On Identity as Cultural Appropriation

This blog is 3 1/2 years old.  It is tremendously bizarre to me how far I have come in those years.  I read some of my older posts and think, "I can't believe I said that!"  But that's what this is.  A chronicle of my life, growing up, and whatnot.
Speaking of growing up, this post is one about some oddities of my upbringing that make me uncomfortable.  I swear on me mum that it is pure weird coincidence that I am writing this on the first day of black history month.  I've been thinking on it for a few months but...you know, "stuff" has been "up."
The first thing you need to know is this: I am a white girl.  My mom, a Lehman, is a white lady.  Her mom, a Wolff, is a white lady.  We're not pure German, like my dad's side, or German-Irish-Polish like Husband.  We don't really know fully where we come from, but that's not important.  What is important is that I joke, in the summer, about bringing back the "Elizabeth I look," and that I spent my formative years in suburban/rural Wisconsin.  I am a white girl.
And yet.

Random Recipe Post: Historical Thanksgiving Menus

This Thanksgiving, I was ruminating on our food traditions, how it seems like it's the same every year.  Not that I'm complaining! I love Thanksgiving supper soooooooooooo much. Turkey is my favorite. I love leftovers - cold turkey sandwiches, turkey soup, and bowls full of literally everything (mashed potatoes on bottom, then green beans, then cranberry, then turkey, gravy on top - oh mama).

After a little research, I figured out that the menu's been the same since...well, since forever! The ladies over at Inn at the Crossroads found a menu from 1779 that featured "Haunch of Venison, Roast Chine of Pork, Roast Turkey, Pigeon Pasties, Roast Goose, Onions in Cream, Cauliflower, Squash, Potatoes, Raw Celery, Mincemeat Pie, Pumpkin Pie, Apple Pie, Indian Pudding, Plum Pudding, (and) Cider." That's way more (and way more meat) than I've ever had, but it seems the basics, like turkey, squash, potatoes, cider, and pumpkin and apple pies were there from the beginning, and as any Wisconsinite can tell you, Venison is a Thanksgiving tradition, too!

Anyway, although the basics have been the same, I thought it might be fun to construct a couple menus featuring recipes, cooking methods, and supplies from our nation's past. I have one menu from each century. I will admit that in order to make the recipes distinct, I started to ignore old standbys, but I think I've done a good job balancing the traditional with the merely old-timey. I haven't done extensive research, but I've spent a good day or so on each one.  If anyone has any suggestions for additions or improvements, let me know! I found the project really diverting, and am thinking about maybe attempting these menus when I have kids, as a little history learning exercise once a year or so.

On Memory, Inevitability, and Healing from Wounds You Didn't Know You Had

(Consider this a warning, both for the length of this post, and for triggering material)

If I could go back in time, there are not many things I'd change.  Mostly because you can't know how little changes might affect you, and in making changes to my past, I'd be killing myself.  Which is all nonsense, as every time I see sci-fi shows where someone is faced with helping the heroes put back the past, they struggle with the knowledge that they will kill themselves in the process, and I think, "Well that's dumb.  Don't they know it's better this way?"  But that's not the point.  Better or not, at the end, you become a new person, and whoever you would have become down that alternate timeline, whether they liked themselves or not, whether they were a good person or not, they are dead.  Chances are, it was not so straightforward - everyone is a mix of good and bad, everyone likes and dislikes themselves or part of themselves at times.  Maybe weathering this battle made them better and stronger, and although the whole world is better because the battle never happened, something will be missing from this version of that one person.  They are dead.
If I could go back in time, I've said before that there were things about my wedding I would change.  Certain things that I had fixed in my head that were unnecessary, because at the time, I was a staunch traditionalist.  I still am, in my way.  I debated for a long time whether to have my mom or my step-dad walk me down the aisle.  My mom has been there for me forever.  She's always been my primary parent.  At the same time, my step-dad and I had formed a close bond, and he had been my dad for 20 years.  I chose him, in my own way symbolically adopting him.  I chose him.
When he walked me down the aisle, he was already cheating on my mom.  He was already in the process of ruining everything.  When it all came out, the world fell down around my ears - the narratives I'd built up about second chances, about religious conversion, about all kinds of things.  For those reasons, I would go back and not choose him.  For a while, I thought I should have chosen my mom.  Now, I think, I would choose no one.

Once Upon a Time, My Life

I really should have known that adjusting to a new position would hinder my ability to write as often as I'd like.  However, I'm getting better at the job and just adjusting in general - not that the job is that hard or that stressful, just that things need adjusted to, I guess, so I've been coming home for 3 months with no desire to cook or write or interact with humans or do anything other than watch tv or play video games.  And that's ok.
I sometimes worry that being ok with my own laziness will carry me away.  My mom always complains that I'm not "ambitious," but I do like to always be looking for that "next thing" - graduated HS, next is college; out of college, next is job; have husband, next is baby; have job, next is promotion; have degree, next is grad school - and on and on ad infinitum.  It is so. gorram. hard. for me to just enjoy life at the point it is now.  It's partially Adventure! and partially Anxiety! and partially Boredom! - no, wait, just boredom.  Stillness is not in my nature.  So to sit and chill seems like a great concession for me.
At the same time, movement for the sake of movement hardly counts as anything.  That's what I feel like I'm doing.  The next thing, the next thing, the next thing - what is that thing?  Doesn't matter.  It's Next.  New.  Different.  Sometimes I feel like a hamster on a wheel.  And when a hamster climbs off the wheel and chills with his water bottle in his little blue plastic hut, has he deserved his rest?
IDK, MAN!
I fear that I am too careful with myself.  Since finding out about my mental illness, since I started getting migraines, I give myself permission to rest.  I let myself rely on Husband for things that stress me out (like leaving the house - I go to work, I come home.  He does the shopping, he runs the errands, etc.).  I give myself permission to flake out on plans when having friends is just too much for me.  It's true that I have some conditions, and it's true that I work hard, and it's true that I have been perhaps too self-reliant for too long, but I worry that if I give myself enough leeway, I'll collapse into a pile of useless mush or something.  (That happens to people, right?)
THEN AGAIN, I got a new job, then a year later, got a promotion.  I'm only 3 months in.  I'm just now getting to the point of comfortableness, and I'm coming back out of my shell a little.  Adjustment is hard, and it's been a busy year-or-so for adjustments.  Maybe I need to lay off myself.

Anyway, here's my latest slew of quarter-life crises for your enjoyment:

Can We All Just Calm Down for a Second?

I'm really happy right now.  I've been feeling good for a couple weeks. Good enough, in fact, that my brain is trying to find ways to sabotage my happiness, because it knows that for every happy moment I steal, there's hell to pay later.  The devil gets his due.

SHUT UP, BRAIN and let me be happy.  So that's something I'm working on.  (I'm now going to update y'all on my life now, but the real meat of the post is farther down, in case you want to skip it.  Or whatever.  I don't tell you what to do.)

I'm really enjoying my job.  It's only-just-above-minimum-wage at Starbucks, but I'm getting 2 raises in the coming months (one for being there 6 months and one because everybody at Starbucks is getting a raise in January - people are rumbling about raising the minimum wage, so I imagine they're trying to get ahead of that so it's not such a blow when it does happen.  Good for them.  Good for me).  I think that some of the enjoyment comes from just being an employee again - I know exactly what is expected of me at all times, there are no ambiguous social situations to navigate, and I don't have to be in charge of anyone.  It's much less stressful.  

My last job pretty much required a codependent attitude in order to survive.  I was basically on-call every day - if they needed help, I was the only person who could come in.  It's kind of nice to be so desperately needed, but you can never really relax when you know that a call could come in at any hour and you'd be needed - and you can't really say no.  Part of this is because we were such a small unit that we couldn't really afford to hire any more people, part of it was some issues with "upper management."  But seriously - I'm not an EMT, I was working in a college cafeteria.  Ain't nobody got time to cut years off their life with the stress from that bull.  Beyond that, I feel like there was so much time there when I wasn't sure what was expected of me moment to moment, and we didn't get regular reviews, so it was hard to tell if you were doing good, bad, or indifferent.  You were fine until suddenly everything you did was terrible, then you'd get ignored for another 5 months.  It was weird, and stressful, again, to never know when the hammer would come down.  So between that and being "on-call," just every minute of on and off time was filled with anxiety.  Yuck.

Starbucks is working out great so far.  I can ask for days off!  I work with only nice people (who can ever say that?  Me!  Right now!)  I am good at this stuff.  I can relax when I'm home - be home at home and work at work.  Plus, free lattes ;)  And tips!  And healthcare!  

But anyway, the point of this post right now is to talk about my "biological clock" and how it needs to shut itself right the hell up.  (Not a Sparrow Falls...you might not want to proceed).

My (Very, Very Incomplete) Thoughts on Abortion

 Here's another one that's been mulling in my mind for a long time now.  My 3 regular readers (Hi guys!) have seen it pop up a few times as I have begun to contemplate it.  It's about abortion.  Eeww.  I'm not sure how much my opinions have changed, but I am aware that they are on the move.  So here's my brain as it grapples with an incredibly difficult and divisive issue.
(Another opinion that's on the move for me is my affiliation with the Wisconsin Evangelical Lutheran Synod.  I'm not going to write about that now, but I will when I've had a chance to think through it better and gather my thoughts...but I'm actively seeking a LCMS church to attend in my area.  So, not a huge change, I know - I'm Lutheran, dammit, and I loves me some liturgy, so there's only so far I can drift.)

ANYWAY
What started it is this article: When evangelicals were pro-choice.  Here's the juicy bit (verses, as always, linked for your convenience):

"In 1968, Christianity Today published a special issue on contraception and abortion, encapsulating the consensus among evangelical thinkers at the time. In the leading article, professor Bruce Waltke, of the famously conservative Dallas Theological Seminary, explained the Bible plainly teaches that life begins at birth:
“God does not regard the fetus as a soul, no matter how far gestation has progressed. The Law plainly exacts: 'If a man kills any human life he will be put to death' (Lev. 24:17). But according to Exodus 21:22–24, the destruction of the fetus is not a capital offense… Clearly, then, in contrast to the mother, the fetus is not reckoned as a soul.”
The magazine Christian Life agreed, insisting, “The Bible definitely pinpoints a difference in the value of a fetus and an adult.” And the Southern Baptist Convention passed a 1971 resolution affirming abortion should be legal not only to protect the life of the mother, but to protect her emotional health as well."

Sketch

     It’s storming. I’m scared of the thunder, but Daddy, in his big grey sweater, holds me and shouts, “I’m The Thunder King! Have No Fear!” He tickles me until I forget to be scared.

     I know this memory is the oldest because my mom and dad are living together. After that, I can tell how old the memories are by which procedures I have to go through to see him.

     5 hour drive, Mackinaw bridge, birth certificate, 3 hours of tiny grey waiting room, 3 electric doors opened by a guard in a bullet-proof glass box, half hour limit, no touching except the hug at the beginning and end - that’s Hiawatha. We went in my Grama’s no-a/c full-size van and she drank out of her big 64oz gas station thermos.

     2 hour drive, fancy blacklight hand stamp, big white waiting room, all our stuff in the little locker, 2 electric doors, and one time we almost can’t visit because I can’t get my ring off my hand - that’s Ionia. Grama carries a giant bag - $45 in quarters for lunch from the vending machines.

     Later, he got moved to a lower-security place where I could sit on his lap and he read me books off the little cart. That one had a long name, and good vending machines. I got a Payday, Grama got a Butterfingers, and Grampa got a Snickers. I still get weird nostalgia when I use a vending machine.

     I see him once during his parole, kind of in secret. I don’t know it is wrong, and my mom doesn’t know he was there at all until it’s too late. It is my Great-Grama’s birthday party - must be her 80th. It has been almost 2 years since I’ve been to Michigan. Grama looks at me, holds me around my waist and cries and cries. Daddy introduces Hannah to me, and says they’re getting married.