Random Conversations

These types of conversations make me happy.  I classify random conversations when you talk to strangers (as I was taught specifically not to do) about a situation in front of both of you.  Today, I talked with a lost businessman about the wonders of Google map and two people on the train about my bag.

There is something uplifting about knowing that we are all human and can relate of both big and small issues, or even the wonders of Google.

Panhandling on the CTA

This is a rarity for me.  A guy gets on the train and starts to plead is case for needing money.  Dad is  drunk, they got into a fight, he's been living on the Blue line and needs a ticket to Rockford.  The ticket costs $18.  Thank you.

Today was the first day I ever had this happen.  At first, I looks away and thought about putting in my ear buds, but didn't.  Then, I thought about how I was a good person and he could actually be a person in need.  Then, I thought about what organizations can help him.  Then, I thought about how I didn't really want to be a part of his life in any way.  And finally, I decided that the karma good I might get out of a $1 was worth the risk that his story was a lie and a scam.  My dollar went into his hands.

Hours later, I meet a friend at an event.  We are talking about our day and the CTA, which trains are better, frustrations over rush hour, methods of getting a good place, and then the Rockford ticket guy came up.  She met him too.  She didn't give him money.  She felt bad.  She has seen him four times.

Four times?  During the five encounters at our table, he should have had the money to get to Rockford.  We laughed and bonded a little about being part of a scam, she resisting the bait of karma and me not.

Loose Key

I have a loose brackets key. I have to think hard to remember what the name of the key is. Luckily I do not use it much. The key has been loose for over a year - thank you to the cat who loosened it for me. She thought the keyboard made a nice scratching post. Her claws were getting long. Thus, I have a loose brackets key.

Shopping Finds

My shopping therapy does not involve excessive buys, the latest trends nor searches for sales. It involves the search through thrift stores for the golden finds.

At regular stores, it is normal to find your size and the right shade of color, especially in shirts. The stores help shoppers make choices by displaying maniquins or pictures of great clothing combinations and the staff spend their days looking at clothing and are eager to point out good fits. Especially in boutiques, the staff will pick out options and even be honest about what looks good. People who are "experts" in shopping are like runners on treadmills, sure they can go the mileage but they don't compare to a high altitude trail runner.

Thrift stores are the high altitude trail runners without shoes. Maybe, the shopper will be lucky and find the clothing arranged by type, size, and color. Maybe there will be a dressing room. Maybe the dressing room will be more than a booth with a cloth shower curtain that is large enough to set your bag down.

Employees at these stores are utilitarian, put out stock and ring up the cash register. They aren't paid for fashion consciousness, the shopper must bring it. Nothing can be ordered nor does it come in various sizes. Go to a thrift shop for an outfit and be ready to use skills of selection and coordination.

But the prize of a thrift store find can be worth it. A full outfit can be purchased for pennies on the dollar of a retail shop and the style ends up completely personalized. Originality comes at the price of time and effort.

Plus it's more environmental.

Music on the CTA

Chicago is a blessed city. It has a public transportation system that actually works, not just an effort to have one. Using this system, no one really needs to own a car. In the city, the system is called the CTA.

On the CTA today, I felt the pains of youth. I felt them because a fellow driver was in the throngs of it. She had her Ipod playing club music and a tatoo of a raven on her writst. I know this because I heard her music and saw her wrist. The Ipod was turned up so loud that everyone in the card could enjoy her music...

She didn't notice the volume escaping her earbuds. Her concerns were over the puff in her lips and replies to her text. Her mood followed the music and none of it reflected the scorn in her seat mate nor the humor in my dancing to her music. O, to be young again and not care but for the text of a boy...

Packing

Dear Luggage,

You always fail me when I need you. Why can you not be the right size? One piece is too large, and the other too small. I feel like Goldilocks.

I understand the strain. Sometimes, I act out and put you on several planes, handled by rough people who stab stickers on you. And then other times, I ignore you for months, even years. It is scary in the attic and the mice... lets not talk about what mice did nor a friend's cat. She didn't mean it and I apologized.

Please luggage, I know we can turn our relationship around. I think we can work it out. If you would just learn to pack yourself, I can try to be more consistent with my trips. We can make this work.

You already know my clothes. You understand what I pack and use. You also see what I pack and don't use. If we start communicating better, both of us will have a better time.

The next trip is coming soon and I want us to be ready, together.

Love

Your Owner

My Cat and Me

I moved my cat across an ocean. Unfortunately, she is finally getting comfortable with it. This means that cat is back to her usual routines.

To my cat, the day is for sleeping. The warning bells should have gone off, sleep during the day equals play at night. My bells did not ring loud enough for me to wake her up so I had to suffer the consequences. When I need to sleep, she is ready to play.

The other issue is that she is adjusting to a new home and new people. The sounds and movement of several people in a large, new space freak her out. In my room, she is comfortable. It is smaller, full of my smell, and usually only the familiar presence of me occupies it. Her normal personality comes out in this space.

This morning, the combination of daytime sleeping, comfort in her new space, and usual routines came together in a bad way. At 5 am, she was up. I know this because she woke me up. It is hard to sleep with a cat running over your body, repeatedly. She was making spastic laps around my room. Attack dirty laundry, check out the window, try to claw a suitcase, get yelled at, up on the bedside table, run over me, attack lumps in the comforter that move, off the bed, and back to the dirty laundry. It was great circuit training for her and bad sleep for me.

Finally, I kicked her out and got some sleep. Her timeout worked and she returned and was ready to sleep, just as I needed to get up. I hope I can break her of this routine.

Decide

Sometimes it is easy to know when things are decided. Accepting them is another thing. Accepting ice cream is not.

I discovered a new ice cream franchise today. Ten varieties of soft-serve ice cream and a multitude of topping options too. The staff offered samples. The more I tried, the harder it became to begin to choose my flavor. With self-service, if you stay out of the way, you can delay the decision time until the thought of ice cream seems unappealing.

I almost had that tragedy.

Into my container, I served myself coconut and praline pecan. A third option almost got added but wisdom of the two being good and three's a crowd applied. I bypassed the multitude of toppings for caramel and cookie dough (a very adolescent choice). The dessert was tasty and fun, I enjoyed every bite.

Staring at the decision line, I could not remake my choice. Repeating the process strained my brain. The experience delighted my senses but making the decisions without a strong emotional pull hurt my experience.

Then I shook my head. Everything in the store was tasty. Unless I mixed the ginger sorbet with the chocolate and topped with licorice, I would have been alright. It was not a big decision, it was an easy one of good and better choices. While the combination of flavors and toppings seemed endless, all I had to do was pick. Picking was easy and eating was easier.

Decisions on ice cream need not be hard when all the options are good. Maybe I should think less about ice cream and enjoy it more.

Lettuce

I have been living without lettuce... well, not completely without but lacking a secure and quality source for it. This drove me away from salads at home and towards ordering it at restaurants. At one point in time, I was growing rocket lettuce on a balcony and produced enough to go under a steak, but not enough for a salad. And forget iceberg. That was pricey and rarely available. The cheap lettuce of the US became the yearned for treat in foreign lands.

So, being back in the US, I indulged in lettuce. At a grocery store, I found a head of iceberg lettuce. I bought the lettuce, cut it up, put salt and pepper on it, and ate the whole thing as part of lunch. Iceberg lettuce cannot make a meal itself, but it did make me happy. The crunch and crisp leaves needed nothing more than a slight flavoring of fresh cracked pepper and sea salt satisfy the taste buds.

I had contemplated ranch dressing for the event. While ranch is amazing in taste and satisfying creamy texture, it can also overwhelm. The fresh lettuce event was so memorable because of the time spent waiting for it. The ranch dressing on iceberg lettuce will come another time. Don't worry.

The picture is of lettuce in the garden. I never thought of lettuce growing so tall, iceberg grows in a ball and rocket is leaves sticking up out of the ground. When I saw the plant, all I could think about was eating it. I contemplate eating it like an ice cream cone, with a dash of salt and pepper while I carry it around in my hand eating leaf after leaf.

Rabbits, look out!

Marmite - A British Treasure

Previously, I thought that marmite was a joke. It was the British equivalent to the spam joke. A food that people made fun of in conversation, gave as a gag gift, or put the label on the front of a t-shirt. It was not real food.

Then I met a British man named "Bob". I met him two hours after becoming curious in the grocery store. In that moment, I purchased the smallest jar of marmite, brought it home, tried a bit on toast, and washed out my mouth to rid it of the taste. "Bob" introduced himself and marmite came up in our conversation. I was scarred from the experience but he did not comfort me. In a fit of nationalism, he sided with the concoction and gave example of culinary uses for it. Small portions, that was my problem according to "Bob". This is why British "Bob" has an alias.

Enter another British friend who started to tout the virtues of marmite as a healthy product, full of vitamin B. Together they made an insufferable pair promoting the consumption of yeast extract the color of car oil. Marmite stayed on my mind but never again touched my lips.

Later, the product came back into mind on a quiet flight while reading a book. I was reading a history of cancer. In this book about a deadly and tragic disease came the mention of marmite. It was used by an British doctor in 1928 to cure anemia in Bombay, India that was caused by a severe lack of folic acid. This event was used to explain what cancer is and how it occurs in the body by explaining other cellular diseases of a similar nature. I smiled while reading the passage and highlighted it for further reference.

My marmite did not have such a noble purpose. In the cupboard of a friend sits the jar, mostly full. It does not need refrigeration and no one in the house is suffering from insufficient folic acid consumption. The jar is there to remind me of the conversation. After reading the passage about the medical use for marmite, I might one day reconsider trying it again. Until then, it will sit as a joke on a shelf, like spam.