LJ- and friends-related insecurities, food choices and confusions, and I come before pigs
If LJ, for some reason, decided everyone could only have ten friends on their friends list, I wonder who would be on everyone's friends list. More importantly, would it include me? I think I would be as LJ friendless as I am friendless in real life. I amuse myself a great deal, but I just cannot imagine that I amuse anyone else.
I told Mr. Neighbor that I am depressed, cranky, hungry and tired. Without hesitation, he replied, "So, you're saying, nothing's new, right?"
It's no secret I'm poor. I am I-must-visit-the-food-bank (here, the food bank is called the Survival Center) poor. Beginning in late spring (and going until I'm not sure when, since, until recently, I've been too proud to visit the food bank), they have fresh produce from assorted local farms and the community gardens. This is pretty much what I go to the Survival Center for--produce. Mr. Neighbor goes there for the canned and boxed goods. (When we get home, we swap. I get his produce; he gets my canned and boxed goods.) The room is most always packed full of people. Very, very few of them take advantage of the fresh produce; they're just waiting for their canned and boxed goods. I find it rather sad. More sad than the sad it already is.
One time I was there, a woman held up a radish and asked what it was. "A radish," I told her. "Oh, no, they make me crazy," she said. She did all sorts of contortions that led me to believe (that she believed) the radishes made her hallucinate. Another time, a gentleman held up kohlrabi. "What the hell is this?" he wanted to know.
For some reason, I think most of the folks that visit the Survival Center haven't a clue what to do with fresh produce, especially fresh produce they don't recognize. Next time I visit, I'm going to ask if I can somehow arrange it to find recipes for the offerings, have them photocopied and have them available near the produce boxes. (Even though I am spastic and nervous and anxious around people, I'd even be happy to hand out the recipes and explain what little I know about the produce offerings.) I wonder if that would help any.
In Survival Center good news, I asked the woman at the front desk what they did with leftover produce. I sort of figured they'd donate it to a soup kitchen or some such. Nope. "Feed it to the pigs," she said in a serious tone. Surely she was joking. I asked if she was. "No. Feed it to the pigs," she said again in an even more serious tone. I asked if I could take even a little bit more before they fed it to the pigs. I told her I was trying to get things stored away for winter and that (sadly, oh, so sadly) my garden plot isn't doing as well as I had hoped. The woman made my day: Of course, I could come before they feed it to the pigs! After all her seriousness, she seemed quite delighted that someone was asking to come before the pigs.
There it is. My day has been made happy knowing that, not only do I come before pigs, but it seemed to brighten someone else's day that I would ask to come before pigs.
I told Mr. Neighbor that I am depressed, cranky, hungry and tired. Without hesitation, he replied, "So, you're saying, nothing's new, right?"
It's no secret I'm poor. I am I-must-visit-the-food-bank (here, the food bank is called the Survival Center) poor. Beginning in late spring (and going until I'm not sure when, since, until recently, I've been too proud to visit the food bank), they have fresh produce from assorted local farms and the community gardens. This is pretty much what I go to the Survival Center for--produce. Mr. Neighbor goes there for the canned and boxed goods. (When we get home, we swap. I get his produce; he gets my canned and boxed goods.) The room is most always packed full of people. Very, very few of them take advantage of the fresh produce; they're just waiting for their canned and boxed goods. I find it rather sad. More sad than the sad it already is.
One time I was there, a woman held up a radish and asked what it was. "A radish," I told her. "Oh, no, they make me crazy," she said. She did all sorts of contortions that led me to believe (that she believed) the radishes made her hallucinate. Another time, a gentleman held up kohlrabi. "What the hell is this?" he wanted to know.
For some reason, I think most of the folks that visit the Survival Center haven't a clue what to do with fresh produce, especially fresh produce they don't recognize. Next time I visit, I'm going to ask if I can somehow arrange it to find recipes for the offerings, have them photocopied and have them available near the produce boxes. (Even though I am spastic and nervous and anxious around people, I'd even be happy to hand out the recipes and explain what little I know about the produce offerings.) I wonder if that would help any.
In Survival Center good news, I asked the woman at the front desk what they did with leftover produce. I sort of figured they'd donate it to a soup kitchen or some such. Nope. "Feed it to the pigs," she said in a serious tone. Surely she was joking. I asked if she was. "No. Feed it to the pigs," she said again in an even more serious tone. I asked if I could take even a little bit more before they fed it to the pigs. I told her I was trying to get things stored away for winter and that (sadly, oh, so sadly) my garden plot isn't doing as well as I had hoped. The woman made my day: Of course, I could come before they feed it to the pigs! After all her seriousness, she seemed quite delighted that someone was asking to come before the pigs.
There it is. My day has been made happy knowing that, not only do I come before pigs, but it seemed to brighten someone else's day that I would ask to come before pigs.