Time For A Change

 I have enjoyed writing fiction, the worldbuilding is the most fun. You get to make up an entire universe just the way you want it. I will definitely finish out the Salvage series, I have put way too much work into that storyline to let it just fizzle off. But my true loves are and always have been history, anthropology, and food. 

 When I was young, there wasn't much on TV. We had a whole three stations, and a snowy PBS station that came in a bit more clear early mornings and late night when the local stations powered off for the night. I have always been an early riser, and my parents were not. So by the time I was 6, I was getting up and feeding myself in the mornings. I discovered on the snowy PBS station The French Chef followed by The Galloping Gourmet. These two shows plus the food traditions of my own family and culture cemented my interest in where food came from and why, at the ripe of age of 6 years old. 

 Since cable wasn't a thing at that time, I read everything I could get my hands on from the two local public libraries. Some of the books made such an impression on me I later bought copies for myself. Some of my favorite fiction works have food integrated into the storyline, both fantasy and historical fiction. It was these interests that nudged me towards a degree in anthropology. It wasn't until I moved to Austin and went to work at a museum that it hit me that food anthropology/archeology was such a huge part of human culture.  

 I have worked over the years at various food jobs, working as a private chef helped support me financially in other endeavors such as my foray into the music industry. When I would move to those things full time, I would find I was bored to tears, and I would invariably return to food and my interest in its history. As I have aged, my immune disorder I have had most of my life has rendered me unable to work in the food industry any more, which is why closed my bakery and tried my hand at writing. 

 In a review of my first novel Salvage, the reviewer commented on my detail to food and eating, almost as if it were a bad thing. We spend a good chunk of our time getting food and eating it, and I feel that it should be a pretty substantial part of the story, and not just in times of crisis. (As in 'Oh look, we've crashed on a desert island/the world has ended and we're starving' kind of way.) Food is entwined with history and culture and there would not be either history or culture without food. 

 Food is my passion. It always has been from an early age. I started cooking at 6, thanks to my grandmother. She gave the the basics, and my mother (who was a good plain cook0 and other people I met along my life journey continued my education. I still love learning about new foods and how they are worked into the culture of the region they come from. Writing, while not my passion, is something I am good at. 

 I am ready to put my college and lifelong education to work again but this time instead of trying to be a museum curator, which I had zero passion for, I am going to blend my loves of history, food and anthropology and see where the road takes me. I am considering videos as well as blog and Meta/FB posts as I wind my way through the world of food, history and culture. Come along for the ride, it should be fun as well as interesting, and you may learn something new. I'm sure hoping to!

 Cruise on over to the new blog, The Why of What We Eat. 

A Long Time Coming

 

I have had multiple people I know recently lose loved ones. I have made the calls, reached out like one is supposed to. The last one was a couple of days ago.

This has brought up some major feelings for me. When my parents died, none of the people who I thought of as my friends called or offered help. I had help in the form of siblings and husband, so didn't need it. Several years later, I lost my oldest sister, who was a mother figure and my best friend as well as my sister. NO ONE locally reached out. Oh there were FB messages of condolence, but not one single person came to see if I were okay or needed anything. I was not okay. I spent two years so depressed I rarely left the house. My health began to worsen, and then I temporarily went blind in one eye due to it and got to spend 3 days alone in hospital hooked up to an IV. Exactly one couple reached out and even came to visit. Again, from everyone else, there was radio silence. When I did try recently to ask for help during a particularly bad stretch, I was ghosted so I stopped trying.

For all my life, I was the first person to be there in times of trouble with help, whether it be food, a ride, staying with someone in hospital, cleaning their house, taking care of their kids, pets and plants, holding their hand in times of trouble. I did it because I truly cared about the people and their well being. It had been made very clear to me that it was not reciprocated, I was nothing but a convenience to be taken advantage of and when I ceased to be one and began to say no and set boundaries, the 'friends' disappeared.

Because of the experiences of the last couple of years, I have stopped trying to make friends. I tried a local social group before the plague hit, but every event I went to I felt like I wasn't particularly welcome so I stopped trying to attend. Is it that I only have 'worth' when I allow people to use and abuse me? Or is this a sign that I am really a horrible person who doesn't deserve to have real friends? Maybe so. I don't think so, but then we don't see ourselves as others see us.