I Feel Like Having Some Company ~ Come and Walk a Mile in My Moccasins with Me

If the reader needs some background, my last post sets the stage for most of what I'll write about here. Or just scroll down, rather than use the link.

All right, if you visit this blog often, if you're one of the wonderful souls who virtually loves me, may I ask you to join in a huge, loud "AW, Les!"? This windy, windy spring in Las Vegas has nearly made me lose my mind. It is oppressive. I'm also physically tired and emotionally jumbly and the work pace has picked up sufficiently to remind me that I used to go like hell at the desk and I'm out of practice. David's off on his cruise (setting sail as I type this) and I got some grief I've come to expect when he vacations. No matter how much preparation is made, how many discussions held, as David leaves town, at least one of the homes will try to pick me off in some way and I have to become The Skirt With a Badge. [Yep, the photo shows my own real badges!] None of them ever gives me any grief when David is in Las Vegas, even if not at the office, but . . . . I don't care for it much, but Saturday I was reminded how levelly and civilly I can behave while leaving no question what will and will not be tolerated. That was on Vacation Day 1: The Man is Not Even Out of Nevada.

I'd come up with a plan to restore and refresh myself by seeking out cactus flowers and horned toads at a spot in the Mojave Preserve I know intimately. It is a location where I have retreated when I've needed to expend some angst. It is a place where I have gone solo in order to perform necessary rituals that are not well-suited to conducting before an audience. They were, however, effective for me as I struggled for balance. It is a place that has been featured in the national news for the past week due to a Supreme Court decision favored by the conservative judges. I'll blog more about that in the future. It is a place that could be squeezed into a very narrow window of opportunity as other demands, other activities, other interests and the schedules of others compete for attention. Although it wasn't to be the preferred full-on weekend trip, it would be sufficient to fill a deep, deep need.

I'm no rookie at planning outings in the Mojave. I know how to monitor weather in even the remotest locations by watching weather conditions in several locations nearby. Which place has the approximate same altitude and where does the mountain range cut through? I know what to pack to eat, how much drinking water to carry, and how to dress for the conditions. I know whether the hikes will be rocky or sandy. I know what is likely to be seen based on the month, and even the time in the month. Different species of cactus bloom at different times, and in a predictable order. Lizards emerge from hibernation into the sun at the approximate time that I do the same. Sunday was to be the day. Claret cups, beavertails, chollas, hedgehogs and prickly pears virtually assured to be in some phase of flowering. Horned toads practically guaranteed in the loose sand at the mouths of the ant excavations, their favorite place to dine.

I'm not a good enough wordsmith to accurately describe my state of shock. For on Saturday night and Sunday, the wind became even stronger, even worse, in Las Vegas. I'm not sure which is more troubling to me, being slammed by it as I walk for 8 or 10 miles, or hearing the shriek that hasn't stopped for more than a day or so in weeks. Before setting out for my walk, I checked conditions at the desert destination. Cooler temperatures than Las Vegas, but not a "wind" icon to be seen. I walked in misery, then ran the laundry and dishwasher, attempted to restore my home to a decent condition after a busy week. Everything everyone else does on their time off, right.? When I took out the trash and walked to the mailbox, I noted the gale was worse. But I was hanging my hat on those weather spots with no wind icons. I was in the market when the e-mail came. "It's worse out there than it is here. What do you think?" What I thought was not printable! "I'll e- you from home. 10 minutes." We e-mailed. We talked on the phone. We pulled the plug. For I am the first to admit that if I stepped out in the Mojave and it was blowing worse than in Las Vegas, I'd burst into tears. "If you still want to go, I'm willing" was the gift offered to me. But, no. I knew I'd be unpleasant company. I knew no horned toad worth his scales would be out skittering around in the sand. No ants would labor at the door of the colony, at risk of becoming a horned toad meal. "How many horned toads did you see?" asked Doozyanner, in commentary. Um. None, Dooz. "Les, you in the desert yet?" chirped Matt on the BlackBerry. No.

OK, what am I going to do here? I can jump off the deck or crash my car into a wall. I can laugh or cry. I can become philosophical about it. Oh, right! I'm 57 years old and I haven't landed on "philosophical" yet - or at least not ever landed and stuck there. I could go shopping, and retail therapy is always effective for me, but that means I'd have to go out in the damned wind. What I did with the few "found" hours was a revelation to me. For I did something highly unusual. I turned on the Hallmark channel which was running some 24 hours of I Love Lucy. Lucy episodes make nice white noise for me. And then I relaxed in my own home. It was clean and tidy. I couldn't make work out of anything. I took some books down and remembered how much I love them. I played certain music on the Bose over the top of Lucy. Good music. I ran my hands across the fabric that screams my name, washed and ironed long ago but never made into the project I really and truly do want to execute. I didn't fool myself into thinking I was quite ready to do that project on this day. It was enough to just stroke the fabric. But the thought entered my head that perhaps I will do the project someday soon, as I am exhibiting some evidence of rejoining the living. Coming out of the darkness. I made a wonderful dinner to share. We played cards. I began a discussion about very difficult things and never shed a tear. I expressed myself fully and, though filled with emotion, I was unemotional. My reward was a caring and sincere real conversation, meaning both parties speak and both parties listen.

Monday, I stepped into my office. A full crew had run on Sunday and the work orders and collected payments were neatly stacked on my desk. At first glance, I thought I spied a pink calculator on top of the stack. I don't own a pink calculator, but whatever. There was coffee to brew, homes to greet, computers to light up, my food for the week to be tossed into the refrigerator. When I finally settled, the technician who gave me so much grief on Saturday said something quietly. "I brought you something, Les." I looked at him and he pointed to the calculator. I looked more closely and saw it was not what I had taken it to be. It was something else. Homey jumped up and snatched it, grabbed my BlackBerry, and grinning ear-to-ear, said, "I'm sorry I was such an ass. I brought you a pink BlackBerry skin . . . " He spent the next 5 minutes showing me the ins and outs of aligning the various buttons and how to maneuver the Direct Connect tab we use so frequently. It touched me. For he had also sent me a text message Saturday in the middle of his first job. Obviously, he was still churning about his behavior over the weekend. He has a well-developed conscience. It's one of the things I like about him.

The general public ate us up and spit us out all day long. The phones rang off the hook. I booked so many jobs I had to look back at some spreadsheets to see the last time I'd attained such a number. June 17, 2008. Cesar's steam cleaning machine went down three times at one job and I had to re-route the remainder of the day's work. On GPS, that re-routing thing always reminds me of billiard balls struck hard and rolling in every direction. I don't like re-routing. It distresses me. But I do it well. Three customers hung up on me when I was in mid-cry, something that bothers me far worse than having them call me "bitch". I had listened to screaming toddlers for a full 5 minutes before their mother slammed the receiver down on me. We had a little excitement due to the fact that our imprinted checks and bank cards still have not arrived after our bank account was looted and then closed. The e-mail he typed from somewhere in the Pacific off of Mexico landed in the late afternoon. I felt like I'd been pulled through the eye of a needle and I really didn't want to even look at one of the 7 e-mail accounts loaded into that BlackBerry. But I looked. That's what I do. David! "How is everything going?" I'm quick on the keyboard and I also know that while he would want to know how we were surviving, he is on vacation and wouldn't linger in his e-mail box. "XLNTLY!", I lied. To my surprise he popped back on. "Too few words from you. What's wrong?" "Absolutely nothing. Go take your cruise." I didn't hear from him again. He trusts that I've got his back. Vacation Day 3: Manic Monday.

And so go the days . . . what's been happening in your world? Tell me all about it . . . .

In my ears right now:


Something that charmed me: Driving home from Manic Monday, I spotted something pinkish. Las Vegas is dotted with enormous water retention basins - great holes in the ground to collect rainwater during the monsoon season, thereby preventing the floods we suffer due to runoff. In the area where I live, the basin perimeters are beautifully landscaped with native plants. And there, right on Desert Inn Road in the middle of commute traffic, was a profusion of prickly pears in bloom! I changed lanes tout suite and circled the block. Yes, best in the afternoon sinking sun, I think. I can get out, sit cross-legged on the sidewalk and get right in there. I spun the block again. Yes, I'll try them from a couple of different angles, looking east and then west. It hit me. There is no place to park anywhere near these cactus. Not remotely near, for one may not park anywhere on a major street in Las Vegas at any time. So this evening, I shall leave the office, taking the camera, park on the nearest side street, walk 1.2 miles to the cactus, fold my legs under me on the concrete, snap a few amateurish pictures, unfold myself from the sidewalk and walk 1.2 miles back to the car. Have I mentioned I have a tremendous need to see the cactus flowers?

Some photo credits: J. D. Morehouse

A Cheap, But Meaningful Gift to Oneself ~ I Love Learning New Things!

Beloved Dylan is drawn to plants and flowers. He has never met one he didn't like . . . to eat. Virginia Woolf became so impressed with his delight for greenery, she has become a chomper, too. It is truly the only perverse, wrongheaded behavior either of these cats commits, and it makes me unhappy. The result is that my home is devoid of plants. I get lovely light in the rooms due to the placement of the windows and I would have some beautiful growth in every room if I could. However, I gave up plants in the home after several episodes of green vomiting on my very light carpet. In my office, a second choice but a good one, I sport some truly remarkable specimens. Home dudes occasionally need to be reminded not to brush up against long, twining limbs and trailers: "Watch out for the plant, Homes!" I don't have a third choice place in which to enjoy plant life.

On a Sunday at Fresh & Easy, I treated myself to a bromeliad. These odd looking species range from the well known pineapple to large varieties that thrive outdoors to small, colorful, showy ones that only thrive indoors. My new purchase was all flashy pink, tightly overlapping leaf bases tucked in among long, curving, narrow green leaves. I always think the colorful stalks resemble a reptile's scales, many precisely interconnected pieces working together to cover the internal structure. I felt it was too cold to leave my bromeliad in the car overnight, so I carried it inside on my first trip from the car. I'm nobody's fool. I put that plant on the top of the entertainment center amongst many other items ~ they wouldn't notice it for just a moment. They'd be far more interested in the rustling grocery bags and the smell of the guacamole and shepherd's pie and cucumbers. I returned to the car for the last load and trudged back inside, arms overloaded. I wasn't even completely across the threshold when I spotted two furry creatures at the top of the entertainment center, shooting furtive looks across their shoulders and . . . . chomping. Heartbreak. I was only gone a moment. Those plants are comparatively pricey, too.

Fast forward a couple of weeks. I always stop to look at the plants and flowers when I enter Fresh & Easy. What? The bromeliads were still on the shelves, but on sale for $2.10! Hmmm . . . OK, well that makes sense. They'd been there for awhile. Some of the leaves were broken or scarred, and I wouldn't have taken some of those plants for free, but I poked around the gathered offerings and came up with a pretty nice replacement for my pink and green beauty. It had an odd, deep purple, microscopic flag protruding from between two of the "scales". I wasn't sure what that was all about, but it was easily plucked off. When I entered my home, I immediately put that plant in the coat closet at the front door. Hey, I may be too trusting at times, but I'm not stupid. That night I served dinner to a friend. I opened the coat closet and said, "See what I found!" He looked a little startled and quipped, "I don't think it's going to thrive in there, Les, even if it is a plant that will tolerate low light." "You goon, you know it's going to the office with me in the morning!"

The bromeliad has sat on the corner of my desk for a week, pleasing me a great deal. I like to water it, pouring the liquid into its middle where all the leaves and the stalk converge to make a cup. It would seem I chose a location where this plant believes the lighting to be perfect, and it surely attracts attention from visitors to my queendom. "What in the world is it?!" Midweek I noticed some odd, deep purple, microscopic dots protruding from between some of the "scales". Yesterday, when I arrived for work:


Who knew? A flower!

Today when I arrived for work ▬ ▬ ▬ ►

It puts me in mind of a little girl with her hair in pigtails high on her head. And there is promise of more purple flowers to come! Odd, deep purple, microscopic dots protruding from between some of the "scales", indeed! Yesterday I e-mailed the photo of the first flower. "Ha! Look at that!" came the reply. This morning I e-mailed the picture of the twin flowers. He responded, "I always thought that pink spike was the flower." I always did, too. I love learning new things! And down below, the reader likely thinks I'm going to say those purple flowers are what charmed me.

In my ears right now:

Let's play Twister, let's play Risk, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.
See you in heaven if you make the list, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.

Something that charmed me: My desk lizards charm me. Oh, come on, reader. You knew that! For I am the Queen of the Reptiles and I am feeling far more frisky than I have in awhile. She's ba-a-a-a-ack!

Photo credit for the lovely Virginia Woolf:
J. D. Morehouse

Surrealistic Sunday ~ The Field Trip, Chapter 2

Preface: Most readers will want to have reviewed Chapter I of this adventure before proceeding. Those with good recall and humor won't need to do so. One may also want to click on the images contained herein to be reminded that the overarching theme of this outing and this destination is "wrong". I don't like this stuff. I'm fascinated by how wrong it is. Who thought it up? Why is it here? Who in the world would buy it? And why would they buy it here?

Please rejoin me at the World's Largest Gift Shop where we are about to make our way from all the lovely bacon and toast items and Naked Men In Oven Mitts to the "what the hell?" section and then to the Mother Lode ~ Naughty Town. Having rushed through the departments that don't draw us, now we tend to inchworm our way along, guffawing in an unbecoming way. The Bonanza gets high marks from me for carrying merchandise that will fulfill all the souvenir and gift-buying needs of every visitor who comes to Las Vegas. Come on! Get out your list and follow me.

Possibilities for one's fun and kicky friends and relatives:



I know those things always keep me entertained on a Saturday night!





Here in the garden section are some lovely potential gifts for your friends who enjoy cultivating plants. It thrills me that these icons of the desert southwest, the Joshua tree and the giant saguaro cactus, germinate in 11-21 days and 3-10 days respectively. The packages say they are easy to grow, although I suppose they would not flourish in some parts of the world. A bigger problem, however, is the age of your gift recipient. One would want to present these thoughtful presents to a younger person. The Joshua tree grows five feet in a decade and begins to bloom after about 12 years. The giant saguaro grows one foot in 15 years and ten feet in 40 years. They actively grow for about 100 years and live up to 200 years. If you're looking for the gift that keeps on giving, these may fit the bill. For decades and centuries and generations of the gift recipient's descendants.

If there's a cook in your life, this item might be a hit! One could backtrack to the bacon and toast and Naked Men in Oven Mitts to fill a brunch-making basket. Remember there are bacon placemats and bacon mints. The shop abounds with ceramic Las Vegas bowls, dishes and coffee mugs . . .

Who has a pious little auntie? The Deluxe Miracle Jesus Action Figure with glow in the dark hands can't fail to please! He turns water into wine and feeds 5,000 with 5 loaves and 2 fishes. It says so on the box. Or perhaps St. Joseph, the patron saint of real estate would be appropriate. St. Vivian, the patron saint of hangovers might hit the spot if auntie enjoys a nip. Or if she keeps a pet, here's a lovely St. Gertrude (patron saint of cats) figure.

My mother is a world traveler and an avid Egyptophile. She has a beautiful home filled with fine art reflective of the things that please and intrigue her. I know I'm always proud to add to her collection of antiquities with another purchase from the Bonanza. It's so convenient, too!

Who has a little boy's or girl's name on their list? What child wouldn't want a fun and furry little jackalope?

Or dolls? Beautiful dolls!


May this be fair warning to the more sensitive reader: We are about to enter Naughty Town. If this distresses you, take a detour. But be forewarned. Naughty Town features some delightful items for still others on your gift list.

Speaking of dolls, we are greeted at the gates of Naughty Town by Mayor John and his wife Judy. Judy still hasn't received the memo saying turquoise eyeshadow was outlawed, but she's the first lady of Naughty Town, so we slide her some slack. As both she and John are inflatables, a foot pump may be a nice addition to the gift. Judy is an old stereotype. John intrigues me more. While both are guaranteed to "not snore in bed", I "get" Judy's function and purpose, but I'm not so sure I "get it" about John. I shall have to think about that. His look does not appeal to me, for I like dark eyes, not blue. I'm not sure John and I would be a match. But then, I am not Judy.

Should anyone have a gentleman on his or her list with an approaching birthday, this lovely lady might be a hit. The birthday boy wouldn't even need any actual humans to celebrate with. This sweetie will sing "Happy Birthday" and pretend to throw the pretend birthday cake in his face. No mess on the carpet from a virtual cake throwing. Birthday Girl is a veritable party in a box. Is it just me, or does anyone else think Birthday Girl might benefit from a large competent brassiere?

Anyone who reads this blog regularly knows I love the desert and most everything in it. The package caught my attention immediately. After all, I have been dubbed The Queen of the Reptiles. I wanted to open the box and look at the little fella ~ truly one of my favorite animals in the world. Maybe I'd even hold him in my hand and stroke the little lizardly spikes on the back of his head as I do when I nab one in the Mojave in the spring. Oh. They look so different in the Preserve. Not green. Hmmm . . moving along.

I will forever regret that it was not I who spotted the piece de resistance. I heard him say, "What the hell? Come here, look at this!" We chortled like snarks, and then it hit us at the same time. We weren't actually looking at the kit. The display box was empty. Here at the Bonanza, the World's Largest Gift Shop, the place whose motto is "If It's In Stock, We Have It", this very wrong item was SOLD OUT! It must be their best seller. OK, stick a fork in me, I'm done. "Ready to get out of here?" "Boy, howdy!"


It has been my true pleasure to serve as tour guide and personal shopper on my (approximately) biannual trip to Destination Wrong. As usual, I drank deep from the well and I won't feel the need to return soon. In my hand you see the familiar yellow bag with my $5.36 worth of purchases. That's about what I spend every time. I bought three postcards with the vintage images I so enjoy. I bought one box of Peppermint Cat Butt Gum with which to make the home dudes howl. The Peppermint Cat Butt Gum will require a post of its own.

In my ears right now: Can't get enough R.E.M. My little birds love "Shiny, Happy People"! No, I don't think parakeets have musical taste, but some upbeat tunes make them chirp happily while ballads cause them to make quieter, throaty little noises.

Something that charmed me: "Les, how does that gum taste?" "I wouldn't know, homes. I don't chew gum."

Photo credits:

Bonanza Gift Shop exterior, LimesNow and the Gift Shop denizen - J. D. Morehouse

Gift Shop wares for sale - LimesNow with her point-and-shoot

Something That Charmed Me

OK, so I am very easily charmed. I am charmed by things that may not charm many others, or even anyone else. But I am struck each and every day by things that are beautiful (they're beautiful to me) or awe-inspiring (to me), sweet (not necessarily babies or "country cute") or just damned odd (again, to me). I might be described as very sensuous, in that I use all five of my senses to take in the things around me. I am lucky to share my home and life with many of the things that charm me, and here are a few. Yes, it is also true that I'm easily entertained, picking up animal bones on walks, decorating with little bits of ephemera . . . . .

I am a sucker for a horned lizard (horned toad). In all of my life, I'd never touched a reptile until I was in my 50s and hiking with the Badger. He spotted a little specimen, who immediately shot into the shrubbery. Badgers are not known to tolerate nonsense, and we meant the little animal no harm, so the Badger plunged into the thick brush after him. Pulling his hand and arm out of the undergrowth, the Badger proffered the little guy to me. I was new to this camping and hiking stuff and I wasn't about to come across looking like a girl, so I put my hand out . . . and fell in love. It soon came to pass that no camping trip was considered a success by me unless there were numerous horned lizard sightings and fondling. I love to stroke the little spikes on the back of their heads, and - folks, I swear it's true - they like it, too! The Badger dubbed me the Queen of the Reptiles one spring day when I was 52 and handled 52 of them! For those conservationists who might read this, we are conservationists, too. We do not terrorize any animal and we do not take shoe boxes full of horned toads out of the desert. Instead we go to their back yard and enjoy playing with them like the elementary school kids we are. I am the happy owner of a horned lizard hand puppet, a pewter model that lives on my desk, and Sunday I received as a gift (from the Harvest Festival) a really lifelike one who now resides on my refrigerator. Love me some horned toad!

On the weekend we visited Prescott, we enjoyed a really fun artists' co-op where we perused paintings, photographs, jewelry, weaving, handmade clothing, decorative grouds, tin art, and just about every kind of creative item one could dream up. One particular artist had some pieces on display that played a couple of tunes in my hit parade. She painted a variety of scenes featuring primitive calavera (skull) art, often recognized as celebrating the Mexican Day of the Dead - the Badger and I both love this art and have collected many examples of it. But she also had some of the dead flowers thing going on that the Badger has photographed all summer. I stood in front of her display and dropped my jaw. "Badger, get over here! What do you think?" "Ha! Hey, do you think she follows my blog?" "That could be the case, Badger."

There is an abandoned mine in the Mojave near a place we have camped often. We love to poke around this deserted excavation because across acres are abandoned vehicles and machinery, water tanks, furniture, semi-trucks and every manner of tool, equipment and appliance imaginable. It appears that the whistle blew in the mine one day and everyone dropped what was in his hand and they all floated off to another planet, leaving everything where it lay, never to return. Some of the piles of debris look as if a giant scooped up his industrial strength toys and then flung them petulantly to the ground. The metal items are covered with varying states of rust and decay and one must move around carefully as there are sharp objects, exposed metal cable, and other hazards. The material being mined was volcanic lava, so the ground and the hills are sharp, black or reddish and porous. It is a stark, silent, jumbled environment. "After the holocaust", one might think. However, in the spring, one can bend over and see an amazing array of tiny Mary Engelbreit flowers poking up through the lava. In the fall one is treated to the sight of coyote gourds spread across wide vistas in all stages of development: fresh, green and striped; mid-phase golden; dry and brittle. These gourds charm me. I can't not pick them. Many of them have been eaten almost completely by small rodents in the desert. The seeds spread, guaranteeing another crop in another year. Mother Badger creates decorative crafts from gourds, but found the coyote gourds too thin and brittle to use. But Limes didn't stop picking. I have been seen hiking in the desert with so many gourds stuffed into my clothes I appear to have ponderous tumors all over my body. Upon returning home from one outing, the Badger was filling the car with gas and I opened a side door . A gourd avalanche began. Badgers are not known to tolerate nonsense and he wasn't thrilled to see 20 or more of them rolling around with Limes in hot pursuit. A really nice woman helped me gather them up. "What are these things?" "Coyote gourds." "What do you do with them?" "Not much." However, as mentioned at the start of this post, I like to decorate with little bits of this and that. So in both my home and my office, I have made natural still life arrangements from the gourds, taking care not to puncture them, letting the seeds dry. And something that really, really charms me is my 50 or so coyote gourd "maracas". Sometimes I shake them at home dudes and they grin from ear to ear.

Some photo credits: J. D. Morehouse

In my ears right now: Something Carmen Miranda-like, with lots of maracas.

Something that charmed me: I already gave three examples in this post. I'm all charmed out for the moment.