Vol IV: #46 Morbid Thoughts and Gratitude

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I thought about my oldest nephew today and for the first time considered his death. What a truly sad thought it was, leading to tears and a new fear. I can’t imagine my life without T. We’ve grown close since his ascent into adult life and in many respects he’s the little brother I never had. I hated thinking about his death, inevitable as it is. And I truly hope it’s after my own. But, we never know.

Death has been a frequent visitor in my life, careless in his raids, taking young and old alike. And I probably think about him too much, though I’m not afraid of him as I was. We will all pass under death’s hand before going to meet the King. And cliche as it is, I truly believe when it’s your time, it’s your time. Only the grieving and the foolish consider otherwise, playing the fruitless game of “what if.” (Ironically, few play the same game when life is good. No one sits around crying about almost failing or nearly dying. More often than not we smile and laugh and move on. As we should.)

In regards to my nephew, I turned my fear into a prayer for his safety, as I do in all such moments. Then I thanked the Lord for his life and the blessing he is to me.

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Abstract: Better To Cry Now

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In my mind, not a month passes,

without considering the death of a loved one.

It’s a sad habit, but worthy nonetheless.

Better to be reminded of the finality of life before it’s too late,

before no more laughs and hugs can be exchanged,

when all that’s left between us is memories and earth.

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Abstract: Rainy Season

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Gray, shadowy and rolling like an old gown,

Raining and drizzling,

Hiding the sun within her folds. 

And then again tomorrow. 

And tomorrow.

And the next day too. 

But then, the train is swept away,

And the gray parts,

And what was hidden shines on all below.

Maybe for a minute or hour or a whole happy day.

A moment long enough to warm a face and heart,

And remind them of the goodness beyond the heavy clouds.

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Vol IV: #45 Honestly, Honesty

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There’s a maxim circling my universe that says “Tell the truth, or at least, don’t lie.” And it challenges me to my core despite being churched as a youngster and dedicated adult Christian. Because, like most people, I tend to curve my thoughts and words to please the hearer. One salient example relates to this blog and my roommate. I’m four years deep and never mentioned it to him.

And now I assume you’ve leaned your head to one side like a dog and asked “why…haven’t you told your roommate about your blog?” I understand. Your question is the best and most natural reaction to my words. And the short answer is, I don’t want him to read it. I like having a secret. And I feel justified in my stance. Can’t I have a place away from his judging eyes? The answer is, of course, yes. But, there’s more to it than that.

In truth, I’ve kept all my goals and plans from him- the novel, the short stories and poems, my plans to grow plants and move into my own place and everything else. And were I to have one secret, something innocent I wanted to keep to myself, that’s normal. But I keep most of my life from his prying eyes. And I’m starting to grow tired of managing all the non-lies and excuses (which are lies, let’s me be real.)

And I lie for the same reasons we all lie, to keep the peace, to get what I want, etc. And the honesty thing, to always tell the truth, that’s a gut punch. It will require me to admit I’ve lied in the past. And it will possibly, most likely, damage relationships and my reputation. I’m terrified at what I may destroy. My roommate can be a petty man, prone to hold grudges and respect. He could brush it off or take offense, depends on his mood. And though I’m scared of what he might do, I know I need to be honest with him, about me. And I also know, on the other side of fear, is freedom and grace. No matter what the result is, I won’t have to carry my dishonest burdens another step.

Wish me luck.

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Short: The Mountain, Verse 3

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The first visit only intensified the boy’s hunger to climb the Mountain,

and he day dreamed of reaching the snowy summit,

of planting his flag at the top.

Mere months later, near the end of summer and the beginning of another school year, his thirst was relieved.

A field trip.

To the mountain, or better told, to same state park at the foot of the beast he visited with his dad.

The boy was elated upon hearing the good news.

And he couldn’t keep his legs from running all the way home.

Bursting through the door, he yelled, DAD! MOM! WE’RE GOING TO THE MOUNTAIN! without caution or care.

When the day arrived, the boys parents found him sitting at the breakfast table, packed and ready for adventure.

Both mom and dad welcomed the initiative and his widened eyes and the excitement of the morning’s conversation,

his feet swinging from his seat.

The rest of the morning lagged from house to school to the slow journey north on a cranky yellow bus.

The boy didn’t mind.

He’d chosen his seat with care, close to the front, able to ignore the chatter and hum of the other children.

Unfortunately, his second trip to the Grey Lord was nothing like the first.

After a head count, potty break, and lecture from the park ranger,

the class marched down one trail before stopping for lunch.

The boy ate his lunch with his face to his Friend,

and recoiled at a stack of papers thrust into his hand.

Worksheets?

He thumbed through the papers, answering what he could, and stuffed the stack in backpack.

The next hike lasted little more than an hour, included many stops, and yet another bathroom break.

And his heart sank as he heard the words, head back toward the bus.

But all was not lost, for amid the standing and boredom, the boy took home a trophy.

Stuffed in his bag with the stack of papers, pencils, and an empty water bottle was a trifold map he took from ranger’s station.

Detailed and colorful, he now possessed the ability to go higher and further than before.

And the whole ride home he studied his prize and planned his next trip.

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Vol IV: #44 Cut Them Some Slack

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The other day, while working my delivery job, I needed the help of a Walmart associate. The closet one was a sweet older lady who looked to be in her early to mid 70s. To help me, she needed to look up an item and proceeded to fumble with the technology in her hands. I could sense her shame and embarrassment rise with each failed attempt and I did my best to remain calm. After her tenth attempt to perform the task, I wanted to snatch the device and complete the query myself or, at the least, ask for help from another employee. But, I didn’t. Finally, another woman made her way over to help. And just as I was about to receive the needed information, an old asshole with pale skin and a navy blue baseball cap walked up to the sweet old lady and began to pester her with rude questions about “the inventory control management system you got here.”

I was in a rush and thus kept my observations to myself, figuring the two ladies could handle him. But my Lord knows, I had a few words for him. Words like The f*ck is wrong with you? What’s the point of being a dick? Does she look like someone in charge of the “inventory management system bro? You look old as dirt, so you ought to know customer service reps don’t make high level decisions? And that they certainly don’t make complicated decisions related to the placement of items in a store as large as a Walmart? Why don’t you go home and yell at the TV?

I was angry. And I know he was frustrated. We’ve all been there, aimlessly wondering the aisles looking for the one thing we need. But that pale faced jagoff took it to an extreme. And in the end, all that jerk did was vomit his frustration onto the weakest looking employee he could find. What a dick.

The thing is, most of us look down on Walmart employees. Don’t deny it. We do. In truth, Walmart employees and fast food workers are some of the least respected workers in the country. The question I ask is why? They work just like everyone else, except they come face to face with some of the biggest dickbags you’ll ever see, not to mention being at the bottom of a large corporate entity that would just as much replace them than give them a raise. Or in a different light, when was the last time you had to deal with rowdy teenagers, tweeked out losers, smelly old farts, demanding Karens, and self-righteous “you can’t check my bag” morons, all day, every single day? (For min wage.) Huh?

Welcome to Walmart. Cut the people in the light blue vest some friggin slack.

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Short: O Charlie, First Friday

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Bishop’s first week at Charlie’s was a training week conducted by a slender busybody named Derek and a squat gossip who everybody called Ray Ray. Each afternoon, Bishop changed into his new white oxford and dark blue Levis and then walked the quarter mile to the restaurant. Derek and Ray Ray alternated training sessions each day beginning with company policies on Monday, steps of service on Tuesday, menu review Wednesday, and side work and clean up on Thursday. After each training session, Bishop shadowed a competent server for a more practical education. Friday was reserved for running food as a means of learning where each table was in the restaurant.

That first Monday, he followed Jerry, a stocky clean-shaven man with a loud voice and sarcastic wit. Whether customer or coworker, he had a joke at the reqdy, which set everyone in his path at ease, so much so Bishop hardly payed attention to the little aspects of job that would cause him problems the following week. Jerry made every part of serving look effortless from greeting a new table, to refilling drinks and running food, and all with a smile plastered to his face.

Tuesday and Wednesday, Bishop shadowed his trainer Derek, who also made the job look effortless. Fortunately for Bishop, Derek took time to explain what he was doing and why he did it. Between table visits, Derek stopped to review aspects of serving, like timing- when to fire an order to the kitchen and when to hold it- how to avoid the line for yeast rolls, and the best way to upsell a guest from a cheap sirloin into a pricey ribeye. And when he wasn’t talking to customers or talking shop, Derek dropped barbs about his coworkers. Don’t talk back to Rob, he’s a dick. Bree hates me because she wants my section. Have you seen Marissa’s teeth…you know why they’re dark like that, right? Of course, Bishop did not know why, but nodded along as if he did.

Thursday was perhaps the worst day for Bishop because he shadowed Ryan, a tongue-pierced prick of a man, with spiked hair and a goatee. Ryan questioned Bishop at length about his life and then pestered him with questions related to the menu and steps of service. And he began nearly every sentence with You know why or You know you should in tone so condescending, Bishop wanted to smack him in the nads. Worst of all, Ryan advised Bishop to carry fifty dollars in loose change- quarters, dimes, nickels, and pennies- at all times during his shift, which Bishop did until he realized how stupid it was. No server needs fifty dollar in coins tucked in their apron unless they want to sound like they’re part of a chain gang or look like they have chunk balls.

On that Friday, Bishop sensed a shift in the atmosphere as he stepped through the door. Though still early, only 4 PM, the mood was serious. The leisurely pace and smiles of the previous days were gone, replaced by rushed exchanges and furrowed faces. The restaurant had few tables of old people out to beat the rush and drinkers who began the weekend early. Slightly more than normal, but not busy. Courtney, petite assistant manager with a Kentucky draw, greeted Bishop as we walked into the kitchen. “You ready for tonight?” she asked with half smile. “I think so. What do I need to do?” he responded. Courtney’s face brightened at the question before she rattled off his duties for the evening, then she introduced him to the cooks on the line. There was Lamar the fry cook, Chris on the grill, Marcus for sauté and salads, and Woody was the kitchen manager. In the back of the restaurant, Jose- a former bank manager from Peru- washed dishes, and when needed, made salads.

Over the next hour, more servers appeared until all twelve were clocked-in and ready, anxiously checking their tables and restocking supplies. Bishop reviewed the tables and sections. Servers are given sections containing a number of tables. And some sections are better than others. The bar area is full of drinkers who tipped better than most. While sections closers to the kitchen reduced distance and time needed to complete tasks. Derek and Ray Ray’s sections were in the bar area, while Ryan and Jerry held larger sections closer to the kitchen.

As Bishop studied the floor map, Jerry took a moment to check in on the new guy. “How ya’ doing? Need anything?”

“No. I’m ready.”

“Great,” Jerry said with a smile. “We’re gonna have fun tonight. Fridays are busy and that’s good. That’s when I make my money. So, don’t mess up.”

The last bit, a typical Jerry joke, caught Bishop off guard and both men laughed away the nerves. And as if on cue, Jerry walked out of the kitchen without a word. And then there was a brief moment of quiet in kitchen. All the servers were out at their tables, greeting hungry faces and taking orders. Bishop stood on his side of line and sipped his cola, watching the swell.

“It’s the calm before the storm,” quipped a deep voice from behind the line. Bishop turned to see the kitchen manager Woody, a tall, dark skinned man with a wide face, perfectly round afro, and a gleaming white smile. He too seemed at ease with rush to come as he leaned on the counter between them. And then he stood straight up and turned to his crew. “It’s all gonna come at once. Go get your drinks now. Hurry. And take a leak if you need to too. We won’t have a break for a while,” he barked, scattering his cooks like ducks off a pond, in every direction all at once, then returning as quick as they’d left.

Finally, the calm broke by the screech of the printer. The first tickets began to roll in, and Bishop’s first Friday night was underway.

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Short: The Mountain, Verse 2

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And on what became his first attempt to conquer the Mountain,

The boy quickly soured.

His father thought it best to hike a few trails near the wooded base,

no climbing, no mountain top today.

But why? protested the youngster.

Though the answers did not satisfy,

As the question asked was not in search of an answer.

The pair spent the remainder of the day breathing clean, pine scented air,

marveling at ancient streams cut by the melting snow,

and cataloguing the various animals they encountered throughout the day:

a handful of blacktail deer, red tailed hawks and scrubs jays, squirrels and a porcupine.

On the return trip home, to the stamped neighborhoods and yellow street lights,

the boy sat content yet unsatisfied as they motored south.

Nothing in his ordinary town compared to glory of the Mountain and the life living on it.

(Later in life, when his heart allowed him to see it, he appreciated all the more his first visit to the Mountain.

For he finally understood how his father, his untrained and unprepared father,

Lacking rope, tents, and hiking boots, still desired nothing more than to give his son what he wanted.

In truth, no father can give more than they have in hand.

Years in the making, this new awareness of a father’s love for his son, was the first gift the Mountain gave the boy.)

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Short: The Mountain, Verse 1

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A boy played in the yard as was his routine,

and then by happenstance, on a clear winter day, let his eyes drift to the north.

They landed on a dark mountain far beyond his county,

where the wind blows its surly breath and the cold will snap whatever is left exposed.

But something about the sloping giant spoke to him,

and the boy listened.

And in his heart he accepted the invitation, I will climb you.

For many months he begged his father to make the two hour drive north.

His father always said no.

And the boy’s heart grew ill.

Each day he enjoyed his backyard play a little less,

as he refused to ignore the silent call of adventure.

Then, on warm spring morning, his father pulled him from his slumber,

and they made the journey north.

Ah, said the boy to himself, timing is everything,

For the duration of the drive, his eyes stayed locked destination ahead,

the form of which grew larger and more detailed every second along the way.

Then the forest grew thick with sugar pines and firs, underpinned with manzanita,

hiding the mountain from view.

And suddenly, as they rounded the last big bend in the road,

the forest gave way as if bowing to the lord ahead.

In front of them lay the the rocky giant,

dominating the view as nothing they’d ever seen,

tranquil and forbidding, beautiful yet daunting.

The wide base was hidden by trees of all kind, all green with spring.

And the then, higher up, they gave way to the rocks.

Deep gray in some places, a reddish hue in others,

they displayed scars of battles won and lost as a result of life on the mountain.

Huge outcrops were surrounded by piles of loose volcanic rock and little else.

And then, beyond the rock, high still, snow.

White and glittering, the frozen rain looked like a cap on a pointing old man’s head.

Both father and son fell into a state of quiet wonder in an attempt to take it all in.

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Vol IV: #43 On Libraries

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Yesterday, I discussed my approach to spending and getting the most for my money. And, I wasn’t satisfied with my commentary on libraries. I forgot how valuable they are or can be in our lives. In the age of “oh my gawd, ev-erythang is so damn expensive,” we have this readily available free resource. And modern libraries contain more than free books to read. Comically, most of them still have CDs and DVDs. Thank you 1990-1999. But more applicable to the 2020s, libraries also contain e-reader, audiobooks, and magazines. I use the Libby App and the Kindle App to “checkout” books I want to read, and all of it is 100% free. I don’t need to go to the library for the Kindle books.

And all this free access, and the e-reader and audiobook, is crucial to me as someone who will read 50ish books this year. I’ll save hundreds of dollars by using the library instead of buying used books. Although I to brag a bit, I’ve gotten pretty good at buying used books too. I never pay more than $6-7 for used book, usually less than $4.

I want to end this Friday post by admitting something. The main reason I haven’t used the library before now is I thought it was beneath me. Put another way, I was too much of an arrogant prick to visit the library. I wanted to spend $15-20 on new books and fill my shelves with glossy trophies- so anyone walking in my room would know “this guys reads.” How immature. Right?

Oh well. Moving on.

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Short: O Charlie, Part1: The Store

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Bishop’s first restaurant job was for a soulless regional chain, a steakhouse designed with Walmart-loving America in mind. You know the type. Constructed of brick and tile, and decorated with cheap nostalgia. These restaurants are passionless formulas, tried and true, right down to the drink specials and open floor plan. They have catchy slogans involving fun and hoopla and a basic menu of grilled meats and burgers. Mention it’s your birthday and they’ll give you a slice of caramel pie while singing Happy Birthday. And of course, they offered yeast rolls. Free, ass-fattening, light and pillowy, slathered in butter yeast rolls, the delight of adults and children alike. Bishop quickly learned most customers overlooked unfilled drinks and dirty plates, but hell hath no fury like an angry redneck demanding more free bread. And all of it- the intersection of food, service, and power dynamics of a restaurant such as Charlie’s- fascinated him.

The first wonder, according to Bishop, was the ruthless efficiency of the restaurant. Enough to make the most ardent capitalist happy, dishes were formed from a handful of common ingredients, with most plates containing some bland variation of beef, chicken, or salmon. And every item on the menu was designed to be prepared and on the customer’s table in under eight minutes. And management leveraged favorable labor laws to keep the place clean and stocked. Of course, the corporate office utilized their massive buying power to lower fixed costs. Something a mom and pop could never do.

Some days, Bishop felt this machine pushing on his soul. The smell of industrial sanitizer and fry oil drove permeated his uniform- a white oxford dress shirt and blue jeans. And he hated coupon cutters, the Sunday brunch crowd, and cringed at the way management bent over for any customer with a complaint regardless of validity. Better to keep the customer happy than have them call the home office, he was told. All this is normal enough, but what really got under his skin was the never-ending “Kids eat free” promotion.

You may let your mind run wild as you picture the type of person willing to abuse such an offer. Single parents would claim a fifteen year-old was twelve, the maximum age as defined by the fine print. They’d order a bowl of soup instead of an entree as required. Or worse, a cheap schmuck might order ten chicken wings on .25 cent wing night and get the kids meals for free too. (And why, might you ask, were people allowed to abuse the promo? Recall what you read above, management didn’t want anyone raising a fuss.)

Bishop once served a family of four whose entire bill including meals, enough lemon wedges to make lemonade, and free bread was a mere $8. After an hour of running him ragged for every free item in the store, they left him a single crumpled up dollar bill as a tip. Rats don’t work this hard, he thought.

Still, the restaurant held his attention, even on the worst days. Shifts were short and he was usually able to score free food by doing extra side work. And management liked him. They like him because he worked hard and was honest, two uncommon traits in the food service world. But more than that, we was willing to pick up extra shifts. Naturally, he rose quickly through the ranks, from lowly server to trainer and bartender. And when trouble did come calling for Bishop, management covered for him…

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Vol IV: #42 Yes, We Can Live Cheap and Good

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I don’t know why I’m posting this, because it’s not my usual sort of thing. Maybe I’m tired of hearing the bullshit related to “how hard modern life is” or perhaps I’d prefer to educate anyone willing to listen. Or, it might have something to do with my brother who has continually made head-scratching statements like “it’s almost cheaper to eat out than at home,” a statement I find both hilarious and frustrating. And since I don’t have social media, I decided to use my blog as my outlet. Regardless, I choose to believe life is good and wonderful and not expensive.

So, for today, I want to discuss the living and how to manage it at a low cost. Better said, I want to explain how I handle it.

1. Health and Wellness. Health has a price. We can spend the money on quality foods and exercise, or ignore them and pay doctors and pill pushers down the road. Both are hard paths. And at 43, I choose to former. I accomplish this by cooking 98% of my own food, subscribing to Apple Fitness($10/month for tons of good workouts I do at home), and utilizing all the free parks and hiking paths in my area. Contrary to anything my beloved brother has to offer on the subject, cooking at home is not as expensive as dining out. Not even close. He just doesn’t know how to cook. Poor guy. He’s good at a lot of other stuff. He doesn’t know I could feed his whole family of three for a month on less than $500. How? With humble ingredients and technique. Cabbage and carrots aren’t chic but they are healthy and cheap. Chicken thighs have the best flavor for the price. And knowing how to make my own stocks, dressings, and sauces is skill that saves tons of money.

2. Entertainment**. I keep my entertainment costs down three ways: buying movies and shows instead of using a streaming service, keep my eyes peeled for free or cheap local events, and utilizing free options like parks and the library. (YES! LIBRARIES STILL EXIST AND EVERYTHING IS FREE.) If the choice was left to me, my apartment wouldn’t have a single streaming service. I don’t need them. But my roommate pays for them and I get the benefit. My preferred method is to reserve $10-20 every month to buy movies or shows from Apple TV. My library is larger than most, and I’ve spent about an average of $5 per movie/show to own them. Now, I have my own streaming service called Shit Nik Likes. All that said, not everyone is like me. All I’ll say is the streaming services are only going to increase their prices. And YouTube is free. As for local events, every town and city in America has something for free or low cost. Redding has several events throughout the year including Kool April nights and the 4th of July fireworks- which really are fantastic. And I know I say it all the time, but the local parks and trails are awesome. I miss them when I’m away. And you’re local area has free parks, museums, zoo days, etc days too. Just gotta look for them and schedule your visit.

3. Education. If I could turn back time…if I could find a way, I might not have gone back to college. And nowadays, unless you want to be surgeon or lawyer or such, why would I? The internet is stocked with the exact same teachers and professors teaching the same subject matter for dramatically lower costs than what universities and colleges charge. Platforms like Skillshare and Udemy offer a range of classes covering a whole host of subjects at a low cost. For example, I found an amazing drawing instructor on Udemy and purchased all his courses for a total of $90. And I have access to the courses anywhere I have wifi. I’m also enrolled in a Flash Fiction course on Skillshare. (I recommend Googling a 40% off discount code, which will reduce a early subscription price for all courses on Skillshare to around $100. Not bad for a whole year.) The real kicker with any online learning is the energy you put into the courses.

4. Clothes. This is the one area where cheap isn’t better, so I recommend buying quality clothing to save money in the long-term. My best example of this concept is Levis jeans vs everyone else. In my experience, no other pair jean compares to the long-term quality of a pair of Levis. And I’ve tried a lot of brands. Lee Jeans tear in the crotch. Old Navy tears in the crotch. Gap…in the crotch. H&M jeans are barely jeans and guess what? They tear in the crotch. But Levis? I’ve had the same pair of Levis for years. And even though they costs twice the amount I paid for the others, they’ve lasted this long. Broken down by year, if a pair of Old Navy Jeans last two years, that’s $15 year. But if a pair of Levis costs $60, but lasts ten years…that’s $6 per year. Lesson learned. Better to spend money on longer-lasting, high quality clothes, than cheaper wannabes.

   A word of warning on this one. Companies change over time. Nike’s clothing quality has continually gotten worse and worse over the last ten years. I now refuse to buy anything other than shoes from them. It’s especially sad considering Nike charges a premium for that silly swoosh.

I could go on about how to live on a budget but I’ll stop here. I feel like I satisfied my need to express a few ideas. And I get how people feel, especially in cramped cities. But plenty of people make the most of what they have because they focus on what’s at hand instead of what they lack. Truth is, my brother has never struggled financially- a testament to his work ethic and steadfast way of living. He’s never skipped meals to make rent or switched career paths as often as I have. But, I’m thankful for the hard times and what they taught me. I know how to live and enjoy life. And a few extra bucks is just the cherry on top.

**We are over entertained and thus place to much importance on it. Most of us need background noise just to make it through the day. It’s not healthy.

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