Status Free

Why do we focus our attention on status in today’s society?  On Facebook, every 6 months you are asked to update your “status.”  In a relationship? Single? When 2 people standing close together approach my register I have to ask, “Are you together or separate?”  These might be total strangers to each other, but now they must publicly declare the status of their relationship.  I saw a sign in the parking lot that read “Single Parking Only.”  I breathed a sigh of relief that me and my car fit that requirement. However, my mind did ask the question why.  Did the maker of that parking lot want the married ones to stay home?  The parking lot had status.  Single majority rules.  I am very aware that live evolves.  What I don’t get is why we must be so quick to define it, name it?  I literally broke up with Facebook because I no longer wanted the world wide web to know my status.  I can’t break up with society.  I simply must live my own private life, no names, no definitions and hope that the status, the drama from society does not pull me down.

Santa Socks

Clothes do not make the man, but they do communicate a message.  I breezed into work today dressed in what “looked like” standard uniform: khakis, polo button down shirt, black slip resistant shoes but something was not right.  As I moved, you might have seen the shine of color: white, red, and green.  You might have seen the smiling face of jolly old Saint Nick. When I was dressing (at the butt crack of dawn) I decided to be political.  I wore Santa socks on a “non Santa” day.   It was a bit of a gamble on my part.  If my secret was discovered I could have been written up.  I must be honest though, wearing those socks added strength and zest to each move I made.  How can you not love Santa?  He is a mammal.  Otherwise, known as an air breathing vertebrate characterized by the twinkle in his eye, the facial hair, and round “bowl full of jelly” figure.  One thing you must learn about me is to expect the unexpected.  

Tortilla Chip Predator

A woman walked up to the register.  Her shirt said in big bold letters London, England.  I smiled and said, “I love London!  Do you know that is where Peter Pan is from?”  She looked at me doubtfully.  “Well he is not from there originally...originally he was from Neverland but when he grew up, he moved to London to become a regular chap..” She laughed.  Her smile softened the lines on her face.  Later a man and his young son came in to order 2 vanillla lattes.  I told the boy...”Do you know vanilla builds character?  Thats why your dad has a lot of character.  Are you hyper yet?  How many fingers am I holding up?”  (He answered correctly.  I was holding up 4 fingers.)  Later I sat with my friend Susan in her warm cozy kitchen.  On the table in front of us sat a dish with peanuts, a smaller dish with cubes of cheese, and two mugs of tea with crazy twisted straws sticking out.  We sipped and talked about life.  Her fingers busily cracked the shells and poured the nuts into her mouth.  Life and love go hand and hand so, of course, the subject of relationships came up.  I did not touch the food.  At some point she said, “Are you sure you do not want any nuts or cheese?”  I declined.  I confessed that over the weekend I had gone “nuts” with the volume and content of what I ate.  Quesadillas, beer, sausage, sandwiches, pizza, tortilla chips and salsa, you name it... I probably consumed it.  At this point I pulled my shirt up to expose the pooch of a food baby in my belly.  She laughed at the “smallness” of my stomach.  If I were a predator, my prey would be tortilla chips.  The triangular shaped, finger licking, sand colored, crunchy and salty snack that, when coupled with salsa, satisfies some primitive part inside of me.  I am always “open” to chips.  Some people collect coins or stamps.  I collect tortilla chips and salsa.. inside my belly.  Susan again laughed.  As she inhaled nuts and cheese, her delight in witnessing my “crazy self come out of my shell” was apparent.  One of the teenagers I know is taking diet pills.  She confessed the other day when we were at work, saying that she is trying to lose her “love handles.”  Why take pills? “Well I keep having all these cravings.”  “I know what that condition is called (having cravings) that is called real life.  I am 31 and sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night hungrier than a blind man in a sugar shack.  Guess what I do to fix it?  I don’t pray, love..I eat.”  Right now I see the evidence of my midnight foraging on my night stand.  1. empty cheese plate  2. one cupcake paper minus the cupcake... Yesterday Stan whispered something about me being a deadly assassin to the other workers.  I said, “Did you call me a deadly ass?”  I gave him a real ugly look to show my disapproval.  He laughed.  “No, I said that you really put the ass in assassin.”  (Well I thought, if you can’t beat them, join them.)  My response, “Thanks.  You really put the i in dick.”  Recently, I had the pleasure of teaching 2nd graders.  There were twenty pairs of eyes trained on my every move.  Furthermore, twenty sets of ears listening to every sound I make.  I felt so special.  (Random thought, It is always easier to be honorable when you are treated honorably.)  I enjoy having an audience. I understand now why teachers covet the 2nd grade.  I would love to go back but I must wait.  I must wait for the “right” school to notice, then want me.  I must plant that seed, water it, give it light, shower it with loving words, then step away and let it grow.  It takes time to get your first teaching job.