Cheating Death

Good evening!

Let me start off this post by thanking God that I am alive to write it. Saturday, I had a brush with death and I still can't fully wrap my head around what happened.

I'm watchin' you...

It all started on Friday when my hubby and I went to visit our friend to provide emotional support and act as witnesses because Child Protective Services was invading her house on totally bogus charges made by a former acquaintance. He contacted CPS and made up outrageous claims to get back at her for getting rid of his stuff which he had dropped off at her house and refused to come back and pick it up when she told him to (he also texted and emailed her what he was going to do, so there are legal grounds for prosecution against him for this too). Thankfully, our good deed worked and the CPS caseworker closed the case. After the caseworker left, my husband took our friend to get some cigarettes and she accidentally left her phone in the car. None of us realized that she'd done this, and it wasn't until we got home and I was cleaning out the cupholder when I saw it was there. Since it was getting dark and my hubby had to change out the grommet on the gas tank (it was very worn and leaked fuel every time we filled the tank more than halfway), I figured we'd go by her house the next day and drop it off before going to Confession. It was her only working phone and I didn't want her to be stuck without it for long.

Saturday was spent doing housework and working on the car (the gas tank was fixed, but that damned electrical short has returned!). We were aiming to go to our friend's home first and then to Confession in the evening, but first we had to stop and get gas. My husband and I observed that the tank itself was in good condition (there was not a spot of rust or perforation anywhere inside that tank when I looked into it as my husband was replacing the grommet the previous day), and he wanted to see how much gas it held when completely filled. The screen at the pump read 24 gallons when my husband had to manually stop the pump because the tank was overfilling. He was thrilled because that meant our cholomobile's gas tank was a full-size tank appropriate to a C-body Mopar (they ranged in size from 23-26 gallons)!

And that was when all hell broke loose.

As my husband was pumping air into the rear air shocks, he saw to his horror that the fuel line had ruptured on the car! Gasoline was spilling onto the concrete and if the leak wasn't stopped, the scene could get deadly in a hurry. My husband got under the car and stuck his finger in the leak to stop it while I ran into the store with the baby in one arm and a 5 gallon bucket in the other to fill with water and wash off the gasoline that was now dousing my husband. One of the assistants in the gas station also came to our aid by filling up the bucket with water and pouring it on my husband, getting me the number to a local cab company so I could call and get a ride to the nearby auto parts store to get replacement fuel line, and calling the fire department to help contain and manage the highly flammable mess.

Kaboom!

Fortunately, the cab arrived at the gas station within 10 minutes and transported the baby and I to the auto parts store. The cabbie was kind enough to wait for me in the parking lot while the boy at the register cut me a foot of replacement fuel line (Even though I had part of the original line with me for reference, I would later discover the line the teenage boy at the store sold me was the wrong size, but I didn't realize it until much later after we got home). The fire department was just leaving when I came back and paid the cabbie for his service. They had sprayed my husband down with a soapy foam mixture to wash the gasoline off of him. His clothes were ruined and he sustained first degree chemical burns on parts of his back (gasoline is a corrosive solvent!), but the situation was under control. The gas station's manager threw some sandy substance onto the ground to absorb the water and gas mixture, and my husband put the new fuel line in place. Once it was attached, we went straight home. Our visit to our friend would have to wait till Sunday. After we got home, my husband checked the vent lines of the tank and saw that they were leaking too, but this time, the situation was not as critical. The leaking vent lines were replaced, but it was mostly just overflow from an overfilled gas tank.

As we were driving home, my husband explained to me the gravity of what had just happened. Since gasoline is so flammable (and people are notorious about not following the anti-smoking instructions posted at gas stations), and here he was doused in the stuff, a careless customer who was smoking or talking on a cellphone could have set off a spark which not only would have turned my husband into a human torch, but also turned our car into a gasoline-filled bomb. The baby and I could very easily have been caught in the blazing inferno, as well as other customers and their cars. The fire department would have been dealing with casualties and alot of destruction. In fact, just before they left, the firemen thanked my husband for his quick thinking to get under the car and plug the line before calling them because his action had saved lives and property.

Angels watchin' over me

I used to wonder about how I'd react when faced with my own mortality. Would I be indifferent? Would I fight back or cry? Would I be relieved to finally cross over the threshold so few return from? Well, here I was, one spark away from meeting God face to face, and I was...numb. I'd been so hopped up on adrenaline, racing to get the replacement fuel line and water all while toting the baby in one arm, that the idea that I might die because of the gas fumes igniting didn't even register on my radar. Even now, a few days later, I still can't believe how close I came to meeting a grisly end. And, that was without anything actually happening. My guardian angel was working overtime to make sure nothing happened to us, or anyone else.

As for our friend's phone, we got it back to her on Sunday afternoon before we went to church. She was freaked out when I told her how close we came to getting barbecued on Saturday evening at the gas station because of the ruptured fuel line. Unfortunately, she couldn't come to church with us, but she was glad to see we were ok and to have her phone back.

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The Smell of Death

Good evening, dear readers.

I couldn't bring myself to take a picture of the horrible sight, so here's a mommy and baby kitty pic instead (pic found here)

Today, my husband made a grisly discovery.

He was going out to round up the cats for their morning feed when he noted the horrible smell of something dead and rotten wafting around the yard. He followed his nose to the front of the trailer, where the smell was strongest. Getting his drill, my husband unscrewed the soffet covering the bottom of the trailer and found the source of the smell.

It was a litter of dead and putrefying kittens.

A few days ago, we heard the sound of kittens mewing under our trailer. The Siamese minnie who we believe to be the mother of Puppy, our youngest cat, was pregnant and had now given birth. Since we had no idea where the kittens were under the trailer, we couldn't check on the newborns to see how many there were and what condition they were in. After hearing silence for a few days, I had assumed their mommy had moved the nest. It's not uncommon for minnie cats to move litters from one place to another after giving birth. Well, apparently she hadn't. My husband noted that from what he could make out in the remains, they still contained the afterbirth. It was like the Siamese minnie had just dropped the litter and abandoned them, not knowing what to do and not caring whether they lived or died.

With the help of a plastic bag, a shovel, and LOTS of garden lime, my husband buried the remains in the garden, right near White Chin's grave. It was heartbreaking to know of what became of the litter of kittens that the minnie had. I was looking forward to raising another litter of kittens, or at least whichever ones that I could catch. It literally put in perspective how miraculous it is that Puppy is even alive. Granted, her mother isn't very healthy (she wheezes constantly when she comes around) and was likely abandoned herself, but to drop a litter and walk away is just mind blowing. Perhaps its my own motherly hormones that make me feel this way, but to contemplate why the Siamese minnie had done such an irresponsible act made me feel depressed.

Powderpuff, 2013. She was my husband's favorite girl cat. He'd raised her from infancy and watched her grow into a strong and capable mommy cat.

True to his Catholic views on all forms of contraception, my husband has never been particularly big on spaying/neutering animals. But, upon making this grisly discovery, he has been adamant about trapping the Siamese minnie and taking her to get spayed. His view on spaying was always to do it after the minnie had at least one, maybe two, litters because having so many kittens can literally kill them. He'd seen this lesson play out many times over the course of his life. I saw it happen to Powderpuff, our beloved tortoiseshell calico who my husband brought into our marriage and whose untimely demise from birthing too large a litter too close to her last one was only the second time I ever saw him shed tears in front of me. Now, we're looking into getting a trap and seeing where we can get free/low cost spaying done. We plan to do a TNR, since the Siamese minnie is rather feral and doesn't like being around people much.

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Picture of the Day

Greetings!

Today was Robert's birthday. Robert, as you may recall, was my husband's late best friend, most loyal student, and most trusted dope dealer. Though I never met the illustrious Robert Contreras, I have him to thank in part for my marriage. If it hadn't been for his funeral, my hubby might never have been inspired to pray to the Virgin Mary for a wife. It is for that reason that we periodically visit Robert's grave and usually leave him a candle and a Black and Mild cigar. It's good to have a grave to take care of, since it serves as a reminder of our own mortality and lets the deceased know they're not forgotten in this world.

We'll come visit you soon

While my hubby and I wanted to go and visit the grave, we wound up not going because hubby was too tired. His job had him working late into the night sweeping out the trash in the stands of the basketball arena. It was also pretty hot today, and he didn't want to subject the baby to the heat by being out for an extended period of time. Also, the liquor stores here in the neighborhood were out of Taddy Porters, Robert's favorite beer. The last time we were at Robert's grave, my husband promised to bring him a Taddy Porter for his birthday. We will be going to the cemetery on Sunday after church, since we'll be in the general vicinity.

Since today was Friday, alas it was a no-meat day in our household. During Lent, all Catholics who are able to must abstain from eating meat on Fridays. Exceptions are granted for pregnant and nursing mothers, the elderly, the infirm and of unsound mind, but such groups can still participate in fast if they so choose. Since I'm still nursing the baby, I technically can eat meat, but hubby can't. Still, we try and minimize the cooking so I wind up eating fish too. My hubby usually fries up some catfish, but I'm tired of catfish. So while giving our neighbor a ride to the grocery store, my hubby bought some large shrimp and the box mix from Zatarain's to make jambalaya. After boiling the shrimp, I peeled them while hubby chopped up the vegetables and then combined all the ingredients in the pot to cook. The delicious result is today's picture of the day.

"Jambalaya, crayfish pie and file' gumbo..."

Who says vegetarian food has to be inedible?

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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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Some Thoughts on the Death of Tony Scalia

Happy Sunday, dear readers! I hope you and your loved ones had a wonderful Valentine's Day.

The infamous justice. Pic found here

As I'm sure you're all well aware by now, at least if you live here in the US, the illustrious Supreme Court justice Antonin "Tony" Scalia died yesterday at the age of 79. Widely revered as a conservative icon, his death from natural causes (or a heart attack, depending on which news source you're reading) at a hunting resort in rural west Texas could not come at a more polarizing time. This being an election year, the Republicans are gonna stall and fuck around with anyone Obama nominates to succeed the late justice until after the elections are done, at which point a successor may or may not be appointed at all.

I admit, I was a little surprised to hear of Scalia's passing. Growing up in a very Republican family, Scalia was my favorite Supreme Court justice. I admired his judicial ability to interpret the Constitution in an "originalist" fashion, his old-school Catholicism which he wore proudly on his sleeve, and his defense of conservative principles. As I got older, I moved away from the conservative political sphere because it became too consuming and was beginning to take a toll on my sanity. Meeting my husband had a lot to do with this shift in worldview, as my husband's pious Catholicism put him at odds with much of the protestant-based conservative positions. As such, my admiration of Scalia waned. I didn't hate the man, but I didn't care for his fascist politics or the government he served. I didn't appreciate his rulings against Obamacare because it was only through Obamacare that my husband and I were able to afford quality health insurance or on issues of civil rights. I strongly disagreed with his view of the death penalty because I believe one cannot call themselves "pro life" and be in support of the death penalty which takes the lives of others, as well as his many refusals to recuse himself from cases where he had a personal connection to one of the parties or other conflicts of interest. I agreed with his rulings against abortion and gay marriage because I myself happen to agree with those views, but agreeing with this asshole on two issues does not make us allies. It didn't matter if he called himself a "traditional" Catholic and went to daily Mass every morning at a TLM church or that his son became a Latin Mass priest. That's all fine and dandy, but the fact that he so ardently adhered to the Constitution, a document rooted in European freemasonry, made him an insincere believer at best and a hypocrite at worst. Numerous popes, Pope Leo XIII in particular, have condemned freemasonry and Americanism for being the heresies that they are. It's amazing how many so-called "traditional" Catholics neglect to notice this little inconvenient detail as they stumble over themselves to lick the shoes of the Republican Party...

A similarly-styled hat doeth not a martyr make, Your Honor. Pic found here

Against my better judgment, I cruised through the comment sections of a number of Catholic websites I follow on Facebook. Many of these websites I'm sad to say, given the unholy alliance between the Republican Party and no small number of influential Catholics, are quite right wing. Thousands of commentators were posting their messages of mourning for the death of Tony Scalia and calling for the mercy of God on his departed soul, as well as prophesying the impending doom of America that will happen in the wake of his death. Some people were even calling for the canonization of Tony Scalia as though he were a latter-day St. Thomas More! Needless to say, a comment I left on one of those sites reminding people that Antonin Scalia has a lot to answer for in the next life did not go over well. Don't forget, St. Thomas More served as prime minister to a government headed by a duly-appointed monarch and was put to death for refusing to recognize his king as his pope. Unlike Tony Scalia, St. Thomas More did not serve and defend a government of freemasons, for doing so would have made him anathema.

Despite the many disagreements I had with Tony Scalia and his politics and the justified temptation I feel to do so, I won't dance on his grave. To be put in a position of power and influence is a heavy cross to bear because your example can either lead people to salvation or straight down the road to hell. I really do hope in those last moments of life that the Last Rites given to Tony Scalia at least washed him enough to get him to Purgatory. Also, in spite of myself, I did say a few prayers for the fool during church today. God does not will the death of sinners, no matter how rotten they may be. It's not a bad idea to pray for him because we all will have alot to answer for at the end of our earthly lives, him included.

Giving God conniptions on the Heavenly Twitter feed. Pic found here

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The Visit

Happy Sunday, dear readers!

Since it was cold enough for me to have to break out my Lady Guadalupe sweatshirt, I decided that today's look would be inspired by that very garment. Unfortunately, I probably should have pulled the sweatshirt out of the closet before doing my makeup, as there was very little pink and much more blue/green. Oh well, I'll try again next time I wear it.

Sunday look to match my Lady Guadalupe sweatshirt. I'll try this in green/blue instead of pink next time. Side note-I like the look of a lined waterline, but it's a total pain in the ass to clean. #beauty #eyeshadow #makeup #beautyfornoobs #thingswedoforbeauty

A photo posted by Tamara Tamtam Morris (@tr0u8ad0ur_520) on Dec 27, 2015 at 3:06pm PST

For some reason, this is the only picture I have of me in my Lady Guadalupe sweatshirt. This was from March for Life, January 2015

I must say, I've come to like the look of darker lipstick on myself. As fair as I am, it actually complements me quite well, and sometimes people mistake me for being either Mexican or Indian when I am wearing it. I was also complemented on my bold, full brows. While I don't mind drawing them on that way from time to time, I still hate them in real life. Chola/flapper brows all the way!

Of note, while I like the look of liquid liner and a filled in waterline, they are SUCH a pain in the ass to clean up! Coconut oil is a great makeup remover in addition to a moisturizer and conditioner, but I'm still washing black guck out of my eyes for days after lining my waterline and removing it! This is one big reason why I usually avoided lining my bottom lid for years and am reluctant to make a habit of it.

After church, we decided to go pay Robert a visit. It's the Christmas season, and as such, it was appropriate to visit a deceased friend's grave. Earlier in the week, we bought him a vigil candle and today we got his Black and Mild cigar in addition to a small shooter of cinnamon whiskey to leave at the grave.

Merry Christmas Robert

It was clear once we arrived that someone had been at Robert's grave recently. A small Christmas floral bouquet and an electronic shining tree were sitting in the small crater where his marker was. It had to have been either his family or our daughter's disgraced godfather who left those decorations there. It was nice to see that we weren't the only ones who came to visit Robert. We said a few prayers and spent a few minutes reminiscing about Robert. My husband vowed to come back on March 4th, Robert's birthday, with a Taddy Porter offering. It was Robert's favorite beer.

Some people may consider it superstitious to leave offerings for the deceased. I don't think that way. While I am suspicious of the nature of supernatural entities that might be found lurking in graveyards, even ones where the ground has been blessed, I do think the deceased souls appreciate it if you bring items they liked. It lets them know you're thinking of them. The only condition I would attach to this would be to faithfully say some prayers for the soul of the deceased during the visit and on a somewhat regular basis afterwards. If the deceased died in a state of Grace and is doing time in Purgatory, or even if they died suddenly without having received the Last Rites, they appreciate prayers and good works on their behalf far more than liquor, cigars, or candles.

Sleep in heavenly peace

And that was how I spent my Sunday.

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