For whatever reason, I wish for this to be mostly a stand alone entry. I would say to those of you who haven’t been longtime readers, or those who weren’t willing to pick through the archives (and I can’t say I blame you. I tried to do it once and almost decided to delete 99% of it) that it might help to read this entry first.

Anyway, I’ve been off work for a few days so I have been trying to tackle a portion of the paper that exists in my life. I started with the cleaning of the side of the desk that I share with Alex ,to the drawer I have in the file cabinet. I use this drawer frequently, mostly by opening it, shoving papers inside, and shutting the door. I did this the year my mom decided to give each of her children a copy of her new, updated will for Christmas. I glanced at the front page and then shoved it into the drawer.

Deep down in the archives of my years I came across a folded piece of paper. It gave me pause immediately. It appeared yellow with age and perhaps a slight bit stained by water. I have no idea how it came into my possession, no recollection of ever having read it before. It was written by my Dad.

“Tammy is eight years old. I am her dad home from work and very tired. She tells me of her day at school. How Sister, her teacher, has some prayers for her to learn. I hold her list as she recites. She reads from her book and I learn how Africans spend their day. I look on as she does her Math. We talk of our fishing trips and of her thrill at using my pole. I hope that next time she will catch a fish. We play a card game called Fish. I try to make sure she ends up with more books than me. She snuggles next to me nearly asleep. I feel good and not tired at all. Now it is time for her to go to bed. I watch her slowly slowly fall asleep. How beautiful she is to me and how great it is to be a Dad.

.4 (152/16 + 2 100) = .4 (9.5+1.32) =.4 (10.8) = 4.32

5 long sentences”

You see, Pammy Sue, it’s not always sad. But it’s always there inside me, somewhere.

Currently listening to: Beck “Nobody’s Fault But My Own”

Polly wanted to make sure I gave her credit for this photo.

I haven’t been even a tenth of the writer I wanted to be here. I had made a vow to also be a reader, to read and reply to my comments and emails, to reach out, to give back. I have been comforted by each of your words, and grateful that you took the time to leave them here.

I noticed immediately after the aforementioned incident with Chef Medium Cheddar that my anxiety level hit a high I haven’t seen in years. I dreaded going to work; I dreaded the hour he would arrive. I think I’ve mentioned before that I work with a group of guys, all of them seeming like boys really, except for one man, Joseph, who is closer to my age at 30. When I returned after the incident where I was yelled at I started to work immediately and he asked me what was wrong. I tried brushing him off and smiling, but he knew. We have had a few opportunities to talk alone since we started working together and we have opened up and shared just enough of our respective stories to know that we have struggled and why, although I must admit when he calmly told me his, a story filled with abusive stepfathers, a mother who abandoned him and the horrors he and his brother lived through in various foster homes, I could have wept for the little boy he once was. On another note, we both suffer from clinical depression and panic disorder, although his panic attacks were only recently diagnosed and treated. The similarities pretty much end there. He is strong and vocal and takes absolutely no shit from anyone, no matter what position they hold.

When I finally told him the condensed version of being yelled at he immediately asked why I hadn’t stood up for myself. When I told him that it was someone who is our superior there he was adamant, “I don’t give a fuck who it was. You respond to that kind of treatment with a demand for respect.” His voice softened quite a bit and he spoke to me softly, “I know that it is hard for you, but you are going to have to learn how to stand up for yourself. The first few times you do it it’s going to be real hard, but it will get easier. Soon enough people will learn that you won’t tolerate it and it will stop. And if you do get fired, you can walk out with your head held high.” I knew he was right in the same way I knew it was going to be something I may never master.

I did talk with Alex about it, and he said that if something similar happens again to bypass all of the cheeses in the kitchen and to head straight upstairs to the office that holds the head cheese of the whole operation where I am to calmly request a meeting regarding the incident. One of the reasons I clung to Alex from such a young age was the fact that he takes no shit from anyone. There is truth in what both Joseph and Alex said to me and if history is any indication, this will continue to come up until I can learn not to flee, not to cry, not to hide.

I haven’t written about my children in some time. Nathan had a wonderful visit to LA with my cousin. My only complaint would be that he came back whining about the weather here in Portland and bemoaning the fact that he wasn’t raised in LA. This type of griping gets old fast and so I have pointed out to him that he will be 18 soon, and at that point he can move himself to LA where everything is “perfect” , as he puts it. He is otherwise doing well. He decided to obtain his GED and is now starting college at the end of this month. He actually consulted me on his course selections and I told him to make sure to take at least one class that would be fun. He seems excited to be moving on and my heart is full as I watch him forge ahead. For a long time I was so afraid for his future. He has mellowed considerably and his anger doesn’t often get the best of him anymore.

Polly is in 8th grade this year. She is still avidly taking photographs and drawing. I am still trying to resist the urge to be way more overprotective with her than I am with Nathan. She has really come out of her shell at this school she is in. She has a solid group of friends and her calendar of events is too hard to keep in my head so I had to create a document for it on the computer to keep everything straight. She is still a voracious reader, something that pleases me to no end, and I can only hope that she knows how much I love her, as she is doing the pull me close push me away thing that is normal, but oh so painful as a parent.

I will try harder to write more. My laptop broke, and Alex can’t fix it, so I need to take it in for repair. I should have paid for the extended warranty. I always figure Alex can fix everything, but sometimes, no. I was actually happy that the damn laptop decided to die when he was using it. I hate being the one with my hand in the cookie jar when it shatters, every damn time.

I do have stories to tell and comments and emails to answer but I have been trying to deal with a change in my work schedule. My boss asked me if I would be interested in working days, and I said yes, so she scheduled me from 2 a.m. ’til noon. It wasn’t what I had thought of when she had said days, but I was willing to give it a try. Sunday (my night off) I was asleep, deeply deeply asleep at 2 a.m. when my cell phone rang. It was my supervisor who was ill and near tears asking if I could possibly go down to the restaurant. There was some big wig meeting with the higher ups, the suits behind the curtains, the real men in charge plus she needed inventory done. I said yes and flopped me legs over the side of the bed asking “when?” She answered “6 a.m.” and the only thing to do was to put on a big pot of coffee.

I made it through that day fine and then resumed my not a day shift, not a night shift . This morning after a long night I was finishing up some dessert items with my supervisor. She sent me over to the stove top to cook a fruit sauce and one of the chefs, not the big cheese chef, but maybe the medium cheddar? chef screamed at me to get out of his way. As I gathered my few items up I could feel tears spring to my eyes I was so stunned. As I made my retreat he shouted out again, “This is a big kitchen, you can find another place to make that!”(For the record, small kitchen for such a large restaurant, only one stove top, six burners) It was in my mind as I was walking back towards the tiny baker’s bench we work on to unbutton my chef jacket, to throw my company provided hat in the garbage and to just walk out. I went to my supervisor and told her I couldn’t make the cherry sauce . She took the pot from me and went and placed it on the stove top. No one said a work to her. She tried to make light of it, telling me that Chef Medium Cheddar was having a bad day. Funny, I was having a bad day all of the sudden too.

I worked on the tiramisu and after I’d finished that we started wrapping desserts. I placed our dirty dishes into our large mixing bowl (the one with wheels) and pushed it carefully through the maze of people into the dish room. As soon as I entered ,the dishwasher screamed, “I keep doing more and more dishes and more keep coming!” I was going to make a no shit type of comment but I looked at his red face, the spit flying, the wild eyes and got the fuck out of there. That particular dishwasher is one I don’t like to interact with as he either has some sort of mental retardation or he’s so fucked from too many years of drug use that he can barely function except to wash dishes and when he feels the need to talk, the subject of his prison records and list of felonies always comes up and the whole thing makes me shudder and think of that guy in Silence of the Lambs, “It rubs the lotion on its skin. It does this whenever it is told.”

Strangely, Buffalo Bill dishwasher came right up to me before I left and apologized. I respect that. Chef Medium Cheddar played everything is just fine and yelled out something I couldn’t hear about there being water on the floor, and where did it come from? as I walked away, no turning back.

Anyway, I am home now and heading toward the bed, but I just wanted to get this off of my chest. I haven’t told Alex and I don’t think I will because he always points out that I don’t stick up for myself and that I really should, but it’s very hard for me.