Tag Archives: money

Sep27

Blood Money

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Content warning: blood

Photo of Gasoline Dispenser in Station

The first half of my opening shift at the fuel center was fairly slow, but around noon things really picked up. I’d gotten up at 4:15 so I could open the place at 6am, and I was really tired. I couldn’t wait for my coworker to arrive at 1pm so I could complete my restocking mission and clock out.

At about 12:45 a man came up to the window and said he wanted to put $11 on pump 6. He also asked if I had a paper towel. I didn’t think to tell him there were paper towels outside at the windshield washing stations. I just ran to the back of the kiosk and grabbed a couple of paper towels for him. I shoved them into the drawer and sent them out to him.

When I pulled the drawer back in and picked up his money, I understood

1 Us Bank Note

why he needed a paper towel. Several of the eleven $1 bills he’d put in the drawer for payment had bright red blood on them. The blood was neither smeared nor splattered; the customer had somehow bled neatly upon the bills. It seemed as if the blood had soaked into the bills immediately. Even though the money wasn’t dripping blood, it was still really, really, really gross. I’d only thought boob money was bad until I was presented with blood money.

I dropped the bills on the counter, then ran to the back of the kiosk again and grabbed a vinyl glove from the box on the shelf. I put the glove on my right hand before I touched the bloody money again.

I’m not particularly squeamish about blood. I wouldn’t say I’m attracted to it, but neither the thought nor the sight of it makes me feel sick or faint. However, I certainly don’t want to come in contact with a stranger’s blood.

A veteran worker from the supermarket was in the kiosk with me repricing all the merchandise inside. She had just been telling me how much she respected me for being able to handle all the difficult fuel center customers and how she would never make it in the fuel center. I showed her the bloody money and asked her what I should do. She suggested I rub hand sanitizer onto the blood.

It didn’t occur to me at the time not to take the bloody bills. Money’s money, right? It didn’t occur to me until I started working on this post that the bloody money contaminated the drawer, the cash register, and all the bills it touched. If the bleeding customer had any kind of disease, he could have infected me, the coworker who relieved me, the bookkeeper who would count the day’s cash drop the next morning, the bookkeeper at the corporate office who received the money, the banker who eventually received the money…How long do germs from blood live once they hit currency?

I don’t think refusing the money occurred to the supermarket veteran either. She never offered refusal as an option for me. She said I should slap some hand sanitizer on the blood, so I did, then put the bills in the drawer. A few minutes later when my coworker reported for duty, I told him about the bloody (and now also soggy from generous dollops of hand sanitizer) bills. He shook his head.

He must have called management immediately after I left to pull items for our restock because when I returned, the first thing he told me was that management said we did NOT have to accept bloody money if we didn’t want to. Thank goodness for that!

Person Putting White Bandage On Left Hand

I feel sorry for the customer who was bleeding; I truly do. Who among us has not cut ourselves unexpectedly in a public place and had to staunch the blood flow with limited first aid supplies? However (and that is a BIG however), that man should not have paid with bloody money. Yuck! Yuck! Yuck! It is not my job to clean blood off his bills. I’m glad to know my bosses agree with me on that point.

Images courtesy of https://www.pexels.com/photo/photo-of-gasoline-dispenser-in-station-1051397/, https://www.pexels.com/photo/1-us-bank-note-47344/, and https://www.pexels.com/photo/person-putting-white-bandage-on-left-hand-1409706/.

Aug16

Boob Money

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When I work at the fuel center, I spend most of my time in a booth where the customers can’t touch me. The booth has windows on three sides; the windows are allegedly bulletproof. (I don’t need to see evidence of this with my own eyes, thank you.) Conversing is done through an intercom. Money, credit cards, and tobacco products are passed through a sliding drawer in the wall. The company I work for calls the booth “the kiosk.”

One afternoon I was outside the kiosk conditioning. Conditioning just means making sure the product displays look good. I pull items to the front of the display cases, turn items so the fronts are facing forward, and fill any empty slots. It’s an easy task, improves the look of the sales area, and gets me out of the kiosk. While I’m outside, I also look around for trash on the ground, empty paper towel dispensers, and problems with the pumps.

While I’m outside conditioning, I keep an eye out for customers who have approached the kiosk. When someone walks up to the kiosk, I have to stop what I’m doing, walk to the kiosk, unlock the door, go inside, make sure the door closes behind me, approach the window, and use the intercom to find out how I can help the customer. It would be a lot easier if I could do my outside work without customer interruption, but that’s never the way it works.

On the day in question, I glanced over to the kiosk and saw that a customer had approached the kiosk. This customer was very tall and hyper-feminine. At first I thought she was a drag queen. Maybe she was.

(While I’m not sure of this person’s biological sex—and it doesn’t matter to me anyway—I will use feminine pronouns because this person was definitely presenting in a way that our society reads as female.)

The customer was wearing high heels, jeggings printed to look like red snakeskin, and a pink bustier. Her long, thick, dark hair cascaded down her bare back. I wondered where this person was going dressed this way on a weekday afternoon. It didn’t much matter because her fashion choices were none of my business.

I returned to my kiosk sanctuary and approached my base of operations at the window where the drawer is. I used the intercom to say, Hi! How can I help you today?  

Rolled 20 U.s Dollar Bill

She said she needed $20 on pump 6. She had a few crumpled bills in her hand, but after looking at them she seemed to realize they wouldn’t be enough. That’s when she started digging in her cleavage. I don’t mean she reached daintily between her breasts and gently extracted a bill. No, she was rooting around in there, digging under her left breast, having a hard time finding what she needed. I honestly thought she might pop her boob out completely. Thankfully she did not.

She finally found the twenty dollar bill she wanted and put it in the drawer. I wasn’t disgusted so much as astounded. I had no real reason to be disgusted. Her boobs were probably cleaner than mine. Hers were probably lotioned, perfumed, and powdered. However, I have to admit I felt a little weird about touching money that had been stashed in such an intimate place.

I’m not saying I’ve never carried money in my bra. Ladies’ dressy clothes often lack pockets and a gal doesn’t always want to carry a purse.

The difference is that when I’ve carried money in my bra, I discretely removed the cash before I was ready to pay. I can attest to the fact that store clerks DO NOT want to know where your money has been. My customer could have counter her money in the car and when she realized she didn’t have enough for $20 on pump six, she could have gotten out her boob money before she approached the kiosk. I didn’t really need—or want—to see her pull her money out from under her breast. 

Image courtesy of https://www.pexels.com/photo/rolled-20-u-s-dollar-bill-164527/.

Sep24

Wad of Cash

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It was a Saturday afternoon in mid-June and the Mercantile was busy. A group of tween Girl Scouts and their families were scooping up souvenirs throughout the store. I was working the floor, helping people find sizes and doing my best to watch out for shoplifting.

I asked two young adult women standing by the shelf of t-shirts for kids if they needed any help. One of the woman asked if I had anything in XXXL. I told her I had one design in that size and led her over to where those shirts were stacked on a shelf. I reached to the bottom of a pile and pulled out the XXXL shirt.

The woman had a handful of stuff, mostly brochures for tourist attractions from what I could tell. She set all the stuff she’d been holding on the shelf between two stacks of t-shirts so she could take the shirt I was holding. She held the shirt at arm’s length and cast a critical eye upon it. I think this will fit my husband, she said. I’ll take it.

Rolled 20 U.s Dollar BillShe draped the shirt over her arm, grabbed her stack of stuff from the shelf and turned away from me. I glanced at the shelf, and lying where her tourist attraction brochures had been was a wad of cash. It must have been on the bottom of her stack and was smaller than everything else, so when she picked up her stack, the money was left behind.

Sometimes we have time to deliberate over our moral dilemmas and sometimes we make our moral decisions in an instant.

I reached out and grabbed the wad of cash. It would have only taken me an instant to slip it into one of the pockets of my apron. When the woman realized it was gone, she probably wouldn’t remember setting it on the shelf. If she did remember where she’d last had it, well, there were a lot of people in the store and any of them could have picked up a wad of cash found sitting on a shelf.

Instead of putting the money in my pocket, I called out, Ma’am? Ma’am? Man Holds 10 U.s Dollar Banknote

The woman turned around, and I held up the wad of cash. You forgot this, I said to her.

She looked sheepish and said, I won’t be able to buy anything without that.

I reached out and returned her money.

It was the right thing to do.

 

Images courtesy of https://www.pexels.com/photo/rolled-20-u-s-dollar-bill-164527/ and https://www.pexels.com/photo/man-holds-10-u-s-dollar-banknote-928201/.
Mar26

A Day of Miracles and Wonder

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Postbox, British, Red, Monday, Post, LetterIt was Monday morning. I left my friend’s house at 7:30, when she left to drop her kid off at school. I ate breakfast at Taco Bell and drank a cup of coffee while I wrote in my notebook. I left when I needed to so I’d get to my tire rotation appointment right on time, even with delays for traffic and road construction, but the Discount Tire wasn’t where it was supposed to be. I drove in circles for a while, but couldn’t locate the tire shop.

I was in one of those cities where the main street turns numbered avenues into numbered streets, and east or west in an address is important,. I hadn’t paid attention to east and west, and now I was screwed. I was going to miss my appointment.

I know there’s one around here somewhere, I muttered to myself, and there it was up ahead. I was on the right street but at the wrong number. I parked and went into the customer service area anyway.

I think I’m in the wrong place, I said apologetically to the guy behind the counter. He checked his computer. I was definitely in the wrong place.

He told me not to worry about it. It happens all the time, he said. People go there looking for us–people come here looking for them. He could take care of me right where I was. He’d text the other store and let them know what had happened., I should be out of there in about an hour.

Not only did I get my tires rotated even though I ended up in the wrong place, I didn’t receive any bad news. I wasn’t told I neeed new tires or an alignment. There was no talk of tires wearing unevenly or unusually fast. Nothing was amiss, and I got out of there in 45 minutes.

The second miracle involved money. I’d been super stressed about money the past few days. I’d received the lastCoins, Currency, Investment, Insurance, Cash, Banking of my unemployment benefits, and I was about two months away from the start of my seasonal work. I had money saved, but would it last? Also, I was planning to take a long-anticipated road trip with my sibling, but maybe the financially responsible thing to do would be to sit in one place and conserve until it was time to report to work.

I pulled into the supermarket parking lot and stopped the van in a designated space. I grabbed an old flyer so I could jot down my grocery list. When I unfolded the flyer, I noticed somehting flutter. I looked down and saw money! A one dollar bill and a five were on the floor. Where did that come from? I wondered as I reached down to grab the bills. I figured The Man had given me cash for his share of something I’d paid for, and I’d tucked the money in the catchall box I keep on the console above the dog house. It was good to have a $6 surprise.

I finished writing my list, grabbed my bag, and climbed out of the van. When I turned around to close the door, I saw more bills on the floor. I picked up three fives. My bounty of $6 had turned into a bounty of $21.

I chuckled and shook my head. The miracle wasn’t finding $21 I’d forgotten I had. The miracle was the message from the Univers advising me to stop worrying about money. I had all I needed. Money would come. I felt all  my money worries disapate, and I walked inot the supermarket with a light heart.

As many miracles are, my third miracle was born of potential disaster.

Tyre, Burst, Karoo, Flat, Road, Rubber, Car, VehicleI was on the interstate, headed home. There was a lot of tire debris on the road. Vehicles attached to tow trucks and the remains of blownout tires always make me think, There but for the grace of God go I. Tire pieces strewn about the road also trigger me to make a mental sign of the cross. I haven’t been a practicing Catholic in nearly 30 years, but I hope the mental sign of the cross will ward off evil spirits of tire destruction.

I was following a dump truck. The Man always tell me not to follow trucks too closely because they’re prone to throwing rocks. What was thrown at me wasn’t a rock and it wasn’t thrown by the dumptruck. A chunk of tire came flying from one, maybe two, lanes on my right, thrown by a car. It hit my windshild with a loud thunk, then ricocheted off to my left.

I scanned the windshield for a ding. Sure enough, I now had an imperfection in the glass, but it looked more like a chip than a ding.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! I shouted while pounding my steering wheel before calming down and trying to figure out how to solve my problem. When I’d had the windshield replaced a little more than a year ago, the company I’d bought it from said they’d repair dings for free as long as I was in the county of purchase. I decided I’d stop two exits before my turn-off towards home and investigate getting the windshield repaired.

Problem #1 I didn’t know the name of the company I’d bought the windshield from.

Problem #2 I didn’t know if I’d still be inthe county of purchase when I got off the interstate.

Problem #3 My receipt for the windshipd was in an email. I didn’t have a paper copy.

Problem #4 I didn’t have my phone to access my email account.

I did have my laptop, and I decided my best option was to stop somewhere with WiFi and use my laptop to find the receipt. If I found the name and  phone number of the seller, I could call to find out if they would send a mobile unit to deterime if the problem could be fixed.

I exited the interstate and headed to a supermarket I knew offered free WiFi. I turned too soon and ended up in the wrong parking lot. I decided to stop there and assess the situation. I pulled into a parking spot and hopped out of the van. From the outside, what had looked like a chip from the inside looked more like paper stuck to the glass. I reached up and–miracle #3–wiped my problem away.

I hopped back in my van, disaster averted, and continued on my way.

I need a miracle every day, but that Monday morning, I was blessed with three.

 

Images courtesy of https://pixabay.com/en/postbox-british-red-monday-post-15502/, https://pixabay.com/en/coins-currency-investment-insurance-1523383/, and https://pixabay.com/en/tyre-burst-karoo-flat-road-rubber-1614265/,
Dec3

Another Batch of New Collages

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I’ve created another batch of new collages. They are all for sale, just in time for the winter holidays. (Prices are given in the captions under the photos.)

I decided to spend a week dedicated to making new collages. In addition to the postcard size ones I usually make, I decided I wanted to go bigger too. The collages in this post are the result of my week of cutting out then gluing down little bits of paper.

Every bit of every one of these collages was cut from an old magazine or catalog or acquired from a thrift store or junk shop. I didn’t buy any new materials for these pieces of art! How’s that for Reduce, Reuse, and Recycle?

The first one I made was a large (14″ x 11″) mixed media piece about my feelings surrounding money. Called The Root of all Worry, it took me at least six hours to complete. My favorite part of it is the little treasure chest full of coins in the bottom left corner..

This piece is called The Root of All Worry, and it’s big. It’s approximately 14″ x 11″ and is one of the biggest collages I’ve ever done. WOW! It costs, $100, including shipping.

My next collage is called Follow Your Heart. This one is mixed media too. I really enjoyed working with more than paper.

This piece is called Follow Your Heart and is approximately 8″ x 7.” It’s made with more than just paper. There’s a key in there and a red die, a metal heart, a plastic heart, and a really big rhinestone. The wooden heart in the middle projects from the base. The piece costs, $35, including shipping.

On the day I made Follow Your Heart, I also made Be Kind. I was pretty excited to create two collages in one day. Be Kind is also a mixed media piece. I told you I was really digging mixed media.

This collage is called Be Kind. I like that the little card with the words on it is distressed. Sometimes being kind is hard! We should do it anyway! It’s approximately 4″ x 6″ and is for sale for $15, including shipping.

On the third day of my collage week, I had to travel, so I only got one done. It’s called Great Day.

This collage is called Great Day. It’s about 4″ x 6″ (actually a smidge bigger) and is made from paper and metal on cardboard. It costs $15, including shipping.

On the fourth day of collage week, I worked on a big one. It’s called Who’s the Queen?

Who Is the Queen? YOU are the queen!
This mixed media piece is approxiamtely 12 and 3/4″ x 9 and 7/8″ and costs $65, including shipping.
( The oval in the middle below the large queen is an actual mirror! )

Just in time for the holidays…a reminder to Look on the Bright Side. 

This piece is called Look on the Bright Side and is made from cardboard and clippings from old magazines and catalogs. It’s a smidge over 4″ x 6″ and it’s prices at $15 includes shipping. (The piece does include glitter. )

 What will today bring? Find out by giving the arrow a spin and seeing where it lands. Road trip? Tell it like it is? Misuse of time? Quit your job? Be prepared?

This collage, called What Will Today Bring? was made from a game piece rescued from the trash and clippings from old magazines and catalogs. It costs $65, including shipping. It’s approximately 7″ x 8 1/2.”

Bee Kind…to bugs and plants, the earth and each other. This collage was handmade from a post card saved from the recycling bin, a wooden ladybug from the bottom of the thrift store barrel, metal accents scavenged from old jewelry, and clippings from old magazines and catalogs. It’s a great gift for the nature lover/reuse enthusiast on your holiday shopping list.

This piece, called Bee Kind is 4″ x 6″ and is available for $15, including shipping.

Go ahead. Start Your Transformation Today. This collage can help by reminding you of your goals every time you look at it.

This collage is called Start Your Transformation Today. It was made from a postcard about to go into the recycling bin and clippings from old magazines and catalogs. It’s approximately 4″ x 6″ and costs only $10, including shipping!

The last collage I made in my on my seventh day of collaging is called You are Capable of Amazing Things.

This collage is called You Are Capable of Amazing Things. It is approximately 4″ x 6″ and costs, $15, including shipping.

Nov8

Honesty

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mail by arnelsxThe Man and I needed to pick up our mail one last time before the camping season ended and we left the forest. The post office where we got our mail via general delivery was in a community about 15 miles from our campsite and was only open on weekday mornings. We’d missed it on our days off that week, so we made a special trip on Thursday before starting work.

Johnny's Cup of Coffee Coloured by GrumpyDad

As we wound our way down the mountain, The Man said he’d like a cup of coffee. The little market near the post office sold coffee, so I pulled in there first. The Man made it almost to the store’s front door, then turned around and came back to the van.

What’s the matter? I asked when he opened the door.

His wallet wasn’t in his pocket.

The Man loses things on a regualr basis, but he typicaly finds his possessions eventually. In fact, the night before he’d been unable to find his headlamp, but it had turned up in the morning in his gym bag. I was confident the wallet was in the van and would be found.

The Man looked through his things, but the wallet wasn’t there. I even got in the back of the van to check the back pocket of a pair of work pants where I was sure I’d recently seen the wallet. Nothing. After five minutes of looking, I offered to loan him a couple of bucks so he could get coffee and we could head to the post office. I knew he’d have to tear the van apart later, but the small parking lot in front of the market was probably not the right place for such an activity.

Could it be in the tent? I asked. Maybe in the red bag?

The Man seemed skeptical on both counts.

He was in the post office before I could get out of the van. He came bounding down the stairs as I was about to go up. The labradorite cabochons he’d ordered from India had arrived! However, the postal worker needed to see The Man’s ID before he would release the package. The Man was going  back to the van to look for his wallet again.

While I was completing a change of address form, The Man came back into the post office holding his work badge. He explained to the postal worker that his wallet was missing, so he didn’t have his driver’s license, but he did have the photo ID from his job. Would that be acceptable?

I didn’t think it was going to work. I didn’t think a representative of a federal institution would recognize an ID issued by a private corporation instead of a governmental agency, but I was wrong. The postal worker turned over the package.

I have to find that wallet as soon as possible, The Man said as I drove us back to the campground. He knew he was going to worry until it was back in his hands.

It’s got to be in here, I reassured him, or maybe in the tent.  We’ll pull everything out of the van if we have to.

When we arrived at the campground, the old guys dismantlilng the mercantile yurt were already at work. The three of them stood looking at us, which made me surly because I don’t enjoy having an audience while trying to park. I guess the men were waving because The Man said, They want to talk to you.

I don’t want to talk to them, I muttered, so The Man went over to find out what was up. Turns out he was the one they wanted to talk to.Hands and Money by j4p4n

Is this your wallet? the goofy one asked The Man while showing him the nylon trifold. I found it behind the outhouse.

It was The Man’s wallet. His driver’s license was in it, along with his debit card and the cash he’d gotten at the ATM before we left civilization earlier in the week. How and when it ended up behind the restroom, we have no idea, but we’re very grateful an honest man was back there looking for a tool he’s left behind weeks before.

Images courtesy of https://openclipart.org/detail/180093/mail,  https://openclipart.org/detail, and /188782/johnnys-cup-of-coffee-coloured.

Nov2

Answers

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I recently offered my readers a chance to ask me questions. Today’s post consists of the questions submitted, as well as my answers.

Let’s start off with an easy one, shall we?

Dave asked, Pot pie or pizza pie?

While I would not turn down pot pie freely given, my choice will always be pizza. I would choose pizza over most anything else, except maybe ice cream.

Here’s another easy one, from Mary. Do you work for the state or federal government?

Neither. Of course, I am not working at the moment, but when I am working, it’s not for any governmental agency.

Now onto a question with a longer answer. This is a fun one.

Muriel2pups asked, Blaize, What would you do if you won a million dollars?

Funny you should ask, as I do have a plan, although buying lottery tickets is not part of the plan. Not sure how I expect to win if I don’t play…

Over the summer I noticed sometimes my coworker and I would talk about the possibility of some event or reaction and then the thing we talked about happened. I decided we needed to turn this ability to manifest into a million dollars. My coworker and I agreed to share any money sent our way by the Universe. So, if I won a million dollars, half of it automatically belongs to my coworker.

I have a handful of friends and worthy causes to whom I would dole out somewhere between  $200 to $5,000 each.

I would have my van repaired and overhauled in every way necessary.

I would visit Montana and Alaska.

Would I still have money left after that? I have no idea. I don’t have a clear concept of how much half a million dollars is. I guess I would probably do some socially responsible investing with whatever was left and try to live off that money while writing or making art.

Cindy had several questions. Let’s take them (and their answers) one at a time.

 I am pretty interested in the life out on the Mesa outside of the bridge in Taos. Have you ever lived out there? What did you think of it and what was your experience if you did.

No, Cindy, I never lived out on the Mesa. I have a couple of friends who do, one I visited a few times and one I house and dog sat for several times.

Like many neighborhoods, the Mesa is a mixed bag. There are people out there living in huge, seemingly expensive, “nice” houses. There are people out there living in shacks, old school buses, and homes they built themselves, piece-by-piece, over time. There are people out there living in structures somewhere between a mansion and a shanty. Some people on the Mesa use solar power, and other people have no electricity at all. Many people on the Mesa have no running water and have to haul their water home.

Two women I knew have been murdered on the Mesa in less than three years. For me, these killings put a dark cloud over the area’s visually stunning landscape.

Do you keep your money in a bank at all?

 Yes, Cindy, I do have a bank account. There was a time before I had a bank account when I kept my cash on me. Of course, I worried about getting robbed. During that time, I did not keep my money hidden in the van, in fear of the van getting stolen or towed.

Now I worry about a breakdown of the financial system which would leave me without access to my money. I suppose if the financial system breaks down, that paper’s not going to do me much good anyway.

Just a fun question. What is your favorite meal? Like if you could have anything to eat for dinner tonight what would it be? ..and your favorite dessert?

 If I’m cooking for myself, my favorite meal is some variation of brown rice, tofu, and veggies. I particularly enjoy blanched broccoli.

If the Lady of the House is cooking dinner, I’ll take gumbo!

If any food in the whole world could magically appear in front of me, I would go for boudin.

As for dessert, I don’t know if I’ve ever met one I didn’t like. Any sort of concoction with brownies or cookies or cake and ice cream would make me happy.

Camilla said, I was wondering why you never post a photo of yourself anywhere on your blog.

My privacy and security are very important to me. I don’t necessarily want strangers to know what I look like, so I don’t post photos of myself. The same goes for my van. While I don’t think I would be mobbed by adoring fans, I feel safer without my face plastered all over the internet.

Besides, what I look like has no bearing on my writing, my photography, and my art. I would rather you judge me on how I behave and what I can create rather than on how I look.

Louise asked, Do you think this is something that you’ll be doing for as long as you can or do you think that you may choose a more stationary life? Maybe I’m asking when/how/if you would choose a more permanent (or semi-permanent) place to lay roots for a while.

In “Truckin,'”Robert Hunter best explains my life as a van dweller:

You’re sick of hangin’ around and you’d like to travel
Get tired of travelin’ and you want to settle down

 When I’m stuck in one place, I want to hit the road. When I’m on the road, I think about the benefits of settling somewhere.

Don’t forget, I was mostly settled before I started my life on the road. I know what it’s all about.

But yes, I do think about settling down in some shitty little apartment, working some shitty little job, stuck in some city. I wouldn’t want to live in a city where I didn’t already have friends and a support network. Unfortunately, I can’t afford to live in most of the places where my good friends live. I’m not willing to work 8 hours a day, five days a week, 50 weeks a year at some job that’s not doing much good for the world so I can take a two week vacation to visit people I love.

Also, I wonder if I could even get a real job these days. I’m a middle age woman who’s been mostly out of the  job force for seven years. Who’s going to hire me? It’s not like I have any specialized, marketable skills.

I do worry about getting older, about getting sick, about being injured. (I am very careful getting in and out of the shower these days.) However, I’m not willing to sacrifice my now for future unknowns. Maybe I will be able to work as a camp host until the day I die.

Sue asked a long and complicated question. I will try to condense it.

I’m sure you’ve thought about what you went through a LOT. And while you did think about them, did you isolate things he said and did, and then re-identify them from casual remarks into recognizable warning signs? In other words, have you learned to think about what people say and how they act so it will help you in future relationships?

One reason I don’t write much about my ex is because there are many aspects of both his and my life (and our life together) that would immediately reveal our identities to folks who knew us fairly well. I’m not interested in my ex finding me and contacting me, so I don’t share parts of our past that would lead him to me.

That said, during my relationship with him, I was mostly cognizant of what was going on. I don’t have to look back and say, Oh, that was a warning sign. I look back and remember how I knew at the time how some word or action was fucked-up shit.

So have I learned to think about what people say and how they act? I don’t know. What I can do now is identify fucked up men from a mile away and run in the other direction. (I could probably spot fucked up women too, but I don’t get as many opportunities.)

Brent asked, Blaize, I would like to know what you don’t have in your life that you would like to have.

While I have many close and wonderful friends, I spend most of my year far away from them. I’m lonely a lot. When I do visit, my friends have work, kids, relationships, a million obligations they can’t drop just to spend some deep quality time with me. I get it, but it’s difficult for me to feel fulfilled by friendship in passing. I wish I could spend more time with the people I love.

Laura-Marie asked me the following sweet question: how did u get so wonderful? i really mean that. what factors came together to form beautiful u?

Aw, shucks.

But I don’t feel wonderful! I’m grumpy and short-tempered and pushy and annoying. Anything good you see if because I am working against my natural tendencies to talk too much and make stupid jokes. I’m working against feeling irritated and wanting to have everything my way.

I used to do nice things for people because I wanted people to like me. Now when I do nice things for people, it’s usually because it’s the right thing to do. I try to treat people as I would like to be treated. I try to act like the kind of friend I want to have.

 

Apr28

I Get by with a Whole Lot of Help From My Friends

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I think I’ve been coming off as independent and self-sufficient.

Well, I am independent. I don’t want anyone telling me what to do. I want to make my own decisions. I want to follow my own path while listening to my own drummer. But self-sufficient? That’s not really been happening. Since I started this journey of unusual living, I’ve been helped by strangers and friends.

After I left my not-very-nice boyfriend in the middle of the night, I ended up homeless for three months. I was spending my nights outside in a sleeping bag given to me by someone I’d just met, carrying everything I owned in a backpack from the same fellow. I mostly ate food given to me at a food bank, and I brushed my teeth in a rest stop restroom. But even with such a simple existence, I didn’t make it alone. A couple of new friends took me into their homes once or twice a week to feed me dinner and let me shower or bathe. Vendors at the outdoor arts and crafts market where I sold sage sticks (and later hemp jewelry) slipped me granola bars or leftovers or (on a very few occasions) a five or ten dollar bill, which I used to buy supplies. One grizzled old horse trader bought me a sandwich one day and gave me a pep talk about how he liked me because I showed up every day and did what I had to do to earn my own way while not asking for nothing from nobody.

When I was lost (meaning after I left the boyfriend and dropped off the face of the earth) friends from my past lives sent out a search party to find me. I was found, and so many people from my past offered love and support in the form of dollars and open invitations to sleep on their couches and in their spare rooms. I used those dollars (and dollars I had earned myself in long days of selling my handiwork in the wind and the sun and the heat) to buy myself a van and go on a fantastic, epic journey where I met new people who became friends and offered me new and appreciated love and (mental and physical) support.

From Mt. Shasta, California, I ended up North Carolina. A wonderful housed-up road sister I’d just met invited me into her home to share Thanksgiving dinner with her family. A couple I’d met at the Bridge on Labor Day weekend welcomed me at the inn they own on the Tuckasegee River. These folks put me up in a suite, fed me, gave me clothes to wear. In both instances, these people barely knew me but treated me like family.

From North Carolina, I ended up in a major Texas city where old friends turned over their spare room to me, fed me, entertained me, gave me access to their laundry room and their internet service, AND gave me a pair of beloved cowgirl boots. Beginning to see a pattern here?

I could go on and on. I could tell you about my Computer Guy who’s helped me out financially several times, as well as making this very website possible. I could tell you about the walk-the-talk young Christian couple who rescued me (and a mentally unstable young man friend, his dog, the woman he was in love with, and her six-month-old baby) in Hot Springs, Arkansas; drove us all to their home in Southern Louisiana; then with the help of their church paid for my bus ticket back to Texas (at my request) and sent me off with a new purple backpack and a few dollars in my pocket. I could tell you about a different set of friends (college buddies) in Texas who took me in, gave me the guest room, fed me, included me in their Friday night extended-family time, loaned me a car when I was without a van, bought me a piece of memory foam for my new (to me) van, and helped me with my insurance payment. I could tell you about the kind and generous people who gave me gas money so I could get to my job in California last summer.

In the comments to my March spending report one of my readers said,

your expenses were close to $600 for the month. Were you able to earn at least $600 during the month?

My response was

No, I didn’t earn $600 in March. I have been living off the money I saved from working last summer and fall. That money is just about gone…

Anyone who has been paying attention is going to wonder what’s going on when they see my April report in a few days. At the end of March, I said I was almost out of money, but the spending report is going to show that I spent a bundle of money on tires (that is a saga for another day) as well as a bunch on insurance. And how did I afford to stay in a room I found through Airbnb while I worked scoring standardized tests? The answer is that I’ve been making it through with money I’ve earned through house sitting and Craigslist jobs, as well as with gifts and loans from people who care about me.

I don’t know how long this way of life is going to last for me. Right now, it doesn’t feel sustainable. I’m tired of being a burden on people, and I worry that people are getting tired of taking care of me. I’ve been stressed a lot about money in 2016. I know money is just a social construct. It doesn’t even matter and it’s not even real (right?) until transmission fluid is leaking or the fuel pump goes out or the metal threads are showing on the back tires (all of which have happened to my van since February).

I think I’ll have to save $2,000 (of an estimated $5,000 gross income) this summer to make it through the fall and winter of 2016 and the first part of 2017 while being able to take care of any van emergencies. Of course, I when I’m not work camping, I’ll fill in with side jobs if I can get them.

I can’t think of any clever, upbeat way to end this post except to say I’m so grateful to everyone who has assisted me, ever, but especially in the last four years. (And if I you have helped me, and I failed to mention you specifically in this post, please don’t think that means I don’t feel gratitude for everything you’ve done for me.) My life would be impossible without so much help.

Dec31

Spending

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Last year I formulated a two-year plan. Part of the plan involved keeping track of every penny I spent. The other part of the plan involved visiting and writing about all of the New Mexico state parks. When I decided not to do the state park part of the plan, I mostly forgot about the keeping track of spending part of the plan.

The other day on one of the vandweller Facebook groups I belong to, someone asked how much money people “need” to live in their vans and travel. The same question came up at the Rubber Tramp Rendezvous last year. I never know how to answer such a question. I’ve been on the road with no money in my pocket, literally living off of the kindness of strangers. If I didn’t have as much money as I needed, I did without or asked strangers for help.

But it got me thinking…How much do I spend? Can I spend less? How much (money, things) do I really need?

So I’ve decided to go ahead with the keeping track of every penny part of my original plan.

I’m not going to go out today and stock up on a bunch of things so I can spend less in 2016. (I’ve got some food in the van and three propane canisters, and I filled up the gas tank two nights ago because I needed to.) I’ll just buy what I need when I need it and note it down in my little black book. (I found an old, blank black book when I was organizing the van last week, so I didn’t have to spend any money to buy a new one.)

I think what’s going to happen is that #1 I’m going to see that I buy a lot of stuff (mostly from thrift stores) that I don’t need and #2 Some things I won’t buy because I’ll be embarrassed to admit to it in writing. (I don’t mean sex toys or tampons. I mean yet another skein of yarn or a book I’m not totally excited about or more postcards when I already have plenty of postcards.)

Every month I’ll post an accounting of my spending here. By the end of the year, I’ll have answers.