When I was a young school girl, almost all of my friends were boys. I did have the occasional female friend growing up, but after two 'besties' in my pre-teen years, I couldn't seem to find another female friend. My friends - all of them - for many years were all male.
My parents told me that would change when I grew up, but it didn't seem to change. I found that most of my friends were all males, except for the occasional female boss or coleague. Still, in 2006 when I found myself working in a male-dominated 'technology' industry selling production camera accessories, it worked to my advantage. I knew how to relate to guys.
Some guys seemed to take my friendly mannerisms for something else, and me being me, I didn't notice. Often a friendship would be destroyed by an advance from someone I thought of as a friend. In 2009 I was told that a problem I was having with a male boss was my fault because I was 'too nice' to him. I was then told that I was 'too nice' to all the guys I worked with, when all but one of them were guys.
I've always been a 'tough' girl. I've related well to men in many ways - being a tom boy. I climbed trees and played with worms as a little girl. I fought with the boys as a pre-teen just for fun. I loved old cars and target shooting with my father. I played football with the boys! In fact, I broke my foot doing it. I've always been a tom boy.
Finally, about this time last year, things started to change for me. I made a few new friends. Suddenly the balance shifted.
Now that I've settled comfortably into my 30's, life has morphed into something glorious. I found a long, lost uncle or two whom I adore and NEED in my life. I've traveled to places I've never been before, formed a family that I find I would have been lost without many times over, bonded with people over distances never imagined before the days of the internet, and discovered a little bit more about myself. My friends can rightly be split almost down the middle between males and females, though the majority of the really close ones are all female. That's certainly a first since I was 11 years old.
I have become who I was meant to be.
I have my friends and loved ones to thank for that.
I'll come back home... I promise.
Off to bright new horizons we go!
It's in the future we will be found,
Where love, hope and faith abound.
Showing posts with label work. Show all posts
Showing posts with label work. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Thursday, June 10, 2010
The Horrible Success
In January of 2007, I planned a dinner party for several people. It was the first I had ever fully planned, and it was my way of saying thanks to the couple who invited us over the week before to share their dinner with them.
At their house, dinner was a buffet style. They had made tacos, and this way everyone could choose what they wanted to put in them. I loaded up my taco with a little of everything, topped it off with salsa and homemade guacamole from avocados I had brought over, and I watched my date do the same. When we sat down to eat, I asked him if he noticed anything was missing.
"No," he replied. "What do you mean?"
Feeling that it was a remarkably unobservant remark for a veteran Police Officer of 13 years, I pointed out the one obvious fact he had failed to notice.
"There's no meat."
"What?!" Incredulous, Pete looked at me, down at his taco, and back at me. I could see him thinking for a second. "You're right!"
"I think they're vegetarians," I said quietly. George and Rachel were still putting together their tacos, so that moment of privacy was the only moment I would be able to point out my simple observation without incurring an uncomfortable silence.
"So," Pete said in a much less tactful way when they sat down near us, "you're vegetarians, huh?"
"Oh," George and Rachel proclaimed. "We forgot to tell you. Yes, we've lived a Vegan lifestyle for the past 3 years now," Rachel explained to us, "but I was a Vegan long before that. It just took me a while to convince George." She kissed him sweetly on the cheek while his mouth was wrapped in a big bite around his taco. He smiled a bit.
"Yeah," he concluded after chewing his bite and clearing his mouth. "I wasn't easy to convince."
Before I realized it, the night was nearly over and we were headed home. I couldn't seem to stop myself from speaking when I invited them over for dinner the following week. I'd never cooked a Vegan meal in my life.
I started cooking that Saturday at 9:00 am. It had taken me all week to decide on a menu, and then I discovered that there were so many options that I couldn't decide between them. The final decisions were left to Pete. The dinner party had grown from 4 people to 5 couples, so I knew that no matter the menu, I would have something for everyone. Still, the majority of food was to be Vegan by design.
The first thing I worked on were the appetizers. I chopped the stems and crumbled the bread crumbs for the stuffed mushrooms, wrapped the brie rounds in the Phillo dough with walnuts and Jalapeno Pepper Jelly, and sent Pete to the store for more pears. The baked brie was to be served with apple and pear slices along side a variety of crackers.
Then I got to work on the salad. What Pete's sister described as a "California Salad" is precisely what I made. I started out with the fancy lettuce variety – arugula, baby spinach – the like. Then I tossed on some chopped walnuts (left over from the baked brie) some Feta, also to be used in the lasagna, some sweet yellow peppers, later to be cooked in with
the vegetarian lasagna, and some raspberry vinaigrette dressing. It was wonderful! I served this to the guests as soon as they stopped chowing down on the appetizers and chit chatting over the days events, a good half hour after the first couple arrived. They also turned out to be the last couple to arrive. The rest of the group except Rodney (minus the girlfriend) cancelled at the last minute.
Then I made the HAND ROLLED lasagna – two different kinds. I had the traditional meat and tomato, but also the spinach and cheese. It was very good, I'll admit. I had only made it once before. While the guests worked on their salads, the Lasagna was baking in the oven, making the whole house smell wonderful. Noses turned to the air, sniffing wildly as George mopped up the last bit of Raspberry Vinaigrette with a baby spinach leaf.
Next I tossed the ingredients together for my own Cherry Cobbler Cake – a whopping 4 ingredients. This cake is simple, fast, and always a party favorite. I threw that in the oven just as the Lasagna came out and the guests were setting down their salad bowls. Each piece of lasagna came out as a beautiful presentation, and having previous experience as a food server, it was nothing for me to carry three plates at once. Pete carried ours. Ever the polite hostess, I even offered choices.
I had plated two servings of the vegetarian lasagna for George and Rachel, knowing full well from the previous week that they had been Vegan for years. The chances of that changing in less than one week were slim to none.
"Would you like the Spinach lasagna, or the traditional?"
George and Rachel exchanged quick glances. Rachel spoke up first.
"We'll try the traditional."
Agog, I had Pete hand the two plates of traditional lasagna to our guests, while the third I handed to Rodney. The two plates of Spinach lasagna went to Pete and myself. Our confusion was obvious, I guess. George offered an explanation.
"We went to a friend's house on Wednesday. He had been cooking ribs all day long and it had been so long since I had ribs. I said I would take a bite of one just to see how they tasted. All Rachel had to do was taste the BBQ sauce on the ribs and we were both hooked. I suppose I should have told you guys sooner, but it slipped my mind. We're not vegetarians anymore, by the way." His fork cut into his lasagna and he removed a bite sized piece. "Sorry." He emptied the contents into his mouth and his face lit up. "But if I hadn't gone back to meat on Wednesday, I would have now! This is incredible!"
"It is," Rachel agreed after swallowing her first bite. "I've GOT to get this recipe from you! I've never seen Lasagna look like this before. It's so... well, pretty!"
Before everyone finished eating their lasagna, I claimed to have some errand in the kitchen I needed to attend to. The smell of the Cherry Cobbler Cake wafted through the house when I turned off the oven and opened the door to allow it to cool.
The final touch was the Poached Pears. I'd never had poached pears before and I knew it sounded good, so I was curious. I threw together the ingredients in a sauce pot and got it boiling. While waiting, I collected the empty and polished lasagna plates. Had they been any more spotless I would have accused them of licking the plates clean. Then I returned to the kitchen where I peeled, cored, and boiled the pears, but while they were boiling, I garnished the desert plates.
The desert plates were garnished with Raspberry Syrup and Chocolate Syrup swirled in one corner around an orange slice and a raw apple slice. The cake went in another corner, the poached pear next to that. A single scoop of Vanilla Ice Cream finished the presentation, and it came out looking like a miniature work of art. When the desert was served, I got the biggest compliment of the evening.
"This is the best desert I've had in so many years," Rachael proclaimed.
"Everything has been so wonderful!" Pete said.
"Wow, Amanda – you've outdone yourself here. Wonderful." Rodney thanked me.
"I'm so full I feel like I cant swallow any more, and yet I cant stop eating!" George cut a slice of pear off with his spoon and tasted it gingerly. "Oh Wow," he said in a hushed tone. "This is the best desert I've ever tasted." George smiled up at me and then looked at Rachel. "Why don't you ever cook like this?"
Rachel's face fell in embarrassment and she refused to look at me for the rest of the night. She didn't say much after that, and it was clear that she was extremely hurt by what George had said. While I was openly embarrassed for her, inwardly I was stunned that my food had garnished such a compliment.
It was a crowning achievement; a great and horrible success, and an overall wonderful moment for me while also being a most humiliating moment for Rachel. If only the 8 people invited had showed up rather than just the three that did, maybe the comment would have been lost in random conversation.
There were certainly PLENTY of leftovers. To this day I've not made another batch of Vegetarian lasagna though. I know I probably wouldn't eat it if I did. It was good- very good. I just got rather burned out on it.
George and Rachel never came over again, and we never were invited to their house for dinner after that. We rarely saw them at all, and the few times we did, it was clear that Rachel still had rather hurt feelings. She hardly spoke to me.
Part of me wonders if she thought my purpose was to out-do her taco dinner we had at their house, but I know that wasn't the point at all. My only purpose was to make something I would enjoy making and that people would enjoy eating. I wanted to be creative and I saw my moment to try something new.
It was, in the end, a horribly successful dinner party that I'll never forget. I've got money on the fact that Rachel won't forget it anytime soon, either. I still feel bad for that one.
At their house, dinner was a buffet style. They had made tacos, and this way everyone could choose what they wanted to put in them. I loaded up my taco with a little of everything, topped it off with salsa and homemade guacamole from avocados I had brought over, and I watched my date do the same. When we sat down to eat, I asked him if he noticed anything was missing.
"No," he replied. "What do you mean?"Feeling that it was a remarkably unobservant remark for a veteran Police Officer of 13 years, I pointed out the one obvious fact he had failed to notice.
"There's no meat."
"What?!" Incredulous, Pete looked at me, down at his taco, and back at me. I could see him thinking for a second. "You're right!"
"I think they're vegetarians," I said quietly. George and Rachel were still putting together their tacos, so that moment of privacy was the only moment I would be able to point out my simple observation without incurring an uncomfortable silence.
"So," Pete said in a much less tactful way when they sat down near us, "you're vegetarians, huh?"
"Oh," George and Rachel proclaimed. "We forgot to tell you. Yes, we've lived a Vegan lifestyle for the past 3 years now," Rachel explained to us, "but I was a Vegan long before that. It just took me a while to convince George." She kissed him sweetly on the cheek while his mouth was wrapped in a big bite around his taco. He smiled a bit.
"Yeah," he concluded after chewing his bite and clearing his mouth. "I wasn't easy to convince."
Before I realized it, the night was nearly over and we were headed home. I couldn't seem to stop myself from speaking when I invited them over for dinner the following week. I'd never cooked a Vegan meal in my life.
I started cooking that Saturday at 9:00 am. It had taken me all week to decide on a menu, and then I discovered that there were so many options that I couldn't decide between them. The final decisions were left to Pete. The dinner party had grown from 4 people to 5 couples, so I knew that no matter the menu, I would have something for everyone. Still, the majority of food was to be Vegan by design.
The first thing I worked on were the appetizers. I chopped the stems and crumbled the bread crumbs for the stuffed mushrooms, wrapped the brie rounds in the Phillo dough with walnuts and Jalapeno Pepper Jelly, and sent Pete to the store for more pears. The baked brie was to be served with apple and pear slices along side a variety of crackers.Then I got to work on the salad. What Pete's sister described as a "California Salad" is precisely what I made. I started out with the fancy lettuce variety – arugula, baby spinach – the like. Then I tossed on some chopped walnuts (left over from the baked brie) some Feta, also to be used in the lasagna, some sweet yellow peppers, later to be cooked in with
the vegetarian lasagna, and some raspberry vinaigrette dressing. It was wonderful! I served this to the guests as soon as they stopped chowing down on the appetizers and chit chatting over the days events, a good half hour after the first couple arrived. They also turned out to be the last couple to arrive. The rest of the group except Rodney (minus the girlfriend) cancelled at the last minute.
Then I made the HAND ROLLED lasagna – two different kinds. I had the traditional meat and tomato, but also the spinach and cheese. It was very good, I'll admit. I had only made it once before. While the guests worked on their salads, the Lasagna was baking in the oven, making the whole house smell wonderful. Noses turned to the air, sniffing wildly as George mopped up the last bit of Raspberry Vinaigrette with a baby spinach leaf.Next I tossed the ingredients together for my own Cherry Cobbler Cake – a whopping 4 ingredients. This cake is simple, fast, and always a party favorite. I threw that in the oven just as the Lasagna came out and the guests were setting down their salad bowls. Each piece of lasagna came out as a beautiful presentation, and having previous experience as a food server, it was nothing for me to carry three plates at once. Pete carried ours. Ever the polite hostess, I even offered choices.
I had plated two servings of the vegetarian lasagna for George and Rachel, knowing full well from the previous week that they had been Vegan for years. The chances of that changing in less than one week were slim to none."Would you like the Spinach lasagna, or the traditional?"
George and Rachel exchanged quick glances. Rachel spoke up first.
"We'll try the traditional."
Agog, I had Pete hand the two plates of traditional lasagna to our guests, while the third I handed to Rodney. The two plates of Spinach lasagna went to Pete and myself. Our confusion was obvious, I guess. George offered an explanation.
"We went to a friend's house on Wednesday. He had been cooking ribs all day long and it had been so long since I had ribs. I said I would take a bite of one just to see how they tasted. All Rachel had to do was taste the BBQ sauce on the ribs and we were both hooked. I suppose I should have told you guys sooner, but it slipped my mind. We're not vegetarians anymore, by the way." His fork cut into his lasagna and he removed a bite sized piece. "Sorry." He emptied the contents into his mouth and his face lit up. "But if I hadn't gone back to meat on Wednesday, I would have now! This is incredible!""It is," Rachel agreed after swallowing her first bite. "I've GOT to get this recipe from you! I've never seen Lasagna look like this before. It's so... well, pretty!"
Before everyone finished eating their lasagna, I claimed to have some errand in the kitchen I needed to attend to. The smell of the Cherry Cobbler Cake wafted through the house when I turned off the oven and opened the door to allow it to cool.
The final touch was the Poached Pears. I'd never had poached pears before and I knew it sounded good, so I was curious. I threw together the ingredients in a sauce pot and got it boiling. While waiting, I collected the empty and polished lasagna plates. Had they been any more spotless I would have accused them of licking the plates clean. Then I returned to the kitchen where I peeled, cored, and boiled the pears, but while they were boiling, I garnished the desert plates.The desert plates were garnished with Raspberry Syrup and Chocolate Syrup swirled in one corner around an orange slice and a raw apple slice. The cake went in another corner, the poached pear next to that. A single scoop of Vanilla Ice Cream finished the presentation, and it came out looking like a miniature work of art. When the desert was served, I got the biggest compliment of the evening.
"This is the best desert I've had in so many years," Rachael proclaimed.
"Everything has been so wonderful!" Pete said.
"Wow, Amanda – you've outdone yourself here. Wonderful." Rodney thanked me.
"I'm so full I feel like I cant swallow any more, and yet I cant stop eating!" George cut a slice of pear off with his spoon and tasted it gingerly. "Oh Wow," he said in a hushed tone. "This is the best desert I've ever tasted." George smiled up at me and then looked at Rachel. "Why don't you ever cook like this?"Rachel's face fell in embarrassment and she refused to look at me for the rest of the night. She didn't say much after that, and it was clear that she was extremely hurt by what George had said. While I was openly embarrassed for her, inwardly I was stunned that my food had garnished such a compliment.
It was a crowning achievement; a great and horrible success, and an overall wonderful moment for me while also being a most humiliating moment for Rachel. If only the 8 people invited had showed up rather than just the three that did, maybe the comment would have been lost in random conversation.
There were certainly PLENTY of leftovers. To this day I've not made another batch of Vegetarian lasagna though. I know I probably wouldn't eat it if I did. It was good- very good. I just got rather burned out on it.
George and Rachel never came over again, and we never were invited to their house for dinner after that. We rarely saw them at all, and the few times we did, it was clear that Rachel still had rather hurt feelings. She hardly spoke to me.
Part of me wonders if she thought my purpose was to out-do her taco dinner we had at their house, but I know that wasn't the point at all. My only purpose was to make something I would enjoy making and that people would enjoy eating. I wanted to be creative and I saw my moment to try something new.
It was, in the end, a horribly successful dinner party that I'll never forget. I've got money on the fact that Rachel won't forget it anytime soon, either. I still feel bad for that one.
Rodney, Myself and George.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Life in the Jungle Part 2
I struggled to make ends meet. I worked hard and sacrificed every ounce of personal life in order to pay my bills and keep Oliver and myself fed, even if it was on Ramen Noodles. Much to the chagrin of some people around me, I would work 12 hour days 5 days a week when asked, never so much as a hint of hesitation in my voice. I would jump at the chance to see a better pay check, knowing that if I could make just a little more money, I could move up to Hot Dogs and frozen Pot Pies. On the biggest paycheck I ever got durring that time, I even bought a small pint of Ben and Jerrys Ice Cream, certainly a luxury in those days.
I missed having a bath tub and brushing my teeth over a sink. I missed having an air conditioner on the hot days and a heater on the cold days. I missed having a door knob on the inside of my door. I missed having carpet under my feet, new sheets, fluffy pillows, clean laundry and real food. All of the things I missed just drove me to work harder though. On my days off, I found myself at a loss for something to do. I would watch TV for a bit, write for a while, and stay walled up in the boat house all day long. I couldn't afford the gas to go anywhere. I didn't have any nice clothes anymore after being robbed. The one great thing about working at my job was the lack of choices over what to wear. I had a uniform I wore daily and I was ok with that. It took out the embarassment of having to wear the same jeans and T-shirt day in and day out for weeks at a time. I had a severe lack of options only 7 months ago.
I vowed the day I saw someone cry over how I brushed my teeth over the toilet that I would make some changes to my life, and the goal I had set before myself was my 30th birthday, December 11th of last year. I made that goal in Mid-October. Through a lot of hard work, determination, perseverance and the friends I made along the way, I not only reached my goal, but blew it out of the water.
I managed to get a promotion to being Supervisor at work. With that promotion and meager raise, I was able to start looking for a new place to live. I couldn't afford much more than I already paid, though. Still, on a strict budget and tight belt, I could afford a place of my own in a nicer neighborhood. Luckily I had worked very hard over the past few years to clean up my credit, or even that wouldn't have been possible.
By November 15th I had signed a lease on an apartment in one of the nicest areas in all of Los Angeles County, a little place called Belmont Shore. I went from living in South Central to living at the beach, so close I could smell the salt spray as I slept. I didn't officially move in until the end of November, but I finally had a nice home.
It was a tiny apartment, and I knew right off the bat I was going to have a hard time making ends meet each month. I knew the lack of funds would prevent me from having an eventful Christmas, and one thing after another came up causing me to delay the Christmas shopping I had planned to do using my one credit card. Life kept getting in the way, and work WAS life. I was putting in as many hours as I could get away with just in order to pay my bills.
I lived out of piles of boxes heaped in my new living room floor for weeks, hardly able to find a clean shirt or fresh pair of socks among the candles, cables and clutter tossed among the cardboard walls. I slept on a blanket tossed on the floor, but it was a carpeted floor and to some degree was more comfortable than the bed I had been borrowing - because it was MINE. Finally, a week after my 30th birthday I had managed to save enough money to buy a dresser at Ikea. I stayed up until 3:00 am putting it together. I unpacked before work the next day, working as hard as ever to get things in order.
Though I expected absolutely nothing for Christmas, Karma has always had a way of catching up to me, good or bad. I had focused so hard through the past 6 months to do better for myself that I had failed to realize that I was making friends along the way. All I could think of was providing a roof over my own head, taking better care of the Cat and never having to spit into a toilet again.
I wouldn't say it really began raining gifts or anything, but a few surprises certainly had a way of making me feel that way. First there was my Uncle Roger. After many years of not hearing from him, he got in touch with me and we started communicating through emails, daily. He told me things about my family I never would have known without him. I now have a photo of my Grandmother and Grandfather on their wedding day I don't think I had ever seen before. As if that wasn't gift enough, suddenly I got a birthday card in the mail from this long lost Uncle, making me feel overjoyed that someone was thinking about me. My Uncle has since grown to be one of the many voices I look towards for an honest opinion and a kind word when I need them most.
People who knew me well knew that I didn't lock the doors to my car because of an odd distrust in society. I would have rather had a thief open the door and realize there's nothing worth stealing than leaving me with the cost of fixing a broken window only to come to the same conclusion. I never kept anything of value in my car whatsoever, so I didn't even worry about locking the trunk release inside the cab of the car most of the time. Someone who knew me very well took advantage of this. One day after work I went to throw my backpack in the trunk of my car only to suddenly be left gasping for air. Someone anonymous had placed a 20" LCD Flat screen 1080P HiDef TV in the trunk of my car with a pretty little gift receipt. I almost cried. In fact, I'm not ashamed to admit that I think I did cry on the way home.
A few days later, on the 21st of December, I was promoted at work AGAIN to being the Head Honcho on site. Suddenly I could loosen my belt a single notch and I knew without a doubt that I would be ok. I had worked hard, but I had gotten what I needed and wanted in order to survive. It couldn't have come at a better time. It still took a little time for that last raise to hit my checks, but I knew it was on its way. The promotion was exactly what I had wanted for Christmas. Thanks, Santa.
On the morning of December 23rd I was called to the main office at the end of my shift. The Office personnel had drawn numbers to select which baskets of food and treats they would take home to their families from the many gifts they had received. The three left over were given to me, the Maintenance guy and the head of Housekeeping. I chose the Belgium Chocolates, of course, though not for myself. I instantly had a plan for them.
That night, on the night of Christmas Eve, I went down to Lake Elsinore to spend the evening with a wonderful Dutch family that took me in completely. They were such wonderful people with huge American Bulldogs as lap-dogs. Even the dogs took me in. I felt instantly loved. They were so wonderful to invite me into their home on Christmas Eve and let me stay the night, since I didn't have any family around and didn't have to work until the afternoon on Christmas. I had decided to give up my Christmas night in order to let more of my employees enjoy the Holiday. Karma again. That night after we sat down to eat, Lou asked me if I wanted to open my gifts. Flabbergasted, I stuttered and sputtered, obviously not knowing what to say. I felt bad for only having brought the small box of Belgium Chocolates I was regifting.
I didn't know or care what this family had gotten for me - just to know they loved me that much sent me over the edge. It had been one of the hardest years I'd ever had to survive, and to come out on the other end like this didn't seem possible back in July. My entire life had changed in the matter of 5 months. Most of it I made happen, but certain things, like me sitting there with four dogs at my feet holding two brightly wrapped gifts of blue and gold in my lap, were completely a surprise and never were a part of the plan. Tears were brimming in my eyes.
At the urging of my small audience of Lou and Gabe with the four dogs, I opened the big one first. It was large enough to fit all the way across my lap and cover my legs entirely. I pulled the bright blue paper back to reveal a cardboard box underneath. I expected the gift to not be what I saw on the box until I noticed that the box was still sealed. It was a brand new Blu-Ray player, Wireless capable and played regular DVDs as well. I couldn’t contain it any longer. I didn’t let either Gabe or Lou see me, but I cried.
Remember I said there was a second gift? Lou and I had been walking through a Borders just a few days before Christmas, browsing. I wanted to show Lou the Art Book I used to have that went the way of the U-Haul back in July. I guess the excitement showed all over my face when I talked about one particular portrait in the book that I had fallen in love with as I was reading the book from cover to cover.
“What makes this one so special”, Lou told me “is that it’s the exact one we were looking at in the store.” Lou had gone back that night and bought the book. It had been the only one on the shelf at that Borders, and the only one I had seen since I began looking for it in July. Lou had asked me that night if I wanted it and I answered that it cost too much and that I could wait. Well, Merry Christmas to me, here it was resting in my hands. I instantly turned to the page with that portrait I so loved, the Arnolfini Portrait by Jan Van Eyck.
The same man I tried so hard to escape from in Prague invited me over shortly after Christmas for dinner. It was a wonderful evening I was able to spend with a dear friend I've known since October of 2002. Bill's always been good to me, even when I least deserved it. He presented me with two gifts, both of which I cherish. The first was a fabulous book entitled "1001 Paintings To See Before You Die" that I began reading cover to cover that evening. The second gift was a watch to replace the one he gave me so many years ago. It was a gorgeous blue faced Seiko 100M watch with diamonds around the face. I nearly cried when I opened it. I wanted another watch since the one he had given to me was in the Uhaul, but never did I imagine something so beautiful. On the back was an inscription I still look at each time I take off my watch. It reminds me of how well he knows me and how much he has always cared for me.
"Always, B"
The greatest gift I got this past Christmas season wasn’t something I could hold in my hands though. It wasn’t the beautiful card that was so personal and sweet from Lou. It’s wasn’t the Blu-Ray player to go with the “mysterious” TV or the wonderful Christmas Dinner left over’s that an employee brought with him to work for me on Christmas night, though that was the first home cooked meal I'd had in months. It wasn't the beautiful watch with the dark blue face. It wasn’t the new apartment, though I admit it was just what I wanted. It wasn’t even the promotion. The greatest gift I was given this season was just this:
Christmas Eve, I sat there at a table with a warm and loving family; Stefan, Vicky, Lou and Gabe – four wonderful people. Under us sat the dogs; Spot, Mugsy, Tyson and Sasha. I was warm, loved, and accepted by a family who didn’t know much about me and didn’t care about that tiny detail. Before we picked up the first bite of food, I followed suit when the family bowed their heads to pray. Sitting between Vicky and Lou, I smiled. I hadn’t said a prayer over food with a family in far too long to remember. Right then, as I searched for the words to explain in a prayer just what I was feeling, I knew that no words were needed. The prayer was not ever in the words, but in the heart behind them. The greatest gift last Christmas Season was that family and the kindness and love they shared with me. The greatest gift of the year was having people who love me there to share in that moment. It was a long drive to Lake Elsinore for Christmas Eve, but it’s a drive I would make a million times over just to relive that night.
It was the greatest Christmas I had ever known.
I’m not big on prayer or waiting to see what happens after a prayer is uttered, but the final gift I will write about today is the gift that I give to each of you.
For in that moment of clarity and thought filled emotion, I thought about all of you out there who helped me to survive this past year. There are some of you I don’t see eye-to-eye with except maybe once a decade. There are those of you I can’t seem to disagree with at any point. There are people who love me and who hate me, who like and dislike me, and who have no reason to pay any attention to me whatsoever. Still, those are the people who helped me to survive.
I thought about the young mother cradling a new baby in her arms, wrapped up in the stolen quilt my Grandmother had made for me. I thought about the guy next door who warned me that the street sweepers were coming and I needed to move my car so I didn’t get a ticket. I thought about the families in South Central who watched over me, making sure I had food. I thought about the boss that believed in me, the friend who helped me move, the people I've loved and those who loved me. I thought about the man I once called a friend. I thought about my wonderful Uncle Roger, my Aunt Debbie who put us in touch, my brother, my son, my father and mother, and even those dogs under the table keeping my feet warm.
May you all have the clarity throughout the coming years that I had in that moment, sitting at that table with my head bowed, thinking about each of you and what you’ve meant to me and to others. I wish you nothing but prosperity and good will for the glorious future to come. May you shine as brightly as a star even on the worst of days and may you never loose hope. If ever you do, just think back to how much this one person’s life changed in the mere matter of five months. I may have lost everything back in April only to loose more in July, but it gave me the will to fight back and survive, an survive I did!
YOU are and were my inspiration. May you always have your inspiration like you’ve provided to those around you.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Life in the Jungle Part 1
here are certain things in this modern age that we take for granted. For the majority of people, these would be things like friendship and family. Though I'm certainly guilty of both of those, there are some things that my eyes were opened to as recently as last November. I never realized certain things were luxury items. Only a little more than a hundred years ago people lived with far worse conditions than what I lived with just before Thanksgiving of last year. Though it seems so trivial in so many aspects, how did people survive without indoor plumbing? It certainly had to be uncomfortable, but it was a way of life back then and something they were used to, not something out of the ordinary as it would be today.
On October 6th f last year, I moved in to a place on the spur of the moment. I needed somewhere to go and a friend of mine was able to help me out. His family had a room I could take, and were more than willing to help me out in any way they could. There were a few minor things that most people would likely have a heart attack over, but for me I saw it as a challenge, and something I could claim as my own. Realistically I moved for my cat. I needed a place where I could keep him with me always, and they were ok with me having a pet. With my extremely limited funds and them not asking for a deposit, it was a match made in heaven.
It was an interesting place, and when I first moved in I saw it as an adventure. I have always had a hard time turning down an adventure. Sure, there was no bath tub, and the bathroom was separate from my room so I had to get dressed to go outside and down the alley to my bathroom, but it was MY bathroom and I loved it. My feet were in the shower if I was sitting on the toilet, and my only door on my bathroom was a dolphin printed shower curtain, but it was all mine and nobody else ever used it that I was aware of. I could put all my shampoo and conditioner and smelly, girly stuff in there without worry that someone else would move it, use it or take it.
My room was tiny and I didn’t have anything when I moved in after I was robbed just last July of my U-haul while I slept. I didn’t have a bed or much of anything else even then, but what I had when I moved in to my new place in South Central Los Angeles, otherwise known as The Jungle, was even less. The people of the main house, my landlords, treated me as they would a family member down on their luck. They loaned me a bed WITH bedding, a TV, cable box, microwave and even a fridge. I couldn’t believe my luck for the peanuts I would have to pay monthly. It was so very much for so little asked of me.
Simple rules like “no parties” only endeared the place to me even more. In my first few days there the weather was nice. I would often sit in the hammock by the pool and read, or shoot a few games on the pool table. Late at night when I had phone calls I would sit on the steps to the Jacuzzi back by the Persimmon and Lime trees just over by the diving board for the pool. I had a swim suit or two. I had plans to put the pool to good use, and just didn’t get around to it before the weather turned cool. The lady of the house loved plants, so the yard was wall-to-wall beautiful green. It was my own tropical oasis on the other side of my little iron fortress. My cat, Oliver would trill at me when he saw me coming. It was always a pleasant homecoming.
When it was nice weather out, showers were an absolute pleasure. I would take the thick, oversized zebra stripe bathrobe I purchased for $2.99 at Goodwill to the outdoor bathroom with me. There I would close my dolphin-printed plastic door, strip down while avoiding the prospect
of facing the shower curtain that divided me from the outside world due to the blank spaces in it, and step into the shower. The water would take a moment to warm up, but when it did it stayed fairly warm for a while unless someone was washing dishes or clothes in the main house. There were times when the shift from too hot went to ice within seconds, and I’m sure the neighbors heard me squealing a time or two. By the time I got out my robe was half wet and the floor even behind the toilet was drenched, but I had a little pink towel they let me borrow to dry my hair with. I would hang it by the doorway when I was done and wander back with my arms loaded down, wearing that zebra striped robe and fuzzy slippers. I would walk down the alley by the side of the house, ducking if someone was in the kitchen or one of the two bedroom windows I would pass on the way back to my room.
When the weather was warm, I would often sleep with my door open and the screen closed, since I didn’t have any windows for ventilation. As the weather changed though, that changed too. I couldn’t stand the cold. The only blankets I had were the ones loaned to me, with the ivy printed sheets and matching comforter, rather old and thin. There was no heater and no air conditioner in my room, so when the weather changed I often got the worst of it. Still, I didn’t complain. It was Ollie and me all the way. If I wanted things to change, I would have to do that myself.
In the mornings I was met with a new challenge. I was too broke to buy food, so all the food I had was dry-storage items like Ramen noodles from the dollar store. They fed me for quite a while. Certain people got rather sick of hearing how I ate Ramen all the time and started to chide me for it. I made so many promises to eat better, but until recently I wasn’t able to. I continued with my dry storage items, eating only what I could afford and never straying outside of my budget of $40 a month on food, barely more than a dollar a day. Ramen fit that budget perfectly, since at the dollar store they’re usually 4 for $1.00 or there about. Breakfast tended to be one Dollar Store granola bar in the morning. Brushing my teeth was yet another adventure.
You may have noticed that I didn’t mention how the sink in my bathroom was positioned. There’s a very good reason for that actually. I didn’t have one. That sounds odd, but until you are in the situation of not having a sink, you’ll never understand fully what this was like for me. Washing my face had to be in the shower, so I didn’t do it three times a day anymore. Washing my hands was the same way. I would have to hide behind the shower curtain and reach around it if I wanted to wash my hands without getting drenched. Often I was soaked head to toe afterwards anyway. But how does one fill their mouth to rinse after brushing without a sink? Once done rinsing the mouth, where does the spit go? Down the shower drain? I've had a few interesting stories about toothbrushes, but nothing like I was about to encounter.
I bought a case of water at the Dollar Store. The water where I live is so bad it’s a necessity anyway. I would grab a bottle of water in the mornings and take it with me to the bathroom. There I would grab my tooth brush from it’s place laying on top of my bath towel and hold it out over the toilet. I would pour some water from my bottle onto the tooth brush, letting the excess fall into the commode. Then I would apply the tooth paste and brush the way any normal person would – except I would be on my knees in front of the toilet. One day a friend came over and was chatting with me when I said I had to go brush my teeth. Thinking nothing of it because it had become almost routine to me and rather comical in my mind, I saw nothing wrong with my morning ritual. When I finished brushing and spit into the toilet, rinsed with my bottled water and spit again, it seemed almost natural in a very unnatural way. It wasn’t until I looked up and saw the tears standing in my friends eyes that I realized just how far I had fallen from regular society. Here I was on my knees in front of a toilet in the back yard of a total strangers house brushing my teeth, feeling like this was ok, or even half way normal. What had become of me?
As so many of you know, life hasn’t always been easy for me. I’ve had my fair share of struggles, and I keep on fighting. I was too embarrassed to share this story with anyone for quite a while, but I write in order to share my stories. It's time I share this one. I had hoped to move again before my 30th birthday on December 11th. I wanted an indoor bathroom with a sink. At this point a tub wasn’t even a priority, though in the past it always had been. It would have been nice, but just so long as I had a sink I’d be happy. I just had to somehow save up for a deposit on a place before then. With winter coming quickly, finding a warm place to sleep and a indoor shower was a major priority.
It wasn't forever, but it was my life only 6 months ago. It wasn't the end, but it was far from the beginning. Even now, I continue to grow and learn, being humbled more and more each time I think I’m untouchable.
If you think this can’t happen to you, think again. It can happen to any of us. Good or bad, high or low, young or old, we all hit hard times in our lives. There are some people out there in far worse shape than I was. I at least had a roof over my head and my lovely Oliver. I still had people who loved and cared for me. In that respect, even then I had it all.
Things did get better, but it all started with me.
On October 6th f last year, I moved in to a place on the spur of the moment. I needed somewhere to go and a friend of mine was able to help me out. His family had a room I could take, and were more than willing to help me out in any way they could. There were a few minor things that most people would likely have a heart attack over, but for me I saw it as a challenge, and something I could claim as my own. Realistically I moved for my cat. I needed a place where I could keep him with me always, and they were ok with me having a pet. With my extremely limited funds and them not asking for a deposit, it was a match made in heaven.
It was an interesting place, and when I first moved in I saw it as an adventure. I have always had a hard time turning down an adventure. Sure, there was no bath tub, and the bathroom was separate from my room so I had to get dressed to go outside and down the alley to my bathroom, but it was MY bathroom and I loved it. My feet were in the shower if I was sitting on the toilet, and my only door on my bathroom was a dolphin printed shower curtain, but it was all mine and nobody else ever used it that I was aware of. I could put all my shampoo and conditioner and smelly, girly stuff in there without worry that someone else would move it, use it or take it.
My room was tiny and I didn’t have anything when I moved in after I was robbed just last July of my U-haul while I slept. I didn’t have a bed or much of anything else even then, but what I had when I moved in to my new place in South Central Los Angeles, otherwise known as The Jungle, was even less. The people of the main house, my landlords, treated me as they would a family member down on their luck. They loaned me a bed WITH bedding, a TV, cable box, microwave and even a fridge. I couldn’t believe my luck for the peanuts I would have to pay monthly. It was so very much for so little asked of me.
Simple rules like “no parties” only endeared the place to me even more. In my first few days there the weather was nice. I would often sit in the hammock by the pool and read, or shoot a few games on the pool table. Late at night when I had phone calls I would sit on the steps to the Jacuzzi back by the Persimmon and Lime trees just over by the diving board for the pool. I had a swim suit or two. I had plans to put the pool to good use, and just didn’t get around to it before the weather turned cool. The lady of the house loved plants, so the yard was wall-to-wall beautiful green. It was my own tropical oasis on the other side of my little iron fortress. My cat, Oliver would trill at me when he saw me coming. It was always a pleasant homecoming.When it was nice weather out, showers were an absolute pleasure. I would take the thick, oversized zebra stripe bathrobe I purchased for $2.99 at Goodwill to the outdoor bathroom with me. There I would close my dolphin-printed plastic door, strip down while avoiding the prospect
of facing the shower curtain that divided me from the outside world due to the blank spaces in it, and step into the shower. The water would take a moment to warm up, but when it did it stayed fairly warm for a while unless someone was washing dishes or clothes in the main house. There were times when the shift from too hot went to ice within seconds, and I’m sure the neighbors heard me squealing a time or two. By the time I got out my robe was half wet and the floor even behind the toilet was drenched, but I had a little pink towel they let me borrow to dry my hair with. I would hang it by the doorway when I was done and wander back with my arms loaded down, wearing that zebra striped robe and fuzzy slippers. I would walk down the alley by the side of the house, ducking if someone was in the kitchen or one of the two bedroom windows I would pass on the way back to my room.When the weather was warm, I would often sleep with my door open and the screen closed, since I didn’t have any windows for ventilation. As the weather changed though, that changed too. I couldn’t stand the cold. The only blankets I had were the ones loaned to me, with the ivy printed sheets and matching comforter, rather old and thin. There was no heater and no air conditioner in my room, so when the weather changed I often got the worst of it. Still, I didn’t complain. It was Ollie and me all the way. If I wanted things to change, I would have to do that myself.
In the mornings I was met with a new challenge. I was too broke to buy food, so all the food I had was dry-storage items like Ramen noodles from the dollar store. They fed me for quite a while. Certain people got rather sick of hearing how I ate Ramen all the time and started to chide me for it. I made so many promises to eat better, but until recently I wasn’t able to. I continued with my dry storage items, eating only what I could afford and never straying outside of my budget of $40 a month on food, barely more than a dollar a day. Ramen fit that budget perfectly, since at the dollar store they’re usually 4 for $1.00 or there about. Breakfast tended to be one Dollar Store granola bar in the morning. Brushing my teeth was yet another adventure.
You may have noticed that I didn’t mention how the sink in my bathroom was positioned. There’s a very good reason for that actually. I didn’t have one. That sounds odd, but until you are in the situation of not having a sink, you’ll never understand fully what this was like for me. Washing my face had to be in the shower, so I didn’t do it three times a day anymore. Washing my hands was the same way. I would have to hide behind the shower curtain and reach around it if I wanted to wash my hands without getting drenched. Often I was soaked head to toe afterwards anyway. But how does one fill their mouth to rinse after brushing without a sink? Once done rinsing the mouth, where does the spit go? Down the shower drain? I've had a few interesting stories about toothbrushes, but nothing like I was about to encounter.
I bought a case of water at the Dollar Store. The water where I live is so bad it’s a necessity anyway. I would grab a bottle of water in the mornings and take it with me to the bathroom. There I would grab my tooth brush from it’s place laying on top of my bath towel and hold it out over the toilet. I would pour some water from my bottle onto the tooth brush, letting the excess fall into the commode. Then I would apply the tooth paste and brush the way any normal person would – except I would be on my knees in front of the toilet. One day a friend came over and was chatting with me when I said I had to go brush my teeth. Thinking nothing of it because it had become almost routine to me and rather comical in my mind, I saw nothing wrong with my morning ritual. When I finished brushing and spit into the toilet, rinsed with my bottled water and spit again, it seemed almost natural in a very unnatural way. It wasn’t until I looked up and saw the tears standing in my friends eyes that I realized just how far I had fallen from regular society. Here I was on my knees in front of a toilet in the back yard of a total strangers house brushing my teeth, feeling like this was ok, or even half way normal. What had become of me?As so many of you know, life hasn’t always been easy for me. I’ve had my fair share of struggles, and I keep on fighting. I was too embarrassed to share this story with anyone for quite a while, but I write in order to share my stories. It's time I share this one. I had hoped to move again before my 30th birthday on December 11th. I wanted an indoor bathroom with a sink. At this point a tub wasn’t even a priority, though in the past it always had been. It would have been nice, but just so long as I had a sink I’d be happy. I just had to somehow save up for a deposit on a place before then. With winter coming quickly, finding a warm place to sleep and a indoor shower was a major priority.
It wasn't forever, but it was my life only 6 months ago. It wasn't the end, but it was far from the beginning. Even now, I continue to grow and learn, being humbled more and more each time I think I’m untouchable.If you think this can’t happen to you, think again. It can happen to any of us. Good or bad, high or low, young or old, we all hit hard times in our lives. There are some people out there in far worse shape than I was. I at least had a roof over my head and my lovely Oliver. I still had people who loved and cared for me. In that respect, even then I had it all.
Things did get better, but it all started with me.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
The Guard's Daydream
Originally Written : Feb 5, 2009 8:57 PM
Work that day was slow. There wasn’t much going on around the Guard shack, so I ended up just watching the video monitors. Things were always slow when it rained. I liked it that way.
My mind drifted to the way the sky looked the night before, with a big ring of clouds around the moon. Someone special told me that it was a Fairy Ring, the moon and the Fairies were battling for the sky. The moon would surely spill its rain if it won, but might be delayed a few days if it didn’t. It looked as though the Moon won.
Quiet days were the best for calm meditation. Normally I could think just a little clearer on the days when it would rain, like the water would wash my thoughts. For some reason, the same feelings kept permeating my thoughts. Thinking clearer was a bit harder on this unusual day.
I sighed, stood up and paced across the floor in the Guard shack. I walked out into the rain for a moment, not caring if my uniform got completely soaked. I loved the rain; it was beautiful. The fog was rolling in, making things seem even more mystical and mysterious. I couldn’t see the million dollar mansions on the hill before me anymore. The top of the trees protruded, creating a cloudy, wooden paradise with everything from palm tree to pine.
The heater blasted inside the guard shack, humming its merry little tune, warming the retreat from the elements. I didn’t want to be warm, though. I wanted to let the rain wash away my worries and concerns. I faced the sky, feeling the drops splash onto my cheeks. Slowly the drips started to pool on my face and run down my neck. It was cold outside, so the rain sliding down the outside of my throat was like ice water. I rubbed my neck and closed my eyes. What a glorious, beautiful day!
His face stuck in my mind. I couldn’t shake it. I looked at my cell phone only about fifty times a day, as I had his photograph on the wallpaper. It was a close enough image to see my most favorite feature, his long, curly hair. He had beautiful chestnut hair that wound into soft coffee colored waves that extended just below the base of his skull. His masculine jaw line was outlined by perfectly sculpted facial hair that would tickle anyone who got close enough to it. It was a good tickle. His piercing blue eyes held worlds of wonder and amazement and were themselves magical in the most sincere of ways. He saw the world as I saw it, finally proving I was not alone in my mysticism and fantasies. Magic did exist, and he was the living, breathing proof. He was born of the Fairy kingdom and raised by Pirates and Rogues. It showed in everything he ever touched.
Suddenly I was inspired to write. I didn’t know what I was going to write, just that I was going to spend a few minutes telling a story about this wonderful person. I stepped back into the guard shack and started tapping away at my laptop computer. The rain continued to pour outside, the wind picking up a little with each passing minute. My eyes grew heavy as I sat in the white plastic seat in front of the warm heater.
My mind drifted to the way the sky looked the night before, with a big ring of clouds around the moon. Someone special told me that it was a Fairy Ring, the moon and the Fairies were battling for the sky. The moon would surely spill its rain if it won, but might be delayed a few days if it didn’t. It looked as though the Moon won.Quiet days were the best for calm meditation. Normally I could think just a little clearer on the days when it would rain, like the water would wash my thoughts. For some reason, the same feelings kept permeating my thoughts. Thinking clearer was a bit harder on this unusual day.
I sighed, stood up and paced across the floor in the Guard shack. I walked out into the rain for a moment, not caring if my uniform got completely soaked. I loved the rain; it was beautiful. The fog was rolling in, making things seem even more mystical and mysterious. I couldn’t see the million dollar mansions on the hill before me anymore. The top of the trees protruded, creating a cloudy, wooden paradise with everything from palm tree to pine.
The heater blasted inside the guard shack, humming its merry little tune, warming the retreat from the elements. I didn’t want to be warm, though. I wanted to let the rain wash away my worries and concerns. I faced the sky, feeling the drops splash onto my cheeks. Slowly the drips started to pool on my face and run down my neck. It was cold outside, so the rain sliding down the outside of my throat was like ice water. I rubbed my neck and closed my eyes. What a glorious, beautiful day!
His face stuck in my mind. I couldn’t shake it. I looked at my cell phone only about fifty times a day, as I had his photograph on the wallpaper. It was a close enough image to see my most favorite feature, his long, curly hair. He had beautiful chestnut hair that wound into soft coffee colored waves that extended just below the base of his skull. His masculine jaw line was outlined by perfectly sculpted facial hair that would tickle anyone who got close enough to it. It was a good tickle. His piercing blue eyes held worlds of wonder and amazement and were themselves magical in the most sincere of ways. He saw the world as I saw it, finally proving I was not alone in my mysticism and fantasies. Magic did exist, and he was the living, breathing proof. He was born of the Fairy kingdom and raised by Pirates and Rogues. It showed in everything he ever touched.
Suddenly I was inspired to write. I didn’t know what I was going to write, just that I was going to spend a few minutes telling a story about this wonderful person. I stepped back into the guard shack and started tapping away at my laptop computer. The rain continued to pour outside, the wind picking up a little with each passing minute. My eyes grew heavy as I sat in the white plastic seat in front of the warm heater.
Sheets of rain started to sweep across the parking lot, showing how uneven the water fell from the sky. The sheets would zigzag across the black pavement, leaving odd snakelike patterns that would disappear in seconds. Pools started to form and rivers began cascading through this blacktop jungle. Bubbles formed where the large drops merged and fell into the puddles from the pine needles of the tree near by.
The water grew deeper all around me, forcing its way into the elevated guard shack. I knew I would have to get out of the guard shack if I was going to make it to shelter. I couldn’t believe it was starting to fill with water. I would have to swim to safety.
I swam to the nearest tree and looked back. The guard shack wasn’t a guard shack at all! I had been hiding under a huge mushroom! I turned to climb higher in the tree and that’s when I realized it hadn’t been a tree I swam to at all. It was a gigantic reed, like the kind at the edge of a river, but multiplied in size ten fold. Where had the tree gone that I knew was by the guard shack? I looked around and didn’t see it anywhere. I climbed higher to get a better view.
The water grew deeper all around me, forcing its way into the elevated guard shack. I knew I would have to get out of the guard shack if I was going to make it to shelter. I couldn’t believe it was starting to fill with water. I would have to swim to safety.
I swam to the nearest tree and looked back. The guard shack wasn’t a guard shack at all! I had been hiding under a huge mushroom! I turned to climb higher in the tree and that’s when I realized it hadn’t been a tree I swam to at all. It was a gigantic reed, like the kind at the edge of a river, but multiplied in size ten fold. Where had the tree gone that I knew was by the guard shack? I looked around and didn’t see it anywhere. I climbed higher to get a better view.
Dry land wasn’t far away. I would have to swim a while to get there, but it looked close enough for me to make it. A proud, twisted old tree stood on the banks of the dry land, also of an unnatural size. I jumped from the reed and dove into the surging water below. The mushroom was completely under water now. I swam hard towards the land I had seen. It seemed like the rain was starting to let up.
The clouds finally parted and the sky cleared enough for me to look around. I climbed as high as I could on the tree roots and held my hand over my eyes to shade myself from the glaring sun.
A whole new world lay before me. A river off in the distance coursed its way through a wide valley. Everything was ten times bigger than it should be. Mushrooms provided shelter for potato bugs and silverfish; birds were beginning to take fight from the trees again since the rain had stopped. A couple of earthworms surfaced and worked to dry themselves on a slab of granite. From under flowers came the most beautiful creatures I had ever seen. They looked almost human, but their fingers were longer and very thin, their faces drawn taught and almost squinting. The hair on their heads was trimmed short and was in an unkempt, unruly manner. The strangest part of these creatures was the odd pair of sticks that sprouted from their backs. At first they looked like sticks, but upon closer inspection I began to realize that those sticks were just the frameworks for their beautiful iridescent wings. They bent their knees slightly, jumped into the air, and flew with the speed of hummingbirds.
One came rather close and looked at me. She was as big as I was! Or, it started to sink in, I was as small as she was. Her hair was a light blondish pink, and her eyes, what I could see of them through her narrow almond slits were an unnatural brilliant green. She had seen something on me and reached out her spindling fingers to grab it. As I watched her, I realized what it was she wanted. She was reaching for a bright golden key around my neck. Just about the time I thought it might be wise to stop her, she wrapped her fingers around it and was taking off. I grabbed her arm and held on. Her wings were so powerful they lifted me right off of the ground, high into the air, and never once did she let go of the key. If I had let go of her, she likely would have choked me to death with the string holding the key on my neckline!
Finally she landed in the center of a large pink rose. It appeared she was bored with the game and let go of my key. I had no idea what the key went to, but I knew it was important for some reason. She flew off, buzzing happily like a humming bird. Seeing that I wasn’t entirely sure what to do from here, she circled back. Her long finger pointed back towards the tree where I had been when she flew up to me moments before. She wanted me to go back to the tree?
My gaze followed to where she was pointing, and near the base of the tree was a small wooden door with a handle in the middle. Just below the handle was a lock. It looked as though this key would fit into that lock perfectly. I guessed there was only one way to figure that out. I jumped out of the rose, slid down a tall blade of grass and made my way back to the tree. It was the opposite side from where I had been, so when I reached the door into the tree I couldn’t see the river anymore. The girth of the tree completely blocked it from sight. Several more flying creatures flitted up on speedy wings, all of them urging me to go through the door. One of them opened her mouth as if to say something, but instead emitted a horrible squeal, steady and shrieking. The only thing I wanted in the entire world was to get away from that sound.I put the key into the door and turned it with a clanking sound. It slowly opened to reveal…
I was back in the guard shack. My eyes were heavy. The horrible squealing shriek continued! I jumped to my feet and looked around just as the noise subsided. A car sat outside the guard booth, the driver occasionally honking the horn to get my attention. Her strawberry blonde hair and nearly unrealistic green contacts were a stark contrast to the blue gray world of the subsided magical rain.“Hi there, I was just wondering if you know how to get to the Three Martini’s restaurant.” She paused, shaking the water out of her hair through the open window with her long, spindly fingers. “Damn this blasted rain – I hate this stuff!”
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Just 2 Good Scares
In my job there are often times that I have to protect areas that are off limits to most people. There are doors leading to back areas and hidden hallways that the kids like to explore. They traverse the hidden stairwells and find dark corners for doing dark deeds. In the are where I work, the parents see my employees as free babysitters. When their kids get into trouble, they would honestly not have to hear about it. That leaves me without a lot of leverage in most cases. I have to use what I have to thoroughly shock the kids into not repeating their offenses. In most cases, this means scaring them. Because of the pranks my brother and I would pull on one another as kids, this has been my field of expertise for a long time.
I had talked to, fussed at and down right yelled at a couple of kids practically all night last October 1st. I was getting tired of having to deal with this regular group of blatant trouble makers. When I heard them mention something about heading down one particular dark and secluded hallway, I decided to beat them to the punch line and really get their attention.
I raced through the back corridors and down a hidden staircase. I dashed to the hallway they had been talking about and ducked around the door. I stood there and listened. I held my breath, waiting for them to come around the corner. I heard nothing, but I knew patience was the key. I waited and waited and waited. And waited.
Just about the time I was going to give up, I heard voices walking down the hallway. It sounded like two guys and a girl. That matched the group I was waiting for. They came very close to where I was perched, waiting.
"I don't see the bathroom," the female voice said plainly. It was obvious they had no idea I was there, just waiting for them.
"It's down there," one of the male voices said. I knew he was pointing in the opposite direction from where I was hiding. The ladies room was at the end of the opposite hallway.
"Ah! Thanks!" I could tell from her footsteps that she was continuing down the hallway.
The whispering started then. I couldn't tell what they were saying, but it was obviously two males. Exchanges went back and forth, a full conversation at a whispered level. I stood patiently as still as a statue, waiting for the second they walked around the corner. I wouldn't need to shout or yell or scream. Just the mere fact I had beaten them there would be enough. I had it all planned out in my head. As soon as they walked around the corner, I would merely tell them "I don't think so, you're not to come back here again. If you do, it's trespassing and you'll be arrested for it." I was going to say it as calmly as possible, though I was starting to feel a little amped to say the least, knowing I was that close to catching them red handed. The whispering grew slightly louder and I knew they were coming closer.
"What about over here," the husky voice whispered to the other. It sounded older than a teen, but it was whispered.
"Yeah," the other responded. He sounded much younger. "That's the perfect spot." They whispered a bit more and came closer to my hiding place. "Let me check it out," he continued, barely around the corner from where I stood. I told myself not to pounce on the kid when he rounded the corner and gently cleared my throat without a sound.
I saw the shoe first, or the tip of it anyway. I opened my mouth to speak.
"I don't think so," I said as calmly as a murderer in a 1980's horror film. I had rehearsed so much that once the words started to flow out, I couldn't seem to stop until I ended my first sentence - but by then it was too late. I had already succeeded in making a 40-something year old man scream like a little girl and bring his wife running out of the bathroom, still trying to fasten her pants. The other man stood in the hallway, howling with laughter, doubled over at the waist and holding his rotund stomach with both hands. I half expected him to sprout a long white beard and Santa costume.
My victim in the mean time was gasping for air, clutching the wall for dear life.
"Oh," he gasped, "my," he took another breath, "Hell," he managed to shake out. "You scared the $hit out of me!"
I was apologizing profusely, spewing the word 'sorry' as often as I could in a single minute. As soon as he composed himself enough to stand on his own without threat of a heart seizure, I started to laugh uncontrollably out of complete embarrassment. Still saying I was sorry, I was greeted by them telling me that it was OK and there was nothing to worry about. Laughing with all three of them, we walked out of the hall together. I was consistently apologizing, but paused long enough to ask what they were doing in the back corridor. I explained my situation and they were more than willing to tell me their reasons.
"I wanted to scare my wife," he admitted sheepishly. Walking beside me, his wife froze.
"What?!" Shocked, she glared at her husband. Both men paused to wait for her, and I did as well. "Then you deserve what you got!"
The friend that had been with them hadn't stopped chuckling the entire time. Now he roared with laughter again.
I was too embarrassed to tell anyone at work what I had done for a couple of weeks. When finally I did, it was after shift on another weekend night. I was out back in what was once the smoking area with my shift partner and one of the guys that had just started shift, briefing. By the end of my story, they were all chuckling at me as I acted out each person's reactions, darting to and fro, mimicking each emotion down to the confused wife running out of the bathroom with toilet paper in her hand.
Durring the telling of my tale, several times I heard the familiar squeak of the back doors leading to an "off limits" staircase. Each time I would pause my story and take off running for the back doors, wanting desperately to stop the little intruders. Each time I came flying around the corner hollering.
"THIS is NOT an entrance. You need to go around!" Each time I was successful in scaring the pants off of the kids and each time, they went around to another official entrance. Then I would return to my position at the head of the table and continue to tell my coworkers the rest of the story.
I had just finished telling the story when I heard the door squeak again. Once more I flew on silent wings to the corner and bolted straight at the doors. I didn't get out anything but "Hey!" when a high pitched squeal pierced the night air. He screamed without shame, eyes as wide as a saucer, truly scared beyond belief. A rather rotund janitor named Peter had been going back inside after having a smoke break. To this day I'll never forget the octave he reached while still retaining his stature as a 5'7" 300 lb. History Teacher moonlighting as a janitor.
"What the Hell, Amanda?!" He breathed, grabbed the wall and his heart, one in each hand, and gasped. "I mean, What the Hell?! It's not even Halloween yet!" I howled with laughter, clutching my stomach and bending at the waist like the last victim's friend. Breathless, I tried to explain to Peter what was so funny. I couldn't seem to force the words out of my mouth, so I walked bent over at the waist towards my coworkers and beckoned Peter to follow. Tears streamed down my face and dripped on the concrete as I walked. Peter followed, bewildered.
"What the Hell is she laughing at," Peter asked the other guys. At realizing who the high pitched scream had come from and knowing he didn't hear the story, the other two instantly burst into laughter, failing to tell Peter the story. He sat there for a good five minutes before we could get out the gist of the tale. By the time we did, he was smiling at me like I had sprouted a monkey's tail from my forehead.
I still jump around corners every now and then trying to scare the kids, but I certainly make sure they're kids first. Where would I have been if the Big Guy had a heart attack?!
I had talked to, fussed at and down right yelled at a couple of kids practically all night last October 1st. I was getting tired of having to deal with this regular group of blatant trouble makers. When I heard them mention something about heading down one particular dark and secluded hallway, I decided to beat them to the punch line and really get their attention.
I raced through the back corridors and down a hidden staircase. I dashed to the hallway they had been talking about and ducked around the door. I stood there and listened. I held my breath, waiting for them to come around the corner. I heard nothing, but I knew patience was the key. I waited and waited and waited. And waited.
Just about the time I was going to give up, I heard voices walking down the hallway. It sounded like two guys and a girl. That matched the group I was waiting for. They came very close to where I was perched, waiting.
"I don't see the bathroom," the female voice said plainly. It was obvious they had no idea I was there, just waiting for them.
"It's down there," one of the male voices said. I knew he was pointing in the opposite direction from where I was hiding. The ladies room was at the end of the opposite hallway.
"Ah! Thanks!" I could tell from her footsteps that she was continuing down the hallway.
The whispering started then. I couldn't tell what they were saying, but it was obviously two males. Exchanges went back and forth, a full conversation at a whispered level. I stood patiently as still as a statue, waiting for the second they walked around the corner. I wouldn't need to shout or yell or scream. Just the mere fact I had beaten them there would be enough. I had it all planned out in my head. As soon as they walked around the corner, I would merely tell them "I don't think so, you're not to come back here again. If you do, it's trespassing and you'll be arrested for it." I was going to say it as calmly as possible, though I was starting to feel a little amped to say the least, knowing I was that close to catching them red handed. The whispering grew slightly louder and I knew they were coming closer.
"What about over here," the husky voice whispered to the other. It sounded older than a teen, but it was whispered.
"Yeah," the other responded. He sounded much younger. "That's the perfect spot." They whispered a bit more and came closer to my hiding place. "Let me check it out," he continued, barely around the corner from where I stood. I told myself not to pounce on the kid when he rounded the corner and gently cleared my throat without a sound.
I saw the shoe first, or the tip of it anyway. I opened my mouth to speak.
"I don't think so," I said as calmly as a murderer in a 1980's horror film. I had rehearsed so much that once the words started to flow out, I couldn't seem to stop until I ended my first sentence - but by then it was too late. I had already succeeded in making a 40-something year old man scream like a little girl and bring his wife running out of the bathroom, still trying to fasten her pants. The other man stood in the hallway, howling with laughter, doubled over at the waist and holding his rotund stomach with both hands. I half expected him to sprout a long white beard and Santa costume.
My victim in the mean time was gasping for air, clutching the wall for dear life.
"Oh," he gasped, "my," he took another breath, "Hell," he managed to shake out. "You scared the $hit out of me!"I was apologizing profusely, spewing the word 'sorry' as often as I could in a single minute. As soon as he composed himself enough to stand on his own without threat of a heart seizure, I started to laugh uncontrollably out of complete embarrassment. Still saying I was sorry, I was greeted by them telling me that it was OK and there was nothing to worry about. Laughing with all three of them, we walked out of the hall together. I was consistently apologizing, but paused long enough to ask what they were doing in the back corridor. I explained my situation and they were more than willing to tell me their reasons.
"I wanted to scare my wife," he admitted sheepishly. Walking beside me, his wife froze.
"What?!" Shocked, she glared at her husband. Both men paused to wait for her, and I did as well. "Then you deserve what you got!"
The friend that had been with them hadn't stopped chuckling the entire time. Now he roared with laughter again.I was too embarrassed to tell anyone at work what I had done for a couple of weeks. When finally I did, it was after shift on another weekend night. I was out back in what was once the smoking area with my shift partner and one of the guys that had just started shift, briefing. By the end of my story, they were all chuckling at me as I acted out each person's reactions, darting to and fro, mimicking each emotion down to the confused wife running out of the bathroom with toilet paper in her hand.
Durring the telling of my tale, several times I heard the familiar squeak of the back doors leading to an "off limits" staircase. Each time I would pause my story and take off running for the back doors, wanting desperately to stop the little intruders. Each time I came flying around the corner hollering.
"THIS is NOT an entrance. You need to go around!" Each time I was successful in scaring the pants off of the kids and each time, they went around to another official entrance. Then I would return to my position at the head of the table and continue to tell my coworkers the rest of the story.
I had just finished telling the story when I heard the door squeak again. Once more I flew on silent wings to the corner and bolted straight at the doors. I didn't get out anything but "Hey!" when a high pitched squeal pierced the night air. He screamed without shame, eyes as wide as a saucer, truly scared beyond belief. A rather rotund janitor named Peter had been going back inside after having a smoke break. To this day I'll never forget the octave he reached while still retaining his stature as a 5'7" 300 lb. History Teacher moonlighting as a janitor.
"What the Hell, Amanda?!" He breathed, grabbed the wall and his heart, one in each hand, and gasped. "I mean, What the Hell?! It's not even Halloween yet!" I howled with laughter, clutching my stomach and bending at the waist like the last victim's friend. Breathless, I tried to explain to Peter what was so funny. I couldn't seem to force the words out of my mouth, so I walked bent over at the waist towards my coworkers and beckoned Peter to follow. Tears streamed down my face and dripped on the concrete as I walked. Peter followed, bewildered."What the Hell is she laughing at," Peter asked the other guys. At realizing who the high pitched scream had come from and knowing he didn't hear the story, the other two instantly burst into laughter, failing to tell Peter the story. He sat there for a good five minutes before we could get out the gist of the tale. By the time we did, he was smiling at me like I had sprouted a monkey's tail from my forehead.
I still jump around corners every now and then trying to scare the kids, but I certainly make sure they're kids first. Where would I have been if the Big Guy had a heart attack?!
Friday, April 2, 2010
Comfort Food
Wikipedia defines comfort food as a "simple, familiar food that is usually home-cooked or eaten at informal restaurants." Wikipedia goes on to say that "more generally, comfort food can be defined as food that brings some form or measure of comfort, sense of well-being, or easy satisfaction... [It] may also involve foods that have a nostalgic element either to an individual or a specific culture."
Well, tonight I went in search of some "nostalgic element" food and ended up with a full plate of spaghetti that I devoured within minutes.
It's been one of the hardest weeks I can recal in a very long time. Communication is lacking in several areas of my life right now and I'm growing more and more recluse by the day. These days the only people I get a chance to interact with are the people who work for me. It's hard to socialize and vent to those people you would be venting about. I can't very well take one Officer asside and tell them what the other guys have done to piss me off, only to chose another Officer to complain to about the one I had just spoken with. Things don't work that way in the business world.
I love (or loved) my job when I first got my title on December 21st. It was a momentus day for me - the day I finally got recognized for the dedication and pride I took in my work. There was nobody more qualified than I was to get the job done, but more than that I took such pride in what I was doing and knew exactly what I wanted to accomplish. Was I too ambitious?
I still have high hopes for my crew and want to make sure we get high praise for a job well done. With the way things have been going, this hasn't been happening and it's not likely to happen on the path we seem to be treading.
I'm a perfectionist in many respects. I beat myself up if I feel I've not done a good job. I can't help but feel like I could be doing better than I am at the moment, but I don't know what more I can do. Already I work 10 to 12 hours a day, and I'm about to go from 6 days to 7 days a week. I can't do it all myself, and these guys just don't realize that.
I've tried hard to make them understand that I will never ask them to do something that I myself wouldn't do. I bring treats (like the basket of varied chocolates for Easter I brought in today or the cupcakes I brought in to the meeting on March 27th) that I pay for out of my own pocket. It's no wonder I can't afford to buy dinner for myself - if I get a little extra, I give it back to my crew.
I think that's going to have to stop. I like being able to share with them - and Lord knows they're the only people I see these days, so who else can I share with? My life has grown to revolve around this post the past few months. I guess I'm maybe taking it a little too personally when someone decides to transfer away, and I shouldn't. Unlike me, they all have families and friends they like to spend time with. These guys are all I know of life here in California at the moment. It's sad, but it's true. I'm kind of like the "Mom" it's been said several times. Some people love their mothers and would do anything for them. Others take their mothers for granted and do whatever they can to get away with murder.
I've been taken advantage of here at work. I give them ALMOST anything they ask for, like days off, vacations, schedule changes, shift swaps - the like. Well, as much as I hate to do it, that's about to change. I'm going to have to be rather strict. That's not a side of me I like to see, and I'm certain they won't like it either.
It's sad when my life revolves around work. I spend about 70 hours a week at work, and hour going to work and an hour going home from work. If I added up the hours, that would be about 82 hours a week spent revolving around work. That's not including the phone calls at all hours of the day and night (and I always answer. I make sure the guys know I'm ALWAYS available when they need me) and the number jumps up closer to about 85 hours a week. When there are only 168 hours in a week, that leaves me about 83 hours a week to myself. If we break that down, it works out to
about 11 hours each day to sleep, eat, bathe, feed the cat, go grocery shopping, get my laundry, iron my work uniforms, clean the house, BLOG, and spend time with my friends. If that 11 hours is factored down and sleep time is taken out that leaves me about 3-4 hours a day to get ALL of that done. No probem, you say? HA! Somehow I still don't manage to go to bed until midnight and have to wake up at 6am. That way I give myself more time to get things done.
Life exists only for work these days - except Saturdays. Saturdays are mine. That is a full 24 hours that nobody can take away from me. That day is far too important to me. I might not even leave the house on a Saturday, but that's my choice and one I'm more than happy to make. Now, if we go back and take that 24 hours out of the 83 hours a week I can spend on myself durring the rest of the week, that leaves me only 59 hours a week before and after work to get my tasks finished. That's about 8.5 hours a day, and now it makes sense why I go to bed so late still feeling like I didn't get anything done.
I'm making myself sick. I haven't had a decent nights sleep in months. The bags under my eyes are growing every day. I use blush to hide the fact I'm as pale as an Easter rabbit. I'm not eating properly and have dropped about 10 lbs in an unhealthy way. I used to look forward to going to work.
I need a vacation and I know exactly where I'm going when I get one. I'm going to be about 5,000 miles away from work, away from home, away from bills and phone calls and these problems that are causing me to develop an ulcer.
So - I decided to do something nice for myself. I really couldn't afford it, and I'll be paying off this spaghetti for months since I put it on my credit card, but I was hungry and needed some comfort food rather badly. It was comforting, I'll admit. I'm feeling better already - but often my venting on a blog helps that immensely.
I'll be ok. I just have to wrap my head around it and take strong control. I need to "suck it up" and get the job done. And I will, no doubt in my mind, I will. I'm just not sure how yet.
So - what's YOUR comfort food?
Well, tonight I went in search of some "nostalgic element" food and ended up with a full plate of spaghetti that I devoured within minutes.
It's been one of the hardest weeks I can recal in a very long time. Communication is lacking in several areas of my life right now and I'm growing more and more recluse by the day. These days the only people I get a chance to interact with are the people who work for me. It's hard to socialize and vent to those people you would be venting about. I can't very well take one Officer asside and tell them what the other guys have done to piss me off, only to chose another Officer to complain to about the one I had just spoken with. Things don't work that way in the business world.
I love (or loved) my job when I first got my title on December 21st. It was a momentus day for me - the day I finally got recognized for the dedication and pride I took in my work. There was nobody more qualified than I was to get the job done, but more than that I took such pride in what I was doing and knew exactly what I wanted to accomplish. Was I too ambitious?
I still have high hopes for my crew and want to make sure we get high praise for a job well done. With the way things have been going, this hasn't been happening and it's not likely to happen on the path we seem to be treading.
I'm a perfectionist in many respects. I beat myself up if I feel I've not done a good job. I can't help but feel like I could be doing better than I am at the moment, but I don't know what more I can do. Already I work 10 to 12 hours a day, and I'm about to go from 6 days to 7 days a week. I can't do it all myself, and these guys just don't realize that.
I've tried hard to make them understand that I will never ask them to do something that I myself wouldn't do. I bring treats (like the basket of varied chocolates for Easter I brought in today or the cupcakes I brought in to the meeting on March 27th) that I pay for out of my own pocket. It's no wonder I can't afford to buy dinner for myself - if I get a little extra, I give it back to my crew.
I think that's going to have to stop. I like being able to share with them - and Lord knows they're the only people I see these days, so who else can I share with? My life has grown to revolve around this post the past few months. I guess I'm maybe taking it a little too personally when someone decides to transfer away, and I shouldn't. Unlike me, they all have families and friends they like to spend time with. These guys are all I know of life here in California at the moment. It's sad, but it's true. I'm kind of like the "Mom" it's been said several times. Some people love their mothers and would do anything for them. Others take their mothers for granted and do whatever they can to get away with murder.
I've been taken advantage of here at work. I give them ALMOST anything they ask for, like days off, vacations, schedule changes, shift swaps - the like. Well, as much as I hate to do it, that's about to change. I'm going to have to be rather strict. That's not a side of me I like to see, and I'm certain they won't like it either.
It's sad when my life revolves around work. I spend about 70 hours a week at work, and hour going to work and an hour going home from work. If I added up the hours, that would be about 82 hours a week spent revolving around work. That's not including the phone calls at all hours of the day and night (and I always answer. I make sure the guys know I'm ALWAYS available when they need me) and the number jumps up closer to about 85 hours a week. When there are only 168 hours in a week, that leaves me about 83 hours a week to myself. If we break that down, it works out to
about 11 hours each day to sleep, eat, bathe, feed the cat, go grocery shopping, get my laundry, iron my work uniforms, clean the house, BLOG, and spend time with my friends. If that 11 hours is factored down and sleep time is taken out that leaves me about 3-4 hours a day to get ALL of that done. No probem, you say? HA! Somehow I still don't manage to go to bed until midnight and have to wake up at 6am. That way I give myself more time to get things done.
Life exists only for work these days - except Saturdays. Saturdays are mine. That is a full 24 hours that nobody can take away from me. That day is far too important to me. I might not even leave the house on a Saturday, but that's my choice and one I'm more than happy to make. Now, if we go back and take that 24 hours out of the 83 hours a week I can spend on myself durring the rest of the week, that leaves me only 59 hours a week before and after work to get my tasks finished. That's about 8.5 hours a day, and now it makes sense why I go to bed so late still feeling like I didn't get anything done.
I'm making myself sick. I haven't had a decent nights sleep in months. The bags under my eyes are growing every day. I use blush to hide the fact I'm as pale as an Easter rabbit. I'm not eating properly and have dropped about 10 lbs in an unhealthy way. I used to look forward to going to work.
I need a vacation and I know exactly where I'm going when I get one. I'm going to be about 5,000 miles away from work, away from home, away from bills and phone calls and these problems that are causing me to develop an ulcer.
So - I decided to do something nice for myself. I really couldn't afford it, and I'll be paying off this spaghetti for months since I put it on my credit card, but I was hungry and needed some comfort food rather badly. It was comforting, I'll admit. I'm feeling better already - but often my venting on a blog helps that immensely.
I'll be ok. I just have to wrap my head around it and take strong control. I need to "suck it up" and get the job done. And I will, no doubt in my mind, I will. I'm just not sure how yet.
So - what's YOUR comfort food?
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