What Is He Hungry For?

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Gregory.  He lives between the Starbucks and the barbeque place near the corner of Mission Beach Boulevard and Mission Bay Drive; catty corner from the roller coaster, in San Diego.  You see him a lot, along the boardwalk.

One of the first things Gregory speaks about when you begin a conversation with him is the time several years ago that a group of rich kids beat him up.  He needed emergency surgery and stayed in the hospital for over a week.  He shows you his scars and tells you the details.  They took his thirteen dollars.

I think it’s just as my ob/gyn told me after my first long and painful natural childbirth experience.  Many weeks later I mentioned that I still couldn’t read, because I couldn’t concentrate.  His response was that he thinks as humans we need to relive significantly upsetting experiences over and over, and talk about them over and over, until we have rehashed them enough to be comfortable with them in our heads.

Gregory and I are a little bit of buds.  I am always happy that he remembers me.  Our last encounter was amusing.  From another man I know, Greg, who has been hanging around my neighborhood in Phoenix for the past five years, I realize that people living on the streets get hungry for homemade food.  But I’m not much of a cook – not my thing.  So when I last saw Gregory I asked him what he was hungry for?  He thought for a minute and decided that a tuna fish sandwich sounded awfully good, and anything other than water to drink.  He was tired of water.  I said okay, I would be back.

I decided instead of buying him a “chick food” tuna sandwich with tarragon, dill, and the like, from a cafe near me, that a plain old homemade tuna sandwich from a deli market about a mile and a half away was probably much more what he was thinking.

At this point I recruited my husband, who was out on a bike, to go get him a sandwich and a bottle of my favorite Apricot nectar (Looza’s), because he might have a shot at getting there more quickly; quickly enough to be able to still find Gregory.

Well, as these things often go, my husband rode around for quite awhile before locating him.  When he finally did, Gregory was sitting on the boardwalk by Hamel’s talking to a woman who was standing over him.  John waited awhile for a break in their conversation, straddling his bike, kind of standing over, but to the side of them, with the plastic to-go bags hanging on the handlebar of his bike.  When the conversation finally paused, John looked at Gregory and asked, “Did you order a tuna sandwich?”

Gregory thought during a long pause, and after a puzzled look which turned into a faint grin, said “Yes”.

John handed him his lunch and pedaled off.

We still wonder what the woman thought, and we still giggle.  It was fun and it was funny.  Gregory is cool.
You might check out this song, Tuna Fish Sandwich, by Tim Hawkins. (I’ll make a Spotify fan out of you yet.)

We think these guys are as much a part of this community as we are.  If you would like to combat a few of the locals, including a woman named Racheal Allen and a man named Mike Spangler, who are trying to run off the homeless folks so that they can have a prettier looking beach, you might check out their Facebook page, cleanuppb.

Here is an article about the issue in the local paper, the Beach and Bay Press.

 

Photo of  Gregory, with his permission, by the author.

I’m Sexy and I Know It

As Igor from The Red Elvises, “Your favorite band!”  might say (use a loud voice and a Russian accent), “Your favorite music source!”  Spotify, Spotify, Spotify.  I can’t say it enough.  Spotify, Spotify …download the app  right here, right now,  the free version. Full disclosure – I have no ties to Spotify except that I pay their monthly fee.  I enjoy it daily.  I bet you’ll love it like I do.

Now,  how’s this for a confidence boost? …

I’m Sexy and I Know It

It’s so nice being a midlife woman. There is a calm to it.  It’s easy to identify with the trite statement, “It just is.”

I am finding that every now and then a little irony threads through my life, and I can see it here again.

This irony from awhile ago:  I always chuckled that for some of us mothers, as we perhaps voluntarily sacrificed an income to be more hands-on in raising our children, we had time. Time. In a mother sort of way, which means two minutes here and five minutes there.  But we always had the possibility of a little bit of time, with the freedom to gather the little ones and go do something fun – sometimes just anything to get out of the house – that carrot dangling in front of us.

And then while we were busy sacrificing our income, and finding ourselves with some very real mobile possibilities within our day, we, at the same point, didn’t have the extra money for shopping. We had time, but no money. Sigh.

And now I find myself having confidence in my body.

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I’m finally coming to at least some peace with the fact that we women are judged on our looks.  I can also finally see that I shouldn’t be so critical of myself.  Where did all of my constant self criticism come from?

I find that we women are judged by our looks absolutely constantly, either obviously or subliminally, in our culture.  I also find that men are judged by their income, either obviously or subliminally, in our culture.  I don’t think either one is healthy, and the pressure is on just the same:  24 hours a day, 365 days a year.  I think that we each just get to come to terms with this reality at some point in our lives.  This point seems to be, for me, around now, fifty something.

But wouldn’t it have been better timing to have been confident when there was a little more to be confident about, when it was a twenty something body, or even a forty something body?

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It’s the irony again.  I wonder what the next irony will be.

 

The Progressive Journey of Motherhood

 

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So when my first child was born,  as soon as we left the hospital full of helpful nurses and all-knowing doctors, about twenty-four hours after giving birth, I was overwhelmed with a sensation that many of us mothers likely experience.  This newborn, exciting, hoped for, anxiously awaited, prayed for, delightful little baby person was now fully my responsibility.  Many in my life, including his father, were around to “help”, but the bottom line still overwhelmingly sunk in that this miniature human being was 100% dependent upon me.

He couldn’t move from where he was placed, eat, crawl, walk, play, get out of the house in case of a fire, or ask for what he needed – nothing, absolutely nothing, without me.  Okay, I adapted.  Life moved forward and like the frog who doesn’t hop out of the pot of gradually heating water because he gets used to it, along came another baby, and more responsibility, and work, and so forth.

Before I knew it, they were moving out to pursue higher education ventures, leaving me crying in their wake.  The same house that felt wonderful when we bought it before they were born, now felt vacuous, and unbelievably lonely.  But in between, and I have added it up, my ultra conservative estimate is that I said, “Did you brush your teeth?” approximately 24,090 times.  No joke.  I’ve done the math.  It’s a conservative estimate.

The journey from being 100% responsible for my little creations, to biting my tongue and not stating the obvious because I will insult their intelligence, is something that nobody really prepared me for.  Twenty-eight and twenty-five years later, I try to think before I open my mouth so that I don’t say something that is eye-rolling worthy, even if they are polite enough to do it in their minds instead of on their faces.  The more I dilute my conversation with blah, blah, of course, type of statements, the less they will pay attention to what I am saying all of the time.

But try it.  Try to change so drastically.  It was my job to educate them!  For years!  About EVERYTHING!  “What this?”  “It’s a light switch.  Look over there, it will make that light turn on.”  “What that?”  “It’s a can opener, it will open this can of food so we can eat it.  Watch me turn the handle and see the blade cut through the thick metal.”

Try it when you have taken your role to heart.  How come nobody ever pointed out how much I needed to change?  It blows me away that all of us parents, maybe mothers particularly, travel this journey, and that no one mentions it.

I guess I changed gradually along with them, but probably not gracefully.  I could’ve been more graceful had I been more aware.  Like when they were finally old enough to leave in the car by themselves, but still kids.   I used to get out and lock the doors, turn to them and say, “Don’t let anyone steal you.”  My joke.  I thought it was good tongue-in-cheek, but maybe just a little bit making a point to be aware of their surroundings, and put up a stink in case something bad began to happen.  Until the day they drove, got out of the car, turned to me and said, “Don’t let anybody steal you.”  I thought, “Oh my gosh, that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”  Ridiculous.  It still makes me laugh.

And this week my tongue is bleeding.  But I did it.  I passed another test.  I did not ask my twenty-eight year old if he was in the precarious position of needing to leave his twenty-five thousand dollars of SnapOn tools in his three thousand dollar SnapOn toolbox overnight in the back of his pickup truck as he was finalizing his cross country move.

I’m so glad I didn’t, because he did.  And it’s all good.  All good.  Yay me.

Sweeten Life By Opening to Pleasure

image  This nectar ~ the most sensuous and satisfying drink I’ve ever had.  At my first chilled taste, I realized why “nectar” is such a revered concept.

 

Here is more input about the chakras, specifically the Second Chakra, which involves our emotions and sexuality, from The Chakra Balancing Workbook by Anodea Judith.  The reference to “finding one’s own place” within this realm of sexuality and emotions, sounds logical, healthy, and freeing.

“The Sanskrit name for this chakra is Svadhisthana, which translates as ‘one’s own place.’  This refers to the personal nature of the second chakra aspects of our emotions and sexuality.  It is important that we stand in  ‘our own place’ within this chakra and define our sexual and emotional issues in a way that is suitable to our individual characters.  If our roots are deep and well-watered, then our fruit will be sweet. – the Sanskrit verb svadha means ‘to sweeten.’  From the center of one’s own place, we sweeten life by opening to pleasure.”

“Pleasure promotes well-being and is a natural healing force.  It teaches us how to open up, how to move, how to reach beyond ourselves.  Pleasure comes to us through any of our senses:  seeing a sunset, tasting a meal, listening to music, savoring a lover’s touch.”

 

image.jpeg The sun setting over the Pacific Ocean in Mission Beach, California, has such a draw that most of us sit still, or stand still, and watch for several minutes as it appears to hit the water and then gradually disappear.  It feels like a communal spiritual experience.

 

“Through the senses we first get ‘in touch.’  To be in touch is to know what we feel, to be awake and aware.  To be in touch is to be connected.”

“The pull of the erotic in this chakra represents the universal urge to connect with others.  Through desire, emotion, pleasure, and sensation, we enter the complex realm of sexuality – a place where we dissolve our boundaries and enter into intimacy with another.”

“While some traditions teach that pleasure is a dangerous distraction on the road to enlightenment, healthy pleasures – such as touch, play, laughter, sexuality, and experiencing beauty – lead to contentment and peace, rather than an insatiable desire for more.”

 

As Smokey Robinson and The Miracles sang in 1967, I second that emotion.

Oh, but if you feel like lovin’ me, if you got the notion, I second that emotion.  So, if you feel like giving me a lifetime of devotion, I second that emotion.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fun Game for You and Your Little Ones

This is simple, yet engaging.  “The Herbie Game” stems from The Love Bug, the 1968 Disney movie classic “starring the lovable little Volkswagen with a personality all its own”.

First, of course, you show your little ones what a classic Volkswagen Beetle looks like.

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You may be surprised at how many are still around;  just the right amount, not too many, and not too few.  No new models – that’s cheating.

The first person to spot one calls out “Herbie” and it’s color, and receives one point.  The only other rules are that a white classic Volkswagen Bug is called “Herbie Goes Bananas”, and is worth two points, and that the crowning achievement of sitings is a classic Volkswagen Bug that is white AND has a white convertible top.  One of these is called “Herbie Goes Bananas Convertible”,  and is worth a whopping three points.  I always felt that a white convertible with a colored top should be worth something extra, but never managed a rule on this.  Half points could increase the math exercise if you think of it that way and want to make it more involved.

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Play anytime you get in the car.  Play anytime you go on a road trip.  Keep score per trip.  Keep an ongoing score total.  Don’t keep score at all, just declare points.  Go crazy when you pass an old-school German auto repair shop.  Do it with toddlers.  Do it with grade schoolers.  Do it with boys.  Do it with girls.  Do it as a family.  Do it as a distraction.

It’s rather fun as it gathers creativity:  “Herbie at the Beach” (surfboard), and “Herbie on Acid” (maybe not a shout out), but “Herbie on Vacation” (luggage rack),

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and of course, “Herbie Needs a Hospital”.

If you want to know some background:  Keith Seume’s book, The Beetle (1999) says “The Volkswagen Beetle remains the world’s most popular car. Against all odds, the pre-war design has survived for over fifty years to become the most successful car ever built, smashing the production record set by Ford’s legendary Model T by a huge margin.  That the Beetle continues to win new admirers is a testimony to the timelessness of the original Porsche-inspired concept.”.

“The story began back in a politically-unstable Germany of the 1930s, a country searching for an identity, a leader, a pride.  With the arrival in German politics of a new figurehead by the name of  [my Harry Potter reference now] He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the scene was set for a major upheaval of all that had gone before.  The impact of World War I had cost Germany dear, an expenditure of effort from which it would take years to recover.  Gone, seemingly forever, were the days of an automobile industry dominated by luxury car manufacturers, for there was no longer a market for such vehicles.

The German people, suffering from the effects of a declining economy, simply could no longer afford to buy luxury goods, let alone luxury cars.  For the man in the street, daily life meant walking or cycling to work, earning just enough money to keep his family, but little more.  Some rode motorcycles, but few owned cars for they were too costly and, for most people, remained an unattainable dream.  [Harry Potter again]  You-Know-Who, however, had far grander plans for his countrymen than others before him.  He envisaged a German work-force which traveled everywhere by car, along specially-built freeways, or Autobahnen.  His vision of a car for the People – a Volksauto, in the popular parlance of the time – was met with a certain reticence by most people involved in the contemporary automobile industry.  After all, the likes of Horch, Adler and Daimler-Benz had each founded their reputations on grand luxury cars, not on low-cost four-seater economy vehicles.

imageVolkswagen Poster (1938)

Dr. Ferdinand Porsche was one of just a few people who saw the merits of You-Know-Who‘s vision as he, too, had been sketching ideas for a Volksauto while working with companies such as Zundapp and NSU.  You-Know-Who‘s proposals called for a car which could be sold for less than 1,000 Reichsmarks, a figure considered ludicrous by most industrialists, although few had the courage to take the Fuhrer to task on the matter.  For Porsche, the figure was both an absurdity and a challenge. [1,000 German reichsmarks in the 1930s would have been approximately $250  U.S. dollars.   With inflation, it would be approximately equivalent to $4,100  U.S. dollars today.]

With  He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named‘s support, Porsche’s project reached fruition as the KdF-Wagen, or Strength-Through-Joy Car, the name being taken from the Nazi KdF socialist movement.  An ingenious savings scheme was announced, whereby every worker could buy stamps, the value of which eventually added up to the cost of a new car – plus a few extras, such as compulsory insurance and delivery charges.

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Several thousand people signed up to join the scheme but the outbreak of World War II brought about its downfall.  [My note here:  Approximately 347,000 German workers, including my relatives, who had been saving money for a car through this “Christmas Club” type of savings program, lost all of their money when it was taken by the government, who used it to finance armament.]

The story of the Volkswagen might have ended there, in 1939, but such was the soundness of Porsche’s design that the car rose, phoenix-like, from the ashes of the Wolfsburg factory where it was assembled.  The tale of its rebirth is one of the great legends of automobile history, the almost derelict factory being taken over by the British Army, which viewed it as a suitable location at which to repair worn-out military vehicles.  Only when some of the officers, principle among them Major Ivan Hirst of the Royal Electrical and Mechanical Engineers, saw the potential offered by the Volkswagen, as it had become known, did production recommence.

By the time the factory was handed back to the German people in 1949, the Volkswagen had proved its worth…Sadly, Ferdinand Porsche himself was unable to witness the incredible success story which followed, a story which saw every sales and production record broken, worldwide.  In 1951, illness, largely brought on by a period of imprisonment in France, was to claim the life of the man without whom there would have been no Volkswagen.”

 

FYI:  – The very last Beetle to be built on German soil rolled off the line in 1980.  Volkswagen then turned towards production of the more modern water-cooled cars.

-Brazil and Mexico continued to produce the Beetle until the late 1990s. “These South American Beetles may not have quite the charm and simplicity – or, it can be argued, the build quality – of their German brethren, but they are Beetles through and through.”

-The “New Beetle” was launched at the Detriot Motor Show by Volkswagen in 1998.

 

 

Photo credits:  1959 Black Export Sedan, pictured in The Beetle by Keith Seume;  1938 Poster and Stamp from spartacus-educational.com; Herbie Goes Bananas Convertible photographed in Tempe, Arizona, and Herbie on Vacation photographed in Phoenix, Arizona, by the author of this article.