The Albuquerque Bio park is an oasis of water in the desert.
There is an aquarium, rose gardens, a gift shop and museum, a restaurant, and a little train that blows its whistle as it takes kids on a sedate ride through the grounds. The Park has been here over thirty years and is a result of private and public money pooled.
In the aquarium, Alma and I are below ground level, separated from fish by large glass panels that are the edge of their world and the beginning of ours.
In one tank, jelly fish float, almost transparent aliens with internal power plants lit up like Christmas ornaments.
Taking pictures for her Facebook pages, Alma returns to Marinduque in December. With family, a coconut farm, and the beginnings of a pig farm, she has reasons to be there. We humans have roots that keep us grounded. Jellyfish hold to nothing.
Recently an uncle who raised her and her brothers and sisters, after they were abandoned, passed. Working in Chicago, all she could do was wire money back to the Philippines and say a prayer for the man who took her in when no one else wanted her.
To have a hard life and still be enchanted speaks volumes about the human spirit.
Cars go until they don’t go. They are traded when they start to cost more than they are worth.
My Prius, an experiment in high tech, is gone.
When electronic systems start to malfunction you have to step back and decide how much you like the idea of forty five miles per gallon in town. Adding the cost of maintenance and repairs, it makes sense to step down to an old fashioned gas engine that gets thirty miles a gallon but can be repaired and maintained by most mechanics with wrenches and good diagnostic instruments.
My Yaris has a fancy name but it is just an inexpensive compact car. Loosely named after a Greek Goddess of grace, Charis, this little transportation car is more down to Earth than it’s name implies. With its modest price, it is never going to be mistaken for luxury. A four banger with automatic transmission, it has good styling, a big trunk, a cracked windshield that is part of an” as is ” sale, four doors and a mediocre sound system.
Our car relationships can be tenuous.
Not marrying or sleeping with our cars gives them a very short shelf life.
People tolerate performance issues with spouses much longer than their vehicles.
Me and my Yaris are doing okay thus far.
If cars could trade us in I would really start to worry.
There are plenty of left behinds at one of Alan’s rental properties, and, as a favor, I am working overtime to get things cleaned up for the next renter.
The last tenants, Section 8, left two weeks after they were supposed too, left food in the frig, a back yard full of refuse, stained carpet, damaged doors, leaky faucets, missing window screens and the smell of dereliction.
In the back yard are stuffed animals, clothes hangers, birthday cards, vacuum hoses, unused cleaning rags, baseballs, cardboard boxes and kitty litter. When tenants leave, they leave behind their don’t wants and seldom leave a place as it was when they moved in.
Utility bills pile up in the mailbox like unwanted holiday visitors.
Jackson Compaction has delivered a dumpster and into the dumpster has gone all the discards we can pack. Their motto is ” You Trash It; We Smash It. ”
Robert and I load the trash carefully, to save space, fill the container methodically, then lay carpet over the top to keep stuff from crawling back out.
There is no recourse. Ex-tenants, like ex husbands or wives, have already gone their way, found another nest to dirty, and don’t have money or resources to settle. Getting a hundred will cost two hundred.
There is painting to do, floors to be replaced, new kitchen cabinets to hang. When all is done, there will be another renter. My brother Alan says Section 8 will never happen again.
” That, ” he says, ” You can take to the bank. ”
The Solid Grounds Coffeehouse is a musical Saturday night on the town at Saint Steven’s Methodist Church in Albuquerque. The music is free, coffee and doughnuts are free, the spiritual tune up after the first set is free, and good friendly spirits are welcome.
Featured tonight is the Watermelon Mountain Jug Band, a local group who has performed in Albuquerque thirty years, more or less.
Their bio’s show them to be retired educators,their music to be more eclectic than jug band. their performing schedule expansive. They have a jug that sings when you blow across its lips, a washtub bass, spoons and a washboard, kazoo’s, and a New Mexico champion banjo player. They play Bob Dylan tunes, original compositions, country, folk, rock and roll, blues, Bill Monroe bluegrass, Bob Wills country swing, and even do Happy Birthday requests if they know about the birthday.
Two steppers are on the dance floor twirling tonight and the Watermelon jug band serves them a healthy plate of country swing in their first of two sets.
Southwest deserts and Southeast ” hollers ” both have experiences with poverty and making do.
Jug bands, like this one, say you don’t need fancy instruments or conservatory training to make people tap their feet, dance, sing along, and have a good time.
This dark blue Ford Ranger has seen better days.
Once, it was new on the lot and a salesman kicked its tires, opened its doors and sweet talked clients into the driver’s seat to take a whiff of its new car smell. Windows opened and closed, air conditioning cooled and the heater warmed. The engine purred.
Now, doors are banged and there is rust where its skin has been punctured, windows are rolled down and have cracks that look like road maps. You aren’t going to see Cadillac’s or Volvo’s or Mercedes in a McDonald’s lot. You see old cars, used cars, cars that have things wrong but still get people to work if they are lucky enough to have a job.
On this vehicle the message is the same from every direction – Jesus Saves.
If someone driving this beat up pickup feels saved, I want to pick up their Bible and see what they have highlighted in yellow.
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