Good for your heart.
That’s the rhyme I learned. Mi esposa learned that beans were “the musical fruit”. We eat beans often in Santa Fe—as refritos or cooked whole, in a burrito, stuffed sopaipilla or frito pie, or atop a Navajo taco. After, we steam press our jeans.
Santa Fe is a low-built town. A three-floor limit allows views of the Sangre de Cristos north. I recall few elevators in 1976. One moled into a sub-basement where I worked with an old mainframe.
Elevator numbers grow as three-story exceptions arise. And parking structures descend. A commercial corridor planned nearby may add sixty-foot-high apartment and office enclaves.
That’s making a mountain out of a molehill. Santa Fe’s population has been fruitful and multiplied about twice since I came. The airport has full-size commercial flights. Before long, it’ll add another to its “Gate One”.
The airport’s NOAA station—about 8 miles away—feeds one of my weather apps. Its conditions and predictions agree with TV weather reports. My other app’s source is a Weather Underground contributor a few blocks away. I like second opinions.
Santa Fe is hilly enough for short-distance weather changes. The apps may report temperatures five degrees apart. And when it rains there it may not rain here: a scattered shower. I guess it doesn’t make a hill of beans’ difference to anyone but a computer weather junkie. Just step outside, look and feel. (And smell, unless the neighbor’s laundering with perfumed chemical additives.)
The April 2008 green issue of PC Magazine said,
A pile of our obsolete computers could make a 22-story mountain that covers the entire 472 square miles of the city of Los Angeles. Yep, that was 2008—9 years ago and then some. How deep has the pile gotten since?
We’ve gone through two phones, two tablets, and two laptops since then: one each of each. My old laptop bit the dust just this year. The pile is a quarter inch deeper in over a square foot area. We don’t go green very well with obsolete computers or the power used to run weather apps.
Going green in Santa Fe often means not going red. Chile, that is. With a dose of beans, and the thunder thereafter.