Monster Cookie Madness

November 7, 2013

Doing serious damage to my cookie inventory. I can hear the loud moaning from across the duplex, the exquisite crunch of nuts, mixture of rich chocolates, tender flax seeds softened by the heat of the oven. Not certain why I became compelled to bake this morning, an error of judgment set me into motion, sleep depravation perhaps.

For years in a row, a gaggle of friends got together early December, to eek out dozens of home-made chocolate filled candies, laced with caramel, crème (the good kind,) marshmallow, nougat, peanut butter, brandy liquor, coconut and such. We melted, chopped, grated, poured and decorated the molded delights over several Saturdays, gossiping and sharing details of our lives over the ooze. Each of us left with tins of luscious Santas, reindeer, snowmen and women, elves, holly and some quite undecipherable forms. Sometimes the partners, boyfriends, husbands or kids would show up and ask if they could partake but we declined their assistance. The time together was too precious to allow family across the border. It was up to our own crowd of hommies to sort ourselves out. And mostly, we did.

I think about those women friends from so many years back, especially around the holidays, wondering where they are and what has occurred in their lives since those “I Love Lucy” days at the candy factory. We did eat plenty of the “errors” and ugly ones that were not up to par but the conveyor belt took its time and, lucky for us, we were not fired for our mistakes. Maybe even encouraged the faulty chocolate goobers.

 

Addicted to Vic

November 6, 2013

The cat is attached to his catnip and I am inhaling Vic’s Vapour Rub like it is going out of style. Close my eyes, sucking in the menthol fumes as though my life depends upon it. When I can’t find the jar, I get a bit tense and upset, thinking I may have to run down to the local market and wander the aisles until I can find that dark brown bottle of fast-acting gel. In the middle of the night, I would do anything for a whiff. Gasping for air, I scramble around the table top next to the bed, seeking the small round lid, ignoring the cat’s intake of breathe at the exhaust of decongestant. I am not willing to share, not interested in lending this miracle product out to friends or family. It is all mine, until it is gone. Thanks for understanding.

Mail Carrier

November 5, 2013

     I lost my “I voted” sticker, dropped off my vest somewhere along the way. I ask people “Did you vote today?” and am quite discouraged when they tell me they just recently moved and do not know the candidates, that the politicians tell them one thing and do another when in office, they forgot it was voting day, didn’t have time, etc. Frustrating to realize that the system has gotten the better of us. Wasn’t easy to find the candidates position and took some digging to make a clean decision. I feel fortunate to have the assistance of the internet.

    No word yet from the interviewer I confronted last week. He is very scattered, forgot to send me the directions and website to read about his company prior to the meeting. I was locked out of the building and had to place a call to him and ask that he let me in. It would be a nice change, to have some consistent income and a permanent schedule to work around but won’t be the end of the world if I don’t get the Administrative position after all. I am accustomed to bit-and-piecing my work together to earn the income I need. In light of volunteering at the Mission, I understand just how fortunate I am. At least I am not sharing cat food with Grill and wondering if I have a cot at the shelter at night.

     Misting a little on our walk as I introduce myself to the new neighbor down the block. The sign went down a few weeks ago and I was pleased to see lights on in the house. Cory seems like a nice guy and told me to stop by anytime to visit him and his wife. I like being part of the welcome wagon, whether I have a basket of chocolate chip cookies or not.

    Registered hundreds of families for the turkey dinners this afternoon. Only one strange incident with a man who cut himself shaving and bled all over his pieces of mail, to prove his address. He joked about HIV symptoms and I was astounded Cindy willingly picked up his mail with her bare hands. I would have asked the gent to hold it up so I could read the current address through the little window. Since we pray with the leader before heading out to the big room to begin shuffling through the line, I assume Cindy believes she is protected by the lord from all ailments. Good for her.

Safezone

November 4, 2013

If I could figure out a way to market snot, I would be a rich person by now. Always incredulous as to how much I can produce in one day-boxes of tissue, numerous numbing episodes with the nettie pot (if you have not had the pleasure of using one, you don’t know what you are missing.) The woman on the box, who is smiling during the procedure, must be on high doses of over-the-counter cold medication. I promise you, there is absolutely nothing to be happy about while dribbling warm salt water thru your nasal passages. It gives me an instant headache and I can’t even look the nettie pot in the eye afterwards.

Tonight, I threw infectious caution into the wind and drove down the street to join my neighbors at the Block Club meeting. I learned far more than I anticipated about the homeless youth population in our own Ramsey County. 80% of the 16-to-20 year olds are of color, there is a startling 21% increase in the number of homeless each year, 60% of the young people have one parent who is currently incarcerated, over 4000 seeking shelter each night are under 21 years of age. One of the local programs who serve this populous does an extraordinary job of supporting these kids, nearly 100 per day. They are also willing to bump into the youth on the streets, helping them work in conjunction with the community. They not only provide education but shelter, temporary housing, meals, case management, offer a medical clinic, counseling, GED assistance, clothing, laundry, computer labs, independent living skill-building, sexual health education and street outreach.

I don’t pretend to understand what it is like for these children to be living under these extreme circumstances yet, I aim to. The youth need shelter, food and education in order to better their lives and the community they live in. They are where they are due to economic circumstances and the neighborhood is stepping to try and make a difference. When kids are having kids because they have no one else to count-on in their lives, we owe it to them to work things out together. They act tough, aggressive and determined yet, separated from their gang, they are lonely and, well, children.

Spreading the Wealth

November 2, 2013

The mom next to me is taking up a seat and a half. I attempt to slide in, like an unaccompanied minor but it takes far too much effort to think myself six again. She is sliding her stubble finger across the screen of her cell phone, ignoring my skin scraping the side of the plastic, unyielding arm of the theatre chair. I am eager to hear my daughter’s alto voice, cascading across the room, to sooth my achy joints. Still feeling like a woman acting out the role of “Paula,” just enough out of my body to yield to the discomfort of being ill. I breathe in the direction of Chubby, hoping she catches whatever I have to offer. I blow my nose non-stop, timing the noise with the rise of the trumpets during the jazz performance and wide-mouthed “O’s” of the women’s chorale songs. My purse fills with used moist Kleenex and I scramble for hidden back-ups in each pocket, sure I do not have to resort to excusing myself past the row of eight seats to the left or right of me to get more. Luckily, I have a sufficient supply and skirmish my way to the back of my chair for the final song.

The selections are incredible and I enjoy the concert more than I expect. I bow out of the rest of the program since Taelor is finished for the evening and I want to tell her just how great she is. The girls are preparing for a Halloween Party at their place so I know it would be a short visit. I hand over a number of goodies for my wee one, just to remind her how special she is, and hope I am not dolling out the crud as well.

Barely Awake

November 1, 2013

A few days reprieve from the Blog since I didn’t have access to the internet secret code where I am staying. My psychic skills do not include passwords and social security numbers. Drat.

The start of a chill and scratchy throat, sensation of heaviness in my nasal cavity lead to overindulging on orange juice and fizzy EmergenC tablets. I didn’t have to show three forms of ID with those purchases so I sailed through the line at the drug store that carries far too much junk food for the population’s good. I ended up with $25 worth of goods in my plastic sack, knowing I can always use the bag for kitty litter clean-up afterwards. The warm ginger ale I snagged for my queasy stomach (most likely from too much leftover trick-or-treat candy) sprayed over my lap, newly-washed coat and the console while driving down a side street, swerving to avoid curbs on either side. Unfortunately, I failed to pack extra clothes for the bottom half of my body, the overnight bag stuffed with books, dog supplies and journaling material left no margin for pants. So, I slip on a robe from the hook in the closet and proceed to clomp down the shared-basement stairs, hoping to avoid the other occupants in the building. My hair stands on end, much like anyone who played the Joker character, and I know I am a fright. The clothes washer is occupied so I have to retrace my wobbly steps and hope I can manage in the borrowed robe for another few hours. Another cup of coffee and scanning the umpteen tv channels will keep my mind off of the tenuous circumstances.

Dia das Bruxas

Halloween 2013

The first trick-or-treaters to come to the door were teens, using their school backpacks as candy sacks. There was a big clump of them, mostly boys with a few tough girls tagging along for the ride. No mask, face paint nor, remnant of a costume. I requested each one of them to repeat Trick-or-treat and asked what they are up to. One-by-one, they had to decide which candy bar they wanted and I dropped it into their bag. Fortunately, we got our share of Power Rangers, little cherubs dressed as Mickey Mouse, ghosts, Spidermen, princesses and football players to satisfy my heart. The doorbells rang and my neighbor clumped down the stairs with his own bowl of skittles and chocolate. The two-fer-one stop delighted the children, several families came by twice, as though I would not have noticed!

I have a handful of miniature-sized candies to last me a day or two and I am grateful to have met the guy upstairs and thrilled he seemed just as amenable to chatting with the kids and their parents as I was. We visited for awhile, waiting for the next troupe, standing on the front step with our brimming bowls of sweets.