But there are only two of us in my household and if I bought giant containers of food they would surely go to waste. Still it is fun to go to Shamrock Foods and gawk. I also like free entertainment.
How can you go wrong with photo-ops like these?
It isn’t OK and it isn’t normal. Things are pretty surreal and terrifying. I think my country jumped out of a plane with no parachute. My friends, family, and I are struggling to hold it together. I recently realized that prior to December my phone did not know the word “fascist.” That’s how things are on the macro-scale of life.
On a micro-scale, there’s comfort food, wine, laughter, cats, and garden planning. The weather is warming up and taking the bus to and from work is no longer a trial most days. Albuquerque stepped up and voted for good candidates in our local school board elections. There are a lot of phone calls to be made to political offices. In about a month I will have been at my day job for four years, which means it is time to get serious about figuring out what to do with my life when my student loans are gone (all things being equal). Somehow blogging fits in to that, so here I am again.
I’ve been cooking a whole lot. The 4th Base chest freezer is almost empty of everything other than the turkey meat we acquired in November. After this weekend we’ll have 1/2 a lamb too, but I’m holding us off on using all that until we clear out the delicious clutter. In service of this goal the crockpot is getting quite a workout.
As you can see above the chile verde didn’t turn out so verde, but it was so very yummy. Chile verde, in my experience, is not a New Mexico thing. That doesn’t stop it from being delicious though. With tomatillos, chiles, 2 giant cooked turkey drumsticks, and pinto beans in the fridge it was a perfect choice, so I used this recipe from Serious Eats.
I frequently don’t mess with garnishes, but sometimes the garnishes make the meal. In this case not only did they make the soup beautiful, but they also added extra deliciousness.
I had no idea we had a hockey team at UNM! What a tremendous oversight on my part. I could have been enjoying fun, funky, cheap, local entertainment all along. Ah well. Friday night we went and checked out an Ice Wolves game. They played against the Air Force Academy. Because of Kirtland AFB there were nearly as many fans for the visiting team in the stands as our Lobos.
While the first period was a dud with no goals scored, things got exciting in the second and third periods. The end of the third saw a tie and the game went into sudden death overtime. Air Force took the goal and the game, but it wasn’t for lack of enthusiasm on my part. I even wore Lobo gear.
At $5 a ticket and hot chocolate for $1.50 with $0.50 refills the games are a cheap date, though you do have to drive all the way up to the Outpost Ice Arena, which is a significant distance from UNM. Dave and I had so much fun and plan on attending the second to last home game on January 13. The schedule and more information are available online.
Well, that escalated quickly. We went from temperatures in the 60s to 70s last week to 15 degrees below average for November this week. It even snowed a little last night!
I was in the tub when I heard this little ditty coming from Dave’s computer.
“Play that again and send me a link!” I yelled.
Now I need to share it with you, dear readers. Indeed, sometimes everything is f*cked. Hopefully this brings you a small smile too.
Dave and I had a free night this week and I put out a call for people to come over and work on projects with me. Two people showed and it was nice to have people in the house to chat quietly with while I worked. Julian drew a really cool piece on a wooden frame (see above) and the other person made “shrinky dink” ornaments, which I think will also be amazing. I played with bones and other assorted creepy items. I think I already have some ideas about how to make these pieces better, but here are my “first drafts.”
Mom, if you’re reading this, what is the big bone in the second picture? Some sort of pelvis?
On Wednesday night (has it really been less than a week?) I stood in my kitchen feeling very shell shocked. Jenny and I were having the sort of hushed toned conversation I remember my parents and their friends having when they didn’t want to give kids anxiety. She had been explaining to her golden haired sun child why he and his family did not have much to worry about, but their neighbors and some of their friends do.
Then she looked at me and said, “I have no idea how to explain to him why you need to worry.”
“Yeah, it’s hard, right?” I said.
Yeah, it’s hard.
I *look* like every other white person. I can walk down the street with the same privilege as any white woman. I don’t wear any physical markers of my Jewish lineage, but the truth is I’m a model minority and I’m keenly aware, based on experience, of the ways in which my privilege can be revoked at any time.
Like when I was going to the rural elementary school in WV and people would come to stand in between the school and the buses to hand out Bibles and each year I had to decide whether to take one or not. Taking one felt like a betrayal of some core value, but I knew if I didn’t then the people would ask me why and I would have to choose whether to say because I’m from a Jewish family, or because my parents are atheist. I always decided not to take the Bible. I always figured that being from a Jewish family seemed more final. You can convert an Atheist, but I had heard that Christians didn’t want to convert Jews. It always took me a long time to recover my credibility with my peers and for the teasing to stop after I refused. I got pretty familiar with the epithets of antisemitism. I’m not sure if I ever told my parents because I knew that doing so would only cause more attention on my head in a small town where people talk too much.
When I was in high school and I had finally gotten in good with some of the older kids in Charleston’s punk scene. A friend of mine had recently broken up with her boyfriend and was in the phase of dishing all his secrets. She told me that a lot of the guys in the scene were contemplating becoming Neo-Nazi skins. When she brought up to them that they seemed to like me and another girl with a Jewish background she was told that we didn’t count because we were “Cool Jews.” I discovered raves around the same time and made a quiet exit from the local punk scene. I didn’t want to be there when my heritage stopped being cool with them. I didn’t want to be in good with them if they were planning an attack on any of my Jewish friends.
In college, at Marshall, I was waiting in the hall of my friend’s apartment for him to come home when one of the Neo-Nazi skins who lived in the tiny apartment down the hall came slumping by and asked if I could help him fill out a job application to a fast food restaurant. I was a little bit stunned and a lot worried that one of his buddies would come by, but I decided to help. It soon became obvious that this kid couldn’t read, basically at all. I asked him if his friends, the other Neo-Nazis could help and he said they’d all be drinking too much beer. I worried that he’d blame me if he didn’t get the job, thinking maybe I’d sabotaged him. When we were done filling out the form he offered me a flyer and my heart sank. It was to a skinhead concert later that week. Once again the dread welled up, but I decided to tell him I was from a Jewish family. He basically ran away from me at that point and I spent the next several months looking over my shoulder wondering if those guys were going to jump me. It didn’t happen. I moved to California the next year.
Recently I’ve seen some memes on liberal FB groups, Bernie groups, that I’m not even sure people know are originally from antisemitic groups. Things about how the Rothschilds run the world because they’re evil bankers. I can’t help but picture the caricatures from pre-WWII Europe of Jewish money changers with giant noses. Things about how all Jews support Israel and its policies unquestioningly and so are automatically culpable for war and genocide. I know how it could seem like we do. We have family and friends there we don’t want to see hurt, but I know even Jews living in Israel don’t necessarily support the policies of Israel. Just like people in the US, it is possible to be living in a country that you don’t support. I fear that we are being demonized.
Pair this with the dog whistling tactics of the Alt Right, those silent ways of signaling which keep their leaders out of culpability. The way my name could be surrounded on both sides by three parenthesis and signal that I’m a target. On the street I blend, online, my difference is clear. The other day someone told Dave it is stupid to believe that Trump is an antisemite, after all he has a daughter that converted to Judaism and married a Jewish man. When I hear that I hear the local punk scene guys saying, “Yeah, but she’s a cool Jew.” I highly doubt we’re first or even tenth on the list of people that need to worry personally, but we’re on it, and I’m scared too.
Yeah, it’s hard.
My situation is not as immediate as the situations of others, but I’m not without reason to worry personally. I will actively stand with brown, black, Native, disabled, Muslim, and GLBTQ people at every turn. My safety is meaningless if others are in danger. I and other Jews have been raised our whole lives to stand and say, “NEVER AGAIN” and I know most Jewish families were taught to apply that principle universally. I promise that I will not stand idly by. I’ve learned to be ever vigilant and I’ve de-escalated several situations that could have harmed me personally. I will use my personal vigilance and de-escalation skills to protect others. I hope that others would do the same if I needed it.
As this nation transforms around us may we all become warriors for what we know is right.
October 19 was our third wedding anniversary. Yay us! Due to a lot of circumstances we could not both have the day off and we ended up having separate plans in the evening, so we celebrated Saturday with an epic road trip.
I’m a fan of road trips with an arbitrary destination and plenty of adventure, so I chose our destination based on the fact that we had never been there and that there is a restaurant that gets good reviews in the town. (More on the dining in another post.) The winner was Peñasco, NM! And us for that matter. It was a stunningly beautiful road trip. If I had taken pictures of every gorgeous sight I beheld Saturday I would have been stopping us for photos every five minutes or so.
One thing that did take both of our breath away was this beautiful and functional piece of acequia engineering:
The wooden viaduct carries the water over the ravine and into underground passages in the hillside. I’d love to find out how long this system has been in place.
After lunch we went looking for the Harding Mine and we were unsuccessful, but we did spend a lot of time traipsing around in the piñon forest between Peñasco and Dixon. The air was crisp and clear and the piñon were all over the ground. We collected enough for a snack and some pretty rocks as consolation for not finding the mine, then went on our way back to Santa Fé.
We had reservations later in the day, but found ourselves with some time to wander around. Lately, I find myself so tired of the Plaza, which basically means that I will need to have a plan when visiting the City Different in the future. With plenty of museums, galleries, and restaurants I think it won’t be an issue, but it will take a bit more planning. This also may encourage Dave and I to do more exploring in other towns, which is in no way a problem for us. We did wander around the area just outside the Plaza though and I found this fun art installation that I just had to get in on.
We went and got a drink and a snack in an unremarkable, but quiet, hotel bar in the area before proceeding to our next destination.
At Meow Wolf we had a whole new sensory experience which wove performances and interactions into the already astoundingly amazing space. I still find myself a bit at a loss for words to describe what happens at Meow Wolf, but I’ll attempt a few based on my own experiences. I have sat in Baba Yaga’s hut, painted part of a painting that I never saw the end of, received information from a giant raven, learned things about a family that has been transported to another dimension, played a harp with no strings that still makes sound, and spent hours grinning from ear to ear as I discover the layers and layers of art and magic that have been created in this place. I still cannot describe it in a way that I feel preserves the beautiful mystery of the place and entices people who want to know why they should be interested. I’m not sure that will ever change, but I’m going to keep telling people to go and exp