For several years, I was a vegetarian, and one of those years, I was vegan. Being vegetarian, especially a vegan vegetarian is a serious commitment, when following the lifestyle in a healthy way (getting enough protein, etc.) As a chef, it isn't only taste that concerns me, but the origin of the foods I eat. Now, I'm a vegetarian who fell off the wagon, so to speak, although, I'm not enjoying meat with wild abandon.
My years spent as a vegetarian were also spent educating myself on the black abyss known as Agribusiness. Voraciously reading journals, articles, books as well as viewing documentaries such as Food Inc., helped me to understand the origin of much of the food we eat in America.
Agribusiness is a complex issue, fraught with contention and mis-information. I'm a blogger and editorial writer, not an author of books, so I'll try to be succinct with this post. Did you know that 5 agribusiness conglomerates control the majority of the foods we eat in this country? That's, right - 5! From fresh food to processed food, most of whatever ends up on your table has been shepherded there by companies like ConAgra and their ilk are literally planting the seeds and watching them grow, with the help of lobbyists and lawmakers.
What I learned as I transitioned back to carnivore, after munching on greenery and lentils is that I wanted to be in touch with the story of the food I was putting in my body for my health, but also for the well-being of the animals that would pay the ultimate price for my indulgence.
Chefs love food, it's sort of a pre-requisite, so the idea of singling certain food groups out of our diets can be counter-intuitive. Of course, taste is high on our priority list, so eating food we enjoy is also something not to be discounted. As I began to eat meat, I made the decision that I would do so only consciously, which meant that I would not knowingly and thoughtlessly buy meat from companies that do not practice safe or humane handling and processing, I would not eat meat that I knew had been cooked thoughtlessly and without care, and I would not knowingly contribute to the neglect or mistreatment of livestock by purchasing dairy products (milk, cheese, eggs) from companies who did not ensure the welfare of their animals.
I subscribe to newsletters and participate in forums via advocacy groups like Slow Food and Food Inc. Today I learned that Costco is sourcing pork from a company in Iowa who is being investigated for brutal livestock handling practices, see the link here:
http://www.time.com/time/nation/article/0,8599,2080546,00.html
Kroger, Safeway, and another retailer are conducting investigations and Kroger has gone so far as to suspend purchases from Iowa Select until their investigation has concluded. I was discouraged to read that Costco is investigating, but will continue to do business with Iowa Select because "cutting off business with one particular farm in such a large industry would be ineffective."
I was appalled and horrified to learn that a chain as large as Costco, with the power of millions of members standing behind them, do not think that pulling the plug on Iowa Select would be an "effective way" to address the horrific practices perpetrated by factory farms.
I called Costco Customer Service to ask what their response is to the Time article and the representative then read (dispassionately) a statement issued by Costco's PR department, indicating that Costco was, in fact, still purchasing pork from Iowa Select.
I always feel like I'm about to jump out of my skin when someone says, "but I'm only one person, what difference could I make?" I want to shout at them, "A BIG FREAKING DIFFERENCE"!!! If everyone subscribed to that defeated manner of thinking, nothing would ever change. As the saying goes, "out of many, there is one". No cause is too big or issue impossible if all of the "ones" would make their convictions known. Think of all of the huge social issues and laws that were affected because a collection of "one" came together to influence change - slavery, the civil rights movement, sufferige, even freedom and independence from oppressive government. We will celebrate the 4th of July Monday because individual men and women knew that there was a better way to live.
Before you discount my argument as melodramatic or an overstatement, consider what we have at stake. Without higher standards in the processing of our food, with lobbyists making our choices for us, our bodies and overall health are subject to the special interests of very ignorant people. Those lobbying lawmakers are not doctors, nurses, scientists, or dietitians. Those who make the decisions about what we eat are woefully ignorant on the subject. They must think that because they EAT food, it makes them an EXPERT on food and nutrition, as well as ecology and animal welfare.
The great news is that people are waking up and making better choices, in spite of the garbage (literally and figuratively) being shoved down their throats by people who are the least qualified to dictate what we should and should not be eating. Farmer's Markets are booming, local food companies are gaining traction, publications like Edible Wow are being shared with enthusiasm.
From a PR perspective, Costco really blew it on this one. Who would have thought Kroger would have outsmarted the soccer-mom friendly superstore, Costco? Instead of setting a trend and taking a stand (even if it were all a carefully calculated PR move), Costco could have shown that Big Box could Think Big, and have a Big Heart. Unfortunately for them, Big Box made a Big Mistake.
Call Costco (800-774-2678) and tell them that their unwillingness to take a stand on behalf of their members is shameful. Even better, write a letter. Better than that - send this and the Time Magazine article to as many people you know, because out of many, there is one.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Monday, February 21, 2011
Stall Kickers & Monopoly Sets
From the time I was born, my dad owned and operated his own businesses. Some of them were very successful, and some of them were not so (like his foray into the restaurant industry). My brother is the oldest - 9 years older than I am. There is a sister in the middle of us, rounding out our family of 5.
My brother met his best friend in Kindergarten and they remained friends as they grew up. My brother went to work for my dad when he was 11. As they entered high school, they were thinking about jobs and careers, and of course, colleges.
My brother's best friend was thinking of attending GMI since his dad worked for GM. His other friend was thinking of going to another area school and then taking a job at Ford, where his father was an engineer. The boys were about 16 or 17, making me the 8 year old tag-along. As my brother continued to work for my dad, I remember hearing my dad encourage the other boys to consider starting their own businesses instead of going to work for a large corporation.
"You don't want to be stall-kickers, boys", my dad would caution them. Puzzled by the phrase, John, Eric & Chris wanted to know what it meant. My dad went on to explain that a lot of times, employees tend to be a lot like race horses living in a stall. Safe in the comfort of their stall, the horses are content, and every once in a while, they get restless, have an original thought, and kick the stall. The owner, ready to take the horse to a race or just a few laps around the track leads the horse out, does a few laps around the track, and then the horse goes back into the stall. Once again completely subject to the whims of the owner.
The boys seemed a little unimpressed by the analogy, Chris went to GMI and went to work for GM. Eric went to UM and started working at Ford. John stayed with my dad and runs his company to this day. In the meantime, I grew up, left the family business at 18 and decided I was going to start my own career, on my terms. I always knew I wanted to own my own business, but the specifics were fuzzy. I worked for several years and continue to work as a glorified "stall kicker" and my dad kept pushing me towards the life of an entrepreneur. "Stac - you have to own your own Monopoly set. You need to make your money work for you." I heard this over and over again, always sensing that at some point, I would own my own Monopoly set and retire from stall kicking. I just had no idea when or where or how.
4 years ago, I took a job after the person who hired me called me "a colossal pain in the ass." That's a direct quote. 4 years later, my boss has become a trusted mentor, and what I like to refer to as, "my practice husband". Though our relationship has never REMOTELY resembled anything romantic, I know him as well as I could expect to know anyone, I spend more time with him than with anyone else, and, in a way, he is my longest-lasting "relationship". The dynamic between us is apparently quite unusual, and it mystifies almost everyone who watches us interact. A combination of good cop/bad cop (guess which one I am...), we work well together and I have the utmost respect for him. He's one of the best people I've ever known and I think the world of him as a person and as an employer.
Similar to a married couple, there are the occasional fights about family. His family owns a business which they all operate together. Without saying anything more, I will simply say that they are not people I'd like to spend the holidays with, and the feeling is mutual. His father has fired me 4 times, which is always followed by my boss "un-firing" me. There are knockdown, drag-out fights, tantrums, manipulations, deceptions, double-crosses, and generally some of the most sick, abusive and destructive behaviors and maneuvers known to man.
In general, they hate me, and, I hate them. My boss and I continue to work together, committed to building a business to be proud of. For 4 years, my family and friends have endured the endless stories about the soap opera I call a career. From my parents to my therapist, I have been counseled to quit - to run, not walk, out of there as if the goddamm place is on fire. Whether it is stupidity or stubbornness, I have chosen to stay and attempt to finish what I started.
To my father's horror, I've remained in this impossible situation for years on end with his constant admonishing to grab a hold of my own Monopoly set and get the hell out of there. Since I believed in what I was doing, was proud of what I had built, and way too stubborn to walk away until I was finished with the project, I resolved to remain in their employ, attacks, insults and abuse be damned.
And then, I returned home from the first vacation I'd taken since 2004 (and it was only a long weekend) to a voicemail from my boss's father firing me. Yes, he fired me over the phone. This was a step up, though. Two years ago, he tried to get my co-worker (an equal)to fire me. I had only been in my office for about four minutes before my phone rang. It was my boss, calling to warn me. Frantically, he told me that if his dad called, I should not answer the phone. He further went on to tell me that if his dad left a message I "should delete it right away" and not even listen to the message.
Then, I was instructed not to leave my office so as not to run into his dad in the hallway. Essentially, I was told to stay in my stall, and wait for someone to bring me a snack because it just wasn't safe for me to venture out of my stall on my own. What he didn't tell me was that his dad was calling to fire me. He couldn't bring himself to say it out loud. He just hoped that I would do what he said and not listen to the message. Unfortunately for him, I did.
Not only did I listen to the message, I listened to it twice. Then, I called my boss and screamed into the phone, "WHAT THE FUCK?????!!!!!!!!!!! Do you know what his message said???!"
My boss said, "You were supposed to delete it!" He went on to say that there was "no need to worry" and that "Everything was fine" and I was "un-fired".
Furious, I screamed into the phone, "I don't give a shit if I'm not fired! Maybe, just MAYBE I don't want to FUCKING WORK HERE ANYMORE! Did you ever think of that??? Did you ever consider that I might just be completely fucking SICK of your crazy fucking family and that I might LOVE TO BE FUCKING FIRED???!!!!"
It was at that point, the moment of profound disappointment that I had been given my job back, that I decided that this was horse shit and I needed a Monopoly set. And soon.
My brother met his best friend in Kindergarten and they remained friends as they grew up. My brother went to work for my dad when he was 11. As they entered high school, they were thinking about jobs and careers, and of course, colleges.
My brother's best friend was thinking of attending GMI since his dad worked for GM. His other friend was thinking of going to another area school and then taking a job at Ford, where his father was an engineer. The boys were about 16 or 17, making me the 8 year old tag-along. As my brother continued to work for my dad, I remember hearing my dad encourage the other boys to consider starting their own businesses instead of going to work for a large corporation.
"You don't want to be stall-kickers, boys", my dad would caution them. Puzzled by the phrase, John, Eric & Chris wanted to know what it meant. My dad went on to explain that a lot of times, employees tend to be a lot like race horses living in a stall. Safe in the comfort of their stall, the horses are content, and every once in a while, they get restless, have an original thought, and kick the stall. The owner, ready to take the horse to a race or just a few laps around the track leads the horse out, does a few laps around the track, and then the horse goes back into the stall. Once again completely subject to the whims of the owner.
The boys seemed a little unimpressed by the analogy, Chris went to GMI and went to work for GM. Eric went to UM and started working at Ford. John stayed with my dad and runs his company to this day. In the meantime, I grew up, left the family business at 18 and decided I was going to start my own career, on my terms. I always knew I wanted to own my own business, but the specifics were fuzzy. I worked for several years and continue to work as a glorified "stall kicker" and my dad kept pushing me towards the life of an entrepreneur. "Stac - you have to own your own Monopoly set. You need to make your money work for you." I heard this over and over again, always sensing that at some point, I would own my own Monopoly set and retire from stall kicking. I just had no idea when or where or how.
4 years ago, I took a job after the person who hired me called me "a colossal pain in the ass." That's a direct quote. 4 years later, my boss has become a trusted mentor, and what I like to refer to as, "my practice husband". Though our relationship has never REMOTELY resembled anything romantic, I know him as well as I could expect to know anyone, I spend more time with him than with anyone else, and, in a way, he is my longest-lasting "relationship". The dynamic between us is apparently quite unusual, and it mystifies almost everyone who watches us interact. A combination of good cop/bad cop (guess which one I am...), we work well together and I have the utmost respect for him. He's one of the best people I've ever known and I think the world of him as a person and as an employer.
Similar to a married couple, there are the occasional fights about family. His family owns a business which they all operate together. Without saying anything more, I will simply say that they are not people I'd like to spend the holidays with, and the feeling is mutual. His father has fired me 4 times, which is always followed by my boss "un-firing" me. There are knockdown, drag-out fights, tantrums, manipulations, deceptions, double-crosses, and generally some of the most sick, abusive and destructive behaviors and maneuvers known to man.
In general, they hate me, and, I hate them. My boss and I continue to work together, committed to building a business to be proud of. For 4 years, my family and friends have endured the endless stories about the soap opera I call a career. From my parents to my therapist, I have been counseled to quit - to run, not walk, out of there as if the goddamm place is on fire. Whether it is stupidity or stubbornness, I have chosen to stay and attempt to finish what I started.
To my father's horror, I've remained in this impossible situation for years on end with his constant admonishing to grab a hold of my own Monopoly set and get the hell out of there. Since I believed in what I was doing, was proud of what I had built, and way too stubborn to walk away until I was finished with the project, I resolved to remain in their employ, attacks, insults and abuse be damned.
And then, I returned home from the first vacation I'd taken since 2004 (and it was only a long weekend) to a voicemail from my boss's father firing me. Yes, he fired me over the phone. This was a step up, though. Two years ago, he tried to get my co-worker (an equal)to fire me. I had only been in my office for about four minutes before my phone rang. It was my boss, calling to warn me. Frantically, he told me that if his dad called, I should not answer the phone. He further went on to tell me that if his dad left a message I "should delete it right away" and not even listen to the message.
Then, I was instructed not to leave my office so as not to run into his dad in the hallway. Essentially, I was told to stay in my stall, and wait for someone to bring me a snack because it just wasn't safe for me to venture out of my stall on my own. What he didn't tell me was that his dad was calling to fire me. He couldn't bring himself to say it out loud. He just hoped that I would do what he said and not listen to the message. Unfortunately for him, I did.
Not only did I listen to the message, I listened to it twice. Then, I called my boss and screamed into the phone, "WHAT THE FUCK?????!!!!!!!!!!! Do you know what his message said???!"
My boss said, "You were supposed to delete it!" He went on to say that there was "no need to worry" and that "Everything was fine" and I was "un-fired".
Furious, I screamed into the phone, "I don't give a shit if I'm not fired! Maybe, just MAYBE I don't want to FUCKING WORK HERE ANYMORE! Did you ever think of that??? Did you ever consider that I might just be completely fucking SICK of your crazy fucking family and that I might LOVE TO BE FUCKING FIRED???!!!!"
It was at that point, the moment of profound disappointment that I had been given my job back, that I decided that this was horse shit and I needed a Monopoly set. And soon.
Monday, October 25, 2010
I'm from the Government, and I'm Here to Help......
You, the average American, aren’t capable of knowing what’s good or bad for you, or anyone around you. You aren’t smart enough to know that you shouldn’t eat trans-fats, polish off a fifth of vodka, and a 12 pack of Mountain Dew, smoke a filter-less cigarette, talk on your cell phone, and drive an SUV at the same time. Likewise, you can't be trusted to know that you shouldn't club baby seals, drive your toddler to the doctor strapped to the grill of your car instead of snugly buckled a car seat, or ride your bike without a helmet.
Without the well-intentioned members of congress your body would be ridden with cancer, you’d be so obese you’d have to be air-lifted from your home just to get to the grocery store, and you’d be scorched by the absence of the ozone, which you ruined because you are a wasteful,spoiled, consumptive energy hog.
Everything that The Left does is delicately swaddled with the promise that they are “looking out” for the American people. While they will never say it out loud (because then you'd figure out that their intentions are insulting), all of their ideas, programs and initiatives are put into place because at the core of their ideology, they really don’t think that you can take care of yourself.
Meanwhile, John Conyers and others like Governor Joe Manchin think that the bills congress are supposed to make into law, are too long and too complicated for them to understand without at least two attorneys present, so naturally, who would bother to read them?! In Governor Manchin’s case, he would like you to forget that he was an original proponent of the legislation, and now would like you to believe that he didn’t “know what was in it.”
If a senator can’t even be bothered to read or understand a bill before he votes for it, then we are in real trouble. It’s his JOB to read and understand these things before he casts his vote. If I decided critical aspects of my job were too difficult, time-consuming, confusing, or annoying to do, I would get fucking FIRED. End of story.
The very idea that the political class in this country (and I do mean, “political class”, not just a figure of speech), thinks that they are entitled to their position, pay, benefits and staff, is beyond entitlement, beyond arrogance.
I once posted a comment about how anyone who thinks that the government looks out for them is seriously misguided. One of my liberal facebook cronies sent a sarcastic reply saying, “remind me again – who said the government is looking out for me?” The short answer is – Obama and his accomplices in the democratic party, like Nancy Pelosi and Harry Ried, Barney Frank, Chris Dodd, and countless others.
Let’s start with the long and dismal history of social programs set forth by our friends in the Democratic party. Look no further than the failed policies and programs such as Social Security, Medicare, and most appalling, the Veterans Administration. Still not convinced? Why not take a few notes about the absolute boondoggle known as the city of DETROIT, or the state of Michigan, both of which have been under union and democratic control for longer than anyone cares to remember? In Detroit & Michigan, problems are mounting instead of dissipating, and we've only ourselves to blame.
The tragedy in cities like Detroit, Flint, Cleveland, LA, Philadelphia, Compton, Harlem and inner city Chicago, is that candidates running for office on the democratic ticket, from city council to senator, have been promising to end poverty, stop joblessness, and homelessness. They’ve vowed to reduce crime and end urban blight. They’ve peddled the baseless promise of a chicken in every pot, a job for every worker, healthcare for every patient and a roof over every head.
For over 40 years, Detroiters have voted almost exclusively for democrats, believing that the alternative wants to dismiss, ignore, marginalize or even pillage their communities. For 40 years, Detroit has gotten worse, not better. No one can be stupid enough to think there’s no correlation.
Look no further than everything libs are promising during this campaign cycle. Everything they set forth is about “protecting” the “average” American from “corporate greed”, “filthy energy”, “rich people”, “fat cats”, and most insulting, “corrupt politicians”.
See, they’re looking out for you! They want to give you a job, that they’ll have to pull out of literally NOWHERE because their ideologies will only plunder the private sector leaving companies so taxed, regulated, burdened and broken that the only employer left is the government. Mission accomplished - consider those "fat cats" extinct. The only problem is, that "fat cat" was your boss, and that "evil corporation" paid your mortgage.
They want to give you health care, that we could never pay for in a million years, and that they don’t have to use themselves. They want to give you “choices” but you can only choose from the list of regulated foods, drugs, beverages, fuels, vehicles, that they’ve approved.
And what they want, more than anything in the world, is for you to keep buying their absolute bullshit, drive to the polls with 18 felons and 9 illegals in your trunk, as a “get out the vote effort”, but leave your brain at home. They want you to forget that they’ve lied to you, me, and everyone else for decades (the Republicans too), and they’ve all but bankrupted the entire goddamed country, and that you have the ultimate power to FIRE THEM.
We have a huge unemployment problem in this country, and particularly in this state. While many people are bewildered as to why they’ve lost their jobs, they should really be bewildered at how career politicians have been able to keep theirs. The problem isn’t unemployment. The problem is, the wrong people are unemployed.
You have a chance to right the wrongs. Vote on November 2. Before you vote, take some time and research it all for yourself – don’t just take my word for it. People like Conyers, Dingell, Peters, Reid, Pelosi, Charley Crist , establishment republicans, and hundreds of other people who DON’T CARE ABOUT YOU are on the ballot.
Tired of being unemployed? – spread the love. Send these people home, and without their Cadillac health care plans and pensions!! Misery loves company.
Without the well-intentioned members of congress your body would be ridden with cancer, you’d be so obese you’d have to be air-lifted from your home just to get to the grocery store, and you’d be scorched by the absence of the ozone, which you ruined because you are a wasteful,spoiled, consumptive energy hog.
Everything that The Left does is delicately swaddled with the promise that they are “looking out” for the American people. While they will never say it out loud (because then you'd figure out that their intentions are insulting), all of their ideas, programs and initiatives are put into place because at the core of their ideology, they really don’t think that you can take care of yourself.
Meanwhile, John Conyers and others like Governor Joe Manchin think that the bills congress are supposed to make into law, are too long and too complicated for them to understand without at least two attorneys present, so naturally, who would bother to read them?! In Governor Manchin’s case, he would like you to forget that he was an original proponent of the legislation, and now would like you to believe that he didn’t “know what was in it.”
If a senator can’t even be bothered to read or understand a bill before he votes for it, then we are in real trouble. It’s his JOB to read and understand these things before he casts his vote. If I decided critical aspects of my job were too difficult, time-consuming, confusing, or annoying to do, I would get fucking FIRED. End of story.
The very idea that the political class in this country (and I do mean, “political class”, not just a figure of speech), thinks that they are entitled to their position, pay, benefits and staff, is beyond entitlement, beyond arrogance.
I once posted a comment about how anyone who thinks that the government looks out for them is seriously misguided. One of my liberal facebook cronies sent a sarcastic reply saying, “remind me again – who said the government is looking out for me?” The short answer is – Obama and his accomplices in the democratic party, like Nancy Pelosi and Harry Ried, Barney Frank, Chris Dodd, and countless others.
Let’s start with the long and dismal history of social programs set forth by our friends in the Democratic party. Look no further than the failed policies and programs such as Social Security, Medicare, and most appalling, the Veterans Administration. Still not convinced? Why not take a few notes about the absolute boondoggle known as the city of DETROIT, or the state of Michigan, both of which have been under union and democratic control for longer than anyone cares to remember? In Detroit & Michigan, problems are mounting instead of dissipating, and we've only ourselves to blame.
The tragedy in cities like Detroit, Flint, Cleveland, LA, Philadelphia, Compton, Harlem and inner city Chicago, is that candidates running for office on the democratic ticket, from city council to senator, have been promising to end poverty, stop joblessness, and homelessness. They’ve vowed to reduce crime and end urban blight. They’ve peddled the baseless promise of a chicken in every pot, a job for every worker, healthcare for every patient and a roof over every head.
For over 40 years, Detroiters have voted almost exclusively for democrats, believing that the alternative wants to dismiss, ignore, marginalize or even pillage their communities. For 40 years, Detroit has gotten worse, not better. No one can be stupid enough to think there’s no correlation.
Look no further than everything libs are promising during this campaign cycle. Everything they set forth is about “protecting” the “average” American from “corporate greed”, “filthy energy”, “rich people”, “fat cats”, and most insulting, “corrupt politicians”.
See, they’re looking out for you! They want to give you a job, that they’ll have to pull out of literally NOWHERE because their ideologies will only plunder the private sector leaving companies so taxed, regulated, burdened and broken that the only employer left is the government. Mission accomplished - consider those "fat cats" extinct. The only problem is, that "fat cat" was your boss, and that "evil corporation" paid your mortgage.
They want to give you health care, that we could never pay for in a million years, and that they don’t have to use themselves. They want to give you “choices” but you can only choose from the list of regulated foods, drugs, beverages, fuels, vehicles, that they’ve approved.
And what they want, more than anything in the world, is for you to keep buying their absolute bullshit, drive to the polls with 18 felons and 9 illegals in your trunk, as a “get out the vote effort”, but leave your brain at home. They want you to forget that they’ve lied to you, me, and everyone else for decades (the Republicans too), and they’ve all but bankrupted the entire goddamed country, and that you have the ultimate power to FIRE THEM.
We have a huge unemployment problem in this country, and particularly in this state. While many people are bewildered as to why they’ve lost their jobs, they should really be bewildered at how career politicians have been able to keep theirs. The problem isn’t unemployment. The problem is, the wrong people are unemployed.
You have a chance to right the wrongs. Vote on November 2. Before you vote, take some time and research it all for yourself – don’t just take my word for it. People like Conyers, Dingell, Peters, Reid, Pelosi, Charley Crist , establishment republicans, and hundreds of other people who DON’T CARE ABOUT YOU are on the ballot.
Tired of being unemployed? – spread the love. Send these people home, and without their Cadillac health care plans and pensions!! Misery loves company.
Friday, October 1, 2010
Work for the Willing
This column is bound to piss someone off. In fact, it’s bound to piss a lot of people off. If you find yourself in the camp of those who want to see a bunch of Latinos corralled and carted off to their homeland, with a big “adios” and a giant middle finger salute, you will probably never want to read another one of my columns again.
Worse, I might end up on some kind of watchlist for this one, but, my vocal disdain for the ever-expanding federal government has probably already been registered on the grid somewhere, so, what the hell...
Perhaps you are one who likes to voice your never-ending discontent that you, like many other Americanos, are unemployed. Licking your wounds while putting in a full day on Facebook with your couch permanently dented, you say things like, “I can’t find a job.” Or, “there’s no work for me.” or, my favorite, “I’ve looked everywhere; there’s nothing.”
While the Sean Hannity’s and Frank Beckman’s of the world bemoan the plague known as “the illegal”, millions of other Americans recite the refrain from the same right-wing hymnal (I wonder how many more days I will be allowed to serve as a precinct delegate in the Republican party after this hits the net…). The problem with this is that not only do these people only know one verse, they’re tone deaf too.
I know I probably don’t have to spend a lot of time convincing some of the people in my industry (especially those in kitchens in LA, NYC, Miami, Chicago, etc.) that our amigos in the Hispanic culture are the backbone of our savage little skeleton. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the fact that Latinos are literally our unseen and very effective army, all I can say to you is, “wake up”.
Now, before you get the wrong idea, I need to put to bed the much repeated, seldom verified, and not-often-proven notion that all of these people are here illegally and that their status is suspect. Many of these men and women are here legally and the assertion that they are not, is not only insulting, but embarrassing, not to them, but to those of you who make those assertions (and for those of us other white people who get lumped in with you and your ignorant claims).
Now, before I continue, I will make a series of qualified statements so as not to offend some of the very solid, talented and ambitious Americans with whom I have worked. Generally speaking, I have had the pleasure of working alongside some tremendous men and women who are not of the Latino persuasion. You know who you are; you were/are great – so don’t email me. But this column isn’t to praise you; we have 24 hour programming on the Food Network to do that. This column is about bringing to light the nasty little topic that no one really wants to seriously discuss: The Latino & the American payroll. I also know that jobs are not in surplus right now, so I'm not suggesting that if you are currently without one, you are a schmuck. We all know the difference between the people who actually want to work from those who don't.
I love to hire Hispanic people because of their enthusiasm, passion, work ethic, ambition, and sense of appreciation and their noticeable lack of a sense of entitlement where promotion and hourly rate are concerned. Routinely, mi amigos run circles around their American counterparts. While the Caucasian dishwashers stand around the stereo listening to Eminem, Metallica & Jay Z, talking about their fantasy football league, Juan, Jose, Angel and Jesus are diligently scrubbing the grout behind the pot racks. While Jim and Christian are outside having a smoke, the south-of-the-border army is taking the unruly wheel off a kitchen cart with a screwdriver and giving it the WD-40 treatment so that it runs right again.
At 4 o’clock, as prep cooks and even some sous chefs are bitching about how “busy” they are, and how “tired” they are while setting up the line for dinner service, after rolling out of bed 45 minutes ago, the Fuerzas Especiales, are walking in after finishing lunch service at another restaurant, ready to start the second shift of their 16 hour day.
I will hire, train, promote and protect anyone who will give me their 100% effort. I will go to the ends of the earth to assist and support someone who has the passion and commitment to learn, better themselves, promote my business, and look out for my professional interests.
For a select few (and I DO mean “select”) I will go significantly out of my way to set them up for success. Need help getting a car? I can do that. Need a letter of reference for a new place to rent? I can do that too. Need to find a class to increase your knowledge and improve your chances for promotion in our industry? I’ll look online and point you in the right direction. Want to borrow a book or need a few tools that will help you get the job done? Come see me. Ready to move on? I’ll make some calls.
What I love about my current employee, Jose, is that he knows exactly what I want before I have to tell him I want it. I THINK IT and HE DOES IT. This, this my friend, is exactly how kitchens should run. Jose watches carefully and whatever he doesn’t speak or understand in English, he can correctly translate the concept. His skills of anticipation, observation, and sheer speed and efficiency will make him a success in our industry, long after he works for me.
What also makes him unique and has caused him to earn my respect is his sense of loyalty and gratitude. Jose is truly thankful to come to work everyday. He’s truly appreciative of every hour he is scheduled, and he gives all of his effort, no matter how tired he is, or how much he misses his family. He is never late, never lazy, never distracted and never off-point. I never wonder where he is or when he’s coming back. I don’t worry that he’s doing something embarrassing or obnoxious.
The other thing that makes him and many other people like him unique is their willingness to do ANY job. They aren’t too good to sweep, mop floors, clean a grease trap, fix a garbage disposal, or work in a stifling kitchen. They plow fields, pick produce, process animal carcasses, serve fast food, cut lawns, dig ditches, and clean bathrooms. And, they do it for significantly less money than many Americans are willing to even consider getting out of bed in the morning for.
They pay taxes, (even the illegal ones who've somehow aquired a SS number), to the tune of multiple millions of dollars each year, and they prop up the economy in other ways. By no means am I suggesting that I am a proponent of illegally entering and living in the United States. What I am suggesting is that this issue is more of a lightning rod than anything else. I am also suggesting that there are further-reaching consequences to marginalizing this demographic to suit our political tastes. The world is far too complex for all of the partisan talking points.
Instead of benefitting from the double-standard we’ve established in this country, and wringing our hands in fraudulent and shallow disdain, it would be refreshing to see an honest dialog. Instead of dismissive statements and platitudes, we owe it to ourselves to face some really uncomfortable realities. Until we are able to face the changing landscape of the economic conditions we find ourselves in, and work to solve the problem, (not capitalize on it or manipulate it for our gain), we'll solve nothing and keep complaining all the way to the nearest rally.
Worse, I might end up on some kind of watchlist for this one, but, my vocal disdain for the ever-expanding federal government has probably already been registered on the grid somewhere, so, what the hell...
Perhaps you are one who likes to voice your never-ending discontent that you, like many other Americanos, are unemployed. Licking your wounds while putting in a full day on Facebook with your couch permanently dented, you say things like, “I can’t find a job.” Or, “there’s no work for me.” or, my favorite, “I’ve looked everywhere; there’s nothing.”
While the Sean Hannity’s and Frank Beckman’s of the world bemoan the plague known as “the illegal”, millions of other Americans recite the refrain from the same right-wing hymnal (I wonder how many more days I will be allowed to serve as a precinct delegate in the Republican party after this hits the net…). The problem with this is that not only do these people only know one verse, they’re tone deaf too.
I know I probably don’t have to spend a lot of time convincing some of the people in my industry (especially those in kitchens in LA, NYC, Miami, Chicago, etc.) that our amigos in the Hispanic culture are the backbone of our savage little skeleton. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the fact that Latinos are literally our unseen and very effective army, all I can say to you is, “wake up”.
Now, before you get the wrong idea, I need to put to bed the much repeated, seldom verified, and not-often-proven notion that all of these people are here illegally and that their status is suspect. Many of these men and women are here legally and the assertion that they are not, is not only insulting, but embarrassing, not to them, but to those of you who make those assertions (and for those of us other white people who get lumped in with you and your ignorant claims).
Now, before I continue, I will make a series of qualified statements so as not to offend some of the very solid, talented and ambitious Americans with whom I have worked. Generally speaking, I have had the pleasure of working alongside some tremendous men and women who are not of the Latino persuasion. You know who you are; you were/are great – so don’t email me. But this column isn’t to praise you; we have 24 hour programming on the Food Network to do that. This column is about bringing to light the nasty little topic that no one really wants to seriously discuss: The Latino & the American payroll. I also know that jobs are not in surplus right now, so I'm not suggesting that if you are currently without one, you are a schmuck. We all know the difference between the people who actually want to work from those who don't.
I love to hire Hispanic people because of their enthusiasm, passion, work ethic, ambition, and sense of appreciation and their noticeable lack of a sense of entitlement where promotion and hourly rate are concerned. Routinely, mi amigos run circles around their American counterparts. While the Caucasian dishwashers stand around the stereo listening to Eminem, Metallica & Jay Z, talking about their fantasy football league, Juan, Jose, Angel and Jesus are diligently scrubbing the grout behind the pot racks. While Jim and Christian are outside having a smoke, the south-of-the-border army is taking the unruly wheel off a kitchen cart with a screwdriver and giving it the WD-40 treatment so that it runs right again.
At 4 o’clock, as prep cooks and even some sous chefs are bitching about how “busy” they are, and how “tired” they are while setting up the line for dinner service, after rolling out of bed 45 minutes ago, the Fuerzas Especiales, are walking in after finishing lunch service at another restaurant, ready to start the second shift of their 16 hour day.
I will hire, train, promote and protect anyone who will give me their 100% effort. I will go to the ends of the earth to assist and support someone who has the passion and commitment to learn, better themselves, promote my business, and look out for my professional interests.
For a select few (and I DO mean “select”) I will go significantly out of my way to set them up for success. Need help getting a car? I can do that. Need a letter of reference for a new place to rent? I can do that too. Need to find a class to increase your knowledge and improve your chances for promotion in our industry? I’ll look online and point you in the right direction. Want to borrow a book or need a few tools that will help you get the job done? Come see me. Ready to move on? I’ll make some calls.
What I love about my current employee, Jose, is that he knows exactly what I want before I have to tell him I want it. I THINK IT and HE DOES IT. This, this my friend, is exactly how kitchens should run. Jose watches carefully and whatever he doesn’t speak or understand in English, he can correctly translate the concept. His skills of anticipation, observation, and sheer speed and efficiency will make him a success in our industry, long after he works for me.
What also makes him unique and has caused him to earn my respect is his sense of loyalty and gratitude. Jose is truly thankful to come to work everyday. He’s truly appreciative of every hour he is scheduled, and he gives all of his effort, no matter how tired he is, or how much he misses his family. He is never late, never lazy, never distracted and never off-point. I never wonder where he is or when he’s coming back. I don’t worry that he’s doing something embarrassing or obnoxious.
The other thing that makes him and many other people like him unique is their willingness to do ANY job. They aren’t too good to sweep, mop floors, clean a grease trap, fix a garbage disposal, or work in a stifling kitchen. They plow fields, pick produce, process animal carcasses, serve fast food, cut lawns, dig ditches, and clean bathrooms. And, they do it for significantly less money than many Americans are willing to even consider getting out of bed in the morning for.
They pay taxes, (even the illegal ones who've somehow aquired a SS number), to the tune of multiple millions of dollars each year, and they prop up the economy in other ways. By no means am I suggesting that I am a proponent of illegally entering and living in the United States. What I am suggesting is that this issue is more of a lightning rod than anything else. I am also suggesting that there are further-reaching consequences to marginalizing this demographic to suit our political tastes. The world is far too complex for all of the partisan talking points.
Instead of benefitting from the double-standard we’ve established in this country, and wringing our hands in fraudulent and shallow disdain, it would be refreshing to see an honest dialog. Instead of dismissive statements and platitudes, we owe it to ourselves to face some really uncomfortable realities. Until we are able to face the changing landscape of the economic conditions we find ourselves in, and work to solve the problem, (not capitalize on it or manipulate it for our gain), we'll solve nothing and keep complaining all the way to the nearest rally.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Lessons in Acceptance
We had arrived and parked the car as everyone else was leaving. We weren’t at a launch or a bike path, so I’m not exactly sure where we parked, and, actually, I don’t know the cross-roads because I was too nervous to notice. I stared at the people getting into their cars, hoping to make eye contact with one of them. Hoping that they would think it odd that a young, uncomfortable looking couple would be walking into the park at this time of night.
The sound of mulch and branches cracking wasn’t as loud as the deafening sound of silent fear blaring in my ears as we walked down the path into the woods. It was dusk sometime in the summer of 2007. I can’t remember the month now, but the days were getting shorter, so maybe it was august...
The deeper we walked into the brush, the narrower the path became until there really wasn’t a path anymore. It became a little hillier and I could feel my stomach sinking as my heart felt like it was lodged in my throat. We walked further and I kept trying to keep my composure, but it was increasingly difficult.
We neared the water, and that’s when the fight broke out. Honestly, it’s all a blur. In my memory, I see the water and I see the trees all around me. The water seems still and dark and the trees seem to reach the heavens. They looked about a thousand feet tall.
Whatever I can see always begins a violent swirling and turns at a dizzying pace. I hear my feet running through the woods in dark, I hear him yelling after me. That familiar, vicious tenor in his voice. Only this time, it’s worse. For the first time, he’s panicked; He went too far, and things didn’t work out the way he wanted.
Fast forward two years. Life has settled into some type of normalcy. I’m working, living in a house my family helped to make a home. I’m busy and curious, and doing all of the things I used to do before he walked into my life. For the most part, I feel somewhat whole again. Every day is a new chance to start over again.
Better – I feel like a new person, the someone I was born to be.
Still, sometimes something is not quite right. I still think about it every day, not on purpose….Maybe 10 or 20 times a day, depending on the season, or the music playing on the radio. I always think about it when I run.
I sleep through the night now, with fewer night terrors than ever. The only time I dream about it is when I’m feeling stressed about some other aspect of my life.
I have friends, I go out on dates. I’ve had relationships, and even brushed up against something that looked and sounded like love a few times. I start all over again, practicing for the real thing. There is a hopeful feeling about the future. There is a certainty about the brightness that lights the path ahead - my whole life, just lying out there infront of me.
But sometimes, when things are really, really quiet, there’s that feeling. It mostly happens when I’ve taken a risk and made myself vulnerable to something on purpose, as a learning lesson; a chance to grow.
I run errands, I pay bills. I walk my dogs and grocery shop. I teach my classes, I shop for vases and accent pieces. I listen to my favorite music and buy pretty bouquets of flowers to cheer my home, and dog bones to spoil lucy and mia.
I work everyday. On the rare occasion that I don’t, I stay home and sleep late. I shuffle around my house in my pajamas, avoiding boring chores like dusting and cleaning the bathtub. I’m just not into it. I want to relax.
I notice that even after two years, I still require a tremendous amount of rest and peace. I need things to be easier than I used to make them on myself. I’ve learned to avoid unnecessary stress and drama as an energy preservation technique. I walk away when I need a break. Sometimes, I even avoid having to make a decision. I just don’t want to.
I went to the bank last week to make the mortgage payment. The parking lot is under construction. I drove around the long way to avoid the blocked view onto the main road.
I drove through the strip mall and glanced over to the right. There he was.
There is a jarring feeling. Even when I think I’m not thinking about it, I must be, but I’m too busy to notice. It lurks around for a few days. Everything that happens after, even the really small, inconsequential stuff can only be seen through that lens. Everything floats to the surface like debris from a shipwreck. Memories like driftwood bob up and down.
Good news! Here’s another chance to start over again. I hype myself up to look at it as positively as I can. What am I going to do? Cry?
The thing is, everyone wants to talk to me about forgiveness. Everyone tells me that I have to forgive him for my sake, and not for his. And, for two years, I just can’t bring myself to do it, because it makes me feel that I’m continuing to allow or accept his abuse. It seems like it would be representative of me saying that it is ok, and giving him some kind of pass.
Maybe, worse, I realize that if I think that if I forgive it, it didn’t happen. As if the brush of forgiveness will wipe it all away. He used to say that no one would believe me. The idea of forgiving and wiping it away somehow makes that true in my mind. Somehow, it seems like it would make him right.
The events of the week have my thoughts whirling around in my head. I’ve had a stomach ache for 9 days. Even when you may not be consciously aware that you are stressed out, unconsciously, your body has way of letting you know how things are really going. That’s good news for me, considering that I spend almost every moment working with nose to the grindstone, with the serious business of moving on with my life.
Sitting at my desk, I notice that the churning hasn’t gone away. I decide to pay attention to the nagging feeling; it’s time to acknowledge that it’s there. I take a quick, and somewhat ugly self-inventory. So…. I’m frustrated. There’s also some disappointment. Hmmm…. Maybe a tinge of anger. I start looking for the reason at the root of it all. Doesn’t take long…
I look down at the ring that always, and without conscious intent, ends up on my left hand. The ring I kept and still don’t know why, except that wearing it is a way to remind myself that I believe the right thing, the real thing is out there. It’s comforting to wear the symbol, even if the dream died. I believe that it’s possible for the dream to be realized one day, but not if I keep holding on to the little pieces of what was supposed to be.
I wrote and re-read that last paragraph and can’t even begin to write it the way it is supposed to read. Sometimes, my thoughts don’t necessarily match up with what I end up writing. The ring isn’t about love. The ring isn’t about some jackass I was engaged to. The ring is the reminder of where I was and who I am now, and reconciling the two. The ring is about holding on…. And there is nothing good there to hold onto.
The ring is also a way to keep others at arms length, and sometimes, I still feel the need to do that. It’s the universal sign for “not interested”, or “unavailable”. It’s also the universal sign that you aren’t alone, and, for someone like me, I don’t want anyone to think that no one would notice if I were suddenly missing. I don’t want to appear to be an isolated single woman.
His ring is titanium. I remember vividly the day I bought it.
The churning is still there, and I’m realizing that there needs to be acceptance and detachment from what was. There needs to be another new beginning. I feel like an animal molting every few months. It seems like I need to shed the old, scaly skin, peeling off another layer. I haven’t forgiven him, and I’m still very angry towards him, but I’m getting closer to my goal of total resolution.
I drive out towards where I used to live, trying to remember exactly how to get there. I make a couple wrong turns, and am getting impatient. I just want to get this over with and be there before dark. Finally, I find the right road and turn onto the gravel opening to my left. I park my car and notice that there are other people there, eating dinner on the grass.
The sun still shines as I walk slowly over towards the soft dirt path and start making my way into the heart of the woods. As I walk, all I can think about is how long it’s taking to get there. I thought that the trek was only long in my memory. I thought I was walking miles into the darkness that night, and now I can see with a clear head, that this is a very long walk after all. I feel calm and detached until I see the opening from the woods and the water just before me.
There’s a Cub Scout group pitching tents and a middle-aged man fishing off the pier.
They say hello and I sit down on the grass and stare at the water. I never expected anyone else to be there, and, I’m somewhat disappointed.
I wanted to do this alone. I came here before without another soul in the world to help me then, and I wanted to be alone now. Alone with my memory, alone with what was left of my anger, alone with my resolve to start over again…again.
I sat there for a while longer and took one last long look at the water that lie in front of me. I noticed the cattails and the lily pads a little further away. Without my conscious permission, my imagination saw what I had imagined the first time I was here; my body floating and hidden in the cattails and tall grass. Sick, I know.
I got up and turned back towards the path to find a higher place to look at the water in privacy. I kept walking, feeling like I could walk for miles until I found the right place. Finally, I came to an incline where I could see the water, and was completely enveloped by the green brush. I looked up at the trees. They still seemed a thousand feet tall. Looking back at the water, I took the rings out of my pocket, and threw them into the lake.
As I watched the water ripple out into larger circles, I thought about how the actions of one person cause such larger effects on the people who get close to them. I thought about how out of the millions of people on this earth, one person made not only ripples, but tidal waves in my life, and not only didn’t care, but tried to drown me in his own wake.
I thought about the kind of person that I want to be, and how I fall short of who that person is, but believe that I’m doing the best that I can. And honestly, I’m proud of how far I’ve come, but I fear that I have made unwelcome ripples in the lives of others without meaning to, and though it makes me a hypocrite, I hope they can forgive me.
Standing there, I don’t believe that my life is terrible. Something terrible happened to me, but I knew that if I allowed myself to be ruined, he would get what he always wanted, even if he wasn’t around to see it firsthand. He already had enough influence when I was with him, I wasn’t about to give him anymore in his absence.
I watched the last ripple disappear and took one more look at the greenery that surrounded me. I turned and walked towards the path and listened to the sound of the brush crunching under my feet. I felt happy that I faced my fear and brought myself to the site of one of my worst memories. I felt a little lighter and a little closer to letting it go. I thought about the concept of acceptance and embracing what was and what is, as well as accepting that I have no control over either, or, what will be.
I may never forgive him…and I accept that too. And I’m learning to accept that I can do whatever I need to do for myself at any given moment - and sometimes it will hurt, and sometimes it will be fantastic. And while I actively practice the teachings and principles of acceptance, what I won’t accept is a life without boldness, a life without truly experiencing everything I can, because that’s just not a life at all.
The sound of mulch and branches cracking wasn’t as loud as the deafening sound of silent fear blaring in my ears as we walked down the path into the woods. It was dusk sometime in the summer of 2007. I can’t remember the month now, but the days were getting shorter, so maybe it was august...
The deeper we walked into the brush, the narrower the path became until there really wasn’t a path anymore. It became a little hillier and I could feel my stomach sinking as my heart felt like it was lodged in my throat. We walked further and I kept trying to keep my composure, but it was increasingly difficult.
We neared the water, and that’s when the fight broke out. Honestly, it’s all a blur. In my memory, I see the water and I see the trees all around me. The water seems still and dark and the trees seem to reach the heavens. They looked about a thousand feet tall.
Whatever I can see always begins a violent swirling and turns at a dizzying pace. I hear my feet running through the woods in dark, I hear him yelling after me. That familiar, vicious tenor in his voice. Only this time, it’s worse. For the first time, he’s panicked; He went too far, and things didn’t work out the way he wanted.
Fast forward two years. Life has settled into some type of normalcy. I’m working, living in a house my family helped to make a home. I’m busy and curious, and doing all of the things I used to do before he walked into my life. For the most part, I feel somewhat whole again. Every day is a new chance to start over again.
Better – I feel like a new person, the someone I was born to be.
Still, sometimes something is not quite right. I still think about it every day, not on purpose….Maybe 10 or 20 times a day, depending on the season, or the music playing on the radio. I always think about it when I run.
I sleep through the night now, with fewer night terrors than ever. The only time I dream about it is when I’m feeling stressed about some other aspect of my life.
I have friends, I go out on dates. I’ve had relationships, and even brushed up against something that looked and sounded like love a few times. I start all over again, practicing for the real thing. There is a hopeful feeling about the future. There is a certainty about the brightness that lights the path ahead - my whole life, just lying out there infront of me.
But sometimes, when things are really, really quiet, there’s that feeling. It mostly happens when I’ve taken a risk and made myself vulnerable to something on purpose, as a learning lesson; a chance to grow.
I run errands, I pay bills. I walk my dogs and grocery shop. I teach my classes, I shop for vases and accent pieces. I listen to my favorite music and buy pretty bouquets of flowers to cheer my home, and dog bones to spoil lucy and mia.
I work everyday. On the rare occasion that I don’t, I stay home and sleep late. I shuffle around my house in my pajamas, avoiding boring chores like dusting and cleaning the bathtub. I’m just not into it. I want to relax.
I notice that even after two years, I still require a tremendous amount of rest and peace. I need things to be easier than I used to make them on myself. I’ve learned to avoid unnecessary stress and drama as an energy preservation technique. I walk away when I need a break. Sometimes, I even avoid having to make a decision. I just don’t want to.
I went to the bank last week to make the mortgage payment. The parking lot is under construction. I drove around the long way to avoid the blocked view onto the main road.
I drove through the strip mall and glanced over to the right. There he was.
There is a jarring feeling. Even when I think I’m not thinking about it, I must be, but I’m too busy to notice. It lurks around for a few days. Everything that happens after, even the really small, inconsequential stuff can only be seen through that lens. Everything floats to the surface like debris from a shipwreck. Memories like driftwood bob up and down.
Good news! Here’s another chance to start over again. I hype myself up to look at it as positively as I can. What am I going to do? Cry?
The thing is, everyone wants to talk to me about forgiveness. Everyone tells me that I have to forgive him for my sake, and not for his. And, for two years, I just can’t bring myself to do it, because it makes me feel that I’m continuing to allow or accept his abuse. It seems like it would be representative of me saying that it is ok, and giving him some kind of pass.
Maybe, worse, I realize that if I think that if I forgive it, it didn’t happen. As if the brush of forgiveness will wipe it all away. He used to say that no one would believe me. The idea of forgiving and wiping it away somehow makes that true in my mind. Somehow, it seems like it would make him right.
The events of the week have my thoughts whirling around in my head. I’ve had a stomach ache for 9 days. Even when you may not be consciously aware that you are stressed out, unconsciously, your body has way of letting you know how things are really going. That’s good news for me, considering that I spend almost every moment working with nose to the grindstone, with the serious business of moving on with my life.
Sitting at my desk, I notice that the churning hasn’t gone away. I decide to pay attention to the nagging feeling; it’s time to acknowledge that it’s there. I take a quick, and somewhat ugly self-inventory. So…. I’m frustrated. There’s also some disappointment. Hmmm…. Maybe a tinge of anger. I start looking for the reason at the root of it all. Doesn’t take long…
I look down at the ring that always, and without conscious intent, ends up on my left hand. The ring I kept and still don’t know why, except that wearing it is a way to remind myself that I believe the right thing, the real thing is out there. It’s comforting to wear the symbol, even if the dream died. I believe that it’s possible for the dream to be realized one day, but not if I keep holding on to the little pieces of what was supposed to be.
I wrote and re-read that last paragraph and can’t even begin to write it the way it is supposed to read. Sometimes, my thoughts don’t necessarily match up with what I end up writing. The ring isn’t about love. The ring isn’t about some jackass I was engaged to. The ring is the reminder of where I was and who I am now, and reconciling the two. The ring is about holding on…. And there is nothing good there to hold onto.
The ring is also a way to keep others at arms length, and sometimes, I still feel the need to do that. It’s the universal sign for “not interested”, or “unavailable”. It’s also the universal sign that you aren’t alone, and, for someone like me, I don’t want anyone to think that no one would notice if I were suddenly missing. I don’t want to appear to be an isolated single woman.
His ring is titanium. I remember vividly the day I bought it.
The churning is still there, and I’m realizing that there needs to be acceptance and detachment from what was. There needs to be another new beginning. I feel like an animal molting every few months. It seems like I need to shed the old, scaly skin, peeling off another layer. I haven’t forgiven him, and I’m still very angry towards him, but I’m getting closer to my goal of total resolution.
I drive out towards where I used to live, trying to remember exactly how to get there. I make a couple wrong turns, and am getting impatient. I just want to get this over with and be there before dark. Finally, I find the right road and turn onto the gravel opening to my left. I park my car and notice that there are other people there, eating dinner on the grass.
The sun still shines as I walk slowly over towards the soft dirt path and start making my way into the heart of the woods. As I walk, all I can think about is how long it’s taking to get there. I thought that the trek was only long in my memory. I thought I was walking miles into the darkness that night, and now I can see with a clear head, that this is a very long walk after all. I feel calm and detached until I see the opening from the woods and the water just before me.
There’s a Cub Scout group pitching tents and a middle-aged man fishing off the pier.
They say hello and I sit down on the grass and stare at the water. I never expected anyone else to be there, and, I’m somewhat disappointed.
I wanted to do this alone. I came here before without another soul in the world to help me then, and I wanted to be alone now. Alone with my memory, alone with what was left of my anger, alone with my resolve to start over again…again.
I sat there for a while longer and took one last long look at the water that lie in front of me. I noticed the cattails and the lily pads a little further away. Without my conscious permission, my imagination saw what I had imagined the first time I was here; my body floating and hidden in the cattails and tall grass. Sick, I know.
I got up and turned back towards the path to find a higher place to look at the water in privacy. I kept walking, feeling like I could walk for miles until I found the right place. Finally, I came to an incline where I could see the water, and was completely enveloped by the green brush. I looked up at the trees. They still seemed a thousand feet tall. Looking back at the water, I took the rings out of my pocket, and threw them into the lake.
As I watched the water ripple out into larger circles, I thought about how the actions of one person cause such larger effects on the people who get close to them. I thought about how out of the millions of people on this earth, one person made not only ripples, but tidal waves in my life, and not only didn’t care, but tried to drown me in his own wake.
I thought about the kind of person that I want to be, and how I fall short of who that person is, but believe that I’m doing the best that I can. And honestly, I’m proud of how far I’ve come, but I fear that I have made unwelcome ripples in the lives of others without meaning to, and though it makes me a hypocrite, I hope they can forgive me.
Standing there, I don’t believe that my life is terrible. Something terrible happened to me, but I knew that if I allowed myself to be ruined, he would get what he always wanted, even if he wasn’t around to see it firsthand. He already had enough influence when I was with him, I wasn’t about to give him anymore in his absence.
I watched the last ripple disappear and took one more look at the greenery that surrounded me. I turned and walked towards the path and listened to the sound of the brush crunching under my feet. I felt happy that I faced my fear and brought myself to the site of one of my worst memories. I felt a little lighter and a little closer to letting it go. I thought about the concept of acceptance and embracing what was and what is, as well as accepting that I have no control over either, or, what will be.
I may never forgive him…and I accept that too. And I’m learning to accept that I can do whatever I need to do for myself at any given moment - and sometimes it will hurt, and sometimes it will be fantastic. And while I actively practice the teachings and principles of acceptance, what I won’t accept is a life without boldness, a life without truly experiencing everything I can, because that’s just not a life at all.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Birthday
On a chilly day in March of 2007, the Macomb County Sheriff’s office announced that they had found a torso that they believed to be the remains of Tara Grant, a woman who had been murdered and dismembered by her husband, Stephen Grant. I had been following the case for months, hoping that if I were missing, people would be looking for me.
Obsessed with missing persons cases, I followed the updates religiously. It was pathetic and sick, but I couldn’t keep myself from following them. It was a tribute to the sisterhood of the abused. I saw myself as a missing person waiting to happen – a future series of headlines that would eventually fade from the front page.
I knew it wasn’t a matter of if he would kill me, but when. I knew that if I stayed with him, my fate would be the same as the hundreds of women who were involved with this type of person. On a long enough timeline, living in domestic violence, the survival rate drops to zero.
As Steven Grant feined agony and worry of his “missing wife”, knowing full well that he chopped her into a million pieces and shoved her in a Rubbermade tub, it was in that moment that I resolved that I would end my relationship with this man. Standing in the lobby of Lifetime Fitness, surrounded by people who thought I had the perfect life, the perfect job, the perfect fiancé, the perfect future, I started thinking about reclaiming my life, even if it meant that I would lose it.
I was just longer afraid to die. I had nothing else to lose. I decided I would rather die than to live one more day under his control. I would rather be dead, and finally at rest than to walk around, tormented and exhausted, acting as if everything was ok.
Don’t rock the boat. Keep the peace. I was certain that this was going to be my situation for the rest of my life, so I resigned myself to making things as “easy” as I could for myself because I had no reason to believe that there was a way out.
I stopped running when I was engaged to him because I was exhausted. It was strange because I thought that running would be the only thing I would want to do, since the abuse was never-ending, and escalating all the time.
No more visits or phone calls from my friends, no more time for the things I used to enjoy. No more yoga. No more running. No more me.
During the lonely and frightful times, I was hurt and very afraid. Exhaustion had become a way of life because he would disrupt me at every turn. Phone calls in the middle of the night, late night visits, constant calls at work. There was never a moment that I could get away from him.
In September 2007, 5 months after my resolution, I walked away with the help of a small handful of people I trusted with my secret and I started my life over again. It seemed like I would never stop being angry. It seemed like I would never stop hating him. I was certain that I couldn’t let go. The physical scars were gone, but the emotional scares were still there.
this person ran through my life like a train off the tracks, leaving total devastation in his midst. For a solid year and half I managed to hold it together, convinced that there was no way out. I purposed to placate him as best I could so that the blow-ups would be “manageable”. And then I realized that “manageable” really meant, “fatal”.
After it was over, I would go for the occasional run when I could summon enough energy to lace up the shoes. I felt frustrated at first, starting all over again, thinking about how I used to be so much better at this… faster, stronger, more graceful. The judgment became too much and I stopped again. I had been comparing myself to the person I was before I met him, and that person has been gone now for a very long time.
I always thought about how I must have looked, awkward and slow(er), carrying 15 pounds that hadn’t been there before. How must I have looked to people walking by…. And, then, I realized, “who cares?”
Who cares that I’m not the same person I was in 2004, or earlier? Who cares that I gained 15 pounds? Who cares that I’m slower? Who cares that I’m not as graceful? Why did I want so badly to be that person again? What was “wrong” with the person I actually became?
The person I became as a result of that experience is stronger, more confident, and resilient. The person I became is fearless, proud and smart. Sometimes silently apprehensive, but always outwardly certain. One foot in front of the other, running towards the rest of my life. And, with this realization, two years in the making, I started running again, and, with a vengeance.
It’s on my run that I can think about whatever may be bothering me, or whatever swirls around me, with the relative distance that I still may keep from others. On my run, I can reflect on where I’ve been and where I’m going, and the people I meet along the way. On my run, I can appreciate that I finally have the gift of time and personal space, something I never thought I could ever have. Something I took for granted prior to meeting him.
August 31 is my birthday, but September 16 is the day that I got to start my life all over again, but it almost feels like every day is September 16. I get to start all over again every time I wake up, and as I wait to turn 29, I can’t think of a greater, more precious gift than that.
Obsessed with missing persons cases, I followed the updates religiously. It was pathetic and sick, but I couldn’t keep myself from following them. It was a tribute to the sisterhood of the abused. I saw myself as a missing person waiting to happen – a future series of headlines that would eventually fade from the front page.
I knew it wasn’t a matter of if he would kill me, but when. I knew that if I stayed with him, my fate would be the same as the hundreds of women who were involved with this type of person. On a long enough timeline, living in domestic violence, the survival rate drops to zero.
As Steven Grant feined agony and worry of his “missing wife”, knowing full well that he chopped her into a million pieces and shoved her in a Rubbermade tub, it was in that moment that I resolved that I would end my relationship with this man. Standing in the lobby of Lifetime Fitness, surrounded by people who thought I had the perfect life, the perfect job, the perfect fiancé, the perfect future, I started thinking about reclaiming my life, even if it meant that I would lose it.
I was just longer afraid to die. I had nothing else to lose. I decided I would rather die than to live one more day under his control. I would rather be dead, and finally at rest than to walk around, tormented and exhausted, acting as if everything was ok.
Don’t rock the boat. Keep the peace. I was certain that this was going to be my situation for the rest of my life, so I resigned myself to making things as “easy” as I could for myself because I had no reason to believe that there was a way out.
I stopped running when I was engaged to him because I was exhausted. It was strange because I thought that running would be the only thing I would want to do, since the abuse was never-ending, and escalating all the time.
No more visits or phone calls from my friends, no more time for the things I used to enjoy. No more yoga. No more running. No more me.
During the lonely and frightful times, I was hurt and very afraid. Exhaustion had become a way of life because he would disrupt me at every turn. Phone calls in the middle of the night, late night visits, constant calls at work. There was never a moment that I could get away from him.
In September 2007, 5 months after my resolution, I walked away with the help of a small handful of people I trusted with my secret and I started my life over again. It seemed like I would never stop being angry. It seemed like I would never stop hating him. I was certain that I couldn’t let go. The physical scars were gone, but the emotional scares were still there.
this person ran through my life like a train off the tracks, leaving total devastation in his midst. For a solid year and half I managed to hold it together, convinced that there was no way out. I purposed to placate him as best I could so that the blow-ups would be “manageable”. And then I realized that “manageable” really meant, “fatal”.
After it was over, I would go for the occasional run when I could summon enough energy to lace up the shoes. I felt frustrated at first, starting all over again, thinking about how I used to be so much better at this… faster, stronger, more graceful. The judgment became too much and I stopped again. I had been comparing myself to the person I was before I met him, and that person has been gone now for a very long time.
I always thought about how I must have looked, awkward and slow(er), carrying 15 pounds that hadn’t been there before. How must I have looked to people walking by…. And, then, I realized, “who cares?”
Who cares that I’m not the same person I was in 2004, or earlier? Who cares that I gained 15 pounds? Who cares that I’m slower? Who cares that I’m not as graceful? Why did I want so badly to be that person again? What was “wrong” with the person I actually became?
The person I became as a result of that experience is stronger, more confident, and resilient. The person I became is fearless, proud and smart. Sometimes silently apprehensive, but always outwardly certain. One foot in front of the other, running towards the rest of my life. And, with this realization, two years in the making, I started running again, and, with a vengeance.
It’s on my run that I can think about whatever may be bothering me, or whatever swirls around me, with the relative distance that I still may keep from others. On my run, I can reflect on where I’ve been and where I’m going, and the people I meet along the way. On my run, I can appreciate that I finally have the gift of time and personal space, something I never thought I could ever have. Something I took for granted prior to meeting him.
August 31 is my birthday, but September 16 is the day that I got to start my life all over again, but it almost feels like every day is September 16. I get to start all over again every time I wake up, and as I wait to turn 29, I can’t think of a greater, more precious gift than that.
Friday, July 17, 2009
First Draft of the Real Simple Essay Contest Entry
There are about twenty of them, all lined up along the wall of the pool like ballerina’s on a bar. I stood back today and noticed their beauty. Tall, short, fat, skinny, apples, pears and hourglasses. Women of every imaginable shape and size were moving gracefully through their exercises in our aqua aerobics class.
They come to class with their hair and make-up done, adorned with jewelry. Marilyn wears the ashes of her husband in a locket around her neck, but never in the pool, of course. This morning, one of the ladies reminded her that she had forgotten to take it off. She quickly scrambled up the steps, went back into the locker room, and put the necklace aside until she would collect it again after class. Somehow I could tell that even an hour without nearness to “him” was just too long.
There are about 8 “Mary’s” in our class. One of the Mary’s was talking to Jann about how her husband had lost his hearing aide AGAIN this morning, and that was why they were so late. The other lady laughed as Mary said, “You know – it wasn’t the first time and it won’t be the last. I don’t help him until he starts to panic. Otherwise he will expect me to help him find every little last thing he loses. Do you know where it was?! In his pajama’s pocket!”
It was apparent to me that Mary would be fetching things for Tom a lot more now than she ever had, as Tom’s health is in somewhat of a serious decline. Though many people could misunderstand her story and think she was irritated with him, I could sense that she is proud to be the only woman in Tom’s life who could be trusted with such an important task. She doesn’t ignore his needs or crises; she just wants to empower him to keep some of his independence and masculinity. She wants him to have dignity.
When I first became their instructor 8 months ago, I had never even been to an aqua aerobics class in my life. I had much more experience teaching able-bodied young professionals the fine art of riding a bike in the dark that goes nowhere – spinning.
I went out and bought a bathing suit and showed up for class with my cover-up and was amazed at the sight of these women – all shapes and sizes, walking around in their bathing suits in total confidence. Cellulite, muffin top, back-fat, wrinkles and varicose veins, these women had it all! I was shocked at the ease with which they strode over to the pool steps and waded gracefully into the water. Talk about freedom!
We exercise, but mostly, they talk. They talk about their children, and the appointments that they’ve made for the week. They discuss the problems of aging that I had never considered. How do you get to the doctor’s office to have your hip replacement looked at, if you don’t want to be a burden on your working children?
They ask me about dating and if I’ve met anyone special. They wait excitedly all week to hear the outcome of “the talk” that I had with my boyfriend, eager to give me their wisdom and insight.
They tell me not to marry someone much older than I am, because he might be young now, but he won’t be young for long. They explain that soon I will be in the prime of my life, and he will need to be wheeled around to the doctor’s office for HIS hip replacement, and that won’t be much fun for me. I have to admit, I never thought of it that way.
I tell them that I’ve never had much ambition to devote to nabbing a husband for myself, and they sort of stare at me quizzically, even though moments before, Agnes had joked that when her husband dies, she’s “not going to get another one”, as if she were replacing a toaster oven on the fritz (which older people use with wild enthusiasm, by the way). She continues, “I already had children; I’m not taking care of another one! One man in my lifetime is enough for me!” and they all laughed in unison.
When I explain that the concept of marriage hasn’t historically been attractive to me, they ask questions, sincerely wondering how anyone could feel this way. I simply explain that I really don’t know any happily married people. They say, “people nowadays expect too much.”, and then they move on to another topic.
When they ask about whoever my boyfriend may be at that time, and I make some kind of unenthusiastic facial expression, they’re quick to get to the bottom of the story. If the cause of the disillusionment on my part is something that they find to be even remotely intolerable, they evoke the wisdom of their many years of “marital bliss” and say, “find someone else, honey”.
As I watched them do plia’s in the therapy pool and talking about the latest mystery novel they’re reading, I was breathless at their collective confidence and certainty. I stared at them in total awe. These women were mothers, wives, sisters and friends. They are allies, counselors, advisors and matriarchs. Some of them had been home-makers, and others had careers, which was not necessarily “en vogue” in their time.
They care genuinely about the health and wellness of their classmates and look forward to each 10 o’ clock class, enthusiastically awaiting the arrival of their friends. They take turns bringing in “get well” cards for classmates who are in the hospital or at home resting after a procedure.
As I’ve closely observed “the water babies” as I like to call them, I’ve learned so much about life, love and loyalty. I’ve learned about the pride that comes with being a woman and a lady, and I’m no lady – but, hell, I guess I could try...
I’ve given much thought to health, wellness, and self-care in my short 28 years. I’ve learned that good health is a gift that you give to yourself. I had always been independent. I had always had a strong desire to take care of myself and live my life on my terms. I was never going to be a candidate for putting others needs before my own, at the risk of my health, but what I hadn’t realized was that self-care comes from self-love, and that can only be learned in time.
Self-love is about confidence and security. It’s an air of boldness, courage, an investment with infinite returns. It’s making a space for yourself, even if it’s just one hour a day of aqua aerobics while your family and health concerns swirl around you. Self-love was the mark of true adulthood, though sadly, many people never will actualize it.
I realized that I had become a grown-up when I watched the water babies and accepted them as they were, without shallow judgments about their bodies, bathing suits, or books they read. I realized that I had become a grown up when I learned that there was so much that I didn’t know, and that I was incredibly fortunate to be learning from these glorious women twice a week. I was a grown up when I realized that I was not their teacher, I, too, was a student, eager to learn from their many years of experience and grace.
They come to class with their hair and make-up done, adorned with jewelry. Marilyn wears the ashes of her husband in a locket around her neck, but never in the pool, of course. This morning, one of the ladies reminded her that she had forgotten to take it off. She quickly scrambled up the steps, went back into the locker room, and put the necklace aside until she would collect it again after class. Somehow I could tell that even an hour without nearness to “him” was just too long.
There are about 8 “Mary’s” in our class. One of the Mary’s was talking to Jann about how her husband had lost his hearing aide AGAIN this morning, and that was why they were so late. The other lady laughed as Mary said, “You know – it wasn’t the first time and it won’t be the last. I don’t help him until he starts to panic. Otherwise he will expect me to help him find every little last thing he loses. Do you know where it was?! In his pajama’s pocket!”
It was apparent to me that Mary would be fetching things for Tom a lot more now than she ever had, as Tom’s health is in somewhat of a serious decline. Though many people could misunderstand her story and think she was irritated with him, I could sense that she is proud to be the only woman in Tom’s life who could be trusted with such an important task. She doesn’t ignore his needs or crises; she just wants to empower him to keep some of his independence and masculinity. She wants him to have dignity.
When I first became their instructor 8 months ago, I had never even been to an aqua aerobics class in my life. I had much more experience teaching able-bodied young professionals the fine art of riding a bike in the dark that goes nowhere – spinning.
I went out and bought a bathing suit and showed up for class with my cover-up and was amazed at the sight of these women – all shapes and sizes, walking around in their bathing suits in total confidence. Cellulite, muffin top, back-fat, wrinkles and varicose veins, these women had it all! I was shocked at the ease with which they strode over to the pool steps and waded gracefully into the water. Talk about freedom!
We exercise, but mostly, they talk. They talk about their children, and the appointments that they’ve made for the week. They discuss the problems of aging that I had never considered. How do you get to the doctor’s office to have your hip replacement looked at, if you don’t want to be a burden on your working children?
They ask me about dating and if I’ve met anyone special. They wait excitedly all week to hear the outcome of “the talk” that I had with my boyfriend, eager to give me their wisdom and insight.
They tell me not to marry someone much older than I am, because he might be young now, but he won’t be young for long. They explain that soon I will be in the prime of my life, and he will need to be wheeled around to the doctor’s office for HIS hip replacement, and that won’t be much fun for me. I have to admit, I never thought of it that way.
I tell them that I’ve never had much ambition to devote to nabbing a husband for myself, and they sort of stare at me quizzically, even though moments before, Agnes had joked that when her husband dies, she’s “not going to get another one”, as if she were replacing a toaster oven on the fritz (which older people use with wild enthusiasm, by the way). She continues, “I already had children; I’m not taking care of another one! One man in my lifetime is enough for me!” and they all laughed in unison.
When I explain that the concept of marriage hasn’t historically been attractive to me, they ask questions, sincerely wondering how anyone could feel this way. I simply explain that I really don’t know any happily married people. They say, “people nowadays expect too much.”, and then they move on to another topic.
When they ask about whoever my boyfriend may be at that time, and I make some kind of unenthusiastic facial expression, they’re quick to get to the bottom of the story. If the cause of the disillusionment on my part is something that they find to be even remotely intolerable, they evoke the wisdom of their many years of “marital bliss” and say, “find someone else, honey”.
As I watched them do plia’s in the therapy pool and talking about the latest mystery novel they’re reading, I was breathless at their collective confidence and certainty. I stared at them in total awe. These women were mothers, wives, sisters and friends. They are allies, counselors, advisors and matriarchs. Some of them had been home-makers, and others had careers, which was not necessarily “en vogue” in their time.
They care genuinely about the health and wellness of their classmates and look forward to each 10 o’ clock class, enthusiastically awaiting the arrival of their friends. They take turns bringing in “get well” cards for classmates who are in the hospital or at home resting after a procedure.
As I’ve closely observed “the water babies” as I like to call them, I’ve learned so much about life, love and loyalty. I’ve learned about the pride that comes with being a woman and a lady, and I’m no lady – but, hell, I guess I could try...
I’ve given much thought to health, wellness, and self-care in my short 28 years. I’ve learned that good health is a gift that you give to yourself. I had always been independent. I had always had a strong desire to take care of myself and live my life on my terms. I was never going to be a candidate for putting others needs before my own, at the risk of my health, but what I hadn’t realized was that self-care comes from self-love, and that can only be learned in time.
Self-love is about confidence and security. It’s an air of boldness, courage, an investment with infinite returns. It’s making a space for yourself, even if it’s just one hour a day of aqua aerobics while your family and health concerns swirl around you. Self-love was the mark of true adulthood, though sadly, many people never will actualize it.
I realized that I had become a grown-up when I watched the water babies and accepted them as they were, without shallow judgments about their bodies, bathing suits, or books they read. I realized that I had become a grown up when I learned that there was so much that I didn’t know, and that I was incredibly fortunate to be learning from these glorious women twice a week. I was a grown up when I realized that I was not their teacher, I, too, was a student, eager to learn from their many years of experience and grace.
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