During the 2016 Presidential Campaign, a high level Democrat in New Mexico was chastised for bashing a piñata bearing the image of Republican candidate Donald Trump. I’m not going to dip into the political issues involved in this story except to say that piñatas are essential parts of our New Mexico heritage,  often used to express things that are of current topical interest.

We should appreciate the clever examples of this tradition that show up on hanging from the ceilings or on the shelves of various arts and crafts stores, grocery stores, convenience stores and yes, even Wal Mart stores. I’ve seen dangling images of “Frozen” characters, Batman, monster trucks, “Despicable Me” guys and yes, maybe even Nancy Pelosi portrayed as an evil character worthy of bashing. 

 

So when a mother went shopping for a piñata in Clovis at the local Wal-Mart store in 2010, she found more than she wanted in the paper stuffed inside the candy pouch of the traditional looking piñata. The newspaper pages used to construct the piñata were replete with “girly” photos of half-naked women, showing their eye candy to anyone who might have ripped open the mangled object in search of more “candy.”

The woman immediately complained to the store manager, who promptly removed all of the offending works of cultural art, leaving future piñata purchasers with empty shelves or without offensive hanging objects.  Okay, you can insert your own offensive comment here. “:^)

Odors, scents, smells — good and bad — often make lasting memories in our brains. We associate a particular moment, time of year, place, person or experience with them.

I can still remember the smell of Aqua Net hairspray that girls in my high school spritzed on themselves to pump up their bubble hairdo that was so common in the late 1960s. Toxic as it probably was for the environment, it gave me pleasant memories of that time of first infatuation with the opposite sex, young and the faint hope that you might one day actually be of interest to one of them. It was young love in a single sniff.

Similarly, an odor that always reminds me of the Albuquerque Balloon Fiesta and my good times there for almost 35 years is Cocoa Puffs cereal. Immediately south of the Fiesta launch field is the General Mills cereal factory, which each fall produces a batch of Cocoa Puffs for waiting kids around the nation. The unmistakable sticky sweet odor drifts up from the factory’s ventilators into the atmosphere and into your nostrils as you pass over and downwind of the plant. All you need is some milk.

For my wife, who grew up on a farm in the middle of Nebraska, it’s the smell of freshly cut alfalfa from late spring until early fall that reminds her of home.

Similarly in Las Cruces, smells of late fall remind me of red enchiladas. North of our home, there is a factory that begins processing red chile for various uses just when the air starts turning colder. With a predictable down-valley drainage wind, the smell of processed red chile envelopes our neighborhood. The first day or two that you smell the processed chile is appealing and pleasant, but by mid December it’s kind of annoying — like you’re working in a Mexican food restaurant 24 hours a day.

At a similar chile processing plant in Santa Teresa in southern Dona Ana County, things got a little more than just being annoying about 10 years ago. It seems that the facility was processing an exceptionally hot batch of habanero chiles when some of the powdered mix seeped into the main floor of the facility instead of going out through the ventilators.  So intense was the blast of habanero chile powder that a local HAZMAT crew was called in. One woman was taken to the hospital, and other workers complained of irritated eyes, sore throats and bloody noses.

Every New Mexican has encountered an exceptionally hot enchilada at one time or other and managed to suffer through eating it — with a good dose of sopapillas and honey to numb the taste buds afterwards. But in this case, the workers didn’t even have the pleasure of having their appetites satiated.

On a trip a few years ago to visit my sister in Cochiti Lake, I passed by a street sign that literally made me stop and take a second look. The name of the street was “Sparkling Moolah Road,” just south of metropolitan Pena Blanca. 

After some research, I discovered that the street was named after a race horse that won about a dozen quarter horse races in the late 1970s and early 1980s. I’m assuming that the horse was bred and raised at a horse farm at the end of that road. A map proving that I did not make this up is below.

 

There was another amusing story regarding street names in Las Cruces a couple of years ago. Some local historians had suggested that the bland name “Motel Boulevard” be changed to “Pat Garrett Boulevard” in honor of the famous Dona Ana County lawman best known for killing Billy the Kid. Garrett, who was twice sheriff of Dona Ana County, was also the father of Elizabeth Garrett who penned the lyrics to “Oh Fair New Mexico,” our official state song. 

Well, the “inclusive police” stepped in and decided there were many more legendary people in Las Cruces who should have a street honoring all of them. It was suggested by a city council member that the street name be “Legends Boulevard.” I mean honestly, “Motel Boulevard” was a better choice than “Legends Boulevard” in terms of attracting attention to our city.  The idea, thankfully, was eventually dropped. But I honestly hope someone steps up and pushes the “Pat Garrett Boulevard” proposal again. 

Which brings me to my final point. While driving to Albuquerque last week, I noticed a very cleverly named street on my car’s navigation screen while driving just south of Truth of Consequences. 

The street was named “Yippie Calle.”

Okay, think about it for a second, then say it out loud. 

My wife used to remark that our children’s dental bills probably paid for one of the propellers on our orthodontist’s fancy twin-engine airplane.

A recent confirmation of discovery of the fossil of a “Godzilla Shark” that swam in a shallow sea covering what is now New Mexico 300 million years ago puts those dental bills in more perspective.

 

A fossil of this giant shark predecessor was discovered in the Manzano Mountains of central New Mexico in 2013. It took several years of research to confirm that it was a new species. Weighing in at about 200 pounds, the apex predator also had jagged spines on its back and — get this — 12 rows of teeth. My kids’ single row of teeth was expensive enough.

What was interesting to me is that the shallow sea where the Godzilla shark was swimming was then located at the equator, apparently long before even dinosaurs showed up. Tectonic plate movement and continental drift has since moved the bed of that sea thousands of miles north to form the bedrock of many parts of New Mexico. 

So if you’re thinking of dipping your toe into Elephant Butte or maybe even the Rio Grande, just hope that the genetic wizards from Jurassic Park haven’t slipped one of these into the water. 

For the last several weeks at our church, St. James’ Episcopal, I’ve been noticing pennies in the collection plate and outside the front door of the church. Usually, the pennies are lined up along a metal railing leading to the front door. 

I wondered where they were coming from and why somebody would bother leaving just a few pennies for the church. I figured they were probably left by some children and were more trouble for the church office to count and deposit than they were worth.

About two weeks ago, the mystery was solved. A homeless man who calls himself Clint has been leaving them at the church during the week, and almost always on Sunday during the 8 a.m. service. When I am an usher, I can hear him come into the narthex. He won’t go inside the nave, so I go outside to greet him.  I notice that he has put a few pennies on a table in the narthex. He’s pretty scruffy looking, but very friendly. He says that he has done “work” for the Episcopal church in the past, but doesn’t elaborate. I invite him in, but he says he needs to go. I tell him “God bless you.” Then he gets on his rickety bike, pulling some kind of trailer with all his worldly belongings and pedals off. 

He obviously doesn’t have much in the way of material possessions. But he has a wealth beyond what many of us have in our bank accounts. I think we should all try to emulate Clint. 

 

 

Las Cruces Public Schools confirmed last week that up to 150 students attending Mayfield High School had held a “secret prom” the previous weekend at an undisclosed location.

The discovery has led to the suspension of in-person learning at Mayfield — which had just resumed two weeks ago — for 10 days. School authorities said the non-sanctioned event triggered concern about spread of COVID-19 at the high school.

Details emerging about the “secret prom” seem to point to parental involvement in planning and conducting the event. There was a paid DJ who played music for the attendees, He confirmed the event to the local newspaper and said adults were there to supervise. He also noted that although some students wore masks when they arrived, photos showed few wearing them while dancing. The DJ commented that “the kids had such a good time, you could just tell.”

Well, the Las Cruces Public Schools and the New Mexico Department of Education didn’t think it was “such a good time.” Both are investigating the event and say those who participated will face some kind of punishment, including possibly not being allowed to attend graduation ceremonies.

And ironically, the school district was already at work to allow the students to hold a fully sanctioned safe-distancing prom event later in the spring. 

Fat chance that will happen now.

Some of you might remember the Weird Al Yankovic parody of Michael Jackson’s hit pop song “Bad.” In the Yankovic version called “Fat,” an enormous man becomes even more enormous while complaining about the effects of continuously stuffing his face with food. “If I have one more pie alamode,” he laments, “I’m going to need my own zip code.”

In 2017, Police in Albuquerque arrested a man who might have been the inspiration for Yanovic’s song. The large suspect was sought for his role in at least 47 store robberies, many of which involved fast food joints. On one occasion, he picked up a couple of slices of pizza from a Pizza Hut during the heist and on another, ordered the terrified staff of a Taco Bell to prepare two tacos for him while he finished digging through the cash drawers.

There were plenty of security videos of the easy to identify suspect waddling in and out of his target stores. Witnesses to the robberies also added insult to injury when they consistently described him as being obscenely overweight. One witness said his face had so many layers of fat that he looked like a Shar-Pei dog.

He was finally captured after a robbery when he tried to lumber away from approaching  police and jumped into his getaway car — only to discover that he was too fat to close the door. Police said even with the door only partially closed, the upper part of his body was extruded out the driver’s side window. 

Two thoughts. A fixation for food and robbery at the same time don’t seem to be a good mix. And maybe he needed to re-evaluate his getaway vehicle and consider a semi, dump truck or front-end loader.

 

My wife has always suspected that instead of feral cats, we have feral Chihuahua dogs running wild in Las Cruces. We’ve seen evidence of that to some degree.

I’m no fan of Chihuahua dogs. To me, dogs need to be medium to large in size, have hair and not be yappy. The only small dog we’ve ever owned was a Shi-Tzu that was “gifted” to me by my late brother, who feared the dog was going to become a snack for coyotes in his rural home in southern Arizona. Spot was sweet and friendly dog, who unfortunately lost his sight and hearing and never demonstrated having a large amount of intelligence in his walnut-sized brain. He was the alpha dog to our late large Golden retriever, Jim, who cowered when Spot would occasionally snarl at him. It was entertaining to see the interaction. But at least Spot was not yappy.

However, I did have some sympathy for the Chihuahua breed when I spotted this recent story from Albuquerque.

KOB TV, Channel 4, reported that when elderly woman recently died and friends/relatives came to her home to clean up and assess her estate, they found 46 Chihuahuas that she was caring for — probably indicating the woman was on the edge of being a hoarder of these diminutive critters. 

The article said most of them were older and many needed dental work, up to the tune of $1,400 each. 

So there is now an “Operation Chihuahua” that you can help these forlorn dogs find a home. I’m not planning to adopt one myself. I don’t think our large and rambunctious Goldendoodle Chester would appreciate one as anything more than a moving chew toy. But if you have it in your heart to adopt one of these guys, look at the website.

http://nmpaca.org/index.php/news-events-menu/34-newsletters/149-current-news

I sincerely hope they’ve all been adopted by the time you read this.

In a recent blog, I lamented about the lack of copy editors to guard against affronts to the English language in our newspapers these days.

Our good friend Cheryl found an entertaining obituary in the local newspaper last week confirming that view. Let me make it clear, the notice of someone’s death was not entertaining. It was just the way the obituary was written that was entertaining. I’m not sure it was the fault of the newspaper for not proofing the obituary or the way it was written by a family member. In either case, read on.

A mostly obscure Greek philosopher named Chilon of Sparta coined the phrase “do not speak ill of the dead.”

So I won’t in this case. However, it is certainly worth mentioning that the person who wrote or proofed this eulogy for a wife/mother/friend did not have a very commanding grasp of the English language.

In the obituary, it noted that the departed had a “rye” sense of humor and that she and her spouse had renewed their wedding “vowels” after 10 years. I suspect they meant “wry” and “vows.”

But who knows, based on this butchery of a solemn eulogy? Maybe the woman who died appreciated fine Irish whiskey while telling a joke and perhaps was a linguistics teacher. 

So lettuce not speak eel of the dead — only those who write poorly.

Hustlers and scammers seem to find a way to make a buck out of anything bad. As you’ve probably read, there have been lots of schemes to part people from their money during the COVID-19 pandemic — from signing people up for phony vaccination times to shady investment schemes for their COVID relief funds.

Well, as the pandemic continues, I have come up with what I believe to be a brilliant plan to help people endure some of the unanticipated suffering from having to wear masks —  while at the same time making an honest buck for myself and my family.

EARIES. Or maybe PAND-EARIES.

Yep. Padded inserts behind your ears to prevent the constant chafing of mask straps. (It’s even worse if you wear glasses or hearing aids.)

I am sure, based on my hours of personal observation and assumed command of scientific research, that jillions of people around the globe have developed callouses behind their ears from wearing masks during the year-long pandemic.

What a tragedy! Ears that ache during the night. Ears that itch all day long. The shame of someone spotting your behind-the ear callouses.

Well, PAND-EARIES can solve that problem. Just grab a roll of duct tape or a wad of previously chewed bubble gum, stick them behind your calloused ears and stuff these wonderful devices there. Pain, itch and shame gone instantly.

I just need to find some outfit to manufacture them…

Oh wait, what’s that??? You say the pandemic is almost over and nobody wants anything to make it more painful than it already is? You say that it was a really dumb idea??? You say that I have way too much time on my hands these days???

Okay, maybe I can sell my artwork. Stay tuned. 

There’s a friendly little neighborhood park just a few blocks away from our home in Mesilla Park. It’s a real gem because it’s largely unknown, hidden in the middle of a bunch of streets that go nowhere and very cozy. Our grandkids always make the park a top priority when they visit us. It’s my favorite place to launch my hot air balloon. It’s protected from wind by trees, surrounded by friendly neighbors, close to lots of open landing spaces and is just a couple of minutes — literally — from my house.

A treasure in the park is an art project featuring the designs of children on ceramic tiles that are attached to various structures. As far as I can tell, the art project was put in place in the mid 1990s, due to the dates which appear on some of the tiles. The different structures feature tiles depicting different topics. One is about family, one is about food, one is about the landscape and another about their homes. One of the tiles was signed by Maggie Feil who my daughter played soccer with or against back in the day. Seeing her tile makes me wonder how each one of these children fared over the years. I’m sure some of them have had wonderful lives and a few, sadly, probably did not. I recently ran into Maggie’s father, a retired Las Cruces physician, and asked him how she was doing because her tile constantly reminds me of her. “Great,” was his immediate response, then explaining what she was doing these days in a successful career that I think was somewhere in the Pacific Northwest. 

I also spotted the tile below on the “predict the future” structure. Clearly, the young man who created this tile knew what the future in personal transportation was going to hold. 

 

It appears young Mr. Bean had some difficulty spelling “electic” to describe his car of the future. Or perhaps he meant “eclectic.” Either way, I think he knew what was coming. 

There’s another entertaining tile on this same “predict the future” structure. I hope its creator, Amanda Torres, promoted this idea to McDonald’s and made a ton of money on it. Just think, you’d never have to wait in a drive-up lane or stand behind long lines at the counter any more.  You’d just grab a happy meal any time you were hungry while whizzing above the earth. I mean, they already do this on airlines, so why not in your own flying car?

 

I’m proud to say I knew award winning novelist and New Mexico icon Tony Hillerman. He was a professor of journalism when I began my pursuit of a journalism degree at the University of New Mexico in the late 1960s. I considered him a mentor while in school and stayed in touch with him after my graduation. He worked for United Press International for a period of time in Santa Fe, and I had a career with UPI in Santa Fe, Albuquerque and Cheyenne, WY, for many years. I gave his daughter Anne, a novelist in her own right these days, her first writing job to help me cover the New Mexico Legislature when I was UPI’s Santa Fe Bureau Chief and State Political Editor. He even wrote an article for “The Quill” — the journal of the professional journalism society, Sigma Delta Chi — that focused on my reporting of a notorious murder at Budville, NM, in the late 1960s. As a teacher and a writer, he inspired me in many ways. 

Most of Hillerman’s mystery novels are focused on the Navajo Nation, where he had gained great appreciation and respect for the Navajo people.  The Navajos in turn appreciated him for his thoughtful and well researched depiction of their culture and awarded him the “Special Friends of the Dine'” award. He considered it his most important of many awards.

One of the things he has mentioned in several of his interviews about his books on the Navajo Nation is the keen and delicate sense of humor that the Dine’ display.

So it came as no surprise when I spotted the signs below in a report about how the Navajos were dealing with the COVID-19 pandemic. Having been hit very hard by the disease, the Navajos retained their sense of humor when they reminded people about the need for social distancing. Since raising sheep is a long held tradition on the reservation, this sign made perfect sense. 

I wrote two posts earlier this year regarding the appearance and then sudden disappearance of a pair of still functional cowboy boots along the irrigation ditch road in our neighborhood.

Well, strange things keep happening around that location and I’m starting to wonder about what gyrating forces of the unknown are lurking around there. No, I’m not wacko, just interested in weirdness.

Earlier this week on our daily walk, at the exact same spot where we found and then unfound the cowboy boots, there was a thick slab of white Lexan plastic material about a 18-inches square with the letter B and number 3 etched into it. “B3,”as maybe for a marker for a parking space or an overly large Bingo game piece. Otherwise, there was nothing else to identify what it was used for or why it was there. Then two days later, it was gone.

On Wednesday, we were told by one of our neighbors that a stripped mid-80s Camaro had been found just across the ditch from where we spotted the cowboy boots and the large plastic sign.  There was mystery surrounding it too. Our neighbor, who reported finding the car to local police, said it had been determined that the car was either towed there after being stripped or stripped on the spot. Towing it there after it was stripped — including its wheels and tires — would have been pretty hard to do. And there was no evidence of a wheel less car being dragged to that location. I suppose it could have been loaded onto a flatbed truck and moved there, but that seems like a lot of work for four wheels and tires,  taillight lenses and a passenger seat.

Our neighbor said she had not observed the abandoned vehicle during her early morning walk, so if it was stripped between that time and when she spotted it later in the day, it was a pretty brazen job.  There’s a lot of traffic on that street, including police from the town of Mesilla who cruise through our neighborhood on a fairly frequent basis. The perps even found time to put the vehicle up on blocks after it was stripped.

The car has now disappeared, apparently moved under the authority of the police. Or maybe it was transported through the neighborhood portal.

Which brings me to my final point of weirdness in the neighborhood — a new wave of turkey vultures, commonly known as buzzards. A flock of these large birds shows up in our neighborhood every spring and hang around through the summer, flying swirling patterns in the thermals over our houses. This year, even more of these intimidating looking birds have shown up, inhabiting not one but two giant pine trees about two blocks apart. It’s always been fun to watch them, particularly in the evening on a breezy day when they make multiple passes before settling to roost with their wings spread in the tall pine trees. And at that point, they begin to poop on their feet. (Yes, that’s true — read item No. 3 in this link if you’re not too squeamish:  14 Things You Should Know About Vultures | Mental Floss) But having two flocks of these birds swooping (and pooping) around makes the neighborhood appear (and smell) a bit more ominous.

Maybe they got the word that there is a fourth wave of COVID-19 coming soon to our area.  I hope not. Stay safe.

A story in the Albuquerque Journal several years ago focused on an unusual attempt to steal a stand-alone ATM machine on the city’s west side. A man managed to hot wire a front end loader from a nearby construction site, drive it to the location of the ATM and then proceed to pluck it up from its anchoring bolts with the bucket of the vehicle. The now liberated ATM was scooped up in the bucket and headed for freedom.

Cops got wind of the scheme when someone reported a front end loader with something odd dangling out of the bucket and wobbling down a nearby street. The perp was arrested before he could smash open the cash dispenser and escape with the loot.

Well, someone in Lincoln, NE, has outdone the Albuquerque front-end loader incident.

According to a story this week in the Omaha World-Herald, a man near a construction site fell and injured his leg. A friend who was with him spotted an unattended front-end loader, placed his injured friend in the vehicle’s bucket, hot wired the machine and drove him a mile to the nearest hospital. He parked the lumbering unit in the ambulance bay while medical attendants unloaded the bucket’s “load” and took the injured man to the emergency room. Thinking he might get accolades for saving his friend, the driver of the front end-loader was instead arrested for a variety of offenses.

Charges included suspicion of felony theft by unlawfully taking a $75,000 vehicle, felony DWI, felony driving during revocation, having an open alcohol container in a vehicle and possession of 3.5 grams of marijuana. Police said the man blew a .184 blood alcohol test — more than twice the legal limit — when he was arrested. They also discovered his driver’s license had been revoked 15 years earlier — when he was only 17 — for DWI.

My recommendation to criminals is to not use a front end loader for your nefarious activities. They are just a little bit too obtuse. A faded white and battered 2004 Chevy pickup might be a little more stealthy.