Picture of the Day

Hello everyone!

My apologies for not doing much in the way of writing for a while. Now that the baby is more and more active, I have even less energy and time to write.

It's monsoon season here in Arizona. For the next week or so, storms will come blowing up in the evenings because the heat bubble that has been sitting over the region for the month has boiled up the Sea of Cortez (also known as the Gulf of California) enough for it to create moisture-filled fronts which then drop rain, wind, and thunderstorms on the city.

Due to their nature, monsoon storms can be damaging. There are no shortages of downed trees, flooded washes, and power outages reported in the city when they do hit. Streets in low-lying areas are prone to flooding too. This was my street an hour or so ago:

My street is a river

This is what happens when you live in the floodplain of a river. The actual river itself is about a mile away, but because the surrounding area is low-laying, it floods whenever it rains. Fortunately, the swimming pool street doesn't last very long. It'll be mostly receded by tomorrow.

Some more of the flooded street, though my somewhat cleaned up garden kinda hides the view. It was drizzling still when I took this picture

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The Swamp Cooler

Good evening, dear readers.

Today, we were blessed with a cloudy and cool day. My husband decided that today would be the day he would tune up the swamp cooler and get it ready for the summer because it is going to get very hot next week. Though we'd been running it periodically over the course of the last few weeks, the cooler was in need of some servicing, especially today when it wouldn't turn on this morning!

My cooler looks like this since it's mounted at the front of the trailer, but with more rust and scale from wear (pic found here)

For those of you who may not be familiar with it, a swamp cooler is a home cooling unit that works by blowing air over water to cool it. It is also known as an evaporative cooler since, well, that's basically how it works. The cooler also adds humidity to the air from the water, which makes it quite an effective cooler here in dry Arizona as opposed to someplace humid like Louisiana or Georgia. Also, swamp coolers use less electricity than air conditioners and are easier to maintain. You also have the benefit of leaving windows open when the swamp cooler is running since it helps enhance the airflow, unlike air conditioning which performs best in a sealed environment.

Basic diagram of how a swamp cooler works. Pic found here

When he opened up the cooler to investigate, my husband saw there were a few things that needed servicing in there. A spider bearing had disintegrated and the belt was shredded. The motor still works, but it's not in good shape. We need to get a new motor as soon as we can afford to so that it will be in reserve when the old one finally dies. The pads were pretty weathered and needed to be changed too.

A quick trip to Home Depot to get the necessary replacement cooler parts, and an auto parts store to get brake shoes (one of the front brakes was discovered to be in dire need of repair. We have the drum, but the shoes we had were the wrong size-too small to fit the drum properly), and my husband spent the rest of the afternoon working on the cooler. It wasn't too hard of a job and was fixed by sundown.

Basic diagram of a swamp cooler. Mine looks a little different internally than this one, but I suspect that has more to do with age than anything (ours is kinda old). Pic found here

As he did that, I worked on cleaning up the yard. It wasn't any messier than that of our neighbors, but it was getting to be too cluttered for my liking. A spring cleaning was needed so that the baby has plenty of space to play in the yard when we go outside. Also, on a recent trip to the recyclers, we learned that no outfit in town was buying plastic. With the price of oil being so cheap right now, the price of plastic was too low to justify paying out. I was disappointed because my husband and I try to be ecologically responsible and recycle our plastics and metals. But, since management is too cheap to incorporate recycling into the weekly garbage service, we have to go elsewhere to recycle our pop cans and bottles. Out to trash went several garbage bags of empty plastic 2L pop bottles which would ordinarily have gone to recycling. As disappointing as it is to have to throw away recyclables, I'm tired of our yard looking like something out of "Hoarders". By the end of the day, the yard was still cluttered in a few places, but much more orderly than before. My hubby will finally have the room he needs to build a carport to shade our cholomobile from that beastly ball of gas in the sky.

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Our New Car

Greetings, dear readers!

Today was the big day! We got our new car, a 1966 Chrysler Newport. It has a 383 Magnum engine with a dual barrel carburetor, two doors, automatic transmission, air shocks in the rear (which explains why the back is lifted the way it is), gets around 12 miles per gallon, includes plenty of space, and not a single electronic feature to be found anywhere in or outside of the body. It's totally off the grid, which is good news because my hubby has huge issues with computers and electronics being in cars.

Ladies and gentlemen, meet our Bessie 2.0, Mathilda:

Ridin' around in my cholomobile!

Armed with a temporary registration permit and updated insurance cards, my husband went with the owner to get the car and have the title notarized. Just before they left, the wrecker arrived and unceremoniously towed away our Oldsmobile. The old car served us well, but it was no longer safe to drive.

It'll take a little getting used to, with only two doors and inside handles that are a bit sticky, but otherwise I'm very pleased with our new car. It's still in need of a little fine-tuning, but it won't be a big expense to do so. At some point in the future, I'd like to repaint the car a different color. I don't care much for the color green in the first place, but this shade of green makes it look like a cholomobile (the spoke tires add to the effect, but that is an easy problem to remedy).

Tomorrow, we'll go to the DMV. Since the vehicle changed owners, we have to go to the location and wait in line with everyone else all day to make this change official. The good thing is, we'll get to keep the copper plates showing that it's an antique vehicle. And since the car was made before 1967, the state of Arizona classifies it as emissions exempt.

While putting some necessities in the glove box, my husband made an interesting discovery. Still in its sleeve, was the original registration tag from when the vehicle was first purchased. In addition to the VIN, the original owner's name and address were on it though they had been rendered with raised tape. While the letters in the tape were barely legible, I was able to make out a name and an address from South Bend, Indiana. It was interesting to think about how the car made its way from Indiana to Arizona where it now resides. It's in remarkably good shape, so either the car didn't spend much time in Indiana with its humid temperate climate which kills cars with rust after about ten years, or it had the good fortune to be blessed with a line of good owners who took care of it and kept the effects of the elements to a minimum.

But the most unexpected boon from this purchase? Our insurance rates dropped significantly! Though we won't know until tomorrow, it may yet be possible to insure me to drive the car! Given that I haven't been behind the wheel of a car for a few years because it was too expensive to insure me (I've never had even so much as a speeding ticket, much less an accident, to my name and yet the insurance companies see my age and deem me high risk with gouging rates to correspond to that assumption), I'd like to be able to drive again. We'll see what becomes of this.

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An Update On The Car

Good evening, dear readers.

I have some updates for you regarding our car situation. A few weeks ago, I posted about how a home in the neighborhood had a 1966 Mercury Comet for sale for $1500. Unfortunately, when we went back that weekend to see if we could try starting the car, the owner had changed her mind about selling it. The car belonged to her late husband, and she wasn't ready to part with it yet. Since that deal fell through, my husband has been diligently scrolling through Craigslist in his mission to find a suitable pre-1967 family car. The mission took on a renewed sense of urgency after the steering in our wrecked Oldsmobile gave out, again, this past weekend while we were driving home from church and really served to reinforce how unsafe this car had become. The steering had always been touchy because the front end was in dire need of repairs, but now combined with the doors not being able to open or close properly and the axle, it was all just too much. My hubby literally threw up his hands and said "I'm done with this car" when we got home.

Goodbye, Bessie. You served us well.

In the meantime, there were two tempting offers that appeared on our radar: one 1962 Ford Falcon for $1200 located up in Phoenix, and the other was a 1966 Dodge Dart for $1500 located out in Pearce, which is a small town way out in the boonies of Cochise County. The owner of the Ford Falcon had been in contact with my husband and he described the car as shaky because the floorboards were rusted through. He said it was drive-able, but would likely need to be trailer towed since we were not local and would be taking the car back south. The owner of the Dodge Dart also had been in contact with my hubby and described her car as being drive-able, but in need of a battery. It too would likely need a trailer tow to get here.

Though it was not ideal, we figured we'd be making a drive up to Phoenix to get the Falcon. My heart was set on it because it was manual transmission, something I've always wanted to learn how to drive. I could learn to deal with seeing the street under my feet for a little bit. I didn't regard it as being any worse than the Oldsmobile we were now driving. As we researched car rental rates as well as the rate for a U-haul auto trailer, another offer on Craigslist caught my husband's attention. This new car was a 1966 Chrysler Newport, and the owner was local. He was asking $1500 for it and the pictures showed it appeared to be in good condition. My husband contacted the seller for some more information and today we went to see the car.

Vintage Chryslers make great lowriders! Pic found here

As we pulled up on the owner's home, there sat the car as though God was shining a spotlight down on it while a chorus of angels sang. The owner came out to greet us and we looked over the car. It was not restore-grade, but it was in remarkably good condition. It even had the copper license plates that the State of Arizona reserves for antique vehicles! The body was straight with no rust, the interior had been reupholstered within the last decade, and best of all, it was all original parts. The engine was a block V8 with a dual carburetor and not a single computer part to be found anywhere. The only problem was that there was a water leak somewhere and that prior to going anywhere, one had to fill the water tank up. My husband took the car around the block for a test drive while I stayed behind with the baby. The owner told me the Chrysler had been his father's car and he'd helped to take care of it, but it was time for him to let it go because his job needs had changed and the car no longer suited them. We made a deal on the car for $1400 and for the extra hundred, the owner would give us the original tires on the car. He preferred the old balloon tires, but for some reason was talked into buying 20" spoke tires. Tomorrow, we get the car, but we come back for the tires on Friday since we will hopefully have our check from the insurance company by then.

This is close to what we'll be getting, except ours is green with a white hard top and the back is more raised. Pic found here

Unfortunately, we left the owner's home at a bad time. The setting sun was shining directly into my husband's face and made it hard for him to drive. Fortunately, there was a renowned truck stop in the area with a world-famous restaurant that we could stop in and chill for a bit until the sun set and we could all drive home safely. This truck stop held some significance for my husband because in 1988, he hitchhiked to Arizona and was dropped off there by a truck driver. From the truck stop, he caught a ride from a random junkie who took him to the base of Mt. Lemmon and it was there that my husband stayed his first night here. We relaxed in the truck stop restaurant, where my husband had some cheesecake and coffee while I had a brownie sundae that was way bigger than I expected. Too bad this truck stop is so out of our way. Their restaurant is quite good and not expensive either. It was a nice treat to celebrate getting our new car.

To say I'm excited about getting our new car is an understatement. We will finally be getting a car that is safe, spacious, durable, and easy to maintain. Since it's an old car, I hope the insurance rates will be cheaper. It may yet be possible to insure me for driving. Since the wrecker is coming tomorrow to tow the Oldsmobile away, my hubby and I spent the remainder of the evening cleaning it out so that it will be a swift and painless departure. Thanks to a miscommunication between insurance agents, we will be getting a substantial payout for our Oldsmobile in exchange for us handing it over. We sent the title to the company yesterday and as soon as both the car and the title are received, the check will be in the mail.

I will definitely be posting pictures of our new car. Right now, I'm trying to get my printer drivers updated so that we can print out a temporary registration until the formal ones come in.

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Night on Mt. Baldy

Good evening, dear readers.

I recently stumbled across an article about a tragic event that took place right here in southern Arizona. The article, though written in 2012, described how on a mild November day in 1958, a group of six Boy Scouts went on a hike up Mt. Baldy (now called Mt. Wrightson) in the Santa Rita mountains just south of Tucson, AZ. What should have been a relatively uneventful hike became a fight for survival after a freak storm blew up over the valley, pummeling Tucson with six inches of snow and walloping several feet on the mountain. With no trails to walk on and no landmarks to guide them, the boys were lost in the deathly fog which enveloped Mt. Baldy. It is said one of the boys broke his leg and with help from his fellow scouts, fashioned a lean-to to try and protect himself from the elements while waiting for help. He and two others perished from hypothermia and while the surviving boys were found by a massive search party and taken to safety, the bodies of their companions remained lost. The three dead boys were discovered weeks later by a rancher, their bodies removed by soldiers stationed in nearby Ft. Huachuca and a memorial erected on the site just off the trail where they lay. The memorial still stands to this day commemorating the tragedy that befell there over fifty years ago.

One of the memorials dedicated to the lost Boy Scouts. Pic found here

The story of the lost Boy Scouts became the subject of a haunting memoir that was written by the sister of one of the deceased Boy Scouts in honor of her brother's death and sparked a renewal in interest of the tragedy so close to home. It was actually the subject of an NPR book review, which was how I first heard of this event right here in my part of the state.

As is often the case in the aftermath of a tragedy, the questions begin to arise. What if modern meteorological technology had been available back then? Could modern technology like cell phones and GPS have led to finding the boys alive? Was there anything that could have been done to prevent this from happening? Can anything be done to ensure this doesn't happen again?

An appropriately snowy image of the Santa Ritas. Mt. Wrightson would be the tall peak on the left (the one most hidden by the clouds). Pic found here

I suppose modern meteorological tools like satellites could have given forecasters a better idea of what sorts of conditions to expect that day, but even then there is a reason why the old cliche about weathermen being unable to predict the weather sticks around. I don't know that modern satellites and computer models could have predicted this event. As for modern technology like cell phones, those only work so long as you have a charge in the battery. It will work for a while, but eventually the battery will run out and when the battery runs out, the GPS in the phone will go offline too. I honestly don't know that anything could have been done to prevent this tragedy, given the utterly unpredictable way everything went down. I don't think anything really can be done to prevent a freak occurrence like this from happening since no one can see when its coming.

Clearer view of the Santa Ritas. The adjacent saddleback peak to the right of Mt. Wrightson is Mt. Hopkins, where an observatory is located. Pic found here

Many primitive cultures like those of the Native Americans have beliefs about spirits residing in the natural world, such as in trees, bodies of water, and mountains. As such, these spirits demand offerings from time to time as a means of appeasement for their continued existence. Given the freak nature of the deadly storm that killed these boys, can it be speculated that a mountain spirit (or more) became unhappy and demanded a sacrifice? It's not entirely out of the realm of possibility. Some basic instruction in Catholic demonology tells of how demons can influence weather patterns to bring about death and destruction which they then proceed to feast on. I'm not saying this is what happened, but it does make you wonder if there wasn't something supernatural at play that deadly night on Mt. Baldy.

If you're interested in learning more about the tragedy on Mt. Wrightson in 1958, check out the book Death Clouds on Mt. Baldy: Tucson's Lost Tragedy by Cathy Hufault

Note: This post was inspired by this video.

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The Preview

Good evening, dear readers.

A much closer representation of what we're looking to buy. Just imagine it covered in leaves and more weather-beaten. Pic found here

Today was the day I got to see the car. After contacting the owner of the car and getting a time window of when she'd be home, we put the baby in her stroller and walked around the block to the house so I could see the car.

After the owner came out to unlock the gate and let us in, I finally got a good look at the car. It had been sitting outside in the front yard for a while, as there were leaves and branches pooled up all around the windows. There was also some rust on the hood, but it wasn't in overall bad shape like many a true Arizona car. A peek under the hood revealed a motor that was not weathered or leaky, but it needed a battery and there were cobwebs that needed to be brushed out. The car itself was straight steel and had both a towing hitch on the bumper and a grate in the front for pushing cars. This thing was a workhorse, and the owner described how her late husband used to tow a trailer with it in the summer.

As for the interior of the car, it was in desperate need of vacuuming and dusting, but everything else looked alright except for a missing instrument panel. The upholstery showed no signs of rodent infestation or rot. Sure enough, it was manual transmission as I saw the clutch pedal next to the brake and long gas pedals. It took me a second to see what was where because the floor and interior needed to be vacuumed. The side panels were beat up and kinda rusty, but it didn't bother me too much because that can all be painted over or covered. I didn't even care that the windows were crank operated since I was so used to having a window that works only half the time anyway. The only problems I noticed was that the back door didn't catch when we closed it and the front door was a little tough to close because the hinges were dry. The tires were also in need of some fix-a-flat, but it wasn't a big deal.

It will take a few more visits to the owner's property with the battery and some starter fluid to see if the car will start first, and then get it cleaned up to a bare minimum of suitability for driving. Now we work on gathering the funds. I was pleased with the car and I hope we can acquire it soon.

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6 Things You Probably Didn't Know About Food Stamps

Happy Sunday, dear readers! I hope your favorite football teams won their respective games today.

I will try and publish Day 7 and Day 8 tomorrow so that by Tuesday, I'll be all caught up and can finish the 21 day blogging challenge on time. That said, on to the show!

Chili and Encharitos, a meal made entirely of foods purchased on food stamps

For Day 6's challenge, I must preface this by saying my experience with food stamps is limited to Arizona. I am aware that other states have different rules/restrictions regarding food stamp use, but I hope my experience will enlighten you about this crucially beneficial subsidy program for the common individual.

1. Applying for them can be a pain in the ass.

Anyone who has ever applied for any sort of government benefit program like food stamps, Medicaid, Social Security, etc, knows the feeling of overwhelming dread that comes with having to dig up all your important papers and financial statements for a bureaucrat to scrutinize. It's like baring your soul to a bean counter. What makes this experience all the more nerve wracking is that if your income exceeds a certain level even by a few pennies, you will not be eligible to receive food stamps to feed yourself and your family. As part of President Bill Clinton's Welfare Reform regulations in 1996, the number of hoops applicants must jump through, whether it be verifying income levels or work requirements, as a condition of receiving benefits skyrocketed. I found this out the hard way the first time I tried applying for food stamps on my own. Having just returned to Arizona, I wanted to try and get food stamps until I could start working and building up my financial reserves. I was showing as eligible online when I applied, but when I went to the office for the interview, I brought all the documents I had with me and thought I would need, and the case worker STILL wanted more stuff to "verify". I wound up being denied benefits because I couldn't provide all the information the caseworker wanted. It was only when my husband and I got married and he added me to his account as a household member that I could get food stamps because he was already getting them.

2. You can use them to buy almost any kind of food.

Almost. As per regulations, food stamp recipients cannot use their allotment at restaurants (or at least ones that aren't authorized to do so), to buy hot foods at the grocery store, and for alcohol purchases. I used to wonder about the hot foods restriction, since I viewed it as poor shaming. However, my husband informed me that the hot foods prohibition was actually a safeguard put in place to keep impoverished recipients of SNAP (the formal name for food stamps) from being exploited by unscrupulous restaurateurs who might charge them more for a meal simply because they were using food stamps. Hot food also requires taxable fuel to keep warm, which means here in Arizona, it is taxed at a different rate than cold foods are. As for the alcohol prohibition, I'm not entirely sure of the reason for that ban. I tried doing some research to find the answer to that question, but I was unsuccessful at finding an answer. I believe it has to do with the Prohibition-era moral holdover stigma of alcohol being a devil's brew that made the the government not authorize it for purchase. Also, to my knowledge, I think you can buy certain live animals like lobster for eating, but not bunnies or chickens.

3. Your allotment is income and/or dependent based

This stands as a given, though if you have dependents like children or elderly/disabled relatives, this also factors into whether or not you get benefits. As such, when your income changes due to work or the arrival/departure of a household member, your benefit level adjusts as such. This can either be a huge source of stress or a huge relief.

4. It has some of the lowest fraud of any social safety net program in the country.

In spite of the undeniably racially-tinged rhetoric aimed at people who use food stamps and other government services, SNAP has been proven to be one of the least fraud-ridden government programs in America. Compared with the military contracts and the corporate welfare provided to CEOs of major companies which are so greased with nepotism the ooze floods the streets of DC, the fraud rate for SNAP consistently clocks in at less than 4% annually. The USDA, which issues food stamps, is pretty rigorous about making sure the benefits they issue are used appropriately. Of course, there are people out there who sell their food stamps for money and make illicit purchases with their funds, but the number of perpetrators has consistently been proven tiny compared to the vast number of recipients. Not bad for government work.

5. The food stamp allotment can be used nationwide.

Unlike its previous incarnation of actual stamp booklets, latter-day food stamps are issued electronically via state-issued debit cards, known as EBT. While the cards are issued by the state, the funds can be used nationwide due to SNAP being a federal program.

6. Your taxes pay for it.

This is obviously how food stamps are funded, but I wanted to include this point because I pay taxes on whatever measly income I make AND I benefit from the programs they subsidize! When I realized that correlation, it blew away any stigma I was indoctrinated with regarding food stamps. After all, as a taxpayer, I pay into this system. Why shouldn't I be taking advantage of these social programs? I honestly believe that if more people could see past the racial tainting of our piddly social safety net by the politicians who yell "ONLY *insert preferred brown Other here* use food stamps to buy lobster and steak!", they too would want to take advantage of it. After all, our humanity appeals to us to make resources available for impoverished people to get what they need to survive. At least I hope it does...

If there are any other facts I should know about food stamps, let me know in the comments.

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The Encharitos

Happy Sunday dear readers!

This weekend, I got a lesson in humility. Since I married my husband, I have come to appreciate "peasant food" like beans and rice, or pork and cabbage because they're cheap and can be consumed over the course of a few days. My husband, being our household cook, likes to make these sorts of dishes from scratch and adulterate them as he sees fit.

Yesterday, my neighbor's wife made encharitos and gave us some as a thank you for my husband giving her an old microwave of ours, in addition to giving her family a ride to the grocery store. My husband was quite thrilled to get some, but I had never heard of such a dish and was puzzled about it.

That cheese-covered thing is an encharito

Encharitos are a poor person's dish indigenous to the Southwestern part of the US, where the Frito-Lay snack factory began. Essentially, it's a combination of Mexican enchiladas and burritos; hence, encharitos. As my husband explained, you have to have either lived in the Southwest or Texas for a long time, or be a native to the region to have familiarity with this dish. My neighbor is of Apache-German ancestry, and grew up on the reservation here in Arizona.

The way my neighbor made the encharitos was that she used store-bought frozen bulk burritos and covered them with sour cream and lots of cheese before putting them in the oven to bake for a bit. Since we were having chili for dinner, we had the encharitos to go with it instead of the cornbread my husband planned to make. Given how drenched they were in melted cheese, something my husband positively detests, I was surprised he would even stand the sight of them. His response: scrape the cheese off the encharito and dump the remaining burrito into his bowl of chili. I ate the cheese.

What was my take on this bit of impoverished culinary ingenuity? It was filling, but I was not sure what to make of it. It blended well with the spicy chili, but on its own it was probably pretty mild. It was quite edible, however, and I commend her on that, but it was a far cry from something my husband could make. If this was one example of impoverished cooking indigenous to my region, I was a bit apprehensive about trying something else from this particular culinary genre.

After dinner, my husband proceeded to school me on gratitude for having someone who can cook cheaply from scratch. Since he'd lived the vast majority of his adult life in poverty and drawing upon his family's tradition of male cooks, my husband figured out some basics about making good food from scratch so that he didn't have to rely on pre-made foods from the store very much. Not everyone, he explained, is so fortunate. Some lack the education to cook from scratch, others lack the time or talent to do an effective job. Either way, I should not begrudge such individuals, since I too could very well have followed in their paths.

And that was how I spent my Saturday

Robert

Happy Sunday, dear readers. I hope your favorite football teams have won their respective games.

It was our week to go to the Latin Mass church as per our usual arrangement and upon entering the church, we took our seats at the end of the pew. While going over the announcements, Canon Bill mentioned that from November 1-9, if you went to a cemetery and prayed for a deceased person, a plenary indulgence would be granted to the intercessor and 500 souls would be released from Purgatory. Hubby and I immediately turned to each other, as we both had the same man in mind. We would be paying his grave a visit after Mass.

The deceased man we would be visiting in the cemetery was my hubby's late best friend, most faithful student, and most trusted dope dealer. His name was Robert Contreras and while I never met this illustrious individual, I have him to thank for my subsequent marriage and family.

Robert Casimiro Contreras. Husband, father, student, dealer, friend, and matchmaker from beyond the grave

Robert and my hubby met through my husband's tutoring business at the University of Arizona, and they became good friends. They sold weed and other drugs to students at the school, did all kinds of fun and/or crazy stuff together, and utilized a wide social network for their needs. I've encountered some of this remaining network through Robert's family and some of my hubby's other friends or other establishments. In fact, our daughter's disgraced godfather was the longtime childhood friend of Robert Contreras. They had, quite literally, grown up next door to each other.

In 2001, Robert was diagnosed with cancer. It was Hodgkins Lymphoma, and the only reason it was even discovered was because Robert had gone hiking on Mt. Lemmon with his family and came down with giardia from drinking dirty water up there. Robert would undergo treatment for the cancer, and in 2003, it was declared in remission. But, as cancers are wont to do, the lymphoma came roaring back with a vengeance in September of 2007 and by November of that year, Robert was dead. This all happened the year before I came to Tucson.

Old friends reunited once again. Taken in January, 2015

By the time of Robert's death, my hubby had made a full reversion to the Catholic Church after being an apostate for over 30 years. Despite being homeless, in treatment for opiate addiction, and battling serious health issues, he visited and tried to be with his friend as much as he could. My hubby went to the Wake at a local funeral home, where he was shocked by the horrible job the mortician did of embalming Robert, his actual Requiem Mass at the church the Contreras family belonged to, and then finally the burial. After Robert was buried, my hubby saw his late friend's daughters mourning and how they had come together to see their father off. It made my hubby really miss how he never had a family of his own.

The death of this man was the rebirth of another

What happened next is the stuff of legends. My hubby knelt at Robert's freshly-dug grave and prayed to the Virgin Mary for a wife. As for the kind of wife, my hubby asked for a young, virgin, Catholic Yugoslav if it would be both good for his soul and in keeping with God's Will. Hubby, upon realizing the tall order he'd put in for Our Lord, quickly dismissed the prayer and would forget about it until 2011 when he met me that fateful Sunday morning at Holy Family Catholic Church. We would not cement our relationship until Easter weekend, 2012, and have our civil wedding later that year in November.

The first time hubby and I ever visited Robert's grave together was on January 17, 2015. We'd been participating in the annual March for Life and while the rest of the crowd was marching up to the cemetery, we decided to drive up there so we could be there early and look for Robert's grave. Our daughter's disgraced godfather had been up there about a year earlier, and gave us the general idea of where the grave was. There was no headstone on it, he said, just a marker. Eagerly anticipating the trip, I purchased a vigil candle and a Black and Mild, Robert's favorite cigar to smoke, the previous day so we could leave them at the grave. When we arrived, we walked around the general vicinity but could not find Robert's grave. We then went into the office to ask where it was and the cemetery director personally took us to the grave. It was the first time in years that my hubby had been at his old friend's grave. Parked near the plot were some police SUVs, tasked with providing security for the finishing ceremonies at the cemetery. Given Robert's background, it was hilariously ironic to see where the officers chose to park their cars. Hubby reminisced a bit about the bad old days he had with Robert but assured me that when Robert died, so did the old bad life my hubby had lived before we met. We said some prayers, and left our offerings near the marker. I also took some pictures of the grave and some of the surrounding area so that the next time we visited, we would be able to find Robert's grave again.

Our offerings. Taken January 17, 2015

With Canon Bill's reminder to pray for the deceased in the cemetery, we headed straight over there after Mass. We almost missed the grave because someone else had parked in front of it. But using the pictures I'd taken in January, we were able to locate the grave again. Unfortunately, with money being tight, we didn't get him a candle or Black and Mild. We did say some prayers at the grave, just as Canon Bill reminded us to. It was indeed a fortuitous day to pray for Robert, since it was on this day in 2007 that he died. Last week at our other church, my hubby was inspired to enter Robert's name into the Book of the Dead so that a Mass could be said for him. Canon Bill's announcement confirmed that Robert was in need of prayers. If God allows it, dead people can directly petition the living for prayers. I have no doubt that the Holy Spirit was asking us on behalf of Robert Contreras to pray for him.

The baby meets the man who made her existence possible. We also brought some water to clean off the dust on the marker

And that was how I spent my Sunday

Foundation Surprise

Greetings! I hope your day is going well.

While at the grocery store this evening, I was cruising through the makeup aisle with the baby while my hubby waited in the mile-long line to get our money order to pay the rent. As I looked at the limited selection on display, I decided to see which commercial-grade foundations were close to my skin tone. It was then that I made a rather surprising discovery. While I'd always thought my skin was fair, the fair shade foundations were too white against my wrist while medium was closer! Though I failed to find my exact shade, I saw that if this grocery store was my only source of makeup, I would have to mix the darkest medium and fair foundation shades to match my color.

My face when I saw that I'm not the shade I thought I was. Pic found here

After getting the money order, my hubby found me and I relayed my newfound discovery about my darkening skin tone. His response: "that shit happens when you live in the desert". I was surprised because I don't tan-I burn bright red when I'm out in the sun. But, it seems even the sun sensitive ones like me do tan eventually. Of course, common sense says the longer you live out in a hot, sunny and dry environment the more your skin adapts. Both my hubby and my uncle who have lived in Arizona for over 15 years got significantly more tan living out here than they were back home. I suppose I'm now on that track too.

It's a good thing I'm into making my own foundation. Commercial makeup is still an imprecise (and costly!) habit to sustain.

All Souls Adventures

Happy Monday, dear readers!

It's been a whirlwind weekend. With Halloween having been on Saturday, Sunday's followup to the craziness was All Saints' Day. Since it was our week to go to the other church, we got dressed and went to Mass. It would have been uneventful except that the baby had a HUGE shitsplosion that happened when her diaper somehow shifted and basically led to her pooping all over the car seat, and on my pant leg when I took her out of the seat before I noticed the damage. I spent pretty much the entire second half of Mass cleaning up both myself and the baby, and while I was pissed about missing out half of Mass, I begrudgingly accepted that embarrassing incidents like this are just another part of parenthood. The shitsplosion was also a reminder to always carry a spare onesie in the diaper bag just in case of accidents.

Oh parenthood. Pic found here

Today was All Souls Day. In the Catholic Faith, this is the day to pray especially hard for the dead and those souls who escaped Hell and made it to Purgatory. My FB feed featured many an image of a flaming hand or prayer books with handprints burned into them, a reference to the purifying flames of Purgatory. Contrary to popular belief, Purgatory is NOT Hell with the flames on low. Purgatory is, in the words of my catechist priest, "God's hospital" where those who died in a state of Grace but not totally clean of sin go to get treated and cleansed before they can enter Heaven. Purgatory is described as being a place of suffering, but with the end result being able to enter Heaven and join the ranks of the saints and blesseds. The level of pain and duration of time spent in Purgatory varies, depending on the sins and how often (or not) people pray for or do good works on behalf of the deceased.

Though we would go to church later on in the day for All Souls Day, we first made a trip to a part of town I had not been to since 2007. My hubby applied to a trucking school located directly due east of where we live, and was due to meet today with the hiring manager to see if he would be an eligible candidate for their program. The trip there was not bad, since recent repairs to the road made it drive-able and despite its industrially isolated location, it was still within the city limits!

I'm gonna be pretty today 😇👶 #baby #girl #family #babiesofinstagram #blackandwhite #photography

A photo posted by Tamara Tamtam Morris (@tr0u8ad0ur_520) on Nov 2, 2015 at 1:28pm PST

Alas, my husband turned out not to qualify for the trucking program due to some ongoing medical issues but because I came along with the baby, the whole office came out to admire her. While my hubby did not qualify, the manager encouraged me to apply once the baby was older. That way, I could take her with me when I went out on the routes. It's not an uncommon practice for long distance truck drivers to bring family members along for the ride. In fact, a neighbor of ours drove an 18-wheeler cross-country for 20 years and often took her children with her during their summer breaks or school holidays.

Since we so very rarely come out to this part of town, we decided to drive around a bit and check out the area. The Pima Air and Space museum and the Boneyard at Davis-Monthan AFB were the last places I visited on this side of town, and that was in 2007 when I came to Tucson to check out the University of Arizona for college. We passed both locations on our drive, and also both the Arizona State Penitentiary and the Federal prison. One thing we were glad to see out by the prisons were plenty of open scrubland, though it has shrunk significantly as the sprawl expanded. Provided that nothing catastrophic happens, I predict that within the next 20 years, developers will be building houses right up against the prison walls because the sprawl has encroached on so much desert. It happened in Chicago (see: Cook County Jail at 26th and California Ave), and I can see it happening here too.

After running some errands and making an emergency computer repair trip to our family friend's home, we went to church. It was a mercifully short Mass, since both the baby and I were pretty tired. The substitute priest for the vacationing Canon Bill this week was a Frenchman I'd previously met with an accent so thick I can barely understand him. Fortunately, the man realizes his thick accent makes understanding him difficult, so he keeps his Masses short. He's quite sincere and intelligent, as is evidenced by his quality Confessions and grasp of Latin. I do hope he gets sent to visit/assist our Latin Mass church more frequently. I like what I see in him as a priest, and would also like to get to know him better as any ordinary parishioner might.

And that is how I spent my Monday. Good night world!

Picture of the Day

Cold weather has made another appearance here in southern Arizona! As such, it was time to break out the heavier clothes for the next few days.

This was her first time wearing any sort of heavy clothing!

The baby's outfit for the day was a hoodie with pink pants layered over one of the bulk onesies we bought some weeks back and topped off with little socks. She definitely was warm in this ensemble. I try not to overdress (or underdress) the baby, as we live in a generally warm climate. However, with today's temperature being in the 60s, it was time to layer up.

Fall has finally arrived. I hope the weather is decent where you live, dear reader.

O Fortuna

Greetings! I hope your weekend went well.

A most serendipitous encounter occurred yesterday.

On Saturdays, my husband and I like to go to Confession. This most underrated Sacrament is something we try to partake in weekly, though I start to feel the Devil gnaw at me if I go more than two weeks between Confessions. We used to go to the Cathedral to do that, as there was a Nigerian priest I was rather fond of who was a competent confessor. However, we stopped going there because the Cathedral is horribly understaffed. Since we frequent the other church which is staffed by righteous Carmelites, we started going there for Confession instead and are pleased with the quality of our Carmelite confessors.

Yesterday was like any other Saturday. We went to our other church for Confession, arriving just as a wedding finished and the guests were leaving to go and celebrate. As we entered the church, we spotted Canon Bill and his novitiate assistant in the Confession line! It was a bit surprising to see how our separate church spheres had crossed, but it was also a stark reminder that priests need Confession too.

Yeah, funny how that works. Pic found here

As I walked towards the line to take my place, the person exiting the confessional was none other than our friend who we encountered on Thursday at the Cathedral! She reported that the exorcism of her friend was successful, but she told me something that made my jaw drop. On Friday, she and another friend took their possessed friend to the diocesan exorcist's office for another go after Thursday's attempt was unsuccessful. After undergoing the ritual, the possessed friend was delivered from the demon's grasp at the same time our tire blew out on the way to the grocery store! Our friend inquired if we were alright because, as she explained, even though I fulfilled her prayer request with something off the cuff for the success of the exorcism, my intercession pissed the demon off mightily and it was gonna get me for my help in its eviction. Coincidence or not, this revelation is making me rethink the blowout. There was no denying that the tire was worn and off balance, but for it to go as it did makes me wonder if the demon didn't just poke a hole in one of the weak spots as it whizzed past me on its way back to Hell...

After Confession and Penance, I got to thinking about the day's fateful encounters. I took it as a sign to keep up our current arrangement of alternating between the Latin Mass church and the other church. My husband agreed. We get the best of both the ancient and modern worlds with this setup. The Latin Mass gives us the old Mass, but the other church gives us more authentically traditional Catholicism. Before we went our separate ways, I advised the novitiate accompanying Canon Bill to familiarize himself with the Carmelites and their church. My husband advised the same to the priest. Canon Bill's predecessor held the Carmelites in high esteem, an assessment my hubby and I agreed with. Both men would do well to keep that opinion in mind.

And that was how I spent my Saturday.

**Note: The title to this post, O Fortuna, means "Oh Fortune". It was inspired by this song

The Taquero

Greetings!

Here's something to make your mouth water:

Support your local establishments. This torta (top) and taco plate were from a nearby taqueria

http://www.buzzfeed.com/norbertobriceno/tacos-tacos-tacooooos?utm_term=.hbqm7pNNR

In English, a "taquero" is someone who makes tacos. They can be found in food trucks or taco stands and are renowned for whipping up delicious down-home food. Here in Arizona, taqueros and their ventures are dime a dozen. Their tacos are a great fill for cheap (often less than $1!).

My time here in Arizona has spoiled me. Why should I patronize chains like Taco Bell and Chipotle when there are places nearby where I can get REAL Mexican food? That right there is an incentive to keep me here in Arizona for the foreseeable future. I've become accustomed to spice and would hate to move someplace where what passes for Mexican food is bland and corporatized.

Enjoy the article, and thank your local taqueros for the delicious work they do.

Dixie Man

My husband had a very interesting meeting this morning.

For some weeks, my husband was corresponding with a fellow from an organization called the Sons of Confederate Veterans. My husband, while born and raised in Texas, had ancestors in Louisiana who fought for the Confederacy in the Civil War. The Sons of Confederate Veterans (SCV, for short) purports itself to be an organization dedicated to preserving the legacy of the Confederate soldiers who fought to keep the South free from Union control and interference. Members must be documented heirs of the Confederate soldiers.

From a video called "The Irish Brigade". Many Irish immigrants were put into service on both sides of the Civil War, some enlisting as soon as they'd disembarked from the immigrant ships as a means of securing their families' new existence in America ("Gangs of New York" does a pretty good portrayal of this practice). Pic (and video) found here

Though my husband never had much to do with this organization, his family in Texas did. His brother was a member of the SCV, and they paid his funeral expenses when my husband's brother died in a car accident. Since his brother had been able to procure the required proof of ancestry, my husband figured it wouldn't be too hard for him to join the SCV as well. When asked, my husband responded that he would be joining the SCV for both fellowship in the Southern cause, and networking with the intention of picking up gigs from time to time. While I supported my husband's decision, I had some reservations about him joining the SCV. For one, solidarity organizations like this tend to be targeted by infiltrators from intelligence agencies, or used as fronts for ones. While the SCV goes back to the late 19th Century, long before the birth of most intelligence agencies to lend itself credibility to not being a front, it didn't rule out the possibilities of infiltrators since the Anti-Defamation League has labeled the SCV as a hate organization. My husband, who had more than his fair share of dealing with infiltrators of one stripe or another, acknowledged the possibility but didn't give it much thought.

Today was the introductory meeting for new members to the SCV here in southern Arizona. The subject discussed was the role of Arizona during the Civil War. Arizona, according to the leader, requested assistance from the Confederacy because Apache attacks were making living on the frontier dangerous, and that calls to the Union for help had gone unheeded. The Confederacy responded by sending out some assistance to the then Arizona Territory. See map below for reference.

There's something you don't learn much of in school. Pic found here

It may surprise some of you to know that what is today southern Arizona actually seceded with the Confederacy. It was that decision that made the Union government move the state capital from Tucson to Phoenix, where it remains the capital to this day.

Other than that interesting little geographical tidbit, there were some plans discussed regarding a day trip to a shooting range and just general chitchat. My husband got to meet some of the other members. Only men are allowed at SCV meetings, but despite some elderly members, my husband was not the youngest one there. There was a man in his thirties who was of mixed Mexican and White ancestry. He and my husband got to talking, and they hit it off pretty well. My husband's impression of this organization is so far pretty good. If they have a branch for women, I might look into getting involved too. I love history, and though I'm a 2nd generation Serb, my marriage to a descendant of a Confederate veteran might be acceptable grounds for admission.

I still have my reservations about the SCV, but only time will tell if I'm right or just paranoid.

A Day at the Swap Meet

This past Saturday, we decided to finally take a trip we'd been planning to do for a while, but hadn't been able to accomplish (mostly due to weather, but other stuff played a part too). It was time to introduce our baby to a Tucson classic, the Tanque Verde Swap Meet.

From the large koi pond near the entrance

For those of you unfamiliar with the concept, a swap meet basically is a giant open-air yard sale where people bring stuff to sell for cheap. Another name for a swap meet is "flea market", perhaps a more familiar term. Anyone can do it, and all that's needed to reserve a spot is a $15.00 sellers permit which is purchased at the entrance.

Sign high up reads "Yard sale with us! $15", while the stands in the foreground sell kettle corn and Sonora dogs

After parking not in the zoo of a lot, but across the street in the industrial park, we made our way to the entrance. It was a busy Saturday, with plenty of families enjoying the evening.

I made the mistake of parking in the parking lot the first time I drove here. Never again...

Play area for kids near the entrance

Our first stop was to a discount book seller. My hubby insisted on going in there not only because he is a bibliophile, but he is on a never-ending quest to find a Douay-Rheims Catholic bible in hard copy. He insists on getting one that's NOT Challonaire or Haydock annotated, but the original without any "protestant" translations (and he uses a line from the Gospel of Matthew as his litmus test). It bugs me when he does that because my husband HAS a Douay-Rheims bible in soft copy, and for someone who hates paper (most of his literature is in PDF form anyway), this is one paper book he wants to acquire at all cost.

While we've purchased bibles from this particular vendor in the past, she did not have his elusive bible. Much to my delight, however, were the Little Golden Books she had available for sale. As a child, I had many of these books, with their distinctive gold spines and memorable characters. I no longer have the books of my youth, but I remembered some of the titles, so I was able to buy a bunch of them for the baby. My hubby also had a number of Little Golden Books when he was a kid too, and he encouraged me to buy as many as I could. Though she's a bit young now, there will be no shortage of books for our child to read.

So help us God, there is no reason why our child should become illiterate

After the book vendor, we just walked around, seeing what people had for sale. Since I had the baby stroller, I couldn't go into the displays to see the wares more closely due to the stroller being bulky.

Funny signs for sale

Most of the stuff was just junk, but occasionally something interesting caught my eye. I was tickled to death to see how much counterfeit makeup was on sale. I've been wanting the Naked eyeshadow palettes for some time and the ones being sold at the swap meet were significantly cheaper than buying them directly from Urban Decay website. They were some pretty good knockoffs too; if I didn't spend so much time on beauty and makeup blogs, I might not have known that Urban Decay was putting out palettes like Naked 5 and 6 with the US Capitol building emblazoned on it (hint: THOSE WERE FAKE!!). There were also some pretty dubious MAC eyeshadow palettes too. As much as I love makeup (eyeshadow in particular) and cheap prices, there are some things I'd rather buy through reputable channels than risk something grisly happening cuz I bought a knockoff.

There are a few established vendors at the Tanque Verde Swap Meet. They're largely Mexican establishments selling everything from jewelry to leather goods and shoes, to religious items, clothes, toys, and cell phones. Some, mostly owned by whites or in a few cases, Blacks, sell weapons (mostly knives) and incense or knick-knacks. An Indian family owned a large stretch of lots that sold clothes, carpets, bedding, and toys. Meeting that particular family proved to be quite fortuidous, as the first time I went to the Swap Meet was while I was in college, and I was wearing a sari I'd just purchased from a costume shop. One of the proprietors of that stretch of shops, seeing my outfit, told me where I could find a top for the sari when I mentioned that I was looking for one. He also gave good deals on Catholic-themed clothing featuring saints and Lady Guadalupe t-shirts. I wear the Lady Guadalupe t-shirts he sold me to church every Sunday.

As for the big highlight of the night, it had to have been when my husband encountered a "Good Ol' Boy" selling Confederate memorabilia. Since that one cracker in South Carolina shot up a Black church in May, Confederate flags have been all but banned. The toothless vendor emphasized how hard it was to get Confederate memorabilia nowadays, but happily sold a flag and "Forget Hell" license plate to my husband. Being a born-and-bred Southerner, Confederate memorabilia is something my hubby wanted to have as a reminder of home.

Whenever we go to the Swap Meet, I always try and get an elote. An elote is a type of Mexican street food that is made with corn, mayonnaise, sea salt, lime juice, and topped with dried cheese. Elotes can be served as an intact corn-on-the-cob, or as a coctel (in a cup). It's fine on its own, but I always add a hearty dollup of chamoy (a multipurpose Mexican hot sauce that goes with fruit as well as other dishes) and some chili flakes to give it some flavor.

Elote. It's like a corn soup

As I enjoyed my elote treat, we sat at some picnic tables and enjoyed the sights and sounds of the Swap Meet.

The "supermoon"

Finally, it was time to go home. The baby enjoyed the sights and sounds of the Swap Meet too, but she was worn out by the trip.

The playground

Saying bye-bye to the fishies in the koi pond

Exit sign

On Guns

On 8/26/15, in a style that rivaled something out of a Hollywood movie, a disgruntled former newscaster went postal and murdered two of his ex-coworkers before killing himself. Just after he'd shot and killed reporter Allison Parker and her camera man, Adam Ward, Vester Flanagan II faxed his manifesto to ABC news in New York, posted his confession on social media, and then turned the gun on himself.

Could easily be a scene from a movie or videogame if it wasn't real life. Image from here

As we enter the "why" phase that precedes any tragic event, one big issue looms like a pink-polka dot elephant in the room: guns.

This year has been a particularly bloody year for mass shootings in America. In May, a South Carolina cracker shot a bunch of people in a Black church in Charleston. Prior to that, there were a bunch of people shot in movie theaters. School shootings happened too. The list continues.

The common denominator in all these tragedies-individuals who have no business even dealing with weapons, getting a hold of a gun and using it to murder people.

Naturally, this brings up the topic of guns in America. As many know, America loves its guns. The Second Amendment of our Constitution protects individual gun ownership by calling for a "well-regulated militia", which isn't possible without gun ownership. At the state level, gun laws are variable and range from open carry (Arizona, Texas) to all but outlawed (Illinois).

With such patchwork state gun laws in existence, the safeguards that exist also vary widely from state to state as well. Here in Arizona, you can buy guns without having to undergo a background check (restricted to private sales and gun shows, while gun shops still require background checks), whereas in my home state of Illinois, the amount of paperwork and licensing requirements are so onerous that it's a pain in the ass to even bother acquiring a gun. Lobbying groups, like the notorious National Rifle Association, don't help matters by buying politicians and stoking fears of "liberals" taking away peoples guns for one end or another whenever the subject of gun control comes up.

'Murica!

I'm no "liberal" (in fact, I'm a Pinko/Magenta Catholic), but even I know not everyone should have a gun. Even if you arm the general population to the teeth, it's not going to stop mass shootings from happening.  We'll just wind up with a militarized society that's a powder keg waiting to explode in a hail of bullets and blood.

But I'm not against gun ownership. As many beefs as I have with America and the way my country is run, I realize that the right to own a firearm is one that not many other nations share. I just believe that before you own a gun, you should have to undergo at least some safety training and be subjected to a thorough background check before purchase. Some individuals should also have a psychiatric evaluation done in addition to the standard background check before being allowed to own a gun if there is something that pops up in the background check that warrants it. I'm in favor of reasonable safeguards. I don't like the idea of banning guns because they do serve useful purposes, like self-defense and hunting. Remember, a gun is an inanimate object; a human holding it is what makes it deadly.

Of course, changing the culture around guns from one of seeing *insert preferred Other (immigrants, Moslems, etc)* crawling out of the walls to one of rationality isn't easy. Guns are a hugely profitable industry, and one that is very well politically connected from the NRA to the military-industrial complex. These people get their rocks off from seeing more mass shootings happen cuz then they can increase profits off the tragedy (arming both sides means more money in their pockets!), rather than support modest changes that would help reduce the likelihood of guns winding up in the wrong hands.The Ammosexual Agenda, if you will.

Stay safe out there. And may the victims of America's gun culture find peace at last

Protesting Planned Parenthood

Today was the big nationwide protest against the infamous abortion provider, Planned Parenthood. While I've been fairly quiet about the controversial videos released which proport to show Planned Parenthood executives and staff engaging in illegal activities (organ trafficking, infanticide, etc), know this: I am, and will always be, pro-life. My pregnancy and subsequent birth served to reinforce and enhance that which I had been taught regarding the sanctity of life, both in AND out of the womb.

A card my hubby picked up from the registration table. If you don't respect life in utero, you'll view it as worthless outside of the womb too.

It's one thing to see a picture of an ultrasound baby on a poster or hold a plastic fetus at various stages of development. But it's also something totally different to actually see the fetus wiggling and floating around in utero, real-time in front of your eyes and instinctively know "wow. That's mine. I made that."

It would be one thing if Planned Parenthood actually did what it claimed to do and offered STD testing and treatment, counseling, women's health care, etc. But it doesn't. Abortion is ALL that Planned Parenthood does, and the dishonesty put forth by that organization is an injustice to women everywhere. That has always been my beef with Planned Parenthood, even when I did not have the vocabulary to articulate it in the way I wanted to.

While I am largely in favor of crisis pregnancy centers as a means of giving women an alternative to murdering their offspring in utero, I've gotten away from blindly supporting them like I used to. When I got pregnant, I went to a crisis pregnancy center (CPC) not because I wanted an abortion, but because I was a low-income individual seeking to get low-cost prenatal care. I was hoping a CPC could assist me with that.