NSF: Insufficient Faith

It's been an ongoing battle in my life. Yes, I have had way too many NSF (insufficient funds) charges in my banking career, but I am talking about the OTHER NSF - insufficient faith.

Like many believers, I have had moments of true inspiration, even moments of revelation. And like a lot of people, I have had periods of insufficient faith as well. But just like in a bank account, new infusions of account-building or faith-building experiences can take care of the insufficient status and make us whole again. Sometimes we simply need to pay more attention, go through the checks and balances, and replenish.

I remember being about 7 months pregnant with my second child, healthy, happy, mucho preggo and taking a much-needed warm bath at the end of an exhausting day with a 16 month-old. It is a memory that is seared in my soul -one of the clearest thoughts of my life. It shot through my mind and body like a lightning bolt; the words couldn't have been clearer if someone had been looking me in the eye and speaking audibly: "You will survive if your baby dies."

What?

The thought lasted about as long as it just took me to type it, but it's effect was more lasting than paragraphs telling me the same thing might have been. It was so quick that it shook me to the core and made its undeniable mark, yet left me without any lingering fear or concern. A fleeting, yet undeniable flash of truth, a spark of eternity that didn't register at the conscious level, but touched my spirit indelibly.

Six weeks later, after three normal doctor visits with my favorite (and only) OB-GYN - Dr. C. A. Anderson - I went in for what was expected to be my last office visit before delivering my baby in early August. Dr. Anderson probed and prodded, his nurses had weighed me and taken my temperature; this was routine to me by now. I was ready to head off shopping as soon as the wonderful doc squeezed my shoulder and winked, saying, "See you in the hospital in a few days."

But shopping didn't happen that day, or for weeks to come. The doctor, about the time he should have been squeezing my shoulder, was calling for his nurse. He had spent a lot of time on my very large stomach with his stethoscope and now was asking her to schedule an amniocentesis and ultrasound. STAT.

I looked at him, knowing immediately what was going on. He had asked me how long it had been since I had felt the baby move. It had been about 24 hours - which in the last weeks of pregnancy is not normal. I had already had some concerns over the past day, concerns that I buried deep down inside of me along with the flash of truth and spark of eternity.

There was no heartbeat. He confirmed it when I asked. He was sending me to the hospital where I was supposed to deliver a healthy baby in less than two weeks, but I was not going there that day to deliver a baby. He was sending me for testing to see if the baby was alive, if possibly he had missed the heartbeat. Unfortunately, as I had been prepared for six weeks earlier, his diagnosis was correct. There was no heartbeat. The cloudy amniotic fluid  which I saw in the long needle as it was withdrawn from my huge stomach proved it. No one needed to tell me a thing that day, I had been told six weeks earlier.

Two weeks later I delivered Katrina Leanne Avarell, a perfectly formed baby girl who never took a breath. Two weeks of waiting, daily blood tests to make certain the toxicity building inside of me was not to levels that would threaten my life, hourly prayers that labor would start on its own...and finally, on the day Dr. A. had determined he would induce me, my body let go.

As difficult as it was for me to carry my baby for two weeks, knowing there was no life inside of me, I believe it was more difficult for my family and friends. They didn't know what to say. They didn't know how to react. I still looked healthy and very pregnant.

People would say things to me if I went out in public, which wasn't something I wanted to do but I did have to visit the doctor every day: "When are you due? You look like you are ready to pop! Is this your first?" etc. How could I answer them? Often I didn't, but more often rather than make them uncomfortable, I gave a quick response as if all was well and moved on quickly. Needless to say, those two weeks were mostly spent out of the public eye, in fact, I was at my parent's home in Fontana - off the mountain - to protect my privacy and also to keep me within a reasonable distance of my doctor who was in Redlands, CA.

My Dad was my strength during this time. He took me to every doctor's appointment. He was the most tender I can ever remember him being. He was a big part of why I survived. He had been wallpapering the nursery when I was at the hospital for testing. He was wallpapering when I called with the news. My Mom was there too, babysitting Karynn who was 16 months old at the time. They didn't know what to say, what to do. My Dad finished the wallpaper. My Mom cuddled Karynn. And then they drove down the mountain with Karynn to meet me at their house, where I spent the next two weeks.

You might think that this would bring a couple closer together, and there is no doubt that my children's father was as sad as I was, but I have no memory of a shared grief, no lingering emotion of two people brought closer together through a shared tragedy. As I have come to recognize more and more about most things in my past life, this was a burden that wasn't shared. But I was able to do it because of my faith in God, in myself, and in the goodness of people who genuinely cared about me and my family. I wasn't ever really alone.

My faith was stronger during that devastating time than almost any other time in my life.

Disappointment, betrayal, dishonesty, deception, and cowardly behavior, by others and by me, have been the causes for moments of insufficient faith at other times in my life, but on August 2, 1978 faith prevailed. And I survived the loss of a daughter before she was even born, just as I was told I could six weeks earlier while soaking in a bathtub and enjoying the miracle of carrying one of God's children.

I delivered Katrina while wide awake. I experienced the full spectrum of labor, but at the end there was no baby to hold. I don't know what she looked like. I was told she was dark-haired, petite and perfect. I have no doubt.

A blood clot had formed in the umbilical cord sometime in the 24 hours prior to my last doctor's appointment two weeks earlier. No reason for the blood clot was ever determined. No reason needed to be.

Dr. Anderson walked into my room on the GYN floor of the hospital a few hours after he delivered Katrina (they had been sensitive enough to not keep me on the maternity floor). I will never forget the look in his eyes. He didn't say even one word, he just squeezed my shoulder and with tears in his eyes leaned down and kissed my forehead. Then he left. But as he left I heard him say in a gruff voice to the nursing staff outside my room, "Take damn good care of my OB patient."

I shared 5 more pregnancies and delivered 4 more healthy babies with Dr. Anderson. He had also delivered Karynn in 1977. Kalen, my last, decided in her now-well-known stubborn-style to do things her way and to come early and by emergency C-section, so unfortunately Dr. A. did not deliver her. But we had many laughs together after Katrina's heart wrenching delivery as Kurt, Kollin, Kyle, Kelly and Kalen grew inside of me and then entered the world.

Katrina is buried in Redlands, CA. Her Dad dedicated the marked grave. The LDS Church is not definitive on whether Katrina's spirit ever entered her body, but any birth mother will tell you that those tiny spirits are kicking ribs long before birth. Katrina's name is in our family Bible, as we were told it should be. She is part of an eternal unit. She is one of us. She is my daughter.

Insufficient faith may have threatened my foundation at many levels through the years, but it has never touched my belief in the absolute goodness, patient tolerance and unconditional love of a heavenly Father for all of his children.

And for that, I am eternally grateful.

Familes can be Together Forever - Piano

Hot Air

I spent the past four days with two wonderful friends - Dee Hunt from Nevada and her sister, Sheila Hansen from California - and oh man (or oh man-less) did we girls have fun!

It is International Balloon Fiesta weekend, so hot air balloons were coasting through bright blue New Mexico skies for most of the past several days. And that isn't the only place hot air was coasting.

Bring the three of us together for more than a few hours and I can assure you that a LOT of hot air was released. We ate and talked and shopped and talked and rested and talked and...well, I imagine you get the picture.

A lot of our conversation was important, tied to current events or family and friends, but enough of it was just the three of us blowing off steam individually or collectively that the hot air balloon fiesta definitely had some good competition.

It's good to have friends you can trust and 'air' your thoughts, concerns, opinions, fears, rants and frustrations with. Like I said, there was a lot of hot air coasting through many of our conversations. Although, when I really stop to think about it, we did very little negative sharing in our hot air conversations, it was more like sisters sitting around knitting and talking about the weather (which couldn't have been more perfect).

But in spite of hours and days of togetherness and hot air - inclusive conversations, the Balloon Fiesta really did trump us, with the vibrant colors, floating balloons, blasting propane flames, colorfully dressed crews, wee morning hours, expectant crowd from all over the country, turkey drumsticks at 5 AM, minibuns, breakfast burritos and fried cheese curds (etc, etc).

My friend Tom Mizner was our tour guide and it was so fun to be at the Balloon Fiesta with someone who has "been there-done that-and worn several t-shirts over the years".  He's crewed, parked, visited and more, so he knew where to park, when to arrive, what was going on, etc. He was great and really made the event much more fun than it would have been without him. AND he put up with all that hot air too!

We stood in the middle of literally hundreds of hot air balloons as they were inflating, HUGE caverns of color and hot air that floated away from us sometimes one at a time, and sometimes lifting in concert. It was so much fun!

Oh yeah, and when I say  'the morning', I mean THE MORNING: we were THERE at 5:30 AM and completely awestruck with HUGE smiles for the next several hours, then headed home by 9:30 AM. It was like ending our day when it should have been starting. Naps, shopping, and dinner with friends followed. By bedtime, we crashed hard. All hot air was spent.

I have never seen anything like the Balloon Fiesta and will return again next week with the ABQ Chamber, and hopefully in years to come as well. I will miss my two dear friends, but am certain the hot air will keep me going.

Firepit Blues

Last night I celebrated my 55th birthday with friends at the Pueblo Harvest Cafe in Albuquerque. The entertainment on the patio was Hillary Smith, an amazing vocalist who incorporates a collection of genres in her performance, but somehow always undercoats the sound with a bluesy depth that rattles around inside the listener until it settles in for good. I loved every minute of last night's 3 sets and am carrying those soulful sounds with me still.

Following dinner, dancing and Hillary, the plan was for all of us to regroup at my friend Karen's house for a firepit - one of our favorite forms of entertainment. I had arrived at the Cafe still dressed in a skirt since I had come straight from 2 days at the New Mexico Turn Around Conference, so I decided to go home to change before heading to the firepit.

I arrived home, slipped out of the skirt and into my jeans and then realized I was totally exhausted. I had just come off three solid days of events and more importantly, 6 weeks of travel, family and stuff that had drained me. I laid down on my bed for a minute and that was the end of that. I slept from 9:15 PM to 7:15 AM - 10 hours. I don't think I even moved.

I missed the firepit. And my friends. And S'mores. And even "some more".  I am disappointed. I wish I hadn't been so tired.

So today I have the firepit blues, but I did sleep well last night and that's probably a good thing.

Earl Gilliam "Texas Blues Piano"

I USED TO HAVE CHEEKBONES ( or I attended the Atlas TTMBA)

It's been an amazing two weeks as I ATTENDED the Atlas TTMBA conference in Fairfax, Virginia near Washington DC. The food has been incredible.

Training began in the morning each day (not as early as last year, thankfully) but first we ATE. Breakfast was an amazing 8 ft. spread of potatoes, sausage, bacon, cereal or pancakes or waffles or crepes - or cheesecake (not really, but I kept expecting to see it some morning) - and toast, marmalade, juices and coffee and milk and fruit. And we ATE it all. Every day. The food has been incredible.

We learned to create a strategic business plan, from start to finish. No bullet point or objective was missed and the instruction was very comprehensive. Then it was time to EAT. The lunch buffet beckoned, another 8 ft. of "luncheon" food just begging to be EATEN with more often a variety of dinner foods, with two desserts. The food has been incredible.

We reviewed and reworked our business plans after meeting with Rainier Heufers - our BP Guru and Tireless, Focused Instructor - and then we broke for 30 minute breaks where various chocolate candies were casually distributed across ANY flat surface within our break area for us to EAT, along with soda, water, coffee, tea and whatever else the Atlas staff might have found along their culinary way. The food has been incredible.

Afternoon fatigue often hit mid-presentation after lunch and breaks, but the TTMBAers (for the most part) stayed awake and alert. Coffee was consumed by the gallon, caffeine drinks were downed by the case, chocolate was traded and shared and EATEN amongst TTMBAers as if it was an addictive drug. We learned, we ate, we conquered. The food has been incredible.

Dinner's 8 ft. buffet often included meat, potatoes, rice, veggies - and I am talking gourmet veggies, not just creamed corn - and there was bread...oh, have I mentioned the breadbefore now? Bread and butter was provided with every meal...and it was sooooooooo good. We tried to pass it by, but we failed every time. It was almost an Italian peasant bread - soft, fragrant, delicious. And we ATE. And then the dessert(s). Yes, the desserts. Multiple desserts, and not just little tiny chocolate chip cookies. Pies, cakes, pastries of all kinds, ice cream....on and on and on. Wine, beer, water, milk, soda...any beverage you could ever want. It was a feast every night...more than that, every meal, to be exact. We were fed well and we partook generously. We ATE, and then we ATE again. The food has been incredible.

And then the evening would begin, a walk along a dirt path (or miles over concrete, or on the metro, or over bridges, or into neighboring states) to TGIF's, Applebee's, Blue Iguana, DC for Ethiopian food, the hotel lounge for $3 beers, virgin cocktails, wine and more wine. The overindulgence just continued, it didn't stop after dinner, it didn't stop after 9 PM, sometimes it didn't stop until after midnight....the food (and drink) just kept coming and we ATE again. The food (and drink) has been incredible.

And then, as if we had not EATEN enough - Shaka treated us to his favorite restaurant...and a new drink was created, the SHAKA SHAKA BOMB, and we watched shrimp fly through the air, and we opened our mouths to catch them and we ATE again....

And the Event Planner extraordinaire, Stephanie treated us to anything we wanted, milkshakes mid-day between lunch and dinner, as if we couldn't survive between meals, so we ATE again...

And we were proud of our gluttony, we posed with our food. You can see in the picture above that Miss Texas posed by the old car with her food for a photo op.....many others vied for the privilege as well, and we dined and ATE again atop the Watergate building...

And we danced, and we sang, and we drank, and we ATE....

We shared cultures and food and drink and food and drink and more food and more drink....and we drank and we ATE...

And it was fantastic.

The TTMBAer's are amazing and I made lifelong friends whom I adore and hope to always stay in contact with. No meal will ever be quite the same without my comrades and I will miss them dearly. We enjoyed the food together, it was incredible.

I ATTENDED Atlas TTMBA and I don't think that it's just chance that the words ATE and EAT and EATEN are three words that can be created from that larger word: ATTENDED.

I used to have cheekbones, but I have EATEN at the TTMBA training, and I am now a proud TTMBAer with friends all over the world and a certificate too...but somewhere in the EATING, I lost my cheekbones.

It won't be long before we will need to plan a reunion dinner, so we can EAT together again. I am certain the food will be incredible. Maybe I will rediscover my cheekbones before we meet again....but between then and now, I will EAT less, and work harder in the fight for LIBERTY (with snacks and beverages at hand!).

Just Eat It

Testosterone Dudes

Men. Ya can't live with 'em, ya can't live without 'em. After all, your life began because of a man (with the help of a woman), so the question becomes, will you spend/end your life with one. And also, who's in control, them or us?

There's no question that men are woven into the fabric of our daily lives, they are an important part of who we are, specifically, who I am. The significant men in my life have been a random cross-section of male personalities, traits and testosterone levels. Great men, good men, not so good men. In an act of self-preservation and an exercise of self-discovery (which I am bravely sharing with the world), I have been thinking about this male/female topic for some time now. Today I have chosen to review the most significant men in my life, beginning with my Dad...

My Dad. Joel Ray Baugh. Tall, skinny, creative, artistic, handsome, ever-searching, tolerant, curious, married to my Mom (Marilyn Jean Frederick) for nearly 50 years (until his death) but separated for almost half of that time, father of 3, dapper dresser, not religious as a result of his Dad and unresolved religious questions, never smoked, a journalist with a temper, unconvinced Christian.

My Grandpa Baugh. James Wesley Baugh. Huge -Texas rancher huge, uncommonly devout, photographic memory, intolerant, baritone, frisky (my grandma's word), never smoked or drank, southern through and through although transplanted to the southwest and California in his mid-30's, married to my Grandma (Zora Middlehouse) for over 70 years, father of 7, a devout Nazarene with a penchant for prayers long enough to run off two sincere LDS elders (mid-prayer).

My Boppy. Harold H. Frederick. Small, quiet, huge smile, dedicated to my Mimi (Jessie Eliza Parkins) and married to her until his death, birth father of one son who died at birth, adoptive father of 1 (my mother, Marilyn Jean Frederick), mid-western through and through, dapper dresser, always wore a hat, smoked a pipe, lifetime employee of Paxton, Illinois' one and only men's clothing store, community church member and regular attendee.

My Brother. James Frederick Baugh. Tall, skinny, handsome, creative, artistic, compassionate, tolerant, native Californian who was born, lived and died there, window designer for Saks and Nieman Marcus in Newport Beach, baptized a Mormon when he was 18, musician, artist, considered my kids as his own, adored, conflicted on his sexuality until he was an adult, died of AIDS in 1985 after being diagnosed just 6 months earlier.

My Uncles. Dad's three brothers. Wes, Glen, and Leo Baugh. Wild, rebellious, fun, with great belly laughs, one with red hair, one bald, one so handsome and successful he dated starlets, all married and divorced at least once, not religious because of their father's overly zealous religious demands, all fathers, some successful, some not, a butcher, a bartender and a rancher.

My Sons. Kurt, Kollin and Kyle Avarell. Three hard-working, spiritual and honorable young men who have made choices in life that will make them successful, comfortable in their own skins, and joyful. Two former LDS missionaries. They inspire me every day.

My Sons-In-Law. JR Jorgensen and (soon) Logan Washburn. Two hard-working, spiritual and honorable men who each chose one of my daughters to spend their lives with. I love them and appreciate them both.

My Grandsons. Daelan, Kiel and Jespen Jorgensen. These three young men inspire me daily with their zest for life, their energy, their enthusiasm. Just the thought of them makes me smile. Regular church goers, probably future missionaries.

My Friends and More. Wally Cook, kissed him on the bus in kindergarten which created quite a ruckus and required a note from the bus driver to my Mom concerning my behavior, my first lesson in love. John Barker, my Mom loved John because he had perfect table manners and knew how to correctly eat soup from a bowl by pulling the spoon toward you, rather than pushing it away from you; typical heart-throb guy, later played the guitar and sang in clubs; a real heart-breaker; lost him to a friend with a knock-out figure - my first lesson in the reality of male hormones aka testosterone; Grif Thomas, great friend from 4th grade on, quiet spirituality, musical, talented, smart, we dated quietly and randomly in high school/college, my first lesson in how NOT to win the guy, he married a great gal and I still keep in touch with Grif, Sue and their family. Charlie Goodspeed, long-term boyfriend through high school, spotted him at a Community Hall "concert" featuring a local band in the summer of 1969, reconnected at our high school football game the following year and dated him from 1969 until 1974, a brainiac with a penchant for technology before it even existed, tall, dark, handsome, devoted, in control, educated, doubting spirituality, first lesson in what kind of guy I wanted to end up with, he married a redhead named Jan and they are still happily living in northern California. Kory Avarell, the father of my children. Tall, handsome, white eyebrow, BMW's, funny as heck, played the guitar, talented, smart, served a Mormon mission in Guatemala, baptized me in Lake Arrowhead, shared the best years of my life (he had me at "hello"), together for over 20 years, married for nearly 18 years, divorced in 1993. He still makes me laugh. Roy Jespersen, a great friend since 1976, talented, handsome, educated, self-assured, smart, funny, creative, tolerant, in control, philanthropic, spiritual, father of 3, a huge influence in my life over the years and a great example of a successful marriage (with Anne) following devastating divorce, I consider Roy and Anne friends for life. Kim Belcher, the friend I shouldn't have married, and I (we?) knew it immediately (on our honeymoon) but still gave it a short, but too long, run. Hal Krisle, "the man I had been waiting for" was my immediate thought when I first saw Hal; tall, dark, handsome, devout Mormon, hard worker, opinionated, devoted, uber-patient in some things, not-so-patient in others, supportive, smart. Married in 1998, I will always love this man. Bill Hunt, my 25+ years friend, the husband of my best friend, Dee, and my boss for several years at Suncadia; a good man with a good heart, hard working, successful, in control, semi-tolerant, self-assured, father of 3, converted Mormon, charming, handsome, tall, smart, educated, a great mentor, I consider Bill and Dee friends for life. Neal Ackerly, the PhD that showed me more in a few years about some aspects of life than I had learned in the past twenty; in control, supportive, naively spiritual, karma-seeking, unassumingly charming, handsome, intelligent, redneck, tolerant, self-assured, archeologist, over-educated, father of one son, a friend for life. Miscellaneous, the many men who have befriended, counseled, chastised, educated, supported, loved, left, advised, played with, mourned with, celebrated with, and basically kept me going from birth to this day through quiet acts of kindness, moments of rare selflessness, road trip therapy or outright generosity, some from my youth, some from my young married life, some professional relationships, some from this more mature place in life, and even some newly formed friendships; former teachers, bishops, pastors, neighbors, co-workers, classmates, church leaders, professors, boyfriends, friends, and chance acquaintances.

So many different men, so many different personalities, so much influence on me. Funny. Smart. Tolerant. Educated. Spiritual or Religious. In control. These are the very few commonalities. Well, and testosterone, of course.

Interesting: Funny. Smart. Tolerant. Educated. Spiritual. In control. Hmmm.

I love the male species. I have learned much from this bunch of testosterone dudes and I am grateful for every one of them. However, I have to admit that I love some a lot more than others. There's a reason we are supposed to partner and live our lives "two by two", and it's simple - we like testosterone, and they simply can't live without us!

The male species. Ya can't live with 'em, ya can't live without 'em. How to sum this up? As I said in an earlier post: It's a zoo out there! The animals are going wild. The testosterone is raging. The dudes have come out to play; some are hiding behind hormone-supported walls, but most are charmingly boyish behind that aloof yet commanding veneer.

So wait, who's in control?

I honestly don't know, but I do know this: If it's a man, I hope he has a loyal (and patient) woman by his side to help along the way!

Village People "YMCA"

It's a Zoo Out There!

It was lovely. A concert at the zoo.

I was at the Albuquerque Zoo / BioPark (with friends) for a concert last night and it couldn't have been much better. The weather cooperated, the concert was, well...spicy in a cajun sort of way and knee-slappin' fun, Gail brought the food (and a table and tablecloth AND a candle), Ed provided drinks, I donated carrots and dark chocolate (an interesting gourmet combination) and the crowd was friendly and colorful.

It was a night of toe tappin', arm swingin' music, covert people watchin', friendly camaraderie and dang good food and drink - all done in camp chairs spread as far as you could see on green grass beneath peacock laden trees. (I am choosing to leave out lengthy commentary on forgetting my hair tie and considering a bungie as an option to pull my hair off my neck, inadvertantly locking my keys in my trunk and not realizing it until the end of the night, and other self-inflicted and unimportant incidentals of an otherwise marvelous night).

Back to the topic....yes, peacocks. In the trees. And some struttin' their stuff on the ground too. Real peacocks, not men. Birds with beautiful long feathers. (sheesh)

AND, cottontails...genuine honest-to-gosh, look-like-they're-stuffed-but-they're-real cotton tailed bunny rabbits. (wanderin' free near the condor aviary, which made me a bit nervous); they were hoppin' all over the place, and so cute!

And, that's not all, we also saw New Mexico's famed grey wolf, an endangered species. We saw two, in fact, and they were beautiful animals the size of a german shepherd.

And flamingos (just like in the picture >), and bald eagles and monkeys (not in the same cage)....and more!

Now, in case you are wondering, the animals - with the exception of the peacocks, were not sharing the concert venue with us, they were safely sequestered in their respective "natural habitat" spaces SURROUNDING the concert venue. Now, why doesn't that give me a sense of comfort? Anyway, during a break in the concert (before dark), we were able to wander some parts of the zoo and visit with some of the non-human zoo inhabitants. They weren't much for conversation, but they did stop for a minute and look at us curiously - well, the bunnies didn't, they were too busy hoppin'around , probably lookin' for a partner and a place (altho something tells me that they aren't real particular) to continue their prolific habits. (speaking of strutting peacocks, how about bouncing bunnies?)

I would have watched those bouncing bunnies all night, but it was suggested that I should listen for the lions; I took the advise very seriously. It made me wonder just how close the lion enclosure was AND if cajun music was especially appealing to the huge felines AND if the cages were securely locked. I suddenly had a vision of lions roaring in a kind of sing-a-long effort, then came the thought of the wolves howling in harmony - and then, how long would it be before the monkeys started banging on bongos?!? We could have had our own zoo symphony, a sort of Doctor Doolittle band.

And we did, but not with the wild animals or Doctor Doolittle: "The cajun band, Fuefollet, is just like a classic gumbo, Cajun music is fresh, spicy, and full of flavor! “Feufollet” is no different. Their blends of music tantalize the ears and captivate the mind. With each new album the band dances farther into the kitchen to rewrite the book of traditional Cajun affairs.

Their newest album screams “bam” and awakens our senses to the future of Cajun Music. During the show this quintet will re-teach us the traditional Cajun and open our eyes and hearts to future of this unique musical genre that is taking the nation by storm." (quoted from the Albuquerque Zoo Concert website)

Fue follet is french, in English we would say "will o'the wisp".

Will o'the wisp is a term used to describe the ghostly lights sometimes seen at night or twilight over bogs, swamps, or marshes. It looks like a flickering lamp, and is sometimes said to recede if approached. Today's city version of "will o'the wisp" is the Jack-O-Lantern.

A zoo with Jack-O-Lanterns flickering, now that's a thought: not sure who would be more scared, the humans or the animals. Which leads to a follow up thought (or two) - if zoo's are designed to protect humans from wild animals, 1) why do we have them in the first place - we could just leave the animals where they belong and reduce the risk to city-living humans greatly, and 2) why are the animals protectively situated behind bars and in cages and beyond moats and wide expanses of 'natural habitat' and fences, while we are allowed to wander aimlessly through their midst - at night, no less?!?!? Oh, never mind.

All I can say is that the musical version of a jack-o-lantern lit up our spirits and caused our souls to dance. The Louisiana-based Feufollet was fun, unique and entertaining. You can find out more about them by clicking here .

And that's all the thinkin' this redhead can do right now, so to sum this up....

Last night I thoroughly enjoyed spicy gumbo music served up with ghostly lights while sitting on a camp chair midst silent lions, odorous flamingos, accomodating friends and cotton-tailed bunny rabbits - all in the middle of a zoo and under the cover of peacock-decorated trees and a clouded sky. By candlelight. Barefoot. Without a hair tie. And with the realization that there are some things in life you can't get enough of. "Please sir, I want some more....."

Feufollet

Sticky Fingers

Talk about a quick and unexpected look backwards into my youth. Wow. Pomegranates now span nearly 50 years of my memory.

Pomegranates are the new (old) rage. I recently bought Pomegranate juice (POM) - it was expensive and I wasn't the only one buying it. I felt so trendy! Then I snagged a bag of dark chocolate covered pomegranate. Who would have thought? What a wonderful creation! (however, I am still trying to wrap my mind around "real fruit juice pieces". I don't know about you, but until I popped that first dark chocolate covered nugget into my mouth, I can't really remember EVER tasting a "piece" of juice, real or not. Anyway, that is of no consequence, dark chocolate dipped real fruit juice pieces are delicious!

I remember red-stained fingers in the Rialto, CA backyard of my childhood friend, Rhonda Copeland. Her mom wouldn't let us eat that messy fruit (with all those juicy seeds) anywhere in the house, so we would park ourselves on the edge of their back patio and pick away. It was definitely a labor of love.

I loved pomegranates then and I love them now, especially covered in dark chocolate. The cool thing is that your fingers don't get stained red with the dark chocolate coating. However, if you eat enough of them, and lick your fingers, your fingers might become sticky.

I can assure you that a combination of pomegranate and dark chocolate did not cross the mind of a very freckled 11 year old girl with red-stained fingers and lips. Let alone anything even remotely related to "real fruit juice pieces."

But I am older and wiser now, and dark chocolate covered ANYTHING works for me. I am an addict.

I admit it.

My name is Jean and I am a dark chocolate addict.

And I don't plan to participate in any intervention or pay an insane amount of money to participate in a recovery program to solve this supposed problem. I am a dark chocolate addict and proud of it. I like it, actually. I would even buy a bumper sticker for this! The freckles are faded, the red hair is streaked with white and I have almost seen "11 years" five times now. I am not so little anymore either, but some things just don't change. I love pomegranates, plain or covered in dark chocolate.I love dark chocolate, plain or covering just about anything.Life is good, and I have sticky fingers.

Dave Matthews Band "Shake Me Like a Monkey"

Bruno Lopez

FRIENDS. I loved that show. I have the entire collection from the first episode to the last. Of course, they are still in cellophane wrap because who has time to watch that much TV? Or any TV for that matter?

Those who didn't enjoy the show were so put off by the constant sexual innuendo that they missed the great life lessons that were taught. To each their own, but I wasn't and I didn't. I still laugh until my sides hurt when I remember certain episodes and double over with tears in my eyes from laughter if I actually sit my arse down long enough to watch a rerun.

Bruno Lopez could have been a character in FRIENDS.

He was certainly a character last night with my friends who joined me at my house for a dinner party and to meet Kalen.

Bruno Lopez.

I think I'm in love, and this time it's real!

Who is Bruno Lopez? I really have no idea. I think he's probably someone different to each of us. To my daughter Kalen, he was her quick-witted response to someone asking if she had a tattoo. To my friend Karen, he was the guy revving by my house on his Harley. To Gail, he was the mystery masseuse who relaxed her shoulders earlier in the day. To me, he is still an unknown, but just the mere thought of Bruno Lopez will make me chuckle now and forever.

Friends. I love them. For those who get caught up in the sexual innuendo and flirtateous behavior in a group of 50-something friends, the great lessons of life and friendship are easily lost. But for me, it's been a reaffirmation of who I am, what I want and how important other people are.

Laughter is life-renewing.

Friends are life-sustaining.

When the two work together, it's life-changing.

I am so glad I have friends in New Mexico, my new home. And I am so glad I have friends in Utah, California, Washington and Las Vegas, and many other places where I have landed for a hour or a day or a month or more. They add so much to my life.

I have friends because I can look beyond the silliness that sometimes accompanies camaraderie, and see the goodness in my friends. I have friends because they can look beyond my faults and imperfections and downright failures to see that I am a decent, fun-loving person.

I am grateful for their willingness to focus on the good. And I love their eclectic personalities, each one adds a new dimension to my life and my own personality. Who I am is a combination of all of my friends and family, and even those who are not on those lists. I have (hopefully) learned something from everyone I have met in my life.

The more I think about my friends, the more I believe that a little bit of Bruno Lopez is in all of them - which means he is in me too.

And come to think of it, I just bet he was on FRIENDS.

'Scuse me, I have cellophane to deal with.

Hellooooooooooooooo Bruno!

FRIENDS Theme Song

Something Old, Something New

It's a crap shoot, ya know, this wedding stuff. You plan and you plan and you just never know how that day's gonna turn out, with one exception - you can be fairly certain that the bride and groom won't notice much beyond each other and won't remember much of the extravaganza.

White is so banal anyway. What's to remember? No wonder we add colors and flowers and people in frilly dresses and dark suits with fancy ties. It makes sense that colored mints are par for the course and towering cakes with unfamiliar people perched on top are de rigor.

And now it's customary to add trees and white lights (everywhere)...it's a wonder the bride doesn't trip over some poorly placed chord.

And this brings me to Kelly and Logan, the newly engaged couple who didn't even want a wedding. And I can see why. Who wants to have bags of leftover mints as dessert for the next year, topped by a frozen (and stale) cake top with those same unfamiliar people cryonically preserved and still perched on the inch of sugar-icing? I am pretty sure they don't. But I bet the cake cutting moment will be worth all that planning!

Who wants to worry about what color hat someone might wear and how people who really don't like each other (but come together for these very spay-eh-shul occasions) might act? No one, which is why most folks are on their best behavior at weddings.

So, why have a wedding? It's expensive, it's stressful, it's over in an hour, you have to invite people you have never met - and you have mints left over.

The bride has to find the dress of her dreams, in one shopping spree usually. The groom has to suck in for a cumberband of appropriate color. They both have to select "best" friends and favorite family members to serve in the wedding party. It's a wonder weddings don't sometimes turn into family feuds. It's more of a wonder that more couples don't elope mid-wedding-planning. I am certain many consider it. So what keeps them on track, what motivates them to have a wedding? Love. Family. Tradition. Celebration. Friends. Love......

Weddings are celebrations of life and love. They are as much, if not more, for the guests (family, friends, others who have to be invited because of that silly Vanderbilt book of etiquette) as they are for the couple getting hitched.

And there's an interesting phrase, "Getting hitched." Sounds like redneck trailer talk to me. "Hitch it up, Fred!" Somehow, "Hitch her up, Logan" just doesn't feel right.

So, we have weddings, we invite people "just because" AND "because!", we hope for civility, grace and courtesy from all, but mostly, we love that feeling of hope and dreams and optimism that young couples in love almost ooze, to say nothing of those mints; so we plan and plan an hold our breath in both excitement and dread all the time watching out for those loose chords and saying quiet prayers that this union will be one for the eternities.

Knowing Logan and Kelly...and watching them together, and sensing their mutual respect and witnessing their obvious love for each other... this one's a slam dunk.

Which brings me to Ralph Bobik...and those size 14 Converse basketball shoes he wore to my reception - with his tux - in 1976, sending my poor Dad into heart failure. I love that guy. I am not sure my Dad felt quite the same affinity for Ralph at that moment of truth when Joel (my Dad) looked at Ralph and said "YOU BETTER NOT have forgotten your dress shoes."

I loved my Dad. And I love that memory (which proves that brides DO remember some things from their weddings and receptions!).

And I love Converse. And I love weddings. And I love Kelly and Logan.

And now I get to go help Kelly find the dress of her dreams in one shopping spree.

And maybe even a perfect pair of Converse, for a very special day and an even more special girl.

Of course it won't matter, she won't remember much of it anyway. But I will and so will everyone else who is there. But the person who will remember? Logan. The minute Kelly comes into view - princess for a day to all of us but in Logan's mind that day will be one of those eternal photoshot moments, forever engraved in his memory.

Weddings. An old tradition for a new love.

Well, and for the mints, of course.

Elvis Presley "Something Blue"

White Ribbon, the new Duct Tape

Today I bought a small (very small) bbq. Thankfully the ladies at WallyWorld noticed I was a single (older) female and offered to sell me the floor model, rather than the box which contained dozens of parts and even more nuts and bolts. I nearly fell to my knees in gratitude.

We rolled the (very small) bbq to the curb and I pulled the Accord alongside to the smirks of the self-impressed WallyWorld door boy. "It won't fit."

It won't fit. No offer to help. No movement from his post. No suggestion. Just "It won't fit." (I wanted to tell him that his blue vest didn't fit...or something like that.)

The lady sales clerk and I looked at each other and thought in silent unanimity, "Wanna bet?" Together we lifted sideways, thinking we would slide the (very small) bbq on its side into the back seat.

No go. It wouldn't fit.

The wing shelves on either side of the grill made it impossible. No worries, we would just take one wing off...but no go again. No tools, and no offer forthcoming from the ill-fitted blue-vested (and now smug) WallyWorld door boy. (I was so wishing Kelly was there, she would have given him a few comments about his customer service skills AND his blue vest!)

Not to be discouraged, we looked at the trunk. Honda engineers are truly geniuses. They build this cute little car with great gas mileage (and a sunroof!), and STILL remember to include a HUGE trunk.

Out came the survival kit, the window washing fluid, the golf clubs, the ever-present black down vest, the tool box, a file of unknown origin with rather important looking papers inside, a squished Kleenex box, 12 maps, two items I have meant to return to Target for over a year (wonder if the Wally-gals would notice they didn't come from their store??? Hmmm, nah, not worth the effort), and finally, two spoons, a hose bib and several red rocks from a hike I took over a month ago.

Together my new best friend and I lifted the (very small) bbq and tilted it carefully into the trunk at a gentle angle, carefully placing it so as not to break off the wings or the cute little mesh drawer on the front. Once settled in the trunk, we looked for the bungee cords that should have been in my trunk, but they were not to be found (with all that stuff, no bungee cords. Ridiculous. This might have been the ONE moment I wished I was a man. Men always have bungee cords).

As we glanced back at the now oblivious man-child in the silly blue vest (of course he wasn't going to watch when IT FIT!), we noticed a grocery cart rolling from less than a foot away from him and heading into the parking lot - and a parked car. Did he notice? Of course not! (I wonder what they pay these guys)

My friend and helper ran to get the cart (her blue vest fit perfectly) and I took one last glance into the trunk, wondering if the (very small) bbq was going to stay put on the 10 block drive home. My gaze landed on about 1/4 inch of sparkling white. VOILA! EUREKA! I hadn't found gold, but I pulled at the end of that white something and realized that I had found a 12 inch piece of white ribbon, probably left over from some frantic last minute gift I wrapped in my car.

I tied the sparkling "bungee" around a leg of the (very small) bbq, threaded it through two holes in the hood interior and I was set.

I thanked my newest best friend (Sonia) and smiled triumphantly at the overpaid, blue-vested Doubting Tom and off I went.

I love being a woman. We simply don't know what "It won't fit" means.

Not only that, we can take 12" of white ribbon and create everything from a dog leash to a bungee cord to a bracelet to sandals to a new hairdo. And give us a pair of scissors and we will even make it curly! Ok, so it's not duct tape, but it's close.

And that was my day at WallyWorld.

I may go back tomorrow...with a white ribbon in my hair.

Stevie Wonder "Ribbon in the Sky"

Orange is the New Pink - or so I hear...

My son Kurt is a tax attorney on Wall Street. Disregarding a slam-dunk family vote, he did not choose this picture for his law firm's corporate website.

He is the oldest brother of three. Kollin and Kyle are younger, respectively.

Kollin towers over Kurt and is a 2nd degree black belt in Kenpo Karate. A teddy bear on the inside, he is a trained fighter, but only on the defense. He isn't trained to attack and it would be silly to retreat.

Kyle towers over Kurt too, but in direct opposition to Kollin, he always attacks and then always retreats - instantly, calling "Mom!" (yes, even at the age of 24). He is, after all, the youngest son.

Kollin has always looked up to Kurt as his older brother, well, except when Kurt was beating him up as a child; I doubt he was very wild about him then.

I always warned Kurt that someday his 'little' brother would be bigger than him, but Kurt rarely listened.

I wonder if maybe Kurt hasn't noticed that now he looks up to Kollin too(literally), because the facts don't seem to have registered on the attorney (anymore than they registered on the little kid).

There is still an ongoing challenge that began the day Kollin was brought home from the hospital and to this day, Kurt has never abandoned it.

And speaking of today, the challenge was renewed a few hours ago in the following email exchange about the color pink being assigned as a font color to identify Kollin's family on an all-inclusive family calendar (he does have two girls, for pete's sake).

So, here goes:

Kollin's email: Whoa, pink? ... Kyle should have been pink. (notice he says NOTHING about Kurt)

Kurt to Kollin: "But sinsai, Seafood Carter Wong liked pink. I will fight you....in your dojo...today."

It will never end. Thank heavens for teddy bears.

Oh, and this just in from the pink-fonted teddy bear wearing black belt accessories: "Orange is the new pink."

Or is that the orange-fonted teddy bear....I don't know, this whole color thing is getting a bit fishy to me.

One thing I am certain of is the double black belt and that's enough to convince everyone except Kurt, of course.

And salmon rules.

Let the games begin.

Walker-Texas Ranger Theme Song

Kung Fu Theme Song

(P.S. If you had $5 and Chuck Norris had $5, Chuck would have more money.)

Krschhttshttt. Testing. 1 - 2 - 3. Krrrsshttskkshht.

This post is about Agent Freckle (AF) and TattooMama (TM). The guys must have handles too (Cabela and Levi?) but I don't remember them, which is a perfect segue into my next comment:

Tattoo Mama, aka Karen, is my friend. She's a Harley gal and an RN. She's a Virgo too. She's real (no BS here) and a Mom, and she's hooked up - literally.


Last weekend, a group of us gathered to install TM's new CB radio and antenna. And what a team we were (I was, of course, the supervisor).

Following a great breakfast, we all wandered to the VERY well organized garage to begin this project. After a few hours of fun and work, the first official communication cleared the airwaves to cheers all around! It worked! It was hooked up!

TattooMama's handle comes from our coordinated and shared support for her daughter Lauren's new (and first) tattoo. Let me simply say, this tattoo isn't small and it isn't easily hidden.

Gulp. Breath. Chant: "Mom's are cheerleaders, Mom's are cheerleaders."

Second chant: "Eighteen. Eighteen. Eighteen. Legal to make own decisions."

It's a beautiful design that Lauren drew herself from the ancient native american zia symbol. It's a very artistic and appropriate expression.

The zia is easily recognized as the symbol on New Mexico's flag - a red sun with rays streching out from it. There are four groups of rays with four rays in each group. This is an ancient sun symbol of the Native American people called the Zia. The Zia believed that the giver of all good gave them gifts in groups of four.

These gifts are:

The four directions - north, east, south and west.

The four seasons - spring, summer, fall and winter.

The day - sunrise, noon, evening and night.

Life itself - childhood, youth, middle years and old age.

And all of these are bound by a circle of life and love, without a beginning or end.

An honorable message. There are far worse things one could have tattoed onto their forearm.

This new tattoo on the arm of a friend's daughter reminds me of my son's first tattoo, one I was adamantly opposed to and thankfully completely oblivious to for a long while. When I did learn about it (irritation building behind my curious smile as I asked to see it), he tentatively, but proudly, pulled up his shirt to bare an ancient Chinese symbol for (he was telling me quickly) "Integrity".

Gulp. Breath....CHEER! (it wasn't a rose with someone's name on it! or a skull and crossbones!)

Tattoo's still weren't my thing, but evidently they were his.

Why do kids have to grow up? Why do they want tattoos? I don't know. Why do adults want CB handles for that matter? It's all a matter of personal expression.



AgentFreckle morphed from my original handle "The Big Freckle" (given to me in the 80's by Bill Hunt on a trip to Mt. Shasta). Karen used it in reference to me after I managed to take a particularly sleuthful picture, appropriately named "Azzphalt ".

As in all things, photography can be creative too.

It's the simple matter of personal expression.

krrrsshttttt this is AgentFreckle lookin for TattooMama, come in TM??! You out there?...krrrshhsttttt




Hmmm. Didn't copy that. Over (under?) and out.

Steppenwolf "Born To Be Wild"

Joe

Once in a while you meet someone so unexpected that your life is changed by a simple exchange or quiet smile.

For me, one of those experiences happened when I met Joe.

Joe lived in New Mexico, he was an unassuming redneck gentleman, transplanted to the Land of Enchantment from Southern California, a man of few words and a wry sense of humor. He was worn, tired, sometimes almost seeming defeated, but there was something about Joe - not the least of which were his NM skyblue eyes - that charmed me through and through.

He was obviously intelligent, you noticed that in the first conversation. But there was also something unidentifiable, something that made me want to hug this man.

A former sharp shooter and accomplished hunter, he would sit for hours at the range, watching, talking, offering advice on occasion and shooting even less often.

Joe passed away last week. I was fortunate enough to have the time to make the trip south from Albuquerque to Hurley for his memorial service. It was a celebration of the life a man who many probably overlooked, a man who to his friends was much more than a tired redneck. He was charming and unforgettable.

I only met Joe 3 times, but my memory of him is as if I had known him much longer. He made an impression on me, one so deep that I hydroplaned my way south from Albuquerque in the wee hours of the morning and in a raging rain storm to join his friends and family in honoring his life.

It was the least I could do.

So, here's to Joe. I am so glad I met him. May he rest in peace.

Amazing Grace (bagpipes)

Some Days Shine Brighter than Others

It's been a roller coaster week, month...well, year. Life has taken unexpected turns and leaps, almost with a whispered message "Be careful, curves ahead" or "Be careful what you ask for, you just might get it." or "Be careful." (period!).

From Kierstyn's early arrival and Karynn's troublesome recovery (blood clots are dang scary) to Kalen's early return from Brazil (OIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII Kalers!!!) to Kelly's graduation from SUU (you rock, Kellers, couldn't be a prouder Mom!), to Logan and Kelly's engagement (talk about shining brighter!)....this has been one loo loo of a month.

I am so proud of my kids and their partners -they take life with a grain of salt, honor their commitments, treat others with respect, practice patience, choose tolerance over judgement (with appropriate exceptions), love purely, behave honorably and act with compassion.

In the past week I have listened to an inspiring Valedictorian, felt the confusing sting of mistrust, celebrated a rite of passage at a graduation party and shared life with friends.

Four nights beneath the star-filled skies of NM, circled around a roaring fire on camp chairs with good friends - what could have been a better way to spend Memorial Day weekend? We laughed so hard we cried, we talked about life's shining and duller moments, we strengthened our resolve to be good people and we learned from each other.

Most importantly, we enjoyed the moment.

I am living in the Land of Enchantment...and I am enchanted.

Shine on.

Shine Bright Morning Light

Milestones and Miracles

It was a busy 4 days last month. Kalen returned from Brazil, Kelly graduated from college, Karynn gave birth to Kierstyn, Logan asked Kelly to marry her - and she said YES!

Life doesn't get much better, or much more hectic than that....unless of course, someone gets a blood clot in their leg, another receives a proposal at the age of 17, and best friends suddenly become foreign to you.

Then...life gets even more hectic.

Thankfully miracles happen, blood clots can be dissolved, heads overcome hearts, reality hits - but with compassion, and other hearts heal.

I am grateful for the vicissitudes of life and the lessons that are learned. I hope they make me a better person.

Miles Davis "Milestones"

Dreams

Today I attended the graduation for a friend's daughter from a charter school. There were only 9 in the graduating class. My friend's daughter was the valedictorian. She talked about the steps we take in life and how important it is to stop and enjoy the view along life's trail. It was a good message.

The following quote was on the back of the commencement program: "I hope your dreams take you to the corners of your smiles, to the highest of your hopes, to the windows of your opportunities, to the depths of your soul and to the most special places your heart can ever know."

Some days are a dream. Some are a nightmare.

I prefer the dreams.

Fleetwood Mac "Dreams"

When the Sun Sets in the Land of Enchantment (everyone is watching)

I have missed too many sunsets in my life.

I remember seeing the Arizona Highways magazine on our coffee table as I was growing up. My Dad was born in the southwest and his appreciation for desert fauna and flora, along with the breathtaking sunsets, was obvious.

I hope to see many more New Mexico sunsets. They take my breath away. They are a process, taking several minutes, allowing the mind to review the past day and ponder tomorrow's possibilities.

"Never let yesterday use up today." I love this favorite phrase from my new friend, Karen.

It's a good motto for life.

Marques Houston "Sunset"