Lisa With the Surf & Sweet Sticky Goodness

My friends weave together in a tapestry that stiches the snags, rips and down right holes in my life so that when I would by all right fall I am caught in their embrace by a love that can only be understood as Jesus, sweet One, savior who holds my hand, wraps His arms around me, loves me through sweaty, smelly, sticky, what-is-that-I-don't-want to-know life.


Claudia's hands reached out with a box of diapers.
Lisa weaved us and threaded snags with laundry suppies, oil, sugar, flour, muffin tin, treats for Zoe, and Scrabble.
Christythreaded joy, smiles and redefined the sticky to the sweet with Muddy Buddies
Lisa's encore kept Kalaya snug in the embrace with baby food from a friend who no longer needed it.

Love, Hate

This morning is the once monthly USDA food line, and I am a first timer and uncertain. I'm not so good at flying into a situation blind.

I am nervous. Nervous I will be rejected, nervous I will look foolish, nervous I will say or do the wrong thing. First day of school nervous.

I call ahead and speak to Mildred who tells me will need proof of income, ID, and proof of residency all of which I place in a #10 envelope and fold into the front pocket of my tote. She tells me to go to the Senior Center on Railroad Rd, just pass the train diner, that I will see a flag flying impossible to miss. The first flag I see is a weathered confederate flag looking as tattered as the sorry concept it represents and my heart leadens; not exactly a symbol of hope. But to my left another flag waves, proud, clean, high and a long line of people stream beneath it. Love across the street from hate and that's the hope I need to pull me forward.

There is no parking, anywhere, this being the industrial part of town, but about a block down I am able to pull my little green Civic off into the dirt. I strap Kalaya in her baby Bjorn and off we walk. She is crinkling her nose at the sun and glistening with newly applied sunscreen that mixes with her baby scent, sweet, soft, floral, what pink would smell like.

There are about 50 people in front of me, mainly elderly, disabled, not the families I was expecting. The exception is a morbidly obese woman, her three children, and her parents. They are loving, happy, and prone to sit down in line. The mother, too tired to stand, sits wiping sweat from her eyes and drying her hands on her jeans. Each time the mother and her father sit, a child hugs them and they return the hug and smile with their whole selves.

The woman in front of me works with the elderly, she has a kind face, brown eyes squinting in the sun, and sweat beads on her nose. She looks like a nurse and gather fromwhat she says, that is her normal role but something has happened to interrupt that. A few of the elderly in line talk to her.

"That new neighbor I told you about? Turns out he is a drunk." The speaker has white hair neatly tied back, and she wears a periwinkle blouse over white slacks. She has large Jackie O sunglasses and a lilting accent, maybe Austrian. She laughs softly through pale pink lipstick.
"Well as long as he stays inside." The woman beside me states with a smile.
"Yes, yes, and he sleeps often." She lifts her hand to her head and pats the strands there, assuring they are in place. She is prepared, she has come with a little white cart.
"So he is a better neighbor?"
"Yes yes...Hello baby" She touches Kalaya's foot and the baby scrunches her nose. I smile at her and she nods and looks down.

My line neighbor fills in her story, the periwinkle blouse lady's story. She lives in assisted living. The walls are thin and the shared walls are where the beds are. Her last neighbor used to talk all night on the phone. So the drunk is an improvement. Apparently, she loves Nascar.

I smile, but anything else would feel forced. And that's about it. No one talks much. We move forward listening to the woman at the table who signs us in and gives us cards to get food. She says no a lot and seems worried that people are cheating. "Even though they are married they still only get ONE bag." She double checks her list, she flips through the pink food cards, she nervously looks left and right and asks each person if they have signed her sheet, rinse and repeat.

It is my turn and she asks the number of people living in my house.
My husband, my self, our two daughters, and my husband's little brother and his girl friend. She hands me two pink cards.

"How are you going to carry the bag with the baby."
"I'll be fine, I'll take two trips.'
"No."

She calls over two men and tells them they are carrying my bags to my car. The men are at least 65 if they are a day, and they will be carrying my bag a block down the road. Both have beautiful skin, skin that comes from shaving often and that sweet scent of rosemary and soap.

My nerves have been replaced with pure gratefulness. I feel the urge to hug everyone I see.

They tell me to park in the parking lot and get my onions, potatoes, bread and lettuce. And I do. I get a beautiful head of lettuce and half a dozen potatoes and onions and two little bags of bagels. Blessed, blessed. A woman with rhinestones and a cowboy hat takes the baby from my arms while I sort onions. She jokes that it is hers and shows her off to everyone. Everyone coos over Kalaya who scrunches her nose and squints at the sky.

I haven't even gotten to Lisa with the surf, that is too good to rush so tomorrow, tomorrow. And I have pictures i will post then too. But here is the contents:
I receive sausage patties, oatmeal, raisins, pasta, orange juice, canned peas, canned applesauce, spaghetti sauce, rice and beans. Just lovely.

When the Bough Breaks

We have fallen smack in the crack. And although uncomfortable, I have learned 'thank you' 'please' and 'yes.' There are many four letter words that can come to mind in hard times, but the ones that are constant are 'love' 'hand' and 'help,' 'good' 'true' and 'work.' Those are the one's that carry you through, past your stubborness, pride, shame into a connectedness that is created when you admit you cannot go it alone. And what I am finding is I didn't need to be so quiet, it was me who chose silence, me who chose to use my credit card instead of a non-profit. Me who chose to withdraw instead of reaveal. I am here for a reason, and its not bad karma, or that God is punishing me, no He loves us all too too much for such nonesense. It is to learn to receive, have faith, be gracious, and never ever take anything, not even a simple cookie, the cliche a flower, a carefree moment, for granted.

So here we are. And here is in a nutshell how we got here. We live on the Central Coast of California and have most of our lives. I went away to college after graduation, and my husband joined the Air Force. When he returned, he went to college and I had just finished up graduate school, and we got married. He had bought a house the year before, which he sold right before the market tanked, and he flipped for a nice profit. Life was as it should be.

Last year I received a settlement for an injury, and I got pregnant. But we were still absolutely fine. We had never been the new car latest gadget family. My husband saw that the finance field was slipping, he was getting downsized, and decided to become a teacher with the goal of becoming a school principal. Awesome. He could use the GI Bill, we would be fine, especially as the provider of my settlement thought he would be able to pay me in small monthly increments.

Husband went back to school, got his substitute teaching credential, earned straight 'A's, started studying for his entrance exams to teach math and began networking with local teachers. Then in March, 20,000 teachers were given their pink slip, good teachers, teacher of the year teachers, and teaching seemed like a bad prospect. Disappointment, but not lost. Afterall, in the past he was always able to find work within days of tossing his resume out into the job banks.

So toss he did, throwing his resume up and down the Coast, and he definitely got bites. He has stellar experience, a great education and he is a veteran, but, he was always the bridesmaid, never the bride. We made several trips for interviews, but nothing was a go. This was a first. He hasn't ever really been a denied a job once he interviews. He is tall, charming, disarming, extremely well-qualified, pleasant to look at and automatically instills a sense of confidence. After a month passes, he tried to go back to being a staff accountant, a financial advisor, even an account clerk, anything to get his foot in the door and bring our cash flow up to at least a trickle. So close, second, a little over qualified or a tad under, we really like you, blah blah blah. It was pure torture of knowing you are one step from fine and one from falling. He spent a lot of time sleeping, waiting, applying for everything, tweaking his resume, blind spreading it everywhere, eating unhealthy foods, and wondering what he was doing wrong.

My husband started a job last week, one he beat out 117 people for, and it pays less than half, close to a third of what he is used to, but still, YAY. My settlement provider still can't afford the small increments promised, so I write articles online for $15 a pop, and I am grateful for that $15 dollars. We would qualify for food stamps, but its my 10 year old father's turn to take her on his taxes, so there you go, and besides, we have some untouchable retirement funds that would probably tip us into over property. We have fallen smack dab in the crack. Independent contractors, so no unemployment, no aid, no government safety, and neither of us have extended or even immediate family to lean on.

We do however, have a beautiful 10 month old and a gorgeous 10 year old and that is more light than any family deserves. Amazing amazing daughters full of everything good and beautiful.

So, today I stood in line for our vegetables from Harvest Bag. Thats the picture, and there was a smattering more that didn't make the table or my camera's frame. I was so grateful I ate a salad for breakfast. Leafy greens are nourishing. And the handsome elderly man bagging the groceries had a pie hidden under the table, and he gave it to us. He had a little stash of pies and cakes, and the smile of my baby won us the cherry on the top of the nourishing leafy stuffs. It is that something undeserved blessed extra that makes you smile in your toes.

It's not easy. When you ask for help is when you realize you need a hand. You can sit there struggling all you want, in denial, but it doesn't remove that one resounding fact, you cannot go it alone right now. Not that you ever really can. Adam needed Eve and the progression of us leaning on one another began. Sometimes awkwardly, sometimes with grace. I am finding something out though, these are the times that a city becomes a village, a neighbor becomes a friend, a friend becomes a true intimate relationship because when the bottom drops out you have nothing left to hide behind.