30somethingandsearching

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Thanks to all my consistent Entrecard droppers.  This month, the top droppers are:

End of summer back to school time always makes me think of my grandpa.  My papa died 19 years ago.

He was raised in Kentucky on a family farmstead, but moved here for work when he was young.  He met my grandma here too.  After he served 3 years on the frontlines in WWII, they married and started a family.

After they both retired, they moved back to the farm in Kentucky.  I would spend my summers there with them helping them care for the animals and just having fun.

I joke that I am a country girl at heart because I spent so much time there and fell in love with the South and Southerners.  We fished, picked fresh watermelon and blackberries, baked pies, canned fruit, tended the fields, slopped the hogs, fed the horses and mowed the expanse of lawn on an old riding lawn mower.  The memories I have of that time are stronger and more precious than any other in my life.

I always think about my papa on three different occasions more than any other.  The day he died, which is the same as my niece’s birthday.  The Fourth of July because that was his absolute favorite holiday.  When the kids go back to school because that is when I always had to leave him.

I was very close to him.  At the same time, I didn’t know so many things.  I didn’t know the details of his life.  I knew what mattered though.

I knew that he loved me.  I knew that he loved his family.  I knew that he always wanted to look nice and everything had to be just so.

I knew that he got up before the sun every morning and liked to drink his coffee boiling hot before heading out to do his chores.  I knew that he rarely drank alcohol, but when he did, he would get surly.  I knew that he had patience beyond compare, but there were certain things he would not tolerate.

I knew that he loved my grandma and did things just for her.  I knew that he loved leftover meatloaf sandwiches.  I knew that he couldn’t have salt because of his heart.

I knew that he needed me to help him as much as he enjoyed me helping him.  I knew that he was a true Southern Gentleman.  I knew there would never be anyone that could hold a candle to him in my life again.

My parents went to Vegas for 3 nights this week.

I was home with grandma.  She enjoyed it because I made her breakfast every day, which is her favorite meal.  My mom generally sets her up in the morning before she goes to my uncles because I am not a morning person….  She just gives grandma coffee and a hard roll or toast.  So grandma really enjoyed getting eggs or pancakes instead.

I also made her fried catfish, which is one of her favorite things.  She normally doesn’t come out of her room much, but while they were away, she came out and sat with me for a few hours.  It’s good for her to get out of her room and bed.

I enjoyed it also because of a few things.  A) 2 less people to clean up after.  B) 2 less people to cook for.  C) no cigarette smoke.

Both my parents smoke.  My mom doesn’t smoke nearly as much as my step-dad.  He smokes 2 packs a day or more.

For 3 glorious days I could breathe fresh air and not have spray air freshener like a mad woman.  They came home last night.  Immediately the house began to stink again.

I keep air freshener next to my bed because the smell creeps into my room in the morning.  That is the absolute worst way to wake up if you are not a smoker.  I end up sleeping for about an hour or better with the air freshener in my hand and spray periodically.

They say what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, but I wish that they would have left that habit there too.

New Orleans is beckoning.  I fell in love with the Big Easy on my first trip 7 years ago.

An amazing friend took me along with her on a business trip and while she was trapped in conferences all day, I explored the French Quarter.  I have been in the Business District, the Warehouse District and the Garden District.  All of them interesting in their own right, but none can hold a candle to the majesty of the French Quarter.

Many who have never been there, or who have been but failed to see its beauty, have asked me what it is that I love so much.  They tend to think that it is the nighttime atmosphere of free flowing alcohol and zero inhibitions, but that is only a small part of the appeal.

The French Quarter is saturated with history and culture all of which appeals to and captivates the senses.

I discovered this the first day I ventured out on my own.  I walked from the Riverwalk to Decatur down to the French Market and I could feel the sights, the sounds, the smells and the tastes seep through my pores and the magic enter through the soles of my shoes taking hold of my heart and my soul.

Immediately my eyes were enraptured by the sight of the Mississippi River, the amazing architecture in the wrought iron balconies, the Mediterranean inspired houses, the sculptures and statues every few feet, the artists wrapped around Jackson Square, the people buzzing about, the street entertainers, brick lined streets and shops filled with a variety of treats.

My ears were delighted by the sounds of the zydeco music pouring out of the souvenir shops and from the street performers near Jackson Square, Jazz music carrying me away near the French Market, the whistle of the ships on the River, people laughing and forgetting the cares of the world.

The scent of the French Quarter tantalized me with its unique mixture of mud from the river, Creole sauces and Cajun spices, gardenias and jasmine hanging from the balconies, beignets and pralines mulling around me.

The taste is compiled of as many flavors as compile the culture of the city consisting of the expected flavors of Cajun spices, but goes beyond this to incorporate Spanish, French, Caribbean, Italian, Southern, traditional American cuisine and many other influences.  You’ll find burgers and fried chicken, fresh fish and a variety of crawfish dishes, gumbo and jambalaya, pasta and your fancier fair, poboys and muffulettas.  Do not forget the sweet delights of the beignets, pralines, cakes, pastries and bananas foster which melts on your tongue.

The people of New Orleans, whether natives, transplants or tourists, are warm and friendly.  Everyone there seems to ingest the motto of “laissez les bons temps rouler” which means “let the good times roll.”  Day or night the good times roll and strangers become your friends.

There is a different feeling in New Orleans than there is in Chicago or any other city I have visited.  It is definitely a city of “anything goes” and “live and let live.”  The shy come out of their shell, the wild can let go without judgment, the uptight cut loose and the spirit becomes free.

This is sometimes helped along by a fruity, yet dangerous, little drink called the Hurricane.  The bars serve anything you like, but if you are in New Orleans, you ought to try the drink for which they are known.  It is fruit punch with a blast of bourbon that will slowly sneak up on you.  If you are not aware prior to your arrival, you will most likely be thrown by the walk up windows where you may order a drink with which you can walk around.  Just be careful not to enter a bar with a drink from another establishment, they will quickly let you know this is not acceptable.

The nightlife is evident throughout the French Quarter, but no street is more famous or more frequented than Bourbon Street.  You’ll find souvenir shops, bars, karaoke, live bands, dance clubs and strip clubs.  But don’t limit yourself to Bourbon Street.  Decatur has some great clubs and bars.  If you veer off these two main strips, you’ll find yourself at historic treasures like Preservation Hall, which you will recognize by the plain facade and the line of people waiting to entering filing down the street.

I have been to New Orleans three times and have experienced the French Quarter off-season and during Halloween but, regardless, there is always a crowd.  I have seen the beauty and history of the Garden District and the plantation homes and have witnessed the glory of the swamps and its wildlife.  New Orleans has so much to offer and I cannot get enough of it.  I hear it whisper to me periodically calling me to come back.  I smell it, I hear it, I taste it and I feel it.  New Orleans is in me, it took hold that very first day.

When the Gulf Coast was battered and bruised three years ago, my heart ached with sadness and fear for the people and the city that welcomed me so kindly.  I know she is being rebuilt and will be back once more.  I hope to be back in the arms of New Orleans soon; it will be two years this Halloween since my last visit, but in the mean time I can only reminisce and share with all of you what I love about New Orleans.

Let us not forget those living in the area affected by Hurricanes Katrina and Rita.  Keep them in your thoughts and prayers and, if you can, offer them whatever support you are able.  Pray, meditate, send love and light or however you offer good intentions that Hurricane Gustav spares them and the others in the Gulf from any further devastation.

I have mentioned before that I live with my parents and my grandma.  Initially, it began as a method to save some money after my roommate decided to move in with her boyfriend.

When I lost my job (loooong painful story), it was a wonderful relief to know I didn’t have to scramble to pay rent or a mortgage.

I have had a lot of people make remarks about my poor parents having to have a grown child back at home.  Or how awful it must be for me to live with my parents.

Granted, it is not the most ideal situation.  There are times that I would like my privacy or not to have to deal with anyone.  There are times that I would like to not have to clean up after 3 other adults.

For the most part, though, it works out fine.

To the amazement of most people, my parents LIKE having me here.  Aside from the fact that I do all the housework and most of the cooking, they just like me being here.

We have a good relationship and my mom is my best friend.  I know that they would prefer I not move out until I’m married (if that happens).  I make them laugh, lighten the mood when there is too much stress and tension from my step-dad’s work/travel and my mom’s caring for my uncle.

For me, except for those few expected moments of frustration, I am good with being here too.  For the time being, it is a situation that works for all involved.

It would be nice if people stopped judging, commenting snidely and ridiculing us.

I know that with the current economy, there are a lot of people in the same living situation.  Way back when, this was totally normal and expected.  I get tired of having to defend myself and my family on something so basic and non-controversial.

To those with issues regarding my living arrangements, I say get over it, mind your business and pog mo thon.

I have realized that I have a disease.  One many people, but especially women, suffer from.

I have developed this disease over the years and it has been put upon me by family, society and myself.

I have the people-pleasing disease.  It is a genuine desire to please people, to make them happy, to help them.  I love to help people.

That sounds like a good thing, doesn’t it?  The bad thing about this disease is that I put myself last.

What I want and what I need are not nearly as important.  What I want and need can wait until tomorrow.  What “you” need is more important and needs to be done today.  Of course I can wait.  No problem.

It has become a problem, though.  I have lost an entire year because of this.

Short version: my uncle was in an accident and hospitalized for 3 months last year.  During those three months, I gave up everything to help my mother who was the one beside his bed every second, paying his bills, taking care of all of his affairs, etc.

I took on the role of housekeeper, chef, caretaker to grandma, personal assistant to my step-dad, errand-girl, grocery shopper, etc for a house of 4 adults.  I kept after my mother to make sure she took care of herself, ate, slept, gave her pedicures when her feet were killing her, etc.

Most of this has kept up over the last year and 1 1/2 months.  I don’t do all of it and I don’t do it to the level I was during his stay in ICU, but it continues because my mother cares for my uncle.  He had MS prior to the accident, but has suffered a decrease in his ability to care for himself.  That is for another post.

Because I want to help her, I give up what I need/want to do.  What my mom, my grandma, my family in general, friends, etc. need and want always take precedence.

I’m not blaming anyone really.  I know I have done most of this to myself.

I just didn’t realize the extent until the last week.  Things getting pushed back until X happened.  Today I was going to go to one of the schools I am interested in to learn about a program.  Last night around 9:00 pm, I got a call from a “cousin.”   She is really the daughter-in-law of one of my mom’s best friends, which makes her family.  She is the sweetest thing too.

She was in a bind for a sitter today.  My mom’s friend told her to call me because she knew I hadn’t found a job yet.  She needed someone to watch her son in the afternoon.  I said if you don’t mind bringing him here, that’s no problem.

And really, it isn’t.  He is only 6 months old and is currently sleeping.  I’m happy to help.  As I said, I love to help.

But I put myself on the back burner.

I’m not sure how to remedy this.  Is there a magic pill?  A special diet?  Hypnosis, maybe?

Did you watch the Democratic National Convention last night?

I will admit that I only watched what was aired on network television.  I know a lot of people watched on cable channels and news networks, but I don’t have that kind of patience.  I can only handle about an hour of politics before my brain starts to withdraw and I space out.

I saw what they showed of Teddy Kennedy’s speech.  Everyone was saying that is what will be remembered about that night.  It was a nice speech.  I don’t know if they did not air the entire speech, but I don’t see what was so spectacular about it.  I think it was fantastic that despite brain cancer he made it out of the hospital and was able to rally such a reaction.

For me, however, what will be remembered was Michelle Obama and her big brother Craig Robinson.

I think what I enjoyed about this night of speeches was the personal aspect.  More than just political jargon, it was a beautiful look into the personal lives and hearts of the Obama’s.

Craig Robinson did a wonderful job of showing his sister as a real person coming from a real place.  They shared a room and talked at night growing up to be good friends.  Her father suffered from MS, which is something I can relate to as my uncle has it as well.  The obvious love and admiration for their mother and each other was touching.  He did well introducing Michelle.

Michelle’s speech moved me.  While she did tie in her husband’s politics, she did it almost imperceptibly.  I was wrapped up in what she was saying about her family.  Her parents, her brother, her husband and her children.  She came across as such a loving and genuine person.

You could visibly see the pride and love she has for her family.  There were a few times it appeared that she was getting emotional.  When she spoke it being 88 years ago women won the right to vote and 45 years since Dr. King’s “I Have A Dream” speech, it seemed her voice began to crack and it continued to do so the rest of the night.

I can’t say I blame her.  The pride one must feel watching the person they love most in the world do such good in his life and then be so close to becoming President.  Now add to that the fact that he would be the first Black president in this country.  Less than 50 years since Jim Crow laws and the Civil Rights Movement and with racism still quite rampant in the U.S.

While some say she had speech writers, I think the speech was too personal to be written entirely by someone else.  Regardless, her delivery was excellent and I think she may have swayed some to her side as well as her husbands.

Four years ago, I listened to Barack Obama speak at the Democratic Convention.   He was virtually unknown to most.  As a Chicagoan, I knew who he was.  I came to know him even more as he ran for Senate.

The feeling I had that night hearing him speak has never left me.

Obama ’s speech moved and elevated me in a way that I had never experienced.  He was reminiscent of Dr. King whose words I have only heard in recording or read on paper.  Whose words still move me when I hear them or read them even now.  I remember thinking that I would follow that man, Obama , anywhere.

Fast forward to the present day.

I will admit that I was supporting Hillary Clinton.  To me, it did not matter much which one of them won the nomination.  They were equal in my eyes.  I was supporting Hillary because I am a woman and I would love to see a woman in the White House.

When it became clear that Obama was going to be the nominee, I was just as happy as if it were Hillary.  Some of my family members were not.  They were 100% behind Hillary, even some that are Republicans.  They had said all along that if Obama took it (the nomination) that they would vote for McCain.

They don’t like Obama .  I’ve tried reasoning with them, but have not succeeded thus far.  Fortunately, I have a few more months.  They think Obama is too green.  They think he is not ready yet.  Maybe in the future, but not now.

My mom, well, she just doesn’t like Michelle Obama .  She thinks Michelle is arrogant.

I hope she changes her opinion after hearing Michelle speak tonight.

I am starting an underwear revolution!

I am starting with my mother!  (My poor mom would probably die if she knew I was writing this!)

Over the years, I have reformed and revolutionized my mother’s make-up and wardrobe, but I’ve never been able to move her away from the granny panties.

Years ago she wore that white raccoon make-up around her eyes and silver eye shadow.  She wore it when it was cool, but she kept wearing it after it stopped being cool.  For years.  Over time, I convinced her of how much better she would look without it.  It was a crutch.

Then I convinced her that the spider-eye mascara was really not as attractive as her fun-house mirror apparently made her think it was.  I taught her the wonders of an eyelash comb and she looks so beautiful and so much younger with the make-up reform.  More than that, she feels better about herself.

Then we moved to her wardrobe.  My mom has pretty good taste, but she has fallen victim to some of the evils out there.

I have slowly, with the help of Stacy and Clinton, convinced her to toss the sweaters with novelties on the front.  You know what I am talking about.  The Christmas tree nightmares and the embroidered floral disasters.

Granted I cannot completely take these things from her.  She still has a sweater or two with some American flags or whatnot, but I would say we have removed at least 90 percent of these.

We can’t forget the oversized down-to-the-crotch shirts that she wore to cover her ass which really only make the ass look bigger.  She never wore t-shirts, I am talking knit or sweater tops, which get even more stretched out over wear.

I am not completely done reforming her wardrobe.  She unfortunately is not entirely convinced, though she is close, that wearing a sweater with a 4-inch bleach stain on the sleeve to the grocery store, even under her coat, is unacceptable.  I mean, really, what would Stacy and Clinton say?

Now I am reforming her underwear collection.

She, like so many women in her age bracket, and some not in her age bracket, have become comfortable with the granny panties.  Yes, I imagine that wearing a tent to cover you from navel to lower hip would be comfortable.  However, it is not at all attractive.

The panty lines alone are cause for revolution.

Let’s take into consideration the trend towards a lower rise in pants.

No, she doesn’t wear the hoochie-momma-show-all-your-business low-rise pants, but she does have some that come to or just below the belly button.  And let’s face it, the granny panties come way above the belly button.  Way above.  They manage to peak over the top of her pants whether bending or standing up straight.

I did manage to get her to buy some of the high-cut briefs that are out there to transition her.  They do come a bit lower than the granny panties, but she seems to pull them up to granny panty height.

While shopping for a gift for someone else, we managed to move toward the lingerie section and I got her to buy some hipsters! I wanted to go for the thong just to push her outside of her comfort zone, literally, but that was asking too much too soon.

Bikinis freak her out too, so we compromised with hipster.  And more than that, we went beyond plain white cotton!  We got some black lace and some colorful cotton!!!!

That is a revolution in and of itself!

The cotton ones she was ok with because they come up higher in the front than the black lace, but I told her to wear them for a day and see.  She was weirded out because they don’t cover her belly.

She kept saying, “but my belly is there, my belly is there.”

I said, “well what did you think, the granny panties magically made your belly go away?  No, they didn’t.”

The underwear revolution has begun!!!

If you would like to start a revolution in your area, find a woman suffering from granny panty disorder and take her immediately to the closest lingerie department.

Start slowly.  Victoria’s Secret might frighten her.  Definitely do not take her to Frederick’s of Hollywood!!

Go to Sears or JC Penney’s, a store friendly and comfortable to the sufferers of granny panty disorder.

It may take a few trips and some interventions on your part, but in the end it will be worth the effort.

Stay strong.  Children of those suffering from granny panty disorder are often the ones who feel the effects the most, but with time and positive thinking, we can persevere!