Grandma's Kitchen

When I was in middle school I wrote a short descriptive piece about my favorite place in the world. Not surprisingly my little slice of heaven was at my grandparents' house. It was the creek running through their pasture. The creek is still there, and I can almost remember what I had written.Something like "The water is cold on my bare feet. Its babbling is like a quiet song sung only for me. A crane rests on a large rock, watching for his lunch in the clear stream."

It was easily my best work, and I wish I had a copy of the assignment, but if my memory serves me, and it usually does, the teacher kept it as an example for future students.

Thinking about this piece makes me think of my grandparents. Specifically my grandmother, and her kitchen.

There were, and still are many magical spots at my grandparents' house. But Grandma's kitchen was probably the happiest, most magical of all. There wasn't anything special about it, except maybe the vintage cabinet door handles, and the pepto bismol pink paint on the cabinets. But there was always something wonderful lingering in the room.

You could almost always find my Grandma hovering over the stove, cooking up the best meal you'd ever have. Up until the week of her passing, she was in there baking a chocolate cake, or making a pot of chicken and noodles, just for me.

Many times I would walk in the back door to find her stirring the noodles one more time for perfection. "I thought you'd be over soon. I made chicken and noodles." That was her greeting every time. Her back was always to me. I don't know how she knew it was me, she probably saw me through the window above the kitchen sink, but I appreciated and I cherish that she always knew.

The magic is gone now. The kitchen is often dark. But sometimes, when the air is still and the light from that window above the sink is just right, I can almost see her, and I can feel her there, waiting for me to come through the back door, so we can have lunch together one last time.

Successful Is Relative.

This past Saturday, my mother and I went to the mall to do a little Christmas shopping. It's always good to spend time with my mom, but I honestly could not enjoy this trip. I just couldn't shake this horrible funky feeling I had. And I still haven't gotten past it. It's Wednesday. This is ridiculous.

Anyway, I realized today why I am being plagued by the Downtown Funk. Which by the way is as catchy as the Uptown Funk by Mark Ronson (I think that's his name?), but it's not nearly as enjoyable.

When we were in the mall, we were surrounded by people who were roughly my age, and dressed like they were going to work at PR firm. They were all carrying the latest in technology in their hands while "drinking Starbucks". If you didn't know, no one actually drinks Starbucks, they just pay $8.00 for a small ass shot of espresso in some soy milk, and walk around with it to look cool.

I'm so over seeing all these "cool" people. Why? Well mostly I'm jealous. I've never been cool, I will never be cool. And partly because they all give off this vibe that they are successful, with good jobs, nice cars, big houses, and a freaking yacht at the marina. Again something I probably will not live up to.

But saying I won't live up to the term "successful" is inaccurate. Successful is relative. 

Basically, I'm jealous over something that is a total front. These people may very well really be living the dream. College educated, making a good living, and are happy. But I'm doubting it. Why? Well we are children of an age where everyone is in debt for school or cars or credit cards. 

Our parents felt it was their birth right to go to college, and so they did. They graduated, got a good job, met someone, got married, had a few kids, and then put the pressure on their children to be as "successful" as they were. 

So we go to college right out of high school, extremely naive, and immature because of the changing times, with no idea of how to actually make it in the real world. (Yes you may feel like you are very mature, and some are, but most of us early 20 somethings really aren't. We were not handed as much responsibility as our parents, and their parents. It happens, don't get offended.) So we create mountains of school debt we can't pay, party too much, try to keep up with the ever changing world, and then wake up one day to realize that we've maxed out credit cards to live like the people we see on TV. To pretend that "Hey we're doing very well. Life is great."

Not that life isn't great. To wake up everyday breathing is a blessing. But my point is we've put so much pressure on ourselves to be great leaders and stars. What happened to those small town dreams? Or not having to pretend to be something we aren't to fit in with the crowd? 

Do you feel that pressure? I know I do. I know my friends do. Cameron and I have had long conversations about it. It is there. The need, the drive, to live like kings, and wear YSL lipstick. Our parents did not intend for our generation to feel like this. They meant for us to have and do more than they did, as long as it meant we could still have simple, easy existences, and work hard.

We created the weight we feel. We did it by over sharing silly images of thigh gapped, photoshopped, high fashion models on social media, by glorifying being famous without really having to do anything to get there, songs about tigers on gold leashes, and "hanging with Molly", by refusing to accept that to float, you first have to sink a little. (That is why there are anchors on all those tattoos and pictures. Anchors sink.)

Rome was not built in a day my friends. Do not feel as though you have to have everything right this instant. Our parents and grandparents didn't just rope the moon and pull it down. They had to build ladders and send monkeys into space first. 

Successful is a relative term. You don't have to be whatever image is breaking the internet today. It is completely acceptable to be happy in the same town you grew up in with a used car, a house that you aren't dropping your whole paycheck on to make the mortgage, and going to Zumba classes twice a week because you don't want to gain more weight during the holiday season. Please, I'm begging you, find your own successful, what your soul is truly happy with.

I may be speaking for myself here, that's probable. But I think we can all agree there is a heaviness in the air. Ignore it. Go after what your heart wants, not what everyone else pretends to have. Successful is relative, remember that.

Alex Jones, The Poet Laureate. Wait, Can Women Be Poet Laureates?

If you give my dog a treat,

He will expect one, every time you meet.

If you give my dog a cookie,

The sugar will turn him into a Wookie.

But if you give my dog a doughnut,

He'll sho' 'nough, go nuts.

Earlier I fibbed a little on my Facebook page and said I knew what I was going to write about. But I forgot what I was going to write. So here are some poems, just for you fine folks on this cold, gloomy, Hump Day.

Roses are red.

My Grandpa's shirt is blue.

The dog just farted.

Or was that you?

Do trees have knees?

No, knees belong to the bees.

But bees fly?

And then I smash them and they die.

To smash them is cruel!

But if one lands on you, you'll dance like a fool.

Roses are red.

My Grandpa's shirt is blue.

Rhyming is hard.

I like bread and butter pickles on my sammiches. Ewe.

I haven't written serious poetry since middle school. So forgive me if these aren't that great. I'm pretty proud of the first one though. And my use of the word "Ewe" in the last one. I'm not sure what female sheep have to do with anything, but it rhymed. Have a good day!