event. One of the few edicts they set forth was "no black dresses to be worn by young girls attending the prom - it wasn't considered the proper thing to do".... he he he...sometimes they just made it too easy, ya know?

I remember my parents (who had reconciled, if that's what you want to call it, by then) looking out window as Dodge parked the car and came walking up the sidewalk. My dad was a man of few words. He stood there, himself bald as a cue ball, and as James came walking up he mumbled "Would you look at all that hair." I still smile when I think of that.

For many reasons, some obvious and some still a mystery, this was the last night of our famous friendship. James became very angry at me and at the time I didn't understand what it was all about, now I think I do. We were finally able to put it all behind us but it was never the same again.

The photo below was taken at my 30th high school reunion. Left to right is Tommy Trujillo, me, James Dodge and James "Beak: Quintana hamming it up front and center. For what its worth, all three called me immediately when they heard about my heart attack. I love these guys, and James, in my heart I'm still dancing with you while Tutor and Hokey sing Nights in White Satin...

Dancing in the Moonlight

2008-09-07T11:23:00.000-07:00

There are so many sights, sounds and fragrances that transport me right back to my teenage years. For example, the smell of Coppertone Suntan Lotion or the taste of beer, the sight of sunlight glistening off lake water or dozens and dozen of songs from "back in the day".

King Harvest's "Dancing in the Moonlight " is right up there - up top.

It immediately takes me back to a party I went to with James Dodge (wasn't I always with Dodge in high school - seems like it...). This party was at Brush Dam...in the dark with only the moon light and a flickering firelight. The scent of beer and homegrown in the air. The sound of music and laughter.... man, like it was yesterday.

It was one of those parties where you know deep down in side that its one of the last. School would be over soon, folks would go off to college, the service or worse - get married. Soon we would cease to be "us". Go from being "us" to being little pockets of "mine and ours".

In a brief moment of resignation I'll admit that I was at a gathering at Dana's cousin's house last night where I had a very good time. There were nine of us sitting outside around a fire with sporadic raindrops chasing us about. Although there were plenty of exotic Daiquiris to be had I, in a mood of nostalgia, had brought out a well stocked cooler of Boone's Farm Wine.

Okay, I'll cop to it, I had just finished watching the movie "Dazed and Confused" on cable and was feeling very nostalgic. The first time I ever became intoxicated it was on Boone's Farm Wild Mountain Wine.... or maybe it was the company of clowns packed into Mannie's VW... Boone's Farm Wine seemed to fit the bill for me last night. As he packed the cooler Dana asked me if I wanted to grab the plastic cups to take with us. "What? And miss out on the experience of drinking it straight out of the bottle...never!

Last night I laughed so hard I had to beg them to stop and let me catch my breath... several times in the night it crossed my mind that I could be just as happy in Missouri as I have been in New Mexico...okay, there I said it. Doesn't change the fact I want to go home but tells you a little bit about why I don't press harder to get there.

Life can be so incredibly good at the most unexpected times. There are people and places (...I remember ...Beatles reference here) that make up my life much like a patchwork quilt. Who would I be without one of them? Who...not me for sure...

So when I say I love each of you, its not lightly that I say it. I do love each one of you. Even those I don't like have played a role in my drama and I owe them a debt of gratitude also. I love you all, the ones that are here, the ones that have gone and the ones that will come. I love you.

Fire and Rain by Sweet Baby James (Taylor)

2008-08-29T17:24:00.000-07:00

From the first time I heard this song I said it was "my song" . It defines me and explains the feeling of desperation that has been embedded in my chest since as far back as I can remember. Yes, even as a child I have had this urgent feeling that it would all be gone too soon. I can't be specific as to what I think I'm losing, I've always felt like I was losing it all. And what made it such a desperate feeling is that my life has been one magic moment after another. Even the bad times. They were so honest and packed with raw emotion.

As it turns out I was right. It is slipping away too fast. Loving family one by one, childhood friends, teenage lovers, my youthful marriage, a good husband and then a precious child, the passing years, my health ... my time..my time.

And at the risk of seeming to be contradicting myself, with one exception each loss has been replenished. The magic and emotion lives on and becomes more internal. Dana, my Dana, I share a love with this man that is dangerously passionate and crazy satisfying. My life with Dana, although tough, has been more than I could have dreamed. My sisters and I have the best relationship we have ever had. My friends are of such rare value that sometimes I can't believe my fortune.

Each day is wickedly hard. The loss of my son steals from me with each tick of the clock. My recent health problems mock me. My situation limits my ability to be where I need to be. But...

By nothing more and nothing less than the grace of God and the assurance of Jesus I am still here, still having love...crazy love, still laughing...still laughing. I do these things with the zeal of a warrior who refuses to be taken hostage to the grief and struggle. I refuse to give in...I want to see each of you one more time again...

"Won't you look down upon me Jesus, you gotta help me make a stand. You just got to see me through another day. My body's aching and my time is at hand, and I won't make it any other way..

Oh I've seen fire and I've seen rain. Seen sunny days that I thought would never end. Seen lonely times when I could not find a friend...but I always thought that I'd see you one more time again."

Through every stage of my life this song as been applicable...it defines me still.

On The Steps Of The Temple by Kahlil Gibran

2008-08-27T19:53:00.001-07:00

Yestereve, on the marble steps of the Temple. I saw a woman sitting between two men. One side of her face was pale, the other side was blushing.

Sunday kinda homesick...

2008-08-24T09:59:00.000-07:00

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Ist Corinthians 3:1o-16

10)By the grace God has given me, I laid a foundation as an expert builder, and someone else is building on it. But each one should be careful how he builds. 11)For no one can lay any foundation other than the one already laid, which is Jesus Christ. 12)If any man builds on this foundation using gold, silver, costly stones, wood, hay or straw, 13)his work will be shown for what it is, because the Day will bring it to light. It will be revealed with fire, and the fire will test the quality of each man's work. 14)If what he has built survives, he will receive his reward. 15)If it is burned up, he will suffer loss; he himself will be saved, but only as one escaping through the flames.

16)Don't you know that you yourselves are God's temple and that God's Spirit lives in you?

I once was lost but now I'm found...

2008-08-22T17:37:00.000-07:00