Sunday, December 31, 2023

In Memorium

 

The end of the year seems a good time to remember the dead. Some who were very close to me, whether family or friends. Some who were not so close, but who were in one of my circles, and impactful. Some whose connection to me was ephemeral, but whose life touched me in some way. Some who died after this blog debuted. Some who died years before.

My mother, Carol: The Last Monday Letter and posts that featured her here.

Carol on the Delta Queen. October 2013. Credit: Mzuriana.
Carol on the Delta Queen. October 2013. Credit: Mzuriana.


My father, Ron: I hold complicated feelings about my father, but as they relate to challenges and opportunities I encountered as an adult, he delivered support in both tangible and intangible ways. With eight children, and, at times, a dog and a duck, not to mention my mom - he was definitely rooted. Except. He had a life-long dream of learning to fly. My dad sustained that dream through a stint with the Air Force, marriage, college, various household relocations, raising and supporting the eight kids, until, finally, he made it happen in his 60s.

 

My father, Ron, and my mother, Carol
My father, Ron, and my mother, Carol

Dan Offret in Tucson: A Toast to Dan

Jessica Terrell in Missouri (then New Mexico): Voluntary Simplicity

Judy Ackerman in El Paso, whose orbit I circled through her varied avocations and activist work: hiking, land preservation, voter engagement, women's rights, and pro-choice rights.

Donna Snyder in El Paso, founder of the Tumblewords Project, a weekly writers' workshop - still going strong 28 years later, even beyond her death in 2022. This interview, A Conversation with Donna Snyder: An Advocate and Speaker for the Unseen, published in April 2022, serves as a memorial to some parts to her whole of a life.

Saturday, December 2, 2023

10 Years Ago: Christmas Eve in Louisiana and a Look at Christmas Eve Past

Original post here

Other Christmases

2012: Alamogordo, New Mexico

2013: Louisiana: Pierre Part: Christmas Parade and Gumbo

2017: Ferguson, Missouri

2019: Livingston, Texas

2021: Mobile, Alabama

Wednesday, December 25, 2013

Christmas Eve in Louisiana and a Look at Christmas Eve Past


Christmas Eve 2012 on Canyon Drive, Santa Fe, New Mexico. Credit: Mzuriana.
Christmas Eve 2012 on Canyon Drive, Santa Fe, New Mexico. Credit: Mzuriana.



Last year, my mother and sister and I were in Santa Fe for Christmas. The folks at the Silver Saddle Motel were so kind to invite us and some other motel guests to join them on the traditional farolito walk on Canyon Drive.

Today, Christmas Eve in Lafayette, I remembered how special it was to enter the St. Joseph Apache Mission Church in Mescalero, New Mexico, during Christmas season last year. My mother and I visited the church once when it was empty, and we also attended Mass. 

St. Joseph Apache Mission Church, Mescalero, New Mexico. December 2012.Credit: Mzuriana.
St. Joseph Apache Mission Church, Mescalero, New Mexico. December 2012.Credit: Mzuriana.

What a beautiful space.

So today, it made sense to me to attend a Mass this year also.

St. Mary Mother of the Church, Lafayette, Louisiana. December 2013. Credit: Mzuriana.
St. Mary Mother of the Church, Lafayette, Louisiana. December 2013. Credit: Mzuriana.


A new friend is in the choir at St. Mary Mother of the Church, so that's where I went.  Heard graceful song and breathed deeply of the exotic frankincense.


St. Mary Mother of the Church, Lafayette, Louisiana. December 2013. Credit: Mzuriana.
St. Mary Mother of the Church, Lafayette, Louisiana. December 2013. Credit: Mzuriana.

 
... and then, I thought, what the hell - no I mean heck, because, shhh, we're in church! - what about going to midnight Mass?


Our Lady of Wisdom, Lafayette, Louisiana. December 2013. Credit: Mzuriana.
Our Lady of Wisdom, Lafayette, Louisiana. December 2013. Credit: Mzuriana.

For this, I selected Our Lady of Wisdom Church on St. Mary's Boulevard, on the University of Louisiana - Lafayette campus.

I'm so glad I did.

Our Lady of Wisdom, Lafayette, Louisiana. December 2013. Credit: Mzuriana.
Our Lady of Wisdom, Lafayette, Louisiana. December 2013. Credit: Mzuriana.


The church was full but not overcrowded. The altar is an open one where there is seating in front and in back. Or better said, the altar is set perpendicular to the attendees.

Our Lady of Wisdom, Lafayette, Louisiana. December 2013. Credit: Mzuriana.
Our Lady of Wisdom, Lafayette, Louisiana. December 2013. Credit: Mzuriana.


The music, vocal and instrumental, was exquisite, and the acoustics or sound system or both, superb. Violins, cello, deep drums, soaring voices en masse and solo and twinned. It was possible to close one's eyes and simply dwell in the sound .... there were a few moments where it felt like being in the lapping water in the hot springs of Truth and Consequences.

Our Lady of Wisdom, Lafayette, Louisiana. December 2013. Credit: Mzuriana.
Our Lady of Wisdom, Lafayette, Louisiana. December 2013. Credit: Mzuriana.


The reader had a mellifluous voice; the priest(s) chanted the liturgy. The incense and its attendant smoke rounded out the sensory experience for the eyes, ears, and nose.

Our Lady of Wisdom, Lafayette, Louisiana. December 2013. Credit: Mzuriana.
Our Lady of Wisdom, Lafayette, Louisiana. December 2013. Credit: Mzuriana.
 

What a satisfying Christmas Eve in my new land.
    

Tuesday, November 14, 2023

Back in the Land of the Cold

The title says it all. 

My nomadic year has finally closed, as yet to be written about, with me winding up in a place I least expected. In fact, it was only a couple of months ago that I responded to a friend's thought about coming here for my new tourist-in-residence: "No. I've done that. No need to do it again.

And yet here I am. 

Erg. The winter, though.

 

November 15, 2014. Rayne Frog Festival, Louisiana.

No, not in Rayne. I still have that scarf, though.


Thursday, November 2, 2023

10 Years Ago: The Rootless Relocation Interregnum Fog

 

Lake Fausse Point State Park, Louisiana. Morning mist. November 2013. Credit: Mzuriana.
Lake Fausse Point State Park, Louisiana. Morning mist. November 2013. Credit: Mzuriana.


Original post here

It is timely to revisit this ten-year old post. Things have been foggy to various degrees since the onset of our COVID times. Multiple reasons, I suspect:

  • Isolation from typical social activities, whether they be at old, familiar places or new. 
  • The inability to embed myself into a community as I used to do - my temporary residences in Birmingham and Mobile were largely, although not exclusively, solitary times. 
  • Deaths - of my mother, three aunts, and three people who were in my Tucson and El Paso circles.
  • A professional upheaval due to a cascade of events, including COVID (of course), war, economy changes, and an untenable universal policy change by my heretofore good-enough, online teaching platform "home."
  • Unrelenting toxicity from Trumpian quarters, white supremacists, nationalists, and conspiracy theorists or burn-the-witch-superstitious anti-vaxxers, et al.

These are heart-heavy times.

As a counterweight, below is a magnificent smile by a joyous man in Gardabani, Caucasus Georgia. Still foggy, perhaps, but a happy little weather front, brought in by some wine, joyfully shared by the host of a spontaneous feast for strangers from another country. 


A magnificent smile in Gardabani, Caucasus Georgia. June 2012. Credit: Eva K
A magnificent smile in Gardabani, Caucasus Georgia. June 2012. Credit: Eva K


Saturday, November 2, 2013

The Rootless Relocation Interregnum Fog


Oliver Lee Memorial State Park, New Mexico. September 2012. Credit: Mzuriana.
Oliver Lee Memorial State Park, New Mexico. September 2012. Credit: Mzuriana.


I didn't know about this, but now having experienced it, I suspect it's a thing. The rootless relocation interregnum fog. Where there's only so much room in your front lobal and it's packed with too much social stimuli and routine things fall by the wayside. You don't even think about them. Like writing. Or communicating.

Lady of the Mist. Alamogordo, New Mexico. June 2013. Credit: Mzuriana.
Lady of the Mist. Alamogordo, New Mexico. June 2013. Credit: Mzuriana.


I left New Mexico at the end of September and now here it's November and I'm soon to leave my transitory stop in Missouri for Louisiana, and I haven't written about some very cool things still in New Mexico. Or much about the road trip with Carol to North Carolina and Tennessee.

Kutaisi, Georgia. Snow in the morning. February 2012. Credit: Mzuriana.
Kutaisi, Georgia. Snow in the morning. February 2012. Credit: Mzuriana.


Things are just kind of foggy.

Monday, October 2, 2023

10 Years Ago: Road Trip With Carol: Part 2: Chattanooga, TN: Delta Queen Hotel

Original post here

Carol was my mother. She died March 2021. 


Thursday, October 31, 2013

2013 Road Trip With Carol, Part 2: Chattanooga, TN: Delta Queen Hotel


Sunrise at the Delta Queen Hotel, Tennessee River, Chattanooga, Tennessee, October 2013. Credit: Mzuriana.
Sunrise at the Delta Queen Hotel, Tennessee River, Chattanooga, Tennessee, October 2013. Credit: Mzuriana.

My mother, Carol, and I are on a road trip that takes us through North Carolina and Tennessee.

In Chattanooga, we stayed at the Delta Queen Hotel, permanently moored on the Tennessee River, alongside the pleasing Coolidge Park with its fountain, walking/biking trails, and green space.

People who reconstitute historic structures can go so many ways to salvage a place. There's renovation, preservation, reproduction, rehabilitation, and conservation. A few days earlier, we'd lunched at a "historic" restaurant in Kentucky that still held its plantation-ish exterior, but its insides had drop ceilings, ersatz colonial-style "chandeliers," mediocre local wall art, and institutional-grade carpet.

What a difference between that and the Delta Queen Hotel!

Sunrise at the Delta Queen Hotel, Tennessee River, Chattanooga, Tennessee, October 2013. Credit: Mzuriana.
Sunrise at the Delta Queen Hotel, Tennessee River, Chattanooga, Tennessee, October 2013. Credit: Mzuriana.


The room, albeit tiny, felt luxe.  Looking out the window onto the river reminded me of the luxury of lying back and watching the full moon on that overnight train trip Sandy and I took from Batumi to Tbilisi.

Sunrise at the Delta Queen Hotel, Tennessee River, Chattanooga, Tennessee, October 2013. Credit: Mzuriana.
Sunrise at the Delta Queen Hotel, Tennessee River, Chattanooga, Tennessee, October 2013. Credit: Mzuriana.


The interior, common areas of the boat glowed with the ambiance of early-20th century salons. Sofas, game tables, dressers, low lighting, tray ceilings, wainscoting.



Sunrise at the Delta Queen Hotel, Tennessee River, Chattanooga, Tennessee, October 2013. Credit: Mzuriana.
Sunrise at the Delta Queen Hotel, Tennessee River, Chattanooga, Tennessee, October 2013. Credit: Mzuriana.


On the deck one can rock slowly into a meditative state while boat traffic floats or zooms by, while walkers and bikers cross the pedestrian bridge, while cars and trucks thrum over the other bridge. Looking across the river is a bank of new construction that is reminiscent of Dutch or Eastern European waterside apartment buildings.


Sunrise at the Delta Queen Hotel, Tennessee River, Chattanooga, Tennessee, October 2013. Credit: Mzuriana.
Sunrise at the Delta Queen Hotel, Tennessee River, Chattanooga, Tennessee, October 2013. Credit: Mzuriana.


On a clear night, the stars compete with the lights on the bridges.  

 

Sunrise at the Delta Queen Hotel, Tennessee River, Chattanooga, Tennessee, October 2013. Credit: Mzuriana.
Sunrise at the Delta Queen Hotel, Tennessee River, Chattanooga, Tennessee, October 2013. Credit: Mzuriana.


People who love the Delta Queen had to have played a part in preserving what made it the Delta Queen when it was in its prime. Beautifully done.

Gifts like this - being able to spend the night on a historic riverboat at a price that is affordable for many - don't last forever. I wouldn't delay in spending at least one night here in the near future.

Some notes:

  • The hotel is not accessible for the wheelchair-bound. I don't know if there is an accessible sleeping room for individuals who have other kinds of access issues. 
  • There is pretty good wifi available in the common areas, including on the deck.
  • No TVs or phones in the rooms. There are a couple of TVs in the lounge. 
  • Parking is a pretty far piece from the boat, so pack lightly for your stay and leave the bulkier stuff in your vehicle. 
  • The location of the boat is fabulous - on walking trails and near restaurants and night life. 



A slide show, which includes a photo of Carol

Chattanooga

#30

Sunday, October 1, 2023

2023 Word of the Year: FEAR: Don't Feed the Alligators

 

 

Don't Feed the Gators. Leroy Percy State Park. Mississippi. December 2011. Credit: Mzuriana.
Don't Feed the Gators. Leroy Percy State Park. Mississippi. December 2011. Credit: Mzuriana.

Back in Alamogordo times, I was laying in one of my thrift-store hospital beds, and suddenly laughed out loud. I had been reinventing history via an imaginary conversation between me and some antagonist-of-the-moment from the past - you know, the conversation that should have happened, but didn't. The conversation in which I would have vanquished my foe-of-the-moment with my Michonne-sword wit.

This was the day when I realized that my omnivore brain will guzzle any emotional cocktail that my amygdala, hypothalamus, or pituitary serves up, with not one fuck given for its taste, quality, or provenance. My brain is like that tiger shark in Jaws, which indiscriminately scoops up anything into its mouth that might be food, even if it's a Louisiana license plate.

Is it ironic that an antidote for this fear churn is the same recipe as that for joy? I dunno about that, but I repeat it here:

When I catch myself in a fruitless exercise of rewriting my past or fretting about a future, I say aloud: Here and now, boys, here and now! 

Look around you, girl. Live where you be now. 

It is inside moments, even in fearful times, where I can see joy.

Combat breathing is also good. 

 

Alligators are dangerous. New Iberia, Louisiana. March 2015. Credit: Mzuriana.
Alligators are dangerous. New Iberia, Louisiana. March 2015. Credit: Mzuriana.
 

Yeah, and so those are helpful tools. But when fear turns chronic, such as in PTSD in its various permutations, there is no quick cure. You don't just snap out of it. For a long while, the best you can hope for - strive for - is fear management, until your healthy reserves slowly creep up to a level where you can actually think of healing. Whatever healing looks like.

I'm smiling in this moment because I'm thinking of snails I have encountered. It takes a goodly while for a snail to poke its head outside its shell again after a retreat into its safety. 


Snail in Gori, Caucasus Georgia. August 2011. Credit: Mzuriana.
Snail in Gori, Caucasus Georgia. August 2011. Credit: Mzuriana.


The 2023 word of the year thus far

  1. January: FEAR: Looking Into the Abyss Without Falling In
  2. February: FEAR: Fuck Everything And Run
  3. March: FEAR: Forgetting Everything's All Right
  4. April: FEAR: Take More Risks
  5. May: FEAR: Feelings Expressed Allow Relief
  6. June: FEAR: Face Everything And ... Rise
  7. July: FEAR: Frustration, Ego, Anxiety, Resentment
  8. August: FEAR: Face Everything And ... Recover 
  9. September: FEAR: Freedom and Imprisonment 

 

 

Thursday, September 28, 2023

13 Years Ago Today, I Went Rootless

 

Opelousas holy tree. Louisiana. July 2015. Credit: Mzuriana.
Opelousas holy tree. Louisiana. July 2015. Credit: Mzuriana.

13 years ago today, I went rootless. 

How did I get so lucky to be able to have done this? 

"Lucky" is a superficial summary of how I got here. Truth is, although luck has played a prominent role, so did course-changing events that were not so luckified, the top three of which were heartbreak, the slo-mo ripples of The Great Recession, and the prosaic fact that I was of an age when my daughter, Kit, was an adult and out of the nest. 

And aren't such seismic life events that which has catalyzed similar tracks?

Other variables that got me out the door and into the beyond: 

  1. Being debt-free, having paid off my student loans (took me ten years) and having purposefully kept my debt load low, such as paying off my credit card charges in full each month and living below my means;
  2. Having that dream of travel and adventure already embedded in my soul from adolescence; and
  3. Although I had experienced poverty (and I don't use that word glibly), I was not generationally poor (which makes a difference), and ... I had privilege due to a number of variables, not the least of which was that I had been born into and raised in a white, middle-class environment. 

All of which is to say: I don't take any of this for granted. 

Related posts, from oldest to newest

But what is in my future?

Saturday, September 23, 2023

2023 Summer Road Trip: Boulder City, Nevada: A Shower and a Sigh

Two owls and a clan of coyotes awakened me at 5 o'clock this morning. 

Yesterday I learned there is no place in the Lake Mead Recreation Area to take a shower. Well, at least no place for the likes of us who stay (at all but one?) the campgrounds. 

As an aside, there is no electricity in the bathroom. I'd thought perhaps the lighting was just impaired - bulbs out or the motion sensor or something - but no, I tested the outlet next to the sink - no power. 

 I learned at the visitor center that the Boulder City swimming pool allows day passes and thus shower use, so I availed myself of that facility. 

But first I visited the Boulder City Library

I teared up a bit when I saw this sign in the library: 


Social Justice Club at Boulder City Library, Nevada. September 2023. Credit: Mzuriana.
Social Justice Club at Boulder City Library, Nevada. September 2023. Credit: Mzuriana.

In these reactionary times, when noble principles that one would think are above political partisanship, such as diversity, equality, and inclusion, have been hijacked into a New Racism and an internal Isolationism -  it wears on the spirit. 

So this sign? Out in the open like this? So unabashed? Yes, it gladdened my heart.

As did this sign! 

Period supplies at Boulder City Library, Nevada. September 2023. Credit: Mzuriana.
Period supplies at Boulder City Library, Nevada. September 2023. Credit: Mzuriana.


These signs of generosity to humankind, they made me sigh. And smile.


Thursday, September 21, 2023

2023 Summer Road Trip: Las Vegas Bay, Nevada: Rain

 

 

Rainy day at McDonald's. Henderson, Nevada. September 2013. Credit: Mzuriana.
Rainy day at McDonald's. Henderson, Nevada. September 2013. Credit: Mzuriana.

It rained yesterday late afternoon. It began while I was in the McDonald's parking lot readying for a lesson with one of my students. I'm a succubus of McDonald's wifi. 

I wondered if it also rained at the campground. 

Yes, it did. 

And the shower seemed to have drawn out a delicious aroma from one of the prolific plants at the campground. The creosote bushes, best I can tell. 

I believe these are said creosote bushes in the foreground of the photo below. I trust that someone will inform me if I'm incorrect. 

View from Las Vegas Bay Campground, Nevada. September 2023. Credit: Mzuriana.
Creosote bushes in foreground. View from Las Vegas Bay Campground after rain. Nevada. September 2023. Credit: Mzuriana.

 

One camper family had, like me, not known rain was coming, and they'd foregone their tent's rainfly. 

I might have done the same - both here and at a previous campground - but my tent almost demands the installation of its rainfly, else one side of the tent would be virtually backless - all screen. 

So the little family returned to rain-sodden sleeping bags and mattress. 

Other than puddles on my tent foyer, I was in good shape. 


My rainy tent foyer in Las Vegas Bay Campground, Nevada. September 2023. Credit: Mzuri.
My rainy tent foyer in Las Vegas Bay Campground, Nevada. September 2023. Credit: Mzuri.

I am reminded of my camping experience at Lake Catherine in Arkansas, when I dug a water-diversion trench around my tent's perimeter. 

 

 

Wednesday, September 20, 2023

2023 Summer Road Trip: Las Vegas Bay, Nevada: New Phone Blues

 

Las Vegas Bay Campground, Nevada. September 2023. Credit: Mzuriana
Las Vegas Bay Campground, Nevada. September 2023. Credit: Mzuriana

It remains so interesting that so few of us are camping in Las Vegas Bay Campground this week. Maybe it will fill up over the weekend? 

The stillness is nice, though. 

Today I've got to get some wireless earbuds. 

My new phone needs new gear, which adds to the financial cost of the phone. Which said phone was, I thought, in my mid-range price zone. I hadn't considered the collateral costs. Grrr. 

When choosing my new phone, and being budget-minded, I didn't fully appreciate the impact of no round port for my plug-in earbuds - I had to buy an adapter to insert them into the phone's sole orifice. Which means I can't charge the phone while I listen to a podcast. Which brings me to my thoughtless thought that paying more for a phone with wireless charging was unnecessary. Well. 

Hence the search for wireless earbuds. Which I didn't want because that would have meant yet another device to charge and yet another device to have to keep track of like a wee toddler. 

The new phone also boasts "super fast" charging, which means, yes, the need to buy new charging implements that charge super fast (or even just "fast"), as sticking with what I've already got = wackingly slow charging - like four hours instead of one hour, or even less. 

I think I may wish I'd gone with the Google Pixel instead of this A54 Samsung instead.

 

Saturday, September 2, 2023

10 Years Ago: Rootless Relocation: Lessons Learned About Furnishing Temporary Home

Original post here

Since 2010, I've lived as a tourist-in-residence in nine places:

  1. Caucasus Georgia
  2. Alamogordo, New Mexico
  3. Lafayette, Louisiana
  4. Opelousas, Louisiana
  5. El Paso, Texas
  6. Ferguson, Missouri
  7. Tucson, Arizona
  8. Birmingham, Alabama
  9. Mobile, Alabama

My furnishings are significantly more bare-boned than they were 10 years ago. The only piece of furniture I buy now, when relocating, is a folding chair for the table that serves as my office, dining table, and entertainment center. I made this decision in Mobile. At $24 or so, it was money well spent for a year's worth of use, and I felt fine about just giving it away when I left.

I use a backcamping chair as my "easy chair" for reading or looking out a window. 

My living room furniture since 2020. Birmingham, Alabama. Credit: Mzuriana.
My living room furniture since 2020. Birmingham, Alabama. Credit: Mzuriana.
 

I sleep on the same airbed model that I used in the original post. Thus far, my current one has survived for three years. In Birmingham, I acquired a new electric mattress pad and a new electric throw to keep warm on cold winter nights. I bought a pretty quilt for my top cover at a thrift store in Birmingham. 

In Mobile, I bought a tallish folding camp table to serve as a side table by the camp chair. 

But below were my learnings from 2013.

Monday, September 16, 2013

Rootless Relocation: Lessons Learned About Furnishing Temporary Home


Most of the stuff I brought with me to Alamogordo
Most of the stuff I brought with me to Alamogordo



I'll be moving again at the end of this month and all my stuff has to fit in my car.

I've got to dispose of some things:
  • I accumulated while in New Mexico; 
  • I brought with me from Missouri that I no longer need; and
  • That I could still use, but have to unload because there are two large items from NM that I will take with me. 

Lessons learned

Now that the process of furnishing and un-furnishing my temporary home is almost complete, I've learned some things.

Beds

Although I think my nursing-home beds are cool, they're kind of a pain to sell. Remember that airbed I liked so much? It lasted me six months of almost-daily use and it only cost about $35. It takes standard-size sheets and it is almost as tall as a real bed. And it's comfortable. In my new place, I believe I'll buy another one. If it goes kablooey in six months, then I'll just replace it. Taking into account price, portability, and labor to hunt/find/discard a real bed, the air bed is the more economical choice.

For a guest bed, a local friend gave me this very cool, dark red, accordion-like chair that makes into a twin bed. Somehow I will fit this into my car and I'll use it in my new place for a living room chair and guest bed.

At the point I have two guests at once, I'll get a second air bed. Ta da.



Table and chairs

These are easy to find, cheap to buy, and easy to re-sell.  No problems here.



Plants/pots

I liked having my tiny herb garden and flowers in three pots. These were easy to sell, and I will likely have another little container garden again if I've got outdoor space in my new home.



Bird feeder and shepherd's crook

I bought these here in Alamogordo. I won't do this again. Although I loved watching the visiting birds while I worked, birdseed is damned expensive. I've discovered that the after-market for bird feeders and shepherd's crooks is very poor, taking too long to sell them for an abysmal price. Also, feeding the birds is really all about my entertainment; it doesn't necessarily do any good for the birds. I might as well be feeding feral cats.



The volume of space

As my apartment empties, I appreciate again the volume of space, the lack of stuff. I was very circumspect about the visual bulk I added to my apartment here, so there's not a whole lot I can do to better that in my new place. The beds are one, and if I have a breakfast counter, I won't need a table.

I'm not much of an in-home entertainer, so I don't worry about guest seating - that's what cafés are for.



Relocation cost

This is what it cost me to relocate from Missouri to New Mexico last year. The total was ~ $2070, of which $950 was for the first and last month's rent. So now that I've consumed those two months as the cost of living, the net relocation cost $1120.

I don't know yet how much I'll recoup in the resale of stuff before I go. I'll factor that in when I calculate my next relocation costs.

There'll be some economy of scale, as I will bring the vacuum cleaner I bought in Alamogordo with me, along with the accordion chair-bed, and a desk lamp. Plus the printer and scanner.

(In regard to doing things differently for the actual moving process, I think my process was as tight a ship as it could have been.)


On buying new versus second-hand

I thought I'd buy more things second-hand in Alamogordo than I did. And certainly there is no dearth of second-hand stores in Alamogordo. However, I hate to shop, and I found it to be not-fun to schlep from one second-hand shop to another in search of what I needed. The opportunity costs in time, gas, and things I could have been doing that were more fun became too high for some items. 

My preference is still to buy second-hand, so maybe before I go to Lafayette, I'll try to identify the largest and best second-hand place for household goods in that area.


On apartment choices

This is a little outside the focus on furnishing a place, but:

Upstairs or downstairs. Boy, am I glad I listened to the apartment manager when he steered me to a ground-floor apartment instead of the second-floor place I said I preferred. Ch-ching. He told me it would cost less to cool my place in the summer if I were on the ground floor. And this has proven to be the case, as my upstairs neighbors and I have compared our energy bills.

This will be doubly true in Louisiana, where it's got the double whammy of heat and humidity. (On the other hand, I've got a hankering for a place in the midst of the city, so in that case, I'd prefer something above street level. But I'm getting ahead of myself.)

Amount of space. At 832 square feet, I have more space than I need. I've had visitors, but most of my time here, I haven't. A dedicated space for guests, i.e. a 2nd bedroom (or the den I have here), isn't essential.

 

Friday, September 1, 2023

2023 Word of the Year: FEAR: Freedom and Imprisonment

 

Do not walk on lunar surface. Exhibit at shopping mall. Alamogordo, New Mexico. August 2023. Photo credit: Mzuriana.
Do not walk on lunar surface. Exhibit at shopping mall. Alamogordo, New Mexico. August 2023. Photo credit: Mzuriana**

Fear has freed me.

Fear has shackled me.

A favorite saying: We don't change until our backs are against the wall AND the wall is on fire. 

One night, when my daughter was very young, I experienced a fear that I might die from an eating binge that night, leaving my child without a mother. The fear pushed me into an arduous path to remission from an eating disorder, which took years to attain. 

A smoker for much of my life, as I entered middle age, I knew that if I contracted an illness associated with smoking that I would despise myself. Plus, I was afraid I would contract such an illness. This fear of self-hate and the fear of illness pushed me to quit smoking. For me, I was fortunate to do well under Chantix. Otherwise, I don't think I would have been able to quit. The nicotine patches didn't do it. Welbutrin, prescribed off-label, didn't do it (not to mention I had a serious allergic reaction to same). The desire to quit, by itself, didn't do it.

I knew (know) that if I later ended up with an illness associated with smoking, notwithstanding my having quit, that at least I wouldn't hate myself. 

Fear is similar to pain in that it can alert us to the need to pay attention, to evaluate, to take action (or to not take action, as may appropriate). 

Some fears suggest that I conduct scenario planning for possible futures. 

You know, like the zombie apocalypse.


**Don't know why this photo felt appropriate to this post. I'll go with this: Robert Heinlein's best book: The Moon is a Harsh Mistress. And Heinlein's admonition to the students in Tunnel in the Sky: Beware the stobor. .... Because there will always be stobor, although we won't know what they might look like or at what point they will pop up. Be alert.

 

The 2023 word of the year thus far

  1. January: FEAR: Looking Into the Abyss Without Falling In
  2. February: FEAR: Fuck Everything And Run
  3. March: FEAR: Forgetting Everything's All Right
  4. April: FEAR: Take More Risks
  5. May: FEAR: Feelings Expressed Allow Relief
  6. June: FEAR: Face Everything And ... Rise
  7. July: FEAR: Frustration, Ego, Anxiety, Resentment
  8. August: FEAR: Face Everything And ... Recover 
 #30

 

Tuesday, August 15, 2023

2023 Summer Road Trip: Cold Cooler in a Hot World

 

Not what you want in a cooler. July 2023. Flagstaff, Arizona. Credit: Mzuriana.A
Not what you want in a cooler. July 2023. Flagstaff, Arizona. Credit: Mzuriana.A

This here, 9 Mistakes EVERY New Camper Makes With Their Cooler, by Playing With Sticks, is the best video on the subject I've seen thus far, in all of my searches for same, on how to keep cooler innards cold. If only I'd had this before I embarked on my road trip through the Hotlands this summer.

Almost every rule that Drew presents is gold, although some are common sense, like: Do not put your cooler out in the sun.

I'm especially entranced - and can't wait to experiment with - these hacks: 

  • Place a wet towel atop the cooler contents. Whoa! I hear angels singing. Not only is this a good hack, it has so much more utility for me than the blue-ice packs, which, as I've sniped about before, spend a lot of their life squatting rent-free in my limited packing space while I'm on the road. 
  • The 2:1 ratio of ice to food is sobering, but I guess, necessary, if I want to eke out all the blessed coldness I can. 
  • Employ a two-cooler system: One cooler for food. A second, smaller cooler for drinks. Reason: Protect the food cooler from the more-frequent hot-air invasions to grab cold beverages throughout a day.

I did, in the past, make the mistake of draining the ice-melt from my cooler. Yeah, in a moment of illumination back then, I realized that was kinda crazy. I stopped doing that. Better to protect my food in water-impermeable bags or containers to prevent unpleasant sogginess than to let go of precious cold melt. 


Tuesday, August 8, 2023

2023 Summer Road Trip: Oliver Lee Memorial State Park: A Morning Visitor

 

2023.0805 Lizard visitor at my Oliver Lee Memorial State Park campsite. Alamogordo, New Mexico. Credit: Mzuriana.
2023.0805 Lizard visitor at my Oliver Lee Memorial State Park campsite. Alamogordo, New Mexico. Credit: Mzuriana.

 

I surely do love lizards. 

They are always welcome at my campsite.

The book, by the way, sucked. My God, 'twas a murderous bore. I cannot fathom why I read it to the end. I warned the campground host, to whom I offered it, that he cannot give it back to me no matter what. I warned him: It's no good. I made an ethical disclosure, in other words, respecting his right to self-determination in making a decision he might regret.

Other lizards I have loved: 

 

Lizards

 

#30

 

Friday, August 4, 2023

2023 Summer Road Trip: Oliver Lee Memorial State Park, New Mexico: A Reintroduction

 

 

2012 not 2023 - My Oliver Lee Memorial State Park campsite. Credit: Mzuriana.
2012 not 2023 - My Oliver Lee Memorial State Park campsite. Near Alamogordo, New Mexico. Credit: Mzuriana.

I landed at Oliver Lee Memorial State Park the last day of July. Feeling sentimental about being here.

Twelve years ago, I lived at the campground for two weeks while waiting for the appointed date to move in to my Alamogordo apartment. 

Indeed, upon my arrival the other day, I put up the very same tent and laid out the very same tablecloth that I did in 2012. I still have the folding table and the green-lidded bin. And the coffee mug. The Playmate cooler with its handle is released somewhere in the universe. 

This go-round, I got all red and sweaty putting up my tent in the dog-day, 95-degree heat. Had to pace myself.

Before I get into some other sweaty details, I will share the glorious joy of the ever-changing drama that the park performs on its massive 360-degree living stage. 

The slide show below showcases how the light moves across the lines of the terrain, and the sunsets, the sunrises, the moonrise, the vastness of the Tularosa Basin, the folds of the mountains. 

 Oliver Lee Memorial State Park

It feels good to be here.

Wednesday, August 2, 2023

10 Years Ago: Hope and Zombies

 Original post here


Gallup newspaper headlines. May 2013. Credit: Mzuriana.
Gallup newspaper headlines. May 2013. Credit: Mzuriana.

I've written before about the value I received in watching The Walking Dead. Indeed, when I drafted this post, I had started over at the beginning to watch it all again, after I'd seen the series finale. (I'll have skipped over a lot of the 7th season, though, because of its traumatizing sequences with Negan.)

Ten years ago, back in 2013, the contemporary iteration of zombies, the "walking dead," were unknown to me, although both the original comic book series and the show had emerged earlier

But I had learned about preparations for the so-called Zombie Apocalypse, back when I held the CDC in high esteem. 

Sunday, August 4, 2013

Hope and Zombies


Highway 82, Hope, New Mexico


Hope, New Mexico, is the future-history site of the Battle of Hope, in which humans prevail over zombies, according to World War Z.


Highway 82, Hope, New Mexico


Located on Highway 82, Hope, New Mexico, is about 20 miles west of Artesia.


Highway 82, Hope, New Mexico


I saw neither humans nor zombies. There is a post office.

What caught my attention was what seemed to be the imprint of a fire on the side of what seemed to be the firehouse. What?

Highway 82, Hope, New Mexico


It's almost supernatural.


Tuesday, August 1, 2023

2023 Word of the Year: FEAR: Face Everything And Recover

 

Temporary hospital tents in Greenburg, Kansas, following tornado. October 2007. Credit: Mzuriana.
Temporary hospital tents in Greenburg, Kansas, following tornado. October 2007. Credit: Mzuriana.

 In June, I applied the acronym, Face Everything And Rise. 

August shares similarities: Face Everything And Recover.

But where rising is a letting go - a release - recovery requires remediation. 

It requires a series of actions. Perhaps some pain. Certainly discomfort. Most definitely fear.

In recovery - with its requisite remediation - I can only control my process, with no control over the outcomes. There's the faith that recovery will result, in some manner, although perhaps not in the way I might have imagined. 

Recovery likely means I have to listen to uncomfortable truths - or if not truths, someone else's beliefs in what is true about me and about us, about our past, our present, and our future. I will want to make informed decisions about how - and if - to rebuild relationships ripped by storms.

Recovery almost certainly requires that I act differently and that I think differently in future. And that, in turn, will result in others making an informed decision about how they wish to proceed.

As much as many of us would like to think we can do so, it's not likely that I'll be able to "figure things out" on my own. As a 12-stepper said once: "We can't pull ourselves out of quicksand by our hair." 

So I will need an experienced trail blazer to help me find the path. I will remember the stobor

 

The 2023 word of the year thus far

  1. January: FEAR: Looking Into the Abyss Without Falling In
  2. February: FEAR: Fuck Everything And Run
  3. March: FEAR: Forgetting Everything's All Right
  4. April: FEAR: Take More Risks
  5. May: FEAR: Feelings Expressed Allow Relief
  6. June: FEAR: Face Everything And ... Rise
  7. July: FEAR: Frustration, Ego, Anxiety, Resentment
 #30