Because of a glitch involving e-mail settings, the aero-cordero.com website was out of commission for three or four days. The problem has been corrected and everything seems to be working okay now. The only blog I wrote during that time was posted yesterday and you should be able to see it immediately below this message. As much as I wish to blame this hiccup on technology or some computer nerd in the backroom of my website host, it’s just the result of what I fear is my progressive brain rot. “:^)

Yes, that’s a real word. I found it on a “Word-A-Day” calendar many years ago and immediately stored it in my twisted memory. It’s something that applies to J.Lo’s famous posterior.

What brings up the subject is a sign that I spotted many years ago in front of a home on far North Fourth Street in Albuquerque.

It seems that the owner of the home had established a taxidermy business in a building or garage tucked discreetly in the back of his neatly kept property. The sign, which the owner apparently didn’t fully vet in his rush to announce his business, simply said:

“Taxidermy in Rear”

As one who has suffered the indignity of not having much of a butt over the years, I might have briefly considered visiting the business for some artificial and permanent “enhancement.” But I’m also sure that I would have quickly concluded that such a procedure would have rendered me being even more of a pain in my own butt than I already am.

In December of 2016, a young woman delivering a pizza to a Las Cruces home was unpleasantly surprised when a man inside opened the door completely nude. He explained to the mortified young woman that he had just stepped out of the shower and didn’t want to miss getting delivery of his snack. The young woman, however, observed that neither the man’s hair nor rest of his body was wet and he did not have a towel that might have easily been grabbed on his rush to the door.

Unfazed, and apparently hoping for additional “garnishment,” the naked man asked the woman to wait for him in the doorway while he looked for some change to tip her. Thankfully, the young woman was able to quickly flee and did not provide any unsavory details about how he might have rooted around for change on his naked body. Since he had apparently paid in advance for the pizza by credit card, Police were easily able to identify and arrest him and the young woman was spared the indignity of having to describe any physical features of the perpetrator.

In the 1970s, when I was Santa Fe bureau chief and state political editor for United Press International, I was fortunate to have been invited to see and write about Philmont Scout Ranch in northeastern New Mexico. One of New Mexico’s many jewels, the scout ranch was established in 1938 as a 140,000+ acre rugged mountain wilderness for the Boy Scouts of America to use in building young men and women’s character and providing a spectacular outdoor adventure venue for scouts around the world. (Read more about it at https://www.philmontscoutranch.org/). Sadly, because of the state of New Mexico’s restrictions imposed surrounding the Covid-19 pandemic, the facility is closed this summer for what I believe is the first time since its establishment.

Anyway, when I was there and discovering many topics to write about, I stumbled upon the “dead letter” bulletin board outside the administration building. On it were posted letters returned because young men had used the wrong address on their letters and post cards. It was hoped the scouts would pick them up before they returned home.

One memorable postcard, with its full message displayed for every passer by to chuckle at, caught my eye and I wrote a story about it. The story was circulated worldwide on the UPI news network.

Although I can’t remember the exact wording on the postcard, I do remember the essence, which went, I recall, something like this:

“Mom,

I’m having a great time at Philmont, but I miss you.

We had our first overnight camping trip yesterday, and it was great. I was sleeping pretty well last night, until I woke up when a bear poked its nose into my tent and started licking my head. It kind of scared me, but he ran away and I’m okay.

See you soon.

Your son,

XXXXX”

As someone who appreciates clever wording, I wish I could claim credit for this, but the Albuquerque Journal published my story about the dead letter post card and wrote what I think was the best headline I’ve ever had to introduce one of my stories. It said, simply:

“Better Dead than Read”

As a hot air balloon pilot for more than 38 years, it’s probably appropriate that I comment on yesterday’s announcement that the Albuquerque International Balloon Fiesta is being cancelled this year because of concerns surrounding the Covid-19 epidemic.

I have flown at Fiesta for about 35 years (can’t really remember the exact number), but had chosen not to fly in this year’s event for various reasons. I was scheduled to participate in it last year, but my heart surgery in August put a stop to that.

The decision to cancel the event, in my opinion, is completely understandable, for many reasons. We still don’t know enough about the disease to be sure how to accurately predict what it will be doing three months from now. Planning such a major event without having a pretty clear picture of what that time frame might look like is a daunting task. I feel sorry for the vendors, the city of Albuquerque, the hotels, restaurants, the Fiesta staff, the pilots, the crews and especially the spectators who have made the event so meaningful to us all.

There was talk about having a “Fiesta Light” even where the pilots would fly without spectators being on the field, and even a “Cyber Fiesta” somehow manipulated through the wizardry of computers to look like the real thing. (My wife and I watched a Nebraska football cyber spring game in May– it just wasn’t right.)

But what makes Fiesta truly unique among spectator events is that people can get right on the field, touch the balloons, talk to pilots and crews and be surrounded by and totally immersed in one of the most spectacular demonstrations of light and physics on the planet. You can’t go to an NFL game and mingle with Tom Brady or the other players on the sidelines. You can’t sit on the bench and chat up LeBron James in an NBA game. You can’t be in the pits hoping that one of the Busch boys will let you look inside his car and then maybe, just maybe, invite you to join him in his ride for a hot lap around the track at the Daytona 500.

But at Fiesta, you might just work you way into a free balloon ride. I’ve been able to offer that opportunity more than once to a thrilled and unsuspecting onlooker. It was memorable for both of us.

And as a pilot, there’s nothing more thrilling to see a sea of people cheering you as you lift off into a sky filled with hundreds of other balloons. That’s especially true if, as I have been honored to do on many occasions, fly the American flag off the field. With Old Glory dangling below my basket, the Star Spangled Banner is being sung by some high school choir protege whose voice is so strong and clear that you can still hear her singing 500 feet in the air. What a thrill.

So let’s all take a deep breath and have faith that things will return to normal by the fall of 2021 and Fiesta will happen again when the skies over Albuquerque are filled with balloons. I might be convinced to fly there one more time.

Sunspot, located high in the Sacramento Mountains of southern New Mexico, is a high-tech research site shared by several scientific agencies to study the sun. It employs large telescopes, aided by banks of powerful computers that focus on the sun to study sunspots, the corona and surface of our sun.

Two years ago, the site was suddenly shut down by government officials. When the overnight shut-down was discovered, conspiracy theories — acting like exploding solar flares from the surface of the sun– began exploding through the internet.

Had aliens finally been discovered by one of the telescopes? Had researchers discovered a top secret military operation somewhere in space? Had sensitive data been suddenly been spirited out of the facility to Russian spies disguised as Texan tourists lunching at the local barbecue joint in nearby Cloudcroft? Was a giant vat of mercury or other toxic material spilled at the facility? The speculation went on for days and became more highly charged as government officials remained mum. Was something going on that could be a threat to our very existence?

Well, no, it was much more mundane. It seems the son of one of the janitors working at the facility had nicked one of his father’s access keys and let himself into one of the offices. Once inside, he entertained himself by looking at porn websites on an official computer, apparently hoping not to get caught by mom or dad if he took a look on the home computer. Authorities had shut down the facility when they discovered the security breach.

While the sites he looked at were not revealed, we can pretty much conclude that he wasn’t looking at celestial bodies.

Earlier this week, a Las Cruces man sleeping in his home heard someone open his bedroom door. An intruder peeked in, saw the sleeping man wake up and then bolted out of the house. The intruder’s exit from the scene of the crime, however, was slowed by the fact that he was carrying two roasts, a bottle of Gatorade and a can of soda that he had stolen from the man’s refrigerator before awaking him. With the perpetrator stumbling into the yard while trying to retain his loot, the homeowner was able to tackle and subdue the suspect until police arrived to make the arrest. It’s not known if police had to keep the two roasts and the drinks as evidence, but hopefully they were eventually returned to the owner’s refrigerator. The moral of the story may be to consider locks on your refrigerator door or, for others, making sure you’re in the right house if you’re rooting around for a midnight snack.

I’m offering musings from my outpost in New Mexico, the Land of Enchantment, with topics ranging from and including:

–Oddball and mostly humorous stories about this state, under the catch-all title of “Why I love New Mexico.”

–Fly fishing

–Hot air ballooning

–My dog (and other dogs) and my wife, not necessarily in that order

–My two children and four grand-children

–Random observations and reflections on the state of affairs, some mild political observations on both sides of the equation, and philosophical subjects never to be resolved.

–My friends

–Golf

–Cars and trucks

–Rugby

–Skiing

–Traegering

–College football

–Writing

–My partial pig heart

–Former work and current retirement

–Other subjects that may float into my mind

Most of those who were mildly interested in this blog because of the title, have long since clicked through to something else after reading my list of potential topics. (I mean, really, hearing thoughts about golf from someone who’s never broken 100 and doting on grandchildren?) Thanks for at least looking.

For those of you who have run out of interesting things to do in your life who may still be stuck on this page and can’t seem to figure out how to return to whatever was way more interesting that you were looking at before, I’ll try to explain why I’m doing this.

I spent many years as a writer, mostly as a journalist with newspapers and an international news agency. I followed that with a career in marketing, which involves a lot of writing. I enjoy writing and I especially enjoy writing something that brings a smile to someone’s face. Understanding full well that everyone probably believes they are a gifted writer, I hope you’ll endure and enjoy my writing and that you will occasionally let me know what you think. I promise most of my posts will be short, so you won’t have to worry about making a trip to the bathroom first before reading it.

I’ll start my first blog with one of my favorite “Why I love New Mexico” stories.

Several years ago, while driving through northern New Mexico, I passed several roadside stands where locals were selling what they could to supplement their income. The stands had a truly authentic look, with roofs of cedar or juniper latillas supported by rickety wind-peppered and sun-worn two by fours. Signs were mostly painted on graying and splintered sheets of quarter-inch plywood and the vendors sat inside to or next to their stands in aluminum lawn chairs with frayed plastic webbing. Items for sale ranged from pinon firewood to pottery to jewelry to used clothing. The one, however, that caught my eye was the one proudly displaying a crudely lettered sign which said:

“Live goats and Avon products”

Talk about a diverse business model.

I’ve always regretted not snapping a picture of the sign and then stopping to talk to the vendor. I’m sure he or she had an interesting story. And who knows, I might have brought a goat home with me to entertain my dog and purchased some Avon products for my wife, who would have immediately tossed them because they were not hypo-allergenic. I suppose the goat was not as well.