Gone Fishing

Courtesy of Mada Signs

I am off to Santa Fe, New Mexico for a spontaneous four day vacation! I am not really going fishing unless you count playing slot machines at a Casino as "fishing", which in that case would be fishing for the unlikely luck that I will leave with more cash than I came with. Very unlikely.
.
And yet I love the thrill of it all. I have never won more than $ 200 at one spin and never more than $ 400 in one visit and, okay, if I were asked to put this in perspective, I have gone to a casino maybe 3o times in all and I have left with some winnings three times at most. Not good odds, but shouldn't the thrill of anticipation count for something?
.
This is what I, along with JB, am going to do in Santa Fe:
.
1. Visit Art Galleries, one after another
.
2. Eat Mexican food
.
3. Drive to the art colony of Taos, and hopefully meet up with Blogland's very own Blissful Bohemian.
.
4. Eat Mexican Food.
.
5. Shop and Peruse
.
6. Eat Mexican Food
.
7. Find a Casino (preferably late into the wee night)
.
8. Eat Mexican Food

Why else would I have been on the South Beach diet for the last two weeks if not to eat Mexican Food?
.
These days I work three days a week, which I am paid for, and at least one half day a week writing reports, which I am not paid for. I call the latter my volunteer work. Until I took this job as a psychotherapist in an urban and poor city, I had been self employed for most of my career. I have owned a counseling firm, developed an artisan cooperative, promoted an arty movie theatre, started a restaurant, run workshops, built programs, provided career counseling, been a case manager, and given advice to businesses.
.
When my daughter was young, she used to squint her eyes and shake her head and say, "Mom, you mean people PAY you for your advice? That is SO ridiculous!"
.
Now I am a writer too.
.
Probably the most meaningful thing I've done for work was my two week stint in New Orleans three weeks after Hurricane Katrina. JB and I were literally plucked up by the American Red Cross and assigned as District Mental Health Area Directors . It was sheer luck that we ended up together, in the heart of New Orleans, holed up in the only hotel that at least had electricity. We were in Saint Bernard County, on the streets, when people returned to their homes for the first time. They found 12, 20 feet of mud inside their living rooms and their cars buried by muck in the driveway. We were there to witness them realizing they had lost everything. All day we saw families wearing knee high rubber boots scavenging through the mud to save one glass vase, one plastic watering can, small memories of a way of life incredulously gone in a flash.

I learned about privilege through my Katrina Stint. I had a working car and a cell phone and I could go anywhere I wanted, to every part of the city where no one else but the National Guard was allowed. I was a Red Cross Manager, I had authority. I would flash my badge and I became important, powerful. This was not something I misused but I could feel I was in the upper echelons.
,
I feel that power on the streets of the poor neighborhoods where I now work. I see clients in their homes, mostly, so I am driving all over the place. I drive a silver Toyota RAV, I wear only slightly dressed-up and mostly casual clothes, but I can tell the police, for example, know I am one of them. I am afforded a respect that comes with that. I don't misuse it or overplay that respect, but I notice it.
.
One day I am at McDonalds' and the cashier sizes me up and says, "You're not from around here, are you?" I laughed, "No, I'm not, but I'm here alot. Hey, why did you ask?" She smiles at me, "You just look different." I do. I am quite white for one thing, not black or Hispanic, like so many of the faces around me. I am probably older too. I often forget to notice. I think that is mostly good but sometimes I think I should be more aware, more vigilant. Still, when I smile, and I smile often, most times every one smiles back. That reminds me of something good, everytime.
.
Anyway, I work three long days a week and that is pretty good. The rest of my week is not boring, not one bit. I write, I help my mother, I have a list of chores a mile long, I walk Stella (not enough), I promote my book, I volunteer (slightly). I shop. I blog. I blog and lose track of time. An hour can pass and I fail to notice. I am the beneficiary of some true friendships from the blogs. I wouldn't have believed that was possible three years ago.

So now I am going to Santa Fe on a whim. JB has work there next week, but first we will arrive without any real idea of where we are or what we will do (except the Mexican Food Part.) I have my camera and my laptop and my sneakers and my moleskine and a wonderful partner-companion. And some stash for the casino. That is plenty.

I'm going fishing. If you don't mind, I'll be letting you know what I catch.