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Rio Rancho, New Mexico, United States
I'm a Proud Navajo, Father, Husband, Brother, Son, and Friend. I'm all about cheap thrills, guitar pickin', and writing about the adventures of my life. I'm never politically correct.

Thursday, June 30, 2005

The tractor

It was still dark when I awoke. As manage to roll over with all those blankets, I could hear my chei walking around in the blackness. I knew it was him because of the way he would take his steps. Slippers rasping on a dusty wooden floor. How he moved in the dark without coliding with unseen obstacles was unlearned only until recently, he saw without seeing. He knew where everything was, the stove, the chizh, and the match. I guess when you reach a certain age, you pay attention to where everything was. Without learning, you would stumble alot.
A match was lit, only after the ashes were dumped and kindling was placed, and the fire was then started. As the little fire rose, he added larger pieces to heat the cabin and expell the mountain chill. There was dancing light on the ceiling, on two walls, and his face. He was a old man as I remember, the small fire casted his shadow on the ceiling, but he was an old young man. He placed the burner plates back and all I could see was the fire burning through the cracks and holes in that ancient trading post stove and smell of burning pine filled the one room cabin, chei finished getting dressed. He later walked out the front door and then to where, I didn't know.
I threw off the volumous blankets that protected me from the Chuska range cold and ran over to the stove to get warm again. My Ma'sani' was up also. She would tell me to make sure that I help Grandpa as much as I can because she was worried that he would hurt himself. You see, shichei was a man who would refuse to show weakness, especially in his seemingly old age. I looked out the window and I saw nothing except for the predawn glow of Father Sun coming out of his slumber. I also heard nothing. I wondered where he was as I turned like chicken in a Shiprock market rotisserie, as some of you know, the side of you away from the stove gets cold in a hurry. All of this and trying to stay awake made for a hard morning until the growl of the chainsaw reminds me of a work filled day. I was fifteen at the time, and I had the duty of driving the truck to haul the firewood. Chei took his trusty John Deer with the log hook. We would use his tractor to pull logs from piles to make them more accessible to remove limbs and cross cutting them into blocks and then fill the pick-up truck to be hauled back to the cabin.
We spent all day gathering wood. After finding the naturally seasoned fallen wood, dried by the Chuska Sun, he would saw while I held the log so it wouldn't turn or fall. If a supporting piece was cut off, I would feel it twist or fall but I couldn't allow it. Man those logs were heavy. All the while, my cheii would tell me the meaning of life. He taught me to always achieve. No matter what, strive to learn. Navajo or white, learn the ways so you can be better than nothing.
He asked my brother and me one time in his grumbly Navajo Godfather voice, "are you a shit-dog?"
All I could think was my chei cussed, but my little brother can only ask, "what's a shit-dog Grandpa?" The little dude saw a window to cuss.
"Well, a shit-dog is a dog that don't do shit", my cheii said.
Enlightenment abounds...alas the meaning was known. My cheii said that alot. "Don't be a shit-dog," he would say.

My chei was born in 1910 and was raised in the traditional light of the Dine', the Navajo way, but he always had a fascination of the whiteman and his ways. It all started when he was a little boy when he saw what they had. The car was one of the things that brought him wonder. He knew that the way of life for all the Dine' would never be the same, so he decided that he must learn and the only way of doing that was to go to school. He was one of a very few that actually ran away to school. He was not wanting to be white, he just wanted to know what they know because they seem to have knowledge from a different world, a knowledge that is not mostly mystical but logical.
Whenever we visited my grandparents as a young kid, I alway saw my grandad in the garage tooling around with engine parts or building something and he always had a book near by. He had all kinds of books and magazines which included subject matter such as horticulture, mechanics, manuals, and the news of the world. He used to tell us stories about the second world war and some of his adventures. Every time we came to see him he had a story to tell or a lesson to give. We always went home with something to ponder.

As the sun made the shadows from the trees longer, it was time to go back to the cabin and unload the last load of chizh. This time it was different, told me to drive the tractor. As far as I could remember, nobody was allowed to drive his tractor, nobody. Even asking him would be sacrilegous. But there I was with my grin from ear to ear and my heart full of pride. It was indeed an honor.
Well, my chei left this world in 2003 but not without seeing me graduate with an engineering degree. For him to tell me how proud he was of me made me feel like that day I got to drive his tractor.

Wednesday, June 29, 2005

I didn't know you get friggin' two strikes in softball. Who woulda thunk?

Damn, twice, yes, twice I struck out. Man this is getting ridiculous and expensive. First time I was up there I took the first pitch and it hit the plate, ball one, next pitch, the ball hit just behind the plate, strike. Then those damned drunk fuckers behind me are cheering me on because they're thirsty and watching me miss this pitch would confirm a full cooler next week. Damned degenerates. I know, I should keep better company. Swing and a miss. I looked like I was flailing at a pinata like an idiot with my pants down and my shirt over my head. To top it off, I stood there like a dumbass unknowing that I had struck out. I was remembering back to last week's equally humiliating K. Did I miss twice or three? No, twice. First swing was a foul. So I figured, first foul is a strike and then two swings, I'm out. No, this was SLOW-PITCH SOFTBALL not BASEBALL and there are only 2 strikes allowed at the plate. Throw me a friggin bone here.

The second time I was up, I got 2 balls and a strike, a softball full count; the last pitch hit the corner of the plate and I started my trot to 1st base when blind bastard behind the catcher punched me out. I screamed, "it hit the plate, blue!" My appeal did me no good. Disgusted I walked to the dugout with my fans (yes, they are my fans now) giving me high fives and chanting,"60!" and "Viva Curley!" Maybe I'll go down to a South Valley liquor store and find the crappiest beer possible. Even worse, I'll bring Zima!

I should just stick with things that I'm still good at..... tetherball, checkers, and thumbwrestling.

Hear me now out there in internetland, NO MORE K's. !K NO MAS!

Tuesday, June 28, 2005

My Master Plan

So I say shit about his chain of stores. Then he dies. I didn't mean to start at the top. Closer to the dark side, I get.

I need to turn down my evil thoughts, they seem to be coming true.

But the place which we do not speak of still exists. RIP John-boy.

Escape


One in Sandia's Shadow
Originally uploaded by jaecee.
I feel like floating away in one of these balloons... seeing where the wind takes me. Far away sounds good.

Maybe on my return I'll sell my story for a gozillion bucks.

Thursday, June 23, 2005

The Fast Way


Path once taken
Originally uploaded by jaecee.
Had to take a picture of this sign. Every where else they call them speed bumps but not in NE Albuquerque I guess. Maybe that's why there are so many weirdos here......everbody is just speed humpin'. It's probably just me because I might be the only one that finds this shit funny. Rock on.

Wednesday, June 22, 2005

Softball high lights and some other crap

First, the other crap


In the news, I turned on my tv and saw that waste of space, Jennifer Wilbanks. I take it back please don't ever ever come back to this good city because you would just make it suck. Central Avenue is too good for people like you (and Katie Couric). Why was this NEWS? Does it change the world? What happened to real journalism? As I have told you good people, don't worry about her she's laughing all the way to the bank. Sickening, I know.
However, I am so glad that boy scout was found!



This ain't baseball!


Hey we won yesterday. Holy crap am I sore. A dude was coming from third and for some reason here comes the ball from left center and dribbling towards me. I knelt down like it was the good ol' days of shin pads and chest protector.....but this was slow-pitch softball so there was non of that except the sweat pants that I was wearing. Boom. Ooowwwwww!!! Cheer!!! and then OOOOOOO!!!! It would have been a close call but I dropped the ball because the chump stepped on my left foot and slammed into my left elbow. After hopping around and cringing from the pain I continued to play.... there had to have been blood because I could feel it... flowing around the other piggy that was next to it. I was too afraid to remove my shoe yet, if I did I wouldn't be able to get my foot back in again. So my shoe basically held my foot together. To top this off, I struck out once after being 2-2 at bat. Damn, all I hear from the whole park was ......... "DAAAAAAMMMMMMMNNNNN"!!! The cost for such an act...30 pack.

Fun experience....priceless.



Rock on.

Sunday, June 19, 2005

My Day being a Dad



Well the day started pretty well, got to sleep in a little, blogged briefly with my morning coffee...it was going to be a great day,but not without its fair share of events that just seem to test every parent's will.

In the Beginning.........

We had a couple of places that I would like to visit on this day of the Dads - Olive Garden for some Italian vittles, the bookstore, the golf shop, Home Depot, the grocer for some suds, and scoot back to the pad for an evening of relaxation. Hah, two out of 5 was the count. While in the Olive Garden my wife and I noticed something was amiss about the BooGah's appearance; her bangs were way uneven. So, after an extensive interrogation the truth came out. She had cut her hair with a pair of scissors that we had overlooked. Grrrr. After getting out of restaurant we decided to go to Home Depot for some parts for my new tailgating grill and some propane but it soon came to a halt when the BooGah decided to throw a fit because she wanted to go home so I opted to go to the bookstore to try and salvage the day because y'know, everybody likes books. Well, it didn't go that way either. After paying for my selections of a couple of Navajo language books, coloring books, and a copy of the new Team Sleep, we got back in the truck to hopefully go to the local Smiths for some German hootch but for some reason (if you are a parent of a 3 year old, I'm sure you will understand) I put little BooGah's coloring book into the bag along with the other books, but she didn't want it that way...she wanted to hold them. So without hesitation pulled the book out of the bag but it was too late, the deed was done. I broke her rule. But I'm the BOSS and it's friggin' Father's Day!!! "That's it we're going home," I shouted! I'm going to have a good day if it's the last thing I do. So home is where we went. I got some of my last batch left, that'll do and I don't need a new putter today, but the day was still young.

At about 6:45 in the p.m. when I was just settling down to do some last minute relaxing when the BooGah came running up to me telling me, with tears in her eyes, that she had swallowed a shiny marble. Well, we deduced it was a small ball bearing that I saw lying in a box that we were unpacking. Aaaarrrrrgggghh!!! I'm at my ropes end but I had a chance to become the hero again. To the phones!! After being on the phone for about 15 minutes with the local poison control, we were instructed that there shouldn't be any immediate concern, unless it had grease on it or if it was certain that it was indeed a steel object and not lead, which it wasn't. The conclusion....check the poop for the next few days. My baby girl is going to be OK. Wheww!

A Dad's job is never done. I love my kid, even though she has a screwed up haircut and ball bearing in her tummy and I have to follow her around with a magnet; it's all good. I wouldn't change a thing. You gotta love them or else we'd just eat them.

HAPPY FATHERS DAY

Friday, June 17, 2005

A Father's Day Someday

M Age 3



Dear M,

You turned 15 this year. Wow, the funny thing is that, in my mind, you are still that little 3 year old that I used to hold and cuddle. There is not a day that I don't think about you. I hope someday that we be able to come together and share our lifes stories with each other, I'll be waiting because I have a lot to tell you. I always wonder if you know about me. I hope you do. Above all, I hope that you are happy.

You have two little sisters and I tell them about you but they are still too young to understand why their big sister isn't here. K, the older one, is 3 and reminds me of how you acted and played when you were 3. She looks just like you. She asked me one day what your favorite color was and I didn't know. I'm hoping that someday you can tell her yourself.

Love,
DAD

Wednesday, June 15, 2005

I've fallen and I can't get up!


Well, I'm having trouble getting started in my quest to become the mean lean fightin' machine that I used to be. Man, it's been like 16 years since I ran a football on old Judd Avey Field and I remember it like it was yesterday. I'm not sure who we played last but I remember that I felt like someone special died that night. I remember counting down to the last seconds and I had my uniform still on and I knew, I just knew that I could do it just one more time. But that was it. Nevermore. But, I remember those Friday nights with the lights and people screaming and cheering on the bleachers and side lines, especially when the Hornets or Wilcats came to town, damn, those were the days. I also made sure to get tackled on their side of the field so I could say hi to their cheerleaders. Hee Hee, you know who you are.

Now the Saturday mornings was a different story.... Coach made us come out on the Saturday morning to assess all injuries and review the game from the night before. I remember waking up in the morning and putting on my practice gear and helmet with the aches and pains. I would go to practice with a headache and ringing ears because of the head blows from helmet to helmet contact. Shins all scraped up, bruised hands, Charlie horses, and I had a sore neck from that face mask shit, damned Roadrunners. At first it sucked, for one you're pissed at the coach for fucking up Saturday morning cartoons and making you run your kinks out even though it's 38 degrees out and in the wind, but by the end of the practice.... it was all better. The pain was near nothing. Just a little ice was all that was needed.

Now, it's 2005, and when was the last time you fell down? Damn, well I fell down while out on a site visit for my job. Not too far.....just stumbled over some sage brush and then boom, there was the ground. I got up with no problem and went on our journey back to Albuquerque. When I got out of the car, it hit me.....pain from my knees to my wrist along with that the soreness from the small hike. Dammit. Dammit to hell!! I'm old and way out of shape. My once strong nimble muscles all at once screamed, "Set your old ass down because this walking shit hurts like a mutherfucker." Damn.

Well, here's the problem....I've been on a quest to reduce the girth of this Indian and my knees have never hurt before. Well they do now. I got to do something different than my usual routine of running around my block. I don't think I am going to be able to jump in to a rigorous routine of heavy lifting and running, although I am an experienced weight lifter and super stud. Heh heh. No, I have to take baby steps... baby steps, even that sounds "wuss". Well, I've taken up walking and biking to keep the impact low on my knees. I hope I can run someday soon without stopping for the pain. I can almost hear the Chariots of Fire theme. Wish me luck.

"I coulda been a contenda".

Monday, June 13, 2005

New Mexico, the Grand Canyon State.........you got me, I made that shit up.

Remember the runaway bride? A woman once thought to be kidnapped and taken to a place to be made into sex slave stew with leftovers found in mason jars...then to be found on the Central Avenue in beautiful Knob Hill community of Albuquerque, New Mexico and later confessed that she couldn't handle an extravagant wedding with the love of her life and witnessed by her closest of friends and relatives; yeah that still kills me, Central Avenue. You remember? Well apperently some of her bullshitting ways have rubbed off on another, the Whistleblower as he's known, Mr. Tommy Hook.

Mr. Hook got the sympathy of the nation with his purple, blood crusted, and puffy face framed by a c-collar. Yeah, at first I admit that I thought there had been a conspiracy to keep Tommy silent by the Los Alamos Labs Nerdville mafia. The story as it was that he was called by somebody that worked at LANL to meet at the Cheeks gentlemans club in Santa Fe and was later beaten to a pulp by thugs that wanted to keep him from testifying about financial irregularities at the labs. Well, it was working all the way until you got a lap dance. Uh huh, Tiffany sold you out...how you wanted it freaky and all. Tommy, Tommy, Tommy, I'm not sure what to say to you....your old lady woulda found out anyway. The evidence would have been everywhere. Glitter, that shit gets everywhere. It'll be in your shorts and you know for certain that you never ever took off your pants. Next time you go to the titty bar, just tell the truth about where you are going. I don't want to write about you again. But then again, it's fun as hell.

Wednesday, June 08, 2005

My Backyard Part One

It's like a blank canvas, a whole quarter acre. All I have back there is a gas grill, dirt, assorted weeds, a tennis ball, more dirt, two heelers, and dogshit. Hmmmmmmm. Pros and Cons.....I thought of wall to wall grass, too much water; concrete patio, too much concrete; flagstone, pissed off natives; gravel, too boring; astroturf, too fake.

I think a decision matrix is needed

Maybe I'll rent it out as a concert venue. Rock on.

Saturday, June 04, 2005

Whewww.......

My hiatus from the evil place continues. This entry may, of course, may jinx my extended withdrawal. The dark side is lurking, always watching, like coyote.........waiting for you to fall.

I drove by two today........it was sitting there with a belly full of the once happy and the dumb. I throw a finger in your general direction...Ha Ha Ha Ha. You will not turn me into the festering chum within your gullet. I am free. I have found Target, Linens N Things, and the Albertsons. I shall not enter your doors of doom without vulerability or powerlessness. I shall persevere.

Friday, June 03, 2005

Ten Years of Bliss

To my lovely Karen,

Wow, ten years. Happy Anniversary Honey! As I wake each morning, I am truly grateful for you. You've stood by me through all the good and bad times. I don't think that I could have done with anybody else.

I remember the first time I saw you...toolin' around with that ditto machine, you are still beautiful, thoughtful, and kind as ever. I love you.