Fridays With Dale: Poverty and Adversity

Title with image of author

Dale Angel

 


Poverty and Adversity

By Dale Angel

                                                  

 

Poverty and Adversity travel together. They will stop by uninvited and visit, sometimes staying a lifetime. Through ignorance, inexperience, and sometimes to forces beyond our control, we find we are no match for them. Like a disease, it permeates the blood lines. We pass it on to our children.

You know when you have been selected to keep company with them, especially if this is a new concept for you. If you have had this problem for years, you don’t even know you have it. You think it’s normal to do battle every day in an economic war. You compliantly hand over your paycheck for decades and decades. Sometimes undermining your own best interests in favor of a temporary amusement, it brings self-induced poverty, or maybe unforeseen circumstances put you in hock through no fault of your own.

 When you find yourself in plastic shoes attached to an old truck tire recycled into shoe soles an outfit of sleazy material from the sale…sale…last call sale, that is a red flag…unless this is voluntary.

Language that suggests agitation, with one octave off hysteria is another sign. A wrinkled brow and teeth that needs attention–they are at your house, maybe moved in. If the light bill is foreclosing and you see the bridge as an option, this is full blown poverty with its companion adversity.

 Today’s economic market place depends on your cooperation and belief that their programs are designed for your best interests. They want you to believe they are doing you a favor. Debt comes under many sweet sounding names and can be lethal.

 Adversity and poverty do have some merit. They are valuable instructors. We can learn from our enemy. It takes commitment and focus and courage to plan our escape. I’m running as fast as I can to get free. If you pass me, I’ll wave to you.

Dale

 

 


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Fridays With Dale: Wabi-Sabi

Title with image of author

Dale Angel

 


Wabi-Sabi

By Dale Angel

                                                  

 

Wabi-Sabi led to Shabby Chic. I followed them.

The Japanese concept is so soothing: Wabi, meaning humble; Sabi, meaning beauty.

I entertained Shabby Chic first though. We moved out of the tent to the over hauled hen house with a window. Using a wire coat hanger I straightened with my hands, I placed it across the nails at each end of the window. It made a curtain rod for the drapes that consisted of a cut off skirt of my favorite dress. I loved my home and this beauty of the skirt over the window. I loved it every time I looked at it. Today this is called Shabby Chic. Then it was called being resourceful.

Later in life, my new home was filled with museum pieces I had picked up at yard sales. All the out dated old antique beauties that had lost their moment in the sun…like me. It was difficult to be enthusiastic over some of the stuff of my era, but I made the leap.

I had met Wabi-Sabi earlier. Like some love affairs, we never made the connection until we were more mature. It was love at our first introduction. Looking at life through ages of serenity, beauty and peace, it came with humbleness. I moved out on Shabby Chic.  We had our beautiful moments together. I think I out grew Shabby Chic.

 I moved in Wabi-Sabi that came with old hand made pieces older than time. It took great powerful lifts to move the stuff. We lived together with humility and beauty. Old Age traveled with us, it was peaceful and warm as I polished and caressed ancient pieces with history.

 Wabi-Sabi became unappreciated when my toes met friendly fire…the piano leg… and I almost crippled myself. My dad’s cuss words came out of my mouth.

I couldn’t move anything without calling for reinforcements. After waiting for a long time, maybe two days, when help did arrive, I threw it out and life became easier.

I love my new conceptual design home. I can move a whole four drawer chest with my little finger. It’s on wheels.  I got it at Wal-Mart. It’s plastic, and I have one for all the junk that multiply at my house. I have one to catch the books and magazines and papers that get away from me I stash them in my little plastic drawers. I can even throw in my shoes from the middle of the room where I kicked them off. I have handy plastic containers everywhere, even under the sink.

My new conceptual design home is not much bigger than the hen house; it’s called a mobile home. The wheel chair and walker look like they have moved in permanently.  I’ve had the experience of living with my former loves, Shabby Chic and Wabi-Sabi.

These days, I’m more comfortable with Youth, the detached clean uncluttered living, with few things. Instead of pictures, I have notes thumb tacked to the walls to help me remember what day it is and what pills are due.

When I look out at the trees and sky I see Wabi-Sabi out in nature, I don’t bring it in the house anymore. Shabby Chic is all around me I just visit others houses they still have the strength for that stuff. My little tin palace has lots of windows. I live in shameless luxury.

Dale

 

 


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Fridays With Dale: Shelf Life

Title with image of author

Dale Angel

 


Shelf Life

By Dale Angel

                                                  

My shelf life is expiring.

Some are able to extend the life of a product by serving up the stuff in a pretty dish. No one really knows how outdated it may be in that pretty container…like some people who show up looking almost new.

It gives me comfort. Then…I looked into the image of me as I passed the security camera and I realized my container is so…colorless. I don’t serve up well. I saw a dumpling or a flat sauce with no flavor, so blah. Blue and white is passé.

When your house looks deteriorated and unsalable, the first tools are paint brushes and color. Add a hammer to pound a few nails to hold it up awhile longer.

That may be why some mark themselves with graffiti to serve themselves up in current trendy candy dishes that will be so outdated as soon as someone gets poisoned by the dye. Can the government recall all that…art?  Every other person I see is decorated.

The shelf life of our medical industry is being affected.

Animal doctors are causing a decrease in wages of medical doctors.  The graffiti dealers are out doing the Golfers economy. You notice these things when you see so many golf courses in the for sale ads.

Judge Judy’s shelf life has been extended by the skills of her physical landscaping surgeon, sushi lunches, and a new hairdo.

I live in modern day Rome. We have replaced the lions with an oblong ball. The mayhem is less visible until the player gets older. Then his brains are missing, replaced by money–a more attractive display dish.

There was a conversation recently. She said ”After I get my new breast implants, I think I’ll get tattooed suspenders.” These words came from within my own household. You can almost see a more refined attitude on this subject.

The Food industry has added shelf life to tomatoes that can sit on my counter for weeks and still look beautiful, and Twinkies never expire.

One more saying coming from my house: ”I don’t want those GMO Harlots in my garden with my Organic Virgins.” Does Organic mean a longer shelf life?

 

dale

 

 


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Fridays With Dale: D Words

Title with image of author

Dale Angel


D Words

By Dale Angel

                                                  

Dismantle or throw the clutter away, you can’t carry it with you

As I ….Dismantle my life…and the things that I carried with me…like colds… everyone gets the D disease. Eventually, it comes with old age. Like measles, its effects are harder on some, more than others.

I’m remembering the Hyacinth bulbs that bloomed in this vase on cold winter mornings.  The kitchen was filled with the scent of a whole flower garden. I hope someone will love it.

This spray bottle with orange water was used by a great granddaughter to spray on the Camellia bush, to entice butterflies. I’ll advertise this as a Grandmother necessity

With this cup, I watched beautiful mornings slashed with pinks and orange and yellow with touches of lavender blue. It held my tea. I won’t take it with me.

What insensitive thoughts I have! I have already Divested….oh! Another D word!  I can’t lift my go bag in case of disaster. I’ll have to pull a wagon behind me if I keep any more personals. My life lived is so heavy, I have no choice but take it with me. It may diminish if I’m fleeing for my life…difficulty at the moment is all one can carry….right? At the end of a thousand years, my head and heart won’t be adding crisis after crisis ….Oh my! Three more D’s. I think my pencil is in charge

Symptoms often visit late in life, include

Defenseless, Dependency, Devalue, Diminish, Disrespect, Distance Disability Disadvantage Disapproval Discard Discourteous Discredit Discriminate Distance Desperation Depression Despondency Desertion Disengage Disinterest Detached Disregard Disunited …Divorce Doubt Dementia… Death

I had to throw the dictionary across the room

There must have a better collection of D words, more comforting?  Let’s see what I can find.

Divisions Dominating Doomed Dread Dragons Downhearted Driven Drowned Drunk Dungeon Dumb Dung…  These words are multiplying as I sit here. Where can I go….How did I get here?

 Let’s move on to something more cheerful.

Keep in mind how we would handle being bag ladies, I’m going as a Deposed Queen. Oh! There’s another D word

We have to find a place or invent one mostly in our minds and leave the D’s home.  The world does recognize one needs to be emotionally nourished.  Not just a Detached interest…….. Oh! Dear another D word.

Am I doing you in with my prattle?  I blame it on my pencil.

You can sit and cry until the cows come home and no one can understand; they for the most part are crying themselves. We need to help them. It is healthier to get mad. It gives one power, even if mad is run on emotional power.

Remember my neighbor Mrs. McKenna? They put her away in an old farm house somewhere in Texas. She walked and I think crawled for half a day before she found a road. Everyone drives pickups there, they helped her get to a Greyhound Bus, and she showed up at my door one day.  Mad is a useful tool. She was nearly 100 and could still use her power…MAD POWER…tools. Off Quart Hill the little road is called her name.

She made her own clothes, using only Taffeta fabric. You could hear her swish and keep time as she walked. It sounded soft and musical, the iridescent colors created rainbows moving with each step. Her sons were executives with Pendleton Wool.

dale


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Fridays With Dale: Food Issues

Title with image of author

Dale Angel

 


Food Issues

By Dale Angel

                                                  

Eating out is a perilous activity when health issues are at stake.  You know this, but there are times when you have no choice except eat by yourself in isolation and stay home …or swallow your sensibleness and go along for the social ambiance.

 

Try not to unbalance the high fun by asking questions about the food order and be done with it. The gluey gravy that everyone is raving about is good discipline to not offer your personal opinion. You swallow and go to the bacon, half cooked. There’s only one piece, that’s good, as you chew the fat. You decide how to interpret this…while thinking, you realize it has sunk into your stomach and has been invited to join the dam building project that is lining up in your arteries. The 911 area.

 

Smile, there are interesting conversations going while I wrestle with food issues no one is interested shut up…. so you cover up the leaking toast and pour more fat loaded cream into the coffee.  Either I have to stop drinking coffee or do cream. I haven’t learned to do coffee black.

 

The large order of muffins arrived and the one dumped into your plate has enough sugar to bring on an insulin attack. It taste good as it rushes to the area where the stop-and-go system flags it down and directs the sugar to the pancreas that goes into overdrive and pumps the extra into pools to be used later after you have gone to bed to attack you with a game called indigestion. You always lose this game, yet continue to play. It must be an addiction.

 

Wash it all down with coffee that sends the euphoric caffeine to settle all this by going to your mental system and puts a damper on your self-centered issues and kills any sensibleness.

 

I had a great time but my raging conscience is feeling betrayed. I know better. Why can’t I do better? It must be peer pressure, why do I yield knowing this is a game of chance with the odds against me?

 

It occurs to me I may have disrespect for gamblers….. Is this any different?

 

dale

 

 


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