Snyder Group to Continue Fight Over Santa Fe Depot

Snyder Group to Continue Fight Over Santa Fe Depot

A Country Christmas

The Tree

Who am I fooling? It's country everything out here! Where else would I have the opportunity to holler "There's a coyote in the lane!" with every expectation of someone in the house running out the door with a shot-gun? Honey, you don't get more country than that.

This year I feel I have a full hiatus from the holiday. I don't have grandchildren, yet, my kids are grown, and I only get presents for a few people, so I'm not cuckoo for Christmas. No, it's not a bah, humbug feeling, it's more like some sort of reality setting in. All the music, shows and icons of the season have been so over-played, so over-used, that experiencing any of those things is like having sand rubbed into a sunburn.

So, this year I shall take heart and enjoy my simple Christmas setting, because I have a sneaking suspicion that a baby will change my perception of the season in a drastic manner.

The Shystier, the Better

They Want To Help

The top shystery event that has happened to us lately is the resurgence of our Beall's account. Suddenly, out of the blue, we received a credit card from them. I asked the Mister to call them and see why they had sent it, since the account was paid off five years ago and we haven't had a card since.

Well, the boy on the phone said it was just an automatically issued replacement card and he showed our last payment as being in December of 2010. It was a bunch of bull and basically made me look like a liar, but I told Mister just to put it in his wallet and keep it away from me. It's something you would only want to use in a mighty hard pinch.

Then, about a week later, we get this letter from the company whose letterhead is featured above. They will be "protecting" us, without our asking, for a mere $1.99 per $100 of the card balance. Well, sure, at 26% interest on the card, why not just throw in another 2%? We are big spenders (card balance of 0). I think it all shows just how far credit card companies are willing to go to get your money. I like shopping at Beall's, but the thing with the card is pretty shady.

I think it's surprising that our very reputable bank is pushing hard for us to get a credit card. That's just a fool's adventure. Why would I pay a percentage more on bills and items when I can just pay them and be done, saving me loads of money? But my bank keeps sending all kinds of emails, wanting me to apply. It seems irresponsible in "this time of economic hardship", as the media puts it. Hey, things are going to hell in a hand-basket, so get yer credit card here! It's just senseless.*

Another rip-off we've encountered is on craigslist. Twice we've answered ads for vehicles, then we get an email explaining a complicated scenario about someone who's in the military and the vehicle is in Tucson or some such. It's very disappointing when you're looking for an affordable item and you have to deal with grifters.

The other day I kept getting a call that I thought was from a hotel I stayed in recently. I called them back and let them have it for how much I had to pay for their crappy hotel room and that I didn't owe them a red cent. The person I was talking to finally hung up when I used a word he didn't approve of. Then I Googled the number and found that the name of the agency is similar to the hotel, but was actually my student loan finance company. That one was on me, and I had a pretty good laugh about it.

* I don't really think things are going to Hades in a hand-basket, I'm just using status quo to make a point.

I Won't Feel Your Pain

Without Permission

The last book I gave my mother was The Help. She never got to read it.

Now, that's a pretty good line to start off an article with, isn't it? Perhaps you're wondering why my mother never got to read the book, and isn't that a very popular novel that was recently made into a movie? Now, if I said "My mother never got to read this book and you had BETTER be sad about it," you would probably be inclined to be just the opposite, maybe even dismissive. You've got to lead the reader into your story, not choke and beat them about the the neck and torso with it.


The last book I gave my mother was The Help by Kathryn Stockett, and she never got to read it because she died six weeks later. During the last of her life she was too weak to hold a book. Anyway, this is not about that. I'm actually trying to recommend three books to you: The Help, as aforementioned; Not Me by Michael Lavigne; and another book that I can't recall the title or author, but is about a woman who lives as a hermit in a house full German Jewish artifacts that her father dealt from a stolen cache. I've Googled and Googled, but I can't find it. Just try putting Jewish into any search engine and see if you're able to sort it out. I guess I should tap into my natural micro-managing talents and make a list of all the books I read for future reference. 


I normally don't like any literature dealing with civil rights or Jewish persecution because I've had it shoved down my throat my whole life, especially during my school years. My age group was taught to shoulder the guilt of eras that we couldn't comprehend. The tales were stereotypical, without detail, oversold and desensitizing.


With these books, it's as though the authors knew how to turn the crystal to show a different facet. In The Help I found characters who were very familiar to me, making me think "I know people exactly like that, mm-hmm." This story is about much more than civil rights. Just read it, I'm too full of explanation to explain it. I can't recommend the movie because I haven't seen it and probably won't see it. I'm purist about books that I like. I don't want any interference from outside sources into my own thoughts. I also think I wouldn't enjoy the movie because I would be saying "They didn't do it that way in the book" throughout the entire show.


Not Me was published in 2005, and is the only book about the Nazi occupation that has ever interested me. It was quite an eye-opener. The premise is gripping, but then the story speaks of historical data that I was unaware of, such as a civil war that was raging in Palestine and that people saved from concentration camps went on to fight in such. I may have the facts skewed, but it's a much different story from what I was taught, that victims were saved from camps and everything was hunky dory after that.


The third book, about an elderly woman who lives in a stately mansion filled with dinnerware and art stolen from Jewish families and bought by her long-dead art dealer father. Again, another perspective that I was unaware of, the scavenging of the holocaust victims homes, not always after their departure. I don't particularly like the ending, but that has something to do with my personal experience of the last actions in this book.


If you have been a jaded reader, these books will open an acceptable side-door for you to pass through. If you're not jaded, they're just plain good books.

Blind as a Chicken

The Rooster

This morning, early, around 5:30 a.m., I was standing on the porch and I noticed one of the roosters out in the yard under a tree. All I could see was his profile, a perfect cutout of his shape. I went out to see if he was alive or dead and realized that he couldn't see in the dark. I asked him what he was doing and he started clucking at me like one of the hens and acting helpless. I shooed him back to the shop so he wouldn't be out in the open. He seemed to be able to make out that he wasn't running into objects in the dim illumination of the security light, but once he got into the deep shadow behind the pick-up, he needed a cane. You're probably laughing at me because you already knew that chickens can't see at night, an explanation for roosting in trees and going to sleep at dusk, but I'm excited to know that I'm not too old to learn a simple lesson. Amazing!

'Til Death Does Us Part

View from Poet's Seat

The thing that really bothers me when I think of my own death is the usage of "she" by people describing me. I'm not worried about them saying bad things, it's just the thought of them talking about me like I'm the cat. They could be saying "She was a talented and beautiful woman" (not too shabby, aye?), but that past tense thing really bugs me. I just can't suppress the revulsion it makes me feel to know that's how it will be, because I do it regarding those that I have known to pass.

These death thoughts led me to recalling the legendary suicide of Sylvia Plath, a tale that slightly alters with each telling. Sometimes she sealed the door with tape, sometimes with wet cloths; sometimes she meant to do die, sometimes she didn't. Anyway, Plath's estranged husband spoke of her death as necessarily having to be over-dramatized by fans to fulfill some sort of Sylvia-delusion. He didn't say it like that, he was much more eloquent, also being a poet. When the wash was finally finished, the woman he had left Sylvia for also killed herself as well as their four-year-old child, and later, his and Sylvia's son committed suicide.

It seems that suicide used to be a rampantly over-romanticized way to die, or maybe it was just very casually used. I have a set of really horrible (you gotta read them) books, Hollywood Babylon & Hollywood Babylon 2, by Kenneth Anger, that portrays the suicidal deaths of many well known stars. The books are full of all kinds of Hollywood scandals, and the first one starts at the very beginning with silent films. There are many photos, some grisly, and both books are spell-binding. This set is one of my guilty pleasures. You'll kind of feel dirty when you're through perusing them.

One of the stories and photos that stick with me from the books is of actress Carole Landis, who was having an affair with actor Rex Harrison (Dr. Dolittle!) at the time of her death, ruled as suicide. In the photo she looks like she's kneeling down with an ear placed to the floor, wearing a pretty skirt and shoes that I wouldn't mind having. She doesn't look dead at all.

Now see how I'm talking about her? I don't want this to happen to me! So, when I die, please immediately forget me and never speak of me again, okay? Thanks! Whew! No photos, either, if you can help it.

You Are So Yesterday

2005

Fashion trends change every year and some people won't be seen in last year's togs for fear of dying from mortal embarrassment. I am the same way about who I am. I see things I've written or think of things I've said and I cringe at my absolute naivete that may not be so much as a week old.

Also, I get on my own nerves. I know a lot of people tell the same damn stories over and over again, but I want to kick myself in the shin when I find myself doing it. I won't let other people finish sentences. I will agree with whatever opinion is being given by whomever I am accompanying. My hair always looks like crap. I am judgmental, skeptical and cynical, but then I'll turn around and be entirely gullible. I think I am absolutely hilarious.

I'm not fishing for compliments or negations, these are the things I know about myself.

I am always striving to be a better, savvier me. Who isn't? I don't want to get mired down in the old style me and get too behind the times. If only I could use the new, improved inside of me with the old 18-year-old version of the outside of me. Dang, I'd have the world by the tail!

Jonathon Devitt dies at age 23

According to facebook sources, Jonathon Devitt, 23, of Northfield, Massachusetts died today after being removed from life support. Friends report that he had been diagnosed with bacterial meningitis. Devitt was originally from Snyder.

Update 11/14/2011: It is also reported from Devitt's facebook page by family and friends that he was an organ donor and contributed to the lives of three people. This story just breaks my heart.

Natalie Clark dies at 85

Natalie Clark of Snyder died in a Lubbock hospital on November 9. She was the mother of former Hobbs resident Jeanette Templeton. Clark died after one of two implanted heart stints failed.

Some Old Hippies

Dancing to the Bellamy's

I'm using old as a relative term, and just trying to be quippy, because we went and saw the Bellamy Brothers play on the bricks in Roscoe last night. Excellent performance, makes me wonder why we listen to new songs when so many good ones have already been written and sung. There was a big crowd, but it was loose and navigable, like the Willie picnics in the early '80's. I saw so many familiar faces. I can't imagine living somewhere where I haven't grown up. Even if you don't know someone directly, you know who they look like.

We ended up getting 3 4/10 of rain last weekend. I was running mail on Saturday in Mitchell County, and I should have taken a canoe instead of my truck, although I have a certain appreciation of the 4-wheel drive. It got me out of some tight spots (C'mon, c'mon, c'mon!). I didn't test for buoyancy, though. I saw some other folks who did. Trucks don't float.

 The weather is beautiful here, one of the reasons fall is my favorite season. I like autumn lighting. It makes it seem like mid-morning for a longer portion of the day, and 10 a.m. is the best time for me. I'm very hopeful and can think well around then. After that, no promises. In the afternoon, I can hardly remember my name.

Since I'm giving up politics and religion, I don't have much more to say. There's nothing to gripe about, now. I think I'll just hum an annoying tune and be happy.