May 6th

My childhood home has been vacant for the past three years, and recently I had a realtor friend of mine take me there. It was a weird, time warping experience.

I lived there from ages 6-14. What I remember from this experience was a collection of memories filled with community, grief, sadness, solidarity, joy and well all of the things. My house was white, the tiles were pink, the master bath had a jet tub, and it was two stories. There was a back yard, and my dad had built a swing set for me to play on where I spent many hours alone conjuring potions and sweet memories.

The road up to the house was over grown, uncomfortable and sad. I think I had this weird underlying expectations, at the same time had no expectations. The house itself had one large change, and other minimal changes. It was green on the outside with a purple door and the land surrounding was overgrown and changed (there were more outside changes than inside changes).

The person had rebuilt the back deck, added a hot tub and a door off of the back master bedroom. They had also taken out the swing set my dad had built, the garden beds, and planted trees where my dad’s RV use to live. My memories of the space though were so present, the nostalgia was there and then it hit me: I cannot get back any of it. It was gut wrenching.

I wasn’t really expecting to get any of that back by visiting there, or even by dancing with the idea that I could even buy the place.

What I did get out of it, was that no matter how sad I was there because my dad was so yelly, it was a reminder that he did do nice things for me. As an adult I value that swing set memory more than I ever had. I appreciate it more now because when I was a child I didn’t understand or value the time it took to him to build that swing set. At the time I was fairly selfish, and impatient. It was the one memory I had of him that didn’t include traveling, playing video games, or sourdough pancakes. It was the one thing he did that was outside of his comfort zone, it was something he did for me. In all that I’ve processed about my childhood, him doing nice things for me wasn’t something that I’ve been able to see.

 

 

 

 

Bread day.

Every Wednesday where I work we get a donation from Panera at the organization I work for. We call it bread day, but we get a variety of pastries, bagels, flat breads and whole loaves of different kinds of bread. Sometimes we get a lot, and sometimes we don’t get very much at all. On a side note: I work for a non-profit where we distribute the donations out to the people we serve. When there is an abundance, we tend to get a little excited about our personal interest in the donation.

I have always been triggered by this day, and I consistently wonder where else we can store this crap as right now it lives near my office and in the staff lounge. Last Wednesday, I noticed somethings interesting, that I too have been guilty of before. Greediness.

Because the staff lounge is so close, and Panera just happens to be so fragrant, we know when it’s arrived. The first thing that happens when it arrives, is it gets sorted. It gets sorted into boxes and then gets distributed to other programs through out the county. Then whatever is left, goes to our youth and families.  I got to work last Wednesday with out having ate breakfast, knowing that there would be a bagel that would be left behind with my name on it. As soon as the donation came, other staff members were in the staff lounge, excuse my french but like a bunch of hyenas. There was this scarcity in their voices, and sense of entitlement over whatever was present. It was an obsession with this bread day, what was available, what they could get, and who could get it.

It made me in the moment, take a step back, and really assess how I was feeling about the situation, which was; At first I jumped on the bandwagon of yes I needed to go grab the everything bagel I so desired, and then I breathed out and realized I just didn’t care. I didn’t care that Panera was there and I didn’t care what king of bagel I got (as long as it wasn’t one of those sugar bagels, cause those are disgusting AND if that’s was the only available bagel, I just wouldn’t eat it).

It made me realize again how far I’ve come. It was also awesome to be able to react to my own accord and be okay with not caring about which bagel I get. With this said, I remember eating my bagel, finishing it, not believing it was all gone and then wanting another one. I didn’t eat another one, just said out loud what I wanted and let it go. Next time I’m going to work on enjoying my bagel a little bit more. I will probably write about it.