#my dad skipped lunches to save up money to buy mom gifts

[striving-artist]

I'm...not sure food-based punishment IS okay? (I don't mean "you need to eat this because it's (supposed to be) healthy for you even if you don't like it", I mean "I am specifically making you eat a food you don't like because you did a Bad Thing"). Idk i think food as a punishment (and even reward) system could foster a lot of unhealthy eating habits or attitudes towards food.

But i've also never had kids and don't plan on doing so, so my opinions on that are all theoretical

Got a whole whole bunch of answers in various forms. Hallsy, I’m using yours to post because a bunch of comments went beyond the scope of that post so I don’t wanna clog it up.

(Crap this is long because I was working through my own thoughts and I don’t feel like editing)

— TLDR: parenting is hard, long as it’s not malicious, I’m probably not grabbing my pitchfork. —

One: didn’t know he told his kid they were normal apples. That’s nine new layers of wtf.

General Consensus seems to be that any tying of food to punishment (or reward) is shaky ground. And a lot of general statements on kids and food, all fascinating. Couple of comments for intuitive eating, which I think is a mostly great thing… but feels a little disconnected. It isn’t always applicable if you’re broke. Same thing with offering kids a different option if they don’t like that food. If you can only afford the single vegetable on sale and covered by Snap(they’ve improved the system but it’s still imperfect) that week, or if you’re eating whatever the food bank had, disliking a food isn’t enough reason to not eat it. I’m an adult, still hate veg, and still make myself eat some.

If they truly hate it, sure, you’ll avoid it and won’t make them eat it. But when the choice is Kid eats Zero Produce or Kid eats French Cut Green Beans, most parents are gonna insist they eat the beans. Kids are not logical or consistent. Yesterday they adored beans, today, they’re having a tantrum. Planning for their moods is hard, and I often side with the parents.

I also got a lot of general vibes of “the parents should never make a mistake in child rearing” that made me uncomfy. I wish that was a option. Really. But its not gonna happen. Ever. Not only does advice and recommendation change over the years, parents are humans. If you get home after two eight hour shifts in a row and need to make dinner, I can’t blame you for only making one meal choice or being a little snippy when they decide corn is the devil. Heck, less than that.

Legumes make my stomach real unhappy. I didn’t understand why but I knew I didn’t want to eat them. As in, they once said I couldn’t leave the table til I ate the dinner (chili) so I stayed there til midnight. (this was when dad realized this wasn’t just me being a brat and he’d make sure there was a spare stack crackers and extra cheese) But there were three kids, and it took til I was out of the house before it mostly stuck in my moms head that I hated legumes. (It’s cool. I never remember her birthday, she still sends me legume recipes) I know it made her batty that I fought every vegetable. My family loved veg and fruit. I had to be bribed to eat other than my four acceptable ones. I would also have found me very frustrating and probably said “eat it or not, but I’m not making you your own meal” pretty often. Parenting is exhausting y’all.

There’s also the factor of multiple kids. My siblings faves were meals I despised. (See above, chili, which the whole family loved) And vice versa. I’d i was happy, they were suffering. Cooking full alternate meals wasn’t an option(god we were poor) and yeah, they’d give me more of the part I hated least, and I never went to bed hungry, and it wasn’t done as punishment, but my child brain sure as heck thought it was.

The most damaging food based childhood thing wasn’t punishment, it was how hard they tried to avoid wasting food. Again, I get it. They bought the food that was on the cusp of going bad, it couldn’t sit in the fridge for five days. But that meant my dad pushed this No Leftovers thing. And, if you put it on your plate, you had to eat it. All three of us, to this day, have trouble leaving food on the plate even if we’re full. Again, not great, good intentions, he didn’t want us to starve, caused some issues, but not punishment because it wasn’t intended or treated that way.

Specifically on the punishment via food thing, I still find a weird grey zone here.

Say you have four meals planned for the week. One is your middle child’s top five foods. Middle child fights a kid at school. You decide to change plans and not cook that one tonight. (It’s me, I am middle child) that’s definitely in the Punishment category, because you’re withdrawing a promised Good Thing. But I’m totally cool with it now. I took that kid down hard, no, I don’t get to have my fave that night. Or the next.

That’s in the pile of ‘until you X to make up for it, you can’t have Y’ which is a solid thing to me? “Until you apologize for stealing all the crayons from your brother, you can’t keep coloring.” That’s instructive and reinforces better behavior. It being food makes it shaky. I get that. It’s why I asked for opinions in the first place.

I think I’m drawing my line between foods you dislike vs hate. You’re not starving, you’re just not happy about dinner.

And seriously, fuck that guy for the sneak attack spicy apples. If you and your kid show mutual affection via pranks, I’m probably okay with it, cause it’s one bite, they spit it out, and begin plotting revenge. Also, if they’re old enough to pull pranks, they’re old enough to understand that it’s not malicious. But dude. Wtaf

[oreithya]

It’s taken me over a week of being back out east to wrap my head around on of my feelings surrounding my Christmas Break trip home. I think it is time to write about it in hopes of starting to get it off my mind.

You might remember that my dad got really sick over Christmas two years ago. It started with finding out he had terminal cancer two days before I left ship and flew home, and then got progressively worse each day. All the happy memories have Christmas have been replaced by the memories of having to call an ambulance for him Christmas Eve, memories of leaving him behind crying in the hospital room Christmas morning, and memories of being told the cancer has spread to his brain Boxing Day.

Last year I went home for the holidays as was usual and it was awful. My grandparents and most of that side of the family had left town, so it was me, my mom and brother in our depressing house, with an aunt and uncle to visit for Christmas dinner. Mom refused to let us have a Christmas tree, or put out the other decorations, but said we couldn’t skip the holiday entirely because she liked presents. It was awful, and I swore to myself I would save enough money to avoid it this year. And I did.

When I got the okay from mom to celebrate Christmas a couple of days early so that I could fly down to Panama for most of the actual holiday I forgot a couple of key things. First was that my brother may still live at home, but was equally capable of bailing on a situation he didn’t want to be in. Second was my never-ending capacity to feel guilt towards my mother. This guilt led to me never fully being able to relax and enjoy my trip, but it also made it harder than ever to face her, and face being in Vancouver at all.

So I flew back to Vancouver on schedule, but after one night was escaping up to Whistler to ski and have some space to myself. Then after another night in Vancouver was on a flight to Victoria to stay with the boy from ship last summer. The longest stretch of time I actually spend in Vancouver wound up being the three days following Panama, and I was miserable and hid in the basement for as much of them as possible.

Realistically, the 24hrs in Victoria were the best part of my time at home. The boy met me downtown, we headed to the Drake for a couple of beers with his friends, then checked out a new noodle place for lunch. We then bought some chocolate cake for later and made our way back to his tiny house. Back at his place we smoked a bit, exchanged Christmas gifts and another ship friend came over for a drink. Once she left we moved on to red wine and he cooked me an absolutely incredible dinner.  Unfortunately for the plans we had made for later, I fell asleep on the couch the instant I put my bowl down. He woke me up a couple hours later to ask if I wanted desert or if I just wanted to head up to bed. I chose the latter so we climbed up into the loft and I fell back asleep cuddled up against him. We had had plans to head out to a couple of bars and meet up with people, but he didn't seem to mind my not being up for any of it. The next morning started with him making me breakfast and boozy coffee. We wandered to the nearby thrift shop to browse, then headed back to his place to relax a bit. When the afternoon came we wound up at his mom’s house, which was a little strange for me, but meant that I got to see his woodworking shop, which is in the old boathouse on her property. It’s beautiful, open onto the water, and with a wood stove for heat. Eventually I had to get on a ferry back to the mainland, so he dropped me off at the terminal with just a quick kiss for a goodbye.

As amazing as the Victoria-portion of the trip was, I am really not sure what to make of it. He didn’t insist on taking me shopping to buy me things like last time, or on buying my ticket home; but he did give my a lovely backpack and a pair of pants from Thailand for Christmas. And it definitely seems weird to bring a girl you’re casually sleeping with over to your mother’s house to meet her, especially when it’s one you’re lucky to see once every few months. I really wonder what she thinks of me, and what he told her about who I am.

I also worry that I’m clinging too much to the Victoria-portion of the trip just because the Vancouver-portion was so bad.

[godihatethissideofme]

Dude why does it feel like especially my life sucks. Especially when I know it's actually going pretty great. She makes me feel guilty about having money so much of the time. I grew up with little disposable money. She always had money to buy snacks or for petrol and what else whereas I had to ask for money for eveything. I remember my mom would give me money for a movie based on how much the ticket cost for a loooong time. I had no pocket money and what money I saved was taken away from me. She has no idea but that is a thing I still think about a lot from my childhood. My sister was in another town then and she used to get money to spend there. I used to get no money. I had tried to ask for a pocket money of sorts many time but every time it would start andy parents would skimp out in the 2nd month itself. I wanted to buy headphones, watches, shoes and whatnot. My parents just straight up said no when I asked for any of those. Money was not meant to be wasted. When I joined college I bought my own clothes for the first time in my life. People used to just order clothes online and I thought, y'all just do that? Like...is that how you have clothes that you don't get made fun of for? All the clothes I had, I had because someone had gifted them. I wasn't poor but in the process of my mother vonstantly thinking about my sister in another town and my dad busy doing I don't know what, I was forgotten. Nobody told me I was supposed to buy my own clothes. My mom and sister would go shop for he clothes when she was here but nobody ever took me to buy things and if I asked for money it was just a no. I grew up in an environment where you don't buy things you don't need. There was 1 year when many of our relatives came over to visit and as is customary handed out some money. I saved that money and added in my own over the course of the year. I had planned to buy a pair of headphones and a watch with the ₹2000 I had saved up. I knew which ones, I knew the price, I just had to buy them. A few weeks later my mom was heading out to get groceries and asked for some of my money because she needed cash urgently and didn't have any on hand. I gave her ₹500 and she promised she would give it back later. Over the course of the next months my sister too borrowed ₹1000. Again I was promised that the money would be returned. Some months later I asked them for the money back, they said they'd return it later. I asked again later, I was shrugged off, the repayment postponed for later. This happened multiple times. At one point I flipped out asking for money and they said to me "why are you always cribbing about money?" My mom was earning and my sister used to get ₹2000 and sometimes more on top because her expenses ran over. They couldn't collectively return the money that I had saved up from the gift money over the course of an year and more including the repayment. I felt betrayed. Swindled by my own kin. It was a small amount for them but it a big share of the money I had. It was all I had. My sister still refuses this ever happened. The amount was so small for them, they don't even remember the incidence. Since then it has always been a thing "he's stingy about money".

Once, when I was older, I was going over to another town for an exam, my uncle (dad's brother) was there and he was going to look after me while I was there, which was just a day. Before I was sent off, my dad gave me some money and said "if you need more money, ask your uncle for it. It's nothing like that between us."

When I was in college, my mom calculated that a one time meal cost about ₹50 in our cafe, I would eat 30 days a month, 2X a day (lunch and dinner), that brings my monthly expenditure to ₹3000. I used to play basketball in mornings in college and used to get really hungry for breakfast. Bananas were cheap so I would fill up on that and then have a cheaper lunch. I used to skip meals so I could buy something like a new shirt or eat out once in a while, eat cheaper meals, skip outings. I asked for money again too if I ran out of it but then I would have to explain why I ran out of it and I would have no justification. I dreaded the begging part. Asking mom was still easier, what if she put dad on. That was going to turn into a family discussion that I didn't want to fall into. During one of our fest, many stalls had put up shop in our college. Shops being shops, were expensive. What's worse was, it was month end and I was running out of money. Friends would call me over to eat from stalls but I would refuse with various reasons but it was all because I had no money. I had run out of it. For 2 days of the fest, I at 2 samosas for lunch and a creamroll for dinner and nothing else throughout the day. One friend offered me a bite of his mushroom curry and I wanted it so bad, but I refused. I was starving but didn't have it in me to ask for the money before the 1st of the next month. When it was 1st and I hadn't received the money, I called up and said "it's the 1st so...can you send the money?" I at a full plate that day and more on top of that.

Checking my bank's website and downloading the month's statement to examine where I lost the money and then figuring out how to avoid such expenses was a weekly task.

After few months my dad started sending me more money though. I guess he realised that I was asking for money before month end so obviously wasn't enough. He started sending me ₹5000. That felt like such a huge kick in my gut. A good kick. I vould eat so much more. Almost twice as much as before. I started going out too. I could also save money to buy things now. Hedonism to the max. After my first year's result, he sent me ₹25k once. A reward for good grades. My grades were shit. I had so much balance at my disposal that if I was careful I could life a better college life for a long time.

They're not bad people. Maybe misunderstood. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I'm the bad person.

I have money now and I'll admit I never went hungry but I never had a lot or money. Even late into high school I couldn't buy a packet of chips on my own, I had to ask my mom for the money and then justify the expense.

I value money a lot. The idea of not having any scares me. It reminds me of the time I would vhecked my wallet to see what could I afford to eat and then bought a ₹10 creamroll for lunch. I remember the helplessness and the feeling of not knowing how I was going to eat for dinner even if I've been though it just once. And I don't want to be there ever again.

[loansguide01-blog]

A Week In New York City On A $65,000 Salary

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A Week In New York City On A $65,000 Salary

Welcome toMoney Diaries, where we’re tackling what might be the last taboo facing modern working women: fund. We’re asking millennials how they expend their hard-earned money during a seven-day period — and we’re tracking every last dollar.

Today: a kindergarten teacher who makes $65,000 per year and spends some of her money this weekend on strawberry gelato.

Occupation: Kindergarten TeacherIndustry: EducationAge: 28 Locating: New York, NYSalary: $65,000 Paycheck Amount( 2x/ month ): $1,935

Monthly ExpensesRent: $1,475 for my half( I share a one-bedroom with my boyfriend, and we divide household expenses evenly .) Student Loan: $168 minimum, though I usually pay a little bit closer to $200 Netflix: $10.99 Phone: I pay my mommy $79 for the family planInternet: $45 Energy: ~$ 30 HBO:$ 0( We use my mom’s boyfriend’s account .) Spotify: $0.99 thanks to a three-month trialThe Be.come Project: $35 Retirement: $110 with 6% employee match Savings: $300 – $400( I put about $200 in a high-yield savings account and $100 into a separate account for travel/ big buys. I also use a credit card for almost everything, which I pay off monthly, and transfer all the money back into this account .)

Annual ExpensesAmazon Prime: $119

Day One

7: 30 a.m. — I wake up to my boyfriend, R ., up and about before our alarms go over. It’s Saturday, but we both have to work this morning. We teach at the same school, which requires educators to attend a few admissions-related events per year, and today happens to be one of mine. He coaches basketball, and they have a game this morning. I start getting ready and try to feign it’s not the weekend, even though I was up until 2 a.m. I hold cold spoons under my eyes to try and minimize the puffiness caused by one too many glasses of wine at last night’s happy hour( s ).

9 a. m. — After a shower, some granola, a cup of coffee, and making myself fairly presentable, I take the subway to the school, where a few of my teacher friends are also running the event. I feel energized when I see them, and we expend the next 3 hour schmoozing and answering parent questions. I feel really aligned with the school’s philosophy and enjoy working there, so it isn’t too hard for me to sell it, but the constant mingling and smiling is tiring. I didn’t think I’d ever work for a private school but I applied here when I first moved to New York and was still in the process of switching over my out-of-state teach certification, a very slow process because I was struggling to pay for all of the requirements. Fast forward a few years, and I’m still here. It can definitely be tough to navigate the fine line between business and education at a private school, but this works for me for now and, while the bar is high and a lot is expected of us, I’m grateful for being treated relatively well.

12: 30 p.m. — Eventually done! I call R. to see if he’s wrapping up too so we can start our weekend. He fulfils me at school, and we defy the recommend to skip out of the building out of sheer excitement to get a break from it after being there for six days in a row. We take the develop home, and I’m back in my pajamas within 30 seconds of walking into our apartment.

3: 40 p.m. — We decide to order this week’s groceries online. We do this pretty often because there aren’t any big grocery stores in our neighborhood. That is something that allows us to get everything all at once and split it down the middle, without leaving the sofa. I place an order of orange juice, chicken sausage, almond milk, cheddar cheese, ice cream, cauliflower crust pizza, clementines, frozen berries, bananas, a rotisserie chicken, gluten-free pasta, tortilla chips, salsa, pesto, chickpeas, coffee, rice cakes, granola, avocados, buzzer peppers, carrots, broccoli, and sweet potatoes, then send R. a Venmo request for half. $84.04

7 p. m. — I expend the afternoon lounging in bed with our cat. Eventually, R. and I order from our favorite taco place. We take turns paying for Seamless orders, and today it’s my turn. We order a bunch of tacos, rice, beans, and maduros. This place is a splurge, but it’s SO good. $45.73

8: 30 p.m. — My mom is coming for a quick visit tomorrow, so R. and I expend some time cleaning the apartment. I go to bed around 10:30 with the intention of reading my volume, but pass out before I’m able to open it.

Daily Total: $129.77

Day Two

7: 15 a.m. — Why does my body insist on waking up before 8 on weekends? I scroll through my phone for a while before eventually get up to attain coffee and feed a bowl of granola with almond milk.

8: 30 a.m. — I realise we didn’t do a very good job cleaning yesterday and spend most of the morning sweeping up cat hair, which I find so satisfying.

12 p. m. — I leave to meet my mom at Penn Station.( I’m too nervous to let her take the metro to Brooklyn by herself .) I jump on the train to basically pick her up and turn back around. She pays close attention, in hopes that she can do it by herself next time. I use my Metrocard for her metro fare and mine. Somehow, we end up stimulating brunch schemes with my dad’s first wife/ the mother of my half-siblings because she’s also in the city today. She and my mama have become close friends since my parents’ divorce, and this is my first time hanging out with the two of them without my dad. I don’t “know what youre talking about” to attain that sound less weird without going into too much detail, but it feels totally normal and turns out to be a lot of fun. I offer to split the bill, but the mamas treat.

3: 30 p.m. — Exceedingly full from the heavy brunch, my mom and I walk back to my place so she can say hi to R. It’s supposed to snow afterward, so she calls an Uber to Penn shortly after. We hug goodbye and hold back tears because we always go a little too long without watching each other.

6 p. m. — R. and I get simultaneous alerts that tomorrow is a snow day! It feels like a gift after working on a Saturday, and we both do a happy dance around the living room. Nothing like a snow day to construct stressed out teachers feel( and act) like kids again!

8 p. m. — I still feel so gross from lunch, so I decide to do a quick Be.come Project workout. I recently became obsessed with Bethany C. Meyers and their app. I love the “body-neutral” approach, and I’m ultimately enjoying a consistent and convenient workout for the first time in my life. It’s also much cheaper than therapy and has a similar effect. Afterwards, I feel so much better, and R. is happy because he’s been waiting for me to stop feeling bloated so we can eat dinner together.

9 p. m. — I’m craving something light, so I make us some quinoa with sauteed veggies, salsa, cheddar cheese, and avocado. We spend the coming few hours cuddling on the sofa, blissful that we don’t have to wake up early, though based on my track record lately, I likely will anyway.

Daily Total:$ 0

Day Three

7 a. m. — Called it! Up early again but I don’t care because SNOW DAY! I cuddle with R. and the cat for an hour before get up to induce coffee, cheesy eggs, and gluten-free avocado toast. I generally do most of the cooking between the two of us, and we both opt it this route even though I’m not very good at it. R. is a messy cook and gets stressed with even the simplest of recipes. I like to be in control of what I’m eating, thanks to some lovely digestive and inflammation issues.

11 a. m. — I look out the window and the roads are completely clear. We definitely could’ve had school today. Oh well! I devote my plants some TLC because they’ve been struggling in our dry apartment this wintertime, then relax on the lounge and scroll mindlessly through internet articles while R. plays video games. I snack on a clementine and enjoy the quiet with no schemes of being productive today.

3 p. m. — I throw in a loading of laundry and do this week’s Be.come routine, then take a shower and get back to lounging. I snack on some tortilla chips and start the first episode of The Umbrella Academy.

6: 20 p.m. — Okay, I initially found this reveal way too weird, but now I’m into it. I take a break to feed the cat and start cook dinner, which is the rotisserie chicken from yesterday’s grocery order with roasted sweet potatoes, rosemary, and broccoli. I make way too much, but R. plays in sports leagues throughout the week and I know he’ll eat it after his games. While everything’s in the oven, I sort the recycling and R. takes it out, along with the compost.

8: 30 p.m. — We feed — way more than I thought we would — and then watch Last Week Tonight. I program the coffee maker to run as soon as my alarm goes off in the morning and then curl up with Michelle Obama’s Becoming for a little bit. R. joins me in bed and we go to sleep around 11.

Daily Total:$ 0

Day Four

6: 30 a.m. — Ugh, I slept horribly. I guess that’s what I get for doing absolutely nothing yesterday. I snooze for 20 minutes and then take a quick shower. I throw on a professional-but-can-sit-on-the-floor outfit, apply some light makeup and CBD lotion to a psoriasis patch I’m trying to get rid of( it’s running !), then sit for a few minutes with a beaker of coffee and granola with almond milk while checking my email. R. leaves while I’m getting ready because he follows a different class schedule and kisses me goodbye. I grab my lunch, a banana, and a clementine.

8 a. m. — I catch the develop to school. For some reason, I woke up with John Legend’s “Stinky Booty” song in my head — really constructs me wonder what I was dreaming about? — so I listen to this week’s Discover Weekly playlist on Spotify to try and replace it with something else. When I get to work, I fill my travel mug with the coffee the school offer. I’d rather get more sleep and take my period at home than get at school early to prepare, so I usually walk in about 15 minutes before first period and scheme and prep after school. I also try to get quick chores done as much as possible throughout the day. I have pretty limited prep periods( and don’t take breaches) compared to my coworkers in older grades, but the school day is a little shorter for the younger ones so I’m usually okay with it. It’s taken a few years, but I can finally say I rarely take run home.

10: 30 a.m. — I snack on a banana and quickly respond to a mother email while the students feed their morning snack and talk about sharks. So far, we’ve had math this morning and started a division on measurement, which is a fun theory to teach, but the kids are a little all over the place after yesterday’s snow day and we have to rushed a little to make up for the lost time.

12: 20 p.m. — The students eat their lunch in the classroom followed by some quiet time, which means I get to eat my lunch. I have leftover quinoa and veggies at my desk and work on report card comments. Kindergarteners don’t like being quiet, and my job computer isn’t functioning properly, so I don’t get much done.

4 p. m. — I leave a little earlier than usual because I have a doctor’s appointment. It’s not easily accessible via public transit from my school, and it’s cheaper and easier if I go home first. I take the develop home while watching the new Game of Thrones trailer, which gives me mixed feelings of excitement and dread because I know this last season is going to be brutal. I drop off my work container and spread some almond butter on a rice cake for a quick snack. I check all three of my ride-share apps and call an Uber because it’s the cheapest ($ 6.86 ). When I get to the doctor’s office, I pay my specialist copay ($ 60 ). $66.86

6: 30 p.m. — I decide to walk a few blocks and wait for the bus. It’s so cold! Hard to believe it’s almost spring. When I get home, I feed the cat and stimulate gluten-free pasta with pesto, chicken sausage, tomatoes, and fresh mozzarella. R. will probably be home late, so I set some aside for him and for myself for lunch tomorrow.

8 p. m. — Not satisfied with that pasta, I eat some ice cream and watch the latest episode of Crashing on HBO, then follow it up with High Maintenance. R. comes home and we talk for a few minutes about our days. He’s truly emphasized and burnt out, and I feel a little helpless. We both read in bed until about 10:30.

Daily Total: $66.86

Day Five

6: 30 a.m. — My cat jumps up to lay on top of me as soon as my alarm goes off, constructing it even harder to get up. After about 15 minutes, I’m successful but not happy about it. I go through my usual routine, drink some coffee, and head out to catch the train.

10: 30 a.m. — Snack time! We’re having a really productive and busy morning. I eat my banana standing up and several students get excited because they have bananas, too.

12: 30 p.m. — I eat last night’s pasta and work on my weekly parent newsletter. I’m feeling good because one of my struggling students just read her first entire book to me. Her face lit up when she got to the last page and my heart is full.

3: 40 p.m. — Wow, this afternoon was draining. The kids are all in their respective after-school activities, so I eat a clementine and prep for next week. I construct transcripts and try to get organized. Organization is my greatest weakness as a teacher.

5 p. m. — I get home and realize there is an urgent need for olive oil, so I head back out to the pricey bodega across the street. I wander around and forget what we have, then end up with route more than olive oil: newspaper towels, eggs, gelato that seems good, granola, tomatoes, and more chips and salsa for some reason. I don’t send a Venmo request to R. because these one-off trip-ups tend to even out, and I take full responsibility for my impulse purchases. I do a Be.come workout when I get home. $47.42

6: 30 p.m. — I remember that I have a medical bill for $140 due soon, so I pay it online. My school offer an HRA debit card with $2,000 towards my deductible, and I have plenty left, so I use that and then start construction dinner. I’m so tired from the working day, so I decide to throw rice, black beans, salsa, green peppers, tomatoes, corn, and some spices into the Instant Pot.

8 p. m. — R. gets home after coaching a basketball game. The Instant Pot beeps, and I shred some cheddar cheese on top of everything. We feed and talk about a party my sister-in-law is hurling for my brother this weekend. We put on Patriot Act with Hasan Minhaj and try the gelato I bought today( strawberry Gelato Fiasco ), which is delicious. Then we watch clips of the R. Kelly interview with Gayle King until I decide I’ve had enough for one night. I head to bed around 10 and merely read about two pages before passing out.

Daily Total: $47.42

Day Six

6: 45 a.m. — I scroll through my phone in bed and realize my eyes are still closed while my thumb is moving. Why is it so easy to wake up when I don’t have to, but next to impossible when I do? I force myself up to shower and do my morning routine. R. is going in a little later today and tries to pull me back in bed, but I resist.

12: 15 p.m. — I can’t even put into words how much I detest indoor recess. Kids need to run and be loud and, if they can’t, it messes up the whole day. Their behavior has been awful this week, and it feels like it should be Friday, even though we didn’t even have school on Monday. I blame it on the cold weather, but I suppose the weeks leading up to spring transgres are always hard. I scarf down last night’s leftovers and respond to an email from the dean of students. I need to finish my newsletter and submit it for acceptance, so I try to get that done, too, so I can focus on grades after school.

4: 45 p.m. — I work on report card commentaries for a while and make a note to update my grades in the online gradebook tomorrow. I’m struggling to focus, so I head home. Waiting for the train, I scroll through Instagram and consider a friend has posted a TBT about a well-known celebrity who happens to send their kid to my school. I chuckle to myself because I simply assured them at drop-off, looks a lot like every other parent in sweatpants, calling after their kid to have a good day and be a good listener.

7 p. m. — I do this week’s Be.come routine again, which feels astonishing now that I’ve practised it a few times. I feel more energized but still don’t feel like cook, so I put two Caulipower pizzas in the oven. I remember it’s my brother’s birthday and send him a text because I’m afraid I’ll say something to ruin this weekend’s surprise party if I talk to him in the phone.

Daily Total:$ 0

Day Seven

6: 40 a.m. — I wake up with a headache, but at least it’s Friday! I take a shower and set some CBD lotion on my head. It has a really nice allaying sensation, but I know it’s not going to be enough so I take Advil, too. I go through my routine and end up taking a Lyft to school with R. He pays. I get a text from my family friend about devoting us a ride to the party tomorrow, which will save us from either a long develop ride or a super expensive Lyft.

3: 30 p.m. — I send the kids off, enter some grades, and get my room ready for Monday. Then I head to a bar nearby with a few coworkers, where we catch up over a couple glasses of wine. $19.20

8 p. m. — R. and his friend end up in the same place. We all hang out for a while and then R. and I decide it’s time to get some food. I call a Juno ($ 11.61) to a restaurant near our apartment, but when we get there we’re told there’s over an hour wait. It’s too cold to stray around between eateries, so we decide to simply stroll home and order food. We struggle to settle on something we both want, so we just place a Seamless order of pad thai for him and a Postmates order from a Venezuelan place for me.( I get another rice bowl, this time with delicious Gouda cheese, steak, avocado, pico de gallo, and rice .) We order from our own accounts, so I pay for mine. ($ 17.94 ). $29.55

10: 30 p.m. — We end up is speaking to how our relationship has been sort of on the back-burner lately. R. has been really busy, and we both seem to be pouring from empty cups at work, with little left for each other at the end of the day. This is not the first time, and I know it comes with us both being educators. Most of the time, we appreciate having someone who understands, but it can be hard to lean on each other when we’re both depleted at the same period. I know we’ll feel better after the weekend because we always do. He gives me a big hug and goes to bed. I watch The Umbrella Academy until I can’t maintain my eyes open, then join him.

Daily Total: $48.75

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[doriscahill]

On my Birthday

Yesterday was my birthday, I was greeted with a yellow balloon, chocolate hazelnut  cake and torch candle. Literally, a jumbo sparkler. Dangerous and disallowed in much of American, what a joy. A ten second pyrotechnic show just for me..

Birthday’s are a big deal in Georgia, even more so than America, you can not escape it. Overt glitz, broad smiles and excessive hugs. Over 200 well wishes on face-book and flooded inboxes; a wave of love from one end of the world to the other.  

My colleagues/friends did something for me over the top, something making this 57th birthday, a favorite. 

This is for real.

I thought I had requested “please do not go out of your way”  and “its not a day of my best memories”. 

No to Georgians means yes unless it is three no’s. It’s been a month of friends asking, “what are you plans? We must celebrate!!” Those who work side by side with me for years would know I mostly skip work on my birthday, seeking a peaceful day.  

When young this day meant a party and gifts we could not have nor always afford. If we had cake it was often shared with my cousins  also, celebrating their birthday. There were so many of us.  The shared cake would have a sculpted rose on top, pinkish-red made of  buttercream icing; yet no guarantee that single rose  would be yours to eat.   It would be days of anticipation and then disappointment, few parties;  no gifts. A did treasure a birthstone ring gifted to me by mom, unfortunately it was stolen  when my house was robbed a few years ago. I  held in my drawer for 40 years. 

Not to be a downer, but there were 3 birthdays in 57 years that brought me special feeling. My 12th, 21st and 50th. 

On my 12th birthday, I begged my dad daily, for at least 6 months,  to buy me a 10 speed bike on my birthday. A bike he could ill afford making $4-$6 dollars an hour. I became privy to this info when working a summer job at the factory. I  peaked at his pay records when the office was at lunch.  On my special day we went to the bike store to pick one out, choosing a deep maroon. He negotiated so hard, it was embarrassing, he refused to pay the sales tax and insisted on a good warranty, about $110, a weeks pay.  

That maroon bike changed me, I felt free; wind in my long ponied brown hair; peddling, switching gears uphill, then gliding hands-free downhill,  water bottle and basket attached. Visiting places: CandleWood Lake, Nanny’s, St Gregory’s School/Church, and Jimmies market.  I raced it with friends skinning my knees and participated in 26 mile charity ride with a good girl friend passing the old Fair Grounds.

One day I left my bike on the grass in our front  yard. I was late for  dinner again and had not placed it back in the garage. The next time I looked for it, it was gone, stolen. It took me four years to save money to buy my own bike. I was severely scolded.

I still love to bike and have  proudly keep my 1978-9 Peugeot.  Newport, RI.

On my 21st birthday I was taken to the Pocono Mountains. I remember this birthday well. I was gifted the most dainty earrings; gold hearts with the smallest pearl. I was to join another  family and remember sharing the news with my parents, who were surprisingly pleased. My view of my parents changed  post college; their predilections no longer bemuse.  Unallowable behavior became encouraged.   

This family was different than mine; children and parents ate together most meals, played charades and board games for hours. A consolidated unit that operated in unison.  We hiked to the forest and took pictures at the falls. Crossing a foot bridge,me,  dreadfully fearing heights, my hand was tightly held by my host. We visited the local museum and bowled. Always in a group of many, valuing time together, creating memories.  Time was made to teach me how to  juggle 3 balls. I remember feeling free, walking in nature, welcomed.  On my special day  my once small frame adorn a beloved dress: just above the knee, light fabric that bounced, and pale yellow with black polka-dots accented with a black patent leather belt.  I do not recall a birthday cake, only the smiles of those few day. 

The earring, the mate it lost. 

Then birthday’s became a time for my children and their birthdays. A promise with my husband agreeing to not to fuss with my birthday, but give our girls birthdays and make new memories for. To not gift me on my day, but surprise me on other days with kindness.  My happiest gift to him on his birthday was the surprise birth of my youngest daughter who arrived a week early. He, missing his first day of work for his new job, me sleeping through a night of labor. Only to wake and be taken to the hospital.  Most nights I sleep like a rock. 

Each birthday for my girls starting from the first year I was out of control; friends, clowns, cakes, barbecues, balloons, pool, painting and gym; all themed parties. My funniest party for our eldest daughter was at age 13. We  decorated the basement family room with black lights and streamers for a night dance at the house. She asked me to hold the spin the bottle pillow dice.  Nothing changes, except she asked. My funniest memory of my youngest daughter is the year we had the fake birthday party, her birthday falls at summers end and the prior year attendance was low, families tend to take vacation,  so we moved her party up to June :-) and opened the pool. Her idea, no one  would know. 

I lost my father in my 50th year. IA month after passing, my husband Andy asked to take me into Boston for dinner with friends; a date. We had a gift certificate for Capital Grill. $200 and would make a night of it. I grimace but agree; Capital Grill is a premier steak house in the BackBay neighborhood of Boston. I spent  many years working on Newbury, Bolyston Street and Commonwealth Ave. The gift certificate was from our lawyer who failed to pay our es-crowed real estate taxes from  our house closing. Andrew asked me not to check  closing documents because I catch too many errors and tend to be stubborn for correction. We still laugh over this. 

Andy knew it would make me happy surrounding me with memories. We drive in. He hates driving into Boston and specifically parking, anyone would. We park the car nearby,  at a meter near my old office (on Newbury St and adjacent to the Mass Pike). Hoping the car would not be vandalized or towed, we take turns filling it during our meal. Now, one can pay parking remotely with an App. While working, my car was stolen twice plus 6 break-ins and two tows, the parking tickets were, lets say alot.  Today, most young workers take the commuter rail; it now extends to my surburb. The new station opened the day after I stopped commuting, sigh. 

Meeting our close friends, we ordered on the right side of the menu, and the chat was pleasant, but strain of dad’s death overwhelmed me. I ponder why am I out on my birthday. At the meals end, a chocolate birthday cake with candles is placed on the table, and all sang the birthday song, I could not stop crying.  I felt loved. I got to eat the rose.  We return to the car; thankfully intact. 

Back to Georgia.  Last year I had milk  poisoning so we can skip past that birthday (click and read  No Milk for You!) 

At my site, I have a new co-worker and they  mention an ancient monastery. Located in the Village of Uraveli; it dates 1100 A.D. or so and is under renovation. He exclaims “It is majestic.” Continues, thinking “and it is great potential for tourism as the road leading to there has a mineral spring. Healing waters.” He and  my other co-worker families come from this village. And he purchased land near the spring, hoping to develop it. 

Having ate my cake with the crazy candle.  He was again talking about the property and the monastery. He had not seen it, since a young boy. I blurt “let’s go there, today!, that would be the best gift” Some intense discussion in Georgian commenced. Mostly answering the questions, when and should we. Its decide to leave at 4 pm.  It would be  us, three , our driver and my guest; a fellow Peace Corps Volunteer. I am pumped, an unplanned road trip.  

Timeliness is rare in Georgia, around 4;30 pm we set out; five packed in a small SUV, estimated travel 45 minutes; one way. We take the main round south and turn at the Potato World Sign, the road begins to wind as we ascend. We pass another Potato World Sign in the Village Mushki, this has a famous craft woman and her school and museum. We discuss how old she is. We gaze out at the potato fields. 

We enter Uraveli Village and each colleague  points out there grandparents home on the adjacent hillsides.  We crane from our windows, to see  their homes, as they point and describe where to look. The Uraveli river flows along the road to the monastery. We follow it. My coworker says it will become cool soon and darker.  The pavement road ends abruptly and turns to dirt; uneven, potholed, riddle with river rock and deep puddles; the ride becomes increasingly bumpy. You can see the topography change in the aerial google map view and the “red” pin where we are heading. Note the dropped pin is after the fact. 

Rough, the road continues to narrow and loose gravel turns to larger river rock. We are all giggling; only feet away from water’s edge. My co-workers point out river side picnic spots, soviet posts and the City water supply facility. We stop roadside; stretch and drink the from the mineral water fountain, take pictures of the undeveloped land lot, noting is boundaries and abandoned horse stable.  We continue on.  Road sections are damage from spring floods; we swerve to avoid muddied pools. We come to a fork in the road and more giggling;  there is ongoing debate ( in Georgian): how much further and which way and the monastery is not in site yet. Georgian banter continues; “where, when, when?, soon? how far?, close?” 

Unsure, we choose to go left.  The forest canopy now filters the light. We hear thunder, then see lightening strike the mountain. Again we all ask “how many kilometers?”. The ferns and wetland flowers are in bloom, we ascend up the increasingly rocky worn road. We come to a  river crossing; so far all crossings were on aged bridges, but not this crossing; only river.   Giggles turn to cackles, we cross a narrow section; reinforced with poured cement on rocks and  fast moving water. I assume the  wood plank, leaned on nearby rocks is for those on foot :-).

Again, our happy group discusses how much further is our ascent. Latest discussion, we had agreed on 2 kilometers. It seemed closer to 10. My colleague comforts the group stating “it always seems longer going”  and in the same breath “I was last hear as a boy”. We arrive, but the rain comes. All are welcomed  by the head priest and his very large German Shepard. There are workers busy building. We stay only a short time, walking the complex taking pictures. Women need to cover their heads to enter the monastery. Darn we forgot our veils and could not go in to see the ornate paintings. 

I take a short walk. Alone, on top this  mountain, next to this most ancient building of prayer,  Folding my hands, looking towards the sky and in private I thank G-d for this life and one more birthday. 

We descend and it does seem shorter, but certainly as narrow and rocky. I video taped the river crossing (please click). 

 Here are a few more pictures. The hand holding the clover is a fellow Peace Corps volunteer. 

Thanks for listening and following this Blog. Doe

[furilia]

Strange letters from my father

New Post has been published on https://www.furilia.com/strange-letters-from-my-father/

Strange letters from my father

I never do paid posts but I’m doing this one for two reasons.  1) Because I was already going to write about this.  Stick with it and you’ll see why in a second, and 2) because the 8th Annual Jame Garfield Miracle is going on and I needed more money to help kids in need and this was a super easy way to do it.  So if you’re reading this, you are helping needy children.  EVERYONE WINS.

So, StoryWorth advertised on my blog this year and I loved it so much I paid full price to buy one for my dad.  Here’s how it works:  StoryWorth emails your family member weekly story prompts in the form of questions.  They reply to the emails and you get to read their amazing family stories that you never knew existed.  Then at the end of the year StoryWorth binds the years worth of stories into a keepsake book.  My dad has been doing it for about six months and the emails I get with his answers are so insane and lovely that I often have to call and ask, “Is that true?”  Stories about my grandparents and great grandparents that I may never have known are now being shared with family.  It is awesome and I highly recommend it because it’s a gift for you and for them.  It’s normally $79 but right now (until 1/31/18) it’s only $59 through this link. 

The stories my father shares are really too good to keep to myself so I’m sharing a few snippets of my favorites here.  You may think they’re strange and terrible but I love and treasure them.  I suppose that’s how family stories work though.  (BTW, Nelda is my mom.  She types the answers as my dad dictates.)

Have you pulled any great pranks?

I was prying something loose one day, and I broke off half the blade of my skinning knife. Stupid! Now the six-inch blade was only three inches long. It was now perfect for prying things loose, but it was also perfect for a practical joke.

We have an electric knife sharpener at the taxidermy shop, and I don’t allow anyone to use it except me. If you’re not paying 100% attention to what you are doing, the high-speed sharpening wheel can throw the blade back at you. Bad news.

I went to my own working area where I hide from the other workers and went to work on my joke. I super glued the tip of my broken knife blade to the inside of my inner right arm. Next I built up the wound area with 2-part epoxy. It’s a product we use in the taxidermy shop like modeling clay to make artificial skin on a mount. I smoothed out the epoxy, texturized it to make it look like my own skin and modeled it to look like that knife is really embedded deep in my arm. I used an airbrush to paint the epoxy area to match my skin. Next I feathered in some white, purple,and red paint to make a realistic cut. Finally I mixed up some blood- red and black paint. I added a little glycerin to give the fake blood a wet glossy look. I poured the blood where it needed to be, and splashed the rest on an old rag that I used to cover the gag.

I staggered into the shop and sat down, not saying a word.

Don was the first to notice the blood. “Holy Crap! What did you do?” Helen came out the office, and I removed the blood-soaked rag to show my work of art. Everyone gathered around me to either gawk or help. Helen hollered out, “Don’t put it out. He’s on blood thinners! He”ll bleed to death!”

No sooner did she say that, Jonathon grabbed the knife and pulled it out. I quickly covered the wound with the bloody rag. I figured the joke was over till Jonathon looked at the knife and screamed, “It broke off in his arm!”

I didn’t get any compliments for my realistic art work. I cleaned up my mess and came back in the shop. I sat down next to Jonathon and asked him if it looked real. He said. “Yeah, I thought it was real……..What are blood thinners?”

What have you changed your mind about over the years?

I use to think that dogs are a man’s best friend, but I’ve changed my mind. Dogs will always forgive you quickly if you ask them to, but they don’t do laundry, they don’t cook, they don’t scratch your back, and they don’t clean house. They are pretty good at doing dishes, as long as you smear left-over gravy over the whole plate.

I use to think that a loving wife would see the humor in that previous paragraph. Dogs will still always forgive you quickly if you ask them to.

I use to think this was funny.

  If you could choose any talents to have, what would they be?

I asked Nelda what this question meant. Any talent? She suggested singing, or playing an instrument , or maybe x-ray vision. X-Ray vision might be cool only if it is selective. Some old fat guy crossing your path of vision could ruin your day. A cute young chick could also ruin my marriage. I’ll stick with my near- sighted astigmatism with floaters.

I already sing beautifully. I have that talent even though no one else thinks so. My ears are so good that in my head the notes sound pitch perfect. Self corrective hearing is what I call it.

I might like the talent to finish everyone’s sentences before they could say it. Unfortunately I hang around a lot of people that don’t make a lot of sense. I’m not going to take credit for a bunch of nonsense.

I would like the talent to communicate with animals. I would like to understand their thoughts. Someday I will.

What is one of your fondest childhood memories?

One of my fondest memories is going perch fishing with my mom. When I was about five years old, I got the fishing bug. I couldn’t get enough fishing. My dad had a farm out at Eola, about twenty miles from home. The whole family would pack up before daylight, and drive out to the farm to work. My dad would usually be on his John Deere tractor. My mom would be either building electric fence or picking rocks out of the field. My sisters would be together hoeing weeds. I, being the baby, stuck with my mom. We would work till noon, and then drive to our neighbor’s pasture to have a picnic lunch. A small dirt tank with green water surrounded by large mesquite trees was one of my favorite places to spread out our homemade quilts, and rest in the shade. We would eat bread, summer sausage, longhorn cheese, and drink Cragmont orange soda water. After lunch, I would get out my cane pole. I always saved some of my lunch to use for bait. Those perch would bite on anything, but bread was my favorite cuz it stayed on my hook the best,

My dad would usually sleep and rest while my mom would watch me fish. She was actually watching a five year old kid making sure I wasn’t gonna fall in the water. The fish would bite as fast as you put the hook in the water. They weren’t very big, but I kept anything that had eyes. I even kept a little turtle. When I caught a water snake, my fishing was over.

Have you ever won anything?

The last year that the famous Sam Lewis put on the World Champion Armadillo Races, I won. Actually, my armadillo won. All I did was get behind Army and stomp and holler and chase him across the finish line. I guess I came in second. I released the armadillo back in the woods, but I kept the silver ring. My daughter Jennifer has the ring (I think).

I probably wouldn’t have given her the ring if it was gold.

What inventions have had the biggest impact on your day-to-day life?

The cube is probably the greatest invention of my lifetime. Before the cube, there was really not much stability in my life. Spheres were the rage when I was growing up. How can one build anything on a sphere? No matter how you slice it, you end up with just a lot of wheels.There was hope for wheels in those days, although someone took the idea too far. The whole world revolved around wheels and anything that could be made with them.  Donuts were one of my favorites. It was like a wheel inside of a wheel. Clever. But look at a really fat donut from the side. It’s a cube. Give the cube the credit due. You eat a donut from the side, don’t you?

Cubes were the true building blocks of the future. The Egyptians knew this. They even made huge cubes all over their back yard. Then they sliced the cubes diagonally, tipped them over so they would rest on their most stable side, and “BAM”! They had yard art that would last for decades. People would ride by, see the yard art, and ask the age-old question, “Do you think that’s a cube cut in half on its axis, or is that cube half buried in the sand. If someone ever invents the wheel, we could build a big bulldozer and find out.”

Ice cubes. How would you like living in this planet without ice cubes. Sure, there’s people up north that don’t appreciate ice like we do, but what if they want to sit down for a while. Up north, chairs don’t grow on trees, but a big cube of ice would make a wonderful chair. You could probably build a house out of ice if you had enough of it laying around. An air-conditioned house. With an ice box.

I really don’t dislike spheres. After all, a sphere is just a well-rounded cube that likes to travel.

I changed my mind. My favorite invention that has changed my life is a 19 volt battery-operated screwdriver with an extra lithium battery. Made by Craftsman.

  How has the country changed during your lifetime?

The country hasn’t changed at all. The cities are all screwed up. I lived in the country when I was a kid, and I live in the same country now. The trees I remember as a kid seemed to be a lot smaller back then. The country roads I use to walk down seem to be a lot shorter when I drive them.

Water skiing, tubing and fishing wasn’t good at all on our local lakes, but I got pretty good at skipping rocks. The trick was to find flat rocks about three inches across. If you could find rocks that were flat on the top and bottom, you were in business. With a little practice, you could get thirty or more skips out of one perfect rock. You could get even more skips if the lakebed wasn’t sandy. When you found that perfect rock, you didn’t squander it. You walked out in the lakebed and retrieved it. Once when I was retrieving one of my dad’s washers (sometimes I used artificials),I found a rowboat. It was a Sears/Roebuck 10 foot aluminum just like the ones in the catalogs. This boat was mine.There wasn’t a drop of water in my new boat, and I started dreaming about all the adventures I would have on Lake Nastywater. (We use to called it Lake Nasworthy, till the water level went down and old tires messed up our rock skipping). I named my boat S.S Minnow. Gilligan’s Island was my favorite after school tv show. I liked Gilligan the best, but Ginger and Mary Ann got a lot better over the years. My Dad enjoyed that show too. I knew he was really gonna get excited when I showed him The Minnow. We walked out on the lake and gazed down on our boat.

“Oh My Gosh! Look! ” Daddy saw my boat. He was excited. He peeled off his sweat stained farmers hat, smiled, sighed, and said something that I couldn”t believe. “There’s my old boat.”

“What! Your boat?”

“Sonny, I lost “The African Queen ” about forty years ago.” I was noodling for yeller cats down here when this was the Middle Concho. You know what noodling is……Catching them with your hands. It wasn’t against the law back in them days. Now, they would throw you in the pokie. I found this big rock right here and knew this was where the big one lived. Right under this rock. Your Uncle Sam, my older brother, was a better swimmer than me ,and he had more experience at catching big fish. Sam jumped in the water, took a deep breath, and went underwater. He came back up about 30 seconds later ,and told me the good news. “There’s a big hole under that rock, and there’s a catfish down in there. His head is as big as a five gallon bucket. As soon as I catch my breath, I’m going for him. My brother, Sam went under. He was down there a long time. He was down too long. I jumped in the water, and found the hole that Sam had entered. I reached in, and found Sam’s legs kicking up a storm. I grabbed his legs and started pulling him out of the hole. It was a struggle,but I pulled him out. We surfaced, and Sam was as white as a sheet. We looked around and couldn’t find “The African Queen”.

We sat up on the rock, Sam caught his breath finally, and told me what happened.”That monster fish was deep in the hole. I was rubbing his belly with both hands. My arms were extended, reaching for his gills. He kept swimming further in the hole. I didn’t realize that the hole was getting tighter, and I was running out of breath. My arms were out in front of me, and I couldn’t push my way out. I was stuck underwater. I was ready to give up when I felt you pulling me out. You saved my life!

We reached down to release our boat from the encrusted mud, and it proved to be a lot lighter than expected. There was no floor in the boat. It had rotted out years ago, but it still held some shared memories for my dad and me.

Uncle Sam and Daddy are both gone now. Maybe they’re floating down the Middle Concho in an old rowboat with a floor in it. Maybe they’re fishing for big yeller cats. They’re not noodling though because Sam promised God that he wouldn’t fish that way anymore.

Do you have any particularly vivid memories of your grandparents?

All of my grandparents were Czech. They didn’t speak English but they were successful farmers. They figured out early in life that to be wealthy, you had to have good discipline. They saved their hard-earned money that they made sharecropping. Then they bought land. They made do with growing their own fruits and vegetables. They raised chickens for eggs and meat. They had cows that they milked daily and butchered their own beef and hogs.They made their own clothes, churned butter, canned produce from the garden, made cheese , flour, cornmeal, and bread.  The only thing easy on the farm was falling to sleep at night.

Butchering hogs in those days was a big deal. There was too much work for one family to do all the work in one day. There would also be too much meat and sausage to cure, smoke, and package. The meat from a three hundred pound hog would go bad before one family could eat it.

When the first cold day would come around, all of the aunts, uncles, and third-generation heathens would meet at my grandparents house with all their butcher knives, tow sacks, hog scrapers, seasonings. We were having a butcher day. There was going to be a lot of work and a lot of fun for everyone except two fat hogs.

The women would build a big hot fire under a wash kettle full of water. The men would get the hogs up out of the mud, and wash them off. The hogs didn’t know what was going on with all this special treatment, but I bet they thought they were family and they were being invited for dinner. Smart pigs.

My uncles would build a sled,and then would position our dinner guest close to it. A shot would ring out and an unhappy but short squeal would alert the second dinner guest that now might be the time to cancel his reservation. The relaxing swine napping on the sled would be given a ride to the kettle area. Tow sacks (burlap bags) were pulled out of the boiling water and spread over a portion of the sleeping porker. The scalding loosens the hair on the pig and a dull butcher knife is used to scrape the hair (root and all) off of the pig.

The whole process is repeated on a new area of the pig until the whole hog is as balded as the top of my head. That pig is also pretty and pink like the top of my head.

Now it’s time to gut the clean “organ donor”. The liver, kidneys, and heart are saved. The small intestines are also saved. It was my job to clean out the green juice out of these long tubes. I liked attaching a garden hose to one end and let the water pressure do the work. My job was taken away from me because of the mess I made all over the porch. I think years later Whamo made a fortune with a toy called a Water Wiggle. I guess I was just ahead of my time on inventions, but my marketing skills had not yet been perfected. Sometimes, poop happens.

The rolls of fat from the hog is collected for later use. The ashes from the fire were shoveled into a tilted wooden trough. Water was poured over the ashes and drained into another container. This was lye. The fat is put in the kettle and rendered down to lard. Some of the lard was saved to cook with. It was poor man’s shortening. Then the belly meat and flanks were cut up (with the skin still attached), and the small pieces were fried in the lard. This was cracklins. You eat them hot with molasses and homemade bread. You now have a lot of lard in the kettle. Dump the lye in with some kind of perfume and boil the devil out of it. Let the whole mess cool down and you got soap. Cut the soap into bars with a butcher knife and let it get cold. It will last forever. I think it has such a long shelf-like cuz no-one wants to use it. It stinks, and it takes your hide off with the dirt. It will cure a young boy from cussin .

Cut up the pork chops,cure the bacon, cure the hams and hocks, and start turning the grinder. It’s “SAUSAGE TIME”.

Those casings that were rescued from me are refilled with seasoned ground pork and tied into links. Hang ’em in the smoke house.

It’s now pretty late, and everybody’s tired. We sample the sausage and clean up the huge mess. I clean the front porch.

I give Babuska (Grandmother) a hug goodbye. I smell like the front porch, but she returns the hug anyway. That was sixty years ago, but I can still smell the aroma of fresh baked poppy seed kolaches from her homemade apron.

I still smell like her front porch.

My dad with his sisters and his mother. Wall, Texas.

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[molotovcoontail-blog]

Mother’s Day, Father’s Day and the ungrateful shitty child.

I think every kid starts out excited about getting their parents presents. I think it’s hard not to be excited when it’s built into your education, your media and your social circles.

I remember spending at least two days out of every semester, at least for the first three years of school making presents for the parents.

I think most parents pretend to appreciate the mangled, unrecognizable macaroni and whatever crafts their kids bring home. It seems like most of that crap winds up on the fridge.

I say seems like, because I only really have other people’s stories to go off of. I never managed to get anything on the fridge.

My parents didn’t pretend to like the crap I brought home, nor did they pretend it wasn’t crap. By first grade, I was actively protesting the “make your parent a present” project because it lead to a lot of bad situations.

By second grade, I learned that you just keep your mouth shut, make the project and then dump the gift in the trash before you go home so both the school and your parents are happy, avoiding drama with the teachers and the shit show that happens at home when you bring back a craptastic hand-made gift.

I had been told each time I brought home a hand-made crap gift, that it sucked because I sucked. I was not talented, I was not gifted, and of course nothing I made would be worthy of anything but the trash can.

You don’t cry when the gift you made goes into the trash can. You accept that you suck and you apologize, or you get your ass kicked for being a pansy. There’s no crying in the gift giving game. Just shame, humiliation and the endless mantra of how ungrateful of a child you are.

I didn’t get an allowance, but I did get lunch tickets. I learned fairly quickly that you could exchange lunch tickets for cash with your fellow students. I had this crazy notion that if I skipped enough lunches, and saved enough money, that I could bring home a present that didn’t suck.

When you’re limited by age and resources though, purchased gifts suck just as much as hand-made gifts. The first gift I ever bought was one of those #1 Mom mugs. Filled with candy, purchased from a pre-Mother’s day school event.

That was also the same year I learned there’s a difference between “cheap chocolates” and “expensive chocolates”. Cheap chocolates meant that you’re an ungrateful, shit child who didn’t appreciate how hard your Mother works to provide you with shelter, clothes and food. Expensive chocolates came from a magical place called See’s Candies, that you couldn’t have possibly known existed because you’re like 8 and can’t get to the mall by yourself.

Pink hearts and neon cursive text on a white mug are not classy, and belong in the trash. Along with those cheap chocolates. Because they suck, almost as much as you suck.

If you thought I was smart enough to avoid an encore on Father’s Day with the mug fiasco, you were wrong. #1 Dad mugs fail just as hard as #1 Mom mugs, except they wind up in at least ten different pieces, shattered all over the kitchen floor for you to locate, collect and put in the trash.

I remember every year and every terrible attempt at a gift. I could list each one and each lesson learned in great detail, but it’d be repetitive and pointless. It always ends with the gift in the trash, solid or in pieces.

When I started working as a teenager, I was free to walk the mile to the mall as often as I wanted. Finally, the opportunity to buy gifts that didn’t suck. That’s when I learned that even if you make it to the magical land of See’s Candies, there’s the right kind of candies to bring home, and the wrong kind of candies to bring home. Bringing home an assortment of candy in a fancy pre-packaged box, meant that you didn’t know what you were doing, and that your hard working Mother didn’t deserve the effort of you picking out a custom box, because you’re an ungrateful child.

Picking out a custom box, but choosing the wrong candies meant that you were an ungrateful, stupid, unobservant child who didn’t pay enough attention to your Mother’s likes and dislikes to know which candies she actually wanted. I didn’t have to be told I failed. I knew I failed when she had that look of utter disdain on her face, followed by a request for the receipt. If only the stupid ungrateful child had bothered to get one, then we could have avoided the trash can.

I do learn. A little bit at a time. I didn’t repeat the chocolates shit show for Father’s Day. He liked to fish, so I bought him fishing lures. Unfortunately, I didn’t bother to learn the difference between the lures and usually wound up having them flung at my head. I did learn quickly, though that if a fish lure hits you and snags, don’t freak out. Don’t pull. Calmly pick up the lure, guide the hook away and ta-da, not a big deal. Drop in trash, resume reigning title of world’s shittiest, most ungrateful child.

Eventually I learned that if you do provide a receipt for the Mother’s Day present, you were usually at the store the following weekend, returning what you purchased. Not only returning what you bought, but letting the store clerk who helps you, know, at your Mother’s request, that you’re an ungrateful child and you bought your hard working Mother a crap gift, instead of _____________. The blank being whatever it was that she had wanted that year, that you couldn’t possibly afford because you didn’t work hard enough, hadn’t formed telepathy yet, and was still, an ungrateful, shit child.

I had also learned, for Father’s Day, buy something that doesn’t hurt when it’s flung, hurled or smashed into your head. Find something that doesn’t break easy, and maybe won’t give you a concussion if it nails you in the face. It’s selfish, and not very thoughtful, but it’s OK because you’re living up to your history of being the ungrateful shit child.

I wish I could say it was a story of perseverance and that I was able to shake the mantle of being the ungrateful shit child, but the truth is at some point, you just accept it. You accept that you’re an ungrateful, shit child and you stop trying.

You stop buying gifts. You stop calling after it becomes horrific, and you stop texting when the responses make you want to put yourself in the trash. You just live out the legacy of the ungrateful, selfish, shit child who couldn’t be bothered to recognize Mother’s Day or Father’s Day.

You pretend like the events don’t exist, ignore the onslaught of commercials telling you to appreciate your parents on these fine holidays, and you try your best not to be the poop cloud hanging over all the grateful, wonderful, non-shit children successfully appreciating their parents.

Most of all, you don’t cry. Ungrateful, shit children don’t get to cry. They get to be ungrateful, and be shit.

[sanfranciscoyogisunspirit]

Dear April 24th, 2017

By far my favorite month here in san francisco. Poetry month, earth week, bay area dance week, Japanese cherry blossom (japanese festival two weekends long) and well just for many more reasons. Im starting a blog here because writing takes too long sometimes and I just have so much to say. Today I skipped class and listened to ELO while finishing my dad’s birthday card. it says, “Let’s take a trip under the sun and ride to..” and when you open the card it’s going to have the metallica tickets I bought us! Im so cheap.. it was close to $400 gree whiz.. but you can’t put a price on love, and he’s spent soo much on my existence alone, this is the least I can do. Love that man, I got us general admission floor, because we are going to rock our socks off in that stadium! I think it’s the same stadium when we saw red hot chili Peppers. I also drew his motorcycle on the front. There’s some more cute nice sweet stuff inside and back of it, I’ll take pics. Went to A USF tour, it was ok. Nothing special. What I did like though is that to get a degree in education (i think it’s everywhere in california), I need to get a bachelor’s in ANYTHING I want then plus one year of just focusing on the education/teaching aspect. Like i can major in forestry or agriculture or the hindu or buddhism culture and fucking spend just one more year in teaching then have a master’s in education! what the fuck so cool!! LOVE THAT SHIT. In texas its just four years of education classes. They take GI Bill and if i study abroad the benefits transfer over! what i dont like is that.. I didnt really see attractive people.. and im not sure how the party scene is.. honestly it’s just that im not attracted to teethings i dont know about. Like i want student life to be great, that’s why my heart is in texas, Austin because I know student life in those universities kick ass.. so for that I scheduled a college to at UC Berkeley, see how that goes.. OR EVEN MAJOR IN ASTRONOMY ugh i like the criteria for a teaching certificate in CA, im basically free. But My heart has not been set in a university yet.. we’ll see.. In the morning i received a package and a letter. the package was from elena with all kinds of cute things in it, from organic mango herbal tea to shrimp socks to a small cute bag, and a cute note she wrote me that i taped to my wall and it had a skunk and bunnies and she pointed to the skunk and said that was me because i stink. SO cute. Love that bitch. Then a letter from abby (a very special girl at my mom’s school that comes in and talks to her and eats lunch with her) and it said she hopes i have a good easter. SO sweet I called my mom and we talked while she had lunch. Wish i can do that everyday... she seems to have lunch alone.. but i wrote abby and liza memo some stuff at the coffee shop. had some lunch which was bean sprouts and spinach raw and i ate it with hands and the vegan shake which we need more of at the ashram. WOW I LIVE IN AN ASHRAM LIKE WTFFFF. then went to the tour. then went home. and me and elena talked and i talked about carlo. She asked if he left a note or anything and i said no but i mentioned how he texted a girl that he loved and she made the assumption it was over a girl. I said he put himself under a lot of pressure to do it bc he messaged her that. she asked how, I told her. I told her how i was listening to ELO and it reminded me so much of him and how we both appreciated good composition and were basically the same soul. We are both griefing, she had an abortion and it’s really tough on her. after talking and after i had lunch (which was some of krishnas falafel wrap which was SOOOO good and some vanilla beam yogurt with spinach which was EXTREMELY TASTEFUL and jasmine tea yum and some nachos bc im bad ) u know what i noticed all day today i tried to eat nachos but i ended up eating healthy.. for lunch i was waiting for my nachos to heat up but got bored waiting so i made a salad then for early dinner i was making a small spinach and surprise yummy yogurt snack and then krishna came in and offered some of his delicious falafel and ya that’s an observation.. I’ve been trying to eat better.. let’s dp this.. im trying to save money too.. NO MORE EATING OUT ITS BADb but anyways me and lena had our own fire ceremony and it was intended for our griefing and she held the fire and said let this be to the soul i never met and to allow me to grief or something like that it was so beautiful the way she said it and i said let this be to my favorite soul, and to grief beautifully. and we had such a beautiful great meditation.. i want to do it more with her it was so special. we did it for an hour. concrete jungle i was walking to a coffee shop next to bart and there was some poetry i stopped to look at. I judged a bit. people talking about materialistic experiences and things.. life isn't about any of that.. but im done judging and even talking about judging. went to the coffee shop and wrote beautiful notes to memo for sending me all the amazing gifts. they sent me so much,and to abby and finished my dad’s letter. then worked on my dad’s playlist which took a while but im done! just need to go walk or run to best buy tomorrow i mission to get cds and cd cases for the mixtape and then go to the ashram to burn the cd with a cd burner jack let me borrow then run to the post office and mail it before 5. and i get out of class at 1:25.