Thursday, January 27, 2011

Three things can't be hidden: coughing, poverty, and love." - Yiddish proverb

This proverb struck me as being right on the money.  You simply can't hide this stuff.  I've been coughing here in Virginia for twelve years.

Like clockwork ...  come October and it starts, and doesn't abate until May.  I've been prescribed all types of meds and until NOW haven't had any positive lasting results.  No, I have no clue what causes this but I do have some rather obvious guesses.... mold being one.

Poverty is difficult but not impossible to hide.  You can smile, dress in several seasons ago clothes and look like everything is hunkey dorrie.  That gets old fast.  It is a battle every day to maintain some kind of normalcy.  I have reached my limit of being funny, thoughtful, and generally being nice. It can be done but the anger is just beneath the surface and just jumps out at very inopportune times. 

Forget for a moment you cannot cook as you once used to.  That a trip to the store has become a hate filled experience.  Sure, I read all I can lay my hands on for more budget friendly recipes.  I shop the perimeter of stores where the good for you food is available.  I've even joined some groups and web sites of "good and cheap".  It too can be done, but there are times when something sweet, unhealthy and wildly extravagant  gnaws at your psyche and you cannot get it out of your mind.

Love.....hmmmm, really difficult to do.  I cannot help but think that things could be hugely different had Robert listened to me twelve years ago. This was a no brainer....this is a poverty pocket and from what I've heard and read always was one.  Six months into this move I saw the handwriting on the walls, sidewalks, people's faces....whew, not for me. 

I always adhered to the fact that you must not blame....that is past behavior, instead look for the solutions.  I think I found several that were doable including a move to Panama which was desperation  calling.  But Robert cannot, could not be budged.  He was going to conquer the Eastern Shore.  That made him unlovable to me. 

Stubbornness is not attractive, it wears on you , in fact you dream about solutions, finally you your tracks.....and give up. Forget the perimeter shopping, forget the plans you had like a consignment shop, the chronicling of events and submitting them to the local paper and then....creativity goes down the drain like everything else.  You wonder to yourself   just what did I have in mind for that desk or chest of drawers.  It doesn't move, it taunts you day in and day out...."paint me"  "do something".  Then it dawns on you....'oh, I was supposed to buy several more colors of paint'  then the project could be completed...nope, can't do, gotta feed the cats and dogs.

My daughter had a solution....she is the all time wunderkind of peanut butter pie.  I can't recall just how many she baked or simply gave away to give the citizens of the Eastern Shore a taste of delicious tasting  heaven.  Well, that too, went by the wayside....who can afford the gourmet ingredients  when there are meat and potatoes to eek out of little or no money.

I'm wondering what will become of us.  Yes, I'm bitching  I just can't think straight anymore.   The likelihood of the sheriff coming to the door  and posting an auction sign is not out of the realm of possibilities.  Do I think that this problem is unique to read about folks just like us every day.  What do they do?  I have no idea.  I know that they try to make things right, they get one or more jobs, perhaps they approach social services.  Again....don't forget this is a poverty pocket...what services are available are slim to none,,I've checked it out.

What is the next step?  RD

1 comment:

Jacqui Binford-Bell said...

Received my last Workers compensation disability check yesterday. I knew the $520 a month was coming to an end and had planned to same that amount every month after I had at last rented the apartment.

But then there was the car repairs and the new crown, and the computer crash which sapped the savings I was going to replace with profits from art sales that did not happen. Now the septic tank needs pumped. I seem to be one disaster from doomsday.

But just when it seems I am not going to be able to make it through the latest batch of bad news a painting sells on line or I get a new pet sitting gig (my part time job).

I shop at the local thrift store where I meet lots of my once "have it made" friends - those that thought they had retirement handled before GW let the banks run wild. We talk of feelings of impending doom one minute and a brighter day tomorrow as if wishing can make it so.

You and I both live in the sticks as it were but we have it over the poor in the city. We can plant gardens and kill the fatted lamb. Actually am considering buying a lamb on calf to fatten for the freezer.

I don't know what the answers are, RD. Sometimes I wake up in the dread of night in a cold sweat imagining the contractor-from-hell wins and I have to turn bag lady with three cats and two dogs!