I awoke this morning to a startle at 6:30AM. What the hell is that? I heard extensive arguing going on upstairs. Yes, my visitors are still here. Most of the times when you think of very elderly people you think slow, mainly quiet and reserved. Not my relatives I assure you. I thought maybe something bad had happened such as a fall or a broken hip. I had put a phone upstairs just for this reason just in case they needed to call 911. I ran upstairs to find out what the commotion was about. I feared something very bad had happened. Keep in mind that they are both extremely hard of hearing and everything they say is a yell.
“Damn it Jessie, I am tired of waiting on you hand and foot.” Bob exclaimed. “And no, we are not buying this house. You couldn’t make it up all the stairs.”
“Buying the house?” I thought and my heart sunk. Good thing I am moving out soon and Charlie is buying this house and I have bought his.
“I am not getting out of bed and I want some breakfast.” Jessie retorted.
“You can get up and make your own damn breakfast. I am not your servant.” Bob decreed.
“Folks, folks, lets calm down.” I said. “I will fix us all something to eat.”
“Well, I am going to ride over to the house and see about the Goats.” Bob said. “I need to cool off and get out of this damn house.”
Jessie and Bob have four goats in their backyard in the city limits. I am sure this is against the law. Bob says they keep the yard clean so he doesn’t have to mow it or clean it. In reality they have turned his backyard into a brown, desolate wasteland. Goats will eat anything and everything. I find this entirely amusing. They also have a dog that was raised with the goats and thinks he is a goat and herds with them. His name is Lucky. A better named would be confused.
After Bob had left, Jessie resorted to her sweet, little old lady persona for me. Well, it was as sweet as Jessie gets. I helped her up out of the bed and grabbed her cane. I went into the other room as she got dressed.
“That Bob sure is hardheaded.” She said.
“Come on, lets go get some breakfast and we will all feel better.” I replied.
I cooked a big pot of coffee, made some grits, and some cheese toast. Bob came back over and we all sat quietly and ate as if nothing had ever happened. Just another day here at retirement home Jonathon. They may be moving back home today since it is Monday and the company called and said the part came in and they will get to work this morning. I can only hope.
Monday, November 22, 2004
Saturday, November 20, 2004
A few thoughts from today…..
Okay, the Auburn/Alabama game is over. We won and now have bragging rights for another year. That gives us eleven wins and zero losses. The SEC championship is next and we play Tennessee in Atlanta. We creamed them in Knoxville earlier in the season and it will be an interesting game. Will Tennessee step up to the plate and make the second game more interesting? Only time will tell. In the southeastern conference you just never know what will happen.
On Saturday mornings I have a ritual. There is a flea market next to the Piggly Wiggly and they let individuals set up stalls outside and I like to walk down and window shop. I rarely if ever buy anything. What astounds me is the amount of software, movie, and music piracy going on in some of these stalls. A few people have learned how to use internet newsgroups for their gain and profit. They download stuff, burn them, print some nice looking covers, and then sell them at a greatly reduced price at the flea market. They have current, in the theater, movies, really cheap popular CDs, and software at a greatly reduced price. These folks were making a killing today and I wonder when and if they will get caught or shut down.
I saw Cap with Tag Guy today. George was probably nursing a hangover at his mother’s house. Cap with Tag did his usual nod hello. He was standing up against the wall listening to a walkman and you could hear his music blaring he had it so loud. He was nodding his head to the rhythm and the tag on his hat was bouncing all over the place. I have rarely, if ever, heard him speak. He reminds me of a black version of Silent Bob from Kevin Smith’s movie Clerks. I give him an A+ for dedication. He has to be the most dedicated crack dealer in this country. He is always on the job. It never fails that he is down there when I go to the flea market or the Pig.
Well, let me quit rambling. I have to help my friend, Chad, type up a professional looking business proposal and need to get started. I am going to go pick him up and bring him over here so we can work together. He wants to entice a family member to co-sign on a loan to finance buying an acre of land, drilling a well, and moving his paid for mobile home onto that property. His trailer park lot rent is killing him. They are charging him $250 a month just for lot rent. That is more than my house payment. That is ridiculous and I told him I would help him in any way he needed me. Let me quit writing about it and go do something about it. Good night.
On Saturday mornings I have a ritual. There is a flea market next to the Piggly Wiggly and they let individuals set up stalls outside and I like to walk down and window shop. I rarely if ever buy anything. What astounds me is the amount of software, movie, and music piracy going on in some of these stalls. A few people have learned how to use internet newsgroups for their gain and profit. They download stuff, burn them, print some nice looking covers, and then sell them at a greatly reduced price at the flea market. They have current, in the theater, movies, really cheap popular CDs, and software at a greatly reduced price. These folks were making a killing today and I wonder when and if they will get caught or shut down.
I saw Cap with Tag Guy today. George was probably nursing a hangover at his mother’s house. Cap with Tag did his usual nod hello. He was standing up against the wall listening to a walkman and you could hear his music blaring he had it so loud. He was nodding his head to the rhythm and the tag on his hat was bouncing all over the place. I have rarely, if ever, heard him speak. He reminds me of a black version of Silent Bob from Kevin Smith’s movie Clerks. I give him an A+ for dedication. He has to be the most dedicated crack dealer in this country. He is always on the job. It never fails that he is down there when I go to the flea market or the Pig.
Well, let me quit rambling. I have to help my friend, Chad, type up a professional looking business proposal and need to get started. I am going to go pick him up and bring him over here so we can work together. He wants to entice a family member to co-sign on a loan to finance buying an acre of land, drilling a well, and moving his paid for mobile home onto that property. His trailer park lot rent is killing him. They are charging him $250 a month just for lot rent. That is more than my house payment. That is ridiculous and I told him I would help him in any way he needed me. Let me quit writing about it and go do something about it. Good night.
Thursday, November 18, 2004
Behind the scenes with a confessed blogger……
I was talking to Crystal tonight on the phone. She is the same person who writes The Thoughts and Opinions of a Formerly Homeless Girl. We talked a little bit about how what you see and read about us on a blog or journal is one dimensional. You only get to read what we share with you. Believe me, there are many things going on behind the scenes that are either too mundane to talk about or too personal to share and I choose not to write about them. Our lives are definitely three dimensional and our blogs and journals are sometimes one dimensional.
I also write a ton of shit that I never publish or take down within minutes after publishing. I call it diarrhea of the keyboard. I read something or something happens. It sparks an emotion or comment and off I go to write. I then think carefully of the ramifications about posting such things and read over my posts and many times I take them down. I realize I actively censor myself on a constant basis. Some of you who visit often have caught me doing this many times.
There is also this compulsive need for me to hit the publish button in blogger. It is almost a release and I feel that I have given away or shared something of myself. Sometimes it brings anxiety as I go back to read what I have published and it comes across as too harsh or too judgmental. You will find me quickly backpedaling and hitting the draft button to remove it. Maybe it would be an interesting experiment for me to share these posts and see the reaction. Are my fears unfounded or are they real?
I will share a post I wrote today but I then choose to censor myself after publishing it. People read when I vent on certain subjects and think I am obsessing over something too much. Believe me, it is a spur of the moment thing. I feel the urge to write and vent and do so. I do not spend my whole day worrying about what the homeless guy is doing. I probably hit his blog maybe once a day now but it often spurs me to write and spurs an opinion. I feel I have the moral and ethical obligation to write about such things being a formerly homeless man and I want good things to come from homeless blogs. I hope that what I write about will influence a few people who are interested in this issue. At least, they will get to see a dissenting view; the view from a man who was also homeless.
Well, here is that post in its entirety. If I published everything I write then I would have tons of content.
I also write a ton of shit that I never publish or take down within minutes after publishing. I call it diarrhea of the keyboard. I read something or something happens. It sparks an emotion or comment and off I go to write. I then think carefully of the ramifications about posting such things and read over my posts and many times I take them down. I realize I actively censor myself on a constant basis. Some of you who visit often have caught me doing this many times.
There is also this compulsive need for me to hit the publish button in blogger. It is almost a release and I feel that I have given away or shared something of myself. Sometimes it brings anxiety as I go back to read what I have published and it comes across as too harsh or too judgmental. You will find me quickly backpedaling and hitting the draft button to remove it. Maybe it would be an interesting experiment for me to share these posts and see the reaction. Are my fears unfounded or are they real?
I will share a post I wrote today but I then choose to censor myself after publishing it. People read when I vent on certain subjects and think I am obsessing over something too much. Believe me, it is a spur of the moment thing. I feel the urge to write and vent and do so. I do not spend my whole day worrying about what the homeless guy is doing. I probably hit his blog maybe once a day now but it often spurs me to write and spurs an opinion. I feel I have the moral and ethical obligation to write about such things being a formerly homeless man and I want good things to come from homeless blogs. I hope that what I write about will influence a few people who are interested in this issue. At least, they will get to see a dissenting view; the view from a man who was also homeless.
Well, here is that post in its entirety. If I published everything I write then I would have tons of content.
Looking back at yesteryear
It is almost that time. This time last year I became homeless and it invades my thoughts a lot recently. That is why I have been so interested in homelessness recently. I had just got back from a vacation to London. It was a gift to my ex-wife that was coerced out of me. She actually used my future big SSDI check to finance it. She put it on our credit card with the hopes that when the check of over $5000 dollars arrived it would be paid off. Little did I know that within a week of arriving home from London I would be homeless. I would be living in a tent in the woods. My whole life would come crashing down around me.
I was very Ill at the time with my mental illness. I refused to take my medications out of the fear they were controlling my thoughts and mind. I was seeing things and getting messages from the television. I thought God was sending these divine messages with great meaning that I would soon decipher and help the world. I was very delusional.
I also began to withdraw from life and shut down. Little things grew hard for me to do such as bathe and brush my teeth. I was always a spiffy dresser and I found myself just putting on old t-shirts and old shorts. I would not get a haircut or shave. I also turned to heavy drinking to quell my illness and my despair. A found a friend in that beer can and congregated with him often. That supposed friend would turn out to be one of my biggest vices.
I will never forget that day the police came and escorted me to the curb in front of an old, dumpy convenience store. I sat out there for days crying and lost. People would drive by slowly and stare. I knew what they were thinking, “That is John Minter’s son and he is nuts and homeless. It’s sad. He comes from such a nice, prominent family.” No one stopped to help though. I finally came to the realization that I had to get off that curb and get out of sight. I had to find a safe place to regroup and collect myself. I managed to get my motorcycle and headed for the woods with all my camping gear in tow. It would turn out to be five long months.
I will never forget those long, cold, lonely nights tucked in my sleeping bag trying to stay warm and that spooky, still quietness that fills the forest on a very cold, sub freezing night. That far off lonesome cry of a coyote as you lay there with nothing but your thoughts to keep you company. I will also never take the convenience of a stove or refrigerator for granted again. Cooking and trying to get up meals on a campfire is not fun to do all the time. The smell of a campfire still brings back a thousand memories. I spent many hours trying to gather the wood to keep myself warm.
My one safe haven was my grandmother’s old home where I currently reside. At the time no one lived here and it was used for storage. I had an old key and luckily it still worked. My apartment was filled to the brim with old antiques and boxes of old memories and books. I barely had a place to sit. I managed to get my computer from my ex-wife and set it up down here. I also managed to coerce her into keeping the internet bill in her name and that I would pay her monthly. She was always very lazy about taking care of things and I knew she would not likely go to the trouble to call and cancel the internet bill as long as she got the money from me. I moved over the cable modem and it worked despite being across town and in a different house. I was back online. About that time I discovered blogs and started one of my own.
I remember sitting here in front of the computer. The temperature would hover around fifty degrees inside but there was no wind like outside and I could stay reasonably warm. I learned to heavily layer my clothes and to wear thermal underwear. Coming over here during the day let me escape from the harsh reality that had become my life. I could get online to read and pass the time. I learned how to write about my experiences and to read others as well. The internet was one of my only pleasures and it made a big difference during that time.
I also remember the constant fear of getting caught over here. I took great pains to never move anything around or change things. Everything was left looking as it did before I arrived. Nothing was kept out of place down to the smallest details. I was on constant lookout for someone driving up and would run hide in the shower or the walk in closet. I had a few close calls and I will never forget that cold, rainy, blustery night that I gave in and decided to forego my tent and sleeping bag and sleep in the closet on some quilts. I needed some comfort so badly. My heart froze as I heard my father open the door and step in. I heard his footsteps outside the closet within feet of my head. I just knew I had been discovered and was going to jail for trespassing. My family feared me and didn’t trust me.
I learned a lot from those experiences and my life has changed much in a year. Yes, some good things came out of being homeless. The changes would take another post just to list but here are some important things. I no longer take things for granted and relish the little things in my life that went over looked before. I cherish and actively work on my relationships with my family. I care about them and support them and they do the same for me. I understand the value and importance of money and manage it wisely. I have a burning desire to go out and help others in need. For the first time in my life I have a calling and real goals. I could go on and on about how much I have changed but just let you read these few I have listed.
I have much more to work on and still have many faults and failings. There will be times you will read and wonder if I am getting off course but I hope this does not happen often. Please remember that I am only human and am fallible. I hope to share with you readers many more successes and accomplished goals ahead. The next year shines bright ahead and I am excited. There is so much I want to do and change and to grow on. I hope in the months ahead you will be reading about a burgeoning social worker and his desire to make a difference in the world. Thanks as always for reading and the kind support you have shown me. If there is anything I can do in return then just ask.
Sincerely,
Andrew
I was very Ill at the time with my mental illness. I refused to take my medications out of the fear they were controlling my thoughts and mind. I was seeing things and getting messages from the television. I thought God was sending these divine messages with great meaning that I would soon decipher and help the world. I was very delusional.
I also began to withdraw from life and shut down. Little things grew hard for me to do such as bathe and brush my teeth. I was always a spiffy dresser and I found myself just putting on old t-shirts and old shorts. I would not get a haircut or shave. I also turned to heavy drinking to quell my illness and my despair. A found a friend in that beer can and congregated with him often. That supposed friend would turn out to be one of my biggest vices.
I will never forget that day the police came and escorted me to the curb in front of an old, dumpy convenience store. I sat out there for days crying and lost. People would drive by slowly and stare. I knew what they were thinking, “That is John Minter’s son and he is nuts and homeless. It’s sad. He comes from such a nice, prominent family.” No one stopped to help though. I finally came to the realization that I had to get off that curb and get out of sight. I had to find a safe place to regroup and collect myself. I managed to get my motorcycle and headed for the woods with all my camping gear in tow. It would turn out to be five long months.
I will never forget those long, cold, lonely nights tucked in my sleeping bag trying to stay warm and that spooky, still quietness that fills the forest on a very cold, sub freezing night. That far off lonesome cry of a coyote as you lay there with nothing but your thoughts to keep you company. I will also never take the convenience of a stove or refrigerator for granted again. Cooking and trying to get up meals on a campfire is not fun to do all the time. The smell of a campfire still brings back a thousand memories. I spent many hours trying to gather the wood to keep myself warm.
My one safe haven was my grandmother’s old home where I currently reside. At the time no one lived here and it was used for storage. I had an old key and luckily it still worked. My apartment was filled to the brim with old antiques and boxes of old memories and books. I barely had a place to sit. I managed to get my computer from my ex-wife and set it up down here. I also managed to coerce her into keeping the internet bill in her name and that I would pay her monthly. She was always very lazy about taking care of things and I knew she would not likely go to the trouble to call and cancel the internet bill as long as she got the money from me. I moved over the cable modem and it worked despite being across town and in a different house. I was back online. About that time I discovered blogs and started one of my own.
I remember sitting here in front of the computer. The temperature would hover around fifty degrees inside but there was no wind like outside and I could stay reasonably warm. I learned to heavily layer my clothes and to wear thermal underwear. Coming over here during the day let me escape from the harsh reality that had become my life. I could get online to read and pass the time. I learned how to write about my experiences and to read others as well. The internet was one of my only pleasures and it made a big difference during that time.
I also remember the constant fear of getting caught over here. I took great pains to never move anything around or change things. Everything was left looking as it did before I arrived. Nothing was kept out of place down to the smallest details. I was on constant lookout for someone driving up and would run hide in the shower or the walk in closet. I had a few close calls and I will never forget that cold, rainy, blustery night that I gave in and decided to forego my tent and sleeping bag and sleep in the closet on some quilts. I needed some comfort so badly. My heart froze as I heard my father open the door and step in. I heard his footsteps outside the closet within feet of my head. I just knew I had been discovered and was going to jail for trespassing. My family feared me and didn’t trust me.
I learned a lot from those experiences and my life has changed much in a year. Yes, some good things came out of being homeless. The changes would take another post just to list but here are some important things. I no longer take things for granted and relish the little things in my life that went over looked before. I cherish and actively work on my relationships with my family. I care about them and support them and they do the same for me. I understand the value and importance of money and manage it wisely. I have a burning desire to go out and help others in need. For the first time in my life I have a calling and real goals. I could go on and on about how much I have changed but just let you read these few I have listed.
I have much more to work on and still have many faults and failings. There will be times you will read and wonder if I am getting off course but I hope this does not happen often. Please remember that I am only human and am fallible. I hope to share with you readers many more successes and accomplished goals ahead. The next year shines bright ahead and I am excited. There is so much I want to do and change and to grow on. I hope in the months ahead you will be reading about a burgeoning social worker and his desire to make a difference in the world. Thanks as always for reading and the kind support you have shown me. If there is anything I can do in return then just ask.
Sincerely,
Andrew
Dear Homeless Guy,
I saw a comment on Pipe Tobacco’s blog about a certain Dear Abby post Kevin made. It piqued my interest and I navigated over to check it out. After reading it I felt alarmed and concerned. This is what I originally wanted to write in response…..
I felt for the mother whose son seems to be teetering on homelessness. I would like to urge the mother to seek out professional help for her son such as a counselor or therapist and not just some homeless guy who happens to write a blog. Someone trained in family therapy and who might not have all the answers but who could help guide the mother and son. They could help find resources and avenues that have not been explored. I really want to lean on the verge of not offering advice in this matter other than seeking trained, professional help. Do that and go from there.
What alarmed me the most was that this mother was actively seeking help on the internet and found a very prominent website dealing with homelessness. I assume she searched in a search engine about homelessness and as always “The Homeless Guy” pops up on the first page of links. I guess she assumed after reading that this guy writes pretty well and sounds intelligent so maybe he can help. My opinion is that someone whose track record is being mainly homeless for a very large extended period of time and who still happens to be is not a good place to go for advice on getting out of homelessness or staying out of it. Even I who have managed to work my way out of homelessness am not a good avenue of advice as each situation is extremely unique and requires professional help. There are people such as caseworkers, social workers, doctors, counselors, and therapists that have years of experience dealing with such issues and could better guide people to the resources and avenues of help they need.
Geez, I get diarrhea of the keyboard sometimes. I read something and off to write I go. It feels so good to get my thoughts down though. All these thoughts whirling around in my head and then I take the time to put them down and organize them. It is almost as if I get in a trance and look up after writing awhile and thirty minutes have passed. Well, let me go get a shower and head out to the clinic. I am running late today and need to get on the ball. They are expecting me this afternoon.
Dear Homeless Guy,
I want to ask you to please refrain from giving advice about maladjusted twenty something year olds. I know the mother did ask you but my personal opinion is that you are not trained or proficient in dealing with such situations. Please refer future cases to someone professionally trained to help and give advice in such matters. I feel that would be the best way to help the mother and son.
Sincerely,
Andrew
I felt for the mother whose son seems to be teetering on homelessness. I would like to urge the mother to seek out professional help for her son such as a counselor or therapist and not just some homeless guy who happens to write a blog. Someone trained in family therapy and who might not have all the answers but who could help guide the mother and son. They could help find resources and avenues that have not been explored. I really want to lean on the verge of not offering advice in this matter other than seeking trained, professional help. Do that and go from there.
What alarmed me the most was that this mother was actively seeking help on the internet and found a very prominent website dealing with homelessness. I assume she searched in a search engine about homelessness and as always “The Homeless Guy” pops up on the first page of links. I guess she assumed after reading that this guy writes pretty well and sounds intelligent so maybe he can help. My opinion is that someone whose track record is being mainly homeless for a very large extended period of time and who still happens to be is not a good place to go for advice on getting out of homelessness or staying out of it. Even I who have managed to work my way out of homelessness am not a good avenue of advice as each situation is extremely unique and requires professional help. There are people such as caseworkers, social workers, doctors, counselors, and therapists that have years of experience dealing with such issues and could better guide people to the resources and avenues of help they need.
Geez, I get diarrhea of the keyboard sometimes. I read something and off to write I go. It feels so good to get my thoughts down though. All these thoughts whirling around in my head and then I take the time to put them down and organize them. It is almost as if I get in a trance and look up after writing awhile and thirty minutes have passed. Well, let me go get a shower and head out to the clinic. I am running late today and need to get on the ball. They are expecting me this afternoon.
Wednesday, November 17, 2004
A blast of heat
It hit me as I opened the door. A blast of heat emanated from the door as I opened it actually causing the night time air to shiver and wave around me as if I was looking across a scorching desert landscape. I had driven over to my friend Chad’s house to deliver that computer I put together for him. I had just arrived home.
Upon walking upstairs my fears were confirmed. They had the thermostat set on 82 degrees. 28 degrees for you Canadians, eh? I normally only use a small efficient gas heater in my little apartment in the basement and it is very cost effective. I am apt to just put on a sweater or fleece pull over and like my apartment to be cool. I do have central heating and air but it heats the whole, large house and I never turn it on. I could picture the gas meter needle spinning around wildly in a circle as my monthly budget goes to hell. I have to keep in mind that there are three very elderly people staying with me tonight and their comfort levels are very different from mine. But 82 degrees? Don’t you think 76 or 78 are a little more reasonable? Sigh, oh well, they will only be here for a few more days and hopefully my gas bill will not be skyrocket high.
I managed to get us up a good supper though. I had the good fortune of a large pot of dried black eyed peas soaking in the fridge. I was going to cook them and freeze them in individual freezer bags. I cooked those and made some meatloaf via a tried and true recipe from the Baptist Bounty cookbook. I also made some mashed potatoes and a pan of cornbread. Everyone seemed pleased and Bob even ate thirds.
Hopefully, my visitors are now blissfully asleep. I think I still hear the dull drone of the TV upstairs though. Maybe they went to bed and left it on. I am tired and think a nice hot shower and a few chapters of a good book are in order. I think I will even smoke my pipe inside tonight. Hell, its hot enough in here that the tobacco may just ignite without using a lighter. I am going now to close off those vents and get it cool in here before bed. Good night.
Upon walking upstairs my fears were confirmed. They had the thermostat set on 82 degrees. 28 degrees for you Canadians, eh? I normally only use a small efficient gas heater in my little apartment in the basement and it is very cost effective. I am apt to just put on a sweater or fleece pull over and like my apartment to be cool. I do have central heating and air but it heats the whole, large house and I never turn it on. I could picture the gas meter needle spinning around wildly in a circle as my monthly budget goes to hell. I have to keep in mind that there are three very elderly people staying with me tonight and their comfort levels are very different from mine. But 82 degrees? Don’t you think 76 or 78 are a little more reasonable? Sigh, oh well, they will only be here for a few more days and hopefully my gas bill will not be skyrocket high.
I managed to get us up a good supper though. I had the good fortune of a large pot of dried black eyed peas soaking in the fridge. I was going to cook them and freeze them in individual freezer bags. I cooked those and made some meatloaf via a tried and true recipe from the Baptist Bounty cookbook. I also made some mashed potatoes and a pan of cornbread. Everyone seemed pleased and Bob even ate thirds.
Hopefully, my visitors are now blissfully asleep. I think I still hear the dull drone of the TV upstairs though. Maybe they went to bed and left it on. I am tired and think a nice hot shower and a few chapters of a good book are in order. I think I will even smoke my pipe inside tonight. Hell, its hot enough in here that the tobacco may just ignite without using a lighter. I am going now to close off those vents and get it cool in here before bed. Good night.
My Great Auntie Myrtis
(Just some daily rambling here today)
I had a visitor last night. My great aunt came and spent the night with me. I had to take her to the ophthalmologist this morning and then go order her some new glasses. She lost her old pair. Those responsibilities are taken care of and she is now sleeping away the afternoon upstairs. She has elevated pressure in her right eye and will have to put in drops three times a day. This is going to be interesting. I watched as she tried the drops but she couldn’t get them in her eye. Her hands shake too badly and it, nine times out of ten, lands on her cheek. She lives 45 minutes away from me in another town so it’s not like I can just hop in the car and go put them in. I couldn’t afford the gas and I doubt she would pay me to do it. Besides, it would be hundreds of miles a week and my old car would most likely disintegrate on the roadway. I am keeping the thing running and together with duct tape and bubble gum.
I realize I am going to have to hire someone to come by everyday and put in the drops. I will do some calling around to some family friends and see if I can procure somebody. My aunt will not want to pay them and has already argued with me about it. I told her she will loose the eye if she doesn’t get serious and put those drops in. That quelled her protests for the time being. The main problem is that she is cantankerous and ornery and most people actively choose to avoid her. You run the risk of getting accused of various sundries if you hang around too much and our family friends shy away from her. Good thing money talks and people listen. That is the only way someone would come and see about this for me. I hate calling people on the phone though and asking for favors. It makes me uncomfortable but I have to do what I have to do.
I had a visitor last night. My great aunt came and spent the night with me. I had to take her to the ophthalmologist this morning and then go order her some new glasses. She lost her old pair. Those responsibilities are taken care of and she is now sleeping away the afternoon upstairs. She has elevated pressure in her right eye and will have to put in drops three times a day. This is going to be interesting. I watched as she tried the drops but she couldn’t get them in her eye. Her hands shake too badly and it, nine times out of ten, lands on her cheek. She lives 45 minutes away from me in another town so it’s not like I can just hop in the car and go put them in. I couldn’t afford the gas and I doubt she would pay me to do it. Besides, it would be hundreds of miles a week and my old car would most likely disintegrate on the roadway. I am keeping the thing running and together with duct tape and bubble gum.
I realize I am going to have to hire someone to come by everyday and put in the drops. I will do some calling around to some family friends and see if I can procure somebody. My aunt will not want to pay them and has already argued with me about it. I told her she will loose the eye if she doesn’t get serious and put those drops in. That quelled her protests for the time being. The main problem is that she is cantankerous and ornery and most people actively choose to avoid her. You run the risk of getting accused of various sundries if you hang around too much and our family friends shy away from her. Good thing money talks and people listen. That is the only way someone would come and see about this for me. I hate calling people on the phone though and asking for favors. It makes me uncomfortable but I have to do what I have to do.
Tuesday, November 16, 2004
Sticking to it…
I am tired. It has been a busy day. I stayed up too late last night goofing off and reading the internet. Before I knew it, I was after midnight. I spent all morning over at my house painting and doing little odd jobs to get it ready. I take great satisfaction just being over there and looking around. I think, “This is my home; my very own home.” It makes me proud and excited. I like watching it come together and slowly but surely things are starting to look great. I hope to move in around Christmas if all goes as planned. My father’s illness and surgery kind of set things back a bit.
Volunteering was good today. I sometimes wonder if what little I do is helping. I do mainly secretarial type tasks. I do realize that the clinic has limited resources and my time is a valuable resource. The little tasks I do free up someone else’s resources and time to do more important things. I enjoy sitting outside and talking to the people as they sit and smoke waiting to see the doctor or a counselor. I get to hear some very interesting stories. You think you have had a hard time and then you hear people talk about their lives. It makes me realize that we all have struggles and obstacles to overcome. Some have more than others.
One thing I do like is using my sometimes vast seeming days doing something good. Before I started work on my home and started volunteering, I had huge amounts of time on my hands. I have little money and gas is expensive so I just couldn’t get out and ride around all day and go places. That meant I was stuck here at home with little to do but get on the internet and browse. I used to enjoy camping all the time but it triggers my desire to drink. Camping out was prime time drinking time for me. Maybe some day I will be able to camp again but doing so sober and still enjoy it.
Things will only get busier as I start school after Christmas. I am taking 15 semester hours and my days Monday through Thursday will be filled with class and volunteering. My nights will be spent studying I hope. I do so hope I am diligent and stick with this. My fears want to trip me up and stifle me. I fear I will not be able to transfer to Auburn; that they will not accept me in. I fear that like many times in my life I start out gung ho and eventually run out of steam. Take it one step at a time, Andrew, just one step at a time. Yes, that is going to be my mantra for the next few years.
Volunteering was good today. I sometimes wonder if what little I do is helping. I do mainly secretarial type tasks. I do realize that the clinic has limited resources and my time is a valuable resource. The little tasks I do free up someone else’s resources and time to do more important things. I enjoy sitting outside and talking to the people as they sit and smoke waiting to see the doctor or a counselor. I get to hear some very interesting stories. You think you have had a hard time and then you hear people talk about their lives. It makes me realize that we all have struggles and obstacles to overcome. Some have more than others.
One thing I do like is using my sometimes vast seeming days doing something good. Before I started work on my home and started volunteering, I had huge amounts of time on my hands. I have little money and gas is expensive so I just couldn’t get out and ride around all day and go places. That meant I was stuck here at home with little to do but get on the internet and browse. I used to enjoy camping all the time but it triggers my desire to drink. Camping out was prime time drinking time for me. Maybe some day I will be able to camp again but doing so sober and still enjoy it.
Things will only get busier as I start school after Christmas. I am taking 15 semester hours and my days Monday through Thursday will be filled with class and volunteering. My nights will be spent studying I hope. I do so hope I am diligent and stick with this. My fears want to trip me up and stifle me. I fear I will not be able to transfer to Auburn; that they will not accept me in. I fear that like many times in my life I start out gung ho and eventually run out of steam. Take it one step at a time, Andrew, just one step at a time. Yes, that is going to be my mantra for the next few years.
Monday, November 15, 2004
The Pilot Light Conspiracy
Spending what I did today has my mind turned towards money matters and budgets. What did I do tonight that is also expensive? Well, read along as I explain. (This is mainly just written out of boredom and I felt like writing.)
It has turned very cool here in the south. I am sitting here watching my gas heater burn. I broke down tonight and turned it on low. Let me paint a picture of what this looks like to me……
Picture an animated burning dollar bill. I couldn’t find one on the web but I only searched like 1 second. I am being lazy and do not want to have to upload it to my FTP server and then link it so bare with me and use your imagination. Come on, you know it is fun. Did you picture the burning dollar bill?
You have to picture my apartment here. If you remember some of the pictures I uploaded and showed on my former blog then you know it is full of windows. These windows are of some 1960’s design and are glass slates that are opened with a crank. You can see my blinds move with the slightest breeze outdoors as they do not seal well.
Tonight I turned on the heat. I am being a wuss and it is really chilly in here. The ambient temperature was in the fifties Fahrenheit. (Around 12 degrees Celsius for you Canadians, eh?) Normally, I just put on some long johns and a fleece pullover but tonight I gave in. I have gone countless times to stand in front of that gas heater and warm my hands and butt. It is very comforting but my budget this month is going to hell.
I have learned one trick. I unscrewed the grate on the heater and light it with a lighter. I do not use the pilot light. I think the pilot light is a conspiracy by the gas company to make a few extra bucks per customer per month. It is convenient but expensive. Me? I just lift the grate and use a cheap 35 cent lighter to ignite the heater; watching that pilot light burn makes me cringe.
Luckily, my new home is very well insulated and efficient. I am ready to move in and be more comfortable. Well, I better run. This is just a quick peek into the life of a cheap bastard. Hehe :^)
It has turned very cool here in the south. I am sitting here watching my gas heater burn. I broke down tonight and turned it on low. Let me paint a picture of what this looks like to me……
Picture an animated burning dollar bill. I couldn’t find one on the web but I only searched like 1 second. I am being lazy and do not want to have to upload it to my FTP server and then link it so bare with me and use your imagination. Come on, you know it is fun. Did you picture the burning dollar bill?
You have to picture my apartment here. If you remember some of the pictures I uploaded and showed on my former blog then you know it is full of windows. These windows are of some 1960’s design and are glass slates that are opened with a crank. You can see my blinds move with the slightest breeze outdoors as they do not seal well.
Tonight I turned on the heat. I am being a wuss and it is really chilly in here. The ambient temperature was in the fifties Fahrenheit. (Around 12 degrees Celsius for you Canadians, eh?) Normally, I just put on some long johns and a fleece pullover but tonight I gave in. I have gone countless times to stand in front of that gas heater and warm my hands and butt. It is very comforting but my budget this month is going to hell.
I have learned one trick. I unscrewed the grate on the heater and light it with a lighter. I do not use the pilot light. I think the pilot light is a conspiracy by the gas company to make a few extra bucks per customer per month. It is convenient but expensive. Me? I just lift the grate and use a cheap 35 cent lighter to ignite the heater; watching that pilot light burn makes me cringe.
Luckily, my new home is very well insulated and efficient. I am ready to move in and be more comfortable. Well, I better run. This is just a quick peek into the life of a cheap bastard. Hehe :^)
Two trips to Wal-Mart in one day are hell
I needed a printer for school and I got a sales paper from Wal-Mart in the mail today. Their little marketing strategy worked on me. It was $39.63 for a Hewlett Packard deskjet 3740 printer and it was listed in the sales paper. Wow, that is cheap I thought. I spent over $100 for a printer for Rachel when I was married. I didn’t need anything fancy; just something to mainly print papers for school. I will also have to register online for the spring semester and will have to print out my class schedule from the internet.
So I drive all the way down there and pick up one of those printers. Did I mention I hate shopping and I especially hate Wal-Mart? Yes, this was a trip out of utmost need. I would never go down there unless I absolutely had to have something. This was the first time I have been shopping in months and months. I get everything home and unpack the box. WTF? No USB cable and no black print cartridge? Ah, I thought, no wonder this printer was so cheap. I should have read the fine print on the box but was in a hurry to get the hell out of that place.
I get in the car and drive back down there. A USB cable was $12.99 and the black print cartridge was $18.74. This little sale was quickly growing expensive. No way was I going to pay for that Belkin USB cable. Surely the cable from my old scanner that I haven’t used in years will work. I gambled and it did. I did have to buy the black print cartridge and that ate into my weekly grocery money. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches will be on the menu for a few lunches this week. Those print cartridges are such a rip off and by the look of the size of that thing they don’t last very long either.
I also needed paper and it was $4.74 for a pack of Hewlett Packard brand inkjet paper. I looked around and they didn’t have any generic brand packs of paper. I decided to check Family Dollar and hope they might have inkjet paper on the way home. Good news! They had 100 page packs for $1 each. At least I came out good on the paper front and the cheap paper works just fine.
The Total Bill ------- $65.20
That little sale of $39.63 almost doubled. That’s why I hate shopping and know that sales are rarely really bargains. I should know better but I did have to have that printer for school.
So I drive all the way down there and pick up one of those printers. Did I mention I hate shopping and I especially hate Wal-Mart? Yes, this was a trip out of utmost need. I would never go down there unless I absolutely had to have something. This was the first time I have been shopping in months and months. I get everything home and unpack the box. WTF? No USB cable and no black print cartridge? Ah, I thought, no wonder this printer was so cheap. I should have read the fine print on the box but was in a hurry to get the hell out of that place.
I get in the car and drive back down there. A USB cable was $12.99 and the black print cartridge was $18.74. This little sale was quickly growing expensive. No way was I going to pay for that Belkin USB cable. Surely the cable from my old scanner that I haven’t used in years will work. I gambled and it did. I did have to buy the black print cartridge and that ate into my weekly grocery money. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches will be on the menu for a few lunches this week. Those print cartridges are such a rip off and by the look of the size of that thing they don’t last very long either.
I also needed paper and it was $4.74 for a pack of Hewlett Packard brand inkjet paper. I looked around and they didn’t have any generic brand packs of paper. I decided to check Family Dollar and hope they might have inkjet paper on the way home. Good news! They had 100 page packs for $1 each. At least I came out good on the paper front and the cheap paper works just fine.
The Total Bill ------- $65.20
That little sale of $39.63 almost doubled. That’s why I hate shopping and know that sales are rarely really bargains. I should know better but I did have to have that printer for school.
Work Place Politics
This is one of my major concerns about going back to work. I know I am jumping ahead and do not even have a degree yet but I am thinking about these issues. I saw this personal code of conduct in the workplace and wanted to share it. I found it on the New Social Worker forums. Some of these would be wise to implement in any work setting.
(When I worked at the University as a research technician, the work place politics baffled me. I now think that I would still have that job if I followed some of these guidelines.)
(When I worked at the University as a research technician, the work place politics baffled me. I now think that I would still have that job if I followed some of these guidelines.)
1. Never talk about any colleague in any way ...no buts, complaints, compliments, nothing.
2. Never "play along" with someone else who talks about a colleague. Don't agree, disagree, or anything. If they are complaining about, criticizing, or otherwise demeaning the person, ask if they have documented evidence. If they say "no", tell them you don't want to hear it. If they say "yes" then tell them they need to take the action they feel is appropriate. (Judgment call on whether you should support them in follow up, keeping in mind that you don't have the documentation or know if it is valid.)
3. Always follow up on concerns over ethical issues. When I have genuine, documented concern, I take it to the appropriate person (which, may or may not be the person I am concerned about). Often, this can be clarified and shown as reasonable.
4. Always remember that the client is number one. Their safety comes before my comfort. This does not mean to jump into someone else’s intervention!
5. Always consider what others tell you as confidential...unless they say, specifically, that it is not. Even when they do state that it isn't, lean on the side of caution and consider it confidential. Their tales are their tales.
6. My colleagues are not my best friends. My close friends are drawn from my Church/Mosque/Clan and my neighborhood. I appreciate colleagues on a different level.
Sunday, November 14, 2004
On Blogging and Homelessness
Somehow blogging got misconstrued as some private endeavor that should be treated as such. I disagree. A blog is a public space on the internet where people congregate to read about each other’s lives and their thoughts and ideas. It can be a powerful tool for getting your voice heard or causing change however small. I found the biggest change coming from my blog in me. I have learned to think and put down my ideas in a way where others can read them. I find it very therapeutic to be able to organize and write down my thoughts and aspirations. I also have the ability to get comments from those of you that have read. Sometimes they are just support and encouragement comments and other times they have been suggestions and advice that I have put to work in my real life. Through the comments, I have learned to listen to what others have to say and to use advice and not always think that my way is the only way.
When I was homeless and would ride over here everyday on my motorcycle to get on the internet and get out of the cold, I would eagerly anticipate the comments I would get. Sometimes it would even make me nervous as I didn’t know what to expect. Here I was writing about my life and very personally for all to see. I shared some of my best moments and some of my hardest as well. All in all people were kind and supportive and you don’t know how much that meant to me. To log on and find out that people were reading what I had to write and they wanted to see me overcome the obstacles in my life. That meant a lot to me and I appreciated it very much. I still do and will never forget it.
When we write a blog and start to garner a readership you take on a certain amount of responsibility. Especially when you write a blog that has central theme such as mental illness or homelessness. People begin to expect certain things out of you and hope you make the right decisions. When I first started blogging, I wanted to be a homeless success story. I didn’t want to be like the many homeless blogs I had read where the person flounders in squalor and homelessness. I wanted to show you all that it could be overcome and that with hard work and diligence I could change my situation. I am proud to report that things have come a long way but still have a ways to go. I am still embarking on that journey out of homelessness. But now I have some great successes under my belt and it instills confidence and a drive to go ever onward.
Okay, so I have written a little about blogging and what it has meant to me and what I think about it. I have also written about comments and the responsibility that comes with a blog that deals with a central theme such as mental illness or homelessness. I now want to steer my course to what I mainly wanted to talk about today: Don’t be afraid to ask questions! There seems to be this invisible boundary that we are afraid to cross when it comes to asking a blog author questions about his experiences and what he is doing to help. It is as if we will come across as rude or nosey or if a blog is this personal sacred space that shall not be desecrated. A personal warning sign that pops up now for me is when a popular blog that deals with a very sensitive or controversial subject does not have comments; especially when they are using that controversial subject for gain and claiming to be an advocate for that cause or subject. Immediately little red flags pop up in my head and I grow wary.
You have a right to ask questions and get answers especially when it is a blog based on a subject that effects a great deal of people. I wish people would ask more questions that need to be asked such as the ones below and these are some questions I need to answer as well…..(these are just some general ideas)
I will reiterate again, don’t be afraid to ask questions. I would expect these same questions to be asked of me as well. It is your money and your good will that is being used here. Would you not expect a shelter you gave a large sum to, to be accountable for that generous offer? You would want that generosity going to help people as you intended and not just to make the shelter workers more comfortable. I know I would want to be able to step into a shelter and see my money going to good work and any shelter that has nothing to hide would welcome you in and show you around. They would encourage you to get involved and to ask questions.
Well, I will close as I am starting to lose my train of thought and this essay is spinning out of my control. I am starting to lose the focus that I began with. Don’t forget that you have a right to ask questions and that a blog author who is using a controversial subject as his central tenet has a responsibility to you and others and should be forth coming about his blog and what he is doing to help. I would expect no less from my self.
When I was homeless and would ride over here everyday on my motorcycle to get on the internet and get out of the cold, I would eagerly anticipate the comments I would get. Sometimes it would even make me nervous as I didn’t know what to expect. Here I was writing about my life and very personally for all to see. I shared some of my best moments and some of my hardest as well. All in all people were kind and supportive and you don’t know how much that meant to me. To log on and find out that people were reading what I had to write and they wanted to see me overcome the obstacles in my life. That meant a lot to me and I appreciated it very much. I still do and will never forget it.
When we write a blog and start to garner a readership you take on a certain amount of responsibility. Especially when you write a blog that has central theme such as mental illness or homelessness. People begin to expect certain things out of you and hope you make the right decisions. When I first started blogging, I wanted to be a homeless success story. I didn’t want to be like the many homeless blogs I had read where the person flounders in squalor and homelessness. I wanted to show you all that it could be overcome and that with hard work and diligence I could change my situation. I am proud to report that things have come a long way but still have a ways to go. I am still embarking on that journey out of homelessness. But now I have some great successes under my belt and it instills confidence and a drive to go ever onward.
Okay, so I have written a little about blogging and what it has meant to me and what I think about it. I have also written about comments and the responsibility that comes with a blog that deals with a central theme such as mental illness or homelessness. I now want to steer my course to what I mainly wanted to talk about today: Don’t be afraid to ask questions! There seems to be this invisible boundary that we are afraid to cross when it comes to asking a blog author questions about his experiences and what he is doing to help. It is as if we will come across as rude or nosey or if a blog is this personal sacred space that shall not be desecrated. A personal warning sign that pops up now for me is when a popular blog that deals with a very sensitive or controversial subject does not have comments; especially when they are using that controversial subject for gain and claiming to be an advocate for that cause or subject. Immediately little red flags pop up in my head and I grow wary.
You have a right to ask questions and get answers especially when it is a blog based on a subject that effects a great deal of people. I wish people would ask more questions that need to be asked such as the ones below and these are some questions I need to answer as well…..(these are just some general ideas)
a) You claim to be an advocate for the homeless, what are you doing and how are you helping? What are your ideas for lessening homelessness in our cities?
b) How are you putting the funds and material things generated from your blog to work helping the homeless and others? Have you ever given monetarily to the very shelters and systems that support you?
c) Mental illness is a touchy subject with many and people tip toe around the issues. How can you better make people understand that by talking about it we can remove some of the stigma involved and get people help?
d) You want a computer from your readers and claim it will help in your advocacy work. How will you use this computer to help advocate for the homeless instead of just personal gain or entertainment? Give us some tangible ideas and then write about it so we can see it implemented.
I will reiterate again, don’t be afraid to ask questions. I would expect these same questions to be asked of me as well. It is your money and your good will that is being used here. Would you not expect a shelter you gave a large sum to, to be accountable for that generous offer? You would want that generosity going to help people as you intended and not just to make the shelter workers more comfortable. I know I would want to be able to step into a shelter and see my money going to good work and any shelter that has nothing to hide would welcome you in and show you around. They would encourage you to get involved and to ask questions.
Well, I will close as I am starting to lose my train of thought and this essay is spinning out of my control. I am starting to lose the focus that I began with. Don’t forget that you have a right to ask questions and that a blog author who is using a controversial subject as his central tenet has a responsibility to you and others and should be forth coming about his blog and what he is doing to help. I would expect no less from my self.
Saturday, November 13, 2004
Computers for friends in need
I got off on a tangent this evening instead of my regular routine. My friend Chad is deeply interested in trying out this internet thing. He is stuck at home with no car and nothing to do but watch television all day. We reacquainted recently out at the mental health clinic where I am volunteering. He gets his meds and sees the doctor out there.
I was talking to him about blogs and all the neat things you can do with a computer nowadays this evening on the phone and he badly wanted to get involved. I managed to piece together a computer out of parts that I had lying around. My ex-wife recently brought a whole box of my old spare computer parts. I was an avid computer builder when I had my truck driving job and a good income.
Here is the box I put together and got running. I feel very satisfied with my accomplishment tonight.
Everything is working perfectly and I got windows installed. I even managed to find drivers for that old modem. I cannot wait to get him hooked up and on the web. I also cannot wait to see his face when I bring over the computer. It will be a big surprise for him as he is on a very limited income as I am. The only things he will need are a keyboard, speakers, and a monitor. I am going to hit the local thrift stores and goodwill and see if I can find some used ones Monday. If not, maybe I can persuade him to spend a little money at Wal-Mart for a cheap monitor, keyboard and some speakers.
Who knows, we may have the next blogging hit on our hands. Chad has an interesting story to tell and has had much life experience. I think the internet will be time much better spent than sitting in front of the TV drinking beer and smoking cigarettes all day. At least he can interact and learn via the web. I look forward to showing him the ropes and helping him start out exploring the internet. I also look forward to sharing some of the wonderful blogs I have encountered over this past year as a new blogger user.
I was talking to him about blogs and all the neat things you can do with a computer nowadays this evening on the phone and he badly wanted to get involved. I managed to piece together a computer out of parts that I had lying around. My ex-wife recently brought a whole box of my old spare computer parts. I was an avid computer builder when I had my truck driving job and a good income.
Here is the box I put together and got running. I feel very satisfied with my accomplishment tonight.
AMD Athlon 1600+ processor
Old Antec case and power supply
512 MB DDR266 ram
Maxtor 7200rpm 10 GB hard drive
Abit nforce2 motherboard
ATI Rage pro 32 MB video card
Sound blaster Live! sound card
Old generic 56k modem
Everything is working perfectly and I got windows installed. I even managed to find drivers for that old modem. I cannot wait to get him hooked up and on the web. I also cannot wait to see his face when I bring over the computer. It will be a big surprise for him as he is on a very limited income as I am. The only things he will need are a keyboard, speakers, and a monitor. I am going to hit the local thrift stores and goodwill and see if I can find some used ones Monday. If not, maybe I can persuade him to spend a little money at Wal-Mart for a cheap monitor, keyboard and some speakers.
Who knows, we may have the next blogging hit on our hands. Chad has an interesting story to tell and has had much life experience. I think the internet will be time much better spent than sitting in front of the TV drinking beer and smoking cigarettes all day. At least he can interact and learn via the web. I look forward to showing him the ropes and helping him start out exploring the internet. I also look forward to sharing some of the wonderful blogs I have encountered over this past year as a new blogger user.
A return to Protestantism
I was asked a simple question yesterday by my grandmother.
“What religion are you? And have you been going to church?” She asked.
“I am a secular humanist. I do not go to church.” I replied.
She looked kind of confused and her face was contorted.
“You mean you are not a Christian?” She asked. “Everybody is either a Christian or a Jew in America.”
I love my grandmother but her ignorance on religion in America astounded me. I started to explain that there are many other religions other than Christianity and Judaism practiced in our country but decided it was a lost cause. In her case the old adage you can’t teach an old dog new tricks ringed true.
My grandmother was fervently caught up in the religious right movement that swept the south that has always historically voted democrat. She was one of the staunchest Bush supporters I met during the campaign days. She would ask me who I was voting for and I would just say that I was undecided to stay out of a fruitless discussion or argument.
“What is a secular humanist? Sounds like atheism to me. I call a stone a stone.” She said.
My grandmother couldn’t come to terms that her oldest grandchild was not a Christian. I explained in round about terms what a secular humanist is and what I believe in. For those of you unfamiliar with secular humanism, here are some guidelines I go by:
One of my biggest fears is that America is shifting back to Protestantism not like the 1930’s but more like the 1690’s! I see an eroding of the separation of church and state. The issue of creationism being taught in our schools is often on the local school board agendas. There is also this underlying chord of intolerance that scares me the most and I fear much of it is fostered by fundamentalist religious thinking.
Our conversation turned to morals.
“You cannot have morals if you are not a Christian. That concerns me Jonathon.” My grandmother said.
One does not need to have religion to have morality I explained. I do not just go out and kill someone because no one is looking and I can get away with it. I know that murder is wrong despite not being a Christian. I do not need some arcane commandment to tell me the difference between right or wrong.
My grandmother finally gave up trying to convert me and I could see the pain in her face. It was not an easy moment for me or her. I told her I will always love her and I am a good, moral man. Being a secular humanist does not make me some evil, immoral atheist. Sadly, the majority of less informed Christians would think so like my grandmother. I am slowly coming to the realization that in the current grassroots religious movement and the renewed focus of religion in mainstream politics that it is better for me to keep my views on religion to myself. I fear the intolerance I have often seen will be turned towards me and my views and I will be ostracized. This is one of the problems living in a small rural southern town where there is a church in almost every neighborhood and everyone is a Christian.
“What religion are you? And have you been going to church?” She asked.
“I am a secular humanist. I do not go to church.” I replied.
She looked kind of confused and her face was contorted.
“You mean you are not a Christian?” She asked. “Everybody is either a Christian or a Jew in America.”
I love my grandmother but her ignorance on religion in America astounded me. I started to explain that there are many other religions other than Christianity and Judaism practiced in our country but decided it was a lost cause. In her case the old adage you can’t teach an old dog new tricks ringed true.
My grandmother was fervently caught up in the religious right movement that swept the south that has always historically voted democrat. She was one of the staunchest Bush supporters I met during the campaign days. She would ask me who I was voting for and I would just say that I was undecided to stay out of a fruitless discussion or argument.
“What is a secular humanist? Sounds like atheism to me. I call a stone a stone.” She said.
My grandmother couldn’t come to terms that her oldest grandchild was not a Christian. I explained in round about terms what a secular humanist is and what I believe in. For those of you unfamiliar with secular humanism, here are some guidelines I go by:
• A conviction that dogmas, ideologies and traditions, whether religious, political or social, must be weighed and tested by each individual and not simply accepted on faith.
• Commitment to the use of critical reason, factual evidence, and scientific methods of inquiry, rather than faith and mysticism, in seeking solutions to human problems and answers to important human questions.
• A primary concern with fulfillment, growth, and creativity for both the individual and humankind in general.
• A constant search for objective truth, with the understanding that new knowledge and experience constantly alter our imperfect perception of it.
• A concern for this life and a commitment to making it meaningful through better understanding of ourselves, our history, our intellectual and artistic achievements, and the outlooks of those who differ from us.
• A search for viable individual, social and political principles of ethical conduct, judging them on their ability to enhance human well-being and individual responsibility.
• A conviction that with reason, an open marketplace of ideas, good will, and tolerance, progress can be made in building a better world for ourselves and our children.
One of my biggest fears is that America is shifting back to Protestantism not like the 1930’s but more like the 1690’s! I see an eroding of the separation of church and state. The issue of creationism being taught in our schools is often on the local school board agendas. There is also this underlying chord of intolerance that scares me the most and I fear much of it is fostered by fundamentalist religious thinking.
Our conversation turned to morals.
“You cannot have morals if you are not a Christian. That concerns me Jonathon.” My grandmother said.
One does not need to have religion to have morality I explained. I do not just go out and kill someone because no one is looking and I can get away with it. I know that murder is wrong despite not being a Christian. I do not need some arcane commandment to tell me the difference between right or wrong.
My grandmother finally gave up trying to convert me and I could see the pain in her face. It was not an easy moment for me or her. I told her I will always love her and I am a good, moral man. Being a secular humanist does not make me some evil, immoral atheist. Sadly, the majority of less informed Christians would think so like my grandmother. I am slowly coming to the realization that in the current grassroots religious movement and the renewed focus of religion in mainstream politics that it is better for me to keep my views on religion to myself. I fear the intolerance I have often seen will be turned towards me and my views and I will be ostracized. This is one of the problems living in a small rural southern town where there is a church in almost every neighborhood and everyone is a Christian.
Friday, November 12, 2004
Gaining from homelessness
One of the reasons I originally took down this blog was I didn’t want to be grouped with “homeless bloggers”. I saw no real benefit for the homeless coming from some of the more popular blogs and it alarmed me. It helps the individual homeless person but not the homeless as a whole. It takes the actual person who is homeless or formerly homeless to go out and make a difference and not hope that difference will find you on the web. I fear people read these blogs for entertainment value and very few readers are actual advocates or people trying to make a difference.
I do read several homeless blogs mainly out of curiosity even though they sometimes irritate me. I have to keep in mind that blogging is a personal endeavor and the blog is an outward extension of the individual with all their faults, failings, and successes. The homeless guy, for example, is a blog written by just one guy who is homeless in Nashville. He is not representative of the homeless population in Nashville at all. He is articulate and savvy with marketing his blog. He is able to reasonably put his thoughts down for you to read. He is atypical in that he doesn’t suffer from some of the more hardcore problems that many homeless people face such as addiction, cold, hunger, and isolation. But there I am generalizing. I only know him through his writings and not the man himself. For all I know, what he writes and who he really is are vastly different animals. You really can’t experience or understand homelessness just through one man’s writings on a blog. Homelessness is multi-faceted and varies from situation to situation. My situation, Crystal’s situation, James’ situation, Morgan’s situation, and lastly Kevin’s situation are vastly different. Our experiences with homelessness were completely different other than one single factor: We didn’t have a home to call our own.
I have often thought about what bugs me so much about Kevin’s blog and others. At first, maybe I thought it was jealousy but I put that down quickly. I do not desire to be the internet spokesperson for the homeless nor do I want to gain things from you out of pity or persuasion. Gaining things: that hit a nerve with me as I wrote it. I guess what alarms me that there are millions of people stricken in poverty and who are homeless and one guy who has gained an audience is using homelessness for his own benefit and not the real benefit of others. Maybe I am particularly sensitive since I was homeless for a time as well and know what it feels like to be hungry, cold, and so lonesome that you cry around the hour and wish you were dead. I want to cry out in disgust when I see him ask for and get such things as computers, DVD’s, and other non essential things and he is still homeless. I don’t mind the guy getting things but I wish they where things that would actually help him get off the streets and not make him the avant garde equivalent of a homeless Hollywood director or artist. So many people are hurting and living without and some guy is using homelessness to gain stupid things; things that only go to make him more comfortable and do nothing to help the homeless. I want to cry out to these kind people that are giving and tell them to help all homeless people, give to a shelter, give to a food bank, give something to help all homeless people and not just one savvy, articulate guy on the web.
I have noticed that this is a touchy subject with many of you who read his blog as well. I often get lots of emails when I post about this subject. A lot of people who also have blogs (some homeless and formerly homeless) are quick to agree with me and to encourage me but never write about this in their own blogs. It as if they are afraid to tell the truth or fear the guy for some reason. Kevin thinks that it some kind of honor to be linked on his page if you are a homeless or a formerly homeless blogger. Maybe some are afraid to bring about his internet wrath.
People are quick to use the Mental Illness card on me when it regards Kevin. They tell me I should be more understanding and kind since I too suffer from mental illness. That’s just it, I do understand. I understand that I have a responsibility to myself and others regarding my mental illness. I have a responsibility to seek out help and to obtain treatment. I have a responsibility to my family and my friends to do what it takes to stay healthy. I should not use it to play on your sympathies or to gain things from you. There are millions of people who suffer in some form of mental illness or another. They want one thing: To get well and live a good life. I have a good notion that Kevin cringes when he reads anyone sticking up for him because he has a mental illness. I have seen this done often.
I hope this little essay didn’t come off as a rant. I didn’t write it with feelings of anger or resentment. My main feeling was concern; concern for all the homeless people that have no voice or who cannot write a blog and gain things such as Kevin. I feel safe in saying that the majority of homeless people could not do what he has done. I want you all to remember as Christmas approaches that there are plenty of homeless people to help and not just Kevin and his blog. People with no families and homes will go without this season and need your help for simple things. These people do not want computers or DVD’s. They want your friendship, a good meal, and warmth. They want to know someone cares enough to extend a helping hand. The money spent on one computer to the homeless guy could feed a whole shelter full of people Christmas dinner. Please think of all homeless people and not just one homeless guy who happens to be very visible on the internet. If you want to help Kevin, help him by helping local churches and the Room in the Inn program. Donate to help all the Nashville homeless. That is where you can make the most difference and you can help “the homeless guy” as well.
I do read several homeless blogs mainly out of curiosity even though they sometimes irritate me. I have to keep in mind that blogging is a personal endeavor and the blog is an outward extension of the individual with all their faults, failings, and successes. The homeless guy, for example, is a blog written by just one guy who is homeless in Nashville. He is not representative of the homeless population in Nashville at all. He is articulate and savvy with marketing his blog. He is able to reasonably put his thoughts down for you to read. He is atypical in that he doesn’t suffer from some of the more hardcore problems that many homeless people face such as addiction, cold, hunger, and isolation. But there I am generalizing. I only know him through his writings and not the man himself. For all I know, what he writes and who he really is are vastly different animals. You really can’t experience or understand homelessness just through one man’s writings on a blog. Homelessness is multi-faceted and varies from situation to situation. My situation, Crystal’s situation, James’ situation, Morgan’s situation, and lastly Kevin’s situation are vastly different. Our experiences with homelessness were completely different other than one single factor: We didn’t have a home to call our own.
I have often thought about what bugs me so much about Kevin’s blog and others. At first, maybe I thought it was jealousy but I put that down quickly. I do not desire to be the internet spokesperson for the homeless nor do I want to gain things from you out of pity or persuasion. Gaining things: that hit a nerve with me as I wrote it. I guess what alarms me that there are millions of people stricken in poverty and who are homeless and one guy who has gained an audience is using homelessness for his own benefit and not the real benefit of others. Maybe I am particularly sensitive since I was homeless for a time as well and know what it feels like to be hungry, cold, and so lonesome that you cry around the hour and wish you were dead. I want to cry out in disgust when I see him ask for and get such things as computers, DVD’s, and other non essential things and he is still homeless. I don’t mind the guy getting things but I wish they where things that would actually help him get off the streets and not make him the avant garde equivalent of a homeless Hollywood director or artist. So many people are hurting and living without and some guy is using homelessness to gain stupid things; things that only go to make him more comfortable and do nothing to help the homeless. I want to cry out to these kind people that are giving and tell them to help all homeless people, give to a shelter, give to a food bank, give something to help all homeless people and not just one savvy, articulate guy on the web.
I have noticed that this is a touchy subject with many of you who read his blog as well. I often get lots of emails when I post about this subject. A lot of people who also have blogs (some homeless and formerly homeless) are quick to agree with me and to encourage me but never write about this in their own blogs. It as if they are afraid to tell the truth or fear the guy for some reason. Kevin thinks that it some kind of honor to be linked on his page if you are a homeless or a formerly homeless blogger. Maybe some are afraid to bring about his internet wrath.
People are quick to use the Mental Illness card on me when it regards Kevin. They tell me I should be more understanding and kind since I too suffer from mental illness. That’s just it, I do understand. I understand that I have a responsibility to myself and others regarding my mental illness. I have a responsibility to seek out help and to obtain treatment. I have a responsibility to my family and my friends to do what it takes to stay healthy. I should not use it to play on your sympathies or to gain things from you. There are millions of people who suffer in some form of mental illness or another. They want one thing: To get well and live a good life. I have a good notion that Kevin cringes when he reads anyone sticking up for him because he has a mental illness. I have seen this done often.
I hope this little essay didn’t come off as a rant. I didn’t write it with feelings of anger or resentment. My main feeling was concern; concern for all the homeless people that have no voice or who cannot write a blog and gain things such as Kevin. I feel safe in saying that the majority of homeless people could not do what he has done. I want you all to remember as Christmas approaches that there are plenty of homeless people to help and not just Kevin and his blog. People with no families and homes will go without this season and need your help for simple things. These people do not want computers or DVD’s. They want your friendship, a good meal, and warmth. They want to know someone cares enough to extend a helping hand. The money spent on one computer to the homeless guy could feed a whole shelter full of people Christmas dinner. Please think of all homeless people and not just one homeless guy who happens to be very visible on the internet. If you want to help Kevin, help him by helping local churches and the Room in the Inn program. Donate to help all the Nashville homeless. That is where you can make the most difference and you can help “the homeless guy” as well.
Tuesday, November 09, 2004
Walking a day in my shoes
I am bleary eyed and wasted this morning. I only got 3 hours of sleep last night. I think it was because my medication had run out. My appointment for my meds was last Thursday and we had all those medical things going on with my father and I had to reschedule. I tossed and turned and just laid in the bed thinking until 4 AM this morning. I hate nights like that. I felt like I was running out of time and that if I didn’t get to sleep soon my whole day tomorrow would be shot. I watched as the hours and minutes ticked by on my bedside alarm clock.
My risperidone shot was this morning. Thank goodness as I could very much tell the absence of my medication. One of the last things my father said to me as I left his hospital room yesterday was to be sure to go and get my shot in the morning. With all he had going on and not feeling well, he was determined I get to Dr. Kamath’s office and get that injection.
I was a guinea pig today as I had this new, young nurse. She opened the box and looked at all the miscellaneous pieces. It can look daunting the first time. She sat there and read the instructions for the longest time. I finally spoke up.
“You want me to help you with that?” I asked.
“You know how to do it?” She asked back.
“I have done it countless times.” I replied.
I proceeded to make up the injection and prepare it. She watched as I deftly put everything together.
“You make it look easy.” She said.
“It really is easy after you do it once or twice.” I said.
The hardest part is to bare my ass to a stranger. I am very modest when it comes to exposing myself. I have learned to wear loose fitting pull up athletic shorts to make the process easier. All I have to do is pull down my pants slightly to one side and do not have to do the full moon.
“Big stick!” The young nurse said.
No matter how many times you get this done there is a short moment of anxiety and tension. Sometimes the injection is very painful and other times you barely feel it. I never know how the experience will unfold.
“All done, hon.” She said.
I pulled up my pants, said thanks, and headed back to the reception area to schedule another appointment.
On my drive home, I thought how much this simple act of going every two weeks and getting this shot has changed my life; a change very much for the better. I remembered all of the anti-psychiatry and anti-medication websites I have read and thought, “If you could only walk a few weeks in my shoes.”
My risperidone shot was this morning. Thank goodness as I could very much tell the absence of my medication. One of the last things my father said to me as I left his hospital room yesterday was to be sure to go and get my shot in the morning. With all he had going on and not feeling well, he was determined I get to Dr. Kamath’s office and get that injection.
I was a guinea pig today as I had this new, young nurse. She opened the box and looked at all the miscellaneous pieces. It can look daunting the first time. She sat there and read the instructions for the longest time. I finally spoke up.
“You want me to help you with that?” I asked.
“You know how to do it?” She asked back.
“I have done it countless times.” I replied.
I proceeded to make up the injection and prepare it. She watched as I deftly put everything together.
“You make it look easy.” She said.
“It really is easy after you do it once or twice.” I said.
The hardest part is to bare my ass to a stranger. I am very modest when it comes to exposing myself. I have learned to wear loose fitting pull up athletic shorts to make the process easier. All I have to do is pull down my pants slightly to one side and do not have to do the full moon.
“Big stick!” The young nurse said.
No matter how many times you get this done there is a short moment of anxiety and tension. Sometimes the injection is very painful and other times you barely feel it. I never know how the experience will unfold.
“All done, hon.” She said.
I pulled up my pants, said thanks, and headed back to the reception area to schedule another appointment.
On my drive home, I thought how much this simple act of going every two weeks and getting this shot has changed my life; a change very much for the better. I remembered all of the anti-psychiatry and anti-medication websites I have read and thought, “If you could only walk a few weeks in my shoes.”
Sunday, November 07, 2004
Not so race relations
A few words to describe my great aunt first: She was born in 1918. She was the youngest child of 8 children. She grew up in the great depression and times were tough. This has had an enormous affect on her and still to this day influences her. She always lived with a family member such as my great grandfather, her brother, or her sister. She never married and never once dated. These last few years since her sister died is the first time she has ever lived alone. She also has a lot of out dated, prejudiced, and old school beliefs that were characteristic of the lower class Deep South from her generation. I always have to keep this in mind with dealing with her.
Lately, she has had an older black man coming around to do odd jobs for her around the house. Mainly outside work such as raking leaves and trimming the shrubs. She pays him in the odd dollar amount or through homemade canned items or preserves. She calls him “that little nigger boy, Jerry” even though Jerry is in his fifties and quite a bit older than me. I cringe when she says this but there is not much I can do.
Yesterday, as I was sitting in the back parlor reading a book, I heard a knock on the door. It was Jerry. I opened the door but he would not come in so I stepped outside.
Jerry was dressed in some heavy denim over alls over a white long sleeve t-shirt and wore heavy worn work boots. He had graying hair and a two and three day unshaven stubble on his face. His eyes were the yellow color of old, worn ivory.
“Hey Jerry.” I said as I shook his hand.
“Ya got some work for me to do round here today?” He asked.
“I will ask my Aunt, Jerry. Hold on a second.” I replied.
My great aunt came shuffling slowly to the door. I stood to the side and listened.
“Mrs. Myrtis, I need a few dollars and was wondering if you would let me do an odd job around the house.” Jerry asked.
“I don’t have any money.” My great aunt said and she was lying. “I will pay you in 4 jars of peach preserves.”
Jerry looked forlorn and this was not the answer he wanted to hear.
“Mrs. Mrytis, I need some cash so I will walk on over to Chuck’s house and see if he needs some work done.” Jerry said.
My great aunt recapitulated and gave in. Her little bargaining strategy didn’t work.
“Alright, Jerry, I will pay you ten dollars to get up all the leaves around the fruit trees. I don’t want no nigger man taking advantage of me so you get up the leaves and I will pay you ten dollars afterwards.” She said.
I sighed loudly when my great aunt said this and Jerry looked at me with a smile. Jerry accepted the offer and headed out across to the barn to get a rake and drop cloth. I walked out with him to have a talk with him for a few moments.
“Jerry, don’t you let her talk to you like that and use you. She will if you let her.” I said.
“I know Mrs. Myrtis and she don’t bother me. Everyone in town knows how she be.” Jerry said.
I slipped Jerry another ten dollars and he graciously accepted.
“Jerry, you are a better man than me and twenty dollars should be what you get paid to get up all those leaves. Just don’t tell my great aunt I did this.” I said.
A little while later, I got out and helped Jerry finish up. I knew if my great aunt saw me helping Jerry then she would not want to pay him. Luckily, she was taking a nap.
Lately, she has had an older black man coming around to do odd jobs for her around the house. Mainly outside work such as raking leaves and trimming the shrubs. She pays him in the odd dollar amount or through homemade canned items or preserves. She calls him “that little nigger boy, Jerry” even though Jerry is in his fifties and quite a bit older than me. I cringe when she says this but there is not much I can do.
Yesterday, as I was sitting in the back parlor reading a book, I heard a knock on the door. It was Jerry. I opened the door but he would not come in so I stepped outside.
Jerry was dressed in some heavy denim over alls over a white long sleeve t-shirt and wore heavy worn work boots. He had graying hair and a two and three day unshaven stubble on his face. His eyes were the yellow color of old, worn ivory.
“Hey Jerry.” I said as I shook his hand.
“Ya got some work for me to do round here today?” He asked.
“I will ask my Aunt, Jerry. Hold on a second.” I replied.
My great aunt came shuffling slowly to the door. I stood to the side and listened.
“Mrs. Myrtis, I need a few dollars and was wondering if you would let me do an odd job around the house.” Jerry asked.
“I don’t have any money.” My great aunt said and she was lying. “I will pay you in 4 jars of peach preserves.”
Jerry looked forlorn and this was not the answer he wanted to hear.
“Mrs. Mrytis, I need some cash so I will walk on over to Chuck’s house and see if he needs some work done.” Jerry said.
My great aunt recapitulated and gave in. Her little bargaining strategy didn’t work.
“Alright, Jerry, I will pay you ten dollars to get up all the leaves around the fruit trees. I don’t want no nigger man taking advantage of me so you get up the leaves and I will pay you ten dollars afterwards.” She said.
I sighed loudly when my great aunt said this and Jerry looked at me with a smile. Jerry accepted the offer and headed out across to the barn to get a rake and drop cloth. I walked out with him to have a talk with him for a few moments.
“Jerry, don’t you let her talk to you like that and use you. She will if you let her.” I said.
“I know Mrs. Myrtis and she don’t bother me. Everyone in town knows how she be.” Jerry said.
I slipped Jerry another ten dollars and he graciously accepted.
“Jerry, you are a better man than me and twenty dollars should be what you get paid to get up all those leaves. Just don’t tell my great aunt I did this.” I said.
A little while later, I got out and helped Jerry finish up. I knew if my great aunt saw me helping Jerry then she would not want to pay him. Luckily, she was taking a nap.
Not so race relations
A few words to describe my great aunt first: She was born in 1918. She was the youngest child of 8 children. She grew up in the great depression and times were tough. This has had an enormous affect on her and still to this day influences her. She always lived with a family member such as my great grandfather, her brother, or her sister. She never married and never once dated. These last few years since her sister died is the first time she has ever lived alone. She also has a lot of out dated, prejudiced, and old school beliefs that were characteristic of the lower class Deep South from her generation. I always have to keep this in mind with dealing with her.
Lately, she has had an older black man coming around to do odd jobs for her around the house. Mainly outside work such as raking leaves and trimming the shrubs. She pays him in the odd dollar amount or through homemade canned items or preserves. She calls him “that little nigger boy, Jerry” even though Jerry is in his fifties and quite a bit older than me. I cringe when she says this but there is not much I can do.
Yesterday, as I was sitting in the back parlor reading a book, I heard a knock on the door. It was Jerry. I opened the door but he would not come in so I stepped outside.
Jerry was dressed in some heavy denim over alls over a white long sleeve t-shirt and wore heavy worn work boots. He had graying hair and a two and three day unshaven stubble on his face. His eyes were the yellow color of old, worn ivory.
“Hey Jerry.” I said as I shook his hand.
“Ya got some work for me to do round here today?” He asked.
“I will ask my Aunt, Jerry. Hold on a second.” I replied.
My great aunt came shuffling slowly to the door. I stood to the side and listened.
“Mrs. Myrtis, I need a few dollars and was wondering if you would let me do an odd job around the house.” Jerry asked.
“I don’t have any money.” My great aunt said and she was lying. “I will pay you in 4 jars of peach preserves.”
Jerry looked forlorn and this was not the answer he wanted to hear.
“Mrs. Mrytis, I need some cash so I will walk on over to Chuck’s house and see if he needs some work done.” Jerry said.
My great aunt recapitulated and gave in. Her little bargaining strategy didn’t work.
“Alright, Jerry, I will pay you ten dollars to get up all the leaves around the fruit trees. I don’t want no nigger man taking advantage of me so you get up the leaves and I will pay you ten dollars afterwards.” She said.
I sighed loudly when my great aunt said this and Jerry looked at me with a smile. Jerry accepted the offer and headed out across to the barn to get a rake and drop cloth. I walked out with him to have a talk with him for a few moments.
“Jerry, don’t you let her talk to you like that and use you. She will if you let her.” I said.
“I know Mrs. Myrtis and she don’t bother me. Everyone in town knows how she be.” Jerry said.
I slipped Jerry another ten dollars and he graciously accepted.
“Jerry, you are a better man than me and twenty dollars should be what you get paid to get up all those leaves. Just don’t tell my great aunt I did this.” I said.
A little while later, I got out and helped Jerry finish up. I knew if my great aunt saw me helping Jerry then she would not want to pay him. Luckily, she was taking a nap.
Lately, she has had an older black man coming around to do odd jobs for her around the house. Mainly outside work such as raking leaves and trimming the shrubs. She pays him in the odd dollar amount or through homemade canned items or preserves. She calls him “that little nigger boy, Jerry” even though Jerry is in his fifties and quite a bit older than me. I cringe when she says this but there is not much I can do.
Yesterday, as I was sitting in the back parlor reading a book, I heard a knock on the door. It was Jerry. I opened the door but he would not come in so I stepped outside.
Jerry was dressed in some heavy denim over alls over a white long sleeve t-shirt and wore heavy worn work boots. He had graying hair and a two and three day unshaven stubble on his face. His eyes were the yellow color of old, worn ivory.
“Hey Jerry.” I said as I shook his hand.
“Ya got some work for me to do round here today?” He asked.
“I will ask my Aunt, Jerry. Hold on a second.” I replied.
My great aunt came shuffling slowly to the door. I stood to the side and listened.
“Mrs. Myrtis, I need a few dollars and was wondering if you would let me do an odd job around the house.” Jerry asked.
“I don’t have any money.” My great aunt said and she was lying. “I will pay you in 4 jars of peach preserves.”
Jerry looked forlorn and this was not the answer he wanted to hear.
“Mrs. Mrytis, I need some cash so I will walk on over to Chuck’s house and see if he needs some work done.” Jerry said.
My great aunt recapitulated and gave in. Her little bargaining strategy didn’t work.
“Alright, Jerry, I will pay you ten dollars to get up all the leaves around the fruit trees. I don’t want no nigger man taking advantage of me so you get up the leaves and I will pay you ten dollars afterwards.” She said.
I sighed loudly when my great aunt said this and Jerry looked at me with a smile. Jerry accepted the offer and headed out across to the barn to get a rake and drop cloth. I walked out with him to have a talk with him for a few moments.
“Jerry, don’t you let her talk to you like that and use you. She will if you let her.” I said.
“I know Mrs. Myrtis and she don’t bother me. Everyone in town knows how she be.” Jerry said.
I slipped Jerry another ten dollars and he graciously accepted.
“Jerry, you are a better man than me and twenty dollars should be what you get paid to get up all those leaves. Just don’t tell my great aunt I did this.” I said.
A little while later, I got out and helped Jerry finish up. I knew if my great aunt saw me helping Jerry then she would not want to pay him. Luckily, she was taking a nap.
Friday, November 05, 2004
Mrs. Complicated
I only wanted one simple thing. That’s all. Just one simple phone call and things got complicated. Why I didn’t just make the phone call myself, I do not know. Maybe is has to do with my phobias surrounding the phone or maybe I was just passing the buck.
“What are you doing over here?” My father asked from his chair in the den.
“I need mom to do something.” I replied.
“You are treading in dangerous waters, son.” He said as he laughed and I walked on by ignoring his warning and should have known better. Nothing concerning my mother is simple.
I walked down the long hall to my mother’s bedroom. I opened the door and walked to the bedside. My mother’s cat stared at me warily whilst lying atop her side. I call her possum as that is what she looks like; grayish white with a striped tail and big, round nocturnal eyes.
“Mom……” I said.
The cat looked ready to bolt any minute; her gaze watching my every move.
“mmmphhhh.” Was the mumbled reply after a few moments of standing next to the bed.
“Hey, are you with us?” I asked loudly.
Mom sat up abruptly as if alarmed sending the cat tumbling to her side. The cat was not amused and scuffled off the bed and under it.
I knew mom had an appointment to get her hair fixed at 3 PM and my appointment to get my hair cut followed hers. She had made the appointment with the hairdresser for us without asking me. I thought it would be simple since she knew Rhonda, the hairdresser, for her to call and cancel for me.
“I need you to cancel my hair cut appointment.” I said.
I really didn’t want a hair cut appointment with Rhoda anyway. She always gives me a funky haircut. She gives great little old lady hairdos like my mother prefers but sorely lacks in the men’s department. I prefer Jim, my barber, instead. He costs $5 bucks whereas Rhonda charges $13 bucks for an inferior haircut. Hey, and Jim trims my sideburns just right every time and gets them even.
“Why?” She asked.
“My dandruff is acting up and I am embarrassed about it. I need to wait a week until the shampoo does its thing.” I replied thinking that was a good excuse and that was partly why. I didn’t want to just come out and say I hated Rhonda’s haircuts.
“Okay, I will make you an appointment for next week.” She replied.
“Don’t worry about it. I will take care of the hair cut myself.” I said.
“You need a haircut so let Rhoda cut it next week. I will call her right now.” Mom said.
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” I thought to myself. Why did something so simple have to be so complicated?
“Mom, I just need you to cancel. Okay? Please? That is all I need.” I replied.
“Do you not like how Rhonda does my hair? I think she gives good haircuts.” Mom asked and stated.
I had to choke back a laugh after she asked this. It reminded me of the Carol Burnett Show sketch were Carol, her husband, and their child were sitting in a school counselor’s office. The counselor shows Carol a drawing by their child. There were two crude large stick people representing mother and father and a little dot representing the child. The counselor’s point was that the child was expressing through the drawing that he felt left out, small, and inferior. Carol looked at the drawing and said incredulously, “You mean my hair really looks that bad?”
“Just forget it and go back to sleep.” I said amused.
“Well, okay. You sure you don’t want me to call?” Mom asked.
“I am VERY sure.” I replied.
As I walked back past dad to head home, he asked, “What happened?”
“You don’t want to know.” I replied.
“I told you so!” He said as he laughed.
I walked back home to make the call I should have made in the first place.
“What are you doing over here?” My father asked from his chair in the den.
“I need mom to do something.” I replied.
“You are treading in dangerous waters, son.” He said as he laughed and I walked on by ignoring his warning and should have known better. Nothing concerning my mother is simple.
I walked down the long hall to my mother’s bedroom. I opened the door and walked to the bedside. My mother’s cat stared at me warily whilst lying atop her side. I call her possum as that is what she looks like; grayish white with a striped tail and big, round nocturnal eyes.
“Mom……” I said.
The cat looked ready to bolt any minute; her gaze watching my every move.
“mmmphhhh.” Was the mumbled reply after a few moments of standing next to the bed.
“Hey, are you with us?” I asked loudly.
Mom sat up abruptly as if alarmed sending the cat tumbling to her side. The cat was not amused and scuffled off the bed and under it.
I knew mom had an appointment to get her hair fixed at 3 PM and my appointment to get my hair cut followed hers. She had made the appointment with the hairdresser for us without asking me. I thought it would be simple since she knew Rhonda, the hairdresser, for her to call and cancel for me.
“I need you to cancel my hair cut appointment.” I said.
I really didn’t want a hair cut appointment with Rhoda anyway. She always gives me a funky haircut. She gives great little old lady hairdos like my mother prefers but sorely lacks in the men’s department. I prefer Jim, my barber, instead. He costs $5 bucks whereas Rhonda charges $13 bucks for an inferior haircut. Hey, and Jim trims my sideburns just right every time and gets them even.
“Why?” She asked.
“My dandruff is acting up and I am embarrassed about it. I need to wait a week until the shampoo does its thing.” I replied thinking that was a good excuse and that was partly why. I didn’t want to just come out and say I hated Rhonda’s haircuts.
“Okay, I will make you an appointment for next week.” She replied.
“Don’t worry about it. I will take care of the hair cut myself.” I said.
“You need a haircut so let Rhoda cut it next week. I will call her right now.” Mom said.
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” I thought to myself. Why did something so simple have to be so complicated?
“Mom, I just need you to cancel. Okay? Please? That is all I need.” I replied.
“Do you not like how Rhonda does my hair? I think she gives good haircuts.” Mom asked and stated.
I had to choke back a laugh after she asked this. It reminded me of the Carol Burnett Show sketch were Carol, her husband, and their child were sitting in a school counselor’s office. The counselor shows Carol a drawing by their child. There were two crude large stick people representing mother and father and a little dot representing the child. The counselor’s point was that the child was expressing through the drawing that he felt left out, small, and inferior. Carol looked at the drawing and said incredulously, “You mean my hair really looks that bad?”
“Just forget it and go back to sleep.” I said amused.
“Well, okay. You sure you don’t want me to call?” Mom asked.
“I am VERY sure.” I replied.
As I walked back past dad to head home, he asked, “What happened?”
“You don’t want to know.” I replied.
“I told you so!” He said as he laughed.
I walked back home to make the call I should have made in the first place.
The morning after
I awoke this morning feeling weird. It’s hard to come face to face with a family member’s mortality especially someone you thought would never get sick and live to his nineties. I know he has a 99 percent chance of recovery but still, open heart surgery is serious business. I had a dream last night that they had dad on the operating table and they lost his pulse. I awoke suddenly to sweaty sheets and a wet pillow and it was cold in my apartment. I trudged sleepily upstairs and got in another bed to sleep the rest of the night foregoing my wet and clammy bed downstairs.
Last night was a hard night as I had all these thoughts going through my mind. Under times of stress is when addiction can really rear its ugly head. I wanted a drink and I wanted one badly. I wanted to escape in a bottle and drown my fears and sorrows. To forget about everything for a few short hours. In my mind, I started to romanticize drinking until a sobering thought came to mind: What if someone called and needed me last night and I was drunk? That would go over like a lead balloon and all the bonds of trust I have built up would crumble in an instant. I fixed a pot of hot tea instead and spent the evening drinking warm tea, browsing social work forums, and obsessing over my upcoming class schedule trying to get my mind off of things.
One thing that I have found is that having someone with a major illness in the family tends to put things on hold. I feel guilty if I even think about college or the upcoming months as if I am being selfish but thinking about these things takes my mind off the current situation. It feels as if I am sitting here with abated breath waiting for Monday to roll around and to get the surgery over with.
This morning I am trying to go about my schedule as normal. I am sipping my coffee, browsing the web and waiting for last night’s episodes of Eastenders and The Bill to download. I am completely addicted to British television and love that there are no commercials within their broadcasts. I found a website were you can download current British television the same night it airs and have quickly become an avid watcher of several programs. I rarely, if ever, turn on to watch American television anymore. The elections were an exception.
Last night was a hard night as I had all these thoughts going through my mind. Under times of stress is when addiction can really rear its ugly head. I wanted a drink and I wanted one badly. I wanted to escape in a bottle and drown my fears and sorrows. To forget about everything for a few short hours. In my mind, I started to romanticize drinking until a sobering thought came to mind: What if someone called and needed me last night and I was drunk? That would go over like a lead balloon and all the bonds of trust I have built up would crumble in an instant. I fixed a pot of hot tea instead and spent the evening drinking warm tea, browsing social work forums, and obsessing over my upcoming class schedule trying to get my mind off of things.
One thing that I have found is that having someone with a major illness in the family tends to put things on hold. I feel guilty if I even think about college or the upcoming months as if I am being selfish but thinking about these things takes my mind off the current situation. It feels as if I am sitting here with abated breath waiting for Monday to roll around and to get the surgery over with.
This morning I am trying to go about my schedule as normal. I am sipping my coffee, browsing the web and waiting for last night’s episodes of Eastenders and The Bill to download. I am completely addicted to British television and love that there are no commercials within their broadcasts. I found a website were you can download current British television the same night it airs and have quickly become an avid watcher of several programs. I rarely, if ever, turn on to watch American television anymore. The elections were an exception.
Thursday, November 04, 2004
Having responsibility thrust upon you
Today was a strange day. I awoke at 6 AM and my father picked me up at 6:30 AM to go with him to the hospital. My father went for a routine heart checkup after a negative stress test and he now has to have quadruple bypass open heart surgery on Monday. He has not had any negative symptoms and seems to be in good health for his age of 58. He has 95% blockage in one of his arteries and over 55% in the remaining three. This came as a complete shock to me, my family, and all our friends. The doctor said he would have had a heart attack within 6 months time if this blockage was not caught and remedied.
My brother is a medical officer and a physician at the naval medical center in San Diego California. My sister is completing her residency in the ER as a physician at The University of Alabama at Birmingham Medical Center. They both have no way of getting off or coming home as their schedules and responsibilities are grueling and relentless. My mother can barely get out of the bed or feed herself so this leaves the majority of things up to me. I am going to do my best and do what I can.
I sat down at the hospital for most of the day as they ran tests and x-rays then drove dad home. I ran by his business and filled his prescriptions after we left. Dad managed to secure a stand in pharmacist for two days a week to help his assistant pharmacist which made both of us feel much better. He is going to have to be off for over a month. He has never been off for more than a week in 32 years of owning his business. He is deeply concerned and this does not help the situation. He has rarely been to the doctor in his life and has always shied away from them. Now, he has to have major open heart surgery.
I ask for your thoughts and concerns in this matter. I hope that things go well in the surgery Monday. My father is a hard ass but is also the Rock of Gibraltar in my family. We all rely on him for support in many ways both mentally, physically, and emotionally. I shudder to think what would happen if dad succumbed. Things would be in chaos as my mother cannot even write checks or even knows anything of their financial affairs. He has a 99% chance of success and recovery and I do hope all goes well. I will step up and do my part to see that everything is taken care of and seen about. He has busted his ass for over 35 years professionally and now it is time for him to take a break. I am not a religious man but if you are so inclined your prayers would be welcome.
My brother is a medical officer and a physician at the naval medical center in San Diego California. My sister is completing her residency in the ER as a physician at The University of Alabama at Birmingham Medical Center. They both have no way of getting off or coming home as their schedules and responsibilities are grueling and relentless. My mother can barely get out of the bed or feed herself so this leaves the majority of things up to me. I am going to do my best and do what I can.
I sat down at the hospital for most of the day as they ran tests and x-rays then drove dad home. I ran by his business and filled his prescriptions after we left. Dad managed to secure a stand in pharmacist for two days a week to help his assistant pharmacist which made both of us feel much better. He is going to have to be off for over a month. He has never been off for more than a week in 32 years of owning his business. He is deeply concerned and this does not help the situation. He has rarely been to the doctor in his life and has always shied away from them. Now, he has to have major open heart surgery.
I ask for your thoughts and concerns in this matter. I hope that things go well in the surgery Monday. My father is a hard ass but is also the Rock of Gibraltar in my family. We all rely on him for support in many ways both mentally, physically, and emotionally. I shudder to think what would happen if dad succumbed. Things would be in chaos as my mother cannot even write checks or even knows anything of their financial affairs. He has a 99% chance of success and recovery and I do hope all goes well. I will step up and do my part to see that everything is taken care of and seen about. He has busted his ass for over 35 years professionally and now it is time for him to take a break. I am not a religious man but if you are so inclined your prayers would be welcome.
Wednesday, November 03, 2004
A letter from a reader and a few thoughts
A reader wrote me an email. He was very nice but concerned that my Christmas Wish post was being too hard on Kevin Barbieux. He was concerned that it was not good for my recovery. I thought it was very nice considering some of my other postings about the guy. I really was trying to be objective and to think of a way to help him. I realize either a) this guy is a superb conman or online panhandler or b) he has a ton of problems and needs some serious help. I really was trying to put aside my biases and think of how I could help the guy. I am going to send him a box of socks for him to use and to give out to his homeless friends. Socks seem to be a prevalent trend in things to hand out to the homeless according to several homeless bloggers. Socks are also within my budget. I am sure he will be disappointed when it is not a new apple power book or Sony handyman camera but I cannot afford those things for myself let alone someone else. I question the good of such items when that kind of money should go to getting the guy off the streets, getting him help and medications, and not making him the homeless equivalent of an avant garde Hollywood director or artist.
There seems to be this prevalent trend in some of the emails I get that I should be more understanding and compassionate towards mental illness since I suffer from it especially when it concerns my posts about Kevin. I am probably one of the more compassionate and understanding persons you will meet in regards to this affliction. Just because I am mentally ill does not excuse my behavior whether bad or good. It is easy for me to fuck up and say, “Hey, it’s my mental illness. I have no control over my actions!” Society or my social peers will still hold me accountable for my actions whether I have a mental illness or not. Also, remember that I am still human and have the same fears, desires, prejudices, and misgivings as any of us.
There is also the issue of compliance to medications. If I were to not take or seek out help via therapy or medications then I would be fully accountable for my actions. I could easily stop taking risperdal and live in a weird, distorted world and do strange things. I would also be homeless again as my family would not put up with me without my medications and I most likely couldn’t keep up with the strict budget I am on now. Who is to blame? My illness? My family? Society for not understanding? No, it would be my fault because I choose not to comply. For those of you that cry that many mentally ill people do not have the capacity to take daily medications then I somewhat agree. There are some people that need hospitalization and constant monitoring for their own benefit and the benefit of others. That is where society and families step in to help out and to alleviate the problem.
Lastly, I never want to discourage anyone from commenting or emailing me about such things. I have often found myself thinking about such things differently or at least trying to think about it objectively. I do appreciate the time and thought that some of these emails and comments entail. Please feel free to comment or to help me see things from a different perspective. I am always open to new ideas or new ways of thinking.
There seems to be this prevalent trend in some of the emails I get that I should be more understanding and compassionate towards mental illness since I suffer from it especially when it concerns my posts about Kevin. I am probably one of the more compassionate and understanding persons you will meet in regards to this affliction. Just because I am mentally ill does not excuse my behavior whether bad or good. It is easy for me to fuck up and say, “Hey, it’s my mental illness. I have no control over my actions!” Society or my social peers will still hold me accountable for my actions whether I have a mental illness or not. Also, remember that I am still human and have the same fears, desires, prejudices, and misgivings as any of us.
There is also the issue of compliance to medications. If I were to not take or seek out help via therapy or medications then I would be fully accountable for my actions. I could easily stop taking risperdal and live in a weird, distorted world and do strange things. I would also be homeless again as my family would not put up with me without my medications and I most likely couldn’t keep up with the strict budget I am on now. Who is to blame? My illness? My family? Society for not understanding? No, it would be my fault because I choose not to comply. For those of you that cry that many mentally ill people do not have the capacity to take daily medications then I somewhat agree. There are some people that need hospitalization and constant monitoring for their own benefit and the benefit of others. That is where society and families step in to help out and to alleviate the problem.
Lastly, I never want to discourage anyone from commenting or emailing me about such things. I have often found myself thinking about such things differently or at least trying to think about it objectively. I do appreciate the time and thought that some of these emails and comments entail. Please feel free to comment or to help me see things from a different perspective. I am always open to new ideas or new ways of thinking.
Wednesday, October 13, 2004
What a difference a change in administration can make……
I am trying really hard to get more interested in politics. I fear that we will have another repeat of the 2000 elections where one candidate got the popular vote and the other got the electoral vote. The one with the electoral votes won. I see the same trends happening with the current election. I have to educate myself on the issues and become more involved in the process. I do not want another four years of Bush and if I get it, I want to be prepared for what is going to happen.
To better educate myself, I have been reading about other presidential administrations of the past. I wanted to find out what programs they implemented and how a change in administrations affected those programs. I did find some interesting things. One example is as follows and shows how quickly things can change or be done away with a change of administrations.
In 1964 President Lyndon Baines Johnson proposed a concerted government campaign to eliminate poverty. This was known as the War on Poverty. The result was the enactment of one of the most significant pieces of social legislation in the 1960’s, the Economic Opportunity Act of 1964. This was implemented to coordinate various programs to eliminate illiteracy, un-employment, and the chronic conditions of poverty.
In the early 1970’s, after a change of administrations, President Richard M. Nixon transferred many of the agency’s projects to different departments of the federal government and ended others; most of the projects were considerably reduced in scope and funding. In 1974 the O.E.O itself was disbanded; its few remaining programs were taken over by the newly created Community Services Administration.
This shows how important it is that we choose our next administration carefully. I read the other day that if we took 30 percent of the world’s military budgets we could easily solve most of the world’s social problems such as poverty, hunger, and homelessness. 30 percent is not a large amount in the grand scheme of things and would do a world (pun intended) of good. A change in administrations could very well start us down this path of change.
I also want to see a shift in equality in our nation back to what our fore fathers intended. I want every man equal regardless of his wealth or material possessions. It is way too easy to buy yourself into office and buy favor within our current system of government. People of wealth and power have too much control over those that live on less. The Declaration of Independence stated, “We hold these truths to be self evident, that all men are created equal.” These words do not mean that all persons are alike because we know that everyone is unique. These words do tell an important message: That all people are born with equal rights. I want this ideal to be held in esteem again.
To better educate myself, I have been reading about other presidential administrations of the past. I wanted to find out what programs they implemented and how a change in administrations affected those programs. I did find some interesting things. One example is as follows and shows how quickly things can change or be done away with a change of administrations.
In 1964 President Lyndon Baines Johnson proposed a concerted government campaign to eliminate poverty. This was known as the War on Poverty. The result was the enactment of one of the most significant pieces of social legislation in the 1960’s, the Economic Opportunity Act of 1964. This was implemented to coordinate various programs to eliminate illiteracy, un-employment, and the chronic conditions of poverty.
In the early 1970’s, after a change of administrations, President Richard M. Nixon transferred many of the agency’s projects to different departments of the federal government and ended others; most of the projects were considerably reduced in scope and funding. In 1974 the O.E.O itself was disbanded; its few remaining programs were taken over by the newly created Community Services Administration.
This shows how important it is that we choose our next administration carefully. I read the other day that if we took 30 percent of the world’s military budgets we could easily solve most of the world’s social problems such as poverty, hunger, and homelessness. 30 percent is not a large amount in the grand scheme of things and would do a world (pun intended) of good. A change in administrations could very well start us down this path of change.
I also want to see a shift in equality in our nation back to what our fore fathers intended. I want every man equal regardless of his wealth or material possessions. It is way too easy to buy yourself into office and buy favor within our current system of government. People of wealth and power have too much control over those that live on less. The Declaration of Independence stated, “We hold these truths to be self evident, that all men are created equal.” These words do not mean that all persons are alike because we know that everyone is unique. These words do tell an important message: That all people are born with equal rights. I want this ideal to be held in esteem again.
Tuesday, October 12, 2004
Our Society is Mentally Ill……
I have always found something fishy about the way our society lives. I have always questioned how things are and how they should be. It would drive my father crazy when I would ask these kinds of questions and he didn’t have an answer. I finally had a breath of fresh air when I realized some things a few months ago.
For years I was miserable. I felt I didn’t fit in and had a hard time conforming. I thought there has to be a better life than the one I am living now. I hated having to work some dull, toilsome nine to five job for just peanuts. I hated having to dress or look a certain way just to conform to my peers expectations. I hated how I was taught to consume, consume, consume and for what? I just had a house full of things that made me miserable in all honesty in the end. It is a vicious cycle that once you are caught in its web it is so hard to get out of it. I finally realized that I had a choice and didn’t have to live this way any longer. It was like waking up from a bad nightmare and finally seeing the bigger picture.
When we are born, we are taught many, many things over the years as we grow up. Society is thrust upon us at an early age. We really don’t have a choice then. We are taught to toe the line and conform. Go with and follow the herd! The kind of things I was taught was that going to college was all important. Working for 40 years at 40 hours a week is the way to get the good life. Buying a large house and a car is a way to show others how successful and important you are. Bullshit! I would cry. I am important and meaningful without any of these things!
Another thing I have always loathed was how fearful everyone around me was. The media and the government promote fear to keep us in line and to make us conform. Everywhere I look, I see reactions to things out of fear. Children can no longer walk to school like I did. They must be bussed or driven. I see burglar alarm signs in most yards now as people try to barricade their homes against the outside world. I see us invading other countries and this being supported out of fear. I see reports about crime almost every time I make the mistake of looking at or reading the current news media. Folks, crime is at its lowest in years!
I have been actively seeking out people who think like me lately. I want to hear non conventional ideas and thoughts. I am tired of being alone in a sea of conformists. I have found some great websites lately that as I read I nod my head and say, “Yes! It’s about time someone talked about this!”
For years I was miserable. I felt I didn’t fit in and had a hard time conforming. I thought there has to be a better life than the one I am living now. I hated having to work some dull, toilsome nine to five job for just peanuts. I hated having to dress or look a certain way just to conform to my peers expectations. I hated how I was taught to consume, consume, consume and for what? I just had a house full of things that made me miserable in all honesty in the end. It is a vicious cycle that once you are caught in its web it is so hard to get out of it. I finally realized that I had a choice and didn’t have to live this way any longer. It was like waking up from a bad nightmare and finally seeing the bigger picture.
When we are born, we are taught many, many things over the years as we grow up. Society is thrust upon us at an early age. We really don’t have a choice then. We are taught to toe the line and conform. Go with and follow the herd! The kind of things I was taught was that going to college was all important. Working for 40 years at 40 hours a week is the way to get the good life. Buying a large house and a car is a way to show others how successful and important you are. Bullshit! I would cry. I am important and meaningful without any of these things!
Another thing I have always loathed was how fearful everyone around me was. The media and the government promote fear to keep us in line and to make us conform. Everywhere I look, I see reactions to things out of fear. Children can no longer walk to school like I did. They must be bussed or driven. I see burglar alarm signs in most yards now as people try to barricade their homes against the outside world. I see us invading other countries and this being supported out of fear. I see reports about crime almost every time I make the mistake of looking at or reading the current news media. Folks, crime is at its lowest in years!
I have been actively seeking out people who think like me lately. I want to hear non conventional ideas and thoughts. I am tired of being alone in a sea of conformists. I have found some great websites lately that as I read I nod my head and say, “Yes! It’s about time someone talked about this!”
The man with a soft heart……
I don’t hate my ex-wife. I have had a feeling of indifference lately. I know I don’t want to live with her and join in on her lifestyle anymore. I do want her okay and to be seen about. I want our cat and dog to have food, a home, and water. I want her to always have a home as well.
Rachel came by tonight to bring something I had forgotten about. It was a weed-eater and a blower my father had given me years ago when I was still married. She knocked on the door and sat them outside.
“Can I come in for a moment?” She said.
I opened the door fully and let her in.
“I need a friend tonight. I need to talk.” She said.
“What’s wrong Rach?” I asked.
She started to cry and cry really hard. My heart melted.
“Rach, what is wrong? You can talk to me.” I said.
“I don’t have enough money to do anything. I am tired of living check to check. I worry I will lose the house.” She said.
“Terry and Rebecca will help you. You just have to ask them.” I said.
“Mamma and Daddy are having problems of their own.” She said.
After saying this she started to cry harder. It was pitiful sounding. Jesus, I didn’t know what to do. I do want her seen about. I grabbed her and pulled her close to me. She sat down in my lap in the old lazy boy in my apartment. I held her close to me.
“Shhhh, shhhhh, hush now, it’s going to be okay.” I said as I held her. “You are going to be alright.”
Her crying slowed down as she laid her head on my chest.
“Life’s a bitch, ain’t it?” I said. “It never goes as you plan.”
“Yeah.” She said as she sniffled and held me tighter.
“Do you need some money?” I asked.
“No, I am okay. Things are just tight. I worry about it all the time.” She replied.
“You know, I don’t hate you. I do care about you very much. I want you to be okay.” I said.
She started to cry again. My shirt was getting wet from the tears. Tears steamed down my cheeks as well.
“Why didn’t we work?” She asked as she looked at me.
I just held her tight and told her to hush. We ended up sitting there for a long time. It was one of those moments of quiet contemplation. I sat there and heard the beating of her heart. As she got up to leave, I put $20 dollars in her hand.
“Buy Otis and the chairman some toys.” I said.
She kissed me on the cheek and said good night.
Rachel came by tonight to bring something I had forgotten about. It was a weed-eater and a blower my father had given me years ago when I was still married. She knocked on the door and sat them outside.
“Can I come in for a moment?” She said.
I opened the door fully and let her in.
“I need a friend tonight. I need to talk.” She said.
“What’s wrong Rach?” I asked.
She started to cry and cry really hard. My heart melted.
“Rach, what is wrong? You can talk to me.” I said.
“I don’t have enough money to do anything. I am tired of living check to check. I worry I will lose the house.” She said.
“Terry and Rebecca will help you. You just have to ask them.” I said.
“Mamma and Daddy are having problems of their own.” She said.
After saying this she started to cry harder. It was pitiful sounding. Jesus, I didn’t know what to do. I do want her seen about. I grabbed her and pulled her close to me. She sat down in my lap in the old lazy boy in my apartment. I held her close to me.
“Shhhh, shhhhh, hush now, it’s going to be okay.” I said as I held her. “You are going to be alright.”
Her crying slowed down as she laid her head on my chest.
“Life’s a bitch, ain’t it?” I said. “It never goes as you plan.”
“Yeah.” She said as she sniffled and held me tighter.
“Do you need some money?” I asked.
“No, I am okay. Things are just tight. I worry about it all the time.” She replied.
“You know, I don’t hate you. I do care about you very much. I want you to be okay.” I said.
She started to cry again. My shirt was getting wet from the tears. Tears steamed down my cheeks as well.
“Why didn’t we work?” She asked as she looked at me.
I just held her tight and told her to hush. We ended up sitting there for a long time. It was one of those moments of quiet contemplation. I sat there and heard the beating of her heart. As she got up to leave, I put $20 dollars in her hand.
“Buy Otis and the chairman some toys.” I said.
She kissed me on the cheek and said good night.
Monday, October 11, 2004
Adventures in Dumpster Diving……
I’ve been doing a lot of research lately and have found some wonderfully interesting websites and books to read. I am trying to find ways to lessen my dependence upon money. I am trying hard to think out of the box. I want to learn and try novel ideas to make me more self sufficient.
I read a book they other day called Possum’ Living. This was a book about the adventures of a daughter and her father and how they lived on just $1600 a year. They did this solely out of choice. Their biggest asset was that they sold everything they had and bought a modest homestead and some acres of land. This was the key to their self sufficiency. They grew all their food and raised chickens and rabbits for meat. Although they went farther than I probably would in my attempts for self sufficiency, it was very interesting reading. Polly, the author of the book, had tons of unique and interesting ideas to share.
Reading this book got me to thinking and looking for resources on the web along similar lines that the book shared. I wanted to know how these people were able to live well on such little amounts and they way they talked they were not poor at all. They had interesting, free lifestyles full of wonderful things and great satisfaction.
I was sitting here looking at my budget and how to cut costs and the cigarette monster raised its ugly head. I spend $80 dollars a month on cigarettes. They have to go. I also spend $200 dollars a month on food. I have to find a way to lessen my food budget. My biggest expense by far is my utilities and mortgage. I don’t see a way of lessening those amounts unless I choose to live in a tent again.
I decided to get up early this morning and try an experiment. I have always looked down on people who dumpster dive (rubbish bin for you UK persons). It seemed to symbolize poverty and squalor. I had to try and get over these hangs ups and try it for myself. From what I have read, you can easily find good food in the dumpsters behind super markets.
I waited till it was just light and hit the dumpster behind the Piggly Wiggly. I knew the police would harass me if I was down there before dawn with a flashlight. They would think I was a burglar. Here are some of the things I found that were perfectly edible.
I made some beef low mein with the cabbage. I took a pound of ground beef, some soy sauce, and the cabbage and cooked it till the cabbage was wilted in a very large skillet. I then cooked some rice to eat the beef low mein on. It was a very good meal and filling. I am freezing the rest in individual freezer bags for future meals.
I read a book they other day called Possum’ Living. This was a book about the adventures of a daughter and her father and how they lived on just $1600 a year. They did this solely out of choice. Their biggest asset was that they sold everything they had and bought a modest homestead and some acres of land. This was the key to their self sufficiency. They grew all their food and raised chickens and rabbits for meat. Although they went farther than I probably would in my attempts for self sufficiency, it was very interesting reading. Polly, the author of the book, had tons of unique and interesting ideas to share.
Reading this book got me to thinking and looking for resources on the web along similar lines that the book shared. I wanted to know how these people were able to live well on such little amounts and they way they talked they were not poor at all. They had interesting, free lifestyles full of wonderful things and great satisfaction.
I was sitting here looking at my budget and how to cut costs and the cigarette monster raised its ugly head. I spend $80 dollars a month on cigarettes. They have to go. I also spend $200 dollars a month on food. I have to find a way to lessen my food budget. My biggest expense by far is my utilities and mortgage. I don’t see a way of lessening those amounts unless I choose to live in a tent again.
I decided to get up early this morning and try an experiment. I have always looked down on people who dumpster dive (rubbish bin for you UK persons). It seemed to symbolize poverty and squalor. I had to try and get over these hangs ups and try it for myself. From what I have read, you can easily find good food in the dumpsters behind super markets.
I waited till it was just light and hit the dumpster behind the Piggly Wiggly. I knew the police would harass me if I was down there before dawn with a flashlight. They would think I was a burglar. Here are some of the things I found that were perfectly edible.
1) Two heads of cabbage that only had brown wilted leaves on the outside. I pulled off the outside leaves to reveal two perfectly good cabbages.
2) A large can of coffee that was severely dented but the seal was still intact. I
drink a lot of coffee and it is expensive so this will help.
3) Several severely dented cans of Piggly Wiggly brand Spaghetti O’s. I could still open them from the bottom.
4) A bag of bread where one end was smashed. The whole other half of the loaf was still good and fresh. I will freeze this and use it as toast. The smashed
bread will be used in meat loaf and bread puddings.
5) A bag of bruised apples. I will cut out the blemishes and then slice and freeze them for pies and tarts.
I made some beef low mein with the cabbage. I took a pound of ground beef, some soy sauce, and the cabbage and cooked it till the cabbage was wilted in a very large skillet. I then cooked some rice to eat the beef low mein on. It was a very good meal and filling. I am freezing the rest in individual freezer bags for future meals.
Sunday, October 10, 2004
George speaks of the virtues of women……..
The Pig had a sale on cokes (Coca-Cola). I normally don’t buy sugared, carbonated water unless it is on sale. I prefer a homemade concoction of tea or coffee that is much cheaper. As I pulled up, I saw George and he waved me over. I walked over to the car and leaned into the window.
“Brotha, my man, buy me a beer.” George said.
“Milwaukee’s Best Ice?” I asked.
“You be speakin’ my language.” George replied. “You is my brotha.”
I walked into the store and bought two 2 liters of coke for $2.16 and a .84 cent can of beer. I stuffed the cokes into my day pack. I walked outside and handed George the beer. He tried to make it a clandestine operation as he looked all around for police and slowly grabbed the beer from my hand. He cracked it open and took a long draught.
“Those mutha fuckas be watchin’ me!” He said as he was speaking of the police and looked around over his sunglasses.
By this time, I was ready to head home but the fun was about to start. I was trying to get out of our subsequent conversation.
“Let me tell ya bout last night.” George said.
“What happened?” I said, trying to Fein interest.
George held up both hands open towards me. He was trying to show me how he held a woman’s breasts in his hands.
“Dey be the biggest titties I have ever held.” George said.
I stifled back a laugh and was trying to stay serious. The way he held out his hands made these breasts the size of watermelons.
“She sure was well endowed.” I said trying not to smile and be serious.
“Dat bitch could throw em over her shoulder to takes a bath and wash unda dem.” George said with the biggest grin you ever saw.
I grew queasy at my stomach at the thought of this. The thought of George and a woman with the breasts the size of….well, enormous size, you get the picture, made me sick. George thought it was the best thing since sliced bread.
“We made love all night LOOOONNGGGGG!!!!” George said with emphasize on long
By this time I was squirming and trying to get out of this conversation. I didn’t want to hear about George’s love life. It was making me nauseous.
“You been with a bitch lately?” George asked.
“Not lately.” I said.
“You come with me tonights and I will let you have a woman of yo dreams.” George said as he reached out to shake my hand.
Okay, it was time for me to depart. This conversational string had gone long enough.
“George, I have got to run. You take care man.” I said.
“You just lets me know my brotha. Ole’ George will look after you. I have a woman who will knock yo socks off.” George said.
It was a long walk home with the image of George and a very large black woman with incredibly large breasts slung over her shoulder to take a bath.
“Brotha, my man, buy me a beer.” George said.
“Milwaukee’s Best Ice?” I asked.
“You be speakin’ my language.” George replied. “You is my brotha.”
I walked into the store and bought two 2 liters of coke for $2.16 and a .84 cent can of beer. I stuffed the cokes into my day pack. I walked outside and handed George the beer. He tried to make it a clandestine operation as he looked all around for police and slowly grabbed the beer from my hand. He cracked it open and took a long draught.
“Those mutha fuckas be watchin’ me!” He said as he was speaking of the police and looked around over his sunglasses.
By this time, I was ready to head home but the fun was about to start. I was trying to get out of our subsequent conversation.
“Let me tell ya bout last night.” George said.
“What happened?” I said, trying to Fein interest.
George held up both hands open towards me. He was trying to show me how he held a woman’s breasts in his hands.
“Dey be the biggest titties I have ever held.” George said.
I stifled back a laugh and was trying to stay serious. The way he held out his hands made these breasts the size of watermelons.
“She sure was well endowed.” I said trying not to smile and be serious.
“Dat bitch could throw em over her shoulder to takes a bath and wash unda dem.” George said with the biggest grin you ever saw.
I grew queasy at my stomach at the thought of this. The thought of George and a woman with the breasts the size of….well, enormous size, you get the picture, made me sick. George thought it was the best thing since sliced bread.
“We made love all night LOOOONNGGGGG!!!!” George said with emphasize on long
By this time I was squirming and trying to get out of this conversation. I didn’t want to hear about George’s love life. It was making me nauseous.
“You been with a bitch lately?” George asked.
“Not lately.” I said.
“You come with me tonights and I will let you have a woman of yo dreams.” George said as he reached out to shake my hand.
Okay, it was time for me to depart. This conversational string had gone long enough.
“George, I have got to run. You take care man.” I said.
“You just lets me know my brotha. Ole’ George will look after you. I have a woman who will knock yo socks off.” George said.
It was a long walk home with the image of George and a very large black woman with incredibly large breasts slung over her shoulder to take a bath.
An update…..
I have much news to share and things to talk about. This post will expand as the day goes and I have more time to write. The house is coming along nicely. I am dead tired and have worked my ass off all week. I have much of my belongings moved. The hardest thing to move was the piano. Man, those things weigh a ton. I am seriously thinking of selling it but it was a nice gift and I don’t want to hurt my family’s feelings so I guess I will hang onto it. I wanted to sell it to get up the money to buy a washer and dryer.
I went to the Auburn game yesterday. It was a much more relaxed game than playing LSU. We played Louisiana Tech. University. We won 52 to 7. We are now ranked number 6 in the nation and I am sure will move up in the polls come Monday.
I have to leave for homecoming in New Harmony in a few moments. I cooked a casserole dish of macaroni and cheese. We are having a pot luck lunch. This is an annual tradition for a little Presbyterian church out on a dirt road in the middle of no where. They don’t even have electricity. I am worried it will just be me and my great aunt. Everyone has passed away or moved away who used to attend. We used to have large crowds when I was a youngster. I will write more this afternoon.
Back from New Harmony……
Okay, I made it back from New Harmony Church. We actually had 25 people show up who were all my relatives on the McDonald side. There was plenty of homemade southern cooking and lots of conversation about family history and genealogy. I spent a long time sweeping out the church. No one had been inside since last year’s homecoming and the floor was covered with thousands of dead lady bugs. Lady bugs like to over winter in old or abandoned buildings and apparently they got in but couldn’t get out.
I am a big history buff so bear with me here. New Harmony is the oldest church in Chambers County Alabama. It was founded in 1835 after the forced resettlement of the Creek Indians, also known as the Muskogee Indians by their native tongue. A large group of Scottish settlers moved in and established homesteads and this humble church. I took a few moments to write down a few gravestones to give you an idea of the age of the church and the graveyard.
I hope to research these names and their confederate army units and find out what battles they fought in. That will be a fun project for my history hobby next week.
About me blog……
I’ve been busy lately but also had the blogging funks. I just have had no interest to update this blog any longer. I am going to try to start writing about some things that have greatly interested me lately to spur more writing from me on this blog. Some of these things will be unorthodox and unconventional but are things I have studied a lot about lately. A lot of it has to do with homesteading, frugality, self sufficiency, and wilderness survival. This may bore the shit out of some of you but please stop by to catch the occasional post about the piggly wiggly groupies. I have a good one written up about George that is very vulgar but funny (George was on a roll yesterday). I just want to take this blog in a new direction for my own interest’s sake.
I went to the Auburn game yesterday. It was a much more relaxed game than playing LSU. We played Louisiana Tech. University. We won 52 to 7. We are now ranked number 6 in the nation and I am sure will move up in the polls come Monday.
I have to leave for homecoming in New Harmony in a few moments. I cooked a casserole dish of macaroni and cheese. We are having a pot luck lunch. This is an annual tradition for a little Presbyterian church out on a dirt road in the middle of no where. They don’t even have electricity. I am worried it will just be me and my great aunt. Everyone has passed away or moved away who used to attend. We used to have large crowds when I was a youngster. I will write more this afternoon.
Back from New Harmony……
Okay, I made it back from New Harmony Church. We actually had 25 people show up who were all my relatives on the McDonald side. There was plenty of homemade southern cooking and lots of conversation about family history and genealogy. I spent a long time sweeping out the church. No one had been inside since last year’s homecoming and the floor was covered with thousands of dead lady bugs. Lady bugs like to over winter in old or abandoned buildings and apparently they got in but couldn’t get out.
I am a big history buff so bear with me here. New Harmony is the oldest church in Chambers County Alabama. It was founded in 1835 after the forced resettlement of the Creek Indians, also known as the Muskogee Indians by their native tongue. A large group of Scottish settlers moved in and established homesteads and this humble church. I took a few moments to write down a few gravestones to give you an idea of the age of the church and the graveyard.
Malcolm Campbell
Born 1832 Died 1861
Confederate Army
Died a Prisoner of War
Angus McIntyre
Company L
6th Regiment
Alabama
Infantry
Confederate States of America
Born 1837 Died
1919
Calvin L Campbell
Private
4th Alabama
Infantry
Confederate States of America
Born August 5th, 1839
Died January 1st, 1917
I hope to research these names and their confederate army units and find out what battles they fought in. That will be a fun project for my history hobby next week.
About me blog……
I’ve been busy lately but also had the blogging funks. I just have had no interest to update this blog any longer. I am going to try to start writing about some things that have greatly interested me lately to spur more writing from me on this blog. Some of these things will be unorthodox and unconventional but are things I have studied a lot about lately. A lot of it has to do with homesteading, frugality, self sufficiency, and wilderness survival. This may bore the shit out of some of you but please stop by to catch the occasional post about the piggly wiggly groupies. I have a good one written up about George that is very vulgar but funny (George was on a roll yesterday). I just want to take this blog in a new direction for my own interest’s sake.
Friday, October 08, 2004
Taking a day off……
I didn’t work on my home today. I rested. I have worked my ass off all week and just needed a day to rest and catch up with my online world. I found a website today about unconventional thinking and ideas and got swept away reading it. I ended up spending hours reading and thinking over what the author wrote. He had a lot of great essays on simple living. These essays where right up my alley. I find it reassuring that people who think like me are out in the world and I am not so alone.
I don’t feel like blogging any more. I am having a hard time just to motivate myself to write for this blog. Maybe I am experiencing a burn out. I just find that I enjoy writing better if I keep what I write to myself. I can express myself without worrying about what people would think of my somewhat unconventional ideas and thoughts. I looked in a folder called My Blogs today and I have written over 400 word documents since December 2003. Many of these I never published. I enjoyed going back through what I wrote to see how my thoughts and ideas have evolved and changed over these past months.
It is completely odd for me to wish that my blog had no viewers or was not public? Maybe I just need to put together a little journal and organize all those many essays I have written in a format that is easy for me to peruse instead of having to open up each word file individually. I think I will look into adobe acrobat and making a .pdf file.
I guess one of my funks lately about blogging is that I have found it very restricting. I find that a write only about the good things and not the bad things. I feel people have a certain expectation of me and I must live up to that expectation. It is so easy to share the successes and keep the failures to myself. I see some of this in James Christian’s or James Ramsey’s (whatever the hell his real name is) blog. He wrote only of his successes and then one day he disappeared and left everyone wondering what happened. He had talked forever of going to AA and staying sober and the next thing he was in Jail.
I am not saying that things have been bad lately. On the contrary things have been really great. I am at one of the happiest times of my life. I am far more stable mentally and emotionally than I have ever been. I feel I have found my place in this harsh world. I still have wild thoughts and ideas. I would love to buy some land and become a survivalist. I would love to sustain myself via the homesteading lifestyle. I would love to hop a freight train and head across the country on a hobo journey and adventure. I would love to get on the train tracks in Waverly, don my backpack, and see where they take me. These are just dreams though and I enjoy planning and thinking about them.
I don’t feel like blogging any more. I am having a hard time just to motivate myself to write for this blog. Maybe I am experiencing a burn out. I just find that I enjoy writing better if I keep what I write to myself. I can express myself without worrying about what people would think of my somewhat unconventional ideas and thoughts. I looked in a folder called My Blogs today and I have written over 400 word documents since December 2003. Many of these I never published. I enjoyed going back through what I wrote to see how my thoughts and ideas have evolved and changed over these past months.
It is completely odd for me to wish that my blog had no viewers or was not public? Maybe I just need to put together a little journal and organize all those many essays I have written in a format that is easy for me to peruse instead of having to open up each word file individually. I think I will look into adobe acrobat and making a .pdf file.
I guess one of my funks lately about blogging is that I have found it very restricting. I find that a write only about the good things and not the bad things. I feel people have a certain expectation of me and I must live up to that expectation. It is so easy to share the successes and keep the failures to myself. I see some of this in James Christian’s or James Ramsey’s (whatever the hell his real name is) blog. He wrote only of his successes and then one day he disappeared and left everyone wondering what happened. He had talked forever of going to AA and staying sober and the next thing he was in Jail.
I am not saying that things have been bad lately. On the contrary things have been really great. I am at one of the happiest times of my life. I am far more stable mentally and emotionally than I have ever been. I feel I have found my place in this harsh world. I still have wild thoughts and ideas. I would love to buy some land and become a survivalist. I would love to sustain myself via the homesteading lifestyle. I would love to hop a freight train and head across the country on a hobo journey and adventure. I would love to get on the train tracks in Waverly, don my backpack, and see where they take me. These are just dreams though and I enjoy planning and thinking about them.
Wednesday, October 06, 2004
Strike three, you’re out!
I am sitting here listening to late 20’s and early 30’s jazz and writing. I’ve had a long day of painting and moving and am glad to have downtime. I wrote this little story for fun as I was sitting here. It captures a moment of time as me and my great aunt sat eating our barbeque Saturday. I was trying to capture the nuances of what happened in a way where you felt you were there with us. I laugh about it now but it made me very nervous as it happened.
She sat down in front of me. She was as cute as a button and had a smile like a million dollars. She looked like she was in her late twenties or early thirties. We made some small talk to break the ice.
“Hi, I am Karen.” She said as she thrust her hand towards me. I stood up as she sat down.
“I’m Andrew. Nice to meet you.” I said as I sat down with her.
She smiled back very flirtingly. My great aunt sat next to me complaining about the large portion of food and how wasteful it was.
“I will never be able to eat all of this.” My great aunt cried.
“Take it home with you and put it the fridge.” I said.
The woman across the bench from me smiled and chuckled at our little repartee.
“So, were do you live?” She asked.
“I live in my late grandmother’s home in Lanett. I have a little apartment downstairs.” I said.
“Ah, I see. Do you own it?” She asked.
“No, my father does but I pay rent.” I said as I nervously squirmed on the bench.
Strike One!
“So, where do you work?” She asked.
I hesitated. I didn’t want to sound like a slacker.
“I don’t. I am on disability. I am trying to find a part time job.” I said as I blushed.
Strike Two!
She took a drink of coke and we tried to avert eye contact. I sat there nervously fidgeting with a napkin.
“So…..what kind of disability do you have? I hope you don’t mind me asking.” She replied.
What could I say? Oh dear miss, I fell off of my motorcycle and broke my shoulder was what I wanted to say. I told the truth.
“I have a mental illness. I am normal on my medicine though.” I said.
There was this God awful silence. I wanted to walk away and needed to smoke. She smiled politely and focused on eating her lunch.
Strike Three! I was out.
Her initial flirting turned into polite conversation. You could tell she was trying to back away now. Oh well, I had no more intentions than just friendship even though I think she had other ideas at first. Thus goes the life of a man with a complicated past and present.
She sat down in front of me. She was as cute as a button and had a smile like a million dollars. She looked like she was in her late twenties or early thirties. We made some small talk to break the ice.
“Hi, I am Karen.” She said as she thrust her hand towards me. I stood up as she sat down.
“I’m Andrew. Nice to meet you.” I said as I sat down with her.
She smiled back very flirtingly. My great aunt sat next to me complaining about the large portion of food and how wasteful it was.
“I will never be able to eat all of this.” My great aunt cried.
“Take it home with you and put it the fridge.” I said.
The woman across the bench from me smiled and chuckled at our little repartee.
“So, were do you live?” She asked.
“I live in my late grandmother’s home in Lanett. I have a little apartment downstairs.” I said.
“Ah, I see. Do you own it?” She asked.
“No, my father does but I pay rent.” I said as I nervously squirmed on the bench.
Strike One!
“So, where do you work?” She asked.
I hesitated. I didn’t want to sound like a slacker.
“I don’t. I am on disability. I am trying to find a part time job.” I said as I blushed.
Strike Two!
She took a drink of coke and we tried to avert eye contact. I sat there nervously fidgeting with a napkin.
“So…..what kind of disability do you have? I hope you don’t mind me asking.” She replied.
What could I say? Oh dear miss, I fell off of my motorcycle and broke my shoulder was what I wanted to say. I told the truth.
“I have a mental illness. I am normal on my medicine though.” I said.
There was this God awful silence. I wanted to walk away and needed to smoke. She smiled politely and focused on eating her lunch.
Strike Three! I was out.
Her initial flirting turned into polite conversation. You could tell she was trying to back away now. Oh well, I had no more intentions than just friendship even though I think she had other ideas at first. Thus goes the life of a man with a complicated past and present.
Painting, Painter, Painted…….
“You tired?” Charlie asked.
“I am beat. Let’s call it a night.” I said.
“God damn it!!!!!!” Charlie cried and I turned to look.
I bowled over laughing. He had stepped on the edge of the paint pan and paint went all over the canvas drop cloth and his pant’s leg.
“Good thing it’s latex.” I said as I laughed.
“Shut the fuck up!” Charlie said as he laughed back.
I grabbed a roll of paper towel and proceeded to try my best to muck up the spilled paint. Charlie stood in the middle of the room wiping the paint from his slacks.
“What do you think?” He said as he marveled at our progress.
“I think I can call it home. I just hope the paint fumes go away soon.” I replied.
I stood up and took a long look myself.
“Now this is home. I am so proud.” I thought
“I am beat. Let’s call it a night.” I said.
“God damn it!!!!!!” Charlie cried and I turned to look.
I bowled over laughing. He had stepped on the edge of the paint pan and paint went all over the canvas drop cloth and his pant’s leg.
“Good thing it’s latex.” I said as I laughed.
“Shut the fuck up!” Charlie said as he laughed back.
I grabbed a roll of paper towel and proceeded to try my best to muck up the spilled paint. Charlie stood in the middle of the room wiping the paint from his slacks.
“What do you think?” He said as he marveled at our progress.
“I think I can call it home. I just hope the paint fumes go away soon.” I replied.
I stood up and took a long look myself.
“Now this is home. I am so proud.” I thought
Monday, October 04, 2004
A journey into the past…….
“Come on, come on, hurry up!” My cousin Carol Ann cried.
“I’m coming as fast as I can!” I said as I hurried forward.
“I have something really cool to show you. You won’t believe how good it still looks.” She replied.
My cousin Carol Ann is eccentric to put it nicely. She is an amateur ornithologist and talks incessantly of birds and habitat preservation. She is also pretty cool to hang out with if you can get her mind off of birds. We met by chance at the barbeque. I haven’t seen her in over two years.
I walked up the steps to the old Waverly High School auditorium. It was built around 1890 and still stands but needs major repairs. Carol Ann opened the door and it creaked eerily forward. It had been many years since I had been in here. The original school building had burned down in the fifties and this was all that remains of the complex. This lone auditorium stands as a last testament to the countless students that graduated from Waverly high school. The last student graduated in 1949 according to my great aunt.
“It is still as it was before the war.” Carol Ann said.
I looked around in wonder at the ancient light fixtures and the rows of seats running downward before me. The room was filled with that musty smell of age old wood and plaster. The back of the room was filled with a half assed attempt by the Baptist church to make some more Sunday school rooms. Apparently, they stopped several years ago in mid progress. The new sheet rock stood out as a glaring reminder of the church’s attempt to gain more real estate.
“You know, my grandfather and grandmother walked across that stage and graduated in 1934.” I said.
“I know. That’s why I wanted to show you this.” Carol said as she stepped up on the stage.
The wood floor creaked beneath her feet. She started pulling on a rope and a stage curtain came gently down exposing a beautiful hand painted fresco. It was a painting of an Italian renaissance style mansion surrounded by palm trees. All around the fringe were hand painted advertisements going as far back as 1897. I stood in wonder as I recognized some names from my family who were prominent in the town at the turn of the century and there after. It was so well preserved that it looked like it was painted yesterday. The colors were still bright and vibrant.
“Man, I wish I had a digital camera.” I thought.
“Becky had it appraised.” Carol said.
“How much?” I asked.
“The appraiser said it would go for $30,000 at an auction.” Carol replied.
I walked up on the stage and felt the fabric. I felt as if I was touching a part of my past. We ambled around for a bit and then made our way back to the barbeque.
I had a great time at the barbeque. It was delicious and the turn out was amazing. I have never seen so many people at one time in Waverly. People had come from all around to join in the fun.
It had been many years since I rode a horse but it came back to me quickly. Some friends of my family owned the horses so they let me take kids for rides around the perimeter. They were busy trying to prepare barbeque for hundreds of people. I had forgotten how much I love to ride and be around these majestic animals.
Pipe Tobacco had asked, “What is Brunswick stew?” Brunswick stew is a tomato based stew that is a traditional side item for southern barbeque. It is made of pulled pork and chicken, lots of spices, corn, and tomatoes. It is cooked for a long time and gets really thick. My great grandfather often cooked it in a large black iron kettle over a fire.
“I’m coming as fast as I can!” I said as I hurried forward.
“I have something really cool to show you. You won’t believe how good it still looks.” She replied.
My cousin Carol Ann is eccentric to put it nicely. She is an amateur ornithologist and talks incessantly of birds and habitat preservation. She is also pretty cool to hang out with if you can get her mind off of birds. We met by chance at the barbeque. I haven’t seen her in over two years.
I walked up the steps to the old Waverly High School auditorium. It was built around 1890 and still stands but needs major repairs. Carol Ann opened the door and it creaked eerily forward. It had been many years since I had been in here. The original school building had burned down in the fifties and this was all that remains of the complex. This lone auditorium stands as a last testament to the countless students that graduated from Waverly high school. The last student graduated in 1949 according to my great aunt.
“It is still as it was before the war.” Carol Ann said.
I looked around in wonder at the ancient light fixtures and the rows of seats running downward before me. The room was filled with that musty smell of age old wood and plaster. The back of the room was filled with a half assed attempt by the Baptist church to make some more Sunday school rooms. Apparently, they stopped several years ago in mid progress. The new sheet rock stood out as a glaring reminder of the church’s attempt to gain more real estate.
“You know, my grandfather and grandmother walked across that stage and graduated in 1934.” I said.
“I know. That’s why I wanted to show you this.” Carol said as she stepped up on the stage.
The wood floor creaked beneath her feet. She started pulling on a rope and a stage curtain came gently down exposing a beautiful hand painted fresco. It was a painting of an Italian renaissance style mansion surrounded by palm trees. All around the fringe were hand painted advertisements going as far back as 1897. I stood in wonder as I recognized some names from my family who were prominent in the town at the turn of the century and there after. It was so well preserved that it looked like it was painted yesterday. The colors were still bright and vibrant.
“Man, I wish I had a digital camera.” I thought.
“Becky had it appraised.” Carol said.
“How much?” I asked.
“The appraiser said it would go for $30,000 at an auction.” Carol replied.
I walked up on the stage and felt the fabric. I felt as if I was touching a part of my past. We ambled around for a bit and then made our way back to the barbeque.
I had a great time at the barbeque. It was delicious and the turn out was amazing. I have never seen so many people at one time in Waverly. People had come from all around to join in the fun.
It had been many years since I rode a horse but it came back to me quickly. Some friends of my family owned the horses so they let me take kids for rides around the perimeter. They were busy trying to prepare barbeque for hundreds of people. I had forgotten how much I love to ride and be around these majestic animals.
Pipe Tobacco had asked, “What is Brunswick stew?” Brunswick stew is a tomato based stew that is a traditional side item for southern barbeque. It is made of pulled pork and chicken, lots of spices, corn, and tomatoes. It is cooked for a long time and gets really thick. My great grandfather often cooked it in a large black iron kettle over a fire.
Friday, October 01, 2004
The Annual Waverly Barbeque Extravaganza……
First off, I wanted to write a little bit about last nights presidential debates. I watched the whole hour and a half of last night’s debate and felt content that Kerry did a good job. I did realize that this was nothing like the debates of old. This was a carefully planned and scripted affair with all the questions asked decided a long time ago.
Bush came across as fidgety and caught off guard in my opinion. I was about to scream if he muttered “Uhhhhh” one more time before answering. At one point he talked about his plan to succeed in Iraq. I would like to see more divulged about that plan but they never talk about it at all. I also chuckled at his attempt to scare voters into voting for him as if Kerry was elected then there would be more terrorist attacks. He also talked of making “tuff decisions” as if Kerry would not be able to do this if he gained office.
As of this morning an MSNBC news poll had Kerry at 62 % and Bush at 38% on who won the debate. Okay, enough of talking politics. I just wanted to share my satisfaction with the outcome of the debates. Kerry successfully swayed my father who is a long time Republican to vote for him in November.
________________________________________
Tomorrow I get to have some fun. My great aunt has two tickets to the annual Waverly town hall barbeque. This is real pit-cooked, homemade barbeque and Brunswick stew and I look forward to it.
They are going to have lots of fun activities. They are going to have mule drawn wagon rides, horseback rides, an archery range, a shooting range, a pumpkin carving contest, a horseshoe throwing competition, a bake sale, and tons of activities for the kids. I hope they have a good turnout from the surrounding towns as Waverly is a tiny town. I think the population was only over 300 a few years ago.
I look forward to going tomorrow and my great aunt has already called to make sure I am coming. She is expecting me there at 10 am. uhhhgggg! lol I have to get up early. It is about a 45 minute drive to her house in the country.
Well, I hope you all have a great weekend. Hopefully, I will have some interesting things to write about come Monday. Take care and be well.
Bush came across as fidgety and caught off guard in my opinion. I was about to scream if he muttered “Uhhhhh” one more time before answering. At one point he talked about his plan to succeed in Iraq. I would like to see more divulged about that plan but they never talk about it at all. I also chuckled at his attempt to scare voters into voting for him as if Kerry was elected then there would be more terrorist attacks. He also talked of making “tuff decisions” as if Kerry would not be able to do this if he gained office.
As of this morning an MSNBC news poll had Kerry at 62 % and Bush at 38% on who won the debate. Okay, enough of talking politics. I just wanted to share my satisfaction with the outcome of the debates. Kerry successfully swayed my father who is a long time Republican to vote for him in November.
Tomorrow I get to have some fun. My great aunt has two tickets to the annual Waverly town hall barbeque. This is real pit-cooked, homemade barbeque and Brunswick stew and I look forward to it.
They are going to have lots of fun activities. They are going to have mule drawn wagon rides, horseback rides, an archery range, a shooting range, a pumpkin carving contest, a horseshoe throwing competition, a bake sale, and tons of activities for the kids. I hope they have a good turnout from the surrounding towns as Waverly is a tiny town. I think the population was only over 300 a few years ago.
I look forward to going tomorrow and my great aunt has already called to make sure I am coming. She is expecting me there at 10 am. uhhhgggg! lol I have to get up early. It is about a 45 minute drive to her house in the country.
Well, I hope you all have a great weekend. Hopefully, I will have some interesting things to write about come Monday. Take care and be well.
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