Welcome, May!

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The past few weeks have been stressful. Training new employees, dealing with difficult customers, not sleeping well, not exercising (I’ve gained 20 pounds in the last two years), getting through family drama (two life-threatening events in the same day, 2000 miles apart: my dad’s heart attack in NM and a 9 year grandchild starting the rest of his life with Type 1 Diabetes) . . .  My CrossFit lifestyle withered into oblivion when I lost my job at the University in 2020, as Covid got going. Deep depression brought me to a standstill as I took a few months to try to reset. Since then, my physical status has been on steady decline. Now my daily schedule looks something like this: Work 3-11 pm (on a good day), Go to bed at 4 am, get up between 10:30 am and noon, get booted up and go back to work. If I get one day off a week I’m fortunate. At least I don’t have to work all night for now. That was the worst.  So I haven’t had time or energy to do much, even read, much less write. And since my

The Best Part Of The Day

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Some folks are morning folks. Others are "owls," the night-time folks. I'd like to think I'm a morning person because the evening comes on real fast for me nowadays. If I make it past 10:30 p.m., something's wrong. Know what I mean?

Don't get me wrong--I don't exactly bounce out of bed first thing, but the morning seems to be the best part of the day for me. As long as I have one or more of the following (I really don't care "when" during the day), I'll be fine:
  • Coffee
  • Eggs
  • Bacon and/or Sausage
  • Tortillas and/or Biscuits
  • Cheese (optional)
So for me, the best part of the day is when breakfast is served. Does that make me a morning person? Not necessarily. Just give me breakfast and everything'll be alright. 


I blame the Burrito Lady. If you don't know who the Burrito Lady is (we dubbed her "Mother Chorizo") then you ain't lived. Every day these local vendors would stop by the store selling fresh, hot, home-made burritos. Mother Chorizo was probably the best. She came to the back door of the place I worked, her grandson carrying an Igloo cooler filled with home-made breakfast burritos: scrambled eggs, sausage and bacon with potato and some jalapeno and the right sprinkling of cheese mixed in, all wrapped up in a fresh flour tortilla. Piping hot. For a buck, there was no better way to start the day. 

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