The Interview

Happy Sunday, dear readers. I got a pleasant surprise at the Carmelite church tonight because the African priest who's last Mass I'd attended had been so terrible (he was VERY long-winded and rambling) that I almost designated him as the first African priest I DIDN'T like, redeemed himself by being concise and orthodox with a stirring sermon about virtue. I was most pleased to see that his connection to the Holy Spirit was strong tonight. I usually have a very positive opinion of African priests (Indian ones too) because the ones I've met were well-catechized, orthodox and usually more intelligent than the average American priest I encountered. I suppose he was having a bad day that time and it just happened to be the first Mass I saw him in. Oh well. He's back in my good graces now and life can continue on as usual.

On Thursday, my husband had a job interview. He applied to work as a janitor at a local Presbyterian church, and the office called him in to be interviewed. Since there were errands to be run, I tagged along on this dreadfully hot day.

It may surprise some of you to learn that despite my die-hard Catholicism, this was not the first time I've been to a Presbyterian church. When I was growing up, my family joined an up-n-coming Serbian Orthodox church in the suburbs close to my home town. Before then, we'd been either going to the churches in the city of Chicago or the monastery in Lake County. Since the church parish was still so new, we didn't have a proper church of our own, so the managers were renting out the side chapel of a huge Presbyterian church in Deerfield, IL. I don't remember much about this place since I was a kid during the time we went there, but I remember the chapel being small, dark, and dusty with cobwebs on the windows. However, the building it was connected to was quite large. There was a hall behind the choir area which led to a kitchen and that was where the coffee hours were held. The basement was huge because that's where the Sunday school, Serbian language/culture, and dance classes were held and where the caretakers lived (they would regularly complain about the rambunctious kids banging on the door that led to their living quarters). I also remember my Serbian language teacher taking us on a tour of the building where we went past the double doors in the basement separating the part where the side chapel was to the main building, seeing the school classrooms there, and going into the actual main church itself. I don't remember exactly what the interior of the church looked like, but I remember there being alot of nice woodwork and it was dark. The second time I was in a Presbyterian church was when I was in 6th grade. It was for a comparative religions class which also included a trip to a local mosque and the huge Presbyterian church which was located in my hometown's downtown. Like my family's starter church, this local Presbyterian church had some nice dark woodwork inside and lovely stonework on the outside, though I remember looking at the tiny medicine cup-sized communion cups and kitschy-print missalettes in front of me in the pew and thinking this place looked more like the bank my parents did business with (at the time) than any church I was familiar with. There were crosses and banners proclaiming the glory of God, but not a single crucifix could be found anywhere.

Playing with her sunglasses

On this trip, I would not be checking out the church. I would be sitting in the office waiting area while my husband was interviewed. The secretary was kind and got the baby and I some water, but just like my previous trips to Presbyterian churches, the property was huge (this one was large enough to sustain a proper school). While the actual office itself was roomy and light with bright cabinets and clear windows, the waiting area was kinda dark. It had dark woodwork with kitschy stained glass depictions of biblical scenes and Christian themes lining the top of the room, but there was an entire wall which was designated as a sort of gift shop with trinkets, books, handmade quilted items, fair-trade coffees and mugs with the image of the church printed on them all for sale. The office waiting area itself was not very big, but it was large enough to walk around and the baby could crawl on the carpet without interruption. There was also a large china cabinet that held some mementos off to the side behind the chairs and on the coffee table in the middle of the room were two copies of some Billy Graham evangelical magazine keeping a "bible" company (I put bible in quotes because it wasn't exactly a Bible. It was selections from the Bible arranged to form some kind of storyline). I skimmed through the magazines and the "bible", but the baby kept me from delving into too much of this heresy by crawling around on the floor.

After the main office lady called my husband to the back for his interview, I walked around the waiting area and looked at the various things on display, both in the china cabinet and a nook across from the door. It was in the china cabinet that I first noticed a book with Cyrillic writing on the cover. Given my Slavic background, it piqued my interest and I took a closer look at it. On the shelf where the book was, I also noticed a pair of cloth dolls dressed in traditional Russian costumes half-hidden behind a folded sign explaining the items on display. I couldn't tell exactly what the dolls costumes looked like or where they were from in Russia, but I had the impression that the costumes were pre-Kievan Rus, based on the headdresses. On the shelf below was also a lacquered cup in traditional floral patterns. Below the Russian mementos was a display from Romania. There was either a place mat or a belt woven in a traditional pattern underneath a small Romanian flag and a plaque from the city of Timisoara.

The china cabinet. Not pictured: Russian cloth dolls in traditional costumes. Also, what is it with Presbyterians and dark wood?! It's too East Coast for this part of the country

The contents of both the Russian and Romanian shelves, the display signs read, were donated to the church by evangelical bible societies doing missionary work in their respective countries. I began feeling my blood pressure go up in anger as I read the sign on the Russian shelf which stated that the book which caught my attention was apparently a Russian bible and that it had been donated by a family evangelizing in Russia on behalf of the Wycliff Bible Society. These maggots have NO business poaching my people away from the REAL Church, just adding fodder to their CIA/Masonic front! I may have been suspicious of Protestantism in my previous life, but my conversion to Catholicism and subsequent marriage to my husband introduced in me a militant hatred of them, with bible-thumping evangelicals taking the lead in the hate list. Also, while reading Cyrillic is slow-work for me, the book did NOT say "Bibliya" or "Holy Bible" on the cover. It said "Hosh Habar", which Google translate says means "Aromatic Message" (Google also suggested that it was in the Kazakh dialect, which I thought might explain the costumes on the dolls, but an image search didn't match up any costumes from Kazakhstan that were remotely close to what I'd seen). Fortunately, I had the baby to look after and she provided a much-needed distraction to keep me from raging and destroying that cabinet.

Finally, after about thirty minutes or so, my husband came back. I refrained from saying anything about what I thought of the Presbyterians until we had left the church property, keeping the subject limited to his interview. My husband felt positive about the job interview, but gave it a 50-50 chance that he would be hired. He told me he was interviewed by three people, which I thought odd because if you're a qualified candidate for a job, you typically have only one interview with whoever is the person doing the hiring. Once we were out of the parking lot and away from any prying ears, I told my husband about the Russian mementos and how furious I was to see my people being led away from the Faith. I also complained how the decor in the office was in bad taste because it was dark wood with cheesy stained glass images, to which my husband surmised that because Presbyterians are outside of the Church, they can never know the true beauty of the Faith and can only resort to making copies of what they think it should be.

Well, it's been a few days since the interview and we haven't heard anything back from the Presbyterian church. My husband assumes it's a no-go and has proceeded to apply for other means of stable employment. The temp and inventory counting jobs are few and far between right now, so he's been trying to get more regular employment. So far, he's been canvassing for a political office, but that job ends the first week of July. Time to keep looking.

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5 Socioeconomic Trends Poor People Can Expect in 2016

Welcome back again, dear readers!

Social media-I don't know what I would do without it. Pic found here

It's Day 4 of the 21 day blogging challenge. Admittedly, this particular prompt was a bit of a tough one for me since poverty makes it hard to keep up and participate in many modern trends. However, I've given my best shot at predicting what will be hot stuff for those of us on the low end of the socioeconomic ladder this coming year.

1. The expansion of restaurant chains accepting EBT

My introduction last year to Papa Murphy's Pizza got me thinking about how if this restaurant chain could take advantage of the huge federally-subsidized food stamp market to sell their pizza, how many other restaurants will follow their lead? Since wages don't show any sign of increasing to anywhere near a livable level in the near future ($15/hr is a good start, but it's still not close enough to the $20-$25/hr that the cost of living currently runs), I expect the number of food stamp recipients to steadily increase. Grocery stores do a pretty good job of offering cold foods that can be purchased with food stamps, but given the convenience which restaurant chains offer in terms of already prepared meals, I expect to see more chains offering food items for EBT purchase in the coming year.

2. Increased illegal immigration out of America

Here's one most people don't see coming-the tables have turned! Americans are risking their lives and fleeing from the poverty, violence and oppression at home, swamping places like Mexico and Canada. This scenario will depend on who wins the Presidential elections this year, so I don't expect to see masses of people teeming at the border fences or paying smugglers until late in the year if at all. Since the "shining city on a hill" that Ronald Reagan so eloquently postulated about has gone dark, succumbed to its own madness, it may well take a mass exodus of people before our government decides to do anything about improving the standard of living. Then again, maybe not. They'll crack down on whoever is left, just because they can.

3. Bartering

With wages at an all time low, the black market rises up to meet the needs of people. Since money buys so little, people will barter for their goods and services. I personally have witnessed a barter economy developing here in my very own trailer park. Neighbors will exchange goods and services, much like it was done in the Middle Ages or in parts of Mexico. For those instances where money is required, people try and negotiate to the lowest possible dollar. Just like in the Middle Ages, a barter economy signifies the collapse of a money-based economic system since trading goods and services isn't an effective way to grow an economy and it shows that people don't trust money anymore. This is not necessarily a bad thing, since bartering for your goods and services is a good way to build up a sense of community.

4. A shift in the sharing economy

Sharing services like Uber, AirBNB, etc will collapse because federal regulators have cracked down on their exploitation of "independent contractors". Rising up as a response to the economic recession, these sharing services can be likened to the MLM/pyramid scams profiled on sites like Pink Truth because top management reaps all the profits and benefits of a corporation while shunning things like FICA and offloading all responsibility back onto the employees. This collapse, however, is also not necessarily a bad thing. By classifying its drivers/homes/what have you as employees/hotels/etc and regulating them as such, it creates a more stable workforce and a safer environment for customers. People can still use their cars/homes/etc, but now the companies are on the hook for more than just their names and apps.

5. Online free schools

Education, the salvation or bete-noir of many a politician's platform, will undergo a change as well. The proliferation of the internet and portable devices would give families an alternative to sending their kids to a failing school or an expensive private school. Online schools already exist, but what I am foreshadowing is the rise of free online schools. No tuition, no risking sending your children into a dangerous or poorly performing environment, and you and your children can work together to create a curriculum so that they're actually taking classes with subjects they're interested in. It's like YouTube, but for school! Given the horrible student loan debt burden many millenials like myself are burdened with, these online free schools would be an accredited and affordable means of pursuing an education. As for how these online schools would support themselves, it would be through purchasing ad space and using affiliate links, much like how many online businesses support themselves right now. It will take some doing to figure out the kinks and come up with a working model, but it's not impossible.

What trends, good or bad, do you forsee happening this coming year?

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My Makeover

Hello again, dear readers!

Today, I accompanied my husband to his job training at the mall. I walked around the mall with the baby for a few hours while my husband did his job. It was crowded, and I have no money, which made stopping by Sephora painful because that is my absolute favorite store in the mall.

However, despite the chaos of Christmas shopping, I finally got my long overdue free makeover! I was color matched for foundation at two different places (Sephora and Bare Minerals; I came out as fair in both places), and got some great advice for choosing blush (something in the mauve range), lip colors (same as blush), concealer, and bronzer colors (go for light browns/cinnamon colors). I got some free samples of foundation from Sephora, but it was Bare Minerals that did the actual makeover, as seen in the pictures below.

Nice, even tone with zits and blemishes covered

From the side. Good coverage and some defining blush

Close enough

Since I was mostly interested in foundation, I didn't get the full makeover. However, I'm generally pleased with the result even though the flash from my camera made me look like a cadaver. My skin is pretty clear, thanks to my minimalist regimen of twice-daily washes and nightly coconut oil moisturizing.

We wound up leaving an hour later than planned because the wrong schedule was communicated to the trainees. I didn't mind it since I took my time walking around the mall and seeing the Christmas displays, but my husband was mildly annoyed. Since we were all hungry, we stopped at Safeway on the way home so we could get some snacks. I'm currently in love with their bakery's cinnamon rolls.

And that was how I spent my day.

First Day of Work

Hello again, dear readers!

Today was my husband's first day at work. Technically, it was training for his job, but it still counts as work because he was getting paid for it. They had to meet at a Sears store at the mall close by my former apartment and where the company's office is, and from there, my husband and a few colleagues spent the four hours alotted for their time learning how to use the scanning equipment, filling out some paperwork, and practicing taking inventory for the store. My husband was miffed about using a scanner that ran a Windows program (being a die-hard Linux penguinista, he views anything having to do with Microsoft as being the spawn of Satan), but managed to behave himself. He said it was an overall positive experience.

Before leaving, however, my husband had worked himself up into a fury over his new haircut. Since he basically kept his hat on from the time we left the barber shop, my husband didn't see that the hairdresser butchered his haircut until about an hour before he had to report for work. Instead of doing a Caesar cut like he asked, she gave him an uneven mop crop. This after he described to her exactly what he wanted, even giving her an idea by pointing out a style on one of the other customers there.

Not a Caesar cut. The pomps of Rod Blagojevich and Justin Bieber mated and pooped this monstrosity out on my husband's head

Combed out, it was apparent where she'd messed up. My husband was furious, but refused my offers to trim his bangs and some of the gross unevenness so as to bring about the appearance of balance. He blamed her not knowing how to cut hair on anyone who wasn't Mexican, as there are differences in hair type between the races. He claimed that his cousin thirty years ago did a better job using a bowl and some kitchen shears. Not wanting him to be late or do something stupid, I told him to put his hat on and say he was having a bad hair day until we could find another barber. Fortunately, when he got home, my husband reported that his colleagues and superiors didn't mind his chop-job haircut. So long as it was short, they didn't care.

Having survived the first day, he goes back tomorrow for a few hours to finish up training. Since it'll be for a shorter period of time, I can come with him and hang out in the mall with the baby for a bit. Having frequented this mall in my old bourgeois life, I have nothing to fear about showing up. Consumerama, here I come.

The Shearing

Good evening, dear readers.

Today was a big day for my husband. He got sheared like a sheep for his first day of work tomorrow.

After doing some measurements, my husband tied up his hair and I cut the tail off so that the barbers wouldn't throw it away. We plan on selling the hair and if no one buys it, we'll keep it as a trophy. It's too impressive to throw away.

The End

His severed ponytail

Now sporting a Rolling Stones-esque moptop, we did a quick search and found a local Mexican barber shop. We had a few errands to run, so we went there first to get my husband sheared.

The post-tail moptop. Half mullet-half shag, and it still looks good on him

Let the shearing begin

The barber shop was busy and a large TV hanging down from the ceiling had Maury's show on when we walked in. Fortunately, the wait was not long. The lone female barber on duty wound up getting my husband as her  customer. He described to her the Caesar cut he wanted and let her go to work. She did a decent job, even giving his eyebrows a small trim. Needless to say, there was a substantial pile of hair surrounding the chair by the time she was done. I made sure to catch the whole event on video. It was not a continuous video since I wound up running out of space on my memory card and had to switch over to my phone's memory so that I could finish filming. My hubby was surprised that I filmed his haircut, but I did it for posterity. I don't know how long it will be before my husband gets to grow his hair out again. Needless to say, the barber was quite impressed when my hubby showed her one of the recent hair pictures I took of him.

All done. No cameras please

You might think that I'm obsessing over my husband's hair. In a way, I sort of am. His long hair was an integral part of who he was. It belonged on him! It was distinctive, since men with waist-length hair are not a common sight and it was one of the ways people could recognize him. Physical appearance aside, the hair gave him character. It added to his image as an old bohemian, an autistic hippie who did his own thing and gave no fucks about flying in the face of social convention. Now shorn, he must blend in with the rest of the masses and cower before The Man to earn some money.

I don't know how long it will be, if ever, that my husband will be able to get hair as long as it was again. That's why I went all-out, for my child as much as for myself, photographing and videotaping his hair in its final moments. My daughter won't remember how long her daddy's hair was, and how she would pull on it to wake him up. She won't remember grabbing it when he'd give her a bath or chomping on it in play. If we have more children, they may not ever know of long-haired daddy in their lifetimes.

Good bye long hair. It was fun knowing you.

Goodbye Long Hair

Greetings and a happy Monday, dear readers!

Thanks be to God and St. Joseph, my husband has finally found a job! The inventory company in the bourgeois ghetto we visited last week hired my husband to work for them and he starts training on Wednesday.

Unfortunately, as a condition of hire, my husband must now cut his famously long hair. His long ponytail was one of the things that stood out about him when I first met him. In 2012, he had his friend, an ancient seminary school dropout, shave it off much to my chagrin. He told me it was because his living situation meant that he couldn't properly care for his hair and his ponytail had become a natty, gnarled, dreadlocked mess. Fortunately, it only took three years for his hair to grow back out and nearly reach his waist. He said when he was younger, it was much more thick, but it's still in remarkably good condition. We will definitely be selling it.

My hubby's ancient passport photo from 1999. This is the only image I have of him wearing a Caesar cut.

I spent much of the previous evening looking up cheap barbers to take him to. He wants a Caesar cut, something he'd last worn about 15 years ago. It's a pretty easy haircut to do, since all the barber needs to do is run a razor over his head until the hair is mostly the same length all around and the top can be combed forward to make short bangs. Just like the kaiser himself!

Tomorrow is the big shear, so tonight, I post the last image of my husband with his long hair.

Goodbye, gorgeous mane. It will make a fantastic wig or hair extensions for someone.

I'm gonna miss his hair. The baby also lost one of her favorite ways to wake up daddy in the morning. Fortunately, my long locks will remain for the forseeable future. It's only right that in a household headed by an old hippie that at least one of us keeps long hair.

The Bourgeois Ghetto

Hello dear readers!

Today was a busy day. Last week, my husband was called into a job interview for some kind of inventory management position, and yesterday the company called him in today for a second interview. I was hopeful, since getting a second callback meant that he'd passed the initial background checks and that the blackball the CIA put on him all those years ago is beginning to lift and crack apart.

The company office is located clean on the other side of town from where we live. I knew this area, as I had lived nearby during my last two years of college. Across the street from the corporate park where the company's office was located was a well-to-do strip mall. While my husband did his interview, I went across the street to the mall to pass the time and walk around for a bit.

One of two or three fountains at the mall

It did not hit me until I started walking around the mall, with its artsy-fartsy boutiques and eateries, just how ghetto I'd become. I felt very out of place due to my low socioeconomic status, as well as my blue jeans and Tux the Linux Penguin t-shirt, compared with the other shoppers and diners with their business casual attire. While there were nice fountains with rose gardens and places to sit in the courtyards, the whole place was just so manicured, it made me wince. At some point, the pursuit of perfection becomes an obsession with a facade. That point was driven home further as I walked past a sign set in front of the stairs to the second floor, advertising various plastic surgery specials from the clinic upstairs.

I've been away from my old bourgeois life for three years, and now as I walked around this mall, I was reminded why I stayed away from it. The image-heavy focus of the mall's wealthy clientele was overwhelming. I was surprised that nobody had set up loudspeakers pulsing the phrase "it's all about appearances" throughout the mall like the way dystopian thrillers have PAs droning the party's lines all day to the subjects.

Fortunately, nobody seemed to care that I was there, pushing the baby in her stroller around the mall. I did see a few families with small children walking around in and out of the stores. I walked around the stores and browsed the wares, though even if I had money, I never would have paid the price amounts they were asking. They weren't really in my taste either. Most of my time was spent in a Native American shop, as I misunderstood the "Indian" in the store's name, and chatted with the proprietor about the various Native goods in the shop and the baby. I was amused to see the model papooses she had for sale.

When my husband was finished, I went back to the office park across the street from the bourgeois mall. The company told him they'd contact him next week once they talked to management. In addition to his long hair, which he agreed to cut as a condition upon hire, he brought his hardy sippy cup with him and it gave the staff conniptions because it looks dingy on the outside. I thought what the company was doing with my husband by stringing him along like this was absurd, but because it's an inventory job, they apparently put appearances above everything else a candidate might bring to the table in terms of experience and skill. Just like the mall across the street, the company was ALL ABOUT APPEARANCES! This whole area, with its wealth, was a bourgeois ghetto. Unlike my ghetto, where people maintain at least some semblance of community because poverty makes that happen, this area used its money to build up a cultural wall to keep the "undesirables" away.

As we drove home, I thought about our experiences in the area today. Prior to our trip here, we went to noon Mass at the Cathedral where the deacon gave a sermon on how wrong it is to judge people by appearances. It seemed that God was telling us something with our trip to the bourgeois ghetto. Either He did not approve of us being in this place either, or it was a call to be more charitable towards others. We'll just have to wait and see how this plays out. In the meantime, I'll stick to my ghetto. At least I feel at home there.

Bodacious Baked Beans

Greetings everyone!

Today, we went to a job fair that was held at a downtown hotel. Since my unemployment funds have run out and I was unsuccessful in finding some means of gainful employment, we now have to scramble and find some other means of acquiring funds. My husband is in overdrive mode, pushing out applications left and right to try and get a stable source of income going for us.

The lobby. This hotel has been around for a long time

As for the job fair itself, I wasn't terribly impressed. For one, the ballroom in which it was held was dreadfully hot and stuffy from the crowd. I was also disappointed because I'd printed off a bunch of my husband's resumes for him to hand out while there, and hardly anyone was taking them. My husband didn't mind the digitization route, since that is his preferred means of conveying information. I, however, was annoyed because I hate wasting paper. We did come away with some promising leads, though, so it wasn't a total waste.

When we finally got home, I decided to take over cooking dinner so that my husband could put out some more job applications. The Thanksgiving feast donated to us by our Latin Mass church's St. Vincent de Paul program included a large can of Bush's baked beans. I'm not especially crazy about baked beans, as I find them to be too sweet. But, being the impoverished individuals that we are, we can't always be choosy about what food we're given. So, we try and improve it as much as we can. My hubby decided to throw in some of our turkey leftovers into the baked beans. I hate to say it, but at this point, I'm sick of turkey and don't want to see another one of those damn birds for the next decade!

Anyway, here is my recipe for bodacious baked beans. Give it a try and see how you like it. I'm starting to enjoy learning this little thing called cooking.

A great way to get rid of some leftover Thanksgiving turkey

Bodacious Baked Beans

1 large can of baked beans
1 medium yellow onion
2 cloves of garlic
2 Tbsp molasses
Bacon
Smoked sausage or ham
Turkey breast (optional)

Dice the onion and garlic, set aside. Take bacon and cut into small pieces, covering the bottom of the skillet with plenty of the meat and fat. Dice sausage or ham into the skillet as well, adding enough to cover the bottom. If adding turkey breast, dice and use approximately the same amount as the sausage/ham. Turn heat on high and fry the meats. After bacon has sufficiently let off enough grease, add onions and garlic, cook until the onions are translucent. Add can of baked beans and two tablespoons of molasses. Stir, turn heat down to low and let the beans simmer for about 10-15 minutes. Serve immediately.

Coonass Turkey 'Roids

Thanks be to St. Joseph, my husband has work tomorrow after almost three years of unsuccessfully searching for employment. With this revelation, prepping the turkey had to happen sooner than anticipated.

Unfortunately, the Tony Chachere injection mix was used up, so I decided to break out my marinate skills and make something else.

I found a recipe from a Louisiana website for different types of marinates. I selected the Cajun marinate, but made some modifications based on what we had available. I'll post my version below, which I'll call the Coonass Turkey 'Roids in honor of my husband's ancestral roots in southeast Louisiana, and the steroids used by bodybuilders to bulk up.

I tasted and adjusted the seasonings as desired

Coonass Turkey 'Roids

1 cup of lemon juice
1/2 cup of olive oil
1/4 cup of crab boil concentrate
1/2 cup (1 stick) of melted butter
2 Tbsp onion powder
2 Tbsp garlic powder
2 Tbsp Old Bay seasoning
2 Tbsp Cajun seasoning
1 Tsp Trappey's Red Devil hot sauce
1 Tsp Louisiana Hot Sauce

Combine all ingredients in a fairly large bowl (like a deep cereal bowl), stir well. Make sure no lumps from the powdered seasonings remain.

To use, simply stick the needle of the syringe into the marinade and pull the plunger up to draw the liquid into the chamber. Stab loaded syringe into desired part of turkey and juice that bad boy up.

What the syringe wouldn't pick up, I poured on the turkey. Waste not, want not.

My hubby rigged up the smoker outside in the yard while I made the marinade, so the turkey right now is getting a good dose of pecan and hickory flavored smoke before being finished off in the oven. We're not letting last year's disaster happen if we can avoid it!

Tomorrow, we get to feast on our creation. I'm looking forward to this!

All Souls Adventures

Happy Monday, dear readers!

It's been a whirlwind weekend. With Halloween having been on Saturday, Sunday's followup to the craziness was All Saints' Day. Since it was our week to go to the other church, we got dressed and went to Mass. It would have been uneventful except that the baby had a HUGE shitsplosion that happened when her diaper somehow shifted and basically led to her pooping all over the car seat, and on my pant leg when I took her out of the seat before I noticed the damage. I spent pretty much the entire second half of Mass cleaning up both myself and the baby, and while I was pissed about missing out half of Mass, I begrudgingly accepted that embarrassing incidents like this are just another part of parenthood. The shitsplosion was also a reminder to always carry a spare onesie in the diaper bag just in case of accidents.

Oh parenthood. Pic found here

Today was All Souls Day. In the Catholic Faith, this is the day to pray especially hard for the dead and those souls who escaped Hell and made it to Purgatory. My FB feed featured many an image of a flaming hand or prayer books with handprints burned into them, a reference to the purifying flames of Purgatory. Contrary to popular belief, Purgatory is NOT Hell with the flames on low. Purgatory is, in the words of my catechist priest, "God's hospital" where those who died in a state of Grace but not totally clean of sin go to get treated and cleansed before they can enter Heaven. Purgatory is described as being a place of suffering, but with the end result being able to enter Heaven and join the ranks of the saints and blesseds. The level of pain and duration of time spent in Purgatory varies, depending on the sins and how often (or not) people pray for or do good works on behalf of the deceased.

Though we would go to church later on in the day for All Souls Day, we first made a trip to a part of town I had not been to since 2007. My hubby applied to a trucking school located directly due east of where we live, and was due to meet today with the hiring manager to see if he would be an eligible candidate for their program. The trip there was not bad, since recent repairs to the road made it drive-able and despite its industrially isolated location, it was still within the city limits!

I'm gonna be pretty today 😇👶 #baby #girl #family #babiesofinstagram #blackandwhite #photography

A photo posted by Tamara Tamtam Morris (@tr0u8ad0ur_520) on Nov 2, 2015 at 1:28pm PST

Alas, my husband turned out not to qualify for the trucking program due to some ongoing medical issues but because I came along with the baby, the whole office came out to admire her. While my hubby did not qualify, the manager encouraged me to apply once the baby was older. That way, I could take her with me when I went out on the routes. It's not an uncommon practice for long distance truck drivers to bring family members along for the ride. In fact, a neighbor of ours drove an 18-wheeler cross-country for 20 years and often took her children with her during their summer breaks or school holidays.

Since we so very rarely come out to this part of town, we decided to drive around a bit and check out the area. The Pima Air and Space museum and the Boneyard at Davis-Monthan AFB were the last places I visited on this side of town, and that was in 2007 when I came to Tucson to check out the University of Arizona for college. We passed both locations on our drive, and also both the Arizona State Penitentiary and the Federal prison. One thing we were glad to see out by the prisons were plenty of open scrubland, though it has shrunk significantly as the sprawl expanded. Provided that nothing catastrophic happens, I predict that within the next 20 years, developers will be building houses right up against the prison walls because the sprawl has encroached on so much desert. It happened in Chicago (see: Cook County Jail at 26th and California Ave), and I can see it happening here too.

After running some errands and making an emergency computer repair trip to our family friend's home, we went to church. It was a mercifully short Mass, since both the baby and I were pretty tired. The substitute priest for the vacationing Canon Bill this week was a Frenchman I'd previously met with an accent so thick I can barely understand him. Fortunately, the man realizes his thick accent makes understanding him difficult, so he keeps his Masses short. He's quite sincere and intelligent, as is evidenced by his quality Confessions and grasp of Latin. I do hope he gets sent to visit/assist our Latin Mass church more frequently. I like what I see in him as a priest, and would also like to get to know him better as any ordinary parishioner might.

And that is how I spent my Monday. Good night world!

Labor Day

Happy Labor Day everyone!

Why I became a Pinko. Image found here

Take a moment to thank the labor unions who pushed for living wages, reasonable work hours, better working conditions, and who are fighting their damndest to stop the common man from sliding back into slavery again.