Those darn irons that keep landing in the fire!

Emails wondering where the Santa Fe Mother Blogger blogs have gone fill my mailbox. "Did you quit?" "Writer's block?" "Are you okay?"

All is well in the SFe Mo Blogger camp. However, after my home computer, my ever-faithful laptop that every computer wizard said I should put to sleep--but I gave it new innards instead--died of a coffee overdose, I was left with the office computer. Not good, because one cannot think at my office.

With one too many irons in the proverbial fire, I rushed one early morning to scan and send out some art for a project. Usually I avoid anything that requires thought or coordination until I consume my first cup of coffee. The only difference in my morning energy levels from that of my second decade of life is engagement speed. One might say, the rpm level has dropped a tad.

Secondly, the biggest rule in my life is KEEP ALL LIQUIDS AWAY FROM OFFICE MACHINERY.

With an extra large cup filled to the top with fresh brewed java, I scooted to the home office, set the coffee down by the laptop and reached for the just scanned piece of art. Life went into slow motion. My hand grazed the top of the coffee cup which toppled right into my laptop. The hot brown liquid completely emptied into the aged computer.

My neighbors surely heard my 6:30 a.m. scream followed by a string of unknown language that defined every single body part, body function, curse, and all things gross and nasty. In the course of cursing, I pulled the computer power source and flipped it upside down. The dog charged down to my office barking notice and concern. Clif tossed his razor into the sink and screamed "Are you okay?" and followed the dog. The cat slunk under the bed. As if taking its last gasp of air, a puff of smoke escaped the computer.

Need I say more?

The fire continues to burn and the irons require my attention. Soon, however, the snows will fall and perhaps the fire will slow down to the size of a lit candle.

Accounting For A Year

When your CPA drawls, “If you don’t get me those numbers soon, you’ll be getting’ your knickers in a knot,” the interpretation: Get off your lazy butt and close out your 2006 books.

So I’ve been buried inside a mind bending accounting software program, and polishing my blue language for over a week now. I’d rather pull thorny weeds from the hot and hard panned soil. But that’s not today’s tale.

My latent accounting slam disallowed the pooch’s (Hank) and my morning walks. Today we walked. This walk compared to our last Saturday morning walk was different. I could not hear birds whistling, no cottontails jumped out of our path (and making Hank nearly insane), and no steady hum of vehicles in the distance. A telltale roar ripped the late August air, shocking me back to the real world. At 7300 feet, summer can end quickly. So as I approached my neighbor--attired in a t-shirt, shorts and boots, sweat leaving trails along his face--I waved. He slowed the telltale-roar’s culprit. I shouted, “This can’t be! We can’t be that close to summer’s end, can we?”

Not wanting to loose time with his project, he answered, “I can’t wait. I love it when it’s cold.” He put his noisy chainsaw back to work dismantling one of a thousand dead pinon trees that lie in fields near our homes.

That’s it! It’s late August 2007 and I can’t account for more than five days of this year.

Stunned, I called Hank back from his short foray into the woods and we moseyed back home. I poured iced water for both of us. (Apparently, nothing gets as hot as a Golden Retriever in the summer.)

Now that my 2006 books are nearly complete, I should make some nasturtium vinegar for the winter, begin my holiday to do list, and put off posting 2007 numbers until sometime next year.

Photo: Hank playing pirate.



Stella, the gorgeous poodle pictured across from Hank, was just sent in by her human, one of the best realtors in Santa Fe, Joan Grossman. When Hank saw Stella dance at a Hanukkah celebration, that was it. Love. Total love.

6-0 Looms, Lurks, And Lures

Wrinkles! Grey Hair! Flab! Oh! My! Welcome to Sixohdear!

Yes, that big 6-0 birthday looms. Former classmates have a way of reminding me. “Hey, since most of us will turn 60 in 2008, let’s take a birthday cruise,” the emails suggest.

I’m cool with that.

It took my new membership to Club Grandparent to make this 6-0 business catch my attention. Never mind my blogs about comedy clubs and the center-seated golden girls. Ignore the fact that I prefer and will buy only comfortable vehicles. Gray hair? Right! I went from a natural brunette to hints of salt and pepper, directly to blond, then back to assorted shades of red hair.

Some of the best people I know have already passed that 6-0 thing.

So as I progress through Sixohdear! I’ll introduce you to those who laugh in the face of aging; discuss issues of these times; chronicle how those of us who survived the 60’s and once warned, “don’t trust anyone over 30,” remain destined to create even more change; and I’ll seek your opinions and wisdom.

Note: The three bears photo, a fine shoot by retired cuzin Sue, who recently visited Alaska