(editor’s note – the reply I got to this one was Wrong. Very, very wrong. What you should teach him to say is 'I'm not English,American and I'm not Jewish' in any language other than English. )

It is not a huge secret (only to those I don't feel like opening myself up to - which includes scores of people I know in real life) that I have been slowly breaking away from our place of worship. It has taken longer than I initially planned because I am a glutton for punishment and I am good at making excuses for bad behavior. 

So one of my questions was, what would I go back for? Would I go back for a Bat or Bar Mitzvah for someone I cared about? (these are now limited since there are almost no children left in said establishment and since my daughter was the younger in her group and is post Bat Mitzvah.) Would I go back for a funeral --again for someone I cared about. I add the caring caveat because I will now openly admit I'm a bad enough person to not consider it under other circumstances. That's a bit touchy when talking about death and life events but my life is too short and I'm tired of sharing it. 

I mention this, because it has officially come up. You know, sometimes I regret saying things outloud, the universe always hears me. Today, we got an invitation for a Bat Mitzvah for a young lady who after my daughter's ceremony announced she would give into the social pressures of mitzvahing if she could walk in Celia's footsteps. The establishment in question began its terminal dive with me when they refused to let us have my daughter's event on any day other than the Saturday of Shabbat. I was told I owed it to my community. 

For the non-Jews, to be Bat or Bar Mitzvah you have to be called to the Torah, when that happens, once you are passed a certain age, presto change-o you are Bat or Bar Mitzvah. Congregations take their Torahs out more than once during a week, and this can happen technically any of those times. In most places it does happy any of those times. There is an entire back story to this should you feel interested.

I'm going to save the word community in conjunction with this - above mentioned - group of people for another time or we'll be here all night. Put that on the list of things to remind me to rant about.

After being jerked around in that - and many other ways - my daughter opted out of the service all together. My very observant daughter who had been looking forward to this life event since she could say the words decided she was opting out. This is when a local Chavurah stepped in and saved us utterly. At the end of the day, we had  our event with our closest friends - who are our family as we are orphans - and our beloved cousins, almost privately since the entirety of the Chavurah decided not to show up that day. This made the event almost more special and more intimate. So it can be argued that maybe our joint did us a favor in alienating me. Maybe. However, I did give in and agree to let my daughter do the Monday service after all - when it was decided that what I was really doing was bargaining and I was then too tired to argue. We had a few people in that "community" that I didn't feel like letting down at the last minute. So we did both services. Technically, the day we did ours at home (our home-away-from-home-friends-like-family-house) Celia was Bat Mitzvah. The rest was just a charade. 

However, it made a deep impact on one child who was feeling very stressed about being put under the same social pressures. She said if she could do that on a Monday, then she would agree to this thing that everyone around her seemed to want more than she did. 

You can see it rolling towards me right? Because then, she sent us a formal invitation. Sigh. So while my pen was hovering over the how many can we expect box and how many are declining box I played this scenario back and back and back in my head. I decided there are 6 of us in this family, I could more or less promise 3 - just not which 3. Would I go to the Bat or Bar Mitzvah of someone I cared about?

This invitation came in the mail today, on the same day I had a good friend ask me to bring my kids to come and play with her in the snow. So while I was trying to force coats on to my lethargic children ( a week housebound seems to have had a negative effect on them) I started thinking about the friend waiting at the snow play area for us friend and how we met. I'm trying to spend every minute I can with her because she's leaving me soon. She is reaching what I have started referring to as "escape velocity."  This is a term I coined with regards to the ability of people to leave this area. New Mexico for those who know is "The Land of Enchantment", New Mexico for those who don't know is "The Land of Entrapment." I first heard it described as such by a close Arab friend of mine over 10 years ago now. I have lost track of the number of times I have heard it since. 

We met when my daughter was screaming from a tooth coming in and her son and just soiled all his clothes through a diaper. We reparied together to the bathroom to exchange infant teething tablets and diapers.  What kept us together all this time have been any number of things we like about each other, but also the mutual feeling of being utterly lost in this place. She has been planning on leaving since she got here. I've been planning on leaving since before I got here.Maybe the fact that this was never my idea has also colored things.

I don't have a lot of friends in this city. I could probably count them on one hand with all 5 fingers. 2 are leaving now. Really? I mean Really? One will be here as long as I will be and beyond. The other one will leave next as soon as ducks are in a row. When I was laying this out on the table the other night for Brian I actually burst into tears because I realized when my ducks in a row friend goes so does every last ounce of security I have at the moment, and the only family I've been able to scrape together (family modeled like clay from friends). On the other hand, I'm bordering on desperate to see them leave. Because I want to see it done. I want to see how it is done. I want to see it done and succeeded. I want to hear someone say to me "I've seen the outside, it's like we remember it - they've been lying to you, the apathy plague didn't take the entire country. They aren't all zombies - sanity's not all gone."

To be fair, I do love things about this place and I am genuinely happy for people who are happy here. I truly believe that the birthing world is alive and well and intact here better than anywhere else in this country. I believe that I will miss certain things painfully - should I ever reach escape velocity.

To be fair I know I will have fits of nostalgia and I promise to write about them here so you can rub my nose in them. However, the more I've thought about this entire day and the days leading up to it and the days to follow it the more I see the State of NM as slightly abusive but lovable boyfriend who has a complete and utter lack of ambition. After I leave, he'll go back to playing in his garage band and living with his Mom. I didn't make it any better here and it has dragged me down to think that I am no better than the salt of the earth types I am surrounded by. So I have started thinking about my "relationship."

For example, some days my husband and I will say - Okay - let's see if we CAN make this work. Let's see what it takes! We vow to be as positive as possible for entire months, to never make negative comments about the 505. To never use the word Burque in the derogatory. We vow to pretend we never lived in the ghetto and that it did not mentally destroy us. We vow to see the desert flowers as the entire universe and try and suck in the mountain air. You know, the same mountain air that's poisoning me. You know I had a Mexican friend say "if you were going to live in the ghetto you should have moved down to the barrio with us because it is safer." "Safer? I asked incredulously" "Yeah, you never hear of no drive-by stabbings, yo." Yes, it made me laugh at the time, but to this day when driving through the barrio (usually on the way to visit a client or on my way through the south valley for some permaculture tour)  I can't stop myself from hearing those words and thinking - but it's all a barrio. Show me where it isn't.

Then, the NMboyfriend will get a little too worried about my complacency and start slapping me around a little. I'll walk out to enjoy the mountain air and be assaulted any time of year by things I'm allergic to, even in the dead of winter down to the wood smoke. My children will come in covered head to toe in puncture vine after playing in their garden.When I find a scorpion nesting in the clothes pile or a black widow on the school playground. My electricity, gas, and water bill will force me to take out a second mortgage. Someone will get busted for dealing meth in my park, across my lawn - making me sigh and think no where in this entire city is out of the ghetto, no matter how high I climb. I'll come face to face with dysfunctional attitudes and people and be told repeatedly "It's a New Mexico thing." Then I'll have other people tell me that's all in my head and the work ethic is as strong here as in the North. (words fail me on that one). It will take 2 weeks to get a working furnace installed in my house in the dead of winter. A coyote will be stood in my back yard contemplating my chickens.

I get really tired then, and say, "you know, I'm going to pack up and take my children and leave you in the night you bastard. Really I am". I find myself asking bitterly what kind of sick people thrive here, immediately thinking of the entire city as ghetto and answering my own question. 

The random exceptions to this being people who are somehow unaffected by this place, certain midwives I know, or a few friends, who seem to break the laws of nature and have found their peace here. Then, I get on to myself for being bitter and I try and force myself to at least put a positive spin on that.

Look - you're a great person - really. It's me. I'm just not cut out for this relationship. I need my space, preferably near a beach that actually has a tide. I'll call, I promise. Send green chile.

Yesterday it snowed. This was hugely exciting since we live A. in the desert and have had too little precipitation to survive the coming summer; B. in Albuquerque where all interesting weather is directed around us by a big mountain-weather-traffic-cop; C. in a southerly state that is still sort of virginal in the ways of seasons and real weather. 

The trouble with all this exciting weather (which I was so badly longing for) is that the area we live in is not equipped for this weather.  We don't have fantastic snow-removal equipment. We don't have people well versed or practiced in the use of the equipment. You know, you can't actually let the snow-plow touch the ground. It is scary, it sparks, it might damage the plow, right? 

That's okay though, because natives in these parts can't drive in this snow anyway. There seem to be two types of drivers, the bravado who aren't going to let a little snow stop them from driving 80 on the freeway and the scaredy-cats - where a little snow is going to stop them from driving anything above about 5mph on the freeway. These two types of people combine with less than hilarious consequences. 

Immediately following the reasons above the reasons that snow is more exciting in New Mexico would have to be the architecture. I used to complain with some regularity about the lack of cooling equipment in England. 

Which is the logic behind not bothering with summer at all in the UK. You could buy fans but the houses were not fitted, and rarely retro-fitted with cooling systems. Ours was a brand spanking new house and it had no form of cooling at all. The only business I knew of at the time that was fitted with air-conditioning was our vet's office. I used to find myself waiting for animal emergencies so I could lounge about in their office for hours. "No, no, take your time - does she need surgery? I'll just wait here under the vent."

 Then, inevitably when there was a hot summer week (sometimes 3 in a row) and the temperatures soared in the 30's (90's) people would die off like flies. I would then ponder the inability to prepare for times like this. 

Back to New Mexico - it never snows here. When it does, the snow doesn't seem to reach the ground. Often it seems to be in the 40's when it does snow. Sometimes it will be around 50, drop enough temp to snow, snow flurry and then back up to the 50's. The snow will rarely darken enough for anyone who missed it to believe it actually happened. Plus, it rarely snows in more than one neighborhood, so everyone who missed it also has a sense of incredulity. 

Therefore, there is no precaution set into place regarding snow. You know, like storm windows, or insulation, or weather-stripping. Nothing like thick walls, or out-buildings for pets and live-stock(lean-to's are most popular). So it snows and though I have longed for it, I find myself bemused. Utterly bemused. 

Tonight, I had a dinner engagement. This was kind of a one time deal because the director of a camp my 2nd grader is dying to attend had flown in from Chicago to meet with me and 2 other families. Because one of my daughter's best friends was involved (dying to see each other as they are separated by schools - and both are confirmation drop-outs), and my son was beside himself with excitement to watch the power point presentation on his future camp. This put a bit more stress on me than usual. Normally, I'd look out my window, see sheet ice on the road between myself and the park - see the blowing gale (is it still snowing, is it just blowing the snow we already have?) and I would say "eh, forget it" and prop myself up with hot cocoa. 

Instead, because of the urgency of this engagement, we decided test the feasibility of this excursion by taking a test run to a grocery store a couple blocks away. As we were sliding down the major road near our house I found myself telling a story about sliding off a road in a parked car because of the glare ice when I lived in the mid-west. My husband became hugely aggravated while I was telling the story (because I was driving and should not have been talking - however I was driving because having spent my formative driving years in the North I'm voted most likely to succeed behind the wheel in this house) and I don't think he heard the rest of the story. However, I began to hearken back. I was telling about an ice storm that had rendered Omaha sans electricity for 11 days. The upswing being 9 months later the L&D at all the hospitals were standing room only. I mean human beings do tend to know how to stay warm in the winter. 

At this point my husband's hearing kicked back in and he said "WHAT? IN NEBRASKA?! YOU'D ALL BE DEAD! I've been there, twice in January and it was -20 degrees Fahrenheit in the bloody day-time." 

Which led me to try and explain that the entire place was just built differently. Houses required less energy to heat and stayed warm better. Fireplaces really worked. Lots of people had generators. However, he'd stopped listening again by then as there were cars in front of us, and one was sliding back and forth having lost control of their lanes.

Anyway, as the night wore on and as I sat and watched my chicken coop collapse at 1am in the morning. As I watched the wood from it bowl over the small lean-to within that my husband so diligently built earlier this day.
(Granted we are near the mountain which is engulfed in the storm. Granted we are having gale force winds no one else is having)

I kept reminiscing about North vs South in the ways of preparedness. I remember in Nebraska, our chicken coop was a small shed, about a quarter of the size of our garage. We were able to keep it heated and it was built in such a way that it stayed above freezing in the winter, in hip-deep snow. It had nesting boxes, it had a little grazing yard but it didn't collapse at the first sign of wind. 

When the coop collapsed tonight we all ventured out to save the chickens, dragging them in the house and stuffing them in my shower. I felt maybe the coop had collapsed just in time to save the chickens -- ironically -- because some of our chickens were sporting the same sheet ice that my driveway is. I really doubt chickens can survive covered in sheet ice. How it managed to get them, through 2 wind buffers and a nesting box is a mystery. Tomorrow, I'll go pick up the shards of wood and decide if it is salvageable or for the fire. 

Tonight, we wandered around with rolls of duct tape sealing the doors and windows because of the drafts. This is after a couple months ago trying to save on our electricity bill by sealing over the windows with weather plastic to create a pseudo storm window. 

All this because this massive storm is "the storm of the decade" (we're not even listed as one of the states experiencing the storm right now by the way). We probably won't have this again this winter, we certainly are expecting the sun to come out any minute now and burn it all off. The entire reason my children panickingly run into the snow to try and sled - quick before it is gone! So why prepare? For the 2 days it will be genuinely cold? It has made it down to what must be a record low of 3 degrees Fahrenheit. Who can blame the state for saving money and not buying plows to cover the entire city - or training plow drivers?

All this leading me back to the thought that if I really, really want to experience winter, I'm going to have to move to a place that 'does' winter. Sigh.

This story is dated May 2nd, 2007. The cat in question was Leif's cat, James. James was so notorious about slipping out of the house to follow me. In another story I will highlight how he acquired his leash. In the meantime - here is this little piece of history. 

Well, I went to go to the doctor, which is a little story in itself
because I had an appointment and when I called  to check the time
they'd lost my appointment (the whole reason I call is because this happens with some regularity).  So Brian told them to make a new one which they did - of course Brian calls so he can speak to them in their native language. They did set a new appointment, at a time when I couldn't go.  Then, I found my original appointment slip and was going to call and fight with them, because I had the slip to back me up but then they'd found the appointment by then and called to confirm it.  So I went and they asked if I was coming twice today for a reason because I had two appointments.  Idiots.

I have to walk there, it's about a mile.  I obviously, don't have
the car on the day, Brian does.  I got the boys ready.  James follows me, like a puppy when he gets out.  I had him in but then someone stopped by before I left and he must have slipped out with them.  The cat really is an escape artist, I rarely if ever see him leave when he does slip out.

Halfway to the surgery I passed a baby who started shouting KITTEN!
I thought it was any kitten so I kept walking.  A couple blocks from
the surgery I hear this mewling and I turned around and there is
James.
Absolute little monkey.   I tell him he's a bad kitty and try to work out what to do.  About a full 2/3rds of the way there from my house is a long brown fence and about twelve feet out from that is a green mesh fence. It's just this wooded corridor that runs along the road.

I reached down and picked James up and decided what to do.  I'd call
my neighbor, she'd come and get him for me.   I call all her numbers and
no answer.

On the door to the surgery is a sign that reads "No animals brought in
under any conditions"
I figure this means me.  What did they see me coming?
So, I stand on the street - now Nursery Lane - as it's called, is a
busy little road.  I debate what to do, I have ten minutes before my
appointment and can't walk back with both boys and cat and still make my appointment.

 I doubt the nurses will watch the boys while I take stupid home.  Suddenly, the question is solved for me when a car runs a bit too close for comfort,
freaking cat out who launches up in the air.  He comes back down on
the ground and looks at me like "what are you trying to get us both
killed?"  I go to pick him up and he jumps up and savages me about the head and shoulders.  

Then, the cat runs off, up nursery lane.

I have blood now, seriously, dripping down my face.  It's in my hair
line, and it's oozing down my face around my eyes.  I walk into the
surgery and the lady thinks I'm there for an emergency.  When I try
and explain that I have a long standing appointment I get the "Okay,
so you're a freak" routine.
I go back to see the doctor who, fantastically, doesn't even ask about the blood and immediately starts seeing to my throat and back.

After I've been seen, I go outside and begin walking home.  I text
Brian who had been keeping up with the story to now, to tell him cat must have run home.

About a block later I hear the tinkling and mewling.  He's standing on
Nursery Lane. You know, right in the middle of the road that has just nearly killed him.
I hesitate to pick him up and tell him he can walk home.

Of course I lose my nerve and pick cat up, having to hold him, one boy's hand and push other boy in the stroller.
About halfway home, another car buzzes us.  There is steady traffic
but this was a big box truck, taking up some of the sidewalk as well
as road.  Cat looks stupidly at me and tries to run under truck.  I
throw Leif around so he won't witness cat squashing.  I'm now cursing
myself for not taking his leash as I usually keep it in my pocket.
Then, he runs into this green corridor I mentioned earlier, as there is a hole in the fence.

I take the boys home and get cat leash.  I lock the boys inside,
figuring it won't take long if cat stays put. With any luck he is frozen in fear.
I run back down, half a mile to hear familiar tinkling.  Suddenly my neighbor drives up having gotten my urgent voice messages from before.  Cat loves Neighbor, he
comes out of brambles when he hears her calling.  She usually has cat
treats, you see.  I slip through hole in the fence and leash the
little bastard.  I ride home with him purring and shaking madly on my
lap.
We get home and he immediately runs in the catbox and fills it to the
brim and then goes and empties the entire cat dish - it was an ordeal
for him obviously.

I told him for any other cat - FOR ANY OTHER CAT - I'd have left the
little sucker.  Now he's laying on my bed sleeping.