granma gifts

My family has been flipping their lid because my granma shipped me a package using [GASP] the USPS!  They were certain that it would never arrive, as if you can't send anything across the country without utilizing UPS or FedEx.

Of course, like every other package i've sent or received, it got here within a week.  Obviously, i've been desperately curious: what could she be sending me?!  Especially something that my mom is so concerned that i get? Clothes!!  Which might seem a bit sarcastic, because frankly, who gets excited about clothes from their granma?  Me.  I do, that's who.  Especially when they're clothes that you could not afford to buy for your new job with a 'conservative' dress code.

My granma is awesome.  She's almost seventy, & when she isn't busy raising my youngest set of cousins or keeping an immaculate house, she gardens & paints.  When i was small, & my both of my parents worked in the factory, it was our grandparents house (not that of a strange sitter) where the deep soft memories of my childhood were born.  Green shag carpeting for plastic horses to graze on, grand spirea architecture arching against the pink quartzite fence, yellow wallpaper in my mother's old room.  She taught me to paint, how to use which brushes & the importance of patient diligence.  I remember canning tomatoes, picking wildflowers, harvesting rosehips, elderberries, morels.  I will always know the names of every plant that grows in Kansas, as well as the best way to make a pie crust.  And it was that same voice singing lyrical nursery rhymes, which also cursed like a sailor.  

It was a perfect life, & i'm thankful for it all the time.

on being a stereotype

In the Keys, everyone else, like me, is from another place.  It makes it interesting: unlike Kansas, where everyone has the same easy, unaffected manner of speaking, each person you meet has a unique accent.  Working at a resort employing three hundred people, i like to listen to the different dialects against one another.  In the HR office, is a young Texan & a middle-aged Bostonian.  My department, answering phones & manning the radios, is headed by a mother from Delaware & staffed with a grandmother from Michigan & a girl from Jamaica (among others, whom i rarely work with.)  Early in the morning, as the sun rises, i ride to work with men from the maintenance department who are from South Carolina, Tennessee, & New Jersey.

It's also great for conversation.  Asking where a person's from can easily segue into why they left, & what they're doing here.  You can learn a lot about a person very quickly.  Which is good, given that, for the first time in decades, i do not know everybody.  Quite contrarily: i know no one, & have little in common with anyone.  So i like being able to eat up minutes of small talk with that one question, & it's nice to get to know someone without needing to do much of the talking.

Obviously, this line of questioning usually veers next to where i am from.  The love of Kansas is deep in my heart, & i am not embarrassed by my newness to this place.  However, it's still awkward.  I think the main weirdness stems from the fact that i seem to be the only Kansan anyone has ever met.  Clearly, everyone has heard of the mythological state - Oz, evolution, tornadoes - but as far as i can tell, they assume nothing ventures to or from this bible-belt bread-bowl but wheat & beef.  I go suddenly from feeling like everyone else - transplanted like a seed in the island breeze - to feeling like an overwhelming stereotype - Kansas farm-girl with a boyfriend back home.  

Of course, no one knows about Lawrence.  About Thai/Vietnamese/Indian food, or gourmet coffee.  No one knows about my lip piercings, or that i break dress code with my 'extreme style' earrings: no one has seen me out of the 'island elegance' business-casual dress composed of all the clothes i own that could fit into the required category of 'conservative'.  It is a strange feeling, knowing no one, & being unknown to everyone.  To no longer be the girl back home, missing a few far away friends, but to now be the far away friend, missing everyone back home.

satisfied

Today, i feel as though i accomplished a lot.

After waking up early (a feat in & of itself) i thoroughly cleaned the condo.  Degreasing the oven knobs, scouring the formica, hand-mopping the floor.. the deeply satisfying type of clean.

After dipping myself into the industrial-sized vat of spf55, i rode Roomie's bicycle to the supermarket.  It's not terribly far - 4.5 miles - & considering that there aren't any hills at sea-level, it's a pleasant trip.  Biking over bridges, under palm trees, dodging iguana.  Satisfying.

Supermarket choices are: Winn-Dixie or Publix.  We shop at Publix, which seems comparable to the newly remodeled Dillons back home.  I can't complain, because they do have booze, & there is a smallish health-food section.  They also stock a few organic options in the produce, & best of all, they have the best yogurt selection i've ever seen!  Thankfully, since i'd say that these days, an easy 90% of my diet consists of yogurt & organic produce.  However, the last decade in a college-wonderland, i have grown accustomed to some particular eating habits.  Great Harvest bread, Vanilla-Blueberry granola from the Casbah (all within walking distance.)  A luxurious life indeed.  I found a granola that i thought would be good - anything with freeze dried berries can't be bad - but really, it was too crunchy & hurt my teeth.  

So, if you're reading this, i sure would like some bread & cereal from back home!