Travel Tips for a New College Graduate II

1. Opportunity will arrive at the most surprising times.  When it does, run with it.

  2. When opportunity eludes you, put yourself out on the edge.  Take a chance.

3. It's at the edge where dreams come into reality, assisted by a secret formula of your own devising.  It involves just the right ratio of imagination to persistence, and shoveling lots of dirt.

4.  Never become too comfortable with your own success.  Watch your back.

5.  Don't be afraid to ask for help, but remember too many cooks spoil the soup...

...and that's why God created sushi.

Even so, the humblest meal, shared in good company, makes for a feast.

6. Imbibe with moderation.

7. Carry on the family traditions...

...but always remain true to your own unique vision.

8.  Time doesn't wait around.  It just keeps walking.  The journey calls for appropriate footwear.

9.  The pot of gold isn't at the end of the rainbow.

It's all inside your head.  Make the most of it.

10. Maintain your skepticism.

Don't believe everything you read.

It's your life story.  Write the very best one you can.

Oakley Chad Merideth

Bachelor of Arts in English,The University of New Mexico, May 2011
 Summa Cum Laude

Bachelor of Arts in psychology, The University of New Mexico, May 2011

Cum Laude
 National Society of Collegiate Scholars
 Dean's List

Sigma Tau Delta International English Honors Society

Music Assistant, KUNM

Academy of American Poets Undergraduate Poetry Prize

English Teacher, Daegu, South Korea

The Whole Enchilada

Bennie and I indulged ourselves in the Ichiban Super Premium Private Hot Bath (actually, Baths--his and hers, in the form of  sea-colored, oversize ceramic teacups) at Ten Thousand Waves, a lovely Japanese-style spa just outside Santa Fe.  We did this Tuesday evening...

 I stretched out in my big ceramic teacup, gazing at the crescent moon, breathing in the mountain air.  I felt myself swaying back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, hypnotized by the air, the soothing water, the moon.  Life is good, Life is good, Life is good.  The alchemy of the cedar-scented sauna transformed the tiniest care into drops of perspiration.   We poured water over our heads in the sit-down showers,  then returned to the teacups.  A nice rhythm was established--from sauna to shower to sweetly swaying bath.  And back again.   Life is good, life is good, life is good.  The occasion was a much-delayed (since January 2nd)  anniversary celebration, a gift of our generous children.

Afterwards we drove to a little restaurant in town, famished.  The manager, whom we'd never met, walked over to our table and told us he wanted us to have the blue corn chicken enchiladas, on the house. Now this kind of thing just doesn't happen--being offered free food, out of the blue, by a stranger, on a Tuesday night, in downtown Santa Fe.  But it did.  And the enchiladas were oh-so-satisfying.  Bennie said, "I guess this is our lucky night."  Yes, that night I fell asleep as my head touched the pillow.  I dreamed of being swayed by 10,000 waves, in a sea-colored, oversize ceramic teacup, in the middle of the high desert, under a crescent moon.


Next morning we got the phone call.  Daughter Flannery had been accepted into medical school at the University of New Mexico.  It's been quite a journey for her, getting to this significant milestone in her career, a balancing act of the highest order...

 Flannery in El Salvador, Summer 2010

At times the wait has been tedious...

Flannery with her brother Oakley

Presidential Scholars Banquet, 2008

There have been setbacks and challenges and  long distances to travel...

 

After her first half-marathon, 2007

But Flannery began her training many years ago, in kindergarten. Early on, she was recognized for her strong citizenship...

Every Friday she came home from school, her arms laden with boxes of Power Popcorn, a reward for her "Positive Power."

With her dad, Golden Gate Park, San Francisco

And she has continued working to make a difference to this day...

 

With Alumni Citizenship Award, UNM, 2008

She has proven herself, time and again,  to be a young woman of tenacity, brilliance, and genuine goodness--deep down, and outwardly, in her actions in the world.


She is richly deserving of having reached this latest plateau.  Take a deep breath, my lovely, and enjoy the view...

El Salvador, Summer 2010

When her dad and I were offered free enchiladas on Tuesday night, it was an omen.  THE WHOLE ENCHILADA, with the very best trimmings, was set to arrive for Our Person...

 Chocolate Tortilla Ice Cream Enchilada with Strawberries on the Side

Dig in, Babe!  It's on the house.  (After all, you built the house.)

All my love,

Mom

A Typical Thanksgiving Day at Our House

Flannery and I busily prepare the feast.  An assortment of mouthwatering pies prepared from scratch will be set on the windowsill to cool in the crisp autumn air.  Carrots, rutabagas, acorn squash, turnips, parsnips, brussel sprouts, cabbage, all manner of leafy greens, fresh from the neighbor’s garden, will be transformed by Thanksgiving Alchemy, into our delectable fat-free Vegan Stew.  Bennie will shoot an enormous turkey on the back forty.  Oakley will demonstrate, before our very eyes, his prowess in dressing a turkey, as he has for seventeen Thanksgivings past.
 
Each year the turkey’s attire is more festive than last. Oakley’s dressed turkey took top honors at the 1998 Macy’s Parade. Willard Scott was dazzled.

  If our humble table doesn’t have room for each and every one of us--this year we'll be hosting a multitude--we will set up quaint picnic tables by the rushing river behind the house.  If need be, we will eat in shifts, asking the heavens for a sign as to who should be first to dine, before drawing straws.  Those coming up with the short straw may sit on the ground, on the sidelines, salivating.  Babies shall rest comfortably in hollowed out logs.

 Yes, Native Americans will be in attendance.  They’re a very big part of the tradition.

Whatever your own traditions this year...

Out of Jail

Have I really not been here since June 14? That's what happens when you're arrested for vandalism to public property and have to wait for the Man on the Ladder to post bail. This is the sad sequence of events:

I was visited at the gallery by two bloggers:

C. M. Jackson, of
States of Mine

Kate, of
Visual St. Paul

It was a fun time, until those two, inspired by my previous post, decided to paint the town red. Literally. As she was being handcuffed, Kate broke down, sobbing. She shared with me she hadn't quite gotten that post. She hadn't seen I was joking, poor thing. Apparently neither did C.M. My heart went out. I took the rap. I did the jail-time.


Here I am, almost five months later, a free woman, hardened a bit. I smoke Marlboros. I've lost my patience with the little niceties in life. I guzzle milk straight from the jug. I wipe my white mustache on my sleeve. I'm tough as nails.

So here's a recap of what's been happening since June 14 (aside from the rotting in jail):

The Man on the Ladder, who appears to be applying graffiti, actually patched and painted the entire exterior of our house. We now live in a house painted the color known as "La Luz," one of the seventeen shades of brown allowed by our neighborhood covenants. Every house in the neighborhood is an adobe or a pretend adobe, and the houses nestle into the high desert landscape quite nicely. Our new trim color is sage and I realize I don't have a picture of the new, improved exterior. One of these days.

Climbing down from the ladder, the man was joined by his cousin Paul, visiting from Chicago, in the very ambitious project of installing a cherry floor in our bedroom. Here they are, basking in the satisfaction of a job well done...

Notice they're standing near a wall they can collapse against. It was a big project.

I took this painting, well past the expiration date, from the gallery to hang in the new bedroom...

Gazing at it first thing in the morning lifts my spirits if I do say so.

We enjoyed our share of magnificent high-desert sunsets...

Paul snapped this one from our bedroom balcony. To see more of his photographs, go here.

I published a story in the summer issue of Dream Network Journal, an eclectic quarterly focusing on somewhat scholarly pieces about, yup, dreaming, as well as personal accounts of interesting dreams. Mine was the latter. A one-page reproduction of my painting "Wanderer" appears in that issue too. They're open to anyone's dream musing, particularly that of prisoners, so my work was accepted almost immediately.

Turned 57 last month. Shudder. Received some interesting gifts, among them a life-size replica of a severed human foot. I was told it came from the state medical examiner's office. No, I am NOT kidding. Don't have a picture of it. Yet. Snapping one's on my to-do list, and posting it too.

Here's my beautiful cake, created by Flan...

Chocolate buttermilk cake.
Chocolate ganache frosting.
Raspberry filling.
Crowned by sculptures of praline brittle riddled with cacao nibs.
Extraordinary!

Found good homes for a few paintings, among them this one, which was a bit of a departure for me, depicting semi-recognizable objects from the natural world...

Disappearing Beasts
acrylic on canvas, 36" x 24"
private collection, Tallahassee

Summer was good. Fall is too. It's good to be back in blogland.

Old Man Gloom Dispatched by Fire and Ceremony

Sparkus Illuminus (the Honorable and Exalted), the  berobed, besceptered man on the stage is holding court:

"Santa Fe, it's time to consider the fate of Old Man Gloom:

• Zozobra, for being a hideous 50-foot bogeyman who scares the innocent children of Santa Fe;
• Zozobra, for being a menace and making our dogs howl at the moon;
• Zozobra, for haunting our dreams and upsetting our peaceful way of life;

I ask the citizens of Santa Fe:

• Shall we now send Zozobra to a fiery death?
• Shall we burn him?"

The mob of 20,000 gathered at Fort Marcy Park, comprised of upstanding Santa Fe citizens, visitors from New York, Oklahoma City, and Albuquerque, young parents holding their toddlers on their shoulders, white-haired seniors, teens (LOTS of teens), Dems, Greens, and Republicans--roar in unison, "BURN 'IM!!!"

It's unanimous.  Sparkus Illuminus proclaims Zozobra's fate:

• "I declare that on this evening, September 10, 2009, that Zozobra, otherwise known as Old Man Gloom, shall be dispatched by appropriate fire and ceremony.
• With the execution of Zozobra, we release all anxiety, suffering, heartache, and gloom of our fair city.
• Bring on the Glooms and Firedancers!

Zozobra's fate is sealed.  The Glooms (ghostly, sheet-wearing schoolchildren) and Firedancers in red costumes, bearing torches, solemnly proceed to the platform.   At 9:00 on an evening in early September, Zozobra, a towering paper marionette, is consumed in flames to the delight of our people.  For an evening, we watch our troubles go up in smoke. 

In past years I have written notes about a particular personal trouble I wanted to release.  I have deposited that note in the Gloom Box (the contents of which are burned with Zozobra), along with other people's divorce papers, bankruptcy papers, mortgage notes, medical diagnoses--you name it--and felt the thrill of seeing all things troubling from the past year reduced to a puff of smoke, a spectacle of fireworks.

There's a time to let things go, to get over it already, to move on.   Other troubles await us, but for now: Viva la Fiesta!




(The video is from a TV station in Albuquerque.  You can't fast-forward through the opening commercial.  But once you get to the Zozobra coverage, you can fast-forward through segments.  If this ritual interests you, you might want to do that, to see the sentencing of Zozobra, some of the firedancing, some of the burning, some of the pyrotechnics.  I'll warn you though.  It's nothing like being here in person.)

Running with the Wrong Crowd

There's a line a blogger crosses. From Bad Blogger to Dirty Rotten Blogger. A Bad Blogger posts sketchily, willy nilly, in fits and starts. When she returns to blogland after an extended absence, people say wry things like, "Oh my, you live and breathe." But the Bad Blogger at least has the decency to put in an appearance for solemn occasions such as blogaversaries. The Dirty Rotten Blogger does not.

I've crossed the line. Friday was my second blogaversary, not to mention my 56th birthday. And I refrained from commemorating. I morphed from oaf to scoundrel. I'm a Dirty Rotten Blogger. Maybe that's because I'm in the Terrible Twos. At least in blog years. Maybe it's because I've taken to running with the wrong crowd.

These kids are a bad influence.

Foreground: daughter Flannery.

Back row: David (Flan's boyfriend) and son Oakley.
Their deviousness is outdone
only by this one...

This one is bad to the bone.

He cooked TWO birthday feasts for me,

the first one two days before my birthday.

I came home from the gallery,

walked up the back steps to find

the bad one holding hands with Cinde, Bob, Christy,

and Russ. Their heads were bowed, their eyes were

closed, and they were chanting OOOOOOOOOOOMMMMM.

"What's going on here?" I asked in indignation.

"SURPRISE! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"

Then there's that thug Otto...

Otto, my Stephano-Pirovano-designed

dental floss dispenser,

a gift from the dastardly Christy.

My birthday cards and letters, from various low-lifes:

My mother (who surreptitiously slipped me cash,

then brazenly sang Happy Birthday on my voice mail).

The infamous Sometimes Saintly Nick

(alias Alex the Blogging Cat).

JS (knee-deep in "discernment"--

an Episcopal euphemism for parole--she emailed me her first,

highly subversive sermon).

Paschal (who penned a wicked acrostic based on my name).

Belinda and Armand (from L.A.--lower Alabama--

can't get any lower than that).

Cinde and Bob, who harbored on their premises

Christy and Russ, accessories to the birthday perpetration.

The Out-Laws (disguised as the in-laws).

The Bad Influence Kids.

Bad-to-the-Bone.

Notice all of the cards are rallying around

the large bottle of Reposada,

a gift from Flannery and David.

(I told you they are a bad influence.)

The chocolate from Bad-to-the-Bone is hidden,

as are the various items of intimate apparel.

My birthday roses, grown by my neighbor Cynde

and arranged with greenery from her garden,

in a French tin pot, adorned with a white satin bow.
She's the scourge of the neighborhood.

Four pots of Russian sage,

foisted on me by my in-laws.

They wrote the book on Bad.

A selection of headily fragranced incense

and a heart-carved case to keep it in.

A gift from my insensitive lout of a son.

(That's the hem of my skirt in the foreground.

Not that you were asking.)

My Bradley mixed-media ceramic mask.

Gifted by, you guessed it, Bad-to-the-Bone.

My brand new great-niece Allie Rae,

whose timing could not have been worse.

She arrived home from the hospital on Friday,

my birthday,

my blogaversary,

the official opening day of Santa Fe Fiestas,

the official kick-off of Santa Fe's 400th Anniversary.

Some people are dirty and rotten from Day One.

But I adore the headgear!

VIVA LA FIESTA!

AND WELCOME ALLIE RAE!

Place of Enchantment

I always got a kick out of driving a car with a license plate bearing the slogan "Land of Enchantment." I was disappointed when the state of New Mexico changed the design a few years ago. We still have a distinctive license plate, but it no longer proclaims our state nickname. And "Land of Enchantment" is simply perfect.

Where else will you witness a scene like this?

That's what Bennie and I saw Monday evening, as we drove north out of town, past the village of Tesuque, and turned left, headed for that dramatic structure nestled back into the mountains. The short journey through pinon-studded high desert was enchanting, in and of itself, but the real enchantment lay ahead.

We parked and descended into the soaring space of the Santa Fe Opera House, an open-air venue. Four tall diaphanous curtains swayed on stage. The murder victim sang an aria from behind those curtains, which served as portals into truth and the subconscious. Beyond the stage, the almost full moon revealed itself, time and again, from mountains of cloud cover. The cloud forms mimicked the actual mountains beyond. It was a magical backdrop for "The Letter," the world premiere of the opera based on Somerset Maugham's play.

The occasion was Bennie's birthday.

When we returned home, we found the Spirit chairs illuminated by the same moon. Someone was singing an aria in the distance, in the direction of the foothills. The sound was faint, barely discernible. At the same time, it seemed to come from that very chair.


Just another night in our back yard, a Land of Enchantment.